#the fact that men growing old are seen as hot but women have to stay little girls forever or they're 'ugly hags'

[l0ngschl0ngking]

Not his type

Javier Peña x f!reader

summary: you are helping at Chucho’s ranch and Javier thinks you are still definitely not his type

warnings: as usually SMUT ( vaginal fingering, oral -m!receiving, male masturbation, protected p in v, biting, hair pulling), cursing, soft!Javi - cuz that’s my favorite genre of Javi -, just a smudge of angst, mentions of bullying, mentions of food, fluff  

word count: 10.5 k (I like them big I guess *wink wink*)

A/N: I planned to start my Marcus Pike fic but then this idea popped into my head and I just had to write it. This is basically just a long friends to lovers fic.

Javier Peña is not a simple man – far from it. He is bitter and hot-headed, and he feels small no matter what he does – he should have done better, he should have been smarter, quicker. He shouldn't have been such an idiot. Maybe then he wouldn’t be now standing in front of his childhood home. Maybe then...  

But no matter what Javier thinks of himself he is a good man. He is caring and always wants to do the right thing – even if the consequences of his actions make him look like a bad guy. He doesn’t care – or he does but doesn’t let it show. Doesn’t want people to know that perhaps he is not as strong as he seems. Doesn’t want them to know that he cares – sometimes too deeply. Doesn’t want them to know he might feel – it's better if he seems unapproachable and looks like if you'd touch him, he'd burn you too greatly - so much that you would want to do nothing with him ever again.

So Javier feels the weight of all of his sins drop into his stomach when he keeps standing on the porch of Chucho’s house with a suitcase that he had packed with himself from Bogotá. He wanted to leave all of his old life behind but some memories stay with things that are bound to them.

He feels like a little boy again when he came home crying because lads – older and bigger than him – were picking on him. He feels like the little boy who hid behind the skirts of his dear mama when guests came to visit. That’s why he wants to look so tough, that’s why he is so hard around the edges – he changed, Bogotá changed him so he wouldn’t have to feel that small ever again. But even that didn’t help. Deep inside he is still that little boy. He can hide behind his bravado - his stern scowl and cold gaze- but that fact will never change.

He doesn’t know how long he has been standing there until the door swings open – almost hitting him in the face – and he sees Chucho standing in the doorway. His signature cowboy hat on his head and that old red flannel shirt he bought him on Christmas ages ago seems a little tighter around his middle than he'd last seen him in it. He is older – slower, the age showing on his face. But when he smiles as he sees Javier in front of him he looks 30 years younger.  

Javier looks a lot like his pops – he has the same nose that he hated when he was younger – and pops had the same colored dark hair once that curls if it gets too long. They have the same dimple on the left side of their face if they smile too hard and like his pops, Javier could never really grow a proper beard.  

Pops hugs him as if he hadn't seen him in ages – and to be honest, that is true. Work and life always got in the way and he regrets all the time he missed with him. He also didn’t want to come home – his mother’s things were still everywhere in the house. Her pictures, the warms blankets - that Javier loved to wrap around himself on the colder nights in Laredo - scattered on the armchairs and couch. He didn’t want to see Pops sad and so he stayed behind in Bogotá drowning in work, booze and women. The Peña men had different ways of grieving. Chucho never said anything to Javi though – he didn’t blame him for not coming, didn’t yell at him for letting him be alone on holidays – and he should have. He should do all those things because maybe then Javier wouldn’t feel like such a bad son.  

When they part Chucho smiles – he didn’t smile a whole lot after Javi's mom died. “It's good to see you, Javier.” He pats him on the back – a little clumsily, Javier notices but he puts a tight smile on his face. He missed a whole lot.

“You too, pops. How have you been?” It’s a question he knows the answer to. He always answers the same – busy. After the death of his wife Pops seemed to spend most of his day outside working on a ranch. Barely coming home to eat or drink. Wanted to occupy his mind. “Seems like you started actually eating as I said.” Pops waves his hand back at him.

“You calling me fat, mijo?” Javier opens his mouth to answer but Pops beat him to it, his belly shaking a little with laughter. “Someone has been helping me out for a while now. Cooking and cleaning the house once in a while.” Javier quirks an eyebrow at this and he pushes the small suitcase as he enters – now his home, too. It didn’t change here in the slightest. Pops throws him a look above his shoulder as he looks him up and down quickly. “Seems like you have been skipping out on meals, my boy. Come, Bee is here and the lunch should be already done. She made Pozole de Pollo o Guajolote. Your mother's recipe.” Javi stands straighter at the nickname. Surely he didn’t mean...

The delicious smell coming from the kitchen makes his stomach rumble and he doesn’t remember the last time he had a proper meal. He abandons the suitcase in the hallway after he takes off his boots and jacket that he puts on the old wooden hanger for coats he made with Pops when he was around 12 –its asymmetrical and weird-looking seeming like it was made by a child – which it was but it’s a memory Javier is very fond of.  

The floors creak under Javier's quick footsteps and he stops in the doorway as he watches you fuss around his dad. His entire body softens, the crease in his forehead disappearing as he sees you in the Peña kitchen. The past coming into the present. Prepping the silverware on the table that lays in the middle of the smaller kitchen. He sees that Pops kept everything in place like it was even before the death of Javi's mother. He missed this place. Even though bittersweet memories crawl out on the surface of his mind and his heart aches like it hadn’t in a really long time.

“Seems like you are a busy bee, Bee.” Javier smirks when you look up at him. You didn’t really change after the last time he had seen you. Sure, you aged – as has he – but you still kept your spark from all those years ago. You smile fondly – and a little unsure – at him as you quickly wipe your hands on the apron wrapped around your middle. And Javier notices - of course, he does. The hesitation in your step when you walk to him. The little twitch of your lips you make when you are nervous.

He is an observant man. He watches and analyzes. And he is good at it too - you squirm under his intense gaze. As if he could see every little part of your soul, even the deepest secrets you kept hidden somewhere back down inside of you. That’s why he is such a good agent. Was, at least. His dark eyes shift to your cleavage just for a second. You don’t notice - his eyes quickly scanning you up and down.

He looks good. Even better than the last time you saw him. The mustache he grew suits him. His hair is longer than he had when he went to high school with you. He is broader and seems even taller. He is a man now, not the little boy you played hide and seek with. He still wears the same smirk on his lips though - that kind of smirk that meant trouble when you two were younger. His jeans hug him in just all the right places and the black shirt he is wearing makes him somehow look even hotter. All man.

“You know me. Never could keep still.”

And he does. He does know you. Or at least he did - when you two were just young kids, then stupid teenagers and suddenly - strangers too. You grew up at the Peña dinner table as much as your own. Your mothers were great friends, your fathers old buddies. You had a farm right next to them which you eventually sold when your folks passed away and it was just too much work for only you alone. You bought a small house with the money you received.  

Javier still remembers when he first saw you – all toothy grin and two braids sitting on top of your head. You wore that stupid flowy dress in an ugly mustard color. You were more of the outgoing type and Javier – to everyone's surprise – was more of the lonely kid. He was smaller than his peers – smaller than you even, when you first met him. And he doesn’t remember why you started talking to him and wanted to become his friend but he didn’t complain at that time. You visited him almost every single day – looking for mischief all around. Broken glasses and bones were nothing new to both of you. The two of you were inseparable – until high school. Javier – for once in his life, thanks to you - didn’t feel so small anymore. He grew up to be a handsome and smart, confident and funny, pretty charming and self-assured young man. Girls started noticing him and he loved the attention – when their heads turned around to look.  They thought he never noticed. But alas, Javier was an observant boy even back then and he noticed – his cockiness getting on your nerves sometimes. He never wanted to feel small again.  

And like almost every girl – you developed a huge crush on him.  But it wasn’t because he was tall and cocky, no. It was simply because you knew the real Javier – your Javi. Who hated being alone and who hated going to the church every Sunday – hiding in the dusty, covered in spider webs attic. He never noticed you – like he noticed the other girls. He never gave you that loop-sided grin or the puppy heart-filled eyes. You were just great friends - even when you wished for more. And one day you weren't even that.

You should have seen it coming, really. With Javier becoming popular, he started hanging out with you less and less. When you came to Peña's household he was already out with his new friends. And you always came running to him like a pathetic little puppy who comes to his owner no matter how many times they kick him. His friends laughed at you. And later on, he started laughing with them. He got a girlfriend – Lorraine, the sweet and perfect Lorraine – before you two stopped talking. The old memory still stings when you think about it.  

It happened on one of those super warm summer nights in Laredo. You wore one of your favorite dresses. It hugged your curves and you thought you look absolutely beautiful in it – your mother said so too. You asked Javi if you could meet up at your spot – the old scrap yard just a couple minutes' walk from both of your houses. When you arrived there your stomach dropped to your feet – his friends sitting with him on your favorite car that was reserved for only you and Javi. Laughing and drinking booze, the atmosphere lose. But you didn’t feel lose – your muscles taunt and all you wanted to do was just turn on your heels and leave. Cry about this stupid little crush you had on this stupid Texas boy. But Javier spotted you before you could do so – somehow he could always spotted you even in the biggest of crowds.

“Bee! Come and join us!” He yelled, one of his hands shooting into the air as he held an unopened can of beer. And with his other hand...he was holding Lorraine. They were close to each other – her almost sitting on his lap as she placed kisses on the column of his throat. You swallowed the ball of anxiety that was building in your throat as you heard them whisper: “Why did you call her, man?” He didn’t answer as he smiled at you. Lorraine's eyes squinting at you in annoyance.

Clearing your throat you asked: “Javi, can we talk?” He just shrugged his shoulders as he hopped off from the roof of the car mumbling a quick “sure”. He wasn’t wearing a t-shirt – you noticed just then. The sun was slowly setting and his golden skin shined. The butterflies in your belly made you want to go home and squeal into your pillow. You gulped and a few of his friends whistled – noticing the once-over you gave him.

“Someone has an admirer here, Peña. Too bad she is so fat and ugly! Like a pig – oink oink!” All of them bursted into laughter and to your surprise – so did Javier. He laughed straight into your face and you fought the tears in your eyes to not spill as you finally turned on your heel – as you should have done much sooner – and left. You didn’t see the remorseful look in his eyes and the way his muscle twitched, his mind screaming at him to go after you. He never wanted to feel small ever again and his friends said you were a loser – people like him shouldn’t talk to people like you. He didn´t want to be loser again.

Lorraine pulls him by the shoulder back to her – her tongue plunging into his mouth and when they pull apart she grins, the long nails of hers scraping across his golden-tanned chest.  

“Forget about her, Javi. You don’t need her.” He nodded – unsure – but he didn’t have time to think about it too much as her tongue fought with his once more – the heavy taste of beer on her tongue filling all of his senses.

After that, you stop talking to Javier. You still came to his house - with your mama - but you didn’t greet him anymore and he was pretty sure you told your and his mother as well, as they always threw him a dirty look whenever he was in the same room as you. You didn’t look at him and you didn’t acknowledge his presence anymore. He hated that he felt so small again even though he didn’t have a reason to. He had friends and a girlfriend, and all the girls threw themselves at him. So why does his stomach pull tight anytime he is near you, why does he feel like he lost peace of himself?  

One day he decides he has had enough. Both of your mothers went outside to catch the last rays of the sun and you are alone in the kitchen – baking your famous apple pie. He sneaks behind you and cages you in. You feel his breath on your neck, the slow raise and fall of his chest. You turn around – your noses almost touching – and he sees the hot fury in your eyes. You are covered in flour and Javier thinks – just for a split second - he had never seen you look so fucking beautiful. His gaze lingers on your mouth maybe a little too long because he sees you are talking – your mouth opening and closing.

“What do you want, Javier?” You ask and he had never heard you so annoyed, so drained. You didn’t look like yourself anymore and didn’t sound like it too.  

“Us to start talking again, Bee.” Because Javier is selfish and he takes and takes. Sometimes forgetting to give something back in return. He widens his eyes when he feels the sting on one of his cheeks – his head moving to one side with the force of it. You slapped him. He looks at you – you are all wide eyes and snarling teeth.  

“Fuck you, Peña.” You quickly try to scramble away from him because you feel like crying again. No because of sadness – no. That sadness turned into raw fury after the incident at the scrap yard. Because of how idiotic and stupid he is. And because – no matter what he had done and told you – you can’t seem to shake off the crush you have on him. He grits his teeth and his hand grabs your wrist. Both of your breathing erratic.

“It's not my fault you are not my type, Bee.” He didn’t mean to say that - the words coming from his mouth sound foreign to him. Not right. But his hot temper gets the best of him and the way he said and what he said should not hurt that much. But it does. It feels like he had just stabbed you in the heart and then twisted the knife – deeper and deeper.

You yank away from his grip and you point a finger at him – your hand shaking with the hurt, anger, sadness, Everything coming at you in waves - it feels so fucking overwhelming. You want to scream at him, kick him, hurt him as much as he had hurt you. But what good would it do? None.

You exhale shakily and Javier waits for the fight but it doesn’t come. You shrink into yourself and turn to leave. You look at him above your shoulder as you whisper. “I hate you so fucking much, Javier Peña.” And you are gone.

The heavy weight of your words lingers in the air and he feels the hot tears running down the apple of his cheeks. He quickly wipes them away. His ears are ringing and he doesn’t hear your mother yelling at you about what happened. He doesn’t smell your apple pie burning in the oven. He fucked up. Because he will never get to talk to you again or feel your touch. He will never hear you laugh and he will never get to comfort you again when you cry. Because the only source of your sorrow is him – the stupid Texas boy you now despised.  

Javier comes to present and you give him a quick side hug telling him to sit down. Chucho watches both of you and he prays that you are both wise enough now to sort out this little grudge you have. But you are also both too stubborn and the dinner passes in silence. The only sound is the clinking of silverware cutting through the thick air and sometimes Chucho quips in to ask Javier about Colombia - Javier doesn’t want to talk about that, though. So he stays quiet as he chews - the food tastes exactly like his mother’s.

When Javier sneaks a quick look at you he thinks that maybe he wasn’t such an idiot. The bitterness from your last talk makes his face twist. He hates how - even after all these years - you seem to not acknowledge him even though you try to stay as polite towards him as possible. As if you just look through him and not at him. He watches as you pass his pops a salt and you grin at something he says.

And yeah, you are still definitely not his type.

Javier sees you almost every day. It drives him fucking crazy. The way you just nod at him when he passes by or is in the same room as you – which is mostly kitchen -, the way you don’t answer his questions about you. How have you been, what did you do after high school? He only knows your folks passed away shortly after he left for Colombia – Chucho told him over the phone. Your parents felt like second ones to him. He wanted to call you after Chucho told him, he really did. But he didn’t know your number – that was just an excuse, he knows that and he also knows Chucho would have given it to him if he asked. He feared that you would hang up on him, that if he heard your broken voice he would book the closest flight to come to you. After all – you were best friends a long time ago.  

Javier wants to know everything about you – but you give him nothing. You are just a big complicated riddle to him and he has no hints to figure you out. He notices you though and the things you still do. You still enjoy watching sunsets as you did when you were younger. And that you talk to plants when you water them or that you still secretly go and feed horses a few sugar cubes even though you really shouldn’t. That you still hum when you cook and squint your eyes on either him or Chucho when they enter the kitchen because you don’t like when somebody disturbs you while you are in you’re your element. You always liked to bake and cook – often sneaking into the kitchen with him late at night because he wanted cookies and you gave in and baked them. Because he asked you to and said please – Javier never said please often and that habit he kept.

So because you don’t seem happy when he wants to talk to you or occupies the same room – you actually don’t seem happy with his presence in general and that makes his heart tighten even if he doesn’t understand why – he spends most of his day tending to the ranch. Feeding the animals and fixing the old barn. Today he started fixing the old fence that didn’t even look like a fence at all anymore. He grunts as he stands up – he is getting old and his back is fucking killing him. The Texas sun makes him sweat, he smells and he feels thirsty – has felt thirsty for a while now. But he knows it's afternoon and you are probably in the house cooking. He contemplates it – he doesn’t want to see you uncomfortable around his sheer presence but fuck. He feels like he could drink a whole gallon of water. Fuck it, he thinks as his steps lead him to the Pena house. You knew he was coming back home – if you didn’t want to stick with him, you wouldn’t.  

When he is finally inside and the sun doesn’t burn his face, he takes off his yellow aviators and the thick working gloves. He is covered in sweat and dirt and as he enters the kitchen you think he never looked better. But he always does in your eyes and you hate yourself for it. You gulp and turn your back to him as you try to quickly scribble the things you need to get at the farmers market today. Your body stiffens when he walks behind you – his shirt brushes against your shoulders - and grabs one of those old funny-looking glasses you painted together when you were probably around 9. The air thickens and the atmosphere is awkward – you both want to say something but nothing comes out of your mouths. Finally, Chucho enters and he looks at Javi and then back at you.

“Go shower, mijo. You are going with Bee today.” It's an order and Javi doesn’t want to argue. His house, his rules. Quite the opposite – maybe the change of setting will finally let you loosen up and you will talk to him. He wants to say to you so much. He looks at you and you gape at Chucho as he throws you a pointed look. You swiftly shut your mouth – Javier taking the steps by two as he wants to scrub himself squeaky clean as soon as possible. He feels positively giddy – it reminds him of the times when he got his first car and drove around Laredo with you.  

When he comes down the hushed conversation between you and Chucho comes to a halt and he looks between you two before Chucho almost pushes you out of the house. You drag your feet behind you and the giddiness he felt leaves him as he sees your “enthusiasm”. He wants to go and hide in the nearest hole, lick the wounds he pretends he doesn’t have but you are already sitting in the passenger seat by the time he gets his head out of the gutter.

The ride is awkward, filled with silence and you squirm every once in a while in your seat. You glance at Javier's profile a few times – his strong jawline and his aquiline nose. You stare at his hands and how come they are so big? The veins are prominent on the back of them - leading to the thick fingers, nails trimmed neatly. His hair is longer now after a few weeks already spend at home. He looks better than when he arrived. Now he didn’t look as...tired. And as skinny – he always devours the meals you cook and you can see him filling up around the middle. His arms were much stronger and more muscular than before because of all the work he did on the ranch. Domesticity looks good on him. You watch as he grips the wheel and see his jaw tick before he sighs.

“I am sorry, Bee.” You raise your brows at him when he glances to see your reaction to his words. He never was good with them “actions speak louder than words” he always said. “I am sorry for what I said and how I treated you during high school. I was a fucking idiot and if I could take it all back-”

“You were.” It's a simple phrase, your words coming out fast and he grips the steering wheel tighter when your hand lands on his thigh. “But that’s all I ever wanted to hear, Javier. Yes, your words and actions hurt me in the past. And they still hurt me now when I think about them. But there's nothing we can do about it now. We were kids and if it didn’t happen I don’t think I would become the person I am now so I accept your apology even if it could have been a better one. You should really work on your people skills.” You shrug your shoulders as you tease him and the hand that was resting on his thigh moves into your lap once again. He wants to tell you you could have kept it there – it felt too fucking good even if it was such a simple and innocent touch. It grounded him and Javier is touch deprived.

“So, that’s it?” He asks, his tongue poking out to lick his lower lip as he raises his eyebrows while he watches the road.  

“Yes, that’s it.”

The conversation flows smoothly after that and Javier can't believe it was that easy. If he apologized much sooner he could have been talking to you for weeks now. He missed this – your talks. You talked with your hands a lot and he enjoys how expressive you are when you are telling something. He learns a lot about you. You own a little bakery here - that’s why you are so flexible and can come almost anytime to the ranch. He feels proud of you – your dream was always to open a small bakery somewhere. At least one of us could make their dream come true. 

You laugh and talk, and tell stupid jokes or occurrences that happened in your life. He missed a whole lot and so have you. Your favorite story of his is when he told about the time his neighbor – an old lady – saw him butt naked because the woman he slept with locked him out of his own apartment after he told her he wanted nothing serious. His neighbor called him over to have some fun which he politely declined. You double over laughing and Javi grins, his cheeks hurting. He missed your laugh – he didn’t feel this comfortable ever since...well ever since you stopped talking.  

The ride passes quickly and when you step out of the car you come around – grabbing Javis's hand as you mumble something about “want to show you around here, Javi, so much changed after you left” as you throw him a quick grin. He can only concentrate on your nimble fingers between his and how it feels so fucking right before you are dragging him behind you.

You are not his type he has to remind himself as he squeezes your hand tightly.

Javier comes into the house all muddy once again. It has been raining in Laredo for the past few days - the land all soaked soil and dirt. He takes of his boots before he enters. His nose drags him into the kitchen as he catches the smell of pie. Sweet and delicious - or was it just you, standing here all soft and pretty? He can't tell anymore. These past few weeks were filled with nothing but joy – almost. You played cards with him and Chucho late at night, drinking beer and listening to Chucho's stories. Sometimes you went riding with him on the ranch. Your love for horses didn’t die out and you always were natural with them. You have your favorite one too – the small chestnut-colored mare with a fiery temperament that seems to tolerate only you. Chuho wanted to sell her a long time ago but you begged him on your knees – literally – not to. His eyes softened and he agreed reluctantly – he could never say no to you. Something both Peña men had in common. 

 Anytime Javier looks at you he feels his stomach tighten with something – sometimes arousal but he blames that on the lack of sex, sometimes on something entirely else. He tries to push it deep inside him but whenever he catches your smell his head gets all dizzy and he has the need to find you and talk to you, be near you He hates it. He hates it so fucking much. He doesn’t know what you did to him. He can't seem to shake you out of his mind. He thinks of you anytime he sees the sun setting down or the last time he picked violets for you as he saw them growing a few miles away from the ranch. Because you love violets. He gave them to you with a darker shade of red covering his ears as he scratched his neck. You thanked him and kissed him on the cheek then – his heart hammering in his chest, his pulse quickening and his lower half seemed all too interested in the skin-to-skin contact. As your lips lingered on his cheek as he thought about against what other parts of him would they feel so soft.

  Javi leans against the doorframe as he watches you knead the dough – one of the pies already in the oven. You look so nice in your overalls. He could just bend you over the kitchen counter and -

 Shut the fuck up, Peña. Don’t even think about getting hard.

 You startle when you turn around and see him, your dough-covered hand flying to your chest as you yelp. “Javier Peña, don’t scare me like that!” You scowl at him, your lip pursed and he grins – his hands shooting into the air in a silent apology. 

“Didn't mean to, Bee.” The corner of his lips pulls up as you murmur “sure you didn’t" and turn back around to put more flour in the dough. He quickly washes his hands in the sink and comes behind you – he inhales your scent and closes his eyes. The hair on your neck stands up. “You smell so fucking good.” It's a quiet statement. You look at him wide-eyed and he gives you a confused look in return.

 “What did you say?” Your throat pulls tighter. Shit, shit, shit. 

“Uh-um, that if you'd show me how you knead the dough.” He closes his eyes – idiot, idiot. You breathe out a small “oh” and shake the shock off of you as you nod and come behind him as you grab his hands in yours. 

And fuck, Javier thinks his pulse went from zero to a hundred in this second. His heart feels like it will jump out of his chest any second. Your small hands on his makes him think back to a few weeks ago.

 You stayed at Peñas that night.  You always drove back home but that night it was raining a lot and it was too late anyways. You agreed as Chucho asked you if you wanted to stay – they had a smaller spare room right next to Javis. You bid them both good night and fell asleep quickly after that. You were exhausted but a scream woke you up and you swiftly stood up on your feet and scrambled into Javier's room. He sat on the bed – all sweaty, his breath quick as his head rested in his palms. He looked up at you when the old wooden floor creaked under your footsteps. He cleared his throat and tried to hide from you. You crouched in front of him and offered him a little smile. 

 “You don’t have to hide from me, Javi.” And then he was pulling you into him, breathing you in, his hands pulled around you tightly as he sobbed into your shoulder. He was exhausted of pretending everything was fine. The weight of all the things that he did in Colombia came crashing down on him. You just shushed him as he listened to your heartbeat – his head on your chest, your hand in his as you stroked the back of it. When he finally calmed down he told you everything – the things he did, the things he should have done and the things he shouldn’t have. He told you about Los Pepes and Carilo, and the nightmares that still haunted him. 

 “I am just a shell of a man I once was, Bee.” He whispered into the night and you grabbed both sides of his face as you frowned at him.  

“You are far more than that, Javi.” He wanted to kiss you right there and then but you pulled him on your chest again and he breathed you in once more. The slow rise and fall of your chest lulls him to sleep. He never slept that well in his life.  

When he woke up the other side of the bed was cold but the smell of you – like an apple pie – lingered on the other pillow and he wanted to drown in it. He stroked himself at the thought of you as he smelled the pillow. Your soft hands and the feel of your breasts against his face, the small brush of your lips against his forehead. He came embarrassingly quickly and couldn’t look you straight in the eyes for a few days after that. Neither of you talked about that night. As if it never happened.

So now he curses himself as he feels how he twitches in his pants – the soft swell of your breasts pressed up against his back. The collar of his shirt is a bit too tight as well as his pants. For fucks sake, Peña. He hasn’t slept with anyone since he came back home and it showed. You don’t seem to notice though. 

“You are pretty clumsy with your hands, Javier.” He chokes on seemingly nothing and almost pushes you onto the ground as he stumbles a few steps back. Let me show you how good with my hands I can be - 

“Gotta take a shower.” He says and he takes the steps by two - almost falling over. He closes the door of the bathroom with little more force than necessary. He scrambles with his closes almost ripping them from him and he grabs his aching cock – tugging on it firmly as a spurt of precum shoots out of the head. He steps into the shower – the spray of cold water not helping him calm down his hammering heart or the way his skin seems to be on fire. He strokes himself quickly – the strokes measured as he thinks of your pretty lips around him or that pretty pussy you sure have. He thinks of the swell of your breast on his back, your breath on the back of his neck, your hand in his, your pretty smile and kind eyes. He thinks about how you would feel around him if he pounded into you from behind or what sounds would you make when he would go down on you. How wet would you be? Are you the quiet type or would he have to put his fingers – or something else – in your mouth to shut you up?  

He grunts and his forehead bumps onto the cold tiles of the shower as he cums. He watches how the water downs his spend and he tries to wash the guilt he feels off of him too. 

You are not his type, he thinks as he tugs on his cock for the final time. 

You are going on a date. Javier watches with a frown on his face as you fumble around to finish the dinner. You are wearing a pretty dress – a light green one with a flowy skirt that exposes the whole expanse of your back. The strings on your shoulder are the only thing keeping it in place. You look absolutely incredible. He didn’t want you to go. Fuck, what if the guy was some kind of psycho? Or worse, what if he was actually a decent guy and you'd stop helping Chucho because you would be too occupied with your new little boy toy? What would Chucho do without you – yes, Chucho of course, not Javier. Javier wasn’t jealous and he definitely wasn’t praying that your date would end up in disaster...Okay, he felt jealous. Like “I will rip that guy in shreds” type of jealous.  

And Javier would be alone tonight – Chucho left in the morning to visit his “friend” - he knows he went to Mária living across from the barber's shop. He didn’t say anythimg – the lie falling out of Chucho’s lips easily. And he felt happy for him – him moving on meant he was healing. Slowly but healing. Javi wanted to do something nice for you two tonight– the store-bought cheesecake lying in the fridge. He thought that you could watch TV today – watch anything you wanted. Maybe then he would slip his hand under the hem of your dress and he would -

“Javi!” You wave your hand in front of his face and he blinks a few times. You even put on makeup – the red lipstick making your lips look downright edible and he licks his own lips. He could pull you in and make you forget about your silly little date. But for once in his life Javier didn’t want to be greedy when it came down to you – you seemed so excited when you told him you had a date and he planted on the best fake smile on his face he could muster. Even though he felt sick to his stomach when you told him, his fingers twitching to catch your wrist and pull you close – to tell you you should fuck that guy and stay with him tonight. “You listening?”

“Sorry, what did you say?” You groan in annoyance – already running late – and you grab him by the collar – oh, he likes this a lot. You are so fucking close he feels your breath fan across his face.

“Listen, Javi. I don’t have time for this. The Chiles Rellenos are in the oven so they won't get cold as quickly. If it gets cold just put it in the microwave.” he nods – he knows this, of course – but wants to keep you busy because maybe then your date would cancel – no, he can't.

“Okay.” He says slowly and you let go of the collar of his shirt – just now noticing you grabbed him by it. You pull away from him. “If anything-”

“I call you. You already told me. Don’t worry, dad. I'll be fine.” You grin and turn on your heel waving a quick goodbye before the doors shut behind you. Javier gulps the growing ball in his throat and curses at himself. Idiota. But you know - of course you are not his type.

Javier watches the starry sky tonight. The cheesecake forgotten in the fridge alongside your dinner – he felt so sick to his stomach he was pretty sure he'd throw up if he ate anything. The warm blanket his mother knitted lays heavy on his shoulder as he looks at the sky – millions of stars showing tonight. You'd love to see it – maybe you already are. Star-watching sounds like the kind of date you would have loved. He fiddles with the handle of his mug filled with hot cocoa in his lap and thinks. About how he got here, about his fuck ups – and the biggest fuck up he has ever done was to let you go on that stupid date, he concludes. Okay, maybe not the biggest fuck up but close enough. He straightens up when he spots a car pulling into the driveway – your car. A small grin makes its way onto his lips until he sees your sagged shoulders and the slow way you drag your heels behind you.  

“You have room for another in there?” You ask – your voice small compared to when you left. Pointing a finger at the spot next to him. He nods quickly and when you sit he immediately wraps the blanket around your shoulders – your head resting on his shoulder. It's quiet for a while as he offers you his mug and you drink from it leisurely. He knows you will tell him what happened if you want to. The silence is not awkward – it’s a comfortable one. He always feels comfortable with you. You pull away from him and put the mug on the ground – pulling your knees close to your chin.

“Can I ask you something?” You look at him from the corner of your eye, your words muffled by your knees.  

“Anything, Bee.” And he means that. You could ask him anything in the world and he would answer you no matter what question.  

“Why am I not your type? You know, cuz it seems I am no one's type.” He knows you are referring to the time when he was angry at you after you slapped him. But he didn’t mean to say it. He doesn’t know how to answer – his tongue heavy all of the sudden and fuck, why is so hard to just tell you.

Rather than answering you he twists his torso so he can look at you – really look at you. The moonlight shines on half of your face and how did he never notice how pretty your eyes were? Or your plush lips, your soft hair? He gulps as he reaches forward tentatively – his palm resting on the side of your face now. And he expects you to pull away – to tell him to fuck off. But you don’t. His throat is dry and he feels like his lungs can't seem to have enough oxygen in them because his brain seems to stop functioning too. He brushes his fingertips across your cheek and you would have never expected that Javier Peña could be so gentle with his touch. He looks at your lips – your mouth open just a tiny bit and he sees your Adam's apple bob. Do you want this as much as he does? Or is he imagining things and projecting his own fucked up desires and feelings onto you at this very moment? He doesn’t have much time to think about it before your fingers tangle into his hair at the back of his head, his breath picks up and your mouth surges forward – your lips meeting his.  

He feels like fireworks just exploded in his stomach. His skin tingles and his hands brush against the front of your dress. Your hand on his nape makes him groan into you and he brushes your collarbone with his calloused hand. He wanted this for so long and he didn’t even know about it. The other grabs you by the neck and pulls you even closer – the blanket falling off of you two when you swing your legs on either side of his narrow hips. He presses his lips against yours with more force and he is confident and greedy with it. He curls his hand around your waist and his fingertips dig into your hip while the other hand presses into your shoulder blades. He can feel the blood rushing through his veins and he is warm and fuzzy all over – his body humming with something he never felt before.

You were never kissed this way before – Javier takes, and takes but gives back even more in return. The kiss is impatient and hungry – like he waited for this all of his life. His hands on your skin make you hum out in pleasure and you trail your hand to his jaw – you can feel the stumble he has under your fingertips. You open your mouth to him and the hand on your hip squeezes you tighter, and he wants you closer, closer – this is not enough. Not close enough. And you feel the same as you pull him closer by the collar and he groans into your mouth.  You can taste the warm cocoa on his tongue and his smell invades all your senses – cigarettes, his cologne and something entirely him. Musky and sweet. Your cheeks burn and your palms are sweaty when he pulls away from the kiss – his hands brushing along the exposed skin on your back, his thumb circling your hip. His forehead rests on yours as he tries to calm down and your nails scrape across his exposed chest – he always has a few buttons unbuttoned on his shirt and it drives you insane. He moans when he feels the sensation of your nails on his skin – his hips bucking up to meet yours and you mewl as you feel the bulge press up against your core.

“Fuck, Bee. I want to fuck you so badly. Do you want that too? Tell me. Tell me, please.” Javier Peña said please. He never says please. Yoou nod furiously as you peck him on the lips – his mouth surges to meet yours once again and you lap at his lower lip, your hands fisting into the material of his shirt.  

