#yes I am the grey lump under her why do you ask?

[nny11writes]

It’s her

#ginger cat #my cat #tapetum lucidum #she turned her head real quick and the pic is still very nice #yes I am the grey lump under her why do you ask?

[vanderlustwords]

What if Steve leaves and she finds out she’s pregnant? I really love your alternate ending where he leaves for Peggy and wondering if you could write more about it. Doesn’t have to be him leaving a child behind that was just a question that popped into my head

Pairing: (past) Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader

Please do not repost/translate anywhere. Reblogs/Comments are much welcomed ♥

Continuation of: This Dress is Karma || Alternate Ending

Warnings: unbeta'd. Angst ending for Steeb.

Note: I don't know how you roped me into writing a 2.3k continuation but here I am LOL

Count: ~2.3k

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You shut the door with a soft click, waiting until you hear the quiet footsteps fade away. The lump in your throat gets harder to swallow as you turn around, leaning back against the door and let out a shaky sigh.

You can't help but think those were some brave words you said to Steve. You desperately wanted them to be true. You did want to be so happy that it would physically pain Steve if he were to ever witness it.

You wanted it to be true that you were never going to see him again because he had hurt you so much, and he needed to stay away from you.

But when you lift your trembling hand to your stomach, you wonder if everything you said had been nothing more than a brave front.

"You alright?"

You immediately look up and see Bucky stepping out of the guest room, fully dressed with towel-dried hair.

You swallow and force a smile as you drop your hand.

"Yeah, you ready to head out?" You ask him as you stand up straight.

Bucky nods with a grumble before he grabs a strand of his hair. "I need a haircut first, though. Do you think we could find a barber first?"

"Sure," you say, turning around and opening the door with Bucky following you behind.

"You sure everything is okay?" Bucky asks you again.

The way your throat feels raw, the hysterical words that want to escape your mouth make you feel dizzy. You want to put your hand against your stomach again as if to see if you could suddenly feel a bump.

But you refrain because Bucky would get suspicious. Well, he'd probably think you had a stomachache first, but if you didn't stop acting strange, he would pry.

"Everything's fine," you mumble.

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As the weeks pass, more and more things begin to slip from you.

There is a layer of never-ending panic that sits right beneath your skin, crawling and setting your nerves on fire.

When you began to get morning sickness and threw up into the toilet, you began to shake.

The reality of your situation began to hit you.

You were pregnant.

With Steve's child.

Steve, who had abandoned you and was grey and old and probably would pass away soon.

The notion of it all had you throwing up in the toilet again.

You were alone, and you were scared.

What were you going to do? You couldn't rely on Steve anymore.

You looked down at your relatively flat stomach still, placing your hand against it.

There was a life growing inside you. What were you going to do?

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It was harder to hide when Bucky came over almost every other day, even though he didn't live with you. He had stayed for a week after the confrontation with Steve but quickly found his own place.

Initially, that had made you feel more alone, like everyone couldn't wait to escape from you. But it had worked out when you needed alone time.

Bucky was currently in your kitchen, cooking up steaks for lunch for the two of you.

The smell of it made you deathly pale.

"What's going on with you?" Bucky asked with a frown as he set the steaks aside to rest.

You had to swallow hard before you could answer. "Nothing," you said weakly. "I'm—I'm sorry. I know you came all the way here to cook but I'm not really hungry."

"You've been saying that for days now, doll," Bucky pursed his lip. "I feel like I haven't seen you eat a proper meal lately. What's going on? I know things have been...hard. Especially since you last saw Steve, but this isn't okay. I need you to eat something in front of me that isn't pretzels, bananas, or bread."

The idea of sliding a piece of steak basted in butter had your stomach knot itself painfully.

You shook your head, but when Bucky insisted, slicing the steak and you watched the juices run, you couldn't hold it in anymore.

You took off to the bathroom in haste.

"Hey—" Bucky called out and took off after you, but you were quick to shut the door before you fell to your knees over the toilet and hurled.

"What's wrong?" Bucky yelled through the door, trying to jiggle it open but found you had locked it. "Open the door, doll. I just want to make sure you're okay."

"I'm fine," you said shakily as you grabbed some toilet paper and wiped your mouth, eyes hot with tears. "I just—I just haven't been feeling well."

The silence on the other side of the door only lingered for a moment before Bucky used his metal arm to turn the doorknob so hard, it broke open.

He found you sitting on the floor, over the toilets, eyes rimmed red and your face pale.

Bucky carefully walks in and kneels slowly before you.

He thinks back the couple of weeks and how you've been going to the bathroom a lot more, and how you don't like going to restaurants to eat. You've been eating at home and the strangest things and wearing more flowy shirts.

He looks at your face, and the way you're trying to hold back your tears makes Bucky feel dread.

"Doll..." he calls you softly. "Are you—Are you pregnant?"

You let out a choked sob in response, face dropping as you close your eyes.

Bucky's quick to hold you in his arms as he strokes your back, his heart dropping.

There was only one person who could've gotten you pregnant.

There had been some dumb shit Steve's done the entire time Bucky's known him. Always getting into scraps he couldn't finish, always prideful when Bucky wanted to help him.

But it had been the first time Bucky's ever been so fucking pissed at Steve. It was the first time Bucky couldn't defend or make an excuse for his friend.

"Bucky, what am I going to do?" You trembled in his arms. "I can't—Steve isn't—I want to keep it but I'm alone."

Bucky swallowed so hard it was painful.

There was no fucking way he was ready to be a dad or step up in any kind of way—that is, if you even let him.

Fuck, you two didn't even have feelings for each other or anything. There was something, maybe, Bucky thought for the future. But now?

"You're not alone," Bucky reassured, keeping his voice still for your sake. "I'm here. I'm here all the way and I'm not gonna leave you, doll. Ever."

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You manage to keep the fact that you're pregnant under the wraps easily. It helps that since saving the world, no one really meets up anymore. A part of you worries because you can't find Wanda anywhere, but you know she can find you if she wanted to.

Sam might be the only other person who knows, and Bucky was begrudging when accepting his help.

Months pass, and you're surprised how dedicated Bucky is. You're pretty sure you're on the verge of a mental breakdown constantly. A part of you worries Steve will show up, but Bucky reassures you that there's nothing Steve could do even if he did show up.

"Fuck..." you swore as Bucky was in the middle of figuring out how to build the crib the two of you got from Ikea. He looks up at you alarmingly. "I think my water just broke."

"Oh, shit, okay, okay!" Bucky jumps up right away and starts running around to grab the prepared bag as he helps you out into the car. "Don't panic!"

"Bucky, I'm literally about to push a baby out of my body. I'm going to fucking panic if I want to," you snap, and Bucky bites his lip to refrain from speaking as he zips through traffic.

"Oh, god," you say under your breath. You were having a baby. You were actually going to have a baby.

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"Bucky, you can't just carry her everywhere," you grumbled as you pushed the stroller through the park. "You're spoiling her."

"Yes, I can. She wants me to carry her and whatever my princess wants, she gets." Bucky declared indignantly at you while sticking his tongue out.

You sighed with a smile.

You couldn't believe a year has passed. Despite the time passing, you never really felt fully prepared as a mother. You were scared you were fucking it up all the time if you're honest.

Bucky holds your hand, and you give him a shy smile. That was new too. Slow and steady, as Bucky has always been, and you think you were falling for him because of that.

When you look up, your heart stops.

"Oh," Steve blinked.

Another year has passed, but you find Steve doesn't look too different. A little more tired perhaps, but still...Steve.

You feel panic creep up in your chest that threatens to become a panic attack before Bucky squeezes your hand.

"Breathe, doll," he whispers encouragingly to you, but it's loud enough for Steve to catch.

You do as he says, taking a few calming breaths. You want to keep walking, but it seems Steve can't stop staring at the child in Bucky's arms.

"Why don't you take Hazel to the pond? She really likes looking at the ducks," you tell Bucky, and he nods, warily looking at you and Steve. He sends Steve a curt nod before he takes the stroller with him and walks off.

Steve's eyes trail after Bucky.

You know then that he knows. It's not hard after all. Hazel looks like a spitting image of Steve, something that had been hard for you to deal with at first. Her blonde hair and blue eyes—the blue eyes were easier since Bucky's eyes were blue too, even if a darker shade.

But Hazel was so lovely; you loved her so easily.

"When did you know?" Steve asked.

You shrugged. "The day before we all saved the world."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Steve's voice was pained and betrayed, and you cocked your brow at him.

"Why? So you would stay?"

"Yes, I would have!" Steve insisted.

The sheer stupidity of the situation had you give a humourless laugh.

"The last thing I want is for you to stay because of a baby, Steve. You wanted to leave, despite everything, you chose to leave. We would only hate each other in the long run."

"That's not true," Steve denied. "When I made that choice, it wasn't because I didn't love you anymore."

"No, you just didn't love me enough."

The words rang clear, almost throwing Steve off-kilter.

The silence fell, and the two of you could hear Hazel laughing with Bucky in the distance as she shrieked.

"Don't you think I deserved to know about her?" Steve asked with his lips pursed.

"No," you answered honestly. "What do you, a 90 something-year-old man, have to offer her? You certainly can't step up and be her father. Your time keeps running out and the last thing I need is for Hazel to have instability. Did you want to be her grandfather? She's already met mine, so do you want to pretend to be Bucky's?"

"So, you're just gonna lie to her and let her think Bucky is her dad?"

Your eyes flash angrily.

"Bucky is her dad. He's the only dad that counts in every way. Do you know how hard it was for me? I was scared shitless, Steve. You can delude yourself into thinking otherwise, but you're unreliable. I couldn't come to you for help," you snap at him. "Do you know who was there every time I was puking my guts out, crying or screaming, or wanted pickles with peanut butter at 2AM? Who do you think was there for every appointment. Who bought fifty parenting and baby books to study religiously? It was Bucky. Even though I knew he was scared too, he was there. So, don't fucking try to make me and Bucky look like the bad guy. You have NOTHING to offer to Hazel."

Steve stood there wide-eyed, guilt crowding over his eyes. Steve doesn't want to say he regrets going back because that would mean a lifetime of regrets he can't get back.

"You're right," Steve said slowly, trying to appease your anger. "I'm sorry. You didn't deserve that. It's not my place to say anything."

Even though Steve says it, he looks over to the little girl squealing in Bucky's arms. He looks at her blonde hair that she clearly got from him and your nose.

He and Peggy had children—children he loved more than anything.

But...the idea of his child with you...that was another reality he missed.

It seems to be that way always for him, Steve thought somberly. He was always missing something. Maybe you had been right about him.

Steve listens as you take a deep breath in and exhale.

"Do you want to meet her?" You offer, and Steve can tell it's difficult for you to say those words.

"If you're okay with it," Steve said slowly.

You nod stiffly. "It's fine as long as you respect my wishes and refrain from telling her you're her bio dad. I want to save that conversation for when she's older and able to understand it more."

You don't say it, but Steve is already thinking how he'll most likely be gone by then.

The two of you begin to walk towards Bucky and Hazel.

"What will you tell her?" Steve asked.

"The truth," you shrug. "That you were the world's greatest hero and you loved her and would've loved to get to know her if you stayed, but you didn't and it wasn't her fault."

"Right, it was mine," Steve felt a sting in the back of his throat.

"I don't think it was anyone's fault," you tell him. "It's just karma, Steve. I wasn't enough for you and now you're not enough for Hazel."

Right, Steve thought somberly as he looked at you in your summer dress. It was different from the sexy red one that used to drive him insane.

It was a calm peace, a show of your motherhood and graceful maturity.

This dress is karma, too.

#steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers angst #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #steve x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes imagine #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfiction #steve rogers x you #bucky barnes x you #avengers imagine #avengers x reader #v.myfic

[bubblegumbi0tch]

The Deal

Succubus Suna x Witch reader

Casting the spell was simpler than You'd first imagined. The ingredients weren't terribly difficult to come by, and the spell had already been in your grimoire. You lived alone, so privacy was no issue, and the price for this spell didn't scare you as it probably should have. I wasn't 100 percent sure You'd actually expected it to work. You'd achieved simple feats of magic in the past, but something like this? Conjuring? You never even attempted it. But now, in front of you, stood the most gorgeous man I'd ever seen. Though factually speaking, he wasn't a man at all. His hair was brown as roasted chestnuts eyes the brightest grey greenish. You've ever seen - unnatural but beautiful nonetheless. His skin was smooth, and his muscles looked as if they'd been sculpted by the gods - though gods certainly had nothing to do with his creation.

And he was naked. Perfectly naked. "Why did you call me human?" Goddess, even his voice was sinful. Deep and soft like honey, yet carried an air of importance that was impossible to miss. "I..." Suddenly your mouth felt dry. It was one thing to read about his kind and another entirely to actually be in the presence of one. Demon. Succubus. "Do you wish for higher social standing?" he asked, stepping out of the circle I'd conjured him from. "Or perhaps a bigger house?" You glanced around at your sparsely decorated one-bedroom ranch, suddenly curious about where he lived.

Indeed not all demons lived in hell? You shook my head, swallowing around the lump in my throat as You continued to watch him. "Money, then?" he asked, but quickly shook his head, "No...a boyfriend, perchance?" You felt my cheeks heat, but You managed to shake my head. You wouldn't make a deal with a demon for any of those reasons. He walked forward until he was directly in front of you, your breath catching in your throat as his warm fingers tilted my chin up to meet his gaze. He smelled like fire and brimstone and something uniquely masculine that made my stomach clench with want. You've read about that too. Succubi were created to be irresistible to humans - and he was certainly no exception. "Then what do you request of me?" You were slightly shocked to find a forked tail swaying back and forth behind his head, and though I'd known that all succubi had them, it was still a strange sight to see. He smirked, seemingly amused, as he asked, "Does my tail intrigue you, human?"

"(Y/n)." I whispered softly, "My name is (y/n) ." He nodded slowly as if surprised that You offered the information. "I am called "Suna." You felt yourself nodding, but You were still staring at his tail. Looking at his face was too complicated, and you were painfully aware of how close his hard cock was to you. The tail was an oddly welcomed distraction. Suddenly his tail was between the two of us as he said, "You are very distracted by it." Up close, it was easy to tell that the points were sharp - lethal even - and it made me wonder why he needed it - how he used it - how many had fallen at the hands of it.

He reached out, his warm fingers encircling your wrist as he brought your fingers up to lightly trail against his tail, and somehow the act was erotic. His wrist guided your hand for a moment more before he let me go to explore on my own. You gently trailed my fingers up, lightly exploring the sharp, forked end, when suddenly his tail wrapped around my forearm and tugged you forward into him, one hand on your waist and the other under your chin, so You were forced to look at him. "What is it you request, (y/n)?" he asked, his voice more profound than it had been, pupils were blown wide, and I couldn't help but wonder if he was as turned on as You were. Surely not. "I need someone...taken care of." He arched an eyebrow as he asked, "You would like someone killed?" "Yes," You whispered, barely able to force the word out around the lump in your throat. Even though You've come to a decision - firmly and honestly - actually voicing it was proving more difficult than I'd anticipated.

The demon Suna seemed slightly impressed, his fingers sliding from your chin to lightly trail against your cheek. "You're very young to have acquired an enemy that requires a demon." "It's not for me." "Do you offer your soul for someone else?" He seemed genuinely perplexed by the idea, but You nodded nonetheless. "For my little brother." "Humans are strange creatures," he murmured, his thumb sliding across my bottom lip. "Who?" "My father." You breathed out, trying to keep my heartbeat controlled as his simple touches seemed to light a fire in your belly. "Interesting," he murmured. "I assume you know of my terms?" I nodded, "My soul in exchange for you to do my bidding." He made a soft noise in the back of his throat, his eyes studying mine intently as he was silent for a moment.

When You thought he would deny your request, laugh in your face, and leave, he finally spoke up. "And you're aware of how my deals are signed?" The heat that was racing across your skin seemed to burn twice as hot at his words. Of course, You knew how he signed his deals. "Sex." You said, your voice more confident than I indeed was - but You're sure he knew that already. The lazy smile that stretched across his face was sinful, and the sight of two sharp fangs only made me want him more. "I see the little witch has done her research," he murmured approvingly, softly pressing his thumb between your lips. It was all the prompting I needed to swirl my tongue around the digit, your teeth lightly grazing the pad of his thumb as his eyes darkened. "Say the words, (y/n)," he growled, the hand on my hip tightening. "I, (y/n) (y/ln), request the services of the demon Suna." You whispered, breath hitching as his fingers trailed down your neck and between the valley of your breasts. "In return for the murder of my father, Offer my soul to him to do with as he pleases." You watched in slight awe as a rune appeared on his chest. A matching one burned into the exact spot on your chest as well, though it felt incomplete.

"The rune will solidify after the deal is signed," he said, answering your unspoken question. I simply nodded, your eyes flicking between his eyes and lips. You've read countless stories of what to expect - deals this big always required more than a kiss to be sealed - and all of them spoke of the wild nature of succubi. Though they also spoke of carnal pleasure. "You are a very beautiful human." he mused, seemingly speaking more to himself than to you. I cleared my throat and shook my head, "I assure you there are prettier." "Perhaps," he said with a shrug, "Though in all my centuries, I've yet to encounter one." His words wrapped around me like silk, and in the back of my mind, I knew that he had to say these things to everyone - though I certainly didn't understand why. "Nobody bids me do anything." he said with a growl, the hand not on my waist sliding into my hair, "I am far too old to have to do anything." Was he reading my mind? How? Indeed he hadn't been able to the entire time. "I can read the thoughts of all the souls in my possession," he answered easily, his lips brushing against my ear with each heated, damning word he spoke. His lips trailed a series of kisses along your neck, moving down one side and up the other, gentle breaths against my skin before his lips hovered above your own. I couldn't control the racing of your heart at this point, the effort entirely futile with his proximity.

Your body craved him. Ached for his touch and wanted nothing more than to be claimed by him - thoroughly owned. And your brother is finally safe. "This is your last chance, little witch." he murmured, "There's no going back after this." In a burst of boldness, You hadn't experienced before, You laced your fingers into his soft hair and pulled him forward to close the gap between your lips. And goddess, he felt divine - and when his tongue effortlessly invaded your mouth, his taste wasn't of this earth. He was made of smoke and darkness and sin. And You wanted more. His growl was animalistic as he controlled the pace of our kiss, his hands seemingly everywhere your ass, your hips, your hair, and then suddenly his hands were unbuttoning the oversized shirt you were wearing a remnant from an old boyfriend, and though your heart was in your throat, You were powerless to tell him to stop. You wanted this. Once the thin fabric was pushed to the floor, You were left in nothing but your underwear, and the thought was exhilarating. His lips broke away to press heated kisses to your neck, his tail coiling around my wrist much like his hand had previously, only this time he was guiding you to his cock. You couldn't help the choked gasp that left my throat at the feeling of him hot and harrowing and smooth under your hand, and the groan that escaped him at the contact made you delirious with power. I had pulled that pleasured sound from this powerful demon. You.

And You wanted to hear it again and again. You gripped him firmer, his tail uncoiling to let you continue on your own as You brushed your thumb over the head, spreading precum along his shaft as You pumped faster. His hands had tangled themselves in your hair as he pulled you in for a rough, dominating kiss that had your knees shaking once he'd finally pulled away, his lips and teeth and tongue turning their torture upon my breasts. Indeed this was heaven. The dark chuckle that left him at your thoughts had my thighs clenching as he said, "I assure you this is not heaven." "It's surely as close as I'll get," I whispered, your free hand tangling into my hair as he focused all his attention on your nipples. His hips were bucking forward into your hand, his grunts against your skin more frequent as he nipped your breast, fangs scraping across the delicate skin just hard enough to sting - just hard enough to add fuel to the fire already raging inside you. "Where do you sleep?" he asked, quickly lifting you into his arms. You pointed to the door at the end of the hall, and in seconds he was kicking the door closed with his foot and depositing you on the bed. You knew that the flush that covered my skin was fierce, and as his calculating eyes took you in, You couldn't help but wonder what he really thought of me. As a demon - a succubus - he had slept with countless women when making deals like these, and you were sure they were only a foggy memory in his mind. "I've already said what I think of you." he said, quickly crawling his way onto the bed, his tail swaying between his shoulder blades, "You are gorgeous."

"Do you make deals with women you don't find attractive?" You asked, the question past your lips before You could stop yourself. His chuckle was amused as he hovered over you, "Attraction is not often something I'm aware of when making deals. It is not in my nature." His words only brought up more questions, but after tonight none of them would matter anyway. You'd live out the remainder of your life - however long that ended up being - and when You died, your soul would forever be bound to Suna. Your questions weren't necessary. You threaded one hand into his hair, lightly tugging him into another kiss as his delicious bodyweight settled over you fully. Too soon for your liking, he pulled away, tracing a path with his mouth over your neck, across your breasts, and down your stomach, coming to settle between your thighs. Without preamble, he slipped your panties from your legs, pushing your thighs open as he pressed soft kisses to your skin. "You smell divine," he murmured, his eyes closed as his fingers dug into your inner thighs. You had no idea what to say, though it was apparent response wasn't required as his tongue snaked out to brush against your clit. He smirked at my gasp of pleasure, sliding his tongue to the already dripping slit to slowly fuck you with it before returning to your clit. You had no idea how long he alternated this maddening pattern. Still, sooner than later, you were a writhing, moaning, panting mess above him, my hands tangled in the sheets at my head. "You're very responsive," he murmured, first one. Two fingers sliding into your cunt and arching come here before his tongue found your clit again. The constant pressure that had been building, building, building finally broke, and You shattered, thighs shaking as your orgasm raced through your body. He growled, his tongue hungrily lapping at your essence as I continued shaking above him, body wracked with pleasure as he refused to let me come down. "Fuck," You gasped, one hand shooting to his hair and pulling probably harder than You should have though it didn't seem to bother him at all.

He was relentless, claiming another orgasm as his before finally kissing his way back up your body and claiming my lips. Without warning, he slid into you, capturing my strangled gasp with his lips as his hips were flush with mine. And goddess, I was so full. He pulled back slowly, rocking his hips forward again, and the hiss that fell past his lips made your walls flutter around him. Never had a man sounded so sexy. He quickly hooked your legs over his arms, opening you further and changing the angle so that he slid even deeper, impossibly deeper. You knew that your nails were digging into his back, but the pressure felt so good that You couldn't help it. You were clawing onto him for dear life as he began to pick up his pace. "This is perhaps close to heaven," he murmured, a slight smirk on his face before he began peppering your breasts with kisses, his hips rocking steadily, pushing you closer and closer to the edge yet again. On a particularly harsh thrust, I came undone again, your arms and legs tightly wrapped around him as white light exploded behind your eyelids and stole your breath. His deep moan was the only thing that anchored you to the moment. Before I realized it, he'd flipped our positions, his hands on your waist as he guided your movements. "Ride me, (y/n)." How could I deny him anything when he spoke like that? You rocked your hips back and forth before slowly beginning to bounce up and down. He was so deep in this position, and it took your breath away. His eyes were intense as he watched you, his hands sliding to your ass to squeeze and slap as your pace sped up. He just felt so perfect. "Please," You begged, not quite sure what it was you were asking for. He knew, though. Suna's fingers slid to your clit, rubbing in tight circles that quickly had you clenching around his cock again.

He growled, sitting up to wrap his arms around you as he began thrusting up into you, his fangs scraping against your neck. You couldn't breathe. It wasn't necessarily experienced, but You'd definitely never felt anything like this in your life. Your arms were thrown around his shoulders, fingers tangled in his hair as he continued hitting that perfect spot that already had your legs shaking around him. "Oh fuck," You gasped, biting into the corded muscle of his shoulder, "Fuck, I'm going to come again. Fuck Suna!" At your near-shriek of his name, beautiful black wings exploded from his back, a guttural groan leaving his throat as his fangs sunk into your neck and  the pleasure just wouldn't stop. He pulled away from your neck, flipping our positions. Hence, he hovered above you again and began pounding into me without restraint. His wings were spread out behind him, blanketing us in a cocoon of darkness as his mouth and fingers exploring our body. Your breathing was coming in gasps as You clung to whatever bit of his skin was in reach, his thrusts becoming more erratic. "Cum with me, little witch," he growled, fingers pinching and teasing your clit. And of course, it didn't take long - only this time he came with me. His entire body went rigid as he pressed himself as deep as he could go, his growl shaking the walls as You shattered around him. I felt him press a kiss to your chest directly over the rune, and you knew the deal was done. You managed to force my eyes open, noticing the slight difference in the mark on his chest. Your fate was effectively sealed.

#haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu!! #hq x reader #hq smut #request are open #hq thirst #hq x y/n #haikyuu x y/n #hq suna #suna rintaro x y/n #haikyuu suna #suna rintaro drabbles #suna scenarios #suna rintarou #suna imagines #suna x reader #suna x you #suna x y/n

[bigasswritingmagnet]

Seek a Little Strange and Unusual

Fandom: Psychonauts Pairing: None Characters: Caligosto Loboto, Chloe Barge Summary: One day at the grocery store, Loboto overhears two parents discussing their...problem child. It's a very familiar sounding conversation. He may not understand why, but he won't let history repeat itself. Chloe isn't particularly fond of her human caretakers. The dentist who smuggled her out of the store is strange...but so is she. And he, at least, understands the importance of space helmets on alien planets.

[don’t make tumblr funnyposts about headcanons guys because you WILL become attached to them]

Cucumbers, lighter fluid, toothpaste, apple sauce, quick rise yeast, mineral oil...

Almost everything! All that was left was condiments. Except...had he written ketchup, or catsup? Did it matter? Of course it mattered, they were totally different things! Weren't they? Well, they had different names.

Lobot stared between the bottle of catsup and the scribbled list, trying to read his own handwriting.

"No, no! Put it down--Chloe put that down right now." 

Ooooh, drama! He loved drama. Loboto poked his head around the corner of the aisle in time to see a small child standing on their tiptoes, arms outstretched to the cereal boxes on the upper shelf. A brightly colored box of sugar pretending to be a nutritious breakfast was wrapped in a purple glow and descending, slowly. 

A woman materialized next to the girl. Her face was tight with anger and she snatched the box out of the air. Shoving it back on the shelf she hissed "What did I tell you? How many times do I have to say it, Chloe! Don't do that! Especially not in public! And I told you take that stupid helmet off when we're in the store!"

The child's response was unintelligible, muffled by the space helmet they were indeed wearing. He wondered what the big deal was. It wasn't the 1940's; nobody cared if you wore a hat in public anymore. Just look at him! He was wearing his showercap and no one had said a word! They just left the aisle as soon as they saw him.

“Take it off, now!” 

A man appeared and grabbed the woman's arm.

"Keep your voice down, people are going to come see what the fuss is."

The woman rounded on him, her expression one of frantic desperation. 

"I can't do this anymore."

I just don’t care anymore.

"I can't deal with this, the helmet and the moving things around--!"

He’s a monster!

"I know, I know--"

Soon we’ll be free of this devil child.

"I don’t know how much longer I can put up with this! If I have to deal with one more dismantled radio, one more time trying to get her to take it off for company, one more bent spoon--"

Every! Spoon! Bent!

"I've been asking around, and Johnson knows someone who can do a procedure that’ll fix her--"

They all agree on the diagnosis and what must be done.

He felt strange. Cold and hot and angry and...sad. The child didn't seem to notice the conversation. She was trying to float the cereal box back down again. She probably didn't understand what it all meant. She was young. Very young.

Younger than he had been.

He hadn't understood either, until it was too late.

The humans were arguing again. They were always arguing these days. Arguing about such petty problems, when they could be focusing on the whole galaxy around them. She ignored them. It wasn't like they listened to her anyway. How many times had she explained to the woman why she needed to wear the helmet whenever she left the hermetic seal of her room? It never mattered. 

The box of Chocolate Frosted Sugar Bombs landed gently in her hands. Excellent. She would slide it into the cart under the frozen peas. By the time they got to the cash register, the woman would be bound by social convention to make the purchase, or risk making a scene in front of the cashier.

Chloe still hadn't figured out what making a scene meant. The term was definitely in regards to public behavior, but was applied to anything from yelling in public to silent refusal to remove her helmet. Human rules were so strange and arbitrary.

The boxes in front of her rustled. Chloe tilted her head to one side. Odd. Sometimes things around her moved on their own, but usually she got that strange tingle in the back of her head when they did. She wasn't feeling it now.

The boxes of cereal parted, excess tumbling off the ends of the shelves. Two small lights gleamed in the newly made gap. One red, one green.

A metal claw shot out, grabbed Chloe by the shirt, and hauled her through.

She had half been expecting to be pulled into another dimension, but instead she was just in the next aisle. There was no time to feel disappointed before she was dumped unceremoniously in a grocery cart. Someone loomed over her, but Chloe only got the impression of blue skin and flowers before the stranger scooped up half a shelf's worth of bags of macaroni and dumped them on top of her.

It didn't hurt. She could breathe fine with her helmet protecting her face--see, she wanted to say, I told you I needed it--but she couldn't move very much. The cart rattled and bumped, one wheel squeaking obnoxiously. They paused briefly, and Chloe considered shouting for help, but didn't. She wanted to see where this was going.

So she stayed quiet and still, holding the box of cereal to her chest as a cheerful voice cried "No need to do your beeping scans! I know what I bought! Keep the change!"

Then they were off again. The sounds around her changed as they left the store and rattle bumped their way through the parking lot. She heard a trunk open up, and decided now was a good time to figure out what was going on. She had no interest in riding with the groceries.

Chloe made the purple glow around her hands and pushed until the groceries around her lifted enough for her to move. She popped out from beneath the macaroni like a beach ball being released underwater.

The stranger was. Strange. Very tall. The lights Chloe had seen were his eyes--or rather, small tubes where his eyes should be. They twitched and turned independently of each other. He was smiling at her, and his smile seemed to stretch much, much further than most human smiles.

He was wearing a labcoat and a shower cap.

"Hello!" he said. "I'm going to kidnap you and raise you as my own so your parents can't stick an icepick in your brain to take away your psychic powers!" He tapped his chin, brow furrowing. One of his arms was made of metal, and ended in three claws. "Although I already did that first part, so...I have kidnapped you and am going to raise you as my own so that your parents can't stick an icepick in your brain to take away your psychic powers!"

Chloe considered this with some alarm. She didn't know what an icepick was, but she was sure she didn't want anything stuck in her brain. Psychic powers? Ah. That would explain the purple glow. Her caretakers had been very frustrated by it. But could she believe that they would stick things in her brain just so they could be less frustrated?

Yes. She could believe.

Her chest hurt. The macaroni was heavier than she first thought.

"Will you let me wear my helmet?" she asked.

"Of course!" He patted his showercap. "Headwear is a very important personal choice!

Chloe thought some more.

"This is acceptable," she said, and lifted her arms. The stranger stared at her. Neither of them moved for several seconds.

"What are you doing."

"You need to lift me up."

The stranger stuck his hands under her armpits and did so, holding his arms fully extended out in front of him. She dangled in the air, up, up, so high up, higher than she'd ever managed on a swing, and without the heavy weight of rope and swing seat to remind her she was pinned to this mudball planet. She felt weightless, floating, a dizzyingly wonderful feeling.

They stayed like that for several moments.

"Is this what parenting is?" the stranger asked. "It's a lot easier than they made it sound."

Chloe was so high up, her vision extended over the sea of cars, and she spotted her caretakers--former caretakers--rushing out of the grocery store, looking around wildly.

"Put me down," she said. She would have liked to stay up there for longer. For hours. Maybe she could get him to do it again later. The man used to do it all the time, before the arguing started. The stranger set her feet on the pavement, and began to toss the cart's contents into the trunk without any care for fragility. He did not seem particularly rushed or concerned, for all that he said he was kidnapping her. And wasn't kidnapping illegal?

The car was nothing like the sleek blue sedan her parents drove. The man washed it obsessively, and acted as if you had removed an organ if you so much as borrowed a single sparkplug, even if the project was important.

Not only did this car look as if it hadn't been washed, ever, it also looked like it might dissolve if you tried. It was mostly rust held together by duct tape. The car was decorated in strange patterns picked out by objects hot glued to the sides: rubber ducks, dice, plastic flowers, and many, many teeth. From the looks of it, mostly Odocoileus virginianus and Procyon lotor, although she had to wonder about some of the molars.  

"Chloe!" someone shouted. "Chloe, where are you!"

Chloe opened the door of the car and climbed inside. There was a moldy grey blanket on the car seat. She unfolded it and draped it over herself. It smelled like seaweed and toothpaste. She tried to look as much like a non-child lump as she could.

The trunk closed. Through the thin blanket she saw the shadow of the stranger--her new caretaker--lean over her. He wound all three seatbelts across her, pinning her to the seat.

"Safety first!" he said.

The car's engine whined and groaned and the calls got closer. They wouldn't be able to see her under the blanket. She was hidden. It was safe.

All the same, she felt a rush of relief when the engine finally growled to life. The car shot backwards and then came to an abrupt halt with a crash and the tinkle of glass. The seatbelts held her so fast Chloe didn't even move.

"Whoopsie!" the man said. The car lurched forwards and came to another abrupt halt with another crash. "Sorry!" Forward. Smash. "Oopsie daisy!" Back. Crash. "Almost got it!"

This time when the car sped forward, it did not stop, although Chloe did hear a scream and a bump as they turned a sharp corner.

"There we go!"

Chloe waited a few more minutes before working her arms free and pulling the blanket down from over her helmet. The car was zipping down the road, swerving violently between the other cars. In the space of three minutes they shot through two red lights. Her new caretaker was humming an offkey ditty to himself, as if he was taking a casual stroll through the park.

"Who are you?" Chloe asked.

