#CANNOT WAIT TO READ YOUR POSTED FIC. drop me a link when it's out there

[just-some-random-blogger]

Brat Hours

You dramatically react to an issue involving your friends and so Billionaire Entrepreneur, Lanniscorp CEO Tywin Lannister takes your phone, makes you an offer that makes you panic, then fucks your panic away.

Modern!Tywin Lannister x Reader | 5k+ | cw: fem!reader, crack fic kinda, implied sugar daddy/sugar baby dynamic, age difference, pwp tbh, smut (bdsm, brat/brat tamer, daddy kink, degradation kink, bondage [belt], teasing, edging, fingering, piv, mild spit kink, dumbification kinda, breeding kink, cockwarming, biting, marