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writeforfandoms · 5 months

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Waking Lions 20

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We're changing things up a little this chapter! I felt you guys needed a POV switch to really get a better picture of what's going on.

So, let's check in with Price and see how he's handling this, shall we?

Warnings: swearing, yelling, game typical violence, war crimes probably, Price needs his own warning, canon typical violence against nameless goons.

Word count: 2.3k

In his defense, Price had a lot on his mind.

But no. That was no kind of defense.

Especially not when it came to you.

He'd sent you away because he had to, because otherwise you'd be too distracting. He had to focus on the task at hand.

Not on thinking about everything he'd just learned about you. Everything you'd let slip in your fluster.

He knew you well enough to know that you'd be mortified, later. You kept so many things to yourself that knowing an entire room full of people had heard that would probably send you into hiding.

From the way Laswell glanced at the door after you left, Price knew that she was thinking the same thing.

But there would be time later to console you, to apologize for being an ass, to make sure you were alright.

For now, he had work to do.

Now that there were three groups involved, it was easier to split up the targets. Easier to send Soap with Alejandro and Rodolfo, to keep Ghost with him and Gaz, to let KorTac keep to themselves. This wasn't the kind of mission he wanted to test by putting together potentially explosive personalities.

(Price could admit, if only to himself, that he didn't trust himself to work with those three. Not right now, not with the new intel still so close to the surface, not with his own curiosity burning a hole in his stomach.)

The three targets were, of course, not near each other.

“I can arrange transport,” Laswell said. It was not an offer for the 141 or the Vaqueros, but it was an offer for KorTac.

“We've got our own,” Declan said, a relatively gentle refusal. “Timing will be tight.”

“Just have to coordinate,” Alejandro said, unbothered. “We won't give them a chance to warn each other.”

“Give me a little time to coordinate the flights,” Laswell said, stepping closer to Declan. It was as close to a dismissal as the rest of them would get. She didn't need them hanging over her shoulder while she worked her magic.

So Price stepped out of the room, his boys behind him.

“Think Ace is alright?” Gaz asked softly. He was a smart, perceptive lad. Cared so much still. Probably too much, sometimes.

“I'll check in on her,” Price murmured. He still had one phone number that worked for you, fortunately.

It rang through to voice mail.

Okay. Not to panic. Didn't mean anything.

Soap and Ghost ran off to get lunch for everyone, since planning was best done on a full stomach.

Price tried calling again. No answer again.

It could be a thousand things. You could have your phone on silent. You could be mad at him and ignoring his calls. You could be busy with something else.

But his paranoia was rearing its head, undeniable and ugly.

You were right in the middle of all this, of course he was going to be concerned about you.

So he went on a little walk. To help clear his head.

He didn't see any sign of you. Every bit of his hard-won paranoia was screaming that something was wrong. That this wasn't like you.

One more phone call. One more.

Then he'd move on to more drastic measures.

The third call also went to voice mail. You weren't picking up. One he could excuse, two was iffy. But three calls?

Something was wrong.

“Gaz,” he called as he strode back into the building. “Need the laptop.”

Gaz was quick to produce it, giving Price a curious look. “Need any help, sir?”

“Maybe.” Price pulled up one of the programs Laswell had given him. Normally this kind of work was more up her alley - CIA shit, as Simon more or less affectionately referred to it. But Price wasn't clueless, or useless.

Gaz behind him, watching over his shoulder. Price didn't discourage him, focused on putting in your number and letting the program do its job.

Let this be nothing. Let him be paranoid. He could handle your temper, your hiding, your embarrassment.

So long as you were safe.

The tracker put your phone in a mostly residential area, well out of the way. Not near the hotel, not near anything the two of you had talked about.

Something was wrong.

It didn’t take him long to pull up CCTV in the area, flipping through them. There wasn’t a lot, and his jaw tightened in frustration.

“Wait,” Gaz said over his shoulder. “Go back one.”

Price obliged, going back to the previous angle.

“There, in the grass on the far side of the street.” Gaz pointed, shifting closer.

Price’s heart sank right down to his boots. A cell phone lay in the grass, abandoned. He knew you well enough to know that you wouldn’t just leave your cell phone. Not without reason.

Wordlessly, he backed up the footage until he found you. He paused for a moment, taking in the scene. The car. You, standing back just a little. The man clearly encouraging you in.

He backed up until you came into frame.

But you weren’t alone.

“Laswell!”

The door slammed open and Laswell was at his elbow moments later, leaning over his open shoulder. “Fuck,” she hissed, which was all the confirmation Price needed.

The man with you was Gray.

“How did he get her into the car?” Gaz, quiet and reasonable.

“Threats,” Price grunted.

“Me,” Laswell added, lips tight, fury in the crease of her brow. “He’s using me against her.”

Price scowled. Gray needed to be taken out. Immediately. But they couldn’t give up the mission, either.

“Track the car,” he told Gaz, pushing the laptop to his sergeant instead. “I need to know where they’re going.”

“Sir?” Gaz blinked at him, even as he pulled up the program.

“I need some supplies.” He looked to Laswell next.

“I’ll have them for you.” Laswell glanced back at Gaz, putting things together a little faster. “The op?”

“Needs to move forward.” Price shook his head. “I’ll be back in time, or I won’t. Gaz, you and Ghost are still on.”

Gaz frowned but didn’t object. Good lad. “Car’s left the suburbs,” he reported, a map pulled up on his phone. “Heading south.”

“We’ll find it again,” Laswell said, nodding to Price. “Here. Go here, take whatever you need.” She handed him an address scribbled on a piece of paper. “I’ll update you when we find the car.”

Price took the note with a nod and strode away. He didn’t wait for the elevator, hitting the door to the stairs hard enough it bounced off the wall of the stairwell. He didn’t slow, even as he hit the front door and just sidestepped running into Soap.

“Captain?” Soap called.

“Ask Laswell!” Price called over his shoulder, car keys in hand. He didn’t have time to stop and explain.

It took very little time to get to Laswell’s supply stash, and he took what he needed. Fortunately, she was well supplied, and he made a mental note to thank her for it.

But for now, the only thing on his mind was you.

You’d been gone for hours by now, and from the time stamp on the CCTV, you’d been in the car with Gray at least an hour.

He stopped at the curb next to where Gaz had spotted your phone, getting out. And there it was, still sitting in the grass.

Still open to show a new recording.

Price listened the whole recording, jaw clenched tight, fingers gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were white.

Gray knew more than he should. He had sources, clearly.

But Price couldn’t bring himself to care much about that. No.

He cared about the little waver in your voice, the way he could hear you putting up a brave front.

You were terrified. And he wanted to rip Gray limb from limb for making you so scared.

Gaz called. Price barely glanced at the phone before he connected the call.

“We’ve got a location,” Gaz reported, voice even. Almost too even. Price could hear the stress he was hiding.

“Tell me.” Price didn’t even pause as he memorized the address, just in case. “Picked up Ace’s phone.”

“Anything?” Gaz tried not to sound hopeful.

“Ace got a recording before she got in the car.” Price had to pause for a moment, clenching his jaw. “He knows too much. Knew about us, said he’s got something planned for Laswell, too.”

“Fucking hell.” Gaz drew in a deep breath. “Sure you don’t need backup, sir?”

“I’ll keep you updated.” Price barreled through a yellow light, ignoring everything not an active danger to him. “How are your preparations going?”

“Laswell’s got the flights arranged,” Gaz said, a little reluctantly. “Timing is coordinated. We’ll be leaving in a few hours.”

“Rog.” Price doubted he’d make it back in time. And if, by some miracle, he did, he didn’t know if he’d be in the correct frame of mind to be on mission.

“Take the next left.”

Price obeyed without question, only breaking one or two traffic laws. (It was fine, Laswell would clear it up later.) “The others?”

“Up to date,” Gaz reported. “Had to talk Soap out of going after you.”

Price snorted. Surprising - he hadn’t known that sergeant had much fondness for you. Then again, Soap could just be reacting because Price was fond of you. Sometimes that was enough. “I trust Ghost is behaving.”

Gaz huffed. “Define behaving,” he grumbled, overly dramatic. Breaking the tension a bit.

“He hasn’t killed anyone yet or there’d be a lot more yelling.” Price scowled at the driver ahead of him, who was going exactly the speed limit.

“Laswell’s on top of everything,” Gaz assured him. “Go right, cut up two streets, and then left.”

Price grunted as he followed Gaz’s directions, pushing his foot down as soon as he was out from behind the slow driver. “How far?”

“Rate you’re going? Fifteen minutes.”

Price breathed slowly. You’d have been alone with Gray for near two hours by that point. He had no idea what condition he’d find you in. If you’d even be alive. The thought sent pain through his chest, clenching and sharp, but he forced himself not to shy away from it.

It was a possibility, even if it was one he did not want to face.

If it was true… if you were already gone…

He’d burn Gray alive.

Price switched from the call to a comm unit he tucked in his ear before he headed out of the car. He’d parked a little ways away, just in case. The abandoned hotel was in clear sight, fortunately no taller than the surrounding buildings. Still too many hiding places, sniper spots.

That was fine. Price would just clear the entire fucking building room by room until he had you back.

“Careful, sir. I count six outside.”

“Together?” Price crept forward, using a parked van as a hiding spot.

“Spread out. Three teams of two.”

Price’s lips thinned. Time to thin out the herd, then.

The first two fell so quickly they were almost simultaneous. Price moved around the van, keeping low and creeping towards the next pair, the silenced pistol firm in his grip. This was normal, easier. It was easy to view these people as the enemy, easy to clear them out systematically, coolly, silently. And they were the enemy - they were working for Gray, who had clearly allied himself on the ultranationalists and terrorists.

Which all meant that Price felt no guilt, no remorse, not even a flicker of hesitation in taking down every single man between him and you.

“I have no cameras inside,” Gaz told him as Price finally approached the door.

“Copy,” Price grunted. “Going dark.” He breached the door as quietly as he could, looking around.

So far, so good.

The ground level of this building was an absolute wreck of furniture, graffiti, and rubble. Dust, dirt, and debris covered most of the floor. The main area was a mess of footprints and an open crate of supplies.

No good hints as to where Gray had taken you.

Price cleared the ground floor methodically, cold rage spurring him on. He didn’t spare any of the bodies that hit the ground a second look.

They were nothing more than obstacles.

The last door was more than just a room, though. There was a half-open door, with a staircase going down. Maintenance, at a guess.

And soft voices from down there.

Too far away to tell if you were down there. But if Price had to bet, he’d guess that you were. Gray would keep you contained and out of danger, at least until he got what he wanted from you.

“John,” Laswell said over the comm.

Price paused, pulling back from the open doorway, pitching his voice low so it wouldn’t carry. “Laswell.”

“I found some backup for you. You’ll recognize him.”

Price blinked but didn’t allow himself any other sign of surprise. “Copy that. I’m headed downstairs - room near the back of the building has stair access.”

“I’ll pass that along.” Laswell drew in a breath, and Price waited. “If you can, bring Gray back alive.”

His lips pulled back from his teeth. “No promises.”

“Good hunting, John.” Laswell clicked off the comm.

Price breathed in deep. Someone would be coming behind him, backup. He just needed to not shoot his backup. And possibly not shoot Gray.

That would depend entirely on how you were when he found you.

Price nudged the door open enough to slip through, descending silently.

The first guard went down silently, and Price dragged the body out of the hallway and into a closet. That would buy him a little time if any other guards came through.

A double tap through the com got his attention, and Price half-turned to find a familiar face walking down the corridor towards him.

Price grinned, probably showing a few too many teeth. “Good to see you again,” he murmured. “Let’s get on it, sergeant.”

#waking lions #john price x reader #john price x you #f!reader

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hiddenwritingsintheworld · 2 months

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My Alpha Ch. 3

Donations | Share your Thoughts & Feelings | My Alpha Series (coming soon) | Chapter 2

You wrapped your arms around yourself as you leaned closer to the campfire. The quarterly pack camping trip, you hated this damn camping trip and for the last two years, you’d been lucky enough to get your heat during EACH one. But, you should have guessed your luck would run out eventually. “Hot chocolate?” Declan's voice came from above you, looking up, you saw him extending a hand with a small, steaming cup in it.

