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theidiotwhowritesthings · 1 year

Text

INEVITABLE

din djarin x female!reader

warnings: language, mild self loathing, mentions of the slave trade

word count: 3,679

Summary: It was like fate or destiny had planned from the beginning for you to be on the run from the law. With the words 'I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold’ adorning your rib cage you always wondered what was worse: Knowing you were bound to being wanted or realizing your soulmate was a cursed bounty hunter. You had a mission to finish and no bounty hunter, soulmate or not, was going to stop you.

a/n: The soulmate!AU won the poll (sort of, i know there's 8hrs left but i don't foresee the other competitors having an underdog moment here)! Happy 500/1000 followers celebration!! I'm thinking this will be less than 10 chapters, but it def will be more than the 3 I promised. B/c despite knowing I have no self control and learning from that I continue to make the same mistakes smh. Drabble ideas always turn into full length stories in my dumb head🤡 but I'm excited for this one.

01: UNSTOPPABLE FORCE MEETS IMMOVABLE OBJECT

"a soulmate isn't someone who completes you. no, a soulmate is someone who inspires you to complete yourself. a soulmate is someone who loves you with so much conviction, and so much heart, that it is nearly impossible to doubt just how capable you are of becoming exactly who you have always wanted to be." ⏤ b.s.

You weren’t sure what was worse: knowing for most of your life that you were destined for a life on the run, or knowing that the universe deemed your soulmate to be a bounty hunter. It was some cruel twist of fate, you supposed. The galaxy was bored and decided to entertain itself by creating the most ironic coupling of all time. Honestly, if you weren’t one half of the said coupling you’d probably find it funny.

The cantina you sat in was like any of the other thousand you had sat in before. Messy, loud, and filled with people you had no desire to speak to. This one was especially worse because it was situated in Cratertown on Jakku of all places. It was a scud cantina in a scud city on a scud planet. The only reason you were still here was because you were desperate⏤ desperately searching the entire galaxy for a person who may or may not exist. You just wished this mysterious figure hadn’t picked cantinas as their signature hideaway spot.

You tapped the table twice, and the server passed by to fill your drink once more. You shot them a grateful smile and thanked them. Despite having barely any credits left in your pocket, you’d have to leave the server a hefty tip. You’d been here hours now, and he had put up with you the entire time. With a grumble of annoyance, you pulled a crumpled paper out of your jacket’s inner pocket and began to scratch out the last cantina on this damned planet. Bad news, this was a bust. Good news, you’d never have to step foot on Jakku again.

“I can bring you in warm,” A voice spoke from behind you, “or I can bring you in cold.”

There they were. The words imprinted on your left rib cage since you turned thirteen.

If this wasn’t your twentieth time hearing it then you might be impressed.

You slowly turned in your chair, hands raised, and stood. Now, you faced the Trandoshan bounty hunter holding you at blaster point. He chuckled as if he had already won. You shook your head, feigning disappointment, “Would you really arrest your soulmate?”

The Trandoshan narrowed his eyes at you in confusion. “What?”

“Well,” You shrugged, “It’s bound to work and get me out of a mess one day.”

You kicked the chair forward causing it to slam into the bounty hunter’s legs. He stumbled, grunting in pain, and you grabbed his hand to twist the blaster in a direction that wasn’t your face. He tried to reach out to hit you with his other hand. Before he could land a blow, you tucked your boot under the chair and kicked it up so it slammed into the Trandoshan’s jaw. He fell back, the blaster coming loose in his hand so you could snatch it away, and then it was you holding him at blaster point.

“First off, you bounty hunters need to get more creative with your opening line.” You said. The bounty hunter growled and began to sit up. “Second, I’ll give you only one opportunity to walk away with your life. It’s your choice⏤” He jumped up to lunge at you, and without blinking you fired his blaster into his chest three times. When his body lay on the cantina floor, twitching, you sighed and tossed the blaster to the ground. “You literally didn’t even let me finish my offer, you ass.”

You glanced around, dusting off your hands, and realized the entire cantina was staring at you. With an awkward chuckle, you raised a hand and offered a sheepish smile. “My bad. Sorry.”

Knowing it was past time for you to get the kriff out of here, you bent over and rifled through the Trandoshan’s jacket. You found the holopuck and rapidly blinking tracking fob⏤ tossing both into your pockets. Then you rose only to kneel down again and steal the man’s credits. You threw the entire bag of coins onto the table you were sitting at and waved at your server who stood behind the bar with wide eyes. It’s not like the bounty hunter needed them anymore.

Hopefully, you’d be done fighting bounty hunters for the night. As you stepped out into the chilly, desert night air you paused to scoop the tracking fob out. The holopuck you would keep to add to your growing collection, but the fob was better off destroyed. You slammed it into the side of the cantina and let the broken pieces fall into the sand.

Maybe the galaxy had actually done you a favor. You stopped believing in the magic of soulmates a long, long time ago. So fate choosing to make your supposed soulmate the worst kind of being who floated around the universe was the best deterrent you could think of.

Din Djarin wasn’t sure what was worse: knowing for most of his life that his soulmate was going to be a criminal of some kind, or knowing that it was going to be his job to bring you in. If he really thought about it, took the time to write out a pros and cons list, then he’d have to choose the former rather than the latter. Din didn’t like thinking about it for very long though because the thought that fate deemed him the kind of person only worthy of love from someone who had done something to make them deserving of a bounty was a bit depressing. For the longest time, Din liked to pretend that maybe it was all some kind of misunderstanding. Maybe you were an Empire bounty and the reason you were wanted was because you fought against some Imps. It wasn’t a solid theory because he had only picked up a bounty for the Empire once and it had been Grogu’s. Din didn’t plan on picking up an Empire bounty ever again⏤ not that they’d want him to considering his history with Moff Gideon and the absolute pain he’s caused them since finding Grogu.

That didn’t leave Din with many better options.

For the longest time, Din had been nervous before a hunt. What if this was the time he ran into the person fate chose for him? After a while, he grew a bit numb to it. Hardened. The longer he worked as a bounty hunter the more okay he was with being on his own. The thought of having to care for a soulmate exhausted him. Din started to hope he’d find you just so he could be rid of the entire situation. After Grogu came into his life, he realized what a lonely existence he had backed himself into. Things changed then, but having a foundling⏤ having a clan⏤ was more than he had ever hoped for in life.

Now, Din just ignored the words carved into the skin overlying his left rib cage.

“Patu.” Grogu cooed from the satchel hanging from his shoulder. Din glanced down to see the little boy trying to wiggle out to reach for a stand where a merchant was grilling some kind of meat. Din chuckled and paused long enough to buy two sticks. Grogu chirped happily when he handed both to the boy, and then he kept on his way.

Nevarro had certainly improved since the shoot out with Moff Gideon ages ago, and according to Karga it was only supposed to get better. Speaking of, he finally spotted the man standing in a plaza where⏤ Din paused and tilted his head. Even Grogu stopped eating to stare up at the statue. IG-11 was coated in bronze and stood tall in the middle of the plaza like decor.

“Ih.” Grogu chirped.

“Huh.” Din added. This was a new addition to Nevarro.

“Mando!” Karga cheered and he turned to greet the man who was dressed in ornamental robes. Din smirked to himself. It was good to see the power hadn’t gone to Karga’s head. “Welcome!” When Karga was close enough he held an arm out and Din didn't hesitate to clap his arm in a shake for greeting. “What brings you here?” Din didn’t respond and just tilted his head. “Right. Of course. How about we… handle these matters inside?”

Din motioned for the man to lead the way then followed. The building Karga led him into was just as ornamental and fancy as the robes he wore. Din once again had to resist the urge to laugh under his breath. They went all the way up to what he was assuming was Karga’s office.

“This is nice.” Din nodded.

“It is, isn’t it?” Karga dropped into his desk chair with arms outstretched. Din stayed silent and Karga’s grin and arms both fell. “You’re mocking me, aren’t you?”

Din shook his head, glad to have his helmet covering his wide grin and keeping his tone dry, “Mocking the Magistrate of Nevarro is beneath me.”

“High Magistrate.”

“Mhmm.” Karga waved his simple response away and dug through a drawer to find a few holopucks.

Din nodded toward them. “So, is it normal for the High Magistrate to still dabble in guild work?”

Karga shuffled through them. “Only sometimes, and only for my favorite hunters.”

“Well, in that case, I’ll take the one that pays the most.”

“You always do.” Karga picked one puck out of the masses and activated it. A woman’s picture appeared and Din’s first thought was that you were pretty⏤ beautiful even. The High Magistrate said your name and Din wondered if he had heard it before. Something about it felt… familiar? No, that wasn’t it. Din shook his head. It hardly mattered. “She’s a tricky one, I should warn you. Many hunters have tried and failed, Mando. She works in the slave trade.”

Din huffed. That was proof that a pretty face wasn’t everything. No amount of good looks could wash away the sins of someone dealing in flesh. If Din had to pick a flavor of quarry he hated the most, it would be this kind.

The sound of laughter followed you down the ship’s ramp as you trailed out with a smile. The Mon Calamari crew you had managed to hitch a ride with gave you a hearty farewell, and when your feet hit the landing pad you spun to point at them with a smile of your own.

“Thanks for the ride, you guys! Stay safe, and keep Horchobua away from the spotchka,” You teased the navigator of the ship’s crew, “He was one bad round of sabacc away from owing me his first born.”

Another rowdy laugh from the crew, and the captain called back, “Stay out of trouble!”

“I always try!” You replied. It just never seemed to work.

The stars had aligned and luck was in your favor when you left Jakku. Circumstances that had startled you as it was far from the norm in your case. You had been able to get a lift from Jakku to Bespin. The city in the clouds that the Mon Calamari crew had dropped you off on was gorgeous. Though maybe you were that much more impressed since you were coming from a shitty desert world that made Tatooine look clean.

You readjusted the small cross body bag you wore over your jacket. The triangular shaped bag held literally everything you owned. A spare set of clothes, a cloth bag filled with a dozen holopucks, a datapad that only held a simple map on it, some toiletries, and a small, silver jewelry box you couldn’t get open. Everything else you owned was on your person. A simple, worn down shirt and pants that had seen better days. A thick jacket that you were able to strip on and off based on the weather⏤ though you usually kept it on since the back and arms had some armored padding. Boots that were close to falling off your feet from use. A metal dagger strapped to your right thigh, and a weapon tucked away into a shoulder holster under your jacket that you never used. It was a simple existence, but you didn’t mind it. Growing up with absolutely nothing to call your own, this was actually an example of you thriving.

Over the last seven months, you had gotten very good at sniffing out cantinas. It was a gift. Some people could sing, some could paint, you could be dropped off into any city in the galaxy and you’d be able to find a cantina in under half an hour. It was a bit of an old talent to claim, but you’d take what you could get. When you stepped into the cantina, eyes drifted to stare at you. Unbothered by the attention, you winked at the closet patron and pressed in further.

At the bar, you claimed the attention of the Twi’lek working today and ordered a drink. While he poured it, you leaned forward. “I’m looking for someone. A man named Reaper.”

The bartender set your drink in front of you. His eyes darted to your neck before darting back up to your eyes. He shook his head. “No.” You tossed the right amount of credits on the bar along with a small tip. Before you could walk away, the Twi’lek stopped you. “Hey, that it?”

Rather than cause a scene, you tossed a few more credits on the bar and wandered away while the Twi’lek muttered in his native tongue behind you. You dropped down at a table in the back of the room which would give you a clear view of the entire space. Absentmindedly, your hand lifted to brush against the band of solid gold wrapped around your neck. Anytime people saw it they assumed you had more credits than you actually did. That wasn’t even the part that bothered you most. What you hated was the fact that the attention it drew made it very hard for you to forget about it.

You took a large swig of your drink and then leaned back in your seat to wait. The information you had included three facts. The informant you needed to find was called 'Reaper' which you personally thought was obnoxious. He was hiding away in a cantina every day for the same amount of hours waiting for customers. And, he would only offer you the information you wanted in exchange for information of equal value. You had the right kind of tip to trade, now you just needed to find the bastard.

For the first couple of hours, you just sipped on your drinks and people watched. It was how you killed time while in these cantinas waiting for a person who might not ever come. Right now, the bartender was hitting on a human woman who had absolutely no desire to reciprocate the action. Two Rhodians sat at the table beside you gossiping about work. The back booth had a Wookie, who you initially was concerned would be after you, but a Trandoshan had joined them and their interaction had all their attention on one another. Most, if not all, the patrons of this cantina were of the upstanding citizenship kind. The exact opposite of Jakku. In fact, you were the only armed person in the room.

It was during that third hour that a new face wandered into the room. Though, calling this stranger a new face seemed redundant considering the helmet he wore left him faceless. A thrill went down your spine at the sight of him. Wow. Mandalorian. You had met a man in Tatooine who wore Mandalorian armor, but he told you it didn’t belong to him so you assumed that didn’t count.

This man was covered head to toe in polished, silver beskar armor. Seeing the rare metal made you realize why it was valuable. A cloak, shredded and torn at it’s end, hung from around his neck and you clocked every weapon you saw. Blaster on his hip. Incendiary grenades on his belt. Rifle shells on the bandolier across his chest and around his right calf⏤ though you saw no rifle. Vambrace with no visible weapon, but you’d garner a guess it hid one. Floating in behind him was a circular egg shaped pram. It was closed and you wondered what kind of dangerous tool he hid away in there.

The darkened, t-shape visor scanned the room and you realized it stopped right on you. What were the chances this dangerous looking Mandalorian, who wore a pair of binders on his belt next to the grenades, wasn’t here for you?

You hadn’t been the only one to stop and stare at this towering man, and eyes seemed to follow him as he slowly crossed the room. Honestly, you were a bit insulted. He wasn’t even trying to be subtle. Did he think so little of you as a quarry? You knew you had a reputation. You had killed and escaped enough hunters to earn one. Yet, this bounty hunter didn’t hesitate while walking through a crowded room to arrest you. The absolute gall of this shiny Mandalorian.

He stopped right in front of your table⏤ a silent statue. You shifted on the bar stool and sat forward so your back wasn’t pressed against the wooden backing and the balls of your feet were planted on the floor. Your hand lifted out to your glass, and the Mandalorian reached for his blaster at the same time. You raised an eyebrow in question while slowly bringing the drink to your lips. As much as this last drink had cost you, you weren’t about to let a drop go to waste. The Mandalorian continued to stand stiff as his hand rested on his still holstered blaster.

Then came the words.

“I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold.”

The Mandalorian’s hoarse voice drifted through a modulator and you felt the hairs at the back of your neck rise in response. It was silly what this man’s voice alone had done. A whisper at the back of your mind said this was different. This was not the same as every other encounter you had with those words. Your stomach churned nervously. Fear clawing its way up into your chest. Please, no. Maker, no, no. Not now. Don’t let this be the moment.

“Would you really arrest your soulmate?” You replied, and you hated how the words came out hushed and quiet rather than confident and bold like you usually said them. The Mandalorian didn’t flinch. He didn’t do anything. The fear began to diminish and you let out a sigh of relief. Thank the Maker. He wasn’t your soulmate⏤ he was just an intimidating Mandalorian with a very attractive voice. You knew how to deal with that. Pasting a smirk on your lips, you shrugged. “You scared me for a second there, Mandalorian.”

You shoved the table forward, as hard as you could, while leaping up. It slammed into the man’s abdomen right below where his beskar chest plate provided protection. A grunt of pain left him as he doubled over, and you quickly grabbed the bar stool you sat on and swung it around to hit the Mandalorian. It made contact with his shoulder’s pauldron and helmet. The bar stool exploded into shards of wood⏤ losing it’s battle against the beskar⏤ but it succeeded in knocking the man to the ground. Without missing a beat, you sprinted for the door and then out into the night air. Based on that interaction, Mandalorians weren’t nearly as tough as the rumors stated, but, unlike him, you weren’t going to underestimate your opponent.

You didn’t slow your pace, slipping in and out of darkened alleys, and breathed a sigh of relief.

That had been close.

The pram floated closer, doors open, and Grogu leaned out to stare down at him in question, “Buir?”

Din laid on his back staring up at the ceiling in shock. ‘Would you really arrest your soulmate?’ Dank farrik. Shit. He let every single other curse word he knew ring through his mind and still it wasn’t enough. Soulmate. He found his soulmate. Din had a bad feeling the moment he stepped into the cantina and spotted you sitting at a table alone. The bounty puck didn’t do you justice, and Din had felt drawn in by your magnetic gaze. It only got worse when he got closer. He should’ve taken that as a hint and left⏤ called Karga from hyperspace and let the man know that he was turning down the bounty.

But, no. Din made the egregious mistake of speaking to you, and his punishment had been your timid response. Your voice was quiet, and it felt like a soft caress. An intimate whisper. In moments of weakness, he always wondered what those words would sound like, but he never imagined what fate actually gave him. Din had been starstruck. Face bright red in warmth yet frozen in disbelief as his mind reeled for an answer.

You spoke once more, this time voice filled with confidence that matched the smirk you suddenly adorned, and before he could even register your words you were attacking him. If anybody Din knew had seen the fight⏤ if it could even be called that⏤ he’d have to hang up his armor and die in shame. It was embarrassing how easily you bested him with a table and bar stool, and if you hadn’t caught him so off guard it never would've happened.

Grogu had hopped out of his pram and now stood on Din’s chest so his small, green hand could repeatedly pat his helmet in question. Technically, his son had seen that display, and for the first time he was glad Grogu wasn’t fluent in Basic.

“Yeah, ad’ika.” Din groaned. “I’m okay.”

He rolled to sit up and realized the entire room was still staring at him. Din rose stiffly and set Grogu back into his pram. Awkwardly, he gave the room a small wave and cleared his throat. “Sorry.” For good measure, he tossed a few credits on the table that had knocked the wind from him and made his leave. Din paused outside the cantina and opened his mouth to heave an annoyed sigh, a curse slipped out with it, “Dank farrik.”

Din Djarin had found his soulmate.

Well, fuck.

mando'a translations:

ad'ika: little one /// buir: parent (father)

taglist: @onceinamando @hrtsforpascal @lil-dragon-draws @harriedandharassed @aheadfullofsteverogers @elfamosotoga @the-anchored-sailor-girl

(i've decided to start a separate list for this story b/c i just can't bring myself to post the AFS taglist in fear that someone on there doesn't want me spamming them with this story sorry i have anxiety lol)

[next chapter]

#the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #female reader #reader insert #mando #mando x you #mando x reader #mandalorian fanfic #mandalorian x you #mandalorian x reader #greef karga #grogu #soulmate!au

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pyrothagreat · 1 year

Text

Survivor’s Guilt (Jenny)

Survival

The act or fact of living

Continuing longer than another person

A continuation of life

Despite difficult conditions

Guilt

The fact or state of having done something wrong

A feeling of worry, unhappiness, or remorse

For an offense whether real or imagined

Sometimes

I wonder why God decides to pick roses

That still need time to grow

He can take you while you’re young

And can take you when you’re old

If Heaven had visiting hours

I’d visit everyday

Just so that I can see my sister

Instead of connecting with her in my dreams

On February 5, 1992

Virginia Marie Brown graced the earth

Her smile lit up the world

Her presence made Connecticut feel loved

But I knew her

As Jenny

Jenny was more than my sister

She was my best friend

I knew love was real

Because I was related to her

Different in blood type

But united by the same last name

She survived through the pain

And her spirit never changed

Jenny fit the description of what it means to be beautiful

When I needed inspiration

Here was Jenny

When I needed someone to tell me who was right or wrong for me

There was Jenny

When I needed someone to keep me in line

So I can stay in tune with my purpose

Jenny was there

But

On March 11, 2016

My heart left my body

When I found out that Jenny had passed away

Till this day

I wished that I could trade places in that car accident

Time, and time, and time again

I begged and pleaded with God

Asking if He could just erase her tragedy from the news

Wondering why

At the age of 24

Why He decided to call my sister home

Questioning why I let time slip away from us

I still wonder why my sister had to take her place amongst the stars so quickly

God, please answer this question if you hear me!

I’m guilty

For not holding her the many times she needed me

I’m guilty

For not going out with her to that party

I’m guilty

For not holding her hand tighter after bible study

I’m guilty

For not appreciating when she tried to hook me up with a lady

I’m guilty

For not taking her calls when she needed to vent to me at night

I was stressed out in college

And always in a fight

It's not an excuse

I blame myself because I should’ve spent time with her

While I write this piece

With these tears falling from my eyes

God, please hear me

If you allow Jenny to come see me tonight Tell her that I apologize

I’m sorry if I let you down

Now I have to speak to you

When you’re six feet in the ground

I wish that Jesus would come back and bring her back to life

So I can watch her walk down the aisle and become a wife

This is my survivor’s guilt

These are the scars that I can’t heal

But maybe that’s the price of love

Sometimes you have to lose someone in order to remember how valuable they are

And even when they pass away

You can’t let go of the person God sent from above

They’re still apart of you

I pray that when my time comes

God opens up His Doors

Allows me to repent

For me to hug my sister and see her some more

Dear Jenny

I wish we had more time

And grew old past fifty

I didn’t want you to leave the family so quickly

Rest now

I’m protecting our siblings

I got mom and dad

Please forgive me if I let you down

And for the times I made you mad

You’re the worst heartbreak that I’ve ever experienced

Yet you still give me signs you’re alright

I don’t need to be curious

Jenny you’re in a better place

A place where I want to be

I miss and love you

Save a spot in the mansion for me.

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chimchimsauce · 3 years

Text

Fairest

Is beauty a blessing or a curse? All of her life, princess YN was told that her beauty was the greatest gift her late mother ever gave her. But when her looks attract a man cruel and bloodthirsty, YN begins to think that her greatest asset is the beginning of her demise.

“Checkmate.”

YN cannot help the grin that spreads across her face as she utters the word, watching as her older brother groans with disdain.

“You always win!” he complains, acting very much like a child.

“That’s because you always get too caught up in the current move, dear brother. The future decisions are the most important ones.”

YN’s older brother, first in line to the throne of their small country Ameris, huffs and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Chess is like war. You get too focused on winning battles that cause you to lose the war. I certainly hope that won’t be the case for our kingdom . . .”

YN is only jesting. Her elder brother is an excellent leader and will make a wonderful king. He’s just really impatient with games.

“I’m sure I can beat you next round!” her brother says playfully.

They both know it’s unlikely, but YN clears the board and begins to set up another game. As she’s placing the last pawn, a knock comes at the door. One of her handmaidens opens it, revealing one of their father’s special guards.

YN’s breath catches ever so slightly before she schools her expression back into one of unbothered royalty. It’s always so hard to ignore her secret lover when other people are around, but she knows she must. A relationship between her and her father’s most trusted guard would cause a scandal that would undoubtedly get Wonho’s position revoked. He’s worked his entire life to get good enough for a spot on the King’s royal guard and there’s no way YN would do anything to sabotage that.

“His majesty has requested your presence,” Wonho says, not even looking YN in the eyes.

He’s much better at keeping his emotions in check.

YN’s brother stands, tapping his finger on the chessboard.

“Lucky thing I’m being summoned, or else I would have absolutely destroyed you in this game.”

YN laughs, maybe a little more politely than she would if Wonho wasn’t standing at the door.

“I’m sure of it,” she says, “Feel free to come back anytime to play again.”

YN’s brother nods and leaves her quarters, following after Wonho. Being the heir to the throne means that YN rarely gets to see her brother. He’ll be gone for weeks, sometimes months at a time as he tours the neighboring countries to learn everything he possibly can, as well as maintain a positive relationship with their allies. Ameris may be a small country, but it is located in the perfect spot for transcontinental trade and filled to the brim with valuable resources. One could dig in a mine for just a few moments and emerge with a diamond the size of a robin’s egg.

Thankfully, Ameris has not had any problems with its neighboring countries in hundreds of years. The last war was ended by YN’s great great great grandfather and peace has blanketed the region since then.

Well, for the most part. In the last several years, the Eastern kingdom of Moonbyss has been steadily expanding and taking over small, unclaimed villages. They have not breached any borders or broken any treaties, however, so there is no cause to worry quite yet.

YN sighs as her thoughts shift back to Wonho. Their secret love affair has been going on since they were teenagers. At first, Wonho was just an attractive boy who was willing to indulge her wanton fantasies, but soon enough an affection bloomed between them. It’s so hard to pretend not to be in love with him, especially when he grows more handsome by the day.

“Thinking about him, my lady?” YN’s lady in waiting, Irene, asks her.

Irene is YN’s closest confidant and friend. She knows almost everything about the princess. Ever since she arrived in the castle from abroad two years ago, they have been inseparable.

“Of course,” YN says, standing and walking over to the window that overlooks her private gardens.

She opens the glass door and steps outside, her skin warmed by the sunshine. It’s an absolutely beautiful day, cloudless and blue. Birds chirp sweetly and the scent of flowers wafts on the breeze. The princess stops at the fountain in the middle of the garden, sitting on the bench and looking into the bubbling water. YN often made wishes in this fountain when she was younger, tossing in coins that reflected the sunlight back at her. More recently, though, she’s only wished for one thing - to be with Wonho. Her father, although he loves her, would never allow a union between them. Her older brother, however, has promised to allow YN to marry whoever she desires once he takes the throne on his thirtieth birthday.

He does not know that someone already has her affections, but no matter. YN is not worried about being married off. While her brother is the only prince in the kingdom, the king was blessed with twelve daughters and YN is the youngest. Every available man of power in the kingdom and the surrounding countries have already been wedded.

YN has Irene bring her a book to read and she settles in, getting comfortable in her garden. The hours pass by quickly as she is sucked into the tale, but soon enough a shadow blocks her reading light.

The princess looks up and is shocked to see Wonho standing in front of her. Alarm flares up inside of her. The two of them have agreed to never be seen together in daylight.

“Won-”

“Your Majesty,” Wonho says stiffly, “The King requests an audience. I have been asked to escort you to the throne room.”

YN hesitates a moment. She can tell that something is wrong by the strain in his voice. Something must really be bothering him for the guard to allow it to leak into his words. She wants to ask him what’s wrong, but she never knows who is watching so she simply stands, handing her book off to Irene who stands beside her.

