#i have a few ideas for book cover designs that i really want to stretch my artistic abilities to try and make
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bio-nerds-corner · 5 months ago
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so its been forever, and i got on some new meds and remembered how to draw. so uh.
heres my most recent hyperfixation getting in deep ft my fucking around with trying to figure out how i draw people. and too many jokes about height. stay tuned for a bunch more, my brain feels like its turning inside out and i love this series so much i keep rereading it ^^
Getting in Deep and all of its characters belong to @peachnewt, go follow her and check it out if you haven't already :)
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justheblueberry · 2 years ago
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the process of binding a study in scarlette:
SO. i had a Vision for this fic, right from the start. so many new things i wanted to do and almost no idea how to do it. but let's start from the beginning, shall we?
i usually don't do anywhere NEAR this amount of brainstorming and designing but the fic has so many motifs and details that i knew i wanted to fit in, so i had to draw it all out and piece everything together.
here are a few of my behind-the-scenes brainstorming notes:
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this was the very first brainstorm i did, it was basically me flinging a bunch of cool book stuff i saw other people doing at the wall and seeing what stuck in my brain.
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this was an idea for a cover which incorporated symbols for each of the chapters inside the branches, but i just wasn't fond of the execution of the draft. so i scrapped it, eventually settling on the silhouette cover for the final.
i had big dreams! and not much experience to back it up with ! so after finishing the typeset, i put it aside for a bit and did a couple other binds first.
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this was my second brainstorm, i started to figure out the direction i wanted the illustrations to go in, no longer aimlessly tossing vibes around!
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i did a lot of waffling about different versions of the back cover design. here's a couple that i scrapped!
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over the summer, i decided to finally stop procrastinating and printed out the typeset (after making a few revisions to it). it's a Chonk. i pressed it some, which helped, but it definitely still had a lot of swell.
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sewing with red thread.
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endpapers cut, glued, and a glow in the dark paint test.
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built a press...up til this point i'd just been stacking a bunch of thick books on top of my binds, but for this one i needed a lying press to sand my edges, so i finally caved. who needs tools? my edge painted book needs tools :(
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sanding edges with power sander
so. this was my first time doing anything with edges, so i did a little test on a book i already had; it was a bit of a process trying to work out how much i should dilute it, and it took a bit of trial and error. doing the bottom edge first was the right call ^^;; it's the flakiest out of all the edges on the final bind. i'm really happy with the fore edge though, i got a really even and nice coat on it.
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rounding, gluing and (an attempt at) backing
so. it was the day before i was moving. i had run out of time to procrastinate any more. the rounding was quite rushed and i barely backed it at all. there was also the fact that i don't have backing boards and was winging it with absolute unfounded confidence. it still turned out okay though so i got away with it!
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dug out a 5 yen coin from who knows where for the bookmark. didn't have pliers with me yet so i had to close the crimp with a metal water bottle and arm strength. who needs tools right
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endbands. i love sewing endbands, but man, for chonk fics it gets Long. i think they each took like 2-4 hours to do. i briefly considered learning double core endbands for this bind but decided against it as i barely just got a handle on regular ones. discovery: my ambitions have limits!
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this was my finalized cover design. i had planned to do it all with htv, but last minute decided to do the silhouette as a linocut instead. i'd never done one before but i had the materials and the fearlessness that only a beginner (who does not know the limits of fear) can have; i think it turned out good :>
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the final stretch!!!! it was at this point, when i realized that the size i'd carved the linocut at would be too wide for the half binding case i had planned. improvisation time. i decided to switch from a regular case binding to a three piece bradel. i have only done case bindings and stab bindings at this point...and with only mild panic and stubborn hubris to fuel me, i went for it. i had already attached an oxford hollow and cut my boards, but it probably wouldn't make too much of a difference! fuck around and find out!
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cutting the cloth and adhering the htv. the summary on the back was HELL to weed, and some of the letters ended up crooked. i should've just printed it letterpress, but i was running out of patience.
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i followed DAS bookbinding's tutorial on youtube of his in-boards three piece bradel and the part where i had to tuck in the spine cloth in between the hollow was definitely the trickiest, but it went okay in the end!
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after attaching the boards and gluing down the endpapers i was finally done!!!! after months and months of the unfinished textblock guilting me from the corner of my room, it's finally finished! fancy pics coming soon!
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i learned SO MUCH from this bind, sanding edges, painting edges, linocuts, multiple colors of htv, oxford hollows, and a whole new style of binding....yeah. it was a ride! thanks for reading to the end!
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alicesadventuresinffxiv · 11 months ago
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FFxivWrite2024 Prompt #18 / #wolkrileweek Prompt #5 (Pictomancy)
Title: Not hackneyed if it’s from you
Wordcount: 1344
Spoilers through: Endwalker 6.55
Relationships & Characters: Krile/Tataru
Summary: Five times Tataru designed a Pictomancer outfit for Krile.
(Oh hey, a prompt combination I can turn into Krile/Tataru fluff! This entry really needs some screenshots to go along with it… but that will have to wait for a later draft. ^^)
.
“Pictomancy, is it?” Tataru thoughtfully tilted her head. “I can’t say I’ve ever heard of such a thing.”
“It was invented by the Archon Relm.” Krile grunted as she hefted a stack of tomes onto a desk in the Baldesion Annex. “These days, there are very few living practitioners, so I’ve turned to the Noumenon instead.”
“Aha! So you’re looking for historical inspiration.”
“That’s the idea.” Krile opened one of the tomes, wrinkled her nose at the dense blocks of text in an art book, and closed it again. “Though I must confess, I’m not certain where to start.”
Tataru peered over her shoulder “Hmm… well, what if you looked the part?” She pointed to the cover of the book, illustrated with colorful images of the Archon in question. “I think I could whip something like that up. Maybe even try a few variations…different styles, different materials…”
“Are you sure? I know you’ve been swamped with orders now that you’ve got the Warrior of Light advertising your business. I wouldn’t want to impose.”
But Tataru’s eyes gleamed. “If it means getting to see you try my designs on, I’ve all the time in the world!” Then she sheepishly looked away, her voice hesitant. “If, that is, you’re interested…?”
Ah. So that was her goal. Despite becoming an immensely successful businesswoman and a political force to be reckoned with in her own right, the Scion’s former secretary had an ever-humble heart. From the shy eagerness coloring both her posture and her thoughts, she must have been waiting to ask for quite a long time.
Krile chuckled and put aside her book. “I suppose I have put little thought into my appearance lately. As much as I’ll miss this cloak, I can’t wear it forever.”
Tataru looked curious at that comment, but Krile merely sat back in her chair and stretched. The meaning behind her robe, and the ups and downs of her early life with the Students were not topics she much enjoyed expounding upon. “Very well. In the spirit of attempting something new, I’ll act as your model.”
1. Archon Relm
Krile twirled and posed, judging her reflection in the mirror. “It truly is the spitting image of that book cover, isn’t it.”
Tataru grinned. “I even matched the paint splatters!” 
Indeed, it was a startlingly accurate recreation. So accurate, in fact, that Krile couldn’t help but feel she was standing in shoes she couldn’t hope to fill. Her shoulders slumped. “Mayhap you should try your hand at pictomancy instead of me. The craftsmanship on display here is far better than any I’ve accomplished with my paintings.”
Tataru winced sympathetically. “Trouble controlling your creations?”
“More like a failure of imagination.” Krile shook her head. “I’m sorry. The costume is lovely, but… it just makes me worry I won’t ever measure up.”
“Then let’s try something else!” Tataru narrowed her eyes and stared deep into Krile’s. “Something unique to you...”
2. Elemental +2 Casting Set 
“Tataru?” 
“Yes?”
Krile examined the glowing white lines running down the coat. “Did you get the materials for this from the Isle of Val?”
“You’d be surprised what activities retainers get up to, and what they’re willing to discuss in exchange for a little discretion.” The Scion’s master of blackmail crossed her arms with a smirk. “Besides, I’m sure those adventurers won’t miss a few bits and bobs they stashed away and haven’t looked at for moons.”
Krile lifted her shoulders in a wry shrug. “I did say they could keep what they found in return for their assistance.”
“I’ve seen to it that they’ll be compensated.” Tataru waved away her concerns. “More importantly: what do you think?”
Krile glanced down again and grimaced. “I look like a tree decked out for the Starlight celebration.”
“That won’t do, then…” Tataru bobbed her arm in a decisive gesture. “Next!”
3. Crawling in My Memories
“This is… unique…” Krile raised an eyebrow as she took in the full effect of the outfit. There was dark and gloomy, and then there was… Tataru’s latest creation. “Er… if you don’t mind my asking, what was the inspiration?”
Tataru shyly kicked at the floor. “Well… I know what it’s like to be left behind, on the sidelines. And I know that as difficult as that is for me, it must be so much worse for you! You never complain, even though you’re constantly feeling everyone’s suffering.”
“So it’s inspired by my abilities?” There was something oddly sweet about the idea. Krile couldn’t help but smile underneath the (frankly overdramatic) mask. “While I’ll admit I’ve had more than my fair share of dark days, I’d prefer not to dwell on them. As painful as it may be at times, I choose to see the Echo as a blessing.”
“A blessing…” Tataru’s face suddenly lit up. “I’ve got just the thing!”
4. Chosen of Hydaelyn
“By the Twelve…” Krile gasped as she examined the shimmering blue crystals and faintly glowing blossoms. “Tataru, this is exquisite. Are these Elpis blooms? And…” She closed her eyes and focused on the faint, yet achingly familiar aura the crystals gave off. “I’d know this signature anywhere. These are fragments of the Mothercrystal!”
“Just fragments and dust, I’m afraid. Not even enough to craft into a focus or staff.” Tataru knelt to trace her fingers around one of the larger pieces. “Even if She’s gone now, I like to think some remnant of Her still watches over you and keeps you safe.”
“I can’t wear this.” Krile would not cry. Would not think of that perilous yet wondrous voyage into the Sea, and the knowledge that she had missed her one chance to meet the Goddess face-to-face. So much of her life had been shaped by Hydaelyn’s call. But now she would never hear it again. “Imagine if it got torn, or stained with my paints! It’s irreplaceable.”
“But you do look just lovely in it.” Tataru sighed wistfully. Then she nodded with a serious expression. “Yet you’re quite right. The goal was to craft practice gear for your pictomancy, and this simply isn’t suited for that purpose.”
Krile caught her by the shoulder as the seamstress turned back towards her patterns. “Perhaps for special occasions…”
Tataru beamed. “Of course! Waste not, want not, after all!” A faint blush crept over her cheeks. “Did you have any special occasions in mind…?”
“Well, I do recall a rather fine dining establishment from Estinien’s memories should we ever find ourselves in Ishgard again…”
5. Dawntrail
Tataru self-consciously wrung her hands together as Krile moved the mirror back into position. “I know the design isn’t the most original, but I did my best.”
Krile pulled the hood up and stepped back to admire herself. There was something about the slight weight of the cartoonish ears settling back into place that just felt right. “I look like me.”
“You like it?” Tataru rushed over to the table and grabbed the final piece of the ensemble. “My contacts in Thavnair finally deciphered the recipe for the paints you wanted, so I’ve got those as well!”
Krile lifted her brush and struck a pose. “You’ve done it again, Tataru.”
The master seamstress shrugged awkwardly. “All I really did was copy most of the pattern from your grandfather’s notes…”
“And that’s why it’s perfect.” Krile looked back and gave her a nod. “He was no more than an amateur craftsman, so I suspect he copied the design wholesale from some popular collection. But he stitched it together himself, and that meant the world to me as a child.”
Tataru’s eyes widened. “So I’m following in the footsteps of a family tradition.”
“That’s right.” Krile set the brush and palette aside so she could take Tataru’s hands. “He might be gone today, but now I have you.”
Once upon a time, Galuf had made Krile’s original cloak with the wish that others would not fear her powers. That she would befriend and be beloved by many. And what better proof was there that his wish for her had come true, than the woman now standing at Krile’s side?
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pubby-pupperoni · 2 years ago
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You're the fnaf mutual so I'm going to overthink in your inbox for two seconds. The company in game and books is aware of the terrible past, and is using old code to speed up programming things (the mimic joke here) but what if they are using more of the old technology from the old fnaf pizza places? Wouldn't giving their main attractions actual souls make them more life like and relatable to the public? You can literally talk with Freddy Fazbear, he has a personality and everything, isn't that amazing kids give us your parents money. They certainly used certain parts of the funtime designs for the glamrocks, that ice-cream cake and pinata chest cavity wasn't originally designed for that purpose. The scooper apparently still exists, if it's the original one how much soul juice does it still have/had in it?
I like the idea of greedy corrupt company going into an area and not realizing the consequences because they are too busy looking at the money. Not knowing all of the fine details about everything, not realizing how dire the consequences could get, with money-making in the way to blind them further. I don't know if they're getting this detailed with the story though, I'm just throwing stuff at a wall
I'm very tired so if possible I'll try to add on in the morning but this is pretty tricky to answer bc we got a lot from HW2 but not the main answers we were looking for.
I'm pretty confident rn that none of the animatronics are haunted, just super advanced AI (as was suppose to be the case in Sl before Pizzeria Sim happened(?)) otherwise the mimic virus wouldn't have corrupted them, Freddy not being affected may just have been bad writing or safe mode just wiped it out of him somehow idk. Also they make it quite clear almost all the souls have moved on besides a few.
The only thing we don't know about is all the Nightmarionne imagery, possibly/most likely a ghost that just refused to move on bc they knew what the company was doing and wants them to suffer. Dying on your birthday at Freddy's is one thing, but fianlly killing your murderer only for the company to profit off your death is another. And than to top it off a random endoskeleton LEARNS about William and decided to become him? What a fucking nightma(ionne)!
"Listen guys you all rest I'll go take care of the shit fest that's happening over there, alright? I'll call you if we need to trap someone in the nightmare dimension again"
From how I look at it SL was the branching off point for the advanced AI. Baby was a very advanced AI and the literal ringleader of the operation, she would use Ballora and FT Foxy as lures/distractions while she killed the kids and got FT Freddy to help hide the mess. She was also keen on manipulation "faking" being Elizabeth to earn the nightguard's trust and sympathy so she can scoop out his insides and live inside of him till the body rotten so much they had to stop their collaborative roleplay server for being outdated and jump ship. With this ultimately leading to Baby being kicked out for abusing admin.
Also about the Glamrocks using the Funtime's design, I think this was done so the company could cover the fact their animatroncis were literally designed to kill kids. Like oh no no the Freddy hatch was just for cake! See??? Just a simple reuse of the design to deflect instead of actually being the same design itself. Baby's was easier to defend bc she also literally did use it to produce ice cream, I'm guessing the claw was turned into a hand in HW2 because Scott looked at that and went "okay thats a bit too obvious lemme tweak it a bit" or someone at SW suggested the changed and Scott said yes bc it makes more sense. Chica's voicebox may have also been a reuse of FT Foxy's and Ballora's lures but thats more of a stretch.
Pizzeria Sim is,,,something. Baby's characterization basically goes out the window and she fully claims to be Elizabeth. Now a lot of people just accepted Baby really is Elizbaeth (which is the canon answer but idc). While in SL that was ambiguous (bc she was a manipulative genius!) All that gets pushed aside in Pizzeria Sim. What I like to think is that after being kicked out of Ennard and being apart of it for so long she just kinda lost herself, who was she? She wasn't Baby anymore she lost herself, her look, the hold she had on those around, she was like a lost child in that moment...maybe she was a lost child? Maybe she really was Elizabeth this whole time? And in that moment of weakness she fully convinced herself that she WAS Elizabeth, she was William's daughter, his creation.
An AI that convinces itself they are someone they aren't (sound familiar?)
In HW2 I just want to note, as other have, how Baby feels different. Shes her old self back from good old SL. Now you might say well yes of course she is, she doesnt get like that till Pizzeria Sim. But it should also be noted on how emphasize was placed on her and her alone, not the other Funtimes, and not certainly not Scrapbaby. They wanted to emphasize SL's Baby, the "advanced AI". What I'm hoping this is that its a roll back on the character, not necessarily a retcon but trying to fix her character a bit with how it was fucked in Pizzeria Sim.
Now a lot of people just accepted Baby really is Elizbaeth. While in SL that was ambiguous (bc she was a manipulative genius!) All that gets pushed aside in Pizzeria Sim. What I like to think is that after being kicked out of Ennard and being apart of it for so long she just kinda lost herself, who was she? She wans't Baby anymore she lost herself, her look, the hold she had on those around, she was like a lost child in that moment...maybe she was a lost child? Maybe she really was Elizabeth this whole time? And in that moment of weakness she fully convinced herself that she WAS Elizabeth, she was William's daughter, his creation.
An AI that convinces itself they are someone they aren't (sound familiar?)
So basically SL was the introduction of the advanced AI era, Pizzeria Sim got rid of most of the spirits (and helped trapped William in hell in UCN) and made the companies ads literally help fuck you over on nights which is pretty on the nose looking back, and SB was our formal introduction to the new era of Fazbear Ent and its consequences with HW2 tying them all into one game/one era (HW going up to SL and HW2 having SL and after in it)
Or maybe I just pulled most of that out of my ass bc when it boils down Baby ACTUALLY being Elizabeth and being such a "daddy's girl" instead of the manipulative genius she was in SL literally ruined her character in general idk (like yeah shes a traumatized child but the way it just happens still kinda sucks) . And also again I'm tired as hell!
I need to stop going on tangents lol
Edit: I was thinking of mentioning the fact that the megaplex is built over the pizzeria sim than I remembered Gregory just made that shit up lol (In RUIN I honestly can't tell what that area is under the megaplex, I think it's mentioned in the books?) Also sorry if this is kinda jumbled I just wanted to quickly fix a few things before posting bc I keep forgetting about this post and making it sit in my drafts sorrryyyy
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thepenultimateword · 3 years ago
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Big Bad Part 3
Part One, Part Two
"I'm not in love with you!" Villain's face looked on the verge of spontaneous combustion it had gone so red.
Supervillain set their book down and languidly rose to their feet, stretching their arms far above their head. How had the little scamp gotten in without setting off one of their alarms? At least they weren't covered in blood this time. Aside from the patch over their left eye, there was no sign of their previous encounter.
"And why should you be, Sweetie?"
"Don't call me that!" They jerked their chin against their breastbone, and their shoulders practically quivered with rage. "It's everywhere! Herokiller and Supervillain are lovers? No one will even touch me!"
"Oh? Well, I'm sorry to get between you and your other lovers."
"That's not what I meant and you know it!" A lighter pink burned their ears, a contrast to the furious red that consumed the rest of them.
Not so tough on that subject, hm?
"Everything's quiet," Villain continued through their teeth, still unable to meet Supervillain's face. "No one comes after me, and anyone I try to fight surrenders or runs. I want people to fear me because of me! Not because of some overblown big bad they think I have connections with!"
Supervillain crooked their finger under Villain's chin to lift their face, but in true character, the scrappy criminal leapt back several steps, positioning themselves safely behind the arm of the sofa. Their panicked feral eye told a not-so-original story of maltreatment and isolation.
Supervillain settled for a meaningful look. "They will."
"Then clear it up. The healer misunderstood, right? Tell them they were wrong, make a statement, do something."
"You're really that ashamed of me?" Supervillain pouted.
"Shut up! I'm not joking! Tell them!"
"I can't." Supervillain shrugged at their shocked face and turned down the long lavish hall toward the kitchen.
After a few seconds, Villain's aggressive footsteps sounded at their heels. "What do you mean you can't? You're a supervillain! You can do anything!"
Supervillain laughed. "What a sweet misconception. You don't understand the politics of this city at all. But you're right, in this case maybe I should have said, 'I won't.'"
Villain spluttered incoherently behind them, but Supervillain was already opening one of the double doors to stick their head inside their busy, steamy kitchen. The savory scent of poached eggs, greens onions, and melting butter blended with the sweet of freshly frosted cinnamon rolls.
"Morgan?" they called.
Their head chef looked up from the midst of the hustle and bustle. "Yes, Master Supervillain?"
"Have the table set for one more; I have a guest."
Without waiting for an answer, they let the door swing back shut and made their way toward the dining hall. They slowed their stride just enough for Villain to fall in beside them, though the smaller criminal kept themselves pressed to the wall and out of reach. Supervillain continued their conversation as if they never broke off.
"People are going to notice if we spend a lot of time together. If we're lovers, I have an excuse to keep you close. And as you've noticed, it also keeps you safe, not only from Other Supervillain, who would have continued pursuing you, but from all villains. I'm putting a lot of stock into you, Sweetie, and I'm a villain who protects their investments."
"I don't want to do that," Villain said bluntly.
Supervillain sighed exasperatedly and burst through a polished oak door on their left. Their long dining table, too long for the meager company they only once in a while entertained, had been spread with a new, white tablecloth, the hem cut with a intricate vined design and embroidered with shimmery silver jasmine. They stepped crisply up to a chair on the right side of the table, pulling it out with a flourish. "If you have another idea, I'm all ears. But I don't keep friends or sidekicks, and I doubt anyone will believe you're a servant."
Villain didn't move, so eventually, Supervillain stepped away from the seat and took their own at the table's head. Only then did the other villain cautiously sit beside them.
"Then you keep lovers often?" they said, scooting the chair closer to the table. A new wave of color washed over them as they said it.
"Aw, jealous already?"
"I'm trying to get a measure of the situation!"
Supervillain smirked at their discomfort. "Don't worry, you've made your repulsion quite clear. But no, not very often. And not for very long either. I have moments of loneliness, but I don't do well with anything long-term. You can be my pretty little exception though."
"As if I'd ever be interested in you," Villain spat. "If I was going to pursue anyone it would be Grim, they're badder than you, badder than anyone, and their powers are actually impressive."
"They'd chew you up and pick their teeth with your bones."
"You don't know anything about me!"
"No, but I know Grim's type, and you're not it, dinky."
Villain shoved out of their seat, nearly toppling the chair over with their abruptness. "I don't have to take this! You want to manipulate someone into killing for you? Find someone else!"
Perhaps Supervillain had gone too far. Riling the villain was fun, but not at the expense of losing them. Luckily, at that same moment, the hall's door flung open and a line of servants marched through, pitchers, utensils, and steaming trays of food in hand.
"Honored guest, are you leaving?" one server asked, hovering uncertainly at Villain's elbow with their heavy tray of plates.
"Er, no." Villain sank back down, shoulders hunching with embarrassment. Their eyes were back on their hands again as the servants in perfect, fluid harmony unloaded the dishes.
On the main plate were two perfectly buttered halves of a fresh English muffin topped with poached eggs and runny hollandaise sauce that spilled and gathered along the perimeter of the plate. Beside this dish was laid a small bowl of lush mixed fruits, all peeled, pitted, and destemmed. Lastly, the servers placed a warm, puffy cinnamon roll the size of the dessert plate it sat on, cream cheese frosting melting over the sides.
Milk, water, and iced orange juice, sat in frosted crystal pitchers that sweated droplets of water onto their coasters, while a dainty kettle of semi-sweet hot chocolate steamed temptingly out its spout. Little dishes of salt, pepper, and sugar were placed close enough for access, but far enough to be out of the way.
Supervillain smiled at Villain's ever-widening eyes and watched their hands flutter anxiously between each item, as if in fear that whatever they didn't start on first would be whisked away.
"Swee--" Supervillain stopped themself and continued more carefully. "Villain, Iet me assure you of something. Whatever anyone says about us, whatever we make them believe, it's not real."
Villain munched mildly on the corner of their cinnamon roll, but the tenseness in their lean muscles revealed they were listening.
"You don't have to do anything while we're in private, or even in public for that matter. We need only give the impression of a relationship. And as everyone knows, I'm not one for copious affection. Once the job is done, we can call it out for the lie it was and split ways as if it never happened. Your reputation will be your own."
Villain didn't say anything for a long time. They were entirely engrossed by their meal, completely devouring both cinnamon roll and main dish. They sampled a little of each drink, but they seemed especially partial to the hot chocolate, not surprising since Chef Morgan had a special way of spicing it with cinnamon and nutmeg. Supervillain was patient. Herokiller may not be as calculating as other villains, but they weren't stupid.
"I need boundaries," they finally said, wiping hot chocolate froth on their sleeve.
"Understandable," Supervillain agreed. "What do you have in mind?"
"I need a heads-up whenever you want to touch me. It doesn't always have to be in words, but something. I don't like being touched without permission. I also don't do dances. Too much contact too close together. No feeding me food. No complicated lovey-dovey stories. No pet names. Oh, and I'm never going to kiss you."
Supervillain raised their brow. "Wow, you're certainly brushed up on romantic gestures. Are you sure there aren't any other lovers I should worry about?"
"Shut up. You're lucky I'm agreeing at all. Hurry up before I change my mind."
"A very boring and private relationship it is," Supervillain said, sealing the deal with a slight tip of their orange juice in the other villain's direction. "Now finish your breakfast, Other Supervillain is our first target."
Part Four
Taglist: @epiclamer @sink-the-ship @appleejuice
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apocalypticgargoyle · 4 years ago
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I read the edgy!karl, I’ve just finished reading the alt!dream, WHEN IS GEORGE GONNA BE NEXT 😩😩
*cracks knuckles* the hcs that everyone has provided me with has hella prepped me and I'm ready. this is dedicated to 🍭 anon, whose fanart always steals my entire heart. i love u babe
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𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐌𝐄. ᶤ 𝐩𝐮𝐧𝐤!𝐠𝐧𝐟
± pairings: punk!Georgenotfound x fm!reader
± word count: ~3300
± warnings: smut (18+), language, tattoo work, sadism, pain kink (if you squint), domination, mentions of needles, asphyxiation
song recommendation: Cent Fois by Alice et Moi
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George’s mind wandered to his curiosity of the shop across from his tattoo parlor; bright neon signs advertising the local psychic. It was a stark contrast to the dark, wet city housing the businesses. Each night he locked up, he found himself standing on the other edge of the street, staring at the signs and draperies peeking from behind the glass windows and considering shedding his skeptical nature just for one night.
While your business was alluring in and of itself, his true draw to the place came after he had spotted you moving into the apartments above. Your clean appearance completely juxtaposed the business you ran. In his opinion, all natural healers and psychics were born scam artists only focused on the quickest way to pinch a penny.
Yet day after day, he found himself having to tear his eyes from your business just to get home or he would actually venture inside. He was rather subtle about his fascination when it came to his co-workers and regular customers, but each day he prayed you would wander in, requesting some kind of tattoo in a place hidden from outside eyes.
A place he’d like to see again in a less professional setting.
You flipped the textbook page after finishing your paragraph, highlighting a date you were looking for before leaning towards your notebook and scribbling down the fact. You gnawed on the end of your pen absent-mindedly, positive you still didn’t know what your professor had been rattling off about in class a few hours prior. Your sights drifted up to the incense burning across the store from you, the stick on its last few centimeters of wood as the smoke went stale.
You chew on the inside of your cheek, debating if you should light another or wait until morning. You capped your marker and stretched your back, the bell over the door letting out a telling chime as a man peeked in.
You leaned over the counter, closing your books. “Good evening! Welcome to After Life. Can I help you find anything?” You rambled, your mind flashing to the sheet of paper tucked into the frame of your bathroom mirror so you didn’t forget the basics of customer service.
The man stepped further into your view, stuffing his fists in his jean pockets as he walked closer in a cautious motion. His dark t-shirt advertised a band you had vaguely heard of, but couldn’t think of a song even if your life depended on it. What really drew your attention were his tattooed arms; branches from a grand tree twisting every which direction to peek out from beneath his sleeves; bright floral designs and litters of birds decorating the dark wood limbs. You bit back a smile at the small mushroom tattoo near his wrist that seemed to be out of place.
The laces of his Chuck Taylors grazed the floor before he was standing in the middle of your store, looking around briefly. “I actually co-own the parlor across the street. I realized I never welcomed you officially,” he stated, hints of nervousness reflecting in his tone. His accent was calming and husky from the season change.
At the mention of the tattooist across the street, your memory flashed to the various walks of life that found themselves in your store after getting work done. You also thought of the fact that you had seen the man before you break up fights in the street stretching between your properties. The tall muscular people seemed to have no effect on him as he’d pull them apart like school children on the playground.
You pushed your books further to the side. “Oh yeah, that’s right! I should have come over and introduced myself, so don’t worry about it,” you eased, swatting the air of his comment.
He chuckled softly before reality seemed to snap into his head, making him step forward and extend a hand to you. “I’m George, by the way,” he introduced. You took his hand, muttering your own name and hoping your attention span would hold for long enough that he would be entered into your long-term memory.
His hand was calloused in yours, something that you wondered came with the job or if he was some kind of carpenter in a past life of his. You gently pulled his hand closer to you, slipping your hold out of his to look at his palm. He tittered nervously, peering at the flesh with you. Your finger traced along the mounts in his hand, finding Jupiter to be the most prominent. “That checks out,” you mumbled to yourself, nodding softly.
His eyebrows perked up. “What? Am… Am I gonna meet a tall dark stranger and take a trip across the sea?” He joked, making you smile as you looked at his Sun line.
“I didn’t peg you as an Outlander fan,” you chided.
His brows flattened for a moment, chewing the inside of his lip and playing with his snake bite piercings. You found it hard to look away from him. “Honestly, I wasn’t. A girl I was fooling around with really liked it. I don’t know…” he trailed off, making you giggle.
Your nail grazed along his heart line. “You guys were just fooling around?” You quirked, eyes meeting his. His expression narrowed smugly as if urging you to continue. “Your heart line begins below your index finger. You’re not the fooling around type.” He let out a snort. “You fall in love easily too.”
He sighed with a slight sparkle in his eyes as he looked at you. You couldn’t tell if he was amazed or mocking you again. “Well, yeah. That’s…” He paused with a swallow, biting back a grin as if he was uncomfortable, but didn’t retract his hand from you. “... That’s why we’re not anymore,” he admitted. He leaned his elbows on the counter as you sat in your chair. “What else does it say?”
Your lips curled into a soft smirk, his curious eyes trailing over your face as if to watch your brain work. “You have a fire element hand which indicates that you’re confident and passionate. Maybe a bit cocky sometimes,” you teased, making him chuckle with you. You could feel his eyes on you, sending heat to your cheeks as you tried not to focus on the mount of Venus under your touch.
You wanted to ask him about his sexual indulgences, mainly because of the prevalence of Venus in his palm. “You have a mount in Jupiter, which means you’re a natural leader, and rather dominant.” You looked up at him again, watching as he bit back a smirk, seemingly understanding the subtle innuendos behind your statements.
George seemed to have some kind of effect on you, your thoughts clouding with the idea of what his snake bites would feel like against your lips. He smelled like cigarette smoke, but there was no discoloration to his skin to suggest he was the one smoking. He watched you through the hair threatening to dangle over his eyes, his gaze hinting at an attraction he had for you below his collected form. “Go on,” he murmured, voice soft and wispy as the space between the two of you seemed to warm.
You made a conscious effort to keep your sultry thoughts at bay as your thumb brushed over the area you had been avoiding telling him about. “You’re driven by desire,” you answered, voice barely above a whisper. “You’re… very in touch with your sexuality and you thrive on your indulgences.”
You couldn’t help but meet his eyes, the dark irises swimming with some kind of cocky smugness at what you had just told him. He pulled away from you, gently standing up. Part of you wished the counter between the two of you would vanish just so you could be pressed up against George at the mercy of his driven mind. “I feel it's only fair I tattoo you now,” he quipped, making your eyebrows raise. Your confidence shriveled yet you swore you wouldn’t let him know that fact.
You chewed on your lip, looking up at him with a hint of suspicion. “Oh, I’ve never been tattooed,” you avowed, voice carrying the slightest bit of your coaxing nature.
He smirked. “I’ll take care of you, I promise,” he cajoled, teeth playing at his piercings again as you were sure he was already undressing you with his eyes. “You read me, I’d like to do the same.”
And how could you refuse such an appealing offer?
You leaned back on your elbows, your skin sticking to the leather chair beneath you as you watched him pull back his hair, elastic band dangling from his white teeth. Despite securing back his locks, bits of his bangs still hung over his forehead. You liked the interior of his parlor, maybe because it was only the two of you.
George began to fill small caps of dark ink. “I think you should get some crystals in here,” you teased, making him smirk. “I could hook you up.”
“What, like a salt lamp?” He joked, pulling on a pair of dark plastic gloves.
You snorted, lying back and looking up at the ceiling. “It might be good. Lighten the place up a bit.” George swiveled his chair closer to you muttering some kind of line about only getting them from you, but his words fell silent on your ears as his hand pushed up your shirt. You were silently thanking whatever divine force above for swaying you towards slinkier lingerie earlier that morning.
You knew he could see the lacy edges of your bra by the way his eyes nonchalantly flashed up to you before laying out his template on your ribs. You could feel hints of his warm breath against your skin as he studied it. “You can look at it if you want,” he stated.
You shook your head, wanting him close to you as long as he could be. “I trust you,” you muttered, your eyes meeting his again. His tongue pressed against his cheek as he struggled not to smile at your statement. He had promised to cover a small scar for you and by the way he explained it, you were ready to be in his hands. You wet your lips as he adjusted the speed on his tattoo gun. “Will this hurt?” You asked, tucking one of your arms behind your head.
The look of unadulterated lust that he gave you made your toes want to curl. “Probably a bit. It feels good sometimes, though,” he answered. He came closer to you, resting his forearm on your stomach to angle himself in the right position. At the feeling of his skin pressed against yours, you swore your body was on fire. It took everything in your power not to moan. It could have been the adrenaline pulsing through your veins, but his soft breath and the anticipation of the needle made you feel like a junky. “I’ll be gentle, darling,” he leered, his accent muddy and low. He let the needles drag against your skin and you bit your lip, trying not to hiss at the pain. His eyes met yours. “See, not bad.”
You let out a breathy wheeze. “Shut up, you sadist,” you quipped, his chuckle coming out rather roguish as he focused on the work in front of him. Your nerves were more focused on the way George’s hands were barely caressing your body as if teasing and hinting at what he could do to you.
You drew in a sharp breath as he hit a particularly sensitive spot. “Shhh shh. It’ll be over soon,” he cooed, his voice sending goosebumps spreading across your body as his lips tugged into a light smirk. By your palm reading, you knew he was enjoying having this much control over you.
Part of you found it almost torture when George would look at you with soft and lusty eyes for merely a second before his gaze jutted back down to his work, murmuring soft praises about how well you were taking the pain. You would go under the needle anytime he asked, just to receive the sultry treatment he gave.
He was so close, you could have driven your fingers into his dark hair if you wanted. “How did you get this scar?” He asked, cleaning off some of the ink before continuing.
“A knife fight,” you answered without missing a beat, making him scoff. “Actually, I fell into my grandma’s glass table one time. My cousin was teaching me the Electric Slide,” you corrected, making him laugh, shaking his head slightly as he filled in a spot.
He let his tongue dart across his lips. “That’s so cute. Did you ever get it figured out?” To this you shook your head, the both of you laughing. You let out a groan as the needle dug into another area on your ribs, the sound making his eyes dart up to you. He leaned off of you, slipping one of his gloves off. “Wanna hold my hand, sweetheart?” He joked, but you took his offer, squeezing his hand in yours when it got painful enough. You held it close to your chest, hoping he would feel your heartbeat quicken each time he looked at you.
As he finished up his work, his thumb brushed against your hand absent-mindedly. You could tell by the way he gripped your hand as well that he enjoyed that the tattoo hurt you. Most of your mind was excited by how easily he was stirred up by you, while the rest was completely unsurprised and even threatened to bite out that he was a cliché.
When he was finally satisfied, he cleaned you up and stuck on a SecondSkin, biting back a grin at his work as he pulled you up by the hand he was holding onto you with. You couldn’t help but smile at how excited you were to see, swinging your legs over the side of his hair and walking towards his mirror. You held your shirt up, chewing on your bottom lip as you grinned at the ink. George rested a hand beside the mirror, watching you beam at his work.
