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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 2 years

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A Moment's Surprise--Chapter 5

Whether it’s called an accident or the fates of the universe, you and Calum find yourselves taking on the next level of your relationship: parenthood.

Reader (Gender Neutral) X Calum. Multi-chapter Series.

Series Note: Across this series, pregnancy is discussed thoroughly. While I have made this series specifically a reader insert and have done my best to avoid coding for cis women, I am taking this moment to acknowledge that this content may not be suitable for every reader. I want to acknowledge even if I’ve been careful some things (like uteri) are still mentioned and if that causes you discomfort please DO NOT read this. You may keep scrolling (as there is a read more) / skip this as necessary.

Chapter Warning: Smut/Sexual Content Referenced but not explicitly described.

Series Masterlist

Chapter 5

The plush white sheets have swallowed you. When you blink up to the high vaulted ceilings and the sun shines in from glass walls, you realize the sheets are pulled up near your chin and they’re tucked in on one side of you. The mattress at first felt good as you sunk into it, but you’re realizing now that you didn’t tuck a pillow between your knees. “Well, that’s going to suck,” you whisper.

“Oh, I love hearing that first thing in the morning,” Calum exhales in your ear.

“Suck you off, yes if you ask. But I was referring to my back,” you laugh and take a moment to push up and turn to your other side. Calum’s face greets you with a sleepy smile.

“I’ve been told a time or two I’ve got some magical fingers.”

You snicker, knowing the time or two has been you. “I wonder who would say a thing like that.”

“But seriously, what’s going on with your back?”

“I usually sleep with an extra pillow between my knees for extra support,” you inform.

Calum’s nod is thwarted by the pillow his own head is on. “Got it, won’t forget tonight, okay? Anything else you need? We can go out to get it if need be.”

“A kiss,” you return with a grin. “I hear those are domestic grown.”

He can’t help the ridiculous laugh that escapes him. But he scoots in a little closer. “I heard they’re grown here too.” He presses a kiss to your lips as well. As Calum pulls back from the kiss, he reaches behind him and unearths a pillow from the mound that was the bed when you two finally fell into it last night.

“Spread ‘em, love,” he teases. “We’re not leaving this bed for a while, alright?”

“You are utterly ridiculous, you know.” You peel away the layers of the sheets and Calum slips the pillow between your knees, before covering the two of you back up in the sheets.

“But I’m your utter ridiculousness," he counters.

“You are.” In the silence, gazing at the stubble of Calum’s cheek, your mind wanders back to his arrival. “What did Joy say to you the other day? When you got home?”

“Something I already know,” he returns, threading his fingers through yours over the comforter. “And that sounds like a hundred times worse than I intended, sorry. I think she still wants me to do things a certain way, you know. Because she’s my mum. And I understand her perspective. Just doesn’t mean I’m going to do it like she wants me too. I want to do things when they feel right. And it’s not just me it would affect either, so there’s more things to juggle than it can appear.”

You nod. “Parents never really stop being your parents.”

“And to think, we’re next,” Calum laughs.

“Whoa, buddy, who would’ve thought?” You want it to come out like a joke. You want to laugh and move on, think about baby names or possibly breakfast. But even you hear the shake in your voice. You hear how much truth resides in the statement.

“Hey, I’m going to be there. And Mum is too. And Dad said he’s going to fly out too. Not sure when. But aye, be ready,” Calum teases the last sentence with a decent Scottish accent impression before he continues in his normal voice, “And your uncle is coming next week. And your mom’s flying in at the end of the year.”

“You know you’re dating a worrier, right? Just want to put that into perspective for you,” you tease.

Calum traces your hairline before pressing a kiss to your forehead. “And I’m going to marry said worrier too.” The confession doesn’t shock Calum like he thought it might. He wondered what he’d feel with those words crossing his lips. He imagined he might panic. But instead there is only a calm falling over Calum. “Besides, I didn’t get two years with you without realizing that you worry about the future and what comes next. I want you to know that I’m going to be right there next to you. You don’t have to do it alone.”

The two of you hadn’t previously discussed life ahead in concrete details. It was things you’d both like to have with each other. But now with a baby on the way, you weren’t completely shocked as some things started to feel like they had to be more clear and concise between you two. But you’re still not quite sure your ears are hearing Calum’s words fully. “You want to marry me?”

“Absolutely I do. And I swear that will be a lot more planned,” Calum grins. “And you’ll know when I’m asking for real because I’ll have a ring. I worry that having a kid and trying to think about a wedding is like having three full time jobs. One of those is going to get severely underserviced. And I’d rather not stress you out more or have that added to my stress either. Selfish I know.”

You shake your head. Your fingers move from his elbow up to his bicep. “No, not selfish. I wouldn’t have the capacity for a wedding right now either.”

“So you want to marry me too, huh?” It falls out breathlessly from him, but Calum doesn’t care.

“Yes, I do want to marry you.”

“Good, that’s what I wanted to hear.” The two of you share a soft kiss before a short silence fills the space between you. It’s nice to have a small moment of peace. To just enjoy each other’s company before the rumbles of bellies becomes too incessant to ignore.

________________________

The sink runs from your left and you watch as Calum slips the plate into the drying rack. His attention is fully trained on the sink and dishes in front of him. The question bubbles on your lips, if he wants help, but he’s already said no the last two times. You feel awkward asking a third time. So you’ve resorted to a shameless lusting at the sight of the sleeves rolled up his forearms and the bracelet dangling from his slender wrist. You gifted it to him on your first anniversary together. Now, Calum hardly ever takes it off.

“I can feel you staring,” Calum calls out from the kitchen.

“Sue me,” you return. In your huffed retort, you catch the whiff of onions from the dish you and Calum cooked off your breath. “Do you have any gum?”

“If you check my backpack, I think so. Either in the very front pocket or in the very back.”

You push up from the sofa and find Calum’s backpack in one of the bar seats at the counter. Where Calum’s bag was black, you had a matching one in olive green. His had a tag with Hood and yours had your last name stitched into the front of it. The bag was a gift from Calum after you noted liking his and how many components and pockets. It made a solid travel bag and when you only had to go for a weekend or so, you liked the simplicity of only having one bag instead of a bag and a suitcase. There was no lugging something out of airplane overhead bins, or dragging something behind you as you made tight connections. You could just grab it and go.

You check the front pocket like instructed and find it empty. Strange to you, because Calum almost always kept a pack of cigarettes there. You look up as your hands continue to rummage through the empty pocket. Was he trying to quit again? It really hadn’t been a topic of discussion between the two of you about Calum’s smoking since he’d left for the tour. But you wonder, much like with the drinking, if Calum was trying to ease any temptations early on in the pregnancy rather than later. Your fear is that if you do ask too much about it is that whatever progress Calum had made, he’d slipped.

Not that slipping was a bad thing, but you know Calum can be the hardest on himself out of anyone else. You take the mental note, but don’t speak on it for his sake. If he wanted to talk more about it, he would eventually. But gum--gum is your objective currently. You look back down at the bag and go to the biggest compartment. You find his laptop tucked into the sleeve and in the mesh pocket you spot the green package of gum. As you go to grab the packet, you notice something purple too in the bag. It’s thick.

Curiosity gets the best of you and you give the object a tug. It’s pliable in your grasp and it crinkles a little. “What are you reading now? Another Ashton recommendation?” you ask with a small tease and pull the book from the depths of the bag.

“Oh, uh,” Calum starts, watching you pull out the GED prep book from his bag. “It’s not really a book for pleasure.”

You read the title and look up to Calum.

He gazes back at you, hands still holding the sponge against the last plate. It’s not like he needed your permission. But it was something he wanted to do. Now that he was going to have a kid, Calum didn’t want them thinking education was completely worthless due to him dropping out. It also worried him. He hadn’t been in school for almost a decade. Let alone he hadn’t had an ounce of schooling in America. Well before the practice exam he took, he knew the American social studies and civics information was absolutely going to be the most difficult for him. Even with all the logic and reason Calum had, he still didn’t want to tell people about it. What if he failed the test? What if he never passed it?

“Yeah, I-Well, I guess you know now,” Calum offers with a half hearted chuckle.

You put the book back into the bag. “I’ll just pretend I didn’t see it. I’m sorry. I should’ve just stuck to finding gum.”

“It’s not that serious, love. No harm, no foul.”

“Cal, really, I am sorry.”

You say it so softly. Even as Calum scrubs the invisible stains, he knows you don’t mean harm. “It’s silly, really.”

“No, it’s not silly.” You walk to the side of the sink that he’s standing and rest one hand on his lower back. He stops his work on the plate and lets it fall back into the soapy water.

“The English and Science make perfect sense. But I swear to Christ, American History is going to be the death of me. And like, it’s only money to retake the exam for me, for others not really. Which makes no sense. Why are you charging that much for one exam? And it’s so fucking stupid really.” Calum huffs and turns away from the sink to grab the kitchen towel to dry his hands. It's just a test, but somehow the thought sits on Calum’s chest and tightens to the point he’s not sure he’s getting a good breath.

You follow behind him. “Baby, do you even want to talk about this? We don’t have to. We can take a dip in the pool. Watch a movie. Literally whatever you want,” you plead to his back.

Calum’s shoulders fall. “What if I fail? What if I do all this and it doesn’t work out?”

With cautious steps, you slip in front of him and take his hands. They’re still just a hair damp but you don’t care. “I know I might not have a say in this literally at all. But I promise you it’s all going to work out.”

It would be easy to say that you’re only promising that because you’ve got a degree from higher education. It would be easy to say that school’s just been something natural for you. But Calum knows even if it might feel good to say those things, they thoughts are coming from a place of fear and of jealousy. “I just don’t want to fail,” he admits.

“I won’t let you.”

It’s four words. But you say them with so much conviction that he almost believes you. “Pinky promise?”

“If you let me, I pinky promise I’m not going to let you fail.” You bring your pinky around his and lift it to your lips for a kiss.

“It took me longer sometimes to get things back in school. I never hated it. I just got frustrated with it at times.”

“Can I ask why now? You’ve been more successful than I’ll ever see even with my degree. What makes it different now?”

“Pumpkin,” Calum states, gesturing to your stomach. “They make everything different.” The conversation is soft. Like neither one of you wants to put too much volume behind the words. The words are not heavy. They just feel fragile. This conversation is delicate.

“And you’re positive that you want to do this? You’re on the road right now and we’re still preparing for the baby.”

He knows it’s a lot going on. But there will always be a million things going on in life. And maybe it was less about worrying about the timing of things for Calum. He just didn’t want to feel like a hypocrite to his own child. He wants his child and any future children to see him and know that their pops walked the walk and isn’t just saying things because they sound good or are the right thing to say. Instead, he wants his child to know that everything he believes in he put the work in for it. He put action behind it. Calum wants his child to do the same. Words are just the surface. Action is the substance.

All of these words and thoughts feel like bees in Calum’s mouth—a jumbled hum and thick around his tongue but Calum’s determined to get it out and see this through. “I know there’s a million different things going on right now. But when we’re on the bus, I study and at the venues too before soundcheck. Days off are trickier because I do want to get out and sight see. But there’s time. In airports, when we’re flying,” he says.

There’s a moment’s pause as your mouth turns up on one side, the thoughts pulling slowly at your lips. “Maybe once we get through the beginning of this quarter at work, I can shoulder more baby prep stuff with Joy to give you just a little bit of extra time to study too. I found a doula that I’ll start working with later this upcoming week and she’ll be a huge help too.”

“Well, I don’t want you to do it all yourself. I’m already going to be gone for so much of this.”

You shake your head and wrap your arms around his torso. “No, I don’t mind cutting you out. I just mean I think we’re heading into a bit of a waiting period and with Joy and my doula there’s probably going to be a little less either one of us will have to worry about like planning wise. A lot will probably just be on me anyways like physically. I am sort of the host in a way. Should anything outside of that come up, it’ll always be a decision between us.”

“There’s still the baby shower and baby names,” Calum counters. “And I still want to be there even for the things that seem like I can’t directly help with, you know. I’m still here, if not physically all the time.”

“And you will get all sorts of bump updates and if Chickadee kicks my spleen and bladder I’ll tell you all that too,” you reassure.

“You mean when they kick your spleen and bladder.”

“Smartass,” you snort.

“Yeah, well too bad for you now. You’re stuck.”

“Some might say I’m right where I want to be. I won’t tell you who those some are, however.”

Calum grins, “Some might say I already know.”

“What if we took today to do some stuff, like venue browsing and then tomorrow we debate baby names? Still get your hands into the mix and then if you want time later to study, there’s still that option too.”

“Sounds good to me. I’m like 90% sure I got confirmation about the September show. As in, my manager did in fact email me, I just have not checked it thoroughly.”

Playfully you tap on Calum’s ass in the close hug. “Let’s check on that first and then look for venues. And then start a rough guest list. Like super rough so I can order invites and get addresses.”

“We won’t need them for another few months.”

“Still the sooner we get even a really rough estimate, the easier it’ll be just to have the stuff now and mail them out later than it would be to rush it all at the last minute.”

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

The two of you don’t move from the embrace. The scent of your body wash invades Calum’s nostrils. He’s tried to remember exactly how it smells now that he’s been gone but nothing quite does it or you justice. Why memory is such a faulty mechanism Calum’s never understood and he hates that even for the people he loves the most he will still carry incomplete pictures. Somewhere between guilt and recognition Calum tries to find peace, though much like his memory even he is faulty too. He wants that perfection but he will never have it.

You rest your head on his shoulder, arms tightening around his waist. The shy and embarrassed look on Calum’s face as you pulled out the book greets your closed eyes. “I’m sorry again,” you whisper.

Calum doesn’t know what you’re apologizing for--if it’s about the book, if it’s about the responsibility thing--, so Calum stays silent for a moment. He could tell you there’s nothing to apologize for. He could accept the apology. He could say nothing. But none of them feel appropriate. None of them hold the real weight of how thankful he is that you want to make this work for him. None of those options allow him to express gratitude that you’re willing to go above and beyond to accommodate him. “Can I just say thank you instead?” he asks.

“Calum, if you haven’t noticed in the span of twenty minutes I feel like I’ve committed several crimes against my future husband. I don’t think you should be thanking me.”

“No, like, things happen. I just--I appreciate you being understanding and working with me.”

“It’s how I say I love you,” you whisper.

“Well, in case I haven’t said it yet today, I love you too."

Tagging: @carma-fanficaddict @one-sweet-gubler @sunflowercalum @wonderlandiswhereitsatyo @markaylafruitcup @fandomfoodiedancer @wiiildflowerrr @icelily13 @busstop

#calum hood #calum hood smut #calum hood imagine #calum hood fanfic #calum hood fic #dad!calum #h writes #5 seconds of summer #5 seconds of summer fanfic #5 seconds of summer fic #5 seconds of summer sut #calum hood x reader insert #calum 5sos #5sos fanfic #5sos fic #5sos imagine #tw: pregnancy

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voiceless-terror · 3 years

Note

#6 for the kiss prompts?

this was an ‘im sorry’ kiss, and i picked jonmartin! some safehouse fic cause we can’t stay away from it, apparently. this begins a little angsty but ends on an entirely fluffy note.

Three days in, Jon gets hungry.

He tries to hide it, but Martin knows the signs. As much as he professed to stay away from Jon over the last year, he still spent his fair share of time in the Archives, looking for statements and keeping an eye out. Jon would pace the halls, attempt conversation with Basira or Melanie only to be shot down, scratch at his arms and bite his nails. Martin wanted nothing more than to usher him to his seat, fix him a cup of tea and hand him a statement but he never did, of course, fleeing the basement whenever the impulse got too strong.

The past three days at Daisy’s cottage have been like some sort of waking dream, each of them tiptoeing around the other, pretending Jon didn’t sleep on his shoulder the train ride up, pretending Martin didn’t hold his hand the entire way. Jon rambles about everything but the institute, shooting him shy smiles and lingering in the doorway before he leaves a room. Martin makes them tea and goes through the cupboards, telling Jon of any interesting finds. They’ve spent more time together these last couple of days than they have in the past two years. But they haven’t talked about….them. This, whatever it is that they’re doing. They’re living together, but acknowledgment of the situation would disturb the delicate peace they’ve made, and Martin’s not in a place to take any sort of rejection, perceived or otherwise.

So when Jon shuts the door to the bedroom that afternoon, Martin’s naturally worried. He woke up bleary-eyed and irritable, barely touching his toast and speaking in short, clipped tones. Martin’s mind automatically goes through every action from the past few days, searching for something he’d done wrong, something he’d said, when he noticed Jon’s hands itched at the sleeve of his jumper. His eyes looked somewhere past Martin, as if struggling to focus.

He needs a statement.

So Martin stamped down the urge to nervously chatter and instead remained silent, watching as Jon mumbled something unintelligible and rose from his seat, retreating to the bedroom. He’ll come out when he’s ready, Martin reassures himself, moving to clear the table. He doesn’t hear the murmurings of a statement just yet, but still, he doesn’t want to bother him. Maybe he’s trying to hold off. They hadn’t brought many statements with them in their rush to leave the institute. Jon’s been so reluctant to speak of such things, and Martin doesn’t want to push.

But then it’s past noon and Martin’s starting to get hungry- Jon must be, too, since he barely touched his breakfast. He knows Jon has other, more pressing hungers to deal with, and he’s not going to fault him for it, but he’d still rather he eat three meals a day. He has to keep his strength up, and maybe a bit of company would help distract him.

So he knocks on the door, despite his trepidation. “Jon? I’m going to fix lunch, did you want anything?” No answer. He opens the door a crack, more out of worry than anything, and peers into the dark room. “Jon?”

Jon’s in front of the bed, the satchel of statements emptied beside him and papers strewn across the floor. His eyes scan the pages in his hand hungrily, as if searching for his next meal. That’s what he’s doing and he doesn’t want you to see this, his mind helpfully supplies and yet still he speaks, he can’t help it.

“Jon, I was just going to-”

“Not hungry.” The words are startlingly severe, and Jon doesn’t even raise his eyes from the page. Martin bristles.

“Alright, but you should really-”

This time he does look up, and the glare leveled at him is surprisingly reminiscent of earlier days in the archives, when Martin would interrupt a statement or exist near him a little too loudly. “I said I’m not hungry.”

Time to go. “Fine.” Irritation drips into the word and he takes a step back from the doorway.

“Close the door.” He does. Slams it, actually. He’s not hungry anymore. For the first time the house feels big and empty, despite the cozy quarters.

He grabs his coat from the couch, deciding to go for a walk. It’s not as temperate a day as it could’ve been- it’s getting colder, and the two sunny days they had beforehand seem now more miraculous than a regular occurrence. He wanders aimlessly in the fields, not willing to commit to the hour walk to the village, and too moody to visit the cows he knows are only a mile off. As much as he wants to lose himself in solitude, he resists. Back with Peter, he would hold on to every perceived slight and tell himself it’s better this way. Without people. That way, you can’t get hurt. It numbed the loss, and it’s so, so tempting to fall back on. But the voice that urged him to take Jon’s hand is louder now, and it tells him this will pass. Jon’s not truly angry with him, he doesn’t have to stay away. It’s this voice he listens to now.

It helps that his feet kind of hurt, too.

By the time that he comes back, it’s starting to drizzle. He shakes out his coat and hangs it on the back of a chair, heading towards the kitchen to put the kettle on. The door’s still closed, but he can hear no noise behind it. He loses himself in the routine motions of making tea, humming under his breath. He’s so wrapped up in his task that he doesn’t hear the door creak open or register Jon’s presence until he turns around and finds the man within a foot of him.

“Christ Jon!” He yelps, the mug in his hand just barely remaining steady. “You scared me-”

“I wanted to apologize.” The words sound almost grave, and Jon’s gazing up at him an intense look of contrition. He looks better, the circles under his eyes slightly faded and his face not quite so gaunt. He’s eaten, then. “For...hiding away like that, and snapping at you. I shouldn’t have done that.” He fidgets on his feet for a moment before moving even closer, directly into Martin’s space. Jon has to crane his neck to look up at him, and still maintains that intense eye contact. “I’m sorry.” Martin’s heart is hammering in his chest and he watches, eyes wide, as Jon awkwardly gets on his toes and leans forward, putting his hand on Martin’s chest to balance himself. Not without some strain, he reaches up and kisses him.

It’s a tiny, dry peck on the cheek, lingering just too long as Jon struggles to maintain his balance. He falls back on his feet and looks up at Martin anxiously. Martin, who’s still holding a cup of tea in one hand and a spoon in the other. Jonathan Sims kissed him.

“W-Was that alright?” he asks, a squeak to his voice in stark contrast to the deep gravity of the words before. Jonathan Sims kissed him and has now asked if it was alright.

Martin blinks owlishly. “Y-Yes? I mean, yes. That was fine. And, uh, apology accepted. Yes.”

They stare at each other for a few moments before Martin comes to his senses, gesturing to the cup in his hand. “Tea?”

Jon takes a few steps back, an unreadable expression on his face as he wobbles into a kitchen chair. “Um, yes, please.”

That exchange taken care of, Martin makes him a cup and sits down across from him. Jon’s now refusing to meet his eyes, cheeks red as he stares into his cup of tea like it holds the answers to the universe. Martin can still feel the burn of the hand on his chest, the soft pressure of Jon’s lips on his cheek. He wonders if it was a one time thing. The irrational part of him thinks it's just how Jon apologizes. You know it’s not, the more rational part says. But neither part seems to be controlling his mouth as he starts to speak.

“Next time I’ll bend down.” He stares at the table, willing himself to shut up as he outwardly takes a calm sip of his tea.

“W-What?”

“Should you, uh, feel the need to do that...again. I’ll make it easier on you.” He taps at his cheek and hazards a glance at Jon, who’s gone rigid in his seat. He’s staring at Martin uncomprehendingly, though there’s the hint of a smile on his lips.

“T-That would be very, er, appreciated,” Jon replies in a strange, businesslike fashion. “Should I feel the need.”

Martin nods, his heart going into overdrive. They both take a sip of their tea.

“And if you-” Jon continues, face going even redder. “If you ever felt the need yourself, I could-” He tilts his head and shoulders up awkwardly in a weird little pantomime, as if leaning up to an invisible kiss. “-make it easier too?”

Martin lets out a strangled little sound. “Yeah. That, uh, sounds good.”

“Good.”

They finish their tea in silence. Jon looks away every time Martin attempts to make eye contact, and the hint of a smile has turned into a full-blown grin, though it's leveled at the table instead of him. Ridiculous, planning the logistics of their kisses like they don’t sleep in the same bed and wake up entangled. They’ve got a lot of things to talk about and work on, some more serious than others. But for now, should Martin feel the need, he can clear the dishes from the table and kiss Jon on the forehead before he walks them to the sink.

And he does just that.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30882518

#my writing #tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonmartin #got in on the kiss game #in the most chaste way possible #cheek kisses are valid #ghostbustermelanieking #reblogs appreciated <3

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stickyy · 3 years

Note

if it's not too much of a hassle,you can write about hawks with a SugarBaby (reader) because he's like a SugarDaddy BUUUT Instead of being the one who dominates,¿is the reader who does it? hawks only gives her money and gifts as payment for a little of your attention,hawks pays the reader to dominate it and pay for his company,if you step on his crotch he will surely thank you (femdom and ¿mommy kink?). I was thinking a lot about this dynamic and I found it VERY interesting,¿what do you think?.

warnings: sub!hawks degradation, findom, femdom, mommy!kink, cock stepping, spit kink, an instance of face slapping, hawks is a little bitch simp with a fat wallet, reader is kind of a bad bitch ngl

wordcount: 2340

notes: anon this is IT this is what im mf talking ABOUT!!!

PERFORMANCE

Keigo all about spectacle. Chaotic destruction in the pursuit of a villain, the dramatics of combat, blinding camera flashes, cacophonies of squealing fangirls, the sheer wealth that comes with the exclusivity of the top 10- he’s no stranger to the limelight. Popular for a reason, he’s young and powerful, deceivingly coy despite it all, and it drives the public wild. He has them in the palm of his hand. A playboy poster child, spectacle is his middle name, and he wears it well.