You smiled and graciously took the cup, “Thank you very much,” you said sipping the hot beverage. Declan took a seat next to you and smiled nodding, “Of course, you looked like you were ready to throw yourself into the flames to get warm.” he chuckled as you laughed some. “Yeah, I haven’t been on one of these trips in a long time, forgot how cold it gets.” you said quietly.

Declan stared at the fire for a few moments, just enjoying being near you, before he looked in your direction, “Do you mind if I ask you something?” he asked as you looked at him and shook your head. “Where’s your mom?” he watched as you flinched slightly at the question. “I’m sorry, it's not my business, I shouldn’t have asked.” but you shook your head, “No, it's fine. I just…haven’t thought about my mom in a really long time…”

You turned more toward Declan, wrapping both hands around the hot chocolate to keep them warm. “My mom and dad were killed by a passing pack. Since I was a baby, pack master became my dad.” you shrugged as he looked on with sorrow etched in his features. “He became my dad after I was orphaned…” you looked from the cup in your hands up to meet his eyes as Declan laid a hand on your arm.

“I’m so sorry, that sounds awful, did you ever find out who was responsible for their deaths?” he asked as you shook your head, “No, dad just said it was another passing pack, I guess there's some packs that act on wilder tendencies than we do.” you sighed softly looking over at the fire, as Declan nodded, “That’s why I left my previous pack. The Alpha pack master always wanted to fight over all the omegas, he felt he was entitled to “own” them.” he shook his head, “Omegas, I think, are greater than Alphas…everyone looks at them like they’re this weak, timid, mindless, baby making, homemaker machines…but they’re strong…they not only take care of the younglings, they make a home for their alphas to come back to, they hold the entire family together…” he smiled looking down.

“My mom and dad were true mates, and she used to tell us that Alphas were the biggest and best, because she knew, that one day my brothers and I would become alphas, She was correct by the way, we all became alphas, and last I heard my younger brother just had his 6th child.” he chuckled as you smiled, “thats awesome, congratulations,” you smiled up at him as he smiled back at you.

Arthur glared from across the campsite, this could not be happening. You were not going to be taken from him, he refused to let you go. His plan may not have gone the way he wanted, but dammit, he’d come too far to lose out now. He had to get you away from Declan.

“So, I'm sure you believe in true mates and all that?” you asked as he nodded, “yeah, I mean, I know it’s rare but I do, I believe there are two souls that are destined to be together.” he refilled your hot chocolate, and took his coat off, draping it over your shoulders as he noticed you getting colder. “Thank you, it's never been this cold before, but I also don’t remember us ever coming up this high on the mountain for these trips.” you said, shivering. “What’s the point of this trip anyways?” he asked as you bit back a laugh, “It’s supposed to bring us all together, and make us a better pack…but really I think it used to be a way for betas, alphas and omegas to just kinda...hook up, without their parents finding out…and dad just kept it going, but usually the alphas go out hunting, and the rest of us ladies stay here and…as you said “home make”” you laughed as he chuckled, “But it's not all bad, we really get to bond as a pack, which is nice. The guys usually share hunting tips, and they all usually come up with some project, dad usually talks to you guys about anything we need to be aware of, while the women bond, some of us like to sew, so we bring that along with us, others really enjoy books, recipes, even just talking. I think my dad misses how it was when he was a kid, and the women would all kinda….come together to raise and manage the kids, while the men hunted for dinner.” you rolled your eyes as Declan laughed, “your dad is not that old.”

“Well, what’s got you two laughing so much?” Arthur asked as he stepped in front of you and Declan, “oh, I was telling Declan about why we do these camping trips.” you smiled softly as Declan nodded, “she’s actually given me quite the history lesson of them, I’m really glad I get to experience it this time, my old pack never did anything like this.” he smiled at Arthur who eyed you before nodded and forcing a smile on his features, “yes, pack bonding is important, it’s important we all remember our roles in a pack too. Declan, I wanted you to join us alphas tonight on a hunt. We’re hunting boar…have you ever hunted boar before?” Arthur asked as Declan and you both stood, “I have not, but it sounds exciting, I’d love to join you.” he glanced over at you, and Arthur could feel the time slow right before his eyes.

An Alpha….checking in with his omega.

It’s a silent exchange, one that usually happens without either party knowing, Arthur knew exactly what he was staring at and he had to stop it before it progressed any farther. True Mates. He watched as you looked up under your lashes at Declan, blinking once before a small smile crossed your face. Giving permission….to him. He felt his temper growing more and more as each second passed. “Great. We leave in 5 minutes, best go grab your stuff.” he forced out as Declan nodded at him before glancing back at you. “I’ll see you later,” he smiled as you nodded with a smile. “Of course!”

Arthur watched as Delcan walked over to his tent before grabbing your arm. “Stay. Away. From. Him.” he growled using his alpha voice on you, but something in your eyes, you weren’t entirely buckling before him this time. “I was just being friendly…dad.” you said quietly. “Bonding...as a pack….the whole point of this trip. Declan is part of this pack right?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as Arthur flared his nostrils. “Just stay away from him.” he snapped, growling as others glanced over at the two of you.

You watched as Arthur stormed off, gathering supplies and others for the hunt. You were standing in your tent, when you heard someone clear their throat behind you, turning around, you smile, seeing Declan holding the tent door open, “Mind if I come in?” he asked as you nodded, “Sure.” you nodded watching him duck and stand hunched over slightly. “I wanted to apologize for earlier if you got in trouble for talking to me…I don’t like seeing you get into trouble.” he said as you shook your head, “Don’t worry about my father, he’s just over protective…he thinks you're going to hurt me or something.” you wave your hand dismissively but Declan nodded, turning his head to listen before looking back at you. “I wanted to tell you that I really enjoyed talking with you tonight and I hope we can continue our conversation over breakfast in the morning.” he smiled as you bit your lip, “I’d really like that,” you said softly.

The small tent caused the two of you to stand closer than you usually were used to. His scent of pine and campfire filled your nostrils. As you looked up at him again, you could feel the blood rushing into your cheeks, “I overheard your father telling you to stay away from me,” he said softly. You nodded, “But I don’t want to, please be careful out there hunting with everyone else.” you whispered as he leaned down and let his cheek graze yours, “I hope you don’t stay away from me,” he whispered as his lips brushed over the shell of your ear.

You let out a shaky breath as he slowly pulled back some, and pressed his lips gently to your cheek. “I’ll be fine sweetheart, you stay safe too. I won’t go far, so if you need anything, call me okay?” he stared down at you, his eyes soft as he smiled. You pressed yourself against his chest, rubbing your face into his shirt sighing, “I will. Thank you Declan,” you whispered as he wrapped his arms around your smaller frame. “Of course,” he stayed there for a moment before he pulled away and left your tent without anyone seeing.

You stood with everyone else as the guys loaded up and headed out to hunt for the night, you kept an eye on Declan as he glanced at you, before they all left. “God he’s so fucking hot, Devin would kill me if he heard me say that, but damn what I wouldn’t do to let that alpha fuck me.” Marlene said as she and Christie walked back toward their tents, your father left a list of chores for the women and betas to take care of while he and the other alphas were gone. As the night went on, most of the women finished their chores and laid down in their tents.

You however, were still sewing on some items when an alpha broke through the trees, “Pack Master has been injured!” he yelled waking the camp up.

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20-th-centurygirl · 1 year

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I LOVE UR WORK. can u do one where mason and his gf are at a party and joao isn’t paying attention to his needy gf so she talks to a different boy and then joao gets mad and she gives him head but she EDGES him

SO BASICALLY SUB MASON

denied

mason mount x fem!reader

warnings: smut, abit of ansgt if you squint

a/n: i'm so confused idk if you want this for mason or for joao?? I changed the idea abit just to make it flow abit more and i decided on mason bc i like the idea and ik alot of my followers are here for him so i hope you enjoy <3

also sub mason is just 😵‍💫😵‍💫

masterlist

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

You'd sat yourself on a random sofa staring straight at Mason from across the room. He seemed completely unfazed by the dispute you'd in the car before you'd arrived, but you on the other hand, had not.

"It's not gonna be busy and we don't have to stay long? I don't know why you're starting something?" Mason rolled his eyes, clearly determined to drag you out of the house. "Because Mason, I have felt awful all day and instead of just staying at home with me like you said you would you're hellbent on dragging me out to some party. It's not about it not being busy or about us leaving late, it's about me feeling like shit and not wanting to go at all and you can't get that through your skull" . You'd had a headache all day, waking up with it and it just didn't want to leave. Mason had told you before training you didn't have to go and that he'd stay at home with you, but now he'd changed his mind insisting that you had to go because he'd promised declan you both would. "Well you were perfectly fine when I got home, just keep having paracetamol. We'll stay for two hours tops." You rolled your eyes at him "no, I'll stay for one max, if you're not ready to go I'll make my own way back" you put emphasis on the I and he said nothing, simply driving the two of you in silence. You were beyond pissed off with him, while your headache had actually subsided you were still looking forward to a quiet night in with Mason, not a noisy busy house that would no doubt trigger your headache again.

You'd kept your eye on the time, you didn't plan on leaving after only one hour but you definitely weren't staying over two. You'd settled yourself down with a drink in one hand whilst engaging in a conversation with Lauren. You hadn't mentioned anything about what had happened before, deciding to keep it between you and Mason. "Has something happened with you and Mase? Normally we can't keep him off you" Lauren joked, but when she saw your expression she stopped. "Nothing major, just bickered abit on the way that's all. I've just felt abit off all day and he promised we could just chill at home then he changed his mind." "Well we can go and sit somewhere else that's quieter if you want?" You smiled at her offer but shook your head "no it's fine. He said we'd go in abit last time I spoke to him" but Mason didn't look like he had any intention of leaving. You couldn't help but wonder if you were overreacting, you were both enjoying yourselves and you knew Mason had been having a hard time recently. But you'd barely seen eachother and that's why you were so excited about just spending time with him. You weren't sure of the last time he'd kissed you in a way that wasn't a peck, let alone had sex or even initiated anything with you.

You decided to walk over and talk it all out and end it with an apology. "Mase can I talk to you for a sec?" Mason turned to glance at you "Yeah in a minute" He said casually before turning around and carrying on back with his conversation. You bit your tongue and simply walked off but you were stopped by Ben. "You okay?" His hand rested on your shoulder, a completely innocent gesture but Mason saw it as something very different. "Yeah, just Mason being annoying" you rolled your eyes for what felt like the hundredth time that night as you resisted the urge to turn around. Ben simply led you to the other side of the room as he got you both a drink as sat you both down. "Feel like we haven't spoken in a while. How are you doing?" He asked.

The drinks and conversation had been flowing but it was completely innocent, but Mason's eyes hadn't left the two of you and he couldn't help the jealously bubbling inside him. Deep down he knew he had nothing to be worried about, you and Ben had a sibling type of relationship and Mason knew part of you was trying to get back at him. He had been a dick, he knew he had. He wondered over to the two of you "love can i talk to you quickly?" He muttered and a small smirk found its way onto your lips. "Yeah in a minute". He knew he deserved that but it still pissed him off none the less. "Actually I'll go, I need another drink anyway" Ben swiftly excused himself as Mason lightly gripped you wrist and took you to a bathroom.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have made you come if you weren't feeling well and I shouldn't have ignored you like that" Mason breathed as he was playing with his fingers, a clear sign he was nervous. "It's not even that. I'll admit I've had a good time but I was so looking forward to a night in just me and you. I feel like I haven't seen you at all recently mase. But I'm sorry for overreacting about it." Mason shook his head "no don't be sorry. I know I've been busy but it's no excuse and I did tell you this morning that's what we were gonna do". He pulled you into a much needed hug and you immediately wrapped your hands around his waist and he leaned down to kiss your hair. "I just missed you mase s'all" you mumbled into his chest.

He let go and leaned down to kiss you, his hands steady on your sides as yours went to his neck. "I love you so much" He mumbled against your lips. "I love you too" you reconnected your mouths as the kiss got more and more heated. The amount of time it had been since the two of you and had touched eachother meant you were both getting worked up quite quickly. One of Mason's hands travelled down and grabbed your ass as you felt him hard against your thigh. Your hand trailed down his front to cup his bulge as you bit his lip, gaining a loud groan from Mason. "Baby please" He whined.

You shuffled back and knelt down, wincing slightly at the cold of the tile against your knees. Your fingers began to unbuckle his belt and pull down his jeans agonisingly slowly. You teased his cock through his boxers, running your finger up and down. "Please don't tease me" he whined and you huffed out a small laugh. "Nu uh, you've pissed me off tonight mase, 'm not gonna let you off that easy."

