#(he sounds like a darts announcer during that introduction) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

curly-bangtan · 5 years

Text

Blizzard (M)

Pairing: roommate!Jungkook x reader

Summary: When a blizzard hits your town, you and your shy awkward roommate are forced to spend time together, not being able to leave the house due to the strong snowstorm. To make matters worse, the power gets cut in the middle of his shower. Which also means no heating.

Genre: roommate au, domestic au, fluff, smut, strangers to lovers

Warnings: bit of a slow burner, vanilla!Jungkook, virgin!reader, dry humping, penetrative sex, fingering, oral (m receiving), losing virginity, shy soft boy Koo with a crush and a noona kink, your heart could possibly burst from how cute he is

Word Count: 15.5k oops

A/N: (This fic is written in parallel to Heatwave, with an opposing concept in mind. You don’t have to read Heatwave to read this, but it would be interesting and funny to see the differences in the two scenarios that both lead to roommates hooking up.) Also, happy birthday, bunny boy! Sorry this was a day late, I was honestly swarmed. I love you, koo. Writing this very much gave me a bias crisis but it was all worth it. Enjoy! :”)

PS. Think April 2019 Jungkook

‘A severe snowstorm is set to hit us this weekend with temperatures dropping down to -16˚C. It is therefore ill-advised for anyone to leave their houses during this period until the blizzard subsides as the fifth snow-induced traffic accident has been reported this week in our town…’

You have always marvelled at how the weather lady announces such things with such a passionate captivating tone.

‘The calculated probability of a city-wide power cut is currently at 72%, so please be well-equipped to stay indoors for the next two days.’

Oh shit. A power cut?

This is not good at all. Not like you have any plans for this weekend anyway, and you wouldn’t necessarily mind being stuck inside since you are good at entertaining yourself. But to possibly have no warm water, no internet in the duration of these few days?

You are currently snugly rolled up in the warmth of your blanket burrito, a mug of chamomile tea fitted in your hands, the steam of which evaporates under your chin into a slick coat. Friday evenings have never been eventful for you as long as Jimin doesn’t drag you out to some bar with him. As introverted as one can get, you much prefer staying in and watching TV or endlessly browsing the web.

The distinct rattling of keys spins your attention to the front door. Hearing the plunge of the metal into the keyhole is strangely satisfying to your ears. In steps a pink-nosed, frost-dusted Jungkook, all wrapped up in winter apparel thick enough to make him waddle clumsily.

A gust of cold flares inside from the harsh outdoors, stray flakes of snow flying in after him and landing on the rich oak tiles of the foyer. From the couch, you see his silhouette breathe out a visible grey huff. The door behind him falls shut, once again entrapping the warm temperature into the confines of these walls.

You watch your roommate, humming to himself with his black earpods hooked in his ears, as he unties the scarf around his neck. He probably hasn’t noticed your presence yet; he’s always been a little clueless afterall.

Then he looks up and meets your lingering gaze.

You both jump a little, his humming ceases instantly, eyes scrambling, darting away to your surroundings: the quiet television, the arching lamp, the white powdered window panes. Anywhere but at each other.

Clearing your throat, you greet him softly . ‘Hi.’ Your thumb rubs at the lip-shaped tea stain on the rim of your mug.

‘Um, hi. Good evening, noona.’ He dips his head at you, hood drooping lower over his head. You are two years his senior, and despite your supposed familiarity, he insists on formalities.

The weather lady has now been replaced with the anchorman, who is droning on about the car accident this morning. Awkwardness hangs in the air between you, as it always does every time you speak. It’s now your turn to say something, you’re painfully aware. But what do you say?

‘Snow storm.’ It is a statement more than anything. As if he hasn’t noticed… Nice one. You immediately want to hide your face in the mint furry throw you’re wrapped in.

‘Yeah. Snow storm.’ The rubbery sound of the careless removal of his shoes against the floor is louder than his response. ‘Jimin didn’t make it.’

Your blood freezes. ‘Wait what?! Oh my god! What happened to him?’ It takes the blanket sliding off you for you to realise that you’ve stood up abruptly. Your body is immediately flushed with a breeze of cold, devoid of insulation.

The car accident… It can’t be…

Jungkook’s attention flickers to the glaring screen as he paces towards you and realises how he must’ve sounded. ‘Woah, sorry, I worded it badly. I mean, Jimin’s stuck at Taehyung’s because the snow is too thick for him to drive back. And the service on his phone is whack, so he can’t reach you. Taehyung told me. Sorry, I didn’t mean he didn’t make it.’ Nervous chuckle. Scratching the back of his head.

Never has he said this many words to you in one go, this must be a record. That, as well as your own silly misunderstanding of his words, makes you release a humoured breath. ‘Oh right… Haha… I’m stupid.’

‘No. my bad.’

Wow. If you two keep this up, this might just be your longest running conversation in the history of living together.

Because he’s looking at the floor rather than you, you feel the liberation to look directly at his face. His round nose is red from the freezing temperature, his teeth gnawing at his chapped lips. You follow his gaze travel across the dark wooden panels, reaching a halt at your feet.

‘You’ve got a hole in your sock, noona.’ He states.

Indeed you do. Under his wide-eyed glare, you can’t help but curl your toes inwards as if it would hide your pinkie jutting out of the fabric. The way he addresses you, how his lips form a pouted ring when he pronounces the “oo”, makes you particularly self conscious. ‘Oh… Yeah, I know, it’s fine. It’s my only pair of fuzzy socks.’ These socks have sheltered your feet for three winters only to betray you now, during a bloody blizzard. The icy floor licks at your exposed skin tauntingly.

Silence draws taut between you. Like you’re tied to opposite ends of a string and are both trying desperately to escape, to walk away from each other.

It’s his move now… Why isn’t he saying something? But at the same time, what can he possibly respond to ‘It’s my only pair of fuzzy socks.’?

‘Right… See you.’ Jungkook nods politely and heads for his room. And you know you probably won’t see him reemerge until tomorrow; it’s practically his batcave in there.

A shudder courses through your body. Though it’s not from the cold but rather the embarrassment of that encounter. Quickly switching off the TV, you hide back in the comforts of your blanket like a Halloween ghost and scurry into your own room to avoid seeing him again.

Jeon Jungkook.

Even the thought of his name makes you crease inward involuntarily like it’s some bad memory. Despite having lived under the same roof for more or less six months, neither of you have warmed to the other in the slightest. It’s not that you have anything against him; you’re sure he must be a lovely boy, but…

Well, when you put two shy individuals next to each other, you can’t really expect them to bond over their bashfulness. No, they both tend to retract into their shells.

How you came about living together is three simple syllables: Park Jimin. If it wasn’t for this one common thread you share, your worlds would never have collided.

Ever the caring friend, it goes without saying that Jimin would rent out his vacant room in his three-bedroom house to you without even a second of hesitation after Hoseok ditches the boys to move in with his girlfriend. You’ve met all his friends before. Jimin is a social butterfly afterall, how could he resist forcing all his best mates into a confined space and make them talk to each other, or more commonly known as a party?

Namjoon and you get along just fine, seeing as you both are whores for literature. Seokjin? As long as you compliment his cooking and force a giggle at his jokes, he’ll accept your friendship. Surprisingly, Yoongi took a liking to you; you guess is due to your mild mellow nature which must clear his headaches caused by this chaotic bunch. Unsurprisingly, Hoseok took a liking to you, well, because he’s Hoseok and incapable of negativity. Much to Jimin’s jealousy, you have a soft spot for Taehyung, his mysterious charm and boyish charisma; your friendship was almost instant.

But then Jungkook…

Your introduction was a blur of awkward hellos and unmet eyes. Every time you spoke to each other, it’s a nervous stutter from him or unwarranted silence from you. Worse, if the two of you happened to bump into each other in public, neither of you knew whether or not to say hi and commence a conversation like normal acquainted people, so it always ended up being an uncomfortably long pause before nodding out of courtesy then parting ways. It’s not like you belong to the same friendship group and see each other every week or anything.

Jungkook’s playful childisness shines brightly when surrounded by the boys, witch-cackle laugh and all. However, for some reason unbeknownst to anyone, this goofy side to him is immediately switched off in your presence, as if you’re the rain that extinguishes the flame of his candle. His body stiffens, eyes widen, voice stammers. Which only leads you to mirror his behaviour.

‘He’s just really uncomfortable around girls.’ Jimin has tried to offer the only plausible explanation. ‘Poor kid went to an all boys’ school his whole life, has only ever had one girlfriend who dumped him on their one year anniversary. Your femaleness scares him.’

That would be kind of cute, you guess, if you weren’t also a socially-uncomfortable hermit who requires soft gentle prodding in order to befriend. Because then you become two logs sitting beside each other, neither willing to inch towards the other.

Forgive Jimin’s mistake of thinking that sharing a roof would change this. Because how wrong was he… If anything, it only led to increased timidity around each other.

When you first moved in, Jungkook was eager to help you carry and unpack everything, seeing as he is the most physically apt person in the house. So you thought that it was his first step towards you, and that your dynamic was finally making progress into becoming one that’s more comfortable. He even lingered around your room the first few days with Jimin to help you open all your cardboard boxes.

However, he has since struggled to utter more than five words to you. Which has continued forth until this day. In the morning rush to class, you never encounter him due to your proneness to punctuality and his to tardiness. If you ever do, it’s only ever just a quick good morning, noona without looking up from his cereal. You both enjoy the safety of your own rooms, hence rarely peak your head out unless it’s for food. Jimin is always the one to drag you out by the foot, even if its just to his room or the sofa to watch a film with him. You say drag, but really you just enjoy seeing Jimin all pouty and whiny and sucking up to you in order to earn precious quality time with you; you actually enjoy being around Jimin. It’s worse for Jungkook though because he has his own ensuite bathroom, orders Deliveroo instead of coming out to eat with you two, and only ever joins social gatherings that you’re also involved in if a high enough bribe is offered.

Hence the time you and Jungkook are exposed to each other gradually diminished over time despite being roommates. At first you only suspected, but now you know for a fact, that he is purposely avoiding you like the plague.

It baffles you, if Jimin’s theory is true, how he could possibly be scared of you, regardless of his shyness towards the female specimen. Look at you, you’re this soft-mannered, quiet-spoken creature with a meek presence. You have more reason to be intimidated by his melon-sized biceps and aggressive shouts that echo from his room when he’s gaming at 2am.

So due to this mutually reciprocated mousiness, this awkward friendship-but-not-quite thing, has never been overcome in these months.

This is not a result of lack of trying, at least from your end. You do try to talk to him, exerting enough friendliness to burst your balloon of introversion. And you suppose he does make as much effort as he can as well. He once left you a note telling you to help yourself to the leftover pizza in the fridge. On your birthday, he gave you a card in which he drew cute little cartoon illustrations of you three housemates and wrote a short message.

Happy birthday, Y/N noona!

You are such a kind person, I hope we can speak more.

Jungkook :)

You thought the exclamation mark and smiley face were above and beyond for his standards. It made you smile for the rest of the day.

It’s 6:23pm and your growling stomach is exacerbated by the cold that has made itself at home in your bones. You’ve always been an early dinner person while Jimin and Jungkook are the opposite.

You’ve managed to get a hold of Jimin through Taehyung; your FaceTime call with him lasted a total of twelve minutes before the connection got too poor that it hung up on its own. Berating Jimin for leaving you alone with Jungkook, especially in this snow storm where everyone is basically on house arrest, all he did was laugh at your feign annoyance. You know it isn’t Jimin’s fault but you still like to blame him for all the awkward predicaments that are bound to happen.

After this chapter of the book you’re reading, you’ll go out to the kitchen and make some dinner, you decide.

Wait a second... Do you even have enough food in the pantry to last a whole weekend? Particularly since Jungkook can easily demolish three bowls of rice and a whole pound of meat, and still have room for dessert?

Looking out the window, you realise it’s snowing way too hard for you to feel confident to pop to the nearest grocery store without slipping and dying.

Shit! What are you going to eat these few days? Especially since the electricity can cut any minute?

Just then, you hear the echo of the front door shutting. Oh no… Jungkook did not just go out in this weather. He probably noticed the lack of food as well and decided to go for a shop. You know what he’s like, he’s a boy who’s really certain of his capabilities, over certain in fact. He probably does not see the hazard of leaving the house in such heavy snow, especially in the evening. Because nothing stands in the way between Jungkook and Food.

Do you go after him? Hell, if you do, you would probably get lost somewhere and slowly freeze to your inevitable death. You can barely navigate in perfect daylight.

Scrambling for your phone, you begin searching for his number. You’ve embarrassingly only called him once, and that was when you and Jimin got locked out of the house after a pub night.

No one is picking up.

In fact, when you check your screen, you don’t even have signal. The blizzard must be getting so bad that it’s refracting the radio waves. Which means it’s even worse for Jungkook to be out right now.

He’s such an idiot. Why did he think it’s okay to just take a walk to the supermarket right now in the middle of a snow storm? You’re such an idiot. Why were you too lazy to stock up on food during the day?

You pace around your room, phone clutched in your hand in case you miraculously get signal somehow. How on earth would you explain to Jimin that your roommate, his friend, whom he left in your care since you’re his senior, went out in a blizzard to buy food that you were supposed to have gotten this morning, and ended up dead from hypothermia?

Are you overreacting? Surely you’re overreacting. Everything is going to be fine! Deep breaths.

He’s going to come back any minute now and see you losing your mind over nothing. Right? Right.

Jungkook isn’t going to die. You’re being paranoid. Ridiculous. Overly anxious as usual.

But you can’t help yourself from pressing your face against your window to try to peek outside for a sign of him. The glass is ice cold against your skin, and it sends a blood-chilling shock through your veins. You can barely make out any shapes in the sea of greys and whites.

If you can’t even see out the window, how is he walking outside right now?

Screw it, you’re going to find him.

You’re a tornado getting dressed, whipping on your massive faux-fur lined puffer coat over two layers of fleece. A pair of gloves, double layer of socks, snow boots. Useless phone and hand warmers shoved in your pockets, you storm out of the house.

The cold that greets you burns up your nostrils and painfully invade your lungs. Snow is flying directly at your face, and you’re barely sheltered by your hood as you feel the icy flakes stab at your skin and melt away. Step by wary step, you steadily walk off your porch, careful not to slip. Your heart leaps out of your chest when your feet sink down at least 10 inches of snow, your squeal is muffled by the scarf you’re using as a ski mask.

It’s now been at least 10 minutes since he’s left. Jungkook is a fast walker, but in the snow, perhaps you could catch up with him.

The flickering lamp posts light up the night, but they may as well not be working because all you can see is white. Barely able to keep your eyes open, and batting away the heavy wind that’s threatening to blow you over, you trek in the direction of the local supermarket.

You don’t know how much time has passed when you realise that you don’t recognise the way anymore. Everything is a blur of snow. The cars, houses, street signs. All snow. Google maps is failing you; you’ve given up removing your gloves each time, your fingers instantly freezing at the exposure, to zoom in or rotate the navigation which keeps hopping from location to location.

You’re utterly and undeniably - lost.

Stopping dead in your tracks, you just plop down on your ass in defeat.

Where the hell are you? Where the hell is Jungkook?

Fear and frustration bubbles in your chest. It must have been half an hour now since you left the house. Surely he should be back, and surely he would’ve intercepted you on the way. That could either mean one of two possibilities: he got lost, slash, injured, slash, died on his way, or you have somehow strayed from the route to the store and he’s now frantically searching for you.

The lump in your throat festers into a ball of panic and despair. Looking around you, there’s absolutely no one. Just eerily-still buildings and snow-hidden cars. The only sound is the howl of the winter gust and your own uneven breathing.

You’re scared, and cold, and alone.

Why the hell did you think you could find him in this snow storm? You watch your warm visible exhale disperse in the icy air, the stinging of desperate tears piercing the back of your eyes. What are you supposed to do now?

And then it hits you. Perhaps you could trace your steps back since your feet have imprinted a trail in the snow. Looking behind you, you see that the downpour of snow has already began filling the footprints nearest to you. You’re praying that they haven’t already entirely covered your earlier steps closer to the house.

Gathering yourself together, you exert a lot of effort to stand up from the ground. Your butt is now wet, and a damp chill is seeping into your underwear. Determined, you follow your footsteps, which are growing fainter, back home.

You’re hoping you recognise the way now, that you’re not just convincing yourself that the street looks familiar.

Then an awful realisation hits you.

Both your hands are stuffed into your pockets, holding those hand-warming packets and your phone. But not your keys. You forgot your keys.

‘Fuck!’ Cursing is rare for you, but anyone would probably deem this situation as a very reasonable one to swear at.

Hot gushes of tears begin flooding down your face, painting streaks of cold that freeze over in a matter of seconds. How could you be this dumb? The snow is getting heavier right now. Checking the time on your phone, it’s 7 o’clock. The streetlights are dimming due to the weather, and the pitch dark night is starting to settle in around you.

You sink to a crouch.

This is it then, you guess. You’ve met your inexorable demise, rooted from your own stupidity. And Jungkook.

You can’t believe you’re going to die trying to find Jungkook in a goddamn snow storm.

The quiet sobs and sniffles that escape you are muted by the hood around your ears. A shiver overtakes your body as your muscles tremble as a last attempt to keep you alive. Your whole face is numb, teeth clattering, eyes clamped shut to stop the tears from freezing on your cheeks.

‘Noona?’

The voice is muffled but you recognise it instantly. Your eyes fly open to see a pair of shoes halted in front of you. You look up.

And there Jungkook is, eyes wide in shock, quivering lips parted in concern, carrying four plastic bags full of food and supplies. The streetlight situated directly behind him shines a halo around his head, painting a heavenly image of him. You’ve never been more glad to see anyone in your life.

Unable to contain yourself, you fling your ice-stiffened arms around his waist and bury your face in his coat-clad torso. Your knees give in and hit the ground. New tears spring from your eyes, but this time it’s tears of relief, tears of joy, tears of gratitude. A surge of his warmth washes over you, and all of a sudden, the cold cannot touch you.

‘W-What happened? Are you- Are you okay?’ Jungkook is rooted to the ground, he wants to wrap an arm around your small head or help you up but his hands are full with the groceries.

Gripping his sleeves, you tug yourself up to face him. You probably look like a mess, red eyes, nose and cheeks. But you don’t care. Jungkook is alive, you’re alive, and you’ve found each other. ‘Yeah, I’m fine, Jungkook. Everything is fine.’

‘You’re crying, noona.’ His ears are neatly tucked under his black knitted beanie.

‘Not anymore, I’m good now.’ Ferociously wiping the liquids profusely leaking out of your orifices, you give him the biggest grin your frozen cheek muscles would allow. ‘Let’s go home. Do you need help with the bags?’

‘No, don’t worry about them.’

Standing an inch apart, you walk side by side following his lead, assuming he knows the way. The material of your coats scrape at each other when either of you leans a bit too far towards the other.

‘What are you doing out here though?’ He asks quietly.

What are you doing out here? How do you give him an explanation that does not depict you as an idiot? Because once again, you’ve been stupid and dramatic and stressed over absolutely nothing. It’s twice in the same day now that you thought one of your roommates have died. When both of them turned out to be alive and well.

‘Um… Well, I thought it was dangerous for you to go outside alone in this weather, especially since it’s getting dark... I tried calling you but had no signal so, uh, I decided to... uh, come out to find you…’ Embarrassment begins to creep it’s way to your senses, it claws digging into your skin.

You peak at him in your peripheral vision to see him stiffen, eyes eerily focused on the snowy path in front. What is he thinking? Is he going to laugh at you? Think you’re dumb? Find you weird and obsessive?

‘Oh… Um.’ Clearing his throat, he glances at you and you quickly look away. Flustered. ‘You didn’t have to, I’m fine. I know this neighbourhood like the back of my hand, noona.’

‘Yeah, but you took so long. I got worried…’ You whisper the last bit.

An awkward pause is birthed. Your fists tighten around the hand warmers in your pockets.

‘I- I’m sorry for worrying you, noona.’ You hear his own fists tighten around the handle of bags as well, the plastic crinkling. ‘The supermarket around the corner was shut so I had to find another one that wasn’t. I made it just in time, though, right before this one closed as well. Then I also had to find a store that sells those so-’ He stops abruptly when he realises that he’s rambling.

‘Sells what?’

‘Doesn’t matter.’ Jungkook mumbles.

Another silence. The night has fallen, looking around, if it isn’t for the scarce light casted by the lamp posts, everything would be pitch dark. You’re so glad you’re not alone. Worse come to worse, you would’ve had to knock on these random houses and beg them to take you in for the night.

‘Wait,’ he says, ‘That doesn’t explain why you were crying.’

Well, crap. What are you supposed to say?

‘Uhh… Well, I got lost and my phone wasn’t working, so… I just kinda panicked.’ If your face wasn’t red from the cold and embarrassment from before, it definitely is now. You feel the blood pumping to your head, enough to make you sway a little.

‘Oh shit. I’m sorry, that was all my fault. I- I should’ve told you I was popping out in the first place. Ugh, noona, I’m sorry.’ You’ve never seen him display much emotion towards you, but currently, seeing him so alive with exasperation… It’s kind of endearing.

Screw earlier, this is the longest conversation the two of you have had, ever.

‘No, Jungkook, stop apologising. It wasn’t your fault at all!’

To be fair, you couldn’t have wandered that far if Jungkook found you on his way back from whatever shop he went to; you must’ve been close at least.

And so you two arrive safely to your house. Carefully wobbling up the porch slippery with slush, you stop in front of the door.

He looks at you expectantly. ‘Keys, noona?’ Of course, his hands are full.

Here you are, thinking you could’ve gotten away with not telling him you had moronically left your keys at home. ‘Um, I forgot to bring them with me.’ You utter, then add. ‘I was in a hurry.’

For a second, Jungkook looks like he’s about to tell you off for endangering yourself with such stupidity. But he just lets out a half-laugh half-sigh and bites down on his lip. ‘Mine are in my left, no, right back jean pocket.’

Right. He is asking you to get his keys from his back pocket.

His back pocket.

You freeze.

You’ve never so much as touched Jungkook, if you don’t count brushing shoulders. Hugging him back there was purely out of hysteria, which you retracted from the second you registered your action. Now, you’re going to grope his ass. This day just keeps getting you more familiar with him, doesn’t it?

Gulping, you suck up your cowardice and slide your hand into his back pocket, intentionally not looking at him while doing so. The firmness of his buttcheek fits snugly in your palm while your index finger hooks around his keyring. And what the hell, you strangely get the urge to squeeze it.

You yank your hand out of there before it can betray you and act on that impulse. Glimpsing up, you see that his cheeks are also crimson as he stares up at the ceiling a little too attentively.

After changing into some warm dry clothes and setting your snow-dampened ones on the radiator, you go out to the kitchen to see Jungkook cooking some ramen, which doesn’t come as a surprise as he practically lives off them. He’s dressed in sweatpants and a black hoodie; after cupping his ass through his back pocket, you can’t help but notice how round his rear is, especially in those bottoms.

God, what is wrong with you? You cannot seriously be checking Jungkook’s ass out.

This time his hood his down, and you appreciate how fluffy his hair is starting to grow. You can’t help but wonder what it sme-

Woah.

Why are you thinking so much about Jungkook?

Truth be told, that scare he gave you just now opened your eye as to how much you actually care about him. Despite never really saying much to each other, you guess you’ve grown a sort of fondness for him that you didn’t realise you have. It’s only natural; you have known each other for close to a year now, and half of which was spent under the same roof. Of course you would worry for his well being, you tell yourself.

The kitchen fan must be blocking his hearing because he doesn’t sense your approach, he’s singing softly to himself. He’s got a lovely voice, both your roommates do. But whereas Jimin sings loudly and proudly, Jungkook only does so in the shower or when he doesn’t think anybody is listening.

When he notices you finally, you’re peering over his shoulder. He jumps. You jump. The chopsticks he’s using to stir the noodles fly out of his hands, clattering on the counter.

‘Oh jeez, you scared me.’ He picks up the chopsticks.

‘Sorry.’ You squeak and take a step back when you realise your proximity.

‘Haha…’ He chuckles nervously, embarrassed. ‘Noona, you like jajangmyeon, right?’

Do you like jajangmyeon? You live and breathe jajangmyeon. You can’t go a week without jajangmyeon. You’ve had it for breakfast, lunch and dinner before all in one day. Those noodles in that sauce… Mmm…

‘Yeah, they’re my favourite.’ Is all you say though, you figure he probably doesn’t care for a whole speech about your love for them. Surely he knows at this point, there isn’t a single day in this house where the ramen cupboard is devoid of jajangmyeon.

‘Great, I’m making you some.’

Oh. Jungkook is cooking for you. A warmth creeps into your cheeks, and you’re not sure why.

‘You don’t have to, Jungkook. Just cook for yourself, I’ll make myself dinner after you.’ But then your stomach chooses now to bellow aloud like a bullfrog traitorously. You look at him, abashed.

A smile is playing at his lips, though he’s trying not to show it.

‘Go sit down, noona. It’ll be ready in a second.’ His eyes are fixed on the bubbling water, chopsticks hauling up the softening noodles to check their texture. Though you’ve never tasted his cooking, you don’t doubt ramen mastery, so you nod compliantly.

