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looooooooomis · 2 years

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F I N A L G I R L | T W E L V E

You were his final girl. And there was no chance in hell that anyone or anything was going to mess that up.

masterlist here | final girl playlist here

pairing: Billy Loomis x f!reader word count: 6k (so sorry) warnings: smut (18+!!!!), drinking, drug use (pot)

p a r t t w e l v e | t r u t h o r d a r e

A cool breeze blew throughout the concourse as the six of you sat mindlessly chattering away. For the most part, you were paying attention but between the ridiculous itch blossoming beneath your cast and the fact that you had most definitely just flunked your biology exam, you were too busy wallowing in your own self-pity to partake in the idle chitchat.

Fenagling a pencil into your cast in an attempt to aid the itch, you bit down on your lip in sheer determination as you carefully maneuvered it further and further down until it was just grazing the unbearable itch. But before you could grant yourself any sort of salvation, Randy swatted your shoulder for the third time, knocking the pencil completely off kilter.

“You’re going to stab yourself, idiot,” he grumbled, popping some chips into his mouth. “Or get lead poisoning or something.”

“I don’t care,” you groused with venom in your eyes. “It’s itchy.”

He rolled his eyes without so much as a lick of empathy as he chewed. “Yeah, well, what’s one more injury, right? Between that scratch on your throat and your broken wrist, why not add lead poisoning to the mix?”

You froze at the mention of your throat and, on instinct, glanced across at Billy, the source of that gash. He was sitting on the other end of the fountain with Sid leaning back into the broad expanse of his chest. Like clockwork, the second your eyes floated towards him, those brown eyes were soaking you in unabashedly. It was bold, he knew it was, you knew it was, but he didn’t seem to care these days. It was like he was wanting to put your relationship out there in the open, like he was testing the waters every single day to gauge your response.

It had been five days since you’d told him about those dreams, five days since he’d fucked you senselessly on top of your kitchen counter whilst holding a knife to your throat. A knife that you’d asked him to hold. It was the sick and sordid truth but, fuck, just thinking about it felt like an electrical pulse shot through your entire body.

Lowering your gaze back down to the cast, you quietly cleared your throat and grabbed the pencil back as you glanced at Randy. “If you ever break a bone, remind me to show you no sympathy at all when you can’t scratch your itch.”

He opened his mouth to talk but was cut off by Tatum calling your name. “When can you get that thing off, anyway?” Reaching over your lap for Randy’s chips, she tossed one in her mouth and winced as she watched you itch your wrist. “Is it still sore?”

“Next week,” you hummed with a relieved smile, “and no, not really. It’s just a pain in the ass now. I still can’t really drive because I can’t bend it and I can’t shower without a garbage bag tied around it, so it’s been a hassle.”

“That’s awful,” Sid frowned. “Washing your hair must be awful.”

Images of Billy’s fingers threading through your hair in the shower racked through your brain. That bashful little grin, those warm eyes, the way his lips felt as it ghosted across your neck as the hot water cascaded down your naked bodies. He’d washed your hair the night after fucking you against that countertop, he’d washed your hair a few times now since your accident despite being able to do it yourself, though not without difficulty.

You felt dizzy as you focused in on Sid’s empathetic face. “It’s not so bad.”

Billy’s chin drooped as he buried a cocky grin into his shoulder. Fucker.

“So, no pain at all?” Tatum asked with a small grin of her own. “Or, like, very little pain, at least?”

You frowned. “I guess, yeah.”

Tatum was practically vibrating with excitement, that much you could tell. “Meaning that should there be an opportunity for all of us to go camping or something for the weekend, you wouldn’t be opposed?”

You couldn’t help but grin across at her. That was the thing about Tatum and Sidney; no matter how vile of a friend you were, they were the very best. Always had been. “I may not be able to put up any tents with one hand or chop any wood, but, no, I’m not opposed.”

“So, then?” Tatum glanced around your group. “What’s stopping us? We deserve a weekend away from this shithole. Between school and Y/N nearly getting wrapped around a pole—”

“Jesus, Tatum,” Sidney choked, eyes wide.

“What?” She glanced across at you to ensure she hadn’t upset you but when she was only met with your amused smile, she continued. “All I’m saying is that we deserve a break.”

“Yeah, and where would we go?” Randy quipped. “Camping? No offence but camping in the woods with you idiots for a weekend doesn’t hold the lure you think it does.”

Tatum glared across at him. “Why?”

Randy gaped. “Have you never seen a horror movie in your life?”

“Well, what about a cabin?” Sid asked, fiddling around with a loose yarn on Billy’s thigh. You tried like hell not to feel your stomach churn at the sight of that to no avail but when you heard the next few words escape her lips, the ground could have opened up and swallowed you up and you would have welcomed it with open arms. “What about your dad’s cabin?” She asked Billy with excitement budding in her every word.

You had to remind yourself to breathe as her words shattered every inch of you. You had no right to feel this way, deep down you know as much, but you did. Your ears felt like they were prickling, and your skin felt cold, numb. The cabin. That fucking cabin was the one solace the two of you had in the midst of this chaos.

The chaos you created, you reminded yourself.

But that didn’t lessen the blow of Sidney’s simple question any less.

“Uh,” Billy sat up and those eyes were on you again. You could feel them, raking across every inch of your face as though trying to gauge your intentionally blank face. But you knew he saw the hurt, felt the shock radiating off of you in waves. “Yeah, I don’t know about that.”

“Why not?” Sid asked. She didn’t sound pushy; she didn’t even sound annoyed and that alone made you want to run away. Sidney was the perfect girlfriend. Kind and sweet and doting – her only fault was not being able to see the two snakes she had laying in wait at her feet. “Your dad barely uses it, you said. And I’ve never even been up there, why not make a weekend out of it?”

There was no surface in that cabin that you and Billy hadn’t touched each other on. You’d rode him on every chair, every couch, in that whole cabin and he’d fucked you, licked you, touched you on every bed, counter and table. You’d given him blowjobs in front of the hearth in the main living space, he’d eaten you out in the shower. Every inch of that cabin had seen the two of you at your most bare – both emotionally and physically – and the idea of having the outside world suddenly become a part of your own little haven felt like a stab to the heart.

You licked your dry lips and averted your eyes to the ground at your feet. His stare was too intense, too hot on your skin, in that moment. With the key of that goddamn cabin burning a hole in your purse, you blinked and reached for the pencil again. You jammed it under your cast without second thought.

“My dad doesn’t really like other people up there,” Billy muttered, obviously trying for his own excuse. Still, you could feel those eyes raking across your skin. “I don’t see him going for it.”

“What your dad doesn’t know,” Tatum reasoned with a hopeful gleam in her eye, “won’t kill him, right?”

You had no right to feel this way, you really didn’t. You were the other woman in this situation. But, unfortunately for you, that didn’t seem to ease the all-encompassing dread that was spreading like wildfire inside of your chest. You tried to swallow back the lump in your throat as the silence spawned. He was looking at you, almost as though wanting you to be the one to make the call and that only pissed you off more.

Finally, you looked up and caught those coffee-coloured eyes. His brows were puckered, his lips pressed into a firm line as he attempted to read into your every thought from across that fucking fountain. Was he dense? He needed to open his stupid mouth and speak not just keep looking over at you with enough intensity that you could feel it glide across your skin.

“What do you say, man?” Stu asked, slapping Billy’s chest hard enough to knock him out of his reverie. Thank fuck for Stu. “Little pot, some beer. Worse ways to spend a weekend, right?”

Billy blinked and began to shake his head when you cut him off.

“Yeah, Billy,” you pushed out tightly. You knew the words came out of your mouth, but you didn’t sound like yourself. There was an air of rigidity clipped in each word that made you cringe. But it was better than this. The silence. Sidney wasn’t a dumb girl, if the silence spawned any longer, it would take her no time at all to sense her boyfriend’s obvious tension. The tight smile you managed to smack on felt mangled on your lips. “I’m sure your dad won’t mind.”

Tatum smacked your thigh in excitement. “See? That’s the spirit.”

You gave her a smile as your stomach fell to the floor just as Billy spoke up.

“There’re only two bedrooms,” he said, “there’s not even enough room for all of us.”

“No biggie,” Randy shrugged and threw his arm around your shoulders, “the two single schmucks can bunk up in the living room.”

You succeeded in giving Randy a small smile despite the fact that you could feel the shift in Billy from where you were sitting. His shoulders squared and the muscle in his jaw clenched and unclenched a handful of times before he eventually lowered his gaze back to Sidney who was smiling across at him excitedly.

“Guess we’re going to the cabin.” Billy muttered, swiping a few strands of his dark hair off of his forehead.

“Who’s driving?” Tatum asked.

“I’ll drive,” Randy shrugged, “I’ll use my mom’s van, so we all fit.”

“Perfect,” Sid smiled, “I have a bunch of snacks and stuff at my house, I’ll bring those up.”

“I have enough beer to tide us over for the weekend,” Stu smirked. “If only we had some access to pot.” He careened his neck around to face you as he dramatically began to bat his eyelashes. “If only.”

Despite your mood, you couldn’t contain your small smile. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll bring the pot. I also have a spare last period, so I can run to the grocery store and pick up whatever you don’t have, Sid.” A part of you knew that Billy was bound to follow you to the grocery store in a lame attempt to smooth things over before heading up to the cabin, but you didn’t want to deal with that. You couldn’t. Not right now. You needed some time to digest everything before talking to Billy. So instead, you glanced at Tatum. “Want to come with?”

“Uh, yeah, obviously,” Tatum beamed. “Remind me to steal some of Dewey’s tequila before we go.”

---------------------------------------

You were too high for this.

Way too fucking drunk, too.

You weren’t even sure who had suggested the stupid game in the first place, all you knew was that one second you were smiling away at Stu and Randy drunkenly wrestling each other for the last slice of pizza and the next, you were sitting in a small circle in the middle of the living room with Dewey’s tequila bottle in between your crossed legs.

You hated tequila, hated the small of it, the taste of it. But you were passed the point of actually tasting your alcohol, so it suited you just fine tonight. Besides, you needed something stronger than the pot if you had any hope in surviving the night with the way Billy was looking at you from across the circle.

He hadn’t managed to get you alone yet, something you knew was eating him up inside. He’d tried, lord, had he tried, but you were having none of it. No part of this cabin had been untouched by you and Billy in what felt like a lifetime ago now and to have everyone there, in the one space that was solely yours and his – yeah, the tequila was doing its job tonight.

Somewhere along the line, someone had suggested Truth or Dare and being way too inebriated to fight whoever had suggested it, you’d all just agreed. The first few rounds were tame enough. Nobody did anything too crazy, as though each of you were gauging just how far you could push the game. Stu was the one to break the mould in daring Tatum to give him a half-assed lap dance in front of everyone and from there, the game kicked off. Sid had given Randy a brief kiss, Tatum, choosing mostly dares, had flashed the entire room her boobs – all dares courtesy of Stu, naturally – and you, careful to avoid selecting truth in fear of having someone see right through you, had been dared to give Randy a hickey among a few other questionable tasks.

Nothing too outrageous, but it was entertaining enough the six of you.

“Billy, your turn, buddy.” Stu smacked his back and laughed into his half-empty beer bottle. “Holy shit, I’m so fucking high right now, man.”

Billy pushed out a wan smile and made a show of looking around the room. He knew who he wanted to pick, naturally, but if you were going to continue to ignore him, he could dish it right back. After all, he hadn’t been the one to initiate tonight’s impromptu trip up to the cabin. Sid had been the one to bring up the cabin and while he could have done a better job at shutting that idea down, it wasn’t as though he wanted this.

What he wanted was you. Unreservedly so. In every single room in this fucking cabin, just like he’d had you before. Everywhere he looked, he saw you. Saw himself inside of you, laughing with you, holding you. He swore the fucking bed that he and Sid were meant to be sleeping on tonight even smelled like your damn shampoo. There was no part of this cabin that had been untouched by the two of you together.

And he fucking hated that this was now a shared space. It wasn’t yours and his, it was sullied, now. The bubble the two of you had managed to create in these woods had burst and, in its wake, this. This stupid fucking game of how to make each other as angry as possible. Sid had been the one to dare you to give Randy a hickey and Billy had never in his life wanted to throttle somebody more than he did during those forty-eight seconds. Watching you climb on top of Randy’s lap with your drunkenly hooded eyes and soft smile. And when he watched you dip your head into his neck, run your tongue along his fucking throat—

His blood was boiling, even still.

Licking his dry lips, he peered around the circle before landing on Sidney. He wanted nothing more than to dare you to crawl through the circle, straddle his lap and fuck him right then and there, but he knew that wasn’t possible. So, instead, he focused on Sidney. “Truth or Dare, Sid?”

The pretty brunette leaned back into the chair behind her, the very chair you’d fucking rode him a few weeks prior and hummed. “Dare.”

“Our Sid’s feeling bold, baby,” Stu whooped. “Atta girl.”

Billy made a show of thinking for a few seconds before nodding towards Stu. “Dare you to kiss Stu. On the mouth.”

Sidney’s eyebrows pulled up as her pink cheeks grew redder. She glanced at Tatum in uncertainty. “What? I can’t.”

Tatum laughed and practically tossed Stu in the middle of the circle towards Sid. “Ew, yes you can.” She waved it off. “It’s a game, Sid, don’t think anything of it. Obviously don’t, like, suck his dick or anything, but a kiss isn’t going to do shit.”

Stu lulled his head towards his girlfriend. “Can we circle back to the dick sucking later?”

“Pervert,” Tatum groused, shoving him away. “On second thought, Sid, have at it.”

Surprising even Billy, Sid only hesitated for a few seconds before hesitantly crossing the circle to an all too willing Stu. Drunk as shit, Stu tapped his lips in anticipation before the pair met. The kiss was short and rather awkward but as Sid scuttled back towards the chair, a burst of laughter tore out of her mouth as she shook her head. “We’re all going to regret this in the morning, aren’t we?”

A chorus of agreement rang out as another few rounds played on. You and Tatum got dared to kiss each other on account of Randy, Sid confessed her virginity to the group, Stu and Randy took full advantage of every dare they could get and Billy, for the most part, avoided playing his turn as often as he could. He couldn’t trust himself, not right now.

Not with you looking so fucking pretty under the dim glow of the cabin lights. Not when you were this close but feeling three thousand miles away. You’d barely even looked at him and the longer your grudge persisted, the more and more desperate he became.

Snapping him out of his misery, the sound of your name slicing through the cabin made Billy focus in on your face. It was Stu talking, he knew that much, but all he could focus on was you.

“Truth or Dare, baby?” Stu asked excitedly.

“Hmm,” you reached across the circle and yanked the joint out of Randy’s fingers to take a hit. “Dare, I guess.”

Stu’s eyes flickered from yours to Billy’s for a brief second before a giant grin enveloped his entire face. And then he smacked Billy’s thigh with enough force that the sound of it bounced off of the walls. “Dare you to shotgun kiss our Billy Boy over here.”

For the first time in hours, those eyes of yours skirted across the room towards him. Through the haze of smoke, you looked so fucking gorgeous as you sat there, staring across at him with that impenetrable gaze of yours.

And then your eyes fell on Sidney.

“I don’t know.” You muttered. Smoke tumbled of your lips and Billy was mesmerized.

“Do it,” Sid laughed. “Like Tatum said, it’s just a game. We’re all fucked up right now.”

“You sure?” You asked, still unmoving.

“Yeah,” Sid gave you a small, reassuring smile as she guzzled back more tequila. “Shotgun away!”

Time didn’t exist for those few brief moments, there was no way it could. Billy watched, completely transfixed as you crawled through the circle towards him. At first, he wasn’t sure if you’d follow through – after all, how could either of you do this in front of all of your friend?

This was a game to them but not to either of you.

You hesitated and glanced at Sidney. “The smoke’s not going to go into his mouth if I can’t…” your words died on your tongue. When she didn’t seem to catch on, she winced. “Uh, like, we have to be nose-to-nose.”

“Straddle him,” Stu simply said, hiding his knowing smirk into his beer bottle. “It’s a fucking game, losers, get it over and done with.”

The whole thing couldn’t have taken more than a few seconds, in fact, Billy was sure it hadn’t, but the entire room seemed to stop as you crawled across his lap. It was as if you were moving in slow motion as you took a rather long hit from the joint in your hand before you passed it off to Tatum and as you leaned in, cradling his face with hands he knew like the back of his own, it was taking Billy everything he had not to crush you against his chest and hold you there against him.

Leaning in, he could taste the smoke on your lips as your mouth closed against his and as you exhaled the smoke into his mouth, Billy inhaled all of you. He gripped your hips on instinct, holding you there firmly against him as your lips moved perfectly against his. Greedily, he inhaled every last stich of smoke out of your mouth and relished in the burn of it against his throat.

He kissed you then. Too briefly, but he kissed you and for a split second, you kissed him back. It was a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it type of kiss, but it was there, and it left Billy greedily wishing he had more time with you.

Fuck, he needed you. On every level possible, he needed to touch you. To kiss you. To talk to you and apologize for every little fucking misstep that had led them all here.

But he didn’t have that kind of time.

Not yet.

All too soon, you pulled away from him but your eyes, though red and bleary, said everything you couldn’t. You needed him every bit as much as he needed you in that instance.

“Ta-da,” you choked out, breaking the stare much too quickly as you crawled back to where you’d been sitting seconds prior.

Nobody, apart from the two of you, seemed to pay your interaction any mind at all. Not even Sidney, who was happily sipping on more of Dewey’s tequila. But how? How when the entire fucking world seemed to still for the two of you to finally touch one another, could the moment have fallen on deaf ears?

“Alright, now.” You croaked. “Who’s next?”

-----------------------------------------------

At some point, someone had turned on the stereo as the night continued. Some bass-heavy song from the eighties was rocking the walls of the cabin as each of you broke off to drunkenly continue your night.

At first, you were with Randy, drunkenly conspiring about how he was going to get his job back for the third time and then you were with Sid and Tatum as the three of you thought it would be a fabulous idea to jump into the frigid cold pond outside. When that was over and done with, somehow, you ended up inside of the cabin searching for your duffel bag that contained some dry clothes.

Finally, you managed to find it buried beneath the pull-out couch that you and Randy would be sharing in a few hours and as you padded your way along the cabin that you knew too fucking well, you slipped into the bathroom and heaved out a sad sigh.

Drunk and high and full of adrenaline from the stark cold water or not, being here sucked. Being here with Billy and Sidney as they would undoubtedly be sharing a bed – the very same bed you and Billy had fucked in numerous times before – really fucking sucked.

You were sad and a little angry – at both Billy and at yourself for letting this mess get so big and so complicated that neither of you had true control over it anymore. You’d both dug yourself in such deep, deep shit that neither of you could see a way out.

It was a dangerous game the two of you were playing but like moths to a flame, you couldn’t stop. You’d continue to dig and dig until the real world around you ceased to exist.

Just as you were moping, still sopping wet, the door of the bathroom opened. “I’m in he—” you began to say but stopped as Billy slipped through the door and closed it behind him. “Billy, what the fuck are you doing?”

“Shut-up for a second,” he whispered, latching it closed. “I need to talk to you.”

“No,” you moved to push him out of the bathroom. “Somebody could walk in any second, this is going to look so bad.”

“I don’t care,” he admitted. “I should have broken up with Sid the night of your accident – hell, long before that, but I didn’t. And that’s on me. I’m going to, though.” He desperately reached for your hand. “I—”

“I’ve been hearing that,” you seethed, ripping your hand away. “I’m too drunk for this conversation, Billy. So are you.”

“You’re angry,” he nodded, cornering you into the counter with ease. “So am I.”

You swatted at his chest but made no move to slink away from him. He felt too good to have this close. He felt too much like home to ignore.

“What the fuck do you have to be angry about?”

“You’ve been ignoring me all night long,” he breathed out, barely above a whisper. “And then I have to watch you with Randy? I—”

“It was a dare.”

“It was fucking torture,” he griped. Cupping your face, your foreheads met as he slowly shook his head. “Seeing somebody else touch you like that? The way I touch you? I could have fucking killed him.”

You could feel his cock pressing into your thigh and warmth pooled between your legs as you basked in his words. “How the fuck do you think I feel? We’re here and you’re going to be sleeping with Sid in that bed, Billy. Do you know how fucked up that is?”

He sighed and nuzzled your neck. He could still hear them outside of the cabin, but he knew his time with you was limited. “I know,” he whispered. “I fucking know.”

Your eyes ghosted across his face. “Is there ever going to be a time when we’re not the bad guys?” You found yourself asking, finally voicing the little voice in your head. “I don’t like hurting her, Billy.”

“Hey,” Billy whispered again, “hey, listen to me, okay?” He ensured he caught your eye before continuing. “The second we get back to Woodsboro—”

“I don’t want to hear it, Billy,” you shook your head. “Prove it. Stop talking and fucking do it, then.”

All Billy could do was nod but as he watched your tongue slip out and dampen your parted lips, the animal inside of him won over as he ground his hips into yours. “You need me to prove how much I want you?” Stepping between your thighs, he brought your hand down so that you palmed his cock through his jeans. “You want me to prove it to you?”

You arched into him and wrapped your legs around his hips as you sat yourself on the edge of the counter. You were both too drunk to be making good decisions and this was definitely not a good decision. Not when any single person could come back into the cabin and notice your absence.

But if this relationship with Billy proved anything, neither of you were all that smart. You were two love drunk morons desperate for the other person. And god, you were so fucking desperate for him tonight.

Billy marvelled in the feeling of your hands sliding across his chest before yanking his t-shirt off. But fair was fair. Reaching down to the hem of your shirt, he peeled your sopping wet sweater off of your body so that you were naked from the waist up. Fuck, you were gorgeous. His breathing hitched and a low growl rumbled through his chest as he ducked his head down to capture your breast. Rolling his hot tongue around your nipple, he fucking loved feeling you arch your back into his awaiting mouth.

Your pussy was throbbing as Billy’s dept mouth swirled and kissed and nipped at your breasts, taking his sweet time to coax and tease each one. But neither of you had time, not right now.

Pulling away from your chest, Billy’s warm eyes swept across your face, memorizing your every pore. There was a softness in his gaze that never seemed to not catch you off guard, a wall that seemed to shatter to bits whenever you so much as looked at him. “You’re mine.” He whispered against your nipple. “When we get back home—”

“Shut-up,” you hummed firmly, raking your fingers through his hair. “And fuck me quickly before somebody comes in.”

The kiss was hard, urgent, as his cock still strained, painfully so, against his jeans. Not wanting to miss a second of not being buried inside of you, he worked on the buckle of his belt just as you were peeling your own damp jeans down your thighs. When you were both naked, you grinned and slid your fingers down his face and neck before curling your fingernails into his broad shoulders. Blood pooled in the tiny crescent moon shaped marks, but he didn’t so much as flinch.

Instead, he lunged forward, not even bothering to kick off the pants that were still wrapped around his ankles and grabbed your hips with bruising strength. His mouth was on yours instantly.

You were so wet, your pussy throbbing, and his cock was rock hard as he positioned his length between your thighs. Bucking his hips forward, he slammed into with enough force to make you yelp out in pain.

He didn’t stop, though. You didn’t want him to stop. Your entire body shook as he ravaged you, as he fucked you hard and fast against the counter.

His mouth, hungry as ever, abandoned yours only long enough to trail sloppy bites and kisses down your chin and throat and chest before capturing your tit in his mouth again. He was desperate to touch, to kiss, to taste, every inch of you tonight. Just like he’d done in the cabin before. But he knew he couldn’t, knew he didn’t have the time so with every thrust, he buried himself deeper and deeper inside of you, cementing the feeling of you all around him to his memory.

Your tits were bouncing with the velocity of his thrusts and the feeling of your nails chalking up his naked back and shoulders made his pumps even more violent. He wanted you to scream his name, he needed you to, he needed to feel you come undone on account of him and only him. But you wouldn’t. Not with your friends outside.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he hissed into existence.

His fingers dug into your hips again, pulling you even closer into him. Stretching his neck up, he kissed and nipped at the cut on your throat, the one he’d given you nearly a week prior, and felt his entire body shudder at the memory.

“Billy,” you gasped out, arching and clawing for him.

“This feel good, baby?” He demanded, slipping one hand down to begin fingering your clit. You were so fucking wet, one touch to your swollen nub and your entire body pulsed. The sound of his balls slapping against your ass filled the room. “Would Randy fuck you this good?” He spat his name out like venom on his tongue.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and tugged him close. Your noses bumped as he slammed into you over and over again. “No,” you spoke through clenched teeth, your entire body on fire. Between his fingers on your clit, the feeling of him pumping into you and the pot, you felt weightless. Like you were floating on pure ecstasy. “But if you feel this good when you’re jealous, I might have to lie.”

A dark chuckle escaped his mouth as he leaned in to capture your lips again. He kissed you with abandon as he came undone inside of you. His warm seed filled you up entirely as he drove into you over and over and over again.

With one final pinch of your clit, you followed suit.

You hissed out his name as your forehead fell against his in the sanctity of the bathroom. Your low ragged moans and breathless whispers were all that surrounded the two of you as he continued to hold you tightly against him, relishing in the feeling of you as though it was the first time.

The voices from outside of the cabin began to float closer, leaving both of you to separate and change in a frenzied hurry before Billy slipped out of the bathroom first. He just managed to steal a single, tiny kiss and a quick I love you before you were left alone to finally change into your dry clothes.

----------------------------------------

It was dark as fuck in that cabin and no matter how many times you willed yourself to go to sleep, you couldn’t. You were wide awake on that pull-out couch with the feeling of Billy still all over every inch of your skin.

You could hear Tatum and Stu fucking each other’s brains out in their room, but no sound bled out of the room Billy and Sid were in. Unfortunately, that didn’t quite snuff out the jealous pit in your stomach as you sat there in the darkness beside Randy.

With a quiet sigh, you rubbed a hand over your tired face and tried like hell to focus on anything besides the rampant moans tumbling out of Tatum’s mouth.

“Jesus, is he fucking Superman?” Randy’s voice sliced into the silence, making you jump a good foot in the air.

“I thought you were asleep,” you breathed out a quiet laugh. “Holy shit, you scared the hell out of me.”

“How could I sleep with the porn movie shooting in the next room?” He grumbled.

You laughed as the two of you fell into an easy silence. All of you had known each other for so damn long. This wasn’t the first time you’d slept in the same bed as Randy and it probably wasn’t going to be the last, either. There wasn’t a single person in that cabin that you hadn’t known for at least a decade and the easiness that came from that was something you cherished.

“This reminds me of that chick’s birthday in the sixth grade, what was her name?” Randy mused tiredly. “Julie Fox?”

“Julia,” you muttered. “Yeah, we were on an equally as comfortable pull-out that night, too.”

“At least you don’t have a spring poking into your back.” He groaned and you felt the bed shift as he seemingly tried to rid himself of the spring to no avail. “Fuck, that didn’t help.”

“Want to switch sides?” You asked. “Give yourself a bit of a break?”

He was quiet for a few seconds. You could barely make out the shape of his nose amidst the darkness around you, but you heard him hum in thought before sighing. “Nah,” he grumbled, “no use both of us suffering.”

You smiled slightly and continued to stare up at the ceiling. The only source of light bleeding into the living room was the last few embers inside of a hollowed-out log in the fireplace but even then, it was nearly impossible to see a damned thing.

“Can I ask you a question?” Randy asked after another few minutes of silence.

“Shoot.”

More silence.

And then you heard him suck in a quiet breath of air. “How long have you and Billy been fucking each other?”

CLIFFHANGER BABAAAAAY (but dont worry randy is safe and sound he’s a bestie not an enemy) we’ll also be getting into the thick of it now with drama so stay chuned ;)

taglist: (i lost the tag list so if you want to be added lemme know) @marauderssub @racyreverie

#Billy Loomis #billy loomis fanfiction #scream billy #billy loomis x reader #billy loomis x you #billy loomis x fem!reader #scream #scream 1996 #ghostface x you #ghostface #ghostface x reader #scream x reader #scream x you #scream x oc

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okay-j-hannah · 3 years

Text

Part 1: The Sun God

Doctor Who : Multishot

Tenth Doctor x Reader

Word Count: 6756

Warnings: There are descriptions of burns and burn victims. Also some talk of drug addiction

Request: This is just from my own head 😊

A/N: One step closer to understanding what’s ailing the reader... meanwhile *lovestruck sigh* the bickering and flirting between the reader and the Doctor is ✨giving me life✨

Prologue: The Dying Girl

Part 1: The Sun God {You Are Here}

Part 2: The Tonic

Part 3: The Ending Song

Life with the Doctor went by in a blur of rescued planets, saved species, and TARDIS accidents. The hospital visit planned so many months ago was long forgotten.

(Y/N) and the Doctor were simply swept away with adventure after adventure. After partaking the famed gouda of the moon and dancing the night away in the Blankar System, their companionship became less of a requirement and more of a favorite pastime.

There was still the looming mystery of (Y/N)’s alien tainted particle trail and the Reapers around every corner. But the pair of them found themselves rather enjoying spending their time exploring rather than hunting.

And the longer she spent on the TARDIS, the harder it became accepting she should go home at some point. It had been months. Months: and thoughts of her fiancé were knocking at the door in the back of her mind.

“This way!” The Doctor grabbed her hand and started to run. They were always running.

Though this time she was feeling a bit winded.

“You shouldn’t have pointed out their sham,” she laughed, disregarding the angry human mob behind them.

“Well, they shouldn’t have tried to scam the money off of you. The way they were groveling you, trying to pick your pocket – honestly.”

She gave him a silent look of admiration and scolded herself. “Could you have parked the TARDIS any farther!” There was a burning tickling her lungs – she didn’t normally get this fatigued so quickly.

The Doctor scoffed, gripping her hand tighter and spotting their blue box ahead, “Running’s good for the heart, (Y/N). And what with you only having one of those, I’ve got to keep your cardiovascular system in shape.”

They slammed into the TARDIS doors. Locked.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” (Y/N) said, leaning into the box heavily, “Shouldn’t it open at your command?”

“Oh hush,” he snipped, “Extra precautions aren’t a crime.”

The mob scrambled closer, finding them stationary at the end of the street. (Y/N) nudged the Doctor’s elbow, “If they aren’t a crime then why is our punishment on its way?” The Doctor fiddled with his silver key.

“Don’t rush me.”

“We don’t exactly have the time, Doctor.”

“You’re less fun when you’re grumpy.”

“I’ll be grumpier if we’re on the end of those pitchforks!”

The doors swung open as the mob roared. (Y/N) and the Doctor entered and felt as the humans pounded against the police box outside. Their torches could be seen ablaze through the window.

The Doctor didn’t hesitate to jump to the controls and put the TARDIS in an orbit while (Y/N) tried to catch her breath.

