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taexual · 8 months

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sleepwalking ● 8 | jjk

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader

summary: due to unfortunate circumstances, you ended up managing your ex-boyfriend’s band. you thought you’ve both made peace with it, but suddenly he’s very eager to prove to you that first love never dies.

genre: rockstar!jungkook / exes to lovers

warnings: explicit language, suggestive themes, angst, SLOW BURN

words: 10.3k

read from the beginning ○ masterlist

chapter 8 ► let’s search the skies for a while, you and i

Stockholm replaced Copenhagen as the next location for Rated Riot’s European Tour, and it was Day 2 of the 14 days that Sid had given Jungkook to win this bet.

Because of that, Jungkook found himself living in a whirlpool of contradictions.

When you were in the room with him, the bet was all he could think about. It’s what held him back from approaching you, what stopped him from talking to you—out of paradoxical fear that this would count towards winning the bet, but not towards getting back together with you.

And when you weren’t in the room with him, all he could think about was that you weren’t in the room with him.

It was like this right now.

Earlier today, Yoongi had suggested that everyone met up for dinner at a high-class restaurant on the Strandvägen promenade after the show tonight. It made sense for everyone to agree – the band had a day off tomorrow and the restaurant was, supposedly, at a very beautiful spot – and Jungkook figured everyone would come.

Everyone did come. Except you.

And now thoughts of you made their way into his mind while his body winced at every slight noise, every minuscule movement that he noticed out of the corner of his eye, thinking—hoping—that it was you entering the room.

He could remember seeing you at the show—actually, it was difficult for him to see anyone but you when he was on stage; he’d just noticed how impossibly captivating your eyes looked with the stage lights reflected in them as you watched Rated Riot perform—but he wasn’t sure where you had gone afterwards.

He leaned over to Namjoon, who was sitting next to him at the restaurant table, and whispered awkwardly, “so, um, I thought everyone was coming to this dinner.”

Namjoon forced himself to look away from the streetlights reflected in the bay as the band and their team dined on the waterfront. He was still smiling, dazed by the overwhelming beauty of the place, as he murmured, “everyone did come.”

“No,” Jungkook objected before Namjoon could look away. “No, uh, see, our manager didn’t.”

“Oh, Luna said that she had something to do,” the producer replied. “But I think she mentioned joining us later.”

Jungkook knew immediately that that wouldn’t happen. In fact, as he scanned the table for your friends—Luna or Maggie—he glanced at Yoongi, who’d overheard the brief exchange, and shook his head when Jungkook’s gaze landed on him.

The whole band knew you well enough by now: if you weren’t here from the start, you weren’t coming. Luna probably only said that to Namjoon, because you asked her to.

Figuring there had to be a reason why you didn’t come – it was early morning back home, so it was possible that the label had contacted you, although Jungkook doubted it; they weren’t the type to call when things were going well – he looked over to his other side where Jude, Sid, and Minjun were sitting.

The three of them had already drunk a considerable amount of brännvin—the more it burned their throats, the more they seemed to enjoy it, the psychopaths—so they were probably unaware of how loud their conversation was.

He thought this was the perfect opportunity to slip out.

Granted, he probably shouldn’t have worried about his friends catching him leaving – they’d assume he was doing it to win the bet. And perhaps he should have deliberately tried to draw more attention to himself, to show off that he was going to win.

But he snuck out of the restaurant because of you, not because of the bet.

He didn’t think this through very well, however. A taxi van had dropped everyone off at the restaurant earlier, and the ride hadn’t taken very long. But, on foot, he was forced to walk for at least fifty minutes until he reached the parking lot where the tour buses were.

He tried to breathe in through his nose and out his mouth, so it wouldn’t look like he’d just run a marathon—although the muscles in his calves certainly felt like it.

He opened the door of the bus and peered inside. As suspected, you were half-lying in your bunk, laptop on your knees, airpods in your ears.

He entered and closed the door behind him with an accidental slam. There was no one else on the bus, but you didn’t lift your head; not even as he walked down the lane between the bunks, stopping in front of yours. Whatever you were listening to had to be loud enough to drown out the noise he was making.

“What are you doing?” he asked, reaching out to touch your shoulder. Your violent flinch at his touch made him flinch as he nearly tumbled backwards into Hoseok’s bunk.

“Jesus! Fuck!” you cried in horror, yanking the airpods out of your ears. “Stop doing that! What—why are you here?”

Straightening up, his eyes still wide, he replied, “I-I came here to ask you that!”

You kept your eyes on him, your heart still startled. “You came here from Strandvägen?”

“Yes.”

“On foot?”

“Yes.”

You knew Strandvägen was quite far from here, but you didn’t know Stockholm well enough to determine if his answer was plausible. However, his chest was rising and falling at an irregular pace, even though he was trying very hard to appear calm and relaxed, and that was a clear sign of physical exertion.

Still not blinking—as if he’d fade away if you closed your eyes even for a second—you furrowed your brows. “Why?”

“To ask you why you weren’t with us,” he replied simply.

Even more confused, you flipped your laptop screen shut and placed the device behind you.

Jungkook took this as an invitation to sit down next to you (really, he would have sat on the floor at this point, his legs were burning). You watched him and thought about what to ask next.

“You could have used the phone,” you said, figuring there was nothing you could ask him that would make you feel satisfied with his answer.

“I wanted to see your face,” he replied, “when you explained why you made me walk all the way over here.”

Despite the humorous twinkle in his eyes, you felt accused and defended, “I did not make you do anything.”

“You weren’t at the restaurant,” he argued. “So, yeah. You did.”

Averting your gaze, you ran your fingers over the frayed edges of the bedspread underneath the two of you.

“You shouldn’t have bothered coming here,” you began. He ignored the condescending tone in your voice, knowing it was there to make you feel better about having to explain something personal—something you’d undoubtedly categorised under ‘complaining’ and, therefore, would regret as soon as you talked about it. “I didn’t come with you guys, because I’m not really feeling up for socialising tonight. That’s all.”

He figured as much, but he knew that was not all. The pain in his legs eased a little, now that he could see that he hadn’t walked here for nothing.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing,” you replied—a reflex—and Jungkook had to swallow his frustration. “Just not feeling my best. But I’m fine.”

You seemed unaware of your own contradictory words, but he chose not to point it out, saying instead, “Luna told Namjoon you were busy.”

“Yeah,” you replied with an uncomfortable twitch of your lip. “I asked her to. I didn’t want him to pity me. He’s very sensitive. Makes me feel bad if I upset him.”

Weirdly happy to hear that, Jungkook gave you a small, teasing smile. “But you don’t mind upsetting me?”

“You came all this way,” you replied, meeting his eye and smiling back—but your gaze remained vacant. “I couldn’t just lie to you. But, really, I’m fine. You should go back.”

Funny how you managed to assure him you weren’t lying and then proceeded to lie all in one breath.

“I’m not going back without you,” he said, his voice rougher. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” you said, and then again, “nothing. I’m just tired, that’s all.”

Jungkook knew you never admitted you were tired unless it was an excuse to hide what you were really feeling. And, frankly, he was starting to grow really annoyed. Not because you were refusing to tell him what was going on, but because you were treating him like a stranger.

He’d known you for seven years at this point. He could tell when you were pretending.

And yet, he hadn’t tried to pry the truth out of you in years—he couldn’t even remember what methods he used to use back when you were together.

And he suddenly felt guilty, too, because you spent so much time making sure everyone around you was doing well—citing your job as the reason—but he’d never really asked you about you in return.

“You can talk to me, you know,” he mumbled—the words he’d heard you say to him hundreds of times sounded awkward when he repeated them. “You always tell me that. It’s only fair that I reciprocate.”

“See, but I have to listen to you,” you replied softly, not meaning much by it. You just wanted to relieve him of the responsibility he seemed to think he had to sit here and listen to you. “It’s my duty to make sure you’re feeling your best.”

“Well, I’m making sure you’re feeling your best because that’s what I want to do,” he countered. “Not because I have to.”

Your eyes widened in realisation. “I didn’t mean to imply that I don’t care about you—”

“I get it,” he cut you off. “Talk to me.”

You sighed. There were only so many times you could slither out of answering questions without it becoming frustrating. In your personal experience, most people rarely persisted long enough for you to say “I’m fine” more than twice in a row.

Jungkook, however, sat on your bunk, stiff as a statue. Determined, clearly, to stay here until you talked to him.

You knew you’d have to. And, really, you weren’t purposefully hiding anything. You just didn’t think this was something that you should have bothered other people with. Especially Jungkook, who already had enough on his plate from performing almost every night.

“It’s nothing,” you said—always the introductory phrase in your sentences. “I was on the phone with my mum after the show—”

Jungkook reacted immediately, “isn’t it… very early over there?”

“It was a little after four in the morning when she called, yeah,” you said. “That’s why I knew right away that something bad had to have happened.”

He felt an unexpected pang in his chest. Forgetting the bet completely, he worried about something else for a second—another thing that your mum could have told you about him.

It wasn’t anything bad per se, he knew you wouldn’t be angry if you found out—he hoped not—but you might not like the fact that he wasn’t the one who told you.

But it couldn’t be. You appeared tired, not flabbergasted. You looked surprised to see him, but not enough to toss a flowerpot at his head.

He shuffled on the bunk, and tried to ask, “what, um—what happened?”

“It’s my brother,” you said with a sigh so deep, it drowned out the sound of Jungkook’s relieved exhale. “He got—he had gone on a trip with friends. But then he suddenly returned home with a broken leg. That bonehead thought it was just a sprain, even though he couldn’t walk at all, so he didn’t go to the hospital right away. And now the leg is, apparently, swollen and blue.”

Jungkook cringed at the image.

“Yeah,” you replied to his expression. “Anyway, mum needed his insurance information. It’s not even a big deal, just a broken bone, he’ll be fine. It’s just that my mum was crying like it was the end of the world, and now I’m—I don’t know. It’s nothing. You shouldn’t have come.”

So close. You’d almost finished the whole story without discrediting your feelings again.

Jungkook tried to – quickly – find a way to bring you back to your previous state of mind, “no—it’s—is he going to be okay?”

“Yeah, they were at the hospital when I talked to her,” you replied. “The x-ray showed a common fracture, so he won’t need any surgery or anything.”

“That’s good. And your mum?”

“Oh, she was still hysterical when she hung up,” you said. “She only ended the call, because the nurse came to talk to her.”

This was typical of your mum, who loved her children more than anything—and now that you were rarely home because of your job, she focused a lot of that love on her youngest son.

Naturally, a broken bone was a disaster for her.

And she probably didn’t even realise how much her crying would affect you. No one liked to see their mother cry—it was possibly one of the worst sights a child could endure—but you’d always been particularly sensitive to it.

You had once told him that your biggest dream was to never see your mum cry again. And you put in great effort to make this dream come true ever since your parents’ divorce was finalised and your mother began to get herself back together: shopping trips, beauty salons, and holidays in her dream countries.

Jungkook had never heard anyone’s biggest dream be about someone else. He didn’t think he even believed you at first, but several late-night phone calls when you were pacing in your room, nearly ripping your hair out, because your mum wasn’t feeling well again, convinced him that you’d meant it.

Really, he admired you for this. But now he was clenching his jaw, because he understood where your mum was coming from, but he still thought it was unfair to burden you with this when she knew that the sound of her tears would haunt your dreams.

“He’s her youngest kid,” Jungkook rationalised in spite of himself.

“He’s seventeen,” you retorted irritably. “Surely, that’s old enough to develop a brain.”

“How did he break his leg anyway?”

“He told mum he was climbing a tree, and a branch broke off, so he fell,” you said, rolling your eyes. “I don’t know who climbs trees when they’re travelling with friends, but I do know that he was drinking, and he didn’t want mum to know. As for the thing he fell from, I can’t say anything about that. But clearly, he hit his head pretty badly on his way down, too, the absolute idiot.”

Jungkook couldn’t help a small snicker here. “Did she believe him about the tree?”

“He’s done dumber things, so I wouldn’t blame her,” you said. “And she still told me not to yell at him.”

“I second that.”

You groaned, disagreeing with him just as you’d disagreed with your mum before, “he was stupid enough to think his obviously broken leg would heal on its’ own and did not go to the hospital, and now he’s made mum cry—”

“He made a dumb mistake,” Jungkook’s calm voice cut you off. “I’m sure he knows and blames himself for it.”

Thrown off by his composure, you mumbled, “he’d better.”

“I’m sorry,” he said—the word sudden, almost inappropriate.

You looked at him. “Hm? For what?”

“That your mum cried, and you were on your own in a foreign country.”

You swallowed, your gaze falling from his face to the bedspread underneath you.

You didn’t have to tell him much, he knew your family very well: with only one parent to look after two children, you had to step up and take on the role of the other parent to your little brother and be the helping hand to replace the missing partner for your mum once your parents divorced.

Even before they divorced, actually—but Jungkook didn’t know much about that. You never talked about your family before your parents finally split up, but he had an inkling that things had been bad for a while. You had hardly any contact with your father and that had to come from somewhere.

Being a younger brother himself, he’d always felt this misplaced guilt in situations like this. As if exploiting older children in favour of the younger ones was a common practice of all parents, and he, too, received preferential treatment compared to his older brother.

But he didn’t think he did. He knew he didn’t—his parents called him and his brother the same number of times every day, even if Jungkook couldn’t always pick up. They scolded and praised them equally.

And he knew it was different for you. Your mum called you and asked how you were and what was new with you, but the real reason for her call was your brother and the new problems he was causing.

Jungkook suspected that she did this because you’d never told her that you minded being a parent to a child you didn’t have. You never minded being needed, being everyone else’s shoulder to lean on.

You were you.

You had everything under control, always. You were the only clear head in your household of chaos. Sometimes, even in his household of chaos.

You had taught your mum years ago not to ask how you were feeling, because two things would happen if she did: either she would worry, or you’d have to lie to her so she wouldn’t. You didn’t want either.

So, she knew better than to ask you too much, and she thought—or rather, hoped—that if you really needed help, if you were really struggling, you’d be the one to call her.

At least that’s what you’d told her you’d do.

The fact that she accepted this arrangement so easily, however, broke Jungkook’s heart, because he knew that if you were going through a really difficult time, you wouldn’t even think of calling anyone.

It was a miracle you even admitted what was wrong tonight. You’d been fluent in repressing your feelings and emotions for so long that Jungkook felt a little dizzy hearing you talk now.

“I’m fine,” you repeated as the silence in your bunk became too heavy. “Really. You shouldn’t have—”

“Do you want to walk back with me?” Jungkook asked.

Like Luna, he knew when to push, but he also knew when to stop. When to demand answers and when to distract you.

With Luna, that was understandable. She’d been your closest friend for years. But Jungkook made you watch him in stunned silence for a minute.

It shouldn’t have been surprising how well he knew you, but it was. And as you looked at him, the unexpected lightness in your chest made the inside of the bus spin a little.

Objectively, Jungkook knew that everyone would be done eating by the time you got back to the restaurant. But he suggested this anyway.

And, honestly, you knew that, too. But you still wanted to go with him.

“I would,” you said, your mind whirring with all the reasons why you shouldn’t go, “but we’re probably parked very far from Strandvägen. I don’t know how you walked here in the first place.”

“Let’s go,” he decided, standing up from your bunk.

“Huh? I just said—”

“You said you would. So, let’s go.”

“But I also said—”

“If distance is the only thing stopping you,” he cut in again, “then remember that I performed a whole gig tonight, walked over five kilometres to find you, and I’m still willing to walk back. So, give me a little break and come with me willingly, okay?”

“Hmm,” you ran your tongue over your lips to hide your smile at his phrasing. “And, uh… if I don’t?”

Jungkook was completely serious when he replied, “I will carry you if I have to.”

You immediately stopped smiling and narrowed your eyes. “You wouldn’t.”

“Is that supposed to be a challenge—?”

Noticing the almost predatory look in his eyes, you leapt out of your bunk.

“It’s not,” you said, grabbing your phone from the bed. “I’m coming. Let’s go.”

When you and Jungkook left the parking lot, there were barely any people around—apart from a few cars here and there—which was understandable, considering it was almost three in the morning in the middle of the week.

You tended to get lost in your job a lot of the time, so you took a lot of it for granted sometimes. But it was in times like this: on dark, empty streets somewhere in Europe, that you remembered you weren’t working with regular people. You worked with artists. Musicians.

And walking back to the restaurant on Strandvägen—which should have closed hours ago, but that’s another perk of travelling with rockstars: they had the influence and the money to change the working hours of all the places they went to—you were hyper-aware of all this.

And, for a second, you felt almost intimidated. You’d known Jungkook for so long, but now you realised that he wasn’t just Jungkook, your client. Or even Jungkook, your ex-boyfriend.

This was also Jungkook, Rated Riot’s vocalist, strolling through Stockholm, hours after his concert.

But then he turned to look at you—his gaze so warm that you could see it, feel it, even in the dark of the night, under the fluorescent streetlights—and all of those feelings dissipated as quickly as they’d appeared.

He was back to being someone you’d known for almost a decade. Someone who knew things about you that you’d never shared with anyone else.

“So,” he spoke up as the two of you walked. “Is Kai still playing basketball?”

The mention of your brother made your stomach tighten again.

“Yeah,” you replied. “He doesn’t like it, though. But I’m pushing him to keep playing. He’s good at it.”

“Well, he’s tall,” Jungkook remarked.

“That, too,” you agreed. “But he’s also smart. And cunning when he needs to be. This could be his ride to college, he’s skilled enough to get a scholarship.”

“But he doesn’t want to keep playing?”

“I don't know. This is Kai. He doesn’t want to do regular, everyday things. He wants to skydive and eat cockroaches, and stuff.” You glanced at him before adding, “kind of like you, I guess.”

He was almost ready to argue, but ended up chuckling when your eyes met.

“Okay. Yeah,” he concurred. “I guess that’s true.”

“That’s why I’m relieved you guys are no longer in touch.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Wait, I’m the bad influence?”

“You can be,” you said, a meaningful glint in your eyes.

He watched you for a minute, enjoying the moment and your gentle features as you responded to his smile with one of your own. Then a dog barked somewhere in the distance, breaking the spell, and you both looked down at the pavement again.

“So, uh, if not basketball,” Jungkook said, “what does he want to do after school? Last time we talked, he wanted to be a ninja.”

You snorted. “Yeah, that was Kai in his Naruto phase. He’s into Chainsaw Man now, so I’m afraid to ask.

He laughed, clearly understanding where your apprehension was coming from.

“It could be worse,” he said. “At least he’s reading. Even if it’s manga.”

“Yeah.” You lingered on the last vowel as you sighed. “I wish it didn’t influence him this much, though. But then I feel guilty, sometimes, that I’m forcing him to only do the things that are beneficial for him instead of letting him explore other interests and hobbies.”

Jungkook nodded—indicating that he was listening—and suddenly walked to your other side. Growing confused, you felt him lightly touch your hip and nudge you both out of the way of an oncoming bike—which, at two-thirty at night, was surprising, even in a capital city.

Before you could react, he seamlessly returned to your previous conversation. “You just want what’s best for him.”

“I—yeah, uh—I do,” you said, trying to determine if your heart rate increased because of the unexpected bike, or because Jungkook was still walking right next to you, his arm brushing against yours with every step. Crossing your arms over your chest—in an attempt to shield yourself from the chilly night and your own warm chest—you added, “still, I feel like I’m hindering his growth as a person.”

Jungkook looked at you. Because your eyes were focused on the ground, he allowed his gaze to linger longer.

“But that’s not something you should be worrying about,” he said. He couldn’t help it; he felt offended—and hurt—on your behalf. “You’re not his—you’re his sister.”

“I know that,” you replied. “But he was three when dad left for the first time. He doesn’t even remember there ever being a dad. Mom and I are all he’s got. And, you know. Like a true father, I’m pushing him to fulfil my dreams and play in the NCAA.”

Jungkook found several points in your statement that he wanted to address, but he ended up focusing on your half-joking remark, “you wanted to be a basketball player?”

“No,” you said and he lifted his eyebrows higher. “But I’m committed to my role as the father. A father who desperately wants his son to succeed until the son says, ‘it’s not my dream, dad, it’s yours’. You know? Like in any normal family.”

Jungkook snickered—somehow sadly—but did not play along with your joke. Both of you knew that was just a TV trope you were using to divert the topic.

“You don’t need a father to have a normal family,” he said. “The three of you are perfectly normal together.”

You swallowed as your heart switched from beating three times faster than necessary to nearly stopping altogether.

“That’s true,” you said quietly. “But thank you for saying that. It’s easy to forget sometimes.”

“That’s because you’re so used to thinking that your family is different,” he theorised. “Growing up, I thought so, too. My house was the only one on the whole block with over a dozen people living in it. No one else lived with their aunts and uncles.”

You smiled, remembering the absolute chaos that thrived in his family home—a new argument, a new problem every day. It was lovely, though. Before meeting Jungkook and witnessing his life firsthand, you never imagined that families could be so close.

“Not a quiet moment there,” you said.

“Yeah,” he nodded, stuffing his hands in his front pockets to protect them from the cold late-night breeze. “And when I lived back home, I used to kind of hate that unstoppable noise. Now I miss it.”

“Do you go back often?”

You looked at him after you asked this, and suddenly felt your breath catch in your throat as the lights from the skyscraper across the street illuminated his features. Nearly hypnotised, you followed the lights across his face as they accentuated the darkness of his hair and the lightness of the spark in his eyes.

“I—well, probably not often enough,” he replied. You looked away from him to save yourself from making very poor decisions. “But it’s not the same. My brother moved out, my parents bicker every time they speak to each other. My cousins are still louder than all hell. I… I guess it’s just my grandma, really, that I want to see right now.

“Did you call her when we were in Paris?” you asked, recalling your conversation in the taxi outside of Gare du Nord.

Jungkook swallowed. “No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I wanted to, but, uh, she’s... well, she can’t hear very well right now.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “You scream for a living.”

He looked at you and retorted with exaggerated dignity, “that’s how I sing.”

“My point still stands.”

He shook his head, a small smile appearing on his lips.

“It wouldn’t matter even if that was true,” he said, and, out of the corner of your eye, you could see the smile fade from his face. “She, uh, she doesn’t always understand me. Or, remember me, actually.”

You felt three separate stabs: one in your chest, one in your stomach and one somewhere in your lungs. They left you completely breathless and absolutely speechless for a full minute. It was hard to discern which had affected you more: the realisation that his grandmother—the most lovable lady you’d ever met—was sick, or the way Jungkook looked as he said this.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered. The late hour and this revelation called for hushed voices.

“Thank you,” Jungkook replied with a distracted nod. He unconsciously sped up and you had to take two steps for every one of his to catch up.

You reached a bridge when Jungkook continued, “she has better days. My aunt and uncle are looking after her right now. I asked them to call me when she has a good day, but, uh... I haven’t heard from them since we arrived in Europe.”

Struggling to keep up, you reached out a hand and gently touched his shoulder, bringing him to a full stop in the pedestrian lane of the bridge over the Tranebergssund strait.

The lights from nearby buildings reflected in the water below, and you could sense the beauty around you as you caught glimpses through your peripherals. But you couldn’t tear your eyes away from Jungkook’s cloudy gaze.

You’ve spent over a week in Europe. You didn’t know that he was waiting to hear about his grandmother the whole time.

“That’s really unfair,” you remarked. “Your grandma loves you so much.”

“Yeah.” He looked down at his sneakers, then leaned his back against the railing of the bridge. “She actually once told me I was her favourite grandson.”

You smiled at this, then teased softly, “she probably said that to all of her grandsons.”

“Okay, but to me first!”

“Okay, okay,” you agreed, chuckling. “That might be true. In any case, this is—I don’t even know what to say. How is your grandpa handling it all?”

The brief moment of lightness faded from the conversation as Jungkook inhaled deeply and looked around, searching for a distraction.

“He is, uh... coping,” he finally replied. “Never admits what he’s feeling, but his eyes always well up when he talks to her.”

“Does she remember him?” you asked.

“Sometimes,” he said.

“On good days?” you echoed his previous observation.

“Yeah. On bad days, she pretends to remember,” he explained. “On really bad days, she’s so scared of the familiar face, but unknown person, that she can’t even pretend.”

“God,” you sighed, resting your forearms on the railing. “Both of them must be in so much pain.”

Jungkook nodded slowly and turned around, mirroring your position. The two of you watched the strait in silence for a minute, observing the lights as they danced on the soft, gentle ripples on the surface of the water.

There was a storm inside of him, nothing like the peaceful water below. It was a storm he did not like to think about, a storm he tried to run away from. But with you here, he felt a little less afraid of it.

“They’ve been together for almost sixty years,” he said. “I don’t—I can’t even begin to imagine what this must be like for them.”

“It sounds like a nightmare,” you admitted. “I don’t know what’s scarier: forgetting your loved ones or being forgotten by the ones you love.”