“Very well,” YN says, trailing after him and back into the castle.

He walks three paces in front of her, leaving her to stare at his back. So much about him has changed in the last few years. He’s gained an immense amount of muscle, something that YN has really grown to appreciate during their midnight endeavors. It’s a shame that everything is covered up by his uniform, but she must admit he looks dashing in it.

As they walk, YN notices that Wonho isn’t the only one acting strangely. The various maids and butlers who usually flit around and chatter pleasantly amongst themselves are dead silent, walking with perfectly straight backs and zipped mouths. The princess notices a few pitying looks tossed her way and something cold settles in her stomach.

What’s going on?

Wonho knocks on the throne room’s closed doors. They are ever so carefully opened a few moments later and Wonho leads YN into the grand room.

Her father sits on the throne, a smaller one empty next to him. It always makes YN sad to see her father by himself. The Queen passed away only a year ago and was her father’s closest friend. The late Queen was kind to everyone, even YN’s mother - a poor girl her father discovered in one of his hunting trips. Apparently, YN’s father was so taken with her mother that he simply had to add her to his harem and rarely visited any of his other concubines afterward. But it didn’t last long - YN’s mother died shortly after her birth. Everyone says that she left YN her ethereal beauty, a fact that led YN to being hidden away in the castle for the majority of her life.

“You’re the most valuable diamond in all of Ameris,” her father told her once, “It’s important that few people know of your existence.”

It had saddened YN when she was younger that she could not attend the lavish parties and balls like her elder sisters and brother, but she came not to mind once Wonho came into her life. It mattered not if other people thought she was beautiful - as long as Wonho desired her, that was more than enough.

Standing to her father’s side is YN’s brother. The jolly air that had surrounded him mere hours ago is gone completely now. He looks furious, an expression YN has rarely seen on his face. He’s looking at a man who stands before the throne, a crown placed perfectly on his head.

Visiting nobility?

The man turns as the click of YN’s heels sounds out against the marble flooring. YN’s step falters as a large, nearly terrifying grin spreads across his face. He is incredibly handsome, but the smile on his face does nothing but creepy the princess out.

“There she is,” he says, quickly extending his hand towards her.

YN, uncertain, looks at her father who gives her a stiff nod. Hesitantly, YN places her hand in the stranger’s grasp, making sure to school her expression as he places a cold kiss that lingers too long against her gloved hand. The princess has never been more glad to be wearing gloves.

“And who do I have the pleasure of meeting?” YN asks, careful to watch her throne.

“King Seokjin Moonbyss, your highness. I must say, the rumors of your beauty do you no justice. You’re much more radiant in person.”

YN’s blood freezes in her veins. This cannot mean anything good.

“Thank you,” YN says, a slight tremble in her voice.

The man has still not released her hand.

“YN,” her father says, giving her an excuse to look away from this man - no, this monster - beside her, “King Seokjin has asked for your hand.”

YN barely squashes the shout of protest that so desperately wants to escape her throat. There’s no way this can be happening! No way! Her eldest brother is just three years shy of taking the throne, three years more of having to tiptoe around with Wonho. No way she can get married, especially to someone from so far away.

“Excuse me,” Wonho says, speaking up from his place behind YN, “I thought King Seokjin was already married.”

Relief flows through YN. If Seokjin is already married, then surely this is an error.

“She failed to provide me with a male heir, so I had her disposed of,” King Seokjin says simply, glaring at Wonho, “Do not question me again.”

There is not a trace of remorse in his voice at all, nothing but anger.

YN begins to tremble.

“Father -” she begins.

“King Seokjin has made us an offer I cannot refuse,” he says, cutting her off, “And besides, YN, you’ll be able to be Queen. You never would have had that opportunity here.”

YN’s father would normally never make this sort of decision, especially not for the daughter he tried so hard to keep hidden.

“Of course, sweet YN,” King Seokjin says, “You are free to reject my offer if you so desire. I would, however, be forced to declare war on Ameris. After all, this country is the most resource rich of all the lands. It’s a shame. It would have been so much nicer to make a positive connection with this beautiful country. I wonder how much of its splendor will be left once my troops march through it.”

The threat is crystal clear. YN has to marry this King or her country will suffer for it. YN glances at her father and brother, seeing the fear that’s in their eyes. Ameris is much too small to fight Moonbyss and win, especially since the eastern country has been gaining a lot of territory very rapidly. YN swallows. In a matter of hours, her perfect daydream has been shattered.

“I would be honored to marry you, King Seokjin,” YN says, trying her hardest not to cry.

She can release her tears once she’s in the safety of her own chambers. She cannot show any weakness in front of this man.

“Beautiful and smart,” King Seokjin says, “It will be my honor to have you as my bride. After all, the most handsome man in all the world deserves the most beautiful bride of them all.”

YN never really thought much of her beauty. She’s always heard it was a blessing, the only one her mother ever left her, but right now it feels like a curse.

“I pray that you’ll join me for dinner this evening, my betrothed,” King Seokjin says.

“I would love to,” YN says even though the thought of having to spend even a single moment more in this man’s presence makes her want to hurl.

“You best retire to your quarters, my love. Your father and I have much to discuss before this evening. I’ll send someone for you when I’m ready.”

The dismissal is clear. YN turns swiftly and leaves the room, Wonho following closely behind her. She walks much too fast to be considered ladylike, but she does not give a damn, wanting to be as far away from the throne room as possible.

“YN, wait!” Wonho calls out to her.

He grasps her wrist, uncaring of who will see, and pulls her to his chest. As soon as the warmth of him touches her, YN loses all composure, breaking down and sobbing into his pristine uniform.

“Wonho,” she cries out, grasping him as close as she can, her fingers creasing the silk he wears, “I don’t want to be Queen! I want to marry you!”

YN feels something wet fall against her head. Based on the way his shoulders shake, Wonho is also crying. She hasn’t seen him shed a tear since one of his best friends was murdered on a mission.

“What are we going to do?” YN asks into his chest, her voice muffled, “I don’t think I can bear being apart from you, especially with someone as cruel as the King!”

“We’ll figure something out, YN, I promise,” Wonho says, pulling away just enough to give YN a salty kiss.

“At least once more,” YN says once their lips part, “I must have you at least once more.”

“Your wish is my command, princess,” Wonho says, pulling her along to her chambers.

The two fall into the sheets, both knowing that this is the last time despite desperately wanting to spend eternity together.

On the other side of the castle, Irene makes her way through the hallways, stopping at a grand door and knocking three times. No one answers, so she swings it open, prepared to wait for as long as it takes.

Maybe half an hour later, King Seokjin opens the door, looking quite pleased with himself. He doesn’t greet Irene, instead instantly walking over to her and pinning her against the wall, his lips meeting hers passionately. Irene barely has any time to catch her breath, but she doesn’t mind at all, too enamored with this man she knows is only using her.

When he was only a prince, Seokjin was infamous for being a womanizer. All too often, he lured servants and noble girls alike into his chambers, whispering promises and pressing kisses against their skin only to leave them abandoned like trash when he grew bored of them. Irene was one of those servant girls, but Seokjin has kept her around for longer than most. A part of Irene is convinced it’s because she’s special to him, but she knows it’s really not true.

Seokjin has been obsessed with YN, the secret twelfth princess of Ameris for five years now. Ever since he spotted her while visiting Ameris with his late father, he wanted her - needed her. After all, she’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, trying as he might to find another. His late wife was incredibly beautiful as well, but she didn’t compare to YN. No one else was worthy of her but him. It was YN that drove him to murder his own father and take the throne before he was supposed to. After all, Seokjin has never been a patient man.

Seokjin pulls away from Irene, looking unbothered as ever.

“No good,” he says, “Simply imagining that you’re YN does nothing. I’m tired of waiting.”

His words sting Irene’s heart. She tries not to be bitter, but jealousy is a powerful emotion, one that overshadows the genuine affection she feels for princess YN.

“Well,” the King asks her, “Who is it? The one YN claims to be in love with.”

The King rolls his eyes, gripping his fists tightly. How dare YN love another when he’s already claimed her.

“It’s Wonho,” Irene says, pushing down her feelings, “the guard that accompanied her today.”

“A guard huh? How dare he think he deserves someone as beautiful as YN!” he says, furious.

Seokjin is terrifying when he’s angry. Irene tenses, preparing for the worst. Instead of gripping her hair and tossing her to the floor like he usually does, Seokjin grabs a decorative vase and tosses it against the ground, watching as it shatters into a million pieces.

“You didn’t strike me,” Irene says, shocked.

“I have been practicing,” the King says, “After all, it would be a shame to make a single mark on YN’s perfect body.”

Much too soon, Irene is knocking on YN’s private chamber door.

“Your majesty,” she calls out softly, “Your betrothed has requested your presence.”

YN rolls over to Wonho, tears in her eyes. He blinks them away, wanting to remember this moment clearly.

“One moment,” YN calls out, listening as Irene walks away.

“Run away with me,” YN pleads, her voice desperate.

“You know we can’t,” Wonho says, his eyes sad.

“Yes we can!” YN insists, “You know this country better than anyone. We can get up right now and flee and -”

“YN,” Wonho says, “What about the country? You know we’ll be forced to go to war if you disappear.”

YN sniffles.

“I don’t think I can live without you,” YN confessed, “And if I can, I don’t want to find out.”

Wonho is silent for a moment before he sits up, an idea in his mind.

“What? What is it?” YN asks him.

“What if you didn’t?”

“What?”

“What if you didn’t have to live without me? I’ve heard rumors amongst the staff of a poison you can take that will put you in a deep slumber for a fortnight. If some was mixed into your dinner tonight, it can seem that you’ve been poisoned and passed away. Then when you awake, you and I can disappear together.”

YN brightens. Even though being unconscious for a fortnight doesn’t sound pleasant, anything will be better than having to marry KIng Seokjin. Besides, she trusts Wonho with her life.

“Okay,” YN says, agreeing right away.

“Are you sure, YN?” Wonho asks her, “You will end up getting rather sick for a few days before the slumber.”

YN nods eagerly.

“Yes, anything,” she says.

“Very well.”

Wonho hops out of bed, pulling on his clothes as quickly as he possibly can.

“I’ll get everything ready. YN, go to dinner with the king, alright? I won’t be able to see you after this so as not to arouse suspicion. I love you, princess.”

He leans down to kiss her.

“I love you more,” YN says, watching as Wonho slips out of a glass door and into the gardens.

Unbeknownst to the lovers, King Seokjin is outside the door, his ear pressed against it to hear everything. He had come to escort his beloved like a sweet fiance would, only to hear his to be wife scheming to get away from him.

He’s never been so angry, but he suppressed it, not wanting to let YN know that he’s been here. He grabs Irene by the arm roughly and leads her out into the hallway, bending over to whisper in her ear.

“Make sure to add enough of the poison to YN’s food to keep her under for longer than a fortnight. Put as much of it in as you can without bringing her to the brink of death.”

“Are you sure your -”

Irene’s question is cut off when he backhands her, one of his elegant rings drawing blood.

“Do NOT question me!” he says, “Do as I order!”

Irene rushes off to do as the King says, tears brimming in her eyes. She’s never regretted being Seokjin’s spy until now, too blinded by love. She should have warned YN, should have helped her disappear with Wonho - someone Irene knows truly loves the princess. King Seokjin is just obsessed with her beauty and determined to own her like she’s some sort of object to be bought and sold.

Peeking around the corner, Irene sees Wonho pouring a liquid into the soup bowl meant for the princess. When he leaves and when the coast is clear, Irene snatches the vial from the counter and empties the rest of it into other dishes reserved for the princess before refilling the vial with water and placing it back where Wonho left it.

“YN, I’m so sorry,” she whispers to herself before fleeing into the night, never to be heard from again.

At dinner, YN pretends not to notice the odd taste in her food. It’s obviously been tampered with, but YN doesn’t let it show at all, eating properly and conversing with King Seokjin as much as she can bear. YN misses the look of glee in his eye as he drinks from his goblet, still believing that everything is going to plan.

YN starts feeling ill once the final course comes around. She quickly asks to be excused and King Seokjin offers to walk her back to her room. YN accepts, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to make it on her own with the way the room begins to spin.

For the next three days and nights, YN is in and out of consciousness, the world swirling around her in a nauseating mix of bright colors and fuzzy shapes. When she closes her eyes at midnight of the third day, her thoughts are on Wonho and the fact that the next time she opens them, she’ll be free to be with him.

But YN does not wake up. Not for a fortnight, not ever. Seokjin, furious, intends to find Irene and hang her for murdering his beloved before realizing that she’s nowhere to be found. It’s easy enough to frame Wonho for her murder and a matter of hours after YN dies, Wonho follows her from the gallows.

At his request, YN is preserved and dressed in a wonderful white wedding gown, still looking very much alive. He marries her anyway and has her crowned, determined to have her even in death. She’s too beautiful to be buried underground, so he commissions a glass coffin to display her in, putting her corpse in his bedroom where no one else can see her. King Seokjin finds that he does not mind YN being dead. She’s much less bothersome in passing, much easier to fall to his will.

King Seokjin stands before her, placing his hand flat against the cool glass of her coffin. Even in death, YN is the fairest of them all.

#yandere bts #yandere x reader #kim seokjin x reader #wonho x reader #bts angst #bts oneshot #kim seokjin #seokjin ff

544 notes · View notes

bri3ll3 · 3 years

Text

sparks

pairing: steve rogers x black!reader, steve rogers x natasha romanoff (mentioned briefly)

summary: you and steve were soulmates you just never knew you weren’t the only soulmate he had.

warnings: soulmate au, kind of lovers to strangers trope

a/n: once again i am using my past heartbreak as motivation to write.

not proofread

if you would like to be on my taglist please contact me!

i had once heard that people could have more than one soulmate and i believed that, there was no way that out of seven billion people in this world only one was meant for you.

steve rogers was someone who i never expected to be my soulmate, i expected someone who worked a normal 9-5 not a superhero.

many people said that you knew when you found your soulmate because it was like a magnet drawing you two, that was exactly what if felt like.

steve and i hit it off instantly and before i knew it four years had passed us by, it was great and i would never have wished for anything else.

sadly something in our relationship had shifted, steve was distant but so was i and honestly i had no idea how it happened.

when steve was working out i noticed that he had the mark of an hourglass on him, i instantly knew that he had more than one soulmate. from then on i started to distance myself even more, whenever steve would get into bed i would turn away from him or whenever we would hug or kiss i would make it short.

steve had definitely taken a notice to it, there wasn’t any way he hadn’t. steve distance himself as well, doing all of the same things i did.

part of me hoped he would bring it up and part of me hoped he didn’t, i didn’t want to loose him but i also didn’t want to hold him back from his other soulmates love.

everyday i looked at that mark and wondered if he knew but there was no way he didn’t.

months passed by and he still never brought it up, at this point we were just walking on eggshells.

we sat at the dinner table eating in silence like we had been for the last couple of months, i looked up at him and saw him reading the paper and eating.

once we finished eating we both took time to wash the dishes together like we always did, i sadly realized that this might be the last time we ever do the things we normally do.

i felt myself start to tear up but i quickly blinked them away, i wasn’t going to cry it was only going to make this harder. we finished washing and drying the dishes before walking into the living room to catch up on the recent show we’ve been watching.

halfway through the episode i looked over at steve who was already looking at me, he had a sad expression on his face as he looked at me and i knew it was time.

“i know” a tear falls down his face as the i look at him “i’m sorry” he apologizes and i shake my head as he starts crying. i shed a tear seeing him in such a broken state “it’s ok, i knew along time ago i was just waiting for you to come to terms” the tears fall from my eyes and he wiped them away.

“i don’t want to leave you” he continues to cry and i cry with him “you have someone who’s waiting to meet you and had been all of their life, i had my turn and i wouldn’t trade it for anything” i grab his hand and hold it tightly “i’ve had an amazing five years with you, go out at meet whoever it is you need to meet i’ll be ok” i do my best to assure not just him but myself that everything will be fine.

“i love you” i cry even more as the words leave his mouth for the last time “i love you too steve so much” i place my hand on his cheek and rub it with my thumb.

he leans in and kisses me one last time, we put all of our passion and love for each other into that kiss. i pull away and smile at him sadly “go steve i’ll be alright” i rub his arm gently before he gets up and walks away.

i look down at my arm and see the mark start to fade away, i watch as the mark leaves my skin.

sparks eventually burn out and sadly so did ours

#briellewrites☁️#black!reader #steve rogers x black female reader #steve rogers x black!reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers angst #avengers angst #marvel angst #mcu angst #chris evans #chris evans x black reader #chris evans x black women #chris evans x reader #Spotify

166 notes · View notes

ragingbookdragon · 3 years

Text

It's As Real As You And Me

Batsis x Kyle Rayner One-Shot

Word Count: 2.1K Warnings: Explicit Language, Angst,

Author's Note: If you cry while writing, it means you're doing it right...right? -Thorne

**********************************************************************

“Do we have to get out of bed today?” he groaned, silencing the alarm that had been snoozed at least three times before. “I don’t wanna get out of bed today.”

She snorted at him, rolling rather slowly to face his bedside. “I don’t think we have to.” She said. “We’re old. We can do whatever we want.”

He thought for a moment, old eyes trying to focus on the woman beside him; but without his glasses he couldn’t see a damn thing. “Breakfast at Pop’s?”

“That sounds wonderful,” she replied, rising from the bed. “I’m showering first.”

“Oh no you don’t!” he retorted, trying to hurry after her and she laughed, pushing him back onto the bed.

“Stop that, Kyle, before you pop your hip outta place again.”

“Ah, it’ll pop back in, (Y/N). Quit worrying.”

(Y/N) frowned at him, pointing, “You keep on and I’ll talk the kids into putting us into an old folks’ home so I can keep an eye on you better.”

“You wouldn’t do that,” Kyle griped. “We’d lose the only independence we’ve got, and you don’t wanna do that.”

They glared at each other for a minute before smiles split across their faces and they fell into laughter, pressing their foreheads together.

“I love you, Kyle Rayner.”

He gently raised a hand, caressing her cheek. “And I love you more, (Y/N) Rayner.” Pecking her lips three times, he pulled away and she helped him to his feet.

“C’mon. Let’s go get ready.” She said and he gasped dramatically.

“Well, Missus Rayner, you want to fool around in the shower? At our age?” he teased, and she rolled her eyes.

“God, it’s been like seven decades and you’re still the biggest skirt chasing dork ever.”

Kyle grinned at her. “I try.”

***

“Did KJ call you back like he said he was going too?”

“Mhm,” he answered, cutting into the waffles on his plate. “Spoke to him last night. Said he’d call again after he and Thomas get back from Vermont with Sophia and the other grandkids.” He looked at her, putting the fork in his mouth. “Martha Ann call you about Devin?”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes. “Yes. He’s gotten in trouble with GCPD again.” She waved it off, picking up her coffee cup. “I’ve half a mind to tell her to send our grandson to Jason and let him sort that boy out.”

Kyle snorted. “Jason would wear that kid like a slipper.”

“That’s what he needs.” She shot back. “This is the second time in a month that he’s been caught shoplifting. Mark my words, husband of mine, that boy’s a kleptomaniac and if Martha Ann doesn’t do something about it, he’s going to get worse.”

He placed a hand on hers. “You’re getting worked up again. Relax.”

“How many times have I told you not to tell me to relax?”

“I don’t know, how many times have I not listened?”

“Ass.”

“Old lady.”

“I swear I’ve never seen two elderly people more in love and so at odds with one another than I have you two.” They glanced up, seeing Stacy with the coffee pot and another plate of eggs and bacon. “Refills?”

(Y/N) smiled and held out her cup. “Thanks Stacy.”

“Of course!” she looked at her. “You two going anywhere after this?”

Kyle met (Y/N)’s gaze and offered a shrug; she nodded. “I suppose we could take a drive around the countryside. You know, like old people do on Sundays.”

Stacy laughed. “Missus Rayner, you don’t look a day over twenty-five. Now Mister Rayner, I’m afraid that white hair of yours tells me you are more than a few over twenty-five.”

He scowled at the waitress. “If there was ever a time I wish was still in my twenties, it’d be now.” He gestured to the walking cane. “Bum hip. Bum leg.”

“Bum head.” (Y/N) coughed under her breath and he glared at her.

“You think you’re funny.”

“I think I’m adorable.” She smirked, waggling her brows and Stacy merely laughed, wandering back into the kitchen. (Y/N) sighed. “It does make you think though…about the old days.”

Kyle nodded. “I wouldn’t trade our time for anything but...” he squeezed her hand. “I want to be back in that suit just for a minute.”

(Y/N) nodded. “Yeah…patrolling with dad and Dick and the others.” Her eyes started to moisten, and she inhaled sharply, dabbing at her eyes. “Sorry sweetheart.”

His smile held sympathy. “You never have to apologize, muse.” She saw his Adam’s apple bob slightly. “I miss them too.” His voice was rather hoarse, and they sat in silence the rest of the meal, remembering their dearest siblings and friends who’d passed on. Her father Bruce, and oldest brother Dick, both their wives too. And Kyle’s closest friends had all gone on too; Guy, John, and Hal had passed the month before.

The price of getting old, they guessed.

***

“I wish my hands were still able to hold pencils like I once could.”

(Y/N) rested her head on his shoulder, eyes scanning the expanse of the sunset before them. “I know what you mean.” She inhaled the scent of the freshly cut grass beside the shore. “Your painting of this would be beautiful.”

Kyle hummed. “Not as beautiful as you are.”

“I’m ninety-two and you’re telling me that even covered in wrinkles and white hair that I’m prettier than the skyline?”

He nodded. “Always have been.” He shifted until he could see her face. “Always will be, my beautiful muse.”

(Y/N) grinned like the heavens had split and leaned close, pecking his three times lips. “I love you, Kyle Rayner.”

“I love you more, (Y/N) Rayner.”

***

She turned the burner off, pouring the gravy into the boat, before setting it on the small table. “Dinner’s ready.” She called towards the living room. He’d gone into the old study when they’d gotten home and pulled out his art supplies, determined to prove he still had it.

(Y/N) frowned. “Sweetheart, dinner’s ready!” she called a little louder that time and then huffed a laugh. “Fool fell asleep.”

Wandering through the kitchen doorway into the living room, she saw him in his recliner, chin tucked into his chest, eyes closed. She sat on the side of his recliner and touched his shoulder. “Kyle, dinner’s on the table.” He didn’t open his eyes and she bent her head down to look at his face. “Kyle?”

She reached down and took one of his hands, it was cooling. “Sweetheart?” Something tightened in her throat and with her other hand, she gently pressed underneath his jaw, holding for a few seconds before she let out a pained breath. “Oh, Kyle.”

(Y/N) curled her hand tighter around his, leaning down to press her lips to his temple. She couldn’t bring herself to move as she let out a quiet sob, pressing her face into his hair. “I love you,” she whispered. “I hope you know that.” Her lips wobbled and tears cascaded down her cheeks. “I wouldn’t trade our seventy-five years for anything. We lived a beautiful life.”

She pulled away and gently took his glasses off his face, setting them onto the table. Her eyes fell to his lap where his other hand lay, a color pencil still held in it. (Y/N) felt a watery laugh bubble in her chest as she saw the last masterpiece he’d ever made.

A portrait of the sunset they'd been looking at that day. A beautiful blend of red, orange, pink, and purple cascading across the sheet like an explosion of the sky.

Her eyes fell across the words written in white along the edge,

To my beautiful muse. Always and forever.

He still had it.

And it was perfect.

***

“Julia, can you push me out onto the patio?” she asked, looking out the window. “I think I wanna sit outside for a few moments.”

The young woman, no older than twenty-two smiled brightly. “Of course, Miss Rayner!” she happily complied, pushing (Y/N)’s wheelchair out onto the cobblestone patio, sitting her next to the table. “Do you want me to bring your dinner to you?”

(Y/N) nodded. “I’d like that. Thank you.”

“Alright, I’ll be back in a few moments.”

Julia wandered off and she glanced towards the skyline. It had been about six months since she let her children talk her into getting an in-home nurse after he had passed. She had argued, but after falling twice, she knew it was time to have someone look after her. (Y/N) was adamant about not going to a senior citizens home; she wanted to stay in the home her and him had built until she went too.

Her children and grandchildren had visited her the week before, all having to return to their lives once school had started and jobs went back. She understood—(Y/N)’d once been a busy wife and mother too. But it was lonely without him, and she missed him dearly.

Her eyes found the skyline again and she sighed heavily, feeling rather tired all of the sudden. A little nap wouldn’t hurt. And she knew Julia wasn’t the best cook so it’d take a while before dinner would be ready.

Just a few minutes of sleep.

Just a few minutes.

Just a few—

***

A warm breeze blew across her skin, and she cracked her eyes open, glancing out the open window of her bedroom. It felt like a normal Saturday morning. The type of mornings where she’d wake up to Tim or Damian jumping on her bed and telling her to get down to breakfast.

She blinked a few moments, not registering a thing until someone chuckled beside her. “You’ve been sleeping pretty soundly, sweetheart.”

Looking over, her eyes widened as she saw her father before her, young and handsome like he’d once been, sitting on the side of her bed. “Dad?” she breathed, and he smiled.

“Hello (Y/N).”

She shot up in a second, wrapping her arms around his neck, his own winding around her waist. “Dad,” she cried, tears gathering in her eyes. “You’re here.”

“I think it’s you who’s here, (Y/N).”

“What?” she pulled away and looked at him; her eyes drifted to the mirror hanging beside her door and she caught sight of herself—it registered as she lifted her hands to her face, no more wrinkles, no more snow-white hair, no more aches and pains.

“Looks like I fell asleep for more than a few minutes, didn’t I, dad?” she laughed, though she felt a deep sorrow.

He smiled sadly at her. “It’s the best way to go.”

(Y/N)’s eyes filled with tears, and she gazed at him. “I’ve missed you so much, dad.”

