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pomegranates-and-blood · 4 years

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νοσταλγία (Chapter 4)

(Gif credit to @iceandabyss)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader (eventual)

Summary: This is a retelling/romantization of the Greek myth of Persephone’s abduction with Ivar as Hades and you as Persephone. The Reader character is a Byzantine woman, follower of the Greek Pantheon/Religion, and a devoted follower of Persephone. This takes place after 5A, but the universe of this is a little changed in relation with the series, of course. Thank you for giving it a chance, hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: The usual :)

A/N: Hi! I decided to post a second chapter this week so we can finally kick-start the plot, and tho I can’t promise double chapters every week yet, the Saturday chapters are a certainty, and let’s call the Tuesday ones a bonus :) Anyhow, would love to know what you think of this so far, and thank you so much for reading!

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius

You awaken in the middle of the night as Sieghild barges into the room you sleep in, and without warning her arm, muscled and inked, locks around your waist and she drags you out of the building and towards a small tunnel that leads you both past the walls and near the woods.

She keeps dragging you, ignoring your threats and the kicks you deliver without much strength to them. The way she moves between the trees with such certainty, the way her steps are measured and fast as they step over the frozen ground never ceases to amaze you.

She throws your body with surprising strength against a nearby tree on the first clearing she finds, making you dizzy as your head hits the trunk.

“Ah! W-What are you doing!?” You grunt, but Sieghild doesn’t answer, green eyes set on her task as she brushes your hair away from your face and cups your head in her hands.

“Quiet. There’s worlds past our own.” She advises, and with quickened breaths you rake your eyes over the suffocating trees around you and, in the distance but somehow close enough, you see the faint lights of the Varangian encampment.

Your eyes return to your mother, and before your lips can form the words, the questions, you remember.

“There’s worlds past our own,” Aamir says, dark eyes, black eyes, set on the fire. “And there’s worlds in between.”

You steal a quick glance to the shieldmaiden, but she keeps her gaze ahead, even if the small quirk of her lip tells you she notices your stare of confusion and mirth.

“In between.” You repeat, and the man turns wise eyes to you. The confusion, the scorn, fade within you into curiosity, into that same madness that made you cross the Aegean on an old fishing boat.

“Between the dead and the living,” He explains without hesitation, “Between this life and the next.”

“They sound lonely.” Someone quips, but the man smiles, shaking his head slightly.

“They are filled with opportunity. Life or death, past or future,” His almost black eyes set on you, and your breath catches in your throat, “nostalgia or hope.”

And in her green eyes you see the choice shining. The question, the test, the goodbye and the welcome home.

“I’m staying with the Greeks.” You whisper, feeling as if you have sealed your own fate without knowing what the Gods have in store for you. Feeling as if Sieghild does know, but cannot tell you.

Looking down at you, she smiles through the pain of loss and the tiredness of war.

She looks firmly into your eyes and whispers, “And so it is fated you do so.”

“I can’t help but feel both our Gods have looked away, mother.”

But she shakes her head, the twin braids on each side of her head flowing with the movement. Her gaze is electric, and there could be a sad smile playing at her lips.

“I have asked Freyja for guidance, for help, ever since we arrived in Scandinavia. She has answered, but not in the way your Mistress would.”

Sieghild leans forward and presses a kiss on your forehead. You have a feeling she is saying goodbye in more ways than one, and tears clog at your throat.

“What are you saying?”

She ignores your question, expression determined and fierce, “I hope I have grasped the meaning behind the Seer’s words, my child. I hope so with all I am.”

Nothing makes sense, and there’s…there’s tendrils of a voice you cannot quite catch of a meaning you cannot quite understand, and you are suddenly a child again, listening to the strange woman speak in tongues you feel are familiar and yet foreign; you cannot…you cannot…nothing makes sense.

“What seer?”

But she shakes her head, “It doesn’t matter anymore,” She presses her forehead to yours, and your eyes fall closed, “I will not be here come morning, minn dóttir.”

A small part of you feared this would happen, feared that when Sieghild could taste back the spirit of her people, could hear again the war drums of the Vikings; she would choose to stay with them.

And you cannot blame her. If you found yourself surrounded by foreign customes and foreign people, even if you loved some of those people, even if you had grown to know and follow those strange customs...if you were to find yourself back in Greece, you are certain no love and no familiarity could keep you from those lands that made both your blood and your spirit.

Sieghild brings you into a one-armed embrace, and you feel her chin over your head. Still, a small sob leaves your lips, both at the caving feeling of being left alone and at the pain that lacers her voice. You lost Narses, Galla and the rest of your people are dead because of you, and now you will lose her too.

She is all you have had, since you were a child. Since you have memory, her matted red hair, her comforting green eyes, her brutishly gentle nature, her inked skin; they have been your home, your family.

Sieghild finally pulls back from the somewhat embrace, and even if it feels like ages it is only a few fleeting moments where you meet her gaze and look back at her with tears in your eyes and shaking in fear, a child all over again.

Her fingers trace your cheek with motherly affection, “Make the ground where you are defeated become the realm where you will conquer, child.”

“Sieghild?”

She traces a symbol in your hand with her own fingers, you think a rune, but you only have eyes for her face, her motherly smile, her kind eyes, her marked skin.

“Survive. Until spring comes.”

She darts for the woods, leaving you weak and worn against the tree trunk. Bringing your knees up against your chest, feeling the taint of blood of your own and those not still on your hands even after you have rubbed them raw, you hide your face in your arms and let the cries leave your chest.

Sieghild is long gone, Narses is dead, your people are nothing but corpses on some faraway field, the city is afar. There’s no one to see you, no one to hear you.

And if no one hears you cry, you can pretend you were brave.

_____

“We have reached our agreement, and in time I will pay that debt,” Stithulf comments as you approach. If he notices the inquisitive glare you send his way as to why he is telling you this, he ignores it. “However, we also arranged for a payment in exchange for that Viking warlord accepting the possibility of negotiations, and I have to pay it now.”

“What is it?” You whisper, brow furrowed.

The scarred Christian motions with one hand, and before you can react there’s two soldiers at your sides, holding onto your upper arms and with ease holding you immobile. Stithulf approaches, taking advantage of your stunned body that cannot seem to react quick enough, and he sets heavy and burning shackles at your wrists.

“What are you doing?” You hiss at the black-haired Saxon, but he only raises his face high. “You cannot-…”

The sound of the chains moving as they exchange hands hurts your ears, like the shrill screams of a Priestess being burnt to death.

You remember rough and violent hands wrapped around your wrists, your arms, your throat; keeping you defenseless, keeping you from fighting back. You remember tight rope burning your wrists as you were tied and dragged to the pole where you would be set alight.

You have been beaten, you have been defeated, exiled, humiliated, betrayed.

But you never had chains put on you. Chains are…are for prisoners, chains are for slaves, chains are meant for people without freedom. You have killed and died for your freedom, you cannot…you cannot lose it now.

Narses, Galla, so many others are dead. Your home is no more. Sieghild has left you behind.

You cannot lose your freedom; it is the only thing you have left.

You look down into trembling hands and bite down a scream of your own.

Chains.

You have lost it already.

The soldiers at your flanks force you to move towards wherever the Saxon is walking, and the chains make you obey their command.

“You forced my hand, Greek,” He promises, pretending that regret pours out of his lips, “You were part of the price asked, and I had no reasons for wanting to keep you.”

But you still shake your head, tugging frantically at chains that follow your movements and chase after your wrists like hungry snakes. And you cannot get out, you cannot get free, you cannot…you cannot…

“Wh-…no, you can’t do this. Why…why!?” You cry out, not caring how your voice trembles and breaks. The chains are heavy, and so is your breath, “Release me, I am not yours to give away!”

The Saxon moves quickly, a thunder of rage and underserving authority, and the backhand across your face is painful but expected. Leave it to a man like him to hit you when you are bound.

Stithulf forces you to straighten yourself from the hit by grabbing painfully onto your jaw and turning furious eyes to him.

“I will not have you challenge me in front of those Vikings. You will keep your mouth closed for once.” The Saxon grits out, his grip on your jaw brutish and hurting.

You grit your teeth, but still bite out, “With a Christian keeping me chained, there’s not much I can say or do, Stithulf. You know this.”

Your body almost braces for another hit, but Stithulf only laughs to himself. Laughs, and you cannot help but open your eyes to find him, head bowed, eyes closed, chuckling like you have amused him, like you are an old friend joking with him.

“Oh, how I will miss you, Greek.”

You lick the cut his hit gave your lip, and return your eyes ahead as they warriors make you start walking. They lead you to the docks, and you catch sight of other slaves being boarded into the Varangian ships.

You are the only one in chains, though, and the burn of humiliation hurts as much as that of defeat.

Beady eyes you know well catch sight of you, and Leofric, one of Stithulf’s trusted men, one of the pigs responsible for Narses’ sacrifice, for the slaughter of your people; approaches you with a sleazy smile on his weathered face.

“Witch.” He greets, his voice dripping with arrogance and satisfaction. You don’t answer, but he does replace one of the soldiers at your side, his hand on your upper arm disgusting and invasive.

Two Varangian men wait for you and Stithulf to approach, one of them the King, standing tall and proud as he looks over you.

It shouldn’t sting like betrayal that he wants to make a slave out of you, it truly shouldn’t. But…it does, because you are foolish, you always have been. You truly thought he was honest when he talked with you, you truly thought he saw an equal and not a witch to pride himself in conquering.

But no, what was it Sieghild told you when she spoke of Rorik and what happened before the Varangians took Kiev?

“Never trust a man to choose you over anything, much less a man in power to choose you over the illusion of holding onto such power.”

“She is a pagan witch, but she has noble blood,” Leofric states without prompting, ignoring your glare. You feel the eyes of the Varangian on you, but you keep your enraged focus on the man that lists off qualities like you are a mare being sold for breeding. “The Greeks call her Queen, and she is worth quite a lot to more than one Kingdom in the Mediterranean.

Leofric’s hand finds your throat, and your entire body coils as your lips part and a bubble of panic starts on your chest.

“And a good lay, even.” He sneers by your ear, giddy with the power he now holds. Narses is dead, and Stithulf has no use for you; your protections in this land are long gone, and he believes he can do as he wishes with you.

Better men have tried.

Stithulf steals a glance to you, an almost challenge for you to speak up written in his eyes. You keep your gaze on his and let your lips curve into the beginning of a smile, because even if you know it is a lie you feel anything but the desire to squirm out of your own skin, you will be dead before giving it away.

His eyes narrow slightly, but he says nothing as he passes on the chains to the Varangians like who offers the leash of a dog, and at the reminder of the chains binding you, the pressure in your lungs is almost the same as that of those first weeks after you survived the pyre those Christians built.

It is only then, with more than iron chains in his hand, that Ivar the Boneless takes his pales eyes to meet your own.

He smiles, terrifyingly and hungrily, and a shiver runs down your spine. Your mocking smile drops as dread settles over your very bones, but you refuse to lower your gaze.

The tug he gives to your chains to bring you closer is as humiliating as before, but you have to follow the commands of the shackles in your wrists, and you stumble a few steps until you stand by him.

“Priestess.” He greets lowly, and your nose furrows.

“Viking,” You hiss back, because of course you wouldn’t keep your mouth shut. You lift your hands bound by heavy metal between you, “I spent too long a Christian’s attack dog, I refuse to die a Varangian’s prisoner.”

He chuckles, cruel and every bit the King you tried not seeing him as. Ivar the Boneless.

“You think you have a choice.” He mocks with a disgustingly fake smile on his lips.

You still lean closer, “You better than any man here knows what I have done to keep myself from being a prisoner.”

It staggers you how easy it is to bring a strange softness to his gaze, so much so that you believe him to be fooling you for a moment before he speaks.

“I don’t want to make a prisoner out of you.” He promises without hesitation, without shame. And your anger returns, pushing back the curiosity, the foolish hope, the weakness.

“Then why am I chained?”

“Was there any other way to get you to do as I say?” The King replies easily, the mocking smile once again on his lips.

Regardless, he loosens his hold on the humiliating leash, and your eyes are drawn to his hand. You catch sight of the now dirtied and bloodied bandage around the hand he injured yesterday, and are reminded of the knife you saw him pull out of some secret sheath in his armor.

And if the same guile that made Narses lay an army at your feet is the same that tries keeping Ivar the Boneless from reacting when you put chained hands over his armored chest, no one can blame you.

Women are taught to play these games. The more binds they put on you, the more tricks you learn.

“But you didn’t try any other way,” You argue quietly, looking into his eyes, and even if your closeness, your caress, are lies, your next words are not, “I thought I could trust you.”

The King does not react, body almost frozen but still challenging and calculating as he gazes down at you. His chest rises and falls under your hand and you take a breath and lean even closer.

It would be easy, you ponder, grabbing the knife and attempting on his life, futile attempt as it would be. You could cut your own throat, they couldn’t stop you, and you wouldn’t have to live to see the day a Varangian makes you his slave.

But that would be too easy. Hushed teachings of strength and composure travel from your memories, your mother’s voice and Sieghild’s mixing together in a choir.

You muster a quick prayer of protection and strength in your mind before you go through with your stupid, stupid, stupid idea.

Gritting your teeth and trying to ignore the tremble of your hand as it finds purchase in your target, you wrap careful fingers around the knife you saw sheathed at his ribs, grabbing a hold of it.

You can see in the barely-there widening of the Viking’s eyes, on the sharp breath and the tension coiled around his shoulders that he knows what weapon you hold in your hand now.

He doesn’t move, the only change you notice along with his breath is the slight adjusting of his grip on the crutch. Your eyes dart to his hand and back up into his own, and a challenge shines in them, a curiosity and something else, something darker and stranger that you cannot help but find alluring.

He is challenging you to put that knife to use.

I did promise that while a Christian held me in chains I wouldn’t act.

You turn around with a small smile, feral as it is, on your lips. The chains stop you from doing any real damage, but a deep enough gash runs down Stithulf’s face, and that is enough for you, even if it means your death. The wound over the Saxon’s eye pours blood, and you allow yourself a laugh.

“I will crawl out of the Underworld if I have to, but I will find you again. And I will send you to Lord Hades bearing the mark of my sacrifice. Let the dead know who you have wronged, let the Furies torment you until I have my chance to.” You snarl in Greek, eyes set firmly, manically even, on the commander.

A mark of blood, a vow to the Gods. You know you will kill him, and as you look into his eye you think he knows it too, even if he didn’t understand a word you said.

The chains yank again, painful against your sore wrists, and you comply. Dropping the knife to the ground in front of the Varangians, you try quietening the deafening beat of your own heart in your ears.

Stithulf keeps his good eye on you, enraged but oddly enough not surprised. Maybe you were wrong, he wasn’t stupid enough to believe Narses’ words about your meekness and your obedience.

The sudden tension not much unlike the stillness before the beast pounds takes over the dock as the warriors, their attention drawn in by the commotion, wait with baited breath for the next action. Both Saxons and Vikings stand in waiting for any movement.

The man with the blondish braid that was standing behind a few steps is the first one to break the silence, walking towards you with ease and bending down to pick up the knife.

He just…laughs.

The man just laughs, and it is in startled silence that you are tugged back by your chains to the King’s side. The man’s warm eyes travel between you, still in chains, and the now bloodied Saxon holding a hand over his eye.

“Almost lost an eye to a chained Christian woman,” The man says, looking at Stithulf with a smile on his young face, “That will be a story to tell.”

The Viking looks back at the Saxon leader with knowing clear eyes, expecting the strike back, expecting the fight. He delights, you realize, in taunting the Christian with the retribution he cannot have.

Whatever argument they were bound to have, or whatever vindication Stithulf was to set upon you, is quickly tampered by the humiliation. Good.

You could swear the man that spoke out, as he turns around, looks into your eyes with something akin to understanding for a moment.

Clearing your throat and past the fear and pain, you croak, however broken your attempts at speaking past the knot in your throat may be,

“N-Not…not a Christian. Never.”

The man regards you in silence for a moment or so, before finally acquiescing with a nod.

“I noticed,” He says with a smile, and looking for a moment at the man that holds your chains, the Varangian that spoke to save your hide leans closer, but you do not feel threatened, “I’m Hvitserk.”

You smile, the first genuine one you felt in so long, but you still don’t reply with your own name. He notices, but says nothing as you are led to the boats.

“Sons of Ragnar,” Stithulf speaks out, stopping both the King and Prince on their tracks. “Be certain I’ll kill you.”

“I’m certain you’ll try.” Hvitserk replies with a mock flourish, turning his back to the Saxons.

The Varangians board their ship, and you have no choice to follow, a vindicated sort of defeat guiding your movements.

_____

Hi, thank you for reading! I would love to know what you think of this chapter, and the story so far in general! Finally we reach the abduction part of the abduction myth lol

Thank you so much for your support, it means a lot to know people are reading and (hopefully) enjoying what I write! You’re the best!

#ivar the boneless x reader #ivar the boneless imagine #ivar the boneless #ivar x reader #vikings #vikings imagine #νοσταλγία masterlist #νοσταλγία

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angelguk · 4 years

Text

→ fine line — a namjoon scenario

member: kim namjoon (rm)

word count: 6.7k

genre: smut + enemies to friends w benefits honestly + everyone is aware if it but them + jimin is annoying + it’s christmas and ppl r horny

warnings: namjoon is big :) / fingering / oral sex (f recieving) / uhh almost fucking in a bathroom / alcohol consumption / dommish namjoon / v long for absolutely no reason

soundtrack: situationship, snoh aalegra

It's an understatement to say that you hate Kim Namjoon. At this point it's not in even hate, it's unadulterated abhorrence. Every time he saunters into a room, the silage of his musky cologne lingering after him, you have to repress the intense need to gag. If you had it your way, you would never be around him. But because he has somehow developed a close relationship with your best-friend Taehyung, he'd gradually wormed his way into your life. It had started slow, causal lunches that he suddenly appeared at, birthday parties he was suddenly invited too and then it was dropping by Taehyung's to find him perched on your friend's floor, fresh from work, reeking of soju and his necktie loosened from its secure knot as if he lived there.

At first, you paid no attention to him, assuming that he would get the hint that you were not interested in being his friend despite his closeness to Taehyung. Yet, for some reason unbeknown to you, the self-proclaimed genius with a law degree under his belt never took the hit. It's as if he enjoyed getting under your skin, relished the irritation that would warm your checks and set your mouth into a hard line whenever he poked at you with his snarky comments and insincere smiles. It made you want to punch him in throat sometimes. But even you didn't know where this animosity spawned from. You couldn't explain it even to Taehyung when he'd tentatively asked why you didn't click with his closest colleague. You'd blanked at the question actually. It was hard to put it into words, the feelings you held against Namjoon. It wasn't like he was outwardly a terrible person. He had a charming nature about him, was easy to approach and an amiable smile that drew people towards him. It didn't help that he was also tall and large and wore fitted shirts the spread tightly over his wide chest. It made your own feel like it's caving in on itself sometimes. But that's not an observation you would like to dissect, not now. Not ever. And especially when Namjoon's sprawled on the living room couch, legs spread and his thick thighs on display, bulging through the taut fabric of his jeans. He's idly scrolling through his phone, face illuminated by the soft amber light filling the room, a hand ruffling the dusty blonde mane on his head.

The sight itself makes you halt under the doorway, the drinks Jimin had handed to you stagnant in your hands. Something lurches dangerously in your gut when he settles further into the chair, tucking a cushion under his arm. He looks snug, something about that makes you blink very hard.

Yes, you hate Kim Namjoon.

"Stop eye-fucking him," Jimin murmurs as he glides past. You splutter violently, eyebrows kissing your hairline when you lock gaze with him. You don't miss the mischievous glint in his brown eyes.

"I wasn't," You hiss in return, feet suddenly working again.

Jimin gives you a look. It says a lot of things but the general gist is that he knows you're lying out of your ass. "Sure," He drawls, dumping the mugs he's carrying onto the coffee table. "I believe that."

You make sure to kick his knee once you've placed down your own mugs, ignoring the perplexed glance Namjoon throws at the both of you.

"Eggnog?" He says instead of inquiring about your odd behaviour. He peers at the cups like you're offering him poison.

"Yes," Jimin retorts, a bright grin on his face when he notices the scowl gracing your face. "Post dinner shenanigans must ensue immediately. Where's everyone else? We've got Christmas games to play."

"Pretty sure Hoseok and Seoyeon are fucking upstairs, Taehyung's somewhere outside with Jeongguk and Iseul and I think Minhee's in the bathroom."

Jimin makes a face at Namjoon's remark about Hoseok. "Right after dinner? Honestly?"

You give him a sharp glance when Namjoon snorts at his snide. He's acting like he hasn't devoured a whole ice sundae before sucking some dude off in a public restroom. Maybe he can read it in your gaze because he elbows you rather roughly. "Go get the rest of the drinks or I'll leave you with him," Jimin mutters, head turned to avoid Namjoon discerning his comment. You roll your eyes but walk away, glad for the brief break from Namjoon before Jimin insists that everyone convene and you have to pretend to tolerate him for the whole night. The alcohol would certainly help but being in a closed space with Namjoon for longer than thirty minutes made you want to bang your head against a wall. It would be nice if you could just wipe him off your life, but he stuck there like an immovable stain, immune to all your efforts to erase his existence.

Regardless, Namjoon must have been right about Hoseok, because he comes down with his face flushed peach, Seoyeon clinging to his side with a dopey grin spread across her pretty lips. They stay glued together for the rest of evening, not even glancing up with Taehyung, Jeongguk and Iseul saunter in, coated in snow and noses red from the bitter cold raging outside. They don't even notice when Minhee finally emerges from the bathroom. It's only when Jimin forces them apart do they acknowledge anyone else's presence. But at that point you're on your second mug of eggnog, dutifully ignoring Namjoon with your body pressed snugly against Jeongguk's.

That's how your evening pans out, belly gradually filling with the endless stream of eggnog Jimin supplies out of the kitchen, a grin steadily creeping onto your lips with every ridiculous game that sprouts from his head. It's undeniable that he's the life of the party, dragging a loud laugh from your mouth when his charade battle against Iseul, Jeongguk and Minhee turns ugly. At some point, Taehyung stumbles into an argument with Namjoon over whether Home Alone or Elf was the superior Christmas movie which has you cracking up despite the constant stream of Namjoon's rumbling voice filling the air. And then Seoyeon forces everyone to start singing Christmas carols, belting loud and completely out of key but too drunk to care. It's a merry moment, where the hostility you hold against Namjoon briefly falls to the back burner of your brain. Even his jokes make you giggle, something that you're not aware of until Jimin gives you a pointed look, his eyebrow cocked. And then you're forced to stifle your laughter whenever he says something remotely funny which is annoying because underneath the pretty haze of your drunkenness everything is funny. Or at least that's what you tell yourself.

It's only when your stomach starts swimming dangerously do you take your leave, wobbling towards the bathroom where you perch yourself on the toilet seat. You rest your head between your knees, fingers despairingly clutching the hem of your dress as you contemplate how you got to this point, the bathroom tiles whirling underneath you. You can hear them through the door, Seoyeon's jubilant squeals (probably a result of something Hoseok did) and the loud baritone of Namjoon's seeping through the wood. There's a carol playing that you can't recall the name of, but you hum it until your queasiness subsides. Maybe, if you hadn't stuffed yourself with an obscene amount of bread pudding during dinner you would be feeling fine. It sits heavy in your gut, threatening to spew itself across the pristine bathroom floor. It gradually ebbs away and when you lift your head, the world isn't moving flying fast anymore.

You take a moment to collect yourself, a silly grin on your face when you finally stagger up to the mirror. It's still evident you're drunk, there's no way to hide it but your pat your face anyway attempting to sober up and breathing slowly. It works, albeit to a minuscule degree.

You don't expect to bump into him when you exit the bathroom, balance still uneven. He's exiting the living room, feet drifting in the direction of the bathroom you'd just popped out from. It's the astonishment that makes you stumble, your feet fumbling over themselves when Namjoon's broad chest collides into yours. The small sound that leaves you mouth makes your cheeks hit up, a dangerous uptick in your heartbeat when his wide palms suddenly clamp down on your shoulders, pulling your closer until your pressed flush against him. You regain your balance so fast that you head spins when you shove him away, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. You don't expect to find the concern colouring his honey eyes.

"Are you okay?" He murmurs, hands instinctively coming up to steady you once more.

You lean into it without thinking before immediately taking a sharp step back, a tiny laugh tumbling from your lips. "Yes, of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

He eyes the bathroom door behind you. "You were there for a while. You sure you're alright?"

"I'm peachy, Namjoon. Perfectly fine. A little drunk, but fine." Although the fact that he noticed your absence makes your heart clench dangerously in your chest, the look he gives you isn't appreciated in the slightest.

"A little bit drunk? You sure about that?" You read the incredulity in his tone easily enough and the hostility you feel towards him rears it's ugly head immediately.

"Yes," You hiss, trying to slip away but Namjoon's blocking the entrance with his wide shoulders. He stays stagnant, eyes flickering over your face as he attempts to decipher whats ruminating in your head. You're fortunate he's not a mind-reader because you're having a lot of thoughts about the way his navy sweater fits over his chest right now. But for a split second, when he cocks an eyebrow, you think that he's found a way into your thoughts, skin heating up at the mere idea of Namjoon being able to read the things running through your brain right now. But then he opens his mouth, the beginning of a coy smirk tugging at this plump pink lips, and that notion wilts immediately.

"You should learn how to handle your liquor." The comment makes you bristle. Maybe if you just bulldozed him over Namjoon would shut-up and leave you alone.

"And you should learn how to mind your business," You retort, shooting him a hard glare that Namjoon responds to with a sickeningly broad smile.

"I was concerned, can't having you throwing up over everything in the bathroom can we?"

"It's none of your concern if I was, Namjoon. And I'm fully capable of cleaning up my own mess - if I even threw up. You've never even seen me throw up."

He shrugs, irritatingly nonchalant while you bubble with ire. "I've heard stories."

When you find Taehyung and Jeongguk, you'll kill them. Slowly. Painfully slowly.

"Could you just fucking move? I really don't have the energy to entertain you right now." You're on the verge of just roughly pushing him aside, but your palm itches at the prospect of touching his chest, hand involuntarily curling into a fist. Namjoon stays immobile before you, a tiny grin on his lips that you are aching to wipe off.

There's another venomous comment about to tumble from your lips, but the ringing voice of Jimin cuts through it, loud and clear.

"Mistletoe!" At first, you don't get it, staring at his smug face confused. But then you tilt your head, finding the accusing plant dangling above your head. You don't miss the gleeful laugh that bursts from Jeongguk's mouth when he catches Jimin's comment and before long, everyone is looking at the two of you, expectant.