Her lungs were still burning, a stitch in her side. It felt like there was a pulse entering her brain, so loud it drowned anything else out. She didn’t feel good. Really didn’t feel good.

“That was a close one.”

She laughed, though her face pinched into a wince, “No thanks to you.”

“Like I said, if only they had kept their grubby hands off of you… (Y/N)?”

She was holding her head with both her hands, her face going slack. Her knees shook as she felt a comforting pressure on both her shoulders, “I feel a bit faint.”

It was the Doctor holding her steady, “You look it. What happened?” And as her knees buckled, he caught her smoothly, wrapping his arms around her. “Woah, I’ve got you. I’ve got you. Did something hit you?”

(Y/N) sighed, her head reeling – she couldn’t open her eyes; the light was so bright now. “I – I don’t know. I don’t think so. We just started running and I couldn’t breathe.”

The Doctor looked at her with bewilderment, but with her eyes closed, he snuck some fear into the gaze. “Well, up you get. Lets get you to your room.” With his arm slung around her, they sloppily made it to the ladder lowered beneath the grates.

“I’m finding the lack of stairs here very inconvenient,” she joked, practically falling into the Doctor’s arms at the bottom of the ladder.

He smiled though his brow was tense, “I’ll keep that in mind when I do renovations.”

(Y/N) was dragging her feet by the time they entered her bedroom. It was quite a bit different since she first moved in. After a few shopping trips and cleaning sprees, it was positively habitable. At least that’s what the Doctor called it.

He gently laid her on the bed and went to pull off her sneakers, “I’ll get you some water. Maybe you’re just coming down with something.”

“I never get sick, remember.” She had a hand over her eyes.

The Doctor pulled the sheets to her chin and gave such an intense look of concern he knew she’d make fun of him if she saw. But that was always the Doctor’s way. He waited for when she wasn’t looking.

“You also are adjusting to a new lifestyle,” he muttered, noticing the TARDIS lowering the brightness of the lights. “Maybe you’ve finally hit a wall.” When he turned to give her time to rest, she raised her voice.

“Don’t go,” she called, regretting how it made her head pound, “I hate it when you leave me alone. I know you’re off having more fun without me.”

He grinned, a feeling of elation and triumph centering in his chest. He scolded himself.

“I know you’re not used to the sickbed, but usually this is when the ill rest.”

“I thought we just agreed I’m not ill.”

“You are fatigued.”

“And see how you didn’t use the word ill?”

He sighed out that easy smile that came whenever she bickered with him. He ran a hand over his face and returned to her bedside, “You’re growing as stubborn as me.”

“You know I fall asleep faster when you tell me stories.”

“Oh, great. Thanks,” he laughed, choosing one of the comfy reading chairs (Y/N) furnished her room with – he pulled it closer to the bed.

She smirked, settling into the covers, “You know what I mean. They’re not boring… they’re soothing.”

“You just like hearing me talk,” he cheekily intertwined his fingers before him, “Besides, I shouldn’t be disturbing your rest.”

“Then why have you pulled up a chair?”

He observed that her eyes were still closed, though her brow was no longer pinched in pain. “Maybe I’m just making sure you don’t sneak out of bed before you’re properly feeling better.”

“Nah – you’re just in denial.”

The Doctor felt his joints freeze into place. It took a few moments for him to ensure his voice was steady, “Denial?”

She fisted the sheets and tucked them under her chin, it was ridiculously adorable. “You won’t admit we’ve become friends despite our agreement when we first met. You care about me more than just someone who has a mystery about them.”

Did she think because she had a ring on her finger she could toy with him like this?

“I thought I didn’t need to say it aloud, (Y/N).” He stared at her serene face, propping an elbow on the armrest of the chair. He put a finger to his chin, “Did you believe I didn’t think that?”

“Oh, I knew you cared from the moment Jack offered to take me dancing.” If her head weren’t about to explode, she might have burst into a round of giggles.

The Doctor held back a frustrated groan at the memory, “I was only looking out for you – Jack can be…”

“A catch?”

He paused, staring at her with more longing than he ever allowed himself, “A dog.”

She grinned but winced. Almost instinctually the Doctor leaned over from his seat and rested an arm on the mattress.

“You okay?”

(Y/N) took a deep breath, attempting to relax her face. “Tell me about Shakespeare again. Did he really have a full head of hair?”

The Doctor made sure her eyes were still closed as he lightly grazed a few fingers along her hairline, “He also was a terrible flirt.” He pushed the strands of hair away from her face.

“Bet Martha didn’t mind.”

“She said he had bad breath.”

“Then tell me about the mannequins – that one always gives me the creeps.” She felt her heart stutter as he continued to lean against her mattress. “Or maybe the TVs that sucked your faces off!”

He hummed, a deep sound from his chest, “Those stories won’t help you sleep.”

There was a moment of silence as (Y/N) simply took in the calming presence of him. One of the first things the Doctor promised her upon meeting was that he would keep her safe. And she felt it. She was safe with him.

“Tell me about the orange sky then.”

His chest ached. He knew exactly what she was asking for.

“The silver trees and the red grass,” she muttered, snuggling into her pillow, “Remind me how many times you failed your school exams.”

The Doctor chuckled, that ache threading up and making his throat dry, “All right.” He couldn’t help himself; he moved a hand and cupped her cheek. The same one he held when she woke from her coma.

~~~

Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock.

The usual comfort of her favorite watch wasn’t coming to her this time. She was staring intently at her engagement ring. Pulled off her finger and held to the light, it glittered mockingly.

Months, she reminded herself, months she had been away from home. Didn’t she care about how Andy was doing at all?

Of course she did.

But did she care enough to run home to him and plan that wedding and live the rest of her life as a primary school teacher married to a nurse?

Apparently not.

But why was that? As she stared at the ring, she didn’t feel what she ought to have been. She should feel as though she were engaged to the man of her dreams, anxious and excited to be married. The thought of him should give her butterflies. The sound of his voice should make her heart skip.

Why wasn’t she feeling that anymore?

The Doctor.

No, it couldn’t be. She was losing those feelings long before the Doctor pulled her from her classroom.

Great – now her thoughts were settling on the Doctor. That brown eyed beauty. Did he know how conflicted he was making her feel? The wonderful bastard.

She peered at the engagement ring for a while longer, wondering how she was going to tell Andrew that she was having second thoughts. That there was a reason she was so willing to abandon her earth life and run away with an alien man in a time machine.

She wasn’t in love with him anymore.

A sudden flash of memory fought for room in her head: the Doctor brushing her hair away, gently tucking her in and whispering the story of his home planet. Of Gallifrey beneath the burnt orange sky.

She shook her head. If she were to make a bulleted list of things to know about the Doctor, it would start with:

1. Stay near him; he’ll know what to do

2. He will keep you safe

3. He is incredibly and impossibly alone

4. He cannot share a life with someone he could lose

No, that’s not quite right. The Doctor cannot allow himself to share a life. Every time he does he gets hurt. Hundreds of years of hurt that she couldn’t possibly understand. He told her in strict confidence about some of his old friends he’d lost.

She couldn’t insinuate, couldn’t encourage, being anything more than friends and companions.

She could handle suppressed feelings when the Doctor had been suffering for the majority of his long life.

Besides – she was an engaged woman.

A sudden bout of boredom overcame her. A sensation so powerful and unexpected that she hopped off the bed and began to pace her room. It reminded her dolefully of the Doctor. He was always on his toes, brimmed with impatience and boredom, looking for the next adventure without any proper sleep. Perhaps she was becoming more like him.

She felt immensely better after her fatigue spell. She might as well go find him on the main level.

And there he was tinkering with some wires at the console. “Good morning.”

He grinned, seeking her face immediately, “Hello!” A spark of the wires and a yelp from his lips made her laugh.

“Lets go out.”

The Doctor sucked a burnt finger, but stared at her with a furrowed brow, “You what?”

“I’m bored!”

He raised his eyebrows, clearly surprised, “How are you feeling?” He came around the console and approached her sulking figure. “Does your head still hurt?”

She smacked away his hands, “I feel fine. I feel bored. Can we go somewhere exciting?”

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I’m not fainting, am I?”

“You could be lying.”

“Since when have you refused to go exploring with me?”

“Since you’ve taken ill and, as your physician, I can’t condone behavior that could make you more ill.”

She put her hands on her hips, “I am not ill!”

His cheeky grin grew, “(Y/N) …”

“Fine!” She threw her hands in the air and made her way towards the innumerable buttons and levers. “I’ll find a place myself.” She started typing on the keypad and twisting a few knobs – the TARDIS immediately responded with a plume of steam and a flurry of flashing lights.

“Woah now!” The Doctor flew over, turning a few things and setting the ship right, “There’s no need to spring a mutiny.” He rounded on her, less kindness in his tone than he’d shown her the past night. But the pleading look on her face had his lungs constricting.

“Please.”

He pondered her expression for a few moments, eyes flickering about her figure to ensure she wasn’t swaying on her feet. As he usually did, he went to stare at the ring on her finger. A painful ritual he caught himself doing regularly.

But the ring wasn’t there.

What had she done?

“All right.” Perhaps she needed to get out of the ship for a while. “I’ve got a planet in mind you’ll find interesting. I haven’t visited in a long time.” He set the course and pulled the lever to start the engines.

(Y/N) beamed, wrapping her arms around his middle from behind. He stiffened. She didn’t notice.

“Thank you, Doctor.” She went to brace herself against the railing and the Doctor cleared his throat.

“It’s called Axiless the First. As you can imagine, the planet is axis – less. It doesn’t spin like many planets do in solar systems. It doesn’t move near as fast because it’s so stationary. That means the day and night cycles last about six months. And the magnetic field that’s usually created from planetary motion, doesn’t exist so there’s no field shielding the planet from UV rays. They have to use sun shields just to go outside!”

The TARDIS bumped to a stop and the Doctor pulled out some shades from a compartment in the center console, “It’s a small colony of people as they do have to live on mid-latitude areas, but it’s fascinating seeing a motionless planet. Imagine if the Earth stopped moving – your oceans would flood the continents.”

He tossed a pair of sunglasses her way. She slid them on with ease, “How do I look?”

It surprised him the amount of heat that crept up his neck. “Uh, f-fine. Suits you.”

She punched his arm playfully, “Come on then.” She bounced towards the doors and missed how the Doctor moved his hand to scratch the back of his neck awkwardly. He pinched himself.

The doors opened and a gust of hot air swarmed the ship.

The planet looked desolate, a desert of sand and rock. A few bare shrubs were scattered amongst the yellowed stones. There were even a few trees, though their branches were needlelike, and they provided little to no shade.

Sunlight was bathing everything in a harsh glow, it almost looked like waves were radiating off the sand. (Y/N) was slightly afraid to step on it for fear of burning the soles of her shoes. She had her sunglasses on, but she couldn’t help but shade her face with her hands.

“Bit hot, isn’t it?”

The Doctor stood beside her, blowing out his cheeks, “Must’ve landed in the middle of a day cycle. There was a fifty-fifty chance of hitting day or night. These glasses can be used in either cycle – day they’re sunglasses, night they’re night vision goggles.” He groaned, slipping out of his coat and throwing it into the TARDIS, “It’s hotter than I remember it being.”

“You don’t have a Hawaiian shirt in there somewhere?” (Y/N) laughed, stumbling as her feet shifted in the sand. “Surely you wear something more than those two suits.”

“I’ve got a dozen dress shirts and ties.” He started rolling up his sleeves, squinting despite having shades on. “Don’t you go bickering on about my outfits. Why is it hotter than before? The planet moves around their suns so it’s not like the sun has gotten closer and raised the temperature. Like I said before, it’s meant to be warmer than usual, the planet doesn’t spin. They have to keep the sun shields up to keep the harmful ultraviolet rays at bay, otherwise everyone here would burn.”

He started paving the way towards a sand dune; (Y/N) followed closely, feeling her feet heat up with how hot the ground was. “Are you telling me we’ve stumbled upon another doomed planet? What are the odds?”

She laughed but the Doctor ignored her. “The only way the planet could be heating up is if the UV rays have reached the surface. Like a microwave the sun is cooking the planet. Which means there’s nothing stopping the sun. Which means…” he put a hand through his hair, “The sun shields aren’t up and working.”

(Y/N) faltered, stopping at the top of the dune and catching her breath, “I don’t fancy being roasted alive, Doctor.” Below them was a small village, one made of glass and metal. “Do you suppose they know they’re living on a microwave?”

The Doctor wiped the growing sweat on his forehead. “Let’s go find out.”

The colony was little but were awed and welcoming at the presence of (Y/N) and the Doctor. It was impossible, in their eyes, for visitors to want to see their scorching planet. They were directed towards the people in charge, a race of humanoid beings; their eyes were a startling purple, and they had no hair. Intricate and beautiful floral patterns painted their skin and bald heads.

The smartly built huts were just as humid and stuffy on the inside as it was out in the sand. But they were grateful for the shade.

“I’m the Doctor and this is (Y/N),” the Doctor introduced, removing his shades, “We’ve come for a visit and couldn’t help but notice you’re… well, roasting.”

One of the humanoid aliens bowed, “You are correct. Our suns are infiltrating the shields. We’ve been suffering in this heat, unable to do anything.”

“What’s your name?” The Doctor asked, making his way towards a compartment of computers and scientific equipment.

The humanoid appeared to trust him near the technology. “I am Peony. This is my companion, Iris.”

“Like the flowers?” (Y/N) asked, eyeing their floral tattoos. “They’re very pretty names.”

“Yes, we’ve been compared before,” the other called Iris stated, “But the only correlation is that we are born of the ground. We’re planted seeds in a garden and sprout into being.”

(Y/N) gave them an appraising look, “Your babies are grown in the ground?”

“They’re a solitary species, (Y/N),” The Doctor called over his shoulder, “They don’t understand physical touch or procreation like you do.”

“There is no need for such intimacy,” Peony said. And (Y/N) could see how there was a purposeful distance between the two humanoids.

She shrugged her shoulders, “I don’t know. I’d miss the cuddles.”

“Right then,” the Doctor shouted, “What did you mean the suns are infiltrating your shields? They’re only comprised of hydrogen and helium, only hot plasma that reacts to nuclear fusion. It’s not capable of motives like infiltration. That would mean they’d have consciousness.”

Peony and Iris shared a purple-eyed look before stating, “We believe there’s more to it then that.”

“You believe your suns are alive? Like actual beings?” (Y/N) asked, feeling the back of her shirt stick with sweat. “How is that possible?”

The Doctor peered at the information before him, screens that monitored the strength of the sun shields, “There are beings out there that we don’t fully understand. Gargantuan, God-like beings that are too powerful to observe and communicate with. I wouldn’t believe it – only…” He put a finger to his chin, “This chart here shows UV rays behaving like soldiers.”

Iris nodded, walking towards him, “You see them beating against the shield. They’re using physical force.”

“Like the arms of an octopus, they’re reaching out and tapping on the door,” the Doctor muttered, “Right, okay then. What’s the plan?”

A haziness enveloped (Y/N)’s eyes. Oh, no, not this again. She closed her eyes and tried to stay upright, taking deep breaths. She had felt perfectly fine that morning. Must’ve been the blasted heat.

Heat exhaustion. That’s all it was. (Y/N) didn’t get sick – has never been sick.

“We’ve been working on the theory to get the planet spinning again,” Iris stated, “It would create a powerful magnetic field and shield us permanently.”

“What? No. No! You can’t,” the Doctor said, “Making the planet spin would bring disaster to the surface, you will more than likely kill everything trying to survive here. Besides, you’ve got to have a core…”

“Our core is metallic,” Peony interrupted, “And planetary motion will help it create that magnetic field.”

The Doctor was getting that crazed look about him, one that normally pushed him to do rather crazed things. “But don’t you realize when your planet begins to spin again, whether instantaneous or gradual, everything will change. Tsunamis, earthquakes, volcanos, natural disasters everywhere! The planet surface will slide with the speed, bodies of water will be forced onto land, and plant life will be unable to cope.”

Peony looked at him as if they’d heard such an argument before. “It will also bring balance to the thinning air. We won’t have to only live in certain areas of the planet to breathe. We wouldn’t have to adjust to six month day cycles. And we wouldn’t have to worry about the sun. We are running out of options, Doctor.”

“We are dying either way,” Iris said, “It’s only a matter of which gets us first.”

“What do you mean?” the Doctor asked.

(Y/N) was leaning heavily against the wall paneling. It was a good thing the Doctor had something to occupy his mind.

“It’s either falling into natural disaster or burning from the sun.”

“There must be another way. Strengthen the shields again,” the Doctor muttered.

Iris waved a hand over to a staircase, one that went underground. “Follow me.”

“It’s no good,” Peony said, “We’ve been exposed to these rays for too long. We thought them simply ultraviolet, but that’s false. These suns are living beings and living beneath them has filled us with toxicity.”

“How’d you mean?” They continued down the stairs, (Y/N) still feeling woozy but appreciating the miniscule temperature drop.

They made it to a doorless room that held a wide window. It looked on at what could only be described as a burn clinic.

“What is this?” The Doctor continued questioning.

The longer (Y/N) looked, the more afraid she became. Numerous of the planet’s species were laying there, each to their own cot. And every one of them was covered in harsh, angry red burns. It looked incredibly painful.

Others in yellow hazmat suits were walking around and applying ointment, taking temperatures, and wiping foreheads. A few of the affected people were writhing in their beds, going mad with the heat. They had to be held down.

“It’s a sickness,” the Doctor whispered, mostly to himself.

“No, they’re just sun burnt,” (Y/N) said with an air of desperation, “Nothing some aloe vera can’t fix.”

“You forget we aren’t dealing with a regular sun,” Peony muttered, “Those are not burns from exposure, they’re from a plague.”

The Doctor leaned against the window, taking in the scene, “You’re dying either way. Sun shields won’t stop them because they aren’t only suns. They have motives and biology and warfare.”

(Y/N) felt her knees shake, unable to tear her eyes away from the camp of victims. It was like a horrific car accident – you couldn’t look away. “Are we safe?”

“You haven’t been exposed that long,” Iris said, “We’ve been living here our whole lives.”

“You only have to worry about those already showing symptoms,” Peony went on, “Don’t go near someone with the plague.”

The Doctor rubbed a hand over his face frustratingly. He was deep in thought, (Y/N) knew, he needed to think of a solution. Because he was brilliant. Because he was the Doctor. And he couldn’t turn away.

“What if we manufacture a magnetic field,” he banged a hand against his forehead, “We don’t have to shield the entire planet, only the parts people can survive in. Oh, my head! We’d need to mine enough metal and charge it with positive and negative energy. But a system could be built where that’s magnified to a specific area.”

Iris and Peony were sharing a silent look again, “That is a possibility we had not thought of.”

“We were busy thinking of the entire planets safety.”

The Doctor suddenly grinned, “But the entire planet isn’t habitable. Only parts. And we can secure those parts. I know I can build it - do you have the metal to wield it?”

“We have a metallic core, Doctor,” Peony smiled, “How else do you think we built these structures?”

Hello, (Y/N).

“What?” (Y/N) looked around, not recognizing the voice that addressed her.

The Doctor faced her, “Sorry?” He was still grinning from his brilliance.

“I thought…” she paused, very conscious of the sweat falling down the side of her face. “Nothing, I thought I heard something.”

You did.

“Right, lead the way,” the Doctor said, gesturing towards the staircase, “And while we’re at it, maybe I’ll find some revolutionary antibiotics for your patients.”

Your head is strange. Very dark. Very empty. What is hidden behind this steel door?

“What is that?” she questioned but realized that she was now alone in the small, windowed room. “Hello?”

Hello. How do you stand having so much hidden in your head?

“Where are you?”

I’m here. Inside you.

“Very funny,” she wheezed. Her breath left her, much like the night before. “Who are you?”

Ancient. Ancient like your Doctor. You’ve got quite the thought train dedicated to him, haven’t you?

“What are you called then.” Panic. She mustn’t panic.

We have no name. Only fire and ruin and wrath.

“You’re – you’re the sun. The one outside! Is this you infecting me? Am I sick?” She looked at her arms, fear starting to broil. But there were no angry burns appearing there.

This is our form of communication. We are so far away. The shields have dampened our telepathic field.

“Well, what do you want then? Why are you talking to me?”

There was silence for a few moments before:

I was bored.

The same reason she and the Doctor came to the planet. She was bored.

“And are you entertained now?” the edge of mockery in her voice was satisfying. But her head was beginning to pound.

You’re very strange. Very weak. Are you aware of how weak you are?

“Shut up!”

“(Y/N)?”

She whirled around and found the Doctor at the bottom of the stairs. She was breathing heavy, sweat dripping from her chin and hands.

“Who’re you talking to?” He kept his face calm, void of the real emotion he was feeling. Fear.

She swallowed, finding her throat remarkably dry, “No – no one.”

Interesting.

“Are you all right?” He took a few cautious steps towards her, his shirt sleeves still rolled up and his tie now loosened. She eyed him thoughtfully. Too thoughtfully.

Very interesting.

“I’m fine. The heat – it’s too much for me,” she cracked a lackluster smile, “It’s stuffy in here, isn’t it?”

The Doctor nodded carefully, raising a cautious hand and touching her shoulder. He pulled back almost immediately.

“What is it?”

Clever Doctor.

He stared at her with newfound confusion. The stare was so intense she felt as though she were being x-rayed.

“What have you done to her?”

Curiouser and curiouser.

“Can you hear him?” (Y/N) asked, whispering despite knowing the being could hear perfectly fine.

The Doctor refused to look away from her, “Answer me.”

You have some interesting trains of thought as well, Doctor. Very secret and very guarded.

“He’s in your head too?” (Y/N) looked back at the Doctor, trying her best to stay afloat. Her headache was becoming all consuming, she couldn’t ignore it much longer. Perhaps her wobbly knees will give way first.

The Doctor clenched his jaw, a few fingers to his temple, “You should ask for permission before you go snooping around.”

Ah, Time Lord – you have telepathy of your own.

“You have no right to this world,” he continued, “No right to consume what you don’t need.”

The man that regrets.

(Y/N) could feel the tension seizing the Doctor. She trailed her suddenly tired eyes towards his face. He wasn’t holding back now, he was upset – he was hurting. The label struck a cord in him. It made him think of an impossibly long list of heartaches.

And his companion: the dying girl.

She held her breath. That was a label she didn’t recognize.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t talk to it,” The Doctor said, moving his fingers from his head towards (Y/N)’s. “I’ve shut him out of my mind. Now I’ll shut him out of yours.”

You should be afraid. Be very afraid you weak, dying girl.

“Stop it,” she said. She wrapped her hands around the Doctor’s wrists, shutting her eyes tight against the words he could no longer hear. A burning like nothing else was heating her bones, it started low and began to grow until it was scorching.

“Stop it, stop it! PLEASE.”

“I’ve almost got it, (Y/N),” the Doctor ground out, “Bear with me, I’ve got you.”

No ones got you. You’re alone. Void of memories. Family. Life. Your time is up, dying girl.

Blisters erupted on her arms, searing away her skin. “Please! STOP IT.” Unexpected tears ran hot down her sweltering face. Sweat made her rosy cheeks shine.

There is no help coming. You are meant to die. From the moment you woke you were meant to be dead.

And snap. Her head was silent.

She fell into the Doctor’s arms, trembling and burning. He clutched at her, saying words that she couldn’t make out. White noise was shoving cotton in her ears. There was a scent of smoke in the air. Was that coming from her?

And she fainted.

~~~

It was bright. So bright.

There were shadows passing behind her eyelids and she was reluctant to open them. Every bone in her body, every joint, ached and burned. She was suddenly very aware of her limbs and how sore they were.

“What happened?”

Someone was near her, ready to answer, “You were filled with tendrils of that sun being energy. He stuck a needle into your mind and poisoned you. It was an instantaneous infection.”

She cracked open one eye to give him a look. It almost made him smile.

“He gave you the plague. You’ve been sick.”

She groaned, “If this is what being sick feels like, I’ve been terribly naïve.” She felt a hand on her forehead, and it was cool against the heat of her skin.

“You have been sick for a long while, my child.”

(Y/N) opened her eyes at the unfamiliar voice. She was surprised to see a cat. A blooming cat.

“Novice Hame, this is (Y/N),” the Doctor frowned. (Y/N) swiveled her gaze from the robed cat to his placid face. He had that expression sometimes when he was dwelling on something particularly sullen or painful.

When he dwelled on the past. Or his regrets. The man that regrets.

“Where am I?”

“Remember that hospital I wanted to take you to all those months ago.” His voice sounded tired. His hand trailed to the back of her head.

Novice Hame purred, “You’re a patient at the New New York Hospital. We’ve been treating you the past few days.”

“Days?” (Y/N) questioned. She tried to sit up, her face pinched in pain, and the Doctor helped her. “What’s happened to Axiless the First?”

“I’ve given them the blueprints, the technology. They’ll be fine. The Sisters of Plenitude provided medicine for their plague victims. They’ll be fine without me.”

“You didn’t stay to help?” She watched him pull his hand away, intertwining his fingers tightly across his stomach. He sat more stony as he watched her without much reaction.

“They’ll be fine. I was needed elsewhere.”

The way he stared at her was excruciating. She wished he would tell her what he was thinking.

(Y/N) looked at her arms, searching for the blisters and burns she felt explode on her skin. But they were clear, “I don’t look like I have the plague anymore. Why do I feel so sick then?”

“You’re ill with much more,” Novice Hame said, moving towards the bed and fiddling with a side table of medications. “Like I said, you’ve been sick for a long while.”

“How long? Sick with what?” She put a hand to her head, feeling faint again. “I don’t get sick, nurse.”

The cat smiled with pointed teeth, “We’re still working it out.”

“You don’t get sick with human disease, (Y/N). We’re talking about alien disease.” The Doctor put more inflection in his voice though his face was still flat. “I should’ve taken you to this hospital the first chance I got,” he whispered.

“Alright, now you’re scaring me.” (Y/N) turned towards the novice and asked, “Tell me.”

The cat woman appeared conflicted, as if she didn’t know where to begin. But she shared a look with the seated Time Lord and sighed, “As far as we can tell – you’ve been ill all your life.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

(Y/N) flickered her gaze towards the Doctor and saw the sorrow creep into his face.

“You still feel sick because it wasn’t just the sun plague that was ailing you,” Novice Hame continued, folding her hands in front of her, “The Doctor tells me you’ve been experiencing fatigue, dizzy spells, the last few weeks.”

She swallowed hard, “I’ve been tired is all.”

“You’ve been experiencing withdrawal.”

(Y/N) blinked, then scoffed, “Withdrawal?”

“Your body is dependent on a substance to keep it going. Since leaving Earth, you haven’t been receiving it.”

She glared at the cat, as if saying she’d better keep talking before something bad happens. The Doctor remained silent, sitting as still as he could but never taking his eyes off of (Y/N)’s reaction.

“While you were healing from the plague, we took the liberty of analyzing your blood. Over three-quarters of the cells there were mutated. They were defected, synthesized cells. They were still fully functioning; they just weren’t natural. They didn’t come from you.”

“Is that… is that why you were able to track me?” She addressed the Doctor.

If possible, his frown deepened. “Your particle trail. It was traceable because your biology has been tainted with a traceable substance.”

“What is this substance?”

Novice Hame continued, “The human body depends on constant cell replacement to survive. When you have a cut, the body creates new cells to heal it. When you scrape your skin, your body creates cells to replace it. Blood cells are used for so many things that they tire and die, and then must be replaced to keep the body functioning. Without cell replacement, oxygen won’t get to your organs. Nutrients won’t replenish growth. Nerves would become defective.”

“Alright, I get it,” (Y/N) said, her head aching with the upheaval of information. “Cells are important. I asked what the substance was in my body.”

“I’m telling you that’s what the substance does. This substance is acting as those new cells replacing your old ones. For some reason, your body has stopped producing its own cells, it’s completely dependent on outside help.”

“But – but if I’ve been dependent on whatever that is my entire life… how have I been getting it without realizing it?”

There was a long pause as the cat woman debated her phrasing. “Have you been in contact with someone or some place on a regular basis? A regular visit maybe that would give enough time for someone to administer the cells?”

“Well, the only person I see almost every day is my fiancé Andrew. The only person I see on a regular basis is Andrew.”

“And you haven’t seen him in months,” The Doctor muttered.

Novice Hame sighed, her voice delicate and feline, “What do you know of your fiancé?”

(Y/N) stared at her incredulously, “You’re not suggesting… you think my Andy has something to do with this?”

“He’s been with you from the moment you woke up,” the Doctor said with more of an air of thinking aloud. “Said so yourself, he was the first face you saw.”

Not true. And he knew it.

“Then we have reason to believe that this Andrew has been secretly giving you a substance of synthesized human DNA regularly. And you are in dire need of a cell replacement.”

(Y/N) sat there, a strange itch in her hands. She felt like she should be doing something. She felt like she needed to be moving. Her breathing was becoming heavy, her eyes wide and stunned.

“Oh my God,” she whispered, “Why would he make me addicted to something like that? And I need it to live?”

“Yes,” Novice Hame said, “We’ve been trying to get your body to regenerate cells on its own again, but to no avail. This drug substance is powerful and foreign.”

“And you can’t just make more of the drug?”

“I’m so so sorry.” The Doctor had finally put his face in his hands.

Novice Hame remained solemn, “We don’t understand its compounds. It may be synthesized, but we don’t know how to replicate it.”

They were silent again, except for the rapid breathing coming from (Y/N). She could feel the tears trying to creep into her vision.

“So I’m an addict, that’s it? I’m an addict with a drug dealer fiancé. Why would the Reapers want me for that?”

The Doctor stood from his chair, pacing in front of the bed, “And how could my alien tracer track you if this substance is only defected, synthesized human DNA? That’s not alien.”

“The mutations were manufactured by something alien; it always leaves a trace.”

“And the Reapers come after beings they believe have cheated death,” the Doctor continued, pacing with new purpose.

(Y/N) felt her eyes water further, “The dying girl.”

The Doctor snapped his attention to her.

“I was called the dying girl. Apparently I’m supposed to be dead. Meant to have died.”

He looked at her with fierceness, jutting a finger at Novice Hame, “You are going to find a cure.”

“But Doctor…”

“You are going to find a cure and fix this!” a deep seeded power was entering his voice. If she didn’t know him as well as she did, (Y/N) figured she’d ought to have been afraid. “She is going to get better. She has to!”

(Y/N) felt a pang in her gut.

“We’re going to ask dear old Andrew a few questions,” the Doctor continued, an ancient anger in his expression. “And we’re going to get you well. He’s bound to have more of that drug.”

“Doctor, she is very weak, you’re going to have to be careful.”

