#(( CRACK - Turbulent Winds ))

[wingsofilia]

// Going to the beach in Ilia like:

#(( CRACK - Turbulent Winds )) #(( FIORA - Wings of Honor )) #// Okay I'll stop now xD

[wintaerbaer]

seven storms (jjk) (m)

summary: As a young woman of considerable wealth, it has always been your father's expectation that you would marry one of the local aristocrats once you came of age. Your family's stable hand? Certainly not an option.

pairing: Jungkook x Reader

rating: 18+ (MINORS DNI)

genres: forbidden love, angst, a bit of fluff, also a bit of smut

word count: 9.0k

warnings: ambiguous time periods, oc’s mom passed away when she was a child, parental strain and turbulent relationships, it’s not explicitly stated but bang sihyuk is oc’s dad, find the ‘seven’ reference, BRIEF SMUT (in the form of missionary, cowgirl, and implied unprotected, which you should not do)

a/n: this one is for the obs discord server, who came up with this plot and then flattered me until i agreed to write it lol

MASTERLIST // Read on ao3

It begins with a clap of thunder.

The dark clouds had rolled in quickly during your morning ride, the rain holding off on its looming descent even as the wind picks up and throws strands of hair across your face. You try to cling to every minute you have left before the downpour, savoring your alone time and the peaceful quiet of the morning. It may even be worth getting a little wet, you think as you watch the new stable hand effortlessly sling a bay of hale over his shoulder, for the chance to savor every moment of your daily ritual before the weather inevitably forces you back inside.

You love the simple pleasures of fresh air and the soft rustle of the grass.

Jungkook glances at you from afar as he continues his work, and even at this range, you can see his muscles shifting under the fabric of his shirt. It’s been roughly a month since your father hired him to tend the stable on your family’s estate, and while he hasn’t been unpleasant, giving you a friendly but silent nod each day as you prepare for your ride, he’s mostly kept his distance.

Today, however, is a different story entirely as a boom sounds out above your head. Your horse, a young stallion named Bam who is still being broken, startles at the noise and begins to nervously pace, tamping down the dirt under his hooves. The reins wrap tighter around your fingers as you attempt to take firmer control, but when a second crack emanates through the sky, the horse begins to buck in an attempt to throw you off.

The laws of physics cease to exist, time simultaneously speeding up and slowing down as you work to maintain your balance, clenching your muscles around the horse's back. A particularly violent whip of his head rips the reins free, and all you can do is try to flatten yourself to his back and hold on for dear life.

A pair of unfamiliar hands shoots into your peripheral vision, stroking firmly at the stallion's head and neck until he's easing back down, his erratic motions steadying until you can safely sit back up and face your rescuer.

"Are you alright?" His eyes scan your body for injury, moving from your face all the way down to your toes and back up.

You use the time to perform your own appraisal. The first thing you notice is that while he had immediately struck you as handsome when you first saw him around the property, he’s even more attractive up close: all soft eyes, perfect lips, and a tiny scar on his cheek that only adds to his allure. Add to that strong arms, broad shoulders, and a section of clearly-chiseled chest peeking out of his shirt, and you have to admit to yourself that you’re already halfway gone.

“Y/N?” His eyebrows dip as he frowns, clearly suspecting some kind of head injury as a result of your silence.

“You know my name.”

His expression turns quizzical at your bizarre answer. “I work for you. Of course I know your name.”

“You work for my father.”

“And you by extension.”

Your spine stiffens with rebellion. “I have no interest in bossing men around.”

“Why not?” He taps his knuckles on the saddle. “I see you come out to ride every morning. I could certainly tack up a horse for you in advance.”

“Because I’m perfectly capable of doing it myself.”

His perfect lips curl at the edges. “I don’t doubt that.”

Your heart stutters a rhythm behind your ribcage, voice muted by the appearance of a dimple that dips into his left cheek. It’s not often you find yourself speechless, and the sheer unfamiliarity of it has you on the brink of a flight response; you begin to gently guide your horse back towards the stable, Jungkook walking at your side. To your surprise, he doesn’t stay quiet.

“So how long have you been riding?”

You peek down at him, but he’s not looking at you as he scratches the stallion under his muzzle. “Since I was five,” you say. “My father arranged for private instruction after my mother died. Thought I could use the distraction.”

You figured he already knew about your mother’s passing due to her absence from the estate, and his unfazed expression seems to confirm as much. Still, in a gentle voice he says, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You didn’t make her sick.” Another low rumble echoes through the sky, but Jungkook is prepared, already smoothing his hand over the Bam’s neck again. “What about you? How long have you worked with horses?”

He chuckles, and your belly warms. “Since before I could walk. I grew up on a ranch. Have probably spent more time around horses than people—not that I’m complaining.” A shrug pulls his shirt tight across his bulging shoulders. “Animals are better company, in my opinion.”

“You say while striking up conversation with a stranger.”

Pink blooms on his cheeks, but, to his credit, he recovers quickly. “Beautiful women are the exception.”

Heat rises to your own face, and you choose to ignore his comment as much as it has butterflies taking off behind your bellybutton. “I understand what you mean though. That’s why I’m out here every day.”

“You like the outdoors?”

“Very much,” you say. “The smell of the wind, the feeling of the sunshine on my skin and the earth under my shoes. I like to ride down to the sunflower fields and watch how they turn themselves towards the light. There’s a strange sense of kinship there.” You’re not sure what drives you to share all this with a man you’ve just met, but the way he nods along as if he agrees sets your heart at ease. “And the horses are, in fact, good company.”

He laughs again, tipping his head back to look at you. His dark hair brushes his forehead, jaw cutting so sharp a line that the temptation immediately hits to trace it with either your fingers or lips—you’re not sure which. You don’t even care if you’ll bleed.

It strikes you at that moment that you’re in a world of trouble.

The skies open up, the rain instantly pouring down in fat drops as you briskly rush your horse the rest of the way into the stable, Jungkook hot on your heels. You dismount once you’re inside and begin to untack the stallion, moving the reins up and over so you can remove the bridle first. Jungkook quickly steps in to help unhitch the saddle, and while you’d normally be inclined to make a fuss about how you can handle your own gear, you find that you much enjoy his quiet companionship. You like watching the way his gentle hands artfully work to simultaneously manage the equipment and relax the horse, giving the sense that he’s offering assistance only because he loves his work and not to patronize you as a woman (you’ve seen one too many men try to step in because they believe you to be incompetent).

Once Bam has been settled into his stall, you turn back to your companion and are met with big brown eyes already gazing at you, hands stuffed into his pockets.

“Thank you for your help today,” you say. “I may be an experienced rider, but that also means I know enough to understand that you likely saved me from an injury earlier. So thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure.” He looks suddenly subdued, nervous now without the horse as a buffer. “And if I may be forward, I hope I made a good first impression. I wouldn’t want a beautiful woman like yourself to think I overstepped.”

“That’s the second time you’ve mentioned beautiful women now. You speak with them a lot?”

“Not recently,” he says, dimple making another appearance. “Only one.” His voice drops a decibel, flirtation giving way to sincerity. “But truly, I do just like to help. I am sure you are perfectly capable, but just because we can do something doesn’t mean we always need to do it alone. If I can help ease a burden, then I would like to do so.”

Warmth floods through you like the rain currently running off the roof, and before you can even think about it any further, you find yourself nodding. “Very well.”

The smile he gives you brightens your day more than a hundred miles of sunflower fields ever could.

“I won’t keep you then.” He begins walking backwards towards the troughs where most of the horses have currently congregated. “But I do very much look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”

You do, too. And when you show up to the stable the next morning (and the next, and the next), you already have a horse saddled up for you, a single sunflower resting on the seat.

Raindrops clatter in endless sheets off the metal roof of the stable, the ringing sound blending with the blasts of thunder and lightning overhead to mask your groans as Jungkook steadily thrusts into you.

It’s been three months since your flirtation culminated in you asking him to join you for a ride one morning.

Three months since he accompanied you down to the sunflower fields, pulled you into their depths, and kissed you like his life depended on it.

Three months since the rain became your closest friend, providing you the cover you need for your more intimate moments—such as this evening when you’d arrived at the stables to find him laying down a fresh layer of straw, the flex of his arm insisting that you needed him now.

The patter of the rain ensures his moans are for your ears and your ears alone.

“Do you think the horses mind?” he mumbles into the sensitive skin of your neck as he presses even deeper into you and steals your breath, his hands cupping your ass as he grinds his hips.

“I doubt it,” you gasp, digging your nails into his back. “They’ve kept secrets for me before.”

He laughs, and you relish in the feel of the vibration of his chest pressed to yours, as if the sound is being passed directly from his lungs to your heart. “Am I your secret then?”

“My favorite secret.”

He pulls back to look at you then with wide eyes. You don’t know when it happened, when he became the absolute center of your universe, but you also know that you’ve never been this happy in your life, never felt as whole as you do with him. So you stare at him right back, absorb every angle of his face as he brushes the hair away from your eyes and kisses you with an unusual delicacy in comparison to the rough pace of his hips.

“I love you.”

It’s not the first time he’s said it, but your blood heats as if the words are brand new.

He rises up above you then, leans back so he can bend your knees to your chest and pound into you in earnest, and you’d swear the roof has disappeared and you can see every star in the sky. Galaxies swirl, planets align, and it’s not long before you’re falling over the edge and he’s following you with a deep groan—a harmony to the thunder that surrounds you.

The two of you collapse into a heap, and he pulls you into his side, your cheek pressed to his still-heaving chest. It’s serene, the consonance of his breathing alongside the tapping of the rain and the occasional snuffle from the horses.

“So, the horses are keeping secrets for you, huh?” It’s a quiet question, vulnerable as he gazes at you with tender devotion. The same stars you saw minutes ago twirl in his eyes. “Can I be told one?”

“Are you a horse?”

A breath of a laugh: “Well you’ve certainly ridden me before.”

He has a point there.

You hum to yourself as you think before asking, “What is your dream?”

“What does that have to do with—“

“Answer mine, and I’ll answer yours.”

Calloused fingers trace patterns on your hip, a faraway look taking over his expression as he envisions some distant future. “To own my own farm,” he says. “I want to be my own boss. No more having to serve others.” A smile dances at the corners of his mouth. “And I’d be able to provide for my family—have a few kids and teach them the ropes, just like my dad did with me.”

Your brow dips in confusion. “You won’t inherit your father’s farm?”

“No, it’ll go to my older brother.” He squeezes your hip on a sigh. “If I want my own farm, it’s up to me to earn it.”

“You’ll do it,” you say, and you believe it with every fiber of your heart. “I know you will. You’re the hardest working man I’ve ever met.”

It’s not a lie by any stretch. You’ve spent plenty an afternoon telling your father that you’re going to read out on the veranda as it gives you an inconspicuous way to watch Jungkook work. He’s diligent, tireless, and you’ve often used the need to bring him water as an excuse to go down and spend time with him, seeing the sweat drip off his forehead as he single-handedly trains and cares for the horses.

His eyes become glassy, a gruff clearing of his throat as he pushes the tears back and grazes his lips over yours in a gentle kiss instead. “Thank you.” But before you can deepen the kiss and distract him, he shifts ever so slightly away, a glint in his eye. “Now you.”

You puff a sigh into his chest—bold of you to think you’d be able to sneak one past such an observant stare. Still, your secrets don’t usually come forth easily, buried deep within the cavity of your ribcage so even you don’t have to dwell on them too long.

Something about those doe eyes, though, render you ever vulnerable.

“Mine is similar to yours. I want to be my own boss.”

His brows pull together. “No one would expect a lady like you to work.”

“Not for a job, for my life,” you say, irritation forcing the words from your lips now. “I don’t want my father to dictate the path my life takes. I want to choose it, whatever it is, for myself. To be in charge of my own fate.”

Jungkook is quiet for a long moment, teeth dipping into his lower lip as he considers your words. It’s something else you’ve grown to love about him, the way he stops and thinks before he reacts. So unlike your father who has always been nothing but big emotions and snap judgments.

“What would you choose?” is the question he eventually comes out with, and the pads of his fingers trace the jut of your hipbone like he’s memorizing it.

Well that’s another matter entirely. “I don’t know. Just not what my father wants for me.”

“And what would that be?”

“To marry one of the rich dandies in town,” you blurt, and his hands still. “That’s always been the expectation that’s been set since I was a girl—that my family would arrange a suitable match for me.” You’re practically spitting now, anger simmering through you. “Suitable, of course, meaning wealthy.”

“Is that so bad?” He asks it quietly, insecurity poorly masked in the way his voice trembles ever so slightly. “Some people would do almost anything to be in your position.”

You scoff. “There’s more to life than money.”

“Like what?”

“Fresh air, sunshine, the smell of the morning dew.” You tap his chest with everything you list off, as if they’re all housed within the framework of his torso. “The sound of the rain bouncing off windows, the bright yellow of sunflowers after their first bloom, watching a foal get its legs under it for the first time. Love.” You press your hand to his heart with that one, feeling the strong beat of it under your palm. “That’s the greatest thing.”

He snags your fingers, bringing them to his lips and kissing each one in succession before his hand slips into your hair so he can join his mouth with yours. The kiss is slow, thorough, his tongue trailing along your lower lip with determination as he drags you across his body until you’re straddling him.

“You’re right about that,” he murmurs before gripping your waist tightly so he can push back into you, the rain pouring on and on.

“No!”

Your father stands up so suddenly that his chair topples over with a crash, Jungkook sitting across from him wearing a look of even-keeled surprise; his eyes widen a fraction, but his overall posture remains resolved and confident.

“You dare have the audacity to even ask—“ He chokes on his words, spit flying from the edges of his lips, before pointing a finger towards where you stand stunned in the corner. “And you! You’ve been fraternizing with this riffraff? After everything I’ve taught you? Everything I did to raise you? You go and choose to associate with this—this—“ You’re worried his eyes might fall out of his head with the way they bulge as he grasps for a word, vein in his neck visibly thumping as he finds it. “Lowlife!”

“You’re wrong!” you scream as Jungkook continues to sit quietly at the dinner table. You’ll be damned if you’d just stand by and allow him to be spoken about in that way. “He’s an incredible man. He works hard, he’s respectful, and he loves me, Father. Not because of my money, but because I’m me.” Your steps echo off of the tall, looming arches of the ceiling as you move closer to Jungkook. “And I love him.”

“No, no, absolutely not. You’re only twenty years old. You don’t even know what love is,” your father barks before turning his beady eyes on Jungkook again. “You’ll never marry my daughter. You do not have my permission nor my blessing. That’s final.”

“Father—“

“You’re also fired,” he spits. “You can say goodbye and that’s the end of it. I want you off my property.” Then he’s storming out of the dining room, leaving you and Jungkook in heavy silence.

It’s only a handful of seconds before Jungkook is rising to his feet and striding from the room and out the front door, you hot on his heels. The steady drizzle soaks your clothes in a matter of moments, but you don’t even feel the way they cling to your skin, focused solely on the man in front of you.

“Jungkook!” you call, but he doesn’t respond, doesn’t turn to face you until you manage to grab ahold of his hand and tug.

You thought he’d be distressed, angry, perhaps even crying. Instead, you’re met with intensity, a fierce determination simmering under the warm brown of his irises as his gaze bores into yours and almost has you faltering.

“Jungkook, I…” You wring your hands in front of you, watch the rain run in rivulets off the ends of his hair. “We can make it through this. I can convince him—“

“You can’t.”

You huff in frustration. “Then we’ll run away together! I’ll come with you and we’ll—“

“No, Y/N.” He stills the frantic movements of your hands with his own, drawing you towards the warmth of his body until you’re nearly chest-to-chest. “I have no savings right now, no way to support the two of us. We’d be out on the street in a matter of days.” He shakes his head, brushes a kiss to your knuckles. “No. You need to stay here for now. But this isn’t the end of us, I swear to you. I am going to work myself to the bone—until I have nothing left to give. Until I can buy my own farm, my own house, and give you everything you need.” Your foreheads press together, drops of water clinging to his lips and drawing your eye as he speaks. “I will provide for you someday, love you to the best of my ability. Just give me time.”

The heavens open above you, the relentless downpour backed by the cacophony of the skies as you finally move to kiss him. He tastes of rainwater and sweat, the fragrant aroma of sunflowers and nights spent tangled together in the stables. You savor the feel of his lips against yours, commit to memory the way his tongue begs for entrance, the way you grant it with a groan that feels like both a prayer and a curse.

With a final, resounding crack, he’s pulling away as you cling to the rough skin of his fingertips until the very last fraction of a second, arms stretched to their absolute limit. And when he turns his back on you, shirt plastered to his skin, you’d swear you can hear the horses raging in the stable, the rumble of hooves and agitated whinnies ringing in your ears long after he’s disappeared from view.

The first letter comes on a Wednesday roughly six week later, written on carefully folded parchment paper in small, neat handwriting. It surprises you, coming from a man who spends all day tending horses and tossing around hay bales. You receive the letter from the carrier quietly, rushing it up to your room and waiting to read until the concealment of night has fallen and you’re confident your father has gone to bed.

My Love,

I must admit that I am not quite sure how long it has been since I last saw you. Perhaps only a handful of weeks, surely, but every hour, minute, and second has felt like an eternity. I miss you, sweetheart. I miss the sound of your laugh. I miss the way you’d look each morning, strolling down from the house with a bounce in your step and the early sunshine bouncing off of your hair. Or perhaps you are just that radiant. I would believe it, you know, that light emits from your very smile, and I know I feel warmer whenever I am around you.

Look at me; look at the man you've turned me into. I've always considered myself a simple being, glad to indulge in the dirt and physical labors of the outdoors, and yet you have me waxing poetic like one of the men in those romance novels you would always pretend to read on the veranda. (Yes, my dear, I noticed. Your stares are not so subtle.) I am lovesick, homesick, and it’s all because of you. Because my life truly began the day I looked up and saw Bam struggling with you on his back and just knew I had to help you (tell that dear beast that I miss him by the way).

Now, I must live my life forlorn, but not without purpose. Please know that I am doing everything in my power to get back to you, and I will not rest until I am holding you in my arms again. I have secured a job at a ranch several towns over; it’s good work with decent pay, and every cent that does not go towards the barest necessities is being saved for us. One day, my love. One day we will have a house and a farm, and I will be able to love you openly, with no need for secrets or the cover of rain.

In the meantime, just know how terribly I miss you, and though we are separated by distance, I hold you in my heart each day. On my way each morning from my lodgings to the ranch, I pass by a field of sunflowers. I know it cannot possibly be true, but it feels like every golden face turns towards me as I go, and darling, I’d swear I see you in every one.

One day, my love.

Until then, always yours,

J.K.

It becomes something of a ritual: while you used to spend your days out on the veranda pretending to read so that you could watch Jungkook from afar, you now settle on the front porch with a book each afternoon in the hopes of catching the local mail carrier. Jungkook’s letters come slowly but consistently every couple of weeks, and each time a letter does arrive, you spend the night drafting your own by candlelight to send back to him.

He tells you about his new job, how he’s working on a larger farm now with several other laborers. The veterans are kind to him and teaching him a lot, he says, and it eases the ache in your heart a fraction to know that he seems happy where he is and well taken care of. You write back about your favorite books that you’ve been reading and how the horses have been (you insist that you can tell Bam misses Jungkook too). But both of your letters are saturated with sentiments of love and how dearly you miss each other, reminding yourselves that every day that passes is one day closer to you two being reunited, whenever that may be.

Your father, meanwhile, proceeds as if Jungkook never existed, hiring a new stable hand who begins his work mere days after Jungkook has left. This man is middle aged, gray already streaking through his hair, and you can’t help but feel it’s a deliberate choice on your father’s part lest you fall for another lowly laborer. And though you know it is not his fault, you barely speak with the man outside of a few curt pleasantries when you go for your ride each morning.

You persist in your morning rides out of habit, but you find that they don’t bring you the same kind of joy that they used to. The grass isn’t quite as green, the air is often stifling, and the sunflowers droop where they used to stand tall against the blue skies. On one day, roughly six months after Jungkook’s firing, you’re once again forced back inside early due to rain, the storm dampening your already dreary mood. It takes a turn for the worst when you hear your father call your name the moment you step in the door and plummets entirely off a cliff when you trudge into the dining room to see a man sitting at the table.

Seokjin is not entirely unfamiliar to you—your families run in the same circles after all—but he is ultimately little more than a stranger, the two of you having only exchanged a handful of polite words at dinner parties and the like. All that you truly know of him is that he is the heir to the wealthiest trading company on this side of the country and that his father is expected to transition the entire operation to him over the next few years.

Even so, Seokjin greets you with a sense of intimate familiarity, standing at your approach and brushing his lips against the back of your hand before you can stop him.

“A pleasure to see you, Y/N, as always.”

You know that social etiquette requires you to return the sentiment, but instead, you find yourself looking between Seokjin and your father, trying to figure out his purpose here.

“What is going on?”

Your father grimaces at your rudeness but opts to ignore it. “Seokjin has come here with a rather exciting opportunity, Y/N, if you would take a seat and listen to him.”

However, you remain standing, spine stiff and wary eyes shifting to the man in front of you with his finely tailored clothes and perfectly combed hair. He, for what it’s worth, doesn’t cower under your stony gaze, maintaining an air of utmost confidence as he states, “Y/N, I would like for you to marry me.”

“No.”

Your answer is immediate and blunt, coming so quickly that Seokjin barely reacts—only the tiniest dip of his mouth as if he doesn’t believe he heard you correctly. But your father leaps to his feet, face red with shock and frustration.

“Y/N, you sit down and listen to the man.”

“I don’t need to listen,” you snap. “My answer is no.”

Seokjin registers your words then, face morphing into a deep frown of disbelief as your father hurries to intervene, grabbing you around the arm to pull you out of the dining room and turning on you the moment you are out of earshot.

“Insolent girl! That man will soon be one of the most powerful in the country—nay, the world! Do you understand the opportunity he is offering you? The life he is offering? How dare you refuse him!”

“Whatever life he is offering is one I want no part of,” you argue, pulling your arm from his grasp to wrap them across your chest. “I have no interest in being married to a man like that. I want to be with someone who loves me.”

He goes deathly still for a moment, drawing connections in his head until you see the moment the realization hits him. “This is about that lousy stable boy, isn’t it?”

You say nothing, only hug yourself tighter and try to swallow down the sudden lump in your throat.

“That’s it, yes? You’re still holding onto some hope that he will come back for you and what? The two of you will go off and live in some hovel? What could he possibly offer you?” he snarls. “No, Y/N. That vermin is gone. You have a chance—a real chance—at a future here, and I’ll be damned if I let you throw it away for the idea of some lower class scum.”

As his words sink in, a chill passes through your body that’s quickly replaced with a white-hot anger, your hands dropping to your sides as you straighten your back in defiance.

“Whether Jungkook returns or not,” you assert, “please be assured that I will never, ever, marry one of your suitors. I will die before I become a mere pawn for your business deals.”

Your father stares at you incredulously, eyes practically bursting from his head. “Business deals? I am looking out for you. So that you can live the luxurious life a child of mine deserves.”

“The life I deserve is the one which I want,” you exclaim. “And these rich dullards are not it.”

Final word given, you spin on your heel in emphasis and march off to your room, leaving your father to clumsily patch things up in the dining hall with a humbled and deeply befuddled Seokjin.

The letters stop two years in.

