#or when it does it is never addressed and/or nobody helps them/is brushed off by the narrative because obviously plot needs to happen

[usernamesuggestionsarefunny]

“Fanon enjoyers don't like canon, they only like watered-down, bastardized, and

Woobified characters and headcanons that are safer and sanitized” - some comment I read

[atsadi-shenanigans]

Feeding Alligators 46 - Not Quiet on the Western Front

Y'all leave camp. Is that blood?

On AO3.

You offer back the blanket Astarion brought out to the woods. He gives you a delicately offended face and says he’s never seen it before. And then he’s turning away, done talking to you because you are nothing to him now, and Shadowheart shoots you a—it’s not quite sympathetic, but it’s in the same family—look.

The rest of camp emerges as you dress in your second-cleanest clothes.

You avoid eye contact. Especially with Karlach, who greets you with a grin that falters when you nod and brush past to get to the egg scramble Gale throws together.

Astarion doesn’t join, y’all. You catch a few glances thrown his way from the others, some silent conversation passes around you like a flurry of group chat text you ain’t included on.

Great. Awesome. Just what you wanted. Not awkward at all.

But either Shadowheart does a great job silently deflecting everybody, or they communally decide to let sleeping dogs lie; nobody outright asks you about it.

Then y’all bust up camp and set out to find this goblin camp and the druid who might be able to do magic brain surgery or whatever.

And Astarion immediately sidles up to Gale with a tone you now recognize. Not even twelve hours later, and he’s completely ditched you. All because you wouldn’t spread your legs.

That explains the pile of lovers, don’t it? He’s a fuck boy, is what he is. And you are an idiot for not seeing that sooner (of course the only one chasing you would be the one with the loosest standards).

You increase your pace to join Lae’zel and Wyll up front. Wyll glance to you, smiles, and thank fuck he don’t say nothing.

Lae’zel, unfortunately, stares at you a second, and then, “You smell of the bloodsucker, but not of mating. Was he not satisfactory?”

You don’t even see the rock that trips you—points to Wyll who manages to catch your elbow and keep you from eating dirt.

“Fuck’s sake, Lae’zel!” you whisper-shout. “You can’t go asking people that!”

Y’all are at the front. There is a chance, however small, the words didn’t carry back to the fuck boy bloodsucker.

“Why not? If you have no claim to him, then others may make one. But if he is an inadequate partner, I would be less likely to do so.”

You stare. Wyll, beside you, looks horrified.

Lae’zel scowls. “Is this another istik oddity? Your people complicate all things for no reason. Speak plainly.”

And it is silent behind you. No idle chitchat, no scoffing; Karlach isn’t even humming. Oh sweet fucking christ on a cracker. This is not happening.

“Lae’zel,” Wyll tries.

But she fucking hisses at him. “I was not addressing you.”

Maybe you can override the blood potion you slammed back not too long ago and force your soul to separate from your body. Maybe you can negate the dirt potion if you bash your head into a tree enough to give you brain damage. Or at least pass out so it hits whatever bullshit magic timer it needs so it stops working.

Lae’zel stares at you. She ain’t letting this go. And you are not going to turn around. If you turn and see the others, you’ll have to acknowledge this is, in fact, happening when it so clearly ain’t. This is a dream. This is a horrible, nightmare dream.

“Um,” you say, your voice all high. “It, um, that’s…is that blood?”

There is blood in the path, actually! Thank fuck! It is also fresh, as indicated by the body in the grass and the pile of scooped out guts not much further along. Flies buzz over them, but ain’t no maggots, so it can’t have been lying there too long.

Considering all the other bullshit y’all’ve run into recently…

***

It’s gnolls. Of course it’s fucking gnolls. A whole fucking pack of them and you have the presence of mind to not drop your fucking stick this time. Wyll helps a lot with that by staying out in front of you, hitting them with spells that boil the skin off their faces if they get too close.

Karlach takes the worst of it. Tends to happen when one screams, “Eat it, fuckers!” and charges in like a pack of suburbanites on a Black Friday store opening. Shadowheart has to make her sit so she can jesus hands shut the massive gash opening up the tiefling’s thigh down to the bone.

Karlach takes it all in stride. “Ooh, think it’ll scar? I’m gonna tell everyone I got it chopping through a Beholder!”

You leave them to it, and follow Wyll and Gale into the cave the gnolls were trying to get to. Three more dead people lie in clustered pieces. You stand over the nearest a moment before kneeling.

“Sorry, friend,” you say. “I hope you find what you’re looking for and get some rest.”

And you slip your fingers into his pockets. Some gold and a handkerchief. Well.

The others poke around boxes and baskets, retrieving the still-edible food and anything of value. You wander alone, until something catches your eye. A fancy box wedge between two rocks. You crouch to peer at it in the gloom.

The lid does not lift. There’s a lock on the front. Astarion has been getting y’all into this shit so far. And it ain’t like you know how to pick the damn thing open.

You spot him up a ladder on a ledge nearby, patting down a dead man of his own. That new and exciting dread washes over you. Surely you can figure this box out? Maybe hitting it hard enough will pop the thing free?

It does not pop the thing free. It does attract Gale’s attention. He ambles over, saying something about an unlocking spell, but his mojo is running dry and it don’t work.

You can feel Astarion’s gaze on the back of your neck. But you refuse to turn. It’s probably childish, and definitely petty as hell, but he tossed you out like garbage, like you are nothing. No hesitation, no attempt at talking it through. You didn’t put out and he was done with you, and two can play at that, motherfucker. You are not the metaphorical bigger person.

Eventually, Karlach saunters in.

“Trying to get into that?” she says, noticing the both of you armed with sticks, standing around the damn thing like a couple of uncles holding beers and staring at a car engine that won’t turn over. “Want Mama K to take a crack at it?”

Mama K. You go a little weak in the knees. “Yes, please.”

She lifts her ax and brings that sucker down so hard it makes you jump. Metal bangs, and y’all flinch, but Karlach is a fucking monster with that ax, and her aim is dead-on. The front wall of the box falls off, neat as cut paper.

“You’re amazing,” you say.

She guffaws, but there’s a teeny duck of her head, and you have a suspicion that if she wasn’t red and literally on fire, there’d be some blush on her cheeks.

Inside is a letter, some gold, and a funny looking bottle. Scratch that, an evil motherfucker of a bottle. It’s made of metal, with the most sinister fucking face glowing on its surface. Fucker screams poison. You ain’t dealing with that right now, but it might come in handy on a druid rescue (Ancient Romans used to poison the wells around an enemy army, perhaps?).

What you don’t want is for the bastard to wiggle open in your bag and like, melt it from the inside or whatever. You grab the top and twist to make sure it’s on tight.

Except this ain’t Earth. And righty does not mean tighty in Faerun; nor does lefty mean loose-y.

You unscrew it.

Only a little! The barest wiggle before you catch it! But it’s right as Gale spots it, squints, and starts to say, “I’d be very careful with—”

The bottle explodes. Black fumes pour out. You drop the thing and fall back, waving your arms before the sense bubbles up through your brain and you wrench the front of your tunic out of the stays to cover your mouth and nose. The others cough and swear, and the air shifts. Goes cold to freezing so fast your skin prickles in confusion. You stagger out of the cloud just in time to catch Lae’zel shout something in her language and something big moves above you.

“The fuck,” you start.

A giant fucking eyeball over a goddamn fucking maw of teeth longer than your forearm. Fucker is huge and hovering over you. Four tentacles lift up from its back, and each of those ends in an eyeball, too. They blink all out of sync, and you’re backing away, but one of them stalk eyes spots you, and the entire thing turns to look.

Your bladder nearly gives.

“Spectator!” Wyll shouts. “Eleanor, get out of there!”

The thing rises up silent, a goddamn UFO made of teeth. You can’t breathe. All thought fails, leaving only mindless gibbering and your body is a dead thing around you.

“Shka’keth!” Lae’zel shouts. A silver blur streaks past you as she vaults up and tried to bury her sword through that big ass eye.

But the UFO dodges and roars. The sound slaps even the gibbering right outta your head. Your body turns, and bolts. No thought. Just run. Away from the sound, away from the horror and the teeth.

Impact lances up your shins. Air claws at your throat. A stitch pulls at your side sharp and hot and still, you stagger on.

 Flash of the others around you—Gale lifting his staff, his eyes glowing. Karlach roaring. Wyll pointing a magic blast.

You run past them all. Sprint—it’s too much, you can’t do this anymore—for a pile of rocks. Throw yourself behind it and try to catch your breath. Your heart tries to burst outta your ribcage.

More roars and shouts behind you. Light flashes and the thunderclap swats you and the thing screams. Your hands clap over your ears. You shut your eyes and burrow into your knees as best you can.

It needs to stop. This all needs to stop. All too much and you can’t. You’re so done. You just want it all to go away. You been strong and resilient and all them fancy words people like to throw around and you cannot anymore.

A thud and a scrabble.

Lae’zel lands in the dirt next to you. Blood coats the side of her face. She starts to roll up, spots you. Her lips pull back in a sneer.

“Gah! Useless,” she hisses. And then she vaults off, leaving you sitting there in the dirt.

Fuck, they’re fighting. They’re hurt and they’re fighting and this one really, really is your fault. You don’t know what you’re doing and you don’t know this place and Lae’zel is right. You can’t do magic or swords. You dropped your staff again. You are a pathetic, useless little shit.

“Wyll!” Karlach shouts.

Oh god. You turn and peer around the outcrop. Spot the man down, Karlach standing over him with her teeth bared at the advancing UFO thing.

Oh no. Oh god, no. No. You have…you have to do something. Do anything.

Bag. See what’s in the bag.

Next thing you know, all your worldly possessions are strewn out on the dirt as you scramble through them. Water, rations, clothes, a rusty fork. Something useful, something you can…

A misshapen little thing. Roundish, but in patches with nasty little holes all over it. Lae’zel had called it something when you picked it up. What was it? What—?

“A void bulb,” Not-Sasha’s voice echoes in your head the fucking bitch. You almost drop the damn thing (is this fucker watching you twenty-four seven? Is it listening in on this, too? How was that view yesterday of you taking a shit—) “Use it.”

In an instant, you see it in your head. What it is. What it does.

And oh. Oh very much yes.

You can’t think. Can’t let yourself. You’re staggering up on jittery legs and stumbling out. The UFO monster fires some kinda beam that Karlach barely dodges. Something is very wrong with Gale—he’s on his knees, batting at shit you can’t see. Astarion pops out from an outcrop much like your own to fire an arrow that don’t do more than turn one of them stalk eyes towards him to blast another fucking laser beam (Astarion ducks).

This is stupid. This is so stupid, and you’re gonna die but y’all are gonna die if you fucking stand here—

“Hey! Fucker!” you say. Voice reedy, higher than a toddler, strained almost to a superhuman screech.

One stalk eye turns towards you. That ain’t gonna cut it. Which is why you grabbed the other bottle, the one Gale had called “arsonist’s oil.”

You lob it. The thing goes spiraling, misses by a good ten feet, and bursts in a ball of fire close enough to Shadowheart for her to dive out of the way. But you ain’t really aiming to hit it (well, you are, but you know it’s a goddamned long shot). The real goal was all them eyes focusing on you. It was the thing shuddering, spikes rippling along its back as it pivots to you, opens its maw, and howls.

“C-come on,” you stammer. Probably not audible. Don’t matter. The thing lifts over the fire. Passes through the column of black smoke. Drifts close and down, down, down over you.

You got one chance at this. And if you fail, your death is gonna be fucked up.

The monster shrieks again and it’s three different sounds twisted around each other, each one loosening bowels and turning limbs to pudding and brains to scrambled eggs.

Closer. Closer. Your hands don’t feel attached to your body. You got them tucked behind you now—don’t know if that fucker is sentient enough and can’t risk it.

Until you can’t wait no more. The thing opens that godawful mouth, puffs itself up, and you got to move.

You throw. A Hail Mary chuck. Except the thing sees it, starts to duck to the right.

One of the stalk eyes brushes that little void thing.

The void bulb detonates.

It’s too fast to track. A rapid wh-wh-UMP, faster than a hummingbird’s wings. Your ears pop so hard it hurts, and your sinuses damn near explode right outta your face.

The air shifts itself so hard it drags you forward and you fall to your knees (ah fuck! Your bad knee!). The crew shouts and curses, and then it’s over.

You missed. You’d aimed dead center. But it hadn’t mattered too much there in the end.

Damn thing created a void, alright. Sucked in everything nearby so fast and so hard matter collapsed in on itself. Part of the monster was within range. The rest wasn’t, and the implosion was so sudden and brutal, it ripped that flesh right off.

Half the UFO thing comes crashing down. Its right side is torn clean off, eyeball popped and shriveled like a deflated balloon.

The resulting silence is deafening. Until you catch movement: Shadowheart waving, her mouth moving, yet no sound comes out. All you hear is sharp ringing.

Oh cool. You gone deaf. Totally fine. Nothing to see here.

Except you start to stand and the dizziness puts you flat on your back. Which then makes it feel like you’re lying on a microwave plate, spinning around and around under that big, blue sky.

You close your eyes. Swallow a few times.

A shadow falls over you and there’s Gale with a potion. You don’t even ask. Just slam the thing back. Sweet burning, and pain spikes in your ears and the ringing goes shrill…and then quiets. Dirt crunches. Wyll grunts. Shadowheart murmurs for her jesus hands.

“’S everybody okay?” you say.

Gale helps you sit up. Your spine cracks in three places. Wyll lies prone, Shadowheart over him while Karlach hovers anxiously. Lae’zel stands next to the halved monster, staring speculatively. Then she shakes her head all disgusted (hard to make a trophy outta half a head and a popped-ass eyeball).

She turns that look on you. Her expression does not lighten.

“I think Shadowheart has Wyll in order,” Gale says. “And I don’t believe there were any other serious injuries. Are you alright?”

No. You’re a fucking useless goddamn liability.

“Yeah,” you manage. You don’t look away from Lae’zel, who spits out a gob of blood and dirt. She gives you a last, withering look, and turns.

“Good,” Gale says because he wasn’t paying attention and is now unaware of the internal catastrophe kicking off in your head (she’s done, she’s done with you, it happened, you made a bad call and she’s going to abandon you and this is how it starts). “Through this debacle, I think we may have found a suitable object for you.”

“What?” you say. It’s hard to pay attention over the internal screaming. But he, blessedly oblivious, holds up the evil potion jar (monster prison) with a flourish.

“I sensed a strong binding spell on this when you first picked it up,” he says. “And that magic remains. And if it can hold a spectator within, I believe it can hold one human soul.”

Evil jar with an evil face. He’d mentioned that before, hadn’t he? The blood potion was just to keep your soul from wandering off, a type of mystical toddler leash. But here’s something to stuff it inside long enough for you to deworm your brain and find a fucking way home.

He lets you take it, feel the cool metal and the smooth ridges of that fucked up little goblin face on the front. A soul jar, just for you.

[callmehere-iwillappear]

So @remedyturtles wrote a crossover ficlet for cmh and death wish and. well. i accidentally wrote like 900 words of followup. thinking about them so so much

-

After the longest and best (and, okay, only) hug of Leon's afterlife, they end up sitting against the tree. Leon's in the middle, the other two leaning up against him, Sensei's arm around him. He didn't even have to ask. He might cry, if it wouldn't mean he could never show his face here again.

They talk about nothing in particular, joke around in the way only Leos can. Leon makes exactly six jokes about being a ghost, and no one gets mad at him for it. It's the best.

At some point, the other two realize that they've been here a while, and after some discussion, Sensei ends up leaving to go take the front. Which leaves the younger two sitting there in silence, staring up at the stars peeking through the branches of the tree.

"Soooo," Leo says eventually, fidgeting, and Leon tenses up automatically at the tone. "How'd it happen?"

Ah. The elephant in the room. It's not like he hadn't known it was gonna come up eventually. And Leo would've known that he'd known, of course. And he knew that, and Leo knew that he knew that, and – whatever, okay, they both knew everything 'cause they were the same damn person.

Because of that, he knows Leo will drop it if he brushes it off. But it'll still sit there between them until it's finally addressed, or he figures it out through context clues, so. Might as well get it out of the way now.

"Got up close and personal with a kaiju-size wad of overchewed bubblegum," he says with as casual a tone as he can manage. He's not looking Leo in the eyes, but he doesn't have to be to feel the full-body flinch, and.

Yeah.

Considering Sensei is here, Leon had kind of figured the whole almost-apocalypse thing had already happened, but it's… good? It's something. To know for sure. And… judging by Leo's reaction, he'd had a pretty similar experience to Leon. Or. At least partially. From his limited multiverse experience, he's pretty sure most Leos get pulled out after just a few minutes.

… Lucky.

"Sorry," Leo says quietly, thickly, like there's something caught in his throat. "That that happened."

Leon shrugs, because like, what else can you do? Literally nobody would buy it if he tried to say it was okay, so he doesn't say anything and they sit in silence for a while.

"I didn't think –" Leo says finally, choked. Leon can feel how tense he is, how he's practically trembling, and presses up against his side a bit more. It barely seems to help, but Leon's not gonna take offense. Especially considering the conversation topic. He's probably just as tense.

"I didn't think he'd ever actually –" is how Leo eventually finishes the sentence. Kill us is left unsaid, and if Leon wasn't tense before he sure is now.

The phrasing is – what does Leo mean ever? If he was only in there for a few minutes – his head snaps up to stare at Leo, who's unfocused, looking off into the distance like he's somewhere else entirely.

Leon knows from experience that he probably is. He can't get any closer than he has already, but he at least hopes the physical contact can help ground the other him.

"... How long?" he asks, almost afraid to hear the answer. There's a half-hearted shrug from Leo and silence in response, and Leon is starting to think he's not going to answer when –

"I don't know." Leo's voice is haunted. And while Leon could make a joke about how duh, of course it is, he's here… yeah, really not the time. "It was only five minutes for them. I…"

And suddenly Sensei's there, probably having felt the distress from Leo and abandoned the front. Leon thinks. He's still not 100% sure how all this works.

"You want me to tell him?" the older turtle asks gently, and Leo gives a jerky nod.

"You don't have to," Leon says, because like, he gets it. He's an asshole sometimes, but not enough of one to force someone to talk about (or hear about, if Sensei says it) their trauma. Especially when it's so similar to his.

"S'okay," Leo says, nudging his shoulder with his own. He means it, and Leon relaxes, just barely.

"Time was weird there," Sensei says. Carefully, evenly. Like he's reciting something. Like he's had to do this before.

He probably has.

"Leo described it as 'clinging to him'. He… estimated anywhere from two to four weeks, when he first talked about it, but…"

Sensei glances at Leo again. Gets another nod in return.

"It could've been months," he finishes softly.

Oh.

Leon sits there in that knowledge, quietly horrified. He'd known, objectively, that while most Leos had gotten out right away... some hadn't. Just like him. And he'd also known, just by virtue of the multiverse existing, that there'd be other Leos who were in there for months too. Maybe even years.

But it's different to actually hear it.

"Four months," he blurts out suddenly, then winces. "I mean. For me. So. I get it, kind of. And I – I'm sorry you went through that too."

He hesitates, then decides – fuck it, they're already here. It's just the three of them, no one else can see them. So what if he gets a little soft? He knocks his head gently against Leo's, voice quiet.

"... You're not alone."

And if there’s a barely-audible sniffle from beside him, if the other Leo presses just a bit closer like he’s attempting to absorb Leon’s nonexistent warmth – Leon won’t tell anyone.

[piss-pumpkin]

Lullaby (golden guard x reader)

Reader is a member of the CATS and Raines apprentice. Pre hollow mind.

1.7k words

You walked through the castle halls with purpose. In truth you’re had nowhere to go and nothing to do, but peopled assumed you were important and didn’t question you. A purposeful stride was one of your most powerful weapons. 

Everything was in order, and the coven heads would enter the emperor’s mind tomorrow. Raine was busy, and there was no more planning to be done, so you had the night off.  

Being a coven head apprentice, you had your own private chambers in the castle. Though it felt more like a fortress lately. 

Despite freedom to do anything, you wanted to practice. Big things were coming, Raine had told you everything. You needed to be sharp, and hone your skills. You were amazing already at such a high position, but you were surrounded by the exceptional. You needed to be even better then the best witches around to stand a chance. 

Once you reached your room, you closed the door and picked up your violin. Before Raine, you only knew piano. They had taught you a few string instruments and the flute for portable convince, but you still needed to be better with those. You tucked the body under your chin and readied your bow. 

♪♪♪♪♪

You finished the piece, and took a gulp of water. You prepared to run it again. It was a fighting song, fast and nimble, that would help your allies in battle. You needed to perfect it, and even more, pour emotion into it to make it more powerful. You readied you bow, and took a breath.

Just as you were about to start, there was a knock on your door. “Uh, y/n? Am I interrupting?” a muffled Hunter asked from the other side.

He certainly was, but you let him in anyway. Violin and bow in hand, you opened the door. “Hey Hunter, what’s up?” You looked at the clock, “kinda late, isn’t it?” 

He scratched the back of his neck, “yeah that’s kind of why I’m here… can I come in?”

You stepped aside and closed the door behind him when he came through. 

“I’ve never been in your room before…” he said, looking around in awe. His hands brushed up against your piano. “How did you even get this in here?” He muttered. It was definitely a big piano. 

“So, I ask again, what’s up?” You ask. Not that you don’t like having him here, but it was unusual. He typically was working. Raine didn’t trust a bone in his body, and didn’t pay him mind. They encouraged you to do the same, but you were drawn to Hunter. He was the only other person your age in the castle, of course you wanted to talk to him. Somehow you befriended the golden guard, a feat nobody expected.

“I’ve had a lot on my mind lately…” he said, deflating. You moved over to your bed and sat down, patting it next to you so he does the same. He slumped down and looked over at you. You did your best to stay quiet, and give him a space to vent.

”I just want to make my uncle proud.. but I don’t know. I don’t know if I ever will.” He flopped down on his back. “And I went outside the other day, I think I made friends, but I don’t know. They found out I’m the golden guard though.. they probably hate me now.” 

“Are you sure? I feel like they wouldn’t  hate you for that.”

“I’ll try talking to them. Darius set me up a penstagram account.” He said tiredly.

”Oh hey that’s sick, follow me on it,” you said, whipping out your scroll.

He yawned, “You have penstagram?” He was rubbing his eyes. 

“Yeah. Hey are you good, you look real tired there.” You asked. He looked half asleep, and the other half dead. Long day, you thought. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just came here for a little break, I have to do some research on wild magic soon.” 

You laughed, “Hunter, you are literally falling asleep on my bed, and your gonna do some  homework later?” You didn’t believe him. He was probably going to fall asleep at his desk again.

He scrunched up his nose and scoffed at you. “Yes I am, what of it?” His eyes were wide open as he spoke, highlighting the bags under them. “And aren’t you supposed to address me as ‘Golden Gaurd’? I’m your superior, remember.” 

“Ha, shouldn’t of told me your name then, cuz I am literally only ever going to call youThe Golden Guard in front of he scouts. It’s too late, you’re Hunter now” you shrugged. He was barely your superior anyway, you weren’t emperors coven. 

He pursed his lips and grumbled. “I’m not even tired.” 

“Yes you are, I can see it.” His eye bags were such a deep purple. “Here here here, you need sleep.” 

“No.” 

He left you no choice, “Then I’ll force your hand,” you said mischievously. You stood up with a smirk. “I was practicing a few things before you got here, so I may as well practice on you now, the price for interrupting.”

You knew the piece you were going to use on him well, it was piano. You’d rather not use an experimental song yet and mess it up and be embarrassed. 

“Where are you going?” He asked curtly as you walked away.

“Oh, nowhere, it’s of no interest to you,” you said overly suspiciously. You sat down at your piano bench and cracked your knuckles. 

“Hey hey, what are you doing?” He followed you up. You watched him stand up from your bed and you could see how little he’d rested. He moved so slowly trying to escape the comfort. When he finally did manage to stand, he looked back at your pillows so wistfully. 

He sat next to you on the bench. “I order you to tell me what you’re doing.” 

“Oh no! Orders!” You cried out quietly. You lifted your fingers and began playing. It was a mostly slow and peaceful song that you used to put people to sleep. Mostly. It also happened to be one of your favourites. “Don’t worrrrrrry about it.” 

You thought for sure Hunter would do something, like try to stop you, but he didn’t. He just watched your fingers glide across the keys as you made the music. You poured your magic into it. 

It was a longish song, and a few minutes in you felt something it your shoulder. You hadn’t been looking at Hunter in a while, and when you did, you saw he had fallen asleep. Aha it worked. You succeeded, you made he golden guard get some rest. You kept playing the piece.

At the climax, the sound was deep and loud. You were mindful of Hunters head on your shoulders trying not to move that arm too much. You had closed your eyes as you reached the swelling of the finale, muscle memory and magic guiding your hands. 

You didn’t feel Hunter stir from the noise until the song quieted down, and then quickly ended.

He stared at you, star struck. “That was amazing. The song that is- not putting me to sleep.” He said, blushing.

”Thanks! It’s a favourite.” You said cheerfully. “You realize you need some rest right?” 

“… yeah.” He begrudgingly admitted. Your sleep spell made him even more tired, having sweet sleep and then having it torn from him. “I’ll do my studying tomorrow.” 

Hunter pressed a key on your piano. “Heh, you make it look easy.” 

You snicker, “I make everything look easy.” You glanced back at the Instrument. “Hey you have trouble sleeping right? Want me to play you the song again, but skip the loud part?” You were aware of Hunter’s insomnia, and a spell seemed like a good way to get him to bed. 

“Uhh, okay,” he looked around. “But uh, this is your room.” 

You waved your hand. “Oh you can just stay here for tonight. I’m happy to help you out, you need some rest.” Come to think of it, Hunter had been going non stop lately. He seemed to be thinking more outside the castle too. “You can have the bed if you want, or maybe once you’re asleep I’ll push you over and take half.” 

He got quiet, and blushed fairly on his ears. “… okay.” 

You smiled. “Aight, get over there.” You gestured with your neck for him to get off your bench and let you play. He silently stood up and walked over to your bed. Awkwardly, he sat on it before laying down. It took him a moment to remember blankets, and put them on himself.

”Before I start, do you want be bed to yourself, cuz i can go to another room or sleep on the floor if you want.”  

Hunter shook his head, “no, uh it’s your room. It’s… okay. We can share if you’d be comfortable. If not then I should be the one on the floor.” 

“Oh shut up and listen to music.” 

You started to play, and the slow hypnotic melody soon lulled Hunter to sleep. You stopped playing half way through, avoiding what woke him up last time.

He looked oddly peaceful while he slept, you had to admit. It wasn’t a sight to see often. His unruly strand of hair rose and fall as he blew it up as he breathed out.  He’d be sleeping a good while if you did the spell right. 

You pulled the blankets up and snuggled into the sheets on your side. You soon drifted off yourself.

———

Neither of you ever talked about how tangled and cuddled the two of you were when you both woke up. That was never to be spoken of again. He didn’t want to admit it, despite fully flushing whenever he thought about it. He didn’t look you in the eyes the whole day after. You had mostly the same reaction, despite playing it much cooler. You decided not to tell Raine that you had a thing for your friend, the golden guard. At least not for now, maybe you’d get their advice later.

[house-of-slayterr]

Mad Tea Party:

Tag: @keffirinne @howl-fantasies @flaysthings @myers-meadow

Tw: Suicide fake out.

Today was boring. That’s saying something when it comes to Gotham. It was quiet… a little too quiet. Y/N and Victor were off doing god knows what, Basil was back in National City visiting his sister. And Little V was probably following Selena around like a lost puppy. Her little crush was cute, I had to admit. But I was a little worried, there’s more of her father in her than she lets on. Thank god I’m here to be the only voice of reason.