He answered without hesitation, “being forgotten. If you forget, it’s just—it gets scary sometimes, because everything seems so foreign. But most of the time, it’s just empty, I think. Quiet. You can still feel the love of the people around you even if you can’t remember who they are. But being forgotten—that—that’s just unbearable. You’re talking to someone you love so much, and t-they have no idea who you are.”

It felt like your heart was about to tear in half as you listened to the pain in his voice. You did not dare to imagine what sort of warzone his chest had become.

“How long was she sick?” you asked so quietly that the water nearly carried your words away.

“She was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s a year ago,” he replied. “Back then, her worst symptom was very shaky hands. She’s always been distracted and scatterbrained, so we didn’t think it was anything serious. But then she started to talk about visiting her sister who’s been dead for almost six years now, and uh… yeah.”

“Shit,” you whispered, because, for a moment, that was the only word that could capture what you were feeling.

You squeezed your eyes shut as if that would make hearing this easier. The cold wind and the raw emotion of this conversation made it all the more difficult to keep your eyes dry.

A short while later, you added shakily, “this breaks my heart, so I don’t even—I probably can’t even begin to understand what you and your family have been going through. I-I wish you’d told me.”

Jungkook looked at you, startled momentarily by your teary eyes. Then he realised that his own throat had become tight.

Turning towards you, he admitted, “I wish I had, too.”

You responded by turning to him as well.

There was a quiet moment, filled only with the wind as it moved the trees, the water, and the two of you closer to each other.

Jungkook reached for you almost instinctively. His hands were hesitant at first, unsure of how you would react. But your small nod—so small, you weren’t sure if you’d really willed your head to move—gave him permission to come closer.

He enveloped you in his embrace and exhaled so deeply that his lungs almost hollowed out when he felt you lean your head against his shoulder and slide your hands over his back.

“I-I know there’s nothing I could have done,” you whispered, “but I just—”

“You would have known,” he interrupted, tightening his grip around your waist. The side of his face was pressed against yours and you could feel every word on your temple. “That would have been enough.”

He was completely still, focused entirely on the feeling of you in his arms and the way your scent, your warmth, your touch—you—seemed to ease the pain inside of him. The way it quieted the storm, made the noise more bearable, the wind less powerful.

“I know now,” you said, lifting your head to look at him. “You can come find me if you get any news, good or bad.”

Breathing unsteadily, he nodded.

You watched each other, neither one daring to move. He held you and marvelled at how he’d survived so long without the feeling of your arms around him—tentative as if you were afraid he’d disappear if you held on too tightly. As if you’d wake up and leave this—all of this—in a near-forgotten dream.

He was the one who held you tighter in turn; to show you that he was here with you. And to show himself, too.

He understood that he had to let go of you soon—to return his hands to the frigid railing of the bridge or slide them back into his pockets—but he chose to play dumb. He chose to pretend he couldn’t read the situation, so he could keep his arms around you for just a minute longer.

His grandma used to say that a hug made everything better, and for a long time, she was one of two people in his life whose hugs truly made his heart and his mind slow down.

He hadn’t been able to hug her in a while. But he was hugging the second person right now.

“Thank you,” he said, reluctantly unwrapping his arms from around you. “Promise you’ll do the same? About your brother?”

You gave him a sad smile as you took a small step back. The chill of the night felt even more intense.

“I promise I’ll try,” you said.

He smiled back, understanding that this was already a lot coming from you.

You glanced at the water once more before returning your gaze to his face as you nervously stretched your fingers.

This conversation, along with memories of his family and how much they loved each other, reminded you of many things about your relationship that you had tried to forget.

There was something else, too. Something you couldn’t forget and couldn’t escape.

“Can I ask you something?” you said.

“Of course,” he replied, his body still facing yours even though you had gone back to leaning into the bridge railing.

“It’s something I’ve always wondered—actually, I tried to ask you before, but, uh, you never really told me,” you spoke, stalling, as you were too nervous to just spit it out.

“Okay,” he said patiently.

“Why are you friends with Sid and his crew?”

If Jungkook was surprised by the question, he didn’t show it as he inhaled and looked somewhere behind you. Somewhere far, far into the distance.

“You know why,” he said. “We have fun.”

“I understand that part,” you said. “They distract you from the stress. I get it. But… is that really it?”

Now he began to fidget. Sliding his hands into his pockets, he turned to face the water, then got one hand out to scratch his neck, just below his chin.

“That’s very—uh, what brought this on?” he asked, the question functioning more like a defence mechanism than a manifestation of his curiosity. “Why are you asking me that suddenly?”

“Well, because I doubt Sid has even a spoonful of emotional attachment to any of his family members,” you said. “All three of them grew up so rich that their silver spoons were golden. And you’re so different.”

Jungkook swallowed. Coming from anyone else, this question would have probably offended him, even though he understood that you merely meant his relationship with his family.

He’d been friends with Sid, Jude, and Minjun for a long time, but he sometimes wondered if they kept him around out of pity. And so, he wanted to make it clear that he was more than just Sid’s little sidekick. His errand boy.

He may not have had as much money as his friends—not yet, anyway—but now, finally, he had something that none of them did: popularity and acclaim. It pushed him forward until he could walk alongside his friends. Until, he thought, he could truly call them friends and not feel inappropriate.

They were equals now.

And still, deep down, he knew you were right. He was fundamentally different from the three of them. And you were the only person he felt comfortable admitting that to.

“Yeah, uh, I know I am,” he said, rocking on the balls of his feet. “Our differences are what initially drew me to them, I think. I was always restrained by my family and, I guess, our relative lack of money. Compared to them, I mean. Meanwhile, they could just do whatever they wanted without a single worry. Sure, they all have jobs, but it’s different for them. They know they’ll be fine even if they drink those jobs away. All of that seemed exciting and, I don’t know, invigorating to me. It still seems that way. When I say I want what they have, I don’t mean their money. I mean their freedom.”

When he paused, you nodded quietly. You could see he hadn’t finished yet.

“I feel like...” he said, his eyes cast low. “Like I don’t have to worry about the consequences of my actions, either, when I’m with them. I know I do, but it feels good to pretend for a while that I don’t.” He swallowed before continuing, “but, uh… I realise that I have certain responsibilities. I have the band. I have you. Unlike them, I can never truly be free. At the end of the night, I always go home. And my grandma is there to remind me who I really am and where I come from.”

“That’s why I asked,” you said. “It’s impossible she would approve of your friendship with them.”

“She doesn’t know about them.”

You weren’t expecting this, and you couldn’t hide your reaction as your lips parted and eyebrows rose in obvious surprise. “She—she doesn’t?”

“No,” he admitted. “I never told her. Minjun is the only one who’s been to my house, but she thought he was a classmate. Or friends with my cousins. I want her to believe that I’m friends with nice boys like me.”

An ironic smile appeared on his face as he said that last part and you couldn’t help but snicker. You wouldn’t have used this particular adjective to describe Sid or Jungkook, but you knew that, unlike Sid, Jungkook did have a different side to him. A side that he rarely showed anyone, but you remembered it in his good morning texts and goodnight kisses.

“Shouldn’t that be a sign to you that these people aren’t good for you?” you asked. “You’ve never lied to your grandma.”

Something inside him prepared to argue, but he held the urge until it dissolved in his grip. He knew you were right.

Sighing, he said, “probably,” and left it at that.

The truth was, he became friends with Sid, Jude, and Minjun, because he wanted to be like them. He wanted what they had.

But, over time, their friendship became something else. A distraction. A way to maintain his sanity. And he didn’t know how to tell you about that.

He didn’t know how to tell you that he had a fear that had ingrained itself into his mind. A fear that he’d never tried to describe before, worried that speaking it aloud would bring it to life. It would materialise around him and swallow him whole.

It was loneliness, he supposed. Or maybe just himself.

Growing up with a family so big and friends so plenty, he never learned how to be alone. He never learned what to do when it was just him and his thoughts in an empty room for an extended period of time. He didn’t know how to distract himself from all that plagued his mind.

He was afraid of silence, afraid of the way it made his mind scream at him. He was afraid of those screams—they came from a dark place deep within his subconscious.

The screams were his doubts and insecurities. His flaws and weaknesses. His anxiety and fears.

And his friends—all three of them—made sure he was never alone. They made sure there were always enough voices in the room to keep him away from his thoughts. To keep him busy, to keep his mind satisfied.

And on this night, as you watched Jungkook drift away from you while you stood on the bridge, you could sense that there was a lot he’d still left unsaid.

“Be honest, though,” you said to the faded look in his eyes. He blinked when you started to speak and returned to the moment. “Does Sid really never get on your nerves?”

His smile was sad. “He does almost every day.”

“So why do you put up with it?” you asked. “Is this distraction really worth it? This feeling of freedom.”

Jungkook sighed. Sid wasn’t worth it. The rational part of him knew that much. Sometimes, Sid was louder than his own thoughts, and that was hardly better. But without Sid…

A silent minute later, you answered for him, “it’s the rest of them, isn’t it? You think if you cut Sid off, Jude and Minjun will leave with him.”

“I know they will leave with him.”

Uncertain how he’d take this, you asked awkwardly, “would that… really be such a bad thing?”

“I’ve known them since I was a kid,” Jungkook said as a way of answering.

“Well,” you clicked your tongue. “That sounds a little like an unhealthy attachment.”

He lowered his head. He knew that he wasn’t the best judge of what was healthy and what wasn’t, but even he could tell that his friendship with Sid had taken a turn for the worse. And still, he’s known Sid and the rest of his friends for years.

“There were good moments, though,” he said, his tone hopeful. “Sid wasn’t always this... obnoxious.”

You assumed as much; otherwise, Jungkook wouldn’t have kept him around for so long. Still, you asked, “what moments?”

“Well… the birthday parties, for example,” he began. “I saw fireworks, stood behind the wheel of a yacht, and drank decades-old whiskey way before I was legally allowed to do these things. And I didn’t have to pay for anything. Oh, and, okay—I also saw Sid dance to Britney Spears, which is, of course, priceless.”

There was unexpected amusement on your face. “Okay. That’s fair. I wish I’d seen that.”

“You really don’t,” he said. “I still have nightmares about it. He brought out a guitar later. Attempted to remix ‘Toxic’.”

Sucking your lips in to keep yourself from laughing, you nodded. “Hmm. Fitting song.”

“Yeah,” Jungkook restricted himself less as he laughed at your comment. “He can’t play for shit, though.”

Finally, you laughed, too.

Grinning, he continued, “the racing, too. I-I know this isn’t something you want to know about, but it’s—I guess, it’s a special memory for me.”

“It’s okay,” you said, a little surprised by the ease in your own voice. Racing used to be a taboo topic in your relationship. For you, that meant ‘don’t do it’, but for Jungkook, it meant, ‘do it in a way that she doesn’t find out’. Now, you said, “you can go on.”

He went on, “we raced in pairs. Jude was usually with Sid, I was with Minjun. We couldn’t do it individually, because I didn’t have a car of my own, and it wouldn’t have been fair. So, Sid bought me a car. You know the one.”

You knew and the knowledge made you lower your eyes. Even four years later, this car was difficult to forget.

But as you listened to him romanticise his friendship with Sid, you weren’t sure if Jungkook was even aware of how much the car and these races influenced your eventual break-up. How these happy moments that he shared with Sid led to unhappy moments with you.

“Then there was the time we were drunk and, somehow, ended up on the beach,” he continued, and you looked up from the water as you listened. “It got really sentimental in a way that it almost never does with us. I think Sid started it, actually, when he said that he wanted to become a musician.”

Your eyes widened, the image of Sid with a musical instrument successfully distracting you from your thoughts.

“No,” you said. “Was he serious?”

“Yeah. Dead serious.”

“Free Britney.”

He snorted. “Not for Britney. Punk rock. He had a bass and everything. He owned all the Sex Pistols records. You can see where I’m going.”

You paused, thinking. Slowly, your eyes narrowed.

“Not Sid Vicious,” you said.

Jungkook nodded and the sound of your exaggerated groaning made him laugh.

“He used to scream—I mean, literally screech at the top of his lungs—if his parents called him Isidore,” he said. “He started to go by Sid as a tribute and, I don’t know, a manifestation, I guess.”

You shook your head. The only resemblance Sid held to the notorious Sex Pistols’ bassist—aside from the drugs—was that he, too, seemed to give everyone headaches wherever he went.

“It was that night on the beach that I said I wanted that, too. Music, I mean,” Jungkook continued. “And we joked, for a minute, that we should start a band together, the four of us. Jude was going to be the lead singer, by the way.”

You scrunched your nose; another absurd image. “And you?”

“The drummer, of course. Rocking a cigarette between my teeth as I dropped killer beats.”

You laughed again. This was the one thing from their fantasies that you could see: the four of them choosing all the wrong positions in the band, but thinking they made it work because they looked cool on stage.

“So, what happened then?” you asked. “After you were the only one who became a musician.”

“Nothing,” Jungkook said. You scratched your forehead to hide the frown that your laughter had morphed into. Defending his friends came naturally to him and this habit was so useless. “I don't know. Sid never mentioned it again. I don’t think he cares.”

You looked down. You thought Sid cared.

Jungkook must have believed that they were equals now. But you knew they weren’t, and they never could be as long as Sid was involved.

The less of a lackey and more of an individual Jungkook became, the more Sid’s jealousy had to grow. Especially now that Jungkook was doing something that Sid had, apparently, always wanted to do.

“These good moments,” you started slowly, “that’s so long ago. When was the last time you had a good moment with him? When you had drinks in Prague?”

Jungkook almost winced at the unexpected memory of what happened at the hotel bar in Prague. Scrambling for a response, he gripped the railing of the bridge. “No, um, that was—that was one of the bad moments.”

“Really?” you were surprised. “You didn’t tell me that.”

“If I did, you would have thrown me in the water.”

You glanced at the strait reflexively. “It’s that bad?”

“It’s...” he sucked in a breath. “Not good.”

“Huh.” You ran your fingers over the railing, confused. With all that had happened—Sid’s lie about Jungkook’s ex, the Paris trip, the unfortunate encounter at the bar in Berlin—it was hard for you to guess what could have constituted a bad moment between him and Sid. “But Sid’s still kicking it. Wreaking havoc on Stockholm.”

Jungkook only hummed in response.

This time, your question was intentionally provocative, “so what does he have to do to cross the line?”

He brought the sole of his sneakers over the ground, rubbing at the pavement to win another moment.

“He’s done everything, I think,” he said finally. “The more time I spend with him here in Europe, the more I realise that things will be different when we go home.”

“Oh.” You blinked. Discomfort and distaste and even a sprinkle of pure dread gathered in the pit of your stomach. “So, he—he’s staying here until we go home?”

He lifted his eyes and noticed the way the light in your gaze seemed to dim. He wanted to assure you, but he also knew that there was something else he wanted, too.

He wanted to defeat Sid. He wanted to make him regret his actions for once. He wanted him to deal with something that he’d never had to deal with before: consequences.

So, all that Jungkook could say to you, was a lame, “I-I don't know.”

The disappointment remained prominent on your face as you said, “well, as long as I don’t see him, I guess, you can… think about what you want to do with him. I just think you deserve better friends.”

He cleared his throat and tried to shift the topic, “I thought Minjun wasn’t that bad.”

You glanced at him and saw the desperation in his attempt at a smile—it was there, but it did not quite reach his eyes.

“He’s tolerable,” you replied kindly.

He snickered. “Okay.”

“Keep him,” you said. “Lose Sid.”

“Hmm. And Jude?”

“Let Jude decide.” You shrugged. It seemed really simple. “It’s not a divorce, you don’t need to divide children. He can choose his real friends himself.”

Sadness returned to his voice as he looked down. “He’ll choose Sid.”

Your voice remained firm. “Then let him.”

Jungkook sighed. There wasn’t much else he could say to you. He heard it in your voice—all the determination that he lacked, you made up for it.

You noted that this wasn’t simple for him, at all. He’d known Sid, Jude, and Minjun since he was a teenager. It was easy for a friendship to feel permanent when it was decades-long. When you got so used to it, you didn’t think to imagine what it’d be like without it.

“Look…” you said, leaning your back against the railing. “If I were more like Sid, I’d be forceful. Maybe I’d even offer something as leverage. Something bad that I would do to you if you didn’t stop being friends with them. But I’m not Sid.”

Flashing back to the bet again, Jungkook groaned. “And thank God for that.”

“Yeah. So, I’m just… all I can do is tell you that you deserve better,” you said. “You deserve to be happy, you know? I don’t always talk shit about your friends because I personally think they’re shit.” You paused when he gave you a look. “Fine. It’s not just because I think they’re shit. I’m—I’m also looking out for you.”

“I appreciate that. You’re…” he stopped, feeling a flicker of fear for your reaction. He decided to push through more quietly, “you’re one of the few people in my life who does that for me.”

“Surround yourself with these people,” you said, too lost in the moment to notice his apprehension. “The ones who really care about you. It doesn’t matter how many of them there are. If they’re the only ones left in your life, I promise it’ll feel enough.”

He shook his head. “It’s not the quantity that matters for me, anyway. It’s… a lot of other things.”

“Think if those things are really worth it,” you persisted, “and if it wouldn’t be more reasonable to just walk away.”

He remembered—so suddenly, it almost knocked him off his feet and his grip on the railing tightened—how you’d done it. How you walked away from him for what was supposed to be the final time.

If it weren’t for a stroke of luck—or destiny, he supposed—he might have never seen you again. He might have never stood on this bridge in Stockholm with you. And if he’d gone after you that time, if he’d stopped you, then maybe he wouldn’t have had to wait for four years to get to this bridge.

Everything required a decision, and he was desperate to know if you ever regretted yours.

“Even if walking away could hurt them?” he asked you.

You looked at him and misjudged the sadness in his eyes for the pain of losing long-time friends.

“You’re hurting me,” you countered, “when you let them treat you like that. When you let them put you in danger.”

He could suddenly hear the silence around you both. With his eyes locked on you, he stammered, “w-why does that hurt you?”

This time, it was you who didn’t have a proper answer to his question. “Because.”

Inhaling until his lungs overflowed, Jungkook lifted his chin and closed his eyes.

A heavy minute later, he asked, “do you know what is the one thing that I’m glad my grandma forgot?”

The sudden change in conversation caught you off guard. “Uh—what?”

“You.”

You continued to watch him, and there seemed to be something burning in this word—a fire strong enough to shield you from the cold wind of the Swedish night and light your skin up with a warmth that felt innate and familiar.

“Why, um,”—you swallowed, interrupting yourself—“why are you glad?”

“Because she’d managed to do the one thing I couldn’t,” he replied.

The fire in your chest spread and you could barely inhale before it consumed everything inside of you.

You looked down at the water below. “Jungkook—”

There it was – his name like a curse on your lips. He didn’t think he was going to last this long in the first place, but this still felt like a forceful slam of a door in his face.

“I know,” he said quickly. “It’s too much, sorry. It’s just... being here with you makes me feel like myself again. Like I’m not just Rated Riot’s vocalist. Not just Sid’s friend. I’m also more than that. It probably makes no sense to you—”

“No,” you interrupted, shivering as the warmth inside of you faded into anxiety. Into fear. “I—I understand what you mean. But I think it’s because we’ve spent so much time together these past few days. It’s easy to get lost in the memories.”

Your guard went back up so quickly that Jungkook scoffed under his breath. He thought he’d broken down some of your defences tonight. Really, he’d merely bent them, if even that.

He still couldn’t tell you anything more out of fear that you would get lost in Stockholm just to run away from him.

“Well, why do you think we’ve been spending so much time together?” he asked, a certain edge to his voice.

You looked at him. “That’s what I’ve been asking you since we came to Prague.”

“It’s because I’m—because—” he started to say and then, in search of the right words, ended up dropping his own walls so he could admit, simply, “I just miss you.”

Still, you looked away and insisted, almost childishly, “you can’t miss me. My job is being with you and the band 24/7.”

He wasn’t sure if you were saying that because it was just easier like this, or because you genuinely felt this way.

Regardless, he shook his head.

“I miss you outside of your job,” he said, gaining confidence now that you weren’t looking at each other. He continued to speak to the water, “I miss hanging out with you. I miss how we used to spend hours scrolling through Netflix, trying to decide what to watch only to get so distracted by our conversation that we’d end up talking the whole night while the movie posters played in the background. I miss the way you’d sing backup vocals for me when I was putting on a show in the shower. I miss the apple scent of your shampoo and how the bottle was the perfect microphone. And the way you screamed that one time, when I nearly blinded you by accidentally squirting shampoo directly into your eye.”

You snickered—quietly, involuntarily, almost painfully—and the sound brought him back down from his memories as he turned to face you again.

“I miss everything,” he finished. “All those little moments.”

Your glance at him was furtive, momentary.

“Why now?” you asked.

This time, it was Jungkook who laughed—incredulously, cynically. “Why always? I don’t think I’ve ever truly stopped missing you.”

As you became more aware of how close he was—physically, of course, because mentally, he might as well have already been inside your head—goosebumps began to rise on your skin. Not just from the cold night, but also because he was right there—right fucking there—and you weren’t touching him.

Clearing your throat, you tried again, “well, why did you tell me now, then?”

Deep inside, he was anticipating the question—it made sense, he could see why you’d want to know—but he still winced when he heard it.

Despite everything that had happened tonight—each moment brutally honest and coming from the deepest parts of his heart; the parts that he’d kept hidden for four years—there was a reason why he was telling you this now.

It’s because he was a fraud.

He’d made a fucking bet.

Inhaling sharply, he lifted his gaze to the cloudy sky above. He shrugged, hating himself with every word that was supposed to be an explanation, “better late than never or something like that, I guess.”

You observed him for a second before you looked away, too. You didn’t say anything, and he was desperate to make things right—at least, as right as he possibly could, without making them worse.

“I’m sorry if everything I said made you uncomfortable,” he tried. “I just wanted to—”

You shook your head, encouraged by the darkness and the emptiness of the street around you—like there was no one else here in Stockholm tonight, just the wind, the bridge, the two of you, and the water below.

“No,” you cut him off. “I’ve missed you, too."

His heart rate sped up so quickly that he thought it might give him whiplash. This night, in its entirety, was a rollercoaster ride.

He looked at you, shocking you with how intense his own shock was. “You have?”

Realising that he’d gone out of his way to do these things—spending time with you, helping you backstage, taking you to Paris—while you continued to find it all suspicious as if there was some deeper, more malicious reason for his actions, you began to feel guilty.

Wanting to redeem yourself, you nodded firmly.

“Yeah,” you said. “I have.”

Jungkook was nearly suffocating, his lungs full of something that he could not inhale.

The rollercoaster had reached its peak—his heart was leaping out of his chest—and suddenly, it plummeted at a rapid, nauseating speed. He felt like he was free-falling, his stomach slamming and hitting everything on its way down, as he realised, in horror, what he was doing.

He was taking advantage of the fact that you didn’t know about the bet. He was taking advantage of you.

You were being honest with him—which was rare for you in general, but even rarer nowadays—and he wasn’t doing the same for you. Not entirely.

There was a real reason why he told you about this now, not months—even years—earlier.

The memory of Sid suggesting the bet that very first night in Prague was sharp and brittle. It added to the weight of the confessions he’d made tonight and each of his words ricocheted off his ribcage and pierced his heart as a reminder that everything he’d told you tonight was a half-truth.

He meant what he said about missing you. He meant every single word, every little barely pronounced syllable that kept getting caught on the spikes in his heart, stabbed there each time he remembered that you were no longer together.

Four years he’d felt this way. And deep down, at the end of every day, he knew that he wanted you. Bet or no bet.

And he saw now—he could feel now—that he may have had a chance. A second chance.

But you were looking at him, the colour of your eyes reflected on every surface around him, and he couldn’t move.

He couldn’t take the chance. Not like this.

“It’s cold,” he said. “Should we go?”

The way the colour seemed to drain from your eyes was painful. He felt nauseous as he looked away.

“Uh, yeah,” you said. There was an emptiness in your voice—a great reflection of the sudden space that had opened up in his chest and in yours. “Let’s go.”

The disappointment came so abruptly, it caught you off-guard. You felt like this wasn’t everything that had to have happened tonight.

You felt like the night had been leading up to something. You weren’t sure what, and you weren’t sure how far you’d let it get, but here it was, instead; the disappointment.

The two of you walked the rest of the way to Strandvägen in silence.

One half of your pair felt confused and unexpectedly dispirited. The other half regretted being born.

There was something else, too; a feeling that the two of you shared. And it was the same thing—the thing that almost happened tonight—that you were both afraid of.

chapter title credits: sleep token, “is it really you?”

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#jungkook angst #jungkook x reader #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #jungkook fanfiction #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook fanfiction #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fic #bts x reader #bts angst #bts fluff #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts au #jungkook au #jungkook rockstar au #bts rockstar au

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ashtheketchum · 3 months

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A new family {Daryl Dixon X Reader} Part 1

A/N: In this chapter, the reader already has a child! I came up with this idea while rewatching the first season and I liked it :3 Have fun!

