Tumgik
#rose gift him a therapy session
gooperterror · 1 year
Text
Tumblr media
BIRTHDAY!
Bonus: Dave finally d o n e with Dirk bullshit.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
1K notes · View notes
kinnbig · 1 year
Note
so, who is the most pathetic? big, vegas or kim?
obsessed with this question thank u anon i am going to have to approach this very scientifically and rate their patheticness levels with super incredibly objective patheticness points
Big -
pathetic:
in unrequited love with his boss +2
roasted by Kim for being in unrequited love with his boss +1
got demoted cause some random guy asked for his job +1
put in his place by Chan while trying to put the new guy in his place +1
not invited to the Hum Bar shenanigans +1
lectured on homophobia by a 'straight' guy (while gay) +1
fell off his motorbike and was real angy about it +1
"it's because of me. I couldn't help Khun Kinn" +2
looks like he's on the verge of tears 24/7 +1
sad little hair strand +1
literally died +5
not pathetic:
captain of the Tawan hate squad -2
mean girl swag -1
beat up that guy and was hot about it -1
picked up Porsche by his hair and was really hot about it -2
total: 11
Vegas -
pathetic:
psychosexually obsessed with his cousin +1
all the daddy issues +2
rejected by Porsche +1
tried to bring Porsche a rose but had to leave with it because his cousin woke up from his coma and pretended to be allergic +1
Tankhun smacked him with a tray that one time +1
kicked out of his own bathroom so his cousin could give the guy he was trying to seduce a handjob +3
Gun smacked that book out of his hand +1
got punched sooo many times +1
used his prisoner as a therapist +2
fell in love with said prisoner after one (1) free therapy session +1
the entire hedgehog saga +3
"shoot me!" +1
the entire failed coup +2
"here's how I win." ... *loses* +1
not pathetic:
cool motorbike -1
all the murder/torture -2
so so many cunty outfits -1
did actually get laid -1
ate ass on-screen -2
was probably fucking Ken (good for him) -1
was turned into swiss cheese and lived -1
total: 12
Kim -
pathetic:
actually has a murder board +1
said murder board is behind a giant photo of himself +1
conducts secret investigations instead of communicating with his brothers like a normal person +2
didn't even solve the mystery he was investigating +2
so incredibly emotionally unavailable +1
saw a kid with an entire wall full of his photographs and went "...I wonder if this guy really likes me? maybe I should make him write a love song to check" +1
is the cheek kiss girlie in the fuck nasty show +1
ghosted a child +3
emotionally defeated by a smiley face fried egg +1
on Chay's blocklist +1
led Chay on for an investigation, ghosted him, cried into his polaroids when Chay didn't take him back +2
tried to apologise to Chay by gifting him dead bodies and songs instead of using his words +1
not pathetic:
broke into a mafia boss' office -1
out mean girlied the mean girlie (was mean to Big) -1
is maybe a celebrity -1
the entire bar fight scene -3
total: 11
and there you have it! it's so very close, but Vegas is officially the most pathetic by one (1) patheticness point. i will not be taking constructive criticism at this time
more very scientific kinnporsche research
849 notes · View notes
kooksbunnnn · 7 months
Text
Lost cause? 3: Who is it really that you're trying to fight?
Tumblr media
Previous chapter
Pairing: Jeon Jungkook× Female!Reader
Genre: Established relationship/ marriage, angst, heartbreak, INFIDELITY. Panic attacks (TRIGGER WARNING). Pregnancy (do not read if this content triggers you) also, 18+, This is purely a work of FICTION please take it as FICTION only. Therapy and psychological conversations. Tears, guilt, regret and hope maybe?
Word count: approx 6.5k
Summary: You always wondered, how would your life turn out to be if you and Jungkook had a baby? So, when you finally conceive and decide to tell your husband, that you are pregnant, you didn't expect him to drop this bomb on you. You never would've thought that the surprise you planned would end up in agonized tears because of the shock your husband brings you. 
Authors note: Hello everybody, thankyou for waiting so patiently, I have a long message so I will put it at the end of the chapter, here is chapter 3, I hope you like it. Enjoy! Hehe~
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"These sunflowers just look happier than the roses, don't you think?" you point at the various vases and bouquets as Jungkook holds your hand listening to your confused queries. 
"But didn't you find the roses pretty the moment you walked in?" He teases you with faux confusion and you stomp your feet like a toddler. "I am not buying both of them, kook." You pull him by his hand and he chuckles. 
You didn't want to buy both of them, they're ridiculously expensive and he won't even let you pay. You tried taking your clutch but he kinda snatched it and shoved it back in your luggage. Although your little playful squabble suddenly turned into a makeout session against the hotel wall, he still successfully hid your wallet. 
"Fine, baby, whatever you want." He pecks your cheeks and pulls back, fixing your scarf around your neck. "I'll get the sunflowers wrapped, you go check the gift shop for that snow globe you saw earlier, okay?" You smile and mutter 'okay', happily walking towards the gift shop with your hands in your coat pockets.
You reach the gift shop and ask for the snow globe along with some fridge magnets and keychains for your friends as souvenirs. Jimin and Hobi love magnets, and it was specifically mentioned in the group texts you got the night before your flight. 
'HAPPY HONEYMOONING, Y/N AND JUNGKOOK!! Bring souvenirs tho, tc♡'
You get all the stuff you want and turn around to look for your husband. He walks towards you with a smile on his face, Oh, that pretty face, the prettiest amongst the flower lanes.
You give him a big smile when he hands you the sunflower bouquet, and your eyes crinkle looking at the yellow flowers. Looking up at him you find him looking at you with hearts in his eyes. You giggle with pink cheeks and turn towards the counter with your face half hidden by the bouquet. 
"How much is it for everything, ma'am?" He asks the cashier when someone comes from inside the flower store and hands Jungkook a bouquet of roses making your eyes widen. 
"Jungkook!" You whisper-yell at your husband and he looks handing his card to the lady. "Yes, baby?" He asks with love filled in his voice, You tilt your head towards the red flowers and he follows your gaze moving his neck dramatically and exclaims, elongating his words, 
"Ohhhhh, the roses?"
You raise an eyebrow biting your inner cheeks, a smile threatening to appear on your face at his cuteness. "I got them for me, You said you don't want them but you know, I loooove red roses, so I got them for myself. The red makes me feel pretty, you know?" He explains with comically wide eyes and a coy smile, shrugging with the red roses in his arms, and you can't help but laugh and hug him. 
He pats your head and kisses your hair, chuckling. The lady hands hands him his card thanking him and gives him the items you both bought in a cloth bag with mountains painted over it.
Heading out of the shop you both hold hands while you walk towards your car. After keeping the stuff in the back seat and handing you both the bouquets, he opens the car door for you but before you get inside he stops you and turns you towards him. 
"I love your laugh, you know? and I love it the most when you laugh because of me." He says with his gaze fixed on your scarf while covering it around your neck carefully. He boops your red nose and you playfully scrunch it making him chuckle. 
"I love you, kook." You say leaning in to kiss him. 
"I love you, too, baby." He smiles against your lips.
------end of flashback------
Your face has a sad smile as your gaze lingers on the newly replaced sunflowers in the vase on your kitchen counter. The memories of the warm winter you spent in Switzerland cuddling with your husband make your heart feel chill and cold. You sip on the herbal tea with bags under your eyes due to the many nights of crying. 
You hear the couch in the lobby rustle and your gaze shifts to your sleeping husband. Yes, he slept on the couch not wanting to make you uncomfortable in any way but still being close to your room, since you felt very nauseous the night before. 
Your mom asked him to sleep in the guest room but he preferred sleeping near your room in case you needed something.  
It has been 4 days since you both decided to give your relationship a chance. Since then you have not talked much about anything other than the therapist's recommendations you got from Namjoon, Taehyung and their wives. 
Jin was supposed to return in 2 days from his trip with his wife to her house, his brother-in-law getting engaged. You feel like a lot has happened in the last 5 months and you were so clueless, you felt guilty for not being there for everybody. 
Apparently, Yoongi broke up with his girlfriend after 3 weeks of constant arguments. He seems okay, but you never know how a person actually feels from their face now, do you? You don't know what the arguments were about but you just hope he is fine. 
Hobi's girlfriend just moved in with him, they wanted to hold a get-together but postponed it saying you were not well since you went to the hospital 2 months ago. Somehow you know that is not the reason. You would also prefer not making anyone awkward with all the tension that you've been going through, You suggested them doing it without you but they refused, stating they want everyone there. 
Jungkook has been trying to be silently available and you can notice every one of his efforts, You feel your heart shatter every time you look at him but you try not to cry. You don't succeed. 
This was the decision you made, your doctor and therapist both suggested you start couple therapy, soon. Are you ready? No. But would you run away from your problems? Nope.
You have your first combined session in 4 hours and you feel nauseous already. You haven't talked much to Jungkook in the past four days except for thanking him whenever he helps you with stuff like getting up, switching the fan on if you feel hot suddenly, helping you with covering yourself with the comforter, putting your feet in your slippers and many more things. 
You both finally decided on a therapist that your doctor and Namjoon, both suggested. 
You absolutely feared this, you have no idea what outcome is waiting for you on the other side of the journey you chose. But you have to try, for the baby. Finishing your coffee you straighten up and walk towards the sink.
Suddenly you hear three loud knocks on the door and the mug slips from your hand. 
Hearing the mug hit the floor Jungkook jolts up and comes running towards you, "Hey, you okay?" He inquires holding your hands, speaking groggily, still sleepy. His eyes search you for any burns or injury.
"I am fine. It's okay." He hears you and it's like you both realize at the same moment that he has your hands in his, you both lift your heads at the same time. His eyes are swollen and red, with dark circles and slight stubble. 
Your eyes lock and you feel a weird feeling in your stomach. 
The knocks on the door intensifies while your mom came into the kitchen to take a bottle of water. Your dad and mom are supposed to visit your family doctor for your dad's regular checkup. He has been having fluctuating blood pressure and you feel like its because of you. 
Jungkook opens the door and a grumbling Jimin walks in along with a sheepishly smiling Namjoon holding some paper bags. "Get your door bell checked, I rang it four fucking times- oh shit, g-good morning everyone." Both men stop in their tracks and bow awkwardly greeting you and your mother as she giggles greeting them backward. 
"It's 10 am, Hyung. Why are you guys banging at the door so early?" Jungkook asks rubbing his left eye and you smile looking at their banter. 
You missed this.
Namjoon comes around the kitchen island and gives you a side hug while Jimin and Jungkook just argue about how 10 a.m. is not very early for some people.
"I'll go get ready for your dad's appointment and then come make breakfast until then you kids have juice, I'll be out in 10 mins-" Your mom says while she pats your head but Namjoon interrupts her by telling her they brought some sandwiches you would love according to his wife. 
You wanted to accompany your mother to the doctor's appointment but she insisted you focus on the day that awaits you, Her being the most honest person, she told you that today wouldn't be easy, it would be heart-wrenching. You would feel uneasy and maybe you might feel relief unexpectedly. Don't fight it. If the decision you both have made is something you both want to work on, don't fight your feelings.
"Oh! you brought the tomato and cheese sandwiches, yay!" You say a little too loud the whole room goes silent and you feel too aware of your voice, you gulp, chest deflating which namjoon notices. Jungkook and Jimin notice the way you feel smaller after showing a little light on your face. 
It's something inside you, that makes you want to withdraw from anything slightly happy. Guilt? Of smiling? You dont want to think about it. 
"Yes!" Jimin says cheerfully and Namjoon joins him yelling for him to bring the sandwiches to the table. Your mom smiles at the yelling grown men while Jungkook just watches his hyungs trying to cheer you up. You walk up to the table and join them, lifting your head to look at Jungkook. You wanna tell him to join, but suddenly your face heats up and you can't talk. 
He must feel your eyes on him coz he looks at you and your eyes widen when you make eye contact. You can hear the bickering of the two men in the background, You try to speak, and he looks at you with hopeful eyes. hopes that you talk, to make a conversation, anything. 
"Jun-" you start
"Dude, the sandwiches are getting soggy, I already put the mustard, come and eat them," Jimin says and you sigh feeling weird again and you notice how Jungkook's eyes shut for a second before he looks away. 
"I dont like mustard in sandwiches, hyung. Thanks." He starts to walk away towards the guest bathroom with a sigh and you panic. You dont know what happened but you suddenly blurt out, "My sandwich does not have any sauce."
He stops in his tracks and turns to look at you with wide eyes. Seeing him turn you look down immediately. "You can t-take this, I'll eat the one with mustard."
The room falls silent again and you feel like you could cry, you wanna run away. Thats what your brain tells you to do, you almost get up already thinking of an excuse to run away but then you see your plates being exchanged. "Thankyou." He mutters looking at you, more like, looking at your head facing the table. 
You chose this, you need to be strong and have to at least start making full sentenced conversations. You need to make this work, for your baby. It's just not very easy to look at your husband and not think about it- you just don't want to think about it.
The breakfast ended with slight conversations between the guys. At least someone felt comfortable around each other, you, on the other hand? You felt like you made everyone around you awkward and the fact that you could've sensed their pity everytime they made eye contact with you made you want to bury your head in the ground. 
You could hear the small talks and the hums they let out, it all settled in your brain, it even made sense but you couldn't move your mouth any more than chewing the sandwich on which you almost choked on due to trying to eat fast and get away. 
The breakfast ended with the guys leaving after you excused yourself for the shower you planned 30 minutes later in your head, but still escaped the situation to breathe. Now that you see yourself in the bathroom mirror you watch how your chest rises and the tears burning the rims of your eyes. You didnt want to cry but you also know that crying helps you breathe these days. 
You can clearly see how your decision is affecting you, you're miserable. Which is definitely not good for the baby's health.
Would you really be a good example of parents to your baby?
You can't decipher if it's because of the betrayal you feel, the guilt of missing him even though he cheated, the regret of regretting giving him another chance or just the fact that you feel guilty by feeling better around him? 
You don't know how to give another chance, your past has been full of abandonment and ignorance towards you making heartbreak a bitter and sour feeling. Immediately forcing your heart to want to hate him. 
The guy you loved, still love, are you in love? Of course you are, that's such a stupid question to ask, you love that guy to death. The main question that lingers in your head is, should you be in love with him? Is that correct?
Your doctor adviced you to keep your anxiousness at bay for the sake of the two lives you are now held responsible for. Your therapist advised you to respect the decision you have made but also respect your personal boundaries. Both of the professionals telling you to prioritize both of your mental peace, only then things would work. 
The concept of mental health confuses you at this point. Is putting your mental peace as your priority staying away from him and feeling the panic take over you? Or sit around him feeling better for some time but worsen later since you owe this to your past self. 
You feel yourself zoning in onto the flowing water from your tap in front of you. Your thoughts are disrupted as you hear your mom knocking on the bathroom door, quickly wipe your tears and taking deep breaths, a sad try to stabilize your voice. 
"Y/N baby, I am heading out for the clinic okay?"
"Y-yea mom." You cringe as your voice breaks, silence filling the spaces on both side of the door. 
"You know I'm here for you, right?" She says and you want to sob hugging her but you don't want to stress her more. You feel the pain in your throat, the knot making your vision blurry with every second passing by. 
"Yea." You reply with a shaky voice expecting her to leave but then you hear her sniff. Your stomach clenches and you feel that you might vomit out the sandwiches from the morning. 
"Love you, baby, take care." She says and you murmur the affectionate phrase back. Turning off the tap you hear her retreat to the door and the door closes with a thud. Your mind reels over so many thoughts and you just need some silence from all the noisy voices in your head telling you shit about yourself and your choices, him included. Your mind wants you to answer questions, about feelings and your family's future, the questions only you and your husband sitting and waiting for you in the lobby could solve. 
Maybe you can get some help from the therapist you so dread to meet. 
___
The ticking of the clock, the beating of your heart, every passing second is making your eyes blind towards the white wallpaper of the waiting room. You wait for your husband sitting on the couch, fiddling with the rings on your ring finger. 
The room is decorated with plants and a lot of flower vases on every side table, and the reception desk is unattended since the lady who sweetly smiled at you went inside with a cup of something, you couldn't see clearly though, you guess it's for Dr. Shin.
Out of anxiety, you start fiddling with your rings. You still remember the day he proposed to you, promising you to never leave you alone and always be by your side, no matter what ups and downs. 
You never knew the ups and downs would someday lead you to the thought of divorcing him. The ring he wed you with on your wedding day shines along with the promise ring making you force your eyes away. 
The session hasn't even begun and you already are on the verge of crying. 
The glass door slides open and you watch a middle-aged lady approach the L-shaped couch you were sitting on. She smiles and calls out your name along with his making your heart drop. 
"Mr. and Mrs. Jeon?"
This stings but also gives you comfort. It's so fucked up.
You're scared. You don't know what's gonna happen after this session, are you afraid of being alone? You have this war going on inside you between morals and what your heart wants. You feel nauseous, however, you take a deep breath and get up.
When you enter the counsellor's office, it seems way more comfortable than you thought, it gives you more of an art studio vibe, with plants and canvases lying around, paints on a desk along with an almirah full of books and files. 
You smile as your eyes meet Dr. Shin, and she smiles back. Her face radiates a professional persona but it is not the kind of personality that could make someone uneasy, it makes you feel safe somehow. 
She sips on her coffee and keeps the mug on a coaster, clearing her throat. She was really pretty, sophisticated and she looked really smart. Her husband wouldn't cheat on her, would he? She seems perfect, unlike you with your baggy and red eyes. 
Were you ever attractive?
"Would you like some water or tea?" She offers with a smile. 
"Some water would be good, thank you." You say and she nods, calling her someone, probably the receptionist for the glass of water. 
"Are you here just by yourself today?" 
"No-no he should be here any minute, he must be in the traffic, I am so sorry." You frantically start searching your bag for your cellphone to call Jungkook. 
"It's okay, we can start the session when he arrives."  
"No, please, you don't have to do that, you must be really busy." You say looking at her with an apology on your face. Finally finding your phone, you check your messages and yes, he has texted you about being stuck in traffic. 
"He is on his way, in traffic." You say to which she nods and mutters a 'It's okay'. She resumes sipping her coffee while noting down your details in her notes. While she scribbles your head can't help but think about certain scenarios as to why Jungkook is late. 
You feel anxiety fill your nerves, you clench your fists tightly at the thought and shake your head slightly. You don't notice but Dr. Shin notices how you start to shake your leg, so she starts a conversation putting her notepad down.
"Do you paint, Mrs. Jeon?"
"Please, it's just Y/N and yes, sometimes." You say straightening your back, your baby belly very visible. 
She opens her mouth to say something but gets interrupted by the receptionist knocking on the door. Dr. Shin lets her in and she informs her that Jungkook arrived, asking if she should send him in. 
She nods and the receptionist leaves.  
"You know the best thing about art is that when you understand it, you can fix a mistake in a painting as many times as you want. Being able to do good art doesn't mean you wouldn't make mistakes, but you could fix them at any time you want. The only thing that matters is do you still want the results you wanted before you started to paint or will the excess anxiety to finish the art piece make it worse?" She says and you feel confused, before you could ask if she meant what you think she meant, Jungkook enters. 
He is wearing a black button-up tucked in his pants along with checkered trousers, a black blazer in his hand and his black hair slicked back. He had an important meeting today and you think he came directly from work. He looks good too and you hate that you feel that way.
"Good afternoon doctor, I am sorry I got late, I got stuck with a client and then the traffic, I am really sorry." He bows apologetically and quickly takes a seat beside you. You look at him and he mouths an 'I am sorry' with beads of sweat on his temples. You smile slightly and nod to tell him it's okay. 
"It's okay Mr. Jeon, you're just 4 mins late." She chuckles and picks up her notepad and pen. 
"Shall we start?" You both nod in unision. 
"So, I wanna assure you that this is a safe space and the information told or discussed here would not be disclosed unless there are any legal or medical emergencies which we hope wouldn't happen. Okay?" You squeeze your fists shut, you don't even want to think of all that. You notice how his Adam's apple bobs as he gulps in nervousness. 
"Shall we start?" She asks and you both nod in unison.
"Mr and Mrs Jeon, how long have you known each other?"
"6 years"
"6 years." Dr. shin nods at your answers.
"..and how did you two meet?"
"We met through mutual friends, Taehyung, his best friend, he was her roommate's boyfriend at that time." You explain. 
"I wouldn't call that boyfriend." He whispers and you smile huffing a breath. 
"Yeah, they were in a 'situationship'." You air-quote the word with one hand and smile, the other hand tracing the water ring, your glass is forming around it. 
"They used to wanna hang out with someone because she had a strict aunt as a guardian. So we spent time at Taehyung's place, Y/N used to live with her too, at her aunt's place, for the last year of her graduation." He says, smiling slightly at the memories of you creating excuses for your friend. 
