#why is everything i draw lately angst-adjacent? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mrwinterr · 4 years ago

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So Happy

Pairing: Rockstar!Bucky Barnes AU x Female Reader

Summary: After a night with your favorite artist, you’re left wondering where you both really stand.

Warnings: Smut 18+ (consensual, but unprotected sex, oral [male & female receiving], vaginal penetration and fingering, size kink and dirty talk). Language. Light mentions of substance abuse. Lying asses. Internet toxicity (I hate it here sometimes). Angst, I guess...TIME SKIP...and absolute horrendous fluff (that’s not my brand, alright).

Disclaimer: You can read part 1 here! It would make some sense.

A/N: This follow-up is still based on some true events. Can’t hate the players, hate the game. For the most part it’s made up because some of us deserve the ending we think we deserve. I’m dedicating this to @shawnie--jo for all the love, enthusiasm and the patience because this took me a while. It’s a doozy! & with that note, enjoy!

“You owe me,” is the first thing you hear your friend say the moment you stepped foot back into the hotel you had booked for the night before. It was in a much different tone than of the one she had in line for the concert.

Frozen in place, you turn your attention to her sitting figure on one of the single couches of the lobby. She wasn’t happy that much you could tell judging by the expression on her face and the way she sat impatiently, one leg over the other and her arms crossed against her chest.

The bag next to hers on the ground adjacent to her feet were your belongings. The way it was misshapen suggested she had hastily shoved your things back in it for you. She must’ve been in a rush to leave before checking out or…

“You owe me $50 for the late check out fee,” she clarifies, ceasing all thoughts of why she was currently pissed at you.

Now begins the walk of shame. It wasn’t something you were used to. Could you even call this that? You had no reason to feel ashamed because you were completely aware of last night’s events. You defended your decision as so! Then why did you feel this way?

Perhaps it had to do with you just now returning to the hotel you were supposed to have been checked out of hours ago, but instead you’re greeted to your more than displeased best friend staring daggers at you for a different reason.

Sheepishly bringing a hand to rub the back of your neck, when you’re close enough to her, you open your mouth to begin apologizing, but she wasn’t done as she got up on her feet to level with you.

“You said you would be back before check out,” she said voice slowly rising in volume, no matter the distance between you two was close or not, you could tell this was just the start of a catalyst, “and it’s...oh,” she stops to look down at her phone, which shined bright revealing her lock screen and more importantly the time, “...only three hours past check out!” Yup, not happy with you at all.

“I know you’re upset,” you start with the obvious, “and you have the right to be. I said I would be back in time, but I wasn’t,” maybe admitting you were wrong would allow her to see you were indeed aware of your mistakes, soften the blow to come a little bit.

“Upset? I’m disappointed!” she says, her arms falling to her sides and with a look of disbelief but is quickly washed over with indisposition. “Some sell-out rockstar invites you over to see him and you lose your sense of mind?”

“Look, I’ll pay you back. It’s no big deal.” At least on your end, you’re trying to remain calm even when her tone and choice of words get under your skin. You didn’t need this weekend to end on a bad note.

“This isn’t about the money!” She proclaimed.

“Then why are you bitching at me? I’m a grown adult! I know what I did-” Yeah, at least you were trying to stay composed, right?

“Do you?” She challenges. It’s one of those rhetorical questions, in which she didn’t need an answer to, but you were still going to give her one.

“Yes, ok. I slept with Bucky and I don’t regret it.”

The defense you put up so quickly around you weren’t something your friend was used to witnessing...maybe to your parents, yeah, but not at her. Sure, you’ve both had the occasional quarrels, but your relationship and sexual life was different because she really cared for your wellbeing and would be damned if someone hurt you.

“I’m just worried,” she admits for her initial brute front, “what you did was totally unlike you and I…”

“What?” You interrupt her, growing more tired of this conversation by the second.

“I don’t trust Bucky.” She blurts out.

You scoff at that reasoning, “you don’t know him-”

“And you do?” This time she interrupts and catches you off guard on that one. “You’re right. I don’t know him, but you said it yourself. Bucky meets tons of people every day. He’s on the road a lot. It’s easy for him to get lonely.”

There it was again. The self-conscious thoughts questioning everything about last night’s events. In a pathetic display of defense, you start counter-questioning her with some of the statements Bucky said to you. Why would he tell you all those sweet things and pretty promises if he knew he could have you so easily? Why would he think you weren’t like the other women out there who exposed their escapades for their 15 minutes of fame? What made him think anything of you? There were other girls in the crowd.

“He’s going to tell you things he wants you to hear to get what he wants.” She really believed that. She knew what some men were capable of. She had more experience than you and you often turned to her for things like this.

Her last sentence was something to let sink in. The way last night played out and the last few hours you spent with Bucky; you were blinded by a rose tint world.

Earlier that morning...

“You know,” Bucky starts with his gaze first set on your face, slowly starting to drift down your body trying to catch a glimpse of uncovered skin that the blanket was doing a horrible job in concealing. You watch with bubbling desire the way he bit his bottom lip and eyes growing darker, ”...if you ever need anything. I’m here to help. I can get you out of that town and you can stay with me in Brooklyn. We’ll find you a place to work in that’ll appreciate you more.”

He was a dream. He was so sweet, but you weren’t going to deny it. As much as you adored what little you knew about the real Bucky, a part of you that was always so careful was also skeptical. That voice in the back of your mind, whether it was your parents, teachers in the past, PSA spokespersons or your best friend, was still trying to tell you Bucky wasn’t an exception.

Then on the other hand, you were finally getting what you wanted. You weren’t a little girl anymore. You could take care of your own heart. Why couldn’t you have some fun? Indulge a little. Life is too short to sit around and wait. If he was serious about any of the things he said, then great! If not, oh well, you’ll live. What’s life without experience, right?

You just never imagined any of the harmless mentions or replies through social media were going to get you in bed with him and so smitten.

When Bucky pulls his lips away from you, he repositions himself on the bed to lie on his back and bask in the comfortable silence. You’re still on your side, but your eyes suddenly widen as you curiously take a peek over his frame and notice the red numbers of the alarm clock on the bedside table. The curtains were drawn shut, so you had no trace of the actual time of day.

“Shit,” you muttered to yourself, but was no use. It was just you and Bucky in the room and he’d definitely wonder why you’d grown frantic.

“Whoa. What’s the rush?” He says slowly sitting up, still exhausted, and watching you throw the hotel comforter over your body to get out of bed. You didn’t even care that you were naked in front of him. He’d have a souvenir to remember you by.

The sex tape was the least of your worries though. You fucking missed check out! You can only imagine the look on your friend’s face when you reunite.

“I missed check out,” you respond while momentarily being thrown off course in search of your underwear, but then instantly remembering how Bucky tore it off of you, and you did your best to push aside last night’s activities.

“What?” He asks, rubbing his face trying to rid himself of sleep. He had to get going too. The band was off to play in the next city in some hours. Unfortunately, you didn’t have enough time to take off from work to follow him.

“The hotel I’m staying at. I missed check out and my friend is going to be so pissed at me,” you explained beaten. You can’t for the life of you see where your clothes were in the dark room.

Drawing the curtains open or switching the light on without warning wouldn’t be ideal to the both of you and not only that, the effects of the substances your body was coursed through, the physicality of you and Bucky’s actions last night, the consequence of it all topped with the lone fact that you’re now standing naked in front of Bucky starts to seep in.

You try not to stand there awkwardly and do the only thing you can do. Inhibition creeping back in, you cover your face with your hands and breath in and out, hoping the floor would swallow you whole so you could escape this embarrassment and your friend’s pending wrath.

“Look,” Bucky says now in front of you, pulling your hands away from your face, he’s naked too, washing away some traces of vulnerability away, “you’re already late. You can’t change that. We can only keep moving forward,” he says, his arms slipping around your body to pull you close to his.

The sudden jolt from the skin-to-skin contact quickly subsides with the warmth of his body transferring onto yours. You hold onto his biceps and nod in acceptance. Any attempt to rush back to your hotel wasn’t going to do you any favors now.

“So then, what do you say we get cleaned up and try to enjoy our time together?” The way his head tilted to the side, a not-so-subtle hint in the direction of the shower in the bathroom, his smooth voice and his eyes half-lidded, ready to get lost in you one more time.

You said it yourself, life was short, so if you already knew your friend was going to chew you out, why deny yourself of its pleasures right now, especially if it’s coming from Bucky.

“Can we just get going? We’ll catch traffic on the way back to the city if we just stand here and keep putting each other down,” you ask, slightly shaking your head of the early morning activities and straightening yourself up, bending forward to pick up your bag and sling it over your shoulder.

This little spat would eventually pass. None of the arguments you two had were ever threatening to your friendship with each other. You’ve both fought over things much more critical that it’d be a shame to let it be over someone like Bucky.

Before you could turn back around to exit, your friend grabs a hold of your arm and stops you. “I don’t want to see you get hurt. I could be wrong. Bucky could be the one, but I want you to be smart about doing whatever you end up doing with him. I just want you to ultimately be happy,” she says wholeheartedly.

You knew she was only coming from a good place. She only ever encouraged you to do your best and the right thing. She was the one you sought out advice from and she never led you astray. In the end, you knew you couldn’t ever truly be mad at her. You owed her more than $50 alone.

“Thanks. I’m sorry for snapping at you. I know your intentions are in the right place and I really appreciate you for everything. You even agreed to come to this show with me! But I’m only human and I’m going to make mistakes along the way,” you say and notice the fallen look on her face, but you don’t give her long enough to feel sorry for you with your follow up statement, “...if I get hurt, it’s going to suck, but I’ll get back up, learn from it and move on. Plus, I’ll have you there by my side to tell you I told you so...again, and we both know how much you enjoy that!” You end it on a joking note.

A look of hope creeps back in on your friend and she’s pleased to see your resilient attitude again. You give her your best steadfast smile and it seemingly proved to be successful enough for her to accept your answer as she pulls you in for a warm hug.

You wonder, what Bucky’s motive was? He was Bucky Barnes. He could have anyone. Why did he trust you enough to be intimate with? What was his game? You just had to keep telling yourself for your sanity and wellbeing, with or without Bucky, in the end you’d still be happy.

The months to follow after that tour, you and Bucky had continued to stay in touch. You genuinely felt happy. He was giving you attention! From daily texts and long phone conversations or video calls, some rather suggestive than most, you were able to really learn a lot about each other. While you minded his glamorous lifestyle, each interaction erased all notions of it and he was just another normal human being.

If you were being truthful, a part of you was hoping whatever the two of you had was exclusive. You didn’t want to admit it, but you were in a way reserving yourself for Bucky because you felt there was something between you two and maybe he was just like you and too shy to be the one to bring it up first.

At times you’d find yourself being the one to initiate conversation...especially when the communication started becoming less frequent. They then reduced to just Holiday texts and suddenly they’d become unresponsive and you’d even be left on read. He never flew you to Brooklyn. He never followed you back on social media. You’d accepted he was most likely busy and the excuse of not wanting to attract unwanted attention to you, but the reality of it was he had seemed to move on.

It’d been close to a year and things were really quiet. The Avengers hadn’t released anything new nor did they have an upcoming tour to rehearse for. You’re trying to not let Bucky’s silence bug you and do what you’ve always told yourself - keep living your life. You weren’t going to lie to yourself, you were angry at first for letting him get to you like that and realize that boys will be boys. They would never grow a real pair and be straight with women. They always had to go and sugarcoat everything. You had to accept it. Don’t hate the player, hate the game. You were just a one-night stand and the worst part of it was that you consented to it, so you couldn’t hold anything against him.

Things picked back up in your life, work demanded more of your time and you were dating again, taking it very slow and casual. You knew nothing more would come out of it, but it was enough to distract you from Bucky. Life was slowly returning back to normal, even though it never truly could be, until you notice Bucky is posting regularly on his social media accounts again.

It’s not so much that but is one of the comments from another user that is a constant in each sporadic post. You recognize the user as an international model from another country. Curiosity gets the best of you and you decide to check out her profile, noting all the photos of them together and realizing that while you thought Bucky went M.I.A., he was spending his free time getting cozy with her in exotic places.

Her comments start out harmless in the beginning, but quickly become more and more persistent until one sets the record straight. It read, “that’s MY man” followed by a number of heart eye emojis.

You didn’t even know Bucky and the model knew of each other, but why wouldn’t they? He was exposed to extraordinary people, so finding someone in the business was a better bet than settling with you. They lived in a totally different world than yours.

There’s a plethora of thoughts that run through your mind. This is why he isn't responding to you. He had a girlfriend, who was in a much different league than of your own, and he didn’t really go public with it on his end. It made you sad, that much you could admit to yourself because you held back for him, but you weren’t going to admit this feeling to him or your friend or the world. You were going to prove to them you’d do the same thing - move on.

It’s a rather slow day at work and you’ve resulted in mindlessly scrolling through your Facebook newsfeed, but growing tired of lame memes and life updates from people you haven’t spoken to since high school, you switch over to Twitter for a more different kind of news and also a bit of some entertainment.

You’re not expecting the particular topic to be trending - #BuckyBarnesIsCancelled. You’d manage to move on from whatever it was between you and Bucky and returned back to your daily routine. You tried to remain a fan of The Avengers, but it wasn’t the same. The fling, if you could call it, with Bucky wouldn’t let you. You’d always be grateful for how their music impacted your life, but you’d have to keep living your life despite what transpired.

Sitting up from your slumped position in your office chair, you ponder for maybe two seconds before clicking on the hashtag. Things were still pretty quiet with The Avengers, with the exception of paparazzi photos here and there, but this seemingly came out of nowhere. What stupid thing did he get himself into?

“No way,” you mock at the headline. Claims of Bucky being mentally abusive, and an addict were being made left and right.

You scrolled through the timeline and threads of replies to find the source of it all and you were shocked that it came from none other than his own girlfriend...well now ex-girlfriend you assumed. The vindictive side of you only allowed a small part in finding some humor in this, but if Bucky was any bit of the Bucky you spent the night with and got to know for those few short months then this was sad for him.

There wasn’t much you could do though. What were you to do? Send him a message of condolences of some sort? He’d probably just leave you on read. Whatever you two had was long over.

Bucky’s agency did well to defend him and save his reputation. They released one statement to clear things up. There’d been images before of him partying and no doubt high on some substance, but that didn’t prove he was an addict. Then again, did you ever really know him? You’d been exposed to that stuff around and because of him. Some people just had more access to certain things than others did.

In some time, when things leveled out once more, he seemed to be back in the clear, but at a rate where people have already decided whose story they believed over the other, whose side they were on, the damage had been done. If there was a recurring theme here, Bucky had one thing to do after the scandal - move on with his life.

It felt a little strange being here again. If you take into consideration some of the things that had already happened, a lot has really changed since you were last in a line to see The Avengers live.

The band had taken a short hiatus to let the fire die out from Bucky’s scandal. It was probably a smart move - to let people cool their jets and forget. It was last reported Bucky had turned a new leaf...something about getting help. Steve took time off to focus on other projects...something about humanitarian work. Sam released some solo stuff...something with a different sound, but still as successful. The time off was probably the best for the guys.

There weren’t as many people it seemed, but enough for them to play in one of the city’s largest venues. You suppose that’s what a span of three years could do to an artist. When the tour was announced you weren’t sure if you should buy a ticket or not, but it’d been some time since you had a night where you could forget about the stresses of the world for a few hours. Never mind the short stint between you and Bucky, you were still a fan of their music and the joyous feeling you got from it was timeless.

This time you were alone. You didn’t even tell your friend they were touring again. Bucky was almost a nonexistent topic for a good while now. Plus, she had her own life to live and couldn’t always be there next to you. You were the bigger fan after all. On top of that, she would’ve most likely have advised against you attending.

Your attire was not to impress, electing on something casual and comfortable with a simple pair of jeans, a leather jacket over a nice top that did a better job at controlling your cleavage than the last one, and cute boots. Yeah, a lot had changed, but the scene didn’t as there were still a mix of fans, old and new, over and under dressed.

The guys still had it. They looked great! They definitely belonged on the stage for the world to see. They even played a 3-song encore. You could tell they loved doing what they did and anyone who was a fan could feel the passion and energy they poured out in the performance.

You’re currently sitting in the seat of your car, head resting against the headrest as you try to unwind a little from standing for a few hours and from the walk back to the parking garage when your phone vibrates and chimes loudly.

You glance over at the device you placed next to the driving console and your eyebrows scrunch in confusion at the name that appeared. Bucky Barnes. You’d never deleted his number and his text message thread had remained at the very bottom of your messaging app all this time. A sense of apprehension flows through you as you wonder what he could possibly want. How do you just text someone after ghosting them for over a year? Not to mention to someone you did something so intimate with and made all those promises to in the past. How does one do that?

Not wanting to dwell on it any longer or slip into restless thoughts about Bucky again because it wasn’t a walk in the park to forget about him, you open the text. It asks if you were in attendance because he claimed to have seen you in the crowd. This time around you’re not overthinking about what to respond with, you simply say yes. He’d been quick with his next message asking if you were still in the area to meet up.

The wise thing would probably be to reject the invite, but you find yourself once again staring at a hotel door waiting for him to open it. Initially, you’d suggested he tell you what he wanted to say via text, but he said it was something that had to be told in person. So, having been through what you had as a result of meeting up with him in the past, you had some sense of mind this time, you’d just have to make another mental note to not jump into bed with him again. If you were being truthful to yourself, the sex tape left you feeling a little cheap. He didn’t even send it to you as some form of fucked up courtesy or assure you that it wasn’t ever going to get leaked and luckily it hasn’t. You hoped he’d deleted it.

It was almost like Deja vu. You might as well have been reliving the night the first time Bucky invited you over to his hotel room. In the beginning it was kind of awkward and quiet, and it was exactly that years later, just with added history of course.

You’d chosen to sit on the end of one of the beds while Bucky moved slowly around the room trying to gather his thoughts and where to start. He notices the change in you. You were more confident and as you should be. Bucky Barnes couldn’t intimidate you this time. He had more to be embarrassed about than you did now.

Even though you had nowhere to be in the morning, it was getting late and you really would just like to get this meeting over with and Bucky was stalling.

“Bucky, why did you invite me here?” You say, the one to break the ice. He finally stops fidgeting around and focuses on you.

“I...I wanted to apologize,” he starts off, and you’re unmoving silence allows him to continue, “I realize how much of a complete dick I was to you…”

“What do you mean?” You ask. It’s not like he spread any dirty rumors about you or anything. He didn’t need to apologize for anything that you’re aware of. Maybe for leading you on, but you came to terms some time ago that maybe he didn’t owe you an explanation or perhaps you’d never get one. Yet here you both are.

“I used you,” he explains, now you’re confused, and he can see you’re not getting it entirely, which pains him. You didn’t think anything he did with you was wrong because you consented to it. It took two to tango, right?

Except it wasn’t like that at all and he wanted you to know how he strung you along all just for a quick fuck in the beginning and to cover his tracks he acted like he cared in getting to know you afterwards not realizing something purely good could come out of it for him. The confession wasn’t meant to hurt you again, but for you to realize your worth. He messed up with someone so special.

“I wasn’t lying when I said I remembered you from years before when you tripped in front of me,” there’s a small trace of happiness in the fond memory, “...and when I saw you in the crowd that night, fuck you looked so good and you still do…” he ended up a flustered mess after that small admission.

“Where is this going?” You ask hoping he’d get back on track and reveal the rest, trying to keep the fact he admitted an attraction to you in the back of your mind.

“Right...I’ll admit my ego got the best of me. The band was doing so well, everyone noticed us! I was getting attention from all kinds of people! I got hooked to different things,” suppose those articles were true then about him getting clean, you thought to yourself, “...it does get lonely on the road and I was so desperate for anyone,” oh you hoped and prayed he wouldn’t say what he was going to say next, but he does, “...and I knew there wouldn’t be that much effort on my part to get you to sleep with me.”

Great. Your friend was right then, and he was just like any other house name artist.

“Um...okay, that’s not something I was wanting to hear about myself,” you said after letting that sink in. Did you still appear to look easy?

“No, I’m sure it’s not, but when we were alone together everything was just easy-”

“Yeah, I got that. I’m easy!” You interrupt, and now you’re angry. As he’s trying to explain his actions, you started thinking about how mad and hurt you were when he started ghosting you. You couldn’t be upset about him getting a girlfriend, but the fact that he didn’t think he could continue even being your friend and instead just chose to ignore you was the better option was hella annoying.

“That’s not what I meant!” He says trying to justify his choice of words.

“Then how did you mean it?” You demand, and Bucky is a bit stunned with your new attitude. He foresaw that he would have a difficult time in explaining himself, but he didn’t think it’d be this hard dealing with how much his actions affected you.

“Everything was easy with you because you made it easy to feel,”

“I don’t know if I understand,” you say and attempt to get up, “...maybe this was a bad idea.”

“No, please. Let me finish,” Bucky is quick to get in front of you as he pleads for you to stay. You give him a slight nod and sit back down.

“Things with you were easy in a sense that being around you I was able to just be myself. I’ve never said those things to girls before you! I didn’t have to impress you with anything flashy. I even forgot I was some rockstar! You’re an incredible person, really-”

“I’m sorry, Bucky, but I just can’t,” you say, hating to interrupt him again, but you’re not ready to hear any of this, “...none of this still doesn’t sound right. It was just one night and then how do you explain just ghosting me the moment you get a supermodel girlfriend?” that last part came out unintentionally feisty but might as well let him know how you’d felt, “You couldn’t even be my friend when you were with her! I guess it was easy to just forget me too…”

Bucky lowers his head ashamed of how he handled that and just nods in acknowledgement of his actions, “you’re right. It doesn’t make sense, but what I feel is even harder to explain...”

“None of this accounts for her,” you demand. A part of you just wanted to know where she came from. How did it happen? Who asked who out? It wasn’t important information to know about, but the urge of human curiosity was large.

“She wasn’t even my idea,” he muttered, not really wanting to talk about her.

“What?” You ask.

“Getting with her was the label’s idea,” he admits, hating he was coerced into the idea of an on-screen relationship.

You scoff at the stupidity of fake relationships in the Entertainment industry. Why did people get their rocks off over it? Were OTPs really that a big deal? Are people so bored with their own lives that they have to push corporate into bringing two people who don't have feelings for each other together? However, Bucky thinks you don’t believe him and given how little you developed in trusting him with things, he’s not entirely wrong.

“I know it was a dumb thing to agree to and it’s one of the horrors working in this business, but I know now I should’ve just been forward with you,” Bucky says, voice still riddled begging for forgiveness.

“Why couldn’t you then?” You interrogate and notice the creases of distress on his face soften. “If I made it so easy to feel, then why wasn’t it just that to tell me the truth?”

“I-I don’t know,” he replies.

“Yes, you do,” you retort, and pretend you’re going to leave, but by doing so you know it’ll only get him to spill the beans quicker.

“I was scared!” He admits, stepping in front of you and keeping you still in your place on the end of the bed.

“Scared? Of what? Me?” You ask incredulously looking up at him.

“Yes!” He says and kneels down in front of you. “You’re so perfect! You’re real! You don’t treat me like I’m some celebrity. You didn’t even participate when people started cancelling me or whatever! You could’ve and you had every right to expose me, but you didn’t!” Your act did the trick, because the words just kept coming out of Bucky.

“I’m so sorry for ignoring you, for not telling you I was with her, but the more I got to know you, a part of me got really scared that I couldn’t keep being the kind of man you deserved because of my problems,” by this point, Bucky has placed both his hands on either side of you, his arms trapping you, “...trust me, I had a lot of time to think about everything I did wrong and what harm my reckless lifestyle has on others…I just feared it was already too late, but the one thing that I always thought about that helped me get through it was the lone night I had with you. I was so happy! I wanted that again...I had to get back to that, so I invited you back to try,” you didn’t even realize how close his face was to yours. He looked so torn and you hated seeing him like that, but there was nothing you could say that could fix things right now.

Bucky now felt vulnerable and almost pathetic. Just because he wanted another shot of happiness, and with you of all people, what made it okay for him to think you wanted to try again? You weren’t so certain of what you wanted with him anymore.

“Wow,” is all you give. You’re not sure what more you could add. After all that, he actually liked you? Were you still sure you weren’t living in some fanfic world? You needed some time to think about that and much to Bucky’s expectations, you weren’t going to come to a conclusion before you left this room tonight.

“Is there anything else you want to say?” You offer him the floor, and he gets it. You’re not going to say anything particular to his confession, at least not now. He’s not upset at all. It was a lot to take in. He had time to think, and he had to respect the time you’d need now.

He nods and backs away, realizing the close proximity, “just one question,” you nod this time and let him ask, “do you regret it?”

You know what he’s referring to, sleeping with him, the sex tape, the countless conversations, meeting with him right now - everything.

“No,” you answer honestly.

He lets out a weak smile, looking down sheepishly and adds, “I’ve never done anything like this with anyone before, I promise.”

He could promise and swear up and down all he’d like, but how could you be really sure? The only response you could give him is a small, neutral hum in acknowledgement.

Bucky knew this conversation wasn’t going to go as he had hoped. He really didn’t have a plan, he just really wanted to see you again. He goes silent and you know at this point, everything was all laid out. Time would tell the rest if this was worth saving.

“I can forgive you. I know I can because in a way part of moving on allows one to do so but completing a session or doing time in rehab doesn’t really prove anything,” you said brutally honest with him, he looks up at you almost defeated and just waiting for the final blow.

“You said a lot of promising things back then and you said a lot more tonight,” you add on, and gently begin to remove his hands from the spots either side of you to let you free, and get up to head out, however not with one more thing he could reflect on, also giving him hope, “...you need to show you’ve really changed,” then the conversation was over.

In some ways, these events needed to happen. He had to hit rock bottom to learn from his mistakes and kick out the bad habit. He knew now that he had to work hard to give you a reason to trust him and maybe even in the long run be with him.

On the other hand, you had to go through this whole thing in order to not base your happiness on someone else. You could be happy on your own and open enough to be with someone that wasn’t Bucky.

For the next few months, to your surprise, Bucky had actually made an effort to keep in touch with you. It wasn’t overbearing and he minded your space as well as he could from a distance, given that he was still busy with the band and other duties that came with his status.

While at times he could be flirty, you learned it was part of his charm. Your friend wasn’t entirely thrilled when you’d admitted to her that you visited Bucky that night. You might’ve not shown it, but she knew how much his past actions affected you. Granted it did its job in teaching you a lesson and in return allowed you to be more confident and to not take anyone’s bullshit, she’d be damned if Bucky tried to pull another act like that around you again.

By now, you were comfortable enough with him to even tell him about random dates you’d gone on; none proving to be long-term, but it was nice to confide in someone else other than your best friend and get an opinion from a male perspective.

You weren’t going to lie, there was a part of you that still liked Bucky more than a friend, but you weren’t sure when it was okay to willingly go all in again with him. Sure, you’d given him another chance, but just how low could people really go to get what they wanted? Some people could just be really manipulative, and you weren’t wanting to ruin what you’ve both rebuilt for yourselves. Either way, you’d be happy with him in your life even as a friend, which is how it could’ve gone if he’d been honest from the get-go.

The year was coming to a close and you’re at your job’s annual Christmas party. You’d managed to convince your friend to be your plus one, but she claimed she didn’t need bribery because your company always ordered outstanding catering and who in their right mind would turn down free food anyways?

Aside from pretending you were having a great time talking to your co-workers, most of which whom you barely spoke to at the office and as faux-friendly as they were tonight, you felt stupid for glancing at your phone every now and then hoping to get a message from Bucky. He’d been keeping you entertained the first half of the party until he just stopped responding.

Your friend had ditched you to take advantage of the open bar several minutes ago, so you were sitting at a table alone trying not to look pathetic. You started thinking of when an appropriate time would be to leave when the Market Manager of your job took the mic. Too late, you thought to yourself and decided to get comfortable in your seat and listened to what cheesy Holiday speech they had to give, but what you hadn’t expected was a surprise guest.

“What the hell?” You said to yourself as you watched Bucky, Steve and Sam shake hands with one of your bosses before settling into what would appear as an acoustic performance.

How’d they manage to get in contact with your job? Who gave them the in? Bucky knew what you did for a living, but you never stayed on that subject long enough to think much about it. Then your friend slides into the empty seat next to you, a drink in one hand and a knowingly smirk on her lips, one that suggests she was definitely in on this act. You didn’t realize how long you’d been staring at her with a stupid look of disbelief all over your face until your name is echoed throughout the speakers.

It snaps you out of your trance and you focus your attention to Bucky on stage, a huge smile on his face. All formalities set aside, he highlights you and your friendship before jumping into their new single, which was widely popular right now. Normally, you weren’t one to take compliments easily, not used to so much attention, but the whole world disappeared with Bucky.

Once their little set was over, the majority of your colleagues enjoyed the performance and asked for photos, to which the guys were more than happy to appease to. Your friend had managed to escape your clutches once more, this time abandoning you for the dessert table. You’re not alone for long as Bucky occupies the seat left open next to you. You look around your surroundings, hoping there aren’t any more surprises in store, and practically attack him with a big hug.

Bucky’s chuckle is muffled, his face buried in your hair, as he wraps his arms around you to return the gesture. When you pull away, you’re almost left speechless, but you’re dying to know how he managed to get here. He was technically still on tour and this was not one of the passing by cities.

“How?” You ask.

“Hi to you too,” he said with a cheeky grin, to which you playfully slap his arm, and he responds with your friend’s name. He explained how he’d wanted to see you and how much he had to grovel for your friend to trust him. She’d helped him arrange a meeting with your boss, who turned out to be a huge fan of The Avengers, and even sneak them inside the building all under your nose. She wasn’t easy to persuade, but if she was convinced enough to work with Bucky on anything then you knew this meant something more.

The initial notion of wanting to leave the party immediately vanished and you wanted nothing more than to just sit there in Bucky’s company all night. Steve and Sam greeted you and you never realized that this was actually the first time meeting them formally and not outside of a venue. They weren’t rockstars to you any more than you were just a fan to them. They were Bucky’s friends, of course he’d confined to them on his end as much as you did with yours.

At some point they had excused themselves to catch the last flight headed back to Brooklyn, but Bucky had decided to stay longer. When it was time to leave, you found out Bucky hadn’t planned long enough to where he would stay the night in your city. The original plan was to fly back home with the guys and pick up on the remainder of the tour. They had a few days off, but it was just a few days shy of ending, and he couldn’t wait that long to see you.

It’s funny how life works because this time you’re the one inviting him to your place. You weren’t going to blame it on the open bar or how late it was or the underlying tension that was surrounding you two, but one thing was certain, it was mutual, and you both weren’t going to deny the attraction any longer.