(D/N) = Daughter name

Warnings: fem.Reader, Reader already has a child, Merle is an asshole, mentions of abuse, insults (slut, bitch, etc.)

Picture is from Pinterest!

Masterlist!

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PoV (Y/N):

My daughter (D/N) and I were brought to camp by Glenn and Andrea while they were looking for something to eat. We were very lucky, our supplies were running out and we couldn't defend ourselves. Their leader, Shane, accepted us, but only after Lori and Dale talked him into it. (D/N) and I settled in well, we were given a tent, some food and tasks to do during the day.

I was supposed to take care of the laundry and the kids while (D/N) had to do study work and keep watch with Dale. Actually, they were just watching birds, but they still enjoyed it.

But there were also two people who didn't play well with us.

The Dixon brothers, Merle and Daryl. Merle was Daryl's big brother and they were more alone. It wouldn't actually bother me if Merle didn't constantly make comments and Daryl looked after him like his lap dog.

Once Merle whistled at me because I was wearing shorts.

When I tried to contradict him, Daryl immediately jumped between us and drove me away.

"Go awa´, ya damn bitch!" He screamed the whole time.

However, I didn't leave because Daryl scared me, but because (D/N) was coming towards us. After that day, I had avoided the Dixon brothers and I forbade (D/N) to be near them.

One day (D/N) made a necklace with a small stone hanging on it.

The stone looked almost like a heart and she had it attached to one of her shoelaces.

"She looks great, darling." I said proudly.

(D/N) grinned widely at me before looking around. Apparently she was looking for someone, but I couldn't figure out who she was looking for.

"Mom, where is Daryl?" Her question stole all color and emotion from me.

I looked around uncertainly before kneeling down next to her.

"Honey, we talked about it… you're not going to them, not even to Daryl."

I said, a little more sternly.

(D/N) just pouted before putting the necklace away and sitting next to a tree.

I felt bad about giving her so little choice, but there was no other option. At least she could still play with Carl and Sophia while I started doing the laundry.

PoV Daryl:

I sat by a tree and cleaned my arrows from my crossbow.

Merle had gone deeper into the woods to take a piss, so I waited for him, but at a safe distance.

"Daryl!" I suddenly heard someone scream.

I immediately looked in the direction from which I was being called.

It was that stupid bitch's daughter. She looked at me brightly as she ran toward me. You'd think she wouldn't understand the current situation, the way she sometimes ran around and laughed.

I stood up and sighed in annoyance.

"Wha´ do ya wan´?" I asked harshly.

(D/N), that was her name, stopped in front of me and held out a necklace. It was a shoelace with a strangely shaped stone attached to it. I briefly looked at the necklace in confusion, then at the little girl.

"Wha´?" I didn't understand what she wanted.

"I did that! For you!” she then said.

I knelt down so that I was eye level with her. Then I snatched the necklace from her hand and I looked at the necklace.

,, Wha´ is tha´? An a-…” I stopped when I realized she was only 8 years old.

I cleared my throat briefly before speaking up again.

"… A-an apple…?" I then corrected myself.

(D/N) laughed briefly before shaking her head and tracing the outline with her finger.

"That's a heart! Mom and I found it!” she explained.

"Ah…" I said before putting the necklace in my pocket.

"I won´t wear tha… it'll break while I'm huntin´…" I just lied.

Merle would just laugh at me if he saw the necklace and I wasn't in the mood for that.

But (D/N) nodded in understanding and opened her mouth again to say something, but a more aggressive voice made her stop.

"Daryl, what are ya doing? Leave tha´ kid alone!” Merle shouted.

I immediately turned around to Merle.

(D/N) looked scared and she hid slightly, behind me. Merle walked up to her and grabbed her arm roughly.

"He, little one… my brotha is too old for ya!" Merle said.

(D/N) whimpered loudly and tears gathered in her eyes. I stayed silent for a while before I spoke up.

"Merle, tha's enough… I was just ´bout to send her awa´." I said.

,, Oh yeh? Then why is tha´ stupid brat still here? Go to yar slutty motha.”

Merle then shouted loudly.

(D/N) cried loudly before he let go of her and she ran away.

Grinning, Merle stood up again before looking at me. I looked after the little girl before I could no longer see her.

"Wha´?" I suddenly heard Merle's voice.

"Nothin´…" is all I said before we retreated into the forest.

PoV (Y/N):

I chatted with Carol while we hung out the laundry together.

Her husband, Ed, stared at us the whole time. When Carol and I were alone, I told her what my husband had done to me and my daughter. Carol was in the same situation I was in, except I killed my husband. So I understood her.

“Mom!” I suddenly heard (D/N) scream loudly.

I immediately threw the clothes on the floor and ran to my daughter, who was crying and sobbing. I hugged her tightly and tried to calm her down.

"Honey, what happened!? Why are you crying!?" I asked her as I checked her for injuries. But I didn't find any, luckily.

"I-I…! D-daryl-! Merle…!” She stuttered around random words.

But I understood enough to let my anger rise. Even though I told her to stay away from the Dixon brothers, I didn't want to yell at her right now. Apparently the brothers had already done it.

"Everything is fine…! I will talk to them…” I promised her.

But (D/N) immediately shook her head and clutched my shirt tightly.

"M-merle called you a slut…! He’s just like daddy!” she cried loudly.

My eyes filled with anger and I carried (Y/N) to Lori, who was cutting Carl's hair.

She immediately looked at me confused while (D/N) was still breathing heavily.

"What happened?" Lori asked.

Carl also looked at (D/N) while I sat her down next to him.

"Dixon happened." I said simply before turning around and running towards the brothers.

They could hear something from me. Next Chaper!

#daryl #daryl fanfiction #daryl dixon #twd daryl #the walking dead daryl #daryl x reader #twd daryl dixon #daryl twd #daryl x female reader #the walking dead #twd

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em-writes-stuff-sometimes · 1 year

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gevivys (beauty) │ Chapter 5: Resolve

terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 │Chapter 9 │Chapter 10 (COMPLETE!)

Synopsis: Daemon returns to King's Landing after ten years in exile, intent on rekindling his affair with Rhaenyra. He wasn't expecting you - the revelation changes everything.

Hello, all! I know, it’s so soon! But this one is a cobbled-together piece of stuff you’ve already seen, just padded out a bit more. I figured I might as well push it on out now, so here ya go! Featuring Jason Lannister for the very first time, to finally bring all this shit together a bit more cohesively. As always, thank you to my boobear @ewanmitchellcrumbs for reading though this and reassuring me it isn’t total shite!

TRIGGERS: incest, purity culture, age gap, general Daemon grottiness, allusions to non-consensual sexual situations.

According to most, Daemon Targaryen is a man in possession of little capacity for feeling beyond what is required to partake in lechery and barbarism. He knows himself; his disparagers are not entirely wrong. Except for one important, essential truth—he would die for his family. He loves his family.

Love, as he understands it, is what he has always felt when looking upon his brother, upon Rhaenyra. No matter the strife that has torn him from his kin time and time again, he can freely acknowledge that such sentiments will remain everlasting.

A kicked hound is one most loyal, he thinks with no small degree of bitterness. Or perhaps the meanest hound is more loyal. Either way, I am the hound—and my master, the King.

Love is what has wrenched harsh and twisting in his heart whenever he laid eyes on you, a toddling girl-child eternally eager for the cossetting attentions of your uncle, your kepa—and he had always been kepa, never Viserys, no, your father had never received an honour beyond being called ‘papa’ like any common pauper—now a stranger in so many ways.

The garden and the morning repast had served to ignite the wellspring of all his wildest desires, delivering to him seemingly all he had ever wanted in a prospective bride; young and beautiful, obedient and good-tempered, Valyrian of colouring and of status. But you had seemed smaller than your younger self—trapped in a prison of your own making, hidden beneath layers and layers of chaste courtesy and painstaking banality. And then, accompanying you to the Dragonpit had given him a curious glimpse into the power you kept hidden, the ancient strength of your lineage slipping through the cracks in your genteel veneer.

Regal. Arcane. These are the words that had come to mind watching you interact with your mount, none other than the famed Cannibal himself; something of the majesty of the Conqueror lay within you, waiting for the necessary spark to kindle the flame. Your exchange with Athfiezar—your silent fearlessness, your devotion to your savage beast, your unassuming poise—reminds him that, for all your equally meek and mild-mannered nature, you are still Targaryen. You are still his sweetling.

It is this that elicits a consuming curiosity to know more.

You are an interesting puzzle, a strange contradiction, one whose buttermilk skin and pert teats and spit-shine lips should herald as a welcome to sample the delights hidden by the fabric of your darling little gowns. Yet, you act not as a silly young thing learning of her sway over men—teasing with fluttering lashes and bit lip and lilting tone as Rhaenyra had—but as a docile girl disinclined to press the limits of propriety as all maidens do. You ride the most savage dragon in the known world, and yet there is no such quality in you that echoes your mount’s disposition; instead, a loveliness that is near to cloying, pure and unadulterated and surely too good to be true. You are a fucking princess, and yet you are perfectly content to fade into the periphery, drawing little notice to yourself and seeking none from those around you, not even your own blood. A scholar, quick-witted and erudite, but somehow still so sweetly unknowing of the depravities that rule the minds of men who lay eyes on you.

You fascinate him. And his newfound realisation does not lessen his temptation to fuck you—to ply you with praise and charm and no small hint of avuncular affection (the reminder of your shared blood thrills him to the bone as always) so that, over time, you might be swayed to give your maidenhead to him—but, rather, that it results in a metamorphosis, a muddling, his longing mingling the base needs of the flesh with a rekindling of his fondness for you.

Which is why he cannot stand the presence of Jason Lannister.

“Why are you entertaining this farce?” Daemon asks, fists clenched at his sides. “A pompous fuck like him has no business anywhere near her.”

“Whatever is the problem, brother?” Viserys says distractedly, hunching over his miniature of Old Valyria and studying the replica of the Targaryen manse on the outskirts with intent. “Jason Lannister is Lord Paramount of the Westerlands. By any standard, I would think he is the best contender for her hand.”

That fucking model of his. Daemon resists the urge to smash the King’s stone city into rubble, though doing so might grant him the attentiveness he is sorely lacking from the man. “Are you not hearing me? He’s an arrogant cunt. He’d bore her in a sennight, let alone whatever hellish span of time an entire marriage would last.”

Viserys hums noncommittally. “She will make do”—he waves Daemon off—“as all noblewomen must when their fathers command them to marry. That is her lot in life. Besides, Lord Jason is one of the wealthiest men in the Realm, and I am told he is rather pleasing to a lady’s eye. She could do worse than he.”

His brother’s remark is a fair one—of the trio, Jason is the preferable choice. And what a fucking miserable choice it would be.

He rolls his eyes. This is going nowhere. “And Tyrell? Your idiot son? Are they the ‘worse’ you speak of?”

Between that foppish peacock, his spiteful little twit of a nephew and the prancing Lion, the latter just barely scrapes by as the best of the bunch.

“Enough, Daemon.” The King sighs, finally deigning to look up from his pile of rock. “These are the suitors she herself has chosen. I care not for the particulars; only that the girl should be wed before her eighteenth name day. Each of them possesses some quality I am sure she finds worthwhile…”

At that, he pauses, brow furrowing. He squints up at Daemon. “What is your interest in the matter, anyway? It has naught to do with you.”

Shit. Daemon makes an evasive comment—something about sullying the purity of their noble lineage—and departs as quickly as he can, eager to escape the risk of Viserys’s suspicion falling on him. It would not do for the man to suspect his intentions toward yet another of his daughters.

He does not intend to seek you and the Lord out, truly; but it nonetheless does not surprise him to realise that, upon freeing himself from the wrathful spiral of his own musings, his feet have taken him to the very same garden where he had first laid eyes upon you again after so many years, where you are now enduring the attentions of the insufferable Lannister patriarch. On this occasion, Cole is nowhere to be seen, and the entry is instead guarded by one of the Cargyll twins.

Daemon spies you on the path just inside, a careful distance placed between you and Jason. Though he cannot make out your expression from his vantage point, he observes well enough the flourishing bow the lord proffers in your direction, the polite curtsey you extend in return, his smug prancing step as he leaves your company. He sees the manner in which your shoulders droop, your head bowing as you turn to wander past the great tree and out of sight. My poor girl.

And then his view is blocked by a garish wash of red and gold.

“Prince Daemon,” Jason says with a haughty simper. With a curt nod, Daemon wordlessly returns the salutation. His lack of warmth is noticed; the Lannister lord hesitates for a moment before returning to his condescending civilities, forcing a relaxed stance. “I was most glad to hear of your return.”

He doubts that. There is little love lost between him and the lord. Jerking his chin toward the garden, he asks, “Leaving so soon, are we? I had thought the entire afternoon was devoted to this little outing.”

Jason chuckles awkwardly. “Well.” He scratches his beard. “The Princess has another engagement to attend to. Something about a tutor.”

Thank the gods for that Lysan fellow. They had never met, but Daemon is certain he’d like the man well enough.

“Doesn’t concern you?” he asks, scarcely bothering to conceal the scepticism from his tone. At the confusion on Lannister’s face, he clarifies. “That she’d rather spend time with her tutor than with you?”

“Why would it, my Prince?” is the answer, self-assured as ever. “He is old, and frail. Best for her to spend as much time with him as she can before she leaves for Lannisport.”

That genuinely irritates him, and not simply the notion of you being shipped off to the lurid monstrosity that is Casterly Rock. Even he knows that your meetings with your tutor are less obligations and more gatherings of friendship—your spirit would surely crumble if you were denied your dearest companion after being coerced to marry.

Daemon suppresses a sneer. “Your confidence is… admirable.” If misplaced, he wants to add.

“There is little competition to be found,” Jason says with a toss of the head. His tawny hair rustles in the gentle breeze, giving him the appearance of the sigil his House has claimed. Fucking ridiculous. Then, the man has the audacity to clap a palm against his arm. “Never fear—I shall take utmost care of her. She’ll want for nothing as my lady wife.”

He shrugs off the over-familiarity, stepping out of reach. “For a time, perhaps. And in a decade? Two? A Princess of the Realm has no business playing nursemaid to her husband in his dotage.”

He is older than I, he thinks. And if she is truly considering him above the others, then…

“I might be the eldest of her suitors, yes,” the man says, a tense smile disguising his offense poorly. “But I have a rather substantial inheritance, unlike the Prince Aegon; and my constitution is more… pleasing than the Lord Tyrell, I’m sure.” His mouth curves into a knowing smirk at that, leaving Daemon with no uncertainty as to what he really means. That little—“I would not dismiss Jason Lannister from the competition just yet. She will choose me; I suggest you accustom yourself to reality, Prince Daemon.”

He grunts dismissively, incensed. There is no reply he can give in this moment that won’t incite the Lannisters to break faith with House Targaryen; and so, he chooses to remove himself from the odious man’s presence entirely, stalking past with nary a word of farewell.

You sit where your younger half-sister had a scarce moon’s turn ago, eyes fixed toward your lap, turning an ornament about with your small fingers. As he nears, the lion salient glimmers in the sun, gold against gold in dazzling vulgarity. Of course, he’d gifted her something with his own fucking sigil on it. What a worthless bequest.

When he calls your name, you hardly react. Your gaze flickers up to him for a mere moment before falling once more, resuming your surveyance of the item in your grasp. There is a pensive expression lingering in your frown, the crease in your brow. It tells him all he needs to know of your true feelings for the Lannister lord, regardless of the man’s own delusions.

“Why—you look positively miserable, sweetling,” he says, settling himself beside you. You glance up at him again, sullen pout puffing out your lower lip. Though your disposition is so downtrodden, it is tempting to press his thumb to that lip, to push inside and feel the wet warmth of your tongue pulse against his flesh in a coquettish tease. “Not enjoying being courted? The gifts, the attention, the romance…”

You take the bait beautifully. Starting at his reference to the pendant in your hold, your nostrils flare exasperatedly. “No. No. I—I just—” You stop, shaking your head. “Never mind.”

“Go on,” he cajoles gently, lowly. “Tell Uncle Daemon.”

It is all the encouragement you need. “There is little romance to be found in this—this charade.” You sigh, eyes fixed on some minute detail past his head. He’s struck by the melancholy in your voice. “These men—Lord Jason, Lord Denys, Aegon—they do not want me. They want an idea of me; a Targaryen bride with pale hair and Valyrian blood. One who will give them children they shall make little effort to raise, a silent doll to clasp onto and show off at feasts and balls… as though possessing me is somehow meaningful. They do not—they do not see me.”

It’s here your voice cuts off strangely. He wishes it hadn’t, for he finds himself enthralled by the mournful monologue that paints a picture of the loneliest girl in King’s Landing. There is something yearning and haunted in that saccharine stare of hers, he thinks. A babe with her arms held out, wailing at the world as it leaves her abandoned in the crib. It’s an eerie echo of a conversation that took place a decade prior, though the lead role lacks the infantile petulance of the previous star.

He finds himself retracing those steps almost without realising.

“Idīnnon dēmalio syt verdilla mērī issa. Dīnakson toliot, gaoso gaomagon kostas.” He is testing, prodding, waiting for what might result from his efforts. Marriage is only a political arrangement. Once you are wed, you can do as you like.

The words make your cheeks flush fetchingly and your brow wrinkle once more, glancing back at him apprehensively. Pretty pink girl with a pretty pink blush; how far down does it spread? You swallow; pause; look away, wrestling with a thought. You peep back up at him.

“Se skorverdon jessivo aōt kesrȳsi jiōrtas?” you ask with surprising cynicism. You exhale loudly, staring at some fixed point in the distance. “Ābrazȳri buttā, riñar daor, mērpāves… Tolī jaelan.”

And how much joy did this bring you? you say. A wife you hated, no children, loneliness… I want more. The quiet longing in your voice is palpable.

He grimaces at the mention of his bronze bitch—he’d rather not know how widespread the knowledge of the circumstances around her… accident… had been in the wake of his departure.

“What is it you want, then?” he asks, switching back to the Common Tongue, the corner of his mouth already contorting in anticipation of the naïve response. True love, a happily ever after… We don’t get to have happy endings, he thinks to himself.

“I want someone who loves me,” you say, pressing on crossly at the huff of laughter that escapes him. “I never said I would love him!”

The pessimistic elucidation takes him aback. Again, it is not exactly what he had been expecting. Full of surprises today. He tips his head consideringly at you, inviting you to continue.

You hesitate for a moment.

“I… They say my father loved my mother. I believe it, but—” You swallow, the corners of your mouth turning down as you mull over your words. “They say he had a choice when baby Baelon was born. That he could cut her open to get the babe out, but that it would mean her certain death.”

Gods above. Where in the Seven hells had you learned that piece of information? Viserys had kept the circumstances of Aemma’s death under tight wraps, never even deigning to mention it to his own brother. It was pure happenstance that one of the maids he enjoyed fucking at the time had been present on the unfortunate day.

Your eyes glisten as you speak, limpid pools of lilac glowing like fire in the light. “I do not think I could ever choose my own life over my child’s—but they say he did not even ask her, that he just… held her down while they—How could I ever trust a man to raise the babe I bore him if he would be willing to butcher his own wife in her childbed?”

He watches as you clench your eyes tight, set your jaw and exhale a few shuddery breaths. When they blink open, they are no longer so tear-bright. Daemon suddenly admires you for it, for the way you so ruthlessly suppress weakness. He wonders how often you’ve been made to force back your own pain for the good of your family.

“What happened to your mother was a terrible tragedy, sweetling.” He reaches forward to finally grip your small, pale hand in his. It is cold and dwarfed entirely in his own. “But you cannot live in fear forever.”

You make to pull your hand away. He closes his grip tighter upon it, coercing you to look up at him properly.

“When hope is gone, what choice left is there but fear?” It is a whisper, carried on the breeze, and the thinly veiled misery pains him in the chest.

I thought that beating thing was black and dead by now, he thinks to himself.

You shake your head, smile. The picture of the melancholy maiden fades from view as you affect an appearance of energy once more, gentle and muted as it is. “I know my father loved my mother, and so love is no guarantee of loyalty; but it would be helpful, I think.”

“You see love and loyalty as intertwined, then?” he cannot help but to ask. He is intrigued by this rare showing of spirit, of vitality, a resurrection of his baby niece from long ago. It is you, finally; his little girl, only now you possess the curves of a gold-gilded whore and the thousand-year gaze of an ancient, arcane being.

“Do you not?” Your head is tilted like an inquisitive bird’s, artlessly assessing. “You cannot have one without the other. Loyalty without love makes for an easy traitor, and love without loyalty makes for an unhappy marriage.”

He laughs again at the latter part of your pronouncement. A sweet, trusting little filly waiting to be broken in.

“There are many ways to love someone, Princess.” He ogles you shamelessly, savouring the affectation of outraged bewilderment painting your countenance. “I imagine you’ll find few of them in the marriage bed.”

He waits for you to question him—to ask him what he means, to ask him to explain, to teach you, show you—but instead, you pull back, taking all the warmth from his palm with you.

“I dislike your implication, Uncle,” you say stiffly, returning your hand to your lap and nestling it between your thighs to retain the heat.

Fuck.

He backtracks raising his hands in a jesting show of defeat. “I meant nothing by it, gevivys.”

Beauty. It is an apt title. an underwhelming one, even. Surely there is little else more beautiful than the sight you make here, now, a rich blush spreading along the unblemished expanse of your chest—regrettably enclosed by pale damask just above the protrusion of your tits—the planes of your throat, not quite travelling up to decorate your cheeks.

You sigh. “You never do.”

Daemon lets the conversation lull, deciding to instead look upon the little revelation before him. You are an interesting puzzle, one whose decorum in the face of his gentle compulsion—that same persuasion he had so often utilised to get fetching girls to strip bare for him and show off their equally-as-fetching cunts—had instead left him lacking. The body of a slut and the mind of a scholar, all wrapped up in wide eyes and honey-sweet words and wild hair the shade of Old Valyria. Of home.

A wild thought seizes him. If he leans forward, he could do it. He could grip you by the back of the neck and pull you to him, press his lips to yours and coax you past your panic and fear and into a hot, sweeping rhythm, a push and pull of tongue and teeth that would set you both alight. And from there, how simple would it be to murmur pretty praise as he lowers you down, raises your skirts up, cleaves you open until your blood wets his cock with the proof of his claim, incontestable, not even by the King himself? The deed would be messy, perhaps distressing and no doubt painful, but it would solve several issues at once. He would be free to do as he likes with his lascivious desires after you are made to wed him, and you would be free from your pitiful suitors and given a husband worthy of you. In time, the hurt and shock and fright would fade, he knows it.

He could. He could. He—

The spell is broken. Your attention is diverted by the squeals of a dark-haired boy as he bowls his way to you, throwing himself across your lap with a cry of your name. Daemon tries not to glare at young Lucerys as he tries to roughhouse with you. Having somewhat learned the schedules of his family, it baffles him somewhat that the child is not at his daily lessons. Should Laenor not have him now?

The thought must conjure the man himself, the Velaryon scion appearing seemingly out of nowhere. Laenor’s expression is forbidding as he strides over to you and his son, silver locs swinging with the velocity of each step. With his glare affixed to his face, he reaches a hand down to you in silent command, staring daggers at Daemon all the while.

What the hells is his problem?

You take hold of your goodbrother, bewildered, and allow him to tug you gently from the bench beside Daemon. Lucerys slides from beside you with a rustle, easily revolving around to dart toward the grass. You are already grabbing at the boy’s hand to stop him running off.

Daemon watches Laenor attempt to rearrange his countenance into something less violent. “Would you take Luke off to the training yards, sister?”

A look of vague incomprehension cross your face at the question.

At least she senses the oddity, too, he acknowledges.

Laenor’s head turns down to where he sits, and it is then that it dawns on him that his nephew-by-marriage had very possibly been watching him stare at his baby niece’s tits for longer than he could claim plausible deniability of.

Ah, shit. The darting, mistrustful gaze suddenly makes sense.

“Of course, Laenor,” you say sweetly, biddably.

Daemon cannot help but wonder what else you might comply with if gently persuaded. He glances up at you from where he sits, smirking playfully as you turn to him.

“It seems we must part for now, sweetling,” he tells you. He ignores Laenor’s grimace from behind you.

“It does.” You shift lightly. It is clear to see that there is something about your shared conversation that has unnerved you. The notion sends a trail of perverse excitement through him. He wonders what other reactions he might prompt out of you with gentle teasing. “I—thank you, Uncle. For listening.”

The words are honest, free of artifice. It is surprisingly warming to hear. When you make to depart, he calls you back.

“What—no goodbye kiss for your beloved uncle this time?” he asks, hoping he’ll bait you into action. He determinedly disregards Laenor’s huff, eyes trained on you as you swallow with trepidation before quickly making the short few steps back to him.

