#restoring the roots fic

[bearsbeetsbeskar]

Restoring the Roots (Joel Miller x Therapist! reader)

Chapter 2: Contemplation

Chapter 1 | Chapter 3

Pairing: Joel Miller x therapist! reader, post outbreak

Rating: none, will be changed to explicit in future chapters (slow burn, eventual smut, age gap), swearing in this chapter

Summary: Life after moving to Jackson looks drastically different for Joel. Survival mode is over and now he and Ellie can finally put down new roots. Ellie adapts easily but Joel finds himself struggling to settle into this new life, in more ways than some. At Ellie and Tommy’s insistence, Joel begrudgingly finds himself in therapy to try and work through his struggles but what he encounters is more than just painful memories and deeply rooted trauma.

A/N: Thank you for the feedback on chapter 1! I am so excited that everyone is excited to see Joel and reader finally interact! Our poor sweet grumpy old man, he just needs some loving and healing!

Joel squinted slightly as he glanced up at the broad, slightly faded letters that read ‘Restorative Reins,’ as he stood in front of the office. He had been standing in front of the building for a good couple minutes, chewing on the inside of his cheek as people strolled past him while he contemplated his fate.

Therapy. 

Even as he mulled over the word in his mind his spine stiffened and he clenched his jaw, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Therapy was only for folks with legitimate mental problems, that’s the way he saw it. You spoke to a shrink for your problems, cried into a box of tissues while laying on a couch, and were given some highfalutin advice along with a prescription slip. Either that or you ended up in the cookie bin.

Joel never thought long and hard enough about his mental health. Back in the day, before the outbreak, he could lose himself in a six pack of Lone Star, hit up a few of his buddies for a poker game, or rub one out in the shower to get rid of the tension, if all else failed. If he really wanted to, he could talk to Sarah about certain things on his mind. Needing to speak to someone who was a professional, to open up about your vulnerabilities, let alone seek advice, was a bewildering thought to Joel. Why talk to someone when he is usually able to deal with things on his own?

He hears Tommy’s pleas in his head, his desperation. And Ellie’s words too. The conviction with which they spoke about him getting help and actually taking care of himself. You never know unless you try it.

“Nothin’ to lose,” he mutters to himself. 

Steeling himself, he took a deep breath and walked up to the door, stepping into the small office. It was pretty cozy, almost too cozy, as if he stepped into someone’s living room. There’s a worn leather couch up against the front window and a loveseat against the wall adjacent to it, with a few blankets and cushions arranged on top, a small coffee table in between them. The walls are a soft sky blue and potted plants cover almost every surface imaginable. Surprisingly there aren’t any motivational posters on the walls, feigning false positivity and encouragement, somewhat reminding him of the ‘Live, Laugh, Love’ signs that Sarah used to have in her bedroom. 

One thing Joel does appreciate is the photos speckled across the office walls in various frames and sizes, most of them of animals such horses, dogs, sheep, and landscapes of different scenery. What looks to be an empty receptionist desk is tucked away in the back corner, besides a closed door that presumably leads to other rooms.

He steps further into the office, moving closer to a particular picture of a striking chestnut horse with a white blaze that runs from his forelock down to his nose. Huh. He looks familiar. Taking a step back and appraising all the other shots, Joel realizes these are all animals within the settlement. The horse he recognizes is Callum, one of the horses Joel has actually ridden while out on patrol. The realization softens his gaze, and he relaxes his body a bit, warming up to the fact that this therapist is an animal lover. Maybe not a totally crazy shrink after all, he concludes. 

He nearly jumps out of his skin when he hears the knob to the back door of the office turning, as it swings open and a young woman strides through into the office. 

“Hi there! Sorry to keep you waiting, are you here for a session?” The woman asks with a warm smile.

Any sense of false confidence he thought he had built up, dissipates immediately from Joel’s system as he takes you in.

You’re young. Much younger than what he expected.

Weren’t shrinks older? Middle aged? Like doctors? You couldn’t be more than thirty-five. You also did not look like a professional therapist, what with your flannel button up, jeans that hugged your curves, and combat boots, your hair pulled into a braid. It shouldn’t matter really, business casual was dead and gone, but Joel would be lying if he said he wasn’t very appreciative that you leaned towards the casual side. Either way you definitely didn’t look like a shrink, as his gaze swept up and down your body.  

His brain might as well be covered in molasses as he barely recalls the question you asked him.

“Uh, a session?” he repeats, drawing his eyebrows together.

“Yes, a therapy session?” You look at him expectantly, tilting your head slightly at his confusion. 

Joel felt his heart stutter as he met your bright eyes. What did you say?

Shit. Right. He cursed himself internally as he shook his head, attempting to clear his throat. 

“Uhm, I- no sorry. I uh, I’m not a client. I was told to come by to see uh, what kind of services you offered and get a consultation of sorts. My brother referred me to your office… he thinks I need some uhm, some kinda help.” Joel stammers, as he digs his nails into his palms and looks at the ground.

Fuck, this is stupid. Damn Tommy. He should just apologize, turn around and walk out the door, everything in his body telling him to run.

You raised your eyebrows as a look of recognition spreads across your face and you flash a huge smile at him, introducing yourself.

“Oh yes! You must be Joel right? I spoke to your brother Tommy yesterday. He mentioned that you might be looking for some support?” 

Joel was shook. He expected you to give him a disapproving or hesitant look of recognition. Despite only being in Jackson for about a month, news had traveled fast through the commune. Joel knew that many of the residents already knew about him, they had heard the stories. Tommy Miller’s ruthless, cold big brother, who had trekked across the country, while killing more people with his bare hands than he could count. Infected or not infected. He had a reputation. Another one of the reasons he saw no point in sharing his concerns with a total stranger, regardless of whether or not you were a professional. But you still had this warm, attentive expression on your face.

“Yeah. I’m not sure how much he told you, or what exactly he said, my brother likes to put his nose in other peoples’ business sometimes,” he rambled on, running a hand through his hair, “but I guess I wanted to know how it all works. How the therapy works, y’know.” He makes a dismissive gesture with his hand.

“No problem at all.” You gestured to the couch for him to sit and you sat in the loveseat to the side.

“I suppose I should lay down while I’m pouring my heart out to you huh?” he asked as he hesitantly sunk down into the beat up leather, eyes darting to you nervously.

“Well, if you prefer to, then you certainly can, but it’s not necessary,’ you chuckled. "Sessions look a bit different here at the practice”.

You lean back in the seat and cross your legs, resting your hands in your lap, while appraising his tense figure. After a minute you break the silence, “can I ask, what do you know about therapy?”

Joel exhaled shakily, his heart pounding in his ears. Maybe this was a bad idea. He didn’t want to insult you by sharing what he really thought about therapy (that it was baloney), but he also didn’t want to be judged for having an abysmal perspective of mental health. He sat hunched over on the couch and bounced his right leg, anxiety consuming him.

Seeing him start to mentally backtrack you reassured him. “There’s absolutely no true right or wrong answer by the way. Just tell me what you think of when you picture therapy.” You gave him a soft smile and leaned to the side, resting on the arm of the chair. 

“Well uh,” he clears his throat.

Fuck, he just needed to get it out. Joel sighed deeply, running his hand over his face in an attempt to wipe away his embarrassment.  

“Honestly, I don’t know much about it, save for what I’ve seen on TV where you lay down on a couch, cry your eyes out to a shrink about your problems and then they hand you a prescription for pills. I’ve known a few people in the past who saw a therapist and they said it helped them ... but I just thought it was a bunch of bullshit truthfully.”

His eyes widen, and he looks at you immediately after realizing what he just admitted.

“Shit - I mean, I didn’t mean it like that, I just meant that it seems a bit pretentious. That sounds bad too.” He groans. “Shit. I’m sorry, I’m just not good at this,” he says, gesturing haphazardly between you both. 

Lord, can the ground open up and swallow him whole already? This is excruciating enough as it is. 

Joel looks at you pensively, waiting to see your reaction, waiting to see the shock or disappointment spread across your face at his words. But it doesn’t happen. Your gaze is fixed on him intently, as you watch his facial features, and nod along sympathetically. It’s surprising, and also off putting. He’s never had someone listen to him so attentively and maintain eye contact for so long, without showing any judgment. 

After a moment you shake your head and laugh softly.

“It’s okay Joel, everyone has their own definition of what therapy looks like, and what reaching out for support looks like. Like I said, there’s no right or wrong answer. Many people claim to not be good at this,” you respond, while mimicking his gesture between you two, “but if you can believe it, therapy is less about the talking, and more about doing. More about processing and taking the steps to heal.”

He nods as you explain more, sitting deeper and relaxing into the couch as the tension slowly leaves his body. 

“In a nutshell, I do provide talk therapy where I sit down with clients like this, and we discuss what they’re dealing with, talk through their concerns, and we come up with strategies together to help them navigate their situations. The sessions are an hour long. Some sessions are to vent and process emotions, others are to follow up on homework or strategies we devised, and others are to simply talk about whatever is on your mind.” 

You smirk as he raises his eyebrows when you mention homework, and you raise your hand in defense. “Again it looks different for everyone, there are no concrete rules or methods to follow.”

“The other type of therapy I do is equine assisted therapy,” you explain to him. “It’s an experiential type of therapy, which basically means the client experiences the effects of therapy by physically participating in activities with horses. You learn by doing and observing, not just talking,” you wink at him, reassuring his previous claims. 

“The horse acts as a therapy partner, and you complete different exercises with them, and we process the interactions that occur between you and the horse during the session,” you continue explaining.

Joel tilts his head slightly and considers it. “Huh, that sounds pretty cool actually.” 

He’s always loved animals, including horses. There’s just something innately calming about them. When you look them in the eyes, it makes you feel like they can see into your soul. He thought about it, realizing he actually did look forward to going out on patrol on his assigned nights and getting the horses tacked up. Nothing really compared to riding out onto the stretch of green plains, bordered by the massive mountains that painted Jackson's landscape, with the calming lull of their hoofbeats against the dirt. It was probably the only thing he really enjoyed about Jackson, as it gave his mind a break from the turmoil that consumed it most days. Other than scouting for infected or other threats, he could just ramble to his four legged partner about anything and everything, without needing a response.  

“It really is!” You grin emphatically at him, as you feel the passion buzzing through your body.

You sit up in your seat and lean forward, resting your elbows on your knees. “Horses are herd animals, and by nature they are very intuitive creatures, they act and live in the moment, not the past or the future. Consequently, they are very attuned to nonverbal communication, body language, and they can sense your emotions before you even realize it. They make great therapy partners, not just because of their gentle nature, but they also act as a mirror to our behaviors, and above all, they never judge you,” you babble excitedly, your eyes lit up.

Joel looks at you with wonderment, a fuzzy sort of warmth spreading through his body, as he sees your excitement and passion shine through. Normally it would be off putting to see someone so excited and energetic like this, but it was clear that you loved this job, and you cared deeply about supporting others. It made him fucking melt. 

“You make it sound pretty damn good, it doesn’t even sound like therapy,” he chuckled and you nodded in response. 

“It really doesn’t honestly. I’ve worked with individuals who have seen so many horrors and experienced unimaginable trauma, and in just a few sessions of working with the horses, they find healing, they find hope, and they look forward to coming in. They say it just feels like having fun with the horses,” you say fondly.

“I didn’t know it could be that impactful, but that’s pretty incredible,” he says in awe. He pauses for a moment as he looks away, then back at you, as he fiddles with his hands, picking at the skin around his nails.

Fuck. Is he really gonna do this? It almost sounded too good to be true.

“So, what would the next step be in the process?” he queries. “Do I need to sign any forms or anything?” He asks, his nerves ramping up as he feels his palms get sweaty.

You give him another dazzling smile that lights up your whole face and Joel swears that he turns to mush on the spot.

“No forms needed for now. Why don’t you come out to the stables and we’ll start with meeting the herd. Does Thursday morning work for you?”

“Yeah that sounds good.” He smiled back.

“How are you feeling after everything we talked about?” You asked, looking at him with those wide bright eyes.

Again with that attentive focus on him. Fuck.

He didn’t know if he would ever get used to that, as he squirmed under your gaze. He paused again for a moment, as he reflected internally. He actually felt pretty fucking good, for once. Surprisingly relaxed. He appreciated your lack of judgment and professional demeanour, your warmth and calm nature putting him at ease. It didn’t help that you were damn gorgeous and compassionate, he really didn’t need that much convincing from you. And he was actually excited at the idea of equine therapy, which didn’t actually seem like therapy. 

Damn Tommy and Ellie for being fucking right.

“I actually feel pretty good,” he remarked in disbelief, as a small smile tugged at his lips. “What do I owe ya for this consultation then?”

You beamed at his response. “Consider it a meet and greet Joel,” you said. “Consultations are only usually about 20 to 30 minutes, but seeing as it is your first time seeking therapy, I don’t charge anything.”

He glanced at the clock on the back wall of the office, noticing that you had been talking for damn near an hour.

Shit. Was it really that long? 

He opened his mouth to protest but you quickly cut him off. “I’m serious Joel, I won’t let you pay,” with a stern look that slowly morphed into a smirk. “I’ll see you Thursday at the stables, let's say 10 am. Okay?”

“Alright,” he lamented with a boyish grin. You both got up as you walked him towards the door and he turned back to face you.

He looked down at you, taking a deep inhale as he bit his lip. “It was real nice meeting you, and thank you… for the meet and greet,” he smiled, his dimple peeking through his right cheek. “I’ll see you on Thursday.” 

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#joel miller x you #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x therapist! reader #restoring the roots fic #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #equine assisted therapy #equine therapy #tlou #the last of us

[a-casual-kpopfan]

Promise - Minju

The coveted sequel to Special.

Please enjoy this fic from us!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You’re nothing without me.”

“Admit it, you’re a fool for ditching me and choosing that girl.”

“Without me, you’re just worthless trash.”

“You couldn’t provide me with what I want. It’s always me who must do everything.”

“You’re useless.”

“Oppa!”

“You’re useless You’re useless You’re useless You’re useless You’re useless You’re useless You’re useless You’re useless You’re useless You’re useless You’re useless You’re useless You’re useless You’re useless You’re useless You’re useless You’re useless You’re useless You’re useless You’re useless You’re useless.”

“Oppa!”

“Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless, Useless.”

“WOOJIN OPPA!”

With a loud gasp, you awoke from your slumber, sitting up on the bed. Your entire body covered in sweat as your lungs are working overtime to bring some, if any, air into your body. Your eyes are blurry, and your ears are ringing.

It takes a couple of minutes for you to calm down again. For your nerves to calm down and your brain to restore some functions to it after being rudely wake up by that… Dream. It’s better to call it a nightmare at this point.

You thought you handled it well. After the first few days of sobbing and mulling over, you gradually got over it. You thought Wonyoung doesn’t have a grip on your mind anymore. You thought you would be free again. But you were wrong. Two months later, and she still has her effects on you.

Her deception, laced with lies of affection and love, so deeply rooted in you, your heart, your mind. Like some kind of parasite, stubbornly alive despite being squashed many times. You’re never going to get rid of it entirely.

You feel your throat clogged up as tears seem to stream down your cheeks. Despite your promise to yourself that no tears would be shed for her anymore, you can’t help it. She was your everything. You did everything for her. But it wasn’t enough. Maybe you really are worthle-

“Woojin oppa…” You feel something, no someone embracing you tightly on your side, something soft, and warmth. In the haziness of your mind, you fail to remember something, that you are not alone, even in this moment of weakness.

“Was it a nightmare?” Minju’s voice is muffled, due to her head being buried in your shoulder. You can’t say anything. “Was it her?” She looks up to you, and you still avoid her gaze.

“It’s ok oppa, I’m here for you.” Her hug for you seems tighter as you lean more into her, your arms somehow found their way around her waist.  Her hands find their way onto your back, stroking it gently. Usually, you would be the one giving out comfort, and not the one receiving it. But it feels nice. You feel yourself relaxed against her touch.

“She’s gone, and she won’t hurt you anymore.” She whispers into your ears. “Don’t worry, it’s my time to protect you now, for all the times that you have protected me before.”

She’s warm.

“You’re safe with me.”

So warm.

“You don’t have to say anything. I know what you are thinking about, and everything is not true. You are worthy. You are good, so very good to everyone around you, especially me.”

So very warm.

“You’ve always made me happy, and I love that about you.” You can hear the slight tremble in her voice “What she did to you was wrong and cruel, and I will never, ever hurt you.” You feel her lips on your temple as you nuzzle ever so closer to her, your big frame enveloping her lithe, petite frame. Yet, you’re the one being comforted. “I love you, and don’t you ever forget that for a single moment.”

You feel her body fall back onto the bed, and instead of resisting her, you allow yourself to fall on top of her as well, your face nuzzles into her shoulder, your arms still hugging her tightly while hers just gently caress your shoulder and back.

“You mean the world to me.” You feel her whisper again, feeling her soft breath hitting your earlobe, followed by a kiss on it.

“I cherish every little moment with you.” Another kiss on your neck. You start to feel drowsy.

“You’re everything I ever wanted.” Another one on your temple. You can’t fight the sleepiness.

“I love you.” You drift off into peaceful sleep inside of her embrace. With Minju humming triumphantly with her successful attempt at luring you back to sleep with her.

“I really, really love you so much, Woojin-ah.” She tilts your head towards hers for a better look. You look so peaceful, so soft. “And I promise I’ll wait for you however long it takes.” She plants a soft kiss onto your lips, unbeknownst to your sleeping self, before joining you in dreamland shortly afterwards.

-----

It’s been a few months since you and Wonyoung broke up.

Two months to be exact.

It’s been going well for you, mostly.

First of all, the barista/owner of your old café haunt has been gracious enough to lend you the upper floor of his café as your temporary shelter until you find a new apartment. Despite Minju’s constant nagging about how you should move in with her because it was your old apartment that she is living in and all.

You gently turned her down. You need time to yourself, to process all the complicated feelings you had with Wonyoung back then before you’re ready to give Minju a chance again. Thankfully for you, she backed down.

For now at least.

Second order of business, you need a job. As embarrassing as it is, you used to live off Wonyoung’s money due to you essentially being a ‘househusband”. Now that you’re living alone again, you need to earn your own money. Once again, Minju was eager to offer you a new job: her own personal manager. Given that you were Iz*One’s manager before, you already had all the knowledge and experience needed.

Despite your reluctance in this one, Minju wasn’t going to back down for this one, and dragged you to her agency, insisting that you took the interview. It didn’t take long for the result to come back, and you officially became her new manager.

Even though you are kind of annoyed by this, you are still thankful for this, because having a job allows you to be financially independent, and it also helps you distract yourself from your own turmoil.

See, the thing about Wonyoung is, she was your first love. And first loves are often hard to forget, not to mention you were deeply, deeply in love with her. Like an ancient tree with its roots deep in the earth. Your love for Wonyoung ran deep, deep inside your soul. Everything you do, everywhere you go, you are always reminded of her. Of her smile, her touch, her voice. Which made her act of betrayal stung so much more.

Therefore, you’d rather spend your time doing something, anything at all, than to be left alone with your thoughts, and let all your inner demons consume you again.

Thankfully, there was no shortage of work for you, since Minju is very popular, with her appearance as the Music Core MC, her appearance on dramas, etc. Soon, you found yourself swarmed with so much work that you didn’t even have time to rest properly. But you honestly didn’t mind.

More work equals more time not by yourself, and more time not thinking about Wonyoung. And when you had some free time for yourself, you hit the dojo again, trying your best to sharpen your old instincts. You might need it, or not, but it’s better than sitting alone with your own demons.

And so, you buried yourself in your work, familiarizing yourself in the role of the manager again, making sure Minju stays in top health and shape, organizing her schedules and such. Though it wasn’t as hard as you thought it would be.

It was like, slipping on a pair of shoes that you haven’t worn in years, thinking that it doesn’t fit you anymore, and yet, your feet slip into it seamlessly. It didn’t take long for you to memorize her schedules, to resume the role of her ‘mother’, nagging and making sure she wasn’t late and taking care of her. It was like you never quit.

With that, two months went by in a flash, and you, surprisingly enough, have never thought much about Wonyoung. You were glad that somehow, you had escaped her. It just so happens that Minju got a day off yesterday, so you both decided to hang out like the old days, back when things were so simple. Both of you had a blast of a time together, despite all you did was staying at Minju’s apartment playing games and watching Netflix.

All was fun and well, until last night.

You thought you escaped from her. You didn’t. Your work just distracted you, not released you from her clutches.

You usually don’t dream much. That was because you were always too tired when you go to sleep that you just fall into deep sleep.

You might have confronted her and escaped her chains in a physical way. But your mind, and your heart refuse to let you off easily.

And that brings you to right now, the next morning. Waking up only to find yourself being embraced by Minju.

God, you want to bury yourself in a ditch right now. Remembering back to how pathetic you were last night; you feel your cheeks heat up. You’re supposed to be the older, wiser one. How did you show such a pathetic state of yourself to her?

You try to free yourself from Minju’s surprisingly strong hug to no avail. When did she get so strong? You think to yourself. She starts to stir a bit from your struggling, her response being hugging you tighter and mumble “5 more minutes….”

Despite how much you want to get up from this embarrassing situation, you don’t have the heart to wake the girl up, not when she’s been working so hard for the past month.

“Alright, 5 more minutes…” you eventually relax in her embrace, your struggle stop as you just give in to your fate.

“Actually…she is quite comfy…” Unconsciously, you find yourself relaxing more than you should have, and somehow, ends up falling back to sleep again.

-----

“Oppa…”

“Oppa, wakey, wakey!”

“…5 more minutes”

“It’s already close to noon oppa~”

Your eyes open immediately with that, springing up on the bed with a confused face, looking around, meeting Minju’s smiling face on your right side.

“Morning, sleeping beauty~” she teases “You sleep well.”

A quick glance at the clock tells you that it is indeed 11:00 AM, close to noon. Groaning, you hide your face behind your hands “Why didn’t you wake me up…”

“Well, we still have today’s off, and you look so comfy sleeping, I want to admire your features a bit more~” She once again takes her chance of teasing you, much to your embarrassment.

 “Kkura’s been rubbing off you huh.” You deadpan at her. “Hehe~”

Before the conversation can continue, you hear rumbles coming from both of your stomachs, with Minju clutching hers embarrassedly. Holding in a chuckle, you ask “Haven’t eaten yet?”

She shakes her head. “No, I wanted to wait for you.” Her answer unconsciously bring a smile to your face. “Aigo, just wake me up next time, ok?” you pat her head gently. “Give me a few minutes to wash up then I’ll prepare some food for us.” With that, you stand up and leave the bedroom and Minju behind as you go on with your usual routine. Unbeknownst to you, however….

“Next time, huh…” Minju giggles softly to herself, her cheek burning up slightly. “I like the sound of that….”

After a few moments, you and Minju are now sitting at the table, enjoying a quick brunch that you whipped up from whatever’s left in her fridge. “You need to buy more groceries, Minju-ah” you say while munching on your food. “Maybe we can do it later?” she suggests “Sounds good to me.”

“How about we buy some snacks as well? For on the way to schedules?” You nod as well. “I was going to buy them soon, thanks for reminding me.” “How about moving in with me?”

“Sounds go-” You stop midway, turning your head to look at Minju’s ‘angelic’ smile. “You almost got me there, not going to lie, but the answer is still no.”

“But why not?” she pouts. “This technically is still your old apartment.”

“But with your name on it.” “

But I didn’t change any decorations inside it-”

“But you’re paying the rent.”

“We can share the rent.”

Minju is relentless in making sure you agree to her.

“Minmin, I thought we talked about this before.” You turn to look at her. “But, last night….” She pouts, looking down onto her food plate. You choke slightly when she mentioned it. “It was just a one-time thing, Minmin.”

“But you were crying too, and you never cried in front of us…” She looks up at you with a saddening look. “You, you don’t have to be tough anymore…” Her hand reaches up for your face, while you look away in shame, trying to avoid her gaze. “I’m not her, Woojin-ah, I would never hurt you-”

The moment that you two are sharing is interrupted with a ringtone coming from your phone, and you don’t waste this chance. “Let’s talk about this later, Minmin-ah.” You then quickly grab your phone and walk out of the kitchen, taking the call and once again leaving Minju alone behind in the kitchen.

She could only sigh, knowing she was too hasty. But your broken state last night saddens her greatly, and she doesn’t want you to go through it alone. What would you do if she wasn’t there last night to comfort you? “No worries, let’s just, take it slow.” She mumbles to herself. “He needs his time, and I can wait for however long he needs.”

-----

Another month has passed since your little incident with Minju.

You still struggle with your deep-rooted feelings about Wonyoung, and that nightmare seems to have opened the dam for you. Every waking moment, every sleeping hour, Wonyoung found her way sneaking into your mind like a snake. Unfortunately, being an idol manager means that you frequently visit places that Wonyoung can also visit for her work. You’ve been lucky enough to not to see her for the past months, but once again, she appears right in front of you.

The day started out normally, you and Minju woke up early for some shootings, which carried on way too late into the day, and before you know it, you’re driving her to Music Core for her MC duties. Usually, you don’t really check up on which groups are performing since it doesn’t really mattered to you. But once you turn into the parking lot, you spot an oh so familiar figure, entering the building with her groupmates.

“Shit.” You unconsciously swear to yourself, earning a snicker from Minju. “And you said I wasn’t allowed to swear at studios.”

“I don’t have an image to maintain, but you do, lady.” You roll your eyes, waiting until Wonyoung and her groupmates enter the building completely to park the van.

And so, you proceed with the usual things, just with a touch more alert in order to avoid Wonyoung. Minju seems to be confused by your actions, which only lasts until she has to introduce and shortly interview Wonyoung and the IVE members. From her waiting room, you can sees her expression clearly on the TV. A mixture of realization and anger, hidden underneath a layer of professionalism, which you let out a sigh of relief. Minju was never the best at concealing her emotions, and so you were worried you might have exploded in anger right then and there. Thank God for her professionalism.

Everything is going smoothly right now. Minju is doing her job dutifully, and you have somehow managed to avoid IVE-

“Woojin oppa?” You can clearly hear Yujin’s voice behind you, followed by her footsteps. So, you do anything a sensible person would do. You pretend you didn’t hear her and just walk away. “Ah, Woojin oppa?!” You can hear her confused voice, but you have already sprinted down the hallway, away from her eyes.

Arriving back at the waiting room, your heart starts to beat loudly even though it was a short run. You are afraid of facing Wonyoung again. All the bravado from the last time you met her has already faded away. You don’t have the strength to meet her again, and you don’t want to.

And so, the rest of your time is filled with anxiety masked by a professional poker face, which managed to fool the staff. But not Minju though, you can feel her glance on you all the time when she returns to the waiting room. But she doesn’t say anything, thank God for that.

You keep calm all the way until you walk out to the van with Minju. You’ve gone out of your way to ask Minju to leave a bit late with you, just for the IVE members to leave before you. Surely, you wouldn’t meet her, right?

“Oppa?”

.

.

.

As always, she somehow, always manages to find you at your most vulnerable to strike at you. You intend to ignore her call, and keep walking to the van with Minju, until you hear quick footsteps, and feel your shirt being tugged back.

“Yah, it’s rude to ignore others when they call you, Woojin oppa.”

With a sigh, you turn around to see all the members of IVE, Wonyoung included, standing there, with Yujin being the one tugging your shirt.

Minju also turns around, her face turns from a blank state into a happy expression, instantly switching on her idol mode as she greets the others.

“So, what do you guys need?” You try your best to hide the tremble in your voice, but that in turn makes you sound cold to the girls, with all of them flinching at your attitude. Maybe that’s what you need right now, a firm attitude.