A month passes, then two, then three before you begin to really worry. Another four gone in a blink before you start to consider that you may never actually hear from him again.

For a while, you continue to write to him, thinking that at the very least, if he’s moved to a new job, someone from his old ranch may forward them along if they know where he’s gone to. But after a year of silence transpires, the mail carrier shaking his head at you each day as you rush to meet him outside your house, true dread sets in.

Your address hasn’t changed, which means that he’s stopped writing to you for some reason. Is it possible that he’s moved on? Met another woman perhaps and chosen to settle down? Or…could it be something worse? Your mind hesitates to even go down this path, the terror seeping into your bones, but the thought creeps in late at night when you’re at your most vulnerable that something may have happened to him. Work accidents, illness—any number of dangerous things could have taken him from you without you even knowing. Then again, he sounded healthy in his final letter to you, no word at all of him being ill, and you’d like to think he would’ve arranged for someone to contact you if some tragedy had befallen him.

You conclude, then, that he must have given up. And really, after years of hoping for a shift, for some change in fortune for your futures, you cannot entirely blame him. If anything, you just wish you had seen the signs sooner, sensed some kind of shift in tone that would have prepared you for his sudden silence. His last letter, though, had been much of the same—more updates on his ranching job mixed in with poetic phrases about his love for you. You read it endlessly, poring over the words for some indication that his feelings for you had waned, sitting huddled in a hidden corner of the stables as rain pounds down against the tin roof. Instead, it just makes your heart ache to remind you of love found and lost, his final words haunting you as time continues to drag on to your dismay.

As the months tick by, you keep your promise to your father, steadfastly refusing each suitor that comes to call for you: Jung Hoseok, Kim Namjoon, and even Min Yoongi, who shows up in your dining room every evening for a fortnight before finally accepting your refusal. Meanwhile, you move through your days as if by design, going through the motions without feeling like you’re actually alive. Food is tasteless, your books void of thought, and the skies have certainly lost their color. You find that you actually prefer rainy days now, often taking walks through the drizzle and allowing the droplets of water to slide over your skin and caress you as he once did. Sometimes, it almost makes you feel as if he’s there beside you—memories of thunder and slick kisses enveloping your thoughts and soaking you from the inside out.

No fewer than seven years pass this way, with you haunting the premises of your home while your father begins to complain about you becoming a leech and a burden. You begin to question it yourself, wondering if it may be too much to waste away like this, when, three days after your twenty-seventh birthday, a discovery has you running from your father’s house and never looking back.

It’s another dreary, rainy day, and you, wanting to soak in the full effect of the emblematic weather as it pertains to your mood, have once again parked yourself on the front porch with a book. Your father passed you on his way out earlier, casting a scathing look that you didn’t even bother to grant any attention—you’ve long grown accustomed to his contempt and futile glares.

A little past midday, you glance up at the sound of a person approaching, their footsteps ricocheting off the front steps. Park Jimin comes to a halt under the porch’s cover, gazing at you curiously as if wondering why you are outside in this weather at all. However, if he finds your behavior strange, he doesn’t say anything, a choice which comes of no surprise to you. One of your father’s youngest business partners, you’ve always liked Jimin during the times that you’ve interacted with him. He’s quiet, polite, and has never made an attempt at courting you, always respecting the boundaries that many other young men have tried to cross over the years.

That being said, you’re inclined to at least offer him a greeting, acknowledging his presence with a mannered, “Hello, Mr. Park.”

“Good day,” he responds with a small bow in your direction. “Is your father at home?”

“No, he had to attend a business meeting with Mr. Kim this morning.” You frown as his face falls, a touch of panic widening his eyes. “Is something wrong?”

A delicate finger rises to rub at his temple. “Ah, I’m supposed to be finalizing a contract with Hybe Trading Company later this afternoon,” he says. “Your father told me to come pick up the documents beforehand.”

“He may be back soon,” you guess. Your father didn’t give an indication of exactly when he would return, but you do know his meeting with Kim Taehyung wasn’t supposed to last all day.

“I may not be able to take that risk.” He chews at his lip, thinking. “Is it possible that he left the contracts for me somewhere? Might you be able to check?”

Your jaw drops a fraction at his request—you could count on one hand the number of times that you’ve been in your father’s office. “I don’t think—“

“Please, Y/N,” Jimin begs. “We can’t afford to lose this partnership.”

The desperation in his expression has you acquiescing, and so you lead him inside and tell him to wait in the entryway as you head to your father’s office on the second floor.

The room is arguably the grandest in the house, with magnificent windows that give a full view of the estate’s grounds and tall bookshelves packed with your father’s collection of texts. The finest rugs protect the hardwood under your feet, and at the center of the room sits a monstrous yet beautiful mahogany desk with a plush chair at its back.

You move to the desk first, skimming the documents scattered on top for something that has the trading company’s name on it. But all you see are invoices, shipping records, and maps of different trading routes marked with your father’s notes, and lightly shuffling through the papers comes up fruitless as well.

The first desk drawer you open contains a series of highly-organized ledgers, so you quickly move on to the second, which has the same. The third drawer reveals a reserve of desk and writing supplies, while the fourth, finally, contains a mess of paper.

You rummage through the clutter, still not finding anything that seems to be the contract Jimin is looking for, and are about to give up when a stack of letters buried at the back of the compartment has you freezing, the small, neat handwriting chilling you to the bone.

Pulling the stack out with shaking hands, you quickly realize that there are a few dozen, all postmarked no more than two months apart between each one. Collapsing backwards into the desk chair, you read frantically, quickly realizing just how wrong you were about Jungkook giving up on you:

My Dearest, it’s been a while since I’ve heard from you, but I pray your letters were simply lost in transit…

I’m incredibly pleased to let you know that I’ve received a promotion. The owner of the farm, Mr. Lee, has taken a liking to me and has shifted me to a more considerable role with additional pay. I’m saving every bit I can…

My Love, I miss you deeply. And while your silence pains me to no end, I hope it is a mere misunderstanding. If you do not wish to hear from me ever again, only say the word and I will stop writing to you and remove myself from your life entirely, albeit with a heavy heart…

I still have some ways to go, but my savings are increasing exponentially, and I am learning more than ever. Mr. Lee has been teaching me about the business side of things and helping me make connections. What a wonder to have a boss who fully supports your aspirations! He insists he will be able to help me in my endeavors, and call me naive, but I believe it to be true. Rest assured, love, that I am steadfastly working hard for you, for us, and for our future…

My Darling Y/N, my heart aches to not read your words and hear your thoughts. But since you have not yet rejected me outright, I can only assume that your silence is involuntary or that it comes with deep hesitation. Whatever the reason, please know that I love you, I miss you, and I am not giving up on us unless you tell me so…

And finally, the shortest letter dated almost year back:

Y/N,

I don’t have the words to describe my feelings so I will keep it brief: I did it. If this letter finds its way to you and you wish to find me, I eagerly await you at our home…

The location is scribbled in a tangle of text, his usually neat writing askew as if he was shaking when he wrote it, and the words land with the force of a thousand bricks in your chest—the weight of seven years apart, the agony of your separation, finally culminating in this revelation.

The door to the office bangs open, and you look up, heart already racing with the discovery of the letters, to see your father looming in the doorway, face painted with rage.

“What in the hell are you doing in my private office?!”

You’re on your feet in an instant, storming across the room and shaking the final letter in his face. “What is this?!”

He pales a fraction as he registers what you’re holding before stepping further into the room and slamming the door shut. “I should have burned them,” he sneers. “I did what I did to protect you.”

“From what?” You wave your arms wildly, anger and adrenaline winding their way through your limbs. “From happiness? From a man who has spent years working hard to be able to provide for me?”

“I have worked hard to provide for you! And I will not see my legacy be thrown aside for some silly crush!”

Steeling yourself, you pull in a steadying breath for courage. “Then you won’t.”

“And what does that mean?” your father scoffs, trying to look dismissive and intimidating, yet seeming smaller than you’ve ever seen him.

“You won’t see any of it. I’m leaving.”

“What?”

Time stops for a moment, your declaration holding the air in the room hostage as your father fully absorbs your words.

“You ungrateful idiot girl!” your father suddenly exclaims. “After everything I’ve done for you? Fine then! Go live with the dogs, with the filth and slime you apparently love so dearly. I have had it with your thanklessness and impertinence and will be relieved to have you from my sight.” He steps into your personal space, pointing a finger directly at your face so close that you can feel the heat of his ire radiating off of his hand. “But know this: the second you step out of these doors, you will never be welcomed back. Never.”

You waste only two seconds longer, locked in a stubborn stare-down with your father before you rip your gaze away and tear from the room with Jungkook’s letters still in hand. Rushing to your room, you gather his other letters from your desk and stuff them into a bag along with the modest sum of money you had accumulated in case you ever needed to run.

And then you’re a bird in flight, sweeping down the stairs and out the door with nothing but a simple, “Good day, Mr. Park,” as you pass an absolutely bewildered Jimin in the front hall.

The rain is cold and heavy as it soaks through your clothes and hair almost immediately, but you barely feel it—the freedom in your heart and the scribbled location in your bag more than enough to keep you warm as you charge towards home.

The house is beautiful.

Modest, compared to the mansion you grew up in, sure. But arguably more beautiful—with a compact two stories, white wood, and neatly painted green shutters. There’s a wrap-around porch overlooking the acres upon acres of farmland, and even through the rain falling in sheets and blurring your vision, you spy two rocking chairs sitting side-by-side under the awning.

It’s been a long two weeks of journeying to get to this spot, relying on the kindness of strangers to help you navigate to the location Jungkook had written down. Now, standing at the end of the dirt path leading up to what is presumably your new home, you think that you would do it all again in a heartbeat. The past two weeks, the past seven years, all worth it to experience the hope currently blooming in your chest like the sunflowers you spent so much time admiring in the past.

You’re trudging up the path, the dirt and mud smearing along your shoes, when a darkened figure steps out from the fields to your right, hand raised in greeting.

“Good afternoon, miss. Are you lost? I—” He grinds to a halt like he’s walked straight into a brick wall, eyes wide and lips parted as he absorbs the sight of you soaked and disheveled on his property.

“Y/N?” he says it like a prayer, like he believes you’re some kind of hallucination—a phantom come to haunt him through the haze of rainy memories.

You stare at each other through the downpour, and you find yourself studying him, observing the changes that have taken place in the time you’ve been apart. He’s taller and broader than you remember, shoulders stretching wide and drawing your gaze down towards biceps that protrude below his drenched shirt. The lines of his face have sharpened with age—losing some of the youthful roundness that had endeared him to you so quickly—but he’s still starry-eyed as ever, the charming young man from your memories undoubtedly gazing back at you.

“Jungkook,” you murmur, and the spell is suddenly broken. You surge towards each other, meeting in the middle with a flash of lightning. Your arms go around his shoulders, and Jungkook pulls you into him so desperately and with so much force that he lifts you right off your feet, your mouths coming together with a heated urgency.

He’s everything you’ve dreamed of, every desperate memory you’ve been clinging to come back to life. And with every touch, every pass of his hands over your body, you feel yourself rapidly coming back to life too—joy making its way into your lungs and through your bloodstream for the first time since you were twenty years old and kissing this man in your family’s stables.

“I’ve missed you,” he breathes against your lips when you finally part. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you, too.”

“You have no idea–”

“I do. Jungkook, I do.”

“You stopped writing—”

“My father,” you rush to say. “He intercepted the letters. I thought you stopped writing. Thought you gave up—”

“Oh, my love, never.” His hands rise to cradle your face. “I never stopped thinking of you. Never stopped dreaming of this.” He kisses you again, slowly this time, savoring every movement of his lips against yours.

You shudder against his chest, the thrill of your reunion rattling your nerves just as a cool wind blows through, and Jungkook pulls back with worry.

“You must be freezing,” he murmurs sweetly. “Come. Let’s get you warmed up inside.”

With an arm wrapped around your waist, as though he’s scared you’ll disappear if he doesn’t keep a hand on you, he guides you the rest of the way to the house, up the front porch steps, and through the front door.

“Welcome home,” Jungkook says.

You’re met first with the smell of pine and cinnamon and an impossibly comforting warmth. The first floor is comprised of a wide-open space, with a small kitchen and dining room to your left and a sitting room to your right that has tall windows and a fireplace that is currently roaring. You move around the room slowly, taking it all in, and when you notice the vase of bright sunflowers sitting in the middle of the kitchen table, you just about melt to the floor.

“I know it’s smaller than you’re used to,” he sheepishly mumbles from the doorway. “But we can expand in the future—”

“It’s perfect, Jungkook.” And it really is, every panel and floorboard evidence of how hard he’s worked, how fiercely your love has endured. “It’s absolutely perfect. I love every bit of it.”

He brightens at that, smile stretching wide. “I’m glad.”

“How did you find it?”

“Well, I bought the property after finally saving enough money. Mr. Lee helped me with the buying process.” He shrugs. “And then I built this.”

You freeze, absolutely stunned. “You what?”

“I built it,” he says simply. “I had some help, of course. But the design is all mine.”

“I…you…” It makes your thoughts spin—the idea that he did all of this. He built a house for you.

“Here, look.” He takes your hand and pulls you into the living room, gesturing at a set of empty shelves against the back wall. “For your books.”

You laugh incredulously, fully overwhelmed at this point. “I didn’t bring any with me.”

“Then we’ll start you a new collection,” he says softly, drawing you towards him.

You reach up to trace his jaw, his brow, his cheekbones—memorizing every line of this beautiful man who dared to make your dreams a reality. “I can’t believe this. Can’t believe you. The things you’ve done.”

“All for you, my love.”

Your heart thumps a steady rhythm in your throat, love and the relief of finally—finally—having him in front of you overpowering your senses until all that exists is you and him; the strain of your former life feels worlds away.

Hands find his chest in a slow migration downwards as the chill of the rain gives way to the heat of the fireplace, and it’s not long before his large hands are wrapping around your hips, a darkness in his irises that wasn’t there a second ago.

“There’s an upstairs, too, I’m assuming?” you whisper, fingers teasing a button on his shirt.

“There is.” He swallows, and you watch the bob of his Adam’s apple like a lure. “Would you like to see it?”

You lean in, skimming your mouth below his without fully joining your lips. “Please.”

Tangling your fingers in his, he practically runs upstairs with you trailing in his wake.

Finally, you think, as he pulls your clothes from your body, climbs over you on the bed, and presses into you with such tender deliberation that you think you’ll combust.

Finally, as you spend the rest of the night wrapped up together, endlessly whispering I love yous back and forth.

Finally, as you wake up in his arms the next day, his face the first thing you see.

Finally, as he pulls out a small box at breakfast, the dainty diamond ring easily the most precious piece of jewelry you’ve ever possessed.

Finally, as he takes you out on the farm and shows you the small field of sunflowers he planted just for you.

Finally, you think, as you sit in one of the rocking chairs on the porch and watch him work from afar. I’m home.

Years Later…

“Mama! Mama look!”

You glance up from your book to where Jungkook and Haneul are currently journeying in the yard. It’s a bright sunny day—the wide expanse of blue sky above unmarred by even a single cloud. Sunshine beams down onto your son’s smiling face where he sits on the back of one of the horses, a too-big cowboy hat on his head and his father at his side for support.

“You’re doing great, sweetheart!” you call. “Just be sure to listen to Papa!”

Jungkook flashes you a grin, the excitement radiating off of him in waves. He’s been talking about teaching Haneul to ride since the day he was born, so you know this means a great deal to him, especially seeing your son’s own energy and enthusiasm. Haneul has always liked the “horsies,” toddling happily around the stables ever since he could walk.

Then again, given who his parents are, that wasn’t much of a surprise.

Jungkook and Haneul finish their loop around the yard, and you hear your husband shower the boy with praise as he lifts him off of the horse’s back.

“Again, again!” Haneul cheers, bouncing in place and causing Jungkook to laugh.

“We will! Just let me check on your mother first.”

He moves comfortably, leisurely as he climbs the porch steps and comes to a rest in front of where you sit. Looming over you, he leans in until he can press a gentle kiss to your lips, reverent in his motions.

“How are you feeling?” he asks. His fingers brush lightly over your belly and its new curve.

“I’m alright,” you say, guiding his hand until his palm is resting flat. “This one is kicking up a storm though.”

As if on cue, you feel a tiny jolt—Jungkook giving a breathless chuckle as he feels the jab himself.

“Go easy on your mother,” he says in the direction of your stomach, rubbing a soft circle into your flesh. “No storms. Clear skies and sunshine.” Then his eyes are back on your face. “Speaking of, I have something for you.”

He reaches behind his back and produces a single sunflower, tucking it behind your ear before giving you one more kiss.

“I love you,” he whispers.

“I love you, too.” More than the day you met him. More than the day he left. And more than the day you finally made your way here.

“Now I should get back to Haneul before he starts yelling for me.”

You laugh out the brightest sound that’s ever come from your lungs. “Go.”

A warm breeze ripples through the trees, the sound of your son’s giggles and Jungkook’s cheerful exclamations finding their way back to where you sit.

What a beautiful day, you think, setting down your book and getting up to join your family in the golden sunshine.

a/n: thanks for reading! pls don't forget to like, reblog, and/or comment if you enjoyed!

#jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #bts x reader #bts x you #bts imagines #jungkook imagines #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic #bts angst #bts smut #bts fluff #bts fic #bts fanfic

[writers-potion]

Could you give any advice for "descriptive" writing of any scene or action scenes or mapping out the scenery (Mountains, forests, streets etc) - i believe this is a struggle for Non-English speaking writers due to lack of vast vocabulary.

Common Scenery Description Tips

Vocabulary is clearly an important part of description, but it doesn’t have to be a limit. The most important thing about description in fiction is picking the right details to mention:

How does the details add to the mood of the story? A mountain ridge will be dark, gray and foggy if the overall mood is meant to be mysterious/brooding. In contrast, a mountain can be brilliantly snow-capped, lush green and “smiling down” upon the character if they’re out for a light stroll.

How are the contrasts/complementary aspects being brought out?

Are you using the five senses? You can even combine the senses, ie. blue ringing of the church bells

(If you have the POV character) what 

Some other tips for setting description:

Use similes and metaphors. Creative figures of speech always get my attention as a reader. 

Mention story-specific elements. For example, “The sky was the shade of Zoes’ eyes” or “the mountains looked like a group of trolls sleeping on one another” 

Be concise. Today’s readers don’t want to read paragraphs and paragraphs about one landscape. Outline the larger elements in the scene, their location and general mood. Add some details, then move on. 

If the same location appears multiple times, differentiate the description little by little as you write, instead of trying to lay out one scene in too much detail at once. 

That said, here are some helpful words/phrases:

Forests/Mountains

Color: bone-white, phantom-white, hazy gray

Sound: rumbling, booming grumbling, bellowing clapping, trundling, growling, thundering

Shape: crinkled, crumpled, knotted, grizzled, rumpled, wrinkled, craggy, jagged, gnarled, rugose  

Action: sky-punching/stabbing/piercing/spearing, heaven-touching/kissing, snow-cloaked/hooded/wreathed/festooned

Sloping sides, sharp/rounded ridges, high point/peak/summit

Majestic, gargantuan humbling, vast, massive, titanic, towering, monumental, mighty, vast, humbling

Mountains having faces, etc. 

Seas

Color: blue-green, crystal-clear crystalline, emerald, frothy, hazy, glistening, pristine, turquoise

Size: boundless, abyssal, fathomless, unconquerable, vast, wondrous

Sound: billowing, blustering, bombastic

Action: boisterous, agitated, angry, biting, breaking, brazen. Churning, bubbling, changing, brooding, calm, convulsing, enticing erratic, fierce, tempestuous, turbulent, undulating

Alluring, blissful, betwitching, breezy, captivating, chaotic, chilly, elemental, disorienting

Deserts

Sight: A landscape of sand, flat, harsh sunlight, cacti, tumbleweeds, dust devils, cracked land, crumbing rock, sandstone, canyons, wind-worn rock formations, tracks, dead grasses, vibrant desert blooms (after rainfall), flash flooding, dry creek

Sounds: Wind (whistling, howling, piping, tearing, weaving, winding, gusting), birds cawing, flapping, squawking, the fluttering shift of feasting birds, screeching eagles, the sound of one’s own steps, heavy silence, baying wild dogs

Smell: Arid air, dust, one’s own sweat and body odor, dry baked earth, carrion

Touch: Torrid heat, sweat, cutting wind, cracked lips, freezing cold (night) hard packed ground, rocks, gritty sand, shivering, swiping away dirt and sweat, pain from split lips and dehydration, numbness in legs, heat/pain from sun stroke, clothes…

Taste: Grit, dust, dry mouth & tongue, warm flat canteen water, copper taste in mouth, bitter taste of insects for eating, stringy wild game (hares, rats) the tough saltiness of hardtack, biscuits or jerky, an insatiable thirst or hunger

Streets

Dusty, fume-filled, foul, sumptuous, broad, bucolic, decayed, mournful, seemingly endless, empty, unpaved, lifeless, dreadfully genteel, muddy, nondescript, residential/retail

Bleach, flimsy, silent, narrow, crooked, furrowed, smoggy, commonplace, tumbledown, treeless, shady

The blacktop streets absorb the spring sunshine as if intent upon sending heaven's warmth back through my soles.

The streets absorbed the emotions in the air, the city as the steady and reassuring mother.

The streets were a marriage of sounds, from bicycle wheels to chattering.

In the refreshing light of early daytime, the streets had the hues of artistic dreamtime, soft yet bold pastels.

Cobbled streets flowed as happy rivers in sunlight.

Parties

Some extra tips for locations like parties, where lots of action is going around practically everywhere:

Focus on the important characters - where they are, who they’re with. 

Provide some overall description of the structure of the party scene (a pool, a two-storey house with yard?), then move on to details. 

Don’t try to describe everything. 

whirlwind of laughter and music, a symphony of joyous chaos.

It was a gathering that shimmered with the glow of twinkling lights and echoed with the rhythm of dancing feet.

The air was alive with excitement, buzzing with conversations and the clink of glasses.

Every corner held a story waiting to unfold, a moment waiting to be captured in memory.

It was a tapestry of colors, a mosaic of faces, each adding their own brushstroke to the vibrant canvas of the night.

Laughter cascaded like a waterfall, infectious and unstoppable, filling the room with warmth.

The night was a carnival of senses, with aromas of delicious food mingling with the melodies that filled the air.

Time seemed to slip away in the whirl of the party, moments blending into each other like colors on a palette.

The energy of the crowd was electric, pulsing through the room like a heartbeat, binding everyone in a shared moment of celebration.

It was a celebration of life, where worries faded into the background, and the present moment was all that mattered.

#writers and poets #writing #creative writing #writers on tumblr #creative writers #helping writers #let's write #poets and writers #writeblr #resources for writers #writing practice #writing prompt #writing community #writing advice #writing tips #on writing #writing inspiration #writer #writerscommunity #writers block #writer community #writblr #writers of tumblr #writers community #writers life #writer stuff

[voidpetrova]

authority — rafe cameron x reader

☄. *. ⋆ content warning(s) & genre: swearing, objectification, mild aggression, very intimate and explicit sexual content described, choking, degradation — smut

˚♡ ｡˚ synopsis: he can't help the fact that he's obsessive, practically delusional as much as sociopathic, but you love him. no matter how controlling he could be.