You'd rather shoot yourself in the foot.

But Jimin is relentless, slithering towards you with tumblers of whiskey in his hand, a devious smile gracing his lips. "Come on, you know the rules. Kiss already!"

"Jimin, don't you dare," You seethe. Namjoon doesn't miss that, percipient gaze flickering between the two of you.

"What do you mean?" He's feigning ignorance and you're considering smacking his head. "And what are two waiting for? Kiss!"

Jeongguk jumps in a beat later, immediately followed by rest of your friend group. The chant is accompanied by Taehyung loudly banging the coffee table to the rhythm of the word 'kiss'.

You glance at Namjoon not expecting him to be staring at you so intently.

"So?" He cocks his head.

"No," You firmly retort.

"They aren't going to let us live," He reasons, which is true because your friends are behaving like animals right now over a simple kiss.

"I don't care," You softly murmur.

"Well, okay. But they'd forget about it if we just kissed." You pause, quickly thinking it over as your gaze falters over Jimin and Jeongguk chanting the words like it's their only lifeline. There's no way they would forget it but it would make the rest of the night a lot easier.

"Fine," You mutter. "No tongue. I'll kill you if you use tongue."

"A peck isn't a kiss," Namjoon laughs, already leaning into your space. You hate how your eyes catch on his, locking on his gaze so quick that you reel from it. "But are you sure you didn't throw up?"

"Namjoo-" Your words are swallowed by his mouth, lips swiftly moulding against yours. The sudden touch coaxes a low moan out of your mouth, one that immediately sets your cheeks ablaze. But Namjoon eats it up, a wide palm rising to cup your chin. He tilts your head ever so slightly, following the directive act with a tentative swipe of his tongue against your lips. They part involuntarily, the feeling of Namjoon's mouth softly moving against your own sending a sudden shock straight to your core. He tastes faintly of eggnog, sweet against your lips. Maybe you lean forward, maybe your eyes flutter when his nose bumps against yours. Maybe everything falls away and you can only hear the pounding thump of your heart in your chest as your blood roars violently. It's slow and fast simultaneously. Like time is dragging itself out and running from your fingertips all at once. When his mouth finally parts from yours, the sound in the room comes crashing down on you. Jimin's whooping in the background, his voice barely drowned by the ruckus everyone else is making. But you can't tear your gaze away from Namjoon to throw them a chiding look. You're too entrapped in the warm honey of his eyes to tear yourself away. You can't decipher wants running his head but you're acutely aware of his fingertips still pressed against your chin. And of how violently your lips buzz, warm with the imprint of his mouth.

But then as quickly as it started it's over. Namjoon's suddenly so far away, gaze turned away from you, glancing at Jimin with a bright smile on his face. You despise how your focus zeros in on his pink lips, heartbeat bruising your ribs.

"Jimin," He chides, the baritone of his voice sending a spark through your system. "Take this stupid plant down." There's a gentle chastisement with that comment, but Jimin laughs it off, a sound that makes you finally turn to glance at your friends. Namjoon brushes past you a second later, like you didn't exist. As if his mouth wasn't on yours a moment ago. Maybe your heart sinks to your stomach but that odd feeling of disappointment vanishes when Jimin slings his free arm around your neck, nudging a shot glass into your stationary hands.

"You should thank me," He slyly mumbles into your ear. You focus on the slamming of the bathroom door behind you instead. You snatch up the shot glass a moment that, head full of emotions you're not sure you can work through at the moment. It feels like you've driven into the middle of thick fog, nothing around you clear, not even the odd ache you feel inside your chest.

Jimin gets a sharp elbow to the ribs when he laughs at your perplexed face, your feelings obviously painted on your features. "Shut up," You hiss, trying to escape from his strong grasp. "I can't believe you did that. Take that fucking plant down."

"Nope, I won't," He retorts, securing his grip and you as he tugs you into the living room. The broad grin on his face is plastered on everyone else too, much to your chagrin. It's hard to ignore their side-eyes and sneaky comments. Even after the familiar burn from the shots Jimin keeps handing to you ebb away, you're left folded into yourself in the corner of the couch, gaze hazy. There's too much sitting on your mind that the alcohol fails to wash away. Maybe that's what sets it all in motion, the restlessness you feel. And perhaps, it's also the fact that your mouth is still tingling. You fingers itch to brush them but you can see Taehyung glancing at you from your peripheral vision. Instead they sit pretty on your lap, head too preoccupied to engage with the shenanigans the rest of your friends are participating in. But you're thoughts spiral quickly, and maybe the drinks hit you too hard because you're profoundly aware of Namjoon's missing presence. The fact that he's not emerged from the bathroom has you frowning, and then your thoughts violently spiral.

Why did he kiss? He could have just walked away the moment Jimin started making noise. Why did he do that? He didn't have to do any of it.

You're up on your feet before your brain can convene with your heart. There's the faint sound of Minhee murmuring your name but you're too worked up to listen, moving towards the bathroom with uncharacteristic speed. It's bold to knock on the bathroom door when you know someone' s in there. For all you know Namjoon could be in the middle of taking a shit but you don't care, knuckles rapping sharply against the word.

"Yes?" You don't expect the asperity in his voice, your gaze faltering on his cold one. He's staring at you hard, a slither of his face peeking through the ajar door.

"Oh." The argument you've conjured up in your mind promptly evaporates, tongue sticking onto the roof of your mouth.

"Yes?" Namjoon tries again, his jaw ticking.

"Are you alright in there? You've been in here for a while," You suddenly blurt out. The reiteration rubs him the wrong way, evident by the way his jaw sets, a glint in his eyes that you've never seen before.

"Peachy," He hisses. You flush, recalling your words with your lip caught between your teeth.

"Sorry, I have something to ask you." The admission has the both of you staring at each other in silence, Namjoon clearly trying to read the implication behind those words.

"And it can't wait?" He asks. You shake your head because it truly can't. You won't have the courage to confront him about without the familiar buzz running through your system. It'll probably just sit in the back of your mind, worn from how often you think about that moment.

"Really?" He cocks an eyebrow, but the door opens ever so slightly.

"Really? Are you doing anything in there?"

"Just thinking. You wanna talk in here?"

You nod again, swallowing down the sudden hesitation you feel creeping up your throat. "Yes," It comes out soft. "Let's talk in there."

Namjoon cocks his head, but then the door is pushed open.

The tiles spin underneath your footsteps and your gaze quickly flickers around the bathroom, searching for what you're not sure. The toilet seat is down like Namjoon had been sitting onto it, contemplating similar to how you were earlier. He chooses to perch himself on the bathroom sink though, leaving you to lean against the opposing wall, eyes lingering on the way his thighs spread out for a second too long.

There's a silence in this space, which Namjoon waits for you to fill. All of a sudden the courage you feel evaporates, replaced by a hesitation that makes you bite your lip, shoulders folding in on themselves. But then he coughs, a noise you know is fake by the way he looks at you. He's impatience. It would be better to just say it, rip the question from your throat. You focus on the light above his head as you say it, too nervous to look directly at his waiting gaze.

"Why did you kiss me?"

"Because I wanted to shut you up."

You blanch, leaning hard against the tiled wall. It's cold against your burning skin, cutting through the heat of your embarrassment. "What? You kissed me because you wanted to shut me up?"

Namjoon shrugs like this isn't a pivotal moment in your nonexistent relationship. "Yes. Why are you asking?" He shifts on the counter, long legs spreading out.

"Why? You can't be going around kissing people because you just want to!"

He laughs, a low sound that makes your heart do a funny thing in your chest. "I don't go around kissing people. I just kissed you. And I know you don't like me. You keep running your mouth whenever I'm around, I just wanted to make you shut up for once. So I kissed you. Where's the fault in that? Blame Jimin's mistletoe, love. Or stop acting like I can't hear everything you say about me."

"I don't run my mouth about you," You splutter. He cocks an eyebrow in disbelief, hands settling on the thick muscle of his thighs that your eyes don't linger at. "And it's not that I don't like you. I just don't..."

"You don't what? Don't like me? It's alright you can say it, love. I don't care."

The glare you give him is venomous. "Maybe if you weren't such a cocky bastard I would like you. And stop calling me love."

His back straightens at that, eyebrows raised in challenge. "You think I'm cocky? You know you're friends with Kim Taehyung, right?"

"I'm fully aware, thank you for the useless observation, Namjoon," You snap back. "But I can tolerate him, you on the other hand..."

"Me on the other hand what?" Namjoon is suddenly upright, meandering towards you like a lion slinking up its prey. Your back hurts from the press of the tiles through the flimsy fabric of your dress. "Say it, love. Why can't you stand me?"

"Look Namjoon, some people just don't get along. That's us and that's fine. I'm required to like you because Taehyung does," You snap back.

He quirks an eyebrow, suddenly rising from the counter. You despise how broad he is, but when he sets closer your throat clamps up. "You're deflecting the question, you know that. You haven't answered why you don't like me. And for someone who doesn't like me you have a lot of questions about my intentions. Shouldn't you be yelling at me instead? Not asking why I kissed you. Or did you want there to be a reason other than convenience as to why I kissed you? Is that what you wanted?"

Your heart beats to the tempo of fleeing bird wings flapping in the wind. He's too close now, invading your space with a curious look in his brown eyes that have you folding into yourself. To see for you're liking. But Namjoon doesn't seem to care, staring at you like he read through your blatant lies with ease.

"You keep asking why I kissed you, I have a question for you now. Why do you care why I kissed you? Did you want me to kiss you?" Namjoon's broad chest is right against yours. Your heart is thumping hard against your rib-cage, threatening to shatter the bones with the force it's slamming into them with. You can't meet his steady gaze, cheeks burning from the sudden scrupulous examination of your character. It makes your skin spark like you've brushed by the touch of a thousand stars. The sparks are violent running through your body to settle deep inside your core. There's a heat collecting between your thighs, that turns into a full-fledged furnace with Namjoon's fingertips settle on your chin, tilting your head upwards. The remembrance of the action makes your heart swoops to your gut.

"Did you like it when I kissed you?" There's a field full of butterflies occupying your stomach, flapping around until you're heady with there presence.

"I-I." He smiles at your stutter, taking a sure step forward that results in his body pressed flush against yours.

"Answer the question."

"I'd like it if you got out of my space," You retort instead. Which is a blatant lie. You're positively vibrating from his close presence, skin a live-wire that exploded with every minute moment of contact. Namjoon must read through that false statement because he doesn't budge. Perhaps the small shiver that bolts through your system gives it away.

"Do you really want that?" He hums. You shiver again and Namjoon's lips spread into a glittering smile. The fingertips on your jaw are suddenly firm, ticking your head upwards until your eyes are glued on his. "Would you like it if I kissed you again?"

Your breath is caught in your throat, heart-thumping frenetically inside your chest. The air simmers with static, the humming your blood drowning every opposing thought sprouting in your mind. It's the way that he's looking at you that has you leaning forward on instinct. Dark honey eyes that streel you in, capturing you in the warmth of his gaze. You don't know when your eyes flutter closed. That happens naturally, like the feeling of Namjoon's wide palm gently cupping your chin. The moment your noses bump against each-other, mouths searching, your body bursts, like a burning star, suddenly falling in exhaustion. He still tastes like eggnog, a sweat cream coating his mouth. Your lips part fast, eager to feel him on your tongue. The choked groan that slips from your mouth falls into his easily. There's a buzzing on your lips with every bruising graze of his mouth there. Time falls away as it did before, every fibre of your hazy being focusing on the sure press of Namjoon on your mouth. It's both hard and soft at the same time, light brushes of his lips on you followed by firm kisses that leave you reeling, desperately wanting more. You're not sure when you began clutching the front of his sweater but you're clinging onto him now like he's you're the only lifeline, keeping you afloat from drowning in this vast sea of emotion.

When you finally part, breaths melting into each-other, Namjoon's staring at you with those wide brown eyes that make you lean forward again, your nose brushing against his. He sighs softly, involuntarily pressing another kiss on your lips. Your heart swoops int your gut when he does that, the drunken haze you're lost in turning you giddy.

"Happy now?" You murmur out, noting the way Namjoon's gaze flickers to your lips. "Since you've shut me up."

"You're still talking," He responds. His hand falls from your face, suddenly palming the span of your thighs. "What me to shut you up again?"

You nod quickly, attributing your compliance to how drunk you are. Perhaps the warmth emitting from his hands grasping the back of your thighs contributes to that as well, but know is not the time to analyse the reason behind your behaviour.

When he kisses you again, you dissolve, putty in his hands as his mouth works you open. There's deep groan floating from the back of his throat when you trail your hands down his front, fingertips admiring the broad expanse of his chest. It elicits a sharp spark in your gut, one that has your legs automatically falling open so that Namjoon can mould his body against yours. It doesn't take much to notice how hard he is, bulge nudging against your stomach. The sheer size of it has you moaning into his mouth, hands dropping south with need.

But Namjoon halts you, mouth red from your lips when he draws away. His heart thumping underneath your fingertips as he peppers a myriad of kisses along the hollow of your neck. You cave under them, sighing with every warm print of Namjoon's mouth across your blazing skin. The sound must affect him because you can feel him twitch in his pants, a minute motion that drenches your under in moments. And the Namjoon is pulling you from the wall, twisting you around as he backs you up against the skin, your bodies still clinging to each other desperately.

The counter is cold underneath your bare thighs but that's swiftly replaced by his warm palms clasping as your skin. He knocks your legs apart swiftly, lining your burning core with his crotch in a manner that has the both of gasping as your mouths meet once more, tongues eagerly melting into one. There's a quick roll against your hips that leaves you breathless, his cock nudging right against your clothed core. You shouldn't be this wet, but you can feel it leaking through your panties, underwear coated with your arousal as his hips rock into you.

He shifts away, swearing softly under his breath, you follow him, the sudden space between your legs feeling unbearable. There's a glint in his eyes when he picks up on your neediness, the grip on your thighs squeezing hard.

"Patience, love."

You huff cheeks hot from your embarrassment. "I said don't call me-"

He's on his knees so fast that you reel from it, the sudden nudge of his nose right against your core making your words stick in your throat. There's a gruff laugh at your sudden silence floating from his lips that vibrates against your core, your gaze stagnant on the image of his head between your thighs.

"Sorry," he murmurs, breath tickling your skin. There's a tremor echoing through your body that you refuse to acknowledge when he tilts his head upwards, pretty brown eyes coy. "Can I do this?"

"Yes, yes you can." Even if you wanted to deny it there's too strong of an ache in your core for you to refuse Namjoon. Not when he's on his knees for you, placing light kisses along your inner thigh that leave you clutching the counter edge hard, walls clenching on nothing.

He hums, pleased with the urgency lingering in your voice. But in actuality, he wouldn't have to know what do to do if you said now. His dick hurts from how hard it is right now, pressing violently through the fabric of his jeans. That's why he'd be hiding in the bathroom in the first place, attempting to get rid of the tent in his pants that he popped from kissing you. Kissing you, under a damn mistletoe. It's like his body regressed to being a horny hormonal teenager again. Maybe it was because of the dress you're wearing, stupidly short for the cold weather raging outside but you'd justified the choice of your outfit when Jimin had prodded by insisted that the cabin was obliviously warmer. And that had left Namjoon to try and not gawk at the outline of your body whenever you moved in front of him. It slides up your thighs and he knows you hadn't noticed that because you would have yanked it down. Instead, you'd left him to ruminate how nice it would be to leave that dress on the floor where it belonged, while you were under him.

Even though he reason his behaviour by insisting he would like to keep you quiet, that's not true. The sound of your voice does things to him, even when you're complaining about him all the damn time. He's aware of your stance on him, although he's not quite sure where it spurred from. But he couldn't care less. The countless arguments you'd shared made his day sometimes. You're so adamant, even over the slightest things. It would be infuriating if he didn't admire our passion. Or found the way your cheeks flushed when you were angry cute. Sometimes he started them on purpose, just to see your face heat up when he played the devil's advocate. It was fun, teasing you. But sometimes his mind would wander, eyes lingering on your lips and the sharp cut words that flew from them. Would you be so adamant with his cock deep inside your cunt? What sounds would you make if he fucked you senseless into the sheets?

But those had just been fantasies, locked away in the crevices of his mind. But today had been different. Very different.

When he'd kissed you and you'd just folded over, melted against his mouth like you needed him. Wanted him. It'd set off something in his brain. He'd never popped a boner so quick in his life.

Even now, when he swipes a tentative lick across your clothed cunt, it takes him by surprise how your legs shudder around his head, your wetness damp on the fabric.

"Fuck, you're wet." He can't help but comment on it, gaze captured by the sheen coating your thighs.

"Great observation, genius," You retort with an irritated huff. And just like that Namjoon can feel it creeping back, the defiance you carry like a second skin. He likes it, how sharp you can be, but underneath that he knows how compliant you can be too. And he wants to see that side right, wants you squirming underneath him, the only thing falling from your lips his name.

You panties come off so quickly that you're left speechless, stunned when Namjoon doesn't hesitate to part your fold with his tongue, lapping at your wetness like a starved man. It's quick but deliberate, the steady swipes of his tongue along your core, nose pressed against the apex of your cunt as he spreads you apart. It leaves you grasping at his hair, fingernails scraping against his skull as his tongue fucks you open, steadily toying with your dripping hole in a manner that has your thighs seizing up. It's not your fault when he latches his lips around your clit, licking with purpose, that you keen. A sound that has never come out of your mouth, ever. But it fills the bathroom, bouncing off the walls as your brain short-circuits on the feeling of Namjoon unravelling you with his mouth, his wide palms squeezing at your thighs with every jolt of your hips against his mouth

"Namjoon! Fffuck, could you - fuck!" There's too much going on but your brain can only take in the sound of Namjoon lapping at your core. It's obscene, the sound of his mouth on your cunt. There's slick coating your thighs with every press of Namjoon's lips against your folds. You don't know why you're this wet. It's odd, even for you. Yet, there's a pit in your gut when he glances up, mouth shiny with your arousal and his eyes dark.

"Yes?" Another kiss against your cunt, tongue dipping into your eager hole a moment later. You clench desperately around nothing, a sudden heat burning beneath your skin.

"Fingers," You murmur, throat clogged with moans you're holding back. "You can use your fingers."

He smiles against your cunt, drawing away to look at you. "You want my fingers, love? Want your pretty pussy stuffed with something?"

The 'something' catches your attention because you'd loved for him to flip you over and fuck your senseless right now. But that would change things, your entire dynamic would be shattered. Which it already has been, the cracks from this situation running deep. There's no way you can look at Namjoon again without imagining his mouth covered in your wetness. But having him fuck you, that would be something else entirely. So you settle for his fingers, nodding quickly when he grins at you, even though your aching to feel him stretch you out with his dick. You know it would hurt, he felt massive against your core. But it would be nice, to be stuffed full, fucked hard until you could feel him between your legs tomorrow.

That's not to say Namjoon doesn't have large fingers. He's big all over, a bulky broad man with wide hands that settle on the inside of your thigh, fingertips tracing your eager hole slowly.

It takes him by surprise, the little gasp you let out when he finally slides inside, finger covered in your slick. But then his mind registers how tight and warm you are around him, squeezing so desperately that his mind blanks. His dick jumps in his pants, already imagining how good you'd feel around his cock, wet walls clinging onto him desperately. You swear when he adds a second finger a moment later, a slight sting around your entrance that ebbs away. His fingers are bigger than yours. Much bigger. And they fuck you open with a vigour that has you groaning into the heavy air, legs spread for his vantage. When his mouth returns to your clit, licking with intent, you squeal. The noise has him groaning against your cunt, fingers curved inside you as he searches for that spot inside you, tongue lapping up your wetness. He gets want he wants a moment later, your walls clenching around his fingers hard as a shudder travels through your body, thighs trembling around his head.

"Namjoon! There, there, there. Fuck, pleassee!" You can feel it already, the fire in your gut blazing dangerously as his fingers slam into you. He sighs against you, pressing kisses along your thighs that have you shuddering underneath him again. You're close, the coil in your core threatening to snap with every sure press of his fingers inside you.

"I've got you," He murmurs into your skin. "Cum on my fingers, love. I know you want to."

And you do, desperately so, from the way your walls cling onto his fingers. When his tongue returns to your clit, soft little licks that make you jolt against his mouth you nearly do, the heat in your gut spreading fast along every nerve.

But then there's a sharp rapping on the door.

Namjoon doesn't pull away, but his mouth drops from your clit, the fire in your core dying down instantly. His fingers stay lodged in your cunt, covered with your arousal as the both of you stare at the door, mortified.

"Um." It's Taehyung, that little bitch. "Could the both of you keep it down?" And then there's barely stifled laughter filtering through the wood. You recognise Jeongguk's laugh right away, ringing loud among the giggles of your friends. You hate them. The whole lot of them. Drunken idiots.

When you glance at Namjoon you immediately think the moment is dead. He draws away from your cunt, fingers coated in your wetness and his tan cheeks tinged rouge. But then he slips them his mouth as he rises, leaning into your space, his hard bulge pressed into your open thighs. You watch him clean them off, his eyes locked on yours like your friends aren't falling over themselves outside the bathroom door. The heat in your gut sparks again, quick with the way it consumes you.

"You taste good," He hums, pressing his mouth onto yours again. You don't miss the way his dick twitches when you sigh into it, mind erasing the presence of your friends when his tongue slips into your mouth. There's an emptiness inside you that you vehemently despise, an ache to be filled that overwhelms you. If you don't cum on Namjoon's dick you'll be irritated for the rest of the night. You know it.

Perhaps he reads your mind through the kiss because when he draws away his eyes are dark with want.

"We could go upstairs?" He suggests, fingertips grazing the naked skin of your thighs.

"Yeah," You agree, the desperation to fucked driving your resolution. "We could go upstairs. Will you fuck me if we go upstairs?"

He cocks an eyebrow, smile coy. "Is that what you want? You want me to fuck you?" But he's pressing closer into you, eliminating what meagre space was left between your bodies promptly.

"What do you think, genius?"

When he kisses you again, you doubt that you'll even make it upstairs.

#namjoon smut #namjoon x reader #smutcentralnet #btswritingcafe #btswriterscollective #bangtanarmynet #rm smut #rm x reader #bts smut #bts x reader #christmas present 1 !!!#happy holiday i love u!

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afictionaladventure16 · 4 years

Text

Remember Me (Bucky Barnes x Natasha Romanoff x Daughter!Reader)

Chapter 8

Remember Me Masterlist

Previously on Remember Me...

Warnings: violence

Word Count: 1,559

A/N: Big thanks to @mybesttobobcratchit for editing this for me! I was gonna wait to post this buuuuut since I’ve been getting a lot of readers asking when I will post, I first planned on posting this weekend but I forgot I made plans to go to Vegas sooo here we are! Muahaha! The action will start in the next two chapters, I swear!

“I assume that we’ve made some progress since we last spoke,” Zemo spat as he walked into the room. You quickly straighten your posture as you sat in your seat. Roger remained emotionless next to you. “Well?”

“N-no sir,” you spoke up. Zemo glared at you before glancing over at Roger.

“Any reason as to why that is?” His question was mainly directed to Roger, but you didn’t understand why. You were the one that was supposed to do most of the labor for this assignment, shouldn’t the questions be towards you?

“We’ve had some setbacks,” Roger began to say. “But I can assure you, Jessica is trying her hardest to get as close as she can to the targets.”

“Setbacks?” This time the question was directed towards you. Zemo took a step closer. “I thought you were well trained to not any of these so-called setbacks.”

“I-I’m sorry, sir-” In an instant, you felt a stinging pain on your left cheek. The impact of Zemo’s fist on your face caused you to fall onto the ground, gasping for air. Zemo didn’t stop his assault as he began to kick you on the abdomen. His actions were violent, almost as if he were letting out his anger over his own failures on you.

Roger flinched at the sight. His body slightly jerked forward to aid you, but he knew that if he showed any sort of emotion it would be all over for him. Zemo wasn’t one to have that within his soldiers, especially in Roger. But Zemo noticed it, letting out a soft chuckle at Roger's actions.

“Have you gone soft, Roger?” Zemo quietly asked the man in front of him. He watched as Roger looked over at the asset, now unconscious on the floor. But she was no asset. She was human. You are human. “Need I remind you, who you work for?” Zemo hissed.

“No, sir,” Roger responded.

“Then what are you waiting for?” Zemo made his way out of the room. “I’ll be back in thirty minutes. I better not be disappointed when I come back.” Zemo slammed the door behind him.

Roger slowly walked over to where you sat, gently tapping your face to wake you.

“Jess.” You stirred. “Wake up, hon.” Roger gently placed his arms around you to help you up, but you groaned from the pain. “I know… I know… but you have to get up.”

“W-what’s going on?” You asked, wincing from the pain that went through your body with every move you made.

“I’m sorry,” Roger whispered.

“Sorry for what?” Roger stayed silent as he led you out of the room and across the hall. You quickly took notice of the chair that sits in the middle, a chair that you knew very well. “Roger, what are you doing?”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again as he placed you on the chair.

“Roger! No!” You began to fight against him as he strapped your arms to the chair. “Please! Don’t do this!” Roger managed to strap both your arms to the chair. “I thought you had changed! I thought you were different!” Roger looked away. He couldn’t face you. Shame coursed through him as he made sure your restraints would hold and he stepped away.

“I am,” he murmured.

“Liar!”

“You have to trust me, Jess.”

“That’s not even my name! How could I trust you?” Tears began to well up in your eyes. “How could I trust you when I don’t even know who I am?” Before Roger could respond, the door opened behind him and Zemo entered.

“You never fail to disappoint, Roger,” Zemo chuckled. “Roger. It fits you so well, I have forgotten your real name.” Zemo looked over at you. “My dear, Jessica. Sorry for the damage earlier… I do hope you find it in your heart to forgive me.” Zemo cleared his throat before walking over to a table nearby that had different syringes filled with unknown serums. “We’re going to have some fun today.”

“W-what?” Zemo walked closer to you with one syringe in hand. “What are you going to do with that?” You asked. Zemo just smirked.

“You’ll see soon enough.” He turned around to two men in white lab coats. “Be ready, gentlemen. We still don’t know the full side effects.” Zemo looked over at Roger who was trying his hardest to contain his composure. “Do you need some air, Mr. Jones?” Zemo said in a mocking tone. Roger furrowed his eyebrows as he glanced at Zemo before stealing a glance at you.

“I forgot that I have some paperwork that needs to be done,” he said flatly. Zemo chuckled.

“By all means, don’t let my charades stop you from your paperwork.” You watched as Roger slowly walked out of the room. You gave him pleading eyes as he looked at you one last time before shutting the door.

“Now, where were we?” Zemo asked. One of the doctors grabbed an I.V. needle and gestured to Zemo. “Ah, yes! We were about to have some fun!”

