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rebelsandtherest · 2 years

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Prodigal: Chapter 2/?

Summary: Two decades on, a reclusive Alfred Jones continues to process the civil war amidst the desolate ranchlands of the Dakotas. A fortuitous turn of fate has landed him a new job with an eccentric but magnetic man.

Warnings: allusion to PTSD Word count: 1766

Tumblr: Chapter 1

Also read on: Ao3 | FF.net (Yes I’m still posting on FF.net don’t @ me I don’t want to hear it, I know I’m old)

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Dear Mattie,

Your wishes for my continued literacy are fulfilled, for even amongst the cattle your dear brother has not gone as completely feral as sources may lead you to believe. I must apologize anyway since my penmanship remains quite terrible even as my fingers heal. They never actually fell off, I'll have you know, but I've been unable to shake the tremor in my writing hand. I do not notice it until I'm trying to press pen to paper. Last time I wrote, I could scarcely sign my own name. I credit your generous gift of the bearskin gloves with warming them back into writing shape.

Truly, I do not know how to thank you enough. I know from looking at them that it must've cost you either a small fortune or substantial personal effort, and in likelihood, both. You are indeed a decent brother, and beyond that perhaps the best brother a man could ask for. Your generosity was witnessed by the innkeeper in town, who collects the local mail and insisted upon seeing the contents of the package. If you ever get it in your head to visit me here, I'm not entirely sure she won't try and trap you in a frontier marriage. I told her you worked for Victoria, and she thought you must be a knight. I've told you this only to cheer you up, and I hope it does not go to your head.

As for the east, my answer remains much the same as last time we spoke in person. I feel neither despair nor great hurt when I now look eastward, but there remains a bone-deep discomfort that I cannot overcome. It itches and burns, like poison ivy or mosquitos, and the city noise—for the entire coast now seems to be one long city, by God!—keeps me up at night. Besides all of this, there is the more practical matter of my government, whom I fear may want to lock me up again as soon as they have their hands on me. It's an awkward enterprise, re-approaching your own people after a whole generation.

I met some truly inspiring people in New York, last I was there, Edison included. However, the prospect of unexpectedly meeting officials who might know my face from the many secret "wanted" memos—I find it insulting they think I don't know about those—that have circulated Washington in the last few decades makes even the streets of New York feel like an open noose.

I apologize for not communicating about my visit so we might see each other. The trip itself was an impulsive idea when news of Edison's plans reached us here on the eve of the actual event. While on the train, I concocted a plan to travel on to visit Ottawa so that I might surprise you, but after just two days in New York my latent discomfort became so intense I found myself in a horrible panic—the sort of illness left in the mind after a war, or so I've been told—and found myself so desperate to escape I gave up my plans. You know me well enough it should not surprise you that I was too embarrassed to tell you at the time. Three years later, I regret my own cowardice because I miss you dearly. I want very much to hug you and also to see if the insidious rumor that you have grown taller than me bears any semblance to reality. I say you've been wearing tall shoes, and using my absence to spread falsehoods while I am unable to prove you wrong!

One day, I will go back east, to you and yes, to my own government. However I do not know when my heart will allow it. I know this is a dissatisfying answer for you. In the meantime, I shall remain here in the Dakotas, and I hope you shan't worry yourself too much on my account.

To reassure you of my well-being, I should share the goings-on of my life of late. I don't believe I've told you how our fish-out-of-water Marquis fired me last year. Suffice to say he is a rich man who cares more about capital than the well-being of his staff. I defended a young boy from the Marquis' ire after a costly accident with one of the bulls, and employed some language for which I'm sure you would scold me in public and compliment me in private. He told me to leave and never to return, and so I have been quite poor overwinter.

I wish you to know, for it should tell you all you need to know about this man, that he and his family evacuate the continent when winter comes.

However, my luck has recently changed, and I've found employment with a man so much the opposite of the Marquis it seems almost a divine joke! He is one of mine by way of New York, and has apparently abandoned his upper class city life and a career in municipal politics to become a rancher. Perhaps this sounds like an American version of the Marquis' own story, but indulge my gossip a little longer. This man—Roosevelt is his name—is unlike any New Yorker I've ever met!

When I first met him, he was on horseback and out in the fields, so I thought he was one of the ranch hands. I approached him asking if he knew where I might find the landowner, and if he was looking for a cowboy to look after his stock. Upon my inquiry, he smiled and laughed, and introduced himself as the landowner himself. Afterward, I was embarrassed I hadn't deduced as much, for he dresses in over-embellished, caricatured versions of what we wear out on the ranges, and does not hold himself atop his mount with a great deal of confidence. (In my defense my expectations of landowners has been tinted by the Marquis and his frilly European sensibilities). Apparently, Roosevelt has only recently learned to ride, and was until just last year, unfamiliar to the style of saddles used here. And yet there he was, out by himself on his land as though he himself were preparing to drive cattle to market, notwithstanding that he would be months too early. The Marquis of the Badlands would never!

He also wears lenses, and is apparently quite blind without them. I mentioned that I benefit from lenses as well, but had lost my only pair some years ago. Well now I've learned he wrote to his man in New York to make me a new pair. I insisted on paying for it myself, but he's bullied me into only paying half.

"Every man alive should be able to see nature in all its detail," is what he told me. "When one can see the details around oneself, it inspires the pursuit of exploration, and the improvement of oneself through new disciplines and exercise. And that is a kind of manliness I think everyone should aspire to. Besides," and after such casual philosophizing, it took me a moment after this to realize he was jesting when he said, "I should like you to be able to see the cattle as you work them. To lose cattle for want of spectacles seems to me the sort of misfortune we ought to leave to children's stories."

He does have children, I've learned—or rather one child. Alice is her name, and she is only just a year and a half old. I did not press him on the matter of abandoning his family for the Badlands, and I'm glad I didn't. I've since learned from the other hands that this poor man gained a daughter but lost his wife as well as his mother all in the span of two days. His sojourn westward seems to be the endeavor of both a vigorous outdoorsman and heartbroken man. Perhaps it is my own recent history that drives me to sympathize with his choice to grieve out here, where solitude and nature abound.

He's hired a few more cowboys after myself, and has so far treated us all fairly. There is little shelter for either him or us at the moment, and we rely on tents and lean-tos, and he awaits the completion of a cabin on the property. To his credit, he stays in a tent rather than at the inn, although I'm confident he could buy every room if he desired. I tell you Mattie, in the last century I'm not sure I've ever met someone so unfamiliar with frontier life and yet so enthused by the very hardships that send the Marquis packing for France each year. He lives each day as though existence itself is some kind of grand challenge to experience as many things as he can before time can get the better of him. It is impossible for any person to be so many things in a single lifetime—even for you and I! But I daresay Roosevelt is going to try anyway, if for no other reason than to keep God on his toes.

I was afraid a few weeks ago I would be driven east out of necessity, unable to maintain anonymity in the broad rumor mill of ranchlands, and perhaps that would have forced me back into the world to which you've asked me to return. Even so, if my news of remaining west disappoints you, I hope you may take solace in the fact I've acquired a tireless philosopher of an employer who may yet badger me toward self-betterment even more doggedly than you.

Perhaps your eyes are crossing by now from the disorganized novella I've just penned you—and in horrible handwriting no less, many apologies should you need to adjust your lenses on my account. My hand is beginning to shake again, so I must end my letter abruptly before all words become illegible. I hope that spring will find you quickly and well, and that you might begin your annual thaw sooner rather than later. You'd mentioned a while ago that Arthur had intentions to send you to New Zealand to escape the cold, and if that indeed came to pass I hope you and our young sister fared well. I dearly hope to see her again her one day. As for this sibling, I cannot rectify my shortcomings in the present, but ask you to hold out hope for me a while longer.

God keep you, with warmest affection (I mean this in the literative as well as the figurative sense),

Alfred

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1. The term “Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder” or PTSD was not yet coined, but we all know our boy Alfred has been wrestling with it for a while at this point.

2. Here is where I must confess I am largely inventing the personality of the Marquis to suit his narrative purpose of a foil to Roosevelt, but it is 100% true that he and is family went back to France each winter! In an area of the continent where both your hardiness and your dedication to the land and the town is measured by how many winters you’ve survived, this was, I’m sure, sneered at quite a bit.

3. Teddy Roosevelt, for all his obsession with “manly” pursuits and rugged outdoorsmanship, was actually quite a sickly child. He suffered profound myopia (nearsightedness) at an early age, and the acquisition of corrective lenses affected so much that throughout his life, he was invested in the support of disabled children, as he understood how much difference corrective or assistive aids could change a life. Additionally, Roosevelt was also quite asthmatic, and was bullied mercilessly as a child for his physical/medical challenges. I believe his asthma was more acute in childhood and adolescence, but persisted throughout his life. Lacking the treatments we rely on today, Teddy decided the best way to treat asthma was through exposure therapy, spite, and sheer willpower. Hey, it may not be medically sound advice, but it seems to have worked out well for him.

4. In February 1884, Roosevelt’s first wife, Alice Hathaway Lee, gave birth to their daughter, also named Alice. Unfortunately, the medical symptoms of pregnancy had masked the fact that she was suffering from kidney failure, and she died two days after her daughters birth. In completely unrelated medical circumstances but in the same house, his mother died of typhoid fever less than a day before his wife passed. This date in Roosevelt’s diary is a simple entry: “The light has gone out of my life.”

5. Roosevelt at this time was obsessed with the idea of becoming a cowboy, and while he certainly didn’t impress with his skills and had to be taught nearly everything from how to ride in a western saddle to how to throw a lasso, he nevertheless earned the respect of actual cowboys because he was eager to learn and apply himself to even the more unpleasant rigors of the lifestyle.

#hetalia #historical hetalia #aph america #hws america #aph canada #hws canada #historical figures #my fanfiction #my writing #fanfiction

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ppersonna · 3 years

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swipe right - jjk | m

“ i wanna ruin our friendship. we should be lovers instead. i don't know how to say this, cause you're really my dearest friend “ - jenny, studio killers

♡ summary- after a horrible breakup, you sign back up for tinder and ironically match with your best friend, jungkook. a date for fun is harmless, right?

♡ genre- best friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, jk is a minecraft streamer, brother namjoon, brother-in-law jimin, namjoon is kind of a himbo stay at home dad ngl, ex-boyfriend seokjin (mentioned but doesnt show up)

♡ word count- 9k

♡ warnings- mentions of a bad breakup (smh seokjin wtf??), penetrative sex, unprotected sex (u know the business folx), oral sex (m receiving), teasing, SO MUCH BODY WORSHIP, jk is a simp, slight dirty talk, lots of just talking during sex yall it happens, creampie, cum play, praise praise body worship praise, did i mention body worship, tit-fucking, cum eating, i think thats all.

♡ a/n - helloooo and thank you for your wait for this fic! i’m so happy its done and i loved writing it! it’s a little bit different feel for my usual style of writing (smut-wise) so please tell me your thoughts! i didn’t use dom/sub themes OR a daddy kink LMAOOOO praise me please. i hope you enjoy!! pls feel free to comment, chat, message, carrier pigeon, email, mail, WHATEVER U WANT, me. i love u babies. thank you to @kimtaehyunq for the sexy banner. and for @xjoonchildx @ladyartemesia @untaemedqueen for the writing support and idea generation. i would be nothing without my council. and thank you to my beta editors @hobi-gif and @ughseoks and @hongism for the perusal and help in writing this!

Jungkook is the person you call when your world falls apart.

He answers, voice raspy from the late hour, and the second he asks you what’s wrong, the downpour of torrential tears you’ve been holding back finally escapes and you’re sobbing through the phone that you just lost the love of your life—that he left and with little effort on his part, and a lot on yours.

Jungkook listens to you—his heart aching deep in his chest at hearing the utter heartbreak that’s clear in your voice. You’ve never been hurt like this, and he’s desperate to hold you, to make it go away. He wants to drive over to Seokjin’s house and throw a left hook into his stupid, handsome face for making you feel you weren’t worth it.

Because if there’s anything in the world that Jungkook knows, it’s that you’re worth it. You’re worth everything. Add up all the money and all the gold in the entire world, and it still doesn’t meet a fraction of what you’re worth to him.

“Where are you?” He asks as he cradles the phone against one arm and pulls on his jeans.

You sniffle. “Jungkook, it’s 3 am.”

“So? I was up playing Minecraft,” He lies. “Where are you?”

You can’t help but laugh the tiniest bit, a sliver of warmth wrapping itself around your raw and exposed heart. Like a balm to a flesh wound. It doesn’t heal it, not yet.

“I’m at our park.”

Jungkook smiles as he grips the phone back in his hand. The park. The place you and Jungkook spent your childhood playing make-believe games, and formative teenage years loitering around smoking clove cigarettes to look cool.

“Give me five minutes, okay?”

You nod, even though he can’t see you.

“Okay.”

Jungkook arrives with two minutes to spare. His beat up Nissan that he insists is “vintage” and “priceless” idles next to you.

He can see you through the darkened glass of your car—your mascara is running down your face, tears streaked through your flawlessly applied makeup.

You still look so beautiful.

And it angers Jungkook that all that time you spent looking good for Seokjin meant nothing to him.

He motions for you to come over, pats the passenger seat next to him and smiles as he watches you open the door and slide into the security of his familiar car.

“You cleaned your car,” you murmur as you notice a severe lack of McDonald’s trash.

He sniffs haughtily.

“The trash added character.”

Jungkook doesn’t give you a chance to respond. Instead, he’s unbuckling his seatbelt and pulling you as close to him as he can get you. The instant his arms wrap around your body, the floodgates open again and your once-quieted tears turn back into full-fledged sobs.

“I loved him,” you gasp through the pain in your throat.

He rubs your back, pats your hair gently, soothing you the way he has for years now. Through every breakup, through every family fight with your older brother Namjoon, through all the mean girls in high school. Jungkook is the north star—always consistent, always guiding you back to safety.

“I know, babe,” he sighs. “You deserve someone who’s going to treat you right, who’s not just going to give up when things get hard.”

You choke back a cry against his Patagonia hoodie and bury your face further into the crook of his neck. He smells like Old Spice and the shampoo he uses, along with the smell of laundry soap you buy for him—he uses dish soap when he runs out and nearly broke his washing machine last time.

“I thought he was the one. I’m so stupid.”

Jungkook swallows hard. Tonight is about comforting you, not about feeling sorry for himself that you’re his best friend and not his girlfriend. He can’t help but think of what kind of life he would give you. He knows it’s one that wouldn’t end with you crying in a parking lot at 3 AM.

“You’re not stupid, you just loved him. And there’s nothing stupid about loving someone, even if it doesn’t work out,” he sighs as he cradles your head against him. It feels right having you there, pressed up against him and seeking comfort from the solace of his arms.

“Let’s go get a milkshake, yeah?” He asks as you pull your head up and look at him with sad, glassy eyes.

“Yeah,” you nod after a moment of staring.

Jungkook’s eyes sparkle with love, with hope. It makes the desperate, alone feeling inside you—disappear. Jungkook presses a soft kiss to your forehead and then starts the shaky ignition of his car, that takes three cranks of the key before it turns over.

He sends you a look, a laugh evident on your face.

“Don’t even start,” he warns. “The engine is fine.”

“Whatever you say,” you snort as you wipe an errant tear from your face.

“It’s a certified classic car! I could get millions for this baby!”

As the weeks pass, the pain of losing Seokjin becomes further and further from your mind. You can get through the day without crying anytime you see something that reminds you of him and even start flirting with others without feeling like you’re cheating.

You just still haven’t reached the point where dating someone else even feels possible. You’re terrified of allowing someone close to you, letting them into a place where you’re inviting them to possibly hurt you. You’re not sure your heart is ready for it.

“I think you’re just scared,” your older brother Namjoon states as he warms up a bottle of milk in boiling water.

He cradles his new baby in one arm while the other works at the bottle of milk.

“I’m not scared,” you huff. “I just don’t think it’s the right time.”

Namjoon sighs and hands the gurgling newborn baby off to you and readies the bottle for you to feed your new niece, Jisoo.

“Look, Seokjin sucks, okay? I know you two were together for some time, but in the end, he wasn’t the right one for you. There’s someone out there who is the right one for you. You know how many shit frogs I had to kiss before I got my prince?”

You make a face as you feed Jisoo, who happily sucks and gazes at the lights above.

“You call Jimin a prince?”

Namjoon sighs dreamily as he watches the baby and thinks of his husband.

“The dreamiest prince,” he breathes, eyes closed in bliss. “But back to your problems. I think you should get back out there. Go on some dates, meet some people. No one is telling you to fall in love and get married tomorrow. Just go have some fun.”

You allow Namjoon’s words to mull through your mind. What could be the harm in joining a few dating sites, perhaps spending some time at the gym or grocery store flirting with someone cute?

“Fine,” you say. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good. I can’t be the only one giving our parents grand-babies. Soo needs a cousin.”

You smile down at the tiny bundle in your arms and imagine a future where you have a baby of your own.

“Okay, I’m not trying to get knocked up, Joon.”

“Whatever,” he sighs. “Help me choose a wall color for me and Jimin’s new master bathroom.”

Tinder’s changed since the last time you used it, years ago. It’s gone from any semblance of dating to strictly an app used to get laid.

It’s discouraging swiping through all the obvious fuckboys. Sure, a quick and easy lay sounds great, but you’re also trying to go out and enjoy real, traditional dates, and it seems none of these guys want to step foot outside of a bedroom.

The swiping left becomes almost monotonous. You’re sitting on your couch, watching some documentary about serial killers, when a startling profile pops up on your Tinder feed.

The picture that pops up is... Jungkook. You can’t stop the bubble of laughter that leaps from your chest. His profile is so authentically Jungkook that you’re swiping right before you even know it.

Your brain doesn’t even comprehend what a match with Jungkook means, really. You’re still laughing as you click on the bubble to message him and send him as many laugh emojis as you can.

“Hey guys, what’s up, Kookie here with another Let’s Play Minecraft video for ya. Be sure to like and subscribe if you enjoy this kind of content.”

Jungkook’s headset is firmly wrapped around his head, mic next to his mouth and hands at the ready on his mouse and keyboard. He’s set and in the zone.

The game is well into play when the familiar chime of his phone goes off. It’s a Tinder notification—he can tell by the sound. He can’t help but roll his eyes, wondering what sort of boring conversation he’s meant to have with a girl who will probably ghost him, anyway.

He lazily lifts his phone and glances at the notification, before dropping it back to the desk.

His hand freezes on his mouse as he finally comprehends what he just read.

He just matched with YOU.

His best friend.

His secret, lifelong crush.

He sputters something into the microphone and stops recording his game, wildly grasping for the phone and unlocking it.

YN: 😂😂😂😂 is your bio a Minecraft pickup line?!

He pauses, attempts to collect his thoughts, before desperately typing on his screen.

JUNGKOOK: Why? 😉😏 did it work?

You spend the rest of your night jokingly flirting with Jungkook, sending GIFs and emojis in between the silly lines you’re using on each other.

Right before you’re about to head to sleep, Jungkook sends one last message.

JUNGKOOK: What if we went on a date lolol. Haha jk. Unless?? 👀👀👀

Your thumbs hover over the keys to your phone.

A date with Jungkook? Even though you matched with him, you’ve never thought of a date with your childhood best friend.

YN: alright, it’s only fair since we matched 😝 show me how you treat these tinder ladies

“I have a date with Jungkook tonight,” you tell your brother, Namjoon, over the phone.

Over the crying of your newborn niece, you hear Namjoon splutter in confusion.

“You what!?” He nearly screams. “Jeon Jungkook? Like... the annoying kid you’ve been friends with since fourth grade?”

You huff.

“He’s not annoying! He’s my best friend. We ironically matched on Tinder and… Well, why the fuck not? Nothing serious is going to happen. We’ll go out and have a story to tell about how incompatible we are.”

Namjoon doesn’t reply. Instead, you hear him speak to his husband.

“She’s going on a date with Jungkook,” he says over the muffle of his hand on the receiver.

There’s a shuffle, and the dulcet voice of your brother-in-law, Jimin, comes over the line.

“Girl,” he starts. “What the fuck?”

You chuckle as you move about your closet, trying to decide what’s appropriate to wear on a date with your best friend.

“It’s nothing!”

“Mm-hmm,” Jimin tuts. “You know the boy is in love with you.”

“Okay, Chim, you’ve been spending too much time cooped up with my brother. It’s affecting your grip on reality.”

“Sure, honey. I just tell it like it is. Don’t break his heart.”

You roll your eyes.

“I won’t break his heart because there’s nothing there, Jimin.”

“I’ll be expecting your call later.”

“Yes, dad. Love you guys.”

“We love you too, sweetheart. But really, don’t break that poor boy’s heart.”

You open your mouth to retort yet another reassurance that there’s nothing to break, but the line goes dead.

“Fucking Jimin,” you mutter as you throw your phone to the bed.

You can’t allow yourself to think that Jungkook might have feelings for you. It’s totally out of the questions. He’s your best friend. The guy who shoves Cheetos up his nose to make you laugh and falls asleep during every movie night with his face in the popcorn bowl. He’s just Jungkook. This date is just a funny way to hang out.

So, why do you care so much about what you wear?

You’re still standing in front of your closet, attempting to find something respectable to wear. It doesn’t matter that the last time Jungkook saw you; it was with mascara streaming down your face and a hoodie from Namjoon’s college swimming days and ripped leggings. Jungkook has seen you in nearly everything you wear, so your indecisiveness gives you pause.

Do you want Jungkook to be attracted to you? Do you want to do your best to look as presentable as you would for a normal date?

The thudding of your heart tells you that maybe you’re more interested in this being a date than you’re allowing yourself to believe.

You shake all thoughts off.

No, you won’t allow yourself to overthink a night that should just be fun.

You settle for a fitted and simple summer dress, tights and heels. Simple, easy, respectable but also showing enough cleavage and sculpt of your ass to ensure you look more dressed up than not.

Perfect.

With one last look in the mirror, you’re ready.

JUNGKOOK: I’m outside!

ME: See you soon!

Jungkook taps his foot anxiously as he sits on the bench outside your apartment. His tight black jeans feel like a second skin on his legs, and the black button-down shirt he’s tucked in makes him rethink his choice of outfit.

Is he too casual?

He’s never really worn something like this around you. This is what Jungkook wears when he wants to seduce. This is what every girl he’s desperately wished was you got to see. The girls who swooned over his messy hair, the way his jeans display his toned thighs, the peek of skin at his throat.

Maybe it’s too much.

Maybe he’s afraid he’ll scare you away.

Maybe he’s afraid you won’t like it.

He’s given no chance to ruminate anymore because you’re exiting the building and walking straight towards him.

He doesn’t think he remembers how to breathe.

It’s as if you walk towards him in slow motion. Angels chorus around him and the setting sun sparkles on your face like a spotlight. There’s nothing in the world anymore, nothing but you.

You’re the most beautiful human he’s ever seen in his life.

“Hi,” you smile as you approach him.

He continues to stare, eyes traveling over the soft curves of your cheeks and jaw, trailing down to the way your dress clings just right to each dip of your body. His throat goes dry.

You are without a doubt the girl of his dreams.

“Jungkook?”

It pushes him out of his reverie, eyes widening as he realizes he’s been staring at you for maybe a few minutes too long to play off as normal.

“Hey!” He coughs, attempting to right himself.

“You okay?” You ask, eyebrow lifted in concern.

“Yeah! Yup! Totally! I’m okay—a-okay, absolutely great.” He internally slaps himself.

“You clean up nice,” you smile as your eyes elevate up and down the lean form of his body.

“Oh?” He asks, taken aback.

In his daze, he never even realized what you’re thinking about him, rather only how intensely he was thinking about you.

“This must be the Jungkook that all the girls in college couldn’t stop begging me to hook them up with.”

His cheeks flame with sudden embarrassment, hand moving to the back of his neck to rub it awkwardly.

“Ha, yeah,” he swallows. “You look r-really nice too. I don’t think I’ve seen you in a dress since your brother’s wedding.”

The smile that he’s rewarded with nearly knocks him on his ass. “Thanks! It’s fun to dress up cute again. Jin hated this dress.”

A stab of pain eeks its way into Jungkook’s heart. Seokjin. God, how he hates that man.

“Well, uh, you can wear whatever you want with me!” He assures.

You loop your arm around Jungkook’s, saddling up to his side as you look at him expectantly.

“Well, are we going?”

Jungkook can’t help but smile at the sparkle in your eye, the way you peer up at him with those soft, cherry lips. He wants to capture them with his own, kiss you until you don’t remember Seokjin’s name ever again.

But he resists.

“Let’s go!”

You never thought you’d admit it to yourself. You never even thought it could happen.

But the date is everything you’ve ever wanted, and more.

Jungkook is still Jungkook, still just as silly and easy to talk to as he always is.

But he’s also charming. Flirtatious, even. He holds doors open for you; he rests his hand on the small of your back as he guides you towards your table at dinner. He feeds you bites of his dessert and lets his eyes linger on the way your lips look wrapped around his fork.

Jungkook treats you the way you’ve always wanted to be treated. Like someone he wants to cherish for the rest of your combined lives. Someone he wants to take care of, build a future with, enjoy life with.

And as much as it thrills you, it absolutely frightens you.

It’s when you’re walking down the small river trail together that Jungkook slips his hand into yours and laces your fingers together. The once-steady beat of your heart becomes erratic. He continues chatting—as if holding your hand was a subconscious act for him. He’s knee deep in a story of his Minecraft server when you stop walking, causing him to pause.

“What’s up?” He asks curiously.

Your eyes glitter with anticipation, with fear, as you stare at the gorgeous man before you. He looks like a full course meal in his tight jeans and he makes you feel like a princess. You can suddenly see doing life by his side—no longer his platonic best friend, but as his lover and lifelong partner.

You say nothing. Instead, you simply close the space between you two by grabbing the buttons of his shirt and tugging his lips onto yours.

“Wha—oh, mmmmmm.”

Jungkook is still for a second as he battles the surprise, but jumps into action and cups your face with his hands, deepening the kiss by pushing his tongue past your lips and swirling it around your own.

Your bodies press close together. He can feel your breasts against his chest and he desperately wants to rip the dress off your body and worship you like he’s always wanted to.

As soon as the kiss started, it’s over. You’re pulling away with eyes wide with fear.

“I’m sorry, I—I need to go,” you stammer awkwardly.

Jungkook’s heart drops to his stomach.

“What? We were going to get ice cream?”

You can feel tears building in the corners of your eyes. You’re so confused, so unsure of what you’re feeling. You want to stay and kiss Jungkook until you’re clawing at the clothing on his body, pressing kisses to the firm column of his neck. You want to run far away, too scared to admit it to him you’re sure you could love him for the rest of his life.

You can’t lose that friendship. You can’t risk everything you love about Jungkook. He’ll only hurt you the way every boyfriend ever has.

“I don’t really feel well,” you swallow hard as you lie. Jungkook always knows when you’re lying.

His body stiffens.

“Okay, let me walk you home.”

You shake your head, already moving away from the man.

“It’s fine. We’re nearby. I’ll just run or something.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but you’ve already turned face and started running the direction away from him.

Jungkook watches, misty-eyed, as the girl of his dreams runs further and further away from him.

You’re sobbing as you finally reach home, out of breath and confused. The phone call to Namjoon is quick.

“Yo,” he says cooly as he answers the phone. His tone changes when he hears your whimpering sobs on the other end.

“Joonie,” you whisper. “I fucked up.”

“Oh god,” Namjoon quickly shuffles and calls his husband over, before putting the phone on speaker.

“What’s happened, baby?” Jimin’s sweet voice asks.

“I—I kissed him,” you sob, holding yourself close in the comfort of the elevator.

Namjoon and Jimin look at each other with knowing looks.

“We’re on our way over.”

Jimin knows the first order of business is to stop the crying. He places sleeping baby Jisoo in your arms, which quiets your whimpers enough as you cling to the tiny baby. He knows your weakness is sleeping babies.

Namjoon looks on anxiously, hates seeing his little sister upset and with no way to make it better.

Jimin’s been asked to take the lead on this, because he knows his husband's response is to cry as well—he gets emotional anytime he sees her cry. Namjoon agreed, knowing Jimin was better suited for the conversation.

“Tell us what happened,” Jimin asks quietly. You’re rocking the baby gently, sobs turned to sniffles. “Did something go wrong on the date?”

Your eyes peer up at your brother-in-law’s, a wounded look that makes Jimin feel sad. Namjoon clenches beside him, and Jimin lays a hand on his lap to soothe the protective brother.

“No,” you whisper. “That’s the thing. It was an amazing date.”

Jimin watches you curiously, but remains silent to let you continue.

“We had dinner, and we played arcade games and we walked around. And he was so… fuck, he was perfect. It was like dating the guy of my dreams.”