✧.*

control, it's extraordinary the tactics people employ to obtain it. some rely on deception, while others engage in outright trickery. then there are those who resort to extortion. a good amount of people? fear, it's an emotion they feed off. why do we fight so hard for control? because, we know to lose it, is to put our faith in the hands of others. and what could be more dangerous?

the coastal winds whispered secrets as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the outer banks. in the quaint beach town, where the search for gold led to twists of fate, another tale unfolded—unseen, yet pulsating with the undercurrents of possessiveness and obsession. for as long as you could remember, you've been caught in the crossfire of rafe cameron and his turbulent emotions. it wasn't something you had a particular problem with, you never made a big deal about it. sure, it ticked you off, there was no denying that, but you knew fighting it off was no use.

whether it was a skirt that was just a few inches too high, or a top that revealed a bit more cleavage than anticipated, not much was necessary to send rafe off the rails. it was apart of him, consuming him more with every upcoming day. of course, he'd have to face the consequences of his actions later on, and he always felt bad. sometimes, his aggression would be laid on a tad too thick, unnecessarily hurtful comments leaving you in tears. he would always make up for it, wrapping you in his arms, consoling you and kissing your tears away. however, in the heat of the moment, if his buttons were pushed just right, there was no going back.

on this particular night, it was just a few minutes past midnight. you had spent the past half hour preparing for a girls' night out with rafe's sister. you were already late as is, listening to the tv blaring as your boyfriend watched a movie on the living room, carefully staying focused as your phone lit up with messages from sarah. you slipped into a short, stylish dress that hugged your curves, unable to shake the feeling that every thread of fabric would invoke a storm within rafe. this time, you knew exactly what you were doing, you knew exactly which cards would be dealt, and you couldn't wait.

the air hummed with tension as you descended the staircase of the mansion, the soft click of your heels echoing through the grand foyer. you knew the minute silence struck, with the movie coming to a pause, that you would soon be in for it. you took a final step down thr stairs, making your way into the living room, your stomach in knots.

rafe was spread out on the couch, head resting on his elbow with his legs kicked back. at first he didn't turn around, the silence in the room practically suffocating. he knew you were going out, you had informed him earlier, but he wasn't particullarly fond of your decision. after that, you had spoken a total of two sentences, perhaps. when the scent of your strong perfume filled his nostrils, he couldn't help but finally turn around. his eyes locking onto you with an intensity that mirrored the swirling tempests off the carolina coast.

his voice, laced with a certain edge to it, sliced through the silent atmosphere. “where do you think you're going, looking like that?” the moonlight seeping through the cracks of the windows played on his features, emphasizing the dark intensity in his eyes. it was as if the mere sight of you in that dress threatened the fragile equilibrium he desperately clung to.

you feigned a sigh, your gaze unwavering. “told you i was going out, didn't i?” you knew you were going to play your part, but you knew rafe could only handle small doses of your attitude. his eyebrows perked up at your tone. “it's a nice dress, isn't it?” his jaw tightened, involuntarily, in fact, eyes low and heavy as they scanned you from head to toe.

there was no denying it, it was a gorgeous dress. a black one, clinging onto your body thanks to the straps on your shoulders. it showed more cleavage that necessary, hugging every crevice and curve perfectly. the way it stopped just inches above your knees only added insult to injury. he hated it, he hated how good you looked.

he cleared his throat, anger bubbling in the pits of his stomach. blood coursed through his veins, he could practically feel it, heat rushing towards every part of his body possible. he adjusted his position, kicking his feet off the couch in order to face you, as if serious. “you think 'm gonna let you go out lookin' like that?” he practically taunted, tone laced with venom. you shrugged, sliding one leg behind the other as if you were truly innocent, but you knew exactly what you were doing.

“well, my drinks don't pay for themselves, don't you know?” control was slipping through his fingers like sand, and the storm within him brewed. even the tranquil beauty of the outer banks couldn't make up for the storm of pure shit rafe was more than ready to unveil. “is that so?” he countered, the venom replaced with a low edge that sent a shiver down your spine. he was standing now—the faster your heart would beat, the closer he would come towards you. you could only nod in response in spite of how weak you were in the knees.

he was in front of you in a matter of seconds, the distance of a mere few inches separating you from him. his eyes bore into your frame, admiring how small you were in comparison, how frail you seemed. you met his eyes, as if to challenge him. “let me tell you somethin', sweetheart,” you didn't have time to react, he never gave you time—he wasn't exactly that gracious. before you could make any sudden movements of your own, you found yourself facing the cold exterior of the wall, cheek pressed against the rough surface. the brutal force of rafe's every move held you down, pushing you even deeper into the wall, with one of his hands making its way from your back to your face, wrapping around your jaw, his palm now pressing into your mouth, the weight preventing you from digging your grave more than you already have—you truly thought you would suffocate, eyes widening as his other hand held both of yours, straining and pushing down with a force you knew would leave bruises the morning after.

you were completely at his disposal, and you haven't even started yet. your eyes shot down to your phone, tucked into the side of your panties due to the lack of pockets. your handbag had been an innocent bystander, taking up space on the living room table. rafe lowered his head, tilting yours slightly upward in order to gain access to your ear. “guess you'll have to cancel with sarah,” he practically purred, removing his hand, only for a split second, to turn your phone off. his hand was cool against your flushed skin, fingertips grazing your bare thigh as he snatched your phone from underneath your panties, eager to rid you both of his sister's annoyance. “thought they had a policy against sluts, anyway.”

you scoffed, despite your compromising situation and position. “yeah? you should see how fond they are of me down there.” you knew you'd regret your words the minute they left your mouth, and rafe made sure of it. in a matter of seconds, you were back to facing him. he had let go of your hands, only to wrap his fingers around your throat, turning you around with such force, your back was slammed against the wall. once again, you were forced to meet his gaze, dark eyes boring into yours. for the first time in a long time, you were afraid.

“you must've forgotten who's in charge here,” he laughed, but there wasn't a trace of humor in it. his grip on your throat tightened, as if he knew you'd add fuel to the fire with your response. “must've forgotten that sluts have no place here, let alone a say in what goes.”

it was shameful to admit that his words sent a stroke of heat down your core, it was a disgrace. you felt filthy, his grip tightening with each passing second—it was supposed to teach you a lesson, scare you into listening, but you couldn't help the way it made you feel. it was something he picked up on, you could tell by the slight smirk playing on his lips. “don't even know why i bother with you,” he continued, as if he was doing it on purpose. “you love the attention, don't you? love getting put in your place like a bitch in heat.” you couldn't answer, weakly nodding, unable to stand against the truth. he saw right through you.

his grip loosened, but remained in place. his thumb trailed up your chin, pulling your lower lip down as he smeared your lipstick into your skin. he loved the sight of you, knowing it never took much to make a mess of you, thumb tapping against your lip. your throat was in steady recovery, but you parted your lips, making room for him. he grunted, unable to resist the way your mouth welcomed him so openly, sucking away at his thumb. he pulled back, only for a second, smearing your spit against your dimples, your chin. he loved the way you gave in so easily, letting him to you do whatever crossed his mind.

“such a mess for me, and here i thought you were going out tonight,” he practically purred in your ear, fingers slick with your spit as it travelled down to your panties as he awaited a response. you couldn't help but whimper, the feeling of his wet fingers against your clothed core sending you into tame bliss. he pressed his index finger against your slit, rubbing and silently admiring how wet you were for him. wet was an understatement, every slight touch had you soaking.

“so wet for me,” he groaned, pushing your lace to the side as a fresh wisp of cool air hit your now bare cunt. your back remained pressed against the wall, a single leg sliding upwards, knee digging into his chest to grant him further access. “please, rafe,” you exhaled in anticipation, growing heat making it insufferable for you.

“such attitude just a few minutes ago,” he taunted, but even he had his priorities set straight, more focused on the uncomfortable strain in his pants than your prior retorts. he had his free hand around the back of your neck, pulling you in for a kiss while his other hand worked for him. you couldn't resist him, locking lips eagerly as your fingers pulled his hair ever so gently. he took that as his sign, index finger pushing past your walls before he kicked up a pace of his own.

the moans that left your mouth were delicious as a second finger joined the process. eventually, a third. his lips trailed down your jaw, too eager to stay in one place, before moving down to your collarbone. his hand had started to ache, pace quickening as he fucked you open with his fingers. no matter how many times you had sex—you were like rabbits—under any circumstances, no prep was enough for the size of his dick. every time, no matter how many fingers prepared you for what was coming, it was never enough. the pain was unbearable, the pleasure unmeasurable.

once he knew you were ready, he retracted his fingers despite your protesting whimpers. “don't you worry, baby,” he uttered out frantically, fingers desperately unbuckling his jeans, all too eager to rid himself of his clothes. “'m gonna take good care of you.”

the absolute sight of him had your mouth watering. his hair was slick with sweat, chest heaving as he took himself into his hand, thumb spreading his precum alongside the head, coating it with a thick layer. he spat onto his hand, grunting as he slicked his dick up, jacking it to coat it up evenly. it wasn't enough for him, his hand was never enough. he needed you more than you needed him.

“turn around,” it was a command, not a question, and you were to do as you were told, cheek once again pressed against the wall's rough surface. he sighed as he took in the sight of you, ass bare and back arched for him. “that's my girl.”

he hadn't planned on showing any mercy, he sure wasn't going to. under normal circumstances, he'd have given you at least a few seconds to adjust, but you knew that wasn't the case the minute his tip pushed past your slippery walls. the tip was only in for a split second before the rest of his length accomodated it. you couldn't bite any of your moans back, fingernails scraping the wall in front of you. rafe knew he wouldn't last long, not with the way your pussy was squeezing him, or the way you moaned his name. you engulfed him, swallowing his dick hole, the familiar sensation chipping away at your pride.

he held your hips down as he fucked you with long, deep strokes that made your head spin. “so fuckin' tight, holy shit,” he groaned, hips snapping as he watched the way his dick slid out, just to slide right back in. the entire sensation consumed you—the way you could feel every vein against your walls, alongside his length slamming into your cunt, in and out. you felt him outside as much as you did inside. “so wet for me.” you were practically dripping all over him, your cries bouncing off the walls as his grip dropped to your ass, grabbing onto the meat for leverage before disappearing, only to come back with a harder, rougher smack. he watched the way your ass bounced against his pelvis, turning the prettiest shade of red, as if encouraging him.

in any case, it worked. as if possible, his pase quickened as he arched his own back, allowing him to go as deep as he could, balls bouncing against your ass to accompany your cries of pure nirvana. his heart was in his stomach, he knew he was close. all he wanted to do was fill you up and all you wanted to do was get filled up by him. you loved the way he made you feel, with his tip hitting your sweet spot, sending tears down your cheeks while his shaft filled in the blanks, leaving you filled to the brim with his thick dick.

he never warned you beforehand, he didn't have to. as soon as his thrusts grew sloppy, but remained desperate, you knew he was close. a string of curses passed his lips, and that was all you had to hear in order to brace yourself, giving his dick a final squeeze before his hips began to stutter, cock twitching frantically in the deepest pits of your cunt before he let go. you both cried out, his left hand pulling your hair towards him as he buried himself in as deep as possible, painting your walls with his hot, sticky cum.

you couldn't move, you didn't dare to. he took the first step, dick still buried inside you, it almost pained him. his hot breath tickled the lobe of your ear, provoking you in the best way possible, once more. “sweetheart, you just lost the authority you never had.”

#outer banks #obx #outer banks fanfiction #obx fanfiction #obx smut #outer banks smut #obx x reader #outer banks x reader #rafe cameron #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x reader #rafe smut #rafe cameron x reader smut

[gemissleeping]

Moonlight & Masks

Theodore Nott x Fem!Reader

Summary: Newly turned Death Eater Theodore Nott is tasked with hunting down Harry Potter and the Order Operative protecting him. Only to discover the person he hunts happens to be the one he loves.

Length: 1.8k

Notes: Back from the dead (I am so sorry things are hectic and I don’t want to release a chapter I’m not feeling) with this little one from @thatdammchickennugget’s Hogmarch Challenge! Death Eater Theo. Use of the killing curse. Angst as always because we know I live for the drama. For those of you wanting more Veleveteen, in my head this occurs in the same story universe (which I know isn’t the same as an update pls forgive my sins). Not proofread, we have deadlines to meet.

The sting of lightning hung in the air as she weaved through the trees. The thundering footfall still pressing behind her. Lungs burning with need, she pressed on. Dizzied from the turbulent descent she and Mad Eye had suffered.

Alastor. He was dead.

She hadn’t even been able to take his body from the dirt where it had fallen. And the Death Eaters certainly wouldn’t afford him the dignity of a proper burial.

Tears clawed at her cheeks as she bounded over the tree roots twisting across the forest floor. Thinking only of Mad Eye, the way his voice had simply ceased when the curse had hit him. No cry of pain, no strangled wail. Only silence.

Her grip on her wand tightened as her tears ran hot. The taunting laugh of one of her pursuers echoing through the trees as they crashed after her. The darkness spinning endlessly around her. It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair. Gone were the rules they had been taught to play by. Humanity sacrificed for power. Thoughtless with rage, she cast back her wand into the leering shadows. Letting the words fall from her lips before her heart could catch them.

Avada Kedavra

The green light felt as though it tore right through her as it ricocheted from her wand. Scattering through the trees and hitting its mark with a crack. Ripping at her chest with blistering heat, forcing her ribs apart until the spell dissipated. The laughter ceased. That same absence that had followed earlier resting through the trees. She was dragged to a still.

The force of the spell brought her to her knees. Bark breaking the skin of her palms, blood blooming as she fell forward in agony. She felt it being torn from her throat just now; some vital piece of herself. What she had given to cast the curse. The crack rung through her ears. Trailing her even as its ringing grew soft, faded into the background of the forest’s creaks and stutters. She could feel the heaving of her chest, dizzied by the absence that had been dug into her.

Before she could break upon the forest floor completely, the snap of a twig behind her brought reality rearing back. Whipping to face the darkness, she searched the teasing shadows that surrounded her. Nothing answered but the wind. She pushed herself up on bloody palms, staggering towards the nearest tree. Catching the glint of a metal smile hit by moonlight as she turned. But it was too late.

The Death Eater was on her in a second, wand jammed to her throat. One hand wrenching her head back by the hair. A mutilated snarl coming from the unmoving mask.

“Potter.”

She still had Harry’s face.

The figure towered before her, gloved hand pulling harshly at her hair as she strained against their grip. More tears pricking at her eyes as she faced the smooth and indifferent wall between them. Both of them were wearing masks really. But the thought brought little comfort to the nausea biting at her.

She was going to die someone else.

Wand to her throat, she closed her eyes. Preparing for the flurry of hot green light. Perhaps it was what she deserved, it could be a mercy. This way she would never have to truly face what she had done. There was no doubt in her mind that the person before her would finish the job. And yet she waited, but nothing came.

Opening her eyes once again she found him watching her carefully. Blue eyes clouded with something foreign, his silver mask lodged in the dirt at their feet. Looking at her with nothing but quiet restraint. She felt her throat close at the sight of him, all defences leaving her as she stared up at the boy before her.

“I asked something of you, when I saw you last,” Theo spoke lowly, wand still jammed to her throat as though he didn’t fully trust the person he saw before him. “Do you have an answer for me?” His voice fell flat against the forest air, low and heavy as his empty eyes.

His words sent another wave of dizziness crashing through her. The events of the past ten minutes threatening to bring everything up from her stomach. She wanted to fall into his chest and let his robes soak up her tears. To slice her palm clean across his cheek. Fall to the forest floor and not get up. Beg him to finish the job.

But instead, she did as she was told; she stayed quiet. Like the good little soldier they had taught her to be. Counting the freckles and moles that dotted the skin of his cheeks like they were her favourite constellations.

“Answer the question,” Theo snarled again, shoving her back forcefully. Back hitting the jagged edges of bark with an audible crack as a groan left her. Still she didn’t speak, blinking up at him as her head spun from when it had made contact with the tree.

“I’ll do it Potter,” he hissed lowly. His wand cutting further into her throat as she struggled to breathe under its pressure. He barely seemed to notice, staring down at her with empty eyes. “Don’t think I won’t just because you have something I want.”

She only watched him carefully, trying not to let herself give it away as she watched him. Staving off the clouds of memory that threatened to consume her at the sight of him.

“No?” He chimed, a sharp edge to his warm voice, “Very well.”

He drew a breathe, anger taking him in its burning grip. But just as the curse he had planned to cast was forming a whisper of air on his lips; she felt it. The rippling beneath her skin. Pulling and tugging and melting at the fibres of her. She bit her tongue as the pain of it ripped through her. Reforming beneath the skin as everything cracked and popped in and out of place. Until only she remained, swimming in Harry’s ridiculous hoodie.

Theo still had her pressed against the tree, all colour drained from his face as he watched the skin seem to melt and reform on her bones. His hands began to shake. She watched him with distant eyes, trying to hold onto what little restraint remained.

“What’s wrong?” She asked hoarsely, her throat aching from the potion’s due course. Theo’s wand still hesitantly pressed to the delicate skin of her throat. “Can’t do it anymore?”

It happened like the break of a dam. Her name fell from his lips in a rush of credence. Lips falling apart at the sight of her before him, what he’d almost done without realising. His wand dropped in a stagger, as though she had struck him. The darkness of the forest enclosing around them.

“You left me there,” he breathed suddenly, as though it hadn’t meant to come out. She blinked up at him as confusion swept her. But the lost look he carried only washed away as his eyes hardened.

“What?” she breathed.

“You left me there alone,” he spoke again, ignited with a sudden rage. His words were like kindling to her own. Her brow cracking with anger.

“No, Theo,” her voice shook, “you left me.” Theo looked to the ground, shaking his head gently in denial. He took a hesitant step forwards, as though to reach for her. But she stepped back, her spine hitting the tree. “Do you know how much I had to go through alone before I got out of there? Because you were too busy running off with Draco, or-”

He closed the distance between them with a blistering intensity.

“Do you know what it’s been like since? Without you?” It came out in a boiling whisper. “He wants your head almost as much as he wants Potter’s,” Theo’s eyes softened at the words, swept up in whatever memory they procured. “And I just have to sit there and take it, listening to the vile things they plan to do to you. Knowing there’s not a single fucking thing I can do about any of it, except for-”

He didn’t have to say it, the break of his voice said enough. The way his eyes fled from her own. He had meant to kill her.

“Why don’t you do it then?” She whispered, eyes brimming with more tears. Looking to the boy she had loved since she was too young to understand the word. “It would save me the-”

“Stop it.”

“I deserve it, don’t I? For leaving you. You said so yourself, in your letter. I read it you know.”

“No, I didn’t mean-”

“I know you’ve cast it before-”

“I said stop,” he bellowed, pressing himself against her in a flash of pent up fury. His body flush against hers as his chest heaved with the weight of his rage. “Even if I wanted to,” he whispered, his lips brushing lightly against her ear, “I can’t.” His hands tightened into fists, “He wants to do it himself.”

He peeled himself away from her, as though every inch of his skin that couldn’t feel hers was the worst form of torture. Drinking in every part of her except for her eyes, which he couldn’t bring himself to meet. She searched his, begging him to pull himself to meet hers.

“Is it that?” She breathed, fearful eyes rounded as she looked up to him. Searching for that thread that had always hung between them. His eyes grew tense as he saw what thoughts lay in hers, “Or is it because-”

“Stop.”

-you love me.

“Don’t,” he snapped, but even the sharp edge of his voice couldn’t distract from the despair swimming in his eyes. “Please,” he breathed, his head dipping towards her neck in defeat, but not daring to brush the skin, “don’t.”

He wanted to hold her, let his fingers trail across her cheeks, brush his thumb over her eyelashes. Just to make sure it was really her. Not some cruel trick made out to test his loyalty. But instead he let his breath fan across the bare skin of her neck. Knowing it was the only way he could allow himself to touch her.

“It was you I asked after,” his confession fell dead against the skin of her neck. He heard the breath she drew as though it was taken from him. Felt himself unravelling being so close to her now, after months of waiting and silence and searching.

Fuck it.

He’d be flayed for it, but everything could be damned. None of it mattered if he could feel her lips on his again. His hands flew to the delicate skin of her cheeks. Palms soaking in the remainder of her tears as his lips met hers. They parted effortlessly for him, welcoming him in as though she had been waiting just as he had. The softness of her lips balancing against his hunger. Her head tilted towards him, completely at his mercy beneath his calloused palms. Just as she should have been all this time.

#gemwrites #hogmarch challenge #hogmarch #thatdamnchickennugget #theodore nott x reader #slytherin boys #theodore nott angst #theodore nott fic #theodore nott #theodore nott fanfiction #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott x you #theo nott x reader

[stubz]

late shift

Shuttle for Mars is departing now. Please keep hands, feet, tails, and other appendages clear of the yellow line.

‘Nice, finally get off work on time for once! Man is it empty, way less busy than the 5:45 one…

Are they sleeping? Please tell me they’re sleeping…’

“Snnrk…”

‘Oh good they are, oooh lots of empty seats next to them! Nice.’

The young human sits across the large figure and looks around.

‘Wonder why everyone else is sitting so far away from this guy? He’s not that much scarier than a Alteauh…OH! He’s an Orc! An actual Orc, oh this is so cool! Wait. Calm down, control yourself. Orc’s are people too, not some exotic animal in a zoo….he’s sooo cool looking tho!’

The human smiles and takes out their headphones and listens to some music and take in the view they see through the shuttle’s windows. From time to time they peek at the orc, can’t helping themselves from people-watching him.

Like what most humans imagined, he was huge. Easily more than 7 feet tall, with large calloused hands bigger than their head. He had large tusks but unlike the stereotypes he was well trimmed with well relatively kept hair. It would have neater had there not been dust in it. The orc wore dirty cloths and work boots. Beside them what looked like a tool box and bag.

‘Must be a construction worker or works in a trade’ they mused

‘Poor guy, he’s gotta be exhausted to sleep here. At least he gets to go home now.’

The shuttle shakes and with it so does the sleeping giant. Rocking side to side.

'That's not good.' They nervously slide off their headphones.

The turbulence increases until the sleeping orc leans too far and starts fall face first off his seat.

“OH SHIT!” Diving to their knees they manage to catch his head and shoulders.

“Mm?”

“You okay?” Damn he's heavy!

“Mmm…sorry.” Rubbing the sleep from his eyes he slowly got back into his seat, the turbulence now gone.

“No worries, I just didn’t want you to hit your head.”

“Heh, wouldn't be the first time I’ve done it.”

after rubbing his eyes a bit more and a crack of the neck he looks at them, brain finally working to some degree.

“…wait. You caught me?”

“Uh-huh”

“But you’re so small! Are you hurt?”

“You're not the first sleeping giant I’ve caught. I’m alright.”

“I am so sorry for that. I just finished working a 12 hour shift fixing the 1st and 3rd engine rooms and couldn’t help myself from dozing off.”

They whistle. “12 hours? No wonder you’re tired! If I were you I’d be in a coma.”

“Ah but surely you have a difficult job yourself. How else would you be able to catch me?”

“No, nothing like yours! I just work at a youngling centre.”

“The one on the ship?”

“That’s the one.”

“...YOUR ONE OF THE BRAVE WARRIORS WHO RISKED THEIR LIVES TO PROTECT THE CHILDREN??!”

“…you’ve heard of us?”

