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wkemeup · 4 years

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Crawl Home to Her

summary: Stranded without coms, alone, and bleeding out in the middle of a Russian snow storm, Bucky is content to let nature take its course. Only you won’t seem to let him go. pairing: bucky x reader word count: 8k warnings: passive suicidal thoughts, hallucinations, ghosts???, its all very confusing but humor me ok, a/n: based on Work Song by Hozier ✨

No grave can hold my body down I'll crawl home to her

Laid amongst old wooden floors rotted in decades of weathering and the whistling brush of wind sweeping in steady drift of snow from the open doorway, Bucky wondered whether he might have preferred the coffin of ice Hydra once shoved him in for storage.

The chill nestled deep into his bones and he tried not to focus on the small puff of breath as it touched over chapped, cracked lips. It was the only warmth he had left and that, too, was leaving him.

It was getting hard to breath under the sting of freezing temperatures barreling into the cabin; sharp, like crystals had formed in his lungs and punctured into his chest from the inside. The fireplace long extinguished, his rifle laid in a heap amongst his tactical vest and gear too far out of reach. He was unprepared when the mercenaries barreled in through the windows, leaving shattered glass along the floor, safe house exposed to the elements of a Russian winter.

He’d stopped shaking an hour ago, which he knew was a bad sign. His body had given up on fabricating false heat through the tremors in his arm and legs, the twitches of his breaths, the chattering of his teeth. The serum only did so much before he was left with the frayed remnants of his humanity to cover the slack.

Bucky’s fingers dipped down and glazed over a thick, warm pool at his stomach. He pulled his hand back to find an unsettling, deep red coating his skin. It was warm to the touch and it dripped down along his fingertips into his palms, soaking into the dried patches.

A violent cough suddenly broke through his chest and Bucky’s head fell back to the floorboards, a dull ache in his stomach from the effort. He could taste copper on his tongue as a fuzziness began to take over, like he was floating on the edge of a cloud, somewhere high up in the sky. It was a pleasant feeling, he decided, a break from the world that had not shown him kindness in nearly a century.

He stared up at the ceiling, at the blades of a fan lined in decades of dust, as it spun around and around and around and around and —

“What the hell are you doing?”

Bucky jolted awake, a sharp flinch through this nervous system like the current of electricity. Eyes wide open, he turned to find a figure sitting on the loveseat to his left. The fabric was torn in the trajectory of dozens of bullets, cotton lining oozing out the cushions and littered amongst the snow. It was too dark to see but the dim flicker of the swaying light in the kitchen illuminated the corner for only a second. It was enough to still his heart.

“Y/n?”

You raised an eyebrow at him, a scowl on your face as lips pursed together.

“Hey Buck.”

No.

No. That—that can’t be right...

You were wearing a SHEILD crewneck with a rip on the hem of the sleeve, faded in color from the wash, and a pair of sleep shorts he’d seen you in dozens of times. The slight imprint of a pillow case fold on your cheek, your hair a little out of place in sleep, and cast in the glow of sunshine through his bedroom window despite the stars littering the night sky outside the cabin’s door.

It was what you were wearing when he left on assignment two weeks prior. He knew because he memorized every moment he left you behind.

There was always that uncertainty, that knowledge that every mission could be his last, so he took the time to bring you with him; a memory, an image, of you laying under rustled sheets, curled up against his pillow with that pout on your lips as you told him ‘five more minutes, baby’ when he was already ten late.

He held that memory close because he could feel himself slipping. The blood pooling at his stomach was seeping into the floor beneath him and he felt dizzy, the spin of the fan above him throwing him off balance even as he laid completely still. It was the last good thing he had left -- this image of you -- because he knew it was time to let go, time to let the universe make things right again, to take him from the time he never belonged in.

There was a relief in that... almost.

"You’re not giving up, are you?”

Bucky gritted his teeth as your voice pulled him back sharply from the edge of dreamless sleep. He glanced over to you and found there wasn’t a trace of goosebumps on your skin amongst the snow sliding along the floorboards by your feet. You were unbothered by the rush of wind barreling in through the open door though it picked up in the small wisps of your hair, carrying them away from your face before it settled again.

“This isn’t happening. You’re not real,” Bucky chanted under his breath, but the way you were looking at him—Jesus—he'd seen that look too many times before. The pinch of your brows, the slight tug of your cheek between your teeth, your eyes narrowing down on him from a distance, never in anger, but determination.

Bucky closed his eyes, clenched his jaw real tight, but he could still hear as you push yourself up off the couch, the slight squeak of floorboards under your feet as you paced. Bucky dared to steal a glimpse and you were kneeling down over one of the mercenaries he was able to get a shot in before hell broke loose. You pursed your lips, tilted your head just so, and pulled off his helmet to get a better look. It rolled a good few feet before it hit a sudden stop against the edge of the couch.

It was the wind, he told himself. His mind was playing tricks on him again.

“Jesus, they make ‘em big around here,” you murmured to yourself before you pressed two fingers to the side of the man's neck. You started ruffling through his pockets for weapons and Bucky could hear the jingle of coins in his pockets, the swish of the fabric. He was certain he’d gone mad.

“You need to get warm, Buck,” you told him and a coat dropped down on his left. “You’ll die if you don’t.”

“You’re not real,” he argued, keeping his eyes closed, hoping that you’d just disappear and let him die in peace. “You’re... you’re in my head.”

It was hard enough knowing he was going to die in Russia of all places before you ever knew he was in trouble, hard enough to imagine you crying over his body as his skin paled to blue and grey, hard enough that he’d already said his last goodbye, already had the last kiss from your lips…

“It doesn’t matter if I’m in your head or not, Bucky,” you warned, though he was almost certain he could feel the warmth of your breath touch his skin as you leaned down next to him. “You’ll die if you stay here. Do you understand? You’ll die."

Your hand slid into his hair and he could feel the trace of your fingertips, your nails, on his scalp; combing through locks matted in blood and dirt and drawing shivers in his spine untouched by the cold.

He whimpered, tears burning at the corner of his eyes, because you were right there and somehow not at all. He didn’t want to say goodbye but his energy was draining. It slipped from him in every breath, the pain becoming a tired memory and he knew his body was giving in.

He’d spent so much time fighting in his life. He just wanted to rest. That’s all. Just some time to rest...

“Bucky!”

He snapped awake, heart beating frantically for a few minutes before it lulled again; his breaths too short, too far apart.

You were hovering over him, hair falling down into your face and there was real fear in your eyes. Your hands settled on his chest, trying to draw his attention back to you and he was certain he could feel the pressure of it, the grip of your fingers to the fabric of his shirt. The touch of a ghost.

“You need to get up. We’ve got to get you out of here,” you ordered, hands fumbling for the coat you dropped by his side and trying to drape it over him, but he pushed your hands away. You sat back on your heels, wide eyed, desperate.

“I’m already dying, sweetheart,” Bucky choked out, voice raspy and raw. “There's nothing left to do. Coms are out... nearest town is a dozen miles away... I’m-- fuck—I've got at least four bullets in me. This is it, honey. I’m-- I’m sorry...”

It hurt as he said it and he dared himself to meet your eye. Draped in sunlight and all that was ever good in his life, you were an ethereal wonder; a stunning image of the women he left behind, even if his mind was fading on the edge of insanity. It was nice, he thought, to see this memory of you one last time, to hold onto it tighter as the darkness gently carried him away from this world.

His hand lifted slowly, wanting to touch you one last time, and he was surprised when it didn’t slip straight through you like a ghost, but instead, landed tenderly against your cheek. So tangible, warm to icy chill of his hand, he could feel the clench in your jaw, the strain of the muscle, the divot of a scar by your ear.

A final blessing he didn’t deserve.

“Bullshit.”

He winced as you grabbed a firm hold of his wrist and pulled it from your face. Everything started to hurt again, in his chest, his stomach. He was falling apart.

“I’m so sorry, honey, I’m—I’m not making it out of—”

“Bull. Shit.”

You slammed your hands to the floor beside him and suddenly, you were up and rummaging through the kitchen, tossing old utensils around and making a mess of the withering cabinets. You tore them to shreds, emptied the drawers onto the floor, the shattering of glass and the crash of metal to tile in an unsettling scream.

“You don’t get to do this. Do you hear me? Not after all you went through! Just to die in fucking Russia!”

Bucky swallowed though it tasted like bile. You tossed out the mugs from a cabinet with the swipe of your hand and the sound they made as they crashed to the floor skipped several beats in Bucky’s dimly beating heart.

“Sweetheart,” Bucky tried again, voice falling on empty, a whisper, “no one’s comin’...”

“Then you fucking get up and get to a goddamn phone!”

You froze then, your hand curling around whatever you were looking for with a sigh of relief. As you stomped back over to him, Bucky looked down at your grasp to find two sets of hand towels and an ace bandage clutched in your grip.

You were grumbling under your breath as you sank down to your knees. Hands shaking, you pushed up at the thin fabric of Bucky’s shirt. He didn’t even hiss as the cold air touched his skin. That wasn’t good.

You pressed a towel to his open wounds, hard enough for Bucky to groan at the impact and he bit down hard on his tongue. There was no apology as you wiped away the pools of blood, tossing aside the soaked towel to the corner and pressing down a new one in its place. You were angry, furious even, and Bucky had only seen you like this once before.

The Hydra base in Siberia. He was surrounded, ordering you to get back to the jet without him though he had no clear path to an exit. It was a diversion, one you saw through instantly, because he had no intention of leaving that warehouse, not as long as you made it out alive. You almost killed him yourself by the time the last Hydra agent fell to the floor. Panting, covered in blood, you had slapped him hard across the face before you gripped at his shoulders and kissed him.

The first kiss between you.

The beginning of it all.

Fitting it should end like this, too.

“Sit up,” you demanded, pulling Bucky back from his memories.

He sighed as he stared up at you, your teeth gritted as you pressed down harder to his wounds. Everything hurt. He couldn’t move, could barely breathe.

“Sit. Up.”

“I can’t,” he whimpered, voice breaking in the effort. “I-- I can't, honey. I’m sorry. Just—Just let me go. It’s time, Y/n. It’s okay…”

There was a silence, one that carried over the scream of the wind outside and the scratch of tree branches against the shattered windowpanes. Bucky’s own breaths were shallow, raw and wheezing through his lungs, and they sat in pained contrast to your silent, elongated inhales, the seconds you held them before you released it. He could have heard a pin drop even over the whistling wind and the mess in his chest.

“No.”

Bucky swallowed back the dryness in his throat. “No?”

“No,” you gritted out, sinking back onto your heels. “No! You don’t get to just give up, Bucky. You don’t get to leave me behind!”

“You’re not even here...”

You clenched your teeth, biting on the inside of your cheek. “Maybe not. But you know exactly where I am back home, don’t you?”

Bucky’s jaw wired shut in an instant. It was what he’d been avoiding, why he clung so hard to the image of you as he left, the glow of the sunlight on your skin and the sleepy mess in your hair. The perfect memory to take when him as he died, but it was being ripped from him, torn away in an instant because as you knelt beside him, your ghost began to change.

Dark circles colored under your eyes, a sunken look hollowing in at your cheeks and temples. Your hair fell down from the bun at your crown and braided down the side, a nervous habit you’d taken up to keep your hands busy when you were anxious. Lines formed on your lips, cracking along the center; broken skin now exposed on your knuckles from a restless night in the gym.

Tear tracks burned down your cheeks; some old, some fresh, and your eyes were bloodshot red.

“Please, stop,” he begged, trying to will his mind to give him the memory he had before.

“You know what this is doing to me,” you told him. “You missed your checkpoint eight hours ago, Bucky. We both know what that means. We both know I’m scared out of my mind for you. I’m panicking. I’m desperate to find you and you’re going to give up before I can.”

Bucky closed his eyes, choking back tears as he pictured you frantically pacing back and forth in the intel room next to Steve, waiting by the satellite phone, waiting on a call that would never come. His coms had been destroyed in the shootout, torn and shattered under the boot of a Russian enforcer. There was no way to get word to you, no way for you to track his location. He was entirely on his own.

You would have figured that out by now, too.

He could practically hear your voice as you shouted for an update every few minutes, biting the head off of an Agent who dared to give you any answer outside of Bucky being found safe and on his way home to you. He could see you clenching at your fists, digging your nails into flesh, and shrugging off Steve as he tried to ease your distress. You’d be terrified, with a deep kind of unsettling dread burning like a hole in your stomach. He knew, because it was how he felt when you were on assignment. It was agonizing.

“Don’t do this, Bucky,” you said quietly, softer now, begging. “Don’t give up. Don’t—Don’t leave me.”

He could hardly keep his eyes open, every breath drawing him further away.

“You’ll be okay,” he said slowly, achingly, though a flash of shock widened your eyes. “You’ll be okay without me.”

Bucky’s fingers crawled along the floor to you, nails digging through a mess of blood and splinters before the curled sweetly around the palm of your hand. He squeezed it gently, the most he could manage, and he watched with a fading smile as you stared down to where he held you.

“How could you say that?” you whispered, gaze glued to blood stained hands. You swallowed, a tear slipping past your eye as you turned to find ocean blue. “How could you possibly think that would be true? You’re my life, Bucky. I need you. You can’t—Please, baby. You have to come home to me. You have to.”

“You’ll move on,” he exhaled, closing his eyes as the exhaustion started to pull him under. “It might take some time, but you’ll be fine, honey. You don’t need me. You never did.”

“That’s not true—”

“You were always too good for me,” he chuckled sadly to himself. “At least now you can find someone who really deserves you…”

“Dammit, Bucky!” you cried, hands gripping into the fabric of his shirt and shaking him until he opened his eyes again. “You don’t get to just throw your life away because you have some backwards, fucked up notion that you’re not good enough to love me because newsflash, you idiot, I don’t care! I love you! I love every goddamn part of you and there is not a person on this planet, or any other, that I want to love me the way that you do!”

There was a silence that followed. The whistling wind and the scratch of branches on exposed windows the only solace between you. Your features softened, your hands releasing from his shirt and you gently patted his shoulder, running your fingers along his neck to touch the side of his face. He leaned into the palm of your head, jaw quivering as he bit back tears.

“Why are you here?” he whimpered, voice cracking as a sob crawled its way through his spine. “Why-- Why won’t you just let me go?”

Tears spilled out the corners of Bucky’s sides, sliding down along his temples and soaking into his hair. He was exhausted and aching and – god—he just wanted to sleep.

You smiled sweetly at him, brushed the hair from his eyes. “It’s you, Bucky, don’t you get that? I’m in your head, remember? I’m apart of you. Stop fighting yourself and come with me. Let me help you survive this. It’s why you brought me here in the first place.”

“No... that’s…” Bucky shook his head, heart racing a little faster, “that’s crazy.”

“Crazier than talking to yourself?” you chuckled light-heartedly. “It’s been you this whole time, Buck. Look.”

You gestured to the floor leading into the kitchen, and sure enough, there was a trail of bloody footprints in the size of his combat boots leading into the mess of shattered mugs and scattered utensils. His palms had tiny pieces of broken glass in them, colored in the paint of the kitchenware on the floor.

Then, you showed him the wrapped bandage at his stomach, the one with his own bloody fingerprints at the clasp. He’d done it all himself.

“Your imagination can’t do all that for you, baby,” you said, a soft smile on your face, though it faded to something solemn as he stared at you in shock. “You’re dying, Buck, really dying and I know you’re scared. I know you want to come home. Stop fighting me. Stop fighting yourself.”

“I don’t--” he swallowed, though his throat was dry and it burned amongst the cold air, “I don’t understand…”

“The mind is a funny thing,” you shrugged. “It does what it has to, to keep you alive. This is what you needed, to be reminded of the love you have waiting for you back home when you survive this.”

You nodded to the edge of the cabin, and sure enough, there was Steve standing at the door. Hands tucked into his pockets, wearing the thin white shirt and suspenders from their youth, though it looked a little funny now on the man he was today. He was smiling, that hopeful kind of look in his eye that Bucky never quite learned how to replicate.

Sam stood next to him, hand on Steve’s shoulder, smirk plastered across his face as he nodded at Bucky; the strange and varying brotherhood between the two of them full of bickering fights and unbridled loyalty.

Natasha was on Sam’s left, arms folded, scowl present as her eyes flickered down to the mess of bodies littering the floor. She raised an eyebrow at the burly looking soldier you’d rummaged through the pocket of— or, or maybe it was Bucky, he was still trying to wrap his head around it – and nodded as if she were impressed.

Then, there was Shuri and T’Challa. Lang and Barton. Wanda and Vision. Peter Parker sneaking his way in behind Steve, looking just damn excited to be standing in the presence of Captain America. Even Tony Stark stood in the corner of the cabin; arms crossed, sunglasses on, observing from a careful distance, but still present.

“You’re not alone, Bucky,” you said quietly, drawing his attention back to you. “Not here. Not at home. Please don’t give up on your family. Don’t give up on all you’ve built. We’re waiting for you, honey. Come home.”

A blur in his vision, Bucky couldn’t quite focus on your silhouette, not until you tenderly brushed the tears from his eyes, droplets on the edges of long lashes. He clenched his jaw, searching for a stronger breath as you held his face. Your lips pressed down to his forehead and he found his strength again.

“Okay.”

Bucky grabbed onto the edge of the couch and pulled until his muscles were at their limit. A scream tore threw him, his body raw and broken and falling apart at the seams. It burned in his throat, in his chest, and it echoed deep into the empty cabin. It was no louder than the wind outside.

“Okay,” he repeated as he sat up with his back pressed against the couch. He clutched at his stomach, heavy breaths in his lungs. The bandages were holding up, with little leakage onto his palm in all the effort.

When he looked back over to you, he found you smiling, proud, though your appearance had changed again.

Your hair was pulled down to a bun at the nape of your neck, a few strands falling out the sides. Dressed in a large winter coat with a thick fur around the hood and mittens on your hands; the navy-blue jacket you’d worn in your mission in the Swiss Alps last year where you’d convinced Bucky to stick around a few extra days in the blizzarding cold. You’d told him then how much you loved the snow, the mountains, but mostly the hot chocolate, the fireplaces, the snuggling in close to him at night. It was a pleasant memory.

Bucky smiled back at you, though it took most of his strength. He turned to look at Steve and the rest of his family, but they were gone, disappeared to thin air and his stomach lurched as he quickly shot his eyes back to you.

“You ready, baby?” you asked him sweetly, nodding towards the door.

“Stay with me. Please.” He felt childish as the words left him, talking to what amounted to nothing more than particles of snowfall and thin air, but it carried his whole world.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you replied, as if it was never a choice at all, and you offered your hand.

Bucky nodded, stringing together all the strength he had left in his body and slipped his hand into yours. He tried not to think of the logistics of it all, how he was really getting up on his own because you weren’t here to tug him to his feet. It created a dull ache in the back of his head and he figured he better not mess with the remaining functioning pieces of himself. Let his mind get him through this, even if he felt absolutely insane.

“Put the jacket on, honey,” you told him, bending down to grab the coat of the mercenary you’d swiped earlier. “It’ll be a long walk in the cold.”

“Y-yeah, okay.”

The wind barreled in from the open door and it pushed at the little balance Bucky had left, leaving him to sway unsteadily, grunting at the pain that resulted in his stomach. He clutched at the wrapped bandages, relieved when fresh blood did not add to the stains on his fingers and palm.

“Time to go,” you urged him, nodding to the door. “Let’s get you home, yeah?”

Bucky stared out into the blanket of darkness beyond the door, the snow falling and dancing amongst the violent sweeps of wind, illuminated by starlight untouched by the pollution of a city. He didn’t know where to go, but you promised you’d guide him; a piece of his subconscious that must have picked up on a sign along the road at some point, he figured.

As he made his way to the brutal cold, shivers tremoring in his spine and his feet limping dragging along the floor, facing a journey across miles of exposed land, he was thankful he wasn’t alone.

***

Bucky had never been so cold in his goddamn life; not even when Hydra would put him on ice.

It had been a relief then, a dreamless sleep and safety away from his captures, but this – this was torture in itself. His boots dragged through two feet of snow, the winds picking up the further he trudged out into the darkness. He wrapped the scarf tighter around his face, trying to shield himself from the cold, though ice crystals had formed on his lashes.

Everything hurt and each step was more painful than the last, but he kept moving.

“You’re almost there!” you shouted over the scream of the wind in his ears. You were smiling, jogging out a few paces ahead. It was easier for his feet to carry him when it was you he was walking towards. “Come on, sweetheart. One more mile. That’s it.”

Bucky panted, his breaths far too labored, his head feeling quite fuzzy, but as he looked over your shoulder, he spotted a light in the distance. Blurred by the snowfall, but still clear as day. A gas station with half the letters missing in its name. His saving grace.

“I’m coming, baby,” he whispered and for the first time, he wasn’t talking to the mirage beside him, but the woman waiting thousands of miles away.

Picking up in pace, Bucky pushed himself harder than he’d ever tested the limits of his body before. He knew that without the serum, he would have been dead before he even left the cabin. There were few moments Bucky was ever thankful for the hell he’d been through. This – giving him a second chance to get home to the love of his life – was one of them.

“Careful,” you warned him, gesturing to the trail of red droplets in his wake; blood that had seeped out from the soaked bandages at his stomach and trailed down under his coat to the snow below, marking his path.

Bucky nodded, determined as he finally broke through to solid ground, to dirt roads plowed just enough from the snow, and sprinted the rest of the way. You were on his heels, cheering him on like you did when he first got back on a treadmill after he broke his leg in New Mexico last year. He was smiling so wide it hurt his cheeks, laughing as artificial light illuminated his path.

He shoved his shoulder to the door, winced at the sound of the bell above, and charged straight up to the counter.

A man in a thick overcoat and a fur hat stood behind the counter, reading a newspaper quietly to himself, and paid no mind to the man frantically rushing up to him. He glanced up in Bucky’s direction, eyes flickering to the blood trailing in his wake, before turning back to his paper.

“Phone,” Bucky panted. “I need a phone.”

The man didn’t respond.

“Russian, Buck,” you reminded him quietly to his right.

“фона,” Bucky tried again, slamming his hand down on the table.

The man rolled his eyes and set the paper down. Stone cold expression, he took his time as he muddled around behind the counter, leaving Bucky on edge. You nodded at him, running a hand along his arm to keep him calm.

Then, the man set a flip phone down on the counter. He didn’t say another word as he sat back onto his stool and picked up the paper again.

Bucky grabbed the phone and quickly stumbled his way back to the far end of the convenience stores. Brushing up against rows of chips and shouldered a few to the ground, he was starting to lose his balance again. The dizziness was kicking in and it became evident as he tried to dial the SHEILD emergency call number and kept hitting the wrong numbers.

“Breathe,” you said softly as Bucky started to panic. “Try again.”

Deep inhale in, Bucky typed the ten digits and held the phone to his ear. It rang three times.

“Good morning,” a voice replied, deep and clinical, “this is Sandbox Bakery. What can I get for you?”

Bucky leaned his forehead to the glass of the freezers, cold compress on his skin touching a blaze of heat.

When did he start sweating? When did it start to soak through his clothes?

There was a stickiness under his feet and Bucky glanced down to find blood dripping down from the edge of his coat and staining the dull-white of the plaster floors. Dark red seeping into the cracks between tiles, filtering through years of dirt and dust and muddied tracks. The outline of his boots in perfect pattern.

“Good morning,” the voice said again, “this is Sandbox Bakery. What can I get for you?”

Bucky swallowed, trying to find his voice, but he was sure he’d left it behind in the cabin. He could hardly hold himself up, his hand slipping on the handle of the freezer doors, nearly taking him down to the ground amongst the blood and dirt.

Under hooded, heavy eyes, Bucky glanced over at you as you nodded encouragingly at him, but there was two of you; swaying over one another, blurred, out of focus.

“Good morning, this is—”

“Baklava,” Bucky muttered the code word between labored breaths, the meaning of it sitting somewhere along the line of I shouldn’t be alive but I am – Fucking come get me. The dizziness was starting to take hold on his body and he leaned his shoulder against the freezer doors in search of the cold glass to offset the burning heat on his skin.

A darkness started to tunnel at his vision, thick black rings closing in around him and he tried to grip at the handles on the doors, but he missed each time; his fingers too weak to grip onto the edge, his vision swaying and doubling over.

The agent on the other end of the phone was asking him questions, but they barely registered, like white noise no louder than the burrowing winds past the door. Bucky clutched at the handle, phone slipping from his grasp as it fell to the ground. He stumbled backwards, hitting a tower of plastic cups as they collapsed around him.

“Bucky, lie down,” you warned gently as he struggled to hold himself up.

“I’m—I’m okay,” he gasped, voice barely a whisper, unintelligible, before the darkness caved in completely and he met the floor.

***

When Bucky came to again, it was to hands gripping harshly at his arms, at his legs, dragging his body onto a rock-hard surface that smelled of plastic and the sting of sterilizing alcohol. Pain ripped through his stomach at the sudden movement and he whimpered quietly, painful breaths in, lips quivering as he tried to bite down hard on the dried, cracked surface; the movement jarring enough to make him wish he was back in the cabin amongst the snow and broken glass.

But there was a hand encasing his. One that was soft, impossibly gentle, a slight squeeze, and Bucky realized there were voices around him. Muffled, barking orders, but they were distant, like an echo at the edge of a ravine. They were too far away for him to hear.

All except one.

“Stop it! Jesus, you’re hurting him,” one of the voices warned; soft and melodic, even within the tension, within the slight tremor of panic. It was a voice that called to him, as the grip on his forearm tightened, and Bucky forced his eyes open.

He was seeing double, couldn’t quite focus on what was right in front of him, but he could see the three agents dressed in black combat vests huddled over him, strapping him on the stretcher while a petite Englishwoman with mousey brown hair and slender fingers worked to stabilize the mess at his stomach.

Then, he focused on the voice to his left, the kind voice, the familiar voice – yours.

“We’ve got to get him out of here, Simmons,” you urged, glancing back at the doors to the shop and the chaos of broken aisles in between. “God knows how long he’s been here like this...”

“I just need to stabilize him before we make a break for the jet,” the woman with the quiet English accent replied. She pressed down hard on Bucky’s stomach and he was surprised to find he didn’t feel a thing.

Bucky swallowed back the dryness in his throat, trying to find his own voice, catch your attention in some way, but you didn’t seem to notice him watching you.

“It’s been ten hours since he missed the checkpoint. Ten hours,” you stressed, your free hand reaching up to brush back hairs from your face, tucking them behind your ear. It was then Bucky noticed the braid sitting over your shoulder, the dark tactical suit, and the discoloration under your eyes. There were marks in the shape of crescent moons on your hand from where you’d dug your nails to your skin. You looked tired, scared; it was different than how you appeared when Bucky collapsed.

You gritted your teeth, brushing away tears Bucky so desperately wanted to reach to wipe away if he could only move.

“We don’t know how much blood he’s lost or— or if he has internal bleeding or--”

You froze suddenly, words pulled right out of your mouth as Bucky’s hand twitched under your grip. Slowly, you turned to meet his eye with a kind of panicked shock and relief and an array of complex emotion.

“Bucky?”

He nodded, a weak smile on his face.

You nearly cried. “Oh, thank God you’re--”

“You stayed,” Bucky muttered, voice groggy and slurred. A tired smile etching up against broken lips.

You blinked, biting back your tongue as your eyes shot over at Simmons. She shrugged, working quietly to reseal the bandages at Bucky’s stomach. There was a smile on Bucky’s lips, broken and cracked in dried blood, almost hazy, like he was floating high above in the clouds.

“Honey, I’m here now,” you told him, voice a little cautious, but Bucky shook his head, though his vision was starting to leave him again, the comforting pull of darkness wrapping its arm around him.

“You... you really stayed with me...” His voice was barley a whisper.

Your eyes widened, a fear taking over and your quickly snapped your attention back to the agents surrounding him.

"We need to get him out of here, now,” you ordered as Bucky’s eyes started to flutter closed again and he did not return the grip to your hand when you squeezed. Sudden movements and he was lifted into the air, though your grip on his hand did not leave him.

He fell back to the darkness before the cold air of Russian winter could touch his skin.

***

The first thought Bucky registered was that he was warm. Not warm enough for sweat to form on his brow, but enough so that a chill didn’t press its way into his bones, enough that the thin layer of a freshly washed blanket draped over his legs chased away the goosebumps on his arms.

He blinked his eyes open gently to take in the stream of light from the window to his left and the reflection held against bare, white walls. The room was not one he knew and quiet murmuring of strangers passing by outside in a language he couldn’t place didn’t help the rush of panic etching up through his veins.

Bucky turned to his left to see a monitor carrying his heartrate and the increasingly frantic rhythm of his pulse. There was a bruised mark on his right forearm around an IV that stemmed to a bag hanging over his head.

Could be filled with anything, he reminded himself. Always on the defense. It was how he stayed alive.

A hand settled against his stomach to find it wrapped in bandages, no longer searing in pain, but still sore; a dull ache left behind to remind him it was real, that he’d been shot and left for dead in the frozen wastelands of Russia, that he’d walked miles alone in a blizzard and found comfort in the ghost of –

Bucky jolted upright, a hiss pulling swiftly from clenched teeth as a sharp pain reemerged at his stomach. He groaned, breaths coming in a little heavier now as he glanced around the empty room. Up at the open door ahead of him, he watched as stray physicians and nurses passed by in white lab coats talking quietly amongst themselves in... German, maybe? His brain was too foggy to register much of anything.

“Y/n?” he called in search of your ghost, but his voice was too weak, he could barely hear it himself.

Kicking the blankets away from his legs, Bucky felt a chill sweep up his spine. The pain was excruciating, but he’d been through worse. He ripped the IV from his arm. He kept his hands gripped tight to the mattress, setting his bare feet to the cold floor and wincing as the pain in his stomach worsened with every movement.

But he needed to get out of here. He needed to get home to you. He’d promised.

He set his stance to the ground, careful to hold himself up on the edge of the bedframe, but his legs were shaky under him, muscles unused and tired and so incredibly useless, his left hand started to warp the plastic of the railing in his frustration.