Your fingers tugged the waistband of his underwear, pulling them down slowly yet again. He knew there was no point trying to fight it, he was convinced you'd let him get there eventually. You took him in your hand and almost felt sorry for him, almost. Precum was leaking from his tip and he was throbbing, the smallest touch from you dragging a whimper from him. You slowly began to stroke him, fast enough to keep him on the edge but slow enough to not let him cum, just like he did to you. "Y/N" He whimpered when you placed a delicate kiss to his tip. "What do you want baby?" You cooed, your hand still lazily stroking him up and down. "I need you. Need your mouth" "hm, do you think you deserve it?" You raised your eyebrow at him. Mason shook his head slightly "no, but please i need you. i'll make it up to you please"

You said nothing, instead taking just his tip in your mouth and swirling your tongue around it. Mason let out a loud whine as he realised you weren't planning on taking anymore of him in your mouth. "Please, fuck please do more. I need you so bad" He whimpered, his hand travelling to the back of your head but you swatted it away. "Hands away mase or I'll stop completely" you mumbled around him, the vibrations from your voice sending shivers down his spine. You gradually took him deeper in your mouth, hollowing your cheeks as he let out a loud moan of your name. His hands balled into fists as he resisted the urge to grip at your hair as you bobbed your mouth up and down. Mason was moaning out your name like a prayer. "I'm close fuck please don't stop. Feels so good" you felt him twitch in your mouth and you pulled away completely, sitting back innocently on your heels and wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. "What? No why did you stop?" Mason's face was a picture of confusion and frustration and it took everything you had to stop bursting out laughing. "I asked you before if you thought you deserved it and you said no" you shuffled nonchalantly, Mason still standing in shock and still desperate to finish. "Fix your clothes, we've been here two hours and you'd promised we'd leave. Maybe if you make it up to me at home I'll let you cum" you smirked, pressing a kiss to his pouted lips as he tugged his boxers and jeans back up. "How am I gonna hide this? I hate you sometimes" He muttered as he tried to adjust himself in his jeans. "No you don't, you love me baby. Just walk behind me it'll be fine". You took his hand as you both walked out, Mason practically dragging you out of the house.

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hendolish · 8 months

Note

Hiii babes, if you still take fic requests could you please write a part 2 to that Mason X Declan story? Now that the names for the September camp squad are out and both Mase and Dec are there could you write something about them meeting again and Mase so badly regrets ending things with Declan now that he sees how Declan seems to be getting on well with Saka so much. And he starts thinking a bit delulu thinking that there's something between Saka and Dec when Saka has a gf and isn't even into Dec like that. Anyway he regrets it and goes back to Dec. At first Declan doesn't want to talk to Mase but in the end he does talk to him and they get together officially. Thanksss💗💗

[note- anon did correct themselves about mason not being at camp but i stuck with it to make it easier <3]

mason mount/declan rice | a sequel to on hold ♡

Mason’s an idiot.

He’s known this himself for a long time, of course, but he’s really a spectacular idiot in this case for pushing Dec away.

It hadn’t made things easier or lessened the pain of miles between them. Everything would make Mason think of him, of moments they’ve shared together or silly little inside jokes, his fingers itching to pick up his phone and call.

But then he’d remember what he did to Dec. What he’d said. And the crushing sensation would close in on him all over again.

Anyway.

That’s how he finds himself stuck at SGP, grasping brief glances of Dec whenever he can, darting his eyes away before the other can turn and catch him, feeling like he can never find the right words to say.

It doesn’t help that Dec seems to be getting along just fine with all the Arsenal lot now.

Mason watches them together as they wander onto the pitch, some of the last to leave the changing room, Dec whispering something in Bukayo’s ear that causes the both of them to burst into raucous laughter.

He stares down at his boots instead, digging the studs into the grass to make patterns before Steve’s calling them all over to start the drill. Luke had been talking to him but Mason couldn’t find the attention to listen, so he just laughs and agrees when the other looks over to him expectantly.

It probably wasn’t the right thing to do because it causes Luke to frown before asking, “You okay?”

But Mason can’t do anything but wave him off once Steve starts talking, pointing at cones and waving a set of bibs in the air.

Dec doesn’t look at him as Steve hands them out and Mason tries to tell his heart it’s not allowed to sink. Not when he’s the reason Dec is being off with him.

He chose this, now he has to live with the consequences.

They have to partner up for the drill and Mason allows himself to hope far too much by sneaking Dec another glance, but he’s already walking away with Bukayo, snickering at whatever the younger is telling him with that megawatt grin on his face that Mason loves.

Well. He loves it when Dec is directing it at him.

“C’mon.”

Luke says after a moment, tugging on his arm towards a free space, and Mason forces everything to the back of his mind and gets his head down because he has to.

Because this is England and it’s always meant so much to him and Dec. This is their time together, and Mason’ll be damned if he’s about to lose that too.

—

He can’t help glaring at breakfast.

Dec and Bukayo are stuck together like glue again, stealing food off of each other’s plates and laughing about it. Mason suddenly feels sick.

“You’ve got to let it go mate.”

Luke tells him once he follows his gaze. Mason had told him everything last night when bearing the weight on his own had become too much.

“Or you’ve got to actually talk to him,” Luke then supplements, shaking his head to himself as he tucks back into his beans, “Getting nowhere just starin’. You trying to read his mind or something?”

Mason wishes he could. Instead he’s busy racking his brain over whether he’s heard Bukayo talk about his girlfriend in the past couple of months. Did they break up?

“Hmm? Yeah. I mean— I know,” When Luke gives him a doubtful look Mason’s voice jumps an octave higher as he protests, “I know okay! I’m working on it. I just don’t think he wants to speak to me.”

Luke’s eyes shift sympathetically for a second as he tells him that of course he does. Mason stays quietly unsure of that.

He gets his chance later in the day.

Their rooms at SGP are practically next door to each other because they’ve always requested for them to be close and, as always, the England staff had listened and remembered.

It would be sweet of them in any other circumstance, but when he and Dec exit their rooms at almost the exact same time, locking eyes as their doors click shut behind them, Mason can’t help but curse them a little.

“Hey.”

He says, hating how awkward it sounds because things have never been, and should never be, awkward between them.

“Hey.”

Dec replies, but it lacks his usual gusto and Mason can already see his eyes flickering back towards his room.

“Do you—“

Mason tries to start, not even really knowing what he wants to say, but Dec cuts him off.

“Can we—,” He runs a hand through his hair then, a habit Mason knows all too well, before taking a steadying breath, “Can we not do this today?”

Mason nods because there’s nothing else for him to do, despite him being unsure as to what this is.

“Okay,” Dec says, although it sounds more like he’s talking to himself, “Good. Well… I forgot my, uh, yeah. So I’ll just…”

And with that the other quickly disappears back into his room, leaving Mason in hallway, unsure of how to feel.

—

Mason stays true to his word and doesn’t bother him the rest of the day. He knows he has no right to after everything he’s put the other man through.

But finds he simply can’t wait any longer when he wakes the next morning, too early to go downstairs but late enough not to bother going back to sleep, and soon finds himself stood in front of Dec’s door, hand poised to knock.

A million thoughts race through his brain in the seconds it takes Dec to answer, but they soon all slip away when he sees Dec standing there, in the t-shirt he’s seen him sleep in a million times. The t-shirt he’s tugged off him and helped him re-dress with in haste.

It’s soft to touch, Mason knows, and warm when pressed against Dec’s skin. Finally, he opens his mouth to speak.

“I’m so sorry,” He starts, and there’s really not a better opening to cover it all, “Dec, I’m— I can’t believe that I thought I could just—“

He cuts himself off there because he promised himself he wouldn’t cry. Not even if Dec had turned him away. He would’ve had every right to.

“Fuck,” He’s looking anywhere but at the other now, blinking rapidly, “I was such an idiot, I know that now. But I just… I couldn’t lose you, you know? I didn’t want to go through that, so I thought that maybe it would be better if I just— mmph.”

Dec stops him from going on with a bruising kiss.

Mason had known that he might ramble. That his explanation might not make any sense and he’d have to try a couple of times. But never did he think that Dec would get him to shut up by kissing him.

“You are a massive idiot,” Dec tells him after he pulls away, one hand still touching Mason’s cheek, “And it’s going to take a lot for you to make it up to me.“

“Whatever you want.”

He promises immediately, which launches a brightly amused grin onto Dec’s cheeks that Mason decides he never wants to see leave again.

“And can we stop being weird around each other now? I hate it.”

Dec adds, to which Mason easily agrees, and soon they’re lying on Dec’s bed together, side by side, and Mason’s reminding himself of the softness of Dec’s shirt again with a cautious hand.

“You’re still being weird.”

Dec declares then before taking Mason’s hand for him and placing it directly over his heart, feeling the steady thump of the rhythm there. When he glances back upwards, Dec’s watching him carefully.

“Yeah?” He asks, and all of a sudden Mason understands.

This thing between them is so much more than he could ever ask for and Dec… he wants it too and maybe always has. Mason feels like colourful fireworks are exploding in his chest, seeping into every crevice the past month has left behind.

“Yeah.”

He agrees breathily, as if speaking too loud may puncture the moment. Dec smiles across the bed at him before he’s pulling Mason back into his arms and slotting him against his chest like a puzzle piece.

Dec emits a loud, but content-sounding, sigh before he admits, “I bought you flowers and everything, you know. Was gonna be proper romantic.”

That makes Mason feels ten times worse, like a heavy weight has settled in his stomach, but Dec notices quickly and is soon peppering his face with kisses.

“Hey, it’s alright yeah? It worked out in the end. Everything always does with us.”

Mason can’t help but still feel bad.

“I ruined it though,” He says, taking Dec’s hand to squeeze and hold to his chest, “You were trying to be lovely and I just—“

Dec shushes him then, placing a kiss to his lips instead. It’s all in the past.

“I’ll buy you flowers again, yeah? And you can kiss me or hug me or do whatever you would’ve wanted to do back then.”

Mason looks over at him silently for a moment, taking in Dec’s soft gaze and the grounding reassurance in his words, wondering how on earth he’d gotten so lucky.

He closes the gap between them again then because he feels a sudden urge to make up for any time together they may’ve lost whilst he was busy being an idiot.

“Okay.”

Mason tells Dec through a giddy smile, heart soaring amongst the clouds.

I love you.

He thinks then, storing it away for another day.

♡

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thetravelerwrites · 2 years

Text

Albian (Unicorn Centaur)

Rating: Teen Relationship: Female Reader/Male Unicorn Centaur Additional Tags: Exophilia, Monster Boyfriend, Centaur, Unicorn Centaur Series: Shelter Forest Words: 4681

A multi-part commission for @sammiesamr! A young woman from a nearby town runs across a centaur stuck in a bush on her way to Declan's farm. Please reblog and leave feedback!

The Traveler’s Masterlist

Your parents did a lot of business with the family in the forest, an odd collection of humans and non-humans alike, led by a gigantic bat patriarch named Declan. Your parents owned a general store in Tandale and your mother had been trading with Declan’s family since before you were born, and you’d grown up with their kids in the same way as the kids from Tandale, your hometown. There was a strange separation between the two that was lost on you sometimes. It was almost as if most people didn’t have a secret stash of friends living in the woods.

Declan’s large clan was an open secret in most of the surrounding villages; everyone knew about it but they didn’t talk about it in the open. There was an unspoken understanding to protect the little haven in the woods, especially considering how much help they had given without any expectation of return. Declan and his family had done a lot of things for a lot of folks over the decades, and though they’d likely never cash in, they were owed a lot of favors.

You were heading toward the farm, the sound of the autumn leaves crunching under your feet and the crisp air tickling the tip of your nose. You were hoping they had some of the seashells that you used to make a pretty pearly white paint that really popped in ways that paint made from other mediums didn’t. Painting was something of a hobby for you, though you dreamed of being able to make a living doing it. You had made some coin for it every now and then, too, selling small paintings on slices of wood in your parents’ store.

You knew the route well enough to take the woods rather than the road, as the road could sometimes be lousy with bandits. Between Declan’s formidable children and Asker’s surly brood, who weren’t exactly friendly but didn’t attack people without reason, you didn’t have to worry about dangerous animals or people trying to take a bite out of you.