“Every orc and warrior worth their blade knows of your valiant deeds!! Tell me, what is your name??”

“Kim, uh and you are?”

“Fenrir. It is truly an honor to meet someone of your bravery and intelligence."

"Likewise! I've heard that the orc species are a true warrior race."

For the rest of the trip the two talked. Kim sharing how her and Max built such a safe room in the centre, which lead to the two realizing how similar each other's planets are.

"You have wind whirlpools as well? I thought they only existed on Bantor!"

"Well we call them hurricanes and tornadoes but yeah. Do you guys have hail?"

"Not where I grew up but nearby farther up they get a week or two of light hail showers during the fall. What about animals? Do you have reptiles bigger than an adult with large teeth and live in rivers? We call them darthrang."

"Oh we call them crocodiles!"

"Amazing! To think that your species live in a world much like mine!"

When the shuttle finally reached it's destination the two went their separate ways. A few days later they meet again, this time on the later shuttle. They sit and talk and create a routine of sorts where they became each others travelling companion for the trip to Mars.

One day however, Fenrir stopped coming. The human was saddened as she enjoyed his company but was soon surprised when seeing him at the centre.

"Kim! I've been transferred to stay on the ship so I won't be taking the shuttle to Mars anymore."

"Oh...well, as you know I only go home at the end of the week so maybe we can hang out now. Like eat lunch together or have a drink after work...or something like that!"

"Actually we'll be seeing each other everyday now. But if you don't get sick of me then yes, lets each lunch together."

"Great! But why will I be seeing you everyday?"

"Because after telling my family about you and the centre they've enrolled my nieces and nephews and younger siblings here...and I offered to drop them off and pick them up."

It was then that Kim noticed the dozen of orc children hiding behind Fenrir. The tallest and what looked the eldest of them stepped forward.

"Hello, I am Athea, uncle Fenrir said your one of the ones who saved the centre."

"Yes, my name is Kim. It's great to meet you AtheaaAA!" The orc girl pulled the human into a tight hug, lifting the adult woman off of her feet.

"Thank you for saving Nova." she mumbled into her chest.

'Ah, the Captain's daughter' Kim thought. "I was just doing what any teacher would do."

After a moment the human was put down and lead the children into the centre. The day went well. Fenrir's young family members were quickly won over by the humans, first with the saving of the centre, then with how they understood how wonderful their planet was rather than terrifying or deadly.

They were also greatly intrigued by how such a small species could survive in a planet that was thought to only be habitable to orcs.

"How can you carry us?" asked Thor, one of Fenrir's youngest brothers. "We're much bigger than a human child."

"Yeah but your not bigger than my cousins who are teenagers. Also just last month I had like 10 kids climbing on me. Two were tighalaxes."

"Your joking!"

...

"It that tumpon?!"

"Hm? We call it maafe, but it's also known as peanut stew, do you want some? It doesn't have any meat in it though."

"Guys Max has tumpon!! Can you tell Fenrir where we can buy the ingredients?"

"Of course. Finally I'll finish what gran gave me without having to gain 10 pounds."

And thus the first day ended on a high note! Now if only Kim could figure out why the children looked at her and nodded while talking to Fenrir...

So this based off of a post by @llamagoddessofficial about humans meeting actual space orcs. Sadly I can't find the actual post. but yeah, here u go, space orc and human meet cute

#the adventures of kim and max running a space child care centre #space orcs #humans are space orcs #humans in space #the beginning is something that actually happened to me #caught a sleeping construction worker who I sat across from on the bus when heading home from work #thankfully he was just a little taller than me and not a giant like fenrir #also my brother went through a phase of randomly doing trust falls in front of me so I am experienced in randomly having to catch people

[edmundspevensea]

𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐀 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑

in which connor is left to pick up the pieces after losing y/n.

warnings; death (mentions suicide and mental health issues), connor having to grow up quickly, grief

based off of last words of a shooting star by mitski

all of this turbulence wasn't forecasted, apologies from the intercom

and i am relieved that i left my room tidy

they'll think of me fondly when they come for my things

Time does not stop for one person’s death. Nor does it stop for a million deaths. Time is a cold and cruel concept that remains hidden despite standing in the light. People forget that just because something breaks doesn’t mean that the rest of the world is affected by it.

Connor sat in the driver's seat of his 2008 Honda Civic, his eyes focusing on the neighborhood road in front of him. Christmas lights were shining brightly all around him, but the boy's heart and mind didn't reciprocate the brightness surrounding him. Instead, his soul was sad as he looked up from the road, his eyes meeting your childhood home. The same childhood home in which you and Connor first met.

A five year old Connor stood nervously at your doorstep, his light brown hair blowing mindlessly in the wind. His arms were loaded with a tray of cookies that his mom had made. Your family had recently moved to North Vancouver from what the Bedards presumed was the United States, seeing as an American flag was displayed above your garage. As your new next door neighbors, his mom took it upon herself to welcome you to the neighborhood, and there was no better way to do so than a five year old with cookies.

The door swung open and Connor was met with a woman, who he later learned was your mom, and you, his newfound best friend. From then on, you and Connor became inseparable.

The same childhood home in which you and Connor had late night conversations through cup phones.

Funnily enough, Connor soon learned that his bedroom was exactly across the way from yours. What began as small waves to each other when you both realized the other was in their room, quickly turned into both of you cracking your windows open to have full-fledged conversations with each other. As the years went by and you and Connor grew older, you decided that that wasn't enough, and brought it up with Connor that night before going to bed. The next morning, you woke up to a cup phone sitting on your bedroom desk, and a long piece of yarn attached to it. It didn't take long for you to discover that the cup lead to Connor's room. It did, however, take a little while to discover a note that Connor had left for you.

"you left your window open, so i figured there was no better time to do this. i spent all night finishing this - i even drew a dog on your cup because i know you like them so much! - connor".

The same childhood home in which you and Connor realized you loved each other.

Now teenagers, it was evident that there was something going on between you and Connor. However, it seemed as if everyone but the two of you were aware of it. Both his mom and dad and your mom and dad had sworn that the two of you were going to grow up and get married, and his sister always claimed that she would be the maid of honor, but both you and Connor swore that the two of you were only best friends, and that's all that you guys would ever be.

However, that all changed the morning of your 16th birthday. Connor had turned 16 a few months prior, and he spent the days leading up to it driving around town to acquire the decorations needed to decorate. The night before your 16th, you and Connor had planned a sleepover. Little did you know, however, that while you were fast asleep in one of Connor's Regina Pats t-shirts, he had spent another night wide awake for you, just to decorate his kitchen in order to surpise you.

When you woke up the next morning, Connor was nowhere to be found in his sleeping bag on the floor (the boy let you take his bed so you'd be more comfortable, and despite your protests, he insisted). Confused, you got out of bed, and were immediately hit with the soft sound of music and the crackling of bacon. You softly smiled to yourself as you made your way down the stairs, expecting to be met with Mrs. Bedard, but instead, you found Connor hunched over the stovetop, grilling the bacon.

His hair was disheveled and he was wearing his favorite Regina Pats hoodie, gray sweatpants adorning his legs. You stood there for a bit before making your presence known, snaking a hug around Connor's waist as you noticed all of the decorations around you, "Happy birthday, sunshine."

You let out a soft gasp as you took in the sight around you, your eyes admiring all of the work Connor had put in just for you. He smiled as your eyes twinkled in excitement, mentally celebrating to himself as he realized how much you loved everything, "Connor, you shouldn't have... this is amazing, thank you. I don't think anything can make this day better."

His smile grew even bigger, which he didn't know was even possible. As you went around the kitchen to admire the decorations up close, Connor went back to cooking the bacon. The random playlist he had on shuffled through a few songs, and soon landed on 'At Last' by Etta James. You grinned, heading over to Connor.

"Con, I think I have found something that can make this day better."

"And what is that?" "Dance with me."

Connor didn't protest. Instead, he turned around and placed one hand on your shoulder and the other on your waist, and the two of you began to slow dance around the kitchen to the soft voice of Etta James. Despite no words being exchanged between the two of you, both you and Connor could feel the love you had for each other. After all, love understands love - it needs no talk.

The same childhood home in which you eventually took your life.

Connor knew you were struggling. From the moment he had met you, he had the ability to read you like an open book. So when you became quieter shortly after your sweet sixteen, he became concerned. At first, you tried to blame it on stress from school and extracurriculars in an attempt to reassure him, but Connor could see right through you. He knew you were hurting, but what he didn't know was that you were never going to recover from this pain.

Although Connor wasn't home all the time, he would send you encouraging text messages every morning and would talk with you every night on the phone, for hours on end, though your cell phones couldn't compare to the cup phones that still hung between your guys' bedroom windows. He even asked his parents and Madi to keep a closer eye on you when he was gone.

He was in Regina when it happened. His parents had come to see him play against the Everett Silvertips, and were planning on staying for the weekend to catch up with him. His day was going great, and he didn’t think anything could have ruined it. That was until after the game, when he had tried to call you - multiple times - to check in on you and make sure you were doing okay. Each and every time he called, he was met with your voicemail. A pit of concern was growing in his stomach, but he tried to settle it by convincing himself that you had fallen asleep and we’re okay. When he had gotten back to his apartment after the game, however, the worry in his stomach only grew when he saw his parents sitting on his couch, both teary-eyed.

“Connor…” he made eye contact with his mom, who could barely hold herself together. Somehow, he had put the pieces together - it was about Y/N, and it wasn’t good - but he still felt the need to ask about her before jumping to conclusions.

“Y/N’s fine, right? She’s just sleeping, or driving, which is why she’s not answering any of my calls?” Connor asked warily, his voice shaky. His mom only cried harder at her son’s question and his dad sighed, squeezing his eyes shut. Connor hesitated for a moment before speaking again, his eyes glassy, his head shaking in disbelief, “She’s not… she’s not dead, right? She can’t be.”

“She’s gone, Connor,” his dad replied, his heart breaking at the state his son was already in, “Her mom called us a bit ago. She committed suicide.”

“No!” Connor shouted, his mouth curving into an upward smile of pure shock, “You’re lying to me! Y/N’s not dead, she can’t be!” he pulled out his phone again and began to dial her phone number, “If I call her right now she’ll answer me. She was just taking a nap!”

Immediately, Connor’s mom got up to hug him and at that moment, he knew she was gone. His best friend, his love, the one person who knew him more than anyone else in the entire world, was gone. He dropped his phone and let out a blood-curdling scream, falling to his knees as his mom tried to keep up with him. His dad joined his wife and son on the floor as the the three Bedards grieved together, knowing they would never again get to see sweet and beautiful Y/N Y/L/N.

Your funeral had been the hardest part for Connor. There wasn't much crying during the actual procession, except from him. As your dad, his dad, Kent Johnson, Tanner Hayes, your cousin and him were carrying your casket down the aisle of the church, tears rolled down the young boy's lightly-freckled cheeks like a flowing waterfall.

During your actual burial, however, things were the exact opposite, Connor felt numb, and couldn't process that you were actually gone. However, the others realized that they would never, ever hear your voice again. They would never again get to see your smile, or hear your contagious laugh. Madi and Mrs. Bedard shook in each other's arms, trying their best to comfort one another. Your mom trembled as your dad rubbed her back softly. A group of your cousins all huddled together in a heartbreaking group hug. Connor’s dad really tried his best to hold it together for everybody else, but when he saw the casket being lowered into the ground, he broke. You had been like a daughter to him. He pretty much knew that his son was going to grow up to marry you. Mr. Bedard collapsed to the ground on his knees, his heart breaking more and more each second. But then there was Connor - absolutely no expression on his face whatsoever. He couldn't feel anything.

Here Connor was, sitting in his car a year later. The Blackhawks had given him a break to be with family during this time, specifically after Nick Foligno had seen how broken the kid was over the situation. He could see your mom and dad having dinner through the window, but he knew it wasn’t the same. They had left an empty chair, plate and silverware out on the table for every meal after you had left.

The cup phones were still hanging between his bedroom and yours. Connor didn’t have the heart to take them down - if they remained up, the two of you would still be connected in some way, and although that way wasn’t ideal, it was better than nothing.

The American flag was still up, but by now was joined by a Canadian one as well. Things were different now, but not for the better.

Connor reached over to his passenger seat, in which sat a gift-wrapped box. Your parents had given it to him on Christmas Day last year, explaining that it was the gift that you were going to give him that day. He thanked them kindly, but didn’t have the heart to open it. He needed some more time before he could face the memories of you again.

He was finally ready. Connor wiped off some dust particles from the year old wrapping paper before carefully moving to untie the bow of ribbon on top of the present - it was your signature move. When he managed to unwrap the wrapping paper and open the box, tears came to his eyes immediately.

A handmade blanket was revealed to him. In the very center, the fabric of his old Regina Pats t-shirt - the one you were wearing when you guys realized you loved each other - was revealed, and ‘Bedard - 98’ was written across. Another square of fabric was a piece of your baby blanket, on which your warm scent still lingered. Connor gripped the blanket close as if he was physically holding you in his arms, as if you were physically here with him.

For the first time in a year, Connor allowed himself to grieve. He missed you so much, and desperately wished you were back in his arms, but finally realized that the world goes on. Once again, time does not stop for one person’s death. Nor does it stop for a million deaths. Time is a cold and cruel concept that remains hidden despite standing in the light. People forget that just because something breaks doesn’t mean that the rest of the world is affected by it.

For awhile, Connor thought he could’ve saved her. He thought his love for her was enough to show her the beauty and goodness of the world which can so often be cruel. Connor loved Y/N in many ways, and the fact is that the blue-eyed boy could've loved her in an infinite number of ways, but really, he could've never loved her in a way that was enough to make her stay.

That’s just something Connor Bedard would have to live with for the rest of his life.

an; merry christmas and happy holidays i guess???

#nhl #connor bedard #connor bedard x reader #chicago blackhawks #kent johnson #nhl hockey #nhl x reader #nhl imagines #connor bedard imagine #connor bedard imagines #nhl imagine #hockey #hockey imagines #chicago blackhawks imagines #don’t be fooled i hate the h*wks but love connor #merry christmas i guess

[petit-etoile]

Astarion is a taco bell worker who has not had a single day off in 2 years because his manager can't be assed to teach anyone else how to close. He longs to one day see the sun again and be free of these twisted and evil taco nights

in  motion,  in 3D

pairing: astarion/tav wordcount: 7,156 content warnings: please do not have sex in parking lots !! but anyway, all characters are in university & tacobellstarion works to pay for his law books, i use a lot of pet names from both spawn & ascended astarion, but he's not a vampire in this universe so his morality is mostly in tact,  nearly 7k of pure smut other tags: alternate universe - college/university, porn what plot/porn without plot, pwp, established relationship, semi-public s.ex, b.lowjobs, riding, c.reampie, shameless smut, taco bell, gender neutral tav archiveofourown: here.

tag list: @azrielshadows1nger, @pandimoostuff, @faevi, @microskies, @foreverthemaraudersera, @queenofthespacesquids, @claryvoyantfray, @6doodlaang14, @anne-isnotokay, @itshimbotime, @yeeteth-the-raven, @sessils,@8-opossums, @worryknotdear, @abirdaboxandachippedcup, @ghosts-and-ink, @b4um3pfl4um3, @gunslingerorchid, @hypopxia,  @m0ssytrees, @erysione, @odette-attackattack, @catching-fire-in-the-wind, @ashrio20, @wills-mental-illness be added to the taglist here

summary:  Fast food jobs may as well be from Avernus itself, yet Astarion clocks in every day for a night-shift at Taco Bell in his silly little purple hat and his silly little purple uniform.

College is already hard enough. Add in a job on the side that requires you to stay up long before even the partiest of party kids have gone to sleep, and life might start to seem even bleaker. Astarion may not have gone out of state for his college adventures, but it was still hard. The expense of the university, the expense of staying on campus, and the expense of wanting to afford textbooks unfortunately resulted in this.

He takes a long, exhausted look around the cluttered Taco Bell and considers sobbing on the floor. Despite all the work put in to make the building seem pristine, the shop always seems as though it’s been through some soft of galactic turbulence by the time the night has ended. The last thing Astarion wants to see is a catty text from the day shift saying things were still dirty. He might snap his phone if he sees Enver Gortash (saved in his phone as DO NOT ANSWER!!!) texting him at a bright and early seven in the morning.

Fast food jobs may as well be from Avernus itself, yet Astarion clocks in every day for a night-shift at Taco Bell in his silly little purple hat and his silly little purple uniform. He hates it  —  He loathes it more than anything else, but it’s the only thing that keeps him from sinking further into nearing-graduation depression. This is the only way he stays sane.

He slips his phone out of his pocket and taps in his password, a cute little anniversary date, and checks his text messages before anyone can rat him out to the team manager in the back. There’s a Snapchat that he can’t check and a few text messages, and he presses on them so desperately he thinks he might be going a little insane. It’s only been a few hours and yet…

LOML: i'm coming to get u!!

Astarion smiles so wide he thinks his face might crack. It makes him giggle, swing his feet, twirl his hair around his finger. He feels very baby girl, as Karlach liked to put it. He types a quick ‘MY HERO’ before sliding his phone back in his pocket. That one text is all he needed to hold on for the last thirty minutes of work.

‘Alright!’ Wyll calls from the back. He looks up from his new shiny Apple watch. ‘Last customer is out, so you know what that means. Closing time. Let’s get this show on the road!’

Closing time is somehow the best part of Astarion’s day and the worst. The best, because he knows who will be waiting for him outside to pick him up as soon as everything is neat and tidied inside. The worst, because someone has to clean the bathrooms and he refuses to do it. There’s a bleakness, a despair to the Taco Bell bathrooms. It truly takes the world’s strongest to venture forth and clean them, and Astarion’s recently had a manicure. He scours the room critically before his sight lands on his second favorite co-worker ever!

‘Jenevelle,’ he purrs, turning to look at his younger co-worker. ‘It’s your turn to clean the bathrooms.’

‘It isn’t,’ she says snootily, pushing an Airpod into her ear to drown him out. ‘I did it yesterday. The men’s room is a crime against humanity.’

Astarion frowns. ‘I’m older. You do it. I refuse.’

'Just because you're like, seventy-something and still working at Taco Bell doesn't mean that's what the rest of us want to do,' Jenevelle says, blowing an obnoxiously large bubble with her gum. She slides off the counter and rolls her eyes. 'You're cringe.'

'Bold,' Astarion says, scandalized at only a young twenty-four years of age, 'considering that's coming from someone who put down the name Shadowheart on her application form and dresses like Olivia Rodrigo. Now, go clean the ladies' bathrooms before I feel inclined to point out you have nasolabial folds at eighteen.'

Shadowheart gasps in mock horror, putting a hand to her mouth. She rushes to get the cleaning supplies and does as she was told, but it doesn’t feel like a victory. Astarion is almost certain he’s going to wake up to a text from Gale laughing about how the story is being shared on a small indie podcast. It’s enough to send shivers down Astarion’s spine, but not enough to offer to swap places with Shadowheart. He goes back to petulantly sorting the hot sauce packets.

He pockets one mocking saying ‘I’m Your Main Squeeze!’ and shoves the containers back from where they came from. It’s easy closing, he tells himself. If closing were any easier, the morning shift wouldn’t complain so much. It’s what he has to tell himself as he wipes down the counter.

It’s hard to hold onto hope during these tough taco hours. Astarion just checked his phone, but if he were to check it again, he’s almost certain not even a minute would have passed. No matter how hard he scrubs the counter, everything smells like refried beans. His hair smells like refried beans. His shirt smells like refried beans. His skin must smell like refried beans. It’s a nightmare.

‘Dude, I cannot wait to get out of here,’ Wyll complains, coming to lean on the counter. He begins pretending to sort packets too. ‘Do you have any plans, Astarion?’

‘Ravengard,’ Astarion says patiently, ‘it is three in the morning. My plan is to sleep.’

‘Serious about that beauty sleep?’

‘Dead serious.’

Wyll hums. ‘The rest of us were going to go out for a drink. We wanted to know if you wanted to come with us. You know, to let off steam.’

Astarion considers it the same way one considers eating leftovers. He thinks about it then thinks about the sage old rule: There is nothing open after three in the morning besides jail cells and iHop. He decides against it. Doesn’t want to risk the price of bail after a night of drinking.

Besides, there’s someone coming to pick him up anyway. The thought of you crosses his mind and he can’t help but feel somewhat giddy about it. Between all the work from school and the stress of trying to make Burrito Supremes, you make going through the hardship of closing every single night worth it.

He’s supposed to be doing something, but Astarion can’t remember what it was that Wyll told him needed extra attention at the beginning of his shift or what closing a store entails anymore. He takes out his phone one more time and looks at his screen so he can memorize his screensaver which is a cute photo of you asleep in his shirt and drooling.

‘Ugh, you’re so happy it’s gross,’ Wyll says, wrinkling his nose.

‘Oh please,’ Astarion snorts. ‘As if you and Lae’zel aren’t sickening.’

If Astarion is being completely honest, almost all couples are. Somehow, the two of you don’t get to avoid that connotation. He remembers when you first started dating. You celebrated one week of dating, then two, then every month, then every other month just because it delighted you to do so. Astarion’s reputation is that he’s a prickly, unkind asshole which isn’t entirely too far from the truth, but the difference is that you are you, and you deserve all the nice things he can give.

But before anyone can complain about Astarion being sappy again, he slides his phone into his pocket and goes about his closing to-do list. He fusses over Karlach’s dishes. After working at a fast food restaurant, he’s pretty sure he’ll never eat at one again  —  but what the public doesn’t know what hurt them. They’re clean enough to anyone terribly concerned about it.

Isobel is hastily cleaning the floors. She and Aylin will never beat the grossest couple allegations, but Astarion thinks she’s the cutest thing in the world with her big eyes and fluffy eyelashes and perfectly smudged eyeliner. Once, he found Isobel and Shadowheart in the bathroom comparing shopping bags at Ulta instead of working the drive through. Astarion never told, but they owed him favors for two weeks in a row. Those were the best two weeks of his life.

Astarion does, however, fuss over the cleanliness of the lobby. The store itself feels permanently smudged in grease and smells about as nice as a locker room, but he refuses to be in the kind of establishment that refuses to clean the soda dispenser nozzles. He watches Wyll clean them then cleans them again himself.

And lastly, very lastly, Astarion gathers all the mops and brooms and rags and towels and puts them back from whence they came. Isobel finishes checking the filters to make sure they’re spotless about the same time Shadowheart comes miserably from the bathrooms with a look of utter despair on her features. He should probably feel bad, but he’s just thankful he didn’t have to do it himself. He wonders if he can somehow convince Wyll to do them tomorrow… but that’s a thought for another day, and Astarion only has one thing on his mind now that the store is closed.

You. 

Thank the gods, it’s you. You’re a blessing in disguise if you’ll ever admit it. You willingly wake up in the middle of the night to come pick up Astarion, and you’ve never complained about it despite it being well beyond your bedtime. It’s embarrassing to admit that it’s something the both of you look forward to. A little private time away from dorm roommates and their friends who all like to crowd into impossibly tiny rooms because they haven’t spent enough time with each other throughout the day somehow.

The thought of you puts a pep in Astarion’s step. He checks his phone one last time to read your latest text message and feels like his heart is about to soar out of his throat. He bounces from foot to foot impatiently while waiting at the door for Wyll to come see everyone out, but as soon as that door opens, he’s darting across the parking lot to your familiar car. He never gets in a hurry for anything, but it’s different tonight.