The bags of shopping are half unpacked on the dining table, so you decide to finish sorting them out. He’s bought gimbap, bread, cheese, some salad, mostly food that doesn’t require cooking; you can tell he has thought ahead for the potential blackout.

Then something else in the bag catches your eye.

‘Dinner’s ready.’ Jungkook carries two bowls of brown noodles, garnished with sausage and cucumber, just the way you like it.

He sets the bowls opposite each other on the end of the table that’s not packed with groceries. This feels extremely weird and domestic. Although you live together, you don’t remember the last time you’ve had a meal together on this table, just the two of you without Jimin. Yet now, you’re about to eat jajangmyeon that he cooked for you, right across each other. Extremely weird.

‘Thank you so much for cooking, Jungkook.’ You bow your head at him politely and take a seat opposite him.

‘You’re welcome, noona.’ He also mirrors your action. You can kind of understand why it must be so annoying to Jimin how you’re so formal to each other, it must sound so forced and awkward.

Which is what this meal is going to be. Forced and Awkward.

Jungkook waits for you to take the first bite before digging, which you have to do so without rolling your eyes back and moaning out loud in satisfaction. Jajangmyeon tastes so flipping good! Your one and only true love.

You’re too focused on slurping down the noodles that you don’t notice him smiling fondly at the rare sight of you so blatantly excited.

The meal goes by quietly, neither of you are talkers to begin with, much less while eating. Whether it’s because it’s your favourite dish, or because it’s a freezing cold winter day, or even maybe because it’s Jungkook’s own cooking, the food tastes especially scrumptious.

‘This is delicious.’ Your eyes are practically glowing at him; he shys away from the praise by sipping on his can of coke. Who drinks coke in this weather? A smile stretches your lips at the oddity of this boy’s taste.

Jungkook mumbles a thanks, avoiding your eye as usual. But the jajangmyeon has put you in a good mood, you’re feeling rather chatty actually. ‘Also, Jungkook, I saw you bought-’ You dig into one of the grocery bags and pull out what you spotted earlier.

‘Oh yeah.’ Jungkook stares at the two-pack of fluffy socks in your hand, wearing a slightly mortified expression. ‘Um… I thought... you could do with some new ones.’

Surprised, your whole body tenses. You had thought he bought them for himself after seeing you wear yours so comfortably. All thought flaps away from your mind like a flock of frightened birds, leaving an empty field. He- Why- What do you-

‘Oh.’ Clearing your throat, you murmur. ‘Wow, thank you so much.’ Unable to look at him for any longer, your eyes fall onto your noodles. Your hand holding the socks drop onto the table at the weight of his kindness. Then a realisation creeps up on you. ‘Wait… They don’t sell these socks in supermarkets…’

Glancing up, you find him fiddling with his fingers nervously. ‘Uh. I went to another shop that does.’

Knots upon knots begin to tie in your stomach. So that’s why he took so long out there, not only did he have to find another supermarket that was open, he also searched for a store that sells fuzzy socks. For you.

Why do you feel so warm everywhere?

When you fall into a silent trance of your own thinking, Jungkook gets worried. ‘Noona, do you not like them? Did I get the wrong ones?’

‘No, no, no!’ You frantically dispute, forcing yourself to look at him. ‘These are perfect! I’m just surprised… and touched. That’s all. Jungkook, you really didn’t have to.’ The fabric of the socks feel heavenly to touch, your thumb sinks into the clouds of its softness. Truly, this has taken you by surprise and you don’t know how to react.

‘It’s okay…’ Redness blooms across his cheeks like drops of watercolour.

First he cooks you your favourite meal, then he buys you fuzzy socks? Is this the same Jungkook you’ve been living with all these months?

‘No, here…’ You rip open the card of the packet and snap the plastic wire that holds the four socks together. ‘Take a pair, I only need one anyway.’

At you waving the socks in front of him, he leans back in refusal, shaking his head and muttering a string of no no no’s. You’re not at all a strong-willed person by any means, but you’re not backing down on this, not when he’s been so lovely to you all night. When he realises that you won’t take no for an answer, he sighs, scratching the back of his ears. ‘Okay, okay. You can have the mint ones.’

One pair is mint and the other is pink. You blink. He wants the pink ones?

When he realises what must be going through your head, he quickly says, ‘Mint is your favourite colour right?’

Mint is your favourite colour. Though how does he know? All your possessions are in a variety of pastels: baby blue, cotton candy pink, mint green and lilac purple. He couldn’t have possibly guessed…?

‘Yes, it is… But I seriously don’t mind if you want the mint ones, I’m not gonna make you take the pink ones.’

‘No, it’s fine. I don’t mind.’ Jungkook snatches the pink fluffy socks from you before you can argue and stuff them onto his lap.

Your heart does a little thing that you can’t describe.

The two of you finish your dinner in silence, mirroring each other with one hand gripping the socks ever so tightly and the other hand picking up the noodles with your chopsticks. Awkwardly, Jungkook take a glimpse at you. A tiny smear of sauce stains the corner of your mouth.

Does he tell you? It would make it awkward though, wouldn’t it? But then again, it would be worse for you to find out yourself when you look in the mirror and think that he didn’t tell you you have sauce on your face.

‘Sauce.’ He accidentally says before he could finish formulating what he’s going to say to you. Shit. What’s wrong with him? Why did he say it like that? In response to your confused expression, he gestures dumbly at the corner of his own mouth.

Instantly a blush flames across the apples of your cheeks. You are about to wipe it away with your sleeve when you realise a second too late that you’re wearing a white sweater.

Your hand dangles a centimetre from your face, wrist caught in Jungkook’s fingers as he notices the mistake in your action before you. His whole body is leaned over the table in order to reach you. Wide eyes locked on each other, neither of you dare to move at his sudden outburst of motion towards you.

‘Um.’ He peeps. ‘Careful, I’ll do it, noona.’

Before you can register, he lets go of your arm allowing it to fall onto your lap. When his index knuckle brushes against the end of your mouth, a wave of shock zaps down your spine. Your heart lurches down an abyss at how soft his skin feels on your sensitive lips. Then his touch is gone, leaving a warmth tingling in his wake.

As he looks around for something to wipe his finger on, pupils round like a puppy, your eyes refuse to leave him. Thank you sits at the tip of your tongue but your throat is too clogged to utter a sound. The clockworks are trying to turn in your brain but all you can focus on is Jungkook.

How is he this nice, kind, gentle boy? And how have you completely missed this about him? In fact, why have you been so demure with him when he’s… an angel?

Watching his tongue poke at the inside of his cheek, a much scarier thought dawns on you.

Do you have a crush on Jungkook?

White screen glaring at you, the words of your unfinished essay frowns at your lack of attention in disapproval. You can’t write about Jane Austen’s exploration of feminism when Jungkook has overtaken your capacity to concentrate on anything other than him.

The radiator by your desk acts as your foot rest, blazing the pleasant heat up your legs. Ever few seconds, your eyes would wander to those mint green fuzzy socks you’re wearing, so brand new that its fluff caresses your toes like a flower bed. Just the thought that he went out of his way to replace your old hole-ridden pair…

Stop.

Jane Austen. Focus.

But the phantom touch of his finger sweeping across the plump of your bottom lip is etched on your skin, the picture of his doe eyes staring at your mouth refusing to leave your memory.

What has happened to you? How have you just swung from two extremes: from hardly able to speak a word to him without stuttering, to daydreaming about his kindness towards you?

The cold is making you delirious. It has to be this godforsaken cold, because why else would you all of a sudden be so flustered from the thought of Jungkook?

You take a long hard sip of your coffee, and mark it as a new leaf. From now on, no more thinking about anyone else other than Jane Austen. Pushing up your sleeves, you straighten your slouching back and face the monster of you assignment head on.

Not 5 minutes later, your desk lamp begins to flicker. You throw it a quick glance as your fingers type on your keyboard. Weird, you just changed the bulb a few weeks ago. Nevermind it.

Then all of a sudden, all the lights in your room go out. Frowning, you get up and try the switch several times to no avail. Peaking outside your room, all that greets you is a cold darkness. So you turn on the flashlight on your phone and try other light switches of the house. Nothing. Even the heat begins to seep away from the heaters as they dim to a cool. Oh no, right now?

Using your phone as a torch, you pad towards Jungkook’s room and open his door before you can remember to knock. Perhaps your anxiety has overridden your common sense and courtesy. Unfamiliar with the orientation of his room, you trail your side against the wall to guide you.

‘Jungkook? I think the power’s ou-’

Your phone shines onto a tall silhouette, illuminating a view that makes you shriek and stumble back.

There he is, standing with a white towel around his waist, beads of water splattered across his naked body and dripping rapidly out his wet slicked back hair. The swell of his biceps catch your attention first, lined with prominent veins running all the way down to his large hands placed on his hips. Which leads your gaze to the illustrious v of his hips that arch down to-

Without meaning to, your eyes travel down to this bulge. His hefty unmissable bulge. The towel protrudes out like a tiny hill, and you want to scream at it.

If you had a drink in your mouth right now, you would surely spit it out all over him and choke to your death. But you don’t, so all that comes out of you is a strangled cat noise. Looking away from that sinful area as quickly as you can, you arrive at his face - shocked, alarmed and confused. Your cheeks burning in the flames of hell, you spin away hastily to sprint out of his room in horror.

Except you run into the wall.

The impact hits your forehead and thankfully not your nose. Phone flung onto the ground with the light facing up, you fall onto you knees clutching at the eruption of pain. But nothing hurts more than your pride and image.

‘Noona!’ One hand securing the towel covering his manhood and preserving his dignity, he scrambles over to help you despite himself.

You flinch away at his hand on your shoulder because he is now right beside you. And it’s as if you’ve zoomed in too far on a picture because his nakedness is suddenly magnified 100x. You want to Ctrl Z yourself out of his room and back into your own desk. Because what. the. hell.

What the hell? What the hell? What the hell?

Transfixed on the ridges of this abdomen, you cannot focus on anything other than the way his muscles groove up and down so smoothly to form a six pack. Shadows casted by the flashlight sculpting more definition onto his marble chest. Goosebumps are raised on his blemishless skin, which you almost want to stroke away with your warmth.

‘I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay.’ You chant cataleptically in a daze. It’s more for your own reassurance than his. His bare upper body needs to let you breathe.

‘Are you sure?’ His concern is apparent in his expression, eyes examining your entire face for your injury.

‘Yes, yes.’ Desperately wanting to shoo him away, you wince at the pulsing ache burgeoning in your forehead.

‘I’m sorry.’ You both say in unison, though neither of you understand why the other is apologising.

Though he seems abashed about being shirtless, his humiliation comes nowhere near your level. Why isn’t he scrambling to put a shirt on?

To be fair Jungkook does seem awfully self conscious, you’ve caught him looking down at himself for about the fifteenth time now as he helps you up to your feet.

‘I’ll let you get dressed, sorry.’ Is all you say after snatching your phone off the ground, not even bothering to check for a cracked screen, before making your timely escape. This time more successful than the last.

Clutching your throbbing head, you race to your room and catapult onto your bed. The picture of a wet, shirtless Jungkook with only a towel to shield you from his crotch is now ingrained in your mind. You think shutting your eyes will help but you still see his divine abs behind your lids.

Holy shit.

What perhaps scares you more is how attracted you are to him. Since when did you find your roommate hot? This is shy, quiet Jungkook who plays overwatch until 4am. How dare he have a Greek God’s body to confuse you like this?

You need to stop thinking about his naked body right now.

Instead you check outside your window to see that the streetlights are off as well; it must be a blackout across the whole town, if not city. Without heating, the cold air begins to harshly sting your exposed skin. Panic starts to fester in your chest. How long can you last with no electricity whatsoever? You don’t even have phone signal, or something to charge your phone with except the one portable charger that may or may not be dead right now.

Though your door is wide open, Jungkook knocks on it politely outside your room. Which is what you should’ve done with him, you mentally scold yourself. Though he is now dressed in an oversized hoodie, your image of him is forever changed after seeing him fresh out the shower, hair still dripping. You blink hard in attempt to rid that thought.

‘Hi…’ He whispers. He’s holding two burning candles against his chest, their flames lighting up the underside of his sharp jaw.

‘Hi, come in.’

You can sense his hesitancy, the unease in the air between you, when he enters your room gingerly, feet clad in those pink fuzzy socks.

‘Sorry-’ You both say at the same time again, then release a breath of laughter. Mirth twinkles in his eyes, though his shyness does not stray from him.

‘I’m sorry for barging into your room like that.’ It’s an effort not to glance down at his adorable socks. ‘That was completely my fault, so don’t apologise.’

He swallows. ‘It’s okay, noona.’

His eyes hold yours for a solid moment before dispersing. A familiar blush is starting to paint your cheeks, you feel the heat from your chest blare up to your entire face. Unable to help imagining those solid muscles underneath his clothes, you tug at the hem of your sweater.

‘So,’ Jungkook places one of the candles on your desk. ‘This is for you.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Instead of using the flashlight of your phone, use the candle or one of the torches I’ve put on the table outside to save your battery. I’ve checked the main fuse, it isn’t switching back on. Good thing is that we still have running water and plumbing, just no heating or any electricity.’ He glances at your own socks. ‘We need to use the water sparingly though or the reservoir will run out. From the shops, I’ve bought some food that we can eat without cooking like gimbap or sandwiches. There’s also a stash of hand warmers in the drawer of the TV stand if you’re cold.’

That’s a lot of words to come out of Jungkook’s mouth in one go, all spoken to you. What he’s saying is sinking in and relief washes over you, yet you can’t help but focus your attention on the way his lips move as he speaks. The dark red gleaming with lip balm, curving over each syllable so prettily.

‘That’s great, thank you.’ You finally snap out of it. ‘I’m so glad you’re here.’ That last sentence slips out of you before you could stop it.

Pupils widening a fraction, Jungkook’s lips part in reaction. Why did you tell him that? Maybe you should just lock yourself in your room after continuously embarrassing yourself tonight. But then he pulls into a smile that melts away the ice that’s numbing your limbs and burning your lungs. The front of his teeth slightly jutting out sweetly.

Again, a fondness tickles your chest.

‘Me too.’ The tingle spreads into a pulse that crushes your throat. Is that why they call it a crush?

You simply cannot suppress your own growing grin.

Jungkook begins to walk away, but then stops at your door and turns back. There’s a reluctance, an uncertainty to his slow movement as he faces you.

‘If… If you get too cold without the radiator… you can…’ His voice barely a husk. ‘You can come over to mine.’

Then he’s gone. The aura lit up by his candle gradually diminishes away from you as he walks down the hallway to his room.

Frozen in place, you’re not even sure if your heart is beating anymore. Those final words ring in your ear like wind chimes.

You can come over to mine.

Does he mean what you think he means? Is he offering to keep you warm during the night?

You watch the candle he’d placed on your desk, its flame mirroring the small fire kindling in your core for the boy who went out during a blizzard to buy you fuzzy socks so your feet don’t get cold.

On the other side of the wall, Jungkook is on the verge of combustion at his bold proposition to you, red burning the tips of his ears. Though the memory of the look of pure euphoria on your face when you took your first bite of jajangmyeon burns his heart hotter yet.

The cold is brutal and shows no mercy. Despite your tossing and turning and effort to warm yourself up, sleep does not grace you. Part of the blame goes to Jungkook, you have not been able to cease thinking about him and everything he has done tonight. It makes you reflect on all your past moments together, whether he has always been like this and you were only too closed off to pay heed.

Sitting up from your bed, you decide you won’t be able to fall asleep without extra warmth. You need hand warmers stuffed down your pyjamas.

So, muscles stiff from the cold, you clamber out the little warm burrow of your covers and head for the living room, forsaking any light since your vision has adapted to the dark. On your way there, you walk past Jungkook’s room. Without knowing why, your legs betray you and stop outside his door.

You can come over to mine.

The low rasp of his voice still echoes in your head, stirring your unwarranted feelings for him into a warm pot of honey.

Had he really meant it? Did he honestly invite you to his share his bed? Surely not - this is Jeon Jungkook you’re thinking of, he doesn’t even speak to you most days, can’t not cower away from your glare. And he also knows what you’re like, how it took you two whole months to even warm to all of Jimin’s friends, how you only recently stopped using honorifics with those older than you.

And surely he must be at least mildly aware of the lack of boys and romance in your life, living just down the hall from you. Jimin is the closest male friend you have, and even so, you aren’t completely comfortable with sleeping beside him.

But then… All that has transpired about Jungkook’s character tonight, how sweet and kind and thoughtful he is which completely falls outside your predictions of the boy…

You realise you want to know more, want to explore the depths and mysteries that is your strange roommate. This intangible force that has been building up in the mere hours you’ve spent together this cold winter’s night draws you to him.

So screw those hand warmers, they last way too short anyway. Who needs those fidgety packets when there’s a whole Jeon Jungkook next door?

Gathering all the courage you can muster, you knock on his door.

The wood sends tendrils of cold into your knuckles. There’s a pause at first which leaves you thinking that he’s asleep, and to be fair, this late at night he has every reason to be. You’re about to turn away and head forth down the hall when you hear sheets moving, followed by his muffled come in.

Timidly, you step into his room, mind still fresh with the memory of what had happened last time you entered here unannounced, mere hours ago. Let’s not think about that right now, shall we?

Jungkook is sat up in his bed, black hood engulfing half his head. A single scented candle lit on his bedside table beside him illuminates the whole room into a golden ochre hue, it smells of freshly washed sheets.

‘Hi…’ You peep out, stopping in front of his bed.

‘Everything ok, noona?’ His eyes are fixed on your face in wonder, but when you meet them, they dart to your socks.

‘Um, yes.’ How do you put this? How do you formulate those words? ‘I just… It’s absolutely freezing with the radiators not working. Maybe- D-’ You exhale shakily. He’s gaze slowly crawls back up to your face as he realises where you’re going with this. ‘You know how you suggested that we should… sleep tog- on the same bed… to keep each other warm…? Well...’

Jungkook blinks at you. For a heartbeat, all you want to do is curl up into a ball and roll out of here. You couldn’t even finish what you were saying because your jaw has simply refused to move, refused to let you carry on embarrass yourself.

Then, although he was already on one side of the bed, he scooches over to the left. He doesn’t look at you when he replies, ‘Of course.’

Your heart is pumping fast, almost making you choke on your constricting throat. Warily you clamber onto his bed, but stop when only your knee is on the mattress. The bed frame creaks. Jungkook is regarding you with an unreadable expression, nibbling on his bottom lip. ‘Wait, if this is weird, just tell me to go.’

‘N-No. It’s fine.’ Pulling the covers over his chest, he crosses his arms shyly. There’s a pink tint to his cheeks, though you could be mistaken due to the odd lighting. ‘I was struggling to fall asleep from the cold as well.’ He adds when you don’t seem convinced.

Both of you are making this a bigger deal than it actually is, you are fully aware. It honestly pains you how awkward you two are with each other; if this were Jimin, he’d be dragging you onto his bed by the waist, letting you flounder about in his arms like a cat trying to escape before smothering you with his affection. But this is Jungkook. Quiet, shy, awkward Jungkook. Jungkook who hasn’t spoken more than ten words a day to you before the events of tonight even though you live together. Jungkook who you’re slowly learning more and more about during this blizzard.

Plus, he was the one who offered to share his bed earlier in the first place. This is fine, just fine. Act normal.

Overly conscious of how he’s watching your every movement carefully, you slowly burrow into the comfort of his bed. Immediately you’re enveloped in his residual body heat under the duvet. Now you realise that he moved over to the other side of the bed, the cold side, so you can relish in the warmth that he’s been collecting under these covers.

Why is Jungkook so… considerate?

Again, the same fuzzy feeling as before tugs at your heartstrings. Suddenly you want to reach out to him, but instead, you tug at your sleeves.

You’re both staring at the blank ceiling as if it is some fascinating art piece, with enough space between you to fit a Jimin. The candle has casted long grey shadows across the room, occasionally flickering haphazardly.

Everything that is currently whizzing through your head is driving you insane. This is actually happening. You are sharing a bed with Jungkook, the guy who you can’t even look in the eye when speaking to, your roommate who has only ever tried to avoid you. This day is a jack-in-the-box of Jungkook-themed surprises. What’s going to be next?

‘Feeling warmer, noona?’ He breaks the silence first, and you can’t help but glance over at him. His side profile is mostly masked by his hood, yet you can still see his jaw clenching. You can only imagine how uneasy he is currently feeling.

‘Yes.’ It’s barely a whisper you manage, so you clear your throat. ‘Much better Jungkook, thank you.’

Another silence. Though this is an improvement from before, you still feel a chill in your bones; the cold is a resilient pest that aches your muscles and numbs your face.

‘Should I blow out the candle then?’ You ask.

‘Oh right, yeah.’

You huff at the small flame but it refuses to go out, and you kind of don’t want it to as it provides a strong beacon of heat as its smoke licks at your face. You huff again. Still, it only wavers. You’re so cold that you don’t even have the strength to take out a candle. Peaking over at Jungkook, his eyes are locked on you patiently.

‘I’ll do it.’ He leans across the bed over you, you feel his warmth radiate into your proximity as his should hovers over your face. His scent, a clean soft musk, swims up your nose; you never noticed how pleasant he smells. The veins on his neck are protruding as he strains to reach over. When he extinguishes the candle with a single harsh blow, embarrassment rains on you.

Darkness enshrouds you two. As he returns to his position, you notice that he’s closer to you than before, now only less than a foot away. The sound of his breathing provides a steady rhythm that soothes your wild thoughts.

Though your social skills are subpar by nature, Jungkook has a way of magnifying your awkwardness. Should you say something? Good night? Thank him again?

Then you realise, he’s shivering. Of course, his hair must still be wet from his unfinished shower that was cut short by the blackout. God, he must be freezing.

‘You’re cold.’ You state, though you mean it more as a question.

‘I’m fine.’ Hums his response, yet his inhale is shaky.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you know what you’re going to do next is completely out of character and will require more guts than you actually possess. Your hand gropes at the space between you until you find his hand. It’s ice cold. Jungkook jumps at the contact and you hear him turn his head towards you. You hope his sight hasn’t adjusted to the dark yet so he can’t see how abashed you are.

‘You’re not fine.’ His fingers are stiff when you interlock yours between his. Everything is screaming inside you. What are you doing? What the heck? If Jimin were here to see this his jaw would drop all the way down to hell.

Unable to suppress the urge either, you also turn to look at him. In the dark, you can barely make out the outline of his face, the shape of his glossy eyes reflecting the moonlight seeping in through the window. Slowly, his fingers curl up around your hand. Your heart flips.

Blood roaring in your ears, you inch towards him like a frightened deer until your sides are pressed against each other. Your faces must be a hand’s width apart, but the darkness fuels you with a brazenness that allows you to not cringe away. His whole body tenses in response.

‘Better?’ Voice so soft he strains to hear you.

Jungkook nods, eyes never leaving yours. ‘Better.’ His response rumbles into your ear and percolate into your mind, and only now are you aware of how close he is.

An amalgamation of unidentifiable emotions stir inside you. You feel your own warmth trickle towards him as his does with you, and slowly his presence plucks away the cold you are plagued with.

‘Good night, Jungkook.’

‘Good night, Y/N noona.’

Though it’s only briefest of movements, you feel his thumb stroke over yours once, twice, as your eyelids fall shut.

The next morning, you wake up first with your head fitted cosily on his heavily breathing chest, his arm draped across your shoulder, shielding you from the chilly morning air.

The power still isn’t back on.

It’s now nearing 24 hours since the blackout first hit.

You’ve wasted the day wandering about the house, unsure of what to do with yourself. Though you tell yourself it’s the withdrawal symptoms from the internet, it’s mostly due to the fact that you slept next to Jungkook last night.

The earlier half of the day was spent subtly avoiding him because what the hell are you supposed to say to him? Do you just carry on your usual selves around each other or are you, like, friends now? You caught yourself watching him sleep this morning, serene breaths in and out through his nose. There’s a tiny mole under his lips that you’ve never noticed before. You had poked it with your pinky before you could stop yourself. And thankfully he’s a heavy sleeper, he didn’t even stir.

With more effort than you thought would require, you pried yourself out of his arms, a cold breeze instantly welcoming you in an embrace as you left his bed.

Those scenes keep replaying in your head: him finding you out in the blizzard, watching him cook you jajangmyeon, discovering that he when out of his way to buy you new sock, then walking in on him almost stark naked from the shower, and finally, falling asleep enveloped in his warm and scent.

You’re definitely crushing on him.

You’ve stopped denying it when you saw him meander wearily out his room at noon, bed head ruffled, eyes still droopy from sleep. Wordlessly, you had passed him the ham and cheese sandwich you prepared for yourself and you don’t even know why because you were absolutely starving.

The downpour of snow only stopped for a good 10 minutes this afternoon, a tiny window in which you poked your head out for some fresh air. Jungkook had tried to shovel away some snow to clear the porch, but quickly ran back inside when he saw your worried face plastered to the window watching him.

There isn’t much either of you can do with no electricity, no internet, no television, trapped indoors. So you occupy your day curled up on the couch, nose buried in a novel, completely immersed in that beautifully crafted fictional world.