“Why are you like this, oppa?” Gaeul asks “Why are you acting like this?” She turns at you, fuming. “Just because you guys have a disagreement, you’re treating us like this?” She is almost shouting at you.

Your mind is thrown into a loop at the word ‘disagreement’. Disagreement? When did you have a disagreement with her? You loved her with all your heart. You devoted everything to her. Your job.

Your connections.

Your relationships.

Everything.

All in order to devote yourself fully to her. And what did she do? She cheated behind your back, with another male idol that you didn’t even bother to remember, and treated you like you were a mere toy to her. And all she said was ‘disagreement’?

Suddenly, you feel so, so stupid for still having feelings for her. Everything she did to you, every little pain and neglect she inflicted, only giving you enough affection to keep you at her arm’s length, like a pet. Your mind, for the first time in months, feels refreshed, and free. Maybe it’s time you stopped wallowing in your grief. She doesn’t deserve your love. Not anymore.

“… And here I thought you were worthy for her. You’re just as useless and worthless as every other guy.” It seems like, while you were zoning out, Gaeul doesn’t stop spewing insults at you, with the other members agreeing with her, and Wonyoung just standing there, not saying anything and watching the scene.

Before you’re about to say something, Minju beat you to it. She steps forwards and gives Gaeul a hard slap to the surprise of everyone here, you included.

“Worthless? Useless? Don’t talk like you know him well. You don’t know anything about him at all.” Minju looks livid. “A disagreement?” She scoffs “What she did to him is just ‘a disagreement’ to her? Wow, and here I thought she couldn’t be any worse.”

She then glares at Gaeul who is holding her cheek in shock “Let me ask you this. You say that he is worthless and useless, right? Then who was the one that supplied you guys with foods and drinks even with encouragement even when it’s not even his job to do so?”

The IVE members look at each other, seems like Minju’s words hold a degree of truth in it. “And let me guess, he accompanied you guys when asked to, cooked for everyone, even listened to their ranting and gave advice, was I right?” The other members look down in guilt and shame. “Was I right?” they nod at her words.

“I don’t even need to be there to know about it, because that’s just how he is. He cares, even when he doesn’t need to. He goes out of his way to make sure that everyone is well, even though it wasn’t supposed to be his job.” Her voice goes soft at the mention of you. Seemingly forgetting that you are standing right next to her. Though you are so shocked that words seem to stick in your throat.

“He really did.” Yujin lets out a chuckle, reminiscing of her Iz*One days. “He really did go out of his way for us.”

“And so, what did your precious Wony do to him?” Minju’s voice turns angry again. “She-” “Minmin, I think this is enough.” Thankfully, you find your voice again and stop Minju in time before she can say anything that she might regret later. “But!”

“Not buts, that’s enough.” Rarely have you used your serious tone against her, but today is an exception, not just for Wonyoung, but also for herself as well.

“Oppa!” Wonyoung looks at you with sparkles in her eyes, seemingly thinking that you’ve forgiven her. How ridiculous

“Wonyoung-ssi” The moment she hears you use formal speech along with your serious, cold tone, her pipe dream shatters as she is dragged back to reality. “I remember telling you that you should stay far, far away from me.” You firmly look at her. “Did you think I was joking?” Your eyes turn cold, so very cold, to the point that Wonyoung starts shivering.

“And, to answer your question.” You turn to Gaeul. “It wasn’t just a disagreement between us. She betrayed my trust, so we broke up. End of story.” You hate to admit it, but when shocked look on IVE members as they look at you, then back at Wonyoung, and seeing the look on her face, you feel a tiny bit vindicated.

“So, if that’s out of the way, I have an idol to manage, so I’ll be going first.” With your professionalism, you flash a smile before guiding Minju back to the van.

“I hope that satisfy you?” You chuckle lightly at Minju, to which she giggles back “I would prefer something a bit heavier.” Then she looks behind her back, seeing Wonyoung being surrounded by her members, all having shocked/angry looks on their faces as they ask her questions. “But I think this is enough punishment for her.” She smiles back beautifully at you. You pat her head in response, like the good old days.

As Minju turns back to the van, she notices a silhouette approaching both. “Oppa!” By reflex, she yells out, and thankfully, you react just in time to push her inside of the van before you feel something sharp cut through your left shoulder, with you narrowly manage to dodge it sideway, with just a cut on your shoulder.

“Damn it.” A familiar voice enters your ears as you look back at your assailant. Dressed in a full black outfit and hoodie with mask, you can’t even see the person’s face, but you don’t need to, his voice is already enough for you.

“Stand still!” the assailant lunges for you again with a knife in reverse grip on his right hand, his arm outstretched upwards, ready for a swing motion. Instead of dodging, this time you actively push forwards to him, your head tune out the screams from Minju and the other girls as you get into very close to the assailant, blocking his raised arm with your left forearm before bashing it into the van, knocking the knife off.

With a groan, the assailant tries to back off, but is unsuccessful as his right wrist is held firmly, giving you a chance to unleash a kick into his abdomen, and one onto his chin, knocking him back into the van, then down onto the ground.

Before the assailant gets the chance to recover, you move his wrist behind his back and use your knee to press down on it, forcing him to lay on his stomach. “Now, should I call the police?” You smile, but your knee applies more force onto his left hand, causing him to yell in pain.

Seemingly trying to hide his identity, the assailant does not even dare to move an inch. You then glance back at Wonyoung, and the fearful look on her face is enough to tell him that she didn’t plan this.

“O-oppa…” You hear Minju’s trembling voice “Your shoulder….” Ah, right, the bleeding shoulder. “Tis but a scratch.” You try to lighten the mood… But with horrible, horrible timing as with a glance, you can clearly see that Minju is not amused in the slightest.

“Ok, ok, I’m sorry, just give me a few moments.” You smile back at her before looking down at the assailant, your voice turns icy cold as you lower yourself in order to whisper in his ears, just enough for you and him.

“Listen here you fucker. I don’t care what your current relationship with Wonyoung is, but you better thank her for this, because the only reason I’m not exposing you, is because I’m doing her one last favor, got it?” The trembling assailant nods silently.

“Good, but I can’t let you go without a punishment.” You pull the man up straight, looking straight into his eyes before pushing him back. His eyes widen just enough to catch you spinning your body, your right leg swinging at him before something impacts right onto his left temple, and he is knocked out cold instantly, face planting onto the ground.

“I should call the police…” You contemplate, looking at the knocked-out man, then at the shivering IVE members, especially Wonyoung.

Despite how much you despise her and her methods of manipulating you, you can’t find it in your heart to destroy the career that she worked so hard to build up.

“One last favor then.” You say, mostly to yourself, before heading back to the van to comfort a frightened Minju and to take her home safely. Wonyoung now just a distant thought to him.

-----

“Ow, ow, ow, Minmin-ah, please go easy on me!”

Moments later, here you are, back at Minju’s house, trying to patch yourself up, before Minju vehemently refuses to let you do so, insisting that she does it for you. While you know that she means well, she…let’s just say she is quite new to this.

Minju utters a small apology before focusing back onto her work, with you just glancing at her focus face. Usually, her face is always smiling and laughing, but to see her serious face like this…It’s been a while since you’ve last seen it. “You don’t have to force yourself you know; I can do it myself just fine.”

“It’s the least I can do for you though…” You almost didn’t catch her, her voice barely over a whisper at this point. “Minmin?” You look at her, but she doesn’t look back. “Talk to me, what’s on your mind?”

“…You got hurt because of me.” She keeps looking down onto her hands, fiddling with the bandages. You want to say something, but you feel like you should let Minju let it all out. “That guy…he was her guy, right? I saw the look you had back then.”

Your eyes train on her features as she fidgets, looking at anywhere but you. “Why didn’t you call the cops?” You can see her trembling slightly. “Do you still have feelings for her?” Despite her face looking down, you can see her biting her lower lips, possibly to prevent tears from falling.

“Look Minmin.” You try to call for her attention to no avail. “Minju-ah.” Gently, you place both your hands on her cheeks, tilting her head upwards to look at you. And exactly as you predicted, her eyes are red and watery, with tears threatening to spill out. “Aigo, don’t cry, I’m sorry for I make you misunderstand something.” Both your thumbs gently wipe away her tears.

“First of all, we don’t know if he was aiming for you, or for me. Your guess is as good as mine.” You then pat her head. “But, as your manager, my priority is to keep you safe, so I did just that. And I’m still going to keep you safe from now on.”

“Now, about Wonyoung….” You take a few minutes, trying to think of the right words to say, while Minju looks at you almost expectantly. “If I say that I don’t have any feelings left for her, it would be a lie.” You can see Minju’s mood dampens even further, even though she isn’t trying to show it.

“It’s hard to forget your first love, and not to mention that I used to love her so, so much.”  You let out a defeated sigh. “But what I did for her, wasn’t because I still have feelings for her.” Minju looks at you with an almost confused expression. “I didn’t have the heart to ruin the career that she has built up for so long, way back from her time in Iz*One with you guys.” She just nods at you, her gaze looking down, seemingly not very convinced but almost resigned.

“Minju-ah, listen to me.” Her gaze is now back up to you, and you can see the look of resignation on her face. “It might be true that I still have some feelings for Wonyoung left.” You then take her hands into yours, raising them up to your face and planting a soft kiss onto her back hand. “But would you be willing to help me erase her from my mind?”

You can see the entire emotional process projected onto her face. First, the confusion, then the realization hit, before the tears of happiness and joy fill her eyes yet again and she is looking at you with expectant eyes, hoping that you will confirm what she is thinking in her head. Good lord, how did she even manage to become an idol when her emotions were laid bare like this? Or maybe you, she doesn’t lay it bare, but you’re the exception.

“I’m sorry for making you wait for so long, would you-” “Yes! Yes! A thousand times yes!” She engulfs you into a bearhug, like if she were to loosen it, she would lose you completely. You can feel your shirt wetting from her tears as she silently sobs into it.

Is it too fast for you two to get together, just when you just broke up 2 months ago, and you still have some feelings for your ex? Probably. Besides the obvious guilt you have for making her wait for you, you’re not doing this because you pity her.

It’s because, despite the short amount of time that you escaped from Wonyoung. Minju somehow has found her own way into your heart, navigating the cracks and broken pieces left by Wonyoung, and embracing you fully for who you truly are. She was willing to wait for you, for starters, until you feel like you’re comfortable again. Despite her insistence at you moving in with her, she never pushed it past the line.

Everything she did, she did it with you in her mind. Ever since childhood, she has always shared with you everything she did that day. Even now, she still texts you about her daily stuff, things she found funny and silly. You are the first person she turns to.

It’s not like you never had any feelings for her. She was your childhood friend, your closest friend. Sooner or later, you’re going to catch some feelings for her. You cared for her, still do. But somewhere along the act of you as her ‘brother’, you forgot your true feelings, and disillusioned yourself, thinking you shouldn’t date her. And Minju has somehow broken past even that.

How can you not catch feelings for her again, when she cradled you so tenderly in that one night? When she openly accepts and comforts you in your lowest moments, something that only your parents have done for you? When she whispered those three words that you craved so desperately, but were deprived of by Wonyoung?

So lost in your own thoughts, you don’t even notice Minju calling you, until you feel something soft against your lips, then you wake up from your thoughts, seeing Minju with a tender smile on her face.

“What were you thinking about?”

“About you.”

Your answer satisfies her greatly, as she leans in for another soft kiss, one that you reciprocate. “I love you, Woojin-ah, and I’ll make sure that you’ll say it back to me someday.” Even without saying anything, she still reads you like a book. But instead of a frown, she smiles brightly. “I’ll replace all those awful memories with happy times between you and me, so you won’t ever have to feel sad about her again.”

You can’t help but chuckle at her words. “Promise?” You hold up your pinky, to which she hooks it with her own, a bright smile on her face.

“Promise.”

#kim minju #kpop fanfic #male reader #izone #minju

[ecoterrorist-katara]

Hey bestie any zutara fic recs. I feel like I’ve read all the classics.

Hello anon! Oh boy have you come to the right place because I have read several million words of these two dorks falling in love and though I plan to read several million more, I am always down to screech about talented fanfic writers!!! Here are most of my faves, some of which you’ve probably read but my enthusiasm simply needs an outlet. No WIPs to minimize heartbreak.

In the spirit of not recommending too many classics, I’m not including anything from the first page of the Katara/Zuko tag on AO3 sorted by kudos, with one exception. Same rule does not apply to FF.net because nobody visits that site anymore, yet we mustn’t forget our roots!!! 

TL;DR of my Zutara Fic Recs: 

Half Asleep for a Miyazaki-esque adventure romance 

Southern Lights for a sweeping epic where A Song of Ice and Fire meets Middlemarch

Refraction for a swoon-worthy post-war political romance ft. Katara learning how to politick in a patriarchal world 

Stormbenders for a fun undercover romance that is a ZK classic for a very good reason 

Another Word for Alchemy and The Slow Path for hilarious yet emotionally compelling adventures with found family themes 

The Undying Fire for world-building, more Gaang shenanigans, and super satisfying slow canon divergence 

Katara Alone for our fave girl’s post-war Bildungsroman/travelogue/heroic tour

Simple Misunderstanding for a hilarious rendition of Ponytail Zuko capturing Katara and trying to not be a creep

Clothe Me in Seasons, Dress Me in Snow for a mostly canon-compliant (so, v angsty) story about the different ways that love can evolve 

And some one-shots and modern AUs I feel like deserve some more love 

Summaries, reviews, and general fangirling under the cut because holy shit this post is long lmao 

Long fics / series: 

Half Asleep, by crushinator | Rating: T | Word Count: 82,335

Summary: Five years after the Hundred-Year War, Fire Lord Zuko is hit with an assassin's dart, and falls into a coma from which he cannot wake. A week passes, and his prognosis is grim. But Katara could swear she hears him in her dreams.

My thoughts: this fic, in many ways, is novel quality. The pacing? Immaculate. The action scenes? Exciting and interesting yet super easy to visualize. The characterization? On point. Katara is peak Miyazaki heroine in this, setting out on a quest to the Spirit World to save her boy (who’s not really her boy) from whichever Eldritch horror has him in its clutches. I love the little glimpses we have of the mutual pining between Katara and Zuko, and there are no words to describe how much I love the resolution of Katara and Aang’s relationship in this story. And oh boy, is the climax of the fic super romantic. This is just a really well written, emotionally compelling, tight fic. Deserves to be a fandom classic. 

Southern Lights, by colourwhirled | Rating: M | Word Count: 769,274

Summary: A world where the Avatar has disappeared from memory. Where Sozin’s Conquest was successful. Where the unsteady order of the empire is threatened as members of the royal family are picked off one by one and lines are slowly drawn in the sand One last chance for peace forces an unlikely alliance between a homesick waterbender, a carefree Air Nomad, a runaway Earth Kingdom heiress, and the fire lord's inscrutable son. Together they must learn to shed old enmities and become the balance they seek to restore to the world.

OR:

The avatar has four heads.

My thoughts: Is it a Bildungsroman? Is it a war story? Is it a politics story? Is it a love story? Is it a friendship story? Is it a story about colonial violence and well-meaning complicity and finding justice in a world where it simply doesn’t seem to exist? Yes to all of the above, because at 700k+ words YOU CAN HAVE IT ALL. You know how Virginia Woolf once said that Middlemarch is one of the few novels written for grownups? Well, Southern Lights feels adult, not because of violence or sex or general grimness (looking at you, HBO), but because it’s fundamentally about having the courage to make choices, live with the consequences, and make more choices, and repeat that over and over again. If Katara is a Miyazaki heroine in Half Asleep, she is full on Daenarys (pre-character assassination) in Southern Lights, a heroine who gets put through her paces yet retains her unwavering resilience to find her place in the world. Katara can be pretty frustrating in this and I know a lot of the commenters on this fic wanted to smack her up the head halfway through, but I support women’s rights and women’s wrongs and her decisions make sense to me even when I also want to smack her for them, and isn’t that a symptom of good writing? I count my lucky stars that I joined the ATLA fandom after this fic is finished (which was only last year!) because I got to binge it in a few days and I have not been the same person since. Deserves classic status. 

Refraction, by caroe3725 | Rating: E | Word Count: 215,249

Summary: Making choices after the war was supposed to be the easy part. Her future decided and neatly packaged based on what everyone else wanted for her, what she should want, too. But Katara’s destiny had a funny way of being exactly what she wanted to run from. (As if anyone needed another Zutara post-finale slow burn after 15 years.)

My thoughts: YES WE DEFINITELY NEEDED ANOTHER POST-WAR ZK SLOWBURN OF SUCH IMMACULATE QUALITY. Both Katara and Zuko’s internal monologues are excellent in this, but I particularly love Zuko’s. The writer is so good at capturing his resolve, his earnestness, and his awkwardness. This is a very restrained fic — no great histrionics — but also incredibly romantic. The first kiss scene made me want to both sigh and screech. I’m also just a huge sucker for “Katara learns politics” which this fic has in spades, with a bonus of very thoughtful gender dynamics. Anyway, if you liked AJ Lenoire’s The Summit or andromeda13’s such selfish prayers, you’d probably like Refraction. Zuko and Katara are very much dumb teens in the beginning portions of this fic, which I personally like because it makes me nostalgic. Oh, and Katara is low key chaotic good in this, which is super in-character and hilarious.

Stormbenders, by Fandomme | Rating: T | Word Count: 171,000+ 

Summary: S3 AU from FBM. Deep in the Fire Nation jungle, the Gaang meets a group of rogue water ninja who send Zuko and Katara on a mission to retrieve Ozai's secret battle plans.

My thoughts: I’m aware that if you asked the average ZK shipper ten years ago what the ship classics are, the answers are probably Stormbenders, His Majesty Prefers Blue, and the Sparrowkeet series. The other classics are good (classics for a reason!), but Stormbenders remains my favourite. It’s funny. It’s exciting. It’s WELL PACED. The ZK relationship grows so organically, which is a huge feat considering this fic was started before we even got The Southern Raiders. The events are a little more adult than the show, but the tone remains very ATLA. There’s a lovely little animatic of the beginning of the scene on YouTube to show you exactly what I mean about the tone and the humour. I am always weak for a well-structured adventure romance, and Stormbenders stands the test of time because it’s just such a well-written fic. 

The Undying Fire, by Boogum | Rating: T | Word Count: 534,665

Summary: "He has the eyes, Princess Ursa." They were half-forgotten words, a whisper of fears never explained. Zuko had dismissed it all as nothing to worry about—until he somehow healed the Avatar. Fire healers weren't meant to exist, except he did. He'd saved the kid's life. Naturally, he wanted answers. Too bad finding them wasn't so simple...

My thoughts: This fic is mostly Gen, and Zutara shows up in the latter half of the series. Despite being a ZK shipper I like plenty of Gen fics too, and The Undying Fire gives me the best of both worlds. I love the world building, the humour, and the slow ramp up of the Gaang friendships. I absolutely love how the canon divergence is so subtle at first and gradually unfurls into something super different, yet retains much of its ATLA charm. Boogum’s written some other bangers too, and I have to give honorable mention to Zuko’s Tiny Dilemma (where a spirit transforms ponytail Zuko into his six-year-old self, and Uncle into a teapot, and somehow it becomes an emotionally compelling 100k word saga) and Following Blue (season 2 canon divergent Bluetara with a bigger focus on romance). 

Katara Alone & associated fics by cablesscutie | Rating: T | Word Count: 86,890

Summary: The war is over, and with it goes the only life she has ever known. In this era of love and peace, the world is becoming new, and Katara is unsure of her place in it. That's okay though. Katara has rebuilt her life from scratch before, and she will do it again.

My thoughts: I love post-war “Katara sets out to find herself and also finds Zuko” fics. Katara Alone is a fabulous coming-of-age story with some good old fashioned letter flirting during Katara’s solo travels. The sequel, Lady of the Tides, has some very thoughtful depictions of Katara’s place within the post-war Fire Nation, and the accompanying story from Zuko’s POV, The Fire Lord at Home, hits all my buttons. Like…Zuko is Fire Lord Good Boy! He passes legislation! There is political optimism! Swoon. 

Another Word for Alchemy, by FanPanda 13 | Rating: T | Word Count: 108,000+ 

Summary: Five years have passed since the Avatar defeated Fire Lord Ozai, and the members of the Gaang have all gone in their own direction. But when Aang invites them all to a Peace Summit at the North Pole and tells them of his new project, for which he will need their support, the group comes together again for adventure, fun and romance. AU. Zutara. COMPLETE.

My thoughts: Now this is a fic that thoroughly crept up on me. The first 3/4 is good old fashioned fluffy, funny, fourth wall-breaking Gaang shenanigans with plenty of Zutara. But the last quarter? Oh boy does it come right at you and slam you in the solar plexus with the platonic love and found family feels and the complexities of those feelings when you’re a teenager. The impact of Aang’s loss of the Air Nomads is treated very thoughtfully here, way more so than in the show. 

The Slow Path, by TazmainianDevil | Rating: T | Word Count: 125,723 

Summary: Eight years after the fall of Ozai, Aang returns to the friends he left behind.

My thoughts: This is actually a Taang story with a great ZK subplot. But what I love about it is that the whole Gaang (including Suki ALWAYS INCLUDING SUKI) is superbly characterized. The ZK banter is top notch. I could actually hear their voices in my head in some of the scenes. Their relationship is playful but has plenty of emotional heft. And the plot is exciting and well-developed. My favourite thing, though, is how the author treats Toph’s POV: it’s very thoughtfully written, with consideration towards how she perceives the world.

Simple Misunderstanding, by ShamelessLiar | Rating: T | Word Count: 80,965 

Summary: Katara was captured by Zuko, but there was a lapse in communication. Takes place after The Fortuneteller. Fierce Katara, honorable Zuko, and meddlesome Iroh. Also, music night

My thoughts: Generally I don’t love fics where Katara gets captured, especially by Zuko (just a personal preference, not here to judge). But! I love this one, because…well, the circumstances of Katara’s capture by Ponytail Zuko are simply hilarious. Katara is suspicious and stubborn; Zuko has a one-track mind and doesn’t understand why Iroh is treating his prisoner so nicely; oh, and Aang gets into an amazing side quest with some spiritual animals. The only thing about this story is that it ends a little abruptly since the author was considering a sequel, but it still reads as a standalone fic. The author also wrote His Majesty Prefers Blue and Call Me Katto, two ZK classics, but Simple Misunderstanding is far and away my favourite work. 

Clothe Me in Seasons, Dress Me in Snow, by sadladybug | Rating: T | Word Count: 62,026

Summary: It is not the memorial she deserves, nor the one she would want. But it can't be helped. He owns no property in the other nations, and he needed to keep her close. Closer than she was in life, anyway. Zuko's reflections on a life lived and a life that could have been.

Review: sadladybug lives up to the username by creating a sadness so contagious that I have yet to recover from it, and I cope by recommending this fic to other Zutara shippers so that more may suffer like I did. (Stop the cycle? No.) Look — I think there’s something extremely beautiful and poetic about a love that changes in nature and form and expression, but not in intensity and devotion, and that’s what this fic is about. Loved it. Never reading it again. 

One shots: 

There’s a category of canon-compliant Zutara one-shots that are all extremely painful, and I cannot get enough of them: in the next life by we-were-angels, taking place right before Katara’s wedding to Aang; water can heal, water can break by crazyache, about why Katara didn’t attend Yakone’s trial. 

To combat the above, here’s a few funny, fluffy ones that make me cackle: i am older now by ama (who wrote the banger that is The Blackfish and the Dragon), an old!ZK fic that I read to counteract the emotional damage inflicted by psychedelic_aya’s we hold our hearts in silence; all good things start with tea by yodalorian, where Zuko’s hapless Disney sidekick-esque advisors try to get him a wife; And Half at One Another’s Throats by songofhopeandhonor (whose account is deleted), about Zuko’s harebrained proposals to Katara; The Dragon of the West’s Guide to Flirting by bluesunflower44, which is exactly what it says on the tin and the awkward disaster you’d expect. Waiting on a Steady Sun, by nire, is a long version of my favourite tropes: fake marriage + idiots to lovers ft. pining for your spouse. 

I generally don’t love modern AUs, but akaiiko’s talk is cheap (and i’ve got expensive taste), where Katara meets Zuko at a frat party, is a whole damn delight; my old aches become new again by jamesstruttingpotter is a wonderfully indulgent modern AU based on Our Beloved Summer. 

And finally, some season 3 character studies: don’t tell me how to feel by paintingcranes, ft Katara at the Western Air Temple being increasingly incensed at both Zuko trying to be helpful and how other people react to his helpfulness; the other side of mercy by crazyache, where Sokka calls Katara “high-strung and crazy” and that really makes Zuko think; The Silent Garden by romilley (whose WIP The Horizon is also fabulous), where Katara and Zuko avoid their feelings through a reluctant-allies-with-benefits arrangement (ft a way of depicting intimacy and sex that makes me think of Normal People); a deep delight of the blood by eruthros, where Zuko asks Katara to practice bloodbending on him out of pragmatism but also a little bit of guilt (it’s unrated, but that “Kink Without Sex” tag is there for a reason). 

Thank you for asking me for my recs, anon, because I needed an outlet to rave about fanfiction and my irl friends have heard enough. Feel free to ask me questions about specific fics that aren’t on this list: I always love talking to people about fic and I’m always looking for new ones to read!

#Zutara Fic Recs #This post is brought to you by my autism #Which demanded that I swap out my last special interest for ZK fanfiction #zutara fanfiction #Zutara fanfic #Zutara #can i ask you a question?

[cure-orchid]

So I know the show recently ended, but I ended up binging through TGAMM and loved it! The Ghost Friends are all mood and the Mollie ship is adorable. Then I learned about the Chairman Ollie arc for the scrapped third season and IT WOULD HAVE BEEN SO COOL TO SEE!

I ended up writing down how I would imagine the story arc going down, and I headcanon that several of the planned season 3 eps (minus the ones that would clash with the finale) happened between JVTHM and The End (Ollie knowing about the wraith memory loss and how he says it could have hinted that it already occurred.)

My Chairman Ollie plotline: It starts with what was outlined in the already written scripts, and Ollie keeps spending more and more time in the Ghost World rather than on Earth. He’s becoming a little more forgetful as the episodes pass and has noticeable headaches. Things like his parents having a Root Beer Bar or the plot of the latest Country Pumpkin movie seem to surprise him when he should already know about them.

He’s missed a few dates with Molly and slipping on schoolwork so she takes an episode trying to talk to him at school but he keeps getting pulled away to fix something as the Chairman. The episode would really drive in how his human memories are failing even when he reconnects with his body and there’s a whole musical number on how Molly feels he’s growing distant. She finally catches up to him in the end and he looks partway between normal and being an empty shell(his hair is even losing the swoop!). She asks him out for ice cream but then we get a wham line “Sure, but… who are you?” Molly’s heart literally breaks as she discovers Ollie has lost all memory of her. He excuses himself and leaves Molly crying with Scratch and Libby coming to console her.

Next episode the remaining Ghost Friends are trying to figure out what’s wrong with him when June comes to Molly’s house trying not to panic. Ollie’s shell came home yesterday but not his wraith and he’s still not back. Molly, Libby and Darryl go to the Chen’s while Scratch goes to the Ghost World to see what’s keeping him. He finds Ollie still obsessively trying to engoodify the Ghost World and his orange glow is much more faded. Worse, when Scratch calls him by his name he asks who Ollie is. Libby manages to discover a page in her pop-up book that was stuck to another and reveals wraiths can lose their memories the longer they spend away from their body and without the will to live they cannot fully rejoin the two halves. Scratch arrives and with all they know they make a plan. Molly, Scratch and the Chen’s go to the Ghost World while Darryl and Libby keep an eye on their bodies. They get to Ollie and he doesn’t recognize anyone but Scratch, but has no emotional attachment to him. Big musical number as they all try to help Ollie remember but it doesn’t work. Everyone is devastated and it seems like Ollie might be gone forever.