All of his lines were flawless, your scar completely disappearing within his shading. You’d pitched the idea of an ode to the Creation of Adam. While it was cliche, what better to fit in the space below your breast and give George the impression that you were cultured. Yet you told him he could do whatever he wanted to it, resulting in one of the hands resembling a skeleton and the other holding a sucker. As you praised him, he shrugged off your comments, murmuring about it being his pleasure. He reached out his free hand, letting his thumb smooth over one of the edges of this bandage, which brought you closer to him.
Your cheeks warmed at the close proximity to him as his eyes grazed over your body before meeting your own. His hand moved from the bandage to your back. You leaned on your toes, pressing your lips to his. The tension between the two of you dissipated as he hungrily reacted, pulling you against him and savoring your moans as his tongue slipped into your mouth.
George’s hands moved down your body, swiftly hooking around your thighs and wrapping your legs around his waist to bring you back to his chair. Your hands moved into his hair, letting it loose and wrapping the band around your wrist. The leather was cold as your back pressed to it. George leaned back to pull his shirt over his head, revealing more of the tree painting the expanses of his skin.
If you weren’t so eager to be touched by him, you’d be studying the work of art.
As his lips met yours again, you ground your hips against his, eliciting a moan to vibrate through his chest. You raked your nails down his back, trying to further draw out reactions from him as his hands attentively played with the lace of your bra, fingers ghosting over the skin pressing against the cups.
His lips left yours only to travel the length of your jaw and inch his way toward your waistband. Your pants were discarded with a swift tug from him before he pulled your thighs flush against his, grinding his hips against yours, hands gripping onto your sides to keep you in place. You tilted your head back, relishing in the friction as your body screamed to finally feel him take advantage of you.
You reached between the two of you, tugging at his zipper as your hunger for him escalated. His tongue flattened against your collarbone before his teeth pressed into your skin. You could feel his arousal through his jeans at the sound of your whimpering.
He pumped himself in his hand before pressing into you, the feeling of him inside of you making your head spin as if you were on some kind of ecstasy. Your moan came out needy and desperate as he thrust into you, gripping the edge of the leather seat as his breath hummed against your skin. Your fingers threaded into his hair, raking your nails down his neck as he groaned in your ear at the feeling.
One of his hands grasped your wrists together, pinning them above your head while the other wrapped around your throat. His eyes burned into yours as he leaned back, leaning his weight on your wrists and squeezing your throat, the lack of oxygen making each of your senses more heightened as he pounded into you.
Your moans of George’s name were grated as they slipped through your mouth, his relentless pace and intense hold nearly making you drool from the stimulation. By the practice of his actions, you wondered how long he had been stewing on demolishing you in this way.
He loosened his grip on your neck, leaning down to press his lips against yours, dragging his teeth along your bottom lip just to hear you groan from the rough action. You rolled your hips against his, letting him slow his pace to reach deeper within you. A sadistic grin spread across his face as he rubbed a thumb across your cheek, wiping away the makeup smudging around your eyes from his antics and the heat between the two of you.
He pressed his lips to your neck, wrapping his hand around the edge of the chair again to drive himself into you, the new angle muddling your mind and vision as your body ached to come undone. You sank your nails into his back, earning his low, raspy whispers of your name.
At his praises, you came, tugging on his hair as he bit into your shoulder again, basking in the feeling of you clenching around him.
The next day, George stretched his shoulders, peering through the front window of his shop. His mind sparked with the feeling of your legs around his waist and the softness of your skin beneath his fingertips. He could practically hear you whimpering his name in his ears as he went back to touching up a fading tattoo on his friend’s arm.
“OW, George,” Clay rumbled, thigh flinching at the jab from George.
George snorted, his mind still on the high he got from your pure trust in him as you laid out on his chair. “I’ll give you something to bitch about,” George grumbled, releasing just how gentle he was during your tattoo. The way your voice got soft and quiet when he rolled over a spot that was rather tender already would most definitely be a guilty pleasure of his.
Clay barked at him again as George jerked his hand, fulfilling his promise. “I’VE BEEN NICE TO YOU ALL MORNING.”
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gguksgalaxy · 5 years ago
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Stranded | JJK | E2L
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Jungkook’s offer to help you study for your exam is unwelcome. His entire presence is unwelcome. You don’t want help from the guy who passes all his classes without even trying. It’s annoying — he is annoying. From the way he grins whenever he catches you staring at him, to the way his eyes shine whenever he smiles at you. Oh, and let’s not forget the way his tattoos shift when he stretches or the way his jawline sharpens when he’s focused. Nope, you definitely can’t stand him.
›› AU: Enemies to lovers, fuck/badboy!Jungkook ›› Genre: Fluff / Smut / Angst ›› Rating: NC-17 (explicit sexual content, 18+) ›› Pairing: JJK x Reader ›› Word Count: 13k ›› Jungkook Snuggle Drabbles. Warnings Include: A lot of swearing, heavy themes of miscommunication and strong judgements, Jungkook sleeps around a lot, university related stress, brief mention of past underage drinking, emotional and romantic angst, argument, the desecration of a mug.  Sexual content: Protected sex, blowjob, cunnilingus, face sitting/riding.
A/N: This one's for you @fallinforkoo I hope that you like it!! This is not something I would usually write but the idea popped up when seeing the request so here she is! A little cliché but I hope it's original enough. Let me know what you guys think!
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“As your best friend,” Taehyung says sheepishly over the phone, “I really need you to do me a favour.”
You groan, leaning your head over the edge of the bed. “I don’t like where this is going.”
He hums. He doesn’t even laugh. There’s just a brief silence before he asks you the impossible. “I need you to invite Jungkook for the get-together on Friday.”
“Absolutely fucking not,” you spit. “Taehyung, my best friend, the platonic love of my life. I will do anything for you. Literally anything. I would suck your toes if you asked me, but I won’t do that.”
Now he laughs, loud and deep. It only makes you sulk more. Inviting Jeon Jungkook into your humble abode? To have him walk around with that smug—and delectably gorgeous—grin on his face as he finds something to make fun of? Not over your dead body. Not in a million years.
“Please, do it for me.”
You vigorously shake your head. “I don’t see how I would be doing you a favour by inviting him. You don’t even like him!”
“I mean...I really don’t mind him. But I like Jimin, a lot, and I feel bad for excluding his friend all the time, it’s starting to get weird. Can’t you just invite him over? I promise you won’t have to talk to him.”
Oh, but you do. Because Jungkook always manages to weasel under your skin and get you worked up to a point where you just have to say something. It’s not your fault that he’s such an ass. He just rubs you all the wrong ways. “I am in a constant state of wanting to rip his head off. I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
Jungkook is just so...You really cannot stand him. First of all, he doesn’t study. All he does is party and sleep around with random girls. Yet, he still somehow manages to be at the top of the class. Secondly, he’s a dick. He has no respect for both his elders and you. Any chance he gets he will make fun of you or blatantly insult you. And lastly, he looks too good and he knows it. Walking around campus just basking in the attention from all the girls, and guys, who want him despite his reputation.
Taehyung snorts. “If I were you, I would be more worried that you’re in a constant state of wanting to suck his dick.”
“I’d rather snap his dick in half.” Sometimes you wonder why you’re friends with Taehyung. After all, he’s the one who told Jimin to bring along his friend. Now, you’re regularly exposed to Jeon Jungkook’s incessant flirting with anything that breathes, constant whining about just about everything, and complete lack of personal space. Taehyung had been certain that if you got to know Jungkook outside of class, it would make you more amicable towards each other. However, it’s only made it worse.
“You know, sometimes people lie about something so often that they start to feel like it’s the truth.”
You roll your eyes, sitting up on the bed. It’s noon already. You really should be studying for your Psychology of Law exam. Also known as the course from hell. As a law student, you really can’t make sense of the material. All the mumbling about internal thought processes and stressors has your mind logging off. You’re chapters behind. You don’t even know where to start. Because unlike a certain someone, you actually have to study. Even with all-nighters, thorough summaries, and flashcards, you’ve still managed to fail quite a few classes. The future of your law degree literally balances on this one class. If you fail, you lose your scholarship.
“Are you still with me?”  Taehyung asks.
“Yeah, I’m just considering defenestrating myself. Anything better than studying for psych.”
“Even inviting Jungkook?”
“Anything but that.”  It’s not like Taehyung is completely wrong. Jungkook looks like a model when he actually decides to groom himself instead of showing up to class in sweats and uncombed hair. You’re way too aware that he works out five days a week. Or that he’s got tats lining his arm, intricate designs that—No. You’re not falling down this hole today.
Taehyung’s typing something up, probably studying for his own exams. “I will let you study then. Just please, invite him over. I will forever be in your debt. Be the better person.”
The sweet lining to Taehyung’s plea actually manages to work for once. He’s your best friend, after all. He would probably do the same thing for you. It’s just not that fun to be around Jungkook when part of you—as much as you may deny it—feels some type of way about him.
“I will consider it.”
“That’s not a no.”
“Don’t make me change it back to a no, Kim.”
He chuckles. “Someday, you will thank me. That day being the one when you finally come to terms with your feelings.”
“Bye, Taehyung,” you grumble, ending the call and throwing the phone down on the duvet.
So yes, maybe you do have a thing for Jungkook. Doesn’t make him any less annoying. If anything, it makes him even more insufferable. Why did you have to develop a weird crush on a guy you can’t even stand? The world doesn’t have to be cruel like that. But here you are. Not that it matters. Jungkook would sleep with just about any girl but you. Which says more about them.
Reluctantly, you get up and grab your books from your desk. Studying is easier in the living room, away from distractions.
Your peace doesn’t last long. Not even halfway through your first coffee, your doorbell rings.
Groaning, you get up and prepare your best ‘no I don’t want to buy whatever you’re selling’ face. Upon unlocking the door, that face falters.
“What the hell are you doing here?” you spit out the moment you see Jungkook’s big doe eyes. He’s standing on your doorstep like he’s supposed to be here. With his backpack nonchalantly slung over one shoulder.
He looks past you, into your apartment. “Oh, you started studying for psych?”
Your living room is a mess. “Well, I was trying to start, but I’ve been rudely interrupted by someone who has no invitation to be here.”
He rolls his eyes. “I’m here to make sure that you don’t fail another class and have to drop out.” Like he owns the place, he pushes past you and waltzes inside. He drops his backpack and readjusts his baseball cap, showing off his forehead and chocolate brown hair. It’s really starting to get long.
“I don’t need your help.” There’s no way he’s here just to help you study. And even if he was, he’s just going to distract you. You’re not friends. He must have some ulterior motive for being here. Jeon Jungkook doesn’t study, let alone help people study. Not to your knowledge at least. “I can manage just fine on my own.”
He grabs his laptop from his bag. “What part of ‘having to drop out if you fail another class’ did you not understand?” He puts the device down and gets comfortable on your couch. As if he’s done it before.
You cross your arms over your chest. “Who told you about that?”
He shrugs. “Jimin mentioned it, he must have it from Taehyung. Does it really matter?”
“Yes, it matters,” you sneer. “I didn’t ask you to be here. I don’t want you to be here. There’s no way I’m going to get anything done with you around. Get the fuck out.” You point a finger at the door, waiting for him to leave. “Do you not hear me?”
“Oh, I heard you. I’m just waiting for you to get over yourself and realise that you actually need my help.”
“I don’t.”
“Can you tell me the difference between compliance and suggestion in the context of a police hearing?” he questions, leaning back and propping his clunky boot-clad feet onto the table.
You press your lips together in a thin line, thinking about a possible answer.
He grins. “Any idea what the Reid Technique is and why it is or isn’t ethical?”
“No,” you grumble.
“You know what the pros and cons are of an Oslo style eyewitness lineup?”
You shake your head, dropping your arms in defeat. He’s got you. You don’t know anything. Maybe you do need his help. As long as he tries to be nice, you can give him the benefit of the doubt. Another year of your degree is definitely worth it.
Jungkook pats the spot on the couch beside him. “Let’s get started, we’ve got a lot of ground to cover if we want to get you a good grade.”
And so you get to work. Jungkook makes himself a little too comfortable in your home. Aside from pulling out his flashcards, multiple summaries and annotated materials, he actually slips into the kitchen to make tea. He raids your pantry for snacks and pulls out your blanket from under the table.
“What?” He says, mouth stuffed with gummy bears while he unfolds the blanket. “I’m sorry, but your apartment is really fucking cold. Since you’re dressed as if you’re going to the North Pole, I assumed the radiator must be broken.”
“It has been almost a week now. My landlord is being an ass about it. Also, I’m wearing normal clothes that normal people wear when it’s cold outside. Unlike you, with your short-sleeves and thin coat.”
“It’s October.”
“It’s nine degrees outside. You’re insane.”
“No,” he says, sitting back down with the blanket around his shoulders. “I’m just hot.”
A reluctant smile pulls at your lips. Why must you betray yourself?
He leans in close, inspecting your face. “I can’t believe I lived to see the day. You actually smiled at one of my jokes.”
If he’s good at one thing, it’s definitely proving that he’s an annoying shit. “I’m laughing at how pathetic you are.”
“At least I’m not the one who tried to hide her smile.”
“And I’m not the one who forced his way into this apartment. I’d watch out, some people might start to think you actually like being around me.” You turn back towards his laptop, scrolling through the document to the next topic. Police hearings.
Jungkook puts his hand down behind you so he can get closer—too close—and look over your shoulder. “Maybe,” he whispers, “I do like spending time with you.”
You whip your head around so fast you nearly knock heads with him. He doesn’t move. Both your noses basically touching. At this proximity you can see all the fine details in his skin. The flecks of lighter brown in his eyes that really do shine. The moles on his nose, the scar on his cheek.
“Nah.” He pulls away. “I’m just messing with you. I still don’t like you.”
What on earth did you do to make him come over here? If he dislikes you so much, he shouldn’t have bothered. You’re not a charity case. “If you’d just let me fail, you wouldn’t have to put up with me again.”
He tuts. “Where’s the fun in that? I’d honestly miss your bad comebacks and petty remarks.”
“Excuse me, my comebacks are not bad?”
“They’re mediocre at best, ma’am,” he laughs, grin showing the fullness of his cheeks that make him look deceptively cute.
You shiver at the thought. He’s a lot of things, but he’s not cute. Yes, he’s probably a good guy deep down, but he’s not cute. Jeon Jungkook is and always will be an annoying, self-entitled, arrogant brat. Nothing is going to change your mind. Not even the way your heart beats faster from just having him so close.
“Don’t ‘ma’am’ me,” you bite.
“I’m not even going to give you any points for that. You didn’t even try!” He makes an exasperated gesture as he grabs another handful of gummies.
‘Childish’ should be added to the list. “Are you here to help me study or not?”
Jungkook nods, sitting cross-legged. “Just so I get to bother you for another year.”
The two of you get back to work. He takes you through a very detailed and too dramatic explanation of the Reid technique. You find yourself captivated by how passionate he seems. He sure does know a lot about the subject.
Jungkook turns out to be a very active talker. He makes very detailed descriptions and uses his hands to explain things. It’s easy to understand him, but it’s way harder to memorise it. As the material gets more complicated, he gets more serious and you start to lose track. His frown deepens, dimple-like creases appearing in his cheek that make him look sharper and older. You can’t help but stare.
He’s so handsome. The tattoos that circle around his left arm shift as he speaks. The same way that his earrings dangle as he moves. You get caught up in him, the way he talks, the passion that rolls off him in waves.
“Are you gawking at me?”  He says, stopping his movements mid-air.
Cheeks flushed, you try to come up with a smart reply. “I was thinking whether your head has always looked this big.”
His lips pull into a straight line. “I’m here trying to do my best to explain to you what the difference is between an Oslo confrontation and a sequential lineup, and you’re worried about the size of my fucking head?”
“I mean, it’s awfully big, no?”  You poke his forehead.
He grabs your wrist in return, pulling your body towards him. “Can you at least try to appreciate my effort?”
“I’m listening!”
Wetting his lips, he arches an eyebrow. “Explain the difference to me.”
Well, you weren’t listening that intently. “Uh, a sequential lineup has a lower chance of causing false positives.”
“That’s the last sentence I said, you can do better.” He lets go of you so you can lean back. For a second, he actually seems pissed off. Maybe you should try, he’s doing his best after all. It’s just hard when he’s here looking this good.
“Oslo confrontations feature the suspects in a lineup at the same time, whereas a sequential lineup shows them one by one.” That’s all you got.
“Well,” he says, throwing you a gummy from the bag. “You got one point out of five.”
Treat halfway to your mouth, you stop. “One?!”
He nods. “And I’m being generous with you. First of all, you cannot call them suspects, they’re candidates or possible suspects. There’s usually only one suspect and the rest are actors who look like the suspect. You also missed the part where, during the sequential lineup, the witness doesn’t get to see all the suspects. Once they pick the one they think is the perpetrator, they will not get to see the additional candidates.”  Why does this sound so hot when he says it?
God, you’re going insane. “Well, I’ll try to remember that and the seven-hundred other things you said. All the blabbering you do makes it really hard.”  It comes out harsher than you intended. From the way Jungkook stays silent, you know it must’ve hit home.
He gets up, making your heart sink. “I think it’s time for a break. You’re getting frustrated. Do you want to order pizza?”
“I don’t recall asking you to stay over for dinner.”
Jungkook takes a long, deep breath, closing his eyes. You can feel the anger build up. “Listen, I’m here to help you. The least you can do is fucking appreciate it. Be stubborn all you want, but you need this. You want a shot at this degree. I’m here, because as much as I can’t stand you, I won’t enjoy watching you get kicked off the entire program because you’re struggling with the material.”  There’s a heavy pause. You let his words sink in. The level of concern is surprising. It’s sweet. “So do you want to order pizza or not? Because I’m starving.”
You nod. “Pizza sounds good.”
The tension ebs away after that. Jungkook goes into the kitchen and comes back with a mug filled with milk, of all things. You bite your tongue.
“I want pineapple on my pizza,” he says.
Pausing, you raise your eyebrows. “You cannot be serious.”
“Depends. How much do you hate pineapple?” His shit eating grin returned like it was never gone. It gives him away.
Narrowing your eyes at him, you speak; “So, double pineapple for you?”
Suddenly, his face falters. “Whoa, you can’t actually do that to me.”
“You’re the one who said he likes pineapple!”
“It was a joke. No person in their right mind would put fruit on their pizza.”  He sits next to you, taking another sip of his milk. “I’m really not picky though, but the one with the jalapenos is good. Or the chili chicken.”  Jungkook scoots closer so he can scroll through the menu on your phone, hand brushing against yours.
This way, you get a clear view of the rose tattoo on his hand. It’s beautiful, detailed but still in a traditional style. It suits him, as do his other tattoos. Though this one has always stood out to you.
“I’m just going to get pepperoni,” you say after a while.
Jungkook sighs, then turns his head to whisper in your ear; “Boring.”
Startled, you shove him so hard he falls onto his back. “Don’t be such a child. I’m not going to make you eat it.”
When he sits back up, his shirt rises and reveals the edge of a narrow, toned waist. You look away, focusing on actually ordering the pizza. Jungkook really doesn’t have to be so casually attractive. He’s not even trying and you can’t keep your eyes off him, noticing something new every minute. A good reason to not spend any more time with him after this.
“Gimme.” He plucks your phone out of your hands so he can order his own pizza. With the utmost concentration, he scrolls and types in some things. No doubt using your pre-set credit card to pay for it. “Wait,” he says, sitting up straight. “Whoa, you’re friends with Yoongi? As in Min Yoongi? The guy who won this year’s mock court?”
Gasping, you dart over to grab the phone from him. “Don’t go through my messages!” With one hand on your chest, he manages to keep the device out of your reach. “Jungkook!”
His eyes move over the screen, reading your messages with the third year law student. “Why didn’t you just ask him for help, huh? He seems to like you, and that’s something. I don’t think Yoongi likes anybody.”
You try harder to grab your phone from his hands. It must look insane, your body bent over his, him trying to find ways to hold you off and keep the phone out of your reach. Somehow, you end up squashed between his—way too strong—thighs.
“Jungkook give me my phone back!” you whine.
Something on the screen makes him raise his eyebrows. “Are you two like—you know? Cuz I’ve heard some stuff and—”  
You shake your head, getting uneasy with the fact that he’s really reading your personal messages. “I don’t like Yoongi like that.”
Jungkook lifts his leg, using his knee to push you back. He’s got way too much strength in his body. “Okay, but I’m not sure that he knows that. He’s not a nice guy, you should steer clear of him.”
“Oh, and you would know how? It’s not like you’re such a gentleman.” Again, you try to jump for your phone, but he stops you in time by grabbing your wrist.
Face serious, he holds your gaze. “I’m not kidding. We run in the same circles. He’s a total asshole, you don’t want to get involved with him. You can do better.”
That sure is a way to silence you. You frown, settling back into your seat as Jungkook keeps scrolling through the chat. “I’m not into him, but he’s been texting me for a while. I was in his group for mock court.” Finally, you get your phone back, but your stomach feels uneasy looking at it. Perhaps Yoongi’s messages are a bit forward.
“I don’t know Yoongi well enough to be able to say for sure, but I know enough to tell you that he doesn’t talk to girls like you because he wants to be friends,” Jungkook says with a hand lingering on your thigh.
Way to make you feel good about yourself, Jeon. “What does that mean, girls like me?”
His face changes, eyes wide.
“What are you trying to say?” you press.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he leans forward onto his knees. “All I’m saying is that you don’t deserve to get played by some asshole who’s just trying to get into your pants.”
“Oh.” Is he being for real? He’s looking out for you? This is not how this is supposed to go. Jungkook shouldn’t be nice to you. He shouldn’t be helping you, or care about your wellbeing. He’s a dick and the two of you squabble and yell at each other. Yet, your chest warms at his words. Even if you weren’t looking to get together with Yoongi, it’s good to know he might have alternative motives. “Thank you.”
All he does is nod, before he grabs his laptop to resume where you guys left off. The awkwardness slowly dissipates as he takes you through the entire lineup thing again, just so you’ve got it down. After that you move onto the remaining subjects.
Today sure is strange. You never expected things to be so comfortable with Jungkook. Despite his exasperating personality and your on and off bickering, his presence is pleasant. It doesn’t take long for you to sink into the couch, drinking your third large cup of coffee.
Completely focussed on his monologue, you ask questions very sparingly, enraptured by him. You knew he was smart, he passes his classes with grades of 80% or higher for a reason. However, it’s different to see it in action.
Pizza arrives a little late, much to Jungkook’s dismay. Turns out he’s quite cranky when he gets hungry. He devours his pizza way faster than you can get through half of yours, and he’s quick to inch towards a slice from your box. You smack his hand away, reminding him of how he slandered you for your topping choice. He can have your leftovers from yesterday
“You call this pasta?” he questions in a disgusted tone, crouched down by the fridge
“Take it or starve. Your choice.”
He gets up, nose scrunched. “I’d rather starve, thanks. What exactly do you excel at? Since it’s not school, wit, or cooking.”
“Aim,” you spit, flicking a piece of pepperoni at him. It hits him straight in the cheek and you burst out into a fit of laughter. He stares at you in utter disbelief, removing the greasy piece of meat from his face. Tongue pressed to his cheek, he fights off his own smile—or an insult.
Eventually, he sits back down and goes over the remaining material while you eat. The end comes faster than you expected, his eyes darting to the clock.
“It’s getting late, I should probably go home.”
“What?” You pout. “How can you leave me to my own devices like this?!”
“Because I did what I could. I took you through all the material, now it’s up to you to try and memorise it. I’ve sent you my summaries and I’ll leave my flashcards here.” He grabs his things, meticulously stuffing them back into his backpack. With a heavy heart, you hand him his cap that had fallen to the floor.
Jungkook pushes his hair back, putting his cap on. He looks as nonchalant as he did when he came in. Backpack slung over one shoulder, hand shoved into his pocket. “Good luck. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
“Yeah, I guess,” you mumble. “Thanks.”
“I’m glad my presence was enjoyed.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, I only endured you because I want to pass.” Part of that is true. Though, he wasn’t as bad to hang out with as you had originally assumed. Maybe it’s because his friends aren’t around to show off to. Or because he genuinely wanted to help. Which is still weird. “Good luck to you too.”
He waves you goodbye, opening up the door, only to be met with a gust of wind. The sound of rain enters your apartment. Water plummets from the sky by the bucket.
“Shit,” Jungkook peers outside, hesitating in the doorway. “If I don’t show up tomorrow morning, please assume that I have drowned.”
You would’ve laughed at the idea of him getting soaking wet any other day. He came here to help you study and now he has to walk home through the rain. No doubt he’s going to catch a cold dressed the way he is. Maybe you should listen to Taehyung and be the better person for once.
Getting up, you pull him back inside by the string of his backpack. “You can’t go out when it’s like that, you’ll get sick.”
He turns with a smile. “As much as I would like to see you squirm a little longer, I need to study too.”
“You study?”
“How else do you think I get good grades? Eat books for breakfast?”
You shrug. “We can study together tonight?”
Stepping closer, Jungkook forces you back inside. Almost nose to nose. Your heart skips a beat when his breath fans over your face. “Is this just a lame excuse from you to spend more time with me?”
“No. But I can only imagine the tragedy that will befall me if you catch a cold because you were out here helping me study.” You poke a finger into his chest. A grave mistake, it’s way firmer than you’d thought. “If I let you stay over, you no longer owe me one.”
“I’m sorry, but it really sounds like you just want me to stay.” Jungkook inches closer, backing you against the couch.
You open your mouth to say something when your phone rings. Looking over to where it lies on the couch, you see Taehyung’s name displayed. He can wait. You glance back up at Jungkook, who’s nearly chest to chest with you, and also has his eyes locked on the phone.
Then, he grins.
You act fast, snatching the phone from the couch and declining the call before he even gets a chance to touch it. Taehyung really doesn’t need to know that Jungkook is here.
Jungkook himself, however, picks up on this. He chuckles lightly, arching his eyebrow. “Are you trying to hide the fact that I’m here?’”
“I wouldn’t say I was trying to hide it, but I really don’t need my friends to think I’m hanging out with you.”
Jungkook drops his bag in the chair again, curious glint in his eyes. “And why is that?”
“Because,” you start, crossing your arms over your chest. “I don’t want to be associated with the likes of you.”
“What am I now? A villain?”
“No, you’re a stuck up fuckboy who does nothing but party and sleep with random girls and yet somehow still manages to pass all his classes. You’re annoying, egotistical, insufferable, pushy, invasive and disrespectful.”  You let out a deep breath. Yeah, maybe Jungkook’s been nice to you today, but he hasn’t changed.
He rolls his eyes. “Well then. I’ll have you know that you are nothing more than an average, boring girl struggling to get by. You’re opinionated, crass, entitled, standoffish, a bad listener, impossibly stubborn and a bit of an airhead.”  The words leave him as if they mean nothing. “It’s not like I’d want to be associated with the likes of you either. But here I am, stranded because of the storm. So you, my dear, are stuck with me tonight. You did offer for me to stay over, after all.”
“Whatever,” you breathe, “let’s just try to study.”
The two of you return to your previous position on the couch, but now, he faces you. With the flashcards in hand, Jungkook reaches into his bag and pulls out a container filled with Maltesers.
The rules are simple. You take turns asking each other questions. If you get it right, you get a chocolate, you get it wrong the person who asked the question gets a chocolate. Easy enough, right? Now that you feel a bit more steady with the material, you should be able to answer some questions correctly. Even if it���s just to rob Jungkook of the satisfaction of eating the entire thing on his own.
Two questions in and the bickering starts. Jungkook’s whining because he’s cold and you can’t turn up the radiator. But since he was the one to leave the door open, it’s his fault that it’s so cold in here to begin with. You’ve long hogged the blanket for yourself and you don’t intend on sharing it. It’s the only barrier that’s keeping you from touching his feet.
“Please,” he pouts. “I’m so cold, you can’t let me freeze to death in this fucking igloo.”
You pull the blanket closer. “No. It’s mine.”
He whines. “Come on, it’s big enough for both of us. It’ll be warmer if we share.”
“No.”
“You do realise I could just take it from you by force.”
“You would not.”
He sits up straighter, putting a hand on the edge of the fabric. “I’m giving you the option now. Either you share, or I’m pulling it from your cold, grabby hands. If you’re just afraid to snuggle with me, you can just say so.”
In order to not admit defeat, you give up half of the blanket so he can shove his legs under it. He extends his legs way past his side of the couch, his feet touching your lower back. You have no choice but to fold one of your legs over his, the other extended by his side. Indeed, it’s warmer this way.
“Now, where were we?” He flips to his next card. “Ah, yes. Weapon focus effect.”
That one you remember clearly. “It’s when a witness’ attention was so focused on the weapon present at the incident that they fail to remember any significant details about the perpetrator. It’s an involuntary process that often leads to inaccurate descriptions of the attackers.” You definitely got that one, no doubt. It’s easy.
Jungkook throws you a chocolate. “Good job, you’re doing well. It seems you listened to what I had to say after all.”
“I mean,” you say, popping the chocolate into your mouth. “I didn’t have that much of a choice but to listen, now did I?”
“You were visually undressing me the entire time. I had assumed your mind was busy with...other things.” He’s doing it on purpose, trying to get some type of reaction from you. Instead, you just bite your lip, not knowing what to say. “Oh, was I right? Tell me, what were you thinking about.”
You let out a sound, throwing a pillow at him. “I wasn’t thinking anything. And I wasn’t undressing you.”
“No, you were thinking of how big my head was, right? Would it,” he pauses, lifting up the blanket to peer underneath, “fit between your thighs?”
“What is wrong with you!” You scream, hands covering your face that quickly turns red.
He laughs in return. “You’re so easily flustered. I’d almost call it cute.”
Peering through your fingers, you frown. “Almost?”
“Yeah, almost. Not quite, because you’re still you.”
In a surge of confidence, you sit up straight and grab the stack of cards again. Not looking at him as you speak. “How about, instead of imagining what I taste like, you tell me what a flashbulb memory is.”
Inches away from choking on his spit, Jungkook doesn’t manage to come up with a smart retort. He just answers your questions with pursed lips and distant eyes. It’s correct though, so you get to throw him a chocolate. Which of course, he catches with his mouth. Show off.
It goes on for another while, storm raging outside. With the winds turned, you can now clearly hear the pattering against your window. You can’t imagine what Jungkook would’ve done had he been walking through this storm. It’s only getting worse.
Time ticks by fast. Soon, Jungkook is left with one last flashcard in his hands. And you are determined to get that last chocolate. He smirks to himself, probably aware that you don’t know the answer to this. But if anything, you are determined to prove him wrong.
“Tell me,” he trails, “what is the difference between compliance and suggestibility?”
You know this. He’s explained it three times. So you’re confident in your next words. “Compliance is when a witness giving a testimony willingly accepts a suggestion but is aware that the suggestion is wrong. Suggestibility is when they believe that the suggestion is right and thus take it for the truth. Both are problematic, but suggestibility is harder to expose.”
Jungkook tuts. “You got them switched around.”
“Huh?! That can’t be right!”
“Sure is, the last chocolate is mine.”
You snatch the bag away before he can grab it. “I don’t think so. Let me see that card.”
“Are you accusing me of lying?”
“For chocolate? I sure am. Let me see.”  You crawl over to his side, squishing yourself between him and the couch. “Jungkook,” you whine when he covers the card with his hand, “let me see. My grade depends on this.”
He chuckles at you. “It does not. I’m confident that you will pass regardless.”
You try to pry the card out of his hand, but it’s no use. The grip he has on the thing is too strong. He manages to hold you down without even breaking a sweat. It’s a few beats before you can realise that you’re now entirely pressed up against him. You can feel the muscles in his thighs shift, the soft skin of his arm against yours
“Let me have the chocolate and I will show you,” he whispers.
Flushed, you stop struggling. “Whatever, I know I’m right.”
Jungkook then reveals the card to you, showing you that you indeed, were right. “I’m glad you’re finally confident in your abilities. That’s the key to passing a test.”
Has he really been testing you this entire time? That’s sure one way to do the trick. Without replying, you sink into his side. Silently enjoying his warmth. It’s comfortable to sit like this, now that it’s night and the apartment continues to get colder. You don’t mind, really. Inhaling slightly, you catch a whiff of his fresh floral scent. It’s mixed with a sharp edge that suits him well.
As Jungkook grabs the stack of cards you got wrong to revise them, you don’t move. The two of you just get comfortable like that. It’s easier to see the cards the way anyhow. You can just look at them together. Plus, you’re starting to feel a little sleepy and don’t want to move. He seems equally as content, just reciting the questions and explaining why you got them wrong.
“Okay so,” you say, pointing at something on the card. “It’s not so much an issue on the witness’ side as it is on the police’s?”
Jungkook nods, looking at you. “They’re the ones leading the witness. It’s not the witness’ fault that they take on their opinion.”
You hum, meeting his gaze. He doesn’t falter, almost as if he’s searching your eyes. “Something wrong?”you ask, voice hushed, goosebumps appearing on the back of your neck. There’s a mole right below his bottom lip which is plump and looks soft. His top lip is more defined, making for a cute pout. The more you look, the more you notice all his moles. On his nostril, his cheek, his ear.
“No,” he answers eventually. Voice strained. “I think you have a pimple growing between your brows.”
“Get lost!” You shove your elbow into his side, pulling a pained groan from him. “You’re so stupid.”
For a moment he’s quiet, just rubbing his side and shifting so he can get more comfortable. One of his legs falls off the couch, the other still between yours. “You really hate me, huh?”
At any other given moment, you would’ve replied with yes. But now, it’s laden. Is he asking you that seriously? It’s one thing to tell Taehyung you can’t stand him, or to yell it in his face when he’s being a brat, but you can’t literally say it to him like this. Why, you don’t really know. The expectant look makes your stomach tighten.
“Why are you saying it like that?”
He shrugs. “No reason in particular. Just because,” he gestures at your bodies, “it doesn’t seem like you mind being around me that much. If anything I’d say that,” he stops, leaning in close to your ear. You can feel the barely-there graze of his lips. “You like being around me.”
You bite your tongue, looking up to find his eyes darker than before. Cocking his head to the side, he awaits your answer. You’re not willing to give him the satisfaction. There’s no need to stroke his already big ego any more. Yes, this is more pleasant than you’d expected. Yes, he’s nice to be around. But... “You’re still a pain in the ass. Sorry.” With that, you had expected him to look away, but he doesn’t. His eyes flicker down to your lips, and back up to your eyes.
“So are you,” he teases, lips stretching into a lopsided grin.
Within a heartbeat, your lips are touching. Jungkook groans. You gasp, pulling him closer. Closed eyes, your heart beats a million miles an hour, revelling in the feeling of his mouth against yours. How soft his lips are. The trailing of his fingertips up your neck so he can crane your head back.
He comes to life, parting with a brief look into your eyes and a deep breath. Then, diving in full force. Jungkook kisses you like he’s been waiting to—like he’s hungry for it. You can barely believe that it’s happening, still trying to register that he’s actually kissing you. That it feels this good.
Your entire body kicks into gear when he bites at your bottom lip. Shifting your body to face his, you wrap a hand around the back of his neck. Returning his fervor, your mouths part and tongues meet in a desperate clash. Jungkook lets out a deep, guttural sound that makes you shiver. He’s skilled, tongue swiping over yours in a way that you can barely keep up with. Deliciously hot, just edging on sloppy. There’s no room for pauses, no time for thoughts.
Gaining purchase against the armrest, you swing a leg over his to sit in his lap. Jungkook’s leaning back still, pawing at your waist now that he’s got full access. You take full advantage of the position, crashing into him and devouring him. Biting at his lips, sucking his tongue into your mouth. The feeling is nearly euphoric paired with the rough, firm touches of his hands all over your body.
He touches anything he can find. Gripping onto your thighs and ass, slipping under your tank top and sweater to graze the skin on your back. Sparks erupt everywhere.