Jimin nods knowingly.

“And it surprised you how much you liked him.”

“Yeah,” you sniffle. “At the end, he was holding my hand and just talking about normal, stupid Jungkook shit, but this time it felt like more. Like, I felt in my heart that I wanted to be the one he always talked to about it. I wanted to be the one he came home to at night.”

Jimin pats your cheek lovingly, the care for his sister-in-law clear in his gaze.

“You don’t just like him, honey. I think you might even love him.”

You pull baby Jisoo tighter into your grasp and nod, pathetic tears slipping down your face.

“I just left him. Like, I ran away from him like an asshole.”

Namjoon grunts and takes a spot next to Jimin. “If he loves you, which I’m sure he does, he’ll still be waiting for you.”

Jimin nods and rests a hand on his husband's back. “But you better have one hell of an apology.”

Jungkook doesn’t answer your phone calls. He doesn’t respond to your texts, snapchats or Instagram DM’s. He doesn’t even look at the TikToks you sent him! It’s becoming infuriating to get in touch with him.

You take matters into your own hands and storm to his apartment after work, the rising tension in your shoulders and stomach full of rocks an indicator of your anxiety about the future of this relationship.

Jungkook opens the door wearing nothing but a pair of grey sweats. All the carefully crafted words exit your mind at light

speed and you’re left gasping, wide-eyed at the chiseled body of your best friend.

“Can I help you?” He asks, tone flat.

Ouch.

You push past him into the apartment you know so well. “Yeah, you could start by answering your phone.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes and closes the door, then heads back towards the large gaming setup in the living room.

“My apologies for not responding to the girl who literally ran away from me on a date.”

Your cheeks heat uncomfortably as you stand in the center of his living room, arms crossed over your chest.

“Jungkook, listen. I’m—”

“Please,” he shakes his head as he sits down at the impressive gaming chair. “Save the apologies. I get it.”

“You don’t get it!” You say, exasperated. “You don’t get any of it! That’s why I’m here.”

Jungkook narrows a look at you then stands from his chair. Slowly, he makes his way towards you and stands inches from your face. The proximity of his bare, toned chest to your body makes your throat dry.

“No, you don’t get it.” His voice is threateningly quiet, completely different from his usual chipper tone.

“Jungkook, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” He quirks his head sarcastically, and you’re struck by the sharp lines of his jaw. “Sorry for running away from the date? Sorry for going on a date? Sorry for making me feel like I had a fucking chance when you kissed me?”

You swallow hard and open your mouth to reply, but he cuts you off.

“I’m sorry too. For giving myself way too much hope that this could ever be something. I’m sorry for myself for thinking you’d at least respect me enough to reject me politely.”

“You always had a chance!” You can feel tears building in your eyes and Jungkook feels his heart pound in his chest like a drum.

He scoffs, a harsh and mirthless laugh. “Clearly not.”

“I just—,” you start. “I never saw you like that before and suddenly you became everything I’ve ever dreamed of. It was like getting hit by a train, Kook! Suddenly my best friend turned into the man of my dreams.”

He shakes his head, stepping back away from you.

“I really find it hard to believe you,” he whispers. “I can’t let myself hope.”

“Jungkook, please,” you beg as tears start slipping down your face. “Please believe me.”

“Just leave,” he sighs. “I hate making you cry.”

You want so badly to wrap yourself in his arms, cry into his chest like you always do when you’re hurt. But you stand still, frozen in your shame and embarrassment of hurting your best friend so badly.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, before you spin around as quickly as you can and leave Jungkook’s apartment in a flurry.

He watches as the door slams behind you, eyes full of sadness and regret. As much as he wants to believe you, have faith in every word you said, he can’t allow himself to get his hopes up again.

He can’t watch you run away from him again.

“Welcome back to Kookie’s Wild Weekly Walkthrough!” Jungkook cheers as enthusiastically as he can through his microphone. “The weekly segment where I react to your Minecraft worlds!”

Jungkook needed to dive back into streaming to take his mind off of you. He hasn’t left his apartment in days, only subsisting on takeout and coffee. At least he was making more money and his subscribers didn’t seem to mind the up-tick in content.

“Tonight I’ll be walking through a creation sent by,” he squints at the username. “‘Kookiesgal95’ Aww that’s cute.”

He readies the content and starts his camera as he watches the YouTube link. His subscribers love his reaction videos—it’s a highly requested segment.

The video starts off easily, a generic Minecraft world that looks like a park.

“Hi Kook.”

The voice that reverberates through his headphones makes him pause the video quickly, wide-eyed with recognition.

It’s you. He’d know that voice from a million others.

Shit. He’s going to have to edit so much of this clip. He’s staring at the screen as if he’s just seen a ghost.

Unsteadily, he clicks play again and watches as you lead him through your Minecraft creation.

“I wanted to recreate something for someone very special in my life.”

Jungkook doesn’t even bother to react to this anymore. This entire video is going to be worthless—there’s nothing he can say.

The video pans around the Minecraft setup and he can see what looks like handmade swings and merry go rounds.

“It took me a really long time to do this and an embarrassing amount of help from some twelve-year-olds on the internet.”

He laughs and is stunned by the wet tears rolling down his cheeks. He hadn’t realized he was crying.

“I re-created a park that is really special to my best friend and I.”

He feels his chest tighten and relax. The park.

“This is the spot where he held me when my dog died when I was nine. I still miss that dog.”

The view is on a spot next to a blocky oak tree. Jungkook remembers that day, remembers your heartbroken sobs as he whispered words of comfort to you. He misses that dog, too.

“This is where he and my brother got in a fight when we were eleven, because my brother called me a stupid-head. My best friend has always been protective of me, even from my own big brother.”

He can still remember pushing Namjoon around after hearing him call you names. He pushed Namjoon over and threatened to use his “big muscles” if he did it again.

The camera pans to an enormous structure, rather sloppily made, of a slide and monkey bars.

“This is where we first shared a joint in high school. I coughed a lung up and he ran down the street to a gas station at ten pm to get me a bottle of water even though I told him I was okay,”

The memory of the bewildered 7-11 employee plays through his mind. The man watched as a very stoned, very out of breath, Jungkook paid for a bottle of water in coins.

The video continues playing, moves towards what appears to be a parking lot made of cobblestone blocks.

“This is where he held me when my world fell apart.”

The break-up. The way you cried and cried and cried in his arms and he held you as if you were the only thing left on Earth.

“This is where he reminded me I’m worthy of love, that I’m not broken. This is where he held me like I was delicate, but treated me like I was unbreakable.”

His tears don’t stop. Jungkook feels his heart thundering in his chest like a summer storm.

He can hear your sniffles through the recording of the video—you were crying too. It pans around to the swing set.

“And this is where I’ll tell him everything, tonight. Where I’ll tell him how deeply I love him and how I want to make him the happiest guy in the world. In all of Minecraft and beyond. I hope he comes.”

Jungkook doesn’t even bother turning his camera off.

Instead, he’s running to change out of his three-day-old clothes and bolt out the door.

The creaky, rusty metal of the swing set is deafeningly loud in the silence of your park.

It’s dark, just a few street lights around to illuminate the perimeter, but it’s otherwise only lit by the moon.

It’s getting cold. You shiver in your hoodie and kick at the dirt under your swing.

Maybe he didn’t see the video. Maybe he wasn’t going to show.

Maybe it was too late.

You spent hours working on the Minecraft world, staying up at all hours of the night to build and craft a poor re-creation of this park. The twelve-year-olds on Reddit had been invaluable and Namjoon definitely made fun of you for your creative assistants. But it had all been worth it.

“Fuck,” you speak out loud to no one, as you try to warm your hands in the pockets of your sweater. “It’s cold.”

“You should have brought a jacket.”

The sudden voice from behind startles you. You hop off the swing and whip around to face down the intruder.

Jungkook.

He looks so good. He’s wearing a thick coat and tight jeans. Your eyes take a delicious journey from head to toe.

He can’t help but preen at your blatant appreciation. He enjoys knowing you’re attracted to him, at least physically.

“You came.”

He nods and takes a nervous step towards you. He’s still far away, more than an arm's-reach away. You’re desperate to bring him closer, to pull him tight against your body and wrap yourself around him. You never want to be without his gentle touch again.

“I felt pretty compelled to come after you made all this in Minecraft for me.” He cracks a wry smile, a boy-ish grin that makes your heart flutter.

“It took me twenty-five hours and some teenagers to help.”

He laughs, a beautiful sound that warms you. “I’m sure they were ecstatic to help.”

You chew at the inside of your cheek, nervous at what he thinks about your in-game confession.

“Did you mean it?” He asks. He steps closer—one more step.

“Every word.”

His eyes are searching yours for the truth, desperately diving into the depths for validity.

“Why did you run away?” Another step.

You swallow hard, heavy tears brimming in your eyes.

“You went from being the silly best friend to being the person I could spend the rest of my life with. It all hit me. It’s always been you.”

One more step and now he’s just within your reach. If you stuck your hand out, your fingers would graze the soft puff of his coat, the delicate skin of his neck.

“I’ve always felt that way about you. I never thought you’d feel the same.”

You smile softly, timidly. “It just took me a little while longer to realize it.”

All at once, Jungkook closes the gap and holds you gently by your cheeks. His thumbs wipe at the moisture under your eyes.

“I promise to never make you cry again,” he whispers reverently.

“And I promise to never run away from you again.”

Jungkook smiles at that, cradling your face like you’re the most expensive and precious jewel.

“Can I kiss you again?” He asks, somewhat unsure of himself.

“I would like it if you would.”

As Jungkook presses his cold, plush lips to your own, you make a promise to yourself to never go a day without kissing him again.

“I can’t believe you’re in my bedroom,” Jungkook murmurs as he kisses at your face. After the park, Jungkook loaded you into his priceless Nissan and scurried home. You could hardly keep your hands off him as he drove you back to his place—reaching and caressing the spots on his body you’re dying to become familiar with.

“I’ve been in your bedroom before,” you remind him as he tugs up the hoodie you’re wearing.

“God, don’t be so semantic when I’m trying to fuck you,” he says before throwing the hoodie to a corner of the room. “You know what I mean.”

Jungkook kisses you again, all lips and teeth and tongue. He kisses you like you’re the last breath of air, and he’s greedy for every bit. He grips your hips, not too tight, and brings your body against his. You can feel him grow in hardness in his too tight, and it feels like bliss.

Teasingly, you grind your hips against his, making him shudder with desire.

“I want you,” he whines as he nibbles at your lip.

“Really? I couldn’t tell.”

He opens his eyes to level a look at you, pulling his mouth away from yours.

“You’re such a little smartass.”

His hands become feverish on your jeans, tugging apart the button and flicking down the fly. He pushes them down quickly, and you kick them off carelessly.

He can’t stop looking at you in your bra and panties, standing at the foot of his bed.

“Holy shit, okay, this is happening, right? Like, this is real?”

You smirk, pleased with Jungkook’s obvious excitement.

“Let me prove it’s not just a dream.”

Softly, you spin Jungkook around and push him down to sit on his bed. He complies easily, eyes wide and excited.

“If this is a dream, would you be able to feel this?” You ask as you unbuckle his belt and open his jeans. He doesn’t reply, simply watches you as you tug his jeans down to his thighs.

His cock strains hard against his tight boxers, and you run a teasing finger over the obvious bulge.

“Oh fuck,” he breathes.

“Feels pretty real, huh?”

“Y-yeah.”

Your delicate hands gently tug at the waistband of his boxers and easily work them down enough to free the length of his cock. It springs out easily and your eyes widen at the impressive size. You assumed he would be at least average, but you’re looking at something definitely more.

“Oh wow,” you whisper. “You’re fucking huge.”

Jungkook grins. “All for you, baby.” The cockiness is palpable.

One solid grip around him wipes the presumptuous smile off his face, replaced with a gasping, shuddering moan.

“How about this? Not a dream?”

He struggles to find his voice, instead he’s gulping for air like a fish out of water.

“That’s what I thought,” you whisper before settling into a position on your knees. “I’ll admit, I’ve dreamt about this too. I always felt so ashamed for dreaming about sucking my best friend's cock.”

You press soft kisses to the head of his length, teasing the sensitive areas at the tip before kissing up and down the length.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

His evident desire for you encourages you, and your tongue swipes at the crown of his tip and swirls around it gently.

“Oh my god.” His eyes shutter closed and you trace the veins in his dick with your tongue.

“This h-has to be a dreeeaaaaam,” he whines as you make an exceptionally long stripe with the flat of your tongue.

You pull off for a moment, humming. He springs his eyes open and watches as you reach behind your back and unsnap your bra. Your breasts escape with a bounce and his eyes widen, nearly bulging out of their sockets.

“What the fuck,” he whines. “You have the most amazing tits.”

He reaches out to grasp them and you slap them away playfully.

“Not yet,” you smirk. “Still trying to convince you you’re not asleep.”

He sucks in his breath and puts his hands back to the bed to steady himself, eyes never leaving yours (except to stare at the luscious curves of your body).

Grasping your breasts in both hands, you smash them together lightly in an elaborate show of what Jungkook wants most. You lean over his body and place the throbbing thickness of his cock in between your tits, allowing him to feel just how soft and warm they are.

“Shit!” He yelps, grabbing his sheets in a tight fist. “Are you really tit-fucking me right now?!”

Slowly, you lift your body up and down, allowing his cock to feel each stroke of your breasts. You nod at his question and continue to pump up and down.

“Still dreaming?”

He whines and shakes his head, already feeling so close to the edge. His cock is slick from your teasing licks and the pressure of your tits surrounding him had his mind spinning with desire.

“Ahhh, I’m so fucking close,” he warns.

You continue, speeding up the friction and pressure of your strokes.

“I want you to cum on me, Kook,” you whisper encouragingly. “Cum on my tits, please?”

Jungkook feels like he’s a wire about to snap, and your thick, sultry voice and incredibly perfect breasts are the snips that breaks him apart.

“Oh, shit,” he grunts. “Gonna paint your titties white, baby.”

His moans echo around the walls of his bedroom, small gasps of pleasure and your name escaping his perfectly plump pout.

His hot load splatters on your chest, and you stroke him through each pulse of his cock. You’re slippery with his seed now, and when you pull away from his spent length, you make a show of rubbing in his cum over your chest.

“Okay, definitely not dreaming,” he says in a daze as he watches you lift a wet finger to your mouth, popping it in to clean it off. “Who knew you were so fucking kinky?”

His confidence grows as he catches his breath. He can’t believe he’s sitting on his bed with you on your knees, breasts covered in his load. You’re suckling the cum off your finger like it’s his cock, and he’s desperate for more.

“There are lots of things you don’t know about me,” you shrug.

Swiftly, he grabs you gently by your bicep and pulls you close, sucking at your lips until you’re both standing.

“I plan to find out everything.”

Suddenly, you’re switching positions and Jungkook is pushing you down into the bed. You lay flat in the center, body relaxed and eager for your best friend.

“What are you doing?” You ask. He’s still standing at the end of the bed, watching you get comfortable. Once he’s satisfied that you’re lying exactly how you want, he settles himself by your feet.

“Worshipping you,” he says as he lifts an ankle and presses gentle kisses to your calf. “Showing you how much I adore you.” More kisses, soft and sweet. “Showing you how I plan on treating you for the rest of your life.”

He takes his time, lavishing your legs with his mouth. He kisses and sucks at any spot, sexual or not. He mouths at the roundness of your knees, your firm hamstrings. He presses his love into the skin of your thighs, mouthing his praises with each kiss.

He reaches the dip of your hips and he gently kisses your exposed skin as he tugs your cotton panties off you.

“I have loved every inch of you since before I can remember,” he praises as his lips skim over the mound of your cunt. “And I don’t plan on stopping soon.”

Your body feels like it’s on fire, as if Jungkook lights a match at every spot his lips press against. Your eyes close, and you allow Jungkook to continue his pious worship of your body.

He teases around your folds, kissing your labia ever so gently—making you gasp. He doesn’t linger long, only kisses you enough to stir the licking flames of heat in your belly.

He kisses at your stomach, gently nibbling and laving at the softness there. You try to hide from him, try to hide your insecurities of your body in his thorough exploration, but he moves your hands.

“I know you don’t like this part of your body,” he murmurs. His voice is so soft, so pure and sincere. “But I do. I love everything about you.”

His tongue swirls around your belly button, making you gasp at the ticklish sensation.

“You’re so pretty. So perfect.”

He continues upwards, lips now trailing to your full breasts. He takes his time there, licking and kissing and flicking at your nipples with his tongue. It feels exhilarating—Jungkook’s mouth feels like everything you want it to feel like. His tongue is warm, and he bites with just enough pressure to make your back arch off the bed into his embrace.

His hands explore, taking stock of every millimeter of skin he can find. He wants to memorize every freckle, every bump, every scar and line. Your body is his paradise, and all he can think of is you, you, you.

One hand travels down your body as he moves his lips up your neck. It snakes down your stomach and deftly slides over your soaked core. You whine as you feel his fingers part your folds and dip into the wetness.

“So wet,” he says out loud, verbalizing every tantalizing detail of your body. “So perfect.”

His lips are finally at your own and you kiss him passionately, tongue swirling around his as he slides his two fingers past your clit and into your drenched hole. You gasp against his mouth, eyes widening as he slowly scissors his fingers into you and pumps slowly. It’s almost teasing, the way he fucks his fingers in you. Slow, firm movements with his powerful hands.

“Jungkook!” You gasp. He doesn’t reply, instead he bites at your lip and tugs, then trails his hot mouth back down to your nipples. He can’t get enough of your breasts and the slightly salty taste of him still lingering.

“You feel so good,” he says as he speeds his fingers up minutely. “So tight and wet for me.”

Your hips writhe in need. He’s giving you what you need, but not enough. You need more, more. You want to feel him, all of him, spearing you open.

“Please, Kook,” you groan. “I need you.”

He laughs softly against your nipple and sucks extra hard, letting it pop out of his mouth audibly.

“And I need you, my love.”

“Fuck me, please.” You’re desperate, thighs quaking from the slow teasing. “I want you to fuck me, Jungkook.”

Chills shudder down Jungkook’s spine and he’s powerless to say no, not when you demand it so well.

“With pleasure,” he agrees. He pulls his fingers from within you and copies your move, sliding them into his mouth to suck your essence off.

He’s never looked sexier. His eyes are dark chocolate pools of burning intensity, and you feel your breath become shaky as you watch him clean his fingers with precision.

After he’s deemed his fingers sufficiently clean, he settles himself between your legs. Easily, he lifts your hips and shoves a pillow underneath, elevating you to a more comfortable position. He grabs your legs and tosses each over his shoulders so they’re higher in the air.

“I’m going to fuck you so good, baby,” he promises as he rubs the tip of his cock on your soppy slit. “Condom?”

You shake your head, appreciative of his question but desperate to feel him completely.

“Birth control. Regularly tested. Haven’t had sex in a while,” you blurt out. “You good?”

He nods in agreement. “Same. Well, except the birth control. But, I’d take it if they made it for men.”

“Jungkook!” You whine. Your best friend is so easily sidetracked. “Please, can you fuck me?”

He grins. “Tsk, someone is impatient.”

A low moan is rumbling in your chest as he continues to rub his thick cock at your entrance.

“I swear to god, you’re the biggest tease.”

“Oh, I’m definitely the biggest.”

Before you can react, he’s pushing past your entrance and sliding deep in your walls. Your position makes his cock feel deep, and he bottoms out and stills there, eyes closed in bliss.

“Holy shit,” he gasps. “This is absolutely the best pussy I’ve ever felt.”

You wiggle your hips as you get used to the sensation of the delicious stretch.

“Please don’t tell me how many pussies you’ve felt when you’re balls deep inside of me.”

Jungkook turns his head and kisses at your legs resting on his shoulders, lavishing them with his praise once more as he keeps his cock buried inside your tight heat.

“Yours is the only one that matters. The only pussy I’ll ever be in for the rest of my life.”

“That’s a good answer,” you smile. “Now, fuck me, lover boy.”

Jungkook winks and grips your hips with his hands. He swiftly pulls out, enamored with the way his cock is already covered in your creamy essence, then eagerly pushes back in. He sets a pace and soon the sound of skin clapping on skin echoes around the room.

“Oh god!” You’re moaning loudly, unabashedly. You’re thankful that Jungkook’s old roommate, Yoongi, moved out to live with his boyfriend Hoseok months ago. He’d definitely complain about the noise for months. “Fuck, Jungkook, you feel so good.”

Jungkook fucks into you with ferocity, speed and power gradually rising as he feels his core tighten with the coming anticipation of release.

“Mmm, you look so fucking sexy like this,” he murmurs. “Getting fucked by your best friend’s fat cock.”

He moves a hand from your hip, trails it up your body to squeeze at your breast, before he’s cupping your face once again. His hips snap against yours and he loves the way your mouth utters little squeaks and gasps with each deep thrust into you.

“God, my beautiful girl,” he groans. “Can’t wait to cum in this pussy, shit, you got me so fucking close.”

You open your mouth desperately and Jungkook easily slips his thumb in. You latch on quickly and suck, tongue swirling around the tip like you’re sucking another cock. It nearly sends him over the edge and the speed of his hips matches his desperate need for more.

“Fucking hell,” he bites back. He can feel his belly tighten, driven further and further to the edge by the constricting wetness of your cunt.

He pulls his thumb out and moves it down to where his cock spears into you, allowing your spit to swirl with his thumb around your clit. Your core tightens around him at the added stimulation and your back arches up in ecstasy.

“I’m so c-close, Kook,” you plead, as if begging for mercy. “Please, I want to cum so bad.”

The speed of his thumb increases, and he watches as your face twists in pleasure and desperation.

“Cum on my cock, baby, let me see you fall apart. Show me what I’ve dreamt of for so long.”

A high and wanton cry ripples out of your body as he savagely increases his speed, both his cock and thumb working overtime to drive you towards your end. The butterflies that erupt in your lower stomach make your moans louder, higher. You’re so close, closer than ever. It’s building to an incredible crescendo.

He can tell you’re close—he sees it on your face as your back arches and your fists grip his sheets.

“You look like a fucking angel, baby,” he whines as he soaks in the vision of you writhing underneath him. “I bet you cum like an angel, too. Let me see it, let me see.”

With just a few more swirls of his thumb and his deep, hard strokes, you’re soaring over the edge into a pool of nothingness. Your cunt pulsates wildly around his length, milking and stroking it with your tight walls. You throw your head back, moaning out his name at the top of his lungs, letting his neighbors know just who fucks you so well.

“Holy shit,” he gasps, hips stuttering as he fucks into your juicy hole. “That was so fucking sexy.”

You grip his forearms, holding onto him tight and encourage him to go harder. “Cum inside me, Kookie, please. I’m all yours, make me yours.”

His heart feels like it might burst in his chest. He’s always wanted you to say it to him, to hand over your love to him like he does so easily to you. It’s all so much, so overwhelming, and the feeling of your hot cunt still fluttering around him sends him reeling into his own completion.

He spills into you, warm seed coating your walls and pooling inside your womb. He fucks himself through each throb of his cock until he’s sure he’s drained every ounce of himself into you.

Your legs slip off his shoulders easily, and he gently pulls himself out of you. He falls beside you, panting with exertion, and wraps an arm around you.

After a few silent moments of catching your breath, Jungkook pulls you in close to him until he can koala-cling to you, arms and legs both wrapped around your body.

“Mine,” he whispers as he kisses your head. “All mine.”

You return the favor, clinging to your best friend—boyfriend—like he’s your only lifeline.

“All yours.”

“So, you’re telling me, you got together because of Minecraft?” Jimin asks, pointing a fork in your direction. It’s been months now since your grand virtual declaration of love for Jungkook. Months of bliss and romance, laughter and companionship.

You were right all along. Jungkook is everything you’ve wanted in a man and more.

You’re sitting at your brother’s expensive dinner table, enjoying a meal with his family with your boyfriend at your side.

“Yeah, Jimin, I guess that’s what I’m saying,” you retort as you roll your eyes. “Minecraft and Tinder.”

Baby Jisoo is awake and in your brother’s arms, but she’s whining and wiggling to leave him.

“What’s wrong, Soo?” Namjoon asks with a pout on his lips. “Why don’t you want daddy anymore?”

Jimin snorts at his husband and you hold out your arms for your baby niece. “Come here, baby, I know you want auntie.”

Namjoon dutifully hands over his daughter, sulking that he’s been picked over for his sister.

You cradle the baby in your arms, expecting her to calm once she’s there, but she continues to fuss. She’s thrusting her arms out and nearly crying, reaching towards Jungkook who’s busy chowing down on Jimin’s homemade ramen.

“I think she wants you, Kook,” you murmur. He looks at you, then to the baby, then back to you, before he wipes his hands and face clean with a napkin.

“Oh, okay,” he whispers, slowly taking the baby from your arms with your help. “Hello, ma’am.”

Namjoon and Jimin laugh. “She’s a baby, Jungkook, not an elderly woman,” your brother teases.

Jungkook doesn’t listen. He’s too busy cooing at the baby in his arms and playing with her tiny hands. Namjoon turns his attention away and looks at you.

“Guess I won’t be the only provider of grandchildren for much longer.”

You playfully glare at him and turn away to watch your boyfriend. Watching Jungkook interact with your niece makes your heart swell, your soul sing. He’d be a perfect father.

“I swear, if he teaches her how to play Minecraft, he’s banned from the household,” Jimin grumbles. “This is a No-Nerd-Zone.”

Jungkook cradles the child and rocks back and forth, singing her a soft, made-up song, before he looks over at you.

“Hey, I want one of these,” he smiles. “Can we have one?”

You lay a hand on your stomach, a soft bump not quite visible yet. It’s only been one test, the lines faintly indicating ‘positive’ on the stick. You wanted to make sure, get confirmation before you spill the beans.

“Sure, Kookie.”

He grins and leans over to kiss you, before turning his attention back to the baby. “Okay, Jisoo, now let me tell you all about the Endermen.”

Jimin groans. “Oh my god, do not give Minecraft facts to my infant!”

tag list - @giadalin @nohayarcoirissintormenta @pjmislovely @xhazmania @marcoazam2 @eggbutnotyolk @feel-the-sunset @unicornbabylover @aretha170 @jeonmisha @hordanhearsawhooo

#bts smut #jungkook smut #bts fic #jeon jungkook smut #jungkook #ficswithluv #jjk smut #bts fics #jjk fic #jungkook fic

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semischarmed · 3 years

Text

“Ben”

I was out on a socially distant walk by the woods when I notice a fire dance across the night sky and into the woods. Against my better judgement, I decide to investigate.

A small glowing silver ball sat among the forest wreckage. I reach out, almost by trance, and immediately feel a spark course through me on contact. In the process, my clothing ignites in brilliant green flame. Then, I feel a presence. Immediately, I turn around, still holding the orb. Amidst the green flame was a puddle of metallic gray slime. It vibrates before sending out a little slimy limb which slowly rocks side to side, as if to examine me, before jumping for my face.

For once in my life, I react quickly enough and instead catch the thing in my hand. It was slick, and unbelievably cold. The mass begins to glow dimly, as I hold it out in front of me. I stare at it expectantly as it again forms a tiny limb, re-examining me. In a flash of green, the little wad of silver goo transforms into what appeared to be a tiny silver human. No, human’s not quite the right word. It was humanoid, sure, but the proportions were all wrong, almost cartoon-like. It had a larger more bulbous head with large reflective eyes and a small, near indiscernible mouth. The hands were larger as well, while the arms and legs were far thinner. Despite strange the sight before me, I sense no ill intent. Its beady little black eyes watch at me, displaying not only life, but intelligence. Words cannot explain how I knew, nor can it explain why I ask my next question out loud in a language it certainly did not understand. “What are you”?

Its eyes begin to glow as it opens its mouth to speak, “Human...” it states in plain english. I jump back, almost dropping the thing out of my hand before catching it. “Thank you. I have chosen a form and language most suitable to your own. I am weak from my crash and from your atmosphere. You are not afraid or angry?” It takes its little arm and gently strokes my skin. “Your body appears to be incompatible with my physiology... perhaps due to your contact with my craft. As I understand it, your species is incredibly hostile. If you are intending on destroying me, my only wish is for a swift and painless death.”

I stood dumbfounded until I realized the small orb-egg-thing he came in was some kind of craft. “uh... this yours?”

“You seem unafraid of my presence and do not appear to intend to destroy me, despite these circumstances. Perhaps my information is incorrect? Has your planet had contact with other such beings previously?” it asked. “No.. uh, I can’t explain it but you don’t really seem like a bad-“

“-Guy” it corrected me. “My closest equivalent to your species is what you would classify a male. You appear shocked. Are you alright?”