“I’ve missed you more, sweetheart.” Bruce replied, gently thumbing her cheek. “All of you.” He smiled again. “But you’re here now…and there’s a lot of people waiting to see you.”

Standing from the bed, he held his hand out to her and she took it, letting him pull her up; he walked over to the door and opened it, pulling her along as he stepped through it.

The scenery shifted from that of her bedroom to the backyard of Wayne Manor and she looked out to a large picnic table and seated around it were all the family and friends she’d lost through the decades. Dick was waving like a maniac, Kori beside him doing the same. They both looked young too. Hal, Guy, and John were sitting on the other side, ribbing Wally, Roy, and Garth over something; they too were young.

“I don’t understand,” she whispered. “Why is everybody young again?”

Bruce hummed. “We all return to the best moments in our lives. When we were our biggest and greatest.” He glanced over her at something and smiled. “There’s someone who’s been waiting for you.”

(Y/N) looked at him with pulled brows then over in the direction he was, and she brought a hand to her mouth. She broke into a dead sprint across the backyard, leaping into his open and waiting arms. He lifted her with ease, like he used to do when he was young. Spinning them around, he buried his face in her hair as she buried hers in his shoulder as she shook with sobs.

“Sorry I wasn’t able to have dinner with you one last time, (Y/N).”

She pulled away and placed her hands on his cheek, putting their foreheads together. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there with you, Kyle.”

He shook his head, smiling at her. “You were there.” He reached up, putting a hand on her cheek. “You look as beautiful as the day I left you.”

(Y/N)’s lips wobbled, but she smiled widely. “I love you, Kyle Rayner.”

“I love you more, (Y/N) Rayner.” He pecked her lips three times. “Forever.”

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dr3amofagame · 3 years

Note

Dream tried to stop Wil from creating L'Manburg, Phil tried to stop him from blowing it up, BOTH value people over items and builds, Phil has said that they're replaceable but people aren't, Dream traded spirit for his best friends fishes (we kno he's not someone to talk abt feelings:[) BOTH were kind and selfless but used by almost if not everyone, BOTH were ready to be THE VILLAINS if it meant everyone else could live better after. ONE of them always had someone there, ONE didn't. Intentional?

aaaa sorry for the really inconsistent posts ,, im gonna try to post a little more in the next few days. i have a few things written up, so look out for them? maybe? for now, have this *gestures vaguely* thing ,, it’s kinda a mess but *shrug*

phil is such a fun character, anon, especially for all the reasons that you mentioned in the ask!! he’s a really fun character with a lot of complexities that go (sadly) overlooked by a large portion of the fandom, but he’s super cool even tho i havent analyzed him too much. hope you enjoy (and i hope my interpretation of c!phil isnt too ooc lmao)

tw: mentioned blood, injury, implied torture/abuse, starvation, trauma, mentioned death, prison arc/pandora’s vault

When Techno first brings Dream back from the prison, Phil doesn’t quite know what to think.

“I don’t trust him either,” Techno assures him, but there’s a flickering anger in the backs of his eyes, one that had emerged ever since he came back from the prison with the other man in his arms, and Phil knows his friend well enough to know that the words are empty in the face of the piglin hybrid’s particular brand of to-the-death loyalty. He shakes his head in reply, refusing to voice his thoughts for Techno’s sake, at least, but the look that the other slants at him suggests that he’s caught onto them all the same.

At first, the work is thankfully mindless; even if Phil has reservations on the man that Techno has more or less dumped into his house, he would hardly wish the clear suffering he’s been through on anyone. The first few days pass in a flurry of brewing potions, wrapping and rewrapping dressings, stitching up cuts and setting broken bones straight. The damage is extensive; Phil has to take more than a few breaks to just leave the house and breathe - he’s far from a stranger to blood and carnage, had received the title of ‘Angel of Death’ for a reason, but even he had never been particularly familiar with this form of cruelty. Torture was a level of violence that extended beyond what even he was willing to bestow - his hands may have caused many deaths, and the weight of each one would continue to haunt him for the rest of his life, but even those had the mercy of being a quick end. The wounds and scars that ripple over Dream’s skin, thin and stretched tightly over his bones with little muscle and fat left to cushion them, speak of horrors that were anything but merciful.

“I didn’t know they were capable of all of this,” Techno says, once, as they huddle of Dream, wringing towels in cold water to wipe his feverish skin. Techno’s hand reaches for the ribboning gold-filled scars that remain from the execution - carefully, Phil raises his hand to let his fingertips brush over them as well. “I mean, I knew he was dangerous and all, but-”

“I know, mate,” Phil looks back at Dream’s face, tight even in unconsciousness, at the darkened, hand-shaped bruises that remain around his throat, at the scar that runs over his left eye, clearly meant to mirror the same one that makes its way down the duck hybrid’s own face. “You said that Quackity and Sam were working together?”

“Yeah,” Techno’s expression darkens, eyes focused somewhere on the wall, seemingly very far away. He said that nothing happened to him in the prison, and he seemed relatively unharmed when Phil activated the stasis chamber, but ever since he came back, sometimes he’ll have moments, and Phil can’t help but - wonder. “Quackity does the dirty work, Sam gives him the way in and out, probably also the tools to do it. It’s-” he huffs a short, self-recriminating laugh. “It’s bad, Phil.”

“Mate-”

Techno shoots him a look, and Phil cringes, knowing already that he’d used the wrong tone. Even with the execution, Techno had been adamant to hide all traces of his own terror and fear away from him, masking it all with fury for Phil’s own sake. He knows, just from the way his old friend looks at the ribboning scars that remain sometimes, that he is far from as over the whole ordeal as he acts, but Techno never wants to talk and Phil never knows the right time to ask and they smooth it all behind plans and explosions and hope that the TNT can blow apart the trauma, too. He’s got a sneaking suspicion that the same thing is going to happen, here.

“As soon as we can,” Techno starts again, pointedly shifting his eyes away from Phil’s face, “we’re calling a Syndicate meeting to figure out what we’re going to do about the prison. Like- come on, man, you couldn’t make a more transparent abuse of institutional power if you tried, really-” he looks over, uncharacteristic uncertainty warring over his features. “If you think that’s good, I mean-“

“Of course, mate.” Phil’s voice softens. “Whenever you’re ready.”

‘Whenever he’s ready,’ as it turns out, is easier said than done, becoming even more evident when their charge wakes up from his days long spell of unconsciousness. The worst of his injuries have, under their careful care and the benefit of many potions, healed enough to no longer directly threaten his life, but the vast majority have quite some time to go before being healed completely. Being as the goal was torture and not death, most of his injuries weren’t made to be life-threatening, but rather to cause as much pain as possible - from the grimace that twists Dream’s face when he struggles to force himself awake, they’re doing their jobs.

“Hey, mate, slow down,” Phil murmurs, pressing the man down by his shoulder when Dream weakly tries to push himself up and off the bed, and his struggling only lasts for a few more minutes before he gives up and slumps against his pillow, eyes cracking open and seeming surprisingly lucid.

“Where-“ his voice is wrecked, and Phil reaches for the glass of water at the bedside as Dream coughs. “Where am I?”

“You’re at Techno’s house,” Dream’s eyes widen and then slip closed as he processes the information, a wrinkle forming between his eyebrows as they knit together. “We broke you out, after Techno escaped with a stasis chamber with your book. Do you remember?”

Dream gnaws on his bottom lip. “Um- yeah. I think.” His head turns as his eyes crack open again- “Techno-“

“He’s out, right now. He’ll be back in a bit.”

“Oh.” Dream falls back into the bed, strength seemingly sapped from the short conversation. His breathing stutters, then steadies. “Okay.”

Recovery is slow. Phil doesn’t actually find himself seeing the man very often; now that he doesn’t need around-the-clock care anymore, he’s moved back into his own house, letting Techno do most of the work when it comes to rehabilitating the escaped convict crashing at his house. As he begins to spend more of his time awake and aware, he brings a whole slew of new problems; Phil catches him screaming one day, blurting harsh, angry words as Techno reads, unbothered from the other side of the room, and he stops in his tracks standing awkwardly in the doorway.

“Um-“ he winces when Dream curses, smashes something against the floor, and then curls into himself at the sound. Techno doesn’t even flinch. “Am I interrupting something?”

Dream stomps away, face flushed, arms wrapped around himself. Techno raises an eyebrow.

“You lookin’ for something, Phil?” he asks, and the unpleasant knot in Phil’s chest refuses to unwind.

The episodes, unfortunately, don’t seem to get much better. Though he’s rarely outright violent, Dream looks constantly murderous, usually muttering underneath his breath about something or another while he stalks the grounds of Techno’s house. It’s not too long before Techno sends him out to work around the house instead of just moping within the cottage, which also means that Phil sees him a lot more - tending to a small farm behind the house, feeding the dogs, hacking away at mobs, and usually complaining the entire time. It’s unnerving, even as injured and unarmored as the man is, to see him walking around like this; despite his rather pathetic appearance, swamped in sweaters that dwarf him thoroughly and thin enough to look like the slightest breeze will knock him over, his eyes are flinty and intelligent and bubble with promises of revenge.

“FUCK!” Phil turns to see him slamming a shovel into the snow, stomping away into the woods, and his hands tighten around his cup of tea. Next to him, Techno shrugs.

“Nerd’s got a few issues,” he drawls, and Phil laughs shortly.

“That seems like an understatement.”

“He’ll ease up in time,” Techno sounds surprisingly confident, completely content despite the muffled curses that come from the woods next to them. He’s probably used to it, with Chat and all, but Phil can’t quite seem to find the same calm.

“I just don’t know, mate,” Phil shakes his head. “You sure having him around is the best idea? He doesn’t seem...stable.”

Techno looks up at him over the rim of his cup of coffee. His head tilts, considering, but there’s a small smile on his face that tells Phil that Techno, inexplicably, doesn’t share the same sentiments. There was always a part of him that was, for the lack of a better word, softer than the rest of the server for his self-proclaimed rival, a sort of understanding that Phil could hardly hope (nor would really want to) understand.

“Don’t worry, Phil, if he tries anything I can always just tie him up in the attic or something,” Phil huffs a small laugh, amused, and nods to concede the point. “And- well, call it intuition. You could really try talkin’ to him, you know. He reminds me of you, sometimes.”

The words stick in his head despite his best efforts, rattling in his skull when he tries to sleep, lingering when he catches glimpses of the green-clothed man stalking around their properties. He can’t imagine what would’ve prompted his old friend to make the comparison, can’t think of a single thing (besides their affinity for the color green) that would mark him as similar to the - from what he’s heard - deranged menace with a particular penchant for destruction (not that his rants and fits of anger are doing anything to correct that impression). Even so, Techno had sounded so sure when he’d made the comparison, the words offhand like he’d thought them a million times before, like it was a simple observation that held no more weight than commenting on the color of the sky. Phil watches as Dream lugs a pile of logs behind him, huffing at one of Techno’s dogs that comes to chase and nip at his feet and grumbling loudly before faceplanting into the snow. He just...can’t see it.

Days later, Wilbur comes to visit, a grin on his lips as he dramatically recounts his newest exploit: a nation by Las Nevadas, a supposed safe haven away from the glitter and glory of Quackity’s city; it sounds brilliant, it sounds lovely, and more than anything it sounds stupid, and Phil tells him as such immediately.

“You’re being reckless,” he rants at his son, wings flaring outwards and only barely noticing Dream watching from the corner of his eye, “What are you doing- picking fights with Quackity? Starting another nation- didn’t you see what happened to the first two you made? You’re going to get yourself killed, Wil!”

“Well, I’ve already seen what’s on the other side of death, and it’s really not that bad-“

“You’re my son!” The words are angrier than Phil would’ve liked, and he knows that he looks ridiculous and overbearing, criticizing the actions of his fully grown son, but all he can see is Wilbur’s face, slack with pain and grief, stained with ash and soot as his eyes flutter to half-mast in the midst of the rubble of a country he loved and destroyed and destroyed him in turn. “I can’t lose you again, Wil!”

Wilbur doesn’t quite storm out, but it’s a near thing, leaving with a clipped goodbye and leaving Phil seething on his doorstep. He spends the rest of the night pacing around the house in a sort of mad frenzy, wings stretching and folding over and over. Not for the first time, he longs for the sky, to feel the air through his wings and let the world fall into pinpricks below him; it’s this that leads him to the roof of his house, staring stubbornly at the clouds as the sun sinks down to the horizon.

“Hey.”

Phil startles; there, down below him, is Dream. He rocks back on his heels, seeming awkward, before clambering up the wall (Phil rolls his eyes at the ease with which he scales it, the feeling in his chest almost fond) and settling himself on the shingles at Phil’s side.

“Hey, mate,” Phil shakes his head. The fondness leaves, and the irritation that had risen at Wilbur’s words, earlier, comes back full-force. “Sorry- Wil came to visit, we talked. I just needed some time to think.”

Dream hums in acknowledgement, and they fall into a comfortable silence, watching as the sun dipping down past the mountains in the distance.

“You know,” Dream starts, sudden, “I told him the same thing.” He looks up at Phil, eyes faraway with old memories. “Wilbur, I mean. When he made L’manburg- I told him he was being reckless.” He shrugs. “I guess he never listened.”

Phil pauses, Techno’s words ringing in his ears. He reminds me of you, sometimes.

Dream looks surprisingly normal up close - face no longer reddened with fever or pale from blood loss, even the scars fail to really take from the boyishness of his face. He bites his lips, eyes falling away at Phil’s scrutiny, golden blond hair flopping over his forehead, newly trimmed to be something a little closer to his old length, at least in the front, the back pulled into a small ponytail. He’s young, and shockingly awkward, teeth worrying his lip, hands fiddling with each other, shifting his weight from one foot to the other several times a minute. He looks like a kid.

“He never does,” Phil lets himself smile, watches as Dream smiles back, almost like they’re sharing a joke. He wonders how well he really knows the man behind the mask. “Want to come in for some tea?”

Dream smiles wider, and something old and worn in Phils chest, knocked loose ever since he felt his son fall limp in his arms with his own sword shoved between his ribs, falls back into place.

“That would be great,” Dream replies, the words almost hopeful, and they go inside.

#tw trauma #tw death #tw blood #tw injury #tw torture #tw abuse #tw starvation #prison arc #pandora's vault #-> my writing #my writing :D #my asks !!#-> my asks

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bbangsoonie · 3 years

Text

11:11

member: changmin (q) genre: angst word count: 6,802 synopsis: when changmin finds himself trapped in the past, repeating the day of your death, he’s convinced that he’s been given a chance to save you. warning(s): death

Changmin woke up with a dreading feeling. He hadn’t set an alarm despite it being a weekday. He was hoping to sleep through the day and wake up the next morning. Unfortunately for him, the sleeping pills he took the night before only allowed him rest until noon.

He checked his phone, staring at the date. A year had officially passed by since that fateful day. Groaning, he threw his phone back onto his bed. He stayed under the blanket for a while, not wanting to get up. However, the sunlight shining through his window refused to let him go back to sleep.

Declaring defeat, he sat up and scowled at the sun. It was annoyingly bright today. The weather had no regard for his mood and was unusually warm for a winter day. It pissed him off.

He heard his phone vibrate and chose to ignore what he guessed was Chanhee’s daily check in. Still not fully awake, Changmin walked towards his fridge to grab a cold water bottle. After gulping half of it down, he let out a sigh.

His brain was still at war with himself. Half of it felt obligated to visit you and half of it wanted to drown his feelings in alcohol. He stood there, zoning out, contemplating his options.

Eventually, his guilt triumphed and he found himself throwing on whatever clean clothes he could find. He trudged out of his apartment and down the stairs. On his way to the main road to find a taxi, he passed by a flower shop. The same sense of obligation from earlier made him backtrack and step inside.

It had been over a year since he last visited the place. It felt strange to be back. The emotions he came here with were entirely different from the emotions he had back then.

He asked the worker for a small bouquet of daisies and muttered a word of thanks after receiving his change. After flagging down a taxi, he braced himself for the long ride.

The car escaped from the noisy city and headed towards a more remote area. He almost laughed, remembering how often you would mention that you wanted to be buried in nature and not locked up in a jar behind glass. He used to always chide you for thinking of and planning for your death but in the end, you had been the insightful one. He never thought he’d be traveling to your grave—at least not while he was still in his twenties.

When he finally arrived, his feet rooted itself and he couldn’t bear to walk further. He hadn’t been here since your burial a year ago. A wave of embarrassment suddenly hit him. He truly was an asshole to you until the end. He couldn’t even make things up to you even after your passing.

He hadn’t made any efforts to visit you but it was painfully obvious to those around him that he was still grieving. He blamed himself for letting you die. That burden prevented him from continuing to live life without you. His friends watched as he willingly ruined his own life. He gave up dance and even came to resent music. He spent the past year surviving and not living; he filled his time with part time jobs that would earn him the money he needed for rent and food.

In Changmin’s mind, he didn’t deserve to be happy when your life was cut short. He wished so badly that he could trade places with you.

With another sigh, he made his way towards your grave. He could tell your family stopped by earlier that morning. Someone had left a big bouquet of pink flowers for you. Beside it was a photo of you smiling, oblivious to the tragedy that would occur just a few months after it was taken.

He forced a smile, recalling how you used to complain about how everyone would bring you pink flowers instead of daisies for every occasion. Daisies were your favorite flower and Changmin was the only one who ever remembered.

He placed his own bouquet down and sat next to it. Holding up your photo, he spoke to it as if you would reply.

“It’s been a while hasn’t it, Y/n?” he attempted to say in a cheery voice. “I’m sorry it took me so long to come back. I… I was afraid. Seeing you like this really makes reality hit as if waking up in an empty bed isn’t a strong enough reminder.”

He set the picture down and turned around to face your headstone. Hesitantly, he wiped at a spot and fell into silence.

“Everyone tells me that the accident wasn’t my fault. I don’t believe it but even if it was true, I still hate myself for letting you leave when the last words I said to you weren’t that I love you. Not only did you die a painful death, but you died with the hurt I inflicted on your heart,” his voice cracked as he choked back tears.

Flashbacks of that day flooded his memory. He winced, finally confronting what he couldn’t for a year.

Changmin had left the dance studio angry. Angry at himself. Angry at his inability to perfect the choreography. Unlucky timing had you outside waiting for him to finish. He had planned on blowing off some steam by meeting Sunwoo for drinks but was stopped by you. You had noticed how upset he was and wanted to cheer him up but was brushed off.

Changmin knew he was snappy when he was pissed and didn’t want you to be on the receiving end. He wanted to spare you from walking on eggshells around him and knew that Sunwoo would quietly let him rant without getting hurt by his actions or words. Instead of clarifying, however, he let you misunderstand and walked away.

You watched him leave, staring at his back. The past month with him had been rocky. You knew he was stressed from preparing for the upcoming competition but you still missed the bubbly Changmin. Nowadays, he was more sensitive and on edge than happy and affectionate.

You had bought matching couple rings in hopes of brightening up his mood. They were simple rings made of silver and meant for the pinky finger. It was to symbolize your promises to each other—to always love and appreciate each other. Yours was already on your pinky but his was left in the box you were hiding in your pocket. You sighed and figured that you’d get the chance to give it to him later.

Except that chance never came. Changmin only came across that ring later when he found it on his table back at his place.

“You know, I left you knowing you probably thought I was irritated with you too. It was because I assumed I’d get to clear that up later. Like always. But later never came,” he fidgeted with the ring that now never left his own pinky.

What a cruel way to teach him a lesson.

“I guess at one point, I started taking you for granted. Taking our time together for granted. Who would've known that death would literally do us part before we even made our vows?” he chuckled at the irony. “I never told you but I intended on proposing to you as soon as we graduated. I got ahead of myself and was planning things way in advance. Would you believe me if I said I already decided where to go for our honeymoon?”

He could almost hear you laugh. If you were next to him, you’d lean on his shoulder as you doubled over in laughter. You had loved and teased him for his sweet side.

“That’s how sure I was that we’d get forever together. You spent the rest of your life with me but now I have the rest of my life ahead of me without you. A little unfair, don’t you think?”

Changmin had so many regrets. He wanted nothing but to go back in time and re-do things. After bottling everything inside him for a full year, everything was spilling out now that he was there with you.

You and Changmin hadn’t moved in together but you often slept over. That day, you waited until night for him to come home. He never did.

Sunwoo had called you from the restaurant they were at, asking you to come pick Changmin up. He wasn’t completely wasted but he was definitely too drunk to go home by himself. Sunwoo apologized, saying he couldn’t take him home because he had a prior arrangement to attend.

So you ended up sitting across from your boyfriend, waiting for him to sober up a little more before leaving the restaurant. This was not how you thought you would spend your anniversary with him. When he stormed off from the dance studio after spending the whole day there, you had already presumed he forgot what day it was for you two. You tried to be understanding, knowing that he felt extreme pressure about the competition.

You didn’t expect any gifts but you had hoped that you would at least have dinner together. But now that was also out of the window. You suppressed your annoyance and reminded yourself of how happy Changmin was when he was dancing. You wanted to be supportive of him.

“Why did you come here?” Changmin asked. Something about his tone irked you.

“What?” you frowned.

“I’m a fully grown man who can find his way back home fine,” his words dug a knife into your heart. You wondered if he forgot that you were the reason why he made it home safe and sound after drinking.

“You should be thankful that I always take care of your drunk ass,” you huffed. “You know, you can’t just count on me to do all these things for you. I do it because I want to but that doesn’t mean I don’t deserve to be appreciated.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” he sighed.

You hated that look on his face. He had that look often nowadays. That tired look that screamed that he was too tired to even argue with you. It scared you. Even arguing took interest that he didn’t seem to give you these days. You would rather fight with him than live in such silence.

So you did. You exploded at him.

“No, Changmin, I don’t know. I never know what you’re thinking anymore. You don’t tell me anything and just assume that I can read your mind. And it feels like I’m expected to play the role of your girlfriend when you don’t even act like my boyfriend. You need to take a step back and realize how grateful we should be towards each other.”

After your outburst, you waited for his response. You waited for him to either yell back or apologize. Anything to show that he still cared. Instead, he said something that made you wish that he just didn’t say anything at all.

“Why are you being like this today?”

You felt the knife dig deeper into your heart and his words stunned you into silence.

“You’ve changed,” you whispered.

And with that, you got up and left. Realizing he screwed up, Changmin ran out to chase you. It had gotten late and dark while he was inside and the sky was now pouring buckets. Without an umbrella, you were getting hit by the rain that hid the tears wetting your cheeks. When he finally caught up to you, he grabbed onto your wrist and spun you around to face him.

“You asked why I’m being like this? Today? Well, news flash, Changmin. Today’s our third year anniversary but I guess I’m the only one who cared to remember,” you cried.

His heart shattered at the sight of your face. He never meant to upset you. And he certainly didn’t mean to forget your anniversary. It had slipped his mind while he was focused on practicing. All that seemed futile when he saw the pain on your face.

You didn’t give him a chance to reply and shook his grip off of you. Wanting to avoid him, you ran to cross the street before the light turned red. At that moment, however, a car failed to break in time and the rain caused the driver to lose control.

Changmin’s eyes widened as he watched the vehicle crash into you. The noise was terrifying but seeing your body fly in the air and fall to the ground was even more horrifying. His legs moved before his brain processed the scene he just witnessed. He ran to your side and tried to shake you awake. His hand trembled when he saw that it was bloodied by the wound on your head.

The driver came out of the car, feeling both disbelief and guilt about what just happened. Changmin screamed at him to call the ambulance before returning his attention back to you. He begged you to stay alive but you took your last breath that night at 11:11.

After Changmin came back to Seoul, Chanhee caught him outside of his apartment and dragged him to dinner. He knew that his friend would be mourning all day and not remember to eat. So they went to a nearby restaurant and he practically had to shove the soup into his mouth.

By the time Changmin arrived home, it was late. He washed up and plopped onto his bed, wishing the day would hurry up and come to an end. Staring at the ceiling, he waited for sleep to take him out of his misery for a while. Eventually, his fatigue took over and he fell asleep the second the clock turned to 11:11.

When he awoke, he didn’t feel as groggy as he normally did. He felt strangely well rested. Wondering how long he had slept for, he checked his phone for the time. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion when he saw the date. It was yesterday’s date but with the previous year. He figured it was a cruel glitch on the device’s part and threw it back down.

He got up to get ready for his shift and fumbled around to look for the sneakers he just recently purchased. No matter how hard he looked, it was nowhere to be found. He found it odd but settled for an old pair of sneakers he hadn’t worn in a while.

After he put them on, he turned the doorknob to leave. He swung the door open and was shocked at the sight in front of him. You were standing there, holding a bag of groceries. Just like you did a year ago.

“Uh Changmin?” you stared at him, waiting for him to move so you could walk in.

Changmin was speechless. His brain felt like it stopped functioning; he didn’t know how to react to the familiar scene in front of him.

“Is this a dream?” he asked out loud.

His heart was racing. You hadn’t shown up in his dreams in so long. Now that you appeared to him, there were so many things he wanted to tell you. He wanted to tell you that he didn’t mean to hurt you. That he was sorry. But in that moment, all he could manage to do was pull you in for a hug.

“Is something wrong, baby?” you asked.

“Everything. N-nothing,” he stuttered.

Was he supposed to talk to you about everything that happened? Was he supposed to just enjoy reliving this day? He couldn’t decide.

You chuckled at the peculiarity of your boyfriend, finding him endearing. You motioned for him to move over and let you in, which he complied while still in a daze. You placed the groceries on the table and began to put away what needed to be refrigerated.

“Are you going to the studio to practice today as well?” you asked, opening a small carton of milk for your boyfriend.

He slowly took the drink you handed him and nodded. He then shook his head, not wanting to repeat his mistakes.

“Today’s our anniversary. We should do something special,” he suggested.

You lit up, excited to go on a date with him. You were glad you chose to dress up today.

“What do you have in mind?” you asked.

“Hmm how about that art gallery you’ve been wanting to go to?” he smiled at your happy expression. “I haven’t had lunch yet so we can eat some pasta before we go.”