I sighed heavily as I got up from the couch, leaving to get a glass of water. Fuck it, perhaps even some wine. Who cares that it’s three pm in the middle of the week? Just as I debated pouring myself a glass, there was a knock at the door. I was quick to answer, people in Gotham get snippy if you leave them waiting too long.

“Hello?”

“Package for one Miss Blossom.” The post man said.

I raised a brow. I wasn’t expecting any packages from anyone. Unless this was Oliver’s lame excuse to say he was sorry. I wouldn’t put it past him to think gifts could change how I feel.

“Does it say who it’s from?” I asked.

The mail man shrugged.

“Was just told to deliver it ma’am, sign here please.”

I took the pen from his hand and signed off on his pad of paper. I took the box from him and politely closed the door. I placed the box down on the coffee table. It wasn’t all that heavy. And it didn’t smell of anything in particular. I scrunched my brows, glaring at the box as if it would sprout legs and leave from the discomfort.

“This is a stupid idea.” I said out loud, despite no one being around to hear.

You never open mystery packages with no return address. Let alone in a city like this. But the longer I sat there, the more my curiosity took over. I grabbed the blade I kept hidden in my boot, and cut open the tape. On the top of the box sat a bouquet of white roses, with red speckled here and there. This certainly wasn’t one of my works, and I didn’t want to know where the red came from.

I gently picked them up, avoiding the thorns that were still protruding wildly from the plant. Who on earth would send me flowers? There was fabric in the box… a dress. I picked it up to inspect it, and it wasn’t hard to piece together who this gift came from now. The pocket watch that feel from the dress pocket was a dead giveaway. I couldn’t help the small smile that crept onto my face. Nobody had ever sent me flowers before. I picked up the bouquet again, breathing in the sweet scent. My second mistake today.

Jervis’s POV:

I watched from the building across the street, a perfect view. My sweet little Alice looked different from the last time I saw her. She must have gotten a new hair cut, I was certain of it. And she looked just as lovely as ever, even from this far away.

My heart hammered in my chest as I saw her hesitate to open my gift. What was she waiting for? I was getting antsy. Would she even open it? But my prayers were answered when she finally took out a knife to open the box. Even front his far away I could see her eyes light up. She looked around the apartment as if to ask if the gifts were really meant to her. My eyes widened as I watched her pull the dress out of the box. She would look oh so pretty in her dress.

I knew my little florist well, she could never resist the temptation that were roses. I smiled as she took a deep breath from the bouquet. Everything was going according to plan. I excitedly sprinted to the stair case, getting off the room as quickly as I could. It wouldn’t be hard to get into her apartment. I fiddled with the lock for a second, using a Bobby pin to try and manurer around the pins the lock. A soft click sounded and I knew I was in. I quietly made my way across the room, admiring her sleeping form. She was so pretty when she slept, almost like an Angel.

I gently brushed a hair out of her face, and smiled down at her. My sweet little Alice. The world was too dangerous for someone like her. The sedative should last for a few hours, which gave me more than enough time to get everything ready. I picked her up, cradling her in my arms. I swore my heart almost stopped when she sleepily leaned her head against my chest. I was sure it was hammering by now.

I made it back to my warehouse no problem. The citizens of Gotham never even bat an eye. Everything was going perfect, for my tea party. And the other guests would be brought in soon. I giggled joyously, excitement shivering through every muscle in my body. I watched as my henchmen brought in the other three party guests. I frowned when it seemed the detective was very much away, and struggling against his fate.

His eyes landed on the chair Maggie was currently tied down too. I didn’t want her falling by accident. I couldn’t stand to ruin her sweet face. I found myself zoning out and daydreaming again, but Jim’s sickening voice brought me back down to Earth.

“What do you want from us Tetch?” He gritted.

“We’ll I can’t possibly go and spoil the surprise, patients is a key Detective. Something you think you would have learned by now.”

Jim scoffed as one of the guards sat him forcefully down in his chair. They were quick to arrange Miss Tompkins and Mr Pepper in their seats at the table. Both still very much unconscious, but it seemed the man was only the brink of waking up.

“Jervis, your problem is with me, let them go.” Jim suggested.

“No can do Jimbo, we don’t want to go spoiling our fun now.” I gave him a tight lipped smile.

I watched as Miss Tompkins began to stir as well.

“Greeting and welcome!” I greeted the two.

The look on her face when she realises where she was, was priceless. I wish Maggie was awake to see it. I watched as her eyes moved between her ex and her new lover.

“Love, are you alright? Are you hurt?” The man asked in an overly sweet tone.

It nearly made me nauseous.

“I’m alright,” she assured him, “are you ok?”

He gave her a curt nod. Her attention finally was back on me.

“What’s this about Jervis?” She asked.

Her tone was demanding and I didn’t appreciate it. They were all lucky I gave the order to get them to me in one piece. It would be no fun if someone got hurt before afternoon tea even started. I chose to ignore her, a few more minutes passed as I prepared tea and began to set the table. I could see Jim’s eyes trained on Maggie, from the side of my own. I hated the way he looked at her. He wasn’t good enough for someone like my Alice.

I placed a cup in front of her sleeping form.

“Perhaps I gave you too much.” I pondered out loud.

I didn’t want her to wake up before her surprise, but perhaps I went a little overboard.

“What did you give us?” Lee asked again.

“Sevoflurane, my dear. It’s a fast acting anaesthetic.”

I watched a look of distress flood her features. Before the others had gotten here, I changed Maggie into her costume. She looked better than I could have ever imagined.

I couldn’t hide the smile on my face as she finally decided to join us. I watched as her sleepy eyes scanned the room, taking in her surroundings. I expected to see fear, but that wasn’t it. There was a glint of something different in her eyes, and I wanted to know what it was.

“Ah, Sleeping Beauty is finally awake!” I announced cheerfully.

The first words out of her mouth nearly startled me.

“Where the hell have you been?” She asked incredulously.

How quaint, she noticed my absence. Jim raised a brow at the young woman. I blinked at her for a moment. Not so certain I was comfortable with her sweating. Ladies should never cuss.

“Really Maggie, that’s your question?” Jim asked.

She shrugged the best she could with the restraints tying her down.

“Don’t worry my little Dove, I’ve been around. I’ve been quite busy recently.”

She looked around at her fellow tea mates.

“Yeah, I can see that.”

She let out a heavy sigh.

“Well, now that we’re all here, the show can begin.” I announced.

“What show?” Jim asked.

“We’ll the tea party of course! And now we shall commence. You see Jimbo, a little birdie told me you were having girl problems. And I feel for you, truly, it’s hard to find a good women out there.”

“That doenst make any sense.” Jim quipped back.

“We’ll of course it does Silly. Here’s how this is going to work. You, dear Detective, have to choose. You have the evening,” I placed a gun on the table, sliding it to Jim. “There’s no way out of this building that I won’t be watching. So no cheating. Either you shoot him, and take Dr Tompkins for yourself, or, you shoot her, and choose Maggie.”

I gave a pleased smirk at the end of my little speech.

“I’ll have them untie you all, and remember, there’s no way out.”

I turned my attention to Maggie, her expression was practically unreadable. Of course, I knew I would never let her get hurt. Not truly anyway. She was certainly not as timid as when we first met. But I suppose you can’t expect innocence in Gotham.

My goons moved forward to remove the shackles from the others. But not Maggie, none of them had permission to touch her. I made my way around the table, squatting down next to her as I fiddled with the restraints. Her eyes were practically trained on my fingers. It made me blush slightly, a little tremor in my hand from the way my heart skipped a beat. Her now free hand reached out to mine as she had my complete and total attention. I swore I stopped breath.

“Mi Corazon, you look lovely in your party dress,” I completed. Lovely wasn’t even the right word, it didn’t capture enough of her beauty. “Te ves positivamente radiante.”

I was close enough to see the flush of her cheeks.

“Flattery isn’t going to work this time, Quierdo. Fair warning, Y/N not going to be very happy when she finds out I skipped family spa day for this.”

I took no interest in her threat, my brain simply replaying that pet name over and over again.

“Puedes hablarme español todos los días, mi amor.” A purr rose in the back of my throat.

She rolled her eyes. Jim reached for the gun as expected, and trained it on me.

“Let is go Tetch.” He demanded.

I laughed, not bother to get up from my spot beside her.

“Go ahead, shoot me Gordon.” I taunted.

I heard the soft click of the gun… it was empty. The look on his face was priceless. It’s what he deserved for being a dick to my sweet little Alice.

“Did you honestly think I’d give you a loaded weapon?” I mused. “No, if you want your bullets, you’ll just have to beg little Alice here nicely.”

I pet her head, and she looked up at me with confusion in her eyes. I could easily get lost in them forever. They were far my hypnotic than any of my little trinkets. I wondered if I could harvest it, the way she could make anyone do anything for her with just a bat of her eyelashes. It was captivating.

“Las balas están en tu bolsillo, palomita.” I gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead, right where her hairline started.

She smelled strongly of peaches and lemon grass. It was heavenly.

“Si elige mal, dispárale, nos duele.”

I instructed before departing the scene. Truth be told, I didn’t want Jim to have her. But I didn’t want him to choose Lee either, that would just break Maggie’s fragile heart.

Maggie’s POV:

My face flushed when Jervis leaned in to kiss my forehead. It was such a simple gesture, but it made me melt. I knew it shouldn’t, that it was wrong, the man just kidnapped me for fucks sake. But Jervis had never given me any reason to believe he’d hurt me. I watched as he left the room, presumably dead bolting us inside.

“Did he just call you Alice?” Jim was the first to break the silence.

“Don’t read too much into Jim, this is Gotham, you’ve seen worse.” I dismissed him.

“Do you have any idea what happened to his last Alice?” His tone seemed angry now.

“She would have been fine if you didn’t have an incessant urge to stick your nose into everyone business.” I snapped.

“You’re hanging out with too many villains Maggie, that’s the problem.”

“Ha!” I spat out a laugh, throwing my head back. “You want to tell me what my problem is, that’s rich coming from you. Mr I’m afraid of commitment! We wouldn’t even be here right now if it wasn’t for you, so shut it!”

Lee cleared her throat to try to break the tension, but it just made me more agitated.

“Fighting amonsut each other isn’t going to help anything, we have to find a way out of here.” She said.

Mario was already up on his feet, pacing the drab concrete room. I smoothed out my dress with my hands, adjusting my apron. I reached across the table and poured myself a cup of tea. This was going to be a long day, but hey, at least I wasn’t bored anymore. And I was right about what I said earlier, Oswald would probably freak out with me being missing, and send her to come fetch me.

“Me my guest.” I suggested, pointing at the door Jervis left out of. “If you get shot, don’t blame me pretty boy.”

I brought the beautifully decorated tea cup to my mouth. We were drinking from a red glass set, my favourite colour. Jervis had planned an entire tea party for me, and in his own fucked up way it was sort of cute. Suddenly my hand was slapped away from my face.

“What is your damage Jim?!” I exclaimed!

“Don’t drink that, it could be poisoned.” He said.

“Cet idiot ne peut pas être sérieux.” I mumbled under my breath. “You don’t get it, Jervis is not going to poison me.” I said flatly.

“He did use an illegal anesthetiser to knock you out and kidnap you, or did that part just get lost on you?” Mario spoke directly to me for the first time.

“Yet I don’t have a single scratch on me.” I held my arms out for proof. “If Jervis wanted me dead, my brains would be splattered on the concrete by now. But they aren’t, wanna know why? Cause he’s not going to hurt me. He’s already lost one Alice, I don’t think he could handle another.”

“And you’re just ok with that?” Lee asked bewildered.

“You learn to be ok with a lot of things real quick when you don’t have many other options. Why do you think so many people stranded on islands convert to cannibalism? Life goes a lot easier when you stop trying to change things outside of your control. This, is not my tea party, I’m just playing the game.”

I glared down at the broken glass now on the floor. I reached across and stole Jim’s cup, pouring myself yet another cup of tea. This time he didn’t try to stop me. The only smart thing he’d done all night. How could you love someone so much that you hated them? I wish my heart would stop competing with my brain for two seconds so I could think. Lee sighed.

“We’ll it’s clear to me Jim, that this Jervis guy seems to think you’re still in love with my fiancé.” Mario stated.

Jim immediately got defensive. And I had to say, it hurt. I mean I knew he still had feelings for Lee, she was pretty and smart, a dangerous combo in Gotham. I balled my hand into a fist under the table, squeezing the bullets in my pocket. I zoned out most of the conversation, I didn’t want to hear his lame excuses as he tries to deny it. As much as I hated her, if Lee made Jim genuinely happy, then he could have her. Who am I to stand in the way of that?

“Wait, are you related to Sofia?” I asked out of the blue.

Everyone had been up and around, trying to find any week-spot in this fortress. I lazily sap at the table, enjoying my tea.

“Yes, why?” Mario asked.

“No reason.” I quickly countered.

What was I supposed to tell the man, that his sister didn’t die how he thinks she did? That I shot her point blank in the head because she kissed Jim. Well she did a lot more than that, but the point still stands. It wouldn’t vote in my favour if I made an enemy of him at this moment. I didn’t need a Falcone hating me. He glared at me questionably but decided to drop it.

“This really doesn’t concern you in the slightest does it?” He asked.

“We’re not in any immediate danger, I’m actually quite enjoying the quiet.”

“Not in immediate danger?” Jim scoffed. “Wow, they really did a number on you.”

My glare was trained on him within seconds.

“Good strategy, keep shit talking my family Jim, see where that gets you.”

“Was that a theart?” He narrowed his eyes at me.

“Trust me, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now if that was supposed to be a threat.”

“Are you really just going to sit there and pout all night?”

“What do you think?”

After a few hours I could tell they were all going stir crazy. There was not an ounce of sunlight in this drab little box. I’d taken note of the various cameras littered around the place. Jervis was watching, that much was clear. He wouldn’t let us get away without making a choice. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the bullets, lazily tossing them in the air and then catching them again.

“Give up yet?” I asked, shaking a bullet for emphasis.

“What do you think?” He spit out my earlier comment with equally as much venom.

Funny how I should hate him, but seeing him angry like this just made me want to take him right here, right now. Make Lee watch so she’d understand his choice completely. But that was cruel, a thought I would never entertain.

I finally stood up from my seat, frustration making it too hard to sit still.

“Christ Jim, everyone with eyes can see your still in love with her! Stop being such a fucking pussy and just say it already!” I snipped. “I want to go home.” I said a little softer.

“Of course, cause you have no stake in this, either way you win. Right, Maggie?”

I starred at him with eyes wide. The audacity of this bitch.

“Oh for fucks sake, you think I want to be here right now Jim? Stuck in this room with you and her? Is quite literally rather you just shoot me and get this over with! Because if I have to listen to your agitating sexy, grating angelic voice for one more second, I’m going to pull a Van Gogh and cut off my fucking ears! You know I’m supposed to be at the airport in a few hours to welcome Basil home right? And I promised little V I’d take her, Selena and Bruce out for Ice cream to give Alfred a break. I’m already going to get my ass beat when I go home for fucking up Y/N pristine schedule, and Oswald is going to scream his head off and not let me leave that dreaded mansion for a whole month! So if you could kindly just make a god damn choice for once in your miserable life, now is the time!” I ranted.

I threw the bullets down at his feet.

“Do you what you fucking want with them, I don’t care. But don’t you dare try to blame all this on me. Loves a two way street Gordon, and you seem to always place yourself smack dab in the middle of traffic.”

“My apologises for not being enthused that some psycho is trying to force my hand and make me kill someone.”

I froze. By the gods is he dumb. What is it about Himbos that just makes my heart swell?

“Les dieux me donnent la force!” I turned my attention back to him “Shoot someone!”

“What?” Mario asked.

“Jervis said you had to shoot someone, not that you had to kill them. Did Dent never explain loopholes to you Jim?” I sighed.

“Just shoot someone in the foot or something so we can leave?”

He seemed to contemplate my words for second. I could tell he was still hesitant about it, any other moment I would have found it endearing. But right now it was getting on my last nerve.

“Jim, listen to me, Y/N is probably already on her way here now. If she makes it here before we get out, she’s going to shoot all of us, for fun. She tolerates you but she has no qualms with killing those two. So if you want to play hero, fine, just give me the damn gun.”

“No.” He said after a long pause.

“No?” I asked.

“Nobody’s getting shot, I’ll find us another way out of this.”

I ran a hand through my hair in frustration.

“It’s not his fault he’s not like you.” Lee commented.

“Yeah and what do you know about me little miss perfect? Hmmm? You get to walk out of here and get married, and have Jim follow you around like a love sock puppy. So what are you complaining about? You win Tompkins! You don’t need to rub it in my face.” I said.

She cringed a bit at that. It was comforting to know she felt the least bit guilty. I sat back down, sipping my now cold tea.

“Maggie-“ Jim started, but I was quick to cut him off.

“Don’t!” I warned. “Don’t you dare talk right now, cause I know every word about to come out of that pretty little mouth of yours is going to be a lie. I’m always going to love you like you’re going to love her. Don’t make this any more painful that it already is.”

My voice lost any bitterness and spite. Frankly I was exhausted. He sighed. I did my best to bite back any tears that were threading to fall. I wasn’t going to cry in front of her of all people.

“What if I give Jervis the ending he actually wants?” Jim tired.

This piqued my interest.

“Jim you don’t have to do this, we can find another way out.” Lee begged.

One thing I appreciated about Mario was he didn’t talk much. He knew when to keep quiet, and honestly, he seemed too good for Leslie. He was a hell of a lot better than his sister, that’s for sure. It seemed I’d gotten lost because before I knew it Jim was standing in front of me. He held the gun out to me. I raised a brow, but took it none the less.

“Do what you have to do.” He said.

“Are you insane Jim?” Lee asked. “Sure, give the mentally unstable girl a gun!”

Even Mario seemed taken aback by her statement. All this time I thought my hatred for her was one sided, but it seemed to be mutual. I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction. Jim stood there, not attempting to be a moving target. It seems some part of him still trusted me, and that was refreshing. There was one bullet left in my pocket. I pulled it out, examining it for a second. I popped it in the chamber of the revolver and spun the clip.

I stood up and walked to the centre of the room, glaring at the camera.

“I know you can here me J,” I challenged, “let them go, or I swear to god I will splatter my brains all of this costume!”

I held the gun to my temple, looking right down the barrel of the security camera. Jim looked at me like I was insane. He meant for me to shoot him. Mario shuffled on his feet awkwardly, and Leslie just stood there dumbfounded.

“Jervis.” I warned.

When he didn’t respond I pulled the trigger. I heard the familiar click of the empty chamber and flinched slightly. I pulled back the hammer, spinning the clip.

“Stop ignoring me Jervis.” I tried once more.

Still… nothing. I put my faith into that shot and pulled the trigger once more. Again met with a deafening silence.

“Hatter!” I finally tested.

Ready to go one more time, when I heard the screech of the PA system roaring to life.

“No aprietes ese gatillo, mi princesa!” He pled.

“Then open the fucking door!”

My finger ghosted over the trigger once more.

“Ok, ok. Just put the gun down.”

I smiled, satisfied that it had worked. Not my brightest moment, it certainly was a risky plan. But if living with Oswald has taught me anything, is that it dangerous to mess with someone’s illusion of you. And I just sent Jervis’s crashing down. My head snapped to the door when I heard the creak of the steel lock. I held the gun down by my side and made eye contact with Jim. I nodded my head to the door.

“Go.” I said. “You can try to catch him another time. But you won’t find him Jim.”

I knew what he was thinking. When it came to crime at least, he was pretty cut and dry. The only thing he loved more than Leslie Tompkins, was his job. She’s smart to get out while she can. Marry someone reasonable like Mario Falcone. He looked hesitant but left none the less, escorting the two “civilians” out of the building.

“Oh, and for what it’s worth Leslie, I hope the two of you have a good wedding.” I said.

The room was early silent now. I placed the gun down on the table and sat back in my chair. After a few minuets the door cheeked open again with a guilty looking Mad Hatter peeking his head through.

“You can come in Jervis.” I sighed.

He was quick to cross the room and kneel down before me. His eyes looked red, almost as if he’d be crying. Had he?

“I’m sorry Princesa,” he said, grabbing my hand in his. “I was just trying to help, please forgive me?” He begged.

I let out a groan, rolling my shoulders to release any previous tension they were holding. He looked like a child who’d just gotten yelled to by his mother.

“I’m not mad at you J.”

His eyes lit up at that.

“Really?”

“Yes, now get off the floor.”

He quickly scrambled to his feet, sitting in the chair that Jim had been previously sat in.

“I really just wanted to help. He’s your- he’s your Alice.” He said sheepishly.

Most people never got to see this side of Jervis Tetch, the furious Mad Hatter. But I enjoyed this side of him. This was the Jervis I’d first met that day in the cemetery. No villains, no hero’s, no bullshit. But I’d be delusional to ever wish for those times back. I wasn’t the same girl I was that day, and she would be horrified to see what Gotham turned us into. But that Girl wouldn’t have survived Gotham, so perhaps she’d give me leniency. It was survival of the fittest. I cracked a small smile at Jervis’s words.

“He is my Alice, huh.” I laughed. “But more importantly, I am yours. Alice and Hatter, friends forever.” I said.

He looked positively giddy, and I would be a liar if I said it wasn’t adorable.

“Where were you?” I asked again.

“I had to deal with some stuff about my Sister. I couldn’t stand to look at Gotham anymore. The only thing that drew me back was you.”

“Well, I still have a few hours before I have to go pick up B and little V. Would you, Jervis Tetch like to accompany me to the airport? I have Through the Looking Glass on audio book in my car.”

He grinned like the Cheshire Cat.

“I couldn’t think of a more perfect way to spend my evening, Mi Princesa.”

He held out his hand to help me up from my chair. Always the gentlemen.

“Do me a favour and lay low for a while yeah? Jim’s not going to stop looking for you. Not after you made him confront his emotions. That man is emotionally constipated, I swear.” I joked.

“Y eres un tonto por amarlo.” He cracked.

I rolled my eyes.

“Alice didn’t need a man, maybe I can learn to live without on too. I like my friends better anyway.”

I winked at him, before running out the door.

“Whoever makes it to the car last has to steal Victors favourite knife!” I called back to him, laughing and giggling all the way to the car as he chased me.

An: I went with Madness Returns Alice for this one, because it makes more sense for Maggie’s character. I headcannon that Jervis can speak Spanish. The vibe just seems right. Is Maggie totally just rage flirting with Jim at this point, yes, yes she is. Being nice didn’t get her anywhere 😂 also my apologises if I accidentally called him Mario Pepper instead of Falcone, my brain was being dumb. I tried to fix all the ones I could find.

[dorkylittleweirdo]

Part two of this post bc I have more things to say but I cannot bc it’s about Peter. Spoilers up to s9

TW for talk of suicide ideation and self bc,, well, it’s Peter

So I mentioned in my last post how Simon didn’t deserve to face such harsh consequences for what he’s done. Well, Peter definitely shouldn’t. He faced enough consequences for what he did when he was Simon. He’s a whole different person, he’s changed. So why does he still have to pay the price for what he did, for something he’s already more than made up for?

He sacrifices himself repeatedly for team Abel, and nobody ever bats an eye. Yes, he’s immortal, but he still feels pain. He’s constantly putting himself in harm’s way, doing dangerous things. Because he “sacrificed” his friends for immortality, now he feels he has to use said immortality to keep them safe. Not exactly bad in and of itself, but his self worth is so low, it’s almost as if he feels he deserves to suffer because of what he did so long ago. He still doesn’t feel like he’s forgiven

So he lets himself get hurt all the time, and nobody else seems to mind. Important to note, his mental health is terrible. It’s not something he tries to hide, he’s very blatant and clear about it, but team Abel chooses not to address it despite how clear it is. Probably because he’s immortal, so they don’t care one way or another since he’s not going anywhere. Which is absolute bullshit because it doesn’t matter if he’s immortal if he’s hurting. We see constantly how he says concerning things that make his declining mental health super obvious

In s7m10, he talks about taking drugs at a rave to make you feel like you belong and like that’s where you’re meant to be, calls Sam lucky when he says he doesn’t need drugs to feel that way. Implying that Peter doesn’t feel like he belongs. Like he needs drugs to feel something. His state of being gets overlooked constantly. Not a single person made a comment about it

s7m21, we find out he can infect zombies with immortality (I have issues with this also but again, another rant for another day). Peter offers to jump into the lava. He’s definitely serious about it, but nobody really takes it seriously, it’s just another thing that’s brushed off and swept under the rug

s7m23, he literally tries to kill himself. This is the one and only time his mental health is ever “addressed”, and what made it worse is that someone who can arguably be seen as a villain was the one who talked him out of it. Team Abel couldn’t do it, it was Sage who was able to do it. Peter was talking about how he’s a liability, how the only thing he was good for was being an immortal runner. He doesn’t think he’s worth anything if he’s not helping. He can’t just be, he has to be doing something, sacrificing himself in some way, and if he can’t do that, then he’s useless to Abel. He thinks he deserves this. And again, nobody from team Abel is able to talk him out of it. None of his friends could say anything to make him stop. It was Sage, who barely knew him. It never gets addressed again after this

s7m39, Peter literally tries to do it again, asking why nobody can just let him die a hero. And again, it’s Sage who realizes what he’s doing and saves him. Nobody else cares that he was trying to sacrifice himself again. It’s never brushed on again after that, just swept under the rug again

In s8, the radio modes. Maxine casually mentions how Peter regularly disembowls himself and to not worry about finding stray organs and intestines around the township. The fact that Peter is even doing anything like that and it’s treated as nothing is beyond disgusting. Immortal or not, that level of self harm would warrant immediate attention, and he clearly isn’t getting treated the way he needs. He’s suicidal and purposely inflicts pain onto himself, and none of his “friends” even give a shit. Plus he offered himself up to get stabbed multiple times and nobody was very concerned about that

s9m4, we learn he’s had a burn cube put inside of him. It’s been probably around four months since the end of s7 by then, which means at some point between s8 and s9 starting, Peter, who is suicidal, was given the means to kill himself. He didn’t want to be a liability, and everyone basically said that he was such a big liability that they were gonna put a burn cube in him so he could kill himself if a zombie bites him

Not only that, but in s9m19 we find out that it was literally Janine who approved it. Janine, who’s supposed to be his friend and partner. Who’s supposed to love him. That isn’t fucking love. And the fact that nobody else who’s supposedly his friend is just fine with that like Peter isn’t a danger to himself. If team Abel really cared about him, they never would’ve even considered putting a burn cube inside of him. There’s a lot they would’ve done different if they actually cared about him

And then he gets abandoned. The whole “it’s necessary” thing is bullshit, Peter is biased and hates himself and thinks he deserves it. Peter won’t argue with sacrificing himself or hurting himself, and team Abel, ESPECIALLY Janine, shouldn’t be so agreeable when it comes to that. He has issues he needs to work on, yes, but it’s hard and damn near impossible to do that level of mental recovery and healing without a good support system and considering how his supposed friends treat him, he doesn’t have one of those. He’s on his own, mental health still terrible, still sacrificing himself because he thinks he deserves it. The only thing he’s got going for him is being useful to the people he considers his friends and because it’s all they seem to want him for. They treat him as a tool that can be used and discarded when he’s an actual person with real feelings and emotions

He puts himself through so much to protect the people he loves and the feeling is absolutely not mutual. He’s treated like shit by everyone and just takes it because he thinks it’s what he deserves. He’s in a toxic relationship, and everyone else around him who he considers friends brush off his feelings. He’s always there trying to help other people, dealing with their feelings, defending Five when everyone forgets they’re not immortal like he is, but nobody is ever there for him like that. His feelings are cast aside, never addressed. His declining mental health and self mutilation is literally treated as a joke and it’s not funny, it’s sad and horrifying and what makes it worse is that nobody who claims to care about him actually gives a shit, the narrative makes that abundantly clear

Anyway, tldr; Peter is treated like shit by everyone and deserves so so much better and deserves to just move on and heal and find people who actually give a shit about him and his terrible mental health. He doesn’t need to make up for anything else, he doesn’t need to sacrifice himself to feel needed or wanted. He never did. Literally it’s only him who’s ever really had to face the consequences of his actions when other characters have done so much worse. Please for the love of god just let my boy vibe

[1kook]

netflix & chill

summary If you planned things right, you could rain down your raging displeasure on Jeon Jungkook right after the meal but before this proposed ‘Netflix and chilling,’ maybe dramatically throw your glass of wine at him, before storming out of his place and reporting him to the authorities (Namjoon) for his douchebag personality. warnings grinding, 2 seconds of sub kook, oral (f), cum eating, vanilla but [ passionate ], unprotected sex, dirty talk tags use of the oldest trick in the book (“your hands are sooo big”), shy oblivious AND gentleman jk? pick a struggle, brief ment of app developer kook, evil and conniving oc wc 10.2k !! wow!!

will I ever write a serious jk fic? NO. this entire thing was based off this pic of jungkook which i’ve said before that i would print out in sepia filter and crumple and stuff in a drawer n then tell my kids 35 years from now was a long lost lover i met on a cruise to the bahamas and never saw again ty to mia more @daechwlta​ for being there during my brief crisis over this fic 🥺

When Namjoon had first not so subtly mentioned the idea of setting you up on a date, it was with a faux air of disinterest that you had masterfully pried the details out of him. Namjoon has a friend, he said, a friend who was kinda sorta attached to his hip. And while Namjoon loved the kid, he also thought this friend could use some social interaction outside of Namjoon.

