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jungkxook · 4 years

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—make it right. (m)

⟶ pairing: jungkook x reader

⟶ genre: punk!jungkook / band au / exes-to-lovers au / angst / smut

⟶ words: 11,528

⟶ rating: 18+

⟶ summary: you’re wholeheartedly, madly in love with jungkook and yet you shouldn’t be because it’s been almost a year since you broke up with him. worst part of it all is that you know he’s still in love with you too

⟶ warnings: jungkook has a tongue piercing, oral sex because of said tongue piercing (fem!recieving), more tattooed and long haired jungkook to feed my fantasies, angsty pining clingy sex, also just general soft sex, crying sex lol, riding, creampie, slight praise kink themes, unprotected sex

⟶ disclaimer: here’s my one year blog anniversary present inspired by the first ever fic i posted on here! yes this is technically a sequel to melomaniac but not really. sort of like an alternate universe to the alternate universe but you don’t really have to read one or the other to understand the other. so, i hope you enjoy!

⟶ this is part of the melodrama tour series!

You swear you’re over Jungkook.

In fact, you would even go so far as to say you hate him ━ but you know that’s not true. It’s just that it’s much easier to believe that if you tell yourself you hate him enough times, then maybe you’ll find a way to fix your broken heart, and the pain in his absence won’t hurt so bad.

As it turns out, it hardly works.

Seven months since he had left you to travel the world with his band, basking in promised eternal glory and fame and money, and yet even miles and oceans away from where you stand, he’s all you can think about. There’s a myriad of reasons as to why trying to forget him was an useless endeavour. The hardships of trying to forget a cherished life-long friendship you had grown accustomed to was one of them, and those lingering happy moments you had shared with him as lovers however fleeting they may be was another. But then there was the ever present fact that Jungkook and his band were so quick to rise to fame, their names far exceeding the seemingly cramped and small city you had both reigned from, and suddenly the boy you had known forever, and everything special that makes him, was now being shared to hundreds of millions of adoring fans.

You were certain it was all Jungkook ever wanted, the added attention and the pretty girls fawning over him, because he had always been a casanova in many ways despite always promising you that you were the only one for him even before you had started dating. You had told him it wouldn’t work ━ I trust you as my best friend, you had said in a moment of despair, grasping at straws. I don’t have to worry about you breaking my heart. But I don’t know if I can trust you as my boyfriend ━ far before he and his band had been signed to their record label and paraded around the world, when they were still practicing in rented storage units and friends’ garages and rundown local studios, playing gigs anywhere and everywhere from dingy bars to college campus parties, supporting him every step of the way if only because he was your best friend, and he had been so persistent that it would work, chasing after you even when you tried to push him away. I would treat you right, he had urged so ardently late one drunken night after stumbling back to his apartment. I already practically worship the ground you walk on.

And how could you ━ who had already been so madly in love with him but scared of him breaking your heart, scared of losing him, scared of this happening ━ ever resist him? He made love seem so easy, and maybe that’s because it was when you were with him. But now, he was no longer yours; now, he was the world’s, and you were nothing but a mere hazy fragmented memory in his mind, long forgotten, watching from the side of the stage much like you always had from the very start of it all.

“Hey, isn’t this that band?” Jihyo’s voice bursts through your wandering trail of thoughts.

It takes you a moment to recollect yourself, finding yourself not in the arms of an ex-lover or stuck in a bygone time of months past, but in the cosy and amiable café nearest your campus and frequented by a plethora of your fellow peers. You’re fortunate to find that your other group mates have also become sidetracked, trailing far from the assignment you were all supposed to be working on. Dahyun is perched beside you, chin nestled in the palm of her hand and elbow propped on the table as she scrolls aimlessly through her phone; Jihyo and Taeyong were sat across from you, gossiping fervently about some mutual friend of theirs. You hadn’t known the pair long enough to know much about them or the tragic affair of whoever Mina is for accepting her cheating boyfriend back for the second time, and, likewise, they seem oblivious to your own self-wallowing once you realize what’s caught Jihyo’s sudden attention.

You hear his voice first.

It’s easy to discern, even after all this time and even amongst the muffled chatter and clanking of porcelain and cutlery of those seated around you. The sweet, velvety lull of Jungkook singing throughout the café from the overhead speakers, pretty upbeat melodies and synths mixed with wistful words making up the song he had written for you before he left, before the fame and fans, as a way of telling you how he truly felt about you. It feels like a dream, and maybe that’s because it is, bringing you instantly to another time, and another world. You still remember him showing you the unfinished song for the very first time, curled up next to him in his living room, listening to him serenade you to sleep, humming in places where he hadn’t formed the words yet, strumming along with his acoustic. It was yours and his until he showed the world almost a year ago on their very first show at the Seoul Olympic Stadium in front of thousands of people, as a final desperate act of proclaiming his love for you after a disastrous attempt at a first date that he had begged from you. Just one, he pleaded. To prove it to you that I can be a good boyfriend. And if things don’t work out, we can pretend it never happened and just go back to being us. That’s a promise.

At the time, you had treasured the song. It was beautiful in every way, his love transcending his words and enveloping your heart in pure warmth.

Now, you hate it.

It’s the third time you’ve heard the song that day. Despite avoiding it as best as you could, it seems to find a way to make itself known in your daily life like the nagging nuisance it is. Because fate seemed to enjoy its sadistic behaviour of having the song be one of the main reasons Jungkook and his band had skyrocketed to fame in such a short span of time and, suddenly, Jungkook disappearing from your life meant little when his voice remained as a constant reminder of what could have been, what couldn’t have been, and what fell apart at the already fragile seams. And what was a proclamation of love to you turned into nothing but a fabled tale of lovers. You wonder if people who hear it ever think about where they’ve gone, or who they’ve turned into, or if their love was made to last. You wonder, above all else, if people ever think about it at all.

“Beyond the Scene, right?” Taeyong asks. He seems just as animated to be discussing the song as Jungkook’s voice fades into Jimin’s.

“God, I love this song. It’s so dreamy,” Jihyo lets out a longing sigh as she slumps against her seat. “Y’know, I’m seeing them this Friday. It’s their first time being back in, like, five months.”

“Dude, I’ve been trying to get tickets to see them for months now!” Taeyong gaps incredulously. “How’d you score them?”

“A friend of a friend knows the guy who plays keys,” Jihyo says. “The cute mysterious one.”

“Yoongi, right?”

“Yeah━”

As the pair dive into a passionate discussion about the boys and their first full-length album released under their recently-signed-to label from Columbia Records, you shift uncomfortably in your seat. Dahyun almost immediately straightens up, eyes flickering from the pair to you and back again. You’re both fortunate she’s there, having known your past with Jungkook, and despise it a little more, wondering what her pitying gaze must mean.

“Hey, Dahyun. Y/N.” Taeyong’s voice grabs your attention now. “What do you think of these guys? Didn’t some of them used to go to this school?”

“Yeah, I had a few classes with their drummer.” Dahyun waves her hand airly, swiftly brushing over the fact that she did far more than have a “few classes” with any of the boys but was also one of their closest friends. “I think they’re great━” She glances sideways at you one more time. “Hey, maybe we should get back to the assignment now━”

“I had a class with their lead guitarist, Jungkook, last year,” Jihyo continues, her excitement getting the best of her as Dahyun’s voice drowns out in the foreground.

“No way!” This dubious exclamation comes from Taeyong.

“I tried talking to him once but he totally blew me off,” Jihyo says. “Which is fine, because he’s still hot. If I had known he was gonna be a famous rockstar, I’d have tried asking him out a second time━”

Suddenly, you feel sick.

It’s odd to hear two strangers discuss Jungkook’s life while you’re seated across from them, as if you’re nothing more than an outsider to whoever Jungkook has become now. But you can’t stand it anymore. You’re certain you look insane to them when you push your seat back abruptly, the metal legs screeching against the floor as you stand.

“Whoa, what’s wrong━?” Taeyong starts to ask but you’re gone before he can finish the question, murmuring a half-hearted excuse about how you forgot you needed to be somewhere.

You’ve rounded on your heel and have fled from the café before anyone can try to stop you, with nothing but Jungkook’s mellifluous voice fading in the distance as he croons aloud for you in a time long since passed.

You don’t care. Besides, you’re sure Dahyun will cover for you.

The worst part of it all? The dreadful realization that sinks into your mind, and into your heart, beckons the question: who’s to say you aren’t a stranger now to Jungkook’s life altogether?

“So, what are you trying to say?”

You remember the moment so clearly despite wanting nothing more than to forget it all, and the pain associated with it. Because even from then you knew you would always be in love with Jungkook, but you couldn’t have him. It’s hard to remember whose fault it is this time that caused the sudden fight, though random little arguments had been a frequent occurrence nearing the end of your one year relationship more often than not. You hate blaming it all on him, because you were certain you were at fault too. Maybe a little bit wary at times, a little selfish, wanting him all to yourself. Even though you knew he has an obligation to the world, it still hurt when he started making promises he couldn’t keep, blowing you off for soundchecks, or spontaneous interviews, or record label meetings. More and more you could feel the both of you drifting apart, maybe without even meaning for it to happen.

It was just that Jungkook was destined for a lifetime of greatness, and you were starting to think that meant without you.

You had stopped him late one night after he had stumbled home from his and the band’s nightly studio sessions as they worked through recording their debut album as a signed band. Lately, it seemed as if that was all that Jungkook cared about, and while you knew the band meant the world to him and you would always support him in his endeavour, you couldn’t help but feel lesser in comparison. That, and you hated seeing the boy overwork himself to the point of near exhaustion every night if only because their label was so adamant about having the album finished before the month ended.

“You want to, what? Break up?” Jungkook asked, this time more incredulously and less dumbfounded as he had initially been. He didn’t believe you just yet, but you couldn’t exactly tell what he was thinking anymore at that point.

“I just figured we could use some time apart,” You had suggested awkwardly. “Just a break.”

He had let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh. “Y/N, this is insane.”

You flinched. You remember having to look away, refusing to meet his suddenly sorrowful look. “Is it, Jungkook? I mean… Look at us. We’re falling apart. It was bound to happen eventually. We tried to make it work but maybe we’re on different paths now.”

“But I love you,” Jungkook gasped, exasperated. “Where is this coming from?”

“And I don’t want to have to tie you down for the rest of your life,” You continued on stubbornly, “or make you think you owe me your whole life just because you said you fell in love with me when you were thirteen━”

This seemed to catch Jungkook’s attention. He grew rigid in front of you, a look of wary agony contorting his face. “Is that what this is then? You don’t love me anymore?”

You didn’t respond immediately, instead the dread of the night seemed to finally catch up with you and you had grimaced. You had loved him even then, but the thought of voicing it aloud when you were supposed to be breaking up with him didn’t feel right. The tears began to swell in your throat and blur your vision. Jungkook must have noticed, because he always seems to spot the small things about you that even you miss. Almost instantly, the sour look on his face softened and his gaze turned helpless, with those big puppy-dog eyes that you’ve always been too fond of. He closed the distance between you at once, warm hands grabbing at your own.

“You do.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement. He knew you were still in love with him ━ or maybe he’d just been hopeful. “I know you do. So then why are you breaking up with me?”

He let go of one of your hands to reach up to your face, calloused fingers gentle and soft against your cheek as they brushed away a rogue tear you hadn’t realized had fallen from your lashes. For a moment, you had let yourself get carried away. You leaned into the comforting heat and touch of his palm as he cradled your face.

“Don’t━” You choked out after a moment of silence, hating when your voice splintered into a sob. “Don’t touch me. Please, Jungkook. You’re only going to make this harder.”

His hands sprang away from your face almost at once, as if he had just been burnt by scalding fire. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and pull you into his arms but he had refrained the urge somehow, miraculously. So, instead, he grit his teeth and clenched his hands into fists as his arms fell limp at his sides.

“Then don’t do this. Don’t walk away,” Jungkook pleaded desperately. “I don’t understand. If you love me still, why are you making this harder for yourself?”

“Because what if that’s all we have in common anymore?” You asked wretchedly. “We care about each other. We always will. But you’re focused on the band, and this is my last year of school. Maybe we just need time to focus on ourselves.”

Jungkook blinked once. Twice. His stare was suddenly devoid of any emotion as he gawked at you, but you could tell that he was hurting. It was there in the fluttering of nerves in his jaw; there, in the way his lips pulled taut into a thin line; there, in the way even you could see his eyes begin to shimmer with wet tears that he unabashedly displays without trying to wipe away.

“So that’s it?” he asked. “After everything we’ve been through. You’re just gonna end it, like that? Y/N, come on━”

His hands had found purchase on your waist, and you had lingered for a moment too long; then, fumbling, he tried to grab delicately at your face, probing you to look at him. But you couldn’t. The moment you met his wounded gaze, you shook your head furiously. You had slithered out of his grasp, slipping through the seams of his fingers just like that.

“I━” You paused. “This isn’t some spur of the moment decision, Jungkook. How can you not see it? I’ve felt so alone these past few months. It’s like you’re here but not entirely. Your mind is always somewhere else, always thinking about the band and never about us.”

“What am I supposed to do?” he had asked hotly. “The band is my everything.”

“And what am I?” You asked. The question only mildly offended you, a shot right to your heart. Because if the band was his everything, what were you in comparison? “A distraction until you get everything you want? I can’t keep being that.”

“No!” he protested. “You’re not a distraction. You’re━” He stopped himself short, brows furrowing. “You can’t keep pinning this all on me. You just don’t trust me, do you? You never did. Always thinking I’m with some other girl when I’m not with you━”

“That’s not true,” You admonished.

“Isn’t it?” Jungkook retaliated.

“I don’t want to hear it,” You had said at once. Your tone was final, a decisive ending to your argument with him. “My mind’s already been made up, Jungkook. I don’t think we should see each other again until we sort all this out ━ or, until you sort out whatever your priorities are.”

Jungkook’s stare had hardened, a frown deeply etching into his face. He had straightened up then, perplexed and upset with your standoffish demeanour, as if thinking this surely meant nothing to you. But little did he know this would become one of the hardest decisions you would have to make.

“Fine,” he said rigidly. “If that’s how it is, then I’m gone. You’ll never have to see me again.”

You hadn’t known at the time just how terribly you had messed up ━ neither had Jungkook. He had left before you could stop him, or before either of you could change your minds. Because nothing’s worse than a broken heart, blinded by stubborn and defensive rage. Accusatory fingers and blaming him or you wouldn’t heal the wounds that had already formed, and ending things seemed to only make it worse, months of lonely heartache without Jungkook to further prove just that…

The last time you spoke to Jungkook, you told him you never wanted to see him again ━ or, at least, that seems to be how he interpreted it.

Now, you were standing in the midst of his domain, surrounded by everyone in his public sphere of friends and colleagues and acquaintances, and there was certainly no way of escaping him.

You were starting to think you’re losing mind, because you’d truly have to be insane to have worked up the nerve to agree to go with Dahyun to a party being held celebrating the band’s recent tremendous success and headlining their first world tour. Their manager, Jin, had personally reached out to you and Dahyun, calling you as a means of asking you to attend, though you had given him a timid and dismissive response at first. If it hadn’t been for Dahyun purposely and almost quite literally dragging you out under the premise that “even if you don’t want to see Jungkook, you at least owe it to the boys to go,” you don’t think you’d even be here. But while you didn’t know where you stood with Jungkook anymore, that didn’t mean you weren’t still proud of him or the rest of the boys. It just became harder to bask in their success with them when you had gone from knowing every detail of their lives, of Jungkook’s life, to knowing only what you could hear from gossiping fans around you, or plastered in tabloids, or all over any form of social media.

The party is held at some sort of fancy lavish restaurant, the entire back room rented out by the band’s record label and management, and is filled with dozens of people you don’t know. Fortunately, you and Dahyun aren’t left alone for very long, as an elated Jin and Jimin, the appointed lead singer, bustle their way through the crowd to you almost as soon as you arrive, leaving very little time for you to feel so awkward that you consider running away again. Jimin, in all his spritely and extravagant blue haired disposition, wastes no time in engulfing you both in a comforting hug as if months hadn’t passed since you’ve last seen them.

“Glad you guys could make it!” Jin smiles from over Jimin’s shoulder.

“It’s been forever,” Jimin affirms.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Dahyun says. “I’m surprised you guys didn’t forget about us, considering you’re big rockstars now.”

“Rockstar is a bit of an overstatement.” An effortlessly charming smirk unfurls on Jimin’s face, which seems to immediately dazzle Dahyun. “Besides, we could never forget you. Hey, come with me to find the guys. I think we could all use some time to catch up━”

He places his hand on the small of Dahyun’s back as he guides her away, leaving you with Jin. A moment of silence passes, in which time you can feel the boy’s eyes lingering on you.

“He knows you’re coming tonight, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Jin says carefully, treading over his words lightly. It’s too painfully obvious who he’s talking about, though you’re fortunate he doesn’t bother mentioning Jungkook’s name anyway. “There’s no point in hiding. I think you should talk to him.”

“I━” You trail off uselessly, your voice croaking. Fearing an imminent breakdown, you shake your head. Then, holding your chin a little higher, Jin’s startled to hear you pretend as if he hadn’t said anything. “It really is good to see you guys again. If you’ll excuse me, I think I need a drink.”

And you’re gone once more before he can say anything else. On your lonesome, you find refuge at the bar, though you only order water because you’re certain you won’t be able to stomach anything stronger. You don’t know how long you spend there, blankly staring at a spot on the wall as your mind wanders everywhere and yet nowhere at all until━

“Y/N?”

There it is again. The familiar sound of his voice, only this time it’s much more attainable, closer to your world and not elsewhere so high in the clouds like a hopeful dream. You brace yourself before turning to face him.

This close, Jungkook looks breathtakingly and painfully beautiful.

As always, he’s adorned in all black, the first few buttons of the silky blouse he’s wearing left undone so that it teases the exposed flesh of his collarbones and the rose tattoo that inks his chest, the thorny stems crawling up the side of his neck just below his ear, accompanied by a pair of leather pants. He’s the same as ever. The same imperfect tattoos that decorate his fingers and arms that you’ve always loved, the same ring-clad fingers painted a chipped black, the same hoop accentuating his button nose. His hair is still his natural dark ebony color (something he’s seemed to stick with much more as of late despite dyeing it wild colours throughout his past), only it’s a little longer than you last remembered, and the sides of his head are shaved in the form of an undercut. You’re foolishly surprised to find he still looks the same, but almost a year away from someone can both change nothing and yet everything all at once.

“Jungkook…” You want to say something more, but your words fall short.

It’s hard to tell if he’s angry or upset at seeing you there, but you don’t think he’s either, and you have an inkling of a thought that he purposely sought you out amongst the many faces. Instead, he looks hesitant, apprehensive, as if dreading how you’ll respond to see him. As if you’ll yell at him, push him away. You do neither, fortunately.

Just when the dense silence starts to become almost unbearable, Jungkook clears his throat. “I━ Wow… You look great.”

You blink once, a flustered blush warming your face that you hope he doesn’t notice. “Oh. Thank you. You do, too.”

His eyes flicker over your presence as he nods absentmindedly. Then, he’s offering you a pretty smile, soft and sweet in nature. No malice, or ill-intent. “Um━ How have you been?”

You hate this. You hate the awkward pauses, the prolonged periods of silence. A year ago, even despite knowingly pining for one another, your moments alone with Jungkook were never so terrible. He always found a way to say something cheekily flirtatious even when you were just friends, if only because he knew it would make you blush and giggle because, no matter how many times you would roll your eyes or nudge his sides, he also knew you secretly loved it. All the inside jokes, the milestones shared together, the ardent fleeting touches ━ where did it all go? And while you were both noticeably trying to maintain the peace and pleasantry between one another, it didn’t feel the same. It felt forced, fake. Distracted.

“I’ve been good,” You lie. “How about you? Actually, don’t answer that━” You let out a breathless chuckle. “You’ve clearly been doing amazing. I mean, your album, and your world tour. And tomorrow you’ve got a big day with the hometown show. I heard it sold out in the first ten minutes.”

“Something like that,” Jungkook says modestly. “It’s been kind of crazy. Namjoon says it’s good, but I miss━ I just miss a lot of how it used to be. The slow pace. I dunno. The quick burn up is quick to burn out, right?”

“Maybe,” You admit. “But I think you’ve all got it in you. You’ve worked so hard for this moment. Enjoy it while you’re in it. You deserve it, Jungkook.”

His stare softens as it meets yours. “Thanks.”

Another beat of silence passes. He looks as if he’s warring with himself, as if he’s fighting the urge to say something more, gnawing at his lower lip, brows knitting together.

“Yo, Jeon!” A foreign voice from amongst the crowd beckons aloud abruptly for the boy.

Jungkook glances over his shoulder swiftly in search of the source, then waves his hand as if to motion he’ll be there later. Then, he turns back to you. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay. I won’t keep you,” You say. “I know you’re busy.”

“But━” He stops himself, his jaw clamping shut. Changing his mind, he decides to ask hopefully, “Will you be at the show tomorrow?”

“Of course.” The affirmation seems to relieve him, even though it’s a spontaneous decision made by you on the spot. Before this moment, you hadn’t been so sure you could go.

“Promise?”

You can’t help but shake your head, a chuckle slipping past your lips at the innocent boyish question he asks. “Yes, Jungkook.”

His smile widens a little more, however sheepish it may be. “Then can you promise me one more thing?”

“What?” You quirk a brow, intrigued to say the least.

“Will you drop by the hotel we’re staying at tomorrow morning, so I can take you out for a coffee? Just to catch up. It’s been a while,” he says timidly. Then, feeling a little stupid for being so bold, scrambles to explain himself. “And no pressure if you don’t want to. I just thought━”

You can’t possibly say no. Not when it comes to Jungkook, all your past struggles seemingly vanishing without a trace. “I’d like that a lot, Jungkook.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

Then he’s positively beaming, his self-indulgent grin making your own heart flutter in your chest. When he leaves your side that night, you find yourself looking forward to the future perhaps a little too optimistically. But how terrible could grabbing coffee with your ex be, if you had survived the first wretched encounter?

So, in the morning when you wake, there’s not a stutter in your step or a wavering flicker of your confidence as you make your way to the Four Seasons hotel Jungkook had told you to from the night before. In fact, a selfish part of you almost thinks that maybe things will start to look up. That maybe you and Jungkook can finally make amends. That maybe you never had a reason to fear Jungkook breaking your heart if he made such an effort to heal it.

The hotel itself is one of the most luxurious ones in Seoul, a considerable contrast from when the boys were slumming it on friends’ couches and in their run-down van touring the country. The room Jungkook tells you to meet him at is one of the hotel’s grand suites, located on the higher levels of the building. But as soon as you reach the landing and have begun making your way towards the designated door, it flings open and a pretty girl comes stumbling out. She’s giggling at something that has just happened inside, her hair a dishevelled mess which she ruffles up in an attempt to fix it. She’s adorned in a pretty little dress, the skirt of which is hiked a little higher up and one strap falling down her shoulder, as she clings her shoes and bag to her chest. She smiles at you on the way past, though she’s too far gone in her own little daze that you wonder if she even notices you at all.

But you certainly notice her, and, all at once, your reverie of him and what could be comes crashing to the ground once more.

Maybe you should have stayed, should have waited for Jungkook to let him explain, but you were too afraid to hear an answer you weren’t looking for. You try desperately not to imagine Jungkook loving someone else. You try not to think about him holding her the same way he held you, his lips finding purchase on some other girl. But by trying to avoid the thought, it beckons the unwarranted memories of how it felt to be loved all over by him once upon a time. You wonder how many girls he’s hooked up with in your time apart, and the overwhelming sense of regret washes over you.

You don’t bother to wait. You know fleeing is the easiest option rather than facing your fear, but you’re far too timid of rejection again. Instead, even before you can approach Jungkook’s hotel room and knock on the door, you turn on your heels and run.

You’re long gone by the time Jungkook comes to the door, prying it open in search of you on a whim. When he doesn’t see you, he glances up and down the hallway but to no avail. Namjoon comes slinking past inside then in his own disoriented haze, having just woken up from moments ago when the girl he had taken back to their room the night before left. Even then, Jungkook had warned the rhythm guitarist against bringing the girl back, pointing out the fact that they had much to do today ahead of their concert. Namjoon had promised it wouldn’t be long, that she would be gone in the morning, and Jungkook was fortunate enough that the suite had two separate bedrooms on the opposite ends of one another so that Jungkook didn’t have to hear whatever it was the pair were doing in the other.

“Did Mina leave?” Namjoon asks through a yawn, digging the heels of his palms into his tired eyes. When Jungkook nods, a sliver of a reminiscent smug grin tugs at Namjoon’s lips. “You missed out, Jungkook.”

The cheeky quip is met with a roll of Jungkook’s eyes. “I’m sure I’ll survive. You know I’m not like that.”

Like that━ As in midnight hook-ups and cheap thrills alike. He tried it once, far ago when you had first broken up with him, on a drunken spur of a moment as a way of healing the anguish in his heart. It hadn’t worked then; he assumed it would never work.

Namjoon seems to understand this immediately. He gives Jungkook a look that the boy doesn’t notice. “Well… is Y/N here yet?”

“No. But I’m sure she’ll be here,” Jungkook grimaces. He hopes. “Something probably came up.”

Namjoon clasps a reassuring hand on Jungkook’s shoulder, humming aloud, “Good luck, dude.”

But you never arrive, even though Jungkook waits for most of the morning, nervous eyes flickering to the door at every commotion outside, running to check only to see room service delivering breakfast or concierge showing guests to their rooms. He has no choice but to give up on the thought of you coming when Jin knocks on their door, prompting the boys to get a start on their day. Interviews and soundcheck await, but how could he possibly go on with his life without knowing what happened to you?

Which is why you stay on his mind for the rest of the day, distracting him in every aspect, mixing up his words when he’s in the midst of his interview, tripping up on stage as the boys set up and begin to rehearse. As the hours wane down to just an hour before the show, the thought of performing in front of thousands of fans starts to make him nervous and he doesn’t know why. He’s done this countless times before, almost nightly during the tour, so what stops him now? Of course he knows the answer, had grown all too accustomed to the feeling the first few months in which the break up had been so recent. It would always be about you.

But just before the show starts, Jungkook is making his way backstage from the greenroom, where the band had been waiting, to the stage. Fiddling with his in-ear piece, he almost doesn’t notice you and Dahyun weaving your way through the roadies and sound tech, being guided by Jin to the pit on the side of the stage where only family and friends are allowed. You don’t see him, and there’s a split moment where he thinks he should just let you go, until he doesn’t.

As he makes his way to you, the tour manager for the band intervenes part way, shouting out to the boy. “Where are you going? We’re on in five, Jungkook!”