Your steps were stilled when you heard a truly creative string of curses far too your right. Your anxiety spiked a little, but you thought the voice sounded more desperate than angry, and you were worried that it was someone who needed help.

You carefully stepped around the underbrush in an effort to make as little noise as possible, creeping closer to the source of the voice.

You saw the lower half of a small horse or a large deer, its coat white as snow and very shiny. The hooves, digging into the dirt as they frantically pawed the ground, were cloven and iridescent black like beetle shells. There were cuts and scrapes all over his rump and spine, his blood jewel-like and strangely more pink than red. The thin, whippy tail, ending in a tuft of glowing white fur, thrashed here and there in a frantic attempt to counterbalance the upper half of the body.

The upper half was that of a man, the skin of which was as pale and translucent as his lower half, a line of silk-fine fur running down his humanoid spine. Most of it was obscured by the large bush of brambles he seemed to have gotten himself stuck in, half standing, half kneeling.

“Are you alright?” You called to him.

He stopped shuffling momentarily.

“Ah… yes, I’m fine,” He said, laughing nervously. His voice had the high smoothness of a tenor. “Please don’t mind me.”

“Are you sure?” You said.

“Of course, of course, please go on ahead, I’ll be just fine.”

“Alright… if you’re sure…”

“Yes, of course. Thank you for your concern.”

“Well… goodbye then.”

“Yes, farewell.”

After a moment of reluctance, you left him in the brush and continued to the farm.

The harvest had come and gone, and now the farm was in the middle of preserving and saving for the winter. Many of the adult children were out on the long, wrap-around porch, washing and shelling the vegetables to be pickled, canned, and jarred.

Soraya, the smaller bat child, stood when she saw you approach.

“Hello, there!” She said, propelling herself forward with her winged arms. “Welcome back! Did you come for a visit or to do business?”

“A little of both, I guess,” You said, giving her a friendly one-armed hug around her neck. “Where are your parents?”

“Papa is bathing in the river and Mama is keeping watch. Honestly, I think they just wanted some alone time.” She winked at you. “They’re still very much in love, those two. I hope I’m just as spry as them when I’m their age.”

You blushed and didn’t comment on that. “Do you have any more seashells or coral to sell that’s good for making paint? I have some things to trade.”

“Yeah, of course, come on up,” Soraya said. “Caeli, do you remember where the seashells are?”

“Yeah, I’ll go get them.” Caeli got up and went inside. Caeli was Soraya's spouse: a young person with tan skin and long, dark hair braided down their back, wearing a blouse and sensible trousers. They had been raised as a girl, but recently had made the determination that they weren’t either a boy or a girl and began embracing their androgyny.

“Can I help out?” You asked.

“Sure,” Said Reed, a cervitaur. “Here, there’s a space. Can you start on shelling the peas?”

“Absolutely.” You sat down cross-legged and began hulling peas. “Where’s Yala?”

“Putting the children down for their afternoon nap. She may fall asleep, too, so we might not see her until supper,” He said, laughing.

Caeli returned with the shells, and after bartering, you returned to shelling while having a pleasant talk with the others. Declan and Ryel came back up from the river about an hour later, both damp, and sat down with everyone else, taking up the work as well. What followed was a comfortable afternoon of calm conversation over the communal work of autumn. This was one of the reasons you liked the farm so much. Slow, steady, and comfortable.

About an hour before sundown, you decided it was time to head home. The family sent you off with fond goodbyes and an entire pound of hulled peas. You went back the same way you had come, and just as you were wondering how the centaur was doing, you saw his rump sitting on the ground, having not moved from the spot. It seemed as if he had given up.

“Hey, are you alright?” You asked, coming closer. You found that there were more wounds on his body, both the horse half and the human half.

“...no, I’m afraid not,” He finally admitted. “My horn is stuck. Can you please help me?”

Horn? “Of course, just a moment,” You said, setting down your bag and pulling out a knife you kept for both utility and protection, and a pair of shears. You began to cut and snip through the thorny branches. “Keep still.”

“No choice, have I?” He said with a self-deprecating laugh. You felt pretty bad for him and annoyed with yourself. How long had he been stuck here? You shouldn’t have left him earlier.

It took quite a while, and the setting sun made it that much more difficult, but eventually you managed to free him from the brambles. You were finally able to see his face and was startled to see that he actually did have a small, silvery, spiral horn rising from the widow’s peak just below his hairline. The skin around the horn was torn quite badly and the horn itself had a gouge in it with a thorny vine wrapped around it.. There was a drop of blood trickling down his forehead and nose. His baby face was sweet and angelic-looking, though it was covered with cuts and scrapes. His eyes were large, lavender in color, and almond shaped, framed with long white lashes.

He was… beautiful, more than beautiful,, despite being covered in wounds from head to hoof. It almost hurt your eyes to look at him, he was so lovely.

“How did this happen?” You asked him, taking a cloth from your bag and wetting it from your water skin, dabbing the cuts on his face.

He sighed and looked away in shame. “I was trying to hide,” He said. “I heard a large group of hunters coming through the forest and I didn’t want to be spotted. I guess I chose the wrong bush to hide in, since as soon as I got in there, one of the branches snagged my horn and hair and I couldn’t for the life of me get free.”

“Why were you trying to hide?” You asked.

“I’m… rare…” He said, shrugging shyly. “And because of that, people think I’m lucky or that my body parts contain magical properties. I tried living amongst other people for years, but the danger has become too much. I was going to this place in the woods I heard about, a farm I think they said? I heard it was a safe place for people like me.”

“Oh! That’s Declan’s place! I just came from there, I can show you the way.”

He eyed you with suspicion. “Really?”

“Of course, let’s get there and get your injuries tended to. Some of those look really deep.”

He frowned a little, as if unsure if he could trust you. You imagined he’d been betrayed quite a bit if secluding himself at Declan’s farm was his last hope for living a safe life.

“Here,” You said, handing him your knife and shears. “Keep these with you until we get to the farm, if it’ll make you feel safer. But we should go, it’ll be dark soon, and you don’t want to be out in these woods in the dark. Lots of things hunt in these woods that are worse than humans.”

“I doubt that,” He mumbled, but he took the weapons slowly and nodded. “Please lead the way.”

You started walking back toward the farm quickly, not necessarily in a hurried manner, but not at your normal pace. You weren’t kidding about being in the woods after dark.

“What’s your name?” You asked.

“Albian,” He said.

“That’s a pretty name,” You said.

“Thanks,” He said with another self-deprecating laugh. “It’s actually my baby name, it’s just never changed.”

“Baby name?”

“Yeah, in my culture, we receive different names when we reach certain milestones in our lives: ‘baby names’, which are given to us at birth by a priest or priestess, and they sort of act as a blessing of health since we have a high infant mortality rate among my people. And then ‘given names’, which we get from our parents if we survive to age five that are based on their wishes for us as we age. ‘Adolescent names’ we get from siblings or friends when we turn sixteen that are based on our personality. Lastly ‘wedded names’ that we get from our spouses when we marry, which are hopes for our futures. Wedded names are private names only used by spouses to refer to each other; they wouldn’t be used by family or friends.” He seemed to be rambling from nervousness.

“Whoa, that’s fascinating,” You said. You almost asked why he hadn’t received his given and adolescent names yet, but you stopped yourself. Considering he was alone and had none of his own people with him, it wasn’t hard to assume that there was a reason his friends and family weren’t in a position to give him his names, and every reason you could think of was a bad one. “Well, maybe the blessing for health worked?”

He half-smiled. “Maybe. I’ve never been sick and other than that blasted bush, I’ve kept from getting injured. Mostly.”

“What about people who don’t marry?”

“Oh, they keep their adolescent names unless they petition to have it altered. Those are known as selfset names.”

“Huh.” You looked forward and saw the trees beginning to thin out. “Oh, look, there it is, you can see the farmhouse.”

You pointed through the trees at the house in the dimming light of dusk, the lights inside warm and glowing. Albian breathed a sigh of relief and handed you back your tools.

“Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

“Do you know them well?” He asked.

“Oh, yeah. My parents have been trading with them since I was a baby, so I’ve grown up around them. They’re great people. This is the safest place in the whole world, as far as I’m concerned.”

“Honestly, it’s reassuring to hear you say that,” He said with a relieved laugh. “I was really worried they might turn me away for coming unannounced.”

“No, never,” You insisted. “They genuinely love unannounced guests. Come on.”

You led him to the porch and climbed up, knocking on the kitchen door. Ryel opened it and looked at you in surprise.

“I thought you were headed home, child. Is everything alright?” She asked.

“Yeah, I found a lost lamb looking for a pasture,” You said, waving Albian forward. He stepped into the porchlight sheepishly. “I found him in the forest looking for the farm. His name is Albian and he needs a safe place to stay.”

“Well, you’ve certainly found what you’re looking for, love, come on in,” She said, stepping back and opening the double doors to let you both in.

“Thank you very much, madam,” Albian said, stepping inside and looking around cautiously.

“Call me Ryel. Or Mama, if you’re so inclined. Goodness, look at that face, all scratched up. Lymera, will you run and fetch some salve from the wet room, please?” Ryel asked one of her daughters, a young faun woman and a priestess-in-training.

“Yes, Mama,” Lymera said, standing.

The entire family was there, as dinner was in progress. The house had been designed with the size of its occupants in mind; most of the bottom floor was a kitchen and living space with no walls or doors separating them, since it needed to be quite big and open in order for the larger family members to fit inside comfortably. The ceiling was high enough that nine-foot Declan could stand up to his full height without hitting his head.

There was a standing table for the four-legged family, as well as a sitting table for the two-legged ones. Albian saw Reed kneeling on a cushion at the sitting table next to his wife and children, and visibly relaxed. Reed was another breed of centaur that was very rare, so his presence must have allayed Albian remaining anxiety.

“Come settle down and have some food, you two,” Ryel said, ushering both of you inside and to a table. “We always have plenty of room. Everyone, this is Albian. He needs a place to stay.”

They all welcomed him warmly, shaking his hands and patting his shoulders, and a plate loaded down with pan-fried vegetables and fresh fruit was placed in front of him. Ryel must have assumed he was vegetarian, since all of the other centaurs were. He seemed rather dazed by all of the unreserved kindness, but it was then that he smiled; the first genuine smile you had seen, and it lit up the entire room. It was like a thousand pounds had been lifted off of his shoulders.

“You should stay the night, too, love,” Ryel said to you as she put a plate in front of you as well. “It’s far too late to traverse the woods, even with an escort.”

“I’d appreciate that, Miss Ryel, thank you,” You replied, reaching for a barley roll. “It won’t be the first time I decided not to go home after coming here, so I’m sure my parents won’t mind as long as I’m home at a reasonable time tomorrow..”

Declan laughed, his voice as deep as a cavern. “I’m not sure if your parents are happy or unhappy about how much time you spend here.”

“Well, they only have themselves to blame,” You replied with a chuckle. “You folks are too effective as babysitters.”

There was a collective titter of laughter around the tables just as five year old Asahi jumped up and squealed because he couldn’t reach his cup. You reached across and nudged the cup closer to him, and he quieted.

Albian seemed terribly anxious and withdrawn when he arrived, but he had calmed considerably since coming to rest at the table. After a while, he began to engage in conversation with the others, rather than giving mumbled answers whenever he was asked a question. He opened up slowly as Ryel treated his wounds, and the others, being well acquainted with handling nervy, skittish newcomers, did what they could to reassure him.

You were led to a guest room that night and watched from the window as Reed led Albian to the barn, where the four-legged family members slept. Before disappearing inside, he looked up briefly and met your gaze, smiling and waving. You waved back.

The next morning, you came down to join the family for breakfast, and Albian was sitting among them as if he’d always been there, his gossamer hair was braided back and tied with a bit of blue ribbon. His cuts were almost completely healed. He’d become fast friends with Reed, having bonded over shared experiences.

“Good morning!” Albian said brightly as you stepped down the stairs. His anxious demeanor had disappeared completely, and now he was as bright and open as a puppy.

You smiled back at him. “Good morning yourself,” You replied. “You seem to be in much better spirits today.”

He nodded and grinned happily. “I’m glad to have woken up to find that this place wasn’t a dream. It took me so long to get here that I thought I might never make it. It’s almost hard to believe I’ve arrived at last.”

“How long were you traveling?”

“Over a year,” He said, taking some slices of apple.

“My goodness,” You said. “Where were you coming from?”