Mid-kiss, he sits up. Twisting so he can firmly plant both his feet on the found. It’s the angle he needs to pull you right against him. Your hips make contact and you moan. He’s not quite hard but he’s certainly getting there and the thought makes your head spin.
“Fuck,” you gasp, breaking away for air while he grids his hips up into yours. “Jungkook—”
“No talking,” he mouths against your jawline. “More kissing,” his voice is so  raspy that it’s barely recognisable. Almost a growl.
You push his cap off. Grabbing his face with both hands and kissing him firmly. Angling his head back the same way he had done to you. Kissing him is way better than you could’ve ever imagined. He’s rougher, stronger, harder against your body. You need more.
Slipping your hands under his shoulder, you lift it. Tracing the hard lines of his chest, feeling how he jumps under your touch. It empowers you, makes you bolder. Your fingers reach a pert nipple, brushing over it only to hear him moan in the back of his throat. God, he keeps on getting better and better. Sensitive it seems, as you roll the bud between your fingers. His hips buck up into yours. Fully hard at this point, he must start to get uncomfortable in those jeans.
Jungkook’s resolve with kissing you slows, needing air. He breaks away with a smirk, cheeks flushed and panting. Holding your gaze steady, he pulls his shirt over his head in one smooth motion. Revealing planes of unmarred skin and tattoos you had yet to discover.
You take no shame in staring, reaching out to trace the dream catcher on his shoulder. Moving along the lines of thread and feathers that reach his elbow.
“Like what you see?” he whispers, pushing you closer with a hand on your lower back just so he can kiss your neck. You shiver, legs spreading. Leaning your head back to give him enough room to mark you up. The thought alone makes you whimper. “What’s that?” he mumbles, licking a hot stripe up your throat.
Fingers digging into his shoulders, you grind down onto him. He moans in response. “Stop being so smug.”
Jungkook throws his head back, looking at you through his lashes as you gyrate your hips more firmly. His body on full display. “I don’t know, it seems like you’re into it.”
“For fucks sake, shut up and kiss me.”
He listens, capturing your mouth with his. Everything moves fast after that. Between tongues and mouths clashing, Jungkook rids you of your sweater. He kisses down your neck and throat, leaving marks and enjoying the way that you quiver for him. You’re soaking through your leggings at this point. Jungkook’s doing no better.
When he pulls away, you take the opportunity to kiss down his neck, collarbones and chest. To get off his lap and kneel between his legs. His eyes widen as you do so. A hand immediately comes up to push your hair aside, tipping your chin upwards. When he traces his thumb over your mouth, you part your lips and swirl your tongue around the digit and bite down, making him hiss.
Spreading his legs to accomodate you, he relaxes against the cushions. Just like little pricks on the edge of your consciousness, you feel the nerves. You question your skills when you undo his jeans and pull them down his legs. Yet, the hazy look in his eyes tells you that he’s going to like this no matter what. He all but arches into you when you palm him through his underwear. Rock hard and leaking through the fabric, you don’t want to wait any longer to finally get your mouth on him. To hear him moan for you.
So you reach past his waistband, foregoing any teasing and pull the fabric down. His cock slaps up against his stomach, making him hiss again. The sight is gorgeous. Jungkook with his head thrown back, hair a mess, chest heaving and flushed even though you’ve barely touched him. It’s satisfying to know you did that to him.
You sit down on your knees, holding him in one hand and go slow. Mouthing at him first, giving him just a taste of what’s to come. He doesn’t hold back for you, reddened lips parting with all the noises he lets out. When you take the tip into your mouth, he jolts—groans and reaches to anchor himself on your shoulder. You have one hand on his thigh, the other around the base. That way, you steady yourself when you sink down on him.
“Don’t—Fuck, keep going.” A gentle hand winds into your hair, guiding you further onto his cock. You’re not usually one to do this but, seeing him feel this good spurs you on. It makes you want to take all of him. You don’t stop when he hits the back of your throat, gag reflex kicking in. He moans at the feeling, so you try to swallow. “Shit, fuck, don’t do that. Your mouth,” he pants, “so good.”
Feeling his grip loosen, you pull up, taking a deep breath when you let him out of your mouth. Spit dribbles from your mouth to the head, tears sting at the corners of your eyes. You look up, giving him the full vision, and you don’t look away when you sink down again.
You’re so wet. Core aching but unable to find any sort of relief. You end up trying to grind your hips without any payoff. Meanwhile, you start a steady rhythm. Hollowing out your cheeks and using your tongue on the underside. It works. You have him moaning out your name in seconds. His hand tightens in your hair again, not to force you, but spurring you on to take him a little deeper each time. Right until your nose hits his stomach. You hold there, to let him feel the flex of your throat one more time. Just so he remembers it. Then you take your rhythm back up, a little faster, a little tighter. Your jaw starts to hurt, but it’s worth it. To feel his thighs start to tremble and his stomach clench. How he tightens his hold on your hair, moans pitching every time you pass your tongue right under the head.
Your lungs are burning, but you can’t help but feel addicted to him. Sucking him harder and feeling him near that edge. You dig your nails into his thigh, breathing in through your nose. Jungkook’s hip start moving just a little, enough to startle you.
“‘M close,” he moans. “Fuck, can I—in your mouth. Shit.” He runs a hand through his hair, browns furrowed deep. When he opens his eyes you shiver. His lids are heavy, pupils blown and cheeks red. Just like his lips—he sinks his teeth into his bottom one when you resume.
He takes it as a yes, unable to stop his hips from pushing up. You let him take control, holding yourself still, hands on his thighs. Jungkook’s breathing picks up, moans mixing into one drawn out sound. You meet his eyes, mouth stuffed with his cock. That’s all he needed. He twitches and cums into your mouth. The taste is bitter and harsh on your tongue. You close your eyes, focused on the feeling of his body trembling. You’re the one who did that to him.
When he lets you go and you pull off him, he gives you a fuck-out yet expectant look. A cocky arch of his eyebrow when he sees your bulged cheeks. Waiting for you to swallow.
Instead, you reach for his mug that sits on the edge of the table and spit into it. Flinching at the leftover taste.
Jungkook nudges you with his knee. “Why are you like this?”
You set his cup down and reach for your own, take a big gulp of now-cold coffee. “I’m not swallowing your jizz.” The thought of doing that alone makes you want to puke.
“Don’t call it that.”
Rolling your eyes, you stand up on wobbly legs. “I just had it in my mouth, so I can call it whatever I want.”
Jungkook mimics your eyeroll. “Fine.” He pats your thigh. “Pants off.”
“What?”
He lies down on the couch. Surely he doesn’t expect you to ride him after you just fucked up your throat for him? What an ass. “You heard me, naked now. Chop chop.” He motions for you to hurry up and you just give him a blank stare. “Ugh, come here.”  Jungkook sits up just slightly again and pulls you closer by your waistband. He gives you a brief look. “Unless you don’t wanna get naked?”
You chuckle, pushing at his hands to get him to slide your leggings off. A hand slips between your thighs to touch you. Rubbing you through the fabric, your knees nearly buckle. He’s nonchalant about it, lying back, eyes focused between your legs. Yet, he’s too accurate, easily finding his target.
“Jungkook,” you whine, grabbing onto the back of the couch.
He smirks. “Let’s take these off too.” The snap of your panties to your hip pulls you back. You shove them down, taken aback by the feeling of a hand grabbing your thigh. You’re about to question him, when he scoots further back on the couch and lifts your leg past his body. “Have a seat.”
Mind absolutely blank, you let him guide you to sit over his face. You’re dripping and he can see it—feel it probably from the way you just grazed his chest. A small moan leaving your lips when he reaches up to kiss your stomach.
“Don’t be shy,” he chuckles. “I’ve got you.”
You shift forward, holding onto the back of the couch. His hands come up to your thighs, pulling you even higher so he can slot his mouth onto your core. You can’t help but moan.
Noisy. Jungkook is so noisy. He sucks your lips into his mouth, teethes at them until you’re shaking. You struggle to hold your hips still, the need to grind into him too strong. And he does nothing to stop you. No, he urges you on. Looking up at you with those big eyes and nodding against you. Jungkook opens his mouth, tongue darting out to tease at your clit just briefly. Then, the reigns are all yours.
He holds you by the hips so you can hesitantly start moving. You shiver. It feels so good; the wet warmth of his mouth against your core. He follows you, hands pawing at your thighs, hips, and ass. With eyes closed, Jungkook eats you out like he’s been dying to do it. There’s no teasing, no playing—he’s straight to the point. You move over his tongue as he sucks on your cunt, nibbling and flicking whenever he gets the chance. Anything else is irrelevant. The sight of his head blissed out between your thighs is all you can focus on.
The pleasure spikes, shooting up your spine and filling you with warmth. It’s embarrassing how fast he gets you on the edge. How good he is. The way he occasionally stops you to take that bundle of nerves between his lips and suck on it until you’re screaming—it’s mind blowing. Your entire body is on fire, sweat drips down your back. His name falls from your lips in cries that echo throughout the room. Louder than the storm raging against the window.
“Jungkook, I’m—” you pant, unable to finish your sentence with the moans that he pulls from you. Incapable of thinking from the second he swirls his tongue around your entrance and presses inside. You halt all your movements. Nails dug deeply into the couch, you reach for his hair with your other hand. He moans when you grip it tightly, his own fingers tightening around your hips. “Don’t stop.”
He alternates between fucking his tongue into you and sucking on your clit. The intensity is almost too much. The irregularity keeps you on your toes and has you nearly teetering over the edge. You just need to—Jungkook reaches behind you and plunges two fingers into your sopping core. The sensation of being filled along with his tongue flicking over you has your eyes rolling back. Everything goes white.
You double over on the couch, unable to keep yourself up and smothering him in the process. Trembling in his hold, he helps you slowly ride out your high. Short, gentle movements against his mouth. The rocking of your hips is as involuntary as the way your body keeps shaking when he lets you go. Breath high in your throat, you chuckle.
“Good god.” You fall down when he slips out from underneath you.
As you twist towards him, Jungkook wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, crawling over you. All your limbs still feel like jelly, your mind swimming. “Yeah, that good?”
You hum, eyes closing. Wanting to lie down, you turn on your back, hearing a sharp thud.
“Shit,” Jungkook gasps. He’s grasping his chin with a laugh.
A few seconds pass before you feel the soreness in your knee. “Ugh, I’m so sorry,” you whine, reaching up to touch him. But he has other plans. Jungkook surges down smiling, pressing your mouths together for the first time in what feels like hours. The stickiness on his face doesn’t go unnoticed. The reminder that he just ate you out, that he’s the one who made you cum that hard. You moan when you taste yourself on his tongue.
He kisses you deeply, smiling against your mouth. You finally get rid of your tank top, now fully naked. He mouths over your chest, twisting your nipples, spreading your legs so that he can fit between them. Pressing himself against you, hard and waiting. “Can you go again?” he asks, pulling away and searching your eyes.
You still feel floaty, but the sensation of his hard cock pressing against your thigh has you quivering. “Yeah.”  You’re aching to feel him inside, so you tilt your hips up towards him. Spreading your legs wider and inviting him.
“Wait,” you blurt, eyes flying open and pressing a hand against his chest. He stops with his hand around his dick, just about ready to slide home. “Condom.”
Jungkook curses, looking around the room. He locates his jeans that lie in a pile with his shirt and boxers. The fact that he’s actually got a condom in there is uncanny.
“You’ve got to be kidding me?”  You joke.
He shrugs. “I wore these jeans while going out last night.”
“You’re disgusting!” You slap his arm lightly, but he just chuckles in return. He knows just as well as you do that you’re waiting for him to fuck you. The clenching of your core attests to that.
No time is wasted, Jungkook puts the condom on and lines himself up. “You good?”  
You nod. “Just go slow.”
The slight oversensitivity just makes it feel even better. He stretches you out so perfectly. You feel every inch, every stutter of his hips as he goes deeper. Way deeper than you’d expected. Until his hips meet yours and he curses, burying his face into your neck.
“You feel good,” he mumbles, kissing your skin.
“You too.” Trailing your fingers up his back, you wait for your body to adjust to him. To feel yourself relax and pull for more. That tell-tale need for movement, friction. Jungkook holds steady, hips barely moving. “Go,” you say when your stomach clenches. “Move. Fuck me like you mean it.”
Jungkook growls, grasping onto the couch. Pulling out and slamming back in full force. You slide up the cushions, so fast you grasp onto him for support. Fingernails digging into his back, legs wrapping around his waist, you keen at the pleasure. Each thrust is better than the last. Harder, more precise.
Your back arches off the couch, mouth agape. Pleasure is constant, like your body is vibrating with it. Jungkook mouths at your neck, sucking, biting—teeth playfully tugging at your ear just to whisper something dirty that you can barely comprehend. Your mind can’t make sense of anything but his dick pumping inside of you. His hips slapping against yours and his mouth against your skin.
Until he kisses you. His mouth messily connecting with yours, movements slowing. With a hand on your ass, he hikes you up the couch, angling your body so that he can press your legs to your chest. Just like that, he picks up. Starting off slow, still kissing you, tongue laving over yours almost sweetly. You shiver, the slow drag of his cock as delicious as the harsh assault. He changes angles, just a hair, but it’s enough for him to graze that part inside of you that makes you see stars.
Throwing your head back, you moan. Fingers sliding through the sweat on his back, up to tangle into his hair, gripping tight. He groans. Head falling onto your shoulder, hips stuttering against yours.
“You like that?” you whisper into his ear, tongue darting out to flick at a pierced lobe.
He nods, teeth sinking into your shoulder as you pull hard. Hips picking up, chasing the pleasure.
Hearing him moan like that. So unabashed and loud, only adds to your pleasure. Toes curling, you close your eyes and let your head fall back. Hips meeting him thrust for thrust, helping him reach even deeper inside of you. To hit that spot every single time. Jungkook has perfected that balance between smooth and hard. Never slamming rough enough to jolt you, yet firm enough to make you capable of sounds you were unaware of. Rhythmic, never stopping or slowing. So constant you can’t do anything but fall into motion with him.
Bodies syncing up. Hands finding places to touch.  Nipples, lips, thighs, waists, hair. He is holding you spread open for him, your thighs starting to ache. But it’s worth it, because soon, you feel the pleasure spike.
Your stomach tightens, tingling at the base of your spine. “Jungkook,” you moan.
He answers by looking up, lips bitten red and parted.
“Can you,” you can’t finish the sentence, moaning and closing your eyes. Tapping his hand on your thigh is enough though. He releases you, instead pulling your legs around his waist. Closer like this, his chest slides over yours. It gives you just enough space to reach between your bodies and touch yourself.
He looks down at the sensation, cursing at the sight of your fingers playing with your clit while his cock slides in and out of you. The angle doesn’t let you do the same, but you can hear the slick slide clearly. You can feel it dripping down your ass.
The added pleasure is enough to put you on the edge, fast. “I’m gonna—Jungkook!” you yelp when he leans down and sucks a nipple into his mouth. “Fuck.” One hand between your bodies, the other holding his hair.
In seconds, your high hits you. Hard. Your entire body locks up, so much that Jungkook lets out a strangled moan. Fluttering around him he joins you in your peak. Thrusts stilling, pressed deep inside of you. He spills into the condom as you rut your hips, still coming down.
Spent bodies collapse onto the couch, Jungkook refusing to pull out immediately. He’s basking in the feeling of your aftershock, walls still clenching ever so slightly. You can’t blame him. It feels good. Having him inside of you as he lies down, pulling your hips against his, kissing you. His mouth is tender, laving over yours without much hurry. A hand combing through your hair, softly humming, smiling.
He finally pulls out, leaving you feeling empty and slightly sore. Grunting, he ties the condom and makes a show of throwing it into the same mug you used earlier. It makes him grin.
“I’m throwing that mug out.”
“You really don’t have to.”
“Oh, I really do. It’s been tainted beyond remedy. I’m not drinking from that, ever again.”
Jungkook presses his nose against your temple, still grinning like a fool. “You’re so weird.”
You snort. “Says the guy who just three-point shot a condom into a mug full of cum.”
No reply follows, only comfortable silence. Jungkook and you just lie like that for a while. Bodies coming down, breaths evening out, enjoying each other. Slightly sticky with sweat, you let him grab the blanket and throw it over you. Your heart swells.
Could it be possible that you’re not the only one who feels something more? Deep down, you’ve always known he’s not just an asshole. You’ve just never seen that side of him before today. All this time you’ve tried to ignore it. To not let yourself fall for that trap. A guy like him isn’t supposed to be good. Yet, maybe you were wrong about him. And maybe, he feels the same way about you.
Taehyung isn’t gonna let you hear the end of this, but you can’t help but wonder if there is an opportunity for more between you and Jungkook?
“You know,” he says after a while, “We should definitely do this again.”
Your heart shatters. That’s it. Reality crashing down on you. Of course Jungkook doesn’t feel anything for you. He’s just out for sex and you should’ve known.
You scramble up from the couch. Jungkook sputters out something you can’t quite catch, trying to grab a hold of you. “Don’t touch me,” you spit. “I can’t believe you.” Grabbing your panties and pulling them on alongside your sweater, you put distance between the two of you. “Is that what I am to you? Just another cunt to fuck?”
Jungkook’s hastily putting on his boxers, standing up, eyes wide. He opens his mouth, but you don’t care to listen.
“That’s why you were really here, right? To get into my pants. That’s why you had the condom on you.” It’s all falling together now. How could you have been so stupid? “All the fucking whining about Yoongi, but you’re no better than him.”
“Stop,” he rushes, shaking his head. “Listen to me—“
“Don’t!” you call when he reaches for you, grabbing you by the wrists and forcing you to look at him. You try to wriggle away, but he’s holding you steady.
“Listen,” he tries again. “I—“
You shove at his chest. “Let me go, Jungkook. Fucking let me go.”
He obeys, arms falling limply beside his body. Expression going soft when he sees you’re crying. “Please hear me out.”
“No, Jungkook. You don’t get it. I have feelings for you. Real, non-sexual feelings. I don’t just want to be another girl on your checklist.” There it is. Out with the truth. Your breaths come out short and ragged. Harshly wiping your tears, you grab your leggings off the floor. Jungkook just stares at you. “I was stupid to fall for this act.” It’s true. He doesn’t date. Sex. That’s it. You should’ve known, you should’ve protected yourself. Should’ve never let him weasel his way into your heart.
Jungkook deflates, head falling, hair shielding his eyes. “I’m sorry that you think of me this way.”
What a pretentious prick. “Forget it Jungkook, I’m not buying it.” You look outside, rain still pouring down the window. “You know where everything is. I want you out before sunrise.” You turn your back on him and storm into your bedroom, slamming the door closed.
The contents of your cabinet click, something falling to the floor. Your tears only get worse. Feeling the cold of your room wrap around your worn out body. To feel the remnants of him still cling to your skin. The marks, the soreness, and the scent. God, you’re so dumb. You want to call Taehyung, to hear his voice and have him comfort you. But it’s two in the morning and his sleep schedule is shaky enough as it is.
So you just opt for a shower, stripping and getting under the hot spray to wash away whatever you can. You douse yourself in your favourite clementine scented body wash. But it does nothing to clean the fresh tears. Nothing can. The realisation that your feelings for Jungkook had gone way past crush hurts. You let your guard down and he drove a knife into your back.
Sleep, you think. You need sleep. You need to rid yourself of these thoughts and feelings. Wake up tomorrow and just pretend like this never happened. Even if you know it’ll be evident. You can pretend.
You dry off and brush your teeth. Three times to be precise. Ending up in bed wrapped in your favourite teddy sweater, warm and cosy. Your chest still aches with tears that no longer fall. Heart heavy. Like you miss him close to you.
There’s not much you can do but close your eyes and will your mind to shut off. You don’t want to think about him anymore.
The creaking of your door opening startles you right as you’re drifting off. He better be joking. You refuse to move, holding tightly onto the blanket, hoping that he’s just checking in on you and will leave. You hear the door click closed, and then the bed dips.
You hold your breath. Jungkook doesn’t speak. He lifts the covers so he can scoot under them and pull you against his chest. It’s not a tight hold, but it’s there. A strong arm draped over your waist, legs grazing yours as you pretend to be asleep. The feather-light gaze of his lips against your neck makes fresh tears appear in your eyes.
“Jungkook,” you croak.
He shushes you. “I know you’re upset with me. I just don’t want you to be alone when you’re feeling like this. We can talk in the morning—if you want. For now, just get some rest.”
It’s true. You shouldn’t be alone, crying yourself to sleep. Even if he’s the one that caused it. You just don’t want to let yourself trust the gesture. He’s probably trying to make you feel less angry. Even if it doesn’t work, it’s appreciated, ill intent or not. Having someone here is calming, letting you fall into an unruly slumber.
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The next morning, you wake up in his embrace. Closer, back pressed to his chest. His nose nuzzles into your hair. It’s so nice. Warm. Soothing. He’s a good cuddler.
Then, your entire body stiffens. The previous night coming back to you in flashes. Your bodies entwined on the couch, moans bouncing off the wall. You swallow tightly, lifting his arm.
“Hey,” Jungkook whispers. He must’ve already been awake, reaching for your hand and giving it a small squeeze. “Should I go?”
Yes. “No,” you mumble. You need answers. To make the story whole before you force him out of your life for good.
“Do you want to—”
“Why do you always act like such a dick around me?”
Jungkook takes a deep breath. “Because you won’t give me the time of day otherwise.”
You still, practically holding your breath so that you can hear every word.
“Every time I’m nice to you, you pretend like I don’t exist. When I push your buttons,” he sighs, “that’s when I get your attention.”
Attention? He wants your attention? Your mind’s running circles, afraid to turn around and see the look in his eyes and get swayed. Feel remorse for the pain you hear lined in his voice. That you can feel in the trembling of his hand encasing yours.
“Can you at least say something?” he asks.
“I don’t know what you want me to say.”
He sits up, the mattress shifting and your eyes closing tightly.  “Sit up, please.”  Grabbing your arm, Jungkook gets you to reluctantly sit up and face him. Though you won’t look at him, eyes on your knees that nearly touch his. You notice that he’s still in his boxers, but he’s at least wearing a shirt. He doesn’t force you to look at him when he starts speaking again. “I want to be honest with you.” He toys with the edge of your sheets. “But if you’re not going to listen to the whole story it’s not worth telling you.”
Your heart hammers. Tears threaten to fall. Taking a deep breath gives away your nerves. You want to tell him he can’t ask that of you. That he doesn’t deserve that. But if there’s even a slight chance of a misunderstanding—something your heart hopes for—you have to hear him out. Even if it’ll hurt. “Okay.”
“Thank you,” he mumbles. He’s nervous too. Breath shaky like his body, nearly curled in on himself. You never thought you’d see him this vulnerable. “Honestly, when I first met you, I was intrigued by you because I couldn’t have you. You just held up your nose every time I as much as looked your way. It made me want to know more about you. And the moment I did, it was over for me. I realised that you’re not just opinionated, crass, and entitled. You’re smart, a hard worker, and you’re such a good friend.”
You finally dare to look up. To see the desperate look in his eyes as he pauses. Shocked.
“I admire you,” he whispers.
“What?” you blurt. “You’re the one with the straight A’s, not me.”
He shakes his head in defeat, biting his lip and looking away. “The only reason I’m getting straight A’s is because I’ve taken these classes before. I’m not like you, I don’t work hard. I should be studying like you.”
You frown. “What do you mean, you’ve done them before? Do you already have a law degree?”
Jungkook avoids your eyes. “When I got out of high school at the age of seventeen, I got into a big university with a scholarship. The full ride. But I was stupid,” he croaks. “I wanted to fully enjoy the college ride. So I studied just enough to get by and dedicated the rest of my time to partying.” He says it like he’s disgusted with himself. Muscles in his neck tightening as he swallows impending tears. “I got arrested for underage drinking and lost the entire scholarship. Everything I had worked so hard for, down the drain.”
The words leave him pained, the regret for his past decisions clear in his eyes. Yet, he’s still here, studying this degree you know most students can’t afford. You have a scholarship too.
“So yeah,” he breathes. “I wish I had a little more discipline like you. I admire that you’re able to put school first. As much as I pretend to hate you just to get your attention, I like being around you. You’re a positive influence on people, including me.”
“So it’s my fault? For judging you?”
Jungkook’s eyes widen. “No, not at all. As I said, I was being an ass on purpose because I was curious about you. But when I got to know you,” he cocks his head to the side, “feelings happened. I just couldn't find a way to show you the better sides of myself. Which is partially why I showed up yesterday.”
“Huh,” you frown. So he did have ulterior motives? “How does that change anything? You still showed up here to sleep with me.” He’s talking in circles. You feel remorse for him, but you tell yourself to stay strong. His past doesn’t excuse his actions.
“I really wasn’t planning on sleeping with you. I wouldn’t do that to you. There just was no other way to get you to spend time alone with me. I wanted to show you a better side of me, hoping that you’d realise I’m not all bad and maybe would give me a chance.” A chance to what? “I like you,” he adds when you don’t respond, “a lot.”
What? He can’t be serious. After everything that happened.
“But I also care about you. I like being around you—bickering included. I genuinely wanted to help. I know how hard it is to start again, I didn’t want to see you go through that.”
You go silent. Trying to think over his words and not see the bad. To believe that he means it. He did help you after all. He studied with you for hours, never insinuating anything sexual. He was nice, comforting and believed in you. You never asked for any of that. And after all, you kissed him too. You could’ve stopped it. If he had just wanted sex, he wouldn’t be here.
But he is. “Jungkook, I’m so sorry,” you say, grabbing his hand.
“I’m the one who’s sorry. For making you feel used. I should’ve just been honest with you.” Jungkook laces your fingers together. “I know it was a dick move on my side to sleep with you. I shouldn’t have said what I said.”
“I played as much of a part in it as you did. So let’s just—how about we call it even. Bury the hatchet?” You cock your head to the side, rubbing your thumb over the back of his hand. It won’t be easy, you’ll need to do a lot of thinking, but your heart wants to forgive him. To see more of his gentler side.
He nods, lifting up your hand and pressing his lips against your knuckles. “Sounds good to me.”
The two of you get up after that, even if it’s a little awkward. It’s weird to not be bickering with him. You’re surprised that he actually cleaned the living room last night. There’s not a trace of him left aside from his clothes that are carefully folded on the table. Even that mug is gone.
“What do you want to eat?” you ask, reaching to the top shelve for another mug.
Jungkook comes closer. “Just coffee is okay for now.”
You turn, almost bumping into his chest, blushing heavily. Now that he knows you have feelings for him, he’s enjoying himself just a little too much. Smiling at you while you’re making coffee and some cereal for yourself. You eat in silence, browsing through your phone.
It’s when you get up to clean, that Jungkook speaks again.
“Hey,” he says, grabbing you back by the waist.
“Hi?” You turn around in his grip.
“You know,” he starts, hand coming up to brush your hair behind your ear. “As much as I regret what I said yesterday, I did mean it.”
“What?” You chuckle lightly. “You want to do that again?”
He nods, and you catch a faint redness dusting his cheeks. “I do, a lot of times, if you want.”
You laugh, twisting away from him to put the dishes in the sink. “If that is your way of you asking me to be your girlfriend, Jungkook, then I must say you’re not quite hitting the right angle. Seeing what happened yesterday.” He can’t seriously be thinking you just want him for sex after all that. You start cleaning, even if it’s just to avoid having to look at him and admit that you’re shy. Thinking about what happened last night—the good parts.
Sighing, he turns off the tap that you had just turned on.
“Hey!” You turn it back on, only to have him shut it off again. “What do you want?”
“I’m not saying that I want you to be my girlfriend. I don’t think I’m ready for that just yet.” He leans in, brushing his nose against yours, searching your eyes like he’d done the night before. Like he’s waiting for permission.
You couldn’t resist him even if you tried. So you kiss him, just briefly. “Then what are you ready for, big boy?”
He laughs. “For starters, I would love to take you out for dinner after the exam that’s in,” he looks up at the clock, “six hours.”
You groan, throwing your head back. “Don’t remind me.” It’s probably a wiser decision to take some time to think. See how you feel about this, but dinner won’t hurt. “I will still need some time to think about,” you gesture between you two, “whatever this is.”
“Oh,” his face falls. “Yeah, I get that. I just thought that—since you said you have feelings for me too.” Jungkook pouts. He fucking juts out his bottom lip and you haven’t seen anything more endearing in your entire life. Your heart does a weird little flip, and you know that you’re a goner. Even more so than you had been before last night.
Now you know that he is good. That he is worthy of a chance. So why not give it? Why would you sit around and let your mind think all sorts of negative things about him if you can give him the chance to prove to you that he’s a great guy. As he said, it’s just a date. Not a label. Yet.
When he turns away, you pull him back by his hand, slamming your lips to his. He grunts, both hands coming up to thread through your hair. The kiss isn’t deep. It isn’t anything like the way you kissed last night. It sweeps you off your feet, so tender and warm. When he pulls away, you’re out of breath and you can see the adoration in his eyes. You hope he can see it in yours.
Then, he pinches your butt.
You push at his chest. “Thanks for reminding me that you’re still an annoying brat.”
He chuckles, giving you a peck on the lips. “But you like me that way.”
“Sadly,” you grumble, winding your arms around his neck. “I do.”
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Thanks to: @/fallinforkoo @knjkitten​ @yoongs-jeontae​ @wintaejk​ @guksweet​ @rynofpentacles​ @mikroparadise​ @jeonggukkiepabo​ @softlyjiminie​ Requested by: @/fallinforkoo + @hornyjailbonk​ + 3x Anonymous Taglist: @jiminskth​ @teresaisla​​ @yeontanie21​​ @tessanator97​​ @ladyartemesia​ @dayjeons​​ @djasheyash99​​ @the-rise-of-bangtan-boyz​​ @bbangtanlove95​ @zeharilisharaban​ @jungkooksgoodgirl​​ @topanga27​​ @pjmochii​​ @iwanttohitmyself​​ @veryuniquenamegoeshere​​ @bel-abysse​​ @jiminsreads​​ @jungkookspromise​​
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© GguksGalaxy 2020 This is a work of fiction and is in no way meant to give an accurate representation of the idols included. Please do not steal, copy, redistribute or take uncredited inspiration from my work. 
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hopefulstarfire · 3 years ago
Text
Alright day 1 of my ship prompt drabbles here and ready for you guys!
Prompt 16: Poetry.
I kinda had a few different ideas but ultimately came to this one for Trouvailleshipping! Hope you guys enjoy!
Car keys dropped into the bowl on the hallway console, boots toed kicked off haphazardly at the designated mat by the door and his bag fell to the floor with a thud. "I'm home." Was the exhausted call made, followed by the shuffling of sock covered feet and soon, Iris saw Alister shuffling in, dressed in a warm sweater and jeans, hair mussed from his helmet and a certain level of exhaustion in his eyes.
She opened her arms just in time as he practically flopped on top of her, head buried against her chest as his arms slowly wove around her.
"Rough day?" She guessed, setting the book she was reading aside. There was a muffled noise of confirmation and she brushed her fingers through his hair. He relaxed, practically melting into her touch. "Work stuff?"
"I wish," Alister scoffed. "My job's a lot less of a pain."
"Valon being a gremlin?"
"Your brother."
She didn't even need to ask which brother. She already knew damned well which one. "What did Seto did this time?"
He pushed himself up enough to look at her, caging his arms on either side of her. "I went to go drop off some things with your mom after work, because she asked if I wouldn't mind and, of course I don't, I love her dearly," he explained, brows furrowed in frustration. "I get there. Her writing club she started up is there, hence why she asked if I could drop off some food she ordered. And so is your brother, because he was watching your sister or something, and they want to stop and talk. Your mom told them about my Dad's journalism and his articles and they were praising his work and we got to talking about what their writing challenge was for this month, which was poetry, and they asked if I was interested in joining. I was trying to say no--"
"--And he trapped you into doing it by egging you on." She sighed.
"Your brother was so much more tolerable when I was actively planning his downfall."
Her hand moved to his cheek, shaking her head. There was always the route of them going to her mom and telling her; Meredith understood it better than anyone how her son was. Or, there was always the funnier route she liked to take of writing a prescription to her brother to eat a dick.
But Alister Gayle was one of the most stubborn men she knew.
"You want to prove him wrong, don't you?"
"Well, no shit," he scoffed, before sighing. "You know. I'm...trying to push past...everything involving Kaiba and focus on my new life. Our life. I swear to you, Iris, I am--"
"But he's Seto." He had yet to mellow out himself fully. Kat had been good for him in that sense; she was working on it with him. Frankly, she thought they'd do more good if they just confessed their feelings already, but life was still currently too complicated for that at the moment. "Trust me, you don't have to justify it to me. I grew up with him, remember?"
Alister fell quiet for a moment, leaning into her touch a bit more and pressing a kiss against her palm. "...The funny thing is, disregarding that...it might actually be fun."
"Have you ever written poetry before?" Iris asked, curiously.
"No. I came up with my own stories to pass the time with my friends, sure, but..." he said, and there's a flash in his eyes she's all too familiar with. "But. Most of it was fantasy stuff. And I haven't really done any of it since I was a kid."
She hummed in thought and her free arm stretched out towards the coffee table, hand fumbling for the remote. "Well. We're both off tomorrow and we can stay up," she mused, flicking back from the video she was on and going to the search bar on YouTube. "There's bound to be plenty of videos we can watch to get you some tips in."
He cocked a brow at her before he snorted in laughter. "We're gonna sneak in a cram session so I can write one little poem?"
"No, we're gonna cram it all night so you can write a poem that'd make Emily Dickinson eat her own paper and you can give my brother the proverbial middle finger and make moms friends sing your praises."
The competitive streak of hers used to be so much more subdued. It wasn't until after she woke up from her soul being snatched out of her body that it came out.
He gazed at and smirked after a moment, hand going to the back of her head as he gave her a kiss. "Have I mentioned I love you?"
"Mm, a few times today, but it's nice to hear," she quipped. She settled back against the couch, stretching her arms out. "For the record, I love you too. Now let's get started."
°°°
Around 1 in the morning, Alister was pretty sure he'd seen enough tips and beginners videos to give him a solid starting point.
Iris had passed out probably a half hour, 45 minutes top before he decided he'd had his fill. He shut off the television, rising to his feet as easily as he could without waking her, before he lifted her slumbering form into his arms. She let out a small grunt as she was shifted, but didn't seem to wake, instead burying her face into his chest.
He carried her up the stairs of their old house, silent as a mouse. He deposited her on her side of the bed, pulling the covers up over her and smoothed her hair out of her face. The thought to turn in and join her crossed his mind, but he was still far too awake to even try at the moment. He had held off with little sleep before, he could stay up a little later and it would be fine.
Ideas were swirling in his mind and, frankly, he didn't think there was much of an off switch.
Alister scooted the chair at the desk out, booting up the laptop and dimming the light down to keep from bothering the sleeping woman, but still light enough to not completely fuck up his eyes.
Fingers gently padded against the laptop as he sat back in thought. There was a thousand things he could write about. Nature, random objects, civilization. Most poetry seemed to come from a place of vulnerability, though, or at least some of the best ones did. That...made it a little trickier.
There were things he never could share. The horrors he went through were not something he could put to pen and paper and try to make something tragically beautiful out of it. Opening up old wounds, opening up the party of him that longed for better, was not something he could just unleash on the group that barely knew him, even if he wanted to. And his memories of happier times failed him; he barely remembered his father and what he remembered of his mother was plagued by war. He only knew of who they once were from stories from the family; it was all he had.
How could he write a poem about people he didn't truly know?
He could write about his chosen family. Raphaels strength, Masons fatherly instincts, Valons sheer determination and willpower. He could write about the joy they brought. But, then again, could he ever live it down that he wrote poetry about Valon? The humiliation would haunt him for the rest of his life.
Soft snoring filled the air and the shift of the mattress let him know she was tossing in her sleep.