“Bucky?”

Wide eyes shot to the door to find you standing in its frame, a Styrofoam cup of coffee in your hand, lips parted in shock. Your hair was swept to the side in a long braid, dark circles hanging under your eyes, your clothes wrinkled with days of use.

He tried to speak, but suddenly, his hold on the bed frame gave out. The smell of dark roasted coffee beans filled the air before he even met the ground and his skin touched the ice of tile flooring. Sharp pain in his hip and a heat of embarrassment in his cheeks, Bucky tried to find an ounce of his dignity on the ground.

You slid up on your knees beside him; coffee cup noticeably missing from your hands as it laid in a puddle by the door to his room.

“Jesus, Buck, what were you thinking?” you gasped, hands roaming down over his arms, fingers warm to the touch from the coffee you’d held between your palms. A worry line creased in your forehead, lip tugged between your teeth as you grazed your touch over his face, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones and jawline in concentration as you inspected for damage.

Bucky closed his eyes, a little lost in the feeling of it as he leaned into your touch, missing you and wondering how he could possibly feel that heat from your skin.

“You’re lucky you didn’t reopen your stitches,” you murmured, hands touching gently at his wrapped bandaged around his waist. It was still white, at least, so that was something. The scowl on your face was a comfort, something familiar, and he was thankful to have it.

But there were small differences he noticed as you tried to help him back up into the bed. Like how when the light from the window touched your skin, it reflected a little differently, got caught in your eyes and you’d have to squint away from it. Or how there was a new scratch on your jawline he hadn’t seen before. You huffed a hair away from your face as you struggled to life him back to his feet and it fell back into your line of sight almost instantly.

“Give me a sec, I’ll be right back,” you told him before you pressed a quick kiss to his forehead, hands sinking into his hair. It felt so real, he almost convinced himself you were really there.

When you came back into the room, a nurse was at your side, hands planted firmly on her lips.

“I thought you were joking,” the nurse huffed in a thick German accent, exchanging a glance with you. You shrugged, scowl present but lips curved up in a smirk. The nurse groaned, sinking down to the floor to grab Bucky’s arm. “Why would I expect a man who’s been under for nearly a week to just up and walk out the room? Huh? I wouldn’t! No one is that foolish, Sergeant Barnes.”

You were laughing quietly beside her as you helped to guide Bucky back up into the bed. As he settled back into place, he found himself watching you intently as you conversed with the nurse. She told you keep your eyes on him, that he was a flight risk, and that she’d be back to check on him again soon. You nodded, thanking her for her time and quickly pulled up a chair beside his bed.

“You've got terrible timing. You know that, right?” you chuckled, shaking your head. “I haven’t left this room for days, Buck, and the second I go to get coffee, you decide to wake up.”

“How long?” he asked quietly and the smile faded from your cheeks.

“Five days,” you told him. “Almost six.”

“Longer since I missed the checkpoint, then,” he reasoned, pinching at his brows. “We should get moving again. I’ve got to get home.”

“What? No,” you said quickly, leaning forward in your chair in an attempt to set your hand on him, but he pushed it away. It seemed to surprise you because you paused for a moment before you said, “Bucky, you’re still healing. You need time before we can—”

“I didn’t almost bleed out in a goddamn cabin in middle of Russia just to end up trapped in some hospital in Germany and still not make it home!”

Bucky threw the blanket off of him again, pushing himself to the edge.

You rushed forward, grabbed a hold of his shins before he could swing his legs off the side of the bed. Your grip was forceful, but not enough to hurt. You planted your hip down on the bed to block his path.

“We’re staying here, Buck,” you pressed, a slight tremor in your voice. “You almost died.”

“Why are you arguing with me about this now?” Bucky groaned and the flash of confusion on your face went unnoticed. “You’re the one that convinced me I had get home, aren’t you? You’re the one who wouldn’t just let me die and made me walk into a fuckin’ blizzard while I was bleeding out! I have to get home to you, right? That’s what you said! I’m not giving up on her – or, or us – or... fuck it— on myself, ok? Whether you’re with me or not. I have to get home to her. Even if I have to fucking crawl.”

Through the frantic swelling in his chest, the heavy pants of his breath, and the dizziness forming back in his head, Bucky didn’t register how quiet you’d become until his eyes flickered over to you. Your body was rigid, lips parted just slightly, a semblance of shock in your eyes and Bucky’s stomach sank.

“Is that... Is that what you meant when you said ‘I stayed with you’? Back in the gas station in Russia? Do you... Do you think you’re just imagining me here?” you asked slowly and a burning heat ached into his cheeks. Something like shame or embarrassment or guilt, but none of it stronger than the relief that coursed through his veins as your hand reached out for him, fingers encasing his. Smaller than his own, warmer, and so real he could feel the divots of your lifeline and old scars and the soothing trace of your nails. Tangible. Real.

“I...” Bucky started, stealing a glance up at your eyes before they darted back down to your hands wrapped so tenderly around him. He exhaled a heavy breath. “I don’t know.”

“Oh, honey,” you sighed, bringing his hands up to your lips and kissing sweetly at his knuckles. You pressed the chill of his fist to your cheek and he could feel the warmth burning there. The way you watched him, with eyes so filled with the kind of love and adoration he’d longed for his entire life, it was enough to mend his heart whole.

“I’m here, Bucky,” you whispered, another kiss to the tips of his fingers and it took the breath straight from his lungs. “I’m really here, honey. Your mind isn’t playing tricks on you anymore. You’re not alone.”

Bucky nodded, watching as you peppered kissed along his hands, over flesh and metal like they were one in the same.

“It felt so real...” he murmured, sinking into the way your hand stretched up along his arm, rising over his neck like the crest of ocean waves, and rested to his cheek. He leaned further into the touch.

“I know,” you soothed, your thumb tracing over his cheekbone. “But I’m here now, love. You found your way home.”

Bucky nodded, shifting in the bed just enough for you to crawl in beside him. The dull ache in his stomach lingered, but he didn’t mind, not when you curled up into the crook of his neck, your hand gliding down over the marred scarring on his shoulder, your breath warm against his collar.

“Home,” he echoed, the word slipping from behind broken lips, a curve of a smile etching into his cheeks. He leaned his cheek to the crown of your head, eyes closing in a relief that spread through his chest and through the very ends of his body in a gentle kind of warmth he could only ever hope to find with you resting in his arms.

He found his way home.

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes

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jackrrabbit · 4 years

Text

it will come back [pt. 2] /// Yandere Shigaraki x f!Reader

Summary: You have a bad habit of picking up strays, and the half-dead villain you find bleeding out in a dumpster is no exception. [Part 1] [Part 3]

A/N: Title from the Hozier song—“don’t let it in with no intention to keep it / jesus christ, don’t be kind to it / oh honey don’t feed it / it will come back.”

Tags/warnings: yandere, violence (not directed toward reader), crying, Shiggy REALLY likes you, reader needs a friend and a good night’s sleep, non-explicit sexual content. [In later parts: 18+, sex, other stuff]

He—Tomura—keeps visiting.

At first you think it’s because of the free medical care, and you wish you had the spine to tell him to suck it up and go see a professional. After a couple weeks turn into a couple months and his wounds fade into ragged purple scars, though, you start to think differently.

Within a short time Tomura has figured out your work schedule, and he does a decent job of not showing up after your long shifts. The unavoidable consequence of this is that he ends up monopolizing your precious days off, but you come to the realization about a month and a half in that you don’t actually mind. You like it. It’s like spending time with a friend.

Mostly you guys talk. It doesn’t seem like Tomura really has anyone to talk to the way the two of you do, but that’s probably just you projecting. It’s usually shallow stuff—TV shows you like, video games he plays, funny stories from patients you treated. Sometimes when you’re cooking for yourself, you make extra for him. (It happens a lot, actually, and at one point you bring up how much his appetite is costing you and the next time you see him he brings a bag of rice and makes you a porridge that crunches between your teeth when you try to eat it. You can’t finish yours, but he eats an entire bowl and insists that you’re being picky.)

Sometimes he sleeps over on the couch, but he’s always gone when you wake up.

The two of you skirt around the heavier stuff, and you know it’s intentional on his part. You have to resist the urge to ask him about being a villain—he’s all but confirmed it for you, and it’s human nature to be curious, isn’t it? In the same way you can’t help looking at a car crash, you want to poke and prod and find out what it is, exactly, that Tomura does for a living. That part of his life is suspiciously absent from your discussions—if you didn’t know better, you’d think he spends all of his time sleeping and playing games and breaking into your place.

On the other hand, you don’t want to know. Plausible deniability. You can accept criminality in the abstract, but you’ve treated too many victims of the bullshit hero–villain battle to be comfortable really knowing why Tomura avoids public places.

So you don’t ask about it, and Tomura doesn’t tell, and you don’t look up his name. And it’s easy. It’s nice. You’d forgotten what it’s like to come back to a home that isn’t empty.

And then one day when you get off a few hours early from your shift, you stop by a convenience store to pick up some snacks for yourself (hey, you’ve been working hard, you’re entitled to binge a little on foods that you’re afraid to look at the fat content for), and you think, Hm, I wonder if Tomura wants some.

[You: 7:49 PM] > Are you coming over today? [T: 7:49 PM] > Yeah why [You: 7:51 PM] > Getting snacks > Want some? [T: 7:51 PM] > No

[T: 8:12 PM] > When r u coming back to ur place

[T: 8:58 PM] > Hey where are you

[T: 9:39 PM] > (Y/N)?

There’s a man with a gun in the convenience store.

It takes you a second to process at first. You’re standing in the snack food aisle seeking out Oreos and debating the merits of Double Stuf vs. Mega when you catch the mumbled demand and the metallic clicking noise you’ve only ever heard in movies before. It’s a gun—you know that, but your mind dismisses it because it’s ridiculous. Guns are rare in hero society. People don’t go around robbing bodegas at gunpoint anymore.

(You should know better. You work in a goddamn ER. But you compartmentalize, and the crimes you see written across your patients’ bodies stay out of the realm of your personal life because you need them to.)

It’s only when you see the muzzle of a hunting rifle pushed up to the cashier’s sweaty neck that you really understand what’s happening.

You drop to the ground immediately, looking toward the exit but it’s shut and there’s some kind of metal…thing holding the door closed. The cashier mumbles a denial and you can hear him fumble around with the cash drawer for what feels like ages.

It’s real. This is real. You’re in the middle of a robbery. Where are the heroes? Why isn’t anyone doing anything?

God, you’re a hypocrite, cowering behind the aisle divider and waiting for someone to step up while the robber’s demands get increasingly louder and more frantic. He wants money, and the cashier (who, you remember, is a man in his sixties with hands that shake with Parkinson’s when he holds out your receipt) isn’t being fast enough.

“That’s it? There’s no more? Are you fucking kidding me, there’s gotta be a safe or something—“

“No! No, p-please, I’m sorry, this is all I have!”

You cringe, crushing your eyes closed as if that will make it go away. You’re surprised you can hear at all over the sound of your blood rushing in your ears.

“Don’t fuck with me old man, I know there’s more! Show me the safe or I’ll blow your goddamn brains out!”

No! You have to do something. You can’t just sit here. You’ve heard plenty of death threats from your patients (not to mention that one from Tomura), and you know the difference between a bluff and a serious warning. Maybe you can catch the robber off guard, try to pull the gun away? You stand up quickly, hoping against hope that you won’t regret this, but in a split second you see that the cashier has the same idea and he’s trying to pull the rifle out of the robber’s hand and—

BANG.

Something warm and wet splatters across your face.

///

Tomura is angry when you get back to the apartment. As soon as he hears your key in the lock he rises from your couch so he can grab your collar with three fingers, jerking your head up to force you to look at him. “Where have you been? Do you know how long I’ve been waiting—“

But he cuts short in the middle of his sentence. Maybe because he sees the look on your face. Or maybe he just notices the traces of blood you haven’t been able to wipe off.

“What happened,” Tomura says. It’s not a question. He adjusts his grip slightly so it’s not quite as punishing, but you hold still anyway.

You have to force your mouth open in order to speak, but when your voice comes out it’s more steady than you thought it would be. “It’s not my blood. There was a robbery at the store. The cashier got shot.”

“Oh.” He releases you and frowns. “That’s it?”

“Fuck you.” You push past him into the kitchen to get yourself a drink with trembling hands. Pantry’s out of shōchū, whiskey will just make you sicker—ahh, there it is. Baijiu. The glug glug glug of the liquor into the glass does nothing to put your nerves at ease, but you pour yourself a double anyway.

“Wait—wait.” Tomura’s hands twitch and rub over his arms like he’s trying to stop himself from grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking you. “Calm down. Why are you so upset? Don’t you see this stuff every day?”

You do. You’re an ER nurse. There’s no injury you haven’t seen. But it’s not about the blood. “I...I knew him. The cashier. He was nice. He had a grandkid on the way. I—“ You bite your lip and down the baijiu in one gulp. It burns.

Tomura clearly doesn’t know how to comfort you; probably doesn’t even really know why you need to be comforted. What does it mean that death is so meaningless to him? you wonder. But you need someone to listen to you, clueless or not, and Tomura will have to do.

The baijiu is still bitter and hot down your throat when you speak again. “You know something? Know what they asked me when the heroes finally showed up and pulled us out of there, me and the corpse?”

“…What?” Tomura asks warily.

“They stuck a camera in my face and asked me if there was anything I wanted to say to the hero who saved me. Any words of gratitude I wanted to share,” you spit. Now it’s your turn to feel your hands making fists at your sides. Your fingernails scratch into your palms like the pain can be an outlet for the sudden overwhelming fury spilling over you. “They didn’t save him. They were too late.”

Tomura’s eyes widen, and through your curtain of anger you can tell he’s looking at you in a way he’s never looked at you before. It’s unlike him to even look directly at you, and when he does it’s usually in disinterest or half-sincere irritation. This, though…this is different. He’s watching you like a believer watches a prophet. You can tell—or at least some deep, ugly part of you that you hope is wrong can tell—that he’s trying not to smile.

“I hate this,” you say, and the first tear drips out of your eye and runs down your cheek. It’s awful. You don’t want to cry in front of Tomura. You don’t want to show him how weak you are. But before you can wipe it away, Tomura’s hand comes up and does it for you, smearing the tear over your cheek in a gesture that—for him—is oddly tender.

Then he hugs you.

It’s stiff and awkward, like he’s forgotten how to do it, but the intention is clear. His arms fold around your back, pulling you into his chest while his chin makes its way to rest on your shoulder. He’s leaning into you so deeply that your spine is arched back, and you stagger away from him only for him to step closer again to make up the distance.

“It’s not fair, hm,” he murmurs into your hair. His tone is the closest thing to sympathy you’ve ever heard from him, but there’s an undercurrent of excitement you can’t ignore. “They’re always too late, aren’t they? The heroes… And everyone will watch that video of you thanking the heroes, and they’ll think they’re safe too. They’ll keep going about their lives and think that nothing bad can happen to them because a hero will always be around to save them…but you and I know that’s a lie.”

It takes you a second to recognize the emotion that’s raising goosebumps over your arms while Tomura rubs circles into your back, but when it clicks you shiver because it’s fear. You’ve never really been afraid of Tomura before, even when you should’ve been. Does he realize he’s backing you up with how forcefully he’s pushing himself into you? The backs of your knees hit the arm of your couch and you topple onto it with Tomura following.

He holds himself above you on his hands, legs tangled with yours. His eyes are wild and he’s not even trying to suppress his grin now. You’re trapped lying on your back under him—pinned like a butterfly under glass.

“Get off of me,” you say as calmly as you can.

“It’s all a lie, all of it…” A hand comes up and strokes your cheek, rubbing with two fingers at a stray fleck of blood on your neck. “I’m sorry it had to be like this, but I’m so glad you understand…”

“Let me up now, Tomura.”

He holds still for a long moment—waiting, thinking, considering—and then sits up, still straddling you but loosely enough that you can scramble back away from him on the couch. Your heart is racing, but you try to slow your breaths so he doesn’t pick up on how scared you are.

“Don’t freak out. You’re no fun,” Tomura says, and you exhale a sigh of relief at how normal he sounds. You never thought you’d be so happy about him looking at you like you’re nothing.

“I think you should go,” you say carefully.

He rocks back on his heels and runs a hand through his hair. “Are you mad? I thought I could stay here tonight, like usual. Since I waited for so long.”

“I’m not mad. I just…want to be alone.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be alone tonight. Not after what you’ve been through.”

Oh, now you care. “Fine. Okay? Fine. You can sleep on the couch.” You’re too tired to argue any more, and you’ve never really been good at convincing Tomura to do anything he doesn’t want to. It’s a miracle he listened to you when you told him to get off you. Considering how often he breaks into your apartment, it’s not like you could keep him out anyway.

So he stays the night. He doesn’t bother you when you take a shower and go to bed, he just lies on the couch in his street clothes. When you wake up in the morning he’s disappeared like he always does, and for the first time since you met him you’re truly relieved that he’s gone.

///

You always thought it would take some level of courage you don’t possess to actually bite the bullet and look Tomura up. To do so would mean saying goodbye to whatever strange relationship the two of you have built over the months, and you’re just not brave enough to risk it.

Turns out it’s not courage that makes you type his name into the search bar. It’s cowardice. You’re lying in bed under the covers when you do it, and the blue-white screen of your laptop is the only light in the room. Your comforter is pulled up almost over your head like it’s a wall that can block out reality.

“tomura”, you enter into the search bar, but you don’t hit return. Instead, you look at the search suggestions.

> tomura shigaraki > tomura shigaraki league of villains > tomura shigaraki decay

Something about it sounds familiar. But you’re not ready. Still, after everything, you’d rather keep your eyes closed. You backspace and snap your laptop shut, and when you do your room is so dark that you think the emptiness might swallow you up.

///

[T: 5:52 PM] > Are u going to be at home tn

[T: 6:14 PM] > Hey check ur phone

[T: 6:42 PM] > Stop ignoring me > (Y/N) > (Y/N) > (Y/N) > (Y/N) > (Y/N)

[T: 6:46 PM] 3 MISSED CALLS [You: 6:50 PM] > I’m at work [T: 6:50 PM] > Don’t lie > you finished an hour ago

[T: 7:13 PM] 1 MISSED CALL [T: 7:14 PM] > You said you werent mad [You: 7:15 PM] > I’m not [T: 7:15 PM] > Then stop being a brat > im coming over > ill bring takeout

You’re nervous about seeing him, but in the two weeks since he pushed you down on the couch you’ve found yourself…missing him. Like it or not, he’s made himself a fixture in your life. So when you get home you’re brimming with anticipation, wondering who you’ll get when you open the door—the normal Tomura you’ve come to like over the past few months, or the one from that night. The villain.

But it’s just him. Good old Tomura, laden with plastic bags and containers of greasy fast food for the two of you to gorge yourselves on. You tease him for being cheap and he argues that you’re just a snob and everything seems so normal that you can almost forget the look in his red eyes when he told you that you understood.

Almost.

///

You probably have no idea how good you look when you’re crying.

Of the couple thousand views on the news channel video of your “rescue” from the convenience store robber, at least a tenth are from Tomura. Eventually he just downloads the video onto his computer so he doesn’t have to read the inane comments that the other viewers leave on the webpage. It seems like everyone but him thinks you should feel lucky that you were saved by a hero before the robber could get to you, too.

As always, the public are a bunch of shit-soaked morons. Reading the comments makes him angry, so angry he’s tempted to look into a few of these brainless sheep and see how lucky they feel when they’ve caught the attention of a violent criminal. But that wouldn’t be productive, so he saves the video externally and leaves the news website alone. It’s for the best. Besides, seeing the “views” counter on the website tick up and up by the dozen every time he refreshes is just another reminder that other people are watching this; other people are seeing how delicate and vulnerable and pretty you are with tears spilling out of your eyes and the cashier’s blood sprayed over your clothing.

Thousands of useless fucking NPCs are looking at you just like Tomura is. They’re probably thinking about how sweet you look, just like he is. And they’re probably imagining all the ways they can take advantage of your fragile emotional state, just like him.

You’re too trusting for your own good. Tomura used to think it was a virtue, and it is, but only when it comes to him. Whenever he thinks about how your face is slapped over a dozen different news websites for the whole world to see, he has to dig his fingernails into his neck to keep calm. It’s better when he can just watch the video and pretend he’s the only one seeing it.

And it’s not like not watching the video is an option. Tomura can’t resist your crying face. There’s a point around the three minute mark where your voice breaks in the middle of your statement, and sometimes Tomura skips there in the video just so he can hear that pathetic little sob and replay it over and over and over. Maybe it’s sappy, but Tomura really does feel his heart skip a beat at the way your eyes and nose are rubbed red from your misery.

How fucked up is it that he gets off watching you cry?

Would you be angry if you knew? You probably would, but you put up with so much from him already. Maybe you’d be okay with it if he told you he really and truly tried to hold out. The first dozen times Tomura watched the video, he refused to touch himself no matter how tight his pants got while you choked out your stilted answers to the reporters’ questions, but at this point he barely has to click “play” on the video before he gets hard and takes matters into his own hands.

At the end of the day, it’s your fault. Everything about you is so erotic, from your shaky voice to your pouty, bitten-red lips. Isn’t it completely normal to be aroused while looking at the person you like? And Tomura likes you, he really likes you. He doesn’t have any pictures of you, and with the high definition of the news channel’s video he can see every perfect contour of your cheekbones, every pore in your skin, every glistening wet eyelash.

It’s not that Tomura doesn’t feel sympathy for how upset you are in the video. He does! Not even just sympathy, even—he’s empathetic. He knows exactly how it feels to be let down by the heroes. How dare they tell you you need to be grateful while you’re still trying to wipe brain matter off your shirt? Always too little, too late. It’s not fair.

But if he’s being honest? As miserable as you are, Tomura is happy that you were in the store when that robber came in and that you had to watch a man you knew get his brains blown out in front of you. You need a wake-up call to lose faith in hero society. If you have to suffer some emotional trauma in the process, that seems like a fair price to pay.

And the fact that Tomura gets to jerk off to it? It’s almost like destiny.

➠ [Part 3]

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hollyhomburg · 4 years

Text

Reasons Wretched and Divine (Pt. 6) (Yoonminjoon x Reader)

Genre: hybrid au, polyamory au, Hurt/Comfort, Recovery, Pregnancy, Mafia au

Parings: Snake hybrid! Yoongi x Dog hybrid! Jimin x Dog hybrid! Namjoon x Pregnant! Reader, Platonic Vmin, allusions to 2seok,

Summary: After years of abuse, you’ve all finally found each other. But for one of you- the fear still lingers, hidden in the shadows. Yoongi doesn't want much, just a few more weeks, but he only has until the end of the summer.

Tags: Hurt/comfort, physical abuse, polyamory negotiations, Post-traumatic stress disorder, low self-worth, bonding over trauma, themes of healing, mute characters, scent-marking, brief gore, themes of deception, complex characters

W/c: 10.6k

Song Rec: Hozier ~ Eden

Series Masterlist

An informative bulletin on Hybrid sense of Smell:

Out of all of the positives that hybrids inherit from their animal dna- their sense of smell is simply unparalleled. It’s one of the more peculiar and therefore interesting subsets of hybrid behavior. Hybrid sense of smell is just like any of the other senses though, in terms of the amount of sensory information contained, it is more on par with sight than the fragile human nose. It is possible that the vast majority of hybrid to hybrid communication is completely pheromonal. most scent glands are found on the wrists and neck.

When an owner or human initially comes into contact with a hybrid, the flush of new sensory information will be hard to parse out for most hybrids (and all but those with the most sensitive smell). At first, a hybrid will only be able to sense if you are feeling “good” or “bad” the same way we can often only tell when food smells good or bad.

But as time goes on, and hybrids become more accustomed to the particular hormonal balance of their humans they become more adept at deciphering their emotional state through their scent. Eventually, a person smelling simply ‘happy’ or ‘sad’ becomes “amused” and “contemplative” or any other host of emotions. This is one of the reasons why hybrids make intense emotional partners, as hybrids become accustomed to their owners or pack mates and they become extremely attuned. Some hybrids are even able to smell their female owner's ovulation cycle and if they’re pregnant before the owner themselves.

Scent is one of the most highly individualized parts of hybrid society, with no two hybrids smelling exactly the same (some exceptions can be made for close siblings and twins) scent-marking behavior is something commonly seen only between hybrids and their owners, as well as between hybrids in the same pack. As scent-marking leaves sort of an imprint of hybrid's emotional state on their partner. It is also a nonverbal queue for other hybrids “this person makes me very happy- please be kind to them for me” or “this is my human, please stay away” a negative impression will also be left on a human if they cause a hybrid distress.

Of course, certain species hybrids are more adept at this kind of empathy than others, with rabbit hybrids having the most sensitive sense of smell and therefore pungent scents, and most exotic hybrids including bird hybrids and snake hybrids, having a less sensitive nose and more mild scents which are harder to discern.