"We could simply say, they ended their relationship soon after graduating, she started her Ph.D., moved out and we still remained friends." You point your thumb towards him and then you. 
"After some months we started dating when he asked me out.." your eyes are still zoned in on the glass while Jungkook stares at your face. 
Clearing your throat you give a small smile to the therapist and through a sniffle you speak again, "After 3 years of dating we finally decided to get married. We got married in his home town, Busan..."
You pause, your heart aching at the irony of you taking the vows in Busan, the same place where your husband spit on your 5 year-long relationship. You feel tears rising in your eyes but you blink them away, ears getting hotter by the second. 
"..And then I broke my promises." He nods slowly, as if owning up to his acts, eyes glossy and his Adams apple bobbing trying not to cry. 
You hear him say it and you feel nauseous. Yes, he did, and now you're sitting here in front of a therapist. Back to square one.
"Yes." you whisper without raising your head, nodding. A lone tear slipping through your eyes. 
The only thing you could hear after you said this was Dr. Shin's pen scribbling something in her pad, the clock ticking and the aquarium motor producing bubbles.
There was an aquarium in the room?
You feel Jungkook's gaze on you, but you don't dare lift your head.
"Mr. And Mrs Jeon.." Your therapist keeps her pad down and looks at you, making you both lift your heads and pay attention to her. "..this is your first session, so I would only talk about things you are comfortable with, we'll take things according to the pace you both want, but if you want to make things work I would suggest you be honest and open with me, it might make you feel vulnerable and 'too exposed'." she emphasizes on her last words and continues, "It would be hard considering you both have a lot going on but trust me it would definitely be better than how it is now."
You both listen to her carefully, slightly nodding your head whenever she adds a question mark in her statements. 
"Before I address the situation I would like to ask you if you are comfortable in continuing this relationship?" she asks and he nods but you feel hesitant. There it was, the question that you know the answer to but still feel weird to say out loud. Your husband cheated on you, you can't change that. You have a life growing inside you, yours and Jungkook's flesh and blood, you can't change that. You decided on never giving cheaters a chance but why do you want to now? 
Do you think it would be good for the baby? Would it be good for him? For you? You love him, but what about the morals you promised you would never give up on? Would love be worthy enough to let go of the beliefs you have? 
"Mrs. Jeon? It's okay if you're still a little skeptical, you can take your time-"
"No ma'am, I am sure. I wanna try again." You say it out loud, for your baby's sake, at least that's what you want to believe. Jungkook breathes a relieved sigh and you look at him at the same time he does. He raises his eyebrows hesitantly trying to ask if you are sure, you nod softly making him give you a grateful smile. 
"Its good to know that both of you are on the same page. Now, I would like to hear what caused this distance.." 
As you let it out of you, how the last 5 months changed the trajectory of your life, the 5 years of your relationship, the trust, the bond, love, your self-esteem, your and his moral values, both of your belief systems, the trust on each other, the trust on yourselves, the honesty, the loyalty all bruised up and on the ground. What were you fighting? Each other? Society?
Maybe it's you who you're fighting.
You told Dr. Shin how you have faced this many times in your life, She nodded and explained to you how certain incidents affect our brains and the way we think, changing the way we live, think and even breathe. 
She explained how going through this would be tough for both of you, considering the pregnancy and the emotions you and your husband are feeling. She explained how your mind should be made up before going through with this because sometimes withdrawing from therapy or quitting in the middle of the process or sometimes going with it without a made-up mind might cause mental problems and since you were with a baby, you should be extra careful. You both try to assure her that you will make sure this goes well.
You cried looking away from him while you told the events that happened, he sobbed agreeing to them. He cried covering his face while cursing himself for what he did to your relationship and the happy family you both deserved. You both cried as she wrote and noted in her notepad. In the end, you reached out to hold his hand with tears running down your faces, admitting how you want to give your family a chance. 
With red eyes and shaky footsteps, you both leave the office. You get in the car since you've been taking cabs ever since you started showing. The car feels oddly comforting, the same fragrance mixed with the leather seat cover smell, the car having water bottles on each side, just like a few months ago. He used to keep them in the car just in case you felt car sick like that road trip in the hills where you were nauseous the whole time.
The bottle beside you looked new since it was sealed so you couldn't help but think that he bought them today, maybe for you. You wanted to ask him but before you could say you felt the soup and the tofu stew you had in lunch come up your throat. 
"Stop the car, Jungkoo- f-fuck stop the car. Pull over!"
Jungkook pulls over to the side and opens his side of the door to runs over to your side, he holds your hair up as you vomit your food and feelings out. You have been feeling uneasy ever since you left your apartment for the clinic. 
'You might feel physical changes as well, Mrs Jeon. You may feel everything at extremes, mood swings, food cravings, agitation, maybe sexual desire, frustration, or morning sickness might hit you at any time, Basically the anxiety is not gonna help you with the hormones and staying away from your husband might also not do any good. So I would suggest you be strong and try to get through this.'
You remember Dr. Shin's words coughing as your throat feels sore, your stomach aching from the pressure you put in puking. When you're done, Jungkook opens up a bottle of water for you as you tilt your head towards the seat resting it there. He helps you drink and wash your face. Feeling better you look up at Jungkook who makes sure your breathing is better and even now. 
"Jungkook..?"
"Hm?"
"Are those new bottles?" 
"Huh? Ye-yeah. I bought them on the way to work this morning knowing you get car sick often and n-now...because of your nausea, I just wanted to be sure. There's more in the back, do you want? Wait-"
He takes a step back to walk to the back seat or the trunk you don't get to know where because you hold his wrist freezeing him in his steps. You notice how he tenses so you hesitantly let go of it. 
"I-I'm sorry, I just, I don't need it right now I feel better." He nods when you look down retracting your hand, you smile slightly at him and turn back in your seat. He comes up and closes your door helping you pull your seatbelt so that you can plug it in yourself, not wanting to make you feel weird by getting close. 
Sitting back in the car, you expect him to drive but he doesn't. Instead, he takes your hand slightly turning in his seat. He looks at you with glossy eyes making yours widen. 
"Y/n, If I need to apologize my whole life and still you dont feel comfortable with me?.." he breathes shakily holding your hand tighter, its killing him to say this but he needs you to know this. 
"You can still leave me, I don't deserve to be forgiven, I know. I betrayed you, I don't deserve you and her.." he almost sobs and you feel tears rise in your eyes as he mentions your daughter as well. Sometimes seeing how sure he is about a daughter makes you forget how you still don't know the gender and it's just both of your assumptions. 
One hand in his and the other one on your tummy you listen to him, "You are giving me another chance to live Y/N, this means so much to me, by trying again and giving us a chance, you are giving me another life. You don't know how much it means to me, I-I am so grateful for having you in my life but.." he breathes sharply and his hands start to shake. 
"You can still leave if you wish, I love you. I want you to be happy. He sniffs and you notice his nose getting red. "Being a normal human I would prefer it would be with me but.." he chuckles sadly tears falling down his cheeks, "I would let you go if you ever feel like you don't want this." 
He knows that statement is risky, he might make you think that he is having second thoughts but when he sees your lips in a small ssmile he feel like you got the message. 
You squeeze his hand and mutter, "I know kook, but we're gonna make it, for everybody in this car, you her and me." You chuckle as your tears fall as well.
Jungkook holds in a whimper sniffling and then he nods. You feel slightly lighter after today. Not completely okay but still a little better and hopeful. You are gonna get through this, you both are gonna be strong. Your child will be okay, he will be okay, your relationship and family will be okay.
Everything would be okay. 
Reaching home, You take a shower wanting to clean the sweat and the slight vomit smell you have on you. You brush your teeth and head out to have dinner that your mom cooked. You told her that you would talk to her after your shower about the day you had.
You sit at the table and ask your parents how their appointment went, She tells you how your dad needs his medicines changed, of slightly lesser power and doze. You tell your dad to take care while he drinks his soup for better blood pressure. You all wait for Jungkook to join while having light conversations while you tell your dad a slightly less stressful version of the session.
Jungkook joins you on the table with wet hair, a black t-shirt and grey sweatpants. His body wash smell hits your nose comforting you just like you remember. You don't question your feelings, something was pulling you back but you still decide to find comfort in your husband's presence. 
After Dinner, Jungkook decides that he will do the dishes and clean up, your dad goes to sleep after wishing you and your baby good night. Your mom discussed the session with you encouraging you to stay strong, making sure that you wanna go through this. You smile and assure her that this is your and his choice. You hug her goodnight when she finally decides to sleep after Jungkook refuses her help with the cleanup for the second time. 
Sitting in the lobby as you watch him clean up the kitchen, like old times. Date nights with him were generally filled with laughter and kisses, cleaning and cooking, bickering over recipe ingredients and sometimes giving up and ordering takeouts. You smile at the memoriesthinking, would things ever be like they were? Would they be better or would they worsen? 
Helping you get into your bed, Jungkook places two bottles of water, a coaster and a glass which was filled with water and covered with a lid. He plugs your phone into your charger, your AirPods next to it. He tells you to call him if you feel any type of uneasiness but still places a small bin if it gets too late to run to the washroom or call for him. You smile at his efforts, never wanting this feeling to end, the way you feel.
Comfort. 
"Good night Y/N.", he says looking into your eyes, you can smell his body wash as he kneels in front of you, holding your hands gently. He tells you things like call me if you need something, again. But..
It's weird, you can't focus. Somehow the little circles his thumb creates on your palm are distracting you. Looking up at you he notices how you zoned out so he calls your name softly, flicking his wet hair. 
Fuck, why are you feeling like this? You've seen him with wet hair so many times and why is hair still damp?! 
Since you were first bullied in high school, you generally question your instincts and always do things rationally. But this time, you don't know why your hand unconsciously reaches his hair and cards through it. Call it muscle memory? but you both freeze when your hand rests on the back of his head, his wet locks in between your fingers.
Never breaking eye contact you do what you never thought you would in the past 4 months. Jungkook gasps with eyes wide as you just look at him like it's something you commonly do. 
Did you just pull his hair?
He still looks at you confused and when you do it again with a tighter grip this time, he groans with his eyes shut. The sound he makes helps you realize what you just did and immediately withdraw your hand.
"Um..are you okay?" He asks, voice low and soft but with wide eyes. 
"Yeah, just sleepy." You quickly say cover yourself with your duvet, lying down immediately, not too fast because it is physically not possible for you, but you still try hiding.  
"O-okay. Good night." He awkwardly gets up and leaves the room switching off the lights. Closing the door just enough to let you have privacy, not locking it for emergency purposes. As soon as he leaves, you search for the reasons of why you might be feeling this way.
You type in the search bar, your friends who have had their babies sometimes mentioned about this but..
Search: Can you feel aroused during pregnancy? 
Eyes wide you scoff at the results, gritting your teeth you feel frustrated. This is not how you should feel about him, you decided to try again but this is not right. Right? 
Top result: It is a common symptom to feel sexually aroused in the late first trimester and the second trimester.
Another result: You might feel a little sexually heightened during your pregnancy.
Another click: You might feel your clitoris and labia are sensitive making you feel aroused which might be healthy too, so we would suggest you not miss this opportunity to have good orgasms-
You read on your phone with wide eyes and grit your teeth. Switching your phone off and throwing it to your bedside, you snuggle in under the covers, fists clenched. The touch of his damp hair still lingering on your hand and you stomp your feet under the duvet, irritated. Dr Shin was right. If you wanted to get through this, you need to be strong.
Very strong. 
-------------------------------------------------------
Next chapter series masterlist main masterlist
taglist: @skzthinker @whoa-jo @aznstoner @aloverga@bids97 @slut4jeon @whipwhoops @bearr02 @jojowantstocry @jossabelle88 @prajusstuff @gloriouscollectionpainter @tatamicalreadyexists @bonsaithings
Authors note: Hey everyone, I hope you all liked the chapter🦋 I would like to apologize again, I am sorry for the late update, I was really held up between my internship and assignments, I really tried to write a good chapter and I really hope it was good and maybe worth the wait? 👉👈
Um, also, it has been one year since I started writting on this blog so, HAPPY ANNIVERSARY and a BIG THANKYOU ALONG WITH WARM AND TIGHT HUGS to all my readers who love my stories and give me the motivation to keep writing. I love you all so much🫶 Thank you for waiting so patiently, I will try and be better next time, hehe~
Note: Anyone wishing to get added to the taglist please message me or send me an ask.
328 notes · View notes
booiiee · 1 month
Text
Brooklyn Baby
Tumblr media
Pairing: Lee Jaehyun (Hyunjae) × Female Reader
Tags: Fluff, Hyunjae is WHIPPED, They bicker- a LOT, they love each other so much, it's pathetic actually, eventual smut (duh), separate tags and warnings for smut in the smut chapter. MINORS DNI!!
For @un-love 🩷🩷
-------
Chapter 1
It's summer of 2024 you've just shifted your whole life to Brooklyn New York, a decision that you and your friends and family had to all collectively take, Brooklyn is expensive and people are rude sometimes but for the first time you're building your life
You love your job, not a lot of therapist can say that specially with how taxing the job can be, but you really love your job, you're one of the most loved therapist at Brooklyn's biggest hospital NewYork-Presbyterian Brooklyn Methodist Hospital (yes i googled that) and let's just say you earn enough to have an entire studio apartment to yourself, something that you've come to realize, you love.
Your job is many things but it is not a job where you have a lot of free time, it might even be busier than working at a fashion magazine like your friend Daisy does,some days she is the only reminder of your life back in your home country, and your love for kpop and a certain kpop idol- Lee Jaehyun from The Boyz.
“Miss Rose, the director wants to see you.” your thoughts were interrupted by your assistant Liz- or Elizabeth, informing you of your rather sudden meeting with the director. Now the old Jasmine would absolutely lose it over being called by the director but moving to a place like Brooklyn from India has made you indifferent to these small anxiety triggering things.
To say that you were surprised would be the understatement of the century. The director had assigned you a patient of your busy (lazy) colleague, some VIP, whose case was “of utmost importance” to the hospital, which in itself was making you angry as if one life was worth more than the other. Nonetheless, you were gonna treat this patient like any other patient.
“Hi, Mr. Eric? I am Dr. Rose. I am taking over your case as of today, as informed. Please follow me this way” you introduce yourself to a tall man with freshly dyed brunette hair with a mask. He must be some high profile person given the way he was avoiding the stares from people.
R- You can keep the mask on until you feel comfortable to talk without them, our session can happen without you having to show your face.
E- Oh that is a relief thank you doctor.
R- So tell me Eric, what do you love doing when you are the most stressed and when you have a lot of leisure time?
E- Oh I thought you’d start with asking me my sickness
R- You say sickness like it is a bad thing
E- Is it not?
R- Well being sick is not great but it is not something derogatory.
*No one is born a patient and no one stays a patient till the end*.
*(From Daily dose of Sunshine)
As far as the questions go, if you’d rather me start with discussing your diagnosis, i am happy to do so
E- No its…its okay we can do your method.
I am skipping the actual therapy part because I am neither a licensed therapist nor a psych student to be writing that.
The 3 weeks you were assigned Eric’s case you found that against your better judgment, you guys were becoming almost friends, which is to say was weird in more ways than one. You were his therapist and you did not know what he looked like. You never asked him to take off his mask. He never mentioned why he prefers to wear one. So you decided you’d start and stay away from him in the hospital corridors when you often bump into each other after his session with your colleague.
E- I know we are not supposed to be friends and all that protocol, but you have really helped me in ways i could never explain and i am not the best person when it comes to gifts but i asked my friend j and he suggested this since you like to read- i've seen all those books in your office
Your gasp was audible to not only Eric but a few staff around as he pulled out a blue box. Eric quickly pulled you aside and for the first time, took off his mask.
R- You’re THE Eric?????
E- I mean I dont really say that about myself but i think you know me? Which is even better, so you know that i can afford this and im not robbing a bank for this gift, which also is not the case cause J bought this really-
R- Wait, I WILL not accept that, and give me a minute Wow! okay.
Eric, hi, I love your music and you'd understand when i say how weird this is to know my patient is a member of the group i love
E- aww doc you’re a fan. That makes me wanna be your friend even moore
R- Yeah, we’re gonna…we’ll talk about that later.
Wait, you're Eric from TBZ, so your friend J who often drops you to your session, the one who bought this SUPER EXPENSIVE gift, is J, Jaehyun? As in, Lee Jaehyun?
E- Yup you got that right! The one and only! In Fact he is on his way up, now that you’ve seen me, we can all talk comfortably
R- Oh No… no no, NO.
E- But why? Do you not like Hyunjae? *Gasp* Are you a hyunjae antiii??
R- WHAT???? NO! I could never hate my Hyunjae! not in this lifetime for suree!!!
“Well that’s good to know, Miss Rose”
You could identify that voice in a room full of noisy people, let alone the silence of the corridor, so you had no choice but to tun around and see a curly haired masked man smiling at you. Oh this is not good for your job.
-----
Chapter 2 will be posted super soon!!
13 notes · View notes
arcanastan101 · 5 months
Text
Self Love❤️
Femdom!Reader/Sub!Muriel(the arcana)
spice level: 🌶️🌶️🌶️
plot: a sexy little anniversary gift turns into a heated therapy session you can’t take your eyes off of.
Notes: pegging, sex in front of a mirror, lingerie, self confidence issues, embarrassment, forced self love, modern au, feminization
Tumblr media
The box was small, plain, and tightly wrapped in a black silk bow. Its contents had been ordered weeks ago in anticipation of your upcoming anniversary, and it had arrived just in time. You'd considered just springing the idea on him; shoving the package into his hands, shoving him into the bathroom, and telling him to meet you in the bedroom once he was done, but that was far too mean. Instead, you’d gradually let him in on the plan, sprinkling small hints here and there, before unraveling the whole truth. 
“Muriel, it’s here!” you hollered, excitedly picking the box up off your front step. 
Fantasies of the fun to come swirled as you closed the door and walked into the cabin. One idea in particular stood out, something you had been planning for much longer than the rest. Muriel sat in the sun room, carving away at what you could only assume was part of your gift. As you emerged in the doorway he quickly hid his work, dark green irises meeting yours as you presented the box to him. 
“What’s this?” he asked, gently taking the container from your hands. 
“Remember what we talked about trying?” you asked, a small grin adorning your smile.
“This is that?” he questioned, tugging at the silk of the bow.
“Don’t open it yet, this is just your part,” you giggled, placing your hands on his to stop his motion. 
“Are we doing this right now?” he whispered, taking your hands in his, the warmth of his calloused palms spreading into your fingertips. 
“Sure, if you’re up for it,” you agreed. 
He stood up from his place, the box held to his waist as he leaned forward to kiss you. He smelled strongly of cedarwood, and the warmth he radiated was so inviting you almost wanted to forget about the plan. The kiss lasted a little longer than usual, and a pink tint dusted his cheeks as he pulled away. 
“Meet me in the bedroom once you're done,” you ordered, gently stroking your thumb across the stubble along his jawline. He gave you a small smile before parting ways. As you tiptoed to the bedroom your mind ran with thoughts of the tight lace against his honeyed skin; it was nearly impossible to wait for your fantasies to stand before you. You were quick to undress and get into your harness, despite nearly falling in the process. Worried he would return any minute, you fell back onto the bed, reveling in the comfort of the blankets and furs. His earthy scent danced around your head from the blanket beneath you; the familiar smell sent shocks downwards, and you began to wonder what was taking so long. 
“Muriel,” you called gently, hoping for a response at the very least.
Yet he was silent, and you waited impatiently atop the mattress. After several more minutes you rose, and walking to the bathroom you were silent. 
“Muriel,” you called again, “is everything alright in there?”
Again he remained quiet and a small tinge of anxiety sparked in your mind.
“Y-Yea, I guess,” he mumbled, the tone of his voice so much smaller and weaker than it had been only moments prior.
“Do you need help?” you asked, placing your ear to the door, “can I come in?” 
After his quiet approval, you pushed through the door, expecting to see him bent in some strange angle in an attempt to put on your present. Instead he sat on the edge of the tub, the forest green lace and small gold accents sitting beautifully, oh so tightly against his skin. He did not look at you, but rather kept his eyes turned to the floor. 
“Is everything ok?” you asked, hesitantly walking towards him
“Why did you buy this for me?” he asked, still refusing to meet your eyes. 
“Why? Because I wanted to see you in it, it looks really good on you,” you complimented, gently squeezing his thigh as you took a seat beside him.
“It l-looks so bad, I look so bad,” he whispered, turning his head away from you to face the wall. 
“What was that?” you asked, this time moving to grab him by the chin and force him to meet your eyes. 
“I-I don’t look good, I’m sorry,” he whispered, closing his eyes so he wouldn’t have to face you, and tightening his arms around himself.