You watch the other couples scurry to their own vehicles for their own safety. Shadowheart rides with Karlach and they’ll hang out at Rolan and Lia’s until Viconia DeVir spam texts her enough that she comes home. Wyll races to Lae’zel’s slick sports car, and seeing them make it across the parking lot is all you really care about. You turn your devout attention back to Astarion.

One might be wondering what you’ve been up to tonight, but it’s an easy answer. You were studying for your many quizzes and tests which infuriate you to no end, because college is hard and Astarion can’t help you study. Not that he would be that helpful. Luckily, Gale and Halsin are astute professors who actually don’t mind helping students  —  and they both have a you shaped soft spot that makes it impeccably easy for you to convince them to tutor you. They helped you go over your coursework and somehow managed to play footsie with one another under the table at the same time, although Gale kept bumping into you by accident and Halsin kept laughing. Either way, you made it through two hours of intense studying in just enough time to pick up Astarion from work.

You almost wish he had helped you study instead, but… He’s smart, coy, a future lawmaker in the making, but Astarion is gorgeous. His talents are wasted on learning laws and balancing books. To say that you wouldn’t get anything done if Astarion helped you study is an understatement. One might think you innocent enough with a cute picture of you and Astarion as your lock screen, but opening up your phone shows one of your most recent endeavors. A risque photograph of Astarion’s cum on your stomach in black-and–white to make it less scandalous, of course.

He should be a model styled in the latest Gucci and coveted by all, but you’re also increasingly biased. You’re wearing a baggy band sweater and sweatpants when he comes around the corner of the restaurant, and he’s so incredibly cute in his stupid Taco Bell uniform that you can’t help but wiggle in your seat. You unlock the door as he comes bolting to the passenger side, and he climbs in and meets you halfway for a kiss.

‘You smell like tomatoes,’ you laugh.

‘Oh, I suppose I’ll walk home then,’ he snorts.

Astarion always comes home smelling of Crunchwrap Supremes and Baja Blasts. Underneath the smell of grated cheese and refried beans and offensive-to-the-nose lemon, he smells like his personalized cologne too. You sniff him unapologetically and try to not feel giddy as he giggle-snorts his way back into the passenger seat.

You watch as he flings his hat into your backseat and begins ruffling his hair back into the usual coiled, curly hairstyle he’s usually sporting. You watch, with a quiet smile, and fight the yawn that’s been plaguing you since you set out to study anatomy around midnight.

It would be downright cringe to admit you want to study his anatomy since he smells like Taco Bell, but the uniform looks so damn good on him. It’s dorky in a way that makes your heart race. When he stretches, his shirt untucks a little and a peek of his belly shines through. That makes what you’re feeling ten times worse.

Maybe it says more about you than it does Astarion, but he would be attractive even if he was wearing a paper bag. You’ve heard the way the other students gossip about him. They like his long legs or his lean neck, or his loud personality. He’s a self-proclaimed short king with a wicked smile and a dangerous sense of humor. That’s why, no matter what he’s wearing or what he’s been doing, the sight of him makes your heart seize into your throat. You want him. You want him bad enough that you glance around the parking lot to make sure everyone is gone.

‘Was work difficult tonight?’ you ask.

‘The customers,’ Astarion groans, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands. ‘Why do thirty seven high schoolers come into Taco Bell before close to order everything off the menu? It takes forever! And they’re so weird, shoving paper from their straws into their Baja Blasts and filling it with salt and pepper and hot sauce then daring their friends to drink it. Weird! Weirdos!’

‘What if I said I was hungry?’ you ask slyly.

‘Don’t even play,’ he growls. ‘I’m tired and  —  Oh my gods, you’ll never guess the drama from today.’

Astarion sets off on a long tangent about work related drama. His boss got into an argument with their boss and now everyone else is in trouble because someone who works the morning shift lost a set of keys. It’s nothing you’re particularly interested in, but it’s nice to hear Astarion talk to you. You adjust the radio to be quieter and turn the air up to be warmer. You’re so terrifyingly cozy you’re bound to fall asleep, but that’s okay. You lean back against your seat and close your eyes too.

‘That sounds like a mess.’

‘Aren’t you glad you don’t work?’

‘Beyond glad,’ you say.

Astarion hums. ‘How did studying go? Did you memorize anything interesting today?’

‘No,’ you say. ‘But, well, there was something I wanted your help with…’

You look across the console to watch him. He doesn’t seem as sleepy as you are. He offers you his hand and you take it just to hold it, fighting a shy smile as you do so. You give him a few more minutes to unwind after his shift before reaching for your keys in the ignition.

Astarion reaches for your hand. His fingertips slide across your upper arm to your fingers, wrapping around you to prevent you from starting the car. You swallow thickly. It’s almost like he read your  —

‘You look absolutely wrecked, my dear,’ Astarion says. ‘Switch sides with me. I’ll drive us home while you doze.’

It’s a tempting offer. Being driven home. It’s the sleep deprivation that’s driving you somewhat crazy, you think, because Astarion has never looked more handsome than he does now in the passenger seat, hair tousled and uniform lopsided, and a smile on his face. Your cheeks heat up.

Oh, it’s definitely the sleep deprivation. Part of you wants to simply wait until you’ve made it home to do anything wild. But Astarion keeps looking at you, appraising you with gentle curiosity. He is unbelievably proud of you and how hard you’re working, and that appreciation is doing wonders to the thoughts inside your head. Your palms start to sweat.

You do a quick look around the parking lot one more time. It’s entirely empty now, not a single car in sight. No Lae’zel or Karlach or Wyll or anyone who would interrupt. The lone overhead light keeps blinking on and off. If you were truly concerned about your situation, you would think that it’s something out of a horror movie. Those aren’t the thoughts going on in your head. What you’re really thinking is so gross it should be humiliating. Astarion’s hand is warm on your hand, and his belly is still showing underneath his shirt that’s ridden up, and he’s tilting his chin because he’s noticed you’ve gone unusually still.

‘I don’t want to go home,’ you say in a small voice. ‘And  —  I’m not hungry either, not really.’

‘Oh?’ he hums. ‘What do you want to do instead?’ 

Ah. There it is. Your chance.

You pull your hand from his and place it on his knee, thumb pressing against the side of his thigh. Astarion’s eyes glimmer dangerously. He’s caught onto your mood. He knows exactly what you want without you even saying it.

He reclines your seat and stretches even more in your chair, his legs splayed out in front of him lazily. He’s lithe and taut, hands gripping the headrest for no other reason than he knows it makes him look gorgeous. He raises his chin like a challenge. You slide your hand up his leg and squeeze his muscle. Your mouth has gone dry, but that’ll be changed soon. You nibble the inside of your lip and pray to the gods to give you bravery.

‘You’re insatiable,’ Astarion accuses.

‘It was the textbook,’ you say defensively. ‘I studied for so long, and now my mind has wandered.’

He tsks at you in disappointment. ‘The Taco Bell parking lot of all places.’

‘Shut up.’

He laughs, nice and low and dangerous, and presses his hand flush against his belly. He pulls his shirt up a little higher and you fight desperately to keep your eyes on his face.

‘Shut up?’ he mocks. ‘Is that the best you can do?’

‘I’ll show you,’ you say brazenly, ‘what I can do.’

It’s abysmal, the lust that overtakes you. You lean over the console and watch as he raises his shirt so that you can see the smooth plane of his abdomen. He’s lithe, sleek, refined. Even in his silly little uniform, you can’t help but think about how amazing Astarion looks  —  and he knows that’s what is racing through your mind, because he indulges in the attention that you’re granting him. You lean forward, one hand bracing yourself against the console while the other falls against his thigh for support, and kiss gently across his belly. From one side of his waist to the other, one hip bone to the other, until you fuss enough that Astarion helps slide his work pants down his hips to his thighs.

The ridiculousness of the setting is forgotten. You lavish Astarion’s cock with attention, the tip of your tongue tracing over the svelte shape, until he’s gently lacing his fingers in your hair to help guide you along. But you know his body almost as well as you know your own. You take the tip of Astarion’s cock into your mouth and kiss it. You graze your teeth carefully over the skin and feel his leg tense in anticipation, and slowly, you swallow it inch by inch.

His cock jerks in your mouth, growing and hardening beneath your careful ministrations. After being together for so long, you know what he likes. He likes slow and languid strokes. He likes when you hum and sometimes when you try to suck him as far down as you can, but you also know that he likes the occasional graze of your teeth, and you’ve barely touched him when he moans softly under his breath as if it’s humiliating to him how needy he is for you as well.

It isn’t the most comfortable position to be in. The gear shift is rigging uncomfortably into your ribs, and the sound of your leather seats sliding against your skin is an unwanted addition, but you’re mesmerized by the way Astarion tastes on your tongue.

Even after a long shift, he still smells immaculate. Your laundry soap overpowers almost everything else, and his satiny tip is salty with precum, but you’ve always enjoyed that taste more than anything else. You mouth gently against the length of him, kissing and sucking and tracing patterns against his cock with your tongue. The touch causes his hand to tighten in your hair, not enough that it hurts, but enough that you’re reminded of him.

It’s comforting, the feeling of his hand in your hair as he guides you up and down his length. It reminds you of less busy days when there’s no studying and no work shifts to be had. In the summer, you often spend your days stretched out across Astarion’s bed while he reads or writes, and you have more than enough sex to pass the times.

It’s far less organized here, but you take your time swallowing around his cock, sliding him as far down as you can into the back of your throat until Astarion is making little, wild noises. He’s trying to keep quiet, and you do your best to peek at him from the angle you’re at. He might as well be a work of art with how he looks. His eyebrows are taut, and he’s biting his bottom lip so ferociously you think you ought to be concerned. Astarion’s eyes soften when he notices you’re watching, and that’s more than what you need to sit up and slide your sweatshirt off over your head. It’s peak romanticism to fuck nasty in the empty Taco Bell parking lot.

You lean forward and take Astarion’s cock into your mouth again with intent. It’s not the most comfortable angle to suck him off at, but you’re determined to keep his eyes on you even if it means you’ll have the world's sorest neck in the morning. Because you’re watching, Astarion makes an effort to watch you as well. He fights against the fluttering of his eyelashes, determined to see you until the very end.

His skin is soft and hot against your tongue, and you focus on breathing through your nose and fight against your own budding arousal. You want to feast on him, to give him something to enjoy since it was your idea to do something like this in your car. You pay close attention to the soft tip of his cock as you suckle it, pressing little licks against the underside of his head, moaning softly even though your elbows are beginning to ache from the angle. You would bring him to completion like this if he would let you, but you can tell by the way his eyes seem to burn that he has other plans.

‘You’re insatiable,’ Astarion repeats, laughing low in the back of his throat.

He lifts you by the chin and kisses you, unfazed by the spit and the drool and the slightly salty taste that sits on the tip of your tongue. If Astarion wasn’t into it, he would let you know. But if you’re insatiable, then he’s equally as deranged. He guides you over the console and into his lap, pulling and tugging at your sweatpants and underwear until they’re around your ankles.

You do try to keep some sense of decency. You push your sweatshirt in a bundle against the front window like that’ll do anything to hide the scene, and he leans his seat as far back as he possibly can without straining too much. Now is not the time for romance, you decide. You’re used to begging Astarion to fuck you, to batting your eyelashes and playing up how shy you are about your wants and needs, but there’s no time for that now at three in the morning. You rut against him, holding his hands against your hips.

It goes without saying that the lewdness of the situation does cause your cheeks to flush. You hide your face into Astarion’s neck and try to pray away the shame. But you aren’t ashamed of your lust, you aren’t ashamed of your desire  —  Your only concern is the embarrassment of how close to Astarion you want to be, never mind the faint perfume of the Fiesta Veggie Burrito that clings to his skin. 

You worm your way into his lap fully, feeling how hard his cock is between your legs, and grind against the thickness of it. He guides your movement ever so carefully, murmuring sweet things into your hair that he wouldn’t be caught dead saying to anyone else. You’re amazing, don’t hide yourself from me, let us enjoy this together, and all other lyrics that Astarion is proud of. Finally, you reach between your thighs and take his cock into your hands, guiding it inside of you. You don’t have time to tease him, to take your time lowering yourself against his hips until he’s gripping your hips so hard you might bruise. You sink down onto him as quickly as you can, and gasp once you’re fully seated.

Gods, you’ll never get used to the feeling of him inside. He’s so thick and long that you feel impossibly full, that any movement you make will make you cum right then and there. Your hands always shake when you’ve taken him all the way to the hilt, and you bite your bottom lip to focus on the task at hand. This isn’t just about you and how easy it is to make your core burst with pleasure. This is about Astarion too. You want to thank him for all his hard work, to praise him even though he hates it, and you smile. Astarion smiles too. His eyes always get so soft when he looks at you… He’s never looked happier than he has when he looks at you.

Astarion’s hands rub soothingly up and down your spine. The touch is encouraging, is relaxing, and distracting. But no matter how hard he tries, he can't distract you from the way he looks up at you adoringly, almost as if he’s ever seen anything like it before. You relish in the heavy weight of his gaze, tilting your chin so that he can admire everything, and he does. Astarion watches you like someone would admire art at a gallery. He follows every line of your body that he can see, the curve of your neck, the fragility of your cheekbones, and runs his hands against your skin as though it’s the first time he’s ever felt it. It makes you feel special.

And of course, you are special. You were Astarion’s first after a string of countless conquests.

Astarion rubs his hands up against your sides, clasping his fingers taut around your waist so that he can guide you along the length of his cock. It’s all so simple. Astarion likes touching you in whatever way he can manage, especially after hours apart. You spend most of your time familiarizing yourself with the warmth of his hands as he traces his fingers against your spine, or pets through your hair, or massages any tense muscles that might be frustrating you.

He’s even more handsy during sex. You haven’t even moved yet, and he’s tugging at you, biting his lip as if that’ll keep him from trembling. Astarion has always been sensitive, but the recklessness of the situation seems to have riled him up. He paws at your hips. He’s desperate, intent, for some sort of sensation and you’re equally as needy, an overwhelming fullness causing you to shift your weight one more time so that you can balance on either side of his thighs without too much discomfort in a cramped space. You swallow, and slowly, pull yourself off his cock until you’re painfully empty again.

Astarion pushes his hands up beneath your undershirt. You stole it from his side of the bed before you came, somewhat desperate to be wrapped up in his scent. He presses his cheek against yours, and you kiss him  —  biting the swell of his lower lip and lapping at his tongue when he hums in response. He parts his lips for you and you kiss him messily, turned on by the way he arches at your intuitiveness.

It’s only then that you start really grinding against his lap, pushing his cock back against your core and rising off of it again, bouncing in his lap as he encourages you to do so. Astarion smiles against your teeth and digs his fingers into the curve of your ass. He pulls against his chest and further into his lap, filling you so full of his cock and encouraging you to rut against his hips so that the feel of it is the only thing you can think of.

Astarion is everywhere.

In your thoughts, in your mouth, in your body and mind.

‘Impatient,’ you whisper to him, trying to still your hips but even the thought of him sitting there while you take your pleasure is enough to send tingles down to your toes.

‘As if I’ll ever have enough of you,’ he murmurs in response. He tilts his chin back and offers you his throat. You bite the tender space beneath his jaw and suckle the skin, tasting a bruise blossom beneath your tongue. ‘O  —  Oh, that’s it.’

Astarion practically purrs as you leave your mark against his skin. You focus on that, claiming his neck right above the collar of his work shirt so that everyone will know the truth. Astarion Ancunín is yours.

‘Like that,’ he whispers soothingly.

Astarion shows his neediness like this, moaning faintly as you turn your attention to making another hickey. While you do that, he helps you grind and ride his cock, his fingers tucked neatly in the junction where your ass meets your thighs. He pulls you up and down his length without any strain, and it thrills you so much that your toes curl and you try to squeeze your thighs together. You whine against his throat.

‘You’re not the only one who doesn’t play fair,’ Astarion warns you.

He uses all of the strength you forget he has to bounce you in his lap. The pleasure is so intense it distracts you from your artwork, and you cry against his collarbone and cling to him. His cock causes you to feel empty and full  —  like you’ll never get enough of what he has to offer you.

And, well, any thoughts of playing fair after that have gone out the window along with your shame. The front seat of your car is cramped and tight, but you’re not really thinking about comfort as you chase that heat between your legs for something greater. Astarion does most of the work for you between the way he talks nasty and fucks even nastier, unable to keep his hands to himself for even a few seconds.

If his hands aren’t cradling your ass, then they’re beneath your thighs and if they aren’t there, it’s because he wants to torment you further by fucking into you hard by holding onto your hips as hard as his trembling hands will allow him.

Everything feels way too tight. The walls of your car seem to be caving in, and your clothes are suddenly clinging to you in a way that’s bothersome. You want to be closer to Astarion, to have fully melded your bodies together  —  and you curse the setting because if you had just been patient, you’d be halfway home to a comfortable bed.

‘You’re naughty,’ Astarion whispers, and it does something for you. ‘Did you miss me  —  Oh fuck, that’s good.’

You bite his neck to keep him from talking. If Astarion talks, you’re going to lose whatever decorum you have left. You wrap your arms around his neck and whine softly in his ear, nuzzling against his warm skin.

‘I missed you,’ you whisper against his neck.

‘I know you did,’ he murmurs, stroking your hip. ‘I can  —  Mm, I can tell how badly you missed me. Look at how well you’re riding my cock.’

‘Astarion  —  ’

‘I love the way you say my name,’ Astarion whispers fiercely. ‘I could listen to it all night and day. Say it again for me, pet. I’ll make you say my name.’

Heat causes your cheeks to flush. You’ll never get used to the casual way he says the raunchiest things, and yet, you can’t help but shiver against his chest at the observation. You wouldn’t have said that you were doing well at it. The roof is short, your legs are cramping, but somehow, that makes the feeling even better. There isn’t much room for you to go, and for that you’re grateful. It means Astarion can’t tease you endlessly with the length of his cock. Every move you make has to be short, frantic, calculated, and the tip of Astarion’s cock is pressed so deeply against your core that you can barely stand it.

‘Oh, it’s so much,’ you gasp.

‘Yeah?’ he muses. ‘You were made for me. You were made to take my cock. You’ll take it for me, you’ll cum for me.’

He uses his knowledge of all your favorite tricks against you. You cannot escape his grasp, one arm wound tight around your waist while the other now presses lightly against the nape of your neck. Astarion kisses the side of your mouth passionately and keeps you even closer than the limits of your surroundings. That riles you up even more.

‘I want to  —  I want to, Astarion, oh  —  ’

You drag your hips up carelessly, unburdened by shame or nervousness. You’ve known Astarion since your first day in the city, and you’ve been through enough and had each other enough to no longer feel embarrassed by your needs, not that Astarion had ever let you feel insecure about anything. You whine against his neck, and he kisses you fully then, a pouty mouth against your needy tongue, and then you maneuver yourself in his lap so perfectly that it catches Astarion off-guard and he moans fully against your chin.

You lose yourself in the feeling and the sound. Astarion’s moans sound even better in a tight, enclosed space. His voice is soft, low, dangerous when it needs to be, and he only becomes this unraveled with you.

It’s an intoxicating feeling. You cry softly, nose bumping against his, and fall apart at the sound of his arousal, the feeling of his fingers dancing across the back of your neck, the sharp ecstasy that burns like a wildfire in the center of your stomach. You want to chase your release now. To find it in his lap, against his throat, softly and hoarsely in his ear. But you aren’t ready, not yet, and it takes all of your nerves to pull away.

It’s humid inside the car now. You take a quick look at the sight. You reach for stability, your palm sliding against the fogged window, smearing a glance into the darkness outside. You rest your other hand against the center console and arched your back, height leveraged against Astarion so that he can see you fully. He’s quick to respond to your change in position, no longer kneeling forward, but high above him like you’re sitting on a throne.

Astarion’s hands slide beneath the shirt you have left, palms trailing smoothly up the arc of your belly, warming the skin of your chest. He sighs handsomely and stares at you, leaning back so that he might enjoy the sight of you fully. And now that you’re able to, you’re able to pull fully all the way off the length of him, leaving him without the feel of you clenched tight around his cock. You’re only able to wait a few seconds for your own sake before you’re wiggling all the way back down until you are right back to where the gods want you to be.

‘You look delicious,’ Astarion says proudly, wearing a familiar half-smile.

‘For you,’ you confess. And it’s true.

‘You always look so beautiful to me,’ Astarion says in a tone that reminds you of when a cat has had its fair share of milk. He’s preening, cocksure. ‘Go on,’ he adds. ‘Fuck yourself for me.’

You swallow hard and do as ordered with a different rhythm. No longer do you seek out slow assured strokes. These are quick movements, careless, unpracticed and unmeasured, and Astarion helps you with two thumbs pressed against your stomach. It’s his turn to lean as far back as he can to give you all the room you need, and while it isn’t perfect, it’s probably the second hottest thing the two of you have done together. Fucking in a car in an empty parking lot. Your fingers slip against the window and Astarion catches you by the elbow, sliding his hand up your forearm so that he can wrap his fingers around yours.

‘Like that, beautiful,’ he says encouragingly, helping you. ‘You’re close, aren’t you? Don’t you want to?’

You nod, unable to trust how your words would sound. One way or another, he always gets what he wants, and you know that with enough time and focus on your pleasure, Astarion will have you mewling.

‘Come on, baby,’ Astarion encourages you, and you can’t help but follow his every command. ‘I love the way you ride me  —  I was made to fill you up, you take my cock so well.’

His words only make you even more frenzied, riding him to the best of your abilities just so he’ll say something sweet about you again. He babbles nonsensical things about you, and if you were in a clearer headspace, you’d be able to make out his words but all you understand now is the nerves building up in the very bottom of your stomach as you chase satisfaction, so determined to see his face once it’s all over.

He coos at you, chin tilting all the way back so you’re able to stare at his pale throat. A gorgeous throat, sleek and elegant, wearing proof of your existence in little bruises and bites that are both new and almost healed. You want to bite him again, to let your teeth graze his Adam’s apple while he talks about politics that you barely understand, and with that, you reach for the back of his neck so that you can slam your mouths together in a clumsy kiss. Astarion hisses, and then he’s biting your lower lip until it swells, and you kiss him so sweetly your head spins.

And from there, you don’t last long. Your legs are shaking harder than they’ve ever shook before, and your chest feels so tight and your cheeks feel so hot that you’re almost incapable of thinking. All you see and know is Astarion. Astarion, lounging against your passenger seat, his own cheeks ruddy and his expression twisted in pleasure. You cry out and collapse forward, burrowing into his chest as tightly as you can. He wraps his arms around you, kisses your temple.

‘Astarion, Astarion, please!’

‘Just like that, my love  —  ’ he gasps against your crown, grunting as his release hits him hard. ‘Like that, my pet, you’re perfect, my dear, my dear heart  —  ’

Your core tightens at his sweet words, and then it’s your churn to choke out a hoarse cry as pleasure races through your spine so sharply that it must hurt. You bite down on his shoulder for comfort, moaning as you try to come to your senses.