"I am Dr Calligosto Loboto! The greatest dentist in the world!" He threw out an arm dramatically and his claws punctured the roof of the car. She could see many similar holes clustered in the same area.

"My name is Chloe. I hail from the planet Cygnus A."

"Ooooh, you're an alien! That explains the helmet! You better keep that thing on, I don't want you suffocating in our atmosphere!"

Chloe couldn't name the feeling in her chest, except that it was a good one.

"That's what I kept telling them! Just because I can breathe your air doesn't mean it doesn't have a detrimental effect on my lungs!"

"Of course!" the doctor said, genuinely annoyed. "That's Alien 101! Boy, your parents are weird."

"They aren't my parents," Chloe said, firmly. "They're my human caretakers. They were looking after me while I'm on the planet. Someday my real parents will return for me, and take me back to the home planet."

"Makes sense to me! I wonder if that makes this less of a felony."

#caligosto loboto #psychonauts #chloe barge #i have...no excuse #i can't decide if i want to make like a whole thing out of it so here you go for now #pre-canon fic

[lady-o-ren]

The Dig

You can read this on ao3 // HERE //

Suffolk, England

1939

“What's going on in Sutton Hoo, then that has you in such a hurry?”

James Fsaser reluctantly looked up from where his head had been braced on his leather satchel, clutched atop his knees, and gave the old ferryman a one-eyed stare.

“I've a job. Digging,” he swallowed, trying mightily to keep himself from retching as the wee boat he was in bobbed up and down like a mad carousel.

“You came all the way from Scotland to dig like a dog?” He laughed hoarsely, hawking up a wad of phlegm into the murky river water as he swung his oars.

“Ipswich,” Fraser muttered, turning a bit more green.

Ipswich Museum to be exact.

He'd been hired to help excavate a centuries old burial site located at a rural estate in Sutton Hoo, overseen by the archeologist, Dr. Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp. A woman much admired (or envied depending on the man) for her keen mind and boundless curiosity (and unrivaled stubbornness that often spiraled into outright defiance according to those same particular men) that had her uprooting half of Great Britain in pursuit of the secrets hidden beneath the mossy plains. And more often than not her instincts were right and another antiquity would be dusted off to be reborn again.

Fraser wasn't sure what he'd done to earn the right to work by her side but Christ, he wouldn't question how lucky he was.

The boat then suddenly coasted to an abrupt stop against the rivers side.

“Here we are, Mr. Fraser. All in one piece. And I thank you for keeping me boat and boots tidy,” said the old ferryman with a wink.

Fraser didn't bother with a retort, he was just happy that the world had blessedly stopped spinning and hopped onto wonderfully solid land.

Smoothing the wrinkles from his attire and fixing his father's old grey cap atop his head (taking special care to tuck in his dark ginger curls that always peeked out from just under the rim), he made his way down the brambled path that the old man said led to the big house. After a brief introduction with the owner of the estate, he was then directed to where he'd be working, and trotted past the trees and sprawling country green to an open field.

From afar, Fraser could see three burial mounds jutting from the earth, grassy topped with yellow dandelions sprouting all over.

But what made his breath catch was the sight of the woman he'd been so eager to meet.

She was surveying the site with her hands on her trousered waist looking like a general on the cusp of conquest. Sensing his approach, she turned away from her prize and future glory, her short curls bouncing and gleaming a rich shade of earth in the dewy sunlight, and met his gaze with her own.

Sharp with intelligence. Kindled with mirth. Shimmering like molten gold.

"A Dhia," Fraser whispered to the fragrant spring air, and took off his cap, twisting it between his hands that ached to trace and memorize every curve of the archeologist's face.

She waved him over seeing him linger and a terrible heat sprang to the young lad's face at having been caught staring at the beauty like a halfwit, and forced his legs to move. Prayed he didn't fall flat on his face.

"Hullo there," she greeted, and clasped her small hand to his, but there was nothing dainty about its grasp. Fraser could feel the years of hard-earned experience chiseled in her palm that held his hand firmly, letting him know exactly who he'd be working for.

It sent a thrill down his spine.

"I'm Dr. Claire Beauchamp. And you must be the very late Mr. Fraser I've been waiting for."

"Aye, and I beg yer pardon for that, ma’am," Fraser replied in earnest, detecting a subtle spike of irritation in her voice, seeing the annoyed flick of her brow. "The morning train was running late.” By three hours! “ Then I had to wait for the ferryman to take me across the river -" He'd been taking his "tea" in the pub " - all a lousy excuse, I ken, but I promise ye it willna happen again."

Beauchamp crossed her arms and tipped her head to the side giving Fraser a scrutinizing once over that made his throat bob and the blood in his heart to palpitate.

"Good," she smirked, nodding her approval from his noticeable discomfort. "If you're anything like how the stiffs at Ipswich Museum described we'll get along well."

He clenched his jaw at the mention of the museum, the cantankerous men who worked there. Especially a certain Dr. Randall, who valued a good cigar over the work of a “farm boy”.

"And what do they say of me, if I may ask?"

Beauchamp bit her full bottom lip (wonderfully pink Fraser bashfully noted), quirking wryly.

“Quite a lot depending on who you ask. From what I've gathered you're hardworking, painfully intelligent and have an innate knack for reading the earth. But that you're also highly unorthodox, difficult and the most insufferable Scotsman ever to step foot in Ipswich. So naturally I had to work with you."

He let out a tightly held breath and chuckled softly.

"Weel, who am I to argue wi' a reference like that. I'm passionate about my work and little else, apart from food and kin. And while I've never been disrespectful to reason, I haven't the patience for men who think a title is deserving of my unquestionable fealty."

"And why should you? The conviction of a Viking is something to be admired not belittled,” she praised, making Fraser glow. "I only wish I could've been there to witness how you earned the ire of half the museum.”

“I'm merely in the right and they the wrong, more often than not,” he shrugged.

“I'm just as terrible,” she proudly grinned. ”But I know we'll make a good team. We'll have to if we want to tackle this lot.”

She motioned her head at the site looming tall, brimming with excitement that spoke to Fraser's own spirit.

"If that's so then it'll be an honor working wi' ye, ma'am."

He shook her hand once more and thought he felt her thumb move against his knuckle, light and curious as a brush stroke.

//

Working with two assistants from her previous digs (the studious Jeremy Foster and the wide-eyed youth Elias Pound), Fraser and Beauchamp made great strides in plowing the core of the mound that was the larger of the three, even when logic argued that the dip in the middle meant thieves of the past had already plundered it's horde.

But Fraser's gut and bones told him that there was something different about this one.

Beauchamp had thought so too.

"There's something grand and marvelous here begging to be found. Don't you think? Can't you feel it?"

The deeper they dug only intensified that feeling.

As had his attraction to the irrepressibly brilliant Dr. Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp.

However, after a fortuitous streak of good weather, the air started to blow with the sweet scent of rain and the leaves of the oak trees that dotted the lush clearing turned toward the skies, parched and longing.

"We have some time, I think, before the rain comes," said Beauchamp, gauging the skies westward still clear of thunderclouds.

Fraser leaned against his shovel in the hollow of earth he stood in, his dirt stained sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and could see the mad impulse to defy mother nature flash in her eyes.

"Usually I'd agree wi' ye, ma’am, but yer hair -" his mouth flicked upward in unbridled appreciation. "Is curling like a tumbleweed."

She pressed a dirt-flecked hand near her temple and felt the wild frizzy pushback of flyaway curls fallen loose from her twisted bun, springing around her face like a mane.

"Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ,” she huffed. “Have I been like this all morning, Fraser?”

"Pretty much," he grinned, enjoying how her usual regal self pinked across her freckled cheeks and the wee scrunch of her nose.

But Fraser's smile faltered, catching himself for a fool, and averted his attention down to the soil where his heart had fallen. Writhed. Burrowed with the worms and roots.

For what use was it for a man like him to yearn for a woman like her?

He swallowed the hopeless lump in his throat.

"Shall we go for lunch then, wait for the weather to clear?"

Hearing the word lunch, Foster and Pound looked up from their own end of the excavation with hunger in their eyes.

"Did that on purpose did you?" said Beauchamp, throwing an accusatory glance at the ginger lad while trying to gather her wayward curls back to partial respectability.

He gave her a half smile.

"The Almighty is the one making it rain, ma’am. Take it up wi' him."

She sighed and her hands fell to her waist as she took one last disappointing glance above.

"I would if He ever bothered to listen,” she frowned, then gave the other men a nod that made them hoot and holler.

“Numpties,” she mumbled, though did so fondly, and puffed at a rebellious forelock flirting with the wind.

After covering the ditch with a tarp secured to the ground, the men headed for the local pub raucously singing an old drinking song with a few choice words changed.

Our Lady must have been an Admiral, a Sultan or a Queen

And to her praises we shall always sing

A pint for our Lady Beauchamp who fills us up with cheer

A pint for our Lady Beauchamp . . .

Their lady laughed and rolled her eyes, before waving the lads off with a promise to catch up to gather her things, and headed to the shepherd's hut that had been provided by the estate.

Fraser glanced back watching her go, and after a moment's hesitation where he reasoned it would be rude to leave without her, he too told the others he'd forgotten something and went after Beauchamp.

Cursing himself an "EEJIT!" every step of the way.

//

Inside the hut was a small curtained window softly lighting the room from the back and two wooden scuffed chairs positioned along the side wall with a table snugly fit between them. Beauchamp herself was crouched by the table legs where Fraser had left his satchel but it was now laid open on its side, contents spilled over.

At his unexpected appearance that shadowed the doorway, she turned his way with an apologetic expression.

"I'm sorry, I was just grabbing my bag when I tipped yours over and . . ."

She held up his small green fieldbook opened at the first page.

And white-hot panic flooded Fraser's veins.

"The writing caught my eye," she continued on, seemingly unaware that the poor lad was gripping the doorway for support. "I didn't know you spoke gaelic beyond the odd phrase here and there. That you can even write it too is something of a feat,” she said, impressed by the words secreted on the page.

“Aye,” he managed to breathe, relieved that she hadn't seen a thing. Not a thing! “I don't get much practice living away from home so I speak it in my mind and heart, write letters to my family when I can.”

“You've spoken of a sister, if I'm not mistaken. Older or younger?" She prodded, as if he were a new discovery, and he answered in hopes to distract her from what she still held in her hands.

Felt a fluttering warmth overtake him that she recalled him having a sister.

"Jenny,” he said, as he moved to kneel down beside her to stuff his scant belongings back in his bag. “She's older and feels the need to remind me of that fact whenever we see one another.”

“And you're the brat aren't you?”

Despite his predicament, Fraser couldn't help the grin spreading across his face.

"I was the devil's spawn, aye, but Jen was no angel. We once got into a terrible stramash about our chores on the farm, the way wee bairns do, and I ended up telling her she had a face uglier than a coo, smelled worse than one too. Next I knew, I was being tackled to the ground wi' my face shoved into a ripe pile of coo shite and my sister above me laughing her wicked wee arse off.”

Beauchamp broke into laughter and it made his stomach do a flip.

“I'm sorry, that must've been awful for you, but I think I may love your sister for that.”

“Everybody says so. Not sure it was worth it in the end myself . . .” said Fraser, his voice suddenly trailing off at the end seeing her attention turn back to the page.

His mind spiraled into action.

"But we really should get going before the rain catches us. It looks to be a downpour, a terrible one.”

“Well it's a good thing we're under a roof then isn't it?” She countered, eyes sparkling through her long lashes. “ Besides I'd rather have an impromptu lesson in gaelic on what,” she paused, squinting down at the book opened on her knees. “Baa-mia-’bruu -” means.”

“Bha mi a ’bruadar mun bhròn mhòr,” he begrudgingly corrected, wondering how rude it would be to just snatch his own fieldbook away. But then Beauchamp smiled as if charmed by his voice and echoed back his words with near perfect silky inflections, looking pleased as punch as she did so.

Endearing herself even more to the young Scot's already smitten heart.

“Verra good,” he hummed softly.

“Absolute luck,” she grinned, tapping her fingers atop his writing. “Now tell me what does it all mean?”

He shook his head embarrassed. "You'll think me daft, ma’am."

"I promise I won't."

She said it in such an earnest way, Jamie knew she spoke true. But then a deep rumble of thunder sliced through the air, enough to give Beauchamp a jolt that made her forefinger on the page slip and Fraser's stomach to rip and plummet to the old wood floor.

There, drawn on the page, was Beauchamp's face staring back at her.

“It’s nothing but some wee scribbles,” he stammered to explain, reaching for the book only for her to angle it away.

“You're right about that,” she agreed, her fine brows furrowing as she traced a slim finger to her pencil drawn cheek. “You've made one of my eyes bigger than the other, my nose a dash too long and -"

Her eyes went comically round as she pressed the pages to her chest, a sudden thought coming to her.

"You don't have anyone posed in the nude here do you?"

"O-Of course not! I'd never. I- I'd -"

"Breathe Fraser, I was only teasing you," she nearly giggled, but then her face softened with regret seeing his own face take on the horrible color of a split beet left to shrivel in the sun.

“But really, why bother with me?”

He had no answer but the one that pounded from his heart, a noise like a thousand drums that all struck the same adoring note. She could see it beaming from his face and a hushed silence fell between them as the rain finally came down, hitting the rooftop in a pitter-patter that enveloped her quietly spoken -

“Oh.”

That single utterance had Jamie wishing the rain would flood and swallow him up but it was now or never to speak his heart. No matter that hers would never be his to cherish.

Looking down at his hands, anxiously wringing the strap of his satchel, he spoke.

“There was never any helping it, me liking you. I'd never seen a sight sae fair as you, stubborn as you, nor wonderful as you. And I could never get ye out of my mind, no matter how hard I tried, but ye were always there like the sun and air."

He lifted his gaze to her likeness on the page.

"And then I just started filling my fieldbook wi' pictures of you if only to have something to remind me of you for when the job ends and we part ways. But I'm none so good as ye can see. I never could capture the grit and fire of yer spirit, the way yer curls bristle in excitement or the way yer eyes glow like a match to a candlewick . . . "

His heart tightened as his words faltered while Beauchamp remained quiet. Then like a blow to his chest she flipped through the small book once more, her face unreadable as stone. She looked through his sketches, one of her curls drawn like the ripples of the tide, another of her hands digging through the earth, and of her lush determined mouth curved into a beaming smile, bitten with impatience, beneath a perfect speckled nose.

And threaded between her gestures, her features were more bits of gaelic.

 A bòidhchead . . .

Tha pian orm . . .

Tha cho teann sa tha a ’bhriogais gam iomain

"I told you I was no good. I ken I should just rip up the pages -” Fraser began to miserably say, but Beauchamp hushed him by taking his hand in hers and softly stroked her thumb against the work-hardened skin. 

"You have a fine hand, Fraser. Especially for making my nose look as delicate as Garbo’s,” she smiled, cheeks touched lovely in pink.

Then in a moment that made it hard for Fraser to breathe, she simply said . . .

“Ask me for a drink.”

He blinked, thinking he misheard her, mouth agape. But there was no mistaking what brightened her eyes to shine like whisky.

“Ask me,” she repeated impatiently, almost laughing, as she squeezed his hand. 

Fraser inhaled sharply and tentatively squeezed her small hand back.

“Will ye join me for a pint, ma’am?”

“Claire,” she grinned, and coyly tilted her head . “And of course I will. Took you long enough to ask,” she winked, making Fraser stare at her in charmed disbelief.

And then Beauchamp closed the distance between them, hand light as a feather against his chest.

“But first you ought to kiss me, Fraser. It's still raining and I might catch a chill from all this waiting."

Still staring at her mesmerized, with questions that could wait another day flitting through his mind, Fraser wove an errant bonnie curl around his fingers and smoothed it behind her ear. Letting his thumb drag against her cheek.

“It's Jamie,” he murmured, in a brush of his lips to hers. 

And on and on it went.

//

Bha mi a ’bruadar mun bhròn mhòr. . .

I dreamt about the mourning. The deaths of great men. Terrible men. Old and young. Of Kings lost in battle buried beneath us. They cried out to me and the Earth came to life and twisted her roots around me, dragging me inside her womb. Dark and cold, breathless like a cave. But I wasn't frightened. I saw lights rushing around me, bright as the twilight sky. The souls that lie ahead. Surrounding us.

They brought me to you.

//

A/N: This had a ton of notes and explanations so you can read all those on ao3. But for sure I’ll say here this is very loosely based on the movie The Dig.

#jamie x claire #Outlander #outlander fic #outlander fanfiction

[jay-and-dean]

Stolen Crown  Chapter 1 : Under the hood

By @roonyxx​ and @jay-and-dean​

Pairings : Dean x reader ? Kight!Dean x reader ?

Summary :  What happens when she is sent in a world that isn’t hers, but with very familiar faces ?

This, as much as it looks like it, is not ‘technically’ an AU, because your Dean, our Dean, exists too...

Serie Warnings : Smut (please be 18+), Fluff, Angst, Swearing. Mention of physical pain. Each Chapter will have detailled warnings.

Chapter warnings : Swearing for now.

Chapter Wordcound : 3230

Note : This is a collaboration beetween both of us. We can’t both edit the same post, so we decided we would post 1 chapter/2 each, like for Firefly.

We both worked as much on this story and it’s the result of both our brains but also both our hearts.

Please, if you want to show love for this story, don’t forget we were together in this.

Text divider by the awesome @talesmaniac89​

Want to read more:

Jay’s Masterlist

Roonyxx Masterlist

Whistling. 

Only a shrill whistling in her ears, and her heart pounding hard in her temples…

She holds her head and tries to get up, but the ground seems unsure of where it is supposed to be.

“Dean ?” she tries with a weak voice but, even with the high-pitched sound fading quickly, she can’t hear any answer. “Dean !”

She opens her eyes and they widen right away.

The seedy warehouse is gone, the smell of gasoline and the night are too… But above all, he is gone. Dean is nowhere to be seen. 

Instead : A sunny beautiful forest. Shiny rays of lights come through the radiant, high trees and birds are signing. So many birds.

“Shit” she grunts, looking around. “DEAN ! SAMMY !”

But her voice echoes and dies in the woods, only making a few rodents run through the bushes, themselves moving some butterflies and bees. Nothing else. 

Where was she sent ? Is it witchcraft or some stupid God ? She had told them that this case seemed more complicated than what they said ! And here she is, probably miles from home.

“Please, tell me I’m still in the United states” she whimpers, taking her phone from her jeans shorts pocket. “No come on ! No signal now ?”

After pacing around to try and find any sign of signal, she gives up and puts the useless phone back in her pocket, regretting her morning choice to wear only a t-shirt and shorts, because if she has to walk miles to find a road, the night might be here before she finds her friends again, and nights are colder out there.

“DEAN ! DEAN !” she tries again.

But he is obviously not with her.

What if he had been sent far too ? What if he was in an indian market now ? Or in a boat on the australian seas ? 

“Sammy you have to find us” she mutters, looking around to gather clues.

This forest is not tropical or northern, it’s a temperate one, and it’s obviously still early summer…

Suddenly, hooves disturb the forest’s calm in the distance, rapidly approaching her. The metal clattering with every step the big animal -probably a horse- takes, says it’s not alone…

She quickly moves in the bushes and stills behind a large tree to hide herself from whoever is coming. 

“Your highness ?” a deep, oddly familiar, voice calls.

Her back flat against the tree, she turns her head a little to be able to see beyond the thick bark, holding her breath and reaching for the knife in her boot. 

A beautiful, massive shiny black horse is nervously stepping on the ground while the owner of the mare pats it on the neck.

“Easy girl” the man says. 

She frowns, keeping the dagger in her hand, ‘that voice… I know it.’ When she dares to look between the leaves, her eyes widen.

“Dean?” she says with a confused smile, putting the knife back in her boot, as she steps from out of the bushes.

“My Queen !” he throws his leg over the majestic black horse and steps off, right away going down on one knee in front of her, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “I have been looking for you, my Queen” he says towards the ground, not looking up to her once.

“Queen ?” she huffs, still a little dizzy. “Where the Hell are we, Dean ? And what the fuck are you wearing, is that... a freaking armor?” she asks, pointing at his weird clothes.

Dean finally tilts his head upwards. And when he sees her, his eyes nearly fall out of his head, his mouth is open but no words leave his lips. The more he stares at her like she was naked, the more she starts to feel a little self conscious.

His eyes slowly travel up her bare legs, a confused expression on his face, when she bends a little to make eye contact with him he quickly adverts his gaze.

“Your Majesty, what happened to your robes ? Are you harmed ?” he asks, obviously worried. 

“Cut the crap, Dean, what’s happening ? Where are we ?” she asks, annoyed.

“We are in the…” he looks around a little, apparently wondering what to answer. “In the woods… Not far from the Castle, my Queen” he says.

She stares at him, mouth agape, a deep feeling of confusion replacing the annoyance totally. Her tone changes to something colder, more distant.

“Why do you keep calling me ‘queen’ ?” she asks. “And what’s up with the stupid clothes ?”

He dares looking up at her again, a sorry frown on his face. 

“My apologies, your Highness. I do not understand… Is there something wrong with my apparel ?” he stands up, his eyes searching her face. “Did you hit your head or have you fallen maybe ? You disappeared, my Queen. I have been so worried” he turns to his horse to retrieve a big grey fur cloak. “What happened to your gown, did someone attack you ?” 

His head low, he comes closer to carefully drape the very heavy cape around her shoulders.

“I obviously failed at my duty” his eyes are dark and she clearly recognizes that crushing guilt on his features

She touches the floor length fur coat he put around her with a frown. It’s pleasantly warm outside, there is no need for this... 

Everything he does is weird, and why does he look so different ? Was he hit by a spell of some weird stuff like that time he was losing his memory ? 

Unless… 

She takes in his appearance. He looks exactly like him but he has more scruff, and his hair is a little longer, his clothes are very strange too. 

The closer she looks, through the fading cloud in her mind, the more this costume he is wearing really doesn’t look like one. All the layers of leather and metal make him look like he was ready for war, and his shoulders are even more broad under the armor he is wearing. 

Everything about him seems heavy and powerful : Between the metal on his chest, the big belt holding several weapons, including the scabbard of that seems to hold a very authentic sword, the real huge grey fur around his shoulder, like he had killed a wolf…

She shivers at how impressive he looks, at how she realizes she doesn’t know anything about him..

“Shit…” she mutters realizing this is not her Dean at all. 

This is not the United states of America, and this is probably not even her world… But if the Dean from around here is willing to protect her, that might be her best chance of survival.

She clears her throat, nodding to encourage herself to play along.

“No... I’m…” she suddenly has no idea how to use her voice. “I’m okay and I am your queen, because you are my…?” she leaves the sentence open, hoping he’ll answer it.

“Your knight” he says, uncertain.

Knight, right… She nods and looks around once more.

If this is some kind of fucked up middle age alternate universe, there is a big chance that the forest is going for miles and miles, and an even bigger chance that she starves to death before Sammy finds a way to bring her back to the Instagram century. And dressed like that, she might have to fear more than wolves…

She stares at him for a minute and he seems to be just waiting for orders, his green eyes on the floor.

“Kneel” she says with a corner smile and he just does, with no question, comment or delay.

Dean Winchester obeying her to the letter… If that is not a good side of this whole crap !

“You can get up” she chuckles, letting him stand on his feet again.

But her amusement quickly fades. 

Royalty is not really the easiest undercover, and the discretion will be impossible. She wants to ask for help but, even if her whole body and soul tell her she can trust Dean -for it is still Dean-, her eyes travel the thick leather covering his forearms and she remembers she doesn’t know him.

So maybe she better stay silent for now, and follow his lead until she decides if he is an ally.

“Your Majesty” he speaks, with a deference she never heard from him. “If the news of your disparition comes to the Council, there undoubtedly will be trouble. We should head back now. Please.”

“Y-yes” she nods, a lump growing in her throat.

Council ? Trouble ? Castle ? How is she supposed to deal with all that ? People close to the queen will know she isn’t her in a minute…

The knight offers his hand, and she follows, frowning when he joins his wrists to help her get on the horse. 

“This is not the best comfort for travel, your Majesty, for that I am sorry” he apologizes again.

“It’s okay Dean” at her words, he frowns again, but she puts her feet on his wrists and jumps on the tall horse, quickly understanding, by the look on his face, that she is not supposed to ride “like a man”.

Her eyes can’t decide where to look, and her hands can’t decide where to hold him.

Gripping his belt tight in this uncomfortable position, she takes in the unbelievable landscapes before her : Untouched forests and large lakes, small villages down in the valley, with all those wood houses that remember her of Braveheart. 

All she can think of is when she is going to tell the boys about everything she saw… If she ever goes back to them.

“Put on your hood, my Queen” the knight asks, so she does. 

Her unsure hands grasp the heavy hood of the animal fur around her and she hides her face in the huge hood. He probably needs her to not be recognized.

“What animal is it ?” she asks, touching the hair with a mix of curiosity and disgust.

“Animal, your Majesty ?”

“The hood ?” she asks, quickly grasping his belt again when the horse half jumps above a root.

“My coat is made of a bear” he answers. 

“Poor animal…”

He lets a silence and clears his throat slightly. 

“I had never thought of it that way, my Queen. Your empathy for the creatures of this world is godly.”

But she stopped listening.

Her breath stuck in her lungs, she discovers the huge, beautiful castle coming in her sight. 

A gigantic wall surrounds a little city, itself surrounding a huge, elegant castle. The light stone walls seem to be touching the clouds from here, and a vibrant living noise comes from it.

“Wow” she murmurs, looking up the thin sharp towers surrounded by birds.

“My breath gets cut short each time I see your home in sight too, your Highness” he says with a soft voice. 

Inside the walls of the city, everything is different. 

People are busy, all dressed like they came from a movie, carrying vegetables and raw pieces of meat, sheeps and baskets of fabric… Each and everyone turning their head at the sound of the huge horse’s steps on the stone pavements. 

“Sir Winchester !” a kid exclaims.

She keeps her hood low, suddenly very aware of the trouble that could come from the crowd recognizing their queen. 

The knight version of Dean stays unfazed, guiding them to the stables where several horsemen are waiting for him. 

He gets off of the horse, helping her and closing his coat neatly on her.

“Keep your head down” he murmurs next to the hood and she just nods, determined to let him guide her. “You” he says louder to one of the men here. “Go tell the guards that the wolf hunt is done. My men can gather again peacefully, nothing is to fear.”

She can’t help but very quickly look up at the man giving orders next to her, his remarkable charisma making her feel so small. 

She always looked up at Dean with an infinite admiration, but at least, she knows him… This stranger is different. 

“Allow me to touch you” he says under his breath and she just nods again while he wraps his strong arm around her.

Under the hood, she can’t see everything precisely, but the little she can distinguish of the inside of the castle he is guiding her in is enough to amaze her. 

Huge corridors and busy servants, carpets that seem to come from a museum, gold and flowers decoration the thick stone walls.

“Sir” a guard comes in their way, bending before Dean in respect. “Your men have been called back. The news never spread outside of the Queen’s guard.”

“Thank you” the knight answers.

“Glory be to the Queen” the guard bows again. 

“To the Queen” Dean answers.

The knight guides her further into the castle and up an infinite number of stairs, a serious look on his face. With every step up, the coat on her shoulders feels heavier and heavier, and her apprehension does too.

Once they reach the top, he walks to the left, his heavy boots echoing in the spacious corridor. Still holding her, his grip both reassuring and oppressing, he stops in front of a big wooden door that she may be supposed to recognize. 

She looks up at the door a little, still not completely daring to stop hiding under the big hood. He opens the door and stands with his back against the wall, his eyes straight ahead.

She hesitates, waiting for him, but when he doesn’t move, she carefully steps inside, not sure what she will meet on the other side of the massive oak door. 

Before her, a large room with thick wooden furniture and rich fabric. In the middle, a queen size bed with wooden bed posts that are near the stone ceiling with wolves carved in each of them. Hanging from the posts, a dark red velvet-like canopy that matches the heavy curtains. A big antique closet stands to the left side of the room.

Taking a cautious step, she looks right. Behind a great arch is another room that holds a big wooden tub covered in a sand-white sheet.

Despite the cold stone everywhere, the many carpets with many different colorful illustrations, the curtains, and candles everywhere makes the room somehow warm. 

She stands in the middle of what she guesses is the queen’s room, unsure of what to do now. Looking back to the door, she sees Dean’s elbow from where he is still standing against the wall, straight and still.

“Dean, come inside please” she states, using the most authoritative voice she has.

A queen has to be, right ?

“Yes, your Majesty.”

The knight steps inside immediately, his hands behind his back, his gaze fixated in front of him.

“What are... my plans for today ?” she asks him, trying to figure out what to do, to convince them, a whole Castle and Kingdom, that she is the damn queen.

“The Council requested a parlay with you when the sun is at its highest, and after you have your usual walk in the garden before you talk to the People. I think, Majesty.” 

“Right, the Council” she says unsure, wondering what the council can be. “Take me to them.” 

She holds her chin high, trying desperately to look like the Hollywood idea she has of how royals act.

His gaze finally finds hers, a small frown is on his face, an expression of confusion growing on his hard but still so beautiful features.

“Do you not wish to be dressed first, my Queen?”

“Oh… yes, I-I do wish that” she nods. 

She walks towards the closet and opens it, checking his face in the corner of her eye to try and find clues of what she is supposed to do, but all she can see there is worry for her, well hidden on his bodyguard face. 

Inside the huge closet, put in color order, are dresses, all of them big and complicated… And on some shelves, smaller white dresses, that may be for inside or summer. She takes them out.

“This will work” she states to herself as she turns around but stops when she hears Dean gasp. 

When she looks up he’s stepping towards the door quickly.

“No wait !” she calls out for him and he stops right in his tracks. “Dean...” 

He turns towards her, his gaze on the floor, jaw clenched.

She doesn’t want him to leave. She is, in fact; terrified of being without him. Although he is a stranger, his face is the only thing she knows in this weird place she knows nothing about.

What will they do once they find out their queen disappeared ? Is there a king she has to sleep with ? Do they torture people ? Kill ? 

She just needs him close.

“I don’t know what to wear” she admits.

Or even how to wear it, she thinks to herself.

“Any gown makes you look divine, my Queen” he says in a husky voice, still watching the floor intensely.

If the circumstances were different her knees would wobble at what he just said… But he is not Dean, and maybe he just says that to not get his throat slit.

“Okay, I will put on this gown” she says as she lifts the small white dress that she is holding, a questioning look on her face.

The knight swallows hard and seems agitated. For a second, she wonders why he is acting so weird.

“What is it ?” she asks him. “Tell me.”

“Pardon me, your Highness, but that is not a gown” he clears his throat and stands up straighter. “That is your undergarment.”

“Undergarment ?” she looks at the little dress, holding it in front of her by the straps. 

Her lips open in an ‘o’ when she understands this is her underwear. She has been flashing him her royal underwear this whole time, of course he was acting weird !

In a quick motion, she hides it behind her back and mutters an apology.

“Yes, my undergarment, of course. I-I will get dressed now” she walks towards her closet to retrieve a big gown in a hum of hesitation.

“Let me just call the maids, your Majesty” he says low. 

“Yes ! Oh and Dean ?” she starts, waiting for his gaze to meet hers before she speaks again. “Thank you” she kindly smiles.

The knight nods, turns slowly and steps towards the bedroom door with a determined gait, closing and locking it by sliding the metal rod in the slot.

She frowns, seeing him lock himself with her. His back still on her, he clears his throat before he talks.

“My Queen...” he starts. 

With that hunter speed her Dean also has, he suddenly unsheaths his sword from his scabbard and holds its sharp end under her chin without touching her 

“Would never have said something like that” he finishes his sentence. “Or call me Dean…”

She searches his face, slowly lifting her hands up in surrender.

“That is because I am not your queen.”

__________

Chapter 2 on @roonyxx​‘s blog 

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[softlyjiminie]

nine months from now | m.y.g

⇢ pairing(s): boss!min yoongi x reader, mentions of vmin + namjin.

⇢ word count: 16.5K.

⇢ rating: 18+, mature.

⇢ genre: smut, angst, fluff, un-expecting parents!au, parents!au.

⇢ summary: his was not supposed to happen. this was never in the plan. a sudden, unexpected turn of events leads you into a world of baby bottles and baby grows, it just so happens that the cause of this mess is your boss...min yoongi.

⇢ warning(s): please read! mentions of infidelity, insecurity, unexpected pregnancy, light!description of birth ( pain, water breaking ), soft smut, dom!yoongi, sub!reader, unprotected sex ( please wear protection ),  mentions of one night stands, mentions of drunk sex,  phone sex, oral sex ( female receiving ), masturbation ( male + female ) , light!praise kink, pregnancy kink, daddy kink, dirty talk and swearing.

⇢ author’s note(s): hey everyone! this is a kinda late birthday fic for our wonderful boy min yoongi! i love parent aus and i just got to thinking about how yoongi would be the most amazing dad and boom dis bad boy popped out. I hope you enjoy reading and as always, feedback is greatly appreciated!! also thank you to my wonderful gigi ( @fantasybangtan​ ) for this beautiful banner, love you so much :(

one month. two blue lines.

this was not supposed to happen. this was never in the plan. you were supposed to work your ass off, show off your skills, get promoted and live a comfortable life. there was no time in your plan for this.

no time in your plan for a baby.

you feel as if the whole world has been drained away as you sit on the edge of your bath tub, your chest rising and falling with panic —you hadn’t even noticed, not until it was too late. your period had always been irregular, is it was easy for you to miss the signs. it couldn’t be happening. it can’t be happening. “how can this be happening?” you whisper to yourself, the lump in your throat makes your voice sound hoarse and weak.  