Your knee settles on the seat beside him, clearly meant to be no more than a brief resting place so that you may carry out his implicit request and leave—if not for the way in which your skirts gather around your leg in a manner assured to result in your toppling over should you attempt to rise without fixing them. Daemon turns his head to yours as you free yourself from the tangle. Up close, closer than he would ever dare get usually, he can see each lash that frames your eyes, the hairs that sprout from your brows, the slick cherry bloom of your mouth—a whisper-sweet gather of plump, plush fruit he wants, needs, to take a bite from.

Would you let me, little girl? he wonders.

You gasp, a short little breath of surprise, and lurch away lightly at the closeness. A brave little thing, you return to him, pressing those precious petal-soft lips to the skin of his cheek. Your covered breasts press involuntarily against his arm.

Fucking hells.

“Sȳz bantis, kepus.” Good evening, Uncle, you say in that light little accent of yours, an unintended provocation of his basest yearnings.

With that, you bundle the boy up in your capable little hands and make for your destination, the Cargyll knight falling into formation behind you.

“Care to explain—well, all of that?” Laenor asks.

Oh—yes. Daemon pushes himself from his seat, deliberately stalling while he thinks of a response that isn’t what the fuck how the fuck when the fuck and why.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” he says idly, slyly, glancing over at him.

“No!” His goodnephew leans forward into his space. He is taken aback by the vehemence in his tone, uncharacteristic of the bumbling, affable man. “You don’t get to do this to her; not this one, not this time.”

“Whatever do you think I plan to do to her?” Daemon laughs, wondering at the answer himself.

Whatever would she let me do to her?

Laenor sighs, steps back. “Look.” He lightly nudges him to walk alongside him as they make for the garden’s entry. “She’s not one of your whores, Daemon. She’s just a girl. She’s not the type to play your twisted little games, so leave her be—please.”

He is warmed by the defence of your goodbrother, an admission of familiarity and care that is sure to have flourished since the man’s entrance into the family some years ago.

“What makes you think I have any intention of—how did you put it—playing games with her?” If he were a little less honest with himself, he would be affronted by the manner in which Laenor had jumped straight to an accusation. But Lord Flea Bottom’s reputation is inescapable, even after so many years. “Perhaps my objective is pure and wholesome.”

“Right.” Laenor snorts, shaking his head as he folds his hands behind his back. “You’re far more likely to fall in with her horde of suitors than to believably claim familial interest.”

True. And yet… why not? He’s conceived all manner of plots to satiate his wants, from drunken fumbles in the dark to his half-baked impulse from but a moment ago. Unlike his previous conquests, though, he doubts the need will dissipate after a single fuck. You are too important to him—his precious girl turned darkest desire, the only woman he could ever deign to carry on his line with.

Viserys has been pressuring him to seek out a bride. He mightn’t be happy with the prospect of his brother asking for his daughter’s hand, exactly, but there is surely no debate that he is the best contender. Not Jason. Not Denys. Not fucking Aegon. Daemon. And, well, if the asking should go poorly—how simple would it be to whisk you away to Dragonstone, to speak the vows and seal the deed before it can be undone? There is no risk this time, no Iron Throne to lose, no treaty or agreement that cannot be broken…

He can see it now. Your sweet little face peering up at him, marked with his blood, lip dripping red with the pledge of entangling your souls together in savage Valyrian custom. Your pretty little eyes wide with maidenly shock as he breaches your untried cunt, tight and pulsing and hotwetwarm, binding you to him irrevocably. The slow waddling of your gait as you round with child, his child, his sweetest babe bringing forth life of her own, belly ripe with seed and leaking his spend—

“Laenor,” he says slowly, eyes glinting as his lips upturn in a wide grin, “I do believe you have the best ideas.”

Read the story on AO3 here:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/42100623/chapters/120880855

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430 notes · View notes

matchagator · 8 months

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Clash | jjk (Mature) Ch.8

Surprise! Chapter 8 is finally here! After a really long month, I am finally working on this baby again. I hope you enjoy this chapter! There will be two more before the end of Clash. Don't worry, there is more smut to come. 😈

{Main Pairings:} Jeon Jungkook x Female Reader

{Rating:} 18+

{Genre:} Slice of Life | Neighbors

{Summary:} You're a new resident in your very first apartment excited to enjoy the simple life of adulthood. Unfortunately for you, you continue to run into unruly neighbors no matter how much you try to keep to yourself.

{Warnings:} Mature Language, Enemies to Lovers, Hostility, Mild Angst, Sexual Tension, Banter, Smut, Mild Degradation, Sexual Content, Prank Wars, Unprotected Sex, Awkward Tension, Fluff, Oral Sex, Teasing, Blood, Peril, Car Accident, Elements of Cheating (This list will be updated as each part gets released)

Your usual work week progresses as normal, going through the motions of your nine-to-five shift as you desperately try to keep yourself invested. Thankfully, your phone occasionally buzzes with the promise of a text message from your favorite asshole of a neighbor, your stomach flipping with excitement each time his nickname displays itself on your screen. You can’t help but fight the smile that stretches across your lips each time he responds or sends you a silly meme, even though he isn’t the best at keeping a steady text flow.

This week, Jungkook’s schedule contradicts yours as he takes on a week of night shifts, leaving you bored in your apartment on most evenings. You did manage to hang out at least once with Roxanne and Lisa, filling them in on the development of your prank war with Jungkook. Their reactions to your animosity-turned-romance cause you to roll your eyes, knowing deep down you equally couldn’t believe the change you’ve seen over the past few weeks.

Tonight, you find yourself curling on your couch with your favorite blanket, enjoying the cooler evenings of the approaching seasons as you select a relatively scary movie to watch. You figure since fall was rapidly approaching, you might as well start getting cozy.

You smile as you find the mug of hot apple cider resting on your coffee table, pulling yourself up from your lying position as you bring the warm ceramic to your lips. The hot beverage soothes the stress from your day at work as you melt back into the cushions of the couch, and your eyes latch onto the scenes displaying on your television screen.

As the movie progresses, you find the warm glow of sunlight starting to disappear from outside the sliding doors leading to your balcony. It was on nights like these you wish Jungkook would be off so you can spend more time together. You knew it was a selfish thought since he was off saving lives and doing something meaningful each night he was gone.

An hour of the movie passes, your eyes occasionally glancing down at your phone to see if Jungkook texted you while on a break. A long drawn-out sigh escapes your lips as you abandon hope of hearing from him tonight, settling further into the couch as the plot of the movie becomes increasingly more intense. Your attention is captured by the haunting sounds of the music picking up, biting the inside of your cheek nervously as you become completely enthralled by the story.

Next door, Jungkook is staring at his phone screen after changing out of his work uniform into a comfortable pair of shorts with a large hoodie draped over his torso. He’s debating whether he should message you or knock on your door to surprise you. After working so many back-to-back nights, the hospital decided to put him on call for the evening, allowing him the opportunity to simply enjoy his time to clean around the apartment, and to see you.

He fiddles with the piercing on his lip, using his teeth as he paces the span of his living room while debating the best way to inform you of his sudden availability. He decides to walk out toward his balcony, thinking that there is a possibility you aren’t even home. He opens the glass door, being welcomed by the cool air outside as his eyes immediately dart towards your neighboring balcony.

His lips tug into a smile at the sight of light shining from inside, the flickering luminescence from your television confirms your presence as he goes to turn back inside. He pauses as the sounds of your movie reverberate from the glass, recognizing it as a classic horror film that only gives him mischievous thoughts. Jungkook’s smile morphs into a cunning smirk as he tugs the hood of his hoodie over his head, the material casting shadows over his face as he smoothly crawls onto the railings, effortlessly creeping over onto your balcony. Despite the troubling height of the seventh floor, Jungkook seems unfazed as he jumps onto your balcony, carefully listening to the sound of the movie as he awaits the perfect timing.

Meanwhile, you find yourself hugging your pillow frightfully as you nervously chew on the inside of your cheek, asking yourself why you decided to watch such a movie on your own without at least a friend by your side to ease your nerves. Just as you anticipate a jump scare, you hear a series of taps against what sounds like glass. The music and sound effects of the film are almost silent at this point which makes the tapping sound even more profound.

You hear them again as the movie resumes free of a jump scare, causing you to reach for your remote to pause the film. Your apartment becomes silent, the only sound coming from your refrigerator in the kitchen. You wait a few moments, certain the sound is coming from your apartment and not from the film. Once a minute has passed without any indication of the sound, you turn your attention back to the movie, resuming the film as you scold yourself for being such a wimp and thinking something else was going on.

A few moments later, the tapping resumes, startling you from your seat as you quickly reach to pause the movie once again. Once the sounds of the film fade away, the tapping noise continues from outside your sliding glass windows. You hear the soft howling of the breeze, wondering if the tapping sound was from something simply blowing in the wind.

Given your now likely explanation for the mysterious noise, you bravely walk over to your glass door, reaching for the dial on the blinds to open them just enough to peek outside. You knew this was most likely your ridiculous paranoia, however, your curiosity got the best of you.

The blinds rotate under your manipulation, revealing the sight of a tall figure standing directly outside your door, a hood draped over their head as their head hung low, preventing you from seeing any identifiable features. Instinctually, you let out a screech of a scream, shutting the blinds quickly as you stumble back from the sight. Your mind is racing with possibilities, wondering who was standing outside and what they could possibly want with you. For some reason, your fear causes you to forget the logic of your balcony being seven stories high and the unlikelihood of someone climbing up.

You reach for your phone as you hear a childish chuckle, one that distinctly belongs to the man who just so happened to live next door. Your fear quickly shifts into rage as you stomp your way back toward the glass door, unlocking it and pulling it open to see the mysterious figure hunched over in laughter, Jungkook’s laughter.

“You fucking Asshole!” Your voice is quite harsh, not expecting to see him since he was supposed to be at work tonight. Your annoyance only intensifies as Jungkook continues to laugh joyfully, grabbing his stomach as he tries to maintain his footing.

“You should’ve seen your face, Y/n.” His voice is youthful, his bunny smile almost blinding you as he leans back up, his hood falling back to reveal his handsome chiseled jaw and familiar features. “That was priceless.” He chuckles happily as he points a finger at you mockingly.

The irritation on your face softens at the sight of him, knowing that while you hated his stupid trick, you were still happy to see him. You cross your arms over your chest, popping your hip out to the side as you offer him a stern glare. “I thought you were supposed to be at work? Not pranking me.” You complain, narrowing your eyes as he finally locks his stare with yours.

Despite your agitation, Jungkook is still smiling ear to ear as he steps closer to you, snaking his arms around your waist as he smoothly pulls you into his chest. “Come on, princess.” He coos as he brushes his fingers across the edges of your face to push back some loose strands of hair. “You’re just such an easy target.” Jungkook can’t hold back his laughter as he speaks, causing you to roll your eyes and push away from him.

You turn around to retreat back into your apartment, leaving the door open behind you to allow him access inside. “I got put on call and wanted to surprise you.” He offers apologetically, a smile still blatantly plastered across his mouth as he chases after you.

“Oh, you surprised me alright.” You groan in annoyance, hearing him fight more laughter as you turn to face him, his bright big bug eyes instantly causing the tension in your limbs to soften. You let out a long sigh as you giggle softly, knowing that while you hated being the object of his pranks, you would’ve done something similar if you had the opportunity. “This means war, JK.” You counter, putting your hands on your hips as you offer him a challenging glare. “I’ll get you back.”

He smiles, moving towards you once again as his large hands grip your waist, pulling you closer to him as he seizes your lips with his. You feel his lips mold against yours, the familiar warmth mixed with the cold metal of his piercing causes you to melt under his ministrations, leaving your body filled with a comforting warmth as he pulls back, licking his lips to get another hint of your taste. “Don’t be a…” Before he can get the word out, you roll your eyes once more before pulling him back to your lips to kiss him silently.

Jungkook simply groans in response, allowing his hands to trail down your hips to your upper thighs as he savors your affection. You both pull away, smiling happily at each other as he turns his head back toward the television. “Shall we finish your movie?” He offers with a raise of his eyebrow, causing you to laugh sarcastically at his request.

“You’re crazy if you think I’m watching the rest of that with you.” You state plainly, not really feeling like getting another heart attack because Jungkook finds joy in watching you suffer.

Jungkook blinks, watching as you walk back toward the couch, picking up the remote to click out of the movie back onto the home screen. “Don’t be a baby.” He teases, watching you purposefully ignore his remark as you turn toward him.

“The answer is no, JK. Try not to throw a tantrum over it.” You tease right back, letting your voice morph into that of a small child, watching his jaw tighten as he visually fights his urge to push you onto the couch and put you in your place. You smile triumphantly as you scroll through Disney+, clicking on the second Iron Man movie as you gesture toward the television. “Anyway, didn’t you say I needed to catch up?” You offer sincerely, watching his smile return as he moves to find a comfortable seat on your couch.

“I did say that.” He confirms, tapping the surface of the couch directly beside him as if inviting you to sit close to him. Being your stubborn self, you start the movie and find a seat on the opposite end of the couch, causing Jungkook’s jaw to harden. “Brat.” He groans, grabbing your ankle and tugging you effortlessly across the plush cushions as you slide closer to him.

You give up your tough act, adjusting yourself comfortably beside him as you grumble to yourself jokingly, “Ass.” You both offer each other a smile as the movie begins, melting into the presence of the other as you both get comfortable on the couch.

—

The soft tone of the lobby elevator resonates in your eardrums as you struggle to balance two large pumpkins under each arm. Your biceps flex against the smooth round surface as your bag hangs helplessly across your shoulder, tilting your head to the side in an attempt to keep the strap from sliding down your anatomy. You groan at the discomfort, adjusting your grip as the doors slide open to reveal the seventh-floor corridor.

The loud rattle of your keys echoes down the hallway as you fiddle with the metal to locate the correct piece for your door. You feel the strain of your muscles begin to ache as you approach your doormat, feeling your arms shake from the heavy gourds as you desperately maneuver the metal in your hand.

You hear a click from the corner of the hall, watching as the door to Jungkook’s apartment swings open, revealing the devilishly handsome neighbor that you helplessly fell for. Jungkook’s toned figure is draped in a plain black muscle top, wonderfully displaying the ink on his right arm as a pair of basketball shorts hang around his waist.

Usually, you would take the opportunity to admire his physique, but the burn of your muscles was screaming at you to ask for help in opening your apartment door. “Oh, thank God.” You breathe in relief, watching as Jungkook shuts his door, locking the mechanism before turning to face you.

“Well if it isn’t…” Before he can say anything else to you, you shift uncomfortably, your eyes locking onto his with a silent plea.

“JK, please grab one of these pumpkin for a second.” Your voice is shaking in desperation as you uncomfortably contort your leg up to keep the large sphere from falling and smashing into pieces on the hallway flooring.

To your surprise, Jungkook simply leans into the frame of his apartment threshold, crossing his arms over his chest with a sly smile stretching across his features. “I don't know…This is quite amusing.” He teases, lifting his eyebrows as his tongue runs against the span of his bottom lip.

You can’t help the morph of your stare as you send hypothetical daggers in his direction, your muscles threatening to give out. “JK, please.” You beg, wishing he didn’t choose this moment to be an ass.

Thankfully, Jungkook catches the severity of your plea, pushing off the wall as he reaches out to grab the pumpkin from underneath your right arm. You can’t help but sigh in relief from the much-needed break in weight as you try to readjust your grip to wrap both of your arms around the other pumpkin. Jungkook moves faster than you, effortlessly grabbing ahold of the second round structure, leaving your arms completely free except for your bag still hopelessly hanging onto your frame and your key ring laced between your fingertips.

Jungkook offers you a comforting smile as he balances the two objects without difficulty, waiting for you to open the door of your apartment. You offer him a grateful smile, your arms relaxing as you move to insert your key into the slot. “Thank you.”

“Why do you need pumpkins anyway?” He asks bluntly, adjusting his grip as his arms flex to hold the two gourds. “You know, they sell pumpkin in a can. It’s a lot more convenient.” He teases, watching as you push open your door you quickly enter and hold it open behind you. Jungkook follows you inside, moving toward your kitchen to place the large masses on your counter.

“You can’t carve a can.” You answer plainly, excited to have found such nice pumpkins to carve this year compared to the oddly shaped leftovers from the grocery store the previous year. “Don’t you carve pumpkins?”

Jungkook quickly lets out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head in amusement at the thought of spending his time carving a squash. “No, I don’t find joy in massacring gourds.” He teases, knowing that pumpkin carving was never a tradition he got into. While his artistic abilities would surely handle the task without complication, he could only imagine the smell that came from inside the large fruit.

You narrow your eyes at his dramatics, leaning into your counter as you offer him a challenging glance. “Ha ha.”

“Why do you need two pumpkins?” He questions as he turns to offer you a judgemental stare.

Your features soften as you instantly recall your childhood with your dad, spending time carving pumpkins every year once the grocery stores put them out for sale. “I used to carve them with my dad before he passed.” Your voice is soft as you speak, leaving you pondering what to say next. “Guess I buy two to keep the tradition alive.”

Jungkook’s judgemental gaze vanishes at your words, his eyes becoming wide as he suddenly regrets being so short about it. “Oh.” He pauses for a moment, unsure what to say next.

You take the opportunity to gently tap one of the pumpkins, offering him a gentle smile. “I have a spare pumpkin if you want to join me. I’ll even order takeout.” You attempt to entice him, watching him laugh as you bat your eyelashes.

“You’re cute but I really should get to the gym.” Jungkook flashes his teeth as he clicks the metal of his lip piercing with his enamel as he starts walking back towards your entryway. You narrow your eyes in his direction with curiosity, wondering what his hesitation was in joining you.

“What? Afraid I can carve a better pumpkin than you?” You challenge, giving him a cheeky grin as you shrug your shoulders. You turn your attention to the bag you slide off of your shoulder, placing it on the counter as you pluck out your cell phone to order some Chinese takeout.

You grin to yourself as you notice Jungkook pace in your direction, placing his hands against your waist as he guides you back against the cabinets behind you. You glance up from your phone, met with his determined eyes staring directly into your soul. He moves his hands off of your waist onto the counter, caging you in as he hovers his face just inches from yours. “Oh, you’re on, princess.”

Jungkook catches the glimmer in your eyes at your victory, realizing you played on his competitive side to get him to join you. He leans into his arms, closing the proximity between you as his lips hover just above yours. “But when my pumpkin turns out better than yours, you owe me.” He grins mischievously, lifting his hand to tap his index finger on your bottom lip, suggesting what he means when he says you owe him.

“Deal.” You accept, knowing you’ve been carving pumpkins for years. By the sound of it, Jungkook doesn’t seem to have a history in the activity, finally giving you an upper hand to win something over him.

Jungkook groans happily at your acceptance, leaning in to steal a kiss as his lips mold over your own. You can’t help but softly moan at the sensation, his touch instantly causing your body to react in need for him. He pulls away, leaving you leaning forward for more as he turns to face the pumpkins, examining his options. “I’ll take this one.” He beams, selecting the larger of the two as he turns to face you.

You let him have the satisfaction of picking his pumpkin since you knew you were about to wipe the floor with him. “You okay with beer and Chinese takeout?”

He offers you a side glare, tilting his head in disbelief as if you should know him better by now. “Are you kidding?” He rolls his eyes at you sarcastically before lifting the pumpkin to bring it out toward your balcony to avoid making a mess indoors. You smile as you glance back at your phone screen, quickly typing away to get the food ordered for your unexpected evening with Jungkook.

The soft glow of the fairy lights strung along the rails of your balcony cast the perfect lighting for you and Jungkook to work on your pumpkins as you await your dinner. Jungkook has set up both succulent canvases on the ground of your balcony as you pop open a few bottles of beer, carrying them outside to join him. You hold out your hand, offering him the alcoholic beverage as he happily takes it from your grip, tossing his head back for a sizeable gulp.

You can’t help but shake your head as you sit down in front of the smaller pumpkin, glancing at the gourd in the deliberation of what you might make for your design. You set your beer down beside you as you cross your legs, displaying a small orange box filled with various tools to carve the large fruit.

Jungkook sighs, reaching for one of the larger serrated knives as he observes the pumpkin. You focus on yourself, selecting your preferred tool as you begin stabbing it through the top of the object and carving out a circle.

After successfully completing your task, you glance up at Jungkook, watching his handsome features turn rigid as you pull the top off of your pumpkin. The cool breeze carries the fragrance of the squash in his direction, causing his face to blanch from the scent.

“Damn.” You hear him groan as he lifts his tattooed arm up to his face to cover his nose. “I forget how bad that shit smells.”

You blink in surprise, suddenly putting together his hesitation to participate. Jungkook didn’t like the smell of pumpkin. You can’t help but allow the mischievous grin to pull across your lips as you watch him turn his head away from the scene.

“Oh?” You ask curiously, holding the top of the pumpkin out in his direction as you dangle the strands of pumpkin in front of him. “You mean this?” You bite back a laugh as an audible gag escapes his lips, watching his body convulse at the aroma as he pulls his shirt over his nose.

“Y/N!” Jungkook groans, fighting back another heave as you continue chuckling through your smile. “It’s not funny. Get that shit away from me.”

You roll your eyes as you place the top of the pumpkin down beside you. “It’s hilarious actually.” You grin in triumph, finally knowing a way you can get Jungkook back from scaring you a few nights ago. Jungkook visibly relaxes, taking a soothing breath before glaring down at his pumpkin.

“I can help you gut it.” You try to hold back your laugh as you lean forward. “If you ask nicely.” You bat your eyes as Jungkook glares up at you, hearing the condescending tone and mockery in your voice.

“I don’t need your help.” He stubbornly admits as he stabs the top of his pumpkin, carving out a circle to gain access to the inside. You bite your lip as malicious thoughts course through your mind, reaching your hands into your pumpkin to grab handfuls of seeds and remnants as you hold them out toward him. “Are you sure?”

A roar of laughter breaks the barrier of your lips as Jungkook’s chest concaves in another heave as he fights off the urge to throw up once again. You laugh at his reaction, rolling onto your side as you place the mush into a trashbag you brought outside with you.

“That’s it.” Jungkook’s voice drops an octave as he shoots a deadly glare in your direction as if he is stalking his prey. “You asked for it.”

A loud screech escapes your lips as you push yourself up, quickly standing out of his vicinity as he leans forward to try and grab you. You see a smile crack against his stoney expression as he stands up, chasing after you as you run towards the glass doors to go inside in an attempt to hide from him.

As you push open the glass door, you make a dash for your bedroom, Jungkook quickly catching up to you and grabbing your waist from behind. You’re a giggling mess at this point, feeling so giddy as he effortlessly turns you around and lifts you up to wrap your legs around his torso.

You feel your chest swell with joy as the genuine bunny smile plastered on his features, wrapping your arms around his neck as he traps you into a sinful kiss, his mouth violating yours to gain every taste of your being. You moan against his mouth, moving your hands to grab ahold of his face without realizing you still have pumpkin all over your palms.

Jungkook bites your lip as a warning, pulling away before you can get your hands too close. “Touch me with that crap and I swear you won’t be able to walk for days.” His expression is deadpan as you blink off your surprise, freezing in his arms as you process his words.

You nod softly, watching him grin as he leans back in to steal another soul-sucking kiss. You moan at his taste as he begins to lead you both into your bedroom, making his way towards the bathroom with every intention of cleaning you up and indulging in your body until you’re begging for forgiveness.

—

The tight pull of the black body suit constricting your body has you adjusting the material around your curves as you eagerly examine your figure in the mirror. The Black Widow Halloween costume has every section of your figure accentuated as the fabric morphs into your limbs. You grin at your reflection, satisfied with the appealing fit as you adjust the small red belt buckle around your waist, eager to see the reaction of your friends to your choice of Halloween costume.

You toss your hair to the side as you reach for the accompanying gun straps to fasten around your thighs. You quickly secure them before turning your attention to the zipper located in the middle of the body suit. You hesitantly tug down, allowing the material to open at your collarbone, stopping just before your chest.

You nibble on the flesh on your bottom lip, boldly lowering the zipper just enough to provide a scandalous peek at your chest, knowing you were sure to blow Jungkook’s mind given his love of Marvel movies.

Once satisfied with your attire and makeup, you venture into your bedroom to locate the black knee-high boots you plan on wearing for the evening. You sit on the edge of your bed, quickly pulling the fabric of the boots over your legs as you zip up the side to secure them in place.

Soft thumping noises echo outside your bedroom window as you peek out the blinds to see the courtyard below decorated to the nines for the spooky season, a DJ spinning the hottest tracks for the apartment complex’s yearly Halloween bash.

A loud knock resonates through your apartment as you stand up and adjust to the heels, strutting through your hallway toward the door to pull it open. You’re met with the boisterous greeting of your friends, Lisa and Roxanne both dressed in sexy costumes for the evening, eager to get a drink or two into their systems to let loose.

“Y/N! Damn girl, what an outfit.” Roxanne hollers, excited to see her friend after weeks of being too busy to hang out. She lunges forward, wrapping her arms around you to pull you into a hug, clearly already buzzed from her pregame.