Until Jungkook walks out in a white t-shirt and shorts.

Your eyebrow raises, peeking at him from behind the pages.

‘I’m gonna work out here, if you don’t mind. There isn’t enough space in my room.’ He scratches the back of his head.

‘Sure.’ You exhale, knowing your demise is looming over your head like a storm cloud. A lot of self control is exercised in order to not ogle at his calves.

Training your eyes at the novel in front of you with great determination, you turn the page. The first minute is easy enough, you just have to angle your book to block your view of him. But then his breathing grows heavier, panting every rep. At that, you can’t help but glimpse past the corner of your page.

Oh Lord. He’s doing push ups.

Though his biceps are mostly covered by his sleeves, the muscles of his forearms tensing at every contraction catch you eye. You marvel at the way his tendons flex out, and the way his serpentine of veins snake down his hands.

Jeez.

Then he lets out an unholy grunt, setting your whole skin on aflame. Scarlet stains your cheeks, you’re sure of it. But the sinful sounds do not stop. Sweat his now seeping through his shirt, rendering the material transparent down his back. And his ass…

You snap your focus back to your novel.

Just in time as well because he stops onto his knees, head falling back as he sits on his ankles, panting. His neck is shimmering with his perspiration, droplets trickling down like a brook.

Jungkook glances over at you to see you reading intently, jaw clenched from what he guesses is due to the excitement of the plot.

But then you stand up so abruptly that it startles him. You can’t sit here and spy on his workout any longer, you physically cannot take it. Not to mention, it makes you feel so awful, like you’re perving on the poor clueless boy who only wants to break a sweat.

The both of you just stare at each other, flustered for different reasons. His breathing slows.

‘I’m gonna-’ You don’t know where you’re going with the sentence. Gulp. ‘Uh, see you later.’

Scampering away into your room, you don’t wait for his response. Why are you panting heavier than he is when he’s the one exercising? Your book is pressed tightly against your pounding chest as you lean your back on your door. Your legs give way and you slowly slide down onto the cool floor.

There’s one thing you know for sure.

Jeon Jungkook is not good for your heart.

It’s almost midnight and Jungkook is standing outside your door. Fist clenched, inches away from rapping on the wood, but completely frozen in action.

Just do it, idiot. He scolds himself.

After an ice cold post-workout shower, this time early enough so he doesn’t have to sleep with wet hair, you both had gimbap for dinner. It was an excruciatingly silent meal which he blames himself for, though he can’t help the way his tongue gets tied every time he wishes to speak to you.

And now, bed time, he is at a dilemma of whether or not to ask to sleep with you again. It may come across as too forward coming from a guy, he doesn’t want to scare you. But he also knows that he will be missing the warmth of your body beside him if he goes to bed alone.

Jungkook sighs and lets his hanging hand fall to his side.

If you wanted to, you would have gone to his room anyway. Might as well save the awkward rejection and just take this as a no.

However, your door suddenly swings open. He’s confronted with a pyjama-wearing, baby-faced you, flinching back a step at the surprising sight of him.

‘Op- I was just....’ His sentence falls flat. He was just what?

‘I was just coming to find you.’ You mutter, eyes softening if he isn’t mistaken. A flood of relief rushes at him, so you were planning on coming to him tonight.

Wordlessly, you pad after him to his room. Everything is dark but you see his figure clearly in front of you. It gives you a false sense of confidence which leads you to trip over his charger wire you so clumsily missed.

You don’t know how he reacts so quickly to your yelp of distress, but he turns around in time to catch your outstretched arms by the elbows. ‘Watch out.’ Feet fumbling over each other, he stumbles back onto his bed as you fall onto him. The weight of your bodies sink down onto the mattress.

Hard muscle cushions your fall. Chests pressed against each other, you don’t realise your hands have instinctively circled around his shoulders for balance. Your nose is touching his fabric of his collar, his musk instantly overriding your senses. When you look up, his eyes are a crystal clear pool somehow reflecting the constellations of the night sky in this darkness. His breath caresses your forehead. Your gaze drops to his mouth, pink and parted.

You want to kiss him, you realise. So badly. Every fibre of your being is currently yearning to meet his lips, longing to know whether he tastes better than he smells.

But then your limbs are moving for you, propping yourself up and off him. Your own mouth forms and quiet ‘sorry’ as you shuffle under the sheets. It’s as if you’re watching your own actions through your eyes, controlled by your logic rather than desire. You couldn’t let yourself kiss him.

Jungkook silently squirms into his bed beside you, unwilling to look your direction as much as you’re averse to his.

So this is how it’s going to be again. Two sleeping logs next to each other.

There’s an ache of regret in your heart for being so timid. Annoyance at yourself drips down your throat, fist clenching at the sheets. You should’ve kissed him right then and there, consequences be damned. When will you get another chance? But perhaps it was fate. You have no idea how he would’ve reacted; the pessimist in you thinks he would’ve been disgusted. Yes, it was fate. It was right not to have kissed him.

Wait, no. A boldness suddenly pours down on you. Shyness and introversion has gotten you nowhere before, and it will not help your situation now.

‘Jungkook.’ Your voice comes out crisp and clear.

‘Hm, Noona?’

‘I’m still cold.’ Turning to face him, you see innocent confusion settle in his expression. The sound of your thumping pulse has reached your ears, your heart is a speeding motor flying off to find him. ‘Come closer.’

The shadow of his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. His focus does not stray from you as he slides across the bed hesitantly.

‘Closer.’

He edges further towards you. You can now just about make out the shape of the scar that flecks his left cheek.

‘Closer.’

This time, his exhale tickles your neck. Warm bodies touching, confusion and perturbation cloud his glassy orbs as he scans your face for an answer to the plethora of questions swimming in his head.

‘Thank you.’ You breathe, though it feels like no air is entering you. You can’t believe what you’re doing. This close to him, you’re entire being bathes in his presence, his aura; a familiar tingling ails your soul as your eyes flicker to his lips.

Every single muscle in Jungkook is frozen in shock, unsure of what is going on and why the sudden change in your demeanour towards him. And when you turn onto your side away from him and inch by inch back your body onto his front, his heart

stops

beating.

Nose buried in your floral-scented hair, vacillating thoughts tell him to put his arm around your waist and hold you close to him. You sense his unsureness in the way his hand rests on your side and pauses for too long before pulling you into his chest.

His frame engulf yours, the curve of your back lining perfectly with his. You feel safe, protected. His furnace touch on your waist burns through the thick fabric of your jumper and seeps into your core. The effect he has on you is nothing you’ve ever experienced before, and neither have you ever been in this position with anyone. Although it isn’t much, merely just cuddling, this feels so remarkably intimate and intense, like you’ve finally stepped through a threshold built into the emotional wall that towers between you and him.

You’re not entirely sure if you’re breathing.

Despite being the one to instigate this, you’re awfully apprehensive, not daring to even twitch incase it rattles him and sets him scrambling away. The two of you are like a pair of squirrels, slowly approaching to sniff each other, curious yet easily frightened.

His hot breath rushes down your spine like smoke. You desperately want to know what he’s thinking. Is he as nervous as you? Do you feel comfortable to him as he does to you? Or is he already falling asleep?

You should close your eyes and try to. Though who are you kidding? You’d never manage to catch a wink when you’re an accidental turn of a face away from kissing him, at least not right away anyway, not until you calm yourself down with a mental meditation exercise or something.

The urge to check if he’s indeed asleep is yanking at you, but you use all your willpower to resist, not wanting to risk rousing him when he’s as skittish as you.

But then you feel it.

Him.

It’s subtle at first, just a gentle pressure at your bottom.

Innocent and untainted as you are, you don’t even realise what it is at first, so you shift your hips unconsciously.

Then it’s stiffness grows, and grows, until it’s a baton poking at your rear.

Something in your core ignites, your chest constricts, and a wildfire of lust you’ve never felt before smoulders from your scalp to your toes before finally rooting itself in your sex. Ten hells, Jungkook’s boner is touching your ass. Jungkook has a boner and it’s touching your ass. Jungkook has a boner because of you and it’s touching your ass.

Your brain is devoid of all senses except a formidable hunger for him. Suddenly, though he’s almost surrounding you completely, the only thing you can feel is his hard member prodding you.

Is he asleep or not, you need to know.

Then a strange force possesses your lower half, and like a puppet on a string, your ass sinks back further onto him until his length is tunnelled between your cheeks.

The softest moan escapes him, almost a gasp even.

You think he’s going to say something, move away or stand up and leave. Instead he pulls himself away and slowly thrusts forward again. His clothed length slides smoothly up your crack, brushing ever so slightly over your slit. It sends a wave of arousal convulsing up your core, so powerful you almost choke.

Continuing to encourage him, your hips move in tandem with his, rubbing your ass all over his pulsing erection, occasionally letting it slide between your thighs against your clit. A pleasured mewl escapes, though you’re not sure who from. You’ve never felt anything like this, the ruin that overtakes your core at the friction. This is a divine sensation, luxury of the gods.

Jungkook’s fingers dig into your waist as his pace increases, his breathing slowly shifting into wavering panting. Finally you succumb to the urge to twist around to look at him. Your heart erupts at the pure devastation contorting his face. His brows angled in pleasure, teeth clamped down on his lip to suppress those unholy noises, lids hanging heavy at the weight of his thirst for you. When his eyes lock on yours, something unleashes in him and devours you wholly.

Fire and ice. His lips feel like both fire and ice. Fire because your entire mind is burning at his smoothness, fuelled by your unkempt want for him to take over you. Ice because everything that isn’t him feels numb and insignificant, and your feelings for this man holding you is the purest flake of snow.

Your first kiss, and it’s already the best kiss you’ll ever have, you’re sure. Because the way his lips meld onto your, the desperation in the way he leans so far into you, the heat of his arousal forging it’s mark between your legs. Nothing in this world can top that.

‘Noona.’ He sighs into you. It drives you absolutely insane.

Fingers grappling in his wavy locks, you reposition yourself completely to face him. His length twitches against you as your leg swings behind him to pull him closer. He is holding your neck with a heartbreaking delicacy, thumb stroking your jaw like it’s the most fragile of chinas.

‘Jung-’ You whimper. ‘Koo…’

Tasting of mint, his tongue gently laps at yours when you open for him. You’re drowning in his essence, lungs filling with his air, though you welcome your sweet painless death like it’s a heavenly gift.

Knowing his docile nature, you move his hand underneath your top, giving him permission to roam freely on your skin. He snakes around your back and circles around your front before finally meeting your sore breasts. As he kneads them tenderly, you feel a warmth ooze out of you into a puddle of concupiscence in your pants.

Oh God.

Your own hands wander beneath his hoodie, raking up the bumps of his god-sculpted abdomen and taking hold of his muscular chest. His wet kisses are a drug, and you’re completely and utterly under its control.

‘Jungkook, I want you.’ You moan.

When his eyes fly open, you’re met with pools of desire, seething into you like jets of lust. Never in your wildest dreams did you think you’d experience him like this, covetous for you and withering under your touch.

‘Noona… Fuck.’ He trembles as your hand travels down his navel, daring to slide under the band of his sweatpants. ‘I want you so bad, noona.’

The whimper that leaves his mouth when you palm him through his boxers sends a flood of yearning down to your core.

Holy shit.

He feels…

Massive.

Heavy with girth, only about half of his length fits in your palm. You have to stretch your fingers in order to fully encompass him. He is fully at your disposal, groaning, grip tightening on you.

As he huffs into the edge of your jaw, his own hand comes down to find your pussy pulsing for his touch. When his touches your clothed slit, a compulsion forces your hips to buckle forwards. And when he begins to rub circles right on that tender spot, waves upon waves of ecstasy hit you.

Whining like an animal, your head falls back at the newfound pleasure he’s showing you. With you neck presented so openly to him like a platter of dessert, he plants dulcet kisses onto you, his gentleness kindling your fire for him. Despite your attempt to wind your focus back to him, your grip on his erection slackens at his vibrations on your cunt.

‘Can I?’ Jungkook whispers into your ear, softness tickling your lobe. You don’t waste a second before nodding eagerly.

Then his fingers slide underneath your panties. Sensitivity explodes at the contact between the pad of his thumb and your clit. A string of moans release from you. His fingers stroke tactfully up your slick, lubricated by your wetness for him. And when he slides his digit into you, the thread that holds your soul to sanity snaps.

‘Oh my god.’ He pushes through the sleek pressure of your walls. ‘Jungkook.’ The whimper of his name rolling off your tongue sends a rush of blood down to his aching cock.

‘Noona, is that okay?’ The genuity in his voice squeezes your heart.

‘Yes, it feels so, argh, good.’

He latches his lips onto your neck and sucks clouds of lavender to your smooth seamless sky. His finger is slowly pumping in and out. It is a foreign feeling, so strange and unfamiliar, yet all the more exciting. The rise of his knuckles hit your wall at eye-rolling angles. Your hips roll in his rhythm to help him reach newer depths. The pleasure is unforgiving, relentless.

Another feeling gnaws at your chest, a longing to please him.

‘I want to make you feel good, Jungkook.’ You mumble, shy.

He looks up at you, finger gradually ceasing its movement. The pure passion alit in his eyes drives you thrumming for him.

‘O-Okay.’

‘You… You have to teach me though.’ Redness flushes your cheeks.

‘Okay.’ He says again, and you wonder if you’ve broken him at the way he’s frozen.

Sheepishly tugging down his pants, you inch yourself down and settle between his legs, the duvet rested upon your shoulders. He bobs free from the restraint of his apparel.

Your eyes bulge at his cock that is, despite the darkness, standing tall and proud, beaming at you. How is that monster going to fit inside you?

A strong vein runs down the course of his length. Angry red tip swollen and trickling with a clear liquid. You look up to find him staring helplessly down at you, gulping. A nervous fear is eating away at your throat; you’ve never done this before, how are you supposed to know how right now?

‘Teach me.’ Your fingers come around the base of his shaft and he gasps audibly.

‘Uh-’ Another gulp. ‘Lick the tip.’

You lick the tip. Drawing your tongue over his engorged head, tasting his salty precum that continues to leak out of him profusely. He curses.

‘Like that?’ Your mouth doesn’t leave him as you say.

‘Mhmm.’ He runs his hand through his dark locks in exasperation. ‘Suck on it gently.’

You suck on it gently. Lips wrapped around his tip like a vacuum while you breath him in. Your cheeks hollow. You look up at him for approval. One eye is clamped shut, the other is barely held open to witness the most seraphic scene.

‘Fuck, noona, like this.’

You try to take in more, letting his wide cock slide into your mouth, careful not to scrape your teeth against his hilt. When he hits the back of your throat, you gag and splutter around him. Embarrassment shoots at you, yet when you glance up, he doesn’t seem to care.

Instead, he brushes your hair behind your ear and coos, ‘Careful, noona.’ He’s so sweet, so dear, you feel a crack in your heart.

So you try again, this time slower, swallowing as much of him as you can. Your hand swirl around his shaft while his massages the back of your scalp. You roll your tongue around his head every time you come up, flickering at his slit. Soon, your pace increases along with your confidence. Jungkook is a mess under you, thighs quivering, toes curling. Humming in satisfaction, your vibrations resonate into his dick and he yelps.

‘Noona, stop before I cum.’ The way he pleads sends your cunt throbbing. You pull his member out of your mouth almost obscenely, inhaling sharply for air.

He gently places you on your back, finger tracing your drenched lips in endearment. ‘Was that ok?’

‘That was perfect, noona. Are you sure that was your first time?’ Doe eyes wide in awe of you. You giggle and nod, glowing in timid pride. ‘Are you sure you want to do this?’

At that, the reality of this situation hits you. This is happening, this is actually happening. You’re going to have sex for the first time. With Jungkook.

Are you sure you want to do this?

You are sure you want to do this. If not with him, then no one else.

‘Yes.’ You state firmly, eyes never once wavering from his.

His gaze on you is so soft, yet so intense, you want to melt under him. ‘Okay. I- I need to go find a condom in Jimin’s room.’

Fuzzy with your feelings for him, you watch him scramble off in the dark to the other room. Loud clangs echo down the hall, you can’t help but smile at the thought of him digging through Jimin’s pig sty, frantically searching with his rock hard cock.

Jungkook returns moments later to the sight of you completely naked on his bed. Gaping like a little boy, he almost falls onto you as he climbs onto the bed while he tears off his own top. For a minute, you two just stare at each other’s bodies, allowing the beauty to sink in and etch itself forever in your souls.

‘Noona, you’re so beautiful. Do you know that?’ He leans over to kiss all over your face.

A warm prickle sieges your heart. No one has ever called you beautiful before. Emotion floods you like an ocean, and you’re suddenly met with a familiar sting behind your eyes.

He hovers over your lips, nose rubbing on yours so lovingly you want to cry. You’re at a loss for words, so you just nod, not daring to peep a sound lest a tear escapes from you.

His hands are shaking as he rolls on the condom. Prudently, he kisses up your inner thighs before spreading them open with care. Finally, he pecks the top of your flower fondly.

Then slowly he rests his elbow beside your head and situate himself between your legs. Both your breaths are wobbly, you search his face for security and find it. His irises reflect his galaxy - you. And your fear ebbs away.

Stroking his tip along your wetness, he kisses the shell of your ear. ‘Are you really really sure?’

‘Yes, Jungkook.’ Your fingers entangle in his hair assuringly.

‘Tell me to stop if it hurts a lot. Promise, noona?’ His concern is heart wrenching.

‘Promise.’ You whisper, other hand locking with his.

Only then does he begin to ease into you. At first you don’t feel much, just his tip diving into you. Then the rest of his length pushes in, plunging through a tremendous pressure built into your walls. Pain blooms inside you as he enters deeper and deeper, it’s an ache that you anticipated but never imagined. You both cry out, though for different reasons.

‘Are you okay?’ You can tell he’s struggling to stay still, shoulders tensing at the temptation to thrust again.

‘Mhmm.’ You manage to gripe. Because despite the blinding pain, you are okay.

‘I’m gonna go as slow as I can.’ He ensures you, fingers tightening around yours.

When he plunges into you again, you expect the hurt to lessen, but it doesn’t. It overwhelms your whole body, yanking inside you. Though, every time he kisses your lips so tenderly, your forget the soreness he’s impaling into you for a fresh second. Opening your eyes, you see him panting at your tightness, trying with every muscle in his body not to go wild at you.

‘Fuck, noona.’ He exhales, forehead rested on yours.

Seeing him so berserk with pleasure calms your running anxiety. His thrusts inevitably quickens, and you just about begin to see pass the pain. Behind the ache, there’s a gratifying sting clenching your walls. The slap of his hips against your thighs ring loud.

‘Still okay?’ Jungkook asks again, worry painting his face at your silence.

‘Yes, you can go faster.’ You answer despite the ever-present soreness. When he drives hard into you, stars and tears blurring your vision.

Something in him snaps as you feel him twitch inside you. His movements grow sloppy and feral, just like the grunts that he heaves. Chasing his climax, you can tell how close he is to his sweet release.

‘Oh- Noona, I’m so cl-ose.’ He’s whimpering into your neck.

‘Jungkook, baby. Come for me.’

At your name for him, he goes crazy, ramming into you with a strength and stamina that you couldn’t expect less of from him. ‘Noona…’ He begs. The pressure inside you is easing, pain dulling, though you know you won’t feel any pleasure this time round.

Then, in one last powerful push, he ejects into you with a loud cry. You pull his lips to yours immediately to soothe his euphoria. This look of pure pleasure on his face rips you to shred as he refuses to let go of your hand. His hips jerk into yours to ride out is high as his whole body deflates onto you.

Although it’s a freezing night, goosebump plaguing both your skins, neither of you feel cold. Instead, you are enshrouded by the warmth of your passion and desire, all you feel is each other.

You, wrapped tightly around him, and him, spasming inside you.

Heavy with exhaustion, he nuzzles up to kiss you. Long, slow and hard. You have never truly appreciated his beauty until this point, under the subtle snow-clouded moon, eyes boring into you with a never-dimming glow of adoration.

Jungkook removes himself from you, hastily disposing the condom to not miss a moment by your side. Dressing you first so you don’t catch a breeze of cold, his touch feels so much warmer, gentler.

Snuggled up under the covers, he holds you so close to him that you hear his beating heart. For a timeless passage, you stare into each other wordlessly, fingers tracing delicately over every patch of skin.

‘Y/N...’ He muses out loud. ‘Y/N… You don’t know how perfect you are…’

Again, he has rendered you speechless.

Caressing your cheek in his palm, he continues. ‘I wish you could see yourself through my eyes because then you would understand why I’m so completely in love with you.’

At his words, your throat constrict. ‘What?’ You choke out.

‘I’m in love with you, noona.’ His lips are trembling, chest pounding against you. Disquietude emanates from how he’s peering at you.

‘Oh.’

‘I don’t know how you never knew, I mean- I guess it’s pretty obvious from the way I act around you. Even Yoongi-hyung spotted it right away…’ He begins to ramble, focus hopping to the collar of your jumper that he’s toying with. ‘I just… I don’t know. There’s something so special about you that I can’t find in anyone else. I thought it was just a crush but... but then you moved in with us and… And my feelings for you just drove me insane. That’s why I kept trying to avoid you. I know I wouldn’t be able to hide it if I actually spent time with you, I’m kinda stupid when it comes to girls if you can’t tell already.

‘But the truth is,’ he takes a deep breath and sighs, ‘I am truly, deeply, madly in love with you, Y/N noona. Everything about you. The way you devour jajangmyeon as easily as breathing. The way you never go a day in winter without wearing these fuzzy socks. The way you only drink lattes and chamomile tea. The way you would rather spend your friday nights curled up with a book. The way you pretend to find Jimin annoying but secretly love the attention he gives you. The way you rushed out to find me in the snow and forgot the bring your keys. And the way you can’t talk to me without stuttering just like how I can’t look you in the eye when we have a conversation.

‘I know this is a lot to spring onto you, and I don’t expect you to love me back at all. But just know that I’m here for you whenever you need. I’m your furnace in a snowstorm, hand warmer in a blizzard. And it’s okay if you don’t feel the same for me, I’ll still be here.’

Jungkook finishes with a final huff.

You stare at him, dumbfounded by his confession. Emotion floods your veins at the revelation, and you can all but break down into sobs. Jaw gaping, you regard him from his arms, trying to piece together your scattered thoughts.

‘Noona, say someth-’

You kiss him, urgently and desperately. Like you’ve been drowning in a sea of lostness, aimlessly floating about to try to find your way, and he’s your first gulp of air. Mist of perplexity is finally starting to clear away, and you see the path ahead of you with crystal lucidity.

It’s Jungkook. Jungkook, who knows your favourite colour when even your own mother doesn’t. Jungkook, who waddled out into the freezing snow to buy you new socks. Jungkook, who so gently and delicately made love to you tonight. Jungkook, who has loved you unconditionally and will continue doing so regardless of your feelings towards him.

‘I think… I think I’m falling truly, deeply, madly in love with you too, Jungkook.’

End

extras: christmas special

@shookpreme @hazelelizabeth99 @teenage-hippie @bunbundesu @tangledsparkles @gingerpeachtae idk who wanted to be tagged lol 😬

02/09/2019

12K notes · View notes

jaskiersvalley · 4 years

Text

Can We Keep Him?

@ohnomybreadsticks This one is for you, a little something to bring cheer on this Monday.

A witcher took any contract he could really, especially during leaner times. When there were two witchers travelling together, that went for double. It was Aiden’s turn to go into the village and find a job so off he went and came back with the promise of measly pay for a couple of drowners in the muddy creek in the woods. It ran along the path to the neighbouring village and they had been wreaking havoc with anyone trying to go that way.

“Drowners? Seriously?” Lambert rolled his eyes. “Why is it always fucking drowners?”

They trudged in the direction of the creek. 5 orens per head seemed like a rather stingy deal but money was money, Lambert and Aiden wanted a few creature comforts in life.

“If there’s only two, it’s not worth it,” Lambert grumbled. “It costs more to get armour clean.”

“Never thought I’d see the day where I have better morals than you. A job’s a job, we accepted so we do it.”

Their bickering was cut short by a yell of “fuck off!” which sounded very angry and heartfelt. Exchanging a look, the two headed off to investigate. Of all the things to expect, they didn’t think they’d find a man angrily battling several drowners. There were already two on the ground and he was struggling against a further four.

“Just fuck off already,” the man snarled at the creatures. “Why can’t I have just one nice day?”

Another drowner fell and Lambert looked to Aiden. They should probably help but...the man seemed to have it all under control and he was dressed like a Nilfgaardian.

“Don’t just fucking stand there!” It seemed the man also had eyes in the back of his head. “Come and stomp on them.”

Witchers weren’t exactly known for stomping on creatures, they were more famous for their sword skills. Quirking an eyebrow at Lambert, Aiden reached for his sword.

“Some warhorse you are,” the man snapped as his horse approached. “Should have stolen any other horse. Would do a better job than you.”

It seemed that the man was arguing with his horse while slicing down another drowner. Aiden was a little in love. He held Lambert back, intent on watching the fight. It wasn’t like the man seemed to be struggling as such, more annoyed. Plus, he was already covered in drowner gunk, there was no need for anyone else to get dirty.