Holy shit an actual, real-life alien! And it speaks English! I screamed in my head. Despite the absurdity, I cannot help but respond plainly, “Oh, um, this planet has not had any contact before. At least not that I’d be aware of.”

“I see, you are a friend then. Thank you human, I am in debt to you” it states. Looking at the small humanoid before me, I cannot help but want to protect it. It obviously did not intend to do anything or it would have killed me by now. Still, I felt somewhat bad, he really did not seem like a bad guy and, from the movies, it never usually ends well for the alien.

“You came in a big crash, right? So the government or whatever is probably looking for you. We should probably find a safe place for you, um... what can I call you, anyway?” I ask. It looks at me in silence again, then flashes an impossibly bright, green light from its hands before pondering for a moment, and stating “You have not lied. Thank you for your sincerity and your support. I may be called Ben.”

“Ben?” I can’t help but chuckle a little. “You travel all the way across the universe and you’re just plain old Ben?” Its formed its own little smile, which I find endearing. “My true name is—“ the rest was unintelligible. “Ben it is!” I laugh, “Look, we need to get you out of here. I’ve seen what they do to aliens in the movies.” Ben produces a small oddly heavy rock. “Understood. Please. Drop this into my crash site. It should cover our traces” it states in a weak smile before falling over momentarily. I oblige.

“Cool, cool. So...um.. what now? Also, are you alright?” I ask.

“Your planet... It is poison to my form. I am moments away from death. I need a genetic input to adapt to this atmosphere. I would feel safest inside a human.” Inside?

“Well.. uh... i dont really have much going on, on a friday night so...”

It smiles again. “I appreciate the gesture, friend, but as I have mentioned, our forms are incompatible. As such, I require a different vessel. Please select any of your choice.”

“You’re a little forward, buddy” I add playfully.

“Apologies human, your language is somewhat difficult to grasp. I appreciate any and all attempts at assistance”. The little silver alien in my hand sits down.

“Ok, let’s get you somewhere safe... Anyway I know just the guy....”

Fucking Austin. That smug tool was the my bully from way back when and was/is a massive jerk. He was also fucking hot and he knew it. I think he got off on it too- After years of torment, I couldn’t wait for this little alien to do whatever it needed to do inside him.

The walk back is embarrassing as my naked form scrambles in the dark, hoping to avoid any onlookers. Thankfully, it was the dead of night, and our neighborhood is fairly empty. I walk up to his garage, lit by a lone bulb, where he was presumably working on his car. Sweat and grime cover his torso. Of course, he strips to shirtless as soon as he notices me, offering me a tantalizing peek, like he always did when he brought a girl over. “Why are fucking naked you creep. The fuck you want, fag?” He sneers as his eyes immediately lock on to the small orb I am using to cover my junk.

“THIS!” I shout, extending out my other arm, holding little alien man. For a moment, nothing happens and he raises his eyebrows in amusement. It quickly shifts in shock when Ben springs to life, jumping onto Austin’s bare chest. The little silver man clings to his sweaty chest hairs, using them as leverage to scramble up Austin’s face.

“The fuck?!” He spat as he swats at the little alien. With a fervor, Ben dodges and continues inhumanly and follows with his quick dash, crawling up to Austin’s right nose. Austin attempts to get the little silver man off him but to no avail. Despite his shape, Ben is incredibly slippery, and Austin’s thick fingers cannot get a good grasp.

Austin screams as Ben has lodged himself inside Austin’s right nose, secreting a silvery slime while he burrows ever deeper into him. Austin’s eyes shut tight and his mouth opens in anguish. “FUCK!” he shouts as he tries to pull my friend’s tiny legs out. Ben is victorious in this struggle and Austin’s fingers again slip. “AHRRG” He shouts, while right side of his face crinkles in pain. I watch in amusement as Austin is reduced to small, rhythmic grunts. “....Fu-...Fu-... FF....hu...hu”. I no longer see any semblance of my alien friend so he must have crawled deep, deep inside of Austin.

Stillness washes over Austin before he starts again, mumbling slowly. “S-stop.... get out” he repeats, as his body starts swaying back and forth and his head bobs forwards and backwards. His eyes roll to the back of his head in delirium. Abruptly, he screams “GET THE FUCK OUT” in an angry growl and one eye rolls back go lock on to me. “YOU!” He shouts. Before he can move any closer, the veins in his body flare to life and I notice they start writhing, throbbing, coursing with some silvery liquid before returning to normal. Austin’s face quickly goes from anger into unconscious stupor as a line of silvery drool escapes his mouth and his entire body begins trembling. He slumps foward and then falls. I run forward and struggle to try to hoist the massive pile of quivering meat up. Still, he topples over, falling right on top, crushing and pinning me beneath the weight of his muscled form.

Despite the situation, I am completely entranced. I can barely breath from the weight of Austin on top, only managing steady, shallow breaths. He continues convulsing, causing the day’s worth of grime and sweat to smear onto me. Hot. Just feeling him like this, feeling his skin meet and rub across mine, was turning me on. This was physically the closest I have ever been to this man. His convulsions slowly die down, until he is just sleeping on top of me, pinning me to his dirty garage floor. I remark him, the breathing in his shallow breaths, the heat from his previous struggle, his salty, putrid sweat that now caked both of us. I was taking in all the Austin that I had previously only dreamt of having.

His gentle sleep is broken when his eyes shoot wide open. They’re incredibly wide, dilated, glassy. Silver tears escape their corners. His lips curl into an open mouth, breathy smile, and he motions to speak “..... ahhhhhhh” he states moving the muscles on his face and vocal cords as if for the first time. Despite the absurdity of the situation, I could clearly tell what was happening. Enough movies and TV and wishful dreams to more or less grasp what had just occured. The man before me was not Austin-at least, not the Austin I knew. This was all Ben.

“Sorr-“ he murmurs, as he pushes himself and his weight off me. He watches himself, first moving his digits one at a time, while he examines how muscle and sinew stretch and contract to accommodate his commands. He gently rubs his hands together, as if to wash them, remarking on every feeling. With these gentle fingers, he traces over his left bicep, following it’s curves and valleys, as if he had sculpted them himself. He tugs a little at strands of his armpit hair, remarking on the new texture, before sniffing the droplets of sweat that had clung to his fingers and making a sour face. “You humans are so fascinating. It’s like this body is constantly producing its own serum. what a wasteful process. Such a high temperature as well... your are.. inefficient models.” He licks his right bicep like a cat, which causes a stirring in my pants. “Still, these byproducts of your living... they are quite delicious”.

Austin’s tour then follows his chest. “I see you are bound to your forms, with no ability to shift”.’ He cups his left nipple, remarking at the musculature within. “Hmm... that description is inaccurate...You appear to be somewhat capable of physical change, though not as drastically as my species.” He twirls a finger around his left nipple, smiling slightly at the stimulation. “Oh...though your species has a far heightened pleasure ceiling. This is...” He trails as he repeats the maneuver with his right nipple and stifles a moan. I stand, awestruck and slightly horny at the sight of my former bully pleasuring himself. He continues, taking his hands further down and feeling each ab before he stops at his pants. Austin pauses, curious, raising his head as if to scan his own brain for information, before flatly stating his catchphrase “Bet you’d like to suck this fat cock, wouldn’t you?” He spat to the side before immediately resuming his former tone, “Apologies, human emotions are... difficult to reign in. This vessel is responding to my intrusion unpredictably...“ He then wears Austin’s personality again. “But anyway thanks bitch, for giving me this hot, hot, jock cock. Time for me to pay up. I got cash... booze... weed... other shit” he winks. “So what’ll it be?”

In the heat of the moment, I could only reply back what I wanted. What I’ve always wanted. “Let me suck your fat cock” I reply automatically.

The mood shifts immediately and Austin’s face is perplexed. “This function you are requesting, it does not lead to procreation. It lacks any of your societal benefit...What good does it do you?” I decide to push a little further than I normally would have. “Let me show you” I state, giving him a wink. I strip Austin down and gently grab his thick cock, relishing in the moment. It flares to life, slowly hardening, increasing in size. I clasp my hand a little tighter around the rod start with slow, rhythmic strokes. Of course, I look to the face Ben was wearing for any cues, but it remains emotionless. I start to pull away before Ben finally speaks up “I see... benefit. Please, continue demonstrating”. Fuck. After all these years. All his teasing, he was finally here and he was finally mine.

“My body appears to recall this... this behavior is consiered gay, yes”

“Fuck yeah it is....”

“My body... these memories I have commandeered indicate this is something Austin is neither familiar nor entranced with. I will try to apply its equivalent knowledge accordingly” he stated flatly, somewhat confused at the situation. “Apologies... as I have mentioned, your language is a little complex.” I ignore him and continue.

“I personally.. to find this behaviour... hmmm.... acceptable...but.. he.. appears to.. I... Hmmm.... Fuuuuck!” he screamed, as his body abruptly leaned forward. His emotionless face begins to dance with a wellspring of feeling. It cringes first, then flashes into one of bliss, then pain, anger, intimidation, until settles into sneer. Mine of course flashes imminent doom. Oh Shit.

“Uh.. little buddy? You there?” I ask nervously. He grabs me, dragging my face near his. I am prepared for the worst.

“You know, he really fucking hates this. I can feel him resisting... Fuck you!” He spits. I still cannot tell who is who, until he clarifies. “Austin must really, really hate you.... but I dont” He leaned his face further in, giving me little chance to react before he jams a thick slimy tongue into my mouth. When he pulls back, his face then showed an odd emotion-cute, even. He was looking for approval. I, turned on by the past events, quietly nod in shock. Emotion immediately shifts back. “Come here, bitch!” he screams, pulling me back to him, bringing our faces close together while he hocks a wad of Austin’s spit at me. That part, I was familiar with and I instantly wince, expecting the normal pummeling I’d get. Instead, he sticks his hand down to scoop some of cum he had just released and aggressively smearing it all over my face and running Austin’s seed through my hair. “You’re mine forever, you get that right? Fuckin twerp. You fucking want this, right?” Austin stated with a sneer. He jams his tongue into my mouth again for another sloppy kiss and I explode cum in my underwear. Goddamn this was hot. Fuck. All those years of torture and in the end, here he was, seeking my approval, seeking to be mine. The sneer plastered on his face shifts immediately to one of concern and validation-seeking.

“Are you alright, friend? I apologize for the scare, I was attempting to follow-“

“No, no, no...” I mumble in heat. “Turn... FUCK...turn whatever the fuck that was back on. This is, god, this is everything.”

My little buddy complies, rolling Austin’s head and eyes back before immediately shifting his face back to his trademark sneer and giving my face a sloppy lick. “Bro, this body fucking hates you. You know? Feelings are created by brain and all that shit, like damn... all I wanna do inside this hunk of flesh is give you the pummeling you fucking deserve.” he states menacingly, before giving my face another lick. “But dont worry I fucking love you, bro. Look at me when I’m fucking talking. I am Austin. New and improved. Maybe this was what I was missing in my home-world. Maybe your degenercy has tainted me. Maybe this vessel has. To be honest, we don’t really give a fuck. Well, he does but I speak for us both now. This little... experience...has been a delight and a revelation. According to this meatbag’s brain ‘you’re gay as shit’ so, help me to help you. Austin’s gay as shit now too. For you at least. Help your daddy Austin betray his species find me some more of these kinds of males. Whichever you like. I’ll make our wildest dreams come true.” He comes in for another sloppy kiss, and sticks his muscular hand down my pants, corralling my seed and scooping out it out moments later. It is slick with my cum. “Hahaha this body finds this act so revolting. According to his memories, he finds you utterly disgusting. Well... I’m into it, let’s stick some of you inside Dear old Austin. I’ll stuff your cum so deep in him, he’ll never get it out. Our boy is quite the fighter too, he’s resisting me, even now”. Austin regains momentary control. “NO FUCKING WAY” His arm struggles and shakes as it brings the cum-covered hand to his mouth. In the end, Ben is successful and Austin has no choice but to jam the slimy hand to his mouth, slurping each digit individually, caking his insides with me. “Mmmmm but you taste so fucking good...bro... well to me at least. This body physically hates this. Too bad our little Austin isn’t in control right now. And when I’m done with him, he’ll come back wanting more”. He repeats the gesture with his other hand, and cracks his neck, piloting Austin far more naturally. “As long as we keep him well-fed, I can continue to pilot this hot piece of ass without resistance. We will transcend this meat-suit. With me running the show from this fucking hot bod, and you at our side, we will be unstoppable.” He states in deranged glee. I worry slightly until Austin’s persona flips to Ben’s normal formal tone. “Ah, apologies, as you know, this body thinks very highly of himself” he states with a slight chuckle ”but no worries... no more outbursts.”

“Some more information about myself, while I make some rearrangements to this body’s brain. My species has the ability to commandeer others into vessels, though I believe this is a byproduct of our formless nature more than our intended purpose. You see, home-world has isolationist tendencies. We keep to ourselves. I am somewhat aberrant in this matter. We are powered by genetic diversity, yet they choose to remain within the one world when there is a whole universe outside of home to explore. I am different. I want it all, I want to see, hear, feel, experience what this wonderful universe has to offer. For that, I was cast away, to travel this lone plane with my craft. This life is a quiet one, so I am fortunate to have met you.” He strokes my cheek lovingly with Austin’s hands. I initially wince out of habit, but he seems to have understood. “Thank you, for everything,” Ben says sincerely with a kind smile. I beam back but immediately blurt out what had been on my mind throughout his whole monologue “why me though?”

“As you know, each human’s genetic output is a mix of information.”

“Uh huh” I trail, struggling to follow along.

“Well, your specific combination produces a nectar to our species which we would find intoxicating. Perhaps it had been slightly altered by my crash.” Ben stares at me with Austin’s eyes, relaying an intelligence that my former bully had never previously had. “Beyond that, in my eons of travel, I have never met a more kind or accommodating individual”

“I like your genetic material, your signature, your blend...it is... hmmm...there is no equivalent phrase for this- at least within your capacity of emotion- but make no mistake, it’s delicious and I would like some more.” His demeanor shifts. “Do you like Austin? Do you like me?” He asks in a playful tone as he circles Austin’s nipple with his finger. Austin then grabs my arms, rubbing them across his abs. “Yeah, this meatsuit is a fucking keeper, isn’t he? I can tell you love this bitch” He teases with Austin’s mannerisms. Ben has been getting really good at this, he’s practically imperceptible from Austin when he’s acting. I nod eagerly in approval, still feeling up my former tormentor as he stretches his arms and gives a yawn.

“Good, good. Well he’s all set. Let me just get our friend Austin prepped. I will to give him some autonomy but, given my penchant for your genetic information, you may see a slight adjustment to his personality.” He winks. “Please bring my pod over, I must conserve some energy, I believe to you humans to understand the equivalent to be hibernation.” I pull the pod up to Austin. “Lower bitch” he commands, grabbing my arms and pulling the pod to his dick. He strips Austin naked before wrapping Austin’s vascular hands over mine, moving them in a way that splits the pod open. He then uses Austins hands to slowly wrap my fingers around his dick. “Pump,” he commanded. I comply, masturbating his dick until it explodes a stream of silver all over the pod. The silver gel congeals into the pod and Austin’s body drops unconscious. I catch the pod and gently place it on his table.

I watch Austin expectantly. He wakes, showing me a look of confusion before sternly asking “the fuck are you looking at, fag?” He then sniffs the air, raising his thick biceps to quickly verify if the smell had been emanating from his armpits. He grimaces, “Goddamn I reek...Did you do this?” Eyes lock with mine as I see only fury blazing. His eyes go wide as his face displays the recollection of our nightly encounter. He quickly runs over, blocking any escape route out of his garage. “You bitch!” He shouts. Before I can react, Austin pushes me up to the wall, shouldering my body and neck and locking me and my airways in place. He raises a fist, and I flinch until... well... nothing. I watch his face, attempting to discern what had just occurred. He releases his grasp slightly, allowing me to finally catch my breath.

He was still furious. Unimaginably so, but I see it tinged with something else as well... shame? And I then notice another feeling, as I begin to feel his heartbeat and breathing quicken. It’s an emotion I have only been able to see in him once- only when Ben had been controlling him. It was lust. He again motions angrily to punch me with a muscular right hook, before stopping his own hand, mere inches from my face.

“I UGH...FUUUUCK....” he shouts, looking away seemingly angry at himself before he punches the wall beside me, leaving a dent. He looks back at me, motioning to give my cheek a tender stroke before he catches himself and shakes his head in anger. “That spiteful bitch! I dont know what little trick you pulled you little asshole, but... hmmmm” he moans, smelling the scent of my fear and desperation... ”man have you always smelled this good?” he mumbled quietly to himself. I decide to take a little risk with this opportunity “Yeah bro? I taste pretty good too,” I state seductively.

That seems to have set him off. He was still somewhat angry obviously, but the lust only seems to have only deepened and overtaken him. He rushes our bodies closer. Sweat drenched abs hover tantalizing close to my stomach, as his sculpted biceps and vascular forearms bound my cheeks. He leans in, inches from my face.

“You want this ass, right? I can be a fag too, only for you” he whispers, leaning even closer to me as I breath in my prior bully’s hot steamy breaths. I instantly go hard. He notices and proceeds by planting a slow, sloppy kiss on my lips. I have to admit, Austin was a great kisser, better than Ben even. Hungrily, Ravenously, his lips pry mine open as his thick tongue dances inside my mouth, greedily tasting me. I reciprocate. In turn, he hugs our bodies together, and I feel his large form encapsulate my own with a warmth and an odd tenderness that I had never even fathomed him capable of generating.

He pulls back, breaking me out of my trance. “But, can you put that little thing back in me... I... uh... together...we uh...look, I want him back. I need him back.“ He begs. “Something...missing inside me.... fill it”.

Goddamnit Ben. I gesture with my head to the motionless pod containing my friend while I chuckle to myself. “He’s sleeping”. Slight adjustment my ass.

He looks back at the pod, obviously disappointed. Then he looks at me, gaze softened, the facade from his usual persona all but broken, “Sorry, can’t help myself... well fuck it, I know you always wanted this anyway,” he mumbled as he nuzzled my neck and shoulder, taking in my essence in deep inhales. I feel myself blush as he continues and then does a quick survey of my body. “When he’s using me.. I can feel... I-I know he loves you... look, I know he wants more... but you fucking better- I’m gonna stay your fucking favorite right? You can use me too, or whatever. I can be your bitch. I can be whatever you want me to me... Just, keep me around, ok? And keep him inside me” I muse at how the old me would have killed to hear similar words from Austin, years ago.

He pauses for a moment, looking away in disgust at his own actions before yielding and scratching his head as he forces out his next words:

“look man... just... the thing that’s missing from me... well this is gonna be weird ask bro, but...can you cum in my mouth?”

—————

I’m a little bit shit with the titles but thats neither here nor there. Used some other similar stories I’ve read in the past for inspiration. Hope y’all like it. Next one’s probably gonna be a continuation on that Chrysalis one. What kind of possession stories are your favorite?

#male possession #malepossession #male puppet #alien possession

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goldentournesol · 3 years

Text

Christmas Miracles

(Spencer Reid x fem!Reader)

The one where Spencer and Reader finally get pregnant after 2 years of trying and failing.

Length: 3.2k

A/N: TW pregnancy, thank you for requesting this anon, so sorry this is late, i know you asked for fluff but i added a touch of angst too because: hello, have you met me? also please accept my feeble attempt at a Christmas fic. i sure do hope no one goes through my search history now haha, anyway ENJOY! (sorry if this is crappy) It is officially Christmas where I live so MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYBODY!

masterlist

The click clack of her heels against the tiled floor of the hospital almost seemed too loud. She felt as though her presence was too much, but she had promised Kristy she’d be there. It almost felt unreal. Here she was, celebrating the birth of yet another Simmons baby when not a single Reid had been conceived. It might have been selfish of her to have such thoughts, but she couldn’t help it. Not when the one thing she and her husband had been praying for day and night came so easily to everyone but them.

It’s been two years since their wedding and for two years she’d felt nothing but the impending feeling of failure hanging around her shoulders. All she wanted was to give Spencer what he deserved, she knew how much he wanted kids. He didn’t even have to say it, it was evident in the way he treated Henry, Michael, and all the other children of the BAU.

She’d left her job as soon as Spencer texted her and said she’d meet them at the hospital. She took a deep breath before locating the familiar faces of the BAU in the waiting room.

“Hey!” JJ smiled, racing to hug her first.

“Hi, any news?” Y/N asked, pulling away from the hug and looking for her husband among the faces, smiling in recognition. She spotted him in a chair, adorning a hoodie that was much too large for him with “Washington DC” printed in bold letters across the front.

“No, not yet.” Spencer reached his hand out to her and she stepped towards him, smiling as he stood to embrace her. She pulled back once again and looked at his hoodie in amusement.

“Do I want to know what happened?” She giggled, gesturing towards his outfit. He laughed bashfully.

“I, um, had an...incident with the sprinklers at the park.” She watched as his cheeks turned an adorable shade of pink. She laughed and nodded.

“Alright then.” She took a seat beside him and forced the lump in her throat to break itself apart. But Spencer knew how she felt, of course he knew. Which is why he offered both his hand and shoulder to her as they waited. She gladly accepted both, wishing the heaviness in her chest would dissipate.

About a half hour later, Matt emerged from one of the rooms, announcing the birth of his baby girl. Everyone swarmed around him to give him celebratory hugs, Y/N felt as though someone had to unglue her from her seat. She smiled as wide as her face would allow and hugged him.

“Congratulations!” She exclaimed, trying her hardest not to make it sound forced.

“Thank you, thank you all.” He said, inviting them all into the room, where the wailing of a newborn baby could be heard. To many it could sound annoying, but Y/N was almost desperate to hear it. Before entering, Spencer grabbed her hand gently and stopped them in their tracks, reaching out to cradle both her hands in his.

“You okay? We can leave now if you want, just say you had an emergency at work or something.” He said quietly to her, knowing how it would make her feel if she were to see this baby right now. He never wanted to push her too far. He could see the uncertainty swimming around in her irises, but his wife was never one to back down from anything she’d promised someone else.

“I’ll be fine, Spence. I promised Kristy.” She whispered and he nodded, although he felt something was off in the pit of his stomach. He brushed it off as she pulled him into the room after her. Her eyes landed on Kristy cradling her baby girl and her heart melted at the sight.

“Oh, she’s beautiful, Kristy.” Y/N cooed, momentarily forgetting about the heaviness in her chest as the baby’s tiny eyes curiously wandered over to her.

“Thank you, Y/N. Would you like to hold her first?” Kristy smiled tiredly and everyone’s gaze fell onto Y/N, an unreadable tension silently floating in the room.

“I-I’d be honored.” She let go of Spencer who watched as his wife carefully scooped up the baby into her arms. His heart swallowed his chest from its swelling. He could barely control the softness in his gaze before Matt came up next to him and grabbed his shoulder, making him smile. The way she carried the baby with so much compassion was a sure sign for Spencer, this woman was meant to be a mother. The mother of his children.

Y/N grinned with slight tears in her eyes as she stared at the baby in her arms, “Hi, baby girl. You’re so beautiful.” She cooed softly as she swayed them slowly from side to side. The baby quieted down in her arms and it was a wonderful sight to see. Spencer’s heart was surely beating its last beats.

“Oh, she loves you already.” Emily said from the far side of the room. The comfortable weight of the baby in her arms had suddenly turned into 7.8 pounds of complete and utter dread. She had allowed herself to think that it was her own child for a split second.

What a huge mistake.

A tear escaped Y/N’s eye as she realized she’d have to part with this beautiful gift of life. She forced a smile and handed her back to her mother carefully. No one noticed the shift in Y/N’s mood, too enthralled by the baby, except Spencer, of course. She quickly wiped away the stay tear as she took her place next to Spencer, who had tried to take her hand in his, but she pulled away just in time. He breathed a heavy sigh as she silently fell apart right next to him.

After a few moments of failing to keep herself from falling apart in front of the team, she tugged on his sleeve harshly and he knew he’d have to excuse them. So he did, they said their farewells and were on their way to her car. She handed him the keys silently and avoided his gaze until they were in the car together.

“Sweetheart…” Spencer started, reaching out to caress any part of her, only wanting to provide a semblance of comfort.

“Please--please, don’t, Spencer.” She whimpered softly as she shrunk away from him and into the passenger seat, the tears falling freely now. Spencer frowned deeply and began driving them home in silence.

She wondered if she’d ever have the opportunity to be in Kristy’s shoes. All she wanted, as of right now, was to be a mother. The universe had been so, so unkind to them both throughout their lives. God knows Spencer’s been through hell and back more times than they can count. Despite all that though, Spencer was truly the best support system she could ask for. He never pushed her too far, he always understood her, never made her feel bad for not being able to get pregnant. But that didn’t take away from the way she felt. The way she felt like she was failing Spencer. The one thing her body was made for, and she couldn’t do it.

Spencer walked them both up to their apartment and put on the kettle to make some tea as she disappeared into their bedroom, probably to take a shower. For months and months, they’d been trying, and nothing seemed to work. It was taking a toll on Y/N and he couldn’t help but feel useless.

It went on this way for about a month, although Spencer and Y/N were getting much better about talking about it, as well as beginning to explore other options. Spencer kept convincing Y/N to get out of the house more, he insisted that perhaps time apart and engagement of individual activities would strengthen their relationship. So Penelope suggested a girls night in at least once a week. They would order junk food, watch sappy movies, and sometimes cry about their lives.

One night, all the women and spouses of the BAU were at Penelope’s, watching a movie and munching on crunchy snacks. Y/N suddenly sat up straight and gasped, pausing the movie quickly from the remote.

“What is it?” Tara asked, looking over at Y/N on the couch.

“What day is it?” She asked, slightly panicked.

“It’s...Saturday?” Emily replied.

“No, no! What day of the month?” She exclaimed, searching for her phone in between the couch seats.

“It’s the 12th, why? Is it someone’s birthday?” Penelope asked, confusion settling in.

“The 12th?!” Y/N exclaimed in shock.

“Y/N, what’s on the 12th?” JJ asked impatiently.

“I’m late! I’m 2 weeks late. Let me check first.” Y/N pulled up her phone and checked her period tracking app. The women all glanced at each other excitedly, “I’m late…”

“OKAY! Stay here, do not move. JJ and I will go get you a bunch of tests! Don’t move!” Penelope exclaimed, rushing up to put on a coat over her pajamas and slip on some shoes.

Y/N stood and began to wring her hands nervously.

“What’s wrong, isn’t this great news?” Kristy asked, her face showing concern.

“Yes! Yes, of course. Just...what if it’s n-not real, what if it’s negative? I-I don’t think I can handle that again.” Y/N said as her eyes filled with tears. Her heart seemed to have stilled in her chest and her throat began closing up in response to her anxiety.

“Even if that happens, we’re right here. We’ll be supporting you through it all.” Tara said, standing and hugging her tightly. The second she was in her arms, she began sobbing. The slightest comfort brought waves of fear and anxiety. Emily and Kristy frowned and felt their chests pull at the sight of her being so upset. Tara smoothed down her hair lovingly and convinced her to have a seat until Pen and JJ returned.

A few moments later, they came bursting through the door, “Alright, did you drink enough liquids, do you have to pee?” JJ asked, unpacking and handing her the tests.

“Umm, I don’t know but I’ve been peeing a lot anyway.” Y/N replied and JJ nodded.

“Okay, that’s a good sign.” Kristy nodded encouragingly.

Y/N moved to the bathroom and took the tests. She opened the door slightly and looked towards Penelope, “Can you come in? I-I’m too scared to look at it alone.”

“Of course.” She stepped in and Y/N left the door open for anyone else to come in. Soon they all gathered in or outside of the bathroom. Y/N sat on the closed toilet and wrung her hands nervously, a habit she’d picked up from Spencer. Penelope waited the appropriate amount of time and looked at the tests that were face down on the counter. She looked towards Y/N for approval and she nodded, holding her breath. She wasn’t a profiler but she was trying to read every single microexpression that crossed Penelope’s features. The room was heavy with anticipation as they all watched Penelope look at the tests.

Soon enough, her face broke out into a large grin, “Guess we’re getting a baby genius!” She exclaimed and everyone cheered loudly in response.

Y/N was frozen in shock on the toilet as everyone rushed to embrace her, “W-what?” She uttered in disbelief, tears clouding her vision quickly.

“They’re all positive! A baby Reid is in the oven!” Emily cheered, showing her the tests. She put a hand to her mouth to slow down the sobs escaping her. She hugged them all tightly and she knew, she just knew that this happened thanks to the sheer powerful energy of all the women by her side. The thought gave her goosebumps.

“Oh my God! I have to tell Spencer!” Y/N shouted in the midst of all her tears, just imagining the pure joy that would be on her husband’s face as he learned the news.