“Seriously, you look hot,” Lisa adds, quickly joining the hug as you grin proudly at your choice. If your girls thought you looked good, Jungkook would probably drool at the sight of you.

Your face illuminates in pride as you reach for your phone on the counter, along with your apartment key that was looped on a small wristband. “Thanks. You guys look amazing yourselves.” Roxanne is quick to spin in a circle, showing off her body proudly as she adjusts her costume from falling down her chest.

You can’t help but roll your eyes as Lisa grabs your arm, eager to drag you downstairs. “Well, let's go! I saw a bunch of hot single men down there.” Your eyes quickly lock with Roxanne’s, both of you sighing at Lisa’s desperation as you follow her lead into the hallway.

It doesn’t take you long to lock up, following your friends to the elevator as you glance down at your phone, wondering if Jungkook has made it home from work. To your surprise, you see a text message waiting for you on your screen.

Taking a shower. Be down soon.

“Where’s your boy toy?” Roxanne interrupts your thoughts as you walk into the elevator, glancing back down the hall toward Jungkook’s apartment door.

“He’ll be here soon.” You respond with a smile as you click your screen close, stuffing your device into one of the small pockets on the side of your bodysuit, thankful that you didn’t need to bring a purse down with you.

You end up tuning out most of the conversation Roxanne and Lisa seem to engage in on the elevator ride down, your imagination wondering what costume Jungkook could possibly decide to wear. As the elevator doors slide open, you notice Taehyung leaning against the wall of the lobby, seemingly awaiting Jungkook.

“Hi, stranger.” You grin happily at his presence, noticing that Taehyung is wearing one of his paramedic uniforms. “Seriously?” You arch an eyebrow at him condescendingly, crossing your arms over your chest. “That’s your costume?”

“Listen, Y/N. It was this or nothing.” He responds unapologetically before pulling you into a side hug.

Roxanne struts up from behind you, her eyes shamelessly checking Taehyung up and down as she offers him a flirtatious grin. “You can do CPR on me anytime, smoke show.”

Lisa giggles from behind you as she watches your eyes widen at Roxanne’s brazen comment. You feel your spit get caught in the back of your throat as you desperately try to clear your airway to change the topic of conversation. “Okay! Let’s get some drinks.” You offer, watching as Lisa happily follows after you while you pull Taehyung along.

The loud music echoing through the courtyard causes your body to suddenly fill with adrenaline as you guide your group toward the patio bar. Roxanne and Lisa are quick to drop money on a fruity margarita while Taehyung settles for getting himself and Jungkook a couple of beers. You opt for a wine cooler to start, shifting your attention around the courtyard as you observe some of the familiar faces you’ve seen around your complex.

There is a soft vibration against your leg as you reach down into the side of your bodysuit to retrieve your phone, noticing another text message from Jungkook.

Where are you?

You glance around to see if you can find him, however, he isn’t easy to spot through the crowd. You feel a little playful, deciding to mess with him once again in an attempt to get the upper hand on the prank war you both seem so insistent to continue. You spot a woman standing not too far from the bar with a sexy nurse costume who resembled you from behind.

A smirk tugs at your lips as your fingers type away at your screen.

By the bar. In a nurse costume. Can’t miss me.

As you hit the send button, a chuckle festers in your chest as you hide your phone back into the pocket. “Was that Jk?” Taehyung inquires, watching you put your phone away as he brings his beer up to his lips for a taste.

“Yeah, he’ll be here any minute.” You smirk mischievously as you take your own sip of your drink. Your eyes follow the imposter of a nurse around as a man in a hoodie begins to approach her from behind. You notice a familiar tattooed hand swinging towards the woman’s ass, your body instantly cringing as Jungkook smacks her backside unapologetically.

The woman suddenly turns around and smacks Jungkook from his abrasive touch, a few words of profanity jumping from her lips. You can’t hold back your laughter as Taehyung narrows his eyes at the scene unfolding, quickly catching onto your little stunt.

“I’m so sorry.” Jungkook apologizes, running his hand through his hair in distress until Taehyung comes to his rescue.

“JK!” Teahyung calls out, flashing you a glare in the process. “Over here!” You watch as Jungkook offers an apology once again before following Taehyung’s voice, his eyes finally settling on your figure once he figures out who is standing beside his best friend.

You bring your drink up to your lips, smiling against the edge as Jungkook’s eyes pierce into you. “I swear, Y/n.” He groans as he holds his hand out to greet Taehyung with their handshake. “I’m gonna end up getting arrested for all your pranks.” He raises his brows in a playful manner, his desire to get you back only fueled by your latest stunt.

Taehyung holds out the extra beer for Jungkook, wrapping his arm around his friend’s shoulders as he pats his back. “Keep an eye on that one.” He warns before turning his attention back onto Roxanne and Lisa to let the lovers deal with their quarrel.

“Oh, I plan on it.” Jungkook teases as your eyes scan Jungkook’s figure, noticing the same hoodie and outfit he wore the night he tried to scare you out on your balcony. Jungkook is equally taking the opportunity to rake in the sight of you, his teeth clicking against his piercing as he admires the tight bodysuit accentuating your figure. “Damn, Y/n. If you didn’t look so fucking hot, I’d throw you in the pool.”

“You like?” You smile brightly, taking a page out of Roxanne’s book as you slowly turn in a circle to allow Jungkook the opportunity to see every curve you have to offer.

He steps closer toward you, wrapping an arm around your back as he pulls your body flush against his. He practically growls at you as his hand drops from the small of your back to your ass, giving it a sizeable squeeze before offering you a cheeky grin. “Definitely.”

You lean up on your toes, pressing a quick kiss upon his lips before pulling away, reaching up to pull the hood off of his head. “Seriously? You didn’t even try to dress up?” Your lips pull into a pout, placing your hand against your hip as you offer him a disappointed glare.

Jungkook leans in closer to you, eliminating any proximity remaining between you as he goes to whisper in your ear. “Last I checked, this outfit scared you plenty.” He teases, pulling back as he passes his tongue over his bottom lip, his grin far too cocky and proud of himself.

You instantly feel the tension in your muscles as you recall his previous prank, your cheeks becoming a shade of crimson as you remember how scared you were to find him outside your balcony. “Ass.” You mumble, crossing your arms over your chest as Jungkook grabs your shoulder, guiding you to turn to the side ever so slightly.

He swiftly sends his hand against your backside, the sting radiating through the bodysuit as he chuckles softly. “Absolutely.” You roll your eyes at his actions, noticing that Roxanne, Lisa, and Taehyung moved toward the firepit, occupying the available seating as they engaged in conversation.

You motion toward them as you and Jungkook start making your way toward your entourage of friends, noticing there is only one chair left around the firepit. Jungkook doesn’t hesitate to claim the seat, leaving you stunned that he wasn’t more of a gentleman to offer it to you.

Just as you go to scoff, Jungkook’s eyes widen in excitement as he motions you over, patting his lap seductively with a charming smile on his face. You feel your cheeks heat with embarrassment at the thought of sitting on his lap in front of his best friend and your girls. It’s the thrill of him inviting you to do so without pause that has you accepting his offer.

Jungkook sets his beer down on the floor beside the wooden chair, letting you hesitantly take a seat on his lap. You gasp as his arm instantly wraps around your waist, guiding you so that your back is comfortably resting against his chest.

You fight the blush from your cheeks as you hear Lisa suddenly gasp in excitement. “Oh my God!” Your eyes instantly follow her field of sight, expecting to see something strange. Instead, you are met with a few large barrels with residents bobbing for apples. “I wanna try!” She screeches in excitement as you laugh at her dramatic reaction. “Hold my drink.”

Lisa passes her margarita to Roxanne as she happily skips away to the traditional fall activity. You half expect Jungkook to guide you off to take the now open seat, but instead, he simply holds you in place with one arm as he reaches for his drink with the other.

“You know, Y/N.” Roxanne’s voice resonates over the music as she offers you a proud smile. “I wasn’t expecting you to be so festive given everything.”

Taehyung and Jungkook look at each other in confusion before Taehyung turns his attention back to Roxanne. “What do you mean?”

Your heart sinks as you suddenly put together the pieces of what Roxanne is referring to. Before you can interrupt her, she further explains herself. “You know since last Halloween was a complete shit show with Han and all.”

You close your eyes at the mention of your ex's name, feeling completely overwhelmed by the sudden memory. “Who’s Han?” Jungkook is now the one inquiring about this conversation which causes you to twist your torso in order to distract him from the topic.

“No one.”

“Her Ex,” Roxanne answers him at the same time that you speak, causing you to shake your head in annoyance. You feel overwhelmed, thoughts and memories of the previous Halloween plaguing your mind as you tilt your head back to down the remainder of your wine cooler.

You sigh as you finish the small bottle, realizing that you are going to need something much stronger now that Roxanne has brought up Han in front of Jungkook. “That bitch broke up with her after we found him macking on some other chick.”

“Who wants another drink?” You ask nervously, feeling lightheaded from the sudden influx of attention that was being brought upon your previous love life. You shimmy off of Jungkook’s lap, despite his effort to keep his arm wrapped around you to comfort you. “Anyone?”

While you’re asking, you find yourself avoiding eye contact, knowing your relationship with Jungkook was still pretty casual. You never discussed what your relationship was, all you knew was that you were exclusive friends with benefits who seemed to have a thing for each other. You didn’t need him to know all about how Han cheated on you last year.

You nervously walk away, making out Roxanne’s voice as you dart back towards the bar. “Did I say too much?”

A long drawn-out sigh escapes your lips as you order yourself a Halloween-themed vodka mixed drink, hoping it will distract you from your swirling thoughts. Once the bartender gives you the drink, you glance back toward the group to find Jungkook’s concerned glare following you.

You hesitate before you turn away to walk around the courtyard, glancing at the different games and events they have set up for the evening. You stumble upon a table with various carved pumpkins displayed, noticing the two large pumpkins you selected earlier that week.

A small smile pulls at your cheeks as you remember your evening carving pumpkins with Jungkook. After your impromptu shower and managing to clean them out, you were both able to carve the gourds and submit them in the contest. Much to your surprise, you discovered Jungkook’s artistic side, his carving completely blowing yours out of the water.

You bring your glass to your lips, sucking down the sweet yet bitter liquid as a warmth invades your chest. You feel an arm snake around your waist as Jungkook walks up beside you, offering you a smile despite his saddened eyes. You brace yourself for the influx of incoming questions regarding your past relationship.

“I told you mine would be better.” Jungkook gloats, pointing towards the voting sheets, grinning proudly at the number of votes his pumpkin carving has received compared to yours. Jungkook can feel your body relax from his touch, the tension in your muscles disappearing as you giggle in annoyance.

“Yeah yeah yeah, whatever.” You complain playfully, sticking out your hip to bump into him gently. “It was rigged.”

Jungkook’s mouth drops open dramatically from the accusation, shaking his head in disapproval. “I won fair and square, princess.” He teases, turning to face you as his eyes lock onto your lips. “Which means, you owe me.”

You freeze at the recollection of your deal, knowing that your blind confidence brought you to accept his terms. Part of you wants to retaliate and give him a hard time making him lose his mind while the other burns with the desire to watch Jungkook begging for you. You bite the inside of your cheek as you glance up at him through your eyelashes. “Wanna get out of here?”

If there was anything you’d rather be doing right now, it’s watching Jungkook fall apart as you give him the best damn blowjob of his life. Jungkook groans deep in his throat as his length twitches in excitement. “Lead the way.” He beams as you seductively begin to lead him back inside toward the lobby.

Your eyes find Roxanne and Taehyung who both seem to be thoroughly enjoying each other’s company while Lisa is flirting away with a few guys she met while playing games. Surely no one would miss you and Jungkook for a few minutes.

You start to walk toward the elevators until Jungkook stops you in your tracks, guiding you toward the doors of the gym. “I can’t wait.” He huffs in impatience, crashing his lips against yours the moment you’ve both made it inside the gym. Thankfully, no one is occupying any of the machines as Jungkook recklessly guides you toward the saunas. You moan against his lips, happily following his lead as you both fall into a deep spell of lust.

{Tag List:} @erica2283 @i-never-post-but-i-am-here @koobunsblog @jkoma @jjkw-7 @gretesstuff @chimsworldsstuff @rms-expensive-girl @generouschildcolor @moonfaery @coralmusicblaze @roguesthetic @kissyfacekoo @tatamicc @oopscoop @namjoonscrabjuice @joonssidebitch @shaybtsforever @bangtans-momma @itslamia @aak22 @telepathytae @savinasavers @jjeonjjk7 @chaelvrx @heyitsmehaneul @libra04 @pjmsies @minayas1998 @jk97bam @jalexad @peterstarkchrishiddleston @yunki-yunki-yunki

#jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook smut #jeon jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook #bts smut #bts imagines #bts x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook imagine #bts fanfic

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whatacaitastrophe · 3 months

Text

Everything Has Changed - Chapter 8

Previous Chapter

Chapter Song Inspiration: "Bad Habits" - Ed Sheeran ft. Bring Me The Horizon

Chapter Warnings: alcohol consumption, blood drinking, EXTREMELY miled dub!con (both parties are drunk)

Spotify Playlist: Here

Author Notes: Thank you all so much for reading, reblogging, liking, and commenting on this fic (and the first one)! If you are interested in supporting me in other ways, I have a Ko-Fi link. ya girl has been behind on bills for two months and i've got a dog to feed, and every little bit helps <3

i also have a discord server! it was created to coincide with my twitch channel but you do NOT need to follow/subscribe/watch my twitch streams to come hang out with us <3 we talk a lot about bg3 and share memes and fics.

Chapter 8: My Bad Habits Lead to You

The streets of Daggerford were bustling in the late afternoon light, and Fallon could feel the sense of calm that came from being in a crowd rush over her as she walked with Gale. It was a small town to be sure, but after seeing no one other than Astarion, Gale, and the occasional passing traveler for nearly a month even the small crowd was a welcome sight. Fallon preferred to be in crowds of people for a number of reasons, and all of her reasons pretty much directly contradicted each other. Fallon preferred populated areas because nobody was sticking their noses in other peoples’ business. She could blend in with the crowd and be completely anonymous, if she wanted to be. People were often so engrossed in themselves that they didn’t notice what wasn’t directly invading their space.

On the other side of the coin, Fallon liked living in populated areas because it felt safer. One would think that based on the idea of blending in with the crowd and the anonymity large groups afforded a single person, it would be more dangerous because nobody was paying attention, but people paid attention when something was out of the ordinary. A woman screaming because somebody stole her coin purse, or a man collapsing in the middle of the street? Those were abnormal occurrences that forced people to get out of their own heads and pay attention. Case in point: Fallon was certain the Szarlnaxi vampires would never have ambushed them in Daggerford, even in the middle of the night.

There was a bookshop across the street from the inn, and Fallon nudged Gale and nodded her head in that direction. “Maybe they’ll have some books on sorcery, or some magic scrolls you can use to re-teach yourself some spells.” She suggested. Fallon knew Gale was eager to get to Waterdeep so he could pour through his personal tomes, and take advantage of the wealth of knowledge likely waiting for him there. Maybe there would be something here in Daggerford that could give him a head start.

At the sight of the bookshop, Gale’s face brightened. “Have I mentioned recently how grateful I am to have you as a friend? Specifically, as the type of friend who is willing to spend time with me in a bookshop?”

Fallon chuckled as they began walking towards the shop. “You’re not the only person who likes to read, Gale.”

“Indeed. I seem to recall books being the first thing you and I bonded over.” Gale smiled.

Fallon was not nearly as hungry for knowledge as Gale, and she preferred works of fiction, but that was one of the great things about Gale. He loved reading for the purposes of learning something from a non-fiction book, but that didn’t mean he never picked up a novel, and Fallon learned early on in their friendship that he had read many of her favorites (including the romance novels).

Fallon smiled back at him, and nodded. “I need something new anyway. Astarion has been hogging the books I brought with us for himself.”

“I thought I saw him reading your favorite last week— the one about the boy at magic school.” Gale recalled, and Fallon stopped walking. It took Gale a moment to realize she was no longer by his side, but once he did he doubled back so he was standing in front of her.

“Fallon? Are you alright?”

“You— you remembered I like that book?” Surprise shone in her eyes as she stared at her ex-boyfriend. It wasn’t that she thought Gale wasn’t listening back then when she shared information about herself. Fallon just assumed he’d forgotten by now after being apart for so long, or that Mystra had somehow managed to take away his memories of Fallon, too (something Fallon had previously assumed to be unlikely, but that was before the goddess revoked Gale’s access to magic out of spite).

“I remember everything about you, Fallon.”

Fallon instantly recognized the soft look in Gale’s warm, brown eyes for what it was: adoration. It was a look she’d seen hundreds, if not thousands, of times before. Even before they were romantically involved, Gale always looked at Fallon like he thought she hung the moon. Seeing that look on his face made her heart stutter in her chest, scaring her both because of how it made her feel, and how it likely meant Gale still felt.

Despite her fear, Fallon offered Gale a half-smile and stepped towards him. She reached out and took his hand in hers, squeezing it gently. “You’re a good friend, Gale.”

Gale smiled back at her. “Not half as good a friend as you’ve been to me, despite everything.”

The two of them stood in the middle of the street just staring at each other for a moment longer as Fallon’s mind reeled from the realization presented to her. This couldn’t be happening. She wouldn’t let it. She couldn’t. For so many reasons, she couldn’t. Gale and Fallon were snapped from their moment when a man pushing a cart knocked into Gale, pushing him towards Fallon as he passed by. “Stop standing in the middle of the bloody road!” The man shouted, and Fallon waved apologetically before looking back at Gale.

“We should get going.” She suggested, and Gale nodded, his face returned to its usual relaxed expression.

By the time Fallon and Gale returned to the inn, satchels full of books, scrolls, and potions, dusk had fallen, and Astarion was waiting for them in the tavern at the inn. “Gods, what took you so long? Did you buy the whole town?”

Astarion was dressed in clothes somewhat nicer than what he’d been traveling in thus far, and Fallon smiled as she took in how beautiful he was. Astarion truly was a work of art, and it was categorically unfair. “You look handsome.” She commented, standing on her toes to kiss his cheek. Perhaps appealing to his vanity would soften his annoyance that they were gone all afternoon.

“We’re in a real town for the first time in weeks, the two of you will be able to have a meal not cooked over a fire, and we’ll all be able to indulge in alcohol we didn’t drag with us from Baldur’s Gate, or find in an abandoned building. Why not show the people of this little town what taste looks like,” Astarion mused, resting his hands on Fallon’s hips. He looked at Gale. “Though I’m sure there’s not anything wrong with your cooking, of course. No offense.”

Gale smiled and shook his head. “None taken. I too am looking forward to eating a meal not cooked by yours truly this evening.”

Fallon looked at Gale. “I feel like we’re a little underdressed, now, don’t you?”

“Indeed. Though admittedly I didn’t bring anything much nicer than this, given the circumstances with which I’m here in the first place.” Gale’s cheeks turned the slightest shade of pink.

“It’s alright, no one will be looking at you anyway, since Fallon will be with us.” Astarion complimented Fallon and her heart skipped a beat in her chest as he leaned down to kiss her softly. Fallon knew Astarion loved her, and believed her to be beautiful, but that didn’t mean she would ever tire of hearing him say it.

“You make a fair point. It is difficult to outshine her.” Gale agreed, clearing his throat slightly. Fallon pulled back from her embrace with Astarion and saw Gale awkwardly staring at the ground, still flushed.

“Sweetheart, why don’t you go find us a table while Gale and I go upstairs to put away our purchases and change into something a little more presentable?” Fallon suggested to Astarion, and her lover nodded.

“I’ll be waiting.” He agreed and kissed her a second time, deeper than the first kiss they shared. By the time they broke apart, Gale had already disappeared to return to his room, and Fallon hated the guilt that settled in her stomach once again.

Astarion was many things, but he wasn’t stupid. Several weeks ago, Astarion warned Fallon that he did not believe Gale was as sorry for his actions as he claimed to be, or that Gale did not have ulterior motives for seeking Fallon’s forgiveness. After what happened with the Szarlnaxi vampires, and offering to let Astarion drink his blood, Astarion had begun to trust Gale a bit more, to believe that Gale truly only wanted forgiveness and to start over with Fallon as friends.

Then he saw the look on Gale’s face as the sorcerer agreed that Fallon’s beauty put himself and Astarion to shame. It was a look Astarion had seen on Gale’s face before: back when their roles were reversed and Gale was the one sharing Fallon’s bed while Astarion silently pined for the woman he thought would never be his. Whether Fallon was aware of it or not, Astarion couldn’t be sure, but now more than ever, Astarion was more than certain that Gale was very much still in love with her.

Astarion was going to get him to admit it, if only for the pure joy he would feel upon hearing he was right. Everything else that followed was secondary, and would be dealt with later. He wasn’t stupid, but he also wasn’t the type of person to plan things out terribly far in advance. For now, he just needed to make it through steps one and two:

One, he needed to get Gale drunk, and two, he needed to get Gale alone. Step two would be easy, as the only blood Astarion drank recently was from a boar they found between Dragonspear Castle and Daggerford the day before last.

It turned out that step one also ended up being easier than Astarion thought it would be. Between being so close to Waterdeep they could taste it, hot baths, hot meals, and the prospect of sleeping in real beds that evening, everyone was in good spirits. Fallon, especially, wanted to drink, and Astarion knew his lover well enough to know that when she was in the mood to celebrate, she wanted everyone else to be as drunk as she was.

By the time Astarion carried Fallon up to their room to put her in bed, Gale was right behind him, stumbling slightly to his own room for the evening. Astarion was tipsy, but alcohol never got him truly drunk anymore in the way that it did for Fallon and Gale. No, Astarion knew that as soon as he fed on Gale, that was when his own drunkenness would truly kick in: Drinking the blood of someone intoxicated had that effect on him.

Astarion pressed a kiss to Fallon’s forehead. “Wait up for me, darling, I’ll be back soon.” He requested, fully intent on spending the rest of his evening with Fallon wrapped in his arms and kissing her until they fell asleep after he was finished with Gale.

The door to Gale’s room was slightly ajar, and Astarion smirked. “Leaving your door open? That’s brave. Anyone could come in and have their way with you.” He teased.

Gale chuckled, his words starting to softly slur together. “If I didn’t know any better, Astarion, I’d say you were flirting with me.”

Yes, Gale was most definitely drunk enough that getting the information Astarion wanted would be easy. He stepped into Gale’s room and shut the door behind him. “What, I can’t be concerned for the well being of a friend?” Astarion pouted. Maybe he was flirting. After all, flirting used to work marvelously to get information he wanted out of people– who was to say it wouldn’t work on Gale?

Gale laughed again as he took a seat on his bed and began rolling up his sleeve so Astarion could access the same spot on his arm from the last time they did this. “Are we friends now, Astarion? I think you just admitted it.”

“I suppose we are, sorcerer. You’re much more fun now that you can do magic again.” He observed, striding over to the bed. He sat down next to Gale, and it felt weirdly more intimate than the first time they did this (even with Gale attempting to lay down last time). Maybe it was the fact that they were sitting on a bed.

Gale hummed happily at the mention of magic. “Yes, that was quite a marvelous discovery, wasn’t it? I suppose I never actually thanked you for that.”

“Trust me, you’ve thanked me enough by agreeing to let me drink your blood again,” Astarion pointed out. “I’m sure Fallon is certainly grateful to share the duties of keeping me fed with someone.” Astarion didn’t actually know if that was true or not, but for the purposes of getting Gale to talk, it was true enough for tonight. A slight pang of guilt settled in Astarion’s stomach for lying to Gale, but it was overruled by his need to be right.

Gale offered Astarion a dopey smile at the mention of the woman in the next room, and he sighed. “I just want to keep her safe. She deserves to be safe.”

Astarion nodded in agreement. “That she does,” he reached for Gale’s arm and pushed Gale’s sleeve up a little further, as it had slipped down slightly. “May I?”

He waited for Gale to nod, giving him consent before biting down on the same spot as before. Gale inhaled sharply when Astarion’s teeth broke the skin, and to Astarion’s surprise, the man kept talking. Perhaps to distract himself from the pain. “She loves you, you know. Deeply. I can see it on her face when she looks at you. You make her happy. I’m glad she found happiness, after everything I put her through.” Gale mused, and Astarion couldn’t help but smile against Gale’s skin as Gale’s blood poured into his mouth. It wasn’t a confession of love by any means, but it still pleased Astarion to hear Gale admit he knew Fallon was happy, and in a good place. Maybe he wouldn’t need to worry about Gale acting on his feelings for Fallon (if they existed), after all.

Gods, Gale’s blood tasted good. Still not as good as Fallon’s, just as Astarion had told her earlier in the day, but damn. He could taste all of the fine wine Gale had that evening clearly now, too, and Astarion could feel himself becoming more intoxicated with every mouthful.