“Muriel, you look so good,” you started, dragging your hand down his throat to the lacy green choker seated delicately above his collar bones. 
“The color matches your skin the way I knew it would, and it hugs you in all the right places like it should, you look good enough to eat,” you whispered, placing a soft kiss to his temple. Your hand continued to wander, first giving a tender tug to the golden bell around his throat, then tracing over the emerald elastic sat over his pectoral muscle before yanking it upwards to hear the snap it made against his skin. He lightly shuddered at this, and despite his embarrassed demeanor, leaned into your touch, positively reacting to your physical reassurance. Further down, you looped a finger beneath the corset style belt, watching as the gold pattern against the green moved with the expansion of your finger. 
“So tight,” you whispered, gently pulling back on the belt, admiring the way it made his waist look so much smaller. 
“Where did you learn to tie one of these?” you asked, running your hand against the small sliver of his bare skin between the belt and bra. 
“I don’t know, I just d-did what it said,” he answered, turning away from you yet again. 
He brought his hands up to the edge of the tub to lean back, further exposing himself to you. Finally, moving on from the belt you traced along the elastic against his hip. It was evident the panties were a size too small from the way the band dug into his skin, and the way his cock bulged out despite the fact that he wasn’t yet hard. Instead of giving him the pleasure of your touch, you ran your hand down his thigh, gently squeezing as you went along, thoroughly enjoying the feeling of his muscles tense. 
“ So, Muriel, how do you look?” you asked, withdrawing your hand to trace his figure with your pupils instead. He was hesitant to answer, looking from the tile on the floor, to the wall and back again. 
“R-really bad,” he mumbled, leaning forward again to appear smaller.
Without giving him time to think you took hold of his manhood, and his deep green irises finally meant yours.
“Wrong,” you growled, giving him an experimental squeeze, to which he groaned. “Get up,” you ordered, and he quickly obliged. 
Pulling him by his cock, you brought him before the mirror, but still his eyes remained downcast.
“How do you look, Muriel?” you asked again.
Rather than answer, he simply bowed his head and grumbled as a means of repeating his earlier response. With a hand against the small of his back, you pushed him forward so that his upper half leaned against the counter and he had no choice but to face the mirror. Taking up your place behind him, you gently pressed the silicon attachment against him, while leaving a trail of soft kisses along his spine. Each time your lips touched his hot skin he would shudder, arching against you. 
You reached forward to grab a handful of his dark luscious hair, before yanking his head back. 
“How do you look, Muriel?” you asked, though his eyes remained shut and he did not respond. You brought a flat palm to his ass, and watched him jump at the impact. 
“You’re not listening very well, you know,” you regarded him, rubbing his hips while pushing against him. 
“I-I’m sorry,” he groaned, pushing back against you, but putting his head back in his arms. 
“It’s no problem, I know how to make you listen,” you whispered, hooking a finger under the tight green elastic bands at his hips and gently tugging them down. You took note of the sharp breath he sucked in, and let out a quiet chuckle. 
It’s not long before the lube under the sink had been retrieved and two fingers prepped. 
“Ready?” you taunt, rubbing the slick on your fingers over his hole; at which he shuttered and gave a faint nod. Little time is wasted pressing your fingers into him, watching his back arch at the penetration and catching the nearly silent, guttural sound he lets out. You laugh again, taking your time stroking your two fingers over his insides. Though he tries to stay silent, little noises erupt from his chest time and time again, and you watch his legs get weak when you find that special spot. Eventually he begins rocking back against your fingers at his own pace, and you slowly add a third. His occasional noises turn into deep moans, and he refuses to lift his head from the counter; however judging from the deep red his shoulders and upper back have flushed, you would bet his face is the same color. 
“Are you ready, Muriel?” you ask, stopping his movements and slowly pulling your fingers out of him. 
“U-Uh-huh,” he groans, his legs shaking as he struggles to keep any sense of composure he has left. 
You're quick to rub lubricant over the strap, wanting nothing more than to elicit the sounds you know he’ll make; and to move on to the next part of the plan. Slapping the silicon against him, you align the tip with his entrance, and in his desire he pushes back against you. The moan that falls from his lips sounds almost relieved if it weren’t so muffled. 
Yet again, you reach forward to grab a handful of his hair, and pull his head back while you thrust forward, pushing the remaining length of silicon into him. The look on his face is one of pure pleasure, but it is unrivaled to the sound he makes. 
“Good boy,” you praise, slowly rocking your hips to give him pleasure. 
“Th-thank you, thank you,” he groans, trying to pull his head back down to rest in his arms. 
“Muriel,” you call, yanking his head back more firmly and pulling out until only the tip remains inside him, “how do you look?”
The expression on his face changes from one of lust to confusion, and then his eyebrows furrow in worry, he does not open his eyes, and if the red on his cheeks could flare any darker it would. 
“I-I,” he begins to mumble.
“If you want this dick,” you offer, “you’ll have to tell me you’re handsome.”
All is silent for a moment, his labored breath is loud, and it's easy to tell how eager he is as he tries to push his hips back against you. 
“Pl-please,” he groans, ignoring your request.
“Please what?” you ask, “you know what you have to do.”
Again he pauses, only the sound of his breath penetrating the silence as he contemplates your offer. If it would really be worth it to lose all shame, and give in to your orders. He can feel tears welling at the thought of such an embarrassment, or maybe just at his neediness. 
“I-I am…h-handsome,” he whispers, scrunching up his nose and barring his teeth while admitting it, voice so quiet it's nearly silent. 
“What was that?” you ask, tugging on his hair once more. 
“I-I a-am..”
“Open your eyes, handsome,” you order.
After a moment you catch a glimpse of his blown out pupils in the mirror; the forest green almost lost in a sea of black, and you smile. “Now, say it,” you order, thrusting the full length into him to remind him of hisreward. 
“I a-am hands-some,” he says, loud enough to hear. 
You give him a few more good thrusts, enjoying his oh-so deep mantra of groans that just seem to keep growing in pitch. 
“You are sexy,” you affirm, stopping the movement of your hips to leave a quick kiss on his back. 
“I am-m, s-sexy,” he whimpers, blown out pupils staring into themselves as you return to your pace. 
As your thrusts get deeper his voice gets louder, and eventually your hand holding his hair moves forward to hold his throat. The vibrations of his gravelly voice are prominent against your palm, and it takes everything in you not to press down and see how good that voice sounds choked. 
“You deserve this,” you moan, feeling your own coil tighten. 
“I-I, oh~, I d-deser-erve this,” he nearly yells, the pleasure from your movements consuming his every thought that dare form
It isn’t long before his legs are giving out, and he shivers at each thrust you give him, though those are quite random and uneven considering your legs aren’t in much better shape. You grab hold of his hips to hopefully stabilize yourself, as you take in, for the last time, just how good he looks in lace. With a few more thrusts his voice is high and breaking, and he tenses as much as his body will allow, cumming untouched solely at this feeling of your strap. Your release follows shortly after and you collapse against him. The sweat on his skin sticking to yours, as some final post-orgasimal shivers flow through the both of you. 
“Thank y-you,” he mumbles, reaching out behind him to languidly stroke your arm. 
“O-of course, thank you, you were a very good boy,” you huff, lazily pushing yourself off of him, and slowly easing the strap out. 
After a few moments he pushes himself up too, still unsure of his legs, and wraps you in a hug. Though it's sweaty, and neither of you are entirely confident in your ability to stand, the beat of his heart is the most comforting sound you have ever heard; and you can only think about what it means to you. 
“We should probably shower,” he whispers, gently stroking your hair. 
“Probably so,” you agree, pulling away from his warm skin to turn the shower on. 
“That was honestly one of the best anniversary gifts ever,” he whispers sheepishly. 
“Just so long as you know how much you mean to me,” you smile, carefully removing your harness so as not to fall. 
He only manages a smile, following you into the shower with the thought of just how he would finish your ring. 
26 notes · View notes
katy-kt-katie · 2 years
Text
COMPLETE FICLIST
(updated 5/2023)
I tried to sort these into categories.
Within each category they are sorted by AO3 kudos.
💕: My Personal Favorite Fics, 😵‍💫: Diana Angst 🔥:First Time
Tumblr media
Multi-Chapter Fics:
🔥A Rose Petal and a Fish Tank: Mulder and Scully awkwardly discuss their lack of intimate action post "Never Again." Follows their journey through Redux II. EXPLICIT, 18K
😵‍💫🔥Couples Retreat: Mulder and Scully are asked to go undercover at a Couples Retreat. There's nothing odd about a shared hotel room, intimacy exercises, and couples therapy between platonic partners, right?? Undercover / One Bed Trope. Casefic, EXPLICIT, 12K
💕🔥What Happens on Ka'ula 🌴: Mulder and Scully are sent to investigate a mysterious deadly illness on a remote island. Fuck or Die Trope. Casefic, EXPLICIT, 17K
🔥The Wedding Party: Mulder and Scully attend a wedding, pretend to be together, and well...Do you believe that it's game over for them as soon as they kiss? Fluff. EXPLICIT, 13K // Part two: The Video Tape: Skinner needs to talk to Mulder and Scully about something he's discovered. EXPLICIT, 3K
💕😵‍💫🔥Phone Echoes: Mulder's temporarily assigned with Phoebe Green in France and Scully is temporarily assigned with Diana in D.C. They end up on the phone accidentally on a free day, just after "The Rain King". Phone Sex Trope. EXPLICIT, 15K
💕🔥Patient Petrie and Dr. Fox: Scully is on a long-term undercover assignment. Mulder is missing her and loses it when she fails to report in for a day. Undercover Trope. EXPLICIT, 9K
🔥Truth Serum Experiment: Skinner asks Mulder and Scully to try a truth serum that the government has obtained since they have "no secrets" between each other. (We all know better). Truth Serum Trope. Casefic, EXPLICIT, 8K
💕🔥The American President: An X-Files AU of the film, "The American President." You do not need to have seen the movie to enjoy the story. Widowed President Dana Scully meets F.B.I. Agent Fox Mulder. EXPLICIT, 19K
🔥Mastermind: What if we told you none of it was accidental? That once Dana Scully met Fox Mulder, she knew she had to force them into a partnership, a friendship, and a relationship. EXPLICIT, 20K *Co-written with TofuttiM
🔥Superstars of the Superbowls: Why did Mulder give Scully the VHS tape gift in "One Breath?" EXPLICIT, 3K
One Shots: First Time
🔥Three Rooms: 😵‍💫 When Mulder and Scully join Diana and Spender on a case in the field, an errant Motel reservation leads to a shift for our favorite "platonic" partners. Season 6, Post "The Rain King." One Bed Trope. EXPLICIT, 3K *My first ever Fan Fiction writing!
💕🔥Fused: A first-time story. Could be any season. An unremarkable day by any definition until they were walking back to their motel, and their hands inadvertently grazed. PWP, EXPLICIT, 1.4K
🔥Keine Unruhe: Post Unruhe: after almost getting lobotomized by Gerry Schnauz, a shaken-up Scully is visited by a shaken-up Mulder. Comfort / Care EXPLICIT, 1K
💕😵‍💫🔥A Partnership in Notes: Post Memento Mori: After reading Scully's journal, Mulder leaves a note for Scully in their desk. Realizing they can say things in writing that can't be said in person, notes lead to confessions and shifts in their relationship. EXPLICIT, 4K
🔥Banter: Mulder and Scully banter about how skilled they are in bed- this leads to a semi-awkward first encounter that settles into a hot and happy first time. EXPLICIT, 1K
💕🔥The Comments Section of F.M. Luder's Fan Fiction: Mulder admits a new hobby to Scully- writing fan fiction. Fantasies and feelings are revealed as a result. Meta Trope, EXPLICIT, 3K
🔥Platonic Partners Meeting in the Airplane Lavatory: Mulder and Scully struggle to find the privacy to debrief each other after the Congressional session in "Terma." They finally find some privacy in very close quarters. Frottage trope, EXPLICIT, 2K
🔥Intervention: Mulder is distraught post-Oubliette. How does Scully help him get grounded again? Comfort /Care, EXPLICIT, 1K
🔥I Tried a Subway Sandwich Bag: Shameless Crack fic about Mulder's GIANT Schlong. Sorry, not sorry. CW: This is just CRACK FIC. EXPLICIT, 1K
🔥Call me on my cellphone: Scully calls Mulder on his cellphone, late night when he needs her... BORDERLINE CRACK FIC. EXPLICIT, 1K
One Shots: Established Relationship
Home Early: Mulder comes home early from a case and finds Scully in a compromising position post-revival. EXPLICIT, 500W
💕Hard Avocadoes Make Spicy Guacamole 🥑: After recently starting a new relationship, Mulder watches as Scully makes him brunch. EXPLICIT, 700W
Lightning Strikes- Maybe Once, Maybe Twice: Mulder reminisces about Scully in the rain. MATURE, 1K
Baby, Why are you frowning?:Mulder and Scully have a discussion about facial expressions during a post "Forehead Sweat" lovemaking session. MATURE, 500W
💕Foxes on the Run: Mulder finds a tattoo Scully got while they were apart. MATURE, 300W
Love Games Series:
💕🔥The Counting Game: Platonic Partners Mulder and Scully end up playing a dangerous game while sharing a bed in "The Rain King". EXPLICIT, 1.5K
🔥Ms. Lovely's Speed Dating Extravaganza: Scully and Mulder end up at the same speed dating event and can't seem to focus on anyone but each other. AU: Melissa was never killed; probably set around season 5. MATURE, 8K
💕🔥The Whispering Game: Mulder and Scully start to whisper more after he found the spy surveilling his apartment in Gethsemane/ Redux Arc. The whispers evolve to NSFW topics. EXPLICIT, 4K
The Cosmo Quiz: Mulder and Scully end up reading a Cosmopolitan Magazine Quiz together. Realizations and awakenings result! MATURE, 2K
😵‍💫🔥Staring Across a U-Shaped Booth: The whole crew is at Karaoke for Holly's Birthday. Mulder arrives with Diana, and Scully is crushed. EXPLICIT, 5K
Electric Love: Scully hops on the fad of kissing your best friend! TEEN, 600W
The End Episode (5.20) Series:
😵‍💫🔥I Want to Believe: 15:15-Conversation between Scully and Mulder just after they meet Diana. EXPLICIT, 4K
😵‍💫🔥Conflict Resolution Techniques: 30:48-Skinner wants Mulder and Scully to agree on how to proceed with Gibson's scans. EXPLICIT, 2K
💕😵‍💫🔥Already in a Relationship: 30:48-Scully is shaken after a bizarre conversation with Diana in the elevator. What had Mulder told Diana about her? EXPLICIT, 3K
😵‍💫🔥Key to Mulder's: 36:30-Diana notices that Scully has a key to Mulder's place. EXPLICIT, 3K 🔊LISTEN on AFP
😵‍💫🔥Spoon: 41:28-Scully is talking to Skinner on the phone while Mulder lies on the couch. EXPLICIT, 3K
😵‍💫🔥Farther: 45:00-Mulder and Scully are given time off after their office fire. How do they regain their footing? EXPLICIT 2K
Exchange Fics:
😵‍💫🔥The Cow and the Kiss: Rain King one bed fic, jealousy over Sheila getting to kiss Mulder. Tickling. EXPLICIT, 7K
💕Not a Widely Understood Definition: Scully overhears Mulder and Ellen’s conversation—“significant other? / Not in the widely understood definition”— in “Chimera”. Follows them through “All Things”. EXPLICIT, 4K
Mulder on the Witness Stand: Mulder is asked to testify as a character witness about Scully, post Never Again. He has to defend her, and some feelings are revealed under oath. TEEN, 3K
Chroma: Maggie has Mulder and Scully over for Dinner post-Wetwired. She prods a little like moms do; they all get drunk, and Mulder develops a slight obsession with the color red. TEEN, 2K
💕🔥The Stranger Shaman: Mulder and Scully investigate a series of abductions at a camp in rural Tennessee. Casefic, EXPLICIT, 16K
An Alien Urine Sample and a Soft, Furry Bigfoot: Scully is struggling to deal with the deaths of her dad and Jack Willis. Mulder realizes she needs a distraction and takes her on a trip. TEEN, 8K
Other MSR Fics:
Sloppy: A peek at an MSR kiss, post Millennium. NOT RATED, 600W
Bureau's Biggest Boy Toys: Mulder is asked to be featured in an FBI Calendar MATURE 1.6K
Speedo and the Stairmaster: What happens when Mulder and Scully get their endorphins going at the gym. MATURE, 800W
Love Slap: Scully reflects on when she realized she wanted to marry Mulder. MATURE, 600W
Just Like Comity: Years later, Mulder and Scully run into Detective White. NOT RATED, 800W
Spooky: Mulder and Scully missed each other while working separately during "Chimera." Dancing Trope. TEEN, 1K
Scully's Necklace: What ever happened to Scully’s necklace from Squeeze? TEEN, 500W
Polars Bears and A Fox: What does Maggie think of Fox Mulder? Through "Wetwired" NOT RATED, 2K
Mulder's Place: Scully is a bit shaken up after the encounter with Tooms in "Squeeze." Here's her first ever visit to Mulder's apartment. TEEN, 2K
Mulder at the Dentist: Mulder is drugged at the Dentist. TEEN, 500W
Mulder, Fox Mulder, 007: What did Scully tell Detective Ryan about Mulder in the episode "Soft Light"? GENERAL AUD, 400W
💕Muddy Mulder: Mulder is COVERED in mud post Schizogeny. Can Scully help him get cleaned up? MATURE, 1K
💕😵‍💫Movie at Mulder's: In Hollywood AD, the scene where Scully comes to Mulder's apartment at 3 a.m. to watch a movie, happens during the "18 Months Ago" flashback, which means squarely in the DIANA ARC. What might have occurred the next morning at work? MATURE, 400W 🔊LISTEN on AFP
Short, Enigmatic Redhead: Mulder's thoughts post First Person Shooter. TEEN, 300W
😵‍💫Mulder's Couch Needs Cleaned: A peek into a possible divergent scene in Biogenesis. **if you get to the middle and panic, it might not be what you think it is. NOT RATED, 1K
She's My Gauge: What led Krycek to explaining Scully was a "much larger problem than you described" at the End of "Sleepless"? TEEN, 500W
Writers Exercises / Workshops / Tag / Twitter Prompts:
💕😵‍💫🔥Eden: Writer's Tag for "One Son." MATURE, 7K
🔥The Amazing Muldeeni: Writer's Tag for "The Amazing Maleeni." MATURE, 5K
🔥Anahata: The Heart Chakra: Writer's Tag for "All Things." MATURE, 4K
Uncle Vincent: Open Prompt Challenge: Difficult to please family. MATURE, 1.5K
💕🔥Agent Scully is Already in Love: Writer's Tag for "Milagro." MATURE, 6K
First Sentence Prompts: Various Prompts form the "first sentence" Challenge on Twitter NOT RATED, 3K
December 2022 Writer's Workshop: Audio FanFic Pod hosted workshop prompts! NOT RATED, 1K
Fictober Tumblr Ficlets: Various Fictober Ficlets. NOT RATED, 2.5K
Gillovny: Real Person Fiction
Why They Didn't Wish Each Other Happy Birthday Over Social Media: Why the quiet in 2022-they were busy with other things and lots of penises. MATURE, 1K
Tumblr media
62 notes · View notes
jake-g-lockley · 2 years
Text
Double Wedding Bells (Moon Knight x desi!reader)
Masterlist
Summary: Three men and two very different wedding ceremonies, how hard could that be?
Tumblr media
Warnings: I am not Jewish or Telugu so there might be some things that are not precisely accurate, almost all of the stuff that is ceremony-wise is gotten through research, mentions of DID.
Word Count: 1.8k words
A/N: This is a request from @sodonuthideout thank you so much for giving me the opportunity to write this <3333 (translations are at the end of the fic, enjoy)
Moon Boys POV
Marc fidgets with his cufflinks again, tugging the edge of his suit as he frowns at Steven and Jake in the mirror.
“We look fine, hermano, calm your nerves.” Jake says, giving Marc a smile. 
“Yea, bruv, we cleaned up pretty well.” Steven chimed in with a blinding grin. 
“I can’t believe that we’re getting married to her.” Marc whispers. 
After 2 and a half years of courting Y/N, the boys decided about 2 months ago that it was time to pop the important question. They knew that they didn't want to spend the rest of their life with anyone else if it wasn’t her. She was their lucky charm, the light to their darkness and so much has gone so well for them over the past few years that Marc could hardly believe it.
He had reconciled with his father and they both had been going to therapy sessions where Marc has been dealing with his past traumas and DID. His relationship with Y/N had never been better and although he was still Moon Knight, Khonshu has been much more relaxed over the past few months. 
“Looking great, my Knight.” Khonshu says, patting Marc’s shoulders. 