The doctor that held the I.V. needle gently looked for a vein. You squirmed in your seat. “It’ll only make it worse,” Zemo informed. “Just sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride.” You felt the pinch of the needle piercing your skin.

“The I.V. is in, sir. Ready to administer.” Zemo smiled sickeningly.

“Perfect!” He didn’t hesitate to attach the syringe and push the plunger, sending whatever serum he had created this time rushing into your veins.

As soon as the serum had been injected inside your body, you could feel the effects. You let out a piercing scream, your body felt as if it was on fire. Zemo took a step back, watching as you screamed in agony from the effects of the serum.

“Give me the next serum,” he instructed. He held out his hand, waiting for one of the other doctors to place a syringe in his hand.

“Shouldn’t we wait?”

“I said give me the damn serum!” Zemo hissed.

Roger walked into the small file room and slammed the door, sending papers flying in every direction. For Hydra, he thought they would’ve had a better way to store files. He walked over to the small ancient computer and sat down on the dusty chair. He started typing absent-mindedly, desperate to find something to busy himself with.

Paperwork was something Roger never had to do, of course. On occasion, he had to go through files, but only in order to find information on certain targets he was sent after. Just then, an idea came to Rogers’s mind.

An idea that had you in it. Roger began typing out your name.

“Jessica Jones,” he mumbled to himself as he typed, but nothing came out. He groaned in frustration. “Alright, how about Widows Bite?” Roger smiled to himself as your file came onto the screen. If you couldn’t remember your past, then Roger thought that he could help you remember.

“Y/N.” That was your name. Not Widow’s Bite or Jessica Jones. “Barnes… Wait a minute.” Roger scrolled down the file and began to read.

”‘Y/N Barnes, daughter of James Barnes and Natasha Romanoff. Rescued by Hydra at the age of five. Rescued?” Roger questioned. “They call this rescuing?” Roger began to scan the file until his eyes found the heading Wiping Treatments. Roger’s eyes flitted to the door, ensuring he was still alone, and then he began to read.

“September 24th, 2006: Today was the asset’s first successful wipe. Results as anticipated based on lineage. Will continue to monitor.” Roger had no clue who wrote the file but it was in their perspective. “As with the other assets, a code word has been implanted in her subconscious which will, in case of extreme emergencies, restore all wiped memories. Codeword given only to those with the highest clearance.” Roger felt as if he had hit the jackpot, scrolling and digging through the file. “Where is it!?” He exclaimed as he scanned through pages and pages of notes. And as if Odin himself was listening, Roger stumbled upon the code.

That was all he needed. Reading the code word several more times, Roger exited out of the screen and ran out of the room, back to where he had left you in.

Roger barged into the room, and his expression quickly fell at the sight that was before him.

“What have you done to her!?” Roger exclaimed as he saw you on the floor groaning in pain, holding your stomach.

“Can’t you see?” Zemo chuckled. “I’ve improved her. Now there won’t be any more of your setbacks.” Zemo walked over to Roger. “I will need her here for the next two weeks.”

“What?” Roger looked at Zemo in disbelief. “That itself will cause a big setback.” Zemo shook his head.

“After she’s done with her training she will become the best asset Hydra has ever seen. She will rip through our enemies like the point of a sword.” Raged filled Roger’s heart and he knew right there that he wouldn’t let Zemo use you any longer. The doctor sauntered past Roger and looked back over his shoulder to glance at Roger who was staring at you in disbelief.

“You all should thank me,” he said pridefully before leaving the room.

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hollyhomburg · 5 years

Text

Wrecked (PJM)

Summary: Months after your break up, just before a performance, Jimin finds out that you’re seeing someone new through Instagram. His group mates pick up the pieces after that.

Pairing: Park Jimin x Reader

Tags: Breakdowns, Angst, Guilt, Sorta Self-hate, Platonic fluff.

W/C: 1.3k

A/N: I literally wrote this in one sitting don’t be mad at me. Inspired by jimin’s recent performance in Japan where he didn’t (couldn’t?) finish the last lyric in “the truth untold” on stage and this story sort of jumped out at me.

Jimin’s voice hovers on the last line “and I still-” the crowd roaring around him in a sea of lights, faces of his fans only just in shadow, but he falls short, and can’t make his mouth move even if he wanted to.

Jimin is taking off towards the dressing room before the others have even left the still hot stage. The lights barely having dimmed. He tosses his jacket into some soon to be forgotten corner of backstage not even caring that it was worth over 15k. His skin hot and body sweaty from the hours of performance, his temperature rising as his hands started to shake. He knew the others weren’t far behind, he didn’t want them to see him like this, didn’t want them to see him explode with anger.

When he retreats to the safety of the dressing room Jimin curls up, placing his elbows on his knees, laces his fingers through his pink hair and pulls as hard as he can. “Jimin-” Yoongi says from the door before Jimin suddenly straightens from his prostrate stance and swipes his hands across the table, sending glasses, makeup, food, and more than a few phones to the floor in a glorious crash, stomping on his own phone for good measure with the heal of a heavy boot. But it does nothing to sate the vindictive and self-directed anger that rages through Jimin’s chest like a storm.

He’d had to sing that fucking break up song again, The Truth Untold. The one he’d written with Namjoon just after your break up. At first, his emotions had colored the song a gorgeous lilting experience that made it one of the most popular on the album. But today, today his voice had fallen short, closed up against the syllables at the very end the only part that Jimin had written, one of his only edits that stayed the same through every iteration, every draft.

He couldn’t even say the words ‘I still want you’ anymore. Couldn’t, because it wasn’t even true. Jimin didn’t want you anymore, the wanting had faded. For the first few months, it was just a want, just a thought. But now all that’s left in his chest is a pure need for you. A need for your warm body pressed against his, arms wrapped around his neck, your kiss at the end of the day, your smile and your laugh and your everything that Jimin was absolutely wrecked over. He needed you. and Didn’t want to need you but his traitorous heart did regardless. And that had him absolutely enraged.

Namjoon gets his arms around Jimin when he sends everything on the other table crashing to the floor, a lamp knocked over in the corner winking out. Namjoon’s superior strength has always been enough to restrain all of them- even Jungkook. And it's no surprise when he literally throws Jimin onto a couch. He gets right back up and Jungkook’s arms go around him from behind.

“Calm down!” his leader commands but he can’t follow, can’t even see his face through the haze of red. No, not a haze of red, but tears that won’t stop falling. Jimin’s chest heaves an offal jagged noise somewhere between a sob and a gasp.

“Where the fuck did this come from Jimin- why the fuck-”

“-I thought I could handle it hyung, I thought I could handle it if I saw her in someone else’s arms but I can’t.” his tone is broken, heartbreaking, words spat through gritted teeth.

“Jimin- what are you talking about.” Jimin’s gaze drops to his phone, on the floor, its screen cracked. Namjoon picks it up and it opens straight to the picture the last thing he saw right before he walked on stage. The display still works showing your Instagram account, the latest post a picture of you and another man, your face smiling as your cheek is pillowed against another chest, a man who isn’t Jimin’s chest.

It’s kind of shocking even to Namjoon to see you with someone other than Jimin. You’d been such an item. It’s hard to believe that either of you could move on after your relationship, so full of passion and romance that even the boys had to restrain their jealousy. But obviously, you already have moved on, despite the fact that Jimin obviously hasn’t. No matter how much he’d pretended otherwise up until his breaking point tonight.

Namjoon swipes through the pictures, the next one the man preses a kiss to your cheek, just missing the corner of your lip. “She used to hate kisses like that, ones that weren’t on the cheek or the lips- and now she’s with this-this asshole who can’t even kiss her right.” Jimin spits.

Namjoon reads the caption, and Jimin watches him, Jungkook’s still holding him, still watching his hyung like he could get violent again. But all the fight is worn out of Jimin, desolation filling the place where before there’d been fire. Jimin watches Namjoon read the caption. Happy one month to my baby.

“They’ve been dating for a whole month and I didn’t even know.” Jimin sobs. All this time he was sure one day you’d text him, or try to call him or turn up at the company or something. He was sure you’d want him back and now, all this time that he’d been hoping, you’d been falling for someone else.

It wasn’t your fault; none of Jimin’s anger was directed at you. Only at himself. He's the one who was stupid enough to pick the world tour over you. He’d been inconsiderate enough to consistently push you out of his life until there wasn’t even space for you to breathe. He didn’t blame you at all for needing more than one or two texts a week.

The only one to blame was Jimin- and he’d let you go without fighting for you at all and now months later all he can wonder is, How the fuck did he not fight for you more?

“I fucking need her- and she’s in someone else’s arms when she should be in mine. I’m such a fuck up hyung, I couldn’t handle the pressure of someone loving me up close and now-“ Jimin breaks off- but he doesn’t need to continue it. All of the boys know what happened. All of the boys know his next words- and now I have no one to blame but myself.

Jungkook lets him go, sliding to the floor with jimin in his arms. Jimin’s Hands fixing in his knees Fists tightening. No one tells him that he shouldn’t have taken his anger out on his surroundings. Seokjin is still at the door, keeping the staff away, giving them some privacy. But he can hear the murmur of their voices. Their manager pushes through and Seokjin lets him pass. He surveys the devastation Jimin left with an air more similar to curiosity rather than anger.

Jimin sobs in Jungkook’s arms, Namjoon sinks to their level after a moment before he wraps his dongsaengs in a crushing hug, his hands tightening in the back of Jimin’s shirt.

Wordlessly, the boys help him clean up, and when one of the makeup noonas finally strong-arms her way in, sees Jimin’s puffy face and all her shattered makeup bottles he apologizes profusely and says he’ll replace them. Yoongi’s already ordering replacements on his phone as Hoseok sweeps up the glass from the broken light bulb. He knows they all have doubles and spares anyway just in case.

Eventually, he sits up at the couch, Jungkook lets him go, leaving him to wipe away the salt from his face with the back of his hand. Taehyung comes and sits by him and Jimin lets him tilt his face up so that he can see his eyes, one of Tae’s large hands pushes back his bangs as he uses a makeup wipe to clean off Jimin’s smudged makeup, the cool aloe Vera jell a balm against his irritated eyes.

“Need to clean you up,” Taehyung says, voice rough from singing half the night, his expression so concerned, even though Jimin knows he doesn't deserve it, his group has always been good at taking care of one another. Jimin sniffs up at him, not even having to ask why, before Taehyung responds to his unspoken question “Can’t have you looking like that. You’ll never win her back if you look like a wreck.”

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atlas-of-a-human-soul · 5 years

Text

Friends can break your heart too pt. 2

Warnings: angst, swearing (enjoy!)

Word count: ~ 3.6k+

Part 1

Where was my fault in all this? All I did is love him with all my heart, but it went to waste. A part of me expected him to run after me the very instant I turned the first corner, slowing down my steps to give him a chance to catch up if he needed it.

Once I realized he wasn't coming, I felt swelling rage push tears even faster to fill my eyes. My vision blurred and chest heaved with the undeniable pressure building up so quickly I'm terrified it would burst. It's funny how people call it a broken heart, but I hurt all over. My brain is in shambles and my body aches like I've been hit by a train and the darkness growing inside is becoming too much to bear.

I remember calling an Uber, praying I'll keep my breakdown in, just a while longer...just until I'm behind closed doors and people with phones and annoying habits of filming everything they see can't get to me.

The last thing I need right now is someone posting a video of me that would go viral. I don't want to give him the satisfaction. I don't want him to see me cry.

Finally alone and inside my home, I find myself unable to shed a tear making it much worse. If you can't release the pain inside, the pain destroys you. It's one of my worst qualities, having few rare moments of release and bottling up everything else until I explode and take everything out in my vicinity.

Deciding not to dwell on it, I grab a bucket of ice cream from the fridge, DAIRY one and sit on my couch in silence and darkness, just getting that lactose in and smiling like a maniac. I've been sick and tired of their newfound dairy free diet and doing it as well to serve as a support system. I guess somewhere deep inside my tired, still firing neurons, eating a tub of dairy and sugar seems like vengeance of sorts.

This is how far I've fallen.

My phone keeps ringing, messages from James and Ethan coming through as I try my best to ignore them and stuff my face.

„Why are you not with them?! I'm losing my fucking shit here! Who is that girl frolicking with Gray and why aren't you answering?!“ James is freaking out, probably watching the awards on TV, worrying, and I'm not sure if it's justified or not.

I'm okay, aren't I? No one deals with these things normally, right?

„Y/N, I'm so sorry. I wish you stayed with me because I'm so bored. Call me back and let me know if you're okay? A text at least?“ Ethan called too and I know I bailed on him. I know he's basically the third wheel since Marina didn't come with him and Grayson's probably wrapped around that woman the entire time.

My dress is constricting my airways, shoes already kicked off my feet and I'm sure my make up is still spotless. I look like I walked out of a Disney movie and Grayson barely noticed me at all. I know I'm not usually the most good looking person out there. I'm aware that most people tend to completely overlook me, not notice I'm even around. I'm the girl no one sees, I don't light up the room when I walk in and people don't stand up to talk to me or go out of their way to make me feel wanted.

No one ever did that for me, but Ethan and Grayson did.

Maybe that's why I fell for him so hard? I craved the attention he gave me? I needed to feel wanted and like I mattered? Because he made me feel like that.

He did.

I never felt invisible around either of them.

I mattered.

Until I didn't.

„Step away from the ice cream!“ Ethan shouts and I snap my head up and to the right where I heard his voice come from, my heart pounding frantically and my mouth opening to let out a small shriek in fear.

„Why are you in my house?!“ I shout back, sitting properly and looking to my phone for the time.

„The awards are over.“ Ethan says in a 'duh' tone and I furrow my brows, rubbing my right temple when I see my ice cream all but melted. I must have dozed off in the inferno of my 'Reasons why I'm not good enough' special held in Grayson's honor.

„Oh.“ I mutter, hearing his footsteps approaching fast. He takes the ice cream from my hands, leaving it on the table in front of me while I stare blankly at my manicured nails and a golden butterfly ring on my right middle finger Ethan bought for my last birthday.

„Wanna talk about it, Princess?“ Ethan asks softly, siting beside me, his right arm pressed against my left one. It's a small couch and my dress is taking up the most of it.

„'Bout what?“ I look to him and swallow thickly, hoping my facade holds up.

„You being in love with my brother and him being undeserving of that.“ Ethan states and I cough violently, choking on my own spit.

„W-what?!“ My voice is high-pitched and my mouth is open like a fish gasping for air. I've believed my feelings were mine alone, hidden from the world and if they weren't...If Ethan knew of all people, did Grayson know?

Does he know?

„Oh, c'mon! It's not like you're being slick with all the starin' you do. I mean, I literally measured the time once I realized you do that and the longest has been ten minutes and twenty three seconds. You look at him like he walks on water!“ Ethan exclaims and I find my mind change speed and the panic overwhelming me like there's ice swimming inside my veins.

„I – uh, you're wrong.“ I try to rectify my past mistakes now, but it's in vain.

Ethan knows.

He knows.

„Am I? You're never speechless unless he's complimenting you. You have a permanent smile around him and I swear you turn into actual sunshine in his proximity. It's like you want to give him all the warmth and love and support this world has to offer. You also gravitate toward him like he's your moon. When he moves, you move. If you can be close to him, you are. Don't even get me started on the way you giggle at his stupid dad jokes or your encouragement of his nutcracker and plant obsession. I know you. You love him and...I'm sorry that you do.“ Ethan ends his rant by putting a hand over mine, making the speed chase inside my head stop and it's as if I'm crashing through the windshield with that gesture. Ethan putting a hand on mine like that meant something else. He's not a touchy feely guy, but he's here and he's holding my hand and it can only mean one thing.

He knows Gray doesn't feel the same way I do.

„So, he – uh, really doesn't love me then. Does he?“ My voice cracks, but I'm still too stubborn to cry. I'm strong, I don't cry for men.

„I can't say anything for sure because we never spoke about you in that way, but he's with Sara now and I don't know why he never mentioned her to you. I was under the impression he did.“ Ethan runs his thumb across my knuckles and I remember how Grayson did that before.

He'd always take my hand in his, no matter where we are and just hold it for hours. He'd run his thumb over each of my knuckles and intertwine our fingers, bringing my hand to his lips to kiss and looking back at him doing that on daily bases doesn't make me feel so insane for thinking he might have loved me too.

„He never said a thing about her. Not even hinted they met. And I really...I really thought he'd be here tonight, you know? Like, he'd come to at least apologize and bring me my favorite milkshake as a peace offering as we once promised to do whenever we fought. But he didn't and I hate that I'm a wreck about it all.“ I feel myself slipping down the emotional swirl-hole again, wondering how long will it take me to claw my way back again.

He didn't even bring the fucking milkshake.

Back when we first had a fight after becoming friends, Grayson bought me my favorite milkshake every day for a week and stood in front of my door until dark, leaving the shake whenever he left. And I'd drink it and leave the cup outside for him to find. I watched him smirk every time he found it empty through the peephole, realizing right then and there I wasn't really angry with him anymore, I just wanted to see that self-satisfied smile on his face whenever he saw I drank the milkshake. So, we made a pact. Whenever we fought in any way, the one who messed up will bring a milkshake the other one favors and you have to accept it and talk.

Guess he didn't find this ordeal milkshake worthy.

„I'm sorry to do this to you, but you have to face this. Grayson is – well, he's basically fucking Sara right now instead of being here and comforting you. He's not into you like that. Not as far as I know and I think he'd tell me, Y/N. I'm not trying to be cruel, I'm just trying to help you move on. Realize he's not all that and find a guy who treats you like a princess you are. Cause you fucking look like one even without wearing that dress.“ Ethan's words surprise me; shock me even. His breath seemed to stutter in his lungs before he let it go, the tension draining from his body. His breathing returned to normal and his lips parted, opening his mouth as if he could face the problem.

„Yeah. I did. I did love you for some time...it's how I know you're in love with Grayson. I watched you while you watched him and once I knew I had no way of winning you over, I did the only thing I could; I moved on. It was hard and messy and I still get in that head-space, but I never acted upon any of it. This is why I'm advising you to the same. Just, let him go.“ Ethan takes a deep breath, patiently awaiting for me to say anything.

I saw something flicker in his eyes that I never wanted to die. It's selfish, but right now, I crave his affection; the same he kept hidden from me for so long. I can't, but I want to. I want to kiss him and let whatever is left of my soul burn in hell. I find myself leaning forward, Ethan's eyes moving from my eyes to my lips and remaining there, just lingering.

„Such a bad idea.“ He says quietly and I can't help but agree with him. It's probably the worst idea I've ever had, but Grayson's fucking some other girl and I'm just trying to get through the night. I'm just trying to piece myself together.

But then I remember why I can't do this.

If Grayson ever did this to me, I'd be a hollow shell of a girl, unable to find someone that can give me the love I know I deserve. I can't ruin Ethan like that. I can't drag him in a mess that he just barely escaped from. He has Marina now and I'll be damned if I ruin it.

„I really want to kiss you right now. I do.“ I lick my lips and continue.

„But Marina...she's good for you and I'm not sure what I feel or what tomorrow will bring. It's not fair to you. I should know, not guess...especially when it’s you. You, one of my favorite people in this whole universe and any alternative ones that exist.“ I place my forehead on his lips, leaning on them for their warmth and keeping him quiet for a moment longer all the while ignoring how his hands on my waist feel inviting.

I'm just looking for a physical comfort, a rebound.

I can't make him one.

I won't.

„This is exactly what I'm saying. You're too good for him. For either of us.“ Ethan whispers against my forehead, pulling me into his chest and holding me.

And I hate myself for thinking about how Grayson never just holds me against him, but crushes me with his bear hugs until I'm fighting for air. He melts into me and always stands up just to make sure he can twirl us before collapsing on the floor, still holding me tightly enough to feel the beat of his heart against his rib cage.

It’s strange, frightening even, how you can go from someone being a complete stranger, to then being completely infatuated by them and wondering how it ever was that you were able to live without them, because you sure as hell couldn’t imagine being without them now. I know I'm still young, and most people would consider me to be foolish and naive, but it’s true when I say that I love him more than I could ever love myself. He’s my best friend and, as cheesy as it sounds, he’s my anchor. My one stability in this world filled with chaos. Grayson's always been my anchor and knowing I have to leave that is a big part of why tears slip down my cheeks as Ethan moves me to my bed, covers my body with a blanket, unaware I'm still awake.

I hear the light switch go off and feel an arm wrap around me, face burying in my hair and breath giving me goosebumps. I hear Ethan's phone go off, muffled voice coming from the speaker, but neither of us move to get it.

Whatever it is, it can wait till the morning.

„Hey, bro! I'm going to grab a milkshake and stay at Y/N's tonight. Sara and I had a fight about...me being too taken with Y/N to perform if you get what I mean. Ugh, why did I just tell you this?! Either way, don't worry about me. I'll be home around noon maybe. You better fucking delete this voicemail or I swear I'll post that photo of your pineapple tattoo! Don't test me, bitchass!“

That was a mistake.

The next thing I know, I'm being awaken to a hushed fight between Ethan and Grayson, still in my dress and a little dazed.

„You didn't tell me!“ „I have nothing to tell!“ „You're unbelievable!“ They keep exchanging words, but I know I'm not up for Grayson's shit right now.

„What is happening?“ I say through gritted teeth, both of them turning to face me.

„Just congratulating you on your relationship. Didn't expect to find out because I found you in bed together. Definitely didn't see it coming.“ Grayson's eyes pierce through me, looking to hurt me more, demanding explanations that didn't exist.

„We just fell asleep, you idiot. Now get out. Both of you. I need some time alone and away from you.“ I gesture vaguely toward them, pointing at Grayson after. „Mainly you, but since you're a package deal. Leave me alone!“

„I'm not leaving.“ Grayson steps forward, shoving a milkshake in my face and I'm forced to fight a smile from showing on my face. I can't just let it go. I can't just ignore our pact.

So, I turn to Ethan.

„E. please?“ He just nods knowingly, understanding exactly what I mean.

I need closure.

I sit on my bed, folding my hands in my lap and not taking the milkshake.

„You really not going to take this? It's banana! Your favorite!“ Grayson exclaims, plopping on the bed, dipping the mattress and leaning me to his side a little.

„Not in the mood. Say what you need to say and go.“ I say firmly, looking ahead and he sighs, moving so he's on his knees and in front of me, in my line of sight.

„I forgot to tell you and yes, I'm an ass for ditching you. You ARE more important, but she was already there and I couldn't leave her either. Thought you'd be okay with staying and being Ethan's date. I just...I have no idea why I forgot to let you know about it all.“ There's a pause in his speech, one he uses to look me over again and I keep my eyes on his, refusing to look away. He won't win. Not now.

„You look like a dream. So unreal and unearthly and I'm sorry it wasn't seen.“

„I spent the past two months working overtime. Every day. I used up all my savings. I...I did so much just to get into this dress and to be there with you and I just...it meant nothing to you when it meant everything to me. You were so careless tonight, Gray. I didn't even recognize you.“ My words pack a powerful punch, I can tell by the way that twinkle in his eye goes out and anguish takes over. Shame takes over his mind and guilt takes over his heart.

„All that so I could tell you I'm so fucking in love with you.“ I finally say those words, just release them into the world like they didn't weigh me down for so long.

His eyes snap back to me, wide and his eyebrows raise. His breathing almost halting in the moment.

„I am as much in love with you today as I ever was, perhaps even more so, but I'm tired...Tired of watching you choose the wrong girl every time while I'm here all the while, just waiting for you to take one look and realize that I'm the one for you. Because I am. But you lost me too. You've lost all we could have been because you destroyed that innocent part of me that yearned for you, all of you. You've ruined me, so deal with the wreckage you left in your wake. You're the perfect example why hurricanes are named after people. You're a hurricane, Grayson and I need to get away from this storm before it swallows me whole.“ I'm aware my words sound forced and pained, fully aware he's trying to get a word in as well but my monologue stops him because there is so much I want to tell him and so little time as I've made my decision.

I need to let him go. Both of them. At least for a while.

„Don't I get a say in it?“ He questions and I chuckle dryly.

„You want a say in this? Okay, fine! Do you love me, Grayson?“ My words are rushed and those stubborn tears of mine are preparing to burst forth like a river from a dam.

„Of course I love you, Y/N.“ He places his hands on mine, quickly interlocking our fingers so I can't pull away and I purse my lips.

„I don't mean do you love me. I mean are you in love with me.“

Silence. He doesn’t even blink, seemingly stunned by my inquiry.

„Or even like me? Because if you do, only then do you have any say in this.“ I hate how weak my voice is, how wobbly and each break in it mirrors a break inside. I feel as if my lungs are slowly filling with water, as if there's just less space in them for the air.

Why was it so hard with him? Why does it always have to be so hard? It shouldn't be like this.

Not if it's right.

I stand, startling him enough to let go of my hands and move quickly to avoid him wrapping his arms around me. He moves after me, reaching out to grab my arm, but I slap his hands away.

„Wait, please!“ Grayson croaks out, something inside him turning but not fast enough. He shouldn't have to think about it. He's supposed to know. Love isn't thinking you want someone to hold, but wanting that all the time.

„For what, huh? How many ways are there for you to break my heart tonight? Just...give me enough respect and leave. Let me keep what pride I have left.“ I'm shaking, not only on the outside, but inside as well.

Before I met Grayson my heart was soft, with him it became strong and vibrant, now it is simply broken.

And he listened. He left. He left even though I wanted him to stay and say the words I needed him to say. That he loves me, that he cares. Anything, everything...just not leave when I need him.

I pack my things and wipe away angry tears I am so tired of already. Writing a note for the boys if they come back, texting James, I finally leave my apartment and head back home in a need of a proper rest.

They say people who are meant to be always find their way back to each other. They say friends don't make you hurt. They say life is full of surprises and now I know they, whoever they are, are very wrong.

People who are meant to be together don't always end up together and friends can break your heart too which is actually the biggest surprise of all. Heart break is a funny thing. We all know it's going to happen, yet we're never prepared for it. We underestimate it's power. Why are we never ready for it? Because we're in denial. We believe it won't happen. We believe if we give him our hearts he will not crush it. Hearts shouldn't be crushed. They should be cherished and protected. I wish he would have cherished and protected my heart.