You’d missed the weight of Bucky’s body on yours more than you’d realized as your hands held his face, keeping his lips attached to yours. You could taste the remnants of the unfinished drink he’d abandoned at the coffee table on his tongue. Bucky’s hands hiked your leg over his waist to get you to lie flat on your couch.

You’re the first to attempt to remove clothing by popping open the buttons of his button-up shirt before completely ridding of the item leaving him in his thin undershirt. You feel his hands slide up from your hips along your back as they dig into the minimal space the arch of your back had created for him to slowly unzip the back of your dress. With your lips both still attached, you manage to sit up, your dress falling down and bunching at the waist in the process, exposing your breasts. He couldn’t have picked a more perfect time to see you in an outfit that would not work with a bra.

Bucky curses breathlessly when he pulls his lips away from yours for a quick breather, but in the process, he takes a peek at your half naked body. You can tell he’s just itching to touch you and you take the commanding lead and place his hands on you. The atmosphere grows thicker, him kneading your breasts, you smash your lips on his in a sloppy lock.

You push Bucky down on his end of the couch and manage to kick your loose dress all the way down your legs and off your body. Bucky’s hands travel down to the curve of your ass before he grabs a handful of flesh, causing you to moan into the kiss. Your hands rake through his styled hair, the product he used unstiffening and his hair falls limp in your grasps.

Bucky’s hands started to aid your hips in moving roughly against his clothed member, desperate to relieve some friction, and you internally blushed remembering how thick he was, how full it felt to have his cock stuffed inside of you. You didn’t remain celibate during the hiatus of your relationship, you both had urges, but Bucky had really ruined others that came after him.

Your lips drifted down Bucky’s body, kissing at the skin of his chest in the pattern following the swoop-line seam of the undershirt that he was still wearing. You skipped the expanse of his toned stomach, until you’re met with the small amount of skin that peeked between his bottoms and hem of his undershirt. You slightly lift the material up and place small pecks at his lower abdomen, which causes a low groan to rumble in Bucky’s throat.

Your fingers deftly unbuckle his belt and unbutton his pants, with the zipper pulled apart, you’re marveling at the imprint of his hard cock, already twitching and staining his boxers. You manage to break your gaze and look up at Bucky, who is desperately pleading with you to proceed. Your eyes never leave his as you lower your head closer to his member, tongue darting out to the dark spot of his boxers, tasting the precum.

The contact causes him to squirm and lips form in a tight line. You pull down his pants and agonizingly peel off his boxers slowly, dragging it down to his thighs, just enough to expose him enough for you to work with before you wrap a hand around his length. Bucky’s upper body is supported by his bent elbows so he could watch you.

You kiss the tip of his leaking cock, a small string of his precum sticking to your lips when you pull back, to which you run your tongue over. Bucky’s head falls back just in time when your lips enclose the head, tongue twirling around the ridge and teasingly at the slit and loving the sound of his breath getting caught in his throat. You inch your mouth down his length and your vacant hand gets quick to work on what you’re not able to intake while the other runs up his exposed abdomen, your fingers curling in and lightly scratching down as it runs down to massage one of his thighs. You can feel the muscle in his thigh flex at your touch the more your head bobs up and down on him.

A plethora of curses spew from his mouth, but the rush of sucking his cock, the gurgling of your spit mixed with his precum and occasional choking noise when your throat contracts around him, is all you can hear from your perspective. When you part from his member, you’re breathing intensifies, desperate for more air to enter your system, eyes slightly watering, lips swollen, your hand lazily slathering the wetness all over him.

“You’re so good at that,” Bucky comments and he finally manages to pick his head back up to look at you. He reaches forward to swipe at the mess on the corner of your chin, but you’re hungry for more, and you move your head to the side to suck on his thumb, eyes closed as you hum at the taste of his skin and essence.

Your soft tongue running against the pad of his somewhat calloused thumb, it pops lightly when you release the digit, a small, devious smile on your lips as you scoot away to lie on the other end of the couch. He’s almost at aghast by this, but even back then you were just always full of surprises around him and he wasn’t going to deny the appeal of your sexual allure.

Bucky is quick to get to your side, completely riding himself off the rest of his clothes - the undershirt, pants and boxers - he had dressed to impress but right now nothing more than but overdressed. He gently parts your legs, kissing up your calves and thighs, until settles between them, you can feel his warm breath fanning against your scantily covered core.

Unlike last time, you’re not afraid to watch him and he sends you a knowingly wink, quickly ascending up to give you a sweet kiss, while his fingers slip inside your panties and between your lips. Your hips eagerly thrust upwards hoping his fingers slip in.

“Baby, we got all night,” he says cradling your face in his other hand. You let out a small whine, but regardless attempt to be patient. Bucky studies your face, mesmerized by every structure and unique feature, then what felt like an eternity, but in reality, was only a few seconds, he sinks a finger inside your wet pussy.

As soon as the gasp leaves your lips, his lips swoop in and tongue instantly dipping in search of yours. The heated kiss only heightens the sensation in the pit of your stomach, your hips losing control and every buck up into his hand, your clit rubs up against his palm, invigorating it. The curl of his finger, lightly probs at the right spot inside you, you uncontrollably squeal against his lips, with a hand against his chest you gently push his body away from yours.

“Oh my God! Fuck, Bucky…” you say with your head tilting back to the curve of the couch’s arm. You feel Bucky’s lips kiss and suck at your exposed neck as his fingers continue their handy work, the lewd noises causing your eyes to roll back.

His lips find their way next to your ear, gently nipping at it, and you could just drown at the sound of his husky breathing and filthy words. “Can I taste you?” He asks. You’re not sure why he was asking, you’d want nothing less. You nod almost instantaneously before allowing him to remove your panties.

Bucky’s hungry eyes remain fixated on your glistening core, “oh, I missed this pussy,” he comments before his tongue fondles the lips. He has a hand lying flat against one of your legs, pressed on the couch to keep them spread apart, the other blocked by his body. His routine contrasts his old with how his tongue moves in slow and calculated laps. His mouth was very talented, given whatever style he chose to play.

You’re tethering on an orgasm and Bucky wanted nothing more than to watch you come undone for him. Bucky’s fingers and tongue work in tandem and fast to help you reach a climax.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” Bucky manages to ask in between, eyes peering up at you. You don’t actually answer because you can’t concentrate from the pleasure he’s bestowing and the impending release. “Good. I want you to cum. I want all this pussy has to give,” his voice hitting a different low, even his fucking voice was so sexy. Your hands clutch on fistfuls of the couch cushions when you feel the first wave of pleasure wash over your body, your hips stilled in place as Bucky laps up at your arousal.

“The sweetest thing ever,” Bucky mutters mostly to himself, but hearing that comment only feeds your ego, which never is a bad thing in an intimate setting. Your chest heaves up and down from the impact. Just as Bucky is about to crawl back up to parallel, you stop him with a foot at his chest. He grabs your small foot in his hand and blinks at your resistance.

“Sit back,” you command. He drops your foot and watches as your body maneuvers around to climb over his. He didn’t even realize his body had complied to your demand, absolutely hypnotized by you.

You lean in for a deep kiss, one that leaves his brain a mush, yours too almost that you have to steady yourself with one hand on the couch armrest. You reach a hand down between your bodies and grab a hold of his hard cock. Your fingers tracing along the vein before you start rubbing his head through your sensitive, wet folds. Bucky’s hands lay lightly on your hips, trying with all his might to not force you to take him all the way in. A large part of him liked this dominant side of you. There was so much about you he was dying to unearth.

“Baby, please…” he begins pleading as you barely press the tip of his cock just at your entrance before you slowly lower your body down to engulf his entire length. You sit still once you’re sure you’ve bottomed out, not noticing Bucky’s fingers digging into your hips, sure enough to leave crescent marks and tiny bruises.

Bucky’s face is buried in your neck, your cheek pressed against the top of his head, lost in the mop of dark hair. You feel his cock twitch inside of you causing your hips to ground on his. He was in so deep, you weren’t sure how long you were going to last in this position, but you’d be damned if you denied it.

You start with slow swivels before sliding back and forth on his cock. Bucky’s hands released their death grip from your hips, one travelled to the front to grope at your breasts while the other supported your body settling itself on the small of your back. Your hands set themselves on the back of the couch on either side of his head, using it as leverage to ground down harder on him.

“Mm, I missed fucking this big cock,” you lean down to whisper right in his ear, “you’re so deep, Bucky.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he spits out curse after curse at your dirty words. “You gonna cum on this big cock, hmm?” He asks. The question comes as a challenge and you weren’t ready to give up the ropes to him.

“Yeah, is this big cock gonna cum inside this tight pussy?” You counter the question, speeding up your gyrations until you start to feel the burn in your thighs and stomach begin to twist. He lets out a low, long growl, his eyes lulling shut and head falling back against the couch, ready to succumb to euphoria.

“No,” you say, suddenly ceasing all movements to pull at his hair. The sharp pain in his scalp causes his eyes to snap open and look up at you. “Keep your eyes on me,” you command much like how he did with you the first time. You watch him swallow the knot in his throat and give him a wicked smile before picking back up where you left off.

Your hands are sprawled on his sweaty chest as you bounce up and down his length. Bucky’s senses are on overdrive, the way your pussy naturally hugs his cock, walls squeezing occasionally, your breasts swaying right in front of him, your skin shining from the layer of sweat coating your body, and the look of immense pleasure written all over your face because of him.

“Baby, I’m gonna cum,” he says over and over as some form of warning, hoping you’re not far behind.

The way his face contorted in ecstasy, lips parted, sweat building up on his forehead, the tip of his cock stabbing at your sweet spot, you were about to cum too. His words become a muffled mess when you attempt to silence him with a bruising kiss just as you reach your high, pussy clenching tight around his cock milking him of everything he’s got. Each spurt of his hot cum that shoots inside you causes your hips to stutter in response. Bucky attempts to keep them at bay with a hand pressed against your back, keeping your body close to him and in the process also instilling his seed is rooted deep inside of you.

“God...damn,” Bucky says short of breath when your body lies limp against his. Your arms are wrapped around his neck, you haven’t attempted to move just yet as you both sat there with his cock still buried in. When you manage to sit up, you stare back at Bucky with tired eyes, but there’s a smile on both your faces. It only slightly falters at his next words.

“I love you,” he says earnestly. Thankfully your silence doesn’t bother him, “...you don’t have to say it back,” he adds, “I just wanted you to know. You’re so special,” he proclaims and your heart leaps at the very admission. You only nod for now but give him another reassuring smile because in time you knew you could allow yourself to love Bucky and be loved by him in return. It wasn’t a conventional meeting, but this was your life, not everyone else's.

When you finally manage to pull yourself off his cock, it slips out fluidly with a trail of his cum following in suit. You knew you’d curse yourself later on, but you’re both too tired to clean the mess right now. The pair of you settle into a lying position, facing one another, encased in each other’s arms. It’s a moment of bliss as you both just lie there, his eyes closed and a smile seemingly permanently etched on his face, only around you.

“Hey Bucky,” you pipe up breaking the silence. He hums in response, “I want to know something...” you start out with.

“Anything,” he says, eyes still closed, his hand running up and down your arm, an indicator that he’s present and listening.

“What happened between you two?” Curiosity getting the best of you once more, you’re hoping this doesn’t ruin the moment, but you had to know. What went wrong? Besides, if this was going to work, he was going to have to be honest.

“Uh, she saw something on my phone…” he said cautiously, “...that involved you.” Your eyes widen at that. It couldn’t have been the sex tape you hoped.

“Bucky, no!” You gasp, sitting up and just hoping he doesn’t confirm it.

“Relax!” He says pulling you back down with him, “She was psycho. She went through my texts and saw some of the photos we used to send to each other. She must’ve thought they were recent.” He explains like it was no big deal.

Your heart stops racing slightly, you’re a bit relieved that she didn’t go as far as posting any of the photos on the Internet. You knew you were risking it by sexting with Bucky, but what was that saying? Hell hath no fury…and in a blind rage, she lashed out only on Bucky, but if she was a psycho, who knows what else she might’ve found on Bucky’s phone.

“Bucky?” you figure you might as well know now.

“Yeah…”

“What did you do with that sex tape?” You’d been dying to know if it was safely stored away or if maybe he even still watched it or just deleted it.

A big toothy grin spreads across his lips, his pearly whites on full display as he laughs at the question before he reaches over to the table next to the couch, where his cell phone rested on.

“Want to make a sequel?” He asks suggestively with a smirk on his lips and waving his phone at you, to which you playfully attempt to snatch from his grasp. He’s too quick, but nonetheless he replaces the phone in its original spot before focusing his attention on you alone.

“You don’t think this is all weird?” He questions almost hesitantly while tracing the outline of your jaw delicately. You’re not thinking that at all. You’d both been through a lot during the last few years that the only thing that was normal now was what you both had.

You shake your head in response, too tired for words, and drowning in the blissful moment. Bucky nods before declaring, “good because you make so happy,” then ending the night with sweet kisses.

“Hey, it’s me. I know you’re busy at the studio today...” you start, cell phone pressed against your ear. You’re attempting to leave a voicemail to your boyfriend, who was expecting your arrival later that day, “...but I just wanted to assure you that this isn’t weird, and I can’t wait to see you...I love you, Bucky,” you finish up the message and stuff the device into your bag just in time to hear the voice of the airline staff making the pre-boarding announcements booming loudly from the speakers.

Now boarding Group B for flight #107 to JFK Airport...final destination Brooklyn, New York.

A/N: We’ve been in quarantine for so long, I don’t remember how airport announcements are like anymore and I was only in Brooklyn last Spring…RIP to the good times.

A happy ending was weird to write in the end and I actually don’t like this particular Bucky so it could’ve gone really bad, but I said to myself, no, not this time, I can do what the title says and let them be just that - happy. I too can be happy if you give this a like, reblog or comment! Thanks for reading!

#mrwinterr writes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #rockstar!bucky barnes #rockstar!bucky #rockstar!au #bucky barnes #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan smut #sebastian stan fanfic #so happy

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justimajin · 4 years ago

Text

Til Death Do Us Part ♜ Pt.3

➟ Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

➟ Genre: Angst, Fluff, Eventual Smut

↳ (3k), Arranged Marriage AU

➟ Summary: If someone told you that you’d be marrying the Kim Namjoon, you would think you were being lied to, or worse, that you were hallucinating. However, fate seems to have it’s own ways of making the impossible possible and before you even know it, the title of Mrs. Kim is bestowed onto you. There’s just one problem: you’re not sure if Kim Namjoon is the person he says he is and the truth of your own identity is dangling by the strength of a mere thread.

➟ Warnings: 18+ rating, depictions of graphic violence

gif credit.

➟ Previous Parts: Part 1 Part 2

➟ Next Update: Tuesday, January 5

Your feet pace back and forth.

It must have been two, three‒maybe four days? You can’t recall anymore. All that remains in your memory is hours of roaming the long hallways of the house, nearly close to memorizing the amount of lights from the ceiling, or the multiple portraits set aside in one particular hall, lining together every head that came after Namjung.

You know every room colour, every room door, every speck of dust that lingers behind, but you’re nowhere close to transparently knowing the shareholder’s inside out.

Not having their favour means no communication. No communication means no reports are sent back, the static box still stored and hidden away.

Your bottom lip has become battered from your constant chewing, losing track of how many circles you’ve paced at this point.

And yet, it isn’t very difficult for you to decipher the exact reason for your distress.

The shareholders don’t want you around. The moment you stayed during their meeting was off putting enough for them and Namjoon's sudden interest for you to be vocal about your father’s intentions had piercing glares thrown in your direction.

But you’ve been assigned a task and you have to accomplish it, regardless of their desires.

Sucking in a deep breath, the sound of the doors to your bedroom wrenching open completely fails your attempt to calm down.

Swiveling around, Namjoon stands in front of you, eyes wide with delight.

“Oh, you’re here!” He quickly enters, striding over to you in an instant. “Is everything alright?”

Realizing that you’re simply gawking at his abrupt presence, you hastily shake your head.

“I-I was just surprised to see you.”

He smiles warmly and for some reason, you immediately flush at the gesture. You wonder if there will ever be a day where you can get used to the constant tenderness his eyes hold.

He raises his hand and you simply stare, until he leans closer to signal you.

“Come with me.”

Blinking, you cautiously take his hand, and he tugs you away, far from the confines of your room and into a place that makes it easier to breathe.

***

A gust of a wind immediately hits you, the brisk breeze feeling cold yet exhilarating at the same time. It’s strength blows and ruffles your clothes, the flowers at the bottom of your feet delicately brushing up against your skin.

You spin around with knitted brows, facing Namjoon who stands a distance away from you. He’s still clad in the suit he was wearing from work, but his eyes are closed, as if he was trying to absorb and completely immerse himself with the wind.

A question sits on the tip of your tongue.

“Why did you bring me here?” You nearly have to yell, the sound of the wind and the distance not aiding with your voice projection. Namjoon dreamily opens his eyes, walking over to you.

“It’s my mother's garden.” He points to the flowers, a cascade beginning with white, down to lilac purple and petal pink, “They have a calming effect, don’t you think?”

A strained smile remains on your lips, “I guess…”

Namjoon takes a step closer to you, “I’m sorry.”

You turn to him, eyebrows raised, “For the way the shareholders acted with you during our meeting, for putting you on the spot like that, and then leaving you alone for so many days even though we just got married‒”

He abruptly pauses, a pondering finger left on his lips.

“Wait, I don’t think this is enough of an apology, just give me a moment.”

Spinning around as if to leave, your arm involuntarily reaches out and latches onto his suit’s jacket.

He glances at you with surprise and you let go right away, awkwardly stifling back a cough.

“I-Its‒...it’s okay.”

Namjoon is frozen, teeter tottering between remaining by your side and leaving at once. After a moment however, he makes up his mind and leaves, before hurrying back with what would be adjacent to a small tree in his hands.

There’s a frown on your lips when he presents it to you.

“It’s a bonsai tree.” He quickly clarifies, “I got it a while ago and have been maintaining it since.”

You hum, leaning closer to observe it. It’s best description would be a miniature tree, although now you notice the string of ethereal pink that wraps around the branches.

“It’s beautiful.”

A warm, knowing smile crosses Namjoon’s lips. He gestures for you to sit down, still holding onto the small tree.

“So you mentioned you were raised in the outskirts of the country? And then went to the imperial academy?”

You nod right away, “What was it like?”

“Um…” You attempt to wrack through your mind for an answer, “My family didn’t have much but tried their best to raise me. I ended up going to the academy because they assumed I would be the next L/N head.”

“Did you want to be the next head?”

“Not really…” You fiddle around with the hem of your shirt, “I just went because my parents wanted me to.”

“So you didn’t want to be involved with the business and you didn’t want to go to the academy?” Namjoon repeats, like he was trying to memorize the facts, “What did you want to do then?”

You blink, staring at him wide eyed, “I don’t know….” There’s a cloud brewing above your head, fog spreading, “I guess...I never figured out what that was.”

“Come on, there must be something.” He raises the tree in his hands, “No bonsai trees to look after?”

A wide grin spreads across his features, yet your expression remains stoic and confused. His smile begins to deflate, and he lowers his arms, but an unexpected smile cracks across your lips, morphing into a lop-sided one.

“There was one bonsai tree, but it wasn’t a plant, or a mini tree for that matter.”

Namjoon eyes you in intrigue, as if you were telling a story that he was enraptured in. A genuine smile surfaces on your lips, fond memories emerging from the depths of your mind.

“I used to love reading....with my father, every Saturday morning.” There’s a spark within your eyes, recalling the day you first peered into his library much to his own joy, “It was something he initially picked up on as a hobby and then later introduced to me. I still remember days where I used to be buried beneath books and my mother would scold my father for the habit.”

A snicker leaves your lips, “I got into so much trouble once, I didn’t attend my classes at the academy to keep reading and I’d never seen my mother so furious.”

There’s a ray of euphoria splashing over your features, eyes brimming with excitement and bliss. You can’t believe you can still remember these memories, memories that are years old and only consist of absolutely innocent times.

Times in which you were allowed to indulge your natural curiosity instead of exploiting it.

At that, your smile falls and you turn to Namjoon to apologize for your abrupt rambling, but your breath hitches in your throat. He’s extremely close to you, only a mere inches away, and although there’s a small tree sitting in his arms, the look in his eyes is enough to draw your attention.

You awkwardly cough, looking away with a flush spreading over your skin.

“W-Why are you asking me all these questions?”

Namjoon blinks, as if broken from a trance.

He meekly smiles, “We’re married now, but there’s still so much I don’t know about you…”

You swivel around, eyes completely wide. The loose dots clumsily connect, but it’s enough for you to understand his intention behind bringing you out here.

He’s shared a piece of himself with you, in hopes that you’ll share a piece of yourself with him.

Namjoon gets up holding the tree, offering you his hand. You stare at it for a mere moment, a thousand thoughts swimming through your mind.

Cautiously taking his hand, you have to remind yourself that this is all a simple mission ‒ nothing more, nothing less.

***

Namjoon takes you across the garden, pointing out the various flowers that he’s aware of, while you trail behind him and listen in. At one point his bonsai tree nearly falls from his hands when he trips over a sharp ledge, and you’re quick to offer your help in holding it.

This results in your carrying of the small plant, and Namjoon’s deciding to let you know what he named it.

“Cherry?” You repeat, knitting your brows together.

Namjoon hums, “Like cherry blossom.” Pointing towards the string of pink you noticed before, you realize that the faint dust was indeed the emergence of new blossoms along the branch. “I have other ones too, and they all have names.”

You perk your eyes up at that, continuing to slowly trail behind him. There’s something that uncomfortably itches at the back of your throat, the apprehensive feeling in your stomach increasing.

The longer you’re here, following along with Namjoon and listening to his thoughtful words, the longer the mayhem increases. Red flares are exploding in your mind, and heaving ringing pounds through your skull, dragging you back before it’s too late.

“Y/N?”

You suddenly jolt from the proximity, realizing you’ve stopped in your tracks and that Namjoon is gazing at you with troubled eyes. You’re about to shake it off, mutter that you were just lost in thought, when a loud blare rings through the air.

“Sorry.” Namjoon winces, hurriedly taking out his phone and swiping away the piercing sound. “Hello?”

You peer down at the tree in your hands, curiously holding a branch between your fingers. “The deal’s been finalized? Already, Yoongi?”

At the sound of the shareholder’s name, your head snaps up. Namjoon goes silent for a moment, before his voice dips into a lower tone.

“I-I understand...I’ll be there soon.” The line is cut off, and he looks up at you, an apologetic smile forming on his lips.

“I have to leave, it’s for an urgent matter.” He takes the plant from your hands, “I’m sorry.”

You instinctively shift as he moves, grabbing onto his suit jacket like before. “I‒…”

He pauses, eyes rounding. The naive look he holds makes you grimace, the lie easily slipping from your lips. “I-I really don’t want to be alone here….”

Confusion dawns on him and you gaze down at the ground, attempting your best to mimic a somber expression.

Namjoon tilts his head to the side and places a finger on his lips, as if he were deeply pondering.

“I-I understand…” Although his words suggest it, he struggles with the implication. Relief floods through you, hoping that your professing is enough to sway him.

However, the last thing you expect emerges from Namjoon.

His tone drops a register and his piercing eyes flicker at you, holding onto an alluring yet ominous ambience to them. It sends shivers down your spine and you instinctively want to back away from him, caught off guard.

“It won’t be pretty.” He sharply enunciates. Swallowing hard, you can only nod in response.

Without another look, he gestures for you to follow him.

***

It would be a lie to say that you’re not knowledgeable about the Kim’s.

However, to say that you’re too knowledgeable about them, would be most accurate and a fact that you’ve always been careful to conceal.

The Kim’s manufacture weapons. They have far more connections that an octopus would have limbs, and they spread out everywhere, making deals left and right.

However, these are simple facts. Easy to memorize and remember.

And hurdles away from reality.

The building is far from Namjoon’s office, and exhibits a strange bluish grey hue, almost as if it were abandoned for decades. Yet when Namjoon hurriedly paces ahead and the steel door creaks open, your jaw drops.

It’s massive ‒ assembly lines running parallel and forklifts moving along to put up the heavy bundles of steel. It becomes clear to you in that one exact moment, of how much wealth the Kim family truly reigns over your heads.

Your dilated pupils glance in Namjoon’s direction again and he’s occupied with opening a separate door, far from the catastrophic noise raising in the room. Following him inside into an expansive hall, you’re again confronted with the four individuals that seem to despise your very existence.

Hoseok is the first one to scorn, stepping forward immediately.

“You brought her with you?” He spits, eyes throwing daggers at your form from across the room. Namjoon intervenes in an instant, raising his hand.

“She’s staying.”

Hoseok appears to want to protest more, but instead remains silent with only a twitch of his nose and another glare in your direction. You’re taken aback from how he’s rendered mute, but Taehyung crosses his arms and focuses on you.

“You better keep your mouth shut.” Brushing past you, he turns to Namjoon, his demeanor shifting. “We’ve just received the samples today.”

Yoongi takes out a large briefcase and places it on the table before sliding it in Namoon. As he works his way through the codes on it, Jungkook begins handing Yoongi more of them, and he slides them along.

The moment the first one is open, your heart rate spikes up.

A colossal gun is encased within the soft black styrofoam, nearly double the size of your arm. It’s distressing structure includes a handful of large bullets, one of which Namjoon picks up and inspects.

Tapping the side of the copper metal, his gaze narrows in intriguement, as if the bullet in his hand were a mere lightbulb. “What is it made of?”

“Lead and antimony.” Yoongi clarifies, “It has long distance range.”

Namjoon hums and your fists tighten, nails digging into the flesh of your palms. You had never imagined the Kim’s would be exploring these kinds of weapons, a weapon so fatal when their business has only ever focused on producing simple handguns.

Apart from the severity of the new knowledge you’ve just obtained though, for some reason the glint in Namjoon’s eyes as he views them seems to frighten you more.

His next question drains colour away from your skin.

“Do they work?”

Yoongi smirks like it’s a question that shouldn’t even be asked. Taehyung reaches over, swiftly grabbing onto the abundant gun and lining it with his shoulder.

“Would you like to see?” He ponders, and Namjoon nods, backing away from him. Taehyung cranks back the hammer and closes one eye, directing his aim for the wall.

You patiently wait for him to release it, expecting to hear a sudden spike in the breeze accompanied by a loud boom. But that’s when Taehyung shifts his feet, changing his angle with a small smirk dancing on his lips.

Aiming straight for you.

Your heart pounds in your ribcage and before you say anything in opposition, he releases the bullet.

“….if you ever are found out, Y/N…..

....at the split second in discovering your true nature….

....the Kim’s will not hesitate….

...they will never hesitate at the opportunity to dispose of you….”

The sound of your palpitating heartbeat blares through your eardrums, breath completely halting. Save for the frozen state your body has entered, the sight of having all eyes glued to your form barely draws your attention.

The bullet has whizzed right by you, landing on the wall you are standing in front of.

Taehyung snickers.

“It’s hard not to show off these precious babies when you have a L/N in the room.” He remarks and from afar, Hoseok shares his knowing look.

“That’s enough.” Namjoon stomps over in Taehyung’s direction, grabbing the gun from his hands with a scowl.

“What?” Taehyung innocently questions, cocking his head to the side. “It’s not everyday that you get to see a L/N in here.”

He gyrates, facing you, “I was hoping a demonstration would have helped you understand how the Kim’s operate.”

“Taehyung.” Namjoon warns again, but he saunters over to you, not fazed in the slightest.

“How was your father planning to save the company again? By letting it drown first or by setting all his assets on fire?”

His sharp eyes twinkle with amusement, brows narrowed as if he were observing you. There’s a handful of words prepared to spew from you, ranging from how he was completely wrong and downright conceited, but you bite your tongue back, recalling why you’ve persuaded Namjoon to bring you along in the first place.

You clear your throat instead.

“Well you know what they say,” A small smirk curls on your lips as you meet his gaze, “The L/N’s never did understand true power.”

There’s no naivety leftover in your expression, no hint of hesitation remaining anymore. The card you’ve pulled out is one you’ve been taught rather than naturally embodied, and it’s one you’ve been persistent to never use.

But you’re running of time and the only one to carry out your mission, is to wholeheartedly agree.

Taehyung appears taken aback, prepared for a giant fire to be thrown his way that ends up only drowsed in complete water. Your response has rendered him speechless, but it’s not long before a smile begins to tug on his lips, the dark look in his eyes commending you for the statement.

When he steps back, you notice the look of intriguement surfacing on every individual present ‒ save for the man you’ve been married to.

Although you’re content that you’ve captured their attention, it’s hard to ignore the stunned eyes Namjoon sends your way.

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soyeahitsmiddleearth · 4 years ago

Note

pippin👏 with👏a👏tall👏reader👏 (could you make it veryyyy fluffy?) ((also the reader is human oop))

Big Heart

Fluff and Humor (also a touch of Angst)

----

You met the little hobbit, Pippin, on the journey to destroy the One Ring.

It was by chance that you managed to run into them during their time in Rohan, but completely by design that you ended up their escort to Gondor.

You were one of the best riders and horse tamers in Rohan, so it was only natural that you'd be sent as their guide since the mission was so vital.

And, as time went on, you began to develop feelings for said hobbit.

His mischievousness and humor drew you in easily, and you've never met anyone who could make you laugh as much as him. It was only natural that his winning personality, and ridiculous decisions, would capture your heart eventually.

It's funny, because he wasn't even trying. He's just a natural comedian I suppose (as is his cousin, Merry, who you're also quite fond of).

After all was said and done and the battle for Middle Earth ended, you opted to join the hobbits on their whttps://archiveofourown.org/works/17413022/chapters/70134579/edit#ay back to The Shire and keep them all safe and healthy during their travels even though you and Pippin haven't... discussed anything as of yet.

And, the day before you were scheduled to leave and head back for Rohan, Merry and Pippin approached you sheepishly and asked if you would like to stick around a bit longer.

Now you agreed of course, why wouldn't you? There's nothing left for you back in Rohan, there never really was in the first place other than your title and reputation as a good rider.

Staying in The Shire is nice and all, but there are some things about it that really, really bother you. The scale of everything being one of those things.

The ceiling are low, and the hobbits are even lower than that. You've bumped your head on Pippins high ceilings many times, always forgetting to duck down low since your height was never an issue (much less a factor ) in Rohan.

You'll probably get used to it eventually, but, are you even planning on staying long enough to get used to it? It's not like you've moved there or anything, they just asked you to stay longer.

You and Pippin really need to have a talk.

When this realization hits you, you decide to idly wait in his dinning room while he's out and about.

Now you may be wondering, what on earth does Pippin have to do during the day?

Getting into trouble with Merry, of course!

Sometimes they steal, sometimes they do odd jobs for the other hobbits in The Shire, but, most of the time, they just hang around and smoke outside in the lovely weather.

