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lokis-army-77 · 4 years ago

Text

If You Please

Chapter ten

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 5700

This is technically a reader insert but without the (y/n) and all that. She also has no name mentioned so feel free to imagine as you please.

Follow the reader through the events of the Captain America movies and experience her love for Bucky Barnes.

Warnings: canon typical violence

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Masterlist

The next morning, after a late flight to the Austrian Alps the night before, we readied ourselves for the attack on HYDRA’s head base. I made sure my two guns were loaded and secured in their holsters. I did the same for my bo staff. Everyone had been keeping their distance from me since I had entered the meeting room yesterday. The only one who never really left my side was Steve. He didn’t hover around me like I was incapable, I was grateful for that, but he was always within an arm's reach. Right now he stood a few feet away putting things into the saddlebags of his bike. I walked over to him and leaned up against the bike without saying a word. He looked up and patted me on the shoulder then went back to what he was doing.

I reached my hand up to a small golden heart locket that was clasped around my neck. I fiddled with it mindlessly for a minute or two before I took it and pried it open. A small picture of Bucky in uniform was staring back at me from the right half and on the left was a picture of him with his eyes scrunched up as I gave him a small peck on his cheek, we were both drenched in water. I let out a small laugh, remembering the events of that day.

It was a very sunny October day in 1941, which had started like any other. Breakfast had been eaten and I had gotten ready for the day ahead. Steve had gone off doing God knows what. He never tells me where he’s going. Bucky was coming by after a while for a quote “ Very special date” he had planned. While I waited for him I cleaned the house a bit and read a few chapters of a book Bucky had given me to read called ‘The Hobbit. I had only agreed to read it if he read ‘Pride and Prejudice’, which was my favorite book, but this book was very interesting. I had just gotten to chapter 7 when a heavy knock rattled the front door. I sprung up and raced to the door. I swung it open and there stood Bucky in a pair of dark khaki slacks and a white button-up collared shirt. His hair was slicked back and he held out a single red tulip.

��Well, aren’t you all dressed up. I feel underdressed now.” I said grabbing at the fabric of the light blue pinafore dress.

“You look beautiful as always, Doll. Here, I picked this on the way here, it made me think of you.” He stepped up and gave me a kiss then handed me the flower.

“Thank you, Buck. Let me put this in a vase and then we can head out.” I turned to walk into the kitchen, Bucky right on my heels. There was a small vase already on the counter sitting by the sink, so I reached out for it, filled it with water, and gently placed the stem into it. I placed it on in the sunlight that hit the window sill. I turned around and reached over to my purse on the dining room table.

“Are you ready?” He asked, grabbing the apartment keys from the hook by the door.

“Let's go, I’m starving.” I grabbed his hand as we went out the door and waited for him to lock up. We walked down several blocks and finally came to a stop at my favorite small community Italian restaurant. We had been coming here since we were kids before mom had died. It held a special place in my heart, like everything that held her memory.

We ate and talked for an hour or two before leaving and just walking down the street. We came to one of the small parks scattered around close to the Brooklyn Bridge and stopped to take a seat on a bench.

“I know I tell you this all the time, but I love you so much,” Bucky let out.

“I love you too, Sweetheart.” I looked over at him. He was bouncing his left leg vigorously up and down, and he bit at his bottom lip nervously. “Is everything okay Buck?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine, it’s more than fine actually, I just have to figure out how to say this.” He said then took a deep breath. I watched him curiously as he slipped off of the bench and onto one knee. When he started to reach into his pants pocket was when I realized what he was doing. “Doll, from the day Steve brought me home from school to meet you and your mom I knew I liked you, then that like grew into admiration, and quickly after that, it turned into love. The strongest love I have ever felt. I hope that you will allow me to experience this love for the rest of my life, and give me the greatest honor you could ever give by becoming my wife.” When he had finished he pulled a small golden heart locket attached to a tiny delicate chain from his closed hand. I let my hands snap up to my face before he could see me cry. All I could do was nod furiously, in fear that if I spoke now nothing would come out. He carefully pulled my hands from my face and peered into my eyes. He was giving me the biggest smile I had ever seen.

“Yes,” I croaked out finally. “I’ll marry you.” I wiped my tears off with the back of my hands and then held my hair up so he could fasten the necklace around my neck. When he had it secured his hands clasped around the back of my neck and head and I was pulled into the most heated yet loving kiss I had ever experienced.

That's when I felt a drop of something wet hit my forehead. Pulling away from the kiss, we both looked up into the sky. It had gotten cloudy suddenly and sprinkles of rain had started falling down steadily. I let out a hushed giggle before pitching myself up off the bench and helping Bucky back onto his feet.

“Come on, we need to find somewhere dry before it really starts pouring,” Bucky said, not even a second afterward, the bottom fell out and the rain came down in hard sheats.

“You were saying” I called out over the loud rain. He made a gesture to the sky to say ‘why now of all times, then he started running and pulling me along.

It didn’t take long for us to find shelter in a small photo booth. I was surprised to see one here, they were still so rare outside of Manhattan. We both stood in the small booth sopping wet and catching our breath.

“Bucky, do you have twenty-five cents?” I looked up at him.

“I think so, why do you need twenty-five cents?”

“Don’t you see where we are? I want to preserve one of the happiest moments of my life.” I put out my hand, palm up, he shook his head and reached into his pocket for his loose change. Once he found the two dimes and nickel he dropped them into my open palm. I gave him a quiet “Thank you,” in a sing-song voice before turning around to dispense them into the coin slot. “Now when the light in that square comes on you have to be still and look into it okay,” I instructed him while pointing to the large square in the center of the panel in front of us.

The light came on a second after and we both stood smiling. When the light went out Bucky let out a breath. “You do know you can breathe while taking these pictures right?” I asked, laughing.

“I know,” He gave me a dirty look. The light came back on for a second time and caught the moment. “Look now it's going to be messed up because you were moving”

I ignored him and leaned up close to his ear, “Smile big,” I said then pressed my lips to his cheek for the third picture. When I backed away he looked at me lovingly. He turned slightly and leaned down to my height to press his lips to my cheek. I smile the biggest smile I could for the camera. When the fourth light finally went off, we waited a minute for the photos to develop. When they were tossed out of the slot I grabbed them quickly to look at them. Bucky peered over my shoulder at them as well.

“I’m taking those two,'' he said, pointing at the one where I was laughing at him and the one where he was kissing my cheek.

“Good because I’m putting this one in the locket.”

I came from my daydream when Steve shook my shoulders. “Hey, kid, you okay?” I shrugged in response. “We’re fixing to head out, so I will get everything situated.” I turned from him and closed the locket then stuffed it back under the collar of my suit.

“I’m ready to go,” I said quietly as I straddled the back of Steve’s bike and waited for him to do the same.

The closer to the HYDRA base we got, the more my heart pounded. I could hear the rising of my blood in my ears over the loud hum of the bike and the wind. I was itching for a fight, and I knew I would get one very soon.

The vast woods kept us concealed for a while until we came upon an outpost a few miles away from the main entrance to the base. Steve drove the bike as close as he could to the building, hoping to attract as much attention as possible. It must have worked because not even a minute later a group of six men on high-tech bikes came speeding after us.

“Step on the gas Steve, they're on our tail,” I shouted out. Steve didn’t respond, he just hit the throttle harder. In order for me to sit on the back of the bike comfortably, I had his shield strapped to my back, and I was thankful for it when the HYDRA men started shooting at us. Several shots ricocheted off the shield before Steve maneuvered us out of their sights.

Looking back at the group of men, Steve pressed a button on the handlebar, allowing a long cable to shoot out and attach itself to two trees. When the line pulled taught, two of the men hit it and were thrown from their bikes. Soon after, Steve ignited a flame thrower from the back of the bike, which took two more men off our trail.

Speeding down the dirt road I watched as the last two men sped through a separate trail and came out in front of us. Steve hit the gas and we raced in between them. I took one of the unscrewed sections of my staff and gave the guard to my right a good hit to the head, knocking him off the bike. Steve reached over to the left guard’s bike and pulled out the pin to a grenade that was attached to the man's bike. We bolted forward to get out of range from the blast. I looked back to watch. Looking back in front of us, the entrance was there, tucked into the bottom of a mountain. A tank sat between the two ramped gunman stations.

“Hand me the shield.” Steve held out his hand and I unclasped the shield from around myself and gave it to him. He placed it on the front of the bike. The tank started shooting at us but missed us by several feet. As the bike carried us closer, Steve pressed another button and sent out two small missiles, which decimated the tank. Swerving around the debris, we headed up the left ramp. When the bike launched from the top into the air, I swiftly jumped off, doing a sort of backflip in the air before landing on slightly bent knees. I took out both sides of my staff and quickly joined them together.

I watched closely as I was flanked by three guards. I waited patiently, staring them down until a man on my right made the first move. I swung out the staff, striking him in the neck. Before he fell to the ground two more men with guns came at me from behind. Taking the staff I swung it around my neck, catching it with my opposite hand, and used the momentum to hit one of them in the chest. He stumbled backward into one of the trucks that surrounded us and hit his head, knocking him out. The second guard grabbed onto the outstretched part of my staff and yanked. I went with it, just enough to latch my other hand onto the end so I was holding it with both and then stood firmly. When he pulled again I let myself be moved. I followed the motion and continued going forward into him. He stumbled in surprise, which gave me the time to pull my arms back and swing them back again, hitting him in the side of the head.

I brushed the loose hairs out of my eyes before running to meet up with Steve. He had thrown his shield to hit a guard and it bounced off in my direction. I caught it and held it in front of myself to take oncoming fire. I backed my way up to Steve and I noticed the firing stopped. Handing him his shield back I noticed why. Two large men were standing on either side of us, encircling us with jets of fire. They let off the triggers and a whole unit of men closed in on us.

Two men came up and took my staff, guns, and Steve's shield. Then four more men came to hold each of our arms down. They began to walk us through the giant doors that Steve had managed to blow open with the bike, and up into the base. We ascended several flights of stairs before we were forced into a large open room with a desk in it. I could only assume it was Schmidt’s office.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him. His bright red skull was hard to miss. He was saying something that I couldn't hear, I was so angry seeing him that I couldn't hear anything but a loud ringing. The ringing was made worse when I watched him strike Steve across the face and forced him to the floor by punching him in the stomach. If I wanted to I could have easily forced my way out of the grasp the two guards had on my arms, but even though all the anger I knew now wanting the time. We had a plan and I was going to stick to it if I was going to see this whole organization burn to the ground. As Schmidt pulled a gun from his belt, everyone suddenly looked to the large window at the other end of the room. Several small figures were ziplining towards us. I smiled, it was time. Schmidt was frozen in shock as Falsworth, Dugan, and Gabe came flashing in through the window.

Using the distraction I effortlessly ripped away from the two guards and tackled Schmidt. Even to his surprise, he was able to hit me hard in the nose with the grip of the gun. I flew backward, landing on a guard. I tried scrambling to my feet but the guard I landed on had a hold of my left leg. I started kicking at his hands with my free leg in hopes to loosen his hold. He quickly let go after I bent one of his fingers so far backward that it broke. I crawled up to where his head was and started punching until he was unconscious.

Coincidentally he was the guard that had taken both my staff and guns, so I reached around his back and grabbed the staff he had somehow attached to himself and retrieved my pistols from his belt. Standing up, I looked around to try and find Schmidt in the chaos.

“Where’d he go?” I shouted at Falsworth. He looked over to me and pointed down the hallway.

“That way, Steve already went after him.”

I started running, faster than I ever had before. I followed the sounds of gunshots through the twists and turns of the gray halls.

“Steve!” I yelled out, hoping he could hear me calling for him.

“I’m here!” I heard him loud and clear, he must be in the next corridor over. I kept my pace as I rounded two more corners then stopped as I saw Steve trapped in a corner by another one of those men with flamethrowers.

The flames were so big that the man hadn’t seen me sneak around him. I pounced on his back but he threw me off. I landed on the ground across from Steve, before I could get back up to try and take the man out again, he was shot down. Steve and I both turned around to see Peggy standing in the middle of the hallway. I picked myself up and jogged over to the door where the shield was stuck. I yanked it out and the doors slid open. Steve wasn’t far behind me. We ran down the hallway with several other soldiers into a large air hanger. The only aircraft in the place was whirring to life and starting to move.

“Steve, he’s in there. We have to stop him from getting away.” I started running through the chaos of the battle, no caring if anyone was in my way. I pushed them back and swung out my staff at a few before finally making it into the clear. I was running fast but the aircraft was faster. I slowed to a stop and a few seconds later Steve stopped beside me. We looked to one another in worry, but before we could think of another plan, Colonel Phillips and Peggy drove up beside us in a fancy car.

“Get in, we don’t have much time.” The Colonel orders. We both hopped in quickly, Steve in the front and me in the back with Peggy. I unscrewed the two ends of my staff and places them in their holsters so I could have my hands free to jump.

“We’re not gonna make it!” I said worriedly as the aircraft kept getting closer to the hangar door.

“Like hell we are,” Philips stated as he pressed a button next to the steering wheel. The car jolted and was propelled forward. We were gaining on the aircraft now. Steve started to stand up in his seat as we got closer and I did the same.

“Keep it steady,” Steve instructed.

“Wait.” Came Peggy’s voice. I watched as Steve turned to look and she grabbed onto one of the straps around his suit and pulled him in for a kiss. I smiled, happy for him. He turned shocked at me and I just shook my head.

“Don’t look at me, I'm not kissing you” Philips said as Steve gave him a look. I let out a laugh.

We were inching closer to the underside of the aircraft and Steve was slowly maneuvering his way to the front of the vehicle. I let out a gasp as one of the propellers scratched the shield on his back. Philips maneuvered the back end of the car between the propellers, allowing me to crouch up onto the trunk without being hit. We were nearing the end of the hanger when Steve jumped as the aircraft left the ground. When Philips drifted around in order to not fall off the side of the mountain, I jumped, using the force of the sharp turn to propel me forward and grab onto the tire right under Steve. I held on for dear life as Steve struggled to reach down and pull me up. When I was finally righted up on my feet atop the wheel, they started to be pulled back up into the hull of the aircraft. I carefully made my way off the wheels and onto the sturdy floor without any help and waited for Steve. Looking around I noticed we had a big problem.

“Steve, you’re gonna want to see this.”

“What is it?”

“Bombs. Labeled for different large cities in America. We have to stop him and fast.”

Just then a door slammed open and four men in gas masks ran in. Steve and I hurried to hide. They came jogging down the catwalk. When they got close to us Steve knocked one done by swinging into him. I stayed where I was, waiting for a moment to attack. Steve fought the men in unison before one of them ran off to get into one of the bombs. I quickly made my way over to the control panel, before he could get inside, I opened the shoot and both he and the bombing plane fell into the abyss. Steve threw another one of the men out the hole as well. I noticed another one going on one of the other planes, but before I could do anything I was tackled to the ground. I hit my head against a rail and blacked out for a moment. When I came to moments later, Steve, the guards, and the bombing plane were nowhere to be seen.

I looked out of the shoot to see if I could spot anything and I did. The plane was flying under me, but I saw Steve dangling onto the wings. Thankfully he hadn’t fallen to the ground. I left the railing and made my way to the door. There was no time to wait for Steve to make his way back inside the larger aircraft, I had to go.

It didn’t take me long to reach the cockpit. The inside of the plane was simple, the cargo hold and the cockpit were connected by just two doors. Before I entered the second door I reached for one of my guns and checked the ammo just in case. I took a deep breath and kicked the door in.

“It’s over Schmidt, I’m here to kill you.” I heard laughter coming from a dark corner to my left.

“Do you truly think you can beat me? You’re just a child, what could you possibly do to me?” HE walked out of the shadows holding a large gun. “If you know what's good for you, you’ll throw your gun down.”

“No, I won't.” I made a start to turn to him, but he shot the gun right from my hands and stalked towards me. He grabbed the back of my neck and shook me hard.

“You forget, I also have a version of your super-soldier serum running through my veins. I’m stronger than you think. If you struggle it will only end worse for you, now be quiet and stay still.” He commanded as he took his hand from my neck and wrapped it around my head to cover my mouth. He drug me with him back into the shadows.

I kept trying to wiggle out of his grasp, but he was right, he was strong, probably stronger than I was. Every time I moved his hand clamped down harder and he shook me more roughly. That was until Steve came through the door. I was walked back out of the shadows and watched as Schmidt raised the gun to shoot at Steve. Steve whirled around and when he caught sight of me he went wide-eyed.

“You don’t give up, do you?” asked Schmidt.

“No, I don’t. Now let her go” Steve replied.

“I don't think I will. She’s my leverage in this situation.”

I looked at Steve, hoping he could see what I was planning in my eyes. All I needed him to do was walk to Schmidt and I could use that to break free without being hurt. HE gave me a short nod before he started at us. Schmidt started shooting, but Steve blocked him with his shield. I used the distraction to grab Schmidt's hand with both of mine, I ducked under and twisted myself around, still holding his hand. I felt the bones in his arm fracture, this made him drop his gun in pain.

I backed off, gaining my breath back, and watched as Steve took over the fight. They were all over the place and before I knew it they had fallen into the control panel and the aircraft started to descend rapidly. I held on tightly to one of the beams closest to me. I looked over and Schmidt had gotten away from Steve and was fixing the flight path. I landed back down on the solid ground after that.

“You both could have so much power if you joined me. You are fighting for a flag, in what you think is a war of nations. Well, I have seen the future and there are no flags!” Schmidt walked around the platform, waving his gun around. He gave off two shots in Steve's direction. I hurriedly grabbed for my second gun, still in its holster. I held the gun up in my hands and pointed at his chest. I let my finger pull the trigger and the bullet missed his heart and hit his shoulder, thanks to Steve hitting him with his shield. Schmidt flew backward into some type of power converter directly in the center of the room. Blue wisps of light started to flow out from where he had crashed.

“What have you done!” he cried holding his bleeding shoulder with one hand and reaching from a glowing blue cube with the other. When he held it up in front of himself an image of the galaxy appeared out of thin air. All I could do was stare as the light of the cube started to consume Schmidt. As it reached his face, he started to scream until he was wholly encased in light. That same light was sent beaming into the space image and then quickly dissipated into nothing. All that was left behind was the cube, tumbling to the ground. It started belting through the floor before I could get a good look at it.

I looked to Steve, “What the hell was that?”

“I have no idea, but we have to stop this plane.” I followed him to the control panel, he sat down and looked at all the buttons and switches. “We’re headed straight to New York.”

“This plane is more advanced than anything I’ve ever seen, we may have to contact Stark, he might know what to do,” I said studying the panel. Steve took out his radio and brought it close to his mouth.

“This is Captain and Agent Rogers, do you read?” The line was quiet for a moment before Peggy’s voice came through.

“Steve? Is that you? Are you both alright?”

“We’re fine, Schmidt is dead.”

“What about the plane?”

“That one is a little harder to explain. It’s so advanced, neither of us knows how to safely land this thing.”

“Well, I can send you some coordinates for a safe place to crash land. We can bring in Stark to try and talk you through the landing.” Her voice sounded a little shaky.

“Peggy there isn’t going to be any safe landings, we don’t have the time. We have to put it in the water, that's the only way.” I looked wide-eyed in his direction.

“Steve, we have time to figure this out.” Peggy pleaded.

“We are in the middle of nowhere right now, but if we wait any longer a whole lot of people are gonna die.”

I butted in then, “If you’re going to do this, you need to put her down now. We have about twenty-five minutes before we make it to the States.

“Peggy this is my decision” He stated and she never gave a reply. He looked over his shoulder at me. I moved closer to him and placed my hands on his shoulders. “I’m sorry you got dragged into this.”

“Don’t be sorry, this was my choice as well. I’d rather go down with you than live by myself without you and Bucky.” I felt him place his left hand on my right and squeeze before placing it back into the control column. I braced myself as the aircraft descended rapidly. The icy ground was getting closer every second, I couldn’t look away. The only thing that kept me calm was my grip on the locket around my neck. Memories flooded my mind as we descended farther and farther.

As the aircraft made contact with the ice, I was thrown back into the far wall behind me and then everything suddenly went black.

I woke up to the sound of a radio in the distance. My eyes fluttered open but I instantly shut them again because of the bright sun beaming in through the window. I brought my hands up to rub the sleep from around my eyes and tried to open them again, this time I kept them open. The room I was in was small, Steve was in the cot to my right and there was a window looking out at some buildings.

Getting up out of the small bed I stepped closer to the window to look down at the street below but found no street. The buildings just stopped at the floor. I looked side to side and the image stopped after a few feet. I held my breath as I turned and ran to Steve. I placed my hands on his upper body and shook violently.

“Steve, wake up,” I whisper yelled. He jumped slightly before springing into an upright position.

“What is it. Is everything okay?”

“I have no clue what is going on, but something isn’t right. Those buildings,” I pointed to the windows, “Those buildings aren't real, they’re being projected somehow onto a screen that ends just out of view.”

He took a second to think before looking over at the radio. “That game, isn’t that the one we went to in forty-one?”

I listened intently to the broadcaster calling the score; the Dodgers and Phillies were tied four to four. The whole thing sounded like I had heard it before. Suddenly the doorknob turned and a woman came in. Even if I hadn't seen the screen out the window or recognized the game on the radio, with one look at her outfit, I would have known something was up. Her skirt was too tight, too straight, and the look of her bra under her blouse was not something you should have been able to see. She was also wearing black tights in her uniform, we were only ever allowed light or dark tan. Any woman from the forties would have known she looked a little strange.

“Good afternoon you too. Glad to see you’re both awake.” She stepped further into the room.

“Where are we?” Steve and I said in unison.

“You’re in a recovery room in New York City.” Steve and I gave one another a skeptical look as she said this.