He gives you a different performance behind closed doors.

You’re working, finishing an uneventful shift at your dreadfully mundane day job. You’ve been counting down the hours, which, ironically, causes time to slow down. Scrolling through your social media feed, you just want to pass the time. You’re skimming an article about music when your phone vibrates in your hand.

‘heyyyy :)’

A grin spreads across your face. The number is unlisted, which is exactly why you know who it is. Excitement bubbles in your chest, the monotony of the day suddenly shattered. Keigo must be in town; he knows not to contact you unless he has something to show.

You check to make sure your read receipts are enabled, before staring at the message on the screen, not bothering to type a response. It’s a waiting game; you want him to work for it, to put on a show only for you.

Two whole minutes pass before you receive another.

‘i’m back in town tonight! :D’

You make no move, not yet appeased. It takes five minutes for him to cave:

‘can i see you?’

‘i need to see you’

‘missed you so much, mommy’

‘let me take you out to dinner? please?’

The prospect of a nice dinner outshines the takeout you were planning to order. A quick google search gives you a few options, and you decide on a steakhouse. They have wagyu, which you’ve been dying to try. Of course, coming in at $120 a steak, you hadn’t gotten a chance to yet.

You send him the link, along with a short message:

‘8 pm, wear something nice.’

He instantly responds with a ‘thank you mommy :)’. You can’t help the the giggle that comes out of your mouth.

Keigo takes you back to his place after dinner. You make a point to keep your red-bottomed heels on, the click-click of your stride setting the tone for the night. He slips into his role easily, taking your coat and purse (both gifts from him; $1,790 and $2,850, respectively) to hang up. You take your place on the plush couch in his living room, legs crossed as you lean back, thoroughly satisfied from your meal. You never pay, of course- you don’t even go out of your way to acknowledge the check, but you were able to sneak a peek at the tab, which came in at a whopping $459.85. You didn’t think that two people could spend so much on a meal, but Keigo always found a way to spoil you.

He comes back into the room with a bottle of wine that you had requested last time you saw him (1990 Château Haut Brion, $875; even you had to admit that was ridiculous), handing you a wine glass and pouring your drink. He moves to fill his own, but you stop him.

“I didn’t say that you were allowed to drink tonight,” it’s a casual statement, but your pleasure ignites at the slightly dejected look on his face as he closes the bottle. It’s such a contrast to how you see him in the press. He never stops performing, you know, but this act is different. His fans see his chest puffed and wings flared, you get to see him on a leash.

“Why don’t you come sit next to Mommy?” you offer, Keigo perks up, meeting your gaze as he moves to take a seat next to you on the couch.

“The floor,” you correct before he can do otherwise. His breath hitches and he hesitates for a moment, but he kneels next to you anyways. He’s so pretty beneath you. It minimizes him, his usually proud aura squandered from your elevated point of view. It doesn’t help that he loves it- loves slipping into his role of being lesser. It excites him, and that, in turn, spurs you on. You thread your free hand through his hair and he visibly relaxes, pressing into your palm as his wings unfold slightly. The two of you stay like that for the moment as you sip on your wine, the luxury made so much sweeter by the hero in your company.

“Did you miss me?” you break the silence with your question, tilting his head up toward you to make eye contact. He nods enthusiastically, subconsciously scooting closer to you.

“Yeah,” his voice is saccharine, gaze full of adoration, “couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

“Of course, you sick freak. You’re supposed to be off saving the world, and you’re thinking about the girl who won’t even fuck you if you don’t pay up first,” you tug on his hair roughly, causing him to hiss in pain. A grin graces his features despite the abuse.

“You know I can’t help it, you drive me crazy.”

He shifts, and you can see the outline of a bulge in his pants.

“You’re fucking kidding,” you scoff, “all I’ve done is play with your hair and you’re already hard?”

He’s so easy to fluster when he’s like this, willing and pliant in your hands. He nods again, always so unashamed in his perversion.

“I didn’t touch myself at all, like you told me to, and it’s been so long,” his eyes plead with you, slightly rocking his hips for any kind of relief. He wasn’t allowed to jerk off so long as he was seeing you.

“Doesn’t change the fact that you’re easy for it, baby. All it takes is a little affection to get you to empty your wallet. Pathetic, don’t you think?”

He whines quietly, pupils visibly dilating . “Yeah, I’m pathetic, just a slut for Mommy.”

With a hum, you set your glass down and uncross your legs. “Unzip your pants.”

He obeys, getting the zipper stuck twice in his haste. Cute.

You press the flat of your heel against the tent in his boxers. The moan he lets out is sinful, grinding up against you in search of any sign of relief.

“These heels are so nice, aren’t they? Probably one of my favorite gifts,” you reminisce, admiring the way the shiny leather contrasts against his skin. You can already see a wet spot forming on his boxers. “Do you remember how much they cost you?”

He’s lost in the sensation, too preoccupied to answer your question. You step down slowly, watching his face contort into one of pain, though the grinding doesn’t cease.

“Answer me, Keigo.”

“F-fuck, what was it, like $700?” his voice cracks, his breathing labored.

“Close enough. Aren’t you embarrassed, spending all that money on shoes just so you can rut against them?” your words send a shudder through his body. The act is starting to fade as he nears his orgasm, his playful exterior melting into one of desperation.

“I’m close, fuck I’m close,” Keigo almost sounds panicked, his hips desperately bucking in pursuit of his first release in a long time. You remove your heel abruptly, pouting at him. He lets out a pitiful gasp as the loss of sensation, a sob making its way out of his throat.

“You know what you have to do if you want to cum,” you say sternly, feigning disappointment. He jumps up, stumbling across the room for his jacket and reaching for his phone in the pocket. You notice his hands are shaking as he taps his screen a few times, before your phone chimes in its place next to you. You look over, and grin at the Cash App notification.

‘birdbrains🐤 sent you $1,430 for i love you mommy <3’.

“Holy shit, Kei, you’re that desperate to cum? If I didn’t know otherwise, I’d assume you can’t get anyone else to fuck you,” You’ve always made his pay before he touches you, but he’s never broken a grand for just an orgasm.

“Please, Mommy,” is all he gives. He’s already back at your feet.

You spread your legs, unable to contain your arousal at this point; seeing the winged hero so broken always sets a fire in your stomach. “Make Mommy feel good, and I’ll let you stuff that needy cock inside of me.”

You don’t have to tell him twice. He’s immediately between your legs, pulling your lacy panties to the side (one half of a custom made designer set, $650) and shoving his face between your thighs. He always eats you like his life depends on it, obscenely slurping on your gushing entrance. He’s good at it too, expert tongue on your clit, pushing two fingers inside and prodding at your velveteen insides, causing you to bury your hands in his hair to keep him in place. You moan loudly, not bothering to hold back your noises. This is always about your pleasure, and you make sure to remind him of that first and foremost. It’s not necessary, though; you're convinced that he’d go bankrupt if it meant he could have even an hour of your time. You can do anything to him, say anything to him, and it only drives him crazier.

To prove your point, you squeeze your thighs against his head, effectively suffocating him. He doesn’t let up- if anything, he begins to lick and suckle more enthusiastically, hands gripping your thighs tightly. You keep him there for a solid minute, watching him struggle in your grip. It’s enough to push you over the edge, and you shout as you grind against his face, riding out your first orgasm of the night. You let up, spreading your legs again and he gasps for air, tears flowing freely as he catches his breath.

“Thank you Mommy, thankyouthankyouthankyou,” he huffs between gasps, face glistening with your juices. You grab his chin and lean down to give him a kiss, feeling him melt into you as he lets out a little moan. The taste of your arousal on his lips causes you to shiver in pure euphoria. You pull back but keep his chin in your hand, coaxing his mouth open before you spit, tilting his head back and watching your saliva slide down his throat.

“Good boy,” he perks at the praise, smiling despite himself.

“Go ahead and strip for me, and I’ll let you have that orgasm you want so bad,” you say as you stand, peeling yourself out of your dress. He obeys, albeit slowly as he’s more distracted watching you strip in front of him, eyes tracing your curves as you undo your bra and slide your panties down, opting to keep on the heels. You notice, but decide to let it slide this time. You gesture for him to sit and he obeys, grabbing your hips as you straddle his lap. His cock curves against his stomach, an angry red and damp with the obscene amount of pre dripping down his length.

“This looks like it hurts,” you lilt mockingly, gently running a finger up his length to gather some of his pre. You smear it on his lower lip, raw from your earlier abuse.

“It does, fuck- Mommy, please,” he’s back to begging, eyes misty, “Please let me fuck you Mommy, I promise I’ll make you cum again, I’ll make you cum as many times as you want-”

“Shh,” you stop his babbling, positioning yourself over him, “keep your hips still for me, okay?”

He nods, and you begin to sink onto his length, slowly.

He moans, eyelids fluttering as your gummy walls begin to constrict around his length. He struggles to keep himself from squeezing your hips and fucking up into you, but he manages in fear of a punishment. You take your sweet time before bottoming out, staying completely still. Keigo chokes on a sob, thighs quivering with the effort to stay put, and you watch him for just a moment longer, revelling in the sight. He’s flushed down to his chest, eyes lidded and pupils blown, skin dewy with sweat and tears and your slick, wings fluttering behind him.

If only his fans could see him now.

You take pity on him and start to move, allowing him to take your weight in his hands, bouncing you on his cock. It takes a lot of focus not to get lost in the sensation, squelching noises filling the empty air as your mind starts to blur, his cock rubbing against the spongy walls of your pussy. He’s nothing if not enthusiastic, moaning unabashedly, eyes trained on your face. He’s already close, but there’s a determination in his eyes that confuses you slightly; he has permission to cum after all. It’s when the blunt head of his cock hits something gooey inside of you that it makes sense; of course he’s making good on his promise to make you cum first. He’s a good boy, after all. It doesn’t take long, his hips jackrabbiting as he abuses that spot in you, forcing the pressure in your stomach to pull taut, and eventually snap. You cum with a squeal of his name, vision darkening as you watch him finish, stray tears flowing down his cheeks. You catch a few with your thumb and lick them up.

“What do you say?”

“Thank you, Mommy,” he’s breathless, but you can tell he’s not totally satisfied; it’s been weeks since he’s seen you, after all. He begins to roll his hips again, face scrunching in the sweet torture of overstimulation.

You land a firm slap on his cheek and he gasps, giving you a surprised look.

“You know what you have to do if you want another orgasm.”

The show goes on.

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jamestrmtx · 3 years

Text

The Bebop Blues - [Animal Crossing | Tom Nook x Reader]

[Gender-Neutral Reader | Slow Burn + Tragicomedy]

Chapter Two | Oh My God, They Were Business Partners (Part 2 of 2 | Your POV)

[First] | [Previous] | [Next]

You grab the roll of paper towel and bring it close to your mouth, using it as a microphone when the music starts.

Tom stares at each of your movements, and -- though you know his intention is far from bringing any sort of pressure over you -- his gaze summons forth a subtle case of stage fright, one you try to mask by smiling and striking a pose before beginning with the lyrics.

If he'd been kind enough to offer his help, the least you can do in return is push through your fears and give it your best shot.

Thankfully -- the second you start singing -- it's as if you forget about your surroundings and everyone in it. Your heart races on par with the music's pace, and you can feel your mouth stretch into a smile. The lyrics are the only thing in your mind, while the makeshift microphone is the only thing you can sense. Your body grows lighter the more you carry on, until it feels like you're walking on thin air. It's only when the song starts to level down that the sensation lessens in intensity, though most of it remains until the very end.

You don't realize you've had your eyes closed the whole time until the last bit of melody ends. Add to that your dry throat and sweaty hands, and it's now that you grow full-aware of just how ridiculous you could've likely looked for the entire song. You can hardly bring yourself to say thank you, despite how many lyrics you'd voiced out loud. Moving from the stage -- this one a simple and worn, wooden box -- feels like a challenge bigger than it was agreeing to having Tom help you out with your worries. Before you can panic any further though, you see Tom stand up from his seat, smile, and then clap. The gleeful look in his eyes is more than sufficient for you to smile back and snap out of it, albeit after a few more seconds of steady breaths in and out.

His encouragement is like a glass of cold water on a hot day -- refreshing and aiding with the suffocating feeling that came along after the song ended.

"H- How did I do?" you ask, words barely a question as you find yourself still unable to speak up in a proper manner. "My head's spinning," you then add, managing a laugh.

Before you know it, Tom is standing right in front of you, now having to stare up as a result of the box causing you to be taller than him. He offers his hand out to you and brightens the look in his eyes as he asks, "Would you like me to help?"

Though it takes you a while, you nod at him and give into a grin. "Please," you say, flaring your nostrils. "I don't think I can make it down from here without breaking a bone or two."

He bursts out a chuckle and squeezes your hand when you place it over his. "Good to know I read the room right, then." His gaze then shifts to concern as he brings you out of the stage and off to firm ground. "Are you alright?" he asks. "Your singing was beautiful, but you seemed a bit tense, at the end."

You follow him back to the desk, let go of his hand when arriving there, and sit on one of the empty seats available, taking up the one closest to the mini-fan on top when he suggests you to do so. "I…" You scratch your throat and take in a quick breath. "I went straight into overthinking after the song ended." Your gaze meets with his, and you thank him when he offers you a cup of water. "When I realized how sweaty my hands were and how fast my heart was going, I… I kind of just froze, and stage fright gained control of me -- just when I thought I was learning how to fight against it."

While having him listen already feels like more than enough, having him pull his seat next to yours and place a hand back on yours turns out to be a surprise -- but a welcomed one, to be sure. In spite of his current actions, he doesn't acknowledge physical contact or what such an action implies and rather meets your gaze, his softened up by an emotion you're not quite able to decipher by full. It makes your heart and stomach feel strange for similar reasons, though you brush it off as you simply being too nervous to stay still.

"But then I saw you smiling at me, and…" You let out a sigh, shoulders slumping along with it. "And I felt better, knowing I wasn't alone -- knowing I had someone by my side."

His hand tenses over yours and brings forth curiosity into your mind, one you use to spare a longer, more detailed look at him to notice his ears are perked along with his tail. His nose -- similarly -- twitches with what appears to be a mixture of shock and excitement. "Of course, (Y/N)," he says, almost stuttering over his words. "You... You are important to me, so supporting you in your endeavours is only natural." He lets go of your hand and scoots further back in his seat. "Though I must confess, I wasn't sure how to offer that support, at the beginning. Even now, I still hesitate as to how I can approach you."

You shake aside the odd sense of disappointment that comes with hearing it's 'only natural' for him to support you and focus on more important things, such as that of acknowledging his last statement and bring some sort of clarity over his doubts on the subject. "Honestly…" You smile at him and wink. "Just do what you've been doing this whole time, 'cuz it's been working well until now."

The fear of you having said something wrong arrives when you see his eyes widen and his shoulders tense. Your brain scolds you for not coming up with a better response, while your heart urges you to ask him if he's okay. You end having no opportunity to listen to either one of them, as he soon snaps out of it and says, "Do you truly mean that, (Y/N)?"

A nod is what you can manage when leftover worry prevents you from forming a reply. "I…" You grab the cup of water and take a few quick sips from it, needing it more than ever now to carry on. "I do. There's nothing more I could ask of you, really." You set the now empty cup down and huff, allowing your body to unwind. "What you've done for me here is… It's already proof enough."

The brightness of the stars pokes through the windows and aims right at your face, almost reminding you of what your original purpose is all about and what the rain stopping means for you.

With it now being such a late hour and the night so cold and wet, you figure it's only proper to wrap things up and leave.

You'd stayed at his office long enough -- overstaying your welcome was a thought beyond your mind and heart's capabilities.

"Thank you again, Tom," you say, standing up. "I had a wonderful time."

"Wait."

His words are what your heart hoped for, yet you refuse to acknowledge that.

Instead, you turn back to his side and ask, "Yes?"

"Would you like me to walk you home?"

Tom's question comes out bold enough to send a chill down your spine; still, you recover with a few minutes and some reasoning over your feelings, and proceed to reply with a quick and simple 'sure'.

Except, that's how you wish you could react, as you end up saying, "I'd love to," with an enthusiasm far too noticeable for your face not to grow warm. "As long as it isn't much trouble, though."

He shakes his head. "Hardly so." Then, he picks up his jacket, offers it out to you again, and swipes a set of keys from his desk. "Shall we go now, or do you need some more time to recover?"

You take the jacket and suppress a flinch when nearly brushing your hand with his. "I'm okay now -- Let's go."

That's the last thing you say as you accompany him out of the building, whereas his office is the last thing you see as you look behind you.

Perhaps, it's how the lights have been turned off and how silent the night is, but there's something about leaving that makes your heart ache. It's a faint feeling, and one you could likely brush off easily enough, yet your mind resists just as much as your heart does, both of these who force you to assess the meaning until your face is too hot for you to handle. Ignoring it is almost impossible now, and it leads you to hope for the walk to be over soon -- regardless of it having only just begun.

No matter what though, you can't express your true feelings out loud; burying them back down is the only viable, logical solution available -- so as to prevent you from making a complete and utter fool of yourself.

[First] | [Previous] | [Next]

#tom nook x reader #animal crossing x reader #gender neutral reader #male reader #female reader #romcom #tragicomedy #angst #fluff #slow burn

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camelotsheart · 3 years

Text

Alright. I’m watching 1x11 and trying a new way of liveblogging. Which is just me writing random paragraphs. Enjoy.

A creature of magic mourning the loss of a creature of magic 😭

“Arthur is a hunter. It's in his blood. Whereas you are something entirely different.“ reminds me of “He is a weapon, a killer. Do not forget it. You can use a spear as a walking stick, but that will not change its nature.“ “You are wrong.” Especially with the way that Arthur then proves what is in his heart by the end of the episode, and how his ‘heart’ is shown to constantly guide him towards the ‘correct’ choice in s5 (e.g. “My heart says do anything I can to save Mordred.“)

“You've got a face like a wounded bear ever since we got back from that hunting trip." Arthur means bear. I have no idea what to do with this information.

The unicorn as a metaphor for those sorcerers who “do no harm” and thus Camelot serves no purpose in killing them. Especially since people like the Disir and Alator describe the purge as a “hunt”.

The drought serving as a parallel to the events that happened before the purge to Uther, in that Arthur sees all the harm that “magic” is doing to the land and his people, just like Uther witnesses Ygraine’s death. Arthur initially refuses to accept that what happens is caused by him, just like Uther does. But unlike Uther, Arthur is able to acknowledge his mistakes given time (it’s interesting how in the book adaptation of 1x02 merlin makes this comparison too)

“If it is magic, it's more powerful magic than I possess.“ So unicorn magic is more powerful than Merlin’s magic. Would dragon magic be more powerful too? Is that why Merlin couldn’t heal Arthur from the poison of Mordred’s sword tha was forged in a dragon’s breath?

Merlin not understanding hand signals is my life 😂💖

Ok I can literally draw so many parallels between Anhora and Arthur’s first conversation, and Nimueh and Uther’s conversation in 1x09. Especially from how both Arthur and Uther seem completely unable to understand how the ‘curse’ that happened to Ygraine and Camelot was technically their fault.

“And could you bear for your children to see you be executed?“ The way in which Arthur says this breaks my heart because he does understand the feeling of blaming himself for the loss of a parent, just like those hypothetical children would. This is highlighted more by the fact that Evan later plays on Arthur’s insecurities about being his father’s son.

“If you're tested again, you have a chance to end your people's suffering. I know you want that more than anything." Reminds me of what Bradley says about Arthur putting Camelot above everything, even his personal relationships. Compare this to Lancelot and Merlin, who’s “something that is more important than anything” is a person (or people, in the case of Lancelot).

I LOVE S1 MORGANA. S1 AND 2 MORGWEN WOULD HAVE MADE A PERFECT QUEEN DUO FIGHT ME.

Merlin’s face when Arthur says he’s going to the forest to seek Anhorra out 🥺 Also the way he looks back like he wants to see the exact moment Arthur figures out that he’s eating rat meat 🤣 Merlin’s sarcastic little nod. Arthur’s shit-eating grin. This is what I mean by sibling dynamics.

AND THEN THEY TURN ON MORGANA ASDJSAJASLDKKLDJSA. MERLIN. ARTHUR. NO 🤣🤣🤣

“The King must wonder if you are even his son.“ I absolutely do not like how Anhora chose to do the test with Evan here. I hate it. But it does prepare Arthur for a lot of things. It prepares him to do things his father normally would not do. It prepares him to ignore when people compare him to his father (not that it worked with Agravaine, but Arthur does eventually come around most of the time with Merlin’s help). I find it like a mini 5x03 in a way. Also the fact that Arthur doesn’t even try to defend himself by saying that the looter would have been executed by the law of the land anyway; because deep down he knows that reasoning is wrong. What needs to be changed currently is Arthur’s arrogance in regards to his honour, not his internal morals. He has already proven his internal morals with saving Mordred, laying down his life in 1x09, as well as rescuing Ealdor and his reaction to finding out Will was a sorcerer in 1x10. Right now, Arthur needs to be able to accept that he is wrong.

“Besides I would rather starve than beg my enemies for help! What of our kingdom's reputation? Have you no pride?” “I cannot think of my pride when our people go hungry. They're all I can think of.” I’m screaming over the fact that what ends up beating sense into Arthur is his love for his people. I want to cry. He loves his people so much that his battle cry is “for the love of Camelot” 😭❤️

“Very well. But if you'd caught the sorcerer, I would not have to. That's your responsibility! One day you will understand what it takes to be King!” One day, Uther, you’ll learn to blame yourself for other people’s suffering.

“My people are starving. Camelot is on the verge of collapse. And it is all my doing.“ IT DIDN’T EVEN TAKE ARTHUR A DAY TO LEARN THIS I WANT TO CRY 😭 FUCK YOU UTHER YOU DON’T DESERVE ARTHUR AT ALL. (also the fact that Arthur fiddles with Ygraine’s ring as he says this 😭❤️)

“I trust Arthur with my life” the fact that arthur proves that trust right both in this episode by drinking the goblet and in the previous episode by admitting that he “of course” would not kill Will despite thinking he was a sorcerer.

Why the hell does Anhora use a sword to cast the vine spell.

“I thought I told you to stay at home.” Every time Arthur calls Camelot ‘home’ for Merlin I 🥺

Are those carvings... horseshoes...? Making the shape of a heart....? I--

(Sorry guys. By this point it’s 200% certain that my shipper brain is going to take over. Please expect a lot of screaming)

“What kind of ridiculous test is that? What does that prove?” “What it proves is for you to decide.” Which means that by the end, Arthur realizes what this test proves. And he proves what is truly in his heart by sacrificing his life for merlin. Remember “To sacrifice his life to save Gwen’s... I can’t imagine any man loving me so much.” “I certainly can’t imagine that either” “That’s because you’re not like Merlin. He’s a lover” “Yeah? Maybe that’s because I haven’t found the right person to love”. Remember how in the book adaptation this episode, it says that Arthur proves that there is love in his heart by giving his life for Merlin? Remember “there was magic at the heart of Camelot”? Remember how in the book version Arthur doesn’t deny having love in his heart when Anhora says so when the Unicorn lives again, and instead turns his head to smile at Merlin--

“I’m glad you’re here, Merlin.” @thebookluvrr1816 More 1x11-finale parallels to scream about 😭 The book version describes Merlin’s surprise at this statement, and how he thought it was “ironic and unfair” that they understood each other "at the very moment that death was about to tear them apart.”

“No, I will drink it!” “As if I’d let you.” Someone stop these dollopheads from having a domestic about who will die for the other i beg

“You know me, Merlin. I never listen to you.” reminds me of “I’m the king Merlin, you can’t tell me what to do.” “I always have. I’m not going to change now.” Also, in the books Arthur actually says “farewell, Merlin” after this. Book Arthur is way more suave just saying.