Many other tidbits of information can be conveyed through scents, weather a possible partner will be compatible for a heat/rut cycle, if they are upset and if they are injured or hurt, and their emotional state. There is even some debate that deception can be gleaned through scent (but that claim will need further research).

~~~~

- You wake with a start, started into wakefulness by a piercing shriek and then shouting. Out of all of the times you’ve suddenly woken out of a dead sleep this is by far the least violent. There isn’t anyone in your room but you, the covers overly warm, golden early morning light seeping through the windows, peaceful and idyllic.

- it isn’t one of the times that your late husband had dragged you out of the bed, kicking and screaming because he’d found something on your phone, a strange charge on your credit card, or woken to the feel of him above you, or woken to his screaming at Namjoon.

- You tell yourself that it’s just any other day, that this morning isn’t one of those. but your heart dosent understands that. thundering, your hands shaking.

- The days when you wake up slowly in Namjoon’s arms- those are the best mornings. But Namjoon isn’t next to you- and somehow your heart won’t start shuddering. Namjoon isn’t here and you want him there and your mind somewhere else entirely as you shakily exit your bedroom, tying your robe around you deftly.

- One benefit of living in an old house is that you can hear nearly everything that goes on, and you can hear Jimin's words below you “Yoongi- don’t look”

- Sometimes- you still have days where you hate your bedroom. Days where you won’t cross over the threshold with Namjoon already there, his every presence comforting to you- willing away any bad thought that might arise, any trigger or memory. You’d painted the walls a different color- the dark green changed to a light pastel blue- but some of the memories still linger even though it looks different and far warmer than it did when it was your husband's old bedroom.

- Most of the positive change has to do with Namjoon’s presence, the countless pillows that he likes to sleep with, the fluffy throws, his organized but slightly wry shirts in your open closet, his small stack of parenting books by your dresser. It might be the same room you were hurt in, but it feels different most of the time, especially when you’ve got namjoon all stretched out in your bed, All of the peace you have starts and ends with Namjoon.

- But maybe that’s changing, maybe you find a certain calm in Yoongi and Jimin too. Jimin is the first one you see, sending you a panicked glance as Namjoon cleans his face of blood, trying to stand in front of Yoongi for whatever reason the snake hybrid looking a little paler than usual.

- You stumble to the bottom of the stairs in your thick fluffy robe, some of your hair sticking up at the back. You take one good look at the snake, rub your eyes a bit, and then turn to the cat hybrid sprawled in the grass. Your eyes are steely, unflinching as you help her up, ask if she’s okay. All the while, Yoongi, Namjoon, and Jimin blink back the sleep from their eyes, not knowing what to do about the snake, hanging flayed open on your front door.

- You take one long look at the snake too. All of you silent for a moment before you jump into action. “We’ll get this cleaned up before you get back with the others, wake Taehyung too if you wouldn’t mind? Tell him I’m calling a meeting before breakfast to make sure no one slips away for chores.”

- That Jimin understands, Many a time had he seen the younger and teenaged hybrids leave the table the second their plates where finished. Though he has to admit- this feels less like a prank gone wrong and more like I direct threat with the way Yoongi is blinking behind Namjoon, the other hybrid talking to him in his low voice. Hands out like they might touch him, Namjoon’s tail hanging low between his legs.

- You’re just about to turn away when Jimin grabs your arm. “There’s something you should know,” he’s quick to explain what happened last night, who kicked him out of his bed and the reason why he’d been asleep on your couch. Your mouth turns down the more he talks. “Bring Minhyung too okay? Are you okay lovely?” you keep Jimin’s hand in yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

- The cat smooth’s out a wrinkle in her skirt and clears her butt of any dirt that might have gotten on it when she’d fallen backward, her tail flicks agitatedly “I’m okay miss, it just gave me a fright.”

- “I can’t imagine how none of us heard anything,” Namjoon says- finishing cleaning the blood from his face, thanking Yoongi for the towel. He looks a little shaken but mostly all right. “I know” Jimin agrees- “it was barely 10 feet from me and I didn’t hear it.” You grimace, still looking at the door and the snake, Namjoon finished wiping the blood off his face and you gesture for the rag.

- Jimin steps up “I’ll do it- you don’t have too” surprisingly the nail isn’t that deeply driven into the wood once Jimin gets over his initial squeamishness over handling the dead animal. Namjoon heads off as soon after Jimin gets it free to bury it in the garden. Still in his pajamas. You usher Yoongi upstairs while Jimin cleans the door of blood.

- You’ve been in Yoongi’s room a handful of times (when it was just your husband's house it used to be an office) but the dark blue walls fit Yoongi better now. His queen mattress pushed in the corner, an old ladder that Yoongi had repurposed hanging with half a dozen thick blankets and fluffy duvets, assorted space heaters and fans sitting on the desk pushed up against the foot of his bed. It’s cozy mostly- the curtains all drawn so the room feels more like a den or a cave. Dark- but warm and comforting, it feels safe even.

- Now that Yoongi’s away from the others it looks like he doesn’t know what to do with himself, raking his fingers through his hair and twitching a little, He can’t relax or standstill. You set a cup of coffee for him on his bedside table and linger. Unsure if you don’t want to leave him alone or if he wants to be to regroup for a second. “Yoongi” he turns and looks at you, and sometimes- like this time. It almost seems like Yoongi wants to say something to you- but just- can’t get the words out.

- You wonder more than you’d care to admit- if his muteness is selective or something physical. Namjoon wonders too, what his voice sounds like if his laugh is more of a giggle like Jimin’s or something crackling like Nam Joon. “Do you-“ a little noise stops you, Yoongi’s hands clench and unclench by his side.

- You reach out a hand unthinking, stopping a second before you actually cup his cheek. You and Yoongi are no stranger to almost touches, especially on his good days. Many times you’ve felt the almost brush of his hand on your lower back when you stand, sometimes you actually do feel it.

- You were no stranger to slight touches either, always in the secluded privacy of your garden or the house when it’s late and the curtains are drawn. In front of namjoon too. You’d linked pinky’s more than once over a bed of flowers when you were taking a break. as he fed you a sweet strawberry or green beans from the garden. The pad of his finger lingering on your lower lip for just a second too long to not be intentional.

- But never had you initiated the touch, not like this. Your hand cups his cheek and Yoongi leans into it, eyes fluttering closed. The bags under his eyes are almost black-purple. The scales under his chin feel cool under your fingers, only slightly smoother and cooler than the rest of his skin.

- You’d asked Namjoon about it, pacing in your room after one day when you’d seen Namjoon watch you and Yoongi with a strange look on his face. You didn’t want to do anything that made him uncomfortable. At the end of the day, it will always be Namjoon. You won’t leave him or hurt him- not ever if you can help it. Thought at the beginning, you feared you could hurt him by accident with Yoongi.

- It was back when your baby bump had barely been visible- not like now when even your baggiest dresses barely conceal your bump. Nothing but a strategically placed pillow concealing Namjoon’s nakedness as he laid back in your bed late at night. Namjoon scrolling through his phone (new, a gift from you. though it will only last about a week until he decideds to try and ‘wash’ off the dirt that got on it and compeltly ruin it)

- You’d had minor disagreements over other hybrids in the past. Namjoon was mostly okay with you giving out pets like they’re one-dollar bills at the strip club. And was equally as nonplussed when some of the younger hybrids that don’t know any better cuddled close enough to you that you ended up smelling like them. But there had been one incident where one of the older canine hybrids had mistakenly scent marked you.

- Namjoon had been a little angry growling at you the second he’d smelled the fox’s scent on you and demanding you shower. Rightfully upset, he’d explained that that was practically a claiming mark. He’d been touchy and a little bit grumpy the rest of the week, an arm thrown around your waist whenever the other hybrid was around.

- But Yoongi Doesn’t seem to upset him in the same way. “I don’t get what you’re so worried about- it’s fine- it’s not like he’s not part of our pack or a stranger.”

- You’d stopped where you’d been pacing a hole in your carpet. “What do you mean- apart of the same pack?” Namjoon sighed, tossing his phone to the side (he doesn’t quite understand that he needs to be gentle with it yet). “it’s like- it’s not the same as if it was a random farmer across the street- because it’s Yoongi and he’s one of us, it doesn’t make me feel possessive because he’s mine too you know?”

- They had been getting close recently, there aren’t many hybrids at the farm yet, and Yoongi, Taehyung, and Seokjin are the only ones who’ve stayed any length of time you’d consider significant. You’d woken alone late at night a few times in the last week and gone down to the living room lower level only to find Namjoon and Yoongi asleep on opposite ends of the couch.

- “But he’s not a canine hybrid Joonie? Don’t you only form pack bonds with other dog hybrids?” Namjoon shaking his head, ears flapping a little, “not at all, though it is rarer- and Yoongi won’t exactly feel it the same way I do, he’s still apart of this too.”

- It hits you like a truck, “you mean- you love him too?”

- You’d been meaning to ask Namjoon- if the pack bonds now extended to Jimin too, you had a feeling they did but it was probably better to ask…before anything more significant happens.

- You know that Yoongi is okay with touch as long as it’s not skin on skin and if he can control it. But you can’t not offer the affection now- not when you think it might help- not when Yoongi looks like he’s about ready to jump out of his skin with how afraid he is.

- You can tell his whole body is shivering but he doesn’t move to pull away when you lift up your other hand to slowly cup his cheek. He doesn’t move away when you get up on your tippy-toes to press your lips to his forehead. He smells soft and sweet like freshly done laundry. His hands come up too, loosely settling around your waist like he’s not sure he wants to pull you in for a hug yet.

- “We’ll get to the bottom of this yoongi, I promise” you give him one shorter squeeze and then separate. And Yoongi looks like he wants to keep holding you and also like he doesn’t. So you figure it’s best. You hover in the doorway, “take your time coming down today okay? We’ll have the meeting and then we can have breakfast up here if you’re not feeling up to being around the others today.”

- Your front door is clean, the light blue wood spotless when you come down the stairs, and By that time the cat hybrids have already returned to the kitchen. after changing into a loose knee-length dress, spotted with little flowers. It’s too hot for anything-tight today- but with your growing bump- everything feels tight. You’re only a few weeks away from the end of your second trimester, and you’re thankful that so far- you haven’t felt much morning sickness. You think you have a doctor’s visit later this week though- you’ll have to ask namjoon, he’s better at remembering that sort of thing than you are.

- One hybrid comes through the backdoor with a clutch of eggs from the chicken coop, the egg basket piled high, Jimin is with them too- holding a few eggs in his shirt- held out tight to make a basket, the cat hybrid smiles at you, “got almost 3 dozen today miss!”

- “Perfect for the frittata?” Jimin asks, unsure. “Quiche.” you and the cat hybrid correct at the same time. The three of you filing into the kitchen, Jimin careful not to break the eggs.

- A certain sleepy wolf hybrid is already sitting at your prep table, looking nervous, his scent souring when he sees you and Jimin. Jimin stays, this time crossing his arms and leaning up against the cabinets to watch Minhyung squirm. You sit down at the prep table across from him and pour him a cup of tea.

- He looks worried- sending a glance back and forth to Jimin and then to you. He knows what he did last night was wrong- and though Jimin can’t see any snake’s blood underneath his fingernails, the suspicion and dislike of the wolf hybrid still linger.

- But he doesn’t look like he’s trying to conceal anything. He just looks scared, eyes flicking from hybrid to hybrid, to the door and then the window and anywhere but at you and Jimin. Before the conversation’s even started, Jimin’s suspicion dissipates. While he agrees that Minhyung may be a dick, Jimin can’t believe that a hybrid would do this- they all know what discrimination feels like. Which is what makes their distaste of Yoongi particularly abhorrent.

- “I hear you have a certain problem with how I treat Yoongi, Minhyung. Would you like to elaborate? Or maybe explain why you kicked Jimin out of the bunk room last night? Or why you left a snake nailed to my front door-“

- “What?! I didn’t- I promise that wasn’t me,” Minhyung is smart- he understands what the commotion this morning was about. By now Taehyung must have woken everyone up- must have already told everyone about the meeting. Jimin doesn’t know if they’ve ever had one before, but judging by the general tense atmosphere in the kitchen alone- it must not be a regular occurrence.

- “I’m sorry,” he says, turning to Jimin, “I honestly thought you would be sleeping up here. I don’t sleep well and when you woke me up- I reacted badly. I promise I’ll be kinder- just don’t- please don’t throw me out.”

- “It’s not up to me,” Jimin says, his voice small, he gives you a look- that he hopes you interpret as ‘it’s up to you- I’m done with this’ and leaves the room. Only to find Yoongi hovering just outside, hidden behind the wall listening in.

- Jimin hears you and Minhyung starting up the conversation again, mostly it's him speaking this time- talking about his old owner who used sleep deprivation as a tactic to make him obedient. You don’t say much, just listen sipping at your tea. Yoongi lifts a finger to his lips and hands Jimin a carefully folded piece of paper. “I don’t think it was him.” By now Jimin is used to the way Yoongi sometimes converses on paper when he needs to communicate.

- “Do you know who it was then?” Jimin whispers, Yoongi shakes his head, but there is something about the tilt of his eyes that Jimin can’t find it in him to trust. But if there is a reason that Yoongi has for lying to him- then Jimin will trust it’s a good reason.

- He goes back into the kitchen, summoning you; you stand and walk to the door so that you won’t be overheard. Teetering a little bit, you look a little shaky too like you aren’t quite awake. Maybe that’s it- or is there something else? A shakiness behind your eyes too? Jimin can’t decipher it. Minhyung stays there, sitting looking contrite and like he’s close to tears. Fiddling with his hands under the table.

- “What are you going to do?” Jimin asks, Yoongi waiting too, his note crumpled in his fist. Namjoon comes thundering down the stairs in his work boots, looking intimidating as ever in all black. He must have snuck upstairs to change after he buried the snake in your garden. “I don’t know,” you say easily, crossing your arms over your baby bump, looking at Namjoon and sighing before you meet Jimin and Yoongi’s eyes. “Do you think he did it Yoongi?”

- Yoongi shakes his head, pursing his lips and Jimin decides that damn- he’s either a convincing liar or what he noticed earlier was just something else. Maybe Yoongi feeling uncomfortable. The buttons on his usual linen button-down aren’t buttoned right and his hair doesn’t have that usual perfectly swept out of his face look. Jimin is the only one still in his pajamas (which actually belongs to Yoongi) but he’ll try to change during the meeting.

- “If I throw him out there is a chance I could be punishing someone innocent, and if I let him stay there is a chance he could be guilty” Namjoon sits across the armrest of the old couch. “You’ve never thrown out someone before,” he says, bending down to tie his work boots.

- “No,” you say, eyes sharp on Namjoon, “but I’ve let you do it.”

- Namjoon freezes, standing up looking contrite, “I didn’t know you knew about that” Yoongi sends Jimin a panicked look; worried they’re about to witness some sort of fight between the two of you. But you just raise an eyebrow at Namjoon looking more tired than annoyed. “I’m not angry, but this should always be a joint decision,” you fiddle with Namjoon’s sleeve, tenderly smoothing over the edge of it. “So it’s settled then?”

- “This isn’t only our home anymore” you peer into the kitchen, keeping part of your body hidden by the wall. Minhyung still sits hands underneath his thighs, his head snaps up, black ears still buried in his hair. “You can stay, I trust you know that if anything else happens…” you trail off, he scrambles up from the prep-table. “Well, I trust you’ll have more sense than that.”

- He scrambles up from the prep-table. Minhyung almost breaks his back bowing to you, promising that he won’t do anything, that he’ll be the perfect hybrid again and again before he’s off down the hill- back to change out of his pajamas.

- It’s a humid day out and it isn’t even sunny, the moisture in the air oppressive. The hybrids are sleepy- hair and ears ruffled from sleep, some of them in work clothes and some of them still in their pajamas.

- Jimin sees one of the little ones make grabby arms at Seokjin (who looks clean pressed as ever) and the alpaca hybrid heaves the young one up into his arms, where it promptly closes its eyes and leans on his wide shoulder- the perfect place for a nap. Seokjin blushes when the new hybrid from a few weeks back, the otter Hoseok, comes over to coo at the little doe hybrid. His hands smoothing up and down her spine.

- Someone gets you a step stool and though Namjoon makes a face- he lets you use it to climb up onto a table. His hands anxiously hovering around your waist to make sure you won’t fall, he whines. But you ignore his instincts to be overprotective. Jimin can see the tension in Namjoon’s arms- he seems so worried that you’re going to fall- it’s almost cute.

- “This morning, a snake was nailed to my front door.” This is greeted by a few murmurs, nervous glances, and internal cringes. You hold up a hand, and the gathered hybrids all fall silent again. “You should all understand what safety means for a hybrid, and the fact that you would make one of your own feel unsafe and unwelcome- it hurts me. Because I obviously haven’t done a good enough job of taking care of you if you’re lashing out at one of your own. Yoongi is not to blame for your hurt.”

- Jimin is impressed by the way that you command their attention, The surrounding hybrids look scared; some look contrite, but most just look uncomfortable at being called out. They all know that Yoongi staying up in the main house and not in the barns isn’t a result of favoritism, but a necessity because of his inability to regulate his own body temperature. And even if you were playing favorites- it’s not like you don’t do the same with Namjoon?

- “If anyone has any complaints or is upset by the way I treat any one of you- you should come to me and talk about it. Not take it out on each other or my front door for that matter.” that gets a few chuckles out of the crowd. And it’s mostly the cat hybrids that have left the dishes in the kitchen to simmer rather than miss your announcement.

- After the meeting and breakfast, the four of you linger in the lower level of your house. The cleanup crew already blasting country music in your kitchen, and Jimin can see every twang of the country music irritates Yoongi and Namjoon

- Namjoon even making a small noise and rubbing his ears. You sigh, straightening out your dress on the bottom step, your hands shake a little. And you’re not the only one, Yoongi sits, his shoulders hunched. It only takes one glance up at them all for you to stop. Setting your sun hat back on the hook.

- “You know what- fuck this. We need to get out of here today.”

- All of you piling into your beat-up red truck, the same one Jimin had come to the farm in. Namjoon runs back in at the last moment to grab your purse. Yoongi and Jimin in the back two seats, a little cramped. Namjoon gets the front on account of his long legs. None of you talk about a destination as you make a three-point turn rather than try and back out of your near mile-long driveway.

- Not one hybrid lounging in the fields or moving about had given them so much as a look when you’d drove down the long hill. Pausing at the end only because Taehyung was nearby, the hybrid calling to you and trotting over to lean at your car door, his smile as happy as ever. Bear ears flickering in the holes cut out of his baseball cap.

- “Want to come with?” you offer, but Taehyung just shakes his head, “Nah my queen needs me” he tilts his head back in the direction of the bee hutches. is it Jimin’s imagination, or do you look a little crestfallen? “Need anything?” you’d proffered. He’s so tall he has to slouch to be at face level with you. Taehyung doesn't ask where you’re going, only looks as Yoongi leans over the front seat to fiddle with the radio, as if judging how affected the snake hybrid is by what transpired this morning. he flicks from channel to channel trying to find a song he likes. “Nothing really, maybe some more jars for honey if you can find them?”

- You nod softly “that I can do.” Taehyung steps back and waves as you pull out of the gates of the farm. And Jimin feels anticipation build underneath his skin. He’d rarely ever been outside of his old home before and now- now he was leaving the farm too- the destination uncertain.

- “Please don’t speed,” Namjoon says, Yoongi leans back from the radio, finally settled on some song with a low thread beat, more musical than anything else. The snake seems to vibrate with the force of the music and between that, the sound of the engine, and the wind whipping through the open windows, Namjoon has to shout to be heard. The wind tickles, but it’s the only relief from the muggy June heat since your air-conditioning is busted.

- You smile at him lightly; at 10am on the dusty dirt road there isn’t a sing soul with you on the road. You gun it. Namjoon grips the handle on the roof looking green, but when jimin looks over and sees you and Yoongi smiling at Namjoon’s queasy ness- his anxiety dissipates. It doesn’t matter that your truck is rusty and that you’re barely going over 40 in a 35- to Namjoon, one mile over the speed limit is breaking the law.

- You stop at the drive-through before you get on the highway, iced coffee for Yoongi, blended lemonade for Jimin, a hot chocolate for Namjoon (a travesty when it’s this hot) and an iced tea for you. The yellow lemons in your tea Jiggling with the ice as you hit potholes with little care for your truck. Yoongi leaning over periodically to change the song. Namjoon telling Jimin what genre is playing when he confesses he doesn’t know one, “is it jazz or ska?” Yoongi holds up two fingers- indicating the second choice, Namjoon nods.

- You look over your shoulder- sharing a special secret glance with jimin, rolling your eyes a little. Now he understands why you rarely ever play music when you work- if you did yoongi would get up to change the music every few seconds.

- “So where are we going?” you tap your fingers against the steering wheel, waiting to turn south onto the highway. “Probably not the beach, but maybe the State park? What do you think Joonie?”

- “I wouldn’t mind the state park, it’s got a pretty view” Jimin tries not to let his Disappointment show, especially when Namjoon turns to Jimin, sensing the whine that died in his throat. Yoongi nudges Jimin's foot with his own. The light turns green and you start to turn onto the highway. “I’ve never seen the ocean.”

- “What!?” you and Namjoon shout in tandem, you lurch to a dead stop, suddenly turning, around instead of just turning left. Yoongi turning to jimin mouth open. “Yeah- I’d never- I’d only been outside of like one block before coming to you?” Yoongi shakes his head as you get going the opposite way on the highway- getting into the slow lane because your truck just can’t handle going over 60 no matter how much you want it to be able to do that. “You don’t have to” Jimin tries to say; you smile when you glance over your shoulder at him. “I’m already on the highway Jimin.”

- Jimin pretends it doesn’t make his heart hurt a little bit to see you change so easily for him, the truck thudding along. Yoongi holding out the last half of his ice coffee for Jimin to try, smiling when he makes a face at the bitterness. You hold out your ice tea too, trading it for a sip of Jimin’s frozen lemonade. Namjoon offering him, but you being a little snarky, “sorry babe but I don’t think anyone but you want a hot chocolate in the middle of June.”

- Namjoon turns his full lanky body in your direction, thighs bulging out on the pleather, tipping his back and out of the window. “It just makes me unique,” you swallow, and jimin sees how viscerally you’re affected by the long line of him stretched out in the front seat of your car.

- Yoongi’s writes something on his notepad and handing it over to Jimin. “Yoongi wants you to know that you’re as unique as a dog sticking his head out the window of a car.” Namjoon scoffs, you laugh, Namjoon’s smirk as he looks at Yoongi is shy, and Jimin knows how that feels- the pride you feel at being known enough to be teased. “At least I know the difference between Ska and jazz now, that has to count something for uniqueness.”

- Jimin scoffs, “you gonna keep an imaginary tally or something?” Namjoon flicks his ears in Jimin’s direction, grinning, happy to be teased. “Yes- we can keep track, start being really weird like cutting our shirts into crop tops and painting them and shit,”

- “Oh please do that,” you say, and it’s a surprisingly attractive offer. Jimin has seen Namjoon’s stomach, all hard lines, and juicy skin when it pulls up or when it gets really hot and he takes off his shirt. And he can’t say he disagrees and judging by the high blush on Yoongi’s cheeks, he dosent either. All of you laugh with the way that Namjoon blushes and grumbles and fiddles with the edge of his shirt. The puppy is just too easy to tease.

- After some prodding, Jimin is tempted to lean his head out of the window too, and when he does he has to admit- looking down the narrow stretch of highway, eyes watering, his ears getting battered like hell because of the wind. It is worth it, his sensitive nose catching bits of something that smells like salt and fish the closer you get.

- Even Yoongi is tempted to do the same, though he might not get the same amount of joy the dog hybrids get from sticking their heads out the window. The wind sending his hair all windswept against his forehead. Curling because of the humidity.

- Yoongi’s tongue sticks out a little, as a snake hybrid his sense of smell isn’t nearly as good as Namjoon and Jimin’s, but it’s better when he can taste the air, the saltiness thicker the closer you get to the coast. Namjoon and Jimin’s tails wag out a rhythm on the seats.

- The beach is absolutely beautiful, the waves rolling and curling light blue but stormy the further out you go, Namjoon leaves his workboots in your truck and Jimin gets his knees and shorts all dirty in the sea spray, Yoongi declining to join in the water, writes that the salt makes his scales feel sticky and sits in the sand with your and Jimin’s shoes. Content to lean back and watch.

- Namjoon holding your hand to keep you steady as you dip your feet into the spray, your dress wiping in the wind. Jimin going crazy with excitement for a moment before he kicks at the spray and chases a few seagulls. None of you brought your swimsuits but Jimin dunks his full body once you gesture for him to take off his shirt so it won't get wet. You and Namjoon seem to have enough fun just dipping your feet in the cold water- but Jimin can’t get enough of the ocean now that he’s seen it. The way the waves curl, the thunder, the sharpness of salt on his tongue.

- He gets to knee height, and then to stomach height, the water is cold and a little unpleasant, but it’s worth it for the way the small waves ripple around him. Looking down at his body in the sea spray Jimin realizes- he doesn’t have a single bruise left on his body. It’s been some time since he came to stay at the farm and besides a few scars and aches, he doesn’t have a single mark on his body from what happened to him.

- The marks that lie underneath his skin- on Jimin’s soul could never go away as easily as that- but for a moment, he lets himself believe that the water could wash away even the wounds unseen. The last few weeks have taught Jimin that it’s not that easy, but if grief is the cousin of healing then Jimin will let himself feel sad about this if it means he can hope that one day he’ll barely feel broken.

- When he submerges his body and feels the drag of the ocean out to see, he lets himself imagine that the ocean is taking something from him and dragging it to a deep place where it can weigh on him anymore. And maybe when he gets his head above water- he feels a tiny infinitesimal bit better. but only time will tell if it actually makes it better. Jimin is on his way to healing and he knows he only needs time.

- When he gets back out, he almost stumbles in the surf and looks back at the beach, where the three of you are waiting for him. The three of you watch him separate himself from the waves. Your eyes going up and down his chest. Yoongi looking away after a moment. Writing on his pad of paper and scribbling it out angrily after a moment. Handing it over to Jimin

- “Feel better?” “Yeah- it’s” he shakes his body, ears flopping and sticking to his wet hair, the seawater beading in the sand. “It's nice in there. You should go in” “next time,” Yoongi writes. “You look a lot better Jiminie,” Namjoon says, handing over his flannel so that Jimin can use it to dry off. “What do you mean?” you stand to poke playfully at Jimin’s little poochy tummy, “you’ve gained a lot of weight you look healthy, I love it. ”

- He feels the fire in his cheeks, your words making his heart stutter. “Just one second” he turns away and hides his blush in Namjoon’s flannel, a high-pitched and very loud whine building in his chest or something like the need to scream swallowed by his throat because- ah fuck. He’s feeling something he shouldn’t be, isn’t he? But he must make some noise because you’re all laughing, Yoongi’s shoulders shaking as he hides his smile behind his hand.

- Before he’s turning back and handing it back to Namjoon face redder than a tomato. The other hybrid doesn’t say a thing about how it’s soaked in both water and Jimin’s scent, he Just ties it around his waist like Jimin’s scent clinging to him is the most natural thing in the world.

- You go back to the car so Namjoon can get his shoes, you talk about heading back but Yoongi isn’t ready to leave, wants to stay a little bit longer. You walk along the boardwalk; you buy some fried food that the three of you snack on, cyclone potatoes, and fried clams. Yoongi crunches into them happily, his cute little fang curling around his lip.

- Eventually, the boardwalk turns from games and restaurants into a small flea market, kitschy decorations, an overpriced Pepsi sign from the 1950s, a table made out of a glass coffin, curling horns mounted from some sort of creature. You mill about when your phone rings, shrill. “Hey Tae, what’s wrong?” you fiddle with a glass wall hanging; the stained glass fashioned to look like a cherry. Prattling onto Taehyung over the phone as Namjoon, Yoongi, and Jimin look through the tables of knickknacks.

- Yoongi eyes a silk dress shirt- Kind of garishly patterned. As behind them, a little girl points in their direction. There aren’t many other hybrids out on the boardwalk today, so Namjoon smiles at her, his scarred lip always moves a little less than the rest of his face, and the little girl’s mother pulls her closer and moves on quickly. Namjoon’s smile falls crestfallen.

- But as quick as the disquiet comes Yoongi is making him laugh by showing him a figurine- a piggybank that looks like a butt, the crack a hole for a coin. And the moment is forgotten. Most of the time- Jimin forgets what Namjoon must look like to the others, the scars that stretch, one from his jaw to halfway up to his cheek, another across and eye, and the newer one- from his chin to his lip.

- Jimin spies a weird metal holder, a sun on the front, mostly rusty, weird holes and test tubes set up so that they can stand in the holes. The man who runs the stand comes over to him. He’s not unkind to them, seems to be something of an outcast himself with his tattoos and gauged piercings. He greets jimin with a wide smile. “It’s meant for flowers, the test tubes hold one a piece” Namjoon smiles at him too. Sidling up behind Jimin, putting a hand on his shoulder. Namjoon’s warmth splaying over half his back “how much is it?”

- By now it's no secret how much Jimin loves flowers, a love both of you share (Yoongi’s thing is more vegetables). “Namjoon you don’t have too- I don’t need it” he looks like he’s about to say something, Yoongi scrawling something but before either of them can say anything, you get off the phone a few feet away. Pinching the bridge of your nose and their attention is diverted.

- You look substantially more stressed and they don’t need to ask what happened. “Apparently everything goes to shit when we’re gone, but a fuse blew in the house and now none of the refrigerators are working. We also got another call but the old owners are gonna drop the hybrid off later tonight. And apparently, a goat got into the garden but Seokjin got to him before he’d done any damage.” Yoongi looks about ready to run back into the truck at that.

- “Probably because he was distracted running after that otter hybrid again” you slap Namjoon’s arm good-naturedly. “Hush they’ve got crushes, and you remember what that’s like right?” Namjoon glances at Jimin and then at Yoongi, “yeah- I think I do.”

- As you’re on the way out you pass by the fruit section of the flea market- the place that is more a farmers market at the edge of the boardwalk. “those watermelons look good” you divert your course, and Namjoon rolls his eyes, “next thing I know her cravings are going to have me putting watermelon in sour cream soon”

- “That doesn’t seem like a bad combination at all” Yoongi makes a disgusting face, suddenly freezing when he looks over your shoulder, someone walks close to him, nearly knocking into Yoongi and his scent, disquieted and afraid fluffs towards Namjoon and jimin, they hover- instantly surrounding Yoongi while you are unaware.

- Which is fine- you’re not a hybrid and you can’t smell Yoongi’s distress like they can, you’re distracted by the lady who owns the stand coming upfront to greet you. Namjoon shrivels his nose, the smell of cigarettes permeating and making it hard for him to smell anything else.

- He tries to waves his hands and tell Namjoon and Jimin he’s fine but they won’t listen, the two of them stand on either side of him, staying close but not touching Yoongi- keeping anyone else in the crowd from coming close.

- You start talking to the woman who looks like she owns the stand. she gives one of the watermelons a hearty slap and yoongi flinches. She’s got long black hair and a wide smile- but she looks nice. She makes a wry comment about your baby bump and the watermelons, which you laugh about good naturedly about even if it is a little rude in Jimin’s opinion. Saying that you’re not at the true watermelon part of your pregnancy yet.