You, on the other hand, chose to stay inside and enjoy some time to yourself up until these thoughts began to cloud your thoughts.

It isn't until the sun begins to set and the firebugs begin to roam that Pippin comes home, and he returns to a pot of tea and some freshly, baked scones.

It's hard as shit to cook in this tiny little cramped kitchen, but you made it work and the end product was fluffy, flaky, and delicious (so maybe they're more like biscuits).

As soon as the blond-haired hobbit walks in you greet him from the other room, settling on one of the too small chairs with your knees that hit the edge of the table.

He walks into the room you're in and greets you cheerily, zeroing in on the food like someone who has been starving for the last week. It was expected, though, because he's always hungry (even for someone as small as himself).

"Be sure to spare some, Pippin." You warn with a joking edge to your voice, eyeing him with a falsely stern stare, "You need to leave some for me."

Pippin only smiles at you with those shiny white pearls of his and snatches two of the breads from the plate they rest on, "Does one sound fair? It sounds fair to me."

You stare at him blankly and don't offer any sort of quirk our lips or even an eye-crinkle, making it seem like you're wholly unamused by his jokes.

His smile slowly fades when you take on this sudden no nonsense attitude, and you find that you can't keep up the 'unhappy' facade for too long.

Almost in unison do the both of you burst out with laughter, because, clearly, neither of you were actually taking this situation seriously.

You could never joke around like this or enjoy yourself in the likes of Rohan, you had no one to share such moments with in the first place, but it's quite shocking to realize just how much you needed this.

How much longer could your mind have survived such a monotone and honor obsessed environment? This is the exact change of pace that you needed if you wanted to live through your 20's and not die of boredom. What's so fun or great about being a good horse rider anyways? Well, actually, to be fair it was fun at one point, but then it became your job and everyone had such high expectations that it kind of just sucked the fun out of the one thing that didn't leave you stultified to no end.

Anyways, the both of you cease your laughing eventually and you proceed to swipe and snack on one of those little treats you made, noticing the way that the both of you fall into a mostly comfortable silence.

Your gaze drifts back over to the hobbit sitting in the hair adjacent to yours and you find that he's already looking at you with an expectant edge to his gaze.

Everyone treats him like an idiot, but he's not so much stupid as he is unwise and foolish. He could sense there was some sort of unease rolling off of your shoulders and making the atmosphere slightly tense, definitely not something an idiot could notice so easily.

"You've got something to tell me. Or is it something you want to ask?" He's all business now.

"Yes, I do." You confirm with a shallow nod, gaze flickering over his face, "Something has been troubling me as of recent."

His blond curls bounce a bit when he nods his ascent to continue, and the movement draws your eyes as your brain begins to wander in search of a good way to approach the subject bothering you.

"Truthfully, Pippin, I haven't a clue what I am doing here anymore. You asked me to come to The Shire and I did, and then you asked me to stay, and I did that as well, but we are reaching a point where motivations and reasonings are becoming sparse. I know what my intentions are, and though I have not made them quite clear, which is what we need to talk about. What are we doing, Pippin?"

When you finish speaking your piece and look back at him again, you see that his head is hanging slightly and he refuses to look at you almost.

His eyes are sad and it makes your heart pang painfully in your chest.

"I... I am not so sure myself. I asked you to stay because I... um, Merry and I, don't wish to see you go." He puts down the hardly eaten 'scone' and scoots his chair closer to yours, looking up at you with a slight frown, "If I'm being honest, I can hardly imagine what it would be like if you were to leave, now."

"Yes, I know that much. But what am I doing here? I have little purpose at the time being, all I do is sit here or outside all day and do nothing . I wait around for you to get back because you and Merry never invite me to your schemes, and you do not invite me because I stick out. Literally."

You surprise even yourself with this 'outburst' because you thought your insecurities were only Pippin-deep. As much fun as you have with Pippin, you still feel like an outsider. Who do you talk to really besides Pippin, Merry, and sometimes Sam.

He looks even more sad than before, and you realize it probably sounds like you're thinking of leaving.

"I suppose feeling purposeless just bothers me-"

"I-I don't want you to go." He starts, surprising you slightly since he never really interrupts anyone. "You never treat me like a fool, and you always listen to what I have to say even when I don't make sense. Like, now I suppose. But it is more than that, too. T-The way I am and I feel when you are around is unlike anything I've known before, and, well, I don't wish to lose that or you."

You sit and listen quietly while he pours his little hobbity heart out and even wait some more after that, because this is exactly what you've been wanting in terms of communication.

"It's strange, you know I'm not usually like this, but even thinking about you leaving at this point is painful. Would I be too hasty in saying that I...," he trails off, seemingly contemplating what he needs to say next, "I may have fallen for you?"

There it is, that's exactly what you were waiting, and hoping, for.

"No, it wouldn't be. I've confessed as much myself already; in fact, I'd say you were quite late in saying it." You can't help but to tease him, and it appears to work out well for you because his face flushes and a sheepish expression softens his determined countenance. "Well, anyway. That is all well and good, but I must also say that it doesn't change my lack of excitement. And since you are the one keeping me here, it is your responsibility to mend this fact."

His forehead creases as he thinks it over and his mouth twists with thought, then his eyes light up and he smiles brightly. "Well, Merry and I could get you into all sorts of trouble, if you ask us to. We don't leave you out because you're too tall, we do it because you do not seem to be the scheming type.”

Well, that’s fair. And also unexpected. The whole ‘height thing’ was your primary suspect, but it seems like you’ll have to let it go.

“You don’t know that for sure. I can scheme like no other if I choose to. I just… do not normally choose to, is all. Take me with you, I demand it.”

The lightheartedness returns, and it successfully brings up the mood as well.

You reach your hand across the table and place it over his carefully, offering a fond and warm smile to him which he returns in kind. What a strange thing, being comforted by someone half your size with double the personality that you possess.

“Alright, Merry will be excited to hear that.”

“He’d better be.”

"But...," he trails off and you fall silent to show him he has your full attention, "I wouldn't be truthful if I were to say that I haven't had my own troubles."

You nod your head once and allow your hand to fall back to your lap.

"I think you are beautiful. One of the loveliest people I have ever seen, meanwhile I... am a short, foolish hobbit that few people take seriously. Surely you could have, and do, more than what I offer. A hobbit hole with... low ceilings that your forehead has met many times and clutter in almost every corner."

You're shocked that such a thing could bother someone as uncaring as Pippin - well, uncaring in a sense that he doesn't care for others opinions on himself - and it pulls at your heart strings.

"Pippin, if I had any care for something as trivial as height then I would be a hypocrite. If you're too short then I must be much too tall. And if your house is a mess than Rohan must be incomprehensibly disastrous." All of these things are true in your eyes, and you hope to help him see through the same lens as you. "Those things matter to me not, I wish I had made you understand that sooner."

He smiles at you and you smile back, and in this moment you feel at peace. A couple of shared words won't immediately extinguish the insecurities and issues that have come to surface over time, but they make it easier to bear.

"Besides, you may not be a big person, but that heart of yours is one of the biggest I've ever had the pleasure of benefitting from."

He blushes again, and it does things to your heart.

You never thought you'd fall in love with someone so short and mischievous, but here you are.

It's peculiar.

"Well, I suppose we should seek out Merry. I'm ready to get into some trouble."

"That makes two of us."

#pippin took #pippin took x reader #lord of the rings #lord of the rings fanfiction #reader insert #reade #Peregrin Took #LOTR fandom

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magalidragon · 4 years ago

Note

24 in ice is hot too. Angst or comfort. Please 😇

So this was SO HARD TO WRITE OMG. This is a fun and sexy universe and part of me was going to just make it fluff and silly, but you did ask for angst/comfort. I suck so bad at angst, because I just don’t like going there in my head, lol. I’m not sure if this is what you want and it is angsty. And I don’t want to do it again, lol. I hope you like it. (Bites nails nervously).

TW: Miscarriage

24. “I’m yours, but you’re not mine.”

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Thank gods for Robb, he thought, as his cousin quietly lifted little Aryanna and carried her away, whispering and telling the little girl to leave them alone, that they would see her later. “Why is Dany sad?” she asked, not understanding how come they’d left so late last night, weren’t there in the morning, and were just arriving again, sad and downcast, matching the driving rains that kept the rambunctious child from exerting her energy outside.

“Because Dany had to go to the doctor. It’s okay, come on now.” Robb gave him a sympathetic look, and squeezed his shoulder, quiet. “I’ll be here as long as you need me.”

He nodded, still a little numb, and patted his cousin’s—more of a brother than anything—hand. He mumbled thanks, closing the door quietly behind him. He knew she didn’t want a thing to do with him; she’d been distant and shunning his touch, flinching each time he got close to her. It would hurt less if she just hauled off and slapped him.

The shower turned off and she emerged some time later, face pink and eyes swollen. She crawled into the bed, wearing one of his t-shirts, her hair in a simple braid over her shoulder, and her knees drawing to her chest as she curled into the covers. He slowly approached her, sinking onto the side of the bed. His finger reached out, to touch the bump of her neck, but drew back. “I have some ice packs for you,” he mumbled, fumbling with the cold objects while also fumbling with her medciation. He swallowed hard. “Doctor said they might help.”

She said nothing. Kept her eyes straight ahead staring at the wall. He sighed, leaving them on the nightstand for her. “I’ll be in the other room,” he whispered. He wanted so badly to curl next to her, to hold her close, and remind her that they both had a loss, she wasn’t the only one, but he would hold off on that for now. The doctor warned him that every woman processed differently. And Daenerys Targaryen was never one to let her feelings show until she was burning something or someone down.

He didn’t fancy being on the receiving end of the fire.

He went into the adjacent sitting room, sitting on the end of the couch, and drew the laptop to his knees. Eyes itchy from exhaustion, tears, and adrenaline, he focused on work. He had plenty to occupy his time, first thing sending out a mass email to all the boys that Dany would be out for the foresesable feature and he’d be doing all their schedules. Then to all the clients, who had been filling up herphone with messages and requests, telling them he would handle everything.

A few days passed; he tried to be there for Aryanna, who needed him and didn’t understand his pain. Or why her mother wasn’t playing with her or would cry and turn away when she tried to visit her with a card she made. “Thank you baby,” Dany whispered, kissing her head, and then she’d turn back to her pillow and try to sleep again.

Flowers arrived, a gigantic rose arrangement from Olenna and Margaery Tyrell. Loras and Renly stopped by with food, Qhono and Irri appeared to take Aryanna out to Qhono’s horse ranch to ride for a bit. There was no amount of support from the dancers too. Missandei was a force, taking over everything when even he faltered; he sometimes forgot how much Dany actually did.

After a week he finally went into their room and sat next to her. She was awake, staring at the ceiling. A hand on her belly. “Talk to me,” he begged.

“Why?”

“Because you have to talk to me eventually. I lost a baby too.”

She snorted, rolling her purple eyes to him. They filled with so much pain; he wanted to siphon it all away, to go out there and slay the beast that dared to hurt her so terribly. Except he couldn’t, because the beast just happened to be a purely natural phenomenon. It just was rare, the doctor said, for spontaneous miscarriages after the first trimester. “You have a baby already,” she said. She scowled. “You have Aryanna.”

He closed his eyes. He remembered when he first found out about her. Ygritte confessing she was late; they’d been fooling around for so long, after intense missions and when they wanted to blow off steam. It hadn’t been real for him, until she came out of the bathroom with that positive pregnancy test. And she’d given birth, saying now they could be together for good, they had a baby together. He’d been reticent, unsure of his feelings, if he truly did love her or if she was just a fun distraction. It had been so angry, both of them screaming at each other when she finally said she was done waiting for him. ”We have a fucking baby together and you don’t want me? Fuck you Jon Snow! I thought you were the love of my life!”

Yes, he’d thought at the time. The great love of someone’s life. I’m yours, but you’re not mine. He knew that then, he didn’t know how, but he did. Ygritte had stormed out and that was the last he saw of her. She’d been killed the following day in an ambush.

And then Dany showed up in his life. The cool, fiery dragon. “I have Ayranna, but I didn’t love her mother,” he said. He frowned. “I love you Daenerys. I don’t know why you think I don’t.”

She hiccupped, tears leaking out of the corners of her eyes. “You already have a baby.”

“And she’s yours too,” he said, head dropping to hers. They sought each other’s hands, fingers sliding together. He closed his eyes tight, fighting his own tears. “Dany she’s your daughter too, and she needs you. Just like I do. And you need us. This doesn’t change it. Doesn’t stop it.”

“But what about her mother?”

“I didn’t love her like she loved me. Aryanna had nothing to do with that. I will always love Ygritte because she gave me Arry, but I love you. You’re mine.” He folded his fingers over her heart, fierce. “And I’m yours. Always.”

And the waterfall released, her tiny body wracking in sobs. He held her tight, comforting her, until she fell asleep in his arms. He rained kisses on her face, wiped away her tears, and cleaned up her sticky cheeks while she dozed fitfully. He got out of the bed and went downstairs to find Robb watching a Disney movie with Arry, who jumped up immediately, running to cling to him.

“Is Dany okay Daddy?” she whispered.

“She will be. Come on, I think she wants to see you.” He lifted his daughter, bringing her to the bedroom, where she crawled in and hugged Dany, kissing her nose and whispering how she loved her. Dany hugged her close and nodded, saying how much she loved her too. He crawled back in the bed, holding his girls close, and eventually fell asleep, Dany’s hand closed tight around his.

They’d be okay, he thought, drifting off. They had each other.

#jonerys #jonerys drabble #whyyyy did you ask for angst? lol #here's angst/comfort #I hope it's angst comfort at least and not just sad #but with a happyish ending?#and now I'm going to write a smut drabble for these two lol #writer prompts #reply #aenarsnow #tw miscarriage

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jettingtothemoon · 5 years ago

Text

Save You; chapter 2

➳ pairing: hector x witch|reader ➳ genre: fantasy, angst, fluff ➳ warnings: violence, swearing, smut, mentions of rape, past slavery, spoilers for seasons 1 thorough 3. ➳ word count: 2404 ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ summary: In which y/n and Hector continue to flee from the council of sisters, finding refuge among an unlikely acquaintance with fresh scars and a cold personality. ➳ Part two of, ’Rescue You’. ➳ a/n: daughter of the spirits is gonna be late this week so i decided to upload this early :)

Chapters: 01, 02, 03, 04, 05, 06, 07, 08, 09,

Guilty Feelings

By the morning, you were being gently shaken awake by small hands. Your eyes peeled open and you reached out for Hector, letting out a sigh of relief to find that he was still beside you. Then, you sat up as the forgemaster yawned and stretched his limbs.

"What's wrong?" you questioned upon turning your attention back to the boy who had silently made his way into your room and up to your bed.

The child seemed quieter than usual and you couldn't read his expression as he softly held onto your arm. When Hector sat up beside you, tilting his head to the side as he too tried to figure out what the child wanted, there was a tiny little grumble in the room.

"You're hungry?" you asked as you began to climb out of the bed.

The boy nodded and his stomach growled again.

"We shouldn't wander around the castle alone. We should just wait for Alucard," hector protested as you slipped into your boots and took the boy's hand in your own.

"We're just going to go downstairs. For all we know, Alucard is already up, and if not we will just have to wait for him. I'd go look for him but I don't know which room is his."

Hector hummed, seeing that there was no real danger in going downstairs. As long as you didn't wander it should be fine.

The three of you then transcended back down the stairs and to the kitchen.

Walking through the castle again was an unusual feeling for both you and Hector. They were rooms you knew so well and yet, everything seemed so different. There was still a darkness looming over the castle but it was somewhat brighter than before. You assumed it was even brighter before whatever had happened here since Alucard moved back in.

Not only was the atmosphere different but the decor had changed somewhat, whether that was because most of it was destroyed during the fight or simply because of Alucard's own personal preference, you were unsure. He had done a good job at cleaning things up, so much so that there were little remnants of the minor battle that took place here the day you fled with Cezar. Then again, you supposed Alucard didn't have much else to do to keep himself occupied now that he was here alone.

He didn't return alone. There were a speaker magician and a Belmont with him the day Dracula was killed. You couldn't help but wonder what had happened to them or where they were now. You only hoped that they were not the corpses that had been left to rot outside.

"Ah, you're awake," Alucard announced.

The silent boy quickly latched onto Hector's hand once again, still clearly somewhat unsure about the half-vampire but no longer entirely afraid of him.

"You're up already?" you enquired, knowing that it was even still rather early for you or Hector and that the two of you would still be asleep if it wasn't for the child.

Alucard sighed as though he was uninterested in the conversation but answered anyway, "I don't sleep much these days. I made some breakfast for you though, I thought you might be hungry."

He had indeed made breakfast for all of you. It seemed as though he had even waited for you before touching his own.

"Thank you, it smells delicious," hector commented, trying to make some kind of polite conversation with your host.

Alucard simply nodded his head and beckoned for you all to come and sit down, and so, you did.

It was silent as you ate, almost awkwardly so, until Alucard spoke again, "Oh, I didn't have time to prepare them last night but there will be clean nightgowns for all of you from now on. They will be much more comfortable than wearing your clothes to bed. You all need to bathe today too, you're still covered in dirt."

Although his words should have sounded at least somewhat kind, the only tone within his voice was flat and tired. It was clear that he was unhappy with the three of you being there but, for whatever reason, he hadn't turned you away when you asked to stay.

He seemed somewhat on guard around the two of you, Hector, in particular, but other than that he seemed as though he didn't care much about you being in his castle. It was almost as if some part of him wanted you there, or at least, wanted some company.

Alucard had always been somewhat lonely when you knew him before but back then he didn't seem to care much for it anyway. He had his mother and his father hadn't spiralled into madness but now he was truly alone. His parents were dead, one by his hand, and the only friends he ever knew seemed to have gone far from here. That is if they were ever his friends in the first place.

Whatever the Belmont and speaker were to him, they were people he would have grown used to seeing and now they were gone, that much you knew. Alucard had had a taste of what it was like not to be alone only to end up back in this castle, isolated from the rest of the world and, although you and Hector were the last people he would want company from, it seemed that some small part of him didn't want to send you away.

After breakfast, Alucard took the child with him to search for some clean clothes. Before doing so, however, he had directed you and Hector to the bathroom so that the two of you could bathe and dress in some clean clothes.

As it turned out, some of Hector's old belongings were left behind after the attack so he had clothes to wear at least. You, however, were stuck with whatever Alucard could find lying around that would fit you. Alucard had also told you and Hector that you could use his old room from now on if you wished but Hector seemed somewhat reluctant to go back there, although you were unsure why.

"Want some help? Or maybe just some company?" you offered as Hector headed towards the bathroom.

He stopped, turning his head towards you with furrowed brows.

"What? It's not like I haven't seen it all before," you admitted with a chuckle.

Hector blushed slightly but still seemed somewhat uncomfortable. "I- It's just that- Well, it isn't the same as before... before that.... before you were locked up and..."

"Hey," you spoke gently, cupping his face in your hands to draw his shakey gaze to you, "It's okay if you don't want me to. I can stay out here and wait for you. Just know that nothing that has happened between then and now has changed anything. I still love you, Hector."

His eyes searched yours as if he was looking for his own answer in them and, once he found that answer, he slipped his hand into yours.

"I- I suppose I could use some help washing my hair."

You smiled sweetly and followed him into the bathroom, making sure that the water in the tub wasn't too hot for him before politely turning your back for him to remove his clothes and climb in.

You had indeed seen him naked before, more than once, but not since everything went wrong back in Styria. Whatever happened to him, whatever Lenore did to him or made him do, even if it was no worse than what it had been before you first arrived, it had knocked him down.

Lenore put him in his place, that you were certain of. She broke him down piece by piece knowing that he was helpless to do anything to stop her. That was her punishment for him and his only crime was loving you.

Once the water stopped swishing and you were certain Hector was quietly seated in the tub, you turned toward him again. With a gentle smile, you reached your hands up, soon running your fingers through his tangled hair. He groaned slightly at the tug but closed his eyes as you carefully combed the silver locks until the knots and tangles were mostly gone.

While you were doing this, Hector had reached for a sponge and begun to scrub the dirt from his body. He leaned into your touch when you placed your hand over his, softly taking the sponge before soaking it in more of the warm water and wiping it over his shoulders.

Every movement was slow as you scrubbed the dirt away, slowly dragging the sponge across his tanned skin. He sat forwards and you continued to rub down his back with one hand, using the other to soothe the tension from his shoulders. Hector let out a long sigh and ran his own wet fingers through his hair. When you were done cleaning his back, he leaned back and allowed you to use an adjacent jug to soak his wavy hair.

The dirt began to wash out as you massaged his head and went back to combing your fingers through his hair to prevent it from knotting. You handled each and every part of him with care, you were gentle with him even when he occasionally tensed under your touch. It was easy to tell what he was thinking and feeling at this moment. You knew that you were the first person to ever treat him like something cherished, like someone worth caring about, worth loving.

When you were finished with his hair, he leaned his head back against the tub and looked up to your smiling face with another of those sighs, "I don't deserve you."

You reached out, running your fingers over his face, tracing the outlines of his features as you softly spoke, "You deserve the world."

"I don't," he hung his head down low, "I- I hurt people. I helped Dracula commit genocide. People died because of me, because of my night creatures. Families, women, children... They were innocent. I took my bad experiences with humans out on them, all of them. I was wrong and I don't know if I can stop the guilt consuming me whole. Not all humans are bad, you're not bad. I was just unlucky and met the wrong ones." As he spoke, he closed his eyes as if he were trying to hold in the tears that he didn't believe he had any right to cry. He truly believed that he was just as bad as those who had harmed him but you knew otherwise.

You leaned over him, pressing a tender kiss to his lips. "I hurt people too, Hector. I killed people for Dracula, I helped his soldiers slaughter countless innocent people. Human's do bad things when they're scared, angry and confused. You're human too you know, you did horrible things but you're not a bad person, not at heart. You never wanted them to suffer, you always wished for a quick and painless death even after everything they had done to you."

His eyes opened and, for a moment, it broke your heart. They looked so shattered, so broken. Not only from what happened with Lenore but from the weight of that guilt. You never knew it burdened him that much but you should have for it burdened you too. It was suffocating knowing that you had done such things out of fear. Hector was no different except you feared Dracula whereas he simply feared humans.

"I killed my own parents, y/n. They were my parents and I killed them."

"They beat you, they hurt you. If you hadn't killed them they would have probably ended up killing you," you defended his actions once again but he didn't seem convinced.

He sat up out of the water and leaned away from you. "They beat me because I raised animals from the dead. I'm not normal, I've never been normal. If I was they would still be alive, they would have loved me. Instead, they feared me. They beat me because they were scared of me. Does that make what they did any different from what I've done?"

You reached out a hand, placing it lightly on his shoulder and again he leaned into your touch as if it was the only thing keeping him sane.

"No child should go through that, normal or not. It's okay to feel guilty and sad, Hector, but you have to learn to forgive yourself. What's done is done. It's in the past. You're a different person now, you realised your mistakes and you won't make them again. Neither of us will."

"Thank you. This... helped. A little at least."

With a saddened smile, you carefully pulled him back down and rested your chin atop of his head, stretching your arms out until your hands settled on his chest. He let out another sigh, this time sounding somewhat relieved, and reached up to place his hands over your own.

He lifted the back of your hand to his mouth and kissed it affectionately before closing his eyes with a smile. "I really do love you."

Once Hector finished bathing, he left to change. You asked him to stay but, as much as he wanted nothing more than to stay with you, right now he couldn't. He couldn't because he knew that he wouldn't be able to hold back and he wasn't sure if he was ready to take that step with you yet. He wasn't sure if you were ready to take that step with him either. It had been long since you fled the castle but he was still trying to figure things out.

He was sure about one thing and that was you. He knew that he never wanted to leave your side, he knew that all he wanted was to go on more walks with you; to keep practising his magic with you; to wake up by your side every day until the day he died. All he could think about was how he wanted you to touch him, to reclaim the places she had touched with your own tender kisses. He just didn't want you to be stuck with the body of a broken man, a body that had already been claimed time and time again.

Chapters: 01, 02, 03, 04, 05, 06, 07, 08, 09,

#Castlevania #netflix castlevania #Hector #hector x reader #alucard

49 notes · View notes

gingerwritess · 6 years ago

Note

"Person A is pregnant but finds out just before Person B has to gone on a six month long trip. When Person B returns Person A surprises them with their growing baby bump hilarity and confusion ensues" Maybe this one for Elliot and dad!Loki? have a great day sweetcheeks

combined with this request from @mylovelycrazyworld

summary: well…Elliot wanted a sibling. it’s about time he got one.

warnings: pregnancy stuff, a tiny hint of angst, missing Loki, fluff, and lots of Elliot silliness

a/n: FIRST OF ALL I AM SO PROUD OF THIS so i hope you e n j o y

sorry, second, i got waaay too carried away with this and suddenly its like a part of a wholeass story and yeah we’re gonna move this little storyline right along.

third i accidentally posted this before it was done a couple weeks ago so if you read it that time, i’m so sorry, this one is done and much better.

i’m also so sorry i’ve been gone lately. it’s been a crazy hectic last couple weeks so i haven’t had much time to sit down and finish writing anything! thanks for sticking around :)

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Of course Loki had to leave this week, of all weeks.

Elliot’s taking the separation fairly well; Loki had left for Asgard with a kiss on the forehead, a tight hug, and a pretty serious request.

“You’ll take care of your mother for me while I’m away, won’t you?”

The little boy had promised, naturally, trying to look as serious and grown-up as he could, and even offered his hand to Loki for a handshake when he went in for a hug goodbye. Loki’s jaw had dropped in shock; then he pushed Elliot’s hand out of the way and swooped him up laughing into his arms for a tight, chaotic, firm hug.

So now you have a protective five year old fussing over you all day long, which is honestly worse than having a protective 1000+ year old fussing over you. He tries to do everything he sees Loki doing, everything he’s supposed to do to “take care of his mother:” like holding your hand in every possible situation, running up behind you and hugging the back of your legs, he’s even kissed your forehead at one point.

Loki’s trained him well.

But morning four of Loki being gone brings an unexpected turn. Elliot has been sleeping in your bed with you, wanting to keep you company—but mostly just missing the clone that Loki normally lets Elliot cuddle up with every night. This Tuesday morning, he’s laying across your stomach, happily sucking a thumb and drooling onto your shirt—well, technically it’s Loki’s.

It would’ve been nice to wake up and see his chubby little face all squished up with sleep, but you’re brutally shaken from your rest by a lurching stomach—you’re going to throw up, right now. You try to push Elliot off you as gently as you can, already retching as you shove him one last time, a little harder than you meant to, and he groggily sits up.

“Whasgoin’on?” He rubs the sleep from his eyes, but you’re already sprawled on the tiles in the adjacent bathroom floor, emptying the contents of your stomach into the toilet. “Mom! No, mom, what’s wrong?!”

“S-stay—stay back,” you cough and wave him away just as before another retch doubles you over, chest heaving when it finally simmers down. “Just give me a second, okay? You don’t want to see this, bud.”

“But are you okay? You got really sick!” He rushes up behind you and starts rubbing your back with a cool little hand. “Ew, you smell kinda funny.”

“Gee, thanks, kiddo.”

“I’m just sayin’!” He holds his nose with one hand, using the other to wrap around your waist and lean into your side. “What does dad do to help you when you’re sick?”

You pull yourself up and over to lean back against the wall, trying to catch your breath and running a hand through Elliot’s curls. “Uses his magic stuff to make me feel better…cuddles with me, just like you’re doing.” You smile weakly down at the little boy, and he quickly lays his little hands on your stomach. “No no no, don’t try it, it’s okay! I feel better!”

“Aw, man.” He sadly retracts his sparking hands—thank god—and nestles back into your side. “I’m getting gooder at my magic, ya know. Dad’s teachin’ me real good.”

“I don’t doubt it, Elliot,” you assure him with a light squeeze of a hug. “But you probably shouldn’t test out any of your magic on people, okay?”

He nods seriously, patting your stomach gently. “Good idea. I gotta be careful with your tummy now, too.”

“Don’t worry, buddy, this is just a bug. I’m already feeling better.”

Elliot shakes his head and crawls onto your lap, leaning down to put his ear to your stomach—what in the world? He listens for a moment and suddenly the wheels in your brain start turning: oh my god. This couldn’t mean…?

The little boy sits up again and feels your stomach one more time, focusing hard on something. “Nope, s’not a bug,” he smiles and gives your belly another gentle pat. “It’s just my baby tryna say hi.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Six pregnancy tests later, there’s no doubt about it. How Elliot figured it out before you even had a hunch, you have no idea, but the little piece of plastic drops from your hand when you flop face-first onto the bed, mind swirling.

This isn’t a surprise.

Elliot had asked. Loki and you had talked, agreed; this is what you want. But really, baby?

Now?

Loki doesn’t get back for another four months. Pregnancies are hard; you’re not going to pretend they aren’t, and to not have your husband here to help you through it…this is going to be much different than when you were pregnant with Elliot.

You glance once more at the last test: positive as ever.

Pregnant. Again.

Sighing audibly, you roll over on the bed and grab Loki’s pillow, hugging it to your chest and breathing deeply, eyes drifting shut.

“We’re gonna be fine,” you whisper, your voice serving more to soothe your own racing mind than anything, “we’re gonna have another baby, and we’re gonna be fine.”

You bury your face in the pillow, hugging it tighter. It smells like Loki—heavenly.

That’ll have to do for the next four months.

* * * *

“What does dad wanna name the baby?”

The plastic fork scrapes against Elliot’s plate in grating anticipation of your answer. He’s picking at his lunch; his appetite hasn’t been quite so bottomless with Loki having been gone for so long.

For yours, on the other hand, the exact opposite is true.

“Dad…doesn’t know yet.” You rip another chunk of bread from the entire baguette in your hand and dip it in butter. This baby seems to have an appetite for seven and a particular fondness for carbs.

Wonderful.

“That’s ok,” Elliot nods thoughtfully. “Names are hard to come up with. I think it should be…blueberry! Cause I love blueberries so much and I love my baby—”

“No, no, I meant…” you struggle to swallow your mouthful of bread and hold up a finger. “Dad doesn’t know that we’re having a baby yet.”

“Why not?”

…yeah, that’s a good question. You probably should’ve called Loki a good while ago, when you’d found out you’re expecting—I mean, it’s his kid too.

But telling Loki he’s going to have a second child just seems like something you don’t do over the phone.

“I don’t want to miss his reaction,” you answer honestly, shoving another chunk of baguette in your mouth. “I wanna sh-uprise ‘im when ‘e gets home.”

Translation: I’m terrified.

Elliot eagerly claps his hands together, the fork falling to the table with a clatter. “That’s a good idea!” He squeals, jumping up to run over and climb into your lap, laying his little hands on your belly. “Dad’s gonna be so excited to meet Blueberry, he’s gonna cry—”

“We are not naming this baby after a fruit. Sorry, kiddo.”