HOW ARTHUR LOOKS INTO MERLIN’S EYES IN HIS FINAL MOMENTS UNTIL HE ISN’T PHYSICALLY ABLE TO ANYMORE. SOMEONE HELP ME 😭

“This was Arthur's test, not yours.“ idk but this reminds me of the fisher king saying “For this is not Arthur's quest, it is yours.“

“You've killed him! I was meant to protect him!” This is going to sound harsh but by this point I think Merlin was still putting Arthur’s destiny above Arthur himself. In the books, there’s a distinct difference in how he feels about Arthur’s death in this scene compared to 1x13 (I’m amazed at how fast his feelings changes, actually). Here, I feel like he focuses more on his own failure to protect Arthur as part of his destiny, but in 1x13, he says that the idea of destiny not being fulfilled was nothing compared to the idea of not being by Arthur’s side. I wonder what happens between this and 1x13 for Merlin’s feelings to change so much.

THIS HAS PROBABLY BEEN STATED MULTIPLE TIMES BEFORE BUT “HE HAS PROVEN WHAT IS TRULY IN HIS HEART“ AS THE CAMERA FOCUSES ON MERLIN. PRODUCERS YOU AIN’T SNEAKY.

Merlin’s smile as he looks down at Arthur sleeping 🥺

Arthur looking at Uther’s hand on his shoulder as if he’s trying to identify a foreign object 🙂 I can never say this enough but fuck you Uther.

“When he who kills a unicorn proves himself to be pure of heart, the unicorn will live again.” this is a stretch but it reminds me of “when Albion’s need is greatest, Arthur will rise again.”

And that’s done! I have a small meta that ties the theme of Arthur and magic in this episode to the same themes in 1x10, but I might do it on a separate post since this one is already so long 😂

#bbc merlin #merlin meta #long post #1x11 #merthur? merthur #someone stop me from having 4 spirals every episode #this is why my chronological watches take me so long

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apollostears · 4 years

Text

MORE THAN A FRIEND [ a. creed ]

↬︎ movie: Creed

↬︎ warning(s): swearing

↬︎ pairing: Adonis Creed x black!reader

PLOT. adonis realizes that you’re more than just a friend to him.

*gif not mine*

For as long as you’d known Adonis Creed, you had never seen him so conflicted and plagued by something in your entire life. This fight against Drago, an indirect enemy, was eating away at him. Whether he chose to acknowledge it or not.

You could see it in the way he fidgeted more and how he blew up at Rocky for just trying to help. As a friend, you knew better than to try and make him see reason. But as a best friend, you would be remiss if you didn’t at least say something.

But that wouldn’t be the only reason why you’d say anything; you loved Donnie, more than a friend should and for the past eight years it had only gotten worse. Now, with this fight against Drago, that love was growing stronger and it fueled your desire to reach out to him.

So, that’s why you’re here...at his apartment, cooking his favorite meal before addressing the touchy subject.

“Did you want more?” You had asked him, getting up from his expensive table to put your plate in the sink.

Adonis had just finished scraping up the remnants of his third helping before he shook his head. “No ma’am. I eat anymore and this whole place finna smell like fart city.” He joked, putting his plate into your outstretched hand.

You laughed because it was true. Adonis always got gassy after eating too many carbs and his flatulence never failed to fill an entire room.

Placing the dishes in the sink, you got started on washing them. You were stalling at this point and you were sure Donnie would reprimand you at any moment for washing the dishes when you could just slide them in the dishwasher.

“Now you already know what’s coming. I have a state-of-the-art dishwasher at your disposal. Use it ma.” Adonis’s voice came from behind, his cologne strong.

You rolled your eyes and handed him the drying towel. “You keep relying on these machines like the world won’t turn into iRobot.”

“Ah hell, here we go again with the damn robot shit. You watch too many movies.” He scolded you, knowing your habit of connecting movies to real life.

“Ight, keep on. Will Smith will not be here to protect you.” You sucked your teeth, fighting the urge to giggle at your own ridiculousness.

Adonis grunted, hitting you with the slightly damp towel. “Will gone need me to protect him. Get it right.”

“Not if you fight this Drago kid.” Was the last thing you intended to say, but it came out anyways and obliterated the playful atmosphere.

Your body tensed as you saw Adonis continue to dry the plate he had, but with more sharper movements. “D...it wasn’t supposed to—”

“I was wondering when you were gonna say something. Is that why you cooked my favorite meal?” Adonis had cut you off, his tone the same but you knew he was fuming inside.

A sigh escaped your lips as you rinsed the rag out and rested your hands on the edge of the sink. You had thought out everything you were gonna say tonight, but the words wouldn’t come out.

“Adonis, just hear me out. I’m not here to reprimand you or—Adonis!!” You had raised your voice in shock as you watched the man storm out of the kitchen. Drying towel on the counter and long forgotten.

“Nah y/n! I don’t wanna hear nothing that you have to say! You supposed to be my friend, not my girlfriend!” Adonis had spoke to you sharply and more louder than before.

You expected him to be a little reluctant to hear you speak, but he tried to completely dismiss you. Shut you down before you could even speak. Now, you were a little ticked off.

“As your friend, you should know better than to assume that I wouldn’t say anything. You’re right, i’m not your girlfriend but I damn sure am someone who cares about your wellbeing!” You argued, moving to stand in front of his sitting form on the couch.

Adonis tsked and stretched out on the couch. He looked at you with harsh eyes, a hardened look on his face. “Soundin a lot like Balboa. Take that shit somewhere else.” Once again, he tried to dismiss you.

Keyword: tried.

“Balboa Donnie? You’re really up your ass with this one. Rocky and I want what’s best for you. Rocky knows firsthand what it was like to fight a Drago. He isn’t saying that you can’t do it, he’s saying that you shouldn’t! Why? Because your hard headed ass is doing it for the wrong reasons! Ivan could give two fucks about a clean fight, he wants you destroyed and if he has to use his son to do so, then so be it. Get that through your fucking head!”

“You don’t think I know that? You don’t think i’m not aware of what Rocky went through all those years ago? What he did for my dad? I can’t let this man continuously talk shit about my father, mocking his death like he’s proud of it! I can’t y/n!” Adonis’s voice crack at the end of his passionate response told you everything that you needed to know; he was hurting.

A silence had washed over the room, Adonis now sitting up and his elbows on his thighs as he buried his head in his hands. Soft sobs ran through his body and you knew he was truly upset.

“Adonis...” You whispered sadly, your eyes full of sorrow.

You understood now, why he wanted to fight the Drago kid. Why he wouldn’t take Rocky’s advice or your own. It was for his father.

Your legs acted quickly, moving to straddle him so that you could comfort him. Sensing your presence, Adonis moved his arms and wrapped them around your waist as soon as you had found purchase on his lap.

“D, I support you. I will always support you. I love you so much and you’ve been apart of my life for so long, that I worry about you whenever you get like this. If this is what you want to do, then i’ll be by your side for the whole thing. Win or lose.” You reassured, cradling his head against your chest.

Adonis’s heavy body finally relaxed under your touch and a deep breath was released. “That’s all I need. Just you by my side and i’m sorry for snapping like that.” He apologized, finally coming to his senses.

But you didn’t care about that. The way he spoke to you sounded like he wanted you. More than a friend...

Trying to play it cool, you sucked your teeth and lightly pushed his head. “Mannn I was not stunting you and stop talking to me like i’m yo girl.” You chuckled, albeit anxiously.

With a lift of his head, Adonis leaned back and kept his hands firmly at your sides. Squeezing them periodically as you peered down at him, your braids forming a curtain of privacy around you two.

“What if I want you to be my girl?”

The air subtly left your body and you were thankful of your deep chocolate skin for not giving away your true feelings. “Haha, very funny.” You fake laughed, mocking feelings of laughter because that shit wasn’t funny.

“Do it look like I’m laughing? Why is it hard for you to believe me?” He pressed, showing no signs of taking back his statement.

It shocked you that Adonis was being legit, finding it hard to grasp on to the fact that your best friend felt for you the way you did him.

“I—huh? I mean come on, you just went from making it a point to say I’m not your girlfriend to wanting me to be? Make it—“ For probably the third time that night, you were cut off.

Adonis’ lips caught you by surprise, they were the cause of you not being able to finish speaking. Your mind raced to come to terms with what was happening; Adonis Creed was finally kissing you. As quickly as it happened, his lips were gone from yours before could think about kissing back.

“You overthink things entirely too much.” Adonis pointed out, childishly smirking.

Flustered, but no longer embarrassed, you rolled your eyes with a grin and linked your arms around his neck. “Cut me off again and see what happens.”

The threat went in one ear and out the other as Adonis leaned forward again and brushed his plump lips against yours.

“Yeah, aight.” He said dismissively before kissing you again and this time, you were ready.

#adonis creed #adonis creed x black!reader #adonis creed x poc!reader #black love #creed 2 #mayawrites #adonis creed imagimes #creed imagines #creed 2 imagines #michael b jordan x reader #mbj x black!reader

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delldarling · 3 years

Text

bait & glamour | merrick

chasing truth | chapter seven male faerie x gender/body neutral reader 2586 words sfw | a few teasingly suggestive comments about faerie ointment chapter index? or chapter six?

⊱ ────── .⋅ 🜁 ⋅. ────── ⊰

When Merrick arrives, there shouldn’t be any time for idle chit-chat or emotions.

There shouldn’t be time for anything more than gather your things, let’s go. He doesn’t kiss you, though his eyes dart to your lips, and he doesn’t embrace you, but he does invade your space, the toes of his shoes bumping up against yours, like he’s had difficulty stopping himself. Those dark eyes of his search your face as he slips his hand into yours, his lips trembling the longer you’re silent. His hand is colder than normal, calluses catching against your palm as his fingers lace with yours. For just a second, mouth curling into a barely-there smile on his over bitten lips, he forgets his own strength, and he squeezes a little too hard. You don’t yelp, but as soon as you twitch his hold is softer. The embarrassment on his face is all the apology you need, but he still strokes his thumb carefully over the pinch, all that built up emotion leaking out in a single whoosh of a breath.

"You're alright," you get out, throat tight.

“Stole the words right out of my mouth,” Merrick teases.

“Lovely to see you too,” Gar interrupts in a sarcastic tone, eyebrows arched. He rolls his shoulder, nervously shuffling his feet, drawing attention to the fact that you and Merrick are… most definitely blocking the doorway. Awkwardly, a little ashamed of how caught up you both were with one another, you move out of the way. Gar closes the front door as soon as Merrick follows you further inside, locking it for good measure. He turns on his heel, sparing both of you a strange look before he’s darting around you to head back into the kitchen. Merrick only acknowledges him with a wrinkle of his nose, eyes locked on Gar’s gloveless green hands before his attention is back on you again.

“I’m glad you’re in one piece,” you tell him, forcing a grin as he holds out a small bag of your things. It bumps against your chest, he’s so close, but he doesn’t step back. You don’t really want to let go of him either, but you figure you should let him have a second with Gar before you all have to rush out the door. Time is terribly short. You squeeze his hand one last time and take the bag from him.

He steps away reluctantly, and only when you tilt your head towards the kitchen, urging him in to catch up with his friend, does he move any farther. He needs to address Gar’s secrets, and his own stand off with his fellow assassin, and you doubt that he’ll be able to do it with you hovering, bag clutched to your chest, all but forgotten.

You dig quickly through your things as soon as he walks away, kind of wanting to laugh as you do. He’s gotten enough clothes for a three day trip, and they look nice enough, but it’s your phone and the snarl of charging cords that makes you laugh. The phone is off, and he’s gotten the correct phone charger, but there are two that go to other, completely unrelated, devices. You hold yourself back from asking about it, asking where he even found them. Now isn’t the time, and you’d rather save the joke for a more appropriate environment.

“I’m glad the two of you are unharmed,” Merrick says, and you can’t help angling your head so you can see the both of them out of the corner of your eye. They’re facing off in the kitchen, and though Merrick is taller than you, Gar is taller than him. Not by much, but between the seriousness on their faces and the tense lines of their shoulders, it’s enough to make them look like they're squaring up for a fight.

A beat, and then Gar brandishes Merrick’s cap at him, like some kind of peace offering. He smiles wryly when Merrick takes it, a quick little grin on his lips as he pulls it on. Merrick doesn’t thank him though, just waits, and with a start, you notice the fancy blade hanging oddly through one of his belt loops. It’s only staying in place because he’s resting his hand on the pommel, weighing it down.

“I think we should move on, before we start having our talk,” Gar says after a moment, hesitating before he turns back to the plastic bags on the counter. He’s throwing foods of all kinds in the bags, though the amount of fruit in them is overkill in your opinion. Both of them seem to be obsessed with the stuff, which shouldn’t amuse you as much as it does. “You aren’t injured?” He continues, unable to help himself, hands pausing on the door of an open cupboard, shoulders tense.

“Roran doesn’t want to hurt me,” Merrick murmurs, peering into one of the plastic bags. He sounds almost.. Ashamed. “Not yet, anyway. But you’re right. We need to get out of here. I lost Roran in a crowd, and I doubled back a few times, so it should take him a few minutes. He’s going to head back to the skies soon though,” Merrick sighs, slumping back against the counter.

Gar halts his packing and turns to look Merrick in the eye, skin growing almost waxy-looking with worry. “What is it?”

“Em and the others,” Merrick starts, turning to include you in the conversation. Your eyes are drawn to his mouth, the spot of bright red in the corner. It’s a bruise, or maybe even a spot of blood. Maybe Roran hadn’t wanted to leave lasting damage, but he had hurt him. “They weren’t far from your apartment,” he says, eyes darting to your face and then back to Gar. “When the police arrived, and Roran and I fought, they all... They counted the windows,” he says, like either of you might think it was his fault that they’d realized. “And as soon as they heard the police mention the floor number they were worried. And loud.”

You glance down at the phone in your bag, understanding now why the phone is off. They’d probably been calling you nonstop. If Merrick wanted any chance of getting out of there without the phone going haywire, he would have had to turn it off.

“Roran heard them talking?” Gar asks, and for just a second you think you see his bottom lip quiver. He’s worried, ridiculously so. You’ve never seen Gar so drawn in on himself, but you’re fairly sure you understand. You’ve known that Gar has cared for one of your friends for.. Too damn long now, but he’d never made any kind of move. His reasoning seems much more feasible now that you know what he is.

“Yes,” Merrick sighs and then turns to you, eyes dropping down to his bag sitting near your feet. “I think we have plenty, Gar. We need to get going now, and I have a plan,” he tosses over his shoulder, walking towards you when Gar doesn’t move. “We can draw Roran away from our friends, but we need to hurry.”

Gar unfreezes, grabbing the bags of food, his keyring, and a knapsack with a large triangle emblem on the side off of the counter. “Lead the way,” he mutters, and hoists the knapsack onto his shoulder, mustering up a half hearted smile when he notices you watching him. “We’ve got people to look after, don’t we?”

All three of you trudge down to the stolen car, though you notice that Merrick says nothing about the state of that, and Merrick tells Gar in hushed tones that they need to head towards the middle of town.

“Was everyone there?” Gar can’t help but ask, shoulders hunched as he drives. Merrick is acting just as uncomfortable as Gar, though all you can see of him is the tense line of his shoulders from where you’re sitting in the back seat.

“Yeah,” Merrick mutters, after a moment too long. “Everyone was there. I’m fairly sure they’ve been trying to get in contact with all of us. You didn’t notice?” Merrick pats at his stomach, pulling out his phone—which is cracked straight down the middle now—from his hoodie pocket and swipes it open. There’s a full list of notifications across the screen, a plethora of text messages and missed calls.

Gar, if possible, hunches further into the driving seat, elbows raised awkwardly to keep the wheel steady. “I had everyone but you set to silent,” he says, so softly you worry that he’s near tears. When he turns his head though, his face is set in a stoic expression. Merrick grimaces, shifting awkwardly in his seat.

“Seeing as Merrick was kind of in mortal peril, I think everyone would understand,” you interject, before Merrick can say something scathing. “All of our friends should-”

“It’s not that they wouldn’t,” Gar starts and then bites down on the words. “Never mind. Now are you going to let us in on this plan, or am I just a get-away driver?” He demands, turning the car left and just barely avoiding someone trying to speed by. He doesn’t even blink at the near hit, though you’re fairly sure you would have been cursing up a storm.

“We’re going to cause a ruckus, glamour and all, in the town square,” Merrick states, deadpan as he digs through the food bag in his lap. He shoves an apple in his mouth and then offers the bag to you.

“You’re making yourselves bait?” You ask, taking the bag and setting it to the side. Your stomach is kind of tied up in knots. You can grab food later, when you’re not trying to draw a dangerous Faerie away from town.

Gar doesn’t disagree, doesn’t even fight that statement, but you can see his jaw working as he clenches his teeth.

“That’s it?” You add, leaning forward in your seat. “Hey, the human would like more details, if that’s okay with you,” you prompt, reaching over the back to curl your fingers around Merrick’s shoulder.

Gar snorts. “You can drive the car,” he says, in all apparent seriousness.

“The stolen car?” You ask, surprised, and mildly offended. If Gar gets caught driving something stolen, he can just wham the police with no small amount of glamour, but you?

“We aren’t using a rented one,” Gar teases, a small genuine smile pulling at his lips. “If we’re going to play some kind of tag, you wouldn’t be fast enough to keep up.”

Merrick licks a bit of apple off of his lower lip. “Roran loses his head fairly quickly. He’s, well, he’s always been prone to emotion,” he confesses, and that look of guilt is back in his eyes. “If Gar walks out there, he’ll get Roran’s attention straight off, and I won’t have any trouble shifting that focus back to me.”

“And that sounds safe,” you mutter, barely mollified by Merrick’s hand curling around yours, his thumb dipping into the spaces between your knuckles.

“You and Gar can start heading out of town, I’ll get Roran to follow us out, and then I’ll drop him-”

“You’re not even going to argue?” You ask Gar, leaning forward even further to get a better look at his face. His brown eyes are on the road though and he doesn’t have the time to spare you a glance. Traffic is getting a little worse the closer you get to the square. “What’s to stop Roran from doubling back when you drop him and going after our friends again? He doesn’t know how to use a phone, but all of our friends do and they won’t stop calling until they get some sort of answer.”

“It’s hardly foolproof,” Merrick grumbles, taking another crunching bite, eyes focused on a far distant point. He’s squinting though, like his eyes or his head are paining him, thinking about all of this. ”But I’m going to bet that Roran would rather follow me straight off. Chasing after people that may or may not work as hostages is a big waste of time. He’s never been over fond of humans and he doesn’t like playing the long game. He’d rather keep up with us, too close to give us a chance to plan.”

Gar sighs, shrugging his shoulder. “I’m willing to bet on that too, Hora-”

“Shut it,” you say, punching gently at his bicep. “I told you not to call me that.”

“You did,” he agrees. “This Roran had a one track mind earlier, and it was all for Merrick. He’s definitely more interested in getting answers out of him than in killing me, for the moment, but that’s not going to last for very long. We can use this trick to get us out of the city, but...”

Merrick points at the square through the windshield and shoves the entire apple core in his mouth. You’re fairly sure it’s simply to forestall any more potential disagreements, rather than any desire to finish it, but he eats it without complaint. As soon as Gar pulls into a parking space, Merrick pulls off his hat.

It’s startling, seeing his ears out here in broad daylight, but your eyes grow even wider when he sheds his sweatshirt. He’s in nothing but his trousers and shoes now, wings still part and parcel of his skin, masquerading as well done tattoos.

“I’m going to glamour myself as soon as I close the door,” Merrick tells you both. He glances at Gar and makes a you too motion. “Then I want you to jump in the front seat and wait for Gar to give you a signal, ma-”

“I’m sorry,” you interrupt, licking your lips. “But you said you’re going to be using glamour to hide yourselves from the humans, am I right? How am I supposed to see you if you’re glamoured?”

Merrick looks startled, like he’d never considered that but Gar only laughs.

“You have the Sight, now,” he tells you, turning in his seat to direct a megawatt grin your way. “You’ll be able to see the free for all.”

“Since when?” You demand. “All the stories say it’s something you have to be like.. Born with! I know that I’ve never seen faeries like either of you before today.”

Gar waggles his eyebrows, and then, just to be sure, makes an obnoxious kissing noise. The pieces very slowly come together.

“Are you telling me I have the ability to see Faeries now because Merrick and I… ?” You shut your mouth with a snap when Merrick covers his face. He’s red. Embarrassed. And Gar’s earlier comments are now seared into your brain.

Gar’s laughter volume doubles.

“I’ll tell you about the nitty-gritty of it all later, but the main thing is this: You’ve touched some kind of Faerie ointment. A kiss does it just fine,” he mutters, pulling his own hat from his head. You don’t jump when you see the pointed ears on Gar, you don’t, but you know you’re staring. He pulls off his gloves after that and stretches strong green fingers. “But blood can work too, or-”

“Quiet,” Merrick demands, yanking open his car door. “Hurry up and help me with this, or I’m going to push you out of the car and be done with it.”

“Don’t be like that,” Gar whines, though he shoots you a small wink as he gets out. “I was just getting to the good part!”

⊱ ────── .⋅ 🜁 ⋅. ────── ⊰

...turn the page?

#faerie boyfriend #fairy boyfriend #male faerie x reader #male fairy x reader #fae boyfriend #d.darling writes #exophilia

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foreverfallingforthestars · 3 years

Text

I think my dad is Santa Claus

🎄Day 6 of 12 Days of PJO Christmas🎄

At first, when the screaming started when Annabeth was sitting in the Athena cabin doing some reading, she didn’t know what was happening. Her first instinct was to think that a monster had somehow broken through the barrier and was attacking the camp.

However, when she ran out of the cabin holding her sword, she stopped dead in her tracks at the sight.

It wasn’t a monster attacking camp.

It was Poseidon dressed as Santa.

PSA: These drabbles are canon-compliant till HoO and just acknowledge the existence of Estelle. Also technology use is a thing.

