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writefightandflightclub · 2 months

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Ride or Die (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x fem!reader): Chapter Nine (of 11 - COMPLETED SERIES)

Series summary: Together, you and Santiago have been “soldiers” then “friends” then “lovers”; but will you ever figure out what comes next, especially when Santiago can’t (or won’t) stop running?

Genre: a LOT of angst, (some) smut, best friends to… lovers?

Warnings: see collated series warnings, here. Please note this series is 18+. Minors or ageless blogs interacting will be blocked.

Series info: this is a COMPLETED SERIES. All chapters are written and queued. Posting schedule is here (includes series master list).

Author’s note: Shorter chapter this week (be warned, next week's will be the heftiest yet), but I hope you like this next instalment! It's really gearing us up for the FINAL TWO! As always, I would be super grateful for any comments / reblogs / asks you may wish to send my way. If you've read this far, THANK YOU! ILY :-*

Word count: 3.8k for this part.

Tag list info: will reblog separately tagging those on taglist. You can request to be added to taglist if you are 18+. Send me an ask, please, so I can keep track :)

Today is a new day. It’s a new day and you’re done crying. You’re done holding on to anger and resentments.

Besides, you feel as though you gave Santiago everything you had last night, and - at least for now - there is nothing else left to give.

So, instead of wallowing, you plod downstairs to where Frankie is stationed in the kitchen, offering up your favourite pastries, coffee, and even pulpy, freshly squeezed orange juice. You pull up to the breakfast bar, hopping up on a stool to survey your extravagant pity platter.

It’s true then. “He’s gone.”

Frankie nods solemnly, leaning into the other side of the island like he’s a sympathetic bartender in some old Western flick. He claps his palm to your shoulder in a supportive gesture. “I’m sorry, chiquita.”

You shrug.

His face twists. That’s not all there is. “Don’t shoot the messenger, but…”

“What, Frankie?”

“He had to bounce but he didn’t want to wake you. Said you looked far too peaceful sleeping for him to come along and fuck that up.”

Your brow notches, absorbing all of that with a contrived neutrality. “How did he… seem?”

Frankie’s eyebrows raise lightly as he ponders, thinking back over prior events. “Calm, actually. Happy, even.”

“Hmm.” You smile softly to yourself. Makes a change from lately to hear that. You get it though. After last night, you can’t feel anything else either. Even if he technically didn’t say goodbye in words, you get it. You aren’t mad. Chances are one or both of you would have fucked it up this morning. This way at least, it leaves the night you spent together untarnished. Makes it feel like holding on to a good dream, before the realities of the day can set in and make things fraught.

Frankie’s face crumples with concern as you gaze wistfully into the middle-distance. “You gonna be alright?”

You pump your eyebrows. Search yourself for feelings. “You know what? Yeah. I am. I’m okay.”

Frankie’s eyes glint playfully then. “Oh. So you won’t need alllll o’ these yummy pastries?”

You laugh as he eyes the pain au chocolat pointedly. “Get stuck in, Morales,” you invite fondly, and he obliges, scraping up a stool and wiggling on his ass until he’s comfy.

“Hey. So,” he says through mouthfuls. “Did you two figure anything out?”

You groan at the sheer complexity of Frankie’s simple question. Did you? Or are you still going around in circles? “We know we love each other. The rest? Uh. I still don’t know.”

“He’ll get there.”

You puff air out from between your teeth.

“You don’t think so?” Frankie interprets.

You wrap your arms around your middle. “It’s not that. It’s… I don’t think it was all on him.” You don’t have any blame or accusations left. No grudges to hold on to - your hands are open. You’ve both made mistakes. Manufactured this distance, in your own ways - sometimes literally, sometimes not. You were both just trying to figure all this out as best as you could.

Frankie’s brows notch and rise with a silent question. How so? What do you mean?

The thoughts form as you speak them. Clumsy yet intrepid. “I guess... It just feels like we were… Both waiting for the other person to get somewhere, you know? But this whole time, we should’ve been heading there together. Otherwise, how the fuck were we supposed to know where to end up?” You slide a palm over your face. “Christ. Does that make any fucking sense?”

Frankie ponders. “I think so. Like trying to meet on the highway without a time or a place or directions?”

You reach out and clasp his hand. “You get me, buddy.”

Frankie blinks, tangling himself up further in your metaphor, but valiantly trying to muddle through. “And so… do you…?” He scratches his chaotic mop of hair. “Do you have a map now? A meeting point? I mean… What happens next? On the highway?” Your mouth lilts into a gentle smile at Frankie’s earnest question. He notes and feeds your amusement, going off the deep-end with this metaphor now. “Are you driving in shifts, chiquita? Grabbing cheez-its for the road?”

You laugh, the musical sound mingling with Frankie’s throaty chuckle. “What happens next?” You repeat the question out loud, carefully, posing it to yourself. Hasn’t that always been the question? However, the very sentiment which used to scare you now feels a lot more like potential. Like possibility.

Still, you feel -for the moment- like leaving that question hanging. You leave a pregnant pause. You let it breathe.

For now; you let it go. You let him go.

“Where are the other guys at, anyway?”

Frankie rides your tangent with ease. “Packing shit up.”

“We should help them.”

“Yeah, we should,” Frankie grins mischievously, and yet neither of you make any effort whatsoever to mobilise.

Instead, Frankie pours you a cup of coffee from the pot.

“You wanna call off the hike today?” he asks hopefully, Frankie increasingly a creature of comfort.

“No. Hell no. I need to move.” You lock your fingers and stretch your arms above your head, a satisfying stretch extending down your spine.

Frankie’s eyes sparkle across at you. “Just not in aid of helping the Millers pack their trunk, huh?”

“Exactly! What did I tell you, bud. You get me.”

You do though. You need to move. You need to move forward. No more standing in place. No more moving in circles, always repeating.

Still, when you think about it. When you think to what is ahead, to what is next, your stomach drops. You feel overcome by a sudden anxiety which you can’t place at first. Like having misplaced something dear to you. Like having done something wrong but not being able to recall exactly what. Then, all of a sudden, you understand it entirely.

“Listen. Tell me about this job, Frankie.”

He immediately tenses up. “What job?”

You take a bite of your pastry. “The one with Lorea’s cash house.”

Frankie simply groans. He always knows more than he lets on, this one. About everything. Everyone.

“Is it true? That you and the boys are in?”

You can plainly see his reticence to respond. But you know for a fact that he’s about to cave.

5, 4, 3, 2, 1.

“They need a pilot,” Frankie states, looking up at you with guilty, puppy dog eyes.

“Fuck me. He dragged you back in too, huh? You know… Sometimes I wonder if any of us are good for each other.” Your tone grows mildly irate, your heart quickening, but you recognise it for what it is. It’s simply anger veiling worry. You love these boys.

“Come on, don’t say that,” Frankie bargains. “We’ve dragged each other out of hell.”

“And back again.”

Frankie takes a deep breath. His tongue pokes around the meat of his cheek. “He says it’s simple recon. In and out. No mess.”

You jut your chin up. Stare at him levelly, unblinking. You know that Frankie will give it to you straight. Know that he can’t help himself. “And you buy that?”

5, 4, 3, 2, 1.

“Not for a fucking second.”

You scoff, shaking your head. Not when it comes from Santiago, no. After all, you’ve fallen for Santiago’s bullshit plenty of times yourself. It’s the fact that Frankie would wander in with his eyes wide open to it that really gets you. It’s something else.

Still, before you can chastise him for being so stupid, Frankie glumly offers up some explanation. “Look. I need the job. I… I got my license revoked.”

Your heart drops - and your face with it. Your hands clamp over your mouth. “Frankie,” you say softly, with empathy. “Fuck.”

He hunches in on himself despondently, his hands disappearing up his sleeves, his fists clenching and his gaze cast downward. “I fucked up, man. Cassie has a baby on the way and I fucked up.” His eyes swim with a deep shame.

“Coke?” you venture, tentatively.

5, 4, 3, 2, 1.

Slowly, he nods.

“Frankie.” Your hand swipes over your face, and your eyes fill with concern for him. His palm waves in the air, however, quickly dismissing any sympathies you may care to bestow.

“I’m back on track. Getting there. I am.” His eyes are nothing but determined. Sincere. “But I need this gig. No matter how fucking hare-brained a scheme that pendejo is cooking.”

“Think of the baby, dude.”

“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” Frankie says forcefully, in a harsh tone he rarely uses, and you know in no uncertain terms that the conversation is done. That he’s made his mind up, and that he won’t hear you out any further on the matter.

You swallow. Regroup. You chew on some platitudes, but none of them feel quite right.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Frankie says after a stretched, tense moment. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

“It’s okay,” you jostle his shoulder, and it shakes a little of the tension from him and the room. “I get it. And shit. I’m sorry for putting all of my bullshit on you this weekend. I wish you’d said something, Cat.”

He shrugs. Speaks with finality. “There’s not much to say. It’s done. I just need to make it right. And I will.”

“I believe it. But you do know that I’m… If you need… Anything, Frankie.”

He looks up at you then, the warmth back in his eyes as your voice cracks, searching for the words. But, he already knows everything you could ever say. You’ve said it before, a hundred times. He knows you love him. Knows you’re proud of him. Knows you’d do anything for him. Knows you want the best for him. He knows it already.

In turn, you are sure that he already knows everything you could possibly call him out on. That he’s already thought about it. Weighed it up. Thought about the risks. About the possibility that he’s acting out of desperation. The possibility that he’d probably be better off staying the hell away from Pope’s schemes.

He scrapes his stool back and comes to you, bundling you into a tight, warm, big brother hug. You tug in a deep breath, and you let it go. You’re done trying to control everything around you. It never really got you anywhere.

Still, there’s an undeniably uncomfortable knot in your chest as you think about them all gearing up. Strapping on their tac vests. Shoving clotting pads into their med packs. It makes you feel physically ill. And so, you can’t help yourself. “Do me a favour, Frankie? Don’t take Tom?” You muffle the words into his shirt, half hoping they will get lost there. That maybe he didn’t even hear you. But, you know when he braces his hands on your shoulders to get a good look at you, that your game is up.

“Why not?”

You see it then, in his eyes. That Tom is not a risk Frankie has considered. His presence not something he has weighed up.

You deliver your words as plainly and transparently as possible. “He’s too hungry, Cat.”

Frankie simply locks eyes with you, as though trying to weed out your motives. Shrewdly trying to assess your conclusions. Is this just your petty vendetta talking? Is this intelligence? Is this coming from your gut?

“Please. Just trust me.”

“I do,” he nods eventually, but you should know better than to feel any relief. And next, there it is. “I do but it’s not my call.”

Well. You’ve said your piece. You guess that’s all you’ve got. Absent-mindedly, you tug on Frankie’s lapels. “You’d better come back to me, Cat,” you plead plaintively. “And by God, you’d better bring those other fuckers back with you to boot.”

With a wistful affection, Frankie tugs you to him again and you stand there in silence for a few more moments, the sounds of the other guys evident in the background. In time, you and Frankie release each other and gravitate towards them, tucking yourselves under the porch to survey their efforts packing up the trucks.

“We should probably help,” you repeat again, and, to your side, your hear Frankie’s murmur of agreement. However, when you glance to him you see his long, lean frame stretched out up against the wooden porch post. He looks like a man with nowhere else to be in a hurry.

“Fuck,” he curses at nothing in particular, surveying the animated bodies of his buddies before him with both awe and trepidation. “How did we get here? Years of service and none of us have anything to show for it.”

That’s a Santiago sales pitch, through and through, you reckon. You recognise his propaganda. Funny, since he used to swallow the flag for breakfast. Is that how he got to him then? Convinced Frankie he could finally make bank? Take what he deserved? Ah. Or give his family what they deserved? Frankie is all about family.

A sad smile twitches your mouth. “Well. That’s not entirely true, is it? Not nothing.” You think of what you’ve gained from all of this. “I got a gaggle of weird ass brothers. A suitcase full of trauma. A fucked back. And! An array of unhealthy coping mechanisms.”

Despite the darkness of your statement, Frankie’s eyes crinkle. What else is left to do but laugh, anyway? “Maybe Will should put that in his speech.”

You belly chuckle at that, moving to lean up against the opposite post. “Yeah. Scare those poor recruits off before they can end up like us, huh?”

Frankie looks wistful again. “It hasn’t been all bad.”

No. It hasn’t. He’s not wrong about that.

You ponder on it. If you could go back and change your path - would you? But, despite everything, your squad would be far too much to lose. “Sure. The weird thing is, as shitty as it’s been at times? I wouldn’t change it for the world.”

There is a beat, and Frankie reaches out across the space between you and wordlessly clasps your hand.

“Listen. You gonna be okay, Frankie?” He looks down at his worn sneakers, contemplatively, as though he really doesn’t know the answer yet. You give his hand a squeeze, trying to let him know that’s okay. “We’ll talk more, okay?”

He nods - a subtle, concessionary thing, like maybe he could really do with that.

“I get why you didn’t tell me. But I’m sorry. That I didn’t do a better job of asking.”

“It’s not on you,” he says generously. A little too generously, in your estimation. You’ve been rather wrapped up in your own shit. A little too self-involved. “I know I can talk to you. I just… I, uh. Didn’t want to ruin the weekend.” The irony of that statement causes a throaty chuckle to bounce in Frankie’s neck, and your palm slides over your face in regret even as you laugh in reciprocity.

“Christ. I did a great job of that all by myself.”

“Well,” Frankie says good-naturedly, shifting to bump your hip with his. Wrapping his crooked arm over your shoulder. “You had some help.”

It is your turn now to look wistful, as you contemplate the storm that is Santiago, and all the rubble he left behind. “He’s really gone again.” Frankie simply squeezes you a little tighter. “Hey. Anything else I should know, by the way?” you needle. “You’re not holding out on me?”

Frankie sucks air through his teeth. “Tom and Molly. She finally served him papers.”

You fold forward, hinging to collapse your upper half onto the porch rail. “Fuck. Shit. I really need to start being nicer to that shithead.” Still, from behind, Frankie’s familiar chuckle buoys you, even as you inwardly berate yourself for getting wrapped up in your own business. “We’re all messes, huh, Frankie? Do you think we can fix it?”

“Yeah. Yeah. I do.”

“Truly?”

“Truly.”

You toss him a soft, grateful smile, which extends as Will makes his way over to your position, greeting you “Hey, slackers!”. You and Frankie share a conspiratorial glance.

“All set for the hike, Captain?”

“No thanks to you.”

“I had an alternate mission. Ranks of pastries to deplete.”

Will feigns tiredness, but his baby blues sparkle even as he rolls them.

“Anyway. Didn’t need you. All set to head out as soon as you slackers get your act together. You wantin’ to do the usual route, hon?”

You brace your arms against the porch rail. Dig your fingers into the wood. “No,” you say, the words a little tight in your chest, but they feel good. “Not today. There’s somewhere else. Somewhere I always wanted to go.”

Somewhere new.

“Fine by me,” Frankie offers. “Just let me grab more pastries.”

***

You relish the hike, when it comes. You relish walking a path that is -to you- entirely untrodden. That he can’t touch. You walked the old, familiar trails for too long, and the only place it ever got you was right back where you started.

The bullshit ends here. You’ve decided.

And so, you turn your attention away from your sun, and to the wider constellation of stars around you. To yourself.

You even do your best to make peace with Tom. To put old grudges to bed.

You relish the hike. Enjoy the undulating landscape. You don’t know for sure what’s next, or where you’re going, but the difference is that for once, that feels okay. Full of potential.

You walk until your legs burn, and when you get to the summit you take a moment to drink in the crisp, clifftop air. To look out across the ocean. To see it from a distance and to know that this time, it cannot break you over and over and over.

Still, when you’re at the top, as if by providence, Santiago texts you.

“Hey. Sorry I had to take off early. I wanna say… Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For the best night of my life.”

“Ah. Fuck it,” you whisper to yourself, and you press the button to call him. You immediately call him. He immediately picks up. “Hi.”

”Hi. What’s up? They just announced my gate.”

”That’s okay, I’ll be quick. I, uh. I just needed to tell you too. Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For a proper goodbye.”

“Look, I’m sorry that I-”

“-I’m not mad, Santi. I think… I think we said everything we have to say, right? I think it was…”

”…Perfect?”

”Yeah. Yeah, pretty perfect.”

“Listen. It’s selfish, but. With everything coming up. The Lorea job and… I needed it, you know? Needed that image of you sleeping.”

There’s an ache in your chest and it’s bittersweet.

He cares for you in every way he knows how, doesn’t he? In every way he can. He’s not perfect, but hey, neither are you. You’re both a little bit broken, but that doesn’t mean you can’t heal. And most of all, it doesn’t mean you don’t deserve love while you’re doing it.

One day, he’ll turn up at your door, and he’ll be welcome. Whenever that is. Whenever it happens. But until then, you can’t just wait for him.

Until then, you’ll love him; from a distance.

No longer can you leave him in anger. No longer can he break you.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Maybe one day, that will even be enough.

“Would you promise me something?”

“Sure.”

“Come back and visit soon, huh?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I promise.”

You conclude the call, and you stretch your arms above your head. A pleasant tingle snakes down your back as it cracks. You haven’t felt so relaxed in a long time. You don’t think you’ve ever felt such peace.

The path that you are walking is yours, and you implicitly trust where it’s taking you.

***

You are grateful to slip into the passenger side of Frankie’s car, beginning the drive back to the city and signalling the end of your stay at the beach house. Still, there is something bittersweet there too as you leave behind the site of so many memories from over the years - and now, the site of your most perfect night with Santiago.

It reminds you of all you’ve been through. The ups and the downs and plenty of things which went sideways. You are starting to realise though, that perhaps the landscape of love is undulating. That sometimes the terrain is tough. It shouldn’t have been quite so tough though - so steep and unforgiving; and so, you hope for gentler, easier paths ahead.

It is bittersweet then, as you leave this place behind.

As you look forward, having said goodbye. As you wrestle with your past, future, and present.

Frankie swings the car out and onto the highway, the Millers up ahead and Tom behind, your vehicles forming a convoy through the dark, the glow of headlights illuminating the route ahead.

You sit in silence, eyes and thoughts unfocussed, in abstraction, as you watch vague shapes and colours slipping by the window, your own face occasionally reflected right back at you. You look older than you used to. More tired. But you don’t dislike that.

After a while, Frankie’s robust voice slices through the dark, his eyes on the road and hands threading the wheel. “I don’t know if this will make things better or worse but… Do you want to hear it?”

You swivel your head towards him, fractured, liquid panels of light slipping over the planes of his face as your surroundings pass by in a haze. “Hear what?”

“Pope’s heartbreak playlist?”

Your hands dig into your thighs where they rest. “Do I?”

“Well?” Frankie asks, his finger poised over the button, and evidently not willing to make that decision for you.

“Yeah. Fuck it.”

You brace a little, in all honesty. A tightness takes hold of your chest as you wonder if the first track to befall your ears might be angry. Resentful. Full of blame or sadness that you can’t hope to wrestle with and come out on top. But, as the first notes of the track sound out, you are surprised to find a full, unfettered laugh rises from out of your throat. The tears swell in your eyes next, for it is nothing if not bittersweet.

“That dickhead. I can’t believe…”

You can’t believe it. The fact he has chosen a song which reflects your life together? Which reveals a happy memory?

He loves you, doesn’t he? He has for a long time. And you can’t help but hope that maybe one day, that will even be enough. For tonight though, it will definitely do. You’ll take it. You’ll treasure it.

“Whiskey in the Jar,” Frankie scoffs as he catches on to the song, even if his fingers are drumming against the lip of the wheel involuntarily. “I mean. What the shit’s that all about? He’s a weird kid, I swear.”

“Frankie,” you laugh brightly, turning once again to look wistfully out of the window, as the view of the beach house and the ocean recedes into the distance. You catch another glimpse of yourself in the pane, and this time you look younger, you think. More alive. “Did I ever tell you about that night in Philadelphia?”

#santiago pope garcia x reader #triple frontier #oscar isaac #ride or die series

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thebookworm0001 · 2 years

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fic author self rec

Thank you for the tag, @rosella-writes !!!!

When you get this, reply with your favourite five fics that you’ve written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love.

So I have about a million wips and small things that I have put on the inter-webs, but only a handful of actually finished, published fics which makes this almost more of a 'here's my entire catalogue' post but I sure aint complaining about that lol

without further ado:

Last Chance

Rating: E Pairing: Ellana Lavellan x Solas Summary: After years of work fighting against Fen'harel and his agents, the final battle between former Inquisitor Lavellan and the man she loves is only one night away. Links: Tumblr | AO3 Length: 6k, 1 chapter, complete; part of the 'post-trespasser' collection This was the first ever smut fic I wrote and I am wildly proud of it. Do you want to be in pain? Well, this is the angst-filled smut fic for you. I have it on good authority that this will make you cry. This is also meant to be near the very end of a long-fic that I have started but have yet to post anything finished for, so there's a lot of build-up to this that does not yet exist but you can imagine as being very angsty.

2. Stolen Moments

Rating: G Pairing: Ellana Lavellan x Solas Summary: Ellana and Solas steal a moment alone. Alt. solavellan did not get a repeatable kiss scene and I’m fixing that. Links: Tumblr | AO3 Length: 1.2k, 2 chapters, complete; part of the 'in-between' collection This is just a sweet solavellan moment. No pain here! It also comes with some incredible, amazing, absolutely stunning artwork courtesy of @rosenrotxiii which you can see in the second chapter on ao3 or linked in the tumblr post

3. In the Morning

Rating: G Pairing: Ellana Lavellan x Solas Summary: When Solas wakes, it is to the sound of her breath. Alt. pov of the end of Last Chance. Links: Tumblr | AO3 Length: 670, 1 chapter, complete; part of the 'post-trespasser' collection Did you want to have your heart wrecked just a bit more? Was Last Chance simply not painful enough for you? Congratulations I wrote the end of that one from Solas' POV so you could relish in the solavellan hell just a little longer.

4. Laundry Day

Rating: E Pairing: Ellana Lavellan x Solas Summary: After the Dread Wolf’s defeat at the hands of the former Inquisitor, his punishment is far more lenient than many were anticipating. House arrest, under the supervision of the Herald of Andraste herself. As Ellana and Solas settle into their new lives, neither has forgotten the events just before their final confrontation, and, caught in close quarters, old feelings begin to resurface. Follow-up to Last Chance Links: Tumblr | AO3 Length: 4.4k, 1 chapter, complete; part of the 'post-trespasser' collection So, this is also meant to be part of a long-fic that I have yet to write. In the ending where solas and ellana both survive his attempt to reshape the world and her killing him to stop that from happening, Solas's punishment is house arrest under the watchful eye of the very woman who defeated him. There is much tension. This is a sweet smut fic - need to soothe your soul after Last Chance but still want smut? This is your thing.