“If you leave now, you’ll make it before he gets home from Derek’s.” JJ said, checking her watch. Y/N nodded and raced out with the tests, putting on her shoes quickly.

“I love you all so much! Bye!” She yelled into the room before darting out the door.

She stopped by the grocery store to pick up some buns, an empty box, and a pair of the cutest baby sneakers she could find. As soon as she got home, she filled the box with the sneakers and the positive tests. She also placed a single bun in the oven and waited for Spencer to come home.

“Y/N, you here already? I saw the car parked downstairs--is everything oka--” he cut himself off as he found her in the kitchen holding something behind her back. His eyebrows raised suspiciously as he eyed her, “What’s going on? What are you up to?” He couldn’t resist smiling at her smile, the previous anxieties melting away.

“Check the oven, baby.” She said, leaning against the counter across from it. His brows furrowed even more as he peeked inside.

“I don’t get it. The oven’s not hot and this is likely a store-bought bun.” Spencer Reid, despite being a certified genius, he could be extremely oblivious at times.

“Yes, and where is it placed?” Y/N hinted.

“In the oven?” Spencer reached in and grabbed the bun. He turned around to face her, the bun in his hands.

“Yes, exactly! It’s a bun in the oven.” She laughed, giving up. She watched as his face lit up in realization.

“Wait...what?” Spencer said softly in disbelief, placing the bun down on the counter and taking a few steps towards her.

She grinned and pulled out the box from behind her and opened it up in front of him. He took it from her and inspected the test and the shoes with a dropped jaw, “W-we...you’re--” He laughed a wet laugh and placed his hands on her belly, “We’re gonna have a baby?” His voice cracked, tears clouding his eyes quickly.

“We’re gonna have a baby.” She confirmed and he pulled her into possibly the tightest hug she’d ever received from him. His shoulders began shaking in her arms and soon they were sobbing messes in front of each other. She rested her head on his chest and he kissed it over and over again until they both calmed down.

“I’m gonna be a father.” He finally said, smiling down at her with a dopey, lovesick smile.

She nodded, returning the smile, “The best father. Now come on, let’s have a seat and start planning.” She giggled, pulling him out of the kitchen and to the couch.

“You know, it’s thought that the saying bun in the oven originated in 1951.” He began explaining and she suddenly burst into a fit of fond giggles, hoping their child would get his intelligence and definitely his good looks.

At exactly 10 weeks, Spencer insisted that she get her first ultrasound. She didn’t mind, she just wanted him to be there, and with his hectic schedule, it was hard to find a perfect time to go. But alas, they figured it out and Spencer was practically bouncing on his feet in excitement in the waiting room. Y/N placed a calming hand on his knee and smiled reassuringly. They took turns calming each other down. Even though Spencer had read every book about parenting and children within reach, he still felt so unprepared as a first time parent.

“Mr. and Mrs. Reid? The doctor is ready for you now.” A nurse with a clipboard announced, making Spencer shoot up out of his seat and helped his wife out of hers.

Soon, they made it into the office and before she knew it the doctor had already spread the icy cold gel on Y/N’s growing belly. A steady, repetitive noise could be heard throughout the room, bouncing off the walls. It sounded like an underwater heartbeat with a tad of something sloshing around.

“Oh, do we hear that? That’s the sound of the baby’s heart-Oh! What do we have here?” The doctor announced as she maneuvered her way on top of her belly.

“What is it?” Spencer anxiously asked, peering over at the screen.

“It seems as though there are two amniotic sacs as well as two healthy heartbeats! Congratulations, you’re having twins!” The doctor exclaimed happily. The couple stared at each other in an absolute stunned daze.

“Twins?” Y/N had to make sure she was hearing it correctly.

“Yes, a pair of healthy twins.” The doctor confirmed.

“That’s...th-that’s only a 4% chance. This is amazing!” Spencer uttered, hugging her tightly.

Over the course of the next six months, Spencer and Y/N have been living on the absolute tips of their toes. Y/N was extremely clingy at times and Spencer was terrified of leaving her, should he be called in for a case. As the twins’ due date nears, Spencer turns into a shell of himself and instead a home for festering anxiety and fear. He’s terrified something might go wrong. Whereas Y/N could not wait for the babies to be out of her! The day couldn’t come sooner.

Thankfully, serial killers all over the country had decided to take a break for Christmas time. Spencer, Y/N, and her belly were invited to every gathering leading up to Christmas eve. She wished she wouldn’t have to waddle along for much longer.

As the two sat in peaceful silence, listening to instrumental versions of their favorite Christmas music and munching on gingerbread men, something felt off.

“Uhhh, Spence?”

“What is it, sweetheart?” Spencer asked, sitting up, failing to notice the large pool of liquid now under his wife soaking the couch.

“My water just broke.” She announced, feeling her breath quicken.

“Oh-OH!” Spencer shot up from the couch and quickly grabbed the hospital go bag that’s been living by the door for the past few weeks. He put on a pair of shoes for her and carefully helped her off the couch.

“Spencer, it’s Christmas eve, we’ll never find a place in the hospital!” Y/N panicked slightly as she waddled to the door, trying to control her breathing.

“Shh, baby don’t worry about that right now. I just need you to do the breathing exercises we practiced so much, okay?” He said calmly, doing her breathing exercises, prompting her to imitate him. He surprised her by being so calm and composed all the way to the hospital then she remembered he’d once told her that he finds he does his best work under intense pressure.

20 grueling hours later, two beautiful baby girl Reids were born into this world on Christmas day. It truly was a Christmas miracle. The team filed in on Christmas day to find one exhausted Spencer standing and an even more exhausted Y/N on the bed, each cradling a baby girl of their own.

“Oh my, oh, they’re so beautiful.” Penelope gushed, her and JJ leaning over Y/N’s bed to peer at one of the girls. Luke, Tara, and Emily walked towards Spencer, who could not stop grinning.

Seriously, his face should have been split in half at this point from how much he’d been smiling. There was no one else in this world he’d rather have a child with, and he was blessed with not one, but two enchanting Christmas miracles who will surely steal his heart and never return it, and he’ll be more than okay with that.

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introvertedwraith · 3 years

Text

to fix you

Ketterdam is never quiet.

Neither is one Kaz Brekker’s mind, constantly analyzing and scheming and finding ways to create beneficial chaos.

It’s been a year since Pekka Rollins fled to the outer corners of Kerch for some unidentifiable reason in a hurry, and kruge has been pooling quite nicely for the Dregs. According to a certain source, Pekka has withdrawn all of his plans and funds concerning slavers on the sea, and Kaz’s mouth quirks at the news.

The certain source is sitting on his desk in the meantime, eyes bright as she mentions how she’d taken care of the slave ships anyway.

“You’ve been busy, Wraith,” Kaz comments as Inej lists all of the illegal slavers she’d taken down.

“That’s Captain Ghafa to you, Kaz,” Inej teases.

The window of his office is open, and a breeze rustles the papers on his desk. The Dregs are thriving, but that also means more work, hence the piles of unfinished paperwork and scraps of information from his sources.

He listens to her for a while before he takes his gloves off, pushing them into his pocket while she’s distracted. She never sees him take them off, but he knows she notices how his hands are bare now.

He’s trying; she’s trying. He reaches for her hand, and she gladly takes it. The warmth is comforting now, but hand-holding is about the only thing they’ve accomplished so far.

When Inej runs out of things to recount, they sit there in silence, admiring the sunset over the foggy sky of Ketterdam. Far from perfection, but home without a doubt.

After a while, he breaks the silence.

“Could I try to hold you?” He asks, and the words sound absurd in his mouth- that Dirtyhands, the bastard of the Barrel, the cruelly apathetic leader of the Dregs, could convey such emotion- but Inej only nods, a sort of fragile half-smile present on her face. Kaz knows he would spill the blood of so-called saints and kings to catch a glimpse of a full smile.

The breath he draws in is quiet, calculated so that Inej does not hear proof of his nervousness.

Her eyes are darker than the smoke of the factories near Reaper’s Barge, her bronze complexion seeming to glow in the light of the setting sun. He sees her fingers absentmindedly dance over the tip of her braid.

Lying, thieving scum, the fearless call him. A demon reincarnated from the very bottom of hell, the foolish say. But as he takes slow, measured steps towards Inej, he doesn’t feel like any of those things. He feels like a flustered teenage boy, not quite yet a man, staring at something more beauteous than he had ever seen amidst the chaos of the Barrel he so willingly thrived in.

He’s close to her now; the toes of his boots and her leather slippers are just barely touching, and he can see the rise and fall of her chest as she inhales and exhales.

She looks up at him with something akin to tenderness in her expression before she gently strokes his wrist. Kaz shuts his eyes briefly before reaching to envelop her in a tentative embrace.

For a moment, the typical cacophony of noises of the Barrel drifting in through the window seems to fade. The scent of Inej’s hair- faint Suli spices and Ravkan summers and the sea breeze- surrounds him, and it’s warm, very warm. He inhales sharply, but not out of discomfort.

It all ends too soon when her forehead brushes his exposed neck and he’s sinking, flailing, falling deep into the terribly familiar territory of dark, murky waters. His hands are holding onto Jordie’s dead, rotting flesh, not the fabric of Inej’s simple clothes. The harbor waves slosh onto him, dowsing him, submerging him up to his chest, which is tight and not working because he can’t breathe for Ghezen’s sake. A small part of him knows he’s in the Slat and safe, but most of him is screaming because he’s back in the harbor, drowning, drowning, drowning.

He feels Inej pull away, hears her repeat his name over and over again until he can see the wooden boards of the attic floor instead of dark, churning waters. There's something heavy in his chest and it aches with indiscernible pain, and his eyes sting and water.

He squeezes his eyes shut and keeps them that way until he knows he won’t be seeing Jordie’s body under his desperate grip when he opens them.

His back is turned towards the open window and his shoulders are shaking because all he wanted to do was give her a hug but he can’t stand it, and he had vowed he was going to pull himself into some semblance of a man for her but flashes of bloated, peeling skin and the chill of water dragging him down haunts him like no ghost ever could.

And she’s holding her head in her hands because she knows he’s hurting for her.

Kaz’s grip is tight on the crow’s head of his cane, knuckles white and shaking. He itches to reach for the dark gloves in his pocket.

When he looks back at Inej, her dark eyes are brimming with emotion, a churning mixture of defense and apology and worry and exhaustion and something he can’t seem to decipher.

His throat is dry when he tries to speak, the rasp of his voice much more prominent. “I suppose it’s either carefulness on my part or pure luck that none of the other foolish gangs know of this. If van Eck or Rollins—“ he spits the name as if it were poison. “—knew, we’d be dead, wouldn’t we.”

Kaz knows that this is Dirtyhands speaking. Always the tactician, and proud of it.

But he also knows that Dirtyhands is just another part of him- Kaz Brekker, or Rietveld, or whoever he was, and that he should be able to get rid of this convoluted reaction to touch.

“Kaz…” Inej’s voice is soft and hesitant, and as he watches, she climbs onto the windowsill and into his line of sight.

His hands are still bare, and he clenches his jaw and takes her hand before she can say anything else.

He doesn’t want her to apologize, and she doesn’t.

What she does do is stay with him until he’s sitting on the worn mattress of his bed. She convinces him to get a good few hours of sleep, somehow. He knows not to argue.

And as his breaths slow and the bustle of the Barrel outside quiets down somewhat, he knows she’s there- too dark to see her lithe form well in the dark, but definitely there, and her presence is like a soothing balm because the chaos of his mind fades to a distant hum as his eyes slip shut of their own accord.

They may not be perfect, but they’re trying, and both of them know it. And Kaz thinks for a moment that perhaps that’s okay and that’s enough.

Ketterdam is never quiet, but it’s home.

———

So I’ve had that in my docs for quite a while now, so I thought I’d post it. Hope it was okay!

#books & libraries #writing #soc #kanej #kanej fic #kanej fluff #kanej fanfiction #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #these two istg #beautiful #touch aversion #i swear they’re trying though #six of crows #crooked kingdom #post crooked kingdom #post canon

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shes-a-gryffindor · 3 years

Text

Of Apples and Psychological Lapses

A @jilytoberfest submission. Prompt #12 - One overhearing something they're not supposed to.

That day, on an otherwise uneventful morning, it started with an apple, of all things.

James Potter sat straddling the bench at the Gryffindor table, poring over what Lily supposed was a textbook, elbow on a knee with an apple in his hand.

Only half listening to Mary’s recitation of the ingredients for the Draught of Living Death that they were supposed to be brewing later that day, she chanced upon another look at him…. the muscles in his jaw jumped as he bit into his apple, and as she watched him laugh at something she couldn’t hear, Lily found herself wondering whether he’d always had that dimple in his cheek… before she’d had the chance to mentally scold herself for her apparent loss of self-control, James caught her eye; grinning roguishly, he winked at her before taking another bite…

“You’re doing it again,” said Mary,

Lily’s neck snapped so quickly away from James she thought she might have whiplash, “doing what?”

“Making love eyes at Potter” she sniggered.

“Don’t be daft,” responded Lily dismissively, “I was not giving him love eyes” she added, silently cursing the blush now creeping up her neck, “…anyway, the ingredients…for today, you were reading them…” a lame attempt at a change in subject.

Mary smirked at her for a moment before returning to her textbook; relieved that she’d been let off the hook, Lily focused intently on Mary’s recitation, despite already knowing the ingredients from memory, she was determined not to look over again at the group of boys sitting only a few feet away from them.

Thinking they’d get a head start on the swarm of students that would soon be filing out of the hall, they packed their books and downed the last of their pumpkin juice. As she stood, Lily glanced quickly over at James again, he was in animated conversation with Sirius, the apple hanging loosely from his fingers at his side… and a ridiculous idea crossed her mind.

Deliberating over it in the seconds it took them to reach the spot where he was sitting, before she’d even really decided upon it, she’d snatched the apple out from his hand, twisting her head round to wink back at him, before taking a bite of what was now her apple.

“Shut up,” she smirked at Mary, who was looking at her with raised eyebrows.

The rest of the day continued in a similar fashion; she felt his eyes burning into the back of her head during Transfiguration, then found herself loitering after class, trying to chance perhaps walking out at the same time as him… before realising she was behaving like an idiot and walking quickly out alone.

History of Magic was, in particular, a challenge. It was, as usual, rather impossible to focus on the monotony that was Professor Binns' lesson.

Serenely unaware that no one seemed the least bit interested in his thorough breakdown of wand legends through time, he droned on… “The Death Stick, The Wand of Destiny…” and by the time the lesson was over Lily and James had shared several silent exchanges across the classroom.

Potions that afternoon was perhaps, although short-lived, her only reprieve. Lily was quite comfortable in her element, happily brewing her Draught of Living Death. Having already reached the ideal halfway stage, she smiled contentedly down at the smooth, black currant-colored liquid in her cauldron.

Just as she was about to start chopping her roots, she caught James, brow furrowed, curiously observing her potion, before looking back at his own - which appeared to be eliciting a sort of blue-ish haze, not horrible but certainly not what it should have been doing by that point… better, if nothing else, than Peter’s… who was looking more distressed by the minute at the now foul smelling, brown concoction bubbling in his cauldron.

“Care to share your expertise, Evans?” Asked James, grinning over at her. With his sleeves rolled up over his elbows, his forearms were tense as he shifted his body weight onto them, leaning over the table toward her… and Lily thought quietly, that the dimple in his cheek was obviously not the only thing she’d failed to notice.

“Afraid not, Potter,” she responded, “see If I told you, I’d have to kill you… although, could be doing myself a favour there,” she added, smirking at him.

“Better not then, otherwise you might actually get some peace and quiet… can’t have that,” he said seriously.

“Merlin forbid,” she mumbled, in mock exasperation.

“Merlin forbid,” began Sirius, “all this terrible flirting makes me throw up in my cauldron.”

Mary and Peter burst into a fit of giggles, even Remus, it seemed, found it amusing, while James just grinned down at his cauldron.

“Your potion can’t get any worse than it already is Black… I say try it,” Lily mocked.

Sirius, however, had cast his attention elsewhere.

From the corner of the next table over, having apparently overheard the entire exchange, Severus was looking darkly over at them. His eyes flickered briefly between James and Lily before returning to his potion. She knew she’d been shamelessly flirting with him, for days, weeks really… what she hadn’t realised was how blatantly obvious it was becoming, to everyone even beyond their friends; blushing furiously and feeling rather sheepish, she scowled at Sirius, who was still grinning smugly over at Severus, before returning to her own potion.

As she made the last of her rounds that evening, her mind once again wandered to what was fast becoming something, or rather, someone, she thought about much too often. He’d looked a little too smug after catching her at dinner - watching, as a Hufflepuff in the year below them asked for his help with a Transfiguration essay that weekend… in addition to self-control, she was now apparently also losing her common sense… it was perfectly acceptable that he help another student with an essay, why should this bother her…? But honestly an essay over the weekend, she thought… ask the bloke out and be done with it, what a stupid excuse… Surely he knew the girl fancied him.

The sinking feeling in her stomach at the thought of them, tucked away in a quiet corner of the library poring over an essay together, was extremely disconcerting, this sudden interest in who he was spending time with… He’d made his existence impossible to ignore for the better part of six years, perhaps now that he wasn’t asking her out at every turn her mind was playing that stupid game, the one where you only want something because it’s not as easy to get anymore, not because you genuinely want it… some psychological lapse in judgement… yes that must be it; so trying to force her thoughts back into some semblance of order, Lily resolved to get a grip.

She met Remus in the dungeons and together they checked the last of the corridors before heading back up to the common room, chatting about weekend plans, their upcoming exams and whether they had anything planned for the summer holidays before their seventh year.

Lily was careful to steer the conversation in another direction anytime it got a little too close to James, so she wasn’t exactly thrilled (maybe a little bit) when they stepped through the portrait hole to find James, Sirius and Peter sitting alone in the common room. With a warm smile, Remus bid her goodnight and went to join his friends in front of the fire.

“All right, Evans?” Asked James, grinning that lone-dimpled grin as she walked past.

Shooting him a quick tight lipped smile, she trudged up the staircase to her dormitory with an infuriatingly pink face; she had just reached the top of the staircase, however, when she heard Sirius snigger -

“Reckon she might actually prefer you to the giant squid now.”

Failing in her resolve to get a grip before she’d even begun, and apparently not above eavesdropping now either, Lily stopped and stood there at the top of the staircase, dead silent, craning her neck to listen to them.

“What?” Asked James, “What makes you say that?” In his voice, Lily heard a hint of what she thought sounded like hope.

“Are you daft? Or do you just want to hear it all back?”

“A bit of both I think,” chuckled Remus.

“Did you not see Snivelly’s face in potions? Even he can tell she fancies you mate,” said Sirius, dryly.

“Looked a bit put out, didn’t he?” Chuckled James.

“A bit? Looked like he didn’t know whether to cry or hex you,” chortled Peter, “d’you reckon him and Evans… you know-”

“What? Asked James, cutting him off, “went out?”

“Nah,” answered Sirius quickly, “who’d want to go out with that? Didn’t they know each other from before school, or something?”

“Yeah… they were friends,” said James, with finality in his voice.

“‘Till he showed his true colours,” scoffed Sirius, “…bit naive of her though, don’t you think? To think that he’d be anything but the slimy git he is.”

Lily had half a mind to go down and give Sirius a piece of her mind, until…

“Nah,” said James, “I reckon she knew who he was the whole time… she just chooses to see the good in everyone, y’know? Even a slimy git like Snivellus.” When no one said anything, he added, “Personally, I don’t think she should change that about herself.”

There was silence… and then someone made a dry-retching sound like they were throwing up, followed by scuffling and a series of thuds, “gerrof!” Came Sirius’s muffled voice, over Peter and Remus’s laughter.

Deciding she’d heard enough, Lily tiptoed quietly into her dorm; and as she pulled the scarlet hangings of her four-poster around her that night, she thought perhaps her interest in James Potter wasn’t a psychological lapse in judgment at all.

#jily fic #jily love #jily fanfiction #marauders fic #marauders and lily #marauders era #the marauders #james potter x lily evans #pining #mutual pining #harry potter fanfiction #hp fanfic #jilytober fest #jilytober

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phantomwarrior12 · 3 years

Text

Old Wounds

How long has it been since she's been home?

Lord Shaxx watches as the Young Wolf materializes mid-stride, her ship battered from the floating wreckage of the Glykon. A rifle he hadn't seen before slung across her shoulders doesn't go unnoticed and the Warlord smiles behind his helmet.

Of course she'd return with a new gun - what actually surprises him is that her vault can still hold the litany of weaponry she's recovered over the years. His amusement ebbs after a moment, gaze drifting along her frame for any semblance of damage as the Young Wolf pauses beside the Tower's chief mechanic. As she allows her Ghost to relay the extensive damage to Holliday, Shaxx takes note of a few singe marks that hadn't been there before, a few new dings to her armor. Altogether, she seems fine - humoring the playful chiding from the mechanic before she finally turns to face him. The air around them shifts, sparking with Arc and Solar Light as their eyes connect.

How long had it been since she's been home?

He strides toward her and he swears it's relief that washes over her frame. She moves - albeit slower - toward him. She must be exhausted. All the more reason for Shaxx to scoop her up in his arms, her smaller frame weighing next to nothing for the Titan.

"Welcome home, Guardian," he says softly, clinking his helmet gently against hers.

Her only response is wrapping her arm around his neck and clinging to him. It's then that he realizes her Ghost had transmatted the weapon from her back and he is grateful for its foresight.

Over her head, Shaxx notes the nod of approval from Holliday, a genuine smile tugging at the corner of her mouth before she turns and sets to work on identifying which part of the list Ghost had given her warranted the most attention.

"Time for bed, I think," he chuckles and he can see more than feel the shift of her hood against his chin. She'd nodded, of that he is certain. Sometimes he wishes she'd speak, utter a single word of confirmation here and there. But he understands why she doesn't. Ever since Cayde-6, she...well, words are sparse. He does miss the sound of her voice - it's been so long since he's heard it. Even before Cayde's death, she hadn't spoken often, but it was often enough when they were alone.

Many things have changed since then, the Young Wolf, especially.

But there is a constant in all of this. Something he has no doubts of even after all this time. Something he clings to: her feelings for him. They are apparent in every interaction; every touch, every kiss, she cares for him deeply and that is all the Titan requires. He can survive without her words because her actions, her touch, every subtle movement of her lean frame tells him the same: she loves him and that has not changed.

It doesn't take long before he's carried her back to his quarters, setting her down and she gives him an appreciative pat on the chest. He watches her move off to go shower away the spore residue and Hive fluid while the Titan gets changed for bed. His helmet is set on the desk in the corner of the room before shutting off the light and sliding beneath the blankets just as the water shuts off.

He listens to the rustling from the bathroom before the door slides open and he looks over. With the moonlight streaming into the room, he can make out an oversized tshirt - that is no doubt from his top drawer - hanging over her frame like dress. His eyes follow her as she deposits her helmet beside his on the desk. Her back is to him and yet, he can see her head is turned toward the window that faces the hanger.

He knows where her thoughts lie on nights like these. Post-missions are always the most difficult. She'd grown used to giving reports directly to Cayde. They'd been close friends after all, and dare the Titan suggest, like family. Without him, there's a void in her heart, like a key piece of who she'd been is gone.

But then again, she tries to suppress it. Tries to power through because it's what he would've wanted. There's so much Shaxx wishes she'd tell him, starting with what it is he can do to ease that ache. Vengeance had only done so much - in fact, the only time the Warlord had been even remotely wary of the Young Wolf was the night she brought Cayde's body back to the Tower.

The chasm in her eyes, the silent determination. It wasn't the Young Wolf he'd fallen in love with and what came back still has a tendency to toe that darkened line. But she holds on, if not for him, then for Cayde.

It's then that he realizes how long it's been. A matter of minutes at most, but it feels like an eternity. At last, he finds his words, lifting the blankets as he does so. "Come to bed, dearest."

She jolts as if he'd broken a trance and she pivots. Soft rays of moonlight cast across her features and the sadness she's trying so damned hard to conceal glints in emerald eyes.

"Come on," he beckons softly and she shuffles slowly across the small room toward the bed. Usually it's only a few strides and she's there but there's a reluctance to her gait. Slow and measured and meandering all at once.

It's unlike her.

Perhaps some discussion of her mission will calm her, give her the sense of giving a report to someone she trusts deeply without actually having to do so. Or perhaps it will simply give him some insight into what jarred her on that mission.

"Your ship looks to have been damaged." He begins awkwardly, his eyes watching her every movement.

She manages a slight shrug and a vague gesture of the hand to signify dismissal.

"I suppose it was a wreckage, that's to be expected."

She nods her agreement as she climbs onto the massive mattress and slips beneath the covers he'd held up for her. But she doesn't move close to him like she usually does, just lays on her back, eyes trained on the ceiling above her.

What had gone through her mind in that shower that caused such a stark contrast from the hanger?

Lord Shaxx lays down beside her, resting on his side. "What are you thinking about?"

She shrugs again, tugging the blankets up to her chin.

"You can talk to me, my little Hunter. I'm right here," he props himself up on his elbow, studying her intently.

She appears to hesitate, take a deep breath as her eyes flicker to and fro on the ceiling before she can finally find the words.

"Found the Guardian onboard. Torn to pieces, strung up." She says softly.

"That must have been a gruesome sight." He rests his hand over her forearm beneath the blankets. He can feel the tremor of her muscles beneath his fingers, feel the subtle flare of solar energy cascading against calloused skin. She's barely keeping it together and now he needs to know why.

She nods after a moment.

"...there was something else, wasn't there?" He pries softly.

She shakes her head, gathering herself to speak. "No, just - I was too late. Always too late, Shaxx. I couldn't save him like I couldn't save--" she trails off and he can see the tears gathering at the corners of her eyes.

So, there was more to it.

He shifts closer, slowly leaning his head down to press a kiss to her forehead, "I know. I know it feels that way. But you made it in time to save Osiris and Crow. You aren't always too late--"

She looks up at him for the first time. She doesn't believe a word he's just said, he can see it in her eyes. But there's something else, relief, perhaps? Appreciation? No. It's tired but acknowledging all at once. She gets his point but doesn't believe it in that moment.

It's a look he rarely sees, especially from her.

There is nothing he can say to correct that voice in her head - nothing she'll believe anyway. So, he settles for the only thing he knows will bring her comfort: cuddles.

He gathers her against him; strong, solid arms wound tight around her small frame as he holds her close. "It'll be alright," he assures her softly and she clings to him. He can feel her nails digging into his shoulders, the pain dull but there - he doesn't say anything. She breaks down and still, he holds her. Waves of solar energy cascade in soft waves against his frame and still, he holds her.

What she saw took her back to that fateful day in the Prison of Elders. Of that, he is certain. The powerless feeling must have been overwhelming and he wonders for a moment if the slow gait in the hanger hadn't been exhaustion, but grief. Now that he thinks back, she had seemed to stare past Holliday, not responding when the mechanic had looked toward her.

It doesn't matter now.

She's begun to drift off in his arms, sniffling softly as her forehead rests against his chest and there is no Light washing over him. Sleep will do her good, just as those tears had done the same. She's a long way from recovering entirely, but this is a step. She's reopened an old wound and perhaps - perhaps this time she'll face those demons rather than suppress them.

Perhaps she'll speak again, maybe even smile that playful grin he hasn't seen in three years. He can hope but he knows one thing with absolute certainty: he will be at her side through all of this.

The Crucible doesn't have time to consider loss. The only way is forward. But, perhaps, just this one time - loss must be the focus.

For her sake.

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

Forevers: @halo-2 @reaped-winnower @genken64 @sugarcoated44 @cayde-6 Shaxx's Guardians: @ataraxia101 @squirrel-stars @rain-wolfe

#lord shaxx x guardian #shaxx x guardian #shaxx #lord shaxx #the young wolf #solar subclass #solar hunter #gunslinger hunter #destiny 2 #destiny #destiny fanfiction #destiny fic #phantom writes

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antarax · 3 years

Text

𝐇𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

It's late at night when Damian makes a stop by your house with the intention to confess his feelings for you.

Damian Wayne x Black!Reader, gender neutral.

Words: 2,105

AN: Happy Valentine’s to all the beautiful black people in the fandom!! I dedicate this one to all of us, who rarely get any works that include us or are actually vague enough to. Hope you enjoy it 💞

It was a quiet, cold night in Gotham. Neon city lights blurred into your room as the muffled sounds of the videogame on the old TV kept you company, the blue hue of the fluorescent lights washing over your bedroom even through half-pulled curtains.

The day had been a slow and uneventful one. For you, at least, after the hope of receiving someone's valentine had been completely blown off, the same energy manifesting itself in you as the night also dragged itself along.