Read on AO3

~~~~~

At first, when the screaming started while Annabeth was sitting in the Athena cabin doing some reading, she didn’t know what was happening. She was alone in her cabin, and her first instinct was to think that a monster had somehow broken through the barrier and was attacking the camp.

She dropped everything, grabbed her sword and ran out, expecting a battle to be going on, but when she ran out of the cabin, she stopped dead in her tracks at the sight.

It wasn’t a monster attacking camp.

It was Poseidon dressed as Santa.

“What the—” she muttered, staring at Poseidon handing out wrapped gifts to the younger campers near the center of the camp. He was wearing the bright red Santa hat with the white beard, covering his own black one, with a red overcoat and white pants. In his hands was a big red bag filled to the brim, and he kept taking boxes out and handing them out to the cheering kids. Annabeth blinked in confusion, wondering if she had accidentally been given something by one of the Stolls — who had also come to visit that winter — that was causing her to hallucinate, but after a quick pinch to her arm, she deduced that she was, in fact, not hallucinating.

She immediately glanced around for Percy, knowing that he must have a hand in bringing Poseidon to camp, and sure enough, she found him talking to a group of young campers near the Big House with a look of apprehension on his face. As she quickly jogged over, she kept noticing that he was constantly stealing glances towards Poseidon — god, she couldn’t wrap her mind around the fact that the King of the Seas was wearing a goddamn Santa hat and beard — and looked just absolutely stressed. His messy hair was even more messy and looked almost like a bird’s nest; Annabeth could imagine that he had already run his hands through it several times.

Percy caught sight of her when she was within a few feet of him, and he broke away to grab her arm and drag them away from the horde of kids that were surrounding Poseidon. He took her towards the weapon shed, and once they stopped, he turned to look at her with wide eyes.

“Annabeth. Help.”

“What did you do?” she hissed, flinching when a bunch of kids ran past them, screaming about presents.

“I didn’t do anything!” She leveled him with such a flat look that he winced and retracted his statement.

“Okay, technically I did do something, but I didn’t mean to! It was an accident,” he pleaded, taking a hold of her hands.

“Percy, I have way too much work that I should be doing right now to be dealing with this,” she threatened.

“I may have, uh, accidentally wished for dad to bring a few presents down.”

She raised an eyebrow at her boyfriend. “Accidentally?”

“Okay, see, one of the younger Ares kids was complaining about how he realized Santa didn’t exist, and he was so upset. It made me think of Estelle, and so I said that it was okay that Santa didn’t exist because his parents would get him gifts, anyways. But then, he started crying about how Ares had never once given him a gift, so instead I ended up showing him that maybe if he asked for a gift during offering, Ares might agree. Then I ended up asking dad for a gift and maybe also have him bring down extras to give to a few to the younger campers as well. How was I supposed to know that he was going to become Santa?!” he cried, hands pulling at his hair. “What am I going to do, Annabeth?”

Annabeth was stunned at his word vomit, her brain slowly catching up as she understood exactly what happened. Biting her lip, she resisted the urge to start laughing and took a deep breath to calm herself. Percy must’ve misunderstood her actions because he started apologizing profusely, but that triggered her, and Annabeth lost her control and ended up laughing.

“Oh my god,” she laughed, a hand coming to rest on her stomach as she bent over slightly, “that’s so funny. Percy, I’m not mad. Just slightly annoyed, but gods. Just look at Poseidon! You have to admit, it’s kind of worth it to see him like that.”

“That’s my dad!” he moaned. His wish to want to jump off a cliff was written all over his face, and she grinned at the reminder of the Christmas dinner from last year when Athena and Poseidon showed up at their family dinner. She felt a tiny bit bad for the poor guy who was going to be reminded of the fact that his godly parent had dressed up as Santa for the next year (at least), but it was also just so utterly ridiculous that she couldn’t help but laugh more.

“Alright, Santa spawn, let’s go deal with the mess,” Annabeth laughed, grabbing Percy’s hand and leading him down to where the presents were being given out. It took them a while to get even through the campers that were crowding around Poseidon, and Annabeth wondered why it was taking them so long because it seemed like the campers who had already gotten a present were going back for more.

It wasn’t long before Annabeth and Percy pushed through to the center of the crowd to realize that the reason the crowd had grown exponentially was because Apollo and Mr. D had also joined in the gift giving. Thankfully, they hadn’t fully dressed up as Santa but they were wearing Santa hats.

Mr. D was helping Poseidon pass out gifts as Chiron tried to control the kids from jumping all over the gods (and stop Mr. D from giving out wine) while Apollo stood a few feet away singing All I want for Christmas is you by Mariah Carey.

Suddenly the crowd had become chaotic, and it wasn’t long till a lot of the older campers had finally come out to see what was happening and join in the crowd. Apollo’s rendition of Mariah Carey brought about a round of caroling where the campers began to join in, and all Annabeth could do was stand and stare until Percy dragged her out of the stampeding group of demi-gods.

“I can’t believe one dumb wish led to this,” Percy muttered, leaning against one of the cabin walls. “We can’t even get through to them to stop them. Hell, Chiron’s stuck too.”

Annabeth snorted. “I can’t believe Mr. D went along with it. We all knew it was a matter of time until Apollo showed up.”

All I want for Christmas is you was already stuck in her head.

“I think he just lives to bother me at this point.”

“You are his favorite Peter Johnson, ”she teased, poking him in the ribs repeatedly. “I guess he wants to give you the special treatment.”

Percy glared at her and swatted her arm away. “I was talking about dad.”

“You're his favorite son,” she replied.

“Annabeth.”

“Oh come on, Perce,” Annabeth laughed. “You have to admit that this is actually really nice of them. A lot of the kids aren’t going home for Christmas this year, and it’s hilarious.” She walked closer to him and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Hey, at least my mom’s not glaring at you this year.”

“Don’t even say that,” he groaned, wrapping his arms around her waist as well. “I feel like she’s going to magically jump out of the statue, and then it’s going to be a repeat of last year.”

“You would think that being nineteen and spending the majority of our lives in this world would make us immune to most of the stuff we’ve seen, but this is just…” Annabeth trailed off, not knowing how to explain the bizarre sight that involved a Christmas concert given by Apollo.

‘’Do they not have better things to do with their time than whatever the hell this is?”

“Clearly not.”

They stood in silence for a bit, just wrapped up in each other’s arms, as they watched the crowd slowly begin to start dispersing as Poseidon’s huge bag was running out of gifts. Chiron had also managed to drag Mr. D away, and Percy took that as a chance to walk up to his father.

Percy didn’t bother with formalities as he just spoke up, “Dad, seriously?”

Annabeth bit her lip as she tried not to laugh as she took a closer look at the Santa Claus costume.

“What? I granted your Christmas wish last year as well, despite the fact that you were joking, no?”

Percy gaped, and Annabeth lost it (again) and let out a loud laugh.

“Oh my god,” she breathed.

Percy groaned as he face-palmed.

“I hate myself. I’m never asking for anything ever again.”

~~~~

Day 1 || Day 2 || Day 3 || Day 4 || Day 5

#percabeth #percabeth fic #pjo fic #comedy #12 days of christmas #percy jackson #percy #annabeth #poseidon #apollo #poseidon is santa #12 days of pjo christmas

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joonsdiary · 4 years

Text

worth fighting for (04)

pairing: jungkook x female reader genre/warning: fluff, angst / royalty au, historical au / tw: poor attempts at humour (as usual) mentions of blood/wounds, a little bit of action, even more pining—would this be considered slowburn now? hm... unless? word count: 7,574

summary: fresh out of the perils of war, jungkook didn’t think that his task as the newly appointed general would be to look after you.

FOUR.

Suffocating tension hangs in the air like a thick fog and Jungkook mentally curses the chambermaid for her feebleness, revealing something she should not have. He knows the situation is dire and stakes are high, therefore it’s quite easy to have a slip of the tongue. But she still should have known better.

He regards the three men with compelling confidence, hoping they do not see right through his façade. One of the men leans forward and murmurs something to the other. The eldest of them throttle closer to him and Jungkook straightens his back and pulls on his horse’s rein to guide him closer towards the stranger.

“Your Majesty?” Finally comes the bandit’s hoarse voice, eyes flickering at the carriage behind Jungkook with interest.

Jungkook tries not to make it obvious he’s reaching for the sword strapped around his waist as he shrugs at the man with feigned disinterest. He did not want to incite a fight that he knows will put you in danger. Yet his hand couldn’t help but hover subtly over the handle of his trusted weapon.

“Shouldn’t we all treat our wives like royalty they deserve to be?” Jungkook states slowly, making sure to get his point across despite feeling squeamish over his choice of words. In his mind, it sounded way more chivalrous than when he’d uttered them. Hearing it echo out of his mouth feels silly and inept.

Apparently, it sounds as ridiculous to the strangers as it did to Jungkook because they look at each other with brows knitted in confusion. The two younger men snicker to themselves, meanwhile, the one Jungkook’s talking to merely rolls his eyes.

“We aren’t too far from the palace, so it may be an actual royalty riding in that carriage.” He mocks, and Jungkook doesn’t miss the deep scar running on the right side of his cheek. He deduces he could be the leader since the other two listen intently and nod along to his statement.

“The question is…” the leader trails off, eyeing Jungkook with a newfound interest. “Why would a member of the royal family ride along on this particular path, and with seemingly just one palace guard? That is what you are, no?”

The bandit regards Jungkook, but he doesn’t flinch, fighting hard not to give anything away. He made sure to pick clothes that didn’t stand out too well, for all intents and purposes. Therefore, he donned garments usually worn by merchants — light sapphire outer coat with navy blue pants — yet they’ve managed to figure him out, much to Jungkook’s dismay

Jungkook is slightly appalled that they’d assess him as a mere palace guard—no offence to his dear friend Mingyu — he did not come all this way to be belittled in spite of his accomplishments. Then something in Jungkook’s mind clicks. And if one listens closely enough, they’ll hear rusty gears slowly churning, the crevices of his mind being put to good use. If they don’t know I’m a general, then that must mean…

“I’m sure you’re all very fine gentlemen.” He begins once more, a pretence of calmness intertwining between the cadence in his voice despite his stomach twisting into several knots. “So, I would appreciate it if you’d let us pass through—”

“Does this man think we’re idiots, San?” The man with a scar on his cheek cuts Jungkook off, an apparent smirk forming on his lips. He glances at the young boy beside him, who Jungkook believes is not old enough to be running around with men who are up to no good.

“I think he does, m’lord,” the young boy nods and by this time Jungkook’s grip is firm around the handle of his sword.

“Lord…?” Jungkook’s brow furrowed in confusion, eyeing the man with the scar. “May I ask whose bannermen you all are?”

It’s possible for them to not know the great families of Sejo if they are truly outsiders. He is sure they’re not his family’s bannermen, of course, as he prides himself in being well-informed when it comes to putting faces into names. So, that rules his family out; he doubts his father will do something as scandalous as to send people to possibly assassinate the princess – he sees no reason for him to do so.

The Kim family, on the other hand, rarely let their men wander without carrying a banner that showed their sigil. He’s sure the Knight of the Flowers – as he recalls you’ve oh-so-fondly referred to the current head of the Kim family – has a lot on his plate after inheriting his father’s title.

Surely it can’t be your own family. The king will let his general know if he planned on having his men follow him. But it didn’t make sense because they came from the opposite direction; he doubts they’re the royalty’s bannermen.

Perhaps it’s the Yoon’s; their recent seclusion and the fact that they barely provided aid and garrison during the previous war makes Jungkook think they could be behind this mess. The Yi’s of Naath, despite being a recently assimilated part of Sejo, will not dare defy the crown and send men after the royal princess whether they knew of the king’s plans or not.

“Aren’t you a little too curious for a mere merchant – or so you claim? Your clothes may conceal your true identity but the weapons you carry betray your theatrics.” The man smirks in a way that contorts his scar, making him seem more intimidating. “Surely, you are aware mercenaries can’t be bannermen.”

Hearing him admit he’s a mercenary alarm Jungkook because it means they didn’t run into these three men by accident. Someone possibly paid them to be here. He combs his brain, attempting to name those who know about the plan and comes up with a very concise list. Since the king wanted the meeting of the two royalty to be kept a secret, there aren’t many who know about the situation and are powerful enough to hire mercenaries.

Jungkook glances at Jimin, who nods towards him with a look of acknowledgement; he’s ready.

He may not know Jimin personally, having formally met him days before they had to depart the castle, but he’s heard from you that Jimin also fought during the war. He was in General Kim’s garrison, so Jungkook doesn’t doubt Jimin’s ability to brandish a sword if it has to come down to that situation.

“I’m cutting to the chase because this is getting extremely tedious, especially for an old man like me.” Scarface — Jungkook thinks the name has a nice ring to it — declares, and as soon as he does, the two young men on either side unsheathe their sword. Jungkook couldn’t help but snort because it seems like a disgrace to classify their needle-of-a-blade amongst those that were forged from the mightiest Sejon steel. But perhaps now is not the right time to be comparing who crafts better weapons.

“We want whoever you’re carrying inside that carriage,” Jungkook is surprised when San speaks up, his meek voice not suiting his wicked intentions.

He inhales slowly before sighing. He puffs his cheeks out in an attempt to look annoyed and confused, hoping to still put up the air of pretence. “Look, I have no idea what you’re talking about, and I have no patience to stick around. As I said, my wife has to see a physician right away.”

Jungkook recognizes the futility of repeating himself over and over to the men who pose a threat to your safety. But if he stalls further, it could help him figure out who’s behind all of this. He’s learned that impatient people tend to reveal their intentions when they don’t get their way. Or perhaps he just likes how the word my wife rolls seamlessly off the tip of his tongue. The thought of domesticated life with you is enough for the muscles in his cheeks to twitch, pulling his lips into an undeniable grin.

He can’t decide between the two, but he prefers the latter.

“I guess we’ll just have to take her by force,” the man with a scarred cheek sneers before nodding towards Jungkook.

He didn’t have time to assess what’s about to come. But he hears one of the horses neighing loudly before he notices San is racing towards him, his blade pointed out. Jungkook unsheathes his sword just in time to unhand San without injuring him. He loses balance before falling off his horse completely.

The second young man, who’s also around San’s age, comes up at Jungkook much stealthier, catching him completely off guard. The blunt end of the sword scratches the nape of his neck ever so slightly which startles Jungkook, causing him to slash the young man’s torso. The younger recoils back and relinquishes his sword.

Jungkook scoffs as he slips off his horse before walking towards scar-face confidently.

“You consider yourself mercenaries?” He mocks and Scarface’s jaw tightens in response. From the corner of his eye, he observes the two of them scramble to their feet to gather their weapons and Jungkook shakes his head, chuckling in disbelief. He’s been in enough spars and had plenty of experience to know the two are novices, and quite frankly awkward.

To put it simply, he knows they don’t have an inkling on how to properly brandish a damn sword and at least pretend like they know what they are doing.

In a few swift moves, both young men were down on their knees once more, much to Jungkook’s dismay. It brings him no pleasure to trample over enemies—especially those younger than him. He knows what it’s like to witness such cruelty at such a young age.

“Stay down, kid,” he murmurs to San before patting him once on his shoulder. The younger man grunts menacingly and moves away from his touch.

“You’re not just a mere palace guard, are you?” Scarface says slowly as if he’s still deliberating the certainty of his claim. Jungkook holds his hands up and shrugs. He knows better than to give anything away to the person attempting to kill him.

The mercenary pulls out his longsword and throws it down the ground.

“I think it’s only fair if we fight with our fists. The winner gets the package while the loser receives the privilege of dying.”

“None of this is fair,” Jungkook sneers and eyes the mercenary, who merely shrugs. “And don’t you dare refer to my —”

“Your wife, yes, my apologies, m’lord,” the mercenary mocks and mimes a half-bow. Jungkook sighs defeatedly, placing his sword down near the hooves of his horse.

Not too far away, Jimin is busy ensuring the two young men won’t run away.

Jungkook gets into a sparring stance, his hands clenched into fists and his knees slightly bent. The mercenary mimics his movements and it irks Jungkook to no end, feeling as if he is being parroted for the sake of exaggeration.

He’s in a defensive position, his hands slightly obscuring his face for protection. The mercenary’s right arm flinches so Jungkook’s instinct tells him to dodge left but when he does, he is met with the man’s uppercut which strikes him square in the jaw.

He stumbles back from the sheer force of the blow, but he’s more taken aback by his lack of awareness; in hindsight, he should have seen that one coming. He hears a small gasp from behind him but doesn’t turn to see who it could have been, admittedly terrified that doing so could put him at an even more disadvantage.

Scarface chuckles and Jungkook fights the urge to tackle him down. Focus, Jungkook.

Jungkook notices that the mercenary is off-balance every time he shifts between his feet, seemingly nursing an injured part of his right leg. A possible sign of weakness doesn’t surprise him, and he does his best to maintain the same composure as to not reveal his motives. Beads of sweat roll down the nape of his neck as he waits for a sliver of opening; it doesn’t help that he towers over Jungkook and seems much heavier than him now that he sees him up close.

Scarface loses footing and Jungkook takes the chance to swipe his leg with his right foot before jabbing him square in the stomach. The latter groans, recoiling with his back hunched.

“Why don’t you tell me who you really are, and what you’re doing here?” Jungkook seethes. The mercenary merely chuckles before looking at him, eyes gleaming with amusement despite his disadvantaged state.

“My apologies. The name’s Pyo,” his familiarity and friendliness irk Jungkook. “And I thought I had made my intentions clear over and over, and over again.”

The grin on Pyo’s face morphs into a menacing scowl. That is the only thing Jungkook remembers seeing before feeling a benign coldness creeping from his torso to his chest. It’s only seconds after that he realizes the pooling liquid of blood seeping throughout his thin tunic that he notices a small blade wedged somewhere in his midriff.

Well, that can’t be good.

“General!”

Jungkook hears Jimin’s voice laced with panic, sounding far-reaching and muffled despite only being a few steps away. His knees threaten to buckle beneath him, but he makes the effort to stand his ground, refusing to let the scum mercenary think he’s won.

Jimin rushes to catch Jungkook’s teetering body before he hits the ground. It’s clear the mercenary is not threatened by Jimin’s presence at all when he makes no effort to stop him.

“You’re a general? And all this time you made me think of you as a mere palace guard,” Pyo says, fingers skimming over the scar on his cheek thoughtfully before shrugging. “Anyway, they’ll be glad to know I stole the princess from the protection of the general, himself. Perhaps I’ll get double the amount I’m owed.”

Jungkook’s head shoots up at the mention of you. With Jimin propping him up, there is almost nothing stopping Pyo from taking you. Jimin seems to notice this as well and mutters an apology to Jungkook before letting him go and grabbing the nearly forgotten sword on the ground.

Pyo scoffs, unimpressed. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a princess to save.”

Before Pyo could turn away from him and Jimin, Jungkook hears the faint whistle of an arrow slicing through the air. He hears a loud grunt and before he could blink up to see what has happened, the mercenary falls on his side with a resounding thud. He watches in confusion as blood sputters out of Pyo’s neck where the arrow has lodged itself deeply into. Truly a gruesome sight that makes his stomach clench, but he can’t bring himself to look away. His head spins frantically, and he could practically taste bile crawling its way up to his throat.

Only when he hears another snapping of the bow that he wakes from his stupor. He doesn’t see where the arrow lands in particular – somewhere in his back perhaps?

He blinks.

Once.

Twice.

Where in the heavens did that come from in the first place?

“Your Highness!”

Jimin practically squeals beside him, before sprinting away from Jungkook. He looks up to see you dangerously out in the open. Exposed. Vulnerable.

Yet he couldn’t help as his jaw slackens in awe as you lower the weapon slowly, your eyes locked onto his. Neither you nor he wavers until you collapse on the ground, the crossbow slipping from your grasp. Jimin is quick to react and grasps your shoulders firmly as he kneels beside you.

Jungkook hisses and breathes in through his gritted teeth — it’s just a knife to the torso; I’ve experienced worse.

Miyoung rushes out of the carriage to help Jimin prop you up, knees wobbling and all.

“I’m fine, it’s just…I was nervous about —” you pause, eyeing Jungkook before mustering a foolish grin. “That was the first time I stretched my legs in hours. I’m fine.”

“How did you even manage to obtain a weapon?” Jimin admonishes you in the slightest, though it’s apparent that he’s only worried you could have gotten hurt in the process. You reply with a sheepish smile, but Jungkook is unsure because everybody is moving and spinning in all directions and wait…why the hell are there two princesses?

“I might or might not have gone through your belongings behind the carriage.”

“I tried stopping her from going out but —”

“I hate to break your little chat but…a little help would be nice.”

Jungkook manages to string a few words, attempting to stand up but failing miserably. He ends up landing on his knees before he sees you running up to him, with a dumb worried look painted across your face. Your brows are furrowed together in concentration, cheeks tinted from the heat and mouth agape as if you’re a fish out of water. Your hair is completely dishevelled and out of place, strands swinging wildly in the air.

For the first time in a while, Jungkook allows himself to laugh unprompted; a kind of giggle that bubbles up from the depths of his stomach and blossoms its way up to his chest. His shoulders shake uncontrollably as you place his arms around your shoulder in an attempt to help him up. Jimin rushes to follow you and does the same on his left side.

“I think he’s starting to become delirious. Might be loss of blood.” Jimin mumbles as he grunts before hoisting Jungkook up to his feet, bearing most of his weight so you don’t have to.

Not really, Jungkook thinks to himself. Or maybe he mumbled it out loud — he isn’t certain at this point. It’s just that…her face was so damn hilarious. Running up to me with that expression and all.

“I have ointments and bandages that my mother asked me to pack.”

You rush out of Jungkook’s grasp and Jimin grunts, bearing all of Jungkook’s weight in one swift movement. Miyoung is conflicted and is unsure whether to follow you or to help Jimin out but in the end, you rush back out while carrying the supplies wrapped neatly in white cloth.

“We should probably set him down somewhere,” Jimin announces rather obviously.

“Inside the carriage is an ideal place,” you murmur, and Jungkook nods in a daze. Jimin glances behind him before wrapping Jungkook’s arm around you.

“Here, you take him inside. I’m going to deal with those two out here.”

Jungkook sways in your direction and he has enough decency not to lean all his weight on you. Miyoung holds the door open and Jungkook climbs weakly inside, letting his body fall back into the cushion. There is a brief sense of relief Jungkook feels now he’s certain of yours as well as everyone else’s safety. He slowly sinks within the comfort of the soft chair, allowing himself to focus on something other than the throbbing pain in his waist.

The next few seconds feel like a whirlwind of blurred scenarios, but he remembers being asked to bite down on a thickly rolled cloth. Jungkook finds it odd at first, but he knows it’s not the right time to question the motives of those that are trying to help him.

He attempts to comprehend the need for the bunched-up cloth in his mouth when—

“Augh,” his eyes widened as he groaned, hands clutching the nearest object which happened to your arm.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry, but at least the worst part is done.” You whisper soothingly before lowering the arrow beside you. Jungkook visibly relaxes as his eyes slowly close but you gently tap him on his cheek to prevent him from doing so. “Probably best if you stay awake.”

Jungkook grunts in response but follows your instructions, making sure to keep his eyes open, even if it’s just halfway. He removes the cloth from his mouth and watches as you quickly disrobe him of his bloody tunic. He’s tempted to say something, his lower lip edging between his teeth.

He ignores the odd looks that Miyoung keeps giving him and focuses on you instead. It’s hard for him to miss the bright red tint of your cheeks as you continue to tend to his wounds. He’s inclined to crack a joke and poke fun at your embarrassed state, but he thinks it’s probably best to keep his mouth shut this time around. You are dressing his injury, after all, and if he acts up god knows how you’ll choose to retaliate.

You unknowingly place a hand on his bare chest as you shift around to apply ointment directly at his wound. He clears his throat as his cheeks heat up from the contact and turns his head away from you, only to be met by Miyoung’s knowing grin.

“Are you feeling feverish, General? Your face is looking as bright as an apple,” she teases, and he makes the briefest eye contact with you before looking elsewhere once again.

“If that’s the case, that’s not good. The wound might be infected.”

The concern laced with your voice makes Jungkook’s chest constrict as if the airways to his lungs had been blocked completely. Is this particular feeling a side effect of the injury as well? He, too, is starting to believe he’s becoming delirious despite knowing the injuries he’s suffered are not dire enough to put him in that state.

“How do you know so much about this, anyway?” Jungkook murmurs, referring to your seemingly vast knowledge of wound treatments and infections.

“I trained with a physician a while back, shortly before the war started. I thought it would be valuable in case my father permitted me to help, even just something small like tending wounds. I was not allowed, of course,” your forehead creases either in concentration or annoyance. Possibly both.

You press a folded linen gently on top of his wound and Jungkook moans in discomfort. He stirs to move his body to a different position, but you press the hand you have on his chest. You quietly instruct Miyoung to wrap gauze over the linen before too much blood seeps into the cloth.

“Well, aren’t I lucky you decided to come along on this exciting journey with me?”

He couldn’t help it. He has to crack a joke, or else he will burst from overheating, courtesy of his rapidly beating heart.

“I’m delighted you’re aware you’d be completely helpless without me,” you grin up at him as Miyoung finishes tying up the bandage around his torso.

“Done! You’re good as new, General Jeon,” Miyoung sighs in relief, and Jungkook grins up at her.

“Stay here and rest. I’ll go and ask Jimin if he brought a mortar and pestle with him so I can prepare medicine for you to drink,” you instruct Jungkook as he struggles to put his tunic back on. He winces in pain as he extends his arm out. “Maybe you shouldn’t move around too much yet.”

“How am I supposed to get dressed, then?” Jungkook whines as he cautiously peeks at you from the corner of his eyes, hoping you’d take the bait.

“Here, give it to me,” you roll your eyes and take Jungkook’s clothes from his grasp.

“Why don’t I go ask Jimin if he has the supplies, instead?” Miyoung takes the medicine from you and grins at Jungkook. She leans in towards you to whisper something Jungkook couldn’t hear and watches with curiosity as your forehead creases, features forming into a scowl. Miyoung hops out of the carriage before you can say anything else.