“well, when two very special people love each other..” your roommate, yura, begun as she rests her head on your shoulder and grabs your trembling hand. she had always been a joker, much to the chargen of your half brother, seokjin.

“she knows how it works, yura! it’s the sex that got her there!” your sibling yells, crossing his arms over his chest and looking down at you with a scolding disappointment. you’d never seen him so angry before, face red and the vein in his neck on the verge of bursting. you could tell he was trying to reign in his temper and you knew it was more than just rage he was feeling. seokjin had never known his farther, your mother was too ashamed to ever tell him and so he spent most of his life living with a hole in his heart. “do you even know who the father is?” 

you flinch at his sharp tone, knowing it was only his self inflicted conflict that was so venomous. yura’s head snaps up to glare at seokjin, lips parted in shock at he continues his rant. “how irresponsible could you be, YN? getting pregnant at this time in your career, how could you be so stupid?” 

“seokjin, enough!” yura snaps furiously, standing up with her hands resting comfortingly on your shoulders. she stares him down, rendering him silent and huffs. “YN is a grown woman...twenty-four years of age, meaning, you can’t scold her like a child anymore. it’s her body, her life and she’ll do as she damn well pleases. “

the sounds of their voices fade to nothing but static as they bicker back and forth about you. it’s almost as if you’re not even there, mind a million miles away. the mere thought of a life growing inside you has you spiralling and it’s not until seokjin puts a hand on your shoulder, that you look up.

“do...you know who the father is?” yura asks you quietly and avoids your gaze at his flits between hers and seokjin’s face.

“i do,” you twiddle your thumbs nervously, thinking back to the only occasion you can remember. you rub your eyes as they slowly begin to water, your brother and best friend nuzzling into you to help calm your nerves. “i know exactly who it is.”

seokjin and yura share a look, worried for the name about to pass your lips.

three months.

the walk to the top office is a brisk and daunting one. thousands of scenarios occupy your mind but you remember your brother’s advice and try to keep a steady head. you relax your stance as the elevator doors close in front of you, letting out a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding. a hand comes to rest on your lower stomach, reaching for the bump that was barely visible. 

you’d been to various different appointments over the last few weeks, blood tests, ultra-sounds and a paternity test. groaning, you remember the face of the assistant, her pointed nose tilted up in disgust when you begged her for any disgarded coffee cups the executive had lying around. all you needed was the tiniest trace of saliva to confirm your suspicions.

reaching your desired floor, you step out of the lift, and the sudden feeling of exposure crawls up your spine. patent heels click and clack against the smooth marble floor as you head to the front office. the light shines through the glass panes but it doesn’t lift your somber mood.

“i have an appointment with the executive?” you smile politely to the receptionist behind the desk and hand over your ID badge. she’s surprised, to say the least, when she checks it over and you can tell she’s unsure of how someone of your position would get an appointment on such short notice.

she lets you through regardless, mentioning to the executive that you’ll be up soon and too expect you. your once calm and collected walk is now weak and wobbly at  your ankles, you shake as you knock on the door and quiver when a deep voice beckons you in.

the room is bright, illuminated by natural light that shines through the glass panes directly onto the office. it’s sleek, black accents run through out the room with shades of whites and yellows and greys for contrast. a long desk, also black in colour, sits in the middle of the room, in front of the largest window that looks out onto the busy streets of seoul. you wonder if people ever look up and try to imagine what would happen in a room like this. the though of what’s about to happen sends chills down your spine. 

your patent heels sink into the carpeted floor, the softness and uneven ground do nothing to help your quaking knees. 

MR. MIN YOONGI 

the letters are engraved into the golden placement with thick, bold letters and reading it makes your heart race. the man himself is oblivious to your entrance, once deep red and burgundy hair having faded into his natural jet black roots. he wears a navy suit, tailored perfectly to fit his shoulders and his tie sits promptly around his neck, not a hair is out of place.

he hadn’t always been this perfect, you of all people would’ve known that. min yoongi was notorious in your company for his simple two step manoeuvre; flirting and fucking. whilst you had yet to fall victim to his charms, you knew to steer clear of him at company parties. yoongi had been a simple project manager at the daegu branch of your company, The Red Label, an up and coming fashion brand in south korea— before being unexpectedly promoted to executive to the seoul branch. you heard the last one had quit from heart break caused by the man himself. 

you, yourself were a new fashion designer, fresh out of college when you joined. you were happy to say that your designs had been worn by many idols since you started your job, including the infamous jeon jungkook.

you remember meeting yoongi at the annual anniversary party, drunk memories of the night suddenly becoming more and more clear. 

“yes?” he asks, looking up from his papers with a thin-lipped smile. he’s trying to be polite, you can tell, but you hate the way his black eyes watch you with discontent. you doubt he recognises you, remembers what went down a few months back. 

“hi...” you breathe, the anxiety from your thoughts rushing in. yoongi simply stares you down, his dark eyes watching as you shuffle under his gaze. he leans back in his desk chair, boredom etched into his features.

“look ms. kim,  i’m a busy man and have plenty of meetings to attend to today... so id prefer it if you didn’t go wasting my time.”

heat flushes through your veins and tingles at your fingertips, the words you had chanted to yourself in the mirror as practice have suddenly gone astray. you look to yoongi, his impatient stare boring holes into your very soul and you can tell he’s growing irritable. 

yoongi opens his mouth again to start a simple attack. “as i have stated already, ms. kim, i am a busy man with many duties to attend to today, so if you don’t mind-“ 

you hate this, you hate him. you hate how he thinks he can talk to you like you’re beneath him. especially after what he did to you. 

“i’m pregnant.” you blurt out, your rigid frame becoming lax as you realise what you’ve done. you watch as yoongi’s face contorts with confusion, what does this have to do with him? he must me thinking.

“why-?”

“it’s your child,” you snap back, suddenly gaining the roaring confidence seokjin had instilled in you many years ago. you march your way over to his desk, slapping down a file of all the tests you’d gotten, this paternity test with his DNA and his name in thick bold letters standing out on the white pages. “the documents are all here, if you don’t believe me.” 

the colour drains from yoongi’s face as he realises the severity behind his once careless actions, he never thought this would happen, he always thought he’d been, “safe? didn’t we use a condom?” he mumbles quietly, embarrassed and ashamed. 

“you insisted that we didn’t need one, you were too intent on getting your congratulations for your recent promotion.” you explain curtly, wrapping an arm protectively around your stomach. 

it was only then that yoongi noticed, the small curve of your stomach that was carrying a life that he had helped to make.  whether he wanted it or not, yoongi was going to be a father and he could tell by the fire in your eyes that you were going to do everything in your power to provide for this child. 

he sits back in his chair and runs a hand over his face, letting it cup his chin as he thinks. “okay....okay, fuck. what do we do now?” 

“well, i...” you hesitate, opening your mouth in a silent gasp. you step back from the desk and start to twiddle with your thumbs as you huff, nervous. “i don’t want this baby, my baby to grow up without a father. i’ve seen first hand how painful that can be. i also understand that, considering our circumstances, it might not be the best idea but i still believe you should take responsibility of a father and help look after them as well.” 

your answer is thoughtful, none of your words are fuelled by malicious intent. you want the best for the baby, your baby, his baby. yoongi’s heart clenches in his chest, his baby. 

“when’s your next appointment?” he asks in a whisper, a million and one thoughts rushing through his head at once. you look surprised, expecting yoongi to try and pay you off and keep quiet.

“next monday.” 

“good, i’ll be there.” 

three months, one week.

“is there any particular reason in which you’re not letting me attend today?” your brother hums, your only thought from then is to only roll your eyes as you pack your bag. phone, keys, purse. seokjin watches as you flutter about, fluffing your hair and straightening the sweater you wear, so it sits over your small bump just fine. 

shaking your head, you attempt to hide the nerves that crawl up your throat in fear of spewing them all out onto the floor. you’d blame it on early morning sickness. your older brother eyes you suspiciously, dark brow arched perfectly as a finger rests on his top lip. he knows you like the back of his hand, everything there is to know about you. he knew you were excitable when it came to things like new music or watching re-runs of americas next top model. he knew you were shy with physical contact and intimacy. he knew that sometimes you got so anxious and scared, especially with deadlines that your words became jumbled up and you’d forget your name. 

he knew why you were being so quiet today. 

you ignored him nonetheless, looking ever so slightly flustered once you’d finished getting yourself ready. you hadn’t felt this way since you’d submitted your first design to the Red Label. 

“are you sure? i know you hate all the machines and the gel the put on your tummy-“ the elder rambled and watched you collapse onto the couch beside him, you clasp your hands over his knee and sigh at him. clearly exhasperated.

“yoongi is coming,” you grumble eventually, curling in on yourself with a large pout. seokjin narrows his eyes, ever since finding out and confirming that yoongi was the father, he had been far from happy. seokjin remembered referring to the man as a pompous piece of poop, except more foul language was used. “i know you don’t like him, but we decided to try this co-parent thing? i’m just nervous that he’ll want to drop out as soon as he sees the baby-“ 

frowning, your brother shuffles over to you and presses a light kiss to your forehead as an attempt to comfort you.  “and if he does, we’ll figure it out together. promise.” 

you nod in affirmation, leaning into seokjin’s touch. he gets up to check the door a while later, calling out for you confusedly. “YN, there’s someone here to see you?” 

following his voice, you find yourself side by side with your brother, facing a man about your age if not younger. he’s dressed formally, in a black suit and white shirt, a bow tie around his neck. he offers you a boxy grin and you frown. 

“who are you?” 

“ah, you must be YN.” 

“yes, she is, but who are you?” seokjin cuts in before you can open your mouth, moving stand protectively in front of yourself and the baby. confused, you’re eyes widen and you shuffle back in the doorway to protect yourself further.

the man’s enthusiastic grin drops slightly as he readjusts his tie, coughing and holding his hand out to your older sibling. “taehyung, kim taehyung...” he introduces himself and falters when seokjin doesn’t take his hand. “i’m mr min’s driver, he sent me to collect ms. kim for her appointment today.” 

“driver? collect my sister? why i oughta-“ 

you set a palm on your brother’s chest and push him back lightly, smiling at taehyung as you do so. “jinnie,” you warm him and ignore his angry stare before addressing the driver. “i’ll be ready in a moment, taehyung.” 

quickly, you run back into the apartment to grab your bag and coat, returning fully dressed and ready to go. taehyung is already waiting with the door open by the car outside. you turn to your brother and hum. “i’m mad at him too, for sending a driver, but at least let me rip him a new one myself.” you say, breathlessly.

“with pleasure.” 

“a driver, really, min yoongi?” 

you storm past the man himself, anger flaring up within you at just the sight of his stupid designer suit and stupid pointed leather shoes that were probably imported from italy. he‘s a stupid man. who even wears a suit to a hospital appointment? 

yoongi stands flabbergasted, hands up in defence whilst taehyung only shrugs his shoulders and mentions he’ll be parked in the private area. the executive quickly follows you, surprised that you can even walk that fast with growing life inside of you and bends over with palms on his knees when you stop at the receptionist desk.

“i didn’t think it was smart of me to delay the appointment by meeting you at your own home, ms. kim.” 

rolling your eyes, you lean up to the receptionist, ignoring the way your name rolls so greasily off of yoongi’s tongue. “appointment for YN kim? 2:30.” you beam down at the man behind the desk, who’s eyes light up when they notice you.

“YN! lovely to see you again, you’re right on time!” he hums and checks you in on the computer as you spare a quick glare to the man behind you. the receptionist follows your gaze and leans in to whisper. “is this the baby father?” 

a light chuckle wafts past your lips and you nod as you tie the appointment slip from him. “why yes hoseok, he is.” 

“how unfortunate that his personality doesn’t match his looks.” 

you giggle and bid hoseok goodbye, walking down the hall to your doctors office for your ultrasound. yoongi mostly follows and stays quiet, sensing the anger and resentment you have for him, building. he sighs in the waiting room, knowing that he has to find some way to get a long with you and change your impression of him for the sake of his child. 

“miss kim for her ultrasound? oh and is that dad?” your doctor asks as she leads you into the room, helping you onto the bed and allowing you to push up your jumper for the jelly. yoongi feels a pang of guilt resonating in his chest, knowing that he should be the one helping you, but stands awkwardly to the side nonetheless. 

shuffling up on the seat, you look to yoongi expectantly to introduce himself and he jumps up, fixing his suit as he leans forward to take the doctor’s hand. “min yoongi...uh... dad.” 

“dr park, or you can call me dr jihyo,” she smiles, getting ready to apply the jelly to your stomach. “you know the drill YN, it might be a little cold,” yoongi watches quietly as you nod in confirmation, flinching when the cool substance comes into contact with your tiny bump. “alright! good job mum! let’s get you all set up.” 

it takes a few minutes for dr park to set up the monitor, using a device that yoongi doesn’t recognise to scan for what he assumes is the baby. yourself and the doctor chat idly, and yoongi realises how scary it must’ve been to do these things on your own for the first time. his train of thought is cut off by the sound of a steady, tiny heartbeat filling the room. 

that’s his baby, your baby. 

“your baby sounds nice and healthy,” dr park hums happily, tilting the device to get more of a view of your little peanut. she points her finger on the screen and turns back to smile at you. “here they are, hiding from us.”

you giggle happily and for a split second, beam over at yoongi as you witness the life you’ve created together. “is that our baby-?” yoongi half whimpers, taking a step forward to take your hand in his. you jump at the feeling, his change in attitude but appreciate the support nonetheless, on the edge of tears yourself.

these last view weeks had been daunting, life changing, but seokjin and yura had been there for you every step of the way. holding your hand and coming with you to check ups. 

“yes sir! i’m going to print out some pictures of the scans for you both, while we’re here, would you like to know the gender of your baby?” she asks politely and taps away on her computer.

“no, thank you.” 

“yes, please.” 

you send a glare yoongi’s way, fired up inside as he matches the look. 

“yes!”

“no!” 

the tension thickens in the room, so much so that a knife wouldn’t be able to cut through. dr. park stands from her chair, arms up to ease you both and coughs for your attention. “how about i print those pictures and you two can decide when i come back?” she suggests as you rip your hand from yoongi’s, who feels the walls build up around you again.

“that’d be great, thank you doctor.” he hums, watching as the doctor leaves the room before turning to you with a deepest scowl. “what was all that about, ms. kim? you were acting like a petulant child.” 

you growl deeply, sitting up and wiping yourself clean of the cold jelly. you pull down your sweater and turn to look at the man with a dark frown. “me? a child?” you tsk, looking him up and down. “i didn’t see you taking any initiative when it came to the baby until wanting to know its sex! as far as i’m concerned, mr. min, you’ve acted as nothing more than a sperm donor i actually have to see,” you spit, ignoring the pang of guilt you feel when yoongi visibly flinches at your words. “and for the love of god, it’s YN.” 

“well, YN,” he starts to argue, brushing off the hurt. “this is a first for me too, and if we’re going to make it work we have to compromise. i get it, i haven’t been much  help or support but i am trying to get better, for you and the baby.” 

you falter, you know that you have been tough on him but he is also making an effort by even showing up at all. sighing, you look to yoongi thoughtfully. “you’re right and I am sorry for lashing out, but this is one thing i won’t change my mind on. we have many decisions to make together, but this one i need for myself.” you say, rubbing your arm sheepishly.

“that’s fine, we can make that work.” yoongi smiles softly, to which you can’t help but return.

five months.

some would be shocked at the progress yourself and yoongi had made, having a baby really changed people. yoongi was much sweeter now, having dropped most of the formalities in favour of your ‘beautiful’ name, or so he called it. the executive brought you lunch almost everyday, left snacks and sweet notes to aid your cravings and ease your hormones. 

yoongi even offered to send you money for groceries, claiming he wanted the baby to have a healthy lifestyle from early on. of course you refused it, whilst you loved the support you were getting from him, it sent chills down your spine at how fast he’d changed.

“but what’s so wrong about that?” yura asks you one night. the pair of you are both cuddled up under heaps of blankets, your feet on her lap as she munches on the kale chips yoongi had given you that day. she inspects the green crisp for a moment, blinking before popping it on her tongue and crunching happily. “free food? comfier clothes? a driver? sounds like the life to me, YN.” 

you snatch the bag of chips away from your roommate, knowing it’ll spoil her appetite before your brother brings over dinner. peeking into the bag yourself, you swipe a few of the healthy snack for yourself, grimacing at the taste. what kind of sane person combines kale and chips? who? and it didn’t help that your cravings had kicked in. 

“there’s nothing wrong with it, i just don’t want money spent on me.” you whine and pout, shoving the chips away from yourself. 

yura only rolls her eyes and flicks your forehead. “but the moneys not for you it’s for miss yura junior over here!” she coos, raising her voice by a few octaves to talk to your bump. you watch with furrowed brows and a slight grimace as your roommate continues to make sounds horrifyingly similar to breeding cats.

“please, stop.” 

“nono, she loves it.” 

just at that moment, seokjin makes his entrance with bustling bags carried by his poor boyfriend- namjoon. you push yura away from your bump in order to make an effort in reaching namjoon but he leans down and kisses your forehead.

“you mean, he,” your brother comments and settles himself in the kitchen to prep you a meal. “i can already tell, that little critter in there is a boy and none of you can convince me otherwise.” he insists loudly, causing namjoon to roll his eyes.

“maybe YN’s results will...” yura turns to you with a mischievous glint, itching her fingers up your side knowing full well how ticklish you were. you’d probably sock her in the face with how much you wriggled. 

“and there’s not a chance that either of you will find out, i’m under strict instructions to keep the results from you. all of you.” namjoon interjects pointedly, sagging into the seats and rubbing his arms from all the shopping your brother made him carry. yura sticks her tongue out at him. “now what’s this about baby daddy money?” 

pulling the blankets up to your chin, you sigh, pouting over at namjoon. namjoon was like a second elder brother to you, quiet and helpful much unlike seokjin. you suppose that’s why the pair made such good partners, they balanced each other out well. “yoongi has been sending things over to help take care of myself and the baby but, it’s too much!” you huff and throw yourself back into the couch, sinking in and away from the world. “he even moved my desk at work, closer to his!” 

joon tilts his head, looking at you with a knowing smirk and taps his nose. “sounds like this yoongi guy has a thing for you.” 

“nuh uh, never, nada...nope!” you counter, shaking your head. there’s no way in hell yoongi could possibly feel that way about you. your hook up was a one time thing and you didn’t quite match up to the other girls he hooked up with at the office. “never in a million years. not possible.”

“you never know, YN,” he hums back, shrugging nonchalantly.  “yoongi could be everything you least expect.”

you lose yourself in namjoon’s the words, thinking deeply as seokjin starts to being out the dinner trays.

“can you believe, min yoongi put a baby in her?” 

“i want to know how his dick even got up just by looking at her.”

your skin crawls with discomfort as you enter the break room, your co-workers instantly silencing. this was common, for them to make you the subject of their idol chit chat. of course with your sudden pregnancy and yoongi’s newfound favouritism for you during meetings and overall, it only made sense for everyone to put two and two together. 

jealous female coworkers didn’t like the idea that min yoongi didn’t want to hook up anymore, he wanted to focus on the one thing more important than his job. 

he wanted to focus on you. 

so now you were YN KIM, the red label’s pregnant whore. katie’s words, not your own. she was a new international relations employee from overseas, working with your departments new collection to debut in the US market. 

you loathed her. 

“good morning, YN,” she beamed, flicking her bleach blonde locks over her shoulder and pursed her lips the tacky barbie pink lipstick on. her insect eyes shift up and down your frame, making you curl in on yourself uncomfortably. “you’re looking a little bloated today.” 

you bite your lip in an effort to stop it from quivering, holding your bump protectively as you wait for the kettle to boil for some tea. “i’m pregnant.” you mumble quietly as a line of defence, wincing as katie and her minions let out high pitched, squeaking laughs. 

“are you sure? it seems like you’ve put on a few.”

gasping, you drop the mug you were using for tea and bite your lip, desperate for the tears not to fall. as quickly as you can, you shuffle out of the dreaded break room and ignore the ugly chuckles of your coworkers, making a break for the bathrooms. 

bursting into the room, you brush past whoever’s about to leave and dash to the taps to splash cold water over your hot, tear stained cheeks. you hope to god that no one is here to see your snotty faced, crying session but your biggest nightmare only comes true when a warm hand settles on your shoulder. 

“hate to break it to you sweetheart, but i don’t think this is the little ladies room,” you pout through your tears as you turn to face the voice, absolutely mortified when you notice them to be jimin. the blonde offers you a small smile that drops when he notes your sniffling, immediately replacing his expression with a look of concern. “ah! YN? are you alright?” 

clearly not, you think but allow jimin to grab you some tissues and dab at your tears. jimin was a sweet boy, a fresh face around the company since he was hired to replace yoongi’s assistant (she had quit for undisclosed reasons.). the boy was smartly dressed, always in a blazer and woven sweater. he wore circular specs that always slid down his nose, but his golden weaved hair was always pushed back in away that had the ladies drooling.

“what happened?” jimin asks quietly, helping you fix your makeup to a presentable state. his touch is gentle as he dabs under your eyes, looking at you earnestly.

“promise you won’t tell yoongi?” 

“pinky!” 

you sigh heavily when the man steps back, offering him tired smile with puffy eyes. “the inernational relations girl has turned every one of my coworkers against me, ever since she found out that yoongi was too committed for hookups...” you mumble sadly, gesturing to your bump as jimin follows your gaze. 

the blonde steps forward, grabbing your hands and holding them tight as he shakes his head. “they’re just jealous!” he exclaims, making you jump slightly. “i would be too if i was one of them, you’re a beautiful girl YN, with a beautiful baby coming along. if they’re going to be mean about it, they can fuck themselves because yoongi sure ain’t.” he finishes with a triumphant smile, looking down at you.

jimin is a sweetheart, and having only seen him around the office you know that you have someone trustworthy on your side for now. “thank you jimin, so much for your kind words.” 

the blond only tilts his head, offering you a crescent moon eyed smile. “anytime, YN! now let’s get you back on that office floor.” he beams and takes your hand, leading you back to your desk, much to the dismay of all the other girls.

“repeat that again.” 

“i fired her.” 

yoongi punctuates every word, teeth grit as he spits them out. it’s almost as if thinking about the incident makes him angry, which of course it does, grown women bullying the mother of his child. 

you sit straight faced in yoongi’s office chair, the doors are locked and the curtains open widely. the pale light of the clouded seoul sky brightens up the dark scowl on his face, as it caresses the curve of his pink lips and slope of his nose. shaking your head, you watch as yoongi fixes his suit and makes his way over to you. his steely, copper eyes are locked on your smaller frame as he flattens his palms out on the desk before you. 

he really is mad and you can’t blame jimin for telling yoongi the truth. 

“why?” you gasp with parted lips, looking up at yoongi with innocent eyes in hopes of ridding him from his scowl. 

the man himself leans down close to you, his face within an inch of yours and his lips deathly close to your own. his breath is warm against your top lip, and you force your gaze upwards into his dark, liquorish eyes. “you know why, YN. there’s no way i’m going to have the women in this office harass you for my actions, for carrying my baby.” he seethes, tone contrasting with the forefinger and thumb he uses to gently tilt your chin up so you face him. 

“if that’s the case, then you should have fired the whole floor.” you say meekly and gulp, this was the most yoongi had ever touched you since that night you spent tangled in each other’s arms, while he passionately ground his hips into- YN! you’re getting sidetracked! of course, aside from the occasional hand at the waist or on your bump to guide you. 

“i would, for you.” 

the line sends shivers down your spine and you bite your lip, lowering your gaze.

yoongi smirks down at you, letting you go gently and you’re left wondering how much power he really has in this company. the executive pulls up a chair beside you, grabbing your hand after a beat of silence. “YN, I’ve been doing some thinking, and i believe it would be best for you and the baby to move in with me in my penthouse down town,” yoongi explains simply, as your brows furrow in confusion.

“of course we’ll get a bigger place when he or she arrives, but i’ll take care of that and in the meantime i think it would also be in our best interest for you to quit your job here.”

“excuse me?” 

yoongi hums absentmindedly. “i asked you to-“ 

“no i heard what you said, it’s absolutely ridiculous yoongi!” you cry and tear your hand from his, the deep set frown on your face growing into an ugly glare. the man simply sits back in his chair, confused. “you think just because i have your child inside of me, i’m going to do everything you say? quit my job? i worked hard to be here, i sacrificed days and hours for this position and i’m not going to leave my hard earned job because you have money and because you can get want you want.” 

he stands, pushing a hand through his dark hair and stepping towards you. you weren’t going to let this man intimidate you. “YN, i’m simply making a few suggestions that will make this pregnancy easier.” yoongi growls lowly, feeling the anger boil up inside of him. why couldn’t you see that he just wanted to help?

“christ, yoongi! why can’t you see that i have a mind of my own as well?” you mutter, the hot rage coursing through your veins becoming a muted frustration. anger isn’t good for the baby and you know yoongi only means well. defeated, you pick up your bag and nod over to the man before you. “i appreciate all the help you’ve given these last few months, but i’m not a doll like your other girls, yoongi, i’m human too.”

you mumble the last part, adding that you’ll take a few days off if it pleases him. as you leave the office, yoongi is left with the lingering feeling that he’s disappointed you yet again,  wanting more than anything to fix this. 

“YN, sweetheart! YN...please wait!” 

your frown deepens and shoulders hunch over the kart at the sound of yoongi’s voice. if only you weren’t pregnant— maybe then could you run a little faster. the executive calls your name again, following after you as you turn the corner into the baby isle. all you wanted to do was shop, for your baby— undisturbed. 

rolling your shoulders, you push the kart at a faster pace and try to focus your attention on the adorable little baby grows with a range of soft pastels. “YN...” you cease at yoongi’s whining tone, biting your lip as you start to count to ten. “YN, please.” one, two, three—

“please-“

“what? what yoongi?” 

yoongi throws his hands up into the air in defence, blinking shortly. you sigh in defeat and stop the kart in front of the teething toys and give the executive a lazy once over— his fit is different to what you would typically see him in, aside from his gucci and dior fabric suits. today he dons a tight fitting black t-shirt and casual black jeans that hug his thighs deliciously. breathing in deeply through your nose, your eyes flicker back up to meet yoongi’s sheepish honey ones, you nod to him to continue. 

“i’m sorry,” he breathes hesitantly, debating whether or not he should reach out and touch you. “i’m sorry for making you feel like i was taking your career away from you. i know how much this job means to you and also how hard you worked for it...” the executive bites his lip and watches earnestly as you quirk you’re brow, cocking your hip as if to say ‘oh really, min yoongi?’. the man himself knows that you mean business and chooses his next words carefully. “what i’m trying to say, is that i was out of line. just because we’re having a baby together, doesn’t mean i have a right to dictate your life.” 

the brunette looks down, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. you hum happily and take a baby grow off of the shelf, smiling at the words embroidered into the soft white fabric. ‘daddy’s number one fan.’

“you can make it up to me by pushing around this kart,” you wink and dump the tiny clothing into the object itself. “it’s heavy.” 

yoongi smiles gratefully, lifting his head and gripping the kart. “anything for you, darling.” 

seven months.

“so what kind of gender reveal are we doing? cake, balloons—ooooh! confetti!” 

eyes rolling, you  set the small box of collectible doohickeys on the smooth glass tables of yoongi’s fancy, four bedroom apartment. it was a place uptown with views of cotton candy sunrises, baby blues and pinks that swirled with light oranges just above vast greenery. yoongi had bought a year or two again with no use but now it was being made into a space for you, himself and the baby— right after you agreed to move in with him. 

yura is perched in the plush leather couch, fur blankets draped over the backs that you eye suspiciously— you’re sure that when the baby comes, they’re something that you’ll have to replace, in fear they’ll be stained with baby fluids. “YN...” she sings with her pen between her teeth, she’d been planning your baby shower since you’d been too wrapped up with OB appointments and settling in with yoongi.

as you blink, you pick up a small snow globe from one of your family vacations with seokjin— tilting your head with a sly smile. “you know there isn’t going to be a gender reveal,” you put the globe down. would go nice with the kitchen? you’d have to put it out of the little one’s reach, though. “not until the baby is born, yura.” 

“what’s happening to yura when the baby’s born?” 

“you guys are so lame.” the girl in question scoffs, kicking her feet in defeat as she gives you an exaggerated sigh. yura pokes an unsuspecting yoongi in the chest as he enters the room with one of the final boxes before; she skips out to help your brother and his boyfriend with the rest. soaring a glance, you notice that ‘kitchenware’ is scrawled across the brown cardboard in the executive’s messy chicken scratch— something about the man that you’ve come to adore over the last few months. yoongi had done many things for you and the baby, so you knew moving in with him would give him some sense of security— and it made you feel much better.

yoongi looks up at you, confused as you start to giggle— moving to help him unpack the pretty marbled dishes you’d picked out with him. “why are we the lame ones?” he says with a pout, whiny tone like music to your ears. 

“she’s still not over our decision to keep the baby’s gender a secret,” you raise your brows in a knowing look, reaching over and grabbing the executive’s hand sweetly. “she wanted to do a gender reveal.” 

“we still could,” yoongi teases you playfully, as he uses your intertwined hands to twirl you into his chest so that he could hug you from behind. you shake your head with a bubble of laughter at the dark haired man’s antics— only quieting down when his hands slip down to your bump. a comfortable silence sweeps over you both, nothing but the sounds of your anticipating breathing filling the little space between you. another beat of silence passes before you feel the light tremor of feet and hands from the bump. “there they are.” 

the pair of you spend the next few moments wrapped up in each other’s arms, waiting for your little treasure to kick and push at your tummy— but to your dismay, yoongi makes a quick departure after receiving a call from the board. for you, work had been slow and difficult as your pregnancy progressed whilst yoongi’s grew busier and busier as the season deadlines approached. you’d decided to take your leave, finding it harder to keep on your feet while your ankles begin to swell and your joints became sore— yoongi of course, was relieved. 

“you two are getting affectionate.” namjoon comments, sliding into the room after your boss has left. you roll your eyes and make a move to sit on the plush couch, your little one becoming too excited. 

the elder male quickly rushes over, taking your hand as he helps you to sit— you smile gratefully as thanks. “we’re just friends.” 

“friends who‘re having a baby together.” 

biting your lip, you pause your actions as an uneasy feeling spikes up within your chest. yoongi couldn’t possibly see you both as more than friends— he was in this for the baby and so were you. it didn’t matter that he sometimes kissed closer to your lips than normal or that he had a habit of making you blush. it didn’t matter that he called you sweet names, held your hand tight and was protective over you because mon yoongi wasn’t falling for you. was he?

or could it be, that you were falling for him?

namjoon’s brow creases with worry when your silence boarders on the edge of uncomfortable— making him take your hand in his, once more. “YN, are you okay? did i say something wrong-?” 

“n-no i’m just...i’m just scared, joon,” you whisper, throat drying at your sudden realisation. the whole world feels as if it’s about the slip away from under your feet, the words you’re about to say— foreign on your tongue. namjoon looks up at you, the fear in his whiskey eyes reflecting your own. “i’m scared.”

“of what, YN?” the latter mumbles, concerned. 

“of falling,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “of falling for min yoongi.” 

min yoongi had come to realise that parties were never really his thing. 

they were easier to enjoy when people were drunk off their minds and didn’t know what was up or what was down. but observing the gathering from the edge of the room— completely sober and nursing a glass of baby champ had shown min yoongi that he’d never really liked parties. 

there were too many loud noises— the squealing from your friend and chatter from excited guests— and too many people, bodies closely packed in a tight space. at least when he was drunk, he was too out of his mind to care, but he was going to be a father now and taking care of his little humans meant taking care of himself. 

after all, drinking is what brought him is little gift in the first place. 

the only thing that makes the night more tolerable is the bright smile that you have plastered on your face. the executive grins when his gaze finds yours, you give him the sweetest of beams before turning back to conversing with one of your childhood friends. yoongi loves the way you look tonight; you’d settled on blush pink dress— one from a collection you’d designed yourself. he remembers how hard you’d worked to finish the designs before taking your leave, so he was adamant that you would wear the dress, the first of its kind.  your hair frames your face perfectly, each curl falling perfectly into place— caressing your soft cheeks that are lightly dusted with a warm blush to compliment the shadows that paint your eyelids. 

“you’re drooling, hyung...” 

the dark haired male jumps at the smooth voice from behind him, a scowl replacing the loving smile that once tickled at his lips. yoongi spins on his heel, adjusting his tailored jacket as his driver, taehyung slips an arm around his shoulders. the two had known each other for longer than it might have seemed, the younger being one of the few people yoongi actually trusted. they’d met back in college, before yoongi had become a big hot shot, before he fell into the world of sex, alcohol and money.

they’d lost touch when yoongi moved from deagu to work in seoul, seeing taehyung working there as a driver had been a pleasant surprise. the royal blue haired boy hasn’t changed a bit, the only thing being that he’d started dating the printer boy, jimin— who the executive ended up promoting because he loved the two so much. they were a trio, a little circle of trust and yoongi’s home away from home. 

but that didn’t stop the executive from cursing out his long time friend. “what the fuck taehyung?” yoongi hisses, pushing the driver lightly. he gives a brilliant laugh in response, as bright and as colourful as his head full of  “do i look like some kind of fucking dog to you?” 

jimin appears on yoongi’s left, wrapping his own arm around the older’s shoulder and linking his hand with his lover. oh god, the terrible two. who knew what mischievous they would get up to when together. “you do look like a puppy in love,” the blonde comments, tapping yoongi’s nose with his small pinky. he’s only a little bit tipsy, probably because of the whisky yoongi had caught them sneaking in. “woof woof.” 

“if hyung was a dog, what breed would he be?” 