Tags: @xalayx @heeydolan @accalialionheart @fallinginlove-16 @rosegoldquintis @nefelibata-diamond @blackdesires-blog @me-a-hopeless-romantic @wannabeactress @mckeeee-1 @godlydolans @daddygraysonsbitch @killmonger-dolan @emy-is-cooler-than-you @5sausefandom @thatoneperson5000 @the-evolution-of-stupidity @mercy-love18-love @graydolan12 @flowercrowns3438 @trumpettay @skurtdolans @nowheredolan @shadowsndaisies @heartbelongstodolans @gvldenskie

#grayson dolan #grayson dolan x reader #ethan dolan #ethan dolan x reader #dolan twins #grayson dolan imagine #grayson dolan angst #grayson dolan fanfic #grayson dolan fic #grayson dolan fanfiction #ethan dolan angst

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deehollowaywrites · 4 years

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Title: Doomed to Fail: The Incredibly Loud History of Doom, Sludge, and Post-Metal

Author: J.J. Anselmi

Release: February 11, 2020

Genre: music, nonfiction, memoir

Order here!

When I first heard Metallica’s “Battery,” I knew I’d found the real shit, J.J. Anselmi’s newest states in an early chapter. The social alienation, the depression, the anger, and the preoccupation with death: it was the music I needed, right when I needed it. Similar stories abound in volumes like Jon Wiederhorn’s Raising Hell and a recent academic anthology of gender, sexuality, and heavy metal analyses; the typical pathway to extreme music, it seems, is youthful aggression, disaffection, or malaise. It’s not very cool to recall that your teen rage was tempered rather than catalyzed by religion. Even less cool to admit that if you are currently swimming in doom’s murk, you only took the chilly plunge because of boys and men.

A few antecedents, then: The Minutemen. Captain Beefheart. Def Leppard. The Mars Volta.

Edgy enough, weird enough, almost metallic enough, nearly harsh enough. It’s easy to see the slippery slope, to hear my mother’s voice in my head. If that’s what you want to spend your money on, she said of The Mars Volta’s full-length debut, I guess it’s your money. A year or so later, she would be interrogating me about certain media downloads to the family desktop--not because I was infringing copyright via poorly-labeled LimeWire files, but because the music was the sort that drove away the Holy Spirit (to be fair, Master of Puppets didn’t inspire any epiphanies). Mormons are very concerned with the Spirit’s presence. Movies and music are the fastest and most seductive shortcuts to becoming lost in a mire of worldliness, spiritual miasma, and sin. Interestingly, my mother was less perturbed by my weekly emails to a much-older dude I’d “met” on a geek forum, he of the curly beard and Captain Beefheart appreciation. For a suburban teenage girl reading SPIN in 2003, music in particular seemed a clear Point A to ineffable cool’s Point B, as evidenced by--although at the time I wouldn’t have phrased it thus--fuckability. Whiteboy music journalists, from Klosterman with his contrarian hair metal love to Azerrad deifying The Minutemen, had Ideas about what made rock music good. It was a trail of breadcrumbs that could be followed by anyone, so maybe I’d start off as me and end up as Brody Dalle. Of course, wanting to be punk is proof that you're destined to remain square, so the guy in the homemade Leftöver Crack t-shirt likewise stayed a mystery. Meanwhile, I made a fansite about The Mars Volta for my web design class, wrote an AP essay about why filesharing is good, actually, and counted the days ‘til graduation.

Euro-style power metal is romantic. Good make-out tunes. The fine art of getting into something that someone you fancy is into, well, that’s bog-standard for a huge swath of humanity and I’ve never been above it because I do like exploring new things. However, there’s a certain flavor of man who encourages women to listen to music he likes not out of genuine enthusiasm and desire to share, but because filling up a vessel with water from your spring means that you, yourself, will never be thirsty. There’s no rearranging of boundaries necessary for the recommender, no exchange of gifts, no call to reassess your favorites in light of new information. Where things get hairy is when women take what is conferred and make it their own. The vaguely fringe music that had already primed my eardrums led away from flourish-laden prog and high-camp power metal, into weirder and uglier places my boyfriend at the time had no interest in traversing. It stings a bit to realize that your heart is big enough to hold all the loves that comprise the person you love, that your desire is malleable and open, and that they have always been enough by themselves, fully-formed, unswerving as a highway through the desert. It hurts to hear that you’re not doing the thing (metal or comics or horse racing) in the way that was shown you, properly. This might be when the rage starts to seep back in, poisoning the spring. But solo concert-going is only lonely until you make it past the venue’s threshold. After that, the Spirit is always with you.

Myself, I’ve seldom found the divine in places it was supposed to inhabit.

The thing about The Mars Volta that embedded itself in my ribcage seventeen years ago wasn’t their tight jeans: it was how they seemed to have misplaced all their fucks. Prior to Sacha Jenkins’ 2003 SPIN review, the ugliest thing I’d sought out of my own volition was an Anti-Flag album, a suitably edgy move in George W. Bush’s America. Deloused in the Comatorium did not care if you understood what it was going for; an impetus existed behind the unexpected time signatures, dog-bothering vocals, and salsa moves that was alluring in its opacity and bloody-mindedness. A bunch of weirdos recorded a fuck-you in album format because they wanted to. Atmosphere, emotion, tension could all be far more important to a song than melody or lyrics. Listenable was up for debate. Art formed its own excuse. In this way, although the two groups couldn’t be further apart sonically, my heart was made ready for Katatonia. Then Oceans of Slumber. Torche. Black Castle, Thou, Bell Witch, Cult of Luna, on and on, an endless sinkhole opening up.

A great and appealing contrast of doom metal lies in the apparent dumbassery of its sound. This is broadly true of all metal, of course; Coal Chamber or Megadeth, Black Sabbath or Pantera, metal was music for drop-outs, stoners, school shooters… the purview not only of miscreants, but of boys and stupid boys at that. Punk seemed the smarter option, if you had anger issues, had heard of feminism, or tended toward hobbies like trying to form a Young Democratic Socialists chapter at your school. For older me, trying to rewrite a religious mind into a liberal and cosmopolitan one, prog metal was defensibly slick and impressive, while power metal seemed less openly hateful toward women. All the while, doom lurked beneath layers of nay-saying. Adult men I’ve known, talented guitarists with good ears and smart hands, have sneered at all the seeming lack populating the slower subgenres--lack of beauty, skill, or even aggression in its most recognizable and masculine forms. Yet, for a listener whose favorite pastime is intellectualizing everything in sight, doom is the other side of the sun.

I don’t… really… understand what a tritone is. I know it’s important, and I could do a bad approximation of the opening of “Black Sabbath,” but definitionally I’m at a loss. Often I have no idea which instrument is making the sound that I like. I don’t know anything about music theory or how to talk with authority about what makes music good, important, or even what differentiates music from other sounds. Maybe a drone metal track is a collection of sounds, rather than a song? My Dream Theater-enthusiast ex figured since I was a nebbishy bespectacled geek, prog would be all I needed. The thinking man’s metal! No one has ever felt threatened by Steven Wilson. You can remain Smart™ while listening to assorted finger-wanky Europeans. In contrast, kicking it with a Texas weed-cult at the skatepark is stupid. Obviously, every genre of metal contains its geniuses, and one of doom’s most lovable qualities is how often unquestionable finesse arrives wrapped in brutal, bizarre, counterintuitive paper. But beyond the plausible deniability of technique and philosophy found in groups like Neurosis is something even more compelling. Sometimes, it just fucking sounds cool.

It sounds like that because someone did it intentionally, gleefully. I wrote a novel like that because I liked how it looked, sounded, felt.

One of the birthrights of normative (white, cis, straight, abled) masculinity is feeling. If you turn out queer, or are socialized as female, or live with the massed connotations of a racist culture written over your skin, overt and violent emotion may be anathema. The power of accessing a fully human emotional spectrum for the first time should not be underrated. The doom bands I grew into loving, independent of the people closest to me who putatively liked similar music, are into feelings. Even, or maybe especially, the ones authority figures wish you didn’t have (and those aren’t always the bad ones. Authority hates it even more if you feel good). If there’s a thing Mormons don’t countenance, it’s feeling bad things and informing people of them, or feeling the wrong good things. Doubt is a big no-no. It’s always better to feel shame when possible. If the Spirit isn’t telling you what you know it should, it’s on you for not listening enough, praying enough, being enough. If the Spirit’s voice isn’t soft and gentle, if it instead materializes in the best growl this side of Obituary, well, Satan quotes scripture too. Meanwhile, doubt--lack of clarity, spiritual and emotional murkiness, bone-deep ambivalence--is doom’s molten heart. Meanwhile, shame--at the self’s fondled hatreds, as C.S. Lewis has it, for things desired and things questioned--is shunned by doomsayers.

The body experiences advance warning. Fury, fear, arousal. Sure, I attribute my openness toward weird music to frustrated teen lust. Sure, I owe Roy Khan and Tony Kakko for first love and redrawn horizons. When fire dies, what’s left is not absence but ash, fertile and generative. Doomed to Fail recognizes that continual plumbing and revolving in uncertainty for its beauty and possibility. Whatever formed my rage and love, those two sides of the same forbidden coin, they belong to me now.

#Doomed to Fail #J.J. Anselmi #diana reads

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ficsandpieces · 5 years

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If you have time, can I request #15 and #32 for Reiji x reader? Your writing is lovely! Thank you so much for posting these 💚

Aww, Anon! Thank YOU! 💕

You guys are all so nice and polite that I’m beginning to feel guilty about some of the stuff that’s coming out for the prompts…

15: “Shhh, they’ll hear us.”

Camus drew himself up to his full height and stared down at both you and Reiji.

“What in the world are you talking about, you ridiculous man?”

Reiji frantically pressed his hands against Camus’s mouth, his eyes wild.

“Myu-chan! Not so loud! They’ve got pretty good hearing!”

His eyes hardening, Camus slapped Reiji’s hands away and stabbed a finger in your direction.

“You! Explain why you buffoons are blocking the only entrance to the apartment,” His glare intensified. “And make sure you make more sense than that fool over there.”

Your back still to the door, you told Camus that you and Reiji had spotted two very large rats in the living room, hence why both of you were currently out in the common corridor barricading the main door.

“And you imbeciles thought that the best way of dealing with the problem was to simply prevent entry and hope the vermin do away with themselves?” You shivered at the frosty contempt dripping from Camus’s voice.

“W-ell…” Reiji put his hands together and started tapping his fingers together nervously. “Now that you mention it… But! But they’re really, really huge! I’ve never seen such huge rats before!” He grabbed hold of you for back up. “Right? Tell him how scary those monsters are! There’s nothing we can do against something like that!”

“Kotobuki,” The venom that came attached with Reiji’s name would have killed a lesser man. “Consider that there exists such a professional service as pest extermination.”

“Non!” Reiji firmly crossed his arms in a large ‘X’ in front of his chest. “If word gets out that Quartet Night literally lives in a rat’s nest, that’s bye bye to our public image! More importantly,” Here he clung to you and looked back at Camus pitifully. “If Manager-san finds out and comes over to investigate and sees my honey’s things in there…”

You patted Reiji’s head affectionately, touched that he was thinking about the possibility of your relationship with him being blown. The touching moment was short-lived though, as Camus unceremoniously shoved the two of you out of the way, wrenched open the door of the apartment and entered, his icy rage leaving a visible trail behind him.

“No, Myu-chan!” You had to hold Reiji back from following him in. “Come back! You can’t handle them!”

“I do not see any trace of these rats that you were blabbering on about,” Camus’s voice rang out, threatening immediate retribution on the two of you. “If I find out that this is simply another one of your idiotic pranks– Hmm? What is this?”

There was a brief silence.

“Myu-chan?” Reiji called out timidly. “Are you still alive?”

“Yes,” Camus replied dryly from inside. ”Though I doubt you will be able to say the same of yourself once I– BY HER MAJESTY’S NAME!” Both you and Reiji jumped back instinctively at Camus’s sudden shout. “WHAT ARE YOU?! I have never seen such– BACK! BACK, YOU FOUL FIENDS!”

The door abruptly slammed shut. Reiji threw himself against it and started banging on its surface.

“Myu-chan! Don’t die!”

It sounded as if there was a storm in the apartment as you heard things being thrown around, crashing against the walls and door, interspersed with Camus’s roaring and for some reason, short violent bursts of a very familiar rattling sound.

“Disgusting vermin! You will not best a knight in the service of Her Majesty the Queen, do you hear me? HAVE AT YOU, FOUL BEASTS!”

It was a long time before the door finally opened again and Camus stepped out. Flicking his hair out of his face, he pointedly ignored you and Reiji staring in disbelief at his disheveled clothing.

“I expect to see the bodies disposed of and the apartment as spotless as the day we moved in when I return.”

Dropping something bloody into Reiji’s limp hands, he turned on his heel and stalked down the corridor. The two of you stared after him, then back at the apartment, Reiji struck speechless for the first time since you knew him.

You were working up the courage to look through the opened door when Reiji looked down at what Camus had given him and shrieked.

“MY MARACAS! My poor babies, what did Myu-chan do to you?!”

32: “Your eyes are red… Were you crying?”

Wrinkling his nose, Reiji screwed up his face and stared at you in astonishment.

“Your breath… Are you drunk?”

Your eyes filled with tears, you fell forward into Reiji’s arms and started limply smacking him around the shoulders.

“It’s your fault,” you hiccuped weakly. “Stupid Reiji…”

“I just got back! I haven’t had time to do anything yet!” he squeaked in surprise while feigning off your wavering fists.

“Exactly!” You drunkenly tried pushing him away but ended up allowing him to pull you in towards him instead. Propping your chin up on his chest, you tried your best to glare up at him. “Why’d you have to go away for so long?”

“It was for work! We had a tour, my darling! I’m… pretty sure I told you before we left?”

“But I missed you!” You bawled, ignoring his yelp of pain when you suddenly banged both your fists on his shoulders.

You had walked past a liquor store on your way home that day and wandered in out of boredom and to distract yourself from Reiji’s absence. When the owner asked what you wanted, you had morosely replied “something to stop you from missing your stupid, perfect boyfriend”. The owner had provided a selection and you, in a sudden fit of recklessness, had promptly bought everything on the counter, came home and proceeded to work on literally downing yourself in your sorrows.

You had been halfway done and still going strong when the door to your apartment opened and Reiji had burst in with a huge grin, open arms and a declaration of “Guess who got back early– Y/N?!”.

“It’s your fault for abandoning me,” you sobbed into his collar. “Always, always leaving me behind while you go around the world and never thinking about how I feel when I can’t see you…”

“Darling, my heart, light of my life,” Reiji fawned, pressing his face into the top of your head, one hand stroking your hair while the other supported you around your waist. Cupping your face in his hands, he tenderly wiped away the trails of tears on your cheeks with his thumbs. “You’re the reason I’m still here, you know?”

“Dunno,” you said sulkily, not really listening as your mood suddenly took a turn for the worse. You tried to push him away again. “Don’t wanna see you anymore.”

“Eh? Wait, wait, no no no! Come back, my honey!”

Frantically catching you around the waist, Reiji lifted you up and sat back heavily on the sofa. You squirmed as you tried to get off his lap but he firmly locked you in his arms.

“I was lonely too, you know,” he said, one hand going around your head to press you into the crook of his neck. “In fact, I bet I missed you much more than you missed me.”

Breathing in the scent of his cologne, your fluctuating alcohol-soaked feelings finally begun to settle down. Closing your eyes, one of your hands came up to curl into his shirt as you leaned into him.

“Missed you so much…” you mumbled. “Started to hate being alone after knowing you.” Feeling his chest rise and fall with his breathing under your hand, you peered up at him. “I dreamed about you, you know. But when I woke up you weren’t there.” You said plaintively, your voice small. “It hurt so much.”

You had never seen his eyes look so soft as they did now. “I’m sorry,” He leaned down to kiss you on the forehead, his hand cupped around your head. “I feel the same whenever we’re apart. Did you know that?”

You didn’t reply him, your arms wrapping around his chest, your hands clutching the back of his shirt as you sighed his name into his skin.

“Don’t go anywhere. Don’t leave me alone again.”

Pressing slow, light kisses into the side of your neck, his lips came to rest against your ear, his arms warm and firm around your shoulders.

“Alright. Never again.”

#utapri #uta no prince sama #reiji kotobuki #reiji kotobuki/reader #fanfiction #fanfic #reader #reader-insert #answering asks #RIP maracas #camus #camus (utapri)

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jencala · 5 years

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Fanfic Author Challenge

The challenge is to post segments from 4 of your favorite fics you have written. They can be as long or as short as you wish, and you may provide the readers with some insight on why you chose this fragment.

I know I was tagged by a couple of people but it’s been a while and I’m finally getting around to it. Sorry! And oh boy, this is hard to choose!

1. Of Masters and Slaves

Sirius didn’t speak for a moment, but held his mother’s unwavering stare. “I understand. Mother .”

“Oh dear, I don’t think you truly do.” Walburga’s quiet laughter teetered on madness as she raised her wand and aimed it at her son. “I think you need another lesson to truly drive home the point. Crucio !”

Sirius crumpled to the floor, convulsing under the onslaught of the curse. His muscles felt like they would burst into flames as the feeling of liquid fire raced through his veins, his limbs twisting as the sensation of his bones breaking and melting caused an inhuman scream to tear its’ way out of his throat.

Remus could only stand there, cemented to the ground as he watched— unable to do anything to help Sirius or stop the madwoman from torturing her own flesh and blood. His hands curled into themselves, his nails drawing blood as he restrained himself from reaching for Sirius when every fiber of his being was telling him to move—to do something other than just stand there.

The Black matriarch finally released the spell and stood over her son, watching with a pleased quirk to her lips as Sirius still shook from the effects of the curse, tremors racking his body. “Very well then. Have you learned your lesson today, Sirius?”

Sirius slowly opened his eyes, excruciating pain coursing through every cell of his body as he tried to focus on the imposing figure standing above him.

“Ah, I see you need some reminding of what the lesson was about, so let me explain clearly.” Walburga smiled almost pleasantly. “You see, I do believe you were under the mistaken impression that by allowing you to defile yourself with this beast it was a reward of some sort for agreeing to marry Bellatrix. Oh no, my dear.” Her chuckle struck fear deep in Remus’ heart. “You see, you will marry Bellatrix by month's end regardless of whatever creature warms your bed beforehand. It is dear Bella’s decision as to how she deals with your predilections after your vows. However, Fenrir will be coming to collect the beast for his own within a fortnight.”

Sirius struggled to speak. “Wh-what for?”

Walburga raised an eyebrow coolly. “Whyever should I have cared to find out?” She turned to leave, but stopped and leveled her still shaking son with a sneer. “Do clean yourself up, Sirius. It does not befit the current heir to our Most Noble House to lie on the floor like a common gutter rat.” With that parting comment she swept from the room, head held high.

Remus remained motionless for a moment, staring at the empty doorframe in shock. At last, his motor skills returned as he rushed to where Sirius still lay prone on the floor. He lifted Sirius’ head gently onto his lap. “Are you alright?”

Sirius felt the tremors recede a bit at the gentle stroking of the fingers through his hair. “I w-won’t let him take you.”

Remus stared down at him incredulously. “That’s what you have to say? Your mother just tortured you and threatened to murder you and you’re worried about Greyback?”

Sirius licked his dry lips and nodded, savoring the feel of the fire in his muscles ebbing away slowly. He flexed his legs slightly trying to regain some control of his limbs as they were still sporadically spasming. “It’s not the first t-time she’s used that s-spell on me. I’ll be alright.”

This fic is really special to me and differs in style and story in how I normally write. It was my first multi-chaptered fic and I am actually almost done with the next chapter of the story so yes, I promise I will be updating soon. It was started originally as a response to @asktheboywholived‘s Empire prompt and I just love the world they prompted and the story I have created here. It’s extremely angst-filled which is a challenge for me because I love our boys happy and fluffy with a HEA. I have the entire story arc done and it should be another ten chapters until the end. I hope you all enjoy what I have planned.

2. Textually Yours

10:46 am: Moonbeam, have I told you how delicious you look in that jumper?

10:48 am: I'm in class. 10:48 am: And thanks *blushes*

10:49 am: I'm in lecture right now too 10:50 am: I can still daydream about how tasty you look in my favorite jumper

10:55 am: Can you possibly daydream to yourself? I really want to pass this course. 10:56 am: Why is it even your favourite? It has bobbles on it.

10:58 am: It's touching your skin right now 10:58 am: Like I wish I was 10:59 am: So it's my favorite **wink wonk**

11:01 am: Oh sweet jebus. 11:02 am: Padssssss, the lecturer is talking about character structure, I reallly need to pay attention 11:04 am: You aren't going to listen to me, but, you're my favourite :)

11:06 am: My lecturer is droning on about Masaccio and his use of light in his paintings 11:07 am: I'd much rather wax poetic about the way the light hits your skin 11:07 am: when you're lying naked in my bed

11:10 am: Well guess what idiot dropped his phone and now everyone is looking at him. 11:11 am: I'll give you a hint, he's in your favourite jumper

11:12 am: oh my poor Moon Pie, did I fluster you? 11:13 am: I can do many other things to you 11:13 am: that you'd like even more ;-)

11:15 am: Okay I'm intrigued now. What. What other things?

11:17 am: ah, my ever-studious Moony is intrigued? 11:17: am: I like when you think naughty 11:18 am: I'd start by taking that ridiculous jumper off 11:18 am: It's only my favorite when it's on you 11:19: am: I'd much rather see it on the floor

11:22 am: Holy.. I might have to take it off anyways. You're making me blush. And hot.

11:23 am: and I haven't even started… 11:24 am: I'd kiss those luscious lips first 11:24 am: then I'd run my hands down your chest and kiss your neck 11:25 am: you so like it when I nibble on your neck 11:25 am: you make the most wonderful sounds when i do

11:28 am: I have a ROB. 11:29 am: I cannot move.

11:30 am: What is a ROB?

11:32 am: Prongs teaches you nothing. Randomly Occurring Boner. I'm now stuck in this chair whether i like it or not

11:33 am: imagine if I was there to help you out with that 11:34 am: right now

I am a sucker for texting fics and I wrote this with my dear friend @josiemoone. we had so much fun writing this together and I just love how sappy our boys are in this as well as how their relationship comes out. it was just such a fun piece.

3. Saving Me

Rage coursed through his body, his thoughts whirling. Wormtail’s alive. The little bugger is still alive! As he read through the article, his fury intensified. The boy in the picture, Ron Weasley, would be heading back to Hogwarts—presumably with his pet rat—straight to Harry.

Sirius's godson was in terrible danger, and there had to be a way to warn him, to help Harry, and get his revenge on Wormtail.

He threw the paper down and began to pace his cell. He didn’t know how or why, but Peter Pettigrew, the reason he was in Azkaban and Lily and James were dead, was with the Weasley family. Sirius just knew it was him. He had to get to him somehow.

Wormtail had to pay for his betrayal.

And Sirius would be the one to make him pay—finally.

His mind finally clearing, he sensed the cold from the approaching dementors and unconsciously shifted to Padfoot. They never bothered him in his Animagus form, and it had become instinct to retreat into it whenever he felt them near.

Thoughts became simpler as a dog, and he suddenly struck upon the answer: Sirius couldn’t escape from his prison, but Padfoot could.

He waited until the Dementors passed, the screams of other prisoners ringing in his ears more acutely through his canine hearing. He ignored them to slide his emaciated form through the cell bars. He supposed there was some merit now to the fact that prisoners were never fed enough.

Padfoot made his way through the labyrinth of corridors, ignoring the calls and sights of the other prisoners along his way, and he used his sense of smell to lead him to where he caught a whiff of the sea the strongest. He found himself entering what looked to be a small office, most likely used by some of the human guards. It was, thankfully, empty—luck on his side for once.

The window at the back of the office was much larger than the tiny one at the top of his cell and though fitted with bars, was open and he could easily slip through them in his canine guise. He did just that and found himself perched precariously on a wide ledge overlooking the dark, churning, sea about 50 meters below him.

Sirius knew his chances were slim; it was a long way down and an even longer distance to swim to shore in a violent sea. But what choice did he have? Spend the rest of his days in a prison while the person who killed his family tried to finish the job with his godson or take a chance and try to help in whatever way he could?

There was no prince coming to save him from his tower.

It was up to Sirius to save himself.

Padfoot took a deep breath and jumped.

The moment he hit the water, it felt as if a thousand frozen needles were trying to pierce his skin. The chill was excruciating, but he fought his way to the surface, gasping for breath. After taking a moment to get his bearings, he started paddling his way in the direction he presumed the shoreline was.

It felt like hours, but it could have been mere minutes in his diminished state. He swam as hard as he could, but he could feel his limbs losing what little strength they had. His magic not strong enough to keep his canine form, he shifted back to human, fighting against the waves as fatigue drained every muscle in his body. He tried to focus on getting to shore, to Harry, but his thoughts kept drifting to Remus.

This fic was my first ever entry for a fest and it’s also the fic that’s closest to canon. It details Sirius escaping from prison all the way to his seeing Remus for the first time in the Shrieking Shack and I loved delving into his psyche and exploring Wolfstar while still remaining in canon. I love how I tell a bit of their story through flashbacks while Sirius almost drowns and how he questions his sanity and honestly at one point doesn’t care if he’s actually insane as long as he gets to keep his hallucination.

4. Drawn Together

Marlene spotted him first, a sly grin on her face as she greeted him. “Back already, Re? Pretty-boy must not have been very good.”

Remus rolled his eyes and took a sip of his drink, careful to avoid looking at Sirius. “That’s none of your business, Marls.”

“We thought you’d left,” Dorcas piped in, smiling at Remus. “I’m glad you came back.”

“I just needed a bit of fresh air.”

He heard Sirius’ snort and finally looked at the other man, sitting on a stool across from him. He raised an eyebrow. “Alright there, Sirius?”

Sirius stared at him for a moment, his grey eyes cold. “I’m fine, just never heard a hook-up referred to as fresh air before.”

“I never said I hooked up, and even if I did, what business is it of yours?”

He watched Sirius take a long pull from his cider before he deigned to answer. “Oh, it’s definitely none of my business, I just thought you were hanging out with your friends and not working .”

“Excuse me?” Remus’ eyes widened indignantly. “ Working ? Are you implying I’m a bloody prostitute?”

Sirius huffed a harsh laugh. “Oh, no, Remus, of course not. You don’t charge for your services. Or wait—you do get paid for the column you put all your sexual escapades in, don’t you?”

Remus tried to fight his growing anger, but the sneer on Sirius’ face enraged him more. “You’re a fucking twat, Black. A hypocritical one, at that. I seem to recall you’re getting paid for the artwork for my so-called sexual escapades !”

“Oh, that’s right! Maybe I should thank the bloke who just got you off?” Sirius took another pull from his cider before slamming it down on the table, his eyes hard as flint as they met Remus’ and stood up. “Would you like to take me back to where you just fucked that bloke so I can get the details right for my piece?”

Remus ignored Marlene and Dorcas’ pleas for them to both calm down, and he stepped closer to Sirius. “You really are a bloody hypocrite, aren’t you? I saw you getting some action on the dance floor before I left!”