“Yeah, I’ll be right back━” He waves the manager off as politely as he can, wasting no time to chase after you. He calls out your name, though it drowns out in the sound of the music being blasted through the speakers of the arena and the screaming fans. “Y/N, wait up!”

He’s relieved when he sees you stop in your tracks, turning to face him as Dahyun and Jin become lost in the chaos of the backstage. He comes to stand just before you, smiling breathlessly at you, unaware of the way your shoulders tense at the sight of him.

“You didn’t show up this morning,” he says as a way of greeting, his voice a curious prob. “What happened?”

You try desperately not to get lost in his big beautiful eyes, laced with such hope. Instead, you fold your arms over your chest, looking away. “Something came up.”

It’s then that Jungkook senses something is wrong. You’re upset with him, though he can’t tell why. Aside from the obvious rift in your relationship that had initially split you two up, you had been so pleasant to see him the night before. But he doesn’t give up just yet. “Well… you’re here now.”

You meet his gaze with your own hardened one. “For the boys.”

A shot right to his heart almost makes Jungkook gasp for air. He flinches, and then his stare softens, and you wish he wouldn’t look at you like that, out of fear that you might just relapse into his arms.

“What’s wrong?” He closes the distance between the two of you. He wants nothing more than to reach out and touch you, but refrains with much difficulty. There’s dozens of things that could be wrong, and he braces himself for your retaliation. “You didn’t want to come, did you?”

When you don’t respond, but also don’t stray from his side, Jungkook hurries to speak again if only to fill the tense silence.

“Look, last night… Maybe it was just me, but last night seemed like things were okay,” he says. “Was I wrong to feel that way?”

“Jungkook…”

“Please, just let me know,” he begs. “Because you’re all I can think about these days, it’s driving me crazy. And I don’t know what’s going on, but the reason I wanted to see you this morning was because I hate how things ended between us, and I wanted to tell you…” He swallows nervously as he trails off uncertainly. “I wanted to tell you that I’m still in love with you. And I can’t get you out of my head. These months away from you made me realize that I━”

Suddenly, you’re shaking your head and he knows you don’t believe him. As soon as the words leave his mouth, he regrets saying it, if only because they seem to enliven you. Now, you push yourself away from the boy. “I’m not doing this right now. You’re not doing this right now.”

As if to further your point, the band’s tour manager can be heard calling out frantically for the boy. “Two minutes, Jungkook!”

But Jungkook is hardly paying attention now, instead solely focused on you. “Please, Y/N━”

“No, you don’t get to say that to me,” You admonish hotly. You can’t bite the words back, no matter how hard you try. “You don’t love me. You think you love me, but you don’t.”

His jaw clenches, and his brows furrow into a frustrated stare. “I do.”

“You don’t.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Stop.” The harsh word makes Jungkook clamp his mouth shut. You shake your head furiously, but you know it’s only to distract yourself so that you don’t let the tears fall. “You’re being selfish, Jungkook. You don’t get to take all of me, love all of me, and leave, only to come back months later and pretend you’re still in love with me. And whatever this━” You gesture vaguely between the two of you, “is, or was, doesn’t exist anymore. We both need to stop pretending otherwise.”

Jungkook winces, eyes tinged with pain. “You don’t mean that.”

You don’t respond. Elsewhere, his tour manager starts to grow impatient, scolding the boy aloud, “Jungkook, we’re gonna be late. Hurry up!”

“Yeah, I’ll be there!” Jungkook calls back, irritated. Maybe he is being selfish. He’s wasting precious time by not leaving, all the hard work that the crew put into tonight’s show, and the fans awaiting his and the band’s arrival. He can still hear the crowd, this time their buzzing voices amalgamating into unanimous chanting muffled by the walls that sounds akin to the band’s name.

“You should go,” You say now. “Don’t wanna disappoint them.”

But he’d throw it all away for you if you told him to. He promised you that even before he had left for tour, before the band had been signed. Had you forgotten? Because he surely hadn’t.

“Y/N…”

“Good luck out there.”

Then, you’re gone before Jungkook can even make a move to stop you ━ but even if he did, what could he do to make you stay? The feat seemed impossible, and you always seem to find a way to slip from his grasp no matter what he does. Only this time he has no choice but to let you go, out of fear of being berated further by his tour manager or angering the boys so much to the point where he gets kicked out of the band.

He makes it on stage in time, the band filing out to take their places one at a time, deafening screams blowing out their in-ear pieces that stand no chance as each member joins the stage. The lights fizzle out until complete darkness cloaks the venue, but Jungkook still looks for you. He finds you in the pit on the side of the stage, Jin and Dahyun standing beside you, and finds it hard to keep his eyes off of you even though you attempt to pretend as if he’s not even there.

After their first adrenaline-filled opening song of the night, Jimin takes to the microphone to greet the crowd who scream back an indiscernible shout as, elsewhere, you notice Jungkook pry himself away from the microphone stand on his side of the stage to wave the rest of the boys over to Hoseok’s drum kit. They murmur amongst themselves briefly, though they go unnoticed by Jimin or the crowd as the lead singer entertains them.

“Seoul! It’s good to be back. We’ve missed you all so much━”

Jimin’s words get cut short when Jungkook, having just parted ways with the rest of his members for their impromptu meeting, beckons the lead singer over, out of range of the microphone. They seem to discuss something just as shortly as Jungkook had talked with the rest of the boys, in which time Jimin nods understandingly, then steps away from the microphone. Then, Jungkook takes to the microphone, the rings on his fingers glistening under the spotlight as he grips the stand.

“I know the night’s only getting started,” Jungkook’s voice wavers as he speaks, “but we’re gonna slow things down for a moment. We hope you don’t mind.”

Intrigued murmurs echo around the crowd, suddenly buzzing with excitement as they watch Jungkook with eager eyes. A few encouraging bellows has Jungkook smiling smally. Jin, on the other hand, looks perplexed.

“What is he doing?” Jin asks no one in particular, a quizzical look on his face. “This isn’t part of their set.”

“I think a lot of you might know this next song,” Jungkook continues, “but I don’t think I’ve ever expressed how much it means to me. This next one, I wrote for a special someone, and it sort of helped us achieve all of this. So, I think it’s time that person knows how much they mean to me.”

Jungkook glances nervously over at the boys standing behind him, each in their own respective spots. Then, sweeping his gaze across the crowd, he finally finds you already staring up at him. His own eyes soften into a look of longing, however hardened by past tribulations and sorrow it may be. As if he’s determined not to lose you again; determined to make it up to you.

“This next one is for Y/N,” he says timidly. He has to turn away from you in the next second, afraid he might just break down before the fans and the boys and you. “I’m sorry I messed up.”

As the boys take their place, with Jimin taking an acoustic and fading back from the limelight, you wonder why. But then you hear it, the familiar beginning chords making up the song you had so wholeheartedly claimed you hated. Only this time they’re gentler, made up of acoustic strums of a guitar, Hoseok’s drums, and Yoongi’s keys, all amalgamating into a pretty song almost unrecognizable.

Then, Jungkook starts singing, and what was once a wistful dreamy song of prospective lovers suddenly turns into a melancholic requiem for you. Some lyrics are changed, present tense turning to the past, and Jungkook sings his way throughout the entirety of the song in contrast to the one that plays all over the radio featuring the other member’s voices. The fans sing along, their voices melding with Jungkook’s into some sort of celestial mellifluous choir, and you’re left no longer wondering if the fans would ever know the meaning behind the song that Jungkook had brought to life. Because now, it wasn’t just Jungkook singing to you; it was the whole world. And yet, paradoxically at the same time, it felt all that much more intimate. As if it were just you and him once again, seated on the couch in his small apartment, listening to the beginnings of what would be their number one selling song.

Above all else, you realize that you don’t seem to hate the song as much you claimed to.

That night, you can’t sleep.

You find yourself leaving the venue earlier than everyone else, even when the boys invite you and Dahyun to join them for celebratory drinks, returning to your home in the hopes of forgetting the night altogether. Instead, you stay up tossing and turning, your mind filled with memories consisting of only Jungkook and his haunting voice singing to you, and for you. But at some point during the night nearing one or two in the morning, just when you give up on the idea of sleep, the sound of incessant knocking at your front door rouses you from your trance.

When you finally answer the door, you’re more than surprised to see that Jungkook stands on the other side of the threshold as if coming to you from a dream. But then you register the fact that he’s a complete mess. Dark circles line his weary eyes, now smudged with that faint hint of charcoal liner he had worn for the concert, hair so messily mused beyond repair, and you notice quickly that he’s crying, fresh tears glazing over his pupils and streaking down his face. It’s startling to see him in such shambles, a complete contrast to how effortlessly charming and confident he usually portrays himself. But though you’ve seen him cry before on various occasions, now is all the more unsettling.

“I━I’m sorry.” It’s the first thing he says, screwing his eyes shut tightly as he shakes his head. He fumbles over his words, slurring them together in his rush to get them out. “I know I’m probably the last person you want to see right now, but I needed to see you.”

“Are you drunk?”

“No, no, I swear━” He pries his eyes open to meet your desolate stare, tears unabashedly falling from his lashes. His voice thins with desperation. “You said we need to stop pretending, but I’m not pretending. I never have been. And if you think ━ if you truly believe ━ that there’s nothing here between us anymore… Tell me. Right here, right now. And I’ll leave you alone forever, you’ll never have to see me again. I just━ I’ve missed you every moment and it kills me.”

You’re silent for a long period, pitying gaze sweeping over him, but he doesn’t care if he looks insane. He just needs you to know how he feels.

“Well, how do you think I felt?” You ask the question carefully, but then the memories come flooding back and the semblance of a scowl forms on your face. “You leave and suddenly everywhere I look I see you. Your song is playing everywhere, you and the guys are everywhere, and I’m reminded every day about how we ended. About how you left me.”

Jungkook blinks. He shakes his head stubbornly, the nerves in the corner of his jaw fluttering as he grits his teeth. “You were the one who said we should take a break.”

“A break!” You snap sternly. “Fuck, Jungkook. I didn’t want you out of my life forever. I wanted you to fight for me.”

“No, don’t put this all on me,” Jungkook pleads helplessly. “I have always fought for you. But the minute things got rough, you bailed. You told me you never wanted to see me again. What the hell was I supposed to do?”

“I was scared!” You try to swallow the tears away that start to form as a lump in your throat but to no avail. “I was, and I still am, so fucking scared of losing you. And you━ It felt like you gave me no choice. Like you were over it. I would have wanted to make things work but you left. You just… You left, and suddenly it was like you were never in my life at all. Seven months, and I get no word from you.”

“I fucked up, okay!” He cries out so suddenly, it silences you at once. He bites at his lip, and straightens up half-heartedly, running a hand through his hair. When he meets your stare this time, he’s zealous yet sincere. “I know that I messed up. I know. And it fucking kills me every single day. I don’t know where it went wrong, but it did, and I know it’s all my fault. When you said we should take a break and I agreed, I was only thinking about you. Because I knew I was disappointing you every day, and I was afraid that was all I would ever do, and you don’t deserve that. I thought it would be better this way, if I was just gone from your life for good. But I can’t forget you.”

“How can I trust you?” You ask. When his pained stare gawks at you, you tilt your chin a little higher. “I came by your hotel room yesterday morning, just like you asked, only to see that girl leaving.”

Jungkook’s gawk turns into a dumbfounded expression. He looks weary as he shakes his head, as if struggling to keep up with the way you accuse him now. He tries not to focus on the fact that you actually came to the hotel, then feels inconsolably terrible when he realizes why he never got to see you. “That girl was Namjoon’s fling. We were sharing the suite, and they were in a whole other room. I didn’t even think about her━”

Your stare droops from him, and he knows he’s struggling to keep you on his side.

“Okay, fine. You want trust? I’ll give it to you,” he says. A newfound sense of confidence seems to possess him, though he approaches the topic with extra caution anyway. “After we broke up, I was crushed. I couldn’t move on from you, and the guys thought I should get drunk, find a random girl to bring back to our hotel one night on tour. And I listened, because I wanted to forget you, but it didn’t work. All I could think about was you. Every time she touched me, every time she kissed me, I could only imagine it was you. And when she left that night, I broke down because I felt like such a fucking idiot. I instantly regretted it. Like, even though you and I weren’t together, I still did something to hurt you by sleeping with that girl. And all it did was hurt me too in the process.”

He pushes himself forward, taking a step over the threshold. Even despite him admitting his wrongs to you, you can’t find it in yourself to hate him. Because, at the end of it all, he’s here at your doorstep, pleading for you to forgive him, but he had already won the moment your eyes had landed on him.

“You’re the reason I am who I am today.” His voice is hoarse when he speaks, almost in a whisper. “That I get to do what I love for a living. But all of it means nothing without you. You saw me at my worst, and my best. And you were the best I ever had, and I ruined it, and the worst part of it all is that there’s nothing I can do to make up for it. But I promise I can make it better ━ I can make it right again ━ if you just give me a chance.”

There’s a short pause filled with poignant silence in which Jungkook thinks you’ll push him away or scream at him. He’s fortunate when you do neither; instead, he hears you whisper faintly.

“Kiss me, Jungkook.”

And it’s more than enough for him. His heart thrums in delight as he wastes no time in reaching out for you. His hands are warm as they come to grasp at your face, holding you delicately; then he’s leaning in to you, drawing you closer and closer until his lips are pressed against yours. It’s unadulterated, but not without feverish passion, noses smushing together in both your eager hastiness to close the distance between the two of you. It doesn’t last long either, though that’s partly because Jungkook can taste your tears mingling on your lips, and can feel your faint smile form against his mouth. Kissing him feels both foreign yet familiar at the same time. You know the feel, the taste, and the sense of comfort that comes with it, but months apart from one another has left it feeling different.

Jungkook’s thumb wipes away at the tears on your face. “Why are you crying?”

It’s a useless question, he knows, but he needs something to fill the silence. He’s relieved when he hears you snicker. “Because I miss you, you idiot. And I’m sorry I’ve been acting like such an idiot. I’ve messed everything up.”

His own shoulders quiver with contented mirth. “It’ll be okay.” As he leans in once more for another kiss, you can feel him murmur against your mouth, “I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“Then make it right,” You say, “right here and now.”

“I’ll do anything for you,” he promises earnestly.

Jungkook understands the underlying yearning in your voice even without having you explain yourself. He knows, if only because he can feel it too. As his hands fall to your waist, fingers digging into your skin, your own arms wrap around his neck and pull him into your apartment. He has you pressed up against the nearest wall within seconds, kissing at your throat, then up to your jawline.

“It’s been so long,” he sighs.

You hum in agreement, though your mind is already spinning, and all you can muster is a weak yet urgent croak of his name. “Jungkook.”

Your fingers thread through his hair, tugging at the roots and he croons with delight. His lips finally meet yours again, only this time he lets his tongue lav at your lower lip. Almost as soon as he does so, you notice something strange. It takes a moment for you to register the small metallic object that grazes your lower lip but when you do, you pull away from the boy.

“What’s wrong?” Jungkook asks in a confused dazed.

“Is that…” You rasp. “Did you get your tongue pierced?”

Suddenly, Jungkook is smirking, one brow shooting up to his hairline in a smug demeanour. He sticks out his tongue for you to see the silver ball poking through and you almost moan at the sight of it as the thought entices you.

“Oh.” Your face warms with a flustered blush. “That’s new.”

“Yeah,” he says. “Always wanted to get it done. Guess I was saving it for the right moment.”

“Right moment, huh?” You scoff as if the implications don’t already have your thighs rubbing together. “Care to explain?”

“I think you’ll find out soon enough.”

You dissolve into a fit of giggles, marvelling at the way Jungkook’s familiar flirtatious bantering can soothe your troubled heart at once. It’s almost as if time hasn’t lapsed between the two of you.

“I’ve missed this,” You sigh. “I’ve missed you, Jungkook.”

You spot him smiling before he’s kissing you again, this time his tongue slipping past your parted lips to meet yours midway. The piercing is strange to adjust to, but you get used to it quickly, humming at the feeling of it against the soft flesh of your tongue. It’s easy to get lost in one another’s lips as you pull and tug at Jungkook, guiding him to your bedroom, nearly tripping and stumbling over one another in the process. He knows the path like the back of his hand, the same way he knows every curve and dimple of your body as his greedy hands explore you. He has you sprawled out beneath him on the bed in a matter of seconds, carelessly shedding each other of your clothes until you’re left naked and he’s without a shirt.

As he’s tugging off the hoodie you’re wearing, he realizes two things abruptly. One: you’re not wearing anything beneath it, your bare body dazzling him at once. And, two: a sudden thought jogs his memory that makes him ponder aloud, “Is this my sweater?”

“Yes,” You admit sheepishly.

He smirks. “Was wondering where it went.”

“You forgot to take it back when…” You don’t finish your sentence. Instead, you tug your fingers at the hair at the nape of his neck, as if scared he’ll leave again. He doesn’t. Instead, he nestles his body between your legs, tonguing patterns on your neck. “I wear it sometimes, especially when I’m missing you. I don’t know… It just━ It still smells like you, even after all this time.”

Jungkook’s heart nearly implodes. He wonders briefly if he’d prefer fucking you without or with the hoodie; but then he’s letting himself time to study your naked body and he deduces he needs to gaze at you in your entirety a little longer.

“Keep talking,” he murmurs. He starts kissing down your body now, starting from your throat to your collarbones, between the valley of your breasts, then your navel. “Tell me more. How badly did you miss me?”

“So badly,” You whimper. Your legs instinctively part to make way for him as he shifts downward, kissing just above your core. A shudder runs down your spine when he kisses the inside of your thigh. “Sometimes I’d put your sweater on and touch myself to the thought of you.”

He grunts against you, teeth softly biting at your flesh. His tongue pokes against your thigh, the metallic piercing a dully cold sensation as he licks upward to your core. He laps at your folds, as if to taste the glistening cum that starts to form.

Your breath audibly hitches in your throat, hips jutting forward to meet his mouth. “I missed your hands, and the way they made me feel. Missed your mouth between my legs. Missed cumming on your tongue, or your fingers.”

Now, you’re starting to understand what he meant by waiting for the right moment to use the piercing to its fullest potential. As he lifts his head higher to tongue at your clit, the piercing makes your head spin. The contrast between his soft tongue and the harsh metal works wonders against you, rubbing you just the right way that has you a moaning mess beneath him within a matter of seconds.

“Fuck━” You cry out, hands twisting in his hair. “My hands never feel the same. You always made me feel so good, Jungkook.”

He hums something in response, the sound reverberating up your spine. He busies himself by replacing his tongue with his finger, rubbing small, controlled circles against your clit as he lowers his mouth to your folds. He teases the piercing against the sensitive flesh before lapping at your insides, burrowing further into you.

“Ooh, Jungkook━”

The noise that eclipses your throat is a piqued sob of delight. The piercing that scratches against your walls has your insides throbbing, body twisting and turning beneath him. You grab at your breasts, fingers pinching at the perked buds as you imagine Jungkook’s hands in replace of yours.

His mouth wraps just right around you and he sucks hard, earning a beautiful moan from you. It doesn’t take long for you to draw closer to your high, sputtering and whimpering at every action he does. Soon he’s burrowing his face even closer against your core, nose nudging against your clit in a way that makes you writhe and squirm. Before he can get carried away (and he certainly could), Jungkook decides to come to a stop which seems to thoroughly surprise and upset you. When you feel his missing warmth between your legs and the sticky wet mess accentuated further by the cool air that hits you, you pout like a child.

“That’s not fair,” you whine.

“Sorry, baby. Need to feel you.” He pulls away from you and crawls over your body once more. He kisses your lips, sloppy and heated, and lets you taste your own succulence on your tongue. “God, I need to feel you so bad.”

You’re just as much startled as you were seconds ago to hear the slight whine in his voice, a sound hot enough to almost push you over the edge.

“I’ve missed you too, just so you know,” he moans, burrowing his face in the crook of your neck. Your fingers continue to scratch delicately at his scalp and he simpers delightfully against you. He ruts his hips eagerly against yours, the bulge in his pants rough against your core. “So fucking much.”

“How much?” Now it’s your turn to ask, your curiosity getting the best of you once you find your voice.

“Every day,” he sighs as he continues to grind his hips into yours. “Get so hard at the thought of you. Your pretty mouth moaning my name. Your hands in my hair, just like this━” You pull a little tighter at the roots of his locks, and he has to stifle his contented moan. “And your body━ Fuck, your body. You take my dick so well, baby.”

“Jungkook,” You mewl impatiently. “Wanna feel you in me.”

“Fuck, okay. Okay━”

He hastens to rid himself of his pants and you help, arms momentarily tangling with one another in your rush. Then he’s kneeling before you, one hand planted firmly on your hip, rings digging roughly against your skin, as his other hand wraps a fist around his hard length, slowly pumping himself. He guides the tip of his leaking cock to your core and pushes himself forward carefully. He easily slips past your folds, coaxed by your slick walls, that he has to pause to give you both time to adjust to the feeling. It’s just as he remembered, though somehow better, and he isn’t so sure how long he’ll last. You don’t know either, marvelling in the way he stretches you open.

“Oh, shit,” he grunts.

He watches as your jaw drops open in a silent gap, your eyes fixed only on his. You grab at his hips, fingers scratching delicately over the laurel tattoos inked there, prompting him to move. He does so in one languid movement, burying deeper and deeper into you until you feel so full and he feels so warm. He fucks into you a little sluggish at first, taking his time and enjoying the way your clenching walls feel around his throbbing cock. It’s a pace so maddening that it soon has the both of you panting, heavy moans filling the space around you. Your own fingers dig into his shoulders, his back, his hips ━ anything to keep a hold on reality as you slowly lose yourself to the pleasure. He reaches for one of your hands, eager to feel you in more ways than one, and laces his digits with yours, pressing your clasped palms above your head. You squeeze tightly, his name falling from your lips in a cry.

“Doing so good,” he mumbles through gritted teeth. “Feel so nice, baby.”

Jungkook grasps at your hips and flips the two of you over. He lands on his back on the soft mattress and you fumble to not break the pace. Firmly planting your hands on his chest, you grind against him, sweat coating your forehead. He watches you with a dark fascination, brows screwed together and jaw clenched as your own cum starts leaking down his length. Not wanting to waste another moment without being beside you, he sits up and shifts you in his lap. Then he pulls you close to him, chest pulled flush against chest to the point where he can feel the rapid beat of your heart against his. You whimper aloud, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck as he guides your hips back and forth on him. There’s little to no space between your gyrating bodies, sweaty skin sticking to one another.

At some point, Jungkook notices you’re crying again, steady tears tangling in your lashes and wetting your face. Despite the way you’re driving him to near euphoria, he brushes your hair out of your face and manages to ask, “What’s wrong? Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“I’m sorry━ fuck,” You gasp. He can tell you’re genuinely sympathetic for whatever’s making you cry but it’s hard for you to convey it properly when you’re still so consumed by him. “I’m so sorry━ I’m okay. I just━ You feel so good, Jungkook.”

“It’s okay,” he whispers, rubbing tender circles against your waist that contrasts with the fierce burn between your legs. “You’re okay, baby. Doing so well for me, aren’t you? Cum for me, yeah?”

You won’t tell him why you’re crying ━ not yet, at least. But Jungkook thinks he knows why; he can feel it too. The bitter sense of longing and mingling regret for all the time lost. The overwhelming feeling of love of finally being reunited. You continue to roll your hips against his, and he, breathless, rubs his nose faintly against yours, resting his forehead against yours.

It doesn’t take much longer after that for you to come tumbling to you high. He strokes your hair so lovingly as you ride him recklessly, leisure rolls of your hips driving you to your high. When you cum, the feeling completely washes over you and electricity crackles in your veins, warming your entire body. He holds you close to his chest the entire time as you writhe with pleasure, your walls clenching around his cock.

“Fuck, I’m gonna━” His voice splinters off as you busy yourself by sucking a bruise onto the underside of his jaw.

He reaches his high moments later just as you’re beginning to wince at the feeling of oversensitivity. He grunts and groans, spilling his hot seed into you, and then, with his hips slammed against yours, grinds leisurely to ride out your highs.

Then, the room falls silent.

Neither of you move from your warm embrace, with you still perched on his lap, his cock softening inside you as his cum runs down his length and onto your thighs. Your face is hidden in the crook of his neck, and he waits until you’ve both calmed down from your orgasms. You’re running your fingers through his sweaty hair, but he knows you’re still sad. He kisses you all over in the meantime, a few ticklish kisses that make you smile sleepily and a few loving ones that have your heart swelling. Then, he gingerly shifts your head to look at him.

“Why were you crying?” he asks silently.

It takes you a moment to respond. You cling to him tightly when you do and all he can do is cradle you closer to him. “I don’t want this to be some kind of drunken one night stand thing. Like we both needed one last fuck to get over each other, or something."

“You mean more to me than a one night stand,” Jungkook says and it makes you smile smally, a little timidly.

“That’s good,” You say, “because I’m not over you or us. I want us to work out. I love you too much to lose you again, and I’m scared this might be the last time I’ll ever see you.”

“I’m not letting that happen,” Jungkook shakes his head furiously. “I’d be an absolute idiot to let that happen. You won’t lose me. I’m not going anywhere this time. You’re my priority, Y/N. You always have been. Not the band and definitely not the record label.”

“I’m sure the boys will love to hear that,” You snort to yourself.

“Yeah, well, I’m sure they’ll understand,” Jungkook grins. But you’re only joking, and you know he sort of is too. That’s not to say the band isn’t still important to him, but you take precedent over it. “Without you, I wouldn’t even have the chance to be where I am now.”

You nuzzle your nose against his own, and he steals one sweet kiss from you.

“Do you really mean all that?”

“With my whole heart.”

And, when he says it, you know he means it. There’s no reason not to trust him.

You’ll both move eventually from one another’s arms, soft touches from Jungkook peeling you off of him and wrapping you in your covers before falling asleep beside you, and waking up in the morning with you in his arms. But, for now, it’s just you and him, a little broken still yet all the more in love.

While you both know healing a broken heart will take time, you’re both prepared for it because you’re both worth it to one another ━ and that’s all either of you really need in the end to make it right.

⟶ Feedback is always appreciated!

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kindahoping4forever · 4 years

Text

Call Out My Name Like Lines From A Page // Calum Hood

I was blessed with this concept by an anon a couple weeks ago and almost immediately had to stop what I was doing to write it. Clownery in its purest form. Thank you for sharing, anon. And thanks to my fav Cal girl @cal-puddies for the advice (which for this piece was mainly yelling at me to finish it but still.)

Warnings: Boyfriend!Cal, shades of soft dom!Cal, manual and oral stimulation of a female, male masturbation, slight cumplay, this is basically PWP, ngl

Word Count: 2400

Masterlist // Taglist // Ko-Fi

Let me know what you think!

————-

“Hey, pretty girl, I didn’t think you’d still be up.”