You almost jumped out of your skin at the sound of your window opening, having had no expectations of anything more for the day –that, and the fact that it was well into the night already. You saw Damian standing outside with his hand on the window sill, a bag in the other, Robin uniform dirty and tattered as his cape fluttered violently with the breeze.

He seemed stuck in his place, as if he had been the one surprised, frowning like he hadn't expected you in your own room.

The slight semblance of a smile grew on your face, "Well, come in," you said, pausing the game.

It wasn't uncommon for Damian to stop by your building after a busy night, the moon shining beautifully in the sky and the clouds a beautiful swirl of the light as he came through your window expertly quiet. But, even then with the known comfortability and trust you two had managed to reach in your relationship, it also wasn't uncommon to feel like remnants of the younger, more insecure Damian still clung to him slightly.

Slightly as in heavily.

You watched him as he moved into the small space and set down the bag on the floor, taking off his gloves and mask with the rough delicacy you associated with him.

He stood as if he was tightly wound up, like perhaps he could breathe wrong, or whatever new, unspoken rule he'd created for himself plagued his mind now.

It was a little funny.

"I'm not going to eat you, you know?"

Damian rolled his eyes, "I'm aware."

"Doesn't look like it," You muttered, glancing down at the controller in your hands, "What's in the bag anyways?"

"I— Things."

You raised a brow.

"Food, sweets. Drinks."

"Really?"

"Yes," Damian replied, sitting down and sagging against the wall underneath the windowsill, chest rising and falling slowly as he exhaled deeply. Damian grabbed the bag again, putting it down next to you, "They're yours."

You set aside the controller and rummaged through the bag, the thoughts racing in your head. Damian knew you well and you him, your friendship spanning over a few years now. There had been a lot you'd trusted him with. Secrets, worries, embarrassing shit you'd done that still haunted you and Damian had been no different. He let you in on his bigger secret, how he carried the mantle of Robin every night. Some of his deepest remorses were ones that you had knowledge of; although never diving too deep in the murky waters of Damian’s life, you still valued the clear trust he had in you.

And along all these moments, every opportunity you've had to know each other, slowly and softly peeling aside the layers covering the people you were, a warm intimacy rooted itself in your growing friendship. A comfortable sort of intimacy.

Every once in a while you stopped by the manor on the quiet days where it was only Alfred and the animals. You helped Alfred in the kitchen whenever he was practicing for a new recipe or baking a dessert for the family later in the day. You spent hours with Damian in his room, where his cat Alfred would always curl up next to you on his bed as he worked on his art, walking around the manor or playing around with Titus and Batcow in the manor's backyard –which, really, was just an enormous open field that they were too humble to call so– and sometimes you'd even earn an invitation to dinner.

As for you, Damian tended to visit at night more so than day, but there were moments where he would show up on a sunny afternoon when everyone else wasn't home, slumping down on your couch for an hour or two before going back to his own things. Sometimes he'd drop by books he'd seen at the library, a small trinket he'd bought at the store and various other paraphernalia that, somehow, you always ended up loving.

Damian knew your taste well, and there was no doubt he'd spend countless amounts of time pondering over each of his gifts before they ever reached your hands. All things that while anyone else might have brushed over you appreciated immensely.

"You know," you began as you leaned back into the foot of your bed, ripping off pieces from a napkin you'd taken out of the bag, buying time. Hesitating, "I actually— sort of, was hoping for a valentine this year."

You gazed at Damian's eyes, your interest boring into them, digging as deep as you were allowed. They looked nervous, hilariously so. Almost like he'd been caught. But caught... doing what, exactly?

Perhaps caught in the middle of staring back at you as he'd tend to do; how he'd tend to do and assumed you didn't notice.

Or maybe caught when he would discreetly drop off something in your room or your locker after having seen it at the store or the cafeteria and knowing immediately you'd like it, always behind the guise of simple complacency. Caught, in his true intentions, what truly made him do all these otherwise insignificant things that were much too small even for somebody as detail-driven as Damian.

Olive-colored eyes still shifted uncomfortably in front of you as the sole giveaway of the true nervousness Damian was drowning in, refusing to show anything more of himself, even when it mattered.

Especially when it mattered. It was frustrating.

"You were?"

"Yeah," You shifted in your spot, "I was."

No one could ever, ever know something about Damian that he didn't share. It's just not something you could do. Not when it came to him. Anybody who knew anything at all about who Damian Wayne is, at his core in existence, knows it only because he's allowed them to.

And he'd allowed you to know this too, and yet now he was hesitating.

"You wished to have... a valentine. Anyone?"

"Anyone."

"You could have, easily, if you wanted it," Damian rolled his eyes.

"I could?" You smiled, and the twinkle in your eyes was nothing short of mischievous.

"Yes."

"Reeeally. How?"

Damian slouched against the wall, "Well, you'd simply have to ask," he said it as if it had been an obvious fact, "I'm sure anyone at the academy would've said yes."

Your smile widened as you raised your brows, "Oh?"

Damian frowned, "You are making fun of me."

"What do you mean? How."

Damian crossed his arms as you laughed.

"You think I'm making fun of you," you protested, "I'm not."

"TT."

"There's something you want to say, isn't there? Just spit it out, Damian."

Damian's eyes lingered all over the room. His hands had started to sweat a while ago and by then, his heart had sped up so much he was sure it was making some attempt at breaking through and out of his chest.

Originally, his plan had been to drop by and bring you a gift, but then he'd gotten nervous and internally malfunctioned, because he'd bought a double of everything so that you wouldn't assume it had been a gift and instead just him coming by to hang out like he always did.

He had planned to come by, tell you he'd... harbored a few unwanted feelings towards you and hoped you would have been tired enough that you wouldn't have realized it, but clearly, his plan had flipped over backwards and blown up in his face.

Damian took as deep a breath as possible with his collar putting him in a choke hold, as if trying to push out his words while simultaneously wanting to keep them buried the deepest he could.

"I— hm," He stared intently at the floor, for the first time in a while feeling like the small child who would trip over his own emotions again, but he was resolved to tell you, "I like you. I suppose."

It hadn't been surprising to Damian. More that it was hard to accept. He'd mulled over it for a long, long time. In fact, the reason he'd visited you tonight, made up his mind to tell you so, had been his ridiculously embarrassing performance.

Being surprised by petty thieves and thrown out of the loop by measly codes, none of which happen, ever, not to him at least. Damian was far above such childish mistakes, at least so he thought until he started taking a closer look at his own thoughts and realized your eyes had gone from brown to 'beautiful pools of honey', your skin a beautiful, shining shade of brown.

He was an artist, after all. He'd spent afternoons studying his environment, the shapes and colors, how everything fit in together; you were no stranger to his thoughts.

Which of course, you wouldn't know. If you had, you would have taken the jump much earlier. You would have never acted based off of assumption alone, but having the confirmation, well.

By now you had to contain your smile because surely, surely, your cheeks would be sore afterwards.

"Wow," you raised your brows in obvious mocking, "Really?"

Damian scrunched up his face in disgust, like he'd witnessed the most foul thing yet, crossing his arms tighter but refusing to meet your gaze as he turned to the wall.

"You know, Damian."

"Yes?"

"The valentine I was hoping for this year… was yours. You could've easily made a card and thrown some glitter over it and that would be the end of that."

"A card, with glitter?" Damian snapped his head at you, seeming almost bored as he spoke in a deadpan voice, "Is that how lowly you think of me?"

At this you did laugh, almost too loudly for one in the morning, that you had to push both your hands against your mouth.

Damian frowned, "Please do know that if I were to ever make something so miserable, it must be because I've been replaced. Which would not happen. Ever."

You stood, shuffling over to Damian and sitting down next to him.

He looked pretty underneath the moonlight coming through the window, the curls over his forehead looking soft and shiny.

Damian looked right into your eyes, for the first time that night not looking away, he was trapped now. Not truly, he could leave, but did he want to? Not at all.

Softly, Damian touched your hand, something perhaps akin to fear in his eyes as if he still expected rejection.

"Damian?"

"Hm?"

"I'm going to kiss you."

"Oh."

"Unless you don’t want me to."

"Please do. I mean—"

It was a shy and quick kiss, but so, so exciting as Damian's grip tightened around your hand and you leaned into him.

When you leaned away, it was with a mischievous glint in your eyes.

"Please do—"

Damian frowned again, clearly not amused. After a few seconds though, your laugh died out. Truth is, your stomach was churning. Because, while you were very much happy and excited, you were also incredibly nervous.

Both of you were stitching your thoughts back together, seconds of silence passing by. You were still holding Damian's hand.

He closed his eyes, frown deepening considerably and quickly before he spoke, vile spilling out of his mouth, "A card? With some glitter thrown over it?"

He looked downright furious, disgusted even.

"Seriously?"

"It's not that big of a deal," You chuckled, "Get over it."

"Hm."

Damian looked out the window, and you followed, the moon standing beautifully in the middle of the sky.

Damian sighed, "I have to go."

"Oh... okay."

He didn't move. Neither of you did.

Damian gave you a quick kiss again, looking absolutely scandalized when he pulled back. You stared at each other in complete disbelief before he stood up and started putting his gloves on again.

He pressed his hands onto the windowsill and took a deep breath.

Damian looked at you, tenderly, "Goodnight, Y/N."

"Goodnight, Damian." You smiled.

Damian gave you a small smile, "Hm."

You watched as he jumped off, grappling to the nearest building and laughed when you saw him standing still before disappearing into the night.

#DC #DC Comics #Batman #Damian Wayne #Damian Wayne x Reader #Damian Wayne x Black!reader #escritos

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ofendlesswonder · 3 years

Note

ah so exciting! would love number 25

25. “I need a place to stay.”

A shadow falls over Kara’s desk, and she pauses her proofread of her latest article to glance up at the person hovering by her shoulder, jaw dropping open when she gets a glimpse of messy blond curls.

“Carter?” It’s been months since she’d thought of him, longer still since she’d seen him, but the face is unmistakable, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. “What are you doing here? Is your Mom here?”

She hasn’t seen Cat in months, either, not since she left to ‘dive’ into pastures new. No one has seen her recently, in fact—she’s effectively disappeared off the face of the earth, is only mentioned in gossip columns when they’re speculating her whereabouts.

Not that Kara has a Google alert set up for her name, or anything.

“No, she’s in Washington.”

“D.C.?” What on earth is she doing there? And what on earth is Carter doing here, backpack slung over his shoulder, eyes red-rimmed and cheeks blotchy like he’d been crying.

“Yeah. She took a new job there.”

Kara feels like he’s reading from a script she isn’t privy too, has no idea how any of this has led him to be here, standing by her new desk and scuffing his converse along the floor. “Okay…”

“But I don’t want to live there. I didn’t want to leave here, but she said it would be temporary. That we’d come back. Only now she wants to work in the stupid White House and she’s looking at apartments and a new school and I—I don’t want it. We had a fight.” He sniffs, rubs the back of his sleeve across his cheek like he’s scrubbing away the remnant of his tears. “And I said I wanted to come back. Live with Dad, if that’s what it took.”

Kara can only imagine how Cat would have taken that.

Not well, by any means.

“She sent me back, only I don’t want to live with my Dad, I want to live with her, but here in our old apartment. He wouldn’t even meet me at the airport. He said I was old enough to get a cab.”

Kara’s jaw tightens—she knows Chris is an asshole, but this seems like a new low, even for him.

“So, I got a cab, but not to him.”

“You came here, instead.” Here, to some semblance of stability, of familiarity. The apartment is gone—Kara had helped Cat list it for sale, and it had been snapped up in no time, and she wonders if Cat had ever really considered a move back to National City. The apartment is gone, but CatCo. is not, and Kara remembers countless afternoons where Carter had come by after school, curling up in Cat’s office with his homework. Sometimes, Kara had helped him with a particularly stubborn math problem, or talked to him about his favorite anime, keeping him entertained until his mother was off the clock.

“I need a place to stay,” he says, voice small, eyes glued to his shoes. “Can I come home with you?”

Yes, she wants to say, without hesitation, recognizing the small, scared child he so desperately tried to hide, the one who felt like he had nowhere else to go. Yes, of course you can—but it’s never that simple, is it?

She has a secret identity to protect, and he’s supposed to be with his father, and Cat might kill her, and—

Wait.

Does Cat know where he is?

“No,” he says, when she asks. “I didn’t tell her. And I turned off my phone, so she wouldn’t track me.”

“Carter.” She can’t help the admonishment, because she knows how much Cat cares about him—she’d do anything for him, and she imagines her pacing up and down a hotel room in the capital, already on the phone to the police. “You should call her.”

He makes a noise of discontent.

“At least let her know you’re safe. She’ll be worrying.”

“Can you call her?”

“I…I don’t know about that. I think it would be better coming from you.”

“Please?” He peers down at her with eyes so like his mother’s that Kara aches.

“All right,” she sighs, and makes the mistake of glancing across the bullpen. Snapper is glaring at her, his face red. Great. Someone else who wants to kill me. Could this day get any better?

“Kara?” Cat answers the phone sounding harried, and Kara recognizes the faint note of panic in her voice. She lets herself bask in the familiarity of it for one long moment—months, since she’d heard Cat’s voice, months, since she’d last felt the comfort of it. Months of missing her, in a way she knows she isn’t allowed to. “This isn’t a great time.”

“Uh, I know.” She looks at Carter, who avoids her gaze. “Something about a missing fourteen year old?”

“How…how do you know that?”

“Because he’s standing right in front of me.”

“Carter’s with you?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Why?”

“Good question. Should I let him explain it for himself?”

Carter shoots her a sharp look, but Kara forces the phone into his hand anyway, pointedly turning away like she’s not listening as he lifts it to his ear. She stares at the blinking cursor on her computer screen as he talks, trying to summon the will to finish her work.

No such luck.

“Could you…could you keep an eye on him for me?” Cat asks, when Carter gives her back her phone. “I’m going to fly out as soon as I can, but it’ll be a few hours before I can get there. I know it’s an imposition, and he’s supposed to be with Chris, but he said he’d be more comfortable with you.”

Her gaze flickers to Carter, to the hopeful expression on his face, to the pleading note in Cat’s voice, thinks of the opportunity to see her again, even if for just one more day.

“Okay,” she says, and knows it’s the right decision when Carter lurches forward to wrap his arms around her neck. “I’ll watch him.”

“No runaway trains this time,” Cat says into her ear, and Kara laughs, remembering her last ill-fated babysitting attempt, a lifetime ago.

“I’ll try my best.”

***

The knock on her door comes at nine thirty, not quite loud enough to wake the sleeping teenager stretched out on her couch.

She pulls open the door, comes face-to-face with the woman she’s been trying so hard not to think about for the past few months, and Kara thinks, as their eyes meet, her heart thudding painfully in her chest, that she’s been fooling herself, because it all comes rushing back the second their eyes meet.

There was only ever one reason why things would have never worked with James, one reason why Kara hasn’t been able to so much as think about dating since they’d ended things, one reason why her life has felt so empty these past few months.

Only one person who could make her heart pound, set butterflies free in her stomach, make her palms—physically impossible though it may be—feel damp.

And that person is the woman standing in front of her now, her eyes as wild as her hair, mussed from the wind, a faint flush on her cheeks and Kara wonders if she’d raced up the stairs in those three inch heels, desperate to set eyes on her beloved son, to see for herself he was safe and well.

“Come on in,” Kara says, standing aside to let her past. It’s the first time Cat has been inside her home, and the gravity of the moment isn’t lost on her.

She’s glad she had the foresight to tidy up a little, while Carter had been in the shower.

If he’d noticed that the amount of cleaning she’d done shouldn’t have been possibly in such a sort frame of time by human hands, he’d had the grace not to mention it.

“I, uh, didn’t want to wake him up,” Kara says, pitching her voice low, when Cat gravitates toward the couch, gazing down at Carter with such open affection she feels like she has to look away. “Seeing as he’s had a hard day.”

She’d tried to distract him as much as possible, enlisting his help with the fun of filing while she’d been at work, and then with food and games once she’d taken him home. He looked like he’d needed it, lost in his head, spiralling over the choices that had been made for him, bits and pieces of his life over the last few months spilling out over the course of the afternoon.

“Thank you for looking after him.”

Kara shrugs. “It wasn’t any trouble.”

“Still. You don’t owe me anything. Not anymore.”

“On the contrary, Ms. Grant. I owe you a lot.” She’d forgotten how hard it was to think, with Cat’s eyes weighing heavy on her face. “My job, for example. I wouldn’t be a junior reporter without you.”

“Nonsense. You got that job on your own merit. Otherwise you wouldn’t be doing so well.”

“You read my articles?”

“Of course.” Cat looks offended she thought otherwise. “Is Snapper still giving you hell?”

“I think he likes to torture me.” Her nose wrinkles, and Cat laughs, some of her worry ebbing away now Carter is within her sights.

He’s still sound asleep, and Cat doesn’t look like she wants to wake him. Bathed in the glow of the lamp on Kara’s coffee table, she’s breath-taking, and Kara looks away before she’s caught staring.

“Do you, um, want a drink or anything?”

“I wouldn’t want to impose any more than we already have.”

Panic seizes her heart at the thought of Cat leaving so soon, because when would she see her again? Would she leave right away, ushering Carter back to the CatCo. jet and across the country before night truly fell? Or would she linger, perhaps let herself remember all the things she loved about this place?

Not that that would include you, you idiot.

“Please,” she says, trying not to listen to the voice in her head. “I…It would be nice to hear what you’ve been up to these last few months.”

For a moment, she doesn’t think it’s enough. Thinks Cat is going to leave anyway, slip away even though Kara only just got her back.

But then she blinks, and her lips curve into the smallest of smiles, and she says: “Very well. What have you got?”

Good question, Kara thinks, because probably not a lot. Whatever Alex and Maggie had left over last game’s night, which turns out to be a bottle of cheap whiskey Cat turns her nose up at. Kara doesn’t blame her—apparently it left a killer hangover.

“I’m trying to cut down on drinking,” Cat says, and her gaze flickers over to the back of the couch. “I’ve been told it’s not very healthy. Apparently it’s bad for my liver.”

A sentiment she’d never once shared before, but Kara bites her tongue. It’s none of her business, the ways in which Cat has changed. None of her business, to wonder if Cat’s been throwing down scotches to try and chase away the memories of the city she’d left behind.

“How about a tea?” Cat suggests, and Kara blinks at her.

There’s a request she’s never made before.

“Regular, peppermint or camomile?”

“Regular is fine.” Kara brews a pot, wonders why she feels so jittery, but she knows the answer. It’s because Cat is here, in her space, after so many months away. Here, in a place thus far untouched by her, and Kara knows when she’s gone she’ll feel the imprint of her, remember the way she’d stood, leaning against her kitchen counter, looking out of place and like she was exactly where she belonged at the same time.

“So,” she says, once she’s handed Cat a steaming mug. “Washington, huh?”

“Carter told you.”

“Only a little. He didn’t say what you were there for.”

“I was offered a job. White House Press Secretary.”

Kara nearly chokes on a sip of her own tea in shock. But then, she thinks, it makes sense. She could see it—Cat, at the front of a room full of reporters, tearing them apart if they dared ask her the wrong thing. She could certainly think of no better person to have fighting your corner than Cat Grant.

“Is that what you want to do? Get into politics?”

“It’s something I’ve considered.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“My, my,” Cat says, clutching her mug between long fingers and throwing Kara a lazy smile. “Look at you. Am I being interviewed, Ms. Danvers?”

Kara ducks her head, feeling her cheeks warm. “Sorry. Force of habit.”

“It’s all right.” Cat’s voice is gentle, her eyes unguarded when Kara dares to look her way. “To be honest, I don’t know what I want. I thought getting away from here would bring me clarity, inspiration for my next big thing, but…instead I found myself wandering without purpose. Less a shark stuck in a tank and more a tiny goldfish, lost at sea.”

“Then why not come back? It...it’s not the same without you.” Too much, probably. Too close to spilling the truth, maybe, but it’s too late to take the words back now.

“Because my reasons for leaving haven’t changed.”

What reasons, Kara wants to ask, because the ones she’d been given had never made any sense. Cat handing over the reins to her beloved company just didn’t seem like something she’d do, especially without so much as a glance back. What reasons, Kara wants to know, but the line they tread is so thin—she thinks of Cat’s razor-sharp voice saying strictly professional and never wants to feel an ache like that again.

“And what about Carter?”

Cat glances toward the couch again and sighs. “I hadn’t realised he was so reticent until today. I know he struggles with change, but…I thought this would be a good one. He could go to a better school, have more opportunities. I didn’t know he was so attached to this place.”

“Of course he’s attached. It’s his home. It’s all he’s ever known, and you—no offence—are yanking it away from him.”

“I suppose you have a point.” Cat’s lips purse. “When did you get so wise?”

“Learned it from the best,” she says, and Cat’s smile is tight. “Are you…are you going back there tonight?”

“No, I don’t think so. I think Carter and I need to have a discussion, first. One where I listen to him instead of making the decision for him. I just…I thought I was doing the best thing for him. For both of us.”

“So you might stay?” She can’t quash the hopeful note in her voice, watches a shadow pass across Cat’s face and wonders what it means.

“I don’t know. I don’t know if I can.” Her fingers tremble, the tiniest amount, as she sets down her empty mug, runs them through her hair.

“Why?” Just do it, she thinks, because when she wakes up tomorrow, Cat might be gone, and there are too many unanswered questions for her to be left with. “What’s so bad about being here? What are you so desperate to get away from?”

“Oh, Kara.” Cat’s eyes close, a sigh rattling through her chest. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Then help me to.” She knows she’s being obstinate. That there’s a reason Cat doesn’t want to tell her, that she has no right to know.

But she remembers Cat saying goodbye, Cat’s arms wrapped around her, heart beating so loud it was impossible for Kara not to notice, the shimmer of tears in her eyes before she’d blinked them away. Remembers the countless times Kara had reached out, over the past few months, only to be ignored, like she meant nothing when she knew she’d meant at least something.

“Please, Cat. I just want—”

She’s cut off when Cat surges forward, settling one hand on the counter beside Kara’s hip and wrapping the other around the back of Kara’s neck, drawing her down into a kiss. Kara freezes, brain short-circuiting as Cat’s lip brush against her own, soft and warm, but when she feels Cat begin to pull away, her bravado failing, she snaps into action, discarding her mug on the counter and splaying a hand at the small of Cat’s back to keep her close.

It’s been building for years, she thinks, as Cat parts her lips for Kara’s searching tongue, nails digging into the base of her skull. Years of working closely together, a spark igniting but neither of them willing to give it space to grow, too terrified of what might happen, if it grew into a fire they could no longer control.

“That’s why,” Cat breathes, when she pulls away, heart hammering almost as fast as Kara’s.

“Seems like a pretty good reason to stay to me,” Kara says, leaning in to kiss her again, but Cat stops her with a shake of her head.

“It’s not. Kara, you shouldn’t want this. Shouldn’t want me.”

“I know,” she says, and when Cat flinches, she doesn’t let her pull away. “I know there are a dozen reasons why I shouldn’t, why we shouldn’t be together, but I also…don’t really care. I’ve spent the past few months missing you like crazy, and it hasn’t diminished the way I feel about you. Doesn’t that mean something? Doesn’t that mean it’s worth trying?”

“I…” Cat trails off, meets her gaze and traces the pads of her fingers across Kara’s cheek, looks at her like she barely believes she’s real. “I don’t know. I don’t know how to.”

“You start by letting me in. By not running away when—” She hears movement on the couch, hopes to Rao Carter hasn’t heard any of their hushed conversation. “Carter’s waking up.”

Cat is quick to slip from her arms, and Kara feels the loss of her like a physical ache, chilled to the bone in the places she’d just been burning with warmth. “I don’t want this to be the end of it,” she says, knowing Carter’s not yet fully conscious, knowing they have a few more stolen moments. “I don’t want you to go to your hotel room and talk yourself out of it.”

“Kara Danvers, are you asking me to spend the night?”

“No, because I know you’d turn me down.” She can sense it, in the nervous energy radiating from her. Cat isn’t a person who lays her heart on the line, is someone guarded and careful, isn’t reckless the way she had been tonight. She needed time to process, time to think it through, and Kara would give her that—as long as she wasn’t going to slip away without saying goodbye. “But we should talk. Tomorrow.”

“Before five.”

Kara frowns. “Why five?”

“Because that’s how long the Press Secretary job is on the table for.”

“You haven’t accepted it?”

“Not yet,” she says, and Kara feels hope bloom in her chest. “I told them I had some things I need to consider first.”

“And now?”

“Now I have even more things to think about.” She reaches out, catches Kara’s fingers with her own and squeezes, and Kara’s heart thuds in her chest. She wants to lean down, wants to kiss her again, already misses the heat of her mouth, but a head pops over the back of the couch, Carter rubbing at his eyes.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Don’t you ‘Hi Mom’ me,” Cat says, eyes narrowing until Carter gulps. “Do you have any idea how worried I was, young man?"

“I’m sorry,” he says, his head hanging. “But I wanted to stop you doing something stupid, and this was the only way I know how.”

And thank Rao he had. Her day would have shaken out very differently had Carter not arrived in the bullpen, she knows. She’d have finished her article and gone to hang out with Alex and Maggie, probably, tried to ignore the ache seeing the two of them so happy seems to incite, lately, craving something similar for herself.

“Hm. Well, we’ll talk about it later. For now, I think we’ve taken up enough of Kara’s time, don’t you?”

Not enough of it, Kara thinks, but she bites her tongue. Space. Time to process. Not snuggling up together on the couch with a movie.

“Thanks for today, Kara.” Carter looks only a little sheepish as he gathers his things, slinging his backpack over his shoulder.

“Any time, buddy,” she says, meaning it more than he’ll probably ever know. The urge to kiss Cat goodbye is so strong she can barely stand it, and she balls her hands into fists at her sides so she doesn’t reach for her. “I’ll, uh, see you tomorrow?” She asks, before Cat slips through the door, dizzy with the feeling of being on the cusp of something she’s wanted for so long.

“Tomorrow,” Cat agrees, looking like it pains her to say it, looking like she doesn’t know how she’s possibly going to muster the will to leave, green eyes so heavy on Kara’s face it feels like a caress, feels like the ghost of her kiss, makes her feel like she’s burning from the inside out. “Goodnight, Kara.”

Goodnight, and not goodbye, and Kara hovers in the doorway, watches them go down the hall.

“You are in big trouble,” she hears Cat say as they turn the corner, slipping out of sight. “What were you thinking?”

And she shouldn’t listen, she knows, but she catches her name, as they start down the stairs, and can’t help but tune in to a snippet of conversation.

“I was thinking I missed home, and that I was sick of you moping after Kara for the past eight months, and it was time someone did something about it,” Carter says, then: “Ow!” as Cat must smack him over the head.

“Don’t ever pull a stunt like that again.”

“But did it work?”

“None of your business.”

“It totally worked.”

Kara shakes her head, unable to bite back a smile as she steps back inside and lets the door shut behind her.

#supercat #supercat:fanfic #this was supposed to be short... 🤷‍♀️

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rainingpouringetc · 3 years

Text

so hug all your friends and let them know you’re not letting go

ch 4 - sing me a song, tell me your thoughts / i could listen to you all night long (pt 2)

read on ao3

The next morning was quite pleasant for Ariadne. She woke to find Grace already in the dining room—unusual for the girl who usually preferred to flit about like a ghost. They had stayed up until midnight the previous night exchanging stories of their childhoods. Ariadne had missed thinking of India. She had told Alastair about it at his request, and at hers he’d spoken of Persia. This had been different from that, though. This had been less about the place itself and more the family she’d left behind. Grace had left family, too—or had family leave her. The feeling was familiar; it pooled in Ariadne’s gut when she was left alone with the thoughts. Having someone to pick them apart with helped.

The girls ate breakfast together, chatting aimlessly about the weather and the food and anything else they could think of. Mr. and Mrs. Bridgestock were, graciously, away for the week. There was some business they were tending to somewhere else in the country. Ariadne had long since stopped trying to make sense of her father’s trips.

They stumbled awkwardly into a brief discussion of the day’s plans, finding that neither of them had any designs beyond breakfast.

“Well,” Ariadne said carefully, “would you perhaps like to train with me today, then? I could use a partner.”

Grace seemed taken aback. “Oh! Well, sure, I suppose. I must admit,” she said sheepishly, looking down at her plate, “I have very little in the way of training. I’m not sure I could be of much help to you.”

Ariadne brightened immediately. “Of course you can! I could teach you, if you like. I always thought the best way to practice something you already know is by teaching it to somebody else.”

“I agree,” Grace said with a smile.