- In the end- you part with 10 (for everyone on the farm- it can never hurt to have easy snacks like watermelon in storage) and a half-bushel of their assorted vegetables. As much as you want to be completely self-sustainable your vegetable garden isn’t nearly ready to support every hungry mouth at the farm, and their English cucumbers are long and hard. You look happy to do business with them all said and done.

- The lady directs one of her farm hands, a big burly man with a bunch of tattoos to help Namjoon, Jimin and Yoongi carry them back and fort to your truck. Yoongi stops you when they’re finished. Shoving a note in your direction. “There’s something I want to go do, can you give me a second?”

- You nod, already taking out your wallet. Behind the two of you Jimin sneaks a handful of grape tomatoes into his pocket- they’re still his favorite. “we’ll get a few snacks for the drive home, take your time” he tries to not take your money but you won’t take no for an answer. Eventually shoving it in the breast pocket of his linen shirt if he won’t take it with his hands. He grumbles, shoving the wad of 20’s deep in his pocket.

- The three of you don’t think anything of it at all. After all- snake hybrids have uniquely tricky scents to parse out. So it’s no wonder why Jimin and Namjoon don’t smell the distress coming from him still. You think you notice something- but you let it slide. You’re never one to let Yoongi’s sudden mood changes affect you or take them personally.

- Sometimes he just gets too overheated to process things right. And you can tell from the way he’s listless that he’s at least approaching overheating. Getting into the car with the air-conditioning will be good for him. You make a mental note to pick him up another ice coffee.

- But meanwhile- while you’re waiting in line at a fast-food stand, Namjoon grabbing a few bags of chips off of a rack and jimin screwing around with a soda dispenser- figuring out how many different types of soda he can fit in one cup. Yoongi is being thrown into the side of a truck with a loud clang. His back hitting it and then his head jarring painfully. The sound alone sending him reeling into the dirt. But the man doesn’t let him fall. A hand savagely yanking his hair back. The unwanted contact sending shivers all up and down his body.

- “And here I thought you’d be more careful not to come so close. Did you think no one here would recognize you? We knew you where here the second you stepped out of that shitty truck.”

- Yoongi blinks, trying to keep the black spots out of his eyes. And she’s right. He did know better, the beachfront has always been their territory. Yoongi remembers the days he’d sneaked out and walked down to the beach in the middle of the night. The only time he ever felt some semblance of freedom. As long as he remained unseen and unheard she didn’t care. But today he’d been the opposite of unseen.

- He can’t respond. And Knows better than to try. His owner has never been fond of Yoongi’s voice, and she’s trained him well enough to know not to use it ever in front of her, his whole body had almost jumped out of his skin when he’d seen her, and seen you in front of her. All of the protective instincts in his body screaming at him to get you away from her to get you away from danger.

- Yoongi might be a liar, and a filthy double-crosser, worth every bit of ire and distrust from the other hybrids. He might not deserve your kindness or your care- not even a little bit and still, he’d never let anyone hurt you.

- She kicks off a crate of peaches; her black boots clicking on something metallic in the dust, cracking into one with a pop of her teeth into the tight skin. Coming close and getting in Yoongi’s face as the man holds him there for a second more, but then releases him. Both of them know they can’t rough Yoongi up like usual- any bruises would be too suspicious.

- “Did you like my little present this morning?” Yoongi flinches and she laughs. He’d suspected but hadn’t really known for sure if the message this morning was from her. But now he knows, he’s even more afraid than he was opening the door this morning. At least he’d come when called, Yoongi doesn’t want to think about what would have happened or what might have popped up on your front door had you gone somewhere else today.

- Yoongi is a good hybrid. Years of getting thrown into walls and slapped and kicked and burned by the stray end of a cigarette have trained him well, he always comes when he’s called.

- “You have until the end of the summer Yoongi- after that if you’re not back and with what I asked for, I’ll make sure that house goes up in flames.” She flicks a lighter, starting up a cigarette that makes Yoongi’s nose twinge uncomfortably. Bad memories. So many bad memories from looks like that as she puffs on her cigarette and blows the smoke in his face.

- “It’s a cute house, especially the garden. I didn’t know you had a thing for that- maybe I’ll have you grow some kale or vegan shit for me when you get back. And then I’ll really be like little miss high brow too huh? Looks like she eats healthy” Yoongi shakes and his owner laughs. So then she has been watching him. He doesn’t let himself wonder who at the farm might be there for a reason like Yoongi. What other snakes you might have in your garden.

- Yoongi can’t be there for long, can’t be absent. But he knew from the second he met his owner’s eyes over your shoulder that she would expect him to report back. That to not come when he was called would be as good as promising violent retribution, something far worse than a snake nailed to your front door.

- She leans in close to Yoongi, and Yoongi can’t resist leaning away, as she breathes the smoke in his face, his hands shaking at his sides. He watches her put out her cigarette in the peachy pink flesh of the peach wincing.

- He knows better than to talk back now or even squirm as she leans closer, barely a centimeter from his face. Even though a hook on the side of the truck is digging into the small of his back. “Remember little viper- if I see you so much as touch them- or let out even a fucking whisper- I’ll kill them in front of you then kill you myself”

- Yoongi understands- how could he not- he’s nothing more than her plaything- her spy. Yoongi wonders what she’d do if she knew he’d already broken the first rule. No touching though there had only been a few times, your hand on his arm when he was in the middle of a heat-induced meltdown, and this morning when you’d cupped his cheeks and kissed his forehead.

- Before anything else happens, 3 other men of her’s come around the corner of the truck, two of them hooding up the third who looks close to passing out. blood dripping down the side of his shirt. Yoongi has seen enough fights to know how someone looks when they’ve lost one. What’s more surprising is the fact that they’ve lost one here- the boardwalk is supposed to be his owner's territory. To touch her operation here- that means something significant, but even more strangely, his owner and her right-hand man don’t even look surprised.

- He struggles to put the situation together, Yoongi remembers one time when they were teenagers- back when it wasn’t his owner's gang, but her father’s. How he’d gone into a rage because some rival had decided to even vacation on their beaches- nearly unloading the full clip of a gun into their group in broad daylight.

- If they’re being pushed back- even to here, then there is something wrong- a rival gang or the police- whichever party had earned his owner's aggression this time, was surely soon to fall. But a gang war isn’t something that Yoongi’s ever seen. She fusses over the man two others holding him up, and Yoongi slides away, back into the crowd of the boardwalk. Knowing this time- he won’t be missed.

- Yoongi walks back to the car, telling himself to enjoy every minute that he has left. Because once the summer heat fades. He knows it’s all going to go away. As he walks, even as he knows there’s probably someone watching him. He stops in front of the flea market. His feet unable to take him closer to you, the closer he gets- the less safe you are. and still- he wants to be close to you- for just a little longer, so that he knows what it’s like.

- To have a pack, a family, people who care about him and love him. Before he goes back to how he lived before he wants you to know that he loves you, loves Namjoon and Jiminie too. That he would stay if he could.

- He might not be able to touch any of the people he wants to touch in the way that he wants or say the words that he wants to say, but he can show you all that you mean to him. At least now- before time runs out and it’s too late.

- Maybe some acts of defiance are less about trying to live, and more about making sure you have a chance to live before his misdeeds eventually catch up with him. And if anyone is deserving of some sort of karmic judgment It’s Yoongi.

- He hopes you won't hate him when you find out- if you ever do.

- It’s worth it- it’s all worth it to see the way that Jimin’s ears perk up when Yoongi brings back the flower holder from the stand for him, that and a silk bandana for Namjoon to keep his hair back when he’s working, and the little wall trinket you were looking at. stained glass cut in the shape of a pair of cherries. (He won’t know- but later- you’ll hang it in the window of the nursery of your and Namjoon’s room)

- The puppy holds the flower holder in his lap the whole ride home. Nearly getting his chubby finger stuck in one of the test tubes at one point. That nearly makes Yoongi laugh out loud. As you wind your way back to the farm, snacking on fried dough and blooming onions making Namjoon’s breath stinky enough that you press on his chest when he leans in for a kiss and eventually relents when he lets out a heartbreaking wine.

- Yoongi doesn’t let himself dream for more of this- because however long he gets he know he won't deserve it either way- he doesn’t deserve a single act of kindness from you. Let alone the kind of care and love you’ve all shown him. He just closes his eyes, leans his cheek against the open window, and lets his soul rest. Just for a little longer. All he needs is a little longer.

- Yoongi lies to himself and tells himself that the summer will be enough.

- Later that night, You’re already underneath your covers, turning restless in your too warm sheets. Namjoon lingers in the bathroom brushing his teeth. “Did you notice something strange with Yoongi today?”

- “No- why?” you fiddle with the edge of your coverlet.

- “He seemed super tense on the way how and somehow I got it into my head that there was something more wrong with him than usual” Namjoon sets a glass of water for you on your bedside table pulls himself over the top of your bedspread. Pressing a toothpasty kiss to your mouth that makes you smile. His hand coming up to cradle your hip, thumb rubbing wide strokes over your baby bump.

- He always gets this look in his eyes. A little lost in his own love when he looks at you late at night like this. You pepper a kiss down his cheek and over his scar, making his face twitch a little-you know it tickles in the same way he knows you’re teasing him- just a little. “If you want to go check on him, I don’t mind.”

- Namjoon’s point is clear, the emphasis on check you know what he means and what he wants. The emphasis on hybrid pack dynamics, that it really wouldn’t be strange to Namjoon If you went to Yoongi’s room…and ended up spending a little time there. If anything- it probably seems weird to him if you haven’t.

- You let the moment slide, lean over to turn off the light, and kiss Namjoon a little more, his lips are hot but gentle on yours. Taking the time to kiss you without a rush for more, nipping at your neck once before he settles in- you’re getting into the stage of your pregnancy where its hard to lay on your side too much so instead- Namjoon mimics your usual position, his leg slung over your thighs, head tucked close to your shoulder.

- And he makes these cute little noises, little huffs and small growl groans that remind you of a puppy before he falls asleep. But you can’t sleep- you stare at the ceiling in your bedroom and can’t help but think about Yoongi earlier. How you thought for a second you’d seen him crying on the way home, spied in your rearview mirror, head hanging out the window and his cheeks wet. somehow your bed feels more empty than it used too. Even with you and Namjoon in it.

- after a few more minutes where you wonder if you’ll ever get to sleep, You slip out of your and Namjoon’s bed and sneak down the hallway. Your footsteps cushioned against the carpet as you head down the hall to Yoongi’s room. and you know it’s late but you can’t leave him alone- not when you could fix it and help him.

- You knock softly; thinking about all of the times in which you try to help- on your worst days- when it feels like helping others is all your good for. nothing else in you but that, nothing to appreciate or love beyond what you can do for others because you feels so broken- too broken to be loved without giving up your time like an apology. A lot of the time it feels like you have nothing but acts of service to offer. But on those days, it’s always Namjoon, Yoongi, and jimin that soothe you without even trying,

- Your lover cupping your chin in his hand and telling you that he can’t get enough of you, that he thought about you all day and couldn’t wait to just stand close to you. The quiet care he shows you, massaging the puffy ball of your ankle. The way sometimes he’ll come up behind you when you’re fiddling with your outfit in the morning, his wide hands fisting in the sides of your dress. Making a low whine and scent marking along your shoulder so that every hybrid on the farm knows you’re his.

- The way namjoon can tell just by looking at you if you need his help, and knows better, like today, when you need a little distance to get your thoughts sorted.

- Yoongi’s soft companionship the way he’ll shake his head and take the heavy things from you, the roll of his eyes doing the speaking for him, “what would Namjoon think if I let you carry this on your own” or the way that he’d sometimes tap the edge of your hat with his long fingers making it bounce, lip pulling up to show his cute little fangs.

- When jimin looks at you like you’ve hung the stars in the side for him. Ready to ramble on and on about whatever new thing he’d tried today. Wanting to include you in his process as he became adjusted to the world. The way that he hangs on to every word you say, following you around like a lost puppy, but you would never mind that- how could you? When he was so smitten that it made your heart flutter to be liked with such loving intent.

- You knock on Yoongi’s door, and he answers with wet cheeks, looking startled, rubbing his cheek with the side of his hand. “Yoongi, are you alright?” he shakes his head, hovering, body swaying. You can tell from the hum that the air-conditioning is on high. Not too surprising given the heat of the day, and you know it’s easier for Yoongi to make his room cool and then work up to the kind of warmth he needs then do it the other way.

- His blinds are all drawn, no light on in his room. Thought you peeked outside and sure enough- the stars were shining bright, no moon in the sky. “Can I come in?” Yoongi looks like- fuck- this is going to hurt him, but he nods anyway.

- He scoots over in his bed and moves one of the covers down and lets you climb in on the other side of the bed, and the covers are cool and comfortable beneath your skin, the only light in the room comes from the display panel of the air-conditioning unit and the green makes Yoongi’s eyes glow yellow. “You can tell me- something’s wrong, isn’t it? if its something I can fix you’ve got to tell me- Yoongi- I-“

- Yoongi pulls himself up to hover over you on one arm, his other hand coming up to comb back your hair, you’re stunned into silence. The words leaving your mouth as you find yourself inches away from him, the cool line of his body pressed up against yours. And you think- because you’re both in pajamas and not actually touching skin to skin- you think that is the reason why it might not bother him so much.

- Yoongi is all lithe muscle and harsh edges, but he’s nothing more than gentle with his hands when he softly brushes over your cheek, his eyes molten gold as he tilts his chin up, his soft lips press against your forehead for just a second, the reverse of what you’d done for him this morning.

- Maybe you were both too worn out from the day’s events not too need each other’s company. He tilts his body to the side and leans up on his elbow to watch you. And you might expect it to feel strange- his body and it’s the absence of heat, but underneath the covers it actually feels comforting, cooling amid the summer humidity that just won’t quit.

- He leans in close to poke at your cheek with his nose, nuzzling with slow curling motions as if to tell you- go to sleep, and sleep you do, the coolness of the bed and Yoongi’s body supplying relief to your overheated muscles. Yoongi knows what you needed without you having to say it- the same way that you always knew what he needed. Yoongi stays close and curls around you tightly- his arm and his leg wrapping around you, protecting you both from something you might not see.

- Your last thought before you fall asleep is a question, is Yoongi’s strong grip on you- like he’s holding on for dear life, something to do with his snake genes? Or is there some other reason why his muscles and legs tremble when they hold you close like he’s afraid something is going to be able to separate you.

- Before you truly fall asleep, you think you hear a low voice say something, just a few words, but regardless of what Yoongi might have said- or if he spoke at all, You won’t remember it in the morning.

Kofi

BONUS: Jimin’s little flower holder!

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poormeowmeowcollector · 3 years

Text

We would name our children Jackie and Wilson

Relationship: Loki/Female Reader (Hozier did the gender first, don't @ me)

Warnings: Major Character Death, Mourning, mental health, alcohol.

Summary: Your relationship reminds you of a nice soft song. But things are not always so sweet.

Notes: this is part of a somewhat Collab with @lucywrites02, her part is done and can be found here, read it to soften the pain. I would say that I'm terribly sorry for the pain ahead, but I'm not. Meaning of the song can be found here, I used it for reference

Read On AO3

So tired trying to see from behind the red in my eyes

Loki fights for a deep breath.

It's just your face, you idiot. What are you afraid of? This mean voice from the back of his head asks.

They manage to draw a shaky inhale and puff it out, finally opening his eyes and staring at the reflection.

But those hateful crimson eyes staring back is too much, even though they look at them behind tears.

"Maybe another day…" he sighs and wears the illusion again. But the bloodshot eyes stay, this time not because of the Jötunn form.

No better version of me I could pretend to be tonight

For how long will you hide from the monster you are? This same voice asks in the dead of the night.

Once again, it's not mistaken.

"I can't walk amongst mortals like this. This illusion helps me avoid some of the staring," they respond. It's a beautiful lie, Loki almost believes it.

Still, it will break down. Like everything does.

This argument stays and torments him for the rest of the night.

Soul deep in this swill with the most familiar of swine / For reasons wretched and divine

Stark had suggested another night out on a bar. Loki usually declines, but comes to this one.

Soon enough, everyone is drunk and happy. Alcohol from Midgard is like a beverage for Æsir, and Loki can barely get tipsy. But Loki still decides to drink.

This period had some very successful missions, and the avengers are celebrating it by drinking. Little do they know that Loki drinks for a whole more different reasons…

She blows out of nowhere, a roman candle of the wild

It's late. Loki's surely past the tipsy phase, but still has control. So, they just sit on a bar and watch the others have fun.

"Would you mind some company?" you yell from a part of the crowd. Loki tries not to flinch, loud sounds do no good at him.

Then they see you, all smiling and beaming like a firework, drink in hand as you walk closer and point at a stool beside him.

They have to admit, you look ravishing.

"You're free to sit, if you want to," he smiles back and nods at the seat. You grin and slide there, placing your drink in the bar and having your attention to them.

"Are you not afraid someone might drug the drink?" Loki winders, eyes on the cocktail.

"Sitting beside an Avenger is safe enough, don't you think? And it's rubbish anyways, I probably won't finish it,"

Midgard has different communication patterns, and Loki's inability to catch up in time has made their silver tongue rusty and useless. But you make a conversation with him out of nowhere, like it's the most easy thing.

Laughing her way through my feeble disguise/ And Lord, she found me just in time

A few days later after the night out, the sparks of happiness you casted on Loki's heart have died out. But Thor insists that being out of the four walls of their chambers will do good to him, and Loki gives in. They wear an illusion to hide the mess that he is in and join Thor on their afternoon walk around for some food, mostly.

During the hours long conversation, you didn't mention that you work for Stark, in the Tower. They smile and call your name the sparks igniting inside his heart once again. It gets stronger when you give them this glowing smile and walk closer.

"Brother, will you mind if I get stolen for a moment?" he turns to Thor.

"Have fun, brother," he smiles before greeting you and leaving.

"You know, there's a nice coffee shop with a big tea collection, what do you think?" you beam, knowing it's an offer Loki cannot resist.

It's not far away, and truly a sweet little place, crammed between the offices. You order your drinks and settle on a table nearby. You give Loki the chair with the view on the passers by, sitting so you can only see them and the wall behind him.

"You didn't say you work for Stark," they hum, taking a testing sip of the dandelion tea that caught his attention.

"That's cause I work for the Avengers, technically, not Stark. Mission support agent, Romanov brought me here," you shrug one shoulder. Loki can't hide a smile, they always had a soft spot for humble warriors, for they're so rare on Asgard.

"Odd, I don't remember you in any field," he mutters.

"I haven't gone on a mission with you. I find it insulting for a God to be supported by someone who learned how to tie their shoelaces at age 12," you laugh. Loki doesn't share the enthusiasm for the 'joke'.

"You'll be the best support, if you ask me," they smile, and change the subject. And then, you throw this damned question.

"So, how are you doing?" you trail off.

"Just fine," he scoffs. You see through it like they're the worst liar ever.

"I know we're somewhere public, but you are allowed to be honest," your eyes scan him.

He takes a deep breath and makes an illusion of you and them just talking. Then, he lifts his own.

Your face stays almost unreadable as the green glow reveals the mess of them. Expect for the eyes that speak of sympathy.

Underneath the table, you cup his right hand, your thumb petting it. "If you want to, we can go somewhere more private. Your call,"

"Only you can see this. Don't worry, I'm not making a fool out of you," they laugh without humour, voice almost breaking. You now squeeze the hand.

"You'll have to actively try to make a fool out of me, your highness. It's your boundaries I'm worried about," the playful tone leaves you as you speak.

You've barely done anything, but Loki is already determined to kill for you.

Cause with my mid-youth crisis all said and done / I need to be youthfully felt 'cause, God, I never felt young

"Forget it, I'm not doing it. It's stupid!" he tries hard not to yell at you.

"But it's going to be fun! Come on, you can cast an illusion if you're embarrassed. Didn't you have fun as a teen?" You grin, pleading for them to come.

Little do you know that the last question feels like a knife in the guts.

"No," he whispers.

"Okay then. I'll be there with Sam, you can pop up if you change your mind," you sigh. It takes some minutes for them to realise what you just said.

"Allow me to rephrase it. No, I didn't have fun as a teen, I had to prepare myself for the throne I wouldn't take. And… this park will do nothing but remind me what I've lost. I'm sorry but I can't come nor change my mind," he fights against tears as he talks, your eyes on them. You walk closer and cup one cheek, letting them rest their head.

"Society says that you must have certain experiences at certain time frames. It's wrong, especially for someone who will live for as long as you. There's always time to replace things you've lost, the question if if you'll do it or not,"

Loki gazes at you and takes a deep breath, in, holding it, and out. Almost like he's smoking the air.

"Fine. But don't force me to stay if it's too much," they smile weakly, but it's genuine.

"Have I ever forced you?" you grin and place your forehead against his. "And anything critical to your physical health doesn't count,"

They laugh before nodding a no, a small kiss being blown in your nose.

Lord, it'd be great to find a place we could escape sometime / Me and my Isis growing black irises in the sunshine

Out of all the things Loki expected his fallen heart to do, daydreaming was last on the list.

They're a realist, always have been.

But the image of him and you in a nice stone castle in the middle of the woods is too perfect to resist. How you two would wake up and sleep together, have no one and nothing to make you feel anything but bliss. The two Monarchs in your little kingdom of two residents

Norns, they haven't even talked to you about these feelings. And he's already scheming his retirement with you.

How are you doing this to them?

Every version of me dead and buried in the yard outside / We'd sit back and watch the world go by

"That's it, Laufeyson," he's glaring at the mirror, one finger pointing at the glass, "no more lies. Fuck those illusions and games and just say the damned words!"

They sigh and run their fingers through the hair, testing if the smell of smoke is still in there, after five sessions with the shower. He has noticed that you don't like the smell, when you keep some distance on his bad days. And stinking on a moment like this is the least they want.

"Alright… into the battlefield…" he conjures his weapon, a bouquet of black irises, your favourite flowers. They finally teleport themselves on the field, outside your door.

Goal of the mission: be vulnerable.

He rings the bell, fixing his already perfect posture before you open the door. This smile they know and love so much is on your lips.

"You didn't have to! Come in," you exhale, beaming as you make space for him to walk in.

They call your name, the tone making your smile drop. "I have to tell you something I've been hiding from you for a while…" he sighs.

You nod, the agent face on. A green shimmer makes the flowers rest in a vase on the coffee table, Loki's hands now free to pick on each other.

"I appreciate your friendship, more than you can ever imagine. You're the only person who has reached out to me like this for eons. But, my heart has started to yearn for more. I've fallen for you, hard. And I can't keep the illusion anymore," they recite, eyes scanning your unreadable face. You stay dead serious, making Loki's nerves eat him up.

"Took you long enough," you grin and bring them down to a kiss.

It's nice and warm and slow, one devouring the other while also offering the best you can. Then, a salty taste makes you break the contact and cup Loki's face.

"Love, why are you crying?" you whisper, wiping away the thin paths the tears have crossed. He hasn't even noticed he's been crying.

"You can't imagine how happy you make me… I love you," they whisper.

You barely have time to say anything before he pulls you into the tightest hug possible, tears streaming down to your shirt and those three words coming out of their lips again and again like a prayer.

Loki has no idea how many lifetimes he washed off within just one hug, but a weight they never noticed they carried was gone when you break the embrace and stare deep into his now puffy eyes.

"I love you too,"

She's gonna save me, call me baby / Run her hands through my hair

"I'm telling you, you have to be more careful in the missions. Yes, you are a God, but don't be so reckless," you groan as you rinse them with water and try to remove the blood and dirt from their hair.

Just the right amount of strikes, and he now can't lift his hands enough to wash his own hair. If you weren't so good at it, they would refuse to stoop so low.

"It was supposed to be abandoned. How would I know that it wasn't? I'm a God, not a prophet," he sighs, holding his sides. Even talking is making their scattered ribs pierce him… "And I did call you to save my arse, that's the exact opposite of recklessness,"

"If you say so. But what will I do if one day my baby comes home with something more than a wretched ribcage?" you laugh.

They try to answer but both the pain and the pleasure from your fingers on his hair, massaging his scalp with shampoo, are making his tongue a knot and his throat release one moan of pleasure after another.

She'll know me crazy, soothe me daily / Better yet, she wouldn't care

You walk through broken mirrors and scattered furniture, reached out to Loki, who's hiding their head between their knees.

You don't say anything, you just play with his hair. It's cold, much colder than usually. But you don't care.

"Leave, please. You'll get hurt," their voice is growly from the smoking but weak.

"Forget it. I'm not leaving you alone in this state," you declare matter–of–factly. A sound comes out of his throat, something between a chuckle and a cough.

They snap their head up, blue and scarred cheeks wet with tears and flaming red eyes with blue veins all over them drilling holes in you. "Do you dare say this in my true face? Declare that you care about a monster?" He spits, lips shaking as they try to hold back another crying fit.

You face stone, you grib his cheeks to stop them from breaking eye contact. "I am not leaving you alone like this, because I care about you and I love you. And, I don't give a fuck what others have made you think of yourself, you're anything but a monster," you keep your voice steady, trying to physically pin those words in his mind.

They sigh and lean against your hands, eyes closed and breaths slow as tears start rolling down his cheeks again. They turn to kiss your palm, now the rest of his body relaxing and hands bringing you close to a hug. "Thank you," they breathe out against you, the weakest of smiles forming slowly.

We'll steal a Lexus, be detectives / Ride 'round picking up clues

"Feet off or I'll chop them off and put them in the truck," you snap, eyes on the road as you try to find a place to park.

"Relax, it's not ours," Loki brushes off the threat. You sigh and park the car among some trees on the edge of the road, hoping no one will see it. He tries to mask it, like always, but you can see how the pain is making their features harsh.

"You can drop some spells, we're well hidden," you point out, watching as the pale skin starts melting and dark azure replaces it. Your skin crawls, you don't know if it's the cold or the awe. Loki breathes out, head resting back on the seat. "I didn't know the illusion is so painful," you think out loud.

"When running so low on rest, everything is painful. Now, where are those files…" they mutter and turn around, searching for the yellow case in the back seat. "Here. Do you have any idea?" he asks, giving you the file.

"I'll probably find something to milk. Now get that rest before you pass out on the field," you glare at them with that Look. He grins and nods before laying against the window, a thin layer of frost already forming.

Then, they start laughing.

"What's so funny?" you ask, not looking up from the report you're reading.

"Before I even talked to you, I had the honeymoon trip already planned in my brain, with too many versions to count. This wasn't even on the list," he straightens up and smiles. You laugh too.

"Well, it's not exactly as bad as you make it sound,"

"Norns, are your standards so low or are you so disappointed in me?" They raise one eyebrow.

"Neither, love. Now get rest before I have to knock you out," you smile through threatening him.

"Kinky, might try it later," they wink and lay back down, his breathing deepening some minutes afterwards.

We'll name our children Jackie and Wilson / Raise 'em on rhythm and blues

You're laying against them, smiling like an idiot as he runs a hand on your stomach and feeling this new anomaly.

"Are you sure?" you ask, watching a small wrinkle from between their brows.

"Yes. Two of them. Perhaps boys but I can't tell yet," he whispers, hand still resting there even though the spell is over.

"Twins… we will become parents," you smile, breathing out and laying against their shoulders.

Loki calls your name. You turn around and he rests his forehead against your own. "I love you so much, you know that? All three of you," they grin. You chuckle and close your eyes, accepting the kiss that's definitely coming.

"You know, we'll have to name them something," you point out after they break the kiss.

"Narfi and Vali," he's… quite fast on picking up the name.

"No way,"

"Why?"

You freeze. "It's silly…" you mutter.

They cup your face, glowing green eyes on yours. "It's bothering you,"

"It's the myth… how Narfi and Vali suffered in the myth because of your… because of Loki's mistakes… I don't want this to happen to the little guys," you sigh.

"Then, do you have to suggest another name while I'm trying to think of a second choice?" he smiles.

"It's even more silly," you giggle.

"At least it won't be your mythological dead kids,"

You take a deep breath. "Jackie and Wilson, from the song," you are ready to hear them laughing at you for the suggestion. But he just smiles.

"Jackie and Wilson…"

Cut clean from the dream that night, let my mind reset / Looking up from a cigarette, she's already left

Loki has no idea how long they've been staring blankly at the ashtray, the suit in front of him mocking him.

It's maybe the first time they're so hesitant about wearing all black.

It was supposed to be a small mission, nothing dangerous. You were supposed to be back, safe, within an hour.

You were supposed to raise your sons and retire in that castle in the middle of the forest.

Why was he so foolish to believe that he deserves a happy ending?

"You have to collect yourself. You have to say the farewell, a fucking thank you for all you've got from it, you coward!" they spit at the mirror opposite to them, hand tensing and breaking the cigarette in half.

A deep breath, in and out, a tight squeeze on the wedding ring hanging from his neck, and they stand up to put the damn suit on.

I start digging up the yard for what's left of me in our little vignette / For whatever poor soul is coming next

The funeral is over, the farewell has been said. But there's a small dinner coming afterwards.

Out of all the public appearances, this is by far the worse. Malevolence is something Loki has learned how to deal with a long time ago. But these eyes of pity are unbearable.

The strangers, probably reporters or Stark's acquaintances, coming to express their "condolences" are at least few enough to allow Loki to slip away to the bathroom.

He sits on the cold floor, this numbness drowning him. They hoped you had made it go away, but you just suppressed it. He wants to cry, to scream, to beg to whatever cruel Deity did this to bring you back. But their mind cannot give the order.

He takes your phone out, opening the music app and wearing your earphones. They press play on the last song you listened to, only to hear some familiar chords echo from the small device.

You were muttering this song all the time since you found out about the pregnancy, it's no wonder it's the last tune you listened to. But the upbringing melody of the song and the dark emptiness in Loki's heart are painfully opposite.

He sits there and listens to the whole song in silence, trying to milk some happiness out of it.