It’s late when Calum walks into the bedroom, after a long day in the studio led to a late night blowing off steam at a bar downtown.

“Honestly didn’t mean to be, just got caught up reading,” you shrug, holding up your dog-eared paperback for him to see.

“Aw, well thanks for makin’ me feel special, love,” he jokes, leaning in to give you a kiss on his way to the bathroom.

You playfully bite his lip as he pulls away. “You know I didn’t mean it like that, needy,” you tease.

While Cal takes a quick shower, you get up, take your teacup to the sink and turn off the lights you’d left on in the living room for him. When you get back to the bedroom, he’s sprawled out on the bed in his black tank and grey sweatpants, reading the back of your book.

“Looks good,” he comments as you climb in next to him. “You know what’s also lookin’ good right about now…” He exaggeratedly raises his eyebrows in approval of the sight of you wearing only panties and one of his t-shirts; he reaches over and slides a hand up and down your bare thigh to test the waters.

You smirk at him. “Are you ever going to be able to go out and get tipsy without wanting to come home and eat me out?

“Oh, I come home wanting to get between your legs even when I’m stone cold sober, baby,” he replies, pecking at your neck, hand traveling higher to brush against your clothed center.

You giggle, basking in his attention for a minute and then wriggle away from him. “I was actually hoping to finish my chapter before bed, babe,” you admit.

“I’ll wait,” he declares, passing the book to you.

You grin at his persistence. “It’s late.”

“You’ll stay up,” he insists, laying back with a cheeky smile.

You chuckle and resume your reading while Calum pulls out his phone and starts mindlessly scrolling. One hand remains stroking your thigh and you feel his eyes on you every so often and you have to admit, you like it; when he’s like this it makes you feel an irresistible combination of loved, desired and powerful.

You’re surprised that you actually get close to three pages read before his hand starts wandering again. Your eyes flicker over to him but his gaze stays fixed on his phone, as if the hand currently rubbing you over your panties has a mind of its own.

You are able to stay focused on the words in front of you for a few more paragraphs, until Cal’s hand slides beneath your panties and starts making contact with you; his fingers dip in and out of your wet folds, lightly tracing the geography of your pussy and you involuntarily rock your hips against them, looking for friction.

“Thought you said you could wait for me to finish my book, baby,” you complain playfully.

He brings his hand away from your thighs and turns to face you as he raises his fingers to his mouth and licks them clean. “I know a busy woman like you appreciates a good multi-task,” he shrugs.

You bite your lip at his boldness and tentatively return to your reading. He keeps to himself for a minute or two and then suddenly his hand is nonchalantly inside your underwear again. “I have less than 10 pages left, Cal,” you laugh.

“Sounds great, baby, take your time,” he nods casually, as he presses on your clit, causing you to jump.

Your voice is shaky as you say, “Instead of stretching out my panties, you can take them off, you know.”

He looks at you, amused. “Thought you said you wanted to finish your book,” he teases, pulling the material down and off your legs.

“Who said I wasn’t going to?” You fire back, eyes glowing.

Calum laughs in a delighted, low tone that goes straight to your core and moves to lay between your legs. “Fair point, love.” He traces a finger from your knee down your thigh, to just over the lips of your pussy. “We’ll see what gets finished first, you or that chapter.”

You raise the book to your face once again and try your best to focus despite his light strokes up and down your center. He’s having fun messing with you and that’s turning you on almost as much as his touches. You decide to push his buttons right back and quickly rid yourself of your shirt. He looks up to see you with your book in one hand and your breast in the other, tugging at your nipples. He groans.

Your brain manages to process some more words on the page and just as you’re about to turn it, you feel Cal’s tongue on you, licking a long stripe up your center. You shudder but keep reading. Unsatisfied with your reaction, he does it again; only this time, when he reaches your clit, he sucks it between his lips and you cry out. You feel him smile against you as he pulls back and goes back to tracing your skin with his fingertips.

This dance continues for the next few minutes: you gain your composure and keep reading, he teases you by slowly grazing his digits across your folds and just when it feels like you’ve gotten used to that, his mouth suddenly makes its move.

You’ve been staring at the same sentence for what feels like forever now and Cal’s mouth is firmly attached to your clit, swirling and suckling. You notice the hand that had been bruisingly gripping your thigh isn’t there anymore and you peer over your book to see he’s shifted his body so that he can get a hand on his cock. You assumed he had been rutting up against the bed, he usually can’t help it when he goes down on you, but you still moan when you see the tell-tale wet spot on his sweatpants.

“Cal…” you breathe, setting your book down to thread your fingers through his hair. “I give up… fuck… just want you to make me cum.”

He pulls away from you. “I don’t know, baby, that chapter seemed really important to you, I wouldn’t want you to be left wondering,” he says with a slight edge to his voice. He gets up and looks directly at you as he strips off his clothes and wraps his hand around his cock. “Keep reading and I’ll let you cum.”

You whine in frustration and he scowls at you with disdain; Cal doesn’t get like this too often, usually after a stressful day, sometimes after a night out. It’s undeniably hot, especially when the memories flood your mind during the months you’re alone while he’s on tour, but in the moment it’s unbearable.

He gets back on the bed and gets next to you, on his knees; he purposefully strokes his cock in front of you and leans down to let the precum he’s just teased out fall onto your nipples. You suck your lip and start pawing at your breasts but he swats your hands away and reaches over to pick up your book and shove it in your hands before crawling back between your legs.

Calum nips at your thighs, waiting for you to resume your task before he’ll resume his. You impatiently buck your hips and lament, “Baby, please, I shouldn’t have made you wait.”

He shakes his head and shifts again so you can see him touching himself. “That doesn’t look like you reading, does it, pretty girl?” He groans as he teases over the head of his cock. “Told you I could wait for you then, I can still wait now.”

You grumble and hold your book up, hands shaking as you turn the pages to find your place. He purrs his approval and licks a long stripe up your pussy as a reward. You try to continue and do what he asks but he’s devoting all of his attention to you now, tongue alternating between dipping inside your entrance and dancing around your clit. Just when you’ve started to recover from one sensation, he switches it up and your entire body trembles.

You realize you’ve been on this particular page for quite a long time and have absorbed none of it; your lust-addled brain tells you there’s no way Cal could possibly know that though and you turn the page anyways, hoping he’ll reward your progress and let you cum.

A glimmer of hope shoots through you as he lifts his head up and coos, “Another page? Great job, baby.” A knowing look spreads across his face as he sinks back down to you and growls, “Now read to me.”

Dread and confusion washes over you. “Cal… no,” you whimper.

He shrugs at you. “Seems like such a good book, I’d like to hear some of it, please,” he says in an even tone, as if he isn’t currently squeezing his cock. “It’s had no problem holding your attention so far.”

You take a breath and start to read aloud. It takes a couple of tries for you to make any sound, your throat is so fucking dry. Every sentence comes out in a voice that’s not your own, every word is a struggle, every letter looks like an unknown alien symbol. You could be making this all up off the top of your head for all you know, it feels like you’re speaking in tongues.

Calum makes good on his word and continues to eat you out dutifully as you move swiftly through the book; a moan escapes you every now and again and whenever he applies suction to your clit, you let out a series of gasps that you fear will make him stop and reprimand you, but he never does. You can tell he’s getting desperate too, you can feel him grunting against you as he works.

Your voice is barely audible as you announce, “Cal… babe… laaa… last page…”

He looks up at you, fire in his eyes, your wetness on his face. “Doing so good for me, baby,” he praises, panting almost as much as you are. “Let me have it.”

You’ve never read faster in your life; your eyes fly over the page and you’re speaking at a lightning pace. You’re actively thrusting against Cal’s mouth now but he’s beyond the point of caring, he needs you to cum too. You see him rocking his hips against the bed, cock shiny, angry and longing for attention. He openly moans as he prepares to finally bring you over the edge, lips attaching to your clit and not intending to let go until you finish.

You choke out the final few words and fling the book across the bed, hands rushing to dig into Cal’s hair. Now that you’re able to be fully focused on his actions, you can feel your climax building with great intensity. One long whine is all you’re able to manage as your orgasm plows through you; your hips thrash wildly against his face, you tense up so hard your body seems to fold in on itself and you squeeze your eyes shut so tight you can see stars.

He licks you through it, murmuring in encouragement; he pulls away at the first sign of oversensitivity but he lingers around your thighs, pampering you with soft kisses and reassuring tones. As soon as your body starts to relax and your breathing slows, he’s sitting up and frantically tugging at his cock.

You’re absolutely spent from what you’ve just experienced but the sight of your boyfriend so desperate to get himself off just from pleasuring you has you immediately feeling needy again. You can’t seem to find your words yet so you just whimper and reach for him.

Cal gets next to you, hand working his shaft relentlessly; he’s breathing in that pronounced way that tells you it won’t be long before he’s finished. He starts to lean in and you sit up on your elbows to meet him halfway, kissing him hungrily. You don’t want to disrupt the rhythm he has going on his cock so you scratch your nails up and down his thigh, which makes him groan into your mouth.

His hand speeds up as he starts panting your name and that needy feeling washes over you again. You get his attention by squeezing his thigh; he opens his eyes to see you sitting there with your mouth open, tongue out, waiting to be filled with his cum.

“I fucking love you, baby,” he sighs as he scoots closer. He lays the head of his cock on your tongue and gives himself just a few more strokes before you feel warm cum shooting across your mouth. He moans as he slows his pace but maintains a firm grip, making sure he gives you every drop he has. You’ve earned it.

Once he’s finished, he drops his hand and his head and lets out a giant sigh. Before he can pull back, you make quick work of taking him into your mouth under the guise of cleaning him up; really, you just wanted to taste him for even a minute longer.

Calum murmurs in protest and pulls away, collapsing onto the pillow next to you; he pulls you into him and you rest your head on his chest. You lay there for a few minutes, listening to each other’s breathing, enjoying the comfortable silence you often find yourselves in after being intimate.

“Never been more proud to be such an avid reader,” you joke, pressing a kiss to his chest tattoo.

He lets out that surprised raspy laugh you love that always happens when he’s tired. “Lucky my girl’s such a nerd,” he teases, squeezing you close.

Cal sits up and reaches across the bed to retrieve your discarded book. You watch curiously as he pats around the sheets and glances at the floor before he hands it to you and says sheepishly, “Sorry, baby, dunno where your bookmark ended up. Looks like we lost your page.”

A wide grin spreads across your face as you take the book and pull him back down to you. “I don’t think I’ll mind starting back from the beginning.”

—-

My tag list is breaking my posts atm so apologies if you get tagged more than once/don’t get tagged at all while I figure out what the problem is!

—-

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#5sos smut #calum hood smut #calum smut #calum hood fic #5 seconds of summer smut #kindahoping4forever #smut #kh4f fic #Call Out My Name Like Lines From A Page #kh4f requested #shouts to this anon I really was inspired by this lol #popped out about 1k of this in one sitting #honestly tho what a dream am i right #not since the Pizza Hut book club has reading been so rewarding for a person #Feedback is appreciated #thank you for reading!!!

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thevoilinauttheory · 3 years

Text

The Funeral

[ FFxivWrite2021 Prompt 29: Debonair ]

[ Content Warnings: passive suicidal ideation; death and blood mentions ]

[ Just want to note here... that this started as one thing and ended as another and don’t have the energy to change it because it ended up being so long lol I wanted to try something different, but then it went *way* different, so. Uh. Here you go! 😂 official video not posted due to the fact that it was flashing enough to bother me, so it might bother someone else. ]

youtube

“He’s a strange one, that’s for sure. Have you seen him ever show an onze of emotion?” “He may be the eldest, but do they really think he’d be the best heir?” “He’d run the family into the ground, if given the chance.”

He could hear them through the walls, the jabs at his character. How dare they? Was he not the perfection the rest of the noble community sought? Or was it his perfection that made them think as such? His ears twitched. Someone was coming, and by the weight of the footsteps…

“Cedre, Mother wishes to speak with you.” Sylvain gripped at the hem of his shirt - nervous. All of his siblings were intimidated by him. All of the people he would call his friends did the same. Cedrenaux stood from the bench he sat on, waiting for his parents to call him in. This gathering was supposed to be one of levity, other houses joining them for a single night of enjoyment. It was always too bright in here. The bright blues, the bright reds, the bright violets and whites and lights. Dear gods, the lights. He spoke no words to his brother, passing by him in some furied silence. Or, what Sylvain would think as he passed by.

“Cedrenaux, dear! Look at you, dressed to the nines~.” His aunt was the first to applaud him - for what, exactly? He never knew. All of them praised him for some unholy reason. “Well, it is only proper for him to be dressed so.” His mother was a walking contradiction. Doting, and yet, not so easily impressed. She brushed some of his stray hairs down, the wavy near-curls springing up to their own liking. Despite the fact that he was old enough to do so himself, old enough to speak for himself, he did not. “I want you to meet this lovely girl,” She turned him towards a beautiful woman, slightly older than him; fair skin, chestnut hair, what wondrous green eyes. “This is Cassandra Babineaux, under House Dzemael. Cassandra, this is my eldest son--” “Cedrenaux. A pleasure.” His voice was dry, it said anything but. He offered her a formal bow. “You two are to spend much time together, in fact, why don’t you get to know each other a bit more now?”

“Cassandra is to be your bride, Cedrenaux, you must compose yourself well.” “Yes, Mother.” He stood still as his mother fussed over his appearance, brushing lint from his shoulders, straightening his jacket. While it was infuriating to be coddled like a child, he let her do her thing, letting out a short sigh when she stepped away. “While this marriage is arranged, you two have gotten along so well - we thought it best that you would propose to her in a traditional fashion as well. I am certain it would mean a lot to her.” “Yes, Mother.”

He couldn’t stand her. There was always something off about the woman. To be married to her was going to be a long road, one that would likely never end - not until he was at the end of his days. The temptation was there - death would be far preferable, but he knew that his family needed this. After the accurate accusation of his grandmother as a heretic by the Dzemaels - his mother’s mother, worse off - they needed to make amends to the House. To prove that just one was enough. Once his mother left him, he took himself to the closest mirror. His hair was tied up in a bundle of wavy curls, not quite untamed, though no less annoying. He pulled the band from it, letting it fall loose; using his fingers to comb it out. Princely, straight from a faerie tale - that’s what Cassandra had called it. Disgusting.

“Cedrenaux?” A soft voice peered through the door, nervous and shaking. “Isabelle, is something amiss?” “N-No, not… not really. You look upset.” “...I am.” “Is it the marriage?” “...” He nodded slowly as he strode to the door, opening it fully for his youngest sister. She was easy to talk to, she had no room to judge anyone else, nor did she have a habit of doing so. “It’ll… be okay, I think.” Cedrenaux shook his head. “No, it will not. I do not like her in the slightest.” “But you got along so well…” “Because I was forced to… I do not want to marry, and especially not her.” “Why is that?” “Aside from a bad feeling…? I… I cannot say.” He muttered to himself, eyes to the floor, a crack in his usual expression. “...I simply do not like any aspect of her.” “Have you found another lady that caught your fancy?” “....” How was he supposed to answer that? He opted for another shake of his head. “No. I have had no interest in any of them. I have been putting my focus into my studies.” “I see.” She needed no other words to explain, she only smiled. “It’ll be okay. I can feel it. In the end, it’ll be okay.”

“I… am at a loss for words.” “Cedre, dear, please, I didn’t mean--” “Did not mean…? For what? To take on another man, force him into marriage? We have two children, Cassandra - that something like this happened is beyond me.” “You’re not… leaving, are you?” “Your kind are not wont to change.” “B-But.. the kids-” “Are in your capable hands. Perhaps you will no longer find your eyes wandering when you are pressured to do the job I have been doing whilst you were galavanting about with another man. The poor sod better be thankful he got away when he could.” “...Not without stealing the better half of our funds…” “Of your funds. Good riddance too.” “Cedre y-you sound so…” “Pleased? Gods be, I am. I had been looking for years for a way to get you far from me.”

Those words were heartbreaking to anyone who would hear them - and a relief to the one who said them. Cedrenaux finally felt a weight off of his shoulders. Such a relief to breathe out. “Since we are on that topic, I had never liked you to begin with - we were only together thanks to our parents.” “L-Love, I--” “Do not address me as such, lumping me in with the Brume rabble you called your lover. Of course, I side with him - the abuse you have fed both of us.” “You would punish our children over this?!” The shock wore off, it turned to anger. “Hm? I am sorry, did you say “our”? No, no. They are your children now. You can disclude me from the picture. Of course, I did already speak to them. They are old enough to understand how rotten you are, and thankfully, old enough to know how to ruin the rest of your days. Of course, in the end, you will have wonderful heirs to your house and name. Seeing as I taught them as such.”

“What would your mother say once you came home? She’d be disappointed, angry. She’d make you come back.” “Oh, do not worry. Your backstabbing name will be littered upon the ears of others, I am certain my mother will be just fine with it.”

“Please, wait! Wait, I have evidence!” Cedrenaux tried to push his way past the Templars which guarded the Vault. Guarded the trial - the trial against his parents. He held above him the papers, the ones that showed their innocence. “They are not guilty, you must hear me!”

“Lord Voilinaut.” One of the clergy approached him - a tone that made his heart sink. She took the papers from him, a slight twitch of shock. “I apologize, my lord, but you are too late. Their sentence was held a quarter of a bell ago. These papers, however -...” She shook her head. “This would not be enough, though I will see to it that these are filed properly so that no future mistakes will happen.”

“Y-You… admit… it was… a mistake?” He could feel it, it boiled under him, made his skin itch. He bared his teeth in a scowl, words sharp with his shouts. “You would murder for your own sakes?! They were not guilty! If I could find the evidence, why could you not have?!” The Templars struggled to keep the young lord from attacking the clergywoman, having to catch him by his collar and arms. “I apologize, my lord. I do not oversee the investigations, but I shall apprise them of the situation so that no others will have to face an injustice like this.” Cedrenaux managed to settle himself, composing with a sigh. “...Very well… so long as it does not happen again. You will regret the next time it does.”

He could hear the papers burning in the room she had left to.

“I apologize for the inconvenience, sir. If I could ask a favor of you…” An Elezen, far taller than he - though who would not be? Even the hyurs in the city were taller than him. Dressed in nobles’ clothes, light hair, fair eyes. “And you are?” “Tristan.” “...Tristan.” “My… full name is rather long, and this moniker suits me well.” “I see, and what can I do for you?” “...It…” Tristen looked about for any passerbys. “Perhaps we could sit over here, it… concerns a rather personal matter.” He gestured to the gazebo of the Voilinaut’s estate. Cedrenaux nodded, leading in taking a seat.

“I… have heard many things. I would clarify if they are true or not, and if they are… perhaps you could listen to my plight. I have heard that upon your divorce with Cassandra, your parents were tried for heresy.” “...That is true. You know of Cassandra?” “I know that she is behind it - ah… I know… from personal experience, as she has done the same with my family. They are currently in a gaol awaiting their sentence.” “How do you know?” “...She screamed at me as such when I pushed myself from her.” “You were…?” “Also married, yes. At the time you were.” “You certainly do not look the part of the man I had found her with. Do you mean to say she was doing as such with three individuals?” “I am, yes.”

Cedrenaux folded his arms over his chest, inhaling sharply. He closed his eyes to think, ears twitching to the sounds of other gossip from down the road. “...And what favor would you ask of me.” “That I may remain in your estate as a guest, until I am given my home back after the investigation. I am without one, currently.” “....” He wasn’t keen on sharing his home with strangers, especially since they were in the process of moving furniture out; sorting through paperwork and memories. How could he not lend aid to another who has shared this pain - who will share this pain. He knew that Tristan would not see his family again. Cedrenaux nodded slowly, bringing a bright smile to Tristan’s face. “I thank you, sir,” “Cedrenaux.” “I thank you, Cedrenaux. For your kindness.” He shook his head. “...Do not worry of it. My family will see to it that you will have a place to stay. Do excuse the mess.”

With a heavy thud, Tristan had his back trapped against the wall. Such brashness was rewarded with the second heavy emotion he had shown - first anger, now… Cedrenaux sputtered under his words, some semblance of fear on his face as his fingers clutched into the hem of his own shirt. Tristan let out a bright laugh, that perfectly playful smile. He was so forward, how could anyone act without shame - or at least thought to their actions. Or, perhaps he did think it over and--

“You’re so adorable like this!” Tristan pushed off the wall to let Cedrenaux have some breathing room. “L-Like what? What do you mean?” Despite the blatant display of emotion, and the catch of his teeth on his lips, his voice still stayed dry and even. “C’mon, I know you’re not that much of an idiot.” Silence. There was no response - he definitely was not that much of an idiot, still--

“Why?” “Why not?” He was nudged with an elbow. “The moons I’ve stayed here, you have shown nothing but care and kindness to your family - and myself. Of course, not everyone would call it that, but… you really are adorable.” Tristan leaned forward to pinch his cheek. His smile faded as he lowered his voice. “You have a lot of qualities about you that no one else does, something the rest of Ishgard needs. You exude safety, protection, you’re diligent - strong.” His smile came back with something softer. “They don’t see it, but I do.”

“...” Cedrenaux looked down to the floor - he was tense from the surprise, but it was relief that came from his breath. “Thank you.” It took a bit, a little moment, but he smiled. Nothing as bright as the man’s in front of him, but it existed. He took a careful step forward, hesitant, like he wasn’t quite sure what he was doing… but he wrapped his arms around him, tucking his head into Tristan’s chest. “....” He smelled of Starlight - he wouldn’t forget that. Pine and cinnamon, a fresh fire, winter air. It was… it was comforting. It reminded him of the times he could truly be a child with no worry of others’ thoughts. “...Thank you…” His voice was soft now, afraid to speak aloud. Gods, if his siblings saw him.

Even Tristan was surprised by the forward action on Cedrenaux’s part, but he wrapped his arms around him, holding him close as he placed his head atop his. “Just one night?” “...Just one.”

One night turned to moons - moons of a fleeting emotion.

“Is Lord Tristanaireux in? We received word that he would be staying with your house.”

Several Templars were at their door. Cedrenaux knew exactly what that meant. “The investigation is over then? Should he return home?” “...He is, yes.” Their hesitation said otherwise. He saw that too. “Is that right, then? I will escort him then, to make sure he arrives safely.” “There is no need for that, we will-” “I do not trust you. After the last time, I refuse to.” “My lord, we have found relics of heresy amongst his belongings. He needs to be turned in--” “You would lie to me, on my estate?” Cedrenaux’s voice got low, deep, something dark.

“A-Apologies, m-my lord…” “Leave. Come back when you have hard evidence that it is his, and that it was not planted by you nor anyone else.” “Sir, you will be tried, too, if--” “Learn your battles, boy.” The Templars at his door were armed, and yet they made no moves against him. As if they truly were afraid of just him alone.

“Lord Cedrenaux, is aught amiss?” Another lord from the Dzemael house, when would they leave him alone? “No, in fact, these kind gentlemen were here to let me know that my friend is allowed to return home. ...Yes?” His glare pierced them. He made these fools stand straight, near threatened into admitting so. “Is that so? I had heard just the opposite. Are you housing a heretic, Lord Cedrenaux?” “On baseless accusation. Show me the evidence, and I will turn him over.” “The Vault is already in the possession of the evidence, s-sir…” The Templars spoke up again. “Then tell them to show me.”

His continuance on their argument was cut short, with Tristan looming over his shoulder. “What’s going on now?” “Back inside, now.” The sound of his voice turned to urgency, he was thankful Tristan understood - the man took a hefty step back, just before the sharp cry. “Grab the heretic, now!” Without so much as a second thought, the Templars trampled over Cedrenaux to seize Tristan from the hallway - dragging him out to the streets as he kicked. “Let go! I know naught of what you speak!”

As Cedrenaux found the strength to pick himself up off the floor, his eyes turned to the door - to the road - to the people across from his home - to the smile of the woman standing there. Her.. this was her fault. “Tristan!” His boots skid along the stone as he broke into a sprint. “Cedre!” The sound of his name was cut with a cry and grunt, a chained elbow smashed into his face - thrown into the ring in which the trial was being held. “Stop! I beg of you, please think before you act!”

It felt like the trial held for his parents, another mistake - another intentional mistake.

“The evidence was planted, my lords!” “By who.” They spoke to him, they addressed him. Gods be, he had a chance. “Cassandra Babineaux. She admitted to accusing not only his family, but mine as well, of baseless heresy. I had word that investigations would be thorough.” “What motives would she have to do this?” “We are both her ex-husbands, having committed adultery against us both - she seeks revenge for our leaving.” “Have the guard fetch this woman then.”

He could hear it, the sigh of relief from his love.

“I do not know what you speak, my lord! Why would I take the risk of being accused, myself? If I had planted it, I would have had the evidence on me at some point!” “Anything for revenge… first my grandmother, then my parents, now this…”

She lied through her teeth, she lied, and they both knew.

“Lord Cedrenaux, why would you accuse this woman of--” “Why would you believe her words over mine? Do you think me a liar, my lord? I have stood by and watched countless of my family die at your hands on false accusations - the truths brought to light, and still, you would do this?” “Why would you accuse me? I have found my love, I do not need yours nor his!” “Be- Because… I saw that look on your face, when I was on my way here, that smile of yours.” “Can I not greet you on the street?” “...” His jaw clenched. “Not when you just witnessed this man being dragged off.”

“Lord Voilinaut.” “Check her home, then, if you dare will! There’s plenty more evidence to plant, isn’t there?! One at a time, you will pick off those I love… who next, then? Sylvain? Valera? Isabelle?” He saw the corner of her mouth twitch at the mention of his youngest sister, that little detail. “Snake, impudent hag - you would harm such an innocent girl for your petty spite against me?!” Everything in his body could not stop him from lashing out, jumping on her in an instant - he only landed a single blow to her face before the Templars snatched him away from her.

“Calm yourself this instant!” The loud thud of a hand against the table snapped him from his rage. “You would conduct yourself in this manner, Lord Cedrenaux? Your accusation of your ex-wife is paranoia, that she is out to get you - she has clearly moved on. We will consider your evidence null.” “N-No, please! Do not harm him! He is innocent!” It was the first time he had ever cried, even as a baby; he screamed, but never shed a tear - he choked on his sobs. “Please…” He would resort to begging if it made it so, he sunk to his knees - he did not expect to hear the scream so close to his ears, so loud, it took up the room. He heard nothing else. The thump of the body on the floor, the spill of blood. The tile was stained with it.

Even as the room cleared, he did not move - he could not move. He cried, coughed, sobbed, screamed and yelled and begged what gods there were to make it stop.

In the end, all he could do was make certain that his family was safe.