“Pretty far,” He said, his eyes darkening slightly. “There were… significant, unavoidable delays.”

You didn’t like the sudden turn in his mood back to gloomy anxiousness, so you changed the subject. “I hope you like to cook. It’s the making and saving part of the year. Lots of canning and jarring to be done.”

He chuckled and scratched behind his ear in an unsure sort of way. “I’m afraid I don’t know much about it, but I’m happy to learn.”

“I do like folks who are eager,” Ryel said, taking a bite of her oats in milk. “We won’t throw you into the deep end just yet, lad; simple corn shucking will suit you fine to start off with.”

“‘Shucking’ is a word I’ve never heard before, but please feel free to educate me,” Albian said with a smile.

“Don’t worry, I’ve done my share of shucking on this farm,” You told him. “I’ll show you the ropes.”

He gave you a blinding smile that made your face flush. “Thanks, I’d appreciate that.”

Shucking corn, though tedious, wasn’t hard, and Albian got the hang of it quickly. He asked you questions about yourself, and you couldn’t help but notice that when you asked him about himself, he was evasive and changed the subject back around to you.

Around midday, after a generous lunch, you decided it was time to go home. Any later and your parents would definitely worry and maybe even show up at the farm, looking for you. Yew agreed to go with you, and you asked Albian if he’d like to accompany you.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but I’d like to introduce you to my parents,” You explained. “They come to the farm often for bartering, so I don’t want you to be surprised by them. And it’ll be good for you to know the way to town if anything happens.”

He seemed apprehensive, but he agreed all the same.

Tandale was a very small, developing town consisting of around thirty families on the outskirts of the forest. Everyone knew everyone, and nothing was private. That was probably the part you hated the most about it, especially as your personal anxieties increased as you aged. It was hard to voice your worries when everyone you’d ever known wrote you off as being dramatic or hysterical, and it made you feel even more insecure.

It also wasn’t great for romance, either, since you’d grown up running around and climbing trees with most of the boys in the village and saw them all as cousins, if not brothers. They were all cookie cutter versions of each other, who all drank the same homebrewed beer, had the same typical young-man hobbies, and thought the same thoughts. They weren’t bad, they were just… small town boys with small town minds, and not what you wanted. You didn’t feel like you should have to settle for a lad you used to take baths with as a tot because there weren’t any other options. Jameson was one such lad.

Jameson was around the same age as you, pale complected, with dirty blond hair and brown eyes. He was a bit taller than you and medium build. He wasn’t unattractive, but in your eyes, he was just like every other boy in your town.

He was walking out of your family’s store when you arrived with Yew and Albian. He’d met Yew before, since he and several other human and “human-like” races from the farm came to the store with regularity, but he looked at Albian sideways.

“Hey there, my love!” He said, and you tried your best not to cringe visibly. “I was just looking for you.” He pulled a handful of wildflowers out of his coat. “For you.”

You sighed internally and took them. “Thanks.”

“Your parents said you were out overnight,” Jameson said, and you caught a hint of accusation in his tone. Jameson jerked his chin at Albian. “And who’s this, then?”

Albian began to speak, as if to introduce himself, but you shook your head subtly for him to stay silent.

“He’s a new friend of mine, Jameson,” You said simply, without elaboration. “He’s come to live with the family in the forest.”

“Oh, those weirdos?” Jameson said, and you could almost feel Albian stiffen. “I don’t like you associatin’ with those folks.”

“That’s not up to you, Jameson,” You said, keeping your voice pleasant and steady. “They’ve been my friends longer than you have.”

“It ain’t right for a pretty little thing like you to be mixed up with… with strange types.”

Jameson decided against whatever it was he was going to say, as Yew was there with you and could very well stomp Jameson into the ground, if he had a mind to it. Yew wasn’t as large as his brother, Birch, but he was still pretty big.

“I don’t think they’re strange at all,” You said.

He laughed. “Well, I’m not attracted to you for your thinkin’, that’s for sure.”

Albian began to paw the ground and step side to side, as centaurs often did when they were anxious or upset. Yew was used to Jameson’s snide comments and didn’t react, except to step forward slightly one your other side, as if subtly reminding Jameson that he was still there and very much aware of the conversation.

“Jameson, I need to go and see my parents, so I’ll talk to you at another time, alright?”

“Sure, sure,” Jameson got close to you and pulled you into a one armed hug, which caused you to stiffen. You knew he wouldn’t let go until you reciprocated, so you patted him lightly on the back a total of twice, and he released you. “Come to the tavern later, eh?”

You shrugged noncommittally, and Jameson bumped your chin with his finger before trotting off.

“Why do you let that fellow speak to you in such a manner?” Albain asked. “If this is how he treats you in the presence of others, I can’t imagine how he treats you when you’re alone. Nothing against you, but you could find a much better lover than him.”

“He’s not my lover,” You said, blushing and laughing nervously.

He looked at you with a puzzled expression. “He seems to think otherwise.”

“I know,” You said, rolling your eyes and sighing. “I’ve told him many times that I’m not interested in being anything more than friends, but he’s had it in his head that I’m going to marry him someday, he’s just waiting for me to come to my senses.”

“If marrying that fool is supposed to be you coming to your senses, stay senseless,” Albian said.

You laughed through your nose. “I plan to.”

“Why do you tolerate such behavior?”

You shrugged. “Well, I mean… we grew up together and we were good friends when we were kids; it’s only been in the last five years or so that he’s gotten a bee in his bonnet about this. We live in the same small town, and we’re practically next door neighbors. Being nasty to him would only hurt me in the long run. Besides, I don’t like confrontation. It’s easier on my peace of mind to keep my distance rather than deal with his whining. I just do what I can to avoid him.”

“Take it from an expert on not being confrontational,” Albian said, his eyes stern but sad. “It’s only a matter of time before they bring the confrontation to you, and suddenly you’re backed into a corner with no one on your side to help you, through no fault of your own. It’s how people get hurt or even killed. Just… be careful.”

You wanted to argue that Jameson would never do anything to hurt you, but you knew this warning was a hard-learned lesson that should be heeded. Despite your intense curiosity about his past, the look in his eyes prevented you from prying. You nodded instead.

“Hey there, honey!” Your mother came out of the store and down the steps, pulling you into a hug. “You almost had us worried.”

“Sorry,” You said, but you didn’t elaborate: you didn’t want to embarrass Albian with a story he might not want told. “This is Albian. He’s a new addition to Declan’s family.

“Oh, welcome!” Your mother said, extending a hand. “You’ll be seeing quite a lot of me and my husband. Joseph! Come and say hello!”

Your father also poked his head out of the door. “Oh, hello! There’s a new face!”

“Hello, sir,” Albian said, bowing his head a little in respect. “I’m a new arrival at the farm.”

“Well, welcome!” Your father said, stepping out onto the small porch, wiping his hands. He was likely in the middle of making soap.

Albian laughed self-consciously, a small smile on his face. “Thank you. I’m very happy to be here.”

“Canning is still going on, so you two should get back soon,” You said. “I’ll be back up to the farm sometime this week.”

“We’re always happy to see you, Pip,” Yew said with a cheeky grin, tapping your chin softly, and you laughed. This interaction was so much different than the interaction you’d had with Jameson, mostly because Yew understood boundaries far better than Jameson. Yew had been one of your best friends since you were young, but his attitude never changed toward you; he always treated you like a sister. Yew was also attracted to men, so you were certain he wasn’t attempting to hit on you.

Albian flicked his skinny tail to and fro twice, and then turned toward the forest to depart.

“Thank you, by the way,” He said. “For helping me. For coming back and not passing by. And… for not being cruel.”

Again, a pang of worried curiosity shot through you. “You’re very welcome. See you again soon.”

“See you soon,” He agreed. He smiled and followed Yew into the trees and out of sight.

Since my work is no longer searchable, please do me a favor and reblog this story if you enjoyed it. Help me reach a wider audience! To help me continue creating, please consider becoming a Patron or donating directly to my PayPal!

Thanks for reading!

My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

#Exophilia #Monster Boyfriend #Centaur #Reader Insert #Unicorn Centaur

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faeparrish · 1 year

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I feel like Maggie literally totally forgot about Matthew in the last few chapters I mean *greywaren spoilers*

She literally made everyone think he was DEAD and then just … didn’t bring him back till the last chapter and had no resolution at all?? It’s as if she was so busy trying to wrap up everyone’s else’s story she just forgot about him lmao 😭

don’t get me started… matthew’s arc had SO much potential. like here is a character who had his autonomy ripped from him, his entire personhood questioned and denied, and his agency and freewill taken away — and the people doing this to him were the people who were supposed to care about him the most!

my absolute favourite concept in fiction is characters who appear to be human, but aren’t actually “human” in the sense that they were created, not born. because it then becomes a question of what we consider human life to be. these kinds of stories tend to explore what happens when the definition of humanity is questioned, because the existence of these characters challenges everything. when a society is restricting “nonhuman” characters’ autonomy and dignity, but these characters behave and think and feel in the same way humans do, where is the line? when is it crossed? it tends to be a theme that lives in science fiction. channel 4’s humans did this really well; the girl with all the gifts also covered it in a really interesting way, and so did jeff vandermeer’s borne; ex-machina and westworld are also good examples.

so based on how the foundation of matthew’s arc had been laid out in cdth, i was really excited to see the concept explored in this series. most stories that cover this topic place these characters in robots, so i was really interested to see how this would play into characters that are organic; living and breathing people. dreamt people are created not born, and yet for all that, they still exist as people; they eat, they feel, they bleed, they cry. the only thing that puts their humanity into question is how they were brought into existence, and their continued dependence on their dreamer. to what extent are they just an extension of their dreamer? how much of their mind is their own? matthew was essentially created by ronan to serve a function (being the “perfect” brother) but when he finds out he was dreamt, something shifts in him. he behaves in a way that neither ronan nor declan recognises; he becomes aware of his built in behaviours and he begins to challenge them (it was a similar journey for jordan although her arc leans more into the idea of her separating herself from hennessy, which is a whole other post).

the moment he switched from this version of himself, the moment he “woke up” was the point where i got really invested in his arc, because this was supposed to change everything for him. as soon as that moment happened, declan stopped pretending to treat him like a human. he stops humouring matthew, he doesn’t hide the fact that he views matthew as a burden, he doesn’t try to protect him emotionally in the way matthew had grown accustomed to. matthew spent the last two books being treated like an object or an animal. and because declan was matthew’s legal guardian, matthew’s life became dependent on a person who, despite loving another dream and accepting her as real, still didn’t see or treat him as such. whether he’s conscious or not is decided by declan, his emotions are ignored or brushed aside, he’s left to lie stagnant on a bed for days and is then switched on again as if nothing happened. the part where he realises he hadn’t been taken care of while asleep is so heartbreaking; his teeth hadn’t even been brushed, he was still wearing the same clothes.

and then after ALL that, his only moment of pushing back is punching declan and taking the car. and then everyone just believes him to be dead for the rest of the book until he walks home at the end. and he was too afraid to call!because even after everything that happened, he still believed declan would just be angry at him. after EVERYTHING, the main takeaway for his character was that he still believed he wasn’t worth worrying about. he got no resolution. the reality of how he had been treated by his family was never explored or challenged in a way that felt deserving of his character. he got so unbelievably sidelined at the end of this series.

#greywaren spoilers #matthew lynch #ask #anon #sorry i got carried away. i looked back at my old posts about how excited i was for matthews arc back then and i got sad :(#long post

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canirove · 2 years

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Ten years | Chapter 5

Previous chapter | Next chapter

Masterlist

It's been a week since Declan and I kissed, and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. I've tried keeping myself busy with the pub, working out, reading, watching tv... Even going out with Benjamin again. But it's been impossible. The moment I disconnected for a second, I'm back on that car, feeling his lips on mine.

"Ah, fuck, shit!" I yell.

"What happened?" Dom says, running from the other side of the pub to check on me.

"I burnt my hand with the coffee machine. Fuck!"

"How did you do that?" he says, quickly putting it under cold water. "What were you thinking about?"

"Nothing" I say, the water easing my pain a bit.

"And that's why you burnt your hand. Because you weren't thinking. At all."

"I'm stupid, I know."

"You aren't stupid. But something is definitely going on with you."

"Dom, it hurts" I say, trying not to cry in front of everyone.

"I'm taking you to the hospital. This doesn't look good."