“I was dancing not fucking some random bloke in a back room!”

Remus grinned maliciously. “Is that the problem, Sirius? You wish it was you I was fucking back there, not a random bloke?”

He watched with satisfaction as Sirius’ eyes widened, nostrils flaring, before he pressed closer to Remus, his striking features twisted in anger. “Listen up, Lupin, and listen well. I wouldn’t t-touch a slag like you with someone else’s cock, so get whatever idea you have about me fancying you out of that thick head.”

He felt as if he’d been punched in the gut with those words, but Remus refused to let Sirius see how his comment affected him. “Oh, don’t worry your pretty little head, Black. The last thing I’d ever do is want to touch a sodding twat like yourself. I prefer real men who can satisfy me, not a bloody prude.”

He turned to Marlene and Dorcas before Sirius could respond and kissed them each on the cheek. “It’s been lovely girls, but I’ve got to run. I’ll give you a call this week.”

Dorcas gave him a pleading look. “Re, please don’t leave. I don’t know what’s gotten into Sirius— “

He held up a hand to cut her off. “It’s fine, Dorcas. Sirius is just being the twat I knew he was. Don’t worry about it, it’s between him and me, nothing to do with you, love.”

Marlene hugged him. “Remus, just don’t disappear on us, alright?”

He kissed the top of her head before stepping back. “No worries, love. I really will call you this week.”

Remus forced a smile at his friends before turning back to Sirius. “Black.” He turned to walk away, but Sirius called his name and he turned back. “What?”

Sirius smirked, pointing at the hem of Remus’ shirt. “You missed a spot. Black lights are a bitch, aren’t they?”

Oh this story will forever hold a special place in my heart. This was my 2018 Wolfstar Big Bang fic and I stressed about it so much, but I got to work with @yumenouveau who is just such a fabulous artist and friend and it was an amazing if stressful experience. I love the AU world I created and the sexual tension and snark between my favorite boys is endless. It’s a slow burn and even as the writer there were times I just wanted to scream at them to just kiss already, but my boys were stubborn, Sirius especially, and I love how this fic turned out.

I’m tagging @ami-talks, @shayalonnie, @captofthesswolfstar, @maraudererasmut, @moonllotus, @yumenouveau,

#my writing #my fave fics of my own #this was hard to choose #they're all special for various reasons #Wolfstar

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poppyknitt · 5 years

Text

Bio-Bots- A JSE Egos Fanfic

Android!Chase AU

-Post explaining how the hell i came to make this beautiful, blessed, but also cursed au in the first place

-Canon developments in the story as of writing this

[April 11th, 2017, our time]

Schneep and Jackie knew Chase wasn’t going to make it. His head was shot clean through, and his brain was damaged badly. Even if it did heal, he’d be in so much tremendous pain that he’d probably be begging to be “put to sleep”, as they call it in the veterinarian world. They stared hopelessly at the heart monitor next to Chase’s bed, which had a relatively steady pace at the moment, but, on occasion, faltered.

“... What should be done, Jackie..? He only has a little bit of time left. You and I, we-.. we both know this.”

“... I say we work together on blueprints.”

“Blueprints? What-Whatever for?!”

“... An android, of sorts. One that works and looks totally human. It may take a few weeks, but we’ll make it happen.”

“And what would I do? You are the one with the technological know-how; I, on the other hand cannot configure even a Raspberry Pi for the life of me!”

“You’ll help me make him look human. You’ll help me pull this off. We can do this, Henrik. Nothing is holding us back. No one will have to know that he died.”

“... Alright, then. Just give me heads up, yes?”

Jackie smiled sadly, “Will do, ‘doc’.”

~~~

[April 24th, 2017, our time]

Chase woke up groggily, his head spinning as his vision flooded with blindingly bright light, and he slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position. The heart monitor on his left beeped steadily, and his head was wrapped in bandages.

“Chase! You- You’re awake!” A voice, similar to his, cried out in joy, and next thing he knew, he was being glomped by a man in a black cape and strangely colored cat mask.

“Wh..Who..?” He slurred, taking a moment to figure out that this was Marvin, “Oh! ...M-Marv..?”

“Yep! That... That’s my name! Don’t.. wear it out!” Marvin said, putting on the best cheerful face he could, thought, Chase knew it wasn’t sincere, even as he laughed wryly in response. He could tell that the magician was distressed greatly by his attempt to kill himself.

“Okay, so, he’s gotta be good at reading people, right? I mean, come on, even if we are just doing this to prevent further heartache, then why not take a few creative liberties that chance making social interaction and stuff like that easier?”

“Is up to you, Jackie. I for one did not know him very well beforehand, so you may wind up on your own for the programming part of this.”

“M’kay. Cool. I’m gonna do it.”

[April 30th, 2017, our time]

“Stacy? Hi... It’s me, Chase... I was just calling to ask when you’re gonna let me see the kids next... I really miss them... S-Sorry for bothering you... I’ll... just go now..” He sighed, and hung up the phone.

“She still being petty?” Marvin asked, his face reading nothing but slightly amused sympathy.

“Yeah.”

“Damn. Well, cheer up, pal! She’ll have to listen to ya some day!”

“Maybe...”

~~~

“Greetings, Chase. I’m Jackieboyman! But, uh, I’d prefer being called Jackie.”

“... Uh... hey..? Good to meet you!” As the android spoke, his face lit up, as if he were just registering the name, and felt like he recognized it. Or something. Either way, it seemed like a good thing that he showed recognition, because it meant that at least one of the features he’d implemented into the android was working.

Jackie grabbed his clipboard, and checked off “Name recognition” from the list.

“What is that?” Chase asked, peering over his shoulder from behind. Jackie hadn’t even noticed him move! Weird. But cool!

“Um, it’s a list of functions you’re supposed to have. I have to make sure you function like a normal human if we’re gonna get the others to believe there’s nothing wrong.”

“Oh. Is silent footsteps one of them?”

“Not intentionally, no. I think it’s a byproduct of the materials we used.”

“Cool.”

“Hey, not to change the subject or anything, but how’re your tricks for the bro average channel going so far?”

“Pretty good! I can do a triple flip now! Wanna see?”

“Heck yeah, man! That sounds epic!”

Chase grinned cheerfully, and, going a fair bit back so he didn’t risk bumping into his older brother. He jumped up several feet, backflipped, landed on one hand, and did it twice more, landing on both hands the second, and on his knees the third. Jackie watched, eyes wide in awe, and applauded him excitedly when he finished.

“Wow! That was awesome!”

“Aw, shucks, Jackieboy! You’re too kind! Too kind!” Chase grinned, bowing humorously.

~~~

[Sometime in August, 2017, our time]

“Seán... Please... I-I don’t know if you can hear me, but... please... wake up.. We need you now, more than ever...” His voice broke as he pleaded for his old friend to wake up. Between the loss of Henrik, and Jack’s coma, he didn’t know if he was gonna be able to keep it all together.

~~~

Jackie watched Chase from a ways back, his heart breaking at the sight of his youngest brother melting down by the side of their creator’s bed in the hospital. He was about to go hug him and tell him it was gonna be okay, but Marvin ran in, pushed past him, and practically glomped poor Chase. The magician was clearly upset about the loss of Henrik and Jack, but he seemed to understand that the best they could do about it right now was help each other keep it together. Chase seemed shocked by the sudden hug, but he quickly returned it, appearing to be holding back tears.

~~~~

“Hey! Jackie! Look over there!” Chase exclaimed gleefully, hoping his brother was gullible enough to fall for it.

“What? What am I looking for?” Jackie asked in confusion as he looked where Chase had pointed. Chase grinned mischievously, and ran up to him while he was distracted, grabbing the hero’s goggles and yanking them down so they covered his eyes. Jackie yelped in surprise, and scrambled to adjust the goggles so he could see, as Chase made a break for it, darting away from him as fast as he could. Jackie yelled at him, and gave chase, catching up to him quickly, and tackled him to the pavement.

“Hey! No fair! Let me go!” Chase yelped, surprised by the strength of Jackie’s grip.

Jackie grinned, and stole his hat, letting go of him as he spoke, “Fine! But you’re still gonna pay for that”, and shot up, darting off in the direction of home. Chase laughed, and ran after him, yelling for him to give his hat back.

~~~~

[October 2018, our time]

Chase clutched onto his abdomen, coughing every now and then, as a strange, orange-ish liquid oozed around his arm. He didn’t understand why his blood looked so unnatural, but he didn’t think about that, as he let himself sink into a blind rage, and ran at the foreign glitch that was attacking Marvin.

“Chase, no!” Jackie screamed at him, desperately trying to drag himself after him, but the hero collapsed, his own wounds making him too weak to hold himself up anymore. Chase’s instincts screamed at him to go back for Jackie and flee this place, but he had to save his other brothers, too. Everything he knew about biology told him he shouldn’t even be able to run right now, but he didn’t care; Obviously, he could, which meant he was the only one able to do anything right now.

He tackled the glitch to the ground, and started throwing punches at his face, glad he was able to take him by surprise, since he probably wouldn’t have been able to pull that off if he hadn’t. The Anti screamed in anger, violently throwing him off, and stood up, as Chase caught himself. The vlogger stood as well, his eyes burning with hatred.

“Chase..! You..! You’re hurt! Wh-What-?!”

“He’s an android, Marvin.” Jackie wheezed.

“W-Wh-?! S-Since when?!”

“Since April...”

“W-Who else knew?!”

“... Henrik knew. He helped me create him...“

“Where- What happened to the Chase we knew?!”

“... He didn’t survive. The day Chase woke up was really just... the day after he had died..”

Chase listened silently, his heart heavy. He’d always had an underlying suspicion that he wasn’t as human as they’d said, but he didn’t realize he wasn’t human at all. He sighed, and opened his mouth, interrupting the conversation, “Marv, take Jem and the doc, and run. Don’t go home. Just... run. Make sure you never look back, and most importantly, don’t stop running until we meet again, okay?” The order came out dry and empty, his hate-filled gaze never leaving the glitch as he spoke.

“B-But what about you and Jackie?!” Marvin yelped, eyes wide, as tears began spilling from his eyes in small streams.

“... We’ll be fine. We’re gonna fight this guy off, and then we’ll run, too. I dunno how, or where, but we’re not stay here. Our world might as well be toast.”

“Chase..” Jameson’s speech slide appeared, and Chase gritted his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut as he, too, began to cry.

“Go, god damn it! Go before I do something really fucking stupid!” He sobbed, not paying any mind to the sadistic grin plastered on the glitch’s face, as his voice cracked and broke. At that, Marvin didn’t take another warning, and, as he helped Schneep up, he cast a spell. Soon enough, it was just him, Jackie, and the monster that had invaded their world.

Speaking of the damned, the glitch began laughing his mentally unstable laugh, and held up his knife, which was stained with orange, “Oh̶,̧ ḩo̧w҉ a͟do͝rable̢!́ You real̴l̷y ́t̀h̨ìnk͜ ͜they̶ ̴c͢a̕n ͠ęsc͟ap͜e̡ me f̨o̵r l҉o̡n̢g͢ ̨j̀ust ̶bec̸ausę ̷y͘o͞u ͢tol͟d́ ̸t͡he̵m to҉ r̷u͏n?! ̨Oh, ҉d͢e͏a͏r͞ ̀r͡ób̶ot̛, ̕I ͞h҉àte to ̡say ̀ít,̢ b͘u͘t́ ̡as͜ ̢s͡o͜on͠ ̢as̵ I͏’m done ͟w̵i҉th̀ ́yo҉u? I’̀m̛ g̷o͏i͡n̴g straight for ͡t͏h̀em̸!̛”

“That’s why you’re not getting a chance to do that.” Chase said, smirking a little. The Anti paused, looking utterly dumbfounded by his statement. They stood there quietly for a moment, until Chase subtly signaled to Jackie, and the hero yelled at the glitch.

“Hey, doofus! You forgetting someone?!” Jackie taunted. The glitch growled in annoyance, and turned to him. Chase took the chance his brother had given him, and used his soundless footsteps to his advantage. He sprinted at the glitch, and withing moments, he was on top of him once more, punching the ever living hell out of him once more. It took until Jackie yelled for him to stop for him to realize he’d knocked the Anti unconscious.

He got off of the demon, and ran to Jackie, picking him up in an almost-bridal style fashion, despite his brother’s adamant protesting, “Shut up, dad. You’re too weak to walk.” He joked, knowing Jackie would be embarrassed by the spontaneous new nickname.

Without looking back even once, he used a little spell Marvin had taught him a while back, and opened a portal to another world.

———————————

Help i’ve been writing this story practically nonstop for like 8-9 hours and i’m already attached to Android!ChaseSo, yep! This is basically all of the super major parts in Android!Chase’s story that I’ve made yet! Also, random note, but uh, the Anti that came in at the end was indeed Monitor (the anti from one of my other aus, if this is the first fic of mine that you’ve read), and he most definitely destroyed the universe they came from. Whether Chase & Jackie ever reunited with Marvin, JJ and Henrik is currently unconfirmed, but don’t loose hope, because I’d absolutely love to be able to expand upon their stories later on! Though, I think my favorite part of this au is Jackie and Chase’s QPR father/son dynamic-

taglist:

@antis-loyal-puppet @tiny-septic-puppet @chaoticcrimsonrose (yes i know you hate the angst but this is only like 50% angst) @rorald-spooks @septic-dr-schneep

Additional tags:

@hotcocoachia @insaneangel18-blog @aquaticember06

#jacksepticeye #jacksepticeye egos #WritersofJack #chase brody #jackieboy man #android chase au #fanfic 2 #i hope you all know i had to die inside just to write this bitch

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trellwords · 6 years

Text

fic scrap, ~2500 words, (law/luffy), law & monet; truth drug interrogation fic set in an indefinite post-raftel future. cw: fast-penta (stolen thoroughly from lois mcmaster bujold); non-consensual drug use; mildly graphic violence

Monet, struck suddenly by a sort of gallows humor, breathed, “You look like shit. Picturesque.” Her own voice didn’t sound altogether right, leaving her in a rasping wheeze. Judging by the coming and going of the guard, it had been maybe three days since they’d thrown her in the closet-sized cell; water and food, if it could be called that, hadn’t been forthcoming since the second. “Maybe they’ll make this your next wanted poster.”

—

The marines shoved her through the door first.

Wet stone and moss, the smell of dungeons, filled Monet’s nose. A second forceful shove buckled her knees, and she only just managed to catch herself on a wing—the one they hadn’t broken, yet—as they forced her forward, and brought Law in after.

Their captors stopped, made to wait while a spare marine hunted for a light switch, and held them both firmly near the door. Monet seized the moment to get a glimpse of Law, her first since everything had gone so terribly wrong, sized him up in the thin yellow line of light from the hallway.

He looked—feral, any semblance of calm long since departed. His hair was wild, coat torn and filthy, lower lip freshly broken and bleeding. An alarming purple bruise bloomed along the whole of his right cheekbone, another below that at his jaw; a third, older than the others and turning yellow at the edges, spread out from his temple. His breath came in a ragged pant, fury shot through with a crippling fatigue. He didn’t look as though he could stand under his own power.

Like her, he was bound and shackled with seastone, though he boasted an additional set around his ankles. It was a measure of how much they feared him, she thought, that they’d taken this extra precaution; it could hardly have been out of necessity, when the leaden weights around his wrists drained him just as well.

With effort, Law looked up, and for an instant their eyes met. Monet, struck suddenly by a sort of gallows humor, breathed, “You look like shit. Picturesque.” Her own voice didn’t sound altogether right, leaving her in a rasping wheeze. Judging by the coming and going of the guard, it had been maybe three days since they’d thrown her in the closet-sized cell; water and food, if it could be called that, hadn’t been forthcoming since the second. “Maybe they’ll make this your next wanted poster.”

The livid dark storm behind his eyes subsided, just for a moment, to make room for an emotion she couldn’t quite place. “Same to you,” he murmured.

He opened his mouth to say something more, but just then the marines found the switch—a single bulb in a wire cage in the center of the ceiling flickered hesitantly to life—and the two flanking Law hauled him up again, pushing him forward.

In the center of the room sat three metal chairs, arranged haphazardly around an exposed drain and casting long shadows into the denser darkness of the room. Two were perfectly bland; one, with heavy armrests and shackles of its own, was bolted ominously to the floor.

Into this last they wrestled Law, one of Monet’s guards joining the two that had dragged Law to ensure the success of their efforts. No wonder, if Law had fought them at every other juncture as viciously as he fought them in this; he snarled and twisted and jerked, the violent struggle an extraordinary display of energy for a devil fruit user bound by refined seastone. Monet felt a kick of cruel satisfaction when the marine that had left her side to aid the others swore and sprang back with a cry: “He bit me! The fucker bit me!”

The amount of trouble he managed to give them, even stripped of his powers and outnumbered three to one, made only a faint bright spot in the bleak wash of her dismay. It was, in the end, a wholly futile attempt: the largest of the marines lost patience with trying to force him down, stepped back, and dealt Law two harsh, efficient blows to the chest and stomach. Monet, riveted by the deadly tight motion of the fist being pulled back, gasped an instant before the first strike landed.

All the air went out of Law in an awful choked noise. While he doubled over in reflexive agony they clamped down his arms, securing the latches; he gagged, and made tiny fishlike intakes of breath. None made it into his lungs for some time.

The iron grip of the guard behind her left Monet unable to do anything more than stand and watch, wracked by sympathy. She felt as though she’d been struck herself. Bile rose in her throat when the marine Law had bitten—still holding his left hand protectively against his torso, she saw—grabbed him by the hair and pulled him upright out of his compulsive fetal curl, rage-darkened face leaving no question as to his intent. She opened her mouth, Don’t—!

A sardonic voice from the door said, “Are you quite finished?”

The effect couldn’t have been better had it been choreographed. Everyone in the room froze in place; all sets of eyes snapped to the man in the doorway.

He was slender, prim in the long-sleeved white and blue of the navy’s formal uniform, the blinding white cloak that denoted him an officer folded carefully over his arm. Even in the faint light of the room it drew the eye, a spotless patch of unmarred snow in the dungeon darkness. This one, Monet thought dazedly, this is the one we should be worried about.

One of the marines standing by Law remembered himself and saluted. “Sir!” The others followed suit, not quite as crisply; even the bitten marine let go of Law, yoked to this ceremonial duty.

Law himself coughed painfully and rasped, “I—am not finished.” He said it from somewhere in the vicinity of his knees, bent low again now that he wasn’t being held.

The newly-arrived officer laughed, a clear sound that rang against the walls, and said, “No. You are. Yes, bring it here.” This last was spoken over his shoulder, gesturing at someone out of sight.

Monet’s horror-muddled brain jerked sharply back into awareness as another marine, this one uniformed as a medic, rolled in a metal trolley. Sitting in a gleaming wicked row atop it were a set of hypodermic needles, each filled with a transparent fluid of a different shade, all equally sinister. The rattle of the cart’s wheels over the uneven floor made Law look up, too; she could tell when his eyes found the needles by the blank absence of expression that flicked across his features, there and gone before the anger closed back in.

The officer motioned for the cart to be stopped alongside him, waved out two of the marines—only the two that held Monet remained—and pulled one of the empty chairs up in front of Law, straddling it so as to rest his arms and cloak across the back. The accompanying medic drew up the last chair, positioning himself at a respectful distance behind his superior.

Law glowered at them both from under the dark fringe of hair that hung over his eyes, not quite managing to sit up. “Who the hell are you?”

“The men they bring in when traditional methods of extracting information are deemed ineffective.” The officer, the interrogator, favored him with a bland smile. “It was determined by the admiralty that, in light of our present tactical situation, breaking all the bones in your body would simply take too much time, and besides—they weren’t sure it’d be properly effective, with that thing you call your psyche. And we have such a good chemist on staff, these days . . .”

Law’s eyes widened fractionally, then narrowed. “You found Caesar,” he ground out. One of their many recent worries, confirmed at last: the world government, denied of Vegapunk and in need of someone with similar talents and looser morals, finding just such a man in their old enemy. Caesar’s skillset, exploitable nature, and desire for vengeance had made him the perfect candidate for the navy’s next top scientist; the recent introduction of chemical weapons into the marines’ arsenal had made them almost certain.

“We did,” the interrogator agreed. Monet did not dare consider what it meant that he was willing to let any information flow the other way; her brain screamed on, anyway. They don’t mean to let either of us leave this place alive—but you knew that . . . “What you see before you,” the man went on, making a sweeping gesture over the needles, “are the results of our latest and most important development. A serum, to extract the truth, only the truth, and nothing but the truth. No broken bones required.”

Law stared at him; so did Monet. Disbelief warred with anger warred with that same blank expression she’d caught just moments ago in his face; she, too, didn’t know what to think. A truth serum? It could hardly be a bluff, unless the marines were far more subtle at psychological manipulation than they let on; somehow, Monet didn’t think so. A real, working truth drug . . .

It would give the marines an impossible tactical advantage, being able to turn any prisoner into a walking databank of the enemy’s plans. Could it be beaten? How could they possibly find out, if neither she nor Law made it out alive to tell of its existence? For a moment, a nightmare vision of the future clouded her nightmare vision of the present; their armada, all of the pirate king’s allies, falling one by one to what would seem like a deep vein of corruption running through the fleets . . . becoming as fragmented as they’d been at the start, everyone for themselves, each crew and crew member at one another’s throats. It would be disastrous; catastrophic. An end to everything they’d worked for, ever since that awesome, impossible moment on Raftel, sweeping the world in its totality.

We have to make it out of here. The thought drowned out everything else in her head, even, for a moment, the fear. We have to make it back, so someone else will know.

She wrenched her attention back to Law. Any other time she would have been sure he was thinking about the same thing, of the broader consequences, of the meaning of the discovery. Just now, though—

His jaw was clenched, his entire form tense. Gone where the biting responses, or any response at all; he looked as though he hoped that physical will alone might be enough to stay what was to come, if he could not get away.

She was dismally certain that he would have preferred the torture.

“I think,” the interrogator said, “it’s high time we get started.” The medic picked out one of the needles and sidled closer to Law—wary, Monet thought, after the trouble his most recent predecessors had faced.

He was right to worry; Law fought even now, even pinned down as he was. It was awful to see, like watching an animal jerking on a chain, nearly enough for Monet to shut her eyes. He didn’t stop until one snakelike strike by the medic finally succeeded; then he slumped, sapped at last of resistance by the knowledge that he’d lost.

That drug acted quickly, but not instantly. Monet found herself wishing it were otherwise; somehow it was utterly worse to watch the anger and desperation in Law’s face drain incrementally away, snapping tension fading to be replaced by a loopy, relaxed cheer. His shoulders lowered, his hands released, the wound-spring anxiety left him. The transformation of his face was absolute; the absent expression was like nothing she had ever seen, nothing—but for the way his whole form seemed to ease—she ever wished to see again.

“It should improve memory as well, this time,” the medic told the interrogator. “A benefit we’d been hoping Caesar would manage to distill. Based on the latest set of trials, it appears that he succeeded.”

“Good,” the interrogator clipped, and launched into a series of basic questions, each easy to cross-check—designed, it seemed, to lull the drugged subject into the pattern of question-and-answer, or maybe just to give it time to take full effect. Law swam in and out of answering dutifully and wrenching back to reticence for maybe five minutes; after that the drug seemed to drown him out in full, leaving only the bleary false-happiness, devoid of anything at all like himself.

[skipped sections]

The interrogator forged on, “What is your relationship with the Strawhat captain?”

This turn in the questioning made Monet suck in her breath. Oh, no . . .

Law’s languid air didn’t change; the hazy smile remained on his face. “Wish I’d never met him,” he said. “Wouldn’t hurt so much, if I’d never met him. Wouldn’t,” his expression went suddenly sharper, a flicker of something dark and furious reaching up from whatever roiling depths lay under the mellowness of the drug, so savage that even the interrogator flinched, “wouldn’t hurt at all, if only he hadn’t gotten in the way.”

This gave them pause. The medic leaned over and and spoke into the interrogator’s ear; Monet, from her position, could just make out the quiet words. “All the reports said they were close, didn’t they, sir?”

The interrogator only gave a minute shake of his head, though his brows drew together, too. He tried again: “Are you and the pirate king lovers?”

Law barked a laugh, making both Monet and the marines jump. He kept laughing, tilting bonelessly forward. Gasped, “God—! To be so lucky—as though he would ever look at me, at someone so twisted . . .” The drug didn’t quite keep the pain out of his voice. “He could never want me.”

The admission was so raw, its extraction such a violation, that something in Monet kicked with rage—not theirs, not theirs! Not even mine . . . She swallowed, hard, kept by a twinge of pain from the hairline fractures already crippling one wing from speaking the sentiment aloud. The lack of congruence between Law’s drug-happy state and how deep they would have had to cut to reach this truth made her feel sick.

The interrogator, evidently determined to cover all his bases, pressed, “Have you slept together?”

“I’ve dreamed about it,” Law informed him, nearly matter-of-fact but for the false smile twisting his features. Monet wished she were anywhere else; wished that she could clap her hands over her ears, go deaf, be swallowed suddenly by the earth, anything to not bear witness now. “What it would be like, if he touched me and I could bear it. I pretend I don’t remember them, once I wake up—have to forget, he doesn’t deserve that—god, he never kissed me back . . .”

“Eugh,” said the medic, too low for Law to hear.

His superior, undeterred, continued. “Does your relationship with Strawhat extend beyond that of allies?”

“We were never allies.” Law’s eyes unfocused into the middle distance, and he hiccuped loudly. “He was my sacrifice, and then I was his. Only his, now.”

There was a moment of silence while the interrogator thought over how best to reframe this line of inquiry. “Do you believe,” he said at last, “that Strawhat would come to your aid if he knew of your capture?”

“In a heartbeat,” Law said, and, in contemplative addition, “idiot.”

#garbage fic for the garbage god #one piece #trafalgar law #harpy monet #lawlu #the amount of unreadable crap i’ve written in the past two weeks is simply appalling sorry universe #fic

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shadow-light19 · 6 years

Text

Pure and Innocent: Chapter 1

Summary: A couple of weeks after the events of Cult Camp, David decides to write Daniel a letter. Daniel decides to reply, originally with the intention of coming back to camp to try to sacrifice the kids again but after being pen pals with David for several days wonders why he wanted to save them in the first place. None of them are pure enough to join Zemoog's paradise. But David is.

Notes: I love David. He's my favorite. I also love angst. I see a lot of fan art on Tumblr of David drinking Kool-Aid and wanted to write a story where he was the one who poisoned instead of the kids.