#ffxivwrite2021 #prompt 29 #debonair #i could've done a number of prompts with this word #but if the first thing that came to mind was maximiloix's family #then imma make an excuse to write about them #hi #have cedrenaux #the second eldest of nine #i lied in that one prompt about sylvain #cedre's my fav next to maxim #i probably need a tag for off prompts like this lmao #history will be written #works for now #also #since he's mentioned like in the background #about: Maximiloix Voilinaut

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biconderoga · 4 years

Text

Scenario: Kuroo thought he had come up with a foolproof promposal

Word Count: 1,253

Kuroo Tetsuro x Fem! S/O

A loud resounding slam was heard throughout the gym. Then another, and another. It wasn’t anything unusual, since the volleyball club currently occupied the gym. However the members of the club could sense the tense mood that radiated off their captain. Their captain, Kuroo, aggressively spiked set after set. The intense gaze that he held made anyone in the area tense up.

Lev, who was unfortunate enough to make eye contact with Kuroo, shuddered, “Doesn’t captain seem a bit, on edge?”

Kenma shrugged, not even looking up from his game console, “Seems the same to me, Lev.”

“Are you sure? He’s really pushing Tamahiko through the wringer.”

Kenma sighed and paused the game on his console, “Why don’t you ask him if you’re so curious? I’m kind of busy here.” The shorter male resumed his game, completely ignoring the scowl that Lev formed.

After quietly mocking Kenma behind his back, Lev reluctantly listened to his advice. The lanky boy made his way towards Kuroo, careful to avoid any volleyballs that were shot in his direction. He took a deep breath, and practically screamed out, “What’s wrong captain?!”

Kuroo, who was about to jump for another spike, staggered and nearly tripped on his own foot. “Huh, what’re talking about?”

“You seem…” Lev paused, worried that he was about to set off an emotional bomb, “upset.”

“Is that so?” Kuroo rubbed the back of his neck, “You could say that. Had some bad luck this girl.”

Nearby, Yamamoto practically choked on his water. “A-a girl?! Kuroo Tetsuro, our captain, is having girl trouble?!” The wing spiker ran up to Kuroo, and clasped his shoulders, “So you aren’t some godly playboy?! How does it feel to be rejected for once!”

“I‘m not a playboy,” Kuroo deadpanned, “Just because some girls like me doesn’t mean I’m one. Can’t say you’d understand though.”

Yamamoto practically deflated, “Oh.”

“What girl was it?” Lev questioned.

Kenma, who was silent the whole ordeal piped up, “Was it that whole plan you had with S/O?”

Kuroo nodded, “Yep, clever as always! It was bad.”

The final bell had rang, and Kuroo rushed off to the culinary arts room. Usually the bed-headed male would loiter around the hallways or meet up with Kenma as he waited for practice to begin. However, this afternoon he was a man on a mission. This was because in a few weeks time, the ever renowned prom would be taking place at Nekoma High.

Normally Kuroo would be nonchalant about the whole ordeal. He had always pictured it being a night to hangout with friends. He would drag Kenma out of his room (then again that was a given for any social event) , and dance the night away with his friends. Just the usual stuff teenage boys would do. He hadn’t planned on asking a girl out.

Kuroo was well-known in Nekoma’s female populace, yet he never experienced a serious relationship. The kind where he would take a bullet for them. Sure, he’d push them out of the way, but his attraction never went to the ‘risking your life stage’. He never understood those coming-of-age films in which the male protagonist would drop everything to enact the perfect promposal for the love interest.

Despite all odds, Kuroo still found himself in his current situation. One girl had unknowingly pulled Kuroo into the stage where he would do anything for her! Kuroo had thought it was rather pathetic. To him, high school was a time to find yourself and make mistakes. He would dabble in romance as he studied away, but he never thought he would so hopelessly fall for a girl.

So now he understood those movie protagonists! For he too would want the best promposal for his crush. Kuroo had intricately planned it out. S/O, who was an avid member of the culinary club, enjoyed drinking coffee. So, Kuroo had based his plan around that. He enlisted the help of YouTube and figured out how to do the most basic of latte art! The second step of his masterful plan was to make it into the culinary arts before S/O did, and swiftly make them a latte. On top of the milky foam, he planned to write out in cursive ‘Prom?’.

Overall, it was a relatively simple plan and Kuroo was quite confident in his chances. S/O would swoon before she accepted, and then the night of prom he would ask to make things official!

As he mentally patted himself on the back, Kuroo had arrived to his destination. He had around ten minutes to work, as S/O was on cleaning duty that afternoon. He flicked on the room’s light switch and got to work.

As carefully as possible, Kuroo went about the process and made the latte. Then, it was onto the latte art. He grabbed a nearby toothpick and began to write his message. Just as he was about to add the finishing touches, the room’s door opened.

“Oh Kuroo! What’re you doing over there?” S/O walked into and attempted to peer over Kuroo’s shoulder.

Kuroo, who was shocked that she came earlier than expected, jolted. “Oh, hey,” He tried to play sauve, “surprised to see you here.”

“Kuroo, this is my clubroom.”

Kuroo rolled his eyes and pushed S/O to a nearby table, “Yeah, yeah. Sit down I have a surprise for you!”

S/O happily obliged to Kuroo’s request as she pondered on what the surprise could be. However, before she could get a solid idea of what it could be, Kuroo placed a cup in front of her.

A few seconds ticked by, and not a word was said. Kuroo nervously smiled, and hoped that S/O was just surprised, “So…?”

S/O awkwardly laughed, “Um…I don’t know how to respond to this?” She turned the cup towards him, “What do you mean porn? Is this a joke?”

“What?” Kuroo peered down to the cup, and lo and behold was a latte that said ‘Porn?’ in cursive. An uncharacteristic blush formed on his face. He was beyond embarrassed, how could he misspell prom?! “I was…It was supposed to say prom! I don’t know this could happen. I promise I’m not suggesting anything!”

S/O was shocked at the sight before her, the usually calm and stoic captain was a flustered mess! “Kuroo, don’t worry! It probably got messed up when I surprised you or when you brought it to me. It’s no biggie.”

“Yeah you’re right,” Kuroo rubbed the back of his neck, “and here I thought I had a foolproof promposal.”

“Oh? A promposal?”

“Yeah, but I to get to practice! See you S/O!”

“Hey wait!” S/O went to reach out for Kuroo’s sleeve, but he was gone in a blink of an eye.

Presently, Lev and Yamamoto intently listened to Kuroo as he ended his tale, while Kenma played his game nearby. Practice had officially ended, and the club was gathering up their equipment.

“Kuroo, you really are an idiot.”

“Ouch, Kenma, words hurt y’know?”

Kenma sighed at his friend’s antics, “Stop pitying yourself and get an actual answer from her.” With that, Kenma and the others left Kuroo alone.

Kuroo sat on a nearby bench and went to grab his phone. He opened his phone for the first time in a couple hours. He had a few notifications from his mom concerning dinner, but a recent alert caught his attention.

S/O had complimented the taste of his latte, and followed by asking if they should match with red or black.

Kuroo smiled down to his phone and quickly typed out black.

#imagines #scenarios #hq #haikyuu #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo tetsurō #hq kuroo #haikyuu kuroo #haikyuu x reader #haikyu scenarios #haikyuu imagines

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orangerosebush · 4 years

Text

On minds and matters

It was a bit disheartening to spend years working towards an MA in psychology, only to then use it on hour-long glorified eye-staring contests with the moody adolescents of the UK’s Vieux riches. His job paid well, though, and as such Dr. Po was willing to grit his teeth and soldier on through each meeting on his list.

He’d had plenty of patients who came to him determined not to progress. These were the boys who had a few too many write-ups on their files; the ones whose families were tired of their son being too 'emotionally high-maintenance'; the students who had consigned themselves to being one of the ‘troubled’ boys. The problem with elite boarding schools was that they sometimes served as the dumping grounds for wealthy families who would prefer to not be reminded of their screw-up children — as such, Dr. Po’s target demographic was made up of boys determined to ‘win’ therapy by going home just as bitter and in pain as they were when they started sessions with him.

He didn’t always make a breakthrough. Sometimes, he had patients who showed up to a session with a note from Dean Guiney excusing them from further meetings, and that was that. Dr. Po firmly believed that every single student he’d met with was capable of finding some coping mechanism or outlet that would help them — and he hoped that the students whose sessions stopped before any progress had been made found happiness in the future. Or, at the very least, that they found something that would bring them peace.

There were certain patients he’d had that stood out from the others, both for good reasons and bad. Artemis Fowl II was one of those patients — and standing out for reasons ‘both good and bad’ described Artemis perfectly.

Following a series of disastrous sessions when the boy was thirteen, Dr. Po had simply stopped seeing Artemis. The boy hadn’t even shown up with a note terminating their sessions. One day, a new boy had shown up in the time slot usually reserved for Artemis, and that had been that. Dr. Po hadn’t seen Artemis since. He vaguely remembered hearing the news that the Fowl patriarch had been found — alive — and not been sure whether to expect Artemis to get better or worse.

Would the return of his father foster the growth of the nascent emotional maturity that Artemis had exhibited in their final sessions? Or would Artemis’ worst traits — his tendency towards arrogance, his dismissal of others, his budding narcissism — firmly take root, defining Artemis’ personality for good? These questions nagged at Dr. Po, and truthfully, he was too cowardly to ask around the staff to confirm just what sort of person Artemis had become.

Thus, Artemis remained an enigma.

An enigma that just so happened to be sitting in the armchair across from Dr. Po, boring a hole through the doctor with his unflinching gaze.

In true Artemis Fowl fashion, the boy had shown up for a session that had been reserved without a name. Dr. Po had nearly dropped his clipboard when he’d opened the door to usher in his new patient and been greeted with a now fifteen years of age Artemis Fowl standing before him, looking simultaneously defiant and sheepish.

They’d both walked into the room wordlessly, waiting in silence as Dr. Po awkwardly rummaged around in his desk for his old notes on Artemis while the young teen sat gingerly in the patient seat in the middle of the room.

“You’ve not switched to a digital filing system?”

Dr. Po started, looking up at Artemis.

“No psychiatrist or counselor uses iPads or digital notetakers,” Dr. Po explained hesitantly, brow furrowing.

Artemis wasn’t one for small talk, usually.

Shaking his head slightly as if to right himself, Dr. Po continued. “It’d be convenient, but there are concerns about the patient being recorded."

Artemis seemed satisfied with that answer.

Flipping his notes closed, Dr. Po studied Artemis, who raised a single brow.

“I’ve never forgotten our session that you left in the middle of,” Dr. Po remarked, and the frown lines on Artemis’ face deepened. “You were such a smarmy child. But you… made this joke.”

Artemis leaned back in his chair, tapping a foot in annoyance. “What a wonderful memory you have.”

“Not really. But it’s hard to forget a patient like you, Artemis,” Dr. Po sighed. “I tried to ask you about your feelings — you responded by telling me a family heirloom was a blatant forgery.”

The memory caused Artemis to smile genuinely for the first time since he’d stepped into the office. “The fake Victorian?”

The doctor grimaced. “Yes.”

“Despite its lack of authenticity, it was a perfectly nice armchair,” Artemis assured, a gently teasing note worming its way into his voice.

Edged on by Artemis' demeanor softening, Dr. Po pushed on. “But back to the joke. I remarked on the loss of your father — insensitively, I now realize — and you shut down. You started jerking me in this way and that in order to prevent me from getting a real reading on you. You said something along the lines of, ‘I’m depressed that I’m going to therapy,’ I believe. Quite a bon mot.”

“I was impudent as a young boy, I’m afraid,” Artemis said breezily, sounding more amused by the tale than remorseful. “I hope you’ll forgive me for a poor first impression.”

“Artemis, why are you back in my office?”

Artemis didn’t even blink, taking the challenge in stride. “My mother believes it will be beneficial.”

“Your mother? Not you?”

“Correct.”

“And… beneficial? To what end? Elaborate on her reasoning, perhaps,” Dr. Po asked, trying to keep his tone light.

“She believes I am emotionally maladjusted,” Artemis said, giving a small shrug.

“Are you?”

Artemis blinked owlishly, the question not quite computing. “Am I what, doctor?”

Dr. Po clicked his pen idly. “Unhappy.”

“Well, of course.”

Dr. Po was unable to keep his face neutral, and Artemis chuckled slightly at the doctor’s wide-eyed gaping.

“Dr. Po,” Artemis sighed, sobering as if he were explaining something evident to a child. “Of course I am unhappy occasionally. I’m a very busy man. My intellect has made it so I’ve moved beyond the carefree days of adolescence — I’ve matured past an age where my mother could treat me as a child, and although I don’t mourn the loss of simpler times, I suppose she does.”

Dr. Po forced himself not to ask if Artemis had ever truly been treated as a child, deciding to steer clear of the topic of family based on how unproductively the discussion had gone years ago. Instead, he elected to place his clipboard on the floor, looking at Artemis bluntly.

“Artemis, I’m not diagnosing you with anything,” he began, holding up a hand when Artemis opened his mouth to say something. “What I want to discuss today, however, is that right now I see the same pain in you today as I did when you were thirteen — and since I’m no longer getting complaints from department heads, that means you’ve taken that frustration and turned it somewhere else.”

Artemis’ lips quirked upwards, but his eyes were mirthless. “You share my mother's theory that I am some variation of the tortured genius stereotype.”

“How about this — I think that you believe that there isn’t a person alive smart enough to help you. Because to 'fix' you, someone would have to look inside you, and you think you’re the only person that’s able to understand how you work.”

“How narcissistic of me.”

“I’ve met with a lot of people since our last session when you were thirteen,” Dr. Po stressed. “I’ve not met anyone quite as clever as you, but I’ve met people who fit the same profile. You’re well versed in my profession, so you’re able to view your pain as both a participant and as an outsider — and that strangely voyeuristic relationship to your mind makes it so you and all these other folks think that you’re objective. Logical, even, in your analysis of your mind. You understand every tick, every tiny mechanism, every structure of your psyche. And if you understand it all and you still can’t will yourself to be happy, then why the hell should I be able to do anything for you? After all, I’m just some idiot who decorates his office with forged antique furniture his grandfather was gullible enough to purchase. Why should I know better than you do?”

Artemis was silent at that.

“If someone can, say, convince themselves that all their peers are 2D caricatures of people, they’ll never have to think about why they struggle to feel any pleasure from social interaction. If they can look around and see how far their family has come, then they can force themselves to box up and discard the baggage of the past. If they can convince themselves that pain and genius are twins, that the torment is part of the gift by which they define themselves, then the fear they have that maybe they’re destined for a life marked by paranoia and apathy no longer has to be confronted,” Dr. Po tried, searching for some way to express his thoughts before Artemis decided to snap at him. “Maybe you’re the only one who sees the world as it really is. But maybe your mother is right to be concerned. I get why… that’s an unattractive possibility to you. It would mean your analysis of yourself was incorrect. And if you were wrong, if your mind has tricked you into running away from the change that you need to feel happier, then you’re just as human as the rest of us. Pain tricked you into believing its integral to your ‘youness’. You’re... just human. And let me tell you, Artemis, that feeling ineffectual, and frustrated, and sad is... so very painfully human.”

By the time he’d finished his spiel, Dr. Po’s voice was soft. Pursing his lips, he tried to see if he’d garnered any sort of reaction from Artemis. The teen remained stony-faced.

“I can recommend a therapist from outside Saint Bartleby’s,” Dr. Po finally said. “If you don’t want to work with me, then I don’t want to waste either of our time.”

Artemis seemed to be broiling with unreadable intensity, and for a moment Dr. Po worried that he’d start going on a diatribe.

His fears soon were proven unfounded when all of the sudden, Artemis seemed to deflate.

“I do not choose sadness for myself, Dr. Po. I can assure you that,” Artemis remarked, sounding weary in the way men twice his age did when confronted by the prospect of the world having moved on past their prime.

“I would never imply something so insensitive,” Dr. Po insisted. “But there is a difference between me saying something of that sort and me asking you to believe that I could help you. Or if not me, then someone better suited to working with you.”

Artemis ruminated on the statement, his tapered fingers tapping out an unfamiliar rhythm on the arms of the ornate chair he was sitting in.

“I will come to my session next week,” he finally decided, and Dr. Po almost sagged with relief.

Carefully, the two of them continued on with the session. Although it felt as though they were both walking on eggshells around one another, the hour-long session ultimately ended in a place where Dr. Po felt like they could work with. He walked Artemis to the door, and after awkwardly bidding him goodbye, Dr. Po retreated back into his office.

For a while, he simply sat at his desk, thinking.

It wasn’t as though he’d made groundbreaking headway with Artemis today. Frankly, they’d been only nominally productive following Artemis’ promise to give therapy a genuine attempt.

The day stretched on, and Dr. Po was no closer to making sense of the ever-present Artemis conundrum.

After all, how does one describe Artemis Fowl?

Various psychiatrists have tried and failed. The problem is Artemis’ own intelligence. He bamboozles every test thrown at him. He has puzzled the greatest medical minds, and sent many of them gibbering back to their own hospitals.

Dr. Po paused, reaching back for the clipboard he’d discarded at the beginning of the session.

Artemis Fowl II was fifteen. He had various, tremendously important responsibilities, the details of which he refused to elaborate on. His best friend, to Dr. Po’s knowledge, was his paid bodyguard. Frankly, Dr. Po didn’t think they’d talk about Artemis’ family for a long, long time.

Dr. Po couldn’t really describe Artemis Fowl, because he didn’t know him. He didn’t think many people knew the boy, not really.

All the same, Dr. Po wanted to try. He wanted to try to understand Artemis Fowl a bit better. Not because Dr. Po wanted to a hero, but because he wanted Artemis Fowl to just get to be a boy instead of whatever impossible, confusing role Artemis seemed to be trying to fill.

Artemis Fowl was fifteen. Dr. Po hoped that he’d hold onto boyhood a little while longer.

#my writing #artemis fowl #long post #hi hello im zoe and i write awful fanfiction <3

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indurarinks · 3 years

Text

the mardi gras conundrum

( 9. ) “Acheron?” Beyond mere passing curiosity, it was the urgency supporting Bonnie’s need to understand the man sitting behind the wheel of his ridiculously expensive car that scalded her tongue. He was ever evasive, enigmatic and rarely straightforward where his past was concerned. But none of it quelled her demand to search for the truth. She didn’t seek it for personal gain either, she only sought to soothe the battle-weary hearts of her hunters. During the long weeks of bonding with each one of them, Bonnie convinced herself their inner peace was too valuable to be overlooked. Neither was the sharing type yet she was determined to help them heal wounds inflicted centuries ago, in a time innocence still characterised their human lives. And only the deepest betrayal could taint it. Riding in comfortable silence, Bonnie suspected the indecipherable Dark Hunter would resort to the infamous technique called feigned indifference where he pretended not to hear her while she would be forced into accepting his choice for silence. Stoic, and his features impassive, Acheron Parthenopaeus held all the charisma in the universe with full lips pressed against one another into a thin line. His gaze seemed focused on the road but behind that wall of opacity from his shades, Bonnie couldn’t be certain. And if her senses were correct, then he was, most definitely, eyeing her with the stealth of a predator. She felt the burn of his gaze on her. “Back at the comp—“ He sighed. As if the weight of the world had been dropped on his shoulders. “You want to know.” He interrupted her train of thought. “About the... incident from earlier.” The wilderness that rolled naturally from the contained storm of his voice offered her familiar security. A balm to her soul, she would never grow weary of it. It was almost as if he could read her innermost thoughts. And though she knew Dark Hunters possessed different gifts, Acheron seemed to be the rarity to that rule. The odd one out. Kyrian once told her he was the first one to be created. And she figured that was why he shared similar abilities to those of his brethren. Perhaps Kyrian and him were even more alike than her initial evaluation, conducted on the spot, back in Sanctuary when she first met Ash. Their personalities, however, differed significatively. “I—I probably can’t imagine...” she started but her words lost their direction when Acheron steered the Porsche into a new destination. No longer on their way toward the Garden District, it wouldn’t be long until Bonnie recognised St. Louis Cemetery’s aged iron gates. The car came to a stop near its old entrance. And without another word, he vacated the cramped space to welcome the fresh air of February. At first, Bonnie didn’t dare moving. She was paralysed in fear, mostly. The waters in which she swam were dangerous and treacherous, she knew of the promise navigating through the past and what it could potentially entail for the one taking a peek, even if brief, into that old chest of memories. She sensed barely contained pain, and worlds of sorrow and unrestrained grief. Outside, Acheron sat on the hood of his car. Alone. His chin slightly raised, it was obvious his gaze was lost to the skies already painted with the light tones of dawn. The night had come fast but the sun showed signs of similar elation for its return. It was now or never, she thought. As she opened the door on her side, left the car and took a seat next to him, Bonnie registered no movement from the embodiment of enigma himself. His shoulders slumped, his gaze finally sought refuge in wide-open doorway to her soul —those forest green eyes he had gotten lost in on multiple occasions before. But Bonnie wasn’t having any of it by allowing him to hide behind the comfort of his ever present shades. Hesitantly, and watching him from beneath curtains of thick lashes, her fingers took possession of his sunglasses as she slowly stripped his eyes naked. She knew what to expect but the gasp of appreciation still escaped. Liquid mercury swam quietly in his eyes as he watched her disarming him. Bonnie was the first and only one to accomplish that since his rebirth. And while he said nothing, a furious tic thrummed visibly along his jaw. She expected the momentary peak of anxiety after the bold exposure of him. A small grin stretching her lips, Bonnie folded his sunglasses and slid them inside her jeans pocket. For the time being, she was holding them hostage. Despite her calm facade, her heart suddenly became a professional gymnast as it did flips back and forth like there was no tomorrow. “It’s okay, Ash. If you prefer to keep your story to yourself,” she interrupted their silence at last. Besides panic and desperation, she was hit with a fathomless wave of grief the likes of which the young witch had never drowned in before. The raw intensity of these emotions flooring her, she was left breathless for several heartbeats. “I just... I hate seeing the torment of your past shadowing the light in your eyes.” Staggering from the onslaught of emotions, tears prickled her eyes. “You’ve been so hurt. I can sense it. I can.” Her chest rose and fell repeatedly. “You still bleed from your wounds. The past still holds you prisoner. And I don’t even know for how long! I can’t imagine the damage that’s caused on your soul.” Disturbed, Bonnie quickly wiped away the disgraceful tears that managed to escape her defences. The gates were now wide open. Beside her, her companion chose immediate silence. Frozen by the prejudice of his past, he walked trough the wastelands of memories without realising her fingers interlocked with his as she slid her palm on top of his massive hand. An earthquake-like tremor shook the whole of him. “It’s eleven thousand years.” He stated matter-of-factly. Surprise and shock registered on her face. It couldn’t be, her meagre knowledge of history told her it wasn’t possible. Yet, the exhaustion etched on his features spoke a whole different tale. “How is tha—?” She started. “That history lesson is too long and complex for tonight.” His gaze wandered to where their fingers stood united, Bonnie’s index finger stroking his knuckles. “And Bonnie? I’m soulless. All Dark Hunters are.” Promptly rolling her eyes, she smacked him on the arm. Like a masochist, he smiled down at her. “Ow.” Acheron massaged his arm, successfully allowing them both a reprieve from the growing tension. “That ought to teach you not to smart-mouth me! You know what I meant. It may not inhabit your body, Ash, but it’s still yours. Still bleeds. I can see it, you know?” The soft, tangent urgency to secure his understanding clung to the breaths expelled. Since the moment she had been brought into their lives, Bonnie had been silently collecting data, studying and gathering every ounce of information about her warriors. Acheron and Kyrian, in particular, as both had been the ones she had spent the most time with. After careful analysis of her research, she was fairly confident Ash loathed the thought of having someone at his back. He even recoiled with the exaggerated proximity of another. With that thought in mind, and wanting to test her theory, Bonnie leaned closer. Purposely invading his personal space. Even though it was minimal and discreet, he drew back. Inside her chest, the thin walls of her beating heart cracked. The desolation mirrored in those pools of mercury laying waste to the fields of her weeping soul. ───Just how much misery has he been put through? Persisting, she tried again. “Back at the Mikaelson’s, before Klaus showed up, you…” With her insides twisting in oceans of anxiety, she lifted her gaze to his face. The urge to see him impossible to bypass. He was now peering right through her. “I know.” Serene but resigned, the direction of his gaze shifted so that he was staring at the horizon whilst pushing closed fists into the pockets of his worn-out leather coat. Soon, the first timid rays of sunshine broke free. Tearing the darkness apart. Had she been sharing this moment with Kyrian, they’d be on their phrenetic way home. As a norm, Dark Hunters were banished from sunlight, yet their leader stood as exception to that rule. Nothing about Acheron Parthenopaeus was ordinary. After several minutes spent in absolute silence, and with a defeated sigh, she rose from the hood of the car and handed him his shades, certain he had murdered the topic and buried its corpse. Her hands tied, Bonnie decided to respect his deafening silence and privacy. “Come on. Let’s face King Stubborn. I can almost hear his tirade from here.” It was her way of letting him know of her decision. “It was my nephew.” Halfway through her march to her side of the car, Bonnie froze. Her curls bounced back and forth with the abrupt movement of her head as she looked back at him. She almost doubted she heard him when he didn’t elaborate. His tone had been so low as well, as if afraid of the damage the words would deliver. Hesitantly, she approached him again. ─── Was Acheron Parthenopaeus finally allowing her to take a peek into the fortress of solitude of his soul? The sunglasses still caged between his fingers, calloused by countless battles, Bonnie found herself peering deeply into the oceans of mercury of his eyes. Saying nothing, the petite woman simply reached for his hand, securing it between her fingers as she gave him a nod of encouragement. “He was murdered while I lay in a drunken stupor in the room next door. His death and my sister’s, his mother, are on me, Bon. Their blood still stains my hands.” Without pretending she was privy to all the details of that tragic night, Bonnie shook her head vehemently. “It wasn’t your fault, Ash. You would probably be killed too if you had gone into their room… And besides, something tells me you weren’t drunk because you felt like partying. You’re not that type. You were drowning. Weren’t you?” She lowered her chin while her thumb and index finger secured his. Turning his head her way, she then forced him to look back at her. “Weren’t you?” Again, she asked. “That’s no excuse, Bonnie.” Rising from his spot on the car hood, the Dark-Hunter swiftly made his way to his side of the car. “I let them die.” With a sense of finality, he tucked himself behind the wheel of his Porsche. But Bonnie couldn’t disregard the raw vulnerability drenching his words. The agony exuding enough to rob the air inside her lungs. Enough to inject her with a weakness capable of driving her to her knees. Leaning over the passenger’s seat, Acheron opened the door to welcome her inside. And without another word, she took her place beside him. A stirring of magic began tickling her senses then, like a foreshadowing of sorts. In the cramped space, Acheron touched her arm in the midst of shifting gears as he brought the engine to life. Taken by surprise, Bonnie gasped loudly. Not by the touch itself but the sudden flashes of ancient memories taking her brain hostage, without an ounce of mercy. Lying in a pool of his own blood, Acheron Parthenopaeus struggled to rise from the slippery floor of the grand palace. Lost to his anger and bloodlust, his attacker, a male figure of pure perfection with a golden aura, sank his knife into Acheron’s heart before slicing him open up to his navel like a hunted animal being gutted by a barbarous predator. The brutality of the scene alone successfully stealing the remaining air flowing through her lungs. “You died that night, too.” She stated in a whisper, haunted by the violence still burning behind her eyelids. This time around, he didn’t elaborate. But he watched her, from the corner of his eye with a strange light reflected on his gaze. The assertiveness supporting her revelation pushing him to put his every available resource to use, he was soon faced with a growing mystery Acheron couldn’t quite figure out yet. Still petrified by the sudden revelation on both parties, the pair rode in a rather strained silence for the remaining journey. At Kyrian’s antebellum mansion’s gate, the young witch finally dared a peek at the man sitting beside her. “Ash—“, she started only to be interrupted by him. “You don’t have to apologise, Bonnie.” He paused as if weighing the impact of his following words. “I wanted you to know. For some reason.” The air of mild astonishment clung to him furiously before quietly leaving her to her own thoughts as he braved the path toward the main entrance of Kyrian’s exuberant manor with regal superiority that bled from every pore without an ounce of vanity exuded. “One day, Ash. One day, you will tell me every secret you’ve buried deep in your soul. Then, I’ll set you free.” With that whispered vow, Bonnie vacated the car to follow him and, finally, confront her latest source of woe. Their gazes locked instantly as she stepped through the door. The cold morning’s timid breeze blowing, dragged her curls behind her shoulders as her fingers made haste to shield Kyrian from the invading sunlight. Even in darkness, the ancient Prince’s blonde curls glistened like an aura of mortal divinity. Incapable of staying unaffected, her heart quickened at the sight. And though his stance prevailed rigid and unfaltering, Kyrian stood silent. Almost defeated, and at a loss for words. In return, Bonnie’s demeanour evolved through different discharges of emotions as her thoughts raced through her mind. Neither willing to break the silence of discomfort. Drowning in conflict, she entertained their staring contest for a little longer just so she gave herself the time to examine the source of all her current heartache. Convinced her stubborn Dark-Hunter had recovered from most of the damage done to him the previous night, she finally mustered the courage to reveal her intentions of returning to Mystic Falls for a few days. “You look better already. That’s a relief.” Pause. Fidgeting fingers found temporary shelter in her jacket’s pockets. Then she cleared her throat. “Ash is taking me home for a couple of days.” ─── There. It’s done. Best to just blurt it out and take them both out of this misery. Unsure he had heard it right, he sought Acheron for clarification. Or any indication of the meaning behind her words. As the sole witness to their exchange, characterised by tension and uneasiness, Ash chose not to elaborate. Leaving that pleasant task to her. “I’m gonna find Nick. There’s something I need to discuss with him.” And just like that, he vanished toward the kitchen. Betrayal spoiled Kyrian’s patrician features. As a member of the male community, he had hoped his boss would join forces with him in solidarity. To dilute the growing tension building between him and Bonnie. But no, the old bastard slipped through the cracks at the first chance. “Why?” Defeated, he couldn’t even hide his dismay. It took him several heartbeats of aching silence to finally tear it apart. In his head, Kyrian had already demanded her all the answers but none were brought into the light. Only that broken whisper seemed to matter. “You know why.” She murmured back, without wasting a heartbeat. Though Bonnie wouldn’t admit it out loud, her poor bruised heart cracked even further. Pain oozed from it like poison as it continued to pump blood unknowingly of the destruction caused. Suddenly lightheaded, and with weakened knees, she sought swift support from the nearby sofa just to avoid worlds of embarrassment. His rejection had been enough. It stung like a viper’s attack and now she bled. She just wanted to bleed alone for a couple of days before raising her chin and throwing her misfortune over her shoulders as if nothing had transpired.