Soon, Gale was tapping Astarion’s shoulder, and Astarion pulled away, raising his head and licking his lips as he went. He offered Gale the same dopey smile the other man had given him at the mention of Fallon’s name. “You really do taste exquisite, by the way,” Astarion offered. Yes, Astarion was definitely as drunk as Gale now. “I didn’t get to tell you when you asked last time– too distracted by the magic.”

To his surprise, Gale blushed. “Thank you, I suppose. I was curious,” Gale looked down at his arm, where blood was still slowly trickling from the wound Astarion created, and instead of wiping it away, he offered his arm back to Astarion. “Want to get the last bit? Might as well not let it go to waste.” The offer surprised Astarion, but he wasn’t really in a position to say no. Even when he was already drunk on Gale, his bloodlust would never allow him to decline one more taste (even if he could control himself from drinking Gale dry).

“Well, if you’re offering, who am I to say no?” Astarion reached for Gale’s arm again, and slowly licked away the trail of blood that had begun to run down Gale’s forearm. Astarion hadn’t expected the act to feel sensual, but it had. He also hadn’t expected Gale to let out a soft moan, but he had. Most of all, Astarion hadn’t expected the sound of Gale moaning to go straight to his cock, but it had.

When Astarion pulled away from Gale’s skin, he was grinning coyly at the sorcerer. “Why Gale, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you liked that, didn’t you?” Gale blushed deeper, and Astarion’s grin only widened. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, darling. I’m just surprised. I didn’t think I was…your type.”

“You’re everyone’s type, Astarion.” Gale laughed nervously. Even if Astarion hadn’t been flirting with Gale before, he certainly was now as Gale’s alcohol filled blood coursed through Astarion’s veins. Moreover, Gale was flirting back.

Maybe Gale was drunker than Astarion thought he was. Maybe it was the blood loss. Maybe it was both. All of those things could be contributing to Gale’s lowered inhibitions, but Astarion couldn’t bring himself to stop it. The surprises continued as Gale reached forward and swiped his thumb over Astarion’s chin, wiping away the blood that had trickled out of Astarion’s mouth. Gale offered it back to Astarion in the form of pressing his thumb against the vampire’s lips. It was an action that rid Astarion’s mind of all thoughts of the woman in the next room, and how Gale felt about her. It was difficult to focus on anything, really, with the way Gale looked at him. Astarion greedily accepted Gale’s invitation and he took the sorcerer’s thumb in his mouth and sucked the blood away, refusing to break Gale’s intense eye contact.

When Astarion released Gale’s thumb, they were both breathing a little heavier as they stared at each other, the air so thick with tension it would have taken a sword to cut through it. Astarion’s eyes flickered to Gale’s mouth, and vice versa. Then, in tandem, the vampire and the sorcerer leaned forward to cup each other’s faces in their hands, and their mouths connected in a crushing kiss.

Chapter List

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #gale #astarion #bg3 fanfic #female tav #gale x tav #astarion x tav #astarion x gale x tav #bloodweave #bloodweave x tav #bg3 fan fiction #bg3 fan fic #baldur's gate 3 fan fic #baldur's gate 3 fan fiction

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evita-shelby · 5 months

Text

National Anthem

Chapter 8

Cw: mentions of violence, murder, sex, nudity, basically same old lol

Taglist: @thegreatdragonfruta @zablife @cljordan-imperium @call-sign-shark

Autumn 1920

Jack had involved Eva in his business before, but always at home where he could go on to claim it was his genius that led to his success and never his illegal ones.

“No. It wouldn’t benefit us for him to die so soon.” The witch comments after he, his right hand and Wild Bill of the White Hand Gang discuss the best way to deal with the Italians.

They had been offended by the woman sitting on his lap until she showed off her talents by making the glass in Bill Lovett's hand shatter with just her eyes.

She was his secret weapon and while the glass shattering would still have them doubt her ability, they knew better than to try and find out.

Good thing they had come home from his club. If they knew Jack allowed her to speak to him like this, they’d lose their fucking mind.

“Us?” the gangster asked, trailing his hand up her chest, caressing the soft tan skin and wrapping his hand around her neck knowing she cannot stand that. A small payback for when she called him Jackie as she goaded him into chasing her around wearing nothing but his shirt earlier.

He cannot back out of this like that, not after they threatened his family and his life a month ago. Things with Eva had improved, including her as an advisor in these things had given her a purpose beyond pretending to be the perfect American wife.

She had learned business from books, from her family and hired professors to teach her. Eva had also learned strategy during her time in the war, using her gifts to their advantage at every turn. A useful thing when it didn’t contradict him, like now.

No wonder the president and Pancho Villa had gotten tired of her, who wanted a girl telling them what to do. Jack already fights the rumors that he’s gone soft now that he’s a husband and a father.

“Changretta didn’t just come for you, he came for the both of us. If you want to win, you gotta let me play the game with you.” The witch answered masking the discomfort of having his hand on her throat with a sultry breathy tone before dropping it entirely. “Besides, the White Hand made its deal with you through Dinny Meehan not Lovett, Lovett knows you’re a threat to him and will sooner frame the Black Hand for your murder than let you run the Irish Mafia like you intend.”

The Irish of New York had posed less of a threat, choosing to ally with him than fight him. They’d agreed to join in on erasing the Black Hand out of the picture for a cut of the cake.

Especially after Sadie Meehan correctly guessed it was Bill Lovett who orchestrated Dinny’s hit and had him murdered right next to her in their own bed.

Jack would be lying if he didn’t fear his Evie suffering the same fate.

“Then what do you suggest, oh holy Pythia?” Jack didn’t trust Wild Bill nor his brother-in-law anymore as far as he could throw them and this plan to strike the Spinietta Family now that Luca’s back on American soil required a whole lot of trust.

“We wait. Solidify your gangs so when the blessed day happens you won’t even break a sweat or have to watch out for knives in your back.” She moved his hand off her neck and let it wander down the half-buttoned shirt, daring him to divest her of it entirely. Nakedness wasn’t something Eva ever felt bothered by.

Her beauty was as much as a weapon as that diamond encrusted knife she straps on her thigh.

“What did you see?” Jack’s fingers undo the first of the buttons, letting her think she’s won.

She uses sex to manipulate him, doesn’t take a genius to know it.

But he lets her, knows the witch does this to secure some power for herself. She has whatever power he gives her here, where she cannot wave her name or money around to exert her own.

Not yet anyways, the day will come when society will just have to bend its knees and realize how wrong they were to discount him.

Us, the witch’s voice seems to correct him even in his mind.

“Lovett’s getting killed by his brother-in-law in three years and Lonergan will lose the waterfront a year after that, Luca Changretta gets his brains blown out by the man Grace will kill Clive for and New York ripe for the taking that same year.” His wife leaned back on her hands and uncrossed her legs giving him an unobstructed view of herself as the shirt fell open. “I have seen all that and so much more, and if you want it to come true, you have to let me play.”

Jack snaked his arm around her waist as she slotted himself between her long legs cutting off any chances of her bolting when he reminds her what the agreed on.

She’s done it before, when he does something to displease the spoiled goddess she runs off leaving him to use his hand instead of her for release.

“You drive a good bargain, doll. But we agreed, my game my rules.” Not that he won’t take her sage advice, just incorporating it into the plan. “I will keep my plans and take your advice, I will give Changretta a reason to run back to his old man and meet his maker there. Don’t you worry about it, darling.”

March 1921

They’d lost but somehow come out on top.

There’d been some losses in the New York Mob, Luca and his men lived to see another day and yet Jack had gotten the Spinietta Family to call for a truce when he got the last Sabinis in New York to high tail it back to London.

Luca had been given the same treatment he gave Jack six years ago before Jack let him go.

Election night seems to reflect Jack and the White Hand’s offensive on the Spinietta Family.

The Republicans had won the presidency and the gubernatorial race, and yet these cocksuckers had their wives eating out of her hand.

The First Lady had been told about her clairvoyance and Calvin Coolidge had been so impressed about his future as the 30th president of the United States, that the Nelsons were becoming the must know couple in the state, if not the entire region of New England.

Everyone knew who she was, loved her so much they forgot she wasn’t a white woman and now hosts a ball for the man who thinks balls are too frivolous to have.

Jack doesn’t know why taking over society isn’t enough for her.

“Same reason you keep your gang even after no longer needing it, because it’s just not enough.” The witch whispered as they arrived at a charity ball she'd done to replace the President’s Inauguration Ball. “I am so much more than your damnably charming wife, Jack.”

As he remembers with great fondness how he made Luca beg for his life as he taught Eva how to wrap the garrote around his cock and balls, he cannot help but agree. “That you are, doll, that you are.”

The feeling of her silky hand in his as Luca held back his agony was something he’d never thought he’d enjoy so much.

Perhaps, it was a good idea to make her a fellow player in his games for power.

A/N: Dinny Meehan was the leader of the White Hang Gang, a group of Irish gangs in New York who cretaed themselves to fight of the Italian Mob, the Black Hand.

Luca and the black hand family he worked for are fictional so in this fic they take the place of the real gang.

Dinny Meehan was murdered in his home in 1920, his wife Sadie in 1923 told the fbi she believed his right hand Wild Bill Lovett had him murdered, Wild Bill in 1923 was then murdered by the Black Hand in a hit orchestrated by his brother in law Richard 'Pegleg' Lonegran. In 1925 teh White Hand lost their territory to the Black Hand.

Jack is looking into taking New York as he has secured the gangs of Boston just as Tommy sought out London after taking over Birmingham.

William Hardying was president from 1921 to 1923 when he died of a heart attack, he was a republican and succeeded by his vp, Calvin Coolidge who had been the governor of Massachusetts until 1921

#eva smith nelson #evacore #jack nelson x eva smith #jack nelson x oc #jack nelson fanfic #jack nelson #jack x eva #national anthem fic #peaky blinders fanfiction

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ladyhindsight · 6 months

Note

Family tree anon again. Another continuity error I’ve noticed is that in the CP2 family tree it states that Jem and Will were born in 1861 (I think Jessie is the same age as well) and Tessa in 1862, which would make them 17 and her 16 in TID (this is confirmed in canon afair).

I don’t know where these new dates originated, but in the TSC wikia it states that Jem Will and Jessie were born in 1860, with Jem’s birthday in November, Will’s in December, and Jessie’s in August. So means the 3 of them would be turning 18 in 1878. Maybe I’m just doing the math wrong, but this makes no sense to me in canon.

First of all: Jessie always mentions how much she hates being a Shadowhunter and how she wants to leave the Institute, but she can’t since she’s still underage. If she actually turned 18 in 1878, she would’ve been able to leave during the event if CP (which takes place in July-August).

Second: Jem and Will are always being excluded from things involving the Enclave since they’re underage, but I feel like if they were turning 18 that year they still wouldn’t be treated like children? Also when Tessa and Jem are talking about their wedding, Jem says he feel guilt for binding her to marriage at 16, and she replies “you’re only 17”. How could he be “only 17” if he’s turning 18 soon?

I just don’t get how CC could change something like this that’s so clearly in canon.

Helloo!

This was actually a bigger rabbit hole than I first anticipated. Also the biggest mystery why Clare changed Will’s and Jem’s birthdays at all!! Not the first time assigning whatever birthdays have fucked up things. So, the Shadowhunters fan wiki says Will’s birthday is December 30, 1860, and it is sourced Clockwork Angel 10th Anniversary Special Edition. I watched a flipthrough of that edition but I didn’t really see where the info was exactly. The trivia on Will’s character says that (as of December 7, 2023):

The birthday (December 30, 1860) assigned to Will and revealed in the 10th Anniversary Edition of Clockwork Angel contradicts previously established canon: In Clockwork Prince, he said he was three months younger than Jem (whose birthday was revealed as November 8, 1860, making him only a month younger), and his birth year was listed as 1861 in the "found" family tree released with Clockwork Princess and An Illustrated History of Notable Shadowhunters & Denizens of Downworld, though the family tree may easily be considered inaccurate.

But the An Illustrated History of Notable Shadowhunters & Denizens of Downworld should be accurate, and I did check and Jem’s birth year is 1861 as is Will’s. (Thought to note on accuracy, many details have changed concerning TLH characters as well.) Now Jem’s assigned birthday is November 8, 1860 (source Clockwork Angel 10th Anniversary Special Edition) and the trivia says, “In Clockwork Prince, Jem is said to be three months older than Will. However, in the 10th anniversary edition of Clockwork Angel, their birth dates were revealed as one month apart; causing a continuity issue.”

Definitely. The scene in Clockwork Prince, chapter 4 “A Journey” went like this:

“Yes, though Charlotte’s rather fallen off in tutoring us lately, as you might imagine,” said Will. “One either has a tutor or one is schooled in Idris—that is, until you attain your majority at eighteen. Which will be soon, thankfully, for the both of us.” “Which one of you is older?” “Jem,” said Will, and “I am,” said Jem, at the same time. They laughed in unison as well, and Will added, “Only by three months, though.” “I knew you’d feel compelled to point that out,” said Jem with a grin.

Soon, meaning next year? Which makes me wonder what the original dates of birth were.

Jessamine was born August 10, 1860 (source Clockwork Angel 10th Anniversary Special Edition), but no trivia notes on her birthday. Probably because it was intended to be the one stated. In Clockwork Angel she even says in chapter 6 “Strange Earth”, “As I am sure horrid Will has told you, my parents, my dear papa and mama, are dead. But they left me a not inconsiderable sum of money. It was put aside in trust for me until my eighteenth birthday, which is only in a matter of months. You see the problem, of course.” Which takes place in May once Tessa has arrived to London. Tessa is born January 28, 1862, sourced also Clockwork Angel 10th Anniversary Special Edition. No trivia notes on the birthday because it is what it is.

The book timeline is:

1873, November 10: “Will Herondale left Wales and his family to become a Shadowhunter. Months after, Jem Carstairs arrived at the London Institute and met his future parabatai Will.” I wonder how that year was come up with since Will only tells Cecily in Clockwork Princess chapter 10 “Like Water Upon Sand” that “I first came here when I was twelve” and “It was, to be precise, the tenth of November of that year. And every year after, on the anniversary of that day, I would fall into a black mood of despair.” Which, in the “original” timeline, would mean Will had already turned 12 by November, because originally he was born 1961. Now that canon has changed, it means Will would turn 13 in the end of December, making him already soon to be 18 years old in 1878, which is not the case as we later see here. What also speaks of the fact that Will turned 12 years old in 1873 is this: “When he’d reached twelve years of age, he’d been sent to the Institute; at that time he’d still been so small that he’d looked barely nine.” Quite point blank period.

1878 April is when the events from Clockwork Angel begin. Will is 17, Jem is 17, Jessie is 17 about to turn 18, Tessa 16. In May, Tessa arrives at London. On June 5, Clockwork Angel ends.

July to August, Clockwork Prince takes place. I don’t remember there being a mention of Jessie’s birthday. On July 27 Benedict threw the secret masquerade ball which Tessa and Will infiltrated. At this point Jessamine is already 18 and engaged to Nate. In the chapter 11 “Wild Unrest” of Clockwork Prince Sophie finds the invite from Benedict and it is dated 20th of August, which means Jessie’s birthday came and went, and I couldn’t find a single mention of it.

One could argue she stayed at the Institute in order to spy the Institute for Nate (and by extension for Mortmain). She had a chance to leave but she was also enamored with Nate and subsequently played into his plans. And after her betrayal Clave took her wealth and she was ordered to return to the Institute by Charlotte. So, Jessamine essentially (after turning 18) was spying for Nate and Mortmain, subsequently caught and tied to a bedpost, interrogated and taken to Silent City. After being released from the Silent City she was returned to the London Institute where she was immediately killed upon arrival. I mean, she had her moments to leave but in the end she stayed and some of these could be reasons why. I don’t think Clare really thought of Jessamine as much, though in Clockwork Angel chapter 6 “Strange Earth”Jessie says:

“Don’t you? I can leave the Institute, Tessa, but I cannot live alone. It wouldn’t be respectable. Perhaps if I were a widow, but I am only a girl. It just isn’t done. But if I had a companion—a sister—”

So there’s the main reason. It isn’t proper. Additionally in Clockwork Prince chapter 2 “Reparations” Jessamine says, “I don’t want to be thrown out of the Institute if we can’t find the Magister,” Jessamine went on. “Is that so difficult to understand?” When Charlotte tells her she can leave if she wants. So there’s also that.

October to December, Clockwork Princess takes place. Will proposed to Tessa in the Institute Christmas party and later tells Cecily, “You can’t be married, Cecily! You’re only fifteen! When I get married, I’ll be eighteen! An adult!” So Will was still 17, also ironic that there wasn’t such opposition when James and Cordelia get married at 17.

Also interestingly, Gabriel’s birthday is June 2, also in 1860 but in Clockwork Angel he is described as “the youngest of the group, a boy probably no more than a year older than Jem or Will.” Which could be Well, he looked older! But in light of all that we have gathered here, Clare initially wrote Jem and Will having been born in 1861. Then later Callida Fairchild says, “Perhaps with help from James Carstairs and Will Herondale, but neither of them is any older than seventeen. How much help can they be?” Also meaning Will and Jem were both born in 1861. Also:

“Nate, Tessa thought disgustedly, is exactly two years older than Will. Hardly a century. Nor is he by any stretch of the imagination “mature.”

And Nate’s birth year is stated to be 1859.

In the chapter 24 “The Measure of Love” in Clockwork Princess, Will thinks how it is “First Christmas morning without Jem in six years. The purest cold, bringing the purest pain.” For which the birthdays make even less sense in the context of “Months after, Jem Carstairs arrived at the London Institute and met his future parabatai Will.”

1. Christmas morning, aged 12 (because Will was already 12 when he came to London Institute)

2. Christmas, aged 13

3. Christmas, aged 14

4. Christmas, aged 15

5. Christmas, aged 16

6. Christmas, aged 17 (When Jem has become a Silent Brother)

Because Jem was 11 years old when Yanluo attacked (“When I was eleven, Yanluo found a weak spot in the ward that protected the Institute, and tunneled inside.”), so it stands to reason it didn’t take years for him to arrive at London.

Anyway, the point of this tirade is the same as yours. There is so much stuff stating Will’s and Jem’s ages, so why in the earth would she change it by a year and fuck all of this up?? I cannot fathom.

#Will Herondale #Jem Carstairs #Tessa Gray #Jessamine Lovelace #Gabriel Lightwood #The Infernal Devices #Series discussion #Reply

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grumpy-zane · 7 months

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(( Watched all of Ice chapter for the world building. got a little derailed, but kept to it for the most part. Here are my observations below:

Episode 1

Heavily mountainous, and snowy. High elevation, yet no icebergs.

layer of clouds, presumably blocking out the sun?

HEXAGONAL FORMATIONS, meaning Basaltic. AKA: highly volcanic.

Trees have a root structure akin to mangrove trees. Perhaps it was marshland beneath the freeze?

Wolves are dark. The marshland must also be pretty dark, they have not adapted their coat to match the camo of the snow

The inhabitants have blue garb with Red highlights. Foliage or perhaps shell-based dyes? Trade?

Live in a place surrounded by mountains, with a large pond inside. Caldera?? very large caldera?

Dark ice is sort of like mirrors.

Episode 2

Pass from the lake village to the castle, called 'mala-wojira', or Wojira's Wrath. Culturally believed that she is the one that causes avalanches. The place is highly reactive to noise/motion.

The sun is not fully blocked, at least when it is setting. Therefore, the clouds are only overhead but not too far wide.

Clouds not present at night.

people made of ice fully, some just mind controlled. ice controlled. very funny.

Episode 3

'There can be no ice without water' WRONG, Solid Nitrogen GO

I love Nya's temper. hwaaaa. She and Kai both hate being dead weight

Not all inhabitants of the realm are formlings, in fact there's some worry that they are cursed, or at least the formling village vex came from. -The magic ice can spread from those who are under its spell to non-cursed

Episode 4

UV being a fan of Lou is very funny, yet I am sure she is not the only one.

Fugi-dove's first appearance.

Kais eyes are more yellow than Nyas. Coles eyes are grey or black? hard to tell. Jays are blue ofc.

Pixal is OP.

Episode 5

Giant bird is part of the normal fauna of the realm.

Zane making note that he feels as though he has been there for quite some time, though this may allude that he was not the emperor for very long. However, this contradicts the idea that the village lady planted, in that its been cold for a stupid long time. (Decades)

Episode 6

Cole your anxiety dreams… This seems to be something he has normally. :(

THATS A LARGE TOOTHBRUSH. Jay by far must have the best dental hygiene.

Nyas struggle answers an interesting question, in that understanding similar elements is a thing that's inherently hard.

It is known in the village that travelers occasional 'stop by' and get leaves from the travelers tree to leave. This may be why they aren't so inquisitive of their sudden appearance.

It takes the wind out of Cole to do some terraforming.

Episode 7

CRAIG. ohh my god the flowers on the burial mounds probably are where the blue dye comes from.

There's small little crab apple looking things in the realm. They smell bad.

The Ice samurai have hunted the Craig species for sport. The Craig Species is an herbivorous fauna.

Travelers Tree. it creates its own heat, as well as being in a place far above the cloud line. needs Regular sunlight. Flowers are buttercup shaped, and the apple-like fruits come from it. Presumably, the tree also smells bad. I don't know why the tea is made of flower pedals, you tell me. Floral Tea I suppose.

Episode 8

'Legion of Grimfax', named after the captain. the legions are divided by generals. Assumedly, there's only one?

There are still no glaciers. There's a lot of frozen bodies of water. I have to assume that it rains a lot, or did rain a lot at some point, which also explains the marshland further down.

The shape of the rock construct is very similar to the shape of the Guardian in the Birchwood forest. Also made of Basalt.

Episode 9

Apples are native to the realm.

Chickens, bears, falcons, wolves, elk, Rabbits. (Formling types)

Vex' failure to find his animal form was 'a long time ago'. Perhaps Zane really wasn't the ice emperor for too long, due to Vex just being kind of the only icified guy. If the natural state of winter in the never realm allows for greenery, then it must not be a super cold winter.

Formling ritual includes a travel in silence, as well as a chase to ones own animal. It's granted to the formling once said formling catches their animal. Perhaps Vex did not catch his, it probably didnt show up for he is 'not worthy'. The Ritual also seems to only occur in the winter(?)

There is a type of purple berry as flora as well, in the form of a bush.

Boreas is the one who doomed the formlings. It is good to note that the ice does not kill, but freezes.

Zane and Vex did not have an army until recently it seems. He and Vex brough boreas, but no others.

Episode 10

There are a lot of large ribcages. What large fauna have been killed? large quadropeds of some sort?

The castle probably existed long before Zane inhabited it. I wonder who made it in the past?

Episode 11

The Realm tea opening to Chima Beavers. Mystake made the travelers tea recipe.

Very interesting that tea leaves open to any realm. First Realm, Chima, Underworld, Cloud Kingdom, Departed Realm.

THE DEPARTED REALM!!! Its Green and dark, perhaps the preeminent's existence there has warped parts of it.

Speaking of the Preeminent, she appears to have the whole realm inside of her. When she died, she appeared in the departed realm, though is still the embodiment of the cursed realm. Is she smaller than she was before?

Episode 12

The castle is the king of the realm(?) the samurai are clad in Red.

Zane seems surprisingly level headed when using the scroll. However, he seemed to struggle slightly to put it down.

Zanes 'I feel like I have been here a long time' does not make sense given how quickly he just spawned in the realm, but perhaps he is temporally displaced and is feeling the effects of said displacement.

Episode 13

Zane seems rather adamant on not killing. Its strange that his ice isn't killing.

Corrupted Ice behaves like Vengestone. Perhaps Vengestone is Corrupted Earth.

The Ice samurai are not fully 'evil', or rather fully mind controlled. At least, not the general.

Episode 14

'Lava Zombies' the name of an old arcade game made my Milton Dyer

Craig is 8 ft tall.

Zane spends a lot of time sleeping. perhaps constantly using his element is doing a number on him.

Episode 15

the berries are more potent than the tea leaves.

#ninjago #ns11 #stuff to think about. I feel like it could be cool of the area was more volcanically active #mun rambles

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the-al-chemist · 1 year

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Artemis Hexley: The Wilderness Years

Chapter 8: Me Without You

A/N: Artemis catches up with two of her dearest friends over the Christmas period. Warnings: mentions of past trauma and canon character death, spoilers for Y6 of HPHM, language.

Christmas Day at the Burrow was lazy and cosy, and quiet considering the location. With the four youngest Weasley children staying at school for the Christmas break, Artemis and Fergus the cat spent the day with Bill, Charlie, their parents, and their younger brother Percy.

The traditions had been much the same - Mrs Weasley’s homemade fudge, Charlie’s hand-knitted and endearingly ugly socks, and mountains of food - but it was a more laid back affair with only adults around. There had been no crack-of-dawn awakening, fewer presents to be opened, and far less noise and movement. It was lovely, and yet somehow, it had lost a little of its joyful spark.

Artemis had assumed that it was she herself who had lost her joyful spark, having been broken up with only a month earlier, but it seemed that Mrs Weasley shared this view.