Next Chapter: https://shadow-light19.tumblr.com/post/174293668667/pure-and-innocent-chapter-2

David sat down at his desk. He had already put the campers to bed, checked the grounds, got the preparation for tomorrow’s breakfast down, planned out the activity for the next day, prepared said activity, and checked on the campers to make sure they were still in bed. He pulled out a sheet of paper and a pencil and got to writing.

Dear Daniel,

Are you feeling better? Everyone here misses you. I’m sorry that your time here at Camp Campbell was so short. Maybe when you’re feeling better you can return and give it another go. Are you eating well? I know you care a lot about nutrition. Have you had any visitors? If I can get the chance, I’ll try to stop by in person. Feel better and hope to hear from you soon!

Your Fellow Co-Counselor,

David Redwood

David looked it over for any spelling mistakes and then placed it in an envelope. He placed it by the door to give to the Quartermaster in the morning.

Daniel glared at the officer that entered the room. He was still pissed that he had been tricked by the most oblivious man in the world into poisoning himself and getting caught by the police.

“Mail for you.”

What? Who would write me a letter?

He took it and read the front.

David wrote me a letter?

He frowned. Daniel opened the letter and read the inside.

Hmm, maybe I could use this to my advantage.

“Officer, could I get some stuff to write a letter?”

The officer grabbed him a piece of paper, pencil, and envelope and placed it on his table tray.

“Thank you.”

Dear David,

I am doing much better, thank you. I would love to be able to come back but I am not sure if I’ll be able to. I have not had any visitors and it is very boring here. If you would like to visit me, I would love that. I hope to hear from you soon as well. What have you been up to at camp?

Your friend,

Daniel Jones

Daniel sealed the envelope and gave the letter to the officer. With any luck, David may be his second chance at purifying the campers.

A couple days had passed with the two writing each other letters every day. David told Daniel everything. They had talked about the arrival of Nikki and Neil, the death of Larry the hamster, the rebellion and resultant burns and more. The longer Daniel wrote to David, the less he wanted to purify the kids.

These children are demons! I don’t understand how David is even alive with all the stuff he’s written me. Maybe I can talk it over with him when he arrives tonight to visit.

He looked over some of the previous letters he had received from David.

It was an accident but it still hurts to know I hit him. The wounds are healing though so that is great. I am looking forward to being able to carry things again. I already forgot that I can’t lift anything and accidentally re-opened the wounds on my hands when Gwen asked me to help her bring out some tables for board games. I guess I’ll need to get more bandages from-

-escape attempt. It was so embarrassing having to have Sal come out again to the camp. This is the third ticket I’ve gotten from the Sleepy Peak police because of the campers. I just wish they could put this energy into the camp activities. I left the bus to the Quartermaster and the bruises healed really fast! I have a couple marks from the tires running over my arm but for the most part, everything else is healed. The good thing though is that Max learned how to cooperate with-

-realize that being run over by a skateboard could hurt so badly! I get that I was the villain in the game but my eye is still swollen from Nerris’s dice and Dolph got some paint in it as well when he threw a paint can at me. I didn’t realize role-playing games were so violent! Everyone had so much fun though and I didn’t want to ruin it for them so I-

It filled Daniel with burning rage. He took several breaths to calm himself down. David had promised that after work, he would come to visit Daniel in the hospital which should be any minute now. Daniel fingered the plastic tip he had broken off of a plastic fork. He had been running it against a sharp end of his gurney and it now resembled a pick. After today, he hoped to be able to pick his cuffs. Daniel looked up as David entered the room.

“Daniel! So good to see you!”

He gave him a hug. Daniel smiled.

“It’s a delight to see you as well, David. How have you been? The campers hurt you again?”

David shrugged.

“I’ve been well, thanks. I got hurt today but it was an honest accident.”

Daniel frowned. He looked at the scars on David’s hands and felt himself bristle.

Behavior Correction Camp.

His mind instantly recognized the event David told him of.

“What did the demons do this time?”

David frowned.

“Just because they aren’t always the best behaved, doesn’t mean they are demons. They are all good kids at heart. They just have trouble acting on it.”

Daniel refrained from rolling his eyes.

Do not give in to negative emotions.

“We had archery today and the campers had a hard time with aiming.”

Daniel’s eyes went wide.

“Wait, you gave them arrows?”

David sighed.

“You sound like Gwen. Yeah, I should’ve started them off with rubber arrows.”

Daniel frowned as David looked upset.

“They broke the window of the Mess Hall, dented my car, ripped several of the tents, damaged part of the theater stage, and clipped my side.”

David lifted his shirt. Daniel noticed the shallow but long cut was bandaged and no longer bleeding.

“It seems like they did more than just have a hard time with aiming. It sounds like they did it on purpose.”

David thought about it.

“Well, Max and Nikki probably did it on purpose. Nerf probably did too. The others ended up not caring once a few arrows caused some damage and it seemed like fun.”

Daniel took a deep breath.

Do not give into the negative emotions!

“That sounds a lot like it was done intentionally, David. I don’t understand why you put up with the demons.”

David gave him a stern stare.

“Please stop calling them demons, Daniel. I understand that you weren’t around long enough to get to know them but they really are good kids at heart. I just know that with enough encouragement, motivation, and love, they can all do wonderful things and reach their fullest potential.”

Daniel regarded David.

Even after all the pain those children have wrought upon him, David treats them with nothing but kindness. It’s almost like he is completely… pure…

Daniel’s eyes widened.

He is pure! Even after all this time here on earth, he has rarely been contaminated by the negative energy, unlike other adults.

“Besides, the campers seem to be enjoying camp! I just want to see them smile. If going through a little trouble allows them to have fun, then I don’t mind! They mean a lot to me so I do whatever I can to ensure that the memories they make at Camp Campbell will last a lifetime.”

What a pure, innocent individual. He’s too pure for this world. The longer he stays here, the more likely it will be for him to become tainted. No, he must be saved.

“David.”

David smiled.

“Yes, Daniel?”

“I don’t think I will be continuing my position at Camp Campbell but I would like to ask if I can visit. I have a family matter that came up so I will be unable to work.”

David gasped.

“Oh, my goodness! Are they okay? Do you need any help? I can give you a ride if you need it or whatever else may come to mind.”

Daniel smiled.

“Oh, no but I appreciate your concern. You are too kind, David.”

David put an arm on Daniel’s shoulder.

“If you ever need any help, Daniel, just give me a call.”

The two chatted for another hour before David bid him goodnight. Daniel watched him leave with a wave and then turned his attention to his handmade lockpick. He was breaking out tonight.

David couldn’t wait to go to bed. He was exhausted. Parents’ Day was a disaster. He found out that Max’s parents were neglectful, Campbell was arrested, and now he and Gwen were the owners of the camp. He looked out the window of the Mess Hall. Thankfully, the parents liked the counselors and had no qualms with them continuing to run the camp.

Huh? What’s that coming up to the archway?

David could see a shadowy figure approaching the entrance of the campground.

“Hey, Gwen. Can you watch the kids for a second by yourself?”

He didn’t wait for the reply as he opened the door and walked towards the figure.

“David! I’m glad to see you!”

The figure stepped into the light.

“Daniel?”

David ran forward and threw his arms around him.

“I didn’t know you were released from the hospital?”

Daniel returned the hug.

“I didn’t say anything because I wasn’t sure if I would be released early or not. I just wanted to stop by for the night and then head out in the morning.”

David stepped back and guided Daniel towards the Mess Hall.

“Have you had dinner yet? Everyone is finishing up right now so if you would like something to eat I could get it for you.”

Daniel linked an arm around David’s.

“I would love some, thanks!”

David pushed the doors open.

“Look who came to visit!”

Everyone’s jaws dropped.

“You let the fucking cultist in?” Max seethed. He stood on top of the table.

“God, David! You’re so fucking stupid! Why the hell would you bring him back after he almost killed everyone last time.”

David recoiled at the venom in Max’s voice.

“W-What are you talking about? He didn’t try to kill anyone last time he was here.”

The other campers started yelling at him.

David was flustered as he tried to calm the kids down. He could feel the burn of tears rising to his eyes.

I don’t know what’s wrong! Why is everyone so upset? I don’t know why they’re so mad at me? I don’t know what to do!

“Quiet!”

David looked at Daniel. The campers instantly shut up.

Daniel was taking deep breaths to calm himself down. He grinned widely and walked passed their tables.

“David didn’t know I was coming but even then, I will NOT tolerate this behavior. You are all done eating so clean up and go to your tents. Now.”

The campers, unsettled by Daniel’s unusual behavior quietly did as told. Only Max, Nikki, and Neil remained.

“You can’t tell us what to do! You’re not even a counselor here anymore.”

Daniel walked forward until he was face-to-face with Max.

“Max. I asked you to do something and I expect you to do it. I told you politely but if you test me any further I will show you what Zemoog’s laws instruct me to do when dealing with obstacles.”

Max stepped back. Fear flashed across his face for a moment before it became a glare again.

“I don’t know why your back but I will figure it out and I will make you regret it.” Daniel cracked his neck and grinned.

“Oh, Max. I’m not staying. I am only spending the night and then I will leave in the morning. I hope to be gone before you all have even woken up.”

Daniel backed away.

“David, don’t worry about the hostility, I told you before I came to visit you! Now let’s go eat together and you can tell me how your day was.”

Daniel pushed him into the kitchen.

David sighed and pressed his eyes hard with his fingers. “I’m sorry I’m not very cheerful today. You deserve a better welcome than the one you got. It’s just… today was stressful.”

Daniel frowned and pulled up a folded chair that was propped on the wall. He sat David down on it and served himself some food. He got a plate for David as well.

“Take a deep breath, David. Don’t let the negativity poison you. Why was today stressful?”

David felt better after taking a breath.

“Today was Parent’s Day. I invited the parents of all the campers to come see how their kids were enjoying camp but I forgot that this camp is a mix-mash of many camps. The owner offered so many different camps to get parents to fund it and so not everything in their pamphlets was accurate. The parents were annoyed for a bit but the day worked out. When we were performing the camps that the parents signed them up for, I didn’t know what Max’s camp was and found out that his parents didn’t even sign him up for one. They just wanted him out of their lives. There is no contact information either so neither Gwen nor I could get a hold of them. I never knew Max’s folks were so cold so instead of pretending like everything was fine, we treated him to dinner. Campbell got arrested because of that and now Gwen and I are in charge of the camp.”

David started to sniffle.

“I j-just don’t know what to d-do.”

Daniel patted David’s back.

“David, you are the kindest adult I have ever met. You radiate the purity of a child. I do not want to see that purity tainted by the lies and deceit of others around you.”

Daniel tilted David’s head up to face him.

“I would like you to go to your cabin and wait for me. I’m gonna make you a drink and then we can do a ritual my religion does in order to free ourselves from all of the toxic negativity in our bodies.”

David sniffed and nodded. He stood up, hugged Daniel again and walked over to his cabin.

Daniel watched David walk out of the Mess Hall. He turned to the suitcase he had brought with him and pulled out his packet of Kool-Aid. He quickly made it in a bowl and poured it into a cup. Then he took out a little bottle and poured the contents in. He dropped the bottle on the ground. Daniel made sure that his sacrificial knife was hidden completely before leaving the building. He noted that no one was outside before he made his way to David’s cabin.

“Here, David.” He closed the door behind him.

“I hope this makes you feel better.”

David gave him a weak smile and took the cup in his hand. Daniel pulled out his suitcase as David slowly sipped the drink.

“I wanted to thank you for your kindness, David.”

Daniel held out a white bandanna.

“You always wear that yellow bandanna so I got you this white one to wear as well.”

David set the half-empty cup down on the desk.

“I really appreciate this, Daniel! You’re so nice! I’m glad we’re friends!”

David took off his yellow camp shirt and tied the white bandanna around his neck.

“What do you think?”

Daniel looked at him.

Even though he isn’t completely wearing white, it is enough for the ritual to be completed successfully.

“I think it looks wonderful on you, David.”

Daniel gestured to the cup.

“If you want to finish your drink really quick, I can ask my Lord for his blessing on you and free you from this negative-rich environment.”

David smiled at Daniel and downed the rest of the cup.

“You really cheered me up today, Daniel. It’s nice to be around such a positive person.”

Daniel smiled.

“If you could lay down on your bed and then close your eyes, I’ll ask my Lord for his blessing upon you. Then you’ll never have to worry again.”

David closed his eyes and laid down on his bed, one arm lying by his side and his other hand on his chest.

Daniel turned the light off in the cabin. David jumped at the sudden darkness.

“Don’t worry! It’s part of the ritual.”

Daniel unsheathed the knife and approached David’s vulnerable form.

“Oh, great Lord and protector of all. I ask for thine blessing on this pure man, David. Save him from the cruelty and strife wrought upon him by the energies that encompass him. “

He held the knife out in his palms. It glinted in the moonlight. He grasped the handle in his hand and raised it above David’s stomach.

“Holy and Reverent Zemoog, protector of the innocent. Take this innocent into your loving embrace and welcome him in the paradise that eludes him as a mortal.”

He brought the knife down.

“Nooooo!”

#cc david #cc max #cc daniel #cc gwen #cc nikki #cc neil #camp camp #camp camp fanfiction

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sarahw-world · 7 years

Text

“A Prince’s Proposal II”

Hey guys!

As some of you may already know, I wrote a one-shot a couple of weeks ago based on a play along left in my inbox about Vegeta proposing to Bulma. It turns out, quite a few people wanted a sequel to the story so, by popular demand, here it is!

I can’t turn this into a full multi-chapter fanfic right now because I’m still fully committed to my fic “A Dark Heart”, but I hope you enjoy this little one-shot and, if people are interested, I might consider writing a proper Namek AU in the future.

(By the way, I’ll have less time to write, for personal reasons, for the next couple of weeks, but I already started the next chapter of “A Dark Heart”, and hopefully I’ll finish it by the end of this week. Sorry to keep you waiting!)

In case you haven’t read the first part of this story and you’re interested, here it is:

https://sarahw-world.tumblr.com/post/160631848374/the-characters-vegeta-and-bulma-au

http://archiveofourown.org/works/10888425/chapters/24225726

I hope you like the second part!

“A Prince’s Proposal II”

Vegeta landed carefully on Namek’s blue grass. Nearby, Nappa and Raditz were partaking in some friendly sparring as they waited for their Prince to return.

He’d spent the past couple of hours inspecting the planet without success, as usual.

The three Saiyan warriors had landed on the small planet three days ago, and so far, they’d only managed to gather up six out of the seven mysterious Dragon Balls Frieza had instructed them to collect for him.

No sign of the seventh Dragon Ball.

And no sign of Bulma…

He run his hands through his hair frustratingly, feeling as if he were running out of excuses in front of his comrades. Vegeta knew they’d already become suspicious about the strange behavior he’d been displaying ever since they’d embarked on this mission.

“Hey, Vegeta!” Raditz said, panting loudly as a consequence of Nappa’s amicable ass kicking. “Did you find it?”

The Prince shook his head, staring angrily into the ground.

“Man… Seriously?” Nappa sighed. “Vegeta, trust me. I know you said we couldn’t kill anyone on this mission, and I’m not even going to ask why, but, you know, if you just let me kill a couple of those green assholes, you can bet your ass they’ll start singing. I’m sure they’re hiding the last one somewhere…”

Vegeta crossed his arms, pinching the bridge of his nose and exhaling heatedly.

He’d fucked up.

He’d fucked up, big time…

The woman wasn’t even on the planet.

He’d given her every last credit he owned in this world and the woman had, very possibly, just taken the money and run. And who could blame her? He probably would had done exactly the same thing under similar circumstances.

And that wasn’t even the worst thing.

Sure, he’d given her the money so she’d be protected, free to go and buy whatever she needed, but Space was a dangerous place, and a gorgeous creature like Bulma would always find herself in danger unless she had a strong man by her side to protect her.

Fuck!

If only she’d accepted his proposal…

Wasn’t he good enough? That was the problem, wasn’t it? He’d been thinking non-stop about the possible reasons behind her rejection and the only thing he could come up with was that the woman was, most likely, repulsed by him.

And why not? He worked for Frieza, after all…

Sure, it was against his will, and the Gods knew the only reason why he hadn’t rebelled against the slimy bastard yet was because he still wasn’t strong enough to defeat him and he didn’t want to die before he could take him down, thus avenging his planet and his people.

He’d even ordered Nappa and Raditz not to kill anyone during this assignment, in some insignificant, pathetic attempt to become a better man.

For her…

And now the woman wasn’t even where she’d promised to be.

“I’m going to take another look. If I can’t find it this time, we’re killing one of those bastards and burning this place down…” Vegeta announced irritably.

“Now we’re talking!” Raditz said happily.

The Prince turned around, ready to take off.

“You two, stay here! And, Nappa?”

“Yeah?”

“Do not lift a fucking finger against anyone or anything unless I say so, you got it?”

The bald man shrugged disinterestedly.

“Sure, Vegeta…”

“I mean it, old man! And the same goes for you too, Raditz!”

Before the long-haired giant could give his Master a response, Vegeta took off furiously into the sky, telling himself that he’d thoroughly inspect the planet one more time before he’d finally have to relent and admit defeat.

Damn it!

He shouldn’t have let her go! Now he’d never see her again!

He’d never hear her giggle as she told him her funny silly stories, and he’d miss the way her cute little nose scrunched up in disapproval every time someone brought her some disheveled space pod to repair. He’d never be able to stare, almost entranced, at that waterfall of turquoise waves and those sparkly blue eyes and…

Wait.

‘What the Hell was that?’

In the distance, he could discern a figure dressed in some kind of orange clothing. As he got closer, he realized it was a male figure, kneeling on the ground by the edge of a lake, seemingly filling up some empty bottles with water, and…

‘No way…’

It couldn’t be…?

“You!” Vegeta yelled irately, immediately increasing his speed.

The loud sound of his voice startled the man, who turned around and, after giving the warrior a quick glance, grabbed the water bottles clumsily and started running towards a cave nearby.

The Prince shot a small ki blast by his foot in warning, making the male stop dead in his tracks. He took down dangerously close to him, approaching him slowly from behind.

“Don’t even try it…” Vegeta said menacingly in a very, very low voice, making the man’s already trembling frame shiver even more.

“Turn around!” He ordered, lifting his chin knowingly at the sight of the cowardly man’s face.

Yamcha.

“I knew it…” Vegeta muttered, grabbing him by the neck of his strange orange clothing and effortlessly lifting him off the ground. His head was spinning in a million different directions. So, she was on the planet! Had she lied to him when she’d told him the weakling wasn’t her mate? And why? Had she simply felt pity for him?

“I fucking knew it… Where is she?!”

“W-Where i-is wh-wh-who?” The terrified earthling asked, deep down suspecting who the warrior was talking about.

The Saiyan sneered, absolutely disgusted by the male’s spinelessness.

This?

This was the man the woman had chosen over him?

What the fuck?

Vegeta knew he was far from the perfect man, but he sure as Hell was a much better choice than some pathetic, wobbly idiot that looked as if he were about to piss his pants.

“The woman! Where is she?!”

“Wh-wh-what wom-woman?”

He brought the Earth male’s face even closer to him, his mouth furiously panting against the pale scarred face now covered in cold sweat.

“Don’t play stupid with me, or the Gods help me…” Vegeta took a deep breath, wanting nothing more than to turn the asshole into ashes right fucking there, but he knew it wouldn’t sit well with the woman, so he made a superhuman effort to keep his rage in check.

“Bulma… Where is she?”

Yamcha frowned slightly.

How did the Saiyan know Bulma was on the planet? Had she told him about their plans? And if so, just how much did Vegeta know about the Dragon Balls and the incredible things they could accomplish?

“H-how do you…?”

“Is she your mate?” He cut him off, incapable of concealing the jealousy now very present in his voice anymore.

“M-my wh-what?”

“Your mate, you fool! Your woman!”

Yamcha’s eyes widened in shock.

So, that’s what it was? Jealousy?

He’d already suspected Vegeta was interested in the woman. The frequency with which he visited the small repair shop was unusual, especially for someone like him, who had subordinates to order around to do menial tasks in his place. And yet, whenever he wasn’t off planet, the Saiyan would find excuse after excuse just to be able to spend time around Bulma. Sometimes even helping her as she worked, for instance, using his enormous strength to lift the heavy vehicles for her, allowing her to get underneath and finish her tasks faster.

The weaker man had undeniably felt envious of how comfortable and open the striking woman always seemed to feel around Vegeta, in spite of how many times he’d warned her about him and about the very dangerous tales Yamcha had heard about the Prince. Tales of death, planet purging and cruelty, and yet, the young woman would treat him almost as if he were a friend.

Still, Bulma had brought Yamcha with her on her trip and not him, so maybe she didn’t trust the warrior just as much as he’d previously thought. Perhaps it was a territorial thing, and if he told him Bulma was indeed his girlfriend, he’d leave them alone. After all, it was only a matter of time before he finally convinced her to be his girl. No matter how many times the woman had refused his advances, Yamcha was damn sure Bulma was just playing hard to get and someday she’d be his, especially once they wished Earth back and he had her all to himself with Vegeta out of the picture for good.

“Y-yes… She is…” He nodded, swallowing hard and awaiting, expectantly, Vegeta’s reaction.

The Saiyan dropped him at once on the ground, roaring desperately in fury.

How could it be? A mere human woman rejecting the Prince of all Saiyans for… this…

It made no damn sense!

Vegeta needed to find her, make her look him in the eye and give him a proper explanation. He deserved, at least, that much.

‘I don’t doubt it…’ She’d said in reply to his statement about him being the ideal mate for her.

“Take me to her!” He violently instructed.

“Wh-what? Ve-Vegeta… Look, sh-she doesn’t… She wants nothing to do with y-you… Th-That’s why we-we left…”

That did it.

Without further warning, the Saiyan tackled him, aggressively jumping right on top of him and trapping Yamcha’s body between his robust knees against the ground.

The earthling didn’t see it coming…

Just like he didn’t expect Vegeta to punch him right on his nose.

Twice.

“Shit! What the fuck?!”

“Be quiet, you idiot! Where is the woman?! Y-you… You are fucking lying! Did you do something to her? What have you done?!”

Vegeta wrapped his strong hands around Yamcha’s neck, ready to literally squeeze the life out of him.

He was lying.

He had to be!

There was no way Bulma had fled the planet in order to run away from him…

“Ve-Veggg…”

“Don’t! Don’t even! You’re not even worthy of pronouncing my name! Where’s the woman?!”

The earthling gave up at last.

His face felt hot and dizzy, and his vain attempts to try to get the warrior’s hands away from his neck were failing miserably…

“P-please… I’ll… I’ll tell you… Sh-she’s…”

Right away, Vegeta punched him again.

“Fuck! Wh-why?! I was gonna tell you where she was!!!” Yamcha asked in shock.

“That’s right, you asshole! You were going to tell me where she’s hiding! What kind of a fucking mate are you if you’re going to betray your woman just to save your sorry ass?”

The earthling squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head and utterly disconcerted.

That damned Saiyan was absolutely insane…

“A-Alright, th-then I won’t tell y-you…”

“Oh, you will! You will tell me right fucking now if you know what’s good for you!” Vegeta threatened.

“B-but I… I thought you just s-said…”

“I was just teaching you a lesson, you fool! Where’s the woman?”

“I… I…”

“You know what? Fuck this shit! Now that I know she’s on the planet, I’ll find her myself!”

Vegeta began forming a ki ball on the palm of his hand, pointing it right at Yamcha’s face. The human, haunted with fear, simply froze in shock, incapable of moving or even breathing anymore.

“You don’t deserve her…” The Saiyan sadistically grumbled.

“Vegeta, don’t!”

A feminine voice suddenly brought him back to reality, and he promptly extinguished his ball of energy, dropping Yamcha’s body as if he were nothing. He turned around, setting his eyes on the owner of a voice he knew as well as his own by now.

“Bulma…” He whispered, his voice a mixture of relief and amazement, not only at finally being able to see her again, but at the sight of the mysterious men that kept grabbing her in an ineffective effort to restrain her as she kept walking towards his spot.

There were two of them, one of them short and bald, and the other one much older, wearing a colorful floral shirt and sunglasses.

“Bulma! Don’t! He’s dangerous!” The younger man warned, still trying to stop her by clutching her arm, while the old guy had tripped and fallen, and was now lying on the grass, lecherously looking down the woman’s skirt.

“I said, let go of me! Goddammit!”

“Bulma! You don’t know…!”

“I know him, Krillin! And now, let go of me!” Bulma commanded furiously, finally managing to get the younger man’s hands off her. “And you! Stop that shit right now!” She yelled at the old man on the ground, whose nose had mysteriously started to bleed. When the man wouldn’t move, she kicked him out of her way, sending him flying several meters away.

Finally free of what the warrior thought the oddest group of freaks he’d ever seen, she proceeded to walk towards him unhurriedly but confidently, finally standing right in front of him. She stared at Vegeta in awe, her shimmery eyes inspecting him curiously as if she couldn’t truly believe he was there with her.

“You’re… You’re here…” She finally said in a low, breathy voice.

The Prince simply nodded, feeling the bundle of nerves he always felt right in his stomach, whenever he was in her presence, coming back to him in full force.

Bulma allowed herself a tiny smile full of wonder.

“You came because of me?” She asked shyly, a shiver of hope hiding behind her girly voice.

“No,” he quickly replied.

Her pretty face immediately fell into an unmistakable sad frown.

“Oh…” She muttered in disappointment.

‘Fuck!’

Why had he even said that?

‘Of course, he’d come for her!’

Damn him and his Saiyan pride!

“Bulma, I…” The Saiyan started to say, trying to find the right way to express himself, but the woman cut him off.

“Wanna go talk inside our house?”

He frowned at that question. How had the woman built a house on a planet she’d just arrived in?

“Your what?”

She giggled, finding his confusion humorous. He looked so damn cute when he didn’t know what was going on…

“My house. It’s right there, inside that cave.” Bulma indicated, pointing to one of the many dark caves on the island they were standing on. Planet Namek seemed to be full of them.

“Are you crazy?!” Yamcha yelled. He was still on the ground, sitting with difficulty on the grass with the help of Krillin and pitifully covering his bleeding nose. “Bulma! The guy just punched me on the nose! THREE TIMES!”

Bulma gave him a quick glance, apparently not bothered at all by his injuries. The truth of the matter was, she was already sick of him and his antics. Throughout their entire trip, he’d been nothing but a bothersome sickly-sweet idiot that kept hitting on her, even though she’d already made it quite clear that she wanted nothing to do with him, at least, not romantically. But the guy just couldn’t seem to take a hint, so she sighed tiredly, crossing her arms and squinting suspiciously at him.

“What did you do to him?”

“What?! What do you mean?! Bulma, the guy is trouble! He…!”