5. Modeling Expectations

Rating: E Pairing: Ellana Lavellan x Eludysia Lavellan Summary: Since taking a body, Ellana has come to rely on Eludysia to help her navigate the waking world and its new experiences, but one inquiry leads to a more hands-on demonstration than she expected. Ancient Elvhenan AU. Links: Tumblr | AO3 Length: 3k, 1 chapter, complete My dear friend @roseategales and I share many an au where our (unrelated!) Lavellans fall in love with each other and with Solas. This particular throuple au is an elvhenan au in which Ellana is a recently embodied spirit of Curiosity. In this fic, she's a bit curious about sex and 'Dysia is very happy to give her some instruction.

Firstly, apologies if I'm not the first to tag you, but I would like to tag: @roseategales (go check out her throuple smut fic if she doesn't rec it herself) @bdafic @redinkofshame @noire-pandora @shift-shaping

#my writing #then she put pen to paper #ellana lavellan #solas #solavellan #ellana + eludysia #dragon age #...i publish a lot of smut

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giggles-and-freckles · 3 years

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my fic masterlist

decided to do this for my own sake more than anyone else’s because sometimes I have to make sure the idea I get at 3am isn’t one I’ve already written hehe. anyway, a lot of these are on my ao3, but I’m also going to try and track down some of my TuMbLr-eXcLuSiVe fics, too. I’ll update this as often as I remember (so, uhhh–)

In-Progress: Not On A Consistent Updating Schedule Bc Abi is a Mess ™

midst of the mind – Anakin has always had a pretty good understanding of his feelings, even if he's not particularly disciplined in acting on them. But things surrounding the Chancellor seem to be off and Anakin's determined to get to the bottom of it. With a little help from his friends.(or: fix-it ROTS fic where Ani, Obi, and Padmé take down the Chancellor one fake smile and late-night tea party at a time)

evermore – "dreamscapes and tragedies and epic tales of love lost and found" within the lives of our favourite space fam. (or: TAYLOR SWIFT LITERALLY OWNS MY SOUL, OKAY?) (unrelated one-shots based on taylor swift songs ha)

filling the gaps – after the horror of Naboo, Obi-Wan has flipped from Padawan to having a Padawan in a matter of hours and he's not sure how much longer he can pretend like he's okay. thankfully, this one spunky youngling who keeps popping up in the corners of his life seems to know what to do. (or: baby!Soka unknowingly helps new Knight!Kenobi figure things out and braids his hair along the way)

Obi-Wan & Ahsoka: Best Father-Daughter Duo In The Galaxy According To Me (because let’s be honest...that’s why I’m here) (tagged: #obi & soka)

filling the gaps – *in-progress multi-chapter* after the horror of Naboo, Obi-Wan has flipped from Padawan to having a Padawan in a matter of hours and he's not sure how much longer he can pretend like he's okay. thankfully, this one spunky youngling who keeps popping up in the corners of his life seems to know what to do. (or: baby!Soka unknowingly helps new Knight!Kenobi figure things out and braids his hair along the way)

playing catch – Ahsoka finds an old friend on Tatooine and has lots of questions. they cry a lot. obi-wan tells some white lies. they get the hugs they need. (Obi-Wan & Ahsoka reunite on Tatooine)

all too young – during a bout of insomnia while on Onderon, Ahsoka gets some advice and insight about her Master. (or Obi-Wan hears Ahsoka laugh for the first time and they get to have a snuggle and he absolutely spends the entire next day training the rebels trying not to cry thinking about it every dang time he sees her.)

hologram heart-to-hearts – we see Obi-Wan and Ahsoka have a conversation via hologram in the final season of tcw, but what if there had been...more?(three-parter) (basically Obi and Soka keep in touch after she leaves the Order and there’s...a lot of emotions involved)

little love – a sort of follow-up to hologram heart-to hearts; Ahsoka sticks her nose into the wrong Alliance meeting and discovers a certain Jedi is alive and on Tatooine of all places, so she places a long-distance call.

bad days – Ahsoka tries to squeeze out of her Grand Master exactly what happened on Mortis. and, as always, Obi-Wan is powerless to deny her anything, no matter how painful that truth may be.

sleeping with monsters – Ahsoka is having a hard time sleeping after her time on Felucia, so Obi-Wan offers a solution.

chance meeting – Obi-Wan is up late researching for his Master in the archives when a certain sneeze–and pair of big blue eyes–catch his attention.

‘drooping eyelids’ prompt fill – Ahsoka and Obi-Wan have a conversation about attachment while Anakin’s missing. they (plus Anakin) get some platonic cuddles.

‘dancing’ prompt fill – they attend a senatorial gala without Anakin because he’s feeling grumpy grump after deception arc fall-out. Obi realises that there are still things to be thankful for.

sorrow – Ahsoka feels the full weight of loss as she clutches her Grand Master’s dead body. (deception arc FEELS!!!!)

‘I do not pretend to set people right, but I do see they are often wrong’ prompt fill – *trigger warning: death of children; Obi comforts Ahsoka after they witness an atrocity of the highest order.

the silence between — Ahsoka gets assigned to the 212th as her Master recovers. Unwanted quality time with her Grand Master doesn’t go as planned.

untitled ‘Obi & Ani role reversal au’ ficlet — Padawan Obi-Wan pays a visit to his best pal Ahsoka in the crèche.

‘falling asleep on each other’s shoulder’ prompt fill – the summary says it all. fluff!

'I don’t wanna die’ – Obi-Wan comforts Ahsoka in her pain. *tw: implied major character death

‘I made tea’ – Anakin is off-world so it’s up to Obi-Wan to take care of his sick grand-padawan.

sorry for the soup – post-deception arc. Ahsoka stops by Obi-Wan’s quarters to check-in.

Obi-Wan & Anakin: The Early Years (tagged: #obi & ani)

figuring it out – Anakin learns waking Obi-Wan up can sometimes be a good thing and Obi-Wan learns that maybe everything's going to be okay. (padawan!ani & new dad knight!kenobi)

if I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more – Anakin overhears a conversation he wasn’t meant to hear and lashes out in response. lots of hurt is uncovered and Obi-Wan hears some hard truths from his Padawan. angst, angst, angst...but with a hug.

reading lessons – the team takes a trip to the archives to find some reading material. Anakin is adorably insecure.

cold – Obi-Wan and Anakin have their first solo mission, but in typical Kenobi & Skywalker fashion, it does not go as planned. Exasperated Obi-Wan and Won't-Shut-Up Anakin are put to the test by deep space and a completely out-of-fuel ship. (or some more fluff where padawan!ani and new knight!kenobi get to try and figure out how the heck this master-padawan thing WORKS. hint: it's not easy!)

playing hooky – angel baby Anakin breaks Obi-Wan's heart and it's not for the last time...womp wooooomp.

like you – sweet, angel baby Ani gives himself a haircut and Obi-Wan deals with the aftermath. (I’m copying and pasting most of these summaries directly from ao3 and cracking up because I called Anakin a sweet angel baby in two in a ROW hahah)

fun? – the Jedi Council gives Obi-Wan his newest orders as a young Jedi Knight and he struggles to understand them. he was instructed to take his new Padawan and...have...fun?

go away/please stay – Obi-Wan has been disappearing for solo missions more and more often and Anakin's starting to wonder if it's more than just on request of the Council. (or: can you say TEEN ANGST!)

‘forehead kisses’ prompt fill – Anakin stumbles upon his Master having quite the nightmare, so he handles it the way his mom always handled his own nightmares. with patience and affection.

unnamed NAP TIME fic – Obi-Wan gets home from a solo mission early to find his bed occupied.

‘sweets’ prompt fill – Anakin gets a little ambitious with his choco-ball indulgence.

‘fuzzy socks’ prompt fill – years after arriving at the Temple, Anakin still hasn’t quite adjusted to the cold. Obi-Wan gets him a gift to help. (really just an excuse for some obi ani banter)

‘snowball fight’ prompt fill – Anakin takes his boredom to the next level, much to his Master’s chagrin.

untitled Anakin sickfic bc I’m not feeling very creative right now – the team goes on a mission but Anakin gets sick. Obi-Wan is ultimate mother hen and Anakin makes an observation.

got germs – sickficlet where both of our best boys are sick.

you’re okay – just some classic protective parent!Obi-Wan and teenaged son!Anakin post disaster.

‘you lied to me’ – angstpril day 13. Anakin really wants to go to Ilum and make his lightsaber...but is met with disappointment.

random sickfic – because we all know Anakin is the most annoying sick person in the world.

don’t struggle – the ship is crashing, as usual. but this time, Anakin’s seatbelt is stuck. *tw: implied major character deaths

relic – sith!Obi au. *tw: major character death

aspectabund – Anakin’s eyes betray him and his Master.

Obi-Wan & Anakin: Brotp But Also Idiots Who Don’t Know How To Communicate (still tagged #obi & ani)

define ‘attachment’ – while the dads esteemed Jedi Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker wait for Ahsoka to wake up, they talk about attachment, worry, and that time Ani caused an accidental security breech at the Temple.

favourites – Obi-Wan has been tasked with telling Anakin of his special assignment to keep an eye on the Chancellor, but he gets sappy and sentimental in the process because these conversations are hard.

after all these years – Obi-Wan tries to talk to Anakin, but it doesn't go well. does this sound familiar OR WHAT? (post-decpetion arc angst)

brilliant – Anakin is having a difficult time adjusting to his new mechno-arm for one very specific reason. (the boys communicate properly in this one and even get a hug as a treat!)

sober words said aloud – Anakin's meeting with the Council is interrupted by his highly intoxicated–and wildly affectionate–Master. (crack fic turned fluff)

‘you’ve been crying, I can tell’ prompt fill – Anakin makes the mistake of checking in on his Master after a particularly grueling mission. it doesn’t go well. (or: Obi-Wan loses his sh!t)

going somewhere? – Obi-Wan catches Anakin on his way out for a midnight rendezvous with a certain Senator. Anakin makes a quick decision and chooses Obi-Wan. sweet words are exchanged on a sentimental walk.

shaking hands – in the immediate wake of Ahsoka’s departure form the order, Anakin...isn’t okay. Obi-Wan tries to do something about it. (post S5 angst)

untitled platonic tired cuddles/back scratching fic – Anakin resorts to an old tactic to make his Master rest.

sun shine on – Obi-Wan and Anakin take a little trip to Tatooine to visit Shmi’s grave. (post-ROTS fix-it au of sorts)

pushing it too far — Obi-Wan calls Anakin for some help when he takes ‘intel’ too seriously and ends up drunk on a street in lower-level Coruscant.

whump prompt fill – Obi-Wan looks after Anakin after a near-miss. They talk.

‘was it another premonition?’ – Obi-Wan dreams of Luke. He wakes up to Anakin.

post-mortis angst – Anakin remembers. *tw: implied suicidal thoughts

angstpril: ‘you have to let me go’ – Anakin and Obi-Wan are stuck in a pit. only one of them can make it out alive. *tw: implied major character death

role model – post-deception angst. Obi and Ani talk. it doesn’t go well.

here either way – conversations about mental health. *tw: panic attack

hiraeth – Obi-Wan walks alone. *post ROTS

Anakin & Ahsoka: Dream Team Sharing One Single Brain Cell (tagged: #snips & skyguy or (for the really angsty) #its crying about snips & skyguy hours)

that one person – (my first fic!) Anakin gets assigned to lecture a class of younglings, but he's not the only one who doesn't want to be there.or Ahsoka Tano is done with Jedi sh!t and tries to leave, but this time it's just a classroom and not the entire Order and there's a lot less tears and pain.

here and now – the Force has tried to swallow Ahsoka Tano three times. it's hard to be the last one standing. (or Ahsoka feels the death of three important men in her life and is tired of being left behind) *tw: major character deaths (canon compliant and not depicted, only mentioned)

whumptober: crying – Anakin comforts a distraught Ahsoka after her disaster mission over Ryloth.

reaching out – Anakin is always there...until he’s not. Ahsoka reflects on how different it is fighting and living without Anakin at her side. (angst)

help would come – Anakin and Ahsoka get stuck on an ice planet and things get dire. I chalked this full of parallels to the final conversation between Ani and Luke bc I love pain, I guess?

whump: ‘i’ve got you’ – Anakin pulls Ahsoka from a nightmare.

zen!Anakin ficlet — Ahsoka visits Anakin in his new job as Galaxy’s #1 Dad (well Plo Koon still exists so maybe #1.5?).

right as rain – Ahsoka insists she is fine when she is distinctly not.

snoozeville – Anakin and a few boys of the 501st find their Commander catching some extra z’s.

stitching up – Ahsoka performs some in-the-moment surgery for Anakin and he tries not to scream. *tw: field surgery

‘platonic spooning’ prompt fill – do I need a summary after that?

sad hours: dancing – Anakin and Ahsoka dance in the aftermath of tragedy.

rainy ending given to a perfect day – Anakin and Ahsoka take a trip into downtown Coruscant.

Anakin and Padmé: Abi Tries and fails To Write Romance (tagged: #anidala)

not enough – Anakin has a hard time with the Mortis fall-out. Padmé doesn’t know how to help someone who doesn’t want it. some painful connections between Ahsoka and Shmi are made. (angst, no happy ending, trouble in paradise)

I will not have this baby in a jail cell – some fluff, some crack, some Anakin-being-so-proud-of-his-badass-wife.

marcid – domestic fluff in which Padmé almost shoots him. ha. oops!

rubatosis – angsty anidala hours. Anakin can’t go to sleep.

Obi-Wan and Satine: Abi Tries and fails some more To Write Romance (tagged #obitine)

don’t go – Obi-Wan makes a choice. *year on the run timeline

that’s mine – some happiness AU obitine. waking up next to each other. laughing. all the sappy stuff.

accidental keldabe kiss – all the ridiculous tropes I love with our favourite pining idiots. it’s the ‘kiss me so they don’t see us!’ trope!!!! *year on the run timeline

you’re shaking – Satine knows Obi-Wan more than he’d like. *year on the run

Anakin, Obi-Wan, Ahsoka, Rex, Padmé: Space Found Family In Whatever Form It Comes

i want your midnights – the gang attends a New Year's banquet (read: party) and Padmé surprises them all with her midnight kiss.

flair for dramatics – when the gang gets their ship stranded on a desert planet, Anakin and Ahsoka get creative as they try to keep spirits up and minds off the sweltering heat. Obi-Wan questions his sanity. (crack fic turned fluff)

nothing a cup of tea can’t fix – when Anakin shows up to Obi-Wan's quarters in the middle of the night, the Jedi Master knows something has gone awry. answering Anakin's desperate cry for help, Obi-Wan is reminded of how very, very prone to dramatics his former Padawan and Grand Padawan are. (or: Ahsoka gets sick and Anakin flips his shit.) (sickfic)

in the sandstorm – when Tatooine's weather takes a turn for the worst, Ben Kenobi finds a young boy in need of shelter and some lessons on how wonderful his dad had been. (luke and obi-wan hurt/comfort)

remembering hurts – Rex and Ahsoka strive to survive on the snowy moon in the days after Order 66. tensions are high and emotions are volatile.

balter – disaster trio dances at a senatorial ball.

reunion – au where Anakin doesn’t completely turn to the dark side but everything up to and including Mustafar (except for the last like...five minutes) happens. Padmé has the twins, Obi-Wan is overwhelmed, Anakin is a mess. they’re happy...or at least, they will be soon.

‘cookies’ prompt fill – disaster trio makes cookies for the crechelings for Life Day. (just fluff and banter)

first ever codywan! – Cody does some bedside vigil for a hurt Obi-Wan. :’)

transponster – disaster trio is tired and delusional. Rex and Cody want Jedi to have some kriffing self-preservation.

one final salute — Obi-Wan and Cody get trapped. Obi-Wan’s luck is running out. (angst? angst.)

codywan whump – Cody saves Obi-Wan’s life. again. (more fluff than whump)

girls’ night – Ahsoka hangs out with her mom pal Padmé.

driving lessons – Obi-Wan and Anakin teach Ahsoka to drive. ha.

affectionate obi – the kids get Obi-Wan a puppy. fluff!

sorry I don’t speak idiot – Rex and Fives deal with a drunk Echo :’)

post deception disaster trio sadness – Ahsoka tries to keep Obi-Wan company in the aftermath of Rako Hardeen...but Anakin isn’t playing nice.

verklempt – Ahsoka and Yoda talk about being chosen. and Ahsoka finds out maybe she hasn’t been left behind afterall. *pre-TCW

apricity – disaster trio have a picnic at the temple! just pure fluff.

pyrrhic – codywan but make it angsty. some battles are won at too great a cost.

disaster trio sickfic – two Jedi dads and their (sick) daughter :’)

‘you’ve been here this whole time?’ – newlyweds anidala (but shh, Obi-Wan doesn’t know that! yes he does, everyone does.) are there when Obi-Wan wakes up and he ownders just what he did to get so lucky.

Febuwhump 2021: A Foray into Hurting the Characters I Love the Most

mind control – Anakin’s narrative as he fights Ahsoka on Mortis. sad boy hours. a lot of insecurity happening here.

‘I can’t take this anymore’ – during the Obitine (plus third-wheel Qui-Gon) year on the run, Satine gets tired of Obi-Wan trying to die for her. a bit hurt/comfort, a lot sappy.

imprisonment – on their first mission together, Obi & Ani get captured. Anakin learns how Obi-Wan feels about tight spaces.

coma – post deception arc. Obi-Wan goes into a coma after a particularly intense conversation with Anakin. Anakin tells Obi’s unconscious body how he’s feeling. angst, angst, angst. there’s your warning.

‘take me instead’ – Anakin escorts Padmé on a diplomatic mission but things get dicey and quick decisions must be made. Anakin isn’t the only one in this relationship willing to be an idiot for the sake of *love.* (or: another attempt to write Anidala in a convincing way because they give me a tough! time! so this time make it...dangerous)

insomnia – Anakin overhears a late night holo-call and learns that his Master has a...friend that is a girl???? and is pretty???? but also that his Master may need some fixing and he thinks he may just be the nine-year-old for the job.

poisoning – Ahsoka gets drugged and Anakin gets...er...angry. (read: dark)

‘hey, hey, this is no time to sleep’ – as Ahsoka and Anakin wait for help, Anakin tells a story. an ancient monster in the heart of Tatooine...waiting for it's day of reckoning. (or: Ahsoka gets dehydrated and Anakin can't deny his hurting sister/padawan anything so he talks a little bit about home.)

buried alive – Anakin reflects on some things as his Padawan tries to rescue him from the rubble. angst!!!!!!!!!

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know’ – the Council loses a planet and Obi & Ani get tasked with finding it, but after nine hyperspace jumps and a painful discovery, Obi-Wan teaches his former Padawan one more lesson. (or: the boys talk about failure and feelings when Obi-Wan finds out Anakin's mechno-arm has been causing pain for a couple years)

hallucinations – Ahsoka tries to fix things. it doesn’t work. (post-order 66) angst

‘who are you?’ – Anakin and Ahsoka rescue Obi-Wan, but things aren’t okay and Obi-Wan doesn’t recognise Anakin. (or: Obi is tortured for information about the fall of the Republic before it happens and goes a bit mad bc of it)

‘I didn’t mean it’ – Obi-Wan learns how cold and unfeeling his young Padawan thinks he is and has a rough day. angst

burned – Anakin mourns the loss of his Padawan in a tactile way. Obi-Wan watches. (or: Anakin throws Ahsoka’s Padawan beads into a fire)

‘I wish I have never given you a chance’ – Obi-Wan is reminded of his own incompetence through a vision form his old master.

you have to let me go – Ahsoka has one heirloom: a hologram of her old master as a padawan. but it’s time to let the past go and step into the future, with help from an old friend.

#my fic #maybe I'll go give creative names to some of these prompt request fills someday but #probably not #anyway I definitely should have been doing things other than making this tonight but HERE WE ARE #:)#also at the time of me typing this I have 49 fics listed on here #which is so crazy to me #bc I just started writing in september and if you had told me I would have 50 fics in five months I would have laughed at you #and its so fun and cringey to look back at some of these #its only been a few months but my writing has CHANGED #(hopefully for the better?)#anyway yay! an organised archive!#sw fanfiction

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prepare4trouble · 3 years

Text

Displaced 14

I'm so happy I finally get to share this chapter with you guys! I wrote parts of this chapter, (and the next one that will kind of work in tandem with this one) quite a while ago, and it's one of my favourite bits that I've written so far. I hope you like it too.

It's also the Hnefatafl chapter that I hinted at a while back, and having been beaten by my niece many, many times in that game since I got it, I can empathise with Sigurd a bit here!

The masterpost is here, if you need to catch up

Synopsis: When Ivar and Sigurd wake up to find that they have switched bodies, they need to work together to resolve the situation. If, of course, it is even possible…

Displaced tags: @lisinfleur @thefightingdragon @youbloodymadgenius @dini73 @not-another-viking-fanfic-blog @adrille88 @purplehairedbitchh

As always let me know if you want to be tagged, and let me know if you want me to stop tagging you.

Sigurd adjusted his position on the floor, trying to find a comfortable way to sit. It was impossible. However he moved, he found that he was putting pressure on one part of his legs or another, and while until now that had been fine, today it was not.

The pain in his legs had woken him early that morning, and he had known instinctively, even before he had opened his eyes, as the first sparks of consciousness were beginning to rouse him from his slumber, that there would be no more sleep for him that day. He had tried anyway, forcing himself to lay still, eyes closed, hoping that sleep would drag him back down for a few more blissful moments of unconsciousness before he had to wake up and deal with reality, but no such luck.

Even once he had resigned himself to wakefulness, he had lay there unmoving. Two days before, Ivar had talked him through getting into and out of the bed four times, and by the time he was done, he had been able to do it with no trouble at all. But now, laying under the covers and staring up at the ceiling, he could tell that even trying to move would be unbearable.

He wasn’t sure how long he had lay there, hoping for it to subside before he had realised that it wasn't going to get any better, and that he needed either to get up, or call somebody for help, and calling for help had been no real option.

In the main hall now, where he had brought himself, he tried rolling over onto his side. As he did, a sharp spike of pain stabbed him in the hip, and he bit down hard on his bottom lip to stop himself from crying out. He remained very still for a moment, riding it out until it retreated to a more familiar level.

It was a deep, unpleasant ache that seemed to -- and probably did -- come from the bones themselves, and every time he moved, it felt worse. He had tried to remain still, but the gods in their cruelty had accounted for that tactic, and he found that if he was still for too long it had the same effect; the pain building slowly until it became unbearable and he had no choice but to shift his position again.

He inhaled a slow, deep breath, then used his arms to push himself up until he was sitting. Carefully, moving slowly as though he could somehow sneak up on the traitorous limbs and catch them unawares, he carefully straightened out one leg on the floor. He ran a hand down the thigh, pressing the it as deep into the flesh as he dared in an effort to rub the pain away.