“Fucking piece of shit.” It seemed the man had quite the potty mouth on him. “You cockwomble!” A drowner had tried to grab his ankle. While the hand was neatly sliced off, it remained clasped around the man and he hopped around, trying to cut it off. “Utter cuntcake.”

Chancing a glance at Lambert, Aiden could tell he was smitten too. They leaned against trees to watch as the man continued to bitch about the drowners and his horse who seemed rather unimpressed and used to this kind of thing. Finally, the last drowner crumpled to the ground and the man turned to his horse.

“Thanks for the assist. Not.”

He jumped and turned as Lambert started clapping and walking closer. “Impressive. Six drowners is no easy fight.”

Eyes darting between the two witchers, the man raised his hands. “I don’t want any trouble.”

“So you won’t mind if we just take the heads of these and claim the bounty on them?”

“You mean I could have gotten paid for this shit?”

Aiden decided to step forward too, wanting to join in. “Generally only witchers take on such jobs. But tell you what, we’ll share the bounty. Six drowners at five orens per head... That’s 30 orens, we’ll get 10 each. In exchange, we’ll travel with you and protect you until your next destination.”

There was a hint of reluctance in the man but eventually he nodded. “There’s another drowner in the creek.”

“We’ll let you get it out then,” Lambert helpfully announced as he set about decapitating the bodies. He stared wide eyed and innocent as the other two gave him a look. “What? No point in us getting wet?”

Aiden rolled his eyes but had to agree. He gave the man a hopeful look. “You know where the body fell.”

“Fine, but I get the extra five orens.” Not waiting to be argued with, the man waded in and dragged another drowner body out of the creek. He shook his legs miserably to get some of the water out.

“Our hero,” Aiden cooed. “Got a name we can call you?”

“Cahir.” He was obviously waiting for introductions of the other two.

“Aiden.” Aiden pointed at himself. “And that’s Lambert.”

He stood back and let Lambert collect all the heads, enjoying not having to work in the slightest for the money. Of course Lambert noticed and grumbled but he was shushed by the promise of Aiden cooking dinner that night and a back rub to boot.

That evening they were sat around a fire, Aiden and Lambert trying to impress Cahir by casting larger and larger igni at the fire. It didn’t seem to be working though. At least Cahir had stripped out of his armour and laid it out to dry. It left him looking oddly vulnerable. And cold - hence the bigger fires.

“You’d love Eskel,” Lambert mused. “He has the strongest signs. Could keep you warm all night.”

“We have to resort to more mundane ways. Like cuddling.” Aiden winked at Cahir who stared back impassively. Maybe he wasn’t one for flirting. It didn’t deter the other two.

Munching on the rabbit leg, Lambert hummed. “I think Eskel would love you too actually. Where are we escorting you, by the way?”

Cahir shrugged and stared into the fire. “Don’t have a destination in mind. Kind of on the run from Nilfgaard.”

“Perfect.” Thankfully Aiden knew Lambert well enough to know when he was scheming. “We’ll head for the mountains then. Safest place to hide.”

It was also where Eskel liked to patrol. Aiden had to admire Lambert’s brazen attitude. They’d been missing their third for a while now, it was definitely time to see him again. And they could introduce him to Cahir too, see if they got along.

In the end, Lambert had been right. Eskel took to Cahir and the feelings were mutual. A happy week together, three witchers and a Nilfgaardian refugee. It sounds like the start of a bad joke. However, by the time Lambert and Aiden left, they were content knowing that Eskel no longer roamed the Path alone. And, when winter arrived, there would be four of them to pile under the furs in a bundle of cold feet and happy sighs.

#laiden #lambskel #eskel/lambert #eskhir #eskel/lambert/cahir/aiden #lambert #aiden #cahir mawr dyffryn aep ceallach #eskel #tldr: two idiots find a third to make four

109 notes · View notes

hains-mae · 4 years

Text

Flowers - Pt. 3

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5 (end)

(Damian x Reader) Soulmate AU

Rating: T

Ages: Damian and you are 16, everyone’s ages follow after.

Summary: Soulmate AU where the wounds on your soulmate turns into a flower tattoo on your skin, if it heals with no scars the tattoo goes away, if it heals with a scar then the tattoo stays.

It just got worse.

Disclaimer: I do not own DC. If I did, I wouldn’t make it as confusing as it is now.

The convention hall was huge. The lights shone brightly at the many innovative inventions made by the young minds of Gotham City. the entire city was invited to participate after all. As Wayne Enterprise made the whole event international, we had guests from all over the globe looking for potential students to take under their wing. Rumour has it that everyone on the guest list was hand picked by the man, Bruce Wayne, himself.

I looked around in a daze as I clutched the metal briefcase that held my project.

Running in an hour or two of sleep and caffein, I made my way through the growing crowd. Finally I was able to locate my designated table, a small booth in the chemistry section. I made quick work on unpacking the projector and placed it square on a folding table. It would play the presentation of what my project was about and all the necessary details to explain the chemical compounds and a quick scanned blueprint.

“I feel so nervous.” I mumbled to no one in particular.

Then placing a black cloth on the table as my workspace, I made sure to put the specifically designed gun carefully on a stand that I had quickly melded together. The projectiles rested in the container. Only two remained. I stared at it for a while as the scene of that fateful night replayed in my head.

I had found my soulmate.

Which was good.

He was Robin.

Which was bad.

There was a chance he could be Damian Wayne.

Which was worse.

This relationship was doomed from the start. My soulmate was a freaking vigilante! He was running around at night, putting his life in danger. Death was a constant in my mind after that. Knowing that one day I might loose him. It was a weird thing, this soulmate bond that we shared. Somehow meeting him solidified his existence in my life. Now every time I received another flower on my skin I would know what might’ve caused it. Worry started to form in my gut as I thought about the bullet wound in his shoulder.

I shook my head to get any more lingering thoughts out as I willed myself to focus on the task at hand. I needed to get my head in the game.

Pulling the beakers and flasks out as carefully as I could, I placed them each on the other side of the table. I filled them with their chemicals and started the burner. I had wanted to show them the process as a prototype. I doubted anybody here wanted to be encased in rock.

I was so deep in thought as I mindlessly tinkered around to keep my hands busy that I didn’t even realise a figure standing before me until he cleared his throat.

Looking up from my notes my eyes grew wide.

Mr. Bruce Wayne, owner and CEO of the Wayne Enterprises was standing at my table. He had a charming smile plastered on his face.

“My, what an interesting piece we have here. Don’t you agree Damian?” His voice was calm and even.

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

“I do, father.” He agreed. His eyes caught mine, and all I could do was stare into his green orbs.

“Oh forgive me.” Mr. Wayne chuckled and held out his hand. “Bruce Wayne.”

I returned the gesture and shook his hand telling him my own name.

“Pleasure to meet you.” He said. “And this is my son, Damian.”

“We met.” He said simply, but still took my hand and shook it.

“I’m really interested in your work.” Mr. Wayne continued. “I’d like to come back after I make the opening speech.”

“Of course.” I plastered on the best smile I could muster.

It wasn’t too long after that when Mr. Wayne came back, but this time he had an entourage. To his right he had his sons, all 4 of them. They were exactly as the magazines showed and described them to be. Each one was dashing. I didn’t know much about them, but hearing their names tossed around every day in school made me involuntarily learn anyway.

Richard, the eldest had a polite smile and kind blue eyes. They were warm in a comforting way and his manners were that of a well bred socialite. He waved at some of the students and nodded at a few of the adults he passed.

The one beside him was Jason, his cold glare could strike fear into anyone’s hearts. Especially when he is backed up with high status and money. No one dared mess with him. But even I had to admit there was a certain charm to his features, he had a bad boy kind of vibe.

Tim was next, walking just a few steps ahead of his older brothers. His nose was buried in an iPad and his fingers were flying through the screen at top speed. He was just a few years older than me, and I’ve actually seen him around the campus before, but I never met him.

Lastly, Damian. He stole a glance at me as they walked towards my table and turned to Tim, mumbling something before looking ahead.

To Mr. Wayne’s left were two well renowned chemists that I personally follow. Their works and research papers were incredible, it was actually the basis of my own invention. Instantly the butterflies in my stomach fluttered around.

After introductions were made, I presented my work and did a sample test before leading their attention to the finished product which were the glowing orbs.

“And what inspired you to create such an invention?” Mr. Wayne inquired.

“I just wanted to help.” I said truthfully. “We’re aware of the crimes around our city, and I thought it would make the job of catching the criminals easier.”

“And it will.” He smiled. “I’d like to offer you an internship in my company. And if you wouldn’t mind, a mentorship with my two top scientists there.”

“It would be an honour!”

This had to be the greatest moment of my life. For the first time that day I felt my mood get better.

The rest of the days passed on in a blur. My invention was one of the top picked topics in the scene, much to my pleasure, and the interview for the internships and mentorships went well. I honestly couldn’t ask for more.

Mr. Wayne’s secretary handed me, and a couple of other students he scouted, a form to fill out and sign. Our parents/legal guardians were immediately informed and the school assured them before any action is taken they will be holding another meeting. Everything seemed to be going smoothly. Many of us were able to grab great opportunities, both in and out of the cities.

I looked around and saw all the doors opening up for the next generation in Gotham. Happy smiles and excited chatter filled the room. Promises of a greater future were announced. I realised, this was probably history in the making. This would be where everything turns around for the better. I might sound overly sentimental, and perhaps a tad bit exaggerated, but I was feeling hopeful.

The interviews were over, and after the last of them had been held, the announcement came to remind us of the upcoming gala. We had an entire day to prepare – “Therefore, use it wisely.” Our professor advised.

Many of the girls had rushed out in groups (with a teacher chaperone) as they headed towards the fancy boutiques and malls. I on the other hand decided to be practical. My roommate and a couple of friends that I had made during my stay, required it be essential that I tag along with them. I was peer pressured (and I say that lightly), but it felt good to explore the city without the danger.

“Oh my god I just saw the Wayne brothers!” Someone squealed at the store front that we were in.

“What? No way! Where?” Another piqued.

We heard the teacher sigh and ask us not to make a scene since we were in public. I felt myself tense at the thought of him and his green eyes.

“They’re heading this way!”

I dove behind one of the clothing hangers and hid as best as I could. Good lord, is this some kind of drama series? My new friends sputtered out a greeting as I imagined them walking by, and all I could do was concentrate on not self-combusting.

“Y/n?”

My eyes darted up from the spot on the floor that I was staring at. I didn’t want to come out, but the longer I stayed behind the wall of clothes, the more embarrassed I became. With a defeated sigh, I walked out.

“H-hey.” I waved lamely.

“What were you doing behind the clothes rack?” Damian cocked a brow at me.

“I was looking at it, kinda the reason I came here.” I said, not really meaning to sound defensive but it came out that way anyway, and I already wanted to take it back.

“You’re that girl with the blue marbles.” The eldest said smiling broadly. “Y/n L/n, right?”

I nodded meekly.

Dick smirked and went back to his smoothie.

“The one Damian wouldn’t shut up about?” Jason teased wickedly. I felt my blood rise up to my face.

Damian kicked him behind his knees which only made the man laugh.

“You know better than to tease.” Tim rolled his eyes at his brothers antics. “You’re embarrassing him in front of his crush.”

I just wished the floor would swallow me whole right now.

Tim immediately hid behind Dick and the laughter was nearly uncontrollable from his brothers. Damian was currently fuming, and tomato red in the face.

“I’m going to kill you Drake.” He said through clenched teeth.

Dick groaned. “Cant you guys behave?” He strolled over to me and tapped my shoulder lightly. “You’re embarrassing y/n.”

“Sorry, it was just meant for lil-D over here.” Jason apologised.

“Alright boys, that’s enough.” The teacher called out. “We’ve got a schedule to follow. I’ll have to cut this meeting short.” She was right, and I was so thankful at the moment that we did.

Dick apologised again, and pushed his brothers to move along. As soon as they were out of earshot the girls bombarded me with questions, demanding they know the details. There wasn’t anything to tell, since I’ve only known them as long as the length of this trip, but they didn’t let the subject go. I thanked my lucky stars that the rumours I heard about the boys and their fanatic fangirls did not exist in the group I was in. They had gushed about how lucky I was to catch their eye – I really wish they didn’t – and how amazing it must be for them to hold an interest in me – I honestly could care less. But girls being girls, I had to let them be.

The evening of the gala arrived faster than I anticipated, and true to their promise, the girls had all squeezed themselves into my room.

“You guys really don’t have to do this.” I said, slightly exasperated.

“Nonsense.” They quipped back. “We’re all going to look fabulous and make a great impression.”

They rolled out their brush pouches and stacked their make up on the vanity table. I eyed it all wearily.

Sometimes I had to hand it them, females can be terrifying when they need to be.

“Do you think this will be it?” One of them asked out of the blue. “Is this what is going to turn this city around.”

“I hope so. Thing’s are getting worse around Gotham, if this works, we can secure a safer future.”

“Look at us sounding diplomatic.” We laughed at that.

“I think it’ll work out.” I told them with an air of confidence. I saw the looks everyone had at the gatherings. It wasn’t just hope. There was a sense of motivation. An active decision in every one of them that wanted to strive for more. It was encouraging and empowering.

We all shared a unanimous agreement and continued on preparing.

I wasn’t joking when I said I would be practical. I pulled out one of my mothers old gowns from a battered box that was hidden deep under my suitcase. It was off white, with a few hints of lavender and creamy grey. The dress was long-sleeved, made with loose and flowy material. The collar tapered upwards and into a modest keyhole neckline. On my waist rested a silver strap embezzled with crystals. It’s length reached the floor and the slightest movement swayed in the wind. It made me look like I was floating.

As we made our way to the entrance of the gala, men in black suit tailcoats took our coats and opened the grand doors. I was in shock at the beauty of the room.

The entire ceiling look painted on by Michelangelo, in between hung massive sparkling chandeliers. The windows were from ceiling to floor and draped in expensive red velvet curtains. I gazed in awe at the marbled floor that were polished so well we could see our reflection from it.

Light music hummed tastefully in the air as my friends were whisked off by the boys for a dance.

“Y/n!” A savvy voice called out from across the crowd. Turning around I found the Wayne brothers around a table. I managed a wave.

They waved back and invited me over. How could I refuse? Steeling my nerves, I walked towards them.

“Good evening.” I said politely.

“You look stunning.” Dick complimented. Beside him was a woman with incredibly dazzling red hair, it almost looked like it was on fire. Her bright smile reached up to her green eyes. “This is Kory. Kory Anders. Kory, Y/n.”

She stood up tall and shook my outstretched hand.

“Pleasure.” I said as I introduced myself.

“It is glorious to finally meet you.” She said. “I have heard many things.”

I noted her slight accent and choice of words. She must’ve come from another country.

“All good I hope.” I chuckled nervously.

Her smile only widened. “You need not worry.”

“Would you like to sit with us?” Tim offered.

I looked across the dance hall and saw that my friends were already at their own table. I accepted it and sat down at the last seat which was available, and as fate would have it, it was next to Damian.

When I moved to take my place, his perfume infiltrated my senses, leaving me slightly light headed. I pushed my qualms away not wanting to look rude.

“Hello again.” I spoke to him.

Damian nodded, his expression unreadable.

We made small talk, and discussed about the what I should be expecting when I started working at their fathers’ company. They gave me the basic ropes and tried to ease the pressure away.

Then the topic moved to my invention. I told them how I actually got the idea from my dad, they found it honourable in a way. I felt a sense of pride blossom.

Jokes went around as the food was being served. I quickly learnt Dick had the worst case of pun-overdrive, yet it still had me giggling because of how bad it was. Jason was not any better at his come backs to his brothers play on words. They made quiet the duo. Kory laughed heartily between them. Tim and Damian were taking turns lightly jabbing one another, it was almost endearing. As I looked at them from where I sat I couldn’t help but miss the simpler times my family and I shared.

The melody from the band took a slow turn and I saw Dick stand up.

“May I have this dance?” He offered his hand to Kory and exaggerated a bow.

“I would be delighted.” She giggled and let herself be swept onto the dance floor.

I watched as they danced to a slow waltz. Her hands were on his neck as his was kept firmly on the small of her back. They looked lovely together.

“That’s my cue.” Jason spoke up, his eyes gazing the crowd for what I assume was a possible dance partner.

Tim followed shortly behind, but not without leaving us with a wink and tap on his nose.

Damian cleared his throat, breaking my reverie.

He stood and offered his hand. “Would you like to dance?”

I blinked at him, surprised that he actually asked. I gingerly put my hand on his and nodded.

He expertly sashayed us to the middle and twirled me around before moving us to the rhythm of the music.

“You’re good.” I should’ve known he was a skilled dancer.

“You’re not so bad yourself.” He replied.

His scent was overwhelming, especially being this close to him. I reminded myself that his boy could very well be Robin.

Robin, the vigilante. I sighed inwardly. How could I have forgotten? But if he was then… My hand that was on his shoulder tightened ever so slightly as I remembered the gun shot.

“Is everything okay?” Damian asked, squeezing my hand.

“Yeah, everything’s fine.” I lied. The urge to just ask him never felt so powerful until this moment.

It’s not your place to know. I scolded myself for being presumptuous. This could all have been a big misunderstanding on my part, and I could very well upset him if I asked, not to mention embarrass myself. It wasn’t that I wanted to pry, but the bond I shared with my soulmate only seemed to strengthen these past few days. It drew us closer but I couldn’t begin to explain how. You hugged him, you hugged a stranger – that is a mystery in itself, my inner muse stated.

But then the question of the day was; if he was aware of who I was. There was no way he could possibly tell, there was no proof except for the time I cried out in pain when he got shot. Then again, anyone would’ve screamed if they witnessed that.

I settled with the verdict that he most likely doesn’t know.

“I’d like to apologise about yesterday.” Damian said, sounding solemn. “My brothers have been a thorn to my side ever since I could remember.”

I laughed. “It was embarrassing, but I forgive you, and your brothers.” He visibly relaxed. “It felt like I was reliving some old memories.”

“Do you have siblings as well?”

I shook my head. “No, but it would be nice to. Unfortunately right now it’s just me and my mom. It gets a little lonely but we manage.”

Damian let out a quiet ‘oh’ before lapsing into silence again. I didn’t want to kill the mood so I quickly thought of what to say to keep the conversation going.

“So what about you?” I asked. “I mean, anything you’re comfortable sharing of course.”

The boy sighed and looked up to think before answering.

“I like to paint.” He said. My eyes grew wide at that.

“For real?”

He arched a brow in confusion. “Yes. Is something wrong with that?”

I quickly shook my head again. “No, no of course not. I just, well, it’s surprising. That’s all.”

“Tt, not something you expected?” He teased lightly which only made me surprised all the more.

Was he trying to – flirt?

I laughed. “Guilty as charged.”

Damian looked a little proud of himself.

“What do you like to paint?” I asked curiously.

“Mostly portraits.” He answered easily. “And my pets.”

I gave a fake gasp. “The Damian Wayne, painting his pets. I would never have guessed.”

He smirked.

“So, is it a dog?” I asked.

“Yes, there’s a dog.”

“There’s? Meaning there are more?”

He smirked again this time wider.

“A cat.” I guessed.

He nodded. “Yes there’s a cat too. Though I doubt you’d be able to guess the rest of them.”

Laughing again, I shook my head in disbelief. “You are one intriguing person, Damian Wayne.”

“I could say the same about you.” He told me squarely.

The heat on my cheeks creept up. I looked away a little embarrassed.

He opened his mouth to say something to me, but was cut off.

I heard screams.

Damian quickly pushed me to the ground and shielded me as the glass windows shattered. The shards fell ferociously all around us.

“Fuck.” He gritted his teeth and looked down at me. “Are you okay?”

I nodded. “What was that?” I clutched my head, my ears were ringing from the sound of the blast that shattered the windows. I looked around panicked and scared.

“Don’t know.” He told me gruffly as he pulled us both back up.

Grappling hooks shot up from the broken windows and before I knew it I saw the pointed end of a sword aimed towards Damian’s.

“Damian!”

In that moment I cast aside all the doubts. I still wasn’t sure but if by a long shot; this was Robin, if Damian was Robin, then he could do something about this.

He knew how to fight. Unlike me. If I could give him a head start or a fighting chance, then he and the other superheroes could save everyone.

That’s what I told myself anyway as time stilled and I took the leap.

The blade sliced into my lower back and for a split second all I could feel was searing hot white pain. I cried out as it rippled through my torso. The sword was pulled out just as quick as it was pushed in. I could swear the world was tipping over. The blood had gushed out and I found it staining Damian’s pristine suit.

I could barely hear Damian’s scream as I phased in and out of consciousness. Somehow he had blocked another hit that was aimed at us before kicking the man as far away as possible. He pulled me towards him and muttered something incoherent before dashing across the hall.

The warmth of my own blood pooled over me. Mom would kill me when she saw the stain, if I wouldn’t bleed to death before she finds out that is.

“Shitshitshit, y/n!” He ducked behind a table and grabbed a bunch of napkins, applying pressure as he held it against my stomach. “Stay with me, you’re going to be alright.”

I weakly nodded, feeling sick to my stomach at the smell of iron and sudden blood loss.

“Fuck.” Jason slid next to us as the gunshots started to fire. He noticed me and his features paled. “Oh, shit.”

“Jason, I need to bring her somewhere safe!” Damian said, his voice urgent.

“All citizen, please evacuate the building!” A strong voice bellowed from above us. It was a woman, dressed in purple. Her hair was on fire (literally) as it trailed behind her.

Starfire. But what was she doing in Metropolis…?

The people ran towards the entrance and a man in a tight body suit with a blue winged symbol on his chest directed the crowd flow.

Superboy zoomed in next, his features etched in worry as soon as he saw me. The wound must’ve been worse that I thought.

“What the hell is going on?!” Damian demanded from the superhero. “I thought this place was secured.”

“Kryptonite.” Superbly answered with an ominous tone. “I don’t know what happened but we should get the civilians – uh, you guys, to safety.”

The amendment wasn’t lost on me.

“Y/n, I’m going to find you after all this is over.” Damian promised. “Until then please, hang in there.”

I managed a weak smile and a sad excuse of a chuckle as the blood started to run down the corner of my mouth.

“I still need to guess the rest of your pets.” I joked, hoping to lighten the scene.

His response was a pained smile.

“Take her to Alfred.” He delicately passed me on to Superboy’s arms. “He’ll know what to do.”

Superboy nodded and flew away. The last thing I remembered was Nightwing and Starfire fighting off mechanical robots and ninja assassins. After that, my world went dark.

...

... to be continued ...

359 notes · View notes

vorta-whore · 3 years

Text

Transition of Power, ch. 2

You receive an invitation you can’t refuse.

Weyoun 5 x female reader

Chapter 1: An Introduction | Chapter 2: A First Date | Chapter 3: A Walk Together | Chapter 4: A Night on Bajor

—

Very little changes for you over the next week – with one alarming exception. As you watch for the Vorta’s daily trek across the Promenade, it appears he also watches for you. Every afternoon, without fail, those violet eyes dart up to meet yours at your usual table on the upper deck. He holds the glance but briefly; just enough time to smile and nod to you. And, breathless, you nod back.

You begin to sit with your back to the wall each time you dine out for lunch. So far, there have been no further interruptions by uninvited guests, but all the same you fear being caught off-guard again.

After two weeks, you begin to relax, thinking perhaps it was an empty platitude after all. Vorta have so many other more important things to worry about than going on dates, you rationalize; he was probably just entertaining himself by playing with you during a moment of free time. It seems the type of thing Weyoun would do, if he noticed someone taking a special interest in him. Stealthy as you thought you were being, dealing in furtive glances and sidelong stares, you really aren’t that surprised to know he saw right through you. Or maybe, with those unique ears of his, he simply heard you making your judgmental comments to yourself as he strode by. Really a terrible habit. You wonder, uselessly, what he’s heard you say.

The chime of an incoming transmission interrupts your contemplation. Curious, you set down your raktajino and tell the computer to put the audio through.

Your blood runs cold when you hear the velvety voice on the line.

“Ahh, Y/N! How lovely to speak with you again. I trust I did not wake you?”

“I – ah, no. I was just about to have breakfast, actually.”

“Well then, please excuse my interruption. I don’t intend to take up much of your time; I was simply wondering if you’d do me the honor of sharing dinner with me tonight. I do seem to recall some promises being made about your famous hasperat souffle?”

You’re grateful there is no visual feed to capture your wide-eyed expression. Your first instinct is to search for excuses, and a moment of silence passes as you reach for one –

“It doesn’t have to be tonight, of course,” soothes the Vorta at your hesitation. “I did take the liberty of contacting your employer, I hope that’s alright,” – it isn’t – “and he informed me that you have two days off each week, so I’m certain we can work something out if you aren’t free this particular evening.”

Damnit.

You have no choice but to relent: “No, no…this evening is fine, actually.”

“Wonderful! Then I’ll be over, oh, say, nineteen hundred hours?”

“Sure.”

“I look forward to it,” he concludes, the smile audible in his voice, and with a dismissive chime the call cuts out.