He put his hands on the railing at the foot of her bed. “Don’t worry. I’m not about to lose her. Not today.”

And (Y/N) believed him. Those tears left salty tracks down her cheeks as she stared at him. But if he didn’t lose her today, then when?

He cannot share a life with someone he could lose. Not so easily.

~~~

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moldisgoodforyou · 3 years

Text

valentine’s day

warnings: cursing as per usual. also. angsty!!! blame the anon tho not me I accept zero responsibility for anything here. it’s about the GROWTH people

wordcount: 2.2k

source: @obi-kin

Rafe called Sophie at 5pm on Valentine’s Day, his tone unusually bright. Sophie had been in the architecture studio all week and they hadn’t seen each other in a few days, so he was especially eager to take her out. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was a sucker for romance. His last long-term girlfriend hadn’t really entertained it, and made fun of him often for trying too hard. While Sophie might have occasionally ribbed him for his gestures, she made a point to show him she appreciated it, which always made him more eager to please.

“Hey! Will you be ready soon? I’ll pick you up,” Rafe greeted when she answered.

“Ready?” Sophie sounded distant, with her phone on speaker lying on the desk next to her work.

“...Yes? That’s what I said, are you ready?” He cocked his head with the phone pressed to his ear, thinking he might have had bad reception.

She furrowed her brow, trying to think if she had forgotten something. She was usually meticulous about her plans, marking everything down in her calendar no matter what. “Ready for what?”

From his voice, she could tell he was becoming more and more deflated, but couldn’t quite place why.

“Soph, you’re serious?”

She wrinkled her nose a little at the question. “Yes, I’m serious. What am I missing here?”

“Ready for dinner. Downtown.” Rafe didn’t give her anything more, hoping she’d remember, hoping she didn’t completely forget something he’d been looking forward to for the past week. He ran his hand through his hair impatiently as he waited for her response.

She bit the inside of her cheek, trying to remember. “Rafe, I can’t go to dinner tonight, I have to work on my project due Friday. I got caught up with helping some of my students earlier.”

To him, she didn’t sound the least bit apologetic, just factual. He was silent, almost in disbelief for a moment. “Right. I forgot school comes first.”

His tone was more bitter than he intended, and she almost flinched just hearing it over the phone, her own voice growing apologetic. “Well, yeah, I have to -”

“S’whatever.” He cut her off abruptly. “I have to go. Have fun with your project.”

“Rafe...” she tried, unsuccessful as he hung up. Feeling uneasy, she briefly debated calling him back to figure out what was up, but another student knocked on the studio door and she got distracted helping them try to find spare supplies. After a while, she decided to just push it off and ignore it, chalking it up to a bad day on his end.

A few hours later, when it was nearing midnight, Rafe shot her a text - a simple ‘How much longer? I’ll come drive you home.’ He had cancelled their dinner reservation and got Mexican with the boys instead, but resisted from indulging in the drink specials, knowing he still wanted to see Sophie despite her forgetting their plans.

Still a little stung from his comments (and completely unaware of what she did), she shot back her text right away - ‘I’m fine, I’ll walk.’ She was packing up her things when he texted, planning on leaving soon anyways, but wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of seeing her after his demeanor on the phone.

Always loyal, Rafe was already waiting out front in his car when she walked out a few minutes later. She scowled at his stubbornness that rivaled hers but strolled up to the car anyways and opened the door, but didn’t get in just yet. “Are you still mad at me?”

He paused for a moment, considering his response. “I’m not really happy with you right now, no. But get in. I don’t want you walking home alone.”

She sighed but climbed in, setting her backpack at her feet, and crossed her arms across her chest with a little huff. “Look, Rafe, I don’t know what I did to make you all pissed off, but -”

Rafe leaned back and pulled out a bouquet of flowers from the backseat, setting it in her lap. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Dead silence.

Her jaw dropped and she glanced at her phone for the date, just to confirm how badly she’d screwed up. “I...fuck,” she whispered, swallowing hard.

“I was hoping you wouldn’t forget. Tried giving you the benefit of the doubt, you know.” His voice softened a little but he kept his eyes trained on the road, tapping his thumb on the steering wheel.

Sophie looked like she was about to cry, shrinking back into her seat as her cheeks grew hot. “I’m so, so sorry, Rafe. I guess I thought it was next week or something. I know this was important to you.”

He exhaled at her apology, glancing over with concern when he saw her wobbling lip and teary eyes. “It’s fine, Soph, it’s nothing to cry over.”

“No, I - you’ve been so sweet, and so supportive, and I was being totally selfish,” she started rambling, reaching out for him and only stopping once he took her hand and squeezed gently. He only wanted to make her realize how he felt for a moment, not to make her truly upset.

It was like all the stress from the past week had all piled up on her at once and this was the tipping point, something she could have controlled. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment to compose herself. “I’m going to make it up to you. Saturday. I mean it.”

He turned to her at the stoplight and ran his thumb over her cheekbone, trying to calm her down. “What if I have homework?”

“Oh.” Sophie’s face fell. “Right, never mind -”

Rafe laughed a little, shaking his head quickly. “No, no, I’m sorry, that was mean. Saturday, then?”

“Yes.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Saturday, belated Valentine’s Day. I won’t be a terrible girlfriend.”

“You’re not a terrible girlfriend.” He hesitated before continuing, pulling up on the street outside her sorority house and turning off the car so he could walk her to the door like always. “Just, um.” After a few seconds, he shook his head. “Never mind.”

“No, tell me.” She reached out and took his hand again, brows knitting together in concern.

He spoke quickly, only making eye contact once he got it all out. “Sometimes I feel like second place to your schoolwork.” After a moment’s pause, he added quickly, “and it’s not a big deal, I really admire how hard you work and I know it’s important to you. But.” He shrugged. “It just felt like something I should tell you.”

“Rafe, baby...” She frowned, squeezing his hand in reassurance upon hearing his confession. “I love you so damn much, you know that?”

He nodded and leaned over to kiss her, hating the way her eyes started welling up with tears again. “I know. I love you too. We don’t have to talk about it, it doesn’t really matter.”

“It does matter.” She shook her head and threaded her fingers through his hair, pulling him closer. “I fucked up, and I’ve been getting way too caught up with school. That’s not fair to you.”

“I know you’re busy.” He mumbled, pressing his head into her touch. “S’okay. I’m being needy, or whatever.”

“You’re not.” She crawled over the center console without a second thought, albeit a little awkwardly, and threw her arms around him once she sat on his lap, holding him close. “That thought hasn’t occurred to me once. Ever.”

He let his head rest against her shoulder, nuzzling into her. “You’re sure? Because my ex -”

“Rafe.” She frowned as she cut him off. “I’m sure.” She told him confidently, rubbing small little circles against his back. “I’ve missed you, I’ve been way too busy. And I’m so sorry I fucked up Valentine’s Day for you, I know you’d been looking forward to it.”

He hummed in acknowledgment against her neck, relaxing more at her touch. “Do I get you the whole day Saturday?”

“The whole weekend, even.” She smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

He laughed and lifted his head, giving her a sweet kiss. “Two whole days with just you might be too much to handle.”

She blushed and poked his stomach, holding back a grin. “Stop it, you love me.”

“I do. My favorite.” He grinned and kissed her again, then nodded toward her sorority house. “Any chance I could come up with you?”

“Depends, do you want to watch Gone Girl with my roommates?”

Rafe furrowed his brow in concern. “Gone Girl? On Valentine’s Day?”

“Yes.” She nodded once. “We’ve all been single on the holiday for the last two years, it’s tradition.”

“Can’t partake in tradition if you’re locked down.” He teased. “Unfortunately the boys are home tonight too, so. Looks like we’re both going home to empty beds.”

Sophie scowled and leaned forward, bumping their noses together then resting her forehead on his. “Three more months and then we’ll have our own rooms in senior houses to have all the sleepovers we want.”

“Ah, not quite. Three more months and then you’re leaving me for a whole more three months.” Rafe corrected, resting his hands on her hips and rubbing gentle circles with his thumbs.

“Don’t remind me, that’s the worst part.” She groaned, dropping her head down to his shoulder. “I’m gonna pack you in my suitcase, you think you can make the flight in cargo?”

“Nah, you’d miss out on the clothing space.” He nudged her with his shoulder. “Hey.”

“Hey.” She mumbled against his neck, not wanting to let him go.

“As comfortable as this is, can we move to the backseat if we’re stuck here for a second? I want to give you your gift.”

She lifted her head and nodded, then crawled into the backseat, Rafe laughing as he got out then slid in the back with her. Sophie grabbed her backpack from the front seat. “Wait, me first. Close your eyes. It’s not wrapped yet, because I wasn’t ready - well, um. Just close your eyes.” She tripped over her words, cheeks feeling hot again as she thought again about how poorly she handled the day.

He reached out and squeezed her shoulders quickly. “It’s alright, Soph.”

“It’s not. But just close your eyes.”

Rafe nodded dutifully and shut his eyes, holding out an expectant hand. She placed a small wooden jewelry box in it, unwrapped, with dark red felt lining and a little grid organizer inside. He opened his eyes and furrowed his brow for a moment, running his thumb over the stained wood with his engraved initials on top. “It’s a box?”

She laughed. “Open it.”

He undid the latch and grinned once he realized what it was, with one of his rings she had ‘borrowed’ nestled inside. “How’d you know I needed one of these?”

“Because you’re always putting them in terrible spots. I took that one from the cupholder in your car last week.” She bit the inside of her cheek. “I made it, is it okay? Do you like it?”

“It’s awesome, Soph.” He leaned forward and kissed her quickly once he noticed her nerves. “I can’t believe you can make this kind of stuff, it’s fucking cool.”

She smiled, relaxing a little. “It’s not much, but I think it could be useful. Better than just setting your rings on your counter, anyways.”

“I love it.” He smiled back, then reached down and pulled out a gift bag from under the seat, handing it to her. “This is kind of...well, I don’t know, it’s not really a romantic gift. So maybe lower your expectations.�� He warned.

Sophie raised her eyebrows, confused, until she unwrapped the gift and pulled out a big set of nice drawing markers, meant for architecture. Her meager eight pack had been steadily drying out over the semester, bought second hand from an older student, and were barely getting her by. She hadn’t realized he noticed from his time just hanging out in the studio with her.

“Wow.” She breathed out, unzipping the case and running her fingers over the markers all lined up.

“Is it okay? That’s the brand you use, right? And the colors are okay?” His eyes flitted over her face with brief concern.

She nodded quickly and set them aside, pulling him into a hug. “It’s perfect, Rafe, I don’t think you know how much I needed those.” She took a deep breath, a little shaky.

“You’re welcome, baby.” He ran his hands up and down her back, pulling her into his lap. “Hey. No crying.”

She sniffled a little, mumbling into his shirt. “M’not crying.”

“You are too, I can hear it.” He pressed a kiss to her temple and she lifted her head to kiss his lips. “I don’t like it when you cry.”

“I don’t like crying when I’m with you.” She gave herself a moment to compose herself. “Thank you, Rafe, so much. You’re too good to me.”

“No such thing.” He kissed her long and slow, cupping his hand against her cheek. “I love you Soph, no matter what.”

“Love you too. I promise, I’ll make Valentine’s Day up to you this weekend. You can hold this over me forever.” She teased, tugging gently on the ends of his hair.

He laughed, shaking his head. “Forever’s a long time.”

“Yeah, well, you’ll need it if you’re gonna put up with me for that long.” She grinned and kissed him quickly, not giving him a second to think about her words before crawling off his lap and grabbing the flowers and her gift. “I love you. You’re my favorite, I mean it.”

“Mine too.” He took the hint and helped her out of the car, then walked her to the door. “Sweet dreams, angel.”

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silentprincess17 · 3 years

Text

A Proposal Gone Awry

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | AO3

Summary: Link has been touring the breadth and width of Hyrule to clear out the remaining monster camps, and soon enough, he reaches Zora’s Domain. Mipha asks him to wait before he heads back to the castle, which he was intending on doing... but some mischievous children may have other plans.

Part 4 (Final)

Mipha floated in the pool, the water cascading in gentle waves over her prone form.

It was the fifth time she had left her own private pools after a prolonged period of recovery. She waded her way through a sea of guilt, shame, mortification, longing, pining and despair. Heartbreak was a painful thing, and it was a shame her Grace couldn’t heal it. Still, her time in almost near seclusion had helped her to come to several key realisations, which she could freely admit after the initial torment and hurricane of emotions drifted into colder water.

Number 1: She realised how much she had fooled herself.

Really, she had never even talked to Link about her feelings, planning to use the armour as her segue on the topic. An armour given at an engagement! What had she been thinking? How had she deluded herself into it?

Number 2: The answer was that she was simply too scared. Too terrified to ever voice her affection for him. And it had all backfired so spectacularly. There were so many signs that she had, simply put, ignored. All the way from Link saving Zelda during their journey, to finding out who they really were: soulmates bound through all of time and fated to be together. Her cheeks coloured, from thinking of all of the ridiculous explanations she had made up in order to continue living in a fantasy she had constructed in her mind.

Number 3: All of this could have been avoided, if she had talked to him properly.

Still, it was too late to regret it now, but with hindsight, she should have done everything differently from the start. She could have saved herself so much pain. The only saving grace she had was that Link thankfully had no idea what was going on. She didn’t even want to consider what would have happened had he realised.

The flow of the water changed, and Mipha instinctively looked up, as Bazz walked in, holding a bloom of Blue Nightshades in his hands. Every day since she had returned from the castle, he came carrying a small bundle of flowers as an apology. He had noticed how reclusive she had become, and the blanket of sadness that covered her like waves covered the ocean. She had reassured him multiple times she wasn’t sad because of his little stunt, and he didn’t need to bring flowers, but the poor boy had taken it to heart.

He had even brought the whole gang over on the first day that she had left her rooms, each of them bearing a gift. Bazz himself had brought her purple hyacinths, which apparently “symbo-bolises forgive-ness”. Gaddison had polished her treasured Lightscale Trident, something which Mipha hadn’t held for over two months. It had felt so good to wield it in her hands again. Rivan had given her a hearty blue snail, whilst Sidon had given her a huge hug, and a pendant that had Vah Ruta engraved into it. She knew her father must have helped him, but she still appreciated the effort he had put in. Once she had hugged him, he had softly whispered in her ear that she was his Hero, and he wanted her to smile again, like this, and he had given her the best gift of all- his trademark smile and pose.

It had made her feel comforted and helped her realise that she had a family here. She had responsibilities. She couldn’t just hide away from the world because she didn’t have the courage to talk to the man she loved, and now he had been taken away.

She was Mipha, Princess of the Zora, a daughter, a sister, a warrior. Yes, Link had played a large part in her motivations. She had always wanted to protect him, ultimately. First by healing his wounds, then by fighting the lynel with him, to finally creating an armour containing a piece of herself. But what she had failed to realise then, and she understood now, was that it wasn’t just all for Link. It was for her Domain, for her people who she would eventually rule over.

After that fourth realisation, it became easier to ease herself out of her rooms. To slowly begin to partake in the council meetings. To swim in her home’s beautiful waterfalls. To allow herself to heal.

She smiled as Bazz shuffled closer, his sword still scrapping the floor with every other step. He held out the peonies he had gathered today, and this time pressed a letter into her hand. She raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t say anything, just shrugged. She flipped it open, and it was about an event at the Flight Range. She read, and reread the short brief,

To all the children in Hyrule,

I, the Great Revali, Champion of the Rito, will be offering free lessons in the all-important field of archery.

Should you want to participate, convince your parents/guardians to bring you this Saturday to the Flight Range.

Teenagers are welcome on the following day and for those who do not possess this basic knowledge, I mean Sunday.

Remember that if you do come, I will expect nothing less of excellence, or at least, the maximal effort to be demonstrated until you achieve said excellence.

Master Revali, Champion of the Rito

Well, she never would have guessed Revali liked children. Or indeed teaching. He… well, she wouldn’t say he was the most patient of the Champions. Still, it was good of him to do… probably. She wasn’t sure he would have many students left after the first session.

But why had Bazz given this to her….? She got her answer when she looked up to Bazz’s huge, silently pleading eyes. She sighed. The children had done a lot for her these past few months. It was the least she could do to supervise them on a short trip. It was highly likely Revali would scare them all away, if she was being honest, which would be the main reason she wouldn’t want to bring them. Still, if they wanted to go, then she would accompany them. It was only right she gave back a little of what they’ve given her.

She smiled as she heard Bazz screaming to the other three and lifted herself out of the pool. She was out of practise with her spear, and she was certain Revali would notice. Not that she cared for his crass comments, especially considering what she had gone through these past two months… but she was still competitive and just in case he asked her to practise like they once used to, she needed to make sure she wouldn’t fail within the first minute.

The children squabbled together on the swim to the Rito Village. They were excited for their first time out exploring Hyrule, and she had to remain vigilant if any one of them decided to pop up for air and sit on the bank to appreciate the views. Whilst she did understand how shockingly green the world must appear to them when compared to the Domain, there were still monsters around, and these children were all her responsibility.

Soon enough they arrived, threaded in amongst the throng of people present in the Flight Range. Revali was at the entrance, by a giant board of names. He held the chalk in his hands as he wrote down the name of each child at a specific time slot, before directing them towards the bonfire that was burning in order to stay warm. From what she could make out, around half of the slots were filled, with lessons starting at 1 pm. As this was the sign up session, no one had been assigned into classes yet. She assumed it would be dependent on the numbers that turned up today…

She made sure the children were organised in file row by age, with the eldest first, (Gaddison, Bazz, Rivan and Sidon) before she approached Revali.

He merely nodded at her, wrote down the four names and directed her in much the same way as everyone else. Well, she wasn’t expecting favouritism, but surely in light of their history he could- wait- actually… What did she want him to do? She had only had a few training sessions with Revali, and aside from the battles they had fought together, she had rarely interacted with him. He didn’t tend to stay for the informal sessions they had as Champions, and, as he rubbed a lot of their group the wrong way, she had never paid much attention as to why that was.

She only smiled, asked if he needed any help, “No thank you, Mipha. Just head to the bonfire.” And Mipha understood his curt dismissal. He looked stressed, and she wouldn’t want to exacerbate that.

After a couple of hours, it was the Zora children’s turn. All of them headed off towards the Flight Range, were given basic instructions in how a bow works by Revali, and a brief guide into using a paraglider as an emergency safety check. The main benefit of practising at the Flight Range was that even if they slipped, or lost control, the wind was so strong it would buffet them in the air until Revali himself would pick them up. Anyway, no one would be flying out unless they fell; the first lessons would take place on the deck whilst aiming at the target just across.

Mipha was not afraid of anything going wrong. She trusted Revali. Despite their differences, Revali would never let any of one of them down.

Gaddison did the best, she adapted well to the new weapon, a swallow bow, managing to hit the inner turquoise ring after five arrow shots, whilst Bazz came in second hitting it after eight. Rivan managed in twelve, and Sidon could only hit the outside ring. He was perhaps too small for this sort of venture. Mipha understood his need to participate though; she knew he really wanted to be accepted into Bazz’s brigade, and she wouldn’t stop him from trying to fit in.

Whilst the children were firing at the target, she came to stand by Revali. He was intently focussed, but she thought she could perhaps try to get him to relax a little.

“This is a really good thing you’re doing Revali… training the next generation of potential archers.”

He fixed his emerald eyes on her, funny, how she had never noticed the startling colour before, “Well thank you, Mipha. Not all of us are handed our legacies. I have to make my own.”

She paused… hesitated a little as she thought over what he meant. It was true: she had never realised but all of the other Champions were in positions of power. She was a Princess, Urbosa was Chief of the Gerudo, Daruk was Chief of the Gorons. Zelda was Princess of Hyrule, and Link was Captain of her Royal Guard team. Except for Revali. His only title was Champion… “Perhaps that is a good thing. Self-made legacies are the ones that people remember the most.” He didn’t reply, so she asked another question. “How did you come up with the idea of making the Flight Range a training centre?”

He wrapped both arms around his chest, which she read as a little defensive, “Teba. His son, Tulin, trains here. Well. I guess I should say, ‘will’ train here.” He shook his head, “Anyway, I also don’t want to be remembered solely by the Rito for having trained Rito warriors. I want this to be an endeavour that spans across Hyrule. Archery is just as, if not more, important than simple swordplay.”

Ah. There it was. She wisely chose not to say anything else on the matter, “It’s an admirable aim, Revali. And from the volume of people here… I’d say you are in a good position.”

He merely shrugged. “It’s only the first session, Mipha. It would be foolish to assume the same pattern for the future.” He hesitated, looked at her ornamental silver again, before his gaze flickered away onto the children. He cleared his throat, risked another glance at her, before speedily asking, “Why did you change your armour?”

She was about to respond to his initial statement actually, to reassure him that it would work, and that he was a Champion which would undoubtedly make people want their children to be taught by him, but he had caught her completely off-guard. “What do you mean?”

He jabbed a feather at her clasp. “That never used to be there.”

Oh Goddesses. How would she explain such a thing? How had he even noticed such a small difference? “Well, one of the scales needed to go. It happens sometimes.” There. That wasn’t a lie. Technically, the scale had to go, and it didn’t happen often obviously, but she wouldn’t have to explain the ins and outs.

He paused, just for a second, before continuing on, “Is it susceptible to attack?”

“Well, yes-”

He jutted in, “Would you like to train then? It’s important to maintain your defence. Especially with such a pronounced wound that anyone could take advantage of.”

She did not mention the wound was, in fact, sealed completely by the clasp. But she appreciated his offer. It had been so long since she had properly trained with a Champion. And… now actually, she could remember him doing the same thing at the ball. Had he spotted it from then? Had he wanted to ask if she was okay from then? Had he wanted to train… to help her better defend herself from then? She wasn’t sure why she found that surprising, but it felt good to know he cared. “Okay.”

“Monday evening… at the Domain, for your convenience?”

She nodded, and with that, it was the end of the children’s turn. She established what time, exactly, on Monday evening, and invited Revali to come over for dinner. He hadn’t had a chance to visit the Domain properly in all the chaos of the Calamity, but there was no such rush now.

Mipha had a giant pile of things to do, and she tried her best to do it all quickly. First, she dropped the children back to their home familial pools, reassuring their parents that everyone had been well behaved. Then she informed her father that she had invited Revali to dinner so preparations could be made in time. Finally, she visited her Divine Beast, Vah Ruta... She paused at the entrance, smoothing her hand across the door. Ruta was pleased to see her Champion back, and Mipha found herself falling back into her routine of caring: she gave Ruta good clean, and even ended up having a late-night bonding training session to attempt to prepare herself for Monday.

In all her haste to do it all, by the time she finally reached her pools, she was so tired she immediately blacked out.

It was only in the morning that she realised, for the first time that night, in the span of two months, she didn’t think of Link. Of her failed proposal. Of her shame and embarrassment at reading the whole situation so wrongly.

And she finally braved the courage to pull out the package that she hadn’t touched since that evening. She decided it was time to post it to Link. She wrote a short note about completing his armour set, and she didn’t mention anything else. By letting go of it, and subsequently of the feelings that were associated with it, Mipha finally felt lighter than she had for a long time.

She grabbed her Lightscale Trident, keen on getting some practise before Revali came. Who knows, maybe he could teach her some archery too. Whatever it was, she was keen to finally put her trident to some good use again. For the first time in two months, she had something to look forward to… a goal she could achieve.

Perhaps her proposal had gone awry… but it had given her a much needed wake up call.

She was more than a girl who loved a boy.

She was Mipha, Princess of the Zora, Champion of the Zora and of Vah Ruta, a warrior and healer that contributed to the destruction of the Calamity. She was Sidon’s hero, and it was time she lived up to it.

Mipha stepped forward, her Grace poised in her movements, bold, determined, and ready.

#a propsal gone awry #zelink #zelink fanfic #mipha #revali #miphvali #silent writes

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absinthemind3d · 4 years

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Bend and Snap

Written for @jurdannetrevels Jurdan Smut Week Day 3: Orgasm Delay/Begging/Overstimulation. My first fic in at least six years. Also posted on AO3 here. Snippet: I had been watching him at these events too, saw him trying not to look at me too frequently so his silk pants wouldn’t betray his thoughts. I had been watching, and I had been planning. Tonight, I intended to make the High King of Elfhame beg.

Content Warning: E for there is some e x p l i c i t stuff

Word count: 3583

🗡--I’ll show you how a real queen behaves--🗡

“Jude.” Cardan snaps my name like a command—and a caress. Despite my feigned boredom, a shiver runs through me.

“Cardan.” I answer back, arching an eyebrow as I toy with the knots of wood in my twisting, high-backed chair.

“My darling queen,” he leans toward me, looking for all the world like a doting husband, “You’re being rude.”

“And you—” I draw closer to him, hand flying instinctively to the dagger on my thigh. Are being a tease. I hated sitting through the hours of feasting, restrained to sitting by my husband’s side when all I really wanted was to fuck him for hours instead. Leaning back in my chair, I let loose a repressed sigh, smiling for the crowd around us and muttering instead, “—Know how good you look tonight, don’t you?”

I hated it, this wanting—it came at the most damnedly inconvenient of times. Worse still was that I had to wait to satisfy my desires—not that I would ask. Even though I knew he loved waiting for me to beg. My hands shake imperceptibly, I hope, as I bring one to his cheek and the other to my own lips. They still feel bruised from his ministrations the night prior; what I wouldn’t give to be back in that moment…

“Sweet Jude,” Cardan chuckles; noting the hand on his cheek had moved from where my knife was hidden, he gives me an infinitesimal eyebrow raise before continuing, turning his head so his lips brush my palm, “When don’t I look like a feast in my own right?” Leaning closer again, forcing myself to press my skull against the back of my chair, he whispers, “You know very well how this night will go if you refuse to play along.” He smirks, and I redden despite myself. I knew he watched me at events such as this, like a snake waiting to strike, waiting for any sign of weakness, that I might give in. That I might ask.

He hadn’t bothered to factor in that I might not need to ask.

I had been watching him at these events too, saw him trying not to look at me too frequently so his silk pants wouldn’t betray his thoughts. I had been watching, and I had been planning. Tonight, I intended to make the High King of Elfhame beg.

Fairies were, as a rule, less conservative than mortals. I had seen Cardan lose himself in such revels, drunk, lips and skin glittering with sweat and the nectar of various imbibements. Yet, as High King, he has been showing restraint. He touched me as we danced, of course, and there was the odd leg squeeze under the table, but he’d never let go with me the way he had before. Perhaps it was because he was High King now. Perhaps it was because he didn’t want to share me. Or—and this was an idea I was very curious to entertain—perhaps he didn’t want anyone to see how absolutely wild I could drive him. I was getting braver, sexually, to put it bluntly, and tonight—Oh, I would have fun tonight.

He doesn’t expect an answer, and he begins to draw back, threading his hand through mine as it drops from his cheek. I pull him back with that hand, perhaps with more force than necessary. “And you,” I whisper in response, “Have no idea how this night is going to go, whether I play along or not.”

He raises his eyebrows obviously now and shock flits, briefly, across his face. He knows I am brazen, but this is new. Unexpected. Good. I don’t want him thinking he knows everything I am capable of.

“High King,” I place each of my hands on either arm of my chair and cross my legs casually, refusing to let him know I am already burning, “Let us enjoy the night’s festivities.” He leans back when I do, and as he crosses his ankle over one knee I can imagine we make a formidable looking pair, observing those who have already given over to the drinking and dancing portion of the evening. I can spot Nicasia with her admirers, and it seems a long time ago that she saw me as a threat. I am far away from those petty power struggles; I have something much grander in mind right now, anyway.

I can feel Cardan giving me a sidelong glance, but I do not move my gaze from those dancing. I will not give him the satisfaction of learning what I have planned before I choose to reveal it. Once again, I slip a mask of boredom onto my face and reach forward to take my goblet into my left hand. As I do so, I slide my right over Cardan’s thigh. This is nothing new for us, though it is usually he who instigates such affections beneath the feast table; they are also usually quick, passing, perhaps enough to arouse for a moment. He remains very still beneath my hand, and I resist the urge to laugh. Less than thirty seconds after my initial graze across his thigh, I lean back with the goblet in my hand and allow gravity to pull my hand squarely into his lap. I am silently grateful our chairs are close enough for me to accomplish this, my first task of the evening.

A sharp intake of breath from beside me. I arrange my skirts, kicking at them with my crossed leg until most of their bulk is on my right side, shielding half of my arm from view so to any passersby it might appear my hand is resting anywhere innocently on my husband’s leg. Again, fairies need not have such actions concealed, but I am not a fairy, and the clandestine element is crucial to my plan. The mix of public and so, so private thrills me in a way I haven’t yet fully allowed myself to contemplate. “Is this not,” I trill, a bit unnaturally, glancing at the High King, “The most delightful of our recent celebrations?” As I speak, I apply the barest amount of pressure, running my thumb up his length. His cock, already hardening under my touch, reacts instantly. Soon, I have him halfway to where I want him, but I am still expecting an answer. My hand stills, waiting, and his bent knee smacks the underside of the table, rattling his own goblet and spilling some of the wine in it.

Recovering quickly, he snatches up his goblet and runs his finger idly around the rim, then looks directly at me and licks his finger in such a way that has my core threatening to betray me. I clench my thighs together harder. “It is the most… surprising one as of late, my dearest weapon.”

“Well I grow tired of only observing,” I sigh, probably too dramatically, as I resume my strokes. Then I smile brightly and stand, moving my hand to linger on his arm just as he becomes fully erect. “Shall we partake of the dancing?”

He looks at me as though I’ve struck him, then manages to splutter “Jude” before raising his glass to his lips. I gaze down at his lap and smirk at how little the thin fabric there hides. I chuckle, perhaps a little darkly, but I am deeply enjoying this new thrum of power humming in my veins. I drink deeply and set my glass down, never taking my eyes from his even as I lean forward and place the goblet. My loose hair brushes against his hand, then his arm, and as my body moves I sink my lips to his ear and whisper, “Or is there anything else you require, my king?” The knuckles of his free hand turn stark white as he grips his chair, though his face has recovered and betrays nothing.

I glance around nonchalantly, as if curious. No one is paying us particular attention; everyone knows the king and queen will soon make their way from the dais and join the throng. At this stage in the night, we meld with our subjects—Cardan maintaining more control than he did as prince, but still playing the part of spontaneous host to a tee. Tonight, I am more grateful than most that his demeanour as ruler allows folk to relax at such events. This next phase requires that fine balance. I smile at Cardan once again, and allow the thrill of my previous action to course through my body, still fresh. I turn as if to walk away from my chair, my hand once again moving to the dagger on my thigh. With my back to him, through my dress I flick open the final buckle holding the weapon in place and it clangs to my feet. I kick it behind me, under the table, and turn on my heel.

“Oh!” I exclaim, simultaneously aware I am a poor actress yet not caring a whit. For a moment I am reminded of the mortal movie Vivi made us watch recently, something about a lawyer. “That’s my favourite dagger,” I mutter as I move swiftly to duck under the table. Cardan’s face is agape and he hasn’t moved a muscle. Good.

Now on my knees, I pick up the knife and sheath it—it is my favourite, and I will not lose it—before turning my attention to the task at hand. Slowly, I take Cardan’s leg, the one crossed over the other, and gently lower his boot to the floor. Idly I wonder if he has any idea what I am about to do. I chance a look up his body, taking a moment to appreciate the view before reaching his face. He’s staring right at me, and when we lock eyes his breath hitches. Realization dawns on his face as I make short work of unlacing his pants, eyes locked with his the entire time. A slow smile makes its way across his lips and he looks away from me, lifting his chin and suddenly finding what is left of the fare on the table extremely interesting. A dare, then. I knew he would take this as a challenge—to maintain control as I pleasure him. I laugh softly despite myself.

Taking his length in my hands, I raise it to my lips and barely kiss it, running my tongue over his head with deliberate slowness. His left ankle jerks beside me and I hear a soft clatter from above, as though he has idly discarded a piece of cutlery on the table. Oh, he was going to put on a good show. I lower one hand to the base of his erection, savouring both the warmth and the size of it. When I take all of him into my mouth, I can feel a similar thrum of pleasure winding through his veins that matches my own. My free hand makes its way to his hip, pressing him back into his chair as I begin a rhythm. I’m savouring this feeling of complete control; his hips are threatening to buck upward off the chair, begging me to increase the pace. But I will not. Instead, I slow as his hands fly to my hair, another desperate attempt to get what he wants. Just as I’ve restrained his hip, he has my head locked squarely in his lap, but that doesn’t mean I am forced to provide complete satisfaction.

Slowly, painfully slowly, I move my mouth up and down his cock and move both of my hands to the base of it, devoting all that is in my power to driving him wild. I let his hips thrust upward and match the increased pace, relishing the way I can feel his body react to my actions.

Deliciously, I feel pleasure pulse up his length, and I know he’s close. Much as I am enjoying this display of my newfound talents, I’m not done with him yet. I slow my hands and mouth and sit back on my heels; the silver and quartz threaded through the train of my dress now dig into my ass. If any break, it will be a small price to pay. As soon as I sit back, I hear a sharp intake of breath from above, and his hands fall from my head, pulling strands of my hair through his fingers as he moves them to his knees. His knuckles are still standing out, pale as bone. Then, “Jude,” he announces loudly, bending sideways to stare right at me under the table, “Did you find your dagger, my sweet villain?” His voice is like honey, and his finger swirls gently over a strand of my hair that still floats over his knee, but his eyes—were I someone else, in another lifetime, I would have shrank back from that stare.

But I am High Queen of Elfhame, and I have not finished my quest. Resting one hand idly on my thigh, I stare right back at his black eyes as I reply, “My mortal eyes made the task difficult, but it is right here, my king.”

“I’m surprised you found it at all,” he mutters, voice dripping venom now, “Since you seem so terrible at finishing what you start.”

“If you knew me at all, darling Cardan,” I shoot back, voice equally poisonous as I attempt to gracefully rise, dusting off my knees conspicuously, “You would know that once I am committed to a task, I see it through.”

His face is a delightful mixture of pain, desire, and shock, and I can tell he is trying very, very hard not to take me in his lap and fuck me here. If he wants me, he will have to be on his best behaviour now. I take my seat beside him, thrill and arousal still coursing through me. Weaving my hand through his own, I raise it to my lips and smile over our clasped fingers, being sure he has noted my thoroughly smeared lipstick before I swipe it off my chin with a napkin. “What,” he grinds out, stabbing an errant piece of fruit with his fork, “the fuck,” he spits, running a hand through his hair, knocking his crown further askew, “was that?”

“That,” I spear a grape with my knife and bring it to my lips, running my tongue over my teeth before I take it into my mouth, “was only the appetizer.”

I can feel his knees pressing together and his feet pushing into the floor in his attempts to not carry through with his desires, yet I school my features to appear unmoved. I suddenly become very interested in the candles lining the table, watching the wax drip down their columns…

I swallow hard; perhaps candles weren’t the most benign of objects to coolly observe. I glance sideways at my husband, and see he is trying hard to stay in his chair. I’m good at action. I’m not so skilled at this: the slow dance between pleasure and release. And, I find as I stand and begin to walk away from the table, sure he will follow, I want to finish him off. My feet threaten to once again turn and take my back under the table, but the finale to this evening relies on Cardan being as riled as possible.

I make sure to swing my hips so that the crystals throughout the fabric in my dress glitter to the movement, drawing attention to my curves. I glance around as I walk: some folk incline their heads toward me as I pass, but most are too lost to their own pleasures to acknowledge even their queen, as I’d expected. As I’d hoped. I cross the dance floor deliberately slowly, refusing to turn and look back at Cardan, though I can feel his eyes boring holes in my exposed back. I arrive at my target: a dark alcove with a single green velvet chair. It is too dark for my human eyes to know it is green, of course; I had it placed there earlier today. Another deep ripple of pleasure runs up my spine, and I lick my bottom lip, envisioning, as I had hours before, my plans for that chair.

I turn as slowly as I dare, stepping back so I am against the wall, which curves inward toward the chair. I have chosen this alcove as it offers the most privacy in the entire room, even away from immortal eyes, yet it amplifies the volume of the crowd. My delicious mix of public and private.

As I suspected, his eyes are piercing through the crowd right to me. He maintains that laser focus as he walks, also slowly, towards me. I am still against the wall when he reaches me; I glance down as he approaches, making sure he knows I am looking him over. His arousal is still evident, at least to me, and he moves to kiss me but I step quickly to the side, gesturing instead at the chair. He looks murderous, but acquiesces and sits in a flurry of black fabric. His tail catches my wrist and begins to snake its way up my arm. I move closer, knowing that is what he wants, and hitch my skirts.

As I do so, his breath hitches, and I smile fiendishly before turning my back on him. His tail drops from my arm and I move, heart hammering in my chest. Holding my skirts in one hand, I sit back onto his legs and wind my other hand up his thigh. Slowly, I find one end of the tie keeping me from his cock—which I note he has hastily strung together after my last attentions—and tug; soon, his hand is on my hip and he is eagerly helping me as I move to ride him. I gasp as he enters me; from this position, I can feel everything—including his breath, hot on my neck as he pulls my hair away from us, keeping some of it bunched in his fingers. “Jude,” he pants against my back as he runs kisses down my spine, and I move experimentally, pleased when he gasps in reply, “Jude, you have orchestrated my undoing.” I smile smugly at that and gaze at him over my shoulder, rocking a bit, splaying a hand on his knee as I do so.

Through it all, the music plays, the folk dance, and the divine mixture of pleasure and power now pulse at their highest in my veins. There is something in me that loves chaos, that thrives on the inexplicable high I am experiencing from this most private of pleasures and this most public of venues. I feel as though I have never felt power such as this, never had such control during such sensation.

Yet still, I do not move as much as I could. I am still waiting.

“And how,” I purr, still watching him over my shoulder, “would you like to be undone, Cardan?”

At his name, I rock faster, and the hand on my hip threatens to rip my gown. I know I am driving him crazy, but I need him to show me just how crazy he can be. I arch my back and begin moving my hips in circles, mimicking my earlier work with my tongue. I know I have him in a position where he can’t control the pace, and I know, after what I have put him through, that this will madden him. I am waiting until he cannot take it any longer, but as I move, I get caught up in my own pleasure.

The heat spreading through my core and down my legs is threatening to be my undoing, and I begin to increase my pace as I find myself teetering on the edge of release. I am lost in what I can feel: Cardan’s hand in my hair, Cardan’s hand on my hip, Cardan’s lips against my neck, Cardan’s length sweetly, deliciously filling me so much so that I can’t think or feel anything that is not this moment.

I am so lost in this that the moment I was waiting for, the moment Cardan begs—”Jude, please, Jude, fuck, Jude”—falls away like all the rest and becomes a background chorus to the main verse as we both gasp our release, as the torrent of pleasure spills over for us both and we both whisper each other’s names as we come.

My eyes slowly flutter open and I lean back into my husband, sounds of the revel around us returning to my ears. No one has noticed their monarchs in this corner, slipping out of reality and into each other, at least as far as I can tell. “Learning new tricks, have we been?” Cardan whispers into my ear, nipping the lobe for emphasis.

“All the time,” I toss my hair over one shoulder and press my lips to his cheek.

“You can lose your knife under the table anytime,” he murmurs, voice gravelly. Gently, he lifts me enough so he can string his pants back together. I settle myself onto the edge of his lap. “And Jude,” he catches my wrist with his hand this time as I move to stand, his eyes glittering with conspiratorial delight, “Let’s make this chair a permanent fixture here, shall we?”

#jurdannet #jurdannet revels #jurdan smut week 2020 #smut #jurdan smut #jurdan smut week day 3 #tfota #jude duarte #jurdan #cardan greenbriar #fateandluminary #I was too lazy to insert italics and my laptop is threatening to crash again #insert elmo hell emoji here

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anthrofreshtodeath · 3 years

Text

Untitled

Inspiration struck last night 👀 - putting this here so you can let me know if it's worth continuing/if you would want to read more of it. Super AU!

Jane cut the engine of her Ford Ranger just outside the tiny strip mall off of Sixth Street. It had been a splurge just after she got brought on as the head baseball coach of Empire High School, a treat for herself for finally getting a big-person job and generating some regular income. Her mother had convinced her to do it, actually, because Jane had been on the fence for months, waffling so many times that Angela piled her in the family Buick and dropped her off at the dealership. Find your own way home, Angela had said, and it better be in that brand new truck.

Now, Jane was thankful for the push, because southern California summers in her old Civic with the busted A/C were no fucking joke. They were still no joke now, but at least she could blast cold air on her face when needed. Like now: even at six thirty in the morning, temperatures climbed above eighty in early August, and she settled into the discomfort of an already damp back. At least her front still looked fresh. She glanced in the rearview mirror one last time before she got out, taking off her adjustable black cap with her school’s insignia and smoothing the tied-back black hair on top of her head. Presentable and believable: a baseball coach with a ponytail and a Nike dri-fit short sleeve windbreaker over her t-shirt.

She hopped out, satisfied enough to not be looking like a hooligan, and when she planted her turf shoes, she could tell the asphalt was already on fire. The boys were gonna be whiny as hell this afternoon. That made her grin just a little bit. She ambled up to the donut shop-slash-panaderia on the corner, straightening her posture when the door jingled and signalled her entry.

The short, middle-aged woman with her graying hair in a bun and an apron around her waist brightened when Jane approached the counter. “Buenos días, Coach Rizzoli,” she greeted with a smile and voice so cheery, she’d obviously been up for hours already. Probably baking as Jane finished weight-lifting in her backyard before the sun came up.

Jane smiled softly in return. “Buenos días, señora Gutierrez,” Jane said, deferential even though at nearly 5’11”, she must have been almost a foot taller than Mrs. Gutierrez. “Como está?” Short Spanish phrases sounded pretty darn good in her mouth, she had to admit, for all the Sicilian she heard growing up, and for being a product of Santa Ana. Spanish was more common than English in a lot of her friends’ homes growing up, so she caught on quick. At least enough to carry on a polite conversation, if needed.

“Bien, gracias. Tengo sus conchas aquí,” Mrs. Gutierrez asked as disappeared behind the counter to find what she was looking for, Jane’s order, reappearing with six pink donut boxes.

Jane opened her nostrils wide to take in the smell of flour, sugar, and a hint of cinnamon for the white conchas, her favorite. It was enough to feed a small army, which felt just about right for the staff meeting she had been tasked with supplying breakfast for. The first of the new school year. “Qué bueno,” she replied, not sure if she was referring to Mrs. Gutierrez’s overall well-being or the pan in the boxes. She pulled out her cash to pay, slipping her wallet in her back pocket, and in the seconds that it took her to do that, a single, piping-hot styrofoam cup of coffee appeared on the counter in front of her.

“Y un cafecito come le gusta,” said Mrs. Gutierrez with a wink and a smile. Occasionally, she did this, and it was her way of taking care of Jane, one of their family’s best customers.

Jane had learned not to refuse it. She just blushed and bowed her head a little bit, her lips pursed in a bashful smile. “Muchisimas gracias,” she said, taking a sip. Mrs. Gutierrez always left the cinnamon stick in it and added minimal creamer, just how Jane liked. Jane held back a moan. She decided she’d partake of the rest in the car, and then pocketed her change. She picked the boxes up by the string tied to them and huffed, ready to begin the day. “Y el Jonny?” she asked, and Mrs. Gutierrez nodded her head towards the back of the bakery.

Jane nodded and made her way toward the door so she could pop around. “Qué tenga un buen día, Coach,” Mrs. Gutierrez called after her.

“Igualmente!” Jane replied, already on her way. She deposited her haul on her front passenger seat, keeping her coffee in hand, and then walked over to the alley between the Gutierrez bakery and the block wall separating it from the Cardenas market just across the way. She put her hat back on, threading her ponytail through its opening, and adjusted her Oakley sunglasses as she stood by the dumpster that Jonathan Gutierrez currently filled with broken-down cardboard boxes.

He heard her shoes scuffling his way, so he turned. “Coach Rizzoli! It’s early as hell,” he said, “what’re you doing here?” He sweated through the ribbed tank on his torso and the black basketball shorts on his hips. Jane commiserated, having helped her dad out on many a plumbing job in the summer when she was in high school.

“Well, first day for teachers is today,” she said, sipping her drink. “And I had to get some of your mom’s pan for the meeting. They’d expect nothing less. I’m here lookin’ at you because she exhausted all my Spanish skills, and I needed to remind you that practice starts at one today.”

Jonny, as tall as her, lanky too, smirked. “I’m sure you could’ve found a way to say that to her,” he teased, knowing that she couldn’t have, not well.

“You’re a riot. One o’clock, and not a minute later, a’right? I will not hesitate to bench our centerfielder for opening day if he’s late,” she warned. Then she started to turn.

“That’s like seven months from now!” Jonny whined, setting his box cutter down and running a hand through his thick black hair. “I got work today! Last day before school starts next week!”