* * * *

An agonising two more months pass, lonely and chock-full of horrid cravings, mood swings, aches and pains and puking nearly every single morning…this baby already seems to hate you.

Elliot’s been a little trooper the past four months.

Hugs whenever you need them, plenty of crayon drawings of your family so you “don’t miss dad too much,” peace and quiet when you fall asleep at the table again, even a few attempted breakfasts in bed. He’s been so sweet and helpful when you know he misses his dad more than anything, so today you drag yourself out of bed, throw up once for good measure, and tell him to get ready for an ice cream trip.

Loki was supposed to be home a week ago, but you can’t let yourself think about that.

Driving with your little bump of a belly is starting to get really uncomfortable, but you make it alright to the little ice cream parlour that Elliot claims makes the best cotton candy ice cream of all time.

“I miss my dad,” Elliot pipes up while you’re sitting in silence, a faint bluish tint to his skin due to the coldness of the ice cream. “He shouldn’t hafta leave ever again.”

“Same here, kiddo, I’m sorry.” You lay a hand on your belly and try to give Elliot a reassuring smile. “This little monster misses him too, but they’re just glad that they have an awesome big brother to take care of them!”

That brings a halfhearted smile to the little boy’s face, and he goes back to licking his ice cream cone, watching you with reddish eyes deep in thought.

“Y’know, dad loves you, mom.” Elliot reaches over to take your hand in his tiny, sticky one, much to your surprise. “He loves you a whole lot, I know it, and he’s not gonna be angry that we’re havin’ another baby.”

Your jaw drops.

What the hell??

Your son, who is apparently getting some kind of crazy read on your thoughts right now, leans over the table and plants a sticky blue kiss to the back of your hand—just like he’s seen Loki do countless times. “Don’t be ‘fraid of him, he’s gonna be so super excited.”

Part of you kind of wants to run away screaming, but maybe mothers shouldn’t do that to their children, so you just gape like a dying fish at the strange little mini-Loki in front of you.

“I’m…I uh…” your mouth opens and closes a few times while your brain tries to catch up. “I’m not…I’m not scared of dad, Elliot, what makes you say that?”

You’re not…right?

Elliot licks his ice cream cone again, catching a drip down his arm. “Nah, you’re ‘voiding your ‘sponsibilities.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re scared to tell dad about Blueberry, right? I heard you in my dream, you told me dad was gonna be upset and get scared to have two kids.”

You swallow hard, trying to find the lie in his innocent statement. “But he—no, he won’t be upset, he wants another kid, he told me.”

This kid is ripping you to shreds, covered in blue and pink melted ice cream.

“S’what you told me,” Elliot shrugs. “Said dad’s gonna like one of us better.”

…you’ve got to pee again.

A blessed escape, cause if Elliot says one more word about Loki or this baby, you’re pretty sure your hormonal self is going to break down in tears.

“I’ll—I’ll be right back,” you choke, scooting your chair back with a loud scrape and pulling yourself to your feet. “Are you okay to stay here? I’ll only be a couple minutes right over there, no talking to strangers, you know the rules.”

Elliot nods, looking worried as you swipe at your eyes and set down your cup of ice cream with shaking hands. “You okay, mom?”

“Fine, fine, I’ll be right back,” You mutter and rush off to the bathroom.

You certainly didn’t look fine, but Elliot shrugs to himself and goes back to his ice cream, keeping a wary eye on the other people in the shop.

“Did your mother just leave you out here all alone?”

Elliot spins around in his chair at the voice, dropping his ice cream cone to the floor and bringing his hands up ready to fight whoever is approaching him—Loki’s taught him enough to fend for himself.

But when he whirls around, he immediately lowers his hands and jumps out of his chair—it’s Loki.

“DAD!” Elliot scrambles out of the chair and bolts into Loki’s waiting arms, knocking him over with the force of his hug. “Dad, dad, you’re home! You’re home!!”

“That I am,” Loki laughs, hugging the little boy tightly to his chest. “I missed you so much, Elliot, so much.”

“Hey!” Elliot points a little finger into Loki’s chest, suddenly serious. “Don’t you ever leave us again, ‘kay??”

“Of course, I’m so sorry I had to—”

“Pinky promise??” Elliot shoves his little finger in Loki’s face, and the god chuckles, extending his own to seal the promise.

“Pinky promise. Hopefully.”

Satisfied with the agreement, Elliot jumps off his dad and rushes back to the table, frowning at the sticky mess that’s left of his ice cream on the floor. “You owe me an ice cream, dad, look whatcha made me do.”

“My sincerest apologies, young man,” Loki chuckles, swooping the kid up in his arms for another squirming hug, trying to sneak a few tickling kisses somewhere on his face. “Where is your mother?”

You come out of the bathroom just in time to hear Elliot answer “hidin’ from you, I think,” and you stop dead in the middle of the shop when you see your husband smiling wide and holding Elliot in his arms.

“Elliot! No I’m not!” You shake yourself out of your shocked daze, running over to the two of them and nearly knocking them over when you throw your arms around Loki’s neck.

Immediately setting Elliot back on the ground, Loki breathes your name and draws you into the tightest embrace he can manage, his arms clutching you so close you have to plant your hands on his chest and gently push him away to keep him from hurting your belly.

He doesn’t seem to notice, but Elliot sure does.

Loki’s hands cradle your face as he pulls away and just stares at you for a moment, trying to decide if words could even begin to describe how happy he is to be with you again.

“I missed…oh, come here.”

He laughs with watering eyes and pulls you close, pressing his lips to yours over and over until neither of you can breathe, half laughing, half teary-eyed because he’s here, you’re all here, together finally.

“That was—mmph—too long,” you laugh around Loki’s relentless lips, keeping a hand to his chest to keep him from your baby bump.

Elliot bounces on the balls of his feet, glad to see his parents so happy again, but sticks a hand between you both to cover your belly. “Careful, dad, don’t hurt my b—”

“ELLIOT!” You cut him off with a nervous chuckle, shooting him a pointed look—shh!

The little boy claps a hand over his mouth, eyes wide. “Sorry.”

“What for?” Loki asks with a breathless laugh, his hand cradling the back of your head to keep you pressed against him.

“Nothing, nothing,” you assure him, kissing him again. “Oh my god, I’m so glad you’re home, Loki. Tell us everything!”

He holds you away from him for a moment with his hands on your shoulders, looking you up and down with a dopey grin on his face—you’re really glad you wore a too-big shirt today, it covers your beginning baby bump pretty well.

“You look incredible,” he murmurs, shaking his head in disbelief—he missed you. His eyes fall on your chest and linger for a half a second longer; your breasts seem…bigger than when he left.

Trust me, he would know.

But he shakes it away and pulls up a chair, and the three of you launch into a detailed retelling of everything you’ve missed over the past four months.

“Well, everything went wrong the moment I stepped foot in Asgard.” He leans forward, eager to tell his story. “There had been an attempt on the relics, and rumours of more to come, so we had to—what’s so funny?”

Elliot’s covering his mouth with a sticky hand, desperately trying to muffle the giggle-fit overcoming him as he looks at you: you’re clutching your stomach with an extremely pained grimace, trying to get comfortable in the little metal chair.

“Nothin’…” he snorts and quickly looks away from you when you glare at him. “What happened next, dad?”

“Okay…” Loki shoots you a confused glance and you quickly grin back, trying not to look like there’s a tiny human laying directly on your bladder right now.

How’s that working out for you?

“Are you alright, my love? You look like you’re in pain.”

“Just a stomachache!” Your gritted laughter is nervous but hopefully convincing enough.

“Are you sure? Just tell me, darling, I can disspell the sickness in less than a second—Elliot!” He whirls around in his chair to glare halfheartedly at the little boy giggling again. “Your mother is in pain, why are you smiling??”

“‘Cause I know something you don’t know,” Elliot sings, clapping his hands with glee and wiggling around in his seat. “Mhm, I’ve got a secret, ‘n I’m not tellin’—”

“Elliot. That’s enough.”

You reach over and pull the little guy into your lap, clamping both hands over his mouth and smiling sweetly at your husband—who just looks very confused. And a little worried.

He’s made it pretty clear that there would be no secrets in this little family of yours.

“Our son…has a secret?” Speaking to you, not Elliot, he raises an eyebrow and it’s not exactly amused. “Care to enlighten me, wife?”

“Don’t worry, Loki, it’s not a secret,” you sooth, tapping Elliot’s mouth twice before letting him go again. “It’s more of…a surprise, really.”

Elliot clasps his hand behind his back and rocks forward on his toes, excited eyes darting back and forth between you and Loki.

“I don’t like surprises.”

“But you’re really gonna like this one,” Elliot promises, sending an overly dramatic attempt of a wink your way.

Unbelievable.

Letting out a dismayed groan, you drop your forehead to your hand. “Elliot, please stop…”

Loki crosses his arms, already looking a little on the defensive side with lips tightly pressed together—this is exactly why you didn’t want to tell him. Way to go, kid.

“If you have something to tell me, tell me now.”

“I—can I tell you at home? Later?”

The god sighs, not able to help feeling as if the joy of your reunion had been let out faster than the air in a deflating balloon—now he’s worried, feeling excluded, almost offended.

Secrets. Never a good idea within a family.

“Don’t worry, snowflake,” you chirp with feigned nonchalance. “You’re gonna love this surprise.”

Your fingers cross under the table.

* * * *

Loki doesn’t bring it up the rest of the day.

You’d guessed he would mention it again at least during dinner, try to pry the information from you, but he smiled and listened to Elliot talk about his loose tooth, eating his food apparently unbothered.

Your knee hasn’t stopped nervously bouncing since you sat down.

Maybe he knows? If Elliot felt it, Loki certainly could. The kid’s voice is still echoing through your mind as you get Elliot ready for bed:

“You told me dad was gonna be upset and get scared to have two kids.”

Okay, maybe you’re a little worried that Loki’s past may hinder his enthusiasm for a second child, but you’ve never even admitted to yourself that he would be upset or scared. But the more you think about it, the more sense it makes: he would be terrified.

Favouring one child over another? That would be Loki’s worst nightmare, yet he hadn’t brought that up when Elliot first asked for a sibling. He’d happily agreed to have a second kid, kissing away your concerns…

Hugging your arms around yourself, you stare at his back from the doorway. His hair is lazy, pulled into a mindless knot on the top of his head; he looks relaxed, doing dishes. At peace with his life.

His life with his wife and his one son.

Did he lie to you?

Had he looked you in the eye, said “I want another baby,” and lied?

God of lies, you keep letting yourself forget.

Your mind goes berserk right there in the kitchen, convincing you that he lied to you, that this baby is unwanted, that he only said that he wanted another baby to keep you happy, that no, he didn’t ever want children, he just wanted to fuck you, that everything he’s ever said to you is a lie—

“Your thoughts are deafening, my love.”

You jump with a start as his voice interrupts your destructive train of thought. “Were you listening?” You immediately ask, voice venomous. “Loki, did you listen?”

He turns around and dries off his hands, leaning back against the counter with a sad smile. “Of course not, out of respect for your secret. I trust you to tell me.”

You stare at him, unmoving and unsure, and he pushes himself away from the counter to take a few tentative steps toward you. “Let’s go to bed,” he murmurs, sensing your troubled mind. “You need rest, then you can tell me this secret when you are ready.”

Nodding slowly, you let him take your hand and lead you to the bedroom, keeping your mouth firmly shut. He shuts the door behind you and you walk straight to the bed, laying down and turning your back on him to avoid this as long as possible.

“Don’t you want to change first?” Loki laughs, and the mattress dips as he climbs on next to you, laying right against your body and pulling you back into him. “Those pants can’t be comfortable, let me get them off of you.”

You shake your head—horny, lying bastard.

“…would you like me to draw you a bath?” He’s trying a gentler approach now, noticing your apprehension and holding you closer.

Another shake of the head.

“Why won’t you talk to me?”

Your hand subconsciously falls to your little baby bump, but Loki’s follows right after to cover your own hand with his.

You’re sick of this—just tell him.

You slip your hand out from under his, grab his wrist, and press it to your belly. His breath catches in his throat, you can hear it, and his cold hand gently runs across the swell of your stomach.

“What is this?”

Just say it.

“I’m pregnant.”

He sits straight up behind you and you screw your eyes shut—he’s going to leave now, right?

But he doesn’t leave; instead cold hands grip your waist and pull you onto your back, catching the hem of your shirt and promptly ripping it from your body.

“Loki!”

He looms over you, knees on either side of your body as he stares down at you. His eyes are wide and a distracted hand rubs over his mouth, trying to process this.

“How long have you known?” His voice is barely a breath.

“…four months.”

“You didn’t tell me?”

The hurt on his beautiful face is a sucker punch to the gut—you idiot, of course he wouldn’t be upset. This is Loki we’re talking about, your husband, the father of your child—children.

“I’m so sorry,” you apologise quietly, avoiding his gaze. “I didn’t…I thought you-you would be upset.”

He breathes a laugh and carefully runs his fingertips down your sides, trying to memorise the sight of you carrying his child…again.

“Why would I ever be upset, my love? I can’t believe you’re this pregnant and you didn’t tell me—”

“Elliot said something,” you anxiously cut him off. “It was stupid, really, I’m stupid for believing it…” you take a breath and ramble on. “He said he had a dream you got upset about having two kids cause you might like one more than the other.”

Loki pauses his kissing down your torso, freezing with his hand splayed across your baby bump. “How did he…”

“I dunno. He was freaking me out, Loki, he started telling me things I wasn’t even thinking yet.”

“That’s my boy,” the god laughs, resting his forehead on your stomach as your brow knits in concern.

Carding your fingers through his hair, you nudge Loki’s head up to look at you. “This doesn’t worry you?”

“Our son turns blue when he touches something cold.” He presses his lips to your stomach again, eyes tightly shut. “I’m afraid your family isn’t exactly the epitome of human normalcy.”

“Yeah, but Loki, was he right?”

“That I’m scared?” He trails his lips up your baby bump, over your chest and coming to rest firmly over your mouth. “My love…I am terrified.”

“Oh.”

Your arms wind around his neck and pull him back down to your lips—maybe if you keep kissing him, he won’t be able to see the disappointment in your eyes.

It works for a little bit, and you nearly lose yourself completely when he starts gently nipping at your lips and moving to tend to your neck; he’s making you drunk on him with the flip of a switch.

It’s too easy for him.

“Loki.” Your hands curl tighter in his hair.

“Hmm.”

“Then why did you tell me you wanted another kid?”

The god pauses, moving from your collarbone back to your face to frown down at you. His fingers are cold along your jaw. “Because I do want another kid.”

“But you’re terrified.”

“And you’re not?”

That makes your mouth snap shut, eyes darting around the room to avoid his piercing gaze. Of course you’re nervous, it’s not like you have any better ideas of how to raise a child—and you’re the one carrying it, for god’s sake.

“I don’t think I need to say more.” Loki smiles, soft and edging closer to the sad end of the spectrum. “I’m always scared. Of you, of my son…and now my second child.”

You still can’t look at him. Shame, maybe.

“I’m terrified of you, did you know that?” He’s kissing you again, lazy lips soft along the outline of your own, up and down your jaw. “Terrified of you, our future, our children. I could lose you in seconds.”

“That’s optimistic.” You try for a cracked smile.

Cool lips meet yours, firm as his hand traces over your baby bump. “It’s realistic, actually. Keeps me honest with myself.”

“We’re not leaving you, if that’s what you’re scared of.”

“But I don’t deserve for you to stay.”

Here we go again.

“Why do you always do this??” You force a playful smile onto your face and sit up, a hand on Loki’s chest pushing him off of you onto the bed. “There you go hating yourself again, sheesh.”

Grateful for the change in subject, you roll over halfway on top of him and mold your lips to his—his, parted slightly in surprise. Your hands cradle his face, stroking through his hair and over his cheekbones as you pour every ounce of adoration you possess for him into the kiss.

Then it really clicks, just how much you missed him.

Maybe that’s why you feel this…disconnect.

Within seconds his shirt is off too, your hands scouring every inch of his skin you can reach, Loki’s breathing becoming shallower as he fumbles with belts and tries to hold your face to his at the same time.

“Missed you,” he whispers hoarsely, giving up on the belt and falling into you, shaking hands holding your neck and waist in a death grip. “My family, I missed you both, and this new one—”

His voice cracks and he moves down, littering every inch of you with kisses that come to rest on the swell of your stomach as his hands hold tight to your hips.

“I’m beyond excited.” It’s nothing more than a whisper. “Terrified, scared out of my mind, but I am so, so happy our family is growing.”

“You sure?” You tangle your fingers in his hair and tip his head up to smile down at him.

“Do I need to prove it?”

God, you missed him.

You grab hold of his face and pull him up, smashing your lips to his. “I wouldn’t mind if you did.”

So he does.

At least, he tries, until a yell for dad echoes down the hall.

“Good to see nothing has changed,” Loki sighs, pressing one last kiss to the inside of your thigh. “Don’t you go anywhere, we’re not done here.”

You throw a pillow at him with a laugh as he winks and slips out the door.

Elliot is awake, as expected, sitting in his bed clutching the blankets to his chest, a strangely bright smile on his little face. “Hey dad!”

Loki raises an eyebrow. “Hey…”

“You awake?”

“I am now, clearly.” He sits on the edge of the bed and plants a kiss on the top of Elliot’s head. “Why did you call for me?”

The little boy shrugs. “Just wonderin’.”

“…if I was awake?”

“Yup.”

They stare at each other for a second—

—Loki confused and battling with the fact that he just had to leave you on the bed to come take care of this kid, and Elliot scrunching his nose up in the biggest grin at his dad, just happy to see him.

“I’m…going to go back to bed now.” Loki points at the door, giving his son a strange look. “Unless you have literally anything else to tell me? Redeem my coming in here?”

“Nope!” Elliot throws his arms out in a request for a hug.

…that Loki all too happily delivers.

“Oh! Did mom tell you the secret yet?” He whispers, squeezing Loki tighter with arms thrown around his neck.

“She did,” Loki chuckles. “Are you excited?”

“I can’t wait! We’re gonna be bestest friends and I’m naming it Blueberry cause I love blueberries and I love my baby so I’m gonna—”

“Blueberry??”

“Yeah!”

Loki shakes his head with a laugh. “Blueberry Lokason. A name for the ages, without a doubt.”

Elliot beams at his father’s approval and Loki ruffles a hand through his curly hair. “Come on, go to sleep. You shouldn’t be awake right now.”

“Well you guys woke me up…” he grumbles, flopping down on his pillow.

Not again. Loki freezes, face twisting in worry—you hadn’t even started. If that was too loud, then by the end of the night the whole neighbourhood is going to be awake. “Were we being too loud?”

“Nah.” A little smile spreads over the kid’s face. “Mom’s just happy, real happy, and it woke me up.”

“You…you can feel that?”

“Yup. Just like you.” He nuzzles deeper into his pillow. “Thought’ya might wanna know, dad, ‘case you forgot.”

With a face as precious as that, Loki doesn’t have the heart to tell him that’s not just like him…that’s not exactly how his access to the mind works, but the last thing Elliot needs is another reason to believe he’s unusual.

“In case I forgot what, Elliot?” He smiles and kisses the boy’s forehead, running a hand through his hair.

“How to tell when mom’s happy!” He opens his eyes and rolls onto his back, grinning up at Loki. “I almost forgotted too, she’s been sad so long. S’why I woke up!”

“Well.” Loki’s heart twists painfully in his chest. “Thank you. I think I remember now.”

“I gotcha covered, daddy.”

“Go to sleep, little giant.”

* * * * * * * *

The walk down the hall back to the room leaves Loki wondering.

He…felt it.

The kid could tell you were pregnant before you even knew, he could tell that you were nervous to tell Loki, he knew that Loki was scared before he’d admitted it to you…now he felt that you were happy? Strong enough to wake him up?

Apparently Elliot can do a lot more than just turn blue.

The thought of that is terrifying.

All Loki can think of as his hand rests hesitantly on the doorknob is what he’s done. What he’s passed on to this child, unwillingly taking another life down with his own curses.

Elliot’s life is going to be full of pain, if this is what he is capable of. It’s bad enough that he has no control over the shifting of his skin, no thanks to the fruitless attempts Loki has made to figure out how to help him, but now…

Loki starts when you open the door.

“What’d he need?”

You’re smiling—happy, Loki can tell this time. He silently thanks Elliot for the reminder.

“A hug.” He quickly smiles back. “Wanted to know if I was awake…the usual midnight Elliot inquiries.”

“Can I get one?”

You hold your arms out and grin, giddy and irresistibly bright, and Loki steps forward to sweep you into his arms.

“I’ll give you a bit extra, too,” he chuckles, peppering your neck with light kisses as he walks you backward towards the bed. Your knees hit the edge and you fall onto the mattress, grabbing him behind the neck to bring him down with you.

An arm by your head to keep him hovering over you, Loki pauses, just smiling down at you as a few lingering laughs leave your lips.

“Are you happy, my love?”

Cold fingers run down your cheek and he leans down, brushing his lips against yours.

“Of course I am,” you mumble, tangling your fingers in his hair to keep him close. “You’re home, I’ve got the best little kid sleeping down the hall, and we’ve got another one on the way.” Another peck on the lips. “I’m way past happy, snowflake.”

“Good,” he whispers, and decides that’s going to be enough for him.

That’ll be enough for all four of you.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

hope you enjoyed, feel free to send me ideas!

loki tags: @bluediamond007 @himitoshi @drakesfiance @destiel1597 @dangertoozmanykids101 @archy3001 @jcalpha1 @yzssie @skullvieplu @forthesnakeofdragons @skulliebythesea @wegingerangelica @storiesfrommirkwood @agarwaeneth @adaliamalfoy @laurfangirl424 @paradisaicsam @fitzsimmons-is-forever @ladylokimischief @katelinwrites @tarynkauai @polaristrange @loavesofmeat @canadian-ravenpuff-multishipper @lou-makes-me-strong @holyn0vak @chocolatealmondmillk @swtnrholland @kenzieam @jessiejunebug @catticas @the-republic-and-face-of-texas @doralupin01 @whitewitchdown @atomiccharmer @falconfeather23435 @babygirlicecream @avengrcs @vethrvolnir2 @bookgirlunicorn @wabisabigrl @myhealingstar @khaleesi-marvel @ei77777 @spacecrumbs @scarlettrosella @rocks-are-pretty-odd @confessionsofastrugglingteen @easilydistractedwriter @arttasticgreatnessoftheawesome77 @fluffyllamaswearinghats @milktearose @lcyouinhell @h0tshotholland @dontmesswithmemundane @southsidesarcasticwriter @helnik-s @lilith-akemi @fire-in-her-veinz @unlikelysamwinchesteronahunt @mischievousbellerina @kcd15 @mellowgirl01 @lokislilcaribbeanprincess @allthingzhiddleston @scorpionchild81 @lokixme @vast-ish @blue-automne @galaxycharmed @devilbat @kangaroobunny @end-up-well @planetariumx @sarcsep @mrfandomtastic @amaru163 @im-way-too-many-fandoms @caswinchester2000 @kybaeza @little-scintilla @vintagesunshinebitch @adefectivedetective

#loki x reader #loki reader insert #dad!loki #loki x pregnant!reader #loki x reader fluff #loki imagine #loki requests #loki drabbles #loki fanfiction #loki laufeyson #loki fluff #elliot lokason #elliot lokison

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dancedelion · 4 years ago

Text

Sleep of the Dead (part 2 / 3)

Genre: some humour, angst with a happy ending Summary: Jaskier thinks he hit rock bottom when Geralt flushed twenty years of friendship down the drain, but then he finds himself suddenly translucent and rudely walked through by a traveller. Apparently he’s dead - that’s certainly a new low. He needs to find out what happened, and who better to help him than the man who’s made more than clear he wants nothing to do with him. ao3: Sleep of the Dead - Chapter Two Chapter One

It’s clear as anything Geralt doesn’t want him here. He doesn’t even look at Jaskier and barely acknowledges his presence. But Jaskier can’t leave, even knowing he’s overstayed his welcome by days, months, years perhaps.

But it’s not all bad. Sometimes it gets so close to what Jaskier really wants that he can feel his heart breaking.

In the tavern, an amateur bard – if he is even worthy of the title – is butchering one of Jaskier’s songs. He yells over the music in Geralt’s ear as he’s nursing a drink. “You call that an A sharp? To me it sounds more like a D minus. Booh!”

Geralt seems to be smirking, so Jaskier is happy to continue.

“B flat? Oh, no, it sounded very, very bumpy.”

Prowling around the stage like he owns the place, the halfwit. Then – Jaskier lets out a loud gasp. “This goes to far! The line is ‘kissed her sea shell’, not ‘kissed her lips’. He’s messed up the rhyme scheme! Not to mention the complicated underlying symbolism. Geralt! I give you permission to take your sword and -”

“How many times do I have to say this? I’m not going to kill anyone for you.”

“What about light stabbing?” “This is not a negotiation.”

Jaskier gestures wildly with his arms.

“But you heard him! He’s terrible, playing my song. Don’t you agree?”

“Didn’t sound any different to me.” “Didn’t – uhm – what?!” Jaskier is nearly flailing now. “I’m dead, the least you could do is pay some respects!”

Geralt, very rudely, does not pay any respects and smirks into his drink instead.

An elegant lute with intricate carvings is propped up against one of the market stalls.

“Geralt, are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

Sometimes, the tiredness fades to a dull throb behind Jaskier’s eyelids. No matter how he feels, Jaskier pretends everything is fine, so Geralt won’t worry. (Not that Geralt would ever even look at him.)

“An overcrowded market filled with thieves and swindlers?” Geralt answers, so low that bystanders can’t hear him talking to the air.

“I’m seeing the afterlife worthy of the greatest troubadour on the continent! A lute that must have been crafted in heaven.”

“Good luck trying to pick it up.”

Huh. That does put a damper on it. None the matter. Jaskier is switching strategies.

“I might not be able to pick it up, but you know who has two fully functioning hands and a soft spot for bards not currently in the possession of useful things like money or a real body?”

“Hope you find him before the market closes.”

Jaskier turns around, definitely not pouting, and watches a woman trip over her dress in the middle of the market.

“Honestly,” he huffs. The woman grabs a tablecloth to drag herself up again, but instead all the fruits on the table come crashing down. “What has to happen for you to do something nice for me? Hell freezes over? It rains tiny horses?” Jaskier turns back around. “Why do you always -” Geralt is, as was to be expected, not listening. However, he is, as was certainly not to be expected, already over at the stall with the lute talking to the vendor.

Jaskier is innocuously smiling when Geralt straps the lute to Roach’s back.

“Shut up,” Geralt says.

Jaskier smiles more widely.

Ghosts can’t do much, Jaskier finds. They mostly – are. He used to love being. It was one of his favourite activities. But now… Ghosts can’t play the lute, which Geralt thankfully doesn’t mention, even as he drags the lute across the country. Maybe they are both living in fantasy land, where hope grows on trees.

And ghosts can’t sleep. And Jaskier is just so, so…

“Gods! Do you see this flower? This might be the prettiest flower I have seen in my entire life – oops, went a little too far there in the sentence. Let’s just say it’s the prettiest flower I have ever seen.”

It’s sitting right next to the path, radiating beauty and positive feelings. Geralt is staring straight ahead, not sparing it a glance.

“And can you guess whose hair it would look awfully pretty in?” Jaskier says.

Geralt’s eyebrows go up.

“Roach’s, obviously,” Jaskier says cheerfully. “Why, what did you think?”

Geralt huffs. It really is like talking to an air vent sometimes.

“Come on. I know only one opinion counts for you and I’m sure Roach would love it. Am I right, Roach?”

Roach, quite obviously in answer to his question, lifts her head a little. So Geralt, the big softie, picks the flower and puts it behind Roach’s ear, turning her effectively into the most beautiful horse in the country.

(And Jaskier wishes so much he could have this. Could touch Roach’s mane. Could feel the wind rolling through the trees. Could put his arm around Geralt’s shoulder.) (He slumps, letting a form sag he doesn’t even have.)

(Is this punishment, he wonders. Being able to close his eyes, but never to rest. Being allowed to see, but not touch. Having to watch the world turn on without him.)

Geralt walks a few steps ahead while Jaskier picks up a tune. At least he can still sing. Even if he’s missing the appreciative audience. (Is this what he is supposed to see? Geralt getting on without him, so Jaskier finally sees Geralt doesn’t need him, the world doesn’t need him, that he can let go? If that was the case, they really shouldn’t have let him hear that imposter of a bard play his song.)

“You know what the absolute worst part of this is? I can’t change my outfit. I died in my least favourite doublet. Fuck me, am I right?”

Geralt is by himself in the forest, listening only to the fire crackling in front of him.

“Not actually, I guess. None of that will be happening any time soon, I suspect, seeing that I’m dead.”

It’s not cold, exactly, not to a witcher, but he draws his jacket closer.

“Why am I wearing my least favourite doublet? Shouldn’t my spiritual form be a representation of my glorious self? I want a golden jacket. Maybe a bit of glitter, some sparkles.” “Could stand in the fire. Plenty of sparkles,” Geralt says unprompted.

He allows his eyes to slide over, just a tad to the right. The firelight doesn’t hit Jaskier. He looks barely there. He looks like he will fade out any minute.

He’s just a nightmare, nothing more.

Looking is an indulgence and torture at the same time. Hugging the knife, loving the taste of poison. Fluffed up hair, a fine looking doublet, he is sitting by the fire like a breathing man. He is different, more quiet, more wary, but so undeniably Jaskier.

This is just a mountain fantasy. The universe is cruel, that’s true, but not like this. This goes too far.

(You killed him on the mountain. You gave him the push.)

Geralt looks back to the fire. Is alone. By himself. Just him and Roach. Jaskier is far, far away and warm and breathing and alive alive alive

“Oh, Geralt” – there is nothing – “why must you” – only a shadow voice – “be so -” Geralt closes his eyes. There is only the wind.

“Wait, what’s that? I think – oh, fuck, Geralt -”

Geralt jerks, hears a noise from behind – is about to grab his sword – but something hits the back of his head and suddenly everything

It’s not unusual for Geralt to wake up in chains. This time, his prison is moving. His head is throbbing, but it won’t last long. Geralt slowly blinks his eyes open. He’s in the back of a carriage. Road’s bumpy. It’s hard to make out shapes at first, but Geralt looks around frantically – oh, thank goodness, there is –

No one. He is alone.

“You’re awake! That’s a relief. I was scared out of my mind.”

Geralt, for no particular reason at all, smiles a little.

“I didn’t see anyone coming but suddenly there was this shadow and I was like woah, but it was already too late and I barely made it behind you into the carriage. But now that you’re awake, it’s all good. Let’s escape!”