So you two headed out to your favorite Italian restaurant and he ordered a bunch of dishes. You had protested, insisting that you wouldn’t be able to finish but he insisted that he wanted to spoil you that day.

He felt like he was on cloud nine as he watched you enjoy your meal. He missed this. He missed seeing you wiggle in your seat because of how good the food was. He missed cutting your steak for you because you were clumsy with knives. He hoped the dream wouldn’t end any time soon.

Noticing that he wasn’t eating much, you picked up a slice of pizza and held it in front of his mouth. His cheeks filled up after he took a bite and you laughed at how cute he looked. Your laughter prompted him to laugh as well, showing off his dimples that you loved.

You left the restaurant stuffed and was ready to fall into a food coma. Yet you couldn’t refuse when Changmin bought you your favorite ice cream. You strongly believed that people had a second stomach for dessert. You walked with the ice cream in one hand and with Changmin’s hand in the other. You stuck closer to him and leaned your head on his shoulder. He turned to look at you and didn’t want to ever look away.

After spending a couple of hours at the art gallery, you found an arcade and tugged him inside. You bet on dinner over three rounds of a vintage game, which you won. You cheered when your victory flashed across the screen, making him chuckle. To be honest, he let you win by pretending to slip up at the end but seeing your joy was worth it.

To Changmin’s discomfort, you chose the samgyupsal place that you two had fought at. Of course, you didn’t know that and just wanted to spend the night eating meat and drinking beer. Although hesitant, he agreed to your menu selection.

Changmin was indescribably elated to be able to sit and chat with you for hours. He didn’t even notice the rainstorm that began once again outside. He was too busy listening to you talk about one of your assignments for a random elective class you took but ended up liking. You rambled on about how your professor was extremely kind and lenient with grading.

By the end of the night, you two left the restaurant and he grew anxious, anticipating the end of the dream. You took notice of his sudden change in demeanor and questioned him about it. Before you could hear an answer, however, your hat was snatched and taken away by the wind. Not wanting it to get wet and dirty, you chased after it.

It all happened so fast. Again. Just as you were about to catch the hat, it blew further away, causing you to step out into the road. And again, there was nothing Changmin could do about the car that crashed into you.

This time, Changmin woke up with the feeling of falling from a tall height. The sensation startled him awake and he jumped up gasping. He scanned his surroundings, unsure of what he just experienced.

“A blissful dream turned into yet another nightmare,” he groaned.

He paused, reaching out for his phone to check the date. Both his jaw and phone dropped at the repeated date.

“No way,” he muttered. He shook his head, refusing to believe what was happening. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

He racked his brain for any plausible explanations. Surely this was another dream. A dream within a dream. Or maybe he’d finally lost it and was hallucinating everything. Believing in the latter, he made up his mind to finally go to the therapist Chanhee had been bugging him to go to. He quickly got dressed and put his shoes to head out. He paused when his hand grabbed the door.

“Surely it won’t happen again… right?” he wondered out loud.

To his surprise, you were there again on the other side of the door when he opened it. Trying to figure out what was going on, he slammed the door shut and froze. Outside, you blinked at the door in your face. Puzzled at your boyfriend’s behavior, you knocked.

Inside, Changmin flinched at the sudden noise. He was bewildered and beyond confused. This had to be a joke. Or a dream. Or a hallucination. How could you be real? There was no way you were actually back.

Or maybe, it was his chance to set things right. Maybe, if he did everything right, he could prevent your death. The idea sounded ingenious and insane to him. Taking a leap of faith, he flung the door back open and gazed at you. Still skeptical, he extended his hand out to hold yours. It felt warm, unlike the last time he held it in the rain. He wanted to cry in both shock and joy. He swallowed the lump rising in his throat and took the groceries from you.

“Are you okay, baby?” you asked, following him inside.

“I’m okay as long as you’re with me,” he said in a shaky voice.

You chuckled as you began to organize the groceries just like you did the day before.

“Are you going to the studio to practice today as well?” you asked, opening a small carton of milk.

Changmin stared at the milk you offered again. So many thoughts ran through his head as he tried to understand the situation. He determined that this was a blessing. He was given an opportunity to go back in time and change things. To save you.

“Let’s go watch a movie today,” he said.

He thought out and planned the rest of the day. He would sneak out in the middle of the movie to go buy a present for you. Using the excuse of an upset stomach, he went and bought a necklace he had been eyeing for months. It was quite expensive so he had saved up little by little and now he could finally afford to give it to you.

With the corner of his eye, he saw a couple looking at the ring section together. As if caught in a trance, he found himself walking towards the engagement rings. He gaped at the endless options of diamonds that sparkled as bright as your eyes. He bit his lip, contemplating if he should buy a ring as well. He initially wanted to wait until you both graduated but graduation never came for you. It was one of the biggest regrets of his life.

So he carefully took a look at the rows of rings until he saw one that immediately felt like it was meant for you. He quickly asked the worker to help him with his purchase and ran back into the theater to finish the rest of the movie with you.

You didn’t suspect a thing until he took the necklace out after lunch and put it on for you. You beamed at the surprise gift, eager to show him yours. Shyly, you retrieved the couple ring from your purse.

“It’s a promise ring meant for your pinky,” you explained as you slid it onto his finger. “A promise to always love and appreciate each other.”

He smiled at how proud you looked.

“See?” you showed him the ring on your own pinky.

“I love it,” he held his hand next to yours, admiring the view. “But uh I actually have a ring for you as well.”

With his heart pounding, he pulled out the square box and stood up. He took a deep breath before getting down on one knee, making you gasp. You felt tears brimming your eyes as he opened the box to reveal the diamond ring.

Watching proposal videos had always made you cringe. You didn’t get why people would cry. But in that moment, it all made sense when you found yourself unable to verbally reply. As a college student, you never expected him to propose. Sure, you had thought of marrying him but that seemed like such a faraway idea. You knew Changmin would always be in your future and didn’t see yourself marrying anyone else but him. So you managed to nod before he placed the ring on your finger.

“I know the timing may seem premature but with you, I want to have the courage to do what my heart desires. I want to see you walk down the aisle towards me. I want to show the world that I’m yours. I want to spend our honeymoon at Bora Bora and have two kids together. I want to raise a dog with you, just like you always dreamed of. I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” he confessed.

After hearing his words, you couldn’t hold back your tears anymore. He embraced you in his arms and you buried your face into his chest as you sniffled. Resting his chin on your head, he wished time would stop. All he wanted was to stay in this moment forever.

By the time night approached again, he made sure to keep you away from the street and from any vehicles. You wondered why he was being so overprotective and clinging onto you. He didn’t offer an explanation and just gave you a nervous smile.

Looking at his watch, he let out a deep breath when he saw that it was almost 11 PM. His leg shook anxiously as he held your hand tighter. You had insisted on enjoying the sounds of the city in the rain so you two were sitting at a random bus stop.

All of a sudden, the cry of a child was heard. You turned around to see a little girl who seemed to be lost. You stood up to go help but Changmin sat you back down.

“You stay here. I’ll go,” he said, feeling uneasy.

While he brought the little girl to the bus stop to avoid the rain, a young boy caught your attention. He was playing with a ball and you wanted to warn him to be careful. Before you could open your mouth, however, he dropped the ball and ran into the street to get it back. You panicked, seeing a motorcycle speeding towards the kid.

You ran out to pull the child back but was hit instead. Changmin’s heart dropped at the sound of the collision. When he turned back to find you, you were laying on the wet ground with blood pooling around you. Seeing you die for the third time wasn’t any less traumatic. In fact, it broke him even more. He hated himself for letting it happen again.

“Y/n, please please wake up,” he begged as he held your face in his hands. “You can’t leave me. Not again. I promised myself that I would change your fate. Y/n, please!”

Every time Changmin woke up, that day repeated itself. And each time, he would try to keep you alive. But no matter how hard he tried, that cursed time of 11:11 always ended his brief time with you with the same outcome.

When he kept you inside, you fell down the stairs. When he tried to make you sleep by tucking you in early, you never woke up. Thinking it was Seoul that was the problem, he even took you down to Busan. Paranoid, he even spent the whole day and night with you at his place. But every time the clock hit 11:11, the inevitable would occur and he would wake up to repeat it once again.

The seventh time he awoke to the same day, he screamed in frustration.

“What the hell am I supposed to do?” he yelled out.

He cried into his sleeves, wondering if this was his punishment for being unable to save you. While he wallowed in grief, he heard you knock on his door. He wiped away his tears and got up to greet you. Oblivious to his mood, you walked in and opened the refrigerator like you did the previous times.

“Are you going to the studio to practice today as well?” you asked, opening a small carton of milk.

“Let’s just stay in today. I’ll cook you something,” he bitterly smiled when he saw that the engagement ring was no longer on your finger.

He rummaged through his kitchen, looking for ingredients. You sat down next to the counter and watched as he made you kimchi fried rice. You enjoyed watching him cook. He didn’t do it often because he wasn’t very confident about his skills but you loved the gesture. You thought it was cute when he had that concentrated look he usually saved for dancing.

After lunch, you spent the next few hours watching movies. You had eventually noticed how sad he was. You looked over at your boyfriend who seemed preoccupied with his own thoughts. Mustering up some bravery, you proposed watching a horror movie. You knew it was his favorite genre but didn’t watch scary movies with him often because you got scared easily. Slightly surprised by your suggestion, he agreed and let you choose one of the recommended movies on Netflix.

At every jump scare, you snuggled closer to him. Throughout the whole film, you clung onto his arm and he comforted you by stroking your head. Treasuring the time he got to spend with you, he allowed himself to feel at ease for a bit.

For dinner, you convinced him to go out to eat. On the way back, he lured you into a gift shop, kicking himself for not preparing a present ahead of time. While you were busy looking at the dolls, he managed to pick out a bracelet and slid it into his pocket after secretly paying for it. He knew it would be gone when the day reset and dreaded having to see your listless body again later.

When you two returned back to his place, he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. He wanted to savor every second he was able to spend with you. Noticing his gaze, you stared at him back, bringing a smile to his face. You poked his dimple, laughing at his expression.

“So I got you a little something. I hope you didn’t think that I forgot our anniversary,” he said as he put it on your wrist.

Smiling, you took out the gift you had prepared.

“It’s a promise ring meant for your pinky,” you said as you slid the ring onto his finger. “A promise to always love and appreciate each other.”

“See?” you revealed the ring on your own finger.

After hearing those words for the nth time, he finally broke down. He began to bawl, catching you off guard. For a few minutes, he wept as you tried to soothe him.

“Okay, spill. What’s been bothering you all day, Changmin?” you demanded.

He sighed, knowing what he was about to say was insane. He didn’t want to scare you but it all came out as word vomit.

“I’ve been reliving this day multiple times. I know it sounds crazy—it is crazy—but I was sent back in time. It’s actually supposed to be a year from now, a day after today. But instead, I’m stuck in this endless loop trying to save you. You died, Y/n. You died a year ago and you keep dying again and again! I thought I was given this opportunity because of all the regrets I had. The day you died, I was a complete jerk and you got into an accident after we argued. I blamed and resented myself. I had so many “what if’s” and “if only’s” that it tormented me,” he paused to catch his breath.

“I thought I had to repeat this day until I successfully prevented your death but nothing’s working. I can’t change things!” he cried. “I’ve tried over and over and over again. I’ve tried keeping you away from the street, taking you out of the city, and even locking us up in this damn apartment and nothing’s working! Every time 11:11 comes around, the same conclusion happens.”

You sat in silence, unsure of how to process all the information he just threw at you. He was way too emotional for this to be a joke and too upset for it to be unreal. But at the same time, you wanted it to be fake. You didn’t want to believe it. You were still so young. You had hopes and dreams you had yet to achieve. You wanted to crumble but you couldn’t bear to do so after seeing how heartbroken Changmin was. After thinking for some time, you finally spoke up.

“Maybe you were given a chance not to save me but to let me go,” you said quietly. ”You said you regretted the day I died. Maybe this is your chance to get closure. Send me off in peace. Find peace yourself.”

“No. No way. I’m not letting you leave me again. Not after all I’ve been through,” he said, desperately hugging you. “I finally get to hold you in my arms again. It’s okay if I have to relive this day forever. As long as I can see you, I’m okay with that.”

“Changmin...” your heart broke at the sight of his crestfallen face.

You let him keep his tight hold on you. He was so afraid you’d disappear again that he refused to let you or himself fall asleep. You looked at the clock and saw that the time was approaching.

“Baby, you know you can’t. I’m not coming back to life. I can’t. That’s not how the world works. We were blessed to have the chance to say our final goodbyes. Not everyone gets that. We’re lucky. We get to remind each other of how much we love each other and I get to tell you that I want you to be happy even if I’m not by your side. I’ll still be with you. In your heart. As long as you keep me there,” you pulled away to meet his eyes. “I don’t want you to be miserable without me. I want you to live your life to the fullest. Let me live vicariously through you.”

“But I have so many things I want to do with you. So many things I never got to say to you,” he stammered.

“Nobody gets to fulfill all their desires,” you smiled sadly. “Just know that I know how you feel. I know that you love me. I know that you want to grow old together. I know that you want to see mini me and mini you. I do too. I’m so sorry I won't be able to do that with you.”

Tears rolled down your cheeks. Admitting it out loud made it feel real.

“You have no idea how badly I want to walk down that aisle with you. I want to live happily ever after while bickering with you. I want to see you dance and I want to succeed in my own career. I hardly lived over two decades but you made me so happy for most of it. I’m glad I got to love you. It’s a shame I won’t get to get my degree after studying so hard but there are bigger regrets. Like wishing I had spent more time with you. Wishing we took more trips together.”

Changmin looked at you with a pained expression. He wished that he had taken more pictures with you. That he had gone on more dates with you. That he made you laugh more.

“I guess we were given this opportunity in exchange for all of that. At least now I’ll get to leave knowing that I’m loved and that you know I love you. Our last day wasn’t spent arguing but hugging,” you pointed out.

The two of you lain wordlessly on his bed. The only sound was the clock on his wall ticking.

“Can you tell my family that I love them? And my friends too. I wish I could say goodbye to everyone but that would be greedy of me,” you said wistfully.

At his silence, you turned to look at him. When you saw the guilt on face, you sat up and beckoned for him to do the same. You glanced at the clock, taking note of the time.

“Ji Changmin, I love you. Thank you for making me the happiest girl in the world,” you smiled with tears in your eyes. “While we make promises with this ring, can you also promise me another thing?”

You waited for him to nod before continuing.

“Promise me that you won’t blame yourself for anything and that you’ll move on. I want you to have all the extra happiness I’ll miss out on. I’ll be expecting you to lead a fruitful life for my sake too,” you held out your pinky, waiting for him to wrap his around yours.

“It’s okay if I start to fade out of your memory over the years,” you added. “I’ll understand when my face starts to become fuzzy to you. I’ll even understand when you get married and have kids. I’ll be your kids’ godmother and look out for them. I can’t wait to see little baby Ji’s.”

“But I don’t want that if it’s not with you…” he whispered.

“Don’t be silly. You’re still young and have the rest of your life ahead of you. I’ll be mad if I’m the one that’s holding you back. Now, hurry up and promise me. My arm’s hurting,” you shook your pinky at him, urging him to lock fingers together.

It tore him apart but he shakily held out his hand to make his promise. More tears escaped his eyes each time he blinked.

11:05.

Changmin held your tear-stained cheeks in his hands, staring into your eyes. You hated the sad look in his own eyes but knew yours was the same. He hated the ominous feeling that predicted that this would be his last time in the loop. Now that he came to terms with the fixed ending, he would be freed from his desperate desire for a different outcome.

“Thank you, Y/n, for teaching me what love is. From when I first met you up until now, there hasn’t been a single moment that I didn’t cherish. I love you. I love you so so much. I spent the past year unable to forget you and I never will. I’m going to believe that you’ll be watching over me and I’m going to make you proud. I’m going to experience both my and your share of happiness. So don’t worry about me. I won’t be able to follow you soon but I’ll join you up there one day. Please wait for me.”

“I may be your first love but I certainly don’t hope I’ll be your last. Instead, I hope that I’ll be your endless love,” you hummed, feeling drowsy.

“Of course,” he affirmed. “I love you, Y/n.”

“I love you too, Changmin.”

Changmin awoke feeling oddly comforted. The sun was shining through the window again and his apartment didn’t feel as empty for some reason. He eyed his phone and hesitantly picked it up. He was filled with mixed emotions when he saw that the year was finally set back to the present.

Out of habit from the past week, his eyes lingered on the door. You weren’t going to come knocking again but you also weren’t going to die again. You were finally sent off in peace.

His phone vibrated, notifying him of Chanhee’s daily text message. Chanhee was a persistent one as well.

Changmin decided to reply and asked him to grab breakfast together, which earned him an immediate “yes”. He told his friend to invite Sunwoo as well and got up to get ready for an outing for the first time in a long time. This was his first step in the healing process.

a/n: tbh i kinda cried writing this. i hope you cried too hehe also idk if you noticed but the line “endless love” is actually from the boyz’s “priority”. i really like that phrase and it’s been stuck in my head ever since the song came out

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rebrandedbard · 3 years

Note

could I get 49 for the prompts pleaseeee? (:

*weeping* Em, I love you, defending my honour, giving me a way out. You’ve spared me my dignity.

49. “Well this is awkward ...”

WC: 2106

Tidings and Tarradiddles

Jaskier returns to Posada and his path crosses with Geralt’s once more after the unfortunate affair on The Mountain™

How was it? Truly, how was it that of all places on the great, wide Continent, Geralt should come to take a contract in Posada, at the farthest of reaches, after months and months of separation, on the one day Jaskier should be in town? And how was it that he’d come the only hour Jaskier had lingered for a drink? It was too great a coincidence, and Jaskier would not give Destiny the credit. She’d not earned the right to claim it. Jaskier scorned her and had stripped her of the right to interfere in any of his further adventures. After all, Geralt had blamed him for her follies—follies which, by rights, Geralt had brought upon himself in the first place.

Even so, he could feel Destiny’s audaciously long and twitchy nose poking about his business the moment Geralt walked through the tavern door. Jaskier huddled in his corner, hoping the shadows were darker than they had been the day he’d found Geralt hunched beneath them. He ought to have known better than to come in the first place. There had been a whole flock of magpies in the middle of the bridge leading into town—a tiding of magpies. Detestable harbinger of tidings, foul and fair. They’d startled at the sight of him and alighted once more on the tavern roof. But he’d ignored their superstitious warning.

Of course the shadows were of no use to him. The moment Geralt stepped inside, Jaskier saw him twitch, cocking an ear his direction. Probably heard the familiar grinding of his teeth: an annoying habit he so often complained of. Jaskier curled up against the wall, trying to make himself smaller to blend in with his surroundings.

For once, it was not so difficult. He’d grown out his hair, had even maintained a healthy bit of scruff on his face in keeping with the stylings of his fellow tavern-goers. He was tired and worn, but above all, he was plain. He no longer wore bright colors, standing out like a beacon in the dark of night. He wore his linen dyed a plain, sensible, muted green. The jerkin on his back was brown and of a practical fit. Altogether, it did not so much scream of sensibility as it mumbled. If he kept his head low enough, he might pass as just another local come in for a pint.

But he was not just another local.

Geralt stopped before his table, standing at Jaskier’s elbow. The click of metal upon the table made Jaskier look up from his drink. It was a coin, spinning round and round. It wobbled and fell on its face, the etching of a worn coat of arms before him.

“Will … will you sing for us, bard?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier stared at the coin. His ears began to fill with cotton, a faint ringing in them. A flash of hot blood coursed through him and he ground his teeth to a halt. He knew this was Geralt’s way of easing into things, working towards something, whether or not an apology was waiting at the end. He knew this was Geralt offering him an out. It was distant. Impersonal. But even in the depths of his rage, Geralt had called him by name. To call him bard and toss a coin to him like some stranger now … it flamed something red and barbaric to life under his skin. He was so deafened by the blood in his ears, he did not hear the approach of the figure standing at Geralt’s side.

“Well, this is awkward,” Jaskier sneered. He picked up the coin, twiddling it between his fingers. Putting up an impassive mask, he juggled the coin over his knuckles in his best impressive manner, as if it were nothing but a worthless toy. “You see,” he said, “I’m not a bard.”

Geralt was quiet a moment. Jaskier could feel his eyes roaming over him. It raised his hackles to know what Geralt must see: the dark circles under his eyes, the lines of age now more pronounced with exhaustion, crow’s feet so defined they might as well have been dug by the claws of vultures. And then, Geralt must have taken notice at last. Gone were the bold silhouettes and blinding colors, gone were the perfumes and oils—but there was one thing more important than all the rest that was missing.

“Your lute,” Geralt said.

There it was. “Gave it up this very afternoon,” Jaskier replied. He slapped the coin down on the table and leaned back, snatching up his half-empty mug. “I travelled a long way to return it home; Filavandrel has it now.”

He took a drink, still avoiding eyes contact. He continued, mumbling over the rim of his mug. “Had a visit. They’re doing better than they were when last we met. I helped them dig rocks from their crop fields for an hour or two. Figured as long as I was shovelling things, I might as well master the art. Use it productively.”

He was being petty. He knew he was, but by the gods, he’d earned it.

When at last he looked up, he did so because he saw a hint of blue beside the table. The potmaid had been wearing a blue dress, and he thought he now saw his escape. He slid his mug to the edge of the table and lifted his head to ask for it to be taken away when he saw a familiar pair of green eyes looking back at him.

“Cirilla?” he asked, surprised. He blinked at the princess, who looked down at the table as his eyes fell upon her. He remembered her as someone taller, regal head held high, smiling, her hair half up in decorative braids and twists. This was not a princess before him, but a girl: her hood casting shadows upon her hollow face. It seemed wrong. She had always been a girl, but a girl with a name. This creature before him stood as a reflection of himself, a thing wishing to hide away, nothing more than a shell.

She glanced up at him, then down once more. Slowly she raised her hand to the table and placed it over the coin. She pushed it towards him with a quiet slide, then dropped her hand once more. “He said you sing wonderful,” she muttered, as if she had not heard him singing in Cintra’s court nearly every midsummer since birth.

Jaskier’s voice stuck in his throat. The memory of a song sat heavy on his tongue. “I … I don’t sing anymore,” he grit out. He turned to look away again, staring at the crack between his bench and the wall. “Can’t sing without music anyway. Might as well be poetry.”

Having no music left him exposed. There was nothing to lift him up, nor anything to hide behind. He could sing among the crowd and raise his voice to join a drinking song, but there was something vulnerable about singing alone. Who sang among bar patrons without some barrier? Even the drunks had their drink to shield them.

He saw Geralt shift out of the corner of his eye. Something new slid across the table, stopping just short of his hand. He looked and saw one of his old notebooks.

“You write good poetry,” Geralt said.

Jaskier scoffed and picked up the notebook. “If there were anything in this worth keeping, I would have remembered to bring it with me when I went down the mountain.” He flipped through the pages, then let the notebook flop back on the table. “You obviously have poor taste,” he huffed.

Without warning, Geralt picked up the notebook and thwacked him on top of his head with the cover.

“Gah! Hey!” Jaskier shouted. He stood up and snatched the book back, smacking Geralt’s arm with it. “What in fuck’s name did you do that for, you brute!”

But he’d looked at Geralt, forgetting to snub him if only a moment. And Geralt plucked the book from his hand with an upward quirk of the lips. “It’s worth keeping,” he said. He handed the book to Ciri, who clutched it tight to her chest in agreement, but still, she looked at Geralt with a stern expression.

“That wasn’t what you were supposed to say,” she scolded.

Geralt’s eyes rolled back and he pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“Not to me.”

Geralt opened his eyes. He looked at Jaskier, opening his mouth to speak once more. But the look on Jaskier’s face stopped him. Instead, he turned to the door, stalking quickly across the room, words aborted on his tongue.

Jaskier gaped.

“Geralt!” Ciri called. “Where are you going?”

“Just wait here.”

“Geralt!”

“Dinner. I’ll be back in the hour.”

Ciri threw up her hands and dropped onto the opposite bench. She slammed Jaskier’s notebook down on the table and crossed her arms over it. She groaned in frustration, then turned her head to look out at the tavern floor.

“Have you had dinner yet?” she grumbled.

Jaskier looked between her and the door, feeling quite at a loss. “No,” he replied.

“Then you can eat Geralt’s share.” She rummaged in her cloak and pushed a little drawstring bag into his hands. “Here, he left me his purse.”

“And left you from the look of things. Shall I charge him for babysitting?”

“Do. And order another drink.”

Jaskier snorted. “Trying to get me to stay?” He wasn’t so irresponsible as to leave a child alone, even with the threat of Geralt’s return. He didn’t need to be persuaded.

“No. Punishing him for running out; you get his drink into the bargain. Think of it as sending him to bed without supper.”

“I’ll drink to that. It’s the least of the punishments I could inflict.”

They both chuckled mildly at that. A bit of the dense atmosphere lifted and they shared a look. Jaskier cleared his throat and waved for the potmaid. He ordered fare for the two of them, a mug of ale for himself, and a cup of small beer for Ciri. Once they’d both had a bite, they began talking. They traded stories: how Ciri came to Geralt’s care, and what Jaskier had been doing since the separation. Though the conversation was tense, it felt … good … to have a bit of company. He’d been worried since word of the fall of Cintra had reached him. At least Destiny had brought Ciri to Geralt safely. He hoped Destiny would be kind to her where it had failed him.

Jaskier startled when Geralt returned. He’d crept up so silently. Jaskier had been listening to Ciri describe her most recent success in outdoor cooking and hadn’t noticed the movement beside him. Geralt set the lute on the table in front of Jaskier’s empty plate with a sudden thunk, not a word of explanation. He stood there silently, holding the lute upright by its neck.

No one spoke.

Jaskier simply stared at it, felt Geralt stare at him. But this time, he refused to look up. Slowly, Geralt lay the lute down on the table, then slipped away. A minute passed, everything still and quiet. Then, Jaskier peeked out of the corner of his eye and saw Geralt nudge Ciri, nodding his head toward the door.