Jane rolled her eyes. “The perfect hair thing may work on the girls at school, kid, but it won’t work on me. Find a way to make it happen - if you get into Fullerton, it won’t be because I sent you, but because you did it on your own. Part of that means showing up to practice on time. Even in August.”

Jonny sighed. His mom would understand, but his wallet would be crying. “I’m tryna save up for a pickup like yours, though, Coach,” he tried, batting his eyes for extra sympathy.

Jane laughed, and then he did. “Listen. You show up for practice on time every day this year, and you and me’ll have a talk about replacing today’s wages for that new Ranger, a’right?”

“Ok,” Jonny said quietly. He knew that Jane knew they didn’t have much money. And he knew that she knew most everything about him - she meant what she said. She’d taken him under her wing when she’d noticed his boundless talent and his faltering attendance. When she found out it was to make enough money to keep him and his brother on the team, she’d covered the cost in full. That was two years ago, and now that Jonny was an incoming senior, they’d righted the ship together. There was only a little more to go until he applied to the school of his dreams, the one with the killer baseball program and just miles from home.

It didn’t hurt that Jane was the first woman to play ball there as a range-y second baseman, was eventually drafted from Fullerton. He wanted to follow in her footsteps as best he could. “Good. See you then, kid,” she said. He knew that she knew the best way for him to do that was to grind. To eat, sleep, drink, and shit baseball.

“Hey Coach!” He called after her as she made her way back into the alley.

She turned around. “What’s up?”

“I wanna focus on my forearms this year. Should I go the Altuve way?” he asked, smiling.

The Jose Altuve way: banging sledgehammers into tractor trailer tires. Jane guffawed. “I’m not saying do it, but I mean hey, guy’s 5’5” and hitting thirty dingers a year in The Show, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jonny said. “I’ll take it under advisement. Thanks,” and with that, he waved Jane off. She spent the rest of the ride to school thinking about how to safely incorporate forearm work into the team’s regimen in a way that didn’t involve sledgehammers.

The bread had made her truck smell like heaven, and it was the perfect olfactory accompaniment through the working class neighborhoods of Coronita Heights - the part that she felt more comfortable in. She’d grown up down the 91 in Santa Ana, one of Orange County’s most vibrant cities, and her street looked a lot more like these than the ones that Empire High School sat on.

But Empire was one of the top 15 baseball programs in the state, and she had jumped at the opportunity to coach when she’d been approached about it. She packed the few boxes from her parents’ house, used the rest of her signing bonus to put a nice down payment on a house in Coronita Heights, and hadn’t looked back. It had been good for her - she kept in shape, used that teaching credential she’d worked on at Fullerton to teach PE, and led the Knights to a CIF championship in the five years she had been there. She hunted another.

Soon, the burger joints, smoke shops, and insurance spots gave way to expensive houses and palm trees, and she saw the massive campus come into view. She hopped out of the truck once she parked near the office toward the front, downing her coffee and tossing it in the trash. She tugged her belt, looped through her white baseball pants, making sure the fit was good, and then she took the breakfast out.

Another school year was about to begin, and she was determined to make it a victorious one.

___

Maura smoothed her dress in the full-length mirror of her bedroom for what must have been the hundredth time. It was tasteful: sleeveless, dark blue, with a thin black patent-leather belt around its waist. She paired it with black heels, and she looked good. She knew, intellectually, that she did, but this happened every time she started something new: the nerves kicked in and she doubted herself. She curled her impeccably styled hair behind her right ear out of habit, and then made her way downstairs for breakfast.

Her palatial home in Anaheim Hills sat overlooking the city below, still sleepy at six-thirty in the morning. She was anything but, having already completed her run and entire grooming routine. She perused the options within her double door refrigerator, still quite imposing even under the expansive wooden beams on the ceiling that ran from wall to wall. She thought about eggs, protein always a good start to the day, but then remembered the expected temperature and decided a cold breakfast of yogurt and berries would be best.

Again, it was too hot for warm coffee, but the massive cold brew dispenser she had readied just a few days prior called her name and she filled a tumbler with it and her favorite almond milk creamer. She’d have one cup with breakfast and a refill for the road, as she always did from May to October. She reveled in routine; it was what helped her not to shake as she brought a spoonful of honey, dairy, and strawberry up to her lips.

Today, despite her several years of doctoring, would be her first job with the living since residency. In fact, it would be her first non-clinical job, well, ever. Even when she had volunteered for research, it had been in pathology labs, or oncology centers, or Alzheimer’s wards. Now, she would head the pilot program for a pre-med track at Empire High School. Well, pre-pre-med, she corrected herself. The point of the program was to prepare students from non-private and non-charter school backgrounds for the rigor of medical school. And, as a graduate of the Geffen School of Medicine at UCLA, as well as Boston Cambridge University for undergraduate work, Coronita Heights Unified thought her very qualified to head its inception.

Maura was humble, so she did not consider that they also factored in her copious research articles within the field of pathology, nor her several awards from the Medical Board of California. But they did, and so today she started her teaching/counseling position that included Advanced Placement Anatomy and Physiology, as well as Advanced Placement Biology and an elective of honors molecular pathology to boot. She had negotiated that last one to retain a taste of her passion outside of teaching.

Satisfied both with her breakfast and her mulling, Maura rose from her stool at the kitchen island, its white marble counter still gleaming from its recent clean this weekend, and made her way to the sink. She rinsed her bowl, placed it in the dishwasher on the top rack with the others, and then washed her hands for twenty seconds. Soap on, palm scrub, back-of-the-hand scrub, webspace scrub, for as long as it took to hum happy birthday to herself, twice.

She reveled in routine.

She unscrewed the lid of her tumbler and placed it under the dispenser in the refrigerator again, watching dark coffee wash over ice cubes with pleasure. The properties of matter, their predictability and regularity, calmed Maura. She could predict where each rivulet would go with accuracy, and then watch the change of color with no surprise when she poured in her creamer. She could control how light or dark it became, and thus control its flavor. She savored that one last ounce of control before she screwed her lid back on and walked over to where her purse and rolling cart awaited her at the front door.

She took one last look behind her, at the open concept living room so large it needed a sectional couch that no one used because people hardly ever dropped by, at the kitchen with state-of-the-art, industrial appliances that often cooked meals for one. It was her home, even if all of that were true, and the way that the southern California sun poured in through her floor-to-ceiling windows thrilled her. It thrilled her the way it had the first time she set foot in LA, for her first day of classes. She let that embolden her as she locked the door and stepped into her S-Class.

Navigation popped up as soon the engine roared to life, already pre-programmed with the route to Empire High School. She saw the calculation of a twenty minute drive, rearranged a few numbers in her head as she thought about the day of the week, the time of the morning, and the unpredictability of the 91, and decided twenty minutes was probably just about right. She’d given herself a cushion for twenty-five, and with a glance to the men’s style cartier on her wrist, she smiled and pulled out of the garage towards the main drag that would lead her to the freeway.

She jumped out of nerves and surprise when the system notified her of a call coming in. She smirked when she saw the caller ID: Dr. Nina Holiday, Hoag Hospital. Maura pressed the call accept button. “Need a consult already, Doctor?” she teased, her own voice always just a bit foreign in the morning after not having heard it for hours.

Doctor Holiday scoffed on the line. “You wish,” she replied, and then there were beats of silence. “I just wanted to call to wish you good luck on your first day. And to see if you’d reconsider.”

“If this is Hoag’s way of trying to lure me back, by making their premier neurologist do all the dirty work, I think I’m going to have to pass,” Maura said, and Nina laughed.

“No, this is just a friend saying you’re gonna be missed is all,” said Nina. “But I respect what you’re doing.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it,” Maura demured. “Pathology is in... very capable hands with Doctor Pike,” she said, and then immediately the two women guffawed.

“You couldn’t even get it out before you started laughing!” Nina asserted, “see? We’re up a creek with no paddle!”

“Whom the department decided to hire in my stead is not my business,” Maura replied professionally, “especially if they do not take my recommendations into account,” and then with more spice.

“You right, you right. And I know I said it before, but I respect you for this. I think my road to medicine might have been a lot easier if I had someone like you at my high school to guide me through,” Nina said seriously. “Just answer me something: you didn’t leave because of Ian, did you?”

Maura stiffened. She hadn’t wanted to think about that on her first day, but here Nina was, dredging it up. Maura wrung her hands on her steering wheel. “No. Not really,” she answered, and that was the truth. The timing of it all had just been awful.

“Ok. I just… with him being gone, I didn’t know if that would be better, or if you’d be haunted by ghosts, you know? If you stayed.”

“I think I needed a fresh start either way, Nina. I really do,” Maura said.

Nina took the hint that they were done talking about it. Her voice turned chipper again. “I’ve got a call at seven, so I have to go, but I’ll talk to you soon, ok? You can tell me all about your first week. Maybe over bottomless mimosas.”

Maura sighed with relief. She would need that. “Sounds great. Nina?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for calling. I’m… I’m going to miss you, too,” Maura confessed.

“Aw, Doctor Isles, don’t get all mushy on me,” gushed Nina. “Bye. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Bye,” Maura said after the line had gone dead.

Nina’s call had lasted most of the ride. Maura was grateful. Nina had been one of the few people to get to know her at Hoag. The hospital itself had a very competent staff. Excellent, really. And Maura was one of the best, so this led to a never-spoken, always-felt air of competition. It didn’t really lend itself to friendship. But Nina had consulted with Maura so often, that a comfortable working relationship eventually morphed into a casual friendship. That turned into drinks on the rare weeknights they had off and brunch on Sundays at some of the best spots in Orange County.

They promised to continue, and they would of course, but for the first time in their friendship, they didn’t work a floor away from each other, and Maura resolved that while she would do everything to keep it alive, she had to acknowledge the change. Fittingly, as soon as she did so, she drove into the staff parking lot at Empire High. Her new beginning.

Her welcome e-mail mentioned a staff meeting today, Friday, in the lecture hall at the front of the school, refreshments provided. So, she pulled next to the gunmetal gray Ford Ranger to her right, and gathered her things. Her cart could wait until they were dismissed to ready their classrooms, so she deposited her fob into her purse and sipped on her coffee for fortitude as she followed the sidewalk pathway past the front office to the lecture hall. She had mapped out the route when she had found out about the meeting, deciding that touring campus on her own before she began would reduce her anxieties, as well as the possibility of unknown factors. It was also why she had arrived right on time: early meant possible one-on-one conversations with strangers, and late meant all eyes on her as she hustled in.

She pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head when she reached the glass double doors of the hall, and breathed in one last time. It was a big, 360 degree breath: it engaged her pelvic floor and spread her ribs equally. It lowered her pulse and calmed her nerves, and then she was ready.

When she entered, she heard chatter. Lots of it. When she turned the corner and yanked open the wooden door of the room itself, she was shocked to see what looked like most of the staff already deep in conversation in their seats. Some stood, others stretched their legs over a couple of seats at once, some laughed and some nodded seriously. For a moment, Maura panicked, then checked her watch again. She felt her heartbeat fall a little bit when she looked up to the front and realized that no-one had started the meeting. In fact, there was a small line at the sign-in sheet, so she decided that rather than have a breakdown in the walkway, she should join the line.

She mustered as much courage as she could and stood behind the last woman, who smiled at her politely. Maura smiled back and thanked whatever powers that be that the woman didn’t try to engage. The line moved quickly, and staff members grabbed what looked like sweet bread just off to the side of the table as they signed in. She forewent the sugar and decided just to take the requisite printouts instead. By then, things started to feel a little more like a normal job orientation, so she turned on her heels to make her way back to the crowd.

The confident turn ended up being another mistake, however, because as she started to walk, she saw no openings. It was like the middle of a very bad dream, in which she needed so desperately to blend in, but all she could do was stand out. She felt eyes on her as she passed tables full of other adults, she heard conversations quiet and alter when she walked by.

However, just as she was about to give up and stand all the way in the back, someone called out. “Hey,” the voice was firm, raspy, and kind. She turned instantly and it kept talking. “You need a spot? I was savin’ this one for my brother, but, big shocker, he’s late.” Seated at a table in the middle of the hall with an all-white backpack on the empty chair next to her, two aluminum bat handles sticking out on either side of it, was… “Oh, and I’m Jane. Rizzoli. By the way.”

Jane Rizzoli. Maura thought the name fitting. Jane was so tall and so dark-featured and so handsome that she needed an Italian surname. And by god, she had one. One with a trilled-r and a plural i and everything: it was perfect for her in the way that all its sounds signified abundance. Maura’s mind rambled and she caught it; she wasn’t even sure how the phonotactic rules of Italian applied to Jane’s physicality, but they did, and Maura sat next to her without hesitation. She chanced one glance to the length of Jane’s torso as she curled to put her elbows on the table, and then she met Jane’s dark brown eyes.

It was then that she realized that Jane probably awaited some kind of response. “Maura Isles,” said Maura, holding her hand out. Jane shook it and Maura was not at all surprised by the firmness of the shake.

“Hey Maura. I’m uh, I’m the head baseball coach here. I also teach PE,” Jane explained. Then she looked down at herself, her uniform and the bats in the backpack now on the floor. “But you probably guessed that.”

Maura smirked, and laughed softly. “I don’t like to guess. It puts people in awkward positions. But I would say there’s lots of evidence to that fact, yes.”

Jane laughed openly and then took her hat off. “Well, I’m gonna go out on a limb and guess you’re the hotshot doctor that they hired for our new pre-med pipeline.”

Maura raised a perfectly-sculpted eyebrow. “And why would you assume that?”

“You talk like a doctor. And you dress better than everyone else in this room. Real doctor-y,” Jane wagged her own eyebrows up and down.

Maura watched Jane’s crooked grin, rapt. “One…” she began slowly, “doctor-y is not a word. Two, what if I were independently wealthy and taught, oh say, English?”

Jane shrugged. “Words are made up. And are you? Independently wealthy?”

Maura’s mouth twitched in humor. “Yes,” she answered. Jane threw her head back in defeat. “But, I am also the doctor piloting the pre-med program here.”

Just like that, the slender column of Jane’s neck brought her head forward again. “Thought so!” she said. Just as she did, The man who Maura knew from his photo online as the school principal walked in. People started to hush as he made his way to the front podium. Even she turned her attention, until there was the distinct warmth of whispering by her ear that dismantled all other thoughts. Jane was speaking. “Well, Dr. Isles,” she responded, “welcome to Empire High, then.”

#rizzoli and isles #rizzles #lauren writes rizzoli and isles fan fiction #the high school teachers baseball California AU no one asked for lmao #not sure if it's too niche or if there'll be interest for it #but it feels like if I do continue it it should be long?#idk we'll see

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welllpthisishappening · 3 years

Note

Newbie here for all the hockey and Captain Swan nonsense (and pretty much everything else on your blog!) Can I request either "bloody kiss" or "a hoarse whisper “kiss me”"? Also, I definitely am interested in what Big Bang you just completed!

Hi, hello, welcome to this nonsense! You can absolutely request both of those things and I can semi fill those prompts with far more words than I was planning on writing. Eventually, maybe these prompts won’t all be canon, but that’s apparently the vibe we’re riding right now. Everyone else is welcome to partake in the aforementioned nonsense of this blog and the kiss prompts extravaganza so I don’t keep shouting about the book I finished this morning. It was real dumb. Like, super dumb. Anyway, here’s some making out.

“You know I could hear you?”

He doesn’t hear. Her. Emma. Almost hears. Words filter through a haze that appears to finally be catching up with Killian, eyelids fluttering and pulse steadying and he imagines a lot of that has to do with the placement of her fingers. Trailing across his forehead and just above one of his eyebrows, studying him with a sort of intensity that he knows only she has.

Fiancée. She’s his fiancée, again.

Even the thought makes his heart feel as if it’s going to beat its way out of his chest. Explode, possibly. That would be rather violent though. Could ruin the moment, as it were.

“When was that, exactly?”

He mumbles. Barely moves his lips. Can only manage to crack open one of his eyes and it’s not the one with the eyebrow Emma appears so intent on memorizing. Not that he’s especially opposed to the memorization. Of his eyebrow or any other part of him, not after another involuntary and far too long separation and he hopes Blackbeard drowns.

Somewhere off the coast of Neverland.

None of those mermaids are particularly merciful. In Killian’s experience, at least.

“Couple days ago,” Emma says, “the chest started talking.”

He opens the other eye. “Be more specific.”

“You’ve got an exceptionally dirty mind.”

“Chose your words more carefully then,” he challenges, but there’s no real heat behind his words. Not that way, at least. “Do you think we’re winning now?”

“In the non-existent True Love race?”

Smiling as widely and as suddenly as Killian does threatens the structural integrity of his cheeks. Both of them. Muscles strain from lack of use and recent frown-like tendencies, and furrowing his brow even a little bit sends a flash of pain through all of him. Gods, but he’s tired. And strangely comfortable. Stretched across sheets that apparently boast a rather high thread count, though he’s still a little shaky as to what, exactly that is, and even less sure it really matters, not when her fingers are so soft and his heart continues to do that erratic beating thing and—“Last I heard your mind-reading powers were a little suspect, witch.”

“I don’t think we’ve reached the insult portion of the evening.”

He chuckles. Keeps smiling. Doesn’t even consider pulling her fingers down. Despite the growing need to kiss directly beneath her ring for as long as she’ll allow. “Let me know when we get there, aye? And yes, I do believe we are. Winning, that is. Underworld challenges, magical doors fueled by magical flowers. Am I missing anything?’

“Sucks we didn’t get a rainbow kiss.”

“Perhaps that’s waiting in the wings. Of romance and whatnot.”

Listening to her laugh is his favorite thing in the world. Bar none. The way it flutters out of her occasionally, like she’s still a little surprised that it happens and Killian used to worry about that. Not anymore; not now, certainly. Now, he wants to keep surprising Emma. Wants to be surprised. To never grow entirely complacent or completely content. Although, he’s awfully close to content now. If he’s being honest.

Piracy often frowns upon complete honesty.

“Maybe,” Emma concedes, “and you’re not letting me tell my story.” “You’ve got very distracting fingers, that’s why.”

She rolls her eyes. Keeps tracing and it’s wonderful and comforting and—

Killian hisses. Grits his teeth before he can completely school his features, which makes Emma’s expression twist almost immediately and he’s not interested in that. Unless the twist is coming from the precise way her hips tend to buck when she’s beneath him. As it is, her eyes widen and his breath catches and she pulls her fingers away. From the gash he’d almost forgotten was on his forehead.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” she chants, but he’s already moving, and using the hook he’d removed hours ago to tear off a corner of the shirt he also should have taken off is not quite as simple as he’d like. Takes a moment for him to get any worthwhile fabric off, dragging it immediately across Emma’s blood-stained fingertips.

“Stop that. Apologizing does not become you, Your Highness.”

“That’s stupid.”

“You’ve got nothing to apologize for.”

Her eyes widen. More. To an almost comical size, catching Killian off guard because he means those words as well. The syllables, too. Down to each letter and each sound that rolls off his tongue and he’d like to use his tongue for a variety of other things, but this feels important and a line they can’t come back from, and Emma’s magic surges. Jumps over him in a way that feels as much like a blanket as a semi-aggressive wave and he supposes there’s something in that contradiction. To the way he feels and the way they are and a True Love competition that absolutely does not exist.

He knows he’s not bleeding anymore. Neither one of them move the fabric from her fingers.

“I’m sorry,” Emma repeats on a whisper, shaking her head before Killian can so much as open his mouth to object, “for not thinking and not trusting and I—well, maybe the shell phone was another True Love sign. That puts us at three, at least. Definitely winning.”

Heart explosion does not hurt nearly as much as Killian expects. And his heart’s been yanked and squeezed and used against him, more often than he thinks is average. Even in this realm. So he’s got plenty to compare it to. Only now—well, he doesn’t think his heart is actually bursting and he cares less about the realm than the people in. About the flash of golden hair he noticed well before his eyes met hers and he knows he’ll think about the way she stumbled over her own feet in a magical doorway every single night for the rest of his already far-too-long life.

He only cares about her. That’s the point, he supposes.

“I love you too,” Emma says, answering a message from several days earlier. “How did you hit your head, by the way?”

“Blackbeard is a noted bastard.”

“God, fuck that guy.”

Scoffing is not laughing, but weariness is creeping back beneath his skin and Emma’s lips quirk up all the same. He’s staring, that’s how he notices. Unabashedly, so. And it’s entirely possible she’s blushing. “That’s the spirit, aye. You really could hear me?”

“Yeah. It’s, uh—there was tear magic involved, apparently, so I guess you couldn’t hear me?” She doesn’t mean for it to come out as a question. Killian knows. Shakes his head anyway. “Right, right, yeah, I figured, and I...well, I knew you wouldn’t leave, too. Even when I wanted you to have left.”

“You wanted me to have left?”

“That sounds shit, that’s not—” Emma’s nose bumps his. There’s not much room between them. So, he kisses her fingers. Makes sense. Plus, he doesn’t have much space to do anything else. “That’s not what I mean, not really. If you left, then it was just...another failure, you know. Would have made it easier to shove into the corner, try not to think about it because I could say I always knew it would happen, or I expected it. But that’s as shit as advertised and I know you’d never do that and I don’t want you to do that, don’t want you to leave, not again or ever and—”

“I think you should kiss me,” Killian interrupts. Gruffer than he’d like, and he’s not capable of magic anymore. Can’t rip hearts out of chests or threaten them with anything more than this realm’s poor food options, but he’s fairly certain the golden-haired woman lying impossibly close to him on these ridiculously soft sheets is all too aware that she already holds his heart in both her hands. And he can’t think of anywhere else he’d rather it be.

She moves. All arms and feet, fingers in his hair and mouth slamming into him, catching his gasp and his groan in equal measure while he tosses the goddamn hook on the floor. It falls with a clatter that draws laughter out of both of them and makes it easier to pull Emma against his chest, Killian already shifting onto his back while his tongue manages to accomplish at least a few of the things it would like to.

Nails scratch and hips do, in fact, buck. Desperately searching for a rhythm and tearing a bit more at clothes he’s willing to burn eventually. There’s no rainbow. No swelling or invisible orchestra, save for the roar between Killian’s ears, but he can’t bring himself to worry and finds it ridiculous to care.

He knows. Emma knows. The goddamn magical door knew. And his message got back, even if it wasn’t perfect. To her, just like he did.

For as long as they both should live.

#cs ff #kissing prompts #really the plan was not for these all to be canon #or for them to get longer #but let's not act like that's surprising #also very nice anon: my big bang is bellarke!#it's a beauty and the beast AU #it is also ridiculously long #that's not surprsiing either #really #because of who i am...like as a person #anonymous #laura rambles

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avehi-the-adamant · 3 years

Text

Are We Dead Yet? Pt. I - Piercing the Veil

[[ Co-written with @sylaess & @kidcatgemini ]]

~*~

The summons came for all of them.

Every single Knight of Acherus could hear that call, knew that call. It wasn’t one you fucked around with.

They stood in ranks, watching the portal open. Waiting. Somehow, they were going to help. The icy winds atop Icecrown snatched at cloaks and fur-trimmed armor alike. Stole the wispy breath of the living and tossed it to the glacier beyond. A very solemn time.

A very anxious time.

They filed through. Rank by rank.

It took forever, in Sylaess’s humble opinion. All for a bloody portal. To the deadlands. Shadowlands. Syl hated portals. They always fucked her up. She cut a glance to see if she could spot Avehi one more time. Had tried to get into formation with her, but who knew if they were still near each other? There had been so much shuffling about.

The rank before her moved up. Started popping through, one by one. So the rumors were true, then. Bolvar had had his ass handed to him by Sylvannas. And then she messed everything up. Again. Sylaess was careful to keep herself still, steady, and cool. At least outwardly. It was tiresome. But she did an excellent job of that mask.

Sigh.

Syl stepped forward unthinkingly. Just muscle memory in the line, headed into the portal. The less she thought of the insanity she was about to partake in, the easier it got.

That was a bold-faced lie, but she was grasping every thin thread to keep herself from launching off the side of Icecrown instead of into the afterlife. Both options sucked, to be fair.

Took a breath, hands on her swords hilts like they were a lifeline. Stepped through the blue-black mass of magic that would lead her to the exact place she’d been avoiding all these damned years. Literally.

Tried not to scream.

The Maw was unchanged from when Avehi was here last-- but it was still an entirely new experience. Before, merely a fragment of her consciousness could wander freely through the desolate wastes beyond the veil. Now, she was here wholly, fully… with no guarantee of any way out again. Her body never felt more cumbersome, reminiscent of when she was first risen. That bitter, ashen taste. The way the air felt so thin and yet stifling at the same time. The amber skyline was piercing, a burning contrast to the somber grey dust beneath her hooves. Immediately, the wailings of the damned assaulted her ears, in a symphony of suffering. This was no place for a mortal.

Thankfully, she wasn’t one.

Foolishly, however, she’d brought two along with her. She looked back to her companions; imposters, both adorned in Ebon Blade recruit armor. Argonas’ barely fit over his muscular physique. An oversight on her part-- she should’ve procured a Tauren-sized set for him, just in case. Raetos’, however, fit just fine. Though his brighter skin tone betrayed his Light-suffused body beneath the dark Ebon plating. Both of them would’ve been easy enough to pick out… if anyone were looking hard enough. Too focused on Bolvar, Avehi presumed. She wasn’t sure about the Highlord. Helm or no helm, it was hard for her to reconcile how she felt about the presence that had set up shop in the back of her mind since the fall of Arthas Menethil. Familiarity, yes. But overwhelming distrust trumped it. Like an estranged brother.

She put it from her mind, for now, attention back on Argonas and Raetos.

“Muster your senses.” she instructed. “We must move-- quickly!”

Argonas did just that; he was much more prepared for the terror this place instilled in the depths of the soul than Raetos was. Having died somewhat recently, he was already accustomed to this place, and the heavy draw that permeated the air. He expected it. Prepared for it. Shrugged it off, and moved to follow Avehi into the wastes. Somewhere here, they’d find Sinafay. And he’d make good on his promise to free her from this terrible place! That alone was all the drive he needed to suffer through.

Raetos wasn’t as fortunate. Despite all the time he’d spent on the Fel-suffused planet of Argus, it did nothing to protect him from the wave of absolute dread and hopelessness that permeated his senses.

“--Light,” he muttered under his breath, kneeling down and throwing his helmet off to bring his hands to his head.

Thankfully, his Lightforged body offered him some protection. He couldn’t imagine how much more horrible this place would be without it’s soothing properties. It took him a moment, as he waited for his senses to acclimate. When he looked up, Avehi and the others were already far ahead. He removed some of the extra pieces of plate armor Avehi had told him to wear. The atmosphere was already too heavy, and the weight of the gear was unbearable. At this point, it didn’t matter if the Ebon Blade realized they’d brought a mortal through.

Not like they could force him to go back...

Gritting his teeth, he got back on his hooves and followed after his companions. He was one step closer to finding Fable.

Sylaess’ skin felt prickly. Like someone had chopped the sides of her neck with the blade of their hand and jolted all her nerves at once. A cold sweat made her armor lining cling uncomfortably.

She wanted to vomit.

Two steps onto the other side, and she held it all back. Held her breath, too. Did a half-turn to check for an ambush and--

Came loose from herself. Drifted away from her own body.

Ah, shit. The thought was haphazard at best. A remote acceptance. The world went away.

Sylaess stiffened up like she’d been struck on the head and went over like an ominous pillar of saronite. No hand came out to break that fall. Crashed to the ground unceremoniously with a dull thud. Absolutely unresponsive for a solid moment, other than a faint tremor in her hands. Unnatural.

“I waited, nonetheless.”

He took another bite, and chewed that one too for a while. Thoughtfully. The only times Argonas was really so quiet was when he was eating or sleeping. His mouth stopped running long enough for his thoughts to get a turn. Most of his thoughts were on Sylaess, and his gaze followed them. He swallowed.

“Was it worth it?” he asked, motioning roughly over his own face where Sylaess’ exacerbated scarring was. “It looks as if you took a few hits. Did you learn anything of the truths you are seeking?”

She blinked at her hands, considering the question for a hanging moment. “...I don’t know if I feel qualified to name worth about this, but I learned enough that I...” Want to take a scalding damn bath, my friend, badly. “...want to leave. I have enough control, I feel.” No, you don’t.--

The taste of rust and dirt in her mouth. Black, watery rushing in her ears. A flicker of lights. Pushed away from the fragmented memory. Didn’t recognize much of it, anyway. Didn’t make too much sense.

And awake again.

She gave a hell of a start. Limbs felt loose, uncoordinated. Standing up felt a little clumsy. Shit, how many times was that? Sylaess tensed, willing herself to look like iron again. Hoped beyond whatever frail hope she had that most of her companions looked past that little... episode. Destarion had made sound mention of her new ailment. She had an idea of what happened, but never a full understanding. Her skull felt like it throbbed, and yet was airy all at once. It was incredibly hard to refocus.

The fragment of memory, or fictitious image was fleeing her mind already. Little snippets. Some were true, but she couldn’t tell what was real. It was harrowing to try and winnow it all out.

Truthfully, she felt like her bones were made of windchimes. Hollow.

Avehi eyed the elf, a mixture of worry and annoyance upon her countenance. The poor thing shook and wobbled like a newborn talbuk finding its legs in this treacherous place. The Draenei couldn’t fault her too terribly for it, though-- everything about this place was an affront to the senses. She was, in truth, surprised Argonas seemed to take it in such stride. But then… he’d been here before, rather recently. She examined the trio, and grunted. This was it. This was the team. With no plan to get back out, and no telling what to expect inside… they proceeded.

“Stay close.” came her only instruction; her only warning.

The Vindicators trudged forward, driven by their respective purposes. Avehi had finally made it to the other side, and took strides now in correcting this problem that had haunted her for so long. Argonas’ purpose was far more specific. Yet both moved, in a show of their shared training, keeping a close-yet-loose and wary formation. Hammers drawn and ready for the horrors the Maw would surely throw their way.

Raetos stayed further behind, both to watch their backs, and also to keep an eye on Sylaess. She was the only one in the group he didn’t know at all. She was such a tall and skinny thing, so lanky and sickly looking. And from the looks of it, she’d taken the entrance into the Maw harder than he had. He wondered how long she'd been dead, but then Avehi had made it clear that it wasn’t a question to ask a Death Knight. A sensitive subject.

Now wasn’t the time to make friends and start conversations anyway. Quite the departure from his regular self. Instead, his golden gaze scanned the rocky cliffs. Oddly enough, it wasn’t too far off from the rocky and desolate landscape that Argus had been… except Fel was replaced by… well… death and mist of some kind. So he had no issues blending and moving quietly about the area. Thankfully so, because the mist made it hard to see at a distance, and there were constant eerie screams in the background that made things difficult for his ears to pick up other sounds --not to mention the sounds of battle! It would make hunting the enemy harder for him.

He wondered if Avehi knew where she was going. She seemed to anyway… So he followed. For now.

The worst of it faded slowly. Not that the ominous air of the Maw itself was helpful in any sort of recovery.

To be fair, she’d been here before. A few times. They had to find Sinafay as fast as they could. Every second in this place was a threat to the very fabric of a soul.

She should not be here. So many should not be here. That would have to be solved later. It was a much grander scale issue.

Sylaess shook her head slightly, chasing off the thoughts before they took hold. Glanced over the rest of the party and resolved to ignore her indiscretion. Such as it would be. A brief flicker of concern for Argonas, but she let it slide. Had to. No room for that here. She wasn’t particularly concerned with Raetos, disguise or no.

There was a feeling that the Jailer would be able to sense them regardless of any shade or misdirection and that bothered her. Bothered her a lot. She slid a hand into her cloak, a hidden pouch there. Reassurance. The tiny vials were wrapped securely in cloth and leather layers, protecting them from a lot of damage. They seemed intact. “Avehi, do we have a specific direction, or should we try to command a soul to give us an idea?”

Her voice was quiet and gravelly, but clear enough. Such an odd thing to hear out of her own face. She sighed softly through her nose. At least she’d spent the last few weeks with the ritualists in Acherus, learning what she could of the other side of being a death knight. Less battle, more magic fuckery.

"Once we have our bearings, that's a good idea." Avehi replied without breaking stride. "Let's get up this ridge, and see what we can see."

"--Command a soul?" Argonas repeated, clearly uncomfortable with the notion. "Have they not suffered enough without such compulsions?"

"Probably. You can ask your wife the specifics after we compel a wayward soul to lead us to her." came Avehi's curt response.

It silenced Argonas well enough.

“Geez… I mean, it doesn't hurt to ask nicely at first,” Raetos couldn’t help but throw his opinion in, “If they’re being a pain in the ass, then by all means, but Argo’s right. No need to hassle an already suffering spirit if it’s not putting up a fight.”

He held his rifle ready, keeping his senses sharp despite his mouth working.

“Like… from the looks of things, there are some obviously bad things picking on helpless looking spirits,” he mentioned, taking a peek over the ledge where he spotted the commotion, “We intervene, the nice spirit tells us what they know out of gratitude, and then we can compel the baddies for extra information. Win win. Oooh! Leave that hound-thinger down there alive, though. I want that.”

“Was it worth it?”

The memory echo gave her half a pause, but it slid away like oil on water. She sighed softly, the tightness in her jaw not settling.

Maybe it was the half-echoed whispers from the souls damned to this place. She could hear them. Assumed Avehi could, too. “More than half of these souls are ... remnants. Shattered pieces. The Maw is where they are sent to be slowly obliterated. Now that all souls are sent here, it's ... the worst fate you could wish on anyone. No hope for rebirth here, just swift annihilation if you’re lucky.” Sylaess said. Gave pause, side-eyeing Raetos. “They’re constructs, but ones that feast on souls. Fine sport, I’m sure.” She had meant to be calming, reassuring even. But her words raked like gravel, gashing out the hideous truth of this place. The end was colored by sarcasm. No mercies indeed. There was regret, but she couldn’t pluck the words from the air. Nor did she feel she could’ve found better to say. The elf tugged her cloak over her shoulder, black hollow eyes scanning the area in a slow sweep. Old habits were never far. At least, she assumed it was a habit.

She eyed the hound. Then it came together. “But we could harness it to travel faster. At least, one of us.”

This place was grating on Avehi’s nerves. The sounds most of all. Words no mortal could hear, but registered as whispers to the Death Knights, one foot in and one foot out of their graves. Half-truths and intrusive thoughts given soundless voices, all speaking directly to her mind.

“You belong here, too.”

“None escape…”

“The Jailer sees all!”

It was distracting. Overwhelming. And Argonas’ and Raetos’ sanctimonious protesting only irked her further.

“Feel free to see how far asking nicely gets you.” Avehi chuffed, growing in irritation. “But if you want your respective loved ones saved from this infamously-inescapable place? Cast aside your Light-bleached sensibilities and be prepared to do whatever it takes. Let the undead handle the undead, if you can’t stomach it.”

The ridge crest overlooked everything… and nothing. There wasn’t much to see of this desolation. A ‘river’ of aetherial miasma cut through the land some distance ahead. And following it to their left revealed ramparts of some manner of fortification. Beyond that, ever-looming in the sky, was an infinitely tall tower. Unsettlingly menacing, it dominated the skyline, casting its shadow over the already dismal landscape.

“--There.” Argonas spoke up, motioning to the fortifications. “I… I saw Sinafay near there, when I died. I remember the wall.”

“You’re certain?” Avehi asked, turning to him.

He nodded once, eyes affixed to the distant keep. It was recent enough, still fresh in his mind. Avehi grunted, but nodded in response.

“Then we make our way there. Any soul we manage to find on the way, we question.”

She waved her hand dismissively at the construct and his ‘dog’ down below.

“Leave those sentries be, if we can. The creature will serve us no purpose, anyway.” she directed. “Splitting up here is the worst thing we could possibly do.”

And yet, that was exactly what Raetos decided to do. As the others turned away and continued their journey, the Lightforged kept his eye on the hound and its rider. He always worked better alone anyway. And it would be easier to sneak around without the heavy plate wearers. Brows knit into a frown as he looked over to his friends once more, only to see them already a good distance away; pushed forward by Argonas recognizing a rock formation.

Fable wouldn’t be with Sinafay. It was a gut feeling the Draenei had. Their times of death had happened so far apart and differently. The chances of finding them together in this hell hole was slim to none. His three companions obviously cared more about finding Argonas’ mate than his. Avehi had promised to bring Raetos into the Maw. That done, it was time for him to walk his own path. His partner needed him, and he wasn’t going to waste any time following the wrong trail.

Silently, he stepped away from the group and hid into the cliff. And just like that, he was gone, silently moving down the cliff to stalk the hound and rider, hunting rifle in hand.

“Perdition...” It was more of a mumble to herself, thinking over the location. She frowned, watching Raetos go--but who was she to stop him? If you want to disappear into hell, literally, by yourself, then that’s on you. She honestly wished him well.

The wash of voices became loud in her ears for a moment. She grit her teeth.

“If we’re headed that way, we should get going. “ A pause, and she stared at Avehi. Tried to gauge how much she knew of this place, gave up. “He’s watching.” Softly. “There’s not much I can do about it.” Stepped up to be vaguely beside the other Knight a moment. “The best thing is that he’s busy with the sudden swarm of Acherians. He can’t focus.”

The Draenei’s tail flickered in irritation, as Sylaess put so well into words what she was feeling. The master of this domain exuded a too-familiar omniscience in this place. The power behind the Helm of Dominion worn by the Lich King could be felt here. Its origins, perhaps? It felt far too similar to be coincidence.

“There’s nothing any of us can do about it.” she affirmed, bluntly. “May his focus be elsewhere as we get done what we’re here to do. Everyone stay cl--”

She narrowed her eyes in search; the brightest of their group was nowhere to be found! For his otherwise inept and naive countenance, Raetos was particularly adept at forging his own path and vanishing when he felt it was time. His impatience and disobedience would be his doom here, Avehi thought, as she shook her head.

“We need an escape. A rally point. Somewhere to fall back to and regroup as necessary.” she grunted, eyes flickering to Sylaess. “Can you secure one? Argonas and I will go ahead into the keep, and see if we can’t find Sinafay.”

Sylaess nodded. “I’ll hold to one spot as well as I can, but I feel I might need to move. May this be a quick endeavor.”

(( Mentions: @avehi-the-adamant / @argonas / @raetos / @sylaess / @sinafay1 / @darkestfable ))

#character stories #Shadowlands #The Maw #Avehi #Sylaess #Argonas #Raetos #Sinafay #Fable

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sombreboy · 4 years

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Love Maze »18

Previous » Next Series Masterlist ▎ 18+ ▎ pairing: Taehyung x Jungkook ▎ genre: School AU, crack humor, smut, angst, ETL, slow burn, fluff. ▎ word count: 7.7k ▎ ch.warnings: profanity, angst, jealousy, violence, blood, mentions of hospitals, yandere side character is back and he's CRAZY

Co-writer: @velvetwicebang ♡♡♡

The following day was huge, today was the big game that they've prepared for forever! Jungkook headed out early, leaving Jisoo's home to head over to his own to grab his backpack before heading to school for the last morning practice. This afternoon was it; he had to be in his best form to perform well. Kook made his way to the locker room to change, a bit earlier than everybody else. He wanted to warm up properly, and give his all in the last practice. He loved the thought of competition, excited to show off the endless stamina he's spent countless hours building up for.

Taehyung stalled, lingering close to Jungkook like a pest just waiting to pounce on the opportunity to talk to him.. He waited and waited; until the opportunity never came. “Fucking pussy..” Tae self-loathed, watching as everyone else was quickly ushered out of the locker room by Namjoon.

“Tae, come on! You too.” The Captain was stressed, anyone could see that. Deciding it was for the best to not make a fuss, Taehyung obliged and kept to himself. The elder glanced over at Kook a couple times during practice, wondering how he was doing. Maybe he’d be able to get a hold on the younger before the big game tonight. Tae held on to that possibility.

Jungkook wasn't blind, he could tell that Taehyung's eyes were on him more than usual today. It was weird-- he'd been completely ignored for what felt like forever. Maybe he was just imagining things, however... That must be it-- nerves. He shrugged it off, overthinking was the last thing he needed to do today.

Practice went great, Namjoon praised the guys with a lopsided smile-- the stress and worry was evident, but he was confident in his players. He dismissed the members, Jungkook grabbing his water bottle by the bench to chug it down as he wiped his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand as he resumed to head down to the locker room, the other guys not quite there yet as they stayed around to calm Namjoon's pre-game nerves.

Well, except Taehyung.

Taehyung’s quick, determined strides gradually lost their momentum the moment he pushed on the locker room door, nervous to see Jungkook’s face after what took place between them.. Suddenly, his confidence was equivalent to sand in an hourglass as it dropped by the ticking second. There stood the younger, completely unaware of the motive behind Tae’s hesitant, inclosing steps. He tried not to think about what he was unknowingly exposed to yesterday evening, but Taehyung couldn’t just.. ignore the imprinted image of Jungkook‘s lips molded against someone else’s. A girl. Hell, he couldn’t compete with that.. The elder inhaled a deep breath. “Uhm.. can we— can we talk?” His Adam’s apple nervously danced underneath his neck. “Please?”

Four words. It was the first four words Koo had heard from Tae in weeks.

'Can we talk, please?'

Kook swallowed tightly. Now he wanted to talk? Was ignoring him not enough--now he suddenly wants to talk. "No." He says. There was nothing he imagined that he wanted to hear. He couldn't afford to lose focus, and Tae would definitely not help with whatever he had to say. Kook turned his back towards the elder as he began to change, hoping that would be enough to be left alone. Fuck, this wasn't good. Taehyung had slowly already creeped his way into Jungkooks brain.

Taehyung’s self-confidence deflated on the spot, his disappointment instead peering through the cracks. He’s a fucking idiot. W hat else was he expecting Kook to say? Yes? No matter the initial letdown, Tae wasn’t one to give up easily. “Look, Jungkook— I hate not being able to talk to you.” His piercing gaze roamed over the younger’s bare skin, wishing the two dimples on the latter’s lower back were a pair of eyes. Taehyung wanted Jungkook to listen to him, to see his strained efforts to try and fix the deep shit they were in.

He caused it; he had to end it.

“I-I miss us.. you.” The elder glanced down towards the ground, suddenly wishing Jungkook wouldn’t turn around. If he’d just thought about it for a second longer, Tae wouldn’t have broken up with him. It was an impulsive decision— and fuck.. did he regret it.

Jungkook froze as soon as he pulled the hoodie over his torso. He couldn't believe what he just heard.. was it a dream, where his mind was playing tricks on him? The younger took a deep, slow breath to keep himself together, but it was easier said than done. He really wished Tae wouldve said those words earlier... much earlier... Before he went to Jisoo-- fuck... Kook felt his guarded exterior slowly being chipped away with every piercing word coming off the elders lips, and the mere thought of this was terrifying. He felt guilty, for a part of him wanted Tae back too. A big part. "I... I can't. Okay?" He didnt sound so sure. All he knew was that if he didn't keep his guard up; he'd crumble. And today the game was his priority. Jungkook turns on the spot, regretfully as he saw Taehyung's gloom stance. He seemed sincere... and that only made this entire thing so painful. Fuck, he wishes he could just... hug him. "Tae..." the name was unfamiliar on his lips once more, stepping closer to the elder. He looked a bit different than before-- but before he could say anything else, the rest of the boys came rushing down-- however they came to a halt as they saw their two golden boys in a rather tense situation. Taehyung with his head hanging low, and Jungkook looking absolutely distressed through his doe eyes. The very moment Kook heard the guys, he withdrew the hand he had extended, instead using it to grab his backpack and wordlessly walk away, pushing through the doors with his shoulder before heading towards the dining hall without waiting for anybody.

Jungkook missed him too.. and it was fucking terrifying. Why does Taehyung have this strong grasp on him? He shrugged as he went to sit down in his usual spot in the dining room, rubbing his eyes in annoyance, and an attempt to clear his vision. Game. Game. Game.

It didn't go that well.

Taehyung blankly watched the younger scurry out of the crowded room, ignoring his friends’ careful attempts at squeezing an answer out of him.

“You guys okay or..?”

He turned to look at Yoongi, not bothered to include a verbal clarification. The mint-haired male’s flat expression fell. He was visibly struggling to come up with anything remotely comforting as his palm glided over the sweat on his nape.

“Tae, please.. we need you here for the game, alright? Joon’s already stressed out enough, it’s the least we can do.” Yoongi’s never been in love, but it didn’t take a genius to know Taehyung was hurting because of it. He wasn’t aware of what happened between his friends, but he hoped they’d be able to put it off— whatever it was— until later; after they'd secured their anticipated win.

The rest of the day during school was dreadful, Jungkook couldn't stop replaying the simple words that Taehyung had told him this morning. It was confusing, to say the least. Why'd the elder have to put this on him now? Focusing in class was an impossible task, the one thing his mind tunnel visioned on was to win the game. Nothing else. He'd sacrificed way too much of himself to let this be a flop. As classes ended, he had some time to kill before he had to go prepare himself, so he opted to go for his trusted vending machine to get himself his favourite sweet, explosion of chemicals in the form of banana milk. With a straw pressed between his lips, he headed to sit where he usually would outside the building by the stairs, fishing his phone out to open his text conversations. He'd still kept the one from Tae, hovering over it with his thumb before opening the thread. The latest message was the one that ended their relationship, just after the previous text that was a promise of them meeting after class to fulfill their needs.

Kook sighed, shaking his head as he internally scolded himself for even going through this memory again. He wondered why Taehyung suddenly changed his mind.. and part of him knew he had to find out eventually.