“It’s very exciting for Ginny and the boys to go to a ball this year. But I must admit, I do miss having them here for Christmas. It seems awfully quiet without them,” she told Artemis at the very end of the day, after her husband and Percy had already gone to bed. “Still, it’s been lovely having you here instead. Reminds me of that time you came to stay when you were still at school. You and that other girl. What was her name? Meredith?”

“You mean Merula?”

“Of course. Merula. Goodness, it’s so hard to keep up with all the friends my boys have brought back over the years. What is Merula up to these days?”

“I dunno. I never hear from her anymore, not since I left Gringotts. Bill might know, though.” Artemis said, as Bill emerged at the top of the stairs with his pyjamas on and earring taken out. “Bill, you heard from Merula lately?”

“Not for a few months. She left Gringotts back in the summer. Not as dramatic an exit as some people have made” - Bill raised an eyebrow at Artemis, who rolled her eyes - “but still. She’s taken a job with an independent Curse-Breaking agency.” He frowned at Artemis. “I thought you knew that. You still write to her, don’t you?”

“Not really. I just send her a card at Christmas. She never sends anything back, though.”

“So why do you keep sending them?”

Artemis shrugged. “She doesn’t really have anyone else to send them to her.”

“That’s very sweet of you,” said Mrs Weasley. Her smile turned into a yawn. “I really must go to bed. Can I get you anything before I-”

“No thank you, Molly.”

“Okay, dear. Charlie, can you make sure you put out the fire before you go to bed.”

Mrs Weasley bade them all goodnight and went up to the room on the landing which she shared with Arthur. Once the door had closed behind her, Bill descended the staircase and sat down on the bottom step, his head tilted as he looked at Artemis.

“Why so glum, chum?”

“I’m not glum,” Artemis told him. “I’m fine.”

“No, you aren’t,” replied Bill. “You aren’t still moping around after Chester, are you?”

From his seat on the armchair nearest the fireplace, Charlie raised his head and looked at his brother.

“Bill…”

“I’m just saying that it’s not like Artemis to be so het up about a bloke,” Bill said. He turned back to Artemis. “Was it a bad break up? Do you need me to go and hex him for you?”

“I’m perfectly capable of hexing people myself, and you know it,” Artemis muttered wryly. She shook her head. “No, it’s just… It’s fine. I’m fine.”

Bill looked like he was going to say something to contradict her again, but he did not. Instead, he glanced sceptically at Charlie before shaking his head and also going to bed.

The sitting room was quiet. Artemis lay back with her head on one arm of the sofa, watching Fergus’ chest rise and fall as he slept on the other. Charlie cleared his throat, and she sighed before turning her face towards him.

“What?” she asked him, and he smiled good-naturedly at her.

“Do you want to play chess with me?”

“I’m not good at chess.”

“Me neither,” said Charlie. “Do you want to play chess with me?”

Artemis shrugged her shoulders and slid off the sofa and onto the floor. Charlie summoned an old and battered chess set, and sat opposite her in front of the crackling fire. As they played, he kept his eyes fixed on the board, as if he expected Artemis to see his every move in them.

“I met up with Jae yesterday,” he told her conversationally, as his bishop moved across the board. “He said he’s back with Chiara.”

“Yeah, they’ve been seeing each other every now and then since the World Cup,” replied Artemis. “They’re taking it one day at a time.”

“That’s what he said. Apparently it’s going well, though.”

“Yeah.”

“Better than last time, from the sounds of things. He said she’s told him stuff that she never told him before. He didn’t say what.”

“Probably because that’s her stuff to tell and not his,” Artemis said pointedly, fixing Charlie with a stern look. Charlie shrugged, still looking at the chess pieces.

“Oh, definitely. I didn’t want to pry,” he said. “It is weird though, isn’t it? What people will and won’t tell the people they’re going out with.” He paused before adding, “Like you not telling Chester about Rowan.”

Artemis narrowed her eyes at him. “Really? You’re having-”

“I’m not having a go,” Charlie said gently. For the first time, he looked up from the chessboard. “I’m just confused as to why you wouldn’t tell him about her. She was your best friend. You loved her so much…”

“I still do.”

“Exactly. So why didn’t he know it was the anniversary of her death?”

“I dunno.”

“Does he know about any of the stuff that happened when we were at school? Or before? The Vaults, Jacob, your parents?”

“No,” Artemis said. Now she was the one stubbornly looking at the chessboard, across which one of Charlie’s rooks moved two places to the right.

“It’s your move, Artemis.”

She lifted her eyes to meet Charlie’s. He was not talking about the game. She sighed heavily, and uncrossed her arms.

“We had a fight,” she told him. “Chester asked me to go to his family’s for Christmas and I said that I wanted to come here instead, but he didn’t understand why. And he said it was my fault he didn’t understand because I never told him about all that stuff.”

“Why not?”

“I didn’t know how. I mean, how do you explain everything that happened with the Vaults and my family to someone who doesn’t already know about all that?”

“Fair point,” said Charlie, his red eyebrows raising slightly.

“It was easier just to ignore it and not tell him, so I didn’t.” Artemis scratched her temple with her forefinger before continuing, “And then, the longer it went on without me telling him, the harder it got to tell him, because I’d gotten used to him knowing me without knowing all of that.”

“You must’ve known you’d have to tell him eventually, though.”

“No. Why would I? It’s all in the past. Why would he need to know when it happened such a long time ago?”

“Because it still happened,” Charlie told her. His matter-of-fact tone made her bristle, and she shook her head. “It’s still a part of what makes you you.”

“Well, maybe I don’t want to be me anymore!”

Artemis hadn’t meant to snap, but Charlie didn’t recoil when she did. Instead, he sat still, his eyebrows knitting together.

“Why wouldn’t you want to be you?”

“Because,” Artemis shrugged, “I’m fucked up, aren’t I?”

“You’re not. You just…” Charlie looked as if he were searching for the right words. Eventually he chose them. “You’ve been fucked over.”

“And over.”

“And over again, probably.”

Though Artemis frowned, the corners of her mouth twitched.

“Is there a difference?”

“Yeah. For sure.” Charlie nodded sagely. The look on his face made Artemis laugh softly and shake her head.

“The stuff that happened back then, it was bad. I mean, not all of it, but a lot of it. The important bits, anyway,” she said. “I liked being free from it in someone else’s eyes. It was almost like really being free from it. I wasn’t just ‘the Cursed Vaults girl’, I was someone else, someone who didn’t go through all of that. I kind of liked being that person for a change.” She swallowed, hard. “I guess being someone else made me feel safer, too.”

“How come?”

“Because even if I was the real me, then this still would’ve happened eventually. And when it did, he’d just become another person who left me. Because that’s what people do. They all leave me.”

“Not all of them,” said Charlie. He looked almost hurt. “The people who matter haven’t left you. Tonks, Penny, Chiara, Ros, Kingsley, Bill, Mum and Dad, me… We’re all still here.”

Artemis nodded. “Yeah. You are. Sorry.”

“It’s alright.” Charlie shrugged. “As for you wanting to be someone else… You know, someone once told me that it was fine for me to just be me, and that you wouldn’t want me to be like anyone else.”

“I meant it.”

“So do I. Yeah, you’re ‘the Cursed Vaults girl’, but that just means that you’re the girl who did all that incredible stuff. You went through all that and you’re still here. You’re still Artemis. And if that’s not good enough to make someone stick around, then that’s their problem. Their loss, not yours. Alright?”

“Alright,” said Artemis.

She gave Charlie a smile that he didn’t return. He looked to be deep in thought, and his front teeth grazed his bottom lip before he said:

“You won’t know unless you tell him, though.”

“Maybe. I dunno,” said Artemis. Exhausted, she rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. “I don’t know what to do. Everything feels like a lot at the moment.”

“You could come back to Romania with me for New Year’s, if you like. Might be good for you, give you some space to think.”

Charlie’s offer was genuine, Artemis could tell, but she declined it with a shake of her head and derisive chuckle.

“I don’t have enough thoughts to take up that much space. Besides, I have somewhere I want to be for New Year’s.”

Just north of the summit of Primrose Hill, overlooking the park and with a clear view over London in the distance, stood three tall trees. Their branches in the summer would be decked with thin green leaves, white flowers, and red berries, but for now, they were bare, save for a fine layer of frost that glittered in the dimming light.

Artemis sat on the ground beneath the middle one, her back pressed against the cool rough bark of the trunk, one forefinger running the length of a groove in a root, as she watched the sun set over the city that was just starting to rise. This was not the first time that she had found herself beneath a rowan tree at sundown on New Year’s Eve, having done so every year since what would have been Rowan Khanna’s seventeenth birthday.

She could, of course, have gone back to Hogwarts and sat beneath the rowan tree there, the same rowan tree she had sat beneath the first time - although back then, she had not known that there would be more times to come - but given that Hogwarts was still playing host to the students of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, it would probably have felt too crowded.

“It did feel strange going back there. Hogwarts, I mean,” she said aloud. “Going back there for the challenge and seeing what it’s like now… Well, it’s kind of exactly the same as it was. That’s why it’s strange. It looked the same, but felt different. Not really home anymore, but still homelike. And there are so many memories there. Everywhere I looked, it was like I remembered something, and it felt like it was so long ago it happened, and at the same time like it only happened the week before.”

And thus, it made Artemis feel almost like a child again, and yet so old, both at once. And with Rowan’s memories living in the brief flashes and echoes of the past, she felt both closer to and more distant from Rowan than ever. She had felt that way all year.

“Sometimes I can’t help but wonder what you’d think of me now. What I’m doing. I’m trying to make you proud, but sometimes I can almost hear you tutting at me. I know you would have thought I was stupid betting that I could get Ludo his dragons, and you’d have told me to think before losing Tonks and Chiara and trying to help fight when the Death Eaters came to the World Cup. You’d have come up with something better than just running straight in. You always did come up with something better. And you’d have known what I should’ve done about Chester, too. If you were still here, it wouldn’t have all gone wrong.”

Artemis sighed. If Rowan were still here, she would not have done the things that had caused everything to go wrong. She had not wanted to tell Chester about Rowan’s death, and if Rowan hadn’t died, there would have been nothing to tell.

“Not that I blame you, obviously. It’s not your fault. It’s mine. I’m sorry I didn’t tell him about you. I was stupid not to, really. I should be telling everyone about you, because you were the best person I ever knew. You still are.

“You’d like Chester, though, I think. He’s probably as clever as you, and he’s sensible, and he works really hard and thinks even harder. I don’t think hard enough, so that works out well. Well, it did, anyway. And he likes solving problems and books. He has so many books, and he is always reading, like you were. He’s quite a lot like you, actually.” Artemis tilted her head and raised her eyebrows as she realised something. “I think that’s why I liked him. And it’s probably why it hurts that we broke up, because it’s like losing you all over again.”

Having Chester around had been like having Rowan around again, after all. Like Rowan, he always had a book to hand, and whenever he read he seemed thoroughly engrossed in what he was reading. He was tall and slender, and serious, and sighed whenever Artemis said something stupid. Rowan had done that, too.

“It’s not quite the same, though. He doesn’t understand me like you did. I dunno why I thought he would. It’s not like anyone could ever really understand me like you did. I just… I just miss you, I guess. I wish you were here. I wish…”

But Artemis knew as well as anyone that wishing never changed anything, and never would change anything. It was too late for that.

It had gotten late in the day, too. The sun had fully set now, and she was alone in the dark. It was time for her to leave, to return home to Tonks and get ready to meet Penny and Chiara. So, she stood up, reached into her cloak, and pulled out the book she had bought in the Muggle bookshop earlier that day, one with a blue-and-white cover that the bookseller had recommended. It was a romance and the year’s bestseller, or so she had been told.

“I don’t really know what a mandolin is, but apparently it’s good. I hope you like it.”

She looked over her shoulder to make sure that there were no Muggles around before using her wand to levitate the book up into the tree, where it settled among the bare branches.

“Happy birthday, Rowan.”

With that, Artemis left the tree and walked back down Primrose Hill in the direction of her house in Camden, her coat pulled tight around her and the lower half of her face buried in an old striped scarf with pom-pom tasseling that was wrapped around her neck. The scarf had been Rowan’s, once upon a time. She had bought it the first day that they met, ten years previously. Five years after Rowan died, the scarf still smelt like her, even if it was so faint that Artemis might have imagined it. Still, even if she had imagined it, even if it wasn’t real, it would have to do. That was how Rowan existed now: in the lingering faint smell of her old scarf, in her undying smiles in old photos, in Artemis’ memories and the stories she and her girlfriends liked to tell one another when they were feeling nostalgic. That was how Rowan lived on, the only way she lived on.

By the time she had reached the bottom of the hill, tears had begun to sting Artemis’ eyes. She turned to take one last look at the rowan tree before she Disapparated, suddenly knowing exactly where she wanted to go; not to the tall, narrow house she had grown up in and now shared with Tonks, but to the door of a flat in a red-bricked building, which opened to reveal Chester’s tired-looking but handsome face.

Chester seemed more than a little surprised and not entirely pleased to see her. He eyed her with mingled weariness, hope, and suspicion as he asked:

“Why are you here, Artemis?”

“I just want to talk.”

“What about?”

“Everything,” Artemis told him. She took a deep, shaky breath. “Anything.”

Chester’s eyebrows raised sceptically. “Anything?”

Artemis nodded her head, suddenly realising how desperate she was to be heard, to be understood, to not feel as if there was something - or someone - missing.

“I'll tell you whatever you want to know.”

#artemis hexley #hp fanfic #hphm fic #bill weasley #molly weasley #charlie weasley #rowan khanna #chester davies

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tobiasdrake · 7 months

Text

We have a lot to work with. We've figured out much of the structure of this murder but the fine details remain elusive.

Did we fucking leave!? Why? Why did we leave!? Did we at least check out the rain gutter before we left!?

Oh, we left so that Yakou could flex his capacity for performing rigorous background checks. That is a well-established character trait. He (unknowingly) uncovered a chief contradiction in Fake Yuma's identity that could have unraveled the entire impersonation.

Lots of financial debt + huge inheritance = one hell of a motive. Also, the family dog never liked him either.

But is it waterproof?

Jeryn doesn't have an alibi before 8. There's a one-hour window of time between Pops leaving dinner and Jeryn taking dinner, during which things could have been arranged.

If he left Pops unconscious in the fish room and then let the rain do the dirty work, he could then spend the next four hours with Tetra forging his alibi.

Which is why we probably should have taken a look at the fucking rain gutters. But don't mind me.

Okay, I suppose we're going for the hard bluff, then. Halara's an incredible gambler. We even saw as much in Chapter Fubuki. I trust their instincts on when to hold and when to fold. If our Ace Detective thinks they can wring Jeryn's secrets out of his neck with a bit of applied pressure, I'll back that play.

We've cracked everything. E-V-E-R-Y-T-H-I-N-G. I mean, not to a Mystery Labyrinth standard but please do not look at the enby behind the curtain. I assure you that it's all uncovered. Trust me.

Halara's doing the thing. The big Whodunit thing, where the detective gathers everyone into a room to walk them through all the pieces of the case.

That's appropriate. They are the only character in this agency who would actually be the star of a detective novel.

Not looking good for you, Jeryn. If the point was to falsify an alibi then that should naturally bring suspicion down on people who have alibis.

See, that's why I wanted to check out the rain gutters. This is the exact piece of information we needed to clinch the murder weapon.

We could assume that they something something with the rain gutter, but the fact that there's a hole drilled there is extremely condemning.

Yakou confidently exclaims "What!? No!" while the floodline is so clearly visible behind him.

I. Genuinely can't tell if he's failing to follow Halara's logic, or if he's playing his part. Halara's unpacking the crime for Tetra, so Yakou may be playing the fool to give them prompts.

Hold up, that would implicate the servant, wouldn't it? The one who prepared dinner? But they left at 7. Also, they weren't the one messing around with the rain gutter.

I guess it could still have been Jeryn if he was crafty about it.

Which is how they knocked him out. Also makes sense how they were able to be confident he'd stay out for hours, if the drug was powerful enough. Okay, I'm with you on that point.

As we suspected, the duct tape was meant to waterproof. They could then leave through the unlocked veranda door.

Okay, so that's why no one heard the breaking glass. Since this was being done surgically, rather than in a fit of rage, it could have been done quietly.

We never got to check the veranda, to find the tape marks on the exterior or the hole in the gutter. Seems like we should have done that.

And that's the whole trick. It's super overcomplicated but a guy like Jeryn who does nothing but watch handyman videos all day had plenty of time to concoct it.

#master detective archives: rain code #drake plays rain code #halara nightmare

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yeetlegay · 2 years

Note

Hi, so you finally got me to read your Pretty Woman AU, which means you pulled me back into reading fanfiction for the first time ever since a very unfortunate dabbling in Wattpad territory at the age of 15. And I didn’t think I would like it that much, to be honest, because I’ve only ever seen snippets of Pretty Woman and because I’m not usually into stuff that horny. But excuse me, how is this so beautiful and perfect and addictive??? I can now get in line with all the other people begging for the new chapter on a daily basis.

I mean, even though you keep saying you forget about the plot all the time, it’s still there and it’s wonderful and already the idea is brilliant. Like I said, I have never seen the entirety of Pretty Woman, but I love how you weave KinnPorsche and that movie together so seamlessly while somehow staying true to both?

And I know this is a minor detail to most people, but I personally can’t stand spelling, punctuation and grammar mistakes etc. in stories, so I love that somehow you manage to make less of them (= partically zero, even the questionable ones I wasn’t sure about) than a huge amount of professionally published books I’ve read. Thank you for that. Also, I just generally love your style of writing and your tone, it’s a pure delight to read.

That said, I will now go hide in a corner, anxiously await the new chapter and hope you’re having a great day (and that it’s no longer ruined because of the coffee spill).

P.S.: One question, though. Could you maybe explain to me how exactly Kinn’s penthouse is laid out and where everything is inside it? I keep getting confused because my brain is weird and then rooms and furniture end up on the opposite sides of where I expected them to be.

Oh god not Wattpad! 😂 That place is abysmal, I’m so sorry for whatever horrors you stumbled across. But WOW wtf this is????? Incredible???? Not to sound cheesy but I really am honored that you gave fanfic another shot with FL&H, that absolutely blows my mind. I hope you check out some more KP fics too—there’s tons of goodies in there if you’re interested! (I’m very far behind on my TBR but I’d rec anything in my bookmarks for a start!)

Pretty Woman has always been such a comfort watch for me honestly. I first saw it when I was like 8, which in hindsight was too young lol, but it’s just one of those movies that’ll always be a timeless classic imo. It’s one of the greats to come out of the 90s romance boom and I’m just really gassed that Kinnporsche happens to translate so well to that setup. It was shockingly easy to outline and find all the ways to sync up the story/character beats, and I love including little Easter eggs from both stories (like Porsche’s “then stop calling me” moment in ep 5, and Chan teaching Porsche self-defense instead of table manners, and obv the piano scene lol).

I’m kind of the same about grammar/punctuation hang-ups just because of the field I work in, but I try really hard to get over it with fanfic because it’s free and made with love, you know? And besides, I’ve read manuscripts from some brilliant authors who cannot spell or use commas right to save their lives lol, so I’m pretty used to looking past the little things for the sake of the story. Thank god for copy editors tbh. But I’m glad you haven’t spotted a lot of typos! I don’t really copy edit other than skimming it after I post so there’s always a good chance I’ve missed something really egregious lol.

As for Kinn’s penthouse suite, I just sketched this out on my phone so it’s not super accurate dimension-wise lol but below is what I picture in my head. (If you see anything in early chapters that contradicts this…no you didn’t 😉)

The north- and east-facing walls are complete glass, and probably have some kind of shades/curtains that come down when you hit the button, but as we all know Kinn and Porsche are exhibitionists and want to make sure the entire city sees them fucking, especially the banks. 😌

Hope that helps! So glad you’re liking the fic, and an update is coming soon, I promise! Chapter 9 is officially the longest one yet fml 😩

#kinnporsche #yeetle asks #pretty woman au

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the-queen-of-fools · 1 year

Text

Coffee & Cowboys

Chapter 7

——— Word count: 1168 Pairing: Jack ‘Agent Whiskey’ Daniels x English f!Reader (no y/n, no descriptions) Rating: Mature (For themes. No smut.) Warnings: Slow burn; minor angst; post-movie; AU, fix-it fic. A/N: I’m REALLY sorry for the long hiatus. I’m going to try my best to be more regular with updates (possibly a new chapter every 2 weeks?) Also posted on Ao3 ———

“So, why me?” You ask Ginger when you get back into her lab. “No idea about that. You ever been to Kentucky before?” “No.” “Ever visited any of the Statesman offices before?” “No.” You pause, thinking of another question that’s just as important. “What about why now? I mean, it’s been 8 months since the whole Poppy thing, why not then?” Ginger sighs, and places her tablet down on the desk next to her. “Jack can hear me, right?” You nod. “It may have had something to do with him dying.” Both you and Jack respond at the same time. “What?” “Only for about a minute.” Ginger quickly adds on, holding her hands up in defence. “…But you died, Whiskey.” The cowboy’s jaw is slack, and he looks a little like he did when you first saw him in your kitchen. It feels like a lifetime ago. Ginger continues to speak to the air, “when you were on the flight back from Cambodia, there were some complications from transport. The effects of those complications made you crash the other day, and you died. I’m sorry.”

You jerk your head up suddenly, “Wait, did you say Cambodia?” “Yeah, that’s where Whiskey… got hurt,” Ginger answers. “Shit.” You mumble, and clutch onto your necklace. “What is it, darlin’?” Jack whispers to you. “My necklace. My roommate visited Cambodia a while back, she bought me this necklace.” You hold onto the pendant. “Could it be coincidental, or have we figured something out?” “When Poppy died, her entire place was emptied, demolished and parts were recycled. It’s possible, I imagine that it could be some of that metal?” “So, some of the metal could have been melted down and made into my necklace?” “Still don’t explain why me though, darlin’” Jack says, frowning. “Um, Jack still doesn’t get the connection, and to be honest, neither do I?” “Is it possible that it just happened to be something that belonged to him?” Ginger says softly. Jack sighs, patting his hip. “My gun? It’d be one of the only things left behind?” You repeat it to Ginger, and she taps a tablet screen, watches something, and looks back up. “Jack’s knife was put through the meat grinder. If the metal was used for the necklace, it could be acting like some sort of talisman.” You look up to the cowboy standing next to you, him looking as dumbfounded as you feel. “So then, when you died, it brought you to me?” You whisper, as Jack looks at you, brows furrowed, and gives you a small nod.

A talisman, conduit, a lightning rod, for his what? Spirit? Soul? Consciousness? Your hand is still wrapped around the pendant, holding on to the necklace like an anchor, grounding yourself. This little thing, the smallest impossible chances, has connected the two of you together. “I need a minute.” You say, and Ginger simply nods as you turn towards the door. You leave her lab, and return to the small room with Whiskey’s unconscious form within, Jack close behind. “Darlin’?” whispers the cowboy, just a head through the wall, as if mounted on it, as you lean back against the door. Jack finishes walking through the wall, settling next to you, leaning back against it. Stupid metaphysical contradictions. “You alright, sugar?” “It’s stupid.” You whisper as you turn to face him, a shoulder now supporting you. He mirrors you, leaving you face to face with barely a foot between you. “If I didn’t have this necklace, or if you hadn’t lost your knife, or if the stupid building hadn’t been demolished and recycled, then what? You’d just be there,” you gesture towards the bed, “and that’s it?” “You could have gotten on with your life, sugar.” “Oh come on, Cowboy.” You shake your head at him, and lean it back against the wall, a smile spread on your face. “This is the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me. If I had a choice, I’d pick your moustache and stetson following me around, any day.” A faint smirk pulls at his lips, and a low chuckle escapes him. “Well, thanks sugar. I’d pick the same.” He watches you blush a little, and you try to hide it from him, looking over to his physical form across the room. “Are you alright with all this? Being here, seeing yourself like that? You’d tell me right, if you wanted to go?” He looks at your face, the concern written on it, your brows pulled together, and your lips pulled to a thin line. He opens his mouth to speak, when a knock on the door interrupts, breaking through the moment. Ginger slowly appears through the doorway to check on you. “Let me guess, more tests?” You ask her, and she nods, smiling softly. “I’ve updated Champ, he said he might come down in a bit too, see our progress.”