A knock sounded at the door and Marc’s father opened the door and peeked through. He walked up to Marc and smiled at him, taking in his son. He adjusted his tie and Marc saw a tear slip from his fathers eyes, which he automatically brushed off his face.  
“I’m so proud of the man that you have become, my son. Thank you for taking me back into your life.” his father says, cupping Marc’s face with his hands. “It's time.”
Taking a deep breath and adjusting his kippah, Marc followed his father out of the room.
☾ .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
Marc stared at the ketubah, waiting for Y/N. He nervously looked at the rabbi who smiled reassuringly back at him. Soon, the sweet smell of roses mixed with the heavenly smell of Y/N’s signature perfume floated towards him. When Marc turned to look at her, he swore that he could have been knocked off his feet in an instant. 
She was wearing a beautiful pure white lace saree with a long sleeved blouse, topped with a stunning veil that was cascading down her perfectly curled hair down her back.  The veil was a small gift from Khonshu, who had a soft spot for Y/N, and Marc could see little silver crescent moons on the veil glowing slightly, making her look absolutely ethereal while she clutched the modest bouquet of white roses. He almost didn’t hear Steven and Jake audibly gasp in the headspace as he stared dreamily at her. 
She reached out and gave Marc’s hand a soothing squeeze and the both of them turned to look at the ketubah, reading it and signing it with Marc’s father and the rabbi as witnesses. Marc then turned back to her, as instructed by the rabbi, and took a long look at her beautiful smiling face before he veilling her. 
He then stepped forward to take his place beside his father as she took her place in the middle of her parents. To Marc, this was probably the most overwhelming part of the ceremony where he had to walk to the chuppah lacking one parent. 
“It's alright, Marc, Jake and I are here with you every step of the way.” Steven’s voice fills Marc’s pounding heart with the supportive affirmation and he realigns himself again as they begin to walk down the aisle. 
Marc took his place on the right of the decorated chuppah while Y/N took her place in front of him, her parents behind her. They only invited a few people that were very close to them for this ceremony. Marc caught Frenchie’s eye, who gave him a wink and Marc grinned back at his old friend. The various rituals and blessings went by quicker than Marc expected it to. 
The guest cheered “Mazel tov!” as Marc hears the glass shatter under his heel. He turned to look at his Y/N who was smiling at him with the most beautiful look on her face.
“Ready for the other ceremony, my handsome husbands?” she whispers. 
“Ready when you are, our angelic wife.” 
Your POV
You stared down at the beautiful gorintaku that covered both of your arms as your mom helped you with your nakshi vaddanam, a beautiful but heavy pure gold belt that adorned your belly. The vaddanam was a gift from Steven, who had carefully picked out the belt after thoroughly researching it, finding one that suited your style as well as complemented your tradition. 
They had popped the question on a random Tuesday night when you were lying on their lap reading a book with your tongue between your teeth and a stupid expression on your face as you judged the book characters actions. Marc was the one who was fronting when the question was asked and it was so fluid, as if he was asking what's for dinner the next day. 
You remember staring down at the band that Marc was holding between his fingers absolutely confused. Your mind had refused to work for a few seconds until Marc’s soft cough filled your ringing ears. You could barely form the words to say yes to the question because of the sheer shock that was coursing through your head. 
Your best friend, who is also your maid of honor, grabbed the eyelash glue and tapped a little on your forehead, helping your papidi billa stick to your forehead, right above the special gold amulet that was tied with yellow thread. You felt like a real regal queen in your red and gold saree. The veil that was gifted by Khonshu for the Jewish ceremony had magically shifted colors to match your saree, now a sheer gold with tiny glowing gold crescents and was pinned to the top of your braid that had been done up with fresh fragrant flowers. 
You couldn't wait to get married to your boys again and you could feel the waterworks starting up. You were so exhausted with all the prep you had to do but so excited to start your new life with the boys. The nerves started edging up on you this morning and all you wanted to do is see their face and feel their presence next to you. 
“Come, kanna, it's time to go up to the mandapam.” Your mother says, pressing a small kiss on your temple.  
You say a little prayer, hoping that everything would go as smooth as possible and you grab your best friend’s hand, taking a deep breath to diminish the nerves. 
☾ .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
You take your place in the middle chair between your parents, behind the curtain called the terasala, which was hiding Marc from your view and the ceremony starts. You watch as your parents wash his feet and offer him your hand. Marc states his promises after accepting your hand and you feel your eyes tearing up again, listening to his soft sweet voice. 
The priest calls the auspicious time as cumin and jaggery paste is smeared on your hand. You lift your hand over the curtain until you feel Marc’s soft curls under your hand and you feel his hand on your head. The curtain drops and you see Marc for the first time, wearing a silk white kurta and dhoti with the same amulet tied around his forehead. You grin at him as rose petals cascade over the both of you.
All you could focus on is Marc’s beautiful deep set eyes and how you are doing this so that you could spend the rest of your living days staring into those adoring eyes. Those eyes flashed to Steven and then to Jake and back again to Marc. You wanted all of them, the good, the bad and the ugly. You never wanted anything more in your life. 
He sends you a small wink as the both of you lower your hands and the priest hands him the mangalsutra. Yellow rice rains around you and him as the music around you crescendos.
Marc leans in and ties the sacred yellow thread smeared with haldi around your neck with three knots. 
“I love you, I love you so much.” he whispers.
“I love you too.” you say as tears run down your face, the feeling of peace settling in you as Marc seals the eternal action with an unceremonious kiss on your forehead. 
☾ .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
Translations:
Hermano: Brother
Kippah: A kippah, yarmulke, or koppel is a brimless cap, usually made of cloth, traditionally worn by Jewish males to fulfill the customary requirement that the head be covered. 
Ketubah: A ketubah is a Jewish marriage contract.
Chuppah:  A canopy under which the bride and groom stand during a Jewish wedding ceremony.
Mazel tov: "Mazel tov" or "mazal tov" is a Jewish phrase used to express congratulations for a happy and significant occasion or event. 
Gorintaku: AKA henna. Temporary body art resulting from the staining of the skin from the dyes.
Nakshi vaddanam: This ornament is worn on the belly of the bride. In earlier days, this belt had a lot of significance as it was a symbol showing the woman’s child-bearing abilities. The Vaddanam would often be designed with precious and semi-precious beautiful stones. Most often, this belt would be carved with different images of Lord Vishnu, Goddess Lakshmi and her consort
Papidi billa: “Papidi billa”(maang tikka) is a piece of jewelry worn in the middle of parting of the hair and is meant for adorning the forehead. 
Saree: A sari or saree is a women's garment from the Indian subcontinent, that consists of an un-stitched stretch of woven fabric arranged over the body as a robe, with one end tied to the waist, while the other end rests over one shoulder as a stole (shawl), baring a part of the midriff
Kanna: Darling
Mandapam: A wedding Mandap is a mandap (covered structure with pillars) temporarily erected for the purpose of a Hindu or Jain wedding. The main wedding ceremonies take place under the mandap.
Terasala: Tera means curtain and sela is cloth. So, it literally means a cloth used as a curtain, between the bride and the groom.
Kurta: A loose collarless shirt of a type worn by people in South Asia
Dhoti: A garment worn by male Hindus, consisting of a piece of material tied around the waist and extending to cover most of the legs.
Mangalsutra: In many parts of India a pendant necklace — called a mangalsutra, or “auspicious thread,” is tied around a Hindu bride's neck during the wedding ceremony, a symbol that the couple is bound in matrimony and an indication of the bride's new status as a married woman
Tagging: @pakhiya @brekkers-desigirl @wordacadabra @ahookedheroespureheart @swiggy-needs-mental-help @mintpurplemnm @soumya-13 @softieekayy
129 notes · View notes
invisibleraven · 10 months
Text
Growing old can go to hell
Reggie's twenty first birthday is not something he's exactly looking forward to. Thankfully Ray and Rose are there to help him through it.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY @innytoes!
As a present, I wrote you angst set in your amazing Reggie is the one who survives AU verse.
I hope you enjoy!
On AO3!
Reggie’s first birthday after The Orpheum is a haze. He spent most of his days then so deep in grief that every moment seemed to blur together. He slept when he could, but he was so often plagued by nightmares that he’s not sure when he’s awake or asleep or anything. Those were dark days, and he’s really not sure when he quite surfaced to even note that he was any older.
The next year Reggie is in therapy, but he’s also trying to write music again, trying to live again. It’s hard, and he loses more days than he gains in staring at his notebook, blank of all the things he longs to say. Rose and Ray try to encourage him, but there’s only so much he can do. He’s taken to sitting in the shower, letting the water wash away the black, bleak thoughts that consume him, but he tries not to do it too often. The days still all seem to swim together, so he never really registers when he’s suddenly nineteen.
Twenty is spent in the hospital. He tripped over a cord helping set up at a Petal Pushers show, busting his ankle. The nurse who processes his paperwork is the first one to wish him a happy birthday, and he knows he nods in acknowledgement, but that’s it.
Rose and Ray are a bit dismayed that he never shared his birthday with them. He’d certainly celebrated theirs over the past few years, but never his own. He tells them that he’s never been one for birthdays, it’s fine, he’d rather not do anything. They aren’t happy about it, but they accept the lie.
Which it blatantly is.
Because as a kid, Reggie loved his birthday. MeeMaw would always make him a cake, heaped with frosting and sprinkles, singing in her warm southern drawl with Pops strumming along on his banjo. Gifting him with books, toys, and when he was old enough, a horse named Jake. His parents would not be as warm, mainly ensuring he got clothes and things he needed, but it was a day they didn’t fight, which was enough for him.
But then they moved away from Georgia, and his birthdays kind of just… stopped. Money was tighter, so Reggie understood. He bought himself a snack cake from the 7-11 and quietly sang to himself from then on.
Well until he met his boys.
Luke, Alex, and Bobby always made a big deal of birthdays. Their families all sucked, so they made sure they all had a day that they felt loved by the people that really mattered. They would get each other a cake from the grocery store, and while the presents might be a roll of tokens from the arcade or a pizza, or a new guitar strap, they were filled with love. Plus they would end the night with a jam session and their favourite movies.
Reggie never thought when he ended his seventeenth birthday, falling asleep against Luke’s shoulder while Return of the Jedi played on, would be the last he would celebrate that way.
This year was somehow all the worse though, because they had made plans for this year. Getting into a real bar without having to use the truly awful fakes that Bobby had gotten them. Drinking something that wasn’t the watered down beer Alex stole from his dad in a fit of rebellion. Going to every bar and trying to get a gig there now that they were legally allowed in.
But now they wouldn’t get to do any of that.
And Reggie broke down into sobs when it hit him that Luke, Alex, and Bobby never would. They would never be any older than seventeen. They would never have a real ID to use on the disinterested bouncers on the Strip, or be able to buy their first legal drink.
Reggie knew he needed to keep living, Dr. Butler and him had many a long talk about not giving into despair, that he needed to keep going, live the life his boys never would. Which was what he had to do, because Reggie was 21 now, and soon enough he’d be 22, 25, 30… he would keep on aging, getting older.
Alone.
No, that wasn’t fair. He might not have the guys any longer, but he still had Ray and Rose. The two loves of his life, who supported him in every way, who picked him back up when things were the bleakest. He could still celebrate with them. Grow old with them, even if Ray had forbidden cracks about the few years that separated them long ago.
He was sure Rose was just waiting to ask what he wanted to do for his birthday, and while the temptation to say nothing was there, he decided that for them, he could celebrate again. Just… not in the same way, that would be too hard.
Sure enough, it was a day or two later that Rose pounced. Well, more so made circles with her finger on his chest as they all came down from their orgasms, Ray snuggled into his other side, a mere moment away from dreamland.
“So tesoro,” Rose started. “It’s your birthday in a few days.”
“Yup.”
“What do you want to do? It’s a bit late to plan a surprise party…”
“Oh God, don’t do that,” Reggie pleaded with a grimace. “I hate surprise parties.”
“We could have a few people over?” Ray suggested sleepily. “Tori and the Petal Pushers, maybe a few people from the studio?” He nuzzled his nose behind Reggie’s ear, then along his jaw, and even as sated as Reggie was, the move still made him shiver.
“I think I’d rather just have a quiet night in with the two of you,” Reggie confessed. “Eat some cake, go to bed early.”
“Are you sure? Twenty one is a big one, we have no problem making a big fuss, or going out to a bar with you,” Rose offered.
“No,” Reggie shook his head. “Just… low key birthday at home. That’s all I want.”
“Can we at least get you a present?” Ray asked.
“Nothing big,” Reggie said. “I… birthdays are hard for me. I just want to get through the day.”
“We don’t have to celebrate if you don’t want to,” Rose whispered, pressing a kiss to his heart.
“I know you want to though,” Reggie said, lifting her hand to press a kiss to her knuckles, then repeating the motion to Ray. “You’ve both done so much for me, the least I can do is let you throw me a bit of a birthday.”
“Red velvet cake then?” Rose said with a smirk.
“My favourite,” Reggie said with a smile.
“Pizza, cake, presents, sounds like a good birthday to me,” Ray remarked with a yawn. “Sleep first though.”
The other two agreed, and before long, they were all asleep, and Reggie smiled as he dreamed of cake.
~
The day of Reggie’s birthday was gray and misty, which he thought fitting, as it matched his gloomy mood. How could he even think of celebrating? Here he was, alive and healthy while his best friends were dead, and if it weren’t for fate, Reggie would have-should have-died with them. It wasn’t fair that he got to grow older, to live life to the fullest when their lives were just… over.
He peered open his bleary eyes, wiping his palm over his face. It was rare he slept alone these days, but he had begged for solitude the night before, and his partners had granted it. Probably for the best, since he had no wish to see them. To see their disappointment when he could barely manage to get up, let alone spend the day acknowledging his birth.
He groped for the phone, finally bringing it to him, and sighed. He should call someone, let them absorb his worries and guilt, absolve him of his melancholy. Only… who on Earth would he call?
Alex, Luke, and Bobby were gone, and he had little to nothing to do with their families. Bobby’s lola Celia was the only exception, but she was in a home now, and he felt weird calling her so early. He knew that Luke’s parents had tried reaching out a few times, but after no response from him, they stopped. Reggie couldn’t find it in him to talk to Emily, to look her in the eye and explain why her darling boy was gone, but he was still here.
He hadn’t seen or spoken to his own parents since that fateful July day, and that was a mere “I’m going out!” at them while they argued. He’s not sure where they think he is, and he had only gone back to get his things when he knew they were out. Sure, it was cowardly, but without the guys to back him, Reggie knew returning to that house would only spell disaster.
He could call MeeMaw. He should call MeeMaw honestly. He was all she had left really, and they talked every week for the most part. But then he remembered that she was out with some of her friends on some cruise or another. She had told him she’d try to call if she could get reception, but if not, she’d ensure they had a long jaw when she got back, and that his card was in the mail.
But Reggie called none of those options, instead dialing a very familiar number, oh so slowly rotating the dial for each one, and then hoping and praying that there would be no answer as the call connected.
“Dr. Butler’s office, Inez speaking.”
“H-hi Inez, it’s Reggie,” he said softly. “Is she free?”
“Oh hi babe, lemme see… Yes, she had a cancellation this morning. Gimme a sec and I’ll patch you through.”
“Thanks Inez, you’re a doll.”
“Anything for you sweetcheeks,” Inez giggled. Reggie knew the woman enjoyed their little flirtations, she claimed they made her feel young again. Even when Reggie protested that forty five was not old, nor did she look it. “Oh and Reg? Happy Birthday.”
Reggie was sure he choked out a thanks as the hold music played, his grip on the phone almost white knuckled. Finally the awful tuneless gibber was done, and the smokey voice of Pepper echoed down the line. “I was wondering when you were gonna call.”
“Hey Pep.”
“Hey sweetie, doing okay?”
Reggie gave a mirthless laugh. “What do you think?”
Pepper hummed. “Well I don’t know Reginald, I’m not a mind reader, remember. That’s the whole point of you coming to me right? So you can tell me how you’re feeling and I come up with ways to help you cope or deal or whatever it is you need. So I’ll ask again, how are you?”
“Pretty shitty, honestly,” Reggie admitted. Then told her how he was feeling-the black mire of guilt that he was here and his friends were not. That they never would be, and the unfairness of it all.
“It is unfair, yes,” Pepper said. “But it’s not your fault Reggie, we’ve been over this.”
“But if I hadn’t gotten distracted by that dog…”
“Then you might have very well eaten the street dogs too and be dead as well.”
“Maybe I should be,” Reggie said. “It feels… wrong that I’m not.”
“Do you think any of your friends would feel that way if it had been them that survived instead of you?” Pepper asked. They’d gone through this dialogue so many times before, and Reggie knew what his depressed brain wanted to say, and what answer Pepper wanted to hear.
“No,” he sighed. “They would keep living, keep going. Which is what I need to do.”
“Good,” Pepper hummed. “First step though; get through today. I know it’s going to be hard, but you’ve got your partners there with you, and I’m just a phone call away.”
Reggie slowly breathed out of his nose, centering himself. “I know.”
“You got this kiddo,” Pepper said reassuringly. “Now go demolish a slice of cake for me and I’ll see you next week.”
“Thanks Pep.”
“Happy Birthday Reggie.”
There’s a knock on the door as he places the phone back on the receiver, and he calls out a hello. Ray and Rose tentatively open the door, apprehensive smiles on their faces, and Reggie grins, beckoning them closer. Moaning when he sees the try piled high with breakfast.
“Figured we’d start the day off right at the very least,” Ray says, pressing a kiss to his temple.
“You sleep okay?” Rose asks, swiping a piece of toast as Reggie takes a deep drink of the coffee they brought, already doctored just the way he likes it-black as night with enough sugar to kill a man.
“Not especially,” Reggie admits, taking a bite of the crispy bacon. “Nightmares and the like.”
“You know you can always come to us when you can’t sleep tesoro,” Ray reminds him.
“I know, but I was tossing and turning-I wanted at least you two to have a good night’s sleep,” Reggie replies. “Plus it just means we can all snuggle and have a nap later.”
“Devious ulterior motive,” Rose says.
After that there’s little talking as they polish off the food, and as much as he wants to, Reggie doesn’t ask what their plan is. He knows that if he does, he’ll protest them making a big deal out of him. Instead goes with the flow, lets them put the dishes away and then lets himself be pulled into a hot bubble bath. He sighs with contentment the moment he sinks into the water, head lolling against Ray’s shoulder, hands coming up to embrace Rose. Giggling when she pokes his side, wiggling her eyebrows and motioning to under the water where he is poking her.
Reggie really loves baths okay?
They stay in the bath a while, sloshing the water about, until their skin is pruned, their legs are wobbly, and they are freshly cleaned under the shower spray after making the bath water just a little dirty. The warm towel envelops Reggie and he laughs when Ray uses it to ruffle his hair, while Rose frees her curls from the bun she had sported in the bath.
From there they get dressed, all casual lazing around clothes, and Reggie takes a small comfort in his favourite flannel, welcoming him and shielding him a little, like it was armour instead of worn cotton.
They spend the rest of the morning in the garden. Rose has the green thumb of the three of them, and she putters around, tending to her flowers while Ray weeds, adding the pile to the compost. Reggie takes out his acoustic, strumming idly and fetches them a pitcher of lemonade to enjoy as the sun grows higher in the sky. He’s learned long ago that he and plants don’t get along, so aside from watering the ones that fill the studio-his own form of meditation and prayer-he tends not to touch the greenery, lest he kill it all.
Lunch is simple grilled cheese, eaten on the patio, the radio playing softly and Reggie gives a soft smile as one of the songs that comes on is one of his. A sweet tender ballad about lost love that Rose helped him pen. She had refused the credit, but Reggie still sneaks half the residuals from it into her account every month and Ray pretends he doesn’t know when she questions them both about the extra money.
The afternoon is spent napping. Reggie curls in between Ray and Rose on their bed, sighing in comfort as he sinks into the mattress. Inhaling their combined scent, the sweet apple pie scent of their fabric softener, the flowery scent of Rose, the more citrusy scent of Ray, and Reggie’s own smell-the cedar and bergamot aftershave that Alex had bought him one year and he kept buying even if it wasn’t his favourite, just to keep that part of him alive.
He sleeps fitfully at first, but Rose just grips him tighter, singing soft lullabies in Spanish, while Ray adorns his face and neck with soft kisses that eventually helps settle his restless being. He awakens as it gets close to supper time, stretching and yawning. He’s slightly surprised to find Ray and Rose there with him, but ultimately pleased. Rose is reading a book while Ray is quietly doing a crossword puzzle, both of them smiling down at him.
“Good nap?” Ray asks quietly.
“Much needed,” Reggie replies around a yawn. “Thanks for staying.”