“probably a chihuahua, small but...deadly.”

yoongi sighs, gaze switching between the two lovers as they squabbled over dog breeds excitedly. one, two, three, four— “do you need something?” he asks the pair, praying to heavens that they don’t and that they’ll leave him alone. 

jimin giggles, the sound bubbling from between his lush lips. “we’re here to give you a pep talk.” 

“you should tell her how you feel,” taehyung mumbles, clinging onto yoongi. affectionate and drunk. “you love her, everyone can see it.” 

“no they can’t—“ yoongi protests, but it’s far too late. the intoxicated pair of lovers are already pushing him in your direction and he can feel his heart beating violently in his chest as he nears you. since when were you able to make him nervous? perhaps his long time friends were right, the executive had felt himself grow fond of you— almost like his world revolves around you. he was with you not just for his child but for something much greater than himself. yoongi rolls his shoulders, his fingers barely touching at your own as he does his best to grab your attention, but then you turn around— glittering eyes shining even brighter at you look to him, the wisps of a greeting painted on your pink lips. “YN... i—“

his thoughts race a million miles a minute, just staring down at you makes yoongi’s heart stop. you barely have time to greet each other, before a loud nasally voice cuts through the buzzing electricity between you. “ahhh, mr min! the man of the hour, i’ve been dying to meet you.” 

“mum,” you whine with a shy smile, linking your arms with yoongi in an affectionate manner. “play nice.” 

“am i ever anything but?” 

taking the time to look between the two women, he notices the endearing similarities between you and your mother. like the crinkles under your eyes when you grin and the little tilt of your head when you listen intently. he can’t help but wonder what little habits your child will pick up when they’re a little older, will they be more like him? or like you? yoongi hopes to the heavens that your baby turns out like you. 

the man is so lost in thought that he almost forgets to introduce himself. “yoongi is just fine ma’am.” he smiles brightly, holding out a hand for mrs kim to shake— kissing it sweetly when she does so. he can’t help but blush under the intent gaze of your mother, squeezing your arm with nerves as he brushes through the terrains of his dark locks sheepishly. 

truth be told, meeting your mother was the most daunting part of the evening for yoongi. you had painted a picture of regal woman, to yoongi, mrs kim with deepest eyes that were warm and soft— seemingly   yes, he had faced celebrities and big bad CEOs but this was the grandmother of his unborn child. the woman who had raised and brought you into the world— he needed to prove himself worthy, especially since he’d impregnated you outside of marriage. yoongi wanted to show your mother that he could take care of you. 

“what a charming young man, YN, darling,” mrs kim chuckles, batting her lashes up at the executive. yoongi only chuckles shyly, feeling his heart rate increase at the compliment. he was never good at taking those. “you never told me he was this attractive, you’ll make handsome children.” 

“mother!” 

“ah but mrs kim, i’m sure that if our child does turn out as handsome as you say— it’ll all be due to YN and you of course.” yoongi grins cheekily, ducking his head when you swat his shoulder playfully. the rose tint on your cheeks tells yoongi that his words have done their job in making you flustered and of course impressing your mother too. 

the woman in question gives the executive a quick wink. “ever the flatterer too, hm?” 

“yes ma’am.” 

the conversation lasts for a minute or so longer before you’re rushing off to stop a slightly intoxicated jimin from stripping on the snack table as yura and taehyung cheer him on from below. affectionately, you lean up and kiss yoongi on the cheek before hurrying off with the help of your brother— leaving him alone with the intimidating presence of mrs kim herself.

moments pass without a word and yoongi wishes that he had stolen the liquor from tae so it’d at least soothe the adrenaline coursing through his veins. “i believe you’ll make a great father, min yoongi,” your mother announces, eyes trained on the daughter that she raised. “the way this baby has come about may be unconventional...but seokjin tells me you’ve stepped up to the plate, that you’ve come a long way.” she pauses, taking a breath as if she’s evaluating her words. “i know that you’ll take care of them, my daughter and her baby but i fear you’re not being one hundred percent honest.”

“i’m not?” the executive questions, lips forming a pout of confusion. whilst he was glad that seokjin had spoken highly of him and that despite the circumstances, your mother supported you both— he feared that if he’d lost your mother’s approval, you would take his child and not look back. 

mrs. kim shakes her head fondly, a light chuckle filling the air between them. “oh don’t look so afraid child, i mean, you’re not being honest with yourself.” she chides, rubbing yoongi’s forearm as his brows furrow further. still confused, a question forms on his lips but the executive is silenced by another tsk from your mother. “you’re in love with my daughter, it’s clear as day and i‘m afraid that if you don’t tell her now or ever— she’ll grow fearsome herself, fail to commit and...” the woman takes a deep breath, casting a gaze over to you that yoongi can’t help but follow. “she needs someone like you to take care of her when she doesn’t want any help. i trust you to do that for me, min yoongi.” 

the dark haired male takes a deep breath through his nose, watching as the elder woman takes her leave in favour of helping you calm your friends. he knows in his heart that she’s right, he loves you. he loves everything about you. 

and there was no better time to tell you, than now. 

the drive home is comfortable, quiet. yoongi steers with his eyes on the road and his hand intertwined with you over the console. he’s not watching you, but he knows that you’re counting the raindrops that slide down the tinted windows and merge with one another, you’ve told him that it was a habit you picked up as a child. 

the baby shower wrapped up just after eleven p.m, when you’d started to complain of sore feet and the baby begun kicking to their heart’s content. like the loving brother he was, seokjin offered to help clear up whilst joon packed a drunk, snogging jimin and taehyung into his own car to drop them home. you’d thanked them endlessly, only playing nice because yoongi had promised you a foot massage when you’d returned home. 

pulling into the driveway, yoongi turns off the ignition and lets the car fall into rest, the drifting hum of the car helping to steadying his nervous breathing. “we’re home,” he mumbles, more so to himself than you— biting at the skin of his lower lip. you’ve stopped counting the raindrops now, turning to face the man with a brow raised in confusion. 

“yoongi, is everything alright?” you ask, squeezing his hand tighter now, it feels weighty in your own— reassuring to hold like an enveloping warmth that touches your heart. even though the car is dark, you can still make out the lines of worry that crease in his forehead, he’s never usually this quiet, uncomfortably quiet. “please... you’re scaring me...”

“i’m in love with you.” he says after what seems like years of deafening silence, finally meeting your eyes with a steeling gaze. you gasp, jumping back in shock but yoongi doesn’t dare let your hand slip from his. you feared this, the day that he told you such a sweet little lie. because how could he ever love you? you were just a girl from an office party with nothing special about you. min yoongi didn’t care for you, is what your thoughts forced you to believe but your heart knew better. “and i...i know that you’re scared, i am too. but YN, i can promise you now, that i’ve never been so sure of this, of loving you than i have about anyone...”

yoongi takes both of your hands this time, dark, stormy eyes fluttering across your face earnestly. you know in your heart that you love him too, you’ve felt it for a while but he continues, giving you all the more reason to trust in his words. “you’re beautiful and kind, and these last few months i’ve realised that you’re more than i ever deserve,” he pauses, looking away shyly as he opens up to you. “and i love you, so much i-“

“just shut up and kiss me, min yoongi.” you whisper in response, cupping his cheeks and pulling him down for a sweet kiss. your lips meld together perfectly as your hands move into the oblivion sea of his hair, gripping the locks tightly while your tongue finds his— engaging in a battle of passion. memories flash behind your eyes of the night you spent with yoongi, the one that gave you your gift. his hands sneak down to your waist as you kiss him eagerly, pouring a million and one emotions into it. 

you don’t remember making it inside of the apartment, yoongi mumbling something about ‘not here’ in terms of taking you inside of the car. there’s a clash of tongue and teeth as you stumble up to your shared bedroom, pushing off clothes and letting out whimpers of one another’s names but when you reach the bed, rushed kisses become slow and steady, tender touches to your face and hips. “i want you,” yoongi says lowly, fingers tangling in your hair. “i want to take my time with you.” 

you nod slowly as he pecks your lips once before kissing a sweet trail down your body and to your ankles. yoongi silently pulls of each of your shoes, massaging your swollen ankles as he smooths over your skin. you let yoongi take off your jewellery and smooch at your wrists, let down your hair and finally— unzip your dress. instinctively, your arms wrap around yourself like a protective barrier, shielding your body from yoongi’s moonlit gaze. of course, you weren’t ashamed to be carrying life inside of you but your body was in no way what it was before. you had stretch marks from your growing bump and swollen breasts that started to lactate here and there— you weren’t ashamed just shy. 

“yoongi...i-“ you cant seem to find the words, gasping as the executive leans over you and pushes you down onto the bed. his slender fingers capture your wrists, gently pinning them above your head as his lips hover teasingly over your own. 

yoongi tilts his head, allowing the moonlight seeping through the curtains to illuminate his features— the slope of his nose and the dip of his cupid’s bow. the darkness in his whiskey eyes and the black flecks that paint them. he’s beautiful. “you’re beautiful,” he whispers, staring deep into your eyes. “you’re glowing, pregnant or not i still find you stunning. please don’t hide your beauty from me.” 

a small smile tugs at the curve of your lips as you nod silently, the man above you taking it as a sign to continue further. yoongi skilfully unclips your bra as his own lips find your neck, sucking on it diligently while your quiet whimpers fill the air like music to his ears. he litters your blank skin with shades of midnight blue and night sky purple as you arch your back into his chest but it’s not enough— you want to feel his skin against yours, the warmth of his body tangling with your own. 

“off,” you mumble, pushing at his shirt while his calloused hands rub circles into your bare hips. “take it off.” yoongi obliges, pulling away from you for just a brief second to strip off his button up— his suit jacket and tie having been thrown off as you stumbled into the house. his skin is milky and pale, only dotted with light patches of freckles and scars fading with adult hood. “you’re beautiful too.” you add, looking yoongi deep in the eye.

he shakes his head fondly, kissing you again but only briefly. “i love you,” he utters into the quiet night before moving down to peck your bump. “i love you too.” you wait a moment as your baby delivers a small kick, seemingly tired out for now and share a gummy smile with yoongi. from there, your lover makes quick work of your panties, pulling them off in one swift movement as he takes to spreading your legs. 

his touches are feather light, kisses like wise as the drift across your inner thighs and avoid where you need him most.  “please, please yoongi.” you chant his name like a mantra, his warm breath making you even more sensitive than before.

“what is it that you need sweetheart? tell me.” 

you chest heaves as yoongi smooths over your thighs, enjoying your responsiveness to him. “you, need you to touch me! god, please yoongi.” you whine, legs beginning to tremble with need. the executive only chuckles at the mention of his name, using his large hands to spread you open again, a single digit traces the outline of your heat, causing your hips to twitch up and follow the source of your pleasure. 

 “you’re so wet for me sweetheart and i haven’t even touched you yet,” yoongi coos, collecting your nectar with two fingers. he moans at the taste, leaning into your dripping heat with his tongue and swiping at the rest, making you whine and writhe in satisfaction. you had no idea why you were so sensitive and needy for his touch— blame it on the pregnancy hormones— it was almost as if yoongi had set alight a fire under your skin, scorching you with a hot desire as he spread your lower lips and tongue slipping past your wet hole.

fingers grip at his hair while you open up for him like a flower, hips rutting into his mouth as his plush lips sloppily kissed at your pulsing clit. “god, yoongi!” you cried, eyes rolling back as he slipped a digit past your entrance, curling it along side his tongue causing more of your hot slick to gush down your thighs, urging yoongi on while he moaned into your mess. the vibrations sent chills up your spine, making you arch your back and scream into the night, arousal spreading through your body and coursing through your veins. “please.” 

“please, what?” the man in question asked, pressing your hips down as he looked up at you, evidence of your arousal painting his cheeks and chin. “tell daddy so he can help his baby.” yoongi cooed, replacing his tongue with two fingers, the stretch becoming a satisfying burn as he prepared you for his cock. 

you writhed as the title slipped carelessly from between his lips, squeezing your tightness around his fingers as you struggled to keep your thighs apart. you were his baby and he was going to spoil you rotten. “wanna...wanna,” you fumble over your words as yoongi curls his fingers, pressing them into that spot that has you wriggling in the sheets—desperate for release. “wanna cum,” 

“oh baby, you can only cum when daddy’s filling you up, yeah?” he speaks softly, all the love in the world intertwined with his quiet syllables. yoongi lazily draws circles on your clit, pressing his forehead to yours as she whispers sweet praises against your lips— they don’t stop when he pulls his fingers from your swollen heat nor do the kisses that come as he sheds the remainder of his clothes and aligns his hardened cock at your entrance. 

you bite your lip harshly, eyes rolling with pleasure as yoongi’s hands find your own— his length pushing between your folds teasingly. you squeeze at your intertwined fingers, a sign that you’re ready to take him, that you don’t want to wait anymore. yoongi looks to you lovingly, lips hovering over your own, barely touching but saying every word and then some— you feel it, you see it that in this moment he loves you and for those to come, he loves you. 

with a silent nod and another squeeze of your hands, yoongi pushes past your entrance, nestling his cock within the heat of your soaked walls. together, your share a gasp— finally being united as one. this time feels like your first together, no drunken hook ups, just you and yoongi and all the love in the world, between you both. his warm breath fans over your face like an ocean breeze as he sets a rhythm with his hips, slow at first with easy rolls of his body against  yours— only speeding up with every octave that your moans rise in. 

“yoongi...feels so good,” you mumble breathlessly, freeing one hand from his and burying them deep in his oblivion hair. yoongi only smiles down at you in response, bucking his hips a little feverishly as he drags the tip of his cock against your velvet lined walls. you jolt with pleasure, beginning to grind your hips back, in wanton— finding your hand slipping down to cup the man’s cheeks, letting him peck your finger tips that rest near the corners of his mouth. “so...so good...” 

yoongi leans down, being mindful of the bump as he presses his chest to yours, your intertwined hands finding purchase in the silk of your sheets while he bottoms out inside of you. the room becomes filled with a vivid heat, the scent of passion twisting with the air leaving a lingering touch on your skin.  “yeah? you like that sweetheart?” his voice is a light whisper, sending shivers down your spine as you arch your back into him. “love seeing you like this, angel,” he praises too, nosing your cheek as you fall into another pitfall of pleasure— a symphony of your sweet moans playing on repeat. “so swollen and full, carrying my sweet baby. love how big you’ve gotten for me.” 

the silver words that slip from yoongi’s silver tongue have you throwing your head back, light perspiration licking at your skin as he takes the opportunity to ravish your neck once more. “got me so worked up, thinking bout those beautiful tits,“ his words start to slur as his free hand grips your breast squeezing them hard, so hard that you’re fearful they might start to leak. “can’t wait to taste that sweet milk, that you make for my baby. mine.” 

yoongi ends his sentence in a grunt, cock thrusting mercilessly into your weeping hole, as he takes you over and over. words barely form on your lips, drowned out by the sound of skin slapping on skin and the moans that urge each other on.  he drops his head to the junction between your neck and shoulder, hot breath tickling at your skin while you tug at his hair, his thick length pumping in and out of you, dragging you closer to the edge.

“yours, im all yours,” you whimper and clutch him closely as the tip of his cock brushes over that spot. tears spring in your eyes, yoongi’s hips rocking back and forth inside of you— the knot in your stomach becoming tighter and tighter. “i’m so close, please yoongi—daddy.” 

he draws himself from your neck, pressing his forehead to yours once more as he mimics your pants, chest heaving with yours as you both draw to a close. 

“cum with me sweetheart, i’ve got you...d-daddy’s got you—“ his breathing stutters, the feeling of you clenching around him becoming too much for him to bare as his thrusts become sloppy. “let me pump you full of my seed, give you another baby—“ 

“ohgod, yoongi!” 

he pants out the last part, desperate to bring you to release. you know that his words are impossible, but the steer you on nonetheless, a blinding light flashing behind your eyes as a wave of goosebumps rise across the planes of your skin. you stumble into your orgasm, releasing onto his cock and fall into yoongi’s arms, spasming as he whispers cotton candy words into your ears while he chases after his own high.

“fuck baby, you’re so good for me, my beautiful girl.” he stammers out, tripping over his words as he fills you up with the seed of his orgasm. with trembling arms, yoongi collapses to your side, lips bright red and swollen, glass milk skin bruised and bitten. he looks beautiful like this, hair slightly frazzled from your exploring fingers as his chest rises and falls. he’s extraordinary. the executive shuffles, pulling you into his chest and kissing into your hairline with a small smile to his face. “you’re staring.” 

“i love you-“ you blurt, mind cleaning from the post orgasmic haze. you know that the words have been said already, before you tumbled into the sheets with the man beside you— but this time it feels different, feels more real. you love min yoongi with all that you have, from this nose scrunch when he laughs, to the creases between his brows when he concentrates, everything about him is something that you love. 

“i know,” he whispers, bumping your nose with his in an eskimo kiss. 

you blink back, lacing your fingers. “no yoongi, i’m in love with you—“

“i know,” yoongi chuckles, taking your hand in his before brushing his lips against your knuckles sweetly. “and i hope to god that the heavens know how much i’m in love with you.” 

nine months.

“strip.” 

he utters the command, simple— yoongi bends your will to suit him best. he loves having control over you, making you follow his every wish. you’re his little pet, and he’ll do with you as he pleases. shuffling, you pull off the his shirt that you wear— revealing that you’d gone bra less in favour for comfort. the executive let’s put a deep groan that has your nipples hardening just by the sound,  helpless whimper escaping your lips. 

“look at you baby, all swollen and leaking for me... daddy wishes he was there to punish you himself.” 

you pout heavily at his words, like you had when yoongi left two weeks into your third trimester for a three day business trip in the states. it was important, you knew that, he was finally closing the deal to debut The Red Label over there— he has big plans for the label and making you realise then, that your lover cared for the company more than you initially thought.  

“miss you, daddy,” you gasp, writhing under his gaze through the facetime camera— adjusting it so he could see your rising bump. “both of us do.” 

your third trimester was easier than expected, despite the aching feet and the constant desire to pee at the most inappropriate of times— the last few weeks of your pregnancy were on track to going well. your newfound boyfriend, yoongi, made sure to take care of you too, with sweet massages and passionate kisses, possessive touches to the waist and keeping your pregnancy hormones in check. 

ever since that night you couldn’t help but jump yoongi’s bones at any chance you got— not that he minded, he always said that being with you was like being together for the first time again. even if it was late nights before bed or five minutes before yoongi was due for a meeting, he still was tender with you, loving with you. he still loved you. 

your friends and family had instantly detected the shift in your relationship too, seokjin and namjoon giving your boyfriend the ‘you hurt my little sister and i’ll-“ talk. you know that they meant well, after all, who could imagine how far yoongi had come since the start of this all. he had begun your pregnancy as a disinterested asshole, who only cared for money or himself. he had no intent of bringing a child into the word but he really had stepped up since then, proven himself a worthy father to not just the baby, but yourself. 

“you look gorgeous, so round and full...” he whispers, tired eyes watching you through the screen. his milky skin reflects a warm orange hue from the hum of the hotel lights, his hair ruffled from the stresses of the day. you close your eyes, biting your lip as your boyfriend lets out an amused chuckle— shaking his head. “wanna fuck you good, keep you pregnant. love how you look carrying my baby.” 

“yoongi...”

“yes, sweetheart?” 

“please...”

your boyfriend tilts his head, running his tongue over the roof of his mouth before leaning back in his chair as if he’s deciding what to do with you next—you know that you’re at his mercy, even if you’re a thousand miles apart. “touch yourself for me...but don’t you dare cum until i say so.” the man before you tuts, grinning evilly. “start with your nipples, sweetheart, i know they’re sensitive.” 

you follow his words, keeping your eyes on his as you guide your fingers to your hardened buds— swirling them in circles with a quiet whimper, eliciting a similar sound from your lover abroad. “more...want more...” you gasp, feeling on edge from the stimulation. 

“go ahead angel, touch yourself like daddy would.”

following his voice, your finger tips drift across your skin with a feather light touch, nothing like yoongi’s— but it will do for now. slowly, you move your laptop onto the sheets, giving your lover a clear view of the flower you hide between your legs, watching him shiver at the sight of your glistening hole. with shaky breaths, you start to rub shy circles into your clit— drawing patterns and figures of eight just like yoongi would.  pleasure tingles at every tip and joint in your body, trickling through your veins as your wetness drips down your thighs, just from the thoughts of yoongi watching you. 

“eyes open for me sweetheart,” he reminds you, guiding you gently to push two fingers past your entrance. you thrash in the sheets, desperate for more, to touch what only yoongi could reach— your hips buck up involuntarily at the thought of his large hands spreading you apart, fingers curling as the walls of your cervix pulse hotly around him. “that’s a good girl, doing so well for me, hm?” yoongi praises you, leaning into the screen. 

“mhm, your good girl...” you respond breathlessly, pumping your fingers in and out of your pussy as you spasm and twitch with arousal. a beautiful mess is what yoongi would call it, your slick paints your thighs with a glossy essence— illuminating your skin as you curl your digits in search for that special spot. “god please please please!” you chant as yyour thighs shake with delight, the feeling only heightened by yoongi’s constant praise, your hips move desperately to catch up with your fingers that run at their own pace.

“slow down angel, don’t you wanna be good for daddy?”

you want to roll your eyes at your boyfriend, but knowing him— he’d only extended your punishment. “no,” you mumble, almost sternly, picking up the speed and curling your fingers, dragging them across your walls as you let out a high pitched squeal. “wanna cum.” 

yoongi pauses and that’s when you know that you have him wrapped around your finger. a few pleases here and there have him nodding in permission for you to cum. your whole body shakes with delectation while yoongi coaxed you through your orgasm— stars twinkling behind your eyes as your released splashed out and coats your fingers. 

“fuck baby, you did such a good job for me— put on such a pretty show for me...” the executive curses, shifting in discomfort. you can tell by the look on his face, parted lips and a crease between his brow, that he’s struggling to hold down his arousal. while left shaking and heavily pregnant, you some how manage to shift into a comfortable position— giving yoongi the puppy dog eyes. 

“did daddy cum too?” 

“no baby,” 

a beat of silence and a grin from you. “please daddy, wanna see you cum too...”

a broken moan escapees from the confines of yoongi’s cherry lips, making you hum in satisfaction from across the globe. within an instant, the position of your boyfriend’s camera has changed— tilted down so you can get a good view of his cock springing free from his tight grey joggers. yoongi fists his length, hissing at the sensitivity, he’s bond turned on at this point. his cock stands at full attention, bright red tip burning in desperation as clear precum oozes heavily from its centre. throwing his head back, he begins to pump his girth, thick and wide, which makes your mouth water at the thought of it filling you up and stretching you open again.

“cum for me, yoonie,” you whisper, he’s barely three or four strokes in— too pent up to wait any longer, you have no idea how long he’s been holding it for. yoongi cums then and there, chest heaving with his dark hair matted to his forehead. thick ropes of his hot seed coats his knuckles, a shade much paler than his own skin. 

you smile brightly when your lover comes to, busying yourself by pulling his shirt back over your head and inhaling its scent— firewood and pine, reminding you of him. yoongi smirks lazily as he uses a tissue to wipe up his mess before tilting the web cam up to his face for a better view, he chuckles deeply and shakes his head like before. “god, YN, the things you do to me,” he muses, rolling his eyes at your antics. 

you mirror his smile, pressing a kiss to the screen as if he was really there. “you love me.”

“i do, so much.” 

“and i love you, even more.”

although yoongi was meant to be returning today, you hadn’t been expecting any guests. 

the jingle of keys in the lock captures you’re attention, the re-run of ‘real house wives’ not doing anything to interest you. you weren’t expecting your lover for another few hours but perhaps this was his way of apologising for leaving so suddenly. yoongi had seemed stressed this morning when you called after your OB appointment, showing more pictures from your scans with dr. jihyo park— he’d shown little excitement towards the life you’d created together, which was highly unusual for him.

nonetheless, you adjust yoongi’s sweater around you and wrap your arms around your baby bump protectively, moving from your comfortable position in the depths of your couch in search of your lover. 

what you don’t expect, is the click of high heels against your marble floor.

what you least expect is the woman paired with them.

anyone with a pair of working eyes, or even less would know how beautiful of a woman she was. her skin was golden, dipped in honey and kissed by the gods of the above— unblemished and untouched. she had sharp features, cat like eyes, the colour of molasses paired with thick lashes and eyeliner that could cut diamonds. obsidian black and curled locks tumbled carelessly down her shoulders, framing her face perfectly whilst her ruby red dress hugged the dips and curves of her body— matching the blood red painted onto her lips. 

she was stunning. 

the stranger, however, seems too comfortable in your home. she knows exactly where to hang her keys and to put her jacket— she opens a letter that you know must be addressed to yoongi and simply tosses it aside as she struts through your home like she owns the place. it’s not until you’re standing out in the open for her to see, that she stops her actions, tilting her head into the air as if it’ll answer the questions in her puzzled mind.  

“i wasn’t aware that minmin had hired new staff, i’m joohee.” she introduces herself, clear voice echoing across the hall. 

you frown, rubbing your arm at her words. “who’s minmin?” 

“your boss? min yoongi.” joohee answers confusedly as she approaches you, handing you her luggage expectantly. a pitiful smile crosses her plump, devil lips as she eyes your bump— making your skin crawl and coddle it protectively. “you’re pregnant? how far along are you? such a shame that minmin didn’t give you any time off. his values can be pretty off-“ 

you drop joohee’s bag as you listen to her blabber, her voice becoming patronising and sickly to your ears. she looks as if she’s about to have her way with you, tear into you like a lost little lamb but you won’t dare be disrespected in your own home. “listen lady,” you seethe, hating that you look like the pregnant angry lady. “i don’t know who you are, or what business you have with my boyfriend but i am not the help. now if you don’t mind, i’d like you to leave my home before i cal” security.” 

the women before you lets her lips part with shock, quickly adjusting herself as if she’d been a doll in repair. her midnight eyes look you up and down while a cruel smirk as she takes her sunglasses from her air and toys with them between her perfectly white teeth. 

“ah, i see, yoongi’s been out to play while i’ve been away. you’d think he’d be loyal to his wife— wouldn’t you?” 

“w-wife?” you stammer, heart plummeting in your chest. you hadn’t noticed the diamond ring nestled comfortably on her ring finger— as if it had been there the whole time. 

joohee smiles again, one that could be on the front cover of vogue. “three years and counting, darling, who could have guessed.” her words are like bullets to the chest, taking you down one by one. your heart burns with an unfamiliar sensation— heartache? betrayal? you can’t tell. everything seems foggy, all lies with smoke and mirrors. you had to have known at some point that it was too good to be true. “some water, darling?” 

you shake your head at joohee, not realising the hand that claws at your throat. panic and pain crawl through your chest and hide in the ridges of your throat as you struggle to find the words to face the devil dressed in red satin. “no... i just, i just need a moment—“ you whisper, fiery tears burning in your eyes and threatening to scorch at the apples of your cheeks.

“take all the time you need, dearest.” 

you move swiftly from there, running to the nursery and grabbing the hospital bag you’ll need for the baby’s delivery before heading to yourself and yoongi’s shared bedroom. you stare at the room with disgust and hatred, you’d shared too many loving moments with this man for it to be true. he lied to you, lied to her most probably. 

you realise now that you were just another pawn in the game of chess called min yoongi.

through broken sobs, you manage to pack enough of your clothes to last you until you have time to come back. and so with trembling hands— you dial the phone and listen to it ring once before it picks up. 

“hello?” 

“seokjin?” 

“yes, YN— what’s wrong? are you... are you crying?” 

“please...come pick me up...” 

there are no more words as the line goes dead, a little piece inside of you— dying as well. 

yoongi had known something was off that night when he came home. a seventy-two hour stay in the states was more than exhausting— dealing with press and foreign interviewers who only wanted to hear about ‘american inspirations’ the debut collection. the executive had wanted to tell them proudly, that it had been you leading the design team, his YN but he stuck with his simple answers of gucci and dior to appease the crowd. all he wanted now, was to curl up with his darling girlfriend and their unborn child. 

except... something was off. 

the house had been dark when he came in, a new set of keys by the door and an unfamiliar suitcase. yoongi knew, if there was anything to go by, that you would have the hum of real house wives on and the smell of those salted kale chips he made you eat— wafting through the air. but instead, the sultry tones of old, familiar jazz oozed from his living room accompanied by the soft sounds of glass on glass and wine pouring. 

wine.

“where is she? you bitch.” yoongi never swore at a woman, his mother raised him better than that but he heated the way joohee leisured on his couch— the couch where he lay with you for countless nights— sipping at a bottle of red wine. “answer me!” 

joohee barely flinched at the raise in the dark haired male’s voice, simply choosing to pour another glass of the fruity liquid for the man himself. “she left minmin, who wouldn’t after finding out their little boy toy is married.” she teased, each word she spat like poison from were sweet lips. 

“divorced, joohee, fucking divorced.” he heaved. “what the fuck did you tell her?” 

“correction, divorcing and only what she needed to hear.” 

yoongi remembers how fast he’d moved across the room, slamming his fist down on the coffee table so hard that it had almost shattered the glasses. that time, joohee had jumped, never had she ever seen yoongi so mad, so angry. “get the fuck out, walk out of the door and out of my life. it’s what you’re fucking good at.” 

joohee left not a minute later, leaving yoongi alone in the dark of his home. your home. the home you were supposed to share with one another, build a life in. he hadn’t wanted that with joohee, not after she ruined him and broke what soul he had. you were the one to have brought min yoongi back to life, but now, he had lost you.

min yoongi hadn’t cried in a long time, but tonight would be the first since then. 

“YN...he’s calling again.” 

you look up briefly from folding freshly washed baby blankets and grows, to stare down at the phone that sits between yourself and yura before going back to the task at hand. 

“ignore it.” 

yura sighs, hitting decline before resuming her own activities— munching on the snacks yoongi had packed in your baby bag. ever since that night, seokjin had made sure you were guarded by at least one of your friends or family members. since you’d moved back in with him, either he or joon would watch you throughout the night, holding you while you cried your heart out. seokjin swore that the stress wasn’t good for the baby and that he’d  kill min yoongi if he ever saw the ‘fucker again’ but you couldn’t help it, the man that you loved so deeply, the one who’s child you carry lied to you and tore your heart in two. 

how could anyone lie about something like that?

moments pass before the phone rings again and you quickly reach over to hang up once more. “you really should talk to him YN. not for your sake but for the baby’s..” yura mumbles after a while, sucking the salt from her fingers as if she’s worried you’ll burst out mad at her. “maybe it’s not what you think—“ 

“how can it not be? he had a wife yura, he’s married! there’s no explanation for that!” you almost yell, clutching one of the grows to your chest tightly as if it’ll protect your heart. 

“but maybe—“ 

“stop trying to defend him!” 

“i’m not!” 

“then shut up, shut up because you don’t know anything.” you add sternly as your bottom lip starts to wobble, you breathe heavily trying to calm yourself down. the slight twinge in your lower belly doesn’t distract you from the pain in your heart. “you don’t know what it’s like to fall for someone like this, to think you have it all and then—“

yura looks at you patiently, one of her greatest traits. she didn’t lose her temper with you or fall into screaming matches when your hormones got the best of you. she may have been slightly ticked at you, but she knew better than to show it. “the what?” she comments, brow raising in interest. 

“nothing... i just, im sorry, i shouldn’t have yelled.” you bite your lip, putting down the small item of clothing and running a hand over your face. your roommate only shakes her head fondly, rubbing your shoulders, she knows this entire thing has been hard for you. you’d never planned to have a baby this early on in your life, you wanted big things and had major plans. 

and you gave it all up for yoongi. 

your friend smiles sadly, letting you go before heading to the doorway. “it’s okay, YN... i’ll give you some alone time.” 

she does just that, giving you room to breathe as a million thoughts and what ifs cross your mind. what if you’d never met yoongi? would you be the same person you are now, back then? would you want this? would you— a burning sensation spikes in your lower back, making you double over in pain, this hadn’t been like any pain you’d experienced before, nothing like the braxton hicks you’d been warned about. and then, there’s a light gush between your thighs— panic soaring in your chest. 

“y-yura-!” you gasp, steadying yourself on the nearest surface as the pain subsided unlike the fear and nerves that cloud your mind. “a-are you still there?” 

the girl scoffs playfully from the hallway, making herself known. “of course i am, i’m your babysitter remember? i wouldn’t actually leave you.” she mumbles, tone quietening as you whine with the next oncoming contraction. “YN...are you alright?” 

you squeeze your eyes shut, gripping the dresser so hard your knuckles turn white with the force. “yura... i think— i think my water just broke...”

“oh shit.” 

this, this was pain. 

yura whispers praise into your hairline while nurses flurry in and out of your room— she’d called your brother not long ago who was on his way from his last shift at work. you didn’t want to be alone. “why, why did i go through with this?” you whine, hair plastered against your forehead with sweat. people are surrounding you, telling you to push and then not to, everything is too overwhelming and all you want is the baby out of you. 

everything that could possibly go wrong, was going wrong. an ambulance had been unable to pick you up from your brother’s home, the delivery plan having been registered to yoongi’s house— meaning that your roomate had to drive you all the way to hospital herself, getting lost on the way. now you were being wheeled through the hell hole, on the way for your delivery.

“because you wanted this baby and you wanted it him?” yura suggests, squeezing your hand tightly— only wincing when you squeeze it back with the start of a contraction. “would now be a bad time tell you that i called yoongi?” 