Guilt-ridden, at least he had the decency of showcasing remorse by fixing his stare anywhere but her eyes. “I’m going upstairs to pack. Can you, please, tell Acheron I’ll be ready in a few minutes?” Sighing in extreme desolation, she left him alone to his thoughts. The whole packing process didn’t take her even twenty minutes, she had been taken to New Orleans against her will after all. A bittersweet smile tugged at the ends of her lips as the memory of the first encounter with Kyrian invaded her thoughts like a Trojan’s horse. She nearly laughed reminiscing on their first exchange of words and how much he had feared her even though he had been the one kidnapping her. Instead, a choked sob escaped. Life had to have a grudge against her, she pondered. All her efforts to turn things around when nothing went right could never hold the walls that sustained any form of happiness. It took her a minute of sitting on the bed that had been hers for several weeks to pull herself together. Her emotions ran haywire and she was having some trouble taking their reigns. Once certain she wouldn’t break as easily in front of him, Bonnie grabbed the bag with her clothes. But as she was leaving her room, she felt the urge to leave a memento that would remind him of her. Aware of his instant appreciation for relics, Bonnie decided to gift him with one of her grandmother’s old necklaces, a witch’s talisman. Her favourite and most powerful. Hoping he would find it after her departure, Bonnie made her way downstairs to find both Kyrian and Acheron waiting for her in a silence that felt strange, thick with tension. “I’m ready to go.” She announced bravely while focusing her attention on the straps of her bag, avoiding Kyrian’s burning gaze. Sensing the unresolved tension between them, Acheron gave Kyrian a meaningful stare with a message only privy to them both before getting up and making his exit. “I’ll wait outside for you, Bonnie. Whenever you’re ready.” Emphasising that last sentence, Ash conveyed his belief the two of them should trade some parting words before her temporary departure. In silence, she nodded and waited until Acheron was outside. “I don’t want you to go, Bonnie.” Kyrian’s delivery almost like a plea took the young witch by surprise. She had expected to be one breaking the silence. “I can’t stay and pretend nothing happen. I’m not like that, Kyrian.” The anguish in her voice becoming more solid with each word. “If I’m coming back here to fight against this enemy alongside you then I need time to put my priorities in order.” Unable to withstand the sound of heartache in her voice, her fallen Prince closed the gap between them and took her face with both hands. Admiring the beauty of her strength, Kyrian closed his eyes for a few heartbeats as he cursed his very existence. For the first time in over two thousand years of solitude and misery, his heart awakened from a long death. But they could never be, regardless of his feelings toward her. That would be a direct insult to his vow and the goddess he served. Resting his forehead on hers, temptation bit him hard as they stood on the verge of goodbye. ─── I love you, Bonnie. The words never came. Instead, he breathed in her perfume. “At least let me be the one to take you home...” With tears prickling her eyes, she attempted her escape but he wouldn’t let her. Kyrian remained frozen as if willing to extend their moment. “I can’t. If I allow it, I’ll just delay the inevitable. Better to just rip it off and hope for the best.” Inside, every wall crumbled to the ground. There was shards of glass everywhere. She was a wreck, bleeding and the ruins of what could be would become unfinished dreams. “I should go now, Kyrian.” Fighting off a sobbing session, she rubbed her eyes to dry unspent tears. After all, nothing would change even if she cried. Opposite from her, an ancient warrior stood deep in thought. Tormented by visions of a future he never meant to have or share with another, Kyrian remembered the tragedy of his human days, mostly marked by the betrayal that had murdered him. An inner voice had once convinced him he was not worthy of love but looking down at her, the infamous “what if” tormented him aggressively. Saying nothing, her Prince pressed his lips to her forehead and closed his eyes to savour the bittersweet moment as he committed into memory every piece of her. “Be safe.” The softness of his whisper practically snuffed out Bonnie’s remaining strength as her knees buckled. With a tenderness that rivalled even her grandmother’s, Kyrian caressed her face one last time as if afraid he might not see her again. He was determined to make her departure the hardest one yet. Only by Bonnie’s perseverance did she manage to break them apart. “I will.” Finally turning around to leave, their fingers crossed paths in intimate touch and his self control flew out the window. Awakening from self-inflicted slumber, Kyrian closed his fingers around hers and pulled her back, drawing her into his body by surprise. He, then, stole her breath with a searing kiss, full of longing and unspoken promises her warrior vowed not to disclose in fear of what might befall her were he to defy the goddess he served. Bewildered, Bonnie gaped at him. Giving her half a smile, he knew he had to let her go but his fingers refused the separation by caressing her face while his midnight eyes dove deep into her soul. “You shouldn’t have done this.” The words came barely above a whisper as she enforced their physical distance by taking his hands hostage. “Goodbye, Kyrian.” Barely holding on, with the grip on her emotions fading with each heartbeat, she made a hasty retreat. The front door slammed, effectively shutting another chapter of her life as the weakened walls guarding her heart crumbled. She couldn’t breathe through the onslaught of heartache and agony. ─── Was this what she was destined for? Her gut-wrenching sobs, though quiet, didn’t go unnoticed by Acheron who waited for her by his Porsche. Rather unsure on how to approach her as Bonnie’s heart bled without restraint, he took calculated steps in her direction in hopes that she would note his presence. And she finally did. “I’m ready.” The strain she put on to have her voice sound remotely even through the remains of her shattered heart reinforced Acheron’s respect for her. Perturbed by her breakdown, the ever observant but quiet Dark Hunter offered her a modicum of solace by drawing her trembling frame into his chest, surrounding her with his strength through an unusual embrace. Massive hands stroked her hair with inimitable softness. “You’re an extraordinary woman, Bonnie Bennett.” The admiration reflected on his lilt administered a sense of temporary serenity. “Just remember it is not an obligation to be strong 24/7. Sometimes we have to drown before we can return to shore.” Struggling for words, she merely nodded. “Alright, then. Shall we go?” As if pulling a rabbit out of a magician’s hat, Ash offered her his hand. “We aren’t taking your car?” She asked, perplexed. Tearing a rift in her skies of grief, Acheron Parthenopaeus conjured a disarming smile she felt particularly victimised by. “No. Not this time. Have you ever traveled through the time-space continuum, also commonly known as teleportation?” Openly gaping at him, she then glanced at his exposed palm, the tears making it a near impossible feat. A stirring of excitement unleashed a few wild butterflies in her stomach as her fingers touched Acheron’s calloused hand. “Should I be afraid? How does it work?” Like any other creature, she grew hesitant just as treaded these unknown waters. “For me, it’s like breathing. Do you trust me?” Assuming an almost defensive posture as if expecting the worst, he stared at her intently from behind his trusted sunglasses. Waves of relief rolled off of him when she nodded. “You know that I do.” His fingers had barely taken possession of hers when he dipped his head to whisper in her ear, “You can open your eyes now, Bonnie. You’re home.” She did. One glance around them confirmed his claim. In fact, he even brought them to her grandmother’s unkept porch, once again proving her his powers far exceeded those of his brethren. Apart from the light discomfort in her stomach, she felt fairly confident on her competence to teleport. “It was easier than I expected…” She mumbled as realisation gutted her. She was back. Back in Mystic Falls, her so-called cursed birthplace.

#charmeddelicacy #the mardi gras conundrum

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stillebesat · 4 years

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The Path: A Promise Kept

Sanders Sides: Remus Sequel to The Path: A Trail of Trick or Treating Blurb: Trick or Treating may be cancelled this year, but that won’t stop you from keeping a Promise. Fic Type: Halloween Overall Fic Warnings: Pandemic Talk, Remus being Remus, Tentacles, Mentions of various Halloween related antics. Taglist in Reblog. Authors Note: This fic is written in second person.

The back door squeaks as you pull it open, the noise echoing eerily throughout the darkened kitchen of your home.

You freeze, the frantic thumping of your heart making it difficult to tell if your parents had heard you or not as you check over your shoulder for their tell-tale silhouettes appearing in the doorway.

You slowly exhale when the kitchen remains empty, automatically reaching up to your mask to make sure that it’s covering your nose and mouse before your fingers drift down to stroke your dragon’s head.

“You ready?” You whisper to Spark as you slip a quarter into your pocket out of habit before pulling your hood over your head to hide her from view.

She croons in response nuzzling against your cheek, her small claws gently digging into your shoulder as her tail wraps around your neck.

You smile, huffing a soft laugh as you grab the case of Apple Juice that you’d moved by the back door earlier in the day while your parents had been distracted hiding stashes of Halloween candy outside for you to go find after a Haunted Mansion themed dinner.

“Ready to keep a promise?” You ask as you slip outside, careful to not let the back door slam before quickly taking off down the street, the case of apple juice held securely in your arms.

Despite Spark’s presence, the tightness in your chest doesn’t ease until you’re at the end of the block, well out of sight and ear shot of your parents.

Hopefully they wouldn’t realize you’d ever gone out.

After all...this was the first time you’d done this. Snuck out. And if they did discover your absence, at least you could tell them that you hadn’t disobeyed them in order to go Trick or Treating.

Even if the city hadn’t officially cancelled it this year...your usual candy haul probably would have been much slimmer with how careful most of your neighbors were being.

An issue that could have been far worse, considering you now had a dragon to feed, if your parents hadn’t been well aware of your lofty goals to gain as much candy as possible every Halloween. They’d gone all out and done their best to provide you with a large haul of candy and chocolate despite their obvious reluctance to be the sole providers of so much sugar in a single night.

You smile fondly as you turn another corner. It wasn’t as much candy as you’d gotten last year, but the fact that they’d been willing to hide as much as they had around your home and outside in the yard to find was amazing.

Plus...it helped that the pandemic hadn’t stopped your neighbors, specifically those who had been on The Path last year, from ‘helping’ you out on your candy hunt by leaving various bags of goodies and encouraging notes, or in Logan’s case some more little puzzle toys, for you to find along your fence line.

It had been a relief really to know that The Path hadn’t forsaken you, the apparent Chosen One, this year when you couldn’t actively go out and seek it or the horde of candy you needed for your little dragon because the world had to go crazy.

With a soft sigh, you glance to Patton’s house, decked out in a Frog theme of all things this year as you pass, the porch light turned off to indicate no candy would be handed out by him tonight.

It sucked really. To not be out here officially trick or treating. Officially hunting for a new Path to wander down. Especially when everyone on The Path last year had hinted to you in your sparse encounters with them that something great was waiting for you this Halloween.

You’d spent months and months planning and imagining just what could be greater than rescuing Thomas.

But thanks to the Pandemic...you wouldn’t know. Not this year. Not with Halloween all but cancelled.

You shiver, grateful for Spark’s soft cooing as you move through the quiet neighborhoods empty of trick or treaters despite you being able to see buckets of candy hanging from people’s gates or placed prominently on their porches for those who chose to take a risk and venture out in the dark to get more candy.

Though as far as you could tell, with the exception of Dr. Picani’s charity box placed at the edge of his property for you to place your quarter in with a soft clink, no one else who’d been on The Path, despite their decorated homes; Virgil with his virus themed Gravestones, Remy with his musical flashing lights, even Roman in his castle themed home... had their porch lights on nor any buckets of candy visible.

Spark shifts on your shoulder, poking her head out from your hood to flicker rainbow flames in the direction of Thomas’s home, the gates still covered with ivy, but no longer looking as overgrown as it had in years past.

“Good thing we rescued him last year, huh, Spark?” You say, peering through the vines to the restored house beyond, grinning at her cheerful chirp in response. It was unfortunate you couldn’t find out what sort of candy Thomas would give out, but waiting another year to get his candy was far better than if you hadn’t solved the riddle of The Path and knew you wouldn’t be able to do so this year either.

No, all you had to worry about was--

Despite it all, your heart skips a beat as you stop at the end of The Duke’s darkened driveway, the place somehow appearing even more creepy with no screams ringing in your ears this time. The Duke...being quiet? It was...you draw in a shaky breath, shifting the case of apple juice in your arms. Even after dealing more directly with Remus last year...you still had no idea what to expect from him.

Would he even remember his half of the deal?

You tilt your head, peering into the darkness. Was he even home? The place was...quiet. Too quiet.

Even Spark seemed to sense something was off as she hissed, diving back into the depths of your hood, pressing her warm scales against the back of your neck as you take the first hesitant step up towards his house.

It was like...like Remus hadn’t even tried to decorate this year. No hanging skeletons, no creepy tentacles, no bright glowing eyes among the bushes, and definitely no one screaming. It was--odd.

You hadn’t thought, despite the pandemic, that his home would be any different than any other year. If anything you’d believed that Remus would go more extreme this time after all the crazy stuff that had happened this year.

To see it looking so unHalloweeny was beyond weird.

“It’s okay. It’s okay.” You mumble as you approach the porch, head on a swivel, waiting for Remus to jump out. To do something.

He had to do something. All this--this nothing was doing a far better job of freaking you out than last year with the creepy headless act.

You carefully place the case of apple juice on the porch before reaching up, covering your finger with your sleeve, to press the doorbell, your heart fluttering at the far too normal sounding chimes that echoed inside as you retreat back down the steps so you’d be six feet away from the Duke when he opened the door.

If he opened the door.

Spark chirped, poking her head out from under your hood, her head pressing up under your chin as you both watch the entrance. Waiting for something to happen.

But nothing was happening.

Maybe...maybe he hadn’t heard you?

Cautiously, ears straining for the sound of locks being undone, hinges creaking, anything to indicate the door was about to open, you approach the doorbell and press it again.

You’d just assumed that he would be home. That this year would be like all the other Halloweens for him...but what if--You glance back to the case of apple juice before pressing the doorbell again.

What if with the completion of the path, Remus had moved elsewhere? You hadn’t exactly had the opportunity to check since his home was outside your normal everyday routes. Out of everyone on The Path, Remus had been the only one you hadn’t encountered in public. He hadn’t even left a gift for you to find at home!

You ring the doorbell for a fourth time. No gift, and now an empty home. Did that mean...had...was he---

“You came?”

Despite yourself you shriek as a voice whispers in your ear and you whirl, Spark’s claws digging into your shoulder as she screeches along with you, to see Remus standing at the bottom of the stairs.

At least...you think it’s Remus.

You flinch as Spark takes flight from your shoulder, screeching as she circles high overhead, but you find you can’t stop staring at the figure below you.

“Remus?” You ask, not at all certain that this person was the same guy known to make grown men cry.

Sure, last year was the first year you’d physically seen him in his costume, but you’d heard from your classmates all the crazy getups he’d been spotted in all those other years.

The man standing below you looked like, well besides the strong resemblance to Roman sans his prince costume, he looked like a normal guy. No creepy costume in sight.

Remus tilted his head at an angle that made you wince, his dark eyes glittering above a silvery mask with a curling moustache design on it as he fiddled with the tassels of the worn hoodie he wore. “You came.” He repeated softly, a note of wonder in his voice. “All was cancelled and yet you came.”

You clear your throat, conscious that you had your back pressed against his door, blocking his way back inside. “I--of course.” You push back your hood so he could better see your face in the moonlight. “I promised didn’t I?” You say gesturing to the case of apple juice between you.

His breath catches as he jerks as if to move forward but stops himself just as quickly, eyes flickering from you to the case as one hand stretches out towards it. “Appley Juice?” He asks, a longing in his voice that had your heart skipping a beat.

You nod, relaxing a hair as Spark lands on your shoulder, her wings brushing against your mask. “Just because I can’t Trick or Treat this year doesn’t stop me from bringing you some.” You say, cautiously stepping forward, watching as Remus takes a belated step back, his attention fully focused on the juice.

You hadn’t been sure if Remus would follow social distancing guidelines after all the stories you’d heard of how he’d terrorized other trick or treaters in the neighborhood through the years. It was good to see that he had some restraint.

Though you weren’t willing to test just how much restraint he had. You edge down the steps and circle wide to give Remus a clear path to his prize.

He’s grown tense, like a bloodhound waiting to be released on the hunt, his eyes hardly straying from the case on his porch, only waiting for you to be fully out of the way before he springs forward, darting up the steps in a blink of an eye to grab the apple juice.

He freezes again, pale hands stark like a skeleton’s around the edge of the package. “But--this--” He visibly shakes himself, half turning to you, his attention still half divided. “This isn’t half a case. We agreed on HALF and a scream! Not a-- a---”

“A full case?” You finish, stroking Spark’s back for confidence. It was true, you’d agreed on only half a case, but that had been before the whole pandemic happened. Since you didn’t have to worry about juggling apple juice and your haul of candy tonight, you’d gone with the full case instead.

He nods as he pulls a single bottle of juice into his arms, cradling it like a baby as he turns completely to you. “All mine?” He demands looking up, an eerie light to his eyes as between one blink and the next his home takes on an eerie green glow. “No tricks? All treat?”

Spark flares a small rainbow flame in his direction as you take another step backwards, watching from the corner of your eye how fog now seemed to be seeping through the windows to curl around the edges of the home. “All treat.” You confirm, glad that you’d managed to keep your promise and get Remus his juice. “It’s all yours.”

You jump as lightning cracks overhead, the house creaking alarmingly as Remus loudly cackles, easily twisting the cap off the bottle he held in his arms.

After last year’s performance with the drink where he dumped it down the throat of his headless costume, you’re not at all surprised to see the Duke do the same thing now, lifting the bottle over his head to send juice raining down on his hair in a waterfall of liquid that shouldn’t have been possible from such a small bottle.

A waterfall that seemed to be washing away the regular clothes that Remus had been wearing, exposing instead a salt encrusted pirate’s outfit and tentacle beard that made him look just like Davy Jones from that Pirates of the Caribbean movie.

You jump, mouth dropping open as the house warps in your vision, twisting in and out of focus until it looks more like you’re staring at the haunting green glow of the side of a sunken ship instead of a home.

That...HOW?!

Remus lowers the bottle smacking his lips, the tentacles of his beard twisting in coiling as he stamps a boot on the deck of the ship. “Appley Juice.” He says, twisting the bottle in his fingers elongating into a cutlass that he shoves into his belt.

Considering you had a miniature dragon currently sitting on your shoulders and you’d seen Thomas appear out of a beam of light with fairy wings...you really shouldn’t be so surprised at--at THIS ghostly pirate scene that had emerged before your very eyes. But--you close your mouth with a click, running your hand over your eyes to establish that you were seeing what you thought you were seeing. “How?!” You breathe.

He cackles again, wagging his finger at you, a handful of the tentacles on his beard mimicking the gesture as he places one boot on top of the case. “Appley Juice!” he repeats like it explains everything.

It really didn’t.

“Okay…” You shake your head, pulling back on your hood. Really you shouldn’t have expected a straight answer from the Duke, but it was...you wouldn’t say gratifying but it was good to see Remus in a pirate’s costume now instead of normal clothes. “Well---I really should be heading back.” You take a step backwards to show him you really were leaving. There was no reason to push your luck further than you already had with your parents. “Happy Hallo--”

“Wait.”

You cut off as Remus jumps off the porch, cutlass directed to your throat as he stares you down with neon green eyes. “Turn and Turn about.” He says as Spark hisses in your ear, sending a flicker of rainbow flame at the Pirate as he reached with his free hand under the mass of tentacles. “A delicious sticky treasure for me. A head start for you.”

A head start? You tilt your head, conscious of Spark mimicking the gesture with you, unable to look away from him as he holds out his hand to you. “I--I thought there was no Path this year.” You say uncertainly as Remus opens his hand to reveal a---you squint as the thing in his palm lifts up, floating through the air towards you like a shimmering jellyfish. Only it wasn’t a jellyfish, it didn’t have the right shape. No, it looked more like a--

You lift a hand up to the mini hovering octopus-like creature, only to shriek, jerking back as its tentacles suddenly snap out, wrapping around your wrist.

Spark shrieks with you, her neck stretching out as she sends a beam of red hot fire at the thing, her claws digging deep into your shoulder to give her better stability as she aims for it.

The octopus freezes on your wrist, it’s body taking on a metallic quality under Spark’s heat treatment treatment.

The Duke laughs as you dig your fingers underneath the creature, but no matter how much you tug, the octopus remains in place, looking for the world like any other octopus themed bracelet except you swear you can still feel a residual heat coming off of it.

“Remus!” You cry, glaring up at him. “What did you do!” This wasn’t like getting Spark at all. The Dragon Keeper had at least given you instructions on how to care for her!

He taps the side of his nose, his tentacles quivering in silent laughter. “Remember.” He says as the fog swirls up around him and his glowing green ship. “Until the waves recede from your sight. Don’t get it wet!”

In the blink of an eye he vanishes from sight, leaving you standing with your mouth half open, fingers frozen on your new accessory in front of his darkened home.

#The Path: A Promise Kept #stillebesat #Sanders Sides #Remus #The Duke #Halloween #Second person pov #Pandemic talk tw #tentacles tw #Halloween antics #Trick or Treating

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ficdump101 · 4 years

Text

SOMEBODY YOU LOVED.

JEON JUNGKOOK

GENRE: ANGST! ANGST! ANGST!

WORDS: 1787

REQUESTED? YES! BY @jeonchristineimnida

PERMANENT TAG: @dreamescapeswriting

A/N - SO I’VE DECIDED THAT ANGST IS UP AND RUNNING. I HOPE YOU LIKE IT, IF NOT I’LL RE-WRITE IT :)) SORRY FOR ANY SPELLING MISTAKES

Drowning. That’s what you felt. This is what you had boiled down to, an over worked and stressed shadowing accountant with, according to your boss, nothing to amount to. You were laid in bed, where you had been for the past two days, procrastinating on your workload and trying to recover from the recent dispute with your sister. Recent events had broken your heart beyond repair and made you want to hide from the world, making you (unintentionally) avoid your nephew. Your sister had rang and expressed her distaste in your actions stating, that you ‘sort yourself out and get back on track in his life or you can fuck right out of his life all together’. If only she could understand. If only you could express what you were feeling. If only he let you down slowly. You could feel the heartbreak tenfold at the mere thought of him, a wave of sadness started at your toes and rolled up your apathetic body. The tingling in your nose was a tell tale sign the tears were going to start building up but you were over crying. Over feeling like your world had been flipped upside down and something was ripped from you. This wasn’t his fault, you knew that. It was a mutual breaking up… but it wasn’t. You had loved him with all your being but he was the one who fell; he fell out of love with you and maybe you were the problem. You had rang Namjoon earlier in the week and spoke to him about everything - he had tried to give you advise on ‘moving on’ with your life but it didn’t work, all the distractions you had used failed because they reminded you of him. The music reminded you of all the times you had slow danced through the kitchen or when you had random dance parties to make you take a break from the assessments - it always worked. Painting made it worse, you always seemed to be painting his doe eyes and perfectly plump lips - he was all you thought about. You knew this wasn’t healthy for you but you couldn’t bring yourself around to care, days bled nightfall and you were surviving on coffee and red wine. Thinking back to your last face to face conversation made all of your fears of why the breakup happened become more realistic.