Geralt tugs at his chains, but they are tight around his wrists. Whoever locked him up did a good job.

“Too bad neither of us can walk through walls,” Geralt says.

“I’m not leaving you, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

“I’m suggesting you do some recon.” The least the hallucination can do is make itself useful, since it’s living in Geralt’s mind rent-free.

“I’m not walking through the walls,” the hallucination says stubbornly.

“Why not?” “It’s weird. It’s… unsanitary.”

“I think hygiene is the least of your problems.”

Jaskier starts pacing the small space, though he can only go two steps before he has to turn around. The only light comes in from the gridded window behind him.

“The point is, I’m not doing it. It’s scary. Walking past instead of through walls is a hard habit to rid yourself of.”

“Fine. Then we’ll just wait it out and let my kidnappers get on with whatever nefarious plans they have for me.”

“Don’t you have a plan? You’re a witcher, you can come up with something.” “I do have a plan.”

Geralt stares at Jaskier intently. Jaskier throws up his arms in exasperation.

“Well, what would you do if your friend hadn’t conveniently been turned into a ghost for you?”

“Enjoy the imprisonment until an unlikely escape or very likely torture with adjacent death.”

Jaskier finally sighs loudly.

“Okay, okay, but just so you know –“

“If you feel vaguely uncomfortable walking through wood for a brief moment, it’s my fault?”

“That’s right.”

They wait until, a while later, the carriage comes to a stop.

Jaskier cracks his neck, as if preparing for a fight, and then hesitantly steps toward the carriage wall. In an instant, he’s disappeared.

And Geralt –

(The room seems suddenly much smaller, the air colder. He hears nothing. Inexplicably, his stomach is churning.)

Geralt is alone.

“Do recon, he says. Use your special ghost powers to save me, he says,” Jaskier grumbles. “Does that brute have any idea -” Jaskier, not looking where he was going, had accidentally walked through a man in a robe. He suppresses a sigh. That robe just screams fashion-ignorant mage. Geralt will not be happy.

He can spot three carriages in total. Judging by the heavy locks and bars in front of the small window, one of them only for the purpose of keeping a prisoner. Interesting. Had they always planned on kidnapping Geralt or was kidnapping in general just such a frequent activity for them that they had to come prepared? Like, hm, better take our prison chamber along, who knows what kind of non-suspecting witcher we’ll run into? How awfully sensible of them.

Now, what about the entourage? There are quite a few people on horses, many heavily armoured, some dressed like the snobs from court. One of them is standing in front of Geralt’s carriage, all glum, and taking his job very seriously, as though he is expecting Geralt to tear apart his chains and smash through the door any second. Robe-guy is also keeping an eye on the carriage, which can’t be good.

And who’s at the top of this chain of peacocks and bulls? Jaskier can only see him from behind, the doublet that’s way over the top, the feathery hat, chest puffed out.

Next to him, a woman is talking to him, turned sideways. She looks oddly familiar, but Jaskier can’t place it.

He tries to take a peak at the flag the riders are carrying, but the angle is bad and he can only make out some rose colours.

“What on earth is he thinking?” someone shouts right next to Jaskier’s head. He stumbles back, his head whipping around.

Just two run-of-the-mill soldiers chatting, it seems. But the horse they are feeding looks rather familiar. “Not so loud,” the smaller guy answers.

Uuuh, gossip. Jaskier is all ears.

“He’s out of his mind to bring a –“ the taller one continues. “Will you shut up? He just wants to make use of his assets. And you heard what happened to the other guy.”

“That’s no reason to fraternize with the bloody Butcher of Blaviken.”

Ah, gossiping about Geralt. That’s not so great.

“And now we’re being forced to take care of his damn horse -” “Paid, we’re being paid to -”

“Fuck off. Like he’s fucking royalty, we’re feeding his horse carrots. I don’t even have a horse.”

Jaskier can feel anger bubble up in him, but he only clenches his fist. In another lifetime, he would have given these people a piece of mind, one so big they would choke on it. But a gush of wind cannot sway someone’s opinion, much less knock them over the head with a stolen lance-thingy.

“What’s that you’ve been riding on all this time?” Mr. Small says and snickers. “An armadillo?”

“A what? No, that horse is a loan from the boss. It’s his horse.” There’s a small moment of despondent silence.

“I want a horse,” Mr. Tall says quietly.

Roach, ever the good horse, snaps her teeth in his direction.

“The witcher’s a monster. He stinks. He can’t love, everyone knows that, and he’s made to be violent – you know what he did in Blaviken. And to top it all off,” he raises his voice, becoming agitated, “he didn’t teach his horse any bloody manners.”

Years long Jaskier spent singing to anyone who would listen (or at any rate looked like they wouldn’t throw tomatoes at him until he got at least two songs out) what a great pal Geralt is, no, listen, he’s really great, you should see him once he’s taken a bath. And still, there’s people like these. Jaskier grits his teeth together until his jaw hurts.

“Shh, shh,” Mr. Small tells Roach and starts petting her head, “he doesn’t mean it.”

Mr. Tall is shaking his head, clearly still invested in hating Geralt as passionately as possible.

“If you’re asking me, I say we should take a pike and punch it through the bastard’s -”

Jaskier is definitely not asking. In fact, he is walking away. And through a carriage wall, if he must.

Geralt is right where Jaskier left him, except maybe a little more despondent.

“It’s not exactly a witcher-friendly environment.”

Jaskier comes right out with the merry news. Geralt lifts his head at that, tilts it thoughtfully. “They did kidnap me.”

So nonchalant, the man with heart of stone. But Geralt, of course, is used to the hatred. (People don’t just throw tomatoes at him, if worst comes to worst.)

“Apparently, some of them want to kill you.”

Geralt shrugs.

“It’s not so bad, by the looks of it.”

He fixes Jaskier with an expression that can’t be amused, must logically fall into the category of annoyed or at least indifferent. He’s made more than clear on the mountain –

Jaskier has lost them then, the smirks, the well-meant jabs, the companionable silences.

(Now who is seeing ghosts?) “Not – excuse you, didn’t you hear me when I told you about the outfit? Every day the same one, no variety, no -” He pauses and gives Geralt a calculating once-over. “I see how that wouldn’t be a problem for you. Is this the only shirt you own?”

“Getting off-topic.” “Right, right. So it seems to be some nobleman’s entourage. I spotted a mage too, might want to make a big bow around her. Pretty heavy locks and soldiers everywhere.”

Geralt is starting to look more pained with every word, the way that usually signals to Jaskier it’s his turn to be the optimistic one. Come to think of it, he almost always leaves that duty to Jaskier.

“Got any good news too?” he grunts. “Let me think – ah, those goons who want you dead seem to be extremely afraid of the guy who kidnapped you.”

Now Geralt looks at him coldly.

“How reassuring.”

“Ah, chin up,” Jaskier tries, “I’m sure everything -”

In that moment, the door snaps open. Jaskier flinches. He had expected to be able to hear them fumble with the multitude of locks they’d installed at the door before their grand entrance. And of course – it’s the magician. Who else could be so effortlessly dramatic?

“Witcher,” the mage announces snottily.

“Kidnapper,” Geralt inclines his head politely.

The mage ignores him, only looking around the carriage and taking another step inside.

“Wait,” he holds up a hand, “I’m sensing something strange around here.”

Jaskier recoils – then he straightens his doublet, scratches his head.

“Strange?” he mumbles, slightly offended.

“A draft?” Geralt asks, playing innocent, but Jaskier can hear the quiet amusement in his voice.

“No, not a draft.” The mage flicks his tongue in annoyance. “Something of magical origin.”

“Aaw, Geralt, did you hear that? He thinks I’m magical,” Jaskier preens, “and he hasn’t even seen what I can do with a lute and -”

“Perhaps a rat,” Geralt interrupts, levelling the mage with his stare.

“A rat?” Jaskier is getting more offended by the second. “Can’t you at least give me mouse? Mice are cute.”

Geralt is not quite smiling, but Jaskier can see little wrinkles around his eyes.

“None the matter,” the mage says. “You’ve been surprisingly easy to get a hold off, witcher. Not on top of your game, is that it? There are rumours you’ve lost your mind.”

Jaskier has a sneaking suspicion that last part might be his fault.

“Then why bother talking to me?” Geralt says only. “I’m not sure how much you’ll gain from the nonsensical ramblings of a lunatic.”

The mage’s lips thin out.

“It’s not information we need.”

That hopefully minimizes the chance for torture, unless they are out for revenge or torture just for the joy and fun of it. Jaskier starts circling the man, pondering if he might be lying.

“Then what is?”

Jaskier is painfully aware that Geralt is the only one of them in danger, the only one who can get hurt, and yet Jaskier is scared as if he were tied to Geralt, back to back. (And alive enough to feel the chains around his wrists.)

“For one, you needed to be neutralized. You should really be more careful where you mumble about your travel plans to yourself.”

At that, Jaskier perks up – travel plans?

“What’s wrong with my travel plans?” Geralt says, “Lettenhove not sunny enough this time of year? Inns too expensive?”

“It seems your plans were interfering with our own.”

Geralt doesn’t seem to find it necessary to mention that him and Jaskier hadn’t exactly had a plan, at least none exceeding “go to Jaskier’s hometown”. Jaskier starts to become suspicious. The mage might know something they don’t.

“In what way?” “That shouldn’t concern you, witcher.”

Great, Jaskier thinks. When has a mage ever been forthcoming?

What does the mage want in Lettenhove? Jaskier tries to focus, on anything other than the feeling of falling asleep, of being so terribly, terribly tired – what was before? If something happened in Lettenhove, it’s all the more likely Jaskier ended up there, too – that it happened to him too.

“We only need your help to get into the castle,” the mage goes on.

“Have you tried the door?” Geralt says drily.

“It’s not quite so simple.”

“Mind being less of a cryptic bastard?”

“You’ll see when you get there. I just want to make sure you are going to cooperate.”

“Ah, I don’t know,” Geralt narrows his eyes. “You haven’t even offered me tea.”

“But you are still alive. If you need more incentive, how about this,” the mage lets a ball of fire float above his palm, “I will be with you every step of the way.”

“Unwavering support. How nice,” Geralt says. “But I usually manage without.”

“We’re not taking any chances, witcher.”

The mage extinguishes his flame.

“Rest now. We will start our journey again in the morning.”

With those words, the mage disappears, the doors slamming shut behind him.

A breath leaves Jaskier’s body, one he would be damned to let Geralt hear.

“I would feel more well-rested if you hadn’t knocked me out,” Geralt says to the air.

“A little insulting they only sent their mage and not the head of the operation to make ominous threats,” Jaskier remarks.

“Didn’t you hear? That wasn’t a threat. He only wanted to hold my hand and pet my head while I did his dirty work.”

“Veiled threat, then,” Jaskier decides to compromise. “Well fuck. What do we do now?”

Geralt doesn’t seem overly optimistic, but then - he never does. And he makes it out of every tough spot in the end, Jaskier knows. But now he only shrugs, seeming more like a ghost than he has any right to, considering the circumstances.

We can’t both fade out, Jaskier thinks. You have to hold on. They say a person lives on through memory. Who is going to faintly think of me every ten years and not speak to a soul about my existence if you are gone?

Jaskier thinks this very intently, but Geralt doesn’t look any less tired once he is done. He only blinks, once, twice, and looks at Jaskier very slowly, the way he never does anymore.

“I’d say you better start remembering what happened to you.”

#the witcher fanfiction #geraskier fanfiction #the witcher #the witcher fanfic #geraskier fanfic #the witcher fic #geraskier fic

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kinda-iconic · 6 years ago

Text

Everything comes at a price

Summary: The mysterious collector has agreed to a deal; the amulet is theirs, so long as Amy grants him with the vision that he desires. Though initially reluctant, Adrian agrees, but it isn’t long before he tries to stop it.

Author’s note: This fanfic follows on from Chapter 2 and the events take place during chapter 3. I love angst, so I’m kinda hoping that this will happen at some point - this is a repost as Tumblr deleted the first one, so I’m hoping not too much has changed. All I can really say with this is that... I feel so sorry for Amy!

Song that inspired this Fanfic: Bridges by Aisha Badru

Pairing: Adrian x MC

Warning: Depictions of violence, angst and death

Tagging (I apologise if you didn’t want tagging): @queerchoicesblog @nobounderiesplease @nitakali @teamtomsato @galaxyside-0 @bhavf@shelley-parah @itlivesbeneath @gavryllo @katyagrayce @desiree-0816 @brightpinkpeppercorn @begging-for-kamilah @ladykateofhousebeaumont @mangoruby @krishu213 @choicesfannatalie @adrianadmirer @zigortega4life @laniquelovewrites @flyawayboo

‘Alright,’ Langdon removes himself from behind the counter, running his thumb along the edges of the necklace. He briefly fixates his gaze on the jewel, before turning his attention back to the group. ‘I can see that this amulet is of great importance to you.’

Adrian clears his throat, edging closer to the collector. ‘So you’ll allow us to have it?’

‘For a price, of course.’

‘Certainly,’ He retrieves his wallet from his breast pocket, ‘how much would you like for it?’

The man chuckles softly, ‘oh I don’t want your money.’

Adrian meets his gaze for a moment, his brows narrowing in confusion. ‘Then what…’

‘They told me about you, you know,’ he wanders over to stand before Amy, his hand outstretched towards her, ‘but I never thought that you’d be so…’ he pauses for a moment, his fingers curling as they rest against his chin, ‘innocently human.’

‘I…’

She smiles bashfully at him, her forehead creasing in uncertainty, ‘thank you, I guess.’

He chuckles to himself, before turning his attention back to the group. ‘I will give you what you desire,’ he inhales sharply, before placing a firm hand on Amy’s shoulder, ‘so long as your friend assists me in my endeavour.’ He clears his throat before continuing, ‘for the past decade, I have been searching for the location of the Decarti vase; it’s a magnificent piece of our history, and some believe that it possessed the ability to restore life.’

‘Even if that were true,’ Jax added, ‘why would you have the need for something as powerful as that?’

‘I’m not interested in its power,’ he hesitates briefly, ‘I’m interested in its retail price.’ He walks over to stand adjacent to Amy, his expression stoic, with a hint of curiosity.

‘So, do we have a deal?’

His grip on Amy tightens, and Amy can’t help but wince as he presses his fingers into her flesh. Adrian steps forward, his lips curling into a snarl, ‘I suggest that you remove your hand from her shoulder,’ he retorts coldly, ‘unless you want to lose it.’

The man watches Adrian warily, his eyes narrowing as he tries to assess his counterpart. Adrian edges closer once more, reaching up to adjust his tie as he regards the collector with a cautionary glare.

‘Weren’t we agreeing on a deal?’ Langdon laughs bitterly, ‘it’d be a shame if I had to go back on my part of the bargain.’

‘The exchange we were agreeing on was a vision,’ Adrian retorts, a guttural growl emanating from his throat, ‘as far as I recall, that wasn’t an invitation for you to touch her.’

‘Hmmmm…’ He looks dutifully between the pair, the corner of his mouth curving into a mischievous smile as he takes note of the way that they look at one another, his mouth agape as the realisation begins to dawn.

‘Ah,’ he chortles, releasing Amy from his grasp, ‘boyfriend, eh?’ He holds up his hands, distancing himself from the young woman as Adrian approaches her, curling his arm around her waist. ‘I was never going to hurt her,’ he nods subtly, ‘I guess I just assumed that the young miss wasn’t as fragile as she appears.’

‘Well, your assumption was correct,’ the arm around Amy tightens, ‘but we came here for a bargain, did we not?’

‘You did indeed,’ the man edges closer to the pair, and Amy can feel the grip around her waist tightening even more. He extends his hand, gesturing for Amy to take it.

But he is stopped.

‘No.’

Adrian positions himself between the pair, his voice deep and somewhat unnerving. She looks up at him, her brows knitted in confusion.

‘Adrian?’

Langdon tilts his head, eyeing Adrian suspiciously. ‘I thought we had a deal, Mr Raines.’

‘Our deal was never set in stone,’ he lowers his gaze to the floor before meeting her eyes. ‘I’m sorry,’ he turns away from her, focusing his sole attention on the man, ‘but I’m afraid that you ask too much.’

He pauses for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose, ‘and after your chivalrous conduct, I don’t feel comfortable letting you anywhere near her.’

Before Langdon has a chance to respond, Kamilah interjects, each utterance becoming more venomous as she ponders over to Adrian.

‘We need that amulet, Adrian!’

‘I know.’

‘Then why are you trying to make this more difficult - ’

‘We’ll need to think of another way to retrieve it,’ he cuts her off, fixating his eyes back on the collector, ‘are you certain that we cannot find another means to…’

Langdon shakes his head, lowering his gaze to the floor. ‘I would normally accept financial payment, but the gift of a Bloodkeeper’s ability is…’ he smiles menacingly at her, ‘worth so much more than money can buy.’

Adrian lowers his head, his facial expression almost stoic as he trails his hand along Amy’s forearm, meeting her with a worried gaze. He exhales, his words carried by a despondent sigh.

‘I can’t let you do this…’

‘It’s the only way we’re going to get that amulet.’

‘There’s always another way,’ he cups her cheek with his hand, his thumb tracing a line on her cheekbone, ‘besides, I’ve been told I can be pretty reasonable.’

‘But the solution is right-’

‘Please, Amy,’ he hesitates for a moment, his words becoming more of a plea, ‘do not risk your safety for…’ he shakes his head, his brows narrowing as he tries to find the words, ‘something as trivial as this.’

‘You know it’s not trivial...’

‘Amy...’

‘I get it,’ she runs her fingers through his dark hair, ‘you’re worried about me.’

‘Is it that obvious?’

She reaches towards him, cupping his cheeks between her palms before she leans forward, enveloping his lips in a tender kiss. After a moment, the pair part, resting their foreheads upon one another. She inhales sharply, a soft whimper catching in her throat.

‘You know I’d do anything for you…’

She kisses him again, her breath ghosting over his skin as she nestles her face into this shoulder. She sighs, her fingers entwining themselves in the hair at the nape of his neck. She bites her lip, her brown-doe eyes meeting his once more, her voice soft and quiet.

‘That’s why I need you to trust me.’

‘Amy…’

She turns to face Langdon, her arms folding protectively across her chest. ‘I’ll do it,’ she exclaims hastily, ‘if it’s the only payment you will accept.’

‘It’s not the only payment, but it seems like too good of an opportunity to pass up,’ he smiles fondly at her, offering her his arm.

‘May I?’

She turns to face Adrian for a moment; he fixes the collector with a cold glare as his jaw clenches. He exhales sharply, a blanket of wariness covering his face.

‘I don’t trust him…’

‘I know,’ she places her hand on his chest, ‘but you trust me, don’t you?’

He bows his head, fixating his gaze on her fragile fingers as they grasp onto his jacket.

‘I do.’

The man draws closer, his eyes never leaving Adrian.

‘Is there anything that you need before we begin?’

She turns away from Adrian, his hand softly gracing the curve of her waist as she steps forward.

‘I… I need to be sitting down.’

‘Of course,’ he gestures for Amy to take his arm, before leading her over to an upholstered chair, its plum threading worn with age.

‘Is there anything else?’

Before she takes a seat, she spies a coil of rope, nestled in the shadows. She retrieves it from the darkness, before walking over to Jax.

His nose crinkles in confusion.

‘What is…’

‘I need you to tie me to the chair.’

His eyes widen as he processes her request.

‘You want me to,’ he glances over at Adrian, who stands motionless, his sad eyes fixated on the young woman, ‘why do you want me to…’

‘The visions they’re…’ she hesitates for a moment, ‘they can be rather painful and…and I know that, if I’m not tied down,’ she exhales defeatedly, ‘I’ll try to run.’

‘But why me?’ He crosses his arms, his face painted with confliction, ‘why aren’t you asking Adrian?’

‘Because I know you won’t hesitate,’ she meets Adrian’s gaze, trying desperately to comfort him with a soft smile, ‘Adrian would.’

‘Is that everything?’

‘Yes,’ she turns away from Jax, pondering over to rest beside the chair. She sits down, her eyes darting around the room pensively as Jax approaches with the rope, binding her arms to the back of the chair. He ties the knot, tight enough to restrain her, but not enough to cause any harm.

‘Is that alright?’ Jax fiddles with the knot, ensuring that her arms are properly bound.

‘Yes,’ she responds with a warm smile, ‘it’s not too tight just…’

‘Tight enough to stop you from escaping?’

She nods.

He checks the knot once more, tugging at the threads before meeting her eyes.

‘You can still back out of this you know,’ he looks over his shoulder at Kamilah, whose eyes bore into his own, ‘it’s not too late to change your mind.’

‘I know,’ she mutters, ‘but this is something that I have to do.’

He backs away from her, returning to stand beside the others as Langdon approaches, grasping onto her hand as she adjusts herself.

‘Are you alright, miss?’

‘I’m fine,’ she looks over at Adrian; their eyes meet, before he lowers his gaze to the floor. She watches him quietly for a moment, but it isn’t long before she addresses him, ‘Adrian?’

At first, he is reluctant to look upon her. However, after some time, he looks up at her, his gaze softening as he meets her eyes.

‘It’s going to be okay,’ she smiles lovingly at him, ‘I’ll be alright.’

Adrian nods, needing desperately to believe her.

‘Okay,’ Langdon presses forward, leaning his weight against the chair. He reaches towards her, tucking a strand of Amy’s hair behind her ear.

‘Are you ready?’

She sighs, her eyes darting to the faces of her friends as they look back at her, their gazes evidently stoic. Except for Adrian.

She locks eyes with him for a moment; he smiles weakly at her.

‘I’m ready.’

At first, all Amy can see is a void of darkness, its shadowy tendrils slowly enveloping her as they close in, like an eagle catching its prey.

Suddenly, an electric current rushes through her, and she is briefly blinded by a vibrant light. Her body stiffens and, as her eyes adjust to the vibrancy, she manages to catch a glimpse of the past. However, as she tries to focus on the location of the vase, she is projected into the past of those that she holds most dear.

‘No.....’

Kamilah stands in an old temple, her eyes red with fury as they scan her surroundings for any sign of life. The floor is covered in fresh blood. It isn’t long before she removes her cloak, a sinister smile enveloping her face as she pierces the heart of another with an ornate dagger.

‘Kamilah...’

Kamilah steps forward, tilting her head as she speaks her name, her brows narrowed in confusion.

‘Amy?’

Amy’s face goes red as her blood courses rapidly through her veins. She tries to refocus her mind on the task at hand, but it isn’t long before she is overpowered by another vision.

A lone figure prowls a battlefield, his navy uniform stained with splatters of dry blood. He reaches forward, grasping onto an enemy soldier before digging his fangs into the man’s jugular. The man struggles for a moment, trying desperately to fight him off, but before long, his body goes limp and still. The soldier throws him to the floor as he gazes over his horizon. The field is littered with the dead. He smiles fondly at the sight, turning his head as he looks briefly over his shoulder at another. It is only then that Amy is able to see his face.

Adrian.

‘Oh god...’

‘Feeling peckish, are we?’

Adrian laughs, removing his cavalry sword from its sheath before sharpening the blade, droplets of fresh blood falling onto his skin.

‘Aren’t I always?’

The figure looms closer, greeting him with a wide grin as he surveys the scene before him.

Gaius.

Amy’s head snaps back, her wrists tugging at the ropes as she tries desperately to break free. ‘Hrrgh!’ she cries out in pain, the rope burning into her flesh as she continues to struggle.

Adrian inches closer, his eyes widening as he takes in the sight before him.

‘A...Amy?’

Within seconds, Langdon appears behind her. ‘Don’t fight it!’ He reaches his arms towards her, his hands settling on her shoulders as he whispers into her ear, ‘if you want that amulet, I need to know where that chest is hidden,’ he pauses for a moment, taking in her contorted expression, ‘regardless as to how much pain it causes you.’

Her mind is transported back to the battlefield, the whites of her eyes beginning to show as she screams out in pain, her focus shifting between the two figures as she draws closer to them.

‘Not a bad effort if I say so myself,’ Gaius exclaims, patting Adrian on his back, ‘not too sloppy...not too gruesome...’ he smiles once more, ‘just the right amount of gore, I’d say.’

‘Well I don’t intend to disappoint,’ Adrian retorts, a menacing grin enveloping his lips, ‘after all, isn’t this what they all deserve?’

Gaius laughs, his eyes fading into red as he looks upon his soldier proudly, like a father to his son. Suddenly, their attention is captured by a loud whail in the distance, their eyes following the trail of thick blood as it lines the path to their next victim.

‘As your reward, My Prince,’ he steps forward, turning to face his creation, ‘I shall allow you the satisfaction of the kill.’

Adrian’s lips curl into a sinister smile as he reaches up, wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth as he looks at his master fondly.

‘Thank you, my King.’

The images fade once more, and Amy is left alone in the darkness. She cries out, her pained plea sending shivers down Adrian’s spine.

‘Adrian...’ Amy hesitates for a moment, her breath hitching in her throat as she holds back a sob, ‘please...no...not... not you...’

‘...Amy?’

She tries to open her eyes, but the brightness intensifies, carrying her into another vision, the darkness consuming her memories of Adrian and Kamilah.

A young woman creeps out of the shadows, a brown chest nestled within her arms. She looks around for a moment, checking that she has not been followed.

‘I trust that you have delivered on our bargain?’

A cloaked man appears from behind her, his hood covering the entirety of his face.

‘Of course,’ the woman sighs, opening the chest carefully before holding its contents out to the mysterious character. The vase is made from porcelain, its green tint brightening as it is exposed to the light.

‘I always honor an agreement.’

‘Good,’ the cloaked figure takes the vase from her, his eyes widening as he takes in its intricate detail. ‘My my,’ he gasps, ‘isn’t this exquisite!’

‘What did you expect?’ She stands beside him, peering over his shoulder, ‘the Decarti Vase has always been a valuable asset to my culture.’ She sighs defeatedly, lowering her gaze to the floor, ‘I guess it belongs to you now.’

‘Certainly,’ he smiles mischeviously, turning the vase in his hands.

‘What are you going to do with it?’

He chortles, holding the vase tightly in his grasp.

‘It is no concern of yours.’

‘But I’ve trusted you with a priceless artifact,’ she exclaims warily, ‘I deserve to know what you intend to do with it!’

The man watches her, amused, before removing his dagger from its sheath. He looks over the blade, the orange hue of candlelight reflecting on the hilt.

‘This relic is incredibly powerful,’ he turns to face her, ‘some say that it has the power to restore life to those that possess it,’ he pauses for a moment, his eyes never leaving hers. ‘But there are others that believe it can be used as a means to take life instead.’

‘But it’s just a vase, how can it...’

He pierces his skin with the blade, letting the fresh blood fall onto the vase’s exterior.

‘I will show you.’

The blood begins to boil, it’s coppery scent filling the air as it disappears into dust. The woman looks on in awe as the cut in his skin heals, her eyes refusing to leave the sight of the wound.

‘But that’s impossible!’

‘Nothing is impossible, my dear.’

She watches on in bewilderment, before her excitement turns into wariness. The young woman edges closer out of curiosity.

‘I don’t understand,’ she mutters, ‘you weren’t going to tell me...’

‘On the contrary, my sweet,’ he steps to rest before her, his bloodied fingertips tracing along the curve of her jaw, ‘I had always intended to tell you.’

‘But...why?’

He leans closer to her, his warm breath ghosting on her skin as he whispers in her ear.

‘Because you won’t be alive to tell anyone else.’

Amy’s breath catches in her throat as the memories relay before her; the young woman gasps, her head lolling back as the blade of his dagger seeps into her flesh. He forces the blade in deeper, her initial cries of pain turning into nothing more than a whimper as her blood stains the dirt around her. He drops down to his knees as he cradles her motionless body, watching the essence of life fade from her eyes.

‘Please,’ Amy wails, ‘for the love of god, make it stop!’

Adrian’s muscles tighten, his eyes growing wide at the sound of her terrified voice.

‘Amy...’

The vision continues, and Amy is able to make out little snippets of the aftermath; the Decarti vase sits next to the lifeless body of the young woman, her scarlet blood staining its base as it begins to form a barrier around it. The man is quick to retrieve it, cleaning the blood from his hands before placing the vase in his worn leather satchel. He strokes her cheek, her warm blood tinting her tear-stained face. ‘Oh, my sweet,’ He sighs, ‘this is why little girls should not get involved in other people’s business.’

The man treads further into the cavern, stopping short at the sight of a waterfall, its fresh water falling in to the cavernous void below. The water falls silently down the rocks, its magical properties allowing green foliage to emerge from the cracks in the rock. He starts clawing at the dirt, stopping only momentarily to wipe the beads of sweat as they run down his forehead. Once the hole is deep enough, he removes the vase from his bag, wrapping it in his old cloak before lowering it into the ground. ‘You’re safe now,’ he murmurs under his breath, covering the vase with the broken dirt, ‘no one will ever find you here.’

Before the vision dissipates, Amy is met with the image of a word as it breaks through the threshold of her memories.

Carabella...

Her pale skin is quickly met with a waterfall of her own, as a trickle of crimson blood flows out of her nose and onto her lips, tinting her skin with a dark pigment.

‘Adrian?!’ The pain intensifies and she bites her lip, drawing more blood as she latches on, ‘I...please I.... I don’t want to do this anymore!’

Within an instant, he is by her side, trying desperately to pry her from her bounds. Kamilah edges closer, her eyes trained on the mortal as she begins to speak, her voice somber and cold.

‘Adrian, stop; you need to let this vision unfold.’

‘She’s in pain, Kamilah!’ He looks at Amy, her warm blood diluting with fresh tears as they make their way down her tear-stained cheeks. He breaks one of her wrists free from the rope, ‘I can’t let this continue any longer.’

‘Adrian, think about what you are doing!’

‘I am!’ he exclaims, his eyes red with agitation as he tugs at the rope keeping her in place. He hesitates for a moment, his breathing becoming less erratic before he speaks once more, his voice nothing but a whisper.

‘If you cared for her as much as I do, you’d do the same.’

‘I’m warning you, Adrian,’ Kamilah takes another step forward, her tone cold and threatening, ‘you may be my brother, but I will not hesitate to drag you away.’

They glance at each other, before he turns his attention back to Amy, her face now inscrutable and strained. He reaches towards her, softly cupping her cheek in his hand, running the tips of his thumbs across her delicate skin as he traces intricate patterns on her cheeks.

He focuses on her for a moment, but it isn’t long before he breaks his gaze away, his eyes meeting the floor as he clasps tightly onto Amy’s hand. He leans in, placing a delicate kiss to the back of her hand, before peering back over his shoulder at his friend. They hold each other’s gaze for only a moment before he speaks; though his voice is only a whisper, Kamilah is able to make out two little words, both said with sincerity and desperation.

‘Forgive me.’

He turns away from her, his hands trembling as he frantically tries to free his lover from her prison. Kamilah watches, her expression conflicted, before walking over to stand behind him. She rests her hand on his shoulder, her voice lowering to an inaudible whisper.

‘No,’ the grip on his shoulder tightens, and Adrian can feel his entire body being lifted into the air as his feet are grounded on the floor once more. A defeated sigh escapes her lips as she pulls him away from the mortal.

‘Forgive me, brother.’

‘Kamilah, no….’

He tries to push himself forward, but her hold on him is too strong. Within seconds, he is back in her company; she grasps onto his forearm, forcing his back against the wall. He continues to struggle against her strength as she pins him by her elbow…

‘Hhhrggghh…’ a deep growl emanates from his throat as he tries desperately to free himself from her control. ‘Kamilah…stop…’

‘Not until you get ahold of yourself!’

Jax edges closer to the pair, his eyes trained on Amy as he regards Kamilah over his shoulder.

‘Maybe we should listen to him, Kamilah,’ he pauses for a moment, cupping the nape of his neck with his palm as he stares at the mortal, his gaze softening as he witnesses her suffering, ‘this is cruel, even for us.’

‘How is it?’ She retorts, meeting Jax with an icy glare, ‘she knew the risks when she agreed to accept this as our payment - this may hurt her, but she’s doing the right thing.’

‘She’s our friend, Kamilah,’ Jax scoffs, ‘or are you forgetting that?’

‘I...’

‘It’s Amy, Kamilah,’ Adrian sighs, his breath catching in his throat as he holds back a wince, ‘she always does the right thing, no matter how much pain she has to endure.’

Kamilah looks over at Amy; she remains seated in the chair, fresh blood trailing down her chin. She struggles against her bonds, her salty tears thinning the blood as it seeps into her clothing. She meets Kamilah’s gaze.

‘Kami...please...’

Kamilah’s eyes glisten as a single tear threatens to fall. Her expression softens and, within seconds, she loosens her hold on Adrian, giving him enough slack to break free. He runs to her side, reaching his arms around her to free her. With a flick of his wrist, he severs the rope, untangling her from her prison.

‘Amy?’ He inhales sharply, his fingers entangling in her balayage hair.

‘Wh...wha... Adrian?’

‘Amy!’ She stirs, her eyes slowly opening at the sound of his voice. He takes her hand in his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. ‘I’m here…’ he lifts her hand to his lips, placing a gentle kiss to her knuckles, ‘I will always be right here.’

‘A…Adrian?’

He embraces her tenderly, his arms constricting around her as he runs his hand across her back. ‘Are you alright?’ He holds her at arms length, his brow knitting as he notices her body begin to subtly shake, ‘You’re trembling.’

‘I…’ her voice is hoarse, no louder than a whisper. ‘I’m okay.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ he leans in, lifting her arms so that he can inspect her limbs, the red mark on her skin twisting from her wrist to her forearm. ‘Does it hurt?’

‘It stings a bit, but it’s otherwise okay.’

‘Amy…’

Kamilah’s voice carries across the room, her gaze softening as she approaches the mortal with a sad smile. However, before she has the opportunity to get closer, Adrian holds up his hand, signalling for her to stop.

‘She’s not doing that again, Kamilah,’ he peers over his shoulder at her, his tone a mixture of anger and guilt. ‘I won’t let you use her like this…’

‘Adrian…’

‘No.’

He turns his attention back to the mortal, ‘are you alright? Can you stand?’

‘Yeah, I think I’m alright.’

Amy stands for a moment, though it isn’t long before her dizziness catches up with her.

‘Amy?’

‘I…urm…’

Her legs buckle from underneath her. She grasps onto his jacket, trying but failing to keep herself standing.

‘Woah, woah easy there!’

Adrian catches her, his arms tightening around her waist as he supports her weight before perching her on the edge of the seat.

‘Are you okay?’

She nods rapidly, her breathing becoming irregular. He reaches towards her, wiping at the tears as they fall onto her cheeks.

‘I think… I think I just need a… moment to breathe…’

‘Of course,’ his hands trail up her torso, his fingertips resting slightly underneath her ribcage, ‘do you want me to -’

‘Stay.’ She whispers, each word a painful labour. ‘Please.’

Langdon waiting the pair for a moment before walking over to join their conversation. Though it seems that he is primarily concerned about Amy’s well-being, his attention swiftly turns back to the location of the chest.

‘So the chest?’ He bends down beside her, ‘did you manage to locate it?’

Amy gulps, the horrifying reality of her power settling in as she responds to him, her voice hoarse and raspy.

‘It’s hidden in a cave,’ she pauses, ‘the man that hid it buried it just a little way beyond the waterfall...’ she presses on, ‘I didn’t see a name as such but I... I saw a word... Carabella... I don’t know if that’s a name or... I...’

She buries her head in her hands. Adrian runs his hand along her back softly.

‘Carabella cave?’

Amy bolts upright, removing her hands from around her face.

‘You know it?’

‘It’s an ancient cave on the coast of Scotland; it’s not exactly a popular area for tourists, so the place has been almost uninhabited for years.’

‘Oh...’

‘Can I access it?’

‘It’s not impossible but… you’re gonna need a lot of help to get out of there.’

‘Hhhmmm… not bad,’ he looks back over at Kamilah and Jax, ‘I can certainly see why people desire to harness your power,’ it isn’t long before he fixates his gaze back on Amy, ‘not to mention your beauty and intellect.’

‘You have what you wanted,’ Adrian murmurs, placing a hand on Amy’s shoulder, ‘so I believe it is time for you to adhere to your part of the bargain.’

The man regards the pair for a moment before he reaches into his pocket. ‘Here,’ he tosses a golden pouch to Adrian, ‘I may or may not have to have a rather difficult conversation with a previous client,’ he smiles gingerly, ‘but I guess you did adhere to your word.’

As Adrian and Jax convene around Amy, Kamilah watches from the side before strolling over to Langdon. They remain silent for a moment, though it isn’t long before Kamilah speaks, breaking the tension with a warning.

‘Can I give you some advice, Langdon?’

‘Certainly, Miss Sayeed.’

She moves closer to him, lowering her voice to a hushed whisper, one that only he can hear. ‘If your client is the man that we suspect it to be,’ she sighs coldly, ‘I would recommend that you do not make that phone call.’

Once Amy is feeling well enough to walk, the group prepare to bid Langdon farewell.

Adrian extends his hand towards the man, ‘thank you for agreeing to our bargain, Langdon,’ he pauses as they shake hands, ‘though the night would have gone a lot smoother if you had agreed to a cash payment.’

The man chortles. ‘I’ve made my billions in dealing antiques, Mr Raines,’ he pauses, taking him in, ‘I wouldn’t have been this successful if I was easy to bargain with now, would I?’

The pair converse for a moment longer and, as they fall deep into conversation, Kamilah sidles up to Amy, taking this as her opportunity to discuss the night’s events.

‘You know that I never intended to cause you any pain,’ she sighs despondently, ‘but I need you to understand that, if we are to defeat Gaius once and for all, then we will need every resource that we can to put an end to him.’

Amy remains motionless for a while, the memories of Adrian and Kamilah seeping slowly back into her thoughts.

‘I know.’

‘So you agree that we did what we had to do?’

‘Yes,’ she utters, ‘though there’s also something that I need you to understand.’

‘Oh?’

‘These visions are fragments of the past; they can help us to understand what Gaius is really after,’ her response is sudden, ‘but I am not in control of who I see, or rather, what I see…’

‘I don’t follow.’

‘I can’t control what I am exposed to, Kamilah. This isn’t something that I can turn on and off…’ she responds confidently, ‘I’ve seen things, awful things; things that no mere mortal should ever have to see,’ she lowers her head, unable to look at Kamilah, ‘and I’ve seen you.’

‘What are trying to say?’

‘I will do as you ask; I will use my newfound power as the tool you seek to locate Gaius,’ her gaze meets Adrian’s as he looks over at her, comforting her with a warm smile. She returns his grin, before turning her attention back to Kamilah, ‘but I need you to accept the consequences of what might happen as a result of me harnessing this power.’

‘And they are?’

‘I need you to understand that, no matter how hard you try to keep your secrets buried,’ she hesitates for a moment, trying to find the right words to say before continuing, ‘I cannot guarantee that the visions won’t reveal the truth to me.’

‘Ah.’

‘So you understand what I’m trying to say?’

‘Yes, though I ask that, no matter what you see, do not tell Adrian.’

‘But…’

‘There are things in our pasts that would horrify you, Amy, things that would truly make you feel disgusted with yourself that you ever associated yourself with us,’ within seconds, both women find themselves watching Adrian, ‘Adrian’s past is a difficult topic for him to discuss, and one of his greatest fears is that the truth will be revealed,’ she sighs once more, ‘that you will become aware of what he was truly capable of.’

‘But why wouldn’t he tell me this himself?’

‘We are capable of many things when we are broken, Amy; most either harness their grief and use it for something good,’ she sighs defeatedly, ‘or we can use it to destroy everything that is good and innocent about this world.’ She turns to face Amy, her wary eyes taking in the features of her face, ‘in his grief, Adrian chose the latter.’

‘Why are you telling me this?’

‘Because you said that you deserved the truth,’ she mutters under her breath, ‘and, in truth, that is all you really need to know.’

‘Kamilah...’

‘Just try to keep it to yourself,’ she retorts coldly, her tone stern and unyielding. ‘If not to spare yourself from the pain,’ their gazes fall on Adrian once more, a conflicted expression resting on Amy’s face.

‘Do it to spare him.’

#Playchoices #choices fanfic #choices bb #bloodbound #adrian raines #adrian x mc #kamilah sayeed #jaxmatsuo #gaius augustine

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justimajin · 5 years ago

Text

A Lone Wolf’s Howl ☾ Part 8

⇾ Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

⇾ Genre: Angst, Fluff, Action, Eventual Smut

↳ Werewolf AU

⇾ Words: 4.6k

⇾ Warnings: mentions of blood

⇾ Summary: Jungkook and you have been like two peas in a pod for the majority of your lives; whether it was going through the ups of downs of the horrid teenage change, to transitioning to the racing world of attempting to be adults. Simply put, you’ve been inseparable and glued to each other’s sides longer than you can remember. But one fateful day seems to completely change everything you had faith in and you begin to wonder if there was ever a time where you and your best friend even knew each other’s true colors.

⇾ Moodboard Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

“Y/N.”

A smile is on your lips, turning to view the wide expanse of the training camps over the horizon. Majority of the members are female, training in black armour and bursts of orange flashing through the bright blue sky. From a distance you can see them, and an ancient smile carefully watches them from afar, fascinated by their range of progress.

“They’ve improved.” You note it down, drawing out her thoughts already.

A deep chuckle resonates from the bottom of her throat, “Of course, they are trained by the best.”

A small smile arises on you from that, feeling the slight breeze against your cheek as you sit down on the flourished grass. “Why do you only watch them? Why not fight alongside them?”

Although she smiles, it doesn’t capture the melancholy look residing in her eyes, the way they spoke of a tender story filled with too many sorrowful words, “My time to fight has come to an end.”

The slim fingers reach out, cold against your cheek but still filled with a gracious amount of warmth, “Go on now, do not keep your sisters waiting.”

You nod, hurriedly getting up and mummering words before casting your sword, rushing towards the other children practicing. For the briefest of moments, you turn – you know she will be there, like she has always been, carefully and cautiously looking after you. It's foolish to even doubt, but it brought down the uncertainty brewing inside you.

She smiles; dressed in hooded black robes and old silver eyes watching you run away. You instantly beam, drawing your sword out as a sign of respect before bowing, but when you lift your gaze a swirling breeze passes by.

She vanishes into thin smoke and you’re only left behind staring with torn eyes, the silver now shifted to gold.

***

Uncomfortable silence rests within the four walls of the room, a sense of defeat mixed in with utter disbelief spreading across. No one dares to break the tense silence, instead, Hoseok and Namjoon continue to hover over the gray bed as Namjoon cuts white strips of cloth at the speed of light and hands Hoseok any necessary supplies he needs. There is no exchange of words, only the shared need to keep going.

Yoongi and Jimin stand off to the side, watching the two work together diligently with stern eyes and silently hoping to themselves that the unconscious wolf doesn’t remain in such a battered state. Taehyung is nowhere to be seen, resting in an adjacent room after pushing himself past the limit and needing his own recovery.

A series of footsteps draw them out of it, both of them turning to view Seokjin joining them before he quietly whispers among the dead silence.

He keeps his eyes trained on the wolf as well, not invested in giving Jimin any eye contact at the moment, “How is he now?”

“Not good.” Jimin states, crossing his arms with a sigh when he watches Hoseok wipe the sweat trailing down his forehead, “They’ve been trying to stop the bleeding, but the wound is too deep.”

Seokjin hums, eyes still latched onto the wolf who doesn’t seem to be waking up anytime soon. “I wasn’t expecting them to be so powerful, let alone put on such a fight. To think they would injure Jungkook…”

Jimin stiffly smiles, “Seems like he wasn’t the only one injured during the fight though.”

Seokjin raises a questioning brow at that, but Jimin’s eyes trail elsewhere, locking onto a certain individual currently huddled on the floor in a fetal position.

He’s taken aback a bit, not quite expecting you to be watching the wolf get treated just like the rest of them but from a farther distance away. He carefully observes you, noticing how your knees are brought up to your chin level and how your eyes are cracked with streaks of red. However, you don’t even turn in wonder when he’s blatantly staring at you. Instead, you keep your eyes trained on Jungkook only, like a shadow in the background.

Hoseok’s coarse words drag him out of it, causing him to redirect his attention over to the attending pair. “It’s too much.” He wipes his forehead again, this time shaking his head at Namjoon, “The bleeding is too much.”

It’s almost as if Hoseok looks towards Namjoon for answers, a solution, anything that could possibly help, but the blank expression the man gives him in return only serves to cause his desperate one to fall even more. He clenches his teeth, stepping away from the bed with remorseful eyes and Namjoon lets out a deep exhale, scrunching his brows and setting his lips into a firm line.

They both back away from the table, a helpless sight dwelling in their eyes when they left to simply watch, watch as there’s nothing else they can do.

From behind the shadows, you see the whole ordeal play out and you abruptly rise from the ground, exiting the room with a vicious swipe of your sleeve against your eyes.

***

It’s just like a tug of war.

A part of you is screaming on the inside, telling you to go back and watch something that deep down, you never even wanted to see unfold. However, there’s another part that’s seemingly dragging you away from it all, completely evoking something else you didn’t even realize was inside you.

Fear.

Fear of losing Jungkook.

Despite everything, your training, your upbringing, your chosen path – there was a part that truly didn’t want to see Jungkook becoming the final end to it all.

Deep inside the whole twisted scenario, you were silently wishing Jungkook would be alright.

Your hand rests against the wall as you force yourself upright, coming across the same window that you had witnessed countless rays of orange. That same day, Jungkook had left you with a hug, a silent message that there was a chance he wasn’t going to come back.

But you wanted him to.

You always did.

“Y/N?”

A voice snaps you out of your thoughts, not hearing their light footsteps trail after you once you left the room. What throws you a bit off guard isn’t the fact that he followed you, but how for the first time, he seemingly looks at a loss.

“What?” Your voice cracks just as another wave resurfaces in your eyes. Bringing your arm up, you attempt to quickly swipe them away again, but this time it isn’t as easy.

An arm comes around you and you’re taken by surprise when Jimin encases you into a hug, but it only serves to have it all hit you at once and the tears drench your cheeks at an alarming rate. You don’t mean to, but you cling onto him desperately when you can’t keep yourself upright anymore.

“Shhh.” Jimin whispers, placing a gentle hand on your head, “He’ll be alright Y/N, I know he will be.”

“How can you say that?” You suck in a harsh breath and your shoulders shake within his grasp, “There’s so much blood and he isn’t waking up, h-how can you s-say that…?”

Jimin holds onto you tighter, “He’s strong. Much stronger than he looks. This isn’t the first time something like this has happened.”

“But it’s the first time it’s happened because of me.” You choke out, “I was so angry at him about everything that the thought of losing him…”

A rush of tears hit you again and your words are silenced, clinging onto him again. The list could on – what you wouldn’t have said, what you should have said, what could have been. In that moment, you were void of any anger you had against Jungkook when all you felt was anger towards yourself.

“Y/N…” Jimin separates from you, holding onto your shoulders and somberly looking into your wet eyes. It’s odd, you had never established any type of relationship with Jimin for you to be pouring out all the chaos havocking inside you right now, but there was something, something that made you feel almost at ease being with him.

Your eyes widen, truly getting a closer look at him when somehow the pieces begin to come together.

The silver-blue hair, the way he approached you with the hug, the way he held you in his arms an-

The look in his eyes.

“You…” A shaky finger points to him, “You saved me…”

There’s grief reflected in his eyes, watching you with bitter tenderness, “You remember.”

He smiles at your blatant confusion, stepping closer to you and it’s when you notice that there was something pleasant about having him near you, like it was almost reassuring. You can only freeze in place when he reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, hovering his hand near your neck before stepping back completely, “And you can sense it too.”

He whispers it so quietly that you barely catch it, but you press onto the question you want an answer to, “Why did you save me?”

Your expectation starts off with a range of answers, perhaps he didn’t know you were a slayer at the time or thought you had needed help from being caught in the crossfire of the hunt. However, he simply replies with a collection of words that have you shaken to the core.

“You’re my mate Y/N.”

You take a step back, any coherent words stuck in the base of your throat, “I knew it was you from the moment I first saw you.” A hopeful smile laces on his lips, yet its paired with dark eyes, “But I was too late.”

Your hand automatically reaches out and touches the faint tracings of Jungkook’s bite, now completely healed with only a scar remaining on the skin. Jimin’s eyes follow the movement and it strikes you at how contrasting emotions his eyes hold. On one hand, they hold such tenderness and comfort, but at the same time they’re twisted with reality, a reality that can never happen.

“When Jungkook bit me…”

“So that I wouldn’t be able to get to you first.” Jimin regretfully says, “He knew I would have claimed you as my mate if I did.”

“But why?” Your hands fall down, not being able to follow along as you take a step closer to Jimin and raise your voice, “Why did he claim me?”

Jimin’s words silence your thoughts completely, “Because he loves you.” He looks at you straight in the eye, “And decided to choose you. Wolves only mate once in a lifetime, you know that Y/N.”

Your mouth falls agape, “I-I…”

“You’ve chosen him too, whether you know it or not.” Jimin states it as a fact, causing you to look at him in more disbelief, “If I was currently on that bed right now injured, I know I wouldn’t have caused this same reaction.”

He gestures to your red swollen eyes and frenzy appearance, causing you to stumble even more on generating any possible words to counteract. It drops onto you like a brick; why Jungkook didn’t choose to tell you anything, why he was fighting to keep you safe.

He chose you even when you didn’t think to chose him.

However, that doesn’t mean his way of choosing was right. “Jimin… “

He raises a hand and smiles, “Don’t. What’s done is done.” Narrowing his eyes, he looks down, “But I do think you should at least give Jungkook a chance Y/N.”

You nod, being able to come to terms with yourself more. Although you hadn’t been expecting Jungkook to be hiding such a thing from you, it can’t overshadow that you do care about him, no matter how many times you tell yourself you don’t.

And Jungkook cared about you through the silence.

Raising your head, you’re about to thank Jimin for letting you know the truth and helping you, but the words are caught in your throat when you notice the slumped figure against the door, holding onto it for dear life as he smiles through his exhausted expression.

“Jungkook!” Instantly you rush over and notice the beads of sweat rolling down his forehead, his wet hair sticking to him and the dark circles underneath his eyes.

His eyes brighten when you come closer to him, but then they trail over to the person standing behind you and he settles down onto that field of vision. You’re not sure if its perhaps because he was injured, but Jungkook isn’t able to maintain the contact when his gaze falters, fixating itself onto the ground inside of looking straight at Jimin.

It takes you a moment to decipher it, but it clicks in right away when his entire stance is too recognizable. He sucks in a deep breath, his grip tightening on the door, “You told her everything…didn’t you Hyung?”

Your eyes turn wide and you wonder how long Jungkook had been standing there when you were conversing with Jimin.

Turn to view Jimin’s expression, you can see the surprise wash over his features too until it contorts into something else, like he was swaying into acceptance gradually. It’s strange for you – how it was almost like you were dangling in between both of them, so close to the whole situation and yet so incredibly far away.

Jimin sighs, taking light footsteps closer to the door until he stops completely in front of it. From your view, you notice how his expression is now absent of the same hints of resentment and detest conjured up in it prior, sharing the same stance that Jungkook holds.

He reaches out, placing a hand on the younger member’s back before he pats, “It’s alright.”

Jungkook instantly looks up, tired eyes growing in size and flickering over the blue-haired man’s face. “In the end you chose each other and I’m not going to stand in between that.”

Jimin smiles, perhaps the first time you’ve seen him genuinely smile and Jungkook’s shoulders sag down, as if he had just let go of a breath he had been holding in for far too long. “You’re still like a little brother to me after all.”

You stand to the side when you can clearly see the water surfacing in Jungkook’s eyes and you find yourself smiling when Jungkook nods and Jimin’s pats his shoulder again before leaving. He sends you a look before doing so, the same one he had given Jungkook as a way to settle that everything was going to be okay.

After Jimin leaves, Jungkook attempts to stand up straight from the door frame and instantly you rush over. You let him loop his arm over your neck, resting some of his weight on you and limping himself over to your bed. He plops down with a sigh and you stand in front of him, watching him occasionally wince as he tries to readjust himself.

After a moment of silence, you softly speak up, “How are you feeling?”

“Tired.” He manages to get out, swiping his sweat-drenched hair back and rubbing his half-awake eyes, “And sore.”

You hum, eyes trailing down to notice that his entire torso was soaked with sweat and the light traces of crimson started to peek out from under his shirt. Reaching out, you plant a hand against his forehead and the heat isn’t drastically high, making you let out an exhale of relief. Jungkook watches you, his doe eyes carefully watching every single one of your moves despite still being in pain and you find it hard to ignore his gaze.

“Were you worried about me?”

You nod and Jungkook can’t take his eyes away from how vulnerable your own eyes look, like they were faced with something they didn’t want to see. “Namjoon and Hoseok had given up.”

“Seeing you…like that, I thought…” You exhale, your orbs suddenly filling up water and threatening to drop down your cheeks, “I thought you were going to die.”

Your voice cracks at the end and Jungkook immediately reaches out, interlacing his hands with yours, “Hey.” You look up with glossy eyes, looking into his tender ones, “I’m still here, aren’t I?”

“I know, I just- “You sniffle, the words dying out in your throat when you hastily pull up your sleeve to wipe the falling tears. However, Jungkook doesn’t allow you to when he pulls you closer to him and wraps his arms around you.

You don’t realize you’re trembling until your hands come around his back, watching yourself crumble in his arms when you didn’t even think you would have gotten a chance to see him again. At the thought of that, you press yourself tighter against him and Jungkook flinches, making you realize that he had just woken up after being injured.

You immediately detach from him, noticing him holding onto his wound carefully but still offering you a genuine smile, “Sorry…” You whisper and he shakes his head, as if it didn’t even matter because he was holding onto you.

Sitting down on the bed next to him, you face the doorway, “Jungkook.”

“Hmm?” He pushes himself back a bit, relaxing his shoulders.

“Before you came, I…I talked to Jimin.” You attempt to bring your eyes over to look at him, but they falter and land onto the ground instead, “He said, well,” You take in a deep breath, “He said he was my mate.”

When he remains silent, you continue, “If he was my mate, then why did you mark me Jungkook?”

He doesn’t speak, not a single word and it starts to eat you up when the seconds keep ticking by. From the corner of your eye, you can see him frowning already, like he was attempting to put his thoughts into coherent sentences. You know Jungkook isn’t the greatest at explaining and that he needs time for that, but the amount of time he takes just makes your heart sink further and further down.

When it becomes too much, you turn yourself fully around to view his expression and you’re taken aback by what you see.

It’s something you rarely see cross Jungkook’s features, only arising in the tensive of situations, such as discovering earth-shattering news.

Fear.

His eyes are blown out and his jaw is tensed, but his expression changes when he notices you staring at him.

“Y/N I- “

“Do you love me?”

If you thought Jungkook’s eyes were wide before, they stare at you in pure horror now.

“Well I-I, when y-you put it like that, I-I-“

“Jungkook.” He immediately stops his broken rambling, growing silent as he turns to you, “Real words, please.”

Jungkook sighs, his head falling down as if he had just lost a battle he knows he can’t win, “Yes.”

If you had thought learning of this news from Jimin was bad enough, hearing Jungkook directly admit it has the air knocking out of your lungs. You can only resort to simply staring at him, in a mixture of both awe and confusion.

“Since when?”

“Since forever?” Jungkook looks up, appearing so similar to a child being discovered of doing something wrong, “I don’t know what to tell you Y/N. I’ve loved you for as long as I can even remember.”

“But I’m your friend, and you had so much else going on. Those girls-“

“An attempt to forget about you.” Jungkook bitterly chuckles, “Really, a bad choice.”

Your jaw drops down and you freeze. The fact that Jungkook, this whole entire time, was harbouring feelings for you while you were fixated on him being in a good relationship for his own sake, leaves you with no words.

“Y/N…” Jungkook’s hand faintly touches you and draws you out of your impending thoughts, causing you to face him with the same guilt-stricken expression, “I had always hoped that maybe,” He sucks in a breath, squeezing his eyes shut before looking at you more determined, “You’d be willing to give me a chance?”

You stare at him with wide eyes.

“But I do think you should at least give Jungkook a chance Y/N.”

Jimin’s words ring in your mind like a bell and you attempt to process all this, process how your best friend was in love with you for so long. You look up, meeting Jungkook’s expectant innocent eyes and a part of you really wants to give in, knowing how much you love your best friend and can’t stand anything ever happening to him.

However, something sparks in your mind, an image of two people lying lifelessly on the ground and an image with a roaring fire before your eyes. An image filled with only blood and left with remainders of tears, an image that seemingly rips your heart out when you can only stare at Jungkook with broken eyes.

“Jungkook.” He leans forward instinctively, eyes growing in size and intent on your words. You sigh, planting your hand over his, “I-“

The door comes bursting forward, a mop of brown hair flashing before your eyes at the doorway, “Y/N!”

You and Jungkook both jerk away, staring at Hoseok when he heaves a breath, “Namjoon needed to talk to you, something about the woman you were fighting on the grounds?”

You instantly get up, but then turn around when you see Jungkook still seated on the bed. You meet his eyes and he gently shakes his head, slowly rising with a hand pressed against his wounded side and sending a nod in Hoseok’s direction.

“Take us to him.”

***

Although you had just gone through a tsunami with discovering Jimin’s identity and the rise of Jungkook’s feelings, electricity buzzes you at the prospect of knowing more. It was as if it was a load sitting on your chest that you couldn’t quite shake off, a prick in the back of your brain that was constantly bothering you.

Jungkook was injured.

By no one else, but her.

The door to the library is thrown wide open when you enter, Jungkook slowly trailing behind you and coming face to face with a Namjoon lost in thought. He jerks when his ears pick up on the sound of the door, turning to see you enter and a satisfied smile crosses on his lips.

“Please,” He gestures to the couch, “Have a seat.”

Nodding, you sit down and a deep breath escapes your lungs. You had been in that room many times to know that Namjoon wasn’t going to dangle around the topic, but rather he has a strict and direct motive.

Information.

You can feel a thousand nerves buzzing over you when Namjoon sits in front of you, his Alpha presence already being overwhelming. A hand softly touches yours and you turn to see Jungkook right beside you, sending you a reassuring smile that you are honestly grateful for in that split second.

“Now that Jungkook is alright,” Namjoon begins, glancing over at his youngest member before bringing his attention over to you, “There are some questions I have, if you don’t mind.”

You stiffly smile, knowing that Namjoon was going to extract answers out of you whether you liked it or not either way. “Jungkook tells me you had referred to the person that injured him…as your mother?”

You nod, catching a flash of confusion on Jungkook’s face from the new topic and knowing that although you needed to give Namjoon an explanation, Jungkook deserved one too regardless.

“She isn’t my mother, well, biologically speaking. I refer to her as one because she’s like a mother to me.”

“The Elder.” Namjoon states, leaning back down in his seat as he crosses his legs and presses a thoughtful finger against his lips, “The leader of the Crimson Clan, correct?”

You hum, “I was trained by her.”

“I see…” Namjoon stares at you intently, but then his eyes swing over to Jungkook who is simply listening to you speak. “Do you know anything else about her? We weren’t expecting her to easily overpower us, let alone injure our youngest.”

Nodding, you pursue your lips and wrack through your mind. Truthfully, you weren’t sure if they needed to know the exact information, but you do wonder what their reactions would be, especially the reaction of the person currently sitting right beside you.

It’s not the type of details that you ever wanted to throw upon them, but Jungkook was injured and you believe you too need some answers now.

“The Elder is the leader of the Crimson Clan and very powerful. She’s been extremely kind and caring towards me…especially when she needed to take me in.”

Namjoon frowns at that and you attempt to steady your breathing, well aware that you were starting to walk into a place you had long forgotten. “The Elder took me in…after my parents were killed by werewolves.”

The room drops into an eerie silence when Namjoon can only stare at you and Jungkook visibly reacts, brows furrowing at the mention. You look up to meet eyes with Namjoon and you notice, despite the calm composed manner he sits in, he too does seem taken aback with the new piece of information.

He clears his throat, attempting to contain himself as he sits up in his seat, “Your parents were killed by werewolves…” He repeats it to make it sound like a confirmation, but you know he was just trying to allow the new fact to sit in better with him more.

You’re expecting a lot from telling them this – remorse or even worse, pity. Pity that they had done this to you and pity that they had taken away something so dear and precious to your heart.

However, when Namjoon finally speaks up again, it’s like someone struck an arrow through your heart instead.

“That’s not possible.”

You stare at him with wide eyes, “W-what? What do you mean?”

“Y/N…” Namjoon faintly smiles, seeming amused, “I’m not sure as to how much you were told, but werewolves would never go out of their way to attack a family like that.” His eyes turn serious, leaning forward as they bore into your own and throw a dash of the truth at you, “Slayers and werewolves have been enemies for centuries, but slayers were originally made to control werewolves after the population went rogue.”

“Werewolves haven’t been rogue for years, the only way for them to exist is for the population to be recreated somehow.”

“So what you’re saying is…my parents weren’t killed by werewolves?”

“I’m afraid not.” Namjoon speaks, “That’s not something I would ever allow my pack do, or any other pack for that matter.”

Namjoon leans back and you are frozen in your spot, breathing rapidly when it feels like a ton of bricks had just been dropped on you. You turn to face Jungkook with blown up eyes and he seems just as shocked as you are, mind spinning as he can’t believe what he was hearing either.