You lean forward and hold your head in your hands. This is not the kind of day off you were hoping for. You had reading to catch up on, friends to chat with, shop windows to peruse.

Now you have a souffle to bake.

—

At half past eighteen hundred hours, your quarters were clean, the table was set, and the souffle was in the oven. You’d dug out an acceptably refined cocktail dress from your closet, not having expected to be donning it at any point during this occupation, and sat yourself down in front of a mirror to apply makeup with a trembling hand.

Nineteen-hundred comes and goes. Weyoun strikes you as a very punctual man; is he late on purpose? You fiddle nervously with the hem of your dress, watching the door, your anxiety growing by the minute; your hand is halfway to the bottle of springwine you’ve set out when the sound of the door-chime nearly causes you to jump out of your skin.

“Come in!” you blurt, rising and smoothing out your dress.

The door slides open and in steps one dashing Vorta – who, upon entry, stops to take in his surroundings. He surveys your elegantly-decorated quarters with quiet amusement before settling his gaze on you, and, smiling, he steps forward.

“Your quarters are nearly as lovely as you are. I truly am grateful for the privilege of dining here with you tonight.”

As though he didn’t invite himself, you think. But as he speaks, he takes one of your hands in his and presses the back of it to his lips, and quite quickly your head empties of all thought. He holds on just a moment or two longer than necessary before releasing it as well as the gaze with which he had affixed you, which you notice is quite effective at keeping you rooted to the spot.

“Ah! Springwine,” he notes suddenly, breaking the tension. You turn your attention to the coffee table where you’d prepared a bottle and two glasses. “How thoughtful of you.”

He guides you to the sofa with a hand on your elbow and you both take a seat. Your anxiety begins to bubble over.

“I, uh. Hope you like springwine. I wasn’t really sure what you’d prefer – springwine can be so sweet, sometimes it’s a little overpowering – but it goes well with hasperat, tempers the spice a bit, you know, and I had a couple bottles lying around anyway, so I figured…”

You trail off, your babbling ceasing as Weyoun clasps a hand over the one you had just set on the bottle. You glance up to him, uncertain, but the kindness behind his smile is reassuring and you relax just an iota.

“It will be just fine. But truly, my dear, you’ve done enough already – at least allow me to do this.”

You nod, and he softens his grip enough for you to slip your hand out of it. As he pops the cork and begins to fill the glasses, you find your thoughts drifting to worry again, to fear; the phrase “comfort woman” swirls in your mind. You wonder with increasing panic what exactly this man expects of you tonight.

Weyoun hands you your wine glass and raises his into the air, waiting for you to do the same. “A toast,” he says, “to the beginning of a wonderful friendship.”

You smile. You tap your glass against his. You take a sip.

The Vorta leans back in his seat and regards you pensively. “You seem…uneasy,” he points out, crossing his legs. “Not at all like you were at that Klingon cafe. Is everything alright?”

You stare into your wine as if trying to find an answer there. None comes.

“…My dear.”

There is a soft clink as Weyoun sets his glass down. You startle as his fingers brush just beneath your chin, guiding you to look away from your drink and into his eyes. Behind them resides – to your confusion – genuine concern.

“Please don’t misunderstand me. I don’t mean to pressure you into anything that would make you uncomfortable. Perhaps I was too forward – but I was certain I detected a hint of interest from you over the course of these last few weeks. Forgive me.”

He bows his head in apology.

You realize you’re at a crossroads. He’s offering you an out – something you very desperately wanted a moment ago. However, now that the option is available to you, it seems entirely the wrong choice. Why, after all, would you have spent the entire day making sure that souffle would be the best you’ve ever baked? Why would you have dolled yourself up, broken out the springwine?

These are not the actions of a woman under duress.

Suddenly feeling very foolish, you scramble over yourself to correct him: “No! No, I… I am… interested.”

His head jolts back up. You shrink a bit under his intense stare, but as he leans forward and takes your hands in his, his excitement begins to usurp your fear.

“I’m very glad to hear it.”

A smile twitches at your lips. “I’d just… like to take things slow, you know?”

“Perfectly understandable,” he accedes, and releasing your hands, he returns to his glass of wine. “From this moment forward I promise not to do anything that might jeopardize your comfort.”

For the first time that night, you truly relax.

—

The souffle is ready in short time and the two of you while away the night chatting about this and that. You learn Weyoun cannot stand the fizziness of Bajoran ale, but – being unable to taste most things – he quite enjoys the smoothness of springwine, even if its sweetness fails to register at all. Likewise, his affection for hasperat souffle stems from its airy, delicate texture, and the strong level of spice approximates something close to taste for him.

You’re convinced you’ve thoroughly bored him with your menial tales of day-to-day life, the rants about your annoying coworkers and your anecdotes surrounding family recipes. But Weyoun attends it all with rapt attention, even after the two of you have polished off the entire bottle of springwine.

You’re quite surprised when the computer interrupts a moment of shared laughter to announce the initialization of your nightly bedtime routine. The lights fade to sunset-orange and a short chime indicates you’ve entered do-not-disturb mode.

“Oh,” you sigh, disappointed. “Is it that late? I didn’t realize…”

“It’s my fault,” interjects Weyoun, standing and straightening his clothes. “I’ve stolen your entire night away. How rude of me!”

He offers you his hands. You take them, relishing how cold they feel against your warm skin, and allow him to lead you to the door.

“Please accept my apologies.”

Staring into those smoldering amethyst eyes, you flush suddenly, realizing the vulnerable position you’re in.

The kiss.

He’s going to go for it. He’s going to expect it, after the wonderful night you’ve shared – and you don’t want to insult him, don’t want to disappoint him, even, but you’re not sure if you’re ready, you haven’t thought about it –

He brings your hands up to his lips. On the knuckles of each hand he plants a kiss, firm, poignant. You shudder at the contrast between his cold hands and warm breath. At his unbroken eye contact.

“…Apology accepted,” you exhale.

He smiles in return. Bows his head, releases you.

“I look forward very much to our next meeting.”

And then he’s gone.

You sink into the sofa, suddenly drained. The background hum of the station is the only sound in your quarters now and the relative silence presses in on you like a physical presence. The empty wine glasses cast your reflection back on you – and you feel judged.

You close your eyes.

Prophets have mercy.

#weyoun #weyoun 5 #series #ds9 #fanfic #star trek #vorta #weyoun x reader #reader-insert

20 notes · View notes

stay-neurotic · 3 years

Text

Transition of Power

Chapter Two: A Date

went to my horseback riding lesson, came back and slammed out chapter 2, you’re welcome

Chapter 1: Introduction

---

The chime of an incoming transmission interrupts your contemplation. Curious, you set down your raktajino and tell the computer to put the audio through.

Your blood runs cold when you hear the velvety voice on the line.

“Ahh, Y/N! How lovely to speak with you again. I trust I did not wake you?”

“I – ah, no. I was just about to have breakfast, actually.”

You’re grateful there is no visual feed to capture your wide-eyed expression. Your first instinct is to search for excuses, and a moment of silence passes as you reach for one –

Damnit.

You have no choice but to relent: “No, no...this evening is fine, actually.”

“Wonderful! Then I’ll be over, oh, say, nineteen hundred hours?”

“Sure.”

“I look forward to it,” he concludes, the smile audible in his voice, and with a dismissive chime the call cuts out.

You lean forward and hold your head in your hands. This is not the kind of day off you were hoping for. You had reading to catch up on, friends to chat with, shop windows to peruse.

Now you have a souffle to bake.

---

“Come in!” you blurt, rising and smoothing out your dress.

“Your quarters are nearly as lovely as you are. I truly am grateful for the privilege of dining here with you tonight.”

“Ah! Springwine,” he notes suddenly, breaking the tension. You turn your attention to the coffee table where you’d prepared a bottle and two glasses. “How thoughtful of you.”

He guides you to the sofa with a hand on your elbow and you both take a seat. Your anxiety begins to bubble over.

“It will be just fine. But truly, my dear, you’ve done enough already – at least allow me to do this.”

Weyoun hands you your wine glass and raises his into the air, waiting for you to do the same. “A toast,” he says, “to the beginning of a wonderful friendship.”

You smile. You clink your glass against his. You take a sip.

The Vorta leans back in his seat and regards you pensively. “You seem...uneasy,” he points out, crossing his legs. “Not at all like you were at that Klingon cafe. Is everything alright?”

You stare into your wine as if trying to find an answer there. None comes.

“...My dear.”

He bows his head in apology.

You realize you’re at a crossroads. He’s offering you an out – something you very desperately wanted a moment ago. However, now that the option is available to you, it seems entirely the wrong choice. Why, after all, would you have spent the entire day making sure those souffles would be the best you’ve ever baked? Why would you have dolled yourself up, broken out the springwine?

These are not the actions of a woman under duress.

Suddenly feeling very foolish, you scramble over yourself to correct him: “No! No, I… I am… interested.”

His head jolts back up. You shrink a bit under his intense stare, but as he leans forward and takes your hands in his, his excitement begins to usurp your fear.

“I’m very glad to hear it.”

A smile twitches at your lips. “I’d just… like to take things slow, you know?”

“Perfectly understandable,” he accedes, and releasing your hands, he returns to his glass of wine. “From this moment forward I promise not to do anything that might jeopardize your comfort.”

For the first time that night, you truly relax.

---

“Oh,” you sigh, disappointed. “Is it that late? I didn’t realize…”

“It’s my fault,” interjects Weyoun, standing and straightening his clothes. “I’ve stolen your entire night away. How rude of me!”

He offers you his hands. You take them, relishing how cold they feel against your warm skin, and allow him to lead you to the door.

“Please accept my apologies.”

Staring into those smoldering amethyst eyes, you flush suddenly, realizing the vulnerable position you’re in.

The kiss.

He brings your hands up to his lips. On the knuckles of each hand he plants a kiss, firm, poignant. You shudder at the contrast between his cold hands and warm breath. At his unbroken eye contact.

“...Apology accepted,” you exhale.

He smiles in return. Bows his head, releases you.

“I look forward very much to our next meeting.”

And then he’s gone.

You close your eyes.

Prophets have mercy.

#st:ds9 #ds9 #fanfic #fanfiction #weyoun #weyoun x reader #weyoun 5 #vorta

14 notes · View notes

maruzzewrites · 4 years

Note

Idk if you’re still doing the yandere prompts but if you are could you do #46 with Abbacchio and #14 with Fugo?

Fugo now and I will eventually do Abba too…….

14. “I fucking need youmore than I need to breath.”

Content warnings: yandere content, obsessive behavior, light violence, not much else.

When you met the team, you were surprised to findsuch young members. Bruno was pretty young himself, barely reaching twentyyears when you were recruited into this unit of Passione; but then you werefaced with teenagers, most minors, with the exception of a single other man whoappeared to be the oldest – older than Bruno, too. You were, on the other hand,already entering your adult life before you were sent into the spiraling worldof crime that was Passione and all its affiliates, and you could feel thedifference in age by the inane arguments and the pointless discussions thatwere brought up during breakfast, or lunch, or dinner.

There was, however, a young boy who was moreserious, less focused on futile debates on insane topics that those men decidedto throw around every time they had a meal together. Fugo had been politelywelcoming, friendly all through your initiation and your introduction to theteam, accompanied to the more exuberant reception of the other two boys – Mistaand Narancia, they were called – and the mostly bitter, cold indifference ofthe last member – Leona Abbacchio. The whole ordeal of settling in the teamwent smoothly, mostly accepted by the others to Bruno’s relief. When you wereasked about your motivations, though, you had to be sincere and admit you wereto be transferred sooner or later.

“What? Why?” Narancia asked you curiously,leaning on the table dividing you from him and the three curious teens. Youexplained you were placed in their team temporarily, until they found a betteruse for your Stand, considering it wasn’t made to be deployed in combat. Mistatilted his head, and then voiced the question they probably were all thinking,“And what does your Stand do?” At their inquisitiveness, you answered with thedemonstration of its abilities, by confiscating Mista’s hat and a bright, tensethread stretched from his body to the stolen piece of clothing. Narancia letout a bark of laughter after a short beat as Mista grumbled to pick up his hat,while Fugo simply observed your Stand and acknowledged its usefulness should beplaced elsewhere in Passione’s ranks.

Just as the conversation came up, it was easilyforgotten in the rush of missions and assignments that followed the initialdays of your initiation. The first week felt quite awkward on your part, withthe dynamic of the group still obscure to you and their familiarity with eachother overshadowing your interactions with each member. Yet, with the friendlydisposition of most of the team, you were introduced in the social patterns ofthat clique with more ease than you anticipated. Even more, you seemed to changesome preexistent relations in ways others didn’t think possible: Bruno waspleasantly surprised when Abbacchio actually started to discuss music with you,despite your lack of formal knowledge on the topic; you managed to shut upMista’s weird questions with even more outlandish remarks or with seriousanswers that would leave him disappointed in your lack of surprise; you helpedNarancia with basic math and reprimanded Fugo when he got too violent with hisfriend.

Overall, you tried to balance the relationshipsin that group, without shattering the harmony they built in spite of theircontrasting, often caustic, personalities. Bruno seemed to appreciate yourwork, seeing the others interacting with you in friendly terms that made themforget that your placement among their team was temporary. Especially Fugoseemed to take a liking to you, as you didn’t excuse his temper and forgive himfor his outbursts, yet didn’t isolate yourself from him when he was calmer. Youeven accommodated his more cautious nature, his more inner fears of seeing hiscompanions getting harmed or toeing the line of death with rash decisions. Whenhe would get into a rage, you would simply stand up and yell with just as muchvigor, until one of you retired from the argument, ready to discuss with morecivility once the both of you calmed down; but when he would stammer and beghis teammates to think over decisions he didn’t deem necessary, you defendedhim, explained what you thought was his reasoning, reassured him to push himinto action. He even questioned you on the reason of your behavior towards him.

“I think your worry and anger come from your goodheart,” you started to answer, and you noticed how taken back he seemed at yourwords. Maybe he was so used to people remembering him for his negative traits, forhis anger issues and his bad decisions and his tendency to step back ratherthan face challenges bigger than him. But you couldn’t blame him; despite notknowing who he was, his history and his life, you could feel he had his fairshare of pain and sorrow that was never addressed and lead to poor managementof his own emotions. You finished your thought just to give him peace of mind, “Youjust need to do something with constructive with them.”

After your words, he left the room to let you doanything you were occupied with before he came in to ask. And you noticed, consequentlythat encounter, he stuck at your side with more insistence that he displayed before.When he was around you, he would be softer in teaching Narancia or speaking tothe others, he would attempt to voice his thoughts with more clarity wheneverhe was starting to feel frantic about his partners, and he always ended up lookingin your direction to catch a glimpse of approval of his new behaviors. With asmile, a nod or a gesture, you would signal to him you were aware of hisefforts. You even admired his composure when Mista and Narancia started totease him about his actions, never noticing the light blush coloring his cheekand the bridge of his nose, extending to his ears when he grumbled about hownosy and annoying they were.

With the passing of weeks, you simply settledinto the routine of the group, but eventually you had to be relocated. One day,after several months of camaraderie with those guys, Bruno called you over andinformed you that your new rank would be with investigative teams, underanother boss and with new teammates. You were rather disheartened when youheard the news, but you accepted the new orders without a single thought to goagainst the will of the leader. Your now former boss smiled at you and proclaimedhe would update the others later, when they were all eating together. And so hedid, just as you were preparing to leave the base and before you reached thetable – Bruno opted to stay in a familiar place, away from the public.

You were distracted from your current task by theruckus and the screams coming from the other room, down the hall and into thecommon areas of the building. Unsure if you were under attack or if it was asimple, average discussion of the men you shared the last few months with, yougot out and stalked towards the living room. With each step, you started torecognize the screaming voice: it was Fugo, apparently enraged beyond measure,a waterfall of words cascading from his lips as his eyes bulged and his handsgripped the table with violence. At his side, was an odd creature, evidentlyfuming just as he was and with something that looked like spit spilling fromits mouth; you assumed it was his Stand, but you had never seen it before thatmoment.

Bruno, meanwhile, was trying to calm down theboy, while the others were just adding up to the chaos with their own screams.You stepped into the room with a loud thump of your shoes, announcing yourpresence as if it would be useful; yet, somehow the sound commanded silencefrom all of them, their heads swiftly whipped towards you and their gazes intensefrom the previous argument. You felt the impact of those eyes all in one hit,but willed your mind to keep steady. You looked at each one of them withinquisitive curiosity, your eyes stopping to look at Fugo and then Bruno,before you spoke up, “What is going on?”

“You’re going away!” Narancia lamented, and you foughtthe urge to sign heavily at the whiny tone. They were being difficult becauseof that, because you would have to move base and say your goodbyes to them,possibly become a rival. But you were ready to reassure all of them, that youwould never betray them and that you were still in the same syndicate, youwould meet and talk and you wouldn’t forget about them that soon. However, thestatement made by Narancia seemed to stir something inside Fugo, who regainedhis earlier explosive fury and looked at you with fire burning deep into his eyes.

“You can’t go away!” He yelled, his fingersdigging into the hard wood of the table, knuckles white and fingertips bloodyred by the sheer tension. He suddenly stood up, his chair falling and slammingon the ground with a loud thud, the creature besides him growling all the whileat the new wave of anger. Abbacchio started to demand him to stop, to call backhis Stand with alarming worry coloring every word; Bruno seemed apprehensivetoo, his eyes darting from the furious boy to the creature, while Mista frozeon the spot and Narancia walked away from him with too much haste to be comforting.

“Fugo, I don’t have a choice.” Your voicetrembled in your throat at the sight of the others’ reactions, unsure how tomanage this new situation. You could only assume Fugo’s Stand was dangerous,and you didn’t want to experiment that theory on your own skill. You watchingwith horror as he backed away form the table, circled it under the prying eyesof his teammates, and approached you with careful steps that contrasted thestill manic look he had on his face. His hands were shaking, just like hisarms, but he extended them to grab your shoulders with too much care to be fromthe seething man right in front of you.

“I fucking need you more than I need to breath.”He whispered in a livid, hushed tone that made the others rush to stand up andapproach the two of you. As Abbacchio rested his hand on Fugo’s shoulder, theboy went to punch him, easily overpowered by the man’s bigger size and evident prowess.With quick glances in the direction of the Stand left behind, now busy withshrieking and drooling over itself in rage, Bruno brought you away from thescene just when you saw Abbacchio hold Fugo’s elbow with so much force that theboy let out a yelp. Your former boss busied himself with piling your clothesand other belongings into several bags and sending you out in the streets withthe help of his Stand. When you looked back, the zipper he used was alreadyclosed and you were facing the wall of the building, faint yelling coming frominside.

You left with a worried look on your face, anddidn’t hear much from those men after that evening. You were assigned to a newteam. If the first few months were relatively calm, eventually you started to catchglimpses of blonde hair around you, too familiar in color to be a coincidence. Eventually,you started to see purple too, but you didn’t know what to do with thatinformation.

#jjba #jojo's bizarre adventure #pannacotta fugo #yandere #yandere x reader #i will admit fugo is a bit difficult for me to write bc he's a polite boy but he angery too and would he get angry at reader? would he be n #Anonymous #fugo x reader

35 notes · View notes

the-house-of-the-nine · 5 years

Text

In Depths Below, Masquerade, Part 9

[Part 9 is here, There has been blood. ]

If you’re enjoying this, please like and share to your friends! Help us to reach new faces,readers & writers!

[Can’t stress that enough! :P]

[We’ve been so blessed to have help from this fantastic community here, every single one of you have helped us in so many ways! And feel free to send anonymous ASKS if you are curious about writing with us! We absolutely welcome new faces! Without further delay….]

“S-siida. . .” Marseille groaned from the ground. His hands were free, as were his legs. Apparently Dawnseeker must have released them when the bullets started flying. “Siida are you alright?”

“I am. . .I am fine.” she whispered back.

Verzatea lay beside her, the trio of them were huddled in a pile when the gunfire started. She was clinging to the gown of the young maiden to try and protect her best she could.

“You are both unharmed?” the Confessor said softly, and felt the nodding tug from the Matron in front of her.

“I am only burned from his chaotic magics. . . Zalra?” he responded and suddenly realized the young huntress and magister on the other side were not speaking. “Zalra. . .say something.”

There was a soft cough followed by her tiny voice growing in volume. “Get off of me! I’m alright!”

Zalra was kicking and shoving the portly man who was clinging to her like she was some sort of bipedal life preserver.

“I am also fine. . .dont worry about me!” Sunwood yelped while being shoved and kicked away from the Ren’dorei.

“I hadn’t even begun to. . .” she responded as she sat upward and looked around through the haze of smoke.

Slowly the quintet of saboteurs would stand and peer around the room. Granted the still writhing magisters were proving to be rather annoying. And Marseille proceeded to make his way over toward them. This would not be for the faint at heart, and he would urge the others to look away as he removed that deep ladled serving spoon from the back of his belt loop. Not a tomahawk but, it would suffice.

“Where is he. . .” Marseille said with a confused look.

“Zalra. . .did you see where he want?” Siida called, looking toward the huntress who was searching for a blood trail or some sign he had run off.

“I’m looking. . .I didn’t catch him going by me..” she sang back as she darted over toward one of the vending stands wondering if he’d ducked inside,

Marseille returned from his culling, the end of the spoon had been marred with the last bit of viscera from the four magisters and their spouses who were decimated by the gunfire. The ones that were survived; they had either been bludgeoned or choked to death by the blunt scooping instrument.

“There are no magical remnants here. Wherever he fled to; it was on foot.” added the Shal’dorei as his hands deftly worked to replace the spoon on his belt loop behind his back.

“He has to be somewhere! He didn’t just vanish.” Siida spat as she turned over several of the tables continuing to hunt.

“I will check the service area.” Verzatea announced, her wand flipping and twisting as object that had been scattered in the onslaught were hurdled out of her way in her quest.

“No need.” came a voice from the main exit.

There in the framework of the corridor leading to the portcullis was The Harbinger. Beside her, the winged beast; the Compellor and of course, the little pink haired gnome who’d saved the day.

“Did it work?” shouted Whistletorque as he broke the dramatic reveal and scuttled on into the room to check on his device. “Wow. . .I am really glad this-th thing worked. . .”

The sound of his question caused Marseille to raise a brow as he made his way to meet him. “What do you mean. . . did it work?”

“Pyravari!” shouted the younger sister as she raced along side both Zalra and Verzatea.

Koltun suddenly revealed the reason for their boisterous introduction by flinging the bound; gagged and a bit roughed up Dawnseeker onto the floor before them. It was a shock to say the least but a welcome one at that.

“We found ol’ turns-an-runs, trying to escape through the same unfortunate locked gate we were trying to get through.” the Blade Warden said as he sent a swift clawed foot sailing into the already pained chest of the Magister. “Somebody should have told you it was locked. . .”

“Indeed.” Vari continued and stepped over the prisoner. She would take in the scene of blood and chaos. A slight smile tugging at her lips while she observed. Bodies of the twelve or so who were unfortunate enough to be caught here lay around her. Blood and muscle scattered about from the bullets shredding them like paper dolls.

“He was wounded. Look at his legs, shredded...” the Harbinger seethed, turning back around and huffing out a dissatisfied snort.

“Where is he!” Siida shouted as the eyes of the magister closed tightly in recoil from the demons shot. “Where!”

“It is no use Siida.” Sennaris added while she interrogated the man. “He knows nothing.”

“Liar! He knows!” shouted the Matron. Her body fell to the ground and with balled tiny fists she began to pummel the side of the magister until she was no longer able. “Where is he!”

Vari had taken the opportunity to revel in the madness, but only until the cries of her baby sister began to irritate her. It was mostly out of consideration for that but a bit because she took was worried. Her plated hand came to rest on the wilted shoulder of her younger. Her cold voice echoing.

“We will find him.”

“There is a way. . .” Marseille suddenly chimed in.

It was that curious question that caused everyone to turn and peer toward he pale old elf. With lofted brows and curious narrowed eyes; the collective group would beg for a continuation of his sudden outburst.

“The blood of the man over there. Dawnseeker used his magics to engineer a veil of truth across the room. It was this selective telepathy that caused Siida to reveal what we were trying to keep hidden. Had it not been for that man, none of this would have come to light. We did not expect such a powerful reader, nor were the notes within his dossier anywhere close to being accurate.”

“Brightsong.” Sennaris added, her slender finger lofting toward the body of the bullet ridden man. “I will do it, it is my fault that he went unchecked.”

“Senn. . .” Verzatea said softly when the guilt was thrust upon the Compellor by her own hand.

“No. . .I had helped to organize them, I missed them. . .” she quickly responded as she made her way over toward the body.

“I will also take responsibility. The Master was quite adamant that I dig as deep as possible, I missed this.” Marseille added in defense, he would not allow her to wallow in pity alone.

“It matters very little the who or the why, we need results. . .now, proceed.” Vari chimed in while she grabbed hold of the Magister, she dragged him over to a still standing table and flopped his carcass onto it. Her plated finger slipping into his mouth and pulling the bound gag from it. He coughed.

Marseille walked toward Sennaris and had brandished his spoon once more. The instrument was used to scoop a generous portion of the mans blood and both he and Sennaris would rejoin the rest of the party at the table.