Molly doesn’t give up, she pulls down his hood and cups his face, (this is where the drawing is) telling Ollie that she loves him and gives him their first kiss. Her yellow sparks course through him and his orange glow regains it’s color… and he regains his memories. When they pull away, Olly says her name and he’s pulled into a group hug as he says everyone’s names. He leaves the robe and hurries back into his body. A few hours later it’s just him, Molly and Scratch when the ghost council arrives. I haven’t come up with what happens to the robe but Ollie does relinquish his title as chairman and Scratch pulls the council away. Now alone, Ollie didn’t get to say it back in the ghost world, but he loves Molly too. They have another kiss and lean their foreheads together afterwards… and then Scratch comes back complaining that they already sucked faces once today already.

Here’s the thing, I won’t be personally writing this into a fanfic myself, mainly because I’ve already used the ‘true loves kiss restores boyfriends memories’ for another fic and I don’t wanna repeat myself but that is exactly how I imagine the Chairman Ollie arc concluding. I am still sharing the plot I came up with and anyone is free to use it as long as they let me know so I can read it.

Also bonus doodles:

#the ghost and molly mcgee #tgamm #mollie #molliver #Molly McGee #ollie chen #scratch mcgee #I can’t believe I cried harder at this finale than I did at The Owl House or SVTFOE #my art

[mandos-mind-trick]

The Garden - NSFW Version

Summary: Six years after the sudden death of your father, you return to his beloved home to restore it to its former glory. A series of strange events leads you to find a friend in a strange horse that appears on your property. Little do you know there’s more to this horse than meets the eye. 

Pairing: Kix x reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, monster AU, kelpie!Kix, minor character death at the start, grief, magic, shapeshifting, loosely based on folklore, cultural differences, no foreplay, unprotected sex, outdoor sex, sex in the rain.

A/N: This is the NSFW version of the fic. It's slightly longer due to the smut at the end, but if you would prefer to read the SFW version, it is linked down below. This was originally going to be a kinktober day but this story got a bit away from me and wound up less...kinky I'd say than I planned. So instead I'm posting it just as a monster/horror/regular smut fic. (though there is a bit of a praise kink at the end 👀)

MASTERLIST | SFW VERSION

It’s a day you’d rather forget. 

Your father had spent hours and hours of his time making the house perfect, making the yard perfect. He wanted everything to be perfect, but he’d never get to see it. 

It happened suddenly. You’d been the one to find him, searching for him in the backyard, in the labyrinth of paths and bushes and trees. You’d found him lying there in the grass  almost like he was taking a nap, but you knew him better than that. The panic that had risen in your throat was like nothing you’d ever felt, your scream heard clear in the house as you’d desperately tried CPR, but it was too late. 

To say it was a shock was an understatement. 

Now you’re sitting in the pristine grass he had mowed every other day without fail. His pride and joy was being tarnished by tents and plastic chairs. You tried to listen as some “mate” he’d had in college spoke about their time together, telling stories you’d never heard, referencing a man who was nothing more than a pile of ashes sitting on a table in front of the begonias he’d lovingly planted for your mother. She was crying into your grandmother’s shoulder, sobs wracking her body. 

But you don’t cry. 

Instead something is rising in you, something twisting, threatening to choke you. There were too many people, most of them you didn’t know, sitting in his lawn and tarnishing it with their heels and their shoes. He would have hated it, the holes in his golf course grade grass, the shoe prints that would no doubt be left imprinted in the grass thanks to the rain the night before. Footprints in the dirt of his precious gardens, trampling his flowers, squishing the only thing that mattered to him in this world beside you and your mother. 

You can’t stand it anymore. 

You don’t care that people stare as you get up from your seat, walking out of the sweltering tent. The sun is high, heating the ground beneath your feet as you take off running, losing your shoes in the process. You don’t care, feet squelching in the wet grass, then the underbrush as you force your way into the trees along the property line. You run through the trees, ignoring the branches grabbing at you, the leaves snagging in your hair, the roots tempting to trip you, tangle your feet and send you to the ground. Tears have blurred your vision now, running blindly, trying to get away from the pain, the...wrongness behind you. 

Finally a root jumps up and grabs you, tangling around your ankles, sending you to the ground. The mud is wet as you hit it, splattering on your black clothes but you don’t care. You don’t even bother to pull yourself up, laying in the mud as you sob. You miss your father, you miss his quirks, the things you never appreciated before. The things you never paid attention to that you should have. The things you’d never get to do again, the things you’d never get to hear or see again. All the sorrow wells at once, the numbness of the past few days wearing off. 

A splash near you draws you from your grieving, your head snapping to the side, finding a small lake. You had no idea it was there. Then again, you hadn’t spent much time in the forest by your house. Your father had always warned you of faeries but you’d never believed him. Faeries were children’s stories. 

But the horse head staring at you from the lake has you questioning that. 

It’s black as night, reeds tangled in its black hair. It's submerged up to its milky white eyes, no bubbles appearing where its nose is in the water. You have to be hallucinating. The past few days had gotten to you finally and you were seeing things. That was it. Maybe you’d hit your head when you were falling and this was all just a dream. 

You stay still as the horse begins to move closer, its head rising up out of the water now. A low buzzing begins in your ears, rising in pitch until it almost sounds like...music. You’re entranced, staring at the horse as it stands still. Something draws you towards it, something tells you to touch it, not to fear the water but to jump in and climb on its back. 

The cold lake water startles you from your trance. You hadn’t even noticed you had moved,  kneeling at the edge of the water, wet mud threatening to suction you into place. It’s soaking your clothes but you can’t bring yourself to care. 

Your name being shouted through the trees drags you from your thoughts. You lower your hand, realizing it had been reaching out towards the horse. It’s gone, taking all trace of it having been there, not even a ripple on the surface of the water left. Maybe it had been a hallucination all along. 

Arms are wrapping around you, pulling you from the edge of the water. 

“Stay away from there!” A woman is saying, chastising you for getting close to the lake. Your head is swimming, the buzzing still in your ears. “Those waters are dangerous.” 

Something is wrapped around your shoulders, and you find you're shivering despite the warm sun above you. You recognize who it came from, the overwhelming scent of aftershave reaching your nose. 

You're led back to the house and taken inside. Your mother is there instantly, worrying over you. You numbly allow yourself to be led to the couch, Jeffrey sitting you down on it. He lived two doors down with his mother, and more than once had come calling on you with any excuse he could use to do so. You thought he was sweet, but that was it. 

Someone is speaking, someone else is handing you a glass of water. But everything seems distant to you. Maybe you were dreaming. Maybe you were in a coma and this was all some sick fantasy brought on by delirium. 

You know that’s not the case. The brain wasn’t capable of thinking all these people up, all the things that you’d seen, all the people you’d met over the past few days were real. 

Your dad being dead was real. 

You sip the water, letting people fuss around you. Jeffrey is sitting next to you, his arm wrapped around your shoulders supportively. You’re still wet, the cold water grounding you, but it was also a reminder of what you’d seen. The horse in the water. How you had been so drawn to it, wanting to touch it, willing to walk into the lake to get to it. 

The thought scares you more than anything that had happened the past few days ever could. 

***

Six years. 

Your mother had held onto the house for six years. 

She moved you both to town, unable to stare at the work your father had put in. The constant reminders of him were too much for her to handle and so she’d run from it. You had returned once you had your own car. You had constantly driven past it, pulled into the driveway to stare at it. It looked sad, like something out of a fairytale. The outside needed repainted, the yard had overgrown, starting to take back the house as well. The garden your father had put so much work into and the bushes were all dead. It was like the forest was slowly creeping in, retaking the land as its own. 

Six years and you had finally graduated from high school, gone to college and gotten a useless degree. Six years to work up the courage to ask your mother for the keys, wanting some place to stay that wasn’t the cramped apartment rife with your mother and her sorrows. 

Finally it was yours. 

You start with the house, cleaning it up inside. It was dusty and damp after the six years it had been closed up. You air it out, sweeping and dusting every inch, making it shine, just like it had six years ago. The yard, however, was something else. Its glory was gone, shriveled up and overgrown from six years of neglect. You knew you could never return it to its full glory, but at least you could try. Spring is coming, the days slowly lengthening and getting warmer. You want to get it cleaned up so you can begin planting soon.

A few days go by without incident. You finish fixing up the interior of the house and begin on the exterior. Ivy has made itself at home on one side of the house, and it desperately needs repainting. The roof needs to be cleaned as well, moss growing on the side facing the forest. It truly feels like the forest had slowly been reaching out, trying to reclaim the land. 

For a moment you feel as if you should let it, as you watch the ivy peel back from the side of the house. What was the point of cleaning up the house? Your father is gone. He won’t ever see it again. 

You push the thought away, finishing your work for the day. 

It’s after dark when it happens for the first time. You had been making dinner after closing up the house when a low buzzing had started to sound in your ears. You look around, wondering if perhaps it’s one of the lights. You move around the room, standing next to each one, but the buzzing never changes in tone or volume. 

You flick the lights off, but the buzzing doesn't cease. The moon is out, illuminating the lawn as you stare out the window. Your lips part in a gasp as you catch a shadowy form standing in the long grass. You move closer to the window, blinking in shock. 

It looks like...a horse. 

Its eyes glint in the darkness, reflecting the light of the moon. A feeling of uneasiness washes over you, the buzzing in your ears feeding the fear starting to bud in the back of your mind. Your hand shakes as you reach for the curtain, quickly drawing it closed. The room is bathed in darkness and you fumble for the lightswitch, the buzzing stopping as soon as the light flicks on. 

You breathe in the sudden silence, your heart thudding in your chest. There was a horse in your yard. You turn back to the kitchen, trying to calm the fear gnawing at you. Maybe one of the neighbors had gotten a horse and it somehow escaped into your yard. There was certainly plenty for a horse to eat in the overgrown yard. 

Perhaps you should make a visit to the neighbors again. It has been years since you’ve seen them. You can let them know one of their horses is escaping at night. 

***

None of your neighbors have horses. 

You try to process the thought as you work on painting the exterior of the house. You had visited them the day before, making them known of your return to your childhood home. You had asked briefly about the horse, but you’d gotten nothing but shrugs and one strange look from Jeffrey’s mother. 

Perhaps it had escaped from somewhere outside of the neighborhood then. There were many farms all across the countryside. The horse could have wandered in from anywhere. Hell, the horse could have been a hallucination for all you know. A trick of the shadows. 

For all you know there was no horse at all. 

The thought sends a shiver down your spine, something in the back of your mind prickling. You get the sudden feeling you’re being watched. You turn on the ladder, glancing at the forest behind you. You scan the treeline, but there’s nothing in the thick underbrush. 

Your father had always warned you about going into the forest as a child. Forests are strange places, and while there were no large predators you had to worry about, there were...other things. The trees were tricky and liked to play games, making you get lost on purpose.

And the faeries. 

You had believed him, at least as a child. Then you brushed him off as you grew older. Faeries were nothing but stories and legends. 

Still, you never ventured into the forest. Something about it has always given you goosebumps, making the hair on the back of your neck stand straight. 

You turn away from the trees, resuming your painting. You want to get it done and dry before the weather turns wet with the coming spring. You have a lot to do before then. 

The buzzing returns that night. 

You’re in bed this time, tucked away upstairs in your old room. It hadn’t felt right, sleeping in what was your parents' old room. Some of your dads stuff is still in there, and you don’t feel brave enough to start looking through it. Not yet. 

You had just been drifting off to sleep when the buzzing started, pulling you from the precious slumber. Your heart jumps in your chest, fear buzzing through you almost as loud as the buzzing in your ears. Your gaze turns towards the window overlooking the front yard. What would you see if you got up and looked? Will the shadowy horse figure be there again? 

Your breathing picks up as you hear the familiar creak of the porch steps. The front door is locked, you had made sure of it twice before you retired to bed, but that doesn’t stop the fear screaming in the back of your mind. 

Your legs are shaking as you rise from the bed, slowly tiptoeing to the window. You glance down at the yard, but you can’t see anything. The porch continues to creak, slow, heavy footsteps making their way around the side of the house.

You open your door, glancing down the hallway towards the stairs. You let out a breath, cursing the fact everything you could use as a weapon is downstairs in the kitchen. You tiptoe along the hallway, making your way slowly down the stairs. 

You stare at the kitchen window as you make your way to the bottom of the steps, the curtains thin enough you can make out something moving on the porch in the moonlight. You sink down, making yourself as small as possible as you hold your breath. 

There’s a horse on your porch. 

It’s unmistakable, its shadow illuminated through the kitchen window. You’re afraid, breaths ragged and shaky as you stare at the figure through the window. You wonder if it can see you even in the darkness. Its head turns towards the window, ears flickering. You hold your breath, the buzzing in your ears getting louder. 

It almost sounds like...music. 

A deep, sad song begins to come through the buzzing like a radio picking up a distant signal. Tears fill your eyes as something tugs deeply in your chest. The grief from the last six years comes back to the surface, the house suddenly feeling so large and empty. You want to escape, you want to run out the door. You can’t stand it, being alone. The house was supposed to be full of light and laughter and happy memories. It’s so cold and empty now. 

The creak of a board on the porch snaps you from your thoughts, your body halfway to the front door. You hadn’t even realized you had gotten up. You stumble back, racing for the stairs and back up to your room. You push your desk in front of the door before diving under the covers, putting a pillow over your head to try and block out the buzzing music. 

***

You let out a shriek as you leave the house two days later. 

Standing in your yard is a black horse. 

It’s just standing there, staring right at you, unmoving. Your hand is on the doorknob, ready to rush back inside. There’s no buzzing this time, no song. It’s morning, the sun coming over the hills. The world is damp from how cold it was last night. There’s no hoofprints in the tall grass, no sign of the horse trampling through it. You wonder how long it’s been there. 

“Can I help you?” You ask, feeling stupid as the words leave your mouth. You’re talking to a horse. 

Its ears flick at your words and it continues to stare at you for a moment before it lowers its head, starting to graze on the tall grass. You relax just slightly, your hand slipping off the doorknob. Perhaps it’s just a lost horse, come to graze on your jungle. The other neighbors all keep their lawns well kept, so you can rationalize why a horse would choose this yard over theirs. 

Maybe this was the horse you’ve been seeing at night too, simply making itself at home where there’s plenty of food. Maybe you’ve been imagining the buzzing, the music. Maybe the emptiness of your home truly is getting to you. 

Your foot hits something as you take a step forward, drawing your gaze downward. Sitting on your porch is a silver halter. You glance at the horse, its eyes on you as you bend down to pick it up. The leather is soft and worn, diamonds lining the sides and the nose. The buckles shine like new, and you wonder if they’re real silver. 

You glance back at the horse, finding it staring at you as it chews. You take a cautious step forward, then another. The horse doesn’t move, staying still as you make your way down the creaky steps. 

“Is this yours?” You ask, holding the halter up. 

The horse bobs its head before bending back down to graze. 

You blink in shock. Did the horse just...nod? You take a couple steps forward, closer to the horse. It’s big, tall and strong even with its head bent. Its coat is slick and shiny in the morning light, its mane thick and curly and long enough it drags on the ground when it eats. It’s a beautiful horse, and you can’t imagine someone just leaving it here. 

“Aren’t you...supposed to be wearing this?” You say, holding up the halter. 

The horse rears back, letting out a loud neigh as you approach. You stumble back as it moves away from you, staring at you with a cautious look. Your heart is pounding in your throat, short breaths puffing in the cool air. 

“Okay, okay.” You hold your hand out, your fingers trembling. “You don’t have to wear it.” The horse continues to watch you as you make your way back up the steps. “I’ll just...put it inside so it doesn’t get damaged.” 

The horse is grazing again when you step back outside, almost like nothing had happened. 

You watch it for a few moments before sighing. “I guess if you’re going to help with the yard you can stay.” 

You should put up a poster at the general store in town about the stray horse that’s made itself at home on your property. You go about your day, the horse contently grazing on your long grass, paying you no mind. It’s nice, not being alone, even if your companion is a mysterious stray horse that apparently understands you. You’ve always heard horses are very intelligent, though, so perhaps it wasn’t that strange it was able to answer you. 

You work on repairs outside the house until sunset, tired and sore from all the work you’ve been doing. You haven’t even touched the garden yet. You should pull out the lawnmower tomorrow and at least get the grass trimmed down. Make it look like more of a yard. 

You turn around, nearly jumping out of your skin as you find the horse right behind you. You hadn’t even heard it approach you, not even its footsteps on the stone path to the front door. 

You put a hand on your chest, taking a deep breath. “You’re a sneaky thing, aren’t you.” 

An almost mischievous look flashes in its eyes, so fast you almost don’t notice. Almost. You take a deep breath, calming your racing heart as it stretches out its head, sniffing at your sweatshirt. You hesitantly reach up, resting your hand on its face. Its hair is silky and smooth under your hand, almost feeling faintly damp. 

It blows out a breath, pressing its face into your hand. You scratch its nose, a smile tugging at your lips as it moves its head with your hand. 

“It’s nice, not being alone.” You say, gently patting his head. “Things didn’t used to be this way. But, maybe someday they won’t be anymore.” You pat his head before pulling away. 

He watches you walk up the porch steps, and you take one last look at him before you close the door, locking it. 

You relax on the couch after dinner, your eyes drawn to the halter sitting on the coffee table. You pick it up, feeling the weight of it in your hands. It’s heavy from the diamonds, and you just know it has to be expensive. You turn it in your hands, looking at the other side. The leather is worn, which must mean it gets used often. It probably looks good on the horse, the silver contrasting its dark hair. 

On the back of the nosepiece is three letters embroidered in the leather. 

KIX. 

Are they initials? Or perhaps the horse’s name is Kix. 

There’s no other markings, no other indication of the owner’s information anywhere. You run your fingers over the soft leather again before you set it back on the coffee table, heading off to bed. 

***

The horse is standing in your lawn again the next morning. You’re less afraid this time, walking down the steps without pause. It watches you, its tail flicking. There’s something about its stare, those dark eyes watching you with almost human understanding. It sends a shiver down your spine, fear tickling the back of your mind again. 

You shove it aside as you pull the lawnmower out of the shed, sighing as you stare at the expanse of lawn you’re going to have to mow. 

You turn to look at the horse, its eyes on you. “There was a name on the halter.” You say, leaning against the lawnmower. “Kix, I think.” 

The horse bobs its head in a nod. 

“Is that...your name?” 

It nods again. 

A smile tugs at your lips. “Are you...a boy horse?” 

It nods once more, before lowering its head to graze. So that was his name on the halter. You still can’t help but wonder who he belongs to. Surely someone was looking for him. 

Kix continues to graze mindlessly as you mow the tall weeds and grass. As you said you would, you leave a small patch for him to graze on in the back of the house, away from the street and the front door. You know it’s only a matter of time before the neighbors notice your mysterious visitor. You’re surprised none of them have come knocking yet.

The day grows warmer, the sun bearing down on you as you mow the lawn, working your way in a circle around the house. You finish up back by the shed, shutting the lawnmower off before you collapse in the newly cut lawn, breathing heavily. 

Footsteps crunch through the grass before you’re staring upside down at Kix’s nose. His lips tickle your forehead as he sniffs at your head, your hand pushing his nose away. You push yourself up to sit, wiping the sweat from your brow. 

“I don’t know how my dad did this, like, every day.” You say, running your hand over the short grass. “He loved his lawn. He loved his yard. He loved his garden.” You shake your head, staring at the tangled vines and dead bushes, the weeds that have taken over where meticulously planted flowers used to bloom every spring. “Now look at it.” 

Tears burn your eyes. You don’t have the skills your father had, the knowledge, the drive to make and keep the landscaping so beautiful. 

“It deserves so much better than this.” You say, shaking your head. “He deserves so much better.”

Kix nudges against your back, nickering softly. You sniffle, wiping the tear that slides down your cheeks. You knew it would be a lot of work, and you knew you could never restore it to what your father had. You could still try. You could still make it look decent. If nothing else, you could at least clean it up. 

***

Kix is there every day, greeting you at the porch every morning. He hovers behind you often as you begin to work on the garden, snacking on weeds and helping you clear bushes. As soon as you cut one down, he drags it to your trash pile for you. 

You talk to him as you work, telling him all about your family, your dad, your life after you left. You worry about your mom, but you know she’s doing what’s best for her, just as you are. 

Kix seems to understand you, not in the way animals do, but in a human way. It’s a bit unnerving sometimes, the way he looks at you as you’re speaking. You have little experience with horses, though, so you can’t be sure if it’s all that unusual. 

You like having him around. The house feels less empty, even if he stays outside. You haven’t had any strange experiences since he showed up, so you can’t complain. You had begun to question if coming back out here was worth it. Now you’re glad you came back, and you decided to stay. 

You get the garden and the areas around the yard cleared, everything looking so bare now. There were a few bushes still standing, Kix having pushed you away from some of them. You had left them with a shrug, moving on to others that were dead and crumpled. Deciding what to plant was going to be harder.  

You do research, looking at various plants that not only look good together, but also will be easy to manage. You’ll be spending a lot of money, but it’ll be worth it. 

Kix is surprisingly absent the morning your plants get delivered. You don’t see him until the delivery truck is long gone, and you’re hauling plants around the yard to their respective places.

In fact, any time you get visitors, he makes himself scarce, even when it’s the neighbors. It’s odd, but perhaps he’s just shy. You don’t blame him. You weren’t the biggest fan of all of the neighbors, but you’ve known most of them since you were a child. 

Jeffrey’s mother comes to visit one day as you’re working on planting some seeds for flowers. You invite her in for tea, sweaty and dirty but she doesn’t seem to mind. Kix is gone, having disappeared silently before she arrived. Sometimes he moved so swiftly and silently it almost seemed unnatural. 

“How have you been, dear?” Jeffrey’s mother asks you. 

You shrug, pouring the tea. “It’s strange, being back. The house seems so empty.” 

“The yard looks lovely. I’m sure it will be positively stunning come summer.” She says, looking out the window. “Your father would be proud.” 

A bitter smile forms on your face. “I’m sure he would be. I’m not nearly as talented as he is.” 

She turns from the window, her eyes spotting the halter on the table. She gasps, covering her mouth as she stares at it. “W-Where did you get that?” 

You frown, eyeing the halter before looking back at her. “It showed up on my doorstep.” You say. “With a black horse.” 

She rushes towards you with surprising speed, grabbing you by the arms. “Don’t tell me you’ve gone into the woods again! Don’t tell me you’ve gone back to that place!” 

“W-What are you talking about?” You frown at her. “I’ve never gone into the woods.” 

Her grip on your arms loosens just slightly. “You don’t remember. The day of your father’s funeral. You ran from the service like a sinner fleeing church straight into the woods. We found you out by the lake, right on the edge of the water.” 

Your ears begin to buzz with the familiar sound as images flash through your mind. You remember being angry at everyone for ruining your father’s yard. You remember running from the service, running through the trees. You remember feeling like they were grabbing at you, trying to pull you in all directions. You remember falling, you remember the buzzing sound and the horse in the water. The black horse with milky white eyes. 

“You must get rid of it.” She says, staring at the halter. “Do not go near that horse again. It will only bring you death.” 

You sit on the couch, staring at the halter after she leaves. Things begin to click into place as the memory of that day, the memory of what you saw, the memories of the strange events when you returned replay in your mind. 

Your father had warned you about lakes in the area, that there was a legend about shapeshifting horses that would lure you into the water and drown you. You had brushed him off, just as you had about other things. You know what you saw that day, though. You had nearly been a victim of one yourself. 

And you’ve been talking with it every day for the last few weeks. 

It hasn’t seemed like it wanted to hurt you. But it’s understanding of your words, it’s knowledge, it’s manner, even its eyes tell you everything. You’ve been spending every day with a kelpie. 

***

You leave the house the next day, halter in hand. It’s a foggy morning, colder than it should be. It feels fitting as you approach the dark figure waiting in your yard. You stare at its too human eyes, holding the halter tightly in your hand. 

“You’re no horse, are you?” You ask, your heart thudding in your chest so hard you’re certain he might be able to hear it. “It was you that day, wasn’t it? You were going to kill me.” 

The horse blows out a breath, taking a step closer to you. You take half a step back, holding the halter up between you like it might protect you. He takes another step forward, stretching out his neck to nose at the halter. He wants you to put it on him, you discern. 

You’re not sure what will happen when you put it back on. He doesn’t look like that horse in the water without it, but will that change? Will he turn back into the murderous beast he’s supposed to be? He could kill you in this form. A well aimed kick would do the job. Why would he want to be in his other form to do it? Would it be easier? Quicker for you. 

Or perhaps the halter will allow him to communicate easier with you. 

It’s a risk you’re going to have to take. 

Your hands shake as you fit the halter onto his face, having to try a couple times to get it in the right position. As soon as you buckle it the buzzing begins again in your ears. You stumble back a couple steps, Kix shaking his head before he stares at you again. His eyes are milky white, his coat dripping with water as if he’d just climbed from the lake. You stare in horror as his body begins to contort, his bones snapping. 

You stumble back a couple more steps, your feet slipping in the damp grass, sending you sprawling onto your back as he shifts and changes, and suddenly you’re staring at a man. 

He’s tall and strong, rippling with muscles. Your cheeks grow hot as he steps towards you, damp curls falling onto his forehead. He’s naked, tanned skin on display, save for a silver chain around his neck. His eyes are dark, not unlike those of the horse. 

You scramble back as he squats in front of you, but his hand catches your leg, keeping you still. The buzzing becomes almost unbearable, pulsing in your head like a migraine. Cold skin touches yours as you screw your eyes closed, the buzzing beginning to quiet to almost nothing. 

“I apologize.” A deep, accented voice says. “I did not realize you were so sensitive to magic.” 

You crack your eyes open, staring up into deep brown eyes. He’s squatting over you, his hand on your cheek. His skin is cold to the touch, though he’s likely been out in the cold all night. 

“You....you’re...” You stutter out, staring up into his handsome face. He is handsome, his face like what you would expect to find sculpted out of marble in a museum. 

“I am a kelpie, yes.” He says. 

“W-Why....why?” You ask, shaking under him as he stares down at you with a mix of emotions on his face. 

“Let’s get you inside, then I will explain everything.” He says, gently hauling you to your feet. 

It’s possibly dangerous, allowing a kelpie into your home but you’re not in a state of mind to protest. At least this way your body won’t be laying in the yard for days, you think. At least this way you won’t face the same fate as your father. 

He’s shockingly gentle as wraps a blanket around you, sitting you on the couch. He’s still completely naked and dripping water and here he is taking care of you. Your face is still hot despite the chill to your fingers. 

“There’s a towel in the closet.” You say, trying not to stare at him. “A-And some clothes that might fit.” 

He nods, stepping away from you finally. You sink down onto the couch, staring out the window as he digs through the closet by the bathroom. He comes back a few moments later with a towel wrapped around his shoulders and sweatpants covering his bottom half. They were your fathers, the spare he kept downstairs in case of emergencies. 

He sits down on the opposite end of the couch from you, staring at you. You pull your knees to your chest, tucking the blanket tight around you as you stare back. You can hardly believe you just watched the horse you’d spent the last few weeks interacting with shapeshift into a human. 

“Are you going to kill me?” You ask, wanting to get it out of the way first. 

He shakes his head. “No. That was never my intention. Though, I did consider it briefly when you appeared on the shore of my lake. It is simply my nature.” He shrugs. 

“Why didn’t you?” You ask. 

“I could sense something about you. The deep sadness within you, and something else that I now know is your sensitivity to magic.” He explains. “I was curious about you. I watched you every day until you left. I waited six years for your return.” 