Now you and Namjoon weren’t exactly the most conventional of friends for him to be proposing blind dates to you at whim. He was your senior at school, your mentor in your scholarship program, an educated man studying for his masters. So when he’d first uttered the words you were immediately on the fence. Sure, the two of you knew each other well and probably got along better than most mentor-mentee pairings among your year, but you doubt Namjoon knew enough of your tastes to offer you up for a blind date.

According to Namjoon, his friend was a kid in the same year as you, making him not so much as a kid as he was your classmate. You brushed it off at first, spewing some bullshit excuse that you’d rather focus on your studies, and how dating was a distraction to your education, as if you hadn’t spent the weekend prior binge watching some Spanish novella while you dutifully ignored your essay.

The second time Namjoon mentions it you agree on the spot. Life on campus could only be interesting for so long, so you might as well make the best of it and go on as many stupid dates as possible.

Namjoon is over the moon.

He tells you he’ll pass your phone number on over to that friend of his—“Jeon Jungkook”—and promises you you won’t regret this because his friend was amazing, really. And for Namjoon to sing his praises for just any underclassmen was unheard of. In fact, besides you, you don’t think Namjoon knows many other students younger than him, and if he did, you hardly doubt he would regard them so highly.

So he gives his friend your number, and so ends your weekly meeting with your mentor. You only realize on the walk back to your dorm that you forgot to ask him about some club at school, the whole goal of this week’s meeting, but by then you don’t really care, the whole conversation fading into the background.

In fact, you forget about the whole ordeal until Friday night rolls around and you’re once again, binge watching another novella on your laptop, when your phone suddenly vibrates.

You were by no means a loser at school, a friendless nobody, but you were also not the outgoing, school-spirited student on the front page of your school’s website, and thus had nearly every app that could produce a notification on your phone muted, every text thread silenced. The only notifications and messages you allowed were from your email and from your roommate, and considering the fact Doyeon was face down in a puddle of her own mid-semester tears right across from you, it was probably your email.

Much to your surprises, it isn’t that “Monday’s Class is CANCELLED” email you were hoping for, but instead some unknown number in a text notification. You roll your eyes, click it open thinking it’s a reminder from some store or from some guy claiming to be from your bank, only to pause at the words written inside the little grey bubble.

hey its jungkook!!! joon gave me your number to I guess ask you on a date soo are you free tmrw night??

The excessive punctuation reminds you a little bit of your kid sister back home and the dorky emails she’ll send you from time to time. It’s with that memory and a smile on your face, that you’re suddenly reminded of what exactly this message is saying. “Oh shit,” you mumble, moving to sit up and reread the text. Doyeon complaining loudly in the background has you reading it twice more before you understand it, and by then there’s a fluttery feeling in your chest.

You were by no means easily swayed by people, but this guy had received praise from Kim Namjoon of all people, so he definitely had some prestige to his name. He doesn’t seem overbearing from this one text he’d sent, but he also didn’t seem completely disinterested.  

You try to match his nonchalant energy, letting him know you were in fact free and down to meet him, just to let you know more details.

You won’t lie, there’s a giddy feeling bubbling within you at the prospect of getting all dolled up, hitting the town, pawning a free meal off some unsuspecting college soul, and maybe even hitting it off. It’s been a while since you’ve dated, sue you.

Jeon Jungkook’s response crushes those dreams as well as hurdles you straight into a nightmare.

cool!! was thinking i could cook for us at my place, drink a little wine, maybe Netflix and chill a little bit??

You are blown away by the absolute gall of this man, to butter you up by painting a pretty picture only to reduce you to a mere booty call. The fact he had felt confident enough to say all that within the same sentence blows your mind.

Did this Jeon Jungkook, who you had no idea of what he looked like, who had no idea of what you looked like, seriously just invite you over for some quote unquote Netflix and chill?

Who, in the ever living hell, was this guy who so sleazily invited women over to fuck with no qualms about who they were?

You’re offended that Namjoon would set you up like this, pawn you off to such a greasy friend. But then again, you guess not everyone knows their friends thoroughly, because this Jeon Jungkook flirtatiously inviting your over for some sex sounds nothing like the golden boy Kim Namjoon had raved about earlier this week. You click your phone off, tapping the device against your lips as you ponder how to best rip this jerk to shreds via text.

It’s amidst Doyeon cursing out her statistics teacher that an idea hits you.

Tomorrow was Saturday night, and as far as you knew, you really didn’t have anything else going on for you anyway. You’d take Jeon Jungkook’s offer, let him cook you a free meal and drink some of his wine. He mentioned having his own place, and vaguely you remember Namjoon saying he lived alone, hence his introverted tendencies, so you could slip in and out without doing that walk of shame through a boy’s dorm hall.

Not that there would be anything to feel shameful about. In fact, if you planned things right, you could rain down your raging displeasure on Jeon Jungkook right after the meal but before this proposed ‘Netflix and chilling,’ maybe dramatically throw your glass of wine at him, before storming out of his place and reporting him to the authorities (Namjoon) for his douchebag personality.

Ha! That would certainly teach the asshole not to use his poor, unsuspecting friends to reel in nice girls like you into one night stands.

You could practically feel the devil horns begging to poke out of your skull, the forked tail wiggling behind you, as you click your phone back on and text Jeon Jungkook a great!! what’s your address :)

——

Saturday morning and afternoon are as boring as they usually are. You do a little homework, and spend thirty minutes filling Doyeon in on your master plan, which she eats up and even gives you some pointers—“and then you can be like, ‘you sick freak, as if I’d let you near this 5-star, Michelin reviewed, Gordon Ramsey approved coochie’ and throw the whole plate at his head!”—before getting ready for your little date at Jeon Jungkook’s.

You try hard to look good, harder than you would have if he hadn’t offended you by reducing you to a booty call, and Doyeon helps. She does your eyebrows all nice and natural, dusts the thinnest shin of liquid highlighter across the high points of your face, the whole shebang until you’re looking like a sexy, glowing goddess. You shimmy into a pretty dress, nothing too fancy nor too casual, and even pull on those strappy sandals you’d bought on sale last winter before blowing a kiss to Doyeon and meeting your Uber downstairs.

You don’t quite remember what the reason behind Jeon Jungkook living in such a swanky neighborhood a few minutes from campus was, if it was from a job you vaguely recall Namjoon mentioning, or if it was just purely hereditary, but his place is nice. It’s a connected townhouse, something you’d expect a newly wed couple to live in and not some douchebag third year.

Worse comes to worse, you get banned from this rich neighborhood after humiliating one of its residents in his own home, not that you’d ever make it big enough to live here anyway.

You’d texted Namjoon sometime that morning to let him know you were meeting his friend, an ominous text with an even more ominous smiley face attached to it. But it seems Namjoon is easily blinded by underclassmen he trusts, if Jeon Jungkook’s assholish feats and your own suspicious behavior is anything to go by, because he texts you back a polite have fun! he’s a little shy, so it might take a while for the ball to start rolling hahahaha.

Shy my ass, you think closing the door of your Uber behind you. You double check the address that had been texted to you, walking up to the neat townhouse and knocking against the polished door.

It’s a little chilly, and you hope finding an Uber is easier later tonight when you make your grand escape. It’s between these thoughts that the door swings open, revealing the most handsome man you’ve ever met.

He’s attractive, disgustingly so, with dark hair and light brown tips to contrast, tickling his cheekbones. His dark eyes are round and imploring as they meet yours, gaze almost innocent and doe like as he takes you in. He’s got this soft, blue turtleneck on, and it looks like it should be a seasonal sweater reserved for the holidays but he pulls it off nicely on this premature spring night. His pretty pink lips move, and it takes you a second to realize he’s talking.

“___?” He says, and his voice is deep, yet soft in its own unique way. You nod, like a stupid bobble head, because your throat constricted the moment this beautiful angel opened the door. “It’s cold outside, come in!” He urges you, out stretching his palm to make sure you don’t trip over the slight step up the door as he brings you into his home.

“Hi,” he exhales when you’re finally inside, standing a little too close to you in his small entryway.

“Hi,” you finally choke out, a little dazed by how handsome he is, and the sudden realization that you’re supposed to throw your glass of wine at him tonight because he’s a douchebag dawns on you. You blink yourself out of your stupor, taking a step back and gesturing towards your sandal clad feet.

“Oh!” Jeon Jungkook exclaims at the sudden realization. “I forgot to set out a pair of slippers for you,” he sheepishly admits, before he excuses himself to go get some. There’s a tiny ottoman pushed against the wall, beneath a long mirror, that you take a seat on it, carefully unstrapping your sandals.

All the while, you’re deep in thought.

It makes sense that someone like Jeon Jungkook was so forward in inviting you over for sex during your first interaction. Realistically speaking, the guy had it all. He lived alone in a swanky townhouse in a wealthy neighborhood (you finally remember Namjoon saying he did some app developing for major companies—yeah, still in college but already making it big because he was that good), and looked like the blueprint for the perfect man, someone who’d impress your parents. On top of that, the man was was a 21st century Adonis. You hadn’t missed the flash of ink on his knuckles, or the way his jeans had hugged his legs.

He’s making his way back now, inspecting the slippers in his hands, and you don’t miss the way the jeans are pulled taut around his thighs in particular.

Yeah, he definitely knew his way around a woman’s body, there was no way he couldn’t have.

You slip your feet into the slippers he places before you, wiggling your toes around, before glancing back at Jungkook. He smiles warmly, a little beauty mark beneath his lip making itself known. He takes your hand, pulls you up onto your feet, and begins guiding you down the hall and to what you assume is the kitchen.

“I didn’t know what you liked, and I figured asking you three hours before you came over would be too awkward,” he laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. He glances at you again, and upon seeing your inquisitive stare, quickly turns away with flushed cheeks.

Oh this man knew the game, and he knew it well.

Jeon Jungkook still thinks he can play that cute campus boy being set up by his senior card now, after he’d shown you his true colors last night via text. But he has a big storm coming. As much as you could admit he was good to look at, you would not be fooled by some pretty face and tasty food. No, you came here with one goal and one goal only, and that was to give Jeon Jungkook a piece of his own two-faced medicine before running off to tattle to Namjoon.

You reach the kitchen and the heavenly smell of Alfredo sauce swarms your nostrils. “I… I’m still new to cooking, so I hope you don’t mind some Alfredo pasta,” he admits, shy smile adorning his features as he avoids your gaze once again to toy with the dish towel by the sink.

You creep closer to the counter, where two meticulously presented ceramic plates sit beside a wine bottle, and the glands in your mouth suddenly go into overdrive in their rush to make you salivate, and you choke out an overly eager, “it looks amazing!” before you know it.

Okay, you came here with two goals.

——

Jungkook carries the two bowls in his big hands to the dining room beside the kitchen, and you follow behind with the bottle of wine and two glasses as you set the table together. The utensils are already there, but Jungkook runs back into the kitchen anyway to return with some fancy cloth napkins for the two of you.

Just as you're tugging a chair out to sit, Jungkook beats you to it. “Ah, let me,” he smiles, and your heart thunders nervously in your chest as you return the expression, brushing your hands beneath you before sitting down and letting him push you in. Jungkook takes his own seat in front of you, and before you can dig in he calls out to seemingly nobody, “Alexa, dim the dining room lights.”

The overhead lights dim, and with their overbearing glow gone, you can finally appreciate the battery powered candles snuggled neatly into a little bowl on the table between you two. You ooh appreciatively, and Jungkook looks proud of himself.

Then, he says, “Alexa, play…Date Night Playlist.”

You blink, and a soft piano tune begins filtering through a speaker he’s hidden somewhere in the room. Even with the fake candles being your main source of light, the flush on Jungkook’s cheeks is evident as he gestures towards you to eat.

You won’t lie. Jeon Jungkook was extremely endearing.

This much becomes evident the further you get into the meal. As small talk devolves into full fledged conversations and story telling, his shy demeanor slipping away but still sticking to the edges of his personality, you begin to have a more difficult time connecting this Jungkook to the one who had less than 24 hours ago asked you to come over and “Netflix and chill” with him.

But the more you speak, the more distant that image begins to feel. For one, Jungkook does put on a fairly reserved aura for you, telling you about his job but refusing to brag about it even when you egg him on. He has no qualms gassing up his friends, Namjoon in particular, who Jungkook claims is his role model for some unknown reason, given the fact they are neither in the same major nor in any of the same clubs. They’re friends, point blank period, but Namjoon is very obviously a star in Jungkook’s eyes.

Additionally, he’s quite embarrassed to admit why Namjoon had been so set on getting Jungkook to date, but eventually tells you it’s because Jungkook’s last girlfriend had been during your freshman year—two whole years ago! It makes you wonder what he’d been doing since then, if he’d used the time to fully invest in his work or if he’d been mingling around, unbeknownst to his friends, which would explain the flirtatious offer that landed you here.

Still, a part of you refuses to believe last night’s Jungkook and tonight’s Jungkook were one in the same, and if they were, what had made this shy man so unabashedly invite you over for some sex. Was this act all a ploy? Or maybe, was he purposefully trying to ward you away by coming off as a gentleman now that he’d seen your face and wasn’t interested in you anymore?

Apparently it’s neither of the two, and you don’t realize this until you finish your meal and make your way into his living room to finally get down to the long awaited Netflix and chilling. It’s only when you sit down on the couch, smack dab in the middle, because at this point, you’re not gonna throw your wine at Jeon Jungkook like you planned, he was too nice. And if this niceness was an act to get in your panties, you didn’t care at this point. He was hot, achingly so, and at least you’d get a good fuck out of it.

But as you said, apparently not. Because Jeon Jungkook sees you purposefully take up the entire middle of the couch, sultry eyes staring him down, and decides to sit flush against the armrest, somehow leaving a good foot between the two of you, despite the fact you’re sitting next to each other.

Your brain can’t work fast enough to comprehend the situation, before he’s asking you what you want to watch. “Um,” you say, pointedly staring at him and not the screen. “Tr-Transformers?”

The way Jungkook’s eyes light up is insane, already round eyes nearly popping out of their sockets as he eagerly rushes to select it from whatever streaming service he has, probably not even Netflix, all the while chattering on about how much he loves that series, and is so glad you do too.

The whole time, you’re struck by the oddness of his casual tone, the way he’s overly invested in the 20th Century Fox opening, and how he’s very carefully avoiding intruding in on your personal space.

The last point in particular has you wanting to pull your hair out, because you want Jeon Jungkook intruding in on your personal space. You want him pressed so tightly against you you can’t breathe, you can’t move, until you’re drowning in him as he finally lives up to his promise of some Netflix and chill, because you want him, and you want him so. very. bad.

“Oh, I forgot the popcorn!” Jungkook exclaims, and you jump at the sudden volume of his voice, because he’d been pretty silent as he avidly watched the first few minutes of the movie. “Sorry,” he chuckles, and his leg brushes against yours as he shuffles between you and the coffee table on his way out. You vaguely hear the popping of the popcorn in the kitchen, but you’re too distracted by your suddenly overwhelming thoughts.

Okay, one thing was for sure, and that was that Jeon Jungkook definitely had no fucking idea what the phrase Netflix and chill meant, because the way he’d zeroed in on the movie and the popcorn, and not you, was unheard of on such invitations. You deduce he probably heard it somewhere, and, now understanding the true nature of Jungkook’s sweet and shy personality, made no such perverted connection to the phrase.

Which meant he most definitely did not demean you to a mere booty call, like you’d deluded yourself into believing, someone he could hump and dump with no regrets, before calling Namjoon up to thank him. Which meant he’d had no ulterior motives in meeting you tonight, just planning to get to know you at the suggestion of his friend, and had—unbeknownst to him—successfully wooed you thus far.

Which was great! If you turned a blind eye to the evil, conniving plans you’d made without even meeting the guy, and the subsequent flood of self-inflicted disapproval when you realized Jeon Jungkook was a sweetheart who definitely did not deserve having a glass of wine thrown at his face after making you a home cooked meal and giving you the full Olive Garden experience, with his dimmed lights and candlelit dinner and piano music on the background.

Yeah. Perfectly fine.

The only problem now was that you had become so dangerously smitten with the man that you wanted to sleep with him. You wanted that Netflix and chill, needed it like it was the last slot in a daycare class and you were a soccer mom of five wanting to get at least one kid out of the house for the summer for the sake of her own sanity. You were desperate.

No, you scold yourself. This was fine, this was good, this was perfectly okay. If anything, this just further made you enamored with Jungkook, because it proved how gentlemanly he was by not trying to sleep with you on the first date.

But that didn’t mean he didn’t want to, the devil on your shoulder crooned.

The microwave in the kitchen stops, and you hear the sound of cabinets opening as Jungkook pours the popcorn into a bowl. On screen, the main character is meeting a bunch of giant cars-turned-robots, you don’t fucking know.

But the devil was right.

Jungkook hadn’t offered to sleep with you, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want to. Furthermore, that didn’t mean he couldn’t be seduced into wanting to, your evil brain suggested, and the hope that had slithered it’s way into your chest from the very moment Jungkook had opened the door, took that fact and ran with it.

“What’d I miss?” Jungkook says when he returns, popcorn bowl in hand.

“Oh, um, he was with the car,” you offer, trying to stop the nefarious smirk from slipping onto your features. Jungkook laughs, cute and airy as he shuffles past you.

He’s too absorbed in the screen, not looking as he sits down, closer than last time until his thigh brushes yours and he jerks back in embarrassment. “Oh, sorry,” he flounders, goes to move away but you act fast.

You grab onto his upper arm with both of yours like an octopus, keeping him flush to you as you gaze up at him with wide eyes. “No, it’s okay,” you rush to assure him, loosening your hold as he tentatively relaxes beside you. You glance down at the popcorn bowl in his hand, swiping a piece to pop between your lips. “It’s easier for us this way,” you say, and you’re pulling that straight out of your ass, because you hate popcorn and have literally zero desire for it and wouldn’t have reached for it anyway if you weren’t trying to convince him this was all for popcorn sharing purposes.

Jungkook’s eyes briefly flicker down to where you’re munching on that popcorn, your lips, before he’s quickly averting his gaze. “Ah, y-yeah,” he agrees, and though he tries to relax back into the couch, you can still feel the tension of his muscles as he settles beside you.

With his eyes no longer trained on you, you snuggle closer into his side resting your cheek against the soft material covering his shoulder, finally letting that devious smirk slip onto your face. You keep yourself close to Jungkook, loving the way his warmth permeates the thick sweater he’s wearing, even if he’s still overly into the movie. You know he’s seen it before, because he keeps telling you random tidbits like, “they use this in the next movie!” Or “he ends up becoming really important in the sixth movie,” and you want to listen to this endearing nerd’s commentary, you really do, but once your brain is stuck on horny, it is stuck on horny.

He doesn’t even eat a lot of popcorn, setting it down not ten minutes later onto the coffee table. You release him as he moves forward, but quickly latch onto him again when he sits back down.

Much to your surprise, Jungkook is way more relaxed then, shrugging you off to rest his hand on the couch behind you, and you inwardly squeal at the prospect of getting to cuddle up to his body, and not just his arm. You cuddle in close to him, leaving your slippers on the ground as you tuck your legs up onto the couch cushions.

Jungkook is so warm and firm, and you know it’s your horny brain speaking, but you swear you feel a tight set of abs underneath the palm you rest on his stomach, and you give an experimental brush over the area. His heart picks up, you hear it by where your head is leaning against his chest, and you tilt your head up to give him a curious glance. His cheeks are red, and he doesn’t look at you even though you know he sees you, so you decide to kick things up a notch.

You sigh loudly, peeling yourself away from him to properly level him with a pout. “Jungkook, aren’t you hot in this?” You ask, pinching the wooly material between two fingers and pulling it from his skin. Jungkook finally looks away from the screen, nibbling his lower lip as he takes in your quizzical expression.

“Um, only a little… but it’s fine!” He rushes to say, and you recall from your conversations over dinner that Jungkook doesn’t much like people fussing over him, so you quickly change gears.

You press a hand against your cheek, the same one that had been resting against his shoulder earlier. “Oh, well… it’s really itchy,” you announce, and his eyes widen, one hand absentmindedly reaching to clutch the material at his chest. “It’s making me really itchy,” you emphasize, and part of you feels bad for taking advantage of his caring nature, but this is all for the greater good, you convince yourself. “Do you mind taking it off?”

“I, uh, yeah,” he agrees, reaching for the hem of his sweater before carefully peeling it off. When he pulls it over his head, you can’t help the triumphant grin that overtakes your face, though you quickly mask it when he finally frees himself from the material. “Better?” He says once he’s clad in only a plain black shirt.

“Mm, much,” you sigh, and nearly soak your panties then and there when a tattooed sleeve comes into view. “Woah!” You exclaim, snatching his wrists up to examine his skin. “What’s this?” You marvel, tracing every inch of delicious skin with your predatory gaze. Jungkook huffs out a laugh, and you glance up to watch as he rubs the back of his neck in that same embarrassed way he’d done multiple times throughout your night together.

“My tattoos,” he says, and then seems to realize the simplicity of his statement and rushes to add to it, “I hope you don’t mind?”

You hum, shifting onto your knees to face him as you continue tracing over a huge tiger lily by his forearm. “Why would I? It’s your body,” you say, and watch the nervous glance melt off his face as he regards you with something new. Something akin to wonder as he lets you trace over more of his ink, nodding along to your words.

“Yeah… yeah!” He agrees, and you grin at his sudden zeal. He chuckles, physically relaxing beneath your touch, and it’s probably the most relaxed he’s been all night as you continue rubbing your hands over every tattoo on his skin, and then purposefully focusing on the ones near his bicep. “Sorry, ‘m just used to people pushing off their own opinions about them onto me,” he explains, and for a moment, the horniness that had been fueling you all night fades away, and you let your hands trail down, past his wrist, until you’re sandwiching his hand between yours.

“Fuck what anyone else thinks,” you tell him, eyes hard as you imagine anyone imposing their stupid thoughts on Jungkook, who was too good for this world. “If you think they’re cool, then they're the coolest thing in the world.”

He smiles at you, and you’ve seen this smile about a million times tonight—when you first came in, when you talked about yourself at dinner, when you mentioned this stupid movie—but it has something swelling in your chest. Something too intimate for a first date, so you quickly move to repress it.

Glancing down at his hand in yours, littered with smaller tattoos across his knuckles, your brain whirls into action. Bringing it up between the two of you, you turn his hand over to line your palms up. “Wow, your hands are so big,” you sigh, slowly reverting back to dirty thoughts as you twist yours and Jungkook’s hands this way and that. He snorts, bends the tips of his fingers over yours just to hear you ooooh again.

“Yeah, they’re pretty big,” he agrees, completely ignoring the film playing on the screen, which is a huge win in your eyes considering how deeply he’d been watching it earlier.

Finally, you see an opening and pounce.

“Well, that means something else is pretty big too,” you murmur, chancing a glance up at his face. His face is the perfect definition of composed, and you can tell when exactly he processes your words because those little pink lips part in surprise, red slowly filling the apples of his cheeks. You let go of his palm, letting it slide between your fingers until it falls limp beside him.

Jungkook watches you with wide eyes, as you raise yourself up onto your knees. “Jungkook?” You mumble, giving him no warning before you’re throwing a leg across his lap, knees pressed into the couch on either side of his thighs.

“Y-Yes?” He stutters, brown hair falling away from his face as he stares up at you. You flash him a sweet smile, and you can tell it relaxes him because his fists unclench beside him.

“You’re a really nice boy,” you sigh, and when you’ve scooted your knees a little closer to his ridiculously thin waist, you finally let yourself sit. You find yourself right before his crotch, which he desperately tries to hide as he shifts around, but can’t with you on top of him. You let your hands flutter to rest at his shoulders, and he gulps. “You’re so sweet and cute,” you add, relish in the flush that climbs up to his ears. “But I’m a little sad you invited me over to Netflix and chill, but won’t do just that,” you pout, a finger tangling itself in a soft strand at the back of his head.

“Huh?” He stutters, eyes nearly bulging out when you wiggle around again. “I-I’m sorry?” He huffs, and when you move too close to his crotch, where his jeans are slowly growing more and more strained, he panics and reaches a hand out to steady your waist.

You feign confusion, flashing him another pout as you duck closer until your noses bump against each other. “You know what it means, don’t you, Jungkook?” You inquire, eyes falling dangerously lidded as you swallow up every inch of his appearances.

He stutters, hands moving up and down as if he doesn’t know where to put them anymore. But you know exactly where Jungkook can put those hands, and you waste no time catching his wrists in your hands to guide him towards your hips. “No?” He breathes, fingers flexing against you, and you smile sweetly at him.

“It means,” you purr, shifting forward until you’re flush against where you need him most. You can barely contain the whimper that climbs out of your throat when you finally feel the rough material of his jeans against your panties. “It means you wanna fuck, Jungkook,” you exhale, tossing your head back as your body basks in the slight reprieve, the way Jungkook squirms beneath you aiding greatly in providing that sensation you craved.

“It’s nothing more than an excuse,” you huff, placing a hand on the back of his neck to steady yourself. At your touch, Jungkook jolts, thighs jumping beneath you and you stifle another groan when the zipper of his jeans prods against your core. “For you to fuck my brains out while some s-stupid movie plays in the background.”

You’re not sure when, but sometime during that last explanation your hands had fully delved into the thick tresses of Jungkook’s hair. You give an experimental tug, and poor Jungkook, so lost in all that you’re telling him, lolls his head back for you easily until the long expanse of his neck is available, soft creamy skin yours for the taking.

You pounce, kissing the skin gently at first, before sprinkling in a handful of nibbles. He’s sensitive, devastatingly so, as he gasps at a particular suck. You suction your lips on the spot below his ear, carefully biting down on the skin as he unravels beneath you. “Will you do it, Jungkookie?” You murmur against the shell of his ear,

He nods eagerly, and his fingers hurt where he’s pressed them deep into your waist, like he’s trying to brand you as his with his mere strength alone. “Y-Yes,” he exhales, hips jerking when you swipe your tongue over the pretty mark you’d left on his perfect skin.

You smother your smirk against his neck, grinding down on him once again. “Yes what?” You tease, and let his strong hands roll you against him afterwards.