“Verzatea, if you will. . . a shroud please.” he added while offering the blood in the spoon toward Sennaris.

So it would be that the Confessor would begin to cast a spell; the light taste of magic would slip across the bodies of those that were still living and a veil would fall across them.

At the same time, the Compellor would slowly dip her unwrapped and badly scarred finger into the pool of blood. Her hands had been completely charred and burnt during the construction of the Void Forge, it was beyond repair. And simultaneously her hand would reach for the edge of the veil.

Marseille would also invest his own prowess over the arcane to the mix and begin to conjure up the same level of auditory pitch that was used to fluctuate the airwaves around them. It was a crude style of backward magic, but it was his hope that using these specific talents together would yield something similar to the effect the man had on the group earlier.

“Go ahead Little Sister.” he spoke softly, his white eyes aflame while his extraordinarily long arms and hands held overhead controlling his part of the spell. “Ask him what you wish.”

Siida was standing beside Zalra, the two of them watching on as the others went about crafting this makeshift ability. When she was prompted, her eyes peered back toward the huntress, and a reaffirming nod was passed.

“Alright. . .” she said softly. “D-Dawnseeker. . .Where is m-my brother!”

The eyes of the fel using magister would burn with a furious green ember as he lay there writhing and coiling from his capture. “I do not know!”

Marseille remained unmoved by the answer, and in fact almost expected him to blurt out something ridiculous. “What did you do to him?”

The eyes of the fel user again lit as if awakened by the spell and the question being asked.

“I used the donations of the eleven houses working along side me to hire the most successful Apostate Hunters I possibly could. They work for bounties. I had a contact through one of my business affairs. . .a set of Kal’dorei siblings who worked within their organization. Locating and dispatching rogue wizards, mages, warlocks. . .people of dangerous origin. I knew Lazarius was skilled in magic; we’d seen his ability before. So they agreed to track and capture him. Using a tail they placed on his Prime apprentice, they deduced where she would be, and where they were going.” Dawnseeker spilled his secrets like a leaking faucet. Every detail they could possibly want.

The group watched on in anger as they heard the truth of what was happening. They knew exactly what was happening during these events; they’d been left with the aftermath and clean up when they met Kaelesett.

“They were supposed to secure the target, and transport him from Pandaria, the Quel’thalas. But Lazarius never made it back to me. The only way I know he captured is because the leader of this particular sect of hunters kept a mechanical parrot as a companion. It was given this to give to me as proof to prepare payment. . .” Dawnseeker had reached into his collar and around his neck was the talisman of Lazarius.

“You fucking maggot!” Vari snarled and slammed her plated fist directly into the face of the Magister several times causing his face to become a pulp of blood and torn flesh. Only by the aid of Koltun was she withdrawn as he looped his arm beneath her own to put her in an half nelson of sorts.

“Thank you Koltun. . .” Siida said remorsefully having to watch her sister be restrained. Though not before slowly plucking the necklace from the bloodied mans head.

Her golden pools glimmered with sadness as she dropped a single tear onto the serpents coiling body as she held the talisman and vial of her brothers blood in her shaking palms.

“Why. . .” she cooed softly into it, as if speaking to it.

“His death.. .allowed us to rise. . . capitalize and profit from his tireless efforts. I never received confirmation, the report given to me. . . by my own spies stated the zeppelin carrying him went down somewhere across the Great Sea. . . contact was never reclaimed.”

Siida stood there for a moment thinking. She was numb at this point. He’d admitted it finally, but that bitter sweet taste was no better coming from his lips as it was swallow it herself.

She had hoped to hear something a bit more useful, but this? This was just closure that he was nowhere to be found. Perhaps Kross was wrong about the talisman. Maybe he had died in the crash, something must have been a miss.

“I. . .am. . .sorry, Siida Kash’ebahl. . .” Dawnseeker mouthed with just enough energy to peer back at her with a nearly closed eye; it was inflamed but far less than the other which had been swollen shut.

“Sorry?. . .Sorry does not begin to repair this. Sorry is not something you just offer like a handkerchief to a grieving sister. Sorry. . .you are sorry, that is exactly what you are. . .” she shook her head sadly, angrily even. He did not receive his desired reprieve with his apology.

“Not just for that, but for everything. I never wanted this to happen to you.”

Her eyes slowly peeled upward to the man who lay sprawled across the table in a blood mess.

“What do you mean. . .” she said angrily, still curious to figure out what he’d meant by that from before. “You said something like this earlier, what do you mean. . .”

“I. . . I should have worked harder to prevent them from finding you. . .” he coughed, blood spurting out onto his chin.

Siida widened her eyes as she peered further.

“That is enough. Sennaris, release the blood, Verzatea, the veil.” Marseille could see it was troubling Siida, and he wanted it to end.

To be concluded... In Depths Below:Masquerade,Part 10

10 notes · View notes

things-we-used-tc-share · 5 years

Text

I’m Gonna Take That Boys Crown

(Cause I am, I am, a little wicked)

Witch!Logan and Prince!Roman, Logan’s got issues with how the king rules and intends to take him down, and the best way to do that is through his son, right?

All’s fair in love and war. (Logince)

Inspired by this song.

Witchcraft had been outlawed in this land for decades, for many years, and anyone caught practising it would be hung for crimes against king and country. This meant Logan had seen many people, witch or not, with their necks snapped around a rope since he was but a young boy, the King was a bloodthirsty man, he liked to see death and revelled in the consequence of power.

The line is drawn when armed men broke into his house as a scrawny 15-year-old, carrying his elder sister screaming and crying into the night and it would be the last he ever saw of her. A Witch, they’d told them and both Logan and his mother had begged and screamed and said they had it wrong, his sister was no Witch, but she was tried as one.

Now 26 years old and carrying a headful of curls and a mountain of knowledge stored behind them in an eidetic brain, Logan was not a man to be trifled with. He’d left the land to live in a surrounding forest out of reach from the King’s power and here he studied hard, he learned, he studied, he communicated with the nature around him. Never would he harm the ground nor animals, and in return, nature gifted him with food and water and strength. Alone, he devised a plan to take down the King and gain vengeance for his sister’s death and set to work to complete it.

The first full moon of the year, the King returned home from an overseas journey with his only son, Roman. Little did they know until it happened, their carriage would stop, the horses would become spooked and flee and they and their men would be left in an unforgiving environment home to the gods and goddesses of the people they had persecuted. The forest was a Witches domain and even the unsuperstitious knew this. One by one, their men fell to their knees, snatched up by a poisonous Earth that Logan had pleaded with the Gods to plague them.

This left both the King and his son, with their swords drawn and fright in their eyes, suddenly powerless without their money and castle walls to protect them. A fog descended, controlled by a man who knew the elements like he knew his own soul, and panicked they became separated. “You will pay for what you did,” Logan calls out through the whispers of the wind “You will pay the crimes you have committed against us,” The King runs, he does not stop for his son, does not aim to protect him, in a way Logan pities Roman for being born to such a man.

Roman isn’t his main target, but he watches the boy intently, knowing the woods will catch up to the King eventually, this entire forest was, after all, a holy ground, and the King was a trespasser. Logan pulls the hood of his cloak over his head, shrouded in the mist and his garments to silhouette himself as nameless. “Hello?” he hears the Prince call, watches his hazel eyes sparkle with fear. Roman lowers his sword, he knows it’s useless against the world and what he was fighting is indeed no mortal man that he is used to duelling. “Whatever I did to deserve this, I apologise,” It startles the Witch to hear such softness and resignment in one man’s voice, especially the voice belonging to the son of the man that slaughtered his sister in such cold blood.

“It is not something in which you have done,” Logan says, circling the figure through the fog “But we all eventually have to pay for crimes we didn’t commit,” He raises a hand and the fog pulls back revealing himself to the Prince, who blinks slowly. “My sister did, and I thought perhaps you would too, I wanted your father to know the suffering of losing a loved one, but it would appear that he doesn’t love even you,” A bitter laugh escapes the brunet, Prince and he looks up with tired eyes.

“My father doesn’t love a thing or person, and he only has me because he could never swear loyalty to a woman that could not bear his children,” He tosses the sword on the ground “I’m nothing but a Mistresses son, and he resents me for ever being born because I was proof that he was a complete and utter...bastard,” Logan raises his head and surveys the man, he was not the man Logan had hoped to encounter; he admits he knows very little of Roman, only that he makes the women of the town swoon and perhaps some of the men too. Some part of him is a little relieved he would not have to kill a man who was not guilty of any crime.

“It would seem you were not the man I expected Roman, I was expecting you to be more like your father, crass and bloodthirsty and ready to kill anyone on sight, instead you converse with the man who is likely to kill your father like an old friend, you’re an interesting man, very peculiar,”

“Any man that kills my father is an old friend of mine,” The hazel-eyed man steps closer “I would pay you to do it,” Logan laughs hollowly, these men and their money. The Witch had no need for such trivial forms of currency as his life’s riches lay in the soil of the ground and the roots of the trees, his riches lay in every leaf and flower petal. The Earth was his riches, and the riches bestowed on him by a much higher power. “I beg of you, let me see your face, please, I want to know who you are, I want to thank you properly, you will have set both me and my kingdom free,”

He hesitates for a moment, before stepping into the clear moonlight and drawing back his hood. The mess of ebony curls fall into his glowing grey and blue eyes, and he stands like the earth itself had grown into his bones; tall and proud. Roman’s breath catches in his lungs, considering that this may be the most attractive man he’d seen in his life and steps closer to study the angled jawline and high cheekbones as pale skin reflected to the moon. “My birth name is Logan, but the name generally bestowed on me, chosen by the Gods is Magister, which means teacher, unfortunately, I don’t have anyone to teach about Witchcraft due to your father's bloodthirsty tirade,” He shrugs his hood back up, stepping back as Roman advances.

“Teach me,” He says breathlessly, “teach me, so I may protect my Kingdom and my people, teach me so Witches and Non Witches can live in harmony, please, let me help you end my father’s agonising bloodbath, let me end his reign with you,” In all of Logan’s gifts and talents, he was not a seer, he could not predict the future and he had certainly not seen this one coming. Roman is a persuasive, broken, abused and beautiful young man. Four things that logan could very rarely say no too.

“Okay, let us go then,” He lifted the fog and plucked a feather from his coat, holding it in the palm of his hand “Exspecto,” the feather darted from his hand and hovered in front of his face and begin to lead them in a direction, Roman stumbled behind the taller man as they began their journey, lead by a feather.

A tree had taken the liberty of tangling the King in its branches, graciously Logan thanked the tree and the Gods for their kindness and looked into the cold eyes of the King, lowering his hood. “Tell me, do you remember her?” Logan asked coldly, his voice emanating layers of ice and pain that had been shouldered for years and years. “Do you remember the 19-year-old young woman you dragged from my house? Do you remember slaughtering her for a crime she did not commit?” There’s a serpent crawling down his back and that serpent is fury, his body almost burning with malice as he stepped closer “You hung her, and she kicked and screamed and begged, and now you will pay for the innocent lives lost,” He draws a hand, ready to suck the life from this man, whose heart had since been long dead, before he is stopped.

“Wait, you need to make it look like an accident, like an animal killed him,” Roman intervenes, the King cries in fury, or maybe fear, spitting out words of betrayal to his only son, but the Prince, whose eyes are full of tears despite only feeling just slightly melancholy, laughs with pain. “You hurt me my entire life, you betrayed me already father, the moment I was brought into this world I was no more a punching bag than I was a son, rot in hell, you bastard,” Logan smirks and steps back, holding out his hands to the sound of pounding feet. Animal feet.

“This...won’t be pretty, but the wolves are hungry, and it looks as though they’ve found their perfect snack,”

When Roman returns to the castle alone, he sends the guards out to look for his father. Logan, disguised, marvels at how well of an actor he is as he pulls on fake tears and acts of sorrow, begging them to find his dear, loving father. Logan unmasks his invisibility once they reach Roman’s room. “We’ll have to get you some nicer clothes, for now, something more comfortable, and then we can set to work,” Logan agrees, accepting a warm cup of tea between cold fingertips as they wait for the news.

The King is announced dead at 4PM that evening, and Roman is crowned King the next day, during the first public speech he endures as King, he announces Logan as his advisor. Together, they unravel the previous laws on Witchcraft being outlawed and promised reparations for the families who had lost loved ones to the unjust ruling of the previous King.

As time goes on, Roman learns the old ways of an ancient religion founded on the spiritual connection to the world around him. He spends days in the forest, he allows the Witches to openly practice ceremonies in them, including their own marriages and introduction of new life to the world ceremonies. Sometimes, he joins them and sits as they embrace the natural world, with Logan as their teacher, giving the man a chance to live up to the name that had been bestowed upon him.

Soon, however, he finds more in Logan than just a teacher, confident or friend. They both had a soft spot for beautiful and broken men, so it was only natural that the world had brought them together through strange means. “I believe our souls to be missing pieces of each other’s,” The Witch says softly, lying in the other man’s bed with his curls splayed out in a brilliant contrast with the bright white bed sheets. Roman lies next to him, presses a kiss to his temple. “What do you say?”

“I could say you enchanted me,” Roman replies with a light laugh, staring at the ivy that climbed so beautifully up and into his window, “Or perhaps it is I who enchanted you, nevertheless I agree, I see more in you than a teacher or companion, more a courtship or a lover,” Logan smiles in reply and brings a hand to softly touch the other’s face, warmth spread through the other man’s cheeks as he meets the icy grey and blue hurricane that is Logan’s eyes.

“I am inclined to agree with you, Roman, I am inclined to agree,”

They marry a year after meeting, in a land now embracing a new world slowly into its ground, where people of all backgrounds found safety, other lands would often joke it is a land for misfits and oddities, and Kings Roman and Logan would be very much inclined to agree. As a celebration of their marriage, they bring in the children of the streets whose parents had died or been unable to care for them, into their castle and house them and train them in the practice, should they want to leave the practice they were free too, it was not a calling for everyone, but they would at least be taught to respect the world and all that it brings forward.

Taglist:

@unikornavenger // @mycatshuman //@spectralheartt // @creativity-killed-thekitten//@theresneverenoughfandoms //@charmingprincey//@aclickonapostwillchangeyourlife //@heck-im-lost // @k9cat//@stilljittery//@romansleftshoulderpad //@sanderssideslibrary //@max-is-tired //@therealmoshar //@punsterterry

Like what I do? Consider supporting me: Ko-Fi

#logince #sanders sides #thomas sanders

58 notes · View notes

crystal-siren · 6 years

Text

Knowledge (Dad!Tony x Reader + Loki x Reader) Pt.9

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

I know we can’t seem to catch a break. And sometimes it feels like the whole universe is conspiring against us. But damn the stars, I choose you. And whatever the odds, no challenge or obstacle will ever be enough to stand in our way. ~ Beau Taplin // Damn The Stars

They came without warning. They came and the peace of the Aesir was shattered. They came for the Aether and would not leave without it.

They had planned it all. For centuries they had planned it.

Beings of darkness, they were. Seeking to make the universe a place of darkness once more. A place where no light could ever exist.

For the Aether to end up in a place like Asgard was truly a remarkable coincidence and one that Malekith could not ignore.

The attack erupted from the inside. From within the bowels of the citadel.

~ ~ ~

Y/N believed she was safe with the Queen. She had never been more wrong. It quickly became obvious that nowhere in the palace was safe.

The attacks had been sudden. The Aesir scrambled to defend themselves against the sudden onslaught and Frigga, along with Nikolas, had insisted that Y/N was safer at the Queen’s side.

“I can look after myself,” Y/N whispered to her cousin as the Queen spoke with a group of guards.

“I know you can,” Nikolas replied in the same tone, “but this isn’t our world. I just don’t want you to get into any trouble.”

“And where will you be going?” Y/N demanded, folding her arms over her chest.

“To offer my help to the Prince,” Nikolas explained, “he may not know me, but I believe that, right now, that is of little consequence.”

Opening her mouth to reply, Y/N was cut off by Frigga, who approached the pair with a grim expression.

“What is it, My Lady?” Nikolas stepped forward.

“There is chaos in the dungeons. Some of the prisoners have broken free. It is a bloodbath.”

The dungeons. Y/N felt all the blood drain from her face and she found it hard to breathe. “Which prisoners?” She managed to choke out, her e/c eyes darting to the Queen’s face.

Frigga caught on quick. Y/N’s fears had become the same as hers when she had heard the news. “Vanir.”

Y/N didn’t know whether or not to be relieved.

Frigga shook her head in answer to the unasked question in Y/N’s eyes. “He did not cause this.”

“Is he alright, though?” Y/N was grateful at how steady her voice sounded.

“I do not know,” the Queen’s eyes became sad.

The sound of running soon stopped any replies Y/N may have had. She barely registered it when Frigga took her hand and pulled her in the opposite direction.

Chaos reigned around them as they sought sanctuary. Y/N’s mind was with her cousin, wherever he was. She panicked just thinking about what if the worst would happen.

Countless scenarios flashed before her eyes as she ran.

Numerous fallen littered the halls, both enemy and not. Y/N kept up with the Queen as best she could, her weak lungs protesting with every breath she took.

“Y/N, come along, we must hurry,” Frigga spoke in a hushed tone. Her eyes darted over their surroundings, the hallway in which they were was strangely silent and empty. “Jane is waiting.”

Y/N nodded and held up a hand as her chest continued to heave for breath. She had no idea who Jane was, but now was not the time to ask.

Straightening, Y/N took a final breath before answering. “Why is it so quiet?” Her e/c eyes swept over the hallway curiously.

The Queen shrugged and shook her head. “I have been asking myself that same question. Here,” she reached over her shoulder and produced a dagger, “take this. I have no doubt that you will have need of this.”

Accepting the weapon, Y/N nodded in thanks.

“Come, we must hurry. It is only a matter of time before they find us.”

“Who is ‘they’?”

“Dark Elves,” Frigga explained, “a race that favours darkness over light. An unpleasant race, to be sure.”

Y/N soon found herself agreeing before once again following the Aesir Queen down the abandoned passageway.

~ ~ ~

The Queen had been right. The situation in the dungeons was complete and utter chaos. How such a small group of people managed to create such a disaster, was beyond Nikolas’s understanding.

The Prince had readily accepted his help. Everywhere he looked there was conflict and each more violent than the last.

Grateful for the blades the Prince had given him, Nikolas cut down all those that crossed his path. While his mind was mostly on his own situation, he could not help but wonder of his cousin had found some place that would put her out of harm’s way. She was still recovering after all. He dreaded to think of what would happen should she encounter one of the creatures he was now locked in combat with.

~ ~ ~

Jane yelped in surprise as the door burst open. Frigga and another young woman stumbled through the door.

The young woman was breathing heavily and gasping for breath. Leaning against the wall, she closed her eyes and took a series of deep breaths.

“Who’s that?” Jane whispered to the Queen. She seemed strangely familiar.

Frigga smiled grimly. “She is a mortal, like yourself.”

“Is she alright?” Jane asked in a worried tone, her eyes trained on the young woman, who’s eyes remained closed.

Frigga nodded. “She is recovering from a serious illness. Her lungs are a little weak.”

Nodding, Jane approached the young woman. “Hello?”

Her eyes fluttered open. Blinking in confusion she looked at Jane. “Hello.” Her voice sounded a little strained.

“My name is Jane,” she held out a hand in introduction. “Jane Foster.”

The young woman shook her hand. “Y/N Stark.”

Jane’s eyes widened. “The Y/N Stark?”

Y/N nodded, not sure where this was going. “I suppose so, yes.”

“I’m sorry,” Jane apologised, seeing the young woman’s obvious confusion. “I’ve heard a lot about you, because of, well, you know...”

Realisation slammed into her. Y/N felt the blood rush to her cheeks. “Yes, well...”

Frigga watched the two women with a slight smile. Two mortal women who had captured the minds and hearts of her sons.

~ ~ ~

Malekith stalked through the palace. He could sense the Aether. It was so close. Then he felt it, a familiar presence he had not sensed in centuries. But what was it doing here?

His men had wreaked suitable damage. He only hoped that the Kursed had fulfilled his pledge and played his part.

~ ~ ~

Despite the chaos and havoc being wrought just a few feet away, Loki was quite content to simply read. He knew his brother was there, he had all but announced his presence.

The sounds of the fighting did little to disturb his reading. His mind however, was elsewhere. It was with her. He prayed that nothing had happened to her. He had only just gotten her back, he could not bare the thought of losing her again.

Stay safe, he thought. Please.

She had changed. Of that much he was certain. There was something different in her eyes. There was a fight in her that hadn’t been there before.

~ ~ ~

“Why are they even here?” Y/N asked, her mind reeling with questions.

“They are here for the Aether,” Frigga replied and made to explain but stopped when she saw Y/N’s eyes widen. “You know of it?”

Y/N nodded, “Yes. I wish I didn’t, but, yeah. I’ve read about it. I thought it was just a story.”

Frigga shook her head. “It would be better if it were.”

“How do they know it’s here?”

Jane and Frigga exchanged a look before Jane stepped forward. “Their leader, Malekith is able to sense it’s presence and followed it here.”

Y/N cringed. “That doesn’t sound too good.”

“It isn’t,” Jane agreed.

“But,” Y/N continued with a thoughtful expression. “What if we just hid it in a place where he wouldn’t be able to find it? Shouldn’t we be doing that?”

Frigga stepped in before Jane could answer. “We are doing that.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes, “but how? How is the three of us hiding in here hiding the Aether?”

“Because,” Jane answered hesitantly. “It’s me, well, not really. It’s inside me.”

Y/N felt her jaw drop and her eyes widen. “Are you serious?!”

“I’m afraid so,” Frigga murmured. “A most unfortunate situation to be sure.”

“Understatement of the year,” Y/N murmured to herself.

Silence hung like a heavy curtain around them. No one knowing what to say, or if they should say anything at all.

During the silence, Y/N’s overactive imagination kicked in. Horrific visions of her cousin fighting those creatures played in front of her. The worry she felt only increased as the minutes ticked by. No matter how much she paced or tried to calm herself, nothing seemed to work.

Then it hit her. Taking out the dagger that the Queen had given her, Y/N examined it for a brief moment before turning to where Frigga and Jane had been watching her.

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty, but I have to go.”

“Go?!” Frigga repeated in confusion, though part of her told her what Y/N intended to do.

“Yes,” Y/N nodded and licked her lips before continuing. “I appreciate the effort to keep me safe but, I can’t simply stay here and do nothing while my cousin is out there fighting those creatures.” Her eyes silently begged the Queen to understand her reasoning.

“I promised him,” Frigga reminded her.

“I- I know,” Y/N faltered for a brief moment before lifting her chin. “But this is my decision,” she paused and glanced briefly between the two women. “And he is my family.” Her words were whispered, but they heard them all the same.

Not waiting for a reply, she turned away from them and pulled the door open. Not looking to see if the coast was clear, she left the room and ran as fast as her recovering lungs would allow her to.

~ ~ ~

While Malekith’s main focus was the Aether, the second presence he had felt demanded his attention just as much.

He was at war with himself. Both were important to both himself and his race. This presence had not been felt since the war that wiped out all but a few of his people. One that he believed he would not feel again. Until now.

Choosing to pursue his original path, Malekith ordered his guards to search the palace.

~ ~ ~

The fight in the dungeons seemed to have no end. Nikolas was beginning to feel the telltale signs of exhaustion. He knew that, under no circumstances, he could show it. His opponents were skilled enough as it was.

The fight had driven him towards the more isolated cells. He had been separated from the Prince for a good while now.

~ ~ ~

Only when a figure approached his cell, did Loki look up from his book. The young man had his back to him.

Mildly curious as to who the man was, the younger Prince was tempted to ask him. His question was answered when....

“NIKOLAS?”

His heart skipped a beat. He would know that voice anywhere. His eyes scanned the crowd and finally spotted her. Even from where he stood, he could clearly see that the dagger she held was his mother’s. He silently thanked her for giving it to her.

The young man by his cell looked up when she called. So, this was her cousin then. Interesting.

“Y/N?” Her cousin breathed, confused to see her there. Pushing himself away from the stone column, he fought his way to where she stood.

Y/N’s knees threatened to buckle with the relief she felt at seeing him alive. Relying on the basic fighting skills she had developed over the years, she braved the fight. She froze however when she saw who’s cell Nikolas was near.

In that moment, she forgot how to breathe. Her eyes locked with his and in that moment, the two of them were alone. The fight faded away as did all the noise that accompanied it.

Loki could hardly believe it. There she was, a short distance away from him. What he saw in her eyes mirrored the immense relief and wonder he felt. After everything he had seen her endure, here she was, a mere few feet away from him. Alive and with fire in her beautiful eyes.

Y/N was torn back to the present when she felt someone grab her arm roughly from behind. The grip was tight enough to bruise and no matter how hard she fought, it would not let go.

Nikolas, it seemed had seen it too. “Let her go,” he demanded of the Dark Elf that held his cousin. Brandishing his weapon, he charged his cousin’s captor.

While the elf was fighting her cousin, Y/N continued to fight for release. The creature had just happened to grab her sword arm. Sighing in frustration, Y/N resorted to hand-to-hand combat, but mostly kicking and swinging wildly with one arm.