It didn’t work. It didn’t make it any worse, but it made it no better either.

He moved again, and was rewarded with another spike of pain, like a warning shot that ran up and down his left leg. That one was worse than the others, and he sucked in a sharp intake of breath, tears filled his eyes, and his whole body tensed as he fought the impulse to scream.

It didn’t make any sense. This was his fourth day in Ivar’s body, and the pain had never been like this before.

“Bad day?”

Sigurd glanced up in surprise to see Ivar standing a short distance away from him. He had been alone in the room a moment ago, and he hadn’t heard him enter, so caught up in his own personal agony that the world around him had faded away. He inhaled slowly. “Every day is bad at the moment,” he said.

“Bad pain day,” Ivar clarified. “You would find it more comfortable on a chair. Sitting on the floor can make it worse.”

Sigurd moved, just slightly, and winced again. He shook his head. “I tried that,” he said. And when it hadn’t helped, he had tried this instead and honestly, he hadn’t noticed any difference. He might have been willing to try a chair again, but the thought of moving enough to climb back into one was almost too much to bear.

Ivar dropped down onto the floor next to him, and Sigurd suppressed a stab of anger at the ease with which his brother moved. In his body. He closed his eyes for a moment and tried hard to remind himself that this was not Ivar’s fault.

It didn’t help.

“If it’s a really bad day, you could go back to bed,” Ivar suggested. “I don’t mean to sleep; you probably won’t be able to. But laying down on something soft will take some of the pressure off your legs.”

“Off your legs,” Sigurd corrected with a snarl. He considered the suggestion. It was a tempting idea, but there was a reason why he had forced himself to get out of bed in the first place; he did not want to spend the day lying there like some kind of invalid. He shook his head, moved again, and was rewarded with another stab of pain. “Why is it so much worse today” he asked. “Yesterday they barely hurt at all.” He hadn’t realised that at the time, of course, but in comparison to today, yesterday had been paradise.

“Some days are just worse than others,” Ivar told him unhelpfully. “Tomorrow it might be better.”

“Tomorrow it might be worse,” Sigurd muttered darkly.

Ivar frowned, then nodded. “It might,” he agreed. He got to his feet again and walked wordlessly to the other side of the room. He bent to pick something from a low shelf, and returned with hnefatafl board in one hand and a bag of pieces in the other. He knelt down opposite Sigurd, placed the board on the floor between them, and opened the drawstring bag.

Sigurd frowned. “What are you doing?”

“You need a distraction.” Ivar began to set up the board, placing the king first, in the centre, and then arranging his soldiers around him. “This usually works for me.”

“I’m terrible at this game,” Sigurd told him.

Ivar smirked. “I noticed. But I will let you choose which side to play.” Without allowing Sigurd the opportunity to say no, he started to arrange the attacking pieces in their positions surrounding the defending army on all sides. “If you choose attack, you get the first move,” he added. When he was finished, he sat back and waited expectantly.

Sigurd scowled down at the board, then sighed. He supposed he might as well play, after all, he couldn’t do much else. He selected a black piece at random, and slid it toward one of the corners.

“It might be the weather causing it,” Ivar told him, as he picked up a white piece and moved it out toward the attacking army. “Y...my legs, I mean. When it is cold, or damp it can be worse. But if yesterday there was hardly any pain, there is a good chance that you were over-confident, and you are paying for it today. He shrugged. “Or it could be both. Or something else entirely.”

Over confident… Sigurd thought back to the day before. He didn’t remember doing anything that might have caused this, but then, maybe he had, and he hadn’t even realised. He wasn’t used to this like Ivar was. He didn’t know what he could and could not get away with. If something didn’t hurt, he didn’t even think twice before he did it. Sometimes, he barely even thought once.

No. He refused to accept that this was his fault, or that he had somehow done this to himself. He had spend most of the day before alone, playing the oud as quietly as he was able, to meet Ivar’s condition of not letting anybody see or hear him play. While he had plucked the strings, he had sent silent prayers to the gods to undo what they had done to him. “I barely did anything yesterday. Especially not compared to the day before when you made me climb into and out of chairs for hours. And when you made me get down from that high stool without help. Or the day before, when I dragged your useless body all the way home from the middle of nowhere.”

“That’s true, you spent most of the day sulking,” Ivar agreed.

Sigurd scowled, “I was not sulking, I was…” he stopped, then shook his head. He supposed that was exactly what he had been doing, and he thought he was entitled to do so. “Fine, maybe I was. So what?” he said. He moved another piece into a space next to another corner, going with his usual tactic of blocking the king’s escape to safety.

Ivar smiled, showing his teeth for just a second, then gave a barely perceptible shake of his head. He slid a soldier in next to Sigurd’s first piece, trapping it against the king’s space in the corner. “So nothing,” Ivar told him, and shrugged. “I was sulking too.”

Sigurd adjusted his position on the floor again, and was rewarded with another brief stab of pain. “How long will it hurt like this?” he asked.

Ivar reached out and plucked Sigurd’s first piece from the board, and stood it at the side, turning the carved wooden face toward the board as though the soldier could watch the rest of the action. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Hopefully just a day or two, but it can be longer. Or it might seem to be getting better and then grow worse again. Or it might grow more painful still until you think it cannot possibly get any worse, and then it will surprise you. That is the problem, there is no way to know what to expect.

Well, that was just incredibly unfair. Sigurd briefly closed his eyes and made a conscious effort not to move around again -- it would only make it worse. “Have I mentioned how much I hate you for this?”

“It isn’t my fault.”

He knew that. Of course he knew that, but he needed somebody to blame, and he didn’t want it to have to be himself. Ivar was an easy target. “It’s your defective body. You didn’t tell me it was going to get this bad. You should have warned me.”

Ivar frowned, then pointed down at the board. “It’s your move.”

Sigurd directed his attention back to the board, and slid another piece toward the first corner, seeking revenge for his fallen soldier.

“How would warning you have helped, anyway?” Ivar asked. “I didn’t know this was going to happen. Maybe if you had thought to mention yesterday that it was a good day, it might have occurred to me to tell you to be careful. But then, it might not. These things are just…” he shrugged. “It is just part of life for me. Some days are better than others, and the really bad days don’t come that often.

“And is that what this is?” Sigurd asked him. “A really bad day?”

Ivar moved another piece, then shrugged again. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know,” he told him “It’s difficult to tell from the outside.”

He hoped that it was, because the idea that tomorrow might be worse than this was terrifying. Sigurd took a deep breath, and tried not to think about the pain, but it was impossible to put it out of his mind. It overrode everything else, making it difficult even to think. He forced himself to concentrate on the game, and slid another piece over to the corner to stand next to the last one he had moved, protecting him. “You still should have warned me,” he said.

Ivar reached to the board, rested his fingers on a piece, then hesitated. “I didn’t want you to know,” he said quietly.

“What?” Sigurd looked up at him sharply. “What are you talking about? Why not?”

Ivar moved his piece, going after the lone soldier at the second corner. He took him in the same way he had the first, and placed him next to his comrade. “It’s difficult to explain,” he said.

The game was not going his way. Sigurd stared down in frustration at the board. He hadn’t expected to win, but he hadn’t expected to be doing quite this badly quite this quickly. It was the pain in his legs distracting him, he was sure of it. He was normally better than this. “Try,” he demanded as he made another move.

“Because…” Ivar reached for a piece, then changed his mind before he touched it. His fingers hovered above a second piece, and then a third, staring down at the board and not looking at Sigurd. “Because it is mine,” he said. He made his choice and moved a piece.

Sigurd stared. Ivar would get no argument about that from him. “If you want it back, you are welcome to it.”

“No… I mean yes, of course I…” Ivar sighed. He closed his eyes briefly and shook his head. “I don’t want pain, of course I don’t, but I don’t want you to have it either. I never wanted you to even know about it. Any of my brothers, not only you.”

Sigurd shook his head as he moved another piece, abandoning his defence of the corners in favour of an attempt to surround the king. “We’re not stupid, Ivar. I know you think we are, but we are not.”

Ivar smirked as he slid a soldier across the board to come to a stop next to Sigurd’s, clearly lining him up to take Sigurd’s piece on his next move. “I don’t think that,” he said. “But you didn’t know how bad it was. That was what I didn’t want you to know.”

“Why not?”

Ivar pointed at the board. “It’s your move,” he said.

Sigurd slid a soldier across from the other side of the board to settle next to Ivar’s, blocking him in on two sides. He snatched Ivar’s piece, and settled him next to the board opposite the ones that Ivar had taken, then continued to look at his brother expectantly. “Why not?” he asked again.

Ivar sighed, he moved another piece, creating a gap through which the king could begin to escape. “Because if you knew, you might have treated me differently. Like a cripple.”

“Ivar, I’m sorry to break this to you,” Sigurd told him with a smirk, “but you are a…”

“I know.” Ivar rolled his eyes. “Thank you. Obviously I know. And obviously my brothers do too. I just didn’t want anybody to know this much. If they did, they might think less of me.”

Sigurd looked at him in disbelief. Less? If anything, it would be the opposite. If anything, he had found new respect for his younger brother. If he could put up with this and not let anybody know, then he was stronger than Sigurd had given him credit for. Or perhaps more stubborn. “Nobody would have thought that.”

Ivar shrugged. “That may be easy for you to believe, but then you, Sigurd, couldn’t think any less of me if you tried. I have been doing this my whole life, and I know how most people think. I can see the pity that lurks behind their eyes, and I do not care for it.”

Sigurd felt himself wince, not in response to the pain this time, but to the fact that Ivar was right. He had seen the barely disguised pity too, and of all the responses to his presence that he had encountered so far -- and there had not been many because he had remained inside the house as much as possible -- it was by far his least favourite.

He thought back to during their journey home, when he had angrily thrown into Ivar’s face the fact that people felt sorry for him. He suppressed a sudden stab of guilt at that. It wasn’t untrue, of course, but it was something that had not needed to be said. He, at least, had never been guilty of that. None of their brothers had. Sigurd’s response to Ivar had always been hostility, and although perhaps he regretted that a little, at least he had always been too busy hating his little brother to find the time to feel sorry for him.

The pain in his legs was building again, and he realised that he had remained in the same position for far too long. His hand pressed compulsively into his legs again, as though he could somehow massage it away, knowing that it would make no difference; the problem was deeper than his fingers could reach. He changed position again, and felt a new stab of pain, before it subsided just slightly.

“Try not to think about it if you can,” Ivar told him. “Concentrate on the game instead. It’s your move.

Sigurd tried to take his brother’s advice. He looked down at the board, his brow creasing as he tried to focus as much of his attention as he could on the pieces there. He had no idea what move to make. He was no genius at this game, he never had been, but he was better than this. He chose a piece at random and slid it toward the king, hoping to prevent his escape.

“Just so you know,” he said. “I don’t feel sorry for you, and knowing this doesn’t make me think any less of you.”

Ivar smirked. “I know. I told you, remember? You couldn’t possibly think any less of me than you already…”

“No,” Sigurd interrupted before he could finish. “That isn’t what I meant. It’s the opposite. Pain like this, and you never even told anybody…”

“I don’t have pain like this,” Ivar told him. “Not often, anyway. And when I do, I know how to deal with it, so it’s not so bad. Anyway, remember when I told you to stop thinking about it and concentrate on the game? I think you are probably not doing that.”

It was true, he wasn’t. Because it was impossible. “No, I’m not, because I’m waiting for you to move,” he snapped.

Ivar moved a piece, then looked at Sigurd expectantly.

Sigurd sighed. “It’s not only the pain today. It’s everything. It’s not being… I never appreciated being able to walk until I couldn’t. I don’t think less of you, Ivar, I’m impressed by you.”

“Sometimes.” Ivar told him with a scowl, “people who are impressed are almost as bad as people who pity me. I don’t like either one. Admire my mind, by all means. Be impressed by my skill with a sword, or my accuracy with a bow and arrow, but do not admire me for simply existing and living my life. There is nothing impressive about that.”

He had never thought of it that way before, but he supposed Ivar was right.

“Anyway,” Ivar added. “Walking is not as wonderful as you seem to think. I mean, it is useful, but it is hardly the most important thing.”

Sigurd reached for another piece and slid it across the board. The moment he did, he realised that he had left Ivar with an opening that he hadn’t intended. He reached across to move the piece back again.

“No you don’t,” Ivar told him. He slapped his hand back from the board before Sigurd could touch the piece again. “Can you change your mind on the battlefield after you have made a move, hm? No. And so you cannot do it here either.”

Sigurd pulled back his hand and glared at his brother. He had never really liked this game, and he particularly disliked playing against Ivar. His brother somehow had the ability to see several moves ahead. He knew what his opponent was going to do, or more likely manipulated him into doing something, and then used it to his advantage. It wasn’t cheating, not really, but it was frustrating. If Ivar was right and he was one day able to fight in a real battle, Sigurd pitied any enemy who went up against him.

But for now, he was that enemy. He watched as Ivar effortlessly took another of his pieces.

“What did you mean, ‘walking isn’t the most important thing’, anyway?” Sigurd asked him. He selected another piece at random and moved it toward the king in a last-ditch effort to surround him before he escaped to the sanctuary of a corner square.

Just as I say,” Ivar told him. “Think about it; when they tell stories of the great warriors, the legendary vikings of the past, how often do they mention how well they could walk?”

Sigurd frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“When you hear stories about our father, his raids on England and Frankia, do the people telling them speak about his prowess on two feet? No. They tell of the things that he did. Traveling across the sea to England with no real certainty that he would find it, the attack on Paris; the way they he tricked the Frakish into letting him beyond their walls. They speak of the great battles that he fought and won. Nobody ever mentions whether or not he was standing at the time.” He moved another piece. “By the way, unless you are careful. I will will in three or four moves.”

Sigurd stared across the board at his brother, trying to decide whether or not he was being serious. He looked as though he was, but then Ivar almost always looked serious. “Of course they don’t talk about that! Why would they? There are many other irrelevant facts that don’t make it into the stories and songs either, because they don’t need to be there; they don’t need to be said because they are obvious. Everybody can walk.” He hesitated. “Well, most people, anyway.”

“Exactly!” said Ivar victoriously. “Not everybody.”

“But everybody who ever stepped out onto the battlefield,” Sigurd told him. “If they couldn’t, that would make it into the stories, because it would be relevant.”

Ivar shrugged, then moved his king closer to one of the corners. He was in the wrong position to make it in one move, and Sigurd had pieces in his path, but he edged a little closer to his goal. “I don’t want it to be relevant. When they tell stories of my great deeds, I wonder what they will say?”

Sigurd slid a soldier to further block the king’s access to the corner, then shrugged. “I don’t know what they will say, Ivar. I don’t care.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter anyway,” Ivar told him. “Because by then, I will be walking, and as you say, it will no longer be relevant.” He frowned down at the board. “Why did you move that piece? That wasn’t what I expected you to do.”

Sigurd examined the board. Honestly, he had not paid a lot of attention to which piece he had used, and he couldn’t see how it impacted Ivar’s plan to win in a few moves. “I don’t know,” he told him. “Forget that anyway. What are you talking about, you’ll be walking by then?” A horrible thought occurred; perhaps Ivar had decided that he quite liked Sigurd’s body, and that he intended to try to keep it.

“Did you think I planned to crawl around on the ground forever?” Ivar asked him. “Oh, stop looking so worried, even if I did know how to keep your body, I wouldn’t want to. I already told you, I don’t want to be you. I intend to walk when I am myself again.”

This was the second time that Ivar had mentioned something like that. Whatever he was planning, it wouldn’t work. Sigurd was familiar by now with what Ivar was dealing with, and just how damaged his legs really were. He could not imagine that anything would allow him to stand for longer than a moment, and only while resting most of his weight on his arms. He had seen Ivar do that before, leaning against a table, or even against another person. Once or twice, he had even seen him take a step or two before he gave up and sank back down to the ground.

It had to have hurt him. Even on days much better than this, it must have hurt.

“How do you think you are going to do that?” he asked.

In one move, Ivar slid his king right across the board to the other side, far away from the soldiers that Sigurd had put into place to block and try to trap him. “It’s difficult to explain,” he said. “Imagine if I could strap iron onto my legs, something tight enough that it could support them from the outside in the same way that the bones should from within, to add strength. Do you understand? I might still need to lean on something for balance, but if I could lend my legs the strength that they need, I think that I could walk.”

That sounded… absolutely insane. Without wanting to, Sigurd found himself imagining it, and he shook his head. “Ivar, you can’t. That would hurt.”

“I know.”

“And do you know how heavy iron is?”

Ivar nodded, apparently unconcerned. “I think it will work.”

Maybe he was right. In theory, something strong strapped to his legs would lend them some of the strength that they lacked, and once he could stand, there was no reason why he wouldn’t be able to walk. It sounded possible -- more than that, it sounded plausible. The question was, would it be worth the pain that it would cause? It was not his decision to make, of course, but Ivar’s. “It will hurt,” he said again. “A lot.”

Ivar shrugged as though it didn’t matter. He indicated the tafl board with a wave of his hand, and Sigurd moved another piece to chase after the king, but he could already see that it was too late.

“Yes, it will hurt,” Ivar agreed. He made a final move, nudging the king one square over to plant him safely on the corner square. “I win, by the way.”

Sigurd have the board a quick glance before looking up at his brother. “Have you told anybody else about this crazy idea?” he asked.

“No, I…” Ivar’s eyes widened in apparent surprise. “No. You are the first. It’s strange, I never even imagined telling you about it. I thought maybe Floki. And mother, because I will need to convince her to give me the silver to pay the smith; it will not be a small job. I thought that maybe I would tell Hvitserk, or Ubbe, but then maybe not.” He smiled. “I always thought it might be fun to see the looks on their faces when they see me walk for the first time.”

Sigurd allowed himself a moment to imagine it, and smiled. “Definitely don’t tell them,” he agreed. “But I still don’t understand; why would you do that to yourself? You just told me that walking isn’t important. If you really believe that, why would you want to put yourself through that much pain?”

Ivar reached for the game board and began to rearrange the pieces, setting up a new game. “It both is, and is not important. I would prefer not to have to rely on Ubbe and Hvitserk to help me to get around when I want to travel longer distances outside of Kattegat; one day I may wish to travel on my own. Also, no matter what I believe, walking is very important to other people. Surely you have noticed that?”

He was right. It was important to Sigurd for a start. And to the people that he had encountered around town; people who glanced at him with pity or disgust before they quickly turned their eyes away, afraid of being accused of insulting one of the sons of Ragnar Lothbrok. The very first night that the two of them had crawled and limped back to Kattegat after their trek home through the woods, two drunks had openly stared at him and laughed. It had been important to them.

He had wanted to kill them for that, even knowing that it was not his battle to fight.

“I understand,” he said, and he did. He understood how much easier it would make everything for Ivar. It would place him on a more equal level to everybody else, and it would earn him a respect that should have been his anyway. It would allow people to see him as Ivar Ragnarsson, instead of Ivar the cripple, and force them to see Ivar the Boneless as a name to be feared instead of pitied. That was, of course, what they should have seen in the first place, but they had not.

Even Sigurd often had not.

“Okay,” he said. “I still think you are crazy, but you are probably right.”

Ivar grinned. He picked up the three pieces that he had taken from the game and placed them back on the board, then reached for the one that Sigurd had taken. “Of course I am right,” he said. “I have thought about this a lot. Another game?”

Sigurd hesitated.

“We can switch sides,” Ivar told him. “You defend this time.”

“You will only win again,” Sigurd told him. “Anyway, don’t you have something better to do than sitting around playing hnefatafl with me?”

Ivar shook his head. “Not really,” he admitted. “And I know that the bad days are difficult. It makes it easier if you have something else to think about.”

“I am no good at this game,” Sigurd told him.

“Perhaps not,” Ivar agreed, “But it, plus the conversation, appears to have distracted you. You have barely moved around or tried to change how you are sitting in quite some time.”

Sigurd frowned, but Ivar was right. He had not forgotten the pain, that would have been impossible, but he had somehow managed to allow it to fade into the background, replacing it in his mind with other things.

“I could teach you how to be a better player,” Ivar told him.

He considered it. Ivar was right, if he left to find something else to do, Sigurd would be stuck there, not wanting to, and barely able to move, with nothing to do except for thinking about the constant ache in his legs, and the terror that the gods might have forgotten about them, and that he would be this way for they rest of his life.

He took a deep breath and tried, once again, to banish that recurring thought. “Fine, okay. Why not? It might be good to beat you for once.”

Ivar laughed and shook his head. “I am good, but I am not good enough to teach you that well. But who knows, maybe I could make you good enough to take on Hvitserk.”

(next)

#vikings #vikings fanfic #ivar the boneless #ivar ragnarsson #sigurd snake in the eye #sigurd ragnarsson #hnefatafl

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darlingandmreames · 3 years

Text

I rewatched The Ritual the other night for the first time in a while and am officially Back On My Bullshit, which means lots of thoughts and opinions that I am now going to make everyone else's problem. So without further ado, here are my thoughts on The Ritual's themes, character dynamics, and how the movie (in my opinion) improved upon the book

(spoilers for both the book and the movie)

Themes

So what is The Ritual actually about? I mean, obviously it's about a freaky forest monster that kills people and grants one of those kinds of immortality where you really gotta read the fine print, but underneath all that what is it actually about?

The answer depends a bit on both whether you're talking about the book or the movie, and how detailed you're being about it. Both the book and the movie share the very broad theme of "moving on", but what the characters are "moving on" from is different in each. I'd argue that the book primarily deals with moving on from past chapters in your life- cherishing the good memories, acknowledging and accepting the failures, and moving forward without becoming stuck on either.

The movie, on the other hand, is very explicitly about trauma, pain, and grief, and the process of confronting and moving on (or NOT moving on) from those experiences. This is achieved by the introduction of Rob, a character who didn't exist in the book. His actual appearance in the movie is brief, but his death is the driving force behind the entire movie. It's sudden, violent, and senseless, and it provides a very distinct and viscerally present context for the character interactions moving forward (more on that later). Rob's death faces the characters with a complex, heartbreaking, and traumatic loss and allows the movie to explore what it means to confront and move on from something like that, as well as the consequences of NOT doing so, by making that pain and grief into a very real (and beautifully designed) monster.

And that's where the movie's second major change comes in: the portrayal of the cult. I.... admittedly didn't really care for the cult portion of the book all that much honestly. It wasn't bad and some of my favourite lines were actually from that part of the book, but it felt almost jarringly different from the first part of the book to me. I felt like the heavy metal teen cultists were very much at odds with the sense of sinister supernaturality the first part of the book had spent building.