“Wanted this since I was 16 and crazy in love with you, Javi.” You whisper against his lips and your confession makes his heart beat with joy. You loved him. He grips the flesh on your hips and mumbles a breathy “okay” before he stands up and carries you with him – your legs wrap around his middle. He stumbles a few times and almost trips on the stairs as he keeps kissing you – his tongue nibbling at your collarbones, his hands supporting your weight as he holds you by the back of your thighs.  

When you arrive in his room he throws you on the bed and starts to quickly undress. His fingers shake and he can't seem to unbutton the fucking shirt. Fuck. He stands in front of the edge of the bed and you lean back on your elbows – your gaze heavy with lust. As you see him struggling you crawl onto the edge of the bed and loop your fingers between his belt. He stops and looks at you – you eye the heavy bulge between his thighs and he gulps when your fingers trail his jean-clad cock which jumps with interest under your touch. He has never been this fucking hard before and he knows it's not because for the past few months, the only thing he has been fucking was his fist – it's because of you. “Let me.” You murmur and he nods, he watches your nimble fingers working on his buttons and when he shackles the piece of clothing off him your hands map out his chest, coming down to his belly button and you lick your lips when you see the trail of hairs leading down into the waistband of his jeans. You kiss him right there – on the soft swell of his tummy – and he jumps forward, his hands gripping your head to keep you there. You grin against his skin and your tongue pokes out of your mouth to lick him there – he shudders, and the grip on your head loosens. You pull away from him and your hands start working on his belt – it falls to the ground with a quiet cling of the metal.  

You cup him in your hand through the fabric of his jeans – even now you can feel how heavy he is and that he will feel fucking big inside of you. “You are a big boy aren't you, Javi?” He whimpers at your question and nods furiously as he looks down at you – your gaze immediately locking with his as you are already peering up at him through your eyelashes and you pout at his state. You never expected Javier to be so...needy. He closes his eyes when you squeeze him again and then he hears the sound of a zipper, he feels your breath ghosting over his tip. “No underwear?” He shakes his head and chokes when you lick the salty precum.

“No-no. Fuck. Too uncomfortable.” His eyes close as if he's in pain and his nostril flare when he feels the first velvety slide of your tongue against his cock. Your pulse quickens and you feel too fucking powerful right now as you feel him swell even more in your mouth. You hold his gaze as you pull off of him and flatten your tongue – licking your way to the underside of his cock. His hands cradle the back of your head, his pupils completely blown as he watches you put open-mouth kisses onto the hard warm flesh that jumps under your attention.  

And he is fucking big – his size obvious by sight and by the way he feels around your hand – heavy and warm. But you really feel it when you take him deeper into your throat the girth of his cock opens your mouth wider. The broken sound between a whimper and a groan makes you clench around nothing and he tastes exactly how you imagined him – clean and delicious – exactly like Javier looks. You can't fit all of him in your mouth but you try – focusing on your breathing and relaxing your throat – the squelching sounds of your mouth bobbing up and down his length filling the room. You try to take him deeper and deeper – until you gag around him and pull away. Javis's mouth is wide open when you pull off of him – spit trailing from your lips and connecting you to the swollen tip of his cock. His chest heaves and he swipes his thumb across your bottom lip – collecting the saliva – and puts it in his mouth – he groans with approval and it makes you want to give him more.  You sink your awaiting mouth back onto his cock once more and moan when another spurt of precum lands on your tongue. Your hand is securely wrapped around the base of his cock as you stroke him slowly and you look back up at him.

He looks absolutely and positively wrecked – his hair falling in front of his eyes and sticking to his forehead as he grits his teeth struggling to not make you take him deeper – to not fuck your throat. His grip on your hair tightens as he starts panting harshly and you feel him twitch in your mouth – you can feel he is almost there – but then he pulls back from you.

He almost lifts you into the air as his tongue delves into your mouth – wanting to taste himself on you. The bitterness of himself on your tongue makes him groan into your mouth and you never expected him to be this vocal. He steps out of his jeans and then he is back on you – his fingers working on the straps of your dress while he plants butterfly kisses on the column of your throat. He discards the piece of clothing as if it has offended him somehow and he pulls back to look at you – you can see the muscle on his thigh flex as he tries to keep his balance on his heels. His hands reach back for you – grabbing you under your knees before he is pulling you closer to him. His fingers dip into the waistband of your panties before they are too thrown somewhere behind him.  

His thick fingers work their way inside you without a warning – two of them plunging deep. You are soft, and pliant under him. Your walls squeeze him tight when he moves his finger up, up – until you sob and grab his wrist - to stop him or to plea for him to keep doing that you aren't sure. It never felt like this and he grins against the flesh of your cheek – kissing you there softly. His other hand grabs one of your tits and he pinches the nipple – it hardens under his hard touch. He bends down to suck it into his mouth and your hand shoots out to the back of his head – keeping him there. One of your thighs is firmly planted on his shoulder and his fingernails dig into your ankle, the blunt nails creating crescent shapes. Your heel digs into his shoulder with a particular shove into your cunt – the tips of his fingers brushing against something that makes you hold your breath.

The way you keep repeating his name makes him want to never leave your perfect cunt. His name and the wet sounds of your pussy sucking him in make him light-headed. He wishes no one would call him Javi again after he hears it from your mouth – whiny and high-pitched, filled with the need to let go.  

“Come on, Bee. I can feel you squeezing me. Fucking give it to me. I want you to soak my fingers.” You nod vigorously and sob when his thumb starts drawing harsh circles against your clit. He hits nerves inside of you you didn’t even knew you had before. You take everything he gives – the flick of his wrist, his fingers petting your walls, his mouth on yours. You cum when he bites you into the juncture between your shoulder and neck – his tongue smoothing the bite. You feel him smile against your mouth when you cry out into him – his fingers still working inside of you until you wheeze and tell him to stop. He pulls them out and maps your body with your juices – the slick trail shining under the moonlight that falls onto the both of you.  

He reaches into his nightstand and pulls out a condom – ripping the foil packet between his teeth before he puts it onto his length. He sits up on his heels – his cock bobbing with the movement and you gulp as he pats his thigh – telling you to come to him and you do – all jelly legged and sedated after your first orgasm. He pulls you close by the small of your back and his cock nudges against your entrance when you swing your legs around his waist. His hairy legs stick to the back of your thighs and you can feel the sweat rolling off him – his hands supporting you as you sink down on him. Your mouth forming into an “o” and you let out a breathless moan. You knew he was big – as his girth opened up your mouth more and the weight of him heavy on your tongue. But this feels entirely different. You squirm on his lap and he grunts – his other hand coming down onto the flesh of your ass. The pinch you feel as he fills you completely is uncomfortable and you grip his bicep – your nails digging into the flesh there. He hisses and kisses you – the kiss languid and slow. His tongue traces your mouth and your grip loosens – your muscles start to relax.

 “Javi, you are so big.” You don’t say him to make him feel better or feed his ego – it's just a fact. Clear and simple. His nose bumps against yours and he looks into your eyes – he is so close he is breathing the oxygen you exhale. 

 “I know, hermosa. But you can take it. Can’t you?” The new term of endearment falling out of his mouth is surprising but welcome nevertheless. He waits for your answer as he fights himself not to move – your walls squeezing around him and he counts to five so he doesn’t cum right now like some kind of fucking teenager.

  Javier slept with a lot of women. One night stands, prostitutes, his fiancé. But he never felt like this with anyone. His heart never hammered in his chest so quickly and the blood in his veins didn’t boil. His skin never felt like it was on fire by a simple touch. It's new and he welcomes it with open arms. He is tired of fighting and running. This is his new life and it's not too bad – it's better than it ever was. He never feels small with you and he chases that feeling.

 “Yes, I can. I can take it. Please move, Javi.” He listens to your command – the first drag of his cock through your walls feels intoxicating. His hot breath fans against your chest as his forehead rests on it and his hand that was gripping your ass moves to your hip – dragging you up and down his cock as you meet his every perfectly measured thrust. He maps your body and listens to your reactions – he figures out what you like or what you really don’t after a few minutes as he pounds into you.

You don’t know which one of you is louder but it makes him even sexier – the guys you’ve been with before weren't so enthusiastic about it and you felt like they didn’t even wanted to be there – the only hint of them enjoying it was when they came with a quiet grunt and fall onto the bed next to you. Javier is different – he always was – and you live for all the sounds he makes. How he gropes you and maps out your body – his fingers dipping into every crease and curve of your body. And you can feel that in each thrust there is this hidden emotion that he doesn’t want to show. But you grew up with him and can read him pretty well – and your heart swells with the unspoken words. You don’t need to hear them. He will figure it out himself eventually.  

He feels that you are close after he gives you a particularly hardh thrust and you squeal – your nails scratching his muscular back that you’ve been ogling anytime he came out of the shower without a t-shirt or when it was too hot outside and decided the piece of clothing wasn’t necessary in that kind of weather. His mustache scrapes along the flesh on your breasts and you feel his hips shift – the change of position making him feel even bigger. He puts his thumb into your mouth as he looks at you and you suck it – it tastes of you and sweat but you don’t care – as he pulls it out and starts rubbing your clit with it.

 It only takes a few drags of his cock before you are cumming – your clit throbbing as he keeps pressure on it. Your walls squeeze him and he feels like he can't move any further. Your fingers curl into his hair and tug him so he is looking at you. He is all lust-blown eyes and his baring teeth turned into a snarl. You can feel every vein and bump in his cock with every thrust and he twitches inside of you – his hand coming to hold the hinge of your jaw as his tongue tangles with yours once again. It's frantic as are his deep thrusts and you are pretty sure he will break the bed soon – the headboard hitting the wall with every pass of his hips. You admire how fucking lost in you he looks – slack-jawed and dazed. You tug on his hair once more and the reaction is almost instant – his hips faltering for a moment seemingly losing his rhythm. 

“Come on, Javi. I want you to look at me when you cum.” Your requests makes him shut his eyes before he shudders and opens them – your name a broken record when he spills into the condom. You scratch him on the back of his head – your movements slow and languid. He pulls out of you after a moment – when he catches his breath and his heartbeat evens out – even though when he is with you it seems impossible. 

The aftercare is soft and sweet as he lays on his back and pulls you close to him – stroking your spine and kissing the top of your head. 

“Do you want me to leave?” He pulls you tighter against him after you ask him that and he grips your chin so you look at him. 

“Never again, Bee. I want you right here with me.” You sigh in contentment and give him a sweet kiss.

 You are definitely his type, Javier thinks as he feels your breath even out and slowly, he falls asleep too – you in his arms – and he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

#javier pena #javier pena narcos #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal characters #javier pena reader #javier pena x reader #javier pena x f!reader #javier pena x female reader #javier pena x you #javier pena smut #soft javi #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal ff #narcos smut #javier pena one shot

[hosejason63]

Bet With The Sports Betting Champ

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[official-cisphobe]

hm I think we should normalise and romantise women growing old, having grey hair, wrinkles, etc the same way we have done with men

#konsta-nt ramble #official-cisphobe #the fact that men growing old are seen as hot but women have to stay little girls forever or they're 'ugly hags'

[snelbz]

I'll Be Seeing You {6}

Nesta x Cassian, 1940′s AU

Collaboration with @tacmc.

Summary: After Cassian gets injured in the war, he’s taken to a war camp to be cared for until he gains enough strength to return to his battalion. While he’s there, he falls for a nurse that couldn’t care less about his title and doesn’t put up with his bullshit. Once he’s healed and the years pass by, he finds that there’s only one thing he wants to remember from the war, and she’s only a letter away.

Trigger Warnings: war

Chapters will be posted every Monday.

Word Count: 1696

IBSY Masterlist

Shelby’s Masterlist

Tara’s Masterlist 

Nesta had no idea what had happened.

She was shaken awake in the middle of the night by one of the night nurses, quickly hurrying her out of the tent she shared with a few other nurses in hushed tones. She pulled her robe around her tighter, the nightgown she wore was perfectly fine with the warm fire crackling in the hearth, but in the crisp autumn air, it left her shivering.

As did the reason she’d been awakened in the middle of the night. One of her patients she’d been solely residing over had taken an unexpected turn at some point in the evening. Infection. Fever.

She felt shaky and hollow as she pushed through the tent flaps. She knew it made her a horrible person, but she couldn’t help but pray it was anyone except—

There were two nurses hovering beside Cassian’s cot and she thought she was going to be physically sick.

“What’s happened?” Nesta asked as she approached. It had been meant to have been firm, direct, but it came out shaky.

“He was sleeping peacefully, but then he started to stir and groan,” Claire explained. “When I came over he was drenched in sweat. I checked the gunshot wounds on his back and the burns. There were no bandages. I’m not sure how he had gotten them off—.”

A ringing in Nesta’s ears drowned out the rest of Claire’s words, but it didn’t matter what the nurse said, Nesta knew the cause of Cassian’s downfall.

It had been her.

She had been cleaning his wounds when the soldier had been rushed in earlier that morning, had left Cassian to help. When the soldier had died, Madja had ordered Nesta to go clean up and she had left the tent…

It had all happened so fast.

She had lost a life, and it distracted her from her thoughts, her further duties.

She had never gone back to finish cleaning and bandaging his wounds.

And, of course, Cassian had said nothing.

“I didn’t know what to—.”

Nesta cut Claire off, shaking her head to try and clear her thoughts. She knew she was to blame, but wouldn’t alert Claire to that knowledge. “He needs a dose of penicillin, maybe two, depending on how far the infection has spread.”

Claire nodded, the other two nurses having moved on to check on other patients, most of whom slept peacefully. When she kept standing there, nodding, Nesta snapped, “Now, please.”

She blinked and was off, hurrying to the medical cabinet in the center of the tent.

Leaning down over his bed, Nesta placed a hand on either side of his face. “Cassian?”

His skin was hot, clammy and he was covered in sweat. She swore quietly. He felt like he’d been lying in front of a furnace for a few hours.

His eyelids fluttered, but he didn’t rise to consciousness.

Claire returned, a syringe in one hand and a glass bottle in the other. Nesta took it, surprised by how steady her hands were. She felt as if they should be as shaky as her breathing had become, but she quickly and efficiently administered the dose, holding a small piece of gauze over his arm where she’d stuck him.

“Should I… Would you like to go back to bed?” Claire asked. “I can watch him while I make my rounds.”

Nesta shook her head as she sat down in the chair next to the cot. “No, I— I need to stay with him.”

Claire hesitated, but nodded and excused herself.

Nesta would wait with him, would keep him company, because it was all her fault.

She told herself that was the only reason, but as she reached up to brush his damp hair back, she knew she was only fooling herself.

But fool herself, she would.

This was war. He was a soldier. Aside from being completely inappropriate, considering she was his nurse, one should never get involved with a soldier.

It often only led to heartbreak.

His face was flushed, even though his lips were bloodless, and he looked so…frail. Even when he’d first been brought in, bloody and burned, he hadn’t looked so helpless. Nesta couldn’t look away from him.

She knew no one else was around, knew the other nurses may have been nosy and curious, but they would give Nesta this privacy. And because of that she reached out and took his hand, gently holding it in hers.

Was it really just earlier in the day that he’d held her hand after coming to check on her after that poor soldier had passed? The thought, that he considered her feelings more important than his own healing, had her fingers tightening around his.

I could see myself loving a woman like you.

She tried not to think about the thrill his words sent through her, then or now. It was highly inappropriate, especially considering they barely knew each other. But there was just…something about him. She reached out with her free hand and pressed the back of her hand to his forehead. Still clammy. Still burning up.

Again, his eyelids shifted, but they didn’t open. The penicillin would keep him down for a while.

She wouldn’t be sleeping, though. Not any time soon.

With a defeated sigh, Nesta took the book off of the small table by Cassian’s cot. He had read a little more that afternoon, it had seemed. He was nearing chapter six, and Nesta couldn’t wait to see his reaction to the coming chapters.

Especially in regards to his beloved Daisy.

She opened to the page he was on and took out the leather strap that marked it. It was old and worn, and she found herself wondering how long he’d had it, how long it had held his hair back. She wondered how long he’d had long hair. She assumed always. It was hard to imagine him with short hair.

It just wouldn’t look right.

He stirred on the cot before her, and Nesta’s eyes jerked up to him, but he still didn’t wake. She watched him for another moment, making sure he was sleeping peacefully, then looked back down at the scrap of leather in her hand.

It occurred to her how little she knew about him then. She knew about his mother and lack of a father, but he’d mentioned brothers. Were they blood or was it more in a camaraderie sort of way? And who were they? Did he love them the way she loved her own sisters?

Perhaps she had been selfish thus far, in asking so little about him. Usually the man never shut up, was always making sarcastic remarks with his raunchy humor, and now as he lay unconscious, she wanted him to speak.

She wanted to ask him questions.

He mentioned Velaris, but Nesta had only been there once as a child and didn’t remember much from it. She wanted to ask him about it, ask him what it was like growing up in the famous City of Starlight.

She wanted to ask about those brothers of his, if he had any other siblings, and how his mother, who had never married, survived it, living in the world that they did.

She wanted to ask if he’d ever had any pets, what his favorite subject was in school, if he’d ever broken a bone or climbed a tree for fun or been in an airplane.

She wanted to know where this scrap of leather came from that she had been fiddling in between her fingers for far too long.

Eventually, she rested her head against her own arm, still holding onto his fingers in one hand and clutching that strap of leather in the other. It didn’t take long before she was asleep herself.

A few hours later, a firm hand on her shoulder had her jolting awake. She sat up quickly, finding Madja standing behind her.

Standing, she cleared her throat, releasing Cassian’s hand, still holding onto that piece of leather. “Madja, I—.”

A gentle smile was on the old healer's face. “You should get changed, Nesta.”

Glancing down at her open robe and nightgown, Nesta blushed and nodded, before replacing the strap of leather in the book she’d leant to him.

The sun was up, but the chill in the air told her it hadn’t been for long. She hurried across the camp to the tent she shared with a few other nurses. Quickly changing, she tied a fresh apron around her waist and was surprised to find Madja standing outside the tent as she emerged, still braiding her hair back.

“Walk with me,” she said, and took off, not waiting to see if she followed.

Nesta couldn’t help but feel like she was a child about to be scolded.

“There is no rule stating you can’t have feelings for your patient, Nesta,” she said, glancing over at her.

Nesta blinked, not expecting her to be so blunt. She immediately went on the defensive. “I don’t have—.”

Madja gave her a look that told her the woman knew she was full of shit. She went on. “This isn’t a formal job. There is no rule book saying you can’t fraternize with others. He’s very handsome, and it’s clear he’s taken quite a shine to you. But remember where we are, what we’re doing. Why we’re here.”

Nesta nodded, hesitantly.

She knew.

The soldiers came in, they healed, and they left, went back to war.

And that’s exactly what Cassian would do, Nesta was fully aware of that fact. There was no romance, there was no happily ever after, not when it came to war.

“I just want you to be careful,” Madja continued, her voice gentle. “I have seen young women, time and time again, fall for men who did not come home. It is okay to feel for another, my dear, but you must remember the risks.”

The risks. It was a long list.

“I was not planning on anything happening between myself and the Major,” Nesta said, at last.

Madja’s smile was soft. “That’s always when it happens, Nesta. When no plans are made.”

#snacmc ibsy #i’ll be seeing you #snacmc collab #nessian ibsy #nessian #nesta #nesta archeron #cassian #nesta x cassian #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #1940s au

[bleulone]

Can we talk about about how Colin looked in ep 1 when he first saw Marina compared to how he looked when he saw Pen in ep 8. Almost the exact same look! Of course his look to Penelope is probably more about his guilt because he brushed her off when she tried to warn him but still..progress! Lol and then when he's getting ready to leave for Greece, he glanced towards Penelope's home. I think they're having Colin's feelings for her grow gradually in the show instead of all of a sudden like in the books.

Hey! Thank you for this insightful ask of yours :) Sorry for the late answer, I took a long time to write this— without further ado, here we go!

Indeed, Polin is first and foremost a story of gazes, those gazes being of many natures. Whether they are love ones, friendly ones, admirative ones or lustful ones, looking imposes itself to be a huge parameter in Penelope and Colin’s love story.

In order to understand that on screen, film-making has at its disposal a very rich and smart langage of its own. Sometimes, comparision helps to underlines the differences between one character’s relationship with person A mirorring person B. I feel like Shondaland and Chris Van Dussen wanted to introduce the audience to the evolution of our Bridgerton men’s perception of Love. For instance, while Anthony views attachement— to Siena— as a way to escape his responsibilities before becoming his villain (...until our queen ma’am Kate Sheffield comes to the picture), Benedict doesn’t comprehend this universal concept and prefers to enjoy the many physical pleasures life can offer. In other words, the older brothers already explored their sexuality here and there, making them the infamous rakes that they are. As for Colin, it’s a complete other thing.

Colin is young. Very young. At 21, he’s just left Eton College and barely knows anything of the world nor women. Like Anthony said in 1x06, Colin hasn’t been taken to brothels which is a very important step in the building of young men’s sentimental and sexual education during that time period. Since he missed this essential step, our sweet/immature boy has no clue about how to deal sagaciously with his feelings and his “foolish” impulses, baring his naivety. At this point of the story, we can easily come to the conclusion that Colin is a virgin who can’t drive XD. He’s just a child overcame by his passions, a hopelessly romantic who rushes things without taking the time to properly court or know his significant other. And his off-screen flirtation with those supposed numerous girls in London isn’t of any help to justify his (oh so little) experience. So when he sees Marina, he’s so struck by her... mainly by her alluring appearance. And he doesn’t seem to let his eyes nor mind go beyond her exquisite beauty.

In this perspective, the whole Colin/Marina storyline can be perceived as a parallelism to the Pen/Colin’s one. In 1x01, he is immediatley smitten with a dancing Miss Thompson, which happens to be ironically the same case with a 17 year-old Pen but with him. We got to see her, a few moments ago, dreamily looking at him from the back of the dancefloor (echoeing the episode where she fell madly in love with him after he fell off his horse at Hyde Park). She’s charmed by his dashing look and his kindness, yet she doesn’t seem to know anything else about him considering the rare conversations they share. Her burning gaze fits the original story from Julia Quinn’s books because in Romancing Mister Bridgerton, the 28 year-old spinster Penelope do realize later on that Colin is more than a good looking man : he’s a human who possesses a temper and flaws.

Either way, both of our boos are portrayed as hopelessly young people in love who childishly idealize the objects of their affection.

In 1x08, it’s the other way around. It’s Colin who sees Pen first, her who appears to wear the yellow dress’ lookalike from the pilot—what an interesting call back ^^. With his mouth slightly agape and his eyes wide open, we can catch sight of the timid spark of a change in his gaze : Colin Bridgerton notices Penelope Featherington. He‘s touched by the realization that she cares about him. It would be rather inappropriate of me to say that Colin is already in love with her. However, in the finale, I do believe that he’s more struck by her high level of deep care for him than her beauty.

We are thus able to spot two big differences in Colin’s relationship with women in this season : when his attraction to Marina was purely physical and rushed, his attraction with Penelope is more emotional and slow. And for now, he comes to cherish his special bond with her, especially after she tried to warn him of the dangerous trap he was about to fall into. Even if he just sees her as his younger sister’s best friend right now, Pen matters in his life. And it’s still a little yet important progress for sure.

Speaking of which, I agree with you that this look of awe as well as realization is mostly mixed up with guilt. Since he didn’t take into account her words, he felt the strong need to apologize. But bear in mind that guilt formulates a considerable part in Colin’s feelings for Pen... and it’s only the very beginning. In the future, he’ll blame himself for not seeing her as the beautiful goddess and siren that she is in the first place. He’ll blame himself for not reciprocating the feelings for her.... Though at the moment, due to his lack of experience with women, Colin is oblivious to Pen’s obvious signs of sorrow when he told her he’s leaving for Greece/Cyprus. Next time, he’ll detect her sadness and won’t let her go, I’m sure of it (if he doesn’t I’ll riot).

Furthermore, I’m so glad you brought up the scene where Colin glances at the Featherington house. I had the same thought as well. When you put this still and the one where Pen is crying while looking at her window side by side, it even seems like they’re looking at each other. In a way, it implicitly confirms Pen’s key role in his final decision... After all, she’s the one who inadvertently inspired him right ?

The act of traveling has always been seen as cathartic since leaving home to discover yourself allows you to heal your broken heart and soul. It’s natural for Colin to do this. To make his first real steps into the world. His choice is quite relatable more than it is essential for his arc in the series. I can’t wait for him to come back all changed, hot ^^ and mature. I think, like you said, they are planning on making him progressively falling in love with her. Colin’s feelings will gradually leave the platonic zone to explore and officially stay in the intimate zone throughout the seasons.

Overall, the Colin/Marina and Colin/Penelope parallel in s1 mostly helps viewers to compare the way Colin evolves from being a stubborn naive boy to a heartbroken young man who’s aware of his crutial need for Experience. His coming of age, just like Pen’s, has just begun. And they will surely lead to our boy changing himself into the true charming rake that he’s meant to be and our girl into a more confident woman. Consequently, I think their story won’t take 10 years but rather at the very least 5 years perhaps to fit the TV timeline. Once Polin will finally be able to discuss, we’ll hopefully get to see more interesting nuances and shades added to the portrait they painted of one another over the years. They’re indispensable to the slow build up of their emotions/attraction as well as the shattering of their childish idealization/perception of each other.

All in all, I’m so loving the fact that season 1 beautifully sets up the importance of the gaze in Polin’s love story. This first installment is like an expository scene of a play. It leaves a trail of clues and pieces of information here and there at the reach every viewers who can pick them up and analyze what can be the main themes which will determine one character’s story arc/romance. With Polin we have : admiration, wit, love and friendship, desillusionment. (I know they are more but it’s all I can think of rn lol).

If we’re already emotional messes just with the mere power of them looking at each other, imagine when they’ll actually talk and share real conversations. It’s going to be a long way to canon but luv me some good fluffy angsty steamy slow burn :) ✨ I hope this long of mine answers your ask ahah, even if I talked about many things other than just Polin’s looks. Also, sorry if you spot some grammatical mistakes, English is not my first language.

#bleulone answers #anon #ask #meta and gush #polin #polin meta #colin x penelope #colin bridgerton #penelope featherington #julia quinn #romancing mister bridgerton #bridgerton #shondaland #chris van dusen

[emwritesfootball]

Her Majesty's Men 2 | Mason Mount

Word Count: 1,512

Warnings: mentions of drugs, but that's about it. An intro to the Men

- - -

Notting Hill, London, England

Declan double- and triple-checks the address that Mason sent him as he walks the streets of Notting Hill. It’s for a pub he’s never been to before, but he’s heard rumours about a secret underground club modeled after the American Prohibition Era that has exotic dancers.

“Dec! Hey!” Mason greets Declan the moment he walks into the pub. “How have you been?”

Declan shrugs, hating that he has to break the news to Mason like this. The two of them grew up at Chelsea’s Academy together, remaining friends even when Dec got let go. A few years later, Mason was let go, too, and the boy in front of him seems to be doing fairly well. “West Ham let me go last week.”

Mason curses, shaking his head. “I’m so sorry, mate. Can’t believe they can just let us go like we’re expendable.”

“Yeah.” Declan smiles ruefully, sighing. “I’m staying with my sister but I know she wants me to get a job - I want to get a job - but I don’t know where to start. I remember at that party last year with the rest of the Chelsea Dropouts where you mentioned something about working for the Queen and-” Declan pauses, confused as to why Mason is howling with laughter. “What’s so funny?”

“You think- ahaha - you think I work for the Queen?! Oh, my god!” Mason wipes tears of laughter from his eyes. “I guess you could say I work for Liz, but not in the way you think that I do…”

“Liz? You call the Queen by a nickname?!”

Mason snorts, the laughter threatening to return again. “How about I show you instead?” He looks at his watch, draining his beer, and Declan finds himself doing the same thing. “Follow me, Deccers.”

Declan follows, his mind slightly occupied with the fact that he saw Mason drop two £20 bills on two pints at the bar before walking away.

The rumours were true. Declan can’t figure out how he couldn’t hear the raucous laughter and thumping bass from the DJ in the booth. He’s pretty sure he recognizes the DJ, but he’s impossible to place from so far away. Instead, Declan focuses on Mason, watching as his ex-teammate weaves through the crowd. It’s all women, he realizes, but then someone slaps his ass as he walks past and he turns to find an older woman looking at him appreciatively.

“Are you one of them?” She asks, shouting over the music.

“Who?” Declan responds, confused.

Before she can reply, Declan feels Mason’s hand wrap around his wrist and pull him through a door. The music dampens, seeping through the door, but only to provide a backdrop. “Don’t stop for the vultures, mate. Although, I think that one’s more of a cougar than anything.” He laughs at his own joke, shaking his head.

“Hush! Like you haven’t thrown yourself to the cougars more times than any of us!” Jack Grealish’s Brummie accent gets Declan’s attention.

“Sod off!” Mason rolls his eyes, turning to Declan. “Don’t pay Jacky Boy any mind - he’s just here for the brainless hen party pussy. You might remember him from a couple friendlies between our academy teams, but I guarantee you that Jacky here probably doesn’t remember you; poor boy doesn’t even remember his own name half the time.”

Jack flips off Mason, but he keeps talking. “These are the lads that make up Her Majesty’s Men. We’re all football-academy rejects, so it’s like a family since we all know what the other’s been through. Stonesy - you’ll meet him in a bit - kinda brought us all together. It was pretty much his idea.”

Declan looks around the room, realizing where he is. The room looks like a changing room except instead of kits and boots and training gear, there’s costumes everywhere. A ratty futon that’s seen better days is against one of the walls; Jack ‘Jacky Boy’ Grealish sits on it, and something about the way he’s sitting on it tells Declan that the futon isn’t for anyone but the ex-Villa Academy player.

“Right. Anyway, this is Happy Ending Harry. Gave his youth to Tottenham, but she was a cruel mistress.” There’s a mirror with lightbulbs around it that looks like it was either stolen from Marilyn Monroe or a fifteen-year-old girl, Declan isn’t sure which. Harry Winks sits in front of the mirror, checking out his reflection as he puts on...blush? Declan wants to ask but can’t bring himself to form the words. Harry’s too lost in his own world to do much of anything, almost resembling a Ken doll in a way that both intrigues and intimidates Declan.

“Big Dick Dier. Loaned from Portugal to Everton, but you can see how that turned out. Man can speak at least two languages but there’s not a woman out there who cares about that once they catch a glimpse of what the Big Man is packing.” Eric Dier picks himself up off the floor after doing a round of push-ups, giving Declan a nod in greeting and going back to the sewing machine to work on… a g-string? Declan’s a little disgusted but he’s glad he’s not the one handling that. The man’s wide shoulders and large hands radiate Big Dick Energy and Declan would be lying to himself if he wasn’t at least a little curious to take a peek at that pecker.

“Last but not least: Tarzan Ty.” A man with dreads stands in one corner, stretching. He’s got tattoos and a massive scar on his knee that Declan’s curious about but knows better than to ask about. He looks familiar but he’s definitively older than the rest of the lads Declan has met so he’s not sure he recognizes him from any sort of training academy. Mason starts his introduction, but Ty cuts him off.

“Tyrone Mings,” he says, introducing himself for Declan. “Southampton Youth ‘til oh-nine. They let me go ‘cause I was too short - joke’s on them.” Ty laughs and Declan joins in. “Got a serious question,” he continues, shoving his non-scarred knee in Declan’s face. “That look ashy to you?”

“Uh…”

“Here,” Mason giggles, tossing him a bottle of what looks like self-tanner but Declan doesn’t question it, squirting out some of the lotion and preparing to massage it into Ty’s knee. It’s the oddest thing he’s done since being let go, but Declan just tells himself that he’s rubbed weirder substances on his own joints. He realizes that Mason was right - this place, this group of ex-footballers, really does feel like a family. He’s only been here a few minutes but already the camaraderie is there. Big Dick Dier teases Happy Ending Harry’s appearance like the two of them were teammates at Tottenham or something; Tarzan Ty has what appears to be a ritual, shoving Declan’s hands off his knee once he realizes the new boy was actually going to do it.

“So, here’s how it works. We do a group act first, then solos, followed by hot seats. If everything goes well, we get these birds all jacked up and then we raise the price of the hot seats so don’t fuck it all up for us, all right? That’s it, that’s all ya gotta do.” Declan tries to focus on what Mason is saying but it’s damn near impossible as he watches Eric stick his dick inside of the contraption and start to pump, his cock stretching to an absurd length. He quickly realizes that Eric’s got his dick inside a penis pump, watching as the big man’s already-big cock grows like the Grinch’s heart. Eric’s sporting the most insane look, his jaw slack but his eyes intense like he’s focused on something else, taking deep breaths as his cock stretches longer.

A voice entering the room cuts Mason off, the DJ coming into view. He’s speaking, but Declan can’t understand him. “This is Kyle, our DJ. Kyle, Deccers; Deccers, Kyle. He’s gonna be giving you the cue before each act.” Kyle hands Mase a water bottle filled with something and Mason’s eyes light up. “Pregame! That’s what I’m talking about!”