You and your boyfriend had been laid in his bed watching ‘Cry-Baby’, he was propped up on pillows with his head resting on the head board. Your head rest on his shoulder, humming along to Johnny Depp singing ‘Doing time for being young’. He had asked you earlier in the day to tell him 2 of your insecurities, you had straight away chickened out and told him that you’d tell him later. Well, this was later, and your random boost of confidence had decided to show.

“I’m insecure about my body.” You blurted out randomly, causing him to look down at you.

“What?” He chuckled, shuffled a little down the bed so he was face to face with you.

“You wanted to know what I’m insecure about. There’s a lot of things but my body is one of them. I also have the feeling that I’m not enough to be in a relationship with, and that you’re going to leave me eventually.” His answer felt like a warm hug, but the person hugging you is holding a knife to your back.

“Don’t worry. I’m not leaving you any time soon.”

That was a load of bullshit. Not even two weeks later, he was messaging you to say that he felt bad for stringing you along when he held no feeling towards you any more. You agreed with him - letting your moment of happiness disintegrate into the ashes of self-doubt and loneliness. You let these feelings wash over you as you bathed in them - your hair matting and sticking to the back of your neck, your body feeling burdensome with no need or motivation to move and the skin of your cheeks feeling dry and stiff from all the tears that had been spilled but not wiped. You had tried to explain to your sister - tried to explain what it felt like to have part of your soul ripped from your body and you needed help. But every time you picked up the phone and typed out a text, you’d backspace it all and place you phone back down. You knew that if you could explain she’d help, you two were close sisters, more like best friends; you knew she would drop everything to help you out, just like you would (and have done) for her. You remember when her ex-boyfriend, and father of her child, left her when she was 8 months pregnant. You had took a leave from university, explaining your situation to your tutors and with the mutual decision of working from home, you hunkered down at her house. You pulled her through the pit of tar called depression and put her back on track the best you could - she started helping herself after that and you were the backbone, you were there for her when she stumbled and throughout the pregnancy. You wanted her help, hell, you needed her help but you couldn’t bring yourself to mess up the equilibrium of her now oh so perfect life. If only you could open up, you could be in a different place now. Last week, Jimin had showed up at your door (well let himself in really) and pulled you up from your bed - he quickly washed your face and pushed your hair up, stating that you were only going to a cafe and then McDonalds on the way home. You were clad in sweats and a hoodie pulled up over your head with drawstrings pulled, keeping your face covered. You weren’t sure if you were ready for this. You were sat in the small cafe a couple blocks away from your house and you were a mess; half crying into your caramel ice-tea as Jimin read through the text conversation with your ex, sewing venomous insults here and there as commentary. You were suppose to be happy for the distraction, but you were surround by couples who were deeply in love and this cafe was where you met him. He slipped you your drink, which he paid for, with his number and a kiss on the side. It was sweet… Bitter-sweet. You didn’t understand what you had done, he showed no sign of ‘falling out of love with you’ at all. You took your drink with you as Jimin ran you back home, of course you enjoyed your time with him and thanked him for his attempt at a distraction, but as soon as he left you were left alone to your destructive thoughts. In your heart was a gaping hole which you had no idea on how fix. You grabbed a bottle of wine from the fridge and launched yourself back into bed with the chicken nuggets Jimin had bought you, you wished he could’ve stayed the night but he was a busy superstar. You fell into a peaceful alcoholic pipe dream.

You woke up to his face inches away from yours, a small smile gracing his features.

“Good morning baby. Sleep well?” You could feel the warmth of his body and duvet wrapped around you. You peered up at him, he was breathtaking, especially in the morning. You nodded slightly, kissing his jaw as the tears welled up in your eyes. You loved him more than life itself and here he was in front of you, closer than he had been to you in the past 2 weeks. His brows furrowed as your hand caressed his cheek, tears slipping down your cheeks.

“Hey now Jagiya, don’t cry. Pretty girls like shouldn’t be crying.” He pulled you close, his hand on the back of your head making you bury your face in his bare chest.

“You’re going to be okay, I promise.”

You opened your eyes with your hand griping the pillow in front of you. Your other arm flung behind you as you patted the bed searching for him. You were met with the cold, fully made side of your bed, there was no lingering heat. He was never there. You cheeks felt wet and cold as your heart sunk into the pits of your stomach as you turned onto your back, facing the ceiling. You could no longer smell bis sent despite wearing on of his shirts and you wish you could, the smell could comfort you in the worst of times. But no comfort was offered. You slowly climbed out of bed, taking the empty wine bottle with you. You trudged out of your bedroom door and down the dim hallway towards the kitchen. You passed the living room keeping your eyes downcast in an attempt to avoid the happy memories that were laced throughout your apartment. Ranging from the times you’d fallen to sleep on the sofa with him watching random films to when you had a water fight between the kitchen and front door. You made you way past the sofa into the kitchen, placing your empty bottle beside the sink and opened the fridge. You pulled out a sausage roll when you heard your notification tone, it was either TikTok, YouTube or Instagram. Taking a big bite, you sat on the kitchen bar stool and unlocked your phone. You paused mid-chew as you saw that it was a notification that one of the boys had gone live as a surprise, you clicked on it and made a bet with yourself in your head. If it wasn’t Tae then you would order pizza, if it was then Chinese it was. You watched the blue screen load as the video came on. Well it wasn’t Tae. The man looked happy and at peace, you couldn't tell what hurt more, his eyes that held that certain sparkle which showed how happy he truly was or how broken you felt by the fact that he was fine. Jeon Jungkook was perfectly fine.

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daily-dose-of-imagines · 4 years

Text

ʙɪɢ ʙᴀᴅ ᴡᴏʟꜰ 2 / 2 | 𝕁𝕁𝔹𝔸 𝟛 [Drabble]

ᴡᴏʟꜰ ʜʏʙʀɪᴅ!ᴊᴏᴛᴀʀᴏ x ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

[Part 1]

Here’s part 2 of this sort of fantasy AU~! Definitely going to do more one-shots with the other jojo’s later so I hope y’all stick around for that~!

» » Admin Ko

»»————-　★　————-««

The story of Little Red was one that was passed throughout the centuries. Though in actuality, how accurate was the story? Did anyone know of the challenges the cloaked individual went through? The creatures they had met? It’s all a mystery. After all, there can only be so much truth from a story passed along through words...

ⳮⷤ ── ⲇ ── ⳮⷤ

Fighting. That’s what you found yourself waking up to as you blearily pried your weary eyes open to the site before you. The snarls and sharp barks had you alert the moment they registered in your head. Immediately, you went to find a place to hide from the violence, but the pain you felt throughout your immensely sore body told you otherwise as you let out a painful groan.

Though you felt your blood run cold as the snarling suddenly stopped and two pairs of green blue eyes settled on your form. The uneasy tension you felt coursing through the air as you slowly gulped down your scream. This was it. You shouldn’t have followed Jotaro to his pack. This was all a mistake, and now you were going to be a snack for these two wolves.

Yet, instead of the lunge and snarls of the wolves you bore witness to something else that made the whole experience a lot more...bizarre. The man who had previously found you, Jotaro, had waltzed up to the two wolves before you. He kicked them both to the side as the pair made a whine and aggravated bark of anger.

“Shut the fuck up. You both scared her.”

Was the simple retort as you could only stupidly look up at the man before you. If anything, your confused and blank gaze had him even more peeved as he closed his sea-green eyes briefly. A chance to calm down the anger that quelled within him before he opened his eyes to meet your gaze again.

“That was Jolyne and Giorno. They were to watch you. But clearly they couldn’t even do that without some sort of spat.”

The two wolves in turn let out haughty barks before suddenly fleeing the area. The whole situation leaving you bewildered and confused before you finally opened your mouth to speak.

“What...happened?”

Jotaro took a brief moment to assess the situation before him. His gaze skimming you over once before he let out another sigh and turned to face the entryway of the cave you were in.

“To put things curtly. You ate. Jolyne treated your wounds, and you spent the night here. You just woke up.”

You felt your eye twitch at the obvious answer given before rubbing the sides of your head to keep the oncoming headache at bay.

“Look, I can make that basic assumption hardass. What I meant was what happened while I was asleep.”

It was silent for a moment. Nothing but the sound of the wind outside of the cave. It was honestly somewhat suffocating as the large man before you seemed to refuse to tell you exactly what happened. Fine. If that was the case then you’ll just ask Johnathon. He seemed like a gentlemen, surely he’d give you a proper explanation of everything.

Though before you could really get up to find the large burly man, Jotaro walked towards you. The action catching you by surprise as you seemed to freeze at his motion. It unnerved you that you kept freezing up at him, but there was something in the way he moved that just set alarms off in your head.

Seeing your reaction, he couldn’t help but give an annoyed sigh as he pulled his hands out his pockets. Showing that he wasn’t armed or was intending to hurt you; and seeing the action before you had a flush crawl onto your cheeks. He noticed. Fuck.

“If you’re wondering, you’re most likely reacting that way because you feel like prey.”

The simple statement had you stare at him in a dumbfounded manner before you felt yourself relax. Or rather, forced yourself to as the truth came into light. Perhaps that’s what your head was telling you, or hell the fact that your past memories of the horror stories beyond the forest were being brought back to light at full force.

The thought didn’t bod well for you as you shoved the memories into the back of your mind; and thankfully a distraction came to you as two people walked into the cave. Both bickering-- really one haughtily talking while the other calmly replied with practiced finesse-- with each other before bringing themselves to you.

“...hi?”

You offered, a startled and confused look on your features as Jotaro seemed even more annoyed at the sudden appearance. The pair seemed to ignore him as they kept their focus solely on you.

“We apologize for frightening you earlier, Signorina. We just had a...disagreement you could say.”

The shorter, golden blonde hair with three donut shaped accents spoke. He seemed to be the calm type. The one who would analyze a situation and tell you the honest truth. Though, like Jotaro a pair of wolf like ears sat at the top of his head as a golden tail swung slowly behind him.

“Cut the suave talk Giorno. Look, we argued if it was smart for fish boy here to bring you, a human, into the area. We don’t mind you being here, but the surrounding population? Not so much.”

Now that didn’t sit well with you, and Jotaro seemed to take note of that as he gave a sharp glare to the girl who you later found out was Jolyne. Her appearance was much more rough. Green and black hair were weaved intricately in a signature style that could honestly be spotted a mile away, though like her siblings; she too had a set of extra ears seated at the top of her head and a matching tail.

“Tell them to fuck off. She won’t be in the area much longer anyway.”

The sharp retort and words that fell from Jotaro’s lips had you flinch slightly as he gave the two a quick glare before picking you up with surprising gentleness. Of course you felt somewhat conflicted. Your body screaming fight or flight (more so flight) and your mind reminding you that he wouldn’t hurt you.

Luckily, you managed to keep a tight hold on your instincts as Jotaro carried you out of the cave and back into the bright world. In all honesty, the forest during the day calmed you down much more than the forest you faced yesterday evening.

“Oh! I see you’re awake~! Good morning miss!”

The familiar cheery voice caught your immediate attention as your gaze quickly fell towards the brightly smiling man. You gave a small nod and a soft ‘good morning’ yourself before Jotaro continue to walk towards the woods. Your mind suddenly reeling in confusion as you looked up at the wolf carrying you.

“Uh...what?”

He merely grunted as you peered over his shoulder to see Johnathon waving at you two. Not at all concerned or questioning where the hell Jotaro was taking you. There definitely was something going on here.

“I’m taking you home.”

His response had honestly caught you off guard. Home? So suddenly? Well...it made sense with your injuries, but your questions had yet to be answered.

“I appreciate that and all, but I would much prefer a response than being brought to your pack, and then suddenly being taken home. Something happened while I was asleep and for whatever reason, you’re refusing to tell me.”

The moment he avoided your gaze though told you exactly what you dreaded to think. There was something more to this whole situation that made everything all the more...unsettling.

“Look. If you tell me the truth I’ll lay off questioning--”

“I’ll tell you, but you have to promise to never step foot into the forest ever again.”

Well shit. That caught you off guard. Though you couldn’t lie to yourself, never having to deal with the forest was already something you had planned to do-- despite your occupation requiring you to be in the forest. Yet if a resident of the forest was telling you this...there had to be something more to it.

It was a gamble, and you knew that but you needed to know. This whole mess had started with the damned map from your town’s chief and you weren’t going to leave without a proper answer at least! With that, you decided to take the risk, it was better knowing than not if you were going to figure out a loophole in this deal.

“...Deal. Now explain.”

ⳮⷤ ── ⲇ ── ⳮⷤ

Seated back at home at your quaint desk, you couldn’t help but feel another wave of nausea hit you. It had been quite some time since you’ve been dropped off at your home, but the words that Jotaro spoke kept playing over and over in your head as you felt absolutely sick to your stomach.

Whatever this was. Whoever’s sick game this was, was definitely someone you wanted gone. Forgotten about. Hell, you wanted them to forget about you!

Letting out a painful sigh, you pushed yourself away from your desk as you flopped into your bed. Those damned words replaying in your head like a record as you clutched at the sheets beneath you.

“...You’ve been dragged into a fucked up game with an old family enemy. I don’t know the exact reasons why or why you in particular have been dragged into this feud, but what I do know is that our enemy has their eyes on you and they purposefully got that map into your town’s hands.”

It was wrong. It was fucked up, what sort of history did you even have anyway? You didn’t know anyone from the pack, nor do you know anyone who had ill will towards you or your family. So why?

With an exasperated groan, you let your mind drift as the sweet lull of sleep brought you into a world of darkness.

ⳮⷤ ── ⲇ ── ⳮⷤ

“Jotaro, I understand that you wanted to get her home as quickly as possible...but is that really any way to treat your soulmate? You could’ve at least told her the complete truth.”

“Look, I appreciate your sentiment and shit Johnathon, but I’m not risking this shit. Not again. I’ll tell her the full truth when Dio is taken care of.”

ⳮⷤ ── ⲇ ── ⳮⷤ

The lore of fairy tale’s differs from time to time. The perception and understanding between characters constantly butchered, re-structured, or even removed to better suit the listener’s ears.

Though, what if in the story of Little Red and The Big Bad Wolf....the wolf wasn’t all that bad?

#jjba x reader #jjba imagines #jotaro x reader #kujo jotaro x reader #kujo jotaro #jojo's bizarre adventure #au #wolf hybrid au #reader insert #jotaro kujo #kujo jotaro imagine #jotaro imagine #jjba scenerio

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elmidol · 4 years

Text

Error: Program Not Found - Thirteen

Summary: You are in charge of programming the droids that work most closely with both General Hux and Kylo Ren. Unbeknownst to you, each of these two men have it in their heads that your relationship extends beyond the workplace. This causes things to escalate quickly when your two apparently secret boyfriends compare notes on their respective partner who is far too similar for their liking.

Read on AO3

“You use a glass mirror to see your face; you use works of art to see your soul.” - George Bernard Shaw

Thirteen: Inspirational

The senator’s arrival had managed to squash your otherwise good mood, and it was the knowledge that you would not be required to approach him until the following morning that kept you from feeling utterly miserable. That as well as the messages that had been delivered to your inbox by Anonymous and Unknown. You worked to unveil which of the identities was Kylo Ren and which was General Hux to no avail. Their similarities were more pronounced in their writing than when conversing with either man in person. This was to be expected given how the written word worked. Droids became less individualized when you were staring at their lines of coding; it was the limitation of relying on the surface of things, the absence of body language to highlight the quirks and unspoken thoughts. Kylo Ren and General Hux were closed off, private, mistrustful.

Both had sent word of the senator having come to the planet, which led you to believe that they were not in league with one another--unless they were trying to throw you off their scent. It was difficult for you to picture them collaborating together on something of this nature, except in the case where they would make it into a competition. Your lips quirked to the side at that thought. There was something primal about two men fighting over you that made you feel desirable. A little like a piece of meat as well, a sort of trophy. The lack of physical damage to one another saved you from disliking the position you were in. To top it off, it was better to focus on them than your impending interactions with the senator. You still had to determine which aspects of the physical therapy droids that you wanted to share. Leaking too much information could very well result in your idea being stolen.

With a sigh, you settled back against the pillow and opened one of the new messages that were waiting for you in the inbox. Stress melted away from you with revelation that the message itself was little more than a picture; underneath it was the title of the painting. It was from a local artist that, from what you could recall, was growing in prominence. Depicted was a female humanoid so concealed in luxurious silks and gems that you could not properly note her species. Only her eyes stuck out, lovely things that they were. You were drawn to peer into those depths, which were lifelike. Your breath stilled in your chest as you scanned the entire painting to appreciate all its details. The sender of this message had been Unknown, and you wondered how best to respond to him. It might be that he was a connoisseur of arts or else this one piece had somehow managed to catch his attention.

You debated for a few moments longer before typing up a line of gratitude that preceded a question as to whether he enjoyed many paintings and, if so, who his favorite artist was. It did not matter the identity of the man at that point; you simply wished to know more about him, what it was that had led him to enjoy the painting enough to send it to you.

After clicking send on your response to the painting, you returned to the inbox and opened a new message from Anonymous. This correspondence was entirely text-based yet no less artistic.

To stand upon the hightest tower of Coruscant,

You will miss the brightest land verdant;

The durasteel walls tighten like a cage around you,

Unlike the open halls found on Naboo;

Yet across the skies that they share are the stars above,

Here I pray, though apart, you feel my love.

You discovered that your mind was piecing together popular images from both planets and arranging them so that they stood in juxtaposition to each other. The fields of Naboo that Coruscant could not boast, the fresh air of the former planet as well. Yet Coruscant had its own beauty amongst those durasteel towers and the pollutants that was known to partner itself with city life. Loveliness in the chaos. You pictured two lonely souls staring up into the sky. Each person on a different planet, longing for more, for one another. A sadness threatened to creep over you. What if, in the end, the two lovers did not meet?

Shaking your head, you shoved aside that line of negative thinking then grunted in response to Aelin asking if you were fine. He was laying on his bed with both hands atop his stomach. If not for his presence, you might have ventured to pursue a different topic of conversation with the two men messaging you. It had been awkward enough during the last portion of your meal when it had dawned on you that the sexually charged flirtations had occurred in front of Aelin. For his part, he had ignored it as much as he could.

You chewed on your bottom lip as you started your reply to the poem. Though it had instilled a sense of melancholy, the hopefulness of the words had stuck out as well and left you with an appreciation of the piece. Like with the painting, you wondered what it was about the poem that had caught the sender’s attention and also if they read poetry on a more regular basis. The message read similar to the one that you had sent to Unknown, with necessary changes to better suit the poem.

You rather enjoyed that the two men held an interest in the arts in some form or another. It set aside the role they played in the looming war that would break out once the First Order was in a better position to take charge. This more human face that you could glimpse behind the safety of a screen helped you to feel less alone. The knowledge that hidden parts within each person were held private for a reason; it reminded you of the droids you had worked on. Lines of code that most would never see despite their importance in the grand scheme of things. Those lines aided in dictating what actions the individual would commit to.

“You’re smiling again,” Aelin muttered, not unkindly. You rolled your eyes though you felt your grin widening in spite of the audience you had obtained with the expression. “Is it work related? I’m curious.”

“No, it is not work related,” you said, turning your head and meeting his gaze. His countenance betrayed nothing if he was suspicious of your actions beyond idle curiosity. The decision to alter the course of the conversation before that had a chance to change prompted: "Do you think I should include mentions of the anti procrastination droids as well?"

Aelin's features twisted, contorting and scrunching as he considered the question. There was merit in revealing that a variety of projects were underway; the senator might be more apt to provide more credits. On the reverse, it spiraled back to ideas being stolen and also could result in him pushing to discuss all projects to include the assassination droids. You half wished that TeeArr was present to aid in distracting the senator despite being fully aware that he would have had the complete opposite effect. While he was continuing to internally debate, you heard the tell-tale sounds of two messages arriving, one a few seconds after the first.

Though you had messaged him second, Anonymous had been the first one to send a reply. You opened it without reading. Aelin had begun to speak at that same moment. “I would hold onto that information in case he presses to talk about the assassination droids after you’ve already spoken of the physical therapy ones. Gives you another means of changing the subject and putting emphasis on this particular project since it encompasses both droids.” He stifled a yawn with one hand. “Mm. Do you mind if I watch a holodrama?”

“Thank you,” you said. “And no--go right ahead. I won’t bother me.” You quite welcomed the distraction that Aelin would be offered by the holodrama, whichever one he happened to select. This gave you a semblance of privacy, a lower risk of him noticing the way your expressions altered as you read the messages you received.

The program Aelin selected was older and you were vaguely familiar with the storyline though you had not watched it yourself. Once he was more immersed in that, you returned your attention to the datapad in your hand and the message displayed thereupon.

Anonymous: [It is an older poem that I was taught as a part of my education. The senator may be familiar with it should you require material necessary to dissuade him from lingering too long on droids as a subject matter. He will enjoy hearing himself talk.]

For another time you felt your face breaking out into a smile that was filled to the brim with amusement. He had only half answered your questions, however you were not disappointed. It was thoughtful for him to have done this, and truth be told you had not considered going this route with the senator. This was not entirely surprising given the fact that you had not had much experience one-on-one interacting with senators or other politicians for that matter. Such business was conducted in larger groups, not dissimilar to when you presented potential projects to the Board at the First Order.

Music filtered into your musings as the holodrama Aelin watched droned on. Instead of responding to the message from Anonymous, you switched over to the reply that Unknown had sent.

Unknown: [Do you know the story behind this painting?]

Once more, not a proper reply to the questions that you had sent. With a shrug, you composed a brief message stating that you did not along with a nudge that you were now more curious about it. After sending this, you returned to the message from Anonymous to thank him for being considerate and attentive to your needs.

Unknown: [The artist stated that she is a spectre, a ghost from his past that he saw on three separate occasions. The night before his mother’s passing. A day after his childhood friend left the planet and never returned. The final occurrence was during his graduation from school.]

You stared at the message without reacting for a beat. Then your eyes narrowed and you found yourself unsure if this meant the woman was an omen for tragedy or success. Was she just some figment of the artist’s imagination. No matter the case, it hit you that Unknown truly was, at least somewhat, invested in this particular painting. To know its history as he did, to have the desire to share it. That was personal. You set aside your datapad and laid down while staring up at the ceiling. These men were going to give you an existential crisis.

After dozing off for a stretch, you quietly slipped off the bed and entered the bathroom with a bundle of fresh clothing to ensure that you looked more presentable when meeting with the senator. The reflection in the mirror showed subtle signs of exhaustion, albeit nothing beyond what was expected with how life had been proceeding. You wanted to get a headstart on the man you were to meet with as a means of gaining the upper hand. Part of that included taking care of your basic needs before he was out of bed. Prior to exiting the room, you checked your datapad for any new messages yet found nothing of note. Aelin was lightly snoring, nothing obnoxious or that would have wakened you had you not already been up and moving.

One the items on your to-do list was to purchase food for breakfast given the fact that you had already agreed to do so. Aelin had already given his order, which you had memorized, and you were willing to pay the extra credits to have the meal delivered at a specified time. You grabbed something small for yourself as well. It had been dark out when you had first left the building in which you were staying; one of the stormtroopers escorted you, and the two of you watched the sunrise in a shared silence. You were not yet sure if the stormtrooper would remain with you once you encountered the senator. A part of you did not mind the idea. Another part of you knew that it would be more difficult to make the meeting seem happenstance instead of premeditated. In the end you did not have to worry; returning indoors had been enough for the stormtrooper to break away from you and resume his previous post.

The lull in activity offered the opportunity to digest the fact that neither Anonymous nor Unknown had sent more messages. You took into consideration the fact that they might have been aiming to not overwhelm you since the both of them were aware of the senator. Plus, you thought after a second, Aelin’s presence might deter them. You smiled a little at that, recalling the thrill you had felt when racing against the clock as you masturbated. Their behavior during the meal was just as exhilarating. Your mind began to race through scenarios wherein you found yourself alone with one of them. Would they kiss you? With no one watching, would they touch you? Your face heated up at the memory of the message that had been sent regarding you being fucked in front of others during the meeting.

What if both of them had you? One of them inside of your cunt and the other in your mouth? “Ah!” You yelped out a swear at the sound. Turning, you spotted the speaker. The senator was escorted by one of his guards and accompanied by a single advisor. The small entourage caused you to inwardly groan. This was something that you had expected, however it did not make you any less annoyed; having the senator one-on-one would be less taxing. “I did not mean to startle you.” There was a slight purr to his voice that you had heard in the past whenever he felt he was in control of the situation. This, naturally, put you into the exact position you wanted to be in: on his good side.

You placed a hand over your chest to feign a more exaggerated rattled state than what you were truly in. “Sorry, I did not mean to swear like that.” The best way to go about this conversation was to rely predominantly on truths. He shook his head and took a step nearer to you. “I was hoping to find you, actually.” You worked through ways to seem submissive simultaneous to taking charge. The man’s advisor was frowning, his eyes pinched halfway closed as he glowered at you in suspicion. You jerked your gaze away from his then chewed on your bottom lip before speaking again. “It stuck with me, your interest in the...thing we discussed in the previous meeting.”

“Oh?”

“Mm,” you hummed with a nod. “That one is a bit ways off, what with needing proper programming and trial periods. I hope that is not disappointing.” The senator and advisor shared a look. His guard was generally unresponsive to anything that did not involve fulfilling his duty. This was enough to increase your pre-existing suspicions that he had sought out others for the droid series. You inwardly bristled while outwardly you maintained a calm facade. Kylo Ren’s words echoed in your head, the permission he had given you to lie. “Thankfully we hold the appropriate patents to dissuade others from pursuing a similar model.”

Both were frowning, frustration blossoming on the advisor’s face while the senator appeared more angry than anything. You waved a hand in the air dismissively. “That is beside the point. I just wanted to thank you for the vote of confidence in the project and for your secrecy.”

Maker, I am bored talking to this man. Your mind kept drifting back to the thoughts that had taken residence directly before his approach. Until this point, you had not realized just how much you wanted physical intimacy. Or even just sex, take away any other element that might exist. Your mind circled back to intimacy, however, and the poem that had been sent to you along with the art. It was the poem that you mentioned as a means of breaking up the silent conversation that had been transpiring between senator and advisor while you had been distracted by your reverie. You wanted to keep the physical assistant droids as an Ace up your sleeve during the meeting. You would still not put it past the man to mention the TR8-0R droids, more so now that he believed his plans to go around the First Order were compromised. Sex really would be preferable to this.

Introducing the poem had a powerful impact. The senator pulled away from his advisor with a soft smile that you had never witnessed on his countenance before. You were tugged away from your negative line of thinking. As tantalizing as sex was, you realized that these interactions could translate into your future conversations with General Hux and Kylo Ren. Shift away from business, leave behind work, and focus on something that others would think trivial. A poem of all things, which was evocative of countless emotions. You had been handed a weapon, albeit not one to harm others. One that was a key of sorts. The senator could not duck away from any questions you posed his way as easily as Anonymous and Unknown had; there was no screen for him to hide behind.