“He told me he was your mate,” Vegeta informed her calmly, inwardly enjoying the complete disinterest the woman was showing in the scarred-faced idiot.

He knew it…

The Earth woman was too good for a pathetic weakling like Yamcha…

“He, what???!!!” She screamed furiously.

“B-Bulma, I… I was just trying to…”

“And he said you’d traveled to planet Namek in order to escape from me,” he declared triumphantly, knowing by now the woman would not be happy with the asshole.

Oh, she wasn’t.

“WHAT?!”

In the blink of an eye she knelt down and aggressively punched Yamcha on the shoulder.

“Ow! And what was that for?!” Yamcha asked miserably.

This was not his lucky day…

“That’s for fucking lying about us, you idiot!” She punched him again.

“What the Hell?!”

“And THAT’s for lying again! How could you say something like that when you guys were the ones who convinced me not to ask him to come?!”

“You, what?” Vegeta asked in surprise and disbelief.

Bulma nodded demurely, suddenly embarrassed about having revealed such a thing.

Would he mock her?

She knew he’d basically proposed to her just mere days ago but, would he still want her after having been rejected so brazenly? If there was one thing she’d learned about Saiyans was that pride was one of their most prized possessions.

“I did…” She whispered, boldly stretching her arm and offering Vegeta her hand.

He took it without hesitation, making Bulma’s heart flutter. She bravely intertwined her delicate fingers with his, affectionately squeezing his strong hand and giving him a timid smile.

“Come with me,” she said, her shy smile widening when the warrior automatically followed her and gently clasped her hand back without a second thought.

They both walked into the cave, under the astounded watchful eyes of all her friends, who didn’t seem to comprehend how it was possible for a powerless woman like Bulma to be so apparently carefree and trusting around the frightening Saiyan Prince.

When they reached the door of the small Capsule Corp. house Bulma had settled inside the dark rock shelter, Vegeta inspected it with inquisitorial eyes.

“Bulma, how…?”

“It’s a capsule house,” she proudly explained. “Remember how I told you my father was a scientist? Our company created all sorts of products that we encapsulated. You see that button by the door?” Bulma asked pointing at it. “If you press it, the whole house will turn into a capsule so small it’ll fit in the palm of my hand.”

Vegeta blinked in surprise a few times. The woman’s claims seemed quite surreal to him and yet, he believed her. He’d gotten to know her and her many talents during the few months they’d known each other, and it had become quite evident to him that her brains were just as brilliant as her beauty.

“Let’s get inside; it’s cold in here…” Bulma continued, opening the door and guiding him through the small home, never letting go of his gloved hand until they reached her bedroom. When they did, she got in, finally releasing him, much to Vegeta’s disenchantment, and she closed the door behind them.

“Sorry about the mess,” she mumbled self-consciously.

Being alone with him inside her room was suddenly making her feel bashfully vulnerable. She sat awkwardly on her unmade bed and pointed towards a small chair in front of her.

“Please, take a sit.”

The Saiyan silently followed her instructions, uncomfortably sitting on the tiny chair as he warily inspected his surroundings. Just as he’d suspected, based on seeing Bulma work on the small repair shop, the woman was a mess. The entire room was cluttered, full of odd books, magazines and pieces of paper, scattered around with other equally unusual items the Prince assumed were ‘feminine objects’. As a man who had spent his entire life surrounded by other males, the whole situation seemed almost dreamlike to him: one moment he’d been alone, miserable and ready to give up on the idea of ever seeing Bulma again, and the next, he was sitting in a closed space with her, in her private surroundings no less, encompassed by her most intimate belongings and, worst of all, almost dazed by the sweet aroma invading his senses.

Her scent…

It was getting harder and harder for him to control his most primal urges, so he chose to focus on Bulma’s actions instead, who was now fidgeting apprehensively with her dress, still sited on top of the messy bundle of girly pink bedsheets.

“So… What’s your wish?” She finally asked.

“I’m sorry?”

“Your wish… You guys are the ones who have most of the Dragon Balls, right?”

“Bulma, how do you…? H-How do you know that?” Vegeta asked perplexedly.

Bulma chuckled sadly. On one side, she was glad to finally find out the reason behind the Saiyan’s presence on Namek but, on the other, she couldn’t help but feel another tinge of disappointment at Vegeta confirming, once again, that she wasn’t the reason behind his visit. Her carefully premeditated plan was quickly vanishing, and it was pretty obvious the Prince had already forgotten about his intentions of dating her.

“Well, if you’re not here because of me, then I assume it’s because of the Dragon Balls. This is just a small planet without much else to offer.”

“I see,” Vegeta replied cautiously.

Was it his imagination or had the woman’s stunning face shown a look of displeasure when he’d lied to her by telling her she wasn’t the real motive behind his trip to Namek?

Did that mean he still had a chance with her?

Perhaps she regretted having rejected him in the past…

“So, what’s your wish?” Bulma asked again.

“Woman, I’m sorry but, I haven’t got the faintest idea of what you’re talking about. We’re here on a mission; we’re taking the Dragon Balls to Frieza.”

The earthling’s eyes widened in shock, and she gasped softly, absolutely horrified by the man’s words.

How could Vegeta do such a thing?

“You can’t be serious! Oh, Gods, Vegeta! You can’t do that!”

Vegeta frowned in confusion, still dumbfounded and not having a clue about what the woman’s problem with his assignment was.

“Why not?”

“What do you mean ‘why not’? Do you have any idea what Frieza could do with that kind of power?!”

Okay.

Now he was really starting to lose his patience. It hadn’t even really crossed his mind what the damn Dragon Balls were for and, if he was totally honest with himself, he didn’t give a crap about this mission either. The only reason he’d chosen to accept it was because Nappa had told him the planet was the same place Bulma was supposedly about to travel to. In fact, the night he’d drunkenly attempted to drown his sorrow in alcohol, he’d been dangerously close to sending everything to Hell and asking Frieza to kiss his ass and find some other idiot to do his dirty work for him, even if that meant the lizard would finally kill him.

After all, what was the point of living?

He had no home, no family, and no real friends besides Nappa and Raditz. And his ascension didn’t seem to arrive, regardless of how hard he trained and worked towards it. He’d been envisioning a pretty dark future for himself, beginning to lose hope, until he met Bulma.

She was the purest, most beautiful thing he’d ever known, and he’d come to believe that maybe, just maybe, if she accepted him as his mate, he’d finally get to experience a taste of happiness for once in his life.

Of course, the woman had declined his proposal. He shouldn’t have been surprised.

When had life actually given him a break? Did he even deserve it? And, with a woman like Bulma?

She was, after all, one of the few survivors of her race, and her planet had been purged and destroyed, which was precisely what he did for a living. The fact that it had been the Ginyu Force and not him, the ones who had done the job, was purely coincidental.

Why would a delicate, honorably good creature such as Bulma agree to have someone like him as a life companion?

Eventually, her soft, understanding voice broke his pessimistic train of thought…

“You don’t actually know what they do, do you?”

Vegeta shook his head, relieved that the woman had finally understood his predicament.

Bulma sighed wearily. “I see… Alright, I’ll tell you…”

And she did.

She told him everything.

She told him about her discovery of the mythical Dragon Balls back in her home planet when she was a young teenage girl. About how she’d built a radar capable of finding the mysterious objects, which, by the way, were way smaller than the ones from Namek. It was during her journeys that she’d met Goku, a child Vegeta had deduced was, in fact, none other than Bardock’s son, Kakarot. Bulma had already alluded to him in the past, during one of their many conversations in her old repair shop, when she’d noticed his tail one day and she’d mentioned she’d once met a little boy who had a tail and transformed into a horrifying, ridiculously strong giant ape during nights with a full moon. Based on the description of the kid and the location of her now gone planet, Vegeta had reached the conclusion that the boy was, indeed, Raditz’s brother.

Bulma explained how she and her friends had finally found the Dragon Balls, all seven of them, and the legend had turned out to be real: the Dragon could make their wishes come true. The Dragon from Earth could only grant one wish, the one from Namek, three wishes.

In her small shop, she’d met an enigmatic green man that reminded her a lot of one of Goku’s old enemies, a strong warrior named Piccolo that had once threatened the Earth but who’d ended up being defeated in battle by the young, third-class Saiyan. The mysterious man had told her a little bit about himself and about his race, confirming her old suspicions that there was another planet, the one Namekians originated from, that also possessed Dragon Balls, and from that very day, three months ago now, she’d started saving as many credits as she could to buy an old, second-hand ship, which she’d been secretly repairing and upgrading during her spare time in order to escape the small planet she’d been living in, travel to Namek and bring her home planet and its inhabitants back to life.

The story was absolutely incredible, and yet, if someone like Frieza was so damn interested in those secretive Dragon Balls, perhaps there was some truth to it.

“So, you see now? We can’t let Frieza get hold of them, Vegeta! Only the Gods know what kind of wishes that bastard would ask for!” Bulma warned him, still perturbed, as soon as she finished her tale.

Vegeta nodded in agreement, not even wanting to imagine what Frieza was planning to achieve by getting the Dragon Balls under his control. If he knew his Master well, and sadly he did, it’d probably be something sinister and insane that would allow him to stay alive and rule forever, such as immortality. Vegeta had already heard stories, through the years, of the despicable lizard employing and enslaving all sorts of scientists in his endless quest for power and eternal youth. He had to admit that, at one point, immortality had seemed extremely tempting to him, if only because it would keep him alive until he was strong enough to bring the filthy Overlord to his knees, right before he ended his life. However, if he pondered such a wish with a cold, analytical mind, he knew that desire would end up being a curse more than a privilege, so he truly didn’t think he’d ever actually pursue such a mindless goal.

“So…” He finally replied, his speech slow while he attempted to put all the pieces together. “One wish to bring your planet back into existence, one wish to resurrect all its inhabitants and… I presume, one last wish to take you and your friends back to Earth?”

That last sentence automatically filled him with despair. The thought of the woman he was in love with vanishing from his life forever was absolutely devastating, and yet, if going back to her home planet would bring her more joy than sharing her life with him, he was prepared to let her go.

“That was supposed to be the plan, but… But then it changed…” Bulma explained reservedly.

This was it.

She was about to reveal her secret wish to the man sitting right in front of him. Bulma knew that if Vegeta’s feelings towards her had changed, she was about to make a fool of herself. Yet again, hadn’t the Saiyan opened his heart to her during his proposal? It couldn’t have been easy for someone like Vegeta, a warrior that very possibly felt uncomfortable expressing his emotions, to declare his feelings for her, and it must have been even more humiliating for him to deal with her rejection.

What had she even been thinking?

She wanted this man…

And she wanted him all to herself, the thought of him moving on and ultimately spending his life with another female made her mad with jealousy.

He deserved to be treated with the same kind of honesty he’d offered her in the past, so Bulma took a deep breath, mentally preparing herself to show her vulnerability.

“I… I don’t understand, Bulma. What changed when?”

“It all changed…” She sighed timidly, her eyes fixated on the lavender carpet on the floor. “It all changed the moment you walked out of my shop, the last time I saw you…”

Vegeta remained silent, feeling his mouth go dry and his heart skip a beat.

Was she talking about what he thought she was talking about?

He didn’t dare open his big mouth and get into trouble if it turned out she was actually referring to something else entirely, so he waited quietly but impatiently for her to carry on with her explanation.

Bulma looked at him, anxiously biting on her thumbnail before finally revealing her secret plans to him.

“One… One wish to bring Earth back into existence, one wish to resurrect all its inhabitants and… Well… I was actually going to do as you just said, and take my friends and I back to Earth but… But, by my calculations, the improvements I made on our ship and the amount of fuel we’ve bought would take us comfortably back to our home planet so… So, there was no need to waste a wish on that if… You know… If I wanted something else…”

Vegeta held his breath momentarily, and his Adam’s apple bobbed nervously.

“What…? What did you want, Bulma?” He asked, incapable of waiting anymore for the woman’s reply.

“I… I just thought… Well…” She raised her gaze again, her soft cheeks flushed in mortification.

The Saiyan thought she’d never looked lovelier than in that very moment…

“Yes?” Vegeta said, gently coaching her into revealing her true intentions.

“I was going to ask the Dragon to bring you to Earth with us… Well… With me…”

Bulma kept staring at him, waiting for some kind of a reaction, but, much to her disappointment, Vegeta’s face remained immobile, void of any expression that could tell her whether he still wanted her back or whether she’d just made a huge fool of herself. And suddenly, it hit her that perhaps he’d misunderstood a small aspect of her hypothetical wish.

“Oh! I wouldn’t have done it without your consent!” She quickly clarified, waving her tiny, nervous hands defensively in front of her. “The… The Dragon can’t actually bring someone to another place without asking them first! So, you know… You would have had a choice…”

“Would you have wanted me to say yes?”

The woman assented meekly.

“More than anything…” She quietly whispered, her fingers fidgeting again with her flowy blue dress, never having felt more exposed and raw in her entire life.

Vegeta shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut in puzzlement before setting them again on her.

“Bulma, I don’t… Forgive me but, I just… I don’t understand. You… You rejected me. Why…?”

“I know I did and I… I felt so terrible, Vegeta!” She declared, now raising her voice passionately. “I was… I guess I was scared, you know?”

“Scared?” His heart sank. “Scared of me?”

“Oh, no! Not of you! Never of you!”

She’d never been afraid of him?

That was a new one…

“I guess…” Bulma kept saying, “I guess I just felt overwhelmed, you know? We were supposed to escape that same night, and… You… Your proposal… From what I know from you and from your, from your words… You weren’t really, um… It was a serious thing, right?”

“Serious? Of course, it was serious! Woman, what…?”

“No, I mean that… I assumed you weren’t just asking about one date. It was a real commitment, not just sex or something like that, right?”

“Of course not!” Vegeta yelled, offended by the woman’s implications. “Is that what you thought I wanted from you?”

“N-no, that’s what I mean… You, you were asking for something real, something serious, the same night we were supposed to leave and, then… And then, there were the Dragon Balls… The night we escaped I even asked my friends if I could bring you with us, you know?”

“You did?” The warrior asked with a mixture of shock and hope within his voice.

“I did.” She confirmed. “But they… They said you weren’t trustworthy, and that you’d just steal the Dragon Balls from us and…” Bulma stopped, shaking her head at the memory. “I shouldn’t have listened to them…” She whispered, almost as if talking to herself. Then she observed him carefully, with those deep blue eyes of hers, and she declared firmly. “They were wrong.”

Vegeta thought for a moment.

Had the woman’s friends been wrong or were their fears founded?

They probably were…

In the back of his mind, he knew that his old self, the ruthless warrior solely concerned about his own survival, whatever the cost, would have undoubtedly jumped at the chance of joining the group of trusting weaklings and betray them in the end, when they’d reach their destination.

But now…

Well, now he wasn’t so sure anymore…

The woman had changed something in him, deeply and fundamentally. And no, he would never dare to call himself good, the Gods knew there was still a special place in Hell reserved just for him because of his past evil deeds but, at the same time, something about Bulma and her generous, vivacious heart, made him want to do better, to be better.

A better man, just for her…

“They were wrong, woman,” he finally answered. “I would have never, ever betrayed you if you had asked me to join you and your comrades.”

Vegeta realized at once he must have said the right thing, because the most enticing, radiant smile drew itself on Bulma’s lips.

“I knew it,” she declared triumphantly. “I knew you’d never hurt me or my friends. They… They told me you were just like Frieza, but I knew… I just knew, deep in my heart, that you’re nothing like him.”

The Saiyan inhaled sharply, deeply offended by that comparison and yet, again, he knew his friend’s assumptions weren’t too far from the truth. He had, after all, done terrible things throughout his life.

“Bulma, I am not like Frieza, but… You must know, my past… My past is not an easy one. I’ve…”

“I know,” she simply replied.

“You do?”

“Yeah… Some people on the planet said things about you, and, you know… Yamcha did as well. He was always trying to warn me about you, trying to make me stop talking to you so much, but… I knew it was because of Frieza, you’re not free to do what you want, are you?”

Vegeta felt his fists automatically clench, his body trembling in rage and shame…

Despite his ‘Prince of All Saiyans’ bravado, he knew he was basically a slave. Sure, he was sometimes generously rewarded for his ‘services’, but even so, he was still a man obligated to serve a Master he despised.

“No, woman…” He confirmed, a deep, ragged breath abandoning his lungs. “I am not free to do as I wish.”

“I see… So… If you, if you could escape from Frieza, if you could…”

“I will never escape from Frieza, Bulma! I’d rather die than go into hiding from that filthy bastard! Besides,” he continued, eyeing her warily. “Do you really think someone, anyone, could hide from Frieza? Sooner or later, he’d find them, and then he’d…”

“I know that, Vegeta! But I don’t mean hiding from him indefinitely! It would be more like… Like buying time. Time until you were ready… You do want to fight him, don’t you?”

The Prince immediately assented.

“And… And if you won, you’d never be like him, would you Vegeta?”

“Never,” he promised.

He was telling the truth.

His only goal in life was putting an end to that miserable, filthy creature, but his old dreams of universal domination no longer appealed to him. If only he had this woman, and he could go live somewhere in peace with her, after getting rid of Frieza, of course, he knew he’d have everything he’d ever need. After all, he’d gone through enough mayhem and destruction to last an entire lifetime.

“Promise?” She asked again, an honest, hopeful smile on her face.

“On my life, Bulma,” Vegeta declared solemnly.

The earthling’s smile widened, brightly illuminating her marvelous features, and she speedily stood from the bed, giving him a strange, mischievous look before turning around and walking towards a small desk placed in the corner. She grabbed some large wrinkly documents and joined him once more, kneeling on the carpet and proceeding to talk excitedly about her plans.

“So, remember when you told me about your planet? That day, back in the shop?”

He remembered. How could he forget? It was the only time anyone had ever asked him about Planet Vegeta out of innocent, harmless curiosity.

“I do.”

“Yeah… So, anyway… You were telling me about how the gravity was higher and about how hard it was for you to get stronger these days and, um… About how, if you… If you could find a way to challenge yourself, you’d become stronger and you’d, uh, what was it called?”

“I would ascend and become a…”

“A Super Saiyan, right?”

Vegeta nodded, stunned at the discovery of the woman recalling one of their many conversations in such great detail. He’d truly believed she’d only ever asked him about his past out of politeness, perhaps even because of boredom, but apparently, she’d really been listening to his stories and concerns.

“That is correct.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought… So…” She carried on, her enthusiasm growing as much as his curiosity. Her energy and positivity were contagious, and he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or if it could get him in trouble really fast.

“So… I couldn’t stop thinking about it ever since…”

“You couldn’t?” He asked, absolutely dumbfounded.

“Nope. You see this?” She enquired, unfolding the white and blue documents right in front of his face. They looked like blueprints, blueprints written in letters and numbers he’d never be able to decipher, not in a million years.

“They were my dad’s…” Bulma whispered, a tinge of sadness hidden behind her chattiness. “They were plans we designed for a special project for one of our planet’s military…”

“The two of you?”

“Yup!” She proudly declared.

He knew it…

The woman was more than just a mere mechanic.

“What…? What is it about?” The Saiyan asked, incapable of hiding his inquisitiveness.

“They’re plans for a Gravity Room! And I just solved the final equations! You know what that means?”

He blinked a few times, shaking his head.

“It means I’m ready to build it! It’d be perfect for you! Think about it!”

“Bulma, I don’t… What…? What does it do?”

“It’s a Gravity Room! I just told you, silly! It would be a closed space where you could increase the gravitational forces by up to 400 times Earth’s gravity. Maybe even more once we perfect the system!”

Vegeta’s mouth opened, but no coherent sounds came out of it.

Was such a thing even possible?

“So, you’d… You’d build this on Earth?”

“Yeah! What do you think?”

“Well, it’s… It’s a generous offer… Perhaps too generous…” He replied, uncomfortably scratching the back of his head, not quite knowing why a woman that had rejected him just a few days earlier was willing to help him this way.

“What do you mean?” Bulma protested in discontent. She’d certainly expected him to be way more excited than this.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is… Why would you do something like that and help me in such a way?”

“Because that’s what mates do.” She sincerely replied. “Wasn’t that what you said to me?”

Mates.

Bulma had actually used the word ‘mates’.

‘What the Hell was going on here?’

“What…? What I said about what?” The Saiyan cautiously asked, still afraid of getting his hopes up. His already wounded pride wouldn’t be able to handle any more rejection. Not from this woman.

She gently put aside her blueprints, still sited on the floor, and she raised her head, finally choosing to put all her cards on the table.

After all, what else had she got to lose?

“You told me you’d fight all my battles with me, by my side.”

“I did…” He muttered, feigning a confidence he didn’t have.

“Then I’d do the same for you… That’s what mates do, right? I know… I know I’m not some strong Saiyan warrior, but… But I have other strengths Vegeta! And if you… If you and I…”

“Bulma, wait, what…? Are you…? Are you trying to imply that you are agreeing to be my mate?”

Bulma nodded in assent, thus putting all his doubts to rest.

She’d said yes…

She was saying yes to him!

“Bulma,” he whispered softly. “Do you really mean that?”

“I do, Vegeta…”

“What…? What made you change your mind?”

“I haven’t, actually… I always wanted to say yes, Vegeta…”

She finally found the courage to get closer to him, gently caressing one of his cheeks, his skin both burning up and unexpectedly soft at the same time. “I wanted to say yes so badly… I just told you, I got scared and… But I do want you, Vegeta, and I’ll help you. We’ll fight Frieza together, as a couple! What do you say?”

What did he say?

Every fiber of his being was internally screaming ‘yes!’ but, for her own protection, he still felt it was his duty to warn her about the danger she was about to put herself in.

“Bulma… I am Saiyan. If I take you, I take you for life, do you understand?” He asked gravely.

“I know...”

She didn’t care. Bulma knew there was no way she’d ever meet a man more perfect and suited for her than the one sitting right in front of her.

“And if you are mine, that means you will also be a target for Frieza. And rest assured, woman, he will find us eventually.”

“I know that, Vegeta! But it’ll be months, possibly even longer before he does. He… He destroyed my planet and all the other ones around it, right?”

“As far as I know, yes, he did, Bulma.”

“So, he won’t even start looking in our side of the Universe for a long time and, when he finally finds us, we’ll be ready for him!”

Vegeta humbly placed his hand on top of hers, stubbornly keeping her touch close to his skin. Never had he been touched in such a gentle, kind manner, and for the first time, he understood all those tales of men that ended up committing insane acts in the name of the women they loved.

Only this time… This time things could, in fact, work out…

Bulma’s plan made sense. He knew the Legend of the Super Saiyan was getting closer and closer, so much that at times he could even taste it. All he needed was a little push, an extra challenge, and this incredible woman was willing to help him with his training and to share her life with him.

This time, he wouldn’t fight alone…

And, when the time came to finally face his old Master, not only he’d be ready, but he’d also have something else to fight for other than his pride and the old ghosts from the past that had constantly tortured and haunted him ever since he could recall.

Next time, he’d have someone to fight for, someone to protect…

Wasn’t the risk worth it?

Even if he died, would he ever find a more honorable cause to give his life for?

But he wouldn’t die, not with Bulma as a mate, by his side…

Vegeta took a deep breath, feeling the adrenaline rushing through his veins. The excitement of knowing a new chapter in his life that was about to begin. He let go of her hand, slowly removing his gloves and standing from his chair. He then looked down at Bulma, who was now expectantly gawking at him, waiting for his answer.

And she got one when Vegeta eventually smiled at her, a real, honest to Gods smile, so unlike his usual playful smirks, which were equally devastating to her. He sat on her still unmade bed and he offered her his rough, ungloved hand, which she took without hesitation, graciously getting up and standing impatiently in front of him.

“Tell me about your planet, Bulma…”

She gave him another one of those dazzling smiles as she shamelessly sat on his lap, landing her pert little bottom on top of one of his strong thighs and wrapping her slender arms around his neck as if it were the most natural thing in the world to her. As if they were already lovers and they’d shared such an intimate gesture many times in the past.

And then she talked…

She told him about her planet: Earth. About her mother and how much she adored tending to her garden and watch over their wide variety of house pets; about her dad, his inventions, his big mustache and his black little cat. ‘Did he know what a cat was?’ He didn’t. ‘Oh! It was the cutest thing ever!’ And strawberries! ‘He had to taste strawberries!’ They were juicy, sweet and ripe. The Prince inadvertently run his tongue across his suddenly very thirsty lips. And she lived in a huge house with a massive swimming pool. ‘Did he know how to swim?’ He did. ‘Oh, then they had to visit her family’s own private island!’ It was so secluded they could indulge in some skinny dipping! ‘Did he know what skinny dipping was?’ He had no idea. She giggled playfully, whispering the meaning of the very naughty expression in his ear. ‘Sweet merciful Gods! Was that true?’

Bulma kept chatting, inundating his now very dizzy mind with hopeful promises of happiness and pleasurable experiences.

Earth was beautiful, she said. And even though it had a wide variety of different climates, the weather was mostly warm where she lived. Warm. And blue. Oh yes, the sky and the water were turquoise blue, just like her hair and her eyes.

‘He liked that color very much…’

And then there was even more delicious food. And books. And music. And trips. And movies. And shopping. ‘They had to go shopping!’ Even though men didn’t usually like that a lot, she said.

‘And he had no idea what any of those things were, but he’d happily indulge her anyway…’

Every now and then, she’d get even closer to him, close enough for him to subtly nuzzle her rosy cheek, and she giggled again, illuminating the whole damn room.

‘How could she even do that?’

And she’d play with her glossy hair, twirling it distractedly between her long, delicate fingers while she told him all he needed to know about her home planet. It had constantly amazed him how someone like Bulma, a woman who enjoyed doing manual labor, could always possess such silky hands.

His eyes would always end up hungrily gazing at her fully exposed creamy neck, and he wanted nothing more than to sink his fangs into her warm, ivory skin and mark her for all to see. Making her his for all eternity. He wondered what the woman would think of that particular custom from his race, would she find it barbarian? If she did, he wouldn’t do it, but something told him the impetuous woman would let him get a little taste of that delicious part of her anatomy.

By the time she was done with her stories, he was nowhere near closer to understanding a single thing about her world, but he’d already decided it didn’t matter anyway. After all, he had no home himself, no roots to speak of, so by joining her, he was sacrificing nothing but his own loneliness.

“So…” Bulma asked in a low voice, nervously biting her lip. “What do you say? Are you coming with me?”

Vegeta grunted affirmatively, nuzzling her cheek possessively one last time.

He would.

He’d follow this extraordinary creature to the end of the world and back.

“Really?” She asked, her eyes brightening with joy. “Oh, Vegeta! You’re gonna love it! You’ll see!”