But they only manage to whisper along the last two lines, or an alteration of them. Just before he starts weeping at the tile floor until Thor finds him.

"We would name our children Jackie and Wilson, Raise 'em on rhythm and blues,"

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for-a-muse-of-fire · 4 years

Text

oh, but you’re good to me

the wench and the witcher

"oh, but you’re good to me”

Fandom: The Witcher (2019)

Paring: Geralt of Rivia x Black!OFC - Zahra Auberel. Platonic!Jaskier x Zahra.

Summary: Midaëte brings the height of summer, and a reconciliation.

Warnings: Rated Mature due to brief mention of sex. Please don’t interact if you are under the age of 18.

A/N: Well, what started as a simple reader insert character grew into a fully-formed OC through the course of this series. And now we have reached the end! Well, mostly. I have some random outtakes and drabbles that I’m sure will crop up, but my (eventual) multi-chapter will feature Geralt and Zahra as they navigate some... interesting magical developments.

But, for now, I call this the end of The Wench and The Witcher. Thank you guys so much for your kind words, reblogs, likes - this is honestly the most I’ve written in years and knowing that y’all have enjoyed it warms the cockles of my heart. Title and lyrics under the cut from Hozier’s “Would That I” which I think might be my favorite Hozier song full-stop, hands down.

@coconutxraikage - @onyour-right - @ly–canthrope - @kianya-loves - @c-s-stars - @gczanetti1 - @alwaysnatz - @agniavateira - @owillofthewisps - @hina-chans-stuff - @yespolkadotkitty - @wastingmypotential - @inber

With each love I cut loose, I was never the same Watching still-living roots be consumed by the flame I was fixed on your hand of gold Layin' waste to my lovin' long ago

“Contracts from the butcher and the miller,” Lucja rattles off. “And Jaskier returned your message – says he’s very much looking forward to performing for the solstice festival.”

She gives a hum as she thumbs through the stack of papers on the desk. “I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you, as well,” she teases.

Lucja’s pretty round face goes pink, making her employer grin. The older woman pauses when she finds an unfamiliar piece of folded parchment among the stack of invoices. Slim brown fingers unfold the sharply folded letter and suddenly her heart is in her throat. “Lucja… where did this come from?”

“Oh… it, ah, came with Jaskier’s reply. Do you want me to get rid of it?”

Though half-tempted to let Lucja burn the letter, she bites her lip and shakes her head. “No,” she murmurs. “Thank you, Lu’ – that will be all.”

Her young barmaid flashes a sympathetic smile and closes the door behind her. The neatly looped scrawl of the letter makes something around her heart ache. She’d always been surprised by how tidy the Witcher’s handwriting was:

I don’t

This isn’t what

I’m not – fucking shit fuck

The first time I saw you, it was like walking into the light of the sun after half a lifetime in the cold. And it was so fucking cold that night.

You were like summer.

It’s cold again now, without you. I don’t know what I’m doing

Two weeks later:

I wanted want wanted to bring you to see Kaer Mohren. I know you said you like the ocean more than the mountains, but I think this place could change your mind. You would get on with Eskel like a house on fire. He’s more of a southerner, like you.

I told him about the time you tried to teach me to cook and he nearly pissed himself laughing.

Lambert’s a shit. Vesemir already likes you.

You’d like it here. The kitchen is nearly as big as the whole front room of the tavern. Library’s bigger.

Garden’s a fucking nightmare, though.

We could go to the ocean, too. Anywhere you want.

The missives don’t come with any real regularity. A few at a time, a week-long gap, but they never stop. She thinks about writing back, at first, but deciphering where the Witcher is would likely be impossible and… gods, she’s still so damned angry. The White Wolf receives no reply.

Regardless, the letters keep coming.

The thing is, I don’t know what else there is besides The Path - this life of slaying monsters and getting paid in coin. I was told that was all I needed and I believed it for a very long time. There was nothing to challenge that, not until I met you.

You were are so fucking beautiful. And warm, and bright, and vulgar, and kind, and a pain in my ass and I should have told you how much you meant to me, but I couldn’t parse it out until just now, and I am an idiot. And a coward. I thought that telling myself you were an amusement would be enough, that I would be content with warming your bed, but I can’t do that anymore. I can’t keep lying about how much I need you.

I need you, Zee. It feels like I’m missing my fucking sword arm.

The words on the page blur together. She brushes them with her fingertips, almost smiling even as the tears catch in her lashes:

I miss the way you laugh at Jaskier’s dirty songs.

I miss the way you used my legs to keep your feet warm at night.

I miss that fucking rabbit stew.

I miss the way you’d look at me when I walked in the door.

I miss the sounds you make when I’m inside of you. The way you taste.

I miss your eyes. And your smile.

Your voice. Your terrible fucking singing.

You are my home. You’re my harbor and my safe haven.

I love you. I’m sorry. Please forgive me.

---

Midaëte approaches. With it, a week’s worth of festivities, and food and drink, leading up to the day of the solstice. It means early mornings in the kitchen and late nights in the tavern. The evenings are balmy, windows and doors thrown open to allow the scent of summer air and night-blooming flowers to drift through.

For a time, she is so busy that she forgets to be heartsore. Geralt’s letters – page after yellowing page – sit tied with a gold ribbon in her desk drawer. Confessions and apologies, promises and rambling stories that she keeps picking up to read again and again. It’s a veritable book, more than he’d ever seen fit to say in person and she’s not sure whether to be infuriated or hopeful, but there’s barely time. Thank the gods.

Business booms, between trades-folk coming in for the market day, then musicians, then families. She drinks a little, dances when there is time; she lets Lucja weave tiny yellow purple flowers into her hair for Midaëte Eve and dresses in white and yellow to enjoy the evening. Or try to, at least. The main room is full almost to bursting, patrons laughing, carousing, and eventually spilling out into the courtyard to dance in the falling dusk.

Zahra watches from the doorway. A few try to tempt her into the circle for a reel and they receive a grateful smile with her refusal. Jaskier, however, will not be deterred.

“You, dear lady,” he croons. “Look too lovely to be hiding in the shadows.”

“Jas…”

“One dance. Just one – you might even have fun by mistake.”

She rolls her eyes, but the bard just grins and lifts her hand for a kiss. He leads her, hand-in-hand out to the courtyard; Jaskier gives a nod to his fellow players and they begin with a sharp beat that eases into a lovely, familiar melody.

“You know this one, ducky?” Jaskier queries with a smile. She nods and he takes the lead.

It’s a simple step, to start with. A sweet back and forth to match the sweet, flowing verse of the song. The touch of Jaskier’s hand on her low back offers guidance, keeps her moving in gentle circles around him until the real movement begins. Swinging, agile steps carry Zahra and her partner around in wide loops. The mingle with other dancers, threading hands to spin back together and then apart.

Jaskier grips her waist across the front, and she follows suit. The dizzying spin turns the world into a wash of summer colors for a moment and she can’t help but laugh. It feels good to be light again.

The bard turns her under his arm and into the hands of the next man. There’s a moment of hesitation, a moment where she considers bowing out and going back to her corner, but the tabor still thrums in her blood and it’s such a beautiful night.

Still smiling, she curtsies, and is lead back through the steps again. Her partner leads easily, light of foot and loose of tongue – from her ale, more like than not – but he’s kind, and sweet, and so funny that she’s nearly in tears when she’s suddenly spun away to her next partner. She catches the fabric of her skirts to add a flourish to the spin; the soft yellow cotton dances with her.

When spins to a stop, she sees black, at first. Matte black buttons, black tunic shirt – worn, but cleaner than it usually is. The silver wolf’s head medallion sparks in the torchlight.

Zahra looks up into the face of Geralt of Rivia and the music goes dull behind the roar of blood in her ears. It feels a bit like standing on a ledge cliff and looking down to gauge the fall. She feels dizzy, and terrified, and wonderfully breathless. Heart in her mouth, she spies Jaskier out of the corner of her eye.

The bard grins. Bastard.

“Zahra…”

The Witcher’s voice rumbles through her like soft summer thunder. Strong fingers grip hers, and he lifts her knuckles to his lips. His honey-gold eyes are more earnest and honest than she’s ever seen them – he asks the question without moving his lips. Zahra nods.

Geralt leads her in the dance and everything falls away.

She hears the music, feels it sing through her, but her focus remains on the white-haired mutant at her side. His hand spans her back, warm through her dress and stays; the lightest pressure of his fingertips, or palm, guides her to turn, or step, or pivot in time with him. It shouldn’t be surprising to her, how well he moves – she’s seen him fight, and his grace with a sword, and how would dancing be any different? He doesn’t look away from her once and the heat of his gaze flushes over her. The Witcher very nearly smiles.

Geralt turns her under his arm, guides her through the last few measures of the song. He steps away, takes his warmth with him, and bows. Zahra curtsies in return.

The crowd, the rest of the world, rushes back over them. The townsfolk whistle, and stomp, for a moment determined to swarm in and start up another country dance, and Geralt grips her hand tight for a moment. She sees him hesitate before he asks, simply, “Can we talk?”

Most of the party has spilled into the streets, leaving the tavern itself practically empty. Lucja still keeps to her spot behind the bar, green eyes going wide when she spies Zahra and her guest in tow. The girl’s pretty face splits into a knowing smile that makes Zahra’s face go hot.

It’s mostly dark in her study. The small hearth fire has gone to smoldering embers, and it gives her the opportunity to light a few candles and collect her utterly scattered thoughts. She flicks out the last taper and finally looks up at Geralt. He stands just inside the closed door, just as he used to. It’s familiar – it feels like it’s been years, or decades, or maybe just a few hours. His honey-colored gaze still holds a heat that sings over her skin. She drops her eyes to the desk.

The last letter sits there, creased and folded from how many times she’s read it. Zahra picks at the parchment. Keeping her focus on Geralt’s neat lettering seems easier than looking at the Witcher himself. “Did Jaskier put you up to this?” she teases half-heartedly.

Geralt exhales on a chuckle. “Something like. Threatened to garrote me with a lute string.”

She smiles, in spite of herself. When she lifts her head and meets his eyes, it takes a moment to catch her breath. For a few heartbeats, she simply stares. Gods, he is still so beautiful. She swallows hard and feels her throat go dry.

“Did you mean what you wrote?” she asks.

“You know I did, Zee.”

Gold eyes go guarded again. He doesn’t go totally cold, but she can see the way he builds up his walls to prepare for the worst. He steps forward. Second-guesses – stops.

“What I do – what I am – I can’t change it,” he rumbles. “I’m still a Witcher, Zahra. A mutant. I can’t… I can’t give you normal, sweetheart – ”

“Gods, Geralt - fuck normal.”

---

“Fuck normal.”

She says it with such passionate certainty that it startles a laugh out of him. The soft yellow of her skirt floats like woven sunlight around her legs. Like the sun, it almost hurts to look at her, but fuck all, that’s all he wants to do. He watches her face, watches her chew her lip; feels his slow pulse try to speed up when she steps closer. His fingers itch to curl around her waist.

“I never asked for normal, Geralt,” she whispers. The way her voice cracks pulls tight around his heart. “I don’t want normal. I want you. That’s it. Can… can you give me that, or no?”

The Witcher’s footfalls carry him to her. He studies her face; re-acquaints himself with the curve of her cheek and the dimple that presses there. She all but melts into his touch when his thumb brushes her cheek. He pulls her into the circle of his arms. She’s still soft, and warm; he closes his eyes, feels his muscles go lax with relief when she holds fast, locking her arms around his back. Geralt presses his face against the smooth curve of her shoulder.

It feels like stepping into the light of the sun after ages in cold and rain. “I love you, Zahra,” he breathes.

Her soft, tearful laugh settles warm into his heart. “I love you, Geralt.”

He gives a pleased murmur, lets the tip of his nose trail lazy circles over her shoulder. When he inhales, the warm, soft smell of her skin eases back into his lungs. From shoulder to neck, the Witcher draws in slow breaths and ghosts his lips over the exposed skin he finds until Zahra shivers. “What are you doing, Witcher?” she whispers, breathless.

“Hmm… taking your scent back,” he mumbles. “I missed this smell.”

His lips ease along the shell of her ear. She still gasps when he nips at the crux of her jaw. “I missed you, love,” he growls.

Geralt takes his time. He savors the smell and the taste of her skin, humming lowly when Zahra’s hands grip at his back. The sweetness of her begins to bloom with heat, with the richness of desire – want – and when he sets his teeth gently against her pulse point, she moans delicately. Insistent fingers tangle in his hair; she whispers his name and pulls him to her lips. She kisses him like a woman starved and it feels like his heart might thunder its way free of his chest. He lifts her onto the edge of the desk and comes to stand between her parted thighs, gathering the soft yellow cotton of her skirts up. Her fingers yank at the buttons on his trousers.

It’s a quick, desperate of coupling. Mingled breath and bitten off sighs – greedy kisses with fingers gripped in the front of his shirt. She flutters hotly around his cock with a whimper and a curse. He groans against her mouth when he comes. Zahra drinks down the noise with a grin on her lips.

Geralt stays put for more than a year. It’s good.

The Path still calls, and he still follows, but she finds she’s able to let go of the fear. It’s no longer a question of ‘if’ but ‘when’ in terms of Geralt’s return. And if he knows it’s going to be a long journey, or if the mood simply strikes him, he writes -

I miss you.

I love you.

Sometimes no more than a line, sometimes full paragraphs – even pages – but he always tells her when he plans to return. When he’ll be home.

It’s nearly spring next time he rides back in, market day in full swing as he passes through the township gate with Roach at his side. Vendors call their wares, families and merchants wander the stalls as he peers out from the shadow of his cloak. He finds the trail of Zahra’s scent past the cloying smell of cut flowers and rounds to corner to find her chatting with the butcher’s daughter.

The younger woman catches his gaze. Geralt watches the girl grin and give his woman – his woman – a nudge, nodding in his direction. Zahra is already smiling when she turns, and the Witcher has the pleasure of watching her face flash from surprise to joy in the space of a heartbeat. She moves to him, a walk that becomes a jog, and then a final sprint that launches her into his arms. He curls his free arm tight around her waist. Immediately, he has his face pressed to her hair. Zahra’s laughter rings softly in his ears when she draws back, just enough to look up into his face.

At her throat, the polished wolf’s tooth is bright against her brown skin. “Welcome home, my love,” she murmurs.

The greeting settles warm over him like the sunlight. Geralt pulls her close again, kissing her in full view of half the town. She shivers sweetly in his arms and pulls her fingers through his hair. He hears a wolf-whistle, and a smattering of applause that makes Zahra giggle against his mouth.

“People are staring,” she teases softly.

He smirks. “Let them,” he tells her before kissing her once more. She tastes of clover honey.

She smells of sunshine.

She feels like home.

#geralt of rivia #geralt x oc #geralt of rivia x ofc #geralt x ofc #the witcher #oc: zahra auberel #orignal character #the witcher netflix #fanfic #fanfiction #the wench and the witcher #tutu scribbles

94 notes · View notes

jaeminlore · 4 years

Text

bard!taeil ^_^

commissioned by @warmau luv u thank you for giving me free reign i’m sorry i used it all on world building

words: 5k+

a/n: sorry this is a bit late ! also for any mistakes !

okay first thought when given free reign of a story is PRINCE or ROYAL bc that is where my mind is for every story i love a good castle moment

i just think they’re neat ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

but yknow i was thinking about bards and also my skyrim game and how annoying yet precious the bards are in the inn. and if that is not taeil i will eat my own foot,,,,, like omg i forgot his name i think it’s mikael?? he’s at the inn in riften!!! i beat him up to preserve the honor of some lady and now we’re best friends ^_^ anyways he’s lovable and it makes me think of taeil

i miss taeil i read a post about how precious he is and it made me feel some type of way ,,,,, my favorite taeil era was cherry bomb bc the CHOKER and the EYELINER and he just felt like the embodiment of that tiktok sparkly filter

okay now that that’s over

this story is set in a lone kingdom called intima,,,, intima is a word meaning the heart of something and it’s where the word intimacy comes from and it makes me feel warm and happy so i assume it will make the people of intima happy too !!!!! it’s an island centered around the sun — and YOU my dear reader are the eldest princess, the first before six younger siblings !!!

as the oldest, the throne is in your future, and you are set to be the reigning queen WHICH you are quite excited about this isn’t one of those aus where you hate your kingdom and your job and serving,, you LOVE your people and your culture and you genuinely can’t wait to become queen

i’m going to set the world!!!! bc world-building gives me endorphins >.>

intima is a HEAVILY floral-filled island. the clivia (or bush lily) is the capitol flower, often associated with patriotism or pride for intima as an island!!! it’s the flower people pin to their chest during coronations or royal festivals!! and the yellow/orange/coral shades are often what you and your siblings wear to represent yourselves and your island.

intima is a land of equality!!! bc i said so!! and also because the culture is purely built on gratitude and kindness ,,,,, i like to think the spirituality or “religion” in the culture is the worship of the sun and the warmth it brings,,,, a sort of serving the thing that shines a path for the hopeless!!!! there are hundreds of poems and legends and songs about the sun and who she once was and why she blesses intima with her harvests and all kinds of other things and i do have the time to get into it but i know all of you do not

intima also believes that art is hard work!!! and it’s one of the most respected jobs there are!!! like a busker or a street painter are often praised and it’s expected of islanders to tip them and stay to praise them a bit!!! and usually they’ll sell their art (if that’s what they made) afterwards!!!! and poets will read for the children and adults alike and they’ll sell their services to like,,, people who struggle to put their words down on paper and it’s all very helpful and lovely

farmers and fishermen are well respected as well!!!! ofc they bring the food in and the vendors at the marketplace sell them while the artists keep entertainment going. it’s a lovely system and often as the seasons change people will shift their jobs so a vendor will decide to create for a season or a fisherman may decide he wants to sell wares,,, it’s a system so that people can enjoy where they are as well as express they’re creativity properly

and the wealth is distributed equally so that no one goes hungry!!! everyone helps each other out to find a job that fits them!!! and not many people take advantage of the system because it’s quite shameful to refuse helping your fellow neighbor

so yes!!! kindness and helping each other out is not only expected but it is often an indicator of how respected you are as a member of society

ungrateful people get the shame cone >:(

the island is HUGE and set in a sort of jagged star shape, with villages and markets surrounding the castle itself!!! and there’s a moat surrounding the castle made from the streams that trail in from the sea ,,,, and the harbors are quite beautiful if you stand atop the castle walls you can see the ships come and go and it is just *chef’s kiss* immaculate

and the moat is so beautiful i can just imagine the ferns!! like palm brush ferns and tiger lilies and birds of paradise just lining either side of the moat,,, so pretty :( and the moat isn’t to keep people out!!! it’s actually a natural pool for the villagers when it gets too hot :)!! but otherwise the drawbridge is always down so people can come and go throughout the courtyards

similarly, the castle walls run down the island as main roads, leading to the actual castle where the main courtyard sits.

you and your siblings are very personal with your subjects, and it’s not uncommon for the princes and princesses to walk hand in hand with those of a lower class than them,,,, esp bc there isn’t really a class system in place. since wealth is evenly distributed,,,, it’s evenly distributed to the royals as well, and everyone lives comfortably. the only added expense are gifts!!! so if there’s a birthday or something more wealth might be offered to the recipients by default

the courtyards!!! are so beautiful!!! there are four in total but the one i want to focus on is the coronation courtyard!!! this is the courtyard where the coronations and celebrations are held!!!

but when there aren’t any coronations, it’s where people hang out to have picnics or sell their wares or tell stories!!!

and this is where we see taeil!!!!

every day our hero brings his life and ~sings~ a different story to whoever happens to be walking by. he’s actually hugely popular with many of intima’s people,,,, mostly because his voice is like HONEY and his smile reminds everyone of home

he has like,,,,, kind big brother who only comes home for thanksgiving but each time is more memory-filled than the last energy ,,,,, anyways

you don’t actually notice him at first!!! because usually he isn’t in the coronation courtyard.

also you’re too busy planning your OWN coronation

#queenshit and all you know the vibes

it actually isn’t until yuta points out that there is a “very tiny man singing about how beautiful you are” in the courtyard that you’re actually like,,,, okay,,,,,, interesting..?

and at first you’re like shut up yuta i’m trying to work on seating placements you know ten from iacto can’t sit beside donghyuck from stella or they’ll start a prank war during MY coronation

also there are a lot of people who write songs about you and your siblings that’s just how the vibes are !!!!!

you and your siblings are known for your beauty and kindness, so many creatives often use y’all as muses

so you just brush it off

and go back to your planning

which actually consists of you begging your advisors to make little goodie bags for everyone on the entire island (they WILL eventually agree because who doesn’t want a small bee charm necklace or some cleansing crystals)

but i digress

it’s not until you visit the courtyard to finalize the seating arrangements that you actually see the man your brother was talking about

at first you don’t even realize it’s the same person

sure, this man is short, but he is nothing like the unattractie picture you painted in your mind. not that short men are unattractive, but most men who hit on you are often uhhhh creepy and old bc intima is a beautiful place but men are still a disease

this man is, dare you say it, handsome.

like prettily handsome

his hair is a warm chestnut that falls over his eyebrows in loose curls. strands curl and bend around his ears and his eyes are lined with what seems like kohl

his lips are pursed, and he’s too far away for you to hear him, but he seems to be singing

you tear your eyes away from his coral-colored jerkin and try to focus on the seating arrangements

in the end, you leave the work to your advisors, choosing to break away and listen to the lonesome bard

and just IMAGINE for a moment taeil singing like real people do by hozier

just taeil singing any hozier song i cannot get over the thought of it >_>

those are the vibes for this story

taeil a sexy irish bog man

not really but i’ll bookmark the idea for later !!!!

okay so imagine him singing real people do or sunshine and it’s so gentle and warm coming from his mouth that you’re entranced at the very start of it,,,, you’ve heard tales of sirens luring sailors into the sea,,, and they’ve always sounded quite far fetched but now that you’re hearing taeil’s voice you’re like,,,,,, maybe it’s possible

you sidle up to another listener and ask for his name

“taeil moon”

it’s a befitting name. you run it over your tongue for a good while until it feels familiar,,, and when the song is finally over, you clap and shout a few praises, thinking your voice would get caught in the crowd

but taeil catches your gaze, and he strums a sour note on his lute. it’s a swift apology and an even swifter exit as he leaves the courtyard.

you watch him go, unsure as to why he seemed so uncomfortable knowing you were there. “is he alright?” you ask the same listener who told you taeil’s name. they answer, “he’s never left a set before. perhaps you frightened him, princess.”

you DID frighten him. moving into taeil’s point of view, the man has been declaring his infatuation with you for months now and you’ve never come to listen. he suddenly feels naked and vulnerable,,, the one person he chose to write songs about is the future queen and he could very well be executed for such unauthorized poetry

(as if executing is something intima didn’t outlaw ages ago)

so taeil is just a tiny bit dramatic, and he clings to the honest hope that you came to his show late and didn’t hear his declaration. his “all my love songs of now and forever after are for the princess y/n” that he starts every set with. he feels like a fool, so he finds himself hiding in the royal gardens, far behind the brush and hedges, where a lone forgotten fountain rusts. still water bubbles out of the spout, but there isn’t enough for the fountain to actually flow, so it just makes an incredibly awkward gurgling sound as taeil strums his lute and tries to collect his thoughts

taeil doesn’t just like you because you’re the princess. it goes so much deeper than that; he has one faint memory of his graduation out of bards college (it’s a thing in skyrim so it’s a thing in my au) and it consists of you meeting with all of the graduates and giving them each a bush lily from your own personal garden,,,,,,, you also wrote everyone a handwritten letter addressing them by name !!!!!!!!!

and it’s not much to go by at all, and taeil would feel incredibly foolish even bringing up the memory, or the fact that he keeps the card in his memeriy box,,,,, because it’s obvious that you don’t remember him from it, but he can still remember the color of your eyes up close, and he knows what it feels like to be on the receiving end of your smile,, and just the memory of your fingers grazing his when you handed him the flower and card makes his cheeks warm with childlike fondness

he’s a fool, he knows. he’s also a coward, because he ran at the very sight of you

“you ran off before i could tell you how lovely your voice is.”

taeil falls into the rusting fountain as soon as you round the hedge. he has no idea how you managed to find him, but he can’t really think much about it because he’s soon coughing and shivering from the cold and dirty water he’s just fallen into. he mourns his lute,,,,,, just floating in the shallow water ,,,,,, it’s not dead it’s just wet :/

“oh dear i’m so sorry!” you grab his hand and help him out of the fountain, wincing at the way his clothes cling to his body. (Wait. wait. taeil’s lil baby tummy.... through the sheer shirt,,,,,,, like after he takes off his jerkin to dry it out :(((( omg he’s so cute) “i just wanted to compliment you.”

“thank you, princess,” taeil manages to get out. he paints a smile on his face even though he feels like he’s never been put in a more awkward situation. “it means a lot, honestly.” he decides to avoid the topic of having a crush on you, because he thinks he has experienced plenty of embarrassing moments today, thank you very much. so he changes the topic completely. “good luck, uh, on your coronation. i’m looking forward to it.”

you lower yourself into a mock curtsy. “why thank you. save me a dance during the after party, won’t you?”

taeil nods, not trusting himself to speak, and you bid him goodbye

y’all know taeil’s face where he’s just cheesin. like :D

that’s his face for the rest of the day. and every day up until the coronation !!!!!!

and you visit him!!!! when you can !!!!!!!!

taeil has a very easygoing personality i feel like after the initial awkwardness he’d actually be the one to initiate a friendship!!! like sometimes he leaves you letters by the old fountain !!!!!! :((((

and taeil’s letters are very friendly but every once in awhile he’ll slip in song lyrics that make your heart flutter!!!! just imagine your favorite love song or folk song written out by taeil to you because he learned it and it made him think of you :(( i’m crying and i know you’re crying

one day you have a picnic!!!!!!!!! and it’s just the two of you and taeil thinks he should be nervous but he genuinely does enjoy your company,,,,, and he kinda sort of slowly starts to think of you less as a muse and more as a friend,,,,,, or even maybe a potential ,,,,,,,,, l o v e r oooohhhhhhhh,,,, omg it’s so cute tho he lays out a blanket in front of the fountain and the two of you eat sandwiches and apple juice and :(( eventually the sun makes you both a lil tired so you fall asleep side by side

and you get kind of flustered when you wake up beside taeil like oh 😳 okay 😳 now 😳

the two of you hang around each other in secret. not because it’s against the law or it would be publicized or anything like that,,,, intima is a very casual island and no one would bother the two of you too much,,,,,,,,, but taeil feels like a little secret you aren’t sure you want to share ,,, also your brothers and sisters would tease you relentlessly for giving your time to someone KNOWN for singing love songs about you

your friendship w taeil feels a bit like a bird feather on a windy day,,,,,,, like one hesitant breath could blow him away,,,,,,,, but taeil is so FUNNY and warm and gentle and COMFORTABLE that you slowly start to feel yourself fall for him.

taeil is a story-telling bard in the way that the songs he sings often tell stories of his life or the life of someone famous, installed in their hearts from the moment they were all in elementary school. like imagine him singing a tale about the greek gods or norse mythology or perhaps he goes and bit more fairytale and songs of thumbalina or sleeping beauty

he’s an amazing storyteller, so much so that when the two of you hang out, he often recites some form of verse to you, especially if it’s a legend you love dearly (SIRENS) ,,,,,, but the one thing that kind of irritates you is that he has yet to sing you one of his legendary songs that are “supposedly” for you

you’re not trying to be prideful, but this is the lovely singer everyone has told you about, and you still haven’t heard any of his original songs. or at least, his original songs dedicated to you. you’re very curious to see what you look like in taeil’s eyes, even though it might make you feel horribly vulnerable.

and taeil is like :) obviously :) i’m not going to sing love songs :) about my crush :) to my crush :)

but it’s whatever.

what i want to talk about is the coronation babey !!!!!!!!!!!

it’s very public,,, in the middle of the courtyard,,, and all the market stalls are up selling their wares to the large crowd!!!!! and kids are playing in the moat !!!!! sort of a summer festival and you’re the main event lol. like some people will gather and watch the coronation and some people will be off dancing on the other side of the courtyard but everyone is celebrating the same thing!!

and this is a high fantasy setting so there aren’t any modern things like microphones or speakers aside from a copper horn or smth ,,, but it’s all very fun and festive!!!!

merchants are selling banners of orange and gold,,, yellow roses and tiger lilies,,,,,,, flower crowns and faux scepters for the little kids!!!!!! and there’s lively music for people to dance and celebrate to,,,,,, and can you guess who is in charge of the music !!!!?! TAEIL

he’s got an entire band leading the courtyard and it’s all traditional songs for the most part of taeil is able to slip in a few love songs now and again. and ofc everyone loves them bc they know taeil and OBV it’s hard to hate taeil

but :( you aren’t really focusing on the music since it’s such a big day for you but if you were you’d know that taeil is singing his original songs :((( all the love songs about you,,,,,,,,,,

and i SWEAR i can imagine taeil singing hozier-esque songs..... omg or like mystery of love ,,,,, imagine him singing mystery of love on one side of the courtyard while you’re getting crowned queen on the other side

that image is something that can be so personal to me ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

:(((( and you’re dressed in a tan and peach maiden dress,,,, cloaked in golden silk with day lilies tucked in your hair,,,,,,,,, omg or BRAIDED into your hair,,,,,, you just look like a sun goddess okay golden by harry styles are the vibes ALRIGHT babes,,,, and there’s a speech to be made and someone made cake for the masses,,, so you get a bit caught up it everything

taeil isn’t really in the crowd for the coronation as i already stated before ,,,,, but he can kind of hear everything that’s happening and it makes him just smile to himself as he messes with his lute :((( omg if you guys haven’t heard you are gold by the national parks THATS the song taeil sings as the celebrations are dying down

and all the street lanterns are lit and people are quieting down and eating or chatting or rounding up their kids for bedtime !! omg little kids racing past and giggling, their flower crowns askew as they shout about becoming a queen one day :( that’s so cute esp to imagine taeil watching them fondling and waving at them as they pass

and there are fireflies all around!!!! lighting the pathway!!! it’s just so cute and soft and lovely think tangled at last i see the light scene OKAY except it’s not on water it’s a festival and it’s beautiful every seems to be glowing in the light

this au is partially inspired by tangled,,, or the kingdom of corona (lol) so

anyways back to you are gold

the chorus is as so: “you are gold / you are all i see / you are aurum scarce and meant for kings / and i will wait if it’s time you need / what i see in you i hope you find in me.”

and can’t you just SEE taeil singing that absentmindedly not really knowing that you’re making your way to him and then he just looks up during the final chords and he just,,,,,,, fumbles the music and his voice cracks a little (but how COULDNT it bc you’re so beautiful and angelic and taeil could easily picture the stars against your skin and in the shade of your eyes)

“h-hi,” he stutters. “you look. nice.” :D

i think taeil is pretty confident with his feelings but i also feel like he can be quite clumsy with them as well. if that makes sense. but on the other hand confessing to the now-queen of your island is a bit much and taeil isn’t really ready to be rejected on a regal level.