“you what?” you screech, barely having time to be mad as another wave of pain hits burns at your waist. god, did you even think this part through? you barely register the door opening, another presence instantly by your side. your body responds naturally , calming in response to the man that’s now beside you. 

yoongi grips hand, and if you weren’t in so much pain you would have torn away— your heartbeat ceasing in your but you know that you need him here. the time to talk will be later. “im sorry,” he mumbles quietly as they prepare you for the delivery room. “im sorry i did this to you, that i hurt you and i know that you don’t want me here right now, but im not going anywhere. not when you need me.” 

curling in on yourself at the student wave on pain, you take a chance and stare up into his eyes— searching for the truth, for an answer. “okay,” you breathe, unsure of what you’ve uncovered behind yoongi’s dark eyes. “okay, lets do this.” 

the executive nods at the nurses to make a move for the private delivery rooms he’d booked earlier on in your pregnancy. he squeezes your hand with a promise to yura that he’d take care of you, while you brought new life into the world. 

“she’s waiting for you, y’know.” 

yoongi doesn’t dare to look up, choosing to focus on the scuff on his shoes as a distraction from the conversation that is to come. it’s been hours, three or four, since the delivery— the birth of his child smooth sailing from the moment he took your hand but through all the screaming and cursing at him, yoongi couldn’t help but think of what he had lost. a family, a life with you. 

but now, your room was packed with the family you had built before him, namjoon cradling you’re infant in his arms as yura cooed away— playing with tiny fingers. the executive didn’t feel like he belonged, like he didn’t deserve to be in there with you. 

seokjin clears his throat with a roll of his shoulders before taking a seat next to the latter. as much as your brother despised yoongi, he knew in his heart that you were meant to be together. he’d seen you both grow from cold, isolated human beings into the warmth that a child needed to be in the world. seokjin would do this for you. for you and the baby. 

“look,” the elder starts, elbows on his knees to support himself as he rubs his hands together, ordering over his next choice of words. “i never liked you, i knew that you’d break her somehow—“ yoongi scoffs, cutting the other kim sibling off, as the words nick his heart. “— but i also know that she gave a lot up for you because she loves you. that mother in there, YN, is going to need all the help she can get and christ be damned that i’m going to give it to her but that baby... that baby is going to need a father. so either you step up and prove to her that you’re still in this or you take your leave now.” seokjin warns, this time— sparing a dark glare to a now intimidated min yoongi. “because the last thing they now need, is another let down.” 

the executive blinks, taking a moment to ponder your brother’s words. “i understand, thank you.” 

seokjin nods, moving into your room to round up your family— giving yoongi the space he needs to explain himself to you. when he enters, you have the baby swaddled in your arms with a look that says it all. that your entire world is right here with you. a look that makes yoongi fall in love with you all over again. 

“he’s beautiful,” you whisper, having heard the male come in— sparing him a short glance before looking back down at your baby, afraid that if you look away for too long, he’ll disappear. “don’t you think?”

the dark haired man can’t help but nod, approaching you slowly to admire his son— a small little thing with beautiful eyes to match your own and a head full of curls, just as dark as yoongi’s. “we made a beautiful little thing.” he comments, leaning down to brush his thumb over little min’s cheek. yoongi looks up, not realising how you watch him with tenderness, this was how it was supposed to be. “YN...i-“

“yoongi.” you breathe, turning back to focus on your baby. 

“i’m sorry, i should have told you— about joohee— about my marriage with her, which is over by the way...” yoongi hates how you flinch at the mention of his ex, reaching out to grab your hand. he breathes a sigh of relief when you don’t pull away like he expected you too. “we’re getting a divorce.” 

you gasp, all of your emotions flying at you at once. joohee had failed to mention that fact to you, something you might have heard if you’d heard yoongi out. “but she said—“ 

“i was with her a long time ago, back when i was working in daegu and she changed. the industry changed and she did too. joohee became manipulative and rude and—“ the executive closes his eyes, taking a moment to reflect. he’d never opened up about this before, but he needed you to understand...maybe forgive him. he needed to be in his child’s life. “and we weren’t working anymore, giving each other what we needed. i wanted white pickett fences, a dog, a family but she wanted all the money in the world and i couldn’t give her that.” he breathes, and you squeeze his hand. “but i met you at that party where i felt so free,”

his words come out as jumbled, becoming a ramble causing you to shake your head and grip the man’s wrist tighter. “yoongi.” 

“and then this happened and  i knew that i wanted all of that with you and our son and i’m so sorry that i put you through all of that pain, for not telling you—“

“min yoongi—“

“and i just miss you so much that it hurts, i want to be with you...”

“god min yoongi just shut up and kiss me!” you repeat your words from early on, using the hand that held his to pull him closer, pressing his lips against yours in a forgiving kiss. you pour all of your words and emotions into the movement of your lips against his, your love, your pain, your passion. you love him, you do— with all your heart and soul, the pair of you being mindful of the baby between you as you hold each other near and dear. “i-i love you,” you stammer, pressing your forehead against his. yoongi smiles, lips hovering over your own, he’s about to lean in for another kiss when your little boy gurgles between you. “and i love you too baby.” 

“does he have a name yet?” 

“i was waiting for you...”

yoongi smiles, letting your baby boy wrap his tiny fingers around his own. your body lights up with joy, if someone had told you— nine months ago, that you would end up with the worlds most beautiful baby boy, a man that you loved and a family that supported you... you would have laughed but now you’ve seen, that sometimes life has unexpected twists, good and bad. 

but luckily for you, you’d had a good one. “joonwoo,” your lover hums, kissing the top of your babies head before giving you the very same kiss. “that should be his name.” 

“joonwoo, meaning protection,” you mumble in a wordless agreement, observing your family. joonwoo had been a name you picked out with yoongi one night during the early stages of your pregnancy—you were surprised that he’d even remembered.  “it’s perfect.” yoongi would have your white pickett fences, your dog and your family home but for now, you would enjoy the moment— enjoy the time with your boys and wait for what the future would hold. 

you couldn’t wait to see where you’d be in another nine months from now. 

“ahaha! look, they’re kissing! what did i tell you guys? thats twenty bucks… each!” taehyung exclaims happily, removing his face from the glass as he watches the happy family through it. jimin only rolls his eyes from behind his lover, arms aching slightly from the abundance of gifts he holds in them. 

yura rolls her shoulders, having half a mind to shove the blue haired male over but she knows you’d give her an earful if she did. “fuck you,” she groans as she passes over the cash.

“i do that already!” jimin chirps from behind. 

that’s when seokjin sweeps in, taking the money from taehyung with a happy smile. much to the disdain of the latter. “but i called it! he’s a boy.” the elder smirks, counting the bills. taehyung pouts in response, clinging to his boyfriend who only rolls his eyes at the group’s antics. 

“but y’all are forgetting, the most important thing...” namjoon adds, taking the money from seokjin and smirking smugly at the shocked faces he receives. “i won the bet cus they’re getting married.”  the brunette reveals in a sing song tone, pulling the ring box that yoongi entrusted him with. namjoon only chuckles as the group descends into chaos.

this baby was in for one hell of a family.

⇢ author’s note(s): thank you all so much for reading!! please let me know what you think and have a wonderful day or night <3

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

By the king’s hand 🐍 XVI

Warnings: noncon/rape, violence/death, trauma, allusions to torture.

This is dark!fic and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The king proves himself and the reader must accept her fate.

Note: Welcome back, King Loki. Y’all better be ready because our little mouse will never stop suffering.

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

You felt like you were suffocating, slowly under a heap of rocks. Your return to the palace was a blur. You barely recalled the ride in the carriage or the flights of stairs between you and the chambers. 

You were entirely consumed by your memories and their voices; Magnus, broken before the court, confessing his crimes. Thor, angry and brutal as ever, shouting back at the people as they cried out at their traitorous prince. Neither gave you peace; they were only trapped animals waiting to break free and lash out again.

Hal was a spot in your vision. His voice tickled your ears but you couldn’t answer him as you laid across the bed, clutching a pillow as you rocked frantically. As you calmed, spent from your fit, you rested on your side and quivered every now and then. The sobs would not come, only rattling breaths that seized your whole body.

Time slaked away like layers of ice melting into a puddle. The curtains were drawn back and revealed the shift of sunlight. A pale grey darkened to a dull slate and cast shadows around you, looming over you like the monsters in your mind.

You flinched as you heard the door, the hinges creaked and your fingers sank deep into the feather pillow. Hal greeted the king and firm footsteps marched across the floorboards. Loki’s figure appeared at the edge of your sight as you laid with your back to the hearth. He sighed as he came up behind you and sat on the edge of the mattress.

“You left rather suddenly,” he said as his hand settled on your side. You winced and hugged the pillow tighter. You hid your face against it, the feathers poking through and causing your cheeks to itch. “Mouse…”

You whimpered and curled your legs up. What had this man done to you that was any different than those two savages? You still bore the scars of his switch across your back and your only shield was the life growing in your stomach. It was him who had brought you to this; who had sentenced you to live as a piece of a flesh; who had exposed you to the barbarity of his kin and kith.

“Why?” You asked softly as you turned your head against the pillow.

“I thought… I thought you would want to see vengeance done.” He said sternly. “To see that I’ve brought those beasts to justice.”

You sniffed and shook your head. “I never wanted to see them again… I…” You shrugged and exhaled weakly. 

“I did it for you, Mouse. I dragged that animal, Magnus, down to my dungeons and cut his flesh until he did confess. I watched his blood weep from his flesh and reminded him of what he'd done to you. I made him tremble at my hands. For you.” He sneered. “I’d do it again.”

“You did it for you. For your pride.” You uttered. “You’ve never done anything for me or any other. It is all for you. They humiliated you, took your plaything, kept from you your pleasures. It isn’t about me, it is about what I can do for you.” You wiggled away from his touch, “Do not lie to me, it not only makes me a fool, but you as well.”

“Do not presume to know my will,” he snarled, “Do not talk to me as if I am your subject and not the other way around. And look at me--” He grabbed your chin and forced you onto your back, “When you speak to me, mouse.”

You blinked as a lump lodged in your throat and let the pillow fall away from you. You braced yourself for what he would do next. You remembered the noise of the hinges, the heavy footsteps, the metal against your wrists, the stony touch of loveless beings, the violent claims to your body. 

You grabbed the king’s arm and began to flail. “No, no, no,” You exclaimed, “Please--”

“Gods,” Loki said in exasperation, “Hal! Hal!” You heard softer soles on the boards, “Fetch Birger. Now.”

Loki wriggled his arm from your grasp and grabbed your shoulders. He pinned you down as you kicked out and clawed at the air. “Mouse, shhhh. Mouse!”

“No! No! No!” Your hand flew up and struck Loki’s jaw. He grunted and shook away the jolt.

He struggled with you until the door sounded again and there was a clatter of footsteps across the front chamber. Loki climbed over you as the physician appeared and touched your forehead.

“I don’t know what has come over her.” Loki said, “She has these… episodes.”

“Ah, well she is with child and only just returned from an immense situation. Her nerves are split.” Birgir rubbed your cheek calmingly, “Dear, tell me five things you can see.”

“No, no, no,” you chanted.

“Five things, dear. Five things you can see.” He urged.

“The-- The bedpost…” You wisped, “Y-Your cap… Hal… The ceiling… A chair…”

“Very well, dear, and five thing, “Three things you can feel.”

“Y-Y-Your hand,” you touched the back of his hand, “The bed…” Your eyes flicked back and forth, “The fire.”

“Great, great,” he took your hand gently, “One thing you can smell.”

“The wood. Burning wood.” You gulped.

Birger nodded and smiled at you gently. “Hal, my boy, bring my chest.”

“What is wrong with her?” The king knelt on the mattress beside you.

“I told you. It is stress.” Birger said staunchly and squinted at the king, “Have you…”

“Not in the last days.” Loki admitted.

“But since her return?” The physician prodded. The king rolled his eyes and glanced away tellingly. “And you expect you to be as she was after all that? Do you even know all that happened to her?”

“She does not speak of it.” The king huffed.

“And why should she? To you?”

“You tread a dangerous path, Birger,” Loki warned.

Birger tutted and caressed the back of your hand. “Alright, I’ll do what I can.”

“You have something which can restrain her,” Loki said, “That can calm her.”

“As her condition stands, not much.” Birger stood as Hal approached with his chest, “It is better if she is kept calm. You can burn lavender--”

“No, you will sedate her so she will sleep,” Loki ordered, “I’ve pressing matters and little energy or time for this nonsense.”

“With respect, your majesty, this nonsense is as much to do with you as it is your brother or his accomplice,” Birger insisted, “It will persist.”

“So be it,” Loki pushed himself off the bed, “Find one of your vials and do your duty. She needs sleep, not quackery.” Birger let out a long breath and tapped his fingers on the lip of the chest. “Well, you’ve something else to say?” The king challenged.

“No, your majesty,” Birger looked into his chest and stirred through the contents, “Boy, bring some milk for the woman.”

Your body was limp across the bed, suddenly without strength as you listened to the argument. It was your fault. All of it. If you could just control yourself. If you weren’t so weak and stupid.

“When you finish, you will go.” Loki neared the door. “And do not bother me on your exit.”

The king disappeared through the doorway and you looked up at Birger as he pulled out a glass vial. You saw the irritation on his face.

“I’m sorry,” you said quietly.

“Why?” He asked bluntly, “You’ve nothing to be sorry for.”

You clamped your lips shut and stared at the top of the bedpost. Hal returned and handed a cup of milk to Birger. The physician mixed in drops of the tincture and sat to hand it to you. You pushed yourself up and took it from him.

“Perhaps it is better you sleep for a time,” Birger said. “Are you eating well?”

“Yes, a lot,” you assured him and sipped the thick milk.

“Well, you make sure you keep on. Rest as much as you can.” He looked to Hal, “See if the boy is permitted to take you on walks. You must keep active as you can.”

You nodded and swallowed the milk tainted with the odd flavour of the medicine.

“Is the king rough with you? As he was before?”

You shook your head as you offered the empty cup. “Not since…” You nodded to your stomach.

“Good, good,” Birger set the cup aside and packed up his chest. “Take care, dear. I will be look in as I can.” He hauled his chest up and clapped Hal’s shoulder, “And boy, you will keep her well in my absence.”

“On my honour,” Hal promised and followed the physician to the door.

You felt heavy as you laid back and listened to Birger’s departure. The king was just in the next chamber and you heard the flutter of pages. Hal’s figure lingered as your eyelids shut and you sank down into the abyss. You were smothered by a sleep deeper than any you’d known in months.

🐍

You weren’t certain how long you slept. You woke in a fog. It was dark but for the glow of the fire and the shapes around you, the furniture shroud in grey, seemed distant and yet close. You felt light and airy and your body felt detached from your thoughts.

You lifted your head and peered around, trying to focus on the chair before the hearth. A wraith sat in it and as you sat up, you realised it was the king. You giggled and let the blankets fall away from your shoulders. He glanced over at you and tilted his head as the firelight limned his features.

“Mouse?” He said quizzically.

“Looookiiiii,” you sang as you turned your legs over the edge. He was visibly aghast at your use of his name. You only laughed again as you stood and wobbled. “Such an odd name.”

“Is it?” He lowered his brows and carefully stood to face you, “You should stay, mouse.”

“No, I’m not tired,” you argued and gave a long yawn. “I feel alive!”

“You can barely stay on your feet,” he rushed forward as you stumbled and caught you. “Come on, to bed with you.”

“Wouldn’t you like that!” You snapped and wriggled in his grasp. “But I’m hungry.”

“You’re deluded,” he rebuked.

You laughed and continued to struggle with him. “I’m perfectly well,” you slapped his chest, “I’m just…” You looked down as your stomach brushed against him and your mouth fell open. “Oh, gods…” You rubbed your middle, “I’ve already eaten too much!”

“No, mouse,” you heard a sliver of amusement in his tone, “You… you are just fine.”

“I’m fat!” You pouted and glared up at him. “Why am I so fat?”

He barely withheld a snicker and took your hand daintily. “I have some biscuits. Would you like one?”

“I couldn’t…” You shook your head as you felt your stomach. “I’m already-- but I am hungry. Just one, just one.”

“Well, you must sit if you want one,” he chided. “Understood, mouse?”

“Mouse! Mouse!” You mocked. “I hate that name. I am not a mouse.”

“Alright,” he nudged you back to the bed and you sat heavily, “Then what are you?”

“Hungry. I told you.” You crossed your arms. “Who are you?”

He grinned and looked around as if confused. “It is me, Loki.”

“Your nose is big,” you said sharply. 

“Thank you,” he said rigidly. “Just wait here.”

He left you and returned with a small box. He took out a biscuit with currants baked into it and held it out. He set the box aside and sat beside you as you eyed the treat.

“What is it?”

“It’s a biscuit,” he said curtly. “Like I said.”

“Sure, sure,” you smelled it and cautiously took a bite, “Suppose it tastes like a biscuit.”

He was quiet. You flinched as you felt his hand on your back suddenly. He rubbed a circle there as you chewed and you clapped the crumbs from your hands as you finished.

“Good?” He asked.

“I told you,” you grabbed his arm and shoved it away. “No.”

He dropped his arm and nodded. He watched you as you balled your hands in fists. You stood and stomped like a child around the room.

“As good as it feels, no, no, no!” You swept your finger through the air. “But perhaps…” You stopped and thought for a moment, “No! No!” You sneered at him. “I don’t want your royal cock tonight, sir!”

At last he chuckled and you were startled by the noise. His features contorted in his mirth and you watched him with wide eyes. He stood and neared you slowly. He reached out tentatively and touched your arms.

“Fine. Not tonight.” He assured you. “But you must lay back down.”

“Why?” You quivered and looked at your body again, “Are my legs broken?”

He smirked and shook his head. “No, because it is the middle of the night.”

You frowned. “Oh.”

“So, bed?” He asked.

“Wait!” You stopped him.

“What is it now?” He sniffed.

“I don’t know,” you shrugged. 

“Right,” he said and calmly led you back to the bed. “Time to sleep, mouse.”

“Hmmpf,” you grumbled at the pet name and let him lay you across the bed. “I’m not tired.”

“Oh, you’re not?” He taunted as you yawned again into your hand.

“No,” you argued and your eyes closed. “Not at all.”

“Not at all,” he echoed as he pulled the blankets over you.

He sat with you until you drifted off again though you were barely aware of him. You fell back into the warmth of the bed and the haze of your mind. The peculiar scene blending in with your senseless dreams.

🐍

You awoke facing the king. He slumbered beside you, his pale features unmarred by his waking thoughts. Your head was fuzzy and your limbs heavy. You sat up slowly and wiped the sleep from your eyes. The events of the days before slowly came back to you but did not hit you with the same force. You were anxious to think of Thor and Magnus but not terrified.

Loki groaned and reached out to touch your leg, as if assuring himself of your presence, as he stirred. You watched his long fingers as he squeezed you through the blankets and opened his eyes.

“Mouse,” he voice was hoarse as he retracted his hand and swept his dark hair back. “Is there something the matter?”

You shook your head and looked around. You didn’t like how comfortable you felt. You recalled his callous words the day before during your panic and all those times before he had been unkind. How could he sleep beside you as he would a wife? A wife…

You turned your back to him and evaded his reach again as you stood. You hugged yourself as you neared the dwindling fire and shivered. You heard the mattress move beneath him but he did not rise. You looked to the ceiling as you tried to clear your thoughts.

“Why won’t you give me an answer?” You asked.

“Excuse me?”

“What is to become of me when your wife is here?” You spun back to face him. He sprawled across the mattress as his shoulders and chest were bare above them. “I know this… will change. And I know once this babe is born, you will be done with me or cruel as you were before.”

His face darkened but he made no move to rise. He exhaled, a low growl, and rubbed his forehead.

“I needn’t tell you anything more than you need to know.” He sneered. “I will do whatever is best at the time.”

You gritted your teeth in frustration. You hated his riddles. You weren’t going to get an answer.

“My wife will do whatever I wish of her. And when I have a child on her, then you and the bastard will be of little bother.” He uttered. “And when you are ready, you will return to your original duty.”

Your chest knotted and your stomach grumbled painfully. Your anxiety mixed with your hunger and made your core a pit.

“And the child? I am to carry it to some unknown fate?”

“My child. I shall keep it safe.”

“And me?”

“You are its mother. But you are mine, first and foremost.” He bent his arms behind his head. “You will serve me before the child.”

You scowled in disgust but said nothing. He watched you and slipped his hand beneath the blankets.

“I will have a nursemaid for you. You needn’t worry for the child’s health.” He cooed.

“And my own? Do you care?”

He scoffed. “I’ve provided you with shelter, with sustenance, with a physician for your ailments. I’ve seen you well and I ask little in return.” He declared. “Remind yourself again that you are not my wife.”

“Yes, I am your whore. I am aware.” You hissed. “But you do seem to forget yourself.”

“I forget myself?” He sat up. “Oh, let us put things straight.”

You staggered backwards as he was off the bed in an instant. He seized your arm and you struggled with him as he tried to drag you back with him. 

“The child!” You cried.

“Will be well,” he snarled as he grabbed a hank of your hair and twisted your neck painfully. “Come on, mouse, you want things to be as they were.”

“Stop! I only--”

He sat and you lurched against him. He pushed you back and forced you down to your knees and drew you between his own. His cock twitched and hardened slowly as he clung to you. You pushed on his thighs and wrestled with him as he gripped your jaw.

“My patience for you is spent,” he spat as he shoved your head into his lap. “Open up, whore.”

“Please--”

“Let me give you your answer.” He bit out. “When you have born my bastard, I will use those parts of you unruined by its passage.” He squeezed until you gasped and forced his tip into your mouth. “I shall have my wife’s cunt and your mouth.”

You gurgled as he pushed against the back of your throat and slid down it. You gagged and he pulled you back. 

“Breathe,” he warned, “You don’t want to hurt the child.”

He forced you back down and you clawed at his sides. He moved your head steadily, up and down his length until he was entirely hard. You were dizzy and helpless against him. His groans and grunts added to the noise of you in his mouth and he clutched your head tighter.

He fucked your mouth until you were gasping and gulping around him. He wrenched you off of him suddenly and stroked himself to his climax, his seed stringing across your face. He released you and you fell back in a heap. He stood and stepped around you without concern.

“That is what you will be. Always.” He barked as he crossed the room. “Mine. To do with as I please.”

🐍

The days that followed were frigid and fraught. You could not forget that morning as the king’s former disposition returned fully. He left you in the morning without disturbance and you bided the hours silently, barely aware of Hal as he tried to cheer you. When Loki returned, the boy was sent away. He didn’t speak, only sat and stewed in whatever blight had angered him that day.

And when he wanted you, he had you. Hand, mouth, or cunt. You bore it and hid yourself under the covers when it was done. 

Another week gone and Hal announced that the verdict had been dealt. Loki hadn’t said and you hadn’t dared to ask. You listened as the boy explained how the jury and judges had found Thor guilty and condemned him to death by the sword. Magnus, however, was to be hung like a common criminal.

But that did not mean you would be without a villain. Loki’s moods assured you that nothing had changed at all. It assured you that your life would be as it ever was. That the fate he’d promised you down in that dungeon would come to pass. You would never escape him and perhaps, though you’d not realised it, your time with Thor and Magnus could have been your only hope at an eventual end to the agony.

You sat in limbo. You could hardly believe that they would die and yet, you feared the future beyond. For all the certainty of their sentences, yours was still frightfully abstract. You could not decide if you were appeased by their demise or envious of it.

Your inner strife was interrupted as Hal stood suddenly and you turned to watch the door open. The boy bowed to the king as he entered, clothed in fur and his horned crown. You stood and the king looked between the two of you. He raised his chin and looked down his nose.

“Get her a cloak and boots,” he demanded, “You will accompany us to the green.”

“The green? Why--”

“Gird your tongue, woman,” Loki demanded. “Haven’t you asked enough questions?”

Hal glanced at you wistfully but did as he was told. He helped you into the fur-trimmed cloak and you pulled the hood up as he helped you step into the boots and laced them tightly. Hal snatched up his own cap as he followed you and the king into the corridor.

You walked behind Loki and his guards, Hal was at your side and foreboding set deep in your stomach. You could guess at the event on the green though you hoped it wasn’t as you expected.

You came out into the blustery winter light and a crowd gathered around a stage erected over the white yard. Just before the walls of Boulder Tower, housed tight within the borders of the palace, a platform stood awaiting the executioner and his victim. You stopped short and Hal quickly caught your elbow and urged you on. The king peered over his shoulder in a wordless reproach.

The people parted as the monarch approached and you were diverted into the crowd of onlookers by another armored man. You went unnoticed as the king passed to the front of the audience and you stood alone with the steely sentinel.

A hush went over the crowd as the king stood with his head high. The hooded executioner came out onto the stage and waited by the lever. Armor clinked and announced the arrival of the criminal before he appeared. Magnus had only rags wrapped around his feet and shreds of clothing barely hanging from his form.

He twitched nervously but showed little emotion as he was herded up the steps. The hooded man came forward to wrap the noose around his neck and a holy man offered muttered prayers to the condemned.

You froze as you gaped up at the scene. It felt like a horrid nightmare. The prisoner shrugged away the holy man and strained against the rope. He looked across the green and his eyes narrowed at the king stood among the masses.

“Fuck the king!” He shouted and the lever was pulled suddenly.

The heavy body plummeted downward and all could hear the crack of his neck above their gasps. It was a sickly sound that made your legs weak. You saw Hal, close to the king’s shoulder, lower his head and a few onlookers swayed before they fainted. You felt queasy but did not waver.

You only remained as you were as slowly, those who still had sense, roused those in shock and dispersed. Those who had fallen were carried away by their companions and you still did not move. It was only as the king’s figure retreated that you were woken from your trance.

“Shall I have his skull boiled and brought to you?” He asked as he neared with his guards in tow. You shook your head and looked away from him. Your eyes stung. “Do not act as if I’m the same as they were,” he lowered his voice as he leaned in. “They would’ve killed you and the child. Where do you think they were taking you?”

You shivered and pulled your hood low to hide your distress. Loki let out a breath that clouded before him in the cold. Snow crunched as an unseen figure neared and another armoured man came up breathlessly. You peeked from beneath your cloak and king frowned at the guard’s frantic energy.

“What is it now?” He poked the guard’s breastplate harshly.

“Your majesty,” the man caught his breath in rasps, “The prince--”

“What of my brother?” Loki tensed and fidgeted as he glared at the guard.

“He is gone. He has escaped.” The guard announced. “He--”

“What do you mean he is gone?!” Loki seized the guard by the mail that poked up around his cowl. “How could he be gone?”

“It seems there was a plot. Lord Fandral and his ilk--”

“Fuck!” Loki shoved away the man and punched his palm. “Fuck!!!” He shouted and looked around at the liveried guards, “Well, you fools, go find them!”

#loki #dark!loki #dark loki #loki x reader #the bitch is back #series #by the king's hand #dark fic #fic #dark!fic #au #medieval au #magnus #dark!thor #dark thor #thro #king!loki

[playboysaleen]

Love Malady.

Part 2.

Part 1.

Summary: Daughter of the notorious gang of thieves. One day your brothers group kidnap a nobel woman. Feeling guilt you gave her warm clothes, tended to her injuries, and helped her escape. instantly the world falls under a deadly pandemic and is killing/infecting people left to right and you are the only one who is immune. All because you saved a girl years ago coming to find out... it was the goddess of death(Famine).

Warnings- cursing i think, violence.

___________

Present.

February 12th, 2021.

The night Buck got sick changed everyone's life. I waited hours for my phone to ring giving me the ‘okay homeboys fine.’ but Jaime walked into my room with tear-stained cheeks telling me Buck didn't make it.

Then a couple days later after Bucks death one of the guys found Adam dead with the same symptoms. Then Pedro, then Jackson, then Shelli, and it killed off almost all of my fathers gang. The disease spread like a wildfire. From our home town to the city, the state then just did this hopscotch move and expanded around the whole world.

The first year the doctors tried to keep it a secret but it flared so fast that society called it the ‘Sinister Ash’. There was no cure when the officials realized it was airborne, literally nothing could cure anyone. Some were lucky with similarities of a stomach virus and a mild headache, and there were the less fortunate. Headaches, stomach bugs, fever and cancer like symptoms. The strong can work through it but it was permanent. The rest who had it worst? Died off just like Buck and Adam.

“Why are you not eating?” My fathers voice rang me out of my thoughts with his thick Venezuela accent, I peeked at my father shrugging my shoulders. Grumbling, he focused his attention to Jaime as they went over the next move for their ‘purloins’. I grabbed my plate walking towards the kitchen running the hot water over the greatest plate, a thud sounded in the dining room which caused my brother's name to boom out my fathers mouth. I ran towards the other side of the table to grasp my brother's shaking body, cursing under my breath. I dialed 911.

“The ambulance is on the way, go Pa.” I instructed my father watching his face fall, he sighed placing his hand on my shoulder.

“Our time has come, I love you, my child.” he whispered, placing a soft kiss on my forehead making his way out the back. I cooed into Jaime’s hair as I held him in my arms praying to the man above if he could not let this disease invade my brother's body. ________________________________________ “Did you at least get the girls number?” Jaime stated in disbelief when he woke up and saw the EMT worker reeling him into the ER. I chuckled, shaking my head playfully, pushing his shoulder.

“She was pretty..” I mumbled causing Jaime to widen his eyes pushing me back-

“I TOLD YOU!” he laughed out loud when the doctor walked in with a clipboard. A man around his 50’s with a look that masked his face of light, but we all knew he was trying to survive like the rest of us.

“Good afternoon, I am Doctor Nives.” The man spoke ever so gently but his beard gave me Cap vibes. I nodded my head looking at Jaime slipping my hand into his.

“So there’s news, I do not know how you both will take it but-“ he grabs the x rays placing them onto the screen that took up half of the wall next to Jaime. I watched as the deeper detailed body of my brother's chest caged clouds of red, black, and green.

“As you can see you have stage 2 of the Ashen, the red that covers this area here-” Dr. Nives circled the red that surrounded the upper left of my brother's chest.

 “Covers your heart, but after running the test I see your red cells are fighting the virus and it knocks more time for you.” A lump formed in my throat as the last 4 words flew out his mouth.

“Wait, what do you mean more time?” His eyes soften sending me a sympathetic look, Jaime gasped softly looking down at his hands.

“Well from the lab work it shows that you had 3 months, but at how good your cells are handling the virus you have 6 months to a year.” He finished taking his gloves off and applying hand sanitizer,

“Since you ma’am we’re around him can we run some lab work for your safety?” He asked looking between Jaime and I. I looked at my brother to see him nodding my way, turning to the man I nodded as he clasp his hands together. 

“Great. We can move you right next door so you can stay close to your brother.” Reassuring the both of us, I placed a kiss against his forehead following the doctor out. I took a seat onto the bed leaning against the back of the wall holding out my arm. 

For the last 4 years I’ve noticed a big change in my appearance that it actually scares me on the inside. First year, I lost a tremendous amount of weight, the extra weight turned into bulk in the places I always wished for.. huh..

 During the first year, the acne on my face disappeared in thin air. One minute I’m trying to clean the pores with three different facial cleansers, I go to bed, then the next I wake up and my face is so clear. I was changing for the better, yet the world was changing for the worst. That first year we lost almost 2 million lives, including a lot of the people around me. 

The second year is what sparked my curiosity of my body. One night, I was cooking dinner for Jaime and I, having a heavy debate with who is better at shooting the knife slid through my palm causing Jaime to spring off the island placing his hand against the deep gash trying his best to stop the bleeding. We knew we couldn’t head to the hospital for the sake of our fathers identity and the groups, so Jaime wrapped my hand the best he could and called it a night. I didn’t like his Tostadas anyways. Next day, I woke up to change my bandage. I opened the wrap to see no gash from the night before. Eyebrows furrowing together I question my own body for the first time in my life.. I can’t be immortal, that’s only in books. Then I noticed it. From small paper cuts to bruises- my wounds healed faster than any other person. From taking days for a wound to close, a couple minutes and it’s gone. Clean. Like it was never there to begin with. 

Last year, an incident had happened; Traumatizing to say. Snuck out with an old friend of mine, talking around the den says she’s been trying to make a move on me but me being me I waved them off knowing she’s not the type. Met up with her, got a couple drinks in headed back to her place, got a couple kisses in. The kissing escalated until this small beautiful voice that I heard years back echoed in my ears, jumping back, I stopped what we had and went home. Next day I received the news that she passed away AND GET THIS- JUST like Buck. Since then, her voice echoes in my ear. It’s been quiet the last month, I miss it though. 

A pinch brought me out of my thoughts when the nurse smiled my way explaining what the blood was for and Dr.Nives will be in shortly to give me the news. I snooped around heading to my brothers room when my name was said from the doctors a couple rooms down from me. 

“That can’t be possible, it’s only been 5 minutes and she’s literally clean from head to toe.” A nurse quarreled, a couple more murmurs were heard but Dr.Nives voice caught my attention-

“Let’s do Code A.” A gasp was heard from within their circle with multiple disagreements, confusion flashed my face until a ‘yes sir’ and footsteps were heard coming my way. I sprinted towards my room taking a seat sending Jaime a small text message. 

“Heya Y/n, do you mind if I give you some antibiotics just in case you are diagnosed with the Ashen?” The nurse requested which I nodded extending my arm watching her place the small plate next to me. I squinted my eyes examining the shot that contained a weird dark substance. 

“Why is the stuff black? Isn’t medicine a clear color for safety purposes?” I blurted out, watching the nurse grab the shot striking the needle into my vein. I grunted feeling the warm liquid enter my body, I huffed lightly leaning my head against the wall. Then, it hit me. 

“Wait, what if my test comes back negative? Why do I need antibiotics?” I glanced at the nurse feeling my heartbeat raise as the room began to shrink.