“It’s the love potion,” Kyle says in a weird voice, giving Declan a wide-eyed look.

“What is this? Strawberry?” Mason inspects it, pouring some of it into the cap and downing it.

“It’s a little mixture,” Kyle explains at Declan’s confused expression. “Got the recipe from a friend in Miami. He calls it Hey Juice.” Declan’s been around enough drugs to know that it’s GHB, but he keeps his mouth shut. “If you drink the whole bottle you’ll go ‘Hey!’” He flamboyantly sways and snaps his fingers. “You’re gonna like it, bro. Give it a sample.”

Declan holds up his hands, taking a step back. “I’m good, mate. Maybe tomorrow night?”

“That’s cool. More for me, I guess.” Mason shrugs, downing another cap.

The sounds of the crowd cheering start to seep through the walls, a man’s voice coming through too. “All right, all right, all right!”

“That’s Stonesy. Let’s get you ready.”

<< >>

#her majesty's men series #declan rice imagines #mason mount imagines

[kinktae]

beyond the story: bitchin’

Hi friends! I hope you are all staying safe and healthy during these tough times! I really wanted to put something out there as a thank you to just how much support Bitchin’ got. You guys really are incredible. So, although this story has come to an end, I wanted to properly close the Bitchin’ chapter by giving you all a behind the scenes look at Bitchin’ and everything that went into writing it. This includes hidden easter eggs, backstories, alternative plot-lines, and a short drabble of the Bitchin’ cast 10 years after the story’s end.

Without further ado, please enjoy and thank you again for all your love. You have all of mine.

CHAPTER ONE – PARTNERS

Ah, yes, the start of this whole wild ride. I’ve always loved the whole nerd/popular person trope in fanfics, so it was only a matter of time before I tried my hand at it too. One thing I was adamant about was not making this a “popular person turns nerd hot/confident/better” fic as its kind of one of my least favorite cliches. With that in mind, and knowing that I was going to allude to TATBILB’s contract, I decided that I wanted Y/N to gain as much from the deal as Jungkook did. No blackmail, no just agreeing for the hell of it – Y/N was going to further herself and her dreams given the opportunity.

The beginning of the chapter is where the two are most separated and dissimilar throughout the whole story. It wasn’t that they were fundamentally different, it was that they approached life differently. Y/N was frustrated at how superficial Jungkook seemed, because she believes there is much more to life than just kicking your feet up and cracking jokes.

On the other hand, Jungkook didn’t understand why Y/N was so tense and on guard. To him, life was meant to enjoy and not take so seriously. Which makes sense, given that he grew up with minimal rules and minimal worries (bare minimum partners wassup !) 

“So, do we have a deal? Partners?” There was mischievous timber to his words, the kind that made you feel as if this would all later come back to bite you in the ass.

Pushing that pestering thought away, you took his hand into yours, holding his eyes as you gave it a firm shake.

“Partners.”

God, this bit. I knew from the minute I wrote it that I was writing the ending of bitchin’ along with it. I knew this was exactly how I was going to end this story, bc the word partners has multiple means right? In chapter 1, this meant business partners, but in the final chapter… it means life partners. Idk, I’m just still really happy with this writing decision :D

CHAPTER TWO – THE CONTRACT

Dearest Yara. We meet her in chapter two don’t we? Yara is completely based off of my irl best friend Yara who is a writer and who helped me A LOT with this story. She was my biggest supporter throughout figuring out this crazy plot. It was initially only about seven parts, but with her help I managed to bump it up to 10! Everybody say thank you Yaraaaa.

You were angry, that much was evident to her. Yara was sat in your shared dorm’s living room, a thick blanket engulfing her small frame. You briefly glanced towards the TV, it was tuned into MTV, the familiar music video of Every Breath You Take by The Police playing, before directing your glare back onto the copper-haired girl.

The song reference is a direct allusion to writer Yara’s fic, which is one of my favorite fics by her. She was actively writing it around the start of our friendship so it only felt right to pay respects to her. The introduction of her character felt necessary imo bc I wanted to make sure Y/N had a life outside Jungkook. Plus, I got to use the scenes between the two girls as a way to reference the music and culture scene. Yara is especially a fan of the powerful women in the music industry at the time, i.e., Madonna, Annie Lennox, Cyndi Laupner, etc.) Yara is a raging feminist and believer in sexual freedom and libery for women, we do in fact have to stan.

“How old do you think your sister is?”

“Hey, don’t sass me. For your information, Lyanna still has all her Care Bear tapes. She threw a hissy fit when my mom tried to give them away last Christmas.” Yara recalled.

Lyanna is one of writer Yara’s past pseudonyms. She always used to joke about how whenever she read it, it was confusing because there was Y/N, Yara and Lyanna, which were technically all her lolol.

FUNNY STORY ABOUT THE CONTRACT I INSERTED INTO THIS PICTURE… Twitter found it and made it into somewhat of a meme because no one knew it came from a fic rip. I was actually rly embarrassed and even wrote some posts about how much twitter scared me on my blog LMAO. but THEN weirdly enough, I actually stumbled upon a small community on twitter who actually found my fic and would TWEET ABOUT IT!!! LIKE REACTIONS TO EACH UPDATE!!! I wish I could go back in time and remember how giddy I was the first time I found a tweet about my fic. The fanfic community on twitter gave me a new love for the site (which I had previously had removed myself from because of its toxicity) and I have met so many wonderful people because of it. People even made themselves a little twitter group chat to talk about my fics, and now we are all friends! I miss posting a chapter of bitchin’ and refreshing my twitter feed as all my mutuals would post memes and live tweet their reactions. God that made me so fucking happy.

CHAPTER THREE – THE ROLLERSKATING DATE

I love the bickering in this chapter, because unlike the bickering in the first chapter, it’s actually less hostile and more playful. Y/N is slowly letting her guard down to the very persistently charming Jungkook.

“Woah. Family of six, huh? So you have siblings then.” He noted.

“Yep. Three.”

“Tell me about them.”

Looking up from where you were slipping on your second skate, you met Jungkook’s eyes, surprised to see genuine interest in them.

I actually originally had Y/N brush him off here. I was going to wait until the drunk party scene for Y/N to open up about her family and relationship with her sisters. But then I kind of thought to myself… Why? Y/N made peace with it and doesn’t hold onto those insecurities anymore. And objectively, Jungkook hasn’t proven himself to be a bad person so… I let Y/N open herself up to him.

“Then there’s the twins, Rosa and Lia.”

“Hold on. Twins? Wait… did they go to our high school?” Jungkook asked, his interest in this conversation doubled.

“Yep. They were two grades above us.” You confirmed.

“Oh shit, yeah, I remember your sisters, they were mad hot.” Jungkook let out a low whistle, before stiffening, flashing you an apologetic look. “Uh, in a totally non-meathead way.”

You offered the scared-looking boy a small smile, shaking your head.

Some of y’all notice but, Rosa and Lia are a blatant homage to my name: Roselia. ACTUALLY some form of my name can be found in every one of the rewind series fics, including upcoming ones. I’ll give a cookie to whoever can find every single mention hehe.

“I told you it was dumb.” You laughed nervously.

It wasn’t that you cared much about what Jungkook thought but you had a feeling a guy like him, who was popular and carefree, wouldn’t be able to sympathize in the way you would like him to.

“No, I’m just… surprised, that’s all.”

Jungkook certainly was surprised. You had built up quite the impression on him from the very moment you two met. It was hard to imagine that the girl who was so unapologetically herself was ever unsure or insecure.

Somehow, the idea tugged at his heart, as if he understood you more if only just a little.

From the get go, Jungkook was extremely drawn to just how confident and secure Y/N was in herself. I knew I wanted Y/N to be unapologetically sure of herself and in her abilities. Something I didn’t want, however, was for frat boy!jungkook’s only personality traits to be liking sex and being a cocky bastard (although I am a big consumer of that trope heh). Jungkook is actually canonly incredibly insecure. He lacks a real sense of self, which is why he is so desperate for Kiri back. His relationship with Kiri at that time was a big part of what he thought was himself. He has somewhat of low self esteem tbh which is why he’ll go back to a woman who treated him unfairly. That’s why he comes off the way he does in the first chapter and why Y/N thinks he has a big ego... he’s overcompensating. He finds it so endlessly fascinating that Y/N, in all her confident glory, was actually once super insecure. He admires her all the more once she opens up about her past.

“Oh, Rosa is an intern for our hometown’s newspaper but between you and me those assholes don’t even let her write. She does coffee and burger runs for men in charge. And Lia sells ice cream at the mall.”

“What about your brother?” Jungkook asked.

“He’s training to be a cop just like my dad.”

“And your mom?”

“She works at a convenience store.”

All their careers resemble people in the latest Stranger Things season (Nancy, Steve, Hopper, and Joyce). Fun Cameo there.

“What’s wrong?” You wondered, following his eyes.

“October 16th, 1985. 6:48PM.”

“Yes. That’s today’s date and time. What about it?” You pressed, growing confused.

“Remember it.” He warned.

“Why?”

“It’s when I fell in love with you.”

This iconic line I actually got from the real Jeon Jungkook himself. While Jungkook wasn’t actually in love with Y/N here, it certainly was a cute way for him to express his admiration for her.

OH HERE’S A FUN FACT: the hickey scene at the end of this chapter where JK and Y/N kiss for the first time was actually supposed to be Yara giving Y/N the hickey like the best friend she is. Ultimately I went with JK giving it for... smut purposes... ≖‿≖ 

CHAPTER FOUR – THE HALLOWEEN PARTY

The decision for Y/N to be Freddie Krueger came from me planning to be him for Halloween. And I was! JK as Glen Lantz just followed naturally. I’ve seen some great edits of him as the character. Truly chef’s kiss.

I really liked that Jungkook came over to the girl’s dorm to get ready. I didn’t want a scene where Y/N was thrown into a situation she was uncomfortable with which is how much Nerd At A Party Scene go so made sure Jungkook stayed by her side throughout the part, going out of his way to introducing her to the people he cared about.

Tae’s character came in when I realized I needed a way to actually put Y/N’s event in motion. He was the missing link and BOY did you guys eat his character right up huh. Love that for me.

Another thing, the confrontation with Kiri was so hard to write guys, I reeaaaally struggle with girl conflict. GIRLS SHOULD SUPPORT GIRLS. However, not everyone gets along in real life so I went with Kiri being more along the lines of petty rather than outwardly a cunt to Y/N. Realistically, Kiri is popular and well liked among the greek life so being unkind to someone she hardly knows wouldn’t make sense. There’s definitely tension between these two but I tried my best to steer away from the typical cat fight/revenge porn/public humiliation trope most movies seem to follow.

CHAPTER FIVE – THE FIRST TIME

Introduction to Erik!!!! It was really important to me that Y/N had a life before Jungkook. That's why I wrote in Y/N having a fiancé. She’s not opposed to love, she just has reshifted her focus. She knows what she wants and is choosing to focus on that, which why when she realizes she’s falling for Kookie she’s so hesitant to admit it because she’s fallen down that road before. Even though Jungkook treats her with respect and acknowledges the parts of her she’s most proud of, she just isn’t willing to possibly give up her passions for love. Which is why she doesn’t immediately confess to him, even once she’s sure she loves him.

“I’m serious, nerd. You’re like… um… the sun!” Jungkook marveled, eyes growing full as the realization dawned on him.

“The sun?” You laughed.

“Yeah, like… you’re this bright, beautiful thing that seems like it’s here in front of me but is really light-years away.”

Jungkook was drunk, and although you were sure he was making more sense in his head, you couldn’t help but feel your face grow hot, unsure of how to react to his drunk analogy.

“You’re the sun, Y/N. You make the world turn for you. Never orbit for anyone else.”

And suddenly, you were kissing him, for no other reason other than you wanted to and that it felt like the right thing to do.

No real commentary here. Just love this bit. It’s probably my favorite interaction between them two ‧⁺◟( ᵒ̴̶̷̥́ ·̫ ᵒ̴̶̷̣̥̀ ) 

“Also… She’s, uh, currently dating Eunwoo.” You told Yara.

Your best friend blinked, silence falling over her.

“Yara?”

“Good for her.” She perked up almost forcibly. “Let her put up with his annoying ass.”

Yara could see the way your expression had turned dubious as if you didn’t believe her nonchalant act.

Yara turned up her nose defensively, “What?”

Ugh yes, some character development from Yara.... the flavor ! Yara (much like Y/N and JK) also struggles with love. She has a real fear of commitment and if far more comfortable with casual sex than relationships. She did develop actual feelings for Eunwoo, she just wasn’t ready for that kind of commitment so she cut him off. Fleed the scene if you will. Typical gemini smh my head.

"I don’t think the contract mentioned orgasms.” Jungkook smirked as you released his thumb.

“I say we let it slide.” You shrugged, leaning into him casually.

“You think?”

“Totally. Think of it as… a bonding activity.” You joked, resting your chin on his shoulder, peering up through your lashes.

“Damn, we’re really committed to this fake dating thing, huh.”

You laughed in the way that you hated, but Jungkook loved; it was loud and abrupt, but it genuine, and it was you.

“What can I say, I’m a method actor.” You sighed dramatically, causing Jungkook to grin before pressing a kiss to your nose, simply because he liked the way it always seemed to make you smile.

GOD THEY’RE SO WHIPPED FOR EACH OTHER ITS DISGUSTING!!!!!! I’m really happy I decided not to make sleeping together a big deal and I got a lot of feedback from you guys agreeing! I had a lot of fun with these two’s sex scenes knowing they could do it whenever they wanted.

CHAPTER SIX – THE STEM EVENT

I started the scene with smut BUT I wanted to point out that much of their time spent together is at Y/N dorm, Jungkook either napping, hanging out or doing work as Y/N would study like she always did. I liked the idea that Jungkook would get bored and would want attention from Y/N because she was so focused. Idk, I just wanted to write a love story about two people spending time together and figuring out how they fit in each other’s lives as opposed to some dramatic I mEeT HiM aNd mY LiFe bEcAmE cRaZy. There’s nothing wrong with that plot line, I just didn’t want that for these two dorks. I wanted Y/N to interact with JK’s scene and crowd but not give up her own which is why most days JK and her just lounged around in her dorm studying.

Also, I don’t know how the teacher/student roleplay made it into the smut, it just did, no further questions (ʃ⌣́_⌣́ƪ).

Then the event scene.

“You’re whipped, dude! Seriously.”

Jungkook felt his face go red, “Shut up, no, I’m not.”

“Hey, I’m not judging. I get it. That’s your girl.” Taehyung shrugged. Jungkook placed a hand on the fold up table in front of him, staring down at the information pamphlet you had worked so hard on.

“She’s just… so fucking driven and passionate about everything she does. Sometimes I look at her, and I’m just like… holy shit, what am I doing with a girl like her? I feel like she’s totally out of my league and being with me is holding her back but— I dunno, man. I just… really like her.” Jungkook revealed, voice growing small.

An unexpected wave of tenderness fell over the two boys, Taehyung throwing an arm over his little brother’s shoulder.

“I’m happy for you, bro.”

Jungkook didn’t know it just yet but dude was talking from the heart and, is in fact, totally whipped :’c

I loved the confrontation scene between the boys and Eunwoo because the boys standing up for Yara really did make everyone feel like a friend group, not just some character who happen to exist at the same time. It wasn’t just Y/N and Yara and one side and the boys on the other. They would all become friends, which is ideal to me. A boyfriend who likes your best friend and considers her a friend so you can all hang out??? Yes please.

Initially, irl Yara and I had noooo clue if Yara would end up with Eunwoo or not. That was actually the original goal actually. But after this chapter four, you guys made it ABUNDANTLY clear that you guys wanted to see Taeyara, despite the two never even meeting! Honestly, it wasn’t until this chapter was written that we decided for sure that Eunwoo was out of the picture for Yara. Part of me really wanted to keep Yara single, but irl Yara insisted on dick and frankly, she’s right. Bitchin’ Yara deserved a shot at love. She definitely has her own story outside of Bitchin’ and will experience a lot of growth in the future.

“God, I know. I do not miss that temper of his.” She chuckled, her words piquing your interest.

“Temper?”

“Oh, yeah. Have you seriously not experienced it yet? He’s got some gnarly anger issues. Not to mention all the lying…” Kiri paused suddenly, straightening up as she flashed you an apologetic look. “Yikes, I’m sorry. I totally should not be telling you this. I’m not trying to be that gross girl that shit talks her ex to his current girlfriend.”

Miss Kiri, Miss Kiri. She really acted up this chapter didn’t she. There was a lot of discussion about whether or not those things she said about Jungkook were true. Which was exactly what I wanted hehe. We come to find out that Kiri had definitely stretched the truth. She really is good at manipulation and understanding how people think and it’s why she is in the role that she is in. Messy queen.

CHAPTER SEVEN – THE ROOFTOP DATE

This entire chapter was inspired by High School Musical with Troy and Gabriella’s rooftop garden scenes. This was my shortest chapter and honestly, probably not my strongest. I definitely went into writing this with zero concept of what I actually wanted to happen. Usually when I write my chapters I have a 4k long outline of it beforehand that I go off of. Not this one though. I really just winged it and I tried my best to write a chapter that really showed off (dialogue wise) just how this couple bounces off each other. I do really like some of the banter they have in this chapter.

You had taken note a little wooden popsicle stick poking up from the soil of the yellow flowers. Acacias, they were marked. Pulling your knees up to your chest, you considered his words.

Yellow acacias stands the value of true friendship and can indicate a secret love! I thought that was very appropriate given these dummies' relationship.

“So, you probably know why I brought you here.”

You nodded.

“You’re proposing, right?”

“Yeah, I– oh, shut up.” He laughed, the serious mood shattering as you joined him.

Even though I knew they were going to have a semi serious talk, what with Y/N asking about what Kiri had told her, these two dufuses realistically are just too comfortable with each other to stay serious for too long.

“Hey, I said that out of frustration, I didn’t really mean it. I’m sure she’ll come crawling back soon.” You attempted to comfort him, hoping to sound sincere.

“Even if that’s true, I’m not entirely sure I want that anymore.”

“What?” You blinked. Jungkook shrugged.

“What about us?” He met your eyes, causing your breath to hitch.

“What about us?”

Jungkook stared at you for a moment, noting the way the timber in your voice had become higher pitched as if panicked.

MORE FUN FACTS LMFAO: I typically do this thing with unplanned chapters where I just go for it and write and usually it works out. But when I wrote this down I remember stopping and being like ??? WHY DID I JUST WRITE THAT ??? I don’t like deleting my writing so I had a serious think to myself about whether this was going to be the moment Jungkook confessed or not.

Canonly, I decided that Jungkook did in fact mean ‘us’ in a romantic sense, but because of the way you perceivably panicked at that possible meaning, he decided against taking the conversation in that direction, instead speaking about ‘us’ in a platonic sense. Poor kookie :(

“Stop. Listen to me, Jungkook, you’re a fucking great guy, okay? You’re charismatic and funny and care about your friends… sure, you almost ruined my event, but it was mostly to defend my best friend when Eunwoo got too pushy, right? You’re a good guy, meathead. I know I joke about your ego, but I really believe you’re capable of more than you think you are. Seriously, Kiri is so lucky to be the object of your affection.”

Jungkook watched the way the sun’s orange light kissed your face, a bittersweet feeling growing in his chest as he contemplated the object of his affection. Just a couple of months ago, he would have had no doubt about who held his heart, but as you held his stare, he found himself unsure and yet, entirely sure all the same.

“Jungkook? You okay?” You frowned, catching in the sadness in his eyes.

“Hm? Yeah, yeah. I just… realized something.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

“…It doesn’t matter.” He smiled, the gesture hardly reaching his eyes.

It’s in this moment that Jungkook decides that there is no way you hold the same affection towards him that he does to you. He mistakes your words of comfort as you pushing him away. You are so kind and encouraging and Jungkook loves you so much that hearing you insist about him ending back up with Kiri hurts him so bad.

But you are still unsure about your feelings and genuinely believe that's still what Jungkook wants. You’re just being a supportive friend!! :( It isn’t until the end of this chapter when Y/N has her talk with Yara that she realizes, oh man, she’s in deep.

CHAPTER EIGHT – THE MISTAKE

BLAH. This chapter is so BLAH, you know? Having to write this chapter was SO HARD. I texted irl Yara complaining about how much I hated having to put my characters through this and that I wanted to just end the story on chapter 7 and keep them happy forever. BUT ALAS! I had planned for this to happen from the start.

You tasted like the mint of your favorite brand of toothpaste. He imagined if he had caught you any later then the mint would have been accompanied by the taste of coffee, knowing the way you rarely started a day without a cup.

God, he had missed the taste of you.

What you guys didn’t see is Jungkook spending the night with Kiri, and immediately kicking her out, freaking out as the weight of guilt washed over him. He knew he had done nothing wrong, that you weren’t his real girlfriend, and that getting back together with Kiri was exactly what he had signed up for. It was what he should’ve wanted. But it wasn't… because you were what he wanted. And that was exactly what he was going to tell you as he marched over to your apartment.

But he panicked. His mind already decided that your answer to him would be no– that you didn’t feel the same. So he kissed you. He had you in the only way he was allowed to. He was selfish and impulsive and so incredibly scared that he ended up hurting the person he loved the most.

Initially though, I had Jungkook get back together with Kiri, not that he slept with her right before sleeping with Y/N. But I decided TEEHEE let me just make everything erupt into flames. However, I didn’t realize just how angry with Jungkook you guys would get. I remember thinking DAMMIT WAS THAT TOO SCANDALOUS?? I knew I was going to have to work hard for Jungkook to redeem himself to my readers.

“She wants to get back together.” Jungkook swallowed dryly, eyes wavering between yours as if to gauge your reaction.

“…Oh.”

You shook your head.

“I mean, wow! That’s… That’s great!” You smiled, something tearing apart inside you as the words left your lips.

“Y/N–”

“Seriously! This means it worked, right? This is exactly what you wanted to happen.” You enthused, turning your head so that he couldn’t see the way your eyes had welled up.

Jungkook’s heart was pounding in his ears, fighting the urge to wrap his arms around you.

“Yeah… yeah, no, you’re right. We did it.” He replied monotonously.

GOD THIS PART IS SO UNBELIEVABLY FRUSTRATING! JUST ADMIT YOU LOVE EACH OTHER YOU MORONS! This entire situation is so convoluted because there's so much information missing and not being expressed, I seriously want to ring my own neck rereading this bit.

“Are you mad?” He called out cautiously, a heavy feeling falling onto his chest.

“Why would I be mad?” You quipped back sharply, causing Jungkook to flinch. He shifted in his seat uncomfortably.

“I just thought… I mean we’ve been fooling around a lot lately, so I didn’t know if—”

“If what? I had feelings for you?” You scoffed. “Please, as if I’d ever fall for you.”

And there it was— everything Jungkook already knew but had been so afraid to hear. Of course, you didn’t feel for him what he felt for you. How could he have expected anything different?

IDIOTS!!! THEY'RE BOTH IDIOTS!!! I don't know how y'all put up with this for so long. Forgive me.

CHAPTER NINE – THE BREAK

Okay I actually love this chapter. And for many reasons. Let me break down the three scenes for you guys.

Scene one: Kiri confrontation

Kiri is definitely an opposing antagonist. She is constantly working against Y/N because of their interests directly conflicting. BUT. I would argue that the biggest antagonist to this story is the inner ones – Y/N and Jungkook's lack of ability to admit their feelings constantly holding them both back from their happy ending. That being said, a confrontation scene between Y/N and Kiri was MUCH needed. While I suppose I can understand why Kiri doesn't like Y/N, that doesn't change the fact that she has been disrespectful and catty. So miss Y/N had to put Miss Kiri in her place (•̀ᴗ•́)

Scene two: Yara and Tae at the library

Fanservice. That is all. LMFAOOO y'all reallllyyy wanted it to happen and who am I to deny my people what they want. It was really fun getting to explore my side characters and develop them through interactions outside the two main characters. IRL Yara also mentioned giving bitchin’ Yara and Tae their own chapter as a joke and I was like LOL BET. I fully was going to but then I got the idea for the next scene and was like ahh ok maybe not the whole chapter.

Scene three: Meeting with Erik

So. This was a SUPER last minute decision. Like, it wasn’t until I was writing this chapter that I planned on Erik making an appearance. I saw a tweet with someone saying their bitchin theories and they mentioned Erik appearing out of nowhere and I was like,,, HOLD ON!!!! That could be kind of spicy ≖‿≖ 

I knew for a fact JK was NOT going to be forgiven in this chapter; I needed a way to lay the situation out between the two dorks without trying to seem like I was trying to sway my audience in a way that didn't make sense to the story. Y/N was rightfully angry. But she wasn't only angry about the timing of the sex. She was angry that Jungkook went back to Kiri at all and there was no way she was going to admit that. So who better to lay it all out than calculated, unbiased third party Erik. He deserved some character development after all.

I also liked the idea that Y/N had, in theory, “romantic options.” Losing Jungkook didn’t mean the end of her life. Having my female lead stand on her own was very important to me.

CHAPTER TEN – THE END

RIGHT OF THE BAT I needed Jungkook to suffer. So that whole scene where he tries to interact with his old group only for his presence to make everything awkward MMMM yes, sweet revenge on my part.

You were surprised. His hair was no longer shaggy and long like you remembered it. Instead, it had been freshly cut, looking healthy and neatly styled for the first time since you met Jungkook.

THE WAY SO MANY PEOPLE COMMENTED ON THIS LINE “but Y/N liked it long?!?”  IS SO FUNNNYyyyy. So let me clarify a thing. Jungkook had always wanted to cut his hair right. The only reason he didn’t was because Y/N told him not to. With Y/N no longer in the picture to convince him out of it, he cut his hair. That’s really all there is to it skfjsjf.

You know, I had written this part around the time I had just finished up the third ch believe it or not. And it was COMPLETELY different. I had it planned that Yara and Y/N ignored him throughout class and Yara had gone back after the bell rang to go verbally assault JK. And as the two hashed it out, only then was that when Jungkook would realize that he liked Y/N after Yara literally spelled it out for him.

“You like her, dumbass!” Was what I had written Yara saying. I really had written him in denial for ten chapters, I was a whole sociopath (╥﹏╥). But ultimately, I decided that Jungkook came to that conclusion on his own and the decision to apologize to Y/N would have been made over winter break.

“You said Kiri came over asking for you back, yet you still came over and slept with me the next day. Even though the two of you had sex the night before. Do you understand how that makes me feel?”

“I’m—”

“Like garbage!" You emphasized, the white paint of the door somehow irritating you further. "I felt like I was something you threw away and picked back up whenever you felt like getting your dick wet.”

Your chest was rising and falling rapidly, and you tried your hardest to not let your emotions get the best of you.

“Not to mention to everyone else, it looks like you cheated on me. Which makes me look like a fucking idiot." You scoffed.

Jungkook said nothing in reply, which somehow made it easier to say all you should have said that day in your room.

“It just sucks to realize that someone you once cared about sees you as nothing more than a toy. It fucking sucks.”

Man :( writing this hurt my heart. I really, really, love bitchin!y/n and writing her hurting freaking stinks. But she had to speak her mind. She deserves the chance to get everything off her chest with the way Jungkook hurt her.

Your heart and mind were in constant paradox, torn between wanting him back and wanting him to know just how much he had hurt you. Your mind ultimately won the battle, of course, but as Jungkook stood just a few inches of drywood apart pouring his heart out, it was hard to say which major organ was responsible for your next words.

The creak of the door being pushed open sent Jungkook's eyes wide, revealing your hesitant form. You had your arms crossed over your chest as if to guard the contents inside of it.

You looked like an angel underneath the bathroom's blue fluorescent lights, beautiful and lovely, a stark contrast from your next crushing sentence.

“I slept with Erik.”

Hehe. Ofc my girl Y/N had to have a rebound!!! She knows that life goes on. However, as I wrote in, she definitely regretted it. It was kind of the same situation that Jungkook was in where he pursued something just because it was familiar and a distraction and not because he really wanted it. Both Y/N and Jungkook are flawed characters but that’s okay! If anything, Y/N’s mistake of sleeping with Erik is what allows her to forgive Jungkook. Knowing first hand how complicated their entire relationship really was.

“I don’t need you… but I don’t think I want a life without you.” You finished shyly.

Your eyes were locked with his when suddenly a small noise escaped him, eyes pulling away from yours as his head moved to attempt to hide the way his eyes had grown wet.

I got this line from one of my best friends after her ex broke up with her. It made me physically sad and really sympathize with her so I quickly wrote it down into my notes app to save for later LMAOOOO. Knowing that you are your own person and life will inevitably go on after losing someone, but that your heart still wants and is pleading for the one person you can’t have. SO SAD. I’m happy I got to use this line in one of my fics.

The note Jungkook wrote Y/N,,, imagine him not being able to sleep one night over winter break so he just writes down everything he should have told Y/N while he still had the chance…. I’ll for real cry dude, he’s so cute. Also, the line about him buying you fluffy Halloween socks for Christmas went over people’s heads I think but HECK I THOUGHT THAT WAS SO FUNNY AND SWEET (because Y/N bought Christmas socks when it was Halloween teehee).

"Are you two dorks done crying?" Yara’s voice rang out suddenly, causing both of you to jump apart.

"Yara, you creep! Privacy, dude! Ever try knocking?" You sniffed, wiping at your face hurriedly.

"What? Like you were peeing with Jungkook in the bathroom? Please." She waved you off, walking back into the living room to give you two some privacy. She did say Jungkook had 15 minutes before she’d have to come back in after all. "Anyway, Tae will be over in 10 minutes for the Saved By The Bell marathon that’s on so you guys are more than welcomed to join." She called out from her newly seated position on the couch.

I included this scene with Yara because things were getting too serious for my liking ngl. Plus the idea that the four of them would all come together at the end for a much needed reunion made my happy bitchin heart soar.

Jungkook let out a laugh, his palm finding your cheek, eyes locked on your lips. You were preening for his kiss, mouth parting slightly as you anticipated it.

“Partners?”

The question took you by surprise, eyes widening at your not so pretend lover.

Idiot.

“Partners.” You smiled softly, eyes shiny and brimming with tears as he kissed you for what must have been the millionth time, but still somehow felt like the first.

UGH I LOVE THEM I REALLY DO. I was so happy with how this final scene came out :( They’re partners, they really are I miss these boneheads.

AND NOW, I PRESENT THE CANON FUTURE OF THE BITCHIN UNIVERSE...

10 YEARS LATER

Let’s be honest, Jungkook popped the question the day of graduation, he can’t imagine a life in which you wouldn’t be beside him

You said yes (shocker)

Cue Jungkook being the most wonderful partner and respecting your wish to finish your residency program before having the wedding

You absolutely kick ass at being a neonatal surgeon

Also, Jungkook started a film company! It’s small but he loves what he does and works with colleges and helps out the film majors with resources and equipment <3

SO IT'S THE DAY OF YOUR WEDDING RIGHT

Yara and your sisters are helping you get ready, with your best friend as the ever so reassuring maid of honor

And by that I mean you’re as calm as a cucumber and Yara is one wrong move away from having a stroke

“Y/N… Don’t freak out....The catering company put in two orders of shrimp instead of chicken and steak.”

“Yara, it’s okay.”

“NO ITS NOT???? THIS IS YOUR WEDDING DAY AND YOU’RE GETTING CRUSTACEANS.”

Y/N making Yara take a seat and practice some breathing exercises so she doesn’t upset the baby

Oh yeah, Yara is 10 weeks pregnant

Taehyung is the dad lol

Yara and Taehyung have been together ever since that day at the library hehe <3

They moved in together and adopted a cat and everything (sweet boy Tae wanted a dog but Yara’s afraid of dogs and Tae would do anything for that woman so Yeontan the cat it is)

Yara refuses to put a label on their relationship even after all this time, and Tae doesn’t ask for one. They’re happy and dedicated to each other and don’t feel the need to put pressure on something that’s already so perfect

Yara is actually violently in love with Tae but still scoffs when Y/N tries to bring it up

“Oh my god, you’re so in love with him”

“Huh??? you must be sick or something. Get well soon, damn :/”

Yara likes to come up with different labels for Taehyung every time she has to introduce him. Among her favorites are roommate, rent sharer, baby daddy and penis lender

Speaking of Taehyung, he’d have a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder as he tries to calm down the panicking groom to be

“JK, breathe.”

“What if she doesn’t show up? What if she doesn’t want to marry me? What if I pressured her into this and— and I’ve freaked her out and now she hates me?”

“Dude, you guys have been engaged for eight years. She’s had her opportunity to run. She’ll show up.”