~~~

The day’s blinding light converted into darkness, the sun’s blazing rays nowhere to be seen as seconds turned into minutes, and minutes progressed into hours. The overfamiliar gymnasium gradually filled up with animated students and proud parents, each one there to support and cheer for their respective team.

Taehyung was hidden away in the locker room along with everyone else, partaking in some last minute stretches before it was time for them to confidently walk out into the lion’s den. Tae was sure tonight was the most packed it’s ever been, the muffled commotion reached his alert ears from where he stood, the faint buzzing swelling to a roar.

Well, it wasn’t that dramatic.. Big crowds tended to spike up the elder’s mild anxiety, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle.

Taehyung’s hooded eyes were glued on Jungkook, replaying earlier events until it didn’t sit right with him. He wanted to make things right between them— for the game’s sake, and for theirs in the long run.

“Hey, Jung—“

“Jungkook? Hi!” Jisoo greeted with a beaming smile, seeming relieved. “I was dreading coming in here.. didn’t want Yuna to see any naked guys..” The woman awkwardly chuckled, gently withdrawing her hand from the little one’s big, curious eyes.

“Is that a baby?!”

“No, Hoseok, it’s a dog.” Yoongi sassed with a roll of his eyes, following behind their friends to greet the newcomer. Jimin and Hoseok seemed extra infatuated with the chubby little human while Yoongi kept to himself, trying to act unfazed by Yuna’s incoherent babbles. Namjoon and Taehyung however.. Both were wide-eyed.