“What?” you eye him with suspicion.

“What, what? You’re just going to sit there and leave me in this state of undress?” he mimes over his chest and you grumble, motioning for him to come closer.

“You’re full of it sometimes, you know?” you roll your eyes at his theatrics. But it does nothing to deter Jungkook’s foolish attempts at enlightening the mood. You frown and he immediately leans towards you, head bowing forward as a signal for you to continue.

Alright, I get it. I’ll behave.

Jungkook murmurs a small thanks as soon as his head pops out of the collars of his tunic. The crimson hue on your cheeks is unmistakable, and he doesn’t miss the way your eyes flit from his eyes down to his lips. He catches his lower lip between his teeth for good measure to see how you’d react. He isn’t disappointed in the way you turn your head completely to look at the windows, pretending as if you hadn’t been staring in the first place.

Jungkook blinks.

Is he being delirious, or did he just think you’d wanted to kiss him? Or did he want it to happen?

Probably just the loss of blood. It has to be. He continues to dress in silence, carefully pulling each arm through individual sleeves.

“Maybe I should’ve left you to bleed out and just escaped with Jimin and Miyoung.”

Jungkook chuckles and winces as soon as he does, the pain of his wound is somehow becoming more unbearable every fleeting second.

“You’d want that, wouldn’t you? You’re probably itching to have some alone time with Jimin.”

Jungkook swears to the gods he saw your eyes twinkle for the briefest moment before you break out into a beaming grin as if you’re agreeing with what he’s said. Your response is not at all what he expects, so his brows knit in confusion.

“That’s the first time you addressed him by his first name.”

“Was it that big of a deal?” Jungkook doesn’t mean to sound completely like a pompous prick, but was it that big of a deal? He quickly concludes that the answer to his previous question (which was more of an attempt to torment you, really) is yes, and decides to switch the topic.

“I mean it though. Thank you.”

“I can’t have you dying on me, General Jeon. You still have to deliver me to the Northerners in one piece, right?”

Jungkook is taken aback by the ambivalent tone of your voice accompanied by the solemn smile on your face. In an instant, he’s pulled back to the reality you’re faced with along with the true weight of what this trip entails. His eyes search for any hint of regret in yours; one that will make him turn this whole expedition around if you so much give him the tiniest hesitation.

But all he finds is silent determination, and he has no choice but to respect that. He wants to sympathize with you and the situation you’re under, but at the same time, he doesn’t want to undermine the sacrifice you’ve made. He knows that’s the price you’re willing to offer for the sake of peace.

I hope it’s worth it.

“I hope so, too,” you sigh deeply and Jungkook’s eyes widen. He’s certain he didn’t state the phrase out loud.

“Your Highness, I didn’t mean it like I was opposing the king’s decision—”

“Hey, you two! Get back here!” Jimin’s roaring voice cuts Jungkook off, and you quickly turn away from him to see what the commotion is about. He attempts to follow, but you stop him before he could get up.

“Stay. That’s an order,” you instruct sternly.

Jungkook doesn’t have the time to respond as you rush out of the carriage. He pokes his head out of the window just in time to see Jimin chasing the two captives who’re now apparently fleeing.

“Jimin, stop! Just let them go!” You scream out, and it’s enough to make Jimin halt his tracks. He whips his head around to look at you quizzically before turning back to the other two who are now too far to track down. “It’s not worth the trouble. Plus, they were merely children.”

“How noble of you.” Jungkook shakes his head disapprovingly, though he is out of earshot for you to hear what he’s said.

“Let’s just hope they don’t come back,” he says much louder this time.

You turn your attention to him and shrug. “Don’t worry. I promise I won’t allow them to hurt you again.”

Miyoung approaches Jungkook and hands him the liquid concoction and encourages him to drink it.

“Her Highness: One. General Jeon: Zero.”

Jungkook turns to your smug figure and mimics your posture.

“Oh, it’s so on.”

* * *

Night falls quicker than you’ve anticipated it to. But after a long day full of surprises you welcome the calming breeze that blankets the dark surrounding. Your companions on this trip think otherwise as Miyoung urges Jimin to start the fire, grumbling about regretting not bringing a thicker tunic along.

“I have some spare shirts,” Jungkook announces, having come out of the tent he just finished setting up. Miyoung beams at him expectantly, rubbing her shoulders as if to explicitly show how uncomfortable she is with her thin clothing. “You can never go wrong with too much white tunic, as they say. So, I have a lot —”

“I do too!” Jimin stands abruptly from where he sits and holds up a finger at us, signalling for us to wait as he jogs towards the carriage. He leaves the dry twigs he’s collected earlier to presumably look for his spare articles of clothing. You roll your eyes as you make your way towards the middle of the camp and attempt to take a crack at starting a fire — something Jimin’s been patiently trying even before the sun has set, but unfortunately failing to cause even a tiny spark.

You grab some wood chipping and dried leaves, setting them carefully on top of several twigs. Inhaling sharply, as if to prepare yourself mentally for what you’re about to attempt, you wedge a twig between your palms before rubbing them in a quick motion.

“Your Highness, I don’t think it’s safe for you to do that,” Miyoung rushes to your side but you pay her no mind.

“Since when has she ever listened to any of our warnings? I’d say leave her be,” you hear Jungkook explain somewhere behind you. “She’s been asking for something to do. But honestly, how could we order her around —?”

“Ha!” You exclaim, which startles Miyoung. Your eyes widen in awe as you stare at the tender flicker of the small fire in front of you. “It’s the first time I’ve made one!”

The embers flicker out of existence just as rapidly as they began; it’s as if they weren’t there, to begin with. You slump your shoulders and pout. Jungkook doesn’t serve your cause as he doubles back in laughter as hints of smoke rising.

“It can’t be worse than Jimin’s attempt though, right?” You pout and Miyoung consoles you with a soft pat on your shoulder.

“You’re supposed to feed it more dried leaves and branches as soon as you see that small spark,” Jungkook explains as he grabs the stick from your hands. He mimics the actions you did earlier, only this time he follows his advice and stacks several branches to sustain the fire.

Not long after, the blaze grows bigger and Jimin returns with his promised garments.

“Should we really be stopping to rest near the place where we were ambushed?” Jimin questions warily as he sits beside Miyoung, across from where you and Jungkook are. Both of you watch as she successfully weaves her arms near the heat of the fire.

“We should be fine. The two of us will just have to take turns keeping watch throughout the night,” Jungkook muses, tucking loose strands of his hair behind his ear. “Worse scenario would be the kid comes back with more mercenaries. Highly doubt it will happen soon, though.”

“What do you mean?” your forehead creases with worry, forgetting for a moment the prisoner who was able to flee your capture. Granted it was the fact they were mere children that made you pardon and not pursue them, but you’d be lying to yourself if you didn’t dread their potential return. All four of you — but more so Jungkook — barely escaped unscathed, so you’d rather avoid trouble as much as you can.

“I’ve been thinking about something Jimin pointed out earlier — they’re dressed too warmly. I did notice Pyo was wearing a thick animal hide sewn into his tunic,” Jungkook trails off, lost in thought. You attempt to put the pieces together, unsure of what Jungkook means.

“It is a little unusual. Especially this time of the year; we don’t get enough cold weather to warrant wearing clothing with thick animal hides like that.”

“Precisely, Your Grace.” He extends his arms out and leans back, groaning as he puts his hand over his wound. “This was a calculated attack.”

“You think someone planned this?” Jimin asks with a worried expression evident on his face.

“It would seem that way. Especially because only a handful of people are aware of this. I’m unsure if the Mins kept their side of the bargain. Assuming they did, I’m certain only important people know of your arrival.” Jungkook elaborates and you agree with him.

“I’m not one to speculate, and wouldn’t normally run my mouth like this in front of other people but… you don’t think they were responsible for this, do you?”

You gulp and look at Jungkook who is bearing the same distraught expression as you. No one speaks for a while, and the crackling sound of the log burning is the only thing that fills the quietness in the air. Accusing a royalty of committing possible abduction is a hefty allegation, so no one dares to follow your statement.

“Based on what little evidence we have, that’s not entirely out of the conversation. It’s not hard to determine why they would do this—it could be some sort of payback for losing the war.” Jungkook warns in a hushed tone, causing everyone to feel a little bit on edge. “I should add that we cannot be hasty in our conclusion. We may be mistaken about our accusations.”

He is right, yet it’s strenuous to eradicate the roots of doubt once it’s planted in your consciousness.

You begin questioning everyone’s safety, as well as the decision not to bring as many guards as possible. It’s not because you doubt Jungkook’s ability. But even he’s not invincible, evident by the current gash on his torso. Which reminds you of the event prior.

You killed a man.

It had been a long day for you and everybody else, so you hadn’t given it much thought. But as soon as your nerves settle and weariness sinks in, the reality is becoming clearer to you.

Jimin had kindly disposed of the body once you told him not to worry about the young men who’d escaped, stating he is ‘used to that kind of thing’. He gave you a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and you didn’t question him further.

“What’s wrong? You look spooked.” Jungkook says softly beside you.

Your head dips and you swallow the taste of bile on your tongue.

“I still can’t wrap my mind around how I…” you pause, unsure of what to say next. Cold sweat forms on your back and your hands tremble at the image of the man lying on the ground, blood pooling around him. It hadn’t been your intention to end his life. But when he hurt Jungkook and declared his plans, you threw better judgement out of the window. “I’ve never had to witness somebody die in that manner…by my hands...”

The air grows tense at your words, and silence ensues. Your eyes stay glued to the fire, aware of the intense gaze Jungkook is pinning on you.

“It’s my fault,” your head whips up in surprise to meet Jimin’s sombre expression. “Had I acted quicker, perhaps General Jeon wouldn’t get hurt, and you wouldn’t have had to make that decision.”

“No! No…” you shake your head defiantly. “If I’d stay put like I was supposed to —”

“You’d have been taken from me,” Jungkook’s voice is stern but quiet. Before you have the time to process his words, he continues. “Or worse. If something were to happen to you, I swear —”

Jungkook pauses, eyes filled with unrest and trepidation despite the tone of anger in his voice. Your heart swells, and comfort blooms in your chest despite the cloud of fatigue that looms.

“I’m sorry you had to witness what you did, and I’m sure you did not intend to end his life. But I hope you don’t admonish yourself for wanting to save your own life.”

Jungkook’s voice is soft, almost lulling you to slumber. His hands reach for yours, strong grip offering warmth and comfort. The sincerity in his voice causes your heart to perform somersaults, and his proximity didn’t help. You will yourself to pluck your gaze away from him, fearing you might implode from the intensity of his gaze.

“I apologize for souring the mood,” you grin sheepishly toward Jimin and Miyoung as you retract your hand from Jungkook’s touch. He doesn’t concede, and your cheeks flare.

“Don’t apologize, Your Grace. I forget you’re not used to that kind of environment. It puts a lot into perspective.” Jimin offers a friendly smile, and it puts you at ease. “I didn’t know you were a skilled archer, though.”

His tone is light, eyes looking at you with wonder. You silently thank him for steering the conversation elsewhere. You shrug, grinning.

“Beginner’s luck, I suppose.”

“Modesty suits you well.” Jungkook mumbles, his tone teasing. “Bravery even more so.”

You squirm, not used to the attention he is giving you. It’s even worse than it had been in the carriage hours ago. You could excuse his flirting for the lack of blood pulsing through his veins. Is this even considering flirting? For all you know, it’s nothing but a mere complement. Your head swims in confusion.

“I should probably get some rest. My head feels like it’s being pummelled with a rock.”

You lean away from Jungkook as you stand, and he finally releases your hand. Miyoung begins to do the same but you shake your head, wanting to be alone with your thoughts even just for a while.

* * *

Outside, the three are quiet after your departure. The fragility that you’ve put on display has Jungkook on edge, rocking the boat of confidence he has about the trip. Despite his faith in his skill and the tenacity you’ve shown, having to face the uncertainty of possibly being ill-prepared doesn’t sit well with him. There’s no one to blame on today’s outcome but him, and it pains him to see you bear the brunt of his shortcomings.

Jungkook knows you’re capable of defending yourself, but the outcome of ending a life is something he didn’t think you’d be affected simply because he’s desensitized it.

Jungkook thinks back to his brother’s face and the listless look in his eyes, blood gushing out of his mouth.

There is too much red. Everywhere. The noise that surrounds him blurs into one cacophonous scream of agony and pain. His heart shatters into a million pieces as he cradles Hoseok’s cold, lifeless body.

Perhaps he’d been foolish to delude himself into thinking that he’s great — that the damn recognition and honour in the form of a medallion proves nothing. Not when he couldn’t save the one person who mattered to him more than his own life. It should’ve been me, instead of Hoseok.

Jungkook shakes his head and pushes the thoughts away. There’s no room to feel weak when three lives are counting on him. His nails dig into his palms as he clenches his jaw.

Pull yourself together, Jeon.

No one speaks for a while, and it gives him time to sort his feelings out. And by sorting, he means concealing and burying. He throws fresh lumber into the fire and stares at the burning log as the image of his brother’s demise is swallowed in the blaze.

Miyoung begins the conversation around the gossip of the palace, trying to guide the conversation away from today’s experience. Jungkook appreciates her sentiment.

Although it’s short-lived when the topic eventually lands on him.

“So, those rumours were true then?” Jimin grins in good nature. Any air of uneasiness between them has somehow dissipated, much to Jungkook’s surprise. “About your supposed ‘unrequited love’ for Lady Siyeon.”

“Word travels fast in the palace.” He chooses not to answer Jimin’s question, hoping it’s enough to divert him from the topic.

Jimin shrugs nonchalantly.

“It’s no surprise. Now tell me, philanderer.” Jimin’s eyes turn into smaller crescent shapes as his smile grows wider. “How exactly do you have so many women pining for you, yet you choose one that’s specifically not allowed by the rule of land to have a partner?”

“Philanderer’s a bit…” Jungkook murmurs and scoffs, taking slight offence to the scandalous nickname. He isn’t one to sleep around so carelessly.

“I’ve heard of court ladies being allowed by the king to leave, though. So, they’re not bound to the throne by the rule of the land,” Miyoung points out. Jungkook smiles sheepishly at her statement.

“I suppose I have a knack for being smitten to people who can’t reciprocate my feelings for them.”

Jimin winces after hearing Jungkook’s words. “Sounds like you need a good glass of ale, my friend.”

Jungkook laughs and nods in agreement, although he knows they can’t drink because they have to stay awake to keep watch as the evening rolls through. He is about to say something when your call for Miyoung cuts through the air.

“General Jeon. Jimin.” She bows to both men before hurriedly strutting over to your tent.

There is a short pause before Jimin turns to Jungkook once more.

“You say you have a ‘knack for being smitten to people’. That means it’s not the first time you’ve experienced this.”

“Nothing ever goes over your head, no? Also, you’re invested in this.”

Jimin raises both his hands before shrugging. “It fosters good conversation.”

“Recalling the memories of my rejection is your idea of a pleasant conversation?”

“What can I say? I love a good gossip.” Jimin admits, which prompts Jungkook to shake his head with a small smile tugging the corners of his lips.

He can’t resist sharing his thoughts, however. He’s never really had anyone to confide in terms of having feelings for someone. After all, when you’re entrusted to be a commanding officer in the middle of a war, mundane notions of sentiments come last among the lists of priorities.

“I was explicitly rejected by Lady Siyeon, yes,” Jungkook begins, before exhaling. “That felt nice to let out. Also just letting you know that I’m too damn sober for this type of discussion.”

Jimin chuckles and motions for him to continue.

“The previous one — well, that was a long time ago. I was too young to recall specific events, but I remember wanting to see her every chance I get. Times spent with her were scarce because she’s practically attached to my older brother at all times.”

Jungkook’s voice lowers every sentence. He’s terrified that if he speaks any louder, the imaginary barrier he’s built around him and Jimin will somehow crumble.

“I was taken by the way she carries herself. Despite her social upbringing, she always managed to treat everyone with the same attitude. Which I thought for an eight-year-old was quite impressive. She isn’t the type to look down on anyone, but at the same time, she doesn’t just let anyone step all over her. Truly a force to be reckoned with.

“Years pass, and I see her less often because my father made sure to start training me for combat earlier than he did Hoseok. So, I never saw much of her. Eventually, the feelings waned, until they were gone completely.”

I think.

Jungkook didn’t want to add the last phrase. Even inside his head, the sentence sounded doubtful and unconfident — two words he doesn’t like associating himself with.

“She liked Hoseok instead?” Jimin’s mumbles glumly.

“I never knew. In those years I never mustered the courage to go up and make a conversation with her.” Jimin’s mouth is agape, eyes wide with shock, but Jungkook continues. “Although she constantly had that look of admiration in her eyes every time, they were together.”

“I didn’t think there was going to be a day when I’d associate the words ‘General Jeon’ with ‘timid’.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised. I was practically unapproachable; the complete opposite of my brother.”

Jimin shakes his head as he grins, still in disbelief.

“Why don’t you ask her now, then?”

Jungkook fights the urge to laugh, struggling to keep himself composed.

“Ah, well, she’s somewhere unreachable, I suppose,” he grins ruefully as he shakes his head, collecting his thoughts. “Moreover, that was a long time ago. Perhaps in the next lifetime.”

“Perhaps…” Jimin trails off.

Jungkook chucks another log to feed the fire, which roars back into life.

— prev ; next ; series masterlist

#jungkook scenarios #bangtan scenarios #jungkook scenario #bts scenarios #jeongguk scenarios #jungkook fic #bts fic #jungkook x reader #writing #jungkook

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ferrethyun · 4 years

Text

He’s my soulmate, unfortunately | Chapter 4

{Requests are open!}

Summary | Previous | You are here | Next

“Y/n-ah, please-” his manager seethed, his tone threateningly polite, “-Watch your language.”

The leader couldn’t help but flinch slightly at his manager's words that managed to pull him from his thoughts. Everything seemed so surreal at that moment; his soulmate right in front of him, in the flesh. Not the most ideal way of meeting he had to admit, but it wasn’t something he could have prevented. Y/n watched as his manager took a seat to the right-hand side of Bang-Pd and decided it would be best to seat himself next to his representative in this situation.

Y/n looked over to his soulmate and felt his blood freeze at the look he was receiving from the other. It looked as if it was pure hatred but that couldn’t be the case, surely? Before anything could escalate between the two idols, Bang-Pd raised a hand to get the attention of everyone in the room “Firstly, thank you all for being here,” He began, “Now, Y/n-ssi. You know why we’re all here; so I’d like to ask you both a very important question. Is it true that you two are soulmates?”

Everyone sat in a thick silence, hesitance to answer the question presented leaked off the two idols and swam around the room; neither of them wanted to answer the question as that would mean admitting that they were soulmates. Y/n couldn’t ignore the pulling at the bottom of his heart and stomach, figuring they needed to be productive in this meeting, he chose to answer the question “Yes sir” This answer being acknowledged by the two higher-ups in the room.

“Thank you. Now, next question.” The Ceo continued, “What is your soulmark type? This is important so, please, don’t hide anything.”

This question was met with less hesitance in answering as it was a much less emotionally heavy question to answer; this time being answered by the other idol in the room “We got the soulmate dream room, so we don’t have to worry about hiding anything on our bodies as far as I’m aware…” It sounded like Yoongi really didn’t want to answer the question but knew that he had to and didn’t want to leave it all to the other to answer, no matter how much he hated Y/n.

Bang-Pd looked at Y/n to check if the information provided by his soulmate was correct, to which the idol nodded in affirmation. What Y/n didn’t miss was his manager's deep sigh and muttered words that sounded something like ‘Thank god we don’t have to go through the effort of hiding it’. He could feel the pressurised anger building up through his veins, that along with the stress of the situation he was in caused Y/n to burst “You! Don’t get to say that about this situation!” His voice gritty, “You had a timer! Do you know how hard it is being ridiculed by the media for not having a soulmate and being a key person of your group?!”

“Do not! Raise your tone at me like that!” His manager yelled back, causing the male to recoil.

He didn’t expect for his manager to yell back, not in a professional setting like this.

“Now, now. That’s enough Y/n-ssi…” Bang-Pd hushed, trying his best to de-escalate the situation at hand. Y/n took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment while he rubbed one of his hands at the base of his neck; then opening his eyes, a new wave of cool calmness crashing over his body “Thank you.”

“So…” Yoongi spoke up from where he was sat, silent as summer wind, “How is this going to be explained to the media and fans? Most people are smart enough to know that something is happening.” Y/n couldn’t help the choked squeak that left his throat as a vital piece of information set off alarms in his head, wincing in embarrassment as all eyes landed on him “what is it?” The older idol questioned, his tone genuinely curious this time; everyone watching as the leader paled greatly in a short amount of time.

“We- We- We can’t tell anyone…” Y/n’s words a strained whisper, swallowing the lump in his throat and coughing slightly to bring his voice back to normal, “We cannot tell a single fan or reporter. We just can’t.” Confusion filled the room and glaring question marks could almost be seen hovering above the heads of the others in the room. Y/n could feel his manager nudge him with his shoulder, hinting at him to continue whatever point he was getting at “The comeback. Our comeback.” Y/n couldn’t help but harshly gesture at himself alongside his words, “I matter too much to this comeback; as self-centred as that seems, it’s true. Considering that the title track is mainly about not having a soulmate and the freedom that comes along with that. Surely, it would just be counterproductive to announce that I had found my soulmate months before the comeback?”

After a few more discussions on key parts of this issue at hand totalling a rough time of a half-hour, the males in the room had finalised a plan that was going to be set in motion later that night “So what is going to happen is that there will be a statement released by both companies regarding the issues stating that any and all rumours about your soulmarks are false” Bang-Pd stated,” Y/n-ssi, you too, are required to release your own statement as to make this seem so company driven.” As the conversation continued, Y/n couldn’t help but get distracted by the constant vibrating notifications that came through on his phone. As he snuck a glance to his phone, he could see several notifications of messages from Hoseok, no doubt about his presence in the Bighit building at this very moment; distracted by the sheer volume of messages, Y/n couldn’t stop his head from shooting up when his name was mentioned in the conversation that was still going “Y/n-ssi, if you have the time. It’d be great for you to spend some time with Yoongi-ah, just to clear whatever murky waters that linger between you. Just be smart about it and don’t do it in public.” Bang-Pd suggested, adding a small humoured tone to his last sentence.

The leader looked towards his soulmate and could see the hesitance that blossomed across the other male's features, his eyes screaming to stop the stupid request of his boss. Before Yoongi could say a single word, Y/n jumped in with a small grin across his features that no one was expecting “I agree that we should-” His tone flittering with specks of mischief, “- funnily enough, Hoseok-hyung has been messaging me all meeting long about me coming to see him ASAP. So, if that’s okay, I’d like to go see them” Y/n aimed his request at Bang-Pd instead of his manager full well knowing that if he asked his manager that his request would be shot down.

No one in the room missed the looks of disapproval that were shot at the youngest from his manager and soulmate as they watched the Ceo nod in approval “That sounds like a great idea” Bang-Pd concurred, “Yoongi-ah, please take Y/n-ssi with you to the practice room while we stay here to discuss this issue in a bit more detail...”

Not even a few moments later were the two soulmates walking down the hallway towards what Y/n assumed to be the practice room in a suffocating awkward silence. As much as the leader wanted to say something, he couldn’t find the words to speak; they’d arrive at his brain and get trapped at the back of his throat before he could say a since syllable. Before he could even bring himself to look the other idol in the eyes, the two had arrived outside a pale metal door, Yoongi heading straight in while Y/n chose to loiter in the doorway, unsure of how welcome he would be “Yoongi-hyung! You’re back, finally!” Comes a deep voice that is easily recognised to belong to the leader of Bts, “Where were you?”

Yoongi doesn’t look like he wants to answer the question but he finds it in himself to let out a small grunt before responding “I was in a meeting with Bang-Pd and Y/n-ssi here about the mess he made last night on vlive” Similar to earlier on in the meeting, the room fills with waves of confusion, question marks looming above the heads of all the other members at the mentioning of Y/n.