Taehyung scruffing up the younger man’s hair reassuringly, which only flusters him more because DAMMIT he wants to look perfect for you and now his hair is messed up >:(

(You like him no matter what his hair looks like though)

Jungkook literally swallowing down a sob as you walk down the aisle and he lays his eyes on you for the first time

You having a dumb smile on your face the entire walk over because your husband to be is crying and you haven’t even exchanged vows yet

The entire audience going all sobby when you finally do exchange vows because they’re so beautiful and real

The ten years together has not been easy— from financial struggles as you tried to support yourself through med school, to personal conflicts when Jungkook wanted to start a family already

But you guys figured it out

You always do

He’s your person. And you are his.

Y/N’s sisters Rosa and Lia are a WRECK— even your dad is tearing up

Your family loves Jungkook and have been counting down the days until you guys married, let’s be honest

“You may now kiss the bride.”

Jungkook punching the air with a “FINALLY!” before kissing the hell out of you

The cutting of the cake inevitably turning into a food fight

The shrimp entrees turning out to be pretty damn good

Yara catching the bouquet and wagging her brows at Taehyung suggestively

Jungkook pulling you aside to take photos of you outside the venue because you look so so pretty and he loves the way you smile when he’s the one behind the camera

The party is in full session, your siblings tearing up the dance floor like the extroverts they are

You and Jungkook are sat at the head of the room, hands intertwined underneath the table as you watch a tired and painfully sober Yara swing her bare feet onto Taehyung’s lap, requesting a foot rub

Watching your pregnant best friend and her lover together, you turned towards your own, smile impossibly wide

“What?”

“Let’s have a baby.” You’d grin, so stupid happy

Jungkook’s eyes going round and immediately jumping up from his seat because god that’s all he’s ever wanted

Being tugged out the room by a giddy Jungkook, one of your heels flinging off somewhere behind you.

“What’s happening? Where are we going?!”

The two of you find yourself in a storage room somewhere on the hotel floor

“Jeon Jungkook, what the hell—“

His mouth find yourself, kissing you in a way that couldn’t at the altar

You kissed him back without questions, arms wrapping around the man you now called your husband

“I love you.” He’d sigh into your neck, his hot breath causing you to shiver

“I love you too.”

“Let’s make a baby.”

“Yeah let’s— wait, right here? Right now?!”

Jungkook merely nodding as his mouth found the exposed skin of your chest

“Meathead, we can’t just ditch our wedding to have sex!”

“Why not? We did our marital duties. Now it’s our guests' job to get embarrassingly drunk and make a fool of themselves on the dance floor. No one will even miss us.”

“Isn’t baby making what our honeymoon is for?”

“Screw that. I’ve done my waiting. Let’s start our family, nerd.”

Jungkook kissing your protests silent before you inevitably give in and let him take you right there and then, your wedding dress hung around your hips

Husband and wife coming together with shaky breaths and hushed moans as they promise the rest of their lives to each other, making every argument, struggle or moment of uncertainty leading up to now totally worth it

Walk of shame back into the party with nervous hair fixing from you and a proud grin from Jungkook

Yara figuring out exactly why you two had sneaked off to, flashing the newly weds a knowing smirk

The night of your wedding, Jungkook surprises you with a present

You unwrap it in confusion, only to see that it’s a glass frame and inside of it is the wrinkled and worn out lined paper the two of you had scribbled on many many years ago

Jungkook hangs up the contract right above your bed as per your request, smiling as he does and jumping on him the moment he puts down the hammer bc dammit it you’re too heckin excited to make love with your sentimental loser of a husband

And yes, by the next month, you are pregnant and incredibly happy

And of course, your daughter and Yara’s son grow up to be best friends, not a family holiday passing by where they aren’t told the story of the totally bitchin’ way both set of their parents got together

#beyond the story #bts smut #Jungkook smut #bts jungkook #bts #bts imagines #bts preferences #Jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook

[edens-breathless-melodies-moved]

words: 3.4k

pairing: kageyama t. x f!chubby!reader

prompt: sweat kink

warnings: cursing, oral (female receiving), fucking in a personal gym, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), sweat licking (he’s a freak lmao)

summary: kageyama knew you looked good while working out. the way your soft arms would suddenly flex and he’d see the muscles you were so good at hiding.

he knew he liked to watch you work out, but he never would have known that the sight of you covered in sweat would stir something so primal in him.

a/n: kageyama likes his women chunky you can’t change my mind. just to clarify, reader is an american who came to japan because iwa convinced her she’d go to the olympics if she followed him. she met iwa in her first year of college and quickly became friends. reader is insinuated to be a rather plush woman, but she’s ✨ s t w o n g ✨

“group bonding exercise?”

you repeated dubiously, blinking owlishly at the blonde in front of you as he just sits there and smiles, nodding his head.

you look to the other men in the olympic gymnasium for help, but they either shrug their shoulders in equal confusion or nodded their heads with atsumu.

when you had walked through the gym doors this morning with iwaizumi, ready to start the days training, you didn’t expect to have atsumu come up to you and propose a “bonding experience”, in his words.

hinata came bounding up to you with that ridiculous speed of his, orange hair bouncing in his excitement. he was practically vibrating with energy, hazel eyes glowing under the fluorescent lighting.

“yeah! we overheard you saying how you wanted to get back in shape and slim down a little, so what better group to help you out than us?”

all the men in the gym froze at his oblivious words, shocked that he really just said that to your face. kageyama froze in the middle of his lunges and choked, eyes wide.

‘this idiot really has no class…’ they all thought simultaneously as they watched the scene unfold with bated breath, waiting for the inevitable moment you ripped his head off and stomped on his body.

if there was one thing they all knew, they knew it was to never mention a woman’s weight. especially to you. you weren’t exactly the thinnest around, but that didn’t make you any less attractive.

in all honesty, you were hot, in all your foreign, sexy glory.

to everyone’s obvious surprise however, instead of killing the ginger, you laughed instead and patted him on his floof, thanking him for reminding you.

the team sweat dropped as hinata bounced around, clearly enjoying the head pat as he started spouting off different types of exercises they wanted you to do, bokuto and atsumu quickly joining in.

they all surely expected you to spike his head off or something, but they were pleasantly surprised and grateful you didn’t. they couldn’t afford to replace him so close to the games.

you see, you were no stranger to physical violence or getting physical in general. you had been recruited to manage the japanese men’s olympic volleyball team by none other than iwaizumi hajime, himself.

it was funny how things worked out because you two had already known each other before the offer was even offered.

you had met previously during college where you both graduated with the same degree. having spent the last four years taking the same classes and becoming best friends, it wasn’t a surprise when iwa asked you to come back with him to japan.

though you were pretty adamant in staying in america, despite knowing japanese, you somehow were convinced by him. before you knew it, you were saying goodbye to your hometown of los angeles and saying hello to tokyo.

because of your past with iwaizumi coupled with the fact that you both had the same degree and title, you two were known as the demon trainers from hell.

where iwa was all obvious brute strength and harsh glares, you were much more reserved but still equally as terrifying with your sickly sweet smiles and icy words if the boys were getting out of line.

but just because you preferred to make them cry with your words instead of your fists, that didn’t mean it wasn’t common to see you either hitting one of them upside the head or spiking a ball at them with deadly accuracy.

when the team first met you, however, they could hardly believe that you were a certified athletic trainer, let alone their manager on top of that. it wasn’t anything against you, you just… didn’t look the part.

standing at a whopping 5’4”, all the men on the team easily dwarfed you in height, and your body wasn’t all hard planes and corded muscles. you were soft and squishy looking, running a little heavy for your height.

you just looked so adorable and soft. your cheeks had this permanent blush across them from your constant sunburn (blame the california sun), and they always puffed out when you pouted.

but that was their first mistake; underestimating you. even kageyama, your boyfriend, had underestimated you, though he denies it now.

it was actually how you two had met, though it was under less than ideal circumstances.

he was bold enough to question whether you were even meant to be on their team your first day meeting them, unintentionally offending you and all your hard work to get where you were.

“it’s nothing against you personally, but you just don’t look like you’re meant for the job.”

kageyama had said without looking at you, and everyone, including the coaches, were stunned by his blunt and brash words. even ushijima was rendered speechless.

kageyama looked around confusedly at everyone’s silence and wide eyes. what? did he say something wrong? he didn’t mean to offend you, he was just telling the truth how he saw it.

it was only when iwaizumi snickered and everyone broke out of their shocked reverie that all eyes shifted from kageyama to you.

chills ran down their spines at the eerily calm smile you gave kageyama, eyes closed tightly as you took a deep breath in. “you really fucked up now, kageyama.” iwaizumi chuckled.

everyone’s hearts stopped when you opened your eyes, and even kageyama shivered when your gaze met his. the way the fire in your eyes seemed to run so hot it could freeze over hell, looked eerily similar to the look hinata gives on the court.

“so i “don’t look the part”, hmm?” you muse, smile growing even wider as you watched the setter fumble over his words, trying to save face.

you let out an over dramatic sigh as you tossed your head back, clicking your tongue once as iwaizumi let out another laugh before walking over to stand by your side. apparently this happened often.

kageyama stopped fumbling over his words as he watched his old senpai cross his arms over his chest. you chuckled as you shucked off your trainer jacket, revealing your plain black t-shirt underneath.

the team never took their eyes off of you as you raised your arms above your head and stretched. gasps rang out across the gym as they saw your flex and the muscles that bulged from underneath your fluffy flesh.

“y’know, kageyama-san,” you drawled, lowering your arms as you began methodically stretching your thick legs, sharp eyes never leaving his. “you’re not the first person to say that to me.”

“she’s right,” iwaizumi mused with a smirk. “i’m pretty sure i was, and i still regret it to this day.”

kageyama gulped nervously and the team could only watch in awe as you finished your stretching before bending over slightly to your left.

you lined up your shoulders with iwaizumi’s hips as you placed a firm grip on his knee and around his shoulders.

with wide eyes and jaws dropped to the floor, the entire team and even the coaches watched you lift iwaizumi with ease and settle him into a comfortable fireman’s carry.

atsumu, bokuto, and hinata audibly screeched and even the usually stoic sakusa and ushijima choked on their spit in shock.

without breaking a sweat, in a sheer display of strength and power, you casually walked towards kageyama, and iwaizumi couldn’t repress his snickers because kageyama looked like he’d just seen a ghost.

how are you so strong?!

your smirk never left your lips as you stopped only a couple of feet away from the shocked olympian, and raised an eyebrow at him mockingly. “what’s wrong, kageyama-san? cat got your tongue?”

you grin grows maliciously as he struggles to answer you, obviously flustered. “do i still look too “soft” or “weak” to be able to handle you guys?”

when kageyama still didn’t answer you, still too flustered and shocked by your impressive display of strength, (cause iwaizumi is not light, that man is straight muscle), you sighed before giving the gym a quick scan before settling on one of the team's liberos.

“yaku-san.” yaku jumped at your polite tone when you called his name, but he quickly recovered with a sincere smile. “yes, (l/n)-san?”

you shot him a sweet smile of your own, and chose to ignore the blush across his cheeks to avoid embarrassing him. “can you give me a number between one and twenty?”

yaku stared at you confusedly along with the rest of the team and iwaizumi fully burst out laughing, shaking on your shoulders. you fought back your own grin as you threatened to drop him.

“um, ten?”

you grinned as you widened your stance, feet placed shoulder length apart as you took in a deep breath, preparing your muscles.

“good, i wanted a decent workout today, anyways.”

and when you began to squat your best friend with perfect posture and ease, kageyama didn’t even register the howling screeches of his teammates as they lost their minds over this mini she-hulk they just got as a manager.

instead, kageyama could only focus on the blood rushing through his ears and to his cheeks as he watched you squat his senpai with a smile on your beautiful face, a singular bead of sweat rolling down your temple.

oh, he was in deep now.

—————————

kageyama knew he should be ashamed of the way he was staring at you, but he couldn’t find it within himself to tear his eyes away.

with a harsh gulp and wide eyes, he watched you as you continued on with your leg presses, eyes closed as you took in even breaths.

you didn’t even seem bothered by the amount of weight you were pushing, but then again, 300 lbs was something normal to you.

finishing your reps, pushed your legs out fully before locking the press, taking a deep swig of your water as you lifted yourself up from your reclined sitting position.

blue eyes followed the trail of your sweat as it glided down the side of your neck before being absorbed into the fabric of your sports bra strap, and he gulped again, pants suddenly feeling tight.

that feeling only intensified when you lifted the edge of your shirt to wipe at your soaked brow, exposing your pudgy and soft tummy. you’ve never looked more delicious to kageyama than now.

when your boyfriend of six months and olympian in training had invited you to his home to work out in his personal gym after you finished atsumu’s little “team bonding experience” you didn’t expect him to just stare at you as you went about your reps and sets.

you chose to ignore the hungry way he gazed at your plush body as you moved over to where the squat stand was, bar already loaded with your preferred weight.

not minding the intense stare from across the room, you bit back a smile when you heard the light gasp come from your boyfriend as you ducked under the bar and settled it comfortably on your shoulders.

you stood up straight and relished in the familiar weight against your flesh. stepping back with a deep breath, making sure your posture was correct, you squatted your first rep.

as you came back up, you weren’t surprised when you noticed your boyfriend had disappeared from his seat by the shoulder press.

what did surprise you was the sudden warm presence behind you, and you bit back a startled gasp when you felt his large hands come to gently rest on your waist.

“as a professional trainer, you should know it’s dangerous to squat without a spotter.” kageyama’s deep voice muttered out. he resisted the urge to dig his fingers into your soft skin as you chuckled.

“you’re right, but i think i can handle myself.” you musea. you held back a gasp when he leaned forward to nudge his nose against your jaw, breath cool against your sweaty skin.

kageyama inhaled the musky yet sweet scent of your sweat against your skin and had to bite his lip to repress his groan. why was he getting so worked up over this?

“squatting 320 isn’t something you just cover on your own.” he growled into your ear, and you finally realized how worked up your boyfriend was from watching you work out.

not that you can blame him, however. watching him do his arm reps and the way his back muscles rippled under his plain white tee whenever he lifted himself for pull ups had your yoga pants feeling a little damp.

sensing things were about to get hot and heavy, you stepped towards the squat stand to put up your bar, kageyama’s hands never leaving your waist.

just as the weight left your shoulders and was properly put away, you let out a gasp when you felt his cool tongue slide sensually up your neck, and you blushed at the deep groan that left his lips.

your own moans soon filled the air as kageyama ground his hard cock against your ass through his joggers, groping your soft sides fully with his hands.

you rested your head against his chest as you let him massage your body roughly with his dexterous digits, mewling and panting at the way he teased and pinched your nipples through the fabric of your sports bra.

“you have no idea what you do to me,” he rasped in your ear, maneuvering your bodies to lay on the padded gym floor. you let him spread your thighs as you propped your body up on one elbow.

you panted lightly as kageyama looked down on you from above, kneeling between your legs while gazing over your glistening form.

your baby hairs stuck to your sweaty forehead as your skin seemed to glisten under the fluorescent lights above.

blue eyes zeroed in on a stray drop of sweat that glided from your neck and began its descent down the valley of your breasts.

something in him snapped and he lunged forward, causing you to yelp in surprise before moaning as he tongue followed the sweat drops path, groaning against your heated skin at the salty taste.

he needed more.

“the way you look when you’re working out, the way your sweat makes your skin glow,” a whine escaped your lips as he nipped gently at your collar bone.

he lifted his head to meet your eyes and you gasped at the feral look in his blue orbs, pupils blown wide with lust.

“you make me so hungry, (y/n).” before you had a chance to respond to him, the sudden sound of fabric tearing and your inner thighs exposed to cool air made you balk, and you stared at your boyfriend in shock.

“you did not just rip open my yoga pants!” kageyama gave you a blank look before shrugging, leaning his face down to your exposed core, pleased to find that you were already dripping onto the floor.

“i’ll buy you another pair.” a breathy moan replaced your curse for his causal destruction of your clothing as he licked a fat stripe up your cunt, fingers digging harshly into the plumpness of your thighs as he drank in your flavor.

moans spilled from your parted lips uncontrollably as kageyama ate you out, tongue flicking and suckling against your clit as one of his hands released your thigh in favor of sinking two fingers into your hot core.

“fuck!” you choke out in a whisper as you wind your fingers through his silky locks, gripping them tightly as you roll your hips into his face.

kageyama took your grinding on his face in stride, speeding up the movements of his fingers as he searched your walls for that one spot that made you see stars.

“a-ah!” you cried out, thighs clenching around his head as he smirked into your flesh. found it. tears began pricking your eyes as your body was assaulted with pleasure, kageyama’s fingers slamming right into your g-spot.

kageyama knew you were getting close when he felt your walls flutter around his fingers and your soft moans began growing louder as you neared your release.

with a snarl, kageyama pulled his fingers from you roughly and sat up from in between your legs. your whimper at the sudden emptiness was swallowed by him as he slammed his lips to yours hungrily.

you moaned into the kiss, tasting yourself as you felt him fumble with the tie on his joggers before pulling them down along with his boxers to free his cock.

kageyama pulled away from the kiss, greedily taking in your breathless and flushed expression before slowly pushing his length into you, groaning as he forced your walls to accommodate his girth and impressive length.

tears sprung in your eyes and fell down your soft cheeks as you cried at the stretch, mind going delirious from the pleasure as your boyfriend continued to sink into you.

kageyama leaned down to lick up your tears before roughly snapping his hips into you, sinking the rest of the way in as his pelvis settled flush against you.

you choked as he bottomed out, and your hands instinctively went to grip onto his muscular shoulders, nails digging into his flesh hard enough to leave marks.

kageyama groaned at the feeling of your walls clenching around him, and he pulled back before slamming into you, relishing the way your walls seemed to suck him back in.

“tobio!” you cried out, voice breathless and wobbly as he slammed directly into your g-spot. kageyama smirked at your already fucked out expression, and slammed his cock into you again.

nothing but the sound of skin against skin and your wanton moans filled the stuffy gym air as kageyama pounded into you.

“fuck, (y/n),” kageyama groaned, leaning back on his haunches as he pounded into your sopping cunt, holding your legs up by your knees while biting his lip, watching you lose yourself on his cock.

your soft stomach jiggled with each thrust, shirt having ridden up while you squeezed your breasts through your bra, eyes crossing from the pleasure.

“fuck! you feel too f-fucking good!” you moaned, voice stuttering from the intensity kageyama was fucking into you with. kageyama smiled down at you, cheeks flushed from the compliment. “you’re taking me so well, pretty thing.”

he hissed as you clenched around him. apparently you liked that. so he continued.

“you feel so nice and tight around me, pretty girl.” he moaned out, feeling his high begin to approach him as your soft walls fluttered around him. he let one of your legs drop as he brought a hand to your aching clit.

rubbing tight circles into your sensitive nub, he sped up his hips until you were practically sobbing from the pleasure, coming dangerously close to tipping over the edge.

kageyama groaned at the sight of your flushed cheeks shining with tears and sweat, swollen pink lips caught in your teeth as you stared up at him with furrowed brows.

“i-i’m close!” you stuttered out, body beginning to seize while you could practically taste your orgasm. kageyama wasn’t any better, his hips losing rhythm as he opted to just pounding into you with whatever he’s got left.

“go on, pretty girl.” he huffed out, lazy smile curling his lips as he continued rubbing your clit with precise circles. “make a mess on me.”

a scream ripped through your vocal cords as you spasmed on his cock, eyes clenching shut as you clamped around him so tightly kageyama became lightheaded.

with a choked moan of his own he came deep inside you, filling you up to the brim with his cum as he fell forward, stopping himself from falling onto you as he held himself up with his arms.

you both sat there for a while, desperately trying to catch your breaths as you eventually came down from your highs.

opening your eyes, you find that kageyama was already staring at you, eyes softened and face still flushed from his high. you watched as a singular bead of sweat rolled down his nose before dropping onto the corner of your mouth.

without even thinking, your tongue swiped out to lick it up, and you saw your boyfriend’s eyes harden again, and a gasp escaped you as he rutted his hips into yours, cock twitching back to life.

a devious smirk filled his face, and he raised a singular eyebrow at you in challenge.

“you don’t think we’re done, do you? we still have a lot more sets to finish.”

taglist: @lovelypasteldreams @living-for-drama @arixtsukki @month-seasoning @bakarinnie

#✨.sapphire #e.rotic #e.kageyama #reader insert #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu smut #kinktober 2020 #hq kageyama #kageyama x reader #kageyama tobio x reader #kageyama tobio #kageyama x y/n #kageyama x reader smut #haikyuu x reader smut #fluff #smut #hq x reader

[lilydalexf]

Old School X is a project interviewing X-Files fanfic authors who were posting fic during the original run of the show. New interviews are posted every Tuesday.

Interview with MustangSally

MustangSally has 33 stories at Gossamer. Even if you haven’t read it, you’ve probably heard of at least one of them, Iolokus, since it’s an X-Files fanfic classic. All her fics hit big and are well worth your time. I’ve recced some of my favorites here before, including And Dance by the Light of the Moon, All the Children are Insane, and Iolokus. Big thanks to MustangSally for doing this interview.

What's the story behind your pen name?

I could tell you but then I would have to kill you.

Does it surprise you that people are still interested in reading your X-Files fanfics and others that were posted during the original run of the show (1993-2002)?

Yes and no. Yes, because life has moved on since the early nineties and the characters and the fans are in vastly different places now. Our current tech would make the premise of the X-Files impossible. No, because of the longevity of some of the Star Trek TOS work (there’s an archive of hard copy fanzines at the University of Iowa). Top-drawer authors started out in TOS fandom.

I’m just greatly saddened that my physical body is showing wear and tear while the fic doesn’t. Fic gets to stay smooth-skinned and muscular, captured at the peak of perfection.

What do you think of when you think about your X-Files fandom experience? What did you take away from it?

At the risk of sounding atrociously trite, I think of the friends I made.  I met some very remarkable women that I’ve been able to stay friends with online for over twenty-five years.  We may have moved to Facebook and post entirely too much about our pets and which of our body parts has sagged this week, but we’re friends.  It’s a furiously funny, feminist, and well-educated group of women with jobs in the highest levels of academia, finance, communications, and media.  I’m amused by the fact that if I have a question about how a virus replicates, I can ask a PhD I’ve been drunk with in Las Vegas.

Back in the day, I had a job that sent me traveling around major cities in the US and UK. I could post on a message board and within ten minutes there were people I could go out for dinner and drinks with. We already knew we had something we could talk about for at least a couple of hours. Additionally, most of these people were women so there was an added level of security. Social media didn't really exist during the show's original run. How were you most involved with the X-Files online (atxc, message board, email mailing list, etc.)?

Well, it was mostly atxc and the Yahoo! groups mailing lists that spiraled out into Geocities sites and, eventually, LiveJournal. The amusing thing is that getting in on the ground floor of social media and the Internet has helped me get jobs!  When I look at a new piece of software, I think, ‘this is hella easier than uploading to Geocities.’  We had to walk uphill both ways, in the snow, on dial-up, fighting off dinosaurs with our AOL CDs while writing HTML code. What did you take away from your experience with X-Files fic or with the fandom in general?

DO NOT FEED THE TROLLS.

The past four years in politics have basically been the ugliest online kerfuffle the world has ever seen. I survived the Shipper Wars of ’96 and I thought those were brutal, but that was NOTHING. The only way to win an argument online is to not have the argument at all. Arguing with a troll is like mudwrestling a pig: You both get filthy and only the pig is happy.

Also, READ THE FUCKING TERMS OF SERVICE.

What was it that got you hooked on the X-Files as a show?

I had the most terrible straight-girl crush on Scully. I wanted to be her best friend, I wanted to BE her.  I wanted to order Chinese food and paint each other’s nails and talk about bones.  Scully and Princess Leia and I could all just hang out poolside with hot and cold running waiters and poolboys, drink margaritas, and bitch about how unfair it all was – if the stupid men would just get OUT OF THE WAY AND LET US DO OUR JOBS, the world would be so much better. What got you involved with X-Files fanfic?

This question is really about Iolokus, isn’t it?  You can’t fool me. [Lilydale note: I can neither confirm nor deny the motivation for this question, but I cannot complain about the answer.]

Simply put, I was enraged. The moment it was revealed that Scully’s ova had been used in experimentation, I lost my feminist mind. It was the most obscene defilement imaginable.  Scully wasn’t nearly as angry as I was.  What I thought needed to happen was for Scully to become a fiery force of vengeance against the MEN who had done this to her.  Clearly, I was not going to get that level of satisfaction from the show, as I was imagining Kali-like carnage on a global scale. I emailed RivkaT (whom I did not know well at that point) with a proposition that we work together. Strangely enough, we didn’t meet face to face until we were well into the project, but we did talk on the phone quite a bit. The rules were simple – everyone had to be punished in truly horrific ways, and at some point, we had to see if we could write a car chase (only because that seemed impossible).  Then it basically turned into a very twisted game of chicken to see who could be the most outrageous in terms of killing people off or writing really horrific things that fit within the structure of the narrative.  I did, in the end, write the car chase, but RivkaT one-upped me by throwing in a helicopter (a FOX News helicopter, at that).  

Really, RivkaT?  A helicopter? What is your relationship like now to X-Files fandom? I am terribly proud of what I wrote, pleased that it brought pain and pleasure in equal amount to people, and, again, thrilled by the people I became friends with. I admit that I stopped watching the show when Scully announced her pregnancy.  I could only see a long jump over a shark tank for the rest of the series. I haven’t watched the new episodes, either.  It is complete in my mind and doesn’t need to be continued.  I wouldn’t say no to having a reunion with some of my fic friends, although we’re still chatting online like everyone does.   Were you involved with any fandoms after the X-Files? If so, what was it like compared to X-Files?

Rivka and I wrote in the Buffy fandom for a few years, but then we moved on to real adult jobs that left absolutely no time for me to write. I’m in education, and I regularly sweat blood for fear that someone is going to find my old fic. The Buffy people were fun; there was a certain *shininess* to them that I really enjoyed. The X-men authors were just batshit and delightful, and some amazing stuff came out of Marvel fandom, particularly in the Thor/Loki and Steve/Bucky subgenres. I’ve learned to appreciate a good coffee shop AU and one famous Erik/Charles fic where all the main characters are crabs. Seriously, crabs—it’s hysterical. [Lilydale note: Other Crabs Cannot Be Trusted by groovyphilia currently has almost 2,500 kudos at AO3.]

Every few years, I’ll have a student try to explain to me what fandom is and I just smirk. Do you ever still watch The X-Files or think about Mulder and Scully? No. Not really. Do you ever still read X-Files fic? Fic in another fandom? I fell into an X-Men hole a few years back and had a great old time wallowing in the Cherik muck, and there was a flirtation with BBC Sherlock as well. Strangely enough, I became interested in A/B/O fics only because of what they were saying about the role of women in our society. The limitations on the male omegas seem absurd and then you realize those are the same limitations put on women all. the. time.

Is there a place online (tumblr, twitter, AO3, etc.) where people can find you and/or your stories now?

RivkaT very nicely formatted everything and put it up on AO3. What is your favorite of your own fics, X-Files and/or otherwise?

I will always be stupidly proud of how shocked and horrified people were by Iolokus. The truth of the matter is that Iolokus has Greek drama at its core. Scully is Medea, and the entire story is lousy with “blood on the threshing floor” and Dionysian rites. The everyday is subverted into horror, and wives and daughters will tear men limb from limb like the Maenads. Since I was ultimately disappointed with what Chris Carter did with the entire show, that approach seemed appropriate.

At a certain level, all fic is corrective fic.  Like critic Anne Jamison said, “Irritated fans produce fanfic like irritated oysters produce pearls.”  And because fic has fallen so much into women’s sphere, a pure form of correction is not just the death of the author but the MURDER, a new creation springing up from the spilled blood like Cadmus sowing dragon’s teeth.

Okay, that’s a bit much. Maybe I should just take myself back to the isle of Goth Amazons or something. Do you still write fic now? Or other creative work?

I had to write a self-evaluation and a reflection on pedagogy today. If that’s not fiction, I don’t know what the fuck is.

All my creativity is caught up in trying to pretend to be a normal middle-aged white woman so no one knows I am really a lizard.

Is there anything else you'd like to share with fans of X-Files fic?

Keep writing, keep reading, keep fighting the commercialization of narratives. As things grow more and more commodified, all our dreams and desires reduced to tchotchkes made in China, it’s a revolutionary act to separate your work from the marketplace. Be bold, take chances, turn the trope on its ear and kick it in the ass. Take everything the creators have done to make a work palatable to the unwashed masses and set it on fire.

Be subversive.

Be mean.

Have a great fucking time.

(Posted by Lilydale on March 2, 2021)

#old school x #xfiles fanfic #xf fanfic #xf fanfic author interviews #mustangsally

[fluffymisha97]

Falling, Fallen - Part 3 - Part 2/2

Summary: Last part of that very ‘first real date’ with Chris. The man had several tricks up his sleeves. 

Warnings: Language. 

Word count: 5,447 (Loooong I know) 

(Updated 06-03, I forgot to add the pictures I wanted to use lol.) 

You were still reeling from the shock of finding out where you were going next. For a moment you felt speechless due to the surprise and excitement of going in there. You hadn’t gone to one of these things for so long. You grabbed onto Chris’ arm for support worried that you would tip over.

“Omg, are we going in here? I didn’t even know that there was anything like this during this season.”

“Well, that’s the plan. There’s some rides that are closed but very few.”

“Wow, Chris this is really great- but what about all the people? It looks pretty packed.”

“I think we’re good. Besides it’s sometimes easier to blend in with a lot of people rather than a few. If things go south, I’ve got a backup plan.”

You let out a small snort.

“Wait, you got like a secret disguise in the back of your car or something?”

“Something like that.”

Chris was in fact wearing something that offered him some discretion with his Boston Cap and some black sunglasses. He hadn’t been wearing the glasses before arriving at the fair. He’d yet again asked if you were okay with him wearing them while with you. You truly appreciated the thought and didn’t mind it at all. Chris went to a stand where he paid for two entrance tickets and some tickets for the rides and such.

You were all giddy inside and very much excited for the second time that day. This date was looking very well compared to the first one. You and Chris went ‘inside’ where the fair was indeed packed with a great amount of people. Chris stayed close to you while you walked around trying to get a feeling of the place. The place was huge and you were almost overwhelmed by everything there. You felt like a kid on Christmas morning. Chris felt the same way but tried hard to contain it not wanting to make a further fool of himself. He’d already done that twice that day.

You and Chris had come to a stop by some rides. You instantly spotted the giant Ferris wheel which Chris noticed. You stared at it hesitantly and stayed put. You felt Chris’ hand on your back briefly.

“You want to go?”

“Yes and no. The last time I was on one of these things was when I was about 8 years old and I cried when I got to the top because I got scared.”

“How about I’ll let you hold onto me if you get scared.”

“Ever the gentleman, Evans.”

“My ma raised me right.”

You smirked at him. The two of you small talked while you waited in line. 5 minutes later, you were the next to go. You could feel yourself growing more nervous as you got closer. Chris seemed to have noticed your nervous state when he cautiously reached out and grabbed your hand. He didn’t say anything as he held your hand. You smiled at the action and tried to calm down. ‘Remember be cool and chill’ Emmett’s words rang in your head again. ‘Right, breathe in and out slowly. Be cool as a cucumber’. You snorted to yourself hearing your own thoughts.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. Just me being me.”

“Okayyy... Looks like it’s our turn.”

Chris led you to the loading by the passenger cars where you went to sit down on the right side. Chris quietly sat down next to you where the girl shut the latch. You took a deep breath as the ride started.

“You still with me?”

“Ask me when we’re at the top.”

You felt small butterflies as you’d reached the top. You couldn’t contain the giggles escaping your mouth as you took in the breathtaking view. It was a sight worth writing home about for sure. The view was great but taking a closer look at the sight next to you, was also pretty great to look at.

“So, have I lost you or...?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“I’m glad.”

“This wasn’t as bad as I remembered it- OMG, they have a swinging carousel! We have to go there next.”

Chris grinned at your child-like enthusiastic behavior. You cleared your throat as you heard yourself coming off as anything other than ladylike.

“I mean, can we please go there next? If you act like a gentleman, then I should perhaps try to act like a lady.”

“By all means go crazy, Y/N.”

“Good man.”

After the ride, you had quickly run off to the next ride, while Chris struggled to keep up with you.  You guys went on the swinging carousel right after and it happened so that you and Chris were often the biggest and in fact the oldest people on several of the rides. A part of you should’ve probably been more embarrassed but you were having such a wonderful time that you didn't give a damn. You and Chris had gone on several rides and each one was better than the previous. You honestly couldn't remember the last time that you’d had this much fun.

You went to the bumper cars where Chris was soon chased around by younger boys who’d discovered that Captain America was riding in a bumper car. Afterward they’d asked for a picture which Chris agreed to and nervously checked if you were okay with it. You shook your head and waited patiently while Chris took the last few pictures. You smiled when one very young boy quietly hugged Chris’ leg before running off with the rest of the group. The little boy briefly turned around and waved at Chris.

“Thank you, Mister ‘Mercia.”

You and Chris shared a soft smile at the action and he soon joined you.

“Sorry about that.”