He smiled, silver eyes glancing back to where his fiance slept.
If there was anyone in this world he knew inside and out, even more than any other member of that family, it was her. She had truly become more than he ever would have prepared himself for. She had started as a target, a means to an end, a person to take out if he had to. Then she became his friend. His best friend. Then a girlfriend, and he argued it was for the mission, to get closer to his goal...and then they were nothing but heartbreak.
Yet she waited for him. Patient, understanding and resilient; when he came back, she stayed and promised to help him through it all, without expecting anything else in return other than getting questions answered. She gave him space, but, most importantly, she gave him a safe place. When things got bad, she was there, finding ways to help him where she could and tried her hardest to understand.
He loved her and she loved him, and finally, finally, he could let himself feel...well, feel anything other than just pain or numbness.
Turning back to the computer, his fingers stilled above the keys for a moment before his thoughts poured out onto the page.
"You didn't care that I was broken glass that could shred you open,
And you didn't curse my name when you had every right to.
Instead, you picked up the pieces and helped slowly put it back together.
I carried a life time of war,
And when you opened your arms for me,
I finally came home from a once neverending battlefield."
Maybe it was corny. No, okay, it was the sappiest thing he'd ever written and he wasn't sure how he even managed it. But, he read it, over and over again, mouthing it along before he sat back once more.
Maybe it should be corny.
He closed the laptop, giving a nod to himself. He could edit it later. But, for now, it would do.
The best poems came from the heart, after all.
And she was his.
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mssirey · 4 years ago
Text
Some agentreign, with a tattoo artist Alex! 
Alex knew the roughly sketched symbol, of course. How could she not recognize the insignia of the character her sister played on her show—the campy series with its sometimes shallow commentary or ham-fisted allegories of the world, but that left enough room for interpretation that lent to a beloved view of its main cast. 
When Alex glanced up at the woman who had booked her afternoon slot, there seemed nothing outwardly fan-ish about her—her aesthetic one of corporate power, her blazer a sharp cut from a designer Alex couldn’t be bothered to know the name of, her palette choices bold, but smart—not someone she would have read as having much time for fun. But then, Kara was much the same, and she knew better about how deeply her sister loved being a part of a show about superheroes. 
“My daughter really loves the show,” the woman offered with a little wave of her hand at the drawing, a jittery air around her, as if she anticipated the judgment she might face, “and Supergirl is her favorite character, of course!” She laughed, a short puff exhaled as her shoulders sagged and her hand returned to ring together with her other. “She said I was her Supergirl the other day, and if you knew how much she loves the character—“
Alex stopped her then, a gentle smile touching her lips. “That is a beautiful base for a tattoo,” she assured. She stepped forward, reached out without thinking, hand covering the nervous twist of fingers, warm against her palm. That close, she realized how tall the woman was—especially as her shoulders pulled back and she straightened up just a little. 
Alex almost withdrew her hand as the woman’s teeth clacked sharply together. She watched lashes flutter over warm chocolate eyes as they dropped to where their hands touched, lingering while their breath was held as one. 
“Wow— ” one hand pulled free of hers, Alex’s stomach ready to turn, only for fingers to run so gingerly over her own skin—from wrist up her forearm—drawing her gaze down to the full sleeve of ink that she had poured her own heart into, disappearing beneath the once-tidy cuff of her shirt, since stained with the efforts of the day. “Your tattoos are… so…” she had heard all manner of words to describe the art she wore—everything from ‘intense’ to ‘troubling’—rarely a favorable opinion coming from someone who wasn’t an enthusiast, “catching.”
Alex swallowed as those fingers traced a line of color, meant to accentuate the form of the figures at the center of the design—both a representation of herself, stood back to back; one stripped down to blood and bone; the other painted in an unnatural light, too ‘perfect’, meeting all the expectations placed on her, shackles on her wrists and chains weighing down her shoulders. 
“I designed it myself,” she said the first thing to come to mind, her eyes almost rolling at her own lack of wit. 
“I really like it,” the woman commented before seeming to realize how long she had been touching Alex, her hand jerking upward, a marvelous warmth reaching her cheeks. 
They parted, a full pace put between them by the time Alex found the breath to offer her thanks. 
“So, um, did you just want the insignia?” Alex held up the sketch to bring them back to business. 
The woman faltered, a plea writing itself into her expression. “Well, um, so, you might be able to tell, but I’m not much of an artist,” she exhaled, a laugh bubbling up after, plucking at the chords of Alex’s heart. “I know I want to use the symbol, but I… I don’t know what else to include.”
Alex chuckled along with her. “That’s alright,” she assured. “Come on, let me stretch a few ideas for you,” she waved for the woman to follow her, leading them to her drawing table. The sigh of relief she heard tickled up her spine, and she had to resist shivering. 
Drawing on little bits of knowledge she had picked up from Kara, Alex started with a simple base, offering the traditional symbol along with a few alternate designs—some softer, some sharper, some with broken or doubled lines to add a bit of extra dimension—before getting into a range of accenting options. 
The woman was vocal with her thoughts as she looked over Alex’s shoulder, humming approving notes when something stood out to her, or commenting on the touches she liked, allowing Alex to easily evolve the piece. There was particular interest when she mentioned the phrase ‘el mayarah’ and explained its meaning. 
“Oh! Ruby has definitely said that before,” she gushed, the happy little sigh that accompanied the words tugging at the corners of Alex’s lips, her grin so effortless. “We should definitely include that!” 
It wasn’t long before they had a final design— staying true to the show’s version of the insignia and incorporating both ‘el mayarah’ and the script of the language used by Supergirl, wreathed by a flowy, cape-like backing. 
“This will likely take two visits— one for the linework and base coat, and then another for the detailing. Is that okay?” She certainly wouldn’t be sad to see the woman again and grinned when she agreed. “You said you were hoping to have this on your back,” Alex prompted as she led the woman to her station. 
“Over my heart, yeah,” she confirmed.
“I really like it,” Alex echoed the words spoken to her, and she genuinely meant it. She loved the way the woman talked about her daughter, how every word ran deep with love, how cherished the little girl was. 
“Is there anything I should know... going in?” There was a surge of nervousness buzzing in the air as the woman shrugged out of her jacket, folding it neatly over the chair at Alex’s desk. 
There was a moment—as Alex watched buttons slipping free of their holes—that she forgot herself, staring longer than might have been polite before she busied herself with putting on her gloves and arranging her inks. “Mostly that when I’m over your ribs, you will feel it,” she sucked in a sympathetic breath. “But, I’ll be gentle, and you can always take a break, if you need.”
She waved the woman toward the chair, turning away as she divested her bra and slid into place against the padding. 
“Comfortable?” She got only a nod before she pulled up her own stool. “Relax,” she coaxed, placing a gentle hand on the woman’s back. “I’ll take good care of you and you can swear all you like.” 
“Glad to know it.”
As Alex had warned, the woman did feel it. Her breath hissed through her teeth, a sharp inhale that tugged at her, but then she relaxed beneath Alex’s hand. “Good girl.” The words slipped out before she could think to question them, and her own breath caught in her lungs, her gun lifting away from the woman’s skin. There was a soft shiver and then stillness, the barest whimper bubbling out of the woman. 
Alex could have perished. The woman was so pliant beneath her, and it took everything to concentrate on the design. But she leaned into that soft praise, continued to encourage her to stay loose, and things went very well—hardly needing to hold the woman still and working straight through without a break. And in the end, she did manage to finish the whole piece, running only slightly overtime. 
There was a little disappointment knowing that she likely wouldn’t see the woman again. “If you need any touch-ups, you can always reach out,” she offered. 
“Thank you,” the woman said as she gingerly slipped back into her jacket. She bent over Alex’s desk, scribbling something down on the sketchpad with all the trial drawings. “Maybe we could get dinner some time,” she nodded down at the page, where her number was scrawled. 
“I’d like that,” Alex grinned, excitement blooming in her chest. The woman’s name was also there on the page. “Then, I’ll see you later, Sam.”
“I look forward to it, Alex.” The sentiment echoed through her for days, accompanied with the image of Sam’s haughty little smirk. 
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screamingatanemptyroom · 4 years ago
Text
Please Fix the Story pt 26 - The Higher Realm
The Higher realm continues. So close to the end!
Master post linked here
Enjoy!
______________________________
Time passed, but it was difficult to tell how much. Time worked so differently in the different realms. How long did we really spend trying to save one lower realm? Minutes? Decades? It felt like no time and forever. Adonis and I traveled to lower realm after lower realm, fixing the stories, stabilizing the world before heading back to the higher realm.
Some lower realms were easy, if a bit annoying, such as the high school dramas. In those I would often play the “average” new girl at a school. I would meet new people, and was supposed to go on to have romance, betrayals and coming of age realizations. I quickly realized that befriending all my supposed romantic leads instead of dating them, reconciling with my rivals instead of humiliating them, and pushing towards success all together was a much more satisfying strategy. Fortunately, graduating valedictorian with a happy and psychologically healthy group of teenagers often stabilized worlds that had been torn apart by half-baked character design or infighting between rivals.
I took calculus so many times that I could recite lessons in my sleep, but at least the worlds were saved. Despite our success, however, Adonis was often frustrated. He had his own vision of how we were to save these realms. His plans almost always involved us dating, making the high school romance “successful”.
I refused.
He had been a lot more likable since our first meeting, and I was able to consider him a close friend and ally… but I felt uncomfortable at the idea of even pretending to have a romantic relationship. It was definitely a more difficult route to stabilize the world without a romance, but I chose it every time. Adonis pouted and complained, but couldn’t argue with success, and I was successful.
Some lower realms were more difficult. In particular, zombie apocalypse stories were my least favorites. The worlds often couldn’t be stabilized until a cure was found or humanity’s survival was assured. This meant that Adonis and I sometimes spent decades within these realms, working to build armies, or teams of scientists. There was hardly ever any running water, which meant showering was few and far between.
My unwashed self was made even filthier by my absolute failure at using anything with range. Bow and arrow, guns… anything that would keep me out of the gore, I couldn’t hit even the largest of monsters. Fortunately I picked up a sword with relative ease, which allowed me to fight… but this also meant I got covered in rotten blood and guts.
I hated zombie worlds the most.
Realm after realm. We worked constantly, spending very little time in between in the higher realms. Adonis would often try to use those moments to push his ideas regarding fate and the higher realm’s story, but as soon as I rejected him, which I did every time, he would simply scowl and pull us into the next lower realm to save.
It was getting old.
“How many lower realms are there?” I asked one evening as we recovered from our latest mission, rubbing my sore shoulder where I had taken a blow in the last sci-fi alien battle. The wounds disappeared with the realm traveling, but my mind still could feel the wound, projecting the pain long after I had left that form behind.
Adonis leaned back in his chair, his grin a little too bitter to be a natural expression. “How many unfinished stories are there? Infinite, Bel. There are infinite lower realms. We will never be able to save them all. Not like this.”
“It’s not like there’s a lot of options.”
“There are options. You just don’t want to hear them.”
“What, this fate you keep talking about?” I sighed, closing my eyes, tired. “ It sounds like a terrible idea.”
“It’s not.” His voice was quiet, but the intensity shown through all the same. “It’s our duty. Everyone’s survival depends on it.”
“But what you’re saying is: we follow along some sort of script…”
“Fate.”
“…fate… here, in the higher realm. And that is somehow supposed to fix the lower realms?”
He chuckled. “You’re oversimplifying it, but pretty much. We follow our fate, and the heroes of the lower realms will find their happiness tied to ours.”
“What if they don’t want that ending? What if they don’t want that happiness?”
“Of course they do! Everyone wants a happily ever after with their destined one.” He snapped. My eyes flickered open to study his enraged expression.
“I don’t.”
“You’re selfish!”
I shrugged. “Am I? If you’re right, we submit to fate here, everyone in the lower realms gets an automatic happy ending… but most of those worlds aren’t breaking because they don’t have a happy ending. They need a wider world, different ideas… and what about the side characters, even the villains… what about their happiness?”
“They don’t matter.”
“Why not?” I raised an eyebrow. “Just because they’re the villains?”
“They’re evil.” He stood up, trying to tower over me. An intimidation tactic, one that might have worked before we’d spent countless years fighting in life-or-death battles together.
“Have you met the heroes and heroines of some of these realms?” I laughed. “They’re not much better. I don’t think these roles are as clear as you would like them to be. And I don’t think you and I having a happy ending together, and forcing a simplistic ‘and they lived happily ever after’ on all the lower realms will actually fix them. In fact…” I stood up, and he stepped back slightly at the danger in my tone. “I bet we would break them all the more. Are you really so foolish as to think that saving a universe of worlds would be so simple?”
“…” Adonis was gritting his teeth, his hands clenched so tightly the knuckles were white. But I didn’t back down. Didn’t step back. I knew he wouldn’t hit me. He wouldn’t dare step out of the role he imagined himself to be in. Wouldn’t dare cross a line that might ruin his chances at the happy ending he seemed to crave so desperately.
“…” The silence stretched on between us. We were at an impasse. He wanted to follow fate. He wanted clearly defined roles and rules to follow. And I?
I wanted freedom.
*** Soul transfer 11% complete. ***
It’s been forever since I last saw those words… I thought it had disappeared. For some reason, I felt a deep sense of relief at the glowing blue sentence. Something within me had frozen during these many trips to the lower realms, but finally it was growing again.
“The next world is waiting.” Adonis spoke up, his tone flat. I noticed an odd shifting of his gaze, a reluctance to meet my own, and felt a sense of unease.
I won’t like this next world. I cracked my knuckles and gave him a thumbs up. Well, no sense running from a challenge.
We left.
______________________________
I woke up in a luxurious canopy bed. Staring up at the fabric , I raised my arms and have a cheer.
“YES! NOT A ZOMBIE WORLD!”
On the downside, the setting appeared to be a more primitive era, medieval at best, which meant no running water, but at least I appeared to be noble or wealthy.
At least if I suffer, I’ll be clean while I do it!
“Princess?” A young woman dressed as a servant entered the room, seeming very confused. “Are you all right? I heard you yelling.”
I smiled brightly at her. “No worries. It was just a nightmare.”
She visibly relaxed. “Even so, you seem in a much better mood, if I may say so.”
“Really?”
“Yes, you haven’t broken a single thing this morning.” She, unfortunately did not seem to be kidding. “I’m so glad you’ve accepted your father’s decision.
I didn’t have my character’s memories yet. I needed to accept the mission first. In the meantime, acting too out of character could destabilize an already poorly functional world.
“I’m still… thinking it over.” I spoke up cautiously.
“It’s not so bad, your highness.” She smiled at me. “Most young girls feel a little uneasy when their father arranges their husband. But you’ll be happy. I just know it.”
Arranged marriage?
“After all, Prince Harold is reported to be a true gentleman, a might warrior, and a handsome young man!” She sighed dreamily. “Any woman would be thrilled for a chance to be his bride.”
“I’m. Sure.” I spoke through gritted teeth, the satin sheets crumpling in my grip. Adonis, when I find you, I’m going to make you regret every life decision you’ve ever made… and the ones you’ve only considered making. What kind of lower realm did you land us in? As I plotted my revenge, the mission screen popped up.
**** NEW WORLD: A Divided Kingdom****
This is a romance fantasy story featuring a prince and a princess from different kingdoms, putting aside their differences to save the world.
“I already don’t like this.” I muttered.
The Princess Alaire of the Yenlar Kingdom was a clever, independent woman, horrified at the idea of an arranged marriage. Prince Harold of the Bestion Kingdom felt differently. He fell in love at first sight and vowed to woo the young maiden. The couple was different in almost every way, and seemed destined to bicker and fight.
“Then how about we don’t get married?”
But fate had other plans…
“Of course it did!”
A terrifying beast threatened to destroy both their kingdoms, and to survive, the political marriage had to go forward. Uniting the kingdoms, and therefore their armed forces, was the only way to save their people.
However, despite the happy ending, the first book was not well received by readers and the trilogy was abandoned due to poor sales. The reason given was that the romance was “forced” and unbelievable.
Your mission is to bring a satisfying end to the story, while making ensuring the survival of both kingdoms.
**** DO YOU ACCEPT THIS MISSION? ****
YES? NO?
“Quick question.” I spoke quietly to the glowing words in front of me. “Do I have to marry the prince to ensure an ending?”
The kingdoms will not unite without the political marriage.
“That wasn’t what I asked. I asked if I HAVE to marry the prince. What if I can save both kingdoms without a political marriage?”
The stability of the world is all that matters.
“No lecture on the necessity of fate?”
**** DO YOU ACCEPT THIS MISSION? ****
YES? NO?
I grinned. “Sure. Let’s do it.”
As the words faded away, I jumped out of bed. My head spun slightly as I accepted the memories from the poor princess of the original story.
She had not been happy.
She had dreams, ambitions. The Kingdom of Yenlar allowed for women to inherit the throne, and as the firstborn she was ready to take over from her father, to rule her nation. She had spent her entire life preparing. Studying law, economics, warfare…
And all of it had meant nothing in the end.
She had begged for a political treaty. One that did not involve marriage. The Kingdom of Bestion had refused to even discuss it. They stated that there was too much distrust between the kingdoms to move forward without some sort of permanent assurance. Even the threat of annihilation from the ancient beast of legend wasn’t enough to have them reconsider. That wasn’t the full story, though.
Later she discovered that Prince Harold had seen her at a party. He had supposedly fallen in love with her at first sight, and became determined to marry her. He had learned of her plans to marry a minor noble, one who would support her position on the throne without causing an imbalance of power within the nobility. He had no chance, as far as she was concerned. The threatened destruction of their people was just the perfect opportunity to force the matter.
She had lost all power. Becoming a figurehead, a beautiful statue beside the true king, Harold. He ruled over both nations with an iron fist, treating her own people more harshly, much to the approval of his staff. She slowly became bitter and deranged, watching the destruction of the people and the nation she loved so dearly.
Beyond the end of the first book, when the realm’s story ended, she had attempted to poison him and failed. Harold had been disappointed, but felt that she still had use as a figurehead. They faked a stroke, and kept her mute and weak with poisons. A lovely doll. A perfect figurehead.
…is this a fantasy or a horror? Sheesh, no wonder the trilogy wasn’t going to sell. I shuddered, still standing awkwardly next to the beautiful bed that had belonged to a lovely young woman.
I will change this story. I spoke silently to the memories, feeling a sense of relief that didn’t belong to me as I did so.
First, let’s try to reason with Adonis. He and I had worked together in multiple realms, side by side. We were friends. We may not see eye to eye when it came to our approach towards fate and the lower realms, but he had never forced me to do something I didn’t want. He had always respected me and backed off when I said no, even if it made him unhappy.
Hopefully this time will be the same. I thought uneasily. Hopefully he will listen.
______________________________
“No.” His tone was gleeful, but his face was calm, towing with a silver goblet rather than meeting my gaze.
“Are you joking?” I leaned forward, keeping a gentle smile on my face to fool the guards and our fathers who sat on the other end of the enormous dining table.
“I’m perfectly serious, Princess Alaire. Our kingdoms face certain doom at the hands of the ancient beast. The only way to survive is to work together. We can only work together if we trust each other. The only way the Kingdom of Bestion will trust the Kingdom of Yenlar is with a marriage alliance. It’s out of my hands.”
I reached forward and took the cup from his hands, forcing him to look at me. “Why are you forcing this, Adonis? You know it didn’t work out so well for the originals.”
“Careful Princess.” His eyes glanced over at the nearby guards. “You don’t want anything to destabilize the situation further, now do you? Better to act as a proper princess should.”
“Answer the question. This plan already failed. Why do you think it will work?”
“Simple.” He leaned forward and plucked the goblet back from my hands. “We’re different. You may not want to admit it, but we have spent lifetimes at each other’s side. Growing up, going to school, facing enemies, fighting together… we could make this work. It would be a wonderful ending.”
“You know what happened to Alaire after the first book.”
“I would never do that to you.”
“But you are.” I growled, wishing I could punch him. “You are trying to make me a beautiful figurehead, just like Harold did to Alaira.”
“We would rule side by side.”
“What use is that promise, if you are already ignoring my wishes and forcing me to do this in the first place?”
He shook his head. “You have to trust me. This is the only way we can defeat the monster, and stabilize this realm. We’ll save this world. Together.” He smiled. “It’s our fate.”
I threw a plate at him, forcing him to fling himself on the floor to avoid injury. Walking out, I ignored my father’s shouts of rage. Picking up a bag I had packed ahead of time, just in case, I changed into some light armor, grabbed a sword, and headed out into the forest.
If I couldn’t win by a political alliance, I was going to find another way to save the world.
I was going monster hunting.
I searched Princess Alaira’s memories of the legends and stories, going out in a northern direction towards the area known as Death Valley.
As I marched onward, my thoughts wandered over the time I had spent since I had woken up in the Higher Realm. I couldn’t help but feel disappointed with Adonis. He might truly think that he was saving the world by insisting on going through with the marriage, but his lack of willingness to even consider other options was frustrating. He was the only person consistently by my side through every one of these worlds, someone I considered a friend, and being unable to rely on him served to make me feel all the lonelier.
My mind briefly touched on the assassin of the first realm, Liam. I had thought with his comments and actions that he had known about my mission… that he might be from the higher realm too. But no matter how much I looked for him, no matter how much I hoped to see him again, I never did.
Maybe I was wrong. Maybe he was someone from the lower realm, and I’ll never have the chance to see him, to thank him.
I felt a sense of despair. How long can I keep doing this? Is this why Adonis preaches following our fate so much? Is he as tired of traveling, tired of the missions and the different lives? Is he just hoping to end all this?
I sighed, keeping moving. I’m not that tired, not tired enough to sacrifice my freedom. Not yet, anyways.
It took several days of traveling. Fortunately from my years of experience in zombie worlds, I was well prepared to survival in the wilderness. At least here the rivers were clean, allowing me to bathe occasionally. Finally I was at the entrance of the valley, staring up at the pillars on either side.
There were ominous words carved deeply into the stone.
Only death lies ahead.
I stared at the words silently for a few moments, and then shrugged.
“Still better than marrying Adonis.”
I moved forward.
______________________________
The valley was dark, a deep fog settled in permanently, apparently unaffected by the weather beyond its borders. Dark twisted purple trees rose all around me, their roots tearing through the earth desperate searching for nutrients. The valley was quiet, suffocating in an unsettling silence. My presence there felt like an intrusion, my instincts screaming at me to run away, to escape.
I kept moving.
There were no other signs of life. But I knew at least one other being lived here, the reason why nothing else dared to.
The Ancient beast.
There were no descriptions of it in the legends. Just that it was deadly, enough to take on entire armies. And that it was terrifying.
I feel like I should have seen something by now, if it was so large. I sighed, sitting on one of the trees, staring up at the mountain ahead of me. Shouldn’t it be easier to find an enormous beast that terrified an entire world?
Wait.
I looked up, struggling to see the top of the mountain in front of me.
I’m in a valley…
The mountain moved up and down, with regular motions.
There shouldn’t be a mountain here.
It was breathing.
I drew my sword, inwardly despairing. I had underestimated the sheer scale of the monster. I had thought it would be the size of a house, an elephant. Instead it towered stories above me, unimaginably large.
I was doomed.
There was a rumble as the beast in front of me shifted. I couldn’t tell the shape, just an impression of scales and spikes. Slowly, something lowered down in front of me, stretching forward in all directions, filling my vision. I saw teeth larger than my own body, the white of them contrasting with the dark fog around us. As I prepared myself for my death, an eye opened to stare at me.
It was a beautiful dark blue.
“…”
Suddenly, I felt relief. It was incomprehensible. I was standing in front of an ancient beast, enormous and terrifying, and instead of fear and dread… I felt safe.
I raised a hand, almost despite myself. “Hello there.”
The eye blinked. I comforted myself that it hadn’t eaten me yet.
“I think you look awesome. I’m Princess Alaira from the nearby kingdom of Yenlar. I actually came here to kill you, to protect my people… but now I realize that you could crush me like an ant, and that was a bad plan.”
The eye blinked twice. It seemed more confused than anything.
“I have a much better plan, if you would be willing to listen to me.” I let out a laugh, slightly startled at how… villainous it sounded.
*** Soul transfer 20% complete. ***
The creature let out a sound like thunder. I felt that it was laughing too.
______________________________
The wedding was this morning.
I was surprised as I drew near to see the party going. You would think that after I disappeared, they might have canceled or delayed it. I assumed that Adonis had felt sure that I would agree with him in the end. That I wouldn’t be able to let the world end just because I didn’t want to marry him.
Well too bad, buddy. This princess has a different plan in mind!
I could see him, standing on the elevated stage before two thrones, waiting. I couldn’t see his expression from this distance, but I imagine he was barely hiding his worry. Alaire’s father and Harold’s father were also waiting on the platform, their postures betraying their impatience.
“Let’s get this party started!” I yelled.
ROOOOOOOAAAAAAR!
The ancient beast let out a triumphant roar as he flew closer and lowered his head, letting me jump down onto the platform before landing behind me, a large, threatening mountain of a creature.
“Alaire?” The king called out, confused. “What are you doing?”
“Hello, Father.” I also nodded to Adonis, who stared back.
“What is this?”
“Your daughter is a witch!” The King of Bestion shouted, drawing his ceremonial sword. “She betrayed us!”
“Hold on, father.” Adonis held out his hand, stopping his attack. “I’m sure it’s not what it looks like.”
I grinned.
“Nope. It’s exactly what it looks like. I’ve teamed up with the Ancient being. We’re friends now.” I gestured at the monster high above us, who let out a grim chuckle, shaking the ground. “So now I make the rules, got it?”
“…”
“I’ll take everyone’s stunned silence as happy agreement! Now, first rule: Wedding canceled.”
“What?”
“What?”
“You can’t do this!”
The three other royals on stage shouted simultaneously. I simply pointed again at the enormous creature.
“I can do whatever I want. The big scary monster behind me says so. Next, the kingdom of Bestion will surrender to me, as will the kingdom of Yenlar.”
“You want to rule the world?” Adonis’s gaze was… disappointed. I grinned shamelessly. “Nope. But here’s the thing: Our kingdoms face certain doom at the hands of the ancient beast. The only way to survive is to convince the monster not to kill us. The monster only trusts me. So I have to rule both kingdoms.” I shrugged. “It’s out of my hands.”
I threw his words from earlier back at him, and felt satisfied as he winced in recognition.
“We… surrender.” His words were quiet, defeated.
“You unruly child!” My father tried to shout, but a roar from the monster above us silenced him. He quickly surrendered too. I accepted both surrenders, quickly organizing the meetings to bring our governments together under one rule. Fortunately, the princess’s years of study served me well, guiding me smoothly through the process.
______________________________
I had one more confrontation with Adonis, the night before the coronation. He was escorted to my rooms by guards, saying he had a request. I hesitated briefly, but allowed him in, waving the guards behind the door so we could speak freely.
“What was that?” He shouted as soon as they had left.
I stayed sitting, forcing myself to be calm. “I fixed the story.”
“You ruined everything! Even if it stabilizes this world, it will ruin it in the long run.”
“Says you.”
“Trust me.” He threw up his hands as he paced back and forth. “Everything will go a lot smoother if you STOP CHANGING THE STORY.”
“I thought that was why we were here, though?” I sighed, leaning back in my chair and cleaning my nails with a blade. “To fix the lower realms, to save these worlds? That requires change, right?”
He paused in his movements, glaring at me. “Stop acting stupid. These worlds are broken because they didn’t follow the rules. We have to follow them perfectly.”
“I don’t want to though.” I shuddered. “No offense, but if the story is going to require us to have a romantic relationship, I’m finding an alternate solution.”
“That’s what the story requires, you have your role to play. You know the consequences of not playing the right part.”
I sighed. “No, there’s always different paths to take. You’re a good friend, and I’m glad to have you by my side, but that’s different than love.”
“…”
“You clearly don’t love me either, so why are you making such a fuss about this? As long as we complete what we came here to do, that’s all that matters, right?”
“…”
“Right?”
Adonis stepped closer to me, his atmosphere slightly threatening. “Why are you so different from what you are supposed to be?”
“What are you…?”
“Why can’t you just accept.”
His hand grabbed my wrist, the grip painful.
“your.”
He pulled me closer until our faces were inches apart. His bright blue eyes were blazing with anger as they stared into my own.
“fate.”
Letting me go, he walked away, putting some distance between us, before turning back to face me.
“This lower realm is stabilized. We should return.” His smile was cold. “The next mission is a little different from our previous ones. We’ll talk about it later.”
“…”
“And next time…?” He laughed, a bitter sound. “You’ll play your part whether you want to or not.”
THUD.
The blade in my hand threw through the air, stabbing into the wall inches from his face. I smiled cheerfully as he looked back at me, shocked.
“Try touching me again, and I’ll cut off something you’ll miss. We’ll discuss missions and roles again in the higher realm, but for now?” I rang a bell and guards came in, escorting him out. “I have a coronation to plan.”
______________________________
My coronation was held outside so that the Ancient beast could stand behind me. It seemed cheerful, letting out victorious roars and swaying from side to side. The people cheered as well, seeming a lot happier than I expected them to be. I guess they’re relieved that they won’t be eaten by the giant monster? I wondered idly how I was going to incorporate the creature into the day to day life of a monarch. For an odd reason I had very little doubt that the monster would stick around.
However, all my plans came to nothing. As the crown was placed on my head, bright blue words formed in the air in front of me:
100% complete.
**** You have finished the mission! ****
It was time to go.
At little sad, I looked up at the ancient monster above me. “Thank you, friend for your help. I wish I could stay with you longer.”
A mournful cry echoed through the world. It seemed to understand that I was leaving. Before I could say anything more to reassure it, the world around me shimmered and disappeared.
Only to reveal a furious Adonis standing in front of me.
“Happy now, Your Majesty?” He sneered.
“Oof, someone’s still a little angry that I used an ancient monster conquer the world. Believe it or not, I’m sorry that I’ve hurt you. But you know why I did what I did. Let’s talk about it in the morning.”
I walked away, feeling his glare on my back long after I was out of sight.
______________________________
When I woke up, I realized that I couldn't move.
I panicked, struggling to move my arms and legs, only managing to turn my head slightly. Enough to see Adonis’s smug expression as he sat by my bed.
“It’s time for our story to progress, Bel.” His smile was strange, twisted. I couldn’t talk back, I shook my head slightly side to side.
“I’m the hero, you are the heroine. If the relationship between us can’t be advanced by working together, than it must be forged in adversity." He reached down and picked me up, carrying me out of the small cottage I had arranged for myself and into the castle courtyard. Whatever drug he had injected me with was slowly wearing off, and I struggled in his arms, finally able to shout.
“Put me down!”
To my surprise he did, and although I struggled to stay upright, I kept my balance and glared at him.
“What are you planning?”
He sighed quietly. “I’m tired of always being the one to compromise. It’s time for you to make a sacrifice, Bel. I’ve avoided this so far, worried that progressing our story this way would kill you, but it seems that it is our fate that we take this risk. It’s… unfortunate. I do very much hope you don’t die.” He paused, trying to smile at me. “Don’t worry. It’s only temporary. I’ll come and rescue you soon.”
“A sacrifice?” I felt cold, even as I stood in the warm afternoon sun. My thoughts were slow to form, possibly a side effect of the medication. “Why?”
He shrugged. “There’s an order to everything. Rules. Law. They are all that stand between us and pure chaos. No one can ignore them. Not you. Not even me.”
“Then sacrifice yourself, asshole! Why send me?”
He shrugged. “It’s your role to play, not mine. Your fate.”
“Screw fate! I don’t care if you say it’s temporary or not! Friends don’t sacrifice friends!” I was furious, still weak and feeling helpless.
His hand reached out and brushed my cheek, the touch freezing my skin. I wanted to move away but I could still barely move, only managing to glare at him. “Don’t look at me with those eyes. It’s not my fault. If you want to blame anyone, blame the story.”
“Ad…”
“Sorry, you must accept your fate.” I felt a pinch in my arm, the stick of a needle as he injected something into the muscle. Immediately darkness overwhelmed me.
“We all do.”
Everything faded into darkness.
______________________________
When I woke up, I was in a strange world, surrounded by forest. I lay on my back, still feeling weak, fury coursing through my veins.
Adonis and I had worked well together, despite arguing multiple times in the past. But now… any goodwill I had towards him was gone. He had betrayed me. Knocked me out and sent me to somewhere dangerous, somewhere I could be killed, just to follow his precious fate. To get the story he wanted.
“Are you lost?
I looked over at the source of the voice. It was a tall young man with dark hair, wearing grey, non-descript clothing. He kneeled down next to me, and I found myself staring into dark blue eyes.
“Seems a good description for my current situation.” I smiled despite the dizziness. “Nice to meet you, Stranger.”
He grinned, reaching out a hand to help me up. “Call me Liam.”
Liam? Could he be…?
“…Nice to meet you, Liam.” I laughed. “Or should I say: nice to see you again?”
*** Soul transfer 25% complete. ***
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buckys-black-dress · 4 years ago
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inked
a/n: here she is!!! while i work on afl, here is my crackfic on tattoo artist bucky!! if u haven’t caught on yet, most of my writing is au’s because of all the possibilites in terms of scenarios and storylines. anyways, i hope you enjoy, lovies!!! xoxo, ali <3
wc: 2.8k 
[tattoo artist!bucky x fem!reader]
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It was like an addiction. 
Your first tattoo you got was simple. It was a dainty, small one on your wrist.
But now, it was slowly developing into a sleeve.
Not that you minded, though. Your forearm was slowly becoming filled with designs that you kept going back and getting here and there.
And at the tattoo parlor near your apartment in Brooklyn, you had become a regular at this point.
It was called B&R Tattoo Shop, and it was run by two of the kindest, but most attractive men you’ve ever met. 
You’ve come to find out after getting to know the owners, that they opened the shop a bit after they returned from their second tour in the army and wanted to settle back in their hometown.  
Steve and James were hospitable to you, especially when they first met you. Steve was the one to meet you and speak with you at first, but he handed you off to James, or Bucky as he asked you to call him, because he was the artist at their shop that specialized in more of what you were looking for in terms of style. 
As far as first tattoo conversations go, you and Bucky got to know each other pretty well in one session. The tattoo itself took less than an hour, but it felt like Bucky was... prolonging it in a way, like he wanted to keep you there longer.
As you swung open the door of the shop, you were greeted by their piercer, Natasha. 
“Hey, back for another already?” She smirks from her spot behind the desk. While she wasn’t piercing, she usually worked the front if there was no one else free.
Your first tattoo had been done by Bucky, and you instantly fell in love.
With the tattoo. 
Well, Bucky too. Just a little bit.
He was extremely soothing and eased you into the process of tattooing you. He told you when something was going to happen, and as soon as you got used to the feeling of the needle against your skin. 
The more he talked to you, the less pain you felt. It was already not that painful, but you almost forgot about it with him talking to you. When he looked up to you as he finished, you looked like a confused puppy.
“Okay, all done, doll.” Bucky looked up at you, moving to turn off his machine.
“Oh... that was fast.” You furrowed your brows.
“Well, yeah, we moved pretty fast since it was a pretty small piece.” He explains, grabbing a paper towel and the anti-bacterial spray.
“Do you mind if I take a quick picture of it? I usually do, for my portfolio.” Bucky asks, inspecting the tattoo closely once again.
“Oh, yeah, that’s fine.” You wait for him to pull out his camera, take the picture, and he comes back with a piece of plastic film in his hand.
“Okay, so this saniderm has to stay on for about three days. This is how it’ll heal, and when you take it off just wash it up with a gentle soap and use a cream without any fragrance or any of that crap. I can give you a little of that spray if you wanna use it to clean it up if you ever feel like it’s dirty.” Bucky explains, giving you a mini bottle of the antibacterial spray.
“Thank you,” you say, moving to sit up in the chair. “How much do I owe you?”
“Uh, just about $40.” Bucky says without eye contact, heading to the computer at the front counter.