She became so preoccupied with trying to get free that she did not notice her cousin’s waning strength. Her captor, however, did notice.

A hissed, “Stop,” brought her up short. Her e/c eyes widened in horror as she saw Nikolas at sword point. “You will come with me or he dies.”

Y/N could not believe what she was hearing. How did it all come to this? She vehemently shook her head. “I won’t be going anywhere with you and your kind.”

Nikolas looked up at her with something akin to pride shining in his tired eyes. “You tell ‘em cuz.”

She tried to smile, to show him how strong she was supposed to be. Her eyes were quickly filling with tears and she fought to keep them from spilling over. “Nikolas..” she sounded far from the strong and confident woman she knew she was supposed to be.

Loki watched frozen in his cell. He watched as all the fight seemed to leave her. Her eyes were liquid from the tears she was holding back.

The scream that followed the blow was unlike anything Loki had ever heard. It silenced the fight and brought time to a standstill.

Y/N could not believe it. She would not. Time ceased to have meaning for her. Finally fighting free, she collapsed by her cousin’s fallen form and pulled him close. The tears she had been holding back streamed down her cheeks. His blood soaked the gown she was wearing.

The grief in her eyes when she looked up at him was something Loki wished never to experience. Her pain tore at his heart. “Y/N?” He whispered gently.

His voice was music to her ears. A balm to her tortured mind and soul. Gently laying Nikolas’s still form on the cold ground, she made to go to the cell when she was ripped away. Her cousin’s murderer pulled her away, his arm around her waist.

“NO!” Y/N screamed in both frustration and pain. “LOKI. NIKOLAS!” Her pained eyes met his emerald ones and she fought to reach him, but the elf was too strong and he dragged her kicking and screaming from the dungeons.

“Y/N!” Her name followed her and only increased the strength of her resistance.

To be continued....

Part 10

Tags: @blackmaylovesfries @@mymourningtea @dovies666 @desdestiny @bry-97 @1800-fight-me @franzilostinozean @sapphire1727 @petalparker @chelseamarie-91 @reading-wallflower @spidey-boio @twerkinglucifer @m4shtyx @reeeeeaaper @untoldshortsofthefandoms @drakesfiance

141 notes · View notes

xtheingenue-blog · 6 years

Text

oh, honey

who // rachel berry & jesse st. james what // rachel premiers a new song with a new leading man and the chemistry is too much for them to fight anymore when // wednesday, october 10th a/n // they bang but i’m too tired to write real porn so its like. soft porn. think harlequin romance, with less use of the words ‘iron hard member’ or something.

New York had always been home. Even though she’d technically spent more of her life in Los Angeles, the second she stepped foot in the city, it felt familiar. Comfortable. Sugar had even managed to convince Will it was okay for them to spend the time in their apartments - as much as she loved hotels, sleeping in her own bed with her cat again made everything feel just a little bit better. Of course, now her bedding smelled like Jesse St. James. He had spent most of the previous evening sprawled out on her bed, watching her clear out her closet - she’d allow him glimpses of skin, pink patches appearing as she blushed when his eyeline would focus on her hips, her thighs, her breasts. In the end, they settled on an outfit Rachel had worn one of her first performances - something that made her feel powerful, and with the way his eyes raked over her, sexy.

They had been practicing the song whenever they had a chance, Rachel tweaking it here and there to make it work more in her favor. The girls loved it - while they had to borrow a pianist to play the keyboard for it, it was sultry, smoky. Hot. And when she sang it with Jesse, Rachel couldn’t help but feel the electricity that ran between them.

She only hoped they could play it off on stage.

Rachel had the closing act at the first venue, and Jesse was on third during his own. It was almost like the universe was laughing at them, despite her request to have them on the same stage so he could easily join her - for awhile, she wasn’t sure he’d even be able to make it. Sure, the song she could easily sing as a solo, but it wasn’t as good that way, and she’d rather have scrapped it all together. She needn’t have worried; he looked a little breathless off stage, grabbing a mic from Sugar to join her in perfect timing. They started sans music, just Rachel’s voice, no introduction before she started singing.

these little hands are parasites

The crowd hushed with her voice, trying to figure out if they knew the song or not

get in there and hang on tight take what they can take and leave you bleeding

She could see Jesse just out of the corner of her eye, waiting just off stage. A surprise, for sure, for the entire audience - but she couldn’t keep the lilt of a smile off her lips as she sang, the hum of excitement buzzing through her already.

this little mouth’s no good for you these lips will suck you black and blue when it’s done, the teeth and tongue for feeding

Emily and Sidney began to join in with their instruments, a few pick ups she’d managed from the general band members that lurked the tour in case of emergencies helping out, the audience starting to get into the song - but nothing like when Jesse appeared, words first before his body, his voice drawing her to him even before she looked in his direction. It was like a magnet, the two of them, circling one another as they sang round and round, almost never in unison, like they didn’t want to overpower one another. Equals, really, something Rachel had been yearning for for years now. It was during the last moments of the song, the two of them merely a foot apart, and if she’d been thinking about it all she should have been surprised by the lack of feedback from their microphones, but all she could think about was how good they sounded, her voice harmonizing with his, the two of them exhilarated in the way only an incredible performance was. It was the closest thing she’d felt to love in years, and when the song ended, the crowd burst into louder applause than she’d heard at any show previous. They laughed it off, Rachel squeezing his hand and kissing his cheek before she announced him to the crowd, demanding one more round of applause for him. And just the briefest touch of her lips against his skin was enough to make her vibrate with need, her tongue darting across her lips as she watched him go, remembering only just in time that she had the rest of her set to perform and she couldn’t follow. As soon as the curtain dropped, however, she sped off, barely putting her guitar in its case before she was texting Jesse. My apartment. Now. She’d only just sent it when a pair of hands reached out for her, eliciting a small screech before lips were against hers, hands on her waist, her hair, tugging on her vest while pushing her further backstage where no one could see them, despite how busy it was. “Jesse - “ It was so confusing. Because she wanted this, wanting him, but she had Sam, sort of, and Sebastian, in a way, and adding a third guy into the mix seemed like so much but with his mouth trailing along her throat, she couldn’t remember anything except the way his eyes bore into hers on stage, how their voices blended together perfectly, how his energy seemed to combine with hers on stage to create something so incredibly new that she wanted -

“Not here,” was all she managed to get out, his teeth nipping her ear as he hummed his agreement, though her hands were just as unable to sit still as his, tugging on his shirt, his hair, his hips. “My apartment, come,” she demanded, pushing him away until she could breathe on her own again. They didn’t speak as they found a cab outside, and while she tried to remember herself, it was a long drive from the island back to Brooklyn.

It was her who initiated it, then; “Kiss me,” she whispered, and he did as she asked, pulling her close. Open mouths, teeth biting, she felt her insides stirring with a longing she hadn’t felt in so long - to be known, to be wanted in a way unique to anything else she had in her life.

And Jesse fit so perfectly into what she thought she needed in a partner. Someone who could understand that she scoffed at the idea of monogamy, someone who understood that the spotlight was her one true love above all, someone who could bring fire to her music and energy to her soul. While they were on tour, they couldn’t do much more than they were musically, but instead of fighting him off, well, she was officially inviting him in, physically.

Her clothing barely stayed on in the cab, and while it wouldn’t be her first time, she didn’t think either of them needed to deal with a sex tape scandal, all things considered. (The fact that Santana still held one of her was enough to make her wary of creating a second so soon.) But she barely let him get further than her front door before she yanked his jacket off, throwing it towards her sofa where it landed on Roxie, the kitten screaming and hiding in objection.

Rachel paid her no mind, instead focusing on the buckle of Jesse’s jeans, his own hands pulling her shirt up and over her head, hands and mouths seeking every inch of skin possible. He’d only been in her apartment once, but he somehow managed to navigate them to her bed, pushing her down and crawling on top of her, whispering soft words of “beautiful” and “gorgeous” in his low accent that made her skin crawl with desire as he kissed her.

“I need you,” she begged, her own voice breathier than normal, and he chuckled, catching her lips in another kiss that made her knees weak and her legs part as he settled between them. His fingers found the crutch of her, sinking inside and making her moan into his kiss, her back arching slightly to crawl closer to him.

“I can tell, princess,” his words made her moan louder, which only seemed to push him harder, Rachel squirming if only to get her skirt further down her hips, to allow him more access. She wanted to feel him, all of him, and while his fingers hooking inside of her felt delicious, she needed more.

“Then stop teasing,” she snapped, pushing him away if only to hook her own thumbs in the waist of her fishnets, tugging all her clothing off in one fell swoop. Jesse followed suit, giving Rachel just enough time to reach for her secret box in her bedside - thank god she always kept herself stocked, just in case, grabbing a condom and tearing open the packet before he could protest.

(Not that she imagined he would - he, after all, would be an advocate for birth control for the same reasons she was, and if he had a problem about the potential passing of STI’s, well, she’d just demand he get tested before they went without.)

She pushed him onto his back, giggling as she did, Jesse hoisting her hips until they were straddling his own. Rachel’s teeth worked her bottom lip, lining the two of them up and letting herself sink down around him slowly.

The groan that slipped between his lips was enough to make her skin flush a deep red, her breath stuttering for a moment while she rested her hands against his chest. “C’mon, baby girl,” he teased, and she dug her nails into his skin, eliciting a low hiss before she started moving; it was just like being on stage with him, the two finding that perfect rhythm almost immediately, his hands digging into her hips while she rode him. Her head lolled back, her knees digging into her mattress to support herself, and all she could focus on was how good it felt - how good he felt, a thumb circling her clit, two fingers twisting a nipple, his body moving faster than hers when he wanted to flip her over so she couldn’t protest.

By the time she came, the two of them were soaked in sweat, her teeth biting into his shoulder to mark him as hers, if only momentarily, her body rolling against his as she kept herself wrapped tightly around him. She didn’t want there to be a distance, didn’t want any space, and he seemed to agree with the sentiment.

What they had together, she knew, even as they collapsed next to one another what felt like hours later, was more than just chemistry. It was more than just sexual, more than just emotional. It was musical, a soulmate in a way she’d never found with anyone else. And Rachel had no intentions of giving that up - not if she could do a damn thing to stop it.

#para #sp #wayoutnewyork #para: jsj #[ sort of #jsj #oh honey

2 notes · View notes

ohwhatamessiam · 6 years

Text

Self Control - Chapter 3

Summary: You attend the English department’s dinner, where you meet a few fellow colleagues and Chris’ wife. A comment @fangirlisms-22 left me was “Okay three seems super aggressive for the first time they do this.” But I’m gonna leave that up to y’all to decide.

Pairing: Professor!Chris Evans X TA!Reader

Word Count: 4.6k (this took on a life of its own and that is why it’s taken a year to write guys)

Warnings: Language, A VERY EXPLICIT UNPROTECTED SEX SCENE (IF YOU ARE UNDER 18 DO NOT INTERACT WITH THIS POST ALSO PLEASE USE PROTECTION AT ALL TIMES), some casual drinking, the introduction of some other attractive Marvel stars.

A/N: Hey y’all, so I’m here to ruin your Thursday (lol I know I’m posting this at 3 am my time) with flirting and sex, woohoo! I didn’t make the wife a specific person, but a composite of several women Chris has dated. It’s been like 3 years since I’ve written smut so this is pretty shitty. I used to write very clumsy, awkward, cute, and protected sex scenes, but this one threw all that out the window. A thank you to @fangirlisms-22 for helping me chop 300 words off this bad boy. I believe everyone on my taglist has confirmed that they’re 18+, but if I included you and you are not, please let me know. Here’s the Spotify playlist for the entire fic. I love feedback, so send me your thoughts, feelings, wishes, etc!

Tags are open for this story, so send me an ask here to be added to it or my permanent list!

Self Control | Masterlist

It was Thursday night of the third week of classes, and Prof. Downey had strongly recommended you attend the English Department’s dinner at his house. It was his way of kicking off the new semester, and getting new and old colleagues introduced to each other. You really hadn’t planned on attending, but one of your fellow grad students swore that all the graduate TAs attended to get to know their current or future, bosses and coworkers better.

Arriving at at Prof. Downey’s house five minutes before the evening would officially begin, you waited in your car for a few minutes to breathe and calm your nerves.

These were your colleagues and advisors. There was no need for you to be nervous or worried. But you reminded yourself that wasn’t completely correct. Prof. Evans and his wife were supposed to attend tonight, and after your shared moment of intimacy outside his office, you weren’t sure if you could handle meeting her. You’d felt so badly about the incident that you’d barely spoken to Chris except for discussing class assignments and grades.

You take your last breath in before getting out of your car, your small clutch and favorite bottle of red wine in hand. You only get to knock on Prof. Downey’s intricate wooden door once before it swings open. Prof. Downey greets you with a grin and a dramatic wave for you to enter, “Come on in, (Y/N)!” You smile back politely, lifting your wine bottle towards him. “Oh thank you, but you should keep that.”

“Robert really needs to put ‘bring your own booze’ on his invites,” a man chuckles from inside the room. His dark blue eyes meet yours as you step into the house.

“Everyone, this is (Y/N). She’s the new grad student who’s TA-ing for Chris,” Prof. Downey announces after he shuts the front door. “(Y/N), the snarky bastard who always brings enough alcohol for everyone is Professor Stan.”

You twitch your fingers, waving to him. “Robert, you know I prefer Seb, or if we’re being formal, Sebastian,” the man in a navy suit waves Prof. Downey off. “It’s nice to meet you, (Y/N),” he says warmly with a crooked smile, the corner of his eyes crinkling.

“And this is Professor Mackie, who doesn’t actually belong at this dinner, or even in the English department, considering he’s a sociology professor,” Prof. Downey says, rolling his eyes as he passes the leather couch the two men are sitting on.

“And I prefer to be called Dr. Mackie, since I did all the damn work to get a Ph.D.,” the man in a gray suit jacket smirks, giving you a polite nod before glaring at Prof. Downey.

“Wherever Prof. Stan seems to go, Dr. Mackie appears to follow,” Prof. Downey shrugs.

“Sebastian,” Prof. Stan reminds him.

Prof. Downey shakes his head at Sebastian and moves onto the woman sitting in the arm chair across from the couch, “And as you may know already, this is Elizabeth Olsen, a third year grad student.”

“Hi Elizabeth,” you say, giving her a small smile and a nervous look. You actually have met her twice.

“Hey (Y/N),” she smiles back before pointing at your wine bottle. “What do you have there?”

“Uh, just a Merlot I had in my apartment. I hadn’t really planned on coming tonight, but I couldn’t say no to Prof. Downey’s invite.”

“It’s Robert, dear,” Prof. Downey reminds you.

“I just couldn’t turn Robert down,” you correct yourself.

“Better,” he smiles at you. You hand him the bottle and take a seat next to Elizabeth.

“You’ll learn this is a very informal group,” Dr. Mackie reassures.

Sebastian nods in agreement, “Yes, this may be the only department that not only allows you to drink at all its events, but actively encourages it.”

Well this was going to be an interesting night.

6 more professors, including Chris, and 5 more grad students show up before dinner. Robert made sure to bring you a glass of wine to help you relax, he could tell that you aren’t quite sure where you fit in the department yet. He whispers a few words of encouragement to you before dinner starts, “Be yourself (Y/N), you’ll find your place here by staying true to your wants and interests.”

Chris’s wife, Jennifer, does very little as the night goes on. She barely says hi before finding the kitchen and pouring herself a drink. And that drink is followed by several more. She speaks to Sebastian, Robert's wife Susan, and one of the other grad students during the evening, and when dinner finally begins, she barely pokes at her food.

You somehow end up sitting between Susan and Sebastian, with Jennifer, Chris, and Dr. Mackie directly across from you three. You make sure to quietly praise Susan’s food, and her gentle smile and squeeze on your wrist feels maternal. Sitting at their long wooden table, you can tell Robert and her are the parents of this group, and although the department squabbles, they all genuinely seem to care about each other.

They are a family, and you're lucky to be welcomed into it.

Robert ends up asking the instructors at the table how their classes are going, and you listen quietly but enthusiastically as you work on your third glass of wine. When the question reachs Chris, you drop your hands in your lap and avert your eyes.

“It’s been going really well,” he starts, taking a swig of his beer. “The writing courses have been smooth, and the literature course has been much easier than I’d anticipated. But I have (Y/N) to thank for that.” Your eyes dart up at him cautiously as you take another sip of wine. Jennifer raises her gaze from the table for the first time since the food was served.

“Oh, (Y/N)’s been helpful?” Robert asks, giving you a knowing glance that says he knew you’d be great.

“Quite helpful actually. I’d say she almost has a better grip on the literature than I do, and she’s great at looking at the pieces through different perspectives,” Chris continues, and you can feel his eyes watching you, but you drop your gaze back to your plate. A flush creeps up your cheeks, but you tell yourself it's just in response to the alcohol.

“If (Y/N)’s good with literature then I might have to request a new TA next semester, Robert,” Sebastian says next to you. You glance up to catch him watching you closely. His dark blue eyes meet yours and you could swear you turn to jelly on the spot.

“Literature isn’t really my thing, but when Prof. Downey-,” you begin. Prof. Downey’s fork scrapes loudly against his plate. “Well uh, when Robert asked if I was willing to help, I figured I’d make it work.”

“So what is it you prefer to do then, (Y/N)?” Sebastian asks with a small smirk as he angles his body toward yours.

“She’s a writer,” Chris cuts in.

“And quite a good one,” Robert adds. Their voices pull you back from your tunnel vision on Sebastian, but you could stare at that man all day. “I was actually going to ask if she’d be interested in submitting anything for publication this semester,” Robert continues, and you turn to find him watching you with a look of caution.

“Uh, I actually haven’t written anything in awhile, but I’m sure I could put something together,” you answer, nodding his way slowly.

“Excellent.”

After dinner, part of the department left and the other part found their way back to the living room with their drinks in hand. You thought Chris would leave based on how uncomfortable Jennifer had been all night, and how quickly she found an escape. Yet, even after she pulled him aside to speak in hushed tones, she kissed him on the cheek, and threw a goodbye over her shoulder. Chris seemed to shrug it off and took a spot on the couch. You ended up sharing a loveseat with Elizabeth who’d been giggling and whispering to you after her fourth glass of wine.

Conversation had turned to current students and you felt like you were sitting in an inner circle of powerful people. Sure, discussing how annoying or talented certain students seemed was kinda unprofessional, but the evening was so informal that it didn’t matter.

“There’s been one kid that wanted an extension weeks before the due date,” Chris offers to the group, “but all the rest are relatively average. Few bother to stop by office hours or contact me.”

“I’ve had a couple stop by my hours,” you cut in, feeling your fourth glass of wine kick in. “There’s this one kid, uh, Tom, he’s really sweet. He’s had a lot of questions about the literature. He’s stopped by my office a couple times and emails me questions too.”

“Oh yeah, his last paper was pretty good,” Chris nods at you.

“Sounds like someone might have a crush on you,” Sebastian cuts in, nearly singing the words to you. Closing your mouth quickly, you sit up a little straighter, unsure of what's going on. Sebastian’s eyes are zoned in on you and you try not to stare back at him but it's nearly impossible. “But I don’t think you can really blame the kid.”

“Prof. Stan, don’t make me send you down to HR to see Scarlett,” Robert warns.

Sebastian lets out a sigh as he turns to Robert, “It’s Seb! And I doubt Scarlett would have anything positive to say about our present environment, RDJ.”

You avert your eyes from their tiff and find Chris watching you with narrowed eyes. “Alright boys,” Susan breaks in. Sebastian throws his hands up in forfeit and finishes his drink.

“He likes you,” Elizabeth snickers as she grips your wrist.

You turn to her with confusion etched in your features, “What?”

“He likes you,” she whispers quietly this time.

“Who?”

“Um,” she starts before glancing back at the couch Sebastian and Chris are sitting on, “Both of them, I think.”

The night came to a close after everyone had attempted to sober up, called a cab, or announced they were crashing in Robert’s guest rooms. You tell Robert you aren’t comfortable driving but you need to go back to your office to pick up some assignment to grade, so he lets you leave after you promise to call a cab.

You hug Susan and Elizabeth, and tell everyone still in the house goodnight. As you start down Robert’s driveway, heavy foot fall comes up behind you. “Hey, (Y/N),” Chris calls, catching up with you. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

“I’m actually going to my office,” you answer, keeping your back to him. “And I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“You’re a beautiful woman who’s intoxicated walking around campus at night, you definitely need someone to walk with,” he responds, moving in front of you.

You pause on the sidewalk, staring at him skeptically, “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“You can think this is as unnecessary as you want but I’m going to follow you until you get somewhere safely. I can’t have anything happening to my best TA,” he says quietly, but a cheery tone creeps into his voice. You let out a sigh and start back down the sidewalk. “Good,” he chuckles as he follows, “I haven’t gotten a chance to speak with you in a while.”

“There’s a reason for that.”

“(Y/N),” Chris pauses, tugging on your wrist. “You’re not still worried about what happened at my office?”

You tug your wrist away from him and speed up your pace, “It was inappropriate, and I don’t want another incident like that to jeopardize our careers.”

Chris continues to follow you as you turn down another street, “I’m sorry.” You cross the street and keep walking. “I really am (Y/N),” he calls as he steps into the street. You glance over your shoulder to find him having to stand back for a car to pass. “I didn’t mean for it to happen, and it was inappropriate.”

You nod to yourself, cross your arms over your chest, and keep walking. He catches up with you as you step onto campus, “But just because we can’t be involved, doesn’t mean you can’t see Sebastian.”

“What?” you ask, stopping your tracks. “Why would you even say that?”

Chris scoffs, “I saw how you looked at him.” You glare at him but stay frozen, “and he definitely likes you.”

“Yet again, that was inappropriate,” you start as you point at Chris. “And I just met him! I don’t even know him!” You jab Chris in the chest before you start to move past him.

His hand wraps around your own, pulling you to a stop, “I’m sorry, I know. It’s just, he’s a good friend of mine and he’s not married.” His hand leaves yours as you make eye contact with him, and you feel nerves of attraction tickle your stomach. “Sure, he always likes grad students, but I want you to be happy.”

His baby blues hold yours and you wish you had more self control, because you can't look away. “I-, I appreciate that but my private life is my private life.”

“I know,” he nods, finally dropping his gaze back to the ground.

It takes you another moment to gather yourself, but you begin walking again, pulling your keys from your bag. “By the way, Jennifer seems really nice,” you comment, desperately trying to remind yourself this man is married.

“Uh, yeah.”

“Is she always that quiet?” you ask as you began climbing a set of stairs, your heels clicking against the cement.

“Um, not generally. She just didn’t want to be there tonight,” Chris answers and you glance over your shoulder to look at him. His hands are shoved in his pockets and his face looks sad. “Actually, she doesn’t really want to be anywhere with me.” You hesitated on the top step, unsure of what that meant. “We’ve been separated for a month.”

You turns your body to face him, suddenly feeling bad about rejecting him so harshly. “I’m sorry Chris, I-, I didn’t know.”

“It’s not a big deal,” he shakes his head. “I’ve actually been sleeping on the couch in my office a few nights a week.”

“That’s really shitty,” you whisper as you continue down the sidewalk. The solid cement turns into uneven brick. You cross your arms again and try to walk carefully.

“We really haven’t told anyone yet. Robert doesn’t even know, so we came together tonight to keep him from asking questions.”

“Susan knows,” you cut in, watching him as you kept walking.

“How-,” he begins, but shakes his head. “Nevermind, that woman knows everything.”

“She reads a room really well.” You glance up to see the English department’s building ahead and as you step over another dip in the bricks, your heel gets caught in a groove.

Chris reaches out in enough time to catch your titled form, and he pulls you into his chest. Your hands grip his arms as you look down to unwedge your heel, but his arms don’t loosen from around your waist. As you look up at him, you feel your breath leave your body. His hooded eyes watch you closely, as if he's never been this close to you before.

Your fingers squeeze his arms for a moment, wishing you could put more distance between yourself and the warmth of his body. “This might be wrong for me to say, but I really like you (Y/N). And I haven’t felt this way in a long time.”

As his face comes closer to yours, you wish you were any other two people so you could be together. And as your eyes close, his lips meet yours gently, waiting for your reaction. Your hands wrap around the back of his arms, keeping him pressed to you as you mold your lips against his. A tingle trails down your spine and the butterflies in your stomach seems to spread throughout your entire body. Hands slip down to your hips as your lips part, and his eyes watch you closely. You stare back in awe, your body warming against his.

“I-, I-,” you begin when Chris finally lets go of you.

“I’m sorry, you don’t need to-,” he cuts you off as he begins to move toward the building.

“No,” you whisper, your hand tugging on his wrist. “I want this.”

He pauses, looking at you apologetically, “You don’t have to say that.”

“No Chris,” you shake your head as you brush your fingers against his cheek. You straighten your spine, knowing you’ll regret this one day, but not tonight. “Goddammit, I want this.”

A smile tugs on his lips and his arms wrap around you, lifting you off the ground. You giggle into his ear, your arms resting on his shoulders as he carries you into the building. As the door closes, he presses you against the wall, and his mouth meets yours with more urgency. You trail your fingers up to the nape of his neck and tug on his hair as you open your lips. He moans into your mouth, and you smile against his. You already found one of his sweet spots. Hands roam down your waist as you arch your body into his, and trace his lower lip with your tongue.