“Yes, I-I’ll…” he stumbles, eyes dazed as he watches you through hooded lids. You raise a brow at him, shifting in his lap. It’s enough to kickstart him back up, and he’s biting down on his lip hard enough to draw blood. “I’ll fuck you, I’ll fuck you just like you want,” he rambles. He surprises you when he begins rutting up against you, so animalistic and uncontrolled, nothing like the sweet Jungkook that had indulged you over dinner. “I’ll make you come, p-promise,” he rasps.

You smirk down at him, hoping he doesn’t see the metaphorical horns sticking out of your head the further he falls into your trap. Before he can say anything else, you surge forward, slotting your mouths together for the first time that night.

It’s no surprise that Jungkook kisses just like he speaks, carefully like he’s afraid one hard press of his lips will ward you off. His lips are smooth, a fact you’d hyper-fixated on all night as he spoke, but before you can ponder on that any further, something hot and wet is prodding at your lower lip.

The gasp you barely manage to contain ends up escaping anyway when Jungkook’s hand comes up to cup the side of your face, tilting your head to the side as his tongue slithers into your mouth. You become obsessed with the way he touches you, every bit the gentlemen he’d been all night, fingers just barely pressing into your cheek like he doesn’t want to mess up your makeup. His other hand, snuggly wrapped around your waist, pulls you tighter against him until your chests are pressed together.

And that tongue. That tongue of his that leaves no room for argument, quickly shutting down any attempts of yours to overtake him. He’s graceful about it too, one nudge enough to convince you he’s got this, he’ll take care of you. You whimper, a sound Jungkook swallows before he’s biting down on your lower lip.

When he pulls away, his lips are red and glossy, and you wonder if yours are too. “Fuck, you’re so pretty,” he sighs, gazing at you like he can’t believe you’re there in front of him.

Before you can say anything else, he’s burying his face in the crook of your neck to brush kisses over your skin. “Let me eat you out,” he begs, but his voice is so silky and smooth that it doesn’t sound so much as a plea as much as it does a suggestion. He licks a stripe up your neck, and you jump in his hold.

It’s at this moment where the sudden realization hits you, the feeling of having the reins yanked out of your hands. You so vividly controlled every aspect of Jungkook just a few moments ago, when you’d had your own mouth on his neck, and carefully coaxed him into some sex.

But it seems Jeon Jungkook isn’t as soft or as pliable as you had dubbed him to be, and if the way he’s begun subtly rolling your hips into his crotch is any sign, he certainly wasn’t the submissive type either. Which leaves you wondering, exactly what type of person was Jungkook in bed?

Well, you had all night to figure that out.

“Hey,” he whines suddenly, ripping you out of your thoughts. You glance down at him, registering the bored set of his eyes and the unimpressed quirk of his lips. “Pay attention to me.”

You blink, lips twitching. You can barely muffle the giggle that tears itself from your throat, leaning your forehead on his shoulder as your body shakes at his suddenly childish words. Jungkook chuckles too, as if suddenly realizing how out of place his own statement was. “Sorry,” he smiles, cheeks pleasantly rosy and you can’t even stop yourself from kissing him silly.

Jungkook, bless his heart, let’s you rain down a good three kisses on him before he’s pushing you down on the couch beside him. There’s still a slight gleam in his eyes, but the rest of his face schools itself into a hungry expression as he drinks in your body laid out before him. “Let me eat you out?” He asks again, voice but a soft whisper.

You nod, heart beating loudly in your chest as he shuffles down until he can press a kiss to the tops of your thighs. He hasn’t even done anything that intense yet, but you already feel the muscles in your leg ready to spasm just from his proximity.

He’s mouthing at your skin, nudging your legs apart, and you, usually so confident in your sexuality, can’t find the courage to look at him as he so lovingly carries out his ministrations.

As if sensing your sudden bout of shyness (you! shy! Doyeon was gonna tease you about this for the rest of your life once you recapped this for her), he places a soft kiss just below where the hem of your dress begins, before pulling back and uttering, “this okay?”

You hum in response, face warm from just imagining how good he must look down there, peppering your skin with kisses. Your heart nearly rips itself out of your chest when a strong set of fingers wraps around your wrist suddenly, sliding over and around your hand until he’s tangled them with yours.

At this, you nearly break your neck trying to look at him, only to be met with an amused smile. Jungkook gives your hand a squeeze, and you barely get to appreciate the schoolgirl flood of emotions in your chest, when suddenly his free hand comes out of left field, cupping the back of your knee to push your legs further apart, before gliding across the expanse of your thigh to push your dress up.

If Jungkook holding your hand was enough to make your heart skip a beat, Jungkook pressing a chaste kiss to your panty-clad mound was enough to send you into cardiac arrest. Your leg twitches at the sudden touch, a gasp catching in your throat at the delicate path he kisses over your panties, until he’s flicking his tongue over your clit. “Oh,” you moan, and against your better judgment, your free hand is tangling itself in his silky strands.

Jungkook smirks, what sounds like a tiny chuckle muffled as he continues mouthing along your sex, until your panties are soaked both from your arousal and his saliva. Your little thong stares him in the face, and he groans at the sight, glancing up at you with those wide eyes of his like you’re his entire world. “Can I?”

Jungkook gives your clit one final kiss, before he lets go of your hand, and you can’t help the whine that leaves you upon the lost contact. Jungkook eats it up, pressing a kiss turned smile against your knee as he tugs your underwear down. It coils up as it goes, until he’s pulling a tightly twisted maroon thong off your ankles, and tossing it off somewhere behind him.

If his mouth felt good through your panties, it feels even better without. You mewl when he brushes his lips over your clit, plush lips working your sensitive bundle of nerves, sly tongue occasionally creeping out to toy with you further. “Jungkook,” you cry out, back arching. He licks and slurps likes he’s a starved man, and you're the first meal he’s ever had. You want to sob from how good it feels, his tongue flicking over your bud like he just can’t get enough.

He pulls away to catch your gaze, doesn’t let it go as he runs a lone finger over your slit, coating the digit in your own arousal, before carefully plunging it into your warm, wet heat. “Is this good?” He rasps out, watching your facial expressions carefully as he wiggles his finger deeper into your core, his other hand wrapped around your thigh to keep you still. You moan, feeling like a boneless heap of organs beneath this insanely handsome man who can’t keep his hands off your quivering pussy.

His fingers don’t let up, slowly pulling out before plunging back in. The room fills with disgustingly wet sounds, but that fact drifts to the back of your head the faster his fingers go. Your eyes roll into your head, your body twitching with each press of his fingers.

“Is it good, pretty?” He repeats, and since you’re not looking at him anymore, the sudden lick against your clit has your back arching and your thighs quivering with surprise. “Tell me it’s good, ___,” Jungkook croons, and you nod in a hurry.

“It’s good!” You cry, moaning loudly when he slips another finger into you, scissoring the two inside of you. “It’s so good, Jungkook—y-you’re so good,” you moan, and nearly cry actual tears when he curls his fingers inside of you, pressing down against the most sensitive spot within you.

Jungkook doesn’t let up, continues licking and slurping against your sensitive bud, even when your orgasm hits and you’re begging him to stop. He doesn’t let you go until he feels the warmth coat his fingers, feels the wetness begging to seep out of your plugged pussy. He lets you go then, only to move closer to your hole and replace his fingers with his mouth. There, he carefully catches and collects the cum that trickles out, mouth warm against your trembling body.

Your body quivers with each long drag of his tongue over your sensitive cunt, and you’re about to ask him to stop, when he finally pulls away and pushes himself over you, arms caging you in as he stares down at your withered form. “Kiss,” you manage to gasp out, and Jungkook raises an eyebrow in question. “Kiss me,” you repeat, and then, thoughtfully, “please.”

Jungkook complies, leans down to connect your mouths in a sweet kiss. You’re blinded by the delicacy of it all, that you in no way see coming the sudden substance that slides down your throat from his own. You choke at the sudden intrusion, belatedly realizing it’s your cum he’s pushing down your throat, the cum he didn’t swallow.

“That’s it, pretty,” Jungkook croons, licking up the residual come that hadn’t made it into your mouth. “See how you taste for me. Isn’t it sweet?” He murmurs, pushing his tongue into your mouth as if he regretted not saving any for himself. It’s the first time you’ve had your own pleasure in your mouth, so you’re not exactly sure how to feel. What you do feel is the overwhelming surge of arousal at seeing Jungkook rave about it and lap it up inside your own mouth.

He kisses you for a few moments, mouth moving languidly along yours. One hand reaches down to rub soothingly at your inner thigh, like he’s coaxing the feeling back into your body after lulling you into one of the most heavenly orgasms of your entire life. You whimper when he bites down on your lower lip, like you’re still too sensitive to reciprocate, but Jungkook doesn’t mind. He lets you go, licks over where he’d bitten like an apology.

After a few minutes of just this, of feeling like the most cherished girl in the entire world, Jungkook finally pulls away and levels you with a dashing smile. “All good?” He asks, hands still trailing up your waist until they’re framing the swell of your breasts, where he gently circles your nipple.

You nod, dazedly staring up at him and it’s at this exact moment that you realize there’s something stiff poking at your hip. You glance down, and Jungkook glances down with you, until you’re both staring at the hard on he’s hiding beneath his jeans. Jungkook chuckles, low and dark by your ear as he experimentally presses it against you.

Before you can stop yourself, your hand is untangling itself from around his shoulders and slithering down his front. You cup his erection, his shaky exhale giving you the courage to toy with his belt buckle until it’s undone and you're battling with the button on his jeans instead. You put up a good fight, but in the end the angle is too tight for you to properly undo it, and Jungkook brushes your hands away with a soft kiss to your lips.

He pushes himself off you, and you’re immediately craving the warm press of his body against yours the second he’s gone. “Get that dress off for me, pretty girl,” he says, pulling his shirt over his head, rendering you completely speechless as you gawk at his body. Jungkook glances down at you as he goes to undo his pants, a shapely brow raising in your direction and a soft quirk of his lips gesturing for you to do as you’re told.

You spur into action, wiggling the dress up and over your breasts until you’re pulling it over your head and letting it drop beside you on the floor. You’re just in time to see Jungkook push his jeans down his hips, a classic black Calvin Klein underwear band glaring back at you.

The chance to marvel at Jungkook’s thin waist framed by that tight underwear is gone as quickly as it came, and you’re greeted with an even more mouthwatering sight when he pushes the elastic band down, and that big cock you had alluded to springs out of its confines. You groan, subconsciously rolling your hips into the air as you take in the sight of his cock, mushroom tip swollen and flushed. There’s a thick vein that runs along the underside of it, one you only see when Jungkook grasps his dick in his hand and tugs upward like this isn’t his true form, and he can get bigger.

“Ready?” He asks, biting down on his lip as he continues to stroke himself. You nod, wiggling closer to him until the backs of your thighs rest on top of his, knees knocking against his waist. He grants you one more of those kind smiles, before he’s leaning down to press a hand beside your head, the other lining himself up with your soaked entrance.

Running his cock over your folds one last time, collecting as much of your cum as he can, he brushes a kiss against your cheekbone before he’s pushing in. You moan, throwing your hands around his neck as he pierces through the initial ring of muscle surrounding your warm heat. “Holy shit,” you choke, mouth dropped open as you pant like a dog against his shoulder. “J-Jungkook,” you cry, legs tightening around his waist the closer his body presses against yours.

Once he’s at the hilt, pelvis flush against you, you can’t help the series of whines and mewls that escape your lips from being so comfortably filled to the brim.

To your surprise, Jungkook is the first to speak. “Fuck,” he groans, breath hot against your ear. He sounds fucked out, once silky voice raspy with need as he grinds his hips against you tentatively. “This is what you wanted, isn't it?” He huffs, both hands coming down to wrap around your waist, your back arching under the wonderful hands that find themselves squeezing every inch of your back in an effort to pull you closer.

His mouth brushes against yours from this new position, and Jungkook puckers his lips, tongue coming out to lick at your bottom lip. You nearly cry when he finally pulls his hips away, relieves his cock from your tight heat before surging back in. “Wanted this from the moment you walked in, didn’t you, sweetheart?” Jungkook grunts, repeats the same motion until he’s picked up a steady pace of pushing and pulling, each roll of his hips sending a shock of ecstasy crawling up your spine.

You nod, eyes screwed shut as pleasure warms every inch of your body. It’s even worse to not see, because every sound and every touch is magnified tenfold, until you’re drowning in sensations. Jungkook’s choked groans, the slide of his hips, they all become too much too quickly and you’re choking back a sob.

“Fuck,” he groans, glancing down at your withered form like an animal as he picks up his pace. His hold on you tightens, never letting your body move away from him and he begins jack hammering in his thrusts, swallowing your cries with his lips. “Had me thinking you were a nice girl,” he huffs, and you wonder if he knows how tightly he’s holding you, how this grip will most likely leave you with fingerprint bruises tomorrow morning. But then again, you don’t care. All you care about is Jungkook’s voice and his body, guiding you toward completion. “But all you wanted was a quick fuck.”

You steel yourself to look at him again, and when your eyes finally open and focus, you’re wishing you hadn’t because Jungkook looks so hot over you. His pretty eyes, the ones that had led you into a false sense of comfort throughout the night and tricked you into believing he would be easy to bend to your every whim, are hard now. “Isn’t that right, doll?” He spits, and you whine when he punctuates this question with a particularly brutal thrust of his hips. His balls slap against your ass, and you squirm beneath him as you begin to feel the beginnings of an orgasm build in your core.

“I-I thought—“ you stammer, tone pitched from the way he jostles you with every thrust he gives. “Y-You wanted that,” you weekly defend, canting your hips down in a feeble attempt to progress this along.

He snorts, captures your lips in a rushed kiss where he wastes no time snaking his tongue inside your mouth. His saliva trickles into your mouth, and you whine as he purposefully lets it happen, pulls away just the slightest to pucker his lips and let a thick trail of spit fall straight into your open mouth. Satisfied with his little stunt, he rams his cock against you once more.

“If you wanted a quick fuck,” he says, nearly loses himself in your pussy, “you came to the wrong guy, sweetheart.”

You’re too caught up in the nice drag of his cock against your pussy, the tip of his cock stopping him from ever pulling out completely, that it takes you a second to process his words. “H-Huh?” You choke, teary eyes flickering across his face wildly as if the answer will be right in plain sight.

But all you’re met with is the soft pull of his lips as he flashes you a smirk, pearly white teeth tugging at the pink flesh, as he levels you with a glare of his own. Before you can question him further, he’s letting go of your waist to hike your knees into the crook of his elbows, his pouty lips growing further away as he leans back.

This shift has his cock nudging up, rubbing against the hood of your clit where a bundle of nerves he’d only briefly brushed before sits. You shriek in pleasure, writhing beneath him as the sudden sensation hits you full force. “Jungkook!” You sob, his hips slowing to a grind as he watches your face crumble beneath him.

“You like that?” He murmurs, rutting his hips against you shallowly. The change of pace, the rabid piston of his hips slowing to this, has your body melting into his touch. You barely manage a nod, eyes fluttering open and shut as his hips move sensually against you.

His cock brushes against that sensitive spot with each roll of his hips, and you’re a mewling, puddle of emotion by the third thrust. “Pretty girl,” he hums, letting go of one leg to place a hand above your mound, thumb circling your clit until you’re trembling beneath him. “Did you think I would fuck you and kick you out?” He husks, watching your body like he’s a lion and you’re his prey.

Your brain is far from comprehending anything at this point, reduced to a mere mass of nothingness as he continues moving against you, fingers rubbing your clit in all the right ways.

“Well, you were wrong about that, doll,” he huffs, and you’re blessed with the sight of his head lolling back as he loses himself in the tight grip of your pussy, skin glistening with sweat, trailing from behind his ear and over his neck, until you’re watching a pearl roll over his collarbones. “I don’t do that,” he informs you, and he pinches your clit between two fingers, hard enough that you almost miss his next words as you moan. “No, baby, I’ll fuck you and keep you forever,” he spits, and you whimper at his words. Finally, he lets go of your knees, right as you’re teetering on the edge of an orgasm and you moan out in protest as he ducks down to cage you between his arms again.

“Please,” you beg, voice hoarse as his hips slowly return to their pace from before. He’s still not pulling out as much, keeping his thrusts shallow as he kisses a trail up your neck and over your jaw.

“Gonna fuck you so good, you don’t ever want to leave, pretty,” he says, kisses the corner of your mouth as his hips pick up pace. You wanna cry, feeling so warm and cherished in his arms, his voice telling you how good you’re doing as the coil in your stomach tightens and tightens until you’re begging him for more. “Do you want that?”

“Yes! Yes!” You sob, rolling your hips against his like a madman as you chase your high.

Jungkook hums, smile smushed against your lips as he watches you desperately writhing beneath him. “Yeah? You want that?” You nod, mewls swallowed by his kisses. “Then cum for me, pretty girl.”

You whimper, just as he bucks into you once more, and suddenly you’re falling apart. It starts in your lower back, the ecstasy climbing it’s way through your body until you’re quivering and sobbing in his embrace, muffling your sounds against his shoulder. The muscles in your entire body tighten painfully, until suddenly a wave of contentment washes over you, and you’re too weak to even hold onto him anymore, arms flopping back onto the couch cushions beneath you.

The whole time, Jungkook mutters encouragement against your jaw, keeps his thrusts short but quick, guiding you through your orgasm. When you’re done, he presses an open mouthed kiss beneath your ear, pulling away to look at your boneless frame beneath him.

A few pistons of his hips later, and Jungkook is coming inside of you, cum coating your walls as he hammers his way through his orgasm. He pulls out when he’s done, and you instantly feel your mixed arousal drip out between your thighs.

Woozy from the wine and the two orgasms, you fall asleep soon after.

——

“Good morning,” you murmur, standing at the doorway leading into the kitchen, an area you’d only been able to find after stumbling around the upstairs of the house in confusion.

Jungkook whirls around, wide eyes taking in your appearance. You clutch at the hem of the big t-shirt you’d pulled on, the only article of clothing you saw that was thrown over a chair in a bedroom you didn’t dare snoop around. “Morning,” he exhales, calculating gaze never leaving you as you tiptoe over to him by the counter.

He doesn’t say more, spluttering into action when you peek over his shoulder to see what he’s up to. “What’re you making?” You inquire, and his hands begin fidgeting with the knife.

“Oh, um,” he stutters, and perhaps he’s overly aware of your presence so close beside him, because he suddenly doesn’t remember how he’s supposed to cut an avocado. Cute, you think. “Just, um, toast with avocado spread…”

You hum. After a moment, it seems Jungkook is able to quell his nerves, and he carefully slices the avocado open, spreading its innards across the toast. He hands you the first piece, which you take after masking your own surprise, and soon after he’s turning away from the counter as the two of you eat in silence.

After a few thoughtful munches of bread, you speak. “Thanks for carrying me to bed,” you say, refusing to look at him.

“You’re welcome,” he replies, almost a little too fast and you barely bite down a grin as he rambles on. “Wasn’t gonna leave you on the couch, especially not when you were so tired after… ah, yeah.”

It’s the reserved way he carries himself that gives you the balls to look at him. His ears are flushed adorably red, like when you were at dinner last night talking about his job, and all you wanna do is pinch his cheeks. “Yeah,” you agree, and then add with an air of faux shyness, “you were really cool last night.”

It’s the little devil in you begging to jump out, curious to see how far you can push Jungkook before he shifts into that suave version of himself from last night, and you would feel bad had the corner of his lips not tilted up in amusement.

He chokes out a laugh, mutters a “yeah?” and you don’t stop yourself when you jump into his arms and kiss that avocado spread right off his lips.

——

On Tuesday afternoon, Kim Namjoon is in the midst of delivering another sermon-like speech on the importance of utilizing your student ID when visiting any of the Starbucks within a two mile radius of your school, when you spot a chestnut head of hair from the corner of your eye.

“Sorry, Joon! My ride's here!” You yelp, shoving your notebook into your bag as you stumble over yourself in your haste to leave.

Namjoon blinks. “Huh? I thought you lived on campus?”

You nod, that giddy feeling starting up in your chest as he comes closer to where you and Namjoon have taken up residence on a table in the commons for your weekly meeting, and by the time he reaches the table Namjoon is still in the midst of questioning you.

“Jungkook,” You say, all dreamily and dazed, and you know this because Doyeon caught you with this same exact look on your face after he dropped you off at the dorms Sunday afternoon.

Namjoon startles. “What the f—“

“Hi,” Jungkook beams, leans down to brush a kiss against your cheek, which only serves to make you even more ditzy and dumb in the face of this handsome man. “Oh, hey, hyung.”

“What’re you doi—“

“All set?” Jungkook asks you, completely ignoring whatever his beloved senior was saying in favor of taking your bag off your shoulders. You nod, have to swallow a giggle down when he takes your hand in his. “Bye, hyung.”

“Bye, Joon!” You barely remember to throw over your shoulder, too busy wrapping yourself around Jungkook’s arm to hear Namjoon blabber in shock. 

“Kids these days,” he huffs.

[ part 2 ; hulu & woohoo ]

[hanoella]

A Matter of Time (2/2)

Pairing: Bucky x healer!Reader

Word Count: yikes 7.3k

Warnings: Angst Angst Angst. Mentions of death. Reference to Eternals 👀

A/N: Wow! I'm so happy everyone likes it! I like to get gorgeous with it haha. Hopefully, I'm not overdoing it.

Prompt: Believing they're about to die, Character A confesses their feelings for Character B before they pass out.

Tag list? I guess this is where I would put it? :) - @mischief-siriusly-managed @itsthemaree

@skyewardolicitycloisdelena91

---

You opened your eyes to a black room. No, not a room. There were no walls. You glanced down at your hands. You could still see them, so it wasn’t dark, just… black.

“Well, hello.”

You spun around and saw the source of the voice.

A serene, beautiful woman who had long dark hair and dressed in a green tunic addressed you.

“What has brought you here, young one?”

You took a moment to process your surroundings before you answered.

“I’m not even sure where ‘here’ is. The last I remember is…”

You trailed off, furrowing your brows, and blinking slowly as the memories start to flood back in.

“Ah… Am I dead?”

“Not quite. Though it does look like you are very close.” The woman says, peering to the side.

You followed her gaze and suddenly you were looking upon your own body, wrapped in Bucky’s arms. Startled, you gasp and step back. Looking around, you were back in the mountains by the Quinjet. Nobody seemed to notice you, even though you were right next to… yourself. Bucky was kneeling on the ground, holding your listless body to his chest. You looked away from him to take in your surroundings. Steve was kneeling next to him while the rest of the team was standing. Vision was comforting an anxious Wanda, while Sam and Natasha were getting a stretcher out of the jet. Clint was warming up the engine. Next to him was Tony, who was radioing into the compound’s medical center.

You turned your head back to Steve as he set a hand on Bucky’s shoulder and started speaking.

“Buck. Buck. You have to let her go. We have to get her somewhere where they can help her.”

Bucky only held onto you tighter, tears still dripping onto your face, leaving clear streaks in the blood.

“She’s dead Steve. There’s no pulse. I can’t find a pulse.” His voice hoarse, barely there.

“Friday said there was still brain activity. You know her body’s different, she could still survive. But only if we get her help. Helen’s on her way to meet us at the compound. She’ll be in good hands.” Steve said, gently loosening Bucky’s grip on you. As Nat and Sam came over, he gently lifted you out of Bucky’s arms and set you on the stretcher. They took you back to the jet, Bucky eyes trailing after you, the rest of his body unmoving.

“C’mon Buck. Let’s get going.” Steve said, offering his hand.

Bucky said nothing but accepted his help, hoisting himself up and walking slowly towards the ship with Steve’s arm on his back, guiding his soulless body.

You watched the jet take off before turning back to the woman. She was standing in the same place, watching you curiously.

“What’s happening here?” You asked, shock wearing off and confusion growing ever stronger.

“Well,” She started, clasping her hands together, and pondering the best way to put it.

“I’ve been alive long enough to see many generations of life go by. I have seen the same tragedies, wars, and evils repeat themselves endlessly through history. One thing that never fails to amaze me, though, is the beauty that manages to survive and thrive amongst it.”

Suddenly, you were in a charred landscape. Looking around, you recognized it as one of the first missions you took with Bucky. It was on the coastal countryside of Japan. You were both sent to follow up on a lead for a major weapons dealer. The mission had been simple: find the hideout and report back.

Unfortunately, they must have been tipped off to the fact that you were looking for them and burned their hideout, along with the surrounding plant life. You watched as Bucky and your past-self walked out from behind you. Startled again, you could only watch as the memory played out.

---

“Ah, what a shame. He didn’t have to burn down the trees with him.” You said sorrowfully as you picked up a charred ginkgo branch.

“It looks old. Burned down before we set foot in the country.” Bucky said, assessing the scene.

You stayed silent, putting down the branch and picking up the remnants of a bird’s nest that was underneath. Bucky watched you from several feet back. It took him a while to warm up to people and he had only ever seen you in passing. He knew that your apartment was down the hall from his in the compound but that was it. The only reason you were even on this mission together was that he spoke enough Japanese to get by while you knew the area from visiting previously.

“There’s nothing here. We should go back to the city and check in,” he said, looking around to double check the area before settling his gaze back on you.

You half-heartedly hummed in response, now putting your palm down on the ground. Bucky look at you quizzically as you paused, seemingly focusing on something.

“Some of these tree roots are still alive.” You said, perking up.

You set down the bird’s nest in your other hand before also placing that palm on the ground. Taking a deep breath, you slowly exhaled as a ring of soft light formed around you. You breathed in again, the light becoming brighter. Bucky took a step back and shielded his eyes. You exhaled, sending the ring of white light out from you. It went several meters before dissipating. When Bucky lowered his hand, he saw that several trees that had been scorched were growing back to perfect health. The white bark and bright yellow leaves stood out sharply against the ash and soot. You got up, slightly out of breath, and looked up at the tree in front of you. Slowly, a smile came upon your face. You closed your eyes for moment, taking it in before turning your head towards him.

Just then, the wind picked up and pushed the clouds out from in front of the sun. A ray of light filtered through the trees onto your face and suddenly Bucky was breathless. He watched as your chest rose and fell, the strain outlining your clavicle where a sheen of perspiration had developed. You were still smiling in accomplishment, the irises of your eyes shimmering in the sunlight. Gingko leaves that had been shaken off in the wind floated gently down, some landing on your gleaming hair before sliding off the silky strands.

You watched yourself walk back over to the bird’s nest and bury it in the fresh fallen gingko leaves. After taking a moment to honor the lost life, you stood, brushed the dirt from your knees and continued on. Bucky broke from his trance-like state and cleared his throat before walking in the direction you went in.

---

Seeing something in your peripheral vision, you turned to see the woman crouching to pick up a stray gingko leaf in the ash.

“One thing I’ve noticed amongst the ash,” she said in her light English accent before standing up and twirling the leaf slowly by the stem, “-is you.”

---

Bucky felt as if he was drifting through the actions. The jet was unbearably silent during the never-ending trip back to the compound. At some point Steve had put his hand on Bucky’s shoulder but he didn’t notice until it was gone. Endless possibilities were running through his head and yet he could not focus on a single one. It was agonizing.

When the jet landed, emergency medical staff, as well as Helen, met them on the runway. Helen relayed orders in Korean while her staff whisked her out of Bucky’s sight. He tried to follow after them, but Nat grabbed his arm and slowly shook her head no. When she spoke, her voice sounded more vulnerable than he had expected.

“Let them do their work.”

Bucky swallowed and looked over at Steve. Steve nodded in agreement and Bucky felt his shoulders drop.

“You need some rest, Buck. C’mon.” Steve said, patting him on the back and walking him to his lodging.