I loved the cult in the movie though. These are people who worship the personified (monstrified?) pain and grief that stalks the forest. They were chosen to survive specifically because of their own personal pain ("why me?" "Your pain is great") and by worshipping the monster they're kept in the forest and granted an immortality that saves them from death but not decay. It's a beautiful look at the consequences of being unable/unwilling to move on from pain/loss/grief and instead being consumed by it. The cultists are defined by their pain to the point that it eventually warps them into something almost unrecognizable. By worshipping Moder they are literally unable to move on, both physically (they're stuck in the forest) and spiritually (they can't die). Whereas the cult in the book felt jarringly different in tone from the story leading up to it, the cult in the movie tied into the theme beautifully and provided Luke with a look at his future if he allows his own pain to consume him.

Which brings us to....

Characters

A stories themes are often best portrayed through it's characters, and in this case that mostly means Luke.

Luke in the book is....well, to be honest, he isn't really that sympathetic or even that likeable when we first meet him or really for a large chunk of the story, at least not in my opinion. He's a 36 year old man-child who's clearly still chasing the glory of his college days and who's life up until now has mostly been characterized by failures, flakiness, and not taking responsibility for any of it. And on top of that, he's angry. The kind of angry that's violent, easily provoked, and generally unwarranted. All of the characters are facing failures at the end of this chapter of their lives to some degree (such as Phil being separated from his wife), but Luke is very clearly the least well adjusted- and least sympathetic- of them. His character arc revolves around him learning to move on from this previous chapter in his life, accepting the good and the bad and finally being willing to move forward with determination. In the beginning of the book Luke is characterized by indifference and petulant anger that masks fear and doubt, but he ends the book with a desire to move forward and determination to survive.

The inclusion of Rob and his subsequent death COMPLETELY changes Luke's character though and, in my opinion, makes him FAR more compelling and sympathetic. We still get similar notes to where he starts out as we did in the book; whereas Rob, Dom, Hutch, and Phil have all clearly settled down and moved on from their uni days, Luke obviously hasn't. This is made clear in his suggestions for the lad's holiday, his wanting to get a bottle of liquor after they leave the bar, and his conversation with Rob when they're in the liquor store. Movie!Luke really isn't all that different from book!Luke in the first scene or two.

Rob's brutal murder profoundly changes Luke's character though. He's left dealing with the grief and loss left in the wake of Rob's death, as well as the guilt associated with not having been able to stop it. By taking a character that may not otherwise be particularly sympathetic or likeable and having the audience watch him experience a deeply horrifying and traumatic loss, the movie makes Luke into an extremely compelling character and set him for a far more emotionally engaging character arc as he struggles to cope with both his grief and his guilt.

As I mentioned above, the cult in the movie provides Luke with a glimpse of the consequences of allowing his pain and grief to consume him. Now, the cult in the book sort of does the same thing- the indifferent anger and violence of the cultists mirrors Luke's own anger covering his fear and doubt and shows what could happen if he embraced that part of him. But the cult in the movie, in my opinion, works far better in this role because they feel more thematically and tonally in line with the rest of the movie and because Luke is a more sympathetic character. His decision to accept or reject that path carries more weight because we care about him. Moreover, accepting the same path as the cultist would provide him with a community that understands his pain, something he very much did not have with his friends; we understand that accepting the cult is a bad decision, but we also understand why Luke would be tempted to do so. Simply put, we feel for him and that makes the presentation of this choice much more emotionally impactful.

Interestingly, Luke's character arc in both the book and the movie end with him developing the desire and determination to survive. It comes from two very different places though. In the book, it revolves around Luke's willingness to finally close out the previous chapter of his life- highs and lows and all- and move forward into the future despite the fear and uncertainty doing so may provoke.

In the movie, though, this decision comes within the context of Luke's survivor's guilt. He feels guilty over Rob's death because he wasn't able to intervene and this guilt is reinforced by the other characters, most notably Dom and, later, Hutch. His decision to reject Moder, to fight back and refuse to kneel, represents not only his decision to move on from his grief and trauma but also the acknowledgement that despite what happened he still has worth and his life is still worth living. It also resolves his struggle with his inability to help (which plays a large role in his guilt), something that comes into play in all of the deaths in the movie even beyond Rob's. In Hutch's death Luke tried to find him but was unable to find him until it was far too late. In Phil's death he's initially paralyzed before running away, both in fear, in much the same way he did in Rob's death. In Dom's death he was able to take the necessary steps to help Dom (dislocating his thumb to get out of the restraints) but was ultimately too late and was forced to watch Dom die anyways. By recognizing that he still has worth and that is life is worth living, Luke is able to act in spite of his fear and make the decision not to allow his grief, pain, and trauma to consume him.

No discussion of Luke as a character is completely without also discussing how he interacts with the other characters and hoooo BOY did the movie really ratchet those interactions up a notch or ten. The interactions in the book were well written but they admittedly felt a little one note at times (though this is also probably somewhat due to me viewing book!Luke as not particularly likeable or sympathetic). By including Rob's death the movie adds a layer of complexity to the character interactions that I felt really wasn't there in the book and we get to see the interpersonal effects of traumatic loss. Luke may have been the only one to witness Rob's death but they're all grieving him, and we get to see how that (and how Luke's friends' perception of his role in Rob's death) impacts and strains their relationships. As I mentioned earlier, we see very clearly that Luke doesn't have any real support or understanding from his friends; Dom does little to hide the fact that he views Luke as directly responsible for what happened and while Hutch does initially attempt to provide support, it comes off as superficial and he later admits he isn't sure whether he blames Luke. Luke is very clearly struggling with what happened but can't turn to the people he would normally rely on for support, and his interactions with his friends often alienate him and further reinforce the guilt and blame he's grappling with rather than provide any source of comfort. This, again, makes the temptation to submit to Moder and join the cult, to give into his pain and grief and loss and let it consume him, that much more compelling and his choice to reject it that much more meaningful.

Overall, the movie's decision to add in Rob and his subsequent death and to change how the cult was portrayed was, in my opinion, a truly excellent one and helped move the movie from a story I would've enjoyed but shrugged off into legitimately one of my favourite movies of all time. It allowed for a more thematically and tonally consistent story and made both Luke and his character arc more sympathetic, compelling, and emotionally impactful. When it comes to adaptations I generally tend to enjoy the book more than the movie, but this is one of the few exceptions where I truly believe the movie significantly improved upon the book

#listen I know I'm just screaming into the void on this #but I have SO MANY thoughts and feelings about this movie #I love it so mcuh #the ritual #the ritual 2017 #the ritual movie

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flowercrown-bard · 3 years

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If you take prompts. Jaskier dis reincarnation every time he dies. He borns in his own body, but he doesn't remember about his other lives. He only remembers a horse, a daughter, amber eyes and some parts of a song he wrote about his love.

After Jaskier died in his arms Geralt became a wither again. Who doesn't belive he deserve to be happy.

After a long time Geralt and Jaskier's paths cross again. Jaskier remembers the every bit of the song.

Dear nonny, can I just say how much I love this prompt? <3 I know I've taken far too long to write anything for it, but I got so excited that I had to write a multi-chapter fic for this (I hope that's ok. I know it's not really normal to write more than a one shot for prompts. If you're comfortable telling me your URL I could tag you on the next update or you could subscribe to the fic on AO3? Sorry for making this complicated.) Also, I changed it a bit, to make it so Jaskier will get his memories back, when their eyes meet again.

And I just need to tell you about my favourite fic of all time: if I'm good will you come back by @pansexualbuchanan. Based on your prompt I think you'd really like that story.

A new us will begin (1/ 11)

word count: 1k

tw: major character death (old age)

AO3 part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6

Dol Blathanna was beautiful in spring. Jaskier had written countless of poems about the blossoms and the beginning of a new life as an adventurer that this place had given him.

Geralt had all of them memorised. Every verse, every line, every word. He hadn’t wanted to, it was just something that had happened as the years had turned into decades and Jaskier’s hands had gotten too shaky to write his verses on his own anymore. He had started dictating them to Geralt who had done his best to do Jaskier’s words justice with his spidery handwriting.

He had always known that this was where Jaskier would want to go when the time came. In the very same place where his new life as the travel companion, friend and lover of the White Wolf had begun, he would draw his last breath.

Geralt had known – and yet nothing could have prepared him for the terror that clawed at his chest as he now sat amidst the flowers with his husband.

He hoped Jaskier could at least still see the colours of the flowers. He hoped he could still notice the dandelions around them and make a wish, despite not having enough breath left to make the seeds fly off like birds. He hoped he could still see Geralt and recognise his touch as comforting. But it was impossible to discern whether the crinkles around Jaskier’s eyes were laugh lines or wrinkles painted onto his skin by time.

Gently, Geralt caressed those wrinkles. He had come to love them and even though he wanted to hate them with his entire being, he couldn’t. Even this sign that Jaskier’s time was up, was still a part of Jaskier and there would never be any part of him that Geralt would be unable to love.

Geralt had wanted to protect him. From the very beginning, from the moment Jaskier had followed him to the elves, Geralt had known that he wouldn’t always be able to, but he had never stopped trying. For a lifetime, he had protected Jaskier from people whose ire Jaskier had provoked. From monsters and enemy soldiers. He had sat by his side in sickness and caressed his brow while a healer he had called made sure Jaskier would not embrace death just yet.

But this, time, was the one enemy Geralt couldn’t protect him from. Death had come to claim Jaskier at last and there was nothing for Geralt to plunge his sword into to keep it away from Jaskier.

There was nothing. No saving Jaskier. There was only one thing he could do for him.

The very same thing that Jaskier had done so many times to protect Geralt. When people had hurled stones and insults at Geralt, Jaskier had composed a song to sway their opinion. When coin had been sparse and Geralt could afford neither food nor shelter, Jaskier had sung for their coin. And when Geralt had lain awake at night, haunted by images of pain, fear and hatred, Jaskier had softly sung a lullaby to him.

It had been Jaskier’s gift to him and now it was time that Geralt gave it back.

Years ago, when Jaskier’s mind had still been clear enough to form such thoughts, he had described his life as an old man as being half-asleep, not knowing how much of his being was awake, what parts were walking through a dream and what parts were imprisoned in a nightmare.

Back then, Geralt hadn’t understood. It hadn’t taken long for him to learn exactly what Jaskier had meant. The life they had led had always seemed like a dream to Geralt, something too good to be true, something he would surely wake up from one day to find it gone.

Seeing it disappear right in front of him wasn’t like waking up. It was like a dream slowly turning into a nightmare until there was nothing left but the ache in his chest when Jaskier saw right through him and the fear of losing him to a different kind of sleep, one he wouldn’t wake up from.

Geralt hoped it would be a peaceful sleep once Jaskier drifted off, but now his face still twisted into a grimace at each movement that made him ache and his mind still wasn’t kind to him.

So Geralt did all he could to soothe Jaskier during this nightmare.

His lullaby sounded wrong on Geralt’s lips. Even if he had known how to sing, his voice cracked and his throat was tight with tears Geralt didn’t know how to shed.

His fingers caressed Jaskier’s paper-thin skin and wove through his grey hair. All the while, Jaskier’s eyes didn’t leave Geralt and his heart beat in rhythm with the song.

The hint of a smile danced across Jaskier’s lips, even as his eyes fell shut.

The beat of the song stopped and Geralt’s voice broke off mid-song.

“Jaskier?”

There was no answer. There never would be an answer again. No more banter, no more laughter, no more songs would ever leave Jaskier’s lips.

“Jaskier, look at me!”

He didn’t. His eyes didn’t open, never would again. No more would they look upon flowers, on sunrises, on Geralt.

“Jaskier!” Geralt’s cry was broken. As was he. As was the life Jaskier had made him believe he could have.

“No, no, no, don’t go! I can’t lose you. Don’t make me lose you!” Geralt cradled Jaskier’s body close, pressing his face into the crook of his neck, pressing his chest against Jaskier’s. Jaskier’s breath should have ghosted over Geralt’s skin, but there was nothing. It was too late. He was gone. “No, Jaskier, look at me. Please, let me see your eyes, just one last time. Come back to me, please.”

The last word was whispered, carried off with the dandelion seeds dancing off in the wind.

It was only a figment of Geralt’s cruel mind, but for a brief, beautiful moment, he almost thought he heard a voice in the wind. Birds singing and bees humming in tune to the unfinished lullaby.

Geralt’s grip on Jaskier tightened and his shoulders shook. It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair.

Geralt was a witcher. He should have been able to save Jaskier. He should have done something to stop this.

Jaskier had told him that he could have happiness, that his story didn’t have to end in blood and agony.

But Geralt was a witcher and Jaskier had always been a dreamer. Witchers didn’t get to keep their happiness and dreamers had to wake up at some point.

Jaskier would never wake up again.

Geralt moved without feeling a thing as he dug the grave. Witchers didn’t feel. They hurt and they killed and they shouldn’t let themselves dream for what they couldn’t have.

As he buried Jaskier, so did he put the dreams Jaskier had brought to life in the ground.

He left Dol Blathanna without a song accompanying him. He left it alone, with a new scar that he knew would never heal and not feeling a single thing.

Jaskier had left Geralt smiling, as a dreamer.

Geralt left Jaskier as a witcher.

#the chapters will get longer #as they always do XD #mcd #geraskier #fic #witcher fic #geralt #old jaskier #reincarnation au #angst #i swear i haven't abandoned my other wips #i just want to get to this prompt first and then write my exams and then i can focus on my wips again #so sorry #my writing #fanfic

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dangermousie · 3 years

Note

Heelo mousie! Love your blog! Do you mind recommending some of your favourite Chinese BL novels or shows?

I've seen the untamed and read it. I'm currently reading heaven's official blessing and I saw the donghua. Anything other than these two?

Awww, thank you!

Novels: I am gonna be lazy and literally copy/paste the entire danmei section of my top 10 web novels post (except MXTX’s stuff since you are already reading it.) Let me know if you need help finding any of these.

Lord Seventh - I am only partway through this so far, but it’s already on the list because it’s smart and somehow intense AND laid-back (not sure how this works, but it does) and is honestly just a really really solid and smart period novel, with the OTP a cherry on top of a narrative sundae. Plus, I love the concept of MC deciding he is not going for his supposedly fated love - he’s tried for six lifetimes, always with disaster, and he’s just plain done and tired. When he opens his life in his seventh reincarnation and sees the person he would have given up the world for, he genuinely feels nothing at all. (Spoiler - his OTP is actually a barbarian shaman this time around, thank you Lord!)

Golden Stage - my perfect comfort novel. Probably the least angsty of any danmei novel on this list (which still means plenty angsty :P) It also has a dedicated, smart OTP that is an OTP for the bulk of the book - I think you will notice that in most of the novels in this list, I go for “OTP against the world” trope - I can’t stand love triangles and the same. Anyway, Fu Shen, is a famous general whose fame is making the emperor antsy. When he gets injured and can’t walk any more, the emperor gladly recalls him and marries him off to his most faithful court lackey, the head of sort of secret police, Yan Xiaohan. The emperor intends it both as a check on the general and a general spite move since the two men always clash in court whenever they meet. But not all is at is seems. They used to be friends a long time ago, had a falling out, and one of the loveliest parts of the novel is them finding their way to each other, but there is also finding the middle path between their two very different philosophies and ways of being, not to mention solving a conspiracy or dozen, and putting a new dynasty on the throne, among other things. It always makes me think, a little, of “if Mei Changsu x Jingyan were canon.”

Sha Po Lang - if you like a lot of fantasy politics and world-building and steampunk with your novels, this one is for you. This one is VERY plot-heavy with smart, dedicated characters and a deconstruction of many traditional virtues - our protagonist Chang Geng, a long-lost son of the Emperor, is someone who wants to modernize the country but also take down the current emperor his brother for progress’ sake and the person he’s in love with is the general who saved him when he was a kid who is nominally his foster father. Anyway, the romance is mainly a garnish in this one, not even a big side dish, but the relationship between two smart, dedicated, deadly individuals with very different concepts of duty is fascinating long before it turns romantic. And if you like angst, while overall it’s not as angsty as e.g., Meatbun stuff, Chang Geng’s childhood is the stuff of nightmares and probably freaks me out more than anything else in any novel on this list, 2ha included.

To Rule In a Turbulent World (LSWW) - gay Minglan. No seriously. This is how I think of it. it’s a slice of life period novel with fascinating characters and setting that happens to have a gay OTP, not a romance in a period setting per se and I always prefer stories where the romance is not the only thing that is going on. It’s meticulously written and smart and deals with character development and somehow makes daily minutia fascinating. Our protagonist, You Miao, is the son of a fabulously wealthy merchant, sent to the capital to make connections and study. As the story starts, he sees his friend’s servants beating someone to death, feels bad, and buys him because, as we discover gradually and organically, You Miao may be wealthy and occasionally immature but he is a genuinely good person. The person he buys is a barbarian from beyond the wall, named Li Zhifeng. It’s touch and go if the man will survive but eventually he does and You Miao, who by then has to return home, gives him his papers and lets him go. However, LZF decides to stick with You Miao instead, both out of sense of debt for YM saving his life and because he genuinely likes him (and yet, there is no instalove on either of their parts, their bodies have fun a lot quicker than their souls.) Anyway, the two take up farming, get involved in the imperial exams and it’s the life of prosperity and peace, until an invasion happens and things go rapidly to hell. This is so nuanced, so smart (smart people in this actually ARE!) and has secondary characters who are just as complex as the mains (for example, I ended up adoring YM’s friend, the one who starts the plot by almost beating LZF to death for no reason) because the novel never forgets that few people are all villain. There is a lovely character arc or two - watching YM grow up and LZF thaw - there is the fact that You Miao is a unicorn in web novels being laid back and calm. This whole thing is a masterpiece.

Stains of Filth (Yuwu) - want the emotional hit of 2ha but want to read something half its length? Well, the author of 2ha is here to eviscerate you in a shorter amount of time. This has the beautiful world-building, plot twists that all make sense and, at the center of it all, an intense and all-consuming and gloriously painful relationship between two generals - one aristocratic loner Mo Xi, and the other gregarious former slave general Gu Mang. Once they were best friends and lovers, but when the novel starts, Gu Mang has long turned traitor and went to serve the enemy kingdom and has now been returned and Mo Xi, who now commands the remnants of his slave army, has to cope with the fact that he has never been able to get over the man who stabbed him through the heart. Literally. This novel has a gorgeously looping structure, with flashbacks interwoven into present storyline. There is so much love and longing and sacrifice in this that I am tearing up a bit just thinking of it. If you don’t love Mo Xi and Gu Mang, separately and together, by the end of it, you have no soul.

The Dumb Husky and His White Cat Shizun (2ha/erha) - if you’ve been following my tumblr for more than a hot second, you know my obsession with this novel. Honestly, even if I were to make a list of my top 10 novels of any kind, not just webnovels, this would be on the list. It has everything I want - a complicated, intricate plot with an insane amount of plot twists, all of which are both unexpected and make total sense, a rich and large cast of characters, a truly epic OTP that makes me bawl, emotional intensity that sometimes maxes even me out and so much character nuance and growth. Also, Moran is my favorite web novel character ever, hands down.

Anyway, the plot (or at least the way it first appears) is that the evil emperor of the cultivation world, Taxian Jun, kills himself at 32 and wakes up in the body of his 16 year old self, birth name Moran. Excited to get a redo, Moran wants to save his supposed true love Shimei, whose death the last go-around pushed him towards evil. He also wants to avoid entanglement with Chu Wanning, his shizun and sworn enemy in past life. And that’s all you are best off knowing, trust me. The only hint I am going to give is oooh boy the mother of all unreliable narrators has arrived!

The novel starts light and funny on boil the frog principle - if someone told me I would be full bawling multiple times with this novel, I’d have thought they were insane, but i swear my eyes hurt by the end of it. I started out being amused and/or disliking the mains and by the end I would die for either of them.

The Wife is First - OK, this one did not make my top 10 web novels but it’s a sweet, fun gay cottagecore fest. Our ML, a royal prince, and his spouse, a smart if delicate aristocrat, keep house, eat noodles, play with their pet tiger, make out and spoil each other rotten, while occasionally fighting battles and outwitting their court enemies. It’s so very mellow. That couple redefines low drama - they are both nice and functional and use their brains. It’s as if a nice jock and a nice nerd got together and then proceeded to be wholesome all over the place.

I mean, the set up could be dramatic - our ML the prince, lost his fight for the throne and is about to be killed. The only person who stayed loyal to him is his arranged husband the aristocrat guy who ML never treated nicely since he resented marrying him (marrying a man in that world is done to remove someone from the ability to inherit the throne.) And yet the husband stood by him not out of love but beliefs in loyalty blah blah. Anyway, he transmigrates back into the past right after their wedding night and is all “I got a second chance OMG! I don’t want the throne what is even the point? I want to live a good long life and treat the only person who stood by me really well!” And he proceeds to do so to the shock of the aristocrat who had a very unpleasant wedding night and generally can tell the man he just married would rather eat nails than be married to him. But soon enough (no seriously, it’s not many chapters at all) he believes the prince is sincere blah blah and then they get together and they pretty much become cottagecore goals.

In terms of dramas, I only do period dramas (or novels) so I am not the person to be able to recommend any modern BLs. There is a flood of upcoming (hopefully) period BL dramas but it’s relatively thin on the ground now. The two I will recommend is Word of Honor (which is AMAZING) and Winter Begonia (which I just started watching but which owns me already.) I have a tag for both - the one for the former is huge and I cannot recommend either strongly enough. I’ve heard good things about The Sleuth of the Ming Dynasty, but I am not big on mysteries so haven’t watched it for myself.

In terms of the upcoming BLs, the ones I am most looking forward to are Immortality and Winner Is King, but The Society of the Four Leaves also looks promising.

#asks #cdrama #cnovel

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gracelessfighters · 4 years

Text

don’t feel (4)

jj maybank x female reader

masterlist

part one // part two // part three

summary: you and jj go on your surfing date and get to know each other until topper interrupts (terrible summary im sorry)

word count: 2.3k

warnings: mentions of abuse, swearing, topper is a dick (sorry lads), gets pretty angsty at the end (it wasn’t even gonna be an angsty chapter but my brain got the better of me apologies) i also havent read it through so pls ignore the mistakes

—— I am in no way romanticising abuse if you have any issues with my writing pls message me

A/N: everyone say hallelujah because i’ve finally written something!!!!!!!!!! sorry in advance if it’s not the best, i havent written in like a month and i struggled with this chapter before my little hiatus but i want to finish this series so badly so i did some the other day on the train and its kinda got me back into the swing of it :) as always feedback is appreciated

After JJ had left last night, it didn’t take long for you to finish cleaning the pool and then collapse onto your bed for one of the best nights of sleep you’d had in a while.

Your alarm woke you up out of your slumber, and as you reached for your phone turn it off you hissed in pain as your injuries on your side and head throbbed at the movement.