“What’s… what’s happening to me?.” I whispered watching the nurse draw more blood from the previous spot. I felt like I needed to throw up, once the nurse left I wobbled towards my brothers room next door, 

“Man bro we need to get some take out when we leave this place- Y/n? Are you okay?” Jaime rambled out then his face washed with concern as I stumbled onto his bed. 

“I don’t feel so good Brother..” I breathed out looking up to lock eyes with his own. He gasped, wrapping his arms around me, rocking me back and forth. 

“Y/n…” he whispered, watching my contacts with my brown eyes slowly drain into this grey/golden color. 

“What the hell happened?” He asked turning towards the door making sure no one came in.

“They gave me the Sinister Ash.. I can feel it in my chest. We have to go.” I grunted using all my strength to push myself off my brother's bed wobbling towards the door. A cough formed in my throat falling out my mouth, my hand flew to my mouth watching the black and red substance pool into my hands. 

“Y/N?” Jaime shouted running to my side, I grabbed him for support walking out the room. I felt the fire in my chest pass when a small burp lashed out my lips. Sighing deeply I stood up straight facing Jaime. 

“I… I feel better.” I mumbled opening the doors to the emergency waiting room. My body collided with another grabbing them instantly- I gasped at how quick my reflexes were, even Jaime’s eyes widened. 

“Why thank you, I’m so sorry I- Y/m? Why are you not in your room?” Doctor Nives questioned looking between the both of us, I felt warm liquid on the side of my mouth. Quickly wiping it, a fake smile formed on my face slowly stepping back towards the exit just a couple feet from us. 

“Sorry Doctor, but I think it’s time my brother and I head home- our father must be worried sick.” I bluffed, gripping my brother's wrist, giving him the signal.

 “Y/n. We know who you both are.”

_______________

Thank you for the wait<3

taglist- @xxxtwilightaxelxxx​

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda #The Avengers #avenger #powers #book #WLW #fanfiction

[sorcerersofnyc]

The Last Thing Left (Zemo x F!Reader) 3/9

If it wasn’t so painfully ironic (and hilarious to watch,) Helmut would find the relationship between Sam and James a little sad.

Ghosts weren’t enough to hold two people together.

While they wait for Torres to locate Donya Madani, Zemo brings Sam and Bucky to the home he once shared with you.

You reunite and he reflects upon his relationship with you (his wife's friend and his friend's wife) and your journey from being people with mutual friends to partners.

Chapter 3: Sam and Bucky try to understand your relationship with Zemo. It isn't complicated, but he remembers a time when things very much were.

Angst, various mentions of death & mourning, Zemo's wife's name is Heike because of comics.  The reader likes waffles (this is a non-negotiable fact)

Note: Main Character is neutral in most regards, but the story was written with my own cultural background in mind. (In other words, I won't say what she looks like but I envision her as being black.)

First Chapter | Previous

***

A fresh breeze filters in through an open window, swaying the room as Helmut’s words take root.

“Partner?” Sam leans forward in curiosity. “You mean like a life partner or a partner in crime?”

“Yes,” is Helmut’s unhelpful reply. He sends you a conspiratorial smile, one you return with a roll of the eyes.

“Helmut and I are engaged in a… civil partnership,” you explain, “for legal reasons.”

“Amongst other things,” he adds.

“Yes, amongst…other things.” A deep honey-like scent wafts into the room from the kitchen as you share a fleeting glance, a private moment despite the scrutiny of James and Sam. You must have put on a pot of tea.

“That should have been in the reports,” James narrows his eyes and examines the room carefully. “Why doesn’t anyone know about you?” Despite his position on the other wall, he angles his body toward Sam, ready to defend against any traps you might spring.

"Well…" you tilt your head in contemplation, "there was a significant delay in the processing of our paperwork. Nothing was documented until after Helmut’s prosecution."

"How much of a delay are we talking about here?" Sam asks, turning his assessing gaze toward Helmut as if to ask, ‘did you do something?’

"Around—what was it, Helmut? A year and a half?"

"18 months," he agrees. “Our paperwork seemed to have gotten misplaced. It's so difficult to find reliable lawyers these days.”

Sam didn’t seem to believe him.

"I'm his spouse on all official records,” You cut in before either of the two to speak, “but I'm sure you understand why privacy is important to me.” When he testified to his crimes, he made it clear that he had no accomplices and the investigation proved the same. The lawyer ‘misplaced’ the paperwork long enough for public interest in his case to die.

You didn’t need that sort of public scrutiny.

Sam seems to agree.

“We would never compromise your safety,” He assures you. He has his own family, people he loves with targets on their backs. He thinks of them as he addresses you.

The teapot whistles in the background.

“Thank you.” You smile and excuse yourself from the room. “The tea is ready.”

Helmut wants to pull you back to him, but he settles on meeting your gaze as you make a hasty retreat through the archway.

You’re gone all but a few seconds before James begins to speak.

"OK Zemo,” He says, his voice low and threatening, “it's about time you tell us what's going on—your partner? Really?"

"I’ve no reason to lie, James—but perhaps you’re not used to honesty,"

“Not from you," James lurches forward like a beast seeking prey. He glares down at Helmut, a mere arm's length from Helmut’s chair.

Helmut doesn't doubt Jame's violent intent, but he isn't particularly afraid. He settles back in his chair, moves his hands along the length of the arms, and brushes a thumb across the cool metal of the gun strapped beneath.

"Simmer down, Buck.” Sam lifts his hands. “This is weird enough as it is.”

James hesitates but relaxes his defensive stance.

"She doesn't seem to like me and Sam," James continues, reclaiming his position on the wall. “I don’t plan on waking up with a knife in my back.”

“She would never do such a thing, it's far too messy." Unbothered by their altercation, Helmut rises from his chair. He moves toward the bay window and liberates a copy of  Arsène Lupin, gentleman-cambrioleur , from the floating shelf.

Before James can say whatever it is he wants to say,  Sam intervenes once again.

“What I think he means is, 'how do we know we can trust her?'”

"You won't come to harm under her care, you have my word."

His word.

James scoffs at the mere suggestion. Trust isn't something that exists between them and it never would.

But the air is so thick with tension and he can hear the unspoken words that linger in the air: ‘What about your late wife?’

So Helmut flips through the book absentmindedly, stopping at a dog-eared page.

“My companion,” he begins to explain, “she was my wife's dearest friend.” He glances up from the pages of the book to meet Sam’s gaze. “She lost her husband when your friends made Sokovia into a battleground so I found it prudent to ensure her wellbeing.”

They're quiet—finally—and Helmut finds their discomfort pleasing.

Turning his attention back to the book, he reads a line you underlined.

'Quel dommage que je ne sois pas un honnête homme!' What a pity that I am not an honest man!'

“Would you like some honeybush tea?” Your voice cuts through the silence a few moments later. You stop at the threshold and gaze back warily gaze wary.

“I expected Helmut to be alone, but I have other drinks too.”

“The Tea is fine, thank you.” He sets down your beloved book and walks across the room to meet you. Ever so gently, Helmut coaxes the tray from your hand and sets it down on the center table.

“I made lunch as well... si comes ese tipo de cosas .” You mutter, leaving the room once again.

Helmut pours himself a cup before gesturing toward the tray.

"Please, you are guests; have a seat, enjoy some tea." Grabbing the book with one hand, Helmut returns to his favorite chair.

James doesn’t move an inch but Sam takes the seat near the window. His body sinks into the fabric with a sigh.

“Hopefully Torres finds Donya soon. I don’t want to impose for too long.”

“She really is a lovely hostess.” Helmut takes a seat and returns the book. “I intend to enjoy her hospitality while I can.”

***

At first, living with you was easy; Helmut stayed out of your way, he spent his time conducting research and it was quiet.

But the walls were thin and noise echoed through the open vents—He could hear you crying late at night.

He wanted to help, but he had no temporary comforts to offer. The only thing he had was his anger and his plan. You’d rest easier with the Avengers buried in the ash heap, he told himself. That day, when you hugged him, he felt as though you encroached on something, something that would break if he failed to tread lightly.

When you looked as though you wanted to talk or share a fond memory, he mentioned something about the old-fashioned décor and suggested that you change something. He bought you books from the shops he passed on the streets, jars of pigment, and blocks of clay.

He observed you, found what you liked, and got them for you.

“Thank you,” you’d say with a smile, and that was more than enough for him.

He didn’t expect you to return the favor.

But then you’d do things like make him breakfast (always with black coffee and a side of bacon, his favorite.) You’d buy pillows in the same specific shade of burgundy to accent the walls. You’d leave the paper on the kitchen island and kept a jar of honey with the tea.

And he hated you for that, for doing the things Heike would do, for sharing her habits, humor, and sensibilities.

‘Good morning, Helmut,' you would say in the morning, 'Would you like to visit the market with me?’ or, ‘Helmut, you can’t survive off coffee, aren't you hungry?’

He’d refuse you every time.

It was difficult, disappointing you,  but the thought of enjoying a pleasant breakfast, or taking a stroll through the market hurt even more.

He could still feel their bodies buried beneath his feet.

So he opted for uncomfortable silence, and unsteady peace, the ghosts of your loved ones a wall between you.

*

Weeks went by and he continued his research. It took a while, but Helmut could see the steps of a plan unfolding in his mind.

He wouldn’t be the one to send the Avengers to their graves, he’d make them kill each other—and for that, he would need the Winter Soldier, James Buchanan Barnes.

So one day, after reading and rereading the S.H.I.E.L.D.  files he managed to decrypt, he told you he was going on a trip.

“There’s business that I need to attend to.”

“You’re leaving?” You looked up from the clay you were molding. It hadn’t yet taken form, just a sad lump of grey. “For how long?”

“Not long.” He promised, “I’ll be back soon.”

But he returned two weeks later.

Exhausted, Helmut had just taken off his shoes when you walked upstairs to meet him, red power on your hands.

“Helmut! Where were you?” You demanded before you took notice of your tone, the accusation present in your voice. You amended your words quickly.  “I was worried... I missed you while you were gone.”

“My apologies,” was his unsatisfactory reply, his back still turned.

When he finally turned to look in your direction, you wore a troubled look upon your face, and the look reminded him of Heike.

It was the worry of a soldier's wife, of someone waiting by the door to greet an unknown future.

“I’m sorry,” he offered, genuinely this time, and placed a hand on your shoulder.

For a moment that you would reject him. He was certain you considered doing just that, but when you didn’t move or knock away his touch, a strange sense of relief filled him.

You sighed.

"When you've gotten settled, come down for dinner.” It was an order, he realized, not a request.

"Of course." An amused smile tugged at his cheeks.

"Where did you go?" You asked, lingering by the door as he set down his bag. He wasn’t dressed for business in his drab gray jacket and worn shoes.

“I visited an auction house out east."

“An auction house?” You tilted your head and assessed his clothing again. “To bid?”

“Not exactly."

Not at all, really.

He tracked down information about an auction where fanatics were gathered to bid on HYDRA paraphernalia. He hoped to find the book that once belonged to the Winter Soldier's handler, but it wasn't didn’t exist amongst the garbage he found there.

The trip hadn't been a complete waste, however. He managed to rid the world of a few dozen agents and others who would support their cause—but he wouldn’t tell you that.

"What I hoped to find wasn't there.” He settled on saying.

“It took you weeks to do that?”

“I needed to visit Berlin as well. My family collected many cars over the generations. I’ll take you to see them one day if you like.”

Helmut had no plans to get you involved in his plan to end the Avengers,  he couldn't. But he remained true to his word and joined you for dinner that night.

He helped you set the table and you ate paprikash (which, he assumed, you made for his benefit more than your own.)

"Ozenik suggested I make it," you explained. "It was never my favorite but it was fun to make."

"You did a good job."

"Thanks...I thought was time to try something new."

He agreed.

You ate dinner together the next night too, and the next, and the next night after that.

Helmut grew to enjoy the time you spent together—it was a pleasant change of pace.

Even so, he had his ‘business’ to attend to. He would still have to leave.

Sometimes he would go for hours, sometimes he’d be gone for days, and sometimes entire weeks would go by and Helmut wouldn't call or even text you.

And you were frustrated.

Once he returned home to find you painting angry red lines across what might have been an abstract swirl of blue and gray.

One evening discovered you rearranged the dining room completely.

Then one day, during dinner, you attempted to bridge the gap between you once again.

"I received a message last night," You began, "a reminder that I purchased tickets to see a play last year.” It was summer, but the season had been unusually rainy, confining you inside for most of the week. “I’d have to travel to see it but it might be fun. Would you like to see it with me?”

"I'll be gone again soon," Helmut told you. “My apologies.”

You frowned.

"I haven't even told you the date. How do you know you’ll be busy?"

"I have plenty of work to keep me busy through the end of the year." His reply hung in the air for what felt like an eternity. He didn’t even bother to look up as he continued. "If you need to travel, I'll speak with Oeznik about arranging that for you."

You looked down at your plate, sighed, and set down your utensils.

"It's fine." You told him, but it wasn't. You were angry at his rejection, at his nonchalance.

"You know...you don't need to force yourself to be here with me, Helmut." You stared directly across the table at him, meeting his gaze. "We don't have to stay together if you don't want to. I have my benefits from the veterans association now so...if there's somewhere else you'd rather be-"

"There isn't." Helmut looked at you, his eyes dark piercing. "How could you think that?"

“How could I not when I never know if you're going off to the market or leaving for weeks?” A dangerous edge crept into your voice and you didn’t bother to amend it. “What sort of 'business' are you conducting? You won't even tell me."

"You don't need to worry," he tried to assure you, but his weak appeal only seemed to make you angrier.

And that anger, your anger,  frustrated him to no end.

Who were you to question what he did with his time?

Heike always understood when he was gone for longer than expected. When he returned, she greeted him with joy and relief, not accusation and scorn.

But you...he didn't know what he expected from you.

You weren’t his wife, you weren’t involved romantically. You weren't even friends, not really.

So really, what tethered him to this place?

What he planned to do was dangerous; he might not even survive. He fulfilled his promise to see after your well-being, did everything he said he'd do, and yet...and yet…

You sighed, huffed really, and gathered your plates quickly.

“I’m trying, I’m really trying but I’m tired, Helmut,” you told him. “You go and move us to this...this ritzy tourist city and what am I supposed to do? Find friends with similar life experiences? I can’t even sleep through the night and you...you just...” You take a breath as you turn away, leaving with your half-eaten plate.

“I don't... I don't fit in here.” You confess resignation carried in your voice. “I don’t think you understand that and I don’t think we’re good for each other either. ” You decided. “We’re too different. I appreciate you trying to help me, I do, but… but maybe I should leave.”

***

Thanks for reading! You’ve come so far and soon you will be rewarded. Next chapter we’ll see the steps Helmut took to amend your relationship. And in the present timeline, we get to see something super cute (something that involves hand-holding, perhaps?)

Feedback is very much appreciated. Please tell me what you think!

Tag list: 

@actuallyanita

@fillechatoyante

@viviace 

@buckyandlokicanhaveme

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#zemo #helmut zemo #baron zemo #zemo x reader #baron zemo x reader #I know I'm the one who designed this story to be a slow burn #and yet #I'm really looking forward to sharing the next chapter

[needtherapy]

The Necromancer’s Apprentice

Xue Yang has seen The Dark House and he’s heard the rumors that a zombie, a witch, and a necromancer live there. It’s stupid, obviously, but...well...maybe he’ll just sneak in one night and find out.

It’s better than doing nothing. It’s better than going back to the group home. It’s better than sleeping on the street.

Aka, three mildly feral twentysomethings are forcibly adopted by one (1) very feral thirteen-year-old Xue Yang.

Read on AO3

Many thanks to @coslyons for co-writing this with me (all the funniest parts belong to them) and @kevinkevinson for beta.

There is a Dark House in Ballard, and people say to avoid it.

It is probably not called the Dark House because evil lurks inside, although there is some debate about that. It is called the Dark House because it is black from threshold to cupola, from shutters to frames, and it looms on a block where whimsical shops of brick and steel are far more common. Unlike the thrift store and the record shop, the hiking outfitter and the vegan patissiere, no ivy reaches toward the roof of the Dark House. Unlike the local yarn store, no dogs sniff the Dark House’s gate, although at least two cats—also black, naturally—are always sitting on the porch.

It may not be fair to judge a house by its color, but the local legends are clear. If you step on the cracks in the sidewalk, the Dark House will steal your soul. The wrought iron gate of twining snakes comes alive under the light of the full moon to snap at unwary joggers. Children who walk alone after dark get eaten, and the yard is full of bones that wail songs of their murders.

Xue Yang sits on a bench, across the street, eating ice cream and admiring the house. He wonders about the sanity of people who mow the lawn and trim the roses, yet painted their pretty little house black, until it occurs to him that he could just go inside and find out.

He waits until dark, not to stay hidden, but because it’s a more terrible idea, and Xue Yang always gives himself permission to do more terrible things whenever he gets the chance. The high iron fence buzzes with a strange kind of energy that crackles in his palms, so Xue Yang wraps his hands tightly in his flannel shirt as he climbs over. His mother always said he was a practical boy, back when she was still around to say things.

Xue Yang lands in the backyard with a quiet thump onto thin and scraggly grass. The center of the yard is dark under the watery moonlight, with the dirt churned up and loose, and for the first time, a tiny twinge of warning pings in the back of his mind.

He ignores it.

With a flick of his wrist, he summons his knife, a long black switchblade that is seven kinds of illegal and which he loves more than anything else he has ever had, not that there is much competition. With nimble and practiced hands, he slides the knife between the door and the frame, twisting just right when he reaches the lock. With a grin of triumph, he turns the handle, shaped like a gaping mouth, and opens the door.

In the center of the room, there is a long sort of table that seems somehow to pull all the darkness of the room toward it. The shadows gather most thickly around a large, human-shaped lump laid out stiffly on top of it. Xue Yang reaches out to poke it and feels something unexpectedly warm give slightly under his finger.

The shadowy lump on the table sits upright with a sudden jerk.

The shadowy lump on the table sits upright with a sudden jerk.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Xue Yang shrieks.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHH!” the shadowy lump shrieks back.

“Why the fuck is everyone yelling?” a voice says, and the room is suddenly filled with light.

The shadowy lump rips off the sheet and turns into a guy in his early twenties with a scraggly little beard and wicked bedhead. The voice belongs to a grumpy-looking woman wearing a fluffy pink bathrobe. She squints at him in the oppressive brightness, glaring for a long moment before apparently deciding to deal with the man on the table first.  

“Wei Wuxian, I’ve told you a thousand times that the workshop is not a place for sleeping.”

“Technically—” the man begins, before being abruptly cut off by the woman.

“If the next words out of your mouth aren’t ‘yes, Wen Qing,’ then I don’t care. Go to bed.” She rounds on Xue Yang and he takes a tiny, involuntary step back. “You. What are you doing here?”

Before Xue Yang can answer, another guy—this one with long hair, killer tats, and a dedication to the goth look Xue Yang has to admire—runs in with a baseball bat held in his hands like a club.

“Jiejie! Is there something wrong?”

The woman—Wen Qing, she’d said—pinches the bridge of her nose and says, “It’s fine, A-Ning. I’m just trying to figure out what this little hooliganthinks he’s doing breaking into my house and tripping all of my wards while I’m trying to fucking sleep .”

Xue Yang is now convinced that what he’s broken into is some kind of madhouse, and he pastes a charming smile on his face, the one he uses when fists are clenched and the smell of alcohol burns in his nose. The smile whispers words like “anger issues” and “prone to destruction,” and it’s usually weapon enough, but he holds his knife a little tighter too, just in case.

The woman snaps around like she’s felt his fingers grip the handle of the blade and holds out her hand. “Give it to me.”

No. He will not. His chin tips dangerously, his smile grows icy spikes.

Her eyes narrow. “I could just take it.”

They face off for a minute, the tension almost palpable. Actually, Xue Yang thinks, it’s not tension after all. There’s something else in the air. It reminds him of the buzzing fence, and he doesn’t like the way it confuses him.

“Ah, Wen-jie, let him keep her. Can’t you tell? The kid is scared, they’re both scared, and it’s not like he can hurt us.”

Xue Yang is offended. He is not scared, but he’s relieved that Wei Wuxian spoke up all the same, because even though Wen Qing purses her lips and looks annoyed, she drops her hand.

“Fine.” She crosses her arms again. “Wei Wuxian, make sure our little guest leaves. I’m resetting the wards in five minutes and going back to sleep.”

“Yeah, sure.” Wei Wuxian grins and shoots finger guns at Wen Qing. “Sleep well and dream of me.”

Wen Qing rolls her eyes. “Yes, because I love having nightmares.”

“Oh shoo.” Wei Wuxian flicks his hand at the goth man and Wen Qing. “To bed with you both. I can handle it.”

Their footsteps creak on the wooden floors as they walk further into the house. Xue Yang and Wei Wuxian wait in silence until the footsteps quiet, and then Wei Wuxian turns to Xue Yang. The grin he’d been wearing drops off his face and he looks serious, his eyes shaded and dark.

“Look kid, you should know better than to piss off powerful witches. It tends to be bad for the health.” The side of his mouth just barely tilts upwards, more wry than mirthful, and he looks old now. Old and grey and tired. “So, we’ll just call this a learning experience, and you’ll never come here again, right?”

Xue Yang snorts. “Are you kidding? If you’ve got real magic why the fuck would I leave now?”

“Toddlers shouldn’t swear.”

“I’m almost fourteen, fuck you very much.”

“Ah yes, I am now so convinced you are an adult.” Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes. “It’s two in the morning. You want to go home and go to bed. There’s nothing here for you to be curious about at all.”

Something sibilant and musical weaves its way through the words, and Xue Yang has his hand on the door knob before he fights off the slithering compulsion.

Holy fuck that was cool.

“Nah, I think I’ll stay,” he says, sauntering back casually, pausing to look at a weird painting of a monster facing off with an axe-wielding guy in front of a lighthouse. He feels a very strong sense of camaraderie with it right now.

Wei Wuxian sighs. “Sure, maybe you’ve got a little gift. But you’re a kid. Don’t you have parents who are going to, you know, notice you’re missing?”

Xue Yang stares him in the eyes, willing himself not to flinch. Something tells him this is a chance he’s never going to have again, a chance that requires honesty.

“No.” Xue Yang lifts his chin stubbornly. “I don’t.”

Wei Wuxian stares back, and Xue Yang gets the feeling that he sees all the years and all the disappointments that fit into that no. He doesn’t care. No one gives you what you want unless you take it.

This standoff lasts forever, or maybe it’s only a few seconds.

“She’s going to kill me,” Wei Wuxian mutters, and a little louder, “You can sleep on the couch tonight, but I’m locking you in the room and if you touch anything, I will turn you into a mannequin.”

He turns to leave, but looks back with a frown. “Wen Qing builds beautiful, elegant wards that you’ll never feel, never even notice if she doesn’t want you to. Mine will hurt. Don’t. Touch. Anything.”

Xue Yang decides, in the principle of magnanimity, to agree. “Whatever.”

Wei Wuxian shakes his head and points a finger at Xue Yang. “Go to sleep, kiddo.”

The words hold Xue Yang’s hand and lead him to the couch, make him lay down, and within minutes, he is asleep.

He opens his eyes to piercing sunlight and a pale face inches from his.

“What the fuck!” he yelps, instinctively grabbing for his knife and snapping it open.

“Mr. Wei, he’s awake and noisy,” the face says, and Xue Yang focuses on its features.

It’s the goth guy. His arms have full-sleeve tattoos, matching patterns of stark black geometric lines and circles, but his neck has weird black veins tattooed on it. His eyes, which are still way too close to Xue Yang’s, are so dark they’re practically black.

“Where’s the witch?” Xue Yang asks, sufficiently recovered to be an asshole.

“Boiling children,” Wei Wuxian retorts. He’s leaning over the table and taking notes in a tattered book, poking something with a tiny screwdriver. “It’s the only reason we let you stay.”

“Really?” Xue Yang can’t decide if that’s cool or terrifying.

“He’s always like that in the morning,” Goth Guy says conspiratorially. “By ten, he’s pretty nice again.”

“I’m never nice,” Wei Wuxian grumbles. “A-Ning, can you take our miscreant home, please? The last thing I need is cops knocking on The House door asking if we’re kidnapping children. Again.” “Okay, Mr. Wei.”

Xue Yang panics. He can’t go back there. Not since they found him alone with the fire. He knows what they’ll do, and he can’t go back. He won’t . He ducks under Goth Guy’s arm and has his knife angled under Wei Wuxian’s chin before he’s even processed the motor function commands “get up” and “don’t let him send you away.”

“No! You have to…” He scrambles though thoughts, desperate ideas, each one crazier than the last before he hits on words that work themselves loose from his mouth. “You said I had a gift, you have to teach me to use it.”

Wei Wuxian frowns, but instead of being afraid or angry, he tips his head and whistles, two notes that almost sound like a name. To his great shock and horror, Xue Yang’s knife vibrates in his hand, and his fingers snap open like a broken trap, dropping the knife onto Wei Wuxian’s waiting palm. He carefully folds the blade back into the handle.

“Jiangzai,” he says, almost affectionately.

It doesn’t mean anything, but then it does , and it hits Xue Yang so hard he collapses to the ground. The knife has a name, and he knows it’s right as soon as Wei Wuxian says it. Xue Yang’s heart pounds, and he hates it. He hates this motherfucker who just took his knife away and he hates the Goth Guy who is helping him back to his feet. He doesn’t want to stay anymore, and he shakes off Goth Guy, wishing he could throw his kindness on the floor and stomp on it.

Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes. “Okay, maybe you have a little bit more than a little bit of a gift. But you still can’t stay, and I’m not teaching you anything.”

Xue Yang snatches his knife— his Jiangzai—out of Wei Wuxian’s hand and stomps to the door. “Fine. Fuck you.”

He gets as far as yanking the door open and slamming it against the wall before he realizes that there is a person in the way, and she doesn’t look inclined to move.

“Here you go, kiddo,” she says, handing him a bag. “I bought you some clean clothes and a toothbrush. A-Ning will show you where the bathroom is. Come back down for breakfast when you’ve changed.”

This is somehow more terrifying than when she was yelling at him. Yelling he understands. Now she’s just being...creepy. He stares at her belligerently, and she sighs.

“Listen, you little shit,” she says, bending over to look him dead in the eye. She doesn’t have to bend very far, he realizes. She’s actually tiny, even though she seems as big as the Fremont troll. “You will either go willingly with A-Ning, who is very nice, or you can test my patience and get buried in the yard with all the rest of the naughty children who break into my house. Your choice.”

Yeah, that’s more solid ground.

“Fine.” He grabs the bag from her and waves at the Goth Guy. “Lead the way, A-Ning .” He means it to be an insult, but Goth Guy just grins.

Xue Yang hears Wei Wuxian ask, “Wen Qing, what the fuck,” before Goth Guy herds him up the wide staircase, and he doesn’t hear any more of her answer than, “A-Xian, I can’t let him leave. You don’t understand, I did a location…”

This close to the Goth Guy, Xue Yang decides to acknowledge that the pale translucence of his skin is probably not makeup.

“I’m Wen Ning, by the way. I doubt Mr. Wei or jiejie introduced me,” Goth Guy—Wen Ning—says in a casual tone.

“So are you actually dead or what?” he asks Wen Ning, and Wen Ning grins.

“Or what,” he answers enigmatically, and gently shoves Xue Yang in a bathroom with pink tiles and a claw-foot tub.

Once he’s bathed and changed, Xue Yang heads back downstairs. Breakfast is bacon, eggs, and toast, and he doesn’t even pretend it isn’t the best food he’s eaten in a week. It is, in fact, the first food he hasn’t stolen in a week, and that alone is a novelty.

He’s halfway done with his food when Wei Wuxian, who hasn’t touched a bit of his and looks as sullen as an orange, says, “I have been informed that there is some arcane rule about teaching a gift you discover, and my...how did you put it, dear Wen Qing? My immortal soul and earthly being will be in danger if I don’t capitulate to the inevitable?”

He glares at Wen Qing, and she smiles sweetly at him.

“Whatever,” Xue Yang says around a mouthful of eggs. “Are you going to eat that?”

Wei Wuxian passes him the plate of food, and Xue Yang closes his eyes in bliss. Food is amazing.

“There are conditions—don’t look at me like that, Wen-jie. I agreed, okay? I get to set conditions. First of all, you do whatever I tell you. If I tell you to sell turnips on the street corner, you better sell some goddamn turnips. Second, you don’t touch anything unless I say it’s okay. A lot of this stuff,” he waves his hand around the white and yellow room, which looks surprisingly cheerful for a kitchen in a black house, “is priceless and dangerous, so…”

Wen Qing clears her throat and glares at Wei Wuxian.

“Uh...don’t touch anything.” Wei Wuxian finishes, snaking a piece of bacon from Xue Yang’s plate and shoving it into his mouth before disappearing back into his workroom.

Wen Qing rolls her eyes. “I promise he’ll actually teach you stuff once he pulls his head—” She visibly checks herself. “Once he stops being an idiot. More bacon?”

The rest is on AO3

#the untamed #cql #mdzs #mo dao zu shi #xue yang #wei wuxian #wen ning #wen qing #Seattle #modern au #modern with magic #found family #the untamed fic #13k words #I just think teenage Xue Yang would have been very different with a family

[writingthingsisdifficult]

Saving the world (Double booking pt 2)

I was asked to write a second part, and as inspiration struck, well… here it is.

They've shared a room. Now what?

If you like it, let me know :D

Word count: 5655

Part 1

_______________________________________________________________________

The light is seeping under the curtains, dragging you back to the conscious world, but you're not ready to get up just yet. So you squeeze your eyes shut and stretch your back. It's stiff as a board, and your cheek has seemingly set in a permanently squished position. The room feels stuffy and warm, and there's a soft noise you don't recognise at first. But when you finally open your eyes, you can't help but smile.

Everything's a bit blurry without your glasses, but there's no mistaking the man sleeping in the bed next to yours. His arm, which you suddenly notice isn't gloved, but a prosthetic, is hanging over the edge of the bed, and if you strain your imagination, it's almost stretched towards you.

It looks like he hasn't moved at all during the night. Neither have you when you come to think of it. When you stretch again, your neck cracks as if you were eighty, and it's a struggle to lift one leg over the other, though that might just be that you're still half asleep.

As you fumble for your glasses, Bucky opens his eyes and gives you a sleepy smile. "Good morning."

Your heart skips a beat, and it's as if you've forgotten all suitable responses to such an innocent greeting. "Yeah." That's what comes out of your mouth, and you groan.

"You sleep good?" He yawns and props up on his elbow.

"Mhm. Like a baby."

"Me too."

You grin and roll over on your back just as the loudest growl erupts from your stomach. Heat creeps up your neck and ears, and you mutter a soft "Sorry."

Bucky laughs. "Don't apologise for being hungry. What do you say we go get some breakfast?"

"I could eat."

After a quick shower and a couple of frustrating minutes picking an outfit, you really don't want to look like a slob in front of Bucky, you're both seated in the restaurant, devouring the bacon and eggs like your lives depend on it.

The conversation is light. You're slowly getting to know each other. "I'm freelancing for the government," Bucky says and gulps down his orange juice. "It's all really boring, though."

You nod and stuff your mouth with bacon. "I'm sure it isn't. But paperwork, am I right?" you add with a chuckle.

Nodding, he wipes his mouth and takes another bite. "Mhm. How about you?"

"Oh, it's not very interesting. I freelance too, I guess. Right now I've been hired to design a calendar with paintings from the city. It's not well paid, but it's fun."

"So you're an artist? May I see some of your work?"

Suddenly you feel a bit self-conscious. That's weird. You haven't had doubts about your art in forever. "I've got some photos in my phone." You hesitate for a second, then fish it out and unlock it. Scrolling down, you find the series of paintings you did last spring. Green and lush, you get a pang of longing for the fresh air and colourful flowers. The contrast is vast from the grey city.

"Wow, these are good!" Bucky exclaims and starts gushing over your lines and colour and the composition, and you feel your ego inflating with every word. All you can do is sit there with a stupid grin on your face, and a pulsing heat in your cheeks, while he builds you up like he's a professional.

You've totally forgotten the time when the staff tells you that the restaurant, unfortunately, is closed now, but that you're welcome back for dinner later. With many an apology, the two of you get up and head to the lobby, where you stay, talking for almost an hour before you remember why you are here in the first place.

"Sorry," you say, and mean it. "I need to get some work done before the light goes. I was thinking of heading down to the harbour today. See if the water can inspire me."

"Oh. Yeah, I guess." Bucky looks down on his feet and gives you a small smile. Then he looks up again, his eyes shining, competing with the glorious smile that grows on his lips. "Do you mind if I come with you? I mean… you don't have to say yes, I just…"

"No, of course." You're relieved that he asked, letting you out of asking him yourself. "Some company would be lovely. Just gotta get my stuff. Meet you back here in ten minutes?"

He nods and sighs almost imperceptibly once you've turned away, watching as you almost skip towards the elevator. A tiny voice in the back of his head warns him that he has tripped and is going to fall hard if he doesn't get a grip soon, but he ignores it. The feeling is too pleasant to care just now.

The next few days you establish a routine of sorts. Bucky knocks on your door, asks to sleep next to you, you say yes, and you wake up, turned towards each other. After breakfast, you head out into the city, sometimes he's leading the way, sometimes you have a plan, and you spend the day drawing and talking and without realising it, falling hard for him. Every evening you have dinner in one of the restaurants near the hotel, and every evening you forget what is happening around you, and all you can focus on is Bucky.

_____________________________________________________________________

The sun is shining. A bird is singing in the tree behind you. You can barely hear the traffic from the road outside the park. Bucky is lounging on the grass, chewing on a straw, and you've been drawing him in secret for the past two hours, your original subject completely forgotten and rejected. When he looks up at you, his face is filled with happiness. "This is nice," he says, careful to mask his full joy.