Your heart is still thudding in your chest. “You were on my porch.” Is all you can think to say. 

“Yes.” He nods. “I wanted to see you again. I tried to draw you out, but you were resistant to my magic.” 

“That’s why...you gave me your halter?” You ask. 

He nods, stroking the silver chain around his neck. “It is what gives me my power. Without it, I am hardly more than a regular horse.” 

“So...if I took that off...you’d turn back into a horse?” You ask, eyeing the chain. 

He nods. “Yes, and I could not change back until you placed the halter back on.” 

“Why...why did you wait for all those years? Why did you find me?” You ask. 

“You are very beautiful.” He says, a soft look in his eyes. “And I was curious about you. My normal form was too much for you, and I knew I had to gain your trust, so I gave you the source of my power to do with what you wished. I would have remained a horse forever if that is what you wanted of me.” 

Your lips part in a gasp at his words. It sounds so very romantic from someone you just found out is actually a shapeshifting horse. You’ve known him for quite a while, but at the same time, you’ve only just met him. 

“Kix,” You swallow thickly. “I-I’m not sure what you want me to say.” 

He scoots closer to you, taking your hand in his. His skin is still cool to the touch, even against your slowly warming skin. “I wish to be with you, if you will have me.” He says, sincerity shining in his eyes. “I will stay with you until you cast me out. If you wish for me to remain a horse, I will do so. You will carry my halter for all eternity, just as you carry my heart.” 

You flounder as you stare at him. It’s all very sudden, though you suppose the courting rituals of supposed mythical creatures is a bit different than a human’s. “This...this is moving very quickly.” You say, shifting so you’re sitting on the edge of the couch. “I...I considered you a friend, as a horse. It was nice having someone around. This place...it’s so...empty and lonely now. It’s like a void when it once was full of life and joy.” 

Kix’s arm wraps around your shoulders. “Let me help you fill that void. I will do whatever you ask of me.” 

***

You keep Kix at arms length as the weeks pass. Human culture and customs are foreign to him, and you find yourself not only having to teach him, but having to move him often. He likes to be close to you, he likes to touch you. It’s strange after years of distance and sadness. He’s eager to do anything you ask of him, sticking close to you almost every hour of every day he can. He only disappears every few days to return to his lake, usually late at night. He’s always back by morning, sometimes in horse form, but usually in his human form. 

He helps you with the yard, eager to mow it as often as you ask him to after you teach him to use the lawnmower. He does it with almost no effort, always leaving a small patch for his horse-self. He helps you with the plants as well, the flowers you’ve planted growing and blooming, and the bushes he’d pushed you away from while you were clearing things out beginning to grow back as well. 

It’s not as good as your father would have done. You still like to think he’d be proud, though. 

The spring rains arrive, bringing a steady downpour for days. It leaves you and Kix mostly cooped up inside for an extended period for the first time since he revealed himself to you. He begins to grow a bit restless, and you hear him sneaking off every night to return to his lake, or perhaps just to run around for a while. You feel a bit bad, keeping him cooped up, but he offered no complaint. He could leave if he wanted, you had made that clear, but he stays dutifully at your side. 

Things begin to change as the rains continue, the dynamic between you shifting. He stands closer again, hands lingering when he touches you. He sits closer to you, stares at you more. 

Things shift even more one night when you’re making dinner. He had been setting the table as you chopped vegetables for a salad when your knife slipped, cutting into your skin. You drop it with a hiss, watching the blood bead along the edges of the cut before sliding down your hand in a steady stream. 

He’s there in an instant, hands cupping yours. He stares at your cut and for a moment you’re afraid he might snap, he might change, his promises might go out the window. Were kelpies like sharks? Would they lose all senses of themselves in the presence of blood? You had done a little reading on kelpies, but sources were varied and contradictory. Of course, you could have asked the actual kelpie in your house, but you’re never quite sure how to broach the subject. 

He wraps the dishcloth around your hand before leading you to the couch. He sits you down before gently unwrapping your hand. The dishcloth is stained and will have to be thrown out. His cool hands close around your injured one, surprising warmth blossoming across your skin as he closes his eyes. The buzzing begins in your ears again, vibrating through your whole being. He brings your hands to his face, whispering something inaudibly before he blows against your hand. 

He slowly removes his own hands, and your eyes widen as you see nothing but smeared blood on your skin. Not even a line where the cut had been. The buzzing dies down to a quiet murmur, where it always was with him near. He wipes the blood from your hand and from his with the ruined dish towel. 

“How did you do that?” You ask, still staring at your hand in awe. 

“Magic.” He states simply, his breath fanning your face. 

You look up from your hand, finding him so close you can see the small imperfections of his face. The light stubble growing on his cheeks, the light smattering of freckles on his nose, the crease between his eyebrows. His arm wraps around your waist as he leans in closer, eyes fluttering closed as he presses his lips to yours. 

You freeze in shock, stiffening in his arms as his cool lips touch yours. You weren’t expecting it, and it’s a bit forward, but you don’t dislike it. 

He tears himself away from you, jumping up from the couch. He looks horrified, eyes wide and wild like a startled horse. “Forgive me.” He stutters out before he flings the door open, racing out into the rain. 

“Wait-Kix!” You yell, running to the door but he’s already gone, disappeared into the night. 

You glance back at the house before you take off running towards the trees. The rain pelts against your skin but you don’t care, the memories of your father’s funeral fresh in your mind as you break through the treeline, entering the forest. 

It feels as strange as it did that day, the branches and bushes and roots seeming to reach out to you as you run. You call out to Kix, but he’s completely disappeared. You pause to breathe, looking every which way, but you’re not even sure which direction you came from anymore. You’re not even sure he entered the forest at all. 

“Kix!” You call out loudly, starting to run forward again, hoping you’re going in the right direction. “Kix, come back!” 

A root reaches out and trips you, sending you into the mud. The canopy of trees blocks out some of the rain, but it still slips through, misting down onto the forest floor. You push yourself onto your knees, spotting a lake just through the bushes. You crawl through, ignoring the way the bush tears at your clothes and skin.

You stop at the edge of the lake, looking out at the water. It’s alive with the falling raindrops, your hands and knees sinking into the mud as you kneel at the edge of the water.

“Kix!” You call out again, crawling forward until your hands are in the water. “Kix, please!” 

It’s cold, the rain having soaked you to the bone. You’re shivering, your heart thudding in your chest. You’re not even sure this is the right lake. Nothing looks familiar, but then again, you haven’t been here in six years. 

The water begins to ripple, dark ears and milky eyes peeking above the surface. 

“Kix!” You call out. “Please...come back. I-I liked it.” You take a deep, steadying breath. “I’d like you to kiss me again.”

The horse sinks back under the water, your heart still thudding in your chest. A sudden horrible thought races through your mind. Was this even Kix? Was there more than one lake in the forest? Had you just signed your death warrant because of your foolish desperation? 

The water ripples, a familiar curly-haired head appearing from the depths as Kix slowly makes his way forward to the shore in his human form. He drops to his knees in front of you, the buzzing sounding in your ears as he cups your face. His skin is frigid, even against your own chilled cheeks. 

“That was foolish, coming after me.” He says, almost shouting over the pouring rain. 

“Why did you run?” You ask, shivering from the cold. 

“You did not kiss me back. I thought perhaps I overstepped. I thought you were angry with me, that you might throw me out.” 

“It surprised me,” You say, looking up into his dark eyes. “I-I wasn’t expecting it. But I liked it, and I’d like you to do it again.” 

He leans down, pressing his forehead against yours. You breathe each other in for a moment before he’s closing the distance between you, pressing his lips to yours. You kiss him back, wrapping your arms around his neck. His skin is frigid and offers no respite to the cold mud seeping into your pants, or the rain pelting down around you. 

His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you tight against him. You’re shivering, fingers and toes long having gone numb in the freezing rain. He moans into your mouth as you bite his lower lip, your tongue slipping in to tangle with his. His hands slide down to your waist, wrapping around you tightly. 

He lifts you, pulling you slightly up the bank before your back meets soft grass. You part your legs for him, his naked body slipping between them. The rain pelts down around you but you don't care, his hands making quick work of your soaked clothes. Despite your nakedness, the chill is leaving you as your body warms with arousal, his cold hands dragging along every inch of exposed skin. 

“I’ve been waiting so long for this.” He says, nipping at your neck as his hands squeeze at your body. “So long for you.” 

“Take me.” You gasp, hands grabbing at his curls, at his body as much as he is yours. “I’m yours.” 

He lets out a content hum, pulling away only to pull your pants off. They disappear in the grass with a wet plop but you don’t care, laying naked in the dirt and rain under him. His cock is hard as he stares down at you, slick and laid open for him. 

Your fingers sink into the mud as he drags his cock along your slit. His eyes are dark as he stares down at you, lining himself up. Your lips part in a gasp as he presses into you, stretching you open. It burns, your hands pulling him down against you. You cling to him, meshing your lips together in an attempt to distract yourself from the pain. He’s so big, stretching you open as he presses into you. 

Your head falls back as he bottoms out, pressed entirely into you. Your body buzzes with energy, fingers sinking into his skin as the sensation becomes almost unbearable. 

“You can take it.” He moans into your ear. “You can take it. That’s it.” 

You clamp around him, a breathy moan leaving your lips. You feel him smirk against your jaw, his hips rolling against yours as he slowly begins thrusting into you. 

“Such a good girl for me, offering yourself to me like this.” He says. “You’re mine.” 

“Yours.” You gasp, walls fluttering around him at his praise. “All yours.” 

A low noise rumbles through his chest as he speeds up his movements, fucking into you faster and harder. The dirt at your back bites into your skin as your body moves from the force of his thrusts. 

“Kix!” You gasp, pleasure mixing with the buzzing under your skin. It’s becoming too much, warmth pooling in your belly. 

“Such a tight pussy, taking me so well.” He groans in your ear, nipping at the shell. “Going to cum for me? Going to cum around my cock?” 

“Yes!” You cry out, back arching against him. 

“Good girl.” He all but growls. “Going to fill you with my seed. Can you take it?” 

Your eyes roll back at his words, your mind hazy and buzzing. “Yes! Yes! Please give it to me!” You cry. 

His hips drag along your clit as he fucks into you wildly, your orgasm slamming into you. You cum with a cry, milking his cock as you writhe under him. 

“Yes!” He groans. “Yes, take it.” He slams his hips into yours, his hot release spilling into you. 

You groan at the feeling, toes curling in the mud as he fills you in the middle of the forest. It’s so carnal and wild, your body streaked with dirt and soaked from the rain. 

He collapses on top of you, his heavy body pinning you down. You wrap your arms around him, the warmth of your skin contrasting the chill of his. He presses his lips to yours, kissing you passionately. 

“Ride me.” He breathes against your lips.

You pull back to stare at him. “Didn’t we just-” 

“No,” He laughs. “I want you to ride me.” 

Your mouth falls open. “Oh, right. Okay.” 

He pulls away from you, stepping back into the water before his body contorts and cracks, shifting back into its horse form. He kneels in front of you in the mud and you slide onto his back, not caring that you’re naked. You wrap your arms around his neck as he stands, his hooves kicking up mud and water as he takes off running into the trees. 

You cling on for dear life but you can’t help the laugh that tears from your throat as the rain and wind whips at your bare skin. You feel happy and free for the first time in a long time. 

Taglist:

@rosechi @bobaprint @star-trekker-0013 @wolffegirlsunite @jedi-hawkins @sinfulsalutations @freesia-writes @littlemissmanga @clio3kantarella @eris-k @thorsterstrudle @idontgetanysleep @clonemedickix @sleepingsun501 @dystopicjumpsuit @wings-and-beskar @sev-on-kamino @starrylothcat @523rdrebel @thrawnspetgoose @originalcollectionartistry @gwalchmai2970 @maddiedrmr @sunshinesdaydream @multi-fan-dom-madness @wizardofrozz @mythical-illustrator @lickylickylicky @sweetheartsnips @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @mooncommlink @deejadabbles @starqueensthings @ghostperson69 @captain_rexs_cyare @jediknightjana

#star wars #star wars fic #the clone wars #the clone wars fic #clone medic kix x reader #clone thirsting #x reader

[beskarandblasters]

Fics I’ve been loving lately!!!

1. June by @atinylittlepain

This is so beautifully written. I can’t wait for everyone to read this beautiful piece of art and see where it goes 😭💛

2. Burn Slowly / I Love You by @wannab-urs

I love Frankie already but this is turning me into a Frankie Girl™ One chapter is up right now the next one should be coming soon 😇 (esp if I can bully her to write it faster😈)

3. Dressed for Revenge by @jksprincess10

The concept and story for this is so so so unique and I’m hooked. I just want to protect my lil baby Ghost with my whole heart 😭🖤

4. Restoring the Roots by @bearsbeetsbeskar

This is so perfect and sweet. You know our boy Joel needs therapy so bad. I can’t wait to see where this goes! 🤎

5. Hot & Heavy by @tieronecrush

This is so fucking hot y’all. Sam you really DID THAT with this one 🥵🥵🥵

6. Devils We Keep by @dinsdjrn

The ANGST IS ANGSTING here folks!!! 😭🖤 Meg I can’t wait to read more and see what you do with this!!!

7. Put Your Lips Close to Mine by @swiftispunk

Han recently posted part two of her Joel x Masseuse!Reader fic and it is HOT 🥵 I love this concept!!!

8. Old Dog, New Tricks by @javiscigarette

Two words: Submissive Joel 🥵 love reading about Joel being the subby one for once 🥰😇

Be sure to check out everyone on this list 🥹

#joel miller x reader #frankie morales x reader #fic recs #my mutuals <3 #joel miller fanfiction #frankie morales fanfiction

[memoiandy]

I was asked by @not-so-lost-after-all about some Ascended Astarion fanfics I am currently reading, so here we go. I actually have no strong feeling towards this version of Star. My canon is spawn Astarion but Vamp Lord Astarion is fascinating too (and he's evil and horrible and so so sad story wise). I already stated that he has amazing potential for fanfics for the sadness and angst. And I found three fics that play into this wonderfully!

👉Pieces Still Stuck In Your Teeth by @wetcatspellcaster

This is set 10 years after BG3. Our MC Rosalie decided to leave Ascended Astarion shortly after the end of the game but now one bad, bad event forces her to face Dick Astarion again. This Star is wonderfully evil and scary sometimes but still so very alluring and fun. Perfect villain. Rosalie is a badass wizzard and might just have a plan how to bring her old cuddly Astarion back. I root for her!

👉Unravel by @hmdeath

Hikari left Astarion too when he became too much of a horrible, horrible no good gremlin. She spend five miserable years going nowhere but now Raphael gives her a chance to restore Astarion's soul. As expected, the deal is sketchy, and our heroine also has a time limit before she'd be doomed because she wanted her beloved back. We actually get Astarion's POV so we undestand his motivations. And there's a lot of banter, sexual tension and good smut. Delicious.

👉Hellish Rebuke by @bludazey

Our MC Lillith actually became Astarion's spawn and is currently in abusive hell. Her Ascended Astarion truly is a piece of shit, but still charismatic and incredibly smart. This is a pain train fic, very dark but it doesn't shy away from what kind of creature Astarion became. But it's very hard to tell if the man Lillith loves is still there or if it's just a monster wearing his face. Read the tags of the fic carefully. This is quite different from the other two fics I recommended and I personally am not sure where exactly is this story going. Still, fascinating read.

I hope the authors won't mind my short descriptions. This is how I see their stories. Each of them is different but none of them pretend Ascended Astarion is something he's not.

Unsurprisingly, there are some very dark moments here and there. If I get too sad, I go back to our beloved spawn Star who showed us his grave, told us he loves us and then made sweet love to us in a graveyard.

#ascended astarion #astarion fanfic #astarion

[wannab-urs]

The Spreadsheet Digest Vol. 2 - Fic Recs

Here's everything I added to the Pedro Fics Spreadsheet in the last week with my unedited ramblings attached (the notes I make immediately after reading, often unhinged).

Surrender - a Joel series by @ezrasbirdie

-> ofc daisy, grumpy/sunshine but the sunshine has depth and the grumpy isn't mean. ellie is excellent in this

Hayloft - a Joel WIP @atinylittlepain

-> dancer!reader (stripper), cute awkward joel, smutty smutty smut. reader is kind of soft!dom?

High Enough - a Joel/Dieter series by @psychedelic-ink

-> Actor!reader and your bodyguard Joel hookup with Dieter Bravo at a party and it is SO hot

Short Days, Long Nights - a Joel series by @frannyzooey

-> post outbreak!joel but it's also domestic bliss. the filth is filthy but the slow burn makes you work for it. This is gorgeous and beautiful and sweet but also so fucking hot!

What he didn't do - a Joel one shot by @joelsgreys

-> divorced!reader and Joel finally go on a date after he's been crushing on you for 10 years and it's very cute

Build Me Up Buttercup - a Joel series by me

-> You're failing Dr. Miller's architecture class and you decide to confront him about it.

Best Laid Plans - a Dieter series by @prolix-yuy

-> Dieter Bravo, legendary Hollywood playboy and a tabloid’s best friend, never thought he was worth much more than a good night to a parade of faces. Until Murch, the editor on his film, turns his world upside down. Now he’s got big plans to do the same as he drags her into the deep end of his hedonistic life. He’s got a guy for everything, but she’s got something he’s always wanted - a big enough heart (and patience) for him to fit in.

Breaking the Girl - a Joel one shot by @cinematicgf

-> Your boyfriend sucks, but you go home with him for the summer anyway. His neighbor and boss Joel Miller is decidedly not an asshole. And he's really hot.

Me-use - a Claude ;) one shot by @boliv-jenta

-> Just fucking trust me you have to read this

Toyin' with them older guys - a Joel one shot by @proxima-writes

->Hot bartender joel fucks with your sex life... and then ya know

The Babysitter - a Joel one shot by @proxima-writes

-> Babysitter reader seduces single dad joel and it is everything you could ever hope for, but it also leaves you wanting more (in the best way possible)

Push and Pull - a Joel one shot by @javiscigarette

-> Dom!Joel, pretty fuckin rough sex, but like Joel is a consent king and the aftercare is so sweet.

Deserve it - a Joel series by @fake-bleach

-> Joel's wife is cheating on him but it doesn't really matter bc you're giving him the best blowjob of his life

A Girl Walks Into A Bookshop - an Ezra series by @oonajaeadira

-> Ezra owns a bookshop and you get pulled into his store one day. This is the softest, most beautiful little story. Give yourself the gift of reading this please.

Vaya con Dio - a Dio one shot by @atinylittlepain

-> Dio thinks he has it all figured out, but you put him in his place

This Will Be The Day That I Spy - a Jack series by @oonajaeadira

-> You go on a blind date with Jack and it's full of surprises

Restoring the Roots - a Joel series by @bearsbeetsbeskar

-> Tommy and Ellie try to convince Joel to see a therapist... This is going to be really good...

A Long Day - a Javi P one shot by @jkprincess10

-> Have you ever wanted to rim Javi Peña? If not, you will after reading this

The Living Waters of Mandalore - a Din one shot by @beskarandblasters

-> Din discovers your uhhh living waters... and he's really excited about it

There's a lot of Joel on here this week... I was going through something lmao. I tried to throw in a few other guys for y'all too though.

Enjoy <3

#fic recs #The Spreadsheet Digest #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro fics

[cheesybadgers]

Narcos Fic: Old Habits Die Hard (Chap. 23)

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19, Chapter 20, Chapter 21, Chapter 22, Chapter 24

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Pairing: Javier Peña x Horacio Carrillo

Words: 12,675

Summary: It’s been more than a year since Madrid and even longer since the chaos of Colombia. As they settle into a new life in Laredo, their past no longer holding them back, Javier’s career change helps him reconnect with his roots whilst Horacio’s plans for the future of the farm and ranch start to take shape.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Smut (including leather/cowboy kink and power dynamics), grief, parental loss, religious themes and symbolism, discussions of period-typical prejudices/violence/politics/legislation, smoking, drinking, swearing.

Notes: Well, here we are at the final full chapter 👀 No one is more shocked than me that I've made it here tbh 😂 For so long, it felt like finishing this fic was an abstract concept, but somehow, I persevered!

I don't really know what else to say right now, other than, an epilogue will (all being well) be posted on Friday 1st March...exactly 3 years after I posted chapter 1. Don't ask me how 3 years have passed, because my brain cannot compute lol.

The epilogue will be much, much shorter than this chapter, but I think it rounds their story off nicely and I can't wait to share ❤️

Thank you once again to anyone still reading, or anyone who may read this at some point in the future. As always, comments/flailings/key smashes etc. are greatly appreciated 😊

I’ve also added to my OHDH trivia post to cover this chapter if anyone is interested (and there's plenty to choose from for this one…in fact, I had to split my trivia post into two as I ran out of space, oops lol).

Chapter 23: Desde La Frontera

As the faded blue truck pulled up in the front yard, the moon sat full and high, casting a pale glow over everything beneath it. A key turned in the lock of the sleeping cottage, the silver hue from above illuminating a convenient pathway, negating the need to switch on a light.

Javier shrugged off his boots and jacket in the kitchen with a weary sigh and deposited his keys in a dish on the table. The hand-painted ceramic bowl had been sent with love from Madrid as a housewarming gift, along with framed artwork of the city they left behind that hung above their bed, a bottle of olive oil, a small jar of saffron, and some homemade turrón.

It wasn’t easy saying goodbye to Señora Romero, the café or their apartment. For all of the unanswered questions they arrived in Spain with, it became their safe haven. Although they were under strict instructions not to leave it too long before visiting again, and who were they to turn down good company and an endless supply of hot, fresh churros?

The rustic limestone cottage had less square footage than the farmhouse next door but was over two stories rather than one. A decked porch ran along the perimeter with wooden chairs and plants at the front, facing a complex of outbuildings and stables. A swing seat big enough for two resided at the back, looking out onto a medium-sized garden with a chicken coop and the rolling farm fields and river bank lying beyond.

The front door opened into a hallway where boots, coats and hats were tidily stored – at Horacio’s insistence – which led to a spacious kitchen/dining area and an adjoining utility room with a door to the garden on the other side. A second hallway branched off the kitchen towards a lounge with a centrepiece stone fireplace and a staircase up to two bedrooms – a master and a smaller spare – and a bathroom.

Whilst the interior still needed some work, fresh coats of paint – off-white for most of the rooms with splashes of eggshell green in the kitchen – and the exposed ceiling beams restored with an oak oil stain gave the place a new lease of life.

The wall clock opposite the kitchen window ticked past 3:00am. Fuck, no wonder Javier felt so beat. He manoeuvred his way upstairs, slow and careful, to avoid the creakiest boards. They may have stripped and waxed the floors, but that apparently didn’t cure the squeaking of the well-worn wood underfoot.

He must have succeeded on this occasion, as it wasn’t until he got to the top that he was met with Luna’s wagging tail. He whispered a greeting to her and rubbed behind her ears until she returned to her sleeping spot beside Sol and Leo, who hadn’t even stirred. Sometimes, the trio would bed down for the night here. Other times, it was just Luna. Rarely, it was none of them now that they had two new rivals for Chucho’s affections next door.

Kira was a six-month-old Great Pyrenees, her thick coat a solid white with pale tan patches. Fuego, a male copper red and white Border Collie, was a couple of months older and already chomping at the bit to get amongst the cattle. Although they both still had to undergo a lot of training before they would be put to use on the ranch, Javier and Horacio got the distinct impression Chucho enjoyed being kept on his toes again.

Javier finally reached his destination but gave himself an extra few seconds to take in the view.

Horacio was nestled beneath their sheets on his stomach, his torso rising and falling in a calming rhythm that Javier was convinced could have lulled him to sleep if he wasn’t standing up.

He undressed, throwing every item of clothing straight into a rattan hamper in the corner of the room, keenly aware he needed to shower but too tired to do anything about it now.

Instead, he perched on the edge of the bed, basking in Horacio’s long eyelashes, rough stubble and unrulier-than-usual hair that was tantalisingly close to becoming a head of curls if he didn’t get it cut soon. Not that Javier was complaining.

He tried to be restrained and let Horacio sleep, but he was only human.

A faint groggy sound came from Horacio’s throat as delicate lips met his forehead, his lashes flickering until they couldn’t resist any longer.

Javier hushed as he gently crawled on the bed, draping himself over Horacio and kissing the nape of his neck. “Sorry it’s so fucking late. Just go back to sleep.”

“You’re making that difficult right now.” Horacio arched his back in response to the warm breath tickling his bare skin as Javier’s mouth worked between muscular shoulder blades.

“Shouldn’t be so irresistible.”

“Sorry about that.”

“No, you’re not.”

“No. I’m not.” Horacio twisted around far enough for Javier to slide off his back and onto the mattress, allowing them to properly embrace. And so Horacio could put his own mouth to use.

That was as far as it was going for the night, though. Horacio had an early start in the morning, and Javier didn’t want to fall asleep before they could finish.

“Did it all go okay?” Horacio asked once they had got comfortable.

“Yeah, yeah. Well, there was a delay with the paperwork, as usual. But once we were on the road, it was fine. Heavy traffic around San Antonio, but I almost had the I-35 to myself on the way home.”

“And the family?”

“Exhausted and drained, obviously. Fuck knows when their hearing will be. But at least they’re together again and safe for now.”

Javier wasn't only clueless about the date of the hearing, he couldn’t predict the outcome of it either. That wasn’t his remit. By the time the Torres Fuentes family were in front of an immigration judge, he would have helped countless more families and individuals like them. Their circumstances weren’t always the same, but their options were just as limited.

Not all days – or nights – were like this one. Sometimes, Javier would be on translation duties on the frontline of the border, triaging and directing people towards help, whether it be medical attention, food, water, toiletries, a change of clothes, a shower, or a bed for the night. Or, more than likely, access to a lawyer. His and the fleet of other aid workers for charities, not-for-profits and NGOs would be some of the first non-threatening faces new arrivals would see once the INS was finished with them, and that wasn’t a responsibility he took lightly.

Other times, he would deliver bond money to detention centres in exchange for someone's freedom, help people fill in forms and paperwork, or run community outreach sessions, reminding people of their rights. He had even hosted several families at the guesthouses for a night or two until safe transportation could be arranged for travel onward to relatives or sponsors elsewhere in the States. Flights were usually not an option for most due to a lack of papers, so the preferred method was long car journeys split between drivers like Javier. No two days were ever quite the same because no two stories were ever the same. There were commonalities, but subtle nuances and complications came with the territory of human lives.

“You did everything you could to help them.”

“I know. Just makes you realise how fucking…fragile it all is. And how fucking lucky we are.”

There was no denying luck – and money, of course – played a role in Horacio securing a visa and the Holy Grail of a green card for being an investor in the States. But Javier had also utilised an old contact at the US Embassy in Bogotá to expedite Horacio’s application. Her name was Colleen, and she had, with great reluctance, helped him secure visas for several informants in the past.

The silence over the line when Javier had uttered Horacio’s name was long, loud and awkward. But just like with his informants, she didn’t ask any questions and did him one last favour on the proviso she never heard from him again.

“We are. And I’ll never forget that.” Horacio’s palm connected with Javier’s cheek, flecks of moonlight highlighting the dark circles under his eyes. “You look exhausted, too.”

A soft chuckle filtered through the shadows. “Thanks. Sorry for waking you, though. I know you’ve gotta be up early.”

“Yeah, which is why I’m glad you did wake me. Once I’ve done the usual rounds, I’ll probably be in meetings most of the day. So, I won’t see you until late.”

“Better make the most of you now, then.”

Lingering kisses followed, but they knew it was fruitless to fight the fatigue.