Namjoon slowly rises, grabbing a book from his shelf before leaving the room and letting you have some privacy.

You lean forward, planting your hands against your face and shaking your head, “This…this doesn’t make any sense Jungkook…”

Jungkook leans over, attempting to see your face among all your fallen locks of hair, “Namjoon is right though Y/N. Me or any of the other members wouldn’t do something like that.”

“B-But it happened Jungkook.” You stare at him with tear-filled eyes, “I saw it with my own two eyes.”

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shookethbrooketh · 6 years ago

Text

seven days

day four: part two

summary: dan is stuck in the wrong timeline. one day, he kisses phil goodnight. the next morning, he’s completely alone. he doesn’t even recognize where he wakes up, and little details in the world around him have changed. he has no clue what’s happening or where to go next in an effort to fix it; all he knows is that he has to find phil.

genre: sci-fi, a lil bit of angst, happy ending

warnings: just some swearing!

fic word count: 10.4k chapter word count: 1.4k

written for the @phandomreversebang ! inspired by the awesome moodboard/edits by @maybeformepersonally ! beta’d (beginning to end) by @i-might-just-leave-soon !

dan became immediately aware of the flowers still in his hand. he held them up and made sure they were still perfect, putting on a smile. “follow the trope.”

read it on ao3

Before Dan could even think, he was inside the tattoo parlor. “Hello, I bro-”

“Yeah, you got the flowers. You’re too late; buzz off,” Phil said, the harsh tone in his voice catching Dan off guard.

“Are you okay?” he asked, immediately jumping into protective boyfriend mode. He could tell Phil was seriously upset, and it was almost instinctual for him to step in. “What happened?” he added, stepping up to the counter and resisting the urge to reach out and touch Phil.

“Oh, nothing, just my boyfriend forgot our anniversary. So I don’t need your stupid flowers.” He grabbed them from Dan’s hand anyway, but he immediately threw them on the ground and stomped on them.

“Oh…” Dan whispered. “Alright then.” He perked up, showing Phil a cautious smile. “I’m sure he didn’t really forget! He’s probably planning a surprise for you later.”

“Nah, he forgot,” Phil grumbled. “I can always tell with him.” He rolled his eyes and walked around the counter to stand beside Dan. He planted his elbow on the counter and looked up at Dan. “That was a cute thought, though.”

Dan raised an eyebrow at this; he’d known Phil long enough to know when Phil was flirting with him, and Phil was definitely flirting with him. “Um, thanks,” he said. Obviously he missed Phil, but this was the Phil he knew ten years ago; it was simply… odd.

“How old are you?” Phil asked, inching a bit closer to Dan.

“Twenty-eight,” Dan replied, scooting back a bit. He and Phil had a considerable age gap, but four years and six years were a different ballpark, especially when it came to hitting on the man you’re in love with but ten years younger. There was no definitive word to describe it other than uncomfortable.

“That’s not too old,” Phil replied, and Dan didn’t know how to react. On one hand, he was generally creeped out; this clearly wasn’t the Phil he knew. On the other hand, he wanted Phil back so badly he was almost willing to take any Phil he could get. Besides, the trope was drawing him in, and he couldn’t help but feel as if he was supposed to let it.

“D-don’t you have a boyfriend?” Dan stammered out, still wary of the concept of becoming involved with this morally skewed version of Phil.

“Dumped him for bein a twat,” he said, standing up from the counter and matching up to Dan so that they were only a few inches from each other. “What’re you, straight?”

Dan instinctively laughed. “No-”

Before he could even finish his vowel, Phil pressed his lips up against Dan’s, and it felt as if every emotion known to man rushed through his head at once. There was the familiar relief; all logic and reason drained from him and was replaced by the love he felt every time he kissed Phil. It was love he hadn’t felt in days, and even that was far too long. There was also some fear and discomfort. Even though he technically was still kissing Phil, he still felt almost as if he was being unfaithful to the Phil he knew. Plus, this Phil was a different Phil even in his intimacy; when he kissed his Phil, it was deep and full of love. This Phil, being much younger, kissed with lust and revenge. He was sure they weren’t unlike him in their youth, but he’d matured since then, and in the moment it was really a bit gross.

“I can’t do this!” he shouted, and it was as if he could feel everything crumbling around him. He was living in a simulation, a cheesy, fetishizing fanfiction written by some 12-year-old who didn’t know better, and he couldn’t bear to go along with it, even if he was “meant to.” He didn’t give a shit if he was “supposed” to take Phil out to dinner and fall in love; he was already in love, and he wasn’t going to sit through some horrendously predictable plot when he could just as easily explain himself to Phil and hopefully Phil would help him find a way home. This young, angry boy was apparently a scientist, after all.

But at the same time, he felt as if pulling away gave him some sort of a game over screen. He set himself up for the bad ending by doing something good. He could feel the trope crack in half in his very heart; it was like he was nothing more than a character, and he’d just broken the fourth wall. He was Wreck It Ralph, and suddenly, because he stuck up for himself, the game wasn’t quite right anymore.

“What do you bloody mean you can’t?” Phil replied, hostility back in his voice like when they’d first met.

“I love you,” Dan blurted. He couldn’t think of anything else.

Phil stood in silence for a moment before leaning forward a bit and blinking a few times, clearly unable to even process what Dan was telling him. “Alright, now I know you’ve gone mad. Get out.”

“Wait, liste-”

“Out! You’re a bloody crazy man; get out!” At this point, Phil approached him again, but rather than making a move, he simply turned him around and started pushing him towards the door.

“You’re trying to time travel!” Dan shouted out of desperation. Suddenly Phil stopped in his tracks and backed away from Dan.

“Who told you?” he said, taking calculated steps back as if he was scared of Dan.

“I came from the year 2019,” Dan said, and it took all his effort not to laugh because of how ridiculous it sounded; he was speaking like he’d walked straight out of a movie. “I actually am in love with you, or, well, another timeline’s version of you. I keep getting transported to different timelines, and you’re the only one who can help me get back.”

Phil backed himself up to a door at the other side of the room. “I can’t help you do shit. It’s too early in the timelines for me to develop time travel. I’m only beginning to look into it.”

Dan’s eyes widened in terror. “So there’s no one in this timeline who can help me get back to 2019? I’m stuck reliving the last ten years?”

“Not necessarily,” Phil replied cautiously. He still looked scared to his core, although Dan couldn’t quite identify why. “Maybe some Phil’s done it.”

“Don’t you know these things?” Dan asked, beginning to get angry. “I thought you all had some weird sixth sense bullshit.”

“Nope!” Phil said, all too cheery. “So sorry, but I must be going!” he said in a voice far too posh for him before turning the knob and swiftly slipping into the room behind him. Before Dan could even respond, he was gone.

“Phil!” Dan shouted. “Phil, you little shit, what are you hiding from me?” He banged on the door with all his force, but it wouldn’t open. Finally he realized that he was taking his anger out on a piece of wood, and he gave up, sliding to his knees and softly beginning to sob. He was never going to get home.

Dan heard a heavy sigh from the other side of the door and raised his head to see the door creaking open just a bit. “If you can find another Phil from your year, he should be able to get you home,” Phil said. “We don’t have the technology yet, but he will.”

“Where the hell am I supposed to find a 2019 Phil in 2009?” Dan growled. He must have looked absolutely pathetic; his cheeks were coated with tears, and he could barely see Phil. It was a miracle Phil was willing to talk to him.

“If you’re here, the Phils of the future probably are testing on various things, and a version of you was one of them. I don’t doubt that one Phil tried stepping through a portal himself.”

“But how can I find him?”

Phil rolled his eyes. “I don’t know, but not here. Just get out of here and go do your thing.”

Dan clambered to his feet and made his way to the door. He walked slowly and emotionlessly back to the flower shop and into its adjacent flat, where he flopped back down onto the same couch he woke up on. He hadn’t even anything to process; he knew exactly what he had to do. He had to wait - for another day, for another trope, for another Phil.

#phan #phanfic #phanfiction #phic stuff #dong and ping

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hydrospanners · 6 years ago

Note

A-Z on the writing meme because I need to know absolutely everything immediately.

WELP okay but just remember you asked for what’s about to happen. meme is here. most of this is under a cut cause i’m longwinded as hell.

A. If you could rec a piece of music to accompany one of your fics, what would you pick? Why?

Um I absolutely was vibing to Lips by The xx when I wrote a wish your heart makes and you should too.

B. Who’s your favorite side-character from something you wrote?

I feel like the answer here is supposed to be Doc because he is not The Main Character in the game but also I have written about him and from his POV so much it feels unfair to call him a side character at this point. So instead I’m going to say this random woman named Cherita who was just trying to make a midnight snack for her pregnant wife from a little eggstra. I thought she had a lot of character for someone I pulled out of my ass for the sake of an outside perspective.

C. Get any good comments on your stuff this year?

I am thirsty for praise and I feel every single comment is a good comment but I think the one that sticks out to me is when I wrote a wish your heart makes someone said something like “if you like doc at all you have to read this” and I don’t remember who it was or where they said it but it really stuck with me!!! If that was you, thank you!!!!

D. Any drawings or pictures that had a big influence on your writing?

No!!! I feel guilty about this answer somehow but it’s true. I think it would be a fun challenge to try to write a piece of fic inspired by someone’s art so I may play with that idea next year (Editor’s Note: it was still 2k18 when I wrote the answer for this one) but for 2k18 the answer is no. :(

E. Who’s your favorite main character you’ve written?

I feel like this answer is obvious but it’s my girl Rea. I’ve reincarnated her as an Inquisitor and a Pathfinder but the OG Jedi Knight is still my fave.

F. What stories are you planning for the future?

I won’t pretend that a lot of planning goes in to my fic. I normally only write short bits so it kind of goes like this: I have a concept, I write the bit I fixate on, and then it sits in my WIPs for five years until I get motivated during some Fictober or something to finally finish it.

I will say I do have serious designs to finally finish the second chapter of the things you do for love are gonna come back to you one by one as that one is a little more complex than stuff I usually write. I have plans to do some kinda flashback-y thing that finally lays out The Velaran Backstory in clear and obvious terms after years of hints and tidbits I’ve been peppering through my fic. I also have a thing planned and kinda partly written about the first instance of horrific violence in the lives of all the Knight’s companions. Also I have a long series of AU vignettes that glimpses into universes where Rea is a Sith or Kira never made it off Korriban or Rusk remained a pacifist or where Rea never joined the Jedi after losing her family the second time. Stuff like that.

G. Where do you think you grew the most this year?

Structure? I’ve been really working on trusting my reader to bridge some gaps and not letting myself get caught up in details that are important for me to know to write the next part but that don’t necessarily need to be in the story. I think I’ve really tightened up my game where trimming the fat and staying focused are concerned.

H. How do you write? Paper, pen, computer? Music, no music?

My fic writing process is very different from when I am trying to write original stuff and is even kind of different depending on the mood I’m going for? I always write fic in Google Drive cause I write fic from a lot of different machines and need the easy cloud saving.

My ideal condition for fic writing is listening to instrumental music or ambient sounds playing through headphones either in a coffeehouse or the library or when I am at home completely alone. Angst and smut are best written at night with the lights low and warm. Comedy and fluff are best written in the late afternoon/early evening after one single alcoholic beverage (any more than and one I am drunk and no longer capable of writing).

Realistically though, I usually write in whatever time I have. Mostly at work. My job requires me to sit at a desk and wait for things to happen. Since I start work at 5am, things usually aren’t happening. Even with me going out of my way to create new work for myself and excel at what work I do have, I have a lot of downtime. I spend it writing fic. I get interrupted too much to have the focus I need for original writing, but fic writing is much easier so mostly I write my fic at this bland little desk under the terrible fluorescent lights with lots of noise and interruptions, occasionally playing a thematic playlist very quietly in the background.

I. What’s your favorite work you did this year? Why?

This is a very tough question. Surprisingly, I published a lot of things that I really liked? ([not pictured: me high fiving me for finally allowing myself to state that I like my own writing]) I think I’ll go with when the wicked play if I have to pick just one. Relative to my other work I think it’s very structurally sound and thematically focused and pretty efficient with its characterization and imagery without ever getting too sparse. Also I’m a slut for examining the commonplace nature of violence and brutality in the Star Wars universe.

J. What are the best jokes you told this year? Any jokes you thought were funny that people didn’t catch? Vice-versa?

I’m gonna say the pun I used as the title for bars and stripes. Honestly the whole fic is a joke and I like it and I don’t care if anyone catches it or not because I know that I am hilarious and no one will ever convince me otherwise.

K. Who have you killed this year? Why did they have to die?

No one, I think? I don’t think I even mentioned any specific off-screen deaths except for shit from the decades old Tragic Backstories. Not even Valkoriate. I’m not an especially murderful writer, maybe because I haven’t had to deal with a lot of that kind of loss in my own life. Mostly I write about things that are somehow adjacent to my own emotional state/journey. That’s why I fixate a lot on the weight of duty and moral philosophy and the nuances and complications of relationships, of how you can hurt someone and be hurt by them and still love them and how messy yet fulfilling the whole thing is. Thankfully--for me--not a lot of grieving the dead in there yet.

L. Which character did you most write about this year, and why do you like ‘em?

Pretty sure it’s Rea. Maybe Doc because of the Docember thing I squeezed in at the last second but I’m still pretty sure it’s Rea. Pretty sure it always is.

There’s a particular kind of release I get from writing her because her whole sloppy person is a part of me that doesn’t often see the light of day. I won’t say she’s aspirational because I like who I am and I don’t have any special destiny or Force powers or anything to save me when the consequences of living like she does catch up. But there are pieces of her that I admire, pieces that are still part of me that I have a hard time expressing, and spending time with her gives me a little more strength to unlock those dark musty corners of who I am, I guess? Writing Rea makes me a little more bold, a little less apologetic, a little less prone to overthinking and anxious fretting and a little more prone to doing. She makes me feel strong enough to ask for the things I want and confident enough to feel like I deserve them.

Also she is a damn good time, even when she’s falling apart.

M. Meta! Have any meta about a story you’re dying to throw out there?

Of course I do. I could ramble for hours about the story behind any single one of my stories. Aren’t all of us creative types like that??? Don’t we all love to talk about what we were going for and why we made the choices we did??? What we liked and what we think needs improvement??? Why we wanted to make the thing we made in the first place???

I could ramble about this for hours and honestly the possibilities are overwhelming so I am not going to go into any detail and just say yes. Obviously I am willing to ramble about the story behind every single story I’ve published but there’s 63 of them so if there’s something specific you want to hear about you’ll have to ask about the specific one!!!

N. Anything you were planning to write that never got written?

Nothing will ever be “never got written” until I am dead and unable to write. I am still going back to WIPs from 2014. I am rewriting garbage exercises I wrote in 2013. I like to think everything in my WIP folder will eventually be moved to my Published folder and I am going to keep thinking that until I am physically incapable of writing.

O. Do you believe in outlines? Show us one!

I believe in them very much and yet I do not practice them usually. I rely on them more with my original work which is longer and more involved and doesn’t already have a convenient structure to follow in the form of 300000 hours of video game. Most of my fic is really short, just a single scene or so. I usually start out by writing the moment that inspired me to write the fic and fill in the before and after. I do have an outline for the second half of the things you do for love are gonna come back to you one by one but I don’t really want to share it for something that isn’t written yet!

P. What are your pet peeves in other people’s work?

This question makes me kinda uncomfortable so here we go with some disclaimers: I write the stories that I want to read or that I really need to tell to satisfy something inside of me and I assume other authors do the same. I don’t want to say anything here that might have a chilling effect on someone exploring some idea they really need to explore, even if it’s tired or cliche or offends my own tastes. Writing is very personal and I think everyone should tell the stories they want to, whether anyone else likes them or not.

That being said, I am always desperately wishing for more media about close, intimate friendships and familial bonds. As someone who isn’t interested in sexual or romantic relationships, it makes me weep basically every time I read a story about characters who are friends or family that give that kind of relationship all of the value and weight and nuance that you see romantic relationships getting. It is a very special kind of feeling to see that it is possible for people to value what I have to offer them as much they might value someone who will romance them and sleep with them. It is very validating to see the possibility of emotional intimacy with people outside of romantic/sexual partners.

But I would never want anyone to feel bad about or stop writing their romances and their smut. That stuff speaks to people and that’s what fic is about. Telling the story that speaks to you. I want everyone to write what they want to write and if that leaves gaps, well that’s why I started writing fic in the first place. There was a story I needed to read and no one had written it yet, so I did it myself.

TL;DR Genfic & friendfic & familyfic is the greatest gift anyone could ever give me, but no one should write to satisfy other people. Always write for yourself first and foremost.

Q. Quote three bits of writing you read his year. Can be your writing, or not.

I keep little quotes everywhere--index cards and sticky notes scattered among all my belongings, snippets on my phone, untitled documents on every cloud service there is, random word docs hidden amongst my many hard drives--but the only ones I can find right now are from @meonlyred‘s Dark Horse so please enjoy three bits from that fic that I loved:

They remained sitting on the floor, Rossa leaned against him, eyes staring into the distance. Her silence might as well have been weeping.

I just love how I can feel the vacant, numb quality of her despair in this line. How it feels more poignant for its lack of drama.

“You're an idiot and I hate your hair,” Jonas said over the rim of his glass.

I mean.... Do I need to explain this?

He had never believed in happily ever afters. Not for him, at least. But the cruelest thing about being with Rossa was that he had begun to believe that maybe, just maybe, it was possible.

Closing his eyes, Theron didn’t expect to open them again.

This little snippet still punches me in the gut no matter how many times I read it. It’s so relateable and so Theron and so painful.

R. If you had to rewrite one of your stories from scratch, which one would it be? What would you do to it?

I don’t think I’d rewrite any of them? At least half of my fic has been completely rewritten once or twice before it ever gets published so I mostly have it out of my system before anyone else sees it.

S. What’s the sexiest thing you wrote this year?

a wish your heart makes. It may also be the saddest thing I wrote this year which I consider an achievement. (I was asked for smut but I literally do not know how to write just smut without anything else going on in the story.)

T. Themes, motherfucker, do you have them? What are they?

The importance and nature of family (it is what you make it and not what you were born with! but sometimes you get lucky and get to choose the one you were born with!)! The cost/impact of violence and war! Failure and coming back from failure! The nature of what is right and what is wrong and how much responsibility any one individual bears for the moral direction of their society!!!!

I don’t think I’ve ever written anything that didn’t include at least one of these concepts and most of my stuff deals heavily in at least two of them.

U. Any stories that took a abrupt u-turn from where you thought they were going?

Yep! I was trying to make a stupid joke about a haircut when I started making take back what the kingdom stole but in working my way backward from the joke I ended up with a heartfelt exploration of my character’s past emotional trauma, her character growth, and the nature of friendship and forgiveness.

V. Which story was the most viscerally pleasing to write? Tell us your narrative kinks.

I don’t know that I would necessarily call the sensation pleasing but, once again, the things you do for love are gonna come back to you one by one was probably the story that made me feel the most, that I was the most connected to. It hit on every single one of the themes I find compelling and I really got to play with telling the story in the white spaces, which is something I really love. I’ve been working a lot on trusting my readers and not over-explaining and I think this story really saw the impact of that work, stylistically. It’s peak self-indulgence honestly.

W. Who are your favorite writers?

Does this mean like authors of original published works or fic writers????? How am I supposed to choose???!!!! Either way my reading habits this year have been abominable. I have really been going through some shit, lifewise, (not bad shit but emotionally consuming and time consuming nonetheless) and I had to let the reading go a little bit.

I have been really into NK Jemisin though. Her stories are complex and challenging and there is so much poetry and power in the straightforward way she tells them. I also was obsessed with the Temeraire series by Naomi Novik. The characters were so textured and real with such clear voices and the relationships and ideas were so complex and compelling, yet the story never got weighed down by the heft of the subjects. She has a very light touch as a storyteller that makes her work so easily digestible without making her tale any less impactful or profound.

As for fic…. I’ve got about forty million fics bookmarked, waiting for me to get around to reading them and I am the worst kind of person because I have not yet read any of them. I’m behind on reading one of my very favorite fics right now. I think I’ve read a total of like ten fics this year and straight up probably only read that many because I was doing a bit of beta’ing.

I’m gonna do better in 2019 and I’ll get back to you on all the good shit I’ve read then.

X. What’s your least favorite work of this year?

crapshoot. It was a really old concept that probably would have been better as visual art than a fic but my artistic talents were too limited so I wrote it instead. It could probably stand a little more meat and a lot more polish, but I don’t have the time to try and turn every goofy image in my head into a fictional masterpiece.

Y. Why did you write? For fun, for a friend, for acclaim?

For fame and fortune obviously. It’s why most of my fic is about a super popular ship in an enormous fandom.

Or, y’know… not. I write for fun and because I have to. Because there are stories inside of me I want to tell, ideas I feel compelled to explore, things I need to say. It doesn’t matter if anyone else hears them or likes them; I need to get them out of me. Also it’s a really great way to work through my own emotional turmoil at a safe distance, so I can engage with what vexes me without being consumed by it.

Z. If you could choose one work and immediately finish it, what would it be? How would you end it?

the things you do for love are gonna come back to you one by one. It’s the most self-indulgent thing I’ve written probably but it means a lot to me and if I knew how it ended I would have finished it months ago. D:

#memery #writing tag #long post #Anonymous

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parkjmini · 7 years ago

Text

Outlier | 01

poly!au: park jimin x reader x kim jennie while your lovers said they needed you, you wondered if they knew how much you needed them. word count: 4696 genre: angst, fluff ? SMUT !! warnings: explicit language, threesome, girl on girl

[an]: thank you for all the positive feedback on this ff bc like i said before i was super hesitant but im glad ppl like it !! thank u for waiting patiently, but hopefully once i drop my classes, ill have more time to write !!

prologue . 01 . 02 .

18 Months Later

You walked home with groceries pulling down at your arm and droplets dribbling down your forehead. Hot days were never nice to you. Some days you’d faint unknowingly because of dehydration. Those days were the scariest.

Lately, Jimin and Jennie have been going to a lot of social events together because of their internship. Nowadays, you were often alone mentally and physically.

The year with your boyfriend and girlfriend had been amazing. You were all infatuated with each other and so in love. However, after your anniversary, things were beginning to change.

The two started to spend more alone time together due to the new internship and schedule differences. As much as they tried to remember you, they often forgot you at home, during intimate moments, and at night.

They were subconsciously squeezing you out of the equation and your differences started to surface. Jennie liked to party, you did not. Jimin liked to cuddle, you did not. You liked to sleep in, they did not. They liked to work out, you did not.

And while everyone talked out their problems, every resolution made things heavier. Kisses were empty. The sex became one-on-one, mostly being Jennie and Jimin.

The first time you discovered it without you, it broke you. The sex was not something that you all did just to get off. It was a beautiful way for all of you to connect and appreciate each other. Them singling you out made you doubt everything.

Their excuse was that it was only quick and was because one of them was sexually frustrated. That became their regular excuse.

It also didn’t help that none of your families knew about the three-way relationship. So, it meant that the holidays meant one of you weren’t invited and it was mainly you.

The neglect affected you tremendously, but you were afraid that if you spoke up that you’d lose them forever. As much as their actions hurt, they were still very special people to you.

“I’m back.” Their shoes were sprawled next to door and heard the water stop running. You eventually moved in with them so you can all be closer. However, Jennie’s bed wasn’t big enough for all three of you and there had to be a compromise. Jimin and you would switch between the guest room and Jennie’s room every night, but progressively, you ended up in the guest room to simplify things.

Jimin came from the hallway and his eyes widen at the amount of bags in your hand, “babygirl, let me get that for you.” He gathered the heavy bags and placed them in the kitchen. You slumped into your room to remove your purse and to catch your breath. Jennie walked in with her silky black robe and her hair in a towel. Her worried expression fell upon your tired face.

“Honey, you’re drenched.” She ran to grab a washcloth and sat down on your bed to help wipe the sweat from your face. She pushed your hair back gently, her eyebrows remain creased with concern. Her brown eyes scanning for any loose droplets before they landed on yours watching her.

There was a brief spark when your eyes met and the annoying thud in your chest started up. She smelled like the sweet fragrance of your body wash and her skin looked so soft. Her robe did a poor job to conceal much because she never liked to wear it properly. You hated how just looking at her made your heart race. You fought the urge to kiss her. You fought the urge to have her swim in your eyes, in your thoughts, in your heart.

“Thank you.” You said simply and grabbed her hand to stop her from proceeding any further, for making your heart pound so aggressively against your chest, for making every neglectful moment hurt more. You got up to leave the room, but her warm body hurried to stop you. Her arms wrapped you from behind and her cheek pressed against your shoulder.

“Can we talk?” Her voice was muffled by your shirt.

Jimin appeared at the door in front of you and his expression soften at the sight of how Jennie was desperately trying to hold onto you. “I need to put the groceries in the fridge.” Your voice remained blank.

“I already did that for you.” Jimin’s voice caused Jennie’s head to pop up. You had no other excuse for you to leave.

“So when did you come back?” You asked passively as the bed sank underneath your weight. The two had gone to a banquet the previous night and didn’t come home, nor did they bother to contact you about their whereabouts.

Jennie crawled up next to you, her hand intertwining with yours, her guilt seeping through her eyes that were already pleading for you to forgive her. “This morning. We saw that you were gone and we were so panicked.”

“Why?” You asked.

Jimin sighed and joined you on your other side. “We thought you packed your things and left us, completely. We were so worried and you weren’t answering your phone.”

“My phone ran out of battery, I was only going to be out for a little bit so I didn’t bother to charge it. Why would I just leave?” Confusion set as your eyes darted between your boyfriend and your girlfriend.

“Because we’ve been such horrible significant others to you.” Jennie sounded surprise to how you were unaware of their actions. “Babygirl, we leave you almost every day. We sleep in separate rooms. We don’t call you enough. We don’t have date nights anymore. We don’t fuck together anymore! If you don’t hate us, I hate us for you. We don’t deserve you.”

“You leave me because you have to, not because you want to… I hope.. and I chose to sleep in the separate rooms because your mattress isn’t big enough, sweetheart. You don’t call me and us not having date nights are because you two are busy, I get that. I just don’t have a life to keep me preoccupied, so it seems like I’m always alone. And the whole intercourse thing is whatever, I have a low libido anyways.” You explained all her points, but her cute pout stayed on her face.

“You were upset about it when you first found out we did it without you.” Jimin held onto your other hand.

“Yeah, but I got over it.” You shrugged, staring at the ground.

“But throughout all of it, you take it. You don’t complain or say anything. You just take it and I’m worried. Talk to us, (Y/N). I want you to know that we’re here for you. Everyone has a limit and we don’t want you to reach yours.” Jennie rested her head on your shoulder.

Jimin kissed your knuckles, “like she said, we don’t deserve you.”

“Sure.. I get hurt when I’m alone, but what can you guys do about it? Nothing. You’re both stuck at your internship, so me voicing things out won’t change much.”

Jimin frowned, “let us make things up to you.”

“What are you guys going to do?..” They were never up to good when their devilish smiles appeared on their faces. Jennie pulled you up and unbuttoned your jeans. “Jen!” You yelped and held onto your pants.

She chuckled and Jimin reached for a box underneath your bed. “We’re trying to get you out of these clothes, so you can get into these.” Opening the box, a neatly folded dress stared back at you.

It was a rich wine color, the color that they both said you looked the best in. Pulling the dress up, it was a soft, stretching blend. It was cinched at the waist as the bottom flared out nicely. The sweetheart cut added a sensual touch. It was truly marvelous, simple, but still marvelous.

The lingerie under the dress really got your attention. It was a matching set of lacy bra and underwear. Rubbing the crimson fabric between your fingers, the material felt expensive and very sturdy.

“I’ll draw you a bath and when you come out, you can try it on.” Jimin gave your arms a small squeeze before walking into the bathroom.

“We’ll make sure we’ll be there to watch.” Jennie winked and picked up your chin. “Then, we can go out for dinner. I made reservations at your favorite place.”

The happiness filled every crevice in your body, causing you to explode into tears. “You guys don’t have to do this for me. I don’t need this.”

“We want to.” She kissed your wet cheeks.

“Princess, we don’t do this enough. We should be doing this everyday for you, not once in a blue moon.” Jimin hugged you from behind and kissed the top of your head. “Don’t cry.. the fact that you’re crying makes me feel worse because you should be use to the love we show, but you’re still surprised at everything. We’re doing such a bad job at this, so this is our apology.”

“Come on, the water is going to get cold.” Jennie pulled you into the bathroom and helped you out of your clothes. She placed the dress and the lingerie against the door. Your girlfriend gave you a small kiss on your forehead before lightly closing the door.

“I don’t think it looks right on me.” Your head peeked from around the bathroom door and your lovers shared a similar gaze.

“Babygirl, let us see.” Jimin leaned coolly against the adjacent wall. Jennie was eager to push the door further to see more of her beautiful girl.

“Is it suppose to make my butt look big?” Still hiding behind the door, your averted eyes and shy pout made them chuckle sweetly.

“Your butt is already big on it’s own, kitten.” Jennie smiled and winked at Jimin, who nodded in agreement.

You took a deep breath and walked out of the bathroom. Jimin sucked in his breath at how the lace hugged your curves. Jennie’s eyes widen at how the fabric wasn’t covering as much as it should. The pink warmth danced across your cheeks as you felt their eyes travel to all the exposed parts of your body.

You’ve been naked plenty of times in front of them, but to be in sexy lingerie was a different story. Jimin cleared his throat and peered over at his other girlfriend, who couldn’t keep her eyes off of you. He laughed, and closed her mouth for her by pushing her chin up. “You’ll catch flies, babe.”

“Sorry–I’m – Jimin, just look – that’s our baby! Do you see her?! Like all of her?” Jennie tripped over her words as she gestured to your stunning appearance.

You fiddled with your thumbs, “it barely covers my ass…”

“Oh you know we gotta see that.” Jennie blurted out before Jimin playfully slapped her arm.

“Give us a twirl, sweetcheeks.” Jimin suggested and watched you with dark pools flooding his eyes.

You spun around slowly, “Oh my god, (Y/N).. we might have to skip the dinner and just go straight for dessert.” Jimin choked.

You turned your head to look at their faces, and while they tried to look at your face, they were too busy gawking at something else. “..does it look okay on me?”

“Stunning.. absolutely breathtaking.” Jennie covered her hot cheeks.

“Are you kidding me? (Y/N), you look perfect.” Jimin couldn’t hold back from touching you any longer. He wrapped his arms around your torso, his hands roaming over your smooth, hot skin. His mouth sucking softly at your neck.

His hands traveled down your stomach to the waistband of the underwear, abruptly shoving it off your hips. “Okay! No more..” You laughed and gently pushed him off. His face filled with disappointment. “We’re going to dinner.”