It’s somehow both hot and cold inside your little car. Everything is sticky with sweat, and the moisture in the air has started to cause Astarion’s hair to frizz up. You’re boneless. It’s only fair that he takes it upon himself to pull you up from his cock, tucking you back into your baggy sweatpants. You hover awkwardly, his cum on your thighs, while he drags his work pants up his slender thighs. You aren’t sure who is groggier, but when you glance at the clock on the dashboard, mild horror thickens in your stomach. You feel faint.

It might have been nearly three in the morning when Astarion was released from his duties, but it’s now four in the morning, give or take a few minutes. You start to make your way over to the driver’s side again, about to inelegantly climb across the center console when Astarion grabs you by the waist and kisses the side of your head gently.

‘You stay put,’ he mumbles. He sounds positively fucked thorough.

‘I made you stay up late,’ you say guiltily, but he shrugs.

‘Honestly, you did all the hard work,’ he says with a snort. ‘Lay back and close your eyes, darling. I’ll drive. Thank the gods it's the weekend.’

He opens the passenger door, and the cool air of the morning smells so refreshing to the smell of sex that permeates everything else. He stretches for a minute before coming back. He kisses your forehead tenderly, nudging your nose with his.

‘Love you,’ you murmur.

‘Love you,’ he says.

It all happens so quickly. You’re faintly aware of the sound of Astarion snapping his seatbelt in, your car humming to life, an Alfira ballad playing so quietly in the background it might as well not even be on. You’re so warm and toasty that you can’t keep yourself from leaning your head against the window. If you fall asleep before the first redlight, Astarion doesn’t say anything. All you can recall once you get home is a strong pair of arms holding you tightly, and the pillow you stole from his side of the bed, and his back against your chest.

As it should be.

#astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion x oc #astarion smut #bg3 smut #from ，carcosa . #anonymous #my fic #taco bell tag

[penvisions]

sneakie peek {buckles and barley}

Pairing: Rancher! Jack Daniels x Ranch hand! Reader

A/N: this is a teaser for the series, i'm beginning to outline it and wanted to share a little bit with you since i'm not sure when posting will begin

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

Bright sunshine reflected off the frame around rearview mirror, making you squint your eyes to see through the amber of your sunglasses as it hit you square in the eye. The blue expanse of the sky littered with wispy clouds blurred.

The rumbling of the engine underneath the hood was a comfort that had soothed you since childhood. Such a simple thing, to be in a vehicle that was hurtled down asphalt, eating it up foot by foot, yard by yard, mile by mile. Taking you to someplace new, transporting you into a liminal space where you didn’t have to think about anything but the road stretched out in front of you.

You glance at the directions you had printed out and laid over the passenger seat, too anxious to have typed it into your phone or into the device installed on your dash. The matte screen of it was blank, the power wire bouncing with the turbulence of the moving vehicle. It looked like there was two more curves on your path to the destination and you began to turn the wheel ever so slightly to take the one coming up. The crunch of errant pebbles underneath the tires wiping the anxiety away as the hills all around you flattened out to open plains.

Lush, tall grass as far as you could see, wooden fences winding through patches of the land. Splotches of dark color corralled within the spaces. You wondered what they could be, thoughts lost until a long, high-pitched whistle broke the peace within the cab as it snuck inside your cracked windows. You turned your head along with the closest herd of animals.

You don’t know how you initially missed the shape of the tall man atop a horse as it galloped over the land. The steady beat of hooves on the ground mirroring the ones of your heart as your eyes took in the figure. From the top of his wide brimmed cowboy hat to the spurs on his boots. He was in a complete partnership with the horse he was perched on, both of them working seamlessly together to circle around a body of what you could assume was cattle as the shine of horns glinted in the sun.

A lasso whipping up into the air had you subconsciously slowing down, your right foot lifting off of the accelerator pedal. Directing the vehicle out of the middle of the road, stopping to a crawl along the right side. Distantly following the pair as they successfully landed a hold on biggest one of the herd and began to guide them away from where they had been roaming.

Stopping at the line of wooden fence that must’ve outlined a part of his property, the man dismounted and effortlessly unhinged a portion of it and swung it open. With smooth movements and controlled balance, the man was back in the saddle.  Another sharp whistle had the herd of cattle moving through the open fence.

Breath catching in your throat as the man turned to face you across the plain, his left hand secure around the horse’s reigns while his right lifted up to tilt his hat in a greeting. You could see from your spot on the road, the vehicle barely moving along now that your foot was easing down on the brake, that he was grinning.

Heat flooded your cheeks as you realized not only had you been outright starting as the stranger went about his day, but that your vehicle had nearly halted as you did so. The sound of your engine still running giving you away. You raised your hand up in response, palm open and fingers trembling slightly.

With a click of his tongue to guide the horse after the herd, he turned around in the saddle, lasso circling in the air above him in a hypnotizing manner. Snapping his wrist, the rope flew out to wrap around the top of the open partition and it clanged shut with a tug. Turning back around to face forward, the horse sped off and disappeared over the other side of a rolling hill.

taglist: @morallyinept @readingiskeepingmegoing @cumberpegg @hiddenbabynyc

@persephone-girl @agiroflee98 @sawymredfox @fuckyeahdindjarin

#dev writes #fic: buckles and barley #kingsmen golden circle #jack daniels #jack daniels fanfiction #jack daniels series #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels x you #agent whiskey #agent whiskey fanfiction #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #jack daniels smut #jack daniels fic #agent whiskey smut #agent whiskey fic #kingsman fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #ranch life #soft vibes

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Forget-Me-Not 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Loki

Summary: You return to your childhood home to put the past to rest.

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You never really thought of Hammer Ford as home. You only ever tried to forget it and the turbulent years of your childhood. You let the memories haze away with the chaos of the urban rush. Office doors and honking cars easily overwrote the map work of your mind. A less than glamorous life, but peaceful. That’s all you ever wanted.

Your return is inevitable. You knew that. For years, you outran that fact. One day, you would need to face those dusty rural roads and the whispers in the wind. That day has come despite your stubbornness. A week after the news came and you could find no other excuse to stay away.

Not home, just the past. A piece of you you can’t erase. A shame you’ll never fully shake.

The welcome sign, beneath an iron statue of a hammer on a cloud, marks the village edge. You grip the wheel tighter and swallow dryly. Your bladder aches from the coffee you chugged after the last rest stop. You still have some ways to go.

Funny to think that despite its sprawling roads sparse layout, that the populace is so tight knit, the small hamlet untouched by the world outside. The same red barn up on the hill, the gate of the Grove in all its resplendence, and the short strip of businesses before the earth rolls into hills and flattens to fields.

You steer off into the northeast. The Maps app stopped working a few miles back. You don’t need the automated voice to guide you. It all comes back to you so clearly. Just around this curve and behind the barn, there’s the old path behind the Berrys. On and on, behind the overgrown brush to the house by the river. 

Your tires mulch in the dirt as you brake. You shift and shut off the engine, looking out at the peeling wooden facade. The house was once a cottage in the glory days of the village, then it was passed along until your parents’ signed the deed. By that time, it was already derelict.

It hasn’t gotten better. The windows are cracked and dusty, the door splintered, and the front steps crooked. You get out and cross your arms, breathing in the damp forest air.

You feel nothing looking up at that shit hole. You thought the sight of it would bring the flood, but nothing. You shake your head. They said your mother was found in the kitchen, at the table with a bottle of vodka. You never expected anything different for her. At last, she’ll be happy. She’s off to see your father again.

You approach the porch but can’t make yourself climb the steps. There’s something blocking, some unseen wall. You just want to turn around, get in the car, and pretend it’s all a dream. Just like you had for all those years.

You lean your head back and blow out through your lips. Eventually you’ll have to go inside. You need sleep. You could curl up in your backseat again but your hips are ragged from last night. You’re supposed to meet Jan tomorrow. He’s got a casket ready and then you have to go to the church to discuss the service. You don’t think they’ll be much of one.

The hotel isn’t an option. Not for you.

As you glare up at the front door, you hear snapping sticks and the hum of another engine. You turn and watch the dark shadow slowly rolling between the trees. The forest green car turns in just behind your bumper and idles as you squint at the tinted windshield. 

A curious villager isn’t unexpected. Everyone probably knows old Nadia is dead. You just hoped they’d leave you alone, at least until tomorrow.

You cross your arms and steel yourself. The driver’s door opens and a tall man steps out, his imperious nose sniffing the scent of river water and crinkling. Your chest feels as if it might gave in as his emerald eyes meet yours.

Loki Odinson. The last person you expected. The last person you ever wanted to run into. He turns and opens the back door of the car, reaching in and pulling out a basket of flowers. Your temper curdles up to the back of your throat. How dare he?

“My mother and father send their condolences,” he shuts the door and strides across the dirt. You look down at his leather shoes, should he be dirtying them here?

You just stare at him. You have no words, not that you’re much of a talker. What is there to say? Your mother’s dead and you’re stuck dealing with this dirt hole.

“Hm,” he angles past you and puts the basket on the top step, “should brighten the place up.”

You keep your arms crossed as you stare at him. He looks at you again, his eyes flickering, as if he’s surprised by your gaze. He just remembers the girl who kept her head down, the one with no voice and no backbone.

“Very sorry to hear it. Rather sad way to go. All alone.”

“Tell your parents, it’s appreciated,” you turn and march up the steps, dropping your arms.

You hear a scrape and shift to peek at his silhouette from the corner of your eye. He has his foot propped on the lowest step. The porch groans loudly under your weight.

“And I drove all the way here,” he says.

You shrug. You didn’t ask or expect it. That isn’t your problem.

He’s silent, waiting. He’s just like the rest of Hammer Ford, he hasn’t changed. He’s still the spoiled brat awaiting his prize. Well, you haven’t got one for him. You have nothing for him, no tears, no anger, just indifference.

“I see,” he says at last, “you must be tired from the road, no doubt. Of course, you’ve just lost a parent, I can hardly expect glowing conversation… not that I ever did from you.”

You don’t flinch. You go to the front door and pull out the key you dug out of your old jewelry box. It still works. You let yourself in as the hinges whine loudly. You don’t look back as you let the door clatter shut behind you. 

There’s a lull before you hear the engine flip and hum. You stand, listening, waiting for him to be gone. Just like when you were young, hiding behind that door from that boy. Well, you’re both grown now.

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #drabble #series #au #backwoods au #mcu #marvel #thor #avengers #forget-me-not

[wingsofilia]

Waifu Meter

“Um. Sis, I think you broke the machine.”

 :) 

#(( DASH GAMES - Leisure at Camp )) #(( CRACK - Turbulent Winds )) #// Shindan really trying to butter up Fiora here xD

[spid3r-trans]

Mermaid Miles.

Shitty boat, shitty crew, shitty captain.

Well, Captain might be too generous of a word. Captain implies an earned rank, a position of power— not someone who stole his ship from an unsuspecting bureaucrat, who’s crew gave him the title in irony— but either way, the SS Anarchy is under the command of Captain Hobie Brown.

She’s held together by nails and rope— and worse— by a band of teenage runaways with a knack for getting into trouble. It’s a wonder that the ship is still afloat, let alone careening across a turbulent sea as she is now.

A heavy storm is brewing in the clouds overhead, but still the naval ships are hot in pursuit, undeterred by the worsening weather.

“Gwen,“ Hobie shouts over the sound of waves crashing, “Tell me you’ve got good news!”

His first mate peers down at him from the top of the lookout tower, her face grim.

“I didn’t want to alarm anyone,” she says barely audible above the wind, “but things are definitely not going in our favor right now!”

It’s the understatement of the century. Some sort of…vortex, a whirlpool, has started to form in the water in front of the ship— pulling them towards an inevitable, watery, grave.

“Gwendy!” He shouts back, “if we survive this, you’re fired.” It’s an empty threat, none of them actually have jobs or assigned roles, but this doesn’t stop Gwen from her dry response.

“Aye, aye captain!”

There’s nothing he can do. No order he can give, no enemy to distract, no trick he can use to get them out of this. So Hobie grits his teeth and gives his crew one final piece of advice.

“Everyone, hang on to something!”

——

Hobie shouldn’t have survived. In fact, he’s not convinced he did survive. He can remember the water rising up around him, the crack of the hull as she split, something hitting him on the head— and then darkness. He remembers darkness but also, bizarrely, a flash of yellow— hazy in his memory but still present. No, there’s no way he survived. Yet, here he is— sputtering and coughing on a beach.

His eyes have to adjust as he sits up, and even after, he has to blink several times to make sure they’re working properly. What he sees only confirms his theories. There’s no way he survived— because what he’s looking at is impossible.

Carefully perched upon a rock a few feet from the shore, blinking back at Hobie curiously— is his savior. A boy around his age, dark-skinned with sun-freckled cheeks. Golden scales dapple his entire body, matching the ones that extend down his torso into a long tail. A living myth, a legend— and above all —the most beautiful creature Hobie has ever seen.

#fens fics #spiderverse #ask and ye shall receive #sorry i made it flowerpunk tho who could’ve seen that coming #flowerpunk #punkflower #i still don’t know #this was fun tho i might continue it

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Kara Prince AU Pt 8

Months later, Kara has yet to leave Ireland. When she isn't helping Lena in the flower shop, she fills her days writing and painting, indulging in the hobbies she rarely had time for before.

But when Lena is late coming home from the shop, Kara goes in search of her. The moment she steps into the shop the air turns humid and heavy like it feels before a storm. Static electricity crackles along Kara's arms, lifting the hairs there to stand on end the closer she gets to Lena-- who is less tending to her plants than she is jabbing them with angry fingers.

"Hey," Kara says carefully, alerting Lena to her presence. Lena doesn't turn around at the greeting. "Everything okay?"

"Fine."

A wind rises briefly from nowhere, rustling the leaves around Kara before falling away to nothing once more.

"Lena..." Risking a static shock, Kara reaches out to touch Lena's shoulder, she gently but firmly turns her girlfriend to face her. "What's happened?"

Lena scowls to one side, refusing to meet Kara's gaze. "Nothing." Then, "Some asshole came into the shop today."

That surprises Kara-- not just the asshole part, but the lack of identity. Tourist season is mostly over, which means fewer strangers coming to the shop.

"He insulted you?" Probably American.

"My mother."

The admission comes with a small crack of lightning over their heads. Lena's eyes fill with angry tears.

"Oh, Lena..."

Kara knows how deeply Lena loves and misses her mother. To hear a single disparaging remark, from a stranger besides, would cut her to the core. When Kara opens her arms, Lena steps into them, tucking herself into their familiar embrace.

The increasing air pressure releases suddenly as Lena hiccups softly, and the rain and tears start coming. Unfazed by the turbulent weather inside the shop, Kara simply hugs Lena, leaning their heads together in silent comfort.

When Lena pulls away, the rain continues, but the static electricity fades.

"Did he give you his name?" Kara asks. She has no idea what she'll do with the information, but it would at least make her feel better to be able to recognize the man if she ran into him elsewhere in the village.

"Luthor," she says bitterly, wiping her eyes. "He said his name was Lex Luthor."

#supercorp #kara prince au #uh oh #not angst #just some rising action #as a treat

[writerinloves-blog]

Chapter 3 of my Kit Tanthalos x OFC.

I hope you guys enjoy it, we are getting into the plot of the show next chapter ♥️♥️

The room was bathed in the soft, early morning light, a delicate hue of gold seeping through the cracks in the curtains. The world outside was still and serene, a stark contrast to the turbulence within Lyra's mind. The remnants of a restless night clung to her, haunting her thoughts like the fading echoes of a distant storm.

Unable to find solace in sleep, Lyra had spent the night in the grip of a recurring dream, a vision of a castle standing defiantly amidst the chaos of a thunderstorm. Its location remained unknown to her, yet the dream had left her profoundly unsettled. In the quiet predawn hours, she sat on the edge of her bed, wrapping her arms around herself as if to shield herself against the unseen forces that had troubled her subconscious.

Through the small window in her shared chamber with Bruni, Lyra sought refuge in the sky, watching as the first tendrils of sunlight began to paint the heavens with delicate hues of pink and gold. The sunrise, usually a source of comfort, felt distant today, unable to penetrate the shadows that clung to her thoughts.

After a while, determination sparked in her eyes, and a silent decision was made amidst the silent whispers of dawn. Rising, she moved with purpose, choosing to face the day despite the heaviness in her heart. She selected her attire thoughtfully, the fabric cool against her skin, and deftly braided her hair, the practiced motions a familiar anchor in the midst of uncertainty.

Her gaze shifted towards Bruni, still lost in the depths of slumber, her face peaceful in the soft morning light. A tender smile tugged at the corners of Lyra's lips. She approached Bruni's bed, leaning down to gently rouse her from her dreams. Bruni stirred, her protest evident until Lyra's voice, soft as a whispering breeze, reached her ears.

"I'm leaving, 'B'," Lyra said, her fingers threading lightly through Bruni's tousled, blonde hair. "I'll see you later during breakfast."

Bruni, her eyes heavy with sleep, nodded slightly, a gesture of understanding. With a final, affectionate touch. Lyra left the room, her heart heavy with the weight of the dream but determined to face the day ahead.

The castle was awakening, a symphony of muted noises filling the air as servants hurried about their tasks. Lyra, with her morning duties yet to claim her attention, found solace in the quiet moments before the day truly began. Since that night, that pivotal conversation with the princess, something had shifted in the atmosphere of the castle. A subtle change, imperceptible to most, but keenly felt by Lyra.

Walking through the winding corridors, she mulled over the recent exchange with Kit. They were far from friendship, that much was clear, but a bridge, tentative and fragile, seemed to have been built between them. The tension that once crackled in the air between them had mellowed into a quiet understanding, and that brought a rare smile to Lyra's lips.

Her steps, guided by a newfound purpose, led her to the castle gardens. The vibrant blooms were a riot of color, a stark contrast to the somber stone of the castle walls. Perhaps, Lyra mused, a touch of nature's beauty could bring some warmth to the princess's chambers. With careful hands, she began selecting flowers, each choice made with precision and care. Roses, delicate and fragrant, found a place among daisies and tulips, their colors blending into a harmonious arrangement.

Satisfied with her selection, she prepared to leave, her arms cradling the bouquet gently. But just as she turned, her gaze fell upon a lily. A flower she had avoided since her teenage years, the memory of a past she wished to forget associated with its elegant petals. Yet, this particular lily was different. Its pristine white seemed untouched by the stains of the past, and its fragrance hung heavy in the air, promising a sweetness that beckoned Lyra.

Caught between past aversion and present curiosity, Lyra hesitated. Then, with a determined breath, she bent down, her fingers gently cradling the lily's stem. Four lilies joined the bouquet, their presence a testament to Lyra's silent resolve to face the ghosts of her past. With the bouquet in hand, she made her way to the castle kitchens.

The kitchens were a bustling haven of activity, a sanctuary for sizzling pans and the fragrant dance of spices. Lyra's entrance was greeted with the sweet morning greetings of the maids, their smiles warm and genuine. Their camaraderie, the unspoken language of shared tasks, was a comforting melody in the young woman's ears.

With the careful grace of a practiced hand, Lyra placed the bouquet on an empty table, the vibrant colors a stark contrast to the neutral tones of the kitchen. Her fingers, accustomed to the tender touch of petals, lingered over the blossoms. Each flower held a memory, a delicate thread linking her to a time when her mother's hands, just as skilled as her own, had woven tapestries of blooms to make every new place they visited feel like home. The art of arranging flowers had always been more than a task; it was a cherished tradition, a piece of her mother that Lyra carried with her wherever she went.

Today, amid the quietude of the kitchen and the fragrant blooms before her, the weight of her responsibilities seemed to lift, if only for a moment. A soft smile graced her lips as she lost herself in the intricate dance of arranging the flowers, a skill that brought her not just joy, but a profound sense of connection to her roots.

In the midst of her task, the world outside the petals blurred. For a while, there was only the scent of the flowers, the gentle rustle of leaves, and the memories of her mother's laughter interwoven with the fragrance of blooming roses. It was a brief escape, a respite from the duties that weighed her down and the expectations that bound her.

But the tranquility shattered like glass when a hush fell over the kitchen. The ambient sounds hushed, replaced by the soft footsteps of someone entering. An intuitive prickle danced at the edges of Lyra's awareness, a subconscious recognition of a presence. The sudden silence stirred her curiosity, her blue eyes lifting from the blooms to find the source of the interruption.

"Good morning, Your Highness," a maid's voice, laced with deference, broke the quietude. The title hung in the air, reverberating with a weight that made Lyra's heart skip a beat. Slowly, her gaze traveled beyond the maid, and there, in the doorway, stood Kit.

The sight surprised her, the princess's presence in the kitchen was an unexpected turn of events. The bouquet forgotten for the moment, Lyra's attention was now entirely captured by the royal figure framed in the doorway.

The kitchen was a symphony of morning sounds, the clinking of utensils, the crackle of the stove, and the soft murmur of the maids engaged in their tasks. Lyra's greeting cut through the ambiance, her voice carrying a warmth that matched the gentle sunlight filtering through the windows.

"Kit! You're up early!" she exclaimed, her smile as radiant as the dawn. Kit responded with a slight, almost imperceptible nod. But before their conversation could progress, Annora, a kitchen maid with an air of authority, interjected.

"Lyra Calloway! Do not call the princess by her given name; I raised you better than that!" Annora's reprimand was stern but not unkind. Lyra's shoulders straightened instinctively, and she dipped into a graceful curtsy, her eyes respectfully lowered in the presence of royalty.

"Sorry," Lyra murmured, chastened by Annora's admonishment.

"Oh, no, it's fine. I asked her to call me that," Kit intervened, her voice carrying a gentle authority that quelled any lingering tension. Annora and the other maids, now assured of the princess's permission, resumed their duties, leaving the space around Kit and Lyra uncluttered.

Lyra turned her gaze to Kit, her hand absently finding solace in the petals of a lily. The princess appeared ready for the day, and a mixture of concern and hope flickered in Lyra's eyes. She knew the significance of Kit's presence here; it meant she had likely faced a troubling night. Before Lyra could voice her concern, Kit rushed to speak.

"I couldn't sleep, not after a conversation I had with my mother last night," Kit confessed, her words rushed as if she needed to expel them before they weighed her down further.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Lyra said softly, her eyes filled with understanding. The unspoken question hung between them: What had transpired between mother and daughter to cast this shadow over Kit's morning?

Distracted, Kit's attention shifted to the array of food in the kitchen. "Is there something I could eat?" she inquired, her words almost tumbling over each other in haste.

"Sure, breakfast will be served in an hour, but we already have bread if you'd like some," Lyra offered, gesturing toward a tray laden with freshly baked bread. Kit nodded her gratitude, selecting a piece and retreating to a quiet corner to enjoy her simple repast.

Lyra watched her, the lily forgotten in her hand. A thought, soft as a whisper, flitted through her mind. Perhaps Kit would appreciate the lily today. Perhaps Kit would choose the lily this time. The notion hung in the air, unspoken but pregnant with significance.

"Who picked the flowers?" Kit asked between bites, her curiosity piqued by the vibrant blooms on the table.

"Oh! You like them?" Lyra's eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. The possibility that her gesture had been appreciated warmed her heart.

"It's absurd," Kit said, her words measured, her gaze resting on the flowers. "I mean, they would die in a matter of days."

Lyra's fingers loosened around the lily, and she instinctively tucked it behind her back. "Yeah... absurd," she agreed, her voice soft, almost melancholic.