“$40? That’s it? When I signed the waiver it said the shop minimum was $75...?” You wonder out loud.
“Let’s just say you get a special discount, doll.” He smirks, typing something into the computer and only sparing you a glance.
“O-Oh. Alright.” You say sheepishly, handing him your credit card.
“Okay, you’re all set. Hopefully I’ll see you again soon.” He tells you with a gentle smile. It really contrasted his aura; a big, beefy guy with a metal prosthetic arm, covered in probably hundreds of tattoos. But here he was, smiling like sunshine.
“I think I will be. Have a nice day, Bucky.” 
“You too, sweetheart.” He gives you that smirk again, making you feel like you might actually pass out. And not because you just had a needle jabbed into your skin for almost an hour.
“Uh, I already talked to Bucky for my session today. I know I’m a bit early, I can wait if he’s still working on someone else.” You tell Natasha with a smile.
“Sure, let me get you your waiver.” She says, and you plop down into one of the chairs at the front and pulling out your book to pass time after filling out the form.
After a few minutes, Bucky emerges with a girl from his little tattooing corner.
You hear his voice first, looking up from the book while he talks to her.
“Okay, since this was your first piece and pretty small, I’ll only charge ya $55 for it, doll.” Bucky tells the girl with a smile, and you immediately feel a pang in your chest.
You didn’t want to say you were jealous, but goddamn it, your breathing became just a little more shallow at the sight you were currently witnessing.
Even Natasha and Steve turned their heads to him, confused looks on both of their faces.
“Oh! Y/N, you’re here! C’mon back, I’m sure Nat already set you up with your waiver.” You nod, not saying a word as you follow him to the familiar chair.
“So, are we still doing what we discussed on the phone?” Bucky asks, setting up his area to tattoo you.
“Actually, I was thinking something different.” You say sharply.
“Different?” The shock is evident on his features. 
“Yeah. Different. Just want a little something on my collarbone.” You say, sitting down. 
“O-Okay... what were you thinking of?” He asks, pulling out his sketchbook.
“I want an olive branch, going from here to here.” You show him where you want it to start and end. It was a bit of a stretch right across the left side of your chest. “Something simple and minimal. I’ve been thinking of starting the top of my sleeve, this might be a good way to transition into it.” You say nonchalantly.
“Uhm... alright. How does this look?” Bucky asks, showing you his sketch. “I would, of course, add more detail to your liking, just let me know.” 
“Yeah, I want some more shading, please.” You say shortly. You honestly weren’t trying to be mean, but you were irritated.
But in the end, you really had no right to be. 
After almost ten sessions with Bucky, he hasn’t made any indication that he likes you the way you like him.
Sure, he calls you pet names, but he does that to everyone. Even discounts. You weren’t special. He was just being nice and doing his job.
So honestly, you had to cut the act here.
“Are you sure this is what you want? Are you saving the other design for our next session?” Bucky asks, growing more and more concerned with your odd behavior. Usually you would talk to him about your day, how work was, really anything. 
“I don’t know. I think I might ask Steve to do that one instead.” You say out of spite, more than anything. You would never take a design that Bucky made specially for you to another person to tattoo on you, even if it was his own business partner.
“Wha- Why? Did I do something? You’ve been acting really weird today...” Bucky questions you carefully. “Talk to me, doll. Did you have a bad day at work?”
But that, that right there, was your breaking point. Doll. 
“No, I’m fine. Let’s just get this done.” You huff, laying down after nodding to the sketch that Bucky drew out. 
Bucky’s brows furrowed even further, but didn’t ask any more questions. He laid down the stencil and asked if the placement was alright. You looked in the mirror he handed you and nodded briefly. 
The entire time Bucky had the machine in his hand, neither of you spoke a word. He tried to make brief conversation, but you only responded with a hum or nod. 
When he finally finished up, you got up and headed to the counter without a word after looking at the finished tattoo in the mirror. 
Your face was blank, emotionless, and Bucky was truly lost. 
After you paid the full price of your piece, you walked out of the shop, not even sparing anyone a glance. 
Once you left, the shop was dead silent. Everyone either just finished up with a client or didn’t have any at the moment, and the shop was blanketed in an extremely uncomfortable silence.
“What the hell was that, man?” Sam’s voice broke the silence, making Bucky’s head snap towards him. 
“I-I... I have no idea. She was acting so...so weird today.” Bucky looked more confused than ever.
“You’re an idiot, you know that?” Natasha’s voice cuts through the palpable silence.
“Wh- What the hell did I do? I asked her too, and she didn’t give me an answer...” Bucky mumbles.
“Do you like her?” She fires back with a fire in her eyes.
“W-Well, yeah. She’s a regular.” Bucky answers, looking at his fiddling hands.
“Not like that, you dunce. You know what I mean, don’t act dumb.” Natasha rolls her eyes.
Bucky sighs, not making eye contact yet again.
“I-... I do like her.” He says. “But I don’t think she feels the same.” 
“Jesus fucking Christ... You really are a dumbass.” Sam sighs out.
Steve snorts at his words, nodding in agreement.
“Buck, she got jealous.” He explains, shaking his head at his best friend’s obliviousness.
“J-Jealous? Of what?” Bucky scoffs in shock.
“That girl you had right before her. Gave her a discount, called her pet names. The whole shabang.” Natasha points out to him. “Also, you gotta stop giving out discounts like that. You’ll lose more money than you’re makin’.” Natasha scoffs. 
“Wh- But... She never said anything...?” Bucky thinks back to all the times you’ve sat in his chair. You never made any indication that you were outwardly interested in him.
“I think she said enough today without actually saying much.” Steve laughs. His friend was a real idiot.
“I... But, why didn’t she say anything before?” Bucky asked.
“Buck, you never said anything either. I guess that when she heard you talk to that girl like that, she thought you really didn’t like her like that at all. You treated that girl the same way you treat her.” Natasha explains to Bucky, who had a look of realization on his face.
“But... I was just... being nice...” He says with his head in his hands. 
“Well, now she thinks you do that with all you clients, so...” Sam says, making the brunet’s head shoot up.
“Fuck. Fuck. I fucked up everything!” He exclaims. “I-I do like her!” 
“Well, don’t tell us that, tell her!” Sam shouts back to him, and before Bucky can process, he’s pulling out his phone and dialing your phone number.
“C’mon, pick up, pick up,” He mumbles repeatedly, but the call goes to voicemail. “Fuck.”
“Not pickin’ up?” Steve questions, coming to the front and picking up the shop phone. “Gimme her number, she’s doesn’t have to shop saved to her phone, right?” 
“No, I don’t think she does.” Bucky says, watching as Steve dials your number.
“Hello?” Your voice sounds annoyed as it filters through the phone. “Who’s this?” 
“Uh, Y/N! Hi!” Steve speaks, looking at Bucky in a panic, his facial expression screaming, ‘talk to her!’ 
“Steve? What’s up?” You ask, wondering what he needed. 
“You uhh... you forgot your book here!” He blurts out, trying to find an excuse, but quickly found one upon seeing your book resting on the seat where you were waiting. 
“O-Oh... I guess I’ll just turn around. I’ll be there in a few. Thanks, Steve.” You say, ready to hang up.
“O-Okay. Bye, Y/N.” He clears his throat, hanging up. “You have like, ten minutes to get your shit together and talk to her when she gets here. Good luck.” Steve pats Bucky on the shoulder, ready to haul Natasha and Sam to the back to give you two some privacy.
Bucky thought that this was the longest ten minutes of his life, and he was trying to conjure up a speech in his head to confess to you.
Finally, when you did appear through the doors, you looked lost. You only saw Bucky, which made you even more aggravated from the fact that you had to turn back around.
You were ready to head home and wallow in peace, but alas, you wanted your book. 
Bucky just watched as you picked up the book from his grasp across the desk, your eyes not meeting his while he kept his gaze on you very intently. 
Just as you turned around to leave, Bucky’s voice cut through the unbearable silence.
“Y/N?” He simply asks, and you feel like the wind’s been knocked out of your lungs at the sound of his small voice. This wasn’t the Bucky you knew and... loved.
“Yes, James?” You simply respond, and Bucky cringes at the sound of his first name being used. 
“Can I talk to you for a second?”
“...Why? Is everything alright?” And although your voice didn’t give it away, you felt your heart drop to your stomach. Any possible scenario popped into your head. He has a girlfriend. He’s gonna tell you he doesn’t wanna see you anymore. He-
“E-Everything’s fine, doll. Just wanted to tell you that... That I...” Bucky’s voice sounded strained, like there was something caught in his throat.
“Bucky, just spit it out.” You say, wanting to leave already.
“It’s just- I like you. A lot. And I’m so sorry for earlier with that other client. I was just trying to be nice, but I realized how that looked to you, and I never thought anything of it because I didn’t know if you liked me back or-” Bucky was rambling, and your eyes were wide as saucers.
“Bucky, Bucky stop. Let me talk before you drive your own head in with conclusions,” you say, resting your hand on top of his on the desk.
“I like you a lot, too. I didn’t think you like me either because of that girl before me. You just- you treated her the same way you treated me, and I got jealous. I know I didn’t have the right to be, but it just made me think that... that you didn’t feel the same way about me, that I was just another client to you. I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions, and also for being kind of a bitch to you...” Now you were the one rambling, your hands flying all over the place in explanation.
“D-Doll, I never wanted to make you feel that way. I’m sorry, too. I should’ve told you before, before I almost blew everything with you that we’ve been building these past months.” He says placing one large tattooed hand and one metal hand on the sides of your face. “But I’m not gonna miss my chance again. Y/N, would you like to go on a date with me?”
“I-I would love to, Bucky. Took you long enough to ask me.” You giggle, holding onto the hands on your face.
“Yeah, well, I’m kind of an idiot, if you haven’t already noticed.” He laughs, gazing into your eyes with a look that almost turned you to mush in his hands. 
“Do... do ya wanna go now?” You ask, nodding your head to the door.
“Sure, let me go grab my jacket from the back.” He tells you, and you nod, watching as he keeps his eyes on you until he disappears to the back.
“My man, who would’ve thought you’d finally man up?” Sam ridicules him as soon as Bucky appears.
“Dude, shut up. I got a date to get to, see you losers later.” He rolls his eyes, moving back out where you’re smiling at him.
“Ready, angel?” Bucky asks, slipping his hand into yours.
“Ready, handsome.” You reply, and as soon as you step out into the fall air, you plant a kiss on his cheek. “Where to, lover boy?”
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homoose · 4 years ago
Text
Love Has a Learning Curve: Part II (x reader)
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Summary: Spencer and reader spend a lot of time together. And then he spends some time away.
Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader
Category: fluff, hurt/comfort
Warnings/Includes: typical CM violence, Spencer gets hurt but there’s no graphic descriptions 
Word count: 5k
a/n: This chapter is a little bit of a different style, because it had a lot of ground to cover! So we’ve got a few different vignettes of their first few months together— first dates and sleepovers and Spencer’s first long case away. I also worked some requests into this chapter.
———
Y/N stretched out across the bed, humming and burying her face into the pillow. She sighed and then drew in a deep breath. Her eyes blinked open as she recognized the new scent on her sheets— cedar and spice and a hint of floral. 
She moved her hand across the bed to find the sheets were cool, then raised her head to see the room was empty. The apartment was quiet, but the aroma of freshly brewed coffee crept in through the bedroom door left slightly ajar. She ran a hand over her face and reached for her phone on the bedside table, tapped the screen to check the time and saw a missed text from Anita.
Anita: How did it go???????
Y/N: Good! We talked a lot. And he spent the night.
Anita: W H A T
Anita: 🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨
Y/N: Calm down. It was just a sleepover. Emphasis on the sleep. 
Anita: Sure it was 👀
Anita: 👀👀👀👀👀👀👀
Anita: 🍆🍑🍒💦
Y/N: I’m going to mute this thread.
Anita: You’re such a prude!!!!!!!
Anita: But also
Anita: This mf is still on THIN ICE with me
Anita: So tell him to sleep with one eye open 
Y/N swiped the message thread to mute the notifications and sat up to drop her legs over the side of the bed. She stood and did a cursory once over in the mirror above her dresser, retrieving the sweater hanging on her closet door and slipping into it. Then she padded to the doorway, pushing the door open and quietly moving into the living room.
Spencer was on the couch, still in her shirt, with a book in one hand and her favorite coffee mug in the other. Roald was curled up in his lap, fast asleep. Spencer turned the page of his book, then brought the mug up to his lips. The simple domesticity had her chest tightening, and she let out a small, contented sigh. 
Spencer lifted his head at the sound, a smile stretching across his face as soon as he saw her. “Morning.”
“Morning.” She shuffled toward the couch, and he closed his book. She peered over the couch and gestured to Roald. “I see you’ve got a friend.”
“Indeed. I kind of feel like I can’t leave now.” He looked up with a small crease in his brow. “I made coffee. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” she assured with a smile. “Nice mug.”
“I didn’t want to wake you up, but I didn’t want to go through your cabinets,” he explained, looking a little nervous. “This one was on the dish rack, so I figured it was okay to use, but I can—”
“Spencer.” She leaned against the couch and smoothed a hand over his hair, meeting his eyes and smiling gently. “Is there more coffee?”
He nodded and looked down at the cat on his lap. “Yeah, I— I’d get up, but I don’t want to disturb him.”
Y/N laughed and pressed a quick kiss to his hair before retreating to the kitchen. “Oh, of course. We wouldn’t want to disrupt the king.”
They spent the morning on the couch, reading quietly and sipping their coffee and trading the occasional smile. She tucked her sock covered toes underneath his thigh as the sunlight crept across the floor. He brought his hand to rest on her knee and turned to the last chapter of his book, and she wondered if he was consciously slowing himself down so that she could attempt to keep up. 
Eventually, Roald yawned and stretched across Spencer’s lap, standing and hopping down off the couch in search of food. Spencer ran his hand down Y/N’s leg and circled his fingers around her ankle, rubbing his thumb lightly across the skin. She looked up from her book with a soft smile, wiggling her toes under his thigh. 
She closed her book and sat up a little closer to him on the couch. “So. I’ve been thinking.”
“Sounds dangerous,” he teased. 
“Ha, ha.” She rolled her eyes, and then her gaze shifted back to him and she chewed a little at the inside of her lip. 
No matter how hard she tried to quell it, the idea continued to nag at her subconscious— that even though he’d poured his heart out to her, even though he’d said that he loved her… that somehow she was still building him up in her head, seeing things that weren’t there, and making this into something it wasn’t. She was well aware that getting too comfortable too quickly was a surefire way to scare people off. 
“Our tea dates weren’t really dates,” she hedged. “So we haven’t really had a first date.”
He gave her ankle a quick squeeze. “No, I suppose we haven’t.”
She tucked her hair behind her ear. “I don’t want you to think I’m in the habit of inviting men that I’m not dating to spend the night.” 
He set his book on the coffee table. “Of course.” 
“So, um.” She tilted her head and drew her brows together. She needed to hear it, directly from his perspective. “Are we— do you consider us to be, um.” She closed her eyes. “Are we dating?”
She felt him lean toward her on the couch, felt his warm palm cupping her cheek and his thumb stroking across her skin. She opened her eyes slowly to see him looking at her with a tentative smile. “I hope so,” he breathed. 
She barely stopped herself from letting out a relieved sigh, slightly embarrassed to have needed the reassurance. He didn’t seem to notice, instead closing the rest of the distance between them to press a soft kiss to her mouth. Their noses bumped together awkwardly, drawing a laugh from them both. 
He withdrew from her mouth, pressed a kiss to her bumped nose, and then sat back a little, considering. “If you’re free today, we could knock ‘first date’ off the checklist.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “You have a checklist?”
“Well, a metaphorical one,” he clarified quickly. “I’m not, like, keeping track in a journal or anything.”
She laughed, bright and loud and almost carefree, and then swung her legs over the side of the couch. “What did you have in mind, doctor?”
Spencer Reid’s idea of a perfect first date was the Smithsonian National Postal Museum, and it was just about the most Spencer thing Y/N had ever heard. 
“I should have put two and two together with the no technology thing,” she surmised.
“I know letters have sort of gone out of fashion with the advent of phones and email, but— letter writing is an art form!” he defended, waving his hands. “And think about how incredible it feels to get something in the mail. You don’t get that same rush with a text message.”
She thought back to receiving a perfectly wrapped package with his handwriting scrawled across the brown paper. “Mm, you do have a point there,” she conceded.
He led her through the exhibits, explaining the various displays with more facts than the placards themselves could ever contain. She watched with a smile as he gestured wildly about with his hands, his eyes wide with the joy of sharing the information— of sharing it with her. She nodded, and mmhmmed, and asked the occasional question. But she was mostly just so unbelievably content to listen to him talk about anything and everything. 
He stopped mid-sentence in the Serving the Cities exhibit, dropping his hands and looking at her sheepishly. “Sorry, I— I’m boring you.”
She drew her brows together in genuine confusion. “What? No, you’re not. I’d never heard of the, um— new— no. The— new tubes?” 
“New York City's pneumatic tube system,” he offered. 
She smiled gratefully. “Yes, the pneumatic tube system. Underground mail tubes moving at 35 miles per hour? That’s kind of amazing.” She shook her head. “Why don’t they use it anymore?” 
“The Post Office Department suspended the service to conserve funding during World War I,” he explained automatically. “They restored partial service in 1922, but it eventually just became too costly to continue.” He seemed to catch himself, shaking his head and continuing, “But I— I’m sure it’s all here in the exhibits, I should just let you—”
She grabbed his hand, and he closed his mouth to stifle the rest of his rambling. She used her free hand to gesture around at the displays. “There’s a lot of information here, but to be honest, I— I haven’t really been looking at the placards.” She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks as he stared at her. “I, um— I’d much rather hear it from you.” 
She watched his eyes alight with surprise and wonder, and she wanted to personally fight anyone who had ever made him believe that he was boring. He took a step closer, eyes flicking down to her mouth, and her lips twitched up into a smile. He leaned down to meet her halfway in a sweet kiss, mostly just upturned mouths and huffed breaths. 
He lingered slightly as he pulled away, still studying her with a little bit of shock. She intertwined their fingers, pressed their shoulders together, and nodded toward the next display. “So, what else can you tell me about the history of the mail system, Dr. Reid?” 
The pair of them continued through the museum, their fingers threaded together and Spencer murmuring facts into her ear. They spent three hours walking through the exhibits, pausing here and there to gaze quietly at the details of a particularly interesting display. When they finally completed their circuit, Y/N insisted on visiting the museum gift shop. 
There were postage stamp tote bags, mail carrier t-shirts, mailbox ornaments and more— all incredibly overpriced and generally ridiculous and not of interest to either of them. But the stationery display caught her eye— sets of parchment with embossed letterheads, fancy letter openers, and wax stamp kits. She ran her finger over the raised design on one particularly intricate stationery set, and Spencer peered over her shoulder. 
“I’ve always enjoyed letter writing. Partly because I tend toward the arcane, but also because it feels… intentional and personal,” he explained. “It takes time, and energy, and care.”
“It’s a very deliberate and lovely way of showing that you care about someone,” she agreed.
“Mhm,” he hummed, smiling softly. “I still write a lot of letters to my mom. When she was still in Vegas and I didn’t see her very often, I wrote the letters because she didn’t always recognize my voice over the phone.” 
He drew his brows together and ran his fingers along the top of the stationary display. “Now I write them so that she can have a— a sort of record of my life, I guess. So that hopefully when the memories aren’t there anymore, she can still read them and feel like she’s a part of the story.”
Y/N reached for his hand again, and he accepted it with a bittersweet smile. “We did the same thing for my grandma,” she told him, returning his melancholic smile. “Lots of letters and photos. I never thought of it that way, but it was sort of like keeping her in our stories.” 
She turned back to the display and picked up the package of stationery, turning it over in her hands. He gently plucked it from her grip, reaching into his pocket for his wallet. “I think you need some nice paper for the next few chapters.” 
“Oh, you don’t have to—” she started. 
He cut her off with a press of his lips. She grasped a little at his waist as he kissed her and wondered if she would ever get used to kissing Spencer Reid. When he finally pulled back, she had to catch her breath. 
“I’ll take half,” he murmured. “I was hoping I could, um— help you write them.”
She squeezed his waist gently, heard the chains of insecurity clinking and breaking as he chiseled away at them piece by piece. “I’d like that.”
Two weeks later, Y/N convinced him to try painting— specifically, Paint & Sip Night at the art studio around the corner from her apartment. 
“I’m going to be terrible at this,” he warned her, looking over his shoulder at where she was tying the strings of his smock. 
She tugged the strings around his waist to gently pull him back toward her, leaned up on her tiptoes, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. She knotted the strings tight and barely restrained herself from sneaking a little squeeze of his bum— although she did not stop herself from looking. 
“It’s not about being good at it. It’s about having fun.” She used her hands on his waist to turn him around. “And if you’re not having fun, then we can go home,” she shrugged. 
He smoothed a wrinkle from her smock. “I always have fun with you.” He smiled and scrunched his nose at her, and she returned the nose scrunch with a laugh. 
“All right, everyone!” The instructor clapped her hands together. “Are you ready to paint a masterpiece?”
Forty five minutes later, Spencer peered over at her canvas and huffed out a breath. “God, look at that texture. How are you actually good at this?”
Y/N turned and looked at his painting. “Yours looks good, too,” she insisted. 
“Michael could— and has, actually— done better than this,” he scoffed.
“Well, I like it.” She tilted her head. “It’s giving me... Monet vibes. It’ll look perfect in my living room.”
“You are not hanging this in your living room,” he laughed. 
“I’d like to see you try and stop me,” she teased, turning back to her work to follow the next instruction. 
She watched him as they worked— his tongue slipping out of the corner of his mouth in concentration, his fingertips tapping across his thighs in consideration, his huffed breaths here and there when a stroke didn’t look the way he wanted it to. She finished a little bit before him, adding her tiny signature to the bottom of her canvas before standing to move to his side. She slid a gentle hand around his waist and looked over his shoulder at his work. 
He sighed and gestured to the corner of his canvas. “This whole section looks… weird.” 
She studied it for a moment. “I think maybe it’s just because it’s sort of one note?” She pointed to the rest of the painting. “Like, you played with layering the colors everywhere else. Here it’s just the blue. You could add some purple maybe? Or green,” she mused. 
“Yeah, I guess I can try that.” He shrugged and leaned over to the paints, gathering some purple on his brush.
She moved out of his way but rested her chin lightly on his shoulder as he worked. He moved the brush meticulously in small strokes, layering and creating dimension in the corner of the piece. When he finally set the brush down, he leaned his head to rest on top of hers. 
“Okay. So it looks much more…” he trailed off. 
“Cohesive,” she offered. 
She could feel his smile. “Yeah,” he agreed. He lifted his head to look at her. “Seriously, how are you so good at this?” 
She moved her chin from his shoulder and gave a nonchalant shrug. “I guess my many years of finger painting experience had to pay off someday.” She nodded to his finished painting. “I don’t know what your going rate is, but I have to have this.”
He swiveled on the stool to capture her hands in his, lacing their fingers together and pulling her in between his legs. “It’s yours.”
She feigned shock. “For free?”
“I didn’t say that,” he corrected with a sly smile. He dropped her hands to bring his own to her hips, pulling her in closer. “But it’s sort of an on-going payment deal. I’m asking at least 30 kisses per month.” 
She pressed her lips together to avoid breaking out into an absurd grin. “You drive a hard bargain.” 
“Take it or leave it. That’s my final offer,” he shrugged. 
She pretended to mull it over, lips pursed and eyes on the ceiling. He huffed out a laugh, and she cracked a smile, bringing her fingers up to tangle in his curls. “Deal.” 
Y/N: I don’t even know if your phone is capable of receiving pictures, but look what I hung today!
Tumblr media
Spencer: It receives pictures! I wish I hadn’t received this one though. I cannot believe you actually hung that horrific thing on your wall.
Y/N: I’m going to commission you for a piece for the kitchen ;)
Spencer: You’re hilarious.
Y/N: You love it.
Spencer: I do. 
Spencer: I wanted to tell you... I have my first therapy appointment tomorrow afternoon. 
Y/N: Spence!!!
Y/N: I am so proud of you. It’s going to change your life. 
Spencer: You’ve already done that, Miss Honey. 
Y/N: How did it go?
Spencer: I cried? A lot.
Y/N: That happens to me, too! Good therapy will do that. Other than the crying, how do you feel? 
Spencer: I feel… amazing. Lighter, I think? I’m actually kind of bummed that I have to wait two weeks to do it again. 
Y/N: I know I said it already, but I’m so incredibly proud of you. 
Spencer: I quite literally would not have done it without you. 
Y/N: Happy to give you a little nudge whenever you need it, doctor. <3
...
The BAU’s caseload had been uncharacteristically slow, and the two of them took advantage of every moment. On one particularly gloomy Saturday afternoon, they were sprawled across Spencer’s couch and sipping on their umpteenth cups of coffee. He scribbled notes in the margins of his students’ latest essays, while she typed out her lesson plans for the upcoming week. 
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him set down his pen. He stifled a sigh and she held back a smile as she typed out a short vowel word chain. She could feel his eyes on her, could practically smell the smoke coming from his overworked brain. 
When he didn’t break the silence, she looked up over the top of her laptop. “Can I help you?” she teased.
His cheeks colored with a very pretty flush— the same one she’d pulled from him in the carpool loop all those months ago. “Two of my students just… aren’t getting it.” He gestured to the papers in front of him. “I’ve tried extra office hours, extended time for work completion, and it just— doesn’t seem to be helping.” He looked at her with pursed lips. “I was, um— I was wondering if you had any ideas? That I could try.”
Her eyebrows shot up into her hairline. “You— you’re asking me for help?”
“Well, yeah.” He shrugged. “You’re the best teacher I know.”
Now it was her turn to blush. “Oh. Well, um…” She set her laptop on the coffee table and sat up, considering. “Have you tried differentiating your lectures?” At his raised eyebrow, she continued, “Like— having a PowerPoint or a recorded version that they can revisit? You’re kind of a fast talker, so it’s possible that they’re struggling to retain the information because they can’t keep up with your delivery.”
“Huh.” He tilted his head with a furrowed brow. “I... didn’t consider that my oratory speed could have an impact on student achievement. But of course— that makes total sense.” He gave her a sheepish smile and his best puppy dog eyes. “So… how much coffee do you think you’d require to, um— help me make a PowerPoint?”
She sighed dramatically but couldn’t stop herself from smiling. “At least another two cups. And one of those peanut butter sandwich cookies from Soho.”
He set the papers aside and leaned over to plant a kiss on her upturned mouth. “I’ll buy you a dozen.”
In late May, their luck ran out. 
First there was a case in Arizona— brutal and ritualistic murders scattered through the desert with almost no cooling off period. On the eighth day that he was in Phoenix, Y/N’s phone rang on the bedside table. She reached across to pick it up, smiling at his name on the screen.
“Hey,” she answered, moving her computer off her lap and getting comfortable. 
“Hi,” Spencer murmured. 
“How’s the case going?”
“It’s, um— it’s going okay, actually,” he assessed. “We’ve made a lot of headway in the last twelve hours, and I think we might be narrowing in.”
“That’s great.” She stifled a yawn behind her hand. 
“Yeah. Yeah, it is.” 
His tone of voice had her sitting up a little straighter in bed. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” he insisted, but his tone didn’t shift. 
“You don’t sound fine,” she prompted. 
“I just—” He blew out a breath, and she could almost hear him running his hand over his face. “I miss you. And maybe that’s weird, because we’ve only been together for seventy four days, but—”
“Spence,” she interrupted. He sighed, and she continued, “It’s not weird. I miss you, too.”
“Eight days isn’t even that long, but I just— I’ve never, um.” The line was quiet for long enough that she almost thought the call had dropped. And then his voice came back, softer than she’d ever heard it. “I’ve never had someone to miss.”
Her heart physically ached for all the time he’d spent without someone to miss— and without someone to miss him, and cherish him, and— well, love him. She still hadn’t said it back. She wanted to say it right then, but it felt wrong to say it for the first time over the phone. And there was still that nagging little fear— of his inevitable reconsideration and rejection— keeping her from pulling the metaphorical trigger. 
“Well. I’m happy to fill that position,” she settled on— and hated how inadequate it sounded. She leaned back against the pillows, prepared to make him feel it even if she couldn’t say it. At the very least, she could help him take his mind off the monsters— if only for a few minutes. “Teach me something, doctor.”
He laughed a little through the phone, and she knew her plan was working already. 
“Okay,” he started, and she could hear the muffled crinkle of the hotel duvet. “Um— did you know that the Sonoran Desert is the only place in the world where saguaro cacti grow?”
“Wow. No, I didn’t,” she smiled, ready to learn everything there was to know about the giant, prickly plants. “Why is that?”
“Experts believe there are two main factors that limit the cacti from expanding into the Mojave — temperature and rainfall. It’s also possible that...”
...
On his tenth day away, the letter showed up. 
Y/N,
I’m writing from the balcony of the hotel room overlooking the desert— well, more so the parking lot of the desert— and I’m reminded of the duality of this landscape. The arid climate and rugged terrain can make it a mercilessly hostile place. Yet at the same time, this environment is one of the most enigmatic and enchanting, and it’s teeming with life if you look close enough. 
This job can illuminate the cruelty and brutality of humanity, but it so often reminds me of the resilience and the goodness of people, too. The duality of the desert parallels the duality of man, I suppose.
I don’t know if you’ve ever been out here. I think you’d like it. I’ve thought of another poem that makes me think of you, and of the way that I finally feel like I can breathe. 
With thee, in the Desert –
With thee in the thirst –
With thee in the Tamarind wood –
Leopard breathes – at last!
       - Emily Dickinson
Love, 
Spencer
They had barely deplaned after the culmination of the case in Arizona before they were called back out to Colorado, this time for six days. She barely heard from him at all, save for the occasional text, and even then, it was never more than ten words. She spent her waking hours worrying and dreamt the same terrifying dream every single night— being chased until her legs gave out, never sure of what she was running from and never able to slow down. 
It was 2:27 in the morning when her phone rang, rousing her from her restless tossing and turning. His name on the caller ID had the worry jumping into her throat, but she answered as calmly as she could. 
“Hi.” She yawned into her hand and let out a little sigh.
“Hi.” The tenor of his voice was quiet and weary. “I know it’s unbelievably late—”
She sat up and interrupted, “Are you okay?” 
He was quiet for a moment, and her worry intensified. “I, um— I’m… I’m downstairs.” 
She turned on the bedside lamp. “Like, right now?”
“Yeah,” he confirmed quietly. “I— I’m sorry. I should have called first before just— showing up at your door.”
She was already climbing out of bed. “No, no, honey, don’t be sorry. I’m coming to buzz you in.”
She shuffled through the dark apartment, fumbled for the intercom to press the buzzer. She could hear his feet on the stairs before she even made it to the door, unlocking the deadbolt and pulling back the chain. As the door swung open, he was rounding the top of the stairs and turning the corner of the landing. 
It took him five strides to cross the threshold, and then he was tumbling into her arms and burying his face in her shoulder. The impact knocked the breath out of her, but she recovered quickly, bringing her arms around him and holding him tight. 
He didn’t speak, just breathed into her hair and clutched a little desperately at her back. She stroked a soothing hand over his curls and pressed a kiss to his shoulder.
“I’ve got you,” she murmured. “You’re safe, Spence. I’m right here.”
She shifted her weight slowly back and forth, rocking him gently and petting over his hair, steady and rhythmic. He burrowed his face into the crook of her neck and let out a shaky breath, and Y/N felt his tears on her skin. She brought both arms around his shoulders then, squeezing him tightly. “I’m right here, honey,” she repeated. “I’m right here.”
He cried quietly into her shoulder as she ran soothing hands over his back. She knew this was more than just missing her— it was the cruelty and brutality of man that he saw every day, the layers of hurt that would probably always be there. But she knew the resilience was there, too. And she was determined to always show him the other half of the chasm of humanity.
After a long while, he pulled back, still sniffling. Y/N reached out to grasp his face in both her hands, sweeping the tears from his cheeks with gentle thumbs. Her heart panged at the way his eyes were shining and ringed red, full of complete exhaustion and raging emotion. 
“What do you need?” she asked. “Water, tea, a snack, a shower?”
He shook his head. “Just you,” he mumbled.
She felt the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. “You’ve got me. Always.” She pressed one, two, three chaste kisses to his chapped lips. “Let’s get cleaned up and changed and into bed, hm?”
She had him wash his face and brush his teeth, and then she moved him to sit on the closed toilet lid. “Close your eyes,” she said softly. 
He could barely keep them open as it was, and she didn’t even want to think about how little sleep he’d had over the last three weeks. She cupped his face in her hands for a long moment, rememorizing every curve and angle. 
First, she swiped a cotton pad soaked with cucumber toner across the high planes of his cheekbones and along his nose. She allowed it to dry, and then dropped gentle kisses to his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, his chin. Next, she took a dab of moisturizer on the tips of her fingers, rubbing in circular motions along the path her lips had traveled. Finally, she pressed a few drops of her favorite lavender and chamomile face oil onto his cheeks, soothing away the last, damp remnants of agony. 
When he opened his eyes again, they were already a little clearer, a little calmer, a little lighter. He let out a long, slow breath and laced their fingers together. She squeezed his hands, and then pulled him up and into her side.
She led him into her bedroom, stripped him out of his cardigan and button-up and trousers, and helped him into the soft, oversized school fundraiser shirt that had become his. And then she took his hands in hers once again and pulled him toward the bed, getting him settled and tucked in on his side before coming around to shut off the bedside light. He whined at the loss of contact, and she shushed him gently as she climbed in next to him. 
“C’mere.” She lifted the duvet, and he moved to lay his head on her chest, wrapping his arm around her middle and pulling her impossibly closer. She tucked the covers back around him, and then brought her arms around his shoulders, hugging him tightly. 
She stroked his hair quietly, listening to his breathing as it evened and slowed. He was asleep in minutes, snuffling gently into her chest. His grip loosened with every breath, and he settled more comfortably against her side with each exhale. 
She let the tears she’d been holding back slip over her lash line and pressed a soft kiss into his hair. The faint snores vibrating from his chest muffled her quiet voice as she whispered the trio of words she couldn’t quite bring herself to say in the light of day.
———
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plush-rabbit · 4 years ago
Text
Fugitives
Word Count: 6.6K
A/N: Diavolo has been on my mind lately and I want to take him out on a date
Summary: Just a nice, little day/night day with Diavolo
-
The Royal Academy of Diavolo looms heavily behind you, the book on your lap is opened, the pages still as the wind has died long ago. You stare at the foreign words, your head still fuzzy and beginning to hurt no matter how long you’ve stared at the words. You’re beginning to believe that the words on the page are part of some elaborate joke that any of the brothers or Solomon have failed to inform you of. The only thing that wrecks that thought is that you’re sure that the angels would have told you something by now.
The stone bench that you rest on is cold, a moss-like substance that creeps around the legs of the bench. The stone once light, ordained with intricate designs that you can never quite follow with your eyes, turns darker, the designs now eroded over time, are still ever present and you think that it might be some sort of demon magic. You frown at your thought and shake your head. Of course it would be demon magic.
Your finger grazes along the page of the book, sticky notes are bright against the paper, your notes written in ink that try to simplify the words You stare at the page, the words blurring together as your mind begins to wander. The moon looms overhead in a kaleidoscope of colors, illuminating the sky and shining onto you.
“You seem troubled,” a voice speaks beside your ear, breath warm and smelling of something sweet.
You jump, snapping the book shut and turning your body to make room from you the unknown stranger. You have a face riddled with horror, your body aflame and you begin to call the name of a brother, the book held tightly in your grasp until you meet the eyes of Lord Diavolo.