When Bucky closed the door behind him, he put his back against it and sank to the floor. He was exhausted. Everything had happened so fast, and he felt it to be overwhelming. He was starting to fixate on the stickiness of the blood and sweat, the exhaustion in his muscles. Taking a deep breath to center himself, he got up and walked to the bathroom, turning on the water to warm it up. He chucked his clothes directly into the washer before stepping under the warm water. He let it wash over him. He closed his eyes and moved so that the stream of water ran over his face.

In the darkness of his own mind, he relived holding you in his arms. Suddenly, the warm water felt like your blood against his skin and he snapped his eyes open, bracing himself with one hand against the wall, the other wiping his face off. He tried to slow down his breathing and counted the breaths, trying not to hyperventilate. Finally, calming down a little, he turned the hot water knob back to its original position, waiting for the water to reach freezing before quickly finishing the shower.

Dressing in a plain tee and sweats, he sat on his bed. No matter how firm the mattress was, he always ended up on the floor. He hadn’t chucked it for two reasons, the first being that he hardly had any possessions. The second reason was that you had come by once with a book you had mentioned.

---

Hearing the soft knock on his door, Bucky was hesitant to answer. The footsteps leading up to the door hadn’t been heavy enough to be Steve. He slowly walked over to the door and cracked the door open. It was you. You met his eyes and then lowered your gaze nervously, adjusting your grip on the book in your hand.

“Bucky? Hey, sorry to drop by unannounced. I just had that second book I was talking about. You finished the first one right?”

“Uh… Yeah I did. Come, on in.” He said, opening the door completely. He palmed through his hair nervously as you walked tentatively in.

“Sorry about the mess.”

“Oh, it’s no problem. Sorry for the intrusion.” You say, glancing around.

Your eyes brushed over the empty apartment. It was furnished with the standard set that it came with. Aside from a set of keys on the counter and a stray plum on the coffee table, there were no signs of life.

“I don’t think you can have a mess if you don’t have stuff to make a mess with.” You said bemused. Behind you Bucky chuckled nervously.

“Haha… Ah. Yeah.”

There was silence before you turned around.

“I’m sorry. This is weird. I should’ve just waited to give you the book at the next mission or something.” You apologized. Yet, you didn’t move.

Bucky backpedaled.

“Oh no, it’s not that. I’m sorry. I just don’t get a lot of… visitors.” He trailed off.

You met his gaze before your lip twitched upwards. A bubble of laughter escaped your mouth before he started chuckling as well. The tension was broken.

“Well, I’ll just leave this here.” You said, starting to leave the book on the coffee table.

“That’s fine. Uh, did you want the first one back?”

“There’s no rush-”

“I don’t mind. It’s just on my shelf.” He pointed down the hall. “I’ll grab it real quick.”

You watched as he walked down the short hall into his room. Still holding the book, you waited a moment before slowly following walking down the hall as well. When you peered into his room, you saw him standing in front of a bookshelf with several rows filled. You took a step inside.

“Ah, so this is where you keep your stuff. You might live here after all.” You joked.

Bucky chuckled as he moved aside to make room next to him for you in front of the shelf. He was still scanning the shelves for your book. You let your gaze drift across the titles, most of which were classics.

“Making up for lost time?” You asked, glancing up at the side of his face.

“Something like that.” He responded, bending down to check a lower shelf before pulling your book off of it.

He handed it to you, and you exchanged it for the new one.

“So,” you said, leaning against the side of his bed, “How did you like it?”

“I liked it.” He responded.

Bucky looked at you and saw your slight head tilt asking for more details. He cleared his throat and thought for a moment.

“Well… There was this one part that reminded me of the time I went with Steve to…” He started, sitting on the bed next to you. You hopped up next to him.

You listened to him as he retold his experience at the world fair. Going back and forth, your conversation flowed smoothly until it had gotten later than either of you had realized. At some point you had convinced him to read the first chapter of the second book.

“No pressure.” You said, flopping back so you were laying down across the bed, holding up your phone to scroll through the news to pass the time.

Bucky started reading the book, overly conscious of the fact that you were waiting on him. When he sent a quick glance your way though, you were nonchalantly scrolling. Eventually, he got absorbed into the chapter. Quite some time passed before he realized he was just reading the rest of the book. When that happened, he looked over at you.

You had dozed off waiting for him. At some point, you had taken your shoes off and grabbed the blanket he used off of the floor where he normally slept. You were curled up on your side, feet tucked away and mouth slightly open. Bucky stared for a few moments before closing the book and looking at his watch.

12:47 AM.

He blinked in surprise. You guys had talked for a while he guessed. Leaning over, he gently nudged you awake.

“Hey, I’m sorry. I got caught up reading. It’s almost 1 AM.”

You hummed groggily in response, rubbing your eye with one hand while pushing yourself up with the other. You squinted at the light of your phone as you checked it.

“It’s totally fine. I’m sorry I fell asleep. I am such a terrible guest.” You chuckled sleepily, standing up from the bed and picking up your shoes.

“Nah, you weren’t so bad.” Bucky joked.

You just smiled at him.

“Well, thanks for having me. I’ll get out of your hair now.” You said, shoes in hand as you walked started walking towards the door to his room.

He got up and followed you to the door. He held it open for you as you stepped out. Turning around you smiled sleepily at him.

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” He replied.

He watched as you walked down the hall in your socks. You reached your door and punched in the code to your apartment. Looking down the hall at him, you waved as you opened your door. He waved back and you smiled one more time before you disappeared into your room. Pausing a moment, he looked around to see if anyone saw you leaving his room so late. With nobody around, he was in the clear. He sighed in relief and closed the door, walking back to his room. He noticed the first book that you were supposed to take back sitting on his nightstand. He touched the cover gently, pausing a moment before picking the second book back up, starting right where he left off.

---

Bucky reached over to pull the book you had left off of his shelf. He ran his hands over the indents of the golden lettering in the leather-bound book. Opening it, he looked at the sticky note that you left inside the cover.

Here’s that book I was talking about. First edition. Enjoy! :)

While looking at the crooked smile you had drawn, a knock on his door interrupted his thoughts and he stalled a moment before getting up to answer it. Opening the door, he was met with Steve, freshly showered and holding a bottle of Buck’s favorite whiskey.

“Thought you might want some company.” He said with his classic side grin.

Bucky wordlessly moved from the doorway and let him in. Steve walked past and sat on the couch, setting the whiskey down on the coffee table. Grabbing two glasses from the kitchen, Bucky settled down next to him. Steve poured a healthy portion into one of the glasses, handing one over before sitting back with his own. Swishing the liquid in the glass, Steve breathed in the aroma before sipping on it. Bucky decided on downing the entire drink in one go.

“Woah slow down there, the night is young.” Steve joked.

“C’mon Stevie. You know it doesn’t do a thing.” Bucky said wistfully, examining the empty glass in his hands. “I wish it did.”

Steve scanned his eyes over Bucky’s expression before turning back to his drink. A beat passed as he sipped once more before speaking.

“You care for her.” More of a statement than a question.

Bucky paused before admitting it out loud for the first time.

“… Yeah.”

They sat in silence before Steve sat forward, resting one arm on his knee while using the other to grab the bottle.

“In that case, let’s get you another drink.”

---

The night inched by; The amber liquid slowly drainin from the bottle until the last of it was in their glasses. Wordless, yet comforting. The sky brightened as the first rays of the sun kissed the morning dew, turning the landscape a stunning orange. Steve’s mind wandered as he watched the sky change color. Many a morning, he watched the sun rise on a battlefield as if nothing had disturbed it the day before. It’s what sustained him through sickness, war, and losing Bucky. It sustained him through his sacrifice as he plunged into the sea. It sustained him when he learned that he woke up in a new era, missing his dance with his best girl.

Clearing his throat, he set down his empty glass.

“What’re you going to say when she wakes up?”

“You mean if she wakes up.” Bucky said, his focus still on the drink in his hand.

“You should tell her how you feel. Life is unpredictable, especially in our line of work. I’ve never seen you care so much for anyone, Buck. Not back then, and not since you came back. When she wakes up, and you get this second chance, tell her. She cares about you too. Be with her. Enjoy it. You deserve to be happy.” Steve said, ending his speech quietly as he tried to remember the shade of red Peggy’s lipstick was when he last saw her on that runway.

Bucky glanced at Steve from the side, feeling the regret that had emanated from his voice. He stayed silent a moment longer before nodding his head slightly.

“I will. Thanks Steve.” He replied, laying his hand on Steve’s shoulder.

“Always. ‘Til the end of the line, pal.”

“The end of the line.” Bucky echoed.

Steve’s phone chirped, breaking the solemnity. He reached into his pocket and checked the message on his home screen.

“Helen has an update. C’mon.” Steve said, as he stood up from the couch.

---

“This has been a particularly unique situation.” Helen stated, swiping her tablet screen to look at more information. Bucky and Steve stood in front of her, outside of the room they were keeping you in.

“We ran many tests, including an EEG, which shows massive amounts of brain activity, much more than normal. We also took some blood and saw that the cells are still… alive. We don’t know how since there is no pulse or heartbeat, but they’re still drawing energy from her. I’m not sure how great of an extent the serum has changed her body, but I think there’s still a chance she’ll wake up. Until then, we have her connected to machines that will continue to monitor her brain activity, as well as alert us when there’s a pulse.”

She then opened the room for them to see you. Bucky walked in slowly, taking in the sight of you. You were lying on the bed in a hospital gown. Attached to your head were the wires sensing your brain activity. The monitor above showed one set of waves that were constantly fluctuating. The other set of waves were flat, showing that the wires on your chest were not sensing anything. It was strange how still you were. No tell-tale rise and fall of your chest, no twitching or turning; Completely still. Bucky walked over to the bedside and touched your arm. He was surprised to feel the heat and softness against his fingertips.

“She’s still warm?” He asked without taking his eyes off of you.

“Yes. We can’t explain it.” Helen replied, hugging the clipboard to her chest as she watched him brush a piece of hair tenderly to the side of your face.

Suddenly, the waves on the screen fluctuated, setting off a light dinging. Bucky turned his head quickly to the screen and then back at Helen, alarm etched into his face. Helen walked over to reset the alarm, taking a moment to analyze the situation.

“It seems as if she’s registering your voice, Sergeant Barnes. Perhaps it would be of benefit if you visited and spoke to her often.” She said tactfully while adjusting one more setting on the screen.

Bucky said nothing in return, letting Helen return to the doorway.

“If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask.” She said, letting a moment pass before exiting the room.

Steve let a moment pass, watching Bucky as he pulled up a chair next to the bed.

“I’m gonna go grab you something to eat.” Steve said as he walked out of the room, closing the door gently behind him, leaving Bucky alone with you.

He sat in silence for a few moments before gently placing his hand atop yours, willing you to move, even just a centimeter, so he knew you were there.

Your body stayed as it was. Devoid of life.

---

“I don’t understand.” You replied to her, confused.

“It is rare enough to find someone with a pure, good heart. Add to that fact, the power that has been bestowed upon you. You have the capability to change to world. To heal it.” The mysterious woman said.

“There is a group of us, a few with similar attributes. We walk amongst the people, generation after generation. We guide humanity forward while protecting it from disasters greater than you could ever imagine. I believe that you could aid us in that work. I just hadn’t expected for us to meet so soon.”

She walked over to you and handed you the leaf she was holding, now turned to metal. You turned it over in your hand, feeling the energy coming off of it.

“I’m… extremely flattered. But there are plenty of other extremely good-hearted people out there. Steve, for example. Why me?”

“Ah, yes. Your friend Steve.” She said thoughtfully, now walking to the middle of the ashen clearing.

“Steve has a good heart. A very honorable man. But he lacks the discernment and the wisdom necessary to use these powers. He sees the world as black and white, when really things are endlessly grey. He lacks… perspective. To be in this role, you must understand that sometimes, you need to let things happen, even the bad ones, to protect the world at a larger scale. You, however, already have some of the power that comes with this role, and have used it in a worthy manner. I’ve seen some of the choices you’ve had to make. I’ve seen how you handle incredibly difficult decisions. Your mind is quick, your wit impressive, your heart pure. But perhaps most importantly of all, you possess the wisdom to use those attributes to help further humanity.”

“I see… but I don’t have all the powers that you seem to have.” You say hesitantly.

“It does not matter. I can bestow upon you the power, and I can show you how to turn this,” she says, gesturing to the few trees that you had revived.

“-into this.”

She raises her hands slowly, golden sigils forming around her arms. A blast of light and pressure made you step back and shield your eyes. The initial pulse over, you look around as the wind blew in a circle, lifting up the fallen gingko leaves into a storm. All of the charred remains of the land started slowly coming back to life. It grew back lush and healthy, returning the area to its natural glory. She waved her hand, causing a part of the ground next to a large boulder to collapse. She gently placed her hand on the rock, emitting more gold sigils before pulling away. As she moved back, water started flowing from where she had touched the rock, filling the ground, and creating a pond at its base.

You look around with wide eyes as you heard sounds of wildlife filling the area. You heard birds fly overhead as you watched a fawn come out from the bushes to take a drink from the pond. As you walked slowly closer, the woman gently placed her hand on the fawn’s back to keep it from getting spooked. Carefully reaching your hand out in offering, the fawn sniffed your hand before allowing you to softly scratch behind its ears. Looking down at the pond, several brightly colored fish swam amongst the lilies.

“You could help me do this and more.” She said, fondly petting the fawn. With her other hand, she manipulated the wind so that it fashioned your hair into a loose bun. She stepped closer to you, taking the metal leaf from your hand, and securing your hair with it. Slowly, you felt new power travel through your veins. You turned to look at her, slowly clenching your hands. As you opened them, water flowed from your palm, slipping through your fingers before falling onto the newly invigorated earth. A golden sigil was etched into your palm, glowing brightly. As you willed the water to stop, it trickled to a stop as the sigil disappeared. It was breathtaking. Eyes filled with wonderment, you looked up at her and met her eye.

“Teach me.”

The woman grinned before turning and walking away. You were about to start following her when you thought you felt something brush across your cheek. A familiar feeling. A whisper you could barely make out echoed through your head.

… still warm…

“Come.” She called behind her.

You snapped out of your daze and started walking again.

---

It’s been a little over a month since you had passed out in Bucky’s arms. At first, he refused to leave your side, even to sleep. Steve had convinced them to bring a cot into the room so Bucky could stop sleeping slumped over the bed in the chair. But after 2 weeks, Steve insisted that he go back to his room to sleep. Take some time for himself. They would let him know if anything happened.

Since then, Bucky had taken some time to reflect. He didn’t want to accept the worst possible outcome, but it seemed to be the only outcome. After the sun had set on the day that marked a month, he laid on his bed and sobbed, first angrily, then despairingly. You weren’t coming back to him.

The next day, he woke up numb. It ended up being the first day he didn’t visit you.

---

“Wow that’s amazing!” You shouted over the wind. You were currently with the woman atop a mountain. She had redirected an avalanche so that it missed the town at its base, and youhad helped.

She smiled. She had shown you several areas that she had helped before. First was a desert oasis that she kept from disappearing, and after that was a jungle in which you stopped a wildfire from killing off the last of an endangered monkey species. She turned and you followed her gaze. Suddenly, you were back at the pond you had started at.

“That was incredible. Thank you.” You said, breathless.

“I would be honored to help you with this work. How do I wake up and find you?”

“You don’t.” She said, her expression falling a bit.

You waited for her to explain.

“I wanted to show you everything you could accomplish before you made your decision. But unfortunately, to sustain this amount of power, you must take on a new form.”

You tilted your head slowly in confusion before you spoke.

“So, I’d have to leave my body for a new one?” You asked slowly.

“Essentially, yes. You would die, so to speak.” The woman said quietly before turning.

As you turned to follow her, you found yourself staring at your body hooked up to multiple machines. The woman walked around to the other side of the bed your body was on. Looking down affectionately at your sleeping form, she spoke:

“Your brain would stop emitting thought, and this form of yours would grow cold and die. But from it, your new form would be born. Ethereal, perfect, immortal.”

You swallowed thickly as you continued to stare at the monitor showing the last signs of life in your body,

“Okay, but would I be able to come back here in this new form?”

She paused thoughtfully.

“Theoretically, you’d have the capability to. But we could not allow it. To be able to walk amongst mortals in history, you must disappear from it first. When all of the lives you’ve touched have passed on, on then is when you may reappear alongside us. Until that time, you train with us in the shadows.”

“Oh.” You said, feeling impossibly small. “That’s… not unreasonable.”

“I wish not to lie to you. Normally, when we find someone we think worthy of this job, someone we want to walk alongside us in our journey, we meet their soul at death. And technically you have died. But a foreign power still lingers inside you. You may return to your old life if you wish. But the offer only stands once.”

“I see.” You said softly.

“I wish it were easier.” She said comfortingly.

“Me too. There were somethings here that I wanted to see through first.”

She gave you a knowing, sad smile.

“I suppose the biggest trial to gain this power is the sacrifice of leaving what you love behind. Yours is just beyond that door.” She said, nodding towards the door to the room.

“What?”

---

Six weeks since you had been gone. Two since he last saw you.

Not that Bucky was trying to keep track. He sat alone on his couch, staring at a blank tv. Nothing was playing. Not that it mattered. A knock on the door came through.

“Hey, Bucky, it’s me, Sam.” He half shouted through the door.

Bucky ignored him.

“I know you’re in there. You haven’t left.”

He groaned internally before responding to him from the couch.

“Did Steve send you? Go away.”

“I will not go away, now open this door.” Sam responded, jiggling the handle.

“No.” Bucky said, making no attempt to move.

“Fine then. But you made me do this.”

Bucky snapped his head towards the door as he heard Sam punch some numbers into the pin pad. It chirped before unlocking, Sam coming through the door.

“Hey, what’s your problem, man? Bucky said, coming face to face with Sam.

“Wasn’t a hard guess. Old people use the same password for everything. Shouldn’t have made it the same as your name on the Pacman machine leaderboard downstairs. You’ve been bumped down to second place by the way, curtesy of moi.” He said with flourish.

“What do you want, Sam?” Bucky asked annoyedly, sitting back down on the couch.

“You know why I’m here man.” He said, shoving his hands into his pockets before continuing:

“You gotta go see her.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because she’s not coming back!” Bucky shouted. He started getting up.

“Everyone keeps telling me to go see her, but she’s gone, Sam. Gone. Just ripped from my arms. And she died for me.She wasted her life on me of all things. I’m not gonna go just to stare at her body and replay the worst moments of my life, over and overagain. I can’t do it anymore.”

Bucky blinked and realized there were tears in his eyes. His face was flushed from shouting and his chest was heaving. Sam let a moment pass before he spoke.

“Look, I’m not here to tell you to keep seeing her so that magically she’ll wake up. I’ll level with you, there’s a chance she might not. If you believe she’s not coming back, I’m not judging you on that. I’m here to tell you that if you think that, you need to say goodbye. Get some closure. Scream, cry, whatever. But afterwards, you’ll feel better. I can’t stand watching you suffer like this, man. I’ve seen people at the VA fall apart and stay that way. I just don’t want you to end up like that.”

Bucky stared at him before letting out a noise that got caught in his throat. His legs felt weak, and he found himself sitting on the couch with his face in his hands, crying.

Sam quietly sat next to him and put his arm around him.

“It’s gonna be okay, Buck. It is.”

---

Some time after Sam had left and he had washed his face, Bucky made his way down the hall to your room. It was late and subsequently quiet. Stopping in front of the door to the room your body was lying in, he took a deep breath and opened the door.

---

You blinked as the door opened and Bucky walked through. He looked tired. His eyes were red and puffy: His facial hair was grown out more than normal. He looked… skinnier? Without taking your eyes off of him, you turned to your teacher.

“How long has it been?”

“Time moves much more quickly in the realm we’re in unless you are interacting with the one you came from. It’s been a little over a month in his time.” She answered.

“A month? Really?”

She nodded as you watched Bucky slowly walk over to the chair next to the bed. You sat on the bed with one leg folded under you, the other swinging off the edge of the bed. The woman did the same, though she kept her legs together, putting her hands together in her lap. You watched as Bucky picked up your hand, enclosing it in both of his own as he sat down. He took a deep breath before he spoke.

“You know, people keep telling me to not give up hope. But they don’t realize what it does to me to see you like this.” He started, voice scratchy and soft. It sounded like the whispers you thought you had been hearing around you while traveling with your teacher, only now that you were right by him, you could hear him clearly.

“I come in here, and I talk to you like they tell me to. I read you the books you lent me out loud. I watch the waves on the screen go nuts when I talk, and I feel that your skin is warm when I touch you. But without you replying, without you touching me back, it feels worse than any torture I’ve endured in my life.”

Tears spilled over onto your cheeks as you listened. The ache in your heart growing ever stronger.

“I wish I had gotten a chance to tell you that you made my life worth living. I was just going through the motions. Trying to make amends, trying to make up for everything I’ve done, and maybe then I’d have some peace. But I never expected to be happy. And now you’re gone. And I feel nothing. It’s worse than before I knew what being happy felt like. I’m not ready to go back. I’m not ready to lose you.”

“Please,” he whispered.

“Come back.”

He bowed his head, letting the tears drop onto the floor, clutching your hand so tightly, it surely would’ve hurt if you could feel it.

Tears still streaming, you turned to look at the woman. Time had slowed to a stop, seconds barely going by. She acknowledged you with a slight nod, letting a moment pass before asking:

“Which choice have you made, young one?”

You smiled, wiping the tears from your eyes one side at a time.

“I’m going to make the wrong decision. The selfish decision. I want to stay.” You said, happiness overflowing in your voice as more tears slip down your face.

“There is no wrong decision.” She said, placing your hand on your shoulder. Bowing her head lightly, she looked you in the eyes.

“Are you ready to go back?”

“Yes, thank you, uhm…”

“Sersi,”

“Sersi.” You repeated.

“Thank you for everything. This has been an incredible experience. I’ll remember this for the rest of my life.”

She smiled knowingly.

“When you need me, you’ll know where to find me.” She said, plucking the gingko leave out of your hair. Your hair fell out around your face as a white light grew ever brighter, soon blinding your vision.

---

Bucky raised his head at the sound of a foreign beeping in the room. Locating the source of the sound, he focused in on the red flashing on the screen.

Pulse 72

Pulse 72?

Pulse 72.

Bucky scrambled to press his fingers against your wrist. There it was.

Suddenly, your chest rose. He heard you take in an impossibly deep breath in and back out. He was stunned. While he was staring in disbelief, you turned your head slightly before opening your eyes.

“Bucky?”

He couldn’t do anything but hold you to him.

“Woah there, did you miss me?” You teased.

“Yes. So much.”

You pulled away from him and tilted your head, confused.

“Do I even want to know how long I was out?” You asked, ripping the stickies off of your head.

“Six weeks.”

“Six weeks!?”

“Do you remember anything that happened?” He asked, soaking in your voice.

“The last thing I remember is… the mountains.”

Bucky sat in silence a moment before he grabbed your hand.

“When you were gone, it made my life feel like it was over. I couldn’t stand it. It felt like I had nothing, all over again. You and I have grown really close and I just wanted you to hear all of that now that I have a second chance. I want to be by your side, through thick and thin, if you’ll have me.” He asked, gripping your hand tighter.

You stared into his eyes, the light reflecting the frosty color of his irises brilliantly. You leaned over to kiss him, and he met you halfway. Light and chaste, you pull back and rest your forehead on his.

“Of course I will, Buck. Always.”

---6 Months Later---

You trekked through the tall grass, smelling the coast and nearby sea.

“Just a little farther.” You called back to Bucky.

“I feel like you’ve said that several times now.” He joked, shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun and the bite of the wind.

You turned around, stopping in your tracks.

“Haha, very funny. But seriously, I think it’s at top of this cliff,” you said, peering up at the ledge several feet above you.

He caught up to where you were, placing a quick kiss to your nose before bracing his back against the wall and interlocking his hands.

“C’mon, I’ll give you a boost.”

You stepped into his hand and jumped up, using the extra momentum to catch the edge. Pulling yourself up, you turned around, stomach to the ground, extending your hand to him. He grunted as he climbed partway up, grabbing your hand when the soil turned sandy halfway, leaving no holds for him to grab onto.

Pulling him up, you both sit for a moment, catching your breath and taking in the view.

“So,” he started. “Is it anything like you remembered?”

“Yeah. I think. It’s kind of hazy. But I think I dreamed about this place a lot while I was out. I felt like it was an itch that I couldn’t scratch unless I came here to check it out for myself.” You said, resting back onto your hands.

“Well, let’s scratch your itch.”

Bucky got up and dusted his pants off before offering you his hand. You accepted and pulled yourself up, steadying yourself before walking through the trees into the coming clearing.

When you reached it, it felt eerily familiar. The arrangement of the trees, the water running into the pond, even the arrangement of the moss. It was like peering at your dream through a pair of glasses; It was much clearer now.

“Wow. This place has really recovered since the last time we’ve been here,” Bucky said as he watched the gingko leaves fall around him.

You walked over to the pond and crouched, washing the fish swim between the lilies. You had a nagging feeling that something else was missing from the scene. You eyed a glint in the water while responding back to him.

“Yeah, it has. I think this is how it looked in my dream.”

Bucky walked over to you, and you looked up at him lovingly. Standing up, you wrap your arms around his neck.

“I’m sorry I dragged you to the other side of the globe just to come here.”

“Hey hey hey, it’s alright,” he said, putting his hands on your waist. “Who says we won’t be touring other parts of Japan while we’re here? Besides, this is where we had our first mission. It’s like coming back to a first date spot.” He said with a grin.

You couldn’t help but smile.

“I love you.”

He blinked, before smiling wider.

“I love you too.” He replied, wrapping his arms around you to pull you close to him, kissing you deeply.

---

From further up in the air, Sersi watched from the concealed airship, a man walking up to join her at the window.

“Still think she made the right decision?” He said, holding his hands behind his back.

“Come now, Ikaris. If I had had you before this life, would you be happy at the thought of me giving you up?”

“Of course not. But you didn’t have me before, you have me now.”

“Yes, yes.” She said, smiling as she brushed him off.

“Besides,” she continued. “I don’t think I could’ve offered her anything else. Once I saw how she looked at him, I knew it was only a matter of time.”

Smiling wistfully, she flicked her finger, sending a breeze through the landing where you were.

---

The ginkgo leaves fluttered onto your faces, making you both laugh as you separated to brush them off.

“Come on,” you said, grabbing his hand and leading the way. “Let’s go see the coast.”

He smiled, looking at you with adoration, and followed you out from the clearing to wherever you would walk from then on. A ray of light shined through the trees onto the pond, the glint of the golden ginkgo leaf sparkling out from under the rocks at the bottom.

[rattyoakenbitch]

youtubers: “don’t touch her” ₊˚ ⸝  corpse husband x reader

❝i don't wanna think about, think about you. drink up, drink up i'm so fucked up, all i want is you.❞

gif credit: n/a song: lykke li - sex money feelings die

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

pairings: corpse husband x reader

warnings: angst, cursing, drinking, smoking, violent language, and minor mentions of anxiety.

summary: i can’t make summaries rn hhh just read it (:

“Sean, there is no way in hell I’m going!”

“Oh, come on, Y/N. It’ll be fun!”

“That’s what you always say!”

“Ugh, you and Corpse are so stubborn. At least I was able to convince him to show up! You know what you need? To get out of the house more often and come hang with us.”

“Uh huh, yeah, y’all have fun, I got some stuff to finish.”

“Yeah? Like what? Your ten hour nap?”

“HEY! Excuse me -”

“7PM, [club address], you’re showing up.”

“Sean - !”

With that, Sean hung up. You let out an exasperated huff, crossing your arms and pouting like a toddler who was just denied a toy. You were invited, or more accurrately forced to celebrate whatever the hell Sean and his friends achieved. With lives like theirs, it seemed like there was always something to celebrate. 