“Jungkook, who’s this?” Jimin’s plump lips twitched up into a smile, curious about Kook’s friend. Jisoo’s fingers sneakily grazed over the younger’s strong, naked biceps. She tried to be slick, but failed. Jungkook looked extra good in a pair of jersey and shorts..

Meanwhile, Joon and Tae lingered in the corner, watching the situation unfold with narrowed eyes. While Namjoon glared at Jungkook, Taehyung glared at Jisoo.

Jungkook's eyes widened at the surprise, expecting her to be out in the audience rather than... well, in their locker room. It didn't fail to make his lips tug into a toothy grin though, giving Yuna's small nose a little boop of his finger before turning to Jisoo. ''Hey,'' he smiled, noting how Yuna relished in the attention of his hyungs. As they asked him, who the hell this girl was, he took a long second to think. They weren't something, but they also weren't nothing. ''She's my friend,'' he settles with this explanation, ''Lives next door.'' He didn't like to go too much into details, that's all they needed to know.

Jisoo merely agreed in the form of a nod, discreetly confused about where they stood. Now that the question was innocently brought up, it got her thinking.. They’ve kissed, fucked (sometimes more than once on the same day), spent almost every waking day together.. it nearly checked off all of the requirements for a relationship. It was a tricky situation, and alike Jungkook, she barely went into clear details— only useless rambling. “Anyways, I didn’t bring you the fancy sign, I know.” She joked with Kook, turning the locker room into her personal stage as she acted disappointed in herself. “But..” Jisoo looked around, making sure no one was in their point of hearing. “When you guys win, I’ll reward you with whatever you want. You know, to make up for it.” The woman stepped back, her usual smile decorated with the exhilaration of tonight’s possible affair.

Taehyung was fuming... He couldn’t bear to see the two of them together after what he came across the other day.

“They seem close, huh..” Namjoon noted with barely any emotion in his voice, arms securely crossed over his chest. Tae, who stood next to him, simply scoffed. “Yeah, they’re close alright.”

What did Jungkook see in Jisoo, anyway? Sure, she was nice.. caring, compassionate, pretty— all nice qualities. Taehyung only angered himself further. The woman was the perfect person for him. It got Tae wondering why the fuck they haven’t gotten married and birthed ten more perfect kids yet. They were so.. loud with their affection, it was annoying.

“Uhm, I mean, how close?” It was obvious Namjoon was jealous, no matter how hard he tried to play off his feelings.

“I caught them kissing. That’s how close.”

“W-what?” The elder’s hands unknowingly clenched into fists, not believing what he’d just heard.

Is that why Jungkook got so angry that one time..? It had to be.

Jungkook smiled coyly at Jisoo as she stepped back, stretching his back for the final remaining minutes. ''I'll look forward to it. Go get a seat before they're all taken!'' he jokes. But truly, there were a whole lot of people. Before Jisoo left with Yuna, she looked at Jungkook over her shoulder, meeting his eyes with a small smile. He waved vaguely as she disappeared out of view before turning back to his hyungs, not aware of the stares he's getting from Namjoon and Taehyung.

''Alright, let's do this!'' Hoseok chimes, working together with Jimin and Jin to bring the group together into a hug, smushing Tae and Kook together involuntarily, Joon as well in the mess. As if it came naturally, Taehyung’s arm wrapped around Jungkook’s smaller waist as their friends huddled together. While everyone else’s was on each other’s upper backs, Tae’s instincts just had to kick in at the wrong time. By the time he’d noticed, Joon’s body had practically locked him in position. It would’ve been awkward if Tae attempted to squeeze his arm out in the middle of Jin’s hushed ‘poetically powerful’ pregame speech, so he let it be. The taller nervously glanced at Kook from time to time, swallowing down his remaining panic. Taehyung’s bigger hand gently squeezed at Jungkook’s hip, his fingers digging lightly into the fabric of the younger’s Jersey. He missed having him this close... All of this unfolded in the midst of Seokjin’s uplifting words, so it was no surprise when Tae had no idea what his hyung had said by the end of it.

Just like Tae, Jungkook was unable to focus on anything that Jin blabbered about, the one thing he was hyper focused on was the close proximity of the elder. The way his strong hand wrapped around him-- the hand that applied pressure on his hip... It brought back an emotion that he thought he'd finally gotten rid of. Oh how foolish he was. He craned his neck forward, his long curls hiding the expression in his eyes, while his lips barely parted in a quiet sigh. He missed having him this close too...

As the group finally withdrew, giving the boys the much needed space and cheers coming from their hyungs, Jungkook felt like he stayed in Taehyung's arm for a second longer than he planned to, quickly pulling away to roll his tongue inside of his cheek. ''Alright, guys.'' Namjoon announced as he gave every member a pat on the back as they headed out towards the court-- well, until it was Jungkook walking past him. A glare shot his way, but the younger didn't take notice of this, instead fighting his internal battle of trying to suppress his thoughts to focus on the game.

Taehyung quickly followed behind Kook, itching to close the distance between them once again. Now that he’d gotten a taste of what he used to have, it was incredibly hard to pretend to hide his true feelings.. The urge grew more intense when they jogged into the packed court, peers’ blaring shouts of encouragement making Tae want to curl up against his ex-boyfriend’s chest and wake up in a more serene location. The younger’s bed, perhaps.. The thrill that used to overtake him at the thought of tonight’s game was no longer alive. He found the atmosphere suffocating, and the roars annoyingly unbearable. The elder didn’t know why he was extra sensitive to the loud noises, but he figured the constant buzzing in his ear was to blame. The piercing sound had yet to subdue, and it didn’t plan on leaving anytime soon.

Before the major game began, each team was given a few minutes to practice their free throws. Taehyung jumped in line behind the younger, building his confidence to lean towards Jungkook’s ear. “I miss you, and I’m sorry.” He whispered. It was killing him not knowing what to expect.. Did Kook want him back, or not? The elder lingered in that position for a second longer, only moving when the string of players did. E ven then, Tae remained close to Jungkook. He didn’t worry about the audience’s stares from the stands, or the questions that might pop into their heads. The rare moment Taehyung wasn’t so caught up in strangers' wandering eyes, was when he desperately needed to be. If he’d been as attentive as before, he would’ve easily pinpointed a certain devilish glare from the crowd.

Jungkook kept his eyes focused forward, however he was listening to every single word that went into his ear. Tae was way too close, in front of all these people... "Why are you telling me this now?" Kook glanced over his shoulder for a mere second to glare at Taehyung, but just as quickly returned to focus on the line as it moved. If there were ever a worst possible time to discuss their breakup, this was it. But Taehyung seemed desperate. And Jungkook slowly grew too unfocused for his own liking. He'd worked too hard for this game to let it go to waste-- and he didn't want to talk about this. Not now. Before Taehyung could say anything else, Jungkook leaped forward with the basketball in his hand, relieved he was able to remove himself from Taehyung for the moment.

Taehyung momentarily paused his ‘trying to win him back’ speech, piercing eyes glued onto Jungkook until he was caught off guard by the basketball thrown at him. Getting in position, Tae aimed for the net. The elder was surprised he made it, his focus was on anything but the game. He carelessly threw the ball to the person behind him, jogging back to a single line formation. “I’m telling you this now because I should’ve done it a long time ago.” Taehyung resumed, standing a little too close to the younger. “Jungkook, I’m sorry. I-I freaked out over nothing, I didn’t think any of this shit through.” He hesitated after a few seconds, “I still love you, so much.. I don’t want to just.. throw that away..”

Jungkook crossed his arms over his chest, grasping at his own biceps to practically hold himself in place so he wouldn't turn around to look at Taehyung. He felt his emotional walls crack, the emotions seeping through was not what he wanted as he was in front of this many people. He took a deep breath through his nose, shoulders visibly tense as he took a moment before he replied. ''But you did. More than once.'' Kook's focus on breathing slowly brought him back down to earth, building those small walls back up to remain as stoic as possible in front of the audience, taking a short step away from the elder as the line moved once more. He just wanted the game over with at this point.

The elder’s shoulders sank along with his confidence. The last thing Taehyung expected was for Jungkook to give in easily, but he also wasn’t anticipating the latter to be so vigilant. Then again, Tae naively played with his feelings countless times. He knew the younger was only trying to look out for himself— and his bruised heart. Shit.. it hadn’t fully sunk in until now. Taehyung fucked up. Bad. He was starting to doubt there was a solution to their problem. “No, you’re right.” Tae kept his distance, not wanting to make Jungkook uncomfortable. “I did, and fuck do I regret it. I just... I really miss you and—“ The timer in the scoreboard echoed throughout the large gymnasium, cutting Taehyung off mid sentence.

He had a feeling this was going to be a long night..

Jungkook turned to give Taehyung a glance before he headed towards their side of the court with the team, an unnamed emotion in his eyes before it slowly morphed into his focused persona when it came to basketball. As previously mentioned, the younger didn't come here to play around. He was here to win. He's prepared for this match with his entire being.

The teams gathered in each side, Jungkook and the others in a large circle as Namjoons eyes roamed the players. "Okay, this is it. Put your everything into this game.." he paused when his eyes flickered to Jungkook, a hidden glare thrown his way before they go back to the rest, "Let's get it!"

"Let's get it!" The rest of them cheered before getting into respective positions.

Along with Namjoon, Jimin, and Jungkook— Tae was one of the first players sent out into the bustling court. It was during moments like these that he wished he was a benchwarmer. Taehyung lacked his usual spirited determination. The elder’s pregame jitters were fully hidden behind his worrisome exterior, and catching sight of Jisoo silently cheering for Jungkook to do his best in the form of an encouraging fist only provoked Tae’s sullen expression to harden. Turns out he wasn’t the only one who saw, Namjoon was one step ahead of him.

“Jungkook!” Joon shouted, seeing how the younger stalled to get in position, likely because he was drawn to Jisoo’s cute antics. “Hurry up, you can talk to your girlfriend later.” He spat, gaze lowering in response,

Jungkook knew how he felt about the older woman, how could he do that to him? Kook's eyes widen before they squint in confusion, completely caught off guard by Namjoon's sudden words-- that were definitely laced with something. He knew their captain had a crush on her, but he also kind of fucked it up himself. "What? No, she's..." he was interrupted by the buzzer going off, shifting his gaze from his captain to the one thing that he wants to focus on; the damn ball.

Jungkook was doing well as expected, his attacking role perfectly suitable for him. However, whenever his captain got the ball, and he was in a free position to get a perfect throw, he was surprised to see Joon ignore him, glare at him or simply just pass somebody else. What's his problem...

Further into the game it was getting close to half time, and Jungkook was growing frustrated with the way he was being treated like this. He was barely able to play properly when his captain's childish antics kept happening.

"Joon!" The younger hissed as the first break finally rolled in, "Why do you not give me the damn ball? I had several perfect throws!"

“Several perfect throws my ass..” Namjoon spat under his ragged breath, disregarding his empty water bottle before briskly turning around on his feet. He came face to face with Jungkook, the anger in his eyes having yet to subdue. “You were practically out of it throughout most of the game, Kook!” Namjoon’s voice swelled, garnering the attention of a few of their teammates. “You were staring at Jisoo! If I passed you the ball—“ The captain cut himself short, biting down on his tongue to prevent anything he might regret from coming out. “If your girlfriend’s gonna be too much of a distraction, don’t bring her here. We can’t afford to lose this game because of you.”

Jungkooks temper slowly started to build, eyebrows drawn together as he stepped closer to Namjoon, "What's your problem? She's not my girlfriend!" He hissed, huffing through his mouth to move the sweaty bangs out of his eyes. "Are you serious? Lose the game because of me? You're the one who's not letting me get remotely close to the fucking ball!" His eyes were squinted, the obvious flare of his temper burning up too quickly-- the audience murmuring in confusion.

"Hey, calm down" Jimin tries to ease the situation, but they all know the younger's anger was like a rollercoaster.

"No, it's not fair!" Jungkook closed the distance further between him and his captain, making sure only he hears his next words, "Stop acting so childish."

Joon had to scoff. “Yeah, okay. Get away from me, will you?” He harshly shoved Jungkook by the chest, drawing the attention of Taehyung who moved quickly on his feet.

“Namjoon, what the hell— back off.” He stood in between them, momentarily breaking the heavy tension that linked them together.

“Why are you still standing up for him, Tae? You caught them kissing. Jungkook moved the fuck on!”

Taehyung’s facial expression flickered to one of hurt, his clenched fists slowly coming undone as Joon’s eye-opening words began to slowly sink in.

Was it.. was it possible? Jungkook moved.. on?

Namjoon’s chest heaved from a mixture of irritation and exhaustion; not knowing how to come down from it. He’s never been this angry at someone, much less a close friend.

Jungkook clenched his fists hard, the veins in his lower arms prominent. His body slowly moved, as if gradually his anger was fueling him up to pounce Namjoon. But as he took a step, he was held back by Yoongi's hand on his shoulder, out of all people. "You should take a break."

The coach approaches in the same moment, agreeing, "Jeon, you will be dismissed for now. Go take a break."

Jungkook's eyes widened, "No way. I need to play!" He turned to Namjoon, annoyed by the fact that he didnt protest, but simply agreed as well.

"Go."

A disappointed Huff pushed through the younger's lips, shoving away Yoongi's hand from his shoulder before scuffing past Taehyung to head out, towards the exit to go sit outside on the stairs. He needed some fucking air. U nlike everyone else who brushed off the players’ hostile behavior towards one another, Jisoo stayed behind to watch Jungkook storm out of the gymnasium. Alike everyone else, she saw the small feud unravel between him and Namjoon. It worried her— made her feel like she was to blame. And by the look on Joon’s eyes whilst he stared up at her, the woman knew she had a reason to be alarmed. Jisoo sighed to herself, disappointedly shaking her head before she broke eye contact. Adjusting a fussing Yuna on the baby carrier, she carefully made her way down the bleachers, on the lookout for Jungkook.

“Namjoon, where are you going? Come back here!” The coach called out for him, noting how Joon‘s feet were already moving on their own. Namjoon clenched his jaw, but he listened nonetheless. He wanted to go after Jisoo, but the woman was already out of sight.

“Jungkook..?” After a couple minutes of walking around the unfamiliar hallways, Jisoo finally came across the younger man. He was sat by the stairs out front, relishing in the night’s breeze. She bit down on her lip, wondering if it was for the best if she left him and his thoughts alone.. But she couldn’t, she cared too much. Jisoo didn’t know where they stood in terms of a romantic relationship, but the younger was undoubtedly a friend. The woman cared for him like a mother. “Hey.” She sat down next to him, the faintest of smiles grazing her lips. “Nice job out there— so far. I knew you’d do great.”

Jungkook turned his chin to look at her, his clenched jaw softening at her praise. ''Thank you.. But..'' He sighs as his shoulders sink with his next words, ''I don't think they'll let me play anymore. Namjoon is being an ass... With all rights, I guess.'' His eyes meet Jisoo's, a lopsided smile tugging at his lips, ''He obviously still likes you, so I suppose it's not surprising. But I wonder how he suddenly just... assumed you were my girlfriend or something.'' He ran his long fingers through his damp hair, leaning back on his elbows whilst looking up at the sky. It felt weird, really. He couldn't get the thought of Taehyung out of his mind. ''And Taehyung was acting weird too.''

The sound of Jisoo’s muffled giggle disrupted the small pause of silence, “Kim Namjoon is being an ass? Are you sure we’re talking about the same Joon?” An unknowing smile tugged at the corner of her rosy lips. Temporarily dismissing the hurtful comment he spewed in the past, the dimpled boy couldn’t hurt a fly.. The fond image of Namjoon was soon replaced with Taehyung. Jisoo turned her head towards the younger, curious as to what he meant. “Weird? How.” There was a question that lingered at the tip of her tongue, and if she wasn’t so desperate to receive answers, the woman would’ve done a better job of suppressing her curiosity. “Jungkook... do you love Taehyung?”

Jungkook felt his chest tighten at the question, keeping his eyes fixed on the nothingness of the sky. ''I know I did.'' He let his elbows give in, now laying down on his back fully. ''Then I thought I didn't.'' A nother long pause passed by as he seemed to sink into his own thoughts- ''Fuck, I don't know... He's a constant push and pull.. He kept coming at me at the worst possible moments during the warmup to tell me he misses me-..'' He stopped himself to groan in annoyance, just talking about it made him feel the frustration of his feelings, covering his face with his hands.

Jisoo simply nodded, allowing her fingers to comb through Jungkook’s sweaty hair. “Jungkook-ah, love is not something that can just.. go away.” Looking down at him, she made sure the ground was relatively clean before meeting Kook at his level. The hand that laid closest to him engulfed his significantly bigger one, communicating her empathy in the form of a gentle squeeze. “What made you fall in love with him?” A hint of bitterness lingered behind her otherwise sweet words. However, Jisoo was curious, she guessed some closure would be nice.. Turning her head towards him, the woman broke out into a small grin. She snuggled close to Jungkook’s chest, Yuna’s soft exhales of breaths the only muse throughout the quiet night. “Tell mee~ don’t be annoying.”

Taehyung spent minutes searching around the darkened school— searching for Jungkook. He was fucking worried, it was unlike the younger to storm out of, well, anything. When he was about to walk past the entrance, Tae pressed the brake. It was Jungkook and Jisoo... Laying together, they seemed happy. The elder hid behind the wall, chest tightening into a knot at their close proximity. Why didn’t Jungkook push her away? Why did he move on so quickly.. Taehyung couldn’t stand it, he was practically putting himself through hell by lingering around, waiting for his suspicions to get proven true. With his jaw clenched, Tae walked away. He needed some time alone, time to think. He advanced into the only space that was vacant, the locker room. Sitting down on the bench, Taehyung hid his face in the palm of his hands. “I’m a fucking idiot..”

A long silence followed after Taehyung spoke out loud to himself... Until a soft chuckle echoed in the locker room, a tall stature with wide arms crossed over their chest. ''Yes, you are...'' Their voice was nothing short of hostile, stepping closer to Taehyung before coming to a halt, a piercing stare burning holes into the male. ''Why do you have to keep bothering Jungkookie? He doesn't want you.''

It was Ash.

He'd kept a close eye on Jungkook for a while, watching his relationship with Kim Taehyung go back and forth. Apparently, they were broken up for a bit now, and it was perfect. He'd planned to approach Jungkook after the game, proudly cheering for him in the audience. But the hurdle being the male below him kept trying to come back, bothering his little Kookie, who looked annoyed and upset down on the court. Nothing irked him more.

The intrusive, unforeseen voice pulled Taehyung out of his daze. He quickly looked up, no longer seeing pitch blackness— instead he saw red. What the hell was Ash doing here? He’d been deaf to the inclosing steps, even more surprising the sound of the door opening. How did the other know where to find him? “I didn’t fucking ask for your opinion.” He hissed from anger, the sight of the other male being enough to spike up his alertness. Taehyung stood up from the bench, meeting Ash halfway. “Why are you so goddamn obsessed with Jungkook’s every move? You don’t need to speak for him. If he doesn’t want me, he’ll tell me.”

Ash's shit eating smirk grew, but his eyes were filled with anger fueled further by Taehyung's attitude. He took a slow step closer, arms falling to his sides as he clenched and unclenched his fists. ''I have to look out for him. His entire body language screamed uncomfortable when you were all over him during the game.'' he hissed back every word laced with mocking anger, ''I hate how stubborn you are, just leave him alone if you know what's best for you.''

A scornful, amused chuckle slipped past Taehyung, who further challenged Ash by stepping up to him. “You have to look out for him?” Tae’s broad shoulders vibrated, a lopsided smile beginning to pull at the corner of his lips.

Who did he think he was..

“What, did he order a bodyguard or some shit?”

He forcefully pushed Ash by his shoulders, prompting the latter to widen the space between them. Being close to him made him sick. Every time he looked into his devilish, hollowed face, Taehyung was reminded of that night. The night he gasped for air whilst he ran through the dim streets, praying for nothing but Jungkook’s safety. What kind of desperate psycho would force someone to sleep with him? Just thinking about it angered Tae. “Yeah, whatever. You’re fucking crazy, you know that?” With one last glare his way, Taehyung purposely bumped shoulders as he walked past him. “Jungkook will never love you.” That was the last thing he reminded before aiming towards the door, suddenly missing the crowd’s spirited roars. Anything to not be here with him.

Ash crooked an eyebrow, saying nothing as he turned to watch Taehyung attempt to leave.

No. No fucking way.

The crazed rage burning within Ash's being was taking over. He had to make sure nobody was in his way to reach Jungkook. And Taehyung made a huge mistake by facing away from a guy like this. A man with nothing to lose-- and only one thing in mind.

Get rid of the obstacle.

Ash didn't hesitate as he practically sprinted the few steps forward, triggered by the other males last words. He grabbed Taehyung by his hair, tightly tangled between his fingers as he forcefully dragged him down, not caring about where, so he opted for the nearby sink. Taehyung's head collided with the hard surface, almost knocking him out in one go. "He doesn't have to love me yet." He growled, "all that matters is that he doesn't love you."

Ash tugged at Tae once more, lifting his head up only to bring it back down against the sink again. And again. And again... until there was blood staining the sink to the floor... Ash eventually stopped when he felt Taehyung's body weaken its struggle in his hold, throwing the man on the tiled floor with a thud. Staring down at him, he scoffed as he wiped his hand on his shirt, thankful he decided to wear black today. "Crazy for Jungkookie, maybe..." he mumbled before removing himself from the situation, glancing over at the bloody male before stepping out of the locker room. He hoped to never see this guy again.

Jungkook had poured out his emotions to Jisoo, time flew by quicker than he thought as he realized he should go back. "Jisoo, I gotta go... uh..." he rubbed his nape as he sat back up, "thank you for... listening to me. And cheering for me." He glanced over at Yuna with a fond smile, "and little one too."

“Yeah, no problem.” Jisoo stood up with him, “I should probably head home, she’s out.” The woman reached down to pick up Yuna’s carrier, trying not to make any bothersome movements that’ll wake the sleeping girl. She was in a deep slumber. Her chubby hands were balled up into small fists, and her pouty lips were parted whilst soft huffs snuck past them. Yuna looked absolutely adorable. As both of them took their time strolling through the empty hallways, Jisoo’s eyes widened when they fell upon Namjoon. The man looked.. distressed? It seemed as if he’d been running around the place, unstable gaze flickering between the two.

“Joon? What’s wrong?” The woman furrowed her brows, her caring tone easing Namjoon’s nerves from whatever the hell it was that took a burden on him. Ungluing his sharp glare from Jungkook, it didn’t take much for Joon to give in, gaze softening at the sight of Yuna.

“Uh.. do you know where Taehyung is? Coach told me to look for him, game starts soon.” Naturally, Jisoo turned to look at Kook, confusion swirling within her eyes. “No.. we haven’t seen him. Have you looked long?”

Namjoon answered with a quick nod of his head, naturally thinking of the worst. Did Taehyung leave the school? They needed him there, especially now that it was a close tie.

“We’ll help you look for him, don’t worry.” She supposed it wouldn’t take awfully long, Taehyung had to be around here somewhere.. “Let’s split?” Jisoo’s gaze flickered between both boys, waiting to see what they thought of her last-minute idea.

“Please.” Joon sourly muttered under his breath, wanting nothing more than to divide Jungkook and his noona. They’ve spent more than enough time together, a few minutes on their own shouldn’t be a challenge.

Jungkook felt his chest tighten with worry, and partially in annoyance. Why would Tae out of all people risk the game like this? He wouldn't. "Yeah, I'll check the locker rooms." Kook agreed, waiting for the confirmations of the two before no longer staying around to waste time.

As he headed down to the locker room area, he checked other rooms and bathrooms on the way. Kook clenched his jaw in annoyance; why'd Tae disappear like this? It's a dick move as always, Taehyung is a fucking-- "Taehyung?" He didn't recognize his own voice at first, but it was. Jungkook had pushed through the doors to the locker room, and was met with a bloody mess on the floor. And in the middle of it, an unconscious person. "Taehyung!"

Was that really his voice? It sounded so desperate and hoarse.

He rushed to drop to his knees next to Tae, not bothered in the slightest about the puddle of blood he's sitting in, nor does he care that his hands are stained with the way he grasped the elders body, gently picking him up to hold him close in his arms, cradling his face to get a good look. Leaning in, he placed his ear close to his mouth, relieved when he felt the small huff of air. He's alive. But it was weak. Kook kept holding his ex boyfriend close, using one hand to pick up his phone and text Namjoon.

Instead he texted the group chat.

To: gang gang 🏀 Help! Lockers

As soon as the text was sent he returned to look at Taehyung, every single drop of anger towards the man practically evaporated, and were replaced with everything else. Worry, anxiety, sadness. Love. Jungkook felt as if he would fucking die if Taehyung did. "Tae, please... Hold on." Kook sobbed out, holding the elder close.

Namjoon stayed relatively close to Jisoo, peeking his head inside every door, hallway, janitor’s closet— anywhere that could serve as a hiding spot for Tae. They were desperate, even opting for searching in the girls’ restroom.

Where the hell could he be?

When Joon thought about calling the younger’s cell for the millionth time, his phone’s buzzing chimed in his pockets. “Noona, it’s Kook.”

Quickly, the woman advanced to his side, the brightness of the screen casting a harsh light over their troubled expressions. “Locker room..?” Not stalling any longer, Joon took Jisoo by the hand and led her towards the familiar room with quick strides— “Jungkook, we’re here— holy shit!”

Namjoon’s squeamish heart picked up at the bloody mess in front of him, standing still like a statue until Jisoo’s shaky voice snapped him out of it. “Joon! Call an ambulance. O-oh my god..”

It looked bad. The pile of blood only grew in size, bright in comparison to the color of Taehyung’s skin; ghostly pale. The boy appeared to barely be hanging on. The gushing, scarlet liquid luckily seemed to lose its momentum now that he was turned upwards, but the stream on the dirty floor was a big loss.

“Kook? Why did you text-“ Hoseok’s cheery voice was cut short by a sharp gasp, tightly clasping a hand over his mouth. Jimin and Yoongi shared a look of pure worry, the sound of Namjoon’s nervous stuttering over the phone whilst he gave the person on the other line the information they needed sounded weak compared to their loud breathing. Seokjin rushed to Jungkook’s side, attempting to pull the latter away. “J-Jungkook-ah, it’s best if you let him be, it— it can cause more harm than good.”

Jungkook's vision was blurred by the constant flow of tears, blinking harshly to attempt to regain some grounding. Jin's hand helped to bring Kook back down, however the sight of all the blood only had the younger's anxiety growing, his body reacting without his own say so. He couldn't let go of Taehyung, there was no way.

"Jungkook, you need to let him go." Seokjin repeated, carefully trying to pry the younger's arms open. It wasn't an easy task, but as soon as the ambulance arrived they finally managed to; but only because Jungkook helped to put Tae on the transporter. They put Taehyung in the vehicle, several nurses already working on examining and treating him as another seemed to be making notes about his condition. Jungkook pleaded that he wanted to come with, but was denied. They said he could visit the hospital-- what kind of bullshit was that? The very second the ambulance left, Jungkook hadn't realized his own condition. He was a crying, bloody mess. His legs and outfit was stained with the elders blood, eyes bloodshot and glassy from the constant tears.

Slowly, the group of hyungs approached their youngest, worry and sadness in their eyes. Both for Taehyung and his safety, and for Jungkook. "Hey," Yoongi suddenly said as he wrapped his arms around Kook, not caring about the mess. One by one, every single one of his team had joined in the group hug, holding each other tightly. Jungkook's breathy sobs grew louder, but he had his hyungs keeping him together this time. A large crowd of students, parents, teachers— everyone that was originally there to enjoy an innocent game, gathered around the commotion. The sound of the ambulance’s loud, ear-piercing wail struck them as serious. And it was; people’s heightened gasps emerged at the quick glimpse of a team of nurses run through the halls at the speed of light, transporting a gory Taehyung from one end to the other until he was securely placed in the vehicle.

“What happened?”

“Who was that?”

“It looked serious..”

Muffled talk spread like wildfire, and some aimed their shitty phone camera at the centre of the action.

Yoongi had to hold himself back from freaking the fuck out, instead hugging Jungkook closer, shielding the boy’s frail emotions from unwanted eyes. Had humanity stooped that low? Why in the hell would they point a camera at them..

“Jungkook, your Tae’s strong.. he’ll be okay.” Jimin softly assured, even though he himself wasn’t too sure. Tears welled up in his own glassy eyes, but they didn’t need him breaking down as well. Jungkook was an emotional mess, he needed them the most.

“Come on, w-we’re going to the hospital.” Namjoon said, pulling away from the group hug to dig for his car keys, not caring about the unfinished game.

Jungkooks body felt heavy, unaware of the commotion around them as all he could think about was Taehyung. The moment he saw him on the floor kept replaying in his mind, the uncontrollable quivering of his body only held together thanks to Yoongi and Jimin as the others pulled back, still remaining close around them to serve as a human shield for the cameras. Kook did look like shit after all. But he couldn't bring himself to care.

He just wanted to see Taehyung.

The very second Namjoon said they'd go to the hospital, Jungkooks glassy, reddened eyes looked up at him, his hyungs leading him behind the eldest towards the truck. At a time like this, Namjoons dad truck surely was a blessing.

Jisoo heavily insisted on going, wanting to keep a weak Jungkook company but was reassured that she’d be in the loop on Tae’s condition.

"Noona, we’ll keep you informed.” Namjoon started the car, convincing her to drop it.

The mother had Yuna to take care of, it was late into the night.. it was best if she didn’t throw herself into this stressful situation. It was taking an emotional toll on everyone, especially Jungkook.

#fic: Love maze #sombreboy

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janiedean · 4 years

Text

geralt/jaskier whump meme ficlet

sooo @haljathefangirlcat wanted geralt/jaskier + 33. I am supposed to be YOUR bodyguard, stop jumping in front of bullets for me AU, but that ask also had another prompt for another pairing and this came out long so I figured I’d just post it here separately, the other one is coming asap ;) have... some 2k of modern au I guess *drops and runs*

This job is so not what Geralt had assumed it would be when he took it.

Not that he complains, even if right now he kind of is for an obvious reason, but still, it’s only thrown him not for one loop but for a hundred by now, and this one is only the last, and it’s not that they’ve been bad loops, but fucking hell, this time —

“Jaskier,” he says, voice low, slowly stitching the wound on his supposed charge’s shoulder, “I don’t know if you missed the memo or not, but I am supposed to be the damned bodyguard. What is going to take to make you stop thinking that jumping in front of bullets for me is how this is supposed to go?”

He’s not surprised when for once, Jaskier doesn’t have a witty reply but just smiles sheepishly and tries not to shrug, since the bullet had actually grazed his shoulder so he really shouldn’t move right now.