“Never an issue hun,” Rose assures him, leaning down for a simple kiss before they all slowly leave the bed. Rose calls for pizza, and they devour it in front of the television, watching some of Reggie’s favourites; The Breakfast Club, Star Wars, and Labyrinth.
“Time for cake?” Ray asks as Bowie starts to sing.
“Cake?’ Reggie asks, then freezes. He had forgotten it was his birthday. He had simply spent a day with his loves, as they had never mentioned it. A wave of feeling washed over him. “Yeah, sure, cake.” He knew his voice was low and sad, but…
“We won’t sing, or make you wear the hat if you don't want,” Rose said.
“No no it’s just…’ Reggie starts, wiping at the tears starting to form in his eyes. And just lets loose all his hang ups about this day. A torrent of grief and regret, and guilt, so much guilt. But Rose and Ray hold him through it all, clean his face when he’s done. And promise to always be there, to remind him of what he needs to-what he has to live for.
They might not understand, but Reggie’s eternally grateful for the two of them, and with watery eyes and a snotty smile, urges Rose to get the cake. “Think I need it after all that.”
Ray jumps up and gets them all stupid party hats, Reggie not even complaining when the elastic cuts into his chin. Manages to keep smiling as Rose enters with the cake, a deep red colour coated in heaps of frosting, a few candles burning atop it. Rose and Ray sing Happy Birthday to him, in Spanish and English, even though Ray is horribly off tune, and Rose is trying her best not to laugh at his horrid singing.
Reggie looks at the dripping wax, and knows he should make a wish. But the one thing he wishes for, he can’t have. No amount of candles will bring his boys back. Instead he wishes for happiness, for the hurt to lessen, and for many more birthdays like this one, surrounded by the loves of his life.
The cake is delicious, as always, and Reggie wonders if he can get away eating another slice for breakfast the next day. Then it’s time for presents. Reggie protests that they didn’t have to get him anything, but Rose holds a finger up to his lips to silence him.
“It’s your birthday, presents are mandatory,” she says. “Plus we spent very little on them, so shush and open them.”
Rose gives him a little coupon book; a get out of dishes card, a massage, breakfast for dinner, silly little things that he can turn in anytime before next year. He loves it, and tells her so. Ray hands him a framed photo of the three of them, squished together in a hammock and looking radiantly happy, Reggie can’t even remember the photo being taken, but he does recall the contentment he felt at that moment, and kisses both of his partners in thanks.
“We have one more,” Ray says, and he looks almost… apprehensive as he hands the box over.
Reggie tears the paper off, and sucks in a breath. It’s a scrapbook, and the cover has the Sunset Curve logo across it. With trembling fingers he opens it, sucking back a sob as the first photo is a shot of the four of them at a gig, sweaty and smiling, not a care in the world. What follows is shot after shot of Luke, Alex, and Bobby. Reggie features in the group shots, but he took a lot of these photos himself, and had stored them in a shoebox in his closet.
There’s ticket stubs to their gigs, handwritten lyrics, liners from their demo, it’s all here. A testament that Sunset Curve existed, that they lived. The final photo is what breaks Reggie though, the tears flowing freely, as it shows the guys surrounding Reggie as he blows out the candles on the cake they got him for his 17’th birthday.
“This is… this is so much,” he finally manages to get out.
“We wanted you to always have a piece of them,” Ray said.
“They’ll always be here,” Rose states, tapping his heart. “But know they can be right here, whenever you need them.”
“I love you both so much,” Reggie cries, letting the tears flow freely as they hug him tight, the book falling to the coffee table as he brings them in closer.
Reggie will never be a big fan of his birthday, even if they do get easier in time. But this one? This one will always be his favourite.
11 notes · View notes
middleearthpixie · 1 year
Text
After the Fire ~ Chapter Thirty-Three
Summary: Following the Battle of the Five Armies, a grievously wounded Thorin is brought back to the kingdom of Erebor, which is still mostly in ruins. Although he’s survived the wounds he received at the end of Azog’s blade, his recovery is far from complete. Grief, regret, anger, all are making his journey that much more difficult and the physical recovery isn’t quite the most difficult challenge he faces.
Jasna Stoneham is no stranger to loss, as she is a survivor of Smaug’s wrath upon Esgaroth. When she is asked to help the dwarves healers of Erebor, her instinct is to say no, but she needs the job, and so agrees to it. However, no one told her that of all the patients, she would be responsible for the king himself, Thorin Oakenshield. 
Unfortunately, the road to recovery isn’t necessary a smooth one, but if there’s one thing Thorin will learn, it’s that Jasna is just as stubborn as he is and for every step back he takes, she is there to push him three steps forward. And Jasna will soon find out that there is a gentle, softer side to the dwarf king, one that very few people have ever seen and one he fights to keep hidden from her as well. But like his recovery, that is also easier said than done. 
The Elder Council agrees to meet and a tragic accident brings out one of Jasna’s gifts…
Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield x ofc Jasna Stoneham
Characters: Jasna, Arabella Stoneham, Thorin, Fíli, Dís, Balin
Warnings: None
Rating: T
Word Count: 4,368
Tag List: @tschrist1 @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @legolasbadass @kibleedibleedoo @xxbyimm @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being @rachel1959 @laurfilijames @sketch-and-write-lover @sherala007 @enchantzz @knitastically @notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell @jotink78 @sorisooyaa @ruthoakenshield @quiall321 @dianakc
If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!
Previous chapters can be found here. 
Tumblr media
For the next few days, Jasna felt as if she walked on eggshells around Erebor. Everyone seemed tense about the possibility of the Elder Council convention. Understandably, Thorin seemed the most on edge. 
Shael had taken to coming around for the end of Fíli’s therapy sessions and since she started doing so, Jasna had noticed a marked improvement in Fíli’s recovery. He walked with something of a limp, but it took less effort for him to cross the room unassisted, and he was now down to a walking cast that Óin felt could come off in another week or so. 
He and Shael seemed to be growing closer by the day as well and Jasna couldn’t be happier for him. Just as Thorin had hummed with restless, caged energy in those earlier days, so had his nephews. Now? Now, she sensed a calmness about him, a peace of mind he hadn’t had since arriving in the infirmary almost four month earlier.
“So, where is Miss Whitbow?” she asked him at the end of their session, smiling at the way his expression brightened at the sound of her name.
“I’m meeting her for luncheon in the Great Hall. Then,” he drew in a deep breath, “we are going for a walk in the courtyard.”
“Be careful.”
“Yes, ’Amad.”
“Very funny.” She nudged him with her shoulder. “You won’t need me m-m-much longer, you know. Y-y-y-you’ve come a long way.”
“I will miss working with you,” he admitted softly, smiling as he sank onto the edge of the bench along the wall. “You believed in me when Óin and Narnerra were ready to write me off.”
“I have the optimism of youth on my side.” She sat beside him. “They’ve been doing this too long to really b-believe in miracles. I am naive enough to still believe.”
“Miss Jasna, you might be many things,” he said softly, shaking his head, “but naive is not one of them. I will be forever thankful for your conviction in me.”
“I am just glad I could h-help.” She patted his hand. “And now it’s almost luncheon, so you should go and meet your Miss Whitbow. She’s probably waiting for you.”
Fíli grinned as he rose. “I do hope the council allows Uncle to remain on the throne after you’ve married. And I plan on telling them when they call me in.”
“Call you in?”
He nodded. “They will want to speak to all of us, to find out how we’d feel about you’re being our queen.”
Her gut kinked. “What?”
“They will take it into account. But, you needn’t worry. I cannot imagine a soul here would have a bad thing to say about you.”
She smiled. “I don’t know about that.”
“I do. Trust me.” He reached out to let his hand come to rest on her shoulder. “We all have grown very fond of you, Miss Jasna.”
“Thank you, Your Highness. For I’ve grown very fond of you lot as well. Now go. Before Miss Whitbow grows angry.”
“Worry not.” He winked as he slowly crossed to the door and pushed it open. Then, he looked back over his shoulder and winked. “I know how to calm her.”
She chuckled as left the room and as her laughter died away, she leaned back against the wall. She hoped the council agreed with him, for she’d come to think of these dwarves as an extended family. She couldn't imagine not seeing them on a daily basis. 
“Are you busy?”
She looked up to see Thorin in the doorway and smiled. “Not at all. Fíli just left and I was just about to clean up. Come in.”
He stepped into the room. “I’ve heard from all of the other clans. They’ve agreed to meet and consider my petition.”
She crossed over to slip her hands into his. “It’s a step in the r-right direction.”
“They have already asked that you be present. They wish to question you.”
Her stomach curdled and her mouth went dry. “Q-question me?”
“A formality, mostly.” His thumbs brushed lightly against hers. “They will look for any and all reasons why I should not be permitted to marry you. You need to be aware of that.”
“They don’t frighten me.”
He smiled then, although it didn't quite make it up into his eyes. Still, he released her hand to slide an arm about her waist and drew her close. “Good. Especially since they will not be able to find a single reason.”
“I wish I could believe that,” she admitted softly, “but my not being dwarven seems to be reason enough.”
She looked up at him and drew in a deep breath. “Perhaps I should j-j-just st-st-step back.”
“Step back?”
Her heart beat faster now as she nodded. “I do not want to be the reason you g-g-give up your throne, so perhaps I should… we should…”
His brows lowered and his eyes narrowed. “Are you suggesting what I think you are? Because if so, let me disabuse you of that notion at once. I am not choosing a throne over you.”
“Thorin.” She slowly drew away from him, her thoughts far clearer when he wasn't touching her. His hands on her had the greatest power over her, made it hard for her to be rational and logical because all she could think about was leaning in to kiss him. “You have w-w-worked so hard for this. S-s-suffered so greatly for it. You don’t want to g-g-g-g—throw that away for me.”
“Jasna, listen to me and listen closely, for I will not say this again,” he growled, his voice low with warning, “I am not throwing anything away. Do you know what it is like, to know nothing but sadness and despair? To have lost everything you hold dear, but then to find something that comes to mean even more to you than you could have ever imagined?”
She met his gaze and nodded slowly. “I do, and you know I do.”
“And you know how it feels to finally find happiness as well.”
“I do, yes.”
“Do you think I wish to give that up? Do you think love compares to a throne?”
She pressed her lips together, her throat tightening at the unexpected emotion clogging it. Never in her wildest dreams did she ever imagine a man being willing to sacrifice anything for her, of all people, never mind a man who would be king. 
“Thorin, I just…”
He stepped up to catch her face in his huge hands. “I am not choosing anything over you, Jasna. And I do not even need think about it. I care not if we are here, in Ered Luin, in the Shire, or anywhere other than here. As long as you are here, at my side, I’ll be happy. Even if my kingdom is but a small cottage and my subjects little boys and girls who call me ’adad.” 
“But—”
“No,” he cut her off gently, “no but, Jasna. Maralmizi. And you are all I need to be happy. You and perhaps those little ones who call me ’adad.”
Her eyes stung at the quiet conviction in his voice. “Are you certain? Because I am sure th-th-there are pl-pl-plenty of dwarf women who would gladly take my pl-pl-place.”
“I have never been more certain of anything before, amrâlimê.” He bent to her then, his lips soft as they came against hers. His lips were soft, his beard prickled, and she did a slow melt as his tongue thrust between her lips to caress hers. He kissed her long and deep and soft and slow and when he pulled back, he pressed his forehead to hers and whispered, “You are mine, Jasna Stoneham. And I am yours. And that is all I need.”
“Thorin…”
“What?”
“You are mad. You must be. It’s the only logical explanation.”
He smiled then. “I don’t think so, mesmel. Now, are you finished for the day?”
“I’m finished in here. I still have to s-s-see if Óin needs me for anything else.”
“Very well, I will let you get back to work. I need to go and sit down with Dís and make arrangements for the delegates for when they arrive.”
“Do you know any of them?”
“Dáin is coming. So, there is at least one who will see it my way,” he said with a smile, “but as for the others? I know neither their names or how they feel. It isn’t often dwarven law is changed and I am not so foolish as to believe it will be easy. But,” he smiled and bent to brush his lips across her forehead, “I do believe it will be worth it in the end. Whether they agree to it or not.”
“I hope so. I would hate for you do—”
“It will be. Now, I’ll come find you later and see you back to Dale.” He brushed her lips this time and then escorted her back to the infirmary, then took himself off and as she watched him walk off, she bit back a sigh and wondered just how worried she should really be. 
But there was little time to worry about it, as Óin came over with a serious expression and said, “Prepare yourself, lassie. We’ve got burn victims coming up from the forges.”
“B-burn?” She swallowed hard as he nodded. Burns were the one ailment that really got to her, the one that really tested her mettle. They turned her stomach and more than once under Mr. Templeton’s tutelage, she found herself out behind the clinic, on her hands and knees, her stomach emptying itself into the weeds. 
It must have shown on her face, because his hand came gently upon her shoulder. “Are ye all right, lassie? I can tell Narnerra ye aren’t quite ready for burns yet.”
She shook her head slowly. “No, I’ll b-b-be fine.”
“Are ye certain? I can’t have ye walking out in the middle—”
“I’ll be fine.”
“If yer sure.”
“I am.”
“Good. Now, they’ll be here any moment, so we need to ready for them.”
“How many?”
“Three. Molten gold.”
Jasna felt her face go white even as she nodded. “Very well. How badly?”
His expression grew even more grave. “Kevnar said he estimated about fifteen percent, second and third degree.”
“Oh, no…”
There was almost no time to dwell though, as the three wounded dwarves were rushed into the infirmary and they all set to work. 
 Dusk settled over Erebor and from his perch up on the ramparts, Thorin straightened as his raven Roäc appeared in the distance. His gut did a slow kink as the ancient raven drew closer and settled on the parapet closest to him. He met the bird’s gaze and as Roäc bobbed his head, Thorin sighed. The Elder Council agreed to meet and they would all be arriving in Erebor over the next week. 
“Thank you,” he said softly, trailing his fingertips along the raven’s glossy black feathers. “Now, wish me luck.”
Roäc just stared, his beady black eyes wide and unblinking. Thorin smiled. “I know. I don’t believe in luck, but still, I can use all the help I might get.”
The raven dipped his head and then lifted off to soar toward Ravenhill and Thorin sighed. It would soon be time for him to escort Jasna back across the plains and really, all he wanted was to escort her straight back to his chambers. 
But, since he couldn’t, he turned away from the parapet and made his way below, where he paused in the Great Hall and the scene of chaos before him. Men ran from the infirmary toward the staircase and as one dart by, Thorin grabbed him by the arm. “What goes on?”
“Accident in the forges, Your Majesty. A chain broke and spilt molten gold everywhere.”
“What?”
“Aye, three were caught in the initial spill and two more were hurt when the cauldron landed on them. Excuse me!”
He darted off and Thorin turned to make his way to the infirmary. Although it wasn't nearly as insane as it had been following the Battle of the Five Armies, it was still hectic. He stepped off to the side, out of the way, and leaned up against the doorjamb as he caught sight of Jasna and Óin working together. He couldn’t hear her, but she looked over at Óin and nodded at whatever he’d said, then bent back to work.
“Excuse me, Your Majesty.”
He stepped aside as two dwarrowdams hurried by him and the shorter of the two gasped, “Wyn?”
Jasna looked up then and her expression became one of sympathy as she backed away from the table and came around to slip and arm about the dwarrowdam’s shoulders. She led the woman back toward her former room, and Thorin straightened up as the woman burst into tears and collapsed against Jasna, who simply wrapped her arms about her and held her. 
He made his way into the infirmary, skirting the room’s perimeter to cross to Narnerra. “What happened?”
“Oh, Your Majesty, there was an accident in the forges.”
“Yes, I know. I just spoke to one of the workmen, but what happened?”
“Three burn cases. Wyn sustained third degree burns over approximately fifteen percent of his body.”
A chill ran through Thorin. “And that is his wife?” he asked, looking at the woman Jasna comforted.
He turned back to see Óin nodding. “Aye. She’s good with solace, our Miss Stoneham. She knows just what to say, what to do. Ye can’t teach that. It’s instinctive.”
Thorin watched Jasna rub the woman’s back and nodded. “I can see that. What are his odds?”
“Burns of this magnitude?” Óin shook his head. “Almost always fatal.”
“Mahal,” Thorin whispered, the pit of his stomach falling away. “And do they have children?”
“One. A son about Gimli’s age. Camus, I believe the lad’s name is.”
“And how many others were injured?”
“Two. But neither as serious. They will be scarred, but should recover in time. They were burned pulling him from the metal. Two more will be coming up with minor injuries.”
“Very well. I’ll allow you to get back to work.” Thorin looked back at Jasna, who was now escorting the dwarrowdam to what had been her room. “I’ll stay out of everyone’s way.”
“You may see Wyn if you wish,” Óin told him softly. 
Thorin swallowed hard even as he nodded. “I was just about to ask.”
Óin led him through the infirmary and over to the burned dwarf, whose eyes were closed as they approached. Narnerra looked up from the table and murmured, “Your Majesty.”
He met her troubled gaze. “Can he hear me?”
“I think so, yes.”
“Does he know the extent of his injuries?”
“Your Majesty…?” The vaporish whisper rose from the dwarf’s lips. “I am so terribly sorry…”
“Worry not,” Thorin replied, looking down into troubled dark eyes. He lay still beneath the coverings Narnerra had placed over him to keep him warm and the only exposed flesh was his face, which was uninjured. “You need only concentrate on healing. We will discuss what happened when that is done.”
Wyn managed a tired smile and a slight shake of his head. “No. That will not happen. I know how… how this ends.”
“Hush,” Thorin told him, his voice softly stern, “for you are in the most capable of hands in Narnerra and Miss Stoneham.”
“She is with… Maddie now…” Wyn winced as he coughed. “Tell her I’ve put aside a little money. She and Cam should be… fine…”
“They will be looked after,” Thorin assured him. “I give you my word.”
“Tha-thank you.” Wyn let out a soft groan and screwed his eyes shut.
“Do you need something for pain?” Thorin asked, then glanced up at Narnerra, who shook her head.
“No,” Wyn replied. “I cannot feel much… It’s simply… breathing isn’t easy.”
“You should rest now,” Narnerra told him gently. “We will stay with you.”
Wyn’s eyes grew shiny even as he nodded. “Tell Maddie I will await her… I promise. And Tell Cam I love him. Please? Do that for me?”
Narnerra nodded. “Of course I will. And I will make certain Gimli watches out for him as he’s always done.”
“Thank you.” Wyn coughed again and as the coughing grew harder, Narnerra looked up. “You should go now, Your Majesty.”
Thorin nodded slowly and without thinking, reached down to let his hand briefly come to rest against Wyn’s dark gold hair. “Rest easy. Your family will be looked after.”
Wyn nodded and Thorin slowly stepped back and looked up to see Jasna emerging from her former chambers, swiping tears away from her cheeks. She lifted her head and met his gaze and as she did, he felt it as if it was a physical touch. Even from where he stood, he could see the pain in her green eyes and his instinct was to go and comfort her.
How could the council think her anything but worthy if they saw this, if they saw her comforting a soon to be dwarven widow? He folded his arms as he leaned back against the wall and watched as Maddie emerged from the room, wiping her own eyes on her apron. Jasna crossed to her, slid an arm about her shoulders once more, and led her back over to Wyn’s bedside. A few minutes later, another dwarrowdam came into the infirmary with a little boy no older than Narnerra’s son Gimli, and Thorin pressed his lips together as the boy—Cam, from the looks of it—ran to his mother and buried his face in her skirts. 
Jasna gathered her skirt and crouched to the little boy’s level, and whatever she said, he nodded in response to and then she offered up a smile and stood to take a step back and let them closer to Wyn’s bed.
She said something to Maddie, then backed away and joined him over along the wall, where she let out a shaky sigh and said, “He d-doesn’t have much t-t-time left.”
“I know. I spoke to Narnerra and Óin.” He looked over at her. “How are you?”
She nodded. “I will be f-f-f—” her voice cracked and her lips trembled, but she nodded once more and tried again, “I’ll be fine.”
“Mesmel,” he caught her by the hand and drew her into his arms, wrapping them around her as he pulled her to his chest. “Unfortunately, sometimes accidents in the forge are tragic.” 
“I know, but… it’s just… it’s so unfair to his wife, their boy…”
“They will be looked after. I’ve already promised Wyn they will.”
She lifted her head to meet his gaze. “That won’t replace him, however.”
“No. It won’t. But they have one less thing to worry about.” He caught a wayward coppery curl to tuck behind her ear. “How are the other two?”
“They will survive. Scarred and in need of therapy to regain full use of their hands, but they should recover almost fully.” She looked back at Wyn and let out a shaky sigh. “She’s expecting again, you know.”
“I didn’t.”
“She hadn’t told him yet.”
“Miss Jasna?”
Both she and Thorin looked down at the soft voice coming from about his waist. Camus stood there, his eyes red-rimmed and shimmering, his cheeks tearstained. “‘Adad is leaving soon.”