“How’s everything going with the business plan?” Javier asked once he had accepted defeat.

“So far, so good. I want to go through everything with your father again before everyone arrives. Just to make sure he’s happy with it all.”

“I’ve, er, got it on pretty good authority he is.”

Horacio rolled his eyes. “I know. But it’s his money invested in this place as much as ours. And it’s not like I’m the expert.”

“Not yet. And he trusts you. They all do. You’re no longer a new face around here, remember.”

“I know. But I’m still learning the ropes, and I’m not the one in charge anymore.”

“You sure about that?”

There was a suggestive edge beneath the drowsiness in Javier’s voice. If Horacio looked hard enough through the darkness, he would have seen a quirked brow thrown his way.

“Well, I still have my moments.”

Javier mumbled a lazy hum of agreement. “I’ll say. But don’t worry about tomorrow, okay? You’ll be fine. Trust me.” He managed one last kiss for good measure, even though his eyelids were getting heavier by the second.

A muffled “I do” was pressed into the shell of Javier’s ear as he flipped his body around, his back cushioned against Horacio’s chest. Calloused fingertips weathered by hard labour nowadays rather than a trigger found their home resting on the curve of Javier’s stomach, eliciting a meditative sigh from both as they huddled down.

It didn’t matter that one of them would be up soon with the dawn chorus while the other might be called away past the midnight hour. Because they knew how lucky they were, not only after all they had been through but compared to so many who crossed the border to start a new life. And it was impossible to take that for granted.

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For all that had changed, wall-to-wall meetings and stacks of paperwork were two guaranteed constants to remain. No matter the career path Horacio chose, he was apparently destined never to escape their clutches.

The morning and most of the afternoon – with a short break for lunch – had been spent poring over business plans, maps and spreadsheets with Chucho, his accountant, Miguel, and the ranch and farm managers, Marco and Félix.

Horacio was still adjusting to being the least qualified person in the room again. But the fact that he was even privy to such meetings in the first place was a privilege not customarily afforded to ranch hands without much experience under their belts. It was hard to gauge what others thought about his…unique position here. But he was also an investor whose name, along with Javier’s, was on the title deeds of the farm. Even if people didn’t know about them, it stood to reason that he would be consulted about any development proposals.

Between his money and the safety net of his connections – whatever some may have speculated the precise nature of those were – to a well-respected ranching family, Horacio, so far, hadn’t had too many problems. Not even when shadowing or attending training courses off-site, and he was surrounded by heavy Texan drawls and the type of man who had the propensity to make his feelings clear with his fists – or a gun – if he found out a fellow rancher shared a house and bed with another man.

But the odd off-hand comment had made Horacio wonder if they knew more about his past employment than he realised. In which case, perhaps in their eyes, getting on the wrong side of the former head of Search Bloc wasn’t a wise move.

Regardless, this was what he had signed up for. And for all his investments and networking, there were no cutting corners in ranch and business management, beef production, animal science and equine studies. The Peñas were far from the only family business in the industry, and most had grown up a lot more hands-on than Javier. Horacio could never have leapfrogged over them even if he had wanted to.

By late afternoon, the meetings were done for the day – although there would be plenty more to come – leaving Horacio and Chucho to check on the pregnant heifers. The calves weren’t due until early April, another month away and just in time for Horacio’s birthday. But it was all hands on deck between now and then to ensure it went as smoothly as possible. Their main job today had been to weigh the expectant mothers, who, thankfully, all turned out to be healthy and on the right track.

Broken shards of light bounced off the ranch’s steel fences and gates as Horacio and Chucho sat on the farmhouse porch enjoying a well-earned break, the sun’s heat beginning to show glimpses of what it was capable of during the summer months. Bluebonnets blanketed the fallow fields, and the saccharine scent of yucca blossom travelled on the early spring breeze.

Chucho stirred a freshly made pot of tea and filled two cups to the brim, sliding one across a wooden table towards Horacio, who accepted with a nod of thanks.

“So, do you think it went okay today?” Horacio asked after a quenching sip of tea.

“Better than I expected, to be honest. Félix worked for Ciro and Malena for many years. I wasn’t sure he’d take to new ownership. Or if he’d even want to stay. But he seems to be on board with the idea of expansion.”

“What about the rest of the workers Ciro and Malena employed?”

“A few moved on or retired. But most don’t care who’s in charge as long as they're getting paid.”

“And what about here? Have many left or cut ties since…” Horacio trailed off, hoping he had done enough for Chucho to follow his train of thought without saying it out loud.

“Not many, no, Mijo. And only the ones I’m glad to see the back of.”

“Not many?” Horacio scoffed into his cup, sending ripples across the surface of his drink. “So, still some, then.”

“As I said…only those I don’t want the ranch to be associated with anyway. It's no loss if they can’t keep their noses out of my family’s business.”

The thing was, Horacio and Javier had everything to lose if the wrong person found out. One phone call was all it would take for the police to be banging down their cottage door. After all, that had happened to plenty of others like them in Texas. It had happened to plenty of bars and restaurants that ended up either raided or burned to the ground, the owners and patrons harassed, arrested, beaten to a bloody pulp, or worse. But Horacio couldn’t bring himself to say any of this to Chucho, so he took extra time swallowing his tea instead.

“From what I’ve heard, the majority see you’re a hard worker. You’re willing to learn the ropes. But you’re not afraid to get stuck in or take the lead if needed. You’re professional with the contractors. And you’re trusted to do a good job. That’s worth a lot around here – a lot more than gossipers. I may not know what it’s like for you both...but I do know not everyone’s like them.”

A smile reflexively spread across Horacio’s lips. “My Mamá said similar back in Manizales.”

Chucho mirrored Horacio’s expression. “She sounds like a wise woman.”

“She is.”

“And proud of you. As I’m sure your father would be. Starting over again is never easy, but what you and Javi have done here…I'm proud, too.”

“Thank you. Me too, to be honest.” Horacio let out a brief huff. “When Javier told me what he wanted to do, it was like the final piece slotted in place. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of it sooner.” He shook his head this time at how blindingly obvious it was once Javier said it out loud. “But I think he needed to leave to be able to come back again.”

Chucho hummed into his tea. “That’s the thing about the past: you can’t outrun it. And once you let it walk alongside you, I think your path becomes clearer.”

For the second time that afternoon, Horacio could scarcely believe his Mamá and Chucho hadn’t met yet. But he was looking forward to the day that would change.

“A few years ago, I never thought this could be my life. Or that I wanted it to be. But now, even though it’s not easy work, and the hours are long, and I’m starting from the bottom of the ladder again, everything just feels…” He broke off, searching for the right word.

“Simple?” Chucho supplied.

“Yes. Simple.”

After Horacio finished his tea and saddled up Coco ready to help move the herds into the barns before nightfall, he didn’t mind that his legs were stiff from all the sitting in chairs he had done today. Or that the last thing he felt like doing was wrangling contrary cattle.

He didn’t mind that it would be more of the same at the break of dawn tomorrow and a long road ahead of grafting and proving himself. He didn’t mind that he wouldn’t catch up with Javier until they shared a late dinner once Javier had driven back from Austin. He didn’t mind if complete strangers couldn’t stomach what they got up to behind closed doors as long as they were left alone to live in peace.

He didn’t mind any of it because they were exactly where they were supposed to be.

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No matter what profession he worked in, it was rare for Javier to take a weekend off. He’d accepted a long time ago he wasn’t the 9-5 type, and leaving it all at the door once he clocked off had never been an option. But a new batch of aid workers and volunteers had arrived in the last few weeks. And once Luz, his boss, got wind of an upcoming birthday in the team, she insisted Javier finally use up some vacation time.

Luz Díaz was someone Javier could call a friend as well as his boss these days, especially in light of their parallel circumstances. While Luz was an aid worker on the border, she lived with Carla Moreno, the daughter of a dairy farmer several miles to the south. However, unlike Chucho and Elena, their parents, whilst not hostile, preferred to brush their daughters' relationship under the carpet wherever possible.

When Luz accompanied Javier to the guesthouses with a new family one afternoon, she had first crossed paths with Horacio. Until then, Javier had played his cards close to his chest, never knowing whether it was safe to trust anyone. But it hadn’t taken Luz long to put two and two together – or for her to realise she could share her secret in return.

Birthdays had held no real significance for Javier since childhood. But his Pops was determined to invite him and Horacio to the farmhouse for dinner that evening. In the meantime, once Javier had escaped work by mid-afternoon, he headed home to freshen up and grab a drink. It may have been late October, but the Texan heat was a stubborn son of a bitch, and was still hitting the mid-90s several times a week.

A neatly written note was pinned to the fridge that read In corn barn, so Javier took a UTV and headed across the farm. It was quieter now the harvest was over, and the cattle from the ranch had grazed on any leftovers. The herds were back next door, allowing bales of corn stalks to be gathered up and stored ready for use as bedding for the livestock on chillier winter nights.

The latest calves had thrived since April and only had two months left before they would be weaned off their mothers. Usually, several were sold at auction, but they had kept hold of them this time due to the extra space. Now the harvest was out of the way, the next step was to clear the lower fields and build a new gate linking the ranch with the farm.

When Javier arrived at the barn, Horacio was unloading the last batch of bales off the trailer.

Horacio paused for a second when Javier came into view, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Where did you get that?”

“It was on the passenger seat.” Javier gestured to the parked UTV. “Does it suit me?” He tipped the brim of a Stetson to match the one Horacio was already wearing.

Given the similarities between their outfits, anyone would have been forgiven for thinking Javier was an employee. They both wore belted dark blue jeans – Horacio’s more mud-splattered – brown boots and plaid shirts with rolled-up sleeves – Horacio’s brown and white and Javier’s green and red. The most noticeable difference was Horacio wore a white bandana around his neck whilst Javier’s shirt collar was wide open, his neck on full display.

Horacio silently lifted the side of the trailer back up and locked it now that it was empty. He shrugged the protective gloves off his hands one by one and flung them into the cab of his truck.

He followed Javier into the barn and closed the door, but his attention was on the wall opposite. A long row of hooks was hung across it, where various pieces of equipment were kept, including overalls, brushes, and a wide range of horse tack.

On the last hook was a coiled lariat, which Horacio picked up and stood facing Javier several feet away. He threaded the rope through the Honda knot until he held a loose loop in his right hand, his hungry gaze fixed on Javier as his wrist built momentum over his head in measured circles.

Before Javier could react, the tip of the rope found its target, tightening around his waist, his feet involuntarily taking him forward as Horacio reeled him in. Even when they were chest to chest and breathing hard, Horacio didn’t let up his grip on the rope.

“You know it does,” Horacio eventually rasped at the shell of Javier's ear.

Javier shivered at the timbre of Horacio’s voice, the earthy scent of the land combining with the heady musk of sweat, remnants of mud and dust still visible on his face and arms. “Someone’s been practising.”

“Well, it is a special occasion.” Horacio tugged on the rope, pressing their bodies together until his lips found Javier’s neck, stubble scratching along his jawline, finally brushing over his mouth.

Javier took the bait, responding with a full kiss, distracting Horacio enough to drop the rope. Then it was all bets off as his hands journeyed over Horacio’s back, first dipping southwards, palming his ass through his back pockets, then northwards to remove the bandana and roam under his shirt. But something made Javier pause mid-way.

He looked at Horacio for an explanation but was met only with a coy smile.

“Happy Birthday.”

Javier’s brow quirked suggestively of its own accord. “I thought we weren’t doing presents.”

“I can take it back if you’d prefer.”

“Don’t you fucking dare. Now, shut up and drive us home.”

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No sooner were they back at their cottage than Horacio straddled Javier’s lap on the couch, teeth nipping as they grabbed handfuls of fabric or skin.

When Javier made to unbutton Horacio’s shirt, Horacio stilled his attempts. “Not yet.”

Instead, his mouth ghosted over Javier’s as his fingers slid down to his belt, unbuckling it unhurriedly and deliberately.

Their laboured breaths filled the silence, the rich scent of earth and woodsmoke heavy on their senses.

“Touch yourself,” Horacio finally said, his order clear, voice steady.

It was all Javier could do not to come on the spot. But he managed to exhale through his nose, his lips pursed as he wrestled back a semblance of control.

He let his right hand slide down to his zipper, which he knew Horacio had left closed on purpose. He gradually unfastened it, his palm disappearing out of sight.

A hitched breath and tensed thighs let Horacio know Javier had made contact even before Javier’s wrist began to twitch.

For several strokes, Horacio merely observed, drinking in every detail of Javier’s face, each jaw movement and shuddered breath, their eyes locked together as Javier took himself in hand.

Horacio couldn't hide that he was more than a little affected by the show beneath him, so he upped the ante, his fingers seeking out the buttons of his shirt, popping the top one first, then the second, third and fourth.

He stopped there, giving Javier another sneak peek of the surprise he had planned for more months than he cared to admit. He could see Javier had noticed the tantalising glimpses of brown leather drawn tightly against bare skin and could feel Javier’s motions speed up.

The remaining buttons followed, allowing the shirt to fall over the broad expanse of Horacio’s shoulders until it hit the floor.

“Fuck.” Javier’s hips spasmed, slamming against Horacio’s crotch in the process and triggering a chain reaction of panting. “Shit, Horacio. Where did you – how –”

Javier was cut off by a finger at his mouth and a soft hushing sound.

Horacio pressed a digit to Javier’s lips until it was engulfed by wet warmth. “Keep going.”

As Javier’s tongue swirled and his cheeks hollowed, he set back to work, building up friction along the shaft and over the head. It was like a switch flicked in Horacio during moments like this when he was all smoky rasps and concise commands. It was the closest Javier had ever got to experiencing Colonel Carrillo first-hand, and nothing was as intoxicating.

When Javier was being regarded and instructed so intensely, he had no choice but to submit. Anything to please the force of nature who made him come harder than he ever had done in his life. And so, he kept going, fist clenched around his cock, edging himself with each edict echoing in his ears.

Running across Horacio’s chest below his pectoral muscles was a leather strap linked to another one on either shoulder that crisscrossed over his back, his biceps restrained by matching cuffs. The leather was a worn cognac brown with intricate stitching, decorative studs and buckles like the vintage cowboy belts the harness appeared to be made from.

“You like it?”

Javier’s free hand hypnotically reached up to Horacio’s torso, fingers tracing each detail of the leather in between cupping Horacio’s pecs and tweaking his nipples.

“Beautiful,” was the only word he could muster. It was by far the best birthday present Javier had ever had. Although, if he didn’t know any better, he would have assumed Horacio was trying to make this his last one.

Horacio was conflicted between watching and needing more, so he compromised by subtly rocking against Javier’s inner thigh whilst continuing his role as a voyeur. Knowing his voice alone could get Javier off was a power trip Horacio never grew tired of, even after all these years. In fact, since his career change, it had become more arousing because being in charge was a novelty now.

He brought two fingers to Javier’s lips again, which were taken greedily without the need to be told.

“Good, that’s it, and another.”

All three digits rested on Javier’s tongue as Horacio probed back and forth with increasing vigour, leaving no doubt what he had in mind as a string of saliva connected from mouth to fingers when he finally withdrew.

Horacio transferred his glossy hand straight to his chest and across his nipples, flicking the pad of his thumb over each bud just the way Javier liked to lick them.

When Horacio looked back up, Javier was tugging in a frenzy, his breathing ragged and fraying at the seams, dangerously close to it all being over.

Horacio reached out to stop Javier’s wrist, leaning closer until his lips brushed against his ear. “Not before I’ve ridden you.”

Javier immediately extracted his hand from his jeans with a huff of frustration, resenting Horacio almost as much as wanting to be fucked. Every man had his limits, and his were rapidly being reached.

With both hands free, he alternated between hot, smooth skin, the textured leather and cool metal. He slid his fingers beneath the harness, imagining all the positions he could manoeuvre Horacio around.

His hands travelled down to Horacio’s ass, pulling him further into his lap as their mouths crashed together at long last. From glutes to thighs, Javier embraced each one until he met resistance under the denim of Horacio’s jeans.

Javier ran his fingers over it a few times. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Guess there’s only one way to find out.”

Javier growled as he lunged for Horacio’s belt and zipper, both men making light work of removing his jeans.

Whilst Horacio stood up, he took the opportunity to undress Javier and reach over to the drawer beneath the nearby coffee table. He rummaged around until he retrieved what he was looking for and stashed it on the sofa.

There was no holding back now as nails raked over hot skin and tongues connected, rough and harsh, their cocks jutting between their stomachs. Javier’s hands glided over and under the leather straps, descending beyond until his palms massaged Horacio’s cheeks apart, wider with each circular motion, his knuckles teasing up and down the cleft.

The tremor that ran through Horacio was enough to cause Javier’s arm to stretch across the sofa until he located the bottle of lube, expertly flipping the cap open and pouring liberally.

He alternated between his middle finger and thumb in a corkscrew motion, letting Horacio stretch around him, Horacio’s forehead dropping to Javier’s shoulder, teeth grazing flesh as he held their cocks in his fist.

It wasn’t long before Horacio lowered himself, steadily taking inch by inch. He initially held still, experimenting with nudges up and down as he braced his arms on the back of the couch.

A winded noise escaped Javier’s throat as Horacio sunk deeper with more force this time, gyrating his hips until he found a rhythm.

Javier was torn between the mass of muscle and leather at his fingertips but settled for clinging to the front of the harness, pulling Horacio further onto his cock.

A strained grunt left Horacio’s throat, prompting him to re-adjust so his feet were planted flat on the sofa cushions, the change in angle plunging him to new depths. He paused, giving them a chance to catch their breaths. And then, without further warning, Horacio squatted down.

The echo of his ass hitting Javier’s thighs was enough to make Horacio do it again. And again, over and over, the slap of skin on skin louder each time.

One of Javier’s hands scrambled aimlessly around for an anchor, eventually finding the couch’s arm where Horacio’s Stetson had landed earlier in the proceedings.

Javier snatched hold of the brim and brought it towards them, depositing it on Horacio’s head. “Keep it on.”

Horacio was powerless to refuse when it made Javier’s cock twitch and pulsate, massaging Horacio’s prostate as he bounced at just the right angle, his own length sliding up and down the plains of Javier’s chest and abdomen.

Now the hat was in place, Javier's hands sailed over Horacio’s thighs, pausing as he made contact with the leather band around his right thigh. He couldn’t believe Horacio had not only remembered their dirty talk the morning after Trujillo’s wedding but that he had brought Javier’s fantasy to life. And it was better than even his wildest dreams could have imagined.

A part of him wanted to remove the garter just so he could re-attach it. But he was mesmerised by the way the leather stretched around Horacio’s thigh as his pelvis pulsed back and forth, up and down, and round and round.

His fingers gravitated south, landing where the two men joined together. “Fuck,” Javier choked out, rubbing in circles around the wet rim, feeling the thrumming heat of his own cock, and wishing he had a better visual of them moving as one.

“Lie on the floor.” In complete contrast, Horacio’s cadence was calm and in control, like he was directing his horse.

Javier did as he was told, his body cushioned by a thick grey, black, and ivory Zapotec rug.

Without hesitation, Horacio sat atop Javier’s thighs with his back to him, presenting the perfect view as though he had read Javier’s mind. As he re-seated himself, he reached behind, spreading his cheeks wider as he sunk lower.

A strangled whimper was drawn from Javier’s chest as he raised his head for a closer look once Horacio started to move. He ignored the strain in his neck and replaced Horacio’s hands with his own, each palm cupping and squeezing, pushing forward, fingernails clawing, urging his rider to go faster.

In response, Horacio deepened the roll of his hips and balanced his hands on the rug beneath them.

They had picked it out on a trip to San Antonio the previous year, one of their first joint purchases for the cottage. And now they were finally christening it, surrounded by an array of décor and furnishings they had chosen together since. For their own home, an unthinkable notion in the not-so-distant past. Yet here they were against all odds.

Javier grasped the latest addition to their household, pulling Horacio by the harness in all directions as though he was the jinete (horseman) steering the reins rather than the steed being mounted bareback. But Horacio was the one wearing a Stetson. The one in the saddle daily, strengthening and toning his muscles even more than they already were, and Javier could already feel the difference.

He let go of the harness, his fingertips skimming Horacio’s voluptuous upper arms, rump and thighs, caressing the tight leather cuffs, pressing the sharp chill of the buckles against fiery skin until a shockwave rippled through Horacio and straight to Javier’s cock.

As Javier’s hips involuntarily bucked, their rhythm faltering in a chorus of moans, Horacio was beginning to regret not utilising a belt or one of the lariats from the barn as restraints on Javier’s wrists. But he changed his mind when he felt a crisp slap across the ass like a quirt used with overzealous force. But unlike the horses – with whom he was always gentle  – Horacio had no objection to the sting left behind.

In fact, it only spurred Horacio on, his ass lifting higher with each strike, building momentum, one hand stimulating his own cock in tandem.

Javier could feel rather than see Horacio jerking off, and his pelvis began to automatically plough upwards again, trying and failing to keep in time when he was this far gone.

“Horacio,” Javier breathed out, his tone pleading, desperate and wrecked.

“Tell me what you need.” Horacio wasn’t going to make it as easy this time. If Javier wanted something, he would have to use his words.

“I need you on all fours.”

And so Horacio dismounted, willing and waiting to give Javier everything he asked for, a complete 180 in a matter of minutes.

Javier wasted no time and fell in place behind Horacio, lining himself up and propelling forwards with a rough thud, nails digging into hipbones hard enough to leave marks.

As Horacio took himself in hand once more, Javier slowed to bask in a bird's eye view of his cock disappearing and reappearing, his thumbs spreading Horacio wider to get a better look at where they became one. It would have been easy to take it for granted by this stage, but he never did, not when they had been forced apart by circumstance and geography so many times before.

Whilst Javier was distracted, Horacio threw back his hips, causing a hiss of pleasure that inspired him to do it again and again, his ass pounding against Javier’s groin.

Javier drove forward in retaliation, pulling Horacio towards him with a firm jerk on the harness, a dual wave of groans unleashing each time Javier manhandled him, the thick leather straps taut against Horacio’s clammy skin, hopefully leaving imprints from the force.

Javier yanked hard enough to raise Horacio up on his knees, cementing them back to chest, teeth, mouth and moustache going to town as Horacio craned his neck to meet the onslaught.

“Do you know how fucking good you look like this? How…fucking…beautiful?” Javier’s declaration was broken up with each thrust as he resumed movement.

“It’s all for you,” Horacio purred between lip bites. “Your own cowboy to play with.”

With a muttered “Fuck,” Javier pushed Horacio back down on all fours, toppling his Stetson to the floor, one hand gripping at the harness, the other at the nape of Horacio’s neck, his fingers fondling the gold chain that complemented the silver one at his own breast.

His hips hammered forward, no holds barred, as an all too familiar pressure built and threatened to consume him any second now. He glanced down, transfixed by his own fluid motions, entranced by how well Horacio held his cock, how Javier had tamed a once wild bronco who would have thrown off any other rider a long time ago. But not him, never him, so maybe he was more of a vaquero than he thought.

A combination of the visuals, the leather against his skin, and the tight heat squeezing and releasing around him took its toll. Javier let out a wounded gasp as though all the air had been knocked out of his lungs, his muscles tensing from head to toe as he watched his cock spasm and fill Horacio up.

As liquid warmth painted Horacio's walls, his wrist jolted and shook, sending him over the edge. He felt an extra weight on his back, the harsh scrape of teeth and words of encouragement at his ear as a hand took over from his own. Just the right pace and force, just how he liked it, just enough to make him coat Javier’s fingers, vision blurred, back arched.

They didn’t move as the room came back into focus, letting their lungs and heart rates return to baseline. Before Horacio could collapse to the floor, Javier slowly pulled out, smearing glistening fingers around Horacio’s fluttering hole, mixing it in with his own release. His tongue swirled and lapped from behind, making Horacio tremble on his knees until they buckled, and he could take no more. 

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

The spark of a lighter and deep exhales of smoke were the only sounds to be heard for several minutes as they lay recovering in bed, the hard floor downstairs proving too much for their aching limbs, even with the rug for protection.

“So, are you gonna tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“Oh, come on. You know fucking well what.”

“Do I?”

“Yes.”

“Does it matter?”

“Well…no. I’m just curious, that’s all.”

“Surprised you haven’t guessed. In fact, I kinda thought it was you dropping a hint.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It was one of your old magazines that gave me the instructions on how to make it. And it’s not hard to get access to leather around here. The saddlers the ranch uses are well-stocked in almost everything. They don’t need to know what it’s being used for.”

Whatever Javier had been expecting to hear, it wasn’t that. When moving into the cottage, he had cleared out his old bedroom. Hidden in the depths of his wardrobe, beneath several layers of clothes, was a pile of magazines he never had the heart to throw away or burn, one of which was a Cowboy and Rodeo Special of Drummer.

Javier blew out a low chuckle as he passed their cigarette across the bed. “I wish I had been dropping a hint. Although…looks like you did fine without my influence. Always the dark horse.”

"Hey, they're your magazines, not mine."

"You read them. Cover to cover by the sounds of it."

"Just making up for lost time when I was younger."

"At least someone's getting use out of them. So, you ready for your first rodeo, now? Based on this afternoon, I'd put in a good word."

"Very funny."

Although, whilst Javier was, of course, joking, there were plenty of men like Horacio who did compete across Texas – without hiding who they were as well. He imagined Horacio would rather die in a stampede of raging bulls than partake in such a competition. But nonetheless, it was an appealing fantasy for Javier to indulge in from time to time.

His fingers traced patterns over Horacio’s thigh where the leather garter remained even after the harness and cuffs had come off, the leftover scent of sweat and semen on their skin fusing with the tobacco in the air. He had taken great pleasure and care in removing those; however, when it came to the garter, Javier placed a ring of kisses where the leather sat but left it in position.

“You liked it, then?”

Javier gave Horacio an incredulous look as though the answer spoke for itself. But there was a hint of uncertainty behind the question, and it was only fair to provide reassurance. “I loved it. A lot. I don’t really do birthdays, but you’ve certainly made this one memorable. So, thank you.”

"My pleasure," Horacio murmured mid-kiss. "And it definitely beats my birthday."

"That wouldn't be hard."

The first few hours of Horacio's birthday were spent helping deliver calves and bedding down close by the expectant mothers every night for the following two weeks. He barely saw Javier other than at meal times, and it took multiple showers to wash the pungent barn aroma out of his hair.

“Hadn’t we better shower soon?” Horacio said with reluctance once they pulled apart. “Don’t wanna keep your father waiting.”

Javier leaned over to look at the clock on the bedside table. “Yeah, we should. I’m starving now we’ve worked up an appetite.”

“Do you want to do the honours?” Horacio gestured towards his thigh.

“Keep it on.”

Horacio could tell from the wicked glint in Javier's eye he wasn’t joking. “You do know I have to work with your father? And look him in the eye.”

“Oh, come on, he won’t even notice. Not everyone checks you out as much as me, y’know. Especially not my Pops. And…” Javier sat up and swung his leg across Horacio’s thigh until he was straddling him. “It is still my birthday, remember.”

Despite such brazen tactics, Horacio met Javier’s mouth again, groaning gently as Javier’s teeth pulled on his bottom lip. “Fine. As long as you can keep your hands to yourself through dinner.”

“I’ll try my best.”

He could make no such guarantees after dinner, though.

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

It took another week for the temperature to cool by several degrees, just in time for the residents of Laredo to visit neighbouring pumpkin patches, carve out Jack-o’-lanterns and go Trick-or-Treating.

By the time Javier had finished work and picked up some groceries, Chucho was busy in the lounge blanketing a table with a white lace cloth before arranging two extra tiers on top decorated with papel picado. Nearby trays were full of items ready and waiting to be placed on the ofrenda, including a Talavera pitcher of water, pan de muerto, a plate of salt, fresh marigolds, Calaveras, and a familiar wooden box.