“No, no. It’s fine. I’ll gladly take those boys over teenage girls and well ...women chasing you around.”

Chris nervously laughed but was thankful that you didn't mind it. Chris gestured for you guys to move out. The two of you walked in a comfortable silence before you turned to him.

“How is that by the way? Getting recognized by people and asked to do pictures and such. If you don’t mind me asking.”

“It’s fine. Uh, I guess it was kind of daunting in the beginning but I’m used to it by now I mean. The kids are great, truly, I love that they look up to someone like Captain America. That I can play a part that can change someone's life. I'm sorry if that sounds selfish and arrogant.”

You smiled and shook your head at him.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say something arrogant before. But I think I understand what you mean. If I had a job like that, where I could be a part of something so big and mean something for so many people, I would love that.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I love my job and that’s the reason why I keep doing it.”

“But?”

“But sometimes I do think about doing something else than acting.”

“I think it’s normal to consider other things in that industry. To have a plan or something to fall back on. Not that I think you need it. I haven’t seen you in action or anything like that. I’ve seen clips of those Marvel movies.”

“And here I thought that you would’ve stalked me online and everything…anyway what did you think of the movies then?”

“I get the appeal. They do seem like great movies. My friends Emmett and Abby love them but mostly because of all the hot guys in it.”

“Hot guys? Huh, such as?”

“Well, the other Chris is like a wall and very nice looking. Abby loves him the most. He looks good shirtless you know. Then there’s Tom Hiddleston quite handsome too.”

“Wait, are those the only ones that you guys like?”

“Well, nooo...Henry Cavill is a real fine one too.”

You giggled when Chris gasped in an excessive manner.

“He ain't in the Marvel movies! He’s Superman which isn't Marvel.”

“That may be but he is hella fine.”

You wiggled your eyebrows at him and laughed at the ‘hurt’ face he made as he huffed out loud.

“Well, you’ve just revealed yourself to have absolutely no taste then.”

“Oh really?”

“Really.”

“You sure about that?”

“If you go for Cavill then yeah?”

“Huh… Bad taste in men then?”

“Apparently so, Y/N.”

“Interesting then.”

“What is?”

“I’m here with you now, aren't I?”

Chris’ mouth clamped shut like an oyster at that. His ears turned pink-ish at your snarky little comment.

“Well, maybe not entirely bad taste.”

You only laughed as the two of you continued walking close next to each bumping shoulders a few times. Yours bumped into his arm though, seeing you were inches shorter than him. During your exploring of the fair, conversations rolled easily and constantly off your tongue. Chris was so very easy and comfortable to talk with about everything and nothing. You also enjoyed each other's silence without it feeling weird or awkward at all which was so nice.

You and Chris would subconsciously hold hands every once in a while and it just happened so naturally that neither one of you gave it another thought. You liked it and it seemed like he did too. Or that’s what you hoped for.

After a while you’d been sure that you and Chris had tried almost all of the rides, you ventured on into what looked like an arcade hall. There weren't too many people around the hall probably because people wanted to get that last bit of sunlight. Chris walked ahead of you looking at all of the different kinds of games stationed around the place. He came to a stop by an Air Hockey table.

“How about a friendly game of air hockey? I’ll go easy on you.”

You rolled your eyes at him and went to stand on the opposite end of the table.

“Oh, such a gentleman.”

“You ready?”

You nodded your head and prepared yourself. Chris kept his word and went easy on you. Which you would’ve appreciated a lot more had you been terrible at the game. The puck went back and forth three times before you pounced and fired it into his goal.

“What the hell just happened?”

“Was that too fast for you?”

“Wait, what?”

You gave him a sly smirk as you rolled up your sleeves.

“I never said that I would go easy on you.”

“Ohh? That’s how it is.”

“Yup. Give it your best.”

The two of you yelled and shouted like maniacs as the game went on. You’d been winning each set and each time you’d done a little victory dance for yourself.

“Oh, you think that’s attractive? Real cute.”

“I know. I’ve been told I’m rather cute.”

Chris huffed at you and placed the puck on the table.

“Sudden death. Loser buys fries.”

“You’re on, Evans.”

The next game went back and forth. You were so amped up and so was Chris. He wasn’t backing down and neither were you. This was a fight to death. Your eyebrow quirked as an evil thought went through your head.

“You know it’s a good thing that you’re so invested in the game because otherwise you would’ve seen how my boob nearly fell right out.”

“Wha-”

Chris hadn’t even heard half of your sentence before he looked up at you with a puzzled face and you seized your chance. The puck went right in and you threw your hands in the air.

“YES, mother of everything good.”

Chris rubbed his face in embarrassment and chuckled as he looked down on the table.

“I think I’ve met my match. You’re even worse than me.”

“Ehh, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Alright then how about those fries?”

“Yes! You’ve just earned yourself some golden points.”

The two of you went back outside the arcade hall in the search of a food stand. As you finally found a stand, you both felt and heard your stomach growling meaning you were hungry for more than fries. You were about to excuse yourself when you heard Chris in the middle of ordering you some food.

“Hey, can I get two hotdogs with everything, and two curly fries, two cokes?”

Chris briefly checked with you if you had any objections which you didn’t. A few moments later, your food was done. You took the cokes even though Chris had protested wanting to be a gentleman and bring you the food. It was a nice gesture but you couldn't not help when he’d bought you the food to begin with. You found a free table where you sat down. Chris sat on the other side of the table.

You both began eating shortly after enjoying the food and the scenery around you.

“This is soo good.”

“Yup. It kinda goes with the whole thing.”

“I love me some curly fries. Even though I should hold back on them.”

“I’ll gladly buy you all the fries you want.”

“Oohh he scores another golden point.”

Chris softly smiled at you as you took a sip of your coke.

“How am I doing so far?”

“So far so good.”

Chris gave you a smile that could go for miles. It was also annoying how dashingly charming he could be without even trying to.

“I gotta say that you really surprised me by bringing me here. A nice thing.”

“Glad you like it.”

The conversation flowed naturally with Chris and when there was any silence it didn't feel awkward or weird. It was a comfortable silence. You enjoyed listening to Chris animatedly telling you about his job and life. It was clear that he was a passionate guy. You could listen all day to him. Sometimes he would blush when he felt like he’d been talking too much. You couldn't help but find it cute. You just leaned back in your seat and listened to him talk. After a while when you were both done with your food, Chris offered you his hand and you were off to see what else the Fair had to offer.

You moved onto some of the booth games, there were hundreds of them. First you’d gone and tried the bottle ring toss for old times. Each booth you went to, it turned into a competition with Chris. He was so determined about wanting to impress you but you were most of the time just as good as him or even better. Which felt less than good for his ego. You both played Balloon Darts, Knock the cans, and Feed the clown and many more. You saw how Chris almost looked ‘deflated’ by your continuing luck and fortune with the games. You couldn’t help but cringe a little bit inside over yourself.

“Well, this is slightly embarrassing now.”

“What, c’mon, Chris. It’s nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Yeah. Nothing that matters anyway.”

“Sureee...How is it possible that you’ve aced everything we’ve tried so far?”

“I don’t know.”

You could only shrug your shoulders as you looked down at your feet feeling less desirable and dorkier.

“So you’re just naturally good at everything then?”

“Well no, not everything.”

“Oh yeah? Mention one thing you’re bad at.”

You smirked at him and then looked around at the several stands nearby. Something caught your eye. You spotted a stand with a basket net where one would shoot hoops and win prizes. You grabbed Chris by the arm and dragged him along with you close by the booth.

“That. Right there.”

“For real?”

“Yeah. Imagine little ol’e me never having had a little stuffed animal.”

Chris puffed out his chest and straightened his back as he looked at the booth

“I guess we better do something about that.”

Chris gave you a small smile before walking over to the young guy behind the counter. The guy easily recognized Chris but tried playing it cool. Chris removed his sunglasses and pulled out the tickets.

“Hey man, can I get 5?”

“S-s-sure d-dude.”

You stood next to Chris and watched him tank the first 3 shots. You watched how he craned his neck and breathed in through his nose. You stifled a laugh when Chris missed the last 2 ones. Chris looked at you rather nervously.

“You good?”

“Yeah, just a little stiff… just need to have full access you know full range of motion.”

Chris then removed his jacket and before he could lay it elsewhere you stepped in and took it off his hands. You couldn’t help it as you obviously ogled him. His flannel shirt fit him like a glove. It wasn’t until now you saw his whole outfit. He was wearing a red and black flannel shirt and a white undershirt with some darkish jeans. Those jeans also hugged his form very well. You had to snap out of it as you were starting to feel all pervy. ‘Y/N, don’t be a dick nor dick-ish’, you could hear Abby and your friend Emmett’s voice in your head.

Chris bought some more balls. Another few minutes passed and the ball was close but not close enough. You could sense Chris starting to get frustrated and figured you may as well seize the moment.

“Hey, I’ll be right back. I’m going to powder my nose.”

“Okay. I’ll be here and keep on losing to the giant teddy-bear.”

“Chris. You got this. I believe in you.”

You could hear Chris huff out loud as you went to find a restroom. You heard Chris mumble something under his breath.

‘Damn right, I got this. Gotta win the girl her freaking teddy bear.’

You finally spotted a restroom and went and did your business. You checked your phone to see if Abby had written you. Before leaving, you briefly checked yourself in the mirror.

As you got back towards the stand you saw an odd exchange between the guy and Chris. You stilled as you saw Chris handing the guy what looked like a dollar bill but instead the guy grabbed a piece of paper, a pen and his phone. They took a selfie which left the guy rather happy looking and he handed over the biggest bear from the shelves. You smirked to yourself but still felt giddy inside over his obviously failed attempts to win it on his own but giddy over the lengths he would go to get you that bear. You sauntered back over to the stand where Chris lifted the bear up in the air victoriously. Chris felt his heart skip just a bit as he saw the grin on your face unaware of just how much you’d seen. You happily skipped over in front of him.

“Oh my… you got it? You won me a bear. No one’s ever done that for me.”

Chris offered you a sheepishly smile as he handed over the giant bear.

“Thanks.”

“No problem. He put up quite the fight but was no match in the end.”

You giggled as you watched him parade around in ‘false’ triumph. It was still cute no matter what. Chris put his jacket back on and let out a small cough.

“Oh really? I wished I could’ve seen that.”

Chris scratched the back of his neck and went to move around you.

“Where are you going?”

“Out… I gotta go and powder my nose.”

You could see the dazzling smile fall from his face once he realized what he’d said.

“Can I take that back?”

“Nope, too late.”

You smirked at him as he slowly turned around and muttered something to himself.

‘Powder my nose, Jesus. Why don’t you just tell her how much ya ass is sweating too, you dumb-ass’

You chuckled to yourself and turned around to face the booth. The guy still looked like he was star struck as he stared at the autograph which he quickly put away as you walked over. You figured you could kill some time before Chris got back. You reached down in your pocket and fished out some tickets.

“5 balls, please.”

The guy exchanged your tickets and handed you the basket containing the balls but not before uttering his opinion.

“Didn’t you just tell that guy that you sucked at this game?”

“Boy, you got long ears…- Didn’t you just hand off a prize in a way that your supervisor wouldn’t want to hear about?”

“Sorryyy.”

You just ‘mmm-hmm’-ed the crap out of him and placed your bear up on the counter. You scored right away as you aimed for the basket. While you were passing time, someone else had joined the party. Chris stopped dead in his tracks as he watched how you nailed every single shot.  

“Aha! A liar with a good arm it seems.”

You turned around flustered that he’d caught you red-handed. You only shrugged your shoulders as you picked up your bear.

“Ohhh, that? Pftt… Just lucky I guess.”

“Mhm, I think not. I’m wounded by the deceiving lies.”

You made a face at him causing him to crack a smile. Considering what you’d seen earlier it was clear that you weren’t the only one who was lying. You placed the bear back on the counter and firmly placed your hands on your hips as you stared into Chris’ blue eyes.

“Okay, okay, okay… So can you look me in the eye and tell me that you won my bear fair and square?”

Chris instantly looked like the kid who’d been caught with his hand down the cookie jar. Anything that resembled a ‘poker face’ instantly fell from his face.

“Well… okay, initially I was going for that BUT that bear wasn’t coming down on its own. So maybe I helped it down a bit yeah. I tried, Y/N. I mean, you saw me miss that shot way too many times and then when you’d said that you never won a stuffed toy, I just wanted to win it for you.”

You placed your hand on Chris’ chest as you leaned up and quickly placed a small and brief peck on his cheek leaving Chris speechless.

“What’s that for?”

“For this. No one’s ever gone to this much trouble to win me a bear.”

Chris blushed from the peck on the cheek and your words. Yes, the two of you had both lied but that didn’t seem to matter at all anymore. The two of you walked off, Chris offered to carry your bear for you like the smooth gentleman he turned out to be. You’d gone to sit down on a bench feeling the day seeping through you. You didn't want to be tired yet. If you were tired, Chris would no doubt take you home and you weren't ready to go home yet. Chris must’ve thought something like that too because he returned with two giant cotton candies. One pink and one blue.

“Pick your poison, my lady.”

“Uhh fancy. The lady wants a little bit of both.”

“Luckily, I was raised to share.”

You gave him a toothy smile as you took the pink one. You small talked while eating the delicious sugary candy while both getting quite sticky in the process.

“Wait a second, you got some on your cheek.”

You moved to wipe your face and then turned to look at Chris again.

“Did I get it?”

“Argh no, you just spread it further. Here let me-.”

You sat very still whilst Chris with careful and gentle hands touched your right cheek. His calloused fingers swiped across your cheek. You watched silently as Chris removed his hand and wiped it across his lips getting the cotton candy off his fingers. You watched how Chris’ eyes widened as he noticed his actions. He opened his mouth to apologize no doubt but you beat him to it.

“Always the gentleman. Thanks for not allowing me to prance around with that stuff on my face.”

“No problem.”

You hadn't even noticed how late it had gotten before you saw the dark skies above you. You finally looked around you and saw how lit up the funfair was. All of the lights from the rides mixed with the lighting from the booths made quite the impact on you. Christmas trees had nothing on this.

“Wow, this looks so pretty.”

“Yeah you do- Uh yeah, it’s great.”

Your cheeks felt hot after hearing Chris’ compliment which you pretended not to hear.

“I don’t even want to leave this place. It’s like magic here. There’s no drama or...gossipy chicks around any corner. There’s happiness all around here.”

“Well, then we better come up with an act if we’re to stay here.”

“Yes, the basket thing is out of question with well you know… your bad aim.”

Chris let out a dry crackle as he playfully shoved you but not too hard. You only grinned in return.

“Think you’re being cute again? Huh?”

“I know I’m cute.”

“You’re lucky that’s true. SO, an act. We can just have you perform some songs, you got a great voice and I’ll...I don't know.”

“You can be my backup dancer in your Captain America costume.”

You both burst out laughing at the mere idea. Chris was so easy to let loose with. You’d found out during the day how much you enjoyed his laugh. It was so very much contagious to be around. Hearing him laugh like that made you smile.

“Oh God, imagine that.”

“Imagine that.”

You’d been having the time of your life but you were only human which meant that the whole day of activity began to latch onto you. You tried fighting the yawn making its debut but it was too late. Chris had noticed you trying to hide your yawn. He chuckled at your attempt to hide it and then casually move on.

“I guess we better get you back home. We’ve got an hour long drive ahead of us.”

“What, no. I’m fine really.”

Another yawn escaped your mouth and you hid your face in your jacket.

“Y/N, it’s okay. We’ve had quite the day.”

Chris stood from his seat and offered you his hand. He managed to balance the giant bear in one hand or rather arm whilst keeping an arm around your waist. He didn’t want to overstep and had almost retracted his arm worried about offending you but your own hand stopped him before he could do something. He smiled to himself feeling you leaning into his side as you walked. Chris strapped your bear in the backseat and opened the car door for you again. The car ride home was less chatty, not that either of you minded. Truthfully you were both a little bit tired but the silence in the car was still comfortable. The music in the car mixed with the feeling of fatigue washing over you made your eyes droopy. Before you knew it, you’d fallen asleep. Chris saw how you’d fallen asleep some moments later and smiled for himself. Carefully while still keeping an eye on the road, Chris used his jacket to cover you so you wouldn’t get cold.

Gentle fingers woke you up. Chris brushed some loose strays of hair behind your ear as he whispered your name.

“Y/N, wake up…- We’re here.”

You stirred awake feeling embarrassed as you came to it. You’d fallen asleep in front of Chris. In his car on your way home. You lazily rubbed your eyes and tried to shake the sleep right off you. You let out a small groan as Chris chuckled beside you.

“I’m sorry. I’m not a fun car buddy...I can’t believe I fell asleep- Oh God, I didn’t snore or say something did I? Abby says that I sometimes talk or mumble in my sleep.”

“Oh, you didn’t snore that’s for sure. Although you did say that Cavill isn’t as hot as that guy who plays Captain America.”

“You sure that I said that?”

“Oh, yeah. No doubt.”

You let out a small throaty laugh as you quietly removed Chris’ jacket from your body and handed it back to him.

“Thanks for that.”

“No problem. You go on ahead. I’ll get your bear.”

You got out of the car and went up to the door of your apartment building. Chris carried your gigantic teddy bear while you were holding onto your small heart shaped pillow that Chris got you as you’d been leaving the fair from one of those claw machines. As you fished out your key, Chris walked up with your bear and placed it on the ground next to you.

“You got all of your stuffed animals?”

“Yup. I think that’s about it.”

“So, I had an amazing time today-…”

“So, I wanted to thank you for a wonderful time-…”

You spoke simultaneously. You both chuckled at this as you looked down a bit.

“I got to say that you went all out today. I mean, how are we ever going to be able to top this day? The next date is going to seem so… bland next to this one.”

Chris smiled widely hearing you mentioning ‘the next date’.

“What?”

“You said our next date.”

“Well, yeah. I mean, I did have a really good time and it seemed like you did too so maybe it was bold of me to assume that there would be a next date but if you aren’t-…”

“No! no, no. Uhh... I also had a great time, so of course I wouldn’t be opposed to going on another date with you.”

Your cheeks felt warm as he flashed you a warm smile. Silence fell over the two of you as you looked at one another. Your breathing picked up as Chris leaned in. Just as he was centimeters from your face you took a deep breath before gently speaking up.

“I don’t kiss on the first date.”

Chris chuckled as he stayed in the same spot.

“Well, technically this isn’t our first date.”

“Oh right, since we made a deal to strike out our first real date you mean?”

“Yes and no…It’s after 12, so technically it’s a brand new day meaning it’s the second date (well actually the third), sooo…”

You smirked at him hearing his arguments and justified reasons.

“So, based on technicalities, you just assume that we’re going to kiss?”

“I figured it wouldn’t hurt to try.”

Again he flashed you an all dimpled-smile your way. You remained frozen in your spot and waited for Chris’ move. You stood very close and you could smell his scent and breath on your face. He smelled of cotton candy, hotdogs and popcorn. Slowly you felt the absence of his closeness and you opened your eyes when you felt your hand being grabbed. Chris had taken a step backwards and brought your hand up to his lips where he placed a soft kiss on the back of your hand.

“Miss Y/L/N, thanks for an amazing time today. I hope to hear from you soon for that next date.”

You watched in amazement as Chris gave you a small bow and turned to walk back to his car. You let out a small gasp of the air you’d been holding in.

“Hey!”

Chris turned around to face you.

“Are you just going to leave now?...I mean…- You’re not even going to try to kiss me?”

Chris’ face lit up a bit and you could’ve sworn you saw a smug smirk form on his face. Chris took three long strides before he stood right back in front of you. He leaned in once again and you found yourself closing your eyes again waiting and anticipating what were to come. You felt his face come closer to yours. His beard softly tickled you. Just as your lips were about to touch, he moved his lips to your cheek where he pressed a very soft and delicate kiss. You couldn’t contain the small gasp that left your lips as realization hit you.

“Sleep tight, Y/N.”

Your eyes soon found two blue intense one staring at you before he turned around and walked back to his car. You let out a small huff in annoyance as you watched the handsome man walk off wishing he’d kissed you.

“Well, you’re certainly something else!”

“Right back at ya.”

“So you’re really just leaving, now?”

“Yup. Think about how big the anticipation will be now.”

“It better be good then, Christopher.”

“It will be, Y/N. I know it.”

Before getting into his car, Chris waved at you and drove off. You stood back feeling dumbstruck but in the best ways. You were already looking forward to your next date with Chris.

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[random-imagines-blog]

Tonight Tonight {Haldir x Elf!Reader One Shot}

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 2495 Summary: You are fighting alongside your brother, Legolas, at Helms Deep. But you grow distracted at another elven ally.

Despite the army of Uruk-hai still being some way off, you could feel the beating of their feet in your very veins. When you closed your eyes, you could see the formations of the dark beasts, imagine them walking towards the very spot where you, your friends, your family, the men of Rohan, were standing under the cloudy skies. Helm’s Deep. You looked beside you to where your brother, Legolas, was standing, and he was looking back at you. He could feel it as well, and you saw a tinge of fear in his bright eyes. The same was probably echoed in yours. You then looked the other way, catching the eye of Haldir, who had come all the way from Lothlorien just to be here for the battle, to be here for the men, with his army of archers. He did not look afraid. In fact, he looked ready for the challenge of war. It had been a long time since there had been this much of it in Middle Earth. And you hoped that, once Sauron was finally defeated, there would be no more to come for another age.

Rain started to fall from overhead, but no one went inside for cover. You all stood there in silence, looking out from the walls. The people of Rohan, the women, the children, the old and the feeble, were hiding safe inside, and they were your mission. Protect them at all costs. Take down as many as you can so that Frodo and the ring could go to Mordor with a touch more safety, and destroy the ring.

A shadow in the dark. A movement far ahead. The army had come.

The psychology of war was something that you had studied, and you were seeing it here. It was the youthful men around you that seemed to be the most fearless, despite them never having seen bloodshed like this before. They were the ones who first took out their swords, right as Aragorn was doing so. They looked like they were ready to charge in, all foolhardy. While the older were not in a hurry. They waited until the enemy was a little closer before loading their arrows into their bows. The elves did it with a very military-like efficiency, and you did it with them, holding the arrow back with ease. You knew not to shoot too early. You were waiting for Aragorn’s signal.

He gave it, and the war began.

There were more of them than you would have thought possible. But you stayed up high, getting as many of them with your supply of arrows, then picking some off of the dead bodies of your allies to shoot more. You were losing a lot of men. But they were losing a lot of uruk-hai, so it seemed a fair trade off. That’s just the way that things were in battle.

Your name was called from somewhere behind you and you turned around to see Haldir. Not a single hair on his beautiful blonde hair was mussed from the rain or from the enemy. He threw something towards you and you caught it one-handed before realizing that it was a full quiver. ‘My savior’ you mouthed to him, switching out your own empty one for this new one. He bowed his head and you could have sworn you started to see pink spots of exertion showing upon his cheek.

You ran over to him, stepping over the bodies of uruk-hais that had tried to climb over the defenses but ended up being squashed like bugs by you and the rest of the elves. Aragorn, Gimli and your brother Legolas had all disappeared into the battle somewhere, but you were not worried. They could handle themselves. “Haldir, are you alright? Do you need a rest?” You asked, putting your hand on his shoulder. Perhaps his years were catching up to him. Even you were beginning to tire, hoping that dawn would bring some relief.

“No, no,” He said, shaking his head vehemently. “I am proud to fight, and will until my dying breath.”

“Well, hopefully it doesn’t come to that,” You said, letting go of him, your eyes going back to the crowds below. “Though - there are worse places. And ways.”

“That is very true.” Haldir spoke softly, and his eyes remained on you. “Tell me - when this battle is over, what are you planning to do?”

“I’ll go wherever the King needs me,” You admitted.

“You would not consider returning to Lothlorien, with me?” He asked, his eyes dark and serious. You never even thought about returning there, though you had been a couple of times, and only recently with the fellowship. But be there - with him? Your heart beat in your chest, feeling like it wanted to come out and join the battle on its own. You put your hand over it to calm it down.

“Would you not consider coming with us?” You asked in return, but you knew his answer. He would be returning to Lothlorien after this battle. Even if it was a strong victory, he would not turn his back on his kingdom. He didn’t have to vocalize his answer. He met you with silence. You nodded, understanding.

“When my mission is over, when Sauron has been defeated...” You said, though you couldn’t bring yourself to promise that. You couldn’t even promise that you would live through the rest of this night.

The conversation couldn’t continue. The battle had caught up with you. Ladders were being climbed right up to where you were standing, and you had to stand precariously on the ledge and shoot your arrows downward. Haldir wasn’t far behind you, but he was working on another ladder, pushing it over before anyone could come up.

There weren’t many chances to talk, but you took every opportunity that you did have. Snippets between shooting off arrows. Eventually you had to switch to your sword as more enemies came in closer, and reloading took too much time. “You’ll come back - when your mission - is done?” Haldir asked, between shooting.

“Yes,” You finally said, after shoving your sword through an Uruk-hai’s gut. “I will.”

“Haldir!” A familiar voice called from below, and then yelled your own name. You looked down from the ramparts to see Aragorn looking up at the two of you. “Retreat!”

You nodded, as did Haldir, and got ready to do so, but there were still some enemies to fight off before you could even get towards where you were meant to go. Haldir called for the elves to retreat in his native tongue, while you stabbed through Uruk-hais that were trying to block your way. Big and nasty, these few were. Enough to even intimidate you. You  heard a heart-wrenching sound behind you, and turned to see that Haldir had been injured, his arm out in front of him. He spun around to face you, and you saw for the first time pain in his old eyes.

A Uruk-hai stood between you two, raising a sword in his hands. Before you could even think, you were reacting, running towards him, your own sword faithfully by your side. And before the enemy’s could be brought down into Haldir’s back, you shoved yours into the side with such force that the blade came out from the other end. You wrenched it out, and slick blood started to pour from the wound. Though not dead, the orc no longer had the momentum to follow through with his action.

You rushed to Haldir’s side as he regained his footing. Now, elves were not very big on contact, but you took hold of his hand as if you were his mother, and started to run, swinging your sword at anyone who managed to get in the way. Didn’t matter who, or what, you had to get Haldir back.

“You saved my life,” He said, his voice like one caught in a daze. “I thought I was going to die. I was ready to die.”

“Well maybe I wasn’t ready for you to go yet,” You said, half-carrying him down the stairs to a safe spot so that he could get a little rest. “How are you feeling? Can I get you anything?”

“It’s nothing too bad,” Haldir said, removing the armor from the area so that he could take a second look. “I’ll be alright.”

You didn’t really have the time to double check on that. The enemy was still coming in closer and closer. A retreat did not mean safety here. They were ferocious, but you and your own army were just as determined to win this as they were. “Stay safe, Haldir,” You spoke, and lightly kissed his pale cheek. And you left. You didn’t want to, but you didn’t have a choice. If there was to be any hope of winning this battle, you needed every person that was available to fight out there fighting. And that included yourself, though you left your heart behind, thinking of Haldir whenever you saw a flash of Elven armor, or even your brother’s blonde hair.

-

Not only was Helm’s Deep a victory, but the battle for Middle Earth had been an astounding success. There were losses along the way, and you had narrowly escaped death on more than one occasion. But Aragorn was crowned King, and you had somewhere that you needed to be.

The road to Lothlorien was a long one from Minas Tirith, but you made it on foot. You didn’t bring many things with you, so you had no need to bother a horse with such a long journey. It was the thought of Haldir, whom you have not seen since Helm’s Deep, that kept you going through those endless-feeling days.

The shade of the forest was refreshing. It certainly was better than the hot, hot sun beating down upon your brow. You paused to take a drink from the river which flowed close to Lothlorien, cupping a handful of water and drinking it down. You became aware of eyes on you after your second swallow. You finished up your drink, then got to your feet, your hands on either side of you, showing that you did not have weapons in hand.

“I am a friend to Lothlorien,” You spoke, turning around. You could just make out a shape in the darkness. A bow. An arrow, pointed at you. It may now be a time of peace but one could not be too careful. The last of Sauron’s spies may still be around, fleeing from their fallen city. “My name is Y/N, of Mirkwood. Daughter of Thranduil.”

Your name was enough for the archer to come out of the shadows and approach you. You faintly recognized him. He’d been at Helm’s deep with you. He  recognized you as well, as you could tell from the nod he had given you. But there was no happiness to see you - and you hoped it was just because he was a rather strict and aloof elf, and not because something was wrong.

He didn’t say anything, but turned and started to walk towards his city. And you followed. You kept your hands at your sides, no weapons. You didn’t need one. You knew that you were safe here, and once the other elves would see you, you knew that you were going to be among friends.

The lights first alerted you that you were getting close. And then those winding staircases that seemed to be as natural a part of the tree as the bark itself. Your eyes searched for Haldir’s, and when you finally saw them, they were staring right back at you. He was up high, speaking with another elf. But when he realized that it was truly you, he left the conversation promptly and descended down the stairs.

You waited patiently, adjusting your hair, rubbing your face to make sure there was no dirt on it. You should have checked your reflection in the water before you came. Eventually, Haldir did reach the bottom. Elves did not run unless it was absolutely necessary, so he had taken the stairs at his regular pace.

He approached you and took hold of your cheeks in his hands. His wound from the Uruk-hai had healed completely, you noticed. But then you couldn’t look away from his eyes. They were so deep, so beautiful. The feelings that you had tried to suppress until the battle, the feelings that brought you here just as everyone else was celebrating in Minas Tirith, were bubbling over.

“We’ve received the news. The war has been won,” Haldir said, and you nodded, affirming it for him. He looked like he didn’t believe it until you confirmed it.

“Sauron has been defeated. Mordor and the ring have been destroyed. Aragorn is King,” You listed off the things that had happened since Haldir had returned to Lothlorien after Helm’s Deep. And it was a long list of things. He cut you off though, as you were explaining how you had overtaken the ships with the help of ghosts.

“There’ll be time for that later,” He said, continuing to hold your face.

“Yes,” You said with a nod. You put your hands over his and lowered them from your face so you could talk without feeling like your cheeks were going to cave in. “Because the war is won and - and I don’t have to go anywhere. So I would like to stay here, if you will have me.”

“Of course, of course!” Haldir said, without any sort of hesitation. “I will give you my own room.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary,” You urged.

“It is,” Haldir insisted. “I want you to have it.”

“Stay with me then.”

There was a long pause as the two of you looked at one another. His eyes were softer here than they were on the battlefield. He was a little more relaxed than he usually was. Or perhaps he was just touched by your request. “Stay with you?”

“Is it such a strange concept?” You asked, stepping in closer to him. There was barely room to breathe between your chests. “We’ve stood beside one another in battle, and I have not forgotten what we have said to each other. Or the heat of the moment when I saw you hurt, and I worried that I would never see you again. Or that I had kissed you and been thinking about it through every fight, working my hardest to get back here to experience it again.”

“I didn’t know that you were such a romantic.”

“You’ll learn.”

#Haldir #Haldir x reader #Haldir oneshot #Lord of the Rings #Lord of the Rings oneshot #LOTR #LOTR oneshot #oneshot #request

[funkzpiel]

Today on this episode of "I promise I didn't disappear off the face of the earth I've just been busy and totally lacking creative energy (or brain cells, for that matter) it's terrible, but hello, I did a thing" - I present this:

The Little Deaths of the Pining Flowers

For the Hades Big Bang, in collaboration with kowaiyoukai (their beautiful illustration featured here).

Fandom: Hades Game Pairing: Zagreus/Thanatos Featuring: Pining, Off-Brand Hanahaki Summary: “Does it ever get easier?” Thanatos finally asked one day.

“No,” Achilles said, the gentle hush of his words like the breath of the breeze through meadow reeds, “But it does get easier to hide.”

Death cannot die. No blade can pierce him, no hand strong enough to steal a final breath from the powerful column of his throat, no disease potent enough to mar his flesh. Death, like Time, was fathomless and unending. So long as there was Life, there was Time to observe it and Death to spirit it away.

And so long as there was love, there was pining – and all of its little maladies that follow. Death knew of them, these maladies, these “little deaths” that come before the final breath. Some fleeting, some spanning decades. The gods, in all their brilliance, creativity and cruelty, created love. Love, the painful precipice between life and death. Knit tightly between the two so that from the depths of it might bloom a beautiful, wretched thing: pining flowers . Life sprung from the ashes of despair, fertilized in love and hope unrequited. In doing so, pain became love and love became pain, death and life a reflection of one another more intimate than the eternal dance of the sun and moon itself.

Thanatos had watched these slow, curdling little deaths before. Had watched them ferment into heavy, cloying things that stole the breath from mortals’ chests. Flowers making beautiful wreaths of their lungs, thick with life borne from a love so fierce it could suffocate. Thanatos had watched men and women alike grow frail with it, their bodies made into gardens as they coughed fragile bulbs and blooms from their lips. Thorns were always the worst: roses and the like. Lips turned red, and yet these mortals who simply loved and feared too much could not find it in themselves to cure their aching chests. Could not simply let go of that impossible love – or confess it – to end that prickling, weed-like pain.