You, on the other hand.. Well, you were just little old you. You met Sean by mere chance. It’s a very long story, but you shared some things in common, like your love for video games. However, that was about the only thing you could relate to with Sean and his little friend circle. You were more passionate about writing, as well as reading short horror stories. 

Now, that’s where you clicked with Corpse Husband. 

He was an underrated YouTuber, whose main uploads were narration videos on creepypastas and horror stories. That’s until he blew up with his Among Us gameplays, collaborating with big names like PewDiePie, Jacksepticeye, and CrankGamePlays (EEF!!!).

You met over an Among Us stream with said YouTubers and immediately hit it off. You shared a dark sense of humor, love for horror, and music. You knew of Corpse before, but only then did you discover that he produced music, which you absolutely enjoyed (and blasted in your house for days on end).

When you found out you lived not even twenty minutes away from each other, you’d occasionally meet up, mostly at his house considering he only went out once in a blue moon. You’d sometimes even spend the night at his place, staying up late, gazing up at the stars, getting deep into conversation and opening up about things you never blurted out to people. But when you were with Corpse, everything just came naturally. You felt safe with him, and hopefully, he felt the same. 

Night approached, the clock striking 5PM. You figured you’d get ready since Sean was dead set on you coming to the party. You showered, did a minimalist glossy makeup look, and chose an outfit, which consisted of a half neon green and black skirt that stopped mid thigh, and an oversized distressed band tee which you tucked into your belt. You slipped on a pair of ripped, striped thigh-highs with mismatched colors, (white stripes on one and neon blue on the other), and your platform boots that made you look like a Bratz Doll. You didn’t bother with your tangled hair. You teased it with a brush but didn’t put any effort into styling it, since it’d get messy anyways. To finish your look, you clipped on a choker and dangled a couple of layered chains around your neck.

Corpse would tease you, saying you had a “dog collar”, but you knew he secretly liked it.

All dolled up and ready to go, you hopped into your car and followed the GPS to the address Sean sent you. Drunk couples stumbled out of the club, dates headed inside, and old wasted guys were thrown out. Oh boy, you were not ready for this.

You were the anxious, anti social type. Not because it was edgy or cool, but you simply didn’t know how to handle social situations. However, it comforted you to know Corpse would be there by your side so you didn’t need to chat and flirt with strangers. 

It’s not like you wanted to meet anybody new, anyways. Though nobody was aware of it, you had feelings for Corpse. Cliche, right? You knew you shouldn’t have, but you developed feelings for him. It made you feel strange and weird, considering you haven’t caught feelings in a while.

You came up with the bright idea of slowly drifting away from Corpse to maybe help de-escalate these feelings, but you were going to run into him at the club, so what the heck.

You headed inside, your eyes scanning the crowd and pushing through, searching for your friend group. You spent a couple minutes cluelessly looking around the club, but to no avail. Then, it was as if a light bulb clicked on over your head; you never thought to phone Sean.

“Ugh, I’m so stupid.” You reached into your purse to get ahold of your phone when a pair of strong, manly hands and cold metal which you assumed to be rings wrapped around your shoulders, gripping you tightly. 

“Boo!” 

You felt your heart stop and ran out of the man’s grasp, spinning around to look at who it was.

“Oh, did I scare you?” 

The man’s deep, monotone voice rumbled above the sound of the music and shouts. Then you recognized that unique and distinctive voice. 

“Corpse!! What the hell?”

His nose and jaw was covered by a black mask, with a print that looked like Frank from Donnie Darko, which was also Corpse’s signature look, seen in his channel art. 

Despite Corpse being a faceless YouTuber, only very few people have seen his face, including you and Glam&Gore who he featured in his narration videos. You thought he was very handsome, his baritone voice matching his appearance. You had to admit, you were a little disappointed he chose to wear a mask. You loved seeing his facial expressions, especially his precious smile that would light up the room when he’d let out little fits of laughter. But you got over it and respected the fact that he wanted to remain anonymous.

“You dickhead,” you scoffed, smacking Corpse lightly on the shoulder. Corpse towered over you, looking admittedly both intimidating and seductive. If you were a stranger, you’d probably be running off, but you weren’t scared of Corpse. He was a big softie and a teddy bear.

Corpse chuckled lowly, slinging his arm over your shoulder and leading you to Sean’s group. He was protective like that, even if you were just friends. Now you could see why Sean, at one point, speculated that you and Corpse had a thing going on. 

“So, Sean forced you to tag along, too?”

“Pfft, yeah, that’s Sean for you.”

“Hey, there’s my favorite couple,” Sean joked, patting your shoulder. You rolled your eyes at his drunk antics.

“Shut up, don’t make me choke you like I hate you,” you mocked in return, eliciting a fit of laughter from the group. 

“Remind me to never hang out with you losers again,” Corpse mumbled sarcastically under his breath.

The night went by in a flash. Sean, Thomas, Felix, and everyone else was blackout drunk. Luckily, Mark was there to assist them. Since Mark couldn’t drink, he would be the designated driver that night. Corpse hung out by himself, sometimes getting approached by women who he politely turned down.

You, on the other hand, were downing alcohol like your life depended on it. For you, it would take more than the average number of drinks for you to get wasted.

“Y/N, don’t you think you should slow down?” Corpse questioned cautiously, resting a hand on the small of your back.

“Does it really look like I’m thinking right now?” you drunkenly slurred, following with a giggle. You waved to the bartender, calling for another shot, which he slid over to you, but not without hesitating after noticing your state. You pushed Corpse off of you, probably more harshly than you intended, and took the shot. 

“Okay, Y/N, fuck this, I’m taking you to my place. We can’t stay here and you certainly can’t drive back home when you’re drunk,” Corpse scowled, stepping closer to you. Again, you shoved him back.

“No.. No..” You sighed, holding your pounding head in your hand. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what? Y/N, you’re drunk -”

“I’m not letting you of all people take me.”

Corpse blinked. “What does that mean?” He knew you were drunk, of course, and you were probably just blurting nonsense.

All of a sudden, tears escaped your eyes, racing down your blushy cheeks.

“No.. I’m so sorry. It’s my fault.” You began to shake and tremble as tears started to uncontrollably spill down your face. Corpse didn’t waste another second to take you in his arms, hushing you. “Your hugs are so warm.. I hate it. I hate feeling this way. It’s all my fault.”

“What did you do, sweetheart? You can tell me.”

Your heart ached when you heard his pet name for you.

“I think I may like you more than you like me.. I-I didn’t mean to! Please don’t leave me. You’re all I have,” you sobbed into his white tee, clinging onto him. “I love you so fucking much, it hurts. I shouldn’t have!”

Corpse stopped for a moment, processing your words.

You.. felt the same?

Corpse had to tell you. You were drunk, but he needed you to know. 

“Y/N, I -”

Suddenly, you had a moment of clarity. Realizing how close you were to Corpse, you backed away, wiping away the mascara tears under your eyes.

“I - I think I had too much to drink.. I just need a smoke..” 

Without giving Corpse the chance to protest, you ran off into the crowd, struggling your way through. 

Corpse began to get worried when you didn’t come back. He waited impatiently on the barstool where you left him, anxiously playing with his rings.

He was just about to get up and look for you, when he caught a glimpse of you stumbling out the exit with another man who guided you, gripping your arm tightly.

Corpse fumed, his face going red and heartbeat speeding up. He went after you, knowing damn well you didn’t know this man. 

The man took you to his car, placing you atop the trunk, your legs dangling over the edge. He stepped in between your legs, caressing your face. Everything was a blur. If your mind was clear, you wouldn’t be stupid enough to trust this random guy, who was probably ten years older than you. 

“You’re too pretty to be crying,” he whispered, leaning in closer to your face, until a yell stopped him from proceeding any further.

“Hey, asshole, she’s drunk! Don’t you fucking touch her!”

“C-Corpse?” You hiccuped, hopping off the trunk to get a look at the approaching figure. It was indeed Corpse. His eyebrows were pressed together angrily at the sight.

“You know this dude?” the man said loudly and smugly, just to get a reaction from Corpse. “Relax, my man, I’m just tryna take this pretty girl home.”

“Well this pretty girl happens to be mine, and I won’t let you take advantage of her,” Corpse growled. 

You stood by the stranger, clinging to him as you watched Corpse’s face twist into an expression of heartbreak when you didn’t budge. He then noticed the bruises around your arms and wrist, supposedly from the man’s strong grip. He was unbelievably furious. 

“Ha, doesn’t look like she’s your girl anymore.” The man’s lips twisted upwards into a devilish smirk, only pissing Corpse off some more. Oh boy, was he ready to snap. He reached into his pocket, when..

“Wait,” you managed to slur out, breaking up the argument. You reached out towards Corpse like a child. His facial expression immediately softened. He gave you a loving smile and immediately took you into his arms, holding you protectively. 

“Now, I suggest you get in your car and never come back,” Corpse threatened.

“Oh, yeah? Or what? I’ll kill you and take your girl, you motherfucker!”

Without hesitation, Corpse took out his switchblade, looking the man in his eyes.

“Say that again?”

You watched as the stranger’s whole tough act fell apart. Without another word, he ran to the driver’s side of his car, fumbling with his keys. 

“Yeah, that’s right,” Corpse mumbled, not taking his eyes off the man until he reached his own car. You held his hand the whole way, processing what had just happened. Corpse noticed your distant expression. You got into his car, shutting the door and slumping back into your seat. He tore off his mask, taking in deep breaths to calm himself. Then he looked back to you. 

“Princess?”

You looked to Corpse, your eyes teary. “Hey, Corpse.” You didn’t seem to be as drunk, your mind a lot clearer after the incident. “D-Did you mean anything you said back there? About the..”

“About you being my girl?” 

Corpse took your hand in his, squeezing it comfortingly. He leaned forward and cupped your face with his free hand. “Absolutely.” 

With that, you leaned towards him, hesitantly pressing your lips to his. Your lips tasted of alcohol, but Corpse didn’t care. He was admittedly taken back, his breath hitching, but he released the tension from his body and kissed you back, pulling you over to the driver’s seat atop him. There wasn’t much space, forcing you to press closer to Corpse, deepening the kiss. 

Still being a bit drunk, you were clumsy and kind of ‘out of it’. 

“I’d hold onto something if I were you,” Corpse mumbled, breaking the kiss momentarily to guide your hands to grip his shoulders. But you were impatient and reconnected your lips with his, no doubt causing him to blush even more than he already was.

You couldn’t help yourself and giggled into the kiss, causing Corpse to chuckle along with you, departing from the kiss again and resting his forehead against yours.

“I’m sorry, you’re just so fucking adorable when you giggle.” 

You hummed in response, offering Corpse an innocent grin as you pecked all over his face. 

“I’m so glad you’re mine.”

[whileyoursleeping]

Here

Hello all, I wrote a lil oneshot post-canon for the season 4 finale. Shameless fluff. You’ve been warned. This has also been posted on AO3 - link HERE: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31520699

TW: Mentions of the shooting; mentions of PTSD.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Buck wears socks to bed.

It’s disturbing in a way. Eddie doesn’t know anyone above the age of ten who still wears socks to bed – except, apparently, Buck.

Buck is also still sleeping on his couch.

Eddie’s been home for a week. He’s mastered the on-off motion of his sling for the shower, he’s sleeping okay – as okay as anyone can while being literally fucking shot for no good reason, and not even in Afghanistan, at that – and he’s not in significant amounts of pain, anymore. The meds have taken care of that, and he’s taking them dutifully, because he might not like them but Chris needs him. Chris needs him more a little stoned than he does bedridden from pain.

But it’s been a week, and Buck is still sleeping on his couch.

It’s not even comfortable. Buck’s not small enough to fit on there without cramping up. And Eddie just – kind of hasn’t told him to go home, and Buck just kind of isn’t going home, he’s more or less just ferrying his things back and forth between Eddie’s coffee table and his own apartment, studiously avoiding eye contact each time, as if Eddie is going to catch his eye and say – well, say what? “Go home? Thanks for taking care of my son and carrying my lifeless body to the fire truck and risking your fucking neck again to save my life and keeping a vigil – but go home?” Not fucking likely.

So he’s sleeping on Eddie’s couch. And Eddie’s not sure how to approach it – or if he even wants to approach it. Buck was scared. He said as much, and other people said as much, and Eddie remembers Buck picking him up and putting him in the ambulance. Fire truck? He doesn’t remember the details, he just – remembers Buck picking him up.

If he’s honest with himself – and he’s trying to be after that whole “follow your own heart” crap Carla pulled on him – he doesn’t particularly want Buck to leave. Buck saved his life, and Eddie feels weirdly safer with him here. It’s nice to have him around in the mornings – even if he looks tired. Even if Eddie’s couch has not been useable as a couch in over a week now.

He wanders into the living room that morning to find that Buck is already rubbing his eyes, sleepily, looking totally worn out and like he’d like to go back to sleep, but can’t. He sits when he hears Eddie enter – a dog standing at attention.

“Okay?” he checks worriedly.

Eddie smiles drowsily. “You know the pain meds keep me pleasantly high almost all day, right?”

“Yeah.” Buck doesn’t look soothed. “But you’re okay?”

“Yeah, Buck. I’m okay.” Eddie pats his shoulder on the way past, yawning. “Breakfast?”

“I’ll make pancakes.”

~*~

Buck is exhausted.

Eddie knows this because Eddie wakes up a lot at night and goes wandering. He does this because despite the pain pills, he’s just not moving enough to be tired, and his normal army sleep schedule never really left him. He’s like a fucked-up, traumatised meerkat – awake every two to three hours, patrolling the perimeter, looking for enemies.

Just so happens that his perimeter is the length of his hallway between Chris’s room and the couch, where Buck is decidedly not resting peacefully. His enemy, at the moment? The Roomba. Chris has stuck several dozen googly eyes to it and, at one point, had armed it with a butter knife. It’s mildly terrifying. Butter-knife-less at the moment – but terrifying. Eddie squints at it as he moves towards the kitchen.

(“Because it’s funny, Dad,” he’d giggled. “Maybe it’ll make Buck laugh.”

Buck had laughed, but in a strained, I’m-so-tired-I-want-to-cry kind of way. Eddie’s dreading coming off his pain pills for the pure fact that it’ll probably be him next. PTSD is a bitch.)

He was going to get water, but that requires moving through the living room. Buck is crashed out on the couch – his duffel is spilling over on the floor, his phone facedown on the coffee table. Eddie can see him relatively well with the street lights and moon lighting up the smallish living room – he doesn’t look like he’s sleeping peacefully. In fact, even as Eddie watches, Buck twitches.

He goes ramrod still, abruptly not thinking about his heavily-armed Roomba or meerkat analogies. He is suddenly, painfully, sober – the pain pills feel burned out of him as he watches Buck twist, his fingers twitching and then curling into the duvet, face scrunched.

A nightmare. Buck is having a nightmare. Eddie’s not high anymore. The pills are no longer filling his head with cotton and fuzz – every single sense feels alight like it hasn’t in two weeks, tuned in to Buck, struggling, on the couch.

What’s he supposed to do? What can he do?

He watches, alarmed, as Buck gasps and jerks – his stupid socked feet flail and kick into the arm of the couch, and the duvet goes flying back. Buck’s upright, at least semi-upright, on one elbow, panting and scrabbling against the thin, shitty mattress – for what? Purchase? A hand to hold? A memory to cling to, something to soothe him through the remainder of the night?

The room’s quiet. Eddie’s frozen, unsure of what to do. Is this what it was like after the tsunami?

After a moment, Buck makes a sound – a whimper, or a cry, or some awful hybrid of the two – and collapses back, rolls onto his side, away from the TV, and curls up, not bothering to adjust the duvet. His feet – he’s wearing white socks tonight – flex, toes clenching.

Buck drags the corner of the duvet up over his face. The next noise he makes is very clearly a quiet sob and Eddie – oh, he cannot stand this. He’s not going to watch it any longer.

It’s not like he doesn’t know Buck hasn’t been sleeping, at least not well. He did the first night – eleven hours, actually – but every night after that has been plagued with nightmares. He’s heard Buck rustling around or pacing and watched him try to put on a brave face every morning at breakfast, and he can’t do it anymore.

His feet cross the floorboards. He sits on the edge of the couch – Buck flinches – and puts his free hand on Buck’s shoulder, rubs gently.

Buck sniffles. He doesn’t move for a long time, keeps the duvet up over his face. He doesn’t make any more noises, but his shoulders shake, and Eddie remembers – I kinda lost it when I told him you got shot. I’m sorry, I should’ve held it together.

Eddie wonders when anyone reasonably expected Buck to hold it together.

Buck moves suddenly – his fingers grip at Eddie’s, and they’re shaking. He holds on and – well, if Buck wants to hold hands, it’s not like they haven’t done it before. Eddie held his hand for an hour or more while they were getting him out from under the ladder truck two years ago. Eddie’s happy to hold his hand.

He doesn’t know how to help. Buck’s still sniffling, his face angled away from Eddie’s. He’s happy to take the comfort, but not happy to let Eddie know he’s crying, apparently.

They sit like that for a while. Eddie’s helpless and almost angry for it. It’s not like he hasn’t suffered – he has. It’s going to take therapy, physical and mental, to get past this. But Buck – Buck watched it happen. Watched him almost die. Buck’s not stoned and he wasn’t shot and there’s no buffer between him and the memories. For the first time, Eddie is angry at the team – how has no one noticed? How has no one cared?

Buck drags a hand across his eyes. “Sorry,” he whispers, his voice cracking. “Bet you’re sick of me crying.”

“What?” Eddie asks. “No, I – I am, but not for the reason you’re thinking.”

Buck nods into the pillow. His legs flex – he has to be cold; the air is definitely cool and Buck hates cold weather with a passion. He’s wearing socks and boxers and a hoodie and all of that thoroughly confuses Eddie – he wants to arrange the duvet properly but he can’t with Buck clinging to his hand. That’s fine too.

He thinks about it for a moment. Problem – Buck is sad; Buck is scared. Buck is clearly traumatised. Nobody appears to have addressed that last one.

Solution. Well, Chris seems to help a lot. But Chris is asleep, and Eddie can’t really properly address the trauma thing.

But he can maybe make Buck feel less alone.

He removes his hand from Buck’s shoulder, clumsily adjusts the duvet, and then climbs under it, adjusting until his side is pressed to Buck’s back and he can feel Buck trembling horribly against him. His legs twitch; his socks brush Eddie’s bare feet.

“Why do you wear socks to bed?” Eddie asks.

There’s a long pause. Then, “That’s what you want to know?”

“Sure.”

“I�� don’t know?”

Eddie makes a face at the ceiling. Buck hasn’t rolled over. “You don’t know?” he asks dubiously. “Are your feet cold?”

“Not particularly.”

“Do you wear socks to bed in summer?”

“I… sort of do it all year round – Eddie, what’re you doing?”

He doesn’t know, truthfully, beyond trying to cheer Buck up. Although, maybe he just – needs to cry? Sometimes when Chris is upset he just needs to cry. No solutions, just… comfort.

He pushes against Buck’s back more, and, because he can’t reach Buck’s hands like this, links their ankles together. Buck shifts – but only to stop the knobs of their bones rubbing uncomfortably. He sighs, shakily, but when breath finally leaves his lungs entirely, he almost feels steadier.

“Thanks, Eddie,” he whispers.

~*~

Buck rolls during the night, a soft breath leaving him. Eddie’s only aware of it because it ghosts across his throat – Buck’s rolled towards him.

The mattress shifts. Buck is deliciously warm against Eddie’s side – his socked feet brush against Eddie’s shins, a few times, almost deliberately. Buck sighs again, settles.

The air goes still. Eddie can smell something new and different, faintly – the couch bed smells like Buck, like the woody, fresh scent of his aftershave and a little spicy and like Buck’s own shampoo. There’s something indefinable about it – something that’s just how Buck smells.

Eddie yawns. His jaw cracks. His shoulder, at the moment, doesn’t hurt, even when he shifts and looks for Buck’s hand, clumsily – he finds it, pulls it up until he can link their fingers together and rest their joined palms on his own belly. He squeezes. Are you there?

A second passes before Buck squeezes back. His palms are rough and hot and his thumb nervous where it brushes Eddie’s knuckles.

Yes. I’m here.

Eddie yawns. He goes back to sleep.

~*~

The sunlight punching through the living room window wakes him up.

He blinks. He’s on his back still – his feet are cold. When he turns his head to the side, the first thing he sees is Buck’s face – buried somewhere in the vicinity of Eddie’s shoulder, eyes closed, mouth slightly open.

He’s drooling. It’s a little cute. Eddie raises his head – his shoulder twinges unhappily – and looks to the end of the couch.

Yep. Buck’s still wearing socks. His legs are curled up, almost like he’s trying to keep warm, and he’s more or less pressed to Eddie’s side, but not quite on top of him.

Eddie’s struck with the sudden though that if his shoulder wasn’t injured, he’d roll over – put an arm over Buck and let Buck hide as long as he needed to. He can’t do that right now, and the impulse is frightening if only because it doesn’t come from the so-called brotherly love he’s continued to tell himself is what he feels for Buck.

It’s not so frightening he can’t deal with it though. Quietly. And he might not be able to hug Buck right now – but Buck slept through till morning, the first time in more than a week in all likelihood. He even looks peaceful.

If Eddie does pursue this – whatever this is, this little, fledgling, hopeful thing in his chest – he can only hope that Buck reciprocates. It’ll take time, of course. Plenty of it. But – Buck is already Chris’s other parent in the ways that matter and he’s kept bedside vigils and they slept here, last night, holding hands for the majority of it. Is there a lot left to think about? Eddie doesn’t think so.

He raises his head again. Looks down.

Except those socks, maybe. He’s not sure he’ll ever get used to that.

[midearthwritings]

Angels Standing Guard

You must go, but you are not alone.

Words Count : 1,447

Pairing : Durins & Reader, Slight Fíli x Reader, Slight Kíli x Tauriel

Warning : Canonical Character Death

Author’s Note : Took me so long to finally decide this was worth writing but yeah, here it is now. Inspired by the song 13 Angels Standing Guard ‘Round The Side of your Bed.

  On the cold hard ground lies the body that used to be yours, and you can only watch as delicate snowflakes find their way into your mane. Strands of hair dance in the wind, but you cannot feel it, not anymore. Never again will you be able to enjoy the spring breeze caressing your skin softly, nor the harsh bite of winter.

With a quiet sigh, you stare at the face that once reflected happiness, life. It is now livid, marked by Death. Your eyes are wide open, clouded with the fear that had struck you as your enemy’s blade had dug its way into your chest.

Covering the still fresh wound, the corpse’s clothes are stained with blood. Silently, you watch as it flows, spreading beneath you to form a crimson halo. And when you step forward, the thick liquid remains unmoving, as if you aren’t there. 

Further away, the battle is still raging. Warriors jumping at each other’s throats, fighting for their people. Swords crash against shields, pierce through exposed body parts to touch vital organs. Yet, you cannot hear any of it. The dark chanting of war does not reach your ears. Although, it is not invisible and if only you raised your head, you would be able to see. But you cannot bring yourself to look, your eyes fixated on your lifeless body.

Plunged in deafening silence, the quiet steps coming closer to you from behind don’t go unnoticed. The sound of his feet hitting the ground is engraved in your mind, but it is his own body, discarded further down, that gives him away.

When his arm circles your waist, you do not flinch, letting your head fall onto his shoulder. The brush of his soul against yours is intense, more even than the passionate kisses you had exchanged before meeting your Fate.

“We will not wake.” At your words, his grip tightens slightly, bringing you closer to him. It is not a question, for you both know the answer. Yet, he shakes his head.

You wish to cry, but the tears do not come. They stayed on the other side, a privilege granted only to the living.

“Not this time, Âzyungel.” The prince whispers, keeping his voice low as if he did not want anybody else to hear. It is useless because nobody will ever be able to hear either of you again. 

“I do not know if I should grieve our death, or celebrate that I won’t have to live without you.” You admit, pulling back from his embrace to face him. Even now, Fíli looks divine. Despite the situation, you smile. Your heart cannot beat anymore, but your love for him has not faded. It is still deep and true, stronger than when you had met. 

“Do not say such things.” He scolds, but his eyes mirror yours and you can see that he loves you as much as you do. How unfortunate are you, for your time together might come to an abrupt end. “Let’s get somewhere else. I can only look at your dead body for so long.”

Again, your eyes fall to your lover’s corpse. He, too, has been abandoned, forgotten. You cannot help but wonder if someone will find the bodies, or if they will remain here until time decides to feast on them.

With a nod, you take his hand in yours, entwining your fingers, your souls. Glancing one last time at who you used to be, you let Fíli drag you away.

Once dead, time seems different. It passes so slowly, yet so fast at the same time. You have no idea how long you and Fíli have been wandering. You have no idea why you are still there. Are you condemned to walk the Earth aimlessly until its end? 

As you silently question the Gods and their ways, a desperate call breaks the silence. Perhaps this is why you have not left yet. 

With each step you take, the shape of your friend becomes clearer, more detailed. He is not alone. There is the lovely red-haired elf that had saved him, back in Laketown, postponing what could not be avoided. On the other side, she holds him tightly as if he might vanish. Tears run down her soft cheeks, mixing up with the blood. Hers, or his, you do not know. 

Stuck here, with you, Kíli calls her name. He calls, louder and louder, in vain. She will not hear him, nor will she even know he is by her side. Poor Kíli. Young lovers, beautifully crafted for one another, cursed to never be together. Fate is cruel, merciless, and not even the purest thing such as love would be able to defeat it.

Next to you, Fíli steps forward. Before he can move any further, you grab his wrist.

“Not yet.” You say softly, answering the unspoken question. “Give him time. It is the last time he sees her. The last time he can be with her.”

Humming approvingly, the ghost of your prince backs off, his eyes lingering on his mourning brother.

As Tauriel gently presses her lips to his, you look away. It is privacy you do not wish to invade, tenderness that is not for your eyes to see. Perhaps you are just selfish and do not want to feel their pain during your last moments.

“I cannot help feeling guilty,” Fíli says. You turn your head and his eyes meet yours. Their color is deeper, enchanting. Why must people die to catch a glimpse of true beauty? “If he had survived, and I still died, he would have had been the new Crown Prince.”

“Wouldn’t have it been a blessing?” It wouldn’t have been, you know it. Bearing the weight of being a future King, Fíli was sparing his brother.

“There is no need to keep discussing the matter.” Getting behind him, you wrap your arms around his waist and rest your chin on his shoulder. His younger brother falls to his knees, desperately trying to touch her, to make her notice him. “It is the end.”

Three ghosts, waiting to be freed from their burden. Still stuck in this world, forced to bow to the Gods’ will. Three ghosts, eyes fixated on their dying leader. Three ghosts who soon will be four.

The orcs had sworn to end the line of Durin and kept to his promise. One by one, he had slain them. First, it had been your Fíli. You could still feel the excruciating pain of having to watch your lover falling before crashing onto the ground. Thankfully, you had not had to watch his brother die as well. But seeing him so hurt, so vulnerable, had been almost as painful. And finally, he had gotten to Thorin. He had made him suffer the death of his kin before erasing him from the Earth.

Never had you thought the death bed of your King would be the snow-covered ground.

“Children.” The baritone voice coming from behind makes you all stand up. Finally, you are reunited. It is his nephews who go to him first.

He embraces them tightly. His love for them is great, and his face is contorted with guilt for he is the one who put them to Death. You stay back, watching them from afar. How beautiful they look together. They were one another’s strength, each other’s reason to fight. 

“Now, do not stay so far. Come.” The King addresses you, opening his arms. Unsure, you step forward and join them. Thorin welcomes you as his family, and if your heart was still able to beat, if you could still feel everything as you did before, it would probably swell with happiness. 

   Only now do you realize that you start to feel lighter as if you were floating. It is time. The four of you will leave to never return. People will remember your names, tell tales of your courage and how you battled. Children will think of you as heroes, longing to live the same adventures.