Deciding now would be the best time to announce his presence, Y/n forces out a cough, drawing all eyes to himself.

“Hello everyone?”

#Admin Tea #bts x reader #poly bts x reader #bts x male reader #poly bts x male reader #bts #bangtan #bangtan soneyondan #kim taehyung #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #park jimin #min yoongi #jung hoseok #jeon jungkook #bts soulmate au #soulmate au #(He's my soulmate unfortunately)#male reader

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livinglikearoyal · 4 years

Text

Love on a Schedule | Namjoon

Summary: You were able to join the boys on their trip to New Zealand and comfort Namjoon when he is unable to enjoy the trip due to stress.

Inspired by Bon Voyage S4 : E6 when Namjoon decided to forgo cycling to work and the anonymous request “I was just wondering if I could request a Namjoon/reader oneshot based on the lyric “let them be them, let us be us” from Love Maze.”

Director Junsoo to camp. Namjoon has decided to return to the campsite. Please ensure that the cameras around the site are ready for his arrival. No personnel is required to remain onsite other than camera op one. Once again, Namjoon will be returning to the campsite for the afternoon. Once the site is prepared, no personnel required to remain besides camera op one.

The rise in volume signals the departure of the staff that remained at the cabins for the day. Quiet murmurs spread throughout the common room as the men and women that expected to have the afternoon off to rest and prepare for the rest of their trip find this time put momentarily on hold.

Director Hyangmi veers away from the small group heading toward the door when she sees you standing near the front desk, holding your coffee mug. Moving to meet her halfway, you prepare to ask your question when she interrupts.

“You want to go, don’t you.” It was a statement and not a question. It seems as if she has gotten to know you well as that is exactly what you want. Her face is stern for a moment before it breaks into a small smile. “Give it an hour or so for the camera op to get some footage for the broadcast. After that, you can head that way. While the camera op is there be sure…”

“To remain inconspicuous. The camera shouldn’t see or hear me. Understood!” You give an exaggerated salute.

The director shakes her head as she chuckles, “I’m glad you were able to come along this time, Y/N. We’ll be back shortly.”

You return to your seat near the fireplace and continue to eat your previously forgotten lunch as your mind wanders.

Namjoon has been having a rough time lately. The month-long break was meant to be a time for the band and company members alike to recharge and refocus themselves: go on trips, visit friends and family, eat whatever they want, sleep the day away. While on paper and in the headlines this seems like a fantastic idea, for a person like Namjoon, it was a struggle. He had been working almost without pause for nearly ten years. His love and dedication to his work is something that he takes pride in, even when it is at its most challenging. So to have a month where the expectations are not for him to produce content but to stay out of the studio, it caused its own form of anxiety for Namjoon. While you weren’t able to be with him due to your own job, you know that he tried the normal vacation things: trips to other countries, countless museums, walks with his dog and bike rides along the river, dinners with his family. He did all of that. He enjoyed all of that. However, at the end of the day, he felt like he was neglecting what he should truly be doing.

You were able to join Namjoon for the last week of his vacation. He treated you to a trip that you had been wanting to take for as long as he could remember and ended it with a couple of nights spending time with both of your families. While you had been able to see his internal conflicts during the countless video calls you had with him and you tried to cheer him up, it was during this week when he opened up about how he struggled with the break. He confessed that he felt the stress building and almost guiltily showed you the notebook of lyrics, ideas, and deadlines he just couldn’t help but put into writing throughout the month.

Now, you were allowed to follow the boys to New Zealand and spend some more time with Namjoon, albeit interrupted time. You have to respect the filming schedule for Bon Voyage. Essentially if there is a cameraman around–you should not be seen or heard. This is when BTS having seven members comes in handy. When some of the members go on an excursion or begin to do something ridiculous, that is when you and Namjoon can have some time to yourselves. The crew usually goes to the bare minimum shortly after dinner so you can usually spend some time with the entire group at that point as well. Otherwise, it was very hit and miss. With that being said, you were provided lodging in the cabins near the campsite and got to see the beauty of New Zealand while spending time with your boyfriend so you can’t complain too much. At all, really.

Coming back to reality, you notice that over an hour has passed. You grab your bag and stop by the kitchen before heading toward the star of your daydreams.

You see the camera operator leaving the RV as you make it to the campsite. He nods to you in acknowledgment and holds the door open, gently closing it once you are safely on the interior steps.

Namjoon doesn’t initially notice your appearance. His hands are in his hair, leaning over his notebook like a desperate college student trying to block out the nonexistent library noise after a regretful night of partying before an exam. You can hear faint sounds coming from his earbuds and can see the tension radiating off of his frame.

It isn’t until you place the steaming mugs that you brought along with you onto the table that he registers that he has a visitor.

“Thanks,” he says while scratching out something in his notebook.

“Anytime.”

Looking up for the first time, his surprised look quickly fades to one of curiosity.

“Babe?”

“Filming is over for a while. I got here right as he left.”

“I didn’t even see him leave.”

“Understandable. You were really focused.”

“How’d you know…”

“Everyone knows your here this afternoon, Joon. They announced it over the walkies. The director said they’d only film you for about an hour.”

“Ahh, yeah. I messed up their afternoon off.” He tosses the pen he has been writing with onto the table and leans his head back.

“That’s not it. They know you.”

He opens his eyes to look at you in question. When you don’t respond, he sighs and finally takes a drink from his mug.

“Have a seat?”

You run your hand lightly through his hair before settling onto the bench across from him. You grab a book from your bag before taking a sip from your own mug and making yourself comfortable.

“You’re not going to tell me to stop working?”

“Would it help if I did?”

A pause. “Probably not.”

“Then no, I won’t.” You smile softly at him. “I’ll just read a little bit while you work. Maybe I can even help you think of a word or something when you can’t quite think of how you want to say it.”

You take another sip of your drink before opening your book. The smile that Namjoon sends your way goes unnoticed by you.

After finishing a couple of chapters in your book, you stretch and take in your surroundings. Your feet have found their way onto the bench across from you so that your lower legs are resting against Namjoon’s thighs. Observing the man in question, he is in an almost identical position as he was when you entered the RV. You spend some time watching him: the tapping of his fingers against his head or paper, his grip on the pen, his mouth forming unknown words. Only after he lets out several frustrated sighs do you nudge him with your feet to capture his attention. He looks up and removes one of his earbuds; eyebrow raised in question.

“What about a change of scenery?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why don’t we take this outside? The sunshine and view might help your ideas flow better. It is starting to get kind of stuffy in here anyway.”

He looks around reluctantly, “We could open the windows?”

“Namjoon.”

He sighs. “Alright. It wouldn’t hurt to stretch a little bit anyway.”

Grabbing your book and a blanket from the bed, you take his unopened water bottle and lead the way out of the RV. You glance around the campsite and find the perfect spot to sit. The two of you take your time walking the short distance to the pair of chairs set up near the lake, where you lay the blanket out in front of both of them.

“Lay down.” You point to the blanket.

“Y/N, I didn’t know…”

“Don’t make it weird. Just lay down, please?”

He grins and lays down on his back after setting his notebook, phone, and pen safely in one of the chairs.

“Roll over.”

You sit down next to him as he does so before saying, “Oh, so you aren’t going to make that rated R?”

He chuckles and a smile comes to your face when you see his entire body shake because of this.

“Take a bit of a break, Joonie,” you say. “Stretch out and relax for a few minutes.”

He lays his head on his arms and looks at you with a smile.

“That sounds good.”

“Hmmm,” you respond before kneeling and beginning to massage his back and shoulders.

“That feels good.”

“Hmmm.”

The next fifteen minutes are spent with his eyes closed and your hands working their magic on the tension in his back and neck. The only sounds that can be heard are that of the surrounding wildlife and the occasional gasp or groan as you hit a particularly tender spot. You are content to continue for quite a while longer when you notice that his eyes are open and you can see the thoughts forming.

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“For this.”

Your hands stop their ministrations and you sit back so you can look at him better.

“What?”

He sighs and sits up as well.

“We can rarely spend time together. And whenever we can spend time together, my mind is elsewhere. That isn’t fair to you. Everyone else can go to dinners together whenever they want, stay at home to watch movies, spend birthdays at amusement parks. But you’re stuck with me, an idol that can’t be seen in public even if he had the time and energy to go out. A songwriter that sucks at putting his thoughts into words. A stressed workaholic that can’t find a balance between home and work, even after a decade. A boyfriend that can’t treat his girlfriend like they do in movies.” He grimaces. “We have to love on a schedule. And when we do find the time, it seems like you are always taking care of me. I’m sorry.”

It takes a moment for all of that to sink in. In that moment, Namjoon seems to shrink into himself and looks down at his hands.

You place a hand over his and use your other hand to guide his chin upward to look at you, finally resting it on his cheek. The unshed tears in his eyes are mirrored in your own.

“Namjoon, you have nothing to apologize to me for. I enjoy taking care of others. That’s why I do what I do for a living. The fact that I have this amazingly strong, ambitious, and responsible boyfriend that allows me to take care of him, makes me feel important. Special. We all have a lot on our plates and you are no different. The amount of expectation and responsibilities that you have is unreal. You have so many upcoming projects to balance along with the responsibilities of being a leader and brother to the guys. But you manage it and you succeed more times than not. And the amazing thing about you is that you take those times that you don’t succeed and create the most beautiful and inspiring work from it, whether you share it with the public or not.”

A tear falls as he shakes his head.

“You are one of the most important people in my life, Joonie. Of course, I want to take care of you. Of course, I’d love if we could be together at all times of day and have that typical fairytale romance. But you know what? I absolutely adore what we have. It gives us both the opportunity to flourish in our own independence while also having the comfort of knowing that the other is just a phone call away. That distance…that makes times like this even more sweet and memorable. This relationship has not only brought me you, my prince charming, but it has also brought so many more people into my family. The guys and crew feel like my brothers and sisters. I hope that my family and friends are the same for you?”

He nods.

“So what if we can’t have dinner in the same room every night. So what if we don’t spend our birthdays together at arcades or amusement parks. That is what everyone else does. Let them be them. Let us be us. I absolutely love every single moment we have spent together. Every single trip. Every word. Every touch. It doesn’t matter if we are somewhere extraordinary like this or on different sides of the globe, speaking through the phone. I’ve loved it all. You are home to me.”

You kiss him gently on the lips.

“I love you. I love you the most.”

“Y/N, I…” Namjoon tilts his head like he can’t figure out what to say before he moves forward, capturing your lips in his once again.

“I love you, Y/N.”

Your smile is reflected on his face as you scoot to sit between his legs and lean into him. His arms come to wrap around you and he leans his chin on your shoulder. The two of you sit looking at the gorgeous scenery for an unknown period of time, sharing gentle kisses and touches, whispered promises.

“You know, you can go ahead and work on your music if you want to. I’ll stay,” you say softly after you give him a kiss on the cheek.

“You sure?”

“Hmmm. If there is ever a time when I want or need your undivided attention, I will let you know. Just like I hope you would let me know. Right now though, I just want to be around you. It doesn’t matter what we’re doing.”

“Alright.” He places a kiss on your temple before untangling his limbs from yours to stand up and retrieve his supplies. He soon returns, handing you the book you had been reading before laying down on his stomach and getting to work. You watch him for a few moments before making yourself comfortable, using his back as a pillow. You let out a contented sigh when you feel his back move slightly, signaling that he has started to write.

You’ll have to be sure to thank Director Hyangmi when you get back to the cabins for having the crew avoid filming near the lake once everyone returned.

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nomadmilk · 5 years

Text

Why the God Isn’t Bored on Midgard - Loki x F!Reader Drabble - 5

Summary: With Ragnarok decimating Asgard, Thor and Loki and their people return to Earth searching for refuge. Everyone else has seemed to settle, except for Loki - the God of Mischief and Chaos - who isn’t willing to live the domesticated Midgard life, and getting utterly bored out of his mind... Until he discovered you.

Word Count: 2.2K

Warnings: Rated M/18+. Sexual tension, maybe? But there IS sexual content. Loki being a little dominating...

Author’s Note: I hope this one is okay ^-^ I’ve been working ridiculous shifts since the beginning of September, and I’m super tired (I’m sorry!) but I wanted to get this part done... I should get a better detailed summary now that it’s turning into some kind of series, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it... ERM, enjoy! Hope you like it ^-^

Here are the other parts to the series: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 (First Half) Part 8.5 (Second Half) Part 9

Lying in bed, you hold the remote in your hand, blinking slowly. Your breathing was content, concentrated, and slow. You could hear the rumble from the sheets, and you felt conscious if anyone heard them too. Loki was merely on the other side of the door but, by the sound of his footsteps fading away, he hadn’t heard a thing.

You had been testing out the sex toys your new job had given you and had easily found a favorite you couldn’t stop using. The vibrations felt stunning, it tended to the right spot, and the orgasms were incredible every time. It was definitely the product you were going to up sell when working at the store.

Unbeknownst to you, the God of Chaos knew exactly what you were doing. It took him a while to figure it out why you had been spending an awful amount of time in your room recently. But after a while, and when you began to be careless of his presence again, the sound of your gasps caught in his ears and he fit the pieces together.

But he was agitated. A little unfocused over things, knowing what you were doing. He’d go to work, teach his lecture, be slightly irritated by the stupidity of some of his students, then leave to his office on campus. His head would be down onto some papers, and he’d take his break with reading something for leisure, but the thought of you would cross his mind.

“Brother?” Thor let himself into his office.

“How-“ Loki shook his head. “What do you want?”

“I have something to tell you that I thought would be of interest-”

“Can’t you tell I’m busy?”

“You’re not.” Thor points to the book in his hand, curious. “That’s a book you’ve been reading since the last time I saw you… Shouldn’t you be finished with that by now? You’re the fastest reader I know.”

“Probably the only medal I’d ever win between the two of us.”

“That’s odd.” Thor sits in front of him. “Don’t think I’d ever hear that statement.”

“What do you mean?”

Thor folds his arms. “You honestly saying something humble, yet in pity. What’s bothering you?”

There’s a pause; Loki was almost shocked at Thor’s interpretation of himself. Most of the time the limelight was on the God of Thunder but, after significant events, recently Loki had been acknowledged as his retrospective equal. But Thor has never been one to exactly pinpoint and regard Loki’s emotions.

Thor raised an eyebrow. “Have you even tried being nice to her?”

“Who?” Loki asks, almost abrasive.

“Maybe it would be a nice surprise if-“

“What did you want to tell me in the first place? Was it about Valkyrie?”

“Oh! Yes!” Thor clapped his hands together. “It was very funny, you see, there was this tree..”

As Loki continued to mildly listen to Thor’s story, he breathed a sigh of relief to himself about the topic change.

Although, maybe he should have chosen a topic he could have actually paid attention to, as his thoughts ran into you again.

The conversation in the home office, and the confrontation in your bedroom, had somewhat changed your attitude towards him. You were able to tolerate his presence more, and you were able to hold eye contact with him without turning beetroot red, which Loki couldn’t admit to himself that he missed… However, now that awkward silences were out of the way, Loki could really see your untamed side, and all its rough edges.

Your burst of confidence to fight back was refreshing, almost invigorating. When you pivot away from him, he loves the way you leave. Sometimes he can see a familiar bright twinkle in your smile…

Loki didn’t understand his reactions, in all honesty. He knew he felt different.

However, both of your lives continued outside the apartment walls and, whilst you were out on your new job, Loki had been burying himself in his work, prepping for an important lecture coming soon. The home office had extended to the living room for the day as Loki had summoned his old battle armor on a mannequin. The students needed to have some visual stimulus, and what other way to aid that than his own genuine piece of armor. Well, they didn’t need to know that the suit was real, but Loki figured it would do the job.

He even called Thor to see if he could borrow his, and hopefully this would be enough to get the students memorizing a few things on ancient history. And, after being skeptic about his brother’s request on the phone, Thor decided to visit his brother donning his battle suit.

“You idiot.” Loki massages his forehead. “I said to just take the armor with you, not wear it. You must have looked like a lunatic.”

Thor shrugs. “No, not really. The humans seemed to recognize me a lot faster.”

Loki rolls his eyes. “You don’t have a spare change of clothes either?”

“Why would I need that?”

The Prince let out an exasperated sigh.

Thor walked over to a cupboard, easily locating his personal box of PopTarts, and began munching on one. “Hmm… So, what is all this?”

As the mannequin of Loki’s armor stood in the middle of the room, the dining table was covered with open books and a few papers, some written by historians and some mythologists, splayed out across the surface and sitting on chairs. Thor saunters over to scan over the novels, picking one up and skim reading it; all the books were open to Midgard’s take on ancient Norse tales.

Thor raises an eyebrow to his brother. “Some of this is wrong.”

“I know.” Loki folds his arms.

Placing the book down, Thor points his PopTart at him. “But you’re feeling content, aren’t you? You seem very invested in this.“

“If you’re suspicious in me meddling with mortal minds again-“

“Oh, Loki,” Thor laughs, a beam on his lips, “It’s been a while since I’ve heard you do anything troublesome, so something must be keeping you occupied. But I don’t think it’s this Midgard work at all.”

The God of Mischief glowers. “What do you want now?”

“To invite you.” Thor says, his mouth opening up to his fifth PopTart. “Stark has another party happening in his tower. He would like for you to come.”

Loki only needed a second of recollection Stark drunk. And he didn’t need another experience of that. “No.”

Thor wasn’t surprised by his answer. Although before he could speak and reason with his brother, the sound of the front door causes them to turn around.

You stumble a little as you see the two of them, and then frown at the state of papers and books everywhere. “Hello?”

Thor greets you first. “Are you in the mood for some festivities?”

“Uh.” You blink. “What kind of festivities?”

As Thor explains the details, Loki watches. He places his hands in his pockets, noticing your face and the way it scrunches in your usual confused expression. He’s not really listening to Thor’s persuasion, as it was quite endearing to watch your façade change into an ever-growing beam.

Soon enough, you departed the room with a hug from Thor, not batting an eye to Loki.

Thor grinned at Loki triumphantly; Loki glared at him from across the room.

“I know what you’re trying to do.” Loki catches his brother halfway through the door.

Thor looks Loki up then down, stopping in the midst of shutting the front door. “Do you?”

With Thor disappearing, Loki closes his eyes for one last sigh.

As the first few minutes began to pass into the evening, Loki could see you panicking a little. The clock ticked by, you were popping in and out of the bathroom with a change of hairstyle every time. As the sun began to set, you had settled on your hair but was now trying on every dress that Loki had not seen you wear before; floral dresses, red dresses, black dresses that had trousers instead of skirts…

It was less than ten minutes till Thor’s arrival. Loki left his bedroom, pulling on a blazer and completing his ensemble; he thought it best to go with his black and white suit. The state of the living room reverted back to normal as he used his Siedr to clean all of the essays and anthologies back into his office. However, he had left his battle armour still in its place in the centre of the room.

He liked having it there.

You hadn’t said a word to each other since you got back home; Loki had thought it impossible to speak to you or make any remarks.

Which was odd because it wasn’t like him to not make any.

You step into the living room from the hallway in a dress that catches his eye; a velvet, deep green dress. It was simple yet stunning, and beautifully accentuated you. Your eyes seemed to flutter, and every step you took made him stare longer.

You fumble with some high-heel shoes that are in the living room, crouching down and checking them all and muttering disapproval to all of them. With your back towards him, you still don’t seem to address his existence, but he still couldn’t stop staring at you, especially when you bend over and your dress exquisitely carved-

“Can’t find anything in this..” He hears you mutter angrily.

At an observed inspection, he sees the zip of the dress on your spine not done up properly. “Y/N, your zip.”

You don’t even hesitate as you stop your mumbles and straighten, failing to feel the zip on your spine. “What?“

The sounding clips of his shoes stilled you as his body approached behind yours. He places his palm on your spine, steadying you, slightly fascinated about how his palms almost covered the smallness of your back. His hand brushes slightly, a cover only to feel the fabric against you and to feel the curves your body naturally forms.

The zip closes up to the top, and Loki could feel his sense of control loosen. He hears you say a minor thank you for his help but, as you turn his face was close to yours, it passes by him. Your perfume had an alluring scent, your eyes were dewy and sparkling, and Loki had never been so enticed with anyone’s lips until it fell on yours.

“You don’t seem like yourself.” You say, your voice slightly cracks. He finds it adorable.

“You don’t seem like yourself either.” He replies, a tenure lower than usual, he observes.

He sees you gulp. “Nerves. I guess.”

You look up at him with your cheeks rouge to a pink tone. You speak of nerves, but all Loki saw was pure beauty.

“You’re gonna’ wear that?” You question. “Don’t you usually wear some kind of waistcoat, or tie, with your suits?”

Loki almost laughed; how odd of you to mention. He didn’t even think you noticed the way he appeared that much.

He breathes. “Thought it would be good for a change.”

He steps forward, your back hits the wall and his lips meet yours.

Kissing you was like drinking the first fruits of Asgardian wine, and Loki was getting drunk and delirious with it. Tasting you was dangerously addictive, and the sighs you elicited made his primal urges clearer. Loki had doubts in his move. However, when he felt your arms pull him further into you, all of it had eradicated instantly.

He props you up against the wall, separating from your lips for a moment to get a grip of your thighs. His hands brush higher. He feels the rough yet smooth netting of your stockings, your legs opening to him, as he shoves the skirt of your dress up so that it doesn’t restrict him from getting his hips closer to yours. The sounds of your winces were sent to the growing erection in his trousers and-

“Loki…” -By the gods, he wanted to hear more of you.

Loki never predicted how good this would feel, how good you could feel against him. He grunts at the softness of your skin. Your lips were wet and supple, and he could feel your luscious moans escape between kisses. They were turning almost sore from the amount of biting and licking Loki had been doing. But he couldn’t help it.

With his body feeling warm and his mind explicit, he grips you tighter and tighter, possessive over your body and every sensation you could give him, your core radiating an amorous heat he couldn’t help but press himself against.

He needed you, to be buried inside you, to feel those tight walls ache and cum around his-

“Lady Y/N!” Thor knocks on the front door, calling out to you. “Are you ready?”

You both stop, eyes meeting in stunned silence, and chests rising and falling rapidly.

Although his breathing was rattled, Loki’s eyes were steel. “If you answer my brother… I will make you regret it.”

#Loki #Loki Laufeyson #loki fanfic #loki (marvel)#loki odinson #loki x reader #loki x you #tom hiddleston #MCU #apartment #roommates #suit loki #dress kink #Thor Odinson #🐄🗂TheNomaArchives

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love-of-fandoms · 4 years

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Mírënya (Thranduil + OC)

Prompt: “You know you should not have survived that, right?”

“Well, what can I say? Beginners luck!”

When Jiniel had signed the contract, it had been for Bilbo’s sake. Hobbits are peaceful, homely creatures by nature, and it would be good for them both to have the familiarity of the other’s presence on the journey. Jiniel also had a good deal of knowledge about fighting and weaponry, due to many summers spent in Rivendell, so she could help Bilbo train so should he find himself in a situation that called for confrontation, he would be prepared.

It wasn’t until the half-elf half-hobbit girl snapped a goblin’s neck defending Thorin in the goblin tunnels, however, that the dwarves began to respect her place in the company, though it didn’t take long after that for Jiniel to find herself with a pack of 13 new brothers. Fiercely protective, Dwarvish brothers.

Which is why, upon waking up in a room in a healing ward in the Great Greenwood after a spider had dropped her from a tree, Jiniel was met with 13 concerned, bearded faces watching over her, and Bilbo’s head of curls face down asleep on the bed next to her leg. He was sitting in a chair that had been pulled next to her bedside, and her hand was grasped tightly in his.

“Okay, who died?” she croaked upon seeing the forlorn looks on everyone’s faces. As an elvish healer quickly moved over to assist iniel with drinking water, her ears were assaulted with gasps and then cheers, startling poor Bilbo awake.