He had heard, once, that the gods could fester such illnesses; though flowers could not create homes of their flesh as they did in mortals. Rather they instead bloomed from the excess of the wealth of their power made unstable by their want. Made helpless to the source of their own gifts. But Thanatos had never seen such a thing. Thanatos had never understood. Not until Zagreus left without so much as a word of warning. All at once, it was like the Underworld had been snuffed of some great light. There was no sun beneath the surface of the earth, and yet the darkness and chill felt suddenly so much sharper, keener, without the warmth of Zagreus’ smile. Everything darker, every mercy suddenly harder to reach for, every hope dashed across the rocks like the surf wrecking a ship to ruins against the coast.

Zagreus was gone. His home, his family, his friends – Thanatos – none of it had been enough to keep him here. Thanatos had not been enough.

When the next death bell tolled, Thanatos did something he never did: he hesitated. Struck suddenly frozen by the realization. He had not been enough. Of course, he hadn’t. Zagreus was born of the Underworld, but he was also born of the surface – of life and blood and all things that breathed . Of course, death and darkness had not been enough.

Of course, Thanatos had not been enough.

He slipped from the Underworld to collect the soul the death bells tolled for and as he did, he felt something slip deep into his chest. Some foreign, alien thing; so unfamiliar as to be written away as imagination. Like a seed splitting the soil and roosting beneath.

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Thanatos did not know what was worse - trying to cast Zagreus from his mind, or being constantly reminded of the man every time the death bells tolled for him. For every toll, whether Thanatos went to him or not, was another failed escape attempt and the beginning of yet another. He knew Zagrues must think his plight for the surface cursed - it was he after all who kept experiencing the relentless grip of the river Styx - but it was Thanatos who felt truly cursed. For every escape attempt was another reminder that Zagrues desperately wished to be free of them: his home, his family, Thanatos.

But the bells tolled and tolled, singing a symphony that drew Thanatos a little nearer and a little nearer each time. Like the moon, he found himself in Zagreus’ orbit - at first not at all, then from a distance, and finally passing him by, feeling the warmth of Zagreus’ being shining upon him, lighting him up. Even now, lighting him up.

He watched from the edge of the clearing as Zagreus dodged the molten depths of Asphodel, his weapon of choice - this time Varatha no doubt to spite his father - cleaving through the various shades hellbent on keeping him here per Hades’ bidding. The prince was tired. Not yet strong enough to survive his fight with Megara and continue on at full strength. But it would come, Thanatos suddenly realized with the same casual understanding of fact as one might recognize that the lava around them was hot .

But he would not survive this run much longer. And unassisted, he might not even survive this chamber. With a weight growing in his chest, Thanatos realized he might witness Zagreus’ fall for himself this time. Not second hand through rumor or one of his brother’s reports or the tolling of the bells, but first hand with his own eyes.

Thanatos couldn’t have said what made him step forward to help - not because he didn’t know, but because he couldn’t admit it. He blocked all thought out, pursuing just one goal: I can’t watch Zag die...

All he knew was that when the death bells tolled his reveal from the shadows of death into the realm of awareness in which all could now see him, the sound caught Zagreus’ attention and time stopped for just a moment - giving Thanatos the luxury and agony of seeing first the surprise on the prince’s face, then the relief that followed. Relief, as though Zagreus had been waiting at some fathomless horizon for centuries, simply hoping for Thanatos to rise above its edge and greet him.

“Zag,” he growled - voice rough around a strange feeling in his throat. He couldn’t find it in himself to dig for any other words. He barely pried the man’s name out as it was. It was easy to hide that fact between a cleaving swing of his scythe, cutting the battlefield down into a group of straggling shades that were much more manageable between the two of them.

“Than,” Zagreus wheezed, the name cut short beneath another shade’s attack.

Zagreus sounded bad. Even with Thanatos’ help, this particular escape might not last much longer, Thanatos mused. He could hear the man’s breath. A thready, wheezing thing that slowly but surely worsened. Loud, almost in Thanatos’ ears, in his very chest and he could not take it. Not here. Not from Zagreus, who would have been safe and whole if he had simply stayed home. He ground his teeth, cleaving shades with a growing eracticism unbefitting of the quick, efficient stroke of Death. Felt every swing release a little of that anger and confusion into the depths of Asphodel and the flesh of its shades.

His gaze tore to Zagreus as the last shade fell, the fire-tongued soles of his feet simmering against the punishing stone floor of Asphodel as he leaned against his spear like a crutch and caught his breath. Those feet duller than they should have been. In that moment, Thanatos felt an urge to follow Zagreus to the end. If he saw the surface, would it slake his thirst of the unknown enough to satisfy him? To draw him back? It was a weak thought, one that made Thanatos bristle madly at himself. It was becoming increasingly obvious it had been a mistake to draw this near to Zagreus. Death was obviously not as strong - or as unbiased - as he thought he was.

Zagreus had just managed to turn to Thanatos with a smile and a thank you when that expression fell - like sunlight disappearing beneath a cloud - for Thanatos was gone, a bell moaning in his absence, and in his place: a centaur heart.

“Oh Than…” Zagreus murmured softly, eyes locked upon the heart.

Alone, Zagreus hobbled his way to the heart, stopping short of grabbing it when he saw something strange on the ground beneath its floating weight. Here - in the fiery grip of Asphodel - a single petal simmered on the ground, curling fraily against the heated stone. The prince grabbed it with shaking fingers, thumb brushing over petal’s delicate length. Red as blood, thin and reaching. Soft as velvet and utterly lost here in this world of fire and death.

How in the world had anything grown here, Zagreus wondered, as he slipped it into his tunic above his heart, red like his eye and his feet and so much of his namesake. Flush against his skin, as though it had belonged there all along.

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Persephone walked amidst her garden as she often did, greeting the great flush of her gift upon the soil with gentle hands and a smiling heart. At her touch the foliage seemed to bloom all the brighter. As she neared, it appeared to lean toward her like a flower reaching for the sun, following it’s daily axis.

Everything was much the same. The trees, the bushes, the crops, the flowers. Everything, she realized, but one. A new bloom, there much without her design or intention. Slender stalks rising up from the ivy and shade of a nearby willow, unfurling into magnificent red tongues and curling petals.

“My, my, what have we here?” She mused, tender and kind as she greeted this new bloom, just as she would have an old and familiar friend.

A spider lily, she realized with raised brows. Here, in her garden. Slim fingers stroked the nearby bloom - only a few and yet startling all the same. She had not planted these. Had it been her heart that drew these lovely blooms? Her unrequited regrets beneath the simmering hurt of her past? The red spider lily - the final goodbye. A blossom said to guide the dead. No, this wasn’t hers. It had been too long, the scar of that time too old, for it to have suddenly appeared by her doing.

Strange, to say hello to the final goodbye here amongst her carefully tended garden. She watched it shiver in the spring breeze, frail somehow in its little wind-drawn dance. With a frown, she felt something heavy stir within her heart. A longing and a worry.

Somewhere, she realized, someone was mourning. She watched a petal drift upon the wind and disappear. She wondered who the goodbye was for or if, like many things, it was even a goodbye at all…

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The first full blossom that appeared grew in the hair of a young man’s corpse. It had not been there when he arrived. It had not been placed by the loving hands of family or kin. It had not been until he reached for their soul that it grew, crimson petals splaying out like a corona - thick and full. There, among death and the dying, Life grew as Life often did: against all odds, rebellious and unapologetic.

He wondered if this human had been watched or favored by some god or goddess. It was easy enough, back then, to think nothing of it.

Easy to miss that it had not grown until he had thought - quite by accident - how similar the man’s hair had been to the prince’s.

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Death’s chamber - moreso a place of enforced rest rather than necessary rest - was a cool, dark place carved out of the fabric of reality. A place made for him by the Night herself, speckled with twinkling starlight and furnished with all the trappings of comfort any entity might desire. It was not, however, a place of light or Life. There was no facsimile of sun, no warmth. It was a reflection of his very identity, and therefore the opposite of Life; and yet when he opened his eyes after a short, restive doze, it was to petals on his pillow. Not just petals individually, but a blossom. Stalkless, and yet full and lush. Large enough to fill his palm with curling petals, reaching like red tongues from its core. Death blinked and rose upright, staring down at the bloom.

The same bloom that had wreathed that corpse.

What might have been the favor of a god upon that human felt decidedly less possible now. Had it been a trick from Hypnos? From some other shade or god or goddess? But from the bloom, he could sense himself . As though it were a part of him as much as his room was a reflection of himself.

Which just… couldn’t be.

Death could not make Life .

He brushed the flower away with a faint, confused frown, only to turn to rise from his chaise and find more blooms. One atop a nearby book. Another on the floor, in a blanket, on the rug, beside a goblet. Flowers. Life. All grown here in the dark grip of Death.

This, he finally accepted, was a problem.

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It was definitely a problem.

Death did not know who’s idea of a sick joke this was, but he found the flowers blooming positively everywhere now - slight at first, but growing. It had begun as something almost ignorable. A blossom tucked in the crag of a stony wall. Red petals peeking out from the centerpiece of a table. Once, appearing what would have been a shade’s hair, were they alive.

But now they trailed him in obvious patches, suddenly crowning the heads of nearby shades and growing atop the slender rails of passing balconies. No one suspected him. It was a miracle, but it was hard to assume Death had any hand in Life. Yet still, the sudden growth of spider lilies among the courts of the dead was on everyone’s lips. Where were they coming from? Why had they appeared?

Was Persephone somehow responsible? How could she not be? Yet… she was not here.

It made the Lord of the Underworld more brittle and eruptious than before, a feat no one truly thought possible. It fostered an even greater divide between father and son as well, for the more the court wondered about how the flowers might be tied to Persephone, the more Zagreus asked after her. And the more he asked, the more the prince realized he needed to leave if he was ever to get answers.

The more he tried - and died - in the pursuit of being anywhere but among the dead, the more the flowers grew.

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Even knowing that every attempt took Zagreus further from him, Thanatos found he could not stop thinking of it - the attempts, Zagreus’ failures, the repeated destruction of his- His prince. That was a safe term, yes. His prince.

He laid awake in his rooms, crimson flowers rising like the depths of the river taking Zagreus all too often, and found he could not spare his mind of thinking of him. Zagreus bleeding, pale flesh bruised like soft fruit, yet so determined to be gone.

Just because he was no longer part of the equation of his prince’s happiness, could he truly continue to just watch this happen? Or perhaps true devotion, true service, was assisting even when it reduced his existence in the man’s life to irrelevance.

He’d help, he decided, because Zagreus was his prince, and Death was nothing if not faithful and reliable. No sooner had he decided it, a blossom appeared over his heart. Large and heavy, every petal weighted like stone, driving the breath from his lungs.

Yet he didn’t have the heart to move it.

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The prince of the Underworld was special in many ways, no one could argue that except, perhaps, his father. And one such way was that when the bell of death tolled for Zagreus, it was rarely with the intention of taking him away. Thanatos arrived, his motives hidden beneath a well placed challenge of who can kill more shades here in the depths of Asphodel?

A game, just a game. No one could get hurt, if it was just a game. And goodbye would not hurt so much, if it was on Thanatos’ terms… Or so he hoped.

Death’s blade swung, cleaving shades in two. Souls upon souls, ushered back into the depths by his hands, just to spare one man the journey home. It was illogical. It went against his lord’s wishes. And yet, Thanatos knew there was no other option, not for him.

He could not be an instrument in caging Zagreus if it meant having him near would only make him unhappy. He cleaved men from their families, wives from their children, mortals from dreams left unspent and unfulfilled. Here, he had a choice.

Now, he wanted to see someone grow.

“That was something, Than,” Zagreus said as the last shade fell, wiping his sweaty brow with the back of a one bloody hand - making the mess on his face worse. Yet it did nothing to diminish the sheer Life of his smile as he turned to him. That smile - so full and unapologetic - was like the sun turning its face upon Thanatos, reaching his skin in a way it never had topside. Warm, making his belly flutter. Foolish and childish, he scolded himself. Made worse when that smile suddenly faded before Thanatos could answer and Zagreus said with a soft, perplexed frown, “What’s that?”

He followed the gaze of his prince to the ground at his feet - or rather below his feet - and there mere inches beneath the floating drape of his toes, a bed of flowers began to bloom. Spears of grass rising and charring in tandem to the merciless heat of Asphodel, and yet the flowers heartily remained untouched among the thicket of rising and dying green. Bloody red flowers, reaching up - not to Thanatos , but to Zagreus - as though he were the sun.

Lost in his grasping for explanations he simply didn’t have, all Thanatos could do was quickly retreat a few floating steps when Zagreus suddenly started forward and, using his blade as to help himself down with a grown, knelt to observe them better. He had one thick, tanned finger delicately beneath one of the lilies reaching tongues as his brows raised and he mused, “I’ve seen these around my father’s court but I didn’t ever imagine I’d see them out here . What could they possibly be?”

But when he looked up, Thanatos was gone. Gone, leaving nothing but a sudden crown of blooms in Zagreus’ hair to remember him by. Gone, because that touch - so delicate and gentle beneath the petals’ reach - had felt as though Zagreus had touched him.

And it hurt down to Thanatos’ very bones, stealing the very breath from his lungs, to know it was a touch he’d never feel for himself. Not when Zagreus wanted nothing more than to leave.

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It got worse. Much worse. He stopped visiting his brother after Hypnos once woke - bewildered - in practically a carpet of red blooms, right in plain sight of their lord. He made his reports as brief and efficient as possible after he once saw Zagreus dash by during one of them and the feeling that had arisen in his breast at the sight of him caused Cerberus - right at Hades’ side - to suddenly tilt each massive head as all three were suddenly crowned in thick, growing lilies. Hades had erupted, his gaze cast upon the shades, looking for a culprit. It was luck alone, or perhaps the heat of the god’s rage, that prevented those blooms from growing on him as well. But Achilles had seen.

With eyes so old, and so lonely, he had seen.

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“If I may be so bold, Master Death, I am here if ever you need a sympathetic ear,” Achilles once said, somehow managing to sneak up on him at his balcony. By the skin of his teeth, Thanatos managed not to startle visibly. But he could not hide the spider lily that was in his hands, the very cause that had left him so lost in thought as he had braced himself over the balcony that hung above the river - waiting, though he refused to admit it, for Zagreus’ return.

“There is nothing to be sympathetic for,” Thanatos forced himself to say simply, turning back to the river.

“There is always something to be sympathetic for,” Achilles had said in that soft way he said most things - so soft in death for a man so coated in blood in life - and came beside Thanatos to deposit something on the rail before he left with a gentle, “The offer stands, when you’re ready.”

Thanatos waited until the warrior’s quiet footsteps receded before he looked. There, upon the glittering marble of the balcony, was a tiny flower. Purple and plain, easy to hide.

A forget-me-not.

“Does it ever get easier?” Thanatos finally asked one day.

“No,” Achilles said, the gentle hush of his words like the breath of the breeze through meadow reeds, “But it does get easier to hide.”

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“Than, wait!”

The pleading urgency in those words were the only thing that stayed Thanatos’ retreat. More and more, Thanatos realized he could deny the prince nothing. His only hope was to remove himself before Zagreus could ask anything of him. Today, he failed.

He turned only so much as to peek at Zagreus from over one cloaked shoulder, waiting. It was much as he could offer without that telling pang marching through his heart and wreathing them all in flowers. But he was learning, at least, thanks to Achilles.

“Yes, Zag?”

“I… I know there’s a lot unsaid between us. A lot to make up for. I… I know,” Zagreus said, elegant, and yet stammering. Endearing in that earnest way of his, so much so that Thanatos could not prevent the single bloom of red that began to grow in a nearby crack in Elysium’s walls, hidden in plain sight by the moss and tiny fragile flowers already native to the place.

Zagreus’ words slipped to silence, broken only by the sound of glass settling gently atop a nearby grassy, broken pillar. Thanatos turned slowly to regard it. A bulbous bottle, bottom heavy and filled with glittering amber liquid: Nectar. His gaze turned from the bottle to Zagreus, a frown so easily slipping onto his face to hide behind as he said, “Really, Zagreus? Nectar? As though that suddenly fixes all that lies between us? This is, what… a parting gift? The goodbye you never bothered to give me?”

His scorn made Zagreus wilt - the soft sunshine of his demeanor fading as though behind thick clouds. In the craggy wall, the spider lily wilted somewhat, shivering delicately.

“No, of course not. I simply found this and thought of you. Think nothing of it,” Zagreus said, his tone carefully masked and distant now. Further from him, just as Thanatos had planned, and yet this climb to their eventual final goodbye felt hollow, forced. Forced, because Thanatos had forced it.

“I never do,” he said, the death bells tolling his retreat as the flowers he left behind - spotting the walls of that chamber Zagreus lingered in - mournfully wilted around him.

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“You are hurting, my son.”

Nyx’s voice was always a balm to him. Gentle and cool, like twinkling starlight. Not too harsh, not too loud, as living things were. Cold and distant, like himself, because he had been carved from her.

“I am fine,” he longed to say - but when had he ever been able to lie to her. But he couldn’t admit it, either. He merely looked away, hiding his grief behind sideways looks and long lashes. She reached for him. Her hands chill and welcome against the stony arch of his jaw and cheeks. Nyx’s thumb ran a smooth line over his cheeks, her face still and poignant, but her eyes telling.

“Just because you are Death, does not mean you cannot host Life within your heart, dear one. None of us are spared from feeling. It is perhaps the strongest force on this world - the bit of Life that nothing can wring out.”

“I do not wish to feel it, when it changes nothing,” Thanatos croaked, furious as his lashes grew misty without his consent. He had accepted what was to come, damn it, so why did the grief still feel so smothering?

“Grief changes nothing,” Nyx nodded solemnly, “But… It lets us know that if something can be changed, it is worth trying to change it.”

Thanatos leaned his jaw into the cup of her hands with a conflicted little frown.

“And if that change is not good for everyone?”

Realization bloomed in Nyx’s face like the flowers he could not prevent from growing to crown her starry head.

“Ah,” she said softly. “I see… Sometimes love is letting go…”

He wilted in her hands. A final confirmation, until her fingers went to pinch his chin lovingly and draw his gaze up to hers. Her eyes long and fathomless like the night sky, twinkling and watching.

“But usually... love is asking first, before those pains that go unsaid smother you both.”

Her pale hands rose to pick a red-tongued blossom from the crown that had grown in her hair and placed it delicately in the bowl she made of his hands; as though it were a baby bird. It glittered with fresh dew, with the tears he couldn’t quite stop from falling. Not here, in the safety of his mother’s arms. His tears were always safe in the cloak of night.

“Spider Lilies… It is said they grow at the site of final goodbyes,” Nyx intoned gently, “Others say they help Death guide spirits that have just passed into new lives.”

“The death of the past,” Thanatos said, each word carefully clinical and cold, as though distance could blunt their meaning.

She curled her own hands beneath the bowl of his and said, “They are also a symbol of rebirth, my child. Or perhaps more importantly, they are an opportunity, as everything is.”

Thanatos frowned lightly, his gaze rising to meet hers once more.

“I don’t understand.”

Nyx smiled a soft, tiny smile - as bright as any moonlight - and leaned forward to kiss his forehead tenderly, lips brushing against his skin as she spoke onto him, “Life, and all its decisions, are merely a matter of perspective, my son. It is not too late to change yours.”

*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*

Before, it felt naive to hope. Hope was a foolish, mortal feeling; Thanatos knew better. Hope always faded in Death, so how could Death ever possibly foster it? And yet, his mother had never once lied to him. Beneath the light of her moon and her stars, all was made plain.

So when he tolled the bells to go to him, Thanatos allowed himself to look at Zagreus the way he had not allowed himself to before. With hope.

Zagreus had grown. As they faced off in the halls of Elysium in a quest to one up the other in battle, Thanatos found himself willingly distracted by the developed grace in Zagreus’ fighting. His posture had changed. He no longer zipped blindly across the field in a rage, trying to win by brute force. He was calm, calculated. He had changed.

Zagreus marked every trap in his mind. Every swing of his blade - new, now, one he had unlocked and partnered with - brought the shades of the underworld to heel. He marched them where he wanted them, whether that was to a swift death beneath his swing or onto a trap. He fought with a tactician’s coolness. He no longer wasted his energy. He no longer showed up to these battles covered in foreboding wounds.

He was growing. Getting closer to his goal. Which meant Thanatos, of course, was running out of time. And no one understood the gravity of the hourglass’ shifting sands quite like Death. Time, as always, was of the essence.

“Zagreus,” Thanatos said, hovering near the heart that he normally tended to simply leave behind as a parting gesture ever since Zagreus’ attempt to treat him to a gift. It was obvious the prince had not been expecting him to stay, reaching as he had been immediately for whatever god’s boon had been promised in this chamber. But the moment the prince heard his voice, the man had all but sprinted to him, and the eager warmth that had inspired in his chest caused a red blossom to bloom at Zagreus’ feet when finally he stopped before him.

“Than? I wasn’t expecting you to stay,” Zagreus said, all eagerness. Always eagerness to move on - to the world above, to a world beyond their fight.

“I wasn’t either,” Thanatos agreed, overwhelmed by the discomfort that immediately began to rise in him. He had known it would come. It had fueled many of this retreats. But nothing would ever change, if he continued to allow it to smother him. He just had hoped knowing that would make it easier , somehow. Yet he felt he could barely breathe, let alone cherrypick the words he wanted. Silence hung between them. Flowers pebbled the ground that separated them. But patiently, Zagreus simply waited. As though time were no burden to him. As though the hourglass of fate was not an enemy, but a friend.

“I know you intend to go to the world above,” Thanatos said, searching desperately for the words and finding every single one lacking. “I… I know you intend to stay there. You need answers, I know that… But before you do, I just wanted to say… She abandoned you, Zagreus. But we never have. We are your family, if you ask me. I won’t stop you from going, but… I just felt it needed to be said.”

“Than,” Zagreus started slowly, and Thanatos waited for the blow: you are not my family. You are not important. You are my past. This is not my home.

He had told himself to hear Zagreus out. He had told himself that this closure - however painful - would make everything easier. Clearer. Yet faced with this final stroke of fate, he found he couldn’t bear to hear it. Before Zagreus could collect his thoughts, Thanatos placed a crystal butterfly upon a broken stone pillar just as Zagreus had once done and said in a quick murmur, “Let it never be said that I don’t repay my debts,” before he left, like a coward.

Death, cowed by the thought of love spurned. Or perhaps, cowed by the thought of living. His offered keepsake framed in a lush bloom of red spider lilies, kept company by Zagreus’ soft, regretful sigh in Thanatos’ absence.

“Oh, Than…”

*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*

Zagreus made it topside. Thanatos could feel it in his bones, a soul that had forever been below the earth suddenly above - in his domain, among the fields of souls he was meant to reap. He felt him there, fragile after his fight with his father and yet soaring like an inferno with his victory.

Thanatos pulled down the bottle of Nectar he had kept for this moment. It had felt right to save it for this occasion, the gift a goodbye and yet also a salute to his prince’s victory. A victory he had helped the man achieve. He poured an ample glass, the liquid shimmering like a child of sunlight and starlight both, but as he rose the glass to toast Zagreus’ achievement, a soft and confused frown began to mar his lips.

Above, with every step and every second spent there, Thanatos felt that fire waning. The glass of nectar trembled lightly in his hand as his gaze became distant, his awareness fully above. Zagreus, stumbling through the world of Light and Life. Zagreus, reaching another soaring source of power - Persephone. Zagreus, waning. Zagreus, yearning, straining. Zagreus, breath stuttering.

Zagreus, dying.

The glass crashed to the ground without a hand to hold it, shattering, Nectar pooling.

*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*

Dead, as the boy had been dead. Thanatos did not wish to go to him. Did not wish to see him dead, here, among the place his prince had so dearly dreamed about. Did not wish to see him still and pale as only mortals deserved to be. Zagreus was a being of light and power and determination. He could not bear to see him beaten down to nothingness, just a husk of flesh and nothing more. Not here. Not in his mother’s garden, so close to the answers he had sought for so long…

But to love was to suffer.

He went to him. Kneeled beside the prince, allowing his own body to touch the earth, unheeding of how it killed the very grass he touched. His fingers went to cup Zagreus’ face. To prepare him for the journey home again, and as he did, the man’s body became haloed in deep, crimson flowers. Sprouting, uncontrolled and thick. Thanatos could not stop them, could not be bothered to stop them. It was effort enough to see him like this, let alone hide his own weakness.

He had forgotten there were still eyes there to witness it.

“Thanatos,” Persephone said, appearing from around the corner of the house with a death shawl for her son and coins for his eyes. She froze, her eyes not on him or her son, but on the flowers that surrounded them.

“Oh Thanatos ,” he whispered thickly, brows twisted. Looking upon them mournfully - she, the woman who had abandoned her son and then somehow enticed him away from his family below.

“Don’t worry, I won’t touch your garden,” Thanatos said stonily, thinking she feared the spreading of the dead grass from his knees.

“Thanatos, wait--”

But they were gone, he and Zagreus both, leaving nothing but a patch of dead grass and the outline of her son in bloody, crimson flowers. The blossoms trembling in tandem with the spatterings of red that had begun to grow uncontrollably throughout her garden.

“It was you,” she whispered to no one. “They’re yours.”

*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*

Once, of course, was not enough. There are still questions that need answering, and Zagreus has nothing but time to throw himself at the mercy of the gauntlet between the Underworld and the mortal realm above again and again and again. Every victory means only one thing: another tragic death so close to his goal above. And yet, Thanatos cannot help but assist him. Even if it means cradling that larger-than-life body suddenly made so small by death and escorting him back down below. Even if it means being the very vessel that takes his prince from his goal, he will help him get there once more, once more, once more.

The hourglass has been refilled, if only for a while more. If anyone can figure out a way to stay among the Living, it will be Zagreus. Zagreus, who did the unthinkable and escaped the underworld. Zagreus, who found the mother that had abandoned him. He’ll do it, Thanatos knows it just as keenly as he knows the last beat of a mortal’s fragile heart.

But he’ll gladly cherish every extra grain of sand in the hourglass he’s been given.

*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*

“I’ve missed this,” Zagreus says after one of their dual bloodbaths in the halls of Elysium. This level of the Underworld is his favorite one to go to Zagreus in. It means their momentary glimmer of peace after the fight is flush with soft grass and pleasing greens and all the Life that Zagreus deserves. And perhaps, when Zagreus is gone, Thanatos can enjoy a sip of the river to forget. He never will, he knows. It’s selfish, foolhardy and probably impossible for someone like him. But sometimes, he likes to entertain the idea that he could forget, and be free of the blossoms that constantly remind him of what he cannot have.

Thanatos turns to him, taking his time to take in the lines that make up the nostalgic expression of Zagreus’ face as he catches his breath there, sitting among the white flowers of Elysium’s fields. White and nearly like his own.

“Missed what? We do this all the time, how could you have missed this?” Thanatos asked.

“Not the fight. This . Us,” Zagreus said. “This just reminds me of how we were before I began my escapes.”

“Simpler times,” Thanatos frowned, unable to swallow the bitterness that suddenly rose in his throat. “But you chose to complicate them, Zagreus.”

He understood why, now; but that didn’t mean he didn’t resent it in his weakest moments. He waited for Zagreus to defend himself. For that bitterness to rise in Thanatos to ruin the moment, as it often did. He’d flee, and he’d waste his precious remaining grains of sand - he could see it all already, unfolding, until Zagreus brought a halt to his spiraling thoughts as only he could.

“I don’t know why this has turned into picking who I love, Than. Wanting to find my mother doesn’t mean I love anyone else any less. Everyone acts as if I’m choosing my mother over everything and everyone else. Even you.”

“Are you not?” Thanatos asked, dreading the answer.

Yet Zagreus simply looked at him, red flowers blooming in his hair, and said, “If you’re asking me who I’d choose between you or my mother, Than, my answer is this: I never intended to settle for one at all.”

Thanatos blew out a frustrated breath even as his heart soared in a way he hadn’t thought Death’s heart could, trembling like a rabbit against his ribs.

“That’s naive to say, don’t you think, Zag?”

“Says who?”

*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*

It’s all a matter of perspective, my child.

*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*

One day, Zagreus went topside. Thanatos prepared to go to him, to collect him, but the moment never came. Death felt the prince’s heart begin to flatter as mortal hearts did, and yet the final throbbing beat never came. In fact, it stabilized. It stabilized and grew nearer. Nearer and nearer still, adrift on the river with his brother. Not just his brother, but another too. Life was flowing down the river to the Underworld.

The Queen was returning.

Thanatos leaned bonelessly back into his lounge, feeling shaky with stunned, overwhelming relief as spider lilies rose around him like a cushion because Zagreus was coming home with Persephone.

Zagreus was coming home of his own free will.

*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*

Life in the Underworld improves. As though Persephone were a sun and the Underworld a withered garden without her, things steadily improved with her return. Cerberus pressed eagerly into the touch of her hand. The halls seemed brighter, warmer. Even Achilles seemed a little less sad, and Hades - oh Hades - it was as though he were steadily becoming a different man altogether. A softer man, gentled by her touch. His thorns shorn short, his rough and callous words turned to roses lush and hearty; though suddenly kind was a stretch to say, he was certainly safer to speak to now.

The court was alight with how Persephone’s presence was changing everything for the better. But all Thanatos could think was that none of this would have been possible if not for Zagreus, who had lassoed the sun herself and brought her back to them against all odds.

If Persephone was the sun, Zagreus was the lifeblood of this place.

*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*

The hourglass had been halted. There was no beginning, no end, and once again Death was no longer shackled by the wasteful ticking of time. But the flowers did not lessen, did not disappear. They trailed after him, and though he had gotten better at hiding it, he knew that Persephone knew. Flowers were her children, after all; how could she not know?

“You should talk to him, Thanatos. If nothing else, Zagreus has taught me this: what you assume will happen is never definite,” she said to him one day, cradling a wayward spider lily that had suspiciously grown in her garden - startlingly white. He wondered when that had started or why.

“Perhaps I will. Thank you, my lady,” Thanatos said gently.

She smiled at him, her thumbs so gentle with the bloom’s petals, making the little flower shiver happily, and said, “I hope you do.”

*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*

Thanatos had paced the length of his balcony many times now, each with a stumbling aborted attempt to head in the direction of Zagreus’ chambers. He tried to ignore the knowing weight of Achilles’ watchful gaze by the mirrors. Tried to ignore the thunderous fear of his heart or the way the lilies just kept blooming around him in fitful bursts.

Go to him , his heart said.

But what if you ruin everything , his mind howled, Now, when things are finally peaceful.

But is peace the same as happiness? His heart asked. Is that all you wanted? Could it be enough?

It certainly hurt less than being wrong, his mind said.

If that were true, then why are the flowers still blooming?

Little Deaths, the Pining Flowers. Could he truly be content, if they still found the soil of his heart so rich to bloom in?

*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*

“Take it from a fool who waited,” Achilles said as a tiny purple blossom grew in the tuck of his hair behind his ear, “Nothing risked, nothing earned.”

*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*

This time, when Thanatos went to Zagreus in the fields of Elysium, he cleaved the souls of the dead down in one impatient stroke - knowing that if he did not act fast, he would not act at all.

Zagreus let out a startled huff of a laugh, his hand son his hips as he turned to Thanatos with a confused, if amused, “Well that was hardly sporting, Than! Have you been going easy on me all this time?”

But that expression fell, muted and worried, when Zagreus finally caught sight of Thanatos’ face.

“Than?” He asked.

“Please, don’t--” Thanatos said, holding up a hand to halt the prince’s words, “Just… listen. I… I’ve been trying to figure out how to say this for some time, but the words elude me, even now.”

Zagreus brought his blade down into the grass and let it rest then, his full attention him upon Thanatos in a way so direct, so overwhelming, Thanatos felt that urge to run rise in him again.

It was the memory Achilles’ gaze - heavy and knowing - that held him fast. Sympathetic, envious and frustrated. Frustrated, because Zagreus was within reach, and Thanatos risked nothing.

He did not want to have eyes like Achilles had. He wanted to Live.

“I hate you, when you first left,” Thanatos blundered forward. “I thought you were done with me. That I wasn’t good enough. I didn’t blame you either. What could I offer you, that you couldn’t have up there? What’s Death to Life?”

“Than--”

“Please, Zag… Let me finish or I never will,” Thanatos whispered. “I hated you. Or I thought I did… but these… All of these?”

He held up a hand, a red lily immediately blooming at his call to hold between them.

“These are yours, Zagreus. All of them, every single one. Because I missed you. Because I could not stop thinking of you, worrying for you, wanting you.”

Zagreus stilled, and something akin to paleness stole over his tanned flesh. Thanatos knew, then, he’d never have him. How could Life love Death? But he continued onward, if for nothing but closure. If for nothing but to say he risked it all, he tried.