"Yes, it is," you reply, quickly hiding the drawing under a sketch of the bridge and skyline.

He sits up and looks like he wants to say something, but he closes his mouth instead. After a small pause, he gets up and holds out his hand. "Let's go grab something to eat."

"Okay," you whisper, breathless from the feel of his hand in yours. "Lead the way."

He takes you to a small café at the edge of the park, explaining that it's famous for its fries, and they've got the bestdipping sauce, you just have to try it.

You're in the middle of the meal, laughing at a joke, when a shadow interrupts. Looking up, you hear Bucky mutter a curse under his breath, and you feel a pinprick of fear in your neck. He's glaring at the stranger, and the stranger surprisingly returns the look.

"Um…" You look between Bucky, sat at the table with a curly fry sticking out from the corner of his mouth, staring daggers, to the man who just interrupted your lunch. The truth smacks you in the head with force. Holy shit! That's Captain America. Captain freaking America! And it slowly dawns on you who Bucky really is.

The glass you just picked up slides back to the table, sprite sloshing over the sides as it hits, but you don't realise your hand is cold and wet. All you can focus on is that your roommate for the last week is… Bucky Barnes, AKA The Winter Soldier. Yeah. You try very hard to swallow the food in your mouth, but it's so dry, and forcing it makes your throat ache.

Said soldier quickly chews the curly fry and swallows thickly. "What do you want, Sam?"

Sam hands him a pad, and upon reading the contents, Bucky's frown deepens.

"It's very nice to meet you," Sam says, his shining smile lighting up the whole room. "I'm Sam, by the way."

"Y/N," you reply, still unaware that the hand you're using to shake Captain America's hand with is wet and slightly sticky. Actually, you're kinda unaware of your surroundings altogether.

Sam laughs, making Bucky look up from the message, scowls at Sam, then returns to his reading. "So you're the one who's keeping Bucky busy, huh?" He winks, and you feel that heat creeping up the back of your neck. "From the look on your face, I'd say you didn't know who you're having lunch with, right?"

You nod, squeaking a confirmation.

Sam laughs. "I thought after the whole Flag Smashers case, everybody knew who Bucky was."

Your ears burn, and you breathe a little faster now. Of course, you've been to the exhibit at the Smithsonian, and of course you know about Steve Rogers' best friend, it just never connected in your brain that this super sweet man is a WWII hero and assassin.

Your eyes flick from his prosthetic arm and up to his face. "Uh… I'm just not super into the whole celebrity thing?" you offer, blurting out the first thing that pops into your head.

Snickering, Sam turns to Bucky. "And you didn't tell her?" There's a hint of annoyance in his voice.

Bucky picks on a stain on the table before setting up a defiant face. "It didn't come up." And he wants to add And by the way, how do you go about saying Oh, and FYI I'm a former assassin and murderer, to a woman you really want to get to know better?

He looks so uncomfortable, you get a strong urge to hug him, but now you're uncertain of all this. What if the two of you are against the rules? Wait, what are you, really? Friends? Accidental roommates? You like Bucky. You really like Bucky, and you had kinda hoped it would grow into something… more, but now… Swallowing the lump in the back of your throat – that was an unexpected reaction – you smile flatly. "Are, are you allowed to, to… I mean, can you be friends with…" You swallow again. "Civilians?"

Sam's eyes widen for a split second, and somehow you feel as though he can see right through you. Then he laughs, and all the tension around the table dissipates. "Of course. We're human, Bucky's human, as difficult as that is to believe. Of course we're allowed to have friends, relationships, family. Wouldn't be much of a life without it, would it? But expect them to do a background check on you, hell, they probably already know what you ate for dinner on your twelfth birthday."

"Oh."

"I'm sorry, Y/N, but I'm afraid I have to whisk your boyfriend away for a while. There's a situation."

"We're… we're not…" You have to admit that thought feels good, but really, any hope you had has been well and truly smashed.

Bucky gets up and smacks the pad at Sam. "I'll see you later?"

"I'll be here," you reply with fake confidence. "Please be safe. Both of you," you add with a small smile.

"You too," Bucky says softly. "Be careful if you go out after dark. It's not as safe as you think here."

That makes you snort. "It's me. I don't even like people, what am I supposed to do outside after dark, huh? Don't worry. I'll probably stay in my room and paint all day anyway."

He mutters something that sounds suspiciously like "good", but it's hard to hear over Sam. "I'll take care of him," he laughs, ducking under Bucky's hand as he swats at his head. "Come on, Buck. Let's roll."

"Be safe," you mutter again, looking after them as they head to the black, unmarked car waiting by the flower shop on the corner. It's as if all colour drains from your vision.

_______________________________________________________________________

The first sip of coffee feels divine; just what you need to wake up after spending another night without Bucky. It has been another restless night. You tossed and turned and couldn't settle properly. And the dreams… You'd rather not think about them. Never before has your brain produced such chaotic absurdities, such eldritch horrors, but to be honest you're not really surprised. Sleeping next to Bucky; something just clicked. You smile into your cup, feeling calmer just thinking about it. It's weird how quickly you got used to his presence, and how wrong it feels when he isn't there.

But you don't get to enjoy your drink for long. Before you've even finished the second sip, someone shoves you hard from behind. The coffee spills over the sidewalk, painting the concrete and splashing all over your shoes. "Hey! Watch where you're going!" you bark, turning to confront whoever pushed you. But before you can even see them, they pull a bag over your head.

Panic rises in you, and you scream until your throat feels raw. Someone smacks you across the mouth, and the shock and pain shuts you up. Your lip thumps: it's split, you can taste the blood now. Tears stream down your cheeks, the soft fabric of the bag clings to your skin. Feeling the darkness caress your mind, the world starts folding in over itself. Still you possess enough awareness to kick the person holding you. They yelp and swear, resulting in a sharp rap over your ear. Your head is ringing.

A pair of strong arms pick you up as if you weigh nothing, and haul you along, struggling with your flailing arms and legs. There's a metallic clang, like a van door opening, then you're half lifted, half pulled up, all while screaming and cursing, hoping someone – anyone – will hear.

Someone speaks a language you don't recognise; your sleeve is pushed up and there's a sharp prick in your arm. Seconds later your brain starts spinning. The faint light that seeps through the weaving of the bag blinks like a starry sky.

You sway back and forth, feeling off kilter and fuzzy, as the voices around you grow all garbled and muted. Someone pushes you backwards, but before you hit the floor, you're out. As the world fades from your consciousness, you just wish you could have seen Bucky one more time.

When you come to, your head is pounding, your mouth is dry, and everything is dark. You try to move, but your hands are shackled, and your feet are bound to whatever you're sitting on. At least you're right side up, you think, before the situation dawns on you, and the contents of your stomach threatens to make an appearance. You swallow thickly. God, your mouth is so dry. Your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth, and there's not enough liquid to even wet your lips. All you can do is grimace, feeling how they crack and pop. It stings. The taste of metallic, rusty blood coats your tongue.

Your throat itches, so much so that you can't even speak, but you can cough. Hard, like explosions in your head, and it's enough for you to lose your breath.

Something floppy is shoved into your hands.

"It's upside down, you idiot!" someone shouts, and the paper is turned.

Panic surges through your body, and your throat constricts, increasing your coughing. Your heart is racing, but everything happens so fast you just can't process it. Someone removes the bag from your head. The light burns in your eyes, and the shock stops your coughing instantly. Everything is white. There's voices, and movement, but you can't see anything clearly, and for a moment you wonder if you've lost your contact lenses. Slowly your vision returns, but they all keep to the shadows, and they've covered their faces, so you can't make out any details. The buzzing in your ears almost drown out every sound in the room.

"Look straight ahead," they command, and by some miracle you actually manage to move your head. "Keep your eyes open. Ready!"

There's a bright flash, someone else yells "Got it!" and then, in a flurry of motions you're untied, dragged through a dark hallway and unceremoniously dropped on the floor. The door clangs ominously behind you, and you freeze, waiting for someone to grab you or hurt you. There's no one in the room, but you remain in the floor, rubbing your wrists and trying to calm your breathing.

It's cold in your cell, room, whatever people call it, but at least you've got a blanket, and they've fed you, so there's that. But no matter how many times you've asked, nobody tells you anything.

You're over the initial shock now, and the fear has begun to settle into anger, but you're too numb to react.

"Who are you? Why are you doing this to me? I'm no one, never been important in my whole life, hey, someone please say something." Silence. You bang on the door, not sure what you're hoping for. In the back of your mind you know it's risky, but you need to know. The silence is making the walls come closer. You lick your lip. It's bleeding again.

You figure your friendship with Bucky has something to do with your current predicament, but you're not sure exactly what they hope to achieve. It's not like you're best friends or anything, but maybe what you have is enough for him to come for you. That thought sends an electric jolt straight to the small of your back. For a moment you allow yourself to hope, to imagine him blasting through the door and marching in with murder in his eyes, angels singing, and the light surrounding him like a halo.

You laugh grimly. What are even the odds of him finding out where you are? Does he even care? He is the Winter Soldier, after all. He's probably got better things to do, he's busy saving the world, no doubt.

_______________________________________________________________________

Bucky smiles as he walks through the hallway, the ugly carpet muting the urgency in his steps. He can't wait to see you again. It's only been four days, but it feels like forever so the moment he got the all-clear after mission report, he made Sam drop him off at your hotel.

A short walk later he's standing outside your room, heart in his throat and arm outstretched, ready to knock. His stomach dances, pure happiness courses through him. It's been so long since he felt like this; he swears he can almost feel it in his metal arm.

A soft knock. No answer. He knocks again, harder this time. Still no answer. It's only a few minutes past eleven, you won't be asleep yet. You never fall asleep before midnight.

Suddenly it's like someone's poured a bucket of ice water over him. Putting an ear against the door, he listens like some kind of creep, but the room is silent. Maybe you're out. But that doesn't make sense either. It's too dark to get any proper work done, and you're not one for night clubs, or so you've said. Could you have checked out? Bucky's heart skips a beat. What if you're gone? But… wouldn't you at least have left him a message?

Turning on his heel, he marches back to the elevator as if he's got the devil on his tail. There's a really nasty feeling growing in his gut, something he just can't afford to think about now.

He presses the elevator button multiple times, but it takes its sweet time, so instead, he heads to the stairs, taking several steps at once, then skips the steps altogether and jumps over the railing, landing with a heavy thud on the ground floor.

There's a tenseness to his stride as he walks to the front desk, feeling more and more anxious with every breath. He never thought he'd feel this way again; that pit in his stomach and the growing stone in his chest. Last time, he was on a plane, heading for Italy in 1943, not knowing what was waiting for him.

"Excuse me," he says, rather gruffly, spooking the receptionist, though how she didn't hear him stomping through the lobby is a mystery. His own ears buzz loudly, and it's a miracle he can hear her at all.

"Good evening. How may I help you?" She smiles in that professional way people do when they're interrupted and don't really want to talk.

Bucky glances at the reflection in the glass wall behind her. Solitaire. He shakes his head to clear it a bit. "Um, yeah. Is there a message for me? For James Barnes or maybe Bucky."

She looks through the papers on the desk and shakes her head. "Sorry."

He closes his eyes and breathes through his nose. "Okay. Don't suppose you could tell me if Y/N has checked out of room 508?" His brows furrow, but he tries to smile anyway.

Another head shake. "I'm sorry. I'm afraid I'm not allowed to disclose that kind of information." She looks briefly at her screen, then back up at Bucky, fake smile plastered on her face.

Bucky bites his tongue and swallows the rage that's building in him. It's not the receptionist's fault. She doesn't understand. But then he gets an idea. "Right, of course," he says, making his voice sweeter. "But maybe you will allow me to leave her a message?"

"Certainly. Let me grab a pen and paper for you."

So you haven't checked out. From the look on her face, the receptionist doesn't realise she's confirmed his suspicions. Well, he'll leave a message just in case, but it's time for drastic measures.

Outside it's dark now. Low clouds are threatening with rain. No one sees the dark figure slipping around the corner and jumping to grab the lowest rung of the fire ladder. Bucky easily hoists himself up, and climbs to the fifth floor, keeping to the shadows and making as little noise as possible. He knows where the window to your room is, and in less than a minute he's standing on the tiny balcony, peering in.

The room looks untouched. The bed is made, your stuff is all there. There's an almost finished portrait on the sketch pad on the desk; a smiling, content picture of himself. Nothing is missing except you. Bucky is three seconds from losing it.

A cold raindrop hits the back of his neck, drawing him from his haze. Soon the sky has opened up, and he's blasted with icy water. It soaks through his jeans, and drips from his hair into his eyes. Without looking back, he slides down the fire ladder and lands in a puddle. He doesn't know what to do next. Maybe Sam knows, so he ducks back into the hotel to get out of the rain, but before he can make the call, he's interrupted by the receptionist.

"Mr Barnes, I apologise. I didn't see this before. Someone left this for you." The woman hands him a large, brown envelope. All of a sudden he's transported back in time; drowning in flashes of memories of past missions, but he shakes himself out of it. Leaning on the column by the door, he opens the envelope.

There's nothing in there but a photo. It makes his stomach turn, and for the first time since he's been free, he has to fight the rage of the Winter Soldier, expanding, threatening to explode and send him on a vengeance fuelled killing spree. "When? Do you know who delivered it?" His voice is darker than usual, and the woman steps back just from the sound.

"I'm sorry," she squeaks. "It's been here for a couple of days, I think. I wasn't here when it was delivered." She hurries back behind her counter, putting a safe distance between them.

Bucky adjusts his stance, and forces his voice to sound kinder. "Thank you. Is there somewhere I can make a phone call, undisturbed?"

She nods and points to a nook behind the oversized fern in the corner. There's a sliding glass door that will provide some privacy.

Turning the envelope over in his left hand, Bucky is careful to not leave any more fingerprints on it. It is unmarked, but he knows people who can read things that no one else can see.

Whipping out his phone, he dials the first number in the contact list. He doesn't realise it, but he's shaking. The four seconds it takes for Sam to pick up are an excruciating eternity, and Bucky grips the door handle to keep himself from running off without a plan.

Before he can even say hello, Bucky wheezes: "They've got her, Sam!"

"Who?"

"Y/N! They've taken her!" He closes his eyes. The photo has burned into his mind.

"I'm on my way."

Bucky relaxes his grip on the door. There's a dent in the metal, and that makes him even angrier. They've made him lose control. He curses as he exits the tiny room, pacing over the floor, waiting for the voice of reason to arrive.

Being Sam, being Captain America, opens a lot of doors, so when he shows up at the hotel, requesting to look through the surveillance tapes – though it really is a demand; he's got a way with words, Bucky muses, thinking back to when he realised that what he first took as being soft, really isn't soft at all. Anyway, they all fawn over each other, fighting to be the one to give Cap access. Bucky can hardly watch.

"Give us a few minutes," Sam says with a smile, settling in front of the computer.

"Of course." The manager bows and closes the door.

Then Sam turns to Bucky. "Okay. When did you see her last?"

"Four days ago, right before we left on that goddamn mission." He wants to beat himself that he exposed you to danger, and he resists the urge to take out his irritation by slapping Sam over the head. Instead he settles on a flat, emotionless that he hopes conveys all his frustration.

"Right, so somewhere after last Thursday, then." Sam pushes a button, selects the right floor and presses play. Nothing happens for a while, and he pushes a new button, making the footage speed up.

"There!" Bucky shouts, pointing at the screen. There you are. Leaving your room with a large bag over your shoulder. Bucky smiles in spite of his fear. A soft expression on your face and your trusty art supplies at your side. Everything looks normal.

Fast forwarding through the footage, nothing out of the ordinary happens. You return around seven, looking a little bit tired, but happy enough. Food is brought to your room an hour later, and you don't go out again that night.

"Sensible girl," Sam comments, drawing Bucky out of his thoughts.

"Yeah. But she didn't know how much danger she was in."

The night passes in a blur. A drunk couple stumbles through the hallway around two in the morning, but other than that it's quiet, until you leave again around 10am, again with your bag over your shoulder. You look tired, yawning and dragging your feet. The bounce in your step is gone, Bucky notices, and he wonders if it has anything to do with your abduction.

They keep fast forwarding, but when the time stamp shows 11.30pm, Bucky's chest plummets. He knows you're not coming back.

Sam looks at him. “Calm down, man. You look like you’re about to explode!” he hisses, putting his hand on Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky shakes him off and glares. “Because I’m this close.”

“But that won’t do her any good, will it? We gotta keep our cool, don’t do anything rash.” Sam's voice is still calm. Bucky doesn't know how he does it.

"Fine." Bucky takes a deep breath, just how his therapist taught him. "Show me what direction she went."

Sam clicks and drags the front camera onto the screen. You stop outside for a few minutes, then head down the street towards the city centre. They follow you on the screen until you disappear from view.

There's a shoe shop on the corner where you turned, so after thanking the hotel manager for the help, they follow your moves through the city. The shoe shop doesn't have a quality video, but it's enough to recognise you. Tracking you through the streets feels like an endurance hunt, Bucky thinks, impatient to find out who took you and where you are. That's all he can focus on: to get you back. And god have mercy on your kidnappers if you're not okay. Eventually Sam and Bucky stop at a small restaurant, but they don't have surveillance at all.

"Okay. Let's head to that Starbucks," Bucky says, nodding across the road. "They're bound to have surveillance, right?"

Sam rolls his shoulders. "Let's go."

The video shows three large figures, lurking in the shadows in one of the side streets. They're watching as you enter the café, and when you exit with a large coffee in hand, the gang is ready. The footage jumps a bit, but it captures the terror in your face, and Bucky feels like throwing up. You're hauled into a waiting van, it's an unmarked, normal van, but as it speeds away, luck strikes. The camera got a clear shot of the number plate.

Bucky lets Sam handle the rest. He can't shake the guilt, the pit in his stomach that grows larger and larger. And his anger grows too. Why didn't anybody react, nobody can convince him that nobody heard or saw anything. He watches as Sam talks on the phone, already mentally punching your kidnappers to a pulp. The metal arm flexes involuntarily.

Sam puts down the phone and turns to Bucky. "Okay, so here's what they told me: The van isn't connected to anything, they didn't even have a name for me. It's probably a fake number plate. But they said it's been spotted driving to and from a warehouse not too far from here. Let's go suit up while we're waiting for the address."

Bucky exhales. They better hurry up with the address. You've been in captivity for far too long already.

_______________________________________________________________________

It's quiet in the building now. You don't know what time it is; they've taken all your stuff, but you know it's late. Your eyes sting, both from exhaustion and from wanting to cry, not to mention your contacts are getting dry, but you refuse to remove them – not being able to see would terrify you. But neither sleep nor tears come. Sitting on the cot, wrapped in the blanket they thankfully provided, you are too wound up to relax enough to sleep. What if someone comes in while you're out? There's not much chance to defend yourself, but at least if you're awake  you can try to put up a fight.

How long have you been here? It's hard to tell. After the first shock they've pretty much left you alone. Except for the interrogation a few hours later. They kept asking you about where Bucky is, what he's doing, details on his mission, but you told them, truthfully, that you don't know anything. And they seem to believe you. But they still won't let you go. You sigh and pull the blanket tighter around your shoulders. Even if you knew everything you wouldn't have told them anything, but you didn't say that out loud.

Suddenly there's a loud bang reverberating through the walls. Instinctively you flinch, trying to make yourself smaller. Your blood roar in your ears, and it feels like your heart is trying to beat its way through your rib cage. There's a pause – the silence is deafening, then someone yells. You hear gunshots. Heavy boots rush past your door. It's torture just listening to the fight, not knowing what will happen. What if there's a fire? Or what if you're abandoned here? Is this how you're gonna die?

The fight is getting closer. You drag the blanket over your head, locking your arms around your neck. Unfortunately it doesn't mute the sounds, and you have to remind yourself to keep breathing. Slowly the fight dies down, and for a moment everything is calm. You feel woozy, grateful that you're already sitting down, and you steel yourself for what comes next.

The door opens. Heavy boots slaps against the hard floor. Someone blocks out the light, and you feel a gentle hand on your shoulder, making you flinch and whimper.

A soft voice whispers in your ear. "Y/N?"

You forget to breathe again.

"Y/N," the voice repeats, coaxing you out of your makeshift cocoon.

You look up, and into the eyes of the man you never thought you'd see again. His face is blood-spattered, and his expression is a murderous rage, but the moment your eyes meet, he softens. "Bucky," you breathe, folding yourself out, and reaching for him like a toddler.

He scoops you up, holding you close as you begin to sob into his neck, and he rocks you back and forth until you calm a bit. "Are you hurt?"

Shaking your head, you climb down from his lap and looks over at Sam, hovering by the door. There's a look in his eyes that you can't quite decipher.

"You're bleeding," Bucky says, touching your lip gingerly.

"Oh." You don't know what else to say, as he helps you up on your feet. His arm stays around your shoulders all the way out into open air, and you lean into his embrace. The building is littered with bodies, some are definitely dead, others are being detained by soldiers dressed in black. Your knees buckle from the sight.

"Hey, I've got you," Bucky murmurs into your hair.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For coming to get me."

"Of course," Sam says, offering you a reassuring smile. "Why shouldn't we?"

You exhale shakily through your nose. "I thought you were busy saving the world and all."

Bucky pulls you closer.

"Don't you know?" Sam asks quietly, so no one else can hear. "You are his world."

_______________________________________________________________________

@schwarzwaelder-kirschtorte

#bucky barnes x reader #marvel fan fiction #fanfic #female reader #fluff #angst #marvel

[intu-witch-tion]

You’re An Asshole, Javier Peña.  {Javier Peña x Female Reader} Ch. 1

Summary: (I just finished Narcos for the second time and therefore have Javier on the brain.) You are a CIA agent working alongside Javier, who is an absolute JERK to you for reasons unknown. And to your dismay, you have been sent on a mission together. 

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: excessive foul language, angst, sexual implications, reluctantly soft!Javier 

You sat at your desk, leaning over your typewriter, focused on the report you were instructed to complete. But you were soon interrupted by a pair of hands reaching for the piece of paper from your machine and pulling it from the roller.

“What the fuck, Javier!” You exclaimed, standing up and reaching over the desk to steal back the page and missing as he crumpled it up and stuffed it into his pocket.

“What the hell was that little stunt you pulled back there?” He glared at you, his jaw tense. Both of your hands rested flat on the desk as you leaned over with a fierce look on your face.

“Give me back my report. Now.” The look on your face was serious yet flustered.

“I told you not to involve yourself in my case.” He retorted, his voice deep with a tone of warning.

“You should be thanking me. If it weren’t for my intel, Rodriguez wouldn’t be in custody right now.” You made your way around the desk slowly, ready to fight for your report that was stuffed into his grey pleated pants.

“You don’t know that…” His voice trailed, unwilling to admit that it was slightly possible you had helped his case.

In a swift motion, your stilettos slid across the floor as you tried to reach your hand into his pocket to retrieve what was yours. But he was faster than you, grabbing your wrist and giving you an admonishing look. You gritted your teeth, your other hand flying up to slap him across the face but once again, your plans were foiled, as he stopped you with his firm grip. Both of your wrists were held tightly in his grasp as you tried to twist and pull your way free.

He smirked at you, pleased with his triumph when Murphy walked in to see the two of you glaring at one another. “Uhhh. What’s going on?” He stared at the two of you for a moment, arms folded over his chest. Javier’s grip on your small wrists was unrelenting and no matter how hard you fought to free yourself, there was no breaking loose.

“Agent Peña has a very funny way of showing his gratitude for my assistance with the Rodriguez case.” You say through gritted teeth. Murphy sighed and shot Javier a look and in a matter of seconds, you were released from his grip. You rubbed your wrists, the skin a bit tender and made your way back over to your desk, adjusting your typewriter with a new piece of paper, a grimace plastered on your face.

A few minutes later, a balled-up piece of paper flew across the room, landing on your desk, courtesy of Javier. You cut eyes at him as he leaned back in his chair. You unfurled the page and proceeded to retype your report as the room fell silent for the next few hours.

Javier’s phone rang, breaking the silence. He took a long drag from his cigarette before answering it. You glanced over at him to find that he was looking at you, his eyes quickly diverting to his desk as he held the receiver to his ear.

He hung up the phone, standing from his desk, his back turned to you as he walked away. “Y/N. Stechner wants to see us. Let’s go.” Your brow furrowed, confused, and irritated at his piss-poor delivery of the message. You stood up and trailed after him.

Javier didn’t even bother holding the door for you as you walked into Stechner’s office. You scowled as he sat down. You reluctantly took the seat to his left. Stechner was scanning over some documents on his desk and then looked up at the two of you. “We have reason to believe that Pacho is meeting up with Navegante tomorrow night. And we need someone to get close to hear what they are planning. Y/N, since you have proven yourself useful in acquiring intel, we are going to send you in, under cover. Peña, you’ll be her back up.”

Javier shot up in his seat, white knuckling the arm rests. “Wait—hang on a second—is that really a good--” He began to argue, but Stechner held up his hand to shut him up. “Don’t argue with me. Learn to work together or I’ll suspend you both.” Your jaw dropped and you glared at Javier, but you chose the high ground. “Yes, sir.” You say obediently, standing to take your leave. Javier groaned, turning on his heels and back to his desk.

When you get back to your workstation, you stop at Javier’s desk. “Do you have to be so goddamned disagreeable? Am I that awful to work with, Peña?” You ask him, your face flushed as you look down at him. Refusing to look up at you, he reaches into his pocket for a cigarette, lighting it nonchalantly. He inhaled deeply, releasing an exhale as smoke purled from his lips. He said nothing. You huffed angrily at his disrespect, swiping your hand across his desk and knocking a stack of documents onto the floor. “You’re such an asshole.” When you turned your back to him, Javier sighed, clenching his jaw.

The next day…

You walked into the station, wearing a sexy yet professional black dress that hugged your curves in all the right areas. Red stilettos and red statement jewelry tied the look together. Knowing you were going under cover tonight, you made sure that you were dressed and ready so you could get down to business right after work. You turned heads the moment you walked through the door.

Your heels clicked against the linoleum floor as you made your way over to your desk, tossing your purse onto an empty chair. You didn’t catch the stares you received from Murphy and Javier as you settled in and started reviewing the file in preparation for tonight. You chewed on the end of your pen as you adjusted your reading glasses up the bridge of your nose.

As you were focused on your research, you didn’t notice Agent Garcia approach your desk. “Buenos Dias, Agent Y/L/N.” He started with a smile. You looked up at him, unamused but doing your best to remain polite. “Garcia. What can I do for you?” He perched onto your desk, half-sitting, half-standing, a grin on his face. “You uh. You look really nice today.” He managed. You grimaced, putting your pen down and pursing your lips. “Thank you, Garcia. Anything else?”

Javier groaned and rolled his eyes, fists clenching tightly. “Garcia, get the fuck out of here.” Peña blurted. Garcia stalled for a moment and realized that you weren’t going to protest for him to stay. He left in a hurry. When he was gone, you turned to Javier with a sneer. “I am more than capable of fighting my own battles, thank you.” Javier let out a sarcastic chuckle. “I didn’t do it for you. He was getting on my nerves.” You scowled and continued your evaluation of the report in front of you.

“We are leaving here at 3. Make sure you’re ready to go.” Javier stated plainly and you threw him a quizzical look. “Isn’t that a little early? The dinner isn’t until 8pm.” He walks off without a reply. 

You sat in the passenger seat of Javier’s Ford Explorer, arms crossed over your chest staring out the window. You had been on the road for 40 minutes, stuck in traffic. “This is why we needed to leave at 3.” He bemoaned. You shot him a look. “I had shit to do. And I thought you were just being dramatic.” He rolled his jaw in irritation. You didn’t think it would be a big deal leaving at 5 as you originally intended. Javier had been pressuring you to leave but you had so much paperwork to catch up on and a lot to do to prepare for this dinner.

“I’m sorry.” You muttered, crossing your legs. Javier’s eyes glanced over at you, admiring the way your black dress hiked up over your thighs. He pressed himself back into the driver’s seat, swallowing a lump in his throat. His right hand fell onto his knee, squeezing it into a fist and stretching his fingers thusly.

“So, what’s your plan?” He asked you suddenly, eyes glued to the road ahead. You brushed a piece of lint from your dress. “You’re not the only one who knows how to charm someone with witty conversation.” You remarked blandly. He chuckled under his breath, smirking over at you. “Oh yeah? So, is that little black dress of yours a conversation enhancer then?” His words were snide and if you didn’t know any better, tinged with jealousy. Your jaw dropped as you pushed your tongue along the teeth at the back of your mouth. “Fuck you, Javier.” You turn back towards the window.

“You couldn’t handle it, querida.” He chides and it took everything in you not to grab the wheel and turn the car into a tailspin. But you refused to give him the reaction he wanted. “You don’t know a fucking thing about what I can and cannot handle.” Your words were calm and placid. He turned to you quickly, surprised at the confidence in your voice, raising an eyebrow. “Yes, ma’am.” He replies with a smirk, looking back at the road.

An hour later, you arrived at the restaurant. It was nearly 8 o’clock and you knew that Pacho and Navegante would be arriving soon. Javier parked the car across the street as you opened your purse, applying a fresh coat of bright red lipstick. Javier watched you as you lined your lips slowly. Catching him staring, you turn towards him and he clears his throat a little, looking out the window to his left. Your face flushes a little. “I guess I should head inside and wait for them to arrive.” You said, reaching for the door handle of the car. A firm grip on your arm stops you from going any further. “Wait—” he blurted. You turned to him with a questioning look on your face. It was silent for a moment and you waited for him to speak.

“Be careful, Y/L/N.” He said after a long beat of silence. You were taken aback by the sentiment, so accustomed to his cold and unpleasant nature towards you. You gently place your palm on his hand which was still gripping your arm and smiled softly before opening the car door and walking towards the restaurant.

10pm

Javier sat in the car, slumped against the door trying not to fall asleep when he finally sees you step outside of the restaurant. Only...you’re not alone. Pacho’s arm was draped over your shoulder and you were laughing hysterically at something he must have said. Javier’s skin burned as he watched Pacho’s hand drop to the small of your back before he hands you a small piece of paper, kissing you on the cheek. Pacho climbed into his town car and drove off. You stand on the curbside for a moment, ensuring you are not being watched or followed before making your way back to Javi’s car.

Javier cuts eyes at you the moment you opened the door and you are immediately caught off guard. “What?” He rolled his eyes and groaned. “You were a little too cozy with him, don’t you think?” He accused. You glowered at him. Without saying a word, you handed him the small piece of paper that Pacho slipped to you. “What the fuck is this? His phone number?” Javier remarked rudely before snatching it from your hand. He unfolded it to see an address. You crossed your arms and glared at him. “He wants me to attend a party at his villa this weekend. And I believe La Quica will be in attendance.”

Javier was stunned. He couldn’t believe you had been granted an invite to such an exclusive party. “What did you have to do to get this?” He murmured, sounding almost disgusted. Your jaw dropped and you swiftly slapped him across the face before getting out of the car and slamming the door. Javier dropped his head back against the headrest of the driver’s seat and let out a loud sigh. “Fuck.” He groaned and opened the car door to chase after you.

He was shocked to see how quickly you could move in those red stilettos. You were already nearly 2 blocks away from him and he found himself having to jog to catch up. “Y/N!” He called after you, his tone laced with frustration. You didn’t know why, but you were crying. There was something about his accusation that hurt you. “Y/N! Would you fucking stop?!” You kept walking, picking up your pace now. You wiped your eyes and he caught up to you, grabbing you by the arm and turning you to face him. 

As if on cue, it began to rain.

“Do you really think so little of me, Javier?!” You exclaimed, tugging your arm against his grip in futility. He looked shocked at your question. But you continued, not giving him an opportunity to answer. “You’re so fucking shitty to me. And now I learn that you think me no different than the whores who keep you company at night? I just—I--” Your words are cut off by his lips crashing onto yours, the rain quickly drenching you both as your mascara runs down your cheeks. His arms wrapped around you in a tight embrace and you whimper softly against his lips, pleasantly surprised by what was happening.

He pulled away suddenly, cupping your cheeks in his hands and swiping his fingers gently across the makeup streaking down your face. He wore a pained expression, despite the tenderness you felt from him. “Jesus fucking fuck, Y/N! I fucking hate that I think about you all the time! I fucking hate that I am always worried about your well being and you are ALWAYS getting yourself into precarious situations that only make me worry more!” He was yelling now, trying to carry his voice over the torrential downpour you were standing in. “ I fucking hate that the other agents at the station talk about you and I have to pretend I don’t care…Y/N…I fucking hate that you make me feel things I never wanted to feel again.”

You blink erratically, trying to keep the rain from falling into your eyes. Taking in a broken breath, you brought your hands up to touch his forearms as he maintained his hold of your face in his palms. You shake your head, fighting back tears and failing miserably as they pool against your eyelids, falling to merge with the rain. “Javi…” you muttered, barely audible over the splashing of rainfall on the pavement and tin roofs of the shops that surrounded you. He didn’t wait for you to finish, kissing you again in a fever. You moan softly, opening your mouth and granting his tongue access to yours. You kissed as the rain poured heavily and he stopped just long enough to pull you into an alley and up against a wall.

There was an awning that stopped the rain from falling and he stopped to stare at you for a moment, the golden glow of the streetlights glittering in streaks and puddles along the alleyway. He smiled at you and kissed you so gently you felt your soul leave your body for a moment. “You’re an asshole, Javier Peña.” You whispered as your eyes scanned over his face tenderly. He chuckled, leaning in to plant a kiss against the shell of your ear before whispering back, “I know, querida. I know.” You ran your fingers through his wet hair and closed your eyes.