"It isn't that... Oh" I say when I see the state of my hand.

"Lily, can you manage on your own?" Dom says.

"Yes, of course. Is it too bad?"

"I don't know. But I don't like how pale she's getting" he says, covering my hand with a wet cloth. "Let's go."

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

"It looks more than it actually is" the doctor says, putting some lotion on my hand. "Very painful, but not serious."

When we arrived at the hospital I was crying like a baby, Dom having to carry me on his arms because of the pain.

"Thank God" he says.

"But you must do something about this, miss" the doctor continues. "It's your second visit in a week. First you cut your finger on your other hand, and now this."

"Sorry" I say between sobs.

"Is there anything worrying you?"

"No" I lie. "It's just that during summer we have too much work."

"Well, we don't want to lose you and having the best pub in the area going to hell, so you better take some days off and rest."

"But..."

"You heard him, sis."

"Next time I see you, I hope it's at the pub sharing a beer, not having to take care of another wound."

"I'll try" I say, my hand throbbing.

"I'll give you some painkillers for the pain. You can take them twice a day, and put the lotion three times. As it starts healing, you can do it less often. But be careful with the blisters, we don't want to risk an infection."

"I'll keep an eye on her, don't worry" Dom says. "Thank you very much."

"Thank you" I repeat after my brother.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

"How are you feeling?"

"I think the painkillers are starting to kick in" I say, closing my eyes and resting my head on the car's headrest.

"Good, good. But sis, did you notice how the doctor was flirting with you?"

"What?" I mutter, my eyes still closed.

"He said that he hoped that next time he saw you, it was sharing a beer at the pub."

"And?"

"That's flirting."

"Whatever."

"Maybe you should ask him out since things aren't going anywhere with Benjamin."

"Dom, I feel like my hand is about to explode. Can we please discuss my love life later?"

"Of course" he says, definitely smiling from ear to ear.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

"There you are. Finally!" someone says as Dom helps me get out of the car. No, not someone. Declan. Why is he here? "How are you? Are you ok?"

"It's less than what it looks" Dom says.

"When we went into the pub and Lily told us you had gone to the hospital because you had burnt your hand, I thought the worst."

"I'm fine" I say, my voice sounding very weird on my ears.

"It looks nasty" Declan says, grabbing my arm to check my hand. "Are you sure it isn't serious?" he asks, his thumb doing small circles on my forearm, something he used to do to help me calm down when we were together. And something that if I wasn't feeling completely numb because of the painkillers, would definitely make my knees feel like jelly.

"It isn't" Dom says.

"Well, if she isn't dying, then we can go back to minding our own business. Can't we, Deccy?" Birgit says behind him.

"Deccy" I snort, everyone looking at me. "Sorry. The painkillers."

"I think you need to lay down for a bit" Dom says.

"Yeah, that sounds like a great idea.”

"Take care of yourself" Declan says, finally letting go of my arm.

"I will, Deccy" I say, quickly realizing what I've said and trying to cover my mouth with my hand. But I use my burnt one, the pain making me feel dizzy.

"Let's go" Dom says, picking me up in his arms again. And I don't know if it's the pain, the painkillers or all of it, but I could swear Birgit mouthed something like "you are dead, bitch."

#declan rice #declan rice imagine #declan rice fanfic #declan rice x reader #football fanfic #football imagine

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werewolffeelings · 1 year

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fuck it friday sunday

the beautiful and talented @flightspathfic tagged me in this wip snippet posting meme ILY 🥰

this is from my long-untouched crazy ex [boy]friend au:

Adam had a brown paper napkin spread out on the countertop, fingertips stretching out the creases. On the napkin were two hasty sketches of Adam Parrish’s hands.

It didn’t matter that there was no way for Adam to know the hands were his. There was no way for him to know that Ronan had drawn them in a furious haze—consumed by him since the moment they met. There was no way for him to know that his hands were the first thing Ronan had so much as sketched in five years. Ronan’s face caught fire.

Adam asked, “Did you draw this?” Ronan crossed the kitchen to open the fridge and hide his face in it. “Ronan, this is really good.”

He snatched two bottles of beer from the back of the door, slammed them on the counter and opened them one-by-one on the edge of the countertop, heart fluttering in his chest.

Adam said, “I can’t believe you just had this crumpled up in a drawer.”

Ronan spat, “It’s a fucking napkin, Parrish.”

He handed a beer to Adam. Their fingers slipped on the condensation and brushed against each other, warm and wet. “About that—Do you not have canvases like a normal artist?”

“Nope.”

“Why? Is it some kind of statement? What is art?”

Ronan snorted around a mouthful of beer. “It’s because I’m not a fucking artist.” Adam gave him a flat look. “I left all that shit in Boston. Haven’t used it for years, anyway.”

The muscles in Adam’s face tightened, like he found the whole thing distasteful. He opened his mouth and Ronan braced himself for the usual lecture, the one Declan had given him so many times he had it memorized—You should start painting again, Ronan. Don’t waste your talent. At least then you’d be doing something with your life.

But Adam didn’t. Maybe he didn’t give a fuck if Ronan wasted his life. Or maybe, unlike his brother, he knew how to mind his own fucking business.

Adam picked up the drawing, again, and as he examined it, he said, very carefully, “Can I keep it?”

Ronan’s heart leapt into his throat. “Whatever, man. Do what you want.”

not tagging anyone bc it’s TOO LATE, but like, if you want to do this please do.. show me ur wip <3

#thank u claireee #my writing #tag meme

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dxrknessexploredarchived · 8 months

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1, 12, 33, 45, 48, 57 - for Declan

@tealeavesandthorns

1 Childhood: A young Declan was a fidgeter and a wanderer. Rare was it that the boy sat still, confined to one area. Whether he knew the land or not, he was always up for exploring, seeing just what kind of adventures nature could offer. His parents were of the mindset that unless he was gone for hours which could mean he was hurt, he was smart enough to be on his own and responsible enough to not do anything too outlandish. To them, climbing trees, exploring patches of land, and generally running free was a key part to childhood. There was little crime and the like to worry about on rural Ireland and the same extended to rural Midwest America once they moved. The properties that were owned were far from any neighbors so they hardly had to be concerned with him bothering others. Occasionally, Declan bit off a little more than he could chew, getting stuck in a tree or a little turned around and lost in new areas. But it never deterred him. Those quiet moments where he was learning new land were some of his favorite.

12 School: Declan was an average student. School to him felt more like a chore than work on the farm. Being inside, stuck at a desk, force to learn things that didn't always interest him or had much use in his life was monotonous and boring at best. His mind constantly wandered and teachers noted that he was often stuck daydreaming. It didn't help that as a kid, he was constantly fidgeting and shifting, unable to sit still for more than a few seconds at a time. Book learning was a bit of a struggle since he is far more of a hands on learner, information sticking best when he is able to physically do something. That's not to say that he doesn't enjoy reading, because he certainly can devour novels if given the time and a proper setting. It was just never the best method of learning for him. He just always preferred being on the farm, learning new tasks, being around the animals, and helping his family. College wasn't an option for him, more self proclaimed than any real barrier. He knew he wanted to help run the family farm and eventually his own when the time came. It was only at his parents insistent that he took some business classes to better help manage the farm in the evolving world.

33 Hurt: Physical hurt is something that Declan has no issue dealing with. He is a born and raised country, farm boy. Emotional hurt? It is far more difficult. Declan is a pretty easy going guy and for the most part has had a pretty easy going life. It isn't something he has experienced a whole lot of throughout his life. Perhaps he is simply a really good judge of character. Or perhaps it's the fact that he is just around animals more than people, preferring their company. But when he does experience it, he tends to turn it inwards. Bottled up and kept to himself, he doesn't tend to let others know that he is hurting. What's the point? To him, there is nothing that can be done about it. It is his struggle to move through and get passed. Though he doesn't always do that well. He tends to drink a little more in those sort of times and isolate himself under the guise of work if the hurt is deep. It's only those that know him best that can tell when something is effecting him more than he is letting on. Even those individuals will have a hard time pulling it from him, if they even can at all.

45 Art: While Declan can appreciate art, it isn't something that he dedicates a lot of time or thought to. If anything, his preferred medium is photography. The few pieces he has in his home were either shot on his farm or around his hometown in Ireland. That is in his mudroom, a place that he gets to see it but doesn't end up staring at it too long. If he is asked, he doesn't miss Ireland but there is a little longing to see it once more. The others are various shots of animals and one of the sunset over a set of pastures for the horses. Paintings, sculptures, and the like won't be found in his home. Things are too easily broken and he prefers to spend what money he does have on other things.

48 Scars: No one can work on a farm as long as Declan has without a series of injuries and scars to prove the years of work. For the most part, his hands have been spared a lot of trauma though close inspect slows faint white lines littered across the skin. Cuts that went just a little too deep, a horn that caught the flesh of his palm, and the like. He does have several that are more obvious. There is one spanning the right side of his lower back, from where he got caught between equipment as a child, an injury severe enough it left him in the hospital for two weeks. He has a scar on his right cheek from catching a horn of a goat to the face as a teenager, just missing his eye. The final one is along the tricep of his left arm. It's about two inches long, more upraised than the others. He had a piece of metal stuck in his arm thanks to a car accident.

57 Ocean: Declan has seen the ocean. He flew from Ireland after all but has spent the majority of his life inland. There is little pull to any particularly large body of water, visiting or otherwise. He much prefers significantly smaller bodies of water, like rivers and lakes. Less chance of being on someone's menu. There are things he can not control or account for when it comes to the ocean, and for that reason, it never really fascinated him.

#▪︎▪︎ ch: declan rourke ▪︎▪︎#tealeavesandthorns #☆ explored; meme responses ☆#¤ headcanons: declan ¤

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envihellbender · 1 year

Note

Age gap MaDe: Mads is close to the top but still firmly in a now immobile Dec’s grip

Characters: Mathias Iverson, Declan Gerritz, Elio di Medici (referenced) (OCs)

Content: yandere, hyperfats, immobile blob, abusive relationship, age gap, organised crime

—

Mathias sat nervously, he had a Bluetooth headset clipped to his ear as he focused on the large file of graphs, numbers, and statistics. He wore a light grey button up shirt, a silver tie, and black trousers, that all hung from his angular, thin frame. He had paused the tracking app on his smart phone, but he suspected that wasn’t the only way Declan had to trace him. When Mathias left, his two ton captor was lounging in his adipose, swollen arms resting on his breasts as his head was sinking into his neck roll. Mathias had snuck out whilst Declan was too fixated in some computer game and on his sweet raspberry flavoured lard that was being funnelled into his mouth through a tube. He would be distracted for a while, he wasn’t expecting Declan not to notice he’d left, but he had thankfully managed to reach Elio di Medici’s home for his meeting before Declan realised.

Suddenly, Mathias’s phone began to ring. He sighed in irritation, the sound was loud and piercing in his ear. He answered it without having to check the caller ID. He knew precisely who would be throwing a tantrum at home in his cosy, cage of fat.

“Good morning, baby,” Declan purred, filling Mathias’ ear with his wheezing, gentle voice. Deceptively soft which hid the menace within it that Mathias had grown adept at spotting.

“What do you want?” Mathias snarled trying to focus on the numbers instead. “I’m fucking busy.”

“Mhm, I can see that,” Declan replied. His tone was fairly cheerful but Mathias could hear the clipped anxiety hidden beneath it. “You tried to hide your current meeting with me, is there any reason I couldn’t know you were seeing Elio di Medici?”

“Must have slipped my mind,” Mathias mumbled. “We have a new delivery of your sweet, sugary lard coming today by the way. The one that tastes like strawberry mixed with bubblegum.”

“Don’t change the subject,” Declan whined, the desperation in his voice obvious alongside the drool that Mathais could picture was pooling in Declan’s gigantic, swollen neck roll.

“He’s my boss, røhvul. Makes sense I’d go see him.”

“Not secretly.”

“It wasn’t secret,” Mathias lied. He was clever, he’d gotten this far on his own, he could convince the agoraphobic blob he was imagining things. “It just wasn’t- I just forgot tell you. Look you’re spying on me anyway, what do you care?”

“Because… I don’t like you hiding things from me.” Declan’s voice had grew dark, twisted, and possessive. He had dropped the pretence of worry or anything else, and it made Mathias’ lips grow dry. “You know I’m the reason you’ve gotten this far, don’t you? I could destroy all your hard work before you can even shake di Medici’s hand.”