“Where are we really,” Steve interrogated further.

“I'm not sure I understand what you’re asking.”

“The game is from May of 1941. I know, because we were both there that day.” Steve informed me, standing up from the cot.

“Those buildings you have out the window aren't real either, so tell us where we are,” I added in. I watched as her face went into complete shock.

“Who are you?” Steve almost shouted at her. She backed away and immediately two large guards came through the door. One came at me and the other went for Steve. I barely had time to think before I was grabbing hold of the man's arm and throwing him through the wall to the left. I started running, leaping through the hole the man had created in the wall, I stopped in shock looking around me. We were in a large room, void from anything other than the screens and the room we had escaped from. Steve was beside me now, pulling my arm as we ran through the nearest doorway and into a crowded lobby. I spotted the front door and moved for it. We ran, barely escaping all the men that came running at us.

Outside the building, I was overwhelmed with noise. Steve pulled me out into the road where we were almost run over by what I could only assume was a weird model of a car I had never seen before. Sprinting further down the street, we made it to a larger area with more people. The buildings were tall and had lots of flashing and moving pictures all around. We stopped running, confused about where to go next. That’s when we were surrounded by more of the strange model cars.

“At ease Soldier, Agent.”

We turned sharply, looking to who had called out to us. A tall dark-skinned man with an eye patch covering his left eye stood a couple of feet away. He came strutting towards us at a fast pace.

“I'm sorry about that little show we put on, we thought it would be best to break this to you both slowly,” he said in a straight tone.

“Break what slowly?” I demanded.

“You both have been asleep for the past seventy years.” My eyes went wide at that, my breath caught in my throat. This couldn't be real. That was impossible, no one could sleep for that long. Steve looked like he had not aged a day. I assumed that was the same case for me as well. “Are you two gonna be okay?”

I nodded, looking all around me at whatever this future New York was. This was going to take a lot of getting used to.

Tag list: @ginger-swag-rapunzel @underc0vercryptid-reads @geek-and-proud @intothesoul @leyannrae

#james buchanan barnes #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky fic #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x rogers!reader #winter solider x reader #marvel fic #marvel fanfiction

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choerrypuffs · 5 years ago

Text

enchanted.

pairing: prince!jungwoo x witch!reader

genre: fluff, angst

word count: 9.4k

synopsis: the prince has always been a little unconventional, but no one ever expected him to fall in love with a witch.

author’s note: no one asked for this but it came to me in a fever dream and you can really tell bc my writing abilities match that (p.s. i am not knowledgeable on actual witches and witchcraft, and this is not meant to offend anyone! i just winged it and created my own version of a witch for this fic)

It’s way too early for this kind of tomfoolery.

You have your head buried under your pillow, trying to block out the extremely loud and quite irritating rapping on your door. Whoever’s knocking is using so much force that your humble little cottage is trembling with every strike. You groan, squeezing your eyes shut and praying that they’ll go away soon. Or at least come back at a more decent time.

It’s so early that the sun has barely peeked over the horizon, and the birds haven’t even begun chirping yet. You were up all night making potions to sell to the apothecary, so you’ve only gotten about three hours of sleep.

After letting them knock for a couple minutes longer, you realize that they’re not going to leave any time soon. You feel your temper boil over as you throw the covers off your body. Draping your shawl over your shoulders, you tie your unruly hair back and smooth out your nightgown before stomping over to the door and flinging it open.

“What do you want?” you snap loudly, crossing your arms across your chest.

The man in front of you blinks in surprise, fist still raised to knock again. He’s dashingly handsome, even in his state of shock. His hair looks like spun gold, managing to reflect beautifully even with the lack of sunlight. He has a snow white complexion with full, cherry-red lips.

You can tell by his attire that he’s royalty, or rather, a prince. The Prince. He’s wearing a black blazer embellished with golden brass buttons and detailed embroidery. There are two epaulettes on his shoulders, signifying his high status. He’s wearing a white cloak over it all, and you know from a simple glance that it’s made out of the finest linens in the kingdom.

“Are you the Witch of the Forest?” he finally asks, smiling jovially.

“You need not ask. Unless you’re aware of someone else who lives in the forest,” you say, raising an eyebrow.

He isn’t fazed by your sarcastic remark. “My apologies, my lady. I just wanted to make sure.”

“You should know best of all, Your Highness. Your father was the one who banished me here,” you smirk, tilting your head.

One of the guards standing behind him grips the hilt of his sword. “Why, you insolent—”

“Stand down,” The Prince orders, holding out an arm. The guard does as he’s told, albeit reluctantly.

“So, what brings you here at this godforsaken hour, Your Highness?” you ask, unbothered.

“Please, call me Jungwoo.”

“I’d rather not have my tongue cut off by your mutts,” you snort, nodding toward the guards.

“I insist,” Jungwoo says, shaking his head. “And what is your name?”

“You may call me Y/N,” you begin, eyeing the guards and grinning when you see the pure rage in their eyes. “Jungwoo.”

He’s oblivious to the contention, instead beaming happily. You can’t help but smile at his naiveté. Crossing your arms, you lean against the doorframe. “What can I help you with, Jungwoo?”

His expression turns solemn, and he reaches down to grip your hands between his. “Please help me, Y/N. My mother, the Queen, is severely ill.”

You’re taken aback by his casual touch. You’re so used to people treating you like you’re evil incarnate. Doing your best to control your expression, you clear your throat and try to continue looking elusive.

“You have my condolences, but I don’t see what that has to do with me,” you say, shrugging.

“How dare you!” The annoying guard pipes up again. “She is your queen!”

“No, she is your queen. I am not a subject of your kingdom,” you correct. “Therefore, I have no obligation to help you.”

Jungwoo releases your hands and steps back before lowering himself to his knees in front of you. Both you and the guards stare in stunned silence.

“Please. I am begging you,” he whispers with his head bowed, voice cracking. “I understand that you hate my father. I would too. But please, my mother is innocent in all of this.”

“Your Highness! Please get up immediately!” The guards say in a frenzy, all talking over each other.

He ignores the chaos and continues to stare determinedly at you. There’s something about his unrelenting gaze that makes you feel vulnerable. When was the last time someone looked you directly in the eyes like this? It scares you because it’s been so long, and you feel like he can see right through you.

You break eye contact first, turning away sharply. You grab him by the shoulders and pull him to his feet. Jungwoo also looks surprised when you touch him, but he doesn’t seem repulsed like you expect him to be. In fact, he looks a little crestfallen when your hands fall back to your sides.

“Have some dignity,” you chide, “how can a prince kneel before a witch?”

“I am willing to go to any length to save my mother,” he says without hesitation.

You sigh. After all these years and everything you’ve been through, you still can’t seem to harden your heart to situations like these. You can already hear your fellow witches taunting you in your head. They would never let you hear the end of it if they found out you were going to save the life of the wife of the man who exiled you.

Jungwoo picks up on your hesitancy, grasping your hand again. “Please.”

The desperation and panic in his voice shatters the remainder of fight you have left in you.

“Alright,” you finally relent, “I will help you.”

Now it’s his turn to be shocked. “R-Really?”

“You’re lucky I have a soft spot for handsome men,” you say, patting his cheek. “Stop looking so surprised. Aren’t you the one who be—”

You can barely contain your surprised yelp when Jungwoo wraps his arms around your waist and twirls you around in a hug.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” he exclaims as he sets you back down.

You’re so frazzled that all you can do is nod. Your heart feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest. You thought you were going to fluster him by calling him handsome and touching his face, but he somehow managed to fluster you instead.

“We’ll give you some time to get changed and prepare what you need,” Jungwoo continues, completely unaware. “My carriage is right over there, so you will know where to go when you’re done.”

You stupidly nod again, stiffly shutting your door. Your face feels like it’ll set on fire at any moment. Just how deprived of touch are you for your body to react like this over a simple hug?

Pull yourself together, you tell yourself, don’t forget who he is.

The carriage ride is horrendously suffocating. The Annoying Guard, as you’ve lovingly dubbed him, insists on riding with the two of you to ensure Jungwoo’s safety—in case you decide to hex him or something. The guard keeps his hand on the hilt of his sword the entire time, glaring daggers at you. Every time you even slightly shift, he jumps.

You’re starting to think that these palace guards are severely overestimating your powers—actually, they aren’t. They’re severely overestimating your ability to care enough to even go through the trouble of hexing Jungwoo.

Jungwoo keeps shooting you apologetic glances, attempting in vain to try and make conversation. The long stretches of silence are deafening, and all you can do is stare out of the window. Your mind keeps wandering to things you don’t want to think about, so you begin to map out all the chores you have to do when you return to your cottage.

You can feel Jungwoo’s stare on you the entire time. He clearly wants to talk to you, but he can’t because of the hawk-like watch of the Annoying Guard. You suppose you’re grateful for that. You’re not really sure if you want to converse with Jungwoo. He’s far too unpredictable for your comfort. You can’t read him like the others, and that intimidates you. He isn’t afraid of you, and it makes you feel...exposed.

Fortunately, you can see the palace from the window, which means this hell of a ride is finally over.

Unfortunately, when you step out of the carriage, the memories that you’ve spent your entire life trying to bury flood through your mind.

The last time you were at the palace was when the decree of your banishment was announced. You remember the palace guards dragging you and your mother out as she pleaded for mercy. She had asked the king to spare you. Of course, he merely scoffed at her and turned away without a second glance. To him, you two were just some of the many witches that he would go on to banish or simply just execute. He was lucky that the witches were a peaceful kind.

You watched as your mother pretended like everything was alright, like she was alright, as the two of you lived in that tiny cottage she managed to build with what little powers she had left. In return, you pretended that you didn’t hear her weep every night. Eventually, she simply just wilted away—a shell of the beautiful flower she once was.

“Oh, my poor child,” she had said with her final breath.

You dig your nails into your palm, hoping the pain will pull you out of the spiral you’re starting to go down. In an attempt to distract yourself, you try to focus on what’s in front of you. However, it’s not something you want to see.

The palace is, without a doubt, the most beautiful piece of architecture you’ve ever seen. Made out of pure ivory marble and adorned with ornate detailing that’s crafted from the most opulent of gold, it’s stunning in every way.

But it makes you sick to your stomach.

This was a mistake. You can’t even look at the palace. What makes you think that you can go in there and face the King? You’re still a weak little girl, and you always will be. Mother would be so ashamed of what a coward you’ve become.

Your inner voice continues to berate you, and you feel like you’ll vomit at any moment.

“Hey,” Jungwoo says gently. His naturally soft-spoken voice can’t be any louder than a whisper, yet it’s powerful enough to pierce through the myriad of unwanted thoughts going through your head.

He pries your hand open, running his thumb across the red, crescent-shaped indents in your palm. You don’t realize how hard you’ve been pressing your nails into your skin until you feel the stinging. Jungwoo’s hand is warm, and it manages to quell your uneasiness significantly.

“You’re alright,” he tells you, lacing his fingers through yours.

It unnerves you how easily he calms you down. It terrifies you to your very core how much power he seemingly has over your emotions. Jungwoo is an enigma, and you must stay far, far away. Everything about him screams trouble.

Pulling your hand away, you grip your skirt instead and take a small step back. He looks, dare you say, hurt by the way you recoil. Nonetheless, he doesn’t acknowledge it and simply clears his throat.

“My father is waiting for us,” Jungwoo says warily.

You tense, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by him.

“He isn’t thrilled about your presence, but I swear on my life that he will not harm you,” Jungwoo promises. “I will protect you, no matter what.”

“No,” you interject, “there’s no need. Your father will not lay a finger on me. He has always feared my mother and I, which is why he banished us.”

“You’re trembling, Y/N,” he whispers.

“It doesn’t matter,” you snap, “I have a duty to fulfill, and so I will. My personal feelings will be put aside, just as your father should be doing as well.”

You hate how he looks at you like he understands. Like he knows exactly what you’re feeling. Like he can see into the deepest, most hidden parts of you.

“Very well,” he sighs.

Jungwoo holds out his arm for you to hold. Inhaling deeply, you square your shoulders and straighten your back before taking it. You wore the fanciest dress you owned and made sure your hair was styled to the best of your ability for today. You want to show the King that you are doing just fine, that you still stand strong despite everything he did to you.

The doors to the throne room open, and the two of you are welcomed with a trumpet call that announces the arrival of the Prince. The King is waiting for you, sitting tall on his throne. Despite his commendable posture, his body is weak and feeble. He’s been worn down by age, and his robes hang off of him like they would a skeleton.

“Your Majesty,” Jungwoo greets, bowing.

You don’t follow suit, crossing your arms instead. The King doesn’t even glance at his son, focusing his beady stare at you. You glare back defiantly.

“You’ve gotten old,” is the first thing that comes out of your mouth.

“It seems even vermin like you can survive after all this time,” the King responds gruffly.

“I could say the same for you,” you shoot back.

“You will heal my wife,” he orders, ignoring your insult. “Or else I will make sure you join your mother in Hell.”

The mention of your mother flares up your temper immediately. Clenching your fists, you begin to consider hexing him (maybe Jungwoo’s guards were onto something). You have never really used your powers out of malice, but you’re starting to think it may not be such a bad idea.

“Father,” Jungwoo warns.

“Your words are merely making me want to do the exact opposite, Your Majesty. You should thank every star in the sky that I have already given your son my word,” you say calmly, even though you’re anything but.

“Foolish boy,” the King spits. He says it with so much anger and hatred in his voice that it’s hard to tell that he’s speaking to his own son. “Why do you insist on defying me? Now, you’ve gone and made a deal with a witch.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you sigh, “there was no deal.”

“You expect me to believe your lies? You could have easily tricked him into signing away his soul,” the King accuses.

You can’t help but laugh at his absurd claims, shaking your head. “Enough of this. We are simply wasting time.”

You turn to Jungwoo so you can tell him to lead you to his mother, but you’re surprised by the look on his face. His expression is stormy—a mix of anger, guilt, and shame. He’s biting down on his lip so hard that you’re sure that he will draw blood. His fists are tightly balled up by his sides as he stares down at his feet.

It’s clear how much Jungwoo is despises his father, but it’s also obvious how terrified he is of his own bloodline. The same blood that courses through the King also runs through Jungwoo’s veins.

Without thinking, you reach forward and slip your hand into his. He looks up at you with wide eyes, but he no longer seems as upset as he did before. You smile at him, giving his hand a small, comforting squeeze.

“Come on,” you say quietly, “let’s go see your mother.”

Jungwoo nods and grips your hand tightly before the two of you leave the throne room, not sparing the King another glance. You can feel his beady stare follow you as you exit, but you pay him no mind. Jungwoo continues to hold your hand as he leads you down the palace halls, and for some strange reason, you don’t feel the need to pull away.

When you arrive at the Queen’s chamber, only then does Jungwoo let go of your hand. He’s by his mother’s side in an instant, taking a knee by her bedside. You trail behind him, gingerly taking a step closer.

The Queen is a beautiful woman, even when she’s asleep. Her arms are folded across her stomach, and her hair is spilled across her silk pillow. She looks like she just came out of a storybook. However, her beauty is marred by the gray pallor of her skin. Beads of sweat dot her hairline, and her face is fixed in a grimace.

You frown. The grayness of her skin is not natural for a human, and you can sense a strange, familiar, energy flowing from within her.

“It seems your mother has been afflicted by a witch,” you say, examining her state carefully.

“What? How is that possible?” Jungwoo whirls around to face you.

“Either someone in her entourage is a witch or they are simply practicing witchcraft,” you explain, placing the back of your hand on the Queen’s forehead. Her skin is cool to the touch, despite sweating, which concerns you ever further.

Jungwoo still looks like he doesn’t really understand, but he doesn’t linger on the topic. “Will she be alright?”

“Yes,” you reassure him, “it’s a simple spell. I just need to make an antidote.”

“What do you need? I’ll have the maids gather them immediately,” he says, hurriedly standing to his feet.

“That will not be necessary. All the ingredients I need are at my cottage,” you say, already halfway out of the Queen’s chambers, “However, I will ask that you lend me a horse so I can go back and fetch them quickly.”

“I’ll go with you,” he offers, following behind you.

“Afraid that I’ll run off, Your Highness?” you ask, stopping in the middle of the hall and raising an eyebrow. He skids to a halt when you turn to look at him, nearly running into you.

“Jungwoo,” he corrects, “and no. I’m afraid you might run into trouble along the way.”

“You have my gratitude for your concern. However, I am certain that I will be able to handle it,” you respond curtly.

Jungwoo sighs, looking down and smiling to himself. You watch him deadpan before glancing back up at you. “Can’t you leave me just a shred of my dignity?”

“Pardon?”

He takes a step closer to you, leaning his head down so he can meet your eyes. You suck in a breath through your nose sharply, only able to match his gaze for a second before having to avert your eyes. His stare is stronger than any magic or spell, and you are no match for it.

“How many times are you going to make me beg?” Jungwoo asks softly, tilting his head.

“I—I don’t understand,” you stammer, focusing your gaze on the tip of his nose.

“I am quite aware you can handle it. I want to go with you because I would like to spend time with you,” he says, the corners of his mouth quirking up.

“O-Oh,” you say, dumbfounded.

From the short amount of time you’ve known him, Jungwoo has always been extremely forward in everything he approaches. But, surely, this is too forward.

“Are you doing this on purpose?” he asks, smirking.

“Doing what?”

“Acting oblivious so I will embarrass myself.”

“No, I—”

“I am only joking, Y/N,” Jungwoo says, laughing.

You blink, staring at him in a daze, before you finally realize that he’s just been teasing you this entire time. Huffing loudly, you whirl around on your heel and begin walking again. Jungwoo easily keeps up with you because of his long strides, no matter how much you quicken your pace.

“Don’t be angry,” he tells you, barely able to hide his grin.

“I have been meaning to say this, but you are much cleverer than you make yourself out to be,” you say in an accusatory tone, glaring at him. “And judging by your behavior now, it seems to be intentional.”

“Is that a bad thing, my lady?”

“Of course it is. It means you’re dangerous,” you snap.

“Then, that would mean you would have to pay more attention to me,” Jungwoo replies smoothly.

You give him a look of disbelief, wondering where the endearing man who had knocked on your door this morning went.

“Come. I’ll show you to the stables,” he says cheerfully.

“I don’t recall saying that I wanted you to go with me,” you remind him.

“Hmm?” he hums, pretending not to hear you.

Shaking your head, you can’t help but laugh a little yourself. It’s difficult not to get swept up in the phenomenon that is Prince Jungwoo. If you were smart, you would put an end to whatever was forming between the two of you. He is simply intrigued by you and wants to joke around, nothing more. Even if it is something romantic, the two of you could never be together. It’s better to draw a line before personal feelings become involved, especially on your end.

It would be so easy to let yourself fall in love with Jungwoo. So easy to let him tear down the walls surrounding your heart. So easy to let yourself need his presence, to crave his touch. So easy to let yourself be happy, even if it’s brief.

But it would be so easy for Jungwoo to destroy you, to trample all over you—and you’re not sure if you could withstand it.

For now, you try not to think about it.

“Have you ridden a horse before?”

You shake your head. “I don’t travel distances in which I will need a horse.”

“And you were planning on going alone, despite having no experience on horseback?” Jungwoo asks, raising an eyebrow.

“How difficult can it be?” you shrug.

He laughs; a bright, clear laugh that sounds like a bell. You’re so mesmerized by it that you almost don’t notice him step closer and place his hands on your waist. You look at him with bewilderment, and he simply smiles at you.

“Excuse me for a moment,” Jungwoo chirps. Without warning, he lifts you up and sets you onto the saddle of his horse as if you’re some sort of child. His hands linger on your waist just for a moment before he pulls them back.

You let out an embarrassing squeak, automatically gripping his shoulders for support. Once you stabilize yourself, you reflexively hit him in the chest before realizing that you just punched the Prince. Luckily, he doesn’t seem that hurt or angry. In fact, it’s the exact opposite.

Jungwoo is grinning so hard that the corners of his eyes have crinkled. He’s looks at you as if you’re the warm breeze during spring, sunshine on a beautiful day, a flower in full bloom—like you’re something wonderful.

“Do not ever do that again,” you warn. You mean to sound authoritative, but your voice teeters between octaves and it comes out as more of a question than a command. You feel like your heart is doing somersaults.

Jungwoo just smiles again and climbs up, situating himself behind you. His arms encase you as he reaches around to grip the reins of the horse. Your back is pressed up against him, and you’re glad you’re turned away from him so he can’t see the bright flush on your cheeks.

“Must we ride together?” you grumble.

“While I admire your confidence, I do not think it would be safe for you to ride on your own,” he explains. He flicks the reins, and the horse begins to trot at an extremely brisk pace.

“You are underestimating me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, my lady.”

“Now you’re being patronizing.”

Jungwoo laughs, and you feel it rustle your hair. Is he really that close to you? What if your hair smells bad? You had washed it with your favorite lavender soap yesterday, but what if—

“I apologize, Y/N. That was not my intention. Once my mother recovers, you are more than welcome to return to the palace, so you can ride a horse by yourself under much safer parameters,” he suggests.

You pause. That sounds like an invitation, and you know that can’t be right. Surely, Jungwoo is not crazy enough to ask you to come back. Right?

You have a sinking feeling that he is genuinely is that crazy, but you won’t allow yourself to even entertain the idea.

Unable to think of a response, you simply keep your mouth shut. The two of you ride in silence for a long stretch of time, but it’s not as awkward as you expect it to be. There’s something about being with Jungwoo that feels natural, comfortable.

“So,” you finally say, “how are you going to find the person who hurt your mother?”

Jungwoo’s face darkens and his expression turns solemn. You suddenly feel guilty. “Truthfully, I haven’t even thought about that yet. I want to make sure that my mother is going to be alright before I worry about anything else.”

“Replace everyone that is close to her, unless you know they are truly trustworthy,” you advise. “Whoever it is has managed to hide their tracks all this time, so you cannot risk it.”

He nods. “Thank you again for helping me once again. I know it was difficult because of my father—”

A loud clap of thunder makes you and Jungwoo jolt, and it’s like a dam in the sky has been opened. Instead of its normal blue, the sky has become a dark, ominous gray in a matter of seconds. The wind howls and the rain comes down with the force of an angry god. Within seconds, the two of you are soaked to the bone. The raindrops feel like you’re being pelted by small, freezing shards of glass.

Jungwoo shifts behind you before you feel the thick material of his cloak drape around your shoulders. He pulls the hood over your head and shields you from the rain with his body.

“Take your cloak back,” you holler over the wind, twisting your body so you can see him. “you’ll get sick!”

You don’t realize how close his face is to your own until he’s right there. Mere inches separate the two of you. You can see the raindrops in his eyelashes and the beads of water on his lips. How could someone look this beautiful in the middle of a thunderstorm?

He smiles softly at you, tugging the hood over your eyes before turning you back around so you can face forward. “I’ll be fine, Y/N.”

Jungwoo only slightly raises his voice, yet his words cut through the chaos. His calm demeanor and the way he’s cradling you against him makes you feel warm and safe. Like you have always belonged in his arms.

“We’re here,” he announces after a few minutes, breathing a sigh of relief. You see your cottage just up a little bit further. “Luckily, we were already close.”

After you arrive, he swings his leg over the horse and climbs down with grace. He holds his arms out to help you, and for once, you let him without any resistance. After finding shelter for his horse, the two of you dash into your cottage. Once you’re inside, you immediately begin to toss wood into your fireplace. With a snap of your fingers, you get a fire started instantly.

You both stand there in silence for a moment, watching the flames crackle as you shiver. However, you’re quickly snapped out of your haze when Jungwoo sneezes. You grab the quilt from your bed and swaddle him in it.

“Sit in front of the fire until you’re warmed up,” you order before going to your bathroom to retrieve some towels.

When you come back, you take a seat beside Jungwoo. Your soaked, ten-pounds-heavier dress, makes a gross squelch as you do. Cringing at the sound, you rise to your knees and begin to dry his hair.

“Don’t worry about me,” he protests, “dry yourself off first.”

“If something happens to you, your father will lop my head off,” you reply. “So, I will most certainly be worrying—”

One his hands reaches up to gently grasp your wrist, and all of your words die inside your throat. His fingertips are cold, yet your entire body feels so hot. He cranes his neck so that he can look up at you. You can see the reflection of the fire in his eyes, literally drawing you in like a moth to a flame.

“Really, Y/N. I’m alright,” he whispers, gaze transfixed on your lips.

You swallow. “I—”

Jungwoo slightly tugs you forward, tilting his head up even further and parting his lips as if he’s going to kiss you. You let out a small gasp, squeezing your eyes shut.

But nothing happens.

You crack open one eye. He releases your wrist and turns away, clearing his throat. His ears are red, and you can see that his cheeks are flushed too. You’re surprised, having never seen him lose his composure like this before.

“Here,” Jungwoo says hoarsely, removing the quilt from around him and handing it to you. “I am plenty warm.”

He takes the towel and begins drying his hair on his own. You stare dumbfoundedly at him with the quilt in your hand. You are certain that he was going to kiss you, so why didn’t he? The confident and headstrong Jungwoo losing his nerve? Impossible.

What’s even worse is that you closed your eyes. You expected it. You wanted it.

The two of you fall quiet, both staring at the fire once again. You can’t tell if the heat on your face is coming from the fire or from within yourself.

“So, you’ve spent almost your entire life in this cottage?” Jungwoo finally asks, turning to look at you.

“Yes,” you simply say as you take another towel and begin drying yourself off. You don’t meet his eye. Frankly speaking, you’re not sure if you can look at him right now without feeling like your heart will burst.

“Do you ever leave? Say, travel for the holidays?”

You laugh. “And where would I go?”

He doesn’t respond.

“I sometimes go to the neighboring town to buy supplies,” you continue. “Though I have to hide my face so the villagers don’t know who I am. Why do you ask?”

“You mentioned before that you don’t go distances in which you’ll need a horse, and that led me to believe that you must not stray far from your cottage,” he answers.

Jungwoo has the same expression on his face that he had when the two of you were in the throne room with the King. There’s a deep crease between his brows, and he’s biting his quivering lip. He looks down at his hands, the towel on his head slipping off and landing on the floor with a pitiful thump. His broad shoulders are drooped, which makes him look smaller.

“Why do you seem so forlorn, Jungwoo?” you ask, carding a hand through his wet hair so you can see him more clearly.

He shakes his head. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Everything,” he says, voice cracking. “My father was the one who drove your mother to death and ruined your life. You’ve been trapped here for the past decade, and it’s all because of us.”

“Jungwoo—”

“I swear to you that your banishment will be lifted,” he promises, placing his hand over your hand that is still in his hair. “I will ascend the throne in a month, and I won’t let you rot away in this cottage. You should be able to see the world. To be free. I—I will not be like my father.”

His words sound more like he’s trying to convince himself rather than you, and you finally understand.

“Going against your father, seeking my help, bringing me to the palace—all of it. Was it because you wanted to differentiate yourself from the King? To prove to yourself that you aren’t following in your father’s footsteps?” you ask quietly.

Jungwoo looks at you with wide eyes. You can see tears glistening in them, and you know you’re right. Sighing, your other hand comes up to rest on his cheek. You lean in, unabashedly staring him in the eyes for the first time since you’ve met him.

“You are not your father. I, of all people, should know best. There is no need to take such drastic measures to convince yourself of it. Just be yourself, Jungwoo. You will be a kind and benevolent king,” you assure him.

“How are you so sure?” he whispers. His voice trembles. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know that you’re selfless and compassionate, even to someone like me,” you answer immediately. “You chose to throw away personal bias and even your own dignity to beg for my help. You are willing to do whatever it takes to help the people you care about. You have more kindness in the tip of your pinky finger than your father has had in his entire lifetime. Your subjects will revere you when you become king.”

Jungwoo is quiet, but you can tell that you’ve hit a chord with him. There’s no longer fear and pain in his expression, but rather, hope. He is still firmly holding your hand to his hair, as if it’s his lifeline. You gently slip your hand out of his grip so you can cup his face with both your hands, lightly pinching his cheeks.

“However, refrain from knocking on witches’ doors willy-nilly from now on. Not many witches are as generous and willing to help like I am. Like your father said, you could very well be tricked into signing your soul away with some,” you warn.

“Signing my soul away to you doesn’t seem so terrible,” Jungwoo muses.

“You must be feeling better if you’re able to make your ridiculous jokes,” you sigh, beginning to pull your hands away.

He catches one of your hands, placing it on his chest and over his heart. You can feel its steady rhythm, versus your own erratic one. You wonder if he’s aware of how effortlessly he’s able to fluster you.

“I’m glad it was you who answered the door, Y/N,” Jungwoo says sincerely. “Truly.”

There he goes again—smiling at you sweetly, as if honey is dripping from his eyes. He gazes at you like you’re his dream, the only thing he wants. It’s almost as if he’s fallen in love with you.

And then the reality of it all crashes down on you.

You yank your hand away from him, scrambling up to your feet. Jungwoo looks up at you with a mix of surprise and concern on his face.

“You’re smitten with me!” you exclaim, pointing an accusatory finger at him. You may have lived most of your life in isolation, but even you can see it now.

“Are you only just now noticing that? I thought I was being quite obvious.” He raises an eyebrow, standing up as well.

“Stop being smitten with me this instant!” you order vehemently.

“If it were only that simple. Besides, I don’t want to,” he replies breezily.

“No, no, no. This cannot happen,” you mutter, beginning to pace.

“Why not?” he asks as he watches you go back and forth.

“We can’t,” you insist.

“Says who?” he shoots back.

“Everyone! Can’t you see? You are the soon-to-be-King, and I am a witch. The witch your father banished. Think about the debacle that would take place if we became lov—er, involved with each other. Your reputation will be ruined,” you explain, frustrated that he doesn’t understand.

“I don’t care what anyone else thinks, except for you.” Jungwoo states.

“Don’t you wish to have any respect from your subjects and allies?” you hiss.

“None of that matters. What do you feel, Y/N?”

“It—it doesn’t matter what I feel,” you say, turning away. “We can never be together anyway.”

He stares at you, long and hard. “You’re afraid.”

“No, I’m realistic.”

“You’re using the fact that you’re a witch as a shield. You don’t allow yourself to feel anything simply because others see you as lesser, and you believe them. You’ve become comfortable like this, blockading off any sort of emotion and using the fear that others have of you as a buffer so you won’t get hurt. Your heart is trapped, just like you are inside this cottage. You’re afraid that if you leave, you might genuinely feel something,” Jungwoo continues, “—No, you’re afraid because you’re already starting to.”

He’s right, of course. Somehow, he’s always right when it comes to you. It’s so easy for him to unravel the feelings you’ve been suppressing. From the moment he laid eyes on you, Jungwoo has always been looking at you. Not the Witch of the Forest, not the fearsome creature that his father banished, not a tool that solely exists to achieve what he needs, but you. He’s found the real you, no matter how hard you try to hide.

But it doesn’t mean you won’t try.

“You talk as if you know everything about me,” you snap, “In reality, we’re nothing but strangers. The heart is a fickle thing, Jungwoo. You may think you’re in love with me today, but what about three days from now? A month? A year? You will be able throw me away without a second thought, but what will be left of me? I don’t have the luxury to act impulsively on my feelings like you. I only have myself, and I can’t afford to be hurt.”

“Do you truly think so lowly of me, Y/N? I would never hurt you,” he promises.

“You cannot predict the future,” you say quietly.

“Exactly! Are you going to live based off sheer possibilities alone?”

You don’t respond.

“What will you do then? Force yourself to never feel anything for anyone and stay in this cottage for the rest of your life?” Jungwoo asks.

“And what if I do?” you retort.

“You may have magic, but no enchantment can overpower your heart,” he says, shaking his head. “It is indeed be fickle at times, but you’ll be surprised to see how resolute and painful it can be.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you say again.

Jungwoo takes a minuscule step closer, gently putting his hands on your arms. He touches you as if you’re made of glass, a pained expression his face. “It does matter. Why do you keep dismissing your feelings like this? Why must you insist on hurting yourself?”

“Because it hurts one hundred times less if I do it, rather than someone else,” you whisper.

A tear falls from your left eye, and Jungwoo’s thumb swipes it away. His hands dwarf your face as they come up to cradle it. He holds your face like your eyes are made up of diamonds and your lips rubies. Pulling you close, his arms envelop your shoulders and your face is buried in his chest. Both of your clothes are still wet, yet it feels like you’ve been embraced by a ray of sunshine.

Your hands remain by your side as Jungwoo hugs you tightly. You’re to afraid to move, fearing that you’ll shatter the moment. You squeeze your eyes shut and try to remember this moment in perfect detail. You tell yourself that this, too, is fleeting.

“You are strong, Y/N. Stronger than any person I’ve ever known,” he mutters against the crown of your head, “but it’s okay now. You are no longer alone. Let yourself cry, get angry, be happy. There’s no need to bottle it up any longer.”

You feel yourself let out a sob, a sob that racks through your entire body. Trembling violently, your hands slowly reach up to place themselves on his back, curling your fists tightly into the fabric of his shirt. Hot tears flow freely from your eyes as you press your face farther into his chest.

You hate yourself for succumbing to your emotions, and you hate yourself even more for doing it in front of Jungwoo. However, it also makes you feel liberated. Jungwoo’s arms are a safe haven, and it makes you want to forget everything and run away with him. It makes you want to be reckless and impulsive, just like him.

“—Your Highness!”

The door to your cottage is suddenly kicked down, and a swarm of palace guards barge in, with the Annoying Guard leading the pack. You try to pull away from Jungwoo, but he holds onto you tighter before moving you behind him. His arm is protectively in front of you, as he shields you with his body once again.

“What have you done to him, witch?” the Annoying Guard demands, pointing his sword at you.

“Nothing,” Jungwoo responds, glaring at him. “What on Earth are you doing? Stand down.”

“You’ve cast a dark spell on the Prince!”

“She has not! I will say it one more time, stand down,” Jungwoo orders.

Seeing Jungwoo’s expression, the Annoying Guard slowly sheathes his sword. “Y-Your Highness? Is it really you?”

“Who else would it be?” Jungwoo huffs with annoyance.

“Why are you protecting the witch?”

“Because you’re trespassing and also threatening her. Why did you come anyway?” Jungwoo asks, gritting his teeth.

“His Majesty told us to make sure you were alright, since it’s storming,” the Annoying Guard ducks his head meekly. “We have a carriage for you.”

Jungwoo tells them all to get out before turning to check on you. By this point, you’ve already collected yourself. You’ve wiped away your tears and regained your composure. You look back at him coolly, refusing to let yourself break down like that again.

“Y/N—”

“Wait for me outside. I just need a second to collect all of the ingredients for the antidote, and then I will be out shortly,” you say curtly.

He looks like he wants to argue at first but obediently retreats a moment later. When he’s out of an earshot, you harshly slap your cheeks. The stinging rings through your entire body, like a wake up call from the gods themselves. You had let yourself pretend for a moment when Jungwoo hugged you, but the cold, sobering truth of it all is more apparent than ever.

If Jungwoo were to truly stay with you, his sanity would be questioned by his peers at every moment. Eventually, he too would begin to wonder if his feelings were conjured by your magic. The happiness the two of you would have will only last for a moment, and you can’t allow yourself to have a taste of it.

Because you know you won’t be able to walk away from him.

The carriage ride back is just as awful as the first time, perhaps even more so. The cloak that Jungwoo lent you has been snatched away by the Annoying Guard, so you’re left to shiver in your half-wet dress. Jungwoo is being swathed in towels and even provided a thick jacket, but all you get is a rag that looks like it’s been used to wipe the floor. Jungwoo tries to give you his jacket, but you ignore him and keep your gaze trained on the window.

When you arrive at the palace, the two of you are immediately ushered up to the Queen’s chambers by a frantic maid. Her condition worsened during the storm, and you can feel her life force fading. The King is there too, but he doesn’t say a word. His lips are in a thin line and his face is somber. You can see in his eyes that he’s pleading with you to save his wife.

You manage to whip up the antidote in record time, carefully pouring it into the Queen’s mouth with a spoon. Within minutes, the color returns to her face and her breathing becomes normal. You place a hand on her forehead, breathing a sigh of relief when you feel warmth return to her skin.

The Queen’s eyes begin to flutter, and you quickly withdraw your hand. You turn to Jungwoo. “She should be alright now. Let her recuperate for a couple of days just to make sure.”

“You have my eternal gratitude, Y/N. I—”

“Jungwoo?” The Queen’s feeble voice whispers. She’s slowly coming to, blindly reaching out for her son. The King perks up too, but he doesn’t move towards her.

“Mother,” he responds immediately, “I’m here.”

You watch him kneel by her bedside, taking her hand. They speak to each other in hushed tones, and you realize that Jungwoo must get his soft-spoken voice from his mother. The tenderness between them warms your heart, but it also wrenches it because it’s even more proof that you don’t belong here.

Taking advantage of the fact that Jungwoo is distracted, you easily manage to slip out of the room. It doesn’t occur to you until you walk out of the palace and pass by the stables that you don’t have any means of transportation. There’s no way any palace guard will agree to take you back by carriage, and you can’t just borrow a horse because you will have to return it.

You’re so deep in thought that you don’t notice a maid walking toward you and crash right into her. She’s carrying a bale of hay and it goes flying, straws of hay exploding into the air. You stagger backwards, trying to avoid it. The maid lets out a squeal and falls onto her rear pretty hard.

“I’m so sorry,” you say hurriedly, stretching out your hand to help her up. “I was distracted and did not see you.”

“It’s alright, I did not see you either,” the maid winces, grabbing your hand and letting you pull her to her feet. “I will sweep this up in a moment. I apologize for the mess, my lady.”

Her words are lost to you. Instead, you’re focused on the immense amount of magic you felt flowing through her when she touched your hand. It’s the strongest magic you’ve felt in a very long time.

“So it was you,” you realize, narrowing your eyes. “Hiding in plain sight.”

The maid blinks before her lips curl into an evil smirk. “Well, well, you’ve finally caught me. Honestly, I’m disappointed. I thought you’d find me much sooner. Surely, finding a measly witch like me should have been child’s play for the Witch of the Forest.”

“I’ve been preoccupied,” you answer, gritting your teeth. “What is your name?”

“Joohyun,” she says. Joohyun flicks her wrist, and the hay is suddenly rearranged into the perfect block it was before. “Are you going to tell Prince Jungwoo, my lady?”

“I will not betray one of my kind so easily. However, I want to know why you chose to harm the Queen.”

“That old geezer, the King, really loves her. Even though he doesn’t act like it. I figured the only way to truly make him suffer the way he made us is to target his family,” Joohyun says breezily, shrugging.

“The Queen and Prince Jungwoo are innocent in all of this. Do not drag them into our affairs,” you chastise, though you understand where she is coming from.

Joohyun raises an eyebrow before she smiles knowingly. “I had been curious as to why you agreed to help the Queen, but I see now. You’re fond of Prince Jungwoo.”

Were you that easy to read?

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you snap.

“Whatever you say,” Joohyun replies nonchalantly, a glint in her eye. “Then, I suppose you won’t mind if Prince Jungwoo is my next target?”

You scowl, your eyes flashing dangerously at her. “Are you threatening me?”

“Of course not, my lady,” she backs down. She still has a smirk on her face, but you can tell she’s nervous now. “It was a joke.”

“It would do you well to watch your tongue. I am warning you now to not lay a finger on the King’s family. Incurring my anger will make you wish that I had turned you over to the Prince,” you say calmly.

“I apologize, my lady.” Joohyun bows her head.

“Go,” you order.

She obediently picks up the bale of hay before scurrying off. You watch her disappear behind the palace doors, releasing the breath you had been holding. You know Joohyun will tread more carefully now, which is a solace to you only slightly. A part of you wants to run back inside and immediately tell Jungwoo, but you force yourself to turn on your heel and begin walking away.

The two of us have nothing to do with each other now, you tell yourself.

As if on cue, you hear a distant voice calling out to you.

“Y/N!”

You know who it is, and you know you should keep walking. But your feet drag to an eventual stop, refusing to listen to your brain. Stiffly, you turn.

Jungwoo is running up to you, bridging the gap between you and the palace easily. When he’s in front of you, he reaches down and grabs the sleeve of your dress with two fingers, as if he’s afraid you’ll run away. For now, you allow him to.

“If you’re leaving, I’ll escort you,” he says, slightly breathless.

“No,” you respond, “I will walk.”

“Y/N—”

“This is not up for negotiation, Your Highness,” you cut him off, harshly tugging your sleeve away. “I did what you requested, so our business is finished. Therefore, there is no need to involve ourselves with each other anymore.”

You can tell you’re hurting him. Jungwoo takes a step closer, and you take one back. His outstretched hand falls limply at his sides. His eyes have lost their usual mischievous sparkle, flickering like a dying ember. You feel like there’s a knife being twisted into your side. How did you manage to connect so deeply to him that you can’t stand to see him upset, despite only meeting him today?

“In two weeks time,” he starts quietly, “my coronation ball will be held. Would you accompany me?”

You let out a small laugh. Even though you’re trying your hardest to hurt him, Jungwoo remains persistent like he always is.

“You know that I will not,” you say, shaking your head. “Ask someone else.”

“I want to go with you.”

You sigh, and against your better judgement, you place a hand on his cheek. He leans into your touch, clutching your wrist. “You will forget about me soon enough, Your Highness.”

“I won’t.”

“Once you’re king, I’ll be nothing more than a bad dream,” you continue. “Don’t let a temporary feeling ruin your future.”

“Why do you keep discounting the way I feel?” he asks furiously. “You keep saying that I’ll throw you away, hurt you, forget about you—it’s cruel, Y/N.”

“It’s the truth, Your Highness. You’ll see.”

“Jungwoo,” he finally corrects again, frustrated. “Please, call me Jungwoo.”

“Joohyun,” you suddenly blurt out, ignoring him. You couldn’t help yourself. If you are truly never going to see him again, you had to tell him.

“What?”

“The maid,” you clarify. “She’s the one who cursed your mother.”

“I—thank you,” he says dumbfoundedly, confused at the sudden change in topic.

“Don’t punish her too harshly,” you request.

“Why?”

“Because I can’t say that I wouldn’t have done the same thing if I were in her position,” you answer honestly.

He doesn’t respond, looking at you with a wistful expression. The two of you fall into a brief moment of silence, staring into each other’s eyes. You don’t have as much trouble holding his gaze anymore, but it still makes your mind go blank. Your eyes travel over every inch of his face, committing it to your memory. You wish you could remember the sensation of his skin against your fingertips.

“Stay,” he pleads.

The hand on his face travels to the back of his neck, so you can bring him down to your level. You step on your tip-toes, placing a feather-light kiss on his cheek. When you pull back, you rest your forehead against his.

“Goodbye, Jungwoo.”

And so, the two weeks pass in what seems like a matter of seconds.

You’ve managed to somewhat return to your routine, but all of your efforts are shattered when the night of Jungwoo’s coronation ball arrives. During the day, you had been aimlessly pacing around in your cottage and doing the same chores over and over again. It was like you were in a trance.

Now, you’re laying in bed—wide awake. You kick the covers off, suddenly feeling extremely hot, before tossing and turning in an attempt to tire yourself out. It is useless; your mind always seems to come back to him.

You wonder if he’ll meet a beautiful princess from a neighboring country at the ball and instantly fall in love with her. The two of them would be perfect for each other. They would be the subject of envy throughout the kingdom. Their reign would be a prosperous one, and they would bear such lovely children. Jungwoo would be so happy, and that hurts you so more than you would like to admit. You know you’re being selfish now, but you—

You nearly scream when you hear a frantic knocking on your door. Instantly sitting up, you listen to the knocking for a little longer. Your heart is racing, and you can’t fight the hope building up in your chest. Getting out of your bed, you slowly approach your door and crack it open.

Jungwoo is standing there, in full royal regalia. He’s panting, shoulders heaving up and down with effort. His collar is popped, and you can see a bead of sweat roll down his neck. His hair is mussed and stuck to his forehead. He’s clutching a piece of paper in one hand.

At first, you think he’s a hallucination but then he speaks.

“By my royal decree, your banishment has officially been lifted,” he declares, still out of breath. He smooths out the crumpled piece of paper and shows it to you. It looks like it was written by a child. There are ink splatters everywhere, the writing is barely legible, and the signature looks like chicken scratch. Most people would not believe it was an official document if it were not for the royal seal stamped at the bottom.

“Wha—”

“You were wrong,” Jungwoo interrupts, “I didn’t forget about you. And trust me, I tried. I tried so damn hard because you were so cruel. You’ve only ever diminished my feelings for you, and you were the one that threw me away when I begged for you to stay. You walked all over my heart like it was your personal doormat, yet I missed you. I wanted to see you again, even if it would hurt. So, I wrote a decree on a piece of parchment paper without consulting or informing any of my advisors and then came to find you during the middle of my coronation ball. And here I am again, pouring my heart out in front of you like a fool—”

You throw yourself at him, and he just barely manages to catch you. His arms are tightly wrapped around you as you grab his collar and crush your lips against his. Jungwoo makes a small noise of surprise before he eventually reciprocates. He kisses you like you’ll disappear at any moment, and he holds you like it too. Even when you pull away, he presses you firmly against him.

“I’m sorry for hurting you,” you mumble against his lips. “You are much too good for me, Jungwoo. But I selfishly missed you too. So much.”

“If it means you’ll be by my side, hurt me as much you’d like,” Jungwoo says, his fingers entangling themselves in your hair.

The two of you share another kiss under the glow of the moonlight, whispering promises to each other that you know you shouldn’t keep.

Yet, you aren’t afraid anymore.

#neowritingsnet #cznnet #ncitynetwork #neocaratnet #nct imagines #nct scenarios #jungwoo fluff #jungwoo angst #nct 127 fluff #nct 127 angst #nct 127 imagines #nct u fluff #nct u angst #nct u imagines #jungwoo #nct #choerrypuffs

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infernwetrust · 5 years ago

Text

A Little Attention Please [Michael Langdon x Jim Mason x Fem Reader] Pt 1.

Summary: Jim grows tired of Michael working on the holidays and in attempt to get his attention says some pretty truthful, but hurtful words, to which the both of you will now have to suffer.

Warnings: pre-smut, angst, swearing, mentions of drug use, a little bit o-violence, arguing

WC: 2.5k

A/N: I’m really getting into the Michael x Jim x Y/N universe and I like it. The next thing I put out will be for Hands On, which can be found here. In the light of the upcoming New Year, here ya go! Thank you for reading! 2 part series. -Juno

They were going at it again. You could hear them. Michael and Jim, arguing. And while this wasn't the first of the many arguments between just the two, this one was serious. This one intensified as the constant shouting and the occasional shuffle of noises, which you knew were things either flying around or breaking, only continued to get louder. Jim was beyond fed up with Michael working all the time, but today hit home for the boy. It was New Years Eve. They were suppose to be getting drunk and high together, like Michael promised. They were suppose to be cooking together, all of them, like Michael promised. And if anything pissed Jim off the most, it was just the fact that they were suppose to be spending time together, but they aren't.

Once again, Michael got wrapped up in his cooperative work. He sits at his desk for most of the day, coming out office every now and then to make sure Jim and Y/N were still okay or to grab another Monster and a snack. He reads and replied to a slew of emails and texts from his Mac. He'd have a couple phone calls and a couple FaceTimes with what he called "the esteemed members of the cooperative". This one phone call in particular set Jim off and for a moment you blocked out the intensifying argument coming from Michael's office to replay the events leading up to this in your head.

***

You and Jim sat around the island counter, your hand lovingly rubbing over his thigh as the two of you stared up at the kitchen TV, watching whatever was on, sharing a bowl of popcorn. In the other room you could hear Michael, yet again, taking another phone call, when he was suppose to be out here with you and Jim.

"I mean what else is there to do before midnight?" you heard Michael ask whoever he was speaking to on the phone. "Just work, work, work, and work, you know that."

You could tell that Jim was getting aggravated as his leg now began to bounce against your hand as he tried to remain focused on the show playing in front of him. In an effort to help, you slowly glided your hand across the bulge that formed between his legs a few minutes ago, around the time you started rubbing his thigh. That was a huge turn on Jim had that you recently discovered. Anything dealing with his thighs, Jim was hard as a rock. Rubbing, biting, scratching, kissing, licking, you name it.

"Oh. Jim and Y/N are in the kitchen. I hear them in there watching Big Bang Theory." Michael said as he continued his conversation. "Ahhhh. They'll be fine for a few more hours. They know how important my work is. Doesn't matter as long as I'm in there before midnight, right?" Upon hearing those words, Jim slammed his hands down on the table, getting up, eyes red from his own intoxication with marijuana.

"Jim please don't." you whispered, grabbing his hand.

"Please don't?" he whispered back, raising his eyebrows at you. "Please don't?! I'm so sick of this Y/N."

"I know, baby." you said, standing up to face him, holding onto his hand. "But you also know Michael's role and what he has to do."

"I don't give a fuck about Michael's role right now. We gave him Christmas. We gave him Thanksgiving. We gave him his favorite, fucking Halloween and the one time we ask him to please be fully present on a holiday, what is he doing?" You fell silent, knowing that Jim was right. "Answer me, Y/N. What is he doing?"

"Talking it up with his cooperative 'bitches'." you replied. That's what Jim liked to call them and Michael often found it amusing, not knowing Jim's angry connotation behind it.

"Exactly." Jim said. "So let me go."

Michael walked in the kitchen, still on the phone, and glanced between the two of you, giving both of you a wink before grabbing a water from the fridge and making his way back to his office, causing Jim to snatch his hand from you, trailing shortly behind.

"No holidays off. Ever. Not even birthdays." Michael said. "I know I can't even rem-,"

Michael's conversation was cut short by Jim, who grabbed his phone from his ear and chucked it against the wall with all his strength, watching as it shattered to pieces. Michael quickly turned around, eyes black as the night sky before quickly realizing it was Jim who appeared in front of him.

"Jim..." he spoke, his voice soft, but also laced with a little bit of anger. You decided that you wouldn't follow Jim into Michael's office because when things got bad between the both of them, it got real bad. "Do you want to explain to me why you just did that? I was in the middle of an important call."

"Why does it matter Mr. Big Shot Anti-Christ?" Jim spat. "You work so fucking much that you have all the money in the world to by a new one right? People at your disposal 24/7 and on call for you, right, Mr. Langdon?"

"Jim what are you getting at?"

"And what do Y/N and I get again on another holiday, nothing." Michael sighed, sitting on the edge of his desk and folding his arms across his chest. He assumed that this was just another one of Jim's little outbursts, so he was going to let him finish. "A couple of kisses and a quick fuck, isn't doing it for me anymore Michael." Jim paused, turning around to look at Michael's giant flat screen that occupied the wall directly in front of his desk. What appeared on it, made Jim's blood boil even more. More often than not, on days that he was especially busy and especially missing his babies, he kept a slide show on of pictures and random videos of the 3. This slide show just happened to be his private album of the 3. Pictures ranged from his nudes, Jim's nudes, your nudes, to the pictures he took during the many sexual adventures the three of you would go on.

"Oh so this is how you get your rocks off instead of spending time with us, huh?" Jim asked, glaring at Michael. "Because why have the real thing when I can just stare at the pictures all day?" Michael chuckled, running his hands through his long blonde hair, his eyes never leaving Jim's. "I'm glad you think this is fucking funny." And without warning, Jim grabbed Michael's PlayStation controller and threw it at the TV.

"Jim what the fuck is the issue?!" Michael asked, starting to get angry. "Breaking things isn't going to solve anything!"

"You Michael. You are the fucking issue! The cooperative is the fucking issue!"

"Jim Jam you know I have to work! I'm not just some regular fucking CEO. Im the-,"

"Fucking anti-Christ. Yeah, tell me something I don't fucking know. So far that's all you've been rather than a lover to me and Y/N. One holiday. That's all we both asked of you and where are you Michael? In here. Again! It's fucking 8PM and we haven't even started cooking because we've been waiting on your ass all day!"

"I don't know how many times I have to explain to you how important it is that I have all these files together and quickly."

"And that's what you have a second in command for. Tell them to fucking handle it! You don't have to over see everything 24/7, Michael! We exist too. We want your attention too. We worship the ground you walk on too, but you know what they don't do?!"

"Jim, don't start-,"

"They don't love you like we do Michael. They follow your fucking DEAD BEAT father, Michael. Not you! Last time I heard, it was Hail Satan not Hail Satan's son."

"I suggest you watch your mouth, Jim Mason."

"Or what?" Jim asked, stepping closer to Michael. "You do all this work to impress your daddy, but where is he? I'm gonna recreate the world in my father's image, but where has father been throughout all of this?"

"He's doing his best!"

"His best? Oh fuck me, Michael. His best?! He left you in the middle of the woods to DIE at one point Michael! He ignores you on days ends, only giving you maybe an answer when he sees fit. And your cooperative bitches? Satan probably doesn't answer them either so of course they're following in your fucking foot steps. Who's the next best person when we can't reach the devil himself? His son."

"Stop." Michael said, sternly, jaw clenched.

"Yet here Y/N and I are, loving you for more than the fact that you're just the anti-Christ and we find ourselves constantly at the bottom because everything is sooooooo important. Fuck you, Michael. I love you, but fuck you. And if it came down to it, since no one really wants to put it in your head, your father would have no problem watching you die."

"I'll snap your neck." Michael said, grabbing Jim by his throat and giving it a squeeze.

"Did you ever really stop to think about it?" Jim questioned. "He's selfish, Michael. There can only be one Satan and if it means watching you suffer and struggle to find answers, then of course he's going to turn a blind eye to his precious boy. And his precious boy, so eager for every one in the world, not just his significant others, to suck him off, is willing to work himself to death for an answer he'll never be able to find." Jim was pushing all the right buttons and he knew it. If he couldn't pull Michael out of his work nicely, dark Jim was going to do it.

***

"Cooperative this! Cooperative that!" Jim yelled, storming out of Michael's office with Michael's MacBook in his hand, causing you to get immediately snap your head up.

"Jim, I swear, if you fucking-," Michael said, trailing behind him.

"You'll what, Michael?!" Jim questioned, abruptly stopping to turn around and face him. "You'll snap my neck? Set me ablaze? Do it then. At least that's some form of attention." And again without warning, Jim smashed Michael's computer, screen open, face down, on the coffee table, right in front of you, causing you to flinch and yelp.

"Jim!" you shouted, but Michael stood perfectly still. And you remembered, vividly, what happened the last time Michael stood perfectly still. You quickly hopped up to your feet, grabbing Jim by his arm and yanking him towards the back door. "Come on, Jim."

"I'm not running from him." Jim said, stiffening his body so you couldn't pull him away any further.

"No, Jim, seriously. We need to step outside. I know he's not saying it, but I've seen this before and we need to give him some space. Now."

"I think he's had enough space from us."

"Jim can you put your anger to the side for one minute and just listen. I know you're upset and you have every right to be, but please, let's just go outside and give Mike some space."

"Whatever." Jim sighed, softening up and letting you pull him away, but before you could even get the door open, Michael used his powers to lock all of them, cocking his head to the side.

"Shit..." you mumbled to yourself. Why did Jim have to be so angry? Why did Jim have to get himself riled up and then go get Michael riled up? How did you always end up in the middle of it?

"Attention." Michael spoke, shifting his stance. "That's what you wanted right? Some attention?" He looked at the both of you, annoyed that he wasn't answered right away. He glared at Jim. "Answer me!"

Both you and Jim still remained silent, knowing that if you gave Michael the wrong answer, he'd snap. But what you both failed to remember is that Michael above all, hates not being answered at all. With the snap of his fingers, both you and Jim were tied up to a dining chair, stripped of most of your clothing.

"Okay my little brats. Since no one wants to give me answer." Jim went to move his lips to say something, but Michael, with the use of his powers, kept him silent. Michael squatted down, taking his blade from his back pocket, gently rubbing it along Jim's skin causing Jim to shiver. Michael could see the fear in both of your eyes. He could smell it more than anything and boy did that give him a rush.

"What's wrong, Jim?" he asked, chuckling. "Satan's son got your tongue? Baby boy, if you wanted me to fuck you so bad, all you had to do was ask. I mean the answer would of been no, considering how terribly you've been behaving, but damn Jim, breaking my shit? Oof. That's an all new low for you. And now look, hmmm? I'm gonna have to break you, starting with that precious little mouth of yours. I could smell your horniness the moment I walked into the kitchen and hear the frustration as I listened to your thoughts."

"Oh and my lovely little Y/N." Michael continued, his sexy, sadistic gaze now falling onto you. "You thought you would get off free, didn't you? Mmmm, no baby, I could hear your thoughts too and feel your frustration. And I guess daddy is so sorry that he's been neglectful of his pups, but what daddy is not sorry for, is working to ensure that the correct people make it to this new world."

"Nonetheless, daddy is done working now, I suppose, since you know, his stuff was broken, so now he has no other choice, but to dish out some attention, yes?" Michael looked at his watch that now read 9:30PM. No, that's not the longest argument him and Jim ever had. In fact the longest argument was between the 3 of you, lasting 4 hours in total. "Wow and only 9:30? This is going to be so much fun." You and Jim shuffled around nervously, but aroused in your seats.

"You see. I'm going to spend the next 2 and a half hours and so on and so forth, ruining the both of you. And if you cum once, if you make a noise louder than the volume I set the TV, I'll be sure that the both of you regret it going into the New Year." Michael stood back up, his hard on, on full display for both you and Jim, turning on the dining room TV to whatever station they would be broadcasting the dropping of the ball tonight.

"We'll start with Y/N, since she's been somewhat decent tonight." Michael beamed.

And all for a little attention.

Taglist: @jimmason @angelicmichael @whatcodysaid

#cody fern #cody fern imagine #michael langdon #michael langdon imagine #michael langdon smut #jim mason #jim mason imagine #jim mason smut #michael langdon x reader #jim mason x reader #ahs apocalypse #tribes of palos verdes #new years

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mattzerella-sticks · 6 years ago

Text

Really Good Friends

Jack collects dust sitting at the kitchen table. Head bowed, fingers laced, and a stern expression across his face - he makes an excellent statue.

Sam finds him in this pose one early morning, glancing between him and the coffee pot. “More important than the coffee,” he mutters, shuffling over to sit across from him. “Jack,” he starts, “is anything wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong Sam, I...” he pauses, biting his lip.

Worry tugging at his nerves, Sam affixes the warmest smile he could muster without his usual caffeine boost. “You can tell me, Jack. I’m here to listen.”

“I was, well...” Jack sighs, unwinding from his tense posture, “I was wondering as to the nature of Dean and Cas’s relationship.”

Sam leans back in his seat, surprised. “Really?” he asks, “Why?”

“I’ve been noticing things,” Jack starts, fiddling with his thumbs, “things that they’ve been doing that seem... more than what a friend would do. Or a brother. I think they might be seeing each other in a romantic sense, like those movies Dean and I watch together that he makes me promise not to tell you- ... which I have, accidentally...”

“Like I don’t know Dean has an unhealthy obsession with chick-flicks,” Sam huffs, waving him off. “And Dean and Cas’s relationship? You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he nods, “they’re just really good friends.”

Jack’s eyes widen, not expecting Sam’s comfort to sound like that. “Are you sure?” he asks, “Because I remember seeing -”

“You’ve probably been watching too many of those rom-coms with Dean,” Sam says, “Although probably a better option than all those cowboy movies... Anyway I can assure you Dean and Cas aren’t dating.”

Speaking of, Dean and Castiel enter the kitchen one right after the other. Castiel leads Dean towards the coffee maker, the hunter holding onto his former angel’s robe. “Morning Sam, Jack.”

“Morning Cas,” Sam says, as if nothing was amiss - like they weren’t talking about them moments ago, within earshot. “Hey, can you make me a cup?”

“Sure thing,” he tells him, “After Dean’s, though, as we all know what he’s like without his first cup of the day.”

Dean grumbles something Jack can’t hear, elbowing Castiel in the side. Castiel rolls his eyes, pressing a chaste kiss to Dean’s cheek that brings a small smile out from deep within the hunter’s sleep-ridden consciousness.

Jack’s eyes widen at the display, glancing between them and Sam hoping for an answer.

Sam turns to face him again. “Y’know,” Sam continues, nonplussed, “sometimes people who have lived with each other over the years... they get close. Comfortable. Attuned with who they are as a person and what they like.”

Castiel readies Dean’s coffee, handing it over to the other man leaning on the counter. He perks up at the smell of coffee, reaching over to snatch it. Kept out of hand, Castiel wags his finger in Dean’s face. “Payment first.”

Dean sighs but dips forward to capture Castiel’s lips in a more intimate kiss. Jack watches as Castiel lowers the mug and fits Dean’s hands around it, however neither seem willing to break the kiss first. Both content in breathing in each other’s morning breath. Sam carried on during all of this.

“It doesn’t mean that there’s anything more going on there. We have to respect how people view their relationship and not read so much into things. If there’s nothing else there we shouldn’t try and push it, ruining what’s already been built. And besides...” Sam smirks, “wouldn’t I know if that were the case? Maybe later today or tomorrow you and I can go out into town and observe how these things naturally play out.” He looks up, Castiel walking towards them with two mugs of coffee in hand. Sam stands, taking his from the former angel. “Thanks,” he says, “I’m taking this in the library.”

“I thought we weren’t going to start research until this afternoon?”

“I’m pushing it up so Jack and I can hang out later,” he says, winking at Jack despite how the younger boy pulls at his hair.

“Don’t overdo it,” Dean says, swinging his arm over Castiel’s shoulders and knocking their heads together.

“I’ll do it to the right amount!” Sam leaves them, Jack seething with confusion. When the other man is at a safe distance away he pounces, launching upwards and slamming his hands on the table.

Dean and Castiel startle, whipping towards him. “Jack,” Castiel says, “what’s the matter?”

“Are you two dating?”

They glance at each other, frowning. “Yeah,” Dean says, gesturing between them with his coffee, “I thought it was pretty obvious.”

Jack scoffs, pointing towards the exit. “Then why doesn’t Sam know!”

“Sam knows.”

Like a puppet whose strings were cut, Jack collapses into his seat. Exhausted from the many turns of this ride, he meeks out a demand for an explanation.

“Sam was one of the first to know,” Dean starts, “I mean, how could I not? Before I even thought about... taking any steps with Cas, I asked Sam about it. Wanted to know how he’d feel.”

“And Sam has been very generous,” Castiel adds, “taking single rooms so we could enjoy some alone time. Allowing us to work cases together.”

“Except,” Dean says, smirking, “one day he was a little too... impatient. Kid bursted in on Cas deep in my -”

“He caught us in a very intimate position,” he spoke over Dean, glaring at him. Dean blew a kiss Castiel’s way and nuzzled his chin, delighting in the five o’clock shadow.

“After that,” Castiel continues, blushing, “his reception to our union has... shifted.”

“Like he hit a restart button up here,” Dean taps at his forehead, “Compartmentalizing all that we do in the wrong boxes that we used to - all that macho crap Cas and I kept up that just made us miserable. Believing ‘Cas is my best friend only’ this and... ‘he’s like a brother, Sammy’ that. ...’I love you but totally in a platonic way don’t get any ideas’ - all nonsense. And he’s accepting it as fact. I get it though... probably a defense mechanism or some shit. I mean I’d hate to know what I’d be like if I walked in on him getting...” At Castiel’s stern look Dean sheepishly withdrew into his shoulders. “Like that,” he finishes lamely.

“So you two are dating,” Jack says, “and Sam is... processing?”

“Hopefully he’ll come to accept what he saw,” Castiel shrugs, “Until then it’s a waiting game.”

“Or,” Dean smirks devilishly, “Jack can whip up some sort of wall that Sam can use to block out the memory - like he did with ol’ Lucifer.”

“That didn’t work then and I doubt it’d work now.”

“Then should we shock him again? Maybe it’s like amnesia and a second hit will bring him back?”

“I swear, I don’t know why I put up with you...”

Dean lays his coffee on the table and wraps his other arm around Castiel to pull him closer, gently pressing a kiss to his nose. “Cause you love me, angel.”

“Yes, yes I do,” Castiel hums, brushing their lips together, “...But only after you’ve had your coffee.”

Dean shoves him away, snickering. “Way to ruin an intimate moment, assbutt.”

“Assbutt? I thought that was my curse word Dean?”

“You don’t get to use it when you’re being one... assbutt!”

“Dean!”

Jack snags Dean’s coffee in the chaos, sipping at it. Content in watching his fathers bicker lovingly while his other father relaxes in his ignorance, the possibility of remembering hanging overhead like the Sword of Damocles. Sitting there, though, he can’t help but agree with Sam.

“This is nothing like the movies,” he whispers, smiling, “this is much better.”

#Supernatural #Spn #Spn fic #Spnfanfic #Supernatural fanfiction #Jack Kline #Sam Winchester #Dean Winchester #Castiel #Destiel #deancas #destiel fanfic #deancas fanfic #Sam doesn't know #and chooses not to know

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alltheloveinthegalaxy · 7 years ago

Text

Beast of Burden Chapter 3

Ch. 3 Momentary Peace

Hey y’all. We out here. This one is explicit, so younglings, be warned...er go away. Hope ya enjoy! Please leave a comment if you have any suggestions or requests for the story even. I love feedback :)

Rey breathed Ben’s air as she rocked against him, controlling the rhythm of his hips with hers as she moved on top of him. Guiding her hips with his large hands, he gazed up at her.

His breath was ragged as he sputtered grunts of effort for her. He reached up to take her enticingly enlarged breasts in his hands, her nipples swollen and pink.

“Ah!” She winced.

“Sorry!” He was horrified, releasing her.

“No, no, it’s okay,” she whispered, lowering herself to his face to brush her lips against his.

“I keep hurting you,” he murmured against her lips as they maintained a steady rhythm. Sweating and merging together. Rey’s belly was now an obvious spectacle without her cloak and tunic on to hide it and even that barely did the job.

“No, it feels so good Ben, please don’t stop,” she whisper-moaned into his ear. He marveled at her, admiring each and every new change in her body. He loved the sight of her slightly protruding belly rubbing against him as she received him.

“Oh Ben, yes!” Rey screeched. “Oh stars Ben, right there!”

She rolled onto her back after they shared an orgasm that shook them both to the core as they prayed with the Force to never end.

Her head spinning, she basked in the feeling. Ben rolled over and kissed her stomach.

Rey and Ben had not seen each other for over a month as both of them had to return to the opposite sides of the war to act as if nothing was going on — as if Rey wasn’t carrying Ben Solo’s child.

But here they lay, in their secret hiding flat on Takodana — a secluded structure in the woods where Maz had promised their privacy and safety. Beams of sunlight streaked their bed. It was 3 in the afternoon and they had been at it since, well, probably around 7 am.

Rey’s libito had transformed into a beast of its own — but Ben didn’t seem to mind. Although he was starting to grow tired. His eyelids began to flutter open and closed as he drifted off in exhaustion.

“You can’t go to sleep!” Rey said, playfully hitting him with her pillow.

“Ugh,” Ben sighed, turning away from her on his side. “You’ve worn me out. I can’t anymore today....And are you sure all of this activity is good for the- the-”

“Baby?”

“...Yeah.”

“Ben you’ve got to learn how to say that word. You’re going to be holding one in 5 months,” she chuckled. “Holding our baby.”

“Okay, well whatever, you didn’t answer my question.”

“Maz said it’s perfectly fine,” Rey grinned, proudly.

Ben covered his face with his hands in embarrassment.

“You asked Maz?” He groaned.

“Of course! Who else was I supposed to ask? Your mother?” She teased.

Ben rolled over onto his stomach and pulled the pillow over his head. Now she’d done it.

“She took the news well...” Rey said softly, standing up to pull her robe over her shoulders.

“What?” Ben pulled the pillow down slowly, to reveal his eyes. “What the kriff do you mean?”

“Don’t swear at me Solo,” Rey mused, tying the robe closed and walking out of the room.

Ben tossed the bedding aside and stood to follow her, still completely naked.

Rey strode into the kitchen to boil water as Ben trailed after her.

“Rey, what did you do?” Ben said, leaning against the cooler, towering over her and blocking her from opening it.

“Move please, I’m going to fix breakfast.” She smiled.

“You don’t know how to cook and besides it’s 3 o’clock in the afternoon,” He pointed to a ticking wall clock.

Rey folded her arms.

“Okay, I told your mother that I’m pregnant.”

Ben’s jaw dropped as he raised his hands up to gesture a “what the kriff” at her, although the words never left his lips.

“She knows it’s yours, I told her everything.”

“Everything?”

“Everything.”

Ben swallowed and moved out of the way of the cooler, raising his arms in the air in surrender.

“Don’t worry Ben, everything will be kept secret, for now. It’s going to be fine. We’ll sort out the details later.”

He stormed out of the kitchen, trying to contain his anger and shock. He needed a moment to process this — or forget about it if that was possible.

She chuckled, watching his naked backside stride out of the room, clenching his fists as he left.

When he reemerged 30 minutes later he wasn’t dressed his typical astringent First Order attire. Although his new garb wasn’t far off. He wore a jet black jedi - resembling tunic. Loosely fitted with long sleeves, the robe reaching his mid thigh was cinched with a tight thick belt at the waist.

Rey’s eyes were on him, he had her attention.

He wore his usual tall, tight fitting black boots with black loser fitting pants. Her lightsaber dangled from his belt as he walked passed her to pour himself a cup of caf from the pot she’d just made. His hair was still slightly wet from the fresher and his skin smelt of minty soap.

As she followed him with her eyes, Rey dropped the ceramic bowl of food she was attempting to prepare. It shattered on the tile floor, splattering a mismatched concoction of ingredients all over the ground.

“Rey!” Ben reacted, spitting hot coffee back into his mug.

“I’m sorry, you startled me,” she reasoned, kneeling down to clean up the mess.

“How so? By the way this coffee is very burnt. Don’t worry about this, I’ll clean it up, go sit down.” He shooed her away with a flick of his wrist.

“Where did you get those clothes?” Rey said, standing up with pieces of the broken bowl in her hands. Ben grabbed a broom to sweep up the food off the ground.

“Maz left them here,” Ben said, unaffected.

“They look like Jedi robes,” she pointed at him. “They’re nice...you look so...you look like a Skywalker...you look like a Solo.”

He flushed with hues of red all over his face, neck and hands as he tried to ignore her. She walked away from him to place the broken pieces of the bowl in the garbage shoot.

The open windows let the light of sunshine fill the tiny kitchen as the trees sang in the wind outside. Rey was happy to be back the midst of a lush forest — this time she wasn’t running away from Kylo Ren. She was defeating him, one day at a time, breaking down his walls to reveal a man who acted and looked more and more like Ben Solo with each passing day.

She sat down, gazing at him lovingly.

“What are you doing with my lightsaber?” She asked.

“It’s technically mine.” He said, pouring her pot of caf down the sink and lighting the stove on to brew a new one.

“It called to me,” she insisted.

“I’m just borrowing it,” he said. “You can’t share?”

Rey smiled sheepishly.

“Are you going to make me breakfast?” She changed the subject, still admiring his new look.

“Sure,” he said. “Whatever would you like, princess?” He asked sarcastically, still cleaning up debris from her spill.

The word sort of slipped out of his mouth. It was something his father used to say to his mother when he was annoyed with her or teasing.

Ben gritted his teeth, regretting his Freudian slip. Shit. What the kriff is happening to me? He winced, shaming himself and rolling his eyes as he turned his back to her to grab an arm full of vegetables out of the cooler.

Rey sort cocked an eyebrow at him, also taking note of the out of character remark.

“Princess?” Rey laughed. “Are you joking?”

“Yes,” Ben blushed.

“Since Leia is technically a princess, would that make you a prince?” She blurted clumsily after skimming through his thoughts. She took a sip of caf.

“No.” he shot. “Get out of my head.”

“A prince,” she trailed off. “I never thought about that before...”

“Stop it.”

“You started it.”

“What do you want to eat, Rey?”

“I would like three eggs, rye toast, hashbrowns, pancakes from that Takodana mix, crispy potatoes and ooh there was some left over beef from last night’s stew and—”

“Yes, I got it, you’re hungry.” Ben almost argued with her, to insist that she eat something a little more nutritious but buttoned his lip as he remembered her her life as a starved scavenger.

He’d make her whatever her heart desires. And he’d dressed in those ridiculous Jedi robes just to make her smile — and also because they were clean.

Rey drew a luxurious breath, finally washing her partner’s sweat off of her under the warm pressure of the stone fresher. She could see Ben outside through a tiny window as she peeked at him on her tip-toes.

He was aggressively slicing wood with the blue blade of her repaired saber for the old wood burning stove that would keep them warm tonight. Perhaps he was training simultaneously.

She felt her stomach twist. Oh maker, not again. She hoped she wouldn’t vomit. As her pregnancy advanced, so did her nausea, which seemed to be getting worse by the day. She closed her eyes and tried to breathe deeply, as Maz had recommended.

As she turned the shower off and reached for her towel to wrap around her, she felt the ground rumble beneath her feet.

Woah...now I’m really going to be sick.

Ben’s senses kicked into high alert after a ripple in the ground knocked the pile of wood he was so carefully stacking, to the ground.

That was no earthquake. That was a ship landing.

The all too familiar sounds of TIE fighters zoomed above the trees. First, panic set in and then, an eery calm.

They were here. The First Order. Whether or not they knew he was there was not apparent but he didn’t have time to sit around and wait for them to find him.

Jumping over the pile of logs, he sprang toward the cabin, throwing the door open and hurrying to their sleeping quarter.

“Ben, they’re here-”

“I know!” Ben said. “Where are my clothes?”

“They’re in that wash bucket over there, I figured they needed to be cleaned,” she said, biting her nails.

“Kriff,” he muttered, digging his lightsaber out of a black box.

“What are we going to do? Do you think they could find us out here?”

“Yes,” he said. “Get dressed now. Take this, you’ve got to get far away from here,” he said, handing her the lightsaber as he clipped his own to his belt. Rey tugged on her usual clothing as quickly as she could, her hair still wet.

“Do you think Hux suspects—”

“I don’t know.”

An explosion sounded outside, shaking the cabin and knocking Rey into him as as she tried to contain a scream.

“Rey,” he grabbed her hands, bringing them to his chest. “You’re going to have to run. On foot.”

It wasn’t the prospect of running that scared her but the worry that the First Order may have figured their scheme out — that she might never see Ben again.

“What about you?”

“it’s better if they don’t see us together,” he insisted. “You’re going to have to trust me.”

She swallowed hard, staring into his eyes. But her confidence in herself did not waiver.

“Okay,” she said, determined.

“I’ll come back for you, sweetheart,” he said, clipping her lightsaber to her belt for her and kissing her forehead. “I promise.”

And with that, she ran out of the cabin and into the woods. She ran as far as her legs would take her through the Takodana forest.

To be continued...

#Reylo #reylopregnant #reylo fanfic #fanfic #star wars #rey and ben solo #ben solo #kylo x rey #rey of jakku #the last jedi #kylo ren

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fungusbabey · 7 years ago

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man enough - jojo x reader

in which jojo is assaulted and belittled by the delanceys and gets the comfort he not only deserves, but needs.

word count: 1,544

warnings: implies rape attempt, physical assault, a couple fem pronouns at the beginning

jojo panted heavily, his eyes darting as he pressed himself against the harsh brick wall. he knew the delanceys more than likely saw him duck into the alley, but he knew he couldn’t outrun them for much longer so he threw himself into the dead end. damn it, he knew this one was a dead end. why didn’t he use his head for once and wait for an open alley?

he shuddered with every breath and did his best to ignore the jagged bricks that were digging into his back through his shirt, which was worn thin from a couple years of wear. the sounds of manhattan bustled on, ignorant to the impending doom that was awaiting the newsboy desperately attempting to conceal himself in the dirty, cramped alleyway; people passed, other newsies shouted questionable headlines, bakery pans clattered.

he let out a dismayed sigh when two large figures appeared in the entrance of the alley. backlit by the new york sunset, the shadowed delanceys slowly, menacingly, methodically approached him. oscar’s brass knuckles scraped eerily against a wall, the echoey grating not unlike that of nails on a chalkboard. jojo cringed, digging his nails into his trembling palms.

“we heard ya got a girl, jojo,” morris mumbled into jojo’s ear as he leaned in, his body mere millimeters from his. “how’d that happen?” his hot breath rushed over jojo’s face and he froze, pressing closer to the wall in an attempt to add more space between their bodies.

“i’s good to her,” he squeaked in a weak attempt to defend himself. morris chucked and turned to look over at oscar, keeping one hand firmly planted on the wall next to jojo’s head.

“that’s a good one, isn’t it, oscar?” he cackled. oscar nodded and sniggered along, approaching the pair with a sneer. morris stepped away, offering the victim to his brother.

oscar slowly, deliberately pressed his brass knuckles to jojo’s face and dragged the cold metal down his jaw.

“you can’t treat a girl right. hell, you act like a damn kiddie. you’s not man enough,” he spat, ramming a rough hand into the weaker boy’s shoulder. morris nodded in agreement and rubbed his fist.

“i’s a man,” jojo argued, his brows furrowed in confusion.

“a man doesn’t run from a fight,” oscar hissed, slamming his fist into jojo’s stomach. he groaned, the air knocked out of his unprepared body. his brain was too cloudy to think up an argument.

when his breath returned, he attempted to jerk away from his aggressors. his fight or flight had kicked in and, as usual, every atom in his body was screaming at him to run as quickly as he could. maybe they were right.

oscar didn’t miss a beat. his arm snapped over and he latched onto the back of jojo’s shirt collar, roughly yanking him back. with his other hand, he slammed his brass knuckles into his jaw at full force. jojo cried out, flinching away from him. oscar dragged him back against his chest, hostile fingers digging into his arms.

“didn’t you hear me? or are you just not a real man?” he chortled.

“yeah, that one,” morris replied in his place, tugging jojo’s head back by his hair. “not a real man. the girl just pities him.”

that’s when it got worse. more dehumanizing. more humiliating. the delanceys through punch after punch, kick after kick. and what did jojo do? nothing. of course, there were initial attempts to fight back, but he quickly learned that trying to get a punch of his own in when he was outnumbered two to one was counterproductive and caused even more harm to him.

after that came the attempts to block the attacks. his forearms were attacked so brutally that he became so sore that he retracted them in fear that they’d get broken. he crumpled to the ground and took it.

silent tears poured down his lightly freckled cheeks and sobs wracked his body in addition to the kicks and punches. he was vaguely aware of them chattering to each other throughout the beating, but was too absorbed in his suffering to listen. he didn’t know if he’d make it out. it felt like he’d been there for hours and like there were many more ahead.

suddenly, it all stopped. a light jangle replaced the talking, and he slowly lifted his head. one eye was already swelling shut and blood trickled from his nose.

oscar stood to the side looking smug, and morris was undoing his belt, leering down at jojo.

“how ‘bout i show you a real man, kiddie?” the words seemed to come in slow motion and something stirred within him. despite every bone in his body feeling shattered, every muscle feeling stretched out, every inch of skin feeling bruised, he ran. he pushed past morris and he ran. he ran faster than he ever had before and the wind whistled in his ears and his heart pounded and people stopped to stare as the bloodied newsboy ran. the sun had nearly set.

you had already been at the lodging house for nearly an hour. you were starting to wonder where your boyfriend was, sure, but you weren’t too worried. the headline wasn’t great today and jojo always refused to make up a better one to sell more. he hated lying. he was fine, right? of course he was. he always was.

“you seen jojo?” albert mumbled to race. “he’s usually back by now.”

“nah, haven’t seen him since before lunch,” he replied casually, lying back on the floor.

albert shook his head to himself. it was dark outside. but jojo was fine, right? of course he was. he always was.

jojo threw the door open and slammed it behind him. he heaved for breath and, dazed, looked around at the stunned faces staring at him in shock. in awe. they were horrified.

the room was silent apart from his jagged gaps for air. it took five seconds, no more and no less, for you to stand and walk cautiously to his side.

“jojo, baby, are you... what happened?” you asked softly, not daring to touch him. he shook his head and his face crumpled as he threw his arms around you and buried his battered face in the crook of your neck. you knew he was getting blood on your shirt. you couldn’t have cared less if you tried.

you carefully, uncertainly, lovingly hugged him back.

“delanceys,” he spoke, his cracked voice muffled by your shirt. the room’s energy shifted from confusion fear to anger. they all stood and looked to jack for orders. they liked to think they were independent, but when it came down to it, they always turned to their leader. jack took race, albert, finch, buttons, and mush and they wordlessly stormed out of the lodge and spilled into the street. albert had his stick and finch had his slingshot. they were ready for war.

the rest of the newsies went upstairs, knowing that you two of you needed your space. he reluctantly lifted his head to face you. you couldn’t help but tear up at the sight of his beaten features. his eyes welled with fresh tears.

“don’t cry, darlin’. i’s okay,” he whispered, pressing his swollen, bleeding lips against yours in a light, yet oh-so desperate kiss. his kiss slowly got needier and after a couple minutes, you slowly pulled away.

“what’s wrong, baby? what’d they tell you?” you softly questioned. he only kissed you like that after someone belittled him and made him insecure about himself. it took a lot to make jorgelino josephino de la guerra insecure. he was too busy making others happy to care about himself.

“they said i wasn’t man enough for you,” he admitted, his head dropping in shame.

“that’s bullshit, jojo. you’s more than man enough. you’s perfect,” you assured, running and impossibly light hand through his hair to avoid causing his any more pain.

“no, they is right. i ran from a fight,” he argued. his puppy dog eyes begged you to hold him.

“c’mere, handsome. let’s go lay down,” you offered, leading him to the nearest bed. his wounds could be tended to in the morning. now, he needed your support.

he winced as my laid down and you frowned. he smiled weakly, kissing your hand.

“i’m alright, y/n. a little soakin’ ain’t gonna be the death of me,” he assured. you cautiously wrapped your arms around him and held him close. he closed his eye that wasn’t already swollen shut and sighed contentedly as he nuzzled into your chest. occasionally, when he would shift, he would wince and groan in pain. you’d press a tender kiss to his head, and, with effort, he’d tilt his head up to peck your lips, a small, dimpled grin gracing his features. he looked as beautiful as he always did; nothing could make him look any less than flawless in your eyes.

when the small gang returned with a bloody stick and a partially-sated thirst for revenge, they put a blanket over the two of you and wordlessly shifted through the lodge to their bunks, ready for a good night’s rest. after all, you all had papers to sell at sunrise.

[tag list: @chipmunk-anon, @gaymur, @fox-anon... don’t think i said i’d tag anyone else??? i’m so sorry if i did!!]

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akaiikowrites · 8 years ago

Text

bruise me up a chastity belt

Notes: blame @stargazershiro for encouraging me. this is absolute size kink trash about Keith Suffering (TM) for That Dick. i regret a lot. i regret nothing.

Also On: Ao3

They’re in a pause in the endless fight against the Empire and Pidge asks Keith to try out the new training AI she installed in the gym. It’s meant to learn from their techniques, like a real opponent, and maybe finally give Keith a challenge after he started consistently beating Training Level 8. Put all of them down for scared and horny, when that happened, but no one’s gonna say shit because Keith is forever armed. And anyway, what’s important is they’re all there to witness this momentous occasion when Keith beats the shit out of yet another piece of machinery while Pidge holds back tears.

Fifteen minutes in and there’ve been no tears—yet. The AI is well programed and it’s picked up on Keith’s signature move. Namely, throwing himself headfirst at his opponent and rolling through the blow. There’s a reason it’s his signature and now that he can’t use it, Keith’s got this gleam in his eye, something part calculating predator and part manic joy.

Behind them, the door to the gym hisses open. None of them look. Shiro and Allura had been in some kind of miniature conference with a new planet that planned to join the coalition. It’s probably just them coming to check in on the progress with the AI.

Who are they kidding? They still wouldn’t have looked even if they didn’t know who it was behind them. For one key reason:

Keith, blocking a downward swing of the AI’s sword with his own bayard. Sweat stains the back of Keith’s shirt and clings lovingly to the hard line of his jaw. Every muscle of his body is flexed. The light does filthy things with the curve of his biceps. Intensity outlines everything about his expression and it gives a dangerous edge to the grin that tugs up one corner of his mouth. In a single, smooth motion he ducks out of the way of the sword and brings one leg up in a vicious roundhouse that catches the AI right in its nonexistent stomach. Plastene crunches and the AI folds.

They’re ready to congratulate him—Pidge’s eyes are already filling with tears as a Sarah McLachlan song plays in the distance—when the AI gets one last unexpected hit in. It catches Keith across the hips as it goes down. Like it’s trying to drag him down with it. There’s an audible grunt from Keith as the blow lands and he loses his balance.

Rather than try to catch himself Keith deactivates his bayard and rolls clear. Comes to his feet. Reactivates the bayard and readies his stance. Steady indigo eyes focus on the no longer moving AI. “Is it down?” he asks Pidge after several long seconds.

Pidge blows out a long huff that’s not quite a sigh. “Yes.” Everyone pretends the light sheen to her eyes is just the reflection of the gym lights off her glasses. They’re good friends that way.

The next minute and a half is business as usual. Pidge quizzes Keith about reaction times and prods at the AI’s exoskeleton mournfully. Allura congratulates him sincerely on his improvement under the Blade’s guidance and suggests he teach her that last move. Hunk and Lance argue about the appropriate sound effects in recreating the fight. And Shiro gives Keith one heartfelt, brotherly, extremely platonic clap to the shoulder and says, “That was quick thinking, Keith,” while Keith looks up at Shiro with heartfelt, brotherly, extremely platonic adoration.

Finally there’s a pause as Keith pulls up the hem of his shirt to wipe at his sweaty face and they all take a moment to eye his whipcord strong body. It’s always great when he does this because his training pants are slung low on his hips and it’s— It’s fucking something. Only today, in addition to the sweat trailing down his defined stomach muscles and the suggestive trail of hair disappearing into his waistband, there are bruises.

“Is that from the training robot?” Allura asks. There’s real concern in her voice and she’s already reaching toward the ugly purple marks.

Hunk leans forward but doesn’t try to touch. “Um, yeah, buddy, that looks pretty bad.” Then he looks over at Pidge, still crouched over the AI, and adds, “We don’t have to go against that thing right?”

Maybe Pidge wouldn’t have said anything if the half mangled AI hadn’t been brought into things, but her shoulders stiffen as she snaps, “It wasn’t the AI. It only caught Keith’s right side but those bruises are around his whole waist. And anyway they wouldn’t be that color if he had just gotten them!”

Allura finally makes contact and pokes one index finger into the mottled edge of the bruise that comes right below his belly button. “Does it hurt? We should get you to the healing pods. This could slow you down if we have to—”

“It’s fine,” Keith says. His voice sounds normal. Rough with vague irritation and self-assured pride in his ability to not give a fuck about blue-black bruises ringing his hips. It’s his face that isn’t normal. A flush covers his cheekbones and his eyebrows have scrunched together like some demented caterpillar. Plus, he’s released his tee shirt in order to start waving vaguely with his hands like that will punctuate how fine it is.

To think, only ten minutes ago they were all thinking about how stoic and badass and handsome he was.

Dodging out of the way of his increasingly desperate gesturing, Allura puts her hands on her hips and presses her lips together in a considering line. For a good three seconds it seems like she’ll be the one to call him on the bullshit. Like she’s just figuring how exactly she’s going to deconstruct it for maximum effectiveness and efficiency.

Lance beats her to it. Smugness infuses his voice as he rocks back on his heels. “I bet he got them last night,” he says. All of them whip their heads around to look at him as they remember that yeah, he does share a hall with Keith, he might’ve heard something. Credence is lent to this theory by the way Keith’s hands slow and stop. “There was an awful lot of moaning and grunting happening. Get stuck in the shower again, Keith?”

First off, Lance was the one who got stuck in the shower months ago. And he’d gotten a few bruises for it before he managed to squirm his way out. And Keith may have brought it up at an inopportune moment when Lance was being obnoxious as a way to shut the conversation down. Second off, let it never be said that Lance couldn’t hold a petty grudge if it suited him.

“I...” Keith’s eyes dart from face to face. There’s a twitch to his hands like he’s seriously wishing he could throw a smoke bomb and run. If they weren’t his best friends in the universe and also blocking the exit there’s a good chance he would. “Um...”

“Mm, don’t think so,” Hunk says. He’s barely paying attention to Keith now. “Your bruises were more on one side, remember? Because you got stuck against the wall.”

An inarticulate noise of betrayal escapes Lance at this. For the moment he’s headed off by his own embarrassment, but Pidge pushes her glasses up her nose and finally focuses on the conversation instead of the AI. They all know Pidge is a far more dangerous opponent. Which she proves by making eye contact with Keith and saying, “So how did you get those bruises, Keith?”

“I got...trapped...” Ignoring Lance’s abrupt crow of victory, Keith rushes onward, “Between my bed and a...” Only the especially observant would notice the flicker of his eyes toward where Shiro stands behind the rest of the group. “A hard thing.”

Important to note here is that Keith cannot lie for shit. He can evade, he can stretch, he can imply. But he’s made up of nobility and spite and truth and it goes against every fiber of his being to outright lie.

Bless Allura, she’s the one who goes in a slow, almost confused way, “A hard thing? You mean the wall?” When he doesn’t answer, she says, with a little more animation, “You got stuck between the bed and the wall?” Like she’s solved the puzzle. Which, since Keith’s refusing to meet any of their eyes and has crossed his arms defensively, it seems she has.

For the first time since this whole mess started, Shiro speaks up. “It’s lunch time and Pidge has tested her AI. Why don’t we take a break?” The mystery’s been solved and they all have better things to do now. No one really notices the irritated look that Keith shoots toward their fearless leader as they all tumble out of the gym in pursuit of space goo or the way Shiro mouths stay with the kind of command he usually reserves for the battlefield.

This time when the gym door hisses it’s as it shuts behind the rest of the Paladins. They’re alone. “Locking sequence engage,” Shiro says. It’s a formality. One that makes Keith shiver.

Feeling like prey—fuck but he loves this feeling when it comes to Shiro—Keith stays still as Shiro prowls toward him. Discontent illuminates Keith’s face as he struggles not to turn his head to keep eye contact as Shiro steps behind him. It’s worth it when Shiro pushes his hands under the sweat soaked tee to press deliberately against delicate purple bruises. Hot breath teases the shell of Keith’s ear as Shiro asks, “Still like them?”

“Yes,” Keith says. Moans, really, letting the word drag out over too many syllables as he arches into the touch.

Because Shiro’s hands fit just so around the slender curve of Keith’s waist. His thumbs brush one another as they settle into the hollow dip of Keith’s spine and his fingers flare possessively over the hard line of Keith’s stomach. It’s a perfect fit. A perfect, aching, bruising fit.

#you thought i had shame?#i have no shame #this is nothing but thirst #kaii writes sheith

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darknessdancing · 8 years ago

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Whirlwind Chapter Two

Hey y’all! I am finally getting chapter two up. Sorry it has taken so long. I am v forgetful and lazy! I really hope you guys like this. I am really excited for this fic and just writing it makes me happy so i hope reading it makes you guys happy! enjoy!!

warnings: kinda angsty, warning, mentions of slutting around (im looking at you xiu) smut/mentions of smut

“I know, I know. I’m so sorry love, I really did want today to be an us day, but you and I both know this can’t be ignored baby,” You cooed apologetically to Suho. Your arms were around his waist and you were standing on your tiptoes to rest your chin on his shoulder. You nuzzled the side of his face with your nose.

“I know, I know… I just wish it wasn’t this way. I was really looking forward to a day with just the two of us. It has been so long since we have had one of those,” He sighed.

“I understand,” You said sighing as well, “I love you, Junmyeon.”

He smiled at the use of his real name and turned around pulling you into his warm, welcoming arms.

“I love you too, Y/N,” He kissed you, “So much.”

You smiled brightly at him and kissed him deeply.

“As much as I love a good kiss, since it's not me, we gotta go,” Baekhyun said. Suho glared at him and bared his teeth, something Baekhyun took as a sign to leave. You giggled and shook your head.

“Come on, Daddy, let's go,” you coaxed, smacking his ass as you walked out the door.

“One more,” he said pulling you back against him, spinning you around. He kissed you lovingly.

“Alright, alright. Now we go,” You said kissing his cheek and finally walking out. You got into the main living room of the house where all of the boys were now standing.

“Alright is everyone clear on what to do? Get in get out. Should be a pretty cut and dry “steal back our drugs” type of show,” you told them while placing a gun in it’s holster on your outer thigh, beneath the holster for throwing knives. To say you were armed and dangerous was an understatement. The boys were all armed in similar fashion, each carrying more than enough protection. A symphony of ‘yes’ filled your ears, followed by the sound of soles hitting wooden flooring as everyone quietly filed to the side door.

“It’s been ages since you’ve gone on a retaliation with us, Whirlwind,” Chen teased after matching your pace, “You’re so hidden sometimes, I forget that you’re even handy with that pistol. I’d be lying if I hadn’t lost faith for a while.”

For a moment, you smiled fondly to yourself at the familiar nickname. You let it linger for a bit, even as you stepped out into the brisk air of your large garage. With Baekhyun’s head blocking your view, you could still see the shiny rims of all ten sports cars and two vans.

“I can always blow your brains out as a reminder, if that’s really what you need,” you joked casually, “And if this is what you consider a retaliation, maybe I should be losing faith in you.”

He only rolled his eyes in a playful manner in response to the small jab.

The conversation was broken up by Sehun shouting that the back of the white van was open to whoever was sitting in the large space, and that he was driving this time. You laughed and got into the driver’s seat of the black Lamborgini. You drove off, the boys following closely behind.

Your mind began to drift as you drove to the mansion of Girl’s Generation, one of your biggest enemies in this world. You couldn’t find a speck of remorse in yourself, but the constant feuding grew so tiring after a while. Now, it felt as though you were only battling so you wouldn’t have the burden of admitting to a loss. Your team only ever made an effort to strike at them when it was warranted, such as right now.

They had apparently felt threatened enough by your drug business, they wanted to steal your product and sell it as their own. Luckily, you had contacts and ways of knowing things like these.

You parked your car a few blocks from the house and went to where the boys had parked their van. After crawling through the seemingly endless brush and trees that concealed the battered heap of metal, you got in and started to run over the plan with them one final time.

Baekhyun and Chanyeol were to monitor the security cameras, while Chen and Kai part ways to find where the drugs were being kept. Sehun and Kyungsoo agreed to eliminate any human threats on their way to their to-be-informed destination, and Xiumin was making sure the leaders were being kept busy, through other means of distraction. Earlier, you had made jokes of him being a prostitute for the time being, to which he only scowled.

Opposing teams or not, Kim Taeyeon and Jessica Jung had expressed quite the interest in the man, which he had offered to take advantage of, just this once.

“Of course,” he had said earlier, “I’d do it for the sake of the group, but leave it to me to be caught up fucking two dumb bitches while the real action plays out.”

You and Suho were the cleaners, the backup plan; the ones who---if something went wrong---entered and fixed the problem. You hadn’t been big on being so useless, but Kyungsoo and Xiumin had thought it best to keep the leaders away from harm in case something were to happen to them.

Directly after helping Chen and Kai to swipe all the heroin and cocaine, Kyungsoo and Sehun were to set the house ablaze; it was highly probable that something harmful may happen to anyone who fails to escape in time.

The house was surrounded by a large, electrified, black iron fence. From the comfort of the van, you watched as Xiumin simply walked up to it and pushed his finger down onto the intercom button. He spoke a greeting into the mic, followed by the fence pushing itself open.

Whereas everyone else wasn’t as welcome in the large mansion, you were forced to wait around ten minutes before approaching the fence. Within those ten minutes, Baekhyun and Chanyeol had worked together to disable the security cameras positioned atop it, making it far easier to break in.

Donning a pair of thick protective gloves and handling a pair of wire cutters, Chen easily disabled it and allowed everyone to hop over the structure.

With a swift hand motion, you coaxed Kyungsoo and Sehun to rid the team of the guards positioned in the lawn. While they crept behind massive statues and thick trees, the remainder of your group crouched in some bushes, hidden from the world.

After the signal was given that the guards were finished off, you all stealthily moved into the house. From the corners of your eyes, you could see the splattered blood of the two women who laid by the entrance. It was likely that they hadn’t felt a thing when the knife hit their throats; they had been knocked out prior.

Some of the men entered the building through side doors and some used windows. You and Suho moved cautiously moved into the living room, the area that would quickly give you access to all the others and their positions. With a bit of difficulty, you managed to close the door without any creaking sounds.

“Remember when you almost dated a Girls Gen girl?” You whispered to him quietly. Even in the darkness you saw him flinch in remembrance. You chuckled softly in response.

“Chen and Kai, it should be in a room on the third floor,” Baekhyun’s voice floated lowly through your earpiece, “Off to the left somewhere… maybe the fifth door along the hallway.”

“You and I can fuck right here, you know,” You suggested, disregarding the speech that didn’t involve either of you, “I think that’d surely make Yuri regret ever rejecting you.”

The most barely audible groan came, and you could just picture Suho biting his lip to keep from exposing your presence to the home’s residents.

“As hard as it is not to entertain your vengeful wishes, I'd rather not risk getting caught with my pants down and my cock out, Princess.”

“Found it,” came Kai’s preoccupied mumble in your ear. You heard clicking as they tried to open what sounded like a safe.

“The one time you find your self restraint...” You trailed off in a quiet, teasing tone.

“Okay,” Chanyeol interrupted through the earpiece, “Xiumin’s tracker is lighting up on the other side of the house, by the hedge statue things and back a few feet. It’s, uhhhh, moving rapidly right now, so you have until it comes to a stop to drop everything from the window. Baekhyun and I will handle everything else.”

“I’m sending Chen and Kai out as soon as possible, out through one of the side doors to help you out,” came Kyungsoo’s gruff reply, “Just let me know when Xiumin is safely out.”

For thirty quiet minutes that trickled past like grains of sand falling to the bottom of an hourglass, you sat with Suho and waited.

Nothing that was of concern to you popped up until three minutes after Xiumin had walked past you and out the front door. It had sounded like he was zipping up his jeans as he walked.

None of the women followed after him, as they were probably focused on washing themselves up.

After three minutes, you began to smell the thick clouds of smoke that had drifted down to the living room. For security, you did your best to spot Suho through the pitch darkness. The moment you’d gotten clarity that Kyungsoo and Sehun were out of the house, you two would be sprinting to safety.

“Discovered!” Chen yelled. You and Suho looked at each other and ran up the stairs to where they were.

You crouched at the entrance of the room where you could here the fight going on. Suho was crouched opposite of you, his gun loaded and cocked. You started counting backwards from three on your fingers. On one you both stood in the doorway and started shooting the men who were cornering two of your boys.

“I want everyone else to go back to the van right now,” You commanded into your earpiece.

“Yes ma’am,” They all said.

“Here’s our plan, take out whoever comes near and get back to the plan. No splitting up. Let’s go,” You said running out the door. Suddenly alarms started blaring throughout the whole house.You groaned and covered your ears.

“Someone triggered the security system,” you heard Baek say through the earpiece.

You started running through the house but metal doors were starting to slide into place. You cursed and lead the boys through more hallways being met with dead ends. You all finally found a doorway into a room with multiple windows, but the metal door was slowly sliding into place and the shouts of the Girl’s Gen men neared. You pushed Kai and Chen under and went to go push Suho.

“There’s only enough room left for one more person; you’re going,” He said pushing you. The shouting came nearer.

“No, Suho, I am not leav---” You were interrupted as he shoved you to the ground and under the door. The yells were on you and Suho. You screamed to tell Suho to dive under, but you knew there was no way he’d fit.

“I love you,” You heard him say as you watched the men surround him and tase him, bringing him to his knees in pain. You screamed out his name and fought against the door. Kai and Chen pulled you back from the door. Chen opened the window as Kai struggled to pick you up. You all escaped out the window and made it back to the van.

The atmosphere hung full-cloud heavy and pin-drop silent as everyone else present came to the shocking realization that Suho hadn’t made it out.

A deafening clatter broke the quiet into a million pieces within the three seconds it took your closed fist to come into contact with the vehicle’s cool metal and the sharp pain to set into your knuckles.

But you didn’t want to stop. As Sehun pushed his foot down onto the gas pedal and sped off, all you wanted to do was pulverize the van until your skin blossoms a blotchy plum color.

A cry left your lips. And another. And a third, until it was difficult to hear the shocked chatter that had begun to swarm around you.

“Baby,” Chanyeol started hesitantly. Your temper was like a hot iron---to be used with caution and to avoid direct contact with, “Junmyeon’s strong. He’ll hold his own.”

You didn’t feel like the iron. You felt like the burn. The use of Suho’s birth-given name was meant to sooth your visible pain, but all it did was turn the faucet to a steady stream of bitter tears.

“Oh, fuck off,” you dismissed him in a quiet mutter.

Truly, you wished you were more skilled in concealing such lethal feelings. Having seven---and occasionally eight, whenever Sehun worriedly glances through the rearview mirror---men watch you cry isn’t any fun. You think it makes you look weak, like a joke.

An arm wrapped around your shoulders. With your eyes squeezed shut so painfully tight, you could only guess which lover it was. You were too focused on dismissing the little outburst that you didn’t even attempt to. From the foresty cologne alone, you knew it was D.O. Everyone else wore less comforting fragrances; things that slightly assaulted your sense of smell.

He said nothing, but it didn’t feel as frightened as the silence everyone else gave. Everyone silent was breathing dreadfully slowly, cautiously even, like they were waiting for an explosion. D.O, however, kept his breathing at a calm, steady pace.

This was what you loved about him. He never participated in the nervous blocks of quiet, for he was already so peacefully. You both don’t need many words for your relationship to remain strong. He was a rock regardless of his infrequent speech.

“Try and go to sleep,” he murmured over the low whispers everyone else had faded into, “We’ll have planning to do later; you need to be rested enough.”

Though he only spoke of a meeting to plan things, you were certain it was about the best strategy to get Suho back.

You drifted off with that thought in mind, keeping close that single bit of comfort it provided.

#exo #exo mafia #exo reactions #exo x reader #minseok #xiumin #junmyeon #suho #lay #yixing #jongdae #chen #chanyeol #baekhyun #do #kyungsoo #kai #jongin #sehun

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magicalthoughtsendinterriblefics · 8 years ago

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Office Affair - Request

Requested by anon: could you do a fluffy reader x sherlock and sherlock is really fluffy and needy and dirty in front of john/mycroft? & anon: hey hey could you do a one shot where Sherlock and reader are getting jiggy ;) and her boss Mycroft walks in and gets really embarrassed

Pairing: Sherlock x reader

Word count: 1.079

Warnings: Touchy/Handsy Sherlock, Mentions of drugs, Public Display of Affection, Embarrassing things.

A/N: What does “getting jiggy” mean? I think I got it right but I ask just for the sake of learning new words. (Yes, this week is the week of using slang Becca doesn’t understand)

Enjoy!

Office work, the worse kind of work. The sound of the other employees typing, and the many colours of the computer screen she was forced to work in, plus the awful smell of chlorine on the floor was enough to make her dizzy.

Yes, she had her own office, and it was supposed to be private, but the walls were ultra-thin, as a way to keep control of employees, so she could hear everything from the outside.

Everything, she could hear everything, even the silence that built in the office when a strange set of footsteps walked down the hallway to her office. She recognised them instantly and tried to brainwash herself to keep a straight face the whole time and act professionally.

As soon as he entered, that idea went down the toilet.

His high cheekbones and cheeky smile contrasted with the long, black coat he was wearing. His blue eyes matched the blue scarf tied around his neck, and a few strands of curly hair fell over his pale face.

“Sherlock.” She sighed lovingly.

“Hello, my darling.” He granted her a big smile and walked around her desk to press a kiss on her lips. “You look so high functional sitting on this chair, dressed like that…” He whispered above her lips, but before he continued another person cleared his throat.

It was John Watson, standing there with the usual “I’m sick of this rubbish” look on his face.

“Hello, John!” She greeted with an apologetic smile.

“(Y/N)” John nodded her way, “Sherlock, I will look for Mycroft.”

“Mycroft? Why?” She inquired as John left the room. Sherlock was lost in her eyes and had to get back to reality to reply.

“Oh, just a security thingy, nothing of importance,” Sherlock said listlessly and then cupped her cheeks with both hands. “I missed you.”

“It’s the first time you tell me that.” She commented, “Your hands are cold…” She took his hands in hers, kissing them softly. Sherlock stared at her, mesmerised by her tenderness.

“Mycroft won’t take in John so fast, we didn’t make an appointment.” He whispered, cocking an eyebrow.

“What’s on your mind, Sher?” She whispered back, flirtingly.

Sherlock made her get up from her chair, pushing her back on the desk for her to sit there. That way, she was higher and more accessible to him. They continued to kiss; a heated, silent make out session in the office.

(Y/N) had no idea why Sherlock was acting like that, but she wouldn’t try and stop it.

She untied his scarf, throwing it to the floor by Sherlock’s feet, and then unbuttoned his coat. Sherlock’s hands were around her hips, squeezing and caressing her over the office clothes.

They weren’t trying to hold their breaths anymore. Their eyes were closed, and they were letting themselves go. She didn’t even think that maybe, just maybe, the rest of the office could hear them or that Mycroft and John could get in any minute.

Her legs were framing his hips, and her hands were now messy his hair even more than it already was, while he was starting to unbutton the first half of her shirt, showing enough of her cleavage and the edge of her black bra to send him over the top.

“You are so beautiful…” Sherlock purred, “So good to me… So…”

“Inappropriate.” Mycroft’s voice finished. Sherlock and (Y/N) froze in place and snapped their heads to look back to the door, where a very pissed off Mycroft stood, next to an ultra-pissed off John.

“Mycroft!” (Y/N) squealed and jumped down off the desk. “I am so, so, sorry… It will never happen again.”

“No need to,” Mycroft faked a smile, “I don’t think anyone in the office will ever forget.” He looked back, and everyone outside looked down in either shame or mock. “Now, brother, what is this security thing you wanted to talk about?”

“Everyone in the office heard?” Sherlock inquired, ignoring his brother’s question.

“Yes, Sherlock, everyone heard.” John rolled his eyes, “Now please, let us know what this is about.”

Sherlock lifted his fists in the air and muttered a “Yes!”

“Sherlock, are you high?” (Y/N) asked, tilting her head to the side.

“Oh yes, very high. High like Mycroft’s ego.” He laughed at his own joke. “My work here is done, c’mon John.”

“Wait, nobody is going anywhere until you tell us what is going on.” John fumed, blocking the door.

Sherlock giggled like a child and his cheeks turned red. “We are here for that man!” He pointed past John��s shoulder, straight to a man who’s desk was right in front of (Y/N)’s office.

“That man is Charles O’Donnell,” Mycroft sighed, “and I promise you he is not a terrorist.”

Charles had a cocky smile on his lips, yet his eyes were wide in shock.

“Oh no, I know that.” Sherlock shoves off the idea with a hand, “No, I’m here because I heard him talking about (Y/N). He fancies her, you know? I had to show him who is the boss here.”

“I am the boss here and you are utterly immature!” Mycroft roared, “How dare you come here and make a scandal in the office just to claim your secret girlfriend as yours publicly?!”

“How dare I?” Sherlock clicked his tongue, “Want to see it again? I wouldn’t mind to repeat it.”

“No, just… Get out.” Mycroft pointed towards the door.

“Watson, cmon, we still have a serial killer to catch.” Sherlock cheered as he picked up his coat and scarf from the floor. Once he was dressed again, he pulled (Y/N) in for another passionate, French kiss and then walked to the door. “Suck it, Charles!” He cackled and then dragged Watson out of (Y/N)’s office.

“Button your shirt, please,” Mycroft commanded and (Y/N) was quick to obey.

Sherlock and John were almost near the lift when Sherlock decided to talk – yell – once more. “My sweet (Y/N)… Be sure to… Get home early… So I can… John, stop… SO I CAN EAT THAT BEAUTIFUL P…” John covered Sherlock’s mouth.

“Sorry!” John exclaimed, “Ignore him, he is high.”

Mycroft face palmed so roughly his hand was marked on his face for a few seconds.

“Sorry, Mycroft.” She apologised, her cheeks as red as can be.

“Just get back to work,” Mycroft said and walked out of the office, leaving an embarrassed yet flustered AND horny (Y/N) to fantasise until it was her departure time.

Masterlist.

Forever Tags: @dekahg @myfriendmagislit Cumberbitches Tags: @newts-fan-case @resurrection-huntress @narnianroyalties Sherlock: @procrastinating-my-life-away @charlottemalfoy @zena-dukmak @just-a-blog00 @wefracturedmotivation @beccamullz @sugarshai @vancepter @roseyhxnt @thisisjessicatalking @foureyedsiopao @nicole-pierce @captain-sherlockomg @kissed-by-white-wolf @samanthasmileys @love-charmer-sketch @givemeamemoryicanuse @diesintheshower @demonminnion3 @thatmoodindigo @sexyporntime @jennajoseh @destiel5100 @peachyoshi64 @1enchantedfantasy1 @thesherlockblr @yehummno @jaspar-error404 @spaghettiicat @duubaduu @milychetto @frayedphan @violenttgod @comicnerdmia @shadyladyperfection

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auskultu · 8 years ago

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The Golden Road: A Report on San Francisco

Paul Williams, Crawdaddy!, June 1967

SITTING IN THE window. Sixth Avenue, Greenwich Village, flirting with the girls going by, the Grateful Dead very loud on 4X speakers somewhere in the room behind me; 92 degrees, a week short of summer, a week back from the Coast, San Francisco. Now, three thousand miles away, what do those words mean? Was I ever anywhere but here?

The geography of rock. There are a half-dozen LPs sitting by my New York City phonograph, at least two from San Francisco: Moby Grape and Grateful Dead. Rock Scully, a Dead manager, just walked by; the Grateful Dead are at the Cafe Au Go Go, two blocks from here. The Moby Grape are midtown, playing at the Scene.

We speak of a San Francisco Sound because these groups developed there. They may not come from there (Skip Spence is a Canadian, the Steve Miller Blues Band got together in Chicago); they may not even live there (Moby Grape is technically a Marin County group; Country Joe are #l in Berkeley, but half a dozen local bands get better billing in San Francisco). But San Francisco—the Fillmore, the Avalon, the Trips Festivals, the Diggers, Owsley's acid, Haight Street and Ashbury and Masonic and Golden Gate Park, the Straight Theatre, Herb Caen, the Barb, the communication company—these have been and are and will be the environment and influences that have shaped the music of many of the best bands in America.

More specifically, the several aspects and influences of the San Francisco area have created a community; out of this community has come a feeling, an attitude; and it is this attitude that has imparted a unity to the music coming out of the Bay Area. It is this attitude that is most commonly reflected in the San Francisco Sound.

There is a geography of rock; San Francisco is different from New York musically, different because the music made by the Grateful Dead would be different if they had developed in New York, playing the Night Owl or Action City, trying to get a master sold, living on East 7th Street and maybe dealing meth for rent money, padlocking their front door and freezing in the winter and worrying about the air and not having children till they can afford the suburbs, reading the New York Times and having maybe two dozen friends that they see once every two months or so, never considering that they might find a manager who wasn't just an adversary, never thinking that there was much more to it than making the charts, never wondering about the empty girls with too much make-up and an unshakable confidence in this best of all possible nothings... probably hating each other after a while and wondering why people shat on them for doing just what everyone else does.

New York is New York, and it's very good for some things. The energy it generates is second to none; nowhere in the world is there as much activity to dive into every time you turn around. Some people thrive on that. I do, much of the time, and that's why I stay here; but I don't think it's a place to make music. San Francisco is.

The trolleys run along Haight Street pretty often; the tourists snarl up the traffic a bit, but still you can get from theOracle office to Fillmore Street, change, and arrive at the Fillmore or Winterland in less than twenty minutes. At fifteen cents for the entire journey, that's not bad at all. The Avalon is a little further away, but just as accessible, and nowadays often more worthwhile.

But the ballrooms have lost their importance. They were vital once; without Bill Graham, and the hard work and business knowhow he threw into the Fillmore when the scene was starting, there might never have been an SF Sound to talk about. Give him credit, and give Ralph Gleason credit, without whose enthusiastic columns in the SF Chroniclethe city would have no doubt shut down those psychedelic superstructures before you could say "building inspector." And Ken Kesey, the man whose Trips Festivals irrevocably tied together rock and roll and light shows and the head community. The Family Dog, illuminator Bill Ham, the Charlatans, the Matrix, and Jefferson Airplane, all those originators who now cling to their place in history with alarming awareness that after two years the past is buried in the dust of centuries.

The ballrooms have given way to environments even more closely knit into the community. The great outdoors, for one; the Panhandle is only two blocks down from Haight Street, and on an average weekend you'll hear everything from Big Brother & the Holding Company down to the local teen group playing top 40 hits off-key. And it's all free, free not just from admission charges but from walls and stuffy air and hassles about coming and going; free so that the music is as much a part of your life as a tree in blossom. You can stop and embrace it, or pass on by.

The Panhandle is the San Francisco Sound today: the music of the street, the music of the people who live there. The ballrooms, obsolete in terms of the community, have been turned into induction centers—the teenyboppers, the college students, the curious adults come down to the Fillmore to see what's going on, and they do see, and pretty soon they're part of it. They may not go directly to Haight Street with flowers in their hair (though many of them do), but they change, they shift their points of view, their minds drop out of Roger Williams and into the Grateful Dead.

Back on the Street something is happening that may be even more important than the music in the park. The Straight Theatre, long a cherished vision, has burst into reality. The Straight is an ancient movie house, an imposing structure capable of taking some 1700 people out of the center of Haight Street and into whatever it feels like presenting. The property includes a theater, which will be used for concerts, gatherings, poetry readings, etc., a dance workshop, another smaller theater for experimental drama, a photographic studio and darkroom, various storefronts, a backyard mall, and more, all of which is being lovingly shaped by devoted hippie artisans into what should be the model for future art centers all over the country.

And in the air, another major change: KMPX-FM, not just radio for heads but rock radio for rock heads, a station that totally ignores the top 20 (because you can hear that stuff any time you want on seven other frequencies) and just plays what it feels like playing. KMPX is run something like a college radio station; the people in charge know much more about rock and roll than they do about radio programming, how to talk jock, how to sell an audience, or any of that other crap. They make mistakes—records go on the turntable at the wrong speed, careless comments go out over the air—and everyone loves them. There are no mistakes, because they can do no wrong. They're human, and they love the music—and that's what's been missing in radio till now.

If you examine San Francisco closely, you'll find major changes taking place in almost every aspect of city life. New attitudes towards jobs, towards education, towards entertainment and the arts. Basic shifts in the relationships between man and his environment, shifts that have affected every facet of that environment, changes that best can be communicated not in words but in music: Big Brother & the Holding Company, Jefferson Airplane, Moby Grape, Steve Miller Blues Band, Country Joe & the Fish, Quicksilver Messenger Service, Grateful Dead.

Consider the albums. The Airplane was first—and second, too, for that matter. The San Francisco Sound on records begins with those first two notes of 'Blues from an Airplane', and a more noble beginning would not have been possible. Regardless of how many better albums have been recorded since Jefferson Airplane Takes Off, that album still glows with the beauty of the first trip, the birth cry of a new era in music. Between the Buttons was the definitive last statement of an earlier age; JA Takes Off is the first of a new generation of rock albums, of which Sergeant Pepper is only the latest and best.

Tim Jurgens, Ralph Gleason and Marty Balin all used the word "love" in their attempts to pin down what made that first Airplane album different. It is much easier now to understand what they were getting at. Jefferson Airplane Loves You with what has been disdainfully referred to as "potato love"—the indiscriminate love for all people simply because they are people. This attitude enriches their music. Compare Revolver with Sergeant Pepper, do you really think the Beatles loved you when they recorded the earlier album?

Surrealistic Pillow, the Airplane's second, is a definite bringdown; certainly the worst LP to come out of the current Bay Area scene (not considering such piffle as the Sopwith Camel, who ceased to be an SF group when they met Erik Jacobsen). The problem with Pillow is mostly that it's not an album; it's a collection of tracks that neither feel good nor sound comfortable together. The Airplane, of course, were the first SF group to record a second album, and it is likely that at least one other good Bay Area group will flounder on their second try. And Pillow, despite its disunity, has half a dozen fine tracks which prove that the group is better, even if their LP is worse. Sometimes progress is not reflected in quality—and this is often the fault of fate and the A&R man more than the group.

At any rate, the Airplane's first LP is easily as good, in context, as that of any other Bay Area group so far; and how well other groups do on their second albums remains to be seen. It's always kind of lonely to be first in line.

The Grateful Dead's first try is pure energy flow. West Coast kineticism has developed into a fine art; the first side of this album rolls with a motion so natural that one suspects the musicians have never listened to the Who or the Kinks or even the Four Tops—they have developed their own kinetic techniques without reference to the masters in the field. With one exception: this album has so much in common with The Rolling Stones, Now! as to be almost a sequel.

Of course, I'm not complaining. Now! will always stand as one of the great rock albums, and by giving us the New World, sun-rising-over-the-Pacific-Ocean version of that album the Dead have unquestionably added to the quantity of joy around. And the Dead's LP is much more first-hand: where the Stones glorified the mythical American South rock joint in 'Down the Road Apiece', the Dead give you the feeling that that kind of wonderfull abandon is a part of their daily scene ('Golden Road'). The Stones assume the persona of Chuck Berry driving down the New Jersey Turnpike (which they've probably never been on!) to convey their personal energies in 'You Can't Catch Me'; the Dead do a song with almost identical impact ('Good Morning Little Schoolgirl') but they don't need to think of themselves as Sonny Boy Williamson—the song goes out direct to every teenybopper in the audience, and by the time they start into the fourth minute or so, every member of the band really feels every word that Pigpen says. Musically, the Stones' performance is as good (in fact, better) than the Dead's; but where the Stones confront a mythical highway cop, the Dead confront the actual members of their audience. Hence the Grateful Dead LP, though not quite as good as Now!, is at times even more effective.

(The Stones do, of course, confront their audience in 'Everybody Needs Somebody to Love', but it's not emotional confrontation. It's great showmanship, posturing—similar to the Dead's terrific posturing when they "do" the whole Kingston Trio era and its approach, in 'Cold Rain and Snow'. I'm comparing the Dead to the Stones not to show a preference for either, but to point out the fascinating similarities in the impact of their music and in the music itself—play 'Schoolgirl' after listening to 'You Can't Catch Me' to appreciate the extent to which the Dead resemble the Stones in their concept of what music is and how a rock band should perform.)

The first side of the Dead album is one song, unrolling its varied but equivalent delights at top speed. 'Beat It On Down the Line' ("That's where I'm going to make my happy home") moves into the certainty of 'Good Morning Little Schoolgirl' with the ease and impact of Jean-Luc Godard. Garcia smiles, Pigpen squints, and you're on your way. And you can't turn back. "See that girl?... Well, she's coming down the stair—and I don't worry, I'm sitting on top of the world." (Appropriate J. Garcia guitar run here.) Breathless.

The flip is something else: introspective, more like a journey than a joyride. 'Morning Dew' conjures loneliness, pain, uncertainty, courage; pleads, asks, questions, denies; and finally, "I guess it doesn't matter anyway." Apocalyptic. Or just resigned. "I thought I heard... " ? And whatever it was, you'll find it in the song. Beautiful, with a kind of intense detachment. San Francisco isn't known for its vocalists, but this song could change all that.

'New, New Minglewood Blues' serves as a sort of bridge in the context of the album, which is not at all the nature of the song in live performance... and no doubt this is one of the many things about this LP that disappoints fans of the live Dead. The more you've grown to love Grateful Dead live performances over the years the more difficult it must be to accept an album which is—though very beautiful—something completely different. Only 'Viola Lee Blues' has any of the fantastic "this is happening now!" quality of, a good Dead performance; only 'Viola Lee Blues' takes you away as far as the longtime Dead fan has grown accustomed to being taken. It's an escape song—a prisoner for life dreams his way to the dim edges of space and time—and if you don't think you're a prisoner, surrender to 'Viola Lee' and see what happens.

When the Country Joe album arrived at the Crawdaddy! office, it was immediately inscribed "This record is to be played on special occasions only," and certain factions suggested that it would be in poor taste to even review such a sacred work. Sacred or not, this album does seem distantly removed from anything that has been previously associated with rock and roll. Indeed, the staunchest hard rock supporter on our staff can find no redeeming musical value in it at all. He's wrong, of course; or, to be more accurate, he's somewhere else. For many people, this album is so exactly where we are, it's frightening. To be played on special occasions only.

Words should be applied to this album with extreme caution. Like a kaleidoscope, it's easy not to appreciate—all you have to do is stare at the toy instead of into it—but if you do dig it, you may suddenly find it very hard to decide which of the sliding multicolorous worlds all around you is your own. It's perfectly fair of me to especially dig 'Flying High' because I'm a long-time hitchhiker; but when I decide that 'Section 43' is without question a midsummer thundershower, and then realize that the storm is outside the window and not in my head, perhaps I'm too involved in the music.

Background music is an old concept; this album, at last, is in the foreground. It is Joe MacDonald's world, and you are invited in. Does it seem strange that the introduction to 'Flying High' has nothing to do with the song, or that Lorraine's first name is really Martha? Not at all—remember, we are guests here. This is Berkeley 1967, Fish Street, residence of Country Joe—we are invited to see, hear, feel, smell, but not participate. 'Grace'—that's not a singalong. This is music at its most sensuous and least analyzable—sounds, unidentifiable, flash at you, words evoke pictures but no meaning, you never hear the same thing twice. But you always feel the state of grace.

'Death Sound' ("I see the minutes chasin' the hours"), that homicidal tambourine, schizophrenic lead guitars. It's all in the impact; if it doesn't scare you, I can't talk you into fright. 'Section 43'—simply the most satisfying, evocative piece of music I know; I could wander its paths forever. It's a concert performance—no individual virtuosity can be found and praised; each person did his job precisely and flawlessly, up to (and especially) the feedback and few tinkling notes at the end. The brilliance is in the composition; and in a subtle way we should consider this whole LP a composed rather than a performed work, because every note seems to have been firmly in place in every song long before the actual recording of the album. On 'Love', a mistake is met with "Aw, come on," as if nothing could be more ridiculous at this point than doing something wrong. Indeed, a perfect Fish album: it had to be this way.

'Masked Marauder' is utterly delightful; instant movie soundtrack for whatever is going on around you. (Theme music, not background stuff.) 'Superbird' would be instant #l if radio stations weren't so sensitive. It's the only rock and roll song on the album, and of course it's perfect. "Drop your guns, baby..." Wow! Everything on the album is one-of-a-kind, as a matter of fact; like Sergeant Pepper, the only thing linking these songs is that they like to be heard together.

'Sad & Lonely Times' is a ballad, very simple, very warm—pretty. 'Not So Sweet Martha Lorraine' is a totally different type of ballad: Berkeley Gothick, cynical, respectful, overpowering. Even affectionate; few people who've heard this album could really describe this song, but every one of them could describe Lorraine. And though every description would be different, each would be thoroughly respectful, thoroughly correct. David Cohen (organist) is magnificent.

And 'Bass Strings' is the invocation of the Muse. "Hey, partner, won't you pass that reefer 'round?... I think I'll go to the desert... Just one more trip now, and I know I'll stay high all the time." If you want to understand the Bay Area, 'Bass Strings' will give you a fair start.

Well, it took me a long time, but I finally figured out who Moby Grape remind me of: the Everly Brothers. Also Buddy Holly, Buffalo Springfield, middle-Beatles, Byrds, New Lost City Ramblers, the Weavers, Youngbloods, Daily Flash and everybody else. Above all, the Grape give off this very pleasant sense of déjà vu. Rock has become so eclectic you can't even pick out influences—you just sense their presence. I don't really know why the Grape remind me of the Everly Brothers. But it's a nice feeling.

Moby Grape is one of those beautifully inextricable groups with four guitarists (including bass), five vocalists, five songwriters, and about twelve distinct personalities (Skip Spence alone accounts for five of them). The Grape is unusual for an SF group in that it does not have an overall, easily-identifiable personality. It is without question schizophrenic—which is nothing bad, because the group is extremely tight and they simply shift personality from song to song. Their music is always unified; it's their album as a whole that's schizoid. In fact, much as I like it, I enjoy the songs even more one at a time (for your convenience, Columbia has issued almost the entire album on singles—which is particularly nice because the mono mix is far better than the stereo, which must have been done too fast).

Skip Spence's two songs make it clear that he's the most talented—though not the most prolific—songwriter in the group. 'Omaha', to my tastes the toughest cut on the album, is one of the finest recorded examples of the wall-of-sound approach in rock. It surges and roars like a tidal wave restrained by a sea-wall. Moby Grape is a particularly violent group—not in the sense that they want to do harm to anyone (it is a huge misunderstanding to think violence is inherently evil, or that it necessarily causes harm—there is violent joy, and this album is proof of that), but in the sense that almost every song is attacked with great force and abandon. Moby Grape assault their audience, bathing them in almost unavoidable joy. Jamming it down their throats, in fact.

The other Skip Spence song on the LP, 'Indifference', is another screamer, a well-constructed, brilliantly-executed shuffle number, to be sung on the street, loud, early in the morning, or listened to in the afternoon with your fist pounding the table.

Peter Lewis is second in the hierarchy of Grape writers, and probably the most sensitive. He shares with the other Grape members the ability to create extremely appealing melody phrases, chorus lines, and rhythm riffs; this ability, combined with the resultant concentration on structure, tightness and brevity, is what makes all the Moby Grape songs sound like good singles. Lewis, in 'Fall on You', puts together a number of catchy little themes into a very nice, very fluid song, vaguely reminiscent of 'One More Try'. In 'Sitting by the Window', he waxes almost eloquent, with just enough restraint to make the song both illuminating and unpresuming. The guitar-work is really excellent; the three Grape guitarists work together with exceptional taste throughout the lp.

But describing each song is not really the way to write about Moby Grape. They are elusive; you detect a thousand moods and changes, but you never quite hear the words, never know who's singing, never are certain who's playing lead. You can't pin them down, can't get too close; you learn to forget, learn to absorb their music, learn to stop trying, submit to it—and sooner or later it all comes clear. Country Joe, the Dead, are very clean; this group never lacks for tightness, but they get fuzzy 'round the edges. They aren't involving, but you dig the changes; they aren't involving, but you listen for the words; they aren't involving, but there's something going on here—and slowly but surely the depth in this music (which at first attacked you but seemed so uninvolving) swallows you up, and you feel the complexities it invokes.

Moby Grape is an almost ideal example of a "rock and roll" group, and their emergence now, as the historical concept of rock and roll seems on the verge of disappearing into a music too complexly-based to fit a general description, is both surprising and quite pleasing. The Grape play short, melodic songs, complex but straightforward, tightly structured with careful drumming and rhythm, experimental (but not "far out") bass, exciting, well-thought-out lead guitar (no fooling around) and early Beatles- or Everlys- style group vocals. A given song ('Mr. Blues') might draw on C&W and blues traditions, Otis Redding phrasing, Keith Richard restrained lead guitar, 'Captain Soul' rhythm progressions, etc. And every note is proper, polite. It's enough to make you nostalgic; nothing is more refreshing than the unexpectedly familiar.

These are the major rock albums to come out of the Bay Area thus far. However, there is a very important, very good album recorded by a San Francisco group in the new vein prior to the Airplane's first LP. I haven't mentioned it because the group is not generally thought of as a rock group. They are classified under jazz, which is fine; but I think at this time we can also add John Handy's Live at Monterey album to the list of great SF rock LPs. Listen to it, study its structure and its changes, and I think you'll understand why.

Rock is not a term that can be or that wants to be defined. San Francisco rock is an even more elusive concept, particularly when one removes the obvious geographical limitation and includes the Who's Happy Jack and Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band. One specifically San Francisco, or New World, trait is the inclusion of open acts of kindness toward the listener within the body of the album. Throughout Sergeant Pepper you feel that the Beatles are with you and understand where you're at ("we'd love to take you home with us"). The Who in their comic operetta 'A Quick One' bathe the listener in the repeated assurance that "you're forgiven." For everything. And the gentle applause at the end of each side of the John Handy album is a subtler application of the same effect.

Geographically, the San Francisco groups have the common heritage of the Bay Area '65-'67, and all the influences present there; most specifically, they have all been reared by the same audience, the Fillmore/Avalon crowd, the first good rock audience in America. This audience is responsible for, in addition to the Airplane, Handy, the Grape, Country Joe, and the Dead, at least three other fine groups as-yet-unrecorded: Big Brother & the Holding Company, Quicksilver Messenger Service, and the Steve Miller Blues Band.

Big Brother is in many ways the most exciting group in the Bay Area; and though they are all white, Sandy Pearlman has correctly called them "the best spade band in the country." Their arrangements, their control of what they're doing, their material all indicate that under the right conditions they could produce the best SF rock album yet. Steve Miller is the most creative of American white blues bands at present, which says a lot for the San Francisco influence. Quicksilver is a fine example of a group that would have gone nowhere were it not for the SF audience egging them on; they're still in the growing stage, and not yet ready to record, but there's good reason to believe that the moments of brilliance they now enjoy will soon become hours of brilliance. Outside of San Francisco they wouldn't have bothered getting better because they wouldn't have needed to.

Above all, the San Francisco Sound is the musical expression of what's going down, a new attitude toward the world which is commonly attributed to "hippies," but which could more accurately be laid at the feet of a non-subculture called People, earth people, all persons who have managed to transcend the superstructures they live in. People who have responded to the reality of the industrial revolution by requiring that they run the system and benefit from it rather than be made part of it. In very small print between the lines of 'Naked If I Want To', 'Grace', and 'Cream Puff War' is written the following message: There is a man, me, and there are Men. These two forces will and must interact as smoothly as possible. Everything else—concepts, objects, systems, machines—must only be tools for me and mankind to employ. If I or Man respect a system or a pattern more than ourselves, we are in the wrong and must be set free. "Nothing to say but it's okay..."

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lovehaswonangelnumbers · 6 years ago

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New Post has been published on https://lovehaswonangelnumbers.org/the-angels-opportunities-to-create/

The Angels ~ Opportunities To Create

FCGCT Commentary: We are moving from the mind, to the Heart… not the balancing of the two. The brain acts as a conduit while the heart processes. The mind conflicts with the Heart, and is the cause for imbalance, pain, fear, suffering and more. The mind… the ego, blocks the Heart, as it Edges God Out. Let go of the mind, and solely flow from the Heart, connected to the Unified Heart in Unity Consciousness. Thoughts turn to feelings, and beliefs to to knowing. Belief systems are based in lies and only the heart knows the truth. Anything that does not bring joy is not real! Let go of wants and needs and move toward a paradigm grateful receiving. We are moving into a paradigm of passion for co-creation in love everywhere present. Wants, needs, and desires are EGO traits, true passion is expanding love into creation with pure intent and creation of New Earth energy. Desires turn to passion and must be in aligned intention of new earth = heart. Change must be embraced, accepted, and allowed, as LOVE is the only frequency that will move forward. Change is positive and with it comes expansion. Allow change and embrace the energies pouring out from Mother of all Creation.

The Angels ~ Opportunities To Create

Via: Ann Albers

My dear friends, we love you so very much,

Challenges will always be part of life, but you will always have the opportunity to see them as opportunities. By their very nature, challenges are situations that you don’t know how, or if, you can handle. When you see something as a challenge, your personality is not certain it is up for the task!

When you face a challenge, “who you think you are” feels limited. “Who you really are” has no bounds or limits whatsoever.

In each challenge, you have the opportunity to embrace more deeply, “who you really are.”

Rather than fretting or worrying when a challenge arises, challenge yourself to say, “Wow, this could be an incredible opportunity! This could be the one thing that calls forth my Divinity. This could be the thing that calls for greater love, abundance, and strength from within. This could be the thing that shifts my energy into a more powerful space so I can create greater ease in the future. This is an incredible opportunity to create!”

We understand that, being human and programmed, your initial reaction to a challenge is probably not going to be a feeling of opportunity! At first your programming might say, “I hate this! Opportunity? I can do without that kind of opportunity” Little by little, however, you can begin to change these beliefs. You can begin to tell yourself, “Well, here I am, let’s see what good can come of this. Perhaps I can grow. Perhaps this is the opportunity to overcome a very deep and old pattern of struggle. Perhaps this is the opportunity to finally heal my life, finances, or body.

This could be one of the best things that ever happened to me…”

The Divine lives within you dear ones. The power that creates universes is there waiting for you to call it forth. The angels are with you. You never, ever have to handle a single challenge.

So when you are faced with a challenge, look for the opportunity within it….

Say you have a bill you don’t know how to pay. This could be the opportunity to find the energy of abundance within and shift away from a very old belief in struggle and lack. This could be the way the universe motivates your inner growth so you can create prosperity for the rest of your life! This could be the challenge you need to be grateful for everything you do have and to trust in the universe’s love and support for you! This could be a pivotal opportunity to improve the quality of the rest of your life!

Suppose someone leaves you, perhaps a friend of a spouse. It hurts! You’re left to deal with life situations on your own. You don’t know how to get over the pain. Even in this dear ones, there is rich opportunity, fertile soil for amazing growth. You can use this as an opportunity to give yourself the love you’ve always given others. You can use this to learn where you ignored your guidance, became a martyr, or put up with conditions that were less than loving. You can use this as an opportunity to get clear about what type of relationships are permitted in your future as you move forward. You can see this as an opportunity to go within and feel the love of God and your angels – a love that will never, can never, leave you.

So while we know the natural human tendency when faced with a challenge is immediately to begin solving it, our advice would be first to sit still and pray to see the opportunity within it. Ask yourself, “How can I see this as an opportunity to grow?” Immediately a negative challenge shifts into a positive one when you ask this question. Ask yourself, “What do I want as the outcome? How do I want to feel?” Ask the universe and your angels for help.

Next shut your eyes. Imagine you sink into an ocean of love in much the same way a wave sinks into the ocean. Imagine this ocean carries you forward towards the solution. Breathe. Sink into the ocean. Exhale as it carries you. Now ask one more simple question, “What do I do next?” Trust the answer. Do nothing if you hear nothing. You will be guided.

Dear ones, your opportunities are challenges to embrace the light and power within your soul – the deepest and truest essence of your Being. Your challenges are opportunities to create, to get clear, to move past situations that don’t serve you and to propel yourself towards situations that do. Your challenges are opportunities to relax into the fact that the angels and the Divine love you, guide you, and will never leave you.

In each challenge, no matter how hard it might appear, you are lovingly trying to steer yourself back to an awareness of the light and Divinity within.

If you practice shifting your mindset towards challenges regularly, you will find that life itself seems far less challenging. You will learn, grow, and move through challenging situations with far greater ease and joy.

Perhaps, someday, you will even welcome you challenges as opportunities to dive even more deeply into your power and your truth.

God Bless You! We love you so very much. — The Angels

~~~~~~~~~

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louismirage · 8 years ago

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And My Heart Is A Hollow Plain~ XII

Its the 1600s and all Louis wants is the freedom he knows he will never taste again.

He knew happiness, knew a good life and love. Had dreams and reasons to see the good in people, to expect good things from life.

Forced into a marriage he will never get out of, all he’s looking for is a breath of life. Maybe something or someone to come save him from the hell he knows.

I didn't edit so please let me know if you see a mistake. Hope you guys like it.

~XII

“You didn’t eat much.” Harry commented, still looking straight ahead when he was holding Louis’ hand as they walked around the house.

Louis wanted to go outside, but it was the middle of february and Harry wasn’t going to expose him to the cold. Instead, he had convinced him on going on an adventure around the house to explore it. So far they had found out that there was a secret passage from the ballroom to the kitchen.

It was secret because they didn’t know it was there until Harry had almost tripped on the edge of the wooden wall/door when it had been left ajar. Louis had laughed and Harry hadn’t been embarrassed at all when it had brought a laugh out of Louis after the breakfast fiasco that had been awkward.

“I wasn’t that hungry.” Louis shrugged. “Remember I ate too much the night before. I could barely sleep when I was too full.”

He looked down as soon as Harry looked at him and resisted the urge to look up when Harry moved in front of him. He had to when Harry started kissing the top of his head, not stopping until Louis was looking up. Harry went from kissing the top of his head to kissing his forehead and then finally his lips.

“You need to eat more than a piece of bread, Louis.” Harry’s expression was serious. “Promise me you will eat everything when we have lunch. I know father made you uncomfortable, that's why I've decided we'll be having lunch in our bedroom.”

“I promise you.” Louis quickly agreed when he couldn't deny Harry anything.

“Now that you’ve promised me you will eat everything Lucy brings you, let's continue exploring our home. Shall we?” Harry smiled.

“Okay, but only two more rooms. My feet and back hurt.” Louis said, expecting Harry to ignore what he had said and continued walking.

He was surprised when Harry stopped again, and like before, turned to look at him again.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked.

“I didn’t think it was important. One of the servants said it was normal, and my swollen feet too.” Louis told him, biting on his bottom lip when he could see Harry wasn’t too happy.

“If they say it's normal then I guess it's true. That’s why you should have told me, and I wouldn’t have made you walk all over the house. Let me see them.” Harry squatted down and gently tried to grab one of Louis’ ankles, but his husband ended up taking a step back.

“I’m fine, and I can still walk.” Louis held his hands together, unable to look away from Harry as the man stared at him.

“I know you can still walk, but I just want to see them. Please.” Harry insisted, letting out a smile when Louis raised his left leg so he could look at his ankles.

Harry grimaced when he saw how swollen they were, and looked up at Louis who couldn’t even look him in the eye. Harry found strange the way Louis would never tell him when something was aching or when he didn’t feel good. He knew the kind of life Louis had lived before, and he wanted him to know he had started a brand new one with him. He ran his fingers along the skin, looking up when he heard Louis hissing in pain just from a light touch.

“Let's go back to bed, darling.” Harry got up and grabbed Louis’ hand.

Louis didn’t say a word, choosing to follow him instead. Harry made him lay down, telling him to wait there before he walked out of their bedroom. He closed his eyes and put his hands over his belly, only to open them again when he heard the knock on their door. He furrowed his brow and didn’t say anything until whoever was on the other side of the door knocked again.

“Come in.” Louis finally spoke up as he rubbed circles on the top of his belly, right by his belly button. It had slightly popped out now.

He sat up more and grabbed a pillow to cover his belly when Des walked in and closed the door. He gave Louis a smile that only made Louis feel uncomfortable, the feeling growing the closer the man got to him.

“How are you?” Des asked him.

“I'm— I'm good.” Louis stuttered. He looked at the door, wishing Harry would walk through it with whatever he had gone to get.

“I've been meaning to talk to you since this morning, but my son just wouldn't leave you alone.” Des said as he looked around the room, spotting the crib in the other bedroom.

“He'll be back soon.” Louis was quick to tell him.

“I'm not here to hurt you, Louis. Or humiliate you.” Des made eye contact with him as he got closer. “I understand it's you who my son wants and I have no say in that matter. You're the one he's going to spend the rest of his life with, you're giving him a child. It's a good thing he's responsible and he's shown me. We're not the type to abandon one of our own...nor leave responsibilities assigned to us at birth.”

“I don't understand…” Louis trailed off.

“I want my son back in his home, where he belongs. He's next in line and that's something he can't forget about. He has responsibilities with his motherland, his people. I need you to convince him to go back.” Des explained. “I want my grandchild to be born there, not here.” He looked around then at Louis again.

“I already tried, and he won't listen to me.” Louis told him, gesturing the man to sit on one of the chairs in front of his bed. “I don't think there's more I can do.”

“Oh but there is.” Des chuckled. “I've seen you two together. You would do anything for him just like he would for you, he would bend over backwards for you. He… he would even kill for you.” Des raised a brow.

The smile on Des’ face had Louis shaking. He couldn't know what Louis had done. It just wasn't possible when no one had pointed a finger at him.

“I have my ways, child.” The man no longer smiled. “I can’t judge you when that was no way to live. My Anne used to live through it until I chose her instead of that German princess I was supposed to marry. Anne used to be a peasant.” Des told him, smiling when he saw Louis’ expression.

“And they let you?” Louis asked.

“Oh no.” Des chuckled. “But I fought them until they let me do whatever I wished. It wasn’t long before we were married and she was expecting our Gemmaline.”

Louis couldn’t help but smile, little crinkles forming by his eyes. “I’m happy you got your happy ending.”

“I didn’t realize Harry’s situation was almost similar to mine until he was gone. If the church ended up doing what I wanted years ago then why not now? I came here as soon as that happened, but now my son refuses to go back. I would hate for my grandchild to be born out of the palace. That has never happened before and I’m not going to let it happen, it's a tradition.” Des slowly got up. “I need your help, Louis.”

“I– I can assure you he will be born where he’s supposed to.” Louis told him. He wasn’t going to break the tradition, and he needed Harry to claim his title.

“A son.” Des said. “Louis, child, whatever the Lord decides to bless us with. Gemma was the first female in generations, she’s my pride and joy. As wise and beautiful as her mother. I can assure you that whatever we’re blessed with, we’ll welcome them with open arms.”

“I’ve always thought a male with no mark is better, it’s what I was taught to know it's best.” Louis looked down lovingly at his belly.

“They will be queen or king one day under their own birth right, whether they’re female or male...a male with the mark. They will rule this country no matter what, but if you wish for a son with no mark, then I hope you get what you want.” Des told him, a smile slowly forming on his face, but that was quickly gone when the door opened and Harry walked in holding a bowl on his hands.

“What are you doing here?” Harry walked up to Louis’ side and placed the bowl on the night table next to the bed. He never looked away from his father, not even when he moved to stand in front of Louis to block his father’s view.

“Harry, its okay. He came to see how I’m doing.” Louis reached for Harry’s hand, squeezing it as soon as his husband grabbed it.

“We were just getting to know each other.” Des took a step forward. “He’s the mother of my grandchild after all, we’re family.”

“After the little stunt earlier today, it is quite hard to believe that.” Harry got too close, enough to feel his father’s breath on his face.

“I’m your father, have some respect.” Des pushed him back.

“Harry…” Louis started getting nervous and after struggling, he finally got up.

“You and I are going to talk later.” Des said before he left.

Harry didn’t take his eyes off of him until he was gone. He turned around to make sure Louis was okay, looking right into his eyes.

“Did he hurt you? Tell me the truth.” Harry demanded, not knowing anymore who his father really was.

“He didn’t hurt me. He just came to see how I was doing.” Louis told him, having to sit down on the bed when his feet started hurting more than they already did.

Harry stared at him for a while, until he remembered what he had gone all the way to the kitchen for.he turned around and picked up the bowl then knelt down in front of Louis.

“What’s that?” Louis asked.

“Some sort of concoction for the swelling and pain. One of the servants said it is good. I hope it is and it doesn’t harm you or it will cost her her job...or her head.” Harry muttered his last words, but Louis had heard them loud and clear. Louis chose to ignore it.

“Who was it?” He asked instead.

“I don’t know, but she had a baby on her back. I didn’t know mother let them bring their children.” Harry said in a full disapproving tone.

Louis looked down at his lap and picked at a loose thread of his shirt.

“I– I begged your mother to hire her. She doesn’t have a husband and she needed the job and...and a place to stay.”

“There is a reason why they can’t bring their children. They’re a distraction when they’re as small as hers is, and when they get older they’re mischievous.” Harry tried to make him understand. He heard Louis hissing as soon as he touched his feet.

“She needs a job to support herself and her baby. It’s already hard for her as it is.” Louis started tearing up for no reason, feeling emotional. “That could have been me. Harry...she had her baby in the streets with no one to help her.”

By then, Louis was already full on crying, begging Harry not to kick her out. He was sure that the girl’s story was true when she had been desperate. She had nothing on her but the clothes she had on and her week old baby. Louis knew that look on her face, one of helplessness and cries for help. Louis had begged Anne until she had caved in and now the girl had a job, new and warm clothes and a place for her and her baby to stay in.

“Louis…” Harry started.

“No! She’s not leaving.” Louis crossed his arms over his chest. “She’ll be working for me then, you have my money so I’ll just use that to pay her. She’ll be my side like Lucy, both of them can help me out with the baby when he’s born.”

“I’m not going to kick her out, Louis. I’m not cruel. I just think it is a big distraction, but she needs to provide for herself and the baby so she can stay. She can either work in the kitchen or be here with you and Lucy. I don’t mind, darling. It’s whatever you want.” Harry said as he rubbed Louis’ feet.

“Thank you.” Louis placed his hand on Harry’s cheek, then reached down to kiss the top of his head.

“Anything for you.” Harry looked up at him, puckering up his lips, silently asking for a kiss that Louis gladly gave him.

“Don’t stop rubbing my feet.” Louis told him in between kisses, giggling when Harry tried to tickle them.

~*~

A week later Louis was yet to tell Harry he wanted to move back to the palace, but every time he tried to, he would always stop. He would tell himself it wasn’t the right time, that he needed more time. But he couldn’t keep wasting time when he was already seven months pregnant and his due date was quickly approaching. It didn’t help that Harry had been gone for the past two days, having gone to see more property that his grandfather had left him.

Louis would spend his days in his bedroom or walking round the house with Lucy and Edith. She always had her baby with her, a cute little baby boy that Louis loved to hold all the time. Louis had decided that the child and his mother would be going back with him and Harry. She had already accepted, and now Louis was just waiting for the right time to tell Harry.

It happened faster than he thought when Harry got back the next day. He thought he would be able to tell him, but he had spent the whole day in bed with Harry when the man had missed him. The only times he was allowed to get up was to go to the bathroom. Louis was sore for days after that and still couldn't tell him when Harry started fighting with his father.

It was a saturday afternoon in march, the maids worked around Louis who was sitting on a chair in his bedroom holding Jonas. Lucy was sitting next to him knitting a blanket for Louis’ baby while Edith worked on one of his shirts. She was making a few alterations now that Louis had gotten a little bigger and didn’t want to ask Harry for money to buy new ones.

“Aren’t you the cutest.” Louis cooed at the baby, looking up to see Edith looking at them with a smile on her face.

The baby stared at him with his big gray eyes and then cooed, bringing out a smile to Louis’ face. It just made Louis want the time to go faster so he could hold his baby in his arms. He tried to act like the wet spots on his chest weren’t there when he had started leaking the day before. He knew Harry had already noticed, and he was thankful he hadn’t said a thing.

He was playing with the baby when Harry walked in and slammed the door shut, startling the baby who started crying. Edith was fast to grab her son and left the room, both Lucy and her taking the blanket and shirt they had been working on.

“Is there something wrong?” Louis carefully asked

“Father’s younger brother came to visit.” Harry paced back and forth in front of Louis.

“Is that bad?”

“He’s just special, darling.” Harry walked up to him and knelt down in front of him, holding his hands in his warm ones. “I am afraid we’re gonna have to meet him, waste our time with him.” Harry sighed, and Louis couldn’t help but giggle at the bored expression on Harry’s face.

“How about we take a walk around the gardens?” Harry suggested, helping Louis up when he nodded.

The walk was supposed to be around the gardens, but they ended up in the stables with the horses. Harry had tried to keep Louis away from them, but Louis had insisted on seeing and feeding them. He had fallen in love with a white one, and Harry didn’t waste time to gift him to him. He knew it was dangerous for Louis to ride a horse at that point in his pregnancy, but when Louis insisted, he couldn’t say no to that sweet face of his.

“Can you go a little faster?” Louis asked.

He was sitting on the horse in front of Harry, and his legs were on the side while Harry’s were on either side of the animal. Harry had his arms tightly wrapped around Louis, making sure he was safe and comfortable at all times.

“I think it’s best if we keep this pace. Mother always says it’s dangerous for a pregnant person to ride a horse.” Harry kissed the back of Louis’ head.

“Yet here we are.” Louis rolled his eyes.

“I know you rolled your eyes.” Harry hooked his chin over his right shoulder, “You always do when you use that tone.”

“I did not.” Louis giggled, blushing when Harry started kissing his neck.

“You did. I know it.” Harry kissed his neck one more time before he made the horse go a little faster.

He decided it was time to go back home, to get out of the forest before lunch time. One of the stables took the horse as soon as Harry had helped Louis down, then grabbed his hand and walked inside. He stopped in his tracks when he saw his father and uncle sitting in the living room arguing about something.

“We’re eating in our bedroom.” Harry mumbled, but as he turned around to go, he caught their attention.

“Harry! Nice to finally see you.” A green eyed man slowly got up and made his way to them.

He was as tall as Harry, bald and overweight.

“John.” Harry faked a smile.

“And who is this?” John asked, looking Louis up and down. His gaze lingered on Harry’s and Louis’ linked hands and then to Louis’ belly. It made Louis feel uncomfortable.

“You finally married. Our invitation must have gotten lost.” John said.

“There were no invitations, uncle. It was a small ceremony, between us.” Harry said, moving to stand in front of Louis when the man took a step forward.

“I heard. I guess it is best to keep it between family when one poisons their bloodline with peasant blood. Isn’t that right, Des?” John smirked and looked at Des. “I also heard there’s no heir for the throne anymore. I guess it will be passed on to my firstborn.”

“Gemma will take over.” Des glared, knowing that it wasn’t going to happen when his own firstborn was miles away from home.

“You’re forgetting she can’t do that, dear brother.” John said, sure that he had finally won something and the throne would pass on to his family. His family that was always ignored.

“Actually, you’re looking at your next king. And my husband will soon birth my heir. There’s plenty of heirs to go around.” Harry smirked when he saw John’s face getting redder by the second. “Now if you’ll excuse us, we have to go pack our belongings so we can go back home. Father, we leave tomorrow morning.” He told his father before he walked away, pulling a speechless Louis away with him.

When they walked into their bedroom, Harry let go of Louis’ hand and started pacing back and forth. He kept rubbing his hands on his face while Louis watched as he chewed on his bottom lip.

“You did the right thing.” Louis finally spoke up. “The throne belongs to you.”

“I don’t want to go back.” Harry sat down at the foot of the bed. “Being king is a lot of responsibility and it will keep me away from you and our baby.”

“But it belongs to you.” Louis insisted, moving to sit next to him. “We have to go back, I’m not going to let them take it from your family because of me. We must go back.”

“I can always ask father to give me time before we’re crowned.” Harry looked at Louis who smiled.

Louis knew he had convinced him when Harry spoke up. It was then that they realized Louis had Harry wrapped around his little finger. Whatever Louis desired, Harry would go to the ends of the earth to get it for him. Nobody questioned if it was a good thing or not. What would the consequences be. It never crossed their minds.

#Louis Tomlinson #LouisTomlinson #Harry Styles #HarryStyles #Larry Stylinson #LarryStylinson #Bottom!Louis #Pregnant!Louis #Top!Harry #New Fic #NewFic #Mpreg

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