Silence enveloped them for a few moments, a contemplative quietude that hung in the air like a fragile thread. Lyra cleared her throat, her eyes meeting Kit's with gentle concern.

"Is there something I can help you with?" she asked, her voice a soothing melody in the midst of the kitchen's morning bustle.

"No, I'm ready for the day. I think I'll go and spend some time with Airk until breakfast," Kit replied, her tone light but her eyes carrying a hint of lingering unease. With that, she left the kitchens

Lyra stood in the bustling kitchen, a curious blend of emotions swirling within her like ingredients in a complex recipe. After Kit's abrupt departure, a peculiar sense of quiet settled around her. The fragrant aroma of fresh bread wafted through the air, mingling with the delicate scent of flowers.

Without a word, Lyra turned, her nimble fingers deftly undoing the intricately woven bouquet she had so carefully crafted. Each blossom was dismantled with precision as if Lyra were disentangling her own thoughts, unraveling them one petal at a time.

A familiar presence approached, and Annora, the wise and nurturing figure who had guided Lyra through her time in the castle, questioned her softly. "What are you doing?" Annora's tone was gentle, her eyes reflecting the empathy she felt for the young girl before her.

"I just think that maybe the bouquet was too big for just one chamber," Lyra replied, her voice a mere whisper in the bustling kitchen. Her gaze fell upon the scattered flowers, each one holding a story of its own, a tale whispered in delicate hues and fragrant notes.

Annora's hand touched Lyra's arm, the touch a comforting reassurance amidst the storm of emotions. "Were you going to put them in the princess's chamber?" Annora inquired, her eyes filled with understanding. Lyra nodded, her eyes betraying a hint of vulnerability

"So, I was thinking of making smaller ones, just in case someone else wants one," Lyra explained, her voice carrying a note of quiet determination. The act of creating, of weaving beauty from raw materials, was Lyra's solace, a sanctuary where the troubles of the world melted away beneath the artistry of her hands.

A warm smile graced Annora's lips, a smile that held a wealth of affection for the girl who had become like a daughter to her. "Well, I would love to have one when you finish," Annora declared, her words a testament to the bond they shared. She leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss on Lyra's forehead, a silent acknowledgment of the love and respect that flowed between them.

And so, amidst the bustling kitchen and the intoxicating scent of flowers, Lyra continued her work, her hands moving with a grace born of both skill and love.

With the bouquets cradled carefully in her arms, Lyra made her way through the bustling corridors of the castle, the vibrant colors of the flowers a stark contrast to the stone walls that surrounded her. Annora's bouquet, lovingly crafted, was left behind on the kitchen table, a testament to the bond between the maid and the young flower enthusiast.

As she walked, her steps infused with purpose, Lyra's keen eyes spotted Bruni, her ever-curious friend, standing nearby. Bruni's greeting, usually joyful, quickly transformed into a puzzled expression as she took in the array of flowers in Lyra's arms.

"What are you doing?" Bruni inquired, her curiosity piqued by the sight before her.

"Just in the mood for flowers," Lyra replied, her lips curving into a small, mysterious smile. The enigmatic response only deepened Bruni's confusion, but she didn't press further, sensing that Lyra had her reasons.

Bruni's sharp eyes, however, didn't miss the distinctive lilies among the blooms. She pointed at the two lilies artfully arranged together and the solitary lily left in a corner of the kitchen. "Are those lilies?" Bruni questioned, her voice carrying a hint of surprise and concern.

Lyra met Bruni's gaze, her own eyes holding a mixture of determination and something else, something hidden beneath the surface. "Yes, even those. Goodbye," she said hurriedly, her words hanging in the air as she continued on her way, leaving Bruni standing there.

With grace in her steps and an air of purpose, Lyra moved through the corridors of the grand castle, her arms laden with colorful bouquets. The delicate fragrance of the flowers wafted around her, creating a sweet, comforting aura. Her first destination was Prince Airk's chamber. Lyra's heart swelled with a warm glow as she carefully placed a bouquet in his room, imagining the delight it would bring to Bruni. The thought of her friend's happiness filled her with a sense of accomplishment, a small act of kindness in a world often marred by complexities.

After leaving Airk's chamber, Lyra found herself standing before Kit's door. A moment of hesitation lingered in the air as she considered placing a bouquet inside. Yet, she remembered Kit's distaste for flowers, a preference that stood in stark contrast to Lyra's own love for the blossoms. A faint frown tugged at her lips, a silent acknowledgment of the divide between them. With a determined sigh, she chose to respect Kit's aversion and walked past the door.

As Lyra continued her journey through the castle, she tried to uplift her spirits, focusing on the positive aspects of the day ahead. The vibrant sunlight streaming through the stained glass windows illuminated her path, casting a mosaic of colors on the stone floor. The echoes of her footsteps resonated in the halls, accompanying her as she moved forward, both physically and emotionally, ready to face whatever challenges the day might bring.

Amidst the sunlit corridors of the castle, while Lyra embraced the day with optimism, a shadow seemed to loom over Kit. Her night had been restless, leaving her irritable and discontent. As she navigated the morning, an impending meeting with her mother cast a cloud over her otherwise strained mood.

Yet, in the midst of her turmoil, spending time with her brother, Airk, brought a semblance of comfort. Their ongoing conversation became her sanctuary, a refuge from the impending encounter with her mother. During breakfast, her mother attempted to engage her in conversation, but Kit, resolute in her decision, chose to immerse herself in the dialogue with Airk, a deliberate act of defiance against the discord that threatened to consume her day.

Under the cerulean sky, Kit bid farewell to her brother after breakfast, her steps purposeful as she headed towards the training grounds where Jade and Lyra awaited. The mere thought of joining her friends brought a hint of solace to her troubled heart. Even though she had only recently met Lyra, there was an inexplicable tranquility in the girl's presence that Kit found oddly comforting.

As Kit approached the pair, her eyes met Lyra's, and a genuine smile graced her lips. But before she could reach them, her joy waned as she noticed Lyra's departure. "Lyra, wait!" Kit's voice held a hint of disappointment, her confusion etched on her face. "You aren't staying?" she asked, her expectation of Lyra's presence during her training evident.

"No, I have some duties I need to tend to," Lyra replied, her departure leaving Kit standing there, a sense of abandonment gnawing at her.

Left with a frown, Kit turned her attention to Jade, who mirrored her confusion. Attempting to push aside the confusion, Kit greeted Jade, but her tone lacked its usual cheerfulness. "I am engaged," she stated plainly, her words hanging heavy in the air.

"What?" Jade's disbelief was palpable, her voice a mixture of shock and concern.

"I am to marry the prince of Galladoorn, five days from now," Kit continued hurriedly, her words laced with resignation. "My mother let me know yesterday."

A heavy silence fell between them. "Kit, are you okay?" Jade inquired, her worry evident as she followed Kit's steps.

"I am not, but there is no way to get me out of this," Kit confessed, her voice laced with bitterness and despair. Seeking solace in the conversation, Kit changed the subject, her eyes falling upon a small bouquet of lilies in Jade's hands.

"Are those lilies?" Kit asked, a tinge of curiosity coloring her tone, eager for a distraction.

"Oh, yes," Jade replied, momentarily distracted by the change in topic.

"I got a lily once, on my fourteenth birthday," Kit recalled, her voice softening with the memory. "It was left outside my chamber door. I never knew who left it there."

"What did you do with the lily?" Jade inquired, her curiosity piqued.

"Nothing. I was careful not to step on it and carried on with my day. When I returned in the afternoon, it was gone. Perhaps Airk took it and gave it to some girl," Kit replied, her voice tinged with melancholy.

"You never found out who left it?" Jade asked, her curiosity evident.

"No, and I never received another one. Where did you get the bouquet?" Kit inquired, her eyes drawn to the familiar blooms.

"Lyra gave it to me just before you arrived. She said she picked them out this morning. Isn't it lovely? She left some bouquets in the chambers," Jade explained, her fingers gently tracing the delicate petals.

A pang of regret washed over Kit as she realized her earlier thoughtless comment about the bouquets. If she had known Lyra had chosen them personally, she might have appreciated their beauty more. "Yes, it is," Kit murmured, her voice soft, her regret unspoken.

Tapping Jade's knee twice, Kit stood up, her determination flickering back into her eyes. She needed to focus on something positive. "Well, shall we start training for the day?" Kit asked, her tone slightly brighter, ready to lose herself in the familiar rhythm of combat.

The grandeur of the dining hall buzzed with conversations and clinking cutlery, but Kit's eyes flickered over the faces, searching for one that was conspicuously absent. Lyra. The absence struck her, a jarring discordance in the routine of their shared evenings. Even Airk, usually oblivious to the nuances of Kit's companions, noticed Lyra's absence, voicing his query with a furrowed brow. Kit's response was casual, dismissing her own concerns, but a lingering unease knotted her stomach.

Throughout dinner, Kit artfully maneuvered through conversations, her responses carefully calibrated to deter any further inquiries into her well-being. She managed to enjoy her meal in relative peace, stealing glances toward the door whenever it opened, hoping to see Lyra's familiar figure. But the night stretched on, and Lyra remained conspicuously absent.

Later, after dinner, Kit and Airk retreated to their chambers, their laughter echoing through the corridors as they raced up the stairs. Kit triumphed, her grin wide as she stood victorious at her chamber door, reveling in her win over her brother. As Airk retreated into his own room, Kit's eyes were drawn to a small bouquet of flowers delicately placed on a table. Lyra's bouquet. The sight brought a smile to her lips, a fleeting reassurance that perhaps all was well.

Yet, as Kit entered her own chamber, an unspoken disappointment washed over her. The room was empty, devoid of Lyra's presence. The lavender scent that had become a comforting routine was conspicuously absent, replaced by an unsettling void. Kit's eyes darted around the room, searching for the familiar bouquet, but it was nowhere to be found.

A pang of worry crept into Kit's thoughts. Had she upset Lyra somehow? Pondering the possibility, Kit changed into her nightclothes, her mind awhirl with questions. Why would Lyra be angry? Had Kit done something to offend her?

Sitting on her bed, Kit extinguished the candles one by one, shrouding the room in darkness. She waited, expecting Lyra to burst through the door any moment, a smile playing on her lips, ready to dismiss Kit's worries. But the minutes stretched into what felt like an eternity, and still, there was no sign of the redhead.

Frustration and anxiety gnawed at Kit's thoughts. She decided to close her eyes, an attempt to will away her worries and force herself into sleep. But the silence was oppressive, her ears strained for any sound, any indication that Lyra was near.

Then, the door creaked open, and Kit's heart leaped in her chest. She reached for the knife hidden under her pillow, a precautionary measure against any possible threat. But then, a soft voice cut through the darkness. "Kit?"

Kit remained still, her breath catching in her throat, not daring to respond. The footsteps approached, soft and tentative, and Kit could smell the familiar fragrance of lavender as it wafted towards her. The tension in her shoulders eased slightly.

Lyra moved around the room, her footsteps purposeful yet gentle, until the comforting scent of lavender was placed on a nearby table. Kit allowed herself a small smile, the tension in her chest releasing. She felt Lyra's presence retreat toward the door, but then, a soft sound reached her ears - two knocks, gentle yet deliberate, against the wood of her bedside table.

Lyra left, her silent reassurance echoing in Kit's ears. The darkness around her seemed a little less daunting, and after that small, meaningful gesture, Kit finally succumbed to sleep, a fragile peace settling over her.

As the days inched closer to Kit's impending wedding, a noticeable distance had crept into Lyra's interactions. While Lyra continued to assist Kit with her morning routines, their interactions had lost a touch of the warmth that once characterized them. It had become a functional relationship, void of the camaraderie that Kit had grown accustomed to. They would share brief moments of laughter and conversation, but the moments were fleeting, interrupted by a quiet withdrawal.

The walk to breakfast had transformed from a jovial affair to a brisk escort. Lyra would guide Kit toward the grand dining hall, but rather than joining her as she had before, she would simply ensure Kit was settled before slipping away.

On the training grounds, Kit noticed that Lyra had chosen to stay with Jade, her cheerful presence never lingering during Kit's sessions. The absence was palpable, and Kit couldn't help but feel a sense of abandonment, even though she knew she had no right to feel that way.

Each night, Kit would find her nightgown thoughtfully chosen and laid out for her. The lavender scent still clung to her room, its soothing aroma providing solace amidst the growing turmoil. But Lyra no longer visited during Kit's waking hours, and the conversations and laughter they once shared had become fleeting echoes, whispers of a connection slipping through their fingers.

Kit grappled with the weight of her impending wedding. She loathed the phrase "her wedding," each repetition acting as a harsh reminder of the life that was swiftly approaching. The reality of the union was a noose tightening around her neck, suffocating her every thought and action. In those moments of torment, Kit found herself yearning for Lyra, for her touch, for the lavender, for the fleeting reassurances that now felt like lifelines.

Even though she knew Lyra visited her chamber each night, leaving the lavender and tapping twice on her bedside, Kit resisted speaking to her. She feared that by breaking the silence, she might inadvertently extinguish that fragile thread connecting them. And so, her voice remained trapped by her doubts and anxieties, shackled by her longing for what she couldn't fully comprehend.

Each day inched them closer to the wedding, and as the world around Kit whirled with preparations and festivity, she felt herself drowning in a sea of obligations. The wedding loomed like an oncoming storm, and the only anchor she had was the memory of Lyra's silent reassurances.

#ruby cruz #hazel callahan #kit tanthalos #kit tanthalos fanfiction #ruby cruz fanfic #kit tanthalos x reader #kit tanthalos x jade claymore #kit thantalos x reader #hazel callahan x reader #willow 2022 #kit tanthalos x OFC

[dolce-peach]

all i need

pairing: steve rogers x reader

warnings: angst, action, fighting

a/n: soooo i haven't written for steve in a while 🥺 this was originally gonna be an angsty mess BUT your girl is absolutely touch starved sooooooooooooo in the midst of finishing another request, i had this other idea pop up and just ran with it -- hope yall enjoy 🥰 also happy new year!!

permanent taglist: @kaitlynmalikisnotonfire @just-another-loki-fangirl

** TO MAKE A REQUEST -- please check the status in my bio **

masterlist

----

The wound wasn't as dilapidating as you thought it would be, but it was still a pain in the ass.

You gritted your teeth as you stumbled back, your knees nearly giving way.  You should’ve known better.  Perhaps it was your confidence, or rather ignorance of the enemy.  When you finally noticed Peter’s worried-sick expression as he caught you before you fell, you swallowed hard, mustering a smile.

“Cap, Y/N’s been hit!” he nearly screamed into the radio.  “Please send backup!  Anything!”

You shook your head as Peter pressed his gloved hands on your wound.  The strength of his pressure practically knocked the wind out of you.  “It’s fine.  Just a flesh wound.”

“On my way.  Are there any more soldiers in the area?”

“No, sir!” Peter exclaimed, the eyes on his mask squinting as his head darted around.  “Holy cow, that’s a lot of blood -- please hurry!”

You placed your hand on his before giving his hand a squeeze.  “Calm down, Peter,” you hissed through the pain.  “I'm not gonna die, but I might have a few cracked ribs from you putting too much damn pressure.”

His eye pieces expanded widely.  His hands fell away.  “Oh, uh, sorry…agh!”  His hands darted back to their position as you had more blood pool and drip through your suit.

“You’re doing great,” you said patiently.  

Footsteps approached quickly, stopping at the entrance of the lab.

“Oh my God,” Steve breathed as he knelt quickly, taking in the situation.  He eventually secured his shield over his shoulders.  “Stark, evac, now.”

His face was stone as he easily lifted you in his arms.  “Move out, Queens.”

“Yes, sir,” Peter answered with a squeak, following closely behind.

You couldn’t see much as your vision was beginning to fade, so you leaned your head against Steve’s chest.  When your eyes fluttered closed to catch your breath, he gently shook you.

“Eyes open.”

You groaned.  “One more minute.”

His eyes were fixed up ahead at the opening Quinjet.  “Nat, we need the trauma kit,” he told her as she came rushing out.  He put his finger to his ear.  “Stark, we have to go.”

“Jesus, what were you hit with?” Natasha muttered as she helped set you down on the floor of the jet.

You winced as she injected you with painkillers.  “A bullet, I think.”

“You think?” Steve shot, his voice low.

Even if you could answer him, you decided not to.  You closed your eyes, trying to drown out the dull throbbing that covered your entire stomach.  Truth be told, you actually couldn’t really remember what happened.  It was all so fast.  One moment you were using your momentum to throw someone to the ground, the next you pushed Peter out of the way just as some goon pulled the trigger.

Steve opened his mouth to say more when Natasha shot him a look.  Her attention turned back towards you.  “Well, I don’t think it hit any of your vital organs,” she said.  “You’re bleeding pretty badly, though.”

“What a miracle,” you said dryly.

Before long, the Quinjet was up in the air.  The ride back to the compound was pretty turbulent, or maybe that was just the pain talking.  It was damn near impossible to take a nap, mostly because Natasha kept changing your bandages.

You hissed through your teeth in pain.  

Peter’s eyes were wide as he sat across from you.  Thoughts zoomed behind his eyes, and they weren’t going to slow down any time soon.

”Peter,” you called.

He was by your side in less than a second.  ”Y-yeah?”

”You okay?”

The poor boy had tears threatening to fall as he nodded vigorously.  ”Yeah, I’m okay.”

You pursed your lips into a smile.  ”Good.”  You sighed.  ”I’m not going to die, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

”Oh, no, I was just concerned, that’s all, I mean…” he trailed off before looking down.  ”I’m gonna stop talking now.”

You immediately regretted laughing as more blood soaked through.  ”Ah, shit…” you groaned.  ”You know, it’s not your fault, kid.”

Peter wiped his eyes with his gloved hands.  ”Okay…”

Unbeknownst to you, Steve sat in the corner.  His blue eyes watched you carefully, as if you were going to disappear or breathe your last.  They were filled with guilt with the fact that if he went with you instead, maybe you wouldn’t be bleeding out on the jet floor.

But something else stirred, a certain frustration.  You weren’t always the most careful.  Even in something as trivial as board games on game night, you were always the first one to sacrifice yourself, and that quality was something Steve always feared.  It was like looking in a mirror, into the eyes of someone who wouldn’t hesitate laying their life on the line.

You were a loose cannon.

—

“What the hell were you thinking?” Steve shot as you both stormed into the infirmary.

The rest of the group decided to congregate in the lab just outside, though you noticed they kept their distance.  It wasn’t the first time you and Steve were arguing, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last, but there was something about his aura that seemed different.  

He was comfortable with you, and that was always a good thing, but when it came down to keeping your relationship as professional as possible is where things were grey.  

“I stepped in because Peter needed backup.  That was my job.”  You didn't dare catch his eye as you set your gear down on the long table.  You quickly got some gauze and put pressure on your wound.  “I did what I needed to do.  End of story.”

“Your job was to fly recon and report back, not get tangled up in that mess and nearly get yourself killed.”

You were snapping.  “So I should’ve just left Peter there to die?  He’s a kid!”

“He knew the risks, and so should you,” Steve said coldly.

You couldn’t believe your ears.  “Do you hear yourself right now?”

You could almost see his pupils constrict dangerously.  

“The mission was —“

“Never in jeopardy,” you finished with clear diction.  You approached him slowly, glaring up at him.  “And I managed to save both the kid and the hostages.”

“You’re missing the point,” he said, his voice low.  “You could’ve died out there.”

“No, you’re missing the point.  It’s fine by me if everyone comes home but me.  That’s the sacrifice I’ve always been willing to make.  I thought you understood that better than anyone.”

He slammed the counter with a fist, shattering the plastic of the tray holding surgical instruments you had yet to use.  They fell clanging to the floor.  Your eyes widened with a fear you never knew you could have around him.  

He removed his hand from the table with a crunch and walked out without another word.

“Uh, Miss Y/N, ma��am?” Peter tentatively chimed in at the door.  “A-are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” you told him with a pursed smile.  “Good work today, Peter.  C-could you send Bruce in?  I might need help stitching this up.”

He gave you a sweet smile before bounding down the hall to get said doctor.  You wanted to follow him, but your feet were glued there at the table.  If you ripped yourself away, you would’ve collapsed with the way your knees were shaking.

Instead, tears began falling on their own.  You gasped for air as a sob wretched its way out of your throat.  Fearing someone might hear, you clasped your hand over your mouth, though your body still shook from your cries.  

Fear was the one thing keeping you from running after Steve to make this right.

—

You kept yourself sequestered in your room for the remainder of the day, emerging only for dinner before going back again.  You hid yourself under your blankets, trying to sleep, but the pain kept you tossing and turning.

Steve was nowhere to be found.  Part of you was relieved, but the other part of you was insanely worried.  Even though he was always the level-headed one, you hoped he wasn’t doing anything too rash.  

As you turned in your bed, you sighed as you sat up, shaking your head.  This wasn’t going to get better without you being the one to apologize, or at least say something to salvage your relationship as teammates, if not for the sake of your friendship.

You started for the door to your room, only to open it to find Steve standing there.  

He mirrored your shocked expression, his ocean eyes holding waves of emotions — relief that he found you, remorse for what he did, anger that you were alone with the tracks of your tears paved into your cheeks.  He was afraid to touch you, to make any sudden movement that would send you back into your cave.

Your heart was in your throat as you managed to squeak out his name.  “Steve…”

It was more than enough permission for him to take a cautious step closer.

“I…”  The words were right there.

With his hand slowly raised, his rough thumb grazed your cheek.  You found yourself sighing into his touch, closing your eyes as you came home.

He silently took you in, studying you for a moment as he moved closer.  You could tell he didn’t want to make a wrong move.  It honestly scared you to see him so unsure.

“I’m sorry.”

You shook your head, your eyes shooting open.  “No, I shouldn’t have —“

“No no, sweetheart, it was my fault,” he murmured again.  “You must’ve been scared.”

“I’m fine,” you reassured him.  It was a small white lie, but it didn’t matter, because at that moment, with him there, you were fine.

He gave you a small smile before it faded, his thick brows furrowing.  “I shouldn’t have raised my voice like that,” he said.  “I shouldn’t have left you alone.  It wasn’t your fault.  I was just scared.”

Guilt made you heavier as you thought of the torment he probably put himself through the entire day.  You took his face in your hands, your fingers trailing over his jaw and neck.  “I only did what I did because I knew in my heart that I needed to save Peter.  I wasn’t even thinking of the consequences.  I just knew I would never forgive myself if I stood by and did nothing.”

“I know,” he said softly with a small nod.  “I know.”

You knew he knew.  

The tension was still suffocating.  

“Would you believe me if I said I had a whole speech planned out and everything?” he tried joking.

When you cracked a smile, relief washed over his expression.  

“But when I saw you, all of it went out the window,” he finished, searching your eyes.  “All I needed was to see you.  That’s it.”

“Me too,” you whispered.

He leaned down, his lips hovering over yours, your foreheads brushing against each other.  You closed his eyes as his begged for permission.  You answered by closing the gap.  For a few moments you were lost in his taste and how full his lips were.  He held you so gently, so carefully as his hands pulled your waist closer to his hips.  

His skin felt so hot, and you could feel it through his lips, your arms brushing against each other, and his chest that he cocooned you in.  He tried to show you that he could be your home, that he was your home.  Your arms trailed from his chest to wrap around his neck as you raised yourself on your tiptoes.