You breathe rapidly and his face, one that was no doubt held a pleasant smile falls. He waves his hands in front of him, apology spewing rapidly from lips and it takes a moment to recollect yourself. “Ah,” you smile nervously, wide and strained, “Lord Diavolo, hi.” your smile falls when his smile does and he stands straighter, blocking the rays of the moon from hitting you. “I- It’s my bad. I wasn’t- I should have been paying attention.”
His smile returns and it’s softer, almost pained, his eyes refusing to meet yours. “I’m sure I’ve made it a point that you nor the other exchange students have to refer me as-” he raises his fingers to make air quotations- “‘Lord Diavolo.’”
You chuckle nervously, tension light in the air but still making your face flush and legs bounce nervously. “Yeah, but if I don’t, Lucifer might pop a vein or kill me.” You tilt your head and shrug your shoulders. “It’s kind of his entire thing. You know-” you look at the soon-to-be king and smile politely at him- ��rules and all.” The book is still held tightly in your hand and you look down at the cover, clicking your tongue before placing the book inside your bag. “I- uh. School is about to start, right?” You give a quick glance to the demon who continues to stare at you. His expression is quizzical, a furrow between his brows and lips pursed. “Lord- I mean, Diavolo?”
He breaks out of it quickly and you stand, a strap of your backpack sliding over your shoulder, the weight of it pressing into your shoulder. “How are you doing with the curriculum? I’m sure it’s much more different than what you’re used to.” He speaks slowly, testing each word on his tongue as if this- the interaction, the words and all, are new. He catches your guarded expression and adjusts himself. “It’s just that you looked troubled. What was that term that you humans use? A nickel for your thoughts?”
You smile and let out a soft chuckle. “Penny,” you correct. “A penny for your thoughts.”
“Penny,” he repeats. His eyes are on you and they burn. His gaze is strong and you come to realize that this is the few times that you’ve ever had a proper interaction with the Lord. It’s always been interrupted, always filled with the presence of others. Always stiff and formal. “A penny for your thoughts?”
Your hand tightens on the strap of the bag. You glance to the side, unable to decide if you can really worry him with such feeble troubles. You’re sure that he would listen to you, that he would take every word with caution and care, that he wouldn’t dismiss you so quickly. You wet your lips, your teeth grazing against your bottom lip and you think you can hear the voices of Lucifer and Barbatos lingering against a corridor.
You look back to Lord Diavolo and once more to the side. “Hey, uh-” he tilts his head, taking half a step towards you- “do you have anything important to do today?”
He shakes his head no. “Only review papers but when you have Barbatos as a friend, well, that can be done at any time.” His smile stretches, humor laced into his words. “Why? Were you hoping to join?” He almost sounds hopeful and it makes an awful twist at your stomach appear.
“I-” the knot in your stomach pulls taut and you glance up at him- “I was wondering if you wanted to go get something to eat. Like now? Like Akudonald’s or something.”
He brightens immediately. “Really? I’ve been meaning to try it but Barbatos has never been a fan of that type of food and Lucifer always denies going out.” His smile tightens and he looks down at the ground. “Something about being too busy,” he mutters, his eyes returning to yours after a moment. Your heart aches for the Demon Lord and your bag feels heavy. You take a step toward him, the stone of the bench scratching against your pants and he's quick to take your hand into his. As if also knowing what lies beyond a corner- because how could he not with senses like his- he pulls on you quickly, already turning around, hand in hand, ignoring the stray looks of demons and others alike.
Designer shoes click against the concrete, sullying the heel and making sharp noises while your worn shoes slap against the concrete, your body desperately trying to catch up towards his. A strong, heavy hand holds you tightly and you can feel just how fragile you are in his hand. You struggle for breath and soon you are crossing grass, ruining the impeccable lawn under footsteps and slowly, the reality of what you are doing sets in. You laugh, squeezing your hand in his, ignoring the way that your bag hits against your back in an almost painful manner. You’re laughing as you begin to ditch school to go with a prince to a fast food chain.
As if your laughter is infectious, he begins laughing as well, pulling you closer until the ground is nonexistent, the wind harsh against you and you’re struggling to keep up. It’s painful, an awful pain that you know will leave you sore, that will make you regret ever moving. But it’s fun. It’s freeing to just run hand in hand, to ditch school and laugh and for a moment, the worry of school and assignments, leaves you as you run with Diavolo though the school grounds. Never one to break rules- at least not under the watchful eye of Lucifer and the brothers- this is freeing, allowing yourself to break free from the tight hold they have on you and go and explore- even if it is just a simple lunch.
Grass turns into pavement, the pace slows down and your feet hurt, stinging above the harsh pavement. You’re doubled over, hands on your knees as you try to breath through your gasps. Your laughter is breathless, wheezing as you rise and let out a shaky laugh, lungs burning and mouth dry. You stare up at him, your body warm as he gives you a smile, not even the slightest hint of sweat on his brow and you scoff. The school blazer feels tight on your body, the dress shirt underneath sticking to your body and when you turn back, the school is far from where you both stand.
“Not tired?” You ask, rising, rolling your shoulders and adjusting your bag. He shakes his head no. “Figures- demon stamina and all,” you add when he gives you a quizzical look. “Anyways, now that we’ve escaped school, we’re technically fugitives.”
He laughs at your comment and you can feel pride swell in your chest. You’ve always been a fan of making people laugh, to hear them enjoy a joke- it’s something you take great pleasure in. “Fugitives, huh?” He looms above you, broad shoulders and piercing eyes that seem to glow under the moonlight and yet his laugh is loud and joyous, brash and full of something sweet. “I’ve never been a fugitive before. What does that entail?”
You smile at him and take a step closer to him, running a clammy hand through the ends of your hair. “Well Diavolo, that means we can do whatever we want-” you raise a finger and your smile narrows, turning kittenish, a slit of your teeth peeking between your lips- “so long as we don’t get caught.” You point your finger at him, your smile growing. “It’ll be fun, I promise! We can do whatever you want to do and-”
“You know-” he leas down, face relaxed, a slow smile appearing on his face- “as future king, I can technically do what I want without consequences.”
Your smile falls. You hadn’t thought of that. Perhaps you’ve been spending too much time with the others, so used to having to sneak around and keep secrets that you’ve failed to realize that you are standing on the outskirts of school with the future king. You open your mouth, ready to apologize for wasting his time or for- for something. Heat rises to your face- this was a horrible, impulsive idea.
You fail to realize the worry that crosses the future king’s face as your own expression falls. He can sense something negative brewing inside of you- something anxious and fear riddled and he forces a smile, standing straighter and in an attempt to remedy the situation, he speaks. “But I’ve never played fugitive. You know, if we get to do things that I’m not able to do, well the list will be short. I’ve been dying to try Akudonald’s. Will-” he meets your eyes, and there’s a skip in his chest- “Will you accompany me to Akudonald’s?”
When you smile brightly and nod your head rapidly, he lets out a sigh of relief. He walks beside you, knuckles brushing against each other and despite doing many dangerous acts in the past, this simple act of touching you is enough to send adrenaline spiking throughout his body. He listens to you speak, the way you talk about fast food chains from your realm and he’s delighted to hear about. He loves human culture, he loves the entire enigma that people- that humans- pose and while it might not have been loved at first sight, it was most definitely something at first for him. The young lord was intrigued by you, intrigued by the human that you are, the need to befriend, to stay close to somebody, the need to be alive and the excitement that shines in your eyes through the simplest things. It was the idea of you that he loved and then as he continued to invade parts of your life and you continued to live your life, to make the forced small talk with him, to laugh at a horrible joke he once read in a book. He knows he feels some type of attraction towards you and whether it’s romantic or a deep sense of platonic, he knows that it’s there and he doesn’t want the feeling to ever leave him.
You talk and you spiral from topic to topic, telling a story fast, speech slurring together and words being stuttered and he listens to you intently. He ignores the eyes on him as he walks through the city, knuckles against yours, trying to ignore the desperate, touch-starved part of him that wants to hold your hand in his. You talk and you talk and he listens until you both stand in the parking lot of the long awaited fast food chain.
“You know-” he pulls his hand away from you and he knits his hands together- “I’ve never been here before.” Something settles in his stomach and he hasn't felt something as intense in so long. He thinks he might die but it doesn’t fit in the schedule that Barbatos has prepared for him.
“Nervous?” Your voice is small and he can only nod. He doesn’t know why and he hopes that you don’t ask. He can hear you hum and he feels so silly. He’s a prince. He shouldn’t be nervous for a meal that won’t even make a scratch in his pocket and yet- “You know,” you voice startles him out of his own thoughts, “I’m always scared of trying new things. Even in the Human Realm. There are things that I won’t try due to how new they are. A lot of people are like that. I- You know-” he can see your reflection look up at him and the way your hand twitches at your side- “when I had to eat fried bat and this one stew with like eyes in it and a tail-” his eyes widen and he interrupts what he’s sure is an encouraging speech.
“Fried-” he frowns. “I was sure I had requested for the brothers to give you human food. Just something to start your adjustment here before you got used to all the food here.”
Your frown is deep and he can’t help but let out a soft laugh. “I-” you tilt your head and roll your lips. “I- You know, they are so lucky that I love them.” You shake your head. “I’m going to abuse my pact power.” His smile widens and he lets out another laugh, louder and enough for him to double over and feel his face flush.
“There are plenty of times where I’ve caught Lucifer doing something-” his eyes dart to the side- “rather something un-Lucifer-like. I’m sure I could send you a few pictures.” His smile is devilish and he enjoys the sound of your laugh.
“If you have any of Lucifer sleeping or in a bathing suit, I’d be extremely grateful.” You leave his side, going to grab the metallic door handle. You turn to him, gesturing with a jerk of your head towards the establishment. “Come on then.”
His steps are quick, walking the few feet that separate the both of you. The door is held open for him, a friendly gesture by you, allowing him to leave the fresh air of outside and enter the restaurant with cold air, the smell of grease faint in the air. He stands beside you, eyes on the menu.
“What are you-”
“I think I might get fried devil chicken and maybe a Little Devil’s Slushy Soda.” You turn to look up at him. “I’ve had one before. You could try the burgers but just remember to ask for no pickles.” His eyes widen and he's looking at you, his mouth parted to ask a question, only to be interrupted when you continue to talk. “You know, I’m surprised that out of all the foods that you have here, the one that Devildom shares with the Human Realm is pickles.”
“I’ll- uh-” he clears his throat and looks back up at the menu- “I’ll get the same as you except for the drink. I think I’ll get an Orange Acid.” He can see you nod in the corner of his eyes. “Should we-”
“I invited you out, I’ll pay.” You move to the front of the register and he’s quick to clear his throat and stand before you, taking in the attention of the attendant, eyes wide and a flicker of their tail, the slightest hint of fear emanating off of them. “Dia?”
His smile widens at the nickname. “Nonsense-” he turns his head towards you- “you’ve already invited me for a day out, the least I could do to repay you is pay for a simple meal.” His smile is sharp, eager to please as he turns back to the demon worker, their body stiff. “Why don’t you go and find a place to sit? I’ll take the food to you in just a second.” And with that, the prince turns and orders the food, his voice clear and precise, stiff and simple in his words and you can only shrug. You are in no place to argue with him.
You walk to sit at a booth, the bench solid underneath you, the table cold and free of any mess. You sit patiently, your legs bouncing underneath and hands meeting together in an awkward hand hold. It’s only until then that you realize you can remove the bag. Once free, your body is empty, the bag beside you, the blazer on your body scratching at your neck and you’re quick to remove it and stuff it unceremoniously inside your bag. You roll the sleeve of your dress shirt, adjust the collar and lean against the back of the bench, looking up and smiling when Diavolo holds a tray of food, the drinks carried by another worker with pale skin, ears pointed and lowered in an almost fearful way.
Diavolo sits in front of you, the plastic tray clicking against the table and the drinks are lowered, onto the table. The demon speaks lowly under their breath and gives a small bow before turning around and leaving the both of you to your meal. You give a roll of your eyes before turning around and grabbing at the small carrier box that holds your food. You pull your drink closer, the heaviness of it inside and pop your straw. Diavolo follows suit and takes a careful bite from his own chicken.
Even as he eats, he’s proper, holding the chicken with a plastic fork, taking careful bites. Granted you do the same, but only because the seasoning of it would burn your hands. How it doesn’t burn your mouth, you have no idea.
It’s quiet, the only sounds exchanged from between the both of you are the crunching of the chicken and the slurps from the drinks. It’s all so awkward. “So,” you start, bringing the straw to your pursed lips, the cold drink heavy on your tongue, “how come you don’t just come here on your own? Like without Barbatos or Lucifer? You are the future king-” your eyes trail on the condensation that lingers on your thumb- “I don’t understand why you have to wait for others permission.”
He’s quiet for a moment, his hands still, the food untouched and when you look up at him, you wonder if you’ve insulted him in some sort of way.
You frown, taking the final bite from your chicken. “I didn’t mean anything bad by it. I was-”
“No, no,” he’s quick to say, giving you a wave of his hand. “I understand. I-” he furrows his brows and his jaw gives the faintest twitch- “I am allowed to do what I please but I suppose I would rather not do things alone.” The silence lingers for a second after his statement before clearing his throat and returning to eat. “You know-” he places his hand in front of his mouth and talks- “I’m glad that I was able to try this. It’s actually quite good. You’ve had this before?”
You nod. “Yeah, I come here with Mammon or Levi. Beel likes it here too but the servings aren’t quite what he’s used to so he goes to Hell’s Kitchen.” Your foot begins to tap, your hand going to hold the drink as you pull it close, narrowing your eyes when the condensation outside of the drink drips onto your pants. “Neither of the others like it. Solo prefers to cook his own food-” you smile when Diavolo grimaces at the mention of the sorcerer's food- “and Simeon doesn’t want Luke to eat too much fast food. Which I’m confused by since I always assumed Angels never really faced any consequences of what they ate. They’re like ethereal-” you gesture with your drink, pointing it towards the demon across from you- “cholesterol shouldn’t be a thing with them.”
He smiles softly and shakes his head, putting down the plastic utensils, grabbing a napkin to clean his hands. “It’s not about cholesterol.” The drink is bitter against his tongue. “It’s more about sin and all that. Temperance playing part to not overstuff yourself, the avoidance of gluttony and taking what you want in excess. Angels are very particular about those sorts of things. You must have taken notice how Luke always offers the first batch to anyone else but him, how he gives and refuses to eat more unless offered or split with someone else.” Diavolo smiles at you, it’s tight, not quite reaching his eyes and there’s a feeling inside of you to press further. “While Luke is quite a good angel, he’s still young. He can be easily swayed with just the right words. Simeon is merely protecting the young one.” He fails to realize the heaviness of the conversation, only interested in sharing information with you, taking another sip from his drink and meeting your eyes, which are wide and almost fearful. He smiles gently. “You have nothing to fear. Luke won’t fall, Simeon is an old angel, he’ll take proper care of Luke.” His eyes glance down to your plate. “I’m done. Would you like to leave now?”
“I-” your eyes widen and you take a deep breath, releasing it slowly- “Yeah. Yeah, let’s uh, go.” You rise slowly from the booth, bag in hand and you wait beside the table, watching as he rises from the seat. “You got anything else you want to do? We can go to a store or get a snack?” Diavolo holds the door open for the both of you and you walk beside him, pulling out a bottle of hand sanitizer and cleaning your hands. You hold it out for him and he tilts his head, slowly putting his hands under the nozzle. He mimics your own motions. He brings his hands to his nose and takes a sniff. You smile at the reaction. “It’s peach scented,” you tell him.
“Ah, of course.” He lowers his hands, eyes glancing at your bag that digs into your shoulders. “Would you like for me to hold your bag?”
“Hm? Oh, no, it’s fine. It just has a notebook and my blazer stuffed inside, it’s lighter than it looks.” You smile up at him, waving your hand in front of yourself. “Thank you for the offer, though,” you chirp, pausing for a moment to look at his arm and with a deep breath, you hope what you are deciding to do is something that you are allowed to do. You link your arm with his, holding your own hand and he bends his arm, holding his hand in his, keeping his pace slow to have you beside him.
“Do you think we can stop by Madam Scream’s? I’ve been dying to try the skeletal muffins. I heard they have quite an exquisite taste, something akin to eating a soul if I heard correctly. But then again, nothing tastes quite as good as the real thing.” He looks down at you eagerly, his smile wide and a bounce in his step. “What do you say?”
“You’ve-” you furrow your brows. “I- Of course. I’ve been meaning to try to coffin cookies that they have there but,” you hesitate and purse your lips, “souls?” You look up at him. “You’ve eaten souls before?”
He blinks owlishly at you, only to realize what exactly he said and to who. He clears his throat, a nervous smile on his lips as he corrects himself. “Old souls, of course. Hell can get a bit too packed every once in a while so there’s often a day reserved to let demons and others alike to a- how should I put it? Go hunting?” Even he sounds unsure of his wording. Worry knots in your stomach and it must be evident across your face. “You mustn't worry. I have you and the others under protection. No one will harvest your soul anytime soon.”
You click your tongue against the roof of your mouth, slightly relieved but also slightly horrified that that was an actual fear that had never occurred to you before. “I- Thanks Dia-” your hand pats against your other. “Thanks for the clarification.”
“Of course!” His tone is back to his chipper self. “I’m doing my best to keep you happy while you spend your time here. I’m hoping that as time goes on, your voice will prove useful in how humans interact with us demons. I’m quite aware of the-” he pauses for a moment- “reputation that us demons have gathered. But I’m positive with you and Solomon here- along with Simeon and Luke- that that can all change, so if you ever need anything else, please feel free to recommend things to either Barbatos or I.”
“You know-” you look up at him, and he tilts his head downward, his eyes a shimmering gold that under the moonlight of the sky, seem to dance with hints of honey and intense devotion as they hold your gaze, only to look away after a second- “sometimes I feel intimidated by everything around here.” You can feel his attention return to you, and you look forward, ignoring the stares of the wandering demons, tightening your hold around him ever so slightly. “Shocker, I know,” you smile sarcastically, letting it fall for a moment afterwards. “But Devildom is so big, I feel like I haven’t explored it in full ever since I’ve been here. If I do have to recommend something to you Lord-”
“Diavolo,” he reminds you, his hand tightening around his own, eyes glancing down to yours, meeting your eyes for a moment that makes him unable to breathe. “Dia is also fine,” he mutters. “I quite like the nickname.”
You smile up at him and he’s drowning, digging his nails into the back of his hand, trying to resist the urge to cover your hand with his. He’s unsure where the line of the friendship is drawn, where the friendship can begin without worry or fear. You’ve taken the first step with linking arms and he is unable to do anything more than just stare occasionally at you and let worry nip at him.
“Dia,” you correct yourself. “If I’m able to recommend something to you Dia- Oh!” You press yourself closer to him when a demon walks too closely- something bold and an act of defiance to you or to him- he isn’t sure, but he’s sure he’ll remember the smug face. He’s sure he’ll remember the way you smell of orange blossom and lilac. “As I was saying. Dia if I could make a suggestion, it would be that-” you arm tightens around his- “we can spend a bit more time together. You always seem so busy and I- I know that we aren’t exactly close but you still offer the castle as a safe haven for me and I would appreciate knowing you a bit better before wanting to take advantage of your hospitality.” Your fingers dance against the side of his elbow, pulling against his coat jacket. Your breaths are shallow, your heart beating quickly and he can smell the nerves on you. He allows himself to feel a bit of joy in knowing that he can give you the type of feelings that you give to him.
Your arms leave his when you approach the bakery and he already misses your touch. “Of course, we can.” He watches himself in the reflection, trying to find a flaw in his appearance but unable to. “Whenever you wish to spend time with me, just send me a message.” His hand holds the beautifully crafted door handle and he turns to look at you. “I’ll drop whatever I’m doing if it means we can another day like this.” And with that, he opens the door, allowing you to enter, followed closely by him, his hand ghosting over your lower back as he nudges you inside the bakery that smells sweetly of death and bitter with the scent of candy.
-
You sit on a worn, stone bench. The rock faded and pale, the designs once intricate now nothing more than grooves along your fingertips. Beside you, Diavolo sits, his thigh against yours, a careful maneuver as he hands you your own treat, and carefully holds his in his hand.
It’s quiet as you both eat your sweets, the moon high against the sky, the colors now different in the sky, darker and cooler, the stars brighter, against the sky. The fountain in front of you is monotonous, the same design spat from the nozzles and splashing against the water on the lower level. Demons pass by, groups walking together, singular demons walking across the small park, and there’s a heaviness that sweeps across your body. Something so bitter and making your throat tight, the cookie, once sweet, is now bitter on your tongue and you hold the box on your lap, the cookie forced down your throat by your own hand, as tears prick your eyes. You swallow the cookie with a heavy feeling, holding the box in your hands, nails digging into the cardboard.
“It’s late,” you mutter, looking at the splashing water. “I’m surprised Barbatos hasn’t contacted you by now.”
“I put my D.D.D. on silent.” You can feel his eyes on you. There’s a soft crunching from him, the tension thick in the air. “I’m surprised you haven’t been contacted by the brothers either.”
You shrug. “I think they knew that I wasn’t feeling well. They must think I’m with Solomon and the others.” You turn to him, your fingertips nudging open the box of sweets. “Would you like a cookie?” You grab one, an oddly perfect circle, fingers pinched around it carefully as you offer it Diavolo. “They’re really good. A bit sweet and soft.” Your eyes soften. “Oddly enough, it reminds me of a chocolate chip cookie without the chocolate or chip.”
He takes the treat from you, bringing it to his lips and taking a bite from it, crumbs against his lower lip until his tongue peeks out and swipes it away. “Penny for your thoughts?” He takes notice of how your smile falters and then returns, the almost stiff, forced way that the corners of your lips turn and it leaves him with a sense of dread.
You turn from him, looking back at the fountain, the number of people slowly dwindling as time continues. “I have to be honest Lord Diavolo-” he frowns at the usage of his title- “the reason I invited you out was because I didn’t want to go to class. I-” you take a deep breath and in turn, exhale for a moment too long- “I just wanted to say sorry. For you know-” you look back at him shameful- “using you, I guess.”
It’s silent for just a second before he lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head and placing the cookie down on the lid of the muffin container. He can feel your leg jerk against his and he waves his hand, eyes shut tightly as his snickering comes to a slow stop, only a few bursts breaking through. “I have to say, I’m surprised you’re still an honest person even after living with demons for so long.” His smile, playful and sharp, turns softer, teeth glinting between his parted lips. “That’s something I admire strongly about you humans- how resilient you are.” He’s slow to place the unfinished treat inside the container of muffins. The box clicks and scratches, the treat placed where a muffin lies and he pauses for a moment before carefully grabbing on in his hand, gentle to pick up the baked treat in his hand, before gesturing it towards you. He gives a nod of his head, prompting you to take it. When you take it, your fingertips brush against his and he’s almost remorseful to let go. “Truth be told, I had an inkling of a thought that’s why you invited me out. You seemed troubled in the courtyard when I had approached you.” He watches as you take a careful bite, your lips parted against the rounded top before coming to a soft close. “I also must admit that I had taken advantage of that. Rather than talking to you and your avoidance of class, I had taken an opportunity to go out and spend time with you.” Your gaze on him pushes him to continue further. “You see, I have wanted to go to Akudonald’s for some time now and not many others do and I don’t get along with the other brothers as well as I do with Lucifer. Solomon is rather particular about the food that he eats and Simeon and Luke prefer to not go out to eat fast food unless it’s a special occasion-” he glances at you- “sin and all. But you- I-” he sighs and looks at the fountain that you once stared at- “Everyone else gets to be your friend, everyone else gets to spend time with you and I suppose when I saw you alone and troubled, I took advantage of that.” He scratches his neck, nails pulling against the sensitive skin and his chest feels tight.
Your container opens and he watches you carefully place the unfinished treat inside. It’s a tight fit but it’s placed inside. “I guess,” you start, edging closer to him, letting your thigh rest against his once more, “we’re both guilty fugitives.” You smile at him, your hands slowly creeping towards him, your fingertips light on his burning skin, and he’s swallowing nervously, turning his hand to allow you to thread your fingers into his hand.
“I don’t think we’re cut out for this fugitive lifestyle,” he murmurs, golden eyes glued to how your hand fits into his.
“I think we are,” your fingertips ghost above his knuckles and with a gentle pull, you both rise. “We just happen to be fugitives with feelings- guilty feelings.” You smile up at him, and despite only ever knowing an artificial sun, he’s sure that you smile is the one brighter, something warm and forgiving, understanding to love and quick to accept. He’s sure that your smile is the closest he’ll get to sunlight itself. “You okay with the hand holding? I-” you bite your bottom lip, letting it roll between your teeth and he squeezes your hand tighter, leaving pale imprints on your skin- “I like holding hands.”
His smile widens and he nods vigorously. “I don’t mind it. I’m actually quite happy to hold your hand.” He’s still for a moment, standing before the bench. Carefully, he goes to hold the box in your hands, placing it in his hands, above his own box. “It’s a bit late into the evening, as much as I have enjoyed our time together-” he walks forward, pulling lightly on your hand- “I should return you back to the House of Lamentation.”
He calls your name softly, a whisper from him that you have never heard of from the jovial demon that stands beside you, hands interlaced together. “I really did enjoy our time together today. I-” he pauses for a moment, gripping your hand a bit tighter- “I had fun. I hope we can do this again. You know,” his voice tenses for a moment, “hang out.” Words stick and die in his throat. There’s so much more that he wishes to imply with those few words. A future king and he’s worried of how he might come off. A bitter smile graces his face, his face flushing and he’s grateful that the moon above isn’t as bright as the others.
“I’d like to hang out with you as well,” you reply, edging closer to him, until your arms brush by each other. “I think for the next time-” your thumbs brushes against his hand, leaving him shivering in its wake, a phantom touch unlike any that he’s known before, makes him warm and cold all at once- “we can explore a bit more of Devildom. If you’d like to, of course.”
Eager as always, his reply comes quickly, heart on his sleeve and emotion evident on his words. “Of course, I would. You name the time and place. I’ll drop whatever I’m doing for you.” He’d do whatever you would want him to, pact or no pact, he’d get on his knees and cup your face in his hands, giving you whatever you desired if it meant you could still be with him. “I mean it, you know. You mustn’t worry if you’re bothering me.”
The gates to the House of Lamentation creak open, the cobbled floor beneath you is rough and scraped from years of use. The trees loom overhead, branches casting shadows that give you an excuse to hold tighter onto him. The walk is silent, hands held, words spoken and shared, and when you stop in front of the door, shadows dance underneath. You hold his hand, unable to let go, wanting to hold it for a moment longer before you part. Inside you can hear muffled voices, and with a heavy sigh, he lets go before you. The box of sweets is placed in your empty hands, and you look up at him, eyes wide and lips parted. The moonlight that shines onto him makes him appear that much more otherworldly. His tongue wets his lips and you can feel your breath shudder in your chest.
He lowers himself, pushing away stray hair from your forehead, lips soft on your burning skin as he presses a feather of a kiss onto you. Your body stiffens and when he pulls away, his smile is almost sad. He turns and he’s barely down a step when you choke out his name. On the other side of the door, the voices cease. He turns to you, and you grab his hand, looking at him for a brief second, royal eyes that are heavy with the glow of hesitation stare at your hand that grabs his. His gaze doesn’t falter as the palm of his hand is pressed against your lips. He lets his hand fall to his side, watching as you give him a goodbye, telling him to message you when he’s gotten home- having him nod his head in a promise and you enter your home, leaving him standing under the pale light of the moon, his hand rising, and with his palm slowly cupping over his mouth, his lips pressing gently against where you kissed him, he walks home.
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dontmindmyshadowhunting · 4 years ago
Text
When Clary meets Ash (Fan Fic)
Hey :) this is how I imagine Clary and Ash's reunion (after the events of TDA) in the fic I am currently writing.
It's Chapter 5 of "The new Shadowhunter Academy" (Ao3 link to the full fic is here but don't click or skip Chapter 4 if you are not in for Kitty sexy times).
Thanks to @amchara for providing beta work and to @blaidr for letting me bounce my ideas off him.
To give you context, Ash met Dru in Faerie and they exchanged their numbers. Clary seized the opportunity to obtain Ash's number from Dru and write him the following text message:
“Hey, Ash. Dru gave me your number and please don’t be angry with her, I am very strong headed and there was absolutely no way she could have refused. I am Clary. You may have heard of me. I am your late father’s sister. That’s right, your aunt. You can call me whatever you like. Emma told me what you did in Thule, how you saved her. How you saved everyone. That was very brave of you. In a way, both of us were faced with a very difficult choice and made the same. Doing what we thought was right. I would love to meet you and tell you about my mother – your grandmother – or just talk about anything. It can be things totally unrelated to the Shadow world. Hobbies, movies, books and games we like. You can pick the time and place. Neutral territory. Hope to see you soon. Clary.”
This is what happens following the text:
*****
Clary wrapped her oversized woolen coat tighter around herself, as she made her way through the crowded streets of Manhattan. The route was familiar. She took it almost every week to meet up with her parabatai and have what they called their “mundane hour”. They talked about everything, from Clary’s art to the latest TV shows they had binge watched. No topic was off the table, save for anything related to Shadowhunter duties, and the Shadow world in general. As co-head of the New York Institute and since recently, artist owning her own gallery, her weeks were very busy so she looked forward to those rare and precious moments when she could escape with Simon. Her heart rate seemed to accelerate with each of her steps, and it didn’t help that she also had the strange feeling she was being observed. When she reached her destination, she took a deep breath and opened the double glass doors leading her inside the coffee shop. She and Simon had their regular routine there, and her gaze went automatically to their usual spot, near the large windows.
A broad-shouldered jock with a baseball jacket was already sitting there, speaking loudly to his cheerleader girlfriend. Two of his friends were standing next to him, mock punching his muscular arms. It made her realize that Ash probably never had this. High school friends and romance. Ash. She was still struggling to figure out why he had asked her to meet up at this place, at the exact time she usually got there with Simon. Was it him being considerate, a clumsy way to make her feel comfortable in familiar surroundings? Or was it a warning? I know your habits, and precisely where you take your coffee, when and with whom.
Her gaze swept over the crowded room - her heart seemed to have moved up her throat, the frantic pulse almost choking her - and zeroed on a tall, white blond haired boy ordering coffee at the counter, standing with his back to Clary. She sucked in a breath. Ash. He was fully clothed in black - Dru had told her that was his usual style - and huge headphones were covering his ears. She slowly and cautiously approached him and when she was close enough, put a tentative hand on his elbow. “Ash,” she whispered. The boy glanced over his shoulder, his blue eyes quizzical and… it was not Ash.
She mumbled an apology.
“Clary,” said a voice coming from behind, and she froze. It was not a boy’s but a man’s voice, the sound beautiful and ethereal. She just stood there for a few seconds before she slowly turned.
What had she expected? Merely a taller version of the young boy with pointy ears and a sour expression that she had met three years before, dressed in the same refined velvet clothing threaded with gold that identified him as fey royalty?
If so, she had clearly been mistaken.
She blinked a few times to make sure her mind wasn’t playing tricks. He was tall, as she had anticipated (Sebastian had been after all). At least two heads taller than her and probably taller than Jace. But he was also very different from the Ash of her memories, from the sketches she had drawn of him after they had crossed paths. He had amazingly grown into his features, his face now the best combination of the Seelie Queen and Sebastian’s. As if he had picked the most alluring colours of the palette. And the result was… Stunning. Clary’s hand twitched, aching for a pencil.
He was not dressed in black, but in plain blue jeans and he had stuffed his hands in a very elegant, long pale gray cashmere coat. His white blond hair and pointy ears were concealed under a deep green beanie, the same colour as the scarf around his neck.
He arched a silvery eyebrow at Clary, his expression bemused, and she realized she was staring.
“Clary, seriously?” he said, his gently scolding tone at odds with his enchanting voice. “This guy isn't even half as good looking as me." He glanced pointedly at the patron in question, who was gaping at him, and shrugged. "No offense, dude,” Ash added as an afterthought.
He turned his attention to the barista. She was beautiful, dark skinned with long braided hair and pouty lips. “Hello, gorgeous. We’ll have a double espresso with oat milk and a dash of cinnamon for the lady and a plain black coffee for me.”
Clary stifled a gasp and tried to hide her discomfort. He knew exactly how she took her coffee, and she didn’t know how she felt about this.
The pretty barista nodded eagerly, her cheeks red and her big dark eyes dreamy as she stared at Ash. “Why don’t you… Go sit at your table and I’ll bring you your beverages when they are ready?” the girl offered enthusiastically. The long line of patrons that had formed behind Clary and Ash would probably disagree but she didn’t seem to care.
“That would be lovely,” Ash said in his euphonious voice. “And so are you.” He winked at her, and Clary wondered if she would need to catch her while she swooned. He paid before Clary even had a chance to reach for her purse.
“Come,” he said in a commanding tone, as he made his way to Clary and Simon's usual table. This was unnerving.
The jock seated there paused in the middle of his conversation with his girlfriend when he saw Ash stand casually next to him. Clary braced herself for a heated exchange, but she should have known better.
“You want to sit somewhere else,” Ash said evenly, one hand inside the pocket of his designer coat and the other stretched out in front of him as he studied his fingernails.
“I want to sit somewhere else,” the jock repeated in a monotonous voice, his gaze blank. He stood, as if in a trance, and his girlfriend and friends followed him, puzzled, to an empty table at the far end of the room.
Ash drew a chair for Clary and she sat. He did the same, opposite her. He pulled off his beanie, and shook his silvery hair, like a crown of liquid white gold. He wasn’t dressed for the part but he had never looked more like a prince.
“Ash… please don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Your mind tricks.”
He cocked his head and observed her, his face unreadable, for what seemed like an endless minute.
“You’ve been my aunt for what? Five minutes? And you’re already trying to boss me around?”
“I am not trying to boss you around, Ash. Simply asking you not to abuse your powers.”
A shadow flickered across his green eyes.
“I’ll let you in on a secret, Clary. I spend much more time and energy holding back than using my powers. If I did let go, trust me, you would know.”
Clary opened her mouth to reply but was cut short as the barista popped in front of them and placed the mugs on the table. She slid a paper napkin to Ash, her phone number scribbled on it. Clary tried not to roll her eyes, as Ash flashed his dazzling smile at the girl, who almost tripped on her own feet as she returned to the counter.
Clary lifted her cup to her lips and paused, as she caught sight of the cinnamon powder floating on the surface. She put it down.
“What about this?" She pointed at her coffee mug and waved around them. “ What is it, if not a show of power? What are you trying to tell me? That you know everything about me? That you’ve been spying on me?”
Ash pulled on a fake shocked expression, mouth open and green eyes wide in mock innocence. “Spying on you? What are you talking about?”
“Come on, Ash. The evidence is right here.” She lifted her cup abruptly, and hot liquid splashed out of it. “You know exactly how I like it. When I take it, where I take it.”
Ash’s mouth twitched. “Where did you pick up these lines? From the script of some lame X-rated movie?”
“Adult movies have storylines?” Clary asked, arching her eyebrows.
“Of course they do. Where do you think the Grimm Brothers took their inspiration from?”
He grabbed the paper napkin and started mopping the coffee she had spilled on the table. The blue ink faded and the barista’s phone number vanished.
“You lost that girl’s number,” Clary noted.
Ash shrugged. “I have a girlfriend now.”
Right. Drusilla Blackthorn. From the moment she had met her, Clary had known that the smart and quiet turquoise-eyed girl would someday turn heads.
Clary knew that Dru hadn’t really confirmed their relationship status yet, but it was neither the time nor place to broach the subject with Ash. She was, after all, on a mission to win over her nephew and had not been doing a very good job so far.
A young lanky boy with pink hair and piercings covering his skin walked by and dropped a glossy flyer of the upcoming Mortal Instruments concert on the table between them. Clary hid a smile. It reminded her...
“I have something for you.” She said as she fumbled inside her bag and took out the drawing she had made of Jocelyn, Luke and herself, in front of Luke’s upstate farm (before it was turned into the new Shadowhunter Academy) and laid it on the table.