You pulled him down to kiss you deeply and felt his hand peeling your wet dress from your thigh. “We should get you out of these wet clothes.” You could feel him smiling as he mumbled against your lips. You chuckled. “Mmm. I have plenty of dry clothes at home, Agent Peña.” You feigned formality and he pulled away slightly with a devilish grin. “I didn’t say anything about dry clothes.” He kissed you softly again, his wet mustache tickling your upper lip.

You slipped your red heels from your feet, too slippery to walk in them, and Javier immediately hoisted you over his shoulder. “Hey! What the hell?!” You cried out and he laughed, his hand slapping across the back of your thighs. “You didn’t think I was going to let you walk barefoot on a Columbian street, did you?” You yelped followed by hearty laughter as he stepped back out into the rain and towards the car.

Chapter 2*

#Javier pena #javier pena x female reader #fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #fanfic #narcos #narcos fanfic

[ahgaseda]

to kill an empire || chapter 27

⇥ synopsis : when you agreed to marry Jaebeom, the heir to a lucrative but not quite legal organization, you never expected the boy who was once your greatest rival would inevitably become your most powerful ally…

⇥ warnings : this story in its entirety includes but is not limited to strong language, recurring gang violence, mentions of drug or alcohol abuse, and explicit sexual content, and is intended for an adult audience only!

Jaebeom remembered the sky had never looked so grey. The sun had all but gone. The clouds churned with thunder and the air was cold.

One moment you were all he could see and the next he was on his back and all he could see was that grey sky.

Your cries rang in his ears. He could hear you calling for him and god knew Jaebeom tried to talk. The coppery sting of blood was fresh on his tongue. His head was pounding. His heart was pulsing.

And his body was screaming.

Still, he could hear your voice and he searched for you among the clouds. But he never found you.

Consciousness came and went. Jaebeom vaguely remembered the ambulance. For a moment he saw the passing lights overhead in the hospital hallway. An EMT hurriedly relayed his condition to the attending surgeon, rushing him into the nearest operating room.

Jaebeom still tried to form words. Where were you? Had you been hurt? Was the bastard who grabbed you dead?

With the last fraction of his strength, Jaebeom grabbed the wrist of whoever was beside his gurney and choked out, “Is… is she… ?”

The EMT squeezed his hand and said, “Your wife is fine. She wasn’t hurt. They got the guy.”

Jaebeom let sleep take him then. You were no longer in danger. He could rest.

Your heels clicked with every step down the brightly lit hall. You held your coat folded over one arm and paid no mind to the strange glances you earned. Having an entourage of four men was quite a sight, you supposed.

Mark and Yugyeom were poised at your sides, unwavering. Jinyoung and Youngjae fielded shareholders and the press like it was second nature. The story was national news.

With everything covered, you were left to focus on Jaebeom.

Stepping into the hospital room, you came to a total stop. There lay your husband in his bed, sound asleep. He looked exactly the same. No indication a hole had been torn through his chest.

After surveying him, you shifted your gaze to the pair of burly men stationed at opposite ends of the room. You exchanged pleasantries and greeted, “Mark told me you were the best in the business.”

The one on the left said, “We arrived just as they were taking him into surgery and have not left his side since.”

The other chimed in, “We have observed nothing suspicious in that time.”

Mark warned you that whoever tried to kill Jaebeom would undoubtedly have the resources to try again and called in a favor to his military connections for round-the-clock security.

“Thank you,” you replied. “I have no intention of leaving this room until I am cleared to take my husband home. Naturally, Mark and Yugyeom will be with me, but I will continue to pay your current rate if you keep eyes on this hospital.”

“Yes, mam,” he responded. “We will make rounds. Mark has our numbers.”

You thanked them profusely as the pair left and Youngjae closed the door behind them.

Now, you could no longer stall.

Grabbing a chair, you draped your coat over the back and wheeled it alongside Jaebeom’s bed. Sitting slowly to avoid making much noise, you reached forward and took his hand in yours.

“Hi, baby,” you whispered, sniffling as the tears came quickly. “I’m here. I’m sorry it took so long.”

Jaebeom slept on, but the rhythmic beeping of the machines connected to him put you at ease.

For a while, you were content to just sit there, staring at him and rubbing his hand between yours. You were painfully aware how close you had come to losing him.

Suddenly, the door slammed open, followed by Jaebeom’s mother screeching, “I’ve been waiting for hours! My son is finally out of surgery and nobody deigned to tell me which room he was put in?”

You didn’t turn around. In fact, you never flinched. Watching the love of your life fall to the ground soaked in blood had broken something in you.

And then finding out his father was responsible all but buried what was left.

“You are not his next of kin or his power of attorney,” you replied calmly. “It was at my discretion of when you were informed of his room and I wanted to make sure he was secured first.”

Mrs. Lim bellowed, “How dare you!”

Giving Jaebeom’s slumbering form a hard look, you released his hand and stood to your feet slowly. Turning on your heels, you faced your mother-in-law and asked under your breath, “Did you know?”

“Did I know what?” she shouted with impatience.

Your stare was harsh and your tone icy. “Did you know just how far your husband was willing to go to keep his empire?”

Mrs. Lim blinked, suddenly glancing between you and her son. Tears appeared in her eyes faster than you thought possible. Then, she brought her hands to her mouth. “He didn’t,” she trailed.

You scowled, sizing her up. From the moment that gunshot rang through the air, everything became black and white. People became either friend or foe, no in between.

“He wouldn’t,” Mrs. Lim continued, though she sounded anything but convinced. “He wouldn’t hurt my baby.”

You swallowed. Part of you didn’t want to be the person to tell Mrs. Lim that she was married to a monster, but you were also wary. You knew the love you bore for Jaebeom and how you would unequivocally stand by his side even if he became the world’s worst enemy.

You could only imagine the bond if you shared a child together.

Which was why you didn’t know if you could trust her. It stood to reason she would remain loyal to her husband and father of her son.

Inhaling deeply, you decided protecting Jaebeom was more important than sparing her feelings and said, “You are a guest here. Behave accordingly.”

Mrs. Lim recoiled and spat, “My son almost died and you’re suggesting my husband - his father - had something to do with it and you are concerned about my behavior?”

You clocked her a glance. You weren’t heartless, but you were also not to be crossed. Turning away, you sat back in your chair and took Jaebeom’s hand back in your grasp again.

Mrs. Lim looked around the room, but the assistants and bodyguards had nothing to offer her. Shuddering through the rest of her anger, she grabbed a free chair and pulled it up to the bed on your opposite side.

After the tension in the room began to dissipate, Mrs. Lim whispered, “You truly love him, don’t you?”

“Like hell I do,” you replied without missing a beat, never taking your eyes from your husband’s hand.

She softened, relieved to know a fearsome protector was at her son’s side.

Silence followed. The two of you didn’t speak again. Youngjae and Jinyoung stepped into the hallway to conduct their phone calls out of respect. Mark and Yugyeom watched like hawks from their spots by the wall.

When night fell, the nurses continued their constant checking of Jaebeom’s vitals, but this time, added, “Sorry, but visiting hours are over. Only the spouse can stay overnight.”

Mrs. Lim was too emotionally exhausted to fight a battle she could never win, but was comforted that you would be keeping watch. Calling your name, she murmured, “Please contact me if his condition changes.”

You nodded. “I will.”

“I don’t know what kind of relationship you have with your mother,” she continued. “But a mother’s love is beyond what this world can understand. I love him more than anything. I am not your enemy.”

You finally afforded her a glance and whispered, “I understand. And I won’t let anyone touch him.”

She thanked you and gathered her purse, leaving through the door.

Jinyoung and Youngjae said their goodbyes, promising to work from the SUV outside or the nearest cafe. You ordered them to go home and get some sleep, insisting they would need to recoup their energy. Neither argued and Yugyeom agreed to drive them.

That left you and Mark, as only one bodyguard was permitted to remain in the room, given the special circumstances.

With a sigh, you stretched your arm and rested your head on the edge of Jaebeom’s bed. You had no intention of falling asleep, but were in desperate need of resting your eyes.

Mark made himself comfortable on the sofa, leaning back in the corner to ensure he had a full view of the room.

It never failed to amaze you the size of Jaebeom’s hand between your palms and you smiled faintly as you continued to trace your fingers over his knuckles.

“Goddamn you, Jaebeom,” you whispered tiredly. “For making me fall in love with you.”

“Well, damn.”

Jolting in your chair, you glanced up sharply and saw Jaebeom looking back at you.

“I love you, too,” he quipped.

“Jaebeom?” you exclaimed, leaping to your feet and leaning over him. Cradling his face in your hands, you didn’t hesitate to press your lips to his, tears falling down your cheeks.

“Hi,” he rasped.

You sobbed, “Are you okay?”

Jaebeom swallowed the lump in his throat, mouth dry. “No, I think I’ve been unconscious.”

You nodded, forcing away the image of him falling to the ground. “Yes, for too long.”

“What happened?”

You moved to rise, saying, “Let me call the doctor.”

“Wait,” Jaebeom groaned, gripping your hand tightly.

You spun back around to face him.

He flashed a weak smile and whispered, “Kiss me again.”

With a sigh of relief, you did as told.

Jaebeom narrowed his eyes when you pulled back and chided, “With tongue, woman. I almost died.”

You laughed as tears ran down your cheeks, pressing your lips to his again.

chapter 26 ⇤ chapter 27 ⇥ chapter 28

Hey there, beautiful! If you enjoyed this, please leave a like or reblog or follow me! Or maybe buy me a coffee so I can keep writing? Or check out my masterlist here for more stories! Thanks for reading :) - Katya

This work is fictional and for entertainment purposes only, but is licensed and protected under a creative commons attribution-noncommercial-noderivatives 4.0 international license. Any instances of plagiarism will be dealt with accordingly. Do not re-post or translate without my permission.

{ copyright 2018-2020 © ahgaseda // all rights reserved }

#got7 fanfiction #im jaebum #jaebum scenario #got7 scenario #got7 fanfic #jaebum fanfic #got7 fic #got7 au #jaebum imagine #got7 imagine

[annabethy]

under the mistletoe, watching the fire glow day 10: pen pal

Character A and Character B both sign up for a Christmas Pen Pal project to exchange post cards,, percabeth. not just letters I promise

01/04/2008

Hi! My name’s A, and I’m eight years old. Well, my name isn’t actually A, but I don’t know you yet so I can’t tell you my real name. I don’t know your name, and you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.

I don’t know why I’m doing this whole pen pal thing. I just thought it would be fun, but I don’t really know what to expect either. I guess I should tell you a little bit about myself.

My favorite color is grey, like my eyes. I like to read a lot too. I don’t have many friends, but that’s just because I don’t like talking to people. They start to talk, and it makes me feel like I want to hit them, so I prefer to just be by myself. I wouldn’t mind being your friend, though. I don’t have to hear you talk.

Hope I get your response soon! Goodbye until then!

Love, A.

,,

01/27/2008

Dear A,

I guess you can call me P then. I’m eight years old too, so that’s cool! We’re practically best friends already. I’m doing the pen pal thing because my teacher says I should practice writing. I’m not very good at writing, but I promiss prommis promise I’ll get better for you!

I like to swim. The water is cold where I live, but I still go in anyways. My mom says I’ll get hypothermia, but I do it anyways because it’s fun. I wonder if you like the water too? You’re crazy if you don’t, but it’s okay. I’ll be your friend anyways. I have one friend, but I don’t really like them very much. They’re mean to me a lot. You seem much nicer.

I’m so excited to get to talk to you!

From P :)

,,

05/07/2012

Hey, P! It’s been a couple of months since we spoke. I’ve missed my mystery-stranger-pen-pal-person. Hope you’re doing well.

Honestly, not much has happened with me. It’s the end of sixth grade, thank god. I actually hate all of my teachers. Especially the history one. She makes something that could be so interesting so dull, and it’s upsetting. There’s so much to tell about the past, and she’s ruining it. I’d consider saying something to her, but you know how it is.

I’ll just complain to you instead ;)

I remember you said you were applying to the swim team, and I think that’s so exciting! I know the try-outs passed, so let me know if you got in! (and if you didn’t, don’t worry about it. You don’t need to explain it to me if you don’t want to.)

Anyways, eagerly awaiting your response (but not that eagerly. It’ll be a couple of weeks, if not more.)

Love, A.

,,

05/20/2012

A! I’m insulted that you would think I didn’t make it onto the swim team. I am one with the fish. I am living my dream of swimming around the water like a turtle. It’s been pretty fun actually, except for when I ran into a wall and nearly bust my head open months ago. We don’t like to speak of that moment.

And yes, your history teacher is absolutely bizzare bizarre. I’m not the best with grades and spelling (clearly. I mean, look at my spelling of “bizarre”) but history is one of my better subjects, surprisingly. I think that it’s because the past is so important. My mom always likes to tell me that without the past, we wouldn’t learn for the future, so I try to pay attention to that class. I’m sorry you don’t like it :(

I really missed talking to you too. I don’t even know your name (cue frown), but I feel like I’ve known you my entire life. A person I can talk to when there’s no one else.

You’re my best friend (though I do love the term “mystery-stranger-pen-pal person).

Sincerely, P.

,,

10/7/2016

P! Get ready for my rant because I’m about to go off, and you’re going to listen.

People always say that you lose friends sophomore year. I didn’t think that was true. BOY, was I wrong. I’ve lost, like, twenty friends. I thought I’d be more upset about it, but honestly, I’m relieved. They always made me feel excluded, and without them, I’m not going home near tears every day.

I did meet a guy. His name is Luke, and he’s a junior. We’re not dating, but I wouldn’t mind it if we did. Not that I think it’ll ever happen because I’m too focused on school, but it would be nice to at least be friends. He’s really nice.

Also! The last letter was two months ago (?) and you said your school placed second in the state competition! Does that mean you’re going to nationals?

If you are, I am so proud of you. You seriously have to let me know how that goes.

Until next time.

Love, A.

,,

10/27/2016

A, my love!

As your best friend, I am obligated to say that you must not let the man be an obstacle to your schoolwork. I say this because I want you to do well. (Also because I’m in love with you)

Really though, I’m happy for you. I hope everything works out and you’re happy. That’s all that matters.

As for the sophomore thing, I felt that. I’ve never had all that many friends, but a lot of them changed. Change isn’t a bad thing I guess, but I wasn’t willing to stick around for them destroying themselves, so I didn’t. I’m always here if you need me.

(And I did place at states! Nationals was actually a few weeks ago! I didn’t place there, but I apparently got pretty close, which is awesome)

Love, P.

,,

04/03/2017

A! It’s been a while. I haven’t heard from you since October, and I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. Is that weird? I don’t know you but I’m checking in?

Oh well. I just really missed you. Not much has happened. Just wanted to say hi. Hope all is well.

Love, P.

,,

12/25/2017

A! Babes! Where are you? I’ve sent a few letters but haven’t gotten any responses. You’re kind of scaring me haha. Is it something I said?

I totally get if you don’t want to do this anymore, but just let me know please? I’m checking the mail every day and I keep getting more and more worried, so… Just let me know, please.

I miss you.

Love, P.

,,

06/01/2018

Dear A,

You never responded to any of my last letter. I get the feeling you’re not going to respond anymore, so I guess this is my last letter.

I graduated. Finally. It was a struggle, but I managed to bring my grades up. I even got accepted to a pretty good school. It’s not Ivy League, like I’m sure you got into. You’ve always been so smart.

I’m going to school in New York. I don’t think I’ve ever told you that in any of the 126 letters we’ve sent. I counted.

Anyways, I just really miss you. I hope you’re okay, and I really wish you the best.

My name’s Percy by the way.

Love, Percy.

,,

12/24/2023

Percy jumps as his girlfriend wraps her arms around his shoulder and nips at his ear. He turns and gives her a playful look.

“You want to take me to the ground?” he asks.

Annabeth rolls her eyes, sliding her hand into his. She feels really warm, even in the cold air outside of Rockefeller Center. “I’m not that heavy.”

“What if I told you you’re wrong?”

“You would get no more kisses for today.”

“Oh, we can’t have that.” Percy’s arms slide to wrap around her waist and tug her closer to his. She doesn’t resist, hugging him back. Percy nudges her jaw with his nose until she turns her face up so he can kiss her. “You’re not heavy at all. Super light, actually.”

She hums, kissing him again. “Good answer.”

Percy laughs, letting him detangle himself from her. His hand goes back to hers, and they begin walking around the plaza, taking in the beautiful decorations. It’s really pretty outside. He’s always had a thing for Christmas and its sparkling lights. He loves the smell of the pine trees and the feel of the light snowflakes against his face.

Annabeth swings her hands between them, and he thinks she looks so cute with her hair down in the cold and nose turned red that he can’t help but kiss her on the cheek.

Percy catches sight of a large sign at a random booth sitting along the edge of one of the buildings. It’s decorated horribly in the most adorable way — no doubt done by children. It’s what it reads that really makes him doubletake.

He just barely manages to make out the words, Christmas Pen Pal Exchange.

It makes his heart ache. He hasn’t heard from A since sophomore year of high school when he was sixteen. He’s twenty-three now. He can’t believe it’s this close to ten years since he heard from her.

He misses her so much. It’s not that he necessarily needed her because he has Annabeth, and he wouldn’t trade that for the world. He’s in love with Annabeth. He thinks he’s going to marry her someday.

A helped him get through difficult times. He wishes he could at least know that she was okay, or why she stopped talking to him. He doesn’t care why it happened anymore. He just wants to know, and to tell her things he was always too scared to say.

Annabeth bumps his shoulder as they pass the booth. “You okay?”

Percy swallows the small lump in his throat that formed. “I’m okay.”

“You sure? You look like you’re about to cry.”

A part of Percy doesn’t want to tell her. He wants to keep it to himself because he has for so long. What he and A had was different.

The other part, and the bigger part, does want to tell Annabeth. He loves her and wants her to know every piece of him. Annabeth is Percy’s best friend now, and there’s no reason for him to keep something like this for her.

“It’s just.” Percy pauses, looking over his shoulder at the booth. “I did one of those when I was young.”

He expects her to tease him, so he’s surprised when she says, “I did too.”

Percy looks at her. “You did?”

“Yeah. I was eight, I think.”

Percy breaks into a smile. “So you were that kid with no friends in elementary.”

“Okay, mister, you wrote them too.”

“That’s how I know you were a loser back then. I was too.”

“A match made in heaven,” she says, wrapping herself in his arms to block the wind that’s begun to blow harder. “Do you still talk to them?”

“Not anymore,” he admits. “We just stopped talking.”

“Aw. Why?”

Percy breathes deeply. “I’m honestly not sure. She just stopped talking to me.”

“What an ass,” Annabeth says.

“Right?” Percy laughs slightly. “I miss her, to be honest. Is that weird? I just used to talk to her all the time, and then — nothing.”

“It’s not weird at all,” she tells him, snuggling her face into the crook of his neck. “I miss mine too.”

“Why’d you stop talking?”

“I moved here. I lost their address, and I got a new one. It just didn’t work after that.” She smiles, thinking of a fond memory. “They used to call me their best friend. The only one I had.”

Percy turns his nose up. “Well now you have me, so forget that guy. No man dares hurt my baby.”

“If I ever meet them, promise to beat their ass.”

“I’ll do my best,” he promises.

“What was their name?” she asks. “Of your pen pal?”

“I never found out,” he says. “She didn’t tell me her name. Only that it started with an A, so I called myself P, and we just kind of went on like that.”

The atmosphere suddenly turns cold as Annabeth stiffens in his arms.

“What is it?” he asks.

“You called yourself P? And the other person was A?”

Percy thinks to confirm before saying, “Yes. Why?”

“Did this person also meet a guy named Luke?”

Percy pulls away slightly. “How did you know that?”

“And you told them about your love for history at one point?” Percy suddenly feels lightheaded. “Annabeth…”

Annabeth’s lower lip trembled, and when she speaks, it comes out cracked. “I’m A.”

It hits him like a train, and Percy suddenly can’t breathe. His mouth opens for air, but his lungs fail him. His mind races, he doesn’t know what to say, and he feels like he’s going to pass out, and… “Oh my god,” is all he manages.

“Percy.”

“You’re A.”

Tears are falling from her eyes, and he doesn’t know how to feel. He doesn’t feel anything at all at first. It’s a weight off his chest, and he’s finally able to take a wrangled breath as it settles inside him. He feels something dripping down his face and realizes it’s tears.

He feels like he should be mad, but he’s not. He can’t be mad at Annabeth because he loves her so much, and he knows what happened, and it’s not her fault, and it’s not his either, and he’s in love with her.

Percy tugs her close. He doesn’t kiss her because right now, this is him seeing A again. His face is in his neck, and he can hear her sobs, and he’s sure his are just as bad. He pulls away, and he lets himself kiss her this time.

“I missed you so much,” he whispers into the kiss. He can taste the tears falling, but he pays it no attention. “I missed you, and I love you so much.”

“I’m sorry,” is what she says.

“Don’t,” he says, pulling away sharply. His voice is wobbly. “This is not your fault.”

Annabeth whimpers. “It feels like it.”

“It doesn’t matter. We found each other, and that’s all that matters, okay?” He wipes the tears from her face gently and kisses her forehead. “We found each other.”

“A twisted way of fate.”

Percy lets out a wet laugh. “It is, but it’s okay.”

“I love you,” she whispers.

There’s so much he wants to say back, but he would never have enough time to say it. “I love you too, mystery-stranger-pen-pal-person,” he whispers. He stays like that, her wrapped in his arms, and he doesn’t know how much time passes like this.

He kisses her, but this time it is as more than her boyfriend.

They are P and A.

Percy and Annabeth.

They are best friends and lovers in one.

He’s going to marry her. His best friend.

Percy and Annabeth.

P and A.

#percy jackson #percabeth #annabeth chase #pjo #Percy Jackson and the Olympians #my writing

[suituuup]

pieces - chapter five

Five years ago, Chloe dropped off the face of the Earth. Beca didn't expect to see her again dancing in a strip club, out of all places.

rated: E (drug use and emotional abuse)

ao3 link

*

As the rest of the day ticked by, Beca kept replaying the events at Sarah’s coffee shop over and over, unable to pinpoint what she could have said to make Chloe bolt like that. She managed to focus on her tasks at hand over the afternoon and headed home around 6, groaning as soon as she stepped inside when she remembered she had promised Sarah to cook her dinner. 

She pondered on canceling for half a minute because all she felt like doing was taking a long shower and eating pizza in bed, but she already felt guilty about a lot of things these past couple of days. 

So she took a quick shower instead and put on some comfy jeans and a plaid shirt, tossing her blow-dried hair in a messy bun atop her head. With one of her favorite blues records playing throughout her home, Beca set to work to make creamy salmon pasta with spinach, nursing a much-needed glass of wine as she cooked. 

“Babe?” 

“In the kitchen,” Beca called out over the music, lowering the heat on the boiling water and dropping a handful of spaghetti in. She smiled as Sarah brushed a kiss to her cheek. “Hey.” 

“Hello you,” Sarah murmured, squeezing her hip as she walked past her to set a bottle of wine on the counter. “Smells delicious.” 

“Hopefully it tastes good, too.” Not that Beca was worried; she had been making this dish for a few years. “Wine?” 

Sarah hopped onto the counter next, humming. “Yes, please.” 

Beca opened the fridge and took the bottle out, reaching on the tip of her toes (shhh) for a glass in the cabinet over her head. She poured some wine in and handed it to Sarah. “Sorry I disappeared earlier.”

After Chloe had left, Beca wasn’t in the mood to eat or finish her coffee, leaving a $20 on the table on her way out. 

“Was that the friend you told me about yesterday?” 

Beca puffed out a sigh. “Yeah. She’s…” It’s complicated, Beca was about to say, but she figured she owed Sarah some details after what happened at her workplace. “She’s in a bad place. And I wanna help her, but she doesn’t seem to want any help. I don’t know what to do anymore.” 

Sarah covered Beca’s hand with her own, the pad of her thumb stroking her skin back and forth. “Has it been a long time since you last saw each other?” 

“Over six years. We fell out of touch about five years ago. Well, she cut us all out of her life nearly overnight.” 

Sarah tilted her head to the side. “Us?” 

“The Bellas, from college. Chloe and I were co-captains.” Beca swallowed around the lump forming in her throat as a wave of nostalgia hit her with full force. “She just… she was my best friend.” 

“I’m sorry, baby. Maybe give her some time and she’ll come around?” 

Beca doubted that, but she nodded anyway. “Yeah, maybe.” She shook her head, squeezing Sarah’s hand as she mustered a smile. “Enough about me. How was your day?” 

As the next week ticked by, Beca started to lose hope. In true Beca Mitchell fashion, she threw herself into work to avoid dealing with her emotions, staying at the office until midnight most days. 

A knock on her open-door one night made her jolt. She had lost herself in the view and her own thoughts, unaware someone was still at the office. 

Beca spun her chair around to face the door, finding Luke in the doorway. “Why are you here so late?” 

“I could ask you the same thing,” Luke pointed out, inviting himself in. He set a sheet of paper in front of Beca, then plopped down in the seat on the other side of her desk. “This is incredible. You’ve got to record it.” 

Beca glanced down at her own handwriting, heavily regretting showing Luke that song she wrote a few days ago. “I don’t know, man.” 

“What?” Luke asked, incredulous. “Becky, you haven’t been able to write a lyric for the past three years and now that you’ve got a platinum record worthy song, you don’t want to use it?”

Beca nibbled on the inside of her cheek. “It feels too personal, I’m not sure I feel like sharing it with the world.” She glared at him next. “And stop calling me Becky, this is getting old.” 

“I’m serious, this might be your best work yet,” Luke insisted. “Think about it?”

“I will. Now get out of my office,” Beca muttered.

“You got it, Becky,” Luke teased, easily catching the stress ball Beca tossed at his head, chuckling at her poor attempt. “You should go home and get some sleep.” 

“Yeah. Night.” 

“Goodnight.” 

*

It turned out Sarah had been right. 

When Beca wasn’t expecting it anymore, Chloe called. And she sounded like Chloe. Hope flared within her once more, but she tried not to let it engulf her whole being. While Chloe reaching out was an enormous step, Beca threaded carefully, knowing a lot could happen in five days. 

She wished she had been wrong, but as it pushed 1 pm that Thursday afternoon, it was pretty clear Chloe wouldn’t show. Beca didn’t have her phone number or any other way to contact her. Her heart felt heavy as she headed back to BMLJ for her meeting with Jesse regarding his movie score, and her head was too full of thoughts to completely focus on work. 

“Earth to Beca.” 

Beca hummed, snapping out of her daze. Jesse was staring at her in a mix of concern and curiosity. “Sorry.” 

“Do you wanna do this another time?” 

“No, no,” Beca insisted, straightening up. “I’m okay.” She hated how well Jesse knew her, and heaved a sigh when he gave her that look. “It’s Chloe.” 

“Chloe Beale?” Jesse asked. “She’s in New York?” 

“Yeah. I found her a couple of weeks ago. She’s a stripper at some hyped club in Times Square.” 

“Holy shit, seriously?” 

Beca proceeded to tell him everything over the next ten minutes, Jesse hanging onto every word. “Am I stupid? Trying so hard to help someone who clearly doesn’t want to be helped?” 

“No, you’re not stupid. You’re a softie under that tough exterior and you care deeply about the people you love. Especially Chloe. I was in the front row, remember?” 

Beca grimaced, some of that decade-old guilt surfacing. “Dude…” 

“It’s fine. I’m definitely over all of that, but we both know Chloe is too important for you to just give up. And from how you described her, and that phone call? It sounds like she still cares, but she lost herself along the way and is now in so deep she has trouble coming back on her own. Maybe she just needs to hear that asking for help isn’t giving up, but rather refusing to give up.” 

Those words echoed deep within Beca, and she found herself nodding, filled with newfound energy to fight for this. “I need to go by the club. Tonight. Her boss might kick me out if I show up inside, but maybe I can wait by the back door?” 

“I’ll come with you.” 

“You don’t have to, man. It might be hours before we see her.” 

“That guy sounds creepy, you shouldn’t go on your own.” 

Beca sighed. “Okay, fine. I’ll pick you up around ten.” 

*

Beca felt like they were on a stake-out as they waited in her car hours later, parked across the back alley of the club. Winter had definitely settled in in NYC and waiting in the cold for hours in freezing temperatures didn’t seem like a great plan. 

She texted back and forth with Aubrey, who once more offered to come down, but Beca was concerned Chloe might think they were ambushing her. 

It was pushing midnight by the time a familiar figure stepped out of the building through the side door. Chloe was on her own. 

Beca slapped Jesse’s arm to wake him up. “She’s here.” 

They both stepped out of the car and crossed the street when it was clear, Beca telling Jesse to wait by the corner as she tentatively approached Chloe, slipping her gloved hands inside the pockets of her dark grey wool trench coat. 

She was smoking a cigarette, clad in her glitter dress under an open fleece jacket. Her gaze flickered to Beca when she spotted her, her posture turning rigid. “What are you doing here?” 

There was no bite to her tone but soft curiosity, which reassured Beca further. 

“Can we talk?” 

Chloe glanced over her shoulder towards the door as she nibbled on her lower lip. “Five minutes, then I have to go back inside.”

She met Beca on the other side of the alley, the orange glow of the lamp post over their heads allowing Beca to trace her features. “You didn’t show earlier.” 

Chloe dragged on her cigarette. “I changed my mind.”

“Is that the truth or did someone tell you not to?” She wasn’t dumb; after meeting Chloe’s boss and knowing she was his favorite, she had an inkling the two were somehow involved. And that guy just gave off a crazy possessive vibe. Chloe’s silence was her answer. “Chlo…” 

“It’s more complicated than you think,” Chloe murmured, licking her lips. 

“Then explain it to me,” she demanded, a desperate edge to her tone. 

“Why are you doing this?” Chloe croaked out. “Why won’t you leave me alone?” 

Her question took Beca by surprise, and her mouth moved wordlessly for a few beats. “Because I care about you. And you’re not okay, Chlo. I want to help.” 

“Beca…” 

She thought back on Jesse’s words. “Asking for help is not giving up, Chloe. It’s refusing to give up. And I’m here. You just have to say the word, I’ve got you.” 

Chloe shook her head, closing her eyes briefly. “I’m not--” Her eyes were filled with so much sadness when they found Beca’s that Beca had to remind herself to breathe. “I’m not worth it.” 

Those four words felt like a knife lodging itself inside Beca’s heart. They stole all the air from her lungs and brought tears to her eyes. “What?” She whispered, her voice nowhere within reach as a huge lump formed in her throat. “That’s not true,” she said, with more forcefulness this time around. “It’s not, you hear me?” 

Chloe kept shaking her head. “You don’t know me anymore.” 

“Maybe I don’t know this version of you, but I know Chloe Beale is still in there, somewhere. I heard her on the phone the other day, remember? And I can see her now, under all those layers of sadness and lack of self-worth triggered by outside factors. I know her soul hasn’t changed, deep down. It couldn’t have, because you are the purest, kindest human being there is, and that has to still be somewhere in there.” 

“I’m broken, Bec,” Chloe cried, her eyes filled to the rim with tears threatening to spill over. “I’m a crack addict. I don’t--” A sob spilled from her throat. “I spend all my money on coke and all I know how to do anymore is show my breasts for money.” 

A tear rolled down Beca’s cheek as she reached for Chloe’s hand. “Then I’ll help put you back together. Piece by piece, for however long it takes. Whatever it takes, Chlo. I promise.” 

“Chloe?” 

Both their heads snapped towards the open door, where Marco stood. His features hardened when he saw Beca there, and Beca released Chloe’s hand, looking over her shoulder towards Jesse, who made his way over. 

“What is she doing here?” He spat out as he climbed down the set of steps. 

Chloe visibly swallowed, her fear radiating off her. “She’s just leaving.” 

“No, I’m not,” Beca stated, loud and clear as her eyes shone fiercely. “I’m not going anywhere without Chloe.” 

“You fucking homewrecker,” he muttered, crossing the alley in quick strides. Chloe stepped in front of Beca, as though to shield her with her own body. The anger swirling in his eyes shot a chill down Beca’s spine. “Move, Chloe.” 

Chloe shook her head. “You should go back inside, Marco. Please don’t make a scene, it’s not worth it.” 

Beca had never understood the expression ‘to see red’ until now; until she witnessed Marco backhanding Chloe with so much force she staggered back with a cry. 

Unparalleled rage filled her, the kind of rage she couldn’t control. She stepped forward and raised her fist, clocking him in the face with a mean right hook. She wasn’t sure if the cracking sound came from her knuckle or his nose breaking, the pain in her hand muffled by the adrenaline coursing through her veins. 

Marco stumbled a few steps backward with a grunt, his eyes screwed shut as he covered his nose with his hand. But Beca wasn’t done, taking advantage of his dizzy state and stepping forward to knee him in the balls as hard as she could so he couldn’t walk until they were all safely inside the car. 

“You guys get into the car,” Jesse ushered them, keeping an eye on Marco as he doubled over in pain. 

“Chloe, come on,” Beca coaxed urgently, grabbing her hand and pulling. To her surprise, Chloe didn’t fight her. She seemed absolutely shell-shocked, even once they reached the car, as though her legs were carrying her on their own accord and her brain was miles behind. “Get inside, Chlo.” 

Jesse jogged over a few seconds later and slid behind the wheel without Beca having to ask him, and she climbed in the backseat beside Chloe, relief washing over as the doors locked behind them and the car pulled onto the road towards safety. 

#bechloe #bechloe fic #chloe beale #beca mitchell #pitch perfect fic