He pulls away from your mouth long enough to instruct you to jump, and you do just as he asks. Wrapping your legs around him, your lips meet clumsily as his hands hold you to him. You laugh against his cheek and brace yourself on his shoulders as he carries you up the stairs.

When you finally reach the English department, he rests you against the wall as his hands slide under your blazer. You help him pull it off as he carries you to the leather couch. Laying you down gently, your mouths reconnect, and you slide your hands under his suit jacket. Your fingers trace over his abs, causing him to chuckle against your lips. His thigh pushes between your legs as he interlockes your fingers with his and pins you to the couch. His tongue teases your own as his knee brushes against your underwear, touching you right where you want him to. A nearly pornographic moan escapes your mouth, and he pulls back.

"You like that, huh?" he asks, a devilish smirk accompanying his heavy-lidded eyes. You bite your lip and nod. He grinds his leg against you, pulling a whimper from your throat and his smile becomes a toothy grin. "All these beautiful noises from this beautiful mouth," he says as a hand caresses your cheek before tracing your lip, "they're divine."

You two become a mess of friction, heat, and moans until you hear a door open. You grab him quickly, pulling him onto you as you see someone exit an office near the department’s entrance.

“What?” he starts to ask but you shush him quickly.

“Janitor,” you whisper near his ear, and he turns his head to see a man pushing a cart down the hall. He starts laughing but you cover his mouth with your hand as you stare at him with wide eyes. You two stay frozen until the English department’s door slams shut. Chris lets out a loud laugh as he dropa his head on your chest, and you let yourself laugh with him.

He looks up at you, his lips wet and his eyes dark, and whispers, “Let’s take this to my office.”

You nod, and let him lead you to his room. He leaves the lights off, but his blinds are cracked and the street lamp outside of the building casts off enough light to see. His hands guide your hips into the room, and he pushes a folder and chair out of the way before he sits you on his desk. His fingers brush up your thighs before knotting in the sides of your underwear and yanking them down. He pushes your dress up as he kisses you aggressively, his teeth tugging at your bottom lip.

“I want to taste you,” he says, his breath hot against your cheek, and your eyes roll back in anticipation. Hands spread your legs apart as he reaches your cunt, his breath tickling your skin. He kisses the insides of your thighs, slowly moving closer to where you need him.

He starts by licking a long, flat stripe across your folds, pulling a moan from your lips. “You’re already so wet,” he chuckles. His tongue moves in large circles around your clit and leaves you speechless. The circles gradually become smaller, and his tongue works against your clit as your fingers run through his hair. He slows his tongue as one of his fingers circles your entrance and then dips into you. You arch your back, letting out a gasp, before he inserts another finger and curls them into you, finding your g-spot. A breathy moan escapes your lips as he sucks on your clit and quickens the speed of his fingers, and a knot starts in your core.

“Fuck,” you whimper as you stare down at him. He winks up at you as he guides one of your legs over his shoulder, and he continues to work on your sensitive nerve bundle. The tightening in your core becomes strong enough to shake your legs, and Chris sucks on your clit harshly, sending you into bliss. You grip the edge of the desk as you feel your orgasm spread over you. A strangled, "Yes, oh my god yes," echoes through the room as you feel your muscles clench around his fingers. Chris rocks your hips against his face as your toes curls, riding out your climax.

When your legs stop shaking, he rises to your panting lips and kisses them roughly. His hands guide you off his desk as you reach down to palm him through his pants. He bats your hand away, but instead you work on getting his shirt off. Once his shirt hits the ground, you work on his belt as his fingers tug the straps down from your dress. His lips kiss your collarbone before slipping down to your chest, where he massages your breasts gently. His slacks slide down as he sucks your nipple into his mouth, ripping a whimper from your lips.

You grip his hard dick over his underwear and he growls against your skin. Turning you around by your waist, he throws his belongings off his desk and bends you over the edge. His cock rubs against your folds teasingly before his fingers dig into your skin and he slowly pushes inside of you. Once he is completely in, he stays still letting you adjust to him. You wiggle your ass to let him know it is okay to move, and he takes his cue and pulls out of you almost completely before sharply snapping his hips back to you. You let out a surprised moan and it only encourages him to continue thrusting slowly and sharply.

His fingers knot in your hair, forcing your back to arch as he quickens his pace, and you let out a whimper as he finds your g-spot. Your hands grip his desk, and you feel your core tightening again, but before you can revel in your second orgasm Chris pulls out of you. Spinning you around, he pulls your dress over your head. Your lips find each others as his fingers slip between your legs and brush your clit. You throw your head back as his fingers work faster, and he moves his mouth down to your neck, leaving marks where his lips were.

Your second orgasm comes suddenly and powerfully, and he pulls away from your neck to watch your eyes screw shut and your mouth fall open. You fall back against his desk, your body feeling like jelly, and you're afraid you can’t stand yet. He lifts his fingers to his lips, licking them teasingly as your lungs work for air.

“You’re so pretty when you come,” he smirks before he kisses you softly. “Can I have one more, baby?” he asks, pulling you onto your weak feet. You nod at him and he rewards you with a grin. You follow him to the leather couch where he lays back and guides you onto him. You sink down on his thickness slowly, feeling yourself stretch to take all of him. His hands grip your hips as he bites his lip, and the sight of him alone, staring at you with utter lust, proves you right. You aren’t regretting this tonight.

You begin bouncing on him lazily and a low groan leaves his throat, motivating you to move your hips in a figure eight. That only pulls a loud moan from him and encourages you to do it again. You smile at him as he watches you with hooded eyes, and his hands guide you to move quicker. You trail your fingers against his chest and abs, watching his lips tug into a smirk. Giving in, you angle your body forward and you use you hands to steady yourself against his chest to ride him faster. Grinding your clit against his pubic bone causes your core to tighten for the third time that night, and one of his hands grips, and then slaps your ass. You let out a surprised whimper, and he beams up at you.

His moans get louder as you continue to ride him quicker and harder, and you know he's close. His hands grip your thighs, moving you even faster. Angling you just where he wants you, you feel your third orgasm getting closer.

He quickly sits forward, wrapping an arm around your waist, as he holds you against him. “Come for me,” he whispers in your ear as he pulls your hips down and grinds you onto him. Your arms wrap around his neck and your nails dig into his back as your third orgasm crashes over you.

Arching your chest into his you let out a breathy "Oh fuck," and he keeps you grinding against him until your waves of pleasure slow and you come back down. He kisses you hungrily as he pulls you both back on the couch and angles your hips up.

Thrusting into you recklessly, he lets out a series of moans that blends with your oversensitive whimpers. You hold his jaw in your hand as his lips fall apart in an expression of pure ecstasy. Another deep and sharp thrust into you and you feel him twitch and release as he lets out a low groan. He stays in you for another moment, holding you against him before he kisses you gently, letting his hands caress your sides.

When he finally pulls out of you, he lets out a deep sigh. “Well that was fucking amazing,” he says quietly against your hair.

“It was,” you agree as you roll off him.

“Where ya going?” he asks as you manage to stand up.

“Just gonna clean up in the bathroom,” you assure him as you begin to pick up your dress.

“You can wear my shirt,” Chris offers as he sits up. You bite your lip and glance at him hesitantly. He gives you a nod, and you reach down for it and your underwear. Once you're dressed enough to walk down the hall, he calls to you, “Hurry back alright? I’m a cuddler.” You smile and slip out of the room.

You reach the door of the English department before you let out a giggle. You really did that. And Chris even wanted you to stay to cuddle. You lean against the doorway and try to control your excitement. Yet, as you reign your bliss in, a sense of dread settles in your bones. That dread roots itself in you. And it wasn’t leaving anytime soon.

Tags: @irishdancr24 @lostboyinneverland @suz-123 @sanjariti @funlizzie02 @void-imaginations @cryingovershipsthatneversailed @breezykpop @jcc04220 @nys30 @jonsnowisnotdeadthough @guera31 @wildwiccankitty @thelondondreamer5 @patzammit @thefridgeismybestie @ssweet-empowerment

Slashed through names couldn’t be tagged.

127 notes · View notes

rememberthattime · 4 years

Text

Chapter 54. Scotland

“Sing me a song of a lass that is gone

Say, could that lass be Chelsay?

Merry of soul she sailed on a day

Over the sea to Skye”

Those lyrics are from an 1870s song about Scotland’s Prince Charlie fleeing from the British after his failed Jacobite rebellion. ...They’re also from the Outlander theme song, but just ignore that.

I’m using them because the lyrics are a perfect introduction to Chelsay and I’s Scotland escape following lockdown.

I wrote about the lockdown in the last post, but the past five months have been… uncomfortable. Chelsay and I made it through relatively easily, but months of stay-at-home orders, minimal social activity, and the daily onslaught of terrible news take their toll.

Chelsay and I also hadn’t taken a single day off since we started in London six months ago. Without the chance to travel, we didn’t want to waste our vacation days sitting at home. All of this culminated in a pent-up desire for adventure. To get away from the house, the city, and the news.

Flights and international travel aren’t quite safe yet, but luckily we have Chelsay’s favorite travel destination in our own backyard: Scotland.

One of the only small benefits of lockdown has been the extra time to plan trips. I mentioned in the last post that I booked fully cancelable trips throughout the year, preparing for whenever lockdown measures eased. I knew the Puglia and Lakes District trips in April and May had little chance, but a road trip to Scotland in July MIGHT be possible. I scoured the news throughout lockdown, interpreting every story in the context of possible travel: “Did you see France is opening up in May - good sign. And the UK said they might open restaurants in June...”

Chelsay quickly got tired of my over-analysis, but finally, in June, the Scottish government announced they’d reopen for tourists on July 15. I’d booked the trip back in April, but nailed the start date: July 17. Nostra(vel)damus.

With a flood of confidence and excitement, I used our remaining lockdown time to smooth any potential hurdles throughout the trip. Downloading offline maps, saving every possible location we’d visit, researching the best trails and how to avoid crowds - even trawling Google Street View to find where to park (difficult given how rural Scotland is).

We left a bit later on Friday afternoon than planned, so our six hour Day 1 drive had us crossing the Scottish border around 11 pm. That said, Chelsay downloaded some excellent podcasts to pass the time: Dolly Parton’s America and Serial Season 3.

Day 2 is when the trip really began. And within 5 minutes of arriving at our first destination, Glencoe, the dream of our Scottish escape became reality.

We’d visited Glencoe on our 2016 road trip through Scotland, but I planned the 2020 visit slightly differently. Namely, I accommodated a dog. I found a quieter trail far from the road, but still providing dramatic views of the undulating valley.

Maybe it was freedom from the previous day’s drive, but Indy seemed entirely in his element. He was darting off path, investigating small waterfalls along the trail, and thoroughly enjoying every bit of his border collie homeland.

Chelsay and I were swept up in the setting too. This wasn’t stuffy London – it was nature… Raw nature… Raw nature happening all at once: wind, clouds, sun, and rain all within 10 minutes. These are the elements in Scotland, but it didn’t bother us at all. In fact, it was invigorating. After months of being cooped-up at home, we felt so much freedom just steps into our first walk.

I was also overwhelmed by another emotion: adventure. It’d been so long that I hardly recognized the feeling. You start the day in one place – at home, in your routine. Then, suddenly, you step out of the car, train, or plane, and you’re transported to a different planet. What happened to your routine? Work, cooking, doing the dishes… all gone. Your attention is completely captured by what’s in front of you: colourful Italian villas, wild Australian outback, open Indian Ocean. Glencoe may only be a few hundred miles from London, but this adventurous feeling took Chelsay & I worlds away.

Now, when I say Scotland took us worlds away, I could have been more precise: it took us specifically to the Wizarding world (of Harry Potter).

This was especially true when visiting Glenfinnan Viaduct. Here, the Jacobite steam train passes through a scenic valley along a viaduct twice a day… But the picturesque backdrop isn’t what makes this experience so popular. It’s the fact that the train & viaduct are portrayed as the Hogwarts Express in Harry Potter. As steam billowed into the air and the locomotive let out a whistle, Chelsay jumped around and triumphantly pumped her fist. Indy had the opposite reaction, running away from the booming train as it chugged by.

After a quick stop at fairy-tale castle Eilean Donan, Chelsay and I wrapped up our long journey from London, finally arriving in Balmaqueen on the northern tip of Skye. This trip was really to celebrate Chelsay’s 30th birthday, so I splurged a bit on a holiday cottage. Immediately upon our arrival, Chelsay and I wished we could move here permanently.

First, the cottage was completely renovated – it’s rare for a place this remote to offer Nespresso, Netflix, and digitally-controlled shower, but the owners had thoughtfully accommodated every modern comfort. Second, and far more significant, the cottage maximized its stunning scenery. Two reclining chairs faced out through the cottage’s wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling windows. Some of my best memories from this trip are the quiet mornings Chelsay and I spent in these recliners, sipping coffee while staring out at peaceful pastures and the surrounding North Atlantic sea.

We spent the next three days exploring Skye’s wild landscapes. We’d visited Skye in our 2016 Scotland roadtrip, but despite being a relatively small island (two hours from end-to-end), the 2020 itinerary was almost entirely unique. Chelsay & I only repeated one experience from the previous trip: the Quiraing, our favorite hike in the entire world.

Minutes into the hike, we were reminded of the Quiraing’s desolate beauty. My description from the last Scotland trip is still spot-on:

“I’ve never seen solid land twist and turn in this way – the blending brown and olive hues, the fact that there were no trees, and the smooth bending earth made land look like waves.

For some reason, there’s something about this desolate sight that I love: just us, empty space, and open sky (Skye, pun?). There are no city sounds or buildings or buses or people, and there are no boundaries. Just boundless expanse.”

Despite repeating many of the same views, this experience was still unique for two reasons:

First, Indy introduced a new dangerous element. In London, we worry about him invading an unsuspecting picnic. At the Quiraing, a wrong turn could lead him off a cliff. He earned our trust by staying nearby for the first 15 minutes, and we figured border collies are smart enough to safely stay on-trail. We let him off-leash and immediately regretted it – he’s an idiot. He started bounding around the bouncy moss and, next thing we knew, he’d jumped off a 12 foot crag. OMG – is he dead!? I was taking a picture at the time so you can see how big of a vertical drop it was... Thank god he popped up like nothing happened! The only reason he didn’t break both legs was because he awkwardly landed on his face and chest. Needless to say, he was back on leash until the path became safer.

The other difference from our previous visit was the weather. In 2016, Chelsay & I had to have visited on the hottest day in Scottish history (consequently, we packed extra water this time). In 2020, the weather was back to its normal, turbulent self. The hike started with patches of blue sky – Chelsay and I actually took our jackets off during a quick lunch. It was perfectly pleasant, until Chelsay quietly mumbled “Uh oh” under her breath. I turned around to see billows of rain tumbling over a cliff face about half a mile away. An entire ocean of rain. It looked like the dead invading Hard Home in Game of Thrones.

You could tell it was moving fast so as you read, keep in mind, the following sequence of events happened in under 20 seconds. First, I yelled “Initiate protocol!” (as if Chelsay & I had trained for this) and we hastily packed everything, especially hiding our electronics. Chelsay crouched behind a hill to brace from the wind & rain, and god bless him, Indy INSTINCTIVELY darted underneath her! I’ll never forget his terrified little body sprinting over and literally diving into the hillside. He’d seen exactly what I’d seen (the Army of the Dead) and wanted no part of it. The dowsing ambush only lasted 10 minutes, and thanks to our waterproof gear, we survived... though I’ll never forget Indy’s panicked reaction.

youtube

There was actually a second memorable weather-induced experience this trip. Although the storm had passed, heavy clouds remained and completely enveloped the peak. The fog line was very unusual though: there was a distinct line between dense fog and unspoilt views, which gave us two entirely unique feelings. At the top, the brooding clouds felt ethereal and mysterious. We couldn’t see more than 50 yards. Meanwhile, the descent ensured we wouldn’t be robbed of the spectacular setting, providing pristine views of the sweeping landscape.

youtube

Similar to our 2016 trip to Skye, the Quiraing was the highlight of our time on the island. That isn’t a surprise: as I said earlier, it’s our favorite hike in the world. That said, our other adventures on Skye were similarly invigorating.

After the Quiraing, we made a brief some at Neist Point, where a lonely lighthouse sits at the edge of a craggily outcrop. Chelsay, Indy, and I looked on as the North Atlantic waves crashed below, seagulls squawking as they swooped toward the water. What makes Neist Point especially unique is its undulating shape: similar to my quote from the Quiraing, I didn’t know solid land could twist & turn this way.

The next day, we’d embark on our longest hike of the week: Camasunary Bay, a secluded cove only accessible by foot or boat. This hike doesn’t really have a peak, but rather a long journey through open farmland, leading to a secret beach at the base of the Black Cuillin Mountains.

Along the way, Indy met a fellow border collie named Clyde. I’ll first say that it was extremely rare to bump into people in Scotland (which I loved), but when we did, they often had border collies (which I also loved). Indy had only met one other border collie while in London… and its name is ironically Skye! He met at least 10 in just four days on the island.

Anyway, Indy and Clyde played around in an open heath overlooking the quiet bay. Indy again jumped off a ledge from way too high, this time falling into a bush… He really is an idiot, but again managed to avoid injury.

We completed the long walk without further issue, though Chelsay and I were exhausted by the end. After the Quiraing and Camasunary Bay on back-to-back days, we could hardly feel our legs. Our massive Amatriciana dinner that night revived us, and was hands down the best meal all trip.

We moved very slowly the next day – I’d say we didn’t want to overwork Indy’s juvenile joints, but really our >30-year-old knees couldn’t take anymore. We managed one shorter walk: Old Man of Storr. This is actually the most famous attraction on Skye, but Chelsay and I had previously avoided it due to its popularity. Thanks to Covid though, the crowds were scarce, and we pretty much had the trail to ourselves.

The next day, we departed Skye for Scotland’s far north, Assynt, which is somehow more topographically extreme than Skye. This terrain pushes most Assynt hikes out of Indy’s (our knees’) range, though there was one feasible option: Stac Pollaidh. “Stac Polly” is just a four-mile hike, but its 1,700 foot elevation provides both a healthy challenge and a view that ‘punches above its weight.’

This view is hidden throughout the ascent, but once you reach the top, the scenery is stunning. It’s like nowhere Chelsay and I have been – like a Scottish Monument Valley: lonely monoliths looming over a basin of stony cnocs and boggy lochs. The setting beneath us had the topographical diversity of an entire continent!

We were due to stay in Assynt for a few days, but decided to make a rare mid-trip audible for two reasons:

Our entire Assynt itinerary was hikes, and we were exhausted. It was time to rest.

Our AirBnb was haunted.

In our 50+ trips while abroad, we hardly ever make such drastic mid-trip changes, but we’ve gotten to the age where we want a little relaxation in our vacation… free from ghosts. Thanks to my Booking.com status (and the Covid-induced absence of travel demand), we found a shockingly affordable alternative: Thainstone House, a country mansion in Aberdeenshire.

Aberdeenshire is in Scotland northeast, just above Inverness. Its known for its pastural setting (and steak), but also its salty sea coastline. It’s a few hours away from Assynt, yet our couple stops en route proved our audible was the right call.

First, we stopped in the small fishing village of Lossiemouth. I don’t remember anything about the town… We were really just visiting for the four-mile long beach, accessible by crossing a short bridge over the surrounding canal.

Well, the bridge was closed, but the canal’s water levels seemed low enough. After getting drenched at the Quiraing, crossing this dry creek wouldn’t be an issue.

Wrong. The next hour was eventful, so I’ll break it down in bullet form:

First, the creek was slightly deeper in certain places, but Chelsay remained dry in her tall rainboots. My duck boots were too short, so our solution was that I’d jump on Chelsay’s back, and she’d carry me through this short stretch…

This plan lasted two small steps before she dropped me in the river. My feet were soaked, but no worry. We had all our clothes in the car, so I’d just change when we get back.

We arrived at the beach, an immaculate stretch of empty sand and surf. Apparently, no one else ‘braved’ the canal, because Chelsay, Indy, and I had the beach to ourselves. Well, except the dolphins and seals we saw along the shore! The entire setting was gorgeous: wind-swept grass, endless sandy expanse, and clear waters quietly crashing along the shore.

After thoroughly tuckering Indy out, we decided to head back to the car. One problem, the tide had changed, and the dry creek was now a FLOWING RIVER! WHAT!? We hadn’t even considered the tide when we ventured out… It was too shallow to even think about!

…The emptiness of the beach now made a lot more sense.

Already wet (from being dropped earlier), we decided the only way back was through. The below video is from the SAFER portion of our fording experience. Imagine the scene on the deeper side: Chelsay and I. Waist deep in the river. Fully submerged in shame.

This story may sound familiar… In fact, it’s happened to us before. In Scotland. It was Loch Coruisk, and Chelsay & I were forced to ford a river to catch a once-a-day ferry. What is it about us and Scottish rivers…

youtube

Back on dry land, Chelsay and I continued our Aberdeenshire tour through three more small towns: Fordyce, a 13th century hamlet where we stopped at the town’s Old Kirk (church) for lunch; followed by Crovie and Pennan, two salty fishing villages with single-row housing along the seafront. …After the river ordeal earlier, we didn’t stick around to see what high tide was like.

We pulled into Thainstone House around 4 pm on Thursday, and the car didn’t move until Saturday around 10 am. That kind of dormancy is RARE for Chelsay & I. The only other vacation where we didn’t leave our accommodation for 36 straight hours was Fiji… where the entire island was our accommodation.

The grounds of Thainstone served as an ‘island’ of sorts for Chelsay & I. There was no reason to leave because the manor met every need: elegant dining, dog-friendly trails, cozy rooms, soothing lounges, and plenty of wine & scotch to occupy our leisure time. Chelsay thinks the staff even tailored to our Americanness: they kept playing Chris Stapleton whenever we were in a room alone.

We were sad to leave on Saturday. Not only had we appreciated the slower pace, but we also knew the next two days required driving 11 hours on our way back to London. That said, we had a few noteworthy stops.

First, a brief visit to Castle Fraser, where we stopped for coffee, scones, and walk. This short break was a reminder of the perks of living in Europe: even road trip stopovers included a fairy-tale castle.

We also stopped in St. Andrews, a small, charming college town north of Edinburgh. Over the next few hours, we walked the campus grounds (regarded as one of the best universities in the world and alma mater to Prince William, the future King); took in St. Andrews cathedral (built in the 12th century); and walked the St. Andrews golf grounds (known as ‘home of golf’ and site of the first round in the 15th century). Indy wasn’t impressed – he pooped on the Old Course.

And that was it. That was our trip. We just had one overnight stop in Peebles, Scotland before arriving back home in London…

Well, except… This stop turned out to be the highlight of our entire trip. I’ve genuinely rushed through the last 3,000 words to finally get to this part.

Chelsay & I had an entire castle to ourselves!

Backing up: I’d initially reserved different accommodation in Peebles, but the owner had accidently double booked. They were very apologetic, and offered an alternative: the ‘Queen Mary suite’ in Neidpath Castle.

I had no idea what she was talking about… I checked the website: a 13th century castle that has hosted Mary, Queen of Scots, her son King James, and poet William Wordsworth. …Yeah, I’ll take the castle!

Despite this anticipation, our stay still exceeded my expectations. When booking, I thought we’d only be staying in the ‘Queen Mary suite’: a bedroom with accompanying lounge. There were probably other guest rooms though, right?

Wrong. We pulled up, the owner gave us the keys to the entire castle, and wished us a great stay.

We immediately began running up and down spiral staircases, through corridors, past dungeons, into dining halls, and around the castle’s chapel. We were like little kids. The only other time our hotel had elicited this reaction was in the Maldives (and two days earlier at the country manor… and four days before that at the Skye cottage…).

youtube

The castle is so large that we actually lost one another multiple times. One time, Chelsay & I were together but had no idea where Indy had gone… I whistled, but we didn’t hear anything. No movement. We started to worry that maybe he’d gotten hurt or stuck somewhere. We whistled again, but still nothing.

Suddenly, a *scraaaaaaaaatttcch* came from behind a door.

Chelsay yelped, assuming it was a ghost. Maybe the same one from that Airbnb in Assynt.

We carefully opened the door *creeeeeek*, only to find Indy staring up at us with his mouth wide open. He was having just as much fun exploring the castle.

It had to have been at least two hours before we finally settled down, cozying next to the fire with a bottle of wine. We reminisced on what a spectacular trip it had been, scrolling through the photos to remind ourselves of all the jaw-dropping landscapes we’d visited.

We couldn’t believe some of the scenery… We had just visited these places… We were in the pictures… Yet the settings didn’t seem real. Glencoe, Skye, that train Chelsay loved, Stac Polly, the river in Lossiemouth…

Scotland’s rugged beauty seems unbelievable in normal circumstances, but the past week felt like even more of a dream given the preceding months. After nearly half a year in lockdown, our Scottish escape was a reminder of how effortlessly adventure awaits while abroad.

youtube

0 notes