“I imagine you want me to take the necklace off, right?” You ask Ginger back in the lab, though you’re sure of the answer already. “It’s just to see if it is that that’s connecting the two of you.” “But what happens if he disappears and doesn’t come back? What then?” “It’s… just a risk we’re going to have to take.” “But what if it’s one I don’t want to take?” You reply, accidentally snapping at Ginger. Jack chuckles lightly, touched at your concern. “Darlin’, I’ll be fine. I’m already in a coma, what else could go wrong?” “Well done for jinxing yourself there, Cowboy.” You look between the two, and sigh dramatically when you accept what needs to be done. “Fine. But I will say ‘I told you so’ if this goes badly.” “Sure thing, sugar.” You reach behind your neck, undoing the latch of the chain, and breathe out when you take it off, keeping your eyes on the man in front of you. You place it into Ginger’s hand, breaking contact with the metal. Nothing happens. Jack doesn’t vanish, fade or become blurry. “He’s still there,” you breathe out, a smile appearing on your face. Ginger watches your reaction, a small sad smile on her own lips too. “Okay, um, let me…” she says as she puts it on herself. She waits a moment. “Nothing. I don’t see him…” she shrugs, murmuring to herself, “must have been wrong, I guess.” She takes it off and passes the necklace back to you, still mumbling things to herself as she walks off to the other side of the room. You secure the necklace back in its rightful place as quickly as possible. Your shoulders relax a little, and you sigh, placing your hand over it in comfort. You look up at Jack again, and give the man a sad smile. “For what it’s worth Whiskey Cowboy, I’m sorry you’re stuck following me around.” You turn and start walking towards where Ginger’s stood, and Jack pauses for a moment before whispering to himself, “oh, English, I’m right where I wanna be.”

#Coffee & Cowboys fic #Martha writes #agent whiskey #agent whiskey x reader #kingsman 2 #kingsman: the golden circle

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butwhatifidothis · 2 years

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In the spirit of your Golden Deer and VW rewrite, do you have any plans for a similar rewrite of GW?

I do! I'm just trying to figure out the best ways in going about it, seeing how Hopes has a very strange way of going about how the routes interact with each other thematically, as well as having so little to work with wrt the obvious - and, frankly, almost inarguably best - road GW should have gone down (Claude's connections with Almyra + his family, and how that connects back to his trust issues with the Deer/in general, not giving too much focus to the war in Fodlan - you know, something that could directly place Claude's personal stories in the forefront instead of making him Bootleg Edelgard).

Unlike with SS vs VW, where even with VW being a copy/paste it could theoretically be bent to allow for personal growth for Claude given SS' story’s lack of contradictory elements to Claude's character, GW being a copy/paste of CF drastically makes things much more difficult to form a rewrite around in the same manner as I tried to do with VW's, as the story itself has Claude behaving in distinctly OOC ways.

Because even in the VW rewrite, there was little change done to what actually happens in the route's chapters - it's still prologue -> mock battle -> Lonato -> Holy Mausoleum -> Miklan -> Flayn -> Gronder 1 -> Remire -> Chapel -> Sealed Forest -> Holy Tomb -> Edelgard's siege -> get rid of the bandits -> defend Garreg Mach -> Aillel -> Great Bridge -> Gronder -> Merceus -> Hubert/Death Knight -> Edelgard -> Shambhala -> Nemesis. It's the bits of story that happens between the chapters that's ultimately what changes: motivations, dialogue, reactions, relationships, those were what changed (to the best of my ability in keeping them in line with the characters as possible). Nothing happens in the chapters themselves in SS that actively contradict Claude's character... which is very much not the case with GW.

On one hand, there's less chapters to work with: Chapters 1 and 2 have nothing to do with Claude, and Chapters 3-8 have him, for the most part, be perfectly in character (if waaaaaay more whiney about having to work, but that's the only real gripe I have with Part 1 GW!Claude and is easy enough to simply write out/lessen the amount it happens). It's only in Part 2 that Claude is unceremoniously replaced with Claudelgard, which means there's only Chapters 9-15 would have to have any major upheaval - maybe Chapter 8, to rework a certain thing that happens. Even adding in the route split at Chapter 10 on top of that, that’s still a collective 13 chapters compared to... all of GD and VW lmao. And to kick it off, GW will of 3H’s Claude character already there as a base, and unlike with the writers of Hopes I won’t be too busy chugging glue to remember that lmaooo.

On the other hand... the overwhelming majority of what happens in those chapters - both in between the story events and the story events themselves - would have to be immensely reworked, which would entail a bigger undertaking than VW’s rewrite would. I’d have to think of a story to rewrite, not just a character arc and the results of that on other characters. Though, given how completely half-assed GW’s story is, maybe that won’t be as big an issue as it seems like lmaooo a giraffe could slam its head against a typewriter and come up with a better story than what GW’s Part 2 gave.

Another, more minor thing that would make this difficult is that part of the reason I felt I could rewrite VW was due to just how many times I’ve played through the route or read through the datamine of its contents... which is something I just don’t want to do with GW. Went through the story once, felt fuckin’ awful playing through it, and I can barely stand watching Claudelgard act like a blithering, violent idiot in Part 2, even on a muted video on double speed. It’s something that’s necessary if only to pick up on anything that could be potential dusted off and spat-shined to be something workable, but... ugh. GW’s Part 2 is some of the least amount of fun I’ve ever sat through, so that’s gonna be a bummer lol.

All in all it’d likely take even longer for this rewrite to be written out lmao, but! I do want to give it a shot, seeing how fun it was to do so for VW - I even have Almyra to work around with this time, which I stopped myself from dipping too much into for VW’s. So once I get enough time to work on it I’ll try to lol

#ask #anon #Fire Emblem Warriors Three Hopes spoilers #Fire Emblem Warriors: Three Hopes spoilers #<- just to be safe lol #seeing how Hopes is an alternative story and the route aren't truly connected to each other there's more leeway with what can be done here #*routes #but then there's more that HAS to be done here #but! it's something that I wanna give a shot at #there are some parallels to VW with GW that I feel could be interesting to try and lay out that I haven't seen discussed or theorized #so this could be my way of showing that off lmao

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19thsentry-blog · 2 years

Text

Worlds Not Our Own

Miraculous Ladybug Fanfic (Established Lukanette, Feluka Friendship)

Chapters

In The Shadows | Prelude | Chp 1 | Chp 2 | Chp 3 | Chp 4 | Chp 5 | Chp 6 | Chp 7 | Chp 8 | Chp 9 | Chp 10 | Chp 11 | Chp 12 | Chp 13 | Chp 14 | Epilogue | New Beat | Timeline

Prelude: Twilight (AO3 Link)

It is now, standing in the pit made from the maw of the monster in his arms, that he can finally accept what has been happening to him these past few months without hating it. It is much like twilight, something that should signify an end, but for whatever reason, feels more like acceptance and rebirth than dawn ever did. He is changing, growing, expanding beyond his limits, and every minute is a new picture, all of his contradictions spilling out next to each other, shifting across the sky like one might mix paint. The same night never comes twice, and when he looks up, he sees thousands of stars, all the light from all the suns that feel like eyes in the sky, watching him to see what he'll do.

When he calls himself Twilight, it is not a lie. He is the sun setting on the horizon, its last rays fanning across the sky, retreating only to come back the next day. He can't stop what's already been set in motion, and for once, he thinks surrendering to it might be the right thing to do. He may never see himself as Good, nor as a Hero, but he is different than what he was, and that is enough--it's going to have to be. For all that his heart is selfish, cruel, or contradictory, he is being drawn into a comforting blanket of rich azure where black once reigned, and being kind no longer seems like it might break him. He is all he shall ever be and ever was; he is Twilight, wrapped in opulent blues and greens and teals, and he is changing.

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skvaderarts · 2 years

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Petrichor Chapter 5: Reminiscing

I didn’t forget about that master list. Just been busy. Hoping to have it done Friday!

Chapter 5: Reminiscing

Note: Okay, so this is kind of funny but kind of not at the same time. I went to upload the chapter today, and I realized that I had forgotten to upload the chapter on Wednesday of last week 6/29. This is Wednesday's chapter. In the chapter notes for the chapter on Wednesday, I had left a note mentioning that Friday was my mother's birthday (7/1) so I wouldn't be uploading. But because I forgot to upload this chapter on Wednesday, you guys have just been sitting here for a week probably wondering if I'm dead or not Or if I had given up on writing the story. I'M SO SORRY!!!! I'm just fine! I'm just very forgetful! I hope this chapter makes up for it a little, but I will have a chapter on Friday and we're still continuing forward! This is in fact the 3 year anniversary of the saga now, which is crazy to even think about, so I wanted to thank you all for being here with me! Sorry again for any confusion or worry I caused! My bad!

(-~-)

The room was cool and full of dim light, the curtains pulled shut to block the majority of it so as to not disturb those sleeping within the room. An unused radiator adorned one of the nearby walls, pristine in condition but otherwise unnecessary at the moment. A building of this age almost certainly lacked double paint glass, and as such, the insulation being as good as it was had to be down to some sort of sorcery. It was just after noon now, but a combination of winter weather and an overcast sky meant that it still looked considerably earlier than that, closer to 8:00 a.m. or so.

Leaned against the wall with his eyes closed was Dante, not even slightly asleep, but simply quietly taking in the ambiance of the room he inhabited. The quiet sound of breathing and his brother laying still and undisturbed. He had physically recovered from his injuries by this point, but he seemed to insist upon not waking up. Perhaps there was something internal that prohibited it? Or perhaps his body had simply decided that he needed time to recover the energy he had spent on the task.

It was understandable. Even someone like him only had so much that they could give.

During the quiet time that he'd been allotted since the fight, he had spent a considerable amount of time going over everything that had happened recently in his mind. Things had gone so bad so fast that it was horrifying. In the blink of an eye, they had all almost lost their lives, and if not for some quick thinking, it was very possible that none of them would be here right now. His brother had been willing to lay down his life to protect his sons, much as any of them had been willing to lay down their lives for one another. There was no surprise there as far as he was concerned. Vergil was a lot of things, but a coward who was willing to let those loyal to him die so that he could achieve victory was not one of them. It was something that, in theory, didn't need to be said, but when he had watched his older twin actually jump in front of a blade to his almost certain death to try and save him from an impossibly powerful appointment, that had been a completely different story. Truly a wake-up call in the worst possible way.

Vergil was willing to die for him. Without hesitation. And that was something he struggled to fully process. It made sense in principle. They were identical twins. Brothers. Two pieces dyed different hues but cut from the very same cloth. No one had the privilege of harming them but the other, and despite their often ceaseless bickering and brawling, they would fight side by side without a second thought at least than a moment's notice. It was a relationship of contradictions, and they didn't know how to have it any other way.

And at this point, so long as they were cordial, he wasn't sure that they should try and change it. After all, things between them had been relatively positive since they had returned from the underworld a few months back. They had gone through their momentary spats, but Vergil had only stabbed him once in the few months he had been here, so that was genuine progress. And above all else, it showed that his brother had the capacity for restraint and to change his behaviors. To learn from his mistakes. He had not completely lost the capacity to give a shit, and Dante would be lying to say he wasn't excited about that prospect. And he was more than willing to help him continue down that road… But first, he had to wake up. And Dante was going to stay here as long as it took for him to do that. He refused to not be here when he opened his eyes again, and he knew that at some point he would. His older brother had been through war and literal hell, and although the wounds he had suffered at the hands of the devil Prince were egregious indeed, they would not stop him. He had been through far worse, unfortunately. He just had to come kicking out the gate this one last time.

"No rush or anything, but everybody's waiting for you. I know you don't like to be late." Dante thought to himself, cracking his eyes slightly as he felt the morning sun on the top of his forehead. The windows were pitched at a certain angle on this part of the building, and they were higher up the wall than most of the rest of the building, perhaps to not disturb those sleeping within. He was willing to bet that this wing of the manor had been built specifically for this purpose. It was times like this that he wondered just how old the place was and how long the Ludwig family had been presiding over it. Had they built it in the first place? Questions for another time, and products of an idle mind with nothing better to think about. There was a certain finality to the situation he found himself in right now, so it was natural that he would send his mind down other avenues of thought. That he would focus on things that he could actually ask questions and get answers on.

Just a few moments later, a soft knock came from the other side of the door. Dante turned his head slightly to face the door, nodding as a familiar face stuck her head through the door and quietly mouthed a request to enter. Magnolia stepped through the doorway, brushing her hair out of her face with her elbow as she let out a soft yawn. She blinked slowly and heavily as her eyes drifted over to her long-time friend, unmoved from his previous position since she had last seen him. She's been there a little while ago to inform him that V and Nero had gone somewhere temporarily and would return later. She shook her head slightly and made her way over towards Dante with the tray of food she was carrying, seemingly aware of the fact that he had no intentions of leaving or even moving from this room unless he needed to. She wasn't going to argue that position or even ask why he would do such a thing. It was quite obvious, after all. But she was, however, going to make sure that he actually ate something today. She didn't need two sick twins in the house.

"I thought that you might be hungry and perhaps desire some company. Both of those assumptions remain merely that, but perhaps I was at least somewhat on the right path?" She said softly as she approached, sitting the trade down on the table next to Dante, he's over at the food, his nose catching no particular smell, but his stomach reacting nonetheless. He hadn't thought about food for at least 2 days. She might have a point there.

"... Yeah, why not? I got some questions you might be able to answer anyway, and you probably have some, too, hu?" He said with a shrug as he extended his arms over his head and stretched, his back making a loud pop as he gritted his teeth and winced slightly, unprepared for that reaction from his stiff body. He was getting old, wasn't he? It was something that he had been teasing Vergil about for some time now, but the more he thought about it himself, the more he wondered how they were actually going to age. In ways, Dante felt younger than he ever had, and in others, he felt considerably older. Did the demonic part of him age slower than the human body that he found himself inhabiting? Did his demonic blood strengthen his body beyond just raw power? Did it improve his longevity? It seemed as though it did, but would the two parts of his soul ever reach equilibrium at some point or another? Had they reached that equilibrium already and he just hadn't noticed? Was that something he would even be able to measure in any quantifiable way? More nebulous questions that would only send him down a spiraling path of existential dread. This wasn't the time to face his own mortality.

"That's fair. I have nothing better to do at the moment anyway, especially this early in the morning. And it occurred to me that we've never really just talked." She said with a soft smile, cluing into some sort of turmoil going on within him that she couldn't pinpoint. She had plenty of assumptions to work off of, but nothing concrete. There was too much going on there. "I was going to ask you if there had been any change with him, but I don't think I need to. It's evident that there hasn't been. And that's a good and a bad thing, I suppose. But I guess we take our hope where we can get it these days, don't we?"

With a sigh, Dante nodded in agreement. She was right on the money with that one. It was bad that nothing had changed in the sense that he had not woken up yet, but it was better than him declining by a country mile. That was the last thing he wanted to see happen. They had just gotten on the topic, but perhaps it was time to change it?

"You've got that right." He cleared his throat slightly as he continued to think, a question popping into his head that he thought might make a good segue into another topic since it was both a genuine question and something that didn't entirely relate to this. "So I've got to ask… What made you decide to befriend my cranky, cold, and generally completely disagreeable twin? Because I can't see why anybody would choose to be friends with him based on the way he was back then. Or maybe he wasn't always like that? I don't know. I'm still trying to figure out how he has two kids. Honestly, I don't know why anybody would want to talk to either one of us when we were teenagers. I'd be lying if I said I didn't have my own problems that I needed to work on back then… "

Laughing at his self-evaluation, Magnolia picked up a cup of tea from the tray she brought into the room. She cleared her throat for a moment before taking a sip, swallowing it as she shook her head. She seemed to be struggling to get it down without laughing, holding her hand over her mouth as she lowered the cup so as to not accidentally spit out her drink. It had been a bad idea to try and take a sip before she had calmed all the way down, and on top of that, she was about to burn her mouth.

"A fair question! And one that I didn't expect you to ask me but it probably should have." She cleared her throat again before inhaling deeply and then exhaling, closing her eyes as she settled back into her previous state of calm. She then shook her head slowly as she turned to face Dante again, a very faint blush on her cheeks that he hadn't expected to be there. "I most certainly didn't think I could fix him, if that's what you're wondering. My actual reasons were far more embarrassing If not a bit more complex, at least at the time."

"What, did you have a super obvious crush on him or something?" Dante said with a low chuckle, his mind altogether rejecting the possibility of that even being the case. Magnolia was far too intelligent and bright to ever fall for someone as moody and emotionally unavailable as his older brother, even if it had been for something as silly as a hormone-fueled teenage crush. But as he looked at the increasingly reddening look on her face, he stopped chuckling and his eyes wide and slightly as his pupils dilated. There was no way… was he actually on to something?! "... You're kidding me. Why?!"

Sign deeply, Magnolia rubbed the side of her neck in embarrassment, obviously having a hard time explaining herself. Perhaps she should just say exactly what was on her mind? "... Well for starters, after I got over the fact that he had broken into our house and that I had almost killed him the first time we had met and got to know him a bit, I found him incredibly attractive. I would be lying to say that I still don't. It's a large part of the reason I'm probably still single now. I believe he may have set my standards too high too young and as such I was never able to overcome them."

It was Dante's turn to laugh at her statement. She was doing so as well, but he hoped that he didn't come off as passive-aggressively rude as he thought he might be. This was all something of a surprise to him, but now that he thought about it, that did make a bit of sense. As hard of a time as he gave his brother for most things, he knew that he would be lying completely if he was to say that he found Vergil completely unattractive. That would be self-sabotage. They might have both picked on one another for their looks over the years, but it was mostly in good fun more than anything else. Even still, Magnolia's revelation was somewhat hilarious to him.

"So you're telling me that you thought my brother was so attractive that he ruined all future dating prospects for you? I mean, he's not that attractive is he? And wait, if we're identical twins then does that mean-"

At that point, she broke down into hysterical laughter, holding her hand up to stop him and finish saying anything further. She was going to rupture her lung if she kept going like this. She simply hadn't been ready for him to segue into that topic. How on earth had she gotten herself into this mess?!

"Perhaps I should clarify. I don't simply mean that I find him visually attractive. Although I do. I would be lying to say I don't. That is absolutely the case. In fact, as embarrassing as it is to admit, I probably find him more attractive now than I did then. He is aged remarkably well. Like Chardonnay." She grumbled to herself under her breath, folding her arms around her chest and shaking her head. Her entire face was red now, but she was forcing herself to resist the urge to hide her entire head in her shirt or bury her face in her hands. She was not an ostrich. This hadn't been how she had expected her morning to go. And yet, she couldn't say that she was upset about it. This was the funniest conversation she'd had in quite a while, And I was actually somewhat of a relief to talk to somebody about it, even if that person happened to be the identical twin of the person in question which did complicate things. "And yes, that does mean that by extension I do find you quite cute in your own regard, but despite the fact that your twins you do have a different style that makes you individually appealing. Though I suppose you may have better luck with one of my sisters… I believe one of them fancies you. It's… I suppose it's a bit more difficult to explain what it was that I saw on your brother specifically and what, to some extent, I still do."

Dante blinked away his confusion, taking note of the change in her tone. She was being entirely serious now, and as such, he found it patently inappropriate to continue laughing about it. Now he was genuinely curious as to what she meant when she said that it was difficult to explain. There was some depth to this, wasn't there? Quite a bit of it, it seemed.

"Setting aside the fact that I think I know which sister you might be talking about… do you think you could explain? Because I think you might have known a side of my brother that I never have." Dante glanced over at his older twin, detecting no indication that he could hear or understand them. His breathing hadn't changed and neither had his demeanor. He wondered if he was suffering for a moment, but none of his displayed vital signs indicated that that might be the case. Still, he hoped he wasn't. He'd been through enough as it was for one lifetime. "We didn't talk for years growing up. After what happened with our parents, specifically our mother's death… We went our separate ways. I didn't see Vergil for about 10 years, and his whole life happened between that gap. And then we clashed for about a year on and off until he stayed behind in the underworld and I'm only now getting to know him again. I only met him once between that time and… well you would have to ask him about that. I can't tell you. Not my place to, I guess. But he probably won't talk about it. It's painful for him whether he wants to admit it or not."

A look of visible sympathy spread across her face as she reached her hand out and placed it on Dante's shoulder, hoping that he wouldn't mind. He didn't flinch away from her like she would have expected his brother to, but he did look just as surprised in his own way. He let out a heavy sigh, glancing back over at Vergil again. She could feel how much he wanted his older twin to be okay. And she felt nothing but sympathy for him in that regard. She couldn't imagine what it was like to be a twin and to see your twin in such a state, worrying that he may not survive. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad to elaborate after all. Well, at least not as bad as it was for him to not know.

"... Vergil has a certain sort of deeply sarcastic likeability once he lets his garden down. A sort of uniquely bitter somber humor that is actually genuinely enjoyable If you understand it, even if it does indicate that it comes from a place of deep pain that he is still working through. And he can be deeply passionate and inspiring even if it is at the cost of any semblance of a personality outside of his pre-established goals from time to time. His single-mindedness is one of his greatest strengths and weaknesses simultaneously. He possessed a deep drive to achieve his goals and a focus that I could only envy. Or at least he used to." A look of sadness overtook her face as she looked over at him, clearly seeing something that he did not. From what he understood, they had spent a few years in direct contact with one another, so she had probably seen a metamorphosis of sorts occur. He wondered what that had been like. He wished they had talked more and that things have been different in retrospect. He still kicked himself a lifetime later for some of the things he said and did back at the tower, especially after their reunion on Malet island. "I still see glimmers of it from time to time, but more than anything I can see the damage that was done to him over the years. It's incalculable. There's something that's missing from his eyes that used to be there. A light that they used to have. I can see the fire and the spark that he lost. And I know from what you and your companions have said that he has been through hell, though I don't know the specifics and I'm not sure that I ever want to. But I do know that it must have been terrible to strip down the sense of pride and self that he once possessed. And at times it breaks my heart to look at him. He is still finding a sense of purpose now. A new one. And I think a large part of that comes from Nero and V and his desire to protect them and be better for their sake, but I don't know if he possesses the desire to do anything for himself simply for his own satisfaction anymore. Perhaps he gains satisfaction from seeing them happy? But more than anything, I can see somebody that needs someone… and I'm glad he has you, Dante. For better or for worse. I'm glad that he has all of you… But especially you."

She wiped her face with her hand as her chest shifted slightly, it becoming more and more obvious that she was attempting to compose herself and failing at that endeavor to a degree. It wasn't so much that she was afraid to cry in front of Dante. It was mostly that she just didn't have it in her to start down that path right now. Sometimes when you started, it was hard to dig yourself back up, and it could drag you down for a while. But it was even harder to know when you should just let go and allow yourself the time that you needed. The obvious answer was moderation, but learning the patterns to that moderation was an entirely different skill that took a lifetime to learn, and she couldn't say that she was there quite yet.

The youngest son of the Dark Knight Sparda watched her quietly for a moment, tentatively patting her on the shoulder. He wasn't sure that he should hug her. That might be overstepping, and it wasn't something he was sure either of them would be comfortable with. It did make him wish that V and Nero were back from wherever they had gone earlier. He was willing to bet that they would be better at comforting her, especially V. They just seemed to mesh well.

"... Thank you. Now I feel bad I laughed at what you were saying earlier."

She shook her head and shrugged, gesturing with her head towards him as she wiped her damp hand on her pants. It was a good thing she didn't bother to wear makeup or else they would probably be a mess. "Oh, don't worry about it. It does seem kind of ridiculous in a way. And besides, I got plenty of fun poked at me about it from my sisters and cousins when I was younger. I wasn't very good at hiding it from anyone but him, apparently. I probably wasn't even good at hiding it from him. He was just kind of lost in his own world. Always has been since I've known him. But I was never officially falling head over heels for him in the first place, so perhaps that contributed to it."

Dante shrugged but nodded in agreement. That made sense. It was highly probable, in fact. But as the two of them sat there and took in the conversation they had just had, something out of the corner of both their eyes caught their attention. A slight shift in the covers.

Vergil had just moved.

And as they both seem to be visibly taken aback by this, the sound of two familiar voices could be heard coming down the hall. It was Nero and V. It seemed that despite their decision to leave earlier, they had arrived with perfect timing nonetheless. Fortunate indeed. It wasn't as though he could go and get them. After all, he had no idea where they were, and the last person on Earth that Yamato was going to answer to was him.

Dante shook his head and leaned over closer to his brother, a mixture of disbelief and relief in his eyes. "Welcome back, Vergil. Looks like you overslept."

(-~-)

Well, this chapter was a roller coaster of emotions! I'm excited about the next chapter! I have some fun stuff planned for you guys! I hope you've all been having a good week. It's been rough for a lot of us. Well, actually all of us in one way or another. I hope that just like during the pandemic my little silly story can give you all some hope, because I know it's rough out there right now we're all a little short on it these days. I'll be going back through and checking for mistakes again, so if you see anything blatant, let me know. My editing software doesn't catch some of the little silly things sometimes, and using voice to text doesn't help. I think my phone is getting progressively stupider lol! I'll see you all on Wednesday, and again, sorry about last week!

#Petrichor #Dante #Vergil #DMC5 #DMCV #DMC #My Post Devil May Cry 5 AU #My Post Devil May Cry 5 Fan Fic #Post DMC5 #Post DMCV #My Post DMC AU #My Post DMCV AU #DMC OCs #Post DMC AU #Devil May Cry #Devil May Cry V #Devil May Cry 5

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