Chucho looked up at Javier, who stood in the doorway with a cardboard box. “Ah, Javi, good timing. Pass those here.”

Javier held out a batch of fresh buñuelos delivered straight from Desde La Frontera. “Need a hand?”

Chucho looked at Javier with pleasant surprise. “Please, Mijo.”

Between them, they transferred everything from the trays to the table, Chucho directing where each item needed to be placed.

When it came to the wooden box, Chucho sat on the sofa to open it.

Javier watched silently from a few feet away, an ache forming in his chest when he saw the photos spread out on the furniture. But he pushed past it and sat in the adjacent armchair.

He looked closer at the pictures and reached into the pocket of his leather jacket. “This needs to go on it too,” he said.

Chucho glanced up to see Javier clutching Mariana’s poetry book.

“Of course. She can tell us how much she liked Madrid. Which reminds me…”

Chucho stood up and disappeared into his bedroom before reappearing with a card in his hand. “I always keep it by my bed, but it belongs on here.”

Chucho was holding an old prayer card of La Virgen de Guadalupe. “Abuela Rosa gave it to your Mamá for her quinceañera, along with these. ” Chucho lifted a string of rosary beads from the wooden box. “I think she cherished the card as a reminder of our ancestors. Even though your Abuela disapproved, your Mamá had her own ideas about Guadalupe.” He couldn’t help but laugh and shake his head with fondness.

“How do you mean?”

“Back in the '60s, Guadalupe became the mascot for the farmers’ union protests – the ones your Mamá marched on. She liked to think of her as someone who helped those in need. Do you remember her reading stories about the Aztecs? And Guadalupe, La Malinche and La Llorona?”

“Yeah, I remember.”

Javier blinked, keeping his eyes closed for a fraction longer than was customary. The memory was fuzzy around the edges, but he could feel the warmth of his mother lying beside him on his bed, a book between them as she read aloud tales of their ancestors. Once he started getting drowsy, she would sing to him or stroke his hair and kiss him goodnight, the comforting sound of her favourite telenovelas drifting through his bedroom door as he fell into a deep sleep.

When he was even smaller and couldn’t sleep after his older cousins convinced him La Llorona had been spotted in Laredo the previous night, his Mamá soothed him with the advice she had been given by her mother to always pray a Hail Mary and an Our Father whenever near water before making a sign of the cross for protection.

However, Javier also remembered during the first few months after she was gone, he would have nightmares about La Llorona. Except in those dreams, his Mamá had taken on the appearance of the wailing spirit, and her ghost roamed along the banks of the Rio Grande, screaming for him. But no matter how hard he tried to get closer to her, she would move out of reach until he woke up screaming.

“There have been so many versions of those stories since the days of the Aztecs, who knew Guadalupe as Coatlalopeuh, Tonantzin, or Coatlicue. La Llorona as Cihuacoatl. And La Malinche as Malinalli or Malintzin, or La Chingada. Some of those stories say they are all one and the same. And that the conquistadors made Guadalupe the Madonna above the others. Your Mamá saw Guadalupe as a symbol of hope, a mediator between the Aztec and Catholic religions, uniting all the different parts of us and our roots. The light and the dark, the old world and the new, the conquered and the conqueror, the obedient and the rebellious, the eagle and the snake, the Mexican and the American.”

“Never thought of it like that when I was younger. But it’s beautiful.”

“It is.” Chucho stood up and placed the prayer card on the altar.

“D’you think it’s possible, though? To unite it all, I mean.”

“I think we have to try as much as we can. And learn to make peace with it when we can’t. But I know it’s not easy.”

“Mexico didn’t seem far enough to run when I took the DEA job, even though it was never home. So, Colombia it was.” Javier couldn’t help but laugh at his own confused logic in hindsight. “But when we were in Manizales, I kept thinking about all the stories you told me about our family history – in the US and Mexico. And it just…hit me I was needed right here on the border. So, thank you, Pops.”

“For what?”

“For reminding me of my roots.”

“Your Mamá helped out a lot here, but she always wanted to do more. And she would have done a whole lot more if she’d had the chance. She’d have fought for yours and Horacio’s rights too, I’m sure of it. I had a feeling you’d take after her one day.”

“Better late than never, right?”

“Right. She’d be so proud of you and your work, Mijo. And so am I.”

A customary exchange of nods filled the silence that had become a trademark between father and son over the years when words seemed inadequate.

Chucho cleared his throat and turned to make one final check everything was in its rightful place on the ofrenda. “I think we’re about ready if you want to get Horacio.”

Javier headed next door with his Pops’ words – and his Mamá’s – echoing in his head. He thought about all the tangled threads that had run through him his whole life like the river he grew up on the bank of. It was ironic he could walk across bridges from Laredo into Mexico and back again, a confluence of his heritage. Yet there was always a gap that wouldn’t close. A gap those who insisted on his name meaning shame with a n rather than rock with a ñ wouldn’t let him close. All of the contradictions and dualities he had tried to reconcile, assuming in the past that he was expected to pick one or the other but never feeling qualified enough, resigning himself to an eternal conflict he could never win.

He thought about the people who crossed the invisible line in the earth every day, the one that instantly changed their identity and status whether they liked it or not, dividing and flattening their humanity into stereotypes and insults. The one that caused mothers separated from their children to cry like La Llorona and be condemned for finding themselves in desperate circumstances through no fault of their own. The one that led to Operations Hold the Line and Gatekeeper building walls and deploying an army of la migra, as Border Patrol were often called, to keep people out.

Maybe it was Javier’s recalcitrance, but the more the US government tried to put up borders – despite not thinking twice about violating those belonging to other countries – the more at ease he felt without them. After all, Texas had been part of Mexico in the past, as well as its own republic, and he had spent more than enough of his life trapped by self-imposed borders and walls already.

To be in a place like Laredo was to live on the margin of two countries and cultures, not one or the other. He was Mexican American, a Tejano. He had shared his heart and bed with women and men. Horacio was a closely guarded secret and a naked truth; they lived in the shadows and in the light. He was making a difference, yet it was a drop in the ocean of an ever-expanding problem. He regretted so much of what went down in Colombia, but not that he went in the first place, not only because of Horacio but because it brought him full circle. It brought him peace. It brought him home.

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As the clock struck midnight and welcomed in Día de los Difuntos, the ofrenda was aglow with candlelight, and the fresh scent of copal filled the farmhouse.

Horacio stood over the altar, his gaze fixed on the image of him in his Papá’s jacket, his father’s usually stern expression relaxed and…proud. He had never really allowed himself to think of that word before. But as the veladoras flickered and swayed across the photograph his Mamá had insisted he kept, he could no longer ignore it.

Beneath the photo lay the golden pendants, temporarily removed from Horacio's neck for the festivities, a glass of his Papá’s favourite rum to match the one in his hand, and a plate of tamales.

“Not bad for a Colombian.”

“I guess I had a good teacher.”

“After dealing with a son determined not to follow in my footsteps, it makes a change to find someone more willing.”

Horacio’s eyes landed back on the photograph of him and his Pops before shifting to one of Mariana in her element at a Chicano civil rights march with a toddling Javier by her side, a bittersweet smile taking hold of his lips. “Funny how it works out.”

“True. But as long as it does, that's the main thing. Even if it’s not what you expected.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

“What are we toasting?” Javier asked as he came in from the kitchen with two glasses of his Mamá’s mezcal of choice, passing one over to Chucho.

Chucho gave a nod of thanks and raised his glass. “To endings and beginnings. And reunions.”

The next couple of hours were spent telling stories, reminiscing, remembering. Welcoming the past into the present, letting it know there was still a future.

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

Chucho retreated to bed first, leaving Javier and Horacio to finish their drinks by the fire, which had burned down to its last mesquite log.

After placing their empty glasses in the kitchen, Javier stopped by the ofrenda on his way back to the sofa. His eye caught the selection of sugar skulls on display, each delicate design bearing the name of a departed loved one. Although, there were, in fact, two each for Mariana and Eduardo.

Javier traced his finger across the one which read Mariana Rosa Reyes Estrada, a pair of arms gathering tightly around his waist simultaneously.

“I never knew her with this name. She left Estrada behind in Mexico. Before she married, she was Mariana Reyes. Then she took Pops’ name ‘cos that’s the gringo way. And to make all the paperwork easier, I was just a Peña, too. But Pops likes to welcome her home with her Mexican and American names. In case she gets lost, he always says.” Javier released an affectionate chuckle at the expense of his Pops’ superstitions.

“He told me when he asked for my father’s full name.” Horacio smiled into Javier’s shoulder as he reached towards the skull that read Eduardo Horacio Carrillo Acosta.

He repeated the same motion across the shared part of his and his Papá's name. “The CNP prefer you choose one name when you enlist. So, of course, we all followed suit – Mamá included. And she left Sierra behind when she changed her papers.”

“Seems like we all have to leave parts of ourselves behind one way or another.”

“True. But if we’re lucky, we find them again somewhere down the line.”

Javier hummed in agreement as a trail of kisses soothed at his neck.

“When was the last time you did this, by the way?” Horacio asked as he traced idle patterns over Javier’s stomach.

“Día de Muertos? Fuck…I can’t even remember. When I was in Colombia, I always came home for Christmas – but not before. Pops never made a big deal out of it, but I could tell he was disappointed.”

“I’m sure he understood. And at least you’re here now.”

“I know. I think I just needed to do it in my own time.”

“Same here. So, thank you. To you and your father.”

“For what?”

“Letting me be a part of it. I think it’s something I’ve needed to do for years.”

“Horacio, of course you’re a part of it. You’re a part of the family.” Javier’s fingers found Horacio’s, lacing them together with ease above the belt of his jeans. “Tú eres mi familia.” (You’re my family)

“Y tú eres mía.” (And you’re mine)

“I was thinking about tomorrow…well, technically, later today. I, er, wondered if you wanted to watch the parade downtown. Then maybe head over to the cemetery with Pops. It's fine if it’s too much. I get it. I just thought maybe –”

“It’s okay.” Horacio cut him off, turning him around until they were face-to-face then forehead-to-forehead. “I’d love to.”

As the last embers of mesquite turned to ash, they knelt in front of the soft glow of the ofrenda, fingers connecting with their silver cross encased between their palms. A final attempt to welcome home those who had shaped so much of their children's lives, even in their absence, and sometimes in the most unexpected ways.

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

Echoes of drumbeats filled downtown Laredo by late afternoon, accompanied by a rainbow of papel picado along every street and a sea of Catrinas and Catrins. Children and adults alike wore masks or calavera face paint and marigolds in their hair, the intricate details of their costumes no doubt requiring months of preparation.

Food and drink stalls had seemingly popped up overnight, selling everything from pan de muerto, pozole and tamales to alegría, gorditas, marranitos and champurrado. It was impossible not to get swept from stand to stand, and fears of Javier and Horacio being scrutinised by anyone they happened to bump into were soon allayed. The hustle and bustle of the festivities made them anonymous yet at one with the city, as they were all here for the same reason.

Floats, dancers and puppets passed through the main roads, a spectacle Javier hadn’t witnessed in years. As a teen, the last thing he felt like doing was celebrating when it came to his Mamá’s passing. She wasn’t supposed to have gone so soon. But nowadays, he could appreciate the care and respect involved in honouring the dead. He could look back on the precious memories and not feel the need to push them away. He could accept the duality of grief and love, not as contradictions but as two sides of the same coin.

As they followed the procession at the end of the parade, making their way towards the cemetery to meet Chucho, Javier caught Horacio’s eye with a silent question. One that Horacio answered with a firm nod, reassurance that they were still on the same page.

So much had changed since Horacio was last here for Día de Muertos, not least of all the fact Javier was with him this time and had since met his family. And Escobar was dead, of course. His Papá was no longer a choking force around his neck but a warm presence that sat more comfortably on his chest. Not weightless, but manageable now.

Although darkness had fallen by the time they arrived at the cemetery, a sea of candles and lanterns lit the gravesides like an endless night sky, each one guiding the way home, even if just for one day. The celebrations from earlier continued, some families singing, drinking and eating. Others prayed or sat with blankets and hot drinks, telling stories and keeping memories alive.

Chucho had been busy when it was still light, clearing out dried flower stems and polishing Mariana’s headstone. Now, fresh marigolds were arranged around the candles, their strong fragrance carrying across the cemetery.

They were greeted with pats on the back and a glass of mezcal. A lowkey toast and short prayers were all they had planned, preferring to save the rest for the privacy of home.

“I just wanted to say thank you. To both of you for coming.”

“Any time, Pops. I’d forgotten how beautiful this place looks all lit up.”

“It reminds me of Día de las Velitas back in Colombia. People light candles and lanterns at cemeteries like this. Not that I could bring myself to join them after Papá.”

“There’s still time.” Javier held Horacio’s gaze through the flickering half-light, making the most of the only gesture he could give in public.

“I know.”

“It’s quieter here usually. A nice place to think. And she’s always been a good listener. So, if you ever need some breathing space, I’m sure she’d be all ears.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.” Horacio mirrored Chucho’s soft smile before laying down a tasteful wreath of marigolds he’d bought from one of the street vendors on their way here.

Javier watched with a growing warmth in his chest as his past, present and future collided once again. A first meeting of sorts, even if it wasn’t how it should have been. Even if it was built on memories and traditions, on prayers and stories, it was still real.

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

Slivers of silver reflected off the dark waters beyond the farm’s boundaries, the stars above shimmering like distant fireflies. Southern Texan Decembers were mild, but there was a chill to the air after sundown, especially by the river bank. However, it was nothing a blanket or two couldn’t fix.

Horacio was propped against a mesquite tree with Javier sitting between his legs, one blanket beneath them and the other draped over them. Coco stood watch nearby, her reins looped around a branch as she chomped on her favourite treat of apple slices – a reward for tonight’s extra work.

They shared a flask of Manizales’ finest coffee between Horacio lightly massaging Javier’s scalp and temples. It had been a hectic few days, from Chucho roping them into Las Posadas preparations to the farm being short-staffed in the past week due to seasonal colds and flu and the border seeing a higher influx of crossings in the build-up to the holidays.

Apart from a Christmas dinner or two, they weren’t expecting to take much time off over the festive period, but tonight was all about them. They had miraculously managed to escape work on time before driving to Desde La Frontera for a meal that was starting to become an anniversary tradition.

Javier played with Horacio’s hands, pressing kisses into his knuckles and pausing over his left wrist. “You like it, then?”

“Very much.”

“I know it’s not quite a garter or harness, but…” Javier trailed off, his shoulders and abdomen shaking in tandem.

“The strap’s the same colour, though.” One of Horacio’s hands snaked along Javier’s form, tickling at the waistband of his jeans enough to make him squirm.

“Oh really? Hadn’t noticed.”

“Liar.”

“Maybe. But it does suit you.”

Of course, Javier was banged to rights. He had spent considerable time picking out the watch, knowing Horacio preferred something digital – for pinpoint accuracy – and practical. Horacio had never got around to replacing his old one that was stopped by the ambush, so it was a long overdue replacement.

But if it also happened to be a gentle reminder of certain escapades every time he looked down at it, well...that was an added bonus. As was the thought of Horacio wearing Javier’s gift buckled around his wrist every day, the strap tight enough to leave a mark on his sun-kissed skin.

“Likewise with your present.”

“I dunno about that. I think you wear it better.”

“You’re the homegrown Texan boy, not me.”

“You’re the fucking cowboy, not me.”

Horacio’s fingers on his right hand took a firmer hold of Javier’s hair, coaxing him to turn around and abandon the flask he had just brought to his lips. “Technically…you own part of the ranch and farm. So, it’s about time you had a Stetson.”

Their lips met over Javier’s shoulder, still warm and tingling from the coffee.

“Fair point.” Javier picked up the flask again and downed whatever was left before it went cold. “We got any more of this, by the way?”

“Not ‘til next week. I told Alejandra to bring as much as she can fit in her luggage.”

“Well, there’ll be plenty of suitcases to choose from.”

“I know. I’m not sure your father knows what he’s let himself in for.”

“Oh, don’t worry, he knows from when my cousins and I were kids. And he gets to play host, so he’ll be in his element.”

“He’s already given me a list of groceries to pick up on the way back from the livestock auction in Hondo.”

“When’s that again?”

“The day before my family arrives. Not ideal timing, but couldn’t really say no to more experience.”

“You still shadowing Gus Montoya?”

“Yeah, he’s been in the trade since he was 16, and he’s one of the best in the business now. I thought I should be involved before we start buying the new Santa Gertrudis and Longhorns for this place next year.”

“The paddocks are gonna be in these lower fields here, right?” Javier gestured towards a recently cleared stretch of land with the newly installed gate separating it from the ranch next door.

“Yes. It’ll be easier to move everything back and forth without disturbing the other fields. Then, once the new herd’s settled in, we can expand the stables, get in some more Morgans and Quarter Horses. Maybe diversify the cover crops for next winter.”

“Sounds good.” An unseen smile had spread across Javier’s face, the novelty of listening to Horacio talk ranch business not having worn off yet. All those years he tuned out whenever his Pops did the same, yet he never tired of hearing Horacio’s plans.

“It keeps me out of trouble.”

“Shame.”

“That’s not until next year, though…” Horacio trailed off, his lips devouring Javier’s neck, nibbling until Javier wriggled in his hold.

“Well, we better make the most of this before your family arrives.”

Horacio hummed in agreement, his mouth still buried in Javier’s shoulder. “Especially as there’s a quick turnaround before New Year’s.”

“True. I take it Felipe and Juana are still okay to come?”

“I forgot to tell you – I spoke to him earlier. Juana’s feeling much better now the morning sickness has passed. And with Cali gone and FARC taking up more and more CNP resources in the jungle, it’s mostly turf wars between the smaller gangs in Medellín. So, Martínez authorised his leave, and they’re flying out on the 30th.”

“Glad to hear it. It’s all good on the Miami front as well. They arrive the same day, late afternoon, once Connie’s finished her shift and Steve’s picked Olivia up from his parents’ house.”

“Okay, good. So, everything’s sorted then.”

“Not quite…I still need to clean out the guesthouses. Don’t think our old one’s been done since the Navarro Vega family left.”

“At least it’s still getting used since we moved out.”

“Yeah, well, I guess someone always needs it. Especially with IIRIRA coming into force. So many more fucking deportations. So many people taking bigger risks ‘cos they've got no choice.” Javier exhaled harshly through his nose.

He ran his fingers over his moustache and chin, pressing his thumb into his jaw and resting his face in his hand. “It’s starting to feel like the old days again.”

“But it’s not, Javier. You’re on the other side of it all this time.”

“It’s not just the border, though, is it?”

“What isn’t?”

“Legislation that could have us arrested for fucking in the privacy of our own home.”

“We’ve always been careful.”

“We thought we were careful back in Colombia, Horacio. And look where that got us.”

Javier didn’t think about those days much anymore if he could help it. Neither man did, except on specific dates or bad days if they were unlucky. But it was hard to shake the sense of paranoia in light of what the laws of his own state had to say about his sex life. It wasn’t far-fetched to imagine someone like Mia Domínguez spying on them through a long lens, waiting to catch them out.

“True. There’ll always be a risk. But people like us have always existed under the radar. And we’ve been here over a year now, remember. Anyone who’s got a problem with us has already made their feelings perfectly clear. The rest either don’t know or don't give a fuck. Our story doesn’t have to end like the one you showed me in The New Yorker.”

“I know.”

Javier had been in two minds about whether to share it. But Horacio insisted he was the one to be read to for a change, preferring to hear the evocative imagery of the wild American landscape from the mouth of a Texan. The parallels were undoubtedly there between the glossy magazine pages and elements of their lives – but luckily, not all of it rang true for them.

“For a start, they were sheepherders from Wyoming,” Javier added with a tone of defiance.

“Exactly. Completely different.”

“Yep.” Javier exhaled loudly, his mind already returning to his previous stubborn thought. "But it’s the same government smoke and mirrors shit all over again. The same fucking hypocrisy. If it's not chasing people down the river or letting them die in the desert, it’s drug shipments they made easier to transport here in the first place. Or you’ve got couples like us crossing over looking for safety, only to run into fucking sodomy laws. It’s never gonna stop.”

It was the same sleight of hand tactics Javier had seen before. Legislation made thousands of miles away would claim to solve a problem whilst exacerbating it on the frontline. Whether it was drugs or human beings, they proved time and time again that they couldn’t be contained by a border or a statute book. Whether it was Border Patrol or the DEA, choppers would fly over the river at night, fruitlessly chasing traffickers despite the extra budget. If the usual border crossings were out of bounds, people would risk more remote or treacherous spots to try their luck.

It wasn’t unheard of for them to emerge from clusters of trees like the one they were sitting in now, drenched and shaking from the cold and dehydration. Or for Javier to be ready and waiting with towels, a change of clothes, a hot shower, or food and drink. Some would present themselves willingly to the authorities, others would disappear, never to be seen or heard from again. If anyone ever asked, Javier had seen and knew nothing.

“And neither are you. Look at all the people you’ve helped already. You might not be able to save everyone, but you’re making the difference you always wanted to make.”

Horacio coaxed Javier to face him again, cupping his jaw and rubbing a thumb over his stubbled cheek. “Estoy orgulloso de ti.” (I’m proud of you)

Javier closed his eyes, basking in Horacio’s touch and closing the gap between them. “Y yo de ti.” (And I of you)

Easy kisses followed – the kind that were grounding and familiar, safe and timeless.

They rode back to the cottage with only the moon and stars guiding the way. Horacio clasped Coco’s reins whilst Javier held onto his waist from behind, making the most of the idyllic evening spent alone. Because even here, they knew it couldn’t always be like this. But despite all that life would throw at them in the years to come, they would be there for each other, to grow and change, to sail in the same direction, even if not always in the same boat. To make peace with the past, to live in the present, and to look to the future on their own terms.

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

Burnt oranges and yellows filled the stone fireplace, the crackling of charred mesquite wood accompanying the dulcet tones of Elvis on the turntable. A fresh pine tree stood in the corner opposite a set of bookshelves, its white lights and a row of candles on the mantlepiece casting a soft glow across the lounge.

By next year, they would have to re-think the room's layout as the shelves were almost out of space. They had transferred all of their old books, records and tapes when they moved in – two poetry books in particular taking pride of place – which now sat alongside newly purchased or gifted titles from the likes of Fernando Vallejo, E.M. Forster, John Rechy, Gloria E. Anzaldúa, Alejo Durán, Linda Ronstadt, K.D. Lang, Vicente Fernández, Walt Whitman, Pedro Almodóvar and Gregg Araki. And no doubt there would be further additions to their collection on Christmas Day.

Luna was the sole canine guest tonight, her bond with Horacio somehow stronger again since Kira’s and Fuego’s arrival. Sol and Leo had grown increasingly fond of their new playmates in the last few months, so it was often the three of them in the cottage nowadays. Horacio hadn’t discussed it with Chucho, but he hoped she would stay with them permanently – and see out her retirement years – once the new cattle were in place.

She lay in her favourite chair, fast asleep with her head on the armrest and oblivious to their return home beyond a drowsy wag of the tail, before resuming her dreams.

“You had a good day, then?” Javier asked from the comfort of Horacio’s shoulder, their arms wrapped around each other as they gently swayed to the music.

Horacio let out a contented hum of approval, burying himself against Javier’s shirt, breathing all of him in. “It was perfect.”

“It was.”

“Although…I think there’s one thing missing.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

“Your present.”

Javier’s chest shook, and something that sounded remarkably like “You fucker” was sworn against the crook of Horacio’s neck, followed by a sharp nip of the teeth.

“It’s only fair.” Horacio tried to keep an authoritative edge to his tone. But it was far from convincing when he ended up laughing as much as Javier.

“Actually…it’s only fair if you wear your hat too.” Another neck bite, accompanied this time by a trail of kisses along the open collar of Horacio’s red plaid shirt, shoving the bandana aside for easier access. “Deal?”

Horacio’s back arched involuntarily, the rumble threatening to escape from his throat tempered into an elongated sigh instead. Not much of a win, but he’d take it. “Deal.”

And so Javier fetched the Stetsons from the coat hook in the hallway whilst Horacio switched records once Elvis had finished.

Javier lowered Horacio’s hat into place, encouraging Horacio to do the same with his.

“Satisfied?” Javier asked once they resumed their embrace, the cumbia beats of Lucho Bermúdez now replacing Elvis.

Horacio’s fingers slid from Javier’s waist to the belt loops of his jeans, pulling him forward until their lips met and the brims of their hats jutted together. “I am now…cowboy.”

They let another vinyl play before undressing, every movement sensual and considered as they removed boots and unbuckled belts between slow, thorough kisses. With hats relegated to the couch for now, Javier untied the silk bandana from Horacio’s neck, teasing smooth fabric along the nape and tossing it to the floor, revealing faded tan lines from the unforgiving summer months. Buttons from their plaid shirts were next, followed by jeans and underwear, chestnut lost in charcoal as they stood bare in each other’s arms but for the silver and gold pendants.

Neither felt the need to give into temptation, not yet, at least. Instead, they put on another record and danced, hand in hand, skin against skin, soul against soul. Because they were never in a rush anymore; now they had all the time in the world. Now they were home.

#Narcos fic #Narcos #Javier Peña #Horacio Carrillo #Carrillo #Javier Peña x Horacio Carrillo #Pedro Pascal #Maurice Compte #Narcos fanfic #Narcos fanfiction #Narcos fan fic #My Fan Fic #My Narcos Fic

[bearsbeetsbeskar]

Restoring the Roots (Joel Miller x Therapist! reader)

Chapter 3: Preparation

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Pairing: Joel Miller x therapist! reader, post outbreak

Rating: none, will be changed to explicit in future chapters (slow burn, eventual smut, age gap)

Summary: Life after moving to Jackson looks drastically different for Joel, survival mode is over and now he and Ellie can finally put down new roots. Ellie adapts easily but Joel finds himself struggling to settle into this new life, in more ways than some. At Ellie and Tommy’s insistence, Joel begrudgingly finds himself in therapy to try and work through his struggles but what he encounters is more than just painful memories and deeply rooted trauma.

A/N: Thank you once again to everyone who has reached out to me and expressed their interest in this story. I definitely still do want to continue writing it, because it brings me joy and helps me relieve my stress. Some of my mutuals know I'm going through a lot with life right now, so I will not be able to write and post as frequently, but I will not be abandoning this story. This chapter is a shorter, transitional chapter before we get into the meat and potatoes of joel and readers' interactions, and seeing him start the therapeutic process. Rest assured, it's going to get good!

You scurried throughout the back room of the office that was used for private sessions, straightening things up after your latest client left, as you heard the front door open. Tracey had gone out on her lunch break early and of course you were still here doing last minute things. What else is new? 

You recall Tracey’s stern warning to you before she left for the cafeteria hall, “I better not find you still in this office by the time I get back or else I’ll drag you to the caf and chain you to a table.”

You didn’t doubt she would. She was always looking out for your wellbeing, even when it was well past closing hours. She would bring you a snack or a tea as you continued to sit at your desk and intermittently shake out your hand cramps while writing notes.  She would even come by the stables when you were getting ready to do night check on all the horses, to help you get the chores done faster. You loved her dearly and were grateful that she kept you accountable, even when the love she returned was tough love.

Mentally cursing yourself for not keeping track of the time, yet again, you quickly opened the door to the front reception as your eyes settled on a man who was intently observing the pictures on the walls. Despite only being able to briefly make out his side profile, you stopped in your tracks upon noticing him. Brown hair with curls that looked soft to the touch, speckled with greys here and there, a defined nose, golden weathered skin defined by a salt and peppered, slightly patchy beard. It was still coming into spring in Jackson so you didn’t question the massive leather coat he had on but you didn’t miss the broadness in his shoulders despite the rest of his slender build.