Lifting your pyjama shirt up to inspect your side, you were met with a large bruise and as you looked at it you couldn’t help but feel a little hatred for Topper and his carelessness - no doubt he’d try and talk to you soon enough to apologise, but that was a problem for another day. Today’s problem was meeting up with JJ for your little date, you had no idea if it would even go well but you knew you had to try as you were apparently soulmates. You looked at the bruise on your side again making you realise it would definitely be obvious when you were wearing your bikini so you were going to have to try and find a shirt to cover up, at least for the initial part of the day.

Going through your draws you found a nice black bikini that complimented your body nicely and a large shirt, that was slightly see-through but not enough to really show your bruise, as well as some of the other scars on your body from multiple different injuries. You got dressed, brushed your hair before pulling it into a loose bun, and quickly admired yourself in the mirror before picking up your keys and leaving your room.

You poked your head into your sister’s room, only to be met with her soft sleeping face, you didn’t want to wake her up, but you needed to let her know you’d be out for the day, and hoped she would be too instead of at home on her own.

You walked over to her, lightly flicking her nose, and laughed as she tried to swat your hand away, still half asleep.

“I’ll leave you alone if you open your eyes.” You said, ready to poke her cheeks until she woke up enough to talk to you.

She groaned as she opened one of her eyes, “it’s so early, let me sleep.”

“It’s almost 10, in what world is that early?” You asked, a smile on your face at how incapable she was in the mornings, an almost polar opposite to you who always loved waking up early.

“My world.” She huffed, pulling the covers up over her face.

“Okay well I was wondering if you were going anywhere today as I’ll probably be gone for most of today, but I can try and make it back early if you are on your own.”

“No I’m going to Carley’s again,” she pulled the duvet off her face to raise her eyebrow at you in question, “but where are you off to? You almost never socialise with people.”

You jokingly scowled at her, “Hilarious and if you must know I’m meeting up with a boy for a possible date thing.”

She squealed and sat up to look at you, “Oh my god yes! Who is it? Do I know him? Is it Topper? What are you doing on the date?”

“I’m guessing you’re awake now jesus christ. But you’re going to have to find out about it later, after the date so if it goes badly I don’t have to tell you.”

“Rude,” she pouted, “But have fun!”

You gave her a small wave before heading out of her room and downstairs to grab some toast before you left.

Even though it was tourist season, the beach seemed pretty empty and calm when you arrived, a few people in the sea already catching the waves, and as you looked at all the different groups on the beach the blond hair of JJ Maybank caught your eye.

He seemed to notice you at the same time as you saw him, he waved and walked over to you, “Hi.”

You smiled at him, trying to ignore the pain you felt on your face as you took in his injuries, “Hey, you good?”

“Always, and like I said yesterday I’ve had worse - Topper isn’t exactly the best at beating people up.” He laughed it off, but you couldn’t help but think there was something behind the words he was saying.

“Sure,” you said, fiddling with the hair band on your wrist, “well I hate small talk, so are you ready to be amazed by my incredible surfing skills.”

He laughed, clearly not convinced, “Bring it on Y/N.”

You grabbed your board from your car, and headed with him to the water, trying to pay more attention to the waves than his toned chest, not wanting him to realise how attractive you found him - you didn’t need that sort of teasing.

The two of you walked out into the water, moving to lay on the board as it got deeper so you could paddle out a little further. The waves weren’t as big as you’d like, but at least the sea wasn’t flat, otherwise this whole day would be less than ideal.

Both you and JJ sat up on your boards, waiting for the perfect wave for you to ride, and as you watched the water you could feel JJ watching you.

You turned to him, eyebrow raised, “What?”

“Why are you wearing a shirt?”

“Are you that desperate to see me in a bikini?” You joked, trying to avoid the question.

“Of course,” he winked at you before a look of seriousness came back over his face, “but also a little concerned as not many people where shirts in the water.”

“I bet they do, but if you must know, where Topper elbowed me last night I have a shitty bruise and I didn’t want people on the beach to see and maybe judge, so I covered up.”

“Oh, um, can I see it?”

“A bit of a weird request,” you chuckled, “but I guess so yeah.”

You lifted up your shirt, revealing the dark purple mark across your side, green tinging the outside of the mark, you heard JJ breathe in sharply as he took in your injury, “Holy shit are you sure you’re alright, like obviously I can feel it slightly but it looks awful Y/N.”

You gave him a small smile, “I’m fine, can we surf now?”

He nodded, and as he turned away from you he muttered under his breath, “Just avoid every question I ask huh?”

You looked at him, eyebrow raised, but he was already paddling his board to catch the next wave.

So that’s what the two of you did for almost two more hours, caught lots of waves - showing off the different tricks you could do, which in your opinion you were much better than him, not that he would admit it - and spoke about all the little things you could think of whenever you were waited for a good wave. Even whilst talking, you felt like you weren’t really talking, neither of you really spoke about anything deeper than your favourite colours or films and you were pretty sure he was now beginning to notice how you avoided any question about your home life. But you knew he was hiding something too so you didn’t feel as bad.

It was when you were both out of the water that the day took a turn for the worse. You were heading to where your bags were when you spotted Topper arriving at the beach, his eyes searching for something. And you were pretty sure that that something was you.

“You’ve got to be shitting me.” JJ said from where he stood behind you, looking at the way Topper was now manoeuvring along the beach looking for you.

You held out your hand in front of JJ, “Please stay here, I’m gonna talk to him and do not want you to start something.”

“He started it last night not me.” He scoffed, ignoring the way your eyes rolled at how childish he sounded.

“Just stay here. Please.”

You didn’t wait for him to answer, instead you headed towards Topper, bracing yourself for the apology that he was going to try and give you, even if you were far from forgiving him.

He spotted you as you approached him, smiling widely and jogging over to meet you half way.

“Hey Y/N I was looking for you.”

“I guessed that.” You say, crossing your arms as you stood looking up at him.

“Right,” he moved his hand through his hair, “well, um, I know you said last night that you didn’t want to see me, but I can’t stand you being mad at me and I really want to apologise. I really didn’t mean to hurt you and i don’t think I’m like Rafe and hurting you is the last thing I would ever want -and can you please say something!”

You couldn’t help but flinch at his raised voice, his eyes widening at your reaction.

“Shit I’m sorry Y/N, please talk to me.”

“I have nothing to say to you Topper, you hurt me and it might take a while for me to forget that. So I have nothing to say.”

“But-“ he tried to reach for you hand, but was instead met with the empty space as you stepped away.

“Nothing to say.”

You looked at his sad eyes one more time before turning around and heading back towards where you assumed JJ still was.

You didn’t realise you were shaking until you reached JJ and he looked at you with worry, “Woah are you alright?”

“I’m fine, it’s just-” you clenched your fists, “nevermind it doesn’t matter now anyway.”

He stepped towards you, “You know Y/N, this whole soulmate thing means we need to talk to each other about stuff, so it does matter. Please talk to me.”

You tapped your foot anxiously as you considered his words, “Fine. It’s just that in my life I haven’t had many people who care about me, and most of the time if they do care, I either push them away or they leave because they realise I’m not worth it. But never T - he was always there for me and my sister, and I’m just not sure I want to lose that but at the same time he hurt me and yeah that’s pretty much it.”

JJ put his hand on your shoulder, giving it a light squeeze as you looked up at him, “Well thanks for telling me but we might have to continue later because the idiot,” he pointed behind you to where Topper was now marching towards you, “has spotted us.”

“Oh for fucks sake.” You muttered, wondering if the angry look on his face was due to seeing you with JJ. It most definitely was.

You waited for him to get closer, no longer in the mood to deal with his shit.

“Really Y/N? You won’t talk to me or spend time with me but you’ll spend time with this dirty pogue?”

“I’ll have you know I bumped into him a while ago and we were just chatting and even if I hadn’t, who I spend my time with is none of your fucking business Topper.”

You could feel JJ tense up beside you as you lied to Topper about why you were with him. You’d apologise to him later but if Topper knew you’d been on a date together then the situation would get much worse a lot quicker than you’d like.

“Funny that I don’t believe you,” he scoffed, “but then again all you do is lie Y/N isn’t that right? Lie to everyone about everything, especially your home life.”

You froze, shaking your head for him to stop speaking, but he was too lost in his own anger and jealousy to realise he was crossing a line that could never be undone.

“Does your new friend know about that? Or should I tell him?”

“Topper please, don’t.” You reached out a hand to try and calm him down. You could feel JJ’s ocean eyes focused on you, his suspicions apparent.

“Well Y/N, you’ve already made it clear you don’t want to be friends with me so I’m just passing the information to the next guy you’ve found so he can pick up the pieces whenever you decide to show actual emotions.”

“Please-“ You tried.

“Her parents beat the shit out of her and her sister, that’s the big reveal,” he told JJ, ignoring the tears streaming down your face, “but what she doesn’t realise is that she is as emotionless and uncaring as them, so be ready for when she gets bored of you and throws you out like yesterday’s trash.”

Topper didn’t even look at you as he left, leaving you crying and JJ staring at you wordlessly. Your whole life unravelled before you, in one of the most to the point and unpleasant descriptions you’d ever heard, ignoring the implications of what he said about you. Is that really what people thought about you?

The silence between you and JJ became too much for you, you steadied your breathing, wiping the tears off your face “Well I think I’m gonna go, it was nice spending time with you, I guess I’ll, um, see you around.”

You looked up to see him open his mouth as if he wanted to say something, but he quickly closed it. You nodded to yourself and headed back home, ignoring JJ finally saying your name behind you, you just wanted to get away from the disaster of your first date with him. Soulmates sometimes didn’t work out and apparently yours was one of those, even if you wanted it to work.

A/N pt2: i was gonna add a bit of JJ’s perspective but im lazy so sorry y’all and sorry again for the fact i haven’t read through it i’m ill and sorry again (i feel like a youtuber making apologies here) that this isnt my best i’m just happy ive posted something and thanks for reading

A/N pt3: (it never ends sorry) I don’t know whether it’s because I’m very unromantic but even if I had a soulmate I wouldn’t feel strong feelings straight away so I tried to portray that but it gets better in the next chapter!!

taglist: @outerbongs @jjaybank @bailspogue @outerbankslut @ilikealotofpeople-younotsomuch @alexa-playafricabytoto @teamnick @k-k0129 @do-not-talk-to-me-i-am-awkward @thoughtsofthestars @http-cherries @n1ghtsh4d3-67 @thesurfingsnail @lonely-kermit @oopsiedoopsie23 @overly-b @lus-shh @xlittlemissydjx @asaks6082 @copper-boom @danicarosaline @deathcompass @jellyfishbeansontoast @butterfliesinthenightsky @iamaunicorn4704 @my-soul-is-the-moon @diverrdown @thorsangel @saintkore @prejudic3 @ponyboys-sunsets @starrystarkey93 @teenwaywardasgardian @celestialmaybank @kaylinfayezink @pixelated-pogues @otrbnks @x-lulu @obxmxybxnk @im-a-stranger-thing @jjmbanks @allycat449-blog @rudyypankow @silverstarsandsuns @chaoticbisous @realistic-breadstick @boldlypessimistic

Strikethrough means I couldn’t tag you

#jj maybank x reader #jj maybank #jj maybank x y/n #jj x reader #jj maybank imagine #outer banks #outer banks imagine #outer banks fic #obx #obx fic #rudy pankow #john b routledge #kiara carrera #pope heyward #outrebanx #outrebanx - don't feel

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oumaheroes · 3 years

Text

WIP- Sneak Peak

Thank you @needcake and @rein-ette for the tag! The aim is to show something from a WIP, either a favourite part, something unfinished, or something close to abandonment etc.

This was actually really hard because I wanted to show an unpublished WIP to give something new, but I’m too much of a perfectionist with this particular story and I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from writing out the whole unfinished chapter just to show a chunk haha. This part is from my fic Earthbound which is still a WIP (although the first 5 chapters are up), so picking from an older part of it still somewhat fits my original goal.

I truly do love this story; although the earlier chapters are now four years old and desperately in need of an edit, I think it is still the best (prose wise) piece that I have written. The part I have chosen is probably my favourite little section of it all.

Context: Hundreds of years after the fall of Earth, mankind is slowly starting to return. Some people have a stronger urge to return than others, confused by fragments of memories from a life already lived.

Full fic (so far) can be found here.

In return if they want to join in, I’m going to tag @honey-spice-plaid, @mandelene and @bougietalia, as well as anyone else who is interested!

A gull caws and the sun starts to dip and Peter takes in a lungful of deliciously salty air.

.....

On their final evening there, Peter once more goes to the cliff edge to watch the sunset. It's a cloudless night with a warm breeze and Peter wants to drink in as much as he can before he's forced to leave it all behind. He's found a perfect space up there now, right by the edge there's a rock with a nice smoothed surface that's perfect for laying on. He makes himself comfortable, stretching out languidly.

'Hey!'

Peter jolts. There are fast approaching footsteps behind him.

'Get way from the edge! Does anyone know you're up here?'

The voice sounds like typical adult panicking and Peter knows from experience that ignoring it never ends well. Quickly sliding off the rock, he sighs and turns to face whoever it is that's disturbed him, ready to defend his freedom.

There's a man very close to him now, young looking and clutching the strap of a bag which is slung over one shoulder.

The man jogs the last part of the distance between then before stopping not too far off. He shakes his head and adjusts his bag. 'This whole area is known for erosion, you know. You can sit here but just not so close to the edge.'

Peter looks up to meet his face at the same moment the man focuses on his eyes and it hits him like a lightning bolt that the man looks just like him: same eye shape, same facial structure and even the same eyebrows. But not only that, now that he's closer Peter recognises his voice as the one he's been hearing in his dreams for years. The voice that spoke unfamiliar languages and always seemed to voice-over the stories in his head belongs to this man. He knows, indisputably, and upon this realisation Peter feels as though he has separated from himself, almost. It's as if his body has filled with lead, he can't feel to move and everything feels so very heavy. He can't look away, he can't breathe, he can't think.

The man suffers a similar reaction, stumbling to a halt his body freezes as he stares at Peter in disbelief, mouth agape. There's a intense pause as they drink each other's features in, the shape of the jaw, the curve of the mouth, the eyebrows. Peter looks more like this man than he does his own father and the realisation hits him oddly because it's obviously a coincidence but it doesn't feel like that. It feels as though a triangle is being desperately forced through a square hole; nothing fits, but yet that's where it's supposed to go, needs to go. He knows intrinsically that this is something, this is important but he doesn't know why because it won't fit in his brain enough to be understood.

He can't make sense of anything and thinking clearly is hard because the man looks him in the eye again almost knowingly, mouthing the shape of what could be his name in a question and it then becomes impossible to think at all.

He steps back, barely feeling the movement but he crunches a leaf underfoot and the spell breaks. The crash of the tide reaches his ears, he takes in a lungful of salty air and manages to snap his mouth shut. Without looking back, he tears himself away and runs back to camp and away from this strange man with the pained, confused look in his eyes.

He runs because there's something bigger here, something he doesn't understand. It was heavy all around in the air between them, waiting to be noticed, but the very idea of going back and confronting it scares him and quickens to his stride into a sprint. He doesn't understand what's going on, he doesn't want to know but he doesn't know why he feels like this, only that he needs to get away before his head explodes.

The man doesn't follow him back to his camp. Peter runs breathlessly to his parents, buries himself into his mother's waiting arms and presses against her, heart beating against his chest. The man is gone and the moment has passed but their encounter doesn't leave Peter be. Instead it replays over and over and there's still that something at the forefront of his mind which whispers stories into his dreams.

Peter dreams that his legs reach down deep into the ocean, right to the sea bottom, and he watches the years pass silently by. Cast in metal and garbed in rust he falls, piece by piece, into an unforgiving sea. He dreams of rain, of smoking guns and angry curses, of abandonment and loneliness as he's left behind. He tosses and turns, unable to get comfortable, as wisps of memory lap gently against his consciousness.

He dreams of a gruff voice mumbling soothing words after a nightmare, handmade toys and a warm calloused hand carding through his hair. Hot tea and biscuits in front of a fire. Bedtime stories and scratchy kisses.

Of a man who loves him but who just doesn't know how to do it the way Peter needs.

He wakes with dried tear tracks on his face and the ghost of a name on the tip of his tongue.

#hetalia #aph #hws #hws england #hws sealand #aph england #aph sealand #arthur kirkland #peter kirkland #Hetalia Fanfiction #hetalia fanfic #my writing #earthbound my beloved

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wtnrscap · 4 years

Text

Cursed Words- Homecoming

Pairings- Bucky Barnes x Reader, Natasha Romanoff x Bruce Banner, mentions of past Natasha Romanoff x Clint Barton.

Summary- The treatment has started... The compound doesn’t know silence... It’s got to get worse before it gets better.

Warnings- (18+) Mentions of blood, death, injury detail, PTSD, panic and anxiety attacks. Swearing, fluff. Dirty talk, dirty fantasies. Eventual smut.

A/N- This chapter is depressing and fluffy. I mean, the treatment’s started, that’s warning in itself. Also, it’s kinda just a filler chapter so it’s probably gonna be a bit boring. Taglist is open. Prompts list is here.

Cursed Words Masterlist

The screams echo through the halls. They bounce off the walls and reach every nook and cranny. They are loud and blood-chilling and they don’t stop. The electricity around the compound hums and flickers with every scream and Vision glance upwards, looking around the living room. Wanda has cushions over her ears, Nat wears headphones, Clint is raising the soundbar. Sam growls, “When will it end?”

As if on cue, the screaming stops and the silence sound strange.

“Again... Let’s go again!” pants Bucky, sweat dripping through his hair. You bite your thumb anxiously before glancing at Bruce who shakes his head. Steve steps forward, talking into the microphone as Tony opens the door, “No. I think that’s enough for today. I’ve read these words 12 times, you deserve a rest.”

A cell built by Shuri made entirely out of vibranium. There were cameras on the inside and Bucky was strapped into a chair with an automatic headset. It had pained you not to go in there with him but after turning into the soldier 6 times on the first run, you were glad you weren’t.

This was the 3rd week of constant treatment and tempers were running high. Bruce and Tony were stressed with the science and Steve and you hated seeing Bucky in pain. Bucky was insistent that they should keep going until the words were gone but you and Steve had forced him to take breaks. His mental health was in tatters.

Your brow furrows as Steve helps Bucky into the lab. He can barely walk for himself, has huge marks across his head and is mumbling, “My name is James Buchanan Barnes. My best friend is Steve Rogers. My girlfriend is Y/N L/N. Tony Stark and Bruce Banner are helping me to get better...”

You’d had to partially wipe his memory with some very complicated Wakandan tech, and you knew this was just his way of reminding himself that he was safe and at the compound.

You busy yourself with your crutches, not looking at Bucky as Steve takes him back to his bedroom. It’s not that you don’t want to face him, you’re just not sure you can. You hate seeing him like this, and he knows it.

“How is he?” you ask as Steve comes out of Bucky’s room. Steve shrugs with annoyance, “Wants to go back down there and continue. I’ve told him to stay put. Need any help?”

“Nope,” you smile and hobble into Bucky’s room, landing heavily on his bed. The sound of the toilet flushing makes you jump and Bucky comes out of the bathroom with a strangely energetic grin. He’s in between your legs in an instant, hand over your eyes, “What colour?”

“Red.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. Please don’t write anything silly.”

“Can’t promise you anything, doll...” his voice peters out in concentration and you feel a slight pressure on your right leg. Several seconds later the hand is removed and you look down, groaning when you see what he’s written on the cast.

Why did the cow cross the road?

To go to the moovies!

“You picked the worst joke in the history of jokes!” you mumble and lean back, your head resting on his mattress. Bucky crawls over you, being mindful of your leg, and rests his head on your shoulder, metal tracing over your cheek. You smirk, “Do you like it?”

“What?”

“The arm. Wakandan designed, Tony Stark fitted.”

He shrugs and smirks, “Do you?”

“Haven’t had the chance to test it out yet, Mr Barnes. I’m waiting till I’m out the cast. I want full use of all my remaining limbs.”

“Ouch...”

You smirk again and shift so you’re now lying on his chest. He strokes your hair absentmindedly and hums, “Do you wanna stay the night?”

“Obviously.”

“Wanna stay like this?”

“Yep.”

He pulls the duvet over and you bury your head into his side with a smile.

You don’t know what time it is when you wake, just that it’s dark and there’s something wet on your leg. You can’t tell if it’s that or the movement next to you that wakes you. Then you hear the moan.

Goosebumps spring up across your skin and you can’t breathe, your face flushing. You roll over carefully, hoping, for once, that it’s nightmare. Please, God, let it be a nightmare.

“Y/N... Y/N... Please...” Bucky murmurs, his hips snapping up quickly and you groan. If your leg wasn’t broken you’d have just walked away or maybe even got involved but right now? You were useless.

“Bucky... Wake up... It’s a dream...”

At the sound of your voice, he moves faster and the wet patch on your leg grows as he moans. Just when you think you’re gonna have to hit him, he stops and opens one bleary eye, “Y/N? Did... Did you say something?”

“Look at my leg and clean yourself up. I won’t mention if you don’t...” you hiss and Bucky flushes, “Shit... Y/N... I didn’t mean to... Shit...”

“I know, I know. I’ll take it as a compliment. What did it for ya?”

Bucky blushes even more, “You said wanted to test my arm out...”

You nod your head and crawl over to the pillows, “I’ll be here when you come back. I promise.”

Bucky shrugs, “It’s not like you’re gonna go anywhere.”

“Hey!”

The next morning, you and Bucky sit by his huge bedroom window overlooking the grounds. He’d brought you breakfast and written another stupid joke on your leg. So far, neither of you had mentioned the incident, but you knew things weren’t gonna stay that way.

“Bucky, I can feed myself!” you giggle as he pushes chocolate toast against your lips, “Stop! Please!”

“You have broken fingers, Y/N, you need my help!” he responds seriously and continues to try and feed you. You shake your head, “I will throw bread at you again, be warned.”

He smirks and stops, his face paling. You know he’s probably just nervous about the treatment, it starts again an hour. His voice juts you, “Talk to me.”

“About?”

“Anything. Distract me. Favourite film, highschool memory, anything.”

“Um... Okay... Well, my favourite high school memory is this dance, My best friend took me and we danced the night away. He was made King and fell over on stage.”

“What type of dance?”

“Homecoming. Happened at one of Stark’s clubs before he owned it. I had this cocktail dress, bright blue for some reason and-- Shit!”

You land on your bum as you fall off the alcove seat, covered in hot coffee. Bucky had jumped and upset the mug, resulting in now burning legs. Somehow, he’d missed the cast.

He helps you and begins to laugh at the sight of your red legs. Bucky doesn’t look impressed, “It’s not funny! You said a word and you know what they are now! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine! Just... help me clean up and we’ll go downstairs. I think we need to start the treatment.”

Three hours and you’re on the breaking point. Bucky’s screams ring in your ears and Steve slaps his notebook on the table, “We should take a break. Start again after lunch.”

“Agreed. The equipment is draining a lot of the compound’s energy and Bucky needs time to calm down,” nods Bruce, “I’ll go and release him.”