Relaxing into the conversation, you listened as the senator began to speak in a more animated, less haughty fashion than he was wont to do. Though you heard everything that he said, some portions were not committed to memory. Your mind drifted in places. You remembered the conversation that you had had with Kylo Ren in the training area. How personal that had been, how it had led to the kiss. Next your encounter with General Hux.

Armitage and Kylo… Both, truly, were the woman in the painting; elusive, puzzles you could not figure out. What did they represent for your personal life?

“There was a sister poem to that one,” the senator said, drawing you out of your thoughts for another time. His advisor lingered several steps behind, your small party having started to walk through the hallway. “It compared Arkanis and Tatooine.” A desert and a planet that rained so frequently. You felt your smile widen at that. This glimpse into a side of the senator that you had not known existed was humbling. It reminded you that you saw only portions of people. This was precisely how you had missed the fact that General Hux and Kylo Ren had each believed themselves to be involved with you.

I need to speak with them one-on-one in a setting that isn’t...a ship or a base… I need to use this time wisely. Lunch and maybe dinner. Or between meals.

“Was the poem with Arkanis written first?” You recalled that this was the birth planet of Armitage Hux, and you were curious if he knew of the poem. If he knew of either of the poems; it was again driving you crazy to not know which man was Anonymous and which was Unknown. Simply more motivation to get them by themselves.

The senator held up a hand haplessly. “I am afraid there are contradicting statements on that.” So much less pompous. The less time he spent conferring with his advisor, the more you enjoyed his company. Maker above, you hated politics. “I do know that the poet is said to have been related to a Jedi.”

Kylo then? He would know more of that, wouldn’t he? Except...the Jedi were involved in politics. You ran your tongue along your lips. “I think I am going to have to do some more research.” He chuckled then suggested the title to a book as a starting point. This you did commit to memory, promising yourself that you were going to mention it to the sender of the poem. See how they responded. It was your goal to unmask them before the day was through.

#kylo ren x reader #general hux x reader #kylo x reader #hux x reader #kylo ren imagine #general hux imagine #errorpnf

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jovialyouthmusic · 4 years

Text

Girls’ Night Out

A multiple AU piece of fun featuring my female LIs

The boys find out what the girls are up to. How will they react?

Word Count 1761

A/N Sorry for the delay, I got bogged down and didn’t write for a couple of days - but my muse is back!

4 Busted!

Elizabeth eagerly drank the white creamy concoction Sophia had handed her.

‘Woah, slow down darling, that packs quite a punch’ Lucy shouted.

‘Punch?’ she shouted back ‘We have that at Christmas. Mama allows cook to put brandy in it’

‘Close enough’ replied Lucy ‘Just don’t gulp it, you’ll be sick’

‘I’ve never actually had this before, it looks exactly like…’ started Charlotte, peering at her glass, but Sophia made a gesture, and she shut her mouth, putting her hand over it.

‘Careful, we don’t want to gross Lizzy out’ Sophia muttered.

‘She wouldn’t know’ Lucy added.

‘Yeah, but that’s a conversation I don’t want to have’ Sophia said wryly.

‘Hey, we should totally use our nicknames – have you noticed – Lucy, Lottie and Lizzy – oh, and Soph’ Lucy’s face dropped on the last name. Sophia shrugged as if it didn’t bother her. They had all drunk their ‘cocktail’ and then Lucy had got up and started to bob and sway with the music, waving her arms in the air. Sophia followed suit and held out her hand to Lizzy.

‘Come on, let’s hit the dance floor’ she smiled, but Lizzy shook her head. Lucy had already gone, and Charlotte put her hand on Lizzy’s arm

‘It’s okay darling, you need to loosen up a little first’ she said ‘I’ll sit with her’ she announced to Sophia, who nodded and followed Lucy. Charlotte turned back to the young woman.

‘So tell me about John’ she said ‘How did you meet?’

‘He was invited to one of father’s tea parties – our parents moved in the same circles but I’d never met him.’ she explained ‘He retired from the Navy due to an injury, and father heard he had some interesting tales to tell’

‘Was he considered a good match?’ Charlotte asked ‘Most folk nowadays can choose who they marry, but being future Queen meant I had to find someone suitable that Father approved of, just like you’

‘Women can choose?’ Lizzy said, wide eyed. ‘Of course, the lower classes could in my day, but father was – is - a Duke, so it’s important that I marry well’

‘I completely understand’ Charlotte said, placing her hand on her arm ‘John must have been a good match’

‘Actually, I was betrothed to another when we met’ she admitted ‘Thankfully I found out in time what sort of man my previous intended was, and then he disgraced himself running up gambling debts, and I was released from the engagement’

‘And so you are marrying someone you love’ Charlotte smiled ‘As have I – it was not easy, but I persuaded Father what a fine man he was’ The two women sat and talked about John and Drake until the other two came back to the table, flushed and tired.

‘One more round then we’ll go on to another club’ Sophia said

‘What’s wrong with this one?’ asked Charlotte

‘It wouldn’t be a proper night out if we just stayed in the same place, Lottie’ Lucy shouted across the table. She looked at Lizzy ‘How do you feel? Do you think you could handle another drink?’ Lizzy pursed her lips in thought.

‘I’m not sure. Perhaps something different this time’ Lucy narrowed her eyes.

‘Okay, do you all trust me?’ Charlotte looked a little uneasy, so she sighed ‘to order drinks’ Lucy went on ‘after all, I did reputedly work in a bar in New York’ Lizzy looked at her

‘You worked? In a place like this?’ she said, awestruck

‘Not exactly like this, but yes Lizzy, women do, you know’

‘Go ahead Lucy’ Charlotte said ‘surprise us – but I’m paying this time’

‘Put your money away, the drinks are on Les’ Lucy grinned, and got up to go to the bar. She didn’t take long, and returned with a tray. She put a glass down in front of Lizzy.

‘Have you ever had Earl Grey tea?’ she asked Lizzy. She perked up, her eyes shining

‘Oh I love Earl Grey – it’s the latest thing…’ she looked puzzled ‘or at least it was for Mama. It’s – was – very expensive, but so lovely, so delicate.’

‘Well this is a spiked Arnold Palmer’ she explained ‘Made with Earl Grey and lemonade, with a dash of sherry, some lemon and maple syrup – that’s like honey. It’s not too strong, so I thought it would suit you’ Lizzy eagerly took her glass and started to sip at it, her eyebrows going up in appreciation.

‘Okay Luce – what about me?’ asked Sophia, and Lucy passed her a green drink

‘This is a Japanese slipper – midori, Cointreau and lemon juice, nice and light’ Sophia took a sip and declared it delicious, while Lucy went on to present Charlotte with a cosmo. ‘Vodka, triple sec, cranberry juice, and freshly squeezed or sweetened lime juice. Very sophisticated for my fellow Queen, born a princess unlike me.’ she announced. Charlotte inclined her head regally and tasted it, smiling appreciatively.

‘What have you got?’ Lizzy asked curiously, looking at the tray, which had two glasses, one of them a shot. Lucy grinned as she held up the yellowish cocktail first

‘What else but a pornstar martini?’ she announced, taking a sip. Sophia choked and spluttered halfway through her drink, and Charlotte passed her hand over her face and rolled her eyes.

‘Porn star?’ asked Lizzy ‘What’s that?’

-------

The fresh air hit Lizzy as they left the club. She felt a little dizzy and held on to Charlotte’s arm. She wasn’t unused to alcohol as she often drank wine with dinner, but the cocktails did not taste the same. They were sweet or tart and seemed innocent, but she recognised when she got a little tipsy, and had gone a little beyond that. Lucy lead the way, stalking along in her high heels, elegant and confident. Charlotte still retained a regal air but seemed a little more relaxed, while Sophia had gotten a little giggly. She had explained to her what a porn star was, and Lizzy felt a little overwhelmed. Women might be more free as to what they did with their lives, but some were just as badly off as the prostitutes of her day.

‘Come on, I know just where to go’ Lucy announced. She stopped short as a broad chested man stepped in front of her and barred her way.

‘Good evening ladies’ he said in a deep baritone.

‘Bas!’ Sophia cried in a shocked tone ‘What are you – how did you find us?’ He cleared his throat, and four other men appeared beside him. They didn’t seem threatening but Lizzy felt a little apprehensive, despite Sophia seeming to recognise the first man.

‘We put two and two together’ he continued, motioning to his companions ‘Lake here worked out you’re out on the…’ he was cut short as Lizzy surged forward with a cry.

‘John!’ she shouted gleefully, but Lucy put her arm out to prevent her being reunited with her fiancé. As John’s eyes swept over her, she felt naked in the impossibly short garment her friends had persuaded her to wear. She stopped short, her cheeks burning yet again. His eyes had widened at first, but he took in the other women and his gaze softened as he surmised that what she wore was perfectly normal to all the others standing regarding each other.

‘Lizzy’ he said softly. Lucy cleared her throat

‘This is strictly girls only’ she asserted ‘You know, a hen night, to celebrate Lizzy’s last night as a single woman’

‘But’ Lizzy said ‘I want to marry John’ she gazed at him adoringly ‘I love him’ Lucy snorted

‘It’s traditional’ she insisted, standing firm in front of the party of men.

‘Bas, you didn’t need to chase us up’ scolded Sophia ‘We’re having fun – maybe you boys should go and do the same’ The other three men exchanged looks – . which of them did Lucy lay claim to? It was all a bit much to keep up with. However, Sophia stood, hands on hips in front of her partner, but she wasn’t showing any affection.

‘You never know what might happen’ he was saying defensively, and Sophia scoffed, pushing him in the chest.

‘Bas, you know I can look after myself, and Lottie and Lucy are no pushovers.’ She waved her arms angrily ‘Plus this is a virtual construct; Les helped us put it together, so nothing bad can happen to us’ He reached out toward her placatingly, but she stood back and put her hand up to him. ‘Back off Bas, we’re going to a club, and you boys can go and amuse yourself somewhere else’ Lizzy had managed to move close to John without being noticed, and he reached out to take her hand.

‘It’s okay if you want to stay with your friends Lizzy’ he said softly ‘Soon we’ll be together, I don’t mind’

‘I’m sorry about the clothes’ she whispered ‘I’d far rather be wearing my new ballgown – or my wedding dress’ He leaned down and planted a soft kiss on her cheek. She shivered with happiness.

‘I don’t mind what you wear’ he said simply ‘You’re my Lizzy, no matter what’ Sophia turned to look at them, and sighed.

‘If you want to call it a night – if you don’t want to carry on with us, Lizzy, that’s fine’ she said, then turned back to Bas ‘But I’m staying out, and any of you ladies are welcome to paint the town red with me’ she said defiantly. Lizzy looked at John, and he squeezed her hand.

‘Do what you’re comfortable with’ he said gently ‘Whatever you want to do is fine by me, my darling.’ She turned to address the other three women.

‘You all have been so kind to me’ she said ‘and the things you wear and the things you do are strange to me – but I’d like to finish what we started.’ She looked back at John ‘I would also like to have a little time alone with John before the wedding if that’s possible’ He nodded

‘Very well.’ He called over to the other men ‘Gentlemen, as you were so kind as to awake me and unite me with my fiancée, I propose that we spend some time at my club while the ladies enjoy themselves. Perhaps we can meet them when they’ve had their fun’ Lucy grinned

‘Sounds like a deal to me. Soph, Lottie – what do you think?’

#girls night out #queen charlotte #Elizabeth and John #drake x OC #sophia x bastien #drake x lucy x brad #many lives of drake walker

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capri-ramblings · 5 years

Text

Merman!Shoto X Witch!Reader BNHA AU

•Short Story & HeadCanons*

From its surface, the water ebbs ever so slowly and you watch as Shoto's head gently started to appear from its depth. His split coloured hair wet and sticking to his forehead almost too gracefully. The scar on his eye clearly visible from the moment he caught your eyes.

Standing on the rocky stones of the bay,you watch with star-gazing eyes as the silent Merman pull himself up on one of the surface rocks flat enough to support him. He kept his steady eyes on you, waiting for you to come closer. After a while of admiring the crimson glisten of his slick tail,and the glaring effect his scales had from the morning sun, you did and with great strides too. Proud even.

Being born a witch, your mother took care to how you kept it from others. In these dark times, admitting that one has powers and was aware of the mystic side of the world only caused trouble. So it was always "Hide it away and don't act out of place", your mother's voice rings clear in your head but you could never went away from all the things that gave you even the smallest of freedom,even if they were as conspicuous as Mermen.

"You came again" He said simply, his voice silvery and smooth when it reached your ears. You smiled, brows arched.

"I said I would didn't I?"

Shoto hummed a response and watched you still when you took the rock near by as a makeshift sit. You had met the quiet Merman only a week ago, by accident of course. Your mother gave you the leisure time to have your own space each time you finished helping her with the family business of selling dried fish and simply things for crafting. You were grateful for it if not relieved and it let you roam around to explore as much as you want, like how you'd gotten to the bay and almost drowned because apparently you couldn't cast spells underwater.

"Isn't your mother going to be angry at you?" He asked after a while,his two-coloured eyes watching you again as if you were some kind of creature he wasn't used to seeing.

"My mother is always angry and besides,it's not every day I get to meet a special little fish"

"I'm not a fish" Shoto corrected with his brows furrowed and lips light curled down, "Or small either"

The rest of the day, you spend it by asking him question after question, about his life underwater and how it's like to be a Merman and he answers patiently and thoughtful. Adding details you've never heard from anyone about his kind and telling simple stories of his daily life. It wasn't much,seeing how reserved he was but being able to talk to him and gain new knowledge was far better than staying cooped up in your own home.

- Gradually once he gets more comfortable with you, he starts asking more personal things. Not in a creepy way, rather with a genuine and child-like curiosity.

- He likes to touch you when he has the chance, it's nothing sexual. Merfolk use the webbing on their hands to get familiarise with a surrounding other than underwater, so he uses it to know how you feel and to if how you react to certain things

- He's starting to like you so it's natural to get to know you better,in his way, it was by touching you. Your hand,wrist and sometimes he'd ask permission to touch your legs too

- Despite the blush on your cheeks, Shoto didn't really see it as a sexual way

- He enjoys circling around you in a gentle pattern whenever you decided to take a quick swim and sometimes he tells you tips on how to stay down under a bit longer

- Once you casted a spell that lets you breath underwater for 10 seconds and the look on his face was priceless

- Mismatched colour eyes wide with astonishment and his pretty lips slightly opened

- You giggled and said his name before the spell wore off and you went up for air

- Likes watching you practice your water spells, especially the cute trick of catching small fishes in a water bubble

- Shoto is also very curious as to why you live so far away from other humans, your home is beyond outskirts and you always tell him how tiring it is to travel back and forth to the village just to get enough supplies at home

- When you do tell him, for a brief second you see his eyes sharpen before the mellow back to their usual stillness. You make a joke and try to reassure him that you're fine with being out casted and seen as an abomination because really as long as you don't get in big trouble with those people, you were guaranteed a long and quiet life

- Shoto nods and makes a mental note to himself.

- "Don't cause her any trouble"

- Shortly after knowing your story, Shoto asks if he could share his and surprised, you tell him it was okay if he didn't feel ready to

- "I want to tell you"

- You gave him all the attention your mother wished she'd give her as you quietly heard him tell you about his people, your arms hugging your legs close to your body as he tells you how many of his kind were killed and slaughtered by villagers when they first started surfacing near human borders. Hunted for their scales and strong tails.

- "It's why we don't like showing ourselves to people anymore. It's safer that way." He says this softly and without any prejudice towards you but you apologize anyway and it earns a frown from Shoto.

- He doesn't feel strongly about you apologizing for a deed you didn't do, and maybe because he secretly had a soft spot for you and the way sadness clouded your features made him feel guilty about ever sharing the old tale

- You ask if he lost anyone close to him during those times and for the longest moment,Shoto stays quiet before he lifts his gaze to meet yours and you caught the sorrow in the depths of his eyes.

- "My mother". He says simply and you feel tears welling up but wipe them away before he notices.

- "I'm sorry,Shoto.."

- "Like I said, you weren't one of those people who—"

- "No, I meant...for your loss. We fight a lot but I don't know what I would do if my mother was killed...because of what we are.."

- Your words hit him, like a gentle tap of realization.

- Yes,you were human despite being a witch but even in your own species you were ousted away from the society, you were an outsider, and all because you were different.

- You understood his pain. And he respected you for that.

- Oh, and he falls deeper for you too.

- Time passes on and you realize how open he was now with you, offering you to hold onto his tail whenever the two of you went swimming in the waters, asking even more personal questions and greeting you each time you come and go

- The best part was that he smiled more, and he had the most beautiful smile ever. Even the sun couldn't compare to how bright it was despite it being soft and small. It was contagious too, when he smiled you couldn't help but follow in suit

- Physical touch is a thing now between the two of you, and even when you still get flustered at how openly touchy he was, Shoto didn't seem to mind you being that way with him

- He let's you touch and examine his scales and even his tail, when you find yourself almost losing momentum to not drown in water and grab his arm or body he doesn't even blush

- You didn't complain on that part of course, his skin was so smooth and soft against yours. It was like a dream to be able to get this close to one of his kind and especially one that was so reserved like Shoto

- You like it when you can see little ripples of water on the it's surface whenever you came down to the bay, because it meant he was waiting for you underneath it, but you were also worried about others realising it and decided to enchant something that could help

- "___,why are you giving me a seashell? I have a lot of them down here" Shoto asked you shortly after you handed him the cute gift you made for him and got slightly hurt by how blunt he sounded, you knew he didn't mean to sound rude but still, you pushed the thought aside and shook your head.

- You grabbed his hand holding the shell in your own and looked up at him seriously.

- "It's not a normal shell, I enchanted it so it can become like a media for the two of us",you smiled and took out your own shell as Shoto brought his closer for an inspection

- "A media?"

- "Yes, I want you to stop waiting for me so near to the bay,not many people come by here but still it's dangerous for you if people found out. So this shell here—" You gave a playful poke on his shell, "Will let you see if I'm near by and if it's safe enough to come up. Here I'll show you"

- Shoto listened, to every word and every detail you gave him with the utmost attention. His eyes trailed to your face once in a while when you talked because he couldn't get over the fact at how beautiful,no, that's not right, you were always beautiful to begin with...No,he couldn't believe how such a beautiful being like you had taken the time and effort to craft something for his sake. How caring and loving he saw this gesture of yours was.

- Although he was very quiet about it, what you did for him touched his heart. He'd never forget it.

- It was a fairly easy item to use as well, all he needed to do was stay under and in a good distance, and wait for the shell to start changing colours. If it turned red immediately,it meant she was both not there yet and it wasn't safe for him to surface. But, if the shell turned yellow and went back to white, it meant she was near and it was okay to peer up and check for her.

- Shoto kept the shell inside the bag of seaweed tied to his waist, and whenever he missed or thought about you, he'd take it out and picture your face being reflected in it.

- He didn't know if he was truly in love but he knew that he cared deeply for you and that he wanted to spend as much time with you as he could, wanted to show you how he appreciates you but you weren't accustomed to the ways of Merfolk and so when he started giving you small trinkets from the sea and gave you fish that he hunted on his own, you were grateful and thought he was being a good friend, oblivious to the fact that he was showing signs of wanting to court you that he maybe even loves you and would be the happiest merman ever if you agreed to he his mate

- Really, he seemed calm and collected but with these newfound feelings he has, he didn't exactly knew how to express it.

- He knew that you also showed signs of being interested in him, the way you stole glances from when you though he wasn't looking and the way you blush whenever you see him, and of course the display of affection you show him at times

- Knocking your forehead together with his after pretending to drown, cupping his face in both your hands, playing with the scales on his arms and tail.

- If what he felt for you wasn't love, he didn't know what else it could be ... But did you feel as strongly?

- When the day ended during a warm Saturday, Shoto admired your beauty once more as you dried yourself from your session of wadding your arms in the water and splashing at him, silently adored how your skin glistened under the sun as if you too had scales. Funnily enough, you resembled the females in his kind quite well, strong-headed but playful and intelligent, and yet with all those females' beauty combined, you still stood out.

- You were like the sea itself, vast and with countless layers waiting to be discovered.

- Being with you made him feel at peace,wholesome.

- Truly,there wasn't anywhere else he would rather be.

- "See you later tomorrow,Shoto!" You said with a smile and giggle, slipping on your shoes before pushing your wet hair back from your forehead. "You'll wait for me like always, right? Use the shell." .

- Shoto smiled, soft and loving. "For you, always".

#boku no hero imagines #boku no hero x reader #boku no hero fanfic #bnha au #bnha shoto #shoto torodoki #reader #my hero academia imagines #mha x reader #mha au #merman #au shoto Todoroki #headcanon #bnha headcanons

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ripuels · 5 years

Text

Rival Gangs AU: warnings of blood, violence, swearing, bruising, etc.

For @annabellioncourt thank you!

(This got too long so I’m publishing as a text post to use a Read More that’ll actually work. This website is amazing. Really. Also I’m Very Tired, sorry if the editing looks like a four year old did it)

“Are you the one who's been following me? Stalking me?”

Amanda had recognised the eyes straight away, the depth of brown peering over a khaki bandana, pinched tight over his nose and tied at the base of his neck. The switchblade pressing against his throat shaves a tuft of green from it.

“Fucking answer me, pretty boy.”

His hand moves gingerly as if he were defusing a bomb, a knife rolls from his fingers and clatters into the blue metal like a gunshot in the dark.

“I’m sorry, Ripley.” The synthetic with every reason to flinch doesn't. This woman, more leather and machine grease than human, holding him fast against the tunnel wall, shivers with unpredictability. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You couldn't scare me if you tried. Fuck,” she grimaces against the fading adrenaline, leaving her a dizzy creature, a lamb, holding up a lion.

They both know a severed throat wouldn't do much to stop a berserk synthetic, especially not with her struggling grip. He stands still regardless, unfazed by the threat.

“How the hell did you even find me, Samuels?”

He glances to the blood leading down the train line. A dot-to-dot probably leading all the way from the outskirts of snob-hill to here, X marks the spot right over his chest, staining his cashmere sweater.

Amanda grunts in comprehension and shoves herself off the wall, leaving him to brush his clothes smooth. “Okay, good point.”

Samuels wishes it wasn't. “You've lost a lot of blood. Are you alright?”

“Fucking peachy.” She says, retreating onto her gang's side of the tracks, replacing the switchblade into her leather jacket with incomprehensible speed. “Wish I could say the same about my bike, I swear to God, if there's so much as a scratch on it, I’ll kill the lot of ‘em.”

She brushes her fingers back through her hair, her hood falling down and he pans over her injuries.

“What happened to you?”

Ripley scoffs in disbelief, leaning a heavy shoulder into the dark emergency alcove. “Like you don't know.”

“I was told nothing more than they intended to attack. They know I'm conflicted by protocols. That I struggle in a fight. I think they try to be kind by not inviting me.”

“Or they know you'll get in their way.” Which he does, far too often to go unnoticed by David. “You're too good for this life, Samuels. It's going to catch up to you one day, believe me.”

This synthetic's deep frown flinches, easing to something far, far worse. Sadness. After all this time, after so many close encounters with others like him, she'd never seen one be that before.

“Was no big deal.” Amanda can't bare his gaze. “Got jumped behind the garage when everyone fucked off home, too pissed to ride. Fucking cowards, I got shoved in a boot, driven out, and I got away, but... Well,” she gestures vaguely at her face. “It's obvious they didn't want to kill me.”

Christopher knows it's because she would absolutely be dead, and they'd have war on their hands. No, this freckle of red and staining of blue was a scare tactic, an obviously ineffective one as she winces her next breath. Heavy, resolute. Plotting.

“They shouldn't have been on your side of town.” His voice sounds accusing, but for what it's unclear.

“I didn't fucking provoke them, if that's what you're asking. Your lil' biker gang of Decepticon wannabees probably just don’t like the fact we kicked your ass in the park district. It's ours now. You want it back? Fine, time and place. Name it.”

“I personally couldn't care less.” Samuels says rather than stating her very existence seems to egg his crew, his family, on. “I'm worried why you were left alone in the first place, is there still no honour amongst thieves?”

“It's Sunday.” Amanda shrugs as though it explains everything. “Believe it or not, we don't live to terrorize you, we all have jobs to go to tomorrow. Real lives outside this territorial bullshit. To be honest though,” she trembles to dab her brow and winces, a bruise beginning to darken the outer corner of her eye. “I could really use a day off.”

“I'm sorry.” He mumbles and it surprises her.

“Why? You had nothing to do with it. Funnily enough, you never do.”

“Yes, I did.” A hardness sets in Samuels' gaze, the purity and innocence vanishing in a heartbreaking fall. She can't help but feel as though it's like an angel from grace. “I could have warned you, but by the time I heard-”

“Shit, Samuels. Don't start blaming yourself, you would'a been killed for stepping foot over the tracks anyway, let alone coming to the workshop. You didn't do anything wrong, I know that. We're good.” It kills to give her direct rival such power. “And yeah, we might be from different worlds completely, but I don't let the actions of some reflect on the whole thing.”

“Who was it?” He doesn't need to ask, just go back to the clubhouse and see who's missing teeth or some digits. Find someone sourcing parts for repair. “Ash? David?”

“Doesn't matter who it was, they'll be on their guard for a bit now. No need to protect them.” The quiet rage surprises them both, just as genuine as it is violent. “Yet.”

“Please, don’t do this.” Despite all the warnings in his programming, Samuels steps over, ducking into the small archway she's hunkering in. “I’m sick of the bloodshed, on both sides. I'm thinking about- No, I am certain. I'm out, Ripley.”

“You think so, do you?”

“Yes.” He says in a way that makes her believe him. “I can't see people like this anymore, I can't keep repairing my friends and pretending that it's not all for nothing. That they aren't terrible enough they can do this to you, a human. That you, or one of your friends won't kill us in a few months when tensions run high again anyway.”

Tensions are always high, Amanda thinks as he moves towards her, licking his thumb and scrubbing at a spot of blood on her cheek. It makes no difference in the grand scheme, one mark amongst hundreds. He licks it again and she recoils, almost in disgust, but he stares like steel, nonchalantly taking to the mass of red on her cheekbone. She winces, but doesn't pull away.

“You look a mess.” Samuels hums thoughtfully, tugging his bandana off his neck and sucking on a corner, using it to clean her lip. “They shouldn't have gone this far.”

“Had worse. Done worse.”

“Seen worse.” He states flatly. “Doesn't mean it's not upsetting to me.”

“To your protocols.” Amanda doesn't mean to make it sound so much like a weakness, rather than she actually admired it about this one.

“That too.”

“Speaking of which, since when have you been carrying a knife?” Amanda cocks her head away into his other palm under her ear, a little skeptic, a little in pain. “You expecting a fight or something?”