“thank you,” you say. AND!!! you can feel your cheeks get hot because taeil is quite handsome and you DEFINITELY heard the last few lyrics of the song and it ignited feelings inside of you that you weren’t sure you’ve felt much of before.

you kind of just want to take his hand and go spend some ~ alone time ~ with him ^_^

“you know,” you sit down beside him and wrap your cloak around yourself. “everyone has been telling me that you’re quite famous for dedicating your love songs to me. how come i haven’t heard such declarations?”

taeil’s ears turn red and he smiles down at the lute in his lap. “isn’t it a bit disrespectful to make you listen to all the songs i write for you?”

“i want to hear them!! genuinely!!”

can you just IMAGINE taeil holding eye contact and singing sunshine by hozier >:( or like ANY song by ray montangue for today we’re pretending taeil wrote all of these

hold you in my arms by ray montangue YOO :((

just taeil strumming and singing sort of under his breath because he doesn’t really want anyone else to share this lil moment with you. and he’s so sweet like i imagine after he sings he doesn’t expect any praise and he certainly doesn’t expect you to confess your love or anything like that

bc taeil is a respectful future king

LIKE JUST IMAGINE kind of grabbing his face and just giving him a lil kiss,,,,, a lil smooch,,,,, if you will

taeil is probably rlly pretty just after being kissed like his eyelashes would flutter so prettily and it would be so soft like he’d just press his forehead against yours and then omg a FOREHEAD KISS like a really gentle one

you would be so important to taeil like i think he would just be so gentle with you in every way

the relationship is a slower one,,,,,, you have queenly duties and he’s still working as a busker,,,,, getting ready to help the merchants in the winter,,,,,,,

but the two of you make time. it’s similar to before, you just set up picnics, or sometimes you watch him sing, and he’ll write you love songs and send them to you through a letter,, stamping with purple wax,,,

and taeil is always so sweet :( i think he’s more of a casual lover in the sense that he doesn’t need pda or loud declarations in order to make you feel loved flashback to him dedicating every love song to you in the middle of the square but he’d be the type to just hold your hand around the courtyard,, or he’d just send you soft smiles from the other side of the marketplace

he’s the time to buy you a basket of your favorite fruits and deliver them personally to your door

everyone in the castle just lets taeil into the chambers section at this point

the two of you will swim in the moat and play hopscotch with the village children or go shopping together or take naps beneath the afternoon sun and with taeil by your side it’s all so fond and precious and some times you’ll go days or weeks without seeing him just because of schedules but it’s never awkward when the two of you get back together

and it’s actually not until some of your very own villagers are coming up to you like hey,,,,, why haven’t you made taeil your partner yet?? he’s so precious and sweet and he would look lovely in a crown 👀👀

and uhhh who are you to argue with that lmao

so you buy taeil a ring

a pearl !!!! encased in silver <3333 i like to think that the tales he sang to you about sirens often slides to a pearl of some sorts,, so you make sure it’s the rock you place on the ring

and you take him back to that rusty old creaky old ugly old fountain :)

and you just,,,,,, ask him to marry you ,,,,,,,,,,

ofc taeil says yes, a bit frozen because the two of you have talked about marriage but only briefly,,, and he wasn’t sure you’d ever take that step so he didn’t want to pressure you

taeil ofc has always been ready,,, his soul is more open than yours if that makes sense !!! which isn’t a bad thing but he has definitely been ready for a lifetime with you for a long time now

and it’s a long-ish engagement i feel like

not that it really matters but it’s more of a betrothement !!!! so the two of you are technically already married even before the ceremony if that makes sense??? like everyone alludes to taeil as the consort and the two of you live together and receive gifts of betrothement and !!! it’s quite sweet and it’s the way they do things in intima

also you guys aren’t in a big hurry for another ceremony esp bc yuta’s coronation is coming up and you don’t want to take any of his spotlight

king!yuta hold up

but yeah taeil is a wonderful consort !! doesn’t do much yet politically bc he isn’t especially versed in politics but he’s learning!!! he’s really good at keeping a good energy in the room even if two ambassadors are fighting taeil will just be vibing like :-D and it often calms tensions

he’s just a GREAT person and a helpful ruler even tho he really doesn’t even have to be,,,, he’s just a consort,,,, but he still takes the effort to learn genuine laws and help guide the people

the people are obviously obsessed with him,,, they wouldn’t ask for another consort because he’s so kind with all of them

still sings in the courtyard as his job ,,, and the people love it just as much ^_^ esp because now all the songs are openly for you and about you and it makes people more fond of you as well

taeil creates y/n propaganda pass it on

but he works in the castle too,, and he’s a fast learner especially when it comes to settling arguements within the village or even within the court,,,, he also sets up festivals !! he’s wonderful at it !! genuinely !! taeil as an interior designer i can just see it man him designing flower arrangements and the setlist and just !! being a wonderful host

and tbh you’re very thankful because it’s nice to rule with siblings but it’s even nicer to rule with a soulmate

and taeil feels just like that — a soulmate, a missing piece of the puzzle,,,,,

and if intima is the sun , if you who rules it is the sun, then taeil is the moon,, and it’s quite obvious that the two of you were made for each other

perhaps in the future the two of you will have kids or adopt

or you guys get a puppy!!! i can see you w a puppy and taeil with a kitten and the two lil pets just follow you guys around omg

the two of you fix up the old fountain so it isn’t rusty or squeaky anymore

you guys find rocks out on the shore and create a new bed at the bottom of the fountain

and guess what!!!! you guys write little wishes on the rocks and invite everyone else to do the same with the idea that once the fountain is filled with wishes, you’ll hold a festival where you put the wishes back into the sea to be completed

omg how cute would that be like a yearly thing where the fountain would be filled with rocks and everyone gets a handful to take down to the beach and throw into the sea

it’s where lovers write their names and people confess to their crushes and anniversaries and birthdays are celebrated and it’s where artists write pictures and poets write verses and people write prayers to the sun

and it’s where you and taeil announce your first pregnancy >.<

and it’s really soft

the place between the sea and the sun is where your love lies

where your family lives

omg taeil singing lullabies to his baby :( HES be such a sweet dad

i feel like taeil already has a family just by his vibes yknow

but say it’s a daughter he’d teach her how to play the lute and he’d buy her her own

he’d let her express herself in any way and identify however she’d want and love whoever she wanted

he’d be an AMAZING father and husband and king

ANYWAYS to conclude

this was fun to write and i hope it made sense i know it’s all over the place but in conclusion taeil is sexy and deserves to be loved

#taeil au #nct au #taeil fluff #nct fluff #commissioned #destwrites

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mightyhemsworthy · 5 years

Text

DINNER & DIATRIBES (John Wick x Reader)

Summary: You were part of the High Table. You could say that you enjoyed it, but that would be a lie. A big lie. Your life was not easy thanks to your father. However, when a stranger shows up suddenly everything starts to change.

Word count: almost 6K.

Inspired by: Hozier's song.

Author's note: I really wanted to write something happy and just smutty. I really tried but here I am. Yet with a depressed, dark, and passionate fanfiction. Sorry for this. Pls, forgive me. Also, this fic went downhill pretty quickly lol.

Author’s note 2: this is my first ever posted smut. (I’ve written several before, but this is my first time posting it so be gentle, lol.) Please keep in mind that English is not my native language so I’m really sorry for any kind of mistakes. I would be glad if I could read your suggestions or comments about my story! Thank you in advance! <3

Warnings: enemies to lovers?, porn without a plot?, abuse (not detailed, just mentioned), shy, suppressed reader, soft dom!John, dirty smut. Please go away if your underage, I mean it.

___

"I knew it from the first look of

The look of mischief in your eyes"

You hated these kinds of evenings. You hated the High Table with your full heart, even though your father was one of them. You wanted nothing more but to destroy them but that would be slightly impossible. All you could do now is to clench your teeth, fake a smile, chatter and laugh at everyone’s silly jokes.

Gosh. You hated these people.

These kinds of evenings went on and on until a new guy came to the circle. It was John Wick. You heard stories and legends about him, but it did not attract you at all. However, when you saw him your breath was taken away. He looked so elegant and the fact that he swayed in the crowd without giving any attention to everyone, even though basically every single person was looking at his direction, made him even more attractive.

You took a glass of champagne from a waiter near you and turned away as you took a sip. Gosh, this was the last thing you needed. But another person did not matter anymore. As a daughter of a criminal, your job was to entertain the guests. Basically, at all cost. If you did not obey, or just your father sensed that you want to resist, he punished you. And let's just say, a slap was one of the least bad punishments.

As you turned back, you took another glass of champagne from the waiter and you started to walk towards John. He looked at you shortly.

"Mr. Wick..." you started but he passed by, without looking at you.

"Don't." was all he said while he continued to walk towards your dad.

You sighed. What an asshole, just like everyone else in here. – At least, this was your first impression of him.

When you arrived home, you were afraid that you managed to screw up the evening for your father, but he was in a particularly good mood.

"Y/N.," he said before you could go to your room. You froze on your spot, afraid to turn around, dreading what will wait for you. But you did. You had to. You always did.

"Yes, father?" you tried to ask nicely, even forcing a smile on you.

"We were great tonight," he started, tilting his head a little bit to the side as if he saw the evening happening all over him again. "I managed to make a deal with John Wick." he continued and by saying only his name your heart started to beat faster. You could feel it pumping against your ribcage.

"That's amazing," you started. "I'm really happy for you." at this point, you were great at lying. He could not even sense it.

"Thank you, dear," he said, taking a step closer to you. At that exact moment, you stepped back, your backside pushed against the door of your room. It was an involuntary movement but fortunately, he did not notice. He did not notice how much you were disgusted by him and how much you despised him. He only cared about himself. "John Wick will come over tomorrow, so we're throwing a big dinner. Just the three of us." he smiled, you could say that it was sincere, but nothing could convince you at this point.

"All right, I'll do my best," you answered and quickly slipped to your room, where you immediately locked it so he could not follow you. Luckily, he did not. You really hoped that he won't do anything bad to you. You always hoped that he would change, change for you but that never happened. You slid down to the floor, trying to suppress the crying and sobbing which bubbled from your throat.

You wanted to end this. You wanted to end your suffering.

You looked at yourself in the mirror. Well, the last evening’s crying did not do you any justice. But you could camouflage that with makeup, as well as camouflaging some bruises, which you always did. You tried to brighten up your eyes using a concealer, making a subtle eye look, perfecting it with mascara and using red lipstick. Your favorite. It gave you the femme fatale look, even though you felt the opposite. Fake it, till you make it. Right?

When you went to the dining room, John was already there. He looked at you, kind of surprised to see you there. You looked away from him, but you could feel his gaze lingering on you as you took your seat. His hand covered his mouth, his fingers slowly caressing his stubble as he looked back to your father across the table.

"Ahh John, this is my daughter, Y/N.," your father said, gesticulating towards you. He pretended that he just realized that you were there, but you knew you messed up. You were late, but making your makeup actually took longer than you anticipated. You looked back at John. He was breathtaking up close, but you tried to suppress those emotions which were building up inside of you. You hated his allies and you wanted to hate them. John Wick could not be an exception.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Wick" the sentence rolled out of your tongue without an effort.

"Likewise," he said curtly. Well, he wasn't a man of words.

The rest of the night went by quite seamlessly. They talked about work, but you did not pay any attention. You were just eating and drinking vine. More than you were supposed to. You did not want to say anything bad and you hoped you wouldn't, but you just couldn't resist the warm and relaxing embrace of the liquid. Your father went out to arrange the desserts as well as bringing another substance into the room to drink with John.

After a few minutes of silence and staring, John started.

"So..."

"Don't." you interrupted him. You could swear that you saw his eyes lit up, but this emotion disappeared quickly. He was great at keeping a poker face, it was impossible to read off anything of him. You could learn a lot of things from him.

"Okay, then." was all he answered intertwining his hands, smirking, waiting for your father to come back. You took another sip of the vine, trying to suppress a smile. An indescribable emotion filled your chest. Maybe, it was time to finally resist. To do something different than before. And maybe this time you could win.

Dinners and dinners went by in the following few weeks and months. You saw John quiet frequently, but nothing really happened besides looking "angrily" at each other. The two of you did not even talk. However, actions speak louder than words. At least, as they say.

Your father's voice broke your trance that you were in. He was looking at you, fury already building up inside of him. You were supposed to answer something.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't listening," you said honestly, but you could see your father's fist grabbing at the cutlery harder than before. John could sense it too, even though he did not show it.

"So, Y/N..." he started again. "What do you think about my latest investment?" he asked dearly.

"Why do you care about my opinion now?" you did not even realize what you said after you uttered it. Your father punched the table, the glasses ringing against each other causing a sour melody.

"John, forgive us for a moment." your father said, looking at you. You did not have any choice, you stood up and followed your father outside of the room. When the two of you were a little bit away, suddenly, he slapped you. It took a few seconds to realize the burning sensation on your cheeks.

"Get the hell out of here, I don't want to see you," he said, pointing towards you, holding himself back to sound professional even if John was listening.

"I feel the same about you" it was hard to quiet your voice as you became really angry. You did not even care about his opinion any more or making favors for him. And you did not even know where this bravery was coming from.

You shrugged as he was about to hit you again.

"Y/F/N" John raised his voice, making your father stop his movements. When you looked at John, he was furious. He was totally different from your earlier conversation at the table. This look was more like the Baba Yaga they used to praise. You sent a grateful look towards him. You could swear his shoulders loosened up as he was looking at you. A silent agreement went between the two of you.

"I think it's time to go," John said ambiguously, and the attitude of your father changed immediately.

"Oh no, John…" he said, rushing towards him. "We're just getting started." John looked at you one more time, some expression on his face which you could not read. He turned towards your father, grabbing him by his shoulders.

"Okay, let's talk," John said with his dangerously low voice. You took this time to slip to your room, packing everything you could into a bag. This was your chance to get away.

A few hours later you heard a knock on your door. It was low and quiet, but you still heard it. And it was different from your father's knock, so you opened the door. John was standing there, his tame hair framing his face. He was much calmer than before. He was holding a black bag, which he gave to you. You looked him with questioning eyes, but you took it nonetheless. When you opened it, you could see a lot of money in it.

"I cannot take it." you wanted to give it back, but he lightly grabbed your wrist. His touch was firm but soft. So much different which you used to experience before.

"It's yours." he said softly. "Your father gave it to you so graciously." he almost spat out the last words which started to frighten you. "You are free to go." But with this sentence, you knew that John Wick could never hurt you. He would never do those things to you which your father did. And actually, this was the most liberating thing anyone could say to you. Sudden tears started to blurry your vision, without thinking twice you hugged him. It was quick and kind of awkward, as you were not use to human touch and you could see that he wasn't used to it either. Maybe, it was time to change this. For both of you.

You let him go, so you could grab your stuff from your bed.

"Let's get out of here."

* 1 YEAR LATER *

A lot can change in one year. You could never forget John Wick's name. And not because of those frightful legends, but because he was your hero. Not many people can actually say this about John Wick.

With the money he gave you, you could start a new life. So, you did. You moved into a new city, making friends, currently renting an apartment with one of them. You even started working. You could start fresh and clean. And this was something that you were utterly grateful for.

Most of all, you even started taking self-defense lessons. You wanted to protect yourself and you never wanted to feel as weak as you did with your father.

Now, you finally became the femme fatale that you were hoping for.

You were changing to your night shift at the restaurant when your friend walked into.

"Gosh, that man outside… is just daddy." you started to laugh. It always impressed you how straight forward she was with her desires and thoughts.

"What man?" you asked, peeking towards the door to get a look at him. She was standing beside you, pointing towards him. And that is when your world turned upside down again. It was John. You haven't seen him since the incident but wow… he truly looked better than ever. Your friend realized your reaction.

"YOU KNOW HIM." she squealed and that is when you pulled her from the door before anyone could see you.

"Keep your voice down." you started to whisper. "Yes, I knew him. He is my father's… friend." it was always better to lie than telling the truth about your father and his relationships. And you were sure that John Wick and your father was not even friends anymore, but this was the most you could manage out of yourself after the shock of seeing him for the first time after such a long time.

"Go get his orders," she started. You rolled your eyes, but you went out towards his table anyway. That is when he looked up at you. He was quite shocked, to say the least, but he managed to hide his emotions after a few seconds. Like he always did. He was alone, but you were sure that won't last long.

"Good evening, Mr. Wick," you said cockily. "Welcome to Continental's restaurant. How may I help you?" you questioned him.

He did not hold himself back.

"What are you doing here, Y/N?" he tried to keep his voice down.

"Why?" you looked back at him, scared at his expression. He could read you like an open book, so his body loosened up and he had an apologetical look in his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Y/N" he started. "But this is the criminal's cover place. I thought you knew that." you could not believe what he was saying. So, you supported criminals for the whole time since you got here? You could not believe it…. but now, thinking about it you should have known. This place pays too well to be just an ordinary restaurant. However, before you could react, his partner arrived. And she was… beautiful. You felt sudden jealousy in your stomach, but you tried not to think about it. She started her orders without looking at you and swayed her hands when she was done. You hated people like this, but you got her order anyway and disappeared back to the kitchen.

You tried to avoid their table throughout the whole evening and convinced your friend to deliver their orders. In this way, the night passed quickly, leaving you alone in the restaurant before the cleaning shift has arrived. You were the only one who always stayed for them, as you did not want to leave the restaurant just by on its own. And you actually enjoyed the silence which fell on you. In this hour you could manage your thoughts and relax a little bit.

"Y/N." you heard from behind. You could realize his voice even in your dreams. It was raspy, low and sent shivers down your spine, tingling you from the inside. John Wick. You turned around to see him, now fully standing, covered in a black suit which looked so good on him.

"John?" you asked softly, and he came closer to you.

"What are you doing today?" he smiled. Considering the fact that the sun already appeared, you assumed that he was talking about today's evening.

"Uhmm… working" you answered and he started to chuckle. You were so pure in his eyes, he did not know he would even deserve a date with you. But that is what he was aiming for.

"When are you free?" he asked again and you looked surprised.

"Why are you asking?" you asked back and he let out a sigh.

"Well, I would like to take you out for a date if you would let me," he said so softly that you weren't sure that these words came from him. He seemed so reserved and introverted, his question came as a shock even though you thought doing things with him… quiet often. Remember the part when I mentioned he was your hero? Well… you always wanted to thank your hero, but you were sure that he wasn't even considering you like a real woman. You thought that he sees a little girl in you who only needs protection. And you wanted to be so much more in his eyes. Maybe you were wrong all this time. "So..?" he asked again, you did not know how to answer. You wanted this more than anything, but your self-doubt was stronger.

"I'm not sure if I'm the right person," you answered honestly, and his expression changed. As if someone punched him in the face. "Not that I don't want you, I mean… I want you, trust me, badly, but…" at this point you started to stutter, saying things you did not want say out loud, but you did anyway. And that was all he needed. He crossed the path between the two of you, crashing his lips against yours as you were the only thing who could save him. Save him, make him feel things he never felt before and giving him a chance that clearly no one even tried to give him. To make him feel different than the famous assassin he was.

You immediately reacted to his touch and this was so much different than a year before. You did not dread from human touch anymore, you actually craved it. You returned the kiss, slowly opening your mouth so his tongue could slip in an explore your taste, as well as his hands started to discover every inch of your body. You started to heat up, feeling like your whole body is on fire, aching your core so much that you were already about to explode. You caressed his cheeks, his stubble scraped your palm a little bit as you deepened the kiss, letting him in more and more. Gosh, it was desperate, but it felt so good. His hands tugged on your uniform, as he was about to rip it off when you heard a noise behind the two of you. You pulled away and you see a man who was looking at you with playfulness in his eyes.

"Winston..." John breathed next to you, and the man started to look at him rather than looking at you.

"I'm sorry to interrupt but John we need you at the conference." His voice was serious.

"I'll be there in a minute," John answered and without a word, Winston disappeared from the room. Your cheeks started to burn, it was kind of humiliating getting caught but John's expression did not change. He was looking at you with lust and passion in his eyes, as his pupil were slightly diluted. His hair was messy, as well his suit which started to look rather wrinkled on him, but he did not seem to care. He was only focusing on you. "I'm sorry but I have to go now." he started, and you understood, even though you wanted him to stay.

"It's okay," you answered and with that, John started to walk away from you, almost leaving the room when you cried after him. "John!"

He turned back immediately.

"Let's meet on Saturday at 8 o'clock in front of your room." he started to smile, leaving him more beautiful than he already was.

"Room 55, on the 7th floor."

You were waiting in front of his room. You were nervous, standing from one leg to the other. You wanted to knock a few minutes ago, but you were unable to do it. When you finally raised your hand, the door opened, and you saw John leaning against it.

"Y/N." he greeted you with a mysterious smile on his face.

"John." you sighed and before you could say anything else John grabbed you by your waist and pulled you into his room. The door slammed against your back as he crushed his lips against yours, grabbing at your neck, pushing his whole body to you. It took a few milliseconds to adjust to his speed, but when you did… it was heaven on earth.

Your hand started to explore his body under his suit but above his shirt, feeling the soft material underneath your palm as well as his strong, muscular body. You started to melt at his touch, giving yourself to the feeling, being lost as your tongues rolled against each other. He tasted so good. Being this close to him, feeling his intoxicating perfume made you dizzy. You never wanted this to end, but suddenly he pulled away from you.

"Fuck, Y/N," he cursed. "I'm so sorry, I didn't want to rush anything or being abusive or something like that," he muttered against your lips. "I'm sorry that I was this fast, I lost my mind." he continued and tried to pull further away from you. But you did not let him. Because if you did so, you won't give yourself a second chance. This was your last one and you did not want to regret it for not trying.

"Please, don't stop," you whispered, but he could hear it.

"Are you sure?" he whispered back, his voice was hoarse and it made him even more attractive.

"I'm sure…" you started but he cut you off.

"If you want to stop or something is not right just tell me, okay?" he asked you again, but you started to lose your temper. This never happened to you before, you never craved something this badly.

"Just fucking kiss me and then fuck me, John," you answered and he looked at you with a surprised look. He started to smile and you started to chuckle at his expression. "I'm sorry, I don't know what got into me."

"Don't apologize," he still smiled, brushing a few hair strands out of your face. "I like this side of yours." he chuckled and brushed a soft kiss into your lips. "But, I think we should…" he started but this time you cut him off.

"John…" you said, desperately crushing your lips against his lips. He let you, as he wanted to do what you wished and desired. He lifted you up from to ground, at that exact moment you hooked your legs around his waist, feeling his hardening member at the inner side of your thighs, which was dangerously close to your already wet one. You moaned into his mouth at the sensation and it became even more when the two of you fell into his bed. He was already on top of you, kissing your jaw and neck while one of his hand started to roam towards your waist. He rucked up the dress you were wearing, slowly sliding his fingers to your entrance. When he realized how wet you were, he let out a breath he did not know he was holding. You made him insane and he could not wait to taste you and eat you out.

He couldn't really hold himself at this point, especially after he felt how much you wanted and needed him. He basically ripped your dress off from your body, leaving you in your lace underwear. He drank you with his eyes, adoring everything about your body. Otherwise, you would feel insecure but not with him. He made you feel like a fucking goddess, already worshipping your body and liking how you laid underneath him. He started to brush soft kisses to your stomach, making his way down there were his new favorite place stood. He pushed your lace thong to the side, exposing your wet velvety skin to the air and his breath. He started to lick your clit incredibly slowly as he wanted to flavor every inch of you. He grabbing you by the waist to hold you in place as you started to whimper by his tongue. Eating you out was a low understatement. He devoured your pussy and feasted on it like it was the last thing on Earth. His desire for you was indescribable.

You grabbed the sheets beside you, fisting it to release some pressure which already started to build inside of your deep core. John let out a moan at the sight of you, which resonated through your whole body adding more and more to the unbearable sensations. That is when John started inserted his fingers into you. Your insides started to burn and ace with some desire which was slightly unfamiliar for you. He was so good with his hands and his tongue that it sent you to the edge in no time. He was definite with his fingers, mercilessly pushing his digit into you, while his tongue swirled and curled on your clit to satisfy you. His stubble tickled you a little bit, adding more and more friction when he started to delve his tongue more and deeper. He had one and only one goal: to experience an orgasm which you haven't experienced before. He wanted to give you everything, he wanted to make you feel special.

He parted your lips, even more, you opened your legs as wide open for him as you could. He suddenly slowed down, playing with your wetness as he was watching how his fingers entered you. Slowly, in and out.

"Fuck, John…" you started, tugging on his hair to fasten his movements, but he did not let you control him. He did in his own pace, teasing and torturing you. You grabbed his hair even more, afraid of hurting him but you could not hold yourself back. He did not seem to care, moreover, it made him even more turned on than he already was.

"Cum for me, baby girl," he added as he slowly started to flick his tongue on your flesh, making his movements as careful as possible when he sucked them slightly in, making your body erupt into pleasure. His slow movements sent you over, as well as his slight dirty talking. You started to pulsate around his fingers, crying out his name over and over again.

"Jonathan…" you whispered, as you made your grip slightly loser on his hair. He licked you through your after wave, slightly digging his nose into you to help you ease your sensitive area. "Fuck…" you added, as the shockwaves started to disappear.

Suddenly, you started to shiver as your body started to cool down after your orgasm. John kneeled up between your legs, licking off your juices from his fingers as he was looking straight into your eyes.

By the gaze of his, you started to warm up again. He was so much different than your earlier partners, not if you had many… but Jonathan particularly stood out. Gosh, how could you get this man?

He had a half cocky smirk on his face, looking at you with so much passion and desire.

"What?" you asked shily.

"Nothing, you're just a fucking goddess," he answered, bending down to give you a heated kiss. His words meant so much to you. It felt so good being appreciated like this and feeling worth it. You could feel your wetness on his mouth and tongue, as well on his beard as you cupped the side of his cheeks, but it just made everything much better than it already was. You moaned into his mouth, wanting to taste him everywhere as well.

You slightly pulled away.

"It's my turn," you said out, trying to move but John stopped you in your movements.

"This night is about you, baby girl," he said and he pinned you against the bed as you tried to move again. "Ah-ah," he added, stopping you and holding you in place. You were unable to release from his grip, but at this point, you did not even want to. Your breath caught up in your throat, feeling his hips grinding against your wet area. Gosh, you wanted him so badly and the fact that he held you down made you even more insane. He could see your eyes lighting with something new. "Did you like that?" he teased, holding you in place while he added soft kisses to your collarbone. You started to shiver at his touch, but you were unable to move as he held you strongly.

"Jonathan…" you breathed out again and he started to chuckle, releasing you.

"I love when you say my name," he said, tilting your face towards his, so he could give you a kiss which was different from before. It was still passionate, but soft which could say much more than words. "I can't wait to hear you say it over and over again," he added, unbuttoning his suit which was still on him. You grabbed his shirt, trying to help him so he could be inside of you as fast as possible.

The sight of him unbuckling his belt made your mouth water. As I have mentioned before, he could read you like an open book. He saw how your eyes lit up with excitement. So instead of pushing away the belt, he grabbed your wrist to tie them together with it.

"Is this okay?" he asked you though, before making it tight.

"Sure, yes, please" you muttered, and he started to chuckle again. To be honest, you haven't seen him being this liberated and happy with anyone else before and it made your heart filled with happiness. He was even more beautiful when you heard that low laugh of his.

"If something is wrong, just tell me," he said, freeing himself from his pants as well in the meantime grabbing a condom from the nightstand beside the bed. The way he coated his member with his hands made you even more insane. He grabbed your neck even before you could react to anything. He was so fast, but he gave you a soft kiss while he positioned himself between your legs.

He could not really hold himself back, but the fact that he did not want to hurt you made him slow down his actions. He slowly rubbed his head against your clit, giving a tease what you will get in a few seconds.

He started to push inside of you, but due to his length and thickness, you started to hiss at the sudden pain. He looked at you with true concern in his eyes.

"If it hurts, we can stop," he said, but you did not want him to stop. Because as much as it hurt, it made you fill with pleasure as well.

"No, it's okay," you added, but you were kind of breathless. He just nodded, giving you a soft kiss on the lips while he slowly and carefully tried to move a little bit to the side as well as slowly in and out till you adjusted to his length. He tried not to moan though, you were so tight around him that it already started to twitch his cock with hunger.

"Fuck, Y/N.," he said, also breathlessly while he started to move a little bit faster than before. As you get used to his size, the pain started to disappear, and incredible enjoyment started to fill your body. He buried his head into the crook of your neck as he started to thrust into you, while you hooked your leg around his waist to pull his whole size into you.