“Eh,” he finally says after Geralt has stitched half of the wound, “I told you on the first day that I really don’t do well with following instructions now, didn’t I?”

He did, Geralt has to concede.

For that matter, his fucking father told Geralt before Jaskier could, and —

Well.

Geralt, having had a really bad dry spell when it came to finding work after that botched job in Blaviken where of course he ended up being framed for having tried to actually not see anyone dead under his watch, was not in the position to refuse a job from Viscount Lettenhove, who had just raised to fame for having made his way to ministry of war after Redania’s last elections… and needed a cheap bodyguard for his son who was apparently not worth a pricey one but still needed one because you couldn’t leave any family member without supervision until he was in office. So he had taken the job, figuring that he couldn’t refuse it when he barely paid the bills these days, and resigned himself to whatever it might bring — after meeting the father, he had figured that the son couldn’t be much worse but had also really, really hoped he wasn’t cut from the same cloth.

Turns out that said son, who’s named Julian but told him please call me Jaskier, only my parents use the real one and at least I picked my own damned stage name was not at all like his father, wasn’t interested in politics and only wanted to become a professional musician after graduating at Oxenfurt and couldn’t give less of a damn about why his father disapproved.

He also hadn’t looked at him wrong for a second, actually convinced him to spill the truth about Blaviken two weeks after they met, swore him that he would write a song about it at some point even if Geralt told him that there was no fucking need for that, proceeded to actually talk to him like they had been lifelong best friends two days after they met and — listen, maybe it was unprofessional and all, but Geralt did like that, not so deep down. After all, when your only two friends are your foster home roommates with whom you run the bodyguard agency (who also are the only reason he could pay his bills after Blaviken) and who are also off on jobs more time than not and your only other more or less steady relationship is your lawyer ex-girlfriend with whom you end up having a thirst once every three months before remembering exactly why you’re better off as friends… it’s nice to run into someone who’ll just talk to you like you’re a human being and not either a piece of meat paid to make sure you don’t die or some kind of barely-escaped-from-jail-almost-murderer just because you got framed by a piece of shit who wanted his own niece dead because she could have ended his political career.

Also, people don’t… usually like him at first glance, or meeting, or whatever, and Geralt knows he’s a hard person to like and that he doesn’t make the job easier, not when he’s shit at talking shop to people or at pretending he’s good at socialization (which his fucking social worker kept on harassing about for years, not that it ever worked), and instead Jaskier patently doesn’t seem to give a damn and talks for two people if he doesn’t, and listen, it’s been nice to spend all his time around someone who actually treats him like a human being. Yennefer would tell him his bar is extremely low, and she’d probably be right.

Anyway, it’s been six months and — it has been a good job. Until now, no one actually seemed to care much for Jaskier either way except a few paparazzi, and Jaskier kept on saying it was because everyone in Lettenhove knew that he and his father were not on good terms, and the most tedious thing he’s had to do has been tuning out Jaskier’s father whenever he asked for reports and kept on blathering about how much his son could spend his time more fruitfully than partaking in silly music contests (every single time Geralt just wants to tell him he’s happier doing music contests than he’d be studying politics, just let him be, but of course he never does). Other than that, he’s learned more about music theory than he ever imagined he would, he has threatened the few paparazzi that were a nuisance, at most he’s kept his eyes more open than usual if Jaskier ended up getting spectacularly drunk once in a while and he doesn’t even bother asking for free days because the commute between Oxenfurt and Kaer Morhen is too long to consider partaking. Of course Jaskier’s father doesn’t pay him for the hours he spends with Jaskier that are technically not in his contract, but — he hasn’t minded that.

And then it happened that someone actually realized that the Viscount has a son that differently from his daughters does not live with his family and is therefore an easy target, and they did manage a rather decent attempt at what Geralt supposes was kidnapping him, but he had that under control and he was handling it —

Until one of the criminals in questions shot him and Jaskier had the genius idea of throwing himself in between him and the damned bullet and thankfully it only was this superficial wound, and fuck but Geralt had almost fucking gotten a heart attack for a moment before getting his shit under control and disarming them and calling the police.

And Geralt is pretty damn sure that his heartbeat still hasn’t gotten under control even if it’s been an hour and Jaskier refused to tell the medics that he was wounded because now that wouldn’t have looked good on Geralt’s CV, and —

Fucking hell.

“You did,” Geralt sighs, “you did, but you do realize that taking bullets for people is my job?”

“Yeah, well,” Jaskier says after he barely manages to not shrug again, “I didn’t really think about it. You looked in danger, I just — I had to, all right?”

Geralt finishes stitching his shoulder and cuts off the thread.

“You also do know that if your father finds out that you got hurt on my watch I’m fired, right?”

Jaskier rolls his eyes. Very openly. “You do know that I would tell him that you made sure I wasn’t hurt worse and that my father only hired you to save face and not because he gives a fuck about me? He hasn’t called once since this whole thing went down, and it’s been hours.”

That’s… true, Geralt has to concede.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I — I wish I had advice. For that.” Real smooth, he tells himself, but then again he never met his father and his mother just left one day when he was seven and never came back and he doesn’t even know where she is right now, if she’s still alive, not that he even wants to know, so it’s not as if he’s some kind of authority on this matter. On one side, it would be easy to tell Jaskier that at least he has parents, but on the other… he doesn’t know how much better it is to have family who cares about you so much that when paying for your security they get the cheap option.

“It’s all right,” Jaskier smiles, not much but sincere, “I’ve lived with them all my life. I know how they are. And honestly, I’m quite glad that my father thought he’d get me the cheap personal security.” He winks, and Geralt wishes his chest wasn’t feeling like his heart was about to burst out of it just at the damned sight because there is no way he has feeling for the person he’s supposed to fucking guard and who is jumping in front of bullets for him when it’s really not how things work —

“You — you are?” He says, and fuck he hates how stilted that sounded and he wishes he wasn’t like this for the umpteenth time in his life, but —

“Sure,” Jaskier says, still a bit too pale but otherwise looking fine for someone who just, well, went through a shoot-out, blue eyes staring right up into his own, “as much as I can’t follow instructions, I wouldn’t jump in front of bullets for just anyone.” He winks again, fuck, what — “And I think that maybe I haven’t been as forthcoming as I could have been.”

“You haven’t been what,” Geralt replies, and then one of Jaskier’s hands is on his face and he’s leaned forward and his lips have pressed a lone, soft kiss against Geralt’s and he’s moved back before Geralt can even think about kissing him back, and when he moves back he’s half-smiling and half looking like he’s not so sure he should have done that.

“Forthcoming,” Jaskier replies, “though I thought an entire EP of songs written about you would have been enough, but I suppose they weren’t as obvious as I had figured —”

“Wait, the EP was about me?” He blurts. He had no fucking clue —

“Yeah, I realized that maybe you hadn’t grasped that. Then again I guess you’re not much for subtle hints, are you?”

“… Guess not,” Geralt says, and he knows his damned face is most likely flushing and fuck, he can’t even remember the last time he did that. “You know that if — if I kissed you back, it would be the most unprofessional thing I could do in this situation now, right?”

Jaskier shrugs, still not breaking eye contact. “And you do know that I can’t give a damn for sticking to the rules and that it won’t be me informing my father of this one development?”

… Geralt knows that. It’s obvious, by now. And fuck, he wants to —

He wants to —

“Just don’t take bullets for me anymore, how about it?” He asks, inching closer, his own hand grasping the back of Jaskier’s neck —

“Sorry,” Jaskier smiles back, “can’t guarantee that, but I’ll try just because you asked so nicely.”

So maybe it’s not professional that he leans further down and returns that kiss and moans into Jaskier’s mouth the moment he kisses back, his arms moving around Geralt’s neck at once and dragging him closer.

He thinks that for now he really can’t give a single damn about it.

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #my fic #whump meme #otp: it's onion #idek what this is but it happened #it'll go on ao3 at some point but meanwhile have fun

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purplesurveys · 3 years

Text

1013

surveys by -thoughtlessdork

Have you ever had the chicken pox? No. I’m constantly in a place of waiting for it to pass by, because everyone tells me all people are bound to have it at one point in their lives (idk how true that is, though). I am also told it gets a lot suckier as one gets older, so...not too thrilled about it at all.

how often do you do laundry? I don’t handle that chore myself, but it’s done 1–2 times a week in our house.

Have you ever been evicted? Nopes.

would you grow your own garden? I don’t see that happening. I’m a magnet for killing plants.

do you know anyone who snores? I do.

Trigger warning kinda, by the end.

what is your favorite font? Proxima Nova. It’s the default font that my org used for all documents and works-in-progress, and it ended up becoming my actual real-life favorite. I’ve always picked out that font even outside of org matters.

do you know what a wombat is? Sure.

would you make a good movie critic? Not at all. I don’t know enough about different filmmaking elements to make a reliable critic. I’ve criticized things like acting, plots, and dialogues in the past, of course; but there’s still so many things that go into films that aren’t overtly projected like lighting, symbolism, hidden meanings, etc. I don’t have a very good nose for those.

what goal are you aiming for this year? In the last 8 weeks of the year? Hmm...avoiding corona would be at the top of that list, lmao.

are you currently reading any books at the moment? No. I’ve stopped opening the book I used to constantly mention on here.

when i say foxy lady what comes to mind? Beyoncé’s character in the Austin Powers movie she was in lol; her name was Foxxy.

would you have liked to have lived during the Victorian times? Wasn’t this era like a golden age of sorts for the UK? I’d love to visit for that purpose; but given the still-horrible hygiene and living conditions for most people of the time, I wouldn’t choose to live there.

would you own a Siamese cat? No.

have you ever had an ultimate adrenaline rush? I don’t think so. I’ve had bursts of energy in the past, but I wouldn’t call any of them an ultimate adrenaline rush.

do you like deviled eggs? I’ve never had them; it’s not a common dish here. But they always look so good in the American shows I watch??? I really hope they taste as good as they look.

what tends to upset you? Hearing anything about animal abuse.

what's the farthest you've walked? I can’t give you a distance, but my parents opted for us to walk the whole time we were in Bali (except if we had a tour day which included transportation). Walking in an unfamiliar - and very humid - country and not knowing where anything is (this was before food and travel apps got as detailed as they are today) and ending up walking long stretches because you can’t locate any good local spots is a very easy way to run out of patience, apparently.

what is your favorite horror movie? Carrie was pretty fun.

what does your favorite shirt look like? It’s a twist on the Chicago flag, made black and red and with a raised fist in the middle. At the back it says “CM Punk: Best in the World.” Been my favorite and most overused shirt for the past 9 years. My friends tease me about it sometimes, but I don’t care lol, the shirt is very significant to me.

is your life like a daily routine? It is, but I prefer that it is. I like when things are in my control and, for the most part, predictable. I enjoy spontaneity in short bursts.

were you ever told as a child if you eat carrots you'll have pretty eyes? So many times.

what career are you most interested in? Communications and media, so it’s great that I’m headed there so far.

have you ever seen a rooster? Sure.

what time do you usually wake up? I wake up wake up by 7:30 or 8 AM, but I usually also wake up for a bit any time between 4–6 AM. Sometimes I choose to stay up from then, and sometimes I’d want to go back to sleep.

what do you think about religion? It’s good when people use it for good, or if it has helped save a person’s life. In my own personal experience, though, it’s beenhard to find Christians who aren’t hypocritical. So even though I see religion’s potential, I don’t have a lot of trust in believers themselves.

what made you feel most accomplished in your life so far? Graduating college.

have you ever seen a lunar eclipse? I saw the super blue blood moon two years ago, which according to a quick Google search is a lunar eclipse! So yeah, I’ve seen one.

what are you allergic to? No allergies.

do you ever feel like people hold things you do or say against you? Only my mom does this.

what can't you afford but wish you could? Front-row Wrestlemania tickets. My childhood (and now adulthood) dream is to go to Mania 50 which is only 14 years from now, but at least I still have more than enough time to save up for it.

what is one word that sums up this year so far? Revelatory. ever felt like you were putting your life in danger? [trigger warning] Yes, it’s called suicidal tendencies. what do you like with your eggs? If scrambled, with cheese. If omelette...stuff that crap up with everything lol. Tomatoes, bell peppers, mushrooms, cheese, ham, bacon, and onions are all good in my book. what remedy do you partake when experiencing the common cold? The good ol’ wait-for-it-to-go-away life hack. would you ever spend a weekend in the mountains in a log cabin? That sounds amazing. I sure would. have you ever been called a psycho? No. have you ever taken martial arts? would you? No but I was always a little envious of my cousin who was taken to taekwondo class every weekend when we were kids. Sure, I’d take classes if I had the chance. who is someone you look up to? Nacho, but he’s gone now. is there something you're anxious about? I have work jitters for tomorrow, but they’re manageable for now. Otherwise I’m feeling pretty good. what is the longest you've gone without sleep? A little above 24. what is the longest you've been on the phone? This makes me cringe now, but it was like 8 hours long or something like that. It was still the ~honeymoon phase of that relationship and we were still clingy. We never did it again after that. do you care about calories? No. do you know someone with a really annoying laugh? Nah, can’t think of anyone. what band do you mostly always listen to no matter what mood? Paramore. have you ever been to Indianapolis? Nope.

what type of bread do you like to eat? I eat white bread all the time, but my favorite kind is brioche. do you have any great great grandparents still living? Two greats is a bit too much don’t you think? Lmao. Anyway, my last great-grandparent died in 2010. I never knew my dad’s grandparents, and my great-grandfather on my mom’s side had died all the way back in the 70s. what is one country that you really want to visit someday? India. who usually cooks or what do you usually crave the most? Those are two different questions haha. My parents take turn cooking; and as for my craving, I find myself seeking sushi most of the time. ever been associated in a program that was a complete waste of time? Yep, like that one time I had to attend this 5-hour mandatory program/seminar before my driver’s license could be issued to me; it taught me nothing I didn’t already know about driving, and it used driving tutorials that I’m pretty sure were recorded in the 90s. This seminar took place in 2016. do weird numbers call your phone? Not regularly. Occasionally an unknown number will come in, but I reject all those. where are you right now? Sitting up on my bed. do you tend to care about other people's feelings more than your own? Yes. I really shouldn’t. what type of lifestyle do you want to obtain? if you haven't obtained it [trigger warning] I haven’t even figured out yet if I love life enough to want to stay in it. A type of lifestyle isn’t much of a priority for now. what was something that use to frighten you as a child? Getting lost at the mall. have you ever been on a train? Just once. who's been in your life the longest? did you expect this person to still be around? Apart from family, Angela. Yes, she’s here for the long haul. how do you feel about anatomy? Fascinating. I’d take a class on it. Insert interesting fact here: Read this on Reddit a few days ago, so I’ll just copy-paste the whole thing: “When Jadwiga, the King of Poland (medieval Poland referred to every ruler as King regardless of gender), was considering a marriage proposal from the Grand Duke of Lithuania, a chief concern among her court was that said Duke was rumored to have massive genitals to the point that they would kill his wife on their wedding night. Two of her councilors volunteered to travel to Lithuania to try and discover the truth of these rumors, which naturally meant they would watch the Duke as he bathed. They returned and happily reported that not only weren’t the Duke’s genitals fatally large, they were in fact a tad smaller than average, so nothing to worry about. Thus Poland and Lithuania were united, and the rest is history.” Got a chuckle out of that one when I read it that I just had to scroll through the entire thread again just to be able to share it here lmao.

#survey #surveys

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hyperionswrath--archived · 4 years

Text

@onepartbrave

Finding the formidable blond completing such a frivolous task—sewing of all things—was… off-putting. Too domesticated. Nothing he ever imagined Seifer partaking in. It seemed only adrenaline pumping activities were suited to the Glaive; heart-stopping, mind-blowing missions. On the flip side… there was a lot he didn’t know about his former rival, daily habits included. Certainly, they shared a dormitory block way back when and attended the same classes, participated in duplicated menial tasks for wannabe SeeDs, but he’d never really sat down with the guy and examined him. Off the battlefield, at least. When on, in the past he felt they flowed well, could counteract when the other took a misstep, and would otherwise had been a nigh-on unstoppable team.

After all, Seifer had been the one to truly prepare Squall for the bastardised place the world outside of Garden’s walls was.

When he was not immediately dismissed, a slither of tension he’d been carrying around all day finally floated away. A strange feeling, he’d admit. Normally, the man was the one to bestow the rigidity in his shoulders, not take it away. Be that as it may, the last twenty-four hours proved everything what he thought of ‘normal’ no longer applied.

Nodding in acceptance of Seifer’s request—polite and otherwise pleasant—Squall followed the man’s gesture and settled himself on the vacant spot. Observing the blond’s finer skills for a few heartbeats further, he only turned away when the topic of conversation swapped to him. Embarrassment flooded him at a rapid pace, still sore in both body and mind about that ghastly fact. Not one of his best moments at all. A half-hearted shrug came from the aforementioned shoulder, displaying it functioned as it should, all thanks to the Glaive he was sitting next to. Sincerely, he had the motivation to grudgingly admit… without Seifer’s interference yesterday, he would’ve ended up in a far worse state than paying for simple repairs.

Silence ensued between them, excluding the general babble of the headquarters. Another peculiarity given his chosen company. Having been expecting a taunt or provoking tease somewhere along the line, he was pleasantly surprised by the amicable hush. It gave him the opportunity to explore his surroundings in greater depth. Allegedly, the Glaive HQ was as modern yet classy as the rest of the city. Squall’s work placement was high-tech and not at all lagging in an impressive appearance, but there was something more comforting about the building. Something welcoming. Maybe that’s how Seifer was able to settle here so easily?

Scrubbing away useless questions he’d never voice aloud, he inched back more on the seat and adjusted his position for additional comfort. Idly pulling out his phone from his jeans pocket, having forgone a jacket today due to the warmer afternoon, he tapped once on the screen. It backlit and flared to life, informing him instantly of the time, place and weather conditions. Evening was under way and he was grateful; he and Seifer could traverse to the proposed bar and he could drown his woes of the day in strong alcohol. Expense was never a problem either and he swore internally to behave himself, part of making amends for last night.

Tugging down the sleeve of his long-sleeved shirt that rode up when he fished for his phone, he busied himself while the other complete his task. Efficient as ever, Squall wasn’t waiting for long but was jolted out of a stupor by the abrupt cursing. Head snapping in Seifer’s direction, alert eyes started scanning for injuries automatically. Noting the stare at the needle, he pieced two and two together. Cautious as ever, huh? The thought bloomed to life from a bubble of amusement at the blond’s misfortune. So much that a ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips, the alertness in his eyes vanishing for mirth to manifest instead. Idiot.

Interest sparking when he saw the needle and thread fade from existence like the dagger last night, Squall almost missed the question thrown his way. Gaze drifting from where the sewing items had been to jade-greens, his expression fell from amused to an exceptionally flat countenance. “I scorched a bar. Local law enforcement required my presence. The Glaives are the local law enforcement.” Kinda. “Thus, I’m here.”

Not where he wanted to be, sure, but whatever. Changing the ‘duh’ look for something a little less inciting, he turned off his phone before sneaking it back into a pocket, leaving his arms free to cross loosely over his chest. Taking the rare opportunity of a still Seifer to properly look at the man from his past, Squall was perturbed to find more differences than similarities. Sure, externally, Seifer’s appearance hadn’t changed much (from what he could see, anyway). Same sunshine hair, same piercing green eyes, same devilish smirk whenever it formed. He was big, burly, and knew how to use his intimidating stature for his own benefit. And the scar he personally permanently embedded…

The differences outweighed everything. The blond just… seemed way more in his element here, issues with authority and being told what to do set aside, he was flourishing. Happier, far more relaxed than what Squall had ever seen him and—nicer. That fact still flummoxed him, but in all fairness, he himself had been an asshole until the age of seventeen. The only dissimilarity between his and Seifer’s assholish natures was direction: he wanted people away from him whereas Seifer commanded attention.

Overall, the blond had found another calling. A good life.

…Would I have been happier if I left?

Earnestly a little stunned at the direction his trail of thoughts took (not for the first time…), Squall realised he’d been gawking like an idiot while monologuing. Rectifying his blunder, he tore his eyes away from his former rival’s person and stood smoothly. Unfolding his arms, he brushed imaginary dust from his thighs and took a steadying inhale before he dared glimpse Seifer again. One hand clenched into a loose fist at his side and the other he extended out for the blond to take, an invitation so to speak. “Let’s get out of here.”

Having to sit still for that long to even get this shit over with, the tall blond definitely could imagine doing something more appealing with his time. Squall wasn't wrong to assume he needed the adrenaline, the distraction, though surely because of different reasons than the SeeD would pin on him. He needed it so he wouldn't have to think too much. It was the reason he provoked certain local Glaives to the point they would just deck him to make him shut up, granting him the bliss of distracting pain. Making someone explode in his face had become a downright addiction and if Squall had been able to watch him walk about the Headquarters, he'd soon have to realize that as much as the profession as a Glaive might suit the tall blond, he was not, by any means of the word, 'happy'. Thinking, by its nature, always led him down a spiral staircase that inevitably ended with him probing shredded memories of a time his mind had not been entirely his own. When lulling words spun silky threads, pulling just in the right places to make him believe he did the right thing and that, when all was said and done, he would get what he wanted. What happened back then, with him, he had not even shared with his best friends, Fujin and Raijin. No one knew about it. Right now, only the presence of his formal rival was, ironically, what grounded him in the here and now and prevented his thoughts from spiraling out of control, as silent as the brunet might be. Sure, he had sought out this corridor on his own, but would he have been left to his own devices he knew he would have ended up letting his thoughts wander down that dark path. They always did.

Be that as it were, instead of having to deal with that, he could feel the gaze of steelblue eyes resting on him now, apparently rather surprised he was even able to handle something like a needle in his hands. "Still remember how Instructor Naahm had us stitch for two hours straight so we knew how to fix our fucking gear...", he muttered under his breath, giving an answer to a question that had not been asked. Surely all that staring was because of his skilled stitching and not some other sort of interest? Maybe the other even remembered the old hag that had taught them, who knew? Once he was done with the ordeal of closing up the bullet hole, he saw the slight spark of interest flash over Squall's face following the dissolving glow of the amiger magic. "Pretty cool, huh?" he grinned, wiggling his fingers which still prickled slightly from the power that had just surged through them.

The answer to his question, flat and a tinge pedantic just like he knew the other man to be, gave Seifer the first chuckle of the day. "Well, not technically, we aren't. You're thinking of the Crownsguard. Easy mistake to make though, they haven't been established as law enforcement for that long.", he cared to explain, leaning forward to get a look outside a nearby glassdoor which led out of the building, so he could catch a glimpse on the weather. Deciding to forgo putting on his coat again in favor of wearing the dark grey Kingsglaive shirt with its intricate silver embellishments, he placed the unneeded part of the uniform beside him, frowning thoughtfully for a moment.

He remembered well how their youth had been, at least before their junctioning to the astral's powers had eaten away most of their childhood. But the orphanage he remembered. Sticking with the brunet crybaby and yet having to leave him behind one day because he simply was the older one and had been sent to Garden. Sure enough, Squall followed, and not only to their academy but also in his footsteps as a gunblade-wielder. The only one besides himself, giving the blond enough of a cause to irk him as much as he could, provoking him so that he'd want to best him. And their sparrings had been non-short of amazing. "You didn't have Revolver with you yesterday," the deep voice finally hummed as he realized he had been lost to reminiscence. "Where is she?" Looking at the other again, he suddenly noticed the intent stare of grey-blues, catching him off guard as he had never before seen Squall do that before. And of course, he couldn't let that slide. "What, like what you see?", he teased, shit-eating grin firm in place.

Not expecting an answer yet very carefully looking for a response on the other's face, he blinked in astonishment as he realized the other was offering him a hand. Gaze flicking to the man’s eyes and back down to ensure he was not being played, he finally took the hand in his and rolled to his feet. Stretching a moment to shake the remainder of the tension this entire day had laid on his body (and totally not to downplay his wonder), he nodded then. "Yeah, let's," he agreed with a sigh, slipping on his gloves and grabbing the coat as he set to exit the corridor through a pair of big glass doors that slid open as soon as they approached.

The sun had begun to set in the meantime, yet the heat of the day still lingered in the air enough to make for a pleasant remaining warmth. Spending most of his evenings in bars - another way to comfortably avoid remembering too much of the wrong things - Seifer didn't have to think too long to come up with a good alternative to the now 'Closed for Restorations' King's Pearl. Sadly no pretty girls or boys to look at staff-wise, but it would do. Admittedly, he had for a moment thought about straight-out dragging Squall into a strip club - and he would have, if he wasn't sure his free drinks for the night would go out the window. Maybe later. Instead, he steered his steps away from the Headquarter Grounds and down a street busy with cars and other vehicles, it being the end of the working day for most Insomnians. Coat flung over one shoulder and holding it with one hand, the other busied itself with procuring a cigarette and lighting it while they walked towards what seemed to be a market street on the weekends. Following it, Seifer soon turned a corner and made for the entrance of what seemed to be a pub, if with a more modern flair. Positioning himself beside the door and holding up the cigarette to signal he'd take a moment to finish it, the blond nodded towards the entrance. "Go ahead and grab us a table if you want."

#onepartbrave #this was kinda wholesome?#also some seifer angst peppered in there #rp #long post #agh now I forgot an icon xD nvm it's ok

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beccarooni · 4 years

Text

Armour

(A.N: Day 2 of thorbruce week! Prompt: Armour)

Thor had never been one to partake in magic. It was never his forte, his talent. No, his strength was in battle, in his hammer, in the lightning that crackled from his fingertips. That was what Odin had said, anyway. That was what he was permitted to be talented in. Save the magic and the tricks for Loki, save being quiet and reading and books by the fireside for your brother. They are not for you to partake in.

But, Frigga had always had different plans. She'd taught the swooping curve of the blade to Loki, where Odin had been content to let him calcify. And to Thor, she had shared the gift of magic.

Nothing too fancy, of course. And not to the degree Loki had mastered.

A few simple glamour spells, some light healing here and there. For when his lightning burned in his veins and singed his skin, so he could heal his flesh as fast as it was ruined.

And the glamour spells, the illusions, for where the healing couldn't cover. For when he needed to appear strong, to mask the wounds of battle and plaster on an appearance of effortless victory.

He was grateful for that skill. It made leaving Nivadellir much easier.

Rocket was still worried about him, of course. After all, he'd been dead for about a minute - according to them, at least. And Tree still looked at him strangely, like he'd been told a lie he couldn't quite believe, but didn't have the evidence to dispute either.

But, Stormbreaker was in his hand, and his burns were gone. To them, he was fine. A shining God, capable of taking on a dying star without leaving a scratch - the lone survivor of Asgard. Indestructible, immovable. To Thanos’s blade or the stinging heat of solar flares, he would stand strong.

At least, that’s what they thought.

He would've liked to keep up that facade for longer. For the Avengers, for Bruce, for everyone.

But he was not as skilled as Loki. The magic had to fade sometime.

He just wished he'd been alone when it did.

He'd first noticed it in the aftermath of Wakanda. In the Quinjet ride home, back to the compound, he'd spotted the first hole in his design. A small patch of skin just above his wrist, burned raw. He’d covered it as best he could, of course. Strapped on his arm-guard just that little bit tighter, gritting his teeth against the brutal scrape of singed skin against metal. No one had noticed that - he was grateful, for the shield that grief brought him. People piled off into corners, split from the group to recover in their own sanctuaries. Silence settled across the ship, and even the hum of the engines felt disrespectful. The technology was cold and unfeeling, without Stark. It didn’t have the decency to offer it’s minute long silence for the dead of the world. No, not the world. The universe.

The death of the universe, no matter how many remained.

Bruce had sat close to him, or rather, as close as he dared. Where Thor stood against the window, staring out onto a dust-covered evening, Bruce sat close by. Leaving a space beside him on the bench, a warm hand resting just above the window-pane, a guise of a strained muscle being left to rest.

Thor knew what it was - an invitation. An outstretched hand, as carefully laid out as any lab experiment, placed deliberately to let Thor know he wasn’t alone. That Bruce was here, and here for him no less.

He was no more worthy of the warmth those arms would bring than he was worthy of Mjolnir. And so he stayed, cold, and bruised, and alone.

The next wounds weren’t so easy to hide.

The Avengers - or what was left of them - had begun to walk from the jet to the Compound. A short walk, a small matter of meters that he should have been able to make without assistance. Everyone else had. Everyone else had taken the hands that had been offered to them, hadn’t suffered from the sin of pride that he had fallen victim to.

A vain, greedy, cruel boy. Unworthy of the loved ones he had betrayed.

He shut his eyes against the memory, and took a step forward.

It burned. Fire, from an injury that had smouldered hours ago, reignited against his torso. An incessant, pulsing pain that shot up his side, the molten tendrils seeping into his lungs, choking out what little oxygen he had left.

One hand flew to steady himself, and for a few terrifying moments, his world turned dark and fuzzy. He wondered if this was how it felt, if there had been a delayed reaction somehow, and he was going to disappear like the rest of them. Like Vision, like Sam, like Wanda. If his own life was to join the consequences of his most spectacular failing yet.

“Thor?”

A hand, soothing and cold, wrapped around his wrist. Another one laid against his neck, holding him carefully, as if he was made of porcelain.

“Thor, what’s happening? Are you ok?”

Bruce paused, his breath shaky and fragile against his ear.

“Come on, say something. How do I help you?”

It took him a few long seconds to force out the next few words through bloodied lips, but he got there.

“You don’t.”

Thor wrenched himself upright, trying to find the effort to offer a reassuring smile, but even that fell flat.

“I don’t need helping. I’m fine.”

"Fine." Bruce echoed, and Thor was taken aback somewhat by the fury in Bruce's eyes.

Not directed at him, at least, not entirely. Those hazel eyes were fixed on the sky, over Thor's shoulder, somewhere in the middle distance.

Although, he wouldn't blame him if it was. If Bruce had to pick a time to hate him, this would be the perfect opportunity. The death of half the universe rested in his shoulders, the blood of millions staining his axe purple, if Bruce wanted to hate him then he was fine with that, he was fine. He was fine-

"Thor, I'm sorry, but no you're not."

Bruce's fingers tightened around the collar of his armour, soft skin cool against his burns.

"Do you...you honestly think I don't get it by now? That somehow I'll believe you when you tell me you don't need helping? After everything? Or...or what, you think I just don't care enough to doubt you? Because I do, I care. And I'm not gonna see you destroy yourself over this. So...there."

The scientists chest rose and fell, puffs of air flaring from his nostrils as he tried to get his breath back after...that.

He looked away, wiping at his nose under the guise of removing some of the dirt of battle, and Thor began to feel something in him unwind.