You don’t move as Steve and Bucky trudge out of the cell followed by Bruce, leaving you with Tony. You sit in comfortable silence before clearing your throat. Tony looks up, “You still here, kid?”

“I wanted to ask you something.”

“Sure...” Tony sits next to you with a smile, “What’s wrong?”

“This is the start of the 4th week of treatment. It’s constant, painful and unrelenting. I think Bucky needs a holiday. Just me and him. Nowhere hot because of the cast. Just... away from all this.”

Tony hums thoughtfully, “I have a cabin up north... Very modern... You realise you’d only be able to spend a week away. Too long and he might regress.”

“I know. But a week is all we need. Just time away. Please, Tony...”

Tony looks into your eyes and sighs, “You have puppy-dogs eyes, you realise that? I’ll see what I can do...”

You squeal and hug Tony tightly as he laughs.

Taglist:

@indecisivedolly

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doctorreids · 4 years

Text

folklore - spencer reid x reader

CHAPTER FOUR - exile

previous chapter | next chapter

word count: 2.3k

a/n: so i thoroughly enjoyed writing this chapter so i hope you all enjoy! i’m the slightest bit worried that spencer is ooc but i’ll let myself lose sleep over that at some point. the donny hathaway song i’m referring to is this one - one of my favourite songs ever, so so so beautiful. reblogs, likes and comments are, as always very much appreciated - thank you for all the love so far x

“i can see you standin’ honey, with his arms around your body, laughin’ but the jokes not funny at all.”

It had been 3 months, 2 weeks, 3 days. He wishes he could recall the exact time but, for once in his life, he can’t.

There was life before Y/N and there was life with her, he never imagined that there would be a life without her; because if this is life…

The curse of having an eidetic memory is recalling every word, every glance, every silence, and every mistake. They filled his head every day, cacophonous and relentless.

He knows that 50% of couples break up then reconcile, he knows that this is more typical for unmarried couples to do. Yet, statistics do nothing to calm his frustration at himself. Statistics don’t tell him what he can do to fix what is broken.

There’s so much that he misses; her jumping at any chance to be with him, accompanying him to foreign film festivals, conventions, and anything he showed the slightest interest in. She would do anything for him, long before he ever called her his.

He’s still processing the depth of his loss. He had convinced himself for the first month that he could carry on and ignore the chilling cold of his bed at night or the loneliness of the subway journey home. By the second month, he could hardly look at himself. Now, three months on, the pain is so visceral, so real, that he cannot escape the crushing silence that surrounds him. No more quiet conversations on the jet, or laughter in the bullpen.

He wonders if her apartment feels just as empty as his.

He can’t help but let his mind wander to the conversation he overheard between Emily and Y/N in the bullpen - something about setting her up with a guy she knew from outside of work. He tried hard not to read into how reluctant she was accepting Emily’s offer or how defensive she looked when he went back to his desk.

What did he miss? Were there signs? Or did he, like he always did ignore the cracks as soon as they started to appear?

He didn’t want to think about someone else holding her, making her laugh, or being the reason for her smile.

It was dark outside, leaves littering the street, the rain pattering on his window. The sound of the occasional car passing by was the only sound that filled his apartment. Autumn was always his favourite season, it reminded him of change and growth, and when he first met her. It was cool that day, she was wrapped up in a royal blue knitted scarf and a soft brown worn coat - he swore to himself that he’d never seen anyone as beautiful before in his life.

He could barely focus on anything nowadays, from paperwork to books, everything was too difficult to confront. Sure, he’d been attending meetings, discussing his urges to numb himself from the world again. The beginning of his battle with addiction came before she did, it haunted him.

If he was being honest with himself, his addiction was the only thing he had fully confided in her. She gave him all the understanding that, at times, his own chosen family didn’t give him. He didn’t resent them for it but it was frustrating.

He knew he immersed himself in work too often, the sea of paperwork and cases kept his head above the water that threatened to drown him. After all his years working for the BAU, he still didn’t know how to properly talk about what they witnessed. He tried to chalk it up to facts and probabilities, that evil exists in the world and all he can do is use what he knows to prevent it from happening again. But he couldn’t stop it from happening in the first place.

Despite how much responsibility he placed on his shoulders with his work, he questioned whether or not his career was what he really wanted. He’d promised he would find a cure for schizophrenia by the time he was thirty. Yet, here he is - alone, many a Ph.D. to his name but no overwhelming achievement.

He knew his first mistake was not telling her about how he was feeling. But he was angry, he didn’t know how to verbalise what was overwhelming him. Frustrated and choked up, he pushed her away. He kept telling himself that he felt suffocated, he was anxious that he would lose her to his job and he couldn’t prevent that. There was so much in his life that he couldn’t control.

His mother wasn’t improving, getting worse day by day, and all he could do was stand by and watch. He could write as many letters, call every day, and visit as often as he could but he couldn’t fix it. He couldn’t change what was happening.

He was surrounded by people he considered to be his family yet he felt alone. All the time. So, he pulled up his guard, plastered a smile on his face, and carried on. She would always go before him in his life, nothing could change that.

Work had been…tense. He knew from the start that the girls would be protective of her and he didn’t blame them - he knew that very next day when she didn’t reply to his texts or calls or when JJ told him to ‘give her space. His only other option was Derek and his advice wasn’t, at times, what he wanted to hear.

Derek told him to fix it actively but he wasn’t even sure what he was trying to fix. Himself or their relationship? Some big romantic gesture would win her back, he was told, but he knew she hated those. He tried bringing her favourite flowers, roses, but he would freeze up every time he got to her front door. By now, it wasn’t the season for roses and he was running out of options.

JJ, Emily, and Garcia never treated him any differently, he just felt exiled from their bullpen meet-ups. From the start, all he wanted was JJ’s advice. That night they all went out, he sat in her house with Henry, listening to him babble on about Aunt Y/N and Uncle Spencer.

He won’t ever forget the sad look JJ gave him when he left, underlying anger and bitterness in her voice when she bid him goodnight.

He can’t help but think that he had irreparably messed up.

“all this time, we always walked a very thin line.”

They always said that working together was more of a blessing than a curse, they were never without the other. They could read each other like the back of each other’s hand. Until one day, they couldn’t.

He wasn’t sure what switch flipped in his mind but his ability to be vulnerable with her and to open up completely was turned off. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t find the words to express what was going on in his mind.

Then again, neither could she. That connection between them was lost, there was this impenetrable distance between them now.

He couldn’t get comfortable in his chair, his glass of whiskey sitting beside his growing stack of books. He kept trying to find room for them but he just couldn’t bring himself to put them away - it reminded him of her apartment; books scattered on different tables, never on the shelf. It was the only trace of her left in his apartment.

His pillow no longer smelt of her, sweet and fresh. Her toothbrush was no longer sitting by his sink nor her shampoo in his shower. He’d taken down the photos, they were too painful to look at almost every day. Yet, he still kept that scarf she had left at his apartment after one of their dates, the royal blue one. Her perfume was fading on that too.

“you’re not my homeland anymore, so what am i defending?”

She had been quiet the entire car journey home, exhaustion clearly written on her face. Her brow was furrowed in thought.

“Penny for your thoughts?” He asked softly.

A slight smile flickered across her face for a split second. It went as quickly as it came, she was angry.

“I just want to get us home in one piece, Spence,” she snapped, “can you let me do that?”

“Sure.”

She wasn’t just angry, she was pissed.

By the time they got back to his apartment, she was tired, cold, and frustrated with him. He was equally as tired but grateful to be with her, alive and well. His run-in with the unsub resulted in an overnight stay in the hospital and minor surgery. Well, he thought it was minor. She clearly didn’t.

She didn’t stop for tea the way they normally would nor did she bother to leave the light on for him in the bathroom. She just crawled into bed without a word spoken to him since they’d gotten back to his apartment. In all honesty, he thought she was just going to drop him off then go back to her own home. He was surprised that she didn’t.

Lifting the covers, he slid into bed as silently as he could as not to wake her.

“What you did was really stupid, you know that?”

She was awake. He should’ve guessed.

‘I know.”

She sighed, turning to face him, “Spencer, I know our jobs don’t exactly meet safety regulations but you can’t play the hero all the time. I had to tell myself a long time ago, that you can’t save everyone. I know you, Spence. You’re a good man, brave and you have more courage in you than literally every other man that I’ve ever met and I love you for it. But you can’t keep doing this to me, to us.”

“Doing what?”

“Scaring us all half to death. You don’t remember me holding your hand while we waited for the medics. You don’t remember Morgan telling me that you’d pull through. You didn’t get to see everyone’s faces in the waiting room. But I remember it all, I don’t think I’ll forget it.”

He was stunned into silence.

“I could only think of the worst. How was I going to be able to tell your mother? How was I supposed to carry on knowing,” her voice broke and his heart shattered, “that I would never get to hold you again, or hear one of your many facts, or be able to explain how much you mean to me.”

“But, you didn’t have to-“ he started.

“I know. You’re alive and I’m so grateful. But if you ever pull a stunt like that ever again…”

His smile was sad, “I won’t ever leave you. You’re my home. I’d do anything to keep you safe.”

“And you’re mine too.”

“i think i’ve seen this film before and i didn’t like the ending.”

The memory echoed in his mind. He thinks about what could have been, the family he pictured them having. He knew, even though it was unsaid, she wanted a little girl. He couldn’t lie and say that he wouldn’t want to see a miniature Y/N running around. He always wanted his own kids ever since Henry was born and something inside him changed when he saw you holding Henry for the first time.

He saw his future before him.

Or so he thought. His dream disappeared when he heard his front door slam that night. He would give anything to take that night back. Take back the things that were said, the things left unsaid, and go after her.

By now, he thought he was too late. He witnessed the most perfect, the most precious thing he had in his life play out like a Shakespearian tragedy on the big screen. His heartache played like a movie he had seen far too many times before.

Maybe they were doomed from the start, their ending determined by fate. Something he only ever believed in with her.

“You can’t save everyone.” He couldn’t even save himself. He thought he was kidding himself when he thought he could ever win her back, too much time had passed, too much distance.

There were oceans between them, and for too long he was too scared to start to cross the vast space.

He stared at his now empty whiskey glass and out onto the street - the rain was heavier now. He had no idea what time it was, it was late. He wonders if she’s still up. If she’s sitting in that chair by her window, like he is, thinking about him.

His whole body aches for her touch. He aches to tell her everything, to apologise and to tell her all the small little things that have happened since they last spoke. Like how that mug she used to always drink out of shattered when he was putting it back in the cupboard and how he cried because he couldn’t glue it back together. Or how he searched and searched for a new one but he couldn’t find it so he decided to not buy a new one, it couldn’t be replaced.

He would tell her that he listens to that Donny Hathaway song she used to always play in the car late at night. He’d like to think that she would be proud that he knows all the words - that he doesn’t just listen to Beethoven. Morgan told him to play a song over a boombox outside her window. He didn’t get the reference but he knew he would play that song.

He opened his wardrobe to pull out his pyjamas when it caught his eye. The scarf, a shimmer of glitter caught in the moonlight.

He knew what he had to do.

Grabbing his coat, keys, and the scarf, he opened his door and walked out into the night.

#spencer #reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid/reader #spencer reid/you #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #criminal minds fanfiction #mgg #reidxfolklore

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ariddletobesolved · 4 years

Text

Days We Spend Under the Sun (Chapter Five)

Written for @helsa-summer-event ☀️

Fandom: Frozen

Genre: Romance, Family, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Whump

Rating: T

Summary: Summer is not her favourite season, but a certain Admiral from the neighbouring kingdom is going to change that.

And the writing strike continues. This one is short and contains a bit of hurt/comfort and fluff (obviously), but please, just let these two have their moments before I throw some twists in. As usual, external links are in the notes. Enjoy!

Prompt 3: Relaxing in the Intense Sun

—

Chapter Five

"It's beautiful."

When the sun went lower in the west, Elsa found herself in Hans' embrace as they sat at the top of the hill which overlooked the open sea. After their little commotion at the river earlier, one that involved the water spirit, Hans suggested that they should go and explore the coast, so there they were. The couple had been watching the sun for a while, and although it wouldn't set anytime soon, the view before them was a sight they couldn't miss.

"Yes, it is." Elsa sighed in contentment, leaning back against his chest. Unknown to her, neither the open sea nor the pale tint of orange that painted the sky was what he found beautiful.

Hans moved to press his lips on the top of her hair, as he pulled her even closer by the waist. The cold radiating from her body, that he could feel through the cotton shirt he was wearing, was oddly pleasant. His hand rested on his lap, letting Elsa trace patterned frost all over his open palm. Having stayed like that for a good thirty minutes, just enjoying each other's presence in a comfortable silence, the former prince couldn't help but think.

Where would it take him, had he not doomed himself in the first place?

Surely, their story would begin differently. Different types of ending would come along, whether it would be better or happier than the present he lived in, he didn't know. Often he woke up in the middle of the night because of the nightmares—one of them was about him being succeeded in ending the eternal winter in Arendelle, and as the result, he would hate himself in the morning. He didn't have blood in his hands, but the guilt was still there. Then again, everything did happen for a reason, and that everyone had roles in the story, him included. He just wished that he could take back the hurt and the pain he had caused her and her sister.

"You've been quiet." Elsa broke the silence, turning her head to face him. Her big blue eyes were filled with curiosity.

He shook his head slightly. "I was just thinking."

"Oh." She let out. "Nothing bad, I hope."

Smiling, Hans took a deep breath. He looked down and noticed that the sleeve of her lilac short dress had lowered, exposing the milky skin underneath. Gently, he moved to fix it, causing Elsa to smile sheepishly and adjusted her sitting position in his embrace.

"I hope."

Sighing, the blonde then nuzzled his cheek, nose grazing his sideburn, trying to comfort him. She frowned, noticing how tense he suddenly got.

"Is it about your brother?" She asked softly, trying to not trigger anything. His brothers, especially the oldest—the King of the Southern Isles, had always been a sore topic to talk about, and she didn't want to ruin the moment with any bitter topic.

"It's not." He exhaled, nuzzling her hair.

Hans closed his eyes, trying to erase those vivid images from his nightmares, and replacing them with happy memories he shared with Elsa. But those dreams were so intense, he unconsciously tightened his grip on her side.

"Hans!"

Her gasp was enough to wake him from his thoughts. His eyes fluttered open, and he was greeted by a worried looking Elsa. It was not real. He convinced himself. This one is real.

Cradling his head, Elsa pressed her forehead against his. His hands reached out to hold hers, and they stayed like that for a moment. That was until Hans helped her to sit on his lap. Her head rested on his shoulder, as she let him hold her close. She was his safe haven.

"It's the nightmare."

"The one you told me the other day?"

Hans nodded. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay." Elsa gave his hand a squeeze. "We have talked about this, Hans." She pecked his jaw fondly. "I love you."

There was a pause, before he, too, said, "I love you." He pressed another kiss on the top of her head. "So very much."

I'd never known love until I knew her. And I'm grateful to have her in my life.

She was reminded of his words she overheard earlier that day, and her lips curved into a smile. Warmth spread across her chest, sensing the sincerity his words held. Suddenly, the thoughts that kept her up the night before began to cloud her mind. Hans told her he stayed for the summer, and Elsa could only assume that he would leave afterwards. Therefore, they should make use of the precious time they had. Hans did plan this trip so they could spend some time together, but deep down, Elsa would like it better to show him more of Arendelle. For twenty four years it had been her home, and even though she was no longer living there, it would always be the place she came back to. Besides, she could see her sister.

Anna. Elsa smiled as she thought about her. Her sister was the queen, and it seemed like she had been doing fine so far. Now that they were no longer at war, at least she knew that Anna would be alright. Her mind drifted back to the time they'd spent together. She admitted, she missed her bubbly personality. After all, Anna's glee had always been so contagious, and she was the sunshine between the two sisters.

"What is it, Kaere?"

Elsa bit her lower lip. An idea popped into her mind, but would he be okay with that? Only one way to find out.

"I want to ask you something." She looked up, meeting his green eyes.

"Fire away."

"Do you mind if we cut this trip short and go back to Arendelle soon?"

His eyebrows furrowed at the question he clearly didn't expect. "Why?"

"I know you have plans for us this summer. It's just, I think it's best if we spend the rest of the summer in Arendelle." She explained while holding his hands. "It's my birthplace, and I would like to show you more of it, the culture and all. I have a strong connection to Arendelle, and I want you to have that too."

Elsa expected him to be upset, then trying to convince her to stick with his plans—he was a smooth talker, after all. Well, the old Hans, she could imagine doing that, but this Hans? That sounded out of character. To her delight, the Admiral flashed her a smile. He brought her hands up and planted a few small kisses on each back.

"Kaere," he gently, tucking some blonde strands behind her ear, "I don't mind."

Hans didn't mind at all. In fact, her suggestion only added more to his anticipation. To cut their trip short might be a good idea in the end. Going back to Arendelle sooner would give him more room to make sure of the whole preparation for his final plan. Also, he trusted Elsa, and she must have had an organised plan for their return trip.

"Alright, then." The former queen grinned, completely oblivious to his scheme. "I'll write to Anna soon to tell her that we're going back to Arendelle tomorrow."

Okay, probably not an organised plan. Nonetheless, Hans would still say yes to any of her ideas. Everywhere she goes, he would gladly follow, even if they're heading to the unknown.

#helsa #helsa summer event #days we spend under the sun #elsa x hans #hans x elsa #helsa fanfiction #mary's writing #helsasummerevent2020 #helsasummerevent #iceburns

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exo-can · 3 years

Text

Growing Pains: Send My Love (To Your New Lover)

A collection inspired by Adele’s album 25

A/N: Sooo, it’s been a while lmao.

Please note that this is part of a series, although this chapter has enough in it that you can infer what is going on so it can be read by itself.

Previous Chapters:

When We Were Young (Smut)

I Miss You (semi-smut)

River Lea(Smut)

Warnings: Smut (like a lot yo. Probably the filthiest thing i’ve written ok.) , cursing, choking, hairpulling, Yoongi is not happy about your confession but has emotional constipation so chooses to take it out in ~other~ ways

Sunlight casts it’s warm glow over you, body growing hot under the mountain of blankets you'd haphazardly thrown over yourself late last night. You don’t move though, letting the rays of light burn against your eyelids as you bask in the afterglow of sleep. That is, until you felt the slickness of sweat in the crevices of your form. Sighing lightly, you shift on the couch and feel the heaviness begin to fade from your limbs as stiffness takes its place. The apartment is quiet, the city too. That magical sunday haze always makes it seem like the world is running at half-pace, if only for a few hours in the morning. Slowly, you crack your eyes open just enough to catch a glimpse of the clock hanging on the wall above your tv. 11:14… you note silently. Woojin must have left for work without waking me.

And just like that, your calm morning is gone, spirited away by a fresh wave of emotions that you can no longer chalk up as only guilt. A second sigh escapes you, though this one was much heavier than the first. Pushing the blankets away from your body, you sit upright on the couch. Rubbing the remnants of sleep from your eyes, you straighten the crumpled outfit which you’d never bothered to change out of last night. Spotting your phone on the coffee table, you pick it up with a yawn and tap the screen to life. A couple emails, some notifications from various social media platforms and one text that makes a soft smile curl your lips upward without your knowledge.

Yoongi 4:38am

Did you get back okay? You could've stayed you know.

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"It's me." the words had sounded timid as they'd left your mouth, even by your own ears.

“I know.” He didn't sound surprised, which irked you. You knew what he said on the roof, but a part of you still worried that this was a game to him. A game in which he knew he was currently holding the winning hand. “Caller I.D."

“Right.” A faint heat bloomed on your cheeks as the elevator doors gave a soft ‘ding’ and opened to the apartment buildings lobby. Plopping yourself down on one of the plush leather chairs, you fiddled anxiously with the sleeve of your oversized jacket. A dim crackle of radio silence echoed across the speaker, not quite sure what to say now that you’d actually dialed his number. You tried though, a feeble “I-” making it’s way up from your vocal cords before the line went quiet again.

Thankfully, Yoongi was the first to break the tension. “Do you want to come by? I would’ve offered at Luna’s but…”

“No, I’m glad you didn’t. I’d rather not broadcast what we’re up to to them.” You answered honestly. It wasn’t that you didn’t love and trust your friends. It was just that it was much harder to explain what you were doing when you yourself didn’t even really know. “But yeah, I would… if that’s okay.”

“I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want you to, Y/N.” Yoongi reassured you, making your insides twirl. “I can come and get you. You still at Luna’s building?”

“I am, but that’s alright. You’re already at home.”

“It’s not far.” He insisted. “I don’t mind. Besides, this way you don’t have to wait for a cab.”

You bit your lip, and responded. “As long as you’re sure.”

“I am.” A rustle could be heard on the other end, which you could safely assume came from his pushing his arms into his jacket. “I’ll be there in ten. Wait for me in the lobby, okay? It’s cold out.”

This made you giggle. Thoughtful and protective as ever. “Yoongi, it’s July.”

“I know but,” he replied with a sigh and you wondered if he was making that cute exasperated face that he used to make whenever you teased him, “just humor me, okay?”

“Okay.” You said, the remnants of laughter still present in your voice. “See you soon?”

He hummed in agreement before adding, “I’ll text you once i’m there.”

“Alright, bye.”

“Bye.”

The line went dead and immediately you began to fidget, nerves beginning to set in. In all honesty, you didn’t know what to expect when you went over there. There wasn’t time on the roof to discuss the details of what this arrangement would entail. Everything with Yoongi was grey, reminding you of how your relationship had started back in college. He never was big on discussing this type of stuff, you remarked silently. Yoongi was and always had been a man of action, not words. Words he saved for music. Once upon a time, you had found this incredibly frustrating. Now however, you were grateful that you could explore your rekindled relationship, whatever it may be, without the pressure of definition. Perhaps it was time that made the craving for clarity you had when you were younger wane. Or perhaps it was the fact that diving deep and defining what this was, meant you’d have to face the demons residing in your head. Whichever, you knew that there was one thing you’d have to lay out on the table for both of your sakes. As much as the thought of doing so made your heart clench and your gut churn with dread.

The screen of your phone lit up suddenly, a new text flashing up on the lock screen which read:

Here. Black car right in front of the doors.

Gathering yourself up from the couch, you took a soothing breath before stepping out of the building. Sure enough, a black car sat parked directly in front of the doors which gently clicked shut once you’d let go of the metal. Seeing the car, it was suddenly that much clearer to you that Yoongi really had worked hard in the time you’d been apart. As college kids, neither of you had driven, the cost of having a car in the city being too much for either of you to justify. Now however, it seemed Yoongi didn’t have a need to pinch pennies like he used to. The black car parked in front of you acting only as evidence of this fact. It was nothing obnoxious, but you could tell that the car had cost a fair amount more than your used Honda. Steeling yourself, you grasped the sleek handle on the door and climbed inside.