Jasna crouched to his eye level once more. “I know. Do you wish to sit with him?”
“I don’t know.” His big blue eyes slid from her to Thorin and back. “Will you come with me?”
“Of course I will.” She rose and held out her hand, then to Thorin said, “Will you excuse us?”
“Absolutely. Take as much time as you need.” Now it was his turn to crouch and come eye to to eye with the little boy. “You’re a very brave little man.”
“I’m scared,” Cam admitted softly. 
“It’s all right to be scared,” Thorin told him. “And it’s all right to be sad and to cry if you need to, and don’t be afraid if your ’amad cries as well.”
“Jasna?” Narnerra called. “We need you.”
Cam’s eyes went perfectly round. “‘Adad?”
Jasna nodded and took his hand. “It will be all right, love. Come with me?”
Thorin straightened up. “I’ll be in the Great Hall, Jasna. Come find me when you can.”
She nodded and led Cam back to his father’s bedside while Thorin wound his way out into the Great Hall, where he sank into his usual chair at the table along the far wall. Everything had calmed, the other injured dwarves made their way to the infirmary without drama or chaos and Thorin sighed softly as he leaned his head back against the wall and let his eyes slide shut. 
Although he tried not to, thoughts of his own father filled his mind. The worst part was he had no idea what became of Thráin. The last time he’d seen him, was on the battlefield at Azanulbizar. It was the last time the Durin family was whole. When the battle ended, he was the only Durin to walk off the battlefield of his own power. He’d seen his grandfather slain. He’d searched for Frerin, only to find him among the fallen.
He never laid eyes upon his father again. His mother, reeling from the loss of her father in law, her husband, and her son, followed only weeks later. His eyes stung. He had little time to grieve any of them, for the responsibilities to his people fell squarely upon his shoulders and he’d borne them as best he could. He didn't dwell. He didn't think about his losses. He never grieved them properly. There just wasn't a good time to allow it.
To his horror, tears leaked over his lower lids, and he shoved up and away from his chair to put as much distance between himself and the Great Hall as he could. Down the corridor. Past the therapy room.
Out into the courtyard. 
He stopped at the low stone wall, lifting his face to the cool night breeze as it wafted through his hair, dried the damp streaks on his face, filled his lungs. 
“Thorin?” Jasna’s voice came softly across the courtyard and he started as she eased her arms about his waist and pressed her cheek against his back. Her hands slid beneath the hem of his shirt, her palms warm as they settled against his stomach. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, mesmel,” he managed to whisper. “Just… thinking about things I’ve not allowed myself to dwell on for some time. How are Cam and Maddie?”
“They are holding up. Wyn passed a few minutes ago.”
He turned toward her, catching her face between his palms. “And how are you?”
“I’m all right.” She looked up at him, her eyes glinting in the moonlight. “What were you th-thinking about?”
“My father.” He drew in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “My father and my brother and my grandfather. My mother. I… I miss them at times.”
“I know the feeling. My father died several years ago,” she traced her fingernails lightly along his back, up toward his shoulder blades, back down to the waist of his trousers. A gentle shiver rippled through him with each stroke. “It’s all right to miss them, just as you told Cam.”
“I know, but Cam is far younger than I am. He has a certain freedom I do not.”
“Grief is grief.” She shook her head. “And you are allowed to feel it, even as a grown dwarf.”
“It’s just I—“ he paused, tracing his thumb along her soft cheek, “I wish at times I had one of them here to offer some guidance. How do I know I am doing the right thing by everyone? How will I know if I’m doing the right thing by you? By any children we might have? How do I know?”
“You don’t. None of us do.” Her hands went still against him. “But, you have to just trust yourself. And when you have to, lean on someone else.”
“I don’t know how to do that, mesmel,” he murmured, shaking his head, “for that has never been an option for me.”
“You lean on me now.”
“Is that what I’m doing?”
She nodded. “Believe it or not, dwarf, yes.”
He bent to her, let his lips brush hers, then lingered against them for a moment. “I trust you,” he whispered. 
“You don’t trust anyone else?”
“Not the way I do you, no.”
She drew back. “Why?”
“It’s safer that way,” he replied. 
She smiled, pressing her fingers into his back to urge him down to meet her kiss. He tightened his arms about her as her lips parted, as her tongue swept along his to fire his blood the way her kisses always seemed to fire his blood. 
But then he broke the kiss. “I should see you home, amrâlimê,” he whispered. “It’s growing late.”
“I’ve already sent word to my mother that I’ll be passing the night here.”
“Have you?”
Her eyes sparkled as they met his. “Óin offered me use of my former chambers.”
“No, mesmel,” he murmured, shaking his head, “I’m afraid that won’t do.”
“Thorin, you cannot be serious. I’m going to get caught.”
“You haven’t yet.”
“Well, I know, but that doesn’t meant it won’t ever happen.”
He brushed her lips with his. “Let’s live a bit dangerously, shall we? I do not wish to sleep alone tonight.”
She sighed softly, but tucked her head again him as she murmured, “Nor do, I, really.”
“Good.” He stepped back and caught her hand in his. “Then come with me.”
Her fingers tightened as she linked them with his and she offered up not another word of protest as they made their way inside and down to his chambers. 
29 notes · View notes
artsy0wl · 8 months
Text
Crowning Sanctuary (A RaiLeon Crown Tundra fic) Chapter 1
This is a sequel to Volatile Contact and Dragon Protection. Following the events of the Darkest Day and the abuse at Rose’s hand, Raihan wants more insight and motive for why Rose did it. A chance run in with Peony may just be what he needs. However, Peony, who’d prefer not to get involved, agrees to help Leon and will only provide answers if Leon comes with him to Freezington.
Tumblr media
“No.”
“But you’re the only one who can help.”
“What part of, ‘I never want to see Rose again’, aren’t you understanding?”
“This isn’t about you!”
Stubbornness must have been a family trait. Though he hadn’t expected to run into Peony while taking Leon to a physical therapy session, part if Raihan was glad that he did. After Rose was apprehended, there were still a few things that needed to be sorted out.
Namely, a pattern of behavior and if Leon was the only person to suffer from Rose’s violent obsession. Bede hadn’t shown signs of abuse, but he did have mental scars from Rose’s neglectful memory as well as from the pressure to show the chairman he was as good or better than Leon.
“He’s been arrested,” Peony reminded, “so that’s a closed case if I’ve ever saw one.”
“For trying to enact the Darkest Day,” Raihan stated, folding his arms, “not for… other crimes that have recently come to light.”
“Oh, please. Besides being a business man with the patience and impulse of a caffeinated Greedent, he’s a saint.”
The hint of venom in Peony’s voice did not go unnoticed. A bit of a surprise coming from Rose’s brother. However, given how little Rose talked about him, Raihan didn’t doubt that there was some tension between these two brothers.
With that in mind, the thought that Peony knew nothing about Rose’s malice due to cutting ties did occur to Raihan. Not that Raihan could blame him. In some ways, Peony had the right idea when he decided to disappear.
“A saint?” Raihan repeated. “Not in the slightest.” He looked around, making sure they were alone. “He did some things, bad things, to Leon.”
“Bad things to…?” Peony’s head tilted, confused. “What’d he do to Fluffy?”
Raihan sighed, pulling out his phone, dreading the explanation. “He… abused Leon. Harassed him and violated his trust.” He winced as he sensed Peony’s tension. “He threatened him. Almost kissed him in one instance and did so on his head in another.”
Peony froze, processing the information with stunned horror. “He wouldn’t.”
“He would.” Raihan pulled up his photo library. “I saw both instances. And though I didn’t get that photographed, I did get photos of the abuse.”
He showed Peony the scars on Leon's back and the gashes on his head from when Rose slammed his head against the window. It was sickening, despite the images only being photos. Violently shaking, Peony glared at Raihan.
“Why are you showing me this?”
“Because we need closure.” Raihan sighed as he put his phone away. “While we have enough proof to prosecute him for it, the investigator we’ve been working with thought it might provide additional proof if this abuse started when he was younger. He is speculating that this aggressive possessiveness could have started much sooner than Leon.”
Letting out an annoyed growl, Peony crossed his arms. He heavily stomped around, pacing with no real sense of direction. He didn’t know if he should be angry or horrified. Or a little bit of both.
Peony couldn’t believe his brother could do such a thing. There was no way the intellectually inclined perfectionist could do such a thing. He was too respectable. Too gifted to be so violent. Yet, the evidence was as clear as day.
“Bring me to him.” Peony requested, giving Raihan his attention. “I need to see Fluffy for myself.”
~
Leon’s session was just about finished when Raihan brought Peony. Though he was in good health, the doctors wanted Leon to get some physical therapy to help with residual pain after the Eternatus attack. Raihan agreed it was necessary, concerned that ignoring Leon’s injuries longer would hurt him. Leon, on the other hand, tried to deny that anything was wrong, despite the exhaustion and heavy limbs.
However, after discussing it openly and honestly, Leon agreed to get physical therapy for Raihan’s sake, not wanting Raihan to constantly worry. He also agreed to get therapy sessions after, which the specialist helped provide by requesting a therapist come in for about an hour. That way, Leon could get help process everything in one visit.
As they approached the room Leon was in, Raihan stood before Peony, stopping him from entering the room. A hand lightly yet firmly stood between them as Raihan proceeded.
“Before you see him, I want you to keep in mind that how he reacts towards you isn’t personal.” Raihan stated. “Though you are completely different, you do resemble Rose to some degree. Should he react negatively, it’s not because he hates you. It’s because he’s afraid of your brother. Understood?”
Peony was silent for a moment as he registered the statement and the implications behind it. “Understood, Tiny.”
Raihan nodded, ignoring the nickname. He entered the room first, having Peony follow with a bit of distance. Leon was sitting on a couch, his frame deflated. Eyes were rimmed with red with tears pooling around them.
“How’d it go?” Raihan inquired, sitting next to Leon. “Hug it out while working out?”
Leon chuckled as he rubbed his eyes. “Something like that.”
“He’s making progress.” The therapist confirmed, handing Leon the box of tissues on her desk. “He still feels a bit riled up about what happened. Guilty and terrified by it, but he’s starting to understand that he isn’t at fault. And that’s what I’d call progress.” She eyed Peony for a brief moment. “Who’s your friend?”
“Someone who might be able to give us additional proof to keep Rose locked up for as long as possible .” Raihan gently wrapped an arm around Leon as he turned his attention to Leon. “You remember Peony, yeah? Your predecessor that your dojo master had to fill in for and Rose’s younger brother.”
Leon’s frame jolted as he backed out of Raihan’s side hug. Shoulders tensed and eyes froze on Peony, trembling. Recognition might have been there, but fear was instilled in him.
“It’s okay, Lee.” Peony softly greeted, using his familiar nickname to help keep things calm. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“I don’t mean to be offensive,” the therapist started, “but you shouldn’t be here.”
“Well I am.” Peony stated, standing before Leon as he spoke with the therapist. “I’m the only one who can fix what my brother did.”
Leon stood up, not liking being stood over. Raihan followed. He didn’t want to be sitting in the event Leon reacted negatively.
Not knowing where to start, Peony eyed Leon’s frame. Namely his expression and how his frame reacted. His hand lightly hovered over Leon’s cheek, tapping it just lightly enough for Leon not to flinch wildly.
Leon did, however, shift away from Peony’s hand. He inched closer to Raihan as Peony’s hand froze in place. As he moved it, arms subconsciously shot up to protect Leon’s head.
“Please don’t hurt me.” Leon squeaked. “I’ve been good. Honest.”
His eyes widened as Peony’s hand landed on his shoulder, resting at the base of Leon’s neck. Leon smacked Peony’s hand off of him, hands now protecting his throat.
“Not again, Rose! Please!”
Peony shot an apologetic gaze at Leon. It didn’t take a medical professional to know that a scar was there. Even if it wasn’t physical.
“That bastard.” Peony noted under his breathe. “Hurting the kid like that.” He looked around the room, sensing that something was off. “We’ve got to get you out of here.”
He paused for a moment, contemplating his next move. Without warning. Peony grabbed Leon’s arm, causing him to let out a hoarse gasp. Raihan wedged himself between the two, dislodging Leon from Peony. Leon latched onto Raihan, shaking violently.
Raihan shuffled around, positioning Leon in front of him so he could hold him mote comfortably. He mentally smacked himself for letting that happen. Even if he didn’t expect it. That must have effected Leon’s progress to some degree.
“You said you wanted to see him. Not attempt to kidnap him.” Raihan growled.
“I’m not trying to kidnap him.” Peony deflected, now offended. “But if you want my help, you will let me take him to Freezington. Where Leon can heal and won’t be monitored by Rose.”
5 notes · View notes
sunny6677 · 1 year
Text
October
(A Spooky Month AU Series)
PART 3/CHAPTER 3: Unanswerable Questions.
Summary: A 19-year old Skid ends up moving back to his old town for the sake of nostalgia. But he finds himself surrounded by familiar faces.
TWS FOR CHAPTER: IMPLICATIONS OF GRIEF, PANIC ATTACK MENTIONS, SLIGHT TRAUMA.
————
Glistening pale sunlight glistened down on the familiar town he had lived in—in his childhood days, it always seemed so bright and full of life, and so dark, yet fun and playful. Though he guessed to him back then, innocence was the rose-tinted glasses he had been gifted for a short period of time until his mother had.. no, no, he didn't want to think about what had happened. Not now.
He was starting to get the feeling that this town might not have been the best idea to move back into, as even looking at the slightest familiar sight would make him choke with a mix of grief and nostalgia.
Nearly, he had almost collapsed upon seeing the old movie theater that had still been the same as it had always been. Nearby strangers had been worried for his shaking figure, though he brushed it off, and kept walking. He didn't need people worrying for him, not now.
And now, he had been sitting at a table with Susie, the sister of his former friend. She had been grinning, laughing as she reminisced on all the short periods of time they had spent together while he had only been just 8 years old. He laughed too, though only because it was rather.. nice to think of how things used to have been.
(Susie said with a grin at some point; "I remember when you and Pump stole my homework." Though her tone seemed rather ominous, as if she had still held a grudge for such a thing.)
Susie had told him of how she had been working in an office now, constantly having to make time for things and losing track of time when she had written constantly at her desk. She was a hard worker it seemed, yet she held an optimistic grin regardless of it anyway. A sheet of pastel yellow had still coated her dress, illuminating her facial shape in the sunlight. It was funny, Skid could see the resemblance she held with her brother even though it hadn't been obvious.
Susie had asked of what he had been up to lately, and to that question, Skid had paused. He hadn't a job yet and was yet to find one as of now, he currently lived alone and had no partner to live with, and hadn't any things as of now going on in his life other than the typical therapy sessions between him and his therapist.
"Not.. not a lot, actually." Skid had said, "Maybe moving here will finally give me something other than a boring day at my house. I could get used to not having to stay at my house all day—sometimes, i.. I even struggle with finding a reason to get up in the morning, with how boring and pointless everything is." It had gone silent for a moment, and Susie's expression was unreadable, though Skid only awkwardly averted his glance, embarrassed at his own awkwardness.
"But—But in any case, i... maybe I'll find one now that I'm back! It could be a fresh start for me, this used to be my old home after all.. heheh.." That awkward yet flat sentence still earned nothing but silence, making Skid pause in his own frustration. Why had be seen so socially awkward? What was it with him and people? Why were people his worst skill? Why was being social his worst skill when it used to be his best one?
"Are you.. do you plan on seeing Pump again?"
The question had seemingly came out of nowhere, making Skid jump out of his own sheer surprise, though he regained his composure as he glanced anxiously from across the table. "I.. maybe, if he wants to see me. I'm unsure if he'd be happy to see me.. did.. did you tell him I said hi last night?" Skids question had made Susie rest a hand on her cheek, staring into Skids dark eyes.
Susie sighed, "I tried, but I had to talk to my boss. Apparently, he wants me to go on a business trip, so I might have to make time in my schedule for when I can talk to him about you. Sorry.." She slightly grumbled, bowing her head as an apology, or her body language had been showing she was sorry anyway. Skid only sighed, and averted his eyes with a slightly sad glance; "Thats.. thats okay. I—I doubt he would want to see me again anyway."
"What do you mean he wouldn't? Of course he would!"
"I just—I dont think he'd like to see me after.. after what happened. He.. he was pretty close to my mom too, you know. He came over a lot more than a normal kid would have. A part of me feels like.. he thinks I'm responsible for her death, that.. maybe I am responsible for what happened to her—"
"N—No—your not!" Susie had nearly yelled that, slightly lowering her voice once she realized how loud she had been. In the end, she bowed her head yet again, letting Skid glance at her from across the table. "Have—is this—why are you—" Those words had been cluttered together until she sighed and corrected herself, "Is this why you've been—" She stopped yet again, "Listen, Skid.. you don't know if he thinks it's your fault or not. He'd never think such a thing! It's not your fault for what happened to your mom either."
"I—I know.."
"It isn't your fault, Skid, really." She repeated, "I doubt that he would think you, his best friend, would be at fault for the death of your own mom. It isn't your fault, it's no one's fault—not mine, no one else's. You should stop being so hard on yourself, it's not good for you, Skid!"
"...I know."
————
"So.." Skids therapist, Lillith, began with a rather flat yet worried tone, "you nearly crashed your car again about a day ago, if I heard you correctly?" As Skid layed on the couch she had brought in, he only sighed, his lips slightly trembling as he thought of it. "Y—Yeah.. I'm.. I'm starting to think that maybe moving back wasn't a great idea after all. I—I know it's part of exposure therapy and all, but.. I just—I just can't help it, you know?"
Lillith paused, slightly lowering her clipboard and crossing her legs, her smooth red lips illuminated by the sunlight of the town that Skid had moved back in. "I know it may not be comfortable for you, Skid, but this might be the only solution to what you've been dealing with lately. Otherwise, we might have to try the other ones that we haven't tried yet."
Skid nodded slightly, feeling a gleam of a slight tear strike the corner of his eye. "I—I know, I just.. I saw the old house, and i—and I panicked, i—I dont know why I panicked but—" Lilliths smooth yet womanly voice interrupted his own; "You must have had another panic attack while driving again, driving can't be good for you after.." She hesitated and then stopped, "We may have to find a way for you to be better at driving without panicking, or we might have to find another way of transport for you."
"I know—I should know.." Skid let himself slightly sit up in the chair he had so comfortably sat in, his slender legs slightly resting on the ends of the chair, they almost resembled that of a ballerina with how slender and skinny they had been. "God—why can't I just be—why can't I just be normal? If I was normal, you wouldn't be having to put up with this..."
"Skid, it isn't your fault that you have to deal with this. It isn't your fault for anything that happened to you. I'm not putting up with you, I'm just—I'm just trying to help you." Lillith explained, a sympathetic look in her gaze as she stared at Skid whom had sat on the chair so comfortably.
Skid sighed, and rested a palm on his pale face. "Pump lives here, correct? Your friend?" Lillith said. "Mhm.. he used.. he used to be my friend." Skid barely answered.
Lillith looked down at her clipboard, and licked her lips nervously; "Maybe when your better, we can find a way for you and Pump to perhaps be friends again. With the way you've described it, he must have been dealing with some grief of his own as well. It might have been a misunderstanding."
Skid sighed , "Thats what I think too.. god, i shouldnt have raised my voice at him back then. He didnt deserve to hear his own friend yelling at him."
"You didn't need to hear him yelling at you, either." Lillith stated, "Until we figure out more about what happened between you and him, none of this is your or his fault. We cannot blame anyone so quickly for what could have been a natural response to grief." Skid only slowly nodded, and looked down at his hand.
"Maybe I don't need therapy.. if you always have to put up with me." Lillith went silent at Skid saying this, before Skid continued to speak, "Maybe I really am okay.. maybe I really am just being dramatic. Do—do you think I'm being dramatic? Maybe this really is all in my head? That maybe it is my fault?"
Lillith shook her head slowly, then paused.
"Skid, your going to have to come to realize that life happens. The fate of another person is not your fault unless you did it with your own hands. You didn't choose whether your mom.. would be gone or not. Even if you did go with her, things still would have been the same. Fate was not in your hands, you aren't fate. Your her legacy—your her son. What happened was an accident, a fate that would have come to her eventually—you are her legacy, you aren't the accident."
Skid paused, a slight droplet of a tear trinkling down his left cheek, he then sniffled.
"I—I know, maybe I really am okay though.. ma—maybe you shouldn't have to be putting up with me because of something that happened so long ago. I'm—I'm fine, I can function normally, so.. so.. i.."
He began to sniffle more, though his eyes glistened with surprise and confusion with the next sentence his therapist had said to him.