Ciri looked at Jaskier, her brow anxious and furrowed. She clutched her cup, nearly finished, her plate barren. He could see her mind at work, trying to find an excuse to stay. But she set her cup down obediently. As she turned to stand, she left the notebook behind. Eyes downcast, she slumped to her feet. Geralt held out his hand for her, no longer looking at Jaskier. The moment Geralt’s back was turned, Jaskier felt a cold panic run through him.

“Wait!” he said, fumbling to his feet.

Geralt froze, turning his head back slightly to listen.

But for what? Jaskier reached out, hesitating. He picked up his lute, finding the coin beneath it. The noise made Geralt turn back and Jaskier met his eye. He’d never seen Geralt look so blank, completely unreadable.

Jaskier slung the strap of the lute over his head. He pushed the coin deliberately into his pocket and braced his hands on the strings. When he looked at Geralt again, there was the barest crack in his armour, and hope shined dimly through. Jaskier smiled. It was a timid thing, but he still remembered how it was done.

“You asked for a song,” he said.

Send me a drabble prompt!

#my fic #drabbles #witcher #the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #cirilla fiona elen riannon #ask game #tidings and tarradiddles fic #the whole situation LEADING to the WRITING of this fic is awkward asdfghjkl #than you em #bless you #pancakes' tag

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aminiatureworld · 3 years

Text

Distance II

Characters: Ningguang, Zhongli, gn!reader

Word Count: 3,605

Warnings: None

Premise: What other explanation could there be? Surely this is the one logical answer. Even if it hurts, even if it doesn’t make sense.

In which the reader’s s/o assumes the reader is no longer interested.

Author’s Note: Though Ningguang is hands down one of my favorite characters I find her surprisingly difficult to write. She just seems so much more in control than I am. Perhaps though that makes writing her in conflict all the more rewarding.

Ningguang

Sometimes Ningguang wondered if she wasn’t accidentally proving her detractors right by not caring.

Being the Tianquan of the Liyue Qixing it’d be nearly impossible for her not to hear the rumors that circulated about her, the not-so-quiet whisperings of people who found her too cold, too callous, too closed off to have any genuine feelings. Nor were such incidents limited to the murmurings of coworkers or the blunt admissions of Keqing. Ningguang had long ago lost track of the times she’d passed someone on the street, only to find someone proclaiming how unfit she was to represent Liyue, she who had no genuine feelings.

Of course, Ningguang couldn’t truly complain. Even if people saw her as aloof and shallow, she was still given the respect due to her position. Nor could the privilege and power of being the Tianquan be overstated. Really, being isolated in such a way was just the price she had to pay for her success. What did it really matter what the general population thought of her personally as long as they respected her competency? Besides, she didn’t have time for close interpersonal relationships.

Perhaps it was this thinking that had ruled her for so long that made you so special in her eyes. Though you would later admit that you had worried your feelings had been one-sided, Ningguang had been just as captivated with you as you of her. Incredibly competent at your job, as devoted to Liyue as Ningguang was, and deeply empathetic on top of it, how could Ningguang not grow somewhat infatuated with you? She had never expected the same emotion on your side, just as you had never expected such a thing of her; not because you saw Ningguang as made of ice or stone, it was merely the natural nervousness that always came with love. Perhaps that was the part of your confession that Ningguang appreciated the most. To you she was just as normal as anyone else, with a heart made out of the same flesh as all the other residents of Liyue.

Yet being in a relationship had proved a much greater challenge than Ningguang expected, and in the place one was least likely to think about. Her love for you was never in question, the devotion you two shared towards one another was something spelled out plainly in front of her eyes. Nor did she worry about providing for you, or you for her. Being both high ranking members of the Liyue Qixing, the two of you were incredibly lucky, and finances and worries about saving was never something that Ningguang had to lose sleep over. No, it was none of those normal things that Ningguang had to worry about, instead it was herself.

She had expected that all the whisperings about her emotional capabilities would have left once the word of you two being partners got around. Instead the whispers seemed all the greater, swirling around her at every turn. Though logically that could not be the case, Ningguang found that logic ultimately played a very little role in the matter of love and affection. Even when she wasn’t haunted by the whispers of others she found herself more and more facing her own words. How could someone so closed off and reserved be a good partner, her mind seemed to whisper, how could she possibly give you the affection and warmth you deserved? Ningguang never told you these thoughts of course, her anxiety seizing her whenever the idea so much as passed through her head. Still those thoughts lingered.

And then work got busier; well, busier for her at least. For you things seemed to remain about the same, and though Ningguang was somewhat grateful for that – knowing that overworking oneself was a bit of a theme for members of the Liyue Qixing – she still found herself uncomfortable at the new schedule. Now instead of the two of your finishing up at around the same time, it seemed like you always had to hold back and wait for her. It was embarrassing, really; more than that it felt unfair to you.

“Should I reschedule the dinner reservations tonight?” Your question hung over the desk that separated the two of you, paper piled up like a wall between you and her.

“I’m afraid so, I’m sorry darling.” Ningguang offered an awkward smile.

“Don’t be sorry! It’s not your fault that you have so much work. I’ll go down and tell the waitress during lunch break, we should be able to get a refund, and maybe a reschedule. After all, we haven’t been out together in so long.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” you leaned over the desk, too blocked by the papers to give her the traditional comfort kiss on her cheek, “you have a very important job, and no one could fault you for it.”

Despite your words Ningguang couldn’t help but feel somewhat chastised. Bowing her head she whispered a soft “thank you”, wondering how much you were hiding your true feelings. Keeping her head mostly down at her work for the rest of the morning the Tianquan was startled by the realization she hadn’t noticed you leaving for lunch.

“Unfortunately I was unable to get a refund,” your apologetic voice floated through the air as you reentered the office, “so I was wondering whether or not I could bring a friend out to dinner tonight? Of course I would pay for the whole thing myself, and we could still reschedule. Although maybe next time let’s pick a restaurant without an all-or-nothing view on payment.”

“A good idea about the payments,” Ningguang smiled awkwardly, ill at ease despite your slight laughter, “and of course you may invite a friend out for dinner. I know that we’ll find another time.”

“You’re an absolute darling you know!” You walked around the desk giving Ningguang a fleeting kiss on her cheek. “Thank you for being so understanding.”

“How could I not be when I’m the reason we can’t go out this evening?”

“Well, I don’t know. Some people aren’t so nice about those things you know.”

“I hope to never be involved with those people.”

“You’re right about that!” You laughed, bringing a small smile to Ningguang’s face. Still, a part of her felt leaden, her embarrassment and guilt weighing her down like a rock.

Afterwards it seemed that a bit of a routine had been found in your life. After your work was done and your errands finished you laughed awkwardly, gave Ningguang a short kiss, and went out to spend time with your friends. Not that Ningguang begrudged you the time you spent with others, she wasn’t about to ask you to spend all your time with her, especially when most of it would be spent staring at her reading. Still it was hard not to see these continual outings as further proof of how little affection Ningguang was giving you, how much she was failing at providing you all the love and emotional support you needed.

Walking down the streets to your house Ningguang took in the sight of Liyue in the evening. It was her favorite time of day; the lanterns turned the normally drab grey stones into burnisheds amber, basking the buildings with a soft orange glow that gave the illusion of perfect domesticity. It was easy to forget the troubles of Liyue in the evening, easy to be wrapped up in the landscape in front of the Tianquan, easy to ignore her troubles. Passing by the docks Ningguang breathed in the scent of a trading city at work. Smells, sights, and conversations mixed together in a familiar dance, lively despite the lateness of the hour.

“Did you see the Tianquan’s partner was out again this evening?”

Ningguang found herself standing perfectly still, unsure if the words that she had just heard weren’t a figment of her exhausted imagination. Turning towards the stalls she was careful to keep her pace as even as possible, hoping that her presence would go largely unnoticed.

“Oh yes, I saw them walking along the shipyard with a few people. You could tell it wasn’t on business.”

“I feel bad for them,” the first voice piped up again, voice heavy with authority, “to have a block of ice as a partner, it must be very difficult.”

“You’re right, the poor dear. Honestly I don’t know why they decided to become partners with such a person as Lady Ningguang, I heard that she was the one confessed to even. Why anyone would actively cultivate such a relationship, I don’t understand it.”

“Neither do I. They must be very used to living without affection.”

“You’re probably right, it always ends up that way with those types of relationships.”

Although the conversation showed no signs of ending Ningguang found herself turning around and leaving. The words had felt like a slap in the face, and she felt almost feverish in her wish for the conversation to have never happened.

Once she arrived at your home Ningguang rushed to the bedroom, collapsing onto the soft sheets. You, she realized that she wanted you; wanted to tell you what had just happened, wanted you to assure her it was all false, wanted all this insecurity to go away. And yet, how could she be sure that you weren’t thinking a similar thing as those people Ningguang had overheard? How could she be sure you hadn’t come to the conclusion that she was indeed without feeling. There was only one way to figure it out really, no matter how painful.

“I’m home!” Your voice was bright and cheerful, a stark contrast to Ningguang’s current emotional state.

“Welcome home dear.”

“Oh I’m exhausted, I think I’m taking a bath and going right to bed tonight! You should probably sleep too, you’ve really been overworking yourself!” You chastised, giving Ningguang an impatient sort of smile as you put away your things. Taking a deep breath Ningguang prepared herself.

“Before you do that, there is something I’d like to ask you.”

“Ask away! Unless you’re asking for me to cook, I think I’m too tired for that.”

“It’s not about cooking. It’s, well, it’s whether this relationship is fulfilling or not to you.”

“What?” The happiness leeched from your voice as you stared at Ningguang.

“I heard some people talking today, saying that I wasn’t a worthy partner, that I was too emotionally detached. I know that you have never expressed such an opinion, but I cannot help but wonder if I’m truly giving you what people want in a relationship. You said yourself that we hardly spend time together anymore, and I know how much you value quality time. As such, I feel that I have to lay out all your options. If you feel that this relationship is no longer viable, then I understand.”

“Ningguang what in Teyvat are you talking about?” You burst out. Swiftly closing the distance between you two, you intertwined your fingers with Ningguang’s. “You don’t really think that I would share the opinion of some people who know nothing about you and us do you?”

“It’s not just them!” Ningguang pointed out. “I’ve heard the same things from colleagues. Besides this wasn’t brought on all of a sudden. For a while now I’ve been wondering if I truly have the capacity to make you happy.”

“Well let me clear that up immediately, the answer is yes.”

You stared into Ningguang’s eyes, expression one of stubborn surety. There was no sense of doubt in your posture or your voice. For the first time in a while Ningguang found herself somewhat calm.

“Let me tell you something Ningguang, relationships aren’t the same for everyone, nor is love. Some people need huge declarations of love, need to always be attached to their partner, need a constant supply of affection. And some need only small gestures, shorter periods of time, a softer form of support. Neither of these are inherently better than the other. Just because we don’t go out to eat every night, just because you place care and effort into your work and choose to spend your time on it, that doesn’t mean that I don’t love you any less, or that your love doesn’t reach me. I’m proud of your work, I’m proud to call my partner the Tianquan; and if other people cannot understand or accept that, then frankly I don’t care.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure!” You let out a laugh, throwing your arms around your partner. “My mind is very made up on this. Besides, you’re much more affectionate than you let on.”

It was as if she’d been suddenly freed from a cage, so immediate was the relief that washed over Ningguang. Returning the embrace she sighed softly, overwhelmed by the love and confidence in your words.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Don’t thank me for anything, you would do the exact same for me.”

“Perhaps you’re right, but thank you nevertheless. Thank you.”

“Well then you’re welcome; though I would do anything for the woman I love.”

“I love you too.”

There was nothing more to say.

Zhongli

“I hope that it ends soon.”

Those words had sent Zhongli spiraling, reeling as the ground crumbled beneath him and he plunged into some dark unknown. How had he gotten here, it didn’t seem to make sense.

He hadn’t wanted to step upon your freedom, to limit you in any way. Though Zhongli wasn’t perhaps the greatest expert on human feelings, he knew that in one way they differed greatly from archons and adepti. Humans always vied for freedom. The freedom to choose, the freedom to do, the freedom to go or stay. While the gods always found any sort of profound change incredibly difficult, an erosion on their power and their influence, humans craved the ways that time waxed and waned, the world with it.

As such he didn’t attempt to put any sort of confinement on your relationship. Being the first human Zhongli had had any meaningful emotional contact with, he was absolutely determined that your relationship should be framed around your needs, which were certainly more demanding as a human being than Zhongli’s could ever be. Not that he ever found himself lacking, indeed it seemed sometimes to the ex-archon as if you were more aware of what his wishes were than he was of yours. When he needed assurance you were there, when something required some sort of explanation or reiteration you were glad to provide it. No matter the time or the place or the setting you were liberal with your love. Zhongli could only hope he provided the same for you.

Perhaps that was why your words surprised him so much. Zhongli knew that your friend was coming over for tea, and had made an effort to leave the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor earlier than usual, much to the annoyance of his pseudo-employer. Though he expect you to be earlier than him, he certainly hadn’t expected your sudden volte-face, the sudden revelation that all was not well.

Not that he could ask about your statement while your friend was visiting, the ex-archon knew that you hated a scene as much as he did, and he doubted he’d be able to get an honest answer out of you with an audience watching. So as he entered, making sure to make as much noise as possible to alert you of his arrival, he tried to bury the sentence in the back of his mind, hoping that it would stay put as long as possible.

Thankfully for Zhongli it is much easier to be patient when one is an immortal former deity. Though time certainly seemed slower than usual, the conversation you and your friend had more difficult to follow than usual, it was nothing that he couldn’t handle. Letting you and your friend chat about anything from work to pets to weather, only interrupting when asked about the tea, Zhongli spent the afternoon turning over your words in his head, and wondering what he was going to say.

Finally the sun dipped behind the buildings, and as the long shadows of evening began to cast themselves down your friend left. Keeping himself as formal as possible during the entire encounter Zhongli let out a soft sigh when the door closed behind them. Even if what was to come was not something he was particularly looking forward to, Zhongli had long ago learned that immediate pain is better than drawn out suffering.

“You were awfully quiet this afternoon.” You pointed out, going to clear up the plates.

“I, I had not noticed. I am sorry.”

“It’s fine, I know that they’re a bit of a talker anyways. Still I was hoping you might say more, my friends already ask me about your reticence, and I don’t want to feed their imaginations.”

“My apologies, I will try to do better.”

“Don’t sweat it really, I’m just rambling.” You smiled as Zhongli began to put away the tea set. “I always love watching you clean the china, it’s so peaceful to watch.”

“I am glad you enjoy it so much,” Zhongli replied, careful to keep his hands from trembling. The conversation loomed ahead of him, dark and unfamiliar, and he didn’t want to break anything in the process. “I, uh, I noticed that you were discussing something when I walked in.”

“I’m sorry we started before you, I didn’t know how long Hu Tao would hold you up. She’s surprisingly persuasive, at least when she’s not selling coffins.” You let out a giggle.

“In light of your conversation, I would like to offer you something.”

“Yes?” You furrowed your brow, evidently puzzled.

“I would like to offer you an end to our relationship.”

“Excuse me?” Your mouth dropped open as you jolted up suddenly in your chair. “What, why? I… what?”

“I do not wish to cause you any pain by forcing you to draw this out. If you wish for things to end quickly, then you ought not to worry about stalling. I promise that I will not contain you.”

“Zhongli, I don’t understand what you’re saying?” Your voice sounded very raw. “Are you saying, are you saying that you don’t want to be in a relationship anymore.”

“No.” Zhongli replied slowly, feeling as if the situation had altogether managed to reverse itself. “I am only saying that if I am tying you down, that if I am no longer making you happy, then you do not have to continue this relationship.”

“Zhongli, I don’t understand why you would ever think that I would want that.”

“But you said ‘I hope that it ends soon’.”

For a moment you stared at your partner, but then something seemed to overtake you and you began to laugh, an awkward sound stranded between relief and humor.

“A commission I was talking about a commission! There’s this tradesman who is trying to set up some sort of security measures with the Guild while he’s stopped in Liyue, and it’s taking up most of my time. It’s why I haven’t visited you at the Funeral Parlor recently as well. Believe me Zhongli, I would never want to break up with you, the idea of doing so makes me miserable.”

“Ah, I see.”

Zhongli wasn’t sure whether he should feel overwhelming relief or embarrassment. That question was put off however as you walked over to where he was sitting and threw your arms around him. Returning the embrace Zhongli pressed soft kisses all over your face. Relief washed over him, and he felt almost dizzy with relief. Though he had tried to tell himself that he wouldn’t let his own emotions rob you of your agency, now that the moment had passed the ex-archon could admit how truly shaken he was, and how much the idea of his days spend utterly devoid of your presence seemed unbearably lonely.

“I still don’t know how you ever jumped to such a conclusion.” You mumbled, leaning over to press a soft kiss on Zhongli’s lips.

The rest of the evening had been spent in a revery of frantic relief, both of you unwilling to stray very far from each other’s arms. Now the two of you lay tangled in bed together, overlapping limbs a solid reminder that all was well with the world.

“I do not want to rob you of your agency,” Zhongli replied, “I fear that I will tie you down. I know that the gods are old and staid, and unlikely to change. I know as well that humans often find such atmospheres stifling, and I fear that one day such a thing will come to pass.”

“Just because humans change their minds easily or want to travel or grow or whatever doesn’t mean that they don’t need an anchor,” you pointed out, voice heavy with fatigue, “we all need somewhere to go back to, we all need a home. You’re my home Zhongli, I never want to leave you.”

“You are my home as well. And I wish not to leave you either.”

“I’m glad the matter is settled then.” You smiled softly, before finally closing your eyes and drifting off to sleep.

“As am I.”

Zhongli lay awake a while, listening to the soft cadence of your breath. You had said it was humans that needed an anchor, but perhaps immortal beings did too. After all, you were the thing that kept Zhongli tethered to the world and the humans around him, and he loved you all the more for it.

#genshin impact fanfiction #ningguang x reader #zhongli x reader #ningguang #zhongli #genshin impact #requested #scenarios #my writing

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creativeashproductions · 4 years

Text

Lost Time // Luke Patterson

Summary: Things changed since Sunset Curve fell apart literally as three out of four members died before a gig. Leaving a sad girl behind Luke by chance runs into the reader with someone else. Death tore the couple apart, and time can’t fix this.

Warning: Talk of death, depression, angst and fluff

Words: 2.2k

Might as well join the Julie and the Phantoms fan club!

*For the sake of the story the time frame has been altered, it takes place in the mid-2000s. Also! I tried to make the reader as generalized as I could to make sure that everyone can relate. The reader is Alex’s sister, for inclusion that can be biological, adopted, half or stepsiblings. I want to make sure all people can be the reader.

Masterlist

THIS IS FROM MY SECONDARY BLOG! REPOST!!

The 1990s was definitely some of the best years of your life watching your brother grow more comfortable in his identity. Alex had kept his sexuality secret, taking the frustration of the secret by learning how to play the drums. You would often be found curled on the chair listening to his growing talent; Alex was a great brother.

Alex found friends in three local boys Reggie, Bobby and Luke, even a little more than friends with Luke briefly. By 1991 the boys had formed a band Sunset Curve with each other and a loyal fan in you. By mid-1994 the band had a fanbase and some gigs, but playing The Orpheum was the goal.

Luke had admitted to Alex, he had feelings for you, and with a lot of encouragement from Alex, he approached you. Luke had been focused on music since his parents gave him his first guitar, so relationships weren’t even on the backburner.

“Hey.” Luke spoke, pressing a kiss to your cheek backstage, “Missed you.”

His hair tickled your skin, bringing a bright smile from the teenage boy and a deep blush from you, private time wasn’t as often as it once had been. After Luke’s fallout with his parents a few months back, he had couch surfed between Reggie and Alex’s rooms; he wasn’t allowed in yours.

“You saw me last night.”

“A monumental time.” Luke bent his bend to place a lingering kiss on your bare shoulder, his jacket having fallen down, “Three years together and a bright future ahead.”

Last night had been the third anniversary of your relationship and hopefully the previous night worrying on parents walking in, cheap dates Luke often felt guilty about. Luke knew in his bones playing The Orpheum tonight would open the door to a legendary future. A future where money wasn’t tight and he could you on dates he deemed acceptable for the love of his life.

Bobby voiced brought Sunset Curve’s lead singer back to that moment, you dropped from the stage to settle in the empty audience to watch the soundcheck. With a wink from Alex, he started making the beat to Now or Never, you beamed as they poured their souls into the song. The four were talented and made to be in a band together even if you didn’t really like Bobby.

Cringing at the awkward wink Bobby sent you turned on your converse to head to the bar for a glass of water. Thanking the bartender, you tuned out the conversation with the waitress and the band only jumping when arms wrapped around your waist.

“We’re getting street dogs.” Luke spoke, bringing your body to rest on his chest, “Do you want one?”

The thought of those street dogs honestly horrifying given they were cooked in some random guys car. The one time you tried, it had permanently tattooed the taste in your memories forever, and just remembering was vomit-inducing.

“I’ll pass.” You wrinkled your nose, turning to wrap your arms around his neck, “I don’t know how you guys like those.”

“Tradition.” Luke shrugged caressing your cheekbone with the pad of this thumb. Gazing at features he wanted to wake up to for the rest of his life, “Still down with the plan?”

“The minute I’m eighteen, we go to the nearest chapel.” You grinned playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, “I’ll be waiting Rockstar.”

Luke pressed a long passionate kiss on your lips, pulling away to jog over to Alex and Reggie waiting at the door. Bobby having declined the street dog invitation to flirt with the waitress Rose. Alex waved before the door closed. Little did you know that would be the last time you saw them alive.

1995 was the worst year of your life. 1996 was the hardest, especially with the forever reminder of your love. You wouldn’t trade 1996 for the world however, only wishing for one change.

Los Angeles, 2004

Alex, Reggie and Luke had learnt a mere few days away from that life had drastically changed forever. Firstly, the three boys had died from eating the street dogs mere hours before performing on the stage of The Orpheum. Secondly, it was no longer 1995 but instead nearly ten years had past bringing the three ghosts into 2004.

The most jarring wasn’t being able to be heard playing music with a random girl named Julie but that the most constant part of the band no longer was there. You hadn’t died that night, and Alex was pretty sure you were still alive. Luke felt lost waking up without you beside him and the deep regret of not reconciling with his parents.

It would be a week before Luke would swallow his pride enough to orb himself into his unchanged childhood home. Emily, Luke’s mom, was in the well-worn chair knitting a scarf Luke recognized as his favourite colours. Mitch was in the kitchen, putting the groceries away. It was heartbreaking being invisible to his aged parents.

“Hey, Mom.” Luke sniffled sitting on the couch nearby staring at his silent mother, “Sorry for not visiting sooner.”

Tears welled up in the boy’s eyes feeling hopeless, not being able to ease his parents’ pain, the regret and guilt bubbling to the surface.

“How is Y/N? I bet she’s living in New York of London now. We promised to travel the world together. Part of me is guilty of wishing she had eaten a street dog that night so we could be together.” Luke sobbed, wrapping his arms around his midsection reminiscing on the beautiful girl he had unwillingly left.

“Hey.” Mitch spoke, kissing his wife’s forehead. Her eyes closing in contentment.

“I wonder if you know where Reg and Alex’s parents are. Reggie’s neighbourhood was torn down who knows when. It makes me scared to see if Alex and Y/N’s parents still have their place. I don’t think so. They lost their son.”

“Hey Luke.”

Luke glanced over his shoulder to see Alex at the door, reluctant to impose of Luke’s privacy.

“Yeah.”

“We’re rehearsing.” Alex spoke, smiling as the other teenager took one more wistful look at his parents before orbing out of his house to the Molina family’s garage. Minutes later, the front door opening and feet thudding brought the noise to the Patterson home.

“Grandma!”

A four-foot blue of green and black blur covered the room in seconds nearly sprawling Mitch to the floor. Why was that 1996 year difficult? Well, ’95 was when Sunset Curve tragically died, and a stick changed your life. ’96 was spent going through the last five months of pregnancy without Luke.

October 1995

You kept your lips pressed tightly together, unable to look at the smooth, shiny mahogany rectangle surrounded by flowers. Looking up meant the reality kicking in. Funerals sucked. Especially the third funeral in the last handful of days. It was surreal thinking that one week ago you had kissed your boyfriend and hugged your brother and now they were dead. Gone. Not even a goodbye.

“Are you okay?” The broke voice asked, gaining your attention. Swollen red eyes matching yours held unimaginable pain. While the last few months had been icy with your parents, it didn’t mean losing one of their kids didn’t sting.

“I will be.” You whispered clasping your hands over the scratchy black velvet dress, one you had worn three times too many.

The sobs broke out seeing the best picture Alex had taken in his life, it encapsulated his best features; his beaming smile and kind, caring eyes. Alex was gone. Your brother was gone because he ate a bad hot dog with his friends. You would never see your boys again. Never feel Luke’s skin or share a laugh with Alex or complain about things with Reggie. You wouldn’t get to meet in the chapel with Luke wearing second hand ‘fancy’ clothing. In one night, your life changed.

It changed further seeing the two lines on the test later that night. The heartache growing. The baby you carried would never meet his uncles and his Dad. Would never hear them play or learn to play. ’95 and ’96 sucked ass.

You sighed, closing the door to follow the rambunctious ball of energy into the living room where he entertained Mitch and Emily. Some days it was difficult to stare into the green eyes he inherited from his father.

“Benjamin Lucas.” You spoke crossing your arms, meeting the gaze of the eight-year-old boy, “What did I say?”

“To not runoff.” Ben quietly replied, playing with his hands. His messy brown hair, in need of a trim, falling into his eyes, “Sorry Mom.”

“Please don’t do it again.” You gently told the little boy elated as he quickly found the toy box in the corner of the room.

Ben was loved deeply by Mitch and Emily, who had stepped up when your parents made the decision to sell your childhood home. Wanting Ben to know his paternal grandparents, you had struggled to find an apartment and job to say in the neighbourhood. Since the baby was the last part of their son, the Patterson parents’ had welcomed you into the home where you stayed until Ben was two.