You wanted him to hold you forever, to keep you locked away in his embrace. You wanted him to whisper sweet nothings in your ear the entire night.  You wanted him to kiss you and praise you and make you new.

You desperately needed him to revive you, and you had a feeling that he knew it too.

The kiss was broken when he lifted you, your legs locking themselves around his waist.  You quickly caught your breath, gazing down at him.

He was looking at you like you were his world, and his eyes were the universe you lived in.

“I’m sorry if I overstepped.”

“Steve.”  A guilty part of you loved it when he overthought, but now wasn’t the time to tease.  “I always love it when you kiss me, and that’s not gonna change.”

It was always funny whenever he grew bashful.  A guy his size and reputation — it was almost comical.  His broad shoulders caved in a bit, and he nervously bit his lips before pursing them into a half-smile.

There were more things you wanted to say, but you didn’t.  Instead your brain succumbed to the overwhelming thought of kissing him again.

“Hold me,” you gave the soft command before you gave in.

And that he did.  

#steve rogers #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers oneshot #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #captain america #captain america imagine #captain america fanfiction #captain america fanfic #captain america oneshot #avengers #avengers imagine #avengers fanfiction #avengers fanfic #avengers oneshot #marvel #marvel imagine #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #marvel oneshot #angst #some yelling and cursing #also kissing #was lowkey gonna be smut but i got scared :) #but like maybe i'll write smut later? #lmk??? 😆

[criminalmutantsins]

MK1 Johnny Cage (Song) Headcanons

I was inspired by @mothercetrion headcanon on Johnny’s past. You should visit their page and read some of their posts. They are very well-written! I like to connect songs with characters so I thought doing a headcanon post with songs would be a good idea. I’m also working on a regular headcanon post for Johnny as well. I love his MK1 version and feel the need to write about it. Lmk if I should make a Spotify playlist so all the songs are in one place.

TW: Heavy angst (Mention of bullying, alcoholism, parental abuse, domestic violence, and broken marriage)

I Started a Joke by Bee Gees 

- “I started a joke. Which started the whole world crying. But I didn’t see. That the joke was on me, oh no. I started to cry. Which started the whole world laughing. Oh, if I’d only seen. That the joke was on me.” 

Unfortunately, I firmly believe that Johnny was bullied and abused in his childhood. Most people who have an egotistical facade usually create that personality to protect themselves from horrible treatment. Johnny mentioned having daddy issues and an asshole brother he barely(if any) has contact with. I think his dad and, later, his brother tormented him for a long time, which I will further explain in another song. I want to focus on school bullies. Johnny seems to have always wanted to be an actor, so I think he focused on the performing arts like theatre, singing, and dancing. Sadly, it's not considered masculine to do those activities- a prime target for bullying. This treatment causes Johnny to feel like a joke to everyone. 

- “Til I finally died. Which started the whole world living. Oh, if I’d only seen. That the joke was on me.” 

This meant figuratively that Johnny’s original personality “died” and was replaced by his well-known facade to protect him from the bullying and stop him from feeling the pain. 

Blown Away by Carrie Underwood

-“Dry lightning cracks across the sky. Those storm clouds gather in her eyes. Her daddy was a mean old mister. Mama was an angel in the ground.” 

Johnny notices his parents’ turbulent relationship. His dad is an awful man and his mom is a kind person being tormented by her husband.

-“She heard those sirens screaming out. Her daddy laid there passed out on the couch. She locked herself in the cellar. Listened to the screaming of the wind. Some people called it taking shelter.” 

Johnny’s hiding from one of his parents’ violent arguments. His room is his hiding spot- a shelter and a prison- but it doesn’t protect him from hearing the arguments. The sirens are symbolic of Johnny’s mother since she used to be a police officer (an intro with Li Mei confirms it), so she is screaming at Johnny’s father who loves his life drinking and sleeping. 

-“There’s not enough rain in Oklahoma. To wash the sins out of that house. There’s not enough wind in Oklahoma. To rip the nails out of the past (blown away)” 

The awful memory leaves Johnny wishing that his childhood home could be destroyed with no trace, though he knows it will never erase what he’s gone through.

Numb by Linkin Park

- “I’m tired of being what you want me to be. Feeling so faithless, lost under the surface. Don’t know what you’re expecting of me. Put under the pressure of walking in your shoes. Every step that I take is another mistake to you (Caught in the undertow, just caught in the undertow).”

Johnny was abused by his father. He was pressured to be like his dad but would make “mistakes” (be himself), leading to his father lashing out at him. His dad is obsessed with masculinity and being a “traditional” man, which he pushes into Johnny. This puts them at odds since the performing arts (Johnny’s aspirations) are not considered masculine. 

- “I’ve become so numb. I can’t feel you there. Become so tired. So much more aware. I’m becoming this. All I want to do. Is be more like me. And be less like you.”

The constant pressure makes Johnny numb to the abuse and more aware of his father’s behavior. He wants the opportunity to be himself and the weight to lift off him. 

- “Can’t you see that you’re smothering me. Holding too tightly, afraid to lose control? ‘Cause everything that you thought I would be. Has fallen apart right in front of you.” 

He’s questioning his father’s behavior and needs to control him and the rest of the family (his mother and siblings). 

- “And I know. I may end up failing too. But I know. You were just like me with someone disappointed in you.”

Johnny fights back and decides to break the generational trauma cycle he and his dad have unwittingly been trapped in. His dad was in Johnny’s position and hated it, but decided to continue the cycle rather than end it.

Applause by Lady Gaga 

- “I stand here waiting for you to bang the gong. To crash the critic saying, “Is it right or is it wrong?” If only fame had an I.V, baby could I bear? Being away for you, I found the vein, put it in here.”

From some of his intros, Johnny sometimes gets defensive whenever anyone talks down about his career, and the first thing he brings up is how he makes his fans happy with his work. This makes me believe that Johnny loves his fans and they are the biggest reason he stays in Hollywood.

- “I live for the applause, applause, applause. I live for the applause-plause, live for the applause-plause, live for the way that you cheer and scream for me. The applause, applause, applause. Give me that thing that I love (I’ll turn the lights out). Put your hands up, make ‘em touch, touch (Make it real loud). Give me that thing that I love (I’ll turn the lightd out). Put your hands up, make ‘em touch, touch (Make it real loud).” 

For the first time in his life, Johnny is appreciated for his aspirations and it feeds into his need to feel wanted and accepted. He wants the applause and love to grow. 

- “I’ve overheard your theory, ‘Nostalgia’s for geeks.’ I guess sir, if you say so, some of us just like to read. One second I’m a Koons fan, suddenly the Koons is me. Pop culture was in art, now art’s in pop culture, in me.” 

Since Johnny is inspired by 80s action stars, critics condemn him for not being authentic. Johnny doesn’t care and, because of the love he gets, he considers himself to be a part of pop culture. 

Liability by Lorde 

-“Baby really hurt me, crying in the taxi. He don’t know me. Says her made the big mistake in my storm. Says it was poison.” 

This reminds me of Johnny’s chapter where Steven- the director- whom Johnny might’ve considered a friend, doesn’t seem to like him and purposefully distances me. This makes me believe that Johnny doesn’t have many friends because they don’t like his boastful, outgoing personality. 

- “So I guess I’ll go home. Into the arms of the girl that I love. The only I haven’t screwed up. She’s so hard to please, but she’s a forest fire.”

 With not having many friends and his marriage on the rocks, Johnny feels alone and feels he can only count on himself. Based on his intro with Kenshi about doing forty takes, it seems like Johnny is a perfectionist, so it wouldn’t be surprising if that sentiment extends to everything he does. That’s why he has this facade where he constantly inflates his ego and his capabilities because, on the inside, Johnny is hard on himself and has trouble finding his good qualities. 

- “They say “You’re a little too much for me. You’re a liability. You’re a little much for me.” So they pull back, make other plans. I understand, I’m a liability. Get you wild, make you leave. I’m a little much for everyone.” 

Johnny accepts that he’ll never have a true connection with someone, so he makes them leave sooner before they hurt him. 

- “The truth is I am a toy that people enjoy. ‘Till all of the tricks don’t work anymore. And then they are bored of me. I know that it’s exciting running through the night, but every perfect summer’s eating me alive until you’re gone. Better on my own. They’re gonna watch me disappear into the sun. You're all gonna watch disappear into the sun” 

This pertains to Johnny’s faltering career. He was a popular actor for a long time until it ran dry. It eats him up to see people- fans, his wife, and Hollywood- grow bored and annoyed with him. By the end of his chapter, he’s alone and feels hopeless. 

Midnight Rain by Taylor Swift 

- “My town was a wasteland. Full of cages, full of fences. Pageant queens and big pretenders. But for some, it was paradise.” 

Johnny’s world is Hollywood and the American dream. He wants to be the biggest star and feel at home in the acting business. 

- “My boy was a montage. A slow motion, love potion. Jumping off things in the ocean.”

I see Cris as someone who wanted a simple life full of love and family. She was supportive of Johnny’s dream but didn’t have his drive to live the Hollywood life. She expected Johnny to settle down once his career dwindled. 

- “He was sunshine, I was midnight rain. He wanted it comfortable. I wanted that pain. He wanted a bride. I was making my own. Chasing that fame. He stayed the same. All of me changed like midnight.” 

Johnny and Cris are different people with opposing goals. Cris wanted a comfortable life and Johnny to focus on their relationship, while Johnny was consumed in his dreams and staying relevant. 

- “It came like a postcard. Picture perfect, shiny family. Holiday, peppermint candy. But for him it’s everyday. So I peered through a window. A deep portal, time travel. All the love we unravel. And the life I gave away.”

If one of them conformed to what the other wanted instead of compromise, they would’ve given away their dream life and lost their love. 

- “I guess sometimes we all get just what we wanted, just what we wanted. And he never thinks of me. Except when I’m on TV. I guess sometimes we all get some kind of haunted, some kind of haunted. And I never think of him. Except on midnights like this.” 

By the end of their marriage, Johnny and Cris barely connect with each other. Cris lives her own life and only sees Johnny when his movies are on TV. Johnny is so busy with work and doesn’t focus on his personal life until he’s home late at night.  

Anti-Hero by Taylor Swift 

(This kind of continues my thoughts from “Liability” by Lorde.) 

- “I have this thing where I get older but just never wise. Midnights become my afternoons. When my depression works the graveyard shift. All of the people I’ve ghosted stand there in the room. I should not be left to my own devices. They come with prices and vices. I end up in crises (tale as old as time). I wake up screaming from dreaming. One day I’ll watch as you’re leaving. ‘Cause you got tired of my scheming (for the last time).”

Even though Johnny knows his career is dwindling, Johnny continues to work and revive it- something Hollywood people would consider unwise. His fears and depression leave him up at night and thinks about the people who left him and people he had to step over to make it in showbiz. His deepest fear is everyone he cares about- Cris and his fans- leaving him because they become bored of him. This is where he develops his alcoholism (this will be explained in another song). 

- “It’s me, hi, I’m the problem, it’s me. At tea time, everybody agrees. I’ll stare directly at the sun but never in the mirror. It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero.”

Johnny knows his alcoholism is messing up his relationship with Cris but is scared of facing it, making him the anti-hero in the story. 

- “Sometimes I feel like everybody is a sexy baby. And I’m a monster on the hill. Too big to hang out, slowly lurching toward your favorite city. Pierced through the the heart, but never killed.” 

It goes with how Hollywood works- younger, prettier actors have a higher standing than older actors. Johnny feels like people see him as a monster who ruins things, but they aren’t willing to “kill” his ambition. 

- “I have this dream my daughter in-law kills me for the money. She thinks I left them in the will. The family gathers ‘round and reads it and then someone screams out. “She’s laughing up at us from hell.” 

Johnny fears his ambition will kill him and that the people who don’t care about him will take advantage of it. 

Rehab by Amy Winehouse 

- “They tried to make me go to rehab, but I said, ‘No, no, no.’ Yes, I’ve been black, but when I come back, you’ll know, know, know. I ain't got the time and if my daddy thinks I’m fine.” 

Cris is trying to get Johnny to go to rehab for his alcoholism, but he refuses because he wants to focus on reigniting his career and he reasons that nobody else is concerned. 

- “I’d rather be at home with Ray. I ain't got seventy days. ‘Cause there’s nothing, there’s nothing you can teach me. That I can’t learn from Mr. Hathaway.” 

Johnny wants to continue working and being at home. He doesn’t think he has a problem and, if he did, Johnny doesn’t think anyone can help. 

- “The man said ‘Why do you think you are here?’ I said, ‘I got no idea.’ I’m gonna, I’m gonna lose my baby. So I always keep a bottle near. He said, ‘I just think you’re depressed.’ This, me: ‘Yeah, baby, and the rest.’”

Johnny goes to a therapist (Cris gave him an ultimatum). The therapist tells Johnny that it’s just depression and to stop drinking. Johnny can’t seem to stop because drinking takes away the pain he’s feeling. 

- “I don’t ever wanna drink again. I just, ooh, I just need a friend. I’m not gonna spend ten weeks. Have everyone think I’m on the mend. It’s not just my pride. It’s just till these tears have dried.”  

Johnny hates drinking but feels like it’s the only way to escape his loneliness and stress. He’s scared that his career will be over and his fans will leave him if he goes to rehab. 

Hollywood by MARINA 

- “American queen is the American dream. American queen is the American dream.”

This is the mantra Johnny says to motivate himself to continue his career.

- “I asked her ‘Why would you wanna be a Hollywood wife?’ ‘Because I don’t wanna end up living in a dive on Vine.” 

Johnny doesn’t want to live a life less than his dreams. He’ll do anything to live his dreams. 

- “Trying to stimulate a mind. That is slowly starting to decay. I itch my skin, I jump up and say. Lady, I know why your thoughts turn gray.”

Exhaustion and alcohol are infecting Johnny’s brain and dulling his thoughts. He’s barely present in his personal life- marriage and home. 

- “Hollywood infected your brain. You wanted kissing in the rain. Oh oh, (I’ve been) living in a movie scene. Pukin American dreams. Oh oh, I’m obsessed with the mess that’s America. I’m obsessed with the mess that’s America.” 

The price of striving for fame is catching up to Johnny, yet he’s willing to ignore it due to being obsessed with his desires. 

- “A fat security making plays for me. As soon as I touch down in, old L.A., he said… ‘Oh my god, you look just like Shakira. No no, you’re Catherine Zeta.” Actually, my name’s Marina.”

This is a reference to how Hollywood has a surplus of stars that can overshadow each other. Since Johnny is no longer a big star, people mistake him for a lookalike. His individualism in the industry is dying.

Oh No! by MARINA (& The Diamonds) 

- “Don’t do love, don’t do friends. I’m only after success. Don’t need a relationship. I’ll never soften my grip. Don’t want cash, don’t want card. Want it fast, want it hard. Don’t need money don’t need fame. I just want to make a change. I just wanna change.”

Johnny’s obsession evolves into him ignoring everything- his relationships and income- to maintain and grow his success.

- “I know exactly what I want and who I want to be. I know exactly why I walk and talk like a machine. I’m now becoming my own self-fulfilled prophecy. Oh! Oh no! Oh no! Oh, no, oh!”

His singular goal can be compared to a program, making Johnny out to be a machine. He’s also realizing that his alcoholism is leading him into a similar path to his father’s. This could be seen as a self-fulfilled prophecy because children usually copy their parents’ behavior, even the bad ones, and the phrase “like father, like son.” It terrifies him. 

- “One track mind, one track heart. If I fail, I’ll fall apart. Maybe it is all a test. ‘Cause, I feel like I’m the worst. So I always act like I’m the best.”

Johnny wonders if his downfall is karma since he had to step over people to build his career or a test of his character. The last two lines reference his feelings of inadequacy due to his childhood and the birth of his movie star persona.

- “If you are not very careful. Your possessions will possess you. TV taught me how to feel. Now real life has no appeal. It has no appeal.” 

In his chapter, Johnny tells Cris that they can’t cut back on cash because acting like a success makes people perceive you that way. This shows how Johnny's spending habits are consuming him. 

During his childhood, Johnny coped with his father’s abuse and his mother working all the time by watching TV. TV raised Johnny, and it made his reality- good or bad- unappealing. 

- “I’m gonna live, I’m gonna fly. I’m gonna fail, I’m gonna die. “I’m gonna live, I’m gonna fly. I’m gonna fail, I’m gonna die, die, die, die, die.” 

Johnny identifies failing as dying and succeeding as living. He thinks retiring his career will kill his confident persona and revert him to the sad child he was. 

Are You Satisfied? By MARINA 

-“I was pulling out my hair. The day I got the deal, chemically calm. Was I meant to feel happy that my life was about to change?” 

Because of his health issues- alcoholism and depression, Johnny is starting to feel numb towards his work, to the point where getting a role doesn’t excite him. 

-“One life pretending to be the cat who got the cream. Oh, everybody said, ‘Marina is a dreamer.’ People like to tell you what you’re gonna be. It’s not my problem if you don’t see what I see. And do not give a damn if you don’t believe.” 

Johnny is reminded of the people in his childhood who called him a dreamer and tried to tell him what he should do with his life. He never saw why his life was anyone’s problem. 

-“My problem, it’s my problem. That I never am happy. It’s my problem, it’s my problem. On how fast I will succeed. Are you satisfied with an average life? Do I need to lie to make my way in life?” 

With no big payoff, Johnny starts to ponder if an average life will satisfy him and make him happy. If not, does he have to start lying to himself and others to continue his Hollywood life. 

-“High achiever, don’t you see? Baby, nothing comes for free. They say I’m a control freak. Driven by a greed to succeed. Nobody can stop me.”

One of his intro with Kenshi has the latter complaining about doing forty takes with Johnny arguing that the shot has to be perfect. It lead me to believe that Johnny is a perfectionist since he is driven by his need to succeed. 

-“Cause it’s my problem if I want to pack up and run away. It’s my business if I feel the need to smoke and drink and sway. It’s my problem, it’s my problem if I feel the need to hide. And it’s my problem if I have no friends and feel I want to die.” 

Johnny realizes his problems yet doesn’t push himself to get the help he needs. He thinks no one except him could handle his issues. Johnny feels that it’s his fault that he let alcohol control his life, has depression, and has no friends. 

-“Are you satisfied with an easy ride? Once you cross the line, will you be satisfied? Sad inside in this life, unsatisfied, prayin’. Sad inside in this life, unsatisfied, waitin’.” 

He wonders again whether regular life with more simplistic issues will satisfy him and if he should cross the line and consider letting go of his career. The difficult decision makes it more despondent and he prays for an answer. He finds his answer by the end of the game- to step back from the industry for a while and focus on his personal life.  

The Reason by Hoobastank 

-“I’m not a perfect person. There’s many things I wish I didn’t do. But I continue learning. I never meant to do those things to you. And so, I have to say before I go. That I just want you to know.” 

After going through therapy, training at Wu Shi Academy, and the Outworld adventure, Johnny realizes his mistakes and wants to apologize to Cris before they go their separate ways. 

-“I’m sorry that I hurt you. It’s something I must live with everyday. And all the pain I put you through. I wish that I could take it all away. And be the one catches all your tears. That’s why I need you to hear.”

He realizes the full extent of pain Johnny put her through. He’s remorseful and wishes he could go back to listen and comfort her. 

-“I’ve found a reason for me. To change who I used to be. A reason to start over new. And the reason is you. I’ve found a reason to show. A side of me you didn’t know. A reason for all that I do. And the reason is you.”

Johnny wants Cris to know how much he’s grown and will be a better person. Although sad it had to come to it, Johnny thanks Cris for letting him go since it led him to get the help he needed and continue to heal old wounds he kept hidden. 

..................

BONUS (These songs are from Cris’ point of view to Johhny.): 

All I Wanted by Paramore 

- “Think of me when you’re out, when you’re out there. I’ll beg you nice from my knees. And when the world treats you way too fairly. Well, it’s a shame I’m a dream. All I wanted was you.”

Every time Johnny leaves for his hours-long shoots, Cris hopes he thinks of her, but knows that she’ll always be second to his career. Although their marriage was always on her mind. 

- “I think I’ll pace my apartment a few times. And fall asleep on the couch. And wake up early to black-and-white reruns. That escaped from my mouth.” 

When Cris is alone, she wanders through their house and watches movies. She mostly watches Johnny’s movies to fill the hole of him not being with her most of the time. 

- “I could follow you to the beginning. Just to relive the start. And maybe then we’d remember to slow down. At all of our favorite parts.” 

Cris would do anything to have a semblance of their old relationship- before Johnny got famous- back. She hopes that if it happens then Johnny will be more attentive, and they can live a happy life. 

Call Me When You’re Sober by Evanescence 

- “Don’t cry to me, if you loved me. You would be here with me. You want me, come find me. Make up your mind.” 

Cris is frustrated with Johnny and tells him that if he loved her then he would pay attention to her and her needs instead of his career. 

- “Should I let you fall, lose it all. So maybe you can remember yourself? Can’t keep believing. We’re only deceiving ourselves. And I’m sick of the lie. And you’re too late.” 

Cris contemplates letting Johnny’s alcoholism overtake him since he never listens to her advice on going to therapy or rehab. She also thinks that letting him fall could bring back John Carlton, the man she fell in love with. 

- “Couldn’t take the blame, sick with shame. Must be exhausting to lose your own game, selfishly hated. No wonder you’re jaded. You can’t play the victim this time. And you’re too late.”

Cris is tired of being responsible for Johnny's health and reducing his problems to inconveniences. She wants him to stop playing the victim and take responsibility because she can’t take care of him anymore. 

- “You never call me when you’re sober. You only want it ‘cause it’s over, it’s over.” 

Their relationship only revolves around Johnny’s career and alcoholism instead of their love. 

Losing Grip by Avril Lavigne 

-“Are you aware of what you make me feel? Baby. Right now I feel invisible to you, like I’m not real. Didn’t you feel me lock my arms around you? Why’d you turn away? Here’s what I have to say. I was left to cry there. Waiting outside there. Grinning with a lost stare. That’s when I decided.”

Cris is frustrated at Johnny being distant and inattentive. It makes her feel invisible and unimportant in his life. She questions why he acts this way when he should be treating her like his wife. It leaves her feeling desperate and lonely, but she hides it with a smile. 

-“Why should I care? ‘Cause you weren’t there. When I was scared. I was so alone. You, you need to listen. I’m starting to trip. I’m losing my grip and I’m in this thing alone.” 

Cris wonders why she’s even staying in the marriage. She’s scared of losing Johnny to his alcoholism and his obsession with work; as well as the financial troubles that were accumulating. Instead of listening and being there for her, Johnny decides to ignore the problems, making her feel alone in their marriage. 

-“Am I just some chick you place beside you to take somebody’s place? When you turn around can you recognize my face? You used to love me, you used to hug me. But that wasn’t the case. Everything wasn’t okay.”

Cris starts to think Johnny only wants her around to fill a role anyone can take such as a caregiver (not his intention). She sees Johnny’s eyes go through her like she’s a stranger and he rarely gives her affection. Unfortunately, Johnny’s exhaustion from working and alcoholism affects his ability to focus on what’s going on around him. 

-“Why should I care? ‘Cause you weren’t there. When I was scared. I was so alone. Why should I care? If you don’t care then I don’t care. We’re not going anywhere.” 

Cris continues pondering about their marriage, though it ends with her deciding that she’s exhausted her commitment to the marriage and has to leave before it further destroys her.

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