They agreed to meet in the drawing room after changing into gear. Grace was surprisingly quick to go up the stairs, though she never lost that elegant smoothness in her stride. Ariadne lingered a moment in the dining room, her heart thumping painfully.

There were many thoughts going through her head, bumping into each other and leaving little space for much else. She barely knew Grace, and here she was offering to train her. Their friendship—if it could be called that—was moving awfully fast. Though, things had moved rather fast with Alastair as well. Perhaps they were all so starved for friendship that they were wiling to try to bond with anyone who showed the barest speck of interest.

That wasn’t a bad thing, necessarily. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, after all.

Ariadne sighed and wished Alastair was there. He was better at this than she was, though one may not think it. If Alastair liked someone, or thought he did at least, he could keep a conversation going well enough. Ariadne had always struggled with small talk—it seemed so frivolous and unnecessary. She hoped Grace would feel the same.

When she and Alastair had first started testing their friendship, Ariadne had relied heavily on him to guide the conversation. He’d wanted to know about Anna, and she’d told him—then he’d told her about Charles before she could figure out if she was supposed to ask. He’d also mentioned Thomas vaguely, though how exactly he felt for the man hadn’t come out until much later.

Ariadne smiled fondly at the memories as she ascended the stairs and looked for her gear. Alastair was, surprisingly, a bit of a mess when it came to Thomas Lightwood. Usually so calm and collected, he stumbled over his words when he tried to explain what it was like falling for someone who hated him so thoroughly. It’s not as though it could ever work, anyway, Alastair had said with false casualness. I doubt Thomas is even interested in men.

Only one way to find out, she’d teased. It had earned her a pillow in the face, but it had certainly been worth it.

As she carefully slipped into her gear, she wondered, not for the first time, if perhaps this was what having a sibling was like. She and Alastair got on so well, it was almost a shock whenever she remembered they hadn’t really known each other all that well until a month ago.

A knock startled the memories from her grasp. She finished buckling all that need buckling and opened the door to find a sheepish Grace still in her morning dress. “I’m sorry to bother,” she said before Ariadne could so much as draw breath, “it’s just I’ve realized I don’t actually have any gear.”

Ariadne frowned. It had been quite a few minutes since Grace had disappeared upstairs—what had she been doing all this time?

Seeming to read the question on her face, Grace glanced at her hands and said, “I’d have said something sooner, it’s just… I’m sorry. I didn’t not want you to think less of me as a Shadowhunter.”

Most people did, Ariadne was coming to realize.

She smiled as gently as she could and held open her door, gesturing for Grace to follow as she strode to the closet. “I’m sure I have some old gear that will fit you.” Grace was a few inches shorter than her, but sure enough, there was some gear she’d outgrown when she was fourteen at the very back. Ariadne pulled it out and handed it to Grace. “Do you need any help with it?” she asked.

Grace shook her head quickly. “No. Thank you for offering. I have worn it before, I simply have none of my own.”

“Well, now you do,” Ariadne said, indicating the gear in Grace’s hands.

Grace smiled, and it made her look much prettier, Ariadne thought. This was quite a feat, seeing as how she was already quite gorgeous. It was as though it thawed something in Grace’s features, making her seem warm and kind. Ariadne decided to make it a priority to make Grace smile more.

After Grace changed, they headed outside. Ariadne was increasingly excited about the prospect of training Grace.

She figured they could start with fighting stances, then move on to hand-to-hand, then staffs.

Grace was surprisingly competent about stances and hand-to-hand for what little experience she’d claimed to have. They were able to move on from instruction quickly enough and begin sparring. Neither of them could quite get the advantage, Ariadne because she was holding back to spare Grace’s feelings, and Grace because she simply had no real experience.

Eventually, Ariadne managed to hook her foot behind Grace’s knee and pull, causing her to fall flat on her back. Unfortunately, this put Grace in the prime position to grab Ariadne’s legs and bring her down as well. They collapsed on top of each other in a fit of giggles.

“Truce?” Grace gasped, struggling to keep her composure as she struggled to a sitting position. She extended her hand.

Ariadne eyed it from where she was propped up on her elbows, then grasped it and shook solidly. “Truce.”

They giggled again, helped each other stand, and began brushing themselves off. There was a fair amount of dirt and grass stains on Grace’s gear; Ariadne made a mental note to help her clean it off later.

“Pardon me, Miss Bridgestock,” came a soft, motherly voice from the house door. Ariadne turned to find their maid, Mrs. Webster, watching them with a smile. Her dark hair was streaked with gray—Ariadne wondered when that had happened. She could’ve sworn it hadn’t been that way earlier this year. “I don’t mean to interrupt, miss, but there’s a young man by the name Mr. Carstairs here to see you. He’s waiting in the drawing room whenever you finish.”

“Oh.” It was all she could say. She turned to find Grace’s face had gone cold again. “Do you mind wrapping up for the day?”

Grace looked at her with steely eyes. “That’s fine. I’ll be upstairs.”

“Oh. All right. Er—let me know if you need anything, then.” Before she had even finished speaking, Grace was turning on her heel and pushing past Mrs. Webster.

Confused and greatly disheartened by the sudden loss of all the progress she’d made with Grace, Ariadne followed the maid inside and began walking toward the drawing room. She was stopped by a hand gripping her shoulder and spun around sharply to find Mrs. Webster staring at her with what could only be described as horror. “Miss Bridgestock, you are not truly going to entertain company in your fighting gear, are you?”

Ariadne blinked at her and let out a laugh. “It’s just Alastair, Mrs. Webster.”

“Ohhh, just Alastair, is it?” Mrs. Webster’s next look was far too knowing for Ariadne’s liking.

“Oh, don’t be like that,” she said lightly. “He’s a friend. He probably just wants to talk for a bit, he won’t mind if I’m not dressed properly.”

“Your parents would mind,” Mrs. Webster replies meaningfully. “Especially after that whole ordeal with Mr. Fairchild and Miss Blackthorn—please, dear.” She gripped Ariadne’s arm. “For my peace of mind.”

It was a fair argument. Ariadne still had some semblance of a reputation to maintain. Figuring she might as well humor the old woman, Ariadne let out a sigh and headed toward the stairs. It took her several annoyingly long minutes to change out of her gear and find a suitable dress, and by the time she finished, she’d almost forgotten about Grace.

That was, until she stepped out of her room and found Grace glaring at her by the staircase, dressed in a dazzling display of lilac and silver. “I wish to speak to Alastair with you,” she said simply, then turned so fast her hair splayed out behind her and descended the stairs soundlessly as ever.

Ariadne followed, swallowing heavily and wondering what she was getting herself into.

Alastair was standing already when they entered the room, examining the various paintings they had hanging on the walls. There was a jacket on the couch, which was odd—it wasn’t one that looked like it belonged to Alastair. He turned and, upon seeing Ariadne, did that thing where he very nearly smiled—his face relaxed and the corners of his mouth, rather than pointing down at an alarming angle, evened out into a straight line.

Then he caught sight of Grace, and his jaw tensed again. “Good morning Ariadne, Miss Blackthorn,” he nodded politely. His eyes lingered on Grace for a moment before he shot a displeased look at Ariadne. She shrugged, eyes wide, and gestured to the settee.

Alastair sat on the end farthest from the armchair Grace was occupying, gathering the strange jacket into his arms, leaving Ariadne to sigh irritatedly and sit in the middle of them to mediate.

“How are you this morning, Alastair?” Ariadne asked blandly.

“Fine. Thank you.”

There was silence for a long moment.

Ariadne was about to comment on the weather—really, she should not have been allowed to ever attempt anything resembling small talk—when Alastair glanced and Grace, then back at her, and said, “Pardon me if this is out of line, but I had been hoping to discuss something privately with you, Ariadne. If this is a bad time, I can come by in the afternoon.”

He made to stand, but before he could, Grace interrupted, “Are you doing anything today, Mr. Carstairs?”

He looked stunned, the lowered himself back onto the couch. “Well, that’s actually what I wished to discuss with Ariadne. I did not want to be rude in excluding anyone from the conversation.”

Ariadne nearly winced at his tone. It was clear he had not wanted to include Grace in whatever he had planned.

“Just tell me,” she whispered. When Alastair glanced over her shoulder at Grace, she said, “It’s fine.”

Alastair sighed through nose and held up the jacket. “I ran into Christopher Lightwood last night.” A dozen questions raced through Ariadne’s head—where? when? why?—but before she could voice any of them, he was saying, “It’s a long story for another time, but I ended up with this—” he shook the jacket “—and I don’t know what to do.”

“The jacket is Christopher’s?” Ariadne questioned first.

“Thomas’s,” he corrected quietly.

Ariadne sucked in a breath and nodded in understanding. That would explain it, then.

“You should return it, then,” Grace said slowly. Alastair’s eyes slid over to hers blankly. “I could help, if you wish,” she continued, sitting up straighter. “Be a distraction. The Merry Thieves are far more cross with me than they are with you, I suspect.”

Ariadne looked between the two, waiting. After a few seconds, Alastair’s face softened again, and the corner of his mouth twitched up. “I would appreciate that. Thank you, Miss Blackthorn.”

“Please, Mr. Carstairs, call me Grace.”

Alastair narrowed his eyes even as he smiled. “Well. Then you must call me Alastair.”

Grace smiled fully, then, the warm smile from early that morning. Ariadne understood suddenly why the coldness had crept back when Mrs. Webster had announced Alastair’s arrival. She hadn’t wanted to be shut out by their friendship. The best solution, clearly, was to bring her into it, then.

“When do we leave?” Ariadne asked with an air of adventure, standing with her hands on her hips and looking between the two.

Alastair shrugged. “Now?”

They looked at Grace, who nodded, grinning. “Now.”

*hides* i’m sorry this took so long lol. pls tell me ur thoughts on mrs webster :) (more christopher to come i promise)

tagging @ohcoolnice @stxr-thxif @foxglove-airmid @littlx-songbxrd @eugeniaslongsword @clockworknights @writeforjordelia @axoloteca @ninacarstairss @lifewouldbebetteronmars lmk if i forgot you or if you’d like to be added or if you want to be removed, i’m so disorganized at this point lol

#tlh #the last hours #tlh fanfic #ariadne bridgestock #kamala joshi #grace blackthorn #alastair carstairs #artie tries to write #shayf fic #this is unedited be nice to me

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enigma-im · 3 years

Text

Eighth day of Christmas...

Trope: Heat (NSFW) Relationship: Werewolf x Human Word Count: 7,058

I knew the moment I stepped off the bus that I was in trouble. From the horrid heat and melting pot of people, this was going to be a challenge. The dry air nearly made me cough the second I got off the steps. Everyone seemed as annoyed with the environment as I, which is a small relief. Looking around at all the people was both a relief and a nightmare. We all had no idea what was going on but I knew I stood out like a sore thumb.

"You," someone shouts, silencing the crowd. I look around till I spot a hardened older Soldier making his way towards me. The crowd splits before he can charge through. The man glares daggers at me before stopping uncomfortably close.

"Me," I ask, pointing to myself with unease.

"Yes, you," he shouts," what other mutts around here would I be talking to?"

"Right," I nearly drop my shoulders," what do you need?"

"I wanted to get a look at the first werewolf soldier who gets to become my guard dog for this year," he answers, appraising me with discontent," I expect excellence from you, mutt, this few months you will be chewed up and spit out a better dog than a better man. You have big shoes to fill, guiding your kind into the future and not a single one of us will give you an inch or centimeter to make mistakes. Do I make myself clear, private!"

I feel a bit wobbly at his words," uh, yes."

The man leans closer to my face, shouting despite the distance," What was that, mutt? Stand tall, be loud! Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir," I stand at attention, my stomach rolling into knots.

"That's better," he steps back," Now follow me."

The crowd splits again as the Drill Sargent stomps onward. As he passes, the young men and women look to me, a good mix of intrigued and disgust decorates the group. I straighten my shoulders and march after the man, keeping my head held high with pride.

The first werewolf to join the military, I got a lot to prove.

Conversation with the higher-ups of the camp was tense. I didn't expect it to go as well as it did, though a few sly jokes were made at my expense. They were all weirdly supportive of having me at the grounds, looking forward to trying out their new regimen for my kind. Having a stronger and more capable creature in their boot camp came with its own challenges it seems. They all seem excited to see what I can do.

A lot was explained, trying their best to just keep things running smoothly. No one was going to go easy on me and I'm expected to surpass even the best of their squads. I'm oddly invigorated to take on this challenge.

"With everything all situated, is there anything else we may need to know," the Executive officer asks. He is a sweet man, to my surprise, and has been appreciatively thorough with his preparations.

"Yea, we don't want any issues to come about with having you here. A lot of the soldiers are looking to make an example of you already, though you've done nothing wrong. So if there is anything we have to prepare for then please make light of it now," the senior drill sergeant explains.

"Nothing that I can envision happening here. I'm here to work and become the first in a line of werewolves to join the armed forces. Things will remain respectable on my end so if anything does go wrong I promise it won't be my fault," I answer. A big moment like this I can't even fathom screwing it up with some stupid actions. Let the people make their jokes and rude comments, I'm not bothered in the slightest.

"So we aren't going to catch you humping one of the other recruit's legs, right," the senior drill sergeant jokes.

"Don't want you going into heat and trying to fuck every woman in a mile radius of you," the executive officer joins in. I smile despite the discomfort, shaking my head before explaining.

"No, no, I may turn into a big mutt but I'm not so savage as to do something like that. Don't believe the women would be too receptive to me doing such a thing either. When little Fido does it, it's funny. When I do it, it's enough to get me sent to jail," I joke with them. The two laugh, easing some of the tension.

"But you do go into heat, don't you," senior drill sergeant asks," we look out for medical emergencies and if that will become an issue, let us know ahead of time."

I shake my head," no, that won't be an issue. We only go into heat for a specific person and finding them here would be one hell of a terrible time but I highly doubt it will actually happen. I'm sure I would have smelled them in the crowd if so."

"Specific person," the officer snickers," how romantic, Fido."

"Sounds romantic but I've seen some friends go into rut over their mates, it's not that romantic," I wince, remembering all the fights," it's not a hallmark movie moment, sir."

The officer cocks a brow, wary," I'm almost tempted to ask but I'll refrain for now. Either way, I'll have sergeant Crews bring you to your barracks, and hopefully, we won't have to speak again anytime soon."

I drop off my things at my bunk, sorting them into a chest before heading off to P.T.

The first week of basics is easy, though I'm warned about next week after some miss placed words. My squad takes to me nicely, though I can do without the nicknames. It's a better week than I could hope for after the horror stories from active duty members.

We all sit in the crowded mess hall. Murmurs of conversations can be heard over the disgusting chomping of food. In times like this, I almost wish I didn't have such great hearing. The wet slobbering is beginning to turn my stomach.

"Hey, Spot, is it true you transform on the full moon," Casey, a fellow recruit, asks beside me. I snort, picking at the slop on my tray.

"No, I can do it whenever I want," I answer," full moon thing was for you people to pin some other garbage on the magnetic effects the moon has on the earth."

"oh, wow, movies lied to me again," he lightly bangs his hand on the table," what about silver? Does that do anything for ya?" I scoff, looking at him a bit amused. It has been a lot of teasing but I haven't had anyone sit down and ask before.

"No, silver doesn't do anything for me. Neither does holy water, crosses, or garlic," I tease. Casey rolls his eyes, looking back to his meal with a pout.

"I'm not an idiot, those are for vampires," he grumbles. I chuckle, amused by this human's questions. As I tease the man some more I catch a wondrous smell.

"Besides, I know a normal bullet would work on you anyway," Casey points his fork to me. I can't pay him any mind as I slyly glance around. My heart is racing and pounding against my chest as the smell completely engulfs me. Please no, not now. As I'm looking towards the door I freeze as someone walks behind me. As if everything slowed to a halt I look to the recruit walking over to her table. I can't help but gawk though her attire isn't much to be aroused by.

Brown hair pinned up in a bun and terribly fitted brown and camouflaged clothing. It's meant to be plain and nonattention grabbing but she makes it work. My body thrums with need as I watch her sit at the end of the bench. I can't look away as she eats, looking at her lips like a starved man. I want her, I need her. It's the only thought that runs through my mind.

She couldn't come into my life just a few months later could she?

The whole day I feel like I'm on fire, sickly and distraught. I haven't even been here this long and I feel like I'm about to ruin everything. Surely I can just explain to the XO that I have to deal with this and get right back to basics. I nod, it won't be such a long delay, I'll be right back here shortly.

I head straight to the office, stubbornly marching past the groups still running about. The heavenly smell barely permeates the hot dry air but still nearly knocks me on my ass. My attention snaps straight to her doing push-ups with her squad. She makes quite the sight all sweaty and focused. I can't help but stop and watch.

The squad's drill sergeant walks the rows, screaming motivating insults to them all. My little mate grits her teeth as he passes by, her arms shaking each time they straighten. The sergeant stops before her, crouching down as she stays propped up.

"Getting tired there, private," the sergeant baits," want to take a little break, perhaps?"

"No, sir," she barks out.

"Then get that face in the dirt, let's go," he snaps back at her. The urge to run to the man and deck him in his hooked nose is strong. I have to shake my head of the thought to actually get some semblance of control. She gets back to her exercise, going hard and strong into her next set with a stiff focus on her face. It's admirable to see anyone as determined as she looks. It picks at my heart a bit.

I'm not just taking away this chance for me momentarily but her too. Would she want to take the time off to deal with me? It can't be that big of an issue but starting over has to be something she rather not do. I sure as hell don't want to start the week over even if it wasn't too difficult. She is human so it had to be hell for her. I hum, chewing my cheek.

With fist clenched I turn away from the offices and head back to my barracks. I'll just wait this out, three months is nothing. I can keep my cool that long.

I kept that line of thinking all up till I got to my bunk. The barracks are quiet, the snores of the recruits barely registering to my non-idle thoughts. Every part of me is racing, my heart, thoughts, limbs. I have way too much energy to just sit here. Closing my eyes does nothing but let the thoughts keep me up. I've never had such an issue before, especially here.

Staring up at the ceiling I think of my little mate. She's a cutie, that's for sure. Even with the unflattering get up I can't ignore the appeal of her body. She has strength, as does most of the people here, but watching her do exercises with her squad showed more than just basic strength. I smile to myself as I think about the determined look she had while finishing her set. I have a strong little mate.

I groan as my mind keeps replaying the scene over and over. I can only pray that the rest of the month won't be like this. Turning onto my side I force my eyes closed, trying my damndest to get even a few hours of sleep.

The next week I'm weirdly filled with energy. Every morning I wake up excited to do runs, outpacing everyone by miles as I speed down the dirt track. Exercises become a blessing and every moment I spend sitting down is one where I'm anxious to get back up. The nights are no better, my body humming with unspent energy. It feels amazing to get out there and work.

Sitting at the lunch table I shovel food into my mouth, leg bouncing under the table. I want nothing more than to get back out there and get rid of this energy but lunch is kind of important. As I unflatteringly gulp down the muck an erotic scent ceases my tension. Flowing over my body like a warm shower. I close my eyes, taking in the calm.

"So, I gotta ask," a woman before me asks," do werewolves generally have this puppy energy, or is it just you because watching you hall ass down the track is almost inspiring."

As I open my eyes I'm left gawking at the woman. My beautiful mate sitting just across the table, smirking with her arms crossed. I swallow hard, feeling oddly nervous at this moment. What should I say? Should I say something? She quirks a brow at me, waiting for a reply.

"uh," I clench my pants under the table," depends on the person?"

She hums," is that a question or an answer?"

I straighten," a-a answer, ma'am."

"Hey, lighten up," she knocks on the table," don't need any of the ma'am business. I just wanted to ask, you have been buzzing like a bee this past week and I was kind of hoping it was something I could learn instead of it being genetics." my palms feel clammy the more she speaks. She's so casual, I almost wish she wasn't. I can handle stupid full moon questions over this. I wipe my hand on my pants.

"Sorry, it's all genetics," I give her a half-smile," blessings of the father I'm afraid to say."

She props herself up on crossed arms, her breast squeezing together," so was your mom human? I didn't think you can cross-breed like that." my eyes flick down to her pushed out chest, gulping hard I look down to my hands. I wipe my palms on my pants.

"No, a werewolf can b-breed with anyone," I meet her eyes," just has to be their mate."

"Awe, that sounds cute," she coos. Before she can add anymore the sergeants come in to collect their squads. I watch her look to the crowd, her shoulders dropping. She turns back to me," well, was nice talking with ya, Cujo." with that she leaves.

I remain seated as everyone begins filling out. Looking to my lap I groan in frustration, I never felt more like a measly runt than right now. Couldn't even talk to her and I'm sitting here with a full chub. I look to the crowd once more, catching sight of her turning out of the doorway. Fisting my pants I whimper lowly in my throat.

If I knew talking with her would make things worse then I would have never done it. The night we first spoke was tenser than any before. I feel like ants are crawling all over my skin, my body unbelievably hot. My blankets feel scratchy and too rough on my sensitive skin. I can hardly sleep as all I can think about is that beautiful woman smiling at me from across the table. Her ample chest just perched on her crossed arms. My loins lurch at the thought, aching to a degree I've never experienced.

I fall onto my back, panting as I kick the blanket off myself. Looking down myself in the dark barracks I see the tent in my pants. I groan, thumping my head against the pillow. A boner over a minute conversation with a girl, surely I couldn't stoop so low. I peak at my lap, groaning again as I flex my toes. Perhaps a little attention can soothe the beast?

Timidly I slide my hand down my stomach, fingers sneaking under the hem of my pants. I grab the base of my shaft, squeezing it while slowly closing my eyes. Just have to do this quickly and I got to get some sleep. With the task in mind, I aim for fast. I pump my fist, going harder than I've usually started. My callused hand feels uncomfortable, not helping the smooth glide I need. I take my hands out of my pants and lick my palm before trying again.

I jerk off, feeling itchy and frustrated as I do. I try to get it out and done before anyone can wake up to notice but I can't get into it. Trying a new tactic I relax on the bed. Keeping my eyes shut I slowly pump my fist up and down my shaft, pleased with the torturous glide. An image of my mate sitting across the lunch table pops in my head, my cock twitching at the picture. I admire her harden face, the beauty in her full cheeks when she smiles. I wince as my fingers glide over my tip.

The image shifts as I stare at her tits resting on the table. They are laid bare, her sweet little nipples hard from the cold lunchroom. My cock pulses as I think about reaching over the table to grab her, grazing my hand over her little buds. A whimper tries to bubble out from my throat, the sound surprising. I can't pay it any mind as I imagine tweaking her nipples, watching her face twist in pleasure. In my palm my cock aches, demanding more as I pump harder.

The scene twists, she's bent over the table with her tight ass presented to me. I whimper again, bucking into my fist. A bulge nudges against my hand with every descent. It would be something to investigate if I wasn't so tempted to continue. I picture lining my dick up with her weeping slit, gently pressing my tip in with a retrained grunt. Another whine leaves me, the base of my cock throbbing worst than the rest of me. As fantasy me bottoms out inside her I bite my fist to reject the whimper trying to cry out.

"Fuck," I mumble in a cry. I jerk till I can feel my body shiver in its impending climax, utterly debauched at the fantasy playing out. As I reach my breaking point I grip the hard bulge at the base of my cock, squeezing as hard as I can as I cum in my boxers. My grip pulses as I unload all over myself.

My grip eases slightly as I catch my breath. I feel disgusting as the wet fabric sticks to my tip. Looking down my body I wince at the damp stain. I tug down my pants and catch a look at my still hard dick, I furrow my brow confused. Generally, I'm soft shortly after, not still ragingly hard. I look to the bulge still cupped in my hand. Well, that's new. I test a squeeze. A shot of pleasure jolts up my spine making my head feel fuzzy. I nearly curl into myself at the surprise. That's definitely new.

I take one more glance at myself, wincing at the sight. I'm no fresh pup, I know what's pulsing at my base. I just didn't think it would come out without being buried inside someone. Sighing, I tuck myself away and attempt to get some sleep. I wince at the sticky fabric, suddenly regretting not waiting till a more opportune time to do this.

Circling the track for the 2nd time I catch up with the squad. Everyone is taking a breather, panting hard after the three miles. I casually jog up to them, still vibrating with energy.

"How can you even do this, air bud," Scott grabs at his knees," I knew there would be running but…fuck."

I look at him bemused," air bud?"

"Well it's like my dog, Rufus," another squad member claps me on the shoulder," would just run around for hours once I let him outside." I look between the two.

"I just like running," I answer," I feel rather energetic lately."

We all talk as I bounce on my heels. The sergeant rounds us all up before heading off to the next part of PT.

We begin jumping jacks in our lines, listening to the drill sergeant scream encouragements. Looking off to the side I catch sight of another squad doing their miles. They all seem rather calm, must be their first mile. I watch them go by, just briefly catching sight of my little mate in the middle of the crowd. A smile curls on my face as I watch her run along. Her arms pumping and chest bouncing. A raging need thrums into my veins, my cock standing to attention. I watch her in a daze.

"What are you doing, boy," someone shouts, grabbing me by the back of my shirt. I stumble as I'm tugged backward, torn from my stupor. Catching my bearings I realized I've tried to walk out of formations, ignoring my exercises in favor of following her delicious smell.

"uh," I shake my head," Sorry, saw a squirrel." I half-smile, hoping the joke would land. He grits his teeth, tugging me back in line.

"I'd make you run another set but I think you would enjoy that, instead you're on patrol tonight, Fido," he shouts, walking back down the line," Let's start again, from the beginning. One, two, three…"

Lunch has me excited, feeling like my tail is ready to sprout out and reveal my pleasure. I quickly shovel down my muck, looking around like an eager pup for any sight of her. Spotting her coming out of the line and heading my way I can't help but wipe my face and straighten my clothes. I nearly bounce in my seat as she gets closer.

"So you do have a tail," Scott tugs on something behind me. I grunt, twisting around with a growl. Out of the corner of my eye I catch sight of my fluffy black tail.

"Ah, fuck," I grumble, looking to her coming closer then back at my tail. Without much thought, I pin it between the bench and my thigh.

"Hello, Cujo," she greets," you're endless energy for exercises will never cease to amaze me." she sits down at the table, her tray clanking against the metal. My tail tugs, wanting to break free. I open my mouth to answer, interrupted by someone clapping me on the back.

"Yea, it's making the rest of us look bad. He makes three miles look easy," Tyler jokes as he sits beside me.

"well, it is easy, you guys are just out of shape," she jokes back. I snort, glancing at the offended men on either side of me. My mate has a sense of humor I see.

"haha, hilarious, G.I. Jane," Tyler deadpans.

"It's funny you should say that because I caught you slacking behind your crew today," Scott props his smug face on his hand," it's bad enough they let dogs in the military but you women have a lot more to prove." I can't help but sneer at Scott.

She glares at him, crossing her arms and leaning forward." yea, well what's your excuse, cadet?"

Scott leans forward as well," got a handicap, love, hard to run with three legs."

My mate snorts a chuckle, shaking her head as she grabs her food," What kind souls the higher-ups are to let you join with such a clear handicap."

Scott bounces his brow," you know it, baby. I'll be happy to show you my treatment options, perhaps you can help?" I stiffen at the suggestion, my limbs and chest tightening as Scott continues to flirt. A low rumble climbs up my throat, back arching as I glare at him.

"Think I'll pass, I heard that men with large dicks tend to need too much prep work for a minute of entertainment," she bites back. Scott shrugs as Tyler chuckles, them all going back to their meal. The growl comes out louder, my teeth pricking at my lip as I snarl at him. Scott looks at me, recoiling at the clear aggression.

"You ok, Fido," Scott asks," looks like I'm trying to take your food or something." I feel everyone's eyes on me, confused and concerned. A possessiveness boils under my skin, demanding action against this male. I swallow hard, shaking my head as I glare down at my tray. Reigning back the shift, I shake my shoulders.

"Sorry," I growl," just feeling tense today." everyone nods, quietly eating their meals. I pass a glance to my mate, worried I pushed her away with my lack of control. We look to one another, the edge of her lip tugging up. She looks away with a shy smile gracing her beautiful face. I smile to myself as I eat.

After lunch I go for a run, feeling more anxious than yesterday. I dig hard, making record speed over my fifth mile. My body feels invigorated but anxious as I run. My brain goes a mile a minute, demanding attention to the one person driving me crazy. With Scott's words ringing in my ears all I can do is think about the threat. Someone is encroaching on my territory, challenging my claim.

I shake my head, I haven't claimed her. Hell, I don't even know her name. I run harder. Pictures of her flash through my head, my fantasy of the other night forcing discomfort to my groin. I shake again. Just running isn't doing enough, I need more now.