"Skid, a fine person wouldn't be in my office if they were fine. It's okay to not be okay. You might just think your fine because you've grown so used to it not being fine that you think it's normal.. and that's okay. It's normal to have a mental health response like that after such an accident, It's okay to feel sa dno matter how long its been."
...
Skid couldn't answer for a few moments.
...
He then began to cry, tears escaping his eyes as his therapist gazed upon him, eyes of empathy meeting his own. In the end, he couldn't bring himself to say anymore, only whimpering gibberish. The session had been over for the day, or at least over for Skid, whom had been crying so.
///////////////////
E
5 notes · View notes
allyouneedisbuck · 3 years
Text
Saturday Sun I
Summary: it’s the beginning of may. mother’s day has come and gone, with your family trip coming up and things are seemingly falling apart even more. you and harry are forced to come head to head with real issues. (harry x fem!reader)
Word Count: 1.3K (second part will be the longer piece) 
Warnings: Angst. Cheating. Find all in depth warnings in the first two parts. 
Notes: hello, part three is divided into two parts, this first one focusing on some conflict & the second part to it will focus more on family dynamic & light resolution. part of this piece has harry’s pov instead of entirely the readers. 
Part One & Two (along with a companion piece) can be found in my h.s masterlist! 
-
i need to ask her
what’s going on?
are we going strong?
May - Part I
It’s the Monday before your flight.
April had come and April had gone and you were still struggling to focus on anything but your kids and issues with Harry. You suppose that’s okay, your next deadline was months away and with the trip coming up all you could focus on were those things. 
Mother’s Day had slipped your mind completely. You were busy making lists and triple checking flight info to even think of asking the kids and Harry about their plans. 
“How was your weekend? Everything went well?” Dr. Walsh’s voice forces you to look up from the new watch that adorns your wrist. 
You glance at Harry, who waits for you to answer. You shrug. “It was nice… Harry and the kids treated me yesterday.” 
The watch is a beautiful rose gold color and is a thin band compared to the band of your last watch. Your kids initials had been engraved onto the inner band. It was, by all means, a lovely and well thought out gift. Not only replacing the watch you had worn for a decade and had finally snapped, but reminding of the best parts of your life. 
“Tell me about your day!” Dr. Walsh smiles kindly. Her eyes move between you and Harry, polite and u judging, before landing on your wrist.
“I got breakfast, at the table, breakfast in bed is too hectic with three kids and a baby.” You laugh softly, thinking of the kids and their not well hidden excitement for your day. “And they all got me gifts. The twins made clay handprints in school. Seph picked out a new wallet for me and even bought it on her own!” 
It’s impossible to contain your happiness that rolls off of you when you talk about the kids. Bragging about their thoughtfulness and kind gifts makes you almost forget where you are.
“That sounds so lovely.” Dr. Walsh brings you back down. Your eyes move to Harry. His eyes are open and he’s smiling softly as you speak. But his fingers are fidgeting in his lap and you know he had hoped you would be proud of his gift too. 
And you were. But maybe that was the worst part. That it was kind hearted and well thought out and so very Harry that you almost hated it. You hated how one small gift had caused a sliver of hope to crawl into your bloodstream and make your heart race for him again. 
That it made you believe, for one brief moment, all his promises and words about never falling out of love with you and never wanting to let you go. 
“Harry got me a watch too.” You finally say, quiet and full of despair. “Mine snapped a few weeks ago… It has the kids initials in it. It was a good day.” 
Dr. Walsh nods. “It’s a lovely watch.” Her eyes move pointedly from it on your wrist to you. “So what’s wrong?” 
You fiddle with it, twisting it on your wrist and tapping the face anxiously. “It feels tainted.” You steadily avoid looking at Harry as you say the words. Dr. Walsh nods, but doesn’t say anything, silently urging you to continue. “I love it. And that… makes me feel guilty. And it makes me feel dumb because one stupid gift made me forget this bullshit for a second and I just felt that love for him again.”
There’s an intake of breath to your right, but Dr. Walsh doesn’t look at all shocked by your words. “It makes sense. You want to be angry. You have a right to be angry and when something gets in the way of that, you’re unsure of how to feel.” 
You nod. Her words make sense. You did want to be angry and after your brief elation with the gift you found you still were. 
“I am going to feel like this for the rest of my life?” You whisper. 
She shakes her head. “No. One day, this anger will be gone. But… it’s up to you whether or not you can get there with each other. If you can forgive Harry and let go of the anger. Or not. Neither is wrong.” 
You nod. Sometimes these sessions felt like she was strictly talking to you. Harry just listened. Spoke up when you asked him to, or when Dr. Walsh worked on exercises. 
A part of you found that it helped. You were able to say things you may not have ever said to Harry. But sometimes it felt like he was unsure if he should try and that made you angrier. 
-
Harry’s hopes are built up and shattered. It’s his own fault, he knows it is. Knows that this was an easily fixable marriage before he fucked up. 
You’ve talked about the cheating a little in therapy. Dr. Walsh has mentioned it, you’ve let your anger out, Harry has apologized. It’s a cycle that seems never ending. He doesn’t know what to do. All he wants so desperately is to fucking fix it. 
But...
The drive has been silent. You stare out the window at cars and buildings that pass. There are bags in the truck rustling around, a last minute stop for last minute items needed for the trip. 
You had been silent in the store too. Quietly checking off your list as Harry pushed the cart behind you. Had his gift upset you this much? You still loving him made you this angry? 
“I… I don’t know what to do.” Harry finally says, forcing his voice to cut through the silence. You startle and turn to look at him. “Tell me what to do.” He pleads. 
He knows you can hear the desperation in his voice. Whether or not you were angry at him, you knew him, you knew his tells and his emotions. 
“What do you want me to say, H?” Your voice is a whisper but still harsh. “I don’t know! I don’t know what you can do! Build a time machine. Don’t cheat on me.” 
“It feels like we’re going in circles.” Harry tries to keep his calm. He wants to keep the anxiety and hurt out of his voice. “Like, you’re angry then you see this chance and there’s hope, then there’s anger again.” 
You scoff. “I’m sorry my pain isn’t linear enough for you! I’m sorry that sometimes I see glimpses of you and I’m reminded of us ten years ago, so in love and oblivious to the outside world. Sorry that it all comes crashing down when I remember that you fucking cheated on me!” 
Harry sighs and his grip on the steering wheel tightens. “I fucked up so bad. I know. I know. God, what can I do? Anything.” 
“Why did you do it?” You ask instead of answering. There’s a coldness in your words and Harry’s aware you’re both trapped in the car for another twenty minutes. So are you, apparently. “And don’t give me the same bullshit about being selfish and not knowing why and it being a mistake.” 
Harry feels desperation claw at his throat and tears burning in the corner of his eyes. It’s like he can’t breathe, trapped in a coffin of your anger and his guilt. He tries to keep his eyes focused on the road as he talks. “I… I felt wanted. I liked the attention.” 
There’s a sharp intake of breath, but Harry keeps his face forward and eyes focused. “Tell me what happened.” 
“Y/N…” Harry trails off. “I… I can’t.”
You groan and fall forward with your head in your hands. “I need to know, H. I don’t… I just need to know because all I can think about is these what if situations and scenarios in my head. And I’ll just keep running through them until I hate you.”
Harry bites down on his lip and spares a glance at you. “What if… What if I tell you and you hate me anyways?” The question is unfair. He knows it is. But he can’t fathom a world without you in it. A world where he sees you on drop off days and has to plan separate holidays. 
“I don’t know.” You say quietly. But, it feels like answer enough. There’s no reason for you not to leave. 
And Harry guesses a promise to try was never really a promise to stay. 
-
notes: thank you for the patience! i understand this piece is short, this part has been a lil tricky and i wanted to get the first part to may out before summer courses begun. i’m hoping i’m able to continue writing through them, but i will warn readers i am enrolled in two of the three week classes that have a lot of work and move quickly. so patience will be appreciated. i hope everyone is safe & healthy and has a wonderful end of school/university/spring! and congratulations to all the grads these next two months. i’m planning on ending this series with a total of five parts (march, april, may, june, july) w/ two endings.
tags (im tagging a couple ppl who messaged me awhile ago (after the last part), if u dont wanna be tagged anymore let me know! sorry!@alwaysclassyeagle @yourgoldengirls
if u wanna be tagged just message me & let me know if u want it for just this series or for all my h writing! ❤️
184 notes · View notes
indelibleevidence · 2 years
Text
Protective (alternate scene from 2x11)
Author’s Note: Just an expansion of the scene where Jane confronts Kurt about working with Keaton. In this version, Jane isn’t there for the conference room scene, but disappears as soon as the team are back at the NYO with Keaton and Stepulov.
***
After the team had been dismissed from the conference room, ready to work on their respective parts of the investigation, Kurt looked around SIOC. Still no sign of her.
"Any idea where Jane got to?" he asked Reade quietly, though he suspected he already knew.
He'd meant to take her aside in the locker room, to ask her how she was holding up, but she hadn't come in to stash her firearm like the rest of them. She'd headed for the stairwell as everyone else had waited for the elevator, and he hadn't pursued her, knowing she needed distance from her torturer.
Reade glanced up from his computer, frowning. "Haven't seen her, but if I had to guess, she's made a beeline straight for Roman. I would, in her position."
"Yeah, that's what I thought." He sighed. "Keep an eye on Keaton, would you? Call me if there's any progress."
As Reade agreed to do so, Kurt shot one more look through the conference room window, checking Keaton was still where they'd left him. Then he made for the elevator.
The Zero Division area was accessed through a door that only the taskforce and Pellington had keycards for. Keaton couldn't sneak in without their knowledge. He wasn't worried about the team letting CIA agents in, but Pellington? He'd already tried to hand Roman over once. No wonder Jane had disappeared so quickly. She'd want to head off any threat that came her brother's way.
There was a short hallway off the main area, with a door at one end, then two more that led to Roman's cell and the visitors' area on the other side of the barrier. Kurt pushed through the door to enter the hallway, and his heart sank.
Dr. Sun was working with Roman, and had asked to be left undisturbed with her patient. Undeterred, Jane had carried a chair into the hall, and had positioned it between the entry and the door to Roman's cell. She was as close as she could get to Roman without interrupting his therapy session.
She rose from her seat now, one hand on the service weapon still holstered at her hip, and spared him only a quick glance before checking the space behind him. She was clearly ready to defend her brother from Keaton, by any means necessary.
Kurt held up his hands, stopping where he was, about fifteen feet away from her. "Relax. It's just me."
"Relax?" Her short, brittle laugh was devoid of humour. "Not with him in the building. How can you work with him, after what he did to me?"
"We don't have a choice," he told her.
"Yeah, that's what he always said about torturing me. That I was making him do it. That he'd rather be somewhere else, spending time with his family, not taking a break between waterboarding me and having me strung up from the ceiling to hit me with a lead pipe—"
"Jane, just give me a second, here." Kurt forced his mind away from the horrific images her words conjured, knowing that if he allowed himself to fully dwell on them, he'd march back to Keaton and finish what he'd started in Bulgaria—mission be damned.
Hell, maybe Stepulov would call off the attack as a thank you gift. There's no love lost between him and Keaton.
Jane ignored Kurt's request. "I'm not leaving my brother unprotected, Kurt. Not while that monster is here."
She was seconds away from panic, he could tell—tense and pale, and her attention kept flitting from his face to the door behind him, as though Keaton would barge through it at any second. If anyone else came looking from them, she'd have her gun drawn with an instant.
"Jane. Look at me. This is a secure area. Keaton can't get in."
"He can if Pellington brings him here. I'm not letting him have Roman," she told him, her voice quiet, but forceful. "You'll have to shoot me first."
It reminded him of the moments before they'd fought in the motel hallway, months ago—not friendly sparring to test their skills, but a brutal brawl with no holds barred. Kurt had been the one who'd said the words then, but Jane's desperation had been the same as it was now, as she'd told him, I am not going back.
If he gave any sign that he was considering giving Roman to the CIA, he suspected they'd have the same kind of fight, even though Jane would have no hope of extricating Roman from the NYO if she won. She wasn't thinking clearly—and besides that, he had no intention of giving Roman to Keaton—but he couldn't blame her for that.
"Jane. Do you trust me?"
She stared at him, and the fear in her eyes hit him like a visceral blow. He'd just assumed the answer would be 'yes', her visible panic taking him back to the early days of their acquaintance, when he'd thought she was Taylor Shaw. When she'd trusted him completely, and her first instinct had been to reach out to him for support.
Those days were gone, and her doubt was his own fault, not Keaton's. Jane had betrayed Kurt, but he'd betrayed her right back, sitting on his ass doing paperwork and trying to forget about her for three months, while Keaton had subjected her to the kind of torture he'd once believed only happened in war zones. Sure, he'd bombarded Keaton's office with demands to know where Jane was, insisting that she be returned to FBI custody, but he should have done more.
Kurt no longer doubted her motives, or her loyalty to the mission, but Jane? She still had some way to go towards trusting him.
He must have shown signs of the guilt he was feeling, because Jane sagged, her expression remorseful and exhausted. "Kurt…"
"It's okay. I can't blame you—not after what you've been through."
She took an uncertain step forward. "I trust you, as much as I can afford to trust anyone. But with Roman so vulnerable…" She sighed. "I can't afford to assume anything anymore."
Kurt took a few slow steps of his own, closing most of the distance between them, watching her for signs of escalation. "Keaton will not get near your brother. Not as long as I have the power to stop it."
"And if Pellington goes over your head?" Jane asked, wrapping her arms around herself.
"He won't—at least, not for now. We have time for Roman to work with Dr. Sun, to get some memories back. We'll watch Keaton every second that he's here. We just have to get this Stepulov case solved, then he'll be gone, and we can focus on Sandstorm again."
She nodded, momentarily fragile. "I'm sorry. That I'm distracting you from this case. I know it's time-sensitive."
"All our people are already working on it. They'll call if they have something." He reached out slowly, making sure she saw him coming, and rested his hand on her upper arm. "You can sit this one out, if you want to. The FBI has to work with Keaton, but you don't."
She gazed up at him, conflicted. "You need everyone you have on this. We don't know where that attack will be."
"I'm not gonna lie and say I couldn't use you, especially when we get out in the field. But if here is where you need to be…"
Jane watched him for a long moment, as though weighing everything in her mind. Then she straightened her spine, lifted her chin. "No. If you can swear to me that Roman will be safe, then I'll come out and help the team."
He looked down into her face, and saw echoes of the same fear he'd once felt for Sarah, every second that he'd been away at military school, leaving her unprotected. He understood Jane better than he could ever explain, and he was determined not to let her down.
"I swear, Jane. Since you brought him here, he's been my responsibility, and he still is. Keaton being here doesn't change that. I'll make sure he's safe."
She nodded, relaxing just enough for him to notice. "Okay." She exhaled hard. "Okay, I believe you."
Why was it such a relief to hear her say that? Part of him hated that it meant so much. It wasn't supposed to, not now he knew she wasn't Taylor. But somehow, the need to protect her, to be the one she could lean on…it hadn't gone away when he'd been told her true origins. He'd suppressed it for a while, using anger as a counterbalance, but that need had never left him. Maybe he should be more worried about that than he was.
"For what it's worth? I nearly snapped Keaton's neck when I found out he was the one who tortured you." Maybe it was selfish of him to linger on the subject, just so she'd realise how much her torture had gotten under his skin—but it was still bothering him that he didn't have her complete trust yet. He wanted her to know what had happened in Bulgaria.
Jane stared up at him, taken aback. "I… I didn't know. Thank you," she added hesitantly, as though aware how strange that sounded.
His lips twisted into a wry smile, though the situation was anything but funny. "For what? Almost killing someone in cold blood?"
"For caring enough to want to." Her eyes were downcast.
I never stopped caring about you, Jane. Not for one second.
It would have been more than he wanted to admit, so he forced back the words, finding better ones. Less revealing ones. "I'm sorry. For not getting there in time to stop the CIA from taking you, back then."
Surprise flickered through her expression. "Kurt, I—"
He hurried on, "I know. We don't have time to get into this now. But I just realised I never said it, so… I'm sorry. I should have protected you."
Before she could respond, he turned and headed for the elevator, unsure whether she'd remain where she was or follow him. But her footsteps signalled she'd decided to follow, and within a couple of seconds she was walking beside him, tenser with every step they got closer to Keaton.
At the elevator, they had to pause, and Kurt checked his phone, wanting to be sure he hadn't missed any communication from the team.
"I'm sorry, too. I thought I was doing the right thing, but I got it all so wrong."
Kurt nodded acknowledgement of her apology, inwardly surprised at how little bitterness he still harboured towards her. He appreciated the gesture, but even without it, he'd already let go of so much of the pain of her betrayal. It was a little unnerving to realise how much.
They stepped into the elevator together, and Kurt was conscious of how fast the conversation had gotten personal. And that's my fault, because I couldn't bear the thought that she didn't trust me. Time to dial it back.
He cleared his throat. "The way I see it, the CIA has a lot to answer for. Carter, then Keaton. Without them, you would have known which was the right side. You might have come to us, when Oscar first made contact. So we fix Keaton's mess, and then we make sure the CIA never comes near you or Roman again."
Jane nodded, her jaw set with determination. "Sounds good. Let's do it."
END.
19 notes · View notes
plaidbooks · 3 years
Text
Cabin Life - Whittling Roses
A/N: Hello, I have lost complete control of myself and just keep writing this AU. I blame @berniesilvas, but I also love her and this AU so much. For now, this was all the concrete ideas I had--everything else is vague ideas that I don’t have a fic plotted for yet. I hope you all enjoy!
Tags: just fluff, the briefest mention of smut (only one line), and a little bit of a make-out session
Words: 1857
Taglist: @witches-unruly-heart  @beccabarba  @thatesqcrush @itsjustmyfantasyroom @permanentlydizzy @ben-c-group-therapy  @infiniteoddball @glowingmess @whimsicallymad @lv7867 @storiesofsvu @cycat4077 @alwaysachorusgirl  @glimmerglittergirl  @reading--mermaid  @averyhotchner  @mrsrafaelbarba @detective-giggles @crowleysqueenofhell @dreamlover31
As predicted, the snowstorm blocked off contact between you and Sonny for most of the winter months. As soon as the snow started to melt, it would snow again, causing a bigger buildup. He texted you when he could—when the cells had connection—but otherwise, he was confined to his cabin, as you were to yours.
He never once stopped thinking about you, especially when he was huddled in a pile of your blankets, the fireplace happily crackling in front of him. He remembered the night he made love to you right there on the floor, and he wished he could do it again, in his bed this time. Even the thought of your body in his embrace, your warmth and scent surrounding him, was enough to make his body flush with desire.
To help take his mind off you…well, to help control his thoughts—there was no “not thinking” about you—he took a block of wood inside, his whittling blade in hand. When he looked at that block of unimpressive, plain wood, he could clearly see what he wanted to make. But even with his skill, it was a complicated task. At least he had months to work on it.
He spent most of his time whittling. He only took a break to cook, eat, maybe watch tv if he could get a signal in the blizzard. He also brought in a separate piece of wood, to practice different techniques on; he wanted his gift to you to be perfect, to show his love for you.
Sonny let his mind wander as he whittled—as long as he paid attention to the details. His mind irrevocably went back to you every time. He wanted to ask how you felt about kids; though you had mentioned wanting them before, he wanted to see if that was still true.
Eventually, his mind wandered to him marrying you. He wanted to propose, with rings and everything, have both your families there. Maybe he could build an archway to go in that meadow or something, cover it with flowers. He was already building a bridge to go across that creek by his place. An archway shouldn’t be too hard.
Then he smiled as a thought struck him; what if he whittled the wedding rings? He’d have to get better, perfect his craft before he even attempted at something so important. He’d have to talk to you about that, too, make sure you were okay with it. He had enough money to buy a traditional ring, if that’s what you wanted.
 ***********************
About a month into his project, he finished the first of what he hoped would be a dozen roses. He gazed intently at the bud, the petals. Then, his eyes travelled down the stem to the leaf, the veins carved into it. Was it the best rose ever made? Absolutely not. But it was a rose, and it would be perfect for you.
It had taken him much longer than he had anticipated to make one rose. He had stopped frequently to practice petals and veins, though, which had taken up time. Still, he was afraid he wouldn’t finish them quick enough; he had never spent a winter in the cabin, and he didn’t know how long the storms lasted (he had to make a call to the Willis’s for how to cover his gardens). So, while he felt jubilation at finishing one rose, he didn’t celebrate, instead getting right back to it.
The second rose only took him two weeks, and the third, a week. Now that the stems were done, he was getting faster at doing the petals and leaves. He still took his time, made sure he didn’t mess them up, but he was improving. Some of them, he left as bulbs, the petals just opening, while others were in full bloom. He debated painting them, but he wanted to make his own dyes, and he had no idea how to do that. Plus, he kind of liked the light, wooden color.