A hand slips gently into yours, barely there but reassuring. There is no certainty that you will find each other again, this could be your last time together. Closing your eyes, you think of all the things you will never see again. Of the sunrise and the sea, of the birds building their homes in the privacy of trees. You think of home, of those you were not able to say goodbye to.

Four ghosts, walking to eternal rest together. If they are scared, they do not show it. It is a cycle no one can escape from. One last time, you look back.

[sfb123]

The Final Goodbye - Chapter 4 (Finale)

Book: The Royal Romance, Book 2

Pairing: Liam x Riley

All characters belong to Pixelberry.

Description: In a slight canon divergence from book 2, Riley reaches her breaking point with the engagement tour and decides to restart her life when the court gets to NYC. Can the rest of the group clear her name, and convince her to come back before it’s too late?

Catch Up Here

Rating: PG (I think there are a few swear words in there, very angsty, but otherwise pretty mild)

Word Count: 2,525 (sorry, this is like twice as long as the others, but it’s worth it, I promise!)

A/N: We’ve made it to the end of the story. I appreciate you all so much for indulging me in this. I guess, technically, this is my first completed series (I promise, I’ll get back to Sapere Aude and A Taste of Cordonia soon!), so that’s a pretty exciting milestone for me. I really hope that at the end of this, you consider it worth your time. 

I gush way too much over her, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to stop, because I’m truly blessed that we stumbled upon each other, so shout out @jessiembruno​ for all of your help with this, and with everything. I may have in person friends I go for walks with, but you’re still at the top of my list. 

Tags: Listed below. If you’d like to be added or removed, just let me know!

Maxwell, Drake, and Hana sat in silence on the couch in Riley’s hotel room, reflecting on the day’s events. Bertrand had told Maxwell that he found her, but nobody else had seen or heard from her since. They weren’t sure if she had seen Tariq’s statement, and were even less sure it would matter. 

Hana broke the silence. “I can’t believe we did it.”

“I can’t believe Riley isn’t here. We should all be victory dancing right now.” Maxwell replied. 

Drake patted Maxwell on the back. “She’ll be back, she has to be. There’s no way she went through all of this just to give up in the home stretch.”

There was a gentle knock at the door, all three of them jumped up in the hopes that it was Riley. Maxwell ran to answer it, revealing Liam on the other side. “Oh, Liam. Hey.” Maxwell stepped back, allowing Liam to enter. 

Unable to contain his grin, Liam entered the room and approached the group. “I had a feeling you all would come here. I came to see you as soon as I could.” He looked around, noticing that Riley wasn’t with them he turned back to Maxwell and noticed his nervous expression. “Where is the woman of the hour? I wanted to personally offer my congratulations.” His face fell as he noticed his friends fidgeting, unable to make eye contact with him. Even without his years of training, he was easily able to read the tone of the room. He knew something was wrong. 

“Liam...why don’t you sit down for a minute.” Drake placed a hand on his shoulder and attempted to guide him toward the couch. Liam shrugged him off. 

“No thank you Drake, I came to see Riley. If she’s not here, just tell me where she is and I will go to her.”

“We ah...we don’t know.” Drake awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, unable to meet Liam’s gaze. “This morning, after you left, Maxwell and I came to check on her and she wasn’t here. It looks like she never came back to the hotel last night.”

Liam felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. He took a moment to compose himself, looking around the room at the sad faces of his friends. “She...she’s gone?” His voice barely above a whisper as he took a seat, afraid his legs were going to give out. “But you found Tariq, it’s over. Her name has been cleared. We finally have our chance to…” He dropped his head, cradling it in his hands. Hana sat beside him and wrapped a comforting arm around his shoulders. Drake and Maxwell looked at each other. Nobody knew what the next move was. 

Liam sat in silence, his mind reeling with countless thoughts. All of the things he should have said, should have done. From the coronation, where he should have called her name, despite everything; to the previous night when he should have run after her the second she stepped off that stage. Maybe if he had gotten to her, he could have convinced her to stay just a little longer. He was so focused on retracing his mistakes over the last several weeks, that he did not hear the sound of a throat clearing at the door. It did get the attention of everyone else in the room, however. Their heads all snapped over to see Riley leaning against the doorframe, an awkward smile spread across her face. “Hey guys, what did I miss?”

The sound of her voice broke him from his thoughts. He looked up, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. Watching as she addressed the room, he took note that she was not meeting his eyes. He was preparing himself for the heartbreak that was about to come. She was only here to get her things, he was sure of it. 

“Riley! You came back!” Maxwell ran to her full speed, pulling her into a hug so aggressive that her feet lifted off the ground. Once she was standing again, he pulled away and took her hand, rushing her toward the group. “What happened? We were afraid you were gone forever.” 

There was an apprehension in Riley’s face that they hadn’t seen since the early days of the social season as her eyes scanned the room. She was trying to collect her thoughts and explain herself without letting it all explode out of her at once. As her eyes traveled in Liam’s direction, she moved her attention to the floor. She was sure he was upset with her, and if she saw any kind of sadness or disappointment in his face, she knew she would completely lose it. She focused her attention back on Maxwell, “You thought I was gone, and you still went through all of that trouble to go get Tariq and get him to make a statement?”

“Of course we did. You’re our friend, and we promised to help you.” Maxwell replied. 

Riley took a shaky breath, trying to keep a handle on all of the emotions rushing through her at that moment. “I gave up on myself, and you guys kept fighting. I don’t think I will ever be able to thank you for that.” 

She approached her friends individually, hugging them and speaking softly to each. Liam’s heart raced as he watched her move closer and closer to him, afraid for what that moment would bring. As Riley and Hana separated, Liam stood from his spot on the couch, taking a deep breath, preparing himself for what was about to come. For the first time since she had arrived, Riley and Liam locked eyes. 

“Hi.” It was barely audible, but it was all Riley was able to choke out at that moment. 

“Hello Riley.” 

Tension filled the room as Liam and Riley stared into each other's eyes, each afraid to start the conversation. Drake, Maxwell, and Hana looked at eachother. “Alright, we’re going to take off. Brooks, good to have you back. We’ll see you in the morning.” 

Drake and Hana walked toward the door, while Maxwell approached Riley. “Celebratory field trip to Coney Island tomorrow, Little Blossom. It’s going to be great!”

“MAXWELL!” He jumped at the sound of Drake’s voice, and rushed out of the room. Shutting the door behind him. 

Liam decided to make the first move, he motioned toward the couch, “Would you like to sit?” Riley nodded and sat on the couch, turning her body so she was facing Liam, he did the same. “So...you left.” Riley nodded again, still struggling to speak. Liam needed to get the question out there, if this was going to be it, he needed to know now. “Do you...does that mean...have you changed your mind? About us?”

Riley’s eyes went wide, she wasn’t sure what to expect when they spoke, but she was not prepared to hear Liam question her love for him. “Liam, no! This wasn’t about us, about you even. It was about me.”

He reached for her hands as he took a brief sigh of relief. “Then talk to me Riley, what happened? Why did you leave?”

“It was just becoming too much, we were at that UN thing last night, another night where I had to watch her on your arm. She had sent me earlier in the day to pick up her wedding ring. I guess that was kind of like a reality check for me, that the wedding was coming. Time was running out. You’re supposed to be getting married in less than a week. Finding Tariq was starting to feel impossible. I was going to have to go back to Cordonia and watch you marry her. I know I told you that I would want to be in your life regardless, but as we got closer to a reality where I was going to have to live as your secret, I realized that I couldn’t do it. I can’t live my life like that, in a country where I have been ostracized, just to have little glimpses of a life with you. I love you more than anything, but I couldn’t live the rest of my life like that. I figured, since we’re already in New York, it would be easier to just break away now and try to restart.”

“Why didn’t you talk to me? Tell me you were feeling this way, we could have talked through it together. You just disappeared.” He brought a hand to her cheek, brushing away the tears that had fallen as she was speaking. 

“I couldn’t tell you, I wouldn’t have been able to follow through with it if I did. You would have looked at me with those eyes, and said all those beautiful words that make me all mushy inside and I would have agreed to anything you said.”

The tears Liam had been trying to hold back slowly began to break free with her confession. He never wanted her to feel forced into anything, especially not by him. This whole thing had been his fault. She didn’t feel like she could be open with him, or she felt like when she was, he would railroad her into choosing his wants and needs above her own. That was never the life he wanted for either of them. “Riley, I am so sorry. The last thing I ever want is for you to feel like you can’t talk to me. I know that it has been...difficult for us to find moments to truly connect, but I had hoped that in those moments, we were being the best versions of ourselves. I had no idea I was so far off.”

“Liam, remember during the social season, all of the times where we would sneak away, or you’d spend an extra couple of minutes with me? You would always tell me how you were being unfair to the other suitors, and you were breaking the rules.” He nodded, a small smile playing across his face at the memories of their time together. “Your feelings for me were making you do things that you never would have done before. That’s what this engagement tour has been for me. I made a promise to myself a long time ago that I would never be ‘the other woman’, I would never come in between someone else’s relationship…”

“But you were never…”

She put a hand up to stop him from finishing his sentence. “...I was never the other woman, because your heart belongs to me. I know, that was your way of rationalizing it, and I love you so much that I started seeing it that way too. I would make excuses, that it was only temporary until we found Tariq, that Madeline had told you it would be ok. And I know she did, but I shouldn't have been ok with it. I compromised who I was, who I have been my whole life, because of my feelings for you. That’s not ok.” She took a deep breath before continuing. “Liam, I want to be with you, more than anything, but not if you’re married to someone else. I deserve to be the only woman in your life, and on your arm, for show or otherwise. If you can’t give me that, I need to walk away.”

“Riley, my feelings for you have never changed, nor have my intentions. Now that the scandal is behind you, we can look forward to a future together, just the two of us. There are a few arrangements that need to be made, some conversations that I will need to have, but I need you to understand that everything is going to change from here. Our moment is right around the corner, if you can just stick with me a little longer.” 

There was a rawness and vulnerability in his eyes that caused Riley to completely break down. As she began sobbing, Liam pulled her to her chest, his own tears falling freely. They sat there for several moments, purging the emotions they had been working so hard to hold back.

When they pulled away, Liam held Riley’s face in his hands staring deeply, desperately into her eyes. “Please Riley, just bear with me until the court leaves New York. If you are not satisfied with where things stand at that time, I will completely understand and support your decision to stay here.”

Riley blinked away the last of her tears as she considered Liam’s proposition. She slowly nodded her head, which was still being cradled in Liam’s hands. “Ok.” 

He could barely hear the words escape her lips, but it was all he needed. Liam kissed the tear stains on each of her cheeks before placing a tender, lingering kiss on her lips. “I love you Riley, I love you so much. I promise, we’re going to get our forever.”

Riley wrapped her arms around Liam’s neck and pulled him into a tight embrace. He brought his arms around her, gently rubbing her back. “I love you too, Liam.” They sat in each other's arms, each comforting the other without saying a word. 

“I should head to my room and try to get some sleep.” Liam broke the silence, standing and extending his hand to Riley. “Walk me to the door?”

She nodded, taking his hand and standing, leading him to the door. “You could stay here if you wanted.” She looked at him coyly. 

“Riley my love, there is nothing I want more right now, but I can’t do that to you.” He brought her hand to his lips. “You’re right, you deserve to be the only woman in my life, and I am still technically engaged to Madeleine. I heard everything you said, and if anything more we’re to happen tonight, it wouldn’t be fair to you. To either of us. Just know that you will be the only thing on my mind until we are together again.” He leaned down, kissing her deeply, as he wrapped his free hand around her waist. 

“Will you at least come with us to Coney Island tomorrow?” She asked hopefully. 

“Only if you promise to ride with me on the Ferris wheel.”

She smiled, and Liam felt his heart skip a beat at the sight. It was at that moment that he knew they were going to be ok. “I think that can be arranged.”

He pulled her close for one last lingering hug. “Then I will be counting down the seconds.” He pulled away, kissing her on the cheek. “Goodnight, Riley.”

“Goodnight Liam.”

They shared a final smile before Liam exited the room, shutting the door behind him. Riley changed into her pajamas and got into bed. That night, she slept better than she had during the entire tour. She knew there was still a lot that needed to be figured out, and that it would likely be an uphill battle, but she was one step closer to walking up that hill hand in hand with Liam, and that’s all she had ever wanted in the first place.

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The Final Goodbye:

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Liam x Riley:

@jared2612​​

Liam:

@amandablink​​

[delyth88]

Loki series first reaction

So, yeah, spoilers.

*sits at her desk to type*

…

…

First things first, there was enough of the Loki I recognised to keep me engaged. I’m very relieved. Sure there were bits where I suddenly found myself fascinated with the set design for a moment, but overall there was enough Loki in there for me. 

Things I liked:

They way they showed the dawning realisation that the TVA was beyond Loki’s ability to beat. It needed to be convincing, and I think they did a good job of it. They showed him attempting to escape, they showed him running out of options. They showed him going from cocky and sure of himself to lost and afraid.  They never did this in Infinity War and that was one of the reason I had trouble accepting that scene. So I’m glad they bothered here. One of the benefits of TV over film I guess.

How disheartened he was to find those infinity stones stashed in the draw like used paperclips. I thought that was really well done. I think that was the moment that sold it to me as someone who knows Loki’s strengths that this might actually be beyond him.  

The scene where he’s alone and watches his future play out.  That they showed him caring for his mother, not just once with his initial reaction, but again, and deeply, when he comes back and plays through his alternate life.

His reaction to seeing his alternate life. I am sooooo glad they didn’t gloss over that or make it light-hearted. Or a joke. I think we as an audience (or at least the fans) needed to see that. I’m glad he didn’t turn away, or turn it off in anger, or otherwise reject it. I can’t fathom what it must be like to see your future, and see it play out LIKE THAT. And realise you’re at risk of death in your current situation and if you can work out how to return to your old timeline that you will die there too, and that this will be enforced.  There is no chance to escape. No chance to change your future. I am haunted by his face.

And then the way in which he says “glorious purpose” afterwards. Ugh! My heart!

I think I enjoyed this scene on a personal level too – it reflects how I felt after seeing Infinity War and Endgame. So sad that all his actions seemed so futile, that after all his suffering and trying so, so hard, that he wasn’t even allowed some time to enjoy life before Thanos caught up with them.

I think they did a really good job of showing us a scenario in which Loki would appear willing to give up his connection with the world of TDW/Ragnarok/Infinity War.  I was worried they’d just give some flimsy reason and for plot purposes Loki would agree, but this was satisfying enough for me.  And I like his growing realisation and grief about having no place to go back to.

Despite my perceptions of Mobius based on the trailer material, I really appreciated how he was sympathetic at that moment.

I’m glad they addressed “but the Avengers were the time criminals” thing head on.  Bit arbitrary, but I guess bringing back half of the population of the universe is probably a good enough reason. Lol

I also kinda liked how they described Loki’s purpose as bringing out the better parts of other people. Assigning him some purpose for the greater good, not just telling him he’s a useless waste of space. It might not be what he wants but he has worth all the same.

How young and hurt and vulnerable he looked sitting on the edge of the room with the tesseract in his hand.

Things I wasn’t so keen on:

So, yeah, there’s a lot of moments that are just a bit too different from the Loki I’m used to for me to be comfortable just yet, but I think as the series goes on I will adapt to it and notice them less and less. For example the cringey trying to do magic moment in the court.  Not a fan. But it did remind me of the similar moment in Ragnarok when Thor mistimes with Mjolnir. So it was kinda helpful to me to be able to recall an instance where they did that joke with an outright hero.

I was disappointed that they seem to not want to mention Thanos or his influence.  There was a perfect moment for him to bring it up, and for a while I thought that might have been what Mobius was angling at. But no. Though if I had to choose between Loki responding to his mother’s death or his time with Thanos then I’m glad they went with Frigga. I guess we can assume that if an Infinity Stone is powerless in the TVA then Loki is now out of Thanos’ reach, so perhaps he felt he could keep that one buried.

I wa a little disappointed that the DB Cooper thing was just a flashback – it was fun, and I enjoyed it, I just would have like to have seen more.  And it means that the line mentioning Heimdall and his brother mean nothing, nor does the bifrost.  I’m wondering now if the little flashes of Asgard are just flashbacks too.  Though the Thor 1 outfit is against a different design of throne than the one actually in Thor 1, and I would assume if they were going for a flashback they would build it to look like the original, but maybe they just wanted to make something “new and fresh”. Ugh.  

That damn graphic death scene! Again!  Will we ever escape this!? Or will every future Loki-related show/article/advertisement include it? Is there some bizarre legal requirement to include it! :p  So yeah, tw, they go there. Again.

And the little speech near the end where he was explaining that he doesn’t like hurting people and it’s all just a cover – that seemed a little too direct and open to me.  But after everything he’s just seen, and realising he’s just lost his entire life, even if he’s still alive, I can accept he might feel he has nothing to lose, that it’s not worth hiding anything anymore.

Other thoughts:

I was interested in the Jetsons-style Multiverse 101 spiel – that there were multiple universes before and that they had been brought down to one. That’s not what I was expecting. That multiple universes were a bad thing. That’s puts a new light on Dr Strange and Multiverse of Madness.

They didn’t show the Your saviour is here! Scene?  Will that come later? Or was that just for the trailers?  They seem to have had quite a few moments that were different than in the trailers.  Nothing big, but they chose different takes to go into the actual episode a few times.

Some of the reviewers had talked about a surprise twist at the end of the first episode.  Ha!  Was anyone actually surprised?

That scene where Loki has the tesseract in his hand in the office and nobody seems at all bothered by the person wandering around in a prisoner’s uniform without a collar in their workspace.  That still seemed odd, and I can see why we thought there must have been something significant about it.  But I guess that’s just showing us the downbeat disinterest of office work!

Interesting that most of the trailer material seems to have been taken from this episode.  I hope that means we get to see a lot more outside the TVA.

 I’m going to be watching this again on Saturday with a friend overseas so I’m sure I’ll have more thoughts after that.  Well actually I’m sure I’ll have more thoughts while I brush my teeth and get ready for bed! Who am I kidding!  :D

So overall, I’m relieved that this will be something I can find enough in to enjoy. I’m liking the scope that we’re seeing so far, and how they seem to be okay with the emotional stuff.  This is definitely not Ragnarok again.

[heliads]

Into Thin Air

Newt doesn’t know what to think after Y/N disappears one night in the Scorch. She’s nowhere to be found, until a few weeks later she shows up with the girls from Group B. The only problem is that she can’t remember who Newt is, and all Newt can remember is how much he loves her.

masterlist

Newt sits alone, staring out at the desolate desert before him. He’s hidden from view, sheltered by a craggy outcropping, but the protection does little to settle the turmoil of thoughts lurking inside his head. The sound of footsteps approaches behind him, but Newt doesn’t have to turn his head to recognize his friend.

Minho stoops and sits down a few feet away. Newt glances at him. It’s strange- all of Newt’s memories of his life before the Maze have been stripped away, leaving behind only his time trapped within those walls. Minho is his best friend, but Newt can’t help but wonder if he had other friends, before all of this started. Before he was imprisoned in the Maze, before they escaped WICKED and stuck themselves in the desert. Did he have friends before that? Would it really matter if he did, anyway? If they’re not dead by now, they will be soon.

But he has Minho, and that’s enough. Minho’s been his friend for a long time. Newt hasn’t really known anyone for that long, or grown that close, except maybe Alby. Even the thought of the guy makes Newt’s throat burn. He’d known the guy forever, even been his second in command for all that time in the Maze. Newt can still picture Alby’s face in the back of his mind, that look of determination just before the Griever snatched him away. They’ve lost so many people. Alby, and Chuck, and Winston, and-

Newt can’t quite bring himself to finish the sentence.

Distantly, Newt realizes that Minho is still there, and staring out over the same horizon Newt had been studying a few minutes ago. At last, the other boy speaks. “We’re going to find her, you know? There’s no way we won’t.” Newt sighs. “We don’t know if she’s out there anymore. Or if she’s even somewhere we can find.” 

Minho shakes his head, resolute. “She has to be somewhere. They wouldn’t take her just to kill her when nobody is watching.” Newt opens his mouth to argue, but Minho holds up a hand and continues speaking. “WICKED had to have taken her. She would never have left any of us, and definitely not you. Besides, we went to sleep with her right next to us, and woke up to her gone. No footprints, no tracks, no nothing. If she had left on her own accord, we would have seen a trail leading away, but there was just blank sand. It’s like she never even existed. Does that sound like some girl who’s sick of us and wanted to leave, or like WICKED wanted to send a message?”

Newt’s heard Minho’s attempt to soothe his worries a couple of times now, but he still plays along. “What message would WICKED want to send instead of just taking all of us? If they have the ability to get her, what’s stopping them from completing the job and getting all of us back?” Minho jabs a finger in the air, ready to prove his point. “They want to scare us, make us think that WICKED’s way more powerful than we’ll ever be. If they pick us off one by one, they’re hoping that we’ll come back to them easily instead of them having to chase us down. Less damage to the subjects if they return of their own free will, right?”

Newt chuckles quietly. “If they were interested in keeping their subjects in the best condition they wouldn’t have put us through the bloody Maze in the first place. They would have stuck to inkblots and blood tests like any other reasonable doctor.” Minho grins. “Hey, who said they were reasonable? They just don’t want us killed off before they get the chance to do it themselves.”

In spite of himself, Newt feels a smile growing on his face. “Alright, alright. I’ll stop moping. Are we heading out soon?” Minho stands, clapping his friend on the back as he leaves the outcropping. “In a few minutes. Thomas thinks the Right Arm reinforcements should be in the mountains just a mile or so down. We’re almost there.”

The Right Arm. Thomas seems convinced that the people of the Right Arm can help them, and save the Gladers from inevitable deaths at the hands of WICKED. It doesn’t make a whole lot of sense- use a shadowy, mysterious organization to escape another mysterious organization? At least the Right Arm isn’t known for running death tests on teenagers. That’s already a bonus.

The path to the mountains is dangerous, but to be honest, what part of their journey hasn’t been dangerous? Newt thinks it’s going fine, that although the terrain isn’t the best they’re at least making progress, and then the bullets start to ring out. Instantly, everyone panics and starts to hurtle toward whatever cover they can scrounge up in the desert, cowering as gunfire rains down around them. From the corner of his eye, Newt sees a couple of figures emerge from the mountains, faces hidden and weapons drawn.

Newt shoves Thomas and Minho to get their attention, and they start to come out with their hands drawn. Three figures stand before them, weapons pointed at them. Newt scans their faces, but he doesn’t recognize the first one, or the next. It’s only when his gaze falls upon the last of the three, on the figure standing farthest away, that he feels his heart freeze in his chest.

It’s not her. It couldn’t possibly be her. But yet-

Before he even knows what he’s doing, Newt is stepping away from the protective cover of the car, away from his friends, and towards the third figure. He can see Thomas and Minho extending their arms to pull him back, but they’re moving slowly, as if coming from far away. All that matters now is the girl before him, the girl with those all-too-familiar eyes that are now glaring at him in fear.

Newt’s voice comes cracked and quiet in the space at the foot of the mountains. “Y/N?” The girl levels her gun at him. “Who are you, and how do you know my name?” Newt stumbles, thrown by less by her threatening tone of voice and more the words that she’s just said. “Y/N? Why don’t you-” Hie voice breaks off into silence. Minho and Thomas are next to him now, and all Newt can do is stare at the girl in front of him. “Why doesn’t she know who I am?”

The other two figures are by Y/N’s side in an instant, the two pairs of three staring at each other. The tension builds and builds until finally the first of the figures glances away, at the other boy walking up to them. “Aris?” Suddenly, the hostility vanishes, and the figures are pulling away their face coverings to reveal the smiling faces of two girls. Aris turns back to them, clearly happy to see the girls. “This is Harriet and Sonya. They’re from Group B.” He addresses the Group B girls now: “They’re with me. They’re friends. They helped me escape from WICKED.”

Harriet and Sonya nod, but Newt just watches as the third girl hesitantly removes her own coverings. Sure enough, it’s Y/N. Harriet notices Newt’s stare and turns to his former friend. “Y/N, do you know these guys?” Y/N shakes her head. “I have no idea who they are, or how they know who I am.” Newt’s heart seems to drop in his chest. “What are you talking about? Y/N, I’ve known you for about a year, ever since you came into the Maze.”

Y/N’s eyes hold no recognition, no laughter, no light. She seems to have no idea who Newt is. “All I know is that I showed up one day alongside the Group B girls. They’ve been my family ever since.” She walks away, presumably to tell the people with guns to stand down. Newt is left alone with the words dying on his tongue: We were your family first.

Newt watches from a distance as his friends talk and laugh around him. They’re happy to have the Group B girls, who went through the Maze just like the Gladers did, and they’re relieved to have the protection of the Right Arm. Newt should be out there too, finally allowing himself to relax or at least have a good time, but he can’t quite muster up the energy to fake the smiles. Y/N doesn’t recognize him. That’s the only thing he has room to think about right now.

As if just thinking about the girl was a summoning, Newt turns to see a familiar figure walking away from the fire and coming to stand next to him. This picture, the two of them standing so close together, away from everyone else, is so painfully familiar that it hurts to know that she isn’t thinking of the connection they once shared. All Newt can think about is that he’s stood by her a hundred times, but all she can think about is that the boy next to her is a stranger, someone she’s never even seen before.

Y/N is the first to speak. “Is it true? Did you really- did you really know who I was?” Newt nods hollowly. “We first met when you arrived in the Maze. We were friends for a while, and-” He cuts himself off. He can’t talk about that, not right now. “And then we escaped, and you disappeared.” Y/N looks at the ground, at the fire, at her friends. Anywhere but him. “I have this strange feeling like I know who you are. Or I should, at least. But I can’t remember a single thing about you.” Newt stands silently, not trusting himself to speak.

Y/N turns to him at last, eyes burning into his own. He’s missed that look, that focus brushing across her brow. “Can you tell me what I was like? You know, in your Maze?” Newt sighs. “I’m not sure we could fit it into one night. You were there almost as long as I was, bordering on two years.” Y/N’s gaze is unrelenting. “Can you try?” Newt could never say no to her. Not in the Maze, and not now, when it’s just the two of them and he’s missed her so much. He clears his throat, and begins to speak.

“We were friends at first. Probably since the moment you showed up. You had this way of getting people to listen to you, even when the shanks were seconds away from tearing each other apart. There were only a few of us in the Maze, or at least at the beginning. You, me, Alby, and Minho. We were like a little family. I thought our friendship would last forever, and then other boys started showing up.”

Y/N frowns. “Did we fight or something?” Newt laughs ruefully. “No, we just- Well, I was kind of a shucking idiot myself. This one boy showed up, and he used to make me so angry. You’d be doing your job, not focusing on anything else, and then he’d come up and start talking to you. I didn’t know why it was bothering me so much, that he would be there for just a few seconds and the two of you would be laughing like you’d known each other all your lives, and then I realized after a while that it wasn’t him that annoyed me, it was that I was just jealous. Stupid, but jealous all along.”

“I kept it to myself, didn’t want to bother you. I didn’t realize you loved me until later.” Y/N looks up at him, mouth slightly tilted down into a frown. “But then what happened with you?” Newt smiles to himself. “I’d loved you all along. Don’t think I had much choice in the matter. Anyways, it took me a while to get up the courage, but I told you how I felt one night at the bonfire. I was nervous about it, but you just looked at me with this smile and I knew everything was going to be alright.”

Y/N’s smiling now. It’s strange, thinking of that night with this new Y/N next to him. She’s got the same expression on her face as the night Newt told her he loved her, and it cuts away at Newt that she could smile at him like that without remembering that night at all. Newt realizes he’s been staring too long, because Y/N gently nudges his arm. “Go on.” Newt looks away, fighting the shyness that suddenly overwhelmed him.