Slowing to a stop I take off my shirt. Crouching and pressing my fingers to the ground I allow my skin to break. I grunt with my bones snapping and rearranging. The pain feels great, an action my body agrees with greatly. With my claws digging into the dirt and fur bristling in the breeze I bolt down the track on all fours.

cadets and Sergeants gawk as I high tail it around the trail. I breathe heavy, tongue lulled to the side as I hear the air roar in my ears. Everything feels so open and free. This is something I've missed all week. Changing in front of everyone made me feel embarrassed, self-conscious. I'm not like them and proving that could lead to problems. Right now, I couldn't care less. I have other issues to deal with.

After running around for hours I fall in the grass near the tree line, laying on my stomach to bask in the sun. I should be exhausted now, all this mating energy out for the time being. Closing my eyes and resting my chin on my paws I relax. It's a lovely day out.

Sitting there for a moment I feel a burst of energy. I growl. Two hours of running on top of PT this morning, how can I be nearly vibrating with need? This mating business is getting harder and harder to ignore. All I think, hear, smell is her. My cock stirs against my stomach, the hot length pinned to the ground. I growl again.

Making my way to the showers I angrily toss my torn shorts and turn the water on. I step into the cold stream, shocked at the temperature. This should help, I can chill out before patrols tonight. Closing my eyes I press my head against the tiled wall. Not even a second in and I see her. I see her wet and naked before me, giving me eyes and beckoning me forward. I clench my fist and grow as my cock throbs.

"Fine," I grab my erection," you win again."

I jerk myself hard and fast, snarling as I picture pounding into her sweet cunt. Bucking into my fist I imagine her bouncing breast and wonderful cries of pleasure. I need her, I need her so damn bad. Baring my teeth with clenched eyes I feel my base ache. I grab at my knot, pinching it in a tight grip. I can feel my seed go up my shaft, spraying the wall. Whimpering, I pulse my grip on my base, sighing as each drop is let out.

"I can't keep doing this," I whimper," I'm so tired." my cock doesn't soften, even as I turn the water off and dry myself it still aches for her.

Walking the perimeter I look around the dark camp. My uniform feels scratchy and tight as I step. There are bags under my eyes and I'm still filled with energy. I'm tired and hyper at the same time. The walk around the base feels like a dream, hollow and dazed. I'm so sleepy.

The sound of a door opening catches my attention the same time a wonderous perfume punches me in the nose. My head snaps to a shed out a bit of way from the main building. A light is shining out the open door, a shadow cast on the sidewalk. I take another inhale of that sweet scent, my cock pulses.

Like a zombie, I shuffled to the shed. The corners of my vision are distorted as I turn into the doorway. My eyes snap to the person standing at the opposite end next to a shelf. She looks over her shoulder, smiling when she realizes who it is.

"Hey, Cujo," my mate greets," you look like shit, you ok?" she takes a step to me, concerned. A growl snaps out my mouth, my shoulders sagging forward. She recoils, taking a step back. I match her, taking one forward. "Cujo," she tries to say casually but comes out a little worried," you need something from the shed?" I take another step. Her back hits the shelf, startling her as she watches me stalk forward. With all my control out the window, I storm towards her, bracing my hands on either side of her head. My face buries against her neck, taking a large inhale.

"What's your name," I growl out, using the final bit of control I have to ask.

"S-Samantha, my friends call me Sam," she jokes with a timorous hilt. I lick up the taunt tendon of her throat, she shudders. "Cujo," she timidly runs her hand up my arm," what's happening?" I nearly purr at her touch. Her words barely register as I lap at her skin, drunk on her already. I hear the smallest whimper from her, making my ears perk up.

"W-what's your name," she asks as her hand glides up my back to card her fingers through my hair.

"Trevor," I bite at her shoulder," and I can't take it anymore."

"Take what," she says nearly breathless. I can't answer, only having enough thought to grab her thighs and lift her. Her legs wrap around my waist easily, pulling me against her heat. My eyes nearly roll with the friction. With little thought I slowly rock my hips, my tongue licking up her neck to her cheek then licking over her lips. Her fingers tug on my hair, scratching at my skin.

"You want me," she asks. I buck hard into her in answer, she chuckles. "Am I your mate," she asks. A spark starts in my loins at her saying such a thing. Does she accept this? Accept me?

Aching and primed I get her on the ground, licking her as I feel my tail stuck in my pants. My brain is muddled and unfocused, wanting to tear her clothes off and mount her right here. It feels wrong- it feels right. I bite at her shoulder again, frustrated beyond belief as I grind into her.

"S-sam," I whimper," Please."

She tugs on my hair again, snaking her hand under my shirt to pet at my sprouting fur. "What do you want, Trevor," she asks.

"You," I dig my teeth into her skin," you, you, you."

She laughs, rubbing her cheek against mine," then have me, big boy."

In a flurry of need, lust, want, I rip her shirt. I can't bring myself to feel guilty as her nearly naked torso is before me. I lather at her chest, plucking the little strap between her cups with my clawed finger. My tongue wets her nipples, chest, stomach, listening to her little adorable whimpers. I feel frenzied as I shove her pants down and bury my face against her cunt. She smells sweet, tastes like ambrosia.

"Oh, good boy," she grips my hair too tightly. I lap are her folds like a dying man, feeling my body pulse and rejoice. She is amazing and all mine, open and pleasured by me. Her body wiggles and grinds against me, forcing me to hold her hips. Her thighs clamped around my face, nearly covering my ears. I'm pleased to hear her cries and feel her tighten around my tongue as I force it inside her. Oh, by the gods, she's divine.

I continue showering my attentions upon her as she tries to push me away," that's enough, Trevor, I need you." my head perks up at her words. She needs me? I sit up, ripping my already torn shirt off my shifted body. I rush to undo my pants, tearing at them enough for my cock to poke through. I look down at her cunt, licking my chops with excitement. I fall over her, hands framing her head. My hips gravitate towards her, needing her more than air. I whimper as I can't bring myself to plunge into her like a savage. Whimper again I meet her eyes, begging her.

She smiles, reaching up and petting my cheek," go ahead, Trevor, I think I understand." overjoyed I lick her mouth, tail wagging freely now.

Now free to do as I need I look between us and nudge my cock against her. My tip spreads her folds but delving into her awaiting heat is hard. I can't think, instincts taking all my control. I whimper again, looking at her. She smiles sweetly, reaching down and guiding me. I wait eagerly for her to lead me, feeling her place me at her entrance. I shove forward, engulfed easily. I whine and growl as I push as far as I can go. I try to nudge further but my base is already swollen. I chuff.

With my new addiction wrapped around my cock I withdraw before plunging into her divine heat with a heavy breath. This is what I've needed, what I've craved. I can't stop myself from bucking into her hard and fast, demanding everything with each thrust. My ears ring as I'm taken to a world of pure bliss.

Samantha writhes and whimpers with me, grabbing at the fur on my chest. I lean closer, pressing my body to hers. My thrusts begin to shorten till I'm rutting into her with shallow humps. Short uncontrolled bucks that leave my knot knocking at her entrance. An overwhelming need overtakes me. I bump my knot harder and harder against her, demanding entrance with every nudge. With a hard push, she opens more for me. I grunt as I force it, locking her to me with a satisfied sigh.

We both wriggle against each other till I'm left whining against her shoulder, with a well-timed clench on her part I'm bursting inside her. I bite down on her shoulder, marking her as my cum paints her insides. Her walls flutter around me. I listen to her melodious cries as I cum. It's too perfect, too beautiful.

With my cock locked inside her I can't help but wag my tail and lick at her face. She giggles, allowing me to shower her in affection as she rests on the floor. I pamper her, licking at her sweat and cleaning every part I can reach. She is mine now, my wonderful mate.

As my knot begins to deflate I feel the week catch up with me. I collapse on her, my cock softening and falling out. She grunts as my weight is on her. My eyes begin to flutter, my body coming back to its original state. I drift off to sleep without a care in the world.

I awaken in an unfamiliar bed with unfamiliar clothes. Without much thought I sniff out my mate, wanting to roll into her comforting arms. A disgusting chemical smell greets me instead of her warm scent. I jump awake, scared, and worried immediately.

"Whoa, cool it, Spot," someone catches my attention. I snap my eyes to them, seeing a skinny man in normal military attire. The brown shirt and camo pants.

"Where is Sam," I growl, disoriented as adrenaline fills my veins.

"The girl? Probably talking with the XO," he shrugs," should be back here soon." the man looks to his computer on his medical trolley. Feeling he is distracted I jump from the bed and bolt to the door. I can hear him shout but I'm too busy taking in the scents around me. I look left, nothing. I look right, I smell her.

Charging down the halls I turn this way and that as I follow her trail. I feel stressed and angry, to an unbelievable degree. I need her in my sight, in my arms. Her scent leads me to a door, the words on the sign not registering in my mind. I slam it open, spotting her immediately.

"Oh, hey," she smiles as she turns in her chair. She has more to say but I interrupt her. Plucking her from her seat I slam her against my body and bury my face to her neck. I take in her scent, assess her health and the environment. The smell of another makes me stiffen but her fingers scratching behind my ear makes me purr. I can feel my tail wagging behind me.

"Tamed the dog, how cute," someone says. I snap my head to them, nearly growling at my XO. He sits at his desk smug, but still intimidatingly powerful. Though I hold back a sound I can't help but bear my teeth to him.

"Let's not antagonize the pup, alright," Sam jokes. She guides me over to the seats, parting to take her own. Looking from her to the XO I feel the urges again, a primal need to get her out of sight of this male. I shake my head to put myself back into a normal mindset. Reluctantly I sit down.

"Now the excitement is over, Cadet Trevor Galius. You are relieved of training till further notice along with Cadet Samantha Backster," he says calmly. I stiffen at the dismissal, looking at Sam in clear worry. Will she be mad? This is exactly what I wanted to avoid, taking her choice away. Sam glances at me with a disarming smile. I remain wary.

"For how long," I ask.

"Till next January, that's when winter training starts. For now, I encourage you two to settle all that needs to be settled before then," he glares over to me," I'd hate to have a repeat of this semester." I wince, looking down at my lap.

"Will this put a delay on werewolves being allowed in the armed forces," I peak up at my XO. He smiles to himself, dropping it quickly.

"I admire your dedication to this cause but no, there be no delay for werewolves. I hope you don't mind too much not being the first one," he answers. Most of my worries melt off at his words. The only person I'm potentially holding back is Sam, no one else has to suffer for my lack of control.

"That won't be a problem, sir," I answer.

With no final notes, we are dismissed. I walk with Sam out into the hall, fidgeting all the while. We walk out of the main building in silence. Should I say something? Is she mad? I pass glances at her, looking for any signs of distress. She gives nothing away.

"Just ask, I know it's killing you," she bites her lip to stop her grin. I fall apart, reaching out and pulling her against me. I can't take not touching her.

"Please don't be mad at me. I didn't want to force you out of training like this but trying to hold back was killing me. I'm so sorry," I whimper into her hair. She awkwardly pats at my back as I apologize.

"I'm not mad," she answers," far from it. I'm rather excited about all this. Like, it's not every day something like this happens."

I recoil from her, confused," you're not mad?"

She shakes her head," no, I actually had some guesses around our second conversation."

I look at her bemused," you did?"

"Yea, I knew about the werewolf mate thing from my cousin. I went to her wedding about two years ago and she was mated to one of your kind. She wouldn't shut up about how they met and the utter romantic garbage she experienced from him," she scoffs," it was almost sickening how sweet they were but I got to learn some signs. You have been tense and full of energy lately. I figured that was normal but you perked up a lot when I showed up. It was really cute. Still, I had some guesses and when you came to the shed it was heavily validated. So in the end, I'm not mad. Lowkey a little happy you didn't do some over the top romantic gestures like my cousin's man did."

I listen to her rant amused and amazed. She knew? A part of me thinks she just had some hopeful thoughts and wanted the signs to be for her. Or maybe I'm not as good as I think at hiding this. Either way, it doesn't matter because she doesn't hate me. She wants me and I can't do anything but be thrilled.

With a snort, I pull her into a kiss, ecstatic with the turn of events. She smiles against my lips, pulling me close. As we kiss a few people walk back, whistling and making sly comments at us. We part, chuckling with one another at their jokes.

"So you aren't mad you have to join back next year," I ask just to be sure.

"Maybe a little," she shrugs," I guess your just going to have to make me forgive you."

I growl, leaning down and nipping at her neck. Her shriek of laughter makes me giddy. I have my mate, and she's perfect.

#12 tropes for christmas #12 days of christmas #Enigma-IM #exophilia #monster boyfriend #werewolf boyfriend #heat

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in-slytherin-we-trust · 4 years

Note

Could you write something for Blaise? Maybe the reader being best friends with him Draco, Pansy and Theodore. And Blaise starts to have feelings for her and often just stares at her instead of talking or listening etc, the others tell him to confess but he thinks she doesn't feel the same, but one day he sees that another Slytherin is also interested in her so he tries everything to ruin the other one's chances with her and tries to impress her? :)

Two Fools In Love (Blaise Zabini x Reader)

-> A jealous Blaise Zabini decided to wreck havoc when someone threatens to steal the girl of his dreams.

Requested by: @hinagiku0

If Gryffindor has the Golden Trio, Slytherin also has its own leading coterie; a notorious one at that. Except it’s more of a quintet instead of a trio.

Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, Pansy Parkinson, Theodore Nott, and (Y/N) (Y/L/N). They are the elites that sit at the top of the Slytherin food chain. Untouchable as they are to the outsiders, inside they actually share quite a strong bond and sense of loyalty towards one another, as surprising as that is due to the lot of them displaying their inability in expressing emotions most of the time. Positive emotions in specific, negative ones in the other hand is their specialties. They do have a reputation and family name to uphold after all.

Ever since fourth year, Draco and Pansy is in an on-and-off relationship, although it’s not much of a relationship per se anyway. Theo is the ladies magnet of the group, never one to stay with one girl for a long duration of time. As for Blaise and Y/N.. well that’s where it gets complicated.

The whole group know that they’re head over heels for one another, you must be blind not to. Even most of the Slytherins on their year can see the undeniable tension between those two. The problem is that they‘re the only ones that don’t see it.

At some point, there are moments when Y/N was almost convinced that perhaps her bestfriend returns her feelings. Like back when they attended the Yule Ball as each other’s date. She thought after that night there’s a chance that they would be together, just to find out the next day things were as normal as they could be and Blaise had nothing to say to her that would indicate otherwise. Or like that time when Blaise jump straight into the muddy and slippery castle ground after a rain when she slipped to break the fall. Never hesitating nor caring about his dirty clothes or the dirt that clungs to his skin, which is so unlike Blaise, Merlin knows how vain he is. He’d much rather die than be seen looking less than polished.

But then again maybe that’s just her reading too much into the situation. Seeing things that are not there just to find some semblance of hope that it’s not so one-sided. After all she’s closest to him in their friend group, maybe he sees her more like a sister. He has even brought her for some afternoon tea with his mother, the infamous Mrs. Zabini, she’d even go as for as to say that they bonded greatly that day.

She feels stupid and weak for wasting her time waiting on him, Merlin she has never even bothered giving her attention to whomever is trying to get close to her because of Blaise. Even when Blaise had a summer fling with that pretty girl from Beauxbatons, Y/N’s feelings remain the same, her hope for him as strong as ever.

But maybe this year it’s time for a change, word on the street is that Adrian Pucey has a crush on her. He’s their upperclassmen and also a chaser in their quidditch team. Plus he’s actually pretty cute. Although she might never feel anything real for him, who says that she can’t have her share of fun? Blaise be damned.

——————————————————————

“Careful, Blaise. It looks like you’re about to be replaced soon enough” Pansy’s taunting voice interrupted his concentration, right now he’s busy focusing on this blasted History of Magic 6 pages long essay that is due for tomorrow morning or else Professor Binns would have his head. He has already skipped his class one too many times so he can’t afford another bad mark.

“Whatever are you referring to, Pans?” He said nonchalantly, not even bothering to look up from his parchment.

“Our dear Y/N of course! I just heard the most delicious tittle-tattle that Adrian Pucey had asked her out earlier” She said in the most annoying tone she could muster, fake happiness dripping all over it.

Blaise raised his head so fast he nearly got himself a whiplash. He scanned her face to see whether she’s just trying to goad him or not, but despite her taunting expression he can see that she’s telling the truth.

“Pucey did what?!” Blaise said, more to himself than to Pansy anyway. His tone growing dangerous as he can feel his composure slipping away at the news.

“Oh grow up, Blaise! Y/N can make her own choices, so what if she chose to go out with somebody? it’s about time anyway” She said to him as she couldn’t resist the urge to roll her eyes.

“But why him? come on, Pans! you and I both know she deserves so much better... someone like—“

Before he could finish his sentence, Pansy dove straight in and cut him off.

“Someone like you?” She asked, raising one of her perfectly groomed eyebrow.

Blaise grew quiet, unsure on how to best answer that. Still at disbelief, did he really just lost his chance?

Pansy’s face softened up after seeing the change in Blaise’s behavior, although he might be an idiot but he’s still her friend.

“Look... we all know how in love you are with her, you’re just too bloody stubborn to come to terms with it” She said, leaning into the side of the table to look at him better. “But if you keep this up, you’re going to lose her, Blaise. So man up! you are Blaise Zabini for Salazar’s sake”

“Yeah you’re absolutely right, I am Blaise Zabini” Slowly his face brightened up, gaining the usual confidence. Pansy can see the gears turning inside of his head.

“So what are you going to do about it? I mean Pucey has beat you to it”

“He might have beaten me in asking her out but the war has not been won yet, has it?” He said, mischief gleaming in his eyes.

———————————————————————

The next morning, instead of sitting at their usual group spot, Blaise walked in to see Y/N already sitting beside Adrian Pucey. The sight nearly made him wants to hex the boy on spot. But he kept his cool and head straight towards the others.

Just after he sat down, he looked up to see Draco’s grey eyes looking at him in amusement. He didn’t utter a word but the meaning is clear, he’s delighted at Blaise’s sorry predicament, that git. Mouth pulled into an arrogant smirk.

“Sod off, mate” Blaise said, looking at the silver-haired boy pointedly before he can even attempt to poke fun at him.

Draco raised the both of his hands as if indicating truce, but the smirk remains. “No need to get your knickers in a twist, Blaise. You know i’m rooting for you” He said, putting emphasize on the word rooting.

“Yeah yeah thanks for the support, Malfoy” Blaise retorted back, trying to just shrug him off.

The both of them glanced Y/N’s way to see that Adrian is now pouring a glass of pumpkin juice for her. Draco pulled out his wand but kept it hidden from the sight of bystanders and he muttered a spell.

On the other side of the table, something happened that makes Adrian’s hand missed and he poured the liquid all over Y/N’s white shirt instead, soaking it wet. Shocked gasps flying all around them. Meanwhile Y/N is too mortified to say anything, face turning redder than the color of Gryffindor. Adrian attempted to fix his mistake but Y/N pushed his hand away, taking the napkin from his hand and dabbing it herself. But clearly that is not enough to drive the two of them apart since Blaise saw that she still gives him a half-hearted smile, although irritation is shining behind those (Y/E/C) eyes.

“I owe you one” Blaise whispered to Draco, a full grin plastered on his face. His best mate in return gave him a thumbs up and they both high fived each other.

———————————————————————

It is mid day and they have just wrapped up their Potions class, Blaise was helping Y/N carries her stuff when he felt himself being stopped near the archway that leads to the corridor outside.

Blaise cocked one eyebrow, silently asking his teammate ‘what?’, “I got it, mate. Hand that over” Pucey said, stretching the both of his hands open.

Y/N was just coming outside of the classroom when she saw both boys, “Oh.. hi Adrian, what are you doing here? aren’t 6th year supposed to be in Transfiguration?” She asked, a bit confused at the sudden appearance.

“The class finished early, so I thought about walking you back from Potions” He replied, a confident smile on his face.

“Ah I see” Y/N said, clearly not even impressed in the slightest. He’s starting to get more clingy than she would’ve preferred but still she doesn’t want to be rude.

Blaise who feels ignored, scoffed to himself. Pathetic, he thought. If Adrian Pucey thinks that by pulling this moves he’ll succcesfully get Y/N’s heart, he’s mental.

“Here you go, prince charming” Blaise said as he suddenly dropped all of Y/N’s stuff into Adrian’s hand, who wasn’t prepared at all because he’s busy staring at her. But of course the reflex of a trained chaser saves his face from another shame as he quickly balanced it on his hands.

Blaise turns to stare directly at Y/N, “I’ll see you later” He said as he salutes her.

And then he’s off, walking the other way.

But not without a parting gift of course... after all he is a man on a mission. He muttered a jinx under his breath and aimed the tip of his wand towards the unsuspecting boy. Another win for Blaise Zabini.

It doesn’t even took that long before he heard a loud noise of things falling and Y/N’s fuming voice yelling out, “Merlin’s beard, how can a person be so accident-prone”.

———————————————————————

The third incident of the day happened at the Quidditch Pitch. The Slytherin team is training for their upcoming game against Gryffindor which means that Blaise, Draco, Adrian, and the others have to go all out to win.

Y/N, Pansy, and a few other girls are in attendance. Sitting on the bleachers. It’s a rather pleasant day outside, the sun is not too hot complete with some cool breeze.

That was before Adrian decided to do something to ‘impress’ his new ladylove.

He zoomed his broom past where she’s currently sitting and shouts out, “Hey, Y/N! check this out” As he attempted to pull a stunt.

Every single eyes were on him but Blaise and Draco found themselves once again looking at each other, now this is about to be golden. He is such an easy target.

Blaise casted a spell that made him lose his balance a bit and he slipped from his broom, now hanging and tightly holding to the wood for dear life. But that’s not the end of it, Draco casted another spell that made his pants fell off, exposing his bowtruckle-patterned boxer shorts.

Laughter exploded everywhere, Y/N undoubtedly almost exploded with secondhand embarrassment decided to quickly exit the bleachers with a cackling Pansy in tow.

———————————————————————

That night he found her curled up in the black couch of their common room. He cleared his throat to announced his presence and she shift a bit.

Glancing to the back, her body immediately relaxes when she saw that it was only him. Beckoning for him to join her with her hand.

Blaise took a seat beside her as he carefully took in the expression on her face, she looks tired. “Rough day?” He started lamely.

“Ugh you don’t even want to know the half of it” She groaned, putting her head between her arms.

She spare a quick glance his way, nose scrunching in the cutest way possible, “I think the universe just hates me somehow”

This got Blaise rolling his eyes at her dramatics, “And why is that?”

She throws both hands exasperatedly in the air, “I just want to have a proper boyfriend for once and yet it all just went to hell”

Blaise is overwhelmed with guilt, although he doesn’t want to see her be with anyone else, still he’s ashamed of himself for sabotaging her relationship.

“Do you really like him?” He asked quietly.

“No....” Her eyes found his, “I’m pretty sure i’m in love with someone else but he probably doesn’t feel the same way”

He felt a pang in his stomach, Y/N love someone?

“I’m sure if that’s the case then that person is a dim-witted numpty”

Y/N can’t help but let out a scoff and mumbled under her breath, “Well you’re a dim-witted numpty then”.

But clearly it’s not quiet enough since Blaise caught on to every single word, eyes widening as the meaning sinks in.

“It’s me isn’t it?” He started out unsurely, testing the water.

“Of course it is you, you idiot. It’s always been you for years” She admitted defeatedly.

Blaise carefully reached out one hand to touch her cheek, stopping mid air while staring at her beautiful eyes as if asking for permission. Seeing no sign of refusal he let his hand settle on her cheek. Rubbing soothing finger on her soft skin. He felt his heart warmed as she nuzzle even more into his touch, eyes closing in contentment.

“It’s always been you for me too” He whispered out to her, feeling her breath hitched at his confession, clearly expecting something else.

And so the both of them leaned in, as they share what is first of their many kisses.

———————————————————————

A/N : Yay it’s my first ever HP fic, I know this might suck soo bear with me please🥺 Also English is not my mother tongue so I do apologize for the grammar mistakes that I could’ve made somewhere along the story. Feedbacks are greatly appreciated! and thank you for reading♥️

#harry potter x reader #harry potter oneshots #harry potter imagine #harry potter smut #blaise zabini x you #blaise zabini x reader #blaise zabini #blaise zabini imagine #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy smut #draco malfoy oneshots #draco malfoy oneshot #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy fluff #draco malfoy drabble #draco malfoy #cedric diggory x reader

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talkcloneshipstome · 3 years

Note

I would like to request Rex/Fives, incorporating the word: forever ❤️

D... did I really never answer this ask? I wrote the prompt. It's been written for a while now. I am so sorry I forgot about this! I'm pretty sure Kanra even reminded me at some point, and then upon being reminded, I forgot to come and post this. Either way, I hope you like this. It's geared more towards Rex/Fives/Echo — which was done on accident — but Echo isn't actually present. This takes place post-Citadel. Due to that, the fic is under the cut for talk of death and character death.

Rex sits alone in the barracks. He hasn’t got a clue how he’s managed it, but he seems to have found a random sweet spot of time in which the entire bunk room is totally empty. It’s just Rex, the bunks, and his thoughts.

Thanks to General Kenobi, Cody, and the 212th’s ARCs joining the 501st for a few rotations for strategy planning and other similar responsibilities, Rex has been relegated once again to the barracks, along with Fives. They’re the only ARCs at the moment, so the ARC bunk room has been given over to their guests. Not that Rex is complaining though. He likes staying in the barracks usually. It feels less lonely…

The pressing quiet of his and Fives’ bunk room has been driving him insane. They were never an overly rowdy bunch in their free time, so the quiet isn’t out of the ordinary. But there’s something horribly oppressive about silence brought on by a missing presence who should, by all accounts, be there. But he’s not.

It’s been… oh, Rex isn’t sure anymore. He lost count of the days by the third after returning from the Citadel. It’s been over a week, he’s at least sure of that much. But other than that, time has been blurring into itself of getting very little (if any) sleep, rising with his alarm, and forcing himself to go through the motions. He is aware that his men are getting concerned, but it’s not like there’s much to worry about. Something will snap him out of this eventually, Rex is sure of it. It always does.

Though, they’ve also never lost Echo before. They’ve lost vode, of course. That’s just life for the clones. They’ve been losing brothers since before they could even remember. It’s different now that the war is officially going. Now that it’s been a year and a half or however long, losing brothers is different than it had been on Kamino.

And truthfully, Rex would be a filthy liar if he said that losing Echo wasn’t the punch in the gut that it is.

He tries not to think about it too hard. Tries to ignore the weight bearing down on him from all angles, and how sometimes he wants to cry so hard he can’t breathe. Rex doesn’t deserve to feel this way. He shouldn’t get to think of Echo and feel pain wash through him, so debilitating that he once actually stumbled and fell to his knees with a silent, grief-stricken sob.

Luckily, Fives had not been around.

After all, Rex is the one who said no. He’s the one who turned them down. Them. His chosen shinies, his ARC troopers. His Echo and Fives. They held out their hearts to him, full of love and hope for the future. They asked him for forever, and Rex told them no.

He wanted to agree so badly. It hadn’t been a new concept, of course. Brothers marry all the time. It’s not unheard of. Beyond that, the three of them had actually talked about it before. Rex had shared his concerns — his fears, his dreams, his realism. For all that he knew there was nothing wrong with it, Rex was scared of marriage. He still is. How can he promise someone forever when he can’t even be sure he’ll make it to see the morning?

It didn’t matter that they are his troopers. It didn’t matter that it’s more likely for all of them to die together than to die separately. Rex couldn’t promise them what they wanted. He refused to break their hearts like that.

Of course, he broke them a little bit by doing this anyway. They had looked at him with hope and love so true and deep in their eyes, and Rex had crushed it.

No, Rex does not deserve to miss Echo. He doesn’t deserve to feel like he’s bursting at the seams and falling apart. Fives is the one who deserves to be feeling this way. And he does. Rex knows Fives is barely keeping a lid on this thing. One misstep, and the whole tower of cards will come crashing down. Rex needs to be there for him when it finally does. Even if Fives hates him, Rex will be there.

That’s the thing that’s killing him though.

Fives does not hate Rex. Hell, he’s not even mad at him. Even as Rex watched his troopers’ hearts shatter before his eyes, they still smiled at him — sad though the expressions were — and said it was okay. They told him they understood. Because that’s how they are. Understanding. Caring. Loving.

Rex couldn’t have asked for better partners even if he wanted it.

The swish of the door opening and closing again pulls Rex out of his thoughts. There are tears on his cheeks, dripping down his chin.

Fives stands in front of Rex. His eyes are dull and watery with his own unshed tears. There’s a slackness to his features that tells Rex all he needs to know about how well Fives has been sleeping recently. Not.

Rex startles a little, not having realized someone was coming toward him.