“So you recognise it as my hardwork then,” Mathias pointed out, sounding far braver than he felt.

“Partially. And it wasn’t possible without me.”

“I’d have managed it in the end. Besides, I’m the one who organises that lard for you. The one that tastes like ice cream and has 250% more fat than your previous feed. So you wouldn’t be such a useless hog without me.”

“Just- you have to tell me what your doing. I want to know,” Declan snapped. Mathias had managed to create a little crack in Declan’s defences, he could hear the sulking whine in his voice.

“Shall I tell you whenever I’ve had a piss too?”

“Don’t be stupid. Seeing Elio di Medici isn’t an every day occurance. Even with your position he doesn’t have meetings with just anyone.”

“Guess I must be more powerful than you thought,” Mathias pointed out, he smirked as he imagined how frustrated Declan must be right now. He was probably slapping his gut in anger, sucking on his feeding tube so hard it threatened to come loose.

“Just remember,” Declan began with a dark, vicious tone, sending a cold chill through Mathias’s chest. “I saved you. I built you up from nothing. I helped you commit your first murder. I’m the reason you met Cian, and di Medici. And his brother Castor. That’s all thanks to me. And I can take it all away.”

“Is that- are you-”

“Bye, babe. See you at home,” Declan said in a bright voice that contrasted eerily from the tone he’d used to threaten Mathias. Before he could respond, Declan hung up. Mathias sighed in irritation and ran his long fingers through his pale blonde hair. He returned his attention to his files, the numbers and charts he’d put together for this meeting. As he was pouring over them making sure all of the statistics were correct for the twelfth time, a voice broke him from his concentration.

“Mister di Medici will see you now,” the young Italian man said from the doorway. Mathias quickly got to his feet, clumsily close the file and shoving it under his arm. It was time to show Elio di Medici how much of a useful part of his empire he was, and hopefully he’d finally get out from the two ton shadow he was stuck in.

#envi writes #Declan gerritz #Mathias Iverson #Elio di Medici #dom feedee #immobile blob #ssbhm writing #ssbhm #yandere #fat fiction #fatfic #hyper fat #male fatty

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hendolish · 28 days

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hello lovely, how's your week going? 🫶🏻

am feeling a bit crushed by the Wales result so if your requests are open atm and you're feeling it, wondering if I could have an angsty drabble to match my mood? would ask for Wales nt but afaik you don't write for them, so England nt?

been noticing Rice/Chilwell getting closer again after years (they haven't been like this since 2018) so could it be about them realising feelings they may have been neglecting or ignoring? and that they've been sidelining each other and their shot at a relationship for other people or their ambition? struggling with anger and regret over the lost potential and wasted time? and perhaps addressing all the elephants (Chelsea, Mason/Jarrod/Jack, Euros selection) in the room? dgmw they look glad to be reunited in training and having chance to reconnect, but when the cameras are off is it so easy? tbh just want to see these lads show some other interesting emotions in fic that aren't either baseline statically happy (Dec) or depressed (Chilly)

or really anything you want to write for them is perfect and much appreciated if you have the time and wish, always love your work x

hello!! 🫶🏻 my week's been pretty busy as you can probably tell by how long it's taken me to get around to writing this prompt haha, but thank you so much!! hopefully this will cheer you up a bit, i tuned in to the wales game after the england match had finished and witnessed the heartbreak 💔 those boys deserved better !!

declan rice/ben chilwell - take a chance

The training ground buzzes with energy as Dec and Ben find themselves drawn back together after years of separation. It's a reunion tinged with both excitement and trepidation, emotions swirling beneath the surface as they exchange fleeting glances across the pitch.

For Dec, the sight of Ben brings a rush of conflicting feelings – longing mixed with regret, desire tempered by hesitation. He can't help but wonder what might have been if they had been brave enough to explore their connection when they first met.

Ben's presence is like a constant ache in Dec's chest, a reminder of the bond they once shared and the opportunities they let slip through their fingers. He finds himself stealing glances whenever he thinks the other isn't looking, his heart skipping a beat each time their eyes meet.

As they train together, Dec can't shake the feeling of missed chances hanging heavy in the air. Every touch, every shared moment only serves to deepen the longing that simmers just beneath the surface.

In quiet moments between drills, Dec's mind can't help but wander to what could have been – lazy mornings tangled in sheets, whispered conversations in the dead of night, stolen kisses hidden away from prying eyes. But the reality of their situation weighs heavily on him, the knowledge that they've both moved on, pursued other paths, leaving their feelings unspoken and unresolved.

It's in those moments of solitude that Dec allows himself to entertain the idea of what could be if they were brave enough to take a chance on each other. But fear holds him back, the fear of rejection, of ruining the friendship they've worked so hard to rebuild.

As they linger in the locker room after training, the air between them is thick, a silent reminder of the emotions simmering beneath the surface. Dec wants to reach out, to bridge the gap that has formed between them, but the words stick in his throat, unspoken and unacknowledged.

Ben's the one to break the silence, his voice low and tinged with regret. "Dec, I- we wasted so much time and I can't... I should have said something sooner."

Dec nods, his own frustration bubbling to the surface. "I know. I've thought about it every day since we drifted apart."

Their eyes meet, and in that moment, they both know that they can't continue to ignore what they feel. Despite the uncertainty and fear that hangs between them, they're determined to confront their emotions head-on and finally give their relationship the chance it deserves.

And as they stand there, facing each other, Dec can't help but think back to their days in the Chelsea youth teams, the promise of their friendship cut short when Dec was dropped from the squad. It's a bittersweet reminder of the time they lost, but also a testament to the strength of their connection – a connection that has endured despite the years and the miles that have separated them.

Deep down, Dec knows that they've both had their share of distractions over the years – fleeting romances and unspoken feelings that have kept them apart. He can't help but wonder if Chilly ever had something with Mason or Jack, just as he himself has shared a connection with Jarrod in the past.

But now, as they stand on the brink of something new, Dec is determined to put the past behind them and focus on the future – a future where they can finally be together, without fear or hesitation, and embrace the love that has always been waiting for them.

♡

#ahh thank you for being so lovely as always💗💗#england nt #england #england national team #england football #football #football rpf #fics #declan rice #declan #rice #rice rice baby #ben chilwell #chilwell #chilly #chelsea #chelsea fc #arsenal

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nghtmqred · 1 year

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i’ll be back in time!

A recap of where my beans are in the future. TW: mentions of cancer

Kadir Sari : Alive, married probably a father and living his life happily with his wife and pack. They years weren’t easy and some were far less kinder then others but on a whole. It isn’t the future he had expected but he wouldn’t have changed it. His ire for the Crescent have waned over the years-- in large part due to Leigh and in part to the friendship that started to bloom around this time between Jackson and Kadir and Hayley and Kadir. His idea of vampire's have not change and he will keep them till his dying breath. But he’s very happy to know that not all the crescents are lap dogs to vampire's like he thought. Even if he be happy to punch quite a few of them on his own. Centuries passed with bad blood between them and he is sure centuries more will have to before all the hard feeling are gone. It’s in these early years that his younger self and a younger Jackson will make those changes... or at least they will ... with a little push. “ Declan O'Connell : He’s alive, shocking even to him. There is a lot he learned about himself, about his powers and about where he is going in the world. He did take over Mystic Grill, making the food that he really enjoys. Co-parenting with Bonnie, running a business together. So adult of him now, he loves his children all of them and tries his best to be supportive in their needs and wishes. It’s easier said then done that is for sure but he has taken it one step at a time. He’s become really good with his powers as well. thanks in large part to Bonnie helping him and surprisingly his sister who too is a psychic. Alaric Saltzman : Alive though dying and not by supernatural causes . He has lived a long life, fell in love with a woman that gave him two beautiful children. Some how found himself in the mess of a family that was the Forbs/ Mikaelson / Salvatore clan ( yes he’s still having trouble wrapping his mind around that) Life was not easy nor could it be dealing with what they deal with. But Alaric found other ways to figure out that life... without the aid of booze. Though that change came too little too late. His new wife and he had decided early on to keep the news to themselves for a little while. Then the whole sleeping beauty curse happened and well... here he was in the future with liver cancer. The simple thing to do is to take some vampire's blood and heal himself but... that isn’t how life works. He’d come to the conclusion that he was okay with dying. It was natural. Lucy Bennett gave him the medicine he needed and the armory has taken really good care of him. So, he’s just waiting but it will be nice to see some old familiar faces again. Lucy Bennett: Alive, still the leader of the Armory and all and all a badass Bennett witch till her dying breath. She is keeping a close eye on Alaric when it came to his health- but never babying the man please that was something she didn’t do for anyone. Still no kids, still unmarried but she has found a special someone in her life. They are pretty... happy together and she never expected happiness. She was dead set about The Bennett witches being cursed when it came to love. So the less she speaks on it the better. No, you aren’t going to know nosy-- this is Lucy Bennett she isn’t an overshared when the time comes and she feels like telling people she will. Sarah Nelson Salvatore : Alive and has taken her family name, and still human shocking she knows. There was some point in her life she did change into vampire. That was an interesting time to say the least. But taking a little bit of the cure and she was human once more. The supernatural world isn’t so scary-- how could it be when you are related to a psych like Giuseppe. But she had grown to love her bio logical family and her adopted family equally. And her extended family has grown rather large by extension but Sarah always like the idea of coming from a big family-- and now she was.

Elijah Mikaelson : Deceased ( he and ezra have matching tombstones in the family plot. IT’S CANON!! ) Giuseppe Salvatore : Deceased Grace Campbell : Deceased Tobias Granger : Alive and free of Cade’s influence Ethan Winthrop : Alive

#sanguishqs.event #backtothefuture !

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gothprentiss · 1 year

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hey, so i loved your recent emily prentiss post with the fatalism and providence quote and i was reading your tags about how the answer to doyle's question was both and i wondered if you'd be willing to share any more thoughts on that? i just found it really fascinating.

hi!! yes, for sure, and thanks for asking! sorry that this is long!! (gifset in question here btw)

the tl;dr for this is that while i do think i'm reading too much into this question, a primary tension in the whole doyle arc (beyond the obvious Will Doyle Kill Her) is what kind of person is emily prentiss, and what kind of person is she capable of being. and while i think that the quote is really meant to lean more towards 'person of action inclined to fatalism', the conditions of her survival are providential. the preventative actions prentiss takes are all sort of business as usual emily prentiss-- she's independent, instinctively and to a fault, suspicious and self-protective, and very concerned not to involve anyone who ought not be. (i've probably said this a lot but i do love how unique this storyline is to her particular moral status, and how she compartmentalizes. with another character this repeated insistence that her team shouldn't be involved might just read as like, a pretty boilerplate moment of self-sacrificing nobility but it's far more essential to her and her worldview i think.) but the central unit of criminal minds is the team, and the show's firmest belief is in that team-- so she can't do it alone. so repeatedly we see her trying to act against fate* (*something something how this show thinks about narrative and justice), and repeatedly failing to thwart it, or otherwise believing that the outcome is already set (e.g., "i beat you, ian, before you even got out of north korea, i beat you"). a simple and facile distinction i'm going to make here is between determinism (fatalism) and intervention (providence) (again, more under the cut). the presence of her team functions as the latter. you might say doyle is asking her, "do you think this is going to end with your death, or do you think you can be saved?"

annoying distinction: 1) what actually happens 2) what she appears to think and believe.

what actually happens is providential, point-blank period. her team arrives, she's saved, she's spirited away while they track doyle down; while the set up is the prentiss-doyle face off with their respective teams as auxiliaries, it is the entire bau that gets him. that's all intervention.

but i think what we see her thinking is really, like, teetering on the edge of this sort of grim determination to bring this to a close and this Tragically Beautiful hope that her entire worldview is wrong.