“It’s childish, foolish, reckless even - but I… I’m utterly helpless, Zagreus. You’ve made me, made Death , helpless in want for you. In loving you, I…” his breath left him in a soft, rattling wheeze as finally he admitted - with the certainty that the sword cleaves flesh - “I love you, and… I’m glad you came home.”

He waited for the blow. Waited for the moment that would wring that last breath of hope from his lungs, and he wondered if this is what mortals felt like, waiting for him. For Death.

But he waited, and waited, and it never came. Zagreus merely stood dumbfounded, something wet growing on his sooty bottom lashes, before finally he stepped forward and did what Thanatos had always been too afraid to do.

He kissed him.

Perspective, his mother had said. He had thought she meant decisions, but it was so much more than that. This moment was a perspective he thought he’d never have - could never fathom . Life, warm and bright against his lips. Flowing through him in a circle, like a cycle that never ended, life and death and life and death. He closed his eyes and Zagreus reached up to bring him down, closer to the ground - to him - and wound gentle fingers into silver hair.

Around them, flowers bloomed in the hall of Elysium - blood and bone, red and white, cascading in a sheet to cover the chamber around them. Pushing out and out and out until nothing was left but the Spider Lilies singing brilliantly in the breeze around them. Zagreus drew Thanatos down like an anchor, floating feet brushing finally against petal softness, but nothing wilted from his touch. It was as though those flowers had always been waiting for both of them, every petal glimmering and shining now that the cycle of Life and Death had finally been made whole.

“I love you,” Zagreus said between desperate presses of chaste lips, speaking against Thanatos’ surprised mouth as though the words might possess them both, “And I’m so grateful you waited for me.”

Without Life, Death does not exist. Without Death, Life is not Life at all. For one is needed for the other to exist. Otherwise, there is Nothing.

*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*

Zagreus had hidden all of his blooms in his chamber, of all things, knowing that no one went there. Not even Dusa, who was not allowed to clean Hades’ “ungrateful mongrel of a son”’s room. So there, they had remained safely hidden. Bone white blooms, ivory tongues drooping in such familiar ways to the crimson petals that followed Thanatos everywhere.

“Why did you never say?” Thanatos asked one day, as they lay side by side in a carpet of their flowers, fingers entwined together, nearly nose to nose.

“I did not want to frighten you away,” Zagreus laughed.

“And how did you prevent them from growing on me? I can’t stop the blasted things from appearing everywhere?” Thanatos asked.

Zagreus laughed again and repeated, “Because I did not want to frighten you away.”

Thanatos turned to him, arm braced so he could hover over Zagreus face with a gentle smile.

“And now that I am still here?” He asked warmly.

Zagreus reached up to brush a lock of silvery hair behind Thanatos’ ear, held back with a white lily to keep it in place, and said, “I’m glad that I was wrong.”

Thanatos smiled as red lilies bloomed to frame his prince’s head in a crown. Thick and regal, as he deserved. His mark upon the man. His prince, his love. It stirred a primal satisfaction deep in his belly as he leaned down to kiss Zagreus and say, “I’m glad we both were wrong.”

So they were reborn, there in a bed of white and red spider lilies - flowers that had guided them to new Life.

#thanzag #hades big bang #zagthan #zagreus #thanatos #hades game #pining #hanahaki #my writing #long post

[waywardwrestlewritingwaif]

Whisky Secrets (sequel)

Here's something different. Before I ever thought about posting fanfic here, I used to write things inspired by fanfic I found by some of the incredible writers I found on tumblr. I've never posted any of them but I've really felt like writing something for Aleister Black/ Tommy End lately.

So I reached out to one of my original favourites on this site, @ghostofviperwrites and asked her if she'd mind if I published this sequel I wrote to her story Whisky Secrets. She gave me the ok (for which I thank her very much).

You absolutely have to read her piece first or this won't make any sense. It picks up literally at the point where hers leaves off and the entire premise is based on what she wrote. I think this goes in a very different direction than what she had in mind, though.

Since this is an old story, some of the characters are very different than they are now. It was set at around the time I wrote it. Based on events in the story, it's pretty clear when that was.

It's a bit dated but I hope you enjoy.

Pairing: Aleister Black x OFC (hints of Roman Reigns x OFC)

Word count: 7,031

Content advisory: graphic sexual content, language, incidental roughness that some might find stressful

You rested on the sofa for too long, knowing that you had to get to work, that you were already behind on an assignment that was due that afternoon. As much as you desperately wanted to cling to the scent and the feeling of him being there with you and the idea that he might someday want to be there with you for longer, you knew that you were only wasting time by indulging in a fantasy. Once again, you reminded yourself, he saw you as a friend, a landing pad after he was finished his adventures. And so you dragged yourself to the computer and tried to focus.

It was a fluff piece you’d been hired to write: places for new residents of Orlando to meet people. You’d accepted it because the pay was good and it had seemed easy. But what the hell did you know about meeting people? You’d barely met anyone and the only ones that you’d call friends were the ones you met when you’d done an in-depth profile on the WWE and their development territory NXT. Of those, only Aleister had remained close and even then, you couldn’t say that the two of you had ever properly opened up to each other. Nevertheless, you’d stayed in touch with a number of them, occasionally meeting for coffee or drinks. None of this was in any way useful when it came to recommending locations to connect with strangers.

You’d tried to start the article the day before but now when you opened the file, you discovered that you’d only come up with a half a dozen corny titles and one word of text:

When?

The word was too painfully appropriate.

When were you going to run out of luck and be unable to find further work as a journalist?

When were you going to admit that what kept you here, rather than moving to another state and pursuing more secure work, was the fact that you were in love with a man who was only interested in your capacity as a friend and caregiver?

When was your hopeless love going to break you beyond repair?

Annoyed with yourself, you deleted the word and tried to start again. You could meet people at the gym classes that were ubiquitous in this city. You could meet people at get-togethers for shared hobbies like hiking or pottery or basically anything. No one had to meet people by getting thrown into their orbit and being unable to extricate themselves.

About half an hour into your resentful hammering on the keyboard, you were startled by your doorbell. For one sweet instant, you imagined that it was Aleister dropping by to pass some time with you. Then you realized that he never came to you without an invitation unless it was dead drunk in the middle of the night. Even when you invited him, it was only every fourth or fifth time that you asked that he agreed to come over and watch a movie or go for a walk in the nearby park. There was no way it was him at your door at eleven o’clock in the morning.

In fact, the person at your door was Bayley, chipper and warm as always, returning the spare laptop you’d lent her a few weeks before.

“Thank you so much,” she beamed, thrusting the computer into your hands. “You are a lifesaver. I’d have lost my goddamn mind if I hadn’t had this while mine was in the shop.”

“It was nothing,” you insist, smiling at her unconstrained warmth even though you didn’t feel very positive about your life at that moment. “Do you want to come in for a minute?”

She nodded cheerily and stepped across the foyer. You never really knew how you fit in with the women of WWE, even though you’d spoken to many of them in depth. Bayley stood out because she was determined to be your friend despite your introvert’s reluctance. And, indeed, she was irresistible. Much like her in-ring character, she cast sunshine wherever she went and her glow was contagious, even in your darkest and lowest moments.

You motioned her into the kitchen, offering her a choice of lemonade, iced tea or water. Her eyes immediately fell on the empty whiskey bottle you’d left on the counter, her expression growing more serious as she focused on it.

“Getting started early?” she cajoled.

“A friend left that here,” you replied guiltily.

She narrowed her dark eyes as she looked at you. Sweet and optimistic as she was, Bayley was not naïve. She knew exactly what friend had left the bottle behind and she knew how you felt about him.

“I’ll have a glass of lemonade,” she said, the smile slowly returning to her face.

You joined her and the two of you jokingly touched glasses before drinking.

“So, a few of us are getting together tonight,” she said hesitantly. “I thought you might like to join us.”

Your first instinct was to ask if Aleister would be there, but you thought better of it. Instead, you responded, “Well, I have an article I need to finish.”

Of course, your article was due by the end of the afternoon, which meant that your evening was free regardless, but part of you wanted to be at home in case Aleister came staggering over again.

Bayley’s jaw set in a determined expression you’d only seen from her in the ring. “We’re having a party for Roman, to celebrate him going into remission.”

Well now you felt like a bit of a bitch for making excuses and didn’t know what to say.

“It won’t just be wrestlers there. Some other journalists are even coming. And I know that it would mean a lot to him if you were there.”

When you’d done your article on the WWE, you’d interviewed Roman Reigns and he’d been incredibly generous with his time. He’d even contacted you after your interviews to confirm that you had all the detail you needed. He was the face of the company and had done everything possible to make sure that the company had provided what you required. He’d clearly wanted to make sure they’d left a good impression and you couldn’t help but be impressed by his PR skills. Although you knew it wasn’t true that it “would mean a lot to him”, you were touched by the idea that he remembered you and might like you to be there to celebrate his great news. At the same time… you needed to be there for Aleister.

“Look,” Bayley insisted, “I’m going to text you the details for the bar where we’ll be. It’s not a big deal, just a bunch of us getting together to be happy for our friend.”

There was no way that you could refuse that, so you shyly thanked her as she gulped the rest of her lemonade and made for the door.

“I’m serious,” she said as she departed. “You work so damn hard you deserve a night off. Finish what you’re doing and come have fun with us.”

As soon as she’d left, you once again sat down at your computer. Before you could return your attention to your work, however, you couldn’t resist checking Instagram.

Someone had tagged Aleister in a photo on Instagram.

Yes, you were that pathetic that you always checked.

With trepidation, you clicked the link to look at what was there. As it too often did, the notification came from an airbrushed-looking woman, her collagen-enhanced lips pressed against his. She looked arrogant and proud, while he looked smug and inebriated.

“Guess who I got to hang with last night?” the caption gloated.

You knew damn well what “hang” was a euphemism for. He never cared that the Barbie dolls he hooked up with advertised their conquest on social media. He was single and hot. Why should he care if people knew that he always scored with the sort of women other men lusted after? Why should he care that it ripped your heart to shreds every time you saw him with another woman so unlike you in every way?

The woman had posted a few other photos of the two of them together, embracing. Every part of her magazine-ready body was on display, save those parts that would have gotten her in trouble. Her artificially perfect breasts were spilling out of a tiny tube top while her endless legs were shown in their full glory between the edge of a skirt that likely required her to trim her pubic hair and the sky high heels that raised her enough to press her lips to his without having to stretch herself awkwardly. She was nothing like you, with your unkempt hair and loose, bohemian dresses, your comfortable ballet flats and blandly natural face. She had all the glamour that you lacked and he ate it up.

The images of the two of them cut into you like a laser and, for once, all you desired was to break free from the pain of feeling. A few minutes later, when Bayley sent the text she’d promised with the details of where you could find the party tonight, you immediately responded.

“I’ll be there. I promise.”

To hell with Aleister and the designer women he adored, you told yourself as you returned to your article with a vengeance. Tonight you were going to do whatever it took to break the spell he had cast over you.

*

It was just after nine when you found yourself teetering to the entrance of the bar where the party was taking place. It was marked only by a subtle sign, no words, just a stylized anchor, and it was hidden away on a tiny street that was hardly more than an alley. In your fit of pique, you’d finished your article two hours before your deadline and then, having examined the options in your closet and found them wanting, headed out and spent entirely too much money on a new dress that clung perfectly to your breasts before flaring out to highlight the movements of your body, while covering just the bare minimum to maintain decency. You’d also picked up a stylish pair of ankle boots with heels higher than you were used to and that posed a legitimate threat as you made your way down the roughly paved road to the speakeasy-style bar.

A little further down the alley, you see a couple leaning against a car, taking turns swigging from a liquor bottle. The woman is one of those glamorous animals that makes you so insecure, laughing in drunken delight in a way that only confident people can. In one quick movement the man spins her around and bends her over the hood of the car. He immediately takes out his cock, stroking it a couple of times before he thrusts into her, one hand on her back while the other holds the bottle that he continues drinking from. And it’s a moment before you realize that it’s Aleister, fucking away at a woman whose name he won’t remember in a few hours.

The sight makes you want to curl up and die, makes you want to say that you’ve made a mistake and run along home so you can bawl your eyes out while you wait for his inevitable drunken arrival. But, if nothing else, the damage that you’ve done to your credit card in order to make yourself look just a bit more sexy and edgy than usual, as well as the glasses of wine you had already consumed to fortify your courage, push you forward. This is a test. In order to pass, you need to be able to ignore the man whose indifference is killing you and enter the world of others, where someone who wasn’t up to the standards of the rarified model girls might be willing to give you a second look.

Aleister doesn’t even glance up as you enter the bar a few feet away from him, can’t feel the dark weight of your eyes on him or the force with which you tear them away as you step through the door.

As soon as you do, you are once again frozen with the idea that you’ve made a mistake. When Bayley characterized this as a “get-together”, you’d assumed it meant a group of people spread out around a few tables chatting away and toasting Roman’s health. Instead, what greets you is a basement club full of people with a dance floor alive with writhing bodies. You recognize a few journalists but for the most part, the space is taken up with every WWE and NXT star you’ve ever heard of. It’s a convention of beautiful people and you can’t help but feel dowdy even in your overpriced finery.

You slowly descend the stairs, fully intending to look around, say hello to a few familiar faces and then bolt for the exit, but you’re immediately greeted by a familiar voice that fairly shrieks. “Oh my god woman, just look at you!”

It’s Sasha Banks, standing at the edge of the stairs with Bayley, who gives you an exaggerated round of applause.

“Miranda, you look amazing,” Sasha continues breathlessly. “Seriously, you’re putting everyone to shame.”

You don’t feel like you’re putting anyone to shame, least of all Sasha in her body suit that hugs every curve of her perfect little hourglass, but you blush at the compliment.

“Come on,” Bayley gushes, “we need shots to celebrate your hotness!”

She pulls both of you through the crowd to the bar and somehow is able to get the bartender’s attention almost immediately, ordering two rounds of tequila shots because, she tells you and Sasha, there’s no point in getting just one round when you know you’re going back for seconds. The three of you toast and toss down the shots and then immediately do so again and you have to admit that you’re feeling the warm glow already. Sasha, apparently feeling something herself, wraps her arms around you and once again reassures you that you are devastatingly beautiful.

Another shot is thrust into your hand, this time by Dash Wilder, who’s arrived with his Revival partner Scott Dawson. Wilder has always been attractive to you, so you give him as radiant a smile as you can manage and you swear he blushes a little just before he downs his shot. Dawson is hugging Sasha and Bayley close to him, allowing Dash to edge a little closer to you and you’re feeling a little high on yourself when another voice cuts through your circle.

“Miranda? Holy fuck I can’t believe you’re here!”

Roman Reigns pushes right through the bodies close to the bar and grabs you firmly by the shoulders, his eyes gradually focusing on yours. He’s grinning with an intensity that clearly comes from his being a little past feeling no pain but it doesn’t hamper the thrill it gives you when he wraps his arms around you and nearly crushes you in a hug.

“I mean, shit, I don’t think I’ve even talked to you since you did that interview,” he pouts. “Thank you so much for coming.”

You smile as another shot is pushed into your hand, biting your lip self-consciously. You down about half the shot before Roman grabs it from you and finishes it, breaking up with laughter. He signals the bartender for another round, keeping an arm around your back until the tray of shots arrives. You’re all toasting each other and you wonder why you ever questioned yourself for coming here because this is exactly what you needed.

“Come dance with me,” Roman chuckles, grabbing your wrist and pulling you towards the dance floor. He’s clearly floating on a sea of drunken bliss, goofing around and happy to have someone to have fun with, someone he didn’t expect to be there. Even if you wanted to resist his offer, you couldn’t because, while he isn’t doing anything that might hurt you, his grip is strong enough and the rest of him powerful enough to compel you forward.

The two of you deliberately dance like complete nerds in high school, awkward movements and ironic posturing until you’re both laughing so hard you can barely stand. It’s then that you realize that you’ve become the focus of some attention; Roman goddamn Reigns, the face of the company, the locker room leader, the man who everyone has come to celebrate, is dancing with you. Most of the people here have no idea who you are but because you’re with Roman, you are somebody. Basking in the subtle attention and envy, you close your eyes and allow yourself to get lost in the music, swaying to the beat until you feel a large pair of hands on your hips.

You open your eyes to see Roman pulling you closer to him with a devilish grin before spinning you around and pulling your back against his massive chest. You continue to move but at a slower pace, your movements limited by how close he’s holding you and the sensual way in which his body moves against yours. Keeping one arm loosely around you, he lets his other hand fall against your thigh, lightly playing with the hem of your dress. It makes you gasp.

“You never responded to any of my texts,” he murmurs gruffly in your ear.

You remember at least half a dozen messages asking if he could clarify anything or if you needed any additional material for your article. You hadn’t needed anything else but you suddenly feel terribly rude for not answering.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, “you were very professional and I should have at least told you that I had what I needed.”

His voice drops even lower as he speaks. “I didn’t mean to be professional about them. And I was hoping that you didn’t have everything you needed.”

He pulls you up and firmly against him and for the first time you can feel his hardening cock through his pants. You can’t help but thrust your hips into him, barely able to process what’s happening to you. The two of you are still ostensibly dancing, although it’s more like a rhythmic grinding to the music as he reaches down and pulls the hem of your dress up, rubbing your thigh and then your ass as he presses his lips into your neck. His hands are everywhere on you and you’re aware that your entire lower body is basically on display for anyone who cares to look but you don’t care because it feels like you’ve won the lottery. You moan at the feeling of his growing excitement against your flesh, both his large hands grazing up the front of your thighs and for a moment you think that you’re ready to beg him to take you right there when you’re violently spun away from your dance partner, a bruising grip on your arm.

It’s Aleister, eyes incandescent with rage as he tells Roman, “I need to speak to her for a minute.”

Roman looks confused and tries to speak to you but Aleister drags you away and a gaggle of women immediately descend on Roman, desperate to take your place.

Aleister flings you against the wall, glaring at you with an intensity that you’ve never seen outside the ring.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he growls.

“I was dancing before you interfered,” you snap back at him, rubbing your arm.

“Dancing?” he repeats with derision. “That’s what you call that?”

“I was having fun.”

“What the hell are you wearing?”

For the first time since you saw him with his woman of choice outside, you feel ridiculous, like a girl trying to look glamorous by donning her mother’s clothes.

“I wanted something a little different.”

“A little?” he hisses back. “Do you realize what you look like? You’re all tarted up and letting some guy grab at you and get you half naked in front of a bar full of people.”

“What I look like?”

“Everyone could see practically your whole goddamned body. They could see what you were letting him do to you.”

“You mean to say I look like a whore.”

Aleister crosses his arms and glances away, refusing to confirm what you’ve said.

“So what, Aleister? So what if I’m letting a man touch me and show me that he wants me? Who cares who else sees? Maybe that’s what I want!”

“Are you so stupid that you think he wants you for anything other than a one night stand?”

The accusation stabs at your heart and your confidence but you’re determined not to let him see that.

“Again, so what? Maybe I’m happy to have this big, gorgeous man want me. Maybe I’m fine bringing him back to my place for a few hours of fun because at least it means someone is thinking of me as a sexual being for a change.” You pause, knowing the danger of what you’re about to say but unable to stop yourself. “Maybe I’d be fine if he just took me outside and fucked me over the hood of a car.”

For a second, you think that Aleister is going to strangle you. The look on his face is like the moment before the sky erupts in thunder and lightning. Truthfully, you expect that he’ll turn on his heel and walk away from you and never come back, and perhaps that’s what you need him to do so that you can get over him.

Instead, he grabs you, pinning you to the side of his body and pulling you towards the door. His movements make you stumble, and the more you try to resist him, the more ungainly you look.

“She’s dead drunk,” you hear him assure a few people, “I’m going to make sure she gets home.”

And while it’s true that you are drunk, you’re not nearly as drunk as he’s making you out to be. The second he has you outside, you try to twist away from him and go back, only for him to wind you closer, pulling you off balance so that you look even more inebriated.

You hear him whisper to Seth Rollins, who’s observing the spectacle through the corner of his eyes. “Look, tell Roman that she’s falling down drunk and I just had to get her home. No disrespect meant.”

Seth has a confused expression on his face but nods and tells him, “Sure thing.”

Realizing what Aleister is doing, you once again try to rush past him, but he blocks you, gripping your arm and pulling you after him so that you really do appear pathetically unable to take care of yourself.

“Why the fuck are you doing this to me?” you shout at him, figuring that there’s no reason to worry about who might hear you, there being no further you can sink in their estimation. “Why can’t you just let me enjoy myself?”

“Jesus, Miranda, you’re loaded. You can barely stand up.” He emphasizes this by jerking your arm forward, which almost causes you to keel over onto your face. “You’re just embarrassing yourself.”

“No,” you insist, pulling yourself to a halt. “I knew what I was doing. I knew what I wanted. Sure I’m a bit tipsy but-“

“You don’t want that,” Alesiter snaps, threading his arm through yours and continuing down the street. “You don’t just want to whore yourself out for a night because you think it might help your self-esteem.”

“You don’t get to decide what I want, Aleister.” You’re crushed against his side and he’s moving so quickly that your feet only graze the ground every third or fourth step. “Let me go. I’m sick of playing the surrogate mother for someone who’s incapable of seeing me as a real woman. I want to go back there. I want to have someone make a show of wanting me. I want to get fucked so hard I can’t walk tomorrow.”

Aleister shakes his head like a parent frustrated with a misbehaving child. “Stop it. You’re being ridiculous.”

“So let me be ridiculous!” you yell back, trying unsuccessfully to extricate yourself from his grip. “What the hell is it to you? Are you worried that for once I’m not going to be there when you need a place to collapse at four in the morning?”

The two of you reach the corner where the alley meets the street and he swings you to face him, glowering at you with a terrifying expression, gripping your biceps so hard you know you’ll be bruised in the morning. He says nothing but stares at you until he whips his arm out and hails a taxi seemingly out of nowhere.

He launches you, there’s no other word for it, into the back seat of the car and snarls your address to the driver as your tears start to fall. The cabbie is noticeably uncomfortable with your quiet whimpering and seems confused by the fact that Aleister does nothing to comfort or engage you. He sits with his arms folded, scowling, until you arrive at your building. Reflexively, you reach for your purse only to have Aleister swat your hand away and pay the driver himself. You try to keep pace as he yanks you towards the door, but stumble because of your unsure footing in these strange heels and because your vision is glazed by the tears you’re fighting to hold in.

When Aleister pins you against the door and rummages through your purse to find your keys, it somehow feels more invasive than Roman gripping your ass for an entire bar full of people to see. You feel, for a moment, that he is looking at you with tenderness. But when the door opens, he simply guides you through it. As you hear it click shut, the last of your strength, physical and emotional, gives out and you drop to your knees, finally allowing the tears to fall. It’s a full-on ugly cry, punctuated by guttural, anguished sounds you’d never allow anyone else to hear. Despite everything, you desperately want to hear the door open again behind you and to hear him say that he’s realized he loves you.

But no, in the end, he’s just found it gross that the woman he sees as his caregiver might have another side. He found you pathetic in your overpriced dress and shoes. He knew that you were desperately trying to act like something you could never be: like someone who could compete with the perfected Instagram beauties he fucks every night. You could never be that. He knew that you were just a sad little woman decked out in a gaudy outfit. You’d never be that sexy, desirable person who stopped men dead in their tracks, no matter what your dance with Roman had temporarily led you to believe.

You’re on your knees for what seems like hours, choking on tears and snot and trying to restrain yourself from howling. Just as the sound overpowers you and a low wail escapes your lips, you’re startled by a pair of arms, familiar, tattooed arms wrapping around your waist from behind.

“Shh. There’s no need for any of that,” he grunts into your hair.

And while you’re shocked and thrilled that he actually stayed behind to make sure that you were ok, it’s also even more humiliating that he’s seen you fall apart so spectacularly. Your body feels limp with defeat and unable to react at all as he gathers you up and carries you into your bedroom, setting you gently on the edge of the bed. He rests his hand on yours for a moment and you’re able to stem the flow of tears until he stands up and heads back towards the door. This time, you’re determined to hold in the worst of your misery until you’re sure he’s gone, even though you can’t stop the tears from running down your face.

But after a few minutes of straining to hear the door close, you see Aleister return, a damp washcloth in hand, and he sits once again beside you on the edge of the bed. He presses the cloth, cool and soothing, against your cheeks and then holds your chin as he delicately wipes it across your face. It takes you some minutes to realize that he’s removing your smeared makeup, cleaning you off so that you look good as new, so that you look more like the plain girl who lets him into her home in the middle of the night, his touch filled with a tenderness that you never imagined him capable of. When he’s satisfied with his work, he tosses the cloth aside and wraps an arm around you, pulling you close against him. The sweetness of his friendly gesture makes you want to cry all over again but you choke it back, knowing that you’ll have plenty of time for that when he’s gone.

“Can I stay here tonight?” he whispers, the sound of his voice making you feel weak.

You nod and roughly pull back from him, unsure of your ability to stop yourself from throwing yourself at him and begging him to wreck you. You fumble with the zipper of your boots until Aleister slides off the bed and onto his knees and removes it for you. He glides his hand along your calf, up to your thigh and then moves to your other boot. As he slides it off, he presses his head against the side of your knee, giving the skin a light kiss before rocking back on his haunches. You know he’s being gentle with you because he feels sorry for you. He finds you pitiful, which is even worse than finding you asexual.

The feelings are too much for you to take and all you can think of is that you want to get into bed where you’ll be safe and where you can sleep off the nightmare your evening out has become. You clumsily shed your dress, stockings, bra and panties without thinking much of the fact that you have an audience. Why should it bother him seeing you naked, after all? Normally, you put on some nightclothes but you don’t even have the strength to bother. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see that Aleister has turned his head towards the door. He’s embarrassed for you, the way you would be if a parent or sibling was undressing around you.

You crawl under the covers with a grumbled “good night” and immediately start to feel yourself drift off. You’re jolted back to wakefulness when Aleister climbs in beside you. In all the time you’ve known him, as many nights as he’s come and collapsed on your sofa, you don’t think he’s ever seen your bedroom. Now, having seen it, he’s apparently happy not to leave it, indulging in the comfort of your bed without even asking permission. It makes you a little self-conscious that you’re nude but it’s hardly the most humiliating thing to happen to you tonight, so you let yourself ignore it. If you can just fall asleep, this night will be over and you can begin the process of trying to forget it.

It’s only a matter of seconds, though, until you feel his body pressed against yours from behind, one hand coming to rest flat on your stomach and pushing you back against him so that you are acutely aware that you are not the only person naked in the bed. The hand on your stomach flutters downward until his fingers are moving lightly over your pussy, like he’s plucking the strings of a harp. His other arm wraps around your shoulders and keeps you flush against him, close enough that you can’t mistake the feeling of his erection against your back.

He presses his lips and tongue against your neck, making you whimper as you try to keep your heart rate stable. Your little noises seem to motivate him further, his touch becoming more insistent and one of his legs snaking over yours, pulling it back to give his hand greater access.

“Such a little fool,” he murmurs, his fingers stroking insistently along your fleshy folds. “Thinking I don’t see you as a sexual being.”

He sinks his teeth into your shoulder, making you cry out- more from the shock than the pain. His mouth continues to move around your neck and shoulders, nipping and sucking on the skin there, his grip on you tightening until it’s nearly painful.

“What are you doing?” you manage to ask.

“Leaving marks,” he says matter-of-factly.

You’re at a loss for what to say, but are saved from having to answer as he pushes two fingers inside you, his thumb rubbing slow circles over your clit. You’re embarrassed that he must have felt how wet you were just from being in his presence but he says nothing, quickening his pace and giving satisfied little growls when his touch elicits gasps and cries of pleasure from you.

It’s pity, you remind yourself; what he’s doing to you, he’s doing it because he feels sorry for you and because he’s drunk and horny despite his encounter earlier in the evening. But the thought gets whisked away as he brings you closer and closer to what you’ve desperately needed from him for so long. You let out a little shriek when he removes his hand, unable to believe he’s so cruel as to bring you to the precipice and then deny you. But he simply flips you onto your back before pressing his fingers inside you once more, watching your reactions to be sure he’s hitting just the right spot before burying his face between your legs. His tongue, lips and fingers work together like an orchestra. Your knuckles are white from the force of clenching on the sheets and you’re biting down so hard on your lip to muffle the sounds you’re making that you’re worried your teeth will end up permanently embedded. He unexpectedly raises his head and stills the movement of his hand inside you and the shock is almost enough to make you start crying again. You look down at him, his eyes sparkling in the low light with an expression you can’t read.

“Why won’t you let me hear you?”

Because you don’t want him to know how good his merciful little gesture is making you feel. Because you don’t want to admit to yourself that it’s better than you’d imagined. Truthfully, whenever you’ve thought about the mechanics of sex with Aleister, you imagined that it would be fast and rough and hedonistic, much like his other sexual encounters seem to be. But he’s chosen this moment to take his time, to focus on his partner, rather than go for a quick, dirty fuck in a darkened corner.

You don’t tell him any of this, instead croaking out, “I’m shy.”

He raises himself up and over your body with the effortless grace of a serpent, pressing his head close to yours and kissing along your jawline.

“What do I have to do to make you not be shy?”

“I don’t know… I just… am.” You wriggle a little under him, turning your face away when he looks directly into your eyes.

He cups your face in one hand and runs the other, still wet with your juices, over your breast, teasing the nipple and making you shudder involuntarily.

“Am I moving too fast?”

You shake your head, not quite trusting your voice.

“Is there something that you’d enjoy more? Something you want me to do for you?”

You give him another little shake of the head.

“You don’t have to be shy with me. Whatever you want, I want you to tell me so I can give it to you. Anything.”

For the first time, he kisses you on the lips, his tongue, that still tastes of you, slides against yours and the hand at the side of your face slides to hold your neck, cradling your head so that you don’t have to tense any muscles to stay in that position. Your body has nothing it needs to do but experience the sensations he’s creating. Of course, you still answer his kiss, hungrily flashing your tongue against his, reveling in the light scrape of his lip ring against your lips. His hand glides back down between your legs, and even the proximity is enough to draw a couple of little mewls of pleasure. You feel him smile a little against your lips at the noises and he pulls away from the kiss.

“Am I making you feel good?”

You nod as he starts to work his fingers around your entrance once again.

“Do you want my mouth down there again?”

You nod even more vigorously than the first time but he shakes his head.

“Tell me. Say it out loud.”

You open your mouth to do so and he immediately thrusts his long fingers into your g-spot and your clit at once, making you yelp in pleasure. It’s almost enough to make you cum on its own but he eases the pressure before you reach that peak.

“Yes?” he asks again.

“Yes, fuck, yes!”

“Then let me hear you. Please.”

He returns his attention to your core and has you making all manner of unholy noises in short order. He expertly teases you and then holds back, so many times that when he does finally take you over the edge, you feel like you might pass out from the intensity of it. Your gasps for breath sound cavernous in the quiet room.

He keeps the palm of his hand firmly against you as he leans forward and presses his lips into your neck, letting out a satisfied purr every time an aftershock rolls through your body.

When he’s satisfied that you’ve fully come down, he raises himself up on his arms, giving just the hint of a smile when you grab onto his biceps to steady yourself.

He’s so rigid that he doesn’t even need a hand to guide himself into you. He simply presses forward in one slow but sure moment, his eyes closed as if it’s a kind of religious experience, not opening them until he’s fully seated inside you. It’s been long enough since you’ve been with anyone that the feeling of being stretched draws a little whimper from your throat. He remains still, his eyes open and bearing down on you with a delirious kind of excitement, aching prick twitching inside you, desperate to proceed but waiting for a signal that he can.

And it’s at that moment that you allow yourself to think that this isn’t pity or a drunken mistake, that he’s as hungry for you as you have been for him and that what’s happened tonight has just served to connect a circuit. The fiercely possessive look in his eyes as he watches you, the fury when he thought someone else was claiming you, the need to mark you to make you his, the flush of pure lust on his face and chest… it is just a little frightening, something you suspected was in him but never that it was focused on you. But you’ve always known you could handle his darkness if he let you in. So you thrust your hips a little and wrap your legs loosely around his waist to show him that he can continue. Just as he starts to move, he cups your face and presses his mouth to your ear.

“You deserve so much better.”

“Stop trying to make those decisions for me,” you moan, feeling your insides flutter with his movements.

“I’ve never felt anything like that jealousy.” He’s staring into your eyes as he confesses. He lifts one of your legs over his shoulder pressing deeper inside you and gasping at the feeling. “Knowing that everyone could see how sexy and beautiful you are… And I’m an idiot for waiting for that to happen before I did anything, I just…”

He grimaces and slows his pace a little, obviously trying to prolong the sensation.

“You mean it?” You have to ask because you still can’t quite believe that this has been on his mind for all this time when he’s shown no sign of it to you.

“God yes,” he answers through gritted teeth, once again allowing himself to move faster and more urgently.