“Fives—”

Fives holds up a hand and shakes his head silently. Rex shuts up immediately. He may be the captain, and Fives one of his ARC troopers, but Rex still knows when to take orders. The answer is “now” and “definitely from Fives”.

“You haven’t been sleeping,” Fives eventually says. It’s not what Rex was expecting to hear.

“Not well.”

The ARC nods. “Me either.”

There’s a pause after that in which neither of them speak. They just watch each other for a moment. A million things to say flash across Rex’s mind. In the end, he says none of them. It’s Fives who has to break their silence again.

“You and I both know he wouldn’t want us living like this,” he says finally. “This isn’t living, cyare.”

No, it’s not. Rex knows that. He nods in agreement, because really, that’s about as much as he can get out right now.

Fives sits heavily onto the bunk side Rex with a deep sigh.

“I don’t know why you’ve been avoiding me, Rex, but this has got to stop.”

“I’m not—”

“You are. I won’t pretend to know what going through that head of yours. Only you can say. So the only way I’ll know is if you actually tell me.”

Rex stares down at his lap, playing with his fingers and twisting them together painfully.

When he thinks he’s finally found his words, Rex swallows.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I shouldn’t have… I wish I hadn’t said no.”

Fives shakes his head again, cutting off whatever was going to follow that thought up.

“He knew you love us, Rex,” Fives tells him. He leans into Rex’s side, pulling him into a side hug with an arm hooked over the blond’s shoulders. “No marriage or lack thereof would change that. We love you, and you love us. You have your reasons for denying our proposal, so—”

“Had,” Rex corrects him. “I had my reasons, which I’ve realized now were really just making me feel worse. I just want to use whatever time I have at least trying to find some semblance of happiness.”

Fives doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t argue, either. He doesn’t pull away from Rex and leave him alone.

“I’m not asking you to marry me,” Rex cuts in again quickly. “That’s not— I wouldn’t—”

“Shh…” Damp lips press against his temple in a kiss. Fives tugs Rex even closer, until he’s practically in the ARC’s lap, hiding in his neck. “Shh, it’s alright. We can talk later, after we both take a nap. Got it?”

Rex nods, finally and suddenly realizing he doesn’t mind that he’s crying in Fives’ presence and noticing just how exhausted every part of him is. Fives maneuvers them until they’re laying down together. The new position is much more comfortable for the both of them. Rex finds himself sinking into the warmth of Fives’ embrace and the safety and comfort that he offers.

“Forever,” he mumbles. “You feel like forever.”

Fives smiles tearily against him.

“You do, too.”

Rex falls asleep to the feeling of a phantom hand he isn’t sure exists brushing over his hair. Warm air tickles across his ear like perhaps someone had whispered something into it.

“Forever, cyare’se. I’ll come back to you.”

#the clone wars #clonecest #clone shipping #fives/rex #fives/rex/echo #arc trooper fives #captain rex #angst #death #references to character death #spite prompts #jude writes

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a-flower-lover · 3 years

Text

Aunt Alicia Didn’t Prevent The Apocalypse

Hello, @phandom-phriend! Here’s your Christmas Truce gift! I hope you like it :3

Word Count: 2680

Summary: When there is an explosion at the Nasty Burger, killing almost her entire family, Aunt Alicia handles it.

It took a good week for Alicia to hear the news. It took only one more for her bags to be packed, the plans laid out, and her trusty lawyer to be prepared for a call just in case. Then she was in Amity Park, for the first time in years and years, only it was not for any good reason.

The first thing she did after checking into her hotel had been to drive herself to the funeral.

There were so few people in attendance, it was… Stunning, to say the least. But Alicia hadn't known her sister to have many friends, and Jack even less… regardless she thought at least a few would arrive. Maybe even some family, from Jack's side of course. And the little she had talked to her nephew during the arrangement, made it seem he knew people that she hadn't, and that Jazz would have some people coming for her side of things.

There was practically no one. No one there to comfort her nephew while she hadn't been there for him, no one to make sure he wasn't blaming himself for it all. Hell. His entire support network had been wiped out in one go. He needed people who cared. Who would share in his grief.

Alicia was too busy during the service to do any of the comforting. She doubted she even could. She lacked the gentle touch her sister had learned when dealing with children, and she was a mite too rough to handle a kid who witnessed the death this one had.

Poor kid.

After the service, she made an attempt to talk to him about the custody matter. She doubted the courts would allow it, given her record, but she did want to keep an eye on him. She doubted he'd be happy in the woods she loved, but she'd be willing to move wherever he wanted within reason. She had the money. You marry a businessman, you get money. If you live off your own land, you get to keep it. She could afford whatever Danny needed, if he asked.

She knew of a godfather existing. The dick hadn't shown up to the funeral, but she knew he existed. She was told he lived in Wisconsin, was a high n’ mighty CEO of multiple corporations. A single rich billionaire who lived in a mansion no one visited, who was more likely than not gonna be a terrible influence on a hurt kid. But he'd have more of a legal claim on Danny than her.

She'd already lost a child, the courts were not likely to give her another. Even if she promised to move out from the woods.

But Danny's choice was all that mattered for her. If he wanted her to, she'd fight tooth and nail for him. She'd tear the world apart to help the last remaining family she had left, if he wanted her to.

Alicia was not good at affection. She was not good at showing she cared. She was stubborn, aggressive, and she'd been hurt in her life. She was not the person Danny needed, who would be endlessly understanding and gentle. She was one of the only options he had.

So after the service was over she asked him. Did he want to live with her, wherever he wanted to go, or did he want to go with his godfather. Originally he had been confused. He had a godfather? He had a choice? She explained what she knew, and he only seemed to grow more confused. Said he'd met the man, but hadn't known he was his godfather. Said he'd have to think on it more.

Alicia knew it meant he wouldn't pick her. It wasn’t a surprise when she was proven right. (She was practically a stranger, to Danny. The few times they’d interacted she was sure didn’t leave any semblance of a good impression.)

The legal processes after a death were lengthy, at least when Alicia had to work with Masters. After the courts had said he'd get custody of Danny, he had "helpfully" decided to put his nose in the work Alicia was doing for the inheritance. Not that it was all too confusing for her to handle; everything was being left to Danny, if she had anything to say about it. One would think the man who'd be caring for the child would agree, but you'd be surprised.

In addition, any time she wished to talk to her nephew she'd first have to undergo a sort of interrogation from Masters, about what she wanted to see her nephew for, or she was simply turned away from the door without another word. She had never seen the Fenton house so dark, and empty, and cold, as she had the month after their deaths. She couldn't imagine any reason Danny would want to stay cooped up in there, especially not on his own, but Masters kept her out and she had no standing if she decided she didn't like being kept out like she was.

So if she wanted to ask if Danny wanted any of his inheritance readily accessible, or what if anything he wanted sold, or if he wanted the FentonWorks business to be given to Masters or if he wanted to shut it down, any of that sort of stuff was impossible for her to get answers for. Masters thought he could try to play a game of telephone with her, telling her what Danny wanted for Danny, often without asking, but Masters was a stupid bastard if he thought she'd let a businessman speak for her nephew.

So between attempts to contact Danny before he moved to Wisconsin with Masters, Alicia instead focused on her own personal project.

After learning the parents of Danny's late friends we're not planning on letting him attend their funerals, because the bastards blamed him for the deaths that day like immature pricks, Alicia had worked out a deal to allow him to attend without being harassed. If he wanted to, anyhow. That was another thing Alicia had yet to ask him. But giving him the choice was important to her. So she had agreed to the deal.

She was going to foot the bill for a statue the Manson's had planned, to honor their dead daughter, and the Foley's were going to have their son part of the statue as well.

Of course, if they were getting their statue of their losses, Alicia was going to get a statue of hers. (She was not going to lie and say that adding the Fentons to the statue was one of the things she was doing for Danny. She was doing her best to make this loss easy on him, but she knew a lot of her best was neglecting her own grief. If she was going to be forced to commission a damn statue for his sake, she might as well kill two birds with one stone by adding in elements for her sake. The funerals were going to happen before even the statues pedestals were done, let alone the statues themselves, so if the assholes who blamed her nephew didn't like it they'd be too late to do anything about it.)

So the project was the oversight of the clearing of the Nasty Burger explosion site, and the construction of the pedestal and base for the statues. Thanks to the richer Manson folk, and even Masters after Alicia told the bastard what she was doing the thing for, the statue's plans and location had been legally settled right in time for construction to begin.

The first few days of it were normal. Just Alicia, the hired construction men, and the occasional terrible reminder of what they were cleaning up as a chunk of metal covered in dried brown markings passed by her eyes and was tossed into the dump truck.

It was the eighth day, she thinks, when she started seeing the ghost.

The ghost was familiar. She had chatted with Maddie about a ghost matching this one's description, the last anniversary of Alicia's divorce, between moments of frustration as she tried to tell her sister that leaving a man too stupid for her was a positive. (Alicia. Regretted, that. Not that Alicia was a woman who regretted many things, but. Her last memories of her sister were of getting a nice divorce anniversary party, after being what many would describe as an ass simply because Maddie loved her husband more than he was stupid. Not everything that works for Alicia works for others. Hadn't Maddie said that? At least something like it, surely.)

Snowy white hair. Black suit. Green eyes, but she couldn't say they were glowing. If they had at one point, they didn't now. Looking incredibly familiar, a face she was reluctant to place because she didn't know what it could mean. But matching Maddie's description anyways.

He sat, just far enough away from the site that he was out of the way, but close enough that Alicia could see the tremors wracking his body, and the slight shine on his cheeks.

Ghost or no, that was first and foremost a kid. A kid who looked mighty like another kid Alicia knew. And even if the familiarity was only surface level and coincidental, she could use the practice. Practice comforting someone, she meant. But it took a few more days of the ghost appearing for her to actually approach, as caution overruled empathy.

"You look a mite troubled, there." She said, hands in her pocket as she approached the figure. It didn't move, hardly acknowledging her. Perhaps it didn't think she was talking to it. "I'd ask what's wrong, but I reckon I already could guess." She crouched down, reaching out to touch the specter on the shoulder, but it was quick to scoot itself out of reach, though she took that to mean that now it acknowledged her. Good. A start.

"Wh-?" It stopped before it could really start talking back. Alicia took that as her queue to keep going.

"My apologies. Jus' saw a kid needin' help, but I can leave you be if you really want." She said, and the ghost started to shake it's head vigorously. "Then I'll be glad t' listen to your troubles, kiddo."

"Um, but why?" It said. "I'm not a kid. I'm a ghost."

"You sure don't look a day over twelve, ghost or no." Alicia pretended not to find the responding scowl humorous. Just another small thing, proof it was just a child.

"I'm fourteen." The ghost said. Alicia held back her response. This ghost really was familiar, wasn't it.

"Well, then. Fourteen. Certainly, much much older." Alicia snorted, shaking her head. "No, no, I wasn't here to rag on ya. What's the matter? I doubt your eyes we're shinin' cause the cleanup is so beautiful." The ghost, who had for a moment been distracted from the sight, immediately turned back to it, and a very dreary expression bloomed on its face.

"'s my fault." The ghost mumbled, almost so quiet Alicia didn't hear. It pulled its tail up to its chest and wrapped its arms around it, resting its chin on them. Not once losing sight of the remains of the Nasty Burger.

"Now I really doubt that." A week in the town had told Alicia that the Phantom ghostie Maddie so despised was revered as the town hero. While Alicia was of the opinion that most city folk were brainless sheep, she had never bought the idea Maddie got from Jack that all ghosts and similar sort were evil. If they were, then that meant all people were evil, because ghosts came from the dead. Alicia was pessimistic at the baseline, but she'd got nothing but kindness from the neighbors when the worst had happened to her and everyone else was blaming her for it. She couldn't believe they'd turn out any different had they died. So believing this ghost could be a town hero was nothing of a stretch.

"I did, though." The ghost whined, a sound bordering on animalistic, a clear distress call. Alicia wondered if another ghost would come to answer. "I had a fight, here, days before the explosion. I was the one who damaged the vat, and caused it. I even-" The words broke off into another whine, louder and sadder than before. Tears ran down the ghosts face, tinted green and glowing.

"Now you couldn't have known what would happen." Alicia said, but the ghost didn't react. "And I bet it wasn't a fight you started." The ghost still didn't respond. "Honestly, you and my nephew. Kids always blame themselves for things out of their control." She sighed, shaking her head. This got a reaction out of the ghost, a small flinch, that if Alicia hadn't been paying close attention to and trying to see she would have missed.

"Danny’s a good kid. I don't know why he blames himself, but I know it wasn't his fault. I may not know you, but I feel it's the same for you." Alicia said, and she paused. Would it be bad to continue? The ghost was only looking more and more upset, especially now that she mentioned her nephew.

"It's not the same for me." The ghost eventually said, after a minute of indecision. "If it's not… not your nephews fault, then it has to be mine." The ghost said.

Alicia frowned. That was a stupid way to reason this. There was no one at fault for this, except maybe the people who decided a Nasty Burger must be prepped to self destruct at any moment.

She would have said so, too, if the ghost hadn't've disappeared as soon as her mouth opened.

After that, the ghost kept appearing. To watch the clearing process, and to watch Alicia. But any time she'd try to get close to talk to the other again, it'd disappear. It was a touch frustrating, but nothing to be done. She wasn't gonna go chasing ghosties. That was never and will never be her place.

She was generally spending less time at the site after that, too, which was another factor in not talking to the ghost any more. Danny had finally started to answer the door instead of Masters, and Alicia was better able to talk to him. While he started to avoid questions any time it got around to how he was feeling, he didn't seem too off. Or, not really any more off than he would be after what happened.

He attended his friends' funerals, and said that no one gave him a hard time. He worked out what he wanted to keep, and what he wanted to get rid of. He wanted to keep the building, and keep FentonWorks. Masters would keep track of it until Danny was older, of course, but Alicia was fine with Danny's decision.

He came with her only once to watch the site clearing, to watch the last batch of shrapnel and debris be hauled away, leaving only the broken shell and sign of the old building. When Alicia explained that they weren't planning on rebuilding at the moment, Danny didn't seem to care. After that it was time for him to leave, to meet Masters at his new home.

Masters had left a week before, looking troubled, but putting on a show of ease when Alicia approached to ask why he was leaving Danny behind. He had a lot to prepare, was his excuse. Bullshit. But Danny had been fine with it. Said he even asked the man to. So Alicia, though it made her unhappy a great deal, left it alone.

Alicia took one last month in Amity to settle affairs, to see the completion of the statue, and to rest flowers at each of her family's graves (yes, even Jacks). The time during which she didn't see the ghost again, to her disappointment.

Then she left and went back to her home in Spittoon, Arkansas. Alone.

#dp holiday truce #dp christmas truce 2020 #holiday truce 2020 #Danny Phantom #dp christmas truce #Aunt Alicia #i really didn't know what to do for this but i hope you like it!#the background character perspective prompt of yours is sort of what inspired this?#this is the second attempt #i had a whole other thing halfway written and then i had this idea and decided to scrap it #mostly because the last idea i had was really really bad #but like it might have fit the prompt better?#anyways thats all nonsense haha #hope you had a nice holiday and hope youll have a happy new year!

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acklesforlife · 3 years

Text

Happy Birthday Danneel Ackles!

It’s Danneel Ackles’ birthday, so we thought for our continuing celebration of Supernatural Spring Break week, this was a good time to both wish her a happy birthday and share the rather amusing story of one of our first times meeting her.

There have been a few memorable times since, including the party celebrating ‘Supernatural Day’ in Austin with Mayor Adler, which was just plain fun and an opportunity for some real conversation.

And I’ll be forever touched that Danneel wanted a copy of Family Don’t End With Blood (and how incredulous she was that Jensen actually had a chapter in it!) and that she has read our other books too.

The actual first time we met Danneel was a long time ago – at the after party following the premiere of indie movie Ten Inch Hero, which was at a club in LA back in, I think 2008. We all left the premiere and walked over to the club, invited by director David Mackay – the cast and the audience all together.

We had a lovely little chat with Danneel there about the film, met screenwriter Betsy Morris who’s still a friend today, and asked actor Matt Barr (now of Walker) to watch the rest room door while I in desperation used the men’s room because there was a huge line at the women’s. (He was lovely about it and it makes me laugh now every time I see him as Hoyt).

It was a momentous party, what can I say? After that, my co-author Kathy and I interviewed David over a three hour brunch in Vancouver for the first book we were working on, and mentioned that we’d love to chat with Danneel too. To be honest, we didn’t really think that would happen. But a few months later, while we were in LA for the Supernatural convention, we got a call from David.

I’ll let some excerpts from our second book, Fangasm! Supernatural Fangirls, take it from here…

… he let us know that Danneel Harris had actually agreed to an interview too. This prompted some hyperventilating and a rush of euphoria that left us grinning like fools. Jensen Ackles’s girlfriend was going to meet with us? Really? David had given Lynn’s cell phone number to Danneel so that she could call us tomorrow, the same day the boys came back to town. SWEET.

Given the pattern of the weekend so far—great things happening and then going horribly wrong—we should have known what was coming.

[On the Sunday of the convention, while everyone was in a fever pitch of excitement over Jared and Jensen being there] Lynn was obsessively checking her phone. “Noooo!!” she gasped. It was the plaintive moan of a beast in distress.

Kathy assumed that Lynn was passing a gallstone from the sound of it.

“No reception!” Lynn said, wide-eyed.

For Kathy, who hates phones (really, what doesn’t Kathy hate?) this didn’t seem like a big deal. The world really is too connected anyway. An hour out of cell phone reception seemed like a welcome respite, an opportunity just to enjoy the moment.

Lynn wasn’t as philosophical. “What if Danneel calls?”

Kathy honestly didn’t hold out much hope that this would actually happen—a yellow on the threat scale at most—so she wasn’t concerned.

Lynn was taking up her slack by flailing around, banging buttons on her phone as if somehow this would jolt it into action. “How can there be no cell phone reception in LA??”

Lynn had a point. We’re reasonably certain that there is cell phone reception in the Arctic Circle, but there was not a bar to be had in a hotel in LA. LA!! The town where everyone’s people are calling everyone else’s people, where iPhones are accessorized to coordinate with the day’s outfits, where a missed call can ruin a career. Jared and Jensen distracted Lynn for the duration of their time onstage, but as soon as it was over Lynn made a bee line for Jared’s girlfriend, Sandy (the woman sitting in front, wearing a hoodie so no one would recognize her—except Lynn apparently). Lynn wildly explained our dilemma to the stunned and probably scared actress. It was a good thing the Men With No Necks (MWNN) were only being paid to guard “the boys” or Lynn would have been face down on the carpet.

While Lynn was doing this, Kathy was pretending that she did not know Lynn.

Sandy was sympathetic, but didn’t know if she’d even see Danneel. Lynn thanked her for the sympathy and moved on to the next person who might be able to help. She attempted to enlist convention photographer Lizz, to no avail, and finally Creation owner Adam.

“I’ll try Lynn,” he said, sounding slightly exasperated. “But I’m kinda running an entire convention here.”

Thwarted again, Lynn pulled out all the stops. During her Jensen photo op, she stopped everything to explain the situation to Jensen himself.

“Hi, Jensen,” Lynn said, hoping that her voice wasn’t sounding too shaky. “We have an interview set up with Danneel today for the book we’re writing on fandom, and she’s supposed to call us, but I don’t have any reception on my phone, so I’m afraid she won’t be able to.”

The photo-op process screeched to a halt, and the room fell silent. Photo ops, you see, are not a place for conversation. They are highly valued by fans, who pay top dollar for the privilege of standing next to a celebrity, and they are relentlessly organized. The entire experience lasts about twenty seconds, and during that time you’re expected to say hello to the celebrity, smile, perhaps get an arm around your back or lean into said celebrity’s very firm bicep, and then move the hell out of the way and let the next person crowd in for the next picture. The photo ops allow no room for deviation. So when deviation happens, no one is very happy. The photographer wasn’t happy. The other fans weren’t happy. And the MWNN looked ready to move into swift and potentially lethal action.

Not that any of this stopped Lynn. “Can you put us in touch with her?” she continued, oblivious to the threatening stares all around her.

“Oh right, the interview,” Jensen said.

Lynn just nodded, though inside she was stuck on “OMG Jensen knows about our interview and our book, ohmygodohmygod.”

“Maybe she can email you,” Jensen continued. Then the conversation abruptly ended as Lynn was grabbed unceremoniously by the back of the neck and “escorted” from the photo-op room. Uh oh. She hadn’t experienced that feeling since being a two-year-old caught trying to get away with her baby brother’s coveted teddy bear. Lynn was most definitely in trouble—and even worse, she’d made no progress in getting in touch with Danneel, who didn’t even have our email address!

Lynn, ever the intrepid researcher, was not deterred. She thanked the Man with No Neck for his assistance and got right back in line for her next photo op, the “sandwich” photo (as in sandwiched between Jared and Jensen, which is vaguely dirty and thus very popular). As Lynn walked up, Jensen immediately tried to continue their conversation.

“So do you want to . . .” he began, while Jared looked confused. After all, the celebrities know the no talking rule as well as the fans.

Lynn held up a hand defensively. “Shh, I’m not talking to you. I totally got in trouble for it before,” she added, as the MWNN hovered threateningly.

Jensen laughed. “I got in trouble too,” he protested.

We doubt the MWNN were involved.

“Can Danneel get us her email?” Lynn managed as she was once again “encouraged” to leave the room as quickly as possible.

There was no time for an answer. Damn. Thwarted again. We were disappointed, but Lynn was relieved that she wasn’t escorted out of the entire con (the specter of the Flying Fangirl from Asylum still looms large at these events after all). We were still feeling like an interview with Danneel had been too good to be true anyway, so we tried to swallow our sadness and settled in to watch some of the other guests. Midway through the next panel, Lizz the photographer came out into the audience and passed us a note—from Danneel. It just said, “Send me an email, love danneel” and included her email address. Being a bit clueless about the popularity of smartphones in 2008, we figured this meant that she wanted us to get in touch with her later for an email interview. We were disappointed that we wouldn’t get to talk to her in person but incredibly excited that she’d given us her email address. We wandered back outside after the panel and tried not to be too miserable about the Danneel interview not happening that day. We were hanging out in the hallway chatting when photographer Lizz suddenly appeared and yanked us away in the middle of a sentence with an exasperated, “Come with me!” She led us down a small side hall.

We still weren’t entirely sure what was going on. Were we in trouble again? Had the MWNN decided to kick us out after all? Moments later, Danneel emerged from the side door, introducing herself with a smile. Somehow we managed to compose ourselves and smile back. Apparently Jensen had facilitated the interview after all! Danneel suggested that we all grab some coffee, so we headed upstairs to the hotel’s Starbucks, where Danneel insisted on treating.

Coffee in hand, we went back downstairs to start the interview. Danneel suggested that we go backstage to talk, and then came a weirdly symbolic moment. The very same Man with No Neck who had tossed Lynn unceremoniously out of the photo op for daring to speak to the talent now held back the curtain to the backstage area, solicitously helped Danneel and us step over the various wires and cables snaking across the floor, then closed the curtain behind us to seal our crossover. The irony wasn’t lost on us.

Kathy whipped out her trusty voice recorder just as she had done for every other interview we’ve conducted, turned it on, and . . . nothing. We were interviewing Jensen Ackles’s girlfriend and there was NOTHING. It wasn’t the batteries, which had been checked and rechecked. Kathy tried to maintain some semblance of professionalism. She would quietly figure out what was wrong and then she would just as quietly fix it. Deep breaths. Okay, the recorder was FULL. Not to worry. She excused herself, leaving a confused Lynn to entertain Danneel.

First the cell phone, now the voice recorder. Sunday turned out to be the day technology failed us. This, for Lynn, is an everyday occurrence. For Kathy not so much. She loves technology. She embraced the Internet years before it got pretty, she used a “portable” PC to write her doctoral dissertation (portability is of course a relative designation—relative to muscle mass and stamina), and she gets gleeful over the prospect of using every new toy her university has to offer. So yes, technology was her friend. Until it wasn’t.

While Kathy dashed upstairs to grab her laptop (wishing that she could grab a shot of tequila), Lynn attempted to keep up a conversation with Danneel without actually asking any of our carefully prepared interview questions. Without a recorder, there was no way she’d remember a damn thing that was said—so that left small talk as the only option. Luckily, Danneel and Lynn connected over their mutual love of writing, swapped college stories, and then Lynn (as always) managed to talk about her children. Danneel proved herself a great listener. Minutes went by—lots of them—and Lynn realized to her horror that Jensen and Jared were almost done with their autographs. After that, it was off to the airport—and we would lose our interviewee to her boyfriend as she left with Ackles. Where was Kathy???

Finally, shortly before Lynn had moved on to telling Danneel about her daughter’s first steps, Kathy returned and hurriedly tried to download everything onto the laptop while time quickly ran out. Come on!! All Kathy could focus on was how long it was taking for everything to download. That and the rising nausea that threatened to overtake her. Lynn, in desperation, started asking the interview questions (which, since they weren’t recorded, are lost to posterity—and to this book).

Suddenly Jared Padalecki walked by, meaning that autographs were over and people were getting ready to leave. We despaired of a recorded interview, heartbroken over the squandered opportunity. And then, quite unexpectedly, Jensen Ackles was standing there, smiling and saying hello. Even more improbably, he held a fluffy white dog in his arms. For a moment, Kathy was sure this was all part of the nightmare, because fandom at the time had no clue that Jensen even owned a dog. Icarus, however, was quite real—and quite fluffy. Icarus was almost as excited to see Jensen as we were—he’d apparently been whining backstage every time he heard his owner’s voice during the Q&A. We hugged Icarus while Jensen hugged Danneel and tried to talk her into riding with him to the airport. All Kathy heard in those words were that it was too late—she’d blown it.

Danneel, however, had other ideas. She blew Jensen off. No wait. This part can’t really be happening either. More of that dream? Kathy was contemplating poking herself with a sharp object, sticking her finger in a wall socket, anything to jar herself back into reality. This was surely just her own anxiety-ridden psyche toying with her. Must be. Who says goodbye to Jensen Ackles so that she can talk to US?? But Danneel really was excusing herself to say good-bye to Jensen, Icarus happily following, with assurances to us that she’d be right back to finish the interview. Kathy gathered together the few shreds of sanity she still had, sorted the problem, and figured out how to record directly onto the laptop.

Danneel returned, true to her word, and the interview finally began. We relocated to the “green room,” the cloistered room where the guests are confined between stage appearances. The green room, as we were well aware, is a private space—more or less a “No Fans Allowed” clubhouse for the celebrities. We immediately felt like imposters, occupying a space where we clearly shouldn’t be. The room offered a small banquet of food, a bit of which we gratefully sampled, and a table stacked full of fans’ gifts for “the boys.” The coolest of these was a hairdryer that looked exactly like Dean Winchester’s favorite gun—and yes, it actually worked!

Danneel, of course, was quite comfortable in the green room and turned out to be very good at making us comfortable as well. Lynn asked questions. Danneel answered. Kathy breathed. Everything was going to work out just fine. Somewhere the unicorns of fandom were neighing happily.

And then the laptop went dead.

Kathy again tried to be unobtrusive as she flailed around trying to find an outlet. No point in making a bigger fool of herself, right? Sooner or later, though, it became apparent that she was in need of assistance and everyone, including Danneel, was up and scouting for an outlet, crawling under tables and moving furniture to do so. Danneel, we decided, had the patience of a saint. She never lost her sense of humor either, shrugging off our apology for keeping her from accompanying Jensen to the airport by wryly noting that “Jared would have been in the limo anyway, it’s not like we could have made out on the way to the airport” and jumping up to knock on wood when we asked her about the possibility of marriage.

In the midst of all the sitcom mishaps we did manage to carry on an interview…

You can read the rest of our misadventures (and the interview itself) with Danneel in the book, but Kathy and I left that day with a respect and affection for Danneel that has never faded.

Jensen posted a photo of her plunging a clogged toilet today for her birthday, and I laughed because it makes it clear that she’s still as genuine as she was that day she got down on the floor and crawled around looking for an outlet right along with us.

I’ve had the opportunity to chat with Danneel several times since our hilarious interview, and I think most people who have run into her at the brewery would say this too – she’s not afraid to be real.

I’m so glad Danneel was able to be part of Supernatural as a cast member before it ended, but really she’s always been part of the SPN Family. Happy birthday, Danneel – thanks for keeping it real!

–Lynn

Source: [x]

#THIS IS SUCH A SWEET STORY 🥺#danneel ackles #jensen ackles #the ackles #Fangasm #danneel:with fans #real life angel #ackles:stories #ackles:encounters #sandra mccoy #danneel:with jared #j2:cons #ackles:cons #ackles:with fans #jensen:with fans #j2:with fans #cute lil dork #danneel:cons

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