“You’re such a tease, baby.” Jennie chuckled and kissed at the hickey Jimin left you.

“She just knows how to play her cards.” Jimin watched you with hungry eyes, but he remained off of you. Slipping on the dress, you took their breath away once again.

“I’m so lucky..” Jennie whispered as you touched up your make up. “..to have such a beautiful girlfriend.”

“Can you guys stop staring me down for three seconds and go change?” You laughed at your statues and they both rolled their eyes before proceeding to change.

“How did you manage to book this place?” You played with the pasta on your plate.

“I have my connections.” Jimin cleared his throat, cutting his steak with the lightest glide.

“Plus, you’re special. They know us.” Jennie smiled and fed you a piece of her ravioli. All three of you always ordered the same things at your favorite restaurant. It became your fancier spots to go to when you all came to be one.

“How’s the food?” The chef came out to greet you all, a towel thrown on his shoulder.

Jimin smiled and beckoned his fork, “delicious as usual.”

“What’s the special night?”

Jennie and Jimin exchanged glances, and they both swallowed hard. Jennie’s fake smile plastered uncomfortably on her face, “it’s to appreciate our girl tonight.”

“We’ve been gone for so long, it was time to reconnect with our beautiful girlfriend.” Jimin reached over to hold your hand, his being much colder than usual.

“Young love, it’s great. Wish me and my wife still had that. Enjoy the food and I hope to see you for your birthday.” He tapped your nose and you nodded.

Jennie darted towards Jimin with large worried eyes. “Birthday.” She mouthed discreetly.

Jimin’s head fell back in frustration. “Can we talk, Jen?” He got up and Jennie looked over at you with a sad expression.

“Don’t worry about it, baby. It’s nothing bad.” She said, but her voice was laced with absolute concern.

Your head rested on your palm, afraid of knowing, yet growing tired of understanding. “Don’t be surprised if I’m gone before you two are back.” You sighed sarcastically.

“You won’t.” Jennie pushed in her chair and hurried after Jimin to the front door.

“I might.” You shrugged, knowing that she was too far to hear. Your phone buzzed, the reminder of your next doctor’s appointment in the next couple of days.

You’ve been feeling really weak lately. It takes you forever to walk up the stairs and you’ve been fainting a lot more frequently. At random points, you’d get excruciating pain in upper abdomen that goes into your back. You called your doctor about your weird symptoms, and she wanted you to come in immediately.

While she sounded anxious, you didn’t really bother to care. You also kept it from Jennie and Jimin, you didn’t want them to freak out. Their lives were on a raising path and they’d drop everything in a heartbeat to care for you, even when you had the common flu. It was probably nothing major anyways.

“Is something wrong?” You asked, not looking up from your full plate of food.

“Nothing is wrong.” Jennie aggressively pulled out her chair.

“Are you not hungry?” Jimin asked and you looked up to see how upset they both seemed.

“Not really. I haven’t had an appetite in a while.” You wiped your mouth of any extra sauce and grabbed your things. “I’ll wait for you in the car.”

Jimin paused before handing you the car keys, a sigh escaping his plump lips. You walked out of the restaurant and hurried to the empty vehicle. You sat in the back because it was usually Jennie and Jimin who sat together. His hand resting on her thigh. Their delicate voices harmoniously mixing with one another. Jennie’s dreamy stares. Jimin’s intense focus. It was always them.

You closed your eyes for a while, waiting. Contemplating. You didn’t want to leave them, everything felt wrong without them there.

The door opened at your side and Jennie joined you in the back. “Hey baby.” She cooed softly.

You rolled your eyes, ignoring her.

“Why are you upset?” Jennie’s smooth hand rubbed your exposed thigh.

“Because I thought we were in a relationship.” You crossed your arms.

“We are.” Jimin opened the door right on cue. It was never fun when arguments became 2 to 1.

“So why are you keeping secrets from me? Why the fuck do you two always do this to me? You’ve always been great at it before we were together, and I never called you out on it because – I guess – I didn’t have the right to know. But I’m your girlfriend now. I thought we’d stop the childish hiding.” You groaned, almost moaning the last part when Jennie pressed you through your panties.

“We’ll tell you tonight.” Jennie was mesmerized by what was between your thighs. Jimin’s eyes darted from his middle mirror back to the front.

“You two are not doing this right now.” Jimin groaned, frustrated that he wasn’t allowed any piece of the action.

“Just drive, babe. The more you talk the less you’ll get to experience it.” Jennie stared you down with beautiful, hypnotizing eyes. Her fingers rubbing aggressively against your lingerie.

Any other time, you would’ve stopped her. But they haven’t been intimate with you for an incredibly long time. The sensations felt too good, that you had forgotten how nice it felt. “Jen.. I’m – uh - suppose to be – angry at – you —mmhm – two!” Your head fell back in the seat, her hand spreading your legs wider.

“Let’s fuck out your anger, babygirl.” She batted her long, heavy eyelashes at you. Her slender fingers slipping into your underwear, coating them in your juices. “Or let Jimin and I make it up to you.” She stuck two fingers in you, drinking in your gasps.

“I hate this..” Jimin groaned as he kept trying to peek at the back.

“Focus on driving, Jimin.” Jennie laughed.

“I can’t when I can hear my babygirl moaning like that.” You blushed at his comment and Jennie kissed each blossoming cheek.

“She liked that.” Jennie winked at you and you leaned over to kiss her gently.

“I like the both of you.” You smiled, Jennie removed her fingers. She licked them, and hummed sweetly.

“How are you still the cutest person even when I had my fingers shoved inside of you?” She giggled, pushing you back onto the cushion. She moved your panties to the side, and kissed your clit.

“Baby!” You yelped, static running down your arms and legs. Her tongue being super soft and warm. You being wet. She knew all the right spots of pleasure. You loved when Jennie ate you out because she could relate to which places felt best. Jimin was great at it too, but not knowing the secret spots.

Her mouth was buried into your pussy, devouring your sensitive bud. Her tongue fitting into your tight hole, feeling it swirl and dip in. Your back arched up, everything taking over your tiny body.

“Okay, we’re home now. You two can stop.” Jimin rolled his eyes as the car came to a halt.

Your clit popped right out of Jennie’s mouth, her chin glistening. She fixed your underwear and helped you up. Pulling her in, your lips attacked her’s passionately. She pushed you away softly, chuckling in the process. “I know you’re eager, but Jimin just washed the car.”

“Thank babe. Can we hurry? It’s getting cold. I want to get upstairs as fast as possible.” Jimin whined as he escorted you and Jennie from his sleek, black Mercedes.

“We all know you’re not cold.” Jennie intertwined your fingers with hers.

“Yeah, okay. I want to fuck the shit out of my lovely girlfriends, is that bad?” Jimin wrapped his with your other free hand.

“Patience is key.”

“We’re taking the elevator, I’m done with patience.” Jimin pressed the golden button until one of the doors open and hurriedly pulled you and Jennie inside.

Jimin gently pushed you onto the bed, leaning down to give you inconsistent kisses. You wanted to grab his chiseled face, he didn't allow it. He kept pulling and teasing. Smirking and playing.

"Give her a real kiss, Jimin." Jennie laughed and Jimin listened. His lips were graciously waltzing with your own. His hands were roaming up and down your body, trying to push your dress up. Jimin pulled away and came face to face with your clothed privates.

You were preoccupied by Jennie and how sensual her panties fell from her legs. You heard a ripping noise and you peered down to see the culprit at hand. Jimin was tearing your sweet lace that they bought you, "I liked those..."

"We'll get you another one, honey." He kissed your inner thighs and dove in for a few licks.

"Come here.." You gestured to the naked Jennie, who was rubbing herself to the sight of her boyfriend and girlfriend enjoying themselves. She sat on top of your face, her being already soaked.

You sucked at her clit until she started to grip onto your hair. "Fuck.. That's -- I forget how good you are at this, (Y/N)."

Jimin poked at your entrance, catching you off guard. He entered, slow at first because he knew you had to adjust. His length filled you up impressively, and Jennie leaned down to smack your hard clit. Her tongue traced around your hood before she dove straight for the exposed bud.

“.. this..” Jimin huffed, grabbing your hips aggressively as he began pounding into you, “.. is so hot..”

“You say that every time we all fuck.” You hummed against Jennie and she moaned back to the vibrations.

“Because it never fails to astonish me.” He groaned, his hips gyrating to the point where your skin was tender from the friction. “How good you feel. How much you both turn me on. How beautiful our love is for each other.”

Jimin often spoke a lot during sex. The more he talked, the faster he pounded. The less coherent he was, the closer he was to his high. He had so much love to vocalize and Jennie was a little more of the dominate keen. You were always their precious princess that they needed to please.

“Baby, you’re getting me soft.” Jennie said with a small smile and gave Jimin a small peck. “I love the both of you.” She moaned and planted her hands on Jimin’s ass. She pulled him closer to you, and you felt more stuffed than ever.

She gripped his firm cheeks as she was peaking her high. Hooking onto her thighs, you made sure to keep the same pace as you were before. “Oh kitten, I’m cumming--” Her eyes were closed, breathless as she was. Her back arched, yet she remained holding on.

Her hips were grinding on your face as she cried out, a volcano erupting inside of her. Her tight ball coming undone. You sucked and licked so hard that it was hurting your jaw, but you wanted to milk everything out of her, until she reached her limits.

Her whines become more high pitched as she begged to get off of your face, but you kept her down. Jimin went quicker with the help of Jennie guiding him. “You mean so much to me.. I’m.. wow .. just, -- who would’ve thought -- “

“Baby, okay! I can’t take it anymore.” Jennie chuckled, needing to catch her breath as her legs quivered and squeezed next to your head. She had to push you away and you let go, knowing that she wouldn’t stop shaking for a while.

She kissed your plump, wet lips and brushed away the hair that stuck to your face. “I love you, I love you.”

“Babygirl, you feel--” Jimin gave several final thrusts and Jennie rubbed you in the processes. Her warm fingers caused your back to come off of the bed and your bubble to pop.

“I’m cumming, baby!” You screamed and held onto Jennie’s free hand as she soaked in your weak expression, as it contoured in ecstasy. Jimin kissed up your neck as you squeezed around him.

“Me --” Jimin began, and his final slam caused you to shift upward onto the bed, “--too.”

“That was beautiful.” Jennie smiled and kissed your’s and Jimin’s cheeks. “It’s always the best to watch the final climax.”

“Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?” Jimin helped you off the bed and your legs almost broke down.

You wobbled to the bathroom with the support from your boyfriend. “I love you.” You smiled, unaware of what consequences were going to follow later into the night.

“So this.. secret.. that you two were going to tell me..” You started your sentence as Jennie played with your silky bath robe. Her eyes peered up, panicked, and Jimin caught her expression. “What is it?”

“It’s nothing bad.” Jennie sat up on the mattress that you had managed to fit. Her lights were off and after care was always a big thing for the three of you.

Jimin got up too, his face showing signs of distress. “We’re going away.”

“What?” You asked, anger boiling in your system.

“It’s for our internship. We’re leaving tomorrow afternoon.” Jimin was blunt with the truth.

“For.. how long?” You avoided eye contact, knowing how they were looking at you with their puppy dog eyes. Their innocent, loving eyes.

“For a week.” Jennie wasn’t saying anything, because she knew that she was going to break down. It was your birthday this week and they were going to miss it.

“So.. you spent this entire day with me.. not because you wanted to appreciate me, but because you wanted to pamper me up to tell me bad news?” You got up from the bed to head to the guest room.

Jennie held onto your wrist to stop you, “we did it because we didn’t want you to feel more hurt than you already were. We knew how much we left you, so we thought that we would spend this entire day to make things up for this week.”

You peeled her tight fingers off, “how long were you aware of this trip?”

Jimin and Jennie shared shameful eye contact, and Jimin sighed, “four days ago.”

“So... both of you knew for four days that you were going on a week long trip and didn’t bother to tell me until the day before you two leave? I’m not even mad that you’re missing my birthday, I’m upset because you had so much time to tell me.” You ran into the guest room and locked them out. Their loud footsteps stopped at your door and Jennie’s voice was quivering.

“We were scared that you’d resent us and we’d feel guilty, then end up deciding not to go.”

“When have I ever stopped you two from doing anything?” Hot tears stained your cheeks as you sat with your back against the door. “It’s not the best feeling in the world knowing that you don’t fit into something. That you’re the odd one out. The one left behind. I want to belong in this relationship too.”

“And you do. We love you, (Y/N).” Jimin desperately tried to console you.

“It’s getting harder to believe.” Sniffling, you crawled into your empty bed. Jennie and Jimin’s shadows remained pacing outside.

“Please open up, baby.” Jennie was sobbing, her tears dripping onto the floor.

“You should go to bed, I wouldn’t want you two to miss your flight tomorrow.” Your hit the pillow softly, soaking the cloth with sorrow.

“We’re going to Las Vegas, we’re not flying.” Jimin said and you rolled your eyes.

“I honestly don’t care where you two go at this point!” You shouted, streams falling faster. “I -- let me -- I just want to be alone tonight.”

“I’m sorry, (Y/N). Please don’t be mad at us, we need you, darling.” Jimin whispered, taking over the conversation due to Jennie’s heavy sobs.

You shut them out, not wanting to hear anymore of what they had to say. Closing your eyes, you wondered how everything had gone so terribly wrong. How you started to lose them. How you became the outlier.

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metalshea · 7 years ago

Text

Guys and gals, let’s talk about nü metal.

Are you still reading?

Great! Because I’m about to take a very unpopular position: I think nü metal has some value as a genre and is surprisingly influential.

Are you STILL reading?

Nü metal is probably the most maligned sub genre in all of metal. So much so that I would hazard to say that more people dislike it than hair metal. There are still people walking around that appreciate bands like Poison, Ratt, or Mötley Crüe, after all. I don’t know of anyone that still says: “Limp Bizkit, that’s my jam”.

But there was a time when people did say that. Limp Bizkit are multi-platinum selling artists, after all. They were one of the top draws in all of music, headlined Woodstock ‘99, and even toured with Metallica. People loved Limp Bizkit.

I’ll let that sink in a moment.

It wasn’t just Durst et. al. that filled arenas around the world: Korn, Linkin Park, Mudvayne, POD, Godsmack, Static-X, System of a Down, Disturbed, all were, and in some cases still are, huge concert draws. Just look up some of the pictures of System of Down’s show in Yerevan, Armenia, back in 2015. Something, something, a joke about crowd sizes, amiright?! Does anyone have any doubt that if SOAD announced a tour tomorrow that it wouldn’t sell out? (Before we get too far away from Limp Bizkit, I should probably mention that Wes Borland is actually pretty popular in Indonesia)

I’d even go so far as to argue that most metalheads that lived through the nü metal years actually like at least one band from those times. Sound crazy? How do you feel about, say, Mudvayne (Dig)? Static-X (Push It, I’m With Stupid), Slipknot (Wait and Bleed), System of a Down (any song)? Maybe nü metal isn’t so bad.

Obligatory disclaimer: that all being said there’s a ton of Nü Metal that is just awful. Back to Limp Bizkit: Chocolate Starfish and the Hot Dog Flavored Water hasn’t aged well at all. POD. Papa Roach. Freaking Crazy Town.

There’s a lot of bad nü metal out there.

But we’ve gotten off topic. The whole point of this article is to talk about nü metal as still remaining valid and influential to modern metal, after all, so let’s explore that. Let’s start with definitions.

Quick: if I asked you “what is it that musically differentiates nü metal from other types of metal,” what’s the first thing that comes to mind? Probably rapping, right? But not all nü metal acts rap. Korn doesn’t. Orgy doesn’t. So what else?

I think there are 4 major descriptors—aside from rapping—that we can use to define the genre: heavily syncopated riffs, song structure/length borrowed from pop, angsty or self-reflective song lyrics, vocal centric while musically riff- and beat-driven.

Let’s break this down a bit starting with syncopation.

Syncopation is a musical term that refers to emphasizing the off beats in a piece of music. Most music emphasizes what are known as downbeats. When you hear a song and start tapping along, your usually counting out groups 4 taps and hitting a little bit harder on the first beat. That first beat is a downbeat. The groups of 4 tell us the song is written in 4/4 time. Sometimes in addition to the hard beat on the 1, you’ll also do a hard beat on the 3. This is still considered a “normal” or conventional beat.

In a syncopated song, the downbeats are played on the 2nd and 4th beats instead of the 1st and 3rd. This gives the song a bit of a bouncy feel. And syncopation is all over nü metal. Check out Linkin Park’s “Crawling” and Static-X’s “I Want to Break It” in the linked playlist to really hear this at work.

Let’s talk song structure: nü metal typically borrows a really basic song structure that comes straight out of pop that is known as AABABCBB. If you break a typical pop song down into different parts and assign those parts a letter, you get this formula. Essentially “A” are the verses, “B” the chorus, and “C” the bridge or breakdown. Many pop songs will set their songs up to have do an extra long first verse, a quick and catchy chorus, a shorter second verse, a quick and catchy chorus, a bridge, and then back to the chorus (sometime played twice) to close out the song. It’s an easy formula that makes songs pretty memorable. Especially if you have a catchy chorus.

Let’s take Korn’s “Freak on a Leash” as an example. We have the intro riff which rolls right into the first verse (8 lines). After a short prechorus (“sometimes...”), it rolls into the chorus (something takes a part of me), right into a short second verse (4 lines), prechorus, chorus, a two-part bridge with Jonathan Davis scatting, followed by a variation on a double long chorus to close out the song. Formulaically, the song goes: AAABCABCDECF, which is really, really close to the pop song formula.

Most other nü metal acts tend to follow the same basic song pattern with some variations. Mudvayne’s “Determined” front loads the chorus at the very beginning of the song. So does Slipknot’s “Wait and Bleed”. But they all tend to at least superficially follow the same pattern that artists from The Beatles to Ariana Grande have utilized for decades.

Next are the lyrics. Nü metal borrows it’s angst directly from grunge. Lyrically, the genre is very inwardly focused, often touching on depression, anxiety, post traumatic stress, and in the moment emotions. Now this is certainly not unique to nü metal compared to other genres of metal, but let’s be honest: nü metal takes it to a whole different level of superficiality. While there are countless songs about being angry, Linkin Park will often dive into the underlying emotions driving that anger. It’s an extremely self-reflective genre that was perfect for the postmodernist late-90’s.

Finally, nü metal is vocal centric and riff and beat driven. We already talked beats so let’s leave that aside. As for riffs, the songs are constructed usually around 1 distinctive riff. While a lot of metal will try to use multiple riffs in a song (ahem, Between the Buried and Me). Nü metal keeps it simple, using 1 riff and several variations to drive the music. We’ll use Sevendust’s “Praise” as the example here. We’re hit with the main riff right at the very beginning of the song. From there we hear constant variations pop up throughout the rest of the tune. It’s under the verses. It is the riff the makes up first prechorus. A third variation is under the second prechorus. Over and over: variations on a theme. I should say that Sevendust are really good at squeezing everything they can out of riff to pull off a catchy song. But it underscores the point, the songs are constructed around 1 catchy riff.

As for the vocals: they’re front and center. In Death metal, the vocals often compliment the instrumentation. The growled vocals mimic the distortion of the guitars. In nü metal, the vocals are brought up in the mix. You hear every word.

All these thing combine to make nü metal. Compared to other parts of metal one thing is really, really clear: nü metal borrows a TON from pop, grunge, and hip hop. In fact, it borrows the best parts of all 3. It is a genre that is distinctly ripe for commercialization. And woooo boy was it commercialized. Which, let’s be honest, is probably why most metalheads hate it: it pays lip service to “heaviness” while throwing in with pop sensibilities. It feels artificial and at times frankly juvenile. And sometimes, the bands themselves are just awful and untalented: looking at you again, Crazy Town.

But! Nü metal has a legacy, and it’s not all bad. There are still acts that are selling out arenas and inspiring the next generation of musicians. Slipknot is probably THE gateway band for heavy music today, and their music still sells. Their 2014 release, “.5: The Gray Chapter” was rock solid. System of a Down are in limbo pending the return of Serj Tankian, but let’s be honest, they are one of the most beloved and respected bands in heavy music in the world, even though they haven’t released a record in 13 years. Linkin Park we’re past their heyday when Chester Bennington sadly took his own life, but they were still actively writing new music and regularly touring (and say what you want about LP, they put on a great live show). Finally, most metalheads like to forget Machine Head’s foray into nü metal, but no one can argue their importance to metal today, especially following 2007’s “The Blackening”.

We like to think of all these bands as somehow being separated from the utter nonsense of other nü metal acts—a friend used the term nü metal-adjacent. But they built their fan bases from among the angsty kids of the late 90’s early 00’s. They drove record sales in the days before Napster and file sharing. They kept MTV musically-relevant for years longer than it probably otherwise would have been. And they introduced a new generation to heavy music. I’ll put it out here: I listened to Korn and Slipknot well before I listened to In Flames, let alone any black metal. I’ve covered System of Down songs in my own bands and I still jam out to Static-X.

Nü metal is a lot of things to a lot of different people. It’s divisive, juvenile, self-absorbed, and often superficial in its song writing and lyrics. It reeks of consumerism. But it also birthed some of the most influential artists in heavy music and left an important mark on the history of metal. Maybe we can redirect the hate that we would normally throw at the genre as a whole back to where it belongs: at Fred Durst.

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jugandbettsdetectiveagency · 8 years ago

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Okay I loved the OTP questions and I know you are going to deliver them perfectly Anna, so I couldn't stop myself from requesting five of them: 11, 15, 16, 17, 19. (I literally wanted to request all of them but I'm sure you'll get a ton of messages so eventually all are going to be answered with your wonderful ideas and I can't wait to read them!!) Sorry for requesting so maaany!!🙈

Anything for you, Vera dearest! A bit of sin, a bit of angst, and some babies - everything you love! Hope you like them. Sorry mobile readers, I had to put this under a cut, it gets a bit long!

11. Who loves the smell of their partner’s perfume?

“Jug- ahh, we’re… we’re going to be late,” Betty breathes tilting her head to give Jughead more access to the graceful slope of her neck. He chuckles against her skin, running the tip of his nose against her smooth skin, inhaling her scent deeply. She’s utterly intoxicating.

“It’s your fault for putting this perfume on,” he murmurs into her neck, voice low and gravelly with his arousal. “How am I supposed to resist when you just smell so good?” he hums, peppering light, teasing kisses across her collarbone.

Betty’s legs weaken, and she’s thankful that he has a strong, steadying arm locked around her waist else she’d be a puddle at his feet in a matter of minutes. She can feel heat pooling between her thighs and she tilts her hips to get his leg to press between them. Jughead grins at the action, nipping lightly at the sensitive skin of her pulse point before latching his lips there and sucking.

Betty lets out a sinfully loud whimper, pressing closer to him as he works to form a blossoming bruise against her flawless complexion.

“People are gonna see…” she complains halfheartedly as he sucks harder.

“Good,” he growls possessively, fingers tightening at her hips, eyes darkening to that deep shade of azure that is certain to soak her panties every time. “If you smell this good, I wonder what you taste like…” he muses with a heart-stopping smirk plastered over his features, sinking to his knees, eyes on hers all the while.

“Oh my-” Betty doesn’t manage to complete her sentence, voice failing her as his head disappears beneath her dress.

15 answered here!

16. Who is more excited to be a parent?

“Jug?” Betty calls as she closes their front door, slipping her shoes from her tired feet and breathing a sigh of relief. The house is unusually quiet, the rhythmic tapping of Jughead’s keyboard usually filling the air every time Betty returns home from the paper. “Juggie, are you home?” she asks again, listening for his reply.

There’s a distinct bump from the floor above, Betty tilting her head upwards with a knitted brow. She heads for the stairs, one hand coming to support her lower back as she begins the climb. Her centre of gravity is entirely off these days, the heavy weight around her middle completely throwing her for a loop.

“Your child is gigantic,” she’d lamented as they came out of the doctor’s office, hands laced tightly together. “Even the technician had a shocked look on her face when she saw him in there,” she finished, casting a sly smirk at Jughead from the corner of her eye. Jughead grinned back, free hand coming up to rub the swell of Betty’s stomach affectionately. His blue eyes were shining.

“She,” he began, emphasising the word. They were still in disagreement about what they thought the gender was going to be, Jughead adamant they were having a girl while Betty had an inkling it was a boy. “Is just a good eater, all Jones’ are,” he quipped cheekily, earning himself a laugh and a shake of her head from Betty.

Betty pauses at the top of the stairs, catching her breath momentarily before continuing down the hall in search of her husband. “Jughead, are you up here?”

“In here!” his muffled response comes from behind the nursery door. Betty waddles towards it, gasping in disbelief as she pushes it open.

The previously bare room had been completely transformed. The once white walls were now a soft yellow, a sticker mural of flying birds pressed against the one to the left. A soft, plush rug had been thrown in the centre of the floor, a white painted rocking chair pushed in one corner by the farthest window, crocheted blanket draped over the back. The rest of the furniture was white, too - changing table, chest of drawers, and toy crate scattered about the room. Jughead was currently bent over a sky blue crib, pushing it beneath the mural. Inside was a selection of toys, including a pale pink bunny like the one Betty had told him she’d had as a child.

Hormonal tears spring to her eyes as a wide grin spreads across her face. Jughead looks up at her shyly, eagerly awaiting her reaction.

“Juggie,” she breaths, eyes running over every detail again and again. “It’s perfect.” His own smile widens as he walks over to her, placing a hand either side of her bump and pressing a delicate kiss to the tip of her nose.

“I just wanted everything to be ready,” he admits, cheeks taking on a dusty glow. “I can’t wait.”

17. What are their end goals for one another?

“You’re throwing everything away, Betty!” Jughead yells, trying not to raise his voice too much but she’s just being so frustrating. She shakes her head, teeth digging into her lower lip as she closes her eyes against her words.

“I’m not, I know I’m not,” she repeats over and over again and Jughead has to resist the urge to take her by the shoulders and shake some sense into her. He takes a steadying breath.

“These are Ivy League schools. You can’t turn them down to come to Boston just because it’s where I’m going,” he tells her, gesturing to the open acceptance letters on the table. Betty’s cheeks heat up as she crosses her arms over her chest.

“I’m not just following you, Jughead. Boston has a really good journalism programme and I can get good financial aid-” she begins, reeling off her rehearsed argument before he cuts her off.

“Don’t do that, Betts. Don’t give me your spiel about costs and courses. I know why you’re doing it and I won’t let you. I won’t be the reason for you not living up to your potential,” he fires back at her. Her eyes harden, darkening in their shade of green as she locks her gaze onto his with surprising, intangible force, the intensity snapping Jughead’s mouth shut.

“And what if this is what I want? What if I can’t stomach the idea of being parted from you for the next four years of our lives?” The idea sinks in, settling heavily in Jughead’s stomach. “What if I’m so sure that you are it for me that that is the only important factor in making my decision? Have you thought about that? Because I have. And I know that if I’m going to regret anything it would be taking myself away from you.” Betty closes the distance between them, gripping his cheeks between her soft palms in an action that’s always been so comforting for Jughead.

“I want us to go to college together. I want to get an apartment, and throw stupid dinner parties for your artsy friends and my colleagues from the paper. I want to hold you close in our bed every night and know you’ll be there when I wake up. I want to learn, and live, and grow with you by my side every single day. I want us to graduate, and get jobs, and live our lives.” She swallows, blinking back the tears in her eyes. “You’re going to be so great, Jughead. And I want to watch as you flourish. And we’ll get a house, and a dog, and go to street cook outs, and join a damn country club!” He lets out a watery laugh, fingers clutching desperately at her waist. “And we’ll have kids and grow old together. And that is all I ask for. A forever, with you. Starting right here. Okay?” she asks, eyes searching his desperately. Jughead presses his lips to hers in a gentle kiss, one full of promise.

“Okay.”

19. How do they decide on who does what chores?

“You play dirty, Betty Cooper,” Jughead accuses, narrowing his eyes at her across the room. Betty flushes, drawing her lower lip between her teeth and biting down on the plush flesh in the most distracting way.

“I thought dirty was how you liked it, Juggie,” she replies, widening her big green eyes in false innocence. Her words sent fire through his veins, leaving him trying desperately to hold in a groan.

When Betty had suggested clearing out the garage so they could turn it into an at home office, Jughead had protested vehemently. It had become an utter mess over the years, the place where a clutter of keepsakes went to die, and the last thing Jughead had wanted to do was tackle clearing it out.

“I’ll make you a deal,” she’d said, her eyes taking on a dangerous glint that instantly has him wary.

“I’m listening.” Betty had leant on the kitchen counter, pushing her arms together in a way that gave Jughead a very appealing view down her shirt. His eyes flicked down briefly, tongue coming out to wet his chapped lips, before returning to meet her gaze.

“If you can go the whole day without touching me, I won’t make you help me clean the garage,” she said with a confident smirk. Jughead bounced his head back in surprise at her proposal, regarding her steady eyes. A day, surely he could do this.

“You’re on,” he agreed with an easy smile, reaching out to shake her hand. She took it, dropping it quickly to signal the game had started. Her smirk never wavered and suddenly Jughead felt as if he’d just fallen into a trap.

Her sweater is the first to go.

“Hot in here, don’t you think?” she asks casually, throwing the fabric to the side with a flick of her wrist. Jughead shifts in his spot in the arm chair adjacent to her.

“Really? I was just thinking it was unusually chilly for this time of year,” he replies through slightly gritted teeth. She just hums, going back to her book. He looks up as she stands, raising his eyebrows in question.

“Bathroom,” she calls over her shoulder in explanation. He nods, turning back to his laptop. When she comes back her jeans have disappeared.

“Betts…” he says slowly, eyes raking up the long expanse of smooth, tanned skin now exposed to him. He always did love her legs.

“The faucet splashed me. They were soaked,” she informs him, colouring the word sinfully. His eyes glance involuntarily at her blush coloured panties, throat going dry. She walks about, dusting shelves and rearranging knickknacks absently. Returning from the kitchen, Jughead looks up to see that her shirt has joined the ranks of nonexistent, firm breasts nestled in pink lace presented in front of him like the best wrapped gift. She catches him staring.

“I was putting a whites wash on,” she shrugs casually. Her eyes slide past his frozen body, resting on something behind him. “Oh, did you drop this?” she asks lightly, walking past him, skin almost brushing skin, before bending down to pick up the pen that is resting on the ground.

Jughead clenches his jaw at the sight before him; Betty’s perfectly round ass greeting him like forbidden fruit. His eyes drink her in thirstily, watching the way the lace of her underwear bunches as it travels between her thighs, the fabric slightly damp…

Betty gasps as strong, warm fingers grip her hips, her own hands coming up to steady herself on the counter as she feels his bulge press purposefully against her centre. They both let out a moan in unison.

“I surrender.”

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