Settling as gracefully as possible into the luxurious leather seat, you sneaked a glance at Yoongi. A pang of guilt washed over you, realizing he had already changed into sweats and a simple white t-shirt before you’d called. You let a frown turn the corners of your lips downward. “Thank you for picking me up.”

A small chuckled emanating from his chest made you look up from his clothes. His face was encased in the blue glow of the lights from the dash of the car. His hair was slightly tousled, blonde tufts just long enough to sweep over his eyebrows. A teasing smirk played at the edges of his mouth while his dark eyes regarded you.

“What?” You fought the urge to squirm under his gaze.

“It’s been years and you still haven’t learned to just let people do things for you, huh?”

Rolling your eyes, you gently pushed at the hand that was draped over the gear shift. “I just don’t like being a bother.”

“You never are.” His blunt response made you blush, your gaze travelling down to your lap where your fingers toyed with one another.

There was no need to look up at him, you knew he had a pleased expression on his face. Playing with you had always been one of his favourite things to do, if only because of the color it brought to your cheeks. Shifting the car into drive, he pulled away from the curb.

Both of you fell silent as Yoongi drove, though it wasn’t uncomfortable. Lingering familiarity with one another eased the tension alongside your earlier banter. Turning your eyes toward the streets that passed you by, you wondered what his place was like. Did it measure up to the car? Your mind attempted to conjure up an image of what type of place you pictured Yoongi living in. However, everytime you tried to picture him living somewhere posh and luxurious, like the car, you couldn’t. The Yoongi you’d once known liked urban places. Area’s full of little nooks and crannies hiding the best of what the city could offer by the people who were its life blood. Hell, you couldn’t even count the number of times he’d led you through obscure alleyways and because ‘I swear, it’s the best in town’. And frankly, he’d always been right. Though that never stopped you from teasing him, calling him a hipster and laughing when he rolled his eyes. You didn’t even realize you were sporting a small smile while recalling all old memories until you felt it drop.

It really hadn’t been far, just as Yoongi had assured you. The car ride only lasted about 15 minutes before he was turning a corner to come before tall wrought-iron gates enclosing an area that was towered over by a few highrises. It was then that you realized that the car really did match the house as Yoongi unrolled his window and gave an amical wave to the man sitting in a small booth just on the other side of the iron bars. The man gave him a friendly grin before opening the gate for Yoongi’s car to pass through. Rolling his window back up, you sidled up to the passenger door, gawking at the height of the buildings before you. Yoongi’s fingers drummed against the head of the gear shifter as he pulled into a parking garage. As he drove to his space, you couldn’t help but notice that all the cars you passed were on the same caliber, or higher, as his own. Reaching his own parking spot, the car came to a stop and you unbuckled your seatbelt. Stepping out of the car, Yoongi locked the doors and motioned for you to follow him.

All the way up to the apartment, you had the distinct feeling that he was watching you and the feeling only heightened once you were inside. You did your best to school your features, not wanting to come off as rude, but you couldn’t help your eyes from widening as you took in his place. From the entryway, you could see into his kitchen and lounge. Both were impressive. The kitchen was decked out with white cabinets and marble countertops while the living room was big enough that you were positive it could house the entirety of your small shared apartment. But the real thing that caught your eye was the view.

Floor to ceiling windows made up the wall to the outside world and with the height you were at, you could see nearly the whole city. Lights twinkled in the distance as you let out a breathless, “Wow.”

“You like it?” Yoongi asked, his eyes still hovering over your frame as you slipped your shoes off to move closer to the windows.

“It’s beautiful.” You replied honestly, your gaze raking over the city. Eyes drifting down, you could barely make out the man sitting in his booth at the gate. Dimly, you noticed no one milled about the street down below, this area’s inhabitants much more used to staying within their pretty walls. You really had been honest; this place was beautiful materialistically, but something about it just seemed a little cold to you. There was no hustle and bustle here. It almost felt detached from the city. It wasn’t that you didn’t understand the appeal of being removed from the loud streets and neon signs, it was just so far from what you had known Yoongi to love when he was younger. These thoughts raced in your mind and before you could think better of it, you slipped, “but-”

“But?” Yoongi had padded across the hardwood floors to you while you were in thought, handing you a glass of water that you hadn’t even heard him get.

Quickly, you arranged your features into a warm grin, muttering a ‘thanks’ and taking a sip from the glass before speaking again, “I just always pictured you living somewhere more… lively.”

Insecurity flashed across his face so briefly, you wondered if it really had been there at all as he rearranged his expression into the indifferent look you were well acquainted with. A hand came up to scratch the back of his head as he replied, “yeah, I guess it is a bit… much, isn’t it?”

“No, Yoongi.” You rushed to say, worried you’d hurt his feelings. “It’s just a surprise is all. I knew you worked hard since we graduated, I just didn’t realize how hard.”

This seemed to appease him, but you could tell that he knew you were trying to make him feel better from the slight downturn of his mouth. Nodding, he motioned to the white couch in the living room. Relief flooded your veins at the realization that he was as content to drop the subject as you were when he said, “sit with me?”

Nodding, you padded your way across the hardwood floors to the couch, settling down in the middle. Yoongi followed, plopping down onto your right, leaving you to immediately question your decision making skills as the scent of his cologne engulfed you in the close proximity. A pale arm came to rest on the back of the couch as he wedged himself into the corner, legs spreading comfortably. A knee knocked yours and you forced yourself not to gasp at the contact. Slim fingers drummed the cushion, close enough to you that you were sure your hair was grazing the tips each time he lifted them. A jolt of desire churned in your stomach, unable to quell the images of where else those fingers had touched not weeks prior.

“So, what about you?” Yoongi’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts.

“What about me?” You replied, trying to hide your blush as you took a sip of water, willing the liquid to kill the flames inside you before placing it on the coffee table in front of you. After all, you had no idea what to expect from tonight. You had no idea what Yoongi, or even you, expected from this causal relationship. Though your body certainly seemed to know what you wanted.

“What are you doing now?” He said. “I just realized that I never really asked. Did you apply at that newspaper after college?”

You hid the wince at the mention of that particular venture. “Um, I did, yeah.”

“And you got it? That’s great, Y/N-”

“Oh, no, I didn’t get the job.” You responded quickly, suddenly finding the spacious room more than a little stifling.

“Oh, fuck, I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay!” You plastered a bright practiced grin on your face and looked up at him, the same grin you’d given all of your relatives when they asked the same thing. Not wanting to make it more awkward, you blurted, “I actually got a job at a gardening magazine. It’s proofreading but the hours are great and the pay is pretty decent too.”

“Well, that’s great— wait,” He paused, a look of confusion passed over his face and your stomach dropped. You should’ve known better than to say anything to him of all people. “Proofreading? I thought you hated doing that.”

A melancholy chuckle left your lips. “I did, but honestly it’s not so bad. I could do worse.”

He hummed, not in agreement but acknowledgement and the fact that you could hear the difference irked you. “Are you gonna stay there for a while?”

It felt as though a crack had split your smile and Yoongi was peering into it. Were you really still so easy for him to read? It wasn’t fair, not when you felt like you were constantly chasing a shadow. The remains of the smile slipped from your lips and you considered his question. You shifted as you contemplated, your knee now leaning against his fully while your body twisted so you could face him more. Fingers brushed against your shoulder as you spoke softly. “Honestly? I don’t know anymore.”

“Why’s that?”

“I just—” you sighed, your brows furrowing together unable to help the way Yoongi seemed to pull the truth from you in any situation, “when I started there, I told myself it was only temporary. But as time went on, I guess I just started to get comfortable, y’know? And now, I don’t know, it’s hard to just up and leave something without guarantee that it’ll work out. So I stayed.”

He leaned forward slightly, almost making you jump when the pads of his fingers found the nape of your neck and kneaded the skin softly. It was casual; he only needed to move a few inches to reach your skin, his arm still resting nonchalantly over the back of the couch. If you were anyone else, you wouldn’t have really thought it was anything besides a comforting gesture. But you weren’t just anybody. The action made your mind sift through countless memories in which he’d done the same. Once he’d found out the action was something you found comforting years ago, it had become a sort of habit for him. You didn’t know if he had meant to do it or if it was only natural after having dated all through college, but the gesture instantly had you feeling more at ease. However, the touch still made your breath catch.

Hearing the stutter in your breathing, Yoongi hesitated. His fingers came to a stop and made to pull away as he muttered, “Sorry, I should’ve asked if it was okay before I—”

“Wait,” before you could think anything of it, your fingers curled around his forearm to halt him in his retreat, “it’s okay.”

It wasn’t actually, but with the way tension you hadn’t even known you’d been clutching on to had begun to seep from your limbs at his ministrations, you couldn’t muster the energy to deny yourself a reprieve.

A faint smile wormed its way onto his lips as your head tilted so that the skin of your cheek rested on his arm. In a voice so small you were sure he hadn’t meant for you to hear, you heard a barely there ‘cute’ just as his fingers resumed drawing shapes into your skin. Not wanting him to catch on that you’d heard, you drew your thanks into the skin of his arm, your own fingers mirroring the movements of his on your neck. With each shape drawn, Woojin grew more and more distant in your mind. Your resolve to confess grew weaker with every stroke while the butterflies in your stomach roared, finding the will to ruin this moment dismal.

“So,” you said, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen over you two, “is this your move now?”

His head quirked and an eyebrow raised. “My move?”

“Yeah,” there was a teasing tone in your voice. “Instead of food stalls and diners you bring the girls up here to woo em’?”

A raspy chuckle shook his shoulders, a sly smirk stretching his lips. “Honestly, I haven’t had any of this long enough to try it. Why, is it working?”

“Meh,” you acted indifferent, shrugging your shoulders playfully and jiggling the arm that was half slung around you. “I prefer to be wined and dined.”

“I’d hardly call plastic stools, soju, and chicken ‘wined and dined.’”

“Hey,” you pouted, raising your head from his arm. “I’ll have you know I loved those stupid plastic chairs.”

“Don’t I know it.” He snorted. “You almost ripped my head off when you found out I went with Jin without you that one time.”

He wasn’t lying. You really almost did. “Well, yeah, but that’s because I always thought of it as our ‘place.’”

An amused look crossed his features. “Our ‘place?’”

“Yeah, y’know,” heat flared in your cheeks, absentmindedly squeezing his forearm out of embarrassment and mumbling, “like couples those in movies and shit have a ‘place.’ I thought of that as ours.”

“You thought of a street food stall as our ‘place’?” The mirth in his voice did not escape your ears.

“I mean, not just one. More like the street.” You replied sheepishly, earning you a genuine gummy laugh. The grips you had on each other loosened as his body rocked forward, his free hand landing on your thigh as his frame shook. Your heart did a somersault in your chest as the distance between you diminished. His laughter earned him a slap on the chest as your bottom lip jutted out. “Don’t laugh.”

“Sorry, it’s just, there?” His laughter died out, his hand on the back of the chair coming up to carry the weight of his head as he rested on it, your hair fluttering against his bicep. “Of all places?”

“Well, excuse me Mr. High-and-mighty. You have somewhere better you’re thinking of?”

“Your old apartment.” His answer was immediate.

“My apartment?” You questioned.

“Yeah,” he replied, a fondness glazing over his eyes as he looked down at you. “We had a lot of important moments in that place.”

Like watching a movie, memories flashed in your mind. Good, bad, and somewhere in between; all sorts of things happened in the confines of those walls. Some you wished you could forget. Some that you wouldn’t trade for anything in the world. It was only now that you realized just how close the two of you had gotten while you talked. His thumb rubbed at the skin just above your knee and he had drawn one leg of his own up onto the couch, folding it under himself so his shin pressed against the length of your thigh. The white shirt he wore billowed against your arm and upon looking at his face, you realized that if you leaned in just the littlest bit more, you would be able to stretch your neck up so your lips would meet. Looking at him, you finally saw behind his carefully constructed walls. The tender look on his face as his ink coloured irises gazed down at you told you that it wasn’t just you who treasured those memories. Eyes flicked from yours down to your mouth and you could feel his body coaxing you to just bridge the gap. Squirming under his gaze, your eyes dropped to your lap.

“I lived there,” you said with a shaky voice. “Doesn’t count as a place.”

An amused puff of air escaped him, fanning across your cheek down to your collarbone. Minty.

“So, is this how you get the guys now?” You couldn’t help but peer back up at him at the question. The hand that was on your leg rose to grip your chin, his thumb giving your bottom lip a featherlight stroke. A surge of heat rocketed through you at the contact. “By being a sore loser and pouting when they prove you wrong?”

This time, you chuckled, repeating his earlier words, “why, is it working?”

“Yes.” He admitted instantly, your legs pressing together in response. His hand holding you in his grip, dark eyes drifted down to where his thumb sat just below the ridge of your bottom lip. Your own eyes dropped too, watching raptly as his mouth came closer and closer to your own. The air felt heavy, your hands coming up to fist his shirt as your tongue snaked out to wet your lips, catching the salty tip of his thumb. Letting your eyes drift back up, you saw that his irises had become darker, his lids drooping slightly and exuding lust. He was going to kiss you and god, did you want him to. But as soon as you felt the slightest brush of his lips against yours, the face of your boyfriend popped into your mind. Jerking, you pushed him just far enough away that you could drop your head in shame.

“Yoongi, wait.” You fought the trembling in your voice. “There’s something I have to tell you.”

Ever-respectful, Yoongi immediately released you. His hand fell into his lap, your skin instantly mourning the loss as he leaned back away from you. Studying his face, you could feel your heartbeat quicken and your palms growing clammy. He watched as you tried to summon your courage, the only sign that he was worried being the way his brows scrunched to make the faintest ripple in the skin of his forehead. Taking a slow breath and trying not to pay attention to the way your face suddenly felt so much warmer, you spoke, “I should’ve told you this on the rooftop, but I-”

Your throat clenched around the syllables and your hands curled into fists where they had fallen on your lap when he had backed away from you.

“Hey,” Yoongi replied, reaching out to the hand on your lap before hesitating. Deciding you needed the comfort, he let his hand lower to stroke the skin. “It’s all right. You can tell me now. Or not. I never meant to push you into anything and if I have-”

“No! It’s not that. It’s nothing you did.” You immediately responded, your hand flipping to hold his tightly in reassurance. “I- um, I’m actually seeing someone.”

“Oh.” His hand was still in yours but you felt it go limp in your grasp. It was almost comical the way his eyes widened before his carefully constructed mask slipped into place. The silence was suffocating. If you tried, you could probably hear every car within a block of his place right now. Ink irises swept over your face and lowered your head, guilt surging through you. Sensing that you’d outstayed your welcome, you began to rise from the couch only for his fingers to contract and pull you down to the couch again. Landing rather ungracefully, you met his eyes once more. “Is that why you freaked out the next morning?”

You didn’t have to ask for context. “Yeah, it was him on the phone.”

“Hm…” He hummed, more to let you know that he’d heard you than anything. His eyes studied your face, as though searching for something. But what, you didn’t know. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“Um,” you replied, “I don’t know if you noticed, but I was a little bit busy freaking the fuck out.”

He gave you an exasperated look, his grip still tight on your hand. “I mean that night.”

You opened your mouth to answer, only to shut it again. Why hadn’t you? You’d been drinking, but not nearly enough to make you forget something so vital. Even when you were having sex, you knew it was wrong in the back of your mind, and yet you hadn’t let out a peep. Sifting through your memories, you couldn’t really find a definite answer. At least you had the decency to shoot him an apologetic glance. “I should’ve, I know.”

“And after?”

“I didn’t think your number was the same?” It was a sorry excuse and you both knew it.

“You didn’t think to ask the six friends we share?”

“I-”

“He doesn’t know does he?” The question he cut you off with was more a statement than anything.

“No.” Something in Yoongi’s eyes seemed to click, causing shame to make your ears burn as you spoke.

“The way I see it,” Yoongi let out a small, humourless chuckle before a smirk settled onto his mouth and his thumb started to rub slow circles into the skin of your hand. “Most people who want something like this to go away,” He shifted closer on the couch and his palm began to glide up your arm. Your eyes shifted to your lap, knowing exactly where he was going with this. “Probably would’ve either stayed away or told me to shove off.”

The fingers of his right hand fluttered past your left shoulder as his shirt brushed the skin of your arm from his leaning closer. Everywhere he touched felt on fire, the soft pads of his fingertips pushing your hair behind your ear and exposing your neck did nothing to help. And then you felt his breath. Warm and flooding your senses enough that you couldn’t hold back a shudder. He chuckled darkly, letting his mouth come so close to your ear that you could feel the ghost of it along the shell. His voice was thick when he spoke, “you didn’t do either, so what exactly do you want?”

Your voice was hardly a whisper, heat beginning to churn inside your belly, “I don’t know.”

“I think you do.” He said with a laugh as his fingers grazed over your neck to cup your jaw. Gently, he turned your head so you looked up at him, his nose nearly grazing yours. He was close, so close, and yet never invading your space. Never taking that last step of intrusion without your permission. The city lit up the edges of his hair as he let your breath merely mingle with his own in the last inch of space between you. His thumb stroked your jaw lightly while his dark, hooded, eyes searched yours. “What do you want, Y/N?”

Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth, peeking out to wet your lips before swallowing the lump in your throat and saying, “He can’t find out.”

And then his lips were on yours. A mewl catching in your throat as your eyes fluttered closed because finally he was kissing you. Lips pillowed yours while his fingers left your jaw to tangle themselves up in the hair at the nape of your neck. Your hands flew from your lap to curl into the fabric of his shirt once again, pulling him ever closer. You were the one to swipe your tongue across the seam of his lips, practically begging him to grant you access. A month. One whole month since you felt this much heat pooling between your legs and all the man had done was kiss you, for christ sake.

When Yoongi finally let his tongue slide against yours, you really did mewl, making him chuckle into the kiss. He took the opportunity to explore your mouth, mint painting over your taste buds as one of your hands crawled up his chest to grip his shoulder. When your mouths parted, you leant forward, chasing his lips until a sharp yank of your hair moved you back into place. Seemed Yoongi hadn’t forgotten that you liked a little pain with your pleasure. Lips trailed across your cheek to your jaw as Yoongi made a humming noise, his hand fisting your hair to pull your head back far enough so he had full access to your neck.

“You seem a little wound up.” He remarked smugly before placing a wet kiss just under your jaw.

“N-no marks, Yoongi.” You moaned, fingers digging into his shoulder.

“‘Course not.” He chuckled, letting his lips and tongue glide down the column of your neck, leaving a wet trail in their wake. Teeth grazed your neck, but he did as you asked. “Wouldn’t want him knowing someone else is doing his job better, would we?”

You couldn’t reply, as the hand that wasn’t curled up in your hair grazed the skin of your thigh, inching ever higher. Instead, you let out a breathy exhale, the hand on his shoulder gliding to the nape of his neck. Lips travelled back up to yours, kissing you in slow, sensual pecks that wouldn’t be nearly enough to satiate you and he knew it. When it became apparent that he wasn’t going to take the initiative to tangle his tongue with yours, you tried to take control. Leaning as far into him as you could while he still held your hair in a fist, you snaked your tongue out to touch his puffed lips. A chuckle rumbled through his body to yours before he slipped away. His fingers released their hold on you and he shifted to rest his back on the arm of the couch, his left leg tucked to line your thigh while the other dangled off the couch. Heady eyes appraised your tousled appearance, raking over your flushed cheeks to where your fingers were digging into your thighs. With a thoroughly smug smirk, he patted his thigh.

Perhaps the motion should’ve made you annoyed, the implication that you were something akin to a pet more than clear. But instead it merely threw gas on the fire roaring in your belly. Maybe a little too eagerly, you moved so you could straddle him as he stretched his legs out under you. There was no denying the heat that flashed in his eyes as you bunched the fabric of your skirt so you could lower your weight down onto him. The jean material sitting in the crevice where your ass met your leg and just barely covering your core from his eyes. Not that it would be on for much longer if you had it your way. Both hands came to cup his face, tilting it up so you could crush your lips to his. His own digits snuck under your jacket, dragging over the curves of your waist as his tongue slid over yours. One hand slid to the small of your back while the other roughly palmed your breast, making you break the kiss with a hiss. It seemed your breast was only a stop though, his right hand continuing its journey up to push your jacket away from your shoulder. Taking the hint, you leaned back to rid yourself of the coat. Yoongi let his right hand come back to your thigh, skimming his hand back and forth over the length of it, inching higher with each stroke.

Dropping the jacket on the floor unceremoniously, you hastily reattached his lips to yours. As you kissed, your body started to follow the motions, gently rocking on his lap in an effort to encourage his digits to just dip under your skirt already. You huffed in exasperation when the pads of his fingers left your leg completely, feeling him grin impishly into the kiss. His teeth caught your lower lip as his hand began to tug your shirt out from where it was tucked into your skirt. Releasing your lip, he commanded gruffly, “off, Kitten.”

Obeying immediately, you used both hands to peel the loose tee off before depositing it on top of your jacket, your core clenching at the nickname. As soon as you were free of the shirt, Yoongi wrapped his arms around your waist, wrenching you into him. Clutching his shoulders to steady yourself, wet kisses coated your skin from your clavicle to the mounds of your breasts. Cold patches of saliva coating your chest made you shiver when his breath ghosted over them. The digits on your back traced up your spine until they reached their destination, deftly unhooking the clasps of your bra. The straps hung on loosely to your shoulders until Yoongi took it upon himself to slide them down your arms. As soon as they were revealed, Yoongi’s eyes fell heavily onto your breasts. Throwing the bra to the side, his hands clutched your waist as he brought his mouth to a nipple. A tantalized sigh escaped you when his tongue slipped out to flick a pert bud, only to circle it after. Dropping your head back, pleasure bloomed inside you as he teased your nipple until it was hard before moving on to the other. Hands clutched your skirt, forcing it up and over your hips to expose your cloth covered sex. Satisfied with his ministrations, Yoongi pulled back to rest once again against the arm of the couch as his hands slid down to cup your ass. Fingers digging into your cheeks, he guided you into rocking over him, causing you to let out a moan.

“You’re a mess,” he pointed out, arousal heavy in his voice making it rasp in a way that you’d always loved. His words made you clench around nothing, grinding your hips into him for friction that you desperately needed and feeling his bulge through his sweats. “I haven’t even touched you where you really want it and you’re a mess. You’re practically drooling. I bet your panties are soaked.”

It was true, they were. You could feel it every time you rolled your hips, your underwear sliding over your weeping core so it was slick with your juices. His words did nothing to help, each syllable shooting straight to your groin. Pleased with the fucked out nod that you gave him as a reply, one of his hands released your ass, the other coming to your hip to still your movements. Nudging you to support your own weight, you were about to whine in protest when his free hand traced your slit lightly, making the noise die in your throat. With the pace of a snail, Yoongi moved his thumb to press into your clit, slowly circling the sensitive nub. A shuddered breath escaped you as you stuttered, “Y-Yoongi.”