The hobbit smiled brightly upon meeting Jiniel’s emerald eyes, open for the first time in 3 days.

“Jiniel!” he gasped, grasping her hand tighter. “We were scared you wouldn’t wake up!” he closed his eyes briefly with a grateful look on his face.

“Scared is a bit of a stretch,” Fili was quick to interject.

“We knew you had it in you, lass!” Dwalin laughed, subtly wiping a tear out of his eye, the big softy.

“Why wouldn’t I have woken up?” Jiniel asked, not seeing any life threatening wounds on her body, and not feeling any as her entire body was comfortably numb.

“You were dropped from a great height, breaking all but two of your ribs, one of your arms, and fractured both wrists,” a velvety voice answered her question before any of the dwarves had the opportunity. The sea of dwarves crowding her line of vision slowly parted to show a blonde elf, towering above even his elvish kin, with twigs in his hair. “The healers were sure you’d have internal bleeding, however you have just passed the threshold where we would expect someone with internal bleeding to be dead,” he explained bluntly, stepping forward ever so slightly. Jiniel chuckled slightly, the action surprising the elf and sending a twinge of pain to her ribs before she was numb again.

“I’ve been stabbed too many times by the twins in pranks gone wrong to be killed by a silly fall,” she scoffed, missing the concerned looks shared between the dwarves. The elf just raised a dark eyebrow at the small peredhel.

“You know you should not have survived that, right?” he narrowed his eyes slightly at the girl’s shrug.

“Well, what can I say? Beginner’s luck!” she grinned, and Bilbo’s grip on her hand tightened to the point of cutting off circulation.

“And you’re going to stay a beginner, Jiniel, or I swear-” Jiniel quickly cut him off.

“Don’t worry, Baggins, I don’t plan on making a habit of it,” she soothed, and Bilbo sighed, loosening his grip on her hand and leveling her with a stern glare. The tall elf cleared his throat.

“Now that she has regained consciousness, the rest of you will be returned to your cells,” he said, and the dwarves all sighed, resigned to their fates. Jiniel scowled.

“Excuse you?!” everyone froze, staring with wide eyes at Jiniel while Bilbo frantically shook his head at her. “Who the hell do you think you are? Imprisoning these dwarves? I’ve never met more honorable people in my life! You can’t just throw them in some cells!” she shouted, clenching her fists and sitting up, gritting her teeth through the intense pain the motion caused. The elf narrowed his eyes at her, striding to her bedside and leaning down, comically far, to be face to face with Jiniel.

“I am King Thranduil Oropherion, of Great Greenwood, and I think you’ll find that I can,” he spat, and Jiniel’s eyes widened slightly as she realized that the twigs in his hair were actually a crown. With that statement, King Thranduil strode out the door, guards quickly coming in to escort the dwarves to their cells. Luckily for Jiniel, who was now on the verge of a panic attack, Bilbo was allowed to stay with her.

“Breathe, Jiniel, breathe,” the hobbit urged, breathing deeply to get her to mimic him. Jiniel’s eyes watered at the pain that had come from her sitting up and now again at the expansion of her lungs. Bilbo quickly changed course upon realizing this. “Jin, just close your eyes and relax, yeah?” he prompted, gently helping her lay back. When her eyes closed, Bilbo began to softly sing a lullaby they had come up with as children.

“Go down past the stream and walk through the woods,

‘til old Bombadil comes by

Then talk to the trees that rustle in the breeze

and let the day pass you by”

At this point Jiniel’s breaths began to even out as her face relaxed from its pinched state. She joined Bilbo for the next verse.

“Play til the sun sets then play a little more

don’t you worry ‘bout the dark

Cuz soon fireflies will light the skies

and set aglow your heart”

Bilbo ran his fingers through Jiniel’s hair, knowing she was close to sleep as she began to mumble and then hum the song.

“And when the fireflies and old Bombadil’s eyes

grow dim as they bid you goodnight

Just go rest your head on a soft moss bed

and sleep until daylight”

By this point Jiniel had drifted off with a soft smile gracing her features. Bilbo had a soft smile of his own as he rose, giving her a light kiss on the forehead before wandering over to his own vot and drifting off.

“Goodnight Jin,” he mumbled.

The next morning Jiniel was assisted in sitting up and she and Bilbo ate a breakfast of berries that made them both homesick for the Shire.

“Bilbo?” Jiniel called, and the hobbit hummed in acknowledgement, taking his hand out of his pocket where he had been fiddling with something.

“Why are the dwarves imprisoned?” she asked, and Bilbo grunted in displeasure, a scowl overtaking his face.

“Bloody politics,” he groaned. “And Thorin being a greedy, stubborn ass,”

“About?” Jiniel prompted when Bilbo said no further.

“The King wants some gems that his father asked Thror to refurbish or something, and Thorin is refusing,”

“So, the gems belong to Greenwood in the first place?”

“Yes!”

“Öh my god!” Jiniel groaned, throwing her head back. “Do you think you could find me a pen and paper?” she asked, and Bilbo nodded, standing and rummaging through some drawers until he produced a stack of paper and a quill.

When a guard came to collect their bowls of fruit Jiniel handed the elleth a folded up letter.

“Do you think you could make sure this gets to the King, please?” the guard’s eyes widened as she looked at Jiniel to see if she was serious before taking the letter and nodding. “Thank you so much!”

Meanwhile Thranduil was in a courtyard near the royal wing with Legolas for their morning spar, a tradition the two had begun when Legolas first joined the guard.

It was when Thranduil had finally gotten his son to yield that he noticed a guard standing slightly off to the side patiently waiting for the chance to speak. The King stood, his son doing the same, and both males threw their shirts back on before motioning for the elleth to approach with whatever news she bore.

“Yes?” Thranduil asked, and the guard bowed before handing him a letter.

“The peredhel who fell out of the tree asked me to deliver this to you, sir,” she explained and Thranduil nodded before dismissing her. After bowing once more, the guard returned to her normal duties.

Legolas peered over Thranduil’s shoulder as he unfolded and read the letter.

King Thranduil,

Bilbo has informed me of your reason for detaining the dwarves, and I feel as though Thorin is being ridiculous. As such, I would like to sit with you both to mediate a negotiation on the terms of the dwarves’ release.

Jiniel of the Shire

PS. I would also like to apologize for my outburst last night, it was uncalled for.

“Does she not have a family name?” Legolas asked, referring to how she had signed the letter, and Thranduil shrugged.

“I suppose not,” he responded, motioning a nearby guard over. “Have Thorin Oakenshield escorted to the healing ward where the peredhel and hobbit are staying.” he ordered, and the guard bowed quickly before turning to see to the order.

Thranduil turned after dictating the order, and began to walk to his quarters, Legolas following behind him to go to his own room.

“Legolas, I would like for you to be present as well, join me there after you get changed,” he said, and Legolas nodded before going into his room. Thranduil did the same and both males changed into cleaner, less sweaty clothes.

Soon enough Thranduil and Legolas were sitting on one side of Jiniel’s bed while Thorin and Bilbo were on the other.

“Okay,” Jiniel began once everyone was settled. “When I said I was going to mediate the negotiation about the terms, that was a lie,” she declared, and Thranduil and Legolas both widened their eyes in shock, while Thorin merely rolled his eyes, not surprised in the slightest. “You’ve already stated your terms, and I’m simply getting it in writing so all parties uphold their end of the agreement,” Thorin opened his mouth to protest but Jiniel shut him down with a nasty glare. “So, your majesty,” all three royals in the room perked up and Jiniel blushed, scolding herself for not being specific. She turned her head, careful of her torso due to her injuries, to make eye contact with King Thranduil, so it was clear who she was addressing. “What are the gems you want returned called?” she asked.

“They are the Gems of Lasgalen,” Thranduil responded, glaring pointedly at Thorin as Jiniel went to write it down, pausing and glancing sheepishly up at Thranduil, a pretty pink blush on her cheeks.

“Spelled…?” she prompte, avoiding eye contact with the royal who let a soft smile grace his face as he told her how to spell Lasgalen, surprising both Thorin and Legolas with his tender expression.

“And in return all members of the Company of Thorin Oakenshield are to be safely transported out of the forest towards Erebor,” Jiniel dictated as she wrote, but Thorin quickly made an amendment.

“You are staying here, Jiniel,” he said sternly, and the girl’s brow furrowed.

“But-”

“Agreed, you are in no state to travel,” Thranduil quickly interjected before she could argue. Jiniel frowned, worriedly glancing at Bilbo as she wrote down the amended terms. She didn’t say anything further, instead handing the paper to Thranduil the Thorin to sign, then on to Legolas and Bilbo as witnesses.

“Tomorrow morning a patrol will escort you out of the forest, in the meantime you will have proper beds to sleep in,” Thranduil said, standing and going to relay the news to the guards, and Legolas quickly followed after him.

Bilbo, who had noticed Jiniel’s lip beginning to wobble, swiftly sat next to her on the bed and threw an arm around her shoulders.

“I know it’s selfish,” she whispered, gaze cast downwards as she leaned her head on Bilbo’s. “But I don’t want to be alone.” Thorin took her hand gently.

“I’m sure there must be some elves who make good company,” he joked with a light smile, and Jiniel sighed with a nod, knowing there was nothing she could do about her situation. She motioned for Thorin to climb up on her other side, determined to get as many snuggles in as she could before her surrogate family left in the morning to continue their quest.

That night the dwarves took the blankets and pillows from the beds they had been provided and brought them to Jiniel’s room, taking shifts being the ends of a Jiniel sandwich, laying on either side of her. Each and every one of the dwarves were told to be careful and not to do anything stupid, and of course to come and get her as soon as possible.

Before departing, in the wee hours of the morning, Fili and Kili helped braid a Dwarf Friend bead into Jiniel’s hair, promising her they’d forge her a family bead once they were all settled in Erebor.

The first two days passed slowly, Jiniel spending the time napping and conversing with the healer who checked in on her a couple times a day. She also journaled everything that happened so she could make sure to relay every boring detail to Bilbo out of spite. The healer, an elf named Torien, was kind enough to bring her some books to read and was impressed upon learning she could read and speak most forms of Elvish.

“I spent the summers growing up in Rivendell, while the rest of the year was spent in the Shire,” she explained to him. “The elves there taught me how to fight with a variety of weapons, and I studied languages and history under Elrond,”

“Really?!” Torien gasped, Lord Elrond being his idol when it comes to healing, as well as just being an elven war hero. “What’s he like?” Jiniel giggled at the question.

It was on the third day that both Thranduil and Jiniel were in for a surprise.

Guests were beginning to arrive for the Feast of Starlight, including Elrond and his children. It came up in a conversation over lunch that a young half-elf half-hobbit was currently under Thranduil’s care.

“Jiniel?!” Elladan asked, stunning Thranduil who simply nodded his head in confirmation.

“Where is she?” Elrohir demanded, he and his twin standing from the table and demanding to be brought to Jiniel.

Jiniel was sure poor Torien was going to faint when King Thranduil lead Elladan and Elrohir into her room, quickly followed by Arwen and Lord Elrond himself.

“Jin Jin!” The twins cheered, pouncing on the bed before immediately being pulled back by Arwen, who ran further into the room when she heard Jiniel’s yelp of pain.

“She’s injured, you idiots!” she scolded, hitting both her brothers on the arm. Jiniel just giggled.

“They’ve given me worse,” she excused them, and Thranduil smirked slightly as he connected the dots.

“Are these the twins who have stabbed you on multiple occasions?” he asked, and Jiniel nodded as said twins pouted moodily, crossing their arms in sync.

“It’s not our fault!” Elrohir insisted.

“She’s just accident prone!” Elladan agreed, backing his twin up. Thranduil hummed, throwing a teasing look at the bedridden girl.

“I’m inclined to agree with you about her being accident prone,” he smirked as the peredhel pouted back at him. Elrond sighed, muttering about too much moodiness in one room before Torien began to ask him questions. Elrond humoured the gushing healer and offered to answer his questions over tea.

So over the next week as more guests arrived, the king occasionally joined the twin sons of Elrond when they visited Jiniel. He brought her flowers and potted plants every visit after she mentioned missing her and Bilbo’s garden, and Jiniel blushed every time.

The first day Thranduil went to visit her without the twins was the day Torien gave Jiniel permission to get out of bed and walk for short periods of time. Of course Jiniel took that as the all clear for her to do everything like normal again, and Thranduil nearly had a heart attack when he walked in to find her standing on a chair trying to water a hanging plant by the open window. She winced whenever she tried to lift her arms above a certain height, and Thranduil smiled fondly at her as he rushed over.

“Jiniel,” he sighed in a halfhearted attempt at reprimanding her. He grabbed the watering can out of her hands and watered the plant for her, Jiniel pouting as he effortlessly watered the plant, while when standing on a chair she was still slightly shorter than him. Thranduil opted to ignore her pout. “You must take it slowly,” he scolded, lifting her effortlessly and setting her down on the bed.

“I’ve been doing that for two weeks!” Jiniel whined, but Thranduil just chuckled softly at her impatience.

“You’re almost as bad as Legolas,” he muttered as he brushed some hair out of her face. Jiniel simply pouted harded, averting her gaze and trying to hide the blush beginning to spread through her cheeks. “Just a little longer, mírënya,” he soothed.

Jiniel, of course, had neglected to tell Thranduil that she knew Quenya and was perfectly aware that he had been calling her my gem for the past couple of days. She tried to suppress the warmth that threatened to invade her cheeks everytime he called her by the affectionate pet name, always averting her eyes.

“Too long,” she muttered, trying not to show how much he affected her. Though she would blame it on the pet name, Thranduil’s mere presence caused the previously dormant butterflies to erupt in her stomach.

Thranduil rolled his eyes at the peredhel.

“No more standing on chairs,” he admonished, kissing her forehead quickly before he had time to overthink the action. Jiniel’s emerald eyes widened as they snapped to meet his bright blues ones, not able to do anything except nod in agreement. Thranduil’s fond smile widened slightly before he offered her his hand. “A walk through the gardens, however, will be fine,” he chuckled when Jiniel’s eyes lit up, her hand snatching his and accepting his help to stand.

Thranduil took her on a tour of the herb gardens, which were closest, not so secretly relishing in the feeling of having Jiniel’s arm looped through his, his chest filling with joy every time Jiniel’s hand squeezed his arm upon seeing a bunny or when she told him stories from her own garden back at Bagend. He had to hold in his laughter when Jiniel pouted at him with widened, glistening eyes when he told her he should return her to her room. Her puppy dog eyes were absolutely adorable.

“I’ll show you another garden tomorrow,” he promised, Jiniel only realizing after he had walked her back and left her with a kiss on the hand that their stroll through the garden could have been considered, and probably actually was, a date.

Everyday Jiniel was able to walk a little farther and a little longer with Thranduil, until-

“Dancing?!” Jiniel gasped, and Thranduil nodded with the same soft smile he seemed to always have in her presence.

“Of course, the Feast of Starlight is 4 days away and I am quite out of practice,” he explained, grabbing her hand.

“But I don’t know the dances!” Jiniel protested as Thranduil pulled her into a starting position. Thranduil knew this, of course, but he had a plan.

“Teaching you will jog my memory,” he said, beginning to hum and guide the peredhel through the steps of a simple dance. He twirled her around the room, the difference in height between the pair comical.

“You’re too tall, I’m gonna get a crick in my neck!” Jiniel complained with a cute pout after completing a circuit around the room. After another moment, Jiniel giggled as an idea came to her. “Wait, wait!” she had Thranduil stop for a moment before stepping up so she was standing on his feet, and then she nodded for him to continue. “Okay!” she beamed at him, and the king simply rolled his eyes at her, continuing to twirl around the room with her in his arms.

“I have to admit,” Thranduil muttered into her hair after a couple dances. “I had an ulterior motive in asking you to help me practice,”. The two had come to a stop in the middle of the room, simply resting in the other’s arms, Jiniel’s head comfortably tucked into Thranduil’s chest. She hummed in question. “I was hoping you would do me the honor of attending the Feast of Starlight with me?” he questioned, and Jiniel tensed against his chest.

“Are you serious?!” she gasped, glancing up to meet his eyes before quickly looking away again.

“As the grave,” Thranduil pledged, looking deep into her eyes as he nudged her chin up.

“I, um… of course!” Jiniel stuttered, a nervous smile on her face as she looked up at him. He beamed back, placing a soft kiss on her lips before setting her on her own two feet again.

“I’ll have the tailor stop by tomorrow and help you with a dress!” he said excitedly as he moved to leave. Jiniel stopped him, however, eyes wide as she grabbed his wrist, still processing the kiss. She motioned with her finger for him to get on her level, and once he crouched down she gave him a kiss of her own, wrapping her arms around his neck. Both of their eyes fluttered closed as they innocently kissed for a moment, before Jiniel pulled away, dropping her arms from Thranduil’s shoulders.

“Goodnight, aranya,” she said as she closed the door behind him, giggling softly at his look of surprise at the Quenya for my king.

I wrote the lullaby, and here’s a bit of me singing it.

#The Hobbit #Thranduil #Mirkwood #Greenwood #thorin's company #Thorin #Kili #Fili #Bilbo #Hobbits #Elves #Elrond #Romance #One shot

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witchymarvelspacecase · 5 years

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Spread Your Wings: Pt. 10: Turbulence Ahead

Summary: Reader is a HYDRA experiment (like the Maximoffs, but not voluntary) who grows wings (like Angel from X-Men). She escapes, and is now trying to rescue and prevent further kidnappings and experiments.

Word Count: ~2300

Warnings: Mostly, nothing. Some fluff, discovery of feelings, and a little bit of a cliffhanger at the end

A/N: Send all the love to the bestest best person ever: @writingwithadinosaur

Spread Your Wings Masterlist

You woke early the next morning. You didn’t tend to sleep well after a nightmare, usually giving up on sleep entirely. Having not been around the compound much in the few days you’d stayed, you weren’t sure about the team’s schedules, but you wanted to try and do something for them. Breakfast seemed like a good idea. Assuming they did that sort of thing. No matter how many times Bucky told you that you weren’t bothering the team, you really had a hard time believing it was true. As such, you figured the least you could do was attempt to make breakfast. Nothing fancy, you weren’t all that skilled or anything, but you were good at a few things.

The kitchen was a little daunting; all the shiny appliances, and tools were way beyond what you were used to using. At least the space was large, since your wings were going to be out for the duration. You carefully maneuvered through the space, pulling out the ingredients and supplies you would need. After a few minutes of trying, you caved and asked FRIDAY for help with the oven and stove. She and HERMES helped you use the appliances and time all your cooking properly. You were fairly certain it was the smell of bacon and coffee that had the entire team out of their rooms, but when they all piled their pates full of food and were making happy noises while they ate, you just smiled.

The breakfast casserole you made wasn’t difficult to throw together, nor were the biscuits and bacon, but every team member seemed shocked when they realized you’d been the cook.

“So, who woke up early and cooked?” Sam asked

“And why?” Natasha added. “Anyone feeling guilty for something?”

Feeling embarrassed, you said, “I cooked.” When everyone turned to you, with shock on their faces, you looked down. “I just-- I was already awake, and I figured I could do something to make up for the trouble I’ve caused so-“

“You haven’t caused any trouble,” Bucky said, sounding a little exasperated, but before he could continue, Tony interrupted.

“But, if this is how you apologize for making trouble, please feel free to make all the trouble you like.”

“I’d be careful making a statement like that, Stark,” Clint said with a grin. “Y/N and I haven’t had a lot of time together yet, but I think she and I could cause more trouble than you could handle.”

That had everyone laughing, you smiled, not totally sure whether or not you should be laughing; breakfast went by in a happy blur after that.

When you started to head back into the kitchen, Wanda and Vision cut you off. They insisted that since you had cooked, they would clean. Though you were confused, you allowed yourself to be ushered out of the kitchen. Then you were left wondering what to do with yourself, but that only lasted a few moments.

Natasha appeared at your shoulder and pulled you with her to the gym. You wouldn’t be able to do anything strenuous since your wings were still healing, but Natasha insisted that yoga would do you some good. You’d done very little yoga before, since it wasn’t exactly on HYDRA’s training priority list. It mostly looked like fancy stretches, but once you were doing it, you were sweating and your muscles were aching.

“This is a hell of a lot harder than it looks,” you panted, trying to hold a tree pose that had gone wobbly.

Natasha chuckled, “It takes practice, and even then some people just aren’t built for it. But I think, after a while, your body is gonna protest not being used. This is the most low impact thing I could think of, short of swimming. I figured that would be problematic with your wings.”

“Actually, I can swim with them. It’s not pretty, but I can do it.” HYDRA couldn’t have their Angel stymied by a lake or river after all. “The wings are mostly buoyant, and the feathers are pretty waterproof, so they don’t drag me down. I like swimming without them, but I can make do with them as well.”

Natasha nodded her head approvingly and lead you through several more poses, until you felt like your body would give out. You didn’t stop, and you didn’t say anything, but you were in pain. You controlled your breathing and fought through, but tears were prickling the corners of your eyes. Natasha was still moving, so you would move.

Show no weakness. Weakness gets you killed. Weakness gets you tortured. Lessons that you’d learned the hard way in the halls of HYDRA were still loud in your mind. So loud in fact that you didn’t hear the footsteps approaching you. You didn’t notice that Natasha had moved until your felt her push you, knocking you out of your pose and onto your ass.

“What are you doing? Do you want to hurt yourself?” she shouted. You were disoriented and breathing heavily. You couldn’t figure out why she was yelling.

“What are you-”

“You were going to pull a muscle holding a pose too long!”

“But, you were-”

“Yes, I was. However, I am used to doing this. My body is used to this. Yours is not. You’re already injured, why would you keep-” She paused. Shaking her head a little she spoke again. “You don’t need to push through things if they’re hurting you. This isn’t HYDRA.”

“I wasn’t- I mean, I don’t think you are. I guess I just don’t know…”

“When to stop,” Natasha supplied, moving to sit next to you on the floor. “It’ll take adjusting to; being in a place where we you aren’t tortured.” She spoke with the voice of experience. You didn’t know her whole story, you doubted anyone did, maybe not even her, but she did understand.

That was the moment when Bucky, Steve, and Sam entered the gym. You could feel questions in their gazes, but none of them said a word. Simple nods of acknowledgement were exchanged, and then light conversation began. Individual routines were started and finished, and then sparring began.

You were not allowed to join, even though you asked. You promised to keep your movements slow, but Natasha shot you down regardless of your reasons. Which left you sitting on the sidelines watching as she and Steve faced off. It was amazing to watch. The two of them were so athletic, their movements so fast. They had no fear of hurting one another, knowing each other to such a degree that they were attuned to the other’s movements. You were almost in awe of them as Bucky sat next to you.

“Every time he does this, all I can think of is how he used to get into all those ridiculous fights when we were younger. He was so small, and sick all the time, but he would fight anyone. It was like he was looking for excuses to fight,” he said with a smile.

“He’s not very small now, and I don’t think he can get sick,” you replied.

“New look, same attitude,” Bucky grumbled, causing you to laugh. It startled Bucky. He was fairly certain he hadn’t heard you laugh before.

He’d only known you for about a week, but he’d never heard you laugh before that moment. It immediately became his favorite sound. One that he wanted to draw from you again and again.

That was a new feeling. Even since he’d been with the Avengers, since breaking the HYDRA conditioning, Bucky hadn’t really had feelings, beyond the team. He cared for his teammates, he cared for Steve on a deeper level than most, but this wasn’t the same. Something that Steve, Sam, Clint, and Tony had been sure to point out just a little while ago.

As soon as Y/N and Natasha were out of ear shot, all remaining members of the team fell on Bucky.

“What?” Bucky had asked, uncomfortable with everyone in his personal space all of a sudden.

“Don’t give me that, Tin Man,” Sam said, “You know ‘what’.”

“No, I don’t. If I did, I wouldn’t have asked, Bird Boy.”