Well damn. A (somewhat) silver fox. 

You slapped yourself mentally, trying to slip into professional mode.

There were a fair amount of people in the commune and you had seen your fair share of men who had roused your interest, but you mostly chalked it up to the fact that it had been a long time since you’d been with anyone romantically. Dating, intimacy, hell even human touch, felt like hazy memories of simpler times before the world had ended. 

Seemingly startled by your entrance to the room, you shook yourself out of ogling and introduced yourself to him. You quickly noticed how tense and nervous he was, his eyes glancing everywhere else in the room except at you. As if he was prey assessing for the quickest escape route. 

You were endeared by the confusion written on his face at your initial question of whether he was a client, as he just stared blankly at you with his soulful brown eyes. Although you had to mentally slap yourself again when he introduced himself as Joel Miller, Tommy’s brother. It had only been a day since your conversation with Tommy. Understandably, you didn’t anticipate seeing his brother anytime soon, especially with what Tommy shared about Joel. 

Understanding the nature of the situation, and Joel’s obvious discomfort in seeking out help, you tried to make the consultation as stress free as possible, allowing him to speak first and share his thoughts about therapy. He wasn’t as hostile or cold as you anticipated, rather he shared that sense of being lost and displaced, much like your other clients who were struggling. His southern charm supplemented that as well, with his politeness overshadowing his contention towards therapy. For a second you thought he was going to disintegrate on the spot when he realized he had cursed in front of you and apologized profusely. It was charming as hell and really fucking endearing.

You tried your best to sympathize with his concerns him and validate his feelings, but fuck it was hard to concentrate. You couldn’t stop focusing on how much room he took up on the seemingly large sofa. His broad shoulders were still concealed by his coat but you didn’t miss how he sat with his legs spread open, easily dwarfing the couch that could normally seat three people. He also spoke with his hands, you noticed. A lot. You surmised it was the nerves, but again, you could get pretty animated with your hands when talking about something that excited you. You bit the inside of your cheek as you struggled to maintain his gaze and ignore how large they were, calloused from hard labour, how thick and long his fingers were. 

By some miracle you managed to make it through the entire conversation without gawking incessantly and fumbling your words, even when it felt like your brain was functioning faster than your mouth. Your passion getting the better of you.

Despite what Tommy told you, Joel was sweet, albeit reserved, but that wasn’t very different from other first time clients you met. You appreciated his honesty and apprehension. His perception of therapy didn’t surprise you in the least, If you were being honest. It only made you more excited at the prospect of working with him, and showing him the power of equine assisted therapy. He did seem to light up when you mentioned how the therapy worked and the interactions with the horses. You took that as a good sign. If he was already an animal lover it would make the transition to working with horses in a close proximity much easier. While equine therapy was indeed effective, it was a much longer process when your clients were not used to working with horses or were downright terrified of them. 

Overall the consultation went smoothly and Joel seemed noticeably more relaxed by the end of your chat, compared to when he first came into the office. You couldn’t help but break into a huge grin at his admittance of feeling better after your chat, that and his silent agreement to the therapy. You blushed as you recalled his lopsided smile when he said goodbye to you, and the dimple on his right cheek.  

You were still deep in your thoughts, watching Joel through the front window, as he proceeded down the mainstreet, when you saw Tracey approaching. She clocked Joel leaving the office and looked at you through the window, her jaw dropped open in astonishment as she rushed into the office, buzzing with energy.

“Okay, first of all, I’m gonna let slide the fact that you didn’t get lunch yet, because let’s be real, I know you that well,” she said in an authoritative manner, resting her hand on her cocked hip. “Second of all, is that who I thought I saw leaving our office just now?!!” she exclaimed frantically. 

You ignored her pointed remark about lunch and looked at her quizzically. “Who, that guy? His name is Joel Miller, he might be signing up for some sessions.”

Tracey’s eyes nearly bugged out of her head. “No way. No fucking way! Seriously, he came in for therapy?!” she squealed in a hushed tone. She was practically bouncing up and down on the spot like a kid on Christmas morning, the strands of her curly hair springing like coils with the movement.

“Yes! Joel Miller! ” You sarcastically replied in the same hushed tone, “why is that such a big deal?”

“Haven’t you heard any of the stories?” She wiggled her eyebrows at you. Frowning at her disapprovingly you replied, “I thought you just said you knew me well Trace.” 

You were never one for gossip, she definitely knew that. Especially when it came to gossip about your clients. You acknowledged it all as hearsay. You had to, otherwise any other information that didn’t come from your clients directly only served to fuel your prior judgements, and that could lead to internal biases. While you no longer needed any higher powers to validate your credibility as a therapist you still had morals, and that was one aspect of professionalism you refused to let fall to the wayside. You treated all your clients as though you had no prior knowledge of them, so that you could support them without letting your attitudes and perceptions interfere.

“I know, I know,” she exhaled deeply. “His history is pretty well known here, that’s all. Aside from trekking across the country to reunite with his brother here, he took in that young girl from FEDRA protection. And he apparently did some questionable things on the way…” she trailed off hesitantly. 

You gave her a stern look and continued to frown. “Whatever it is, I am not interested in it.” 

“Fair enough, fair enough, I apologize,” she put her hands up in surrender, “hopefully you can forgive me since I was thinking about you on my lunch break.” She digs into her purse and pulls out a sandwich wrapped in foil and a small bag of chips, dill pickle, your favorite flavor. You smirk at her and take the chips and sandwich. “You’re lucky I love you so much, I am not as easily forgiven.” 

“And you're lucky that no one else here likes dill pickle. Besides, if I don’t look out for you, who else is going to huh?” She gives you a playful shove and walks towards the receptionist desk at the back.

 “So do you think he will actually follow through and show up?” she asks pensively.

You opened the bag of chips and popped one into your mouth, looking back out towards the mainstreet wistfully, Joel long gone by now. “I’m not sure honestly. He’s meeting me Thursday at the stables for our first session, so I guess we will see.” 

You tried to squash down your excitement at the hope of him actually showing up on Thursday. Your meeting today was positive but you knew all too well that talking about getting support was one thing, actually committing to it and showing up was the harder part. You had many clients who promised to follow through but ended up being no shows. You didn’t hold it against them and you tried not to take it personally, even when you saw them out and about in the community. Healing took time, it took optimism, it also took deep reflection and pain. Sometimes the biggest feat for clients was making that initial phone call or coming in for a consultation, but ultimately it was up to them to move forward, and they weren’t always ready for the next step. You knew better than to get your hopes up, even if the part of you that wanted to see Joel again was larger than you wanted to admit. 

“Well, it’d be a real shame if he didn’t,” Tracey sighed, “he’s fucking gorgeous. Probably the best looking DILF in the commune.” You choked on the chip you were swallowing, coughing profusely as she wiggled her eyebrows at you suggestively.

Fuck. When was Thursday again?

Taglist: @beskarandblasters, @pr0ximamidnight, @theewokingdead, @atinylittlepain, @prolix-yuy, @swiftispunk, @harriedandharassed, @amywritesthings, @atinylittlepain, @missgurrl, @silkiers, @jasminedragoon, @mayasopinions, @pedgeitopascal, @elegantduckturtle, @sarahhxx03, @Snow30285, @gracie7209, @stevieboyharrington, @kirsteng42, @pedrit0-pascalit0, @loquaciousferret, @axshadows, @a-sh-lyn, @dotcie, @tightjeansjavi, @dreamingofdaddydin, @pedritosdarling, @lhymer1995, @nerdreader, @suzmagine, @like-a-dirty-french-novel, @delicious-collection, @serenaxpedro, @iamasaddie, @javiscigarette, @spooky-nob, @mxtokko, @axshadows, @sn1peraj, @oldenoughtoknowbettersstuff, @javiscigarette

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x therapist! reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #joel miller #the last of us #tlou #the last of us hbo #equine assisted therapy #equine therapy #joel miller fluff #restoring the roots fic

[thomase1]

Asgard, land of... aphrodisiacs?

My masterlist

How fast an innocent litte fic can turn into pure filth:

Pairing: Boss!LokixFem!Employee!Reader

Warnings: Smut, Boss/Employee dynamics, Sex-Pollen trope, effects of the sex-pollen-toxin described, obedient reader, overstimulation, praise kink, soft Loki, biting [by reader], outdoor sex, fluff, touch of angst if you squint

Wordcount:~3.300

Deviders by @harlequin-hangout

If someone had predicted today's events to you, you might have thought them crazy. But let's start at the beginning.

You are Lokis assistant, or how he likes to put it, maid. He had to get back to Asgard for his parents annual feast and you came along since, well, its your job.

Loki is a strict boss, he has you call him my lord or sir for example, while he rarely ever calls you by a professinal name. Truth be told, he only calls you by your name if you truely messed up.

He was reluctant to even hire an assistent, but since all of the famous heros of earth do, he was practically forced to hire one. Your job mostly consits of keeping him from ruining his reputation; which was alredy hard enough to restore given his past history. This consists of managing his social media accounts as well as public appearences.

What also took a lot of time was keeping the fans at bay. The emails, dm's and letters are mostly benign, but the abundance of them gathering at public events was always scary. His old adress got leaked at the very start of your employment.

You went over to talk about an upcoming event, shocked as you saw the crowd of people swarming the house. Even the garden, they jumped the fence. None the less, you fought your way to the door, pulling out the spare keys he gave you. Seeing the door open, the fans nearly trampled you had it not been for Loki pulling you inside the last second.

That day, when you were trapped inside the house for hours until the coast cleared, you truely talked to another. Discovering a shared love for litrature, nature and music. Before that day, you thougt of him as a stuck-up dickhead, after it, you though of him as a stuck-up dickhead with a damaged soul.

And you felt he no longer only tolorated you but actually began appreciating your assistance.

Arriving in asgard you noticed one thing: away from the day to day buisness and irritating city, he is far more relaxed. Still, you know that can change at any moment would you make a mistake, take a joke too far for instance.

He shows you the fairground in the city of Asgard, the beautiful castle and its gardens. The gardens are glorious. Homey conservatorys with small sitting areas are dottet around; rainbows dancing inside as the sun hits the colored glass. Loki insisted you get up so you can visit the next sight of his home, you would have fallen asleep in a hammock if he hadnt.

Said sight is the forests outside of the city. The walk there was already spectacular, seeing how the people of asgard live, but the forest was even better. Its unlike anything you could have imagined, the giant moss covered trees gave a sense of security, yet left you feeling tiny and insignificant in their presence. At one point a giant moss covered root lead the way across a river, it was very slippery but also impressive.

Calming bird songs sound in harmony with cicadas and crickets; if they were a thing on asgard, they at least sound like the familiar animals back at home.

Small creatures glide from branch to branch, unaware of your presence. They seem to be some sort of flying squirrel, never have you seen anything that adorable. After a while they pop back into their little den, out of your sight.

Not long after that, you spot another interesting creature. Fireflies. But not like the ones back home, these glow even at daytime. The small purple and turquoise beetles swirl around the air, a hand full of purples after one turquoise.

To your questions, Loki explained that the females glow turquoise, the males purple. Their dances are mesmerizing, to the extend where you forget to watch your step.

You stumble and fall down a small hill, right into some thorned bushes.

They look a little like blackberry bushes. At least they hurt just as much. He had warned you to watch where you're going, now it's obvious why.

Loki is quick to help you, gracefully walking down helping you untangle the thorny vines from your form. "I'm sorry darling. I should have warned you the ground is loose.", he looks at you with guilt, trying to unwrap your calf and shin. "No, you warned me plenty. I should have watched my step, the fireflies distracted me.", you sniffle from his attempts to free you, once he gets a tendril off, it pierces another part of your flesh.

"They got you really badly. There is something I should probably tell you though.", he rips the last one off your arm like a bandaid, so it won't get you again. "What is it?", you ask him, rubbing your side to ease the growing burn sensation. "They contain a toxin. Now it is not lethal before you panic. However, in Asgard it is often used as... aphrodisiac.", he looks away embarrassed. "Wha-what?! So- so what does that mean, what is going to happen?", you ask shyly. "You will feel its effects soon. I just hope it won't be too unpleasant for you. We should get back so I can look up if there are past occurrences where a non-Asgardian ingested the toxin.", he lays a hand to the small of your back, guiding you out of the ditch.

You mentally curse at the fact he had to give up the tesseract. It would have been a blessing to teleport back, walking becoming unbearably painful. Every step set your skin on fire, every movement of your hip heightened the frustration within you. Your panties are thoroughly soaked.

Seeing Loki walk in front of you isn't helping either. He is a gorgeous being. Unmistakably a god.

You stifle a lustful sound from fleeting you as you catch sight of his hips. Pants ever so tight around his thighs and ass. His broad shoulders strain against his shirt. It's been a challenge not to ogle him constantly.

"My lord?", you groan, forcing yourself to keep up with your boss's pace. "Yes Darling?" Your stomach tightens at the usual nickname, "May I ask what the symptoms of this aphrodisiac are? For asgardians at least?". He stops walking and turns around, taking in your form. At this point, your skin glistens with sweat, your thighs are pressed together and you are panting heavily. "You are feeling its effects?"he asks concerned. You only nod, squeezing your eyes shut and biting your cheek.

You hear the gravel under his boots as he walks to you, his hand startling you as it grips your upper arm. He hums, "I can feel you warming up even through your clothes.". For a moment, there is silence, only the soft chirping of birds from the treetops.

That is until you groan as something that feels like a cramp rips through your lower abdomen. "I know of a spot where we can sit comfortably. Since I don't think we will make it back in time." You whimper at his words but know it's true, so you nod and let him lead you off the trail.

After a short walk, you got to the destination. A spot covered by thick moss, so thick, it looks like a plush mattress. Loki conjures a blanket, draping it over the moss and gesturing for you to sit. You could say it's comfortable, if your whole body wasn't on fire leaving you to squirm trying to ease the burn. He sat down next to you, eyeing your movements with concern, "It's rather uncomfortable I see. It progressed quicker than it does usually.". "And how do you know what is the usual?", you groan. He smirks, "One gets quite adventurous in over a thousand years of living in one place.", he says simply.

"Oh, I see... So uhm, what are the symptoms exactly?", you try to change the subject back since the imagination of Loki under the effects of this drug really isn't helping your nether regions. "Of course. It starts off with burning where your skin has been pierced. That burn will soon consume your whole body, your temperature will rise and your nerve endings will feel everything with higher intensity. That's when the growing ache in your core will start, your knees weak and body tense."

You listen intently but notice you have passed every stage he is listing, making you concerned for what will happen after those. "How long does it usually take for it to get to the... aching bit.", you clear your throat, growing more and more humiliated to discuss such matters with your boss. "A couple of hours. It's the build up that is so thrilling, making it interesting.", he eyes you, focusing on the way you shift around on the soft blanket. "Sir, I have surpassed every state you just listed and it's been less than an hour.", you say nervous. His lips thin and his eyes lose their stern expression usually anchored deep inside of them. "It looks like it is progressing quicker in midgardians. Come to think of it, that makes sense, asgardians have a higher muscle density. You did get a pretty high dose of it as well..."

You try to listen intently to him, you really do, but it's getting unbearable. The fabric of your jeans feels rough on your skin, constricting almost. And your sex... you have officially soaked through your panties and jeans.

"What comes after... Am I going to get sick? I feel so warm, somethings not right.", you groan, rolling up the sleeves of your shirt. "The painful part. If not treated, it will leave your body aching and spasming for hours. Your flesh is growing hotter and hotter. Y/n, we must act on it now, it... it could very well be that you experience these symptoms with a higher intensity. As I told you, I am not certain if any other midgardian has been exposed to this plant. I am worried for you.", he tells you earnestly, shifting closer to lay a hand on your knee, a whimper confirming his suspicions. "Darling, you are in pain, aren't you?" Your eyes dart to the hand on your knee, then your own. Reluctantly, you nod, knowing you cannot lie or hide things from him. He looks at you with pity and concern, moving his hand to your shoulder. You whimper from that slight touch alone; your skin like a burning fire, his hand cooling you down, relieving the burn. You push against his hand, earning a content scoff from him.

"I'm going to help relieve your discomfort now. Is that alright?", he strokes your cheek, making you sigh. "Please", you breathe, closing your eyes from embarrassment. He pushes you back slightly, "Lay back for me darling, I am going to help you.".

You do as you're told.

"I will make no show of it, I think you want to feel better as fast as possible.", he hovers over you, one arm next to your shoulder, the other making its way to your zipper. "Just help me, please-", you sob. He hurriedly pulls down your jeans and panties, hissing at the sight, "Gods, you're dripping.".

His fingers make contact with your heated sex, head falling back with a moan, "Sir please-". "Loki darling. Call me Loki.", he coos as his thumb starts to play with your clit. You feel a finger slip into you, another one following suit not long after the first. He curls them just right where you need them, your hips grinding down on his palm for some friction on your weeping clit. He picks up his pace as your hips buck desperately from his fingers alone.

"M-more please", you plead. It's just not enough. "Are you sure?", he looks at you with doubt and concern. "I need you, please Loki-", you plead pathetically.

He draws back his hand and fumbles with his trousers, freeing his rock hard cock from its hold. He leans back down, lining himself up. You whine and try to sink down on him, so he hurries and pushes in slowly, bottoming out as he meets no resistance. Both of you moan at the feeling of your sex twitching around him.

He starts to kiss your neck as he starts gyrating his hips. Your mouth falls open and your eyes close, savoring every little touch. When he finds a sweets spot on your neck, every muscle of yours convulces. It's somehow painful and yet it feels so good.

His pace picks up in no time, your legs shaking from the feeling. "Kiss please-", you grab his arm, looking up at him. Seeing his face painted with pleasure makes you want to kiss him so badly. He leans down and kisses you passionately, sloppy and firm. His hands grip your hips and he plunges into you like a beast.

He hits a spot deep within you, the coil in your stomach tightening painfully. You feel yourself spasm around Loki and he can too, a pleasured groan an audible confirmation. A pained whine of yours makes him hold you closer, as if he were hugging you and says, "It's alright sweet, I will make you feel better.".

By now, Loki is dripping with sweat and so are you, he vanishes the remains of clothing left. He is holding your upper body to his, his forearms under you and his head in the crook of your neck, kissing and nibbling away. The pace has slowed down a little, due to both of your exhaustion and Loki almost coming.

It's become too much for you a long time ago, its blissful agony. But never enough to tip you over, no matter what he does. You thrash around, losing control of it all, you have to ground yourself. It's just too much.

But still, he is your boss, so you hold back, gripping the moss even tighter. "Do what you must to get comfortable, my sweet.", he coos into your ear. Did he notice?

You shakily lay your arms around his neck, pulling him even closer. You look at him uncertain if it's ok, your hips shuddering. "Go for it kitten.", he tells you softly, one hand cradling your head. You bury your teeth in his shoulder, unsure if it is really ok and claw at him for some form of control. He snaps into you hard, making you cry into him. It's really painful, this must be overstimulation. "Shhh, I'm sorry darling. We have to do this now. Try to relax for me.", he hugs you tighter.

His pace steadens again, pelvis brushing your clit with every thrust. You are a mess, small painted 'mmmhh' sounds escaping you. Loki keeps praising you, softly kissing your neck and jaw.

"You're doing so good little one. Almost there, just a little longer."

"I know it's a lot but it will get better soon. Just hold onto me."

Your hips try to meet his thrust, something urgent growing within your lower stomach. "C-close- need more-", you keen into his shoulder. He thrusts harder, meeting the spot inside you that makes you jolt with pleasure. You moan his name loudly. Sinfully. "Thats it. Good girl, you won't have to bear it much longer now.", he strokes your hair. Tears are streaming down your face, collecting in your hair.

All you can do is chant "Please!" as your boss pounds into you from above, praising you repeatedly. You come with a last strangled cry of his name, stars exploding behind your eyes as every muscle of yours goes limp. He holds you tight as your whole body convulses, your channel clenching and unclenching around him. He swore he would not, but he cant hold back his orgasm, nails digging into your hip bone as he buries his seed deep inside of you with a single violent thrust.

Everything's a blur as a green light wreaths around you and puts some clean and comfortable clothes on you. "Let's get you back to the palace darling.", he says calmly, satisfied. "Mhh", you humm, nuzzling against his chest. All you feel is yourself getting lifted up into his arms, your body rocking back and forth as he walks the path back to the palace. Only when he picked you up did you realize Loki put on some clothes too. He smells devine; like pines and fresh air. And sweat, something about that is just too calming. You can't fight off falling asleep.

You wake up as you feel yourself being moved around, laid down onto something. Opening your eyes, you see Loki eyeing you deep in thought. He is laying you down on a bed, his bed by the looks of it. "There you are. How are you feeling?", he strokes your hair, his gaze soft. You think about it for a moment, really coming to your senses. "Mhh, better. Just a bit of a headache and I feel warm.", you yawn. He nods, "I expected that. I will keep an eye on you until its effects have laid off completely.". You smile, eyes shutting again, "Sounds good to me.".

They snap back open when you feel his warm aura leave the side of the bed.

He went to his window sill and started to read. You hesitate for a moment, chewing your lip. "Sir, could- Would it be rude to ask for cuddles?", you almost whisper, your cheeks getting even warmer than they were already. He looks up from his book, seeing the bashful look on your face. His book snaps shut as he gets up, "It most definitely is not. And do call me Loki please. We are past the formalities I think.".

You lower your head when reality sets in.

You two had sex. Crazy sex-plant from another planet type of sex. With your boss, a god and prince of said realm. Loki Laufeyson.

You swallow the knot forming in your throat, "I guess we are.". He sits down next to you, "No need to feel ashamed. About any of it. Come here.". His arms open up, inviting you in. A bit reluctant, you scoot closer, laying your head on his clothed chest. His arm wraps around you, head tilting to kiss the top of your head, "Rest a bit more, it will help you."

"But I just woke up, don't you need me to work?", you ask, your fingers painting small patterns on his chest. "That can wait, your health is more important. Just close your eyes darling.", he strokes your hair, attempting to lull you back to sleep.

"Wait, we didnt- You uhmm-", you stammer, looking for the words. "I took care of it, I used a contraceptive spell when I cleaned you up.", he assures, thankfully understanding your senseless rambling.

You pause and think, feeling your head throb. "What if it gets worse again?", you ask anxiously. "I'm right here should anything happen.", he starts to stroke your back, your eyes falling closed but your mind still racing.

You're silent for a moment, pondering if you should say it or not.

"I'm scared s- Loki.", you mumble into his shirt. He squeezes your shoulder, "No need dear one. I will look after you, I promise." You take a deep breath, calming down a bit.

"Thank you for helping me, getting me here, clothing me... Just thank you for today.", you hug his torso, inhaling his scent once again. "It was my pleasure darling. Rest now, I'm right here if you need me."

And you could swear, you heard a smirk in that statement, yet it made you feel safe and secure as you drifted off again.

Everything taglist @slytherclaw1227 @their-love @vickie5446 @buttercupcookies-blog @peaches1958

The peeps from the society ;)

@lokisgoodgirl @lokischambermaid @mischief2sarawr @michelleleewise @holdmytesseract @fictional-hooman @holymultiplefandomsbatman @mochie85 @fictive-sl0th @thedistractedagglomeration @vbecker10 @xorpsbane @alexakeyloveloki @lovelysizzlingbluebird @muddyorbs @november-rayne @sarahscribbles @maple-seed @simplyholl @gigglingtigger @loopsisloops @theaudacitytowrite @wheredafandomat @lady-rose-moon @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @dangertoozmanykids101 @animnerd @joyful-enchantress @mygfloki @lokiprompts @springdandelixn @superficialdomina @peaches1958

And of course my wifey @plushcrushdoll

#loki laufeyson #loki x y/n #loki x you #loki god of mischief #loki oneshot #loki odinson #loki smut #sex pollen #boss loki #loki of asgard

[esthermitchell-author]

I'm afraid I might have got a bit carried away... But this just felt like the right amount of sweet and sizzle to me *shrugs*... You tell me what you think (this is one of the add scenes to the fanfic novel I'm making of the Post Second Coming fics I've previously written)...

At first, Crowley couldn't say what woke him. He just knew something tugged him out of the most restorative sleep he'd likely ever had. He sighed, snuggling himself tighter against the healing warmth and softness of... his tongue flicked out, encountering warm flesh scented of old books, bergamot, and starlight. He groaned, instantly awakened by the knowledge he was snuggled up against the warm, naked body of his angel, memories of how they got this way swirling through him.

That was when he realized what awakened him in the first place. Aziraphale was awake, and carefully trying to extricate himself from Crowley's embrace by wriggling his way free. Only, his actions were having the exact opposite effect from what he imagined his angel intended.

Snuggling closer, he pressed gentle kisses up the length of spine between the root bones for Aziraphale's wings, nipped the tiny bulge of flesh bunched at the back of the angel's neck and murmured, "I'm awake, angel."

"Oh. Um. Hullo, dear." Aziraphale reached one hand up to pat the arm Crowley currently had flung over his chest. The demon pressed his forehead into the curve of the angel's shoulder, shaking with the laughter he was currently stifling. It couldn't be clearer Aziraphale was feeling a little shy and uncertain, given what they'd done, earlier, and had been trying to escape before Crowley woke. Those bastards in Heaven had really done a number on his angel. Not a one of them had appreciated Aziraphale's lovely softness.

"No need to get dressed on my account, angel," he whispered against one warm, pink ear. "You're absolutely gorgeous, just like this."  

He let his hands drift against warm, soft flesh, drifting his fingers over succulent curves he hadn't spent nearly enough time admiring, yet. Crowley hummed curiously, a small smile tugging at his lips as the angel in his arms wriggled with a trembling, breathless, "S-stop. Th-that..."

Delight rippled through Crowley as Aziraphale laughed, trying squirm free of his touch. Until this moment, he'd had no idea his angel was so sensitive to touch, so... ticklish, he believed humans called it. To think, he wasted all those centuries afraid his angel would recoil in disgust if touched, only to find out he could have spent that time listening to this beautiful laughter, instead.

What a shame. Have to fix that. But first...

Wrapping his arms tight around Aziraphale, he burrowed his face into his angel's neck and, against the warm thrum of the angel's corporeal pulse -- the earthly evidence of the heart so closely joined to his own -- he rasped, "I love you, angel."

Aziraphale stilled, and a wash of love so warm it was like basking in the summer sun flowed over Crowley, even as the angel in his arms whispered back, "I love you too, Anthony."

#good omens #good omens fandom #aziraphale x crowley #ineffable husbands #azicrow #ineffable spouses #fanfic #aziracrow #aziraphale #crowley #good omens fanfiction #go fanfic #Keep Calm and ❤️on! 🐍🪽❤️🏳️‍🌈

[pandorascripts]

Can we have more 241 wednesday and reader? i'm just in love with your writing and with this history <3

241 III

summary: cute stuff, also I'm sick of winter so this is a time skip into spring.

pairing: wednesday x gn!reader (could be read as fem)

note: i suggest you read at least 241 part II, I was also listening to Violent by benches and Where'd All the Time Go? by Dr. Dog when writing.

big note: I've decided to fight fire with fire, so I will now be putting my Wednesday fanfics in any and all tyler galpin and xavier thrope tags until people learn how to tag fics right.

part I, part II

What are we?

What are we?

What are we?

What are we?

You gritted your teeth together, hating how the question sounded so stupid. You shouldn’t have had to ask Wednesday what the two of you were, it should’ve been simple, really. You should just know. But you don’t, which is why on a Saturday walk in Jericho with Wednesday, you were anxiously biting your lip. The hand that wasn’t holding hers was stuffed in your pocket, chipping away at your nail polish. 