[the above is what i was going for with the first two gifs— emily on night watch in her own home, with that air of inevitability and expectation; and emily with derek in valhalla, when they’re talking about whether or not the shooters were trying to attract the fbi, and while she’s clearly agreeing with him to placate him, i kind of read that moment as hoping against hope that he’s right, and that what she knows to be true might somehow be false.]

where we leave the emily prentiss this season is, i think, sort of this interstitial position: on one hand, she's been rescued, but she's sort of doing lauren reynolds again. things haven't really changed for her-- but now the team is on the case. it's hard not to imagine her-- wounded, isolated, and in hiding-- being faced with the same existential question: what does she believe will happen? is it that this is going to keep happening until either she or doyle is killed, again and again tearing her life apart, threatening declan, and never letting her live beyond her time undercover? or is the team going to catch him?

okay! that's the short version! some notes below the cut re: terms and some sort of shallow interpretive stuff about the quote; and more on the gifset in particular. thanks again for asking and sorry for the length of this xoxo

first, the balzac quote (which, for whatever it’s worth, i actually went and found the source of because you won’t find the quote sourced anywhere! and it took a long time! it’s from splendeurs et misères des courtisanes)— It is a strange thing that most men of action have a tendency to fatalism, just as most great thinkers have a tendency to believe in Providence. // Chose étrange, presque tous les hommes d’action inclinent à la Fatalité, de même que la plupart des penseurs inclinent à la Providence.

i’m always kind of on the fence about how much to read into the quotes CM bookends its episodes with. for example, you might say it’s interesting that fatalism and providence are both, in a sense, deterministic. fatalism entails a belief in fate’s inevitability, and any sort of providential thought places true agency in the hands of god or another intervening force. determinism tends to serve as an argument against any philosophy of free will. providence is more complex (we can act, god or the other big force intervenes), but it also forecloses on the possibility that everything's up to you in the end, since there's an unknowable force which may at any time intervene to change things according to its will. the two aren't opposites, is the point.

i think part of what balzac is getting at in that particular excerpt is that a person of action’s fatalism hinges more on the individual, in a way that we can see as isolating, or self-centered, or solipsistic. balzac's big example of the fatalist is Napoleon-- at one point, he calls fatalism his religion-- and i think the fact that the paradigmatic man of action fatalist is also one of the Great Men of History is important here. i'm gonna go pretty off-book from here on out but that's a bit of due diligence. a fatalist is a person who believes they have a Destiny which is coming to pass around them. this might be their own personal Greatness; this might be a strong sense that nature and nurture come together and essentially automate your life (you couldn't have acted in any other way); god's omniscience; cause and effect. and so on. what i'm going to talk abut here is more like... narrative fatalism? basically, i think we get this question delivered to us in coda with the implication that this is going to end in death, and likely hers. we're retreading a lot of the major beats of the story of lauren reynolds, the stakes are the same, etc.

the way you can take the question which seems most strongly implied to me is “do you think you will die [you know, the other thing fatalism sounds like] or be saved?” when i am really overreading the show i think of emily prentiss as a character haunted by recursivity and the impossibility of change. like i said above, a lot of the doyle arc is a sort of redux of her time as lauren reynolds: her old team reforms around her, she's isolated and alone with doyle, and her false death at the end helps guarantee declan's safety a while longer. in this way, there’s also the implication of “do you think this is how you’re supposed to die, or is there still hope for you?” and “will you act as you think you must, or do you think things might be different this time?”

in addition, i think we’re meant to see emily more as a person of action than of thought— certainly her preparations for doyle over the course of the episodes leading up to this moment at the end of coda have put their finger on the scales— and thus the question also implies that her essential nature is going to be tested. this tracks with where the episodes take us— her inability to trust and the way she favors working in isolation are dangerous, and her life is saved by her reunion with the team. providence!

second, i’m not really sure how much they set out to answer that question. for example, it’s one of the rare questions which is delivered diegetically, which would theoretically allow them to revisit the question. like “you know that ominous balzac quote you dropped on me a couple of days ago? well i’ve figured it out” [socks doyle in the face] or whatever. they might even have worked thematically across their opening and closing quotes if it was something they thought was meaningful rather than just a cool moment. the valhalla + lauren arc does end with this moment of providence, in a sense (her survival). but there doesn’t seem really to be a desire to actually deliver on the quote (i.e., both what she believes in and what kind of person she is are at stake in this whole character arc, but not in the terms that balzac provides). this is probably VERY obvious but i’m saying this to disclaim what i read as providence and fatalism in this context— these are pretty situational definitions and i’m sure any philosopher worth their salt would rap my knuckles for these readings.

okay those are my big disclaimers! more: re the gifset:

the doyle arc kicks off with this profound destabilization: this chapter of her life was supposed to be closed, but it isn't. as i said above, the gifs with the quote text are meant to reflect those particular forms of thought: her air of inevitability and falling back on old patterns; this moment of hope for change in her new setting, even though she feels it's impossible (faith babey! this is a fairly christian show but above all else its god is the team); and this moment where she chooses to go meet her fate, where everything's up in the air but is soon to come to its close.

one example of this is tsia: prentiss thinks her life is in danger and inadvertently leads her to her death by trying to save her. this has always struck me as very overtly about how prentiss can't change anything by falling back into old patterns (behaving more like a spy than a member of the team). emily's reaction to tsia's death is obviously one of immense grief and guilt, but also, i think, a sort of personal fear: she couldn't save her, she doesn't really have any way of managing the situation, and all places of safety are compromised-- the odds that she can save herself are looking pretty slim, too. so that's the sort of fatalism side of things-- the heavy hand of fate falls down upon her &c &c and there's nothing she can really do to escape its grasp. but that's not to say that this element of determinism is only negative: the whole thing about declan is, in her words, that she already beat doyle.

narratively, this is kind of dope. it works less like the fast-paced, gritty spy drama they're going for, and more like a pretty standard mystery: hidden at the center of it all is a secret, hidden narrative, and the story works towards its revelation (think of any mystery story where the detective puts it all together at the end). this has been foreshadowed all along, of course: right before doyle drops the balzac line on prentiss, he says "you took the only thing that mattered to me. now i'm going to take the only thing that matters to you: your life." this pretty heavily implies that he's either lost someone important to him (or that he's referring to his freedom, i guess). but the point is that even on the level of narrative, we're working towards an inevitable end which has already been set for us-- the revelation that she's saved declan, that she's already beat doyle, and has known it all along.

[i do think the declan thing kind of undermines a lot of the character work they did up until that point, but what can you do. it's a crime procedural.]

when i was making the gifset, i had this particular sort of thing in my head: on one hand, you've got this crushing inevitability; on the other, so much is revealed and changed. as i said above, the whole doyle arc has kind of a recursivity to it, both in its major narrative beats and its stakes. at the outset, we see prentiss on this huge precipice: will she live or will she die, and what kind of person is she? what kind of person has she been all along? if she lives, will she be different?

in coda, "lauren reynolds is dead" is kind of a lifeline-- this old identity has ceased to exist, and with her, the entire doyle case should be over. in lauren, reid says she said it like a mantra. a mantra is typically an object of meditation rather than, like, an argument or reminder you make to yourself (much 2 say here. not gonna say it), but the point here is that this seems to be kind of a touchstone for at least emily and tsia, a thing they say as a reminder that their safety should be guaranteed. there's a tacit flip side to that mantra, anyway: lauren reynolds is dead, emily prentiss is alive. and that latter fact is the whole problem.

similarly, i've always been fascinated by emily's "let me go" when derek finds her dying. after all, this whole arc really kicks off at the end of coda, when doyle says the thing that matters to her above all else is her life. now, you might just say that doyle is wrong about her. after all, he's only ever known her as lauren reynolds, a role she was playing, and imo paget brewster's character choices between lauren and emily are largely pretty distinct, enough that we can see (e.g. when doyle tells her the truth about declan) emily sort of emerging through lauren. but it feels in the scene like a bit of a character revelation: we're learning that emily prentiss has a whole different side to her, one which jars with the ethics of the show.

so you might say a couple of things here.

a lot of the doyle arc has been about what kind of person emily prentiss is. by lauren, it's clear that she will, at least to some extent, risk her own life to protect the team; and in the course of that episode it's also revealed that she's been risking her life all along to protect a child. so it's not the thing that matters most in the world to her, necessarily. this moment where she says "let me go" strikes me as potentially a VERY ham-handed moment of criminal minds writing in this vein: she's protected declan! her team is safe! she's not struggling to live because she's given her life for them! and in a similar vein, you might say she's decided that this is probably where it's ending. (i like that this has narrative and martyrological shape to it. i care very much that it's derek responding by telling her about herself almost hagiographically.) you might also say that she's trying to reassure her friend and partner who she knows will take her death so immensely to heart-- let me go as both let me die and let me go emotionally.

so on one hand, this is lauren again. the arc really kicks off with "lauren reynolds is dead" and, at least in s6, closes with a similar lie: "emily prentiss is dead." and she really is ready, at this point, to die, and if we take doyle's words about her to be true, this represents a fundamental shift in her values.

on the other hand, though, she's rescued. i think the providence reading is easier-- it's the team as the providential force. garcia's message for her really hammers this home: there's prentiss, alone and on the run, and penelope insisting very fiercely and very correctly that she's not alone. i think that final line from garcia (if you can see us, then come home. if you can't-- then you stay alive. cause we're coming) is an interesting revision on the balzac quote, falling heavily on the providential side. like, in this heavily foreshadowing metaphor, either emily sees the team coming for her (light in the darkness, c'mon, that's a belief metaphor) and returns to them; or she remains alone, acts as best she can, and they come to her aid anyway. that's the thing about providence, after all-- whether you think about it in a spiritual or secular way, it's not done according to your own will and capacities, and you can't really transact for it. you might merit it-- and i think derek's words to emily as she's bleeding out in his arms are partially to show she's merited her survival. she deserves to be saved, because of all that she truly is. (that's where, imo, lauren reynolds really dies as a way of conceptualizing her character.)

i ended the gifset with jj wishing her good luck because, beyond the moment of care this entails, wishing her luck feels, in the context of this arc, like a gesture which is predicated on a particular kind of hope. not the hope of, like, we've done everything we can to sort this out, or everything should go well, or anything in that particular and deterministic vein. like, sure, hope in the sense of "good luck staying in hiding" and so on. but there's a sense that her life is fundamentally restarting here, that her false death has also occasioned a rebirth. good luck, there's a whole new and different life opening out in front of you and so on.

like, i guess the point here is that i see it as both, neither, an open question too. this whole story arc is characterized by repetition & revelation, which suggest predetermination. when your past comes back for you with a vengeance, it does so because of what it contains. hauntings are and are of old structures. nothing that does not in some way preexist the moment of revelation can be revealed etc. etc. but on the other hand there's the obvious providential aspect of the team's involvement. and there's also the way we come to perceive prentiss throughout the arc. there's no peripatetic element here-- she still ran, still lied and kept secrets and closed people out-- but we learn that her motives aren't what they seemed to be in coda and valhalla. we're briefly given the possibility of her being Really Bad (i.e., that she'd have killed declan), and just as quickly this is dismissed. all of this kind of serves to morally rehabilitate her, at least enough for her to be seen as worthy of surviving. i'm sticking this up there with providence because i think this particular transaction of morality does fit into this worldview, one which you might say is more characterized by merit and grace (and their attendant emphases on virtue and morality) than anything else. it feels sort of microcosmically like william james' take on evil & theodicy-- there is a grand scheme in which goodness triumphs, and probably not perceptible to man-- insofar as we finally see the scale on which emily prentiss is being judged to be good. this all looks more than vaguely christian but i do think a lot of criminal minds is staked on the essential Goodness of its main characters, which is more my point than reading this all through an emily prentiss was raised catholic lens lol.

anyway, the point is that, because there's no really clear victory at the end of this arc beyond the then-pyrrhic victory of her survival, i think we end up in a position where you can’t really stake a claim in one or the other. i'm going to end this now due to length and also due to the fact that if anyone’s still reading, my god you are a brave soldier. but like—what actually happens? well, it’s kind of both. sometimes intervention thwarts inevitability, but not always, and not always in the ways that matter most. this is particularly relevant in terms of what emily prentiss actually believes, which is of course at stake in doyle's question-- the immediate and sharp blow of her failure to save tsia, the fact that she doesn't drop it all and go back to the team, the fact that she's even, until the last moment, still assuming that this is all happening outside of anyone's control. but the most important and most providential moment in all of this is her survival, and i think that lauren ends with emily prentiss not only having to like, find a new way of living under these new conditions, but also a new way of being in the world and seeing herself in it. and sometimes i think that her leaving the team is partially an act of apostasy but that's a strong weird and For Me take lol.

#cmposting #literally DO NOT OPEN the readmore unless you are very keen on it. bc i just checked and this is 3k words #and true to my form it's like. the length to content ratio is not stellar :)#prentissposting

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