“Wilson is referring to the tension between you and our new feathered friend,” Tony said as he moved to sit across from Bucky at the table. When Bucky scowled, he continued, “I know you’re old, and have probably still got some ice crystals in your brain, but I refuse to believe you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“Well, I don’t.” Bucky was feeling defensive. “Tension” implied that something was wrong, that he and Y/N weren’t getting along. He’d thought they were doing well, or he’d hoped they had been. Now he was worried. “What tension? Is she mad at me?”

“Not that kind of tension, Barnes,” Clint supplied, patting Bucky’s shoulder as he passed him, moving to sit a few chairs down.

Bucky was still confused when Sam spoke up.

“Let’s try comin’ at this a different way. How do you feel about her”

“What’d’ya mean? I like spending time with her. She’s honest, and kind. She’s been through some similar shit, so we understand each other.”

“Didn’t answer my question though,” Sam said, meeting Bucky’s gaze directly. “How do you feel when she’s around?”

“I feel… calm. Relaxed. Like I can take a deep breath, and my mind is clear.”

“You feel comfortable around her?” Sam asked.

“Yeah,” Bucky responded, warily.

“What about when she’s not around?” Steve asked.

“I worry about her, I guess. Same as any of you idiots. If I can’t see you, who knows what kind of shit you’ll get up to.”

“But you’ve only known her a week, Barnes,” Clint said. “It took you months to give even half a shit about most of the team.”

“True, true. In a week, you care a lot more about Y/N than you did about any of us,” Tony nodded.

Bucky wanted to argue, but found that he couldn’t. They weren’t wrong; it had taken him a lot more time to develop any kind of relationship with the Avengers than it had with Y/N.

“The situations were pretty different, but I have to agree,” Wanda entered the room, and stood beside Clint’s chair. “The question is ‘why’. Why would you become attached to Y/N so quickly?”

At this point, Bucky knew where the questions were aiming, but he would be damned if he were going to say what they wanted him to.

“Cause she’s like me. We understand each other. No one else here has the same background as me, but her’s is the closest, so it makes sense we would be close.” Bucky’s reasoning was sound. He’d spoken in a calm, rational tone. It was a pretty reasonable statement, even if it was complete bullshit.

He cared about Y/N. More so than most of his teammates. Yes, some of that was due to their shared experiences. He hadn’t been lying when he said they shared an understanding that no one else did, but his feelings weren’t limited to that.

She defended children she’d never met, people she didn’t know. She protected people to whom she owed nothing. She stood in front of bullets for them. She’d risked incredibly painful seizures to help Tony with his suit. She taken countless knives and blows to protect the compound and Clint and Bruce when she’d know them only a few days.

She’d wrapped Bucky in her wings to protect him on the roof. She had willingly exposed her weakest point, to protect a man who she barely knew. Who, up until a day before, she had only known as the Winter Soldier.

Yes, he cared for her. He liked her. He wouldn’t say he loved her, he couldn’t know that yet, but a part of him wanted to say it. It certainly felt like love.

Bucky had been zoned out for a moment, in his head. When he came back, all eyes were on him again. And everyone had an odd expression on their faces.

Clint’s expression was especially ridiculous. Bucky was pretty sure this was what Shuri had called “heart eyes”. He sorta wanted to slap him, but chose not to.

Then he was sitting there, on the gym floor, watching Steve and Natasha spar, and listening to you laugh. A smile crossed his face. He didn’t say anything aloud, but in his head the team’s words from earlier circled around. Maybe he could say he loved you already…

“Hey,” Sam called from the door, getting everyone’s attention. “You’re gonna want to see this.”

...

With everyone gathered in the conference room, Tony pulled up a display of several files, and began explaining what was on them.

“Wait,” you said, slightly confused. “I thought you said the mission was a fake.”

“It was, but you didn’t think I went into a HYDRA facility and came out empty handed, did you?” Natasha grinned. You smiled back. You had actually assumed that, silly of you.

As Tony talked, you looked at the files displayed in front of you. Several flipped by before you stopped him.

“I know that code.”

“What code?” Steve asked coming to stand behind where you were seated at the table.

“That sting of numbers up at the top left,” you said, pointing to the numbers.

“I assumed that was a case number or something,” Tony said, enlarging the file.

“Kinda, the last 4 are an agent number, the first 2 are a location, the 6 in the middle are a date.”

“Okay, so which agent, went on what mission for HYDRA in Russia, in April, two years ago,” Natasha asked

“I did. I was sent on a recon mission, and it went badly. Really badly.”

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#syw #Spread Your Wings #Bucky Barnes #bucky x mutant!reader

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ineffablecolors · 5 years

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The Wife [7/?]

The Wife || Ch 7 ~ 4.4 k || Ch1 Ch2 Ch3 Ch4 Ch5 Ch6 || FF.NET&AO3 Summary: No one knows all that Emma has been through and certainly no one knows all that Killian has been through and being husband and wife doesn’t make them any less unknown to each other. And really, how can you help someone heal when you don’t even know how hurt they are? A/N: First - it has been such an amazing few days for this story, guys!! There was this gorgeous manip by @spartanguard 😍 and now this awesome illustration of Captain Jones by @marcella2727 ❤️ Second - solid MT for More-than-hands Touching, you’ve been warned guys ;)

“Well, that won’t do.”

Emma looks up from the list she is compiling. Dinner was a somewhat disappointing affair last night, seeing as Killian was supposed to be back – he was supposed to be back the evening before, as a matter of fact – and she kept delaying the meal until it looked like Granny might serve her, if she didn’t let her set the table already. So now Emma has to come up with a different menu for tonight and not focus on the fact that she feels like she has exhausted all her best ideas over the last two days.

How might Granny choose to punish her, if she makes her roast a turkey again?

She shakes her head and focuses on the girl sitting across from her. Alice seems to have abandoned all attempts at keeping her correspondence from Emma since their conversation in the library and she hopes the girl is reacting to something written in the letter in her hand, rather than becoming frustrated with her father’s continued absence.

Emma herself is somewhat less than successful on that account.

“Is everything alright?”

“Papa must bring me the latest Dickens. Robyn has already finished it and, at this rate, I will know all by the time I get my hands on it!”

Emma does her best to hide her smile behind a cough. Anyone who has known Alice for longer than a day can tell that her interest in horses and wild animals far exceeds her interest in books and the beautiful piano in the drawing room – that Emma hasn’t dared to touch yet, but nothing seems to exceed her need to know all that everyone else around her does.

“I’m sure he won’t forget. You did write it down for him.”

If the good-natured tease in her voice is obvious, Alice takes it with a smile and playfully narrowed eyes before she leans her head to the side. The gesture is absolutely identical to the one often seen from her father and Emma feels a little tingle down the back of her neck.

“You really shouldn’t tell him you don’t want anything or you’ll soon need a vanity just for all the jewelry you’ll accumulate.”

“Oh, I’m sure he won’t—“

“But he will.”

Emma’s eyebrows draw together and she gives Alice a questioning look – her tone is much too weary for the topic of presents, expected or not.

“I— Well, I do not know what it was like later on but… I remember when I was little— because I would be so happy, you see? I’d be so excited when he came back. And my mother… the first thing she always did was demand to know what he had brought her. She would make a terrible row, if he hadn’t or… if whatever it was didn’t suit her fancy, I suppose, since I can’t… can’t remember him ever coming back empty-handed.”

Emma curls her fingers around the pen in her hand and takes the deep measured breaths she normally uses to calm herself after a nightmare. This one is not her nightmare. The very thought that this is obviously one of the more vivid memories Alice has of her childhood incents her beyond words. Which is for the better since she can’t speak ill of her mother in front of her, even if she already knows that she absolutely detests this woman she never met and thankfully, never will.

Emma wouldn’t have trusted herself to behave like a lady, if she ever met the previous Mrs Jones.

Frankly, presumptuous as it probably is, she feels a sense of indignation at the very thought that such a woman carried the title before her.

“So he will get you jewels,” Alice concludes matter-of-factly. “She was always sufficiently pleased with jewels.”

“But I don’t want—“

“Oh, I know.”

Emma closes her mouth and stares at Alice, surprised by her confident tone and the soft smile on her lips.

“But the sooner you decide what you do want, the easier it will be for both of you.”

She focuses back on her list and on not reading anything in Alice’s statement that is not really there.

*****

His thumb slides back and forth over the smooth stone – it’s cold and unyielding – both things that she probably imagines herself to be and both things she is not.

“Does the gentleman like this one?”

Killian blinks up at the jeweler and shakes his head. No, the yellow sapphire is captivating but it is not the colour he wants, no matter how hard the salesman tries to pursued him that it is. So he ignores the pursed lips and sour expression on the man’s face and lets his eyes roam freely over the displays.

Over the years, Killian has learnt the advantages of compromise but it has never come naturally to him. So, while he should really be heading home soon, if he doesn’t want to arrive when everybody has already gone to bed and while he is gradually becoming acquainted with a new kind of exhaustion – one born of the ache in his left forearm that kept him company all night and the other ache that feels a lot like homesickness, Killian can’t bring himself to settle for something that doesn’t feel right.

It is utterly ridiculous, of course, this supposed homesickness. He used to sail across the world for months on end without even laying eyes on a spot of land, let alone setting foot on it. Let alone coming home. And yes, he feels absolutely wretched wasting any of the time Alice is at home and yes, he worries that he has led Emma astray by underestimating the duration of his trip and thinks – perhaps rather fancifully – that the delay might cause her some worry and yes, it has been almost four full days now – longer than he wished and anticipated his business to take. But none of that justifies this kind of fretting and whining – be it only in his mind. He is not a young lad on his first leave and it does him no credit to think and act like one.

So he grits his teeth and rubs at the spot just under his elbow that sometimes manages to alleviate the pain and continues to patiently slide his eyes over the different gems and metals before him. He will be making his way home soon enough, he just wants to make this last purchase. It takes him by surprise – how much he genuinely wants to find something that she will like, something that will suit her.

His eyes catch on a hue that looks almost familiar, set as it is among little white stones rather than black lashes.

“May I see this one?”

The jeweler obliges him and presents the ornament with a flourish that is completely unnecessary – Killian already knows he will be walking out with it.

*****

“What is she, looking for buried treasure or something?”

Ruby turns to find the kitchen window wide open and her grandmother leaning out of it, glaring at the spot where Emma is preparing flower beds. Or rather, that seemed to be her idea when she took her gloves and tools and seeds out into the front garden, before she seemed to get lost in an almost hypnotic state of digging.

Ruby passes the old woman the empty glass of water she brought to their mistress and gives her an admonishing look.

“Granny.”

“What? She keeps digging like that, there won’t be any soil left for her to plant anything in.”

“She is worried.”

“What is she worried about? I told her yesterday that he is always too optimistic when planning his travels.”

Ruby squeezes one eye shut and leans an elbow on the windowsill. She wishes Emma asked her or even Alice about why Captain Jones might be gone longer than anticipated. While Granny isn’t wrong – he always relies too much on the belief that everyone will be as quick and punctual and efficient in getting down to business as he is – Ruby is sure that her grandmother probably didn’t put too much effort into acknowledging and soothing Emma’s feelings.

Admittedly, Mrs Jones can be admirably self-possessed when she truly puts her mind to it, but all one needs to do is catch her in a solitary moment to see the feelings rolling beneath her calm and smooth surface.

She took the first two days of her husband’s absence in stride, Ruby will even go so far as to say that she was tentatively excited to prove to herself and everyone else that she could handle the household on her own for a bit. But lunchtime on the third day was as far as that feeling carried her. After that Ruby could almost see the doubt and anxiety sneaking in. Emma did not enjoy being the solitary queen of the house and she enjoyed the idea of being left to it for an undetermined period of time – of Killian being gone for an undermined period of time – even less.

Turning her attention back to the front of the house, Ruby catches her impatiently trying to brush awry blonde strands over her shoulder with the back of her dirt-smeared hand, there are quite a few stains on her purple dress already and a definite air of frustration and lack of peace to all her movements and Ruby wonders if she should ask Peter to fetch Alice.

Miss Jones, being much more familiar with her father’s idiosyncrasies and poor time management, and thus, not at all concerned by a day or two’s delay, will certainly be able to coax Emma back inside and placate her for some time.

Then she catches sight of the dark shape coming up the road and sighs in relief.

“Ah, thank the Lord, she would’ve dug us all into a ditch in another day or so.”

Ruby ignores her grandmother and keeps her back to her and her grin hidden. There is a detectable trace of satisfaction in Granny’s grumbling and Ruby knows that, in all honesty, she has been rather pleased with Emma’s discomfiture the last two days.

It’s not until Roger’s hooves are trampling down the path leading to the main entrance that Emma’s head jerks up. Ruby can’t see her face – though the absolute stillness that seems to arrest her every muscle is clear enough – but she does have a perfect view of Captain Jones and the way he leans his head to the side, as if trying to determine what on earth his wife is doing in the dirt on the front lawn. His voice is heavy with the miles he has just ridden but it carries easily in the golden, late-afternoon hush.

“You should know – I was a naval captain, not a pirate. And if I were, I certainly wouldn’t have buried my treasure in front of the house.”

Ruby hears Granny chuckle, probably pleased to have her treasure talk mirrored by Killian himself.

He dismounts with obvious weariness but practiced ease and Ruby is about to head inside as well when she sees Emma get to her feet and almost run to the man before her – her momentum arrested by her body colliding with his, his sudden and forceful exhale audible in the bubble around them, her hand coming up and probably getting dirt in his hair.

Ruby knows she should look away but for a moment she is caught in place by her guilt over the fact that none of them took the proper time and care to provide Emma with the reassurance she obviously needed.

Captain Jones seems equally frozen for a second before his right hand tentatively settles on the shoulder blade of the woman in his arms. His face is partially obscured by falling strands of golden hair but Ruby can swear he leans in to catch the scent on them.

Glancing over her shoulder, she is chastised to see that Granny has gone back inside to provide the couple on the front lawn with some privacy and when she turns to look at them again, there is a foot of space between them and Emma is obviously in the process of realizing that she is covered in a fair amount of dirt.

If gambling was an appropriate pastime for women, Ruby would bet her next wage that the captain doesn’t care one bit.

*****

As he rides off to find his daughter and Jolly, Emma takes a moment to collect and glare down at her dirt-smeared self. She is distinctly aware that this is not the picture she is meant to present to world and husband alike but her actions currently seem to take precedence to the state of her person in their ability to fluster and embarrass her.

“Idiot,” she mutters under her breath as she imagines looking at herself from the side, or maybe just from Killian’s perspective, and realizes how childish she must have appeared.

Silly, she has been and continues to be even now – as she gathers her gardening tools and wonders what gown she should change into for dinner – completely ridiculous. But, truthfully, she can’t help it and she feels a rare bound of pity for her own self because of that.

Is it her fault that she never had a friend come running to her room as a child? Is it her fault that she never got to welcome a parent when they returned from a journey? Is it her fault that she never received a lover come to pay his respects? Is it her fault that all she’s known is people leaving and not once has she seen someone come back?

No, Emma tries to tell herself that none of that is solely her fault and yet, she cannot help but scold herself for reacting so disproportionately to the situation now. That thought is probably what makes her jump back and flush the second she walks in and comes face to face with Granny.

“Give these here,” the old woman takes the dirty tools from her hands and shoos her up the stairs. “Go wash yourself and get changed for dinner, I’ll fix everything else.”

Emma stares at her – a little dumbfounded by the woman’s strict but almost indulgent tone.

“Go on then. They’ll be back any minute now and I have a mind to feed and put you all to bed early tonight.”

Emma feels her face stretch in an uncontrollable grin that doesn’t diminish in the least at Granny’s eyeroll. The old woman tries to glare but, with Killian back, the high spirits have obviously already permeated the whole house and affected even its crankiest inhabitant.

*****

Mrs Lucas’s plan proves harder to execute than Emma expects, seeing as there are apparently traditions to be kept after dinner.

For the first time, Emma sees Alice put her foot down and refuse to let her father go into his study. Then again, he doesn’t fight her too hard on it. Killian demands to distribute whatever he has brought with him, Alice demands to hear all about Roger’s antics during the journey and, naturally, Alice prevails.

And Emma swears under her breath and does her best to dab away the tea she spits out with her laughter as Killian explains in almost ungentlemanly detail the interest Roger took in a passing mare in the middle of the road. He points out that his horse is absolutely unbeatable when it comes to speed and durability and makes better time than any other even with the unexpected detours but, if the way his ears have flushes a little is any indication, expedience has often cost him more than one embarrassing encounter.

“Now,” Killian slaps his hand on his tight and reaches for the satchel he left by his chair, drawing out two books. “The latest of the overpraised and overprized Mr Dickens.”

“Oh, come now, papa,” Alice snatches the books eagerly and passes one to Emma.

She takes it instinctively and lifts her questioning eyes to Killian, who just shrugs and smiles at her.

“You better be prepared, love, she likes to discuss each chapter as she reads and there will be no consideration for whether or not you’ve fallen behind.”

“I only do that when I know you’ve already read the book!” Alice argues indignantly. “And, anyways, I can write to Robyn, while I wait for Emma to finish it.”

Killian’s face turns to a stone for a second before he moves his gaze back to Emma’s and she does her best not to shrink from the way his eyes probe into her – hard and demanding. It’s probably only the slight indignation she feels at this measure of suspicion and the confidence in her own trust-worthiness that makes her stand her ground and stare right back at him until he sighs deeply in what is definitely a combination of acceptance and relief.

“Well, then,” he coughs a little and takes a moment to adjust to the new reality of one more shared secret between them and Emma can’t help but wonder how many there really are in the room – some swirling freely around now, some still hidden in the private recesses of only one or two of them. “Speaking of Miss Hood.”

His hand reaches into his left breast pocket and takes out two poaches – one blue and one red, their quality obvious in the intricate golden patterns on them. He drops the red one in his wooden hand and catching Alice’s eye tosses the blue one at her with a practiced movement and a grin.

She catches it the way Emma imagines all children who still remember tossing a ball around with their fathers catch things.

“Is it for her?”

Killian shakes his head.

“I’ll leave it to you to procure jewels for your own lady,” he tells her with a teasing movement of his eyebrows and Emma can’t help feeling extremely glad that she knows enough to be here for this.

Alice pours the contents of the pouch in her palm and Emma smiles at the oblong, childlike shape her lips assume and the roundness of her eyes.

The locket in her hand is indeed a piece of art – the gold glimmers warmly in the firelight, a heart with another heart raised on the left half of it, a beautiful blue stone set in its corner and gorgeous vine-like engravings running along the other side. But it’s not until she flicks it open that Alice lets out a choked little sound – the perfect child of a laugh and a sob, and in the next moment she is flying across the room and throwing herself in her father’s arms.

Killian seems much better prepared for this attack than he was for Emma’s earlier, his left arm tightening around her waist as his hand raises up to cradle her head. When he meets her eyes over his daughter’s shoulder, Emma is already wound tight as a spring and ready to look away or even leave the room but the warmth in his eyes keeps her where she is. If he is recalling her own display as well, he does not seem to find the need to shy away from it.

“May I?” Alice asks as she pulls back and, at her father’s nod, rushes to Emma’s side, handing over her new treasure and swaying a little before her, obviously impatient to receive her praise of it.

And she is not unreasonable in her expectation. Aware as she now is of Alice’s constant struggle between her homes and her loves, Emma has a hard time retaining her own composure at the perfect union of the contrasting miniatures inside – Killian’s dark hair and hard edges and the blond waves and soft curves of a girl about Alice’s age.

“It’s gorgeous, sweetheart.”

Alice beams at her and, looking at Killian, Emma saves this moment in her mind as the first time she has seen Killian Jones look quite proud of himself. When their eyes meet again he seems to remember the red pouch in his prosthetic.

“Ah, as for this—“ he moves to sit a foot away from her on the settee as Alice makes herself comfortable on the rug in front of the fireplace.

“You didn’t have to—“ she swallows and tries to soften her voice.

It’s completely unreasonable of her to be upset with him and she is not, not truly. Only, after what Alice told her, she hoped that Killian won’t bring her anything, that he would know she didn’t expect him to pay in gems to enter his own home, and now she can’t help but feel a little sad and just a little insulted.

“I told you I don’t need anything.”

At least some of her thoughts must flow through into her tone because Killian draws back and gives her a confused, uncertain sort of look before he bows his head to stare at the small bag in his hand.

“Aye, that you did.”

His voice is quiet and strained and sounds like he is conversing with himself rather than her – he sounds almost angry and now Emma feels rotten for tarnishing his return and cooling the warmth in the room in literal seconds.

“I just—“ but she can’t really explain without betraying Alice’s confidence and she doesn’t want to sour his mood further by talking about his late wife.

“No, you’re quite ri—“

“I’m glad you’re back.”

His eyes rise sharply and take their time searching hers and Emma doesn’t dare look away and make her words seem like a becoming platitude rather than the plain truth.

“I��m glad to be back,” he says carefully but his features relax a little and Emma lets the corner of her mouth lift up in reply. “Would you—“

He extends his hand in the space between them, the vibrant red resting on his palm is a tantalizing offering and Emma cannot deny her curiosity. She reaches over tentatively and lets her fingers pull on the golden strings, opening the pretty package, before she turns her own hand palm up and leaves it before his, the tips of their fingers brushing lightly.

Killian manages to appear both amused by her antics and nervous about whatever it is that he has brought her. And all that on top of the exhausted air he has carried about him since he dismounted Roger and the obvious relief of being back in familiar surroundings and the slight mellowness of the bottle of wine they shared over dinner and the way he has been favoring his left side in a way that she has never seen before despite his injury.

Emma cannot imagine being disappointed, no matter what tumbles out of the pouch he tips into her expectant palm. And then she doesn’t have to imagine anything.

“Oh.”

“Well, I… I thought you couldn’t go to your first ball as a married woman without an engagement ring.”

She doesn’t know if that is perfectly reasonable or perfectly unnecessary but she is most certainly not going to make up her mind right now, seeing as she feels like she is on the very verge of being hypnotized by the object in her hand. A pirate her husband might not be, but how to find treasure he most certainly knows.

The sing is simply stunning – solid gold that manages to look both delicate and eternal, a perfect circle of little white gems which are unmistakably diamonds. But the best part, the part that refuses to let her eyes blink closed is the stone in the middle – she does not even know what it is called, she just knows it’s the perfect mixture of blue and green and absolutely mesmerizing.

“If you’d like something else—“

Instinctively her hand closes around the ring and she pulls it toward her chest. Killian huffs out a little laugh and his posture finally seems to relax completely, while Emma flushes at her childish antics and extends her hand toward him again.

“Do you mind?”

His eyes narrow with something much different from displeasure and his tongue swipes over his lower lip as he contemplates her for a moment. Emma raises her eyebrow a little expectantly and he finally picks the ring between two fingers and uses the others to gently nudge her hand over. Despite the late hour, spending the better part of the day on horseback and the fact that her own fingers are habitually cool, his skin is as warm as always. His fingertips are calloused and his palm looks almost twice as large as her own and Emma thinks she has never been so conscious of the power in a man’s grip.

This time, unlike their wedding day, when he slips the ring on her left hand, she doesn’t watch the motion, she watches his face. Killian, on the other hand, is carefully focused on his task, the new ring clinking lightly against the wedding band on her next finger as he pushes it past the knuckle. It’s an almost perfect fit and Emma is about to remark on that when she feels his fingers move beneath hers and his eyes rise up to meet hers.

It seems to take half the evening for her hand to reach his lips and it’s only as they press against her flesh that Emma realizes he was probably giving her the time to decide if she wants to pull away. As it is, even if she felt any such inclination, she wouldn’t give up the knowledge that the only cold point on Killian Jones appears to be the tip of his nose for anything in the world.

*****

She wakes up in the dead of night. The fire in the hearth is down to the last embers and the night outside is starless and Emma stays on her side, burying her face further into her pillow and drawing her knees up, taking those deep, measured breaths that have served her well for years now.

They have brought her back to herself after nightmares featuring all sorts of places and faces and painful moments past and imagined, surely they can help her heart settle down after a little dream of her husband’s lips on her own.

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