A knot that he'd carefully tied, in the confines of a dying star. Threads and fibres that he’d knitted together, each memory serving to remind him painfully of the black hair and pale skin that he’d left behind in the wreckage of the Statesman.

Golden shimmers filled his vision, and for a moment, that was all he saw as the tight feeling in his chest morphed into something else, some feeling comprised of burning coals and choking sulfur that bloomed under his ribcage, choking the storm inside of him, and threatening to plunge him into darkness entirely.

Golden, like the stars Odin and Frigga had left behind in their wake. Like the walls of Asgard, tainted with the blood of an empire. Like the glove that had snapped half the universe to dust and ashes.

The last of the illusions faded, and Bruce’s grasp only got that much tighter.

“Thor…”

“Don’t.”

Thor’s shoulders tensed under his hold, his eyes screwing shut against the onslaught of a different kind of heat rapidly building behind them - the faint sting of the few tears that had escaped were enough to remind him of his place, his duty.

A statue. The Kings of Asgard are strong and brave. They do not shed tears.

“Don’t say anything, please. Just…”

At last, he felt his body begin to give in to his minds need for rest. His legs shook, and the armour across his back was an unwelcome strain against his bruised body.

“Just help me. Please.”

Bruce nodded, his expression unreadable. Faint green lines forced their way back under his skin, leaving him pallid and pale.

Your fault. You did this to him. This was your burden to bear but you revealed it to him, and now he suffers.

“Tell me how.” The scientist’s voice was gentle, now.

A quiet coaxing, trying to shift Thor towards movement, towards sorrow, anger - anything but this muted apathy, like the nerves that had lit up the skies had been crudely cut out, leaving behind a shell. The black backdrop of space, unlit by stars.

“How do I help you?”

***

It was 3 in the morning by the time Bruce had finished.

Thor had fallen asleep some time after that, in part to the stack of chamomile tea Bruce always kept in supply, but mostly thanks to exhaustion.

He ran a tired hand down his face, tapping a few more formulas onto his laptop, although the numbers were really starting to blur together at this point. Usually, he’d take this opportunity to clamber into bed with Thor. That’s what they’d done on the Statesman, anyway. The last fragile peace they’d shared together, limbs intertwined, eyes on the universe that stretched out in front of them and a foolish sense of hope fluttering in their chests.

Hulk hadn’t seen fit to show him what had happened to the Asgardians. He’d locked that memory far away, along with himself, resigning to the back of Bruce’s mind, leaving him alone with the eerie feeling of a loud mind gone quiet. But he knew it was bad.

It just hadn’t been revealed how bad until the battle had calmed. Until he was able to see past the storm clouding Thor’s eyes, to look into them and see...nothing.

There was never nothing in Thor’s eyes. There was always a spark, an ocean, a raincloud, something for him to latch onto and never want to let go.

And it had only gotten worse from there. Worse, Thor shied away from his touch. Worse, Thor stood alone on the plane ride back, staring out of the window with an expression etched on his face that Bruce couldn’t even fathom.

Bruce had seen a lot of pain in his life. His own, Hulk’s, the people that he’d hurt and others that he’d tried to save. He thought by now he’d be used to dealing with it, with the tears and the anguish that came from a loss like this.

But, then again, there hadn’t been a loss like this. A sickening unification, uniting the planets in tragedy, stretching across the outreaches of space.

Bruce had thought he’d known pain, but the sound of Thor’s choked sobbing as he removed his armour - piece by piece, as gently as he could, whispering again and again that it’ll be over soon, I promise, you’re doing so well, just a few more pieces and then we’re done, I swear.

The muffled whimpers as Bruce had tried to manoeuvre the now half-asleep demigod into the softest t-shirt he could find, each flinch and wince of pain when a tender spot of skin had brushed against the bedsheets.

That had certainly disproved his theory.

He glanced down at the sleeping figure beside him, huffing a soft sigh as he allowed his fingers to trace the shorn patterns of Thor’s hair.

The full force of a dying star. At least that’s what Rocket had said.

The concentrated heat of a supernova, the roaring storm before the deathly quiet of a black hole. That was what Thor had subjected himself to. All for an axe that lay abandoned in the corner of the room, the faint smell of cleaning liquid clinging to it from a half-measured attempt to wipe the Titan’s blood away.

Thor had looked at the future, looked at the burning ball of gas, at the bruised skin and the pain it would take just to get through it, and decided that it was worth it, for an axe.

Or, the worse option, Thor hadn’t looked at the future at all. He hadn’t considered surviving - he’d just done it anyway.

Bruce felt his throat tighten, and let his hand drop to the side of Thor’s face, still feeling a semblance of the unnatural heat leeching the cold from his fingertips.

“You’re an idiot, y’know that?” He murmured, rubbing his thumb dutifully against the sharp line of Thor’s jaw.

Still caught in the throes of sleep, Thor muttered some kind of half-response, lost between where half of his face was pressed into the pillow.

“M’not.” The demigod shifted, pushing his face closer towards Bruce, chasing the cool warmth of his hand against his skin.

“You are. And when you’re more awake, we’re talking about all of this.”

Thor made a noise of protest, one blue eye cracking open, still somehow managing to shine through the dark with an eerie glow of leftover lightning.

“But not now?”

“No, not now.” Bruce shut the lid of his laptop, shifting his legs under what thin sheets Thor had been able to stand, moving to wrap his arms around his thunder god’s shoulders.

“Get some sleep. I’ll be here in the morning.”

“You’re not gonna leave?”

“No. Not again.” He felt the broad shoulders begin to shake under his arms, as his nose met the freshly washed hair that still managed to retain a faint smell of smouldering.

“I’m never leaving you again.”

#thorbruceweek2019 #thorbruce #thor #bruce banner #post infinity war #angst #thunderscience #gammahammer #thorbruce week 2019

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mystic-scripture · 4 years

Note

All the Angst and all the Dirty for Spendy pls

Sure, Sara make me horny and sad why don’t you.

For the Angst:

9. Have they made each other cry?

When they finally talk about Emily and what going to JJ did to Wendy’s head (see preview below), it makes them both cry, whenever one of them fails to see an emotional drag on the other causes issues. They are both very intellectually minded, so talking about feelings is hard for them. So when they do finally manage to break down each other’s walls, it is pretty emotional.

10. Write a ~300 word argument scene for them.

Wendy’s hands shook as she took the bottles out of the pocket of her bathrobe. Spencer’s eyes widened, his lips forming words he didn’t have the voice to say. She licked her lips before she spoke, trying to keep herself grounded.

“What are these doing in my apartment?” She was afraid of the answer, but she needed to know. “And is this why you’ve been avoiding me?”

“Avoi- I haven’t been avoiding you.” He ran his hand through his hair, averting his gaze from hers. “I just forgot they were in there, if you recall I had a bit to drink last night.”

“Oh, oh I recall, you were escorted here because my place was closer.” Her hand clenched so hard, she could hear the glass of the bottles grinding together. “But seeing as you pride yourself on your Eidetic Memory, I doubt that’s true, so answer… the damn...question.”

It was Spencer’s turn to lick his lip, his stance going rigid as she stared him down. “I-I was going to have JJ help me flush it. I’ve been having thoughts...and I didn’t want to put you through that again. I wasn’t going to use, but-”

“You’ve thought about it and your answer was to go to JJ?!” She groaned,dropping the bottles to pull at her hair. “And not me? When I was the one to help you stop in the first place, you thought going to another woman was okay?”

“I-I didn’t want to worry you,” His eyes pleaded hers to understand, searching for a way to talk his way out of this fight. “I know things have been hard for you since Emil-”

“How would you know how hard things have been for me? I’ve barely even seen you at work let alone here.” She shoved at his chest. “You’ve barely even touched me since the hospital and you have the gall to tell me how I feel?”

“Wait, are you mad at me for not being here?” His hands steadied her before she could pull too far away. “For giving you your space when I knew you needed time to figure things out? I thought you were the one pulling away from me.”

“God for a second just think with this,” she snapped her hand away, jabbing a finger at his chest. “And get out of that stupid, big brain of yours! How could I possibly have been pulling away from you? My body language, speech patterns, even the way I’ve looked at you the past few weeks has been screaming for you to notice me!”

“But you didn’t, and you’ve been adding insult to injury by seeing her.” Wendy gulped down the venom forming in her words. “And you will never understand what that did to me.”

11. What causes them to fight?

They get into little debates about things all the time, but all out fights? Honestly, Wendy lashes out when she gets insecure, usually about JJ or other girls. Reid tends to into fits of ‘I’m angry because I care’ rage toward her about taking care of herself. They also get pretty pissed at each other when one of them decides to be reckless on the job.

12. Do they have differing political opinions?

No, Wendy does her best to avoid it while keeping informed, but every now and again, Reid will go on a factoid tirade which usually ends up stressing Wendy the hell out. She knows they are necessary, but as long as she didn’t have to partake in them, they were a far away necessity.

13. Name something they would never do for the other person.

For? Not much, there’s a lot they would do for each other. Heck, Wendy has nearly died from Anthrax for/with him, and he took a bullet to the knee for her. Of course this causes them to get made at each other for being stupid, but they are very much an “I jump, you jump” couple.

14. What would be a dealbreaker?

Lies. Wendy has had to deal with so many lies in their job and in her life, she can’t stand it. And Spencer, well we saw what happened when JJ lied to him given how close they were.

15. What are traits they dislike in one another?

It kills Wendy that he is such a technophobe, like technology is her life, and it’s what got her into the FBI to begin with. Also, she is a bit of a neat freak, so when he scatters things about when they are working together she gets a little punchy.

With Spencer, he can’t understand how stubborn she is in spite of any facts he throws at her. It doesn’t matter how many books or articles he’s read on the subject, once her opinion is made, there isn’t much that can change it. Also, he doesn’t understand how she can be so tidy, his brain works too fast to clean as he goes, but she is so freaking meticulous? Sometimes it scares him.

16. If they broke up, what would be their opinions of each other?

While it would be hella awkward having to revert to their friendship, they are friends and coworkers first. They will always have tremendous respect and want the best for each other.

For the Dirty:

25. What moves do they know work on the other?

As soon as Spencer does anything to her neck or earlobe Wendy is done, and he knows it. Also whenever he pulls on her hair to guide her somewhere. Wendy meanwhile, takes great pride in knowing his need to be in control, and will give little noises or attempts at dominance just get him a little more riled up.

26. What are their favorite parts about physical affection/sex?

Honestly? The dichotomy of it all, the sweetness of everything they do in spite of how rough they go about it. And Spencer makes damn well sure that Wendy comes at least once, a lot of times before him. Wendy likes to watch him come undone, stroking his face and maintaining hella eye contact.

27. Do they have any kinks/fetishes that they share?

Spencer is totally a Dom, and Wendy is happy to be his sub. Choking, hand binding, and shibari are shared kinks. Also, Wendy in JUST one of his dress shirts or cardigans drives him nuts, and for her, there is something about the muscles in his back that just does it for her.

28. Write a ~300 fantasy one of them has about the other.

“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” Wendy gasped, pulling him by his tie for a hungry, lingering kiss. “Literally any of them could walk in on us Or worse, hear us.”

“Then I guess you’ll just have to be quiet.” He murmured, spinning them to pin her against the door of the Jet’s bathroom.

He smirked as she let out a small gasp, but nodded. His hand took her wrists in his as he ravaged her neck, kissing and licking his way down the opening of her dress shirt. She trembled, biting her lip to keep the moans from coming out too loud, glaring at him. She knew he was doing this on purpose, that he wanted to see just how far he could go and keep her quiet. Her wrists struggled against his grip, her hips dipping towards him when he pulled away.

Chuckling lightly, he let her go, hands going to the zipper of her skirt. Her hands roamed, his sides, dipping to his belt that she made quick work of. Opening the zipper, she dipped a small hand to palm him, releasing a surprised growl from Spencer. Her pink lips formed a satisfied smirk and she bit her bottom lip.

“And you were worried about me...” She teased, using her other hand to wrap around his neck to pull him into another kiss, biting his lip harshly. “You sure you can manage it, Doctor?”

Her mocking him, mixed with what her hand was doing almost undid him there, but he grabbed her hips, pushing her into the door with an audible bang. Her eyes opened, and a startled noise formed in her throat, but he quickly shut her up, kissing her roughly, and using the opportunity to gain entrance with his tongue. His hands moved to cup the back of her thighs and she hopped out of the pool of fabric that was her skirt to wrap around him.

Soon, his pants and boxers followed, and her underwear was twisted aside. He adjusted slightly, making it so that he pillowed her head with one hand, and held onto her with another. Wendy took the hint and placed hands above her head, pushing against him and bracing herself on the door. Looking into his eyes, he taunted her, teasing her entrance.

“Keep talking,” He ordered, backing away when she tried to meet him. “We’ll just see who can manage it.”

29. What are each of their signature foreplay moves?

Spencer takes his time roaming her body with kisses, and keeping her pinned, the inability to touch him drives Wendy crazy. Wendy will bite his lip, or tongue during heated kisses and go to pull away all innocent like.

30. Write a short exchange of dirty talk between them. (kind of not really, just Wendy being a brat)

“Comeon Dr. Reid, what’s the matter? Afraid you can’t handle it?

“You have no idea what I can handle, Little Girl.”

31. What do they love to do after sex?

Aside from a second or third round? Snuggles, just laying there in the afterglow until one or both of them falls asleep. Wendy traces patterns on his chest while he threads his fingers through her hair.

32. Do they enjoy morning or night sex?

Uhm...Yes. Most mornings end up getting interrupted with their job though.

Send me a ship and numbers!

Wendy Tag: @abbyarcxnes @perfectlystiles @raging-violets (sara asked, no need to tag her) @foxesandmagic @anotherunreadblog @curious-kittens-ocs @darknightfrombeyond (Missed you or want to be added? HMU!)

#wendy asks #spendy asks #good lord I'm bad at smut #spendy smut #Fic: Prolific #fd: criminal minds #Wendy Durant #asks answered

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dramaqueeenamby · 5 years

Text

Feast

A/N: Yeah. Idk how to stick with the word requirements for blurbs so here is a whole damn oneshot with Big Nasty and a black reader. Also, ya’ll know I love Amara and she’s my go-to FC, but feel free to ignore and imagine yaselves’! :p

Words: 3.4K

Warnings: Slight, like very slight, and shitty smut

Tagging the fellow Flo’s Hoes/Lil Nasties who I know share love for our manzzzz and expressed interest in this hot mess!

TAGS: @chaneajoyyy @forbeautyandlife @heyauntieeee @crushed-pink-petals @mimigemrose @thepinkjinx @honeychicana @sdcyumyum @babygirlofwakanda

FEAST

“Bitch, hurry up. I can only hold my stomach in for so long. Not all of us have abs like you.”

Your best friend and current photographer sucked her teeth. “What abs? I haven’t done a real workout in months.”

You rolled your eyes, breaking from your position to place your hands on your hips and look over at her, squinting from the intensity of the sun. “What are we about to do then?”

Maya mirrored your stance. “You know damn well we’re only going to make it about a block before we call it quits.”

You laughed. It was true. While Maya had a bit more stamina than you, neither of you were feeling like being healthy. Plus, between decorating your new condo that you’d purchased with your best friend since elementary school or getting in a negative calorie burning workout….playing interior designer sounded a lot more appealing.

“Well let;s at least get these pictures done. We look too bomb to not snap a pic or two.”

“Or 100.”

You fake sniffled. “You know me so well.”

Sharing a laugh, Maya instructed you on how to pose, snapping more than two photos before you switched positions.

“Ugh. Give me your height, please.” At 5’10 with a slim thick figure, your best friend could have easily been a model if you two hadn’t went into the clothing business, opening your own boutique.

Maya snorted. “Give me your booty.”

“It’s a trade,” you agreed as Maya gave you poses that made her look even that more angelic and bomb than she already was. “Work, bitch.” The two of you fell out laughing as she gave a little twerk before covering her face.

“Can’t take us anywhere.”

You wiped at your eyes. “Nowhere.” She came to stand beside as you two perused through the photos you’ve taken eventually settling on one for each of you to post on social media.

“Franchise is going to love that one,” Maya murmured as you guys started to walk back toward your condominium, the decision to bypass the workout an unspoken agreement made among you.

You threw your head back and groaned. “You and that damn nickname.”

“I wouldn’t have given it to him if you would bless that man with some Rosetta Stone.”

“Now see, what we not gon’ do is talk about my baby.”

“That’s the biggest ass baby I’ve ever seen.” As her eyes fell onto you, she caught the sly and suggestive smile planted on your face. “Stop that!”

“You tell no lies,” you wiggled your brows as she grimaced.

“I think I’m going to be sick.” She pretended to gag as you pulled out your phone to check the post. Sure enough, he’d been one of the first to like it.

Smiling, you swiped to see he’d left two separate comments.

😍😍😍

Mine 🤪🙌🏻❤️

You quickly double tapped both to heart them before giving a quick reply.

☺️😘❤️

Your boyfriend, Florian, was the definition of unexpected. You’d met by chance, both of you being on the same connecting flight that been delayed, forcing passengers to spend the night in the terminal. Your phone was dying, you foolishly leaving your charger in your suitcase as you hadn’t expected your battery to die before you reached your stop, Honduras.

Looking around the terminal, you noticed that there was only one available seat that was near a charging station. And it just so happened to be next to the tall, large, and handsome man who you could have sworn you’d caught staring at you several times. Never really into white guys, even you couldn’t deny the man was sexy as hell.

You’d overheard him talking on the phone and noticed he had a European accent to his deep voice, amping the appeal you were already having problems ignoring.

As your battery sunk into single digits, you decided to approach the handsome stranger, asking if it was alright for you to take the seat next to him.

“Of course.” Was his kind reply, his smile causing your stomach to do all kind of somersaults and walkovers.

While you’d initially planned to pretend to be busy on your phone, it seemed as though being in his proximity or being the first to make the move was the only thing he needed to start up a conversation.

An exchange of names and casual conversation quickly turned into you learning almost everything to know about each other. He was an actor who’d just been cast in a film he couldn’t tell because of contractual reasons and was going on a short vacation with close friends before traveling to the states to start filming.

You told him how you were heading to Honduras to celebrate your best friend’s 25th birthday. His favorite color was green. Yours was pink. He was the baby of his siblings. You were an only child. He was single….you were single.

You could definitely detect the flirtatious tone he allowed to seep in his naturally confident demeanor and surprised yourself with how you matched his vibe. Then again, how couldn’t you? The man was gorgeous and his body was delicious.

And that was just from what you could see through his sweats.

Contact information was exchanged as you two eventually separated, and what started as a long distance friendship easily transformed into something a lot more serious. He was away filming for three months, 90 days that comprised of constant phone and video communication, virtual interaction constituting the forming of your relationship.

Though you hadn’t officially discussed the status of you “-ship” as you’d gleefully ran into his open arms as you met him at the airport, making physical contact with him for the first time since you met…..you just kinda knew.

Then, of course, the fact that you two went through almost half a box of condoms the same night and you learning the real reason they called him Big Nasty probably helped as well.

So now, months later, there was no question about where you two stood. Florian was your man, and you, his lady.

Pulling down to refresh the comments, your smile dropped as you saw Maya’s reply on the thread between you and your boyfriend.

🤨 She been both fine AND mine long before you, Franchise.

Looking at her with the ‘really, bitch’ face, she busted out laughing.

“You know I had to.”

You maintained your annoyed expression before joining her in her cackling. “I hate you.”

“Lies,” she sang. “That’s like saying you hate Baby Arnold.”

“Maya!”

She was right though. Though you’d always been hesitant about falling too deeply given your less than stellar track record with men, there was something different about Florian. Being with him made you feel like a teenager all over again. Hell, you were 25 and getting all giddy over a damn Instagram comment.

You didn’t want to say that you loved him. Not yet. Not out loud, at least. But….you definitely more than just liked him.

As you two made it back to your condominium, you decided to start unpacking the boxes that created a fire hazard in your kitchen. You’d had just about enough takeout and while neither of you could cook to save your lives, it couldn’t help to start learning.

After all, you wanted to try to learn how to make at least one of your man’s favorite dishes. All you needed was a recipe, ingredients, prayers, and a fire extinguisher.

“Would you get off your phone and help me put some of these dishes away?” You yelled at your friend as she waved you off, continuing her IG live as she ate the last bit of her Chinese takeout.

“You’re doing great, sweetie!” She snorted as you turned around to flip her off.

“Hey, Siri. Play my music on Shuffle,” Maya called out to the HomePod. You rolled your eyes and prepared to tell the music player to turn it off when you realized it was “Bust Down Barbiana.”

“Ayee!” You shouted, running over to turn the music all the way up as Maya jumped up as well. Going over by her, the two of you started to dance and sing along.

“Thank you next, Ariana!” You both yelled as you two twerked on each other, all desires to stay on task thrown out the window. You continued to dance, noticing as the viewers of the Live continued to go up and up as you remembered Maya had a good amount of followers.

For a second, you contemplated moving out of the frame but as soon as the next song came on, Tia Tamera by Doja Cat, you knew it was a wrap.

“Hair grow long like Chia. Money go long like Nia!” You sang loudly, moving to climb up on the half wall, dancing on there, dropping into a squat and moving your ass. “I am the big idea! My twins big like Tia!”

“Aye! Aye!” Maya continued to hype you as she grabbed her phone to better film you. “Get it, Thickems!”

Continuing to act a fool, you didn’t notice Maya roll her eyes until she shouted.

“Go away, Franchise!”

Hearing that, you looked at her. “Flo’s watching?” As she murmured a ‘you know he is,’ you grin widened as you blew a kiss. “Hi, baby!”

“Can ya’ll not be all romantic on my live!” Maya groaned. You ignored her and continued to dance, purposely moving your ass even more. Flo loved your booty, his big hands always going to grab or smack it every chance he got.

Especially during sex. His favorite position was any that allowed him to bend you over. The counter, the bed, a workout machine, anything really.

“He said get your ass down before you fall, Bee!” Maya warned, though you were unsure if she was just saying that or if Flo really was concerned.

“If I fall and hurt myself, will you come home?” You asked, half joking, half serious. Promo for the film Florian had been filming, Creed II, was at full force, your poor boyfriend having to partake in interview after interview and premiere after premiere. A part of you felt bad for him, but you missed your man more.

It’d been almost two months since you’d seen him in person, and he wasn’t set to come visit you for another month. Your shower head and vibrator could only do so much. You needed the real and much bigger thing.

But sexual desires aside, you really just missed being held by your boyfriend, joking around with him, forcing him to watch your “chick flicks” or the occasional trip to the club.

“Ooooh.” You finally jumped down and walked over to Maya. “Call him.”

Maya turned up her nose. “Hell no. This is a rated G live. Ain’t no freak shit taking place on my watch. I’m a Christian.”

“Bitch you a whole lie and 3/4ths.” You smacked your lips as you looked over her shoulder to see comments coming in left and right but focusing in only on his.

😂😂😂😂😂

“Call me, baby!”

“It’s maybe.”

“Maya, I am about to punch you in your throat.”

“Come on then, bitch. I ain’t never been scared.”

“You are so ignorant.” You wiped at your eyes and elbowed her, walking away to get your phone out the kitchen.

“That ass though!”

Shaking your head, you looked at your reflection in the FaceTime before calling him. Ring, ring, ring, With each ring, your smile dimmed. Why was he not answering? Eventually, the “unavailable” screen came up and you frowned.

“He didn’t answer.” You told Maya as she walked over, having ended her call.

Maya shrugged. “Probably went to go beat his-“

“Maya!”

——

As you finished applying your night serums, your mind was still focused on the day’s earlier events.

You’d tried calling Florian a few more times after that with each call being ignored. You texted him. No reply. Hell, you’d even resorted to more stalkerish tendencies by checking his IG activity to see if he was liking photos or whatnot. Nothing. He’d just gone ghost.

You tried to ignore it. You really did. The last thing you wanted to think about was him cheating, messing around on you. He was probably working, but as you thought about where he was and the time zone, what work could he be doing at 3 something in the morning?

Something just wasn’t right.

Of course, Maya called you stupid.

“Terminator knows I’ll kick his Russian ass if he breaks your heart.”

“He’s Romanian, Maya.”

“I don’t care if he’s Lettucian. He still gon catch this fade if he wanna be on some Tristian Hoempson shit and cheat on you.”

You chuckled. Your best friend was crazy, but you loved her.

Just like you love Flo-

“Oh hell no.”

Frowning, you walked to the bedroom door. “What’s up?”

“Ain’t this about a bitch.”

Sighing, you walked over to slide on your slippers and headed out your room. “Heifer, you better be dying.”

“Oh, someone is about to die.”

You rolled your eyes and walked over to the top of the steps. “What-“

Mouth ajar, eyes wide as saucers, you completely blocked out Maya’s smirking, charcoal mask covered as she crossed her arms over chest, and murmured a small “gotcha.”

No, your eyes were focused on the giant standing at the bottom of your steps, bag on one shoulder, suitcase on the floor next to him, his magnetic smile on his handsome face.

“Surprise.”

As though his voice was your ‘on’ switch, you broke from your trance. “Baby!” Descending down the steps with surprising speed, you threw your body into his, legs wrapping around his waist.

“Now what if you had fallen? Hmm? Who was going to pay that hospital bill?” Maya wondered aloud as you flipped her off while crashing your lips onto Florian, his hands going to palm your ass as he held you against him.

“Hey, hey, hey! All possible baby making activities need to take place in the bedroom as per section G, paragraph 2, lines 8 through 11 of the contract.”

“What are you doing here?” You asked after having to break away for air, completely ignoring your best friend. “I thought you couldn’t get away for another month.”

“I’m done in a month, but everyone needs a break, yeah?” His finger traced your lips as you went to drop your legs so that you could stand up, only for him to tighten his grip. “You missed me, hmm?”

“You know what I’m going to miss? The silence!” Maya groaned. “Where are my Beats because if you think I’m going to listen to “fuck me daddy” and “don’t stop” all night-“

Florian chuckled as you wrapped your arms around his neck, dropping your head on his chest. “It’s nice to see you too, Maya.”

“Don’t lie to her,” you mumbled into him as he turned to look at you, pecking your forehead, forcing a giggle as you clutched him tighter.

Maya gagged. “I’m leaving. Don’t beat it up too much. Tomorrow is the Lord’s day.”

“Hate you, mean it.” You groaned as she walked up the steps, finally leaving you two alone.

Hitting him on his shoulder, he looked over at you with a scowl. “Wh-“

“You had me worried sick about you.” You finally remembered the stress he’d unknowingly forced you to endure as the result of his surprise.

“I’m sorry.” You noticed the guilt in his eyes and voice and felt a bit bad about making him feel bad. “I wanted to surprise you.”

“I don’t like surprises,” you pouted as he finally let you down so that he could slide the bag off his shoulder, hands going to your hips. “I like being able to talk to my man.”

“Maybe I don’t wanna talk,” he hummed, head dropping down as he lightly nipped at your neck. “Maybe I want to touch…to taste.”

You released a mixture of a moan and groan, legs involuntary clenching together.

“You should be tired.” You tried to be considerate. As much as you wanted him, you thought about how he’d most likely been in the midst of traveling while engaging with you on Instagram. He’d been in airports and on planes for the most of the day. “At least, take a shower. Settle down.” Your fingers crawled up his chest. “Just for a bit.”

He sighed with irritation as you giggled. Standing up on your toes, you kissed his nose. “Go on. The sooner you get done, the sooner we can get started.”

——

Pouring the crystal light into the glass, you closed up the container and placed it back in the fridge. As soon as you turned around, you were ambushed with a passionate kiss, Florian grabbing you by the back on your legs and hoisting you up against his shirtless frame.

Hands holding onto his broad shoulders, you nipped on his bottom lip.

“I guess I don’t need to ask if you missed me, huh?” You teased as he sat you down on the counter so that you could grab your drink.

He chuckled and looked down, hands moving up and down your bare thighs. “I always miss you, Bee.”

Grinning bashfully, young nails lightly raked across his back as he netted his head into your neck. “Needy.”

“Very,” he absentmindedly replied, hands moving higher up your legs and under the big shirt you were sporting.

“Flo,” you whined, taking a sip of your drink as his fingers toyed with the waistband of your panties. “At least let me fix you something to eat.”

“I don’t want that.” He groaned, lifting and relocating you to the island. “And you can’t cook.”

“You know what,” You gasped and slapped his arm. “I-“ Your eyes fluttered as pushed him hands up your body, kneading your breast with one hand while using the other to carefully push you down on your back. “Not here.”

“Why not,” he murmured, kissing the inside of your thighs as he started to tug on your underwear. “Kitchen made for eating, hmm.”

You whimpered as his finger stroked your folds, a low groan leaving his mouth. You were already so wet for him. “You said you missed daddy, ehh?”

Nodding rapidly, you threw your head back and just as you felt his cool breath on your pussy, it fell out in breathy voice.

“Mmmm, I love you.”

Both of you froze. Your eyes stretched as you started to wonder just how you were going to get away from him, put as much distance between you two as possible.

Unfortunately, with the position he had you in, it was almost physically impossible for you to dash so you forced yourself to attempt to do damage control.

“I-uh-what I meant is-you know-uh-,” you stammered, finally gaining the courage to him to see that he was smiling at you. Like, genuinely fucking smiling. You wanted to smack him.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you snapped, turning your head when you felt his hand come to cup your cheek, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“You love me?” He questioned casually, like it wasn’t something you’d been trying to keep a secret for weeks, still unsure if it was, in fact, love or just lust. Maybe that’s what it was. Lust. Yeah. It’d been too long and you were speaking from your pussy. Not the heart.

That was your story and you were-

“I love you too.”

Silence.

The silence that fell over you two was so thick that you could literally hear the sound of your gulp.

“W-wh-at you just say?”

He couldn’t have said what you thought he said. No. Your-your ears were playing tricks on you.

His gaze darkened as he gazed his lips over yours. “You heard me, frumos.” Beautiful. “You want me to say again?” He questioned, giving you no time to process let alone reply as he brought his head back down your body. “Or show.”

You moaned and released a shaky breath. “Baby-“

“Shhh,” he tugged your thighs over his shoulders, pulling you right into him. “Daddy needs to eat.”

And as your man finally indulged on the dessert he’d been waiting for all day and your mewling fueled his hunger, you realized that while your punani certainly loved the man feasting on you like you were his last supper…..so did your heart.

Huh.

“Ugh. I’m starv-ARE YOU SERIOUS RIGHT NOW!” A Beat. “YA’LL ARE GOING TO JAIL, PERIODT!”

#florian munteanu #florian munteanu x reader #florian monteanu x black reader #big nasty #big nasty fanfic

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