Bulma hugged him even tighter, pressing her forehead against his, staring into his enigmatic dark eyes. He really was the most attractive man she’d ever met, and not just physically, there was something else about him, a mystery that kept begging to be unraveled, and she’d spend the rest of her life trying to figure it out.

“I’m excited…” She whispered gleefully. “Are you?”

He closed his eyes, overwhelmed by her near presence, her exotic scent pervading his senses as he found himself unable to take his eyes off the luscious lip she was nibbling again.

“I am…” He muttered, closing the distance between them and finally locking his lips with hers, making the woman inhale sharply by the unexpected move. However, she soon allowed herself to relax in his embrace, kissing him back slowly, languidly, simply savoring the moment.

He was real, he was here, with her, and now he was her mate.

It was hard to believe…

There was something sweet, almost childlike about his kiss, and she guessed pretty soon that he probably hadn’t kissed a lot of women, the same way that she hadn’t really dated more than a couple of men before her planet had been destroyed and she’d ended up alone.

In many ways, they were the same. They’d both experienced the grief of loss, but in her case, she’d only endured it for over a period of a few months, while he’d been alone throughout most of his entire life. Now, she was going to show him what having a home, a family and a partner felt like.

They lazily kissed for a few more minutes, basking in each other’s presence. Melding their bodies together, and all Vegeta could think of was how perfect she felt against him, it was as if she’d been specifically designed just for him.

Just as he was about to boldly deepen their kiss a single knock on the door awoke them both from their reveries.

“Bulma!” A voice yelled from behind the door, not even waiting for her to reply before he opened the door. “I’m sorry to bother you guys, but we have a couple of visitors and they look… Wow!”

Krillin’s speech was immediately cut off by the sight of his friend sitting on the lap of the very frightening and very dangerous Saiyan Prince.

“Uh… Um… I’m s-sorry, b-but…”

“They must be your friends, right Vegeta?” Bulma asked sweetly, apparently unperturbed about having just been caught in such a compromising position.

The Prince grunted in assent, a fierce scowl now invading his regal face in a strange mixture of embarrassment and fury at the bald man’s interruption. However, his hands were still greedily clutching Bulma’s hips, obstinately refusing to let his woman go.

“You think they’ll wanna come with us?” She enquired again.

‘Shit!’

He’d been so entranced by his obsession with Bulma that he hadn’t even stopped to consider what Nappa and Raditz would want to do next.

Vegeta sighed, reluctantly releasing her petite form.

“I guess I should have a talk with them,” he finally replied, helping the woman stand up and doing the same himself. “Would it be a problem if they wanted to join us?”

“Of course not! They’re your friends, so they’ll always be welcome in our home!” She replied in all honesty. “Besides, a bunch of strong Saiyan guys protecting the Earth can only be a good thing, right?”

The Prince nodded once more in agreement. Even though he was, by far, the strongest of his gang, having his comrades fighting by his side, defending his woman’s planet, would unquestionably be a positive thing. And he’d make damn sure those two idiots wouldn’t misbehave when they got to Earth.

Bulma grinned with enthusiasm. “Great! See, Krillin?” She declared cheerfully. “Vegeta will take care of everything, don’t worry about it…”

The bald monk couldn’t believe his ears. Was Bulma actually going to bring those brutes back to their home planet with them? And, why the kiss? Had she secretly been dating Vegeta all this time and she hadn’t told them? Even though he had a million and one questions on his mind, he really didn’t dare to ask any of them, afraid he’d make Vegeta snap and turn against him. Besides, Bulma appeared to be so relaxed, so comfortable in his presence that he hoped, and prayed, she’d keep the Saiyan under control.

“Uh, um… Sure… G-Great… I’ll leave you guys alone then… I’ll wait outside…” He stuttered, leaving the small bedroom as fast as he could.

“I’ll go outside to deal with my comrades, Bulma,” Vegeta declared, making a move to follow Krillin, but the woman’s voice stopped him all of a sudden.

“Oh! Vegeta, wait! I almost forgot…” She said, unzipping one of the small pockets of her blue dress and grabbing the small object it contained: the black card the warrior had given her the last time they’d seen each other.

“I believe this is yours,” she whispered, offering him the valuable item, which Vegeta straightaway refused to take back, crossing his arms and shaking his head.

“Keep it, Bulma. Now it belongs to you.”

“B-But, Vegeta… Where I’m going to, I won’t need it…”

“Neither will I,” he shrugged.

Bulma sighed, her hands trembling slightly as she recalled the overwhelming emotions she’d felt when she’d discovered Vegeta had presented her with a small fortune.

“But it’s so valuable, Vegeta…” She whined. “What if you ever have to go on a space trip again?”

“Then I’ll ask for it. In the meantime, I’m entrusting you with it, woman.”

She took one last look at the card, finally putting it back in her pocket, making sure she closed the small zipper.

“Fair enough…” Bulma concluded, now walking in his direction. She placed her hand on his shoulder, slowly running it across his tanned skin until she gently scratched the back of his neck affectively, making Vegeta immediately shiver in desire. “I’ll keep it safe for you,” she promised confidently, wrapping her other arm around his neck.

“Vegeta…” She said in a small voice. “Can I ask you something?”

“What is it, woman?” He asked back, finding it increasingly hard to concentrate with Bulma lazily running her fingers through his wild mane.

“Why…? Why did you give me such a large amount of credits?”

The Prince frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I mean… I didn’t even know you were such a wealthy man…”

“I’m not anymore. I gave you everything I possessed. Everything I’ve earned through my years under Frieza’s service.”

Bulma’s blue eyes widened in surprise.

“What? Oh, Gods, Vegeta! Why…? Why did you do such a thing?”

“Because I knew you were lying, Bulma,” he replied matter-of-factly. “I was pretty sure your boss hadn’t granted you permission to leave the planet. Was I wrong?”

‘Clever Saiyan…’

“N-No… You’re right, he didn’t. But then… If… If you knew I’d probably never come back, why would you…?”

“It’s very simple, woman,” Vegeta said, swiftly cutting her off. “Wealth is power, and when I offered you the chance of being my mate, I promised to protect and cherish you… And…”

He paused, feeling increasingly uncomfortable about having to talk about his emotions.

Vegeta was a warrior, and it just wasn’t in his blood to openly discuss such matters, not even with the woman who’d just agreed to become his mate.

“And?” She asked sweetly, encouraging him to finish his thoughts.

“And…” He exhaled heavily. “Well… I realized that, even if you rejected my proposal, I still wished all of those things for you. So, I… I felt that giving you my wealth was in a way like offering you a part of my power, so that you’d be safe, free and protected.”

‘Gods…’

If she hadn’t already loved this man, she would have fallen for him right after hearing those words.

‘He wanted her to be happy, even if it wasn’t with him…’

She hugged him tighter, pressing her body against him and kissing him softly on the lips one more time, lovingly holding his smooth face between her hands and looking at him as if he were the best man in the world. The adoration in her shimmery eyes was both exciting and deeply disturbing.

Nobody had ever looked at him that way…

“Thank you,” Bulma mumbled gratefully against his lips.

He nodded, not quite understanding how his woman could be so moved by his actions. After all, he’d only done what he’d thought was the honorable thing to do.

“Do not thank me, Bulma,” he answered, carefully removing her hands from his face. If she kept touching him and looking at him like that, he’d end up having his way with her right then and there, and he couldn’t allow himself to do that. A woman like Bulma deserved more than a quick fuck inside a cave in the middle of space. When he finally mated with her, he wanted to do things right, savoring and relishing every single inch of that perfect body.

“I must talk to my comrades before they lose their patience and do something stupid.”

“Oh… Right! Of course!” Bulma quickly replied, blushing like a school girl about her previous brazen behavior. Her flushed skin wasn’t lost on the warrior, who proceeded to walk out of the small room, not before turning around first, flashing her one of those maliciously cheeky smirks.

“All in good time, little woman,” he said. “All in good time…”

Bulma stood on wobbly legs, alone inside her bedroom for a minute.

‘That cocky bastard…’

If he could make her feel like that with just the mere promise of his touch in the future, what would happen when they actually consummated their relationship?

She swallowed hard in anticipation, her heartrate sky rocketing inside her chest. Her mind wandered briefly, trying to imagine what being with Vegeta would be like, not just intimately but in general, living together and sharing their lives as a couple.

She smiled softly, shaking her head and mentally preparing herself to leave the tiny house and join the rest of her friends. There was no point in being nervous or worried about the future. It was time to be brave, get outside, make those wishes and go back home.

Bulma recognized that as long as Frieza lived they wouldn’t be completely safe, but she also knew that both Vegeta and she were strong-willed, intelligent and tough people. Neither of them was afraid of working hard if that meant achieving their goals, and now, they were together, which meant they’d be there for each other when things got hard.

‘It was time for a new beginning…’

By the time Bulma left the cave, Vegeta was already having a private discussion with the other two Saiyan warriors, a few meters away from her small group of friends, who were sitting on a rock, absolutely flabbergasted as to what was going on exactly. Yamcha’s face was not only astonished, but also filled with jealousy and anger. Someone must have brought him an icepack from inside the house, and he kept carefully pressing it against his nose, which had already stopped bleeding but was now uncomfortably swollen.

Bulma stood cross-armed by the rest of the earthlings’ side, waiting patiently for Vegeta to inform Nappa and Raditz of the new situation. Every now and then, the two Saiyans would give her a surreptitious glance, raising their eyebrows in shock and interest, but the woman could tell they didn’t look angry or upset, which she took as a positive sign.

“So… Earth, uh?” Nappa finally asked as soon as Vegeta finished telling the story.

“I’m in!” Raditz exclaimed, looking rather excited about these new developments. “I mean… It seems like a sweet deal. A nice planet, no Frieza for a while and training equipment…” He gave Bulma another look, elbowing the Prince playfully. “Man… She’s really hot! I can see why you like her…”

“If you know what’s good for you, you will never, ever, refer to my mate in those terms again,” Vegeta threatened in a low, menacing voice. “This is not one of your space whores, Raditz. This woman is to be treated with the utmost respect, is that understood?”

The long-haired man waved his hands in front of him, trying to make some peace with his Prince.

“O-of course, Vegeta! Sure! She’s your mate, I get it! It won’t happen again…”

Vegeta nodded, choosing to let the matter go this time. He was in such a great mood that not even Raditz’s antics could spoil things for him.

“What about you, Nappa?” The shorter man asked his subordinate.

The older man shrugged. “You know me, Vegeta. You’re my Prince, I’ll follow you wherever you choose to go,” he vowed.

“Vegeta, that planet is the place my brother was sent to, right?” Raditz asked again.

“That is correct.”

“So… If we bring its inhabitants back to life, that’ll include my brother too?”

“I suppose…” Vegeta responded. “He died in battle, from the description Bulma gave me of his enemy, it must have been against Ginyu. Apparently, he held his own quite well…”

“Really? Wow! I thought Kakarot was supposed to be really weak. His power level must have increased a lot!” He shook his head, chuckling in disbelief. “A brother… Man! I never thought I’d have any family again… It sounds pretty good, if you ask me...”

“I agree,” Nappa said. “That means we’d be four Saiyans in total standing against Frieza when the time comes.”

“Five,” Vegeta quickly corrected, making his two friends stare at him in confusion.

“What…? What do you mean?” Raditz enquired again.

“Your brother has a son, I believe he’s about four years old.”

Nappa couldn’t believe his ears. “Wait, we can breed with them? How…? How is that even possible?”

“I honestly do not know. Perhaps we share a common ancestor… Who knows…” Vegeta responded thoughtfully. “But apparently, the child was strong, very strong for his age. He attacked Ginyu and even managed to damage his armor.”

“What?!” The other men yelled in shock.

“He did. But he did so in a fit of rage, so I assume the little brat hasn’t learned much about fighting or about how to control his power yet. Still, his potential seems promising.”

“A brother and a nephew, uh? Alright then, let’s meet your woman and get this party started!” Raditz declared excitedly, already walking towards the place where the earthlings waited patiently. Before he got too far, he turned around. “Am I allowed to talk to her?” He asked prudently, not wanting to get punched in the face by his Prince before they even got to Earth.

“Sure, but Raditz?”

“Yeah?”

“Keep your hands to yourself if you want to keep them,” Vegeta threatened.

Raditz goofily winked at him, giving him thumbs up. “Gotcha!”

The Saiyan Prince kept his eyes fixated of the taller man. When he stood by his woman he saw how Bulma extended her hand to him, a sign he’d learned was the way earthlings introduced themselves sometimes, and he assented when Raditz gingerly looked at him, as if asking for his approval. Bulma smiled cordially at him and they talked as if they were best friends already.

‘That woman…’

She certainly had that effect on people…

There was something warm and comforting about her, and something told him she had a thing for welcoming outcasts into her vibrant world.

Nappa’s voice brought him back to reality.

“Vegeta,” he said, standing by his side, watching Bulma pensively through his more experienced eyes. “If we turn our back on Frieza… Well… You do realize how dangerous that is, right?”

“I know,” Vegeta agreed. “But I trust that the woman’s technology will get us ready in time.”

Both Saiyans shared a brief silence, until the bald one spoke again, never taking his eyes off Bulma.

“Is she worth it?”

Vegeta smirked, fully understanding the meaning behind his subordinate’s words.

Was she worth walking away from everyone and everything they knew, just to end up living in some backwater planet in a galaxy far away? The consequences and the implications of what Frieza would only consider a betrayal were heavy, and certainly deadly, based on what he’d seen so far, but…

There she was, standing fearlessly in front of one of his men. A warrior that was at least twice her height and could kill her with the tip of a finger, and yet, she remained confident, cheerfully talking to him with a smile on her face.

“She’s worth it, old man…” He simply replied, walking towards her, wanting nothing more than to join her and remain by her side forever.

“Whatever you say, kiddo…” Nappa mumbled to himself, loyally following his Prince with a smirk on his rugged face.

‘Who knew?’

Vegeta was no fool, that much was true. Unlike Raditz, he wasn’t some mindless idiot who thought with something other than his brain. The Gods knew how many stupid decisions the long-haired warrior had made through the years because of his love for the ladies, unlike Vegeta, who’d remained single, always focused on doing his job and training hard in order to increase his strength and avenge his people.

If his Prince had ever had a woman, he wouldn’t know, given how private, lonely and discreet the younger man had always been so, whatever he’d seen in that young woman, it must have been something else besides her very obvious, almost ethereal physical beauty.

And if what she’d said about Kakarot’s son was the truth, she’d be able to give him a child, an heir to carry the Royal bloodline of the House of Vegeta.

A new Saiyan Prince…

Yes, when Frieza eventually found them, they’d be ready and waiting for him, and perhaps it would do his Prince some good to have a mate and a child to fight for this time. Maybe the desire for protection would also get him closer to his ascension, enabling him to finally become the Legendary.

“Oh, you’re gonna love her! You’ll see!” Bulma enthusiastically told Raditz.

“Who’s going to love who?” Vegeta asked, finally joining his new mate and the taller man.

Bulma quickly turned around, smiling at the Prince once more. “Hi, there! I was just talking to Raditz about a girl that’s perfect for him!”

Vegeta interestedly raised an eyebrow at that.

“We haven’t even gotten to Earth yet and you’re already thinking about bedding women?”

“Hey, now! She’s the one who offered, actually…” Raditz replied, slightly embarrassed.

The shorter man chuckled in amusement, glancing at Bulma. “Is that so, woman?”

“Yeah… But it’s only because he asked if all women on my planet were hot!” The woman whined defensively.

Vegeta couldn’t help but shake his head at that.

‘Was he the only one who took things seriously around here?’

“Anyway… I told him there are some really pretty girls on Earth, and I have this old friend of mine that would be great for him!”

“I’m listening…” Raditz replied with serious mockery.

“Well, she’s really hot…”

“I like her already.”

Bulma giggled at that. She liked Raditz, he had a playfulness that definitely was missing on Vegeta, and she could tell the giant rascal was probably the funniest of the gang.

“Yup!”

“What does she look like? Does she have hair like yours?”

“Mmm… Not really… She actually changes her hair quite often… Sometimes it’s dark blue, sometimes she goes blonde… But you’re really gonna love her! She’s a little bit like two different people… She can be really sweet but also real feisty at times…”

“Mmm… Feisty, uh? Sounds good to me… I like women with a backbone.”

“Oh, trust me…” She promised mischievously. “You’re never gonna get bored with this girl…”

Vegeta witnessed the exchange silently, getting the impression that his woman was messing with Raditz in some way. There was a barely concealed humorous tone in her voice that he knew oh, too well. He supposed it was one of the perks of having spent so much time around her, trying to learn as much as he could about the pretty woman.

“Hey guys! I found him!” Krillin’s voice yelled happily.

They all turned around, only to find the hairless man standing with a young Namekian child by his side.

“Ah! Great!” Bulma spoke excitedly. “This is Dende,” she explained to the two Saiyans. “He’s going to make the wishes for us.”

“Why him?” Vegeta inquired.

“The wishes can only be voiced in the Namekian language, apparently there’s also a special formula that must be pronounced.”

The Prince nodded in understanding. “I see… I assume you and your friends have the seventh Dragon Ball…”

Bulma smirked naughtily. “We do.”

“So, are we ready to start the process now?”

“We are. You have the rest of them, right?”

“We do.”

“Then it’ll be easier to bring ours to the spot where you’ve hidden yours.” She looked at Krillin and spoke authoritatively. “Krillin, will you bring the Dragon Ball, please?”

“Um, sure…” The monk quickly replied, having given up on trying to comprehend what the Hell was going on here a long time ago. Bulma looked really chummy with those three Saiyans, so he figured she’d have everything under control by now. As long as he didn’t end up getting killed, he truly didn’t mind whether the crazy woman brought those three guys to Earth or not.

“Oh! I almost forgot! I’ll go get the house…” Bulma said, making a move to leave in order to go back to the cave and encapsulate the small dwelling, but Vegeta stopped her immediately, grabbing her arm softly but firmly.

“I’ll do it. Wait for me here.”

“Oh, um, thanks Vegeta…” She whispered, blushing at the intense look the Prince was giving her. “You just have to press the large yellow button by the door.”

Vegeta assented, letting go of her and following her instructions.

Nappa quietly observed the couple’s exchange and he smiled knowingly at the sight of his Prince falling in love for the first time in his life, something he’d never thought he’d ever witness.

A girly voice got his attention. “Nappa, right?” She asked, politely offering him her hand, a gesture he’d seen her share with Raditz just moments earlier. He took it, carefully squeezing it back.

“That is correct.”

Bulma gave him a warm, welcoming smile, and Nappa rapidly understood how Vegeta was so taken by this small creature. She looked fragile in appearance, but her spirit was brave and exuberant.

“It’s nice to finally meet you…” She replied, and after a brief pause, she asked him the question that had been on her mind for quite a while now. “Um, can I…? Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Did you remove some pieces from Vegeta’s scouter?”

The older man’s eyes widened in shock. “What?”

“His scouter… When he lent it to you? Did you…?”

Raditz laughed loudly at that, intruding in their private conversation. “Nappa borrowing Vegeta’s scouter? Ha! That’s a good one!”

Bulma frowned in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Child, Vegeta is extremely fussy and possessive when it comes to his property, his scouter in particular. He’d never let anyone else touch it!” Nappa answered in all seriousness, he then tilted his head to the side curiously. “What made you ask such a thing?”

“No reason…” The woman replied with a mysterious smile on her lips, which turned into a huge grin as soon as Vegeta came back to her and placed the small capsule on the palm of her hand. Before the Prince had time to open his mouth to ask the reason behind her beaming expression, she threw herself into his arms, literally clinging to him.

“Woman,” he whispered, feeling his cheeks grow crimson. “What are you…?”

“I thought we were ready to go,” Bulma simply answered.

“We… We are…”

“So, I can’t fly,” she pouted childishly. “Aren’t you going to fly me with you?” She asked, fluttering her long eyelashes coquettishly.

His throat bobbed nervously, and it became quite evident Vegeta was not used to such public acts of affection.

“Or, you know… I could ask one of the other guys to fly me there. Maybe Krillin, or perhaps even Yam…”

Vegeta immediately locked his arms around her waist, so greedily and tightly Bulma couldn’t even finish her teasing sentence.

“Over my dead body,” he whispered possessively in her ear, making her giddy with excitement. He simply took off into the sky, and a side-eyed glance told him Bulma had been teasing him purposefully to get her way. “You really are a troublesome woman…” He muttered.

Bulma giggled in delight, nuzzling his cheek and kissing it indolently. “Oh, you have no idea, Prince Vegeta…” She mumbled tantalizingly, already impatient to make her wishes come true and finally get to spend some alone time with the handsome man, who was now groaning and pressing her against his deliciously muscular body even tighter in response to her blatant attempts at seducing him.

He smirked maliciously, barely succeeding in keeping his carnal urges in check.

“Just wait until I have you all to myself…” He threatened wickedly. “You’re playing with fire, little woman…”

She just buried her face in the crook of his neck, protecting her delicate visage from the cold air and inhaling his musky, masculine scent.

“I can’t wait…” She whispered breathlessly.

They all finally landed on the spot where the three Saiyans had hidden the Dragon Balls, and Nappa and Raditz went to find them, beginning the process of arranging them in the right position, with the help of her friends, under Dende’s instructions while Bulma and Vegeta waited calmly, both sitting cross-armed on a nearby rock, silently witnessing the scene.

“Bulma, I’ve been thinking… If Frieza eventually comes to this planet himself…”

“It won’t matter…” Bulma cut him off, having guessed already what his concerns were. “The Dragon Balls will be useless for a while after we make our wishes.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah… And even if they are back to normal by the time Frieza gets here… Well, let’s just say that I talked to the Namekians, and they’ve told me they’d rather die than letting that asshole use the Dragon Balls…”

“He will do just that, you know that, right?” Vegeta kept warning her.

“I know… And again, it won’t matter…” Bulma coolly replied. “Once the Earth is restored, so will our Dragon Balls. So, we can bring the Namekians and their planet back to life in the future anyway without Frieza’s knowledge.”

Bulma felt Vegeta’s shocked eyes on her, wordlessly staring in admiration.

“I am a genius, after all…” She smugly stated, lifting her chin in an arrogant but devastatingly attractive stance.

Just as the Prince was about to retort in some futile attempt to bring his woman down a notch, Krillin interrupted them once again.

“Um, guys? We’re ready!”

“Alright,” Bulma declared, standing up and shaking off the dust from her lovely bottom. “Let’s go, Prince Vegeta…” She said walking in Krillin’s direction without even giving her mate a second glace.

“That woman…” Vegeta mumbled. A side of him felt deeply offended by her woman ordering him around, and the other one just followed right behind her like some unpracticed, naïve young boy.

“Bulma, you never told us what your third wish was,” Krillin enquired. “I assumed it was to take us all back to Earth, but you said…”

“That’s exactly what it is, Krillin,” Bulma confirmed, running her eyes over her friends and the three strong Saiyan warriors that awaited her orders diligently.

Who would have thought that three of the strongest, most intimidating warriors in the entire Universe, would be now on their side?

She had a good feeling about the future…

Bulma placed one of her hands firmly on the monk’s shoulder, addressing him with friendly self-assurance.

“Let’s ask the Dragon to take us home.”

Krillin smiled, also happy about the idea of returning to their home planet as soon as they could. He knew Bulma had told them about the possibility of using the third wish for something else and simply use their old, disheveled ship to travel back to Earth, and he wouldn’t have minded it too much if it meant eventually getting back home, but it was good to know they wouldn’t have to endure another unpleasant journey squeezed together inside the tiny vehicle.

“They’re coming with us, then?” He asked again, his head pointing at the three Saiyan fighters, trying to confirm the orders he had to give the young Namekian.

“They are.”

“All three of them?”

“Yup!”

“Are you sure about that?”

Bulma’s dirty look was all the answer he needed before he found himself waving his hands in front of her, apologizing nervously.

“Alright! Alright! You know best…”

Krillin knelt on the grass in front of the small Namekian child, giving him his final instructions while Bulma stood by Vegeta’s side. She could feel her heart hammering furiously inside her chest, eager to be reunited with her parents and her friends back home. She couldn’t wait to see them all again, and to show her mate her old home, inviting him into her life.

“Is everything alright?” Vegeta asked, his sharp Saiyan senses immediately noticing her nervousness.

She nodded anxiously in reply.

“Everything’s fine. I’m just excited, that’s all…” She whispered with her heart in her mouth.

Dende’s loud voice filled the air, pronouncing enigmatic words in a foreign language. Soon, his words provoked a reaction, and the enormous orange spheres flickered, shining brightly as the green Namekian sky darkened and a magical, artificial night fell upon them.

The Namekian Dragon, Porunga, finally materialized before their very bewildered eyes, and his large, red eyes illuminated briefly every time one of the first two wishes were made. The earthlings jumped and cheered in pure joy while the Saiyans stood stoically, although barely able to conceal their stupefaction at the unusual spectacle they were a part of.

Just as the Namekian child commenced the process of making their third wish, Bulma felt the warm, comforting presence of Vegeta’s fingers intertwining with hers, apparently not caring about his gesture of affection being seen by anyone else, especially now that everyone’s eyes were focused on the gigantic magical creature in the sky. She immediately squeezed back, responding to his touch and closing her eyes shut as she felt her body slowly evaporate, vanishing into thin air in a bright flash of light.

When she finally dared to open them again, the familiar rays of the Sun almost blinded her.

Her planet’s sun…

Vegeta blinked a few times, fleetingly disoriented by the unfamiliar sounds, scents and colors surrounding him. Despite having spent most of his life traveling throughout countless Galaxies, discovering and exploring a myriad of planets, it was always confusing visiting a new world.

But this time, he wasn’t visiting.

This time, he was here to stay.

He felt his mate’s hand clasp his lovingly one final time, wordlessly attempting to get his attention. When he finally set his eyes on her, he allowed the ghost of a smile grace his lips. And in that moment, the unadulterated joy in her features made him realize she’d never looked more beautiful.

“Welcome to Earth, Vegeta,” she whispered merrily in his ear, placing a warm, feathery kiss on his strong jaw.

Vegeta raised his eyes, admiring the magnificence that now enveloped him.

Earth: a planet that was beautiful, warm and blue, just like his Bulma.

He loved them both already…

Thanks a lot for reading!

In case someone is interested in my other works, you can find them here:

http://archiveofourown.org/users/SarahW/pseuds/SarahW

https://www.fanfiction.net/u/8599955/SarahWDBZ

#vegebul #vegeta #bulma #fanfic #fanfiction #dbz #Dragon Ball Z #sarahw-world #writing #nappa #raditz #krillin #yamcha #YES! I'M MAKING LAUNDITZ HAPPEN!

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