Ash looked at it hesitantly, like a kid who really wanted to grab the candy but was afraid there was a mouse trap under it. He hunched his shoulders forward and clasped his hands under the table, as if to keep himself from temptation.
“I recognize your art. I like it. I also appreciate Julian Blackthorn’s but I may not be as objective where… one of the subjects of his drawings is concerned.”
“You’ve seen my art?”
He leaned back on his chair, crossing his long arms behind his head. Somehow, he managed to make it look graceful.
“Which Shadowhunter hasn’t? I noticed that you often drew Jace with angel wings.”
“Yes. That’s how he used to appear to me. In recurring dreams.”
“Was it?”
“Was it what?”
“Jace. In your dreams.”
“Who else would it be?”
“Someone who looks like him, but who actually has wings.”
“You mean Kit.”
Ash shrugged. “It would make more sense.” His gaze flickered back to the drawing, which still lay on the table, untouched. “You look a lot like your mom.”
“So do you”, Clary blurted before she could take it back.
Ash shot her an unfathomable look.
“How is she?” She asked.
“You mean, the Seelie Queen? You tell me. You must see her more often than I do.”
“Well, not really. I am not that involved in politics, even though Alec is Consul. Julian Blackthorn is the one who deals with her most of the time. She appears to have... a fondness for him.”
“Who doesn’t?”
Clary’s mouth quirked up.
“I am glad you are getting along with the Blackthorns. They are such an incredibly strong and talented family.”
“They are.” He turned his face away, but not before she could see the expression of longing plain on his delicate features.
She swallowed. She was painfully reminded that Ash never had a shot at a happy family. Born of a political union, and dragged here and there, though interdimensional portals, by people more interested in his powers than anything else he had to offer as a person. And judging by how Dru talked about Ash, he had a lot to offer.
“I imagine it must have been awful living in Thule… But what you did for Emma and Julian back there... if it hadn’t been for you…”
“I don’t want to talk about Thule,” he interrupted her. “Can I borrow this?” He asked, his long fingers brushing the Mortal Instruments concert flyer.
“Sure.”
She watched as he started folding the paper, realizing with a jolt of surprise that he was making an origami and wondering what shape would come out of it. It was odd seeing him doing such an innocuous thing, as if he was not a faerie prince with a heavy heritage and a giant target on his back, but an ordinary boy. She remembered what Emma had told her of her encounter with Ash in a nightclub in Thule. The way he had shown no interest, playing a video game in a corner of the room, while Sebastian was committing atrocities. Had he really been as indifferent as he looked?
“Ash, we don’t need to talk about Thule if you don’t want to, but if I can help you… If there is anything I can do-”
“Why?” He looked up sharply. “Are you able to create a rune that could undo the things I saw?” His tone was even, but his delicate fingers had started slightly shaking and he suddenly dropped the paper - his work unfinished - to fold his hands under the table to hide it. From that moment, she knew.
“No…” Clary said, drawing the word out. “But trust me, coming from someone whose memory has been tampered with... it’s not a solution.”
“I said undo. Not forget.” He snapped. “I am not such a coward that I would choose blissful ignorance over knowledge.”
He caught himself, blinking, then clenched his jaw and looked away. As if he was ashamed he had allowed himself to show any emotion at all. But Clary had managed to catch a glimpse of what lay underneath the mask and wanted nothing more than to see the rest of it.
“I don’t think you are a coward,” she said.
He looked over at her, a silver eyebrow raised. “I let it all happen, didn’t I? I didn’t lift a finger.”
“Because you couldn’t. Sebastian would have killed you. And you, Ash, are just like me. A survivor.”
He snorted and crossed his arms in front of him, leaning back on his chair. He had stretched out his long legs and Clary realized that he was tapping a foot nervously next to hers.
“Wrong. I could have. I chose not to. Because I am selfish. I don’t care about other people’s fate.”
His face split into a lazy, wicked grin. Clary could see Sebastian’s influence in his leer, but she wouldn't let it deceive her. Just as she wasn't fooled by his laid-back demeanor.
“I think it’s the opposite, actually. I think it’s because you care too much. It’s not death you are afraid of. The thing is, you have such a tender heart, you need to protect it from an affliction far greater than any physical pain you could endure. So you’d rather lie to yourself and pretend you feel nothing.”
From the long conversations she had with Tessa about her ancestors, Clary knew of a Fairchild boy who had been too compassionate for his own good. And he had been surrounded by loyal friends and loving parents, even though he had shut himself, putting on a facade while burying his grief in alcohol. Ash never had that kind of support. Throughout his life, he was left to figure things out on his own. If he was as empathetic as Clary thought he was, Ash probably had no other choice but to deal with his sensitivity alone. It was a miracle he had turned out the way he did.
“You have a lot of imagination,” he said after a moment. The ghost of a smile was still playing on his lips but something had passed across his eyes. “Then again, you are an artist. You seek beauty in the ugly. You find colors on a blank page. I admire your faith, but in this case, there is nothing to see.”
Clary jutted her chin stubbornly and they held each other’s gaze - his green eyes glittering in amusement and hers dead serious - in a staring contest.
“Still,” he said when he finally broke, first. “I shouldn’t have lashed out at you. I am sorry.”
Clary softened. “Don’t be. I am glad you are finally showing your true self. You don’t need to wear your mask around me, Ash.”
He chuckled. “Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth.”
“It’s funny that you would quote Oscar Wilde.”
“And why is that?”
She shrugged. “Just another thing you share in common with a Fairchild I heard stories about.”
“Clary,” he said in a gently reproving tone. Her name sounded like a caress in his melodious voice. “Are you being purposefully cryptic to arouse my curiosity?”
She moved closer, so she was sitting at the edge of her chair, and leaned forward, hands folded over the table.
“If you show me yours, I’ll show you mine,” she whispered. “Let me in. Shed all pretense.”
“I can’t promise you that,” he whispered back in confidence, leaning closer still so that their faces were inches from each other. “It’s like fabric that burns and melts into skin. If you peel it off, the skin goes with it.” He grimaced, reclining on his chair. “It won’t be a pretty sight. I don’t think even my level of hotness could sustain it.”
“Ash…” Clary said, sensing that she finally had an opening to say what she had been brooding over ever since she had learnt of Ash’s return from that forsaken land. “I wanted to tell you… I am sorry.”
Ash’s green eyes widened.
“Sorry for what?”
“I should have looked for you. I should not have given up on you.”
Ash’s jaw clenched and he looked away. “Don’t,” he said through gritted teeth. “You don’t owe me anything.”
“I do. Seb-...Ash, we...”
“What did you just call me?” He snarled. His eyes snapped back to her, suddenly cold as ice.
“Sorry, Ash. What I meant to say is… we are family."
“I already have a family.”
“I know that you care about Janus…”
“I don’t want to talk about him,” he cut her off.
“And we don’t need to. I just wanted you to know… I understand that he’s been like a father to you, and I don’t plan on moving against him, unless he strikes first or makes it impossible for me to overlook his actions.”
“Because of me?”
“Of course, because of you.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Ash… You are my nephew, my blood. You may not feel the same way about me, but that’s how I feel about you. I want you to know that, if things go wrong, for any reason, you can always turn to me. My home is your home.”
“What you are actually telling me is, Ash, if I kill the one person who has ever really cared about you - and it might definitely come to that - you can always grab my hand, still sticky and warm from his blood. Well, how nice of you. To quote Oscar Wilde again, true friends stab you in the front.”
“That’s not what I am-”
“Clary,” Ash interrupted as he stood. “Do not make me choose between you and him. Because…” Looking down at her, he swallowed hard, as if the words pained him. “Because you will lose.”
She knew exactly what he was telling her. Because they were the same in that way. Ruthless, even with their own blood, when it came to protecting their loved ones. If I had to choose between killing him and you, I would not hesitate. I would end you. Yet, despite his cold statement, despite his sharp and resolved tone, his eyes seemed to carry a deep regret.
“Ash, I understand what you're saying and I swear I am not trying to make you pick a side”, Clary said, suddenly desperate, as she mirrored him and stood. “Please don’t go. I am sorry I brought it up. We will stop talking about him. Starting now.”
“This was a bad idea. Never try to contact me again.” He drew his green beanie from the pocket of his coat and put it back on. He turned and strode toward the exit. She grabbed the family drawing that still lay on the table, stuffed it in her bag and followed him, half-running, as he was quickly losing here with his long legs.
“Ash! Please. Give me another chance. I am so sorry.”
He paused right outside the coffee shop, closed his eyes and sighed. “Don’t be. It didn’t change what I had planned to tell you anyway. I don’t want to know anything about you or your mother. I don’t want to have anything to do with either of you.”
“I don’t think that’s true,” she said, and he whipped his head around to look at her in surprise. “I know you were under house arrest. You probably had to break out of whichever place they were holding you in to come here. You wouldn’t have done that unless you wanted something. Something from me. Tell me, Ash. Tell me what it is.”
He turned his face away so she could not see his expression. A full minute passed and she had almost given up on receiving an answer, when he finally spoke.
“My fa… Sebastian. How different do you think he would have been if not for the demon blood?”
“Oh. Ash.” she whispered. She brought her knuckle against her sternum instinctively, as if to cover the gaping whole in her chest. “I saw him, you know. The brother I should have had. The father that should have raised you. If only for a few minutes.” She paused to bite back tears. “In those few minutes, he told us how to get rid of the Endarkened and said he was sorry. It’s not much to go for, but… that’s not all. I have recurring dreams of the green eyed boy that was robbed from us. And I know in my heart he would have been the best brother a sister could ever dream of.”
He was still looking away and she could see the sharp line, the stubborn set of his jaw. She wanted to hug him, to tell him she would not fail him again. That they could mourn her brother, his father, together. That he didn’t need to bear the anger at everything that was wasted alone.
He finally turned to look at her. A tear had escaped to run freely down his cheek. He had completely shed off his mask, and what Clary saw was like a stab in her gut. She shivered. Wordlessly, he reached for his deep green scarf and tied it gingerly around her neck. The way Sebastian had when they had walked down the streets of Paris. Ash looked nothing like her brother had then. His green eyes held an infinite sadness that spoke of a grief deeper, older than the short years of his life.
“It doesn’t change anything.” He said - she hadn’t imagined his beautiful voice could sound so hollow - and turned to leave.
“Ash, wait.” She grabbed him by the elbow and he froze. His eyes widened as his gaze zeroed on the fingers covering his coat, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. She realized she had never touched him before.
“Clary, what do you want from me?” He asked in a tired voice.
“I just want to get to know you.”
“Trust me, you don’t. I am not the brother who was stolen from you. I cannot replace him. If anything, I am just like Sebastian was before me... my father’s broken toy. There is no way to fix me.”
“I don’t believe it for a second,” she said, almost frantic. “And I don’t want to find my brother's replacement, I want to get to know you! Ash. The real Ash.”
“I already told you. That’s not happening. Don’t ever try to contact me again. I am serious.”
“So that’s it?” She tried not to sound too whiny but panic was eating away at her stomach and she thought she would throw up. “You went through all this trouble spying on me, learning how I take my coffee to simply disappear from my life from one moment to the next?”
He gazed at her for a moment, his expression unfathomable. It seemed like an eternity before he finally spoke.
“I was not spying on you, Clary. I was merely following your stalker.”
“What? You were… protecting me?”
“Take care of yourself, Clary.”
He said as he stepped away from her and vanished into the crowd.
****
Clary threw herself in Jace’s arms as soon as he opened the door to their bedroom at the New York Institute. He froze, then started stroking her hair in a soothing gesture.
“Clary, what happened? Is everything okay?”
“No,” she said, her voice muffled against his chest.
“Tell me, Clary. What is it?”
She pulled away and wiped tears with the back of her hand. Jace’s face was a mask of shock. Clary couldn’t blame him. She almost never cried.
“I messed up.”
“What did you mess up?”
She walked to the bed and sat on the mattress. She took a deep breath, bracing herself for his reaction. “Ash. I met up with him earlier today.”
Jace tensed and his hands clenched into fists. “WHAT- Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you would have insisted on coming.”
“Damn right, I would have. And I would have been right, too. Look at you, you look miserable.”
“It’s my fault,” she said in a small voice. “I pushed him too far.”
Jace sighed and came to sit next to her, putting a comforting arm around her shoulder. “I am sure you did nothing wrong, Clary.”
“I thought- When I showed him the drawing… the way he looked at it, Jace. He is not indifferent. He cares.”
“What drawing?”
“The one I made of the family,” she said absently, as she grabbed her bag and started fumbling inside.
She sucked in a sharp breath. The drawing wasn’t there. Peeking out in its stead, and folded out of the flyer of the Mortal Instruments concert, were origami faerie wings. The Fairchild family symbol.
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cherryblossomtease · 4 years ago
Text
Chapter 15
18+ only
warnings and summary - Masterlist
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Because sometimes all you need is a simple reminder of who started this mess in the first damn place 💜
Warnings : as always 18+ only please- dom Zemo, sub Bucky, sub reader, punishment, m/m, m/m/f, light bondage
Authors Notes: Really didn't think I would be posting this weekend but it's a holiday in the states so why not! Still working on the rest by you know, neglecting everything that matters to create this fictional world. Anyhow, I can honestly say this is by far the most graphic story I've written so I'm a little nervous but it's already done, can't change it now, and I honestly don't want to! That said I hope you enjoy reading as much as I did writing!
~
Nothing lasts forever, especially when it’s this good. And this fabricated reality is about as good as it gets. Still, you know this boat will dock soon and goodbyes will be said. There’s really no way around it, try as you might to come up with a plan to talk Bucky into staying. Even now as you fight to stay asleep, your brain is working hard to create a solution while you refuse to give into your worries so early in the day.
You turn onto your stomach ignoring the dark thoughts, choosing instead to enjoy the feel of a strong arm across your back and a leg, hairy and heavy over both of yours.
Settling again with a content sigh, sleep starts to pull you back under. Thank the stars. You really aren’t in the mood— even if your dreams apparently are.
And what had you been dreaming about anyway?
A little house on a wide cliff overlooking water, and something else? The harder you try to remember the more you feel yourself slipping back into that dream space.
There was a small animal. What was it? A rabbit? Its fluffy body too close to the edge of the cliff. But in the dream you’d stayed standing in the doorway of the little house too indifferent to go and save it….
You feel bodies moving lazily, a stream of breath along your back that tickles; arms and legs and the men they belong to not fully awake and starting to stir like you, even as you quickly slip back into sleep until you’re standing in the doorway of that house again with the warm winds on your face and a view of the French sea below. The drop is dangerous. Deadly even.
Why haven’t you started talking Bucky into staying yet? Because you don’t like thinking about it too much. That's why. You start walking towards the edge of the cliff and you’re fully aware of your worlds crossing over —real thoughts present in your dream.
It’s probably bad luck to resent good deeds, after all that’s what he’s leaving you for. He wants to go off and live the life of the hero he never got to be. That and to keep Zemo’s location safe; but that’s besides the point. Hmm… Look at me, selfish even in my dreams. You smile when you shouldn’t.
Staring over the edge of the cliff it’s suddenly clear how unstable the ground is here and you gasp as it crumbles beneath your feet without warning.
Your eyes open with a start.
Well, that was a bit on the nose. Your subconscious does like to lay it on a thick sometimes, especially when you continue to ignore the things bothering you for too long and you've been setting these feelings aside since the text came through.
But just as quickly as you’re left to shake the shadow of the eerie dream, your frown fades replaced by a slow smile.
There is a very familiar poking at your ass that can sometimes be annoying-- this morning it’s welcome. You reach back and feel for the body that the greeting belongs too, comforted by the warmth and solid muscle of Bucky’s thigh under his tight boxers.
Mmmmm, the source of my distress and my desire, you think and grin into the pillows with a soft moan when his hand, hot and strong takes hold of your hip, massaging as he presses his erection into you.
You’ll talk to him about your dreams later.
Feeling a draft where there should be warmth, you open an eye to find breaks of sunlight in the space between Helmut’s arm and torso. When you turn your head you’re met with the sight of his bare chest, broad and covered in the softest dark hair. His necklace hangs off center, and you, as always, are helpless to it.
Your hand leaves Bucky’s thigh and your fingers slide over the delicate links in the chain and down into the soft chest hair as you turn your head to find he and Bucky locked in one hell of a kiss for so early in the day. It must have been their movement or the sound of their lips that woke you and pulled you from the doom of your fatal fall.
Dreams are so strange…
Your heart flutters when Helmut lays his hand over yours pressing it tight to his chest. “Good morning love birds.” You snicker and watch Bucky pull away from Zemo looking a little embarrassed. He does pause to kiss your cheek however before getting out of bed with a long stretch.
“So where the hell are we anyway?” He asks going to the balcony door, looking out at the passing waves. “Feels like nowhere.”
Zemo is looking down at you, stroking your profile, kissing your nose. “We should be well within the middle of it actually.” He answers, eyes still fixed on you.
“Perfect” You say softly letting him pull you so close that he blocks out the light as your lips meet.
“Breakfast is ready sir,” Oeznik calls from outside the bedroom door.
Zemo grumbles at the interruption but you’re starving. “What? I’m not going anywhere” You huff turning away, trying to escape. “You just said so yourself. I've got no place to go.”
“All by design” He smiles and lets you get up, giving your ass a smack as you go. Bucky is watching from the doorway and laughs at your yelp-hop-rub combination.
Swearing under your breath you go over to the closet, grab your silk robe and pull it on over your shorts and tank top, yawning as you drag your feet over to Bucky. You pat his stomach, kissing him quickly. “Hungry?”
“Famished.”
“Lets go up.” You say tugging at him as Zemo gets up and puts on his own robe across the room. It’s not the thick one you liked from before the raft, but silk like yours— Tom Ford if memory serves— god his influence is strong. How the hell do you remember this stuff?
You watch him scratch at the back of his messy nest of hair like he always does in the mornings, somehow looking both sexy and adorable, alternating between the two with the ease of flicking a light switch. You can only smile at the enigma that is Helmut Zemo and pull Bucky away from the doors.
The three of you leave the room shuffling along, making your way down the hall to the den. Zemo trails you and Bucky accepting a small espresso from Oeznik as he watches the way you and your Sergeant interact. Neither you nor Bucky are necessarily morning people and though it’s nearly ten, you’re both somewhat irritable now that you’re actually moving around and slightly hungover from yesterdays sangrias as you make your way up to the top deck where breakfast will be served.
The sun is so bright you huff about not being able to find your sunglasses and Bucky accuses you of being a diva. The only appropriate reaction is to give him a shove.
Zemo snorts a laugh at your near sibling like banter which you’d established after so many months together, but once you find your glasses on the bar counter and get a fresh cup of coffee and a bloody Mary chaser in your body you’re feeling like a new woman ready to conquer the day… a day spent doing nothing really.
It’s all so casually decadent that it’s nearly sinful. Whats the one? The sin that doesn’t sound as good as lust but feels better after all that fornicating you’ve been doing— Sloth? Yes, you think reaching for what’s left of your blood Mary from the lounge chair, the ultimate of all the sins. Thou shalt not be a lazy ass sloth all day on your yacht.
Cheers.
You read on the deck for a while, play a few rounds of shuffle board with Bucky by the pool and attempt to best Zemo at chess in the den.
Lunch is wonderful, and you think you will need to meet this mystery chef at some point before the trip is over followed by a nap on the bedroom balcony.
When you wake up in the very late afternoon you venture down the hall with your book and unexpectedly find the men in your life moaning on the floor of the den in a tangle of beautifully tanned arms and legs. So you very quietly slip past, feeling a flush rise up your neck to your cheeks highlighting your wide but tight lipped smile.
You stay above decks giving them privacy feeling only the slightest twinge of jealousy. Not because you think you’ve been excluded but because you could use another session like last night.
A shiver runs deep in your belly thinking of the way Helmut brought you to climax, but you’re still more than happy to give them time alone. After all, you’ve had the Baron to yourself for far longer than Bucky.
You sink down onto the upper deck sofa, the image of them entwined, the sounds of their heavy breathing and Bucky’s near innocent moans enough to make you consider touching yourself but you wait, letting the urge build, one of them if not both will take care of you later.
So when Bucky comes up and finds you with a funny look on his face you’re completely confused. “Whats wrong?” You ask putting your book down.
He’s poured a drink and sits down beside you on the couch.
“I don’t know if I can do it.” He says shaking his head tossing back the bourbon.
“Do what?” You have an idea but you thought for sure he’d be eager to try, at least it looked like they were well on their way to his first time.
“Letting him control me, I’ve never had someone tell me no. Not like this.”
“Oh” You smile. It’s the no sex. The lack of it is a cruel form of control but the end results are glorious, if he could just be patient enough. “He won’t let you come?” You ask a little more patronizing than you’d intended.
“No!” Bucky whines taking his cue from you and you stifle your laughter. He’s so cute, even in the throws of his sexual agony. “And it’s making me crazy. I mean I’m already crazy but this is different.” He looks around and leans closer to you. “If you were to so much as look at my cock right now, I’d be done.” He says under his breath.
You let go and laugh rolling your eyes. Dramatics seem to come as naturally as submission to him. “That’s against the rules.” You warn eyeing him sidelong and attempting to go back to your book.
“I can’t take it. Fuck the rules.” He says again pulling the paperback from your hand.
You wave your finger in his face. “James. You’re not allowed.” You say playfully.
“Please.” He begs running his finger down your cheek, brushing your neck and gliding along your clavicle where he knows you’re sensitive.
“I can’t!” You lean away a little surprised by his attempt.
“He won’t know!”
You shake your head “I know but…” You try not to smile.
“I can’t take it.” He insists leaning in to kiss you. “I promise; it won’t take long.”
You give in and laugh sensing his desperation as you kiss. He does feel tense. The muscles of his arm and shoulder are wound tight as a chord. You smile against his lips letting him ease you down onto the couch, your book dropping to the floor as he moans, sliding his hand down your thigh, pushing your knee up and his own hips forward letting you feel what you’re fairly certain is the most rock solid hard on you’ve ever had pressed to your body. You whisper his name as his lips find their way to your neck and his hand slides between you to free himself from those amazing shorts.
“Shame, I had every intention of making your patience worth the effort. But you do love to prolong your torment, don’t you soldat.”
You gasp and Bucky hangs his head as Zemo comes sauntering over. Your laughter is a mix of nerves and feeling like you’ve been caught sneaking around with a boy like a damn teenager. It’s been years since you’ve felt a rush like this. Leave it to the Baron to stir that old excitement again.
“Don’t move” Zemo orders, pointing a finger in your face. You freeze, legs open where Bucky was, your arms tight at your sides. “Sit” He growls at Bucky who obeys begrudgingly as he slides back onto the couch.
Very quickly Zemo shoves your legs closed and grabs you by the arm pulling you up to standing. You lean away as he shakes his head keeping you close, his hold so tight you wince “I thought you knew better by now” He scolds you sounding disappointed.
“I told him not too?” You try looking as innocent as possible. You truly had no intentions of fucking him, but maybe a quick hand job?
There is a flicker of excitement in Zemo’s eyes. It's been so long since you’ve given him a reason to really go for it and you hold in your smile because you’re meant to be sad and hang your head. “I’m sorry Baron.”
He ignores your attempts to apologize and pulls you over so that you’re standing in front of Bucky. He looks you both over for a moment thinking and then smiles. You don’t know if you love or hate to see him looking so pleased. Nothing “good” ever comes of that smile.
“Look James.” He says, waiting until Bucky raises his head. “I want you to see what listening to your eager cock and not my rules get gets you— and her.” He tells Bucky before giving you his undivided attention.
Zemo turns your back to Bucky and you feel his hand between your shoulder blades pushing just a little. You bend at the waist, not all the way, just enough to make sure Bucky knows where his attention should be.
This flouncy little designer sun dress you’ve changed into after your nap only helps direct his gaze as Zemo drags the fabric up slowly so that the reveal of your ass is yet another way to torment him all on its own and you give yourself over to the Baron and wonder how bad this will be.
“Pull them down.” He tells you, his hand smoothing over your simple lace panties. His voice is not so angry as it was when he found the two of you, but every bit as firm, and you glance up at him as you hook your thumbs into the waist band. He nods and you quickly obey, pulling your underwear over the curve of your hips and ass and swear you hear Bucky groan when you bend to pull them from your ankles letting him see the diamond shape of your pussy from behind for just a second, your smile hidden from view.
When you stand again, Zemo offers his forearm. You rest your stomach against him, your hand gripping his shirt, the other you will have to try very hard not to cover your backside with because you know that the breeze will be the last nice thing that you feel.
He tosses your dress back up holding you, adjusting the way he stands just a little so that you are safe but immobile.
“Count them off; to five.” He says leaning just a bit closer. The tone in his voice is confident. Zemo knows that you’re well aware of what this means.
“Yes Baron.” You say exhaling, trying to prepare, but five? Fuck. He does not intend on holding back. If he was being playful he would give you ten or more, but five? He knows you won’t be able to take more that that.
You dig your fingers into his forearm and hold your breath.
The first strike makes you cry out.
The way Zemo can raise his hand and bring it down on your ass is unrivaled. He doesn’t mess around. There is no teasing, no playing, no cute little taps to warm you up. Just instant punishment.
“One.”
Your voice shakes and the rousing heat of adrenaline spreads through your arms and legs.
Again he lifts his hand and brings it down quickly with a stinging force that sends shock waves through your body. Your cry is weaker this time, trailing longer.
“Two.”
You pull his shirt tighter into your fist, your cheeks are on fire already when you feel the air stir as his hand rises again. You wonder if Bucky is watching, you wonder if he see’s how your thighs flex and your flesh shakes when the Baron strikes you.
You close your eyes and draw in your bottom lip trying not to moan, but you arch your back and your hips begin to circle ever so slightly with the anticipation of the next smack. You’re practically whimpering as you offer up your backside for more.
Zemo can feel the light vibration of pleasure sounding in your chest and his laughter is a low, very amused rumble as he raises his hand just a little higher this time.
The next smack lands and you toss your head back with a gasp. You would have gone to your knees if he wasn’t strong enough to hold you up. “Three” You whisper but you don’t move. The air brushes your pussy, wet in spite of your reddening skin.
“Don’t look away.” Zemo says.
There is the answer to your previous question. Bucky likes it, but it’s not always easy for him to watch.
“James!” Zemo snaps and waits. Bucky must be looking again because you feel the Baron move.
The fourth strike comes and you steady yourself knowing you can take it, wanting it, loving it as much as your feel your legs shaking. “Four”
You’re breathing hard, as you anticipate the final blow, desperate for it to be over but sorry for it to end. You rest against him for just a second feeling both safe in his hold and powerless to his dominance.
When the last of your punishment lands you hang your head, rounding your spine unable to offer yourself anymore. You can not pretend and this is why he’s given you so few.
Letting your hips drop as your body shudders and a single tear falls, you whisper, “Five” And only Helmut hears you say it.
Very gently he pulls your dress down, the soft cotton is cool over your burning skin and he turns you around to face him.
He brushes the tear from your cheek, holding you in such a way that you can go limp in his arms. “It wasn’t that bad, you’re just out of practice.” He says smiling at you knowing it wasn’t kind either.
You’d love for him to know just once. Maybe let Bucky give him a slap across the ass to make it fair. But when you look at him the thought is all wrong if not hilarious and you just shrug a little and hang your head again, resting on his chest.
“No breaking rules.” He scolds affectionately, “Even if you’re only trying to help. Understood?”
“Yes Baron.” Your voice is very small.
He gives a nod, kisses your forehead and looks over his shoulder at James. “So, is this what you wanted?”
“No.”
“No… no I don’t think it is.” He agrees. “But I understand. She’s damn near impossible to resist still you must learn to control yourself. Apparently I’ve not made that clear. Perhaps a more direct approach.”
You both look at him wide eyed. What’s more direct than this you think not even close to recovered from your spanking.
“Both of you, go down to our bedroom.” He says as though nothing has ever been more obvious “Take off your clothes. Wait for me on the bed.”
You look at Bucky. He looks at you.
“You fucked up,” You mouth to him.
Bucky just gets up and pushes past you both.
*
“I suppose you could say I’ve had to get creative with my plans for you. I know that pain is something you can’t respond to in ways that she can.” Zemo says, smiling as he glances down at Bucky and then over his shoulder at you on your knees behind him. “Have you finished?”
You look up from what you’re doing, hoping it’s right. “Yes, I think so?”
He comes around to look at the rope binding Bucky’s wrists. It’s just for show to heighten the experience. Of course Bucky could break free if he wanted to— his strength is no match for a few rough fibers— but this is a training of the mind as well as the body. “You see, pleasure can be just as awful.” Zemo says, his voice making you shiver as he checks your work, tugging and tightening the rope a little more.
Leaning in close, he strokes Bucky’s jaw, his finger reaching to trace the spine of his ear and you smile when the hairs on Bucky’s right arm raise and Zemo loses the air of control for a second simply becoming the man who cares for the other deeply. “The irony of tying you to a chair to satisfy you is not lost on me, based on what I know of your past. But if you can endure it, I promise it will be nothing like the pain you’ve known. I could never hurt you in that way. Still, if at any time this is too much, if it triggers memories that change it from what it’s meant to be, please— James— say the word, your word and it stops.”
Bucky nods. “I will” He says softly.
“Nothing now?” Zemo asks genuinely wanting to know. Bucky shakes his head. “No, nothing.”
Zemo gives a confident nod and kisses the back of Bucky’s head patting his cheek a little harder than he needs too. “I only want to make you feel good— eventually.” He teases and Bucky rolls his eyes with a small laugh.
Pleased, Zemo pushes up and goes to sit in the soft chair across the room, notably more comfortable than the one Bucky has been placed in. Although the more obvious differences being, Zemo is not bound, Zemo is not naked, and Zemo has not been so gently stroked and toyed with that he’s been left with a perfectly vulnerable erection like Bucky has.
You’d had a hard time focusing on the ropes as the Baron made it happen. The way he’d taken Bucky in hand, winding down the length of his sex was in a word, mesmerizing. And when Bucky made that sound, that soft, pleading sound and Zemo stopped — his brow raised with such smug confidence— you wondered who would break first, you or Bucky. He’d quickly brought his hand up with one last tease, his fingers swirling around the curving head of Bucky’s member only to let go as though he’d lost interest.
Bucky’s groan was deep. He was beyond frustrated, but instead of breaking out of his restrains and fucking one of the two of you, he sat there just waiting to be punished for breaking rules in the first place.
He watches as you come and kneel before him, naked yourself as you’ve been told to be. He actually looks slightly scared but mostly curious. His erection is as always flawlessly pretty, arching up and back, smooth while perfectly veined and so inciting.
You only know what it is you’re meant to do to him because you’ve had it done to you before. You figure it’s very similar, only the mechanics are different because his is a man. If Zemo doesn’t approve, he’ll tell you.
The Baron in charge picks up his drink, the ice rattling as he takes a sip and lets the scene settle in his sights for a moment. He likes to see the two of you together, his two helpless things— his to play with and his to love.
“Begin.”
Bucky inhales, but you smile at him to show that it won’t hurt— it’ll just drive him mad.
First you take the little bottle of body oil from the floor and put some in your hands rubbing them together.
He raises his brow watching you and starts to relax thinking he might understand now. You take him in hand and start to stroke, you are after all very good at this. Over and over again, up and down his long, thick shaft, curving your hand over the head of his cock until he moans and rolls his eyes shut. When he opens them he does seem a bit confused by this sudden attention and he flashes a smile because it feels so good. If this is all that’s been planned, he could get used to this sort of punishment.
The room is quiet, there’s nothing but the soft hum of the ship, his breathing and the wonderfully obscene sound of the oil you’re using against his skin as you work faster…
It’s not long before you feel him stiffen and his breath grows quicker, his thighs flex, his hips raise an inch and he starts to moan softly, a staccato sound of pleasure that makes even your heart beat faster. He’s been waiting and suffering through so much you can feel the joy of release seeping into every inch of his body.
“You feel it happening?” Zemo asks softly. “The start, the pressure mounting? You see, she is very good. And she will get you there James, every time— right to the edge”
You yank your hand away and he jerks forward mouth open cock twitching with the start of an orgasm he will not have.
“To the edge” Zemo chuckles. “A cruel punishment for a greedy man who must learn to wait.”
Bucky quickly lifts his head, the realization flashing in his eyes as his chest rises and falls. He looks down at you.
You smile and reach for him again.
*
“Please” He begs breathless.
“Not yet” Zemo says leaning forward a bit in his seat, the drink in his hand all but forgotten. You notice the ice has long since melted as you wait for permission, watching over your shoulder.
He gives you a nod and you turn back to Bucky.
Wrapping your hand around him again, you feel him so solid he’s like stone. His thighs are flexed, his hips raise up in the chair as you begin to jerk your hand up and down and the light reflecting off the oil makes you both shine like gold.
He moans and you watch the muscles of his abs flex as he feels the orgasm coming on, helpless to it and your skilled hand.
“I’m going to come.” He groans sounding sorry for and drops his hips.
“No, you won’t. I did not say that you can” Zemo says like the villain behind you.
“I can’t it hold back” Bucky pants, his voice is thin he sounds like he very well might lose control and you feel him pulse in your palm. You twist your hand around sliding it down to the base thinking it might help hold him off if your focus is less near the collection of nerve endings.
Zemo stands and comes to you, tapping your shoulder. You let him go with a quick up and down and Bucky’s disappointment is the saddest thing you’ve ever heard.
When Zemo looks down at the wonderfully pitiful sight, Bucky shuts his eyes. “Yellow.” He whispers. “Please, yellow.”
“All right.” Zemo says kindly and gives his head a rub. “Rest”
“Thank you.” Bucky manages.
You stand not caring what Zemo says and kiss Bucky’s cheek.
“You okay?” You ask, your hand on his shoulder, lifting his chin to look at his face.
“Please… don’t, don’t touch me for a minute?” He asks and you give an embarrassed laugh understanding his request. You’re not exactly innocent in his torment.
“Of course I’m sorry I…” Your sentence is cut off.
Zemo has you by the back of your arms and pulls you tight against him. “You, not her.”
Bucky sighs dropping his head.
“I’m still confused. Is, this what you wanted?” He asks feigning ignorance though with you naked its clear what Zemo means.
Bucky won’t look.
“Answer me.”
“No, I mean— yes Baron.” He concedes.
You feel Zemo’s laugh along your neck. “You wouldn’t have been fast enough to finish before I found you. Well, maybe you, but not her. Tell me, how quickly can you make her come?”
“What?”
“How quickly?”
You shut your eyes as soon as you realize where this is going.
“I don’t know. I mean she always got there.” Bucky says sounding slightly self conscious.
Zemo smiles. “Two minutes. I can finish her off in just two.”
“Ha!” Bucky doesn’t believe him, who would.
Oh Bucky…
“Tell him it’s true.” Zemo leans towards you.
You nod glancing at them both. “He does this… thing.” You tell Bucky. “He works my spot and my clit at the same time and I come. Fast.” You say simply and totally helpless to it.
“It’s not always the most fun, rarely my first choice; but great when we’re in a hurry.” He shrugs and takes a knee before you even realize that he has. “Open your legs.” He says looking up at you.
Your eyes go wide, surprised to see him down and waiting with Bucky watching. Still, you part your thighs and wisely lay your hands on his shoulders knowing you won’t be able to stay upright without the support.
“This? Right James? This warm, tight, safe place? This is what you wanted?” Zemo asks, teasing Bucky with the way he slides his fingers between your velvet soft folds. You feel him turn his hand and his finger circles your entrance. He sighs and takes hold of your hip to keep you in place.
Two fingers slip inside and you hiss against the stretch, biting your lip as your head lolls to the side. You try to hold in the loudest of your noise but it’s hopeless.