“Do you want us to come around for Luke’s birthday?” You questioned sitting on the love seat, the same love seat you had made out on with Luke many times during movies.

The room turned sad at the question and reminded that for the ninth year, you would celebrate Luke’s birthday without him. A day where Ben wouldn’t fully understand. Emily simply nodded her head.

“Have you met anyone?” Mitch asked, leaning over to clasp his hands together. For the last few years, they had been pushing you to date. They wanted your happiness and for Ben to have a father even if Luke couldn’t be it.

“Mama can we stay here tonight?” Ben’s innocent voice cut the tension, saving you from answering the question again. Mitch and Emily each nodded their heads at the question, unable to tell the young boy no.

“Have you ate?” Emily asked, turning to look at you in concern. The chuckle left your mouth at the question she frequently requested, she missed cooking for more than two.

“We had pasta before we came.” You replied, turning to gaze out the window to the dark sky, “I should put Ben to bed.”

The soft whine from your son and denial was a nightly routine and very much a mirror image to Luke’s character as well. With a smile, Emily held out her hand to her grandchild, she was notoriously the only one able to get Ben to sleep fast.

“Come on Bug.”

It seemed the universe was keeping Luke from seeing you and discovering Ben, but when that night came, he was shocked. Emily was curled up on the patio couch, watching Ben in the newly bought sandbox. The patio doors opened. Inside, Mitch had invited a stranger who knew his son into the house.

“I think I heard the doorbell. I’ll be right back.” Emily called out to you. You had found shade under the tree reading a new book.

The soft cry had you up and running to Ben before you even realized, on his knee was a bleeding wound. You had already scooped the boy into your arms to quickly get into the kitchen. The moment your foot stepped into the home, the sound of a familiar voice and song filled the house.

Gently placing Ben on his feet, you followed the sound to the living room. Across the room behind a young girl stood a boy.

“Luke.” You breathed floored at the sight of the teenager who looked exactly like he did back in ’95. The ghost singing widened his eyes at yours, taking in the mature features and change of fashion.

He continued to sing the song Unsaid Emily he had written as an apology to his mom following the last big fight. The song he never got to show her. His voice faded as the ending of the song came around.

“Mama!” Your attention broke from Luke’s when a tiny hand reached for yours. The pain in his voice bringing you back to the most important part of your life, “It hurts Mama.”

Despite being sad, Mitch was the one to cross the room to lift the little boy into his arms. Placing the little boy on the counter, the man gently wet a paper towel to wash the area.

“I think he needs stitches.” Mitch sighed, furrowing his brows.

“Who is that?” Luke asked the Molina girl. The girl shrugged taking in the features she could recognize. Julie asked Emily.

“That’s Ben.” Emily beamed, looking over her shoulder at the little boy that filled the void of Luke’s death. It didn’t fix the wound or erase the pain, but Ben’s existence helped with the loss as he was a precious gift, “When Luke passed away his girlfriend Y/N found out she was pregnant with Luke’s baby.”

The choked sob fell from Luke’s mouth echoed by the thud of his knees, hitting the floor in the pure shock. The heartbreak painted so clear Julie was sure she could feel Luke’s agony.

God, why did Luke have to eat that fucking street dog. Fuck his band dreams. Nothing hurt as bad as finding out about Ben and Y/N having to be a single parent.

“I have a son?” Luke cried, orbing himself as far as he could from the Patterson home and his most tremendous loss.

Part Two

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#luke patterson imagines #julie and the phantoms imagines #jatp luke #luke patterson x reader #angst #agentsofsupernaturalmarvel #caitsy and ash productions

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ofmythsandmadness · 3 years

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to be called beautiful | d.h.

❛ do you ever miss, having someone around to love you?❜

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

SUMMARY: vigilantes!au. you push the boundaries of your relationship, and ask for a wish you know won't be given back. (or — it's late, and after another night of patrol, loneliness sets in deep.) WARNINGS: slightly nsfw??? mentions to sex, no descriptions. it's not a sexual story, just a part of an inner monologue. WORD COUNT: 2.6k+ NOTES: reposting this in hopes it shows up this time (pls pls pls i'm gonna cry). i've been writing a whole other series that is a totally different writing style, but i've been trying to work out my emotions in small, focused pieces like this one when i can't focus. i might develop this into a small ficlit series of it's own, bc i think it's kinda fun — but we'll see how this goes.

THE BEAST THAT IS YOUR LONELINESS has been your burden for too long to say.

It's hold on you is a familiar ache, one you've felt for years, like a chronic tight tugging on your heart that refuses to give in no matter what you try. But you still refuse to name it for fear of coming to terms with the implications of it all. That you're really alone in this life and you're terrified of what that means and the fact that you can't have what your childhood stories promised would be yours.

Like the fool you are, you cling to the idea that it's just passing notions. You'll get over it one day. The flitting daydreams of a fairytale romance better fit for a vanilla Hallmark flick suck, but one day they won't hurt so bad. You'll numb and find a way to fill the void. And you try, you really do, pushing it down for the quick release of meaningless acts and walks of shames and cold bedsheets.

Sex is a toxic friend. You choose it's pull when your heart aches most and the loneliness begs for your breath to the point where every gasp of air is a privilege, not the bare minimum. It's not what you crave. There's no romance, no love. It's a trade and one that always leaves you feeling robbed of something you're not sure you ever even had.

You rarely remember their names. You know they probably won't remember yours. And why would they? The shudders, the whimpers, the cold moans that amount to nothing but crumbs of a supposedly passionate act only pass an hour, then they're gone. Or you're gone, if you're lonely enough to risk it. A bit of fun, a breath of pink and white and the feeling of someone pulling you closer, begging for your skin against theirs.

And then, it's all grey again. And you're alone at your apartment, washing your body free of the marks some stranger dared to press into your wilting skin, wondering what it would feel like for a lover to kiss you that same way. Running your fingers over every inch that has been caressed by so many faceless guests, trying to hold yourself in the way your foolish heart pounds for. But it's never enough. Your hands don't cup your flesh, don't mould and kiss and promise the carefully knitted lies any lover had dealt you in the past. And you're as cold as ever when they fall back to your sides. Nothing enflames your skin like you wishes it could — like those you wish would.

It's a discontent you live with. Just as you're sure millions of others do. That's what life is; you push yourself through the day, through your mundane day job and your taxing nighttime hobbies (because you sure as hell can't claim what you do as real work if your only pay is in blood and tears). You cling to the good times that happened too long ago to remember clearly, and make the moments that you're alone with your thoughts as small as possible.

But there's no time to consider all that now.

You scrunch your face up as tight as you can, squeezing your eyes shut to the point where you see stars, exploding like confetti in some absurd black void that hides behind your lids. For a moment you hold the pose, watching the stars erupt, until the position hurts too much and you have to release.

Surroundings blur and then clear as your eyes readjust from their disassociation. You stare blearily at the random coffee shop you and your 'associate' chose for the night. It's just as generic as the last five visited, a thousand shades of brown and red and weary smiles the bored baristas wear just for a cheap check that'll barely cover their asses. It's worn and empty; no one's hear except the two of you and the workers who probably hate you for being here so late.

Normally, you would feel like an asshole staying so late. But you can't bring yourself to move, or even suggest to. It's all too heavy. And even if it's in brooding silence, you don't want to leave your partner. Not yet, you beg the universe, just a few more minutes.

And, speaking of—

"What's got you so blue today?"

You blink. Look over to him, only to see him already watching you.

There's really no point lying. He always unravels you too quickly, too easily — it's the detective in him, unravelling anyone and scooping their truths from shivering flesh. Some sort of childhood trauma response he developed into another super power.

You used to hate it. Now...if you concentrate hard enough, his sharp gaze feels like one of a lover's.

"Don't know what you mean," you tell him, foolish and flustered. "I'm just fine."

"Bullshit. You've sighed a dozen times in the last five minutes."

"Tch. No I haven't."

"Did too!"

His teeth glint, white and clashing against the full pink of his lips. You wish you could denounce all the times you wondered what it would feel like to have them graze against your keening skin — but not even all the gods could cleanse of you of those thoughts. Those desperate, pleading, melancholic memories stain; he can't see them, but you do when you look close enough. And you can't escape it, much as you try.

"Seriously, though. What's up with you?"

Your gaze falls down to your hands, eager to escape his allure, though it's not a great distraction. It only makes you more bitter, really, taking in all the flaws that litter your weaponised limbs. They're calloused from a million fights. Your knuckles are scarred, aching from wounds you reopen every other night. A thousand scars from a thousand scrapes, cuts, slashes and grazes linger on once perfect skin. You don't know how many there are, anymore, only that you wish you could wipe them off. Start over, have a clean slate. Erase all your mistakes and be beautiful again.

"I'm just tired," you lie. It's tense and pitiful; you know you've screwed it up the second the words leave your lips. "S'all."

"Ri-i-ight, and I'm the goddamn queen of England."

The absurdity of his retort makes your lips twitch. It's not enough for a smile, your self-inflicted misery makes sure of that, but it's a seed of something. "Wow. Didn't know I was in the presence of royalty."

"Yeah, yeah. Shut it."

"My apologies, your highness."

"Shut up, you little shit," he grumbles, but it's as soft as you get from him. It's practically a cry of love — or your foolish mind paints it as such. You take his teasing insults as promises of adorations and his arguments are poems of lust and infatuation that tug on your heartstrings in ways you know they shouldn't.

You're partners, for crying out loud. Professional coworkers (if you call the bloody mess you two create work). You don't get to miss him, or crave him, or love him like you do.

"Something happen to you?"

You watch his own hands fold and unfold on the table. The long, delicate fingers stand out on a man like him; someone who paints himself in only sharp angles and cutting lines. But you think they match him well. They promise life. Bleed hope, even in the raised scars that lace his skin like your own. You've watched those fingers grip a blade, launch it into flesh, pull and push and dig and rip and take and committed acts of atrocity most people would run from. You know he probably thinks of his hands the same way you do. But you think they're beautiful.

"Nah. It's...it's nothing. Really."

You can't see his face, but you imagine his narrowed eyes and furrowed brows asking for an answer you're just not willing to give. "C'mon, just tell me. Can't be that bad."

Your body laughs. You hear it from some place far away. It's cold and hoarse; you wonder how long it's been since you've heard a genuine laugh from yourself. You wonder if he notices (and wishes he did, foolishly, frivolously...).

It's probably stupid, but you go for it.

"You ever miss having someone?"

Something creaks; his chair, groaning as he shifts his weight. One of his fingers taps against his empty coffee cup; idle music for a restless soul.

"Like, in what way?"

"I..." Your nails dig into your palms. This was a mistake, but one you have to follow through with. He won't accept silence after something like that. "In the cheesy, domestic sorta way? That whole, havin' someone to come home to, someone who you can talk to, someone who..." the words stick like molasses in the back of your throat. Try as you do, they refuse to give themselves to him, so you have to substitute. "Just, someone who likes you, past your body or, or whatever."

"Oh."

"Sorry." It's your turn to shift in your seat, awkwardly searching for something to occupy yourself with as this uncomfortable energy you've created carries on. But your cup's empty, and you don't have the cash to ask for another overpriced latte. "Forget about it. Let's talk about somethin' else, yeah?"

He doesn't answer that. In fact, he doesn't say anything at all for a moment, long enough to make you wonder if you've just crossed the line of no return. You can't bring yourself to look at him, hell your cowardice is painful enough to make you wonder if you should just make a run for it, say au revoir! to the bond you've built with this knife-obsessed robin hood and crush your heart forever.

It's tempting, and you consider it, but then he fills the silence.

"I miss Eudora sometimes."

Finally, your gaze tilts up. Your eyes meet his lips. He's not smiling anymore.

You guys don't talk about exes together. It's a forbidden topic, same as family or childhoods or the number of people that have cut you open and bled you dry for fun. It's too personal, and in this line of work, personal doesn't fly. But you know Eudora Patch, because this line of work requires a couple run ins with people like her, and because your partner in crime has never learned how to stop his emotions from bleeding into his expression.

"Not because I still love her, but y'know..." his fingers wave aimlessly. "It was nice, when it worked. I liked having someone to sleep with. In a non-sexual manner." His lip curls a little. "Guess the sex part was nice too, though."

You nod. "Yeah, I get that. It's...it was nice, having someone who knew you. Who wanted to make you feel good, not just for themselves but 'cause that sort of things matters."

"Mm."

"Y'ever consider pursuing that sort of thing?"

He shakes his head. His adamancy is a truck smashing into your heart — though you know you should have expected no less, it still hurts. "I can't. It never works, with people like us. Y'know?"

"Yeah. Makes sense." You want to say more. You probably should say more — but you doubt he wants to hear your woes about intimacy, and the pathetic ways you crave affection you probably don't deserve. "Yeah."

"Why?"

"Hm?"

His brows knot. "Why're you asking? Someone do somethin'?"

"What? No."

"Cause, like, if someone's hurt you, I'll—"

"I'm fine," you promise, and without thinking, you reach across the table to pat his hand. To reassure him like one would a lover. But just before your fingers meet his, the bitter reminder that he's not yours sets in and you draw back. Your hand falls a couple inches from his own. "And I can take care of myself, if I wasn't. Don't worry."

He chuckles mirthlessly. "Y'sure about that? You're still the dumbass that tripped over her own feet twice walking down an empty sidewalk, and—"

"—oh, you are such an asshole, why can't you just—"

"—so if you need someone to cut a bitch, I'm available."

You soften slightly. Try to smile, even if it's a false promise and probably hangs like a broken door on mismatched hinges. "I appreciate that. But I'm okay. Think I'm just tired, and a little lonely."

"What, I'm not good enough for you anymore?"

Bitterness seeps onto your tongue; it speaks before you can shut your lips around it. "You're fine as a partner against crime. But you're not anything otherwise, are you?" It feels like a taunt. You hadn't meant it to be — though, maybe you had.

If he takes your jeer poorly, though, it doesn't show on his face. He's still smiling and watching you, eyes simmering with a joke you wish you were in on.

"It doesn't matter though. Having someone's too complicated, 'specially for fools like us. Sometimes it's just..." you don't have a good answer. Not one he'd want to hear, anyways. "I just miss it sometimes. It'd be nice to have someone to talk to, or eat breakfast with in the mornings."

He nods slowly. "Yeah. Was nice, having another body around."

"Yeah. Ha. I," you stutter out a chuckle. Tug at your lip, nibbling at the cracked skin that comes with your long nights. "No one prepares you for how lonely adulthood is. Like, I'm half tempted to make friends with the takeout guys, just so I have a friend at all."

"We're friends."

"You know what I mean," you mumble, swallowing the bitter 'are we?' that almost makes its way off your tongue. "It was just nice when I had the time, to have a person around. Someone to like, hold hands with, or-or call me beautiful, sometimes. I-I can't remember the last time called me that, any..."

Fuck.

You hadn't meant for that last confession.

He wasn't supposed to hear that. It's too personal, too personal, too fucking personal for someone you don't even know.

Everything trembles; you're shaking like an avalanche, ready to sweep it all away under some snow drift. Never to be seen again. But you can't do that, there's no taking back the way your voice cracked as it reaches it's last word, and how your hand slips into a fist, ready to charge even though there's no punching your way out of this fumble.

You crack. Stumble out of your seat. Before he can talk you're moving, throwing a couple bills (too many for your poor wallet, you'll pay for that later) down and mumbling something about heading home. Your head's spinning and you just want to sit down again, pretend like this never happened and ask about some meaningless moment in a meaningless day that you wish could be yours and his, not just—

"—text me when you're goin' out again," you say, high and nervous. "I'll be around."

You turn.

"You don't have to leave."

"I got work tomorrow. Early."

"Thought you had the day off?"

Fuck, la deuxième acte. "Taking a shift for someone."

"Oh." He doesn't believe you. He would be a fool to. But he agrees anyways. "Okay."

"See ya, Kraken."

He doesn't answer you back. It's probably better that way.

BONUS

Many hours later, you're in bed, finally dozing off. You've rinsed off the filth of the night and resigned yourself to a barely adequate rest alone, too tired to consider what usually makes your mind race. It's been a long day; let future you contemplate all the ways you've screwed up.

Just as you're about to fall asleep, however, there's a small ping! that immediately wakes you up A notification sound reserved for only one person.

You groan but still roll over. Your heart may be a humiliated, burning mess, but it still beats for him, much as you've tried to stifle it.

kraken // 2:36 am. you available at 11p tomorrow?

kraken // 2:37 am. got word somethin going down at east docks, wanna check it out before it gets bad.

Relief is a sweet blessing. You exhale and smile into the darkness. He's still a professional, even if you seem unable to understand what that means.

you // 2:40 am. for sure. meet me at my place whenever and we can prep.

You leave it at that. Whatever he has to say after that, cannot be too important to waste your precious hours of sleep. So you roll over and shut your eyes and let yourself forget about the empty space that fills your place.

It's a decision you regret the next morning, when you wake up and realise what you missed.

kraken // 3:31 am. you ever get lonely for someone, feel free to let me know.

kraken // 3:32 am. might not make a great boyfriend, but i'll eat breakfast with you. so long as you're cooking.

A/N - I had a whole idea for two tired vigilantes (like what Diego does in season one, but partnered up) who both are really lonely and tired of life and all it's shit, and rely on each other more than they'll ever admit, and...I'll probably never write it, but this was a fun bit of that. two lonely emotionally deprived assholes who can't accept that maybe they can be loved and the person who wants to is right in front of them. :)

#my writing #diego hargreeves #diego hargreeves x reader #tua x reader #tua imagine #diego hargreeves imagine #hargreeves imagine #hargreeves x reader #gender neutral reader

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sparkkeyper · 3 years

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A Matter of Trust

My take on the “night at Crowley’s flat” fic.

Swapping faces requires complete trust. Unfortunately, Aziraphale has not been particularly honest leading up to Armageddon and it's hard to overcome that doubt.

Words: 2295

Warnings: None

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

"You really think she meant switching our actual faces?"

"I've been over it a dozen times and I'm quite sure. I've had the last 72 hours to become familiar with Agnes' peculiar brand of predictions."

Crowley blew out a long breath and took another sip of his coffee. It was the deepest hour of the night. Darkness pressed around the outside of his flat, threatening at the edges of the LED lighting. "Put a lot of stock in this prophecy, do you?"

Aziraphale nodded from where he sat nearby on the couch, the torn slip of prophecy on the cushion between them. "Absolutely. Every prediction in her book came to pass exactly as she saw it. If this is the scenario we're up against, then 'choosing our faces wisely' is our best shot at surviving it."

"Suppose that's settled, then. Once Above and Below start after us, they won't stop unless we really give them a good reason."

"I agree. Now, this will require complete trust and extraordinary focus in order to work. It isn't like lending someone a scarf."

"That's the point, I thought. Something neither side will see coming."

"Exactly. All right then." Aziraphale wriggled a bit on the couch, bracing himself. "Are you ready?"

Crowley set down his coffee and flexed his fingers. "Ready."

Aziraphale held out his hand and the demon took it. Swap with him.

Nothing happened.

"Er..."

"Ngk. Hang on." Crowley gave himself a shake. "Been a long day and all that. Lemme just refocus. Right, let's do it." He took the angel's hand again. Swap. With. Him.

Again, nothing happened.

There were several long, awkward seconds.

Get it together, you stupid snake. This is important. This could be the most important thing you've ever done. This is Aziraphale. Best friend for centuries. You know what to expect from him.

He did know what to expect. That was the problem.

The moment was stretching on far too long. He dropped the angel's hand like it had burned him and scrubbed his palms over his soot-stained face.

"Crowley?"

"It's fine! I'll make it work, give me a blessed break."

He stood and paced the room for a moment while Aziraphale sat stiffly on the couch, watching him. "Is there anything I can do to...to facilitate things? I'm not sure what the problem is."

"There's no problem, it's fine," Crowley snapped. "I've got this. Just worry about your end of it and I'll worry about mine. Right!" He spun on his heel with his hand out and Aziraphale stood to match him. "Swap, then!"

He clasped the angel's hand and tried. He could feel the miracle simmering somewhere in the ether, attempted but not complete. He reached for it, he reached with all his might.

"Crowley-"

"I can do this," he insisted, a pit forming in his stomach. He'd just held his car together for 40 miles, he could believe one little idea for 5 seconds.

"Crowley-"

"I can do this!"

"Oh for goodness' sake-"

The angel was frustrated. He had every right to be but that was beside the point. A frustrated Aziraphale got indignant. A frustrated Aziraphale stormed off.

A frustrated Aziraphale pulled away when they needed most to stick together.

Crowley blessed savagely and spun, stomping for the balcony.

"Where are-"

"I just...I need to get some air." He slammed the door behind him before Aziraphale could respond.

The night breeze from so many stories up was like a slap in the face. Crowley welcomed it, leaning heavily on the balcony railing and burying his face in his hands. He couldn't do the miracle. Not that he didn't want to - he'd rarely wanted anything so much in his life. But he couldn't get his heart into it the way it needed to be.

We're not friends!

It wasn't true, of course. But it was something Aziraphale had wanted to be true. Because it would make the angel's life so much less complicated. Crowley was a friend...until he wasn't. Crowley occupied a place of esteem...until he didn't. Aziraphale worked so very hard to view a messy world in a manageable way and sometimes cuts had to be made.

His coffee sat suddenly on the railing because it knew what was good for it, and when he raised it to his lips it obligingly added a considerable amount of whiskey.

If they couldn't do the swap, they had no future. The Earth had a new lease on life tonight, but if they couldn't swap it would be at the price of their own. He knew Hell would show no mercy and he couldn't fool himself into thinking Heaven would. But Aziraphale... When it came to Heaven, Aziraphale could fool himself into thinking a lot of things.

I don't even like you!

Even if I did I wouldn't tell you! We're on opposite sides!

Aziraphale, who always had excuses to fall back on.

Aziraphale, who had a book with the Antichrist's address and hadn't told him.

Aziraphale who, when the world was on the brink of destruction, had kept calling out to Heaven.

If it came down to their partnership or Heaven, Heaven was the first to be appeased, no contest. Crowley understood his reasons. Aziraphale was, at his core, an angel. He treasured that identity even if he disagreed with his superiors and assignments. He held out hope in goodness, in Her, in a way Crowley never could. He wanted so badly for everything to turn out nice and good in the end, and Crowley could not take that from him.

When Heaven couldn't provide, Crowley was there to be his safety net. But Heaven was always, always first.

The balcony door clicked behind him and hesitant footsteps stepped out into the night. "If there's anything I can do to help you focus, you need only ask."

Crowley couldn't bring himself to look at him. "Focus isn't the problem."

Aziraphale was quiet for a very long moment. "Oh," he said softly.

There was no shock in his voice. No condemnation either. Crowley wondered if it would take some time to sink it, given everything that had already happened to them tonight, but as Aziraphale joined him at the balcony railing he knew that the angel understood what this meant.

Dull blue eyes followed Crowley's gaze out over London and Aziraphale took a slow sip of his tea. "This is my fault, isn't it?"

"Don't," Crowley told him tiredly. "What's done is done."

"But the consequences are ongoing. And will be for a long time, I expect." Aziraphale sighed heavily. "I am responsible, I won't pretend otherwise."

"I tried," Crowley confessed, the words barely audible over the background hum of the city. "I truly did."

"I don't doubt it."

A breeze wandered in. Tousled through red and blonde hair. Wandered somewhere else.

"I suppose I ought to at least ask...was it slow over time or was it because of this past week?"

Crowley didn't answer for a moment, taking another sip of his coffee. "Bit of both."

"Mmm." Aziraphale nodded, not particularly surprised by this. "I should have seen this coming, really. I should have seen a good many things coming."

"Stop it," the demon muttered. "You can't see everything coming. Something something ineffability."

"Is just one of the excuses I've been hiding behind for a very long time. And now it's caught up with me. With us." He sighed. "I suppose it's not just evil that contains the seeds of its own destruction."

Crowley didn't have the energy to come up with a biting response. He just looked exhausted. "I don't regret a minute of it, you know," he murmured. "The Arrangement. You and I. Wouldn't trade it for anything." There were dark circles under his eyes. "But I can't trust you the way I'd need to for this to work. I wish I could. I've tried. I just can't do it."

Aziraphale grimaced to hear the words out loud, but did not dispute it. How could he? "I don't blame you. You're right - it's not fair to ask you to trust me when I've squandered your trust so thoroughly."

We're not friends, hung thick in the air between them.

"Not that I think you don't care," Crowley clarified. "I know you do. You're terrible at hiding it, really. And you came to find me today before it all ended. That's not nothing." He took another sip of coffee. "But you also lied to my face. Repeatedly."

"I did," the angel acknowledged quietly.

"While the world was ending."

"Yes."

"That hurt, Aziraphale."

Aziraphale bit his lip hard. "I know. I'd take it back if I could. But I suppose it's too late to make a difference now."

They stood in silence for a time. Then Crowley sighed and turned back to the flat. "Come on. It's been a long day. There's wine in the kitchen, we may as well enjoy it while we can before they come for us."

The angel followed him inside and watched as he pulled glasses from a cabinet. "Thank you again for allowing me to stay the night. You didn't have to, after everything."

"Stay as long as you like," the demon uncorked the wine bottle. "Your shop's gone. Fuck's sake, I'm not a monster."

"No." Aziraphale's expression was very, very soft. "You're not."

Crowley took off his sunglasses and looked up at him at last: this demon whose heart had been broken too many times. "I want you to be all right, Aziraphale. I need you safe. I need you alive. I want to see you happy. But I don't know how far I can meet you."

"I can't say I'm surprised, after all I've put you through," the angel admitted ruefully. "Denying we were ever friends, or insinuating that you were somehow less than I. I've been a rather dreadful friend to you over the centuries."

Crowley hung his head, wine forgotten. "I know why you keep us at a distance and I know why you lied about the boy. You were doing what you thought was best at the time. I can't blame you for that. But to do what that prophecy wants, when push comes to shove I need to believe with all my heart that you won't leave me hanging. And I...I can't bring myself to believe that." He scrubbed his hands across his face. "Given time I might, but we don't have time. I can't do it. And I hate it. Because that's going to get you killed. I need you alive but once they come for us, I won't be able to save you. Not this time."