"Fuck me, Jonathan," you said and he did not need any more courage. He started to fuck you mercilessly, hitting you all the right places so your walls already started to clench around him. He was feeling everything, he liked the way you took his dick, how your body took his cock deeper and deeper inside of you.

As he started to lose control, he still wanted to be gentle to you because hurting you was the last thing he wanted to do. But he could not stop grabbing your neck, his fingers lingering around your throat hazily as he bumped into you faster than before.

"Johnathan" you cried out as you were overwhelmed with pleasure, your second orgasm already on its way. You felt the similar sensation building up inside of your stomach, your heart racing in your ear. This was too much. Being tied up, him inside of you as well as his hands around your neck…

Before you could realize, John sucked his thumb into his mouth and made its way on your clit to add to your building fire. You started to whimper, but he held you in place.

"Cum for me, baby girl," he said again, and you did. His words were like magic on you. Working perfectly as he was still thrusting into you. However, he was close as well. His movements started to become sloppy and his moans started to become louder. It surprised you how vocal he was, but you really liked it. It showed how much he enjoyed fucking you.

"Fuck…" he said, moaning other curse words and your name as he released his juices and dissolved into pleasure. He suddenly collapsed on you, biting you on the neck as he buried his head inside of it.

You were dizzy, your legs were shaking around his waist, feeling intoxicated just thinking about how much pleasure John gave you. And it was just the beginning of the night. You could not wait to taste him as well, or having another round with him in a different position. You wanted to try everything with him because he made you feel things like you never felt before. And you really hoped you could.

When John collected himself, he interlaced his lips with yours. His eyes shining with love and adoration.

"Next time, you should take me to dinner at least," you said and he looked at you with big eyes.

"How dare you…." he started. "You insisted on, let me quote you, fucking you," he said and this sentence was so much hotter from his mouth.

"Yes, and I really enjoyed that," you added, smiling.

"Me too," he said, brushing a soft kiss against your lips.

The two of you were kissing for a few minutes before he pulled away.

"I would like to take you out for a real date though," he started. "As well as ‘fucking you' countlessly and trying out new things, if you want to," he added with a chuckle.

"Yes, sir, Mr. Wick," you answered. "I would really like that."

"What did you just say?" he asked back, with a dark and sinful tone in his voice.

"Mr. Wick."

"Before that."

"Sir…?" you asked, did not know what he was referring to.

"Fuck, baby girl," he grunted in a very dangerously low voice. "I think we found a new thing," he said before crushing a passionate kiss to you.

#john wick x reader #john wick x you #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves x you #john wick #smut #mightyhemsworthy #my writing #keanu reeves #keanu reeves imagine #john wick imagine

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spiderrpcrkerwrites · 5 years

Text

La Vie En Rose

a/n: Fell into the trap and finally wrote a bucky fic. I’m still on hiatus, just wrote this one night and thought I’d upload it. This is based on the film ‘Jaane Tu Ya Jaane Na’ and this is some self-indulgent floofy shit. Thanks to @thebookwormslytherin and @bucket-barn for beta reading it

This version of the song was my inspo for this (The other songs used are Almost (sweet) music by Hozier and That’s Amore by Dean Lewis

"Pullll me close and hold me fast, this magic spell you caaaaast…" the entire backseat droned on as Sam thought to join in before he saw Anne's face and decided not to.

"Sorry, this song just has a special meaning for our group." He said sheepishly, as Nat, Peggy, and Steve finished with a flourish.

"Yes, that's why we're being treated to it since 5th Avenue."

"Told you guys, she's very funny." Sam turned around to face his friends before his eyes went to the road again.

They had been traveling for a good 30 minutes, off to pick up some friends of, well, her semi-boyfriend's. When she'd initially met the other three, all of whom were his uni mates, Anne had liked them well enough. Now that all three were determined to raise Edith Pilaf from her grave, she felt ready to jump out of the window.

She strode away from Sam, trailing after Steve and Peggy who were walking hand in hand. Sam stopped to lock the car as Nat watched on.

"What?"

"When is your flight taking off?"

"Huh?"

"Sam, baby, when are you telling her?"

"Telling who what?"

"You know, 'I wouldn't know where to start...'" Natasha sung in her worst baritone as he rolled his eyes.

"Look, we're taking it slow."

"Yes, very slow. Bring a pilot on her day off to an airport. You're such a dumbass." She smacked him on the shoulder.

They caught up to the other three, who sat outside the entrance. Anne was tapping at her phone angrily.

"Why are we outside?" He asked Steve.

"There's a bomb threat, apparently. And also their flight is late."

"Fuck me." Anne now looked up. "We'll have to stay out here?"

"Don't you like airports?" Peggy asked her, a single eyebrow raised.

"Nope. Hate em."

"I love airports." Natasha sat down next to Anne. "Every goodbye here is full of stories."

"How nice. I hate stories. Especially those that end at airports." She frowned.

"Well, I've got a great story for you. And we don't have much to do anyway. There's some very bad weather on their side."

"Ugh, my battery is about to die. Go on then, this tale of yours. If it's boring I'll tell you though."

"I swear you won't. Okay then, how shall I start?"

"Tell her about the trip!" Steve sat up straight.

"Oh, let me start properly." Nat stretched her arms. "Sam, go get some snacks. This is a long story. Now, our story starts with Bucky and Y/N..."

"Any plans for what you're going to do after?" Nat asked Y/N as the latter stretched towards a taco. Frowning at Nat, she picked it up and sighed.

"Nope. Probably going to waste my time going around on stupid outings like this." She gasped as Bucky took the taco out of her hand, biting into it, eyebrows raise. She smacked him on the shoulder and reached for another.

"You two could always get married." Sam quipped, eyeing Steve as he said so, who turned away, suddenly fascinated with a wall clock.

"For the last time, no. Bucky snores in his sleep. Also, I'm sure his girlfriend would mind very much."

"Wait. Girlfriend?" Peggy sat up. "Seriously?"

"We've been on just two dates, guys. It's nothing serious."

"Pretty sure she'll have a problem with your other girlfriend, Buck." At this Y/N rolled her eyes.

"Well, when are we meeting her?" At Nat saying this, the others joined in, teasing and threatening Bucky.

"I've asked her to come along on the skiing trip, you could meet her then." He got up. "I'm off. Doll, you coming?"

"Eww, they're dating?"

"No, no. That's what everyone thought. They had been friends since childhood when Y/N had beat his ass with a barbie. Now, don't interrupt me."

The trip was supposed to be their last hurrah before they all took the world by storm. Or were supposed to, at least. Y/N didn't think it was a great time to introduce Bucky's girlfriend, Alyssa, who had met her and had asked her twice if she really was just his friend. 'Why else was she calling him at 3 A.M.?' Was her justification for the Spanish Inquisition.

Y/N sighed for the 50th time since coming back from the first day of skiing.

"You do that a lot these days?" Peggy sat down beside her, blowing a kiss at Steve, who sat a few feet away.

"Eugh. It's seeing all you lovey dovey people that's giving me a headache." Y/N had accidentally walked in on them making out after a party at Sam's apartment, who had grasped her by the shoulders and gently guided her out. He had explained the two had apparently fallen for each other over the course of describing their ideal partners to each other.

"Well, Sam's always available. Nat, I suspect, is off talking to Sharon so she might not be."

"Please, no. Now, tell Steve to get you hot cocoa I can steal off of you later."

"I'm sensing some unrequited love here." Anne was the one sighing now. It was interesting, yes, but she was not about to eat her words. Steve and Peggy returned from their jaunt to see when the flight would be landing, so far it didn't show any signs.

"Mmm, maybe. We were all sure they were the only ones who didn't realize how much they acted like a couple. Bucky and Alyssa kept dating, though. You had to practically keep them off each other like magnets."

"And Y/N? Didn't she say anything to Bucky?"

"I think she was happy at him being happy too. She cared about that more than anything else."

The bonfire spat and threw sparks into the air as the group sat in front, freezing cold. Alyssa was not present there, quoting a family urgency. Some sick part of Y/N felt great about it. She kept quiet as she snuggled up next to Bucky, who put an arm around her. She looked up as Steve hummed quietly.

"Please, no singing." Sam woke up from his apparent sleep. Steve started singing loudly, leading everyone to start groaning.

"When the moon hits your eye…"

"No, God no!" Sam sat up straight as Nat hooted with laughter at him sticking his glove laced fingers in his ears.

"Okay, then, Sammy, what song would you sing if you fell in love?"

"Hmm. What about…" He played the opening lines of Almost Sweet Music on the guitar that had mostly been left alone the whole night. Y/N smiled and started clapping as Sam started to sing and later everyone joined in.

"What would you sing, James?" Peggy turned to Bucky now.

"Hmm. That's a secret."

"Come on." Y/N punched his arm. "Give us a demo."

"Noooo."

"Come onnnn!"

"Ugh fine. Probably La Vie En Rose."

"Did you sing that to Alyssa yet?" Natasha turned to him as Sam gave Y/N a single raised eyebrow.

"We're not in love. But if it happens…"

"You should practice for that!" Y/N cheered as Sam handed her the guitar. "Come on, I'll play."

Bucky smiled, closed his eyes and began to sing. His phone glowed once or twice, but someone put it on silent. Meanwhile, a mile or so away, Alyssa slammed her phone down.

"Uh oh. Trouble in paradise?"

"Like you couldn't imagine." Peggy smiled. "Those two really were idiots. And they would get more and more ridiculous as time went on."

After the trip, it seemed like Bucky and Alyssa couldn't even stand to talk to each other. She unceremoniously dumped him and came over once to give him his stuff. Noticing Y/N coming out of the washroom, she glared at her and left.

Were they really just friends if so many people seemed to suggest the opposite? Bucky wondered as Y/N put on a movie and crashed on the couch, snuggling up to him as usual. He didn't put his arm around her, opting to put it on the back of the sofa. She frowned and put it on her shoulders, seemingly paying no heed.

And then she went and decided to date Brock Rumlow.

"What the fuck?" Anne was visibly shocked. Sam handed her a Dorito as she gasped at Natasha, who simply shrugged.

"That was our exact reaction, too."

"Seriously? Rumlow? Doll, you have several options!"

"Bucky, you know him! He's Uncle Noah's son; he's nice. And it's just a movie."

"Correction: he used to be nice. Then he keyed a car and stole things and bullied the hell out of everyone."

"I didn't say anything about Alyssa, okay? Lemme live, jesus."

"Are they pining yet? Is the pining happening yet?"

"Patience, Annie dearest. It's barely begun. But yes, to answer your question, the pining had begun."

"I just don't know what she sees in him. I could find her a better guy." Bucky complained to Nat one night as they sat in her room, him angry over Y/N canceling plans over Brock thinking she and Bucky were too close.

"Then do it. Is there anyone out there who could meet your standards for the best guy for her?"

"I-I know Rumlow, okay? He's the worst." Maybe it wasn't about him. Maybe it was the fact that he had begun to see how well he and Y/N went together or how much he loathed to see her with anyone else.

"Aha! It's finally mutual! So,happy ending? They confess and Y/N and Brock broke up?"

"Hmm. Yes and no."

She did break up with Rumlow, when he started pointing too much at her and Bucky's friendship. Feelings annoyed her to hell.

She announced to everyone that she was off doing a three-year course in Los Angeles. Everyone felt she needed the break, but they also felt concerned at seeing Bucky and Y/N, who couldn't even go to the corner store without telling each other, would go without seeing each other for three whole years.

"Oh God, is this where the airport part comes in?"

"Bingo, baby!"

After they'd seen her off, Nat was driving them home. She saw Bucky in the passenger seat, incessantly texting someone. She hummed as he looked up.

"What."

"You should've told her. Its practically reeking off you two."

"The only thing worse than long distance friendship is a relationship, Nat."

"And the one thing worse than that is having mutual feelings but never conforming them. I'm pulling over,you call her right now."

"And then?"

"Then what, he called, we cheered. As soon as she picked up, he sang that stupid song of his, through a storm of tears. Judging by him jumping up and down, she probably accepted."

"And then?" Anne sat on the edge of her seat.

"Well, we drove straight to the airport to have a ticket done for him for three weeks later. They didn't get that epic cinematic kiss at the airport, because well, security, but they did send a disgusting one in a picture later."

"Hey! The flight's landed!" Sam announced as he jogged over to where they were sitting. The others cheered and stood up to go greet their friends as Anne remained sitting.

"What? You don't want to see the stars of the story?" He sat down beside her. She hung her head down and smiled at the ground, and started singing in the lowest of voices, "Came in from the outside..." as she looked up at him. Sam grinned and swept her into his arms.

"Oh ew, are they kissing?"

"Thank God, I couldn't stop through another Y/N-Bucky esque drama. One is quite enough."

"Speaking of, there they are!" Peggy waved at them as Natasha and Steve looked towards arrivals

Later, when Bucky and Y/N were informed it was Sam's now-girlfriend that had been told their story to pass the time, they tried to figure which was more confusing. The fact that a stranger knew about them or the fact that said stranger was now Sam's girlfriend.

They both gave up eventually.

#bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky imagine #mcu imagine #bucky x fem!reader #bucky barnes x fem!Reader #no powers au #My writing

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contrariian-archive · 5 years

Text

HOZIER’S “WASTELAND, BABY!” SENTENCE STARTERS

feel free to change pronouns, etc!

NINA CRIED POWER

‘ it’s not the waking, it’s the rising. ’ ‘ it is the grounding of a foot uncompromising. ’ ‘ it’s not forgoing of the lie, it’s not the opening of eyes. ’ ‘ it’s not the shade; we should be past it. it’s the light, and it’s the obstacle that casts it. ’ ‘ it’s the heat that drives the light. ’ ‘ it’s the heaven of a human spirit ringing. ’ ‘ and i could cry power. ’ ‘ it’s not the wall, but what’s behind it. ’ ‘ power has been cried by those stronger than me, straight into the face that tells you to rattle your chains if you love being free. ’

ALMOST (SWEET MUSIC)

‘ i came in from the outside, burned out from a joyride. ’ ‘ the same kind of music haunts her bedroom. ’ ‘ i’m almost me again. ’ ‘ i’m almost me again. she’s almost you. ’ ‘ i wouldn’t know where to start. ’ ‘ be still my foolish heart. ’ ‘ don’t ruin this on me. ’ ‘ let’s get lost and let the good times roll. ’ ‘ let’s smoke rings from this paper doll. ’ ‘ i got some color back. ’ ‘ i laugh like me again, she laughs like you. ’ ‘ the very thought of you, and i am blue. ’ ‘ i get along without you very well some other nights. ’

MOVEMENT

‘ i still watch you when you’re grooving. ’ ‘ you’re moving without moving. ’ ‘ when you move, i’m moved. ’ ‘ you are a call to motion. ’ ‘ when you move, i’m put to mind of all that i wanna be. ’ ‘ i could never define all that you are to me. ’ ‘ move me, baby. ’ ‘ you do it naturally. ’ ‘ honey, you’re atlas in his sleeping. ’ ‘ i recall something that’s gone from me. ’ ‘ when you move, i’m put in awe of something so flawed and free. ’

NO PLAN

‘ what a waste to say the heart could feel apart, or feel complete. ’ ‘ why would you make out of words a cage for your own bird, when it sings so sweet the screaming, heaving fuckery of the world? ’ ‘ why would you offer a name to the same old tired pain? ’ ‘ all things come from nothing. ’ ‘ my heart is thrilled by the still of your hand. ’ ‘ i know now that you understand. ’ ‘ there’s no plan. ’ ‘ there’s no race to be run. ’ ‘ the harder the rain, honey, the sweeter the sun. ’ ‘ there’s no kingdom to come. ’ ‘ i’ll be your man if you got love to get done. ’ ‘ sit in and watch the sunlight fade. ’ ‘ it’s getting late. ’ ‘ there’s no hand on the rein. ’ ‘ as mack explained, there will be darkness again. ’ ‘ let the awful song be heard. ’ ‘ i know your beat, baby. ’ ‘ your secret is safe with me. ’ ‘ if secrets were like seeds, keep my body from the fire, hire a gardener for my grave. ’ ‘ if secrets were like seeds, when i’m lying under marble, marvel at flowers you’ll have made. ’

NOBODY

‘ it’s gin o’clock. ’ ‘ i think about you everywhere i go. ’ ‘ i’ve done everything and i’ve been everywhere. ’ ‘ i’ve been fed gold by sweet fools. ’ ‘ i’ve had no love like your love from nobody. ’ ‘ i’d be appalled if i saw you ever try to be a saint. ’ ‘ i wouldn’t fall for someone i thought couldn’t misbehave. ’ ‘ i once warmed my hands over a burning maserati. ’ ‘ why should we deny the truth? ’ ‘ we could have less to worry about — i won’t lie to you. ’

TO NOISE MAKING (SING)

‘ remember when you’d sing just for the fuck of it? ’ ‘ the look of it was as sweet as the sound. ’ ‘ i couldn’t name that feeling carried in that voice — was it that, or just the act of making noise that brought you joy? ’ ‘ you don’t have to sing it right, but who could call you wrong? ’ ‘ put your emptiness to melody, your awful heart to song. ’ ‘ you don’t have to sing it right. ’ ‘ you don’t have to sing it right, but sing it strong. ’ ‘ at best, you’ll find a little remedy. ’ ‘ at worst, the world will sing along. ’ ‘ we’d scuff up our shoes. ’ ‘ you didn’t always sing it right. ’ ‘ who could ask you to be unbroken or be brave again? ’ ‘ be unbroken. ’ ‘ be brave again. ’ ‘ who could ask you to be sound or to feel saved again? ’ ‘ stick around until you hear that music play again. ’ ‘ so honey, sing. ’ ‘ sing. ’ ‘ remember when you’d sing just for the love of it? and any joy it would bring? ’

AS IT WAS

‘ there is a roadway, muddy and foxgloved, whenever i’d have life enough, my heart is screaming of. ’ ‘ and in a few days, i would be there, love. ’ ‘ whatever here that’s left of me is yours. ’ ‘ the highs hit the heights of my baby, and its hold had the fight of my baby. ’ ‘ the lights were as bright as my baby, ’ ‘ your love was unmoved. ’ ‘ tell me if, somehow, some of it remains, how long you would wait for me. ’ ‘ make your good love known to me. ’ ‘ tell me about your day. ’ ‘ and the nights were as dark as my baby, and half as beautiful too. ’

SHRIKE

‘ i couldn’t utter my love when it counted. ’ ‘ i couldn’t utter my love when it counted, but i’m singing like a bird about it now. ’ ‘ i’m singing like a bird about it now. ’ ‘ i couldn’t whisper when you needed it shouted. ’ ‘ words hung above, but never would form — like a cry at the final breath that is drawn. ’ ‘ remember me. ’ ‘ remember me, love. ’ ‘ remember me, love, when i’m reborn as a shrike to your sharp and glorious thorn. ’ ‘ i’d no idea on what ground i was founded. ’ ‘ all of that goodness is going with you now. ’ ‘ then, when i met you, my virtues uncounted — all of my goodness is going with you now. ’ ‘ all of my goodness is going with you now. ’ ‘ dragging along, following your form, hung like the pelt of some prey you had won. ’ ‘ i’m hung like the pelt of some prey you had one. ’ ‘ remember me when i’m reborn as a shrike to your sharp and glorious thorn. ’ ‘ i fled to the city with so much discounted. ’ ‘ i fled to the city with so much discounted, but i’m flying like a bird to you now. ’ ‘ i’m flying like a bird to you now. ’ ‘ i’m flying like a bird to you now, back to the hedgerows where bodies are mounted. ’ ‘ i was housed by your warmth. ’ ‘ i was thus transformed by your grounded and giving and darkening scorn. ’

TALK

‘ i’d be the voice that urged orpheus when her body was found. i’d be the choiceless hope in grief that drove him underground. ’ ‘ i’d be the dreadful need in the devotee. ’ ‘ i’d be the immediate forgiveness in eurydice. ’ ‘ imagine being loved by me. ’ ‘ i won’t deny — i’ve got in my mind now all the things i would do. ’ ‘ i try to talk refined for fear that you find out how i’m imagining you. ’ ‘ i’d be the last shred of truth in the lost myth of true love. ’ ‘ i’d be the sweet feeling of release. ’

‘ be as you’ve always been. ’ ‘ lover, be good to me. ’ ‘ be like the love that discovered the sin, that freed the first man and will do so again. ’ ‘ be that hopeful feeling when eden was lost. ’ ‘ it’s been deaf to our laughter since the master was crossed. ’ ‘ which side of the wall really suffers that cost? ’ ‘ be love in its disrepute. ’ ‘ love, in its disrepute, scorches the hillside and salts every root. ’ ‘ watch the slowing and starving of troops. ’ ‘ be like the rose that you hold in your hand, that will grow bold in a barren and desolate land. ’ ‘ love, won’t you be as you’ve always been? ’

DINNER & DIATRIBES

‘ this club here is stuck up. ’ ‘ i knew well from our first hookup the look of mischief in your eyes. ’ ‘ your friends are a fate that befell me. ’ ‘ hell is the talking type. ’ ‘ i’d suffer hell if you’d tell me what you’d do to me tonight. ’ ‘ that’s the kind of love i’ve been dreaming of. ’ ‘ honey, i laugh when it sinks in. ’ ‘ the evening is slowing. ’ ‘ the end is in sight. ’ ‘ it’s easier knowing what you’d do to me tonight. ’ ‘ let there be hotel complaints and grievances raised. ’ ‘ let there be damage ensued and tabloid news. ’

WOULD THAT I

‘ i saw your hair like the branch of a tree — a willow dancing on air before covering me. ’ ‘ that love in withdrawal was the weeping of me. ’ ‘ the sound of the saw must be known by the tree. ’ ‘ i fretted fire, but that was long ago. ’ ‘ i blink in sight of your blinding light. ’ ‘ it’s not tonight where you hold me tight. ’ ‘ you’re good to me. ’ ‘ with the roar of the fire, my heart rose to its feet. ’ ‘ like the ashes of ash, i saw rise in the heat. ’ ‘ i fell in love with the fire long ago. ’ ‘ with each love i cut loose, i was never the same. ’ ‘ i’m watching still-living roots be consumed by the flame. ’ ‘ i was fixed on your hand of gold laying waste to my loving long ago. ’ ‘ in awe, there i stood. ’ ‘ though i’ve handled the wood, i still worship the flame. ’ ‘ as long as the amber of ember glows, all the would that i’d loved is long ago. ’

SUNLIGHT

‘ i would shun the light. ’ ‘ share in evening’s cool and quiet. ’ ‘ who would trade that hum of night for sunlight? ’ ‘ but whose heart would not take flight? ’ ‘ but whose heart would not take flight, betray the moon as acolyte, on first and fierce affirming sight of sunlight? ’ ‘ i’d been lost to you. ’ ‘ i flew like a moth to you. ’ ‘ oh, your love is sunlight. ’ ‘ all the tales the same, told before and told again. ’ ‘ a soul that’s born in cold and rain knows sunlight. ’ ‘ oh, my sunlight. ’ ‘ all that was shown to me, sunlight, was something foreknown to me. ’ ‘ all these colors fade for you only. ’ ‘ hold me. ’ ‘ carry me slowly. ’ ‘ each day, you’d rise with me. ’ ‘ know that i would gladly be the icarus to your certainty. ’ ‘ strap the wing to me. death trap-clad, happily, with wax melted, i’d meet the sea. ’

WASTELAND, BABY!

‘ all the fear and the fire of the end of the world happens each time a boy falls in love with a girl. happens great, happens sweet. ’ ‘ happily, i’m unfazed here, too. ’ ‘ wasteland baby, i’m in love with you. ’ ‘ baby, i’m in love with you. ’ ‘ all the things yet to come are the things that have passed: like the holding of hands, like the breaking of glass. ’ ‘ i’m in love with you. ’ ‘ and i love too that love soon might end. ’ ‘ be still, my indelible friend. you are unbreaking. ’ ‘ you are unbreaking, though quaking. ’ ‘ that day that we watch the death of the sun; the cloud and the cold and those jeans you have on. ’ ‘ you gaze unafraid as they sob from the city ruins. ’ ‘ the stench of the sea and the absence of green are the death of all things that are seen and unseen. ’ ‘ not an end, but the start of all things that are left to do. ’ ‘ that’s it. ’

#sentence starters #hozier sentence starters #wasteland baby starters #askbox memes #long post #long post for ts #the answer is blowing in the wind || memes.

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damienthepious · 5 years

Text

😘🦎💕

A Little Remedy

[ao3]

[companion piece to Toss and Turn In Undertow, and Keep Your Head Above The Blue]

[Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Rilla, Lord Arum, Sir Damien

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Sleep Deprivation, brief blood mention, Arguing, Cuddling & Snuggling, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday

Summary: Rilla can be a little cruel when she hasn’t gotten enough sleep, and recently she’s been finding herself exhausted much more often than usual.

Notes: Rilla is not exactly the MOST patient person, y'know? And I feel like Treacherous Heart specifically showed that keeping her from sleep is the best way to bring out her cruel side… anyway this happened and I’m tired and Hey! I finished the H/C trio. FINALLY. Title taken from the song To Noise Making (Sing), by Hozier. ]

Rilla needs to finish this experiment. She needs to. She’s so close to cracking the potency on a new form of pain salve she’s been trying to finalize for weeks now, trying to make it so the product is stable. Every previous attempt has lost efficacy increasingly from the moment it’s mixed together, a quickly lost battle with time that just leaves an inert gray goop by the end of the hour. If she can just figure out the right additive, if she can just get it to maintain potency for even a little longer, this could really make a difference in treating pain in long-term injuries and arthritic diseases.

She’s been digging through old herbalist tomes for hours now, trying to find a substance that will theoretically stabilize the mixture without interfering with the pain reduction, and it takes longer than it should for her to realize that she’s been reading and rereading the same entry over and over again without actually absorbing the information. She sighs, scrubs a hand down her face roughly and blinks a few times to try to clear the dryness of her eyes.

“C’mon, Rilla, just a little more,” she mutters to herself. “The sooner you find it…”

The letters on the page wobble and shift, and Rilla roughly knuckles her eye to try to make them stay still.

A little voice in the back of her head (one that sounds suspiciously like Damien) murmurs that her eyes are only going to grow more tired the longer she tries to work, that she’ll make better progress if her mind is rested, settled, but she scowls and hunches further over the book and forces herself to power through the last dozen or so pages.

“Research log, entry four four eight five,” she mutters into her recorder, glaring down at the offending paper. “Turns out the botanical survey from up near the Terminus was completely useless for the purposes of this project, so not only did I not find a binding agent, but I wasted hours going through the damn thing to try to find one. Not exactly back to square one, and it should at least rule out other surveys and guides from the area, but this is important and I can’t afford to be wasting time.” She sighs, closing her eyes for a moment. “Side note that there is a subspecies of aloe from this region that might have other utility, specifically in advanced burn treatment, since it appears to have been enhanced magically in some way, but this is neither here nor there for the purposes of my current project. Research log concluded.”

She rubs her eyes again, shoving the book to the side and leaning her head back for a long moment, and sighs as she drags her hands down her face.

- thousand pointed claws - a mouth, no, maw, no, endless void - enormity beyond comprehension - clicking/biting/scratching - Damien, crushed, screaming - Arum, running and hunted and caught - Damien, and so much blood - fear fear fear - formless black torn at the edges, bleeding out - home, the Citadel, burning - home, her hut, burning - home, the Keep, burning -

Rilla wakes with a start, realizes belatedly that her head is slumped backward to rest on the back of the chair, her neck strained from the angle. She has to center herself, remember where she is. Safe, safe at home in her hut. Damien is asleep in the bedroom. She is safe. She is home. She is safe.

She exhales a shaking breath, shakes her head, and scowls at herself. “C’mon, Rilla,” she says again, and then she fights through a vicious sort of yawn, the kind that almost hurts her jaw and sets her eyes watering. “C’mon. Work to be doing, now. You can- you can try to rest when it’s done with.”

“And when, precisely, will that be, Amaryllis?”

Rilla jumps again, somewhat more violently this time, her chair scooting back a screaming inch across her wood floors, and when she whips her head to the side she sees the offending party standing beside the vague glow of the Keep’s portal. She hadn’t even noticed that when she’d come awake again. “Fuck, Arum, you scared me- how long have you been there?”

“Long enough to know that you are overworking yourself.” He stares at her, tilting his head to the side critically as the portal sinks and fades. “Yet again.”

“I’m fine, Arum. I’m almost done. As soon as I find this binding agent, then I can-”

“And will you find it before sunrise, do you think?”

She glares. “I’m close, Arum, I’ll find it and then I’ll-”

“And then you will find another angle upon which to focus.” He slinks a little closer and lets his eyes drift from her, scanning over her research. “Then you will decide you must turn immediately to the next step of your puzzle, and you will delay sleep for another night.”

“I… am… fine… Arum,” she bites out through her teeth.

“It is already near morning, Amaryllis,” he says, and thanks to the grayish light slipping around the edge of her curtains, she realizes that he is correct. Not that she’s going to admit that. “You did not sleep last night either, takatakataka.”

“I slept a litt-”

“A little,” he interrupts, and then he shrugs dismissively. “A ‘little’ sleep is a nap, Amaryllis, and that is insufficient for how long you have been awake. You know as well as I do, how detrimental a lack of sleep can be.”

“What, are you trying to nanny me now?” She scowls, crossing her arms over her chest. She notes with a strange sort of amusement that her anger actually seems to be waking her up more effectively than anything else so far. “As if you’re some great example of taking care of yourself.”

Arum, surprisingly, doesn’t rise to the bait. He stares at her for a long moment, and his eyes slowly narrow. “I hope that you do not attempt to antagonize the poet in such a way when he confronts you. I cannot imagine that cruel words would glance from him without doing at least some damage.”

“Don’t- don’t bring Damien into this,” Rilla says with a scoff. “We weren’t talking about him.”

“We were not talking about my habits either, Amaryllis, until you brought them up.”

He’s right, again, and Rilla is furious about it. She narrows her eyes, standing from her chair and staring the lizard down. “Fine,” she says, voice icy. “Is this conversation over, then? Maybe if you actually let me do my work then I’ll be able to get to bed sometime tonight.”

He lets her words sit for another few moments, and her anger simmers as he stares. “I very much doubt you will sleep if I leave you now, Amaryllis,” he says.

“I can’t just abandon my experiments because I’m a little-”

“I very much doubt, also, that this is entirely to do with your work,” he interrupts. “This is because of the nightmares. Is it not?”

Rilla’s spine stiffens, and she takes the two short steps required to poke Arum in the chest, glaring up into his violet eyes. “That has nothing to do with this,” she bites out, one word at a time. “They’re just dreams, Arum, and I’m not a child.”

“I did not imply that you were, Amaryllis.” Arum stares down at her, neither stepping back nor appearing to grow irritated. “But they are not just dreams. It took some time for me to see the signs, but… I am perfectly capable of recognizing my own handiwork.”

“What…” That assertion is actually confusing enough that Rilla’s anger is somewhat defanged. “What are you talking about?”

“These dreams, Amaryllis. Did they, perhaps, only begin to manifest after the battle at Fort Terminus?” He pauses, watching her reactions carefully. “After your encounter with the… fear monster?”

That clicks into Rilla’s head like two gears finally catching together, and Rilla realizes that Arum is correct about this as well. The connection hasn’t occurred to her before, she hasn’t noticed that the timeline matches up so damn well. Mostly, she hasn’t noticed because the dreams started small, unobtrusive, easy to brush aside and dismiss, and have only become a problem by degrees. “What exactly are you trying to imply, Arum?”

“Not an implication,” he says. “An observation. The Keep confirmed for me that you slept much more soundly - when you deigned to sleep - during your initial stay within it.”

“You’re having the Keep- keep tabs on me?” Rilla says in a low, unpleasant voice.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Arum says. “You insist on calling it my mother, Amaryllis, and I know that a part of your insistence on that front is because you are aware of how it frets over me. That attention and care extends to both yourself and Damien now, obviously. It has been worried for you.”

Rilla blinks in shock, then quickly tries to brush aside the pleased surprise she feels at the idea of the Keep caring about her, because- “Hang on. Don’t- don’t try to distract me. You’re saying that the nightmares are from the damned fear bug? It’s long dead, Arum, how does that even make sense?”

“If I remember Damien’s telling of the story correctly, you bore the brunt of the creature’s ire at least once, did you not?”

“They’re just nightmares, Arum,” she says, and it isn’t enough of a denial to keep him from smiling grimly.

“Then why are they growing worse, Amaryllis?”

“I don’t know, Arum,” she says, and she realizes just barely too late that she’s halfway to yelling, and she can’t actually tell how loud she’s being as she continues. “But apparently you have an idea you’re just desperate to share, huh? Fine. You think this is the fear monster? Go ahead and explain how the fuck a dead bug is keeping me from sleeping. I’m sure you’ve got everything figured out.”

Arum’s smile fades, and he sighs. “It was in your head, Amaryllis,” he says gently, and she snorts out an angry laugh.

“It was in all of our heads, Arum.”

“It was in your head,” he repeats, voice flat. “The creature was made to act subtly at first, and incrementally increase the fear response it created. What it did to you and your knights… that was not how it was intended to attack. That was brute force from a lockpick, Amaryllis, and from what I have observed in you lately, I believe it left wounds in your mind that have been festering rather than healing.”

“I would know if I was injured, Arum.” Rilla’s heart is hammering with her anger. She feels nearly lightheaded from it. “I am a doctor. I would know.”

“Rilla?” Damien is in the doorway of the bedroom now, sleep muddled and wearing a vague frown. “What… my darling flowers, whatever is the matter?”

“Great,” Rilla says without inflection, turning away from the door. “Fantastic.”

Arum’s expression softens, and he crosses the room to run his claws carefully through Damien’s pillow-mussed hair. “Nothing to concern yourself over, honeysuckle,” he says. “You should return to bed.”