Once he finished, he fought the urge to continue working on them. He did go back and fix up some details in the first flower that he learned to deal with by the tenth. Now came the question of what to put them in. Does he get a fancy ribbon and tie the stems together for a bouquet? Or should he whittle a vase for them? It’s not like they needed water.
Outside, the blizzard raged on. So, Sonny figured he could make a vase, and if he didn’t like it, he could toss it in the fireplace. Taking yet another block of wood, he got to work. This project, he had a little less of a vision than before. He thought about it as he pulled the roses together, measuring how big of an opening he needed on top.
Slowly, a shape began to form in his mind’s eye, and he started cutting. He wanted a long, skinny neck on top, and a wider base. He wouldn’t have to hollow the inside, only the top part enough to hold the roses. Still, he was doing it by hand, and it took him another month to have just the basic shape done. But he wanted to add details.
Taking his smallest whittling tool, he went to work on the design. Maybe it was corny, but Sonny was a corny guy. He carved apples and his best attempt at lavender flowers, the two things that drew you both together. And in the middle, he carved out a heart, both of your initials inside. He smiled when he was done, knowing that you’d love it regardless; it came from him.
He collected all the wooden roses and rearranged them in the vase until they were how he wanted them. He smiled proudly at the sight, and he wished the snow would stop so he could give them to you now.
 **********************
He only had to wait another two weeks before the snow finally let up enough for him to visit you. The sky was a bright blue, the sun making the fallen snow blinding. Sonny texted you that he was coming over, asking if you wanted to go with him to the local shops to restock on some food. You agreed, and he was instantly on his ATV, the roses zipped up protectively in his jacket.
Sonny parked, then came up to your front door, vase in hand. He knocked and then was suddenly worried that you’d hate the roses, that you’d think him childish. You had given him blankets, something useful, while all he made was wooden flowers—
You opened the door, smiling brightly when you saw Sonny standing there. You had missed him deeply, and you were happy to see his hair and beard longer. Then your eyes flicked down to the wooden vase clutched in his hand.
“What’s this?” you asked, voice hushed in awe at the bouquet.
He swallowed hard. “I, uh, I made ya these fer ya…. I thought, ya know, that I should get ya flowers. But they always wilt and die, so I thought if I made them outta wood, then….”
“You—you made these?” Your eyes tore from the roses to lock to his blues.
He slowly extended his arm, holding the vase out to you, and you took it, marveling at the details in the leaves and petals, then the vase itself. You chuckled as you recognized the apples and lavender, and you had to blink away tears when you saw the heart.
“Sonny, I love them. Thank you so much,” you breathed, smiling up at him.
He grinned nervously, shifting from foot to foot. “Ya do? I was afraid that they weren’t useful—”
“Of course, they’re useful,” you replied, and he tilted his head, brow furrowed. “They show me how much you love me, even when you’re not here to tell me yourself.”
The brightness of his smile could match that of the sun. “Plus, they’ll never die, like my love for you.”
“You sap,” you said, giggling. With your free hand, you grabbed his jacket and pulled him to you for a sweet kiss. His nose and lips were chilled from the wind outside, but you didn’t care. Besides, his lips warmed quickly enough against yours.
“Come on; let’s head to the market so I can get ya home ‘fore the snow starts back up,” Sonny muttered against your lips.
You snuck another kiss. “Why bring me home? Why not just take me to your place? I know we could keep each other warm”
He let out a low growl, kissing you deeper, his tongue in your mouth. Your bodies were magnetic, drawing each other closer. It was a struggle to pull away long enough to place the roses on a table before you were back, body melding to his, hand going to his hair. He pushed you against the doorjamb, hands exploring under the hem of your jacket.
Your father cleared his throat from inside the house, and Sonny sprung off you as if you had shocked him. “S—sorry, sir—” he stammered, face turning a bright red.
Your father crossed his arms, giving him a hard look. “Just close the door; you’re letting the heat out.”
You gave Sonny a sheepish grin as he came inside, closing the door behind him. You told him you needed to pack some things, and you took the vase, heading for your room, leaving Sonny and your father alone.
The latter studied Sonny intently, gazing at him from over his spectacles, and Sonny tried not to fidget under his scrutiny.
“I intend to marry your daughter,” he blurted out. He winced internally; why the fuck did he say that?! But now that it was out there, he was prepared to defend it to the death. He kept his face a mask of stone, not letting your father see his fear.
He continued staring at Sonny, weighing his words. “Does she know that?”
“She does; I told her last time she was over. From the moment I saw her, I knew that I wanted nothin’ more than to marry her.”
He nodded lightly; just a jut of his chin. “Have you proposed? Do you have a ring?”
“It’s only been a few months; I wanted to wait a lil, make sure it’s what she wants, too,” Sonny explained.
“Just don’t wait too long; I don’t want you leading her on or hurting her.”
Sonny’s eyes widened in offense. “I would never—”
You came back right then, a duffle bag in your hand, and glancing nervously between the two men. “Whatcha talkin’ about?” you asked uncertainly.
“Nothing dear. Have fun and stay safe,” your father said, and he came over, kissing your cheek, then headed to a different room.
You cocked an eyebrow at Sonny, but he just shook his head, moving to hold the door open for you. Confused at the tension, you went out into the crisp, winter air, taking a deep breath. You were sure Sonny would tell you the whole story later.
39 notes · View notes
capitaineathos · 3 years
Text
I finally wrote something! Here is my Musketeers Summer Solstice gift for @number-of-the-beast-is-666 :)
It's kinda self indulgent fluff, but I hope you enjoy it anyway!
~~~~~
Porthos loves his little flower shop. Thinking about where he came from, how he grew up, how his life could have gone, he's proud of how far he’s come. He's built his tiny business from the ground up and the work brings him joy. He has a small base of regular clientele and plenty of orders on his online shop to keep him busy. His arrangements are known for their beauty and for their affordability, and Porthos takes pride in each and every one. He loves his little shop and he knows he always will.
~~~~~
Aramis loves the little flower shop on the corner. He remembers the first time he'd visited; a particularly difficult therapy session had left him feeling low and his counsellor had suggested that he buy himself some flowers to bring some joy to his home. He remembers how sceptical he'd been, how he'd scoffed at the idea, yet found himself drawn to the little shop on his way home anyway. He remembers the warm smile of the florist; his kindness and the joyful enthusiasm that seemed to radiate from every pore. The florist – he gave his name as Porthos – had suggested a bouquet of sunflowers, bright and warm and happy, and Aramis had felt just a little of the despair lift from his heart.
To this day, sunflowers are his favourite bloom.
Now, more than six months later, Aramis is a regular customer at the little shop. He comes to buy himself a bouquet every two weeks, striving to always keep flowers alive in his home. And if it means that he can see the florist’s smile, it will always be worth the price.
Yes, Aramis loves the little flower shop on the corner and he knows he always will.
~~~~~
Today, the shipment is of roses. Porthos likes to stock blooms of various colours; red and yellow and orange and pink, and various hybrid combinations of the four. He unpacks each flower carefully, his calloused fingers always deft and gentle in every movement. He knows that the slightest hint of roughness can bruise the delicate petals and he has grown used to the tender care that they require. And with St Valentines Day fast approaching, he knows he must preserve as many of these roses as possible.
He begins to cut the stems, fingers quickly staining green as the chlorophyll comes in contact with his skin. He finds that he doesn’t mind the stains so much now; not like he did at first. They are part of him now, and they are part of a job that he loves with all of his heart and soul. A fresh smell, the freshness of the flowers that he surrounds himself with, is already clinging to his hands, and will do for the rest of the day. And the sweet, perfumed scent of the roses will linger just as long, perhaps allowing him a whiff even as he falls asleep at the end of a long day’s work.
Cutting stems is repetitive and time consuming and, though he considers himself to be rather good at it, it is inevitable that some of the roses are cut too short to be useful for his bouquets. For Porthos prides himself on quality and he likes to make his bouquets as perfect as they can be. So any roses that are too short, or slightly bruised, or otherwise not quite adequate, are set aside and Porthos laments that he has no use for them. Though they may not be quite perfect, they are still beautiful and could still bring someone joy. Briefly, he wonders if he could take them by the local retirement home after work.
However, his thoughts are soon interrupted as a cheery tone sounds from the front of the shop, signalling that a customer has entered. Leaving his roses aside for the moment, Porthos emerges from the back room to stand by the counter, should he need to offer assistance.
When he sees who has entered his shop, his heart skips a beat.
He sees Aramis often, and the two of them have become amiable acquaintances, but Porthos can’t help the quickening of his breath and the frantic thrumming of his heart that always occurs when the other man enters his shop. He wipes sweaty palms on his jeans and tries to calm the fluttering in his chest.
But when Aramis turns to smile at him, his legs suddenly feel weak under his weight and he has to swallow a sudden burst of nerves.
“Good morning, Aramis,” he says, proud of how level his voice sounds. “Is it time for your next bouquet already?”
Aramis laughs and the sound is almost melodic; clear and bright as a church bell.
“Am I so predictable?” he asks. “I was actually hoping that your sunflowers might be back in season. As much as I love the other bouquets you made for me with the chrysanthemums and carnations and such, I’ve really missed having my sunflowers around.”
Porthos sighs softly. He knows of a perfect bouquet that he could make for Aramis – with bright sunflowers and vibrant irises in a bed of green foliage – but the sunflowers won’t be in season for a few months – not until May at the earliest. And Porthos hates the thought of disappointing Aramis; even the idea of it leaves a hollow, empty feeling in the pit of his stomach. Yet, there really isn’t much that he can do.
Aramis must see it in his eyes, because his bright, charming smile falters ever so slightly, even though he tries hard to hide it.
“I assume they aren’t in season yet then? Oh well! Do you still have any of those carnations?”
Porthos helps him to find a bouquet; warm and bright and colourful, just like Aramis himself. It is full of chrysanthemums and carnations and camellias and Porthos almost thinks that it might be one of his best.
Aramis certainly seems delighted with it and, as he comes to the counter to pay, promising to come and pick it up after running a few more errands, he casually asks;
“So, do you have any plans for St Valentines?”
Porthos shakes his head. It has been a long time since he celebrated the day with a significant other, but he hardly minds. He has always believed that having many relationships is much less important than having the right ones, so he has been waiting for the right person to come along.
Looking at Aramis, he almost allows himself to hope that it will be worth the wait.
Yet, he is still surprised when he hears the soft laugh from the other man.
“Me neither. The whole thing may seem rather cliché, but I actually quite enjoy being swept off my feet every once in a while, so it'll be a shame to spend it alone.”
Porthos opens his mouth to apologise, but Aramis holds up a hand to stop him before a single syllable can pass his lips.
“No, it’s ok. I’ve had enough fooling around. I want to find the right person; the one who I'll hopefully spend the rest of my life with.”
Aramis slides the money across the counter and their fingers brush; only ever so slightly, and only for a moment, but Porthos swears that he feels a jolt of electricity surging through his veins.
He looks at Aramis and wonders if he feels it too.
But Aramis says nothing, just smiles and turns to leave.
Porthos watches him for a moment, then forces himself to draw his eyes away from Aramis' retreating figure, to begin sorting the money into the till. But then he finds something unexpected hidden amongst the bills; a small slip of paper with a hastily scribbled number scrawled upon it. For a moment, Porthos can’t move, he can barely even breathe. All he can do is stare at the slip of paper in his trembling hands, barely even able to believe that the moment is real.
However, the sound of the door opening quickly breaks the spell and the words have escaped him before he even has time to think;
“Aramis, wait!”
There is a pause, and then Aramis is peering around the doorframe, one eyebrow quirked in silent question.
“Please... just... wait just one second?” Porthos asks, and Aramis nods in response. Porthos feels a slight weight lift from his chest as he ducks into the back room and collects up the roses that he had previously set aside. He collects them into as neat a group as he is able, though it is nothing like the quality of his usual work. He ties some yellow ribbon around the stems and returns to the front of the shop.
As he offers Aramis the roses, too nervous to say a word, he can feel his heart pounding in his chest. In that moment, the entire world is Aramis and Porthos isn’t sure whether he’s about to watch his world crumble.
But then Aramis smiles, warm and bright and beautiful, and breathing seems just a little easier.
“Porthos, they’re beautiful!”
“Just like you,” Porthos whispers, and Aramis’ cheeks turn a dusty shade of pink. He takes the roses and cradles them to his chest as he leans in to gently brush his lips against Porthos' cheek.
“You will call me, won't you?” he asks, and Porthos doesn’t think he’s ever seen him so nervous. Aramis is so bold and loud and cheerful, yet he seems so shy as he asks the question. He can barely meet Porthos' gaze, instead choosing to look down at his feet, and all Porthos wants to do is look into those eyes and fill them with hope and joy.
So he gently places a finger beneath Aramis' chin and tilts his face up until their eyes meet, and he smiles.
“I promise.”
It’s two simple words, but Porthos can see how happy they’ve made Aramis. His smile seems brighter, the tension has eased from his shoulders, his eyes are sparkling with excitement. He is beautiful, and Porthos suddenly needs him more than he needs air.
It is instinct and it takes him by surprise, but he leans in and gently catches Aramis' lips with his own. Aramis melts into his arms and Porthos settles his hands on his hips. His hold is gentle, treating Aramis as tenderly as one of his precious roses. For Aramis is like the flowers; precious and beautiful and fragile, and he deserves the same tender care.
It only lasts for a moment, the soft pressure of Aramis’ lips against his own, but Porthos could swear that no moment will ever be as perfect.
Aramis smiles at him, one hand coming to rest against his cheek.
“Call me,” he whispers again and Porthos nods, forcing himself to take a breath and finding that all he wants is Aramis.
“Absolutely.”
23 notes · View notes
shaynawrites23 · 4 years
Text
Rosy Proposal
Pairing: Bucky x reader
Word count: 1505
Prompt: “One rose for every day I should have been with you.”
Written for @kitkatd7’s writing challenge! Congrats on 250!
You stood in the kitchen, humming to yourself as you skillfully flipped your pancakes. Off days were just the best, you had so much time to yourself and you could do anything you wanted.
The bowl of batter was soon empty and as you removed the pan from the stove, you caught sight of the calendar pinned to the fridge with a colorful Eiffel Tower magnet and you froze. August already?
You were snapped out of your trance by Nat strutting in, her posture similar to that of a Victorian-day queen as always.
"Hey girl, what's up?" She greeted you, pouring herself a glass of water.
"Nothing much. The usual."
She hummed in acknowledgement, pausing as if she were pondering her next words.
"You know, (Y/N), we should have a girl's day. You, me and Wanda."
You drizzled maple syrup over your pancakes, considering your options. You could go with Nat's idea, which would most likely result in you spilling any juicy details you hadn't previously mentioned regarding your love life, or you could take a day for yourself, which would probably end with you wallowing in how much you missed your boyfriend.
"Yeah, let's do it!"
~
A couple hours later, the three of you were lounging on Wanda's bed, each delicately balancing a bottle of nail polish between the fingers you were currently doing. You had selected the bright pink. It reminded you of when you were a teenager, as you always walked around with pink nails.
"So, (Y/N), any plans for when Bucky comes back from his mission?"
You sighed, screwing the cap back on your bottle and examining your work.
"Not really. I mean, it's been six months since he left on a six week mission. I just want Bucky back, you know."
"I get what you mean." Wanda placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. "But still, wouldn't it be nice to plan a lovely date for the two of you? For after he rests up, of course."
"Maybe," you mused, leaning back against the fluffy pillows. "Actually, that sounds like a good idea. And I may have a better one."
Nat raised a questioning eyebrow and you continued.
"Bucky's been on a mission for six months; I think he deserves a vacation. And I can definitely get time off as well. So... what if we went on a road trip?"
Wanda clapped her hands in excitement. "Oh, that's a wonderful idea! I overheard Bucky telling Steve once how he wanted to go on a road trip across the country. Maybe you could do that."
"Yeah! I love road trips." You sat up. "In fact, I think I'll start planning already."
You moved to leave but Wanda grabbed your wrist.
"Noo, don't go!"
"But I need my laptop, Wanda, I'll be right back."
"Use mine."
You shrugged, but sat down again as Wanda handed you her laptop. Nat had pulled out her phone and was busily texting, the clicking of her nails against the screen filling the room.
"Nat, is there something I should know about?" You asked, eyeing her suspiciously.
"Nope," she mumbled, popping the 'p.' "Nothing at all."
Curse her for having such an excellent poker face. You couldn't tell if she was lying or telling the truth, but you chose to ignore it anyway.
~
Your stomach grumbled, and you glanced at your watch, a beautiful watch with a white leather wristband and silver studded hearts on the face, below the hands. It was a gift Bucky had gotten for you on your first anniversary.
Shit. Why did everything have to remind you of him?
"Hey, girls, it's six thirty. I don't know about you, but I'm hungry, so I'm gonna go make myself a sandwich or something, okay?"
You moved to leave, and once more, Wanda grabbed your wrist.
"Wait! We'll order takeout."
So you sat down again, an amused smile playing on your face.
"Why do I have the feeling you're trying to keep me here as long as possible?"
"Maybe we are, maybe you're just imagining it," Nat shrugged. "Does it really matter?"
"I guess not. So, where are we ordering from?"
~
You were now watching a movie, a rom-com, courtesy of Wanda. Of course it had to be a love story. You'd spent six months without your partner, your other half, and you were itching to have him back in your arms.
Naturally, you had called each other, or rather, he had called you whenever he was able to do so safely, but it was never quite the same as having him there, with you.
Nat's phone pinged, and she snatched it up to read the text. Both you and Wanda paid her no mind, Wanda was engrossed in the movie and you were daydreaming about your boyfriend.
Then Wanda's phone pinged, and as she read the text, she glanced at Nat, behind her. However, you were too distracted to notice them subtly mouthing instructions at one another.
"Hey, Nat, (Y/N), I just remembered I have a date with Vision tomorrow and I need to be well-rested, so I'm sorry but I have to cut our girls' day short." She looked so genuinely sorry, you didn't think twice about it and pulled her into a hug.
"Aw, it's okay, girl. We can always schedule another one. Have fun tomorrow!"
Had you looked back when you left, you'd have seen Nat rapidly dialing Steve's number.
~
As you attempted to open the door to your suite, courtesy of Tony, you discovered the door was jammed. You fished your phone out of your pocket to call the billionaire, but shoved it back when you heard a curse on the other side.
"Hey! Who's in there?" You yelled. If it was a burglar, well, God have mercy on him.
You jiggled the knob once more and the door swung open. You leapt forward into a battle stance, but relaxed when you scanned your surroundings and your jaw dropped open.
The room was filled with roses, it seemed like there was a bouquet on every surface. Each rose was the same vibrant hue, as red as your favorite lipstick, the one Bucky couldn't resist messing up and before you knew it, his mouth would be on yours.
Stop thinking about that. Where did these come from?
You spotted a card on the bouquet lying on the couch and you folded it open, inhaling the sweet smell of the flowers as you read it.
'One rose for every day I should have been with you.'
Well that was either sweet or creepy, depending on who it was from.
You stumbled into the bedroom, hoping to find another card or at the very least, a receipt that would indicate who sent them. Instead, you got another huge surprise.
The bedroom was illuminated by candlelight, and there were rose petals on the bed, arranged in a way that must have taken hours and a lot of though.
And the biggest surprise of all was Bucky kneeling before you, a tired but nonetheless admiring grin on his face. His hands held a small black jewelry box, and the ring displayed before you was silver with an elegantly cut sapphire.
Your hands flew to your mouth as Bucky started speaking.
"Doll, I'm... shit I forgot my speech. Okay, uh, shit. Here goes. So I've been away for six months and I've had a lot of time to think about our relationship. You were there for me when I started to adjust to this century. You were there for me during every nightmare, every tough therapy session, everything. I can't thank you enough for that. Then, when I asked you on a first date and you agreed, I was about ready to jump ten feet into the air from joy. And I can't say exactly, but somewhere in between the first time we met and now, I fell hopelessly in love with you. I only hope that you feel the same way about me. (Y/N), will you make me the happiest man alive and marry me?"
You didn't respond, only falling to your knees and kissing him with every ounce of love and passion you had in you. Your arms wrapped around his neck and you felt a tear slip down your cheek, but you didn't care.
When you finally pulled away to breathe, Bucky's smile could light up the world as he slipped the ring on your finger. You kissed him again, and this time his arms wrapped tightly around your waist as if he were afraid you might evaporate.
This time he was the one to pull away, the same dazzling smile never leaving his face.
"I'm truly the happiest man alive," he whispered, pulling you into him and burying his nose in your hair, inhaling the scent of your shampoo.
You pulled away slightly to look at him, a teasing glint in your eyes.
"Bucky?"
"Yeah, doll?"
"What am I gonna do with all these roses?"
228 notes · View notes