"You talk as though you're not in danger yourself," Aziraphale's face crumpled. "Crowley, if Below gets their hands on you they will destroy you utterly. I will not let that happen. I can't take back what I've said but you are the dearest thing in this world to me and I'm not going to stand back and let them take you."

Crowley looked like he was trying so very hard to hope but just couldn't get there. "I want to believe that, I really do. But I can't do blind faith like you can. I don't have it in me anymore."

Aziraphale closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to the demon's. "I'm not asking you to forgive what I've done. And I'm not asking for blind faith. Goodness knows how much trouble that's caused." His voice cracked at that but he plunged onward. "I'm only asking you to believe me when I say that I will not let Hell have you. If we cannot switch our faces, we will find another way."

"But your prophecy. Agnes-"

"Agnes be damned." That shut Crowley up. Tears glistened on the angel's cheeks. "If I have to march Down There after you. If I have to take up a sword. If I have to stand between you and God Herself. I swear to you on everything that I am, I will not let Hell have you."

And in that brief moment, for just that one promise in a sea of other broken ones, Crowley believed he was telling the truth.

His hand scrabbled for Aziraphale's and he pushed for all he was worth before he could lose this moment, he pushed every atom of his soul into the heart of his best friend, gave him everything that he was and ever could be, and in that instant he trusted Aziraphale to keep him safe.

And then Aziraphale was pouring into him and Crowley opened himself up and let it happen, let him seep into every muscle, every bone, every molecule of his being -

-and suddenly there was no difference between them, there was no angel, no demon, just a tumult of soul and hope and pain and fear and resolve and-

Crowley tumbled out the other side like falling out of bed. He gasped in a strangled breath, stumbling backwards into the kitchen counter and staring suddenly into his own face. He stared down at his clothes - beige - and his hands - manicured - and back up, feeling the warmth of his best friend's corporation surrounding him like a blanket. Aziraphale, in Crowley's, did much the same.

There was stunned silence in the flat as they let this sink in. Then one of them snapped, or maybe both, and suddenly Crowley's face was buried in the collar of a stinking, burnt leather jacket and Aziraphale was crushing him close, and both were squeezing so hard the other could scarcely breathe.

"Thank you," Aziraphale managed at last. "For trusting me enough to let me save you."

"Not if I save you first," Crowley choked out, and broken giggles filled the flat.

(Also on AO3!)

#good omens #good omens fic #the night at crowley's flat #aziraphale #crowley #aziraphale having to take responsibility for lying #the body swap #can these two idiots just SIT DOWN AND TALK #trauma is never your fault #being gaslight and coerced is never your fault #but we still have to be aware of those we hurt when we're not at our best #not that Crowley's 100% innocent #they'll figure it out they just need time

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sirthisisa-wendys · 3 years

Text

The Regular (Part 1.5): Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader

synopsis: Geto is back for more, but innocence and sincerity isn’t something you’re used to.

word count: 2k

tw: none

a/n: This is just a brief interlude between part 1 and part 2! It will get steamier in part 2 for sure.

The squeal of the hinges alerts you to someone’s presence in the dressing room, and you look up from your phone and into the blue eyes of Mrs. Lampton. She’s wearing a shit-eating grin and holding out a wad of cash, obviously very excited to speak to you. “This is for you! VIP room tonight. You know the deal.” Before you can stretch out your hand to warily accept the cash, you raise a brow in question. “Oh, it’s the man from last night.” She answers quickly, a blush fanning across her fair cheeks.

Geto.

You stand to take the cash from the manager, noting the thickness of the stack and the way that the bills were pressed smooth - not crumpled like the ones thrown at you in haste. Someone had counted this money and stacked it with you in mind.

“This is--”

“It’s more than enough to cover the nightly operating fees for a week,” Mrs. Lampton waves away your observation, disappearing as soon as she finishes speaking. The hunter green two-piece you wore was no longer appropriate, and you take a look at the small offerings of clothing you had at your disposal. He had already seen the red lingerie, and that left you with the only other thing you had bothered to bring: a baby blue silk slip dress. Sliding the flimsy thing over your head, you think about his intentions tonight. Would Geto touch you? Would there be any sign of his arousal beyond the uncomfortable shifting? Or would he perform the “I’m going to save you from this place” act? You didn’t want to be saved from the club, that much you knew. The club had saved you. This environment provided you a well-needed distraction from the constant chaos that was your daytime life. Compared to that, the strip club was absolute heaven, and nothing would change that. Not even the wads of cash you were bound to receive from the mysterious man.

It’s the main reason why you empathize with your clients: escapism isn’t just a luxury they could afford. It’s one you desperately need, and they just bring the money for you to enjoy the feeling of being someone else for a change. On stage, you were someone everyone looked at with lust and desire. The attention on you there was rarely negative and if you could trade your daytimes for your night times, you would do it in a heartbeat.

Before you can slip back into your true self, you look at yourself in the mirror and fluff your natural hair. No wigs, that’s one of Geto’s rules. You take one more look at your reflection, decide it’s enough, and slide the thin black robe over yourself before exiting.

“Come here.” The request is met with immediate obedience, and you feel your legs magnetically pulled to the man sitting cross-legged on the couch, dressed in a dark blue shirt and black slacks. The top three buttons on his shirt are open, letting you catch a glimpse of the strong, pale chest beneath. “You look alluring, as always.”

Geto extends a hand out to you, and you tenderly take it, sliding your fingers into his large palm. Surprisingly, the pads of his fingertips and palm aren’t rough and calloused. That’s the sign of a man who doesn’t have to work hard for his money, your aunt would say. And you found that to be mostly true. Yuma never had calloused hands, not with his late father’s money cushioning him from any hard labor.

When Geto pulls you into his lap, you perch yourself on his right leg precariously, letting his right arm wrap around you and settle onto your hip. Instinctively, you lean into his frame, resting your head on his massive shoulder. His smell is different tonight. It’s earthen and full of some essential oil you can’t quite identify, but it suits him.

“Talk to me,” he murmurs over the soft music. He had the selections changed, you notice, the usual songs sexual and explicit. Now, you were surrounded by jazz, which changed the entire environment of the VIP room. You no longer felt like you would have to dance around sensually for him. Now, you felt like you were in a fancy, upper class yacht club, except in a robe and a night slip with no shoes on. Was he trying to save you? “Tell me about your day.”

“I’d rather not,” you whisper, thinking of the tension-filled morning and the afternoon you slept away. “Tell me about your day.” Geto rests his cheek against the crown of your head, inhaling deeply before exhaling; his chest rising and falling exaggeratedly.

“I’d rather not.” A moment of understanding passes between you, but he squeezes your hip suddenly, laughing a little. “Tell me, y/n… you seem well-adjusted. Did you choose this career path or did this career path choose you?”

“Well…” you think about the question deeply, and choose accordingly. “I chose this.”

“Do you enjoy what you do?”

“I do,” you breathe, remembering Yuma for a second. “I enjoy it here. Do you enjoy what you do?” When the man doesn’t answer, you lift your head off of his shoulder and look into his onyx eyes. There’s a certain stare in them - not a long stare, but enough to make you wonder - and it isn’t until he blinks that his lips part to answer.

“I do what I have to in order to survive.”

“You make it sound like you’re a mobster.” The laugh that resonates in his chest is deep and thoughtful, like he was just considering the prospect of it all. He reaches out a hand to touch your cheek, which you shy away from slightly. It isn’t unusual for a man to attempt to touch you in a more intimate way, but all of this coming from Geto feels too familiar. He clears his throat and drops his hand, looking away from you and at the lamps on the wall.

“If I said I was, what would you do?”

“Nothing,” you admit. “There’s not much I could do. Who would I tell?” The thought that this man could actually be a mobster just needing a break sticks a little harder than it should. It would explain the cash, the nice outfits, the need for privacy…

“No, I don’t associate with the underbelly of society. It’s not my game. Gojo, though…” You frown at the name, and he looks at you with a blank stare. “My bad; my friend from the night before.”

“Blue eyes?”

“Yeah,” he begins, looking away. “He brought me here to ease my nerves… I thought a few drinks would do the trick. But here I am.” He gives you a half-shrug, lips turning back up into a smile. That’s when the question you’ve been dying to ask falls out of your mouth without caution.

“Why do you pay more than you have to for... this room?” For me, you want to add, but decide that’s a step too far into personal details. Geto blinks, no doubt sensing your unspoken addition, and tilts his head to the side. “I mean, you could have an escort come to you every single night for the amount you pay for all of this…” You wave your hand around at the furnishings as if to prove your point. “And you could have sex with them.”

“That’s not what I’m looking for right now.” He replies, and you squint in disbelief, moving off of his leg.

“You’re telling me you don’t want to have sex.”

“Is that a question or a statement?” He asks, chuckling a little at your wary expression.

“Both.”

“Can’t I just get to know a beautiful woman in the privacy I can afford?”

“You could date a rich woman and take her out to fancy dinn-”

“That’s a lot of commitment.” Geto interrupts, holding a hand up to cut you off. “I don’t think that’s something I want splashed across every gossip rag.”

“And this is?”

“No one comes here to gossip. The focus is you and your co-workers, and they know what I come here for. It’s not as headline-inducing as taking out the heiress to a billion-dollar company to eat overpriced scallops in a five-star restaurant that pays its workers too little.” He hasn’t raised his voice a single octave, instead looking at you with a soft gaze and planting his hand on his now-abandoned leg. You take in all of the information he’s offered, uncrossing your arms and now standing akimbo, unsure of how to respond.

Gossip rags… Heiresses… Headlines…?

Geto wasn’t just rich. People had their eyes on him. Why hadn’t Mrs. Lampton warned her? Who else knew about his status in a world that she couldn’t truly occupy?

“Please,” he begins, stretching his hand out once more. “Sit with me. I enjoy your company.” You take his hand again, and this time he slides you in next to him, your bare leg touching his soft pants. “Now, tell me about the day you wish you had.”

_______________________________________________________________________

Your alarm goes off at exactly seven am. It isn’t ideal, but you know that in order to even get to your aunt’s flower shop on time, you had to give yourself an hour head start. Waking up was hard enough, and with the situation you were facing, it seemed like times would be getting even harder.

It isn’t until you get into the shower that you recount the details of the last night.

“I’m going to be away for a few days, but here’s a little something that might warm your hands while I’m gone.”

The impossible had happened yet again, and the thick stack of twenty dollars bills Geto handed you sat in your safe - untouched, uncirculated, and the seal around them remained unbroken. You had tried to look him up and find out what exactly he did during his day life, but the search results turned up absolutely nothing but an article from four years ago proclaiming the winner of a chess tournament in India named Geto. When you clicked on the article, you couldn’t read it, but the thirteen-year-old champion was absolutely not the man that had lavished you with cash.

You tried looking up his white-haired friend, Gojo, but found nothing on him as well. Whoever they were, there was not a single gossip rag that published a photo, quote, or mentioned them.

Because they paid them off, stupid.

You nod to yourself at the realization, and wash yourself completely before toweling off in the steamy bathroom. You’re in the middle of wondering what kind of people actually paid to have their names taken out of magazines when the door shudders violently under someone’s fist.

“Fucking hurry up,” one of your housemates yells from the other side, and you gather your things before rushing past the man in the doorway, ducking your head so he couldn’t accost you. But you’re roughly yanked to the side, making you drop your dirty clothes to the floor. Rough, calloused fingers bite into your arm, and you gasp, staring at the unfriendly face of the only male in the house. “Stop using all of the damn hot water in this house, y/n. I’ve told you that you get only three minutes of hot water, or else you’re paying the entire water bill, got it?”

“Sorry, Ryo…” you shrink away from the man’s harsh gaze, and he lets go of your arm silently, storming into the bathroom and slamming the door shut. This. This is what you needed saving from.

Ryo’s girlfriend, Hasia, timidly shuffles into the room and gives you an apologetic look. She always did that, coming behind Ryo to apologize with her face and never her words. But it was almost over. Soon, you’d have enough to move out and be on your own - and if Geto was going to stay, then all of his money would trickle into your savings for rent, utilities, and new furniture. As it stood, you had enough to purchase something halfway decent, and with the rest of the incoming money, you would be able to fix it up to appear quite nice. You just had to time everything right, and keep your new regular coming back for more.

#geto x reader #jujutsu kaisen getou #jjk geto #geto suguru #getou x reader #getou suguru #jujutsu kaisen #jjk

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meltwonu · 4 years

Text

| 🎃 𝕸𝖔𝖓𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖍 🎃 |

↪ ✦ sea castles ✦

this chapter pairing; yandere!woozi x reader, subtle jeonghan x reader

genre&warnings; merman!au, yandere!woozi, character death, dom!woozi/possessive!woozi, virgin!reader, overstimulation, oral(fem receiving), cheating, drugs/poisoning, kidnapping.

✖ That being said, I do NOT condone yandere-like/obsessive/possessive behaviour in real life. this is a work of fiction therefore I will indulge in it. If you do NOT like this kind of content, please just ignore it.

notes; Welcome to the first installation to Monster Mash, where we explore the strange and unusual with our monster fucker anonymous club! 👻 🎃 Let’s get spooky, bitches! As always, I just want to take the time to thank you all for the interest in Monster Mash! 😳 I was not expecting it tbh so thank you all so much!💕 also if the writing style of this seems weird just know that I wrote half of this in 2018 so some parts read different from my usual write style, in my opinion at least 😭 hehe~ anyway, enjoy this first chapter and I will see you all in the next! 😌✨

word count; ~5100

chapters; 1 - x - x - x - x - x - x - x - x - x - x - x - x

baby, why don't you see, see my sea?

make slow, get inside and pull on my sea

get inside and build your castle into me

Jihoon’s head breaks through the surface of water, sea foam momentarily blinding him as he frantically searches beyond the jagged rocks for any sign of his human companion. His fragile hands move slowly over the rocks. She’s late again, He thinks. Nothing new.

A sigh escapes his lips as he rests his head on one of the rocks, closing his eyes as he waits, a soft hum on his lips when he drifts out of consciousness.

When he wakes, he isn’t even aware he’s fallen asleep but the frantic thoughts that someone’s found him sends him into overdrive as his pale grey eyes sweep over the shore once again; eyes landing on a figure sitting not too far away.

“Jihoon you’ve fallen asleep on me again.” You chide. A blush forms on Jihoon’s cheeks as he ducks under the water momentarily, hoping the slight chill of the water will keep the heat from spreading to his face. “You’re late again”, he starts, “We agreed to meet here when the tower bell chimes for sun down every other nightfall, didn’t we?” There’s a moment of hesitation on his end but he wades through the water, carefully making his way towards you.

“I’m really sorry about being late, it was Jeonghan, I--”

Jihoon’s eyes flash a pale pink, tuning you out at the sound of his name. Jeonghan; the prince and your soon to be husband. Jihoon doesn’t like him, not one bit. “It’s fine! I’m just glad you could make it…” A pout on his lips as he picks a rock near your legs, propping his arms up onto it as he stares up at you and rests his chin on his folded arms.

“What were you up to today, Jihoonie?” You ask. Your fingers curl around the hem of your dress as you pull it further up your legs, not wanting it to get wet from the rising tide. He hums in thought, his eyes falling onto your bare legs.

“Um, well, Seungcheol-hyung and I went and checked out that sunken ship I told you about last week… There was still some stuff left inside so we brought it back to the castle!”

A smile graces your lips as you watch him talk animatedly; there was always something so calming about being around Jihoon. You fondly remembered the first time you’d met him. Scared and curious about the man peering at you from beyond the rocks, not knowing that he felt the exact same way that you did.

That had been a few months ago now and the two of you had become good friends, meeting every other night for a chat before anyone in the castle knew you were missing. He was handsome, kind and most of all, friendly.

“Hey, are you listening?” Jihoon pouts up at you, lips curling into a teasing smile when a blush forms on your cheeks.

“I’m so sorry, I was zoning out thinking about how we met. Why don’t you start again, from the beginning?”

“You’re late.”

Jeonghan’s already a third of a way through dinner before you enter through the double doors. “Forgive me, I’ve--I’ve lost track of time.”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes as he picks at his food; this was quite routine of you. “Isn’t that what you always say?” You take a seat across Jeonghan, grimacing when the wet hem of your dress touches your bare legs. “I like taking my time on my walks. It helps me clear my head.”

Jeonghan takes a sip of his wine, standing from the grandiose table as he makes his way down the length of it, to your side.

“You should be careful on those walks of yours. I’ve heard there’s dangerous creatures lurking around the edges of town. You wouldn’t want to get caught up in the crossfire, would you?”

“No, Jeonghan, I--I wouldn’t.”

“Jihoon-hyung!!”

Seungkwan swims over to Jihoon; a bright smile on his face when he reaches the older male. “Hey, are you alright? You seem upset.”

Jihoon’s pale grey eyes blink sadly, “I’m… okay. I’m just…”

“It’s that human again, isn’t it?”

It always is, Jihoon thinks. He was always glad for your friendship and your kindness, but he always craved for more. Even if the current circumstances didn’t allow it. “Well, yes. It’s just that... I wish there was a way I could get her to see me and not my… well, you know.” He chuckles sadly, watching the way Seungkwan mimics his sadness.

Jihoon liked Seungkwan.

Out of all of his brothers, he was always the most empathetic.

“She’s going to be married, hyung. To the prince, no less. She’ll be queen eventually once the king passes and Prince Jeonghan takes his place. Need I remind you she’s human and you’re not? You should be thankful she hasn’t exposed you yet.”

The older male grimaces at the thought alone. She’d never do that to me.

“I know, I know. It’s just going to take some time, that’s all. She’s not like the other royals on land… She’s a good person.”

Seungkwan wraps an arm around Jihoon’s shoulder; lips pursed in a tight smile. “You’re in line for the throne here as well, you know? The other hyungs don’t seem to care for the throne, but you, hyung, suit it well. You’ll find someone. I promise.”

The next morning, you wake up with a sigh on your lips.

I hate it here.

The only reason why you were to be wed to Prince Jeonghan was solely because both of your respective parents wanted to have a joint rulership of the western lands and needed successors down the line, should the time come. Neither you nor Jeonghan were necessarily happy with the idea, but Jeonghan had quickly taken a certain possessiveness over you that confused you greatly.

On most days, he seemed uncaring, even standoffish. But there were a few times since the announcement of your marriage where he seemed to have quickly taken the role of overbearing husband.

A knock at your door brings you out of your thoughts; a small ‘come in’ muttered just loud enough as an older handmaid pokes her head in.

“Miss, we should get you ready for the day. Prince Jeonghan would like your company for tea in the garden.”

That’s new.

“I’m telling you that Wonwoo is dangerous, Vernon! You need to be careful!”

Jihoon swims up to Seungcheol and Vernon in the heat of their conversation, brows furrowed in confusion. “What’s going on?”

Seungcheol lets out an exasperated sigh in return, “It’s that Wonwoo…”

Jihoon’s lips purse into a firm line. Not all mercreatures were gifted with magical abilities, but Wonwoo was one of the few that were. He granted anyone of their desires, whether the intentions were good or bad. As long as you paid the right price for it. Wonwoo lingered on the southern side of the underwater kingdom, tucked away within the giant kelp and crystal caves where most mercreatures knew to stay away from.

Although, the younger ones were always riddled with temptation.

“Vernon, what were you even doing over there?” Jihoon asks. The youngest exhales harshly, avoiding his hyungs’ piercing stares.

“I just---I was curious. That’s all.”

This time it’s Seungcheol who inquires, “About what, exactly?”

“Don’t you ever wonder what you would have to trade to be able to go on land, at least once?”

Jihoon clenches his jaw. He knew better.

He knew better.

Jeonghan waits patiently and never raises his voice.

Quite frankly, he’s not very good at it, he’ll admit.

However, what he does expect from you is your obedience and absolute loyalty to him, especially with your wedding just around the corner.

The last thing he wanted were the townspeople talking about a king with a disloyal and disobedient wife.

“You wanted to see me for tea?” Jeonghan looks up from his lap, noting you standing a few feet away with Mingyu, one of his guards.

“Yes, have a seat. Mingyu, you can go.” The taller male nods, pulling out the garden chair for you before he leaves. Jeonghan pours you a cup of warm tea, sliding the tea cup across the small table. “I spoke to my father earlier this morning before he left.” His eyes flit to you, already noticing the way the colour drains from your face at the simple mention.

“They want us to move the wedding closer. Next week, if possible.”

“I--wh--why exactly, may I ask?”

Jeonghan can hear the shakiness in your voice as he reaches for his own tea cup. “First of all, it’s not my choice. My father just requested as such and I expect you to fall in line as well. These nightly walks along the edges of town need to stop, immediately. I can’t have rumours flying around town about us. Am I clear?”

Your hands ball up into fists in your lap; tomorrow might be the last time you’d be able to speak to Jihoon.

“I--yes, I understand.”

When the tower bell chimes for sundown the next evening, you’re already waiting by the water’s edge.

You had to make it back in time before Jeonghan noticed you’d already snuck out.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

His half-hearted smile is enough to alert you that he hasn’t been having the best of days either. But you find yourself getting choked up as your vision blurs with each second; unshed tears making it hard for you to speak.

“I--I’m sorry, but---but I c-can’t come back here…” You whisper out. Jihoon’s eyes flash a pale pink as he leans up onto a rock closer to you.

“What are you talking about?”

“Jihoon, I’m---I’m getting married next w-week.”

Jihoon begs for forgiveness in his head.

Asks to be spared for the sin he’s about to commit.

He fumbles through the giant kelp; tail getting caught with each second he goes further and further into the murky depths until he comes across the crystal caves.

It would be just one time. He promises.

He finds the small opening in the cave, making sure nobody sees him when he swims in.

“Oh? To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Wonwoo’s voice is deep and matches the alluring smirk painted across his features when he spots Jihoon at the entrance. “Can’t say I’ve seen someone look so hesitant in a long while.”

Jihoon feels a sense of dread wash over him when he gets closer to the male, gulping down his second guesses as he opens his mouth to speak.

“T-to go on land. What… what would I need to--to trade.”

Wonwoo laughs loud enough for it to bounce off of the cave walls, head thrown back in absolute bliss.

“My, my. You sound more serious than the last one who came to ask.” He pauses, swimming down closer to Jihoon who backs away by nature. “You know, people offer me all sorts of things. Riches, jewels, even parts of themselves. All cliché when you think about it. And all things replaceable in theory.”

The twinkle in Wonwoo’s eyes lets Jihoon know he’s going to be in more trouble than he anticipated.

“No… what I want is something irreplaceable. Something that lets me know you really want this.”

Vernon will be missed.

But it was his fault for being so curious, they’ll all say.

He shouldn’t have asked Wonwoo.

He should’ve known better.

Just like Jihoon.

A few days have passed since the last time you see Jihoon and being castle-bound is eating away at you.

The wedding is in five more nightfalls and with each day, you find yourself more and more miserable.

“Miss, please turn to your left. We need to finish your wedding dress before the day is over.” Sighing, you do as told, facing the large mirror where you see the sadness in your eyes.

A sharp knock brings everyone’s attention to the door as one of your hand maids rushes to answer it.

This time it’s Seokmin, one of Jeonghan’s other guards and best friend, at the door. “I’m so sorry to disturb, however we have a guest. A Prince from… the east. Prince Jeonghan would like your company in the grand hall, immediately.”

Confusion crosses your features, but you nod, shooing Seokmin away as you already make efforts to get the heavy fabric off of you. It takes a good few minutes before you’re completely free and redressed in more casual attire and you all but rush down the hall, curious to see who the newcomer is.

The first thing you see is Jeonghan speaking to a slightly shorter male; a tight lipped smile on his face.

He catches you from around the corner, gesturing you forward.

“Ah, here she is. My wife, to-be.” The unknown male turns to face you and you feel your breath caught in your throat.

Jihoon? No…

He shoots you a knowing smile, reaching for your hand as he kisses the back of it. “It’s my pleasure. I’m Prince Jihoon. Of the East.” Your fingers feel clammy in his hold, confusion on your features even when you introduce yourself back to him in a low whisper.

“I can’t say I remember there being a Prince Jihoon from the east. Interesting.” Jeonghan comments. Jihoon chuckles lightly, releasing your hand as he turns to face Jeonghan once more.

“Yes, I’m quite sorry for my sudden arrival. You see, I never really was one for the throne or anything of the sort. No, I’m more into studies and books. However, there’s been a bit of a change in interests lately so I figured I’d come… and see what the world has to offer.” He shoots Jeonghan a smile, eyes forming crescents.

“I also do apologize, but would it be alright if I stayed here a few nights? Just before I head back to my own. I don’t have anywhere to stay and, well, I seem a little under-packed for my journey.”

Jeonghan bites the inside of his cheek, “I… suppose. Actually, our wedding is in five more days. Why don’t you stay until then. See how the town celebrates.”

Jihoon turns to you; a smirk on his lips as his eyes flash a pale pink.

“Oh, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Jihoon stays in the bedroom across the hall from you, just a couple doors down.

You tell Jeonghan you’re not feeling too well and that you’ll be in your bedroom until you finally feel better; but the reality is that you slink off to Jihoon’s room when the coast is clear and the halls are free of Jeonghan’s guards.

You softly knock at his door, whispering his name until he opens the door for you; a giddy smile on his lips.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the princess. To what do I owe this honour?”

“Please, don’t---don’t play this game with me right now. What in heaven’s name is--how are you even here!?” You whisper harshly. Jihoon tugs you into his room, locking the door behind you as he presses you against it.

“I just… wanted to try something, that’s all. I thought you’d be happy to see me.” There’s a tinge of sadness in his voice and you can’t hold back the sigh that floats out past your lips.

“Please, Jihoon, I’m so incredibly happy to see you. It’s just, I---this is a big shock and with the wedding, it’s---and your legs, how---”

Jihoon cuts you off with a kiss, fingertips under your chin as he tilts your head up to meet his.