“But-” Damien leans into Arum’s hand, overcome momentarily by a yawn. “But- there was shouting. What-”

“It’s nothing, Damien,” Rilla says, leaning over her worktable and glaring at the useless remains of the latest trial of her salve. “Go back to bed. Arum was just about to leave, and then it should actually be quiet enough for you to sleep. And for me to finish my work.”

Arum’s mouth presses into an even thinner line, and he gives Rilla an unimpressed look as Damien frowns in earnest. “Are- are the two of you- arguing?”

“Damien-” Rilla cuts herself off, just barely below a volume that could be called yelling, and presses her hands flat to the table. “Please go back to bed.”

With Arum’s arm slowly curling around his shoulder, Damien stares at her, his expression blooming from confusion into worry. “But… it’s nearly dawn already, my love,” he says.

Rilla’s eyes flick to the windows again, to the light growing brighter around the edges of the curtains, and she huffs out a furious breath as she pulls one of her books across the table towards her, trying to engross herself (pretending to engross herself) back into the research. “Okay. Okay. Fine. Then you should go do your exercises,” she says dismissively. “Either way I need to get back to work.”

“Did you not come to bed at all tonight, my flower?” Damien asks softly behind her, and Rilla clenches her jaw to keep from snapping in response. “I was… I was quite sorry to wake without you beside me.”

Five or six possible responses flit through her mind, all of them unreasonably cruel after the softness Damien is offering. She grits her teeth against them all, because Rilla is exhausted and frustrated and unfocused, but she’s spent far too much time in the effort to convince Damien’s anxious mind of how much she loves him, and she’s not going to jeopardize that with careless verbal sniping just because she’s not operating at full capacity tonight. Or- this morning, rather. Ignoring him isn’t exactly kind either, but she can’t think of any way to respond that isn’t unnecessarily cutting.

“Her nightmares are interrupting her slumber again,” Arum says, and his voice is casual though his eyes fix to hers in a determined way when she whips her head back to glare at the lizard. “She is attempting to outrun them by avoiding sleep entirely until she injures herself.”

“Don’t be an ass,” Rilla says with a scowl. “That’s not what I’m doing. I already told you, I can’t just put my work aside because I’m a little bit tired. This has nothing to do with dreams I might be having.”

Rilla… does not lie often. This particular one feels sour on her tongue, but if she can just get them to leave her alone then she can finish her work and figure out a solution for sleep on her own. She can handle this; there’s no reason for them to get all worked up about it.

“When… when did you last sleep, my love?” Damien asks, gripping Arum’s hand in a nervous sort of way.

“Yesterday,” Rilla says dismissively, turning back to her book. “I’ll be fine, Damien.”

“She slept for twenty minutes and woke herself by thrashing out of a nightmare,” Arum says. “The night before that, she managed perhaps an hour and a half before she gasped awake and slipped from bed, thinking I would not notice.”

“Rilla-”

“I can manage my own sleep just fine without interfering lizards keeping a running tally of my daily schedule, thanks very much,” Rilla hisses, gamely not looking at the pair of them and arbitrarily flipping pages without reading a single word upon them. “Really goddamn rich, honestly, the pair of you trying to micro-manage my- honestly. Honestly.”

“You do seem… rather exhausted, Rilla,” Damien says, his tone still confused and gentle. “Can you not just… come rest, just for a while, and find the solutions you seek with a refreshed mind?”

“I would rather find my solutions now, thanks.”

“Your book is upside-down, Amaryllis,” Arum says blandly.

Rilla growls under her breath and slams the book closed, spinning to face them again. Arum still has an arm encircling Damien’s shoulder, and another of his hands is clasped with Damien’s, and the both of them are staring at her. Damien flinches when she turns, his expression verging on distraught, and Arum is still holding his steady, observant gaze upon her.

“Okay,” she snarls, “I think that’s enough. I don’t need the nervous nag and the self-care hypocrite creeping over my shoulder and making it even harder for me to make any progress. I would go to bed a hell of a lot faster if the both of you would just leave me alone instead of arguing about my sleep habits.”

Arum’s expression finally hardens, and she sees his fingers squeeze Damien’s shoulder. “Enough… enough is right, Amaryllis. You need to sleep. You are not yourself, and we cannot discuss these nightmares until you are thinking more clearly.”

“I really don’t think you’re in a position to be ordering me around about the way I’m handling this, Arum, considering these damn nightmares are apparently your fault in the first place, you monster-”

“Rilla.” Damien clutches Arum’s arm, looking at her aghast. “You don’t truly-”

“No,” she says, the instant, instant regret making her shoulders sag, making the dull buzzing in her head all the more intense. She hugs her arms around her chest, exhaling an unsteady breath. “I know. I know. That wasn’t fair. I didn’t mean- I don’t actually-”

Even worse: the way Arum is looking at her. The way he seems unbothered, unsurprised by having the blame laid upon him. The way he doesn’t even flinch.

“I didn’t mean that, Arum.”

“I am well aware, Amaryllis,” Arum says evenly, his eyes never leaving her.

“I just- you’re both-”

“Trying very hard to help you, despite how stubbornly you are insisting on this attempt to drive us away so you may continue to suffer alone.” Arum sighs, then lifts a hand towards her, and she only barely catches the edge of desperation in his expression. “Please. Come away from your work. Just for a moment. I believe I can speak for Damien as well when I say that I have no desire to fight with you.”

Damien nods, and his hand raises on the other side, his expression open and distraught.

Rilla knows that if she lets the both of them hold her, she’ll be done for. She won’t be able to make herself go back to her work after that. Hell, she’s not sure she’ll be able to keep her damned eyes open if she lets them wrap her up in their arms.

She edges a step towards them, then glances at the disaster of research strewn across her table, still stubbornly refusing to present her with a solution.

“Please,” Arum says again, and Rilla breaks.

She stumbles the last couple feet towards them, and they fold her into their embrace as easily as… as easily as a metaphor she’s sure Damien would be able to produce in an instant, even if he were as tired as she is right now. She realizes how tightly she’s been holding herself as she leans into them, as her muscles relax one by one under their hands.

“My lovely flower,” Damien whispers, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Oh, why did you not say anything? I know how strong you are, but you need not bear such pain alone merely because-”

“I’m not- it’s not like I’m doing this because I want to,” she says, because she wants them to understand. She’s never been a good liar, and the only reason it’s taken this long for this to come out is because she’s been doing her best to avoid thinking about it at all when she’s around them. “It’s just that- it’s easier to sleep through them if I’m exhausted first.”

Damien makes a soft, sympathetic noise, clinging tightly to her. “Sleep through them? So you still have them, you just-”

“Look, I don’t even know how much of it I remember, you know? But- if I wear myself out really well, I can at least sleep all the way through the night. Or- well, you know. I can at least get five uninterrupted hours. Six if I’m lucky.”

“So it has been that frequent, Amaryllis? That intrusive?” Arum’s tone is carefully controlled, but she can feel how he stiffens, thanks to the way he’s wrapped around her.

“It… yeah. Sometimes. It’s been getting… worse, but it comes and goes, I guess. Lately… I don’t know.” She sighs, not exactly pleased to admit this. “Yeah. It’s been bad. I didn’t want to worry either of you,” she continues quickly. “I know you’ve both got your own- I just didn’t want to add to the pile, you know? I can handle this. I can handle my own- whatever.”

Arum tightens his grip on her for a heartbeat, nuzzling his snout into her hair before he pulls back enough to meet her eyes. “You once told me, Amaryllis, that telling the both of you when I was in distress was the only way to ensure that I would be helped.”

Rilla flushes, a little taken aback that Arum remembers her words so specifically. “But- but it’s not like either of you can do anything about this. It’s just dreams, Arum, it’s not like either of you can-”

“I believe I can help you, Amaryllis.” Arum gives her a wry smile as she jolts in his arms, looking up at him incredulously. “The nightmares stem from the fear monster. The monster that I helped create, as you so helpfully pointed out not terribly long ago.”

“Arum, I-”

“I take no offense,” he says, tone soft. “I am well aware of the ills I caused. If you had informed me of the severity of the problem sooner, I could have eased the effects before it progressed this far.”

“You…” Rilla stares up at him, the buzzing in her head and the softness of the embrace making it hard for her thoughts to coalesce into anything that makes sense. “You could?”

“The fear monster was primarily tested upon myself,” he explains, “as I do not typically keep sentient test subjects on hand. I always found that too distasteful a business, and more of a hassle than it was worth.” He glances aside, visibly uncomfortable. “So, obviously it would not do, if I did not have a way to mitigate the damage done to myself in the testing process.”

“Damage…” Damien tightens his grip around Rilla, and she assumes he’s hugging Arum tighter as well. “Not… not permanent damage…?”

“No, honeysuckle.” Arum sighs and smiles in the same moment, and draws a hand through Damien’s hair to soothe his distress. “Not permanent. The condition has been exacerbating itself in our herbalist because of her sleep deprivation and because it is going untreated, but it is reversible.” He wriggles himself back an inch or two away from the pair of them, just enough that he can reach into the folds of his clothes and pull out a small vial of wine-red liquid.

Rilla raises an eyebrow at him, her irritation bleeding back for a moment. “You just had that on you?”

“I have been growing more suspicious that my handiwork was the cause of your lack of sleep for some time now, Amaryllis. I became sure of it within the last two days, and when I came here tonight I had only just finished…” he tips the vial back and forth for a moment. “I was hoping to find you sleeping, and when you woke I intended to broach the subject with you.” He stares down at her, something vulnerable just barely slipping past the careful blankness of his reptilian face. “It would go down easier with a meal, but… you may take the treatment now, if you like.”

Ordinarily, Rilla would probably insist on knowing exactly what was in that vial, on knowing how he made it. Hell, she’d probably insist on making the treatment from scratch herself, just to be sure that she understood exactly what it was and how it worked. Now, though, her head is already foggily swimming, and the idea of trying to muddle through some sort of serum synthesis in this state makes her feel even more exhausted, if that’s at all possible.

She sticks a hand out, and Arum drops the treatment into her palm. She pulls out the cork and downs it in a single swig, and the alcohol burn almost overpowers the vague taste of limeflower that lingers under her tongue. She hisses out a breath, wrinkling her nose against the aftertaste as she hands the vial back.

“Single application, or will this require multiple treatments?” she asks reflexively, watching as he tucks the vial away again.

“If you sleep properly, your mind should begin to heal itself. If the dreams become difficult again I can provide another dose.”

“Hm.” Rilla squints up at him. “You’re gonna show me how you made that.”

“If you would like,” he agrees, unbothered, “but not right now. Now, you should let us bring you to bed, I think,” Arum says, his tone balanced quite carefully between soft and stubborn, and Rilla finds that she has no defenses left.

She sighs, dropping her head until she can rest her cheek against Arum’s shoulder. “Clearly I’m not going to get anything else done tonight,” she admits under her breath, and as Arum adjusts his grip to swing her up into his arms her surprised gasp devolves into a barking laugh. “You are so ridiculous,” she says, voice still threatening to bubble over with laughter. “Can’t keep your claws off us for a moment, can you?”

He raises an eyebrow, looking down over his snout at her with false haughtiness. “Why should I deny myself?”

“Ah, for once I am not the one manhandled - rather, monsterhandled,” Damien mock-whispers, but the levity leaves his face rather quickly, and then he leans closer to press his forehead against her own. “I… I am sorry, my flower. I should have seen that you were in pain so much sooner-”

“To be fair, Damien,” she says with a self-deprecating smile, her eyes already trying to slip closed, “I was trying pretty hard to keep you from noticing. Sorry.”

“My brave, brilliant herbalist,” he murmurs, and then he kisses her gently. “Brave and brilliant… and perhaps, occasionally, just the littlest bit headstrong.”

Rilla laughs and swats at the knight halfheartedly, and Arum chuckles lightly above her. He leans down and indulgently lets Damien press a kiss to his cheek as well, and then Arum turns and carries Rilla into the bedroom, Damien following in their wake.

Arum moves the sheets aside with one set of arms and then sets her down, nestled among the pillows. He slips onto the bed himself, then, wrapping his long body entirely around her before he pulls the blankets up over the both of them, a muted, subtle purr already starting in his chest.

“Ah, such a tempting tableau,” Damien sighs, leaning down to stroke his hand through Rilla’s hair. “I have only recently risen from these very sheets and yet I could be counted content to curl by your sides for hours longer. For the whole rest of the day, even-”

“You’ll be furious with yourself if you neglect your duties,” Arum reminds him wryly. “There isn’t any cause to worry now, honeysuckle. She will sleep soundly. She’s practically unconscious already.”

“Practically,” Rilla mutters, poking Arum in the side with her eyes still closed. “He’s right, though, Damien. Go start your day. According to the expert here, I should sleep just fine, and you can berate me for being headstrong over dinner tonight. Okay?”

Damien pauses, then sighs. Rilla, somewhere in her sleep-muddled brain, suspects that her lovers have just made significant eye contact over her head, but she can’t really bring herself to care. “Alright, my love,” Damien says eventually, and then he leans down to kiss Arum, and then to press a soft kiss against her temple. “I love you,” he says, his lips still brushing her skin. “Rest well, my most lovely flowers. May Saint Damien still the troubled waters of your mind until I return to you.”

“Love you too,” Rilla says, and she smiles as Arum echoes their words, though she can’t quite muster the effort to open her eyes to watch Damien leave. She hears his footsteps hesitate in the doorway - she imagines him turning to give the pair of them another lingering, dramatic look - and then he’s gone, leaving Rilla safe and warm with her heart feeling full and heavy in her chest, too tired now to do anything but sigh, settling even deeper into Arum’s embrace.

Arum nuzzles against the back of her neck, humming tunelessly.

“Sorry,” Rilla breathes. “I know… I know that I…”

“I already told you, Amaryllis. I took no offense.”

“Why?” she asks, curious more than distressed. “You have every right to be furious with me-”

“Amaryllis…” he shifts, drawing her closer, shielding her from the world with his body. “Have I not snapped at you and Damien often enough in vain bids to hide my own vulnerabilities?” He laughs softly behind her. “I could not possibly hold it against you, if you are guilty of the same strategies under duress.”

“But…”

“Amaryllis, your words are in no way the worst consequence that sleep deprivation in a creature I care about has had upon me.”

Rilla snorts out a laugh despite herself, mostly because he’s completely correct. And- she could keep questioning Arum, could try again to apologize in a way that feels right, but… it’s getting harder and harder to resist the pull of sleep. Harder and harder to resist the soothing pressure of his arms around her, the calming background noise of his purring.

She falls unconscious somewhere between when she decides she should thank him and when the words actually reach her lips, and Arum only smiles at her wordless sleeping murmur.

Sometime close to sunset, Rilla will wake with a yelp and the sudden realization that she can just store the two components of her salve separately, and only combine them immediately before use, negating the need for a binding agent at all, and she will feel more than a little bit foolish. About that, and about everything else.

For now, though, Rilla sleeps. She sleeps, and her monster curls careful and protective around her, drawing his fingers through her hair when even a hint of worry crosses her sleeping face, her head pillowed on his gently rumbling chest.

For the first time in weeks, under the vigilant watch of a monster, with the blessing of a saint left with the kiss upon her brow, not a single nightmare dares to trouble her sleep.

#elle's fanfic #the penumbra podcast #second citadel #rad bouquet #lizard kissin' tuesday #amaryllis of exile #lord arum #sir damien #a;dlkfja;ldkjfadf #i am Concerned. if people will actually enjoy this one #byeeeeeeee #things will be better

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fuzziemutt · 5 years

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Can you burn from the inside out ? Asking for a friend

Summary/prompt: a sort of arsonist au (both metaphorical and literal) i guess that was born from the song "Arsonist's lullaby" by Hozier

Tw: it's just really angsty; remus is mentioned a lot but this is roman centric; the ending is up for interpretation but i will say one of those interpretations could possibly be suicide so keep that in mind

Note: no beta reading and no read more due to being on mobile and yes i know flames and fire is used a lot but bear with me here

When I was a child, I heard voices

Some would sing and some would scream

You soon find you have few choices

I learned the voices died with me

They were maybe 6 at the time when Roman first heard them. He never understood them as their voices clashed and contradicted each other like someone banging muffled pots and pans in his head. They scared him at first; Remus always reassured him it was just his imagination that brought them to life. Yes nothing more than a bit of an overactive imagination was all… he became quite skilled at ignoring the voices with time.

When I was a child, I'd sit for hours

Staring into open flame

Something in it had a power

Could barely tear my eyes away

It was only a few years later did they fully recognize and get to experience fire. The voices were still there (he could never truly get rid of them) but this seemed to quiet them. Staring at the bonfire soothed him deep down and even if he didn't quite understand why, he wanted to always feel that stillness. He thought about it and if this fire brought such a calmness then surely if he could somehow carry this fire wherever he went then he will always feel peace. It was decided there that fire was his favorite thing.

All you have is your fire

And the place you need to reach

Don't you ever tame your demons

But always keep 'em on a leash

No one ever told him that even with its beauty, fire could still hurt. He had learned that the hard way. Like fire, he burned brightly in what he did, but like fire, he would grow enraged and leave nothing but soot covered ruins in its place. He hated what he did but he had to keep that fire going. He had to keep the voices quiet. "You need to control that temper of yours" and "you're far too hot-headed to play with us, Roman" became common dialogues thrown at him now whenever he tried to play nice. Even with his flames, Remus still stuck by his side no matter what and that's all that mattered. He didn't need friends. He had his brother and that was fine.

When I was 16, my senses fooled me

Thought gasoline was on my clothes

I knew that something would always rule me

I knew the scent was mine alone

As they grew older, he began to try and find other ways to have the blaze continue burning. The fire was bringing more trouble than he meant it to, and the sneering comments now threatened to douse the flames completely. Remus kept reassuring him that the fire never burned him, but even Roman could see the ashes littered around them no matter how hard he tried to keep it contained. That's until he realized that maybe sometimes he didn't have to keep it inside. With a stolen lighter and a gas canister clutched tightly in his hands, he snuck out and decided to finally give the flames something else to consume that wasn't his internals and relationships.

All you have is your fire

And the place you need to reach

Don't you ever tame your demons

But always keep 'em on a leash

He didn't know when it became an addiction of sorts but he could see the concern in his brother's eyes. It started with some leaves once a month and now he always seemed to even have a candle burning nearby so he could stare into the flames for hours. The voices had gotten worse now if he was without the orange flickering that he became practically reliant on the warm glow. Remus kept begging him to stop sneaking out so late, to explain why he smelled of gas, why his shirt had black marks on them (he started wearing darker colors after that) and why there were so many lit candles. Roman tried to keep the internal flames down with his questioning and worrying as he had been doing so well as of late but it became too much. Like an inferno, he made those internal flames consume everything around him including his brother. He realized far too late what he had done when he saw tears glistening in Remus' eyes. It was there that he had decided that he despised fire the most.

When I was a man I thought it ended

When I knew love's perfect ache

But my peace has always depended

On all the ashes in my wake

Remus stopped talking to him after that event but it was fine his brother was far safer away from him anyways. He stopped having anything to do with that cursed burning heat as well ever since that night. Sure it caused the voices to return ten fold and left him sobbing on his floor when alone, but it was for everyone's safety that he would never allow those flames to control him again (he became quite the skilled actor). It was worth it when he became quite close to another soon enough. Seeing him smirk or chuckle at his jokes made it all worth it. The searing kisses he shared with the man even would give that peace he desperately needed again even if the peace only lasted for a short time. He tried desperately not to become addicted to the glow of his lover, to make the small blooms of heat enough, to not search for those wretched flamed once more but he never said he wasn't a weak man. It was just one spark that did it, but somehow seeing those once caring eyes filled with pain he caused, hurt far more than when they belonged to his brother.

All you have is your fire

And the place you need to reach

Don't you ever tame your demons

But always keep 'em on a leash

He had no one but it was fine. He would make it fine. No one else deserved to be consumed by his flames. He had no one else to blame but himself for everything that occurred. If the others tried to push back into his life, he would just push them back out even harder because he had to keep them safe. He tried to keep the voices and urges at bay but again he never said he wasn't a weak man. All he needed was his fire was all the voices would say and with that, he finally let the flames consume him whole.

#i write #thomas sanders #sanders sides #roman sanders #ts roman #roman angst #sympathetic remus #remus sanders #ts remus #creativitwins #ask to tag #long post #song fic

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perfectcreaturerarelyseen · 5 years

Text

The Fate of the Fae | 06 (M)

Pairing: Andrew Hozier-Byrne/Unknown Female

Genre: Fantasy, Modern, Romance, Smut, Fluff, Angst. Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut

Words: Chapter 6: 2,003

Summary: Andrew Hozier-Byrne unknowingly searches for the woman that pulled him from the bog 3,000 years ago. Unknown to either of them that in this modern world their souls are still intertwined from the life they shared long ago. She is unavailable, he’s not giving up. Will the woman that inspires his music be wooed by his songs or will he lose his chance? That’s Wasteland, Baby!

Note: A/N: This is a story requested by my best friend to be written about her favorite musician. I have been inspiried by his songs and specific lines. Any reference to his music is used in the name of inspiration and creating art. I do not own any of his music. Any reference to Hozier in this story is fictional and used by the author in the name of crafting art. I want to thank all who read it. I have fallen in love with writing this story and would love to hear from you. It will be written in installments. The finished story will be at the very least over 50,000 words. Enjoy

The Fate of the Fae: Chapter 6

He’d told them he was no savior.

Still when he returned from the woods silently, not meeting their eyes, the clan scoffed. Some Forest Father indeed, they thought to themselves as he trudged past.

They ignored the thick stream of silver blood that ran a steady river from his upper bicep to his fingers. It stained the ground leaving a sparkling trail behind him as he made his way back to the village.

The dirt pathways that dissected the town, creating a makeshift road between the impermanent buildings were choked thick with the smoke of burning fae. He pulled the collar of his shirt up over his mouth.

Skirting his way around the burning funeral pyre he finally caught a glimpse of Willow Woman, now Madison as he called her in his mind, helping to carry limp bodies and heaving them onto the flames. The fae had sickness of their own and it was dangerous to leave so many dead in the open. Plus the scent of that thick silver blood attracted the monsters. Whether it was dried or fresh the sickly sweet scent of it drew them in like nectar to a bee. It was dangerous. Everything about this village cloaked in the stench of death was dangerous. He yearned for nothing more than to grab Madison and drag her kicked and screaming back to the safety of his cabin.

He’d settle even to live like nomads on the land. Camping out at the edge of the woods. He’d even let himself believe that she wouldn’t fear the trees. That she would plunge herself deep into the woods with him at her side. They could live, deep in the darkness of the forest, away from all of the evil of this world. She was pure of soul, the woods would accept her. He knew it in his featherlight bones. She was the light to the darkness deep within him. The light of this world was as bright as his willow baby. The night’s were as dark as the world of his baby but they were half as beautiful too.

He was half tempted to stalk towards her, throw her over his shoulder, and leave this place. She could bang her fists against his back and scream until she was hoarse but he was determined to get her away from here. Anywhere but this cursed place.

Andrew quickly realized that he was standing in the middle of the village intensely staring at the back of her form as a pool of his blood gathered at his feet. He shook himself and ran his uninjured hand through his hair groaning. The bite hurt like a bitch and he wasn’t happy about it.

He had made little progress in the forest. Barely getting a few feet into the woods one of the monsters had jumped him in a blind attack. He’d lifted his arm to cover his face and thus earned himself a wicked bite. The smell of his blood had attracted so many that he knew there was no chance of making anymore progress into the woods. He was looking for the leader not the lackeys. He’d landed one booted foot in the chest of the beast and heaved with his long limbs. It’d gone flying.

Before any of the others could get some fangs into him he’d turned intense eyes on them. There was a moment of complete silence as the entire forest paused. He knew he couldn’t hold them for long, not this many, still the Forest Father commanded their attention. He was the damn Forest Father for fuck’s sake they would bow under his gaze.

There was a chorus of growls but slowly they sank to their haunches. Quietly and smoothly he exited the woods still holding his gaze upon them. When he’d cleared the tree line the spell broke and he heard baying howls.

This place was cursed. This place was fucked.

Willow Woman as if sensing his pain or simple sensing him turned. She had a wet cloth tied over her mouth to help with the smoke. Without seeing her mouth he could not read her expression. Her eyes looked wet but whether from the smoke or something else he wasn't sure.

A small woman almost the size of a child laid a hand on her arm. The woman had long dark hair and olive skin. She turned to see what Madison was looking at and locked eyes on Andrew. She narrowed her eyes but still he couldn’t read her expression either with the cloth covering half of her face. She gave a small almost enthusiastic wave. Andrew gave a small lift of his hand in response. He realized then that her eyes weren’t narrowed but instead crinkled with a smile. She placed a hand on Willow Woman’s arm and leaned over to her ear to be heard over the fire. The blaze ate her words but Madison shot him another look before nodding.

She turned from her work and made her way to him. Pulling the cloth down from her mouth he could see that she was frowning. Her look made a knife twist in his stomach. It was the first time she didn’t look happy to see him. They stood for a moment staring each other down not saying a word. Finally her eyes locked on his arm and a look of tenderness passed over her face.

“You’re hurt.” It wasn’t a question. There was fire in her and he loved when it came out.

“It’s only a bite.” She sighed and rolled her eyes. It made him smile and when she saw him smiling she smiled too.

“What shall I do with you Forest Father?” She asked with a sound of fake exasperation in her voice.

“Andrew.” He supplied and she looked at him surprised. Then a feeling of warmth spread through his chest as her face lit up. “And...Madison...” He tested her name on his tongue. She didn’t protest at the use of her name so he continued. “You can do anything you want with me.”

OoOo

Alexis threw Madison’s door open to find her curled up on the bed her phone clutched to her chest. She clucked her tongue at the sight and moved to the window throwing open the curtains. Madison groaned from the bed and covered her eyes with her arms.

“Up, up, up. It’s almost noon. You’ve slept far too long.” Alexis opened the window letting fresh air flood the room that smelled of staleness.

“I was up late.” Madison complained still covering her face.

“Your point being?” Alexis leaned her head out the window staring up at the bright blue sky, cloudless for once. “Where is Tom?”

“Tom?” Madison asked sounding groggy.

“Yes. Tom as in Tom. The red breasted robin. He’s usually here by now. Tom!” She yelled out the window.

“Not so loud for goodness sake!” Madison harshly whispered at her. “Bates will hear you.” She hissed.

“Oh your ‘betrothed’” Alexis said the word sarcastically before continuing “...left with The Snake a few hours ago. We’re in the clear for all types of mischief and fun. Now seriously where is Tom. Tom!” She shouted out the window again. For such a small woman she could make so much noise.

“I can’t believe you named the bird Tom. It’s so generic. Why do you need him anyways?”

“What was I supposed to call him? Balthazar? I want to know where Bates has gone.”

“Why?”

“Because I have a scandalous idea that will get us both in some very deep shit. We’ll be fine as long as I can keep tabs on that idiot you’re supposed to marry.” Madison refrained from pointing out that Bates registered on the spectrum of genius because she’d called him worst names than that before.

Alexis was almost always too kind about him. She was too kind about anyone really. She was the only fae from her previous life that Bates had allowed to stay with Madison. Ripped from her village, her mother, and everything she knew Alexis had demanded to come with them. She was small but she was scary. Not willing to start a fight over something so petty Bates had allowed it. Alexis with her uncanny ability to talk to trees and birds came in handy. Not to mention she was Madison’s best and only friend.

“What idea is this?” Madison asked cautiously.

“Remember that beau you fell so hard for last night?” Alexis asked looking at Madison finally. She registered the fat lip she was sporting from The Snake’s hand but said nothing. “Oh don’t look at me like that. The elm on Main Street told me about it.” Madison rolled her eyes at Alexis but they both smiled.

“Yes, I remember. What about him?”

“He’s playing a concert today and we’re going.” Madison wanted to argue. So many words came to her mind but she couldn’t bring herself to say any of them. She desperately, oh so desperately, wanted to see him again.

“What’s the plan?”

“Oh girl you should know me by now, there’s no plan.” Alexis grinned with pure mischief burning in her eyes. Madison swallowed hard a ball of nervous energy having nothing to do with her husband finding out forming in her stomach. Still she didn’t argue as Alexis went to her large freestanding oak wardrobe and began throwing outfit choices on the bed.

OoOo

Staring down at his phone for the hundredth time he typed another text trying to sound cute instead of crazy and incomprehensible. He quickly deleted it and began texting again. Finally he sighed and leaned his head back against the wall he was sitting against. He gently bumped his head against the painted cement but his wild mane of hair absorbed most of the pain.

Why? Why couldn’t he come up with anything to say. His long legs cramped from being in the same position for so long. He stood and began to pace the hallway. The sound check had gone well and he was already pumped for the upcoming show.

They’d be letting the crowd in soon and already he could feel their energy like a low thrum through his body.

He wanted her.

He groaned and tore his hand through his curly hair. In this light it looked alight like a blazing fire. It matched the way his brain was burning searching fruitlessly for words.

He wrote songs. He was a king among thieves when it came to clever phrasing. Yet, he came up with nothing.

He thought again of his dream. Her sweet skin salty with sweat as he ran his tongue over it. The little gasps that escaped her with each thrust. He felt completely out of control inside of her. Like he would lose himself in her.

With another growl he typed furiously. His finger hovered over the send button. With a shaky breath he hit send and almost immediately flung his phone across the hallway. He refrained instead sitting once again, wrapping his long arms around his knees and resting his head on top.

OoOo

She glanced down at her phone and her heart leapt into her throat.

...Wasteland Baby, I’m playing a concert today, will you come?...

She knew who it was from even though she didn’t recognize the number. Madison typed back with vigor never hesitating.

...Oh baby, I will most definitely come...

OoOo

He took a deep breath and glanced at the text. He read over the words several times before smiling. He practically leapt up. He had a bounce to his step that he usual reserved for when they rocked out “Jackie and Wilson” in front of the crowd.

She’d come. Oh would she come.

OoOo

She escaped her gilded cage for a moment.

A modern Cinderella with wings.

The forest king awaited her arrival.

Unknown royalty among winglessly winged.

The glass slipper awaited to be shattered.

The bond grew.

As did the danger.

Such was the fate of the fae.

OoOo

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