The Baron starts to do his thing and you wonder if you might be able to deny him the pleasure of making you come in front of Bucky again, but just like always you end up gripping his shoulders to keep from falling as he does a perfect come hither with his two fingers as his thumb rubs with the perfect amount of pressure on your throbbing clitoris. He can’t resist and licks your peak for good measure until you hold your breath as he sucks sloppily and until you come on his hand and just as quickly as always. Your wild moaning is nearly feral but you could not care less. It makes you smile to hear him laugh softly so pleased with himself and you and your eyes shut as you pant, catching your breath.
Lowering your head, your eyes only half open, you both look over at Bucky who is glaring at the Baron.
“James.”
“Yes.”
“Stop breaking the rules.”
“Yes Baron.” He says giving in completely.
Zemo smiles and slowly pulls his fingers free from you, raising his hand just enough to show them so wet and sticky and glistening. He kisses your belly and looks up at you. “Go lie down.” He says rubbing your stomach, smoothing his hand over your soft tuft of hair. You’re still floating as you do, happy to go and rest and leave them to it.
“Would you like to come now?” You hear Zemo ask Bucky as he gets up and goes around the chair.
“Please.” Bucky whispers watching you sink down onto the bed on your side.
“I can finish you off just as quickly as I did her.”
“Yes. Please.” He begs through clenched teeth rising up again as if presenting himself to be relieved, the steady rush of blood to his lower half turning his cock a darker shade of desperate as it rises up like a tower ready to fall. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you.” He pants “I’m sorry I tried to fuck her. I’m sorry for breaking your rules. And I will do anything, please just… fuck. Please!”
Helmut leans down hushing him, pressing his face close to Bucky’s, grabbing him around the chest as his left hand comes reaching over his stomach promising an end to the day’s long torment.
He grips the soldiers gorgeous, endlessly taunted dick; your natural lubricant replacing the oil to help glide his fingers along.
When Zemo starts to work Bucky you can see through the look on his face that this is all he’s wanted to do for so long and you are reminded that this is as much the Baron’s discipline as it is yours— as it is Bucky’s.
Bucky makes a deep sound that gets your attention. His body flexes and you think he looks like a bomb ready to blow. A sexy, finely muscled, lightly tanned bomb with a look of pained excitement as his legs open and his jaw flexes.
“Are you mine James?” Zemo asks, his lips brushing his ear,
“Yes” He says pitifully raising his hips, thrusting once into the Baron’s hand just as Zemo lets go. A deep frown fixes between Bucky’s brows as he waits until Zemo grabs again and starts to perfectly stroke him.
Bucky’s mouth opens, his eyes fix on the incredibly hypnotic rhythm of Zemo’s hand.
“You’ve always been mine haven’t you?”
“Yes!” Bucky nearly shouts, his brows turned down with the exquisite anguish of the nearing release.
“Say it again,” Zemo demands, his right arm tight around Bucky, his eyes shut relishing in the control and the love, you listen to the wet rhythm as it gets faster.
“Yes.”
“Say it!”
“I’ve always been yours” Bucky moans loudly and glances over at you unable to keep your hand away from your pussy selfishly wanting to come again.
“Once more.” Helmut says opening his eyes. The muscle of his arm is flexed beautifully as he pounds.
Bucky moans so similarly to you that Helmut just smiles. He knows, he understands the hold he has over you both.
“I’m yours” Bucky manages and the Baron focuses his movement as if pulling the orgasm from Bucky’s body willing it to come forward. He jerks his hand up and away…but this time he’s finished the job.
He holds Bucky as the man cries out, his hips rising high this time, his cock pulsing with a tight up and down as he finally —god, finally— gives a high pitched groan with that first explosive release of come that shoots past his stomach and onto his own chest followed by equally satisfying spasms that send milky droplets flying free into the air and across his stomach onto Zemo’s arms; Bucky’s groaning and gasping near tears with the absolute exhaustion and relief of his well deserved climax, his moans and gasps of surprise so raw and unaffected.
By the time he lowers back down to the chair unable to do much more than sit there, limp and panting with his eyes closed, Helmut is holding him, caring nothing for the mess. He seems to love the sight of the pearlescent results of Bucky’s incredible orgasm as much as you do.
Smiling as he strokes Bucky’s hair, kissing his temple, he says with a tone only Helmut Zemo could manage at a moment like this, “You see. When you listen to me, I make it worth every second, every moment of torment. Yes?”
Bucky nods but it’s weak.
Zemo chuckles softly, kisses him again and reaches down easily undoing the ropes.
“Look at you both.” He says trying to sound angry, as if it’s not all his fault. “You can’t come to dinner like this. I’ll run a bath.”
He leaves Bucky and comes to the bed bending over you, his hand so sticky from the combination is heavy on your belly as he kisses your lips. “Hows your ass?” He asks.
“Still on fire.” You say and he winks as he rises.
“Good."
*
“You’re pretty quiet over there.” Bucky says splashing you from across the large tub. You’ve both been in for a while now after Zemo took a quick shower and left you alone letting you know he’d be up waiting at the dinner table.
Roused from your daydream but still not sure you want to talk about why you’re so quiet, you glance over and shrug.
“Whats wrong? You’re not mad about what happened are you?” Bucky asks sliding a little closer. The tub is surprisingly big in an already large bathroom and yet again you wonder how you’ll return to real life when this all ends.
“What happened?” You ask him.
“Getting you in trouble? He really put a shine on your backside.” Bucky says, a smile breaking through any attempt at being serious.
You sit up surprised to hear that’s what he thinks it could be. “Ha! No. Not at all. That was amazing… god” You tip your head back, the image of Bucky, naked and tired to a chair with Zemo holding him and whispering in his ear will be seared into your mind for life. “I didn’t know you could come that much.” You say, slowly looking back down at him,trying not to giggle.
“Neither did I.” He says practically blushing before he grins. “Same goes for you.” He tosses right back.
You laugh and roll your eyes. “Okay well we both know he’s capable of turning us into sex crazed idiots apparently.” You say with a cheeky grin and Bucky laughs shaking his head with a sigh.
“What is it? Some Sokovian spell or something, magic from the old world?” Bucky says with a thick accent wiggling his wet soapy fingers in the air.
Laughing you scrunch your nose. “Nah, that’s all him. Just wait until you’ve been around him long enough to get to the good stuff.”
“The good stuff!” He looks shocked “Well what the hell is all this!”
“This is amazing, but it not… well it’s not him. Theres so much more than sex. Watching tv. Eating dinner in bed. Naps— once he read to me.” You say with a sigh and the room goes silent as you both slip into a day dream laced with Helmuts beautiful voice surrounding you as he reads the classics on a warm summer night…
“You think he sits around daydreaming about us like this?” Bucky asks with a frown. “I worry sometimes.”
“Really?” You ask looking into his big blue eyes. Hundred years old and still so sweet. “Of course he does. Bucky, he wouldn’t have done any of this if he didn’t spend as much time thinking of us as we do him. Don’t be so naive”
He nods looking out the window and you know he’s just out of practice. He probably had a swarm of girls around him back when his life was normal. Maybe even a secret guy. But how long ago had that been. And since he’d been released from the words, his only real time spent with anyone has been with the two of you. For a moment you wonder if that’s fair. He should go out on dates or something, but then again you did try to get him on some apps. He hated them all. Women swiped right like it was their job of course, but he thought it was strange and wanted to meet them the old fashioned way but when he did he could only focus on what he didn’t like and just compared them to you— and Zemo.
“Hey.” You get his attention again. “I mean it, I’m really not upset about anything that happened earlier. Thanks for being such a rule breaker.” You say with a wink.
“No problem” He laughs as if that was his intention. Bucky’s expression softens as he sits back, the water rocking under the bubbles.
Bubbles. Talk about a diva, is anyone is on this big ass boat it’s him. Two adults having a bath drawn from them; why not throw in the bubbles. You roll your eyes ignoring the way your chest gets tight with the feel of being so adored and loving every second of his over the top ways and focus on Bucky who looks stunning in the bath— your heart sinking just a little.
“So what is it?” He asks unaware of your many distractions.
You look back to the window staring up at the sky for a while. “I’m just… sad.” You say giving in to the truth “I mean, I’m thrilled being here. But I’ve had this idea that I could talk you into staying with us. I keep imagining this life with you and Helmut and I know it can’t happen for so many reasons but I’m stubborn and spoiled. I truly hate not getting my way. So I keep thinking, maybe.”
He goes quiet now understanding, and then you feel his hand on your knee under the water. “I know. I’ve thought about it too. Maybe a little too much. Definitely enough that I’ve almost convinced myself it could work, but no. It just wouldn’t.”
You press your lips hesitant to say in case you might offend him but decide to just go for it. “And you’re sure it’s not just that you miss it? Saving the world and everything? I mean, I can see how it would be appealing— from controlled killer to stoic hero.” You tease gently, wiggling your brows up and down until he laughs a little, probably more annoyed than you’d like, and whatever facade you’d put on crumbles. The look of heartbreak turns your brows down, twisting your face with the agony of losing him. He looks surprised to see you so broken about it and finds your hand through the water.
“Hey hey hey.” He pulls but you’re not in the mood to be comforted. Bucky hates when you don’t let him coddle you, but he knows better than to fight it so he simply answers your question. “Yes.Well. No I mean, it’s nice. But honestly, if you really want to know, I could get used to being domesticated.” He shrugs letting go of your hand as he looks towards the shower where Zemo was and you swallow the tears that have been overpowered by your intrigue.
Managing a laugh at his expense you poke his arm on the rim of the tub. “Really? By me or Helmut?” You ask and swear you see him blush.
“You’ve already proven you can turn me into a homebody, and happy to be there, so —Maybe both?” He shrugs and there is such a tone of possibility in his statement that you’re instantly transported into a world in which the three of you are living happily. Maybe in this Mediterranean paradise, you’ve just come home from the market with ingredients for a dinner that Bucky has asked you to pick up and you help him cook while music blasts in your small but bright kitchen and you dance around until the house smells delicious and you set the table, flirting and toying with one another until everything looks beautiful before rushing to sit just as your Baron comes through the door…
Even here and now sitting in the tub with you, Bucky looks like the sweetest house husband glowing a soft gold in the light of the sun. What you wouldn’t give to be his forever. His his and hers, you think and your chin quivers with the threat of happy miserable tears.
Bucky isn’t oblivious to your hurting but he’s trying to keep strong, he can’t give in to you, not this time. “We’ll never know if I stick around.” He says and your little vision fades “I think I’ve got one visit, maybe two in me before someone notices an avenger hanging around their town and his cover is blown. You don’t want that. I don’t want that. I’d never forgive myself."
“I know.” You say and only realize that your head is down when his hand, which is covered in white bubbles reaches to lift your chin.
“Hey, come one. None of that. We’ve only got a little bit of time. I just want to make the most of it. Give me enough good memories to finally forget about whats left of the bad.”
You smile and nod, blowing the bubbles away before they go up your nose. “Fine.” You sigh and look back out the window hugging your knees. “Buck, can I ask you something?”
“Of course.” He says only cringing a little when you call him Buck.
“Do you think you might ever love him?”
Bucky freezes. He looks— odd. Uncomfortable. Exposed? You realize very quickly that he already does, even if he’s not aware of it and decide not to push him
“It’s okay. I was just curious.” You say and try to calm him with your smile “We come from very different worlds. Letting myself love a man like Helmut Zemo took little to no effort for me, for you— I know why it might come as a shock. But I think you’ll find, when you do admit it to yourself and to him, he might just surprise you with how quickly he says it back.”
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felassan · 5 years ago
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Mass Effect development insights and highlights from Bioware: Stories and Secrets from 25 Years of Game Development
This is the Mass Effect version of this post.
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[In case you can’t read it the subtitle in the bottom left logo above is “Guardians of the Citadel”]
Note: Drug use is mentioned.
Cut for length.
Mass Effect 1
ME began its life in a vision document in fall 2003
Codenamed “SFX”
Conceived of by Casey Hudson and a core team from KotOR. Its genesis was the intention to create an epic sci-fi RPG in an original setting that BioWare owned (so they could have full creative control), and in a setting that was conceived of first and foremost as a video game
Initially players could control any squadmate, but they wanted it to be about Shep and for players to be focused on Shep being a battlefield commander, rather than on switching bodies
By the start of 2004 its story was shaping up. Initially humans landed on Mars in 2250 and discovered evidence of an ancient alien race and a powerful substance, Black Sand, which rapidly advanced tech to the point that FTL travel was possible. (My note: obviously now the Prothean artifacts on Mars & associated mass effect force tech enabled this in the final canon, but I wonder if aspects of the ‘Black Sand’ naming-type & powerful substance stuff was rolled into red sand from final canon) Humans were suddenly capable of travel to multiple star systems and made contact with a multitude of other species. At the start of the first game, these species together with humans had a fragile peace, with focus placed on the political center of the galaxy, a hub known as Star City, later renamed the Citadel
Multiplayer was a vision for the series as far back as 2003. The plan was for ME1, an Xbox exclusive at launch, to take advantage of the platform’s online components. Early designs saw players meeting in one of the central hubs to interact and trade items in their otherwise SP adventures
By 2006 it had the name ME and the story was more specific, with the theme of conflict between organic and synthetic lifeforms. The story’s scope now stretched across 3 games and included scope for full co-op MP
They tried to do MP in every game, discussing it from the get-go, but it always just fell by the wayside. “When you’re trying to build something that is a new IP, on a new platform, with a new engine, you’ve got to really focus on the core elements of the game.” 
The conversation system prototype was made in Jade Empire, and some of ME’s earliest writing was done in an old JE build. At first there was no conversation wheel. Paragon was “Friendly” and Renegade “Hostile”. In the prototype Shep was a silent unnamed Spectre. Many conversations in the prototype about the player’s choice in smuggling a weapon through Noveria made it into the game
In said prototype a merchant referred to themselves as “this one”, though the word hanar never appeared. The PC in it also had the option to end a conversation with “I should go”. In the prototype also, Harkin was voiced by Mark Meer
An early version of the Mako got used as the krogan truck in ME2
Early concepts of the Citadel were drawn in pencil by CH. A piece of concept art of its final design was painted based on a photo of a sculpture near Aswan, Egypt
As with any new IP naming it was a struggle. They put out a call to all staff for ideas, did polls, made a name generator that combined words that they liked in random ways and made pretend logos of ones they liked in Photoshop to see if they could make themselves love the name or find visual potential in it. (Some of these names are in the pic at the top of this post.) CH liked “Unearthed” as it was a reference to Prothean ruins dug up on Mars and humanity’s ascendance going away from Earth. They knew the game would have a central space station featuring prominently so some of the ideas were based on that - “The Citadel”, “The Optigon”, “The Oculon”. “Element” was another one they had in mind due to the rare substance in the game 
CH: “I was a big fan of John Harris’ book Mass, which had epic-scaled sci-fi ideas, so that was a word that came up often. Many of the names came from the idea that the IP featured a fifth fundamental physical force (in addition to the known four of gravitational, electromagnetic, strong nuclear and weak nuclear) so the word ‘effect’ came up pretty often.” Ultimately none of the ideas really felt right. One Monday morning they were going over the names and Greg Zeschuk said he had an idea on the weekend: “Mass Effect!” CH: “I said, ‘I don’t hate it’, which in the naming process is a high compliment. And it stuck!”
CH on Shep’s Prothean vision from the beacon: “It was hard to imagine how we would do this. CG was - and is - really expensive. Instead I wanted to try doing it through photography and video editing. So I went to a local grocery store and bought a few packages of the weirdest looking meat that I could find. Then I set up a little photoshoot in my basement, complete with some electronics parts and some red wine for juicyness.” He used these props to create a video sequence where the photos were rapidly cycled and blurred, along with production paintings, to create the scary vision an organic/machine experiment on the Protheans. These mashups were also used as inspiration for concept artists and level designers who were working on these themes
Tali used to be called Talsi
On the licensing side they often joke that they’re licensing N7 not “Mass Effect” due to N7′s popularity
There was a confidential internal guide to the IP in 2007 to help devs along and summarize/synthesize the vision etc. Some excerpts from it are shown in the book and this is the first time the public have ever seen them
Early versions of Asari had hair
Asari were designed as a nod to classic TV sci-fi (with human actors wearing obvious makeup and prosthetics to play aliens)
The turian design guideline was “we want them to be birds of prey”. They also wanted a range of alien types, some close to human like Asari, while others were to be a lot further away, like turians
BioWare patented the conversation wheel, which was a first for them. CH had been frustrated with reviews of Jade Empire that said that the actioncentric game was too wordy [with its list dialogue]. “I’m like, story is words. [...] What is it about our games that is making people feel like they’re wordy?” Then he thought “In a game you kind of need to feel like you’re continuing to play it. Maybe you should continue feeling like you’re playing it actively into the dialogue.” “[The wheel] kind of gave a new experience with dialogue when you did start to react based on emotion, and that’s ultimately what we’re trying to bring out in our games”
The original krogan concept was based on a bat “with a really wide squidgy face. We just used its face on top of this weird body and it kinda worked”
Geth musculature was based on fiber-optic cables, with flexible plates of armor attached
The vision for the IP was 80s sci-fi inspired space opera
The concept art of Saren lifting Shep by the throat inspired a similar scene in-game. The staging wasn’t planned til designers saw that art
A squadmate with Shepard on the way to meet Ash in an old storyboard was called Carter. Early name of Kaidan or Jenkins?
Bono from U2 was kinda instrumental in bringing us ME lol
Finding the right cover art for ME1 was notably tricky
Matt Rhodes got his start drawing helmets for ME1, including one which would become Shep’s “second face”. He estimates he drew between 250-270 different ones
Some of the sounds in-game were people smashing watermelons with sledgehammers and sticking fists into various goos
The audio team had fun trying to slip the iconic main theme into unexpected places throughout the MET. “We were very aware of how powerful that track was for the fans and it was tempting to overuse it for any moment we wanted to make really emotional”.
The theme was creatively repurposed in ME3: slowed down and reworked as the ambient sound for the SR-2. “If you listen to it for a really long time, just stand in the Normandy and listen, you’ll actually hear the notes change slowly. It doesn’t sound like music, it sounds like a background ambiance, but it’s there.” (My note: Well no wonder the Normandy feels so much like home?? 😭 sneaky..)
Bug report: “Mako Tornado”. There wasn’t enough friction between the tires and the ground, causing testers to lose control of the vehicle and send it spinning into the air like a tornado. “As it turns, the front end comes up, and then it starts spinning and spinning and spinning and spinning faster and faster and faster until it just flies up in the sky” (My note: Sounds like a regular day in the Mako to me)
Cerberus originally had a bigger role in this game. It was cut but they had a whole explorable outpost. “I called it Misery,” says Mac Walters, “It was this planet with a little outpost that said ‘Welcome to Misery’”. Everything on the outpost was shit - dirty worn stuff, no windows, no kitchen, the vehicle bay was open to the elements etc
The Reaper sound is literal garbage. Some audio designers went on a recording trip to a national park. One of them got fixated on a garbage can, “a metal bear-proof receptacle with a heavy lid that creaked horribly when opened”. “It was like, ominous, spooky, tonal and almost musical. I decided to throw a mic into the garbage and record it moving. I didn’t know what it was going to be until later”
They were making lots of noises to record like throwing logs and rocks around. An old couple peered at them through the window of their camper van in the woods and must have called the cops because then the cops showed up, pulled them over and told them to stop. The cops towed their car (the driver’s plates were Cali plates and expired), drove them to Edmonton outskirts and then the audio producer Shauna got a call and had to go pick them up “like three little boys”. “We got a stern talking to”. Once back they were playing around with the garbage sound, editing it etc. Casey heard it and proclaimed “That’s the sound of the Reapers”
Preston Watamaniuk: “There are things I could have done to Mass 1 to make it an infinitely better game with better UIs” and some simple cuts and changes. “But when you’re living with it, it’s very hard to see those things”
BioWare Labs
As social media and smartphone games exploded, BioWare dedicated a small team dedicated to exploring opportunities here - BioWare Labs
Mass Effect: Galaxy used a unique graphic art style and static visual presentation common in visual novels. It has the distinction of being the only iOS game BW have made during their first 25 years
Scrapped ideas were a 3rd person space shooter called Mass Effect: Corsair and 2 DA titles - a strategy game and a top-down dungeon crawler starring young Wynne. (My note: Maybe the corsairs stuff was rolled into Jacob’s backstory in 2, the Alliance Corsairs)
Corsair was a very short-lived project that never got its feet under it. It was a spin-off on Nintendo DS featuring a behind-the-ship perspective and branching dialogue. At one point it had MP. The idea behind it was basically “ME: Freelancer” - fly your ship around, do missions, get credits. It had a limited branching story but was a gameplay-centered experience intended to fill the gap between ME1 and 2. That gap ended up being filled by Galaxy
Galaxy and Corsair’s smaller screen allowed concept artists to use bold colors and a simplistic character design style to help those games stand out from Shep’s story
Nick Thornborrow did some art for Corsair but was worried his art style didn’t fit ME. He moved to DA where he feels his art style fits better
Lots of BioWare VAs and even a lead writer and the VO director are drawn from Edmonton’s local community theater scene, which is vibrant. Think this is how Mark Meer got involved
Mass Effect 2
Player choices carrying over was a first for BW
Dirty Dozen-inspired plot
Its plot is a web of conditionals (see Suicide Mission)
Was more of a shooter than anything BW had made since Shattered Steel
There was 2 camps on the team, those who wanted to push combat and systems forward and redefine the ME experience and those who wanted to make a true sequel, with the same gameplay and systems but a new story. Karin Weekes: “I think it ended up being a good push-pull. It felt like a pretty healthy creative conflict”
“ME2 was a game you could hold up to someone who argues that games aren’t a serious medium and go ‘Oh yeah, then why is Martin Sheen in this?’” Sheen was their first pick for TIM
The idea for TIM came from a mash-up of concepts CH had collected over the years. The name “Illusive” originally came from his pitch for naming DAO’s Eclipse engine, a word inspired by Obi-Wan’s line “It’s not about the mission, Master. It’s something... elsewhere. Elusive”. “I thought, what if we called our next engine 'Elusive', but used an ‘I’, and then it’s like ‘Illusion’. [...] I still really like the word with an ‘I’ and what it conjures”
When ME1 DLC was in production, CH had been watching a lot of CNN, specifically Anderson Cooper. “How is one guy travelling to all these places and never looking tired and always being able to speak with clarity?” CH says it seemed almost superhuman. “What if there was someone who is the absolute maximum of the things you would aspire to be, but also the worst of humanity?” Cooper, though not evil, became an inspiration for TIM down to the gray hair and piercing blue eyes
Inspiration for TIM’s behind-the-scenes role pulling political strings came from Jack Bauer’s brother Graem in 24. Graem “can call up the president and tell him what to do and hang up, because he’s so connected and so influential”. Sheen had played a president and his performance brought gravitas and wisdom to the role. He had quit smoking, but the character smokes. He didn’t want to fake it, but he also didn’t want to smoke, “so he actually asked for a cigarette” to hold so he could stop his words to take drags with natural cadence
Writing was still pushing to write and revise lines hours before VO started. A series of problems like injury and some writers leaving for other opportunities left it so that Karin, Lukas Kristjanson and editor Cookie Everman hand to land the story safely, with PW helping where they could. Lukas: “We took over the writing bug and task list, and I can’t stress enough how much [Karin and Cookie] did to get ME2 out the door. There’s no part of that thing we didn’t touch”. Karin: “That was the most dramatic 2 weeks of my life”
Initial fan reaction when they started promo-ing ME2 was very negative because people didn’t want to know about new chars like Jack and Mordin. “[fans were like] ‘Get them out of here. We want our characters from the first game’. But then when they played them, those became some of the most popular chars [of the series]”
Concept art of Thane has an idea annotation saying “Face can shapeshift?”
At one point when designing Thane concept artists sent multiple variations of him to the team asking them to vote on which was the most attractive
Most of the Normandy crew was written by lead level designer Dusty Everman. Lukas gave him advice in the evenings between bugs
BioWare Montreal made ME2 and 3 cinematics
CC for Shep was based on tools used by char designers to create in-game chars. Under the hood similar tools existed to create aliens
Aliens were much easier to animate than humans. When something is human it’s very difficult to make it look realistic and you can see all the mistakes and everything
Over the holiday period in 2007 CH worked out a diagram on a single piece of paper that would define the entire scope and structure of the game. The diagram is included in the book
Bug report: “I shot a krogan so hard that his textures fell off”. At one point shotgun blast damage was applied to each of the pellets fired, and shot enemies ended up with just the default checkerboard Unreal texture on them after their textures got blown off
Blasto was meant to be 1 step above an Easter egg but his fan popularity prompted them to bring him back in ME3
They rewrote chunks of Jack 2 days before she went to VO. She was the only one they could change because all the other NPCs were recorded. They redesigned her mission by juggling locked NPC lines and changing Shep’s reactions by rewriting text paraphrases to change the context of the already-recorded VO
Lukas snuck obscure nods ito ME2′s distress calls. In the general distress call for the Hugo Gernsback, there’s BW’s initial’s and Edmonton’s phone number backwards. In a fault in a beacon protocol there’s the initials and backward phone number from Tommy Tutone’s “Jenny”. In 2 other general distress calls there’s initials and numbers from Glenn Miller Orchestra’s “Pennsylvania 6-5000″ and initials and numbers from Geddy Lee and Rush’s “2112″ respectively 
Mass Effect 3
“The end of an era marks the beginning of another”
ME3 “marked the end of Shep’s story”
Saying bye to Shep was as difficult for devs as it was for players
JHale’s final VO session included Anderson’s death and romanced Garrus’ goodbye. “We were in the session and we both just started crying”, Caroline says. “I couldn’t come on the line to give her notes because I was crying, and she was crying. And so there was just this minute-long pause of like, nothing, nothing, nothing - just silence through the airwaves. And then I came on and just told her that I was crying and she said ‘I’m crying!’” They talked about these anecdotes also here on the N7 Day reunion panel
The Microsoft Kinect voice support required devs to teach Kinect hundreds of commands in a variety of accents across multiple languages. The result was useful but made for some awkward moments. Numerous players accidentally said “geth” or “quarian” while making a particular decision and accidentally killed Tali
MP chars were voiced by cops and military people
The helmet on one of the MP chars was originally designed for cancelled project Revolver
The payload device at the end needed to attach to the Citadel while essentially serving as a giant trigger. “It ended up becoming quite the engineering feet just to visualize how this thing would move and connect to the Citadel”
Concept artists explored creating an anti-team, where Kai Leng was almost an anti-Shepard essentially, with an elite squad to counteract your team. This idea never went beyond concept phase
ME3 Special Edition was released on Nintendo Wii U exclusively. This exclusive version of the game includes Genesis 2 (a sequel to the original Genesis comic) and unique gameplay features that took advantage of the touchscreen GamePad. For years Sonic Chronicles: Dark Brotherhood had had the honor of being BW’s only game made for a Nintendo console
FemShep regrettably didn’t feature in major ME marketing til ME3. Later releases like DAI, MEA and Anthem have taken increasing care not to gender their protagonists in cover art
To capture combat sounds they took a trip to CFB Wainwright, a military base southeast of Edmonton. They got a big tour of it and were allowed to record anything they could find. The tour ended with them getting to drive and shoot tanks (real shells). The force of doing that sent waves through Joel Green, he felt his whole chest compress when it went off; the perfect sound for the Black Widow! After the trip the soldiers let him keep the shell he fired and it’s been passed on like a torch to various devs since
Kakliosaurs began life as a joke in the writers’ room after John Dombrow placed a Grunt figure on a t-rex toy he had on his desk. Lore was brainstormed to justify the mash-up before someone asked, “Why don’t we put this in the game?” They loved it so much Karin had custom coffee mugs made
Bug report: For a while Tali’s final romance scene would fire when she was supposed to be dead
“Balancing combat: how designers in ME3 entered an ‘arms race’” - the solution to players feeling OP vs players feeling frustrated by really strong enemies is to find a good middle ground, but for designers Corey Gaspur and Brenon Holmes, it was war. Brenon designed enemies, Corey designed guns. Corey “was obsessed with bigger, heavier guns. We had this sort of informal competition where he’d make this crazy overturned gun that would just murder all the enemies, and then I tuned some stuff up to compensate”
Brenon had to invent new ways to “stop Corey” and this led to the Phantoms. Corey had in turn designed consumable rockets that could wipe out entire waves of enemies. He must’ve figured this would make short work of Brenon’s space ninjas, but Brenon had other plans: “I had just added the ability for her to cut rockets [when Corey was playing MP and he was watching]. She cut the rocket in half... Corey just turns and looks at me and is like: ‘Really dude? I just shot a rocket at this Phantom and she’s fine? Not even damaged? Zero damage?’” 
This friendly rivalry helped elevate ME3′s gameplay. Corey had a knack for making a gun feel so good to fire it had his fellow designers scrambling to keep up. It was his version of balancing. Before Corey sadly passed away he mentored Boldwin Li in all things weapon design and the arms race continued
Corey designed the Arc Pistol. It was causing problems for enemies because it was too powerful. It seemed hell bent on staying that way, Boldwin would tune down all its stats and it was still doing 3x the damage it should have been doing. “I was like ‘What the hell?’, and then I looked closer. It secretly fired 3 bullets for every pull of the trigger! Corey, you sneaky jerk”
The day it launched there were midnight launch parties across North America including one near the BW building. Numerous devs sat at long tables greeting fans and signing autographs as the fans picked up preorders. When midnight struck the line was long enough that it took several hours for some fans to get their game. One particular fan is remembered: “It was 3am. Some guy drove up from Calgary with his friends. He was like one of the last people in line. I think he was sort of tired-drunk. He threw himself across the tables, pulled up his shirt and shouted ‘Guys, sign my abs!’ And like I did, because he waited so long. It felt impolite not to. So I hope he enjoyed his copy of ME3″
For designing Protheans concept artists had free reign to design something that read as ancient
Before the concept art team had the story of the game to work toward, they explored wild ideas of their own including an image of the crew stealing back the Normandy to go after the Reapers
Jen Cheverie was testing scenes and was initially excited to be testing Mordin scenes, til she saw she was testing the Renegade version of his death. “This is even before like all of the audio and everything was in, so you didn’t even have the sad music. I remember sitting at my desk and my hands just went to my face when I saw that the gun Shep pulls on Mordin is the gun he gives Shep in ME2. I burst into tears and was crying for the rest of the day. People are waving to me as they walk by and I’m like, ‘It’s ok, I’m just killing my best friend’” 
There’s a segment called “Shepard’s story ends”. Casey on the ending: “There’s a whole bunch of things that come together to make it incredibly tense and emotional for players. I think the biggest one was the sense of finality, that whatever it was that happened in that very last moment... was it.” 
Wrapping up the story was a massive feat. In a way all of ME3 is an ending. Its final moments were the players’ last with a char they’d been with all the way from Eden Prime
“And while the critical reception of the game was extremely positive, many fans were unsatisfied with the ending, which became one of the most controversial in the history of games.” CH: “We were, on one hand, at the end of a marathon trying to finish the game and the series. But as devs we also knew that there would be more. We knew that we would continue to tell the story. In retrospect, we didn’t fully appreciate the tremendous sense of finality that it would have for people”. He envisioned an ending that posed new questions, something in the tradition of high sci-fi that left players dreaming about what that particular galaxy’s future could hold. “Frankly, there’s a lot more that we could have and should have done to honor the work players put in, to give them a stronger sense of reward and closure”
AAA games are massive undertakings with a million moving parts. Somehow they come together but even the best-planned projects don’t turn out quite like devs hope. From start to end video game production is a series of compromises. It’s rare if not impossible for devs to ship a game they’re entirely happy with. “I think that people imagine that when you finish a game, it’s exactly the way you wanted it to be. But whether people end up loving or hating the final result, we work hard to finish it the best we can, knowing that there’s a lot we would have wanted to do better. I think that’s true of any creative work”
As the dust settled after the initial reaction to the ending and later its epilogue, meant to show the wide-reaching ripple effects of Shep’s final choice, “players emerged mostly asking for one thing”. CH: “Now, most of what we hear, after both ME3 and MEA, is ‘Hey, just go make more Mass Effect’. And that to me is the most important thing. Knowing that players want to return to the ME universe is what inspires us to press on and imagine what comes next”
Mass Effect: Andromeda
By creating a new ME in a new galaxy the team was challenged to put their own visual stamp on the game while keeping it true to the franchise
Being the first ME game on a new gen of consoles meant for more detail
“Massive transport ships called arks populated with salarians, turians, humans, asari and quarians” made the risky jump to the Cluster
MEA was the first time BW had truly codeveloped across 3 studios: Edmonton, Montreal and Austin. The bulk of the work especially early on was done in Montreal, which was composed of a handful of Edmonton expats and heaps of experienced devs who joined from elsewhere specifically to bring a new ME experience to life. Series vets in Edmonton then came on to contribute writing, cinematics, design and QA, along with leadership from creative director Mac Walters and the core Production team. Austin writers and level designers also joined the fray
“It took a new team to take ME beyond the Milky Way”
Mac: “A lot of people in Montreal joined BW as fans of the franchise, so they just had this passion, and it felt like it was more like the days of Jade Empire, where a smaller younger team gets to do something for the first time. Even though it wasn’t necessarily a new IP for me, it felt fresh and new because of that. The team was just super excited to be working on it”
Early plans had the player exploring hundreds of worlds, procedurally generated, allowing for a nearly infinite variety of experiences. But as development wore on, it became clear that the game narrative required more specific, hand-touched level design on each world to keep the story focused and the experience engaging. “The plan was to give players numerous uncharted worlds to explore. Designers worked hard to come up with procedural elements that would make such planets special. Eventually the team made the difficult decision to abandon procedural planets in favor of more memorable hand-touched alien worlds, each with a specific story to tell”
One challenge was defining what ME meant without Shep. Care was given to include many of the MET’s key species. “Ryder recruited turian, asari, krogan and salarian followers”. Like Shep Ryder represents humanity’s hope for a peaceful coexistence among aliens who had long operated without human contact
Beginning with MEA the team decided that with few exceptions vehicles in ME have 6 wheels. Early Nomad concepts were bulkier. Later ones focused on its ability to move over its ability to protect itself from hostile fire, underlining the themes of exploration
German concept designer and auto-motive futurist Daniel Simon was contracted to create the Nomad and Tempest. The Tempest’s final design took inspo from the Concorde 
Concepts for angaran fighter ships have the following notes: “Two doors swing open, wings rotate down to function as landing struts, the landing struts split open. It has a spinning turbine engine 
Despite being set a galaxy away and some 600 years after Mordin’s death, there was a time when he had a cameo. It wasn’t cut due to running out of time however, it was cut due to drug references. John Dombrow explains: “One day I had to write a small quest for Kadara. I thought it’d be amusing if these 2 guys living way out on the fringes in a shack were growing plants for uh, medicinal purposes, and needed Ryder’s help with it. It occurred to me, wouldn’t it be amusing if Ryder had the option of actually trying ‘the medicine’ to see what would happen? And I thought, what if it turned into some hallucination that somehow involved SAM - like maybe SAM would sing? But why? How could I motivate that? Then it hit me. Who else in the ME game sings unexpectedly? MORDIN. As a nod to him I wrote SAM singing Modern Major-General. It got even better when our cine designer John Ebenger wanted to take it even further. Bless him, he came in on a Saturday to do a special hallucination showing Mordin himself. It was great. Til the fateful day we were told MEA had already been submitted to the ratings board. That’s when you declare things like drug references in your game. Mordin fell under that category which meant it was a no-go. We were too late”
Ryder’s white AI armor contrasts Shep’s iconic dark armor (intentional design)
Concept art for Ryder involved experiments with cloth (cloaks, ponchos, capes - “Pull here to release cloak”) and asymmetrical design elements
For alien design, there’s a few exceptions but humanoid figures are the ME standard and this persisted into MEA
Kett and angara concepts explored striking lines and textures 
– From Bioware: Stories and Secrets from 25 Years of Game Development
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