You immediately melt into the kiss, fingertips tangling into his soft hair.

Were you always attracted to Jihoon like this?

He eats up all of your soft and quiet moans as he presses you harder into the door, slotting a leg between yours just you finally find your senses.

“W--wait, I--no, we--we can’t, Jihoon…” You push him away as gently as you can; a soft pink coating your cheeks. “It’s just that Jeonghan--”

“Please, can we not speak about him.” Jihoon grumbles, stepping away from you as he makes his way towards the bed. “No offense, but it’s quite obvious that neither of you want to be in this marriage anyway. I don’t understand why you keep trying to defend him.”

You stand by the door, eyes fixated on the way Jihoon leans back on the bed. Mental images of you in his lap, naked and in absolute bliss flit through your mind in a split second.

“It’s---it’s not that, it’s just that... “ You’re unsure of what to say next; Jihoon was right in the fact that neither of you were too keen on the marriage but the two of you were also just following orders for the betterment of the kingdoms.

“I’m sorry, I should go, You should rest up, Jihoon. Dinner will be in a few hours.”

You turn to leave, body warm with thoughts you knew you shouldn’t have been having.

Jihoon can sense it too. The way your body craves his.

“I’ll see you later, princess.”

Dinner goes on without any issues, which you’re thankful for and Jeonghan and Jihoon seem to be on alright terms despite Jeonghan’s initial concerns and suspicions.

You retreat back to your room after a walk around the grounds to clear your head, hand on the doorknob of your bedroom when Jihoon comes barreling into your back.

“J--Jihoon, what--”

“Inside, now, sweetheart.”

You shuffle into the bedroom, turning to face Jihoon who turns the lock. “What are you doing?!”

“What we both want.”

A blush coats your cheeks as he walks you back towards the bed; his hands immediately finding purchase on your waist as he sits you down onto it. “Do you think I’m oblivious to what you want?” His voice drops an octave and you feel the arousal starting to pool in your lower half. “I--I---”

“You what, princess? Tell me what you want, what’s going on in that mind of yours.”

You know you shouldn’t, you know you should fall in line with Jeonghan and what your parents say.

But the other part of you just wants to be freed of all your responsibilities and expectations.

So you make a decision, gulping when you wrap a hand around Jihoon’s forearm.

“I want y-you.”

A soft moan floats through the air just as Jihoon sinks the first finger into your warmth, your fingers locking into his hair as his tongue flicks at your clit.

Jihoon knew more than you anticipated.

He smiles against your skin as he leans in closer, flattening his tongue against you as you bite your lip to hold in your noises when he drags the flat of his tongue through your folds.

“Such a shame, princess. I’d love to hear my name rolling off those pretty lips of yours.” He teases; curling his finger into you just right until it grazes against your sweet spot. Your legs clamp tighter around his head instead as Jihoon laughs.

“We’ll have to save it for another time. When we have more privacy, hmm?”

Another time?

Jihoon sucks your clit into his mouth as your hips cant up to meet his movements. He gently adds another fingers after a few more pumps; noting the way your walls tighten around them instinctively. You can feel the pressure building up when he starts to scissor and curl them just right, a shaky cry on your lips.

“Ji--Jihoon, ah, something’s---”

“S’okay, let it happen.” Mumbling, he doubles his effort, tongue flicking at your clit harshly as he works to throw you over the edge.

A choked sob gets caught in your throat when you cum on his fingers and tongue and he works you through it with patience and adoration. He slows down his fingers as you continue to ride your high, tongue still lapping at your clit in slower strokes until your fingers loosen their grip on his hair.

“Everything okay?” Jihoon murmurs, pulling his fingers from inside of you as he pulls away.

“Mm… Mmhmm…”

Jihoon sits up, wrapping his wet digits around his cock as he pumps himself. He smears the precum down his shaft; a soft groan on his lips.

“Do you still want me, princess?”

You nod shakily, watching as he scoots in closer. He runs the head of his cock through your soaking folds as you mewl quietly at the sensitivity your body feels. “If it hurts, just let me know, okay?”

Jihoon’s soft voice is enough for you to relax under his touch and he uses his free hand to wrap your leg around his waist before he positions himself at your entrance. His eyes dance up your torso until they land on your flushed face, grey eyes searching for any sort of hesitance.

“This is your last chance, princess. You can stop me here and we can forget this.”

Your heart pangs in sudden guilt over Jeonghan, but you quickly push it out of your head. There was nothing wrong about this; You wanted him.

“I want you, J-Jihoon…”

He nods at your response, taking a deep breath before he starts to sink his cock into your wet cunt.

There’s a subtle stinging you feel, a whimper on your lips when he only just gets the head of his cock in. “Okay?” He asks, fingertips massaging the skin of your thighs. The momentary pause is enough for some of the stinging to subside so you nod, clammy hands digging into the sheets.

Jihoon lets out a guttural moan, eyes rolling to the back of his head when he bottoms out after a few tense seconds. “Oh, god, you---you feel so good, princess…”

He leans over you, kissing you on the forehead before he leans in to kiss you on the lips; swallowing up your mewls and whimpers as you get used to the feeling of Jihoon’s cock snug between your warm walls.

“Jihoon, please---please move…” Your words are muffled against his lips as he smiles, nodding when he pulls away from you.

Jihoon starts a slow pace at first; skillful hips pistoning into you. He watches you bite your lip when he angles his thrusts in a particular way, smirking when he knows he’s gotten your sweet spot.

“Look at you… So pretty underneath me, where you belong.” He licks his lips, pupils blown wide. “You know I’d do anything for you, right, princess? Just say the word and I’ll give it to you.” His grip on you gets tighter as his fingernails dig into the skin of your thighs.

“Ngh… Ji--Jihoon…” You whimper quietly as your hips cant up to meet his thrusts. “Please, m-more…”

The head of his cock grazes against your g-spot with each thrust and you can’t help the moans that bubble past your lips at the feeling.

Jeonghan momentarily flits through your mind again and Jihoon can sense the way you seem to tense up. He bites the inside of his cheek at this, pulling his cock out of you as confusion crosses your features.

“Jihoon, wh--”

“I want you on your hands and knees for me.” He murmurs; using his strength to flip you onto your stomach.

It takes a second for you to catch your bearings, hands planted on the bed sheets as he tugs your ass closer to himself. He repositions his cock at your entrance, bottoming out in a single thrust as he starts a much quicker pace this time.

In this position, he can fuck you deeper, hips slamming into your ass as you slowly slump down against the sheets.

A sharp knock at the door a few minutes later has you gasping as you reach behind you to try and push Jihoon off. He doesn’t budge, instead, smirks at the way your pussy clenches harder around his cock.

“Princess? It’s me.”

Jeonghan.

Jihoon leans over your back, kissing your shoulder once before whispering in your ear. “You should answer him. Before he gets suspicious.” You clear your throat to the best of your ability, brows furrowed when Jihoon reaches a hand around, fingertips on your clit rubbing soft circles.

“Y-yes, Jeonghan?”

“May I come in? I’d like to speak with you.” Your heart pangs in a way you don’t expect, teeth clenched hard when you feel the pleasure starting to peak again.

“I’m, a-ah, so---so sorry, Jeonghan, I’ve already, hah, d-dressed for bed. M--maybe tomorrow? O--over tea, perhaps?” You shakily offer; hoping that he doesn’t barge his way in.

“Right. Of course, my mistake. It’s quite late. I’ll see you for tea tomorrow then. Sleep well.”

You hear his footsteps just as your second orgasm hits you; body seizing up under Jihoon as he continues to fuck you through it.

“Such a naughty little princess, aren’t you? Laying with someone else while your husband-to-be is on the other side of that door. And not only that, but taking your pleasure from someone else inside of you too? My, my.” He teases, eyes flashing the same pale pink in warning.

He pinches your clit between his fingertips, loving the way your body jolts under his touch. “Ngh… Jihoon I---I can’t…” You whine. Your body feels extremely sensitive now that you’d cum twice, but Jihoon laughs lightly as he pulls out from you yet again.

“You’ve taken your pleasure twice now, princess. But what about me?”

Jihoon flips you over yet again; a sheen of sweat on your body and his.

An idea pops into his head, smiling down at you before he, himself, rests against the pillows next to you. “Get on my lap, princess.”

You shakily get up, swinging a leg over him as you situate yourself on his thighs. He helps guide you, hands on your waist until you’re hovering right above his cock. “Stay like this.” Mumbling, he uses a free hand to guide his cock until it’s right at your entrance again. “Now sink down onto my cock, princess.”

Not really knowing how slow or fast to go, you sink down onto his cock in a single motion; the air knocked out of Jihoon and your lungs when you’re finally completely seated on his cock.

You let out a choked cry at the feeling; oversensitivity biting into you already when he places his hands on your waist again. “Mmh, okay, princess, you’re---you’re gonna raise yourself up and down, okay?” Nodding, you brace your hands on his torso, lifting yourself up and dropping yourself back down onto his cock.

The two of you share a moan as you fall into a rhythm; Jihoon planting his feet down flat onto the sheets as his hips cant up to meet your movements. You alternate bouncing on his lap and swiveling your hips, testing different ways and seeing how he reacts.

Jihoon feels his abdomen tightening as he finally feels his orgasm coming, a soft growl on his lips.

“P--princess, I’m---I’m so close.” He whispers harshly, eyes slamming shut as he chases his high. “Touch yourself for me. I want you to feel good with me one more time.”

“J--Jihoon I---I c-can’t…”

“Oh but you can, sweetheart. I can feel you already close again too.” He teases.

Jihoon takes one of your hands from his chest, bringing it to your clit as you blush. “Right here. Make yourself feel good too.” His voice is soft yet alluring and enough for you to slowly rub circles around your swollen clit. You immediately let out a cry, letting Jihoon take the reins again as he fucks up into you.

“Together, princess, with me.”

This time when you cum a few perfectly angled thrusts later, Jihoon does too; hips stuttering and a sultry moan on his lips. Your vision is blurry, tears wetting your eyelashes as you slump over into Jihoon’s chest.

Your entire body shakes; fingertips numb as you let out soft cries against his warm skin. “Jihoon…”

The two of you stay in that position for a while longer and his heartbeat is enough to lull you into a soft slumber, eyes finally welcoming sleep as your tired body lays on top of him.

“That’s right, princess. Go to sleep. You’re tired, aren’t you?” You nod gently, unaware of the way Jihoon smirks down at your head.

“I’ll get you cleaned up and make sure nobody sees you like this.”

You smile gently, warm and sated as you let the sleep take over.

When you wake, the warm sun filters through the curtains.

A smile graces your lips as you blink your sleepy eyes open and something immediately feels off.

This… isn’t my bed?

Your brows furrow in confusion as your vision focuses, taking in your surroundings as you sit up. “Where---where am I?” Mumbling softly, you move to take the covers off of you, noticing immediately that your left leg is bound to the bedpost.

Panic floods your senses; a cold sweat down your temple as you tug on it harshly. “Jihoon!? Jeonghan!? Hello!?”

“Oh, sweetheart, I wouldn’t yell so loudly if I were you. You’ll only hurt your throat.”

Jihoon enters the room with a small tray in hand, placing it on a nearby table as he sits by you on the bed. He shoots you a warm smile; grey eyes permanently a soft pinkish hue.

“Jihoon, where----where is this? Where are we?”

“Oh, that Wonwoo. You know, I traded a great deal to be here with you. But he’s just so selfish.” There’s a soft chuckle on his lips as he shakes his head in thought. “I traded him a life for a week on land. But it’s not enough, you know? He wanted more so I gladly let him have two more for a little bit more time. A month! Can you believe it?”

“J--Jihoon, pl--please, this---why---”

“But don’t worry. I couldn’t kill the Prince. No, no, no even I am not that cruel. But those bodyguards of his… Tsk, such a handful those two. They saw me leaving with you and, my, well… Wonwoo does like a good trade.”

His soft laugh is sweeter than a siren’s call; genuine happiness lacing each second.

“But---but what if they c-come looking f--for me? And---And you know they w-will, Jihoon...”

Jihoon smiles, eyes hollow as he stares out of the window.

He’d already thought of every escape plan in the book.

“Oh my, well… Wonwoo will just have to keep giving me more time with the amount of bodies that will pile up outside of our castle, princess. Don’t you worry your little head.”

“Hey, did you hear about what happened at the castle this morning?”

“Not at all. Do tell!”

“They said they found Prince Jeonghan poisoned! And his bodyguards were found dead in the grand hall!”

“Dead!?”

“Yes! Dead! They’re unsure whether or not the prince will wake… As of right now there’s no suspects or even any hint of who could’ve done it! But the poor princess…”

“What happened to her? Is she alright?”

“Nobody knows. She seems to have been taken, the poor soul. Not a single trace of her existence was left at the castle. It’s like she never existed.”

#woozi smut #yandere!woozi #seventeen smut #svt smut #seventeen fic #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #svt imagines #svt scenarios #woozi scenarios #woozi imagines #jihoon smut #merman!au #merman!woozi #yandere!svt #woozi #jihoon #monstermash!svt

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guardianofrivendell · 3 years

Text

The Way to a Hobbit’s Heart

Thorin Oakenshield x Bilbo Baggins (Bagginshield)

Requested: Yes and no! This piece is part of “The Hobbit Discord Server’s Holiday Gift Exchange 2020″ and is my gift to @misfit-with-a-pen 💖

Warnings: oh my goodness, all the fluff! I can’t! Also Sassy Bilbo because it’s still me who wrote this :)

Summary: When Bilbo enjoys a nice afternoon walk in the Shire, he notices a smell... A rather foul smell, if he was honest. When he comes closer to his home, the smell seems to intensify. It couldn't come from his house now, could it? Because Thorin was home.... Alone. Oh dear!

A/N: This story couldn’t exist without the help of @xxbyimm! She is such an amazing and fantastic person and always ready to listen to me rant about ideas, complaining about everything and gave me TONS of advice on top of that. How wonderful is that?

Bilbo always favored late afternoon walks over morning strolls.

Though he knew most of his neighbors wouldn’t agree with him and probably would think of him as even more peculiar than they already did if they knew, he just couldn’t help himself.

You see, it was the way the sun hung low in the sky, giving everything it shone upon a warm golden glow. Furthermore, as most of the hobbit community was too occupied prepping the most important meals of the day, the town was practically deserted.

This meant Bilbo could enjoy the beautiful sceneries in peace without having to get involved in friendly banter and polite greetings. And finally - the temperature was nor too warm or too cold, which was just perfect.

But there was nothing better than an afternoon walk in early spring. Birds were building their nest, flying past his head with twigs in their little beaks.

It reminded him of that one time a thrush had landed on Lobelia’s straw hat and had absolutely wrecked the damn thing. It took her a while to notice and Bilbo had had the greatest difficulty in keeping a straight face. She went running through the Shire afterwards, screaming about a vicious bird attack. Since that day he couldn’t help but snicker every time he saw a thrush.

Yes, Bilbo loved his walks indeed. But he loved his home just as much.

It wouldn’t be long before any respectable Hobbit started working in their garden again after the winter break and every yard and patio would get overflowed with a soft and subtly sweet flowery scent. It wasn’t any different in his garden.

The flower buds of the early bloomers were starting to show, some of them already in their lovely, bright colours. Just a few more days and he could bury his nose in the daffodils, tulips or primroses, taking in their flowery scent. It was a moment Bilbo looked forward to every single year, but now he could finally share it with his husband Thorin.

To everyone’s surprise, this grumpy dwarf had warmed up to the art of gardening. Under Bilbo’s patient supervision, they were able to turn their neglected patch of land into the beautiful garden it was today.

Bilbo smiled to himself at the thought of his husband. He came a long way to get here... Both of them did. Literally and figuratively.

Thorin had been under a lot of stress for a long time without barely any chance to breathe: the rebuilding of Erebor, restoring trade agreements, bringing his people back to the mountain, … It never stopped and he was close to getting a burn-out.

Bilbo had seen it coming from miles away and had raised the alarm on Thorin’s health. Bilbo’s home in the Shire proved to be the perfect place to get a much needed break from ruling a Kingdom.

The mountain was in good hands with Fíli and Kíli as his advisor - Balin was still there to keep an eye on them - and the peace and quiet of the Shire was wearing off on Thorin. He was finally able to relax and enjoy the time with Bilbo.Even so, they couldn’t stay away forever and they’d made plans to return to the mountain before the annual Durin’s Day celebration.

That didn’t mean they couldn’t enjoy the time that was still left.

Bilbo continued his way on the path that would eventually lead him back to his home, he stopped when he smelled something odd. He sniffed a few times, tilting his head sideways. What in the…?

Bilbo couldn’t tell what the smell reminded him of, and yet it somehow seemed familiar. Was Lobelia trying to burn down her house again with another attempt at copying his famous rabbit stew?

The closer he got to his home, the stronger the scent became. It couldn’t come from his house now, could it? Thorin was home so nothing serious could have happened.

Bilbo’s eyes widened.

Thorin was home… alone.

“Oh dear,” he murmured.

Thorin was not yet entirely used to living like a hobbit, still adjusting to life in the Shire. The more delicate, joie-de-vivre way of life that suited the hobbits didn’t always go well with the sturdy, rather head-on approach and maybe a tad brute way of the Dwarrows. He definitely wasn’t the domestic type. Yet.

Bilbo hurried up the lane to his front yard, struggled to open the gate in his haste and made his way inside. When the door closed behind him, it felt like someone had slapped him in the face.

Oh yeah, the smell definitely came out of his house. He coughed a few times, and his eyes started to water. He completely missed the leftover trails of smoke near the ceiling, and that was maybe for the better.

“Thorin?” he squeaked between coughs. “Love?”

No answer. Was he even here? And what was that pungent smell? It almost smelled like an onion died a painful death and was left to rot! But with added spices. Now he almost wished it was Lobelia’s cooking instead...

He left the entrance hall and stepped further into their home, making his way to the study. If Thorin was home, he would probably be there. Bilbo hoped to find his other half hunched over a book, or too focused on writing a letter to his nephews to hear his calls. Not that he didn’t trust Thorin to find his way back home on his own… okay fine, maybe he didn’t.

Before he reached the study, his eye fell on the pantry. A rare curse escaped his mouth.

Empty jars, most of them tipped over, crumbs and pieces of vegetables on the ground together with a puddle of liquid that Bilbo wasn’t too keen on investigating further.

He stood frozen in the round doorway. What had happened?

Flashbacks of that one fateful night when the company had barged in - uninvited might he add - and raided his kitchen and pantry flooded his mind.

Could they...?

No, he shook his head. It was too quiet for the company to be here. Plus Thorin would have mentioned it. There were no secrets between them. Not anymore.

He crossed the hallway and entered his kitchen. Or rather, what was left of it.

If he thought his pantry was raided, it was nothing in comparison to his kitchen. There were dirty pots and pans all over the place, as if the dishes hadn’t been done in weeks. Most of the cabinets were opened, the contents of the shelves in disarray or scattered over the counter. A lot of food made it to the floor as well, and it seemed like someone had tried to clean it up by shoving it to one side of the kitchen.

It looked like Thorin had tried to make something for dinner. Or a snack maybe? At least, he hoped it was Thorin who wrecked the kitchen. Because there wasn’t a single hair on his feet that would even consider cleaning this up himself!

“Thorin, I really do love you but you got to learn to clean up after yourself,” Bilbo muttered in frustration when he picked up a dirty kitchen rag from the floor.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” a low voice sounded behind him.

Bilbo swirled around and he forgot to breathe for a second.

There, in the doorway of the dining room, stood Thorin in just his dark blue tunic and black breeches, barefoot and an apron tied around his hips. A towel carelessly thrown over his shoulder and a casserole in his hands made it look like he belonged in a kitchen. But Bilbo knew better.

The dwarf himself looked like a complete snack. If it wasn’t for the state of the kitchen and the foul smell still filling his nostrils, he would’ve jumped him without a second thought.

No, scratch the snack! His husband was a full five course meal. Bilbo took a deep breath. And by Durin’s beard, was he hungry...

Thorin lifted the pot a little. Bilbo stepped out of the way so he could pass.

“It just needs a little more time on the fire.”

It didn’t. It really, really didn’t.

That became abundantly clear when Thorin lifted the lid so he could stir in what looked like stew, and Bilbo had to grab the counter to steady himself.

Oh, well, at least now I know where that smell comes from, he thought. Breathe through your mouth, that’s the key!

“You know, if you didn’t like my cooking, you could’ve just told me,” Bilbo joked while he took the pot off the fire again in an effort to save what could be saved, but not before he put the lid back on. “I think this is done, love.”

“Are you sure?” Thorin chuckled. The sound reverberated in his chest and it made Bilbo’s stomach flip. It was one of his favourite sounds and it still did something to him every time he heard it.

“I wanted to repay you for taking such good care of me,” he said. “So I made us dinner.”

“You did?” Bilbo asked, endeared by the gesture but honestly, also a little afraid for his life by now. “Marvellous!”

“Go and take a seat at the table, I’ll be right there,” Thorin hummed and he gestured towards the dining room.

Thorin came out of the kitchen and placed the pot in the middle of the table and wiped his hands on the apron. His eyes fell on Bilbo who still stood a bit to the side.

When he entered the dining room Bilbo froze, stunned by what he saw.

Thorin had set the table beautifully and had paid extra attention to details, the way Bilbo liked. Freshly picked flowers from their garden stood proudly in a white porcelain vase, napkins neatly folded on the right side of the plate and he had used Bilbo’s mother’s pottery. He really went out of his way for this.

“Is it not to your liking?” Thorin asked, a slight tremble in his voice. “If it’s about the mess in the kitchen, I promise I’ll clean it up later.”

He was nervous, Bilbo realised when he looked at Thorin. The King under the Mountain who could face multiple armies with only twelve companions without a second thought or hint of fear was almost shaking with nerves because he had made dinner for his lover. It was adorable.

“It’s lovely, Thorin. Really, it is,” he assured him, while Thorin pulled a chair from under the table so Bilbo could sit down. “I didn’t expect it, that’s all.”

Thorin quickly made his way to the other side of the table and filled the mugs with ale and the glasses with wine. Bilbo however, eyed the food on the table cautiously.

To be fair, from a distance it looked decent. There were carrots, mashed potatoes, other vegetables that he couldn’t quite name at first sight but seemed okay, bread,… And the pot of stew. On the corner of the table stood a bowl of what he suspected was some kind of gravy, but the chunks in it made him doubtful.

He took some of everything on his plate and tried to keep it together when the aroma of the stew filled his nostrils once more.

Thorin looked at him expectantly.

The things one does for the one they love, Bilbo thought while he took a deep breath and tried the stew. Oh dear, it tasted exactly like it smelled!

He tried to swallow it as fast as he could without a lot of chewing. His hand flew to his glass of wine and with a large gulp of the red substance his food finally went down.

“Is there something wrong?”

“No! No, it’s… well, it’s a little hot,” he explained. That wasn’t exactly a lie.

He tried to find the correct words to let him know cooking maybe wasn’t his strong point, but decided to change the subject instead. “Have you heard from Fíli yet?”

Thorin shook his head. “I did not. It hasn’t been that long since I sent my last letter. Give him some time.”

He took a sip from his glass of wine. “But tell me about your afternoon, did you enjoy your walk?”

Bilbo was relieved he could talk for a while - and avoid taking another bite - and told Thorin about his walk and how he was planning on asking old master Worrywort what he did to his wood poppies to get them so big and bright.

While he was listening intently, Thorin took a first bite of his homemade stew.

The minute he closed his mouth, his eyes widened and he almost choked on the meat. He let his fork drop on the plate with a loud clatter, a fist against his lips while he tried really hard to swallow the food.

Bilbo didn’t know whether to laugh or feel sorry for him. He decided on a neutral expression, like it was the most normal thing in the world for a person to choke on a spoonful of stew.

Thorin brought the napkin to his mouth and wiped the tears out of his eyes, still panting from the effort.

“Mahal, why didn’t you say anything?” he groaned.

Bilbo eyed him carefully, not wanting to hurt Thorin’s feelings. He worked so hard to prepare all this, well, you couldn’t exactly call it food…

“About what?” he tried, gathering his courage and taking another spoonful.

“The food! I saw you eat it!” Thorin murmured, his face distorting in absolute horror as he watched his husband trying his best to process another bite.

“Please don’t. I can’t believe you want to take another bite!”

“You made this for me, of course I’m going to eat it,” Bilbo said, smiling at him. Please don’t make me eat it again, Bilbo pleaded internally.

“To be honest, I don’t even think Bombur would touch this,” Bilbo added.

“That bad, huh?” he laughed. “Who am I kidding, of course it is, I tasted it. I still taste it!”

He took his mug of ale and chugged it down in one go. When he placed it on the table again with a thud, his expression had changed into defeat.

“I know you love your meals and this isn’t…” he rose from his chair. “This is not a meal worthy of any hobbit, let alone Bilbo Baggins.”

With the majesty only a true dwarven king can muster, Thorin strode from the dining room towards the kitchen. Bilbo shuffled in his seat, pondering what had happened before hurrying behind his One.

The sight that greeted him made his heart clench. Thorin had started cleaning up the mess, his back to the door, head low and shoulders slumped. Bilbo could see he was distraught and clearly wounded in his pride.

In a few strides Bilbo stood behind his husband and threw his arms around him, giving a little squeeze.

”Don’t you ever think what you do isn’t enough. The fact that you went through all this trouble for me, means more to me than you’ll ever know,” Bilbo mumbled into Thorin’s neck before he placed a featherlight kiss there, which elicited a groan out of the King’s chest.

Thorin turned around and wanted to return the favor, but Bilbo stopped him.

“No, no, no, Thorin. First we need to clean up this mess. I’ll help you.”

After an hour of cleaning, they sat on a spotless kitchen floor, looking over their work proudly.

“We make a great team, you and me,” Thorin said.

Bilbo rested his head on Thorin’s shoulder and sighed contentedly.

“Can you promise me one thing though?”

“What’s that?” Thorin wondered.

“Please leave the cooking to me?”

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