“With Amanda Ripley involved, always.” He says deadpan, but there's an attempted note of humour in his voice. Her reputation is littered in grey, some awful things proven to be small town gossip; and other more harrowing tales that perhaps only he knows, absolute truth. “But it wasn't for you, I was worried about being followed.”

“Like you were following me?” Her voice finally cracks in good humour, it's short lived but Samuels falters.

“Just- keep still, will you?”

“Yes, okay, Christopher.” How anyone with a self appointed ID like that ended up in any gang at all is beyond her. She nudges him. “What the hell kind of name is Christopher anyway? Doesn’t exactly scream synthetic delinquent.”

“Like you're one to talk,” he finally smiles, “Amy.”

They fall into a relaxed silence in the dim, a damp trickle of moisture running from the overpass nearby, fog rolling in down the way. They are relatively secluded, the green exit sign casting them both in a nebulous glow as her wounds are silently tended to in less than sanitary conditions. His eyes leave the mess of injury for hers every few seconds, searching for a tell of her discomfort. Of course it is always relative. Now, it's not so much his proximity to her that's cranking at her anxiety, but the thought that if he was seen on their turf, even by a metre or two, he'd be killed. If they were seen so close, they both might be, the speed of which would depend on who came across them first.

She remembers Zula, the best damn right hand Amanda ever had, and that Davis, he was alright for a military device. They'd been chased to the edge of the world when David found out about them. They were nothing more than friendly, familiar, but they've yet to stop running for it. An anonymous letter is delivered every now and again, no return address, but one day, she knows they're going to stop.

This, she thinks, is far too close to that.

“What is it?” Christopher asks the darkening of her face, the silence waning of it's humour.

“Why the hell are you here? You know if I'm seen with you they'll fucking kill me.” She pushes off the wall, nearly right into his chest. Though her stature is found sorely wanting, her entire demeanour screams louder than Samuels ever could in raw, fearsome, violence. Barely contained in a 5’ 5 cage. “Get the fuck out of here Samuels, before you get us both-”

She swallows her words as his lips crash onto her own, hesitating briefly until her hands take his jaw with a demanding hardness. Shoving herself into him, they hit the far wall hard enough to encourage a deep grumble amongst a slew of colourful names for idiocy, and more specifically, him.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Her body presents no complaint. “Chris- think about this.”

“I am- I have.” He brushes down to her neck, detects her tensing, pushing back harder as he finds a firm lump of bruise. A footprint. Fucking David.

It's a wonder what it would be like to feel, anything, let alone pain, learn what about it grounds this woman. It would be a fair deal, he supposes, to have a sense of the worst rather than nothing at all

“Then you're an idiot and a deadman.”

“You don't scare me, Amy.” He says as her angry kisses take control of him. Holding her, bloody and bruised, just tight enough to hurt in all the places it doesn't yet, until his systems blare that it's too much. That it encourages the alarming grip she has of his hair or neck or shoulders.

“I should.” She hisses in response.

Christopher knows it too. The ghastly stories she had whispered, melting from her lips as her icy exterior thaws over his chest. Her leather and flannels, his denim and cashmere, both of their embroidered patches, all scattered over the floor of dingy motels. Completely bare together, stripped of identity in the next town over, then the next. Riding further and further until one day they might never stop.

Never need to retreat with their fallen. To lick wounds. To prepare for next time.

Next time.

Because there were plenty. So often they met on the field, in the canyon, at the lookout, her hands stained white taking life, his red from saving it. For years Christopher would always find her after the fights by an upturned motorcycle, pacing at an old inn or bar, fingers through her hair, and he'd lead them to a room. They'd find relief from the wounds and the damage, the over-stimulation and adrenaline. Take whatever was left out on each other. It became their ritual.

Now, just like every other time, he takes the side of her face, but offers something new. “Leave with me. Right now. For good. Don't make me beg.”

“What?” Her lips are yet to leave his, but Samuels' eyes open to slits, slowly pulling away to gauge her.

“Why do we ever come back, Amy? We know how to get out, in the chaos of the aftermath, we abandon our people to fuck in cheap rooms and play it off as hunting down each other's stragglers. How long do you think we can keep this lie up? How long until they learn where we really go?” Samuels allows himself to lean in, accept a kiss that feels awfully final as her hands grow unbearably tight at his shoulders, taking him by the collar with a rough shake.

“Jesus, Chris, you can’t be serious. Open your Goddamn eyes.” A demand weaponized by a glance down, their different attire barely touching at the chest but worlds apart, threatening to collide like two orbits never meant to meet. On course to implode, or burn out. It's impossible to tell. “Look at us. I’m a greaser. A criminal. I darken the city with a pitch black bike, and run red into the streets. I am a fucking menace to society just like the rest of us. And you, fuck, you’re a synthetic with a heart of gold. And if you- if you let me, I’m going to ruin that. Ruin you. Shit, I mean you already look forward to the turf wars, because you know what comes after.”

“I do not look forward to them, but being there means I can keep an eye out for you if you need.” His gaze moves away lazily, unapologetic. “They do herald the time we spend together, but it's not that which I like. It's the fact we can escape for a while, just us. A breath of fresh air amongst all of this.”

“And we come back because we know they’ll-” her voice cracks, “they'll find us. Out there is a big fucking world that we already know we can't hide in, we'd never find peace. There's no future, not for me and you.”

“What are you saying?”

“I mean.” She stands back again. Breaking away. “I mean I'm out too. Of this. Of us.”

His face, already torn between sadness and fear, falls further. “Do you think there is peace here? At least we have a chance out there. Movement, that's what will keep us safe. On the road, under the sun and stars, rain and shine, I don't fucking care. As long as you say you'll come.”

“Samuels, we’ve tried before, to run,” she mumbles softly, “and we were caught. Hurting the others, I don't give a shit, you know I fucking don't, but having to hurt you-”

“Do not dare blame yourself.” He says sternly, holding his shoulder where a long jagged ridge of repaired silicone pushes back. “I didn't feel a thing. They had to believe me, it was the only way.”

“No,” the tremble cheats the strength in her voice, in her eyes. A hundred times he’d looked into them and not seen this. “There was another way, there was always another way, we just don't want to admit it.”

“And I never will. You cannot convince me to move on, to leave you.”

“You have to. My people will try to kill me, and they'll definitely kill you, and-”

“Then I'll die.”

“Christopher...” She closes the gap between them, hesitant and desperate arms crashing around each other. No longer willing to exchange needy kisses, but fill a void. Squeeze so hard his respiratory system freezes. “Where are we meeting this time?”

“Pardon?”

“I need to get my bike, and you need to get off this side of town. But then what?”

He frowns deeply, for the first time he doesn't want to go through with it. “For our usual rendezvous?”

She convinces herself to back away, catching the last fragments of him like this, his fingers loosening their suddenly paper gentle grip on her waist. “I've been called many things, Christopher Samuels, but never shy of a challenge. Let's get the fuck out of here.”

Chris takes a step forward but stops, “Amanda,” he whispers, not wanting to ask if she's serious, strain this already brittle, whimsical promise. “Sunrise. The lookout.”

“Be there. Oh, and one more thing?” She calls back down the tracks, “I love you.” Her voice echoes in the dark long after she's gone.

#my brain feels like it's in the back of a moving van and the stig is driving #so i hope this is okie #enjoyyyy

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eeveevie · 5 years

Text

after the storm

The Guild is still reeling from Mercer's betrayal. There's work to be done, and questions to be answered and all Brynjolf wants to do is kiss Fiona again.

Takes place after Betrayal and Forgiveness, and is totally a self-gratifying comfort fluff fest I wrote just for kicks.

Brynjolf x F!Dragonborn

3862 words | Ao3

Brynjolf watched as Delvin paced in front of the Guildmaster’s desk, brows furrowed in deep thought as he explained the situation.

“Riftweald Manor is still crawling with goons,” he spoke, turning on his heel. “How much coin did Mercer have to pay those brutes to keep the place on lockdown while he hides away?”

Brynjolf shrugged. “He was hardly there to begin with. That oaf Vald still roams the gardens, eh?”

“Pfft, that bastard is loyal to whoever is paying the most,” Delvin spat. He finally stopped pacing long enough to peer at Brynjolf from across the desk. “We could try bribing him. There’s just got to be somethin’ in that house that Mercer left behind.”

“With what coin do you suppose we bribe him with?” Brynjolf asked, crossing his arms. He was sympathetic to Delvin’s anger, but they were getting nowhere. As much as he despised the idea, they would most likely need to resort to bloodshed. Brynjolf shuddered to think he’d stoop to Mercer’s level.

He rubbed at his jaw, wondering about other possibilities. “There’s the balcony ramp,” he considered. “It would take a well-placed shot to bring it down.”

“Well, well,” Delvin’s tone perked up. “Lucky for us we know a beaut’ that’s handy with a bow.”

Brynjolf frowned, knowing it was out of question. Fiona was not ready for a mission right now—especially this. She had barely just returned to the Guild with the news of Mercer’s betrayal—with the news of her survival. It hadn’t even been a full day, and Brynjolf still hadn’t had the chance to speak with her about the details of what occurred. What she needed was time, and he was giving it to her.

As if Delvin could read Brynjolf’s mind, he sighed, posture wilting as he leaned against the Guildmaster’s desk. “Poor girl,” he lamented. His eyes flicked up, remembering. “Didn’t mean ta’ interrupt the two of you earlier.”

Brynjolf attempted to feign ignorance, but his friend saw right through the façade. Still, Brynjolf perked his brow up, pursing his lips in a tight line as he dared Delvin to tease him about his relationship with Fiona. However undefined that relationship might have been. A part of him—perhaps more than rational given current circumstances—was annoyed that Delvin had managed to interrupt the moment of solace he had found with Fiona since her return. Or maybe it was a good thing the Breton had disturbed them before Brynjolf got carried away by his baser desires, or worse, his emotions. But—by the Gods—he wanted to kiss Fiona again, and it was Delvin’s bloody fault that he hadn’t had the chance to do so yet.

“Didn’t realize you were so sweet on each other,” his friend spoke in a calmer, less playful tone. “Figured it was all a game for you, like always.”

Brynjolf relaxed, despite the fact he was betraying the carefully perfected persona he had crafted after all his time in the Guild. Delvin didn’t seem to mind, or care, or had seen through it long ago. “Is it really that difficult to believe that it’s not a game with Fiona?” he asked. “That I’ve changed? That I might actually lo—”

The words stalled on his tongue, prompting Delvin’s eyes to widen in alarm. He grinned like a madman, and stood up straight. “Oh I definitely shouldn’t have interrupted you two.”

“No,” Brynjolf agreed, moving to place his hands on his hips. “You really shouldn’t have.”

Delvin waved his hand as if to dismiss the entire disagreement. “I can help play Lady Mara later,” he joked. “Right now there are more pressing issues.”

Regardless of Brynjolf’s irritation, Delvin was right. But he was also right about his earlier point. He needed to talk to Fiona about breaking into Riftweald Manor. It wouldn’t be an easy ask—but since when had anything in Brynjolf’s life been so simple?

He kneaded at the tension he felt at his shoulders. “Where’s the lass now?”

“So it’s my plan after all, eh?” Delivn chortled, before shrugging as he peered over his shoulder. “Last I saw her, she was in the Flaggon.”

It was all Brynjolf needed to hear to start moving across the Cistern, ignoring the little smirk Delvin flashed as he walked away. “Try to keep your hands to yourself this time!”

Being that it was already well past midnight, the Flaggon was devoid of its usual Guild members, most likely out scraping together what coin they could thanks to Mercer’s treachery. Brynjolf spotted who he was searching for at the bar, Fiona perched on a barstool at the corner nearest to the fire where Vekel was absentmindedly stirring a pot of stew. Her back was to him, so it was difficult to discern her current mood. Judging by the idle conversation she was keeping with Vekel, he felt comfortable enough to approach.

“There you are,” he called, pressing one hand to her back as he sat on the stool next to her. He faltered when she flinched away from his touch, startled by his sudden appearance. “Sorry lass, didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

Fiona relaxed when she glanced at him, managing the tiniest of smiles. Her hood was pulled down, most of her blonde hair pulled over one shoulder—clearly in an attempt to hide the still healing scar that Mercer had inflicted. Brynjolf had seen a glimpse of it earlier when they had been alone in the back of the Cistern. A part of him hoped she trusted him enough to let him see it again. He hoped she knew it wasn’t necessary to cover it like a mark of shame, but for now, he understood.

Vekel served them both tankards of ale alongside a bowl of stew, smiling as he offered Fiona a plate of fresh bread. Brynjolf watched as she eagerly took the food, steam rising from the bread as she tore it apart with her fingers. She allowed it to soak up some of the soup before quickly bringing it to her mouth. The sight made Brynjolf grin, but also wonder just how long she had gone without a proper meal.

Fiona seemed to notice he was watching, and slowed her movements. “How was your chat with Delvin?”

“Hmm,” Brynjolf contemplated answering her question as he took a bite of his own food. “Another dead end, it seems.”

“You can tell me the truth,” she said flatly. “You were with him for a while. Must’ve been more than just that.”

Brynjolf softly laughed, nodding as Fiona saw through his badly formed lie. “Aye, we…have a plan to find Mercer.”

Fiona only nodded, waiting for Brynjolf to continue. He hesitated, thinking back to their earlier conversation, or rather, lack thereof. He wanted to be patient with her and tread carefully. Despite the heartfelt reunion, the ache of how tumultuous their fight before her disappearance was still lingered. There were so many unanswered questions, and it was taking everything in him not to blurt them out at her in interrogation. As if she could tell he was lost in his thoughts, Fiona paused in her eating, idly pushing her spoon around the edge of the bowl.

“I should tell you what happened at Snowveil Sanctum,” she said. “I owe you some answers.”

“You owe me nothing,” he tried to counter, but she shook her head. He looked up, eyeing Vekel in a way that had the Flaggon barkeep taking the hint to hide himself away and give the two some privacy. Brynjolf nodded then, allowing her to continue on her own time.

“The ruins were just like any other Nord tomb I’ve been to in my travels outside the Guild,” she started in a low voice. “Mercer glided through that place—he knew every trap, every trick that awaited us.”

“I knew something was wrong the moment we approached the puzzle door and Mercer was unable to unlock it without a dragon claw.” Fiona paused when she noted Brynjolf’s brows knit in confusion. “You need to do more grave robbing,” she tried to joke with a grim smile. “It’s a puzzle door, impossible to open otherwise. But Mercer unlocked it like it was a rusty padlock on a shed.”

“How?” Brynjolf asked.

Fiona shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“Two eagles and a snake,” she mumbled—Brynjolf wasn’t sure of the meaning. “Beyond the door was only darkness. Mercer practically pushed me to go first, where Karliah ambushed us, well, shot me with a paralyzing arrow.”

“She shot you?” his alarm calmed as Fiona reached over to rest one hand over his.

“She saved my life,” she reminded him. “It was a neutralizer of some sort, to keep me alive after Mercer…slit my throat.”

Fiona instinctively reached for her neck, but Brynjolf grabbed at her hand, tightening her fingers in his own. Again, the rage bubbled within—Mercer had returned to the Cistern with lies of Fiona’s death, and used it against Brynjolf as a cruel form of punishment. In a way, he still felt guilty for ever letting her leave with the former Guildmaster.

“Whatever he told you I said in the end—”

“Aye Fiona,” he cut her off, squeezing her hand and scooting closer. “I know. I’m not that big a fool to believe a spiteful lie when I hear one.”

“We know Mercer is a murderer,” she continued. “Gallus’ journal also spoke of Nightingales. It’s likely why he killed Gallus in the first place.”

“Nightingales?” Brynjolf was more confused than before. “That’s just a tale we tell the footpads to keep them in line.”

Fiona solemnly shook her head. “By the way Karliah speaks of them, I’m not so certain. She also told me she was behind Goldenglow and Honningbrew. An effort to make Mercer look bad in front of Maven.”

“To what end?” he wondered. “Clever, though.”

A dull quiet followed and eventually, Fiona pulled her hand away to take a drink from her ale. She stared at him as he copied her movements, the two sitting in an unsettling silence until their drinks were finished, meals hardly touched. “So this plan of yours,” she mused. “To find him.”

Brynjolf finally relented. It was time. “We need to break into Mercer’s home and search for anything that could tell us where he’s gone.”

“We?” she questioned.

“Like I’d have you do it alone,” he replied. “It’s the Riftweald Manor near the temple. Delvin has ensured he’s not there, but the place is crawling with thugs. For once, I’m not inclined to care about killing anyone that stands in our way.”

Fiona firmly nodded. “Let’s take care of it then.”

And then she let out a long, drawn out yawn. Brynjolf chuckled as her cheeks flushed in embarrassment, one hand flying to her mouth to cover the trail end of the telling sign of her exhaustion.

“Perhaps after you’ve had some sleep,” he suggested. “I’m surprised you stayed here so late, what with that fancy estate of yours.”

Fiona pulled a face at his tease—he now knew precisely how she had managed to fund the purchase of Honeyside in Riften, and it wasn’t through thieving and debauchery—no, it was through heroism and being the Gods-blessed Dragonborn. Another topic he still had many questions to ask her on, but that was for another evening.

“I’m going to stay in the Cistern tonight.”

“Oh?”

“Knowing that Mercer is still alive, somewhere out there…it doesn’t matter how fortified the locks on the homestead’s doors are, or how many daggers I keep beneath my pillowcase,” she breathed out a defeated sigh. “I’d feel safer here in the Guild with everyone.”

That familiar pang of guilt settled in Brynjolf’s gut once more—Fiona’s fear was not something she deserved. This trauma would take time to heal, regardless of what happened to Mercer, and Brynjolf wanted to be there for her every step of the way. Fate had changed their dynamic, pushing it forward and down a path faster than Brynjolf could’ve ever imagined, but he was determined to keep up.

Brynjolf had an idea. Fiona didn’t have to hide away in the Ratway, and he could help prove it to her. Delvin’s warning to keep his hands to himself flashed in the back of his mind, but he shook it away, listening to his heart for once.

“Come on lass,” he encouraged, urging her to stand up. Fiona peered at him with knitted brows, unmoving. “Let’s get you to Honeyside.”

“I just got done explaining—”

“You don’t have to be alone,” he clarified sincerely. When she still seemed unconvinced by the suggestion, he flashed a grin. “Not when I’m there to protect you.”

Fiona rolled her eyes at his tease, playfully pushing at his shoulder even as she stood up. “Last time you said that, I was poisoned by assassins. Or was it when we were attacked by bears? Or when you stepped on that fire mine—”

“Isn’t your bunk in the Cistern next to Delvin?” Brynjolf pondered aloud. “Between the snoring, and the daydreaming of Vex…”

“You’re insufferable,” Fiona huffed, but her smile was encouraging. Brynjolf wrapped his arm around her shoulder as the two walked back through the Cistern.

“Aye, but you love me anyways.”

Outside, a small trickle of rain had started to fall, a light mist blanketing the entire city. It was eerie and peaceful all the same—a reason why this was such prime hours for thieves to get their work done. The stonemason coffin slid back into place as they exited the Cistern, the two pausing to don their hoods before Fiona led them across the courtyard and market towards her home. Brynjolf studied the shadows, wondering if they could really believe the news that no trace of Mercer had been found in Riften. By the time they reached the eastside entrance, his senses had settled, but he could tell Fiona was on high alert.

She glanced over her shoulder before flashing her key, quickly undoing the lock before ushering the two of them inside. This wasn’t the first time Brynjolf had stepped foot in the homestead, but something about this visit felt different. Honeyside was a modest home, seemingly unfit for somebody that was called Dragonborn, but it was perfect for Fiona. A small kitchen nook and fireplace in the front entrance, and around the corner, a writing desk, numerous chests and her large bed, covered in furs. There was a cellar as well, where Fiona kept her alchemy supplies and surplus ingredients.

Fiona idled near the fireplace, stoking the logs to encourage the flames to grow and warm and light the dark room. She pushed back her hood and glanced at him, and he noted the hint of anxiousness there—it wouldn’t do. If there was one thing he didn’t want, was for their friendship—relationship to chance for the worse. No awkward looks or hesitation with words. It had always been so easy before, and that’s the way he wanted it to remain.

“Come here now, Fiona,” he beckoned, opening his arms to her, inviting her into an embrace. She turned to meet him, wrapping her arm tight around his torso, the other hooked over his shoulder. Her head rested against the curve of his neck, nose nuzzling there as she breathed out. He tucked her closer to his chest, one hand cradling the back of her head. He craned his head down to press a kiss to her temple. “I’m here for you.”

“I know,” she responded, softly.

Brynjolf smiled, gently peeling her away just enough so he could see her face. There was the faintest familiar glow that he had missed while she was away, a look that he never wanted to be without. “I care about you.”

“I know,” she repeated with a nod, and the tiniest hint of flirtatious smile. “I missed you, Bryn—we make a good team.”

“That we do lass,” he agreed with a smirk. Divines knew he never wanted to be apart from her again, if he had anything to say about it. He refrained from letting his heart take too much control of the moment—no need to pour out so much emotion in one evening, not when she had only just returned. Instead, his eyes flicked down to her lips, and he remembered how rudely they had been interrupted before.

“Can I kiss you?” His own question surprised him as he moved his hand to hold the side of her face.

Fiona raised a brow and tilted her chin up slightly. “Suddenly you’re asking?”

“I can be gentlemanly when I need to be,” he countered.

“It doesn’t suit you,” she teased. “I rather prefer the lecherous Brynjolf, always flirting and taking what he—”

Fine, Brynjolf thought as he interrupted her words, covering her mouth with his own. She smiled against his lips, arms around him tightening as she kissed him in return. It was sweet, far gentler than their emotion filled reunion earlier that evening. Not that this kiss held any less emotion, but Brynjolf felt far lighter—happier.

“So you’ll stay?” Fiona asked as she pulled away, pressing one last soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. She was beaming, but holding it back. “To protect me, of course?”

“Right,” Brynjolf laughed, reluctantly peeling his arms away from her. He peered around the house before eyeing the ladder. “I’ll start my patrol in the cellar.”

“Stay down there long enough for me to change,” she instructed, rolling her eyes when she noted his eyebrows perk up. “No peeking.”

Brynjolf lowered himself down the ladder into the darkness, listening to the floorboards above creak and fabric shuffle as Fiona changed. His mind wavered, and he stood there in a momentary haze as he imagined her undressing, then cursed at his lewd thoughts. But knowing her naked form was just a ladder’s crawl away was tempting. He gulped—he really had told Delvin the truth, he was (somewhat) a changed man—the fact he hadn’t rushed back up to ravage her already.

Instead, he took the nearby lantern and combed over the storage bins, kicking at sacks and hunching down at areas where a thief or assassin would hide. Quickly though, it was obvious the cellar was devoid of any harm. Well, except for Fiona’s poisonous mushrooms and janis root extract.

“Careful of the lavender,” Fiona’s voice called from upstairs. Brynjolf skirted around the baskets of flora, pinching the bridge of his nose so the offending flowers wouldn’t upset his allergies, as he inspected every last corner of the basement once more on his way back to the ladder.

Fiona was sitting on the edge of the bed as he stepped back onto the first floor, changed into a simple white cotton dress meant for sleeping in. She was now carefully removing the braids from her hair, piling the metal pins and little ties that kept them together in a neat pile on the nearby table. Brynjolf slowly circled around the room, inspecting the eastern and western door’s locks, all the while glancing over to catch Fiona inspecting his movements.

He flashed a grin as he finally sat in the chair before her writing desk, inspecting the wide away of notes, maps and books she had gathered in her travels. Just how had her true nature gone unnoticed by him? He wanted to know more…eventually.

“It’ll be just like having first watch,” he joked, crossing his arms as he leaned back to get comfortable. “Well, except this time for the whole night.”

“You aren’t staying there,” she commented, shifting her body under the blankets and furs.

“Is that so?”

Fiona only beckoned him with a nod of her head as she settled against her pillows, bright eyes watching him carefully through the dim lighting of the room. Slowly, Brynjolf stood and approached the bed, hovering over her for a long moment as he contemplated her offer. She’d never invited him before—despite the fact he’d found himself asleep and awoken beside her in the same space on a few occasions before. At any other time he would’ve made a vulgar comment about sharing her bed, but this wasn’t the time. This was entirely new, and exciting, and made his brain, heart, and loins ache all at once.

Finally, he sat on the edge of the bed, glancing over his shoulder to look at her as he removed his boots. She watched him the entire time as he moved, shifting to remove his belt and daggers to the nightstand where they would be safe, but still within reach—just in case. He stood again, undoing the metal buckles of his Guild armor before sliding it off his shoulders and draping it across the wooden dresser at the foot of the bed. He’d leave his leathers on, no way she had a change of pants for him at this point, but smirked when she eyed his chest and the loose linen shirt. He brought it up over his head, chuckling when he noted the soft flush on her cheeks—it wasn’t like she hadn’t seen him shirtless before.

“Like what you see, lass?”

“Perhaps,” she answered, with a coy smile.

She scooted across the bed to create a void large enough for him to lay in, eyeing him as he pulled back the covers to do just that. Brynjolf stretched out next to her on his back, suddenly very aware of how little sleep he had gotten over the last few weeks while she had been presumed dead. His body instantly relaxed, welcoming the softness of the blankets and furs and her. Fiona’s hand reached out to him, and he turned his head to find her hesitantly seeking out to touch him.

Brynjolf swiftly moved his arm to wrap around her, inviting her to snuggle close to his side. Fiona did just that, one arm hooking around his chest, her legs sliding against his as her feet playfully tickled against his.

“This is…nice,” Fiona mumbled as she nuzzled her head against the curve of his shoulder.

Brynjolf softly chuckled, running one of his hands down her arm as he settled into the comfort that was her bed and embrace. “I told you my chest made a decent pillow.”

“If only I had believed you before,” she sighed, her breath a delightful tingle across his skin. “Thank you for believing us—me. For staying with me tonight.”

“I’ll stay with you every night if you need me to,” he quickly assured.

Fiona’s quiet laughter warmed his chest. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? An excuse to stay in my bed, hmm?”

“With you, lass!” he reiterated, squeezing her into his side as she squealed playfully. They relaxed then, finally letting the warmth of the fire lull them to sleep. She yawned, turning her head ever so slightly to press a fleeting kiss against his shoulder blade. “Goodnight Brynjolf.”

“Goodnight Fiona,” he replied. He turned his head down to watch as her eyes fluttered closed, and eventually, her breathing even out as she fell asleep. “Love.”

#elder scrolls: skyrim #skyrim #brynjolf #brynjolf x f!dragonborn #dragonborn fiona #otp: I shall taunt you a second time #delvin mallory #fanfic #do you like my page break art here lol #fluff and flirtations #anyways here's sunday's big post

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