“What is it, Princess? That desperate already?” He teased, speeding up his thumb every few strokes only to slow down once more. You couldn’t bring yourself to care that you were practically putty in his hands already. You blamed the weeks of fantasizing about him for it. When you didn’t respond, Yoongi leaned forward to bite at the skin of your breast with a growled demand. “Answer me.”

You were certain he could have felt the way your sex clenched at his rough treatment. Yoongi had always been dominant in the bed, but never like this. Never this vocal. However, it was a welcome change; a new trait of his you were more than pleased to discover, though a little curious as to what brought it on. Swirling your hips in an effort to get more friction from his touch, you let out a whispered “yes.”

“Good.” He hummed, fingers flicking your underwear to the side so he could finally touch you. His index ran along the length of your slit, to collect your juices. Pulling the finger back to gaze at the slickness that now coated the digit, he questioned, “how long has it been since you were this wet?”

You nearly groaned when he brought the finger to his mouth, sucking the traces of you off his skin. “A month.”

Popping the finger out of his mouth, he gave you a delighted laugh. “That so? Boyfriend can’t seem to get you going?”

“Not like you.” Your answer was immediate, leaning over to peck him softly as your hands strayed to the edge of his shirt that had ridden up from when you’d rocked over him. You moved your mouth to his neck, slipping your hands under his shirt to feel the soft skin of his stomach.

He hummed in approval, letting his head fall to the side to give your wandering lips more room. When he spoke, you could feel the rumble of his voice against your lips, “Good answer.”

Sliding his hand back to your core, he swiped his thumb over you, capturing some of the moisture before returning it to your clit. Much to your relief, he had deigned to reward you with a steady circular rhythm that instantly had you gasping into his neck. When his middle finger delved inside you, you couldn’t keep your nails from digging into his abdomen. Pleasure bloomed inside of you as he dragged the finger across your walls and out before inserting it again. Moans left your lips in encouragement, muffled as you sucked at his neck. Sure, he wasn’t allowed to mark you, but there were no rules against marring his skin. Your hands explored the expanse of his chest, nails digging in every few thrusts and pushing the shirt up higher. When he inserted another finger, you keened and dragged your nails from his sternum to his pelvis hard enough to make him hiss, though he didn’t stop you. Slowly but surely, your hips began to rock in tandem with his hand, the thumb on your clit now only making contact when you rolled down onto his hand. Yoongi curled his fingers inside you and you shook, rolling down harder as your walls spasmed. Unable to focus on anything other than his fingers, your lips ceased their onslaught on his neck to bury your forehead there instead, heat consistently rolling through you. With every push of your hips you could feel yourself edging closer and closer to completion, your movements gradually getting rougher as you desperately chased it.

“Fuck, Y/N.” Yoongi groaned, “look at you go.”

His words spurred you to lift your face from his neck to see what he meant. Uncurling from your tucked position, you felt a spurt of pride when you noticed the way the milky skin of his neck was splattered with red, some spots dark enough that you were sure they’d form a bruise. Eyes crawling down to where his hand was buried inside you, you realized that at some point when you’d begun to lose yourself to the pleasure, Yoongi had stopped stroking your walls. Evidently, your rocking had been hard enough that he’d had to lower you down until his hand was resting against his own pelvis, stagnant. Embarrassment made your hips stutter when it dawned on you that you’d been using his hand like a toy.

“Don’t stop,” he growled, the hand on your hip squeezing almost painfully as it encouraged you to continue rutting against him. The pull and push of his hand, eased you back into motion, his eyes locked on where your center swallowed his hand. When he was sure you’d continue without his help, the hand on your hip trailed up to cup your breast, tweaking the nipple under his thumb. The only movement from the hand inside of you was a gentle curl that accompanied each thrust of your hips and made the tension in your lower abdomen begin to mount. “That’s it. Fuck yourself on my fingers, Princess.”

Below you, you could feel how hard Yoongi was. His thick length brushing against your inner thigh in a way that you knew couldn’t be satisfying for him, though he couldn’t seem to care less. You ached to touch him, make him feel even a modicum of the pleasure he was so effortlessly pulling from you. But with the position you were in, it was impossible. So instead you clutched the hand that was gripping your breast and brought it to your lips, Yoongi’s eyes watching you curiously as you did so. Pushing his index and middle finger together, you wrapped your mouth around them and swirled your tongue around them as though his digits were a much different part of his body. Satisfaction made you suck when you heard the barely there moan that escaped his chest at the motion. Shallowly, Yoongi began to thrust his fingers into your warm mouth.

“Shit, you really are desperate for me aren’t you?” He remarked, an amused mask cast over his features, but you could see the lust underlining his irises. Instead of answering verbally, you merely sucked, coaxing his fingers deeper into your mouth. A chuckle rumbled in his chest as his fingers in your core began to move again as a reward. “He really must not be taking very good care of you. Or at least not like I do.”

There was just enough insecurity in his voice for you to catch it, though Yoongi stamped out any chance for you to soothe it by clamping his fingers in your mouth down to trap your tongue while the ones buried in your heat began a brutal pace.

“Bet I can make you feel better with my fingers than he ever could with his dick.” Yoongi’s mouth tilted into a wicked grin at his own challenge. You already have, you wanted to say, but the fingers holding your tongue down and the spasming in your core morphed it into a strangled moan. The tension in your belly was taut now, threatening to snap with any plunge of his fingers. When he scissored his fingers inside you, you knew you were gone. The deep rasp of his voice in your ears breaking the floodgate when he said, “C’mon, Kitten. Cum for me.”

A tidal wave of pleasure lit up your nerves like a christmas tree. The intensity of it made your body curl in on itself as your hands clamped down on Yoongi to keep yourself steady. Hips stuttering, you rode out the waves as Yoongi’s fingers in your mouth slithered out, a lewd string of saliva strung from his fingertips to your lips. As your movements slowed, so did Yoongi’s, until he gently pulled his hand away from your mound. Blinking away the blurriness in your vision, you watched as Yoongi spread his fingers in the soft light of his apartment. Traces of you coated his digits, shining when they caught they caught the light as he brought them to his mouth. Hooded eyes locked with yours as he cleaned his fingers of your essence and despite the orgasm you’d just had, you felt your sex clench greedily.

Leaning forward, you pulled his fingers from his mouth so you were free to capture his lips with your own. Releasing his wrist, you rested a hand on his shoulder as the other snaked down his body. When you finally reached your desired destinations, you squeezed through the fabric he still wore. Yoongi broke the kiss to let out a breath, warming your lips as you cupped him through his sweats, the length of his dick solid under your touch. Eager to return the favour, your hand slipped under the bands of his clothes, taking him in hand and relishing in the feel of the contact. Trailing your lips to his throat, you pumped him, a soft groan rumbling under your kiss. You didn’t mark him any more, merely brushing across the marks on him before delving further. Truth be told, you were frustrated that he’d opted to keep his shirt on for the time being, aching to see and feel the skin hidden by it under your lips. You didn’t let it distract you though, shimmying down his body and positioning yourself so that you straddled one of his legs while the one that was closest to the edge of the couch moved so his foot was flat on the floor. Once you were settled, you tugged on his bottoms. Lifting his hips, he let you tug them down just enough that his erection could escape.

Keeping your eyes on him, you curled over to place a chaste kiss on the tip, the slow strokes of your hand never ceasing. You saw him try and fail to hide a shudder, evidently hesitant to show that you had just as much of an effect on him as he had on you. Resting your hand on the base, you kissed down his hard length. He cast an annoyed look, which made you smile. You let your tongue loll out of your mouth, dragging it up the underside of his cock before taking the tip on your mouth. Sucking lightly, you tasted the first hint of precum on your tongue and hummed, watching as Yoongi’s eyelids drooped with pleasure. Never did you think you’d miss the taste of someone's cum, and yet here you were. The desire to him surged inside you as you took him into your mouth, your hand sweeping over the inches you couldn’t yet reach. Yoongi gathered your hair in his hand, swirling it so it made a coil that wound around his grip to keep it from impeding your efforts. Resting the hand on the back of your head, he urged you further down his length with every bob of your head. The sound of slurping echoed in the apartment as you did your best to pleasure him in all the ways you remembered him liking. Taking a breath through your nose, you let your hand fall to his balls, cupping and massaging at them. Yoongi’s jaw fell so his mouth hung slightly open when you sucked him down until his tip hit the back of your throat. His grip in your hair tightening as he muttered “shit.”

The reaction made your stomach clench, rekindling the arousal between your legs. Sliding back up, your saliva coated his dick, the veins bulging just beneath the skin. Diving back down, you took him as far as you could, your free hand gripping his shirt in as you fought the urge to gag. He let out a small groan, his hand holding your head in place. Swallowing around him, he couldn’t keep his hips from jerking upward, tears springing in your eyes but you remained still.

“Fuck, I forgot how good at this you are.” Your lower half grinded over his leg in an effort to ease the tension that had built up in your core again as your heart swelled with pride from his praise. Easing up only a little to take a breath, you lowered even further, only stopping when the tip of your nose touched the skin of his groin. The moan you let out around him made Yoongi tipped his head back, relishing in the constriction of your throat on him and the feel of you rubbing yourself against him. Tears leaked out of your eyes as you struggled to not gag with him so far down your throat, failing once or twice. Though Yoongi didn’t mind, in fact he seemed to get off on it, a murmur of “good girl” falling from his lips each time. When the pressure became too much, you eased up once again, inhaling deeply. As soon as you went to take him in again though, the hand gripping your hair held you back. Brows furrowed in confusion, you fixed him with a questioning look as he sat up, dragging you up into a sitting position in the process. Yanking your head back to kiss a line up to your throat, he mumbled “I’d rather cum doing something else.”

A chill skittered down your spine, letting him push you around like a toy as he maneuvered you how he wanted. Wrapping an arm around your waist, he moved you to straddle him once again, lifting his leg that brushed the floor so it was once again on the couch. Holding you tightly, your chest was crushed to his, each breath making your breasts push against him. Weaseling a hand down in between you, you keened when he grabbed the base of his dick and ran the tip along your folds, quickly moving yourself to pull your panties to the side for better access. You were so wet again that you heard the slippery sounds of his head being coated in your juices. When he rimmed your opening, your head clouded with lust, desperation coursing through your veins and causing words to tumble past your lips without so much as a second thought. “Yoongi, please just fuck me.”

“Hm,” he hummed, holding you up so that you couldn’t sink down on him like you wanted. A smirk toyed at the edges of his mouth again as he admonished, “I think you can beg a little better than that.”

“Please,” Surely, you thought, this counts as some form of torture. A gasp escaped you when he let the tip of his length delve into you and proceeded to hold it there as words started to babble from your mouth. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you for a whole month. You make me feel so good, Yoongi. I can’t stop thinking about how you fucked me on that stupid chair and how much I just want you to do it again, how much I just want to feel you inside me again. I want you to stretch me out, fill me up, and make it so you have to carry me home. Please.”

“Much better.” His praise is accentuated by his length finally slipping the rest of the way inside of you, finding little resistance from how wet you were.

A pleased sigh left your mouth as his now free hand swatted yours away from your underwear to hold it to the side himself, thumb hooking into the material and pinning it to where he gripped your thigh. The hand that was slithered around your waist fell to your hip as he leaned back, letting you move to start rocking on him. There was no denying how he made you feel. You hadn’t been lying when you’d begged. The proof being in how perfectly he filled you and how you’d hardly moved at all yet you already felt your walls pulsating around him, begging for the feeling only he seemed to be able to give you. You never felt like this when you had sex with Woojin, or anyone else for that matter, and the admission of that frustrated you. What if staying with Woojin was the mistake and not this?

It’s only sex for right now, you reminded yourself, picking up the pace as though to prove it to yourself. Focusing on how Yoongi’s dick stroked your walls in an effort to will away your thoughts, it was almost as if the man below you knew your thoughts were straying. He bent his legs under you to prop his heels against the seat cushion before drilling upward to match your thrusts, effectively whisking away any thoughts that weren’t about him. Your mouth gaped and you tilted your head back, feeling the coil in your stomach getting ever tighter. Apparently, he felt it too, immediately wrenching you off him when it felt on the verge of snapping.

The groan of frustration you gurgled out was cut short by him muttering gruffly, “Stand up.”

Without protest, you shifted your shaking legs to stand. Yoongi moved to sit before you, his hands groped up the back of your thighs until they met your ass. Kneading your cheeks roughly, he tipped forward. Your hand curled in his hair when his tongue peeked out to glide over the skin of your lower stomach in a wet kiss, punctuated by his teeth nipping at your hip. Unceremoniously, he yanked your panties down before standing. Stepping out of the fabric, you flung them to the side with your toe as Yoongi’s mouth met yours, his hands gripping your hips. Your tongues danced as you felt Yoongi pivot the both of you so you now had your back to the couch. Pulling away from the kiss with a nibble at your lower lip, he turned you abruptly. The silken skin of his cock brushed against your ass, the leftovers of your sticky fluids transferring from him to you. Lips brushed against your ear as a hand traveled up your curves to rest against the top of your spine as he all but growled, “bend over.”

He hardly gave you the chance to obey, his palm pressing into your spine to tilt you forward. Bracing yourself by gripping the top of the couch with your elbows bent so your back was nearly level, the hand on your spine slithered to your head. Fingers gathered your hair in a fist and yanked it toward him like a leash, forcing your head to pull back, your spine to bend, and your ass to push into him with a hiss. At the sound of your pain, the hand loosened to your own dismay.

“Too much?” You immediately shook your head ‘no’. There was no doubting the pleased note in his voice as his grip tightened again to pull on the strands of your hair and he replied, “good girl.”

A foot nudged in between yours, edging your feet outward to spread your legs for him. Guiding himself to your entrance, he thrust himself inside you. His free hand gripped your hip, blunt nails digging into the skin as he pulled back and thrust himself back in with a resounding snap of his hips. The pace he set picked up right from where you’d left off instead of building up. Your shrill cry of pleasure echoed in the apartment, the new angle allowing him to hit deep with each push of his hips. The force of his movements jostled your body, the strength causing your breasts to sway underneath you. The feel of cotton brushed against your spine as Yoongi’s body curled over yours. His dick was filling you in the way you had only felt when you were with him, your brain reduced to mush as he pushed you more toward the couch with every thrust until your arms were bent and the only thing keeping your head from falling into the top of the couch was the grip on your hair. Your jaw hung open, moans and mewls escaping your lungs as you pushed backwards to match his rhythm. You were close, nearly letting out a sob when his pace slowed.

“Tell me,” his breath fanned against your ear, your mind swirling with pleasure. His words were slightly laboured, most of his effort going toward plowing you into the couch. “How many times have you thought of me when you were with him?”

“Before the party?” You replied, breathlessly. “Never.”

“And after?”

You didn’t have the capacity to feel embarrassed at the moment. “Every time.”

At your admission his hips snapped into you with renewed vigor and you couldn’t help but feel a little satisfied at the fact that Min Yoongi was jealous. Pain tingled at your scalp as Yoongi pulled on your hair, forcing you to follow as he tilted up, causing your arms to straighten. Fingers trailed up your stomach, briefly pausing to palm your breast before travelling further upward until they reached your neck. Digits gripped your throat, his forearm finding its home in the valley of your breasts making you feel the way the muscles tensed when he tightened his grip to limit your breathing. A moan was caught by his hand, the sound coming out choked and gurgling. Yoongi pressed his forehead into your shoulder, a grunt pushing past his lips when your walls began to contract tellingly. With a few more thrusts, you came undone.

A moan rumbled against your back, your legs trembling as ecstasy crashed over your body, the pressure at your neck heightening it. Your vision became spotty as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through your veins. Velvet walls spasmed around Yoongi, his hips stuttering at the sensation, though continuing to guide you through your orgasm. When a faint feeling began to fog your mind, you reached up to tap Yoongi’s hand. Immediately he released your neck and you gasped in a gulp of air, the sopping sounds of Yoongi pistoning into you rang in your ears as he desperately chased his own end. With a few more snaps of his hips and a harsh grope of your breast, Yoongi finished. A groan of pleasure hung in the air as he hastily pulled out, painting your back with ropes of white. He shifted a hand to stroke himself, riding out his high. A piece of you couldn’t help but feel disappointed that he didn’t want to cum inside of you like last time. In the back of your mind, you had to wonder if this was him drawing a line and if it was for his sake or yours. As the last of his orgasm dribbled out, he released a breath of hot air that you felt faintly caress your shoulder before wrapping his free arm around your stomach. For a moment the both of you were silent, exhaustion making your chests heave while your bodies began to cool, his cum making goosebumps rise on your skin as it began to dry.

“Was that okay?” Yoongi asked suddenly, breaking the silence. His voice was soft as he spoke, a stark contrast from earlier. “Not too rough?”

You brought one hand away from the couch to rub at the arm that encased you, “it was more than okay.”

His chest vibrated with a chuckle. “Good, you always were kinky but I thought I’d check.”

Changing your tune, you slapped his arm. “I’m kinky?! What does that make you?”

Yoongi struggled to keep the giggle from his voice when he pinched your side and quipped, “a willing and considerate partner.”

Feeling your legs beginning to shake, Yoongi sighed and pulled away from you, releasing your body from his hold as silence fell over the room once again. You did your best to stay upright, only faltering a little before your legs remembered that they were, in fact, not Jell-o. Your hands ached when you finally released the other from its hold on the back of the couch and stood up straight. You hoped that your vice grip hadn’t done any damage to the material. A shuffling of fabric could be heard behind you and you turned your head to peer at Yoongi as he walked across the living room to the washroom. Collecting your clothes off the floor, a twang of regret pulled at your heart that you hadn’t been able to see his body as you’d fucked. However, it was quickly snuffed out by surprise when you caught yourself thinking, there’s always next time. You mentally began to prepare yourself, remembering how sick you’d felt after you’d last had sex with Yoongi, and even Woojin for that matter. For over a month you’d felt disgusting after having sex and now, when by all means you should feel that way, you didn’t. Even with the thick rivulets of cum from someone who was most definitely not your boyfriend slowly dripping down your spine. But why?

Your contemplation was interrupted as Yoongi gently placed a hand on your shoulder, a slightly worried look on his face as he bit his lip and turned you to wipe his cum off of your back with a rag he had gotten. Scratching the back of his head, he nodded toward the other side of the living room.

“There’s a bathroom there if you want to get cleaned up. I have clothes you can wear…”

You knew what the unspoken question was in that statement and as much as you wanted nothing more than to accept his offer, you couldn’t. “I should probably go back home.”

He nodded, unsurprised by your answer. “Yeah, I guess he’ll be waiting for you, hey?”

“Yeah.”

He was silent and you felt a stab of self-consciousness now that the heat had been taken out of the room. Glaringly aware that you were standing naked in his apartment you held your jacket to your chest so it at least partially covered your body. “At least let me make you something to eat before you go. There wasn’t much left at Luna’s after the guys dug in.”

Lifting your eyes from the pile of clothes you crushed to your chest, you shot him a soft smile. “I’d like that.”

Nodding, he turned and shuffled toward the kitchen as you made your way to his bathroom. Flicking on the light and closing the door, you quickly began to attempt to make yourself presentable. Sliding your skirt and bra on, you decided to forego the panties that you shoved into your jacket pocket. Your hair was the worst of it, thoroughly mussed from Yoongi’s hands. When you did your best to smooth it down, you couldn’t help but notice that the follicles felt sore, though you didn’t actually mind much. The reward of his roughness was most definitely worth the pain you felt between your legs and where his hands had handled you. Once you were satisfied with your appearance you exited the bathroom, a savory aroma wafting to your nose.

“Ramen?” You asked, coming to stand beside him at the stove.

A grin made his lips turn upward as he stirred the noodles in the pot, remarking, “only the best for my hook-ups.”

“Oh.” You deadpanned, a flare of jealousy licking at your insides. “So, I’m not the only one coming around then.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” He chuckled. “Not that you really have a right to complain here.”

That made you frown guiltily. “I-I guess you’re right.”

Noticing your sullen expression, he started to backpedal, “Sorry, I shouldn't have said that.”

“No,” you shook your head before tilting it to lean on his shoulder to stop him from thinking he’d upset you. “I mean you really are right. I pretty much told you I’m not going to stop what I’m doing so it’s not fair for me to expect you to.”

He hummed, his features screwed up in thought. “Then, what happens now? I’d rather not wait another month before seeing you again.”

“Me either, honestly. We do whatever we both feel comfortable with, I suppose.” You could feel the tension melt from Yoongi’s frame, though your own seemed to bask in it. Anxiety chewed at your soul, despite what you said, at the thought of this all blowing up in your face, but you still didn’t want to let this pass by. Deep down you knew that if you did, you would never stand a chance at ever letting Yoongi go with a million ‘what if’s’ taking residence in your head. Sensing your thoughts running rampant, a hand glided to rub at the small of your back as a sweet distraction. A small sigh left you as your head fell to his chest and his arm coaxed you to press your body into his. “Just like you said on the roof, I want to explore this.”

“Okay,” Yoongi agreed, nodding. “So, let’s say I asked if you’d kiss me right now. How comfortable are we feeling with that?”

An amused giggle escaped your lips, craning your neck to look up at him. “So comfortable that I just might say yes.”

Pushing yourself up onto your tippy toes, you slanted your mouth against his. The kiss was soft, lips welcoming one another as old friends and sending a warm feeling through your chest. Your fingers crawled up to rest your palm against his sternum as you pecked him for a second, third, and fourth time. Pressing circles into his chest with your thumb, you broke the kiss to brush your lips against his cheek before falling to the flats of your feet. Turning his attention back to cooking, he waited a few more moments before shutting off the burner.

“Go sit.” He said, jerking his head toward the breakfast bar at the kitchen island.

You nodded obediently, extracting yourself from his warmth to slide onto one of the barstools. Yoongi grabbed two bowls and filled them, rounding the island to place one in front of you before plopping down onto the stool beside you with his own. Motioning for you to dig in he watched as you blew on the scalding meal, biding his time until you’d shoveled in a couple mouthfuls before saying. “You are, by the way. The only one.”

You coughed on the hot soup, his laughter echoing in the room as he pat your back and your cheeks warmed. Swallowing the mouthful, you shot him a glare. “You did that on purpose.”

“Maybe.” He admitted, a playful, content smile on his face which stayed there for the rest of the night.

#bts fanfic #bts smut #yoongi smut #yoongi imagine #yoongi fanfic #bts imagine #suga smut #suga imagine #suga fanfic #bts scenarios #yoongi scenarios #suga scenarios #listen #this has been in my drafts for A WHOLE ASS YEAR #if there are spelling mistakes and shit i am sprry but i do not have the energy to edit this thing atm #honestly a miracle i finally got it out ok #ok bye see you next year lmao

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