“We were happy, for a long time. We had months of uneventful life. Well, as uneventful as the Maze can be. Then Thomas and Teresa showed up, and the Maze doors didn’t close, and the Grievers attacked us all.” Newt’s eyes flicker shut as he remembers that night, remembering the tongues of flame spiraling over the buildings and the horrified looks of his friends. He can still hear the screaming, smell the coppery tang of blood like the scene was still being played out around him.

“We managed to escape. Not quite sure how. I don’t think I was scared for myself, more that you were going to die and I was going to have to live without you. When we first showed up at Janson’s building, I thought we were finally out and in the clear. We were so excited to have escaped and have a new life, one where we could actually relax and be just teenagers.” Newt’s voice twists into something bitter as he remembers how hopeful they’d been, and how quickly that hope had fallen apart, just like everything else that seemed to come their way.

“Then Janson turned out to be with WICKED, so we escaped. Took a while and a lot of running, but we made it out.” Newt falls silent, and Y/N tilts her head expectantly. “And then what?” Newt swallows unevenly, still feeling the pain and overwhelming heartache of that one specific night. “And then we were alone in the desert, all of us from the Glade who’d made it out plus Aris. We went down to sleep, late at night. You were right next to me. When I opened my eyes, you were gone.”

Newt looks away, fighting back the hot prick of tears threatening to appear at the corners of his eyes. “That was the worst part. You were right there, so close. There was no way you could have left without waking me. I knew you wouldn’t leave, so it had to be WICKED, but it still hurt. I was so worried that you’d died, or that they had dragged you back to their facilities and were experimenting on you-”

Newt can’t finish. Y/N nods, understanding. “And then you showed up to the mountains, and I had no idea who you were.” “Exactly.” Y/N sighs, leaning up against the rocky crag behind her. “I don’t know what to say. It all sounds familiar, but it just doesn’t sound like me. Are you sure that you’ve got the right girl?”

Newt nods. He’d know Y/N in a heartbeat, across the darkest night, anywhere. This girl is the one he loves, right down to that slight crease in her brow that she gets whenever she can’t figure something out. “I don’t know how to explain it. You are you, Y/N, and you’re the same girl I’ve been in love with since the Maze. You’re the same girl who always had a smile, even when things got dark, who yelled at the Builders but made friends with all the Greenies, who helped everyone survive the Maze because that’s just who you were.” Newt draws a ragged breath. “You’re the same Y/N who made me fall in love with you, and I’m not going to let any trick from WICKED convince me to let you go.”

Newt’s staring off into the darkness of the desert, but he turns with a start when he hears a slight noise from Y/N. He stares at her. She’s almost bent double in pain, hands clutching her head. He rushes over to her, helping her to the ground. “Y/N! Are you alright? What happened?” She just shakes her head, gritting her teeth through the pain. “I don’t know. You started talking, and I felt like I recognized something, and then my head started feeling like it was about to crack in two.”

She squeezes her eyes shut in agony, and her shoulders tense up in a spasm of anguish but then suddenly fall still. She lies on the ground, silent. Newt feels like his heart is in his throat. “Y/N? Can you hear me?” Her eyes open slowly, eyelashes fluttering in a dark frame around her eyes. She looks at him for a moment, then two, as if drinking in the sight of him. She reaches out a shaking hand to him, lightly touching his cheek. “Newt?” Her voice is quiet, as if she’s doubting herself, and then she breaks into a grin.

“Newt. Yes. I remember you.” All of Newt’s worries leave him in a rush, and he wraps his arms around her, pulling her close. “Y/N?” She nods, laughing slightly. “I remember everything. The Maze, the Gladers, you, everything.” She pulls back, smiling, so she can look in his eyes. “I don’t remember the part about you being in love with me from the start. You should have told me that earlier.” Newt chuckles, helping her stand. “I was trying to help you get your memories back. I’m sure it was just a dramatized detail.”

She flashes him a beaming glare. “I’m sure it was.” Newt can’t take his eyes off of her. “I was so worried, you know that? I was so worried that you’d left.” Y/N shakes her head. “I could never leave you. Not in a million years.” Newt lets himself smile again, and reaches out to lock his hand around hers. Y/N remembers him. The girl he loves is finally back once more.

[lambden]

What better way to break in a new blog than by immediately posting fic? In honour of Nightmare of the Wolf, here’s some Vesemir and Filavandrel!

(read on AO3)

M, 2.9K words, no warnings, Vesemir recognizes Jaskier’s lute when he arrives at Kaer Morhen

Vesemir has been expecting this day for decades. It’s rare for witchers to meet a trusted companion out on the Path, and even rarer to find one who wishes to travel alongside them. But the reputation of witchers has changed in recent years, for better or worse. Their focus is no longer on maintaining the traditional practices of their schools, but on protection— of other witchers, and of helpless commoners. Perhaps the humans can sense that change.

More curiously, the folklore surrounding witchers has changed. Vesemir very badly wants to meet the man who has done so much to change the narrative, but years pass and all Geralt brings home every winter are stories. The younger witchers entertain (and tease) him but no one ever asks where the bard goes during the cold months that Geralt spends at Kaer Morhen. Perhaps even Geralt doesn’t know.

Finally, after hundreds of stories of Geralt-and-Dandelion, Vesemir receives a letter one autumn before he himself has even considered the journey home. His chest warms as he reads Geralt’s careful penmanship, noting how the ink blots at the start of each new sentence. The paper and wax are fine, suggesting that Jaskier used his academic connections to perhaps land Geralt a few contracts near Oxenfurt. Geralt’s lettering may be nearly flawless but his message is stilted, reminding Vesemir of when his pups were nervous children. Does Jaskier really make him act this awkward? Their relationship must be serious, then.

I am hoping you will welcome my guest with open arms, or I fear he may freeze over the coming months. Vesemir looks for a signature but there is none, save a very fancy G at the bottom. No returning address has been provided either, and while he could easily pen a missive to Oxenfurt, it’s probably best not to respond. Each day Nilfgaard only grows stronger, and crueler. Perhaps Jaskier has been caught up in their hunger for power. Vesemir folds the letter up and hides it in his saddlebag.

When the frost begins creeping in, the oldest Wolf begins his trek up the mountain. He’s almost always the first one to arrive; Coën had beaten him to it once and apologized for weeks, and Vesemir would do anything to avoid that again. And if he makes an effort to arrive early this year so that he can make the Keep look as important as it is, well… nobody needs to know.

It takes a week and a half before Geralt arrives, Jaskier in tow. Vesemir spends the time flushing out a bat infestation and dealing with the most perishable of his spoils from the past year. The White Wolf seems to bring the cold with him most years but Vesemir, cognizant of Jaskier’s inferior body, made sure to set out enough furs in advance. As soon as he hears Roach’s hooves approaching he starts a roaring fire, and when the inner doors of Kaer Morhen burst open, Vesemir is ready to make a great first impression.

Upon seeing him, Geralt smiles right away, crossing the room to greet him. Vesemir looks him over; no obvious new scars, no missing body parts. Must have been an uneventful year, but… Geralt is here, safe and alive, so Vesemir allows himself some private, selfish, unwitcherly joy. It’s the sort of thing Deglan would have lectured him for. He finds he doesn’t care.

“I got your letter,” he tells Geralt, who nods solemnly. “I thought it best not to reply. Is Nilfgaard on your trail?”

“Our trail,” Geralt sighs, stepping aside so that Vesemir can meet his companion. “Vesemir, this is Jaskier.”

The bard, dwarfed by a large fur coat, moves forward so that Vesemir can properly scrutinize him. He certainly doesn’t look his age, but Vesemir knows he’s travelled as far as any witcher has gone, and seen sights no human should really have witnessed. “Oh, I’ve heard plenty about you, Jaskier. I was wondering when Geralt was finally going to bring you along for the winter!” That makes Jaskier perk up, and Vesemir chuckles. “I promise that no harm will come to you here.”

“Thank you,” Jaskier says. “Geralt doesn’t like sharing much about the other witchers, but I’m sure you must have a wealth of stories for me to hear!” Sure enough, Geralt frowns. “And I don’t know how much help I’ll be with hunting or gathering, but I would be happy to regale you on the coldest nights—” 

And before Vesemir can read into that unfortunate phrasing, Jaskier shrugs off his fur coat to produce a lute. He must have been wearing it strapped around his front on the journey through the mountains, not wanting to condemn such a fine instrument to being jostled around in Roach’s saddlebags. Vesemir squints at the red-brown wood and the golden details under the strings. They almost look like a particular elven design.

Oh. Vesemir’s realization nearly bowls him over. Geralt and Jaskier stare at him, respectively concerned and curious, but Vesemir can’t take his eyes off the lute. “My apologies, I… I forgot something in my chamber. Make yourselves at home, and… I’ll leave you to it.” He leaves without any further explanation, hastening to his quarters and abandoning the pair of them to their own devices. He can still feel their gazes drilling into his back but he suddenly feels weaker than usual.

---

 “I heard there was a witcher skulking around this forest,” the spy says. Vesemir is almost relieved to hear them speak; he’s been glancing over his shoulder for nearly an hour now to try and reveal an invisible pursuer. He should’ve known he was right. Just because the spy doesn’t lumber like a human or reek of magic like a monster doesn’t mean he won’t be in trouble. 

He stops in the middle of the path, still facing forward. He’s got a sneaking suspicion that the second he turns, a very unfriendly knife is going to introduce itself to his ribcage. Or perhaps an arrow, although he hasn’t heard the sound of anything and he’s been listening very closely.

His pursuer approaches. Fuck, they’re light on their feet. If Vesemir was just an average bandit, he’d be done for. He braces himself for an attack, balling his hands up into fists at his sides. The stranger continues, tone still pleasant enough, “Why not stay in town? A warm bed must beat trudging through mud in the early hours of the morning trying to find ground. I’ll give you some advice, witcher; there’s no dry ground. You’re heading towards a swamp.”

“They wouldn’t let me stay in town,” Vesemir admits, already grumpy. He whirls around and sees the stranger; a lean man, just slightly shorter than him. The long hood of their cloak casts a dark shadow over their face, blocking them from view. “If you’re here to rob me, I hate to disappoint, but you’ve followed me all this way for nothing.”

He holds up his empty coinpurse; not to prove himself, just to complain. The stranger titters, a lovely, high-pitched sound like glass clinking against glass, like chimes. Like birdsong. Vesemir’s eyes narrow. “That’s a shame,” they say. “You do love coin.”

There’s something disturbingly familiar about the words. Vesemir decides to gamble with his own life, stalking forward until he’s face to face with the stranger. Up close, his scent is even stronger. Frowning, Vesemir is about to reveal the man’s identity when he does it himself, pushing his hood back. His hair is tied up in complex braids unlike any Vesemir has ever seen, only a few loose strands hanging down over his forehead. But it would take more than a lifetime for Vesemir to forget that face.

“Fil,” he declares, delighted, and doesn’t think twice before crashing into the elf. Filavandrel laughs again and though it makes Vesemir feel a little silly, the sound still fills his heart with joy. He embraces his friend tightly, clinging to him for so long that both their boots sink down into the flooded dark soil of the forest. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s like I told you.” The elf pats the back of Vesemir’s neck, unwittingly sending a shiver down his spine. Vesemir’s grip tightens. “My scouts said I might find a witcher lost in the woods.”

“I’m not lost,” Vesemir grunts, finally pulling away. “I just… don’t know where I’m going.”

“Come to my camp,” suggests Filavandrel. As if he even had to ask.

Unsurprisingly, elves make their camps much differently than witchers do. When they arrive Vesemir doesn’t immediately see any sort of bedroll, and then he feels embarrassed for looking. He never feels this way around anyone else; he can make bawdy jokes with Sven or blatantly hit on Luka, but in the company of Filavandrel aén Fidháil, shame bursts through him so easily.

Maybe he just has a thing for pretty blondes who he leaves behind.

Except Fil is here, smiling indulgently as Vesemir gapes like a fool. “It’s nice,” he finally manages to say. “Want me to set a fire?”

“A campfire, sure. Not a big one,” Filavandrel teases. Swallowing, Vesemir turns to a firepit that the elf must have fashioned himself. He takes a bundle of wood that’s already been cut and easily ignites it, all the while trying to figure out why his heart is pounding so damn loud. Thank fuck that Filavandrel isn’t a witcher.

“Have you eaten?”

“No. You?”

“I was going to have some bread, and go hunting in the morning.” There’s a small noise and when Vesemir turns to look, his friend is holding out a large chunk of bread. It doesn’t even look that stale. Vesemir sees that Filavandrel has taken a much smaller piece for himself and growls about it, but the elf snatches the smaller piece away before Vesemir can lunge for it. “I don’t want to hear any self-sacrificial bullshit about how witchers don’t need to eat. Take the damn bread, Ves.”

“... Fine,” Vesemir relents, cowed. He accepts the bread, fingertips accidentally brushing over Filavandrel’s when he takes it. It’s fucking delicious, melting in his mouth almost instantly. Seeds and herbs have been baked into it too, and Vesemir savours every bite, moaning. “You should quit being a professional elf and start a new life as a baker, fuck.”

“I can do both. It’s an old recipe, needs a stone oven. And what does being a professional elf even mean?” Filavandrel reaches up to shove him, except they aren’t very far away from each other so the push nearly knocks Vesemir off his balance. Before he can tip over onto the grass Filavandrel grabs him by the collar of his gambeson and tugs him back, and, well. Vesemir may be a witcher, but parts of him are still human. 

Neither of them has to say a word; he opens for Filavandrel like he’s been thinking of nothing but this since the second they laid eyes on each other. Honestly, he sort of has. Fil runs a hand over the shaved part of his head, pressing his palm against the back of his neck to pull him in closer. Vesemir moans, chasing the taste of something sweet and acidic and magic. It certainly isn’t the fucking bread.

Afterwards they lie together by the smoldering remains of the fire, both too spent to clean themselves or dress. Vesemir glances over at the cinders and thinks about making an exit soon. It isn’t that he doesn’t want to stay with Filavandrel. He’s comfortable here, especially right now, and his friend always makes his heart feel lighter. But the Path calls to him; lying here without his weapons or armour, Vesemir can nearly hear Deglan’s scolding. And that thought is enough to ruin anyone’s afterglow.

Before he can move, Filavandrel sits up, arching his back. Vesemir turns to watch him, nearly salivating at how he looks in the low firelight. His hair is radiant, and his skin isn’t nearly flushed enough. He’s beautiful. Ethereal. Selfishly, Vesemir wishes that he’d left more marks.

Fil climbs to his feet and crosses the campsite to retrieve something out of reach. Vesemir cranes his neck to try and peek, and Filavandrel laughs kindly at him. “I was just thinking that something’s missing.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” Vesemir says, lowering his head back down onto the ground. “I should have kissed you more.”

The elf pauses at that before finally demanding, “Kiss me later.” A note resounds through the air, clear and beautiful; then a chord, and another. Very soon their little clearing feels more like a fairy circle than a campground as Filavandrel plays music. 

He finally walks into view, still naked, still beautiful. Now holding a lute. Vesemir tries to sit up so that he can properly see the performance but Filavandrel is faster, moving over him and then sitting atop his stomach, resting his back against Vesemir’s thighs. He plays the entire time, fingers moving adeptly over the instrument.

It’s a beautiful lute, probably made of some holy dark red wood. The golden design etched into it is mesmerizing, and the strings could have been plucked from the mane of a unicorn. Vesemir hardly spares it any attention, too wrapped up in the sight of a naked Filavandrel straddling him and singing.

He’ll only realize decades later that the elf was probably trying to court him.

Someone knocks on the door to his chambers and Vesemir jumps to his feet, caught off-guard by the sound that plucked him from his memories. He finds Jaskier waiting outside his room, toying idly with the sleeves of his doublet. Vesemir shakes his head, holding the door open for Jaskier even as he apologizes. “I’m sorry for running out earlier. I meant to give you a tour of the Keep, hopefully Geralt will have stepped up in my absence, but I am sorry—”

“No— please,” Jaskier interrupts. Once more he pulls his lute from around himself, holding it out to Vesemir. “I just… Your countenance changed dramatically upon seeing this, so…”

Fuck. “Yes,” Vesemir sighs, staring at the lute. Jaskier has managed to keep it in good condition after all this time. “I… Filavandrel and I are old friends.”

The bard’s eyes bulge out of his head but he enters Vesemir’s chambers, heading straight to the desk to perch on the edge of the chair. Vesemir finds another chair for himself, moving its previous occupant— a stack of books— onto the floor. In his defence, he hadn’t expected the tour of Kaer Morhen to begin in his personal chambers.

“He didn’t mention knowing any other witchers,” Jaskier hums. “How did you meet him?”

“You’re sure you want to know? It’s sort of a long story.” The bard just nods, eager and polite. Instantly Vesemir can see why Geralt likes him. “Alright,” he obliges, reaching for the bottle of wine on the desk. They’re going to need it. “We met long before you would have been born…”

 ---

 South of Kaedwen, the seasons are more aligned than any other part of the Continent. The winters are crisp, the summers lazy. Filavandrel likes to spend his summers here, where the canopy of trees is thick enough to provide shade but thin enough to provide colour. Everything is verdant, the flowers calling to him as he passes each one. When he was a child he had longed to visit towns and experience human delights like festivals but now he knows better. The elves live off the land well enough anyway.

Some of the younger people in his company these days have that same yearning, and some of them even manage it. One elf who resembles Toruviel always runs off to see some different show, take in some new performance. If Filavandrel thought that she could get away with it, he would pay for her to attend Oxenfurt— she’s very good. And the upside of her risking her life just to listen to music is that she’s got a very good memory, and she always brings the songs back home.

Today she’s singing some new ode to a witcher; not that bigoted anthem of lies that the bastard warbler from Posada somehow spread through the Continent, thank the Gods. This one seems to revolve more around making the right choice, and how a real hero does good deeds not for coin or his own profit, but just to be good. Filavandrel thinks about the few witchers that he’s had the misfortune of contacting over the years, and under his breath he scoffs.

Cheesy chorus aside, the lyrics seem to have some merit. The first verse is all about some terrible monster that was taking young girls, transforming them into half-beasts. The hero witcher’s judgement fails him and he blames himself for years, even losing a lover in the process. Filavandrel scowls; despite his own experiences with witches, he doesn’t want to listen to a song written by yet another prejudiced bard.

Then the third verse lands. The witcher grows old and wise and has children of his own, and he regrets his inaction and he tries to reach out to contact his lover. But at that point his lover, who devoted his life to protecting those in danger, was too busy being King of the Silver Towers. Filavandrel stops dead in his tracks as he realizes which witcher this must have been inspired by.

The elven king huffs, starting to compose a route in his head. He thinks a trip up north is long overdue.

[hanazou]

𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬.

Genre : Comfort, fluff, romance

Word Count : 1.9K

A response to this request.

— 𝙀𝙭𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙨𝙚 𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙙𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙙𝙖𝙮𝙨 𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙠, 𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙩 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙮𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙣 𝙛𝙤𝙧, 𝙤𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙤𝙣𝙞𝙛𝙞𝙘𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙤𝙛 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙩 𝙝𝙞𝙢𝙨𝙚𝙡𝙛?

The days when time slows down is the most dangerous, you thought to yourself, because you can feel your soul rotting away, your will and lack of passion eating your bones, and yet the mind musters no good enough reason to pull your pieces back together.

It is a common story, your own. Your days have been cut shorter and your nights lasted much longer. The desire to sleep the sluggishness away monopolizes your energy, leaving none left to have your meals, diverting your eyes from mirrors so you don’t have to be reminded of your buffering state; one that lacks the passion to even stretch an arm.

You no longer drink morning coffee ever since its sweet-bitter taste is lessened to plain, distasteful bitterness, and the smell of your favourite food no longer makes your appetite moist. The insatiable thought of letting your bed suck in your slothful body washes away each wants and needs.

All those explain why you look the way you do now. You had the chance to make your eyes less saggy and to hide the dark circles, you could have pressed cold spoons and applied some concealer, but it was a chore to even toss aside the blanket glued to your body to drag yourself to the shower. You shouldn’t have slept that long, you barely washed your hair off the filth you gathered from sleeping on the same dusty pillow.

Even the possibility of running into Chuuya today wouldn’t get you on your feet. No, that’s inaccurate—it’s because you might meet Chuuya that you don’t want him to see you in this state. Your beloved won’t leave you alone the moment he sees you like this, which in itself isn’t a bad thing, but how will you explain everything to him? This dormant state, this feeling of wanting space and time to swallow you whole?

Your deepest wish is actually to have him around your arms. Just the thought of silently letting his warmth comfort you soothe you more than any blanket could, but you can’t afford to do that today when you’re in the headquarters looking like someone who’s considering starving themselves to eternal sleep.

Your reflection in the bathroom mirror earlier made your lips twist. You did brush your hair and wash your face and yet, you are still far from looking presentable to the Boss. Unfit to see him, unfit as a mafioso, unfit to be here at all. You did pat down your shirt and pants with a pessimistic hope the Boss will only reprimand you and not send you away on a probation period.

You couldn’t recall when your automated legs brought you here, but here you stand, listening to the Boss briefing you today’s agenda. The explanation feels like hazy flowing clouds of words that blow pass you. You can’t rearrange your wandering thoughts, can’t even feel your numbness away. You simply understand that there are vermins trying to intimidate Port Mafia’s weapons dealer and that the Boss is sending you there to give them a good hit on their faces.

Only when he mentions Chuuya’s name do the wires in your brain spark.

“Chuuya?” You blink.

“Chuuya-kun insists that you will need company, he came earlier than you did to convince me that.” The Boss grins, chin on his hand. “I have the same judgement as to him, but that aside, have you looked at yourself in the mirror today?”

Barbells weigh down your shoulders. That was his way of asking, ‘what makes you think you’re fit for a job today?’ The Boss is the personification of logic. How will he accept your explanation if even you don’t know why you’re feeling the way you do, as if you’re a homeless unemployed bum without responsibilities?

“I’m sorry,” You lower your head.

“Not a problem with me, actually, as long as the job is done.” He smiles. “You can go, Chuuya-kun must be waiting for you somewhere.”

After a respectful bow, you leave through the large mahogany doors. The corridor outside, dark and orange as usual, although narrow, feels too large without Chuuya next to you.

You and Chuuya usually walk out of the Boss’s office together, you smiling at the comfort he gives, discussing what you two would be doing after the day’s job. You feel like a forlorn. An abandoned. A lone traveller whose journey is just to get to the end of the corridor when it was you who tossed away the one whose presence is sure to bring recovery.

“Not going to say hi?” The voice you’ve been craving echoes from behind. You jolt. You’re happy. You want him to bask you in his presence. But you’re afraid. How will he react to your condition?

You debate with yourself, should you turn around and face him? You don’t want to make your worry contagious, but you will have to face him either way for the job. The tips of your feet face opposite directions, unsure where to face, but before you come to a decision, Chuuya appears right in front of you.

Your conscience twists like a sponge when Chuuya’s smile abruptly turns to shock as his eyes lay on you. He gapes your name, not sure what to address, and you turn and walk some distance between you.

“I’m okay, I just slept too much,”

Like a wilting flower, you hide your face.

“Are you kidding? Nobody looks like that from sleeping in too long!” Chuuya’s voice escalates just like you feared. You wish your earlobes can curl in to push away the guilt hearing him makes you feel. Oh, alas, he’s approaching—“What the hell’s been going on?”

“Nothing.” You cower away. “I’ve been feeling slow, that’s all.”

You omit the important parts because Chuuya didn’t sign up for them. He didn’t date you for you to become a lousy, disordered sloth. He wants the smiling and comforting you, not the you who needs him to smile and comfort you.

If you could just push him away for enough time for you to put yourself together—

Chuuya seizes the hand that’s about to put some distance. “You don’t think I can help you, is that it?”

You instantaneously look at him. “I never said that!”

“You know, I hate it when people lie to me, and I don’t like being kept in the dark just the same.” He says.

The way his eyes pierce your conscience makes your head avert away but he clenches your hand tighter. When you glance back at him, slowly that is, his hold softens. “But do you know what I’m feeling right now? Something like self-disappointment. For not noticing earlier that you’re having—those kinds of days.”

“Have you had one?” You ask, interest piqued. “Days when you just, don’t know what you want?”

With a distant look, Chuuya makes a noise of affirmation. He pulls on your hand, taking you with him to a deserted corner halfway at the end of the not-so-dark corridor now. In fact, it may feel a bit... warmer. More comforting, more familiar, more grounding with the way Chuuya’s hand has been holding yours. It’s amazing how just his hand helps more than sleeping for a whole day does.

When both of you enter the hidden corner, Chuuya’s pace still pulling you with him, he yanks you onto his body. Your body crashes against his and his arms are quick to trap you in him. There’s no room for you to struggle nor any space for your anxiety to linger. Like a strong wind, his embrace dusts away the cobwebs around your soul. His hand crawls to the back of your head to push you down so your face covers his shoulder.

“If I had met you when I was going through what you’re feeling now, you could’ve given me this.” Chuuya’s voice came from behind your head. His chin presses your back, his other hand holding you still against him. “So make sure to do this with me when it’s my turn feeling down.”

You begin to feel his heartbeat, and you wonder, has it always been this therapeutic, having this much influence to thaw your continuously swirling uneasiness? But the thought of letting him do the chore of comforting you doesn’t sit right. You push to put a little distance but his hold around you tightens, trapping your arms at your sides.

“Not yet. Just another 30 seconds since we’re on the clock.”

You’re unsure where to look. The floor in front of you? His hair near your nose? The material of his coat your hands are touching?

You don’t want to think anymore. No more confusing rationalities, no more questions, not in this position, not when he’s here. You want to feel, to finally accept. So you close your eyes, bring your arms around him, and let your breaths slow down.

How you’ve missed this.

This doesn’t solve problems, you think, but why can you feel your worry melting away?

The pressure on your arms becomes lighter. Has it been 30 seconds? You can put some distance between you and Chuuya now, but not to escape or avoid him. You just want to see his face.

But your vision was suddenly obstructed by something dark. A sharp scent of comfort, Chuuya’s scent, fills your nose. Your fingers graze up and down to figure out what it is. There’s a flat surface connected with the perpendicular one, and the texture feels oddly similar as you take it off.

From the upper sides of your eye, you spot that in your hand is Chuuya’s hat as he pushes it down over your face again.

“I’m lending you the hat this once so you can cover your face for the job, then I’ll stay with you for the whole day wherever you want.” His hand lifts off you. “I can come over, bringing some of my own wine. How’s that sound?”

You adjust Chuuya’s hat to sit properly on your head, liking how it fits perfectly on you as you look at him. From the look on his face, you know he thinks so as well.

“Hey, you know what? You don’t look half bad with it.” He smirks, pocketing his hands. “You can wear it for the whole day, if you want, but just give it back and don’t scratch it.”

“What a nagging man,” You chuckle. “I’m holding this hostage till I feel better.”

Chuuya scoffs. “Hostage? Ha! My hat will be the one making you feel better.”

“It’s not just because of the hat, silly,” Your cheeks grow from your smile, giving him a meaningful look to thank him.

Chuuya’s eyes widen and his nostrils flare. He turns away, walking out to the corridor, and you follow. “W-Whatever, just keep it with you.”

“What if it’s not enough?” You pat down the hat, liking the way it presses your head. “What if I want more?”

“If you want more, then ask me! Why do you make it sound complicated?”

You lock your arm by slipping it through his. The fabric of his sleeve on your forearm feels natural as you sigh, your temple against his shoulder. “Can I really?” You mutter.

Chuuya heaves a heavy breath and releases it with a long sigh. You raise your head to apologise but he shoves down his hat to cover your eyes again, obstructing your vision. “Of course you can, stupid. I promise.”

You breathe in his scent again, feeling his hat around your head, his clothes against your skin, and his strong stature on your body.

You see light at the end of these kinds of days if he’s with you.

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