“You’re anxious, why is that?” Wednesday asked, turning her head up to you. 

You watched the rock you’d kicked seconds earlier skid and jumped across the uneven road.

“Dunno.”

Wednesday stopped in her tracks, not really minding the cool spring breeze. 

“Two months ago I made a promise. Do you remember what it conveyed?”

“Tears.”

Wednesday squeezed your hand sharply, lending you a warning look. “No, I promised I would not lie, and in turn I believe you agreed too.”

You nodded, looking down to your sneakers. 

“So, I won’t make you tell me, but I do hope you know that I want to listen. When you’re ready.”

With that, Wednesday continued walking again, you trailing closely behind her. The sounds of Wednesday’s boots hitting the ground were heavy, a juxtaposition to yours, which were softer and much lighter. You wondered if she walked heavily because Wednesday often said she’s got the responsibility of three blundering idiots on her shoulders. You failed to mention that she’s too small to cary Eugene, Enid, and you on herself. 

The walk turned silent once again, a peaceful silence. You fished out something from your pocket, sliding one in your ear as you handed the other to Wednesday. She accepted it, a light smile coating her lips. Another part of Wednesday’s apology. Since she liked to repress her emotions, which caused a lot of problems, she’d suggested the idea that she be more open, and allow emotions to show. 

“Thank you.”

“Mhm,” you mumbled, scrolling through a playlist you’d made. Recently, you found out that Indie Rock was a genre Wednesday didn’t mind, so you clicked on a playlist you made previously, letting it shuffle through and selecting a song. 

Arctic Monekys, you thought, nice. 

Wednesday’s finger tips lightly bounced off your hand, going to the beat. You smiled, looking up to the sky. Green was restoring itself to the bare trees, the sky was happily blue with clouds dusting over gracefully. The wind brushed against your ears making you shiver occasionally, but you didn‘t mind. In a way, you felt like spring represented your relationship with Wednesday. In a since that you two were too welcoming old friends, feelings, and allowing them to grow and take root. Your future was, if everything continued like this, peaceful as the sky, with little disruption. The song changed to one you quite liked. It was on the slower side, and so you unconsciously slowed your walk down, breathing in thick air. Under you, your foot sloshed in a puddle created the previous day from the melting snow.

Wednesday tugged on your hand, grabbing the other and setting it on her waist. You smiled, not trying to hide your confusion. Wednesday linked her arms around your shoulder, and started swaying. Your chest felt like it might explode, your heart rapidly beating as you swayed too. 

Wednesday rested her head on your shoulder as her arms slid down to hold your biceps. “I’m sorry, you just seemed so… at peace,” she whispered. 

You grinned, also burying your head in her shoulder. As Wednesday turned to her left, you turned to your left, still swaying with the song. A shaky exhale left your lips as you sighed. Your body felt heavy as Wednesday guided you, your feet sometimes hitting hers. If she minded, she didn’t say anything. Even as the song changed, you two still stayed there, swaying in the breeze like the leaves blossoming on the trees. 

“What’re we?”

Contrary to what you were thinking, Wednesday simply continued swaying, not bothering to stop this moment. 

“I don’t know, but what I do know is that it’s up to you. I was foolish, and now I’d like to be yours again, only yours.”

You nodded into her shoulder, adjusting your grip on her so it was more of a hug. 

“I want that too,” you mumbled, sighing contently. 

Wednesday and your’s relationship was spring, it experienced droughts and tough parts, experienced rain, and muck, but most importantly, it gave joy and peacefulness. It made both of you happy as you started anew, greeting old feelings and memories, but also making room for new beginnings. You truly believed spring to be your favorite part of the year, and as you stood dancing with Wednesday under half-green trees, you felt at home.

#wednesday tv series #wednesday netflix #netflix wednesday #wednesday series #wednesday show #wednesday #wednesday 2022 #wednesday x fem!reader #wednesday x you #wednesday x y/n #wednesday x reader #x reader #female reader #wednesday adams x reader #reader insert #wednesday fanfic #fem!reader #wednesday x gn reader #gn!reader #wednesday x male reader #wednesday characters x reader #xavier x y/n #xavier x reader #tyler galpin #xavier thorpe #tyler x reader #tyler galpin x reader #enid sinclair #eugene ottinger #bianca barclay

[ae-neon]

Tamlain and secret relationship(Elain sneaking around in the spring court while going "to help someone with their garden", also you decide whether feylin happened in this fic or not)

🌷

For a time, Elain Archeron had become accustomed to being forgettable. In her first life, she'd been at the centre of attention, a sunflower standing tall and bright, soaking in the warm affection of others.

But something had changed in the Cauldron, not drowned like Nesta, Elain had drifted in an infinite void, untethered from reality. And emerged wilted, existing as a ghost for a time.

Eventually she'd settled, become corporeal once again and lived as a well attended, lonely orchid. But her heart, Elain knew, yearned to sow wild roots, entwining and entangled in the earth once again.

Feyre's child and Nesta's new life as a warrior had given Elain the chance she'd needed. It was easy enough to hide her abilities, make herself useless in the inner circle's eyes, coax the wind into carrying her somewhere she might walk among wildflowers.

No sooner had she set foot on soft soil than she'd come face to face with the Lord of Spring.

They'd never spoken before then, between her now restored memory of him taking her sister and the blur of Hybern and the War, Elain was unsure of what to make of him.

He'd seemed similarly wary until his emerald eyes lowered to where flowers bloomed at her feet.

The few times after that first encounter he'd probed her on her intentions. Elain had told the truth: she was seeking the sun, seeking the freedom to grow bright and free. He'd followed the example of his lands and welcomed her, though he still guarded himself.

It was Elain who had taken to making excuses to leave the dead, cobbled streets of Velaris more and more, who had taken up the unofficial duty of restoring the gardens of the Spring Manor.

She had found something in that emerald gaze that felt like sunlight and spring rain.

When she returned and half curious eyes took in dirt on her dress, the soil beneath her fingernails, the little flowers in her hair, the sweat on her skin and the bloom of a blush on her face, she'd answered "Gardening," with a secret smile, still tasting his mouth.

In truth, she had become a dandelion, all at once tethered to the earth and scattered in the wind, wild and free.

Hmmm not sure about this one, I hope it's okay but thank you for the ask! I'm glad to be writing again

#tamlain #anon asks #my writing #pro tamlin #elain archeron #acotar drabble

[pharaohbean]

roots in the snow

pairing: implied polysquad, but can be read as platonic

summary: "As his feet took him through a dance he knew by heart, having never danced it before, he felt hands—warm, calloused, and yet gentle and careful—take his, joining him in his waltz. Toya slowly peeked his glimmering silver eyes open, letting the tune being played wash over him. He smiled, then continued to sing his very own song out loud."

warnings: my tenses are extremely dubious, no beta we die like nagi

author's note: fhownfkwbf this is my first time posting one of my writings on here!! or anywhere actually. HHH- this fic was entirely born out of hearing blender for the first time, late at night when the leaks first dropped. immediately, i had such a vivid image in my head, and dropped so much (no not everything) to write this. but finally... it is complete. please enjoy!! (read on ao3)

The family summer estate hadn’t changed much since the last time Aoyagi Toya stepped foot within its borders.

The modern space was beautifully decorated, all thanks to his mother and the younger one of his two older brothers if Toya remembered correctly; pieces of music were strategically placed around the rooms, an obvious indication of which family owned the place. The large unlit apartment looked down upon the metropolitan city, the landscape slowly being painted with the sunrise’s soft colors.

The street musician slowly let go of the plastic handle of his suitcase, letting the emptiness of the place softly wash over him like an ocean wave. Dust covered the tops and knobs and just about every surface one could touch. Despite everything, this seemed to be the one place that wasn’t up-kept as well as the rest of the Aoyagi possessions.

Silver stormy eyes glanced around, carefully wandering around the long-abandoned apartment. Why his father continued to hold onto the place was beyond his understanding, but he and his father continued to be just one step apart from each other, even to this day.

Toya took a deep breath, stepping over to the window and gazing out of the window. The street life far underneath were like mere ants, but he quickly looked away, unable to stomach the sight of insignificant people and the drop. The buildings blended together under the brightening sky, slowly gaining their individuality as the city woke up. The boy couldn’t help a faint smile at the memories the sight brought him, and a moment later a newly-birthed tune began to be hummed.

The musician turned back to the apartment, grabbing his suitcase and rolling it into the master bedroom. Setting both his suitcase and carry-on backpack beside the bed, the boy scrounged through the bathroom closest—almost exactly as he’d faintly remembered it—-for cleaning supplies. Grabbing just a couple of dusting clothes to begin with, he began his cleaning mission, beginning with the master bedroom.

The reason Toya had come out to the Aoyagi estate—and so early, too—was to prepare the place for the rest of his partners. The four of them had decided to get away for a week for a time of refreshment and relaxation. Then he’d overheard his mother mentioning the estate, and asked if he could borrow it. Although his father was slightly perturbed at the thought of the four of them running around, his mother and he had restored their relationship quite a bit; the woman was just happy to see the place put to use once more, and she trusted Toya not to let the place get trashed.

Eventually, Toya booked a red-eye flight (courtesy of his mother against his father’s wishes, somehow over the years she’d become a louder voice against his father, or maybe he was just older now?) a day or so earlier than his partners, his schedule set to clean the apartment, buy food for at least the first couple of days, and hopefully have his things unpacked before he had to go pick up his partners from the airport.

As the sun crept higher and higher into the sky, bringing the entire city to life, Toya floated around the apartment, dusting and sweeping and mopping just about every surface he could get his hands on, once in a while breaking his flow to frantically jot something down on his to-do list before he forgot only to then struggle to get back into his original stride.

After the sun had passed the halfway point, Toya finally finished cleaning the entire house—except for one room. A room whose door he hadn’t opened yet, knowing full well the memories that laid buried behind the burden-heavy wooden door. But he’d come to terms with that weight, enough to be able to grab the handle and open the pathway to those memories. ---+---+--- Truthfully, his memories of the Aoyagi summer estate were actually quite bright ones—not necessarily happy, but not dark and stifling like home. Many memories were of time spent with family, often not in the context of music. But, of course, no Aoyagi would bear that name if they didn’t practice, even during vacation.

Lessons with his father were often grueling, sometimes even fearful for the youngest of the three children. Hours poured into one specific song, perfecting every line and string of notes while being lectured on this producer and that reason for creation. Toya had a good memory, a fact well-known to anyone who knew him, but even children can only learn so much before they can't do it any more.

Sometimes he’d fall asleep against his will; a surefire way to end their lessons early. Other times they’d be called by his mother or his siblings to come to the table or go out into the city with them; this worked here and there, depending on his father’s mood and his own attitude. Most times, however, his siblings would barge in and beg their father to let them play, either without Toya or just the two of them or with Toya and perhaps even their father too? Here, the pressure on Toya’s shoulders were lifted slightly, whether it be getting out of practice or dueting, trioing, or quarteting with the rest of his family.

Moments like those were bright, like the rising sun. He’d never been a great sleeper in new places as a kid, so often he wouldn’t sleep well or would wake up before the sunrise. His mother was an early bird, even by early bird standards, and so the two of them would watch the sunrise together; he’d never be forced back to bed, partially because once Toya was up, only extreme sleep deprivation could send him back to dreamland.

Yes, Toya had many bright memories of the Aoyagi estate—not necessarily happy, as many of them were playing on the piano or violin, solo or with his siblings. But they were memories that had shaped Toya into the musician, the street musician, he was today. As painful or dark or lonely as his past may’ve been, it was an undeniable part of who he was.

As long as he had the past, he resolved that special day, he would continue to fight. To take the shackles that he ran away with and turn them into a song worth singing to the world. ---+---+--- Although, Toya mused to himself, it had been quite a while since he’d last seen either of his brothers. Truthfully, the family had stopped using the estate around the same time his brothers had left, off to do their own things in the classical music world.

The musician leaned back in the driver’s seat, taking a deep breath. The memories from his past, bright or dark, were always tiring to ruminate over and examine closely, no matter where he was in life. But every year, his perspective on his past shifted ever so slightly, and every year he seemed to realize new things from things he’d already heard and seen a hundred times before.

Toya glanced at the time, then nodded to himself. His partners’ plane should be landing about now, so it was time he got out of the rental car and headed to them. So he dutifully did so, glancing at the large overhanging signs that he passed by to find the correct terminal (airports were annoying complex, Toya had come to learn, and no two were alike; An once commented that it felt like they made them mazes on purpose) where his partners should be arriving out of.

Toya quietly joined the crowd of people waiting for family and friends and sometimes complete strangers, scanning the throng of arriving passengers for the trio close to him and his heart. Just thinking about them put a soft smile on Toya’s lips. Under his breath, a song sprung to life, just quiet enough to only be heard by Toya himself—or perhaps so quietly that the voice he was hearing was just his mind singing for him?

Finally, after what felt like drawn out hours (but, in reality, just ten minutes) a familiar mop of orange hair appeared in the sea of arrivals, accompanied by two short heads of navy and tan-blonde. Toya reached up for them to see, and three sets of eyes—one caramel-olive, one tangerine-orange, and one chocolate-brown. All three of them smiled in varying intensities, perfect for who they were.

“Toya!” An called out, immediately rushing over to him as he moved away from the anxiously-awaiting relatives of arrivals. He braced himself and yet barely caught the girl as she barreled, partially leapt, right in him. She laughed loudly, the joy in her movements bleeding into her voice, and Toya couldn’t help but laugh quietly with her.

“An, you should let him go before you both go down.” Akito warned, watching the scene with an amused expression. An immediately de-latched a little bit, giving him one big squeeze before fully extracting herself from him. She swiped the offered backpack from Akito’s smug expression, slinging it around her shoulders once more.

“It’s good to see you again, Toya.” Kohane smiled, giving him a brief and quiet hug; he returned the hug just as quietly, hidden messages in her words and actions that he was always grateful to hear. The youngest of the four moved over to An at the latter’s behest, saying something about their bags.

An arm slipped around Toya’s shoulders—carefully and yet with no hesitation whatsoever, a pillar of strength that Toya could rely on—and rely on the pillar he did, immediately physically sinking into Akito’s warmth. He let out a quiet exhale, letting the stress and loneliness of the past day and a half flow off his shoulders. Here, with his partners, was where everything would be okay.

“You doing okay?” Akito murmured, a soft whisper that somehow helped din the voices crowding around Toya’s mind. The silver-eyed musician nodded, bringing himself back up out of the incoming fog. He could relax once he’d gotten the group to the apartment, where everything was all nice and clean and ready for four responsible (enough) people to live in.

(Truthfully, Toya did not prepare the extra bedroom where he and his brothers often slept together when they were younger. The group was notorious for, if they were in the same building together, all being found in the same bed together. If Toya remembers correctly, that was the tipping point for all of them getting new beds… none of their old beds could hold four people.)

“We should go help the girls with your bags.” Toya smiled. Akito rolled his eyes, giving Toya’s shoulder one final squeeze—one final hazing of the silver-eyed performer’s mind—before removing the physical pillar.

“I don’t know what An packs, but it is heavy as f—“ Akito was cut off by a flick to his forehead, causing the gruff musician to scowl as he and his partner trailed after the tail ends of the girls’ wakes. “Hey!”

“Language.” Toya berated with a smile. Despite everything they’d been through, some things just never changed between BAD DOGS. Toya began to sing quietly again, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Akito smile softly—and truly, from the bottom of his heart, he wanted to see Akito genuinely smile more and more.

And so, he’ll keep singing. ---+---+--- The first time Toya used his voice—his voice and voice alone—was one of the last times the Aoyagi family came to their estate. Both of his brothers wanted to go to an art exhibition, and their father and mother humored them (partially out of child satisfaction and partially out of personal interest). Toya, however, always struggled to appreciate the fine arts, and so stayed home alone. Both parents were unphased by this— okay, well, maybe his mother henned him a little.

The house was empty, the piano sitting untouched for the last few hours. And yet, Toya remembered vividly, the haunting sounds of the piano echoed throughout the lifeless house—lifeless because at that time, Toya wouldn’t have considered himself “alive” at that time. He was living, yes, but not truly alive under the hand of his father.

Back then, Toya was still trying to figure out where in life he wanted to go. Did he want to pursue music still, or branch out and find a new path in life? Well, the latter option was growing slimmer and slimmer as he got rid of option after option. He wanted to continue his path in music, but classical made him more and more nauseous—emotionally, mentally and physically.

Tsukasa-senpai had recommended more carnival, musical-like songs than he could ever hope to get through, and Saki-san had eagerly given him a number of band songs, both rock and a weird mix of rock and pop. Although Toya enjoyed both genres, he just didn’t click with the music given to him.

And then, a song he wasn’t expecting came on. Flipping back to the music video, he’d accidentally left the autoplay on. But immediately, the music hit hard and deep, reverberating in his bones. He remembers his eyes widening and his voice yearning like never before, begging to be freed and allowed to sing aloud.

That was the first song he’d replayed in his dive into music. He sang along, learning and teaching himself how to sing over and over again. Although he’d go on to learn other songs—sing other songs—during and after this trip, his voice hidden from his parents, this one song he’d hold close to his heart and one of the first he’d sang; no matter when and where, he’d sing that song first, always refining and perfecting the song that changed his life.

That song would continue to change his life, although he didn’t know it at the time—for that song he’d found accidentally, Fragile, would go on to be the song that brought Akito and Toya together. ---+---+--- Toya sighed, glancing out the window. The book he was holding had been taken from him at some point during his reminiscence of the past. He sighed quietly, why was he thinking about his history so much? Was the estate bringing up these old memories to the surface of his mind?

“Toya?” A robotic voice broke him out of his thoughts, startling the musician. He looked down at his phone sitting innocently on the table. MEIKO and KAITO were both there, looking at him with a worried glint— ah. Right. Now Toya remembered. He and KAITO had agreed to spend time in silence, Toya with his book and KAITO with his own music. MEIKO must’ve shown up recently without Toya realizing.

“MEIKO, KAITO.” Toya smiled softly. “Is everything alright?”

“I’ve been calling you for a while.” MEIKO smiled back, although still concerned. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m… alright.” Toya decided. “Just thinking a lot.” He glanced around. “Actually, where’s my book?”

KAITO and MEIKO glanced at each other, then began chuckling. “Akito tried to speak to you earlier, but seemed to realize he couldn’t snap you out of your thoughts. He took the book from your hands and went to the kitchen.” MEIKO explained. Toya flushed brightly, covering his mouth with his hand and looking back out the window. Seriously… Akito was too good for him.

“I just came in here to check in on you and the others, but it seems you’re all doing well. I think I’ll go talk to the girls now—KAITO, would you like to join me?” MEIKO asked. The blue-haired VIRTUAL SINGER shook his head.

“I’ve got to go give the twins this demo back and teach them some more. Thank you for your time. Toya!” KAITO nodded to the silver-eyed musician, who nodded back and said his goodbyes to the contrasting duo.

Toya watched his phone dim, then stared at it absently as his thoughts broke through the mental dam. A storm of thoughts encircled his emotions, growing darker and darker as the seconds rushed by. Toya tried to push them back, knowing full-well this tsunami of emotions wasn’t good for him or those around him, but felt himself slowly being dragged under the sea of dangerous thoughts; slowly, he felt himself unable to tread water, losing the ability to care.

And then a hand grabbed the top of his head. The hand yanked him up a bit, making the composer hiss as he reoriented himself to reality. A quiet murmur replied, the hand stroking his hair now. Toya sighed quietly, melting into the touch.

“You alright?” He felt Akito’s presence settle beside him on the seat’s armrest. “Anything I can do?” Toya smiled, leaning into Akito’s side.

“This is enough.” Toya replied, the storm in his mind already settling to calm seas once more. He felt Akito hum in reply, and then the hum turned into a song. Toya melted even further into Akito’s touch, feeling the familiar fog creep into his mind and quiet everything around him. The fog wasn’t new in his life but not necessarily old—an outcome of the full trust he put in Akito, trust so deep and true that he gave Akito his life, his body, his very function of thought over to his partner. Akito could give it back and Toya could ask for it back, but Toya didn’t want it back right now.

That familiar feeling swelled up in his bones, the feeling he’d experienced when Toya sang for the first time. He grabbed onto the few dangling pieces of his coherency and sang out with Akito, their voices mixing together to create a lullaby capable of sending Toya into a deep fog, lethargy cradling his body gently and safety encasing his mind. The last coherent thought Toya had was— ---+---+--- His mother was not a musician like the rest of the Aoyagis. How she and her husband had gotten together—heck, how they’d managed to even stay together!—Toya will never know. But one specific memory he has of staying at the estate was long before he considered running away and rebelling, seeking out a new path in life. The memories are foggy from age, but he remembered the key notes well enough: his brothers playing an upbeat melody on the piano together, his father accompanying them on the violin; his mother grabbing his small hands and smiling at him, asking him to dance with her. He remembers dancing joyously with her, laughing and giggling alongside her and his brothers, and seeing his father smile.

Just like a song, the notes faded from his ears, and the brightness of the memory dimmed from his mind. His brothers moved away, his father’s grip tightened on his chains, and his hands couldn’t reach for his mother anymore. But as the light of the past dimmed, just like the next song in a playlist or the next season in a show, another light appeared from behind him. He closed his eyes, letting the melody of brighter, happier days wash over him—days of dark streets, singing his heart out. Alone, then with one partner, then with three; as time flew past his eyes, he felt his feet beginning to move, to take him through the waltz of life. He heard the tune that materialized his feelings of moving forward, picking up his broken shackles and turning them into a song; he heard the song he’d written with his own two hands, the song that his partners had heard and immediately wanted to sing, experiencing that burning passion that Toya felt the day he discovered the tip of street music. The soft melody with the soft lyrics, conveying emotions unable to be conveyed through words.

As his feet took him through a dance he knew by heart, having never danced it before, he felt hands—warm, calloused, and yet gentle and careful—take his, joining him in his waltz. Toya slowly peeked his glimmering silver eyes open—

—letting the tune being played wash over him. He smiled at Akito, then continued to sing his very own song out loud. They let go, and he noticed An and Kohane beside him, smiling at him; from Kohane’s phone, MEIKO joined them in their song.

Kohane sung her line, soon joined by Akito in harmony. Then, MEIKO sang, followed by An, followed by Akito, before the group harmonized out of their intro. Toya sang again, taking a few dance steps with Kohane as she sang, then splitting from her to dance in step with Akito as his lines came on. He split off from him as well, singing by himself before Akito and An came up from behind him. MEIKO took her lines, accompanied by Kohane and Akito, before the latter two and An took each others’ hands and sang proudly, smiles on their faces.

Toya smiled alongside them, then reached for Akito; his partner took his hands, leading them back into their dance. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see An and Kohane dancing alongside them. As MEIKO took her lines again, the group partially split from their partners for the previous trio to sing again. Then Akito pulled Toya back in, easily taking the lead between the two of them while also allowing Toya his mind intact. Kohane sung after the boys, Akito backing her at the end, letting Toya glide away from him as he sung his lines; he sang from the bottom of his heart, letting his feelings overtake his voice to properly convey everything he’d put into lyrics, into this song. Beside him, he felt his partners come to his side, preparing themselves for the chorus.

Akito and Toya took the lead, MEIKO singing alongside them, before the VIRTUAL SINGER dropped out and let the two girls take her place. Toya smiled, dancing in perfect sync with his partners, a rehearsed portion of their song blending its way with the unrehearsed waltzes; the feeling of needing to sing bubbled its way to Toya’s voice, and the musician couldn’t help but sing louder and prouder, and couldn’t help but smile wider when he heard his partners match his power and fire.

An stepped forward, taking her line. Toya followed with his own line, and MEIKO after him; the group laced their hands together, bringing them up to shoulder-height and smiling at one another as they sang in unison. An sung again, and Toya too; Kohane and MEIKO took the last line together. An slid behind Toya, vocalizing her background harmonies as she placed her hands on his shoulders, the swaying touch telling him you’re here and we’re together forever. Akito sang loud and proud, his hand grabbing one of Toya’s and the look in his eyes telling Toya I’m proud and want to stand by you forever. Kohane took his other hand as her voice sang out her line, her eyes conveying to the silver-eyed musician I’m grateful to have you by my side, now and forever. Toya closed his eyes, unable to keep his emotions—both the dark and oppressing and the bright and joyful—from overflowing from his voice and tears as he sang the last line. An’s voice echoed over him as the others, one by one, joined with her in ending the song. The notes of the song drifted off, before finally leaving the apartment in silence.

The four of them stood there in silence, simply hugging each other as they let the intensity of the moment slowly drift into calm waters once more. Toya took a deep breath before spinning on his heel, startling all three of them, then gathering them into a tight hug. There was a squeak from Kohane and a grunt from Akito, but An was the first to hug back, laughing joyously into his ears. Kohane soon followed, then joined by Akito and finally Toya himself. And if anyone noticed the tears streaming down Toya’s face—happy, joyous, bright tears, tears that told his partners what his melody and lyrics could not—they didn’t say anything, simply holding onto each other as if the boat they were in was due to sink at any moment.

The last thought Toya had before the fog that often lingered around Akito faded into his head once again, bringing a new wave of tears with it. His past had shackled him, weighed him down for years, but with his partners by his side, he was able to not only remove the shackles on him, but was able to pick them up again, turning them into a song full of life and emotion. A song that he could sing with pride and with people he truly cared for and trusted.

And here, it was here, in their arms, Toya knew without the shadow of a doubt—with their voices, together as one in harmony, he would never be alone.

#zero thoughts #zero words #project sekai #proseka #pjsk #prsk #fanfic #writing #aoyagi toya #toya aoyagi #vivid bad squad #vbs #polysquad #shinonome akito #akito shinonome #shiraishi an #an shiraishi #kohane azusawa #azusawa kohane

[atinylittlepain]

sunday digest - fic recs and weekly happenings

howdy howdy, loves

it's the start of a new week, and with it, i have some fic recs and some updates for you

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let's start with some updates

a few new things will be coming this week. thank you again for being so understanding as i slow down on posting new stuff for you <3

you can expect Apothecary chapter four on tuesday

i'm hoping to get the first installment of the Hayloft out by friday

if you missed it...

the third part of Ride It, called What a Ride, has been posted

i posted a very sweet, very short joel request much earlier last week. take a look at Favorite Part if you're interested

catch up on Apothecary chapter three before the next part comes out!

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now for the fun stuff - fic recs!

@beskarandblasters has an awesome exes din djarin x f!reader fic called Tolerate It and there's a part twoooo

@swiftispunk is working on a dbf!joel series called In My Hometown that seriously rocks. it's got it alllll, folks

never not thinking about @pedgeitopascal's javier pena x f!reader fic Bailé Con Mi Ex wooh! boy, so good

@lovers-liability has an absolutely feral joel miller x f!reader fic called Dead Weight that made my head spin, in the best way

i am already soooo excited about @cutesyscreenname's new javier pena fic called A Cowboy Like Me. just, yes, read this, love this, can't wait for more of this

@littlelou22 has a joel miller x f!reader fic called Pretend that will pull on your heart strings in all the right ways, so well done

super stoked to see how @bearsbeetsbeskar's new joel miller x therapist!reader fic, Restoring the Roots, will continue. as a lil bb therapist student, i would love to see joel miller do some cognitive behavioral therapy lmao

i seriously love all of these :) if you have recs of your own, pls put them in the comments!!

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that's all i got for you today - drop me a line if you'd like, my inbox is always open

with care

gin

p.s. i just found out there are over 1800 of you hanging out on my lil corner of the internet, pornbots be damned, i love you all <3

#sunday digest #gin speaks