You can’t completely banish your fears that he’s going to regret this in the morning and just shut you out again but every second with him is pushing them further away. You lace your fingers through his hair, nipping at the shell of his ear as he lets out his own stream of desperate, lusty noises, running your nails gently down his back as he approaches his crescendo.

His head drops to your chest and he cries out as he releases inside you.

“Fuck I love you, fuck I love you, fuck I love you.” He repeats it like a mantra that brings him back down from his high, saying it a final time as he looks into your eyes.

Slowly, he rolls onto his side, gathering you close to him like he thinks an errant breeze might carry you away.

“I have…” he begins quietly, “… there’s a lot that goes on in my head… Bad things, I guess. I thought you’d run away. Or that I’d pull you down with me. I still don’t know that won’t happen.”

He looks so vulnerable that it makes your heart hurt but at the same time you have to stifle a smile.

“Well I’d rather you let me try to deal with it. I’m a lot tougher than you give me credit for being.”

His expression grows a little guilty and he nods. He wraps his arms tighter around you and you do the same until the two of you are lying in your bed, wound around each other.

#aleister black fanfic #aleister black fan fiction #aleister black imagine #tommy end imagine #wwe imagine #wwe fanfiction #wwe smut #wayward wrestle writing #wrestling imagine #wrestling fanfiction

[fyeahnevilleslongbottomsocs]

YOUR FINGERPRINTS ON MY SKIN, A PAINFUL REMINDER! ⚰️ CAN BE READ ON AO3

❝Catherine Cullen, born out of wedlock to the late Carlisle Cullen and Elspeth Fynch, struggled to live in the village that had ostracized her since birth. At nineteen, her only chance for survival is to sell her body; ironically this is what leads to her mortal demise. Aristide Athanasiou of the Volturi, finds a Blood Singer in the form of Catherine Cullen after intending to kill her, but he spares her. And he spares her over and over again until the painful reminder of her beating fragile heart becomes too much for him to bear.❞

part of PETALS FOR ARMOR a twilight au series of one-shots! please read tags before reading the one-shot!

warnings: mild smut, blood kink ( ??? im not sure about this but just in case ), prostitution, possessive behaviour

pairing(s): OC/OC | Carlisle Cullen/OC ( past relationship )

characters: catherine cullen ( oc ) | aristide athanasiou ( oc ) | aro ( mentioned ) | carlisle cullen ( mentioned ) | elspeth fynch ( oc )

click on ‘keep reading’ if you prefer to read this one-shot on here instead of on ao3!

RED EYES BURN into her pale freckled skin, they belong to a young man of the name Aristide. Catherine Cullen doesn't have to turn around to know it's him, he's the only one who ever looks at her. Her freckled skin and long messy, matted strawberry-blonde hair made her less than attractive compared to the other women in the area, and, of course, there was the fact she was a bastard child. None of the local men wanted her and the village scarcely brought in travelers. Catherine loosens the buttons on her late husband's old white blouse, exposing her the chest before turning around. The young woman nearly gasps when she sees that Aristide is standing right behind her. She had expected him to be across the street, where he normally waited, every night that she came to these parts for the past month and a half. If she thought about it, she would reckon that it was unusual, scarcely any traveler stayed this long but he paid her well so who was Catherine to complain.

She clutches her chest inhaling sharply. Before she can scold him for startling her, Aristide reaches up in a swift movement and brushes over her bruised cheek "My sweet singer, what harm as befallen thy cheek," He questions her in honey-coated voice, his fingers are freezing against her skin but it feels good against her throbbing cheek. Sometimes Catherine thinks that Aristide feels to cold to be truly alive. He was a strange young man, the strangest she had ever encountered.

"It is nothing, Aristide, merely Pastor Cullen," Catherine says, "He does detest me so, and with his old age —"

"You should forbear attending —"

"You know that I cannot do that, Aristide," Catherine says fiercely, more fiercely than she intends to. The last thing she needs to do is scare of the only paying customer she has but that place meant so much to her mother. Even though Pastor Cullen had always treated her and her mother terribly, her mother, Elspeth Fynch, had insisted that they go as often as they could. Her mother had said that the place was very important to her late father, Carlisle Cullen. 

"He is old, Aristide. I have heard gossip that he is appointing a new pastor soon."

"Has thou? I am sure it shall be his son, that cannot be much better," Aristide says, sarcasm dripping from his tone and he's met with a solemn look.

"Afraid not, his son went missing nearly twenty years ago," Catherine says quietly, "On one of those vampire hunts, his father planned . . . No one knows what happened to him, we do not talk about it but I have heard many good things about the man."

Her mother had talked highly of him, Carlisle this and Carlisle that, was what had filled Catherine's childhood. Her father was all her mother talked about, his death had left a hole in Elspeth's chest and if he had not died than nobody would have known that Catherine was born out of wedlock and she wouldn't be facing the poverty that she is now. And perhaps her mother would not have perished so brutally upon that pyre all those years ago. Talking about Carlisle Cullen now did nothing but leave a bitter taste in Catherine's mouth. 

Aristide frowns, he wonders if it's possible that the missing man had found real vampires and if he did that would mean, he's still around somewhere. Aristide had not sensed any in the area but there are plenty of sewers that they can hide in here. He pulls Catherine closer, she was his and his alone. Aristide had been passing through London when he seen her wandering the streets late at night, in need of money for medicine. In fact, Aristide had not met a single supernatural creature in this town, not even a witch and they were almost everywhere. Although just because he had not sensed another vampire around, it doesn't mean they weren't there, they could have easily found a mundane scent to cover theirs up, the son she spoke of could still be around, hidden in the shadows, it would make sense as to why his father had survived so long without a single uprising to his medieval ways. This son could be hidden somewhere, anywhere in this village which means Aristide would have to keep a closer watch on Catherine.

He had not meant to grow so attached to Catherine, he usually killed his blood-singers hours after encountering them but for some odd reason he found himself besotted with Catherine. Aristide had know her for a month or so by now. It started on a night quite like this and her alluring scent sang to him, her scent was much better than her appearance, she had been near this exact spot looking for anyone willing to pay her for sexual favours. He had given her the money in exchange for her to come back to his home where she believed that they would have sex but he had other plans. Catherine was supposed to be his dinner that night but as soon as the door closed behind her and he moved to pounce, she kissed him hard against his open mouth. The very same mouth that had been seconds away tearing through her jugular and draining her of her life. After that Aristide couldn't bring himself to kill her, he let her kiss him hard over and over, pressing hot and wet kisses on his mouth and down to his neck. It ignited a feeling in him he hadn't felt in centuries and he knew he had to keep her around, for the past month he's been coming to this dump of town just to see her night after night. Some nights, she wasn't there because she had made enough money to pay for the medicine of the little girl that lived near her. Aristide doesn't understand why she bothers to work so hard for someone that isn't herself but he's grown to adore it because that means she has to be here to do it.

Catherine presses a clammy hand to his face "Aristide, are you alright? You have grown tense . . . Have I done something to upset you?"

"No, my sweet singer, I am cold, it has naught to try with you." Aristide says, pressing a kiss to her forehead with causes her to shiver.

"Indeed, you are freezing . . . Shall we go back to your place and warm ourselves up," Catherine offers, pushing herself against Aristide's cold body. She looks up at him through her pale lashes, his red gaze is hot, it feels as though it's burning straight through to her wicked soul.

"That sounds enchanting, ma chérie," Aristide says smoothly, whispering in her ear. And off they go, arm in arm to Aristide's 'place' hardly a block away.

Unlike the last few times, Catherine does not throw herself on him immediately after the door closes behind her and as much as he'd love to see her naked body writhing with pleasure and bathed in the candle light, he assumes she's grown fond of him; she must trust him now. He licks his lower lip, it was naïve of her to trust him but something about the thought of earning her misplaced trust excited him.

He lights the candles and she sits down on his bed, technically not his bed but the person who owned it before he killed them, but Catherine doesn't need to know that. He smiles at her and she smiles back at him albeit a bit hesitantly, her heart speeds up and he wonders why — could it be she possibly fancies him?

Catherine's desperate, desperate enough to give her body time and time again to a man she's quite certain is the devil. He has red eyes and he's perfectly perfect and oh so tempting. There is no way that Aristide is human but she never dwells on it for long, she needs the money. Agatha is sick and her parents are even sicker, Agatha relies on her, Catherine couldn't let her down and she doesn't care if she's sinning or not.

He stalks towards her slowly and comes to a stop between her legs, he lifts her head up with a finger and leans down to kiss her, slowly but passionately. Her heart skips a beat as she kisses him back, she reaches up and wraps her arms around his neck, he snakes his arms around her waist. Aristide starts trailing kisses down her mouth to her neck, allowing her to catch her breath as he didn't need to stop to do that. He kisses her neck, finding her pulse-point with ease, he kisses the spot again and again, then he gently drags his teeth against her skin which elicits a quiet moan from her. So unaware how close she is to death, he pulls away to study her, her eyes are closed and her pink lips are swollen. Freckles coat her face as well as her exposed shoulders, Aristide is sure that every inch of her is covered in freckles, making her look like a constellation in the sky.

Catherine lies down on the bed, she smiles up Aristide as she slowly begins to untie her dress, he reciprocates her smile as he begins to unbutton his petticoat. By time he's pulled his blouse of, she's untied her outer-layer corset, she shivers again and he wonder if his home is really that cold. He, of course, wouldn't truly notice.

"It is cold in here," Catherine whispers, her pale face flushed, as her thin fingers begin to remove her blouse, Aristide can see that they're trembling and he frowns. He had forgotten how sensitive humans were to temperatures.

"Keep it on, my sweet singer, you will be warmer that way," Aristide says, and it will be easier for her to leave quickly in case something goes wrong. He unbuckles his trousers, Catherine hums in response abandoning her attempt to undress herself and instead busies herself with watching him, she takes in his too perfect features, his long black curls which were pulled back with a thin white lace. His pale skin seems to glimmer in the light of the candles, he was heavenly-looking, almost god like. But every moment with him felt like a sin.

Once Aristide has kicked off his trousers, he crawls over her and listens to her heartbeat race. He settles himself between her legs and pushes her long skirt down to her waist to expose her thin and freckled legs. They're covered in bruises especially her thighs, and they're all from him, as gentle as he tries to be with her he always leaves evidence of his strength. He tugs off her undergarments, his calloused fingertips brushing against her inner most thighs as he does so.

She hisses at the harsh coolness but arches her hips towards him nevertheless, He smirks at her and says "Eager are we now, ma chérie?"

Catherine nods her head, whimpering. Playing it up because she just wanted to get this over with, she doesn't hate it and she quite enjoys their time together but she wishes he would be quicker. She just needed the money, Agatha is relying on her. If they got this done with quicker, she could probably get home in time to make some soup for Agatha and her parents. Aristide was the only good man she had ever been with, outside of her marriage, but this was never about good, this was about survival for not only herself but those she cared about. It was nothing more than that.

He chuckles, grabbing her legs and pulling her close. Their hips meet and Catherine shivers violently at the feeling of his freezing body pressed against her already cold one, Aristide hushes her, stroking her cheek in a gentle manner as he tells her to sit up. Catherine does as he asks, they're so close their bodies were practically one. Although she, herself, felt cold, to him she felt like a raging fire against his own cold, undead skin.

His finger traces her lips before pulling her into a bruising kiss, she hisses against his lips but the hiss turns into a pained moan as he thrusts into her. He's careful as he can be, she's a delicate flower compared to him and he could easily kill her this way. He pulls away from her, muttering "You're beautiful," against her bruised cheek. How he longs to taste her blood, her skin itself was surprisingly sweet and he's sure that her blood is even sweeter.

"Thank you, sir," She mumbles, bucking her hips into his. Quiet pants and moans escape her chapped, swollen lips. She grips her skirt tightly, her eyes screwed shut and Aristide watches her every expression with keen interest from the smallest twitch of her eyebrows to more noticeable action of her mouth falling open as louder moans fall from her lips. He's learned to let her do most of the moving because it results in less bruising, at first he didn't care but as their intimate encounters grew closer together, he had grown fond of her and her safety.

He gently moves his hands so they're entangled in her hair, he pulls on her matted locks slightly. Her strawberry-blonde hair appears almost golden in the glow of the candles. If she had the ability to take care of herself, she would have been breathtaking. Catherine, in Aristide's opinion was unique for a mortal. He could give her the power to be so much more than that, he had thought about it for an agonising amount of time. But, Aristide had never turned someone before, it was usually Aro who did that and Aristide had went alone this time around. 

Her heart pounds loudly, mocking him and his cowardice. He was afraid to turn her, he could kill her instead and for the first time in his immortal life, Aristide did not want to kill. He thought about bringing her to Volterra but he thought it unlikely that Aro would turn her, Catherine appeared to be lacking a gift, in other words, useless to Aro. But, she meant everything to Aristide. 

His name is whimpered, as he tugs a little harder on her hair, Catherine's hips press into his. Momentum is growing, a feeling akin to being alive grows inside him, Aristide moans lowly. He swallows the venom pooling his mouth and presses his lips to her shoulder, over and over and over, slowly moving up to her jawline.

After a few minutes, her moans get louder and her legs start to shake but Catherine does not cum. Typically the mortal doesn't last this long but Aristide had taken it slower tonight, mostly lost in his thoughts. But now, it was getting harder for him to ignore his bloodlust, he trusts into her hoping that it would be enough to push her over the edge but it's not. All he earns in a loud, pained moan and then she bites down on her lip hard and draws blood which is enough to send him spiraling over the edge. He inhales sharply as he does his best to restrain himself, he grips her skirt so tight that it tears. Aristide doesn't want to kill her, she's too precious, too good to be killed no matter how good her blood smells.

He pulls away from her, stumbling backwards and he hears her whine quietly as she sits up. She goes to ask for her pay but she falls short upon seeing the ravenous look on his face, her grin turns into an uneasy frown "Aristide, are you alright, have I done something wrong?" 

"Get out," He hisses, he wants nothing more to tear her apart, he wants to completely destroy her just for a drop of her precious blood, "Get out now!"

Catherine scrambles out of his bed, looking terrified out of her wits as apologies profusely fall from her lips, she tries to move closer to him but he throws the first thing he can grab — a pot — in her direction and he screams "GET OUT!"

For a moment, Aristide expects her to flee, he hopes that she will but Catherine surprises him and she stays. Stupid, foolish girl. 

Her eyes, blue as Aristide remembers the Mediterranean Sea to be, are wide with fear. Her bloodied lower lip is quivering but she stands motionless and determined. And although, Aristide would never raise a hand to her, he understands why the pastor raises his hand to her; she doesn't seem to obey what she's been told to do. 

"The money," Catherine says, trying and failing to keep her meek voice steady, "I did what you wanted me to do, if you're done I would like my pay." 

A thin line of blood trickle down her lip and onto her chin, his red eyes zero in on it. Catherine's words become lost to him, her pounding heart is all that Aristide can hear and he can no longer control himself. He lunges, she screams. 

He takes her out easily, his teeth tear into her jugular with ease, her scream becomes muffled by the blood filling her mouth, some of it splatters against Aristide's pale cheeks. It tastes much better than he ever imagined, Catherine was not the first Blood Singer he had encountered the many centuries he had been alive but she was by far his favourite. 

Her hand slams against his chest in a feeble attempt to fight him off but all she gains is a broken wrist. The snapping of her bones brings Aristide back to reality, he remembers that he doesn't want to kill her and with great difficulty he pulls himself away from her. Catherine screams meekly, her voice hoarse already, blood pools out of her mouth as she rolls onto her side and curls into herself. Her small frame trembles violently with every sound, the venom spreads through her veins like a forest fire, she has no idea what's happening.

Aristide watches with keen interest, he had seen Aro turn lots of people but it seems different now, a whole new experience for his old soul. Every tremble and every scream from her excites him. 

"Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop," Catherine screams over and over, she grits her teeth together after every word, eyes squeezing shut as she hugs herself around her middle, writhing violently on the wood floor, her words fade from harsh and hoarse screams to a soundless chant. 

Aristide reaches out, brushing her hair out of her face, she looks at him with complete and utter betrayal, she whispers a plea for him to put her out of her misery. He doesn't, his bright red eyes zero in on the bite he left on her neck. It was not as clean as Aro's and it would leave a nasty scar, Aristide thinks that it will look much better than the bruises of his fingerprints ever did on her. His bloodied lips pull into a satisfied smirk, she was his forever now. 

#twilight #twilight fanfiction #twilight one shot #twilight series #ao3 link #twilight oc #twilight au #carlisle cullen #carlisle cullen x oc #vampire turning #twilight reimagined #volturi #aro #ao3 one shot #the volturi #mild smut #twilight smut #jasper hale #jasper whitlock #rosalie hale #emmett cullen #esme cullen #edward cullen #alice cullen #bella swan #twilight renaissance #twilight renessaince #writing #jasper x oc #jasper hale x oc

[stormobsessed]

Avatar: The Last Bondsmith

So, I had made THIS POST about a Zuko Windrunner and his Spren Iroh, and there were a lot of comments about other radiant orders for the other characters, and a strong argument for Zuko not actually being a windrunner because his arc was less about protecting people and more about facing hard truths. That may be Lightweaver, but Lightweaver is personal truths, and Zuko doesn’t have a lot of personal lies, but is entrenched in the lies of his nation. I feel like fixing that is very Truthwatcher. 

Then… this happened, I hope you enjoy. 

The Fire Nation was full of Lightweavers. It was a court of secrets, of hidden faces, of lies. Men and women and children claimed loyalty when they felt fear, claimed morality as they killed innocent, stayed silent when they wanted to speak, and were practiced at confessing to only their spen rather than risking the words aloud. As time wore and generations changed, it came to pass that nearly every radiant in the Nation was accompanied by a cryptid, one corrupted Sja-anat and blessed by Odium to accept voidlight. The Fire Lord claimed that was good, for the Lightweavers were clearly the strongest order of radiants, with powers and abilities that overshadowed all others. He proclaimed across their country that it was this that showed that they alone deserved to rule. 

The Cryptids loved this lie. 

Was it a lie though? After all, they killed Honor and every one of his windrunners when Odium sent a comet leaking voidlight through the sky. 

Odium loved the passion and anger of the Fire nation as they utilized it and stormlight to begin razing the rest of the world to the ground, the cryptids cared not for honorable or right, only true. Sometimes the truth was cruel and ugly. 

Firelord Ozai was not shamed by truths other men dared not speak. He fully confessed to himself that he was cruel, a monster, that his campaign was about personal growth rather than the love of his nation. He held those truths so clearly, that his power was great. Great enough that when he touched his son’s face in a duel and felt dry, flaking skin, he said ‘you are fire’ and it did not disobey. 

Not even when the child screamed. 

The son was failing, only sworn to the first ideal, if any. Ozai had never seen his son’s spren, in fact if any had it would have been his traitorous, Stoneward mother with her weak oaths of being there for others. She’d broken her oaths though. She was not here for her children. In assassinating Azulon and fleeing she’d saved her son, but killed her spen. 

The boy was weak. He was too hot headed, too honest. He wore his heart on his sleeve and said every word that he thought. Sometimes Ozai doubted that he had Truth to speak at all. He was completely unlike his sister, a prodigy who could weave illusion nearly as soon as she could walk. She soulcast before the age of five. She was the most skilled Lightweaver to be born in decades. 

She had to be. She couldn’t reveal that she could not say the last truth, could not make herself try to accept it, even if the ghostly lightweaving vision of her mother that visited every night said it without fail. She couldn’t accept it. After all, if she was a monster without even the love of her mother, then surely no one could blame her for the atrocities she commited, it was simply in her nature. It was why she could smile at the duel, why she could laugh as her brother was sent on an impossible quest, why she could focus on how much closer that made her to the throne. 

Odium liked that, the passion of her people, the passion of her family, her passion. 

Zuko had passion as well, but it was not a kind that Oduim enjoyed. 

So Zuko was banished, for an impassioned speech to save men Odium considered no better than discarded toys. An impassioned plea for a useless passion. 

Zuko was almost relieved, for it gave him the opportunity to hide that his spren was not a cryptid at all. His mistspren, Iroh, spoke in a light accent that almost always had a proverb or a chuckle, and the few times Zuko risked looking into shadesmar, he found a rotund, smiling old man. Upon materializing in the material world, one of the first things he did was hear someone offer a cup of tea to a man who was distraught, and had latched onto that. Zuko could barely say a word without the kindly spren suggesting a tea break. 

Zuko feared the day that he would be material enough to actually carry the tea leaves to a cup. 

But Zuko… couldn’t say the ideals. He didn’t know what they would mean. Not at first. It wasn’t until he left a stonewards home in the Earth Kingdom, after days of hearing nothing but hate and fear towards his people, that he felt the words at his lips. 

“I will seek the truth, even when it is painful to me.” 

“Well done, Prince Zuko.” Iroh had said. “Now, how about some tea.” 

“We’re in the middle of the dessert.” 

“So?” 

“There’s no tea anywhere within a hundred miles of here!” 

“Well, all you need for tea is leaves, yes? I will find pre-tea.” 

“No, it’s not any leaves! You can’t just-” 

But Zuko almost feared that oath, for what did it mean for his mission that would restore him to his home? He was more powerful now, but would that be enough to capture the Bondsmith that he had been chasing for months? 

The bondsmiths were rare, after all, only three spren could form a bondsmith pack, and two had been damaged so dearly that they were as dead as a Spren of their nature could be for nearly a century. There was only one spren whose identity had been unknown, the spren created by the slain honor, the Avatar. 

A century past, when all manner of radiants were formed in all manner of locations, Windrunners found themselves drawn to one another, taking shelter in mountain top homes across the world where they could immediately be sent out to help others. For warriors, they were a peaceful people who desired not to fight, but to protect. Though honor spren bonded men and women of every people back then, nearly every member of the Air Nomads was a windrunner, as the men and women lived and taught their ideals. 

Aang was young when he bonded his spren, not the youngest but still young. The Windrunners wondered why they never saw the boy’s spren after he swore the first ideal, but reasoned that while honor spren were not often shy, each had their own distinct personalities and a timid spren could only help the foolhardy boy. They questioned why he did not use the gravitational lashing, though relaxed when he was able to use the surge of adhesionc Different people excelled at different elements of surge binding after all.

However, Aang was seeing a world that was starting to crack under the pre-war tensions. He saw merchants refusing trades with other nations, sneers and insults and hate. When his two closest friends, Bumi and Kuzon, both confessed that their parents forbade them from playing together, he couldn’t take it. He hated to see the balanced world tearing itself apart and uttered the words with a yell “I will unite instead of divide!” 

He was the youngest bondsmith to ever bond a spren, but the Avatar, a spren element of honor who upheld balance and unity, was sure of its choice oice. However, ironically the bond did nothing but divide him from others his age. It drove a chasm between him and his playmates, as they recognized his unique and great power. When the elders spoke, and threatened to separate the boy of unity from the only family he’d ever known he’d panicked and fled, ending up in a storm and utilizing his powers to create a protective shell around himself and his pet, his ever-renewing stormlight keeping him alive as his body froze. 

As a hundred years passed the world changed. Spren were killed, oaths were broken, and radiants were captured and tortured, until in some places, such as the Southern Water Tribe, no radiants bonded at all. None except for one girl, Katara, the daughter of a chief who saw a decimated people barely able to survive and vowed not to forget them. Who saw their pleas for help being ignored and promised to listen to those without a voice. The edgedancer glided through the stiffest snow like it was clear ice and scaled glaciers like the handholds formed at her whim. She healed the sick and wounded as her brother, Sokka, a non-radiant protected and bore the tribe’s last, hidden shardblade. 

Their father had entrusted the shardblade to him before disappearing to fight in the war, knowing that the benefit to having the blade would be outweighed by the enemies that would seek it, and the allies that were willing to become enemies to obtain it. The blade was large, a straight line of sheer unworldly black. If one were to peak into shadesmar, they would find a peakspren with skin of dark stone following the blade. If they looked closely, they might see the spren tilt its head when the boy lovingly talked to his weapon. 

In this changed world there is also a willshaper. A young girl in a gilded cage who longs to be free and wishes that others have that same option. A girl whose parents immediately, upon seeing cloudy eyes, traveled to the Nightwatcher in search of their boon and curse. Perhaps they hadn’t been clear enough, for they asked that their daughter could see the world, but her eyes did not grow clear. However, as the child began to walk upon stone itself, discarding fancy shoes and plush carpets, she found that with each step she could feel and hear the ground beneath her feet. The stone would tell her where she was, what was near, and what those around her were doing. She found a vision far beyond mere sight of the eyes, a vision constantly being renewed by light leeched from the stones themselves, just enough to keep this one power constant. This was the boon of the Nighwatcher. What was the curse? None can say. Perhaps it was that the girls parents would never truly understand the gift of the boon. Perhaps it was that the girl would never feel happy in the left they wished to foist upon her. Perhaps it was something else entirely. It didn’t matter, for when the Bondsmith, the Edgedancer, and the Shardbearer came, she could no more stay with her parents than she could break her oaths. She was taking the chance to be free. 

There were others in this world as well. There was a warrior in a green dress and war makeup, who had bonded no spren but enjoyed watching the windspren dance around her fans. The Honor spren were said to all have died in the genocide but… she couldn’t help but hope as she protected her people, then left to protect others that needed her. 

There was a princess with white hair, with startling insights into the truth of the spirit world and who would one day use her stormlight to use regrowth on a spirit, condemning herself to death on wounds she didn’t have light enough to heal. 

There was an elderly inventor, an elsecaller who had used transportation to bring himself and his crippled son to a safe place where he could work on creating fabrials to stop the war. Though, when he was discovered by the Fire Nation his work did nothing but perpetuate it. 

There was a teen of messy hair, whose spen formed dual blades. He was a skybreaker, bound to the ideal that the Fire Nation was evil, that their very presence in the world was a wrong that needed to be corrected. He lashed himself into trees and created a home for children, teaching them his ways and bonds. 

There was a girl of the Fire Nation, who was so often mistaken for her own many siblings that she was determined never to forget anyone else. She danced on the world, walking wires like it would be impossible that she should fall, gliding when others walked. 

Her friend, a willshaper who had been trapped by chains of propriety and expectation, who spoke to the ground to form weapons of peerless balance, who would appear without warning, and whose enemies often went down before knowing they were in danger. 

Zuko sought the Avatar’s Bondsmith, facing foe after foe as he travelled the world. He could find no edgedancer or truthwatcher who could heal the scar that marked him traitor, that marked him an honorless traitor. His surges were weak with the second oath, and Iroh could not form a blade until the next was spoken, leaving him with simple steel. 

In fact, it wasn’t until he had achieved his purpose, the Avatar-Bondsmith supposedly dead through the bold of ribbon that Azula had soulcast into lightening, that he was able to profess the next ideal. Name restored, sitting at the right hand of his father, he realized that there was no truth in the Fire Nation. He realized that everything he had learned his whole life were beautiful lies. He knew the truth now, and Iron sat at his shoulder with a weakening voice, imploring him not to break his oath. 

It was only then that he knew what words were pushing at his mouth, as he whispered to himself, broken, “I will see the truth declared, in spite of those who would try to hide it.” 

When he stood, Iroh was a set of Dual Doas in his hand, and he marched to confront his father on the day that Odium’s Voidlight would be eclipsed. 

#avatar the last airbender #The Stormlight Archive #knights radiant #Surgebinding #More like Surgebending #Zuko #Azula #Iroh #Ozai #Aang #Katara #Sokka #Toph #Suki #Yue #JET #Tai Lee #Mai

[boebluewrites555]

From dusk till dawn Chapter One

(A Xabrielle uber fanfic)

It had all happened by chance one day when Xena had decided to give a coffee shop along her usual patrol route a chance at redemption. It wasn’t until later down the track when she would realise that nothing ever truly happened by chance, somehow it was always fate that intervened, and thank the gods for that! 

She had only been their once before, but it hadn’t taken long to convince her that it was far better than her usual haunt and it wasn’t just the better than last time coffee that had her hooked, it was far more to do with the view.

The beach was always pleasant to look at and it sure beat staring at the parking lot her old haunt had so drearily looked out upon.

Though most of her colleagues might have thought that Xena was not the kind of person who’d get all sappy about that kind of stuff, they had no idea just how ‘sappy’ she could be. Especially lately when she had admittedly become rather desperate. Of course, she didn’t mind being alone she pretty much always had been after all. It was more to do with the strange feeling she had always had in the pit of her stomach. A sort of yearning feeling that seemed to tell her that something was just…. missing in her life. But she could never quite put her hand on what exactly that missing thing was. So, she tried to fill the void, with anything she could use to take her mind away. Whether it was putting everything into training and work until she couldn’t move another muscle, or even having sex with some random person she had met at a bar after work, it didn’t matter what it was…as long as it did the trick.

But no matter how hard she tried, straight after she had done those things the feeling of emptiness had always seamed to creep back over her shoulder. It just wasn’t the sort of thing that she could fight off with kicks and blows, or even her gun and Xena was beginning to think that it might never fade, until one-day when for the first time since she could remember, it had.

In fact it was that very day when she had been looking out at the beach, sipping her scolding hot drink. She was following a sea gull with her eyes as it had glided over to the waves and gracefully landed upon them when out of the corner of her eye something else drew her attention. It was the movement of a person that had caught her eye, and although Xena wasn’t usually too interested in other human’s antics, she couldn’t help but to keep her eyes on this one because something about them just drew her in.

The girl on the beach was dancing. She was wearing a bikini with an orangy-pink sarong tied around her waist. She was the most graceful person Xena had ever seen, and yet something about her dancing seamed full of emotion and almost, sad. Xena couldn’t help but to think that this woman could easily be dancing for a crowd with those moves, and she had to wonder why she wasn’t.

Xena had felt drawn to the girl, almost like she was pulling her in with her fluid like moves and Xena was raptured. She had wanted to walk over to the girl and introduce herself, ask why she was dancing so early in the morning instead of later where she would draw a crowd…. But for once Xena was scared. Scared that the women might not like her, or that Xena herself wouldn’t be good enough to even be considered by her beautiful self.

Xena had a past, that much was certain, though she had always tried not to think about it it had followed her wherever she went. When she was younger her father had walked out on her and her mum and her mother had become a drug addicted alcoholic. She was constantly bringing nasty men home and Xena had had to grow up rather quickly. She had been able to fight since she was small, instead of dancing and singing like a lot of other young girls did, she had kicked and practiced her punches on a punching bag, it had just come naturally to her for some reason, and it sure came in handy when the men her mother had brought home had tried to hurt her.

Her mother got worse and worse until one-day Xena had come home when she was just fifteen years old to find her conked out on the couch like usual. At first, she had thought that she had just drunken too much again, but it was only later when she had realised that one of those despicable men had given her too much of the drug they were having and left her for dead. When the ambulance had come, they had told Xena that she had been dead hours before.

After that Xena had gotten into the wrong kind of crowd, the criminal kind that got her into the kind of business that hurt others and stole things. She had stayed with that crowd for a long time, until when she was in her early twenties, she had been caught on one of her jobs, and though she could have easily escaped the cop who had got her instead had decided to let her go, on one condition though. She had made Xena promise that she would come alone to the career camp they ran for struggling young people where they taught them everything about being a cop and afterwards, if they wanted it, offered them a job.

Xena wouldn’t have kept her promise if it wasn’t for her determination to always keep her word when she gave it. She after all had been promised many things before by many people, and had experienced what it was like to have a promise broken over and over again, so although she had gone to some very dark places and done some truly horrible things…..she always kept her word.

So she did go, and after that she went again, and the next day she also showed up. Because Xena kept her word. Through out that time the cop who had made her promise to go had become a mother figure for Xena, she had believed in her and shown her more kindness than anyone ever had. It was that belief in her, the belief that she could change that got Xena to open up to her about her past. Cyrene had listened to her without interruption and afterwards Cyrene had cried. Xena had loved her ever since and had made sure that she accepted the job she was offered, and she put her everything into it out of gratefulness to her.

Xena had also vowed that day never to do the bad things she used to do again. Cyrene had told her that her efforts to not think about her past and to get out her anger and sadness would be better served by helping to take drugs off of the streets so that kids like her could be saved, and fighting the kinds of people that where like her dad, the sort of people who hurt others. Her skills where better served helping than they where hurting. Xena really began to understand that in Cyrene’s care and now, she wasn’t even close to the person she had used to be.

In fact, she felt terrible about what she had done in her past every single day and although Cyrene had told her that she could forgive herself now that she was helping others to repent for her sins, Xena knew that forgiving herself would never be on the cards.

Xena hadn’t even realised it but while she had been watching the beautifully alluring dancer gracefully move on the beach, for the first time in a long time that empty feeling she always seamed to feel had left her. It was actually as if it had never been there, and Xena was surprised to say the least. Usually, the only thing that stopped that feeling was destructive behaviour on her part, but here was something good, something pure, bright and beautiful that had done it, and it left Xena absolutely breathless.

The one thing that she knew for sure was she had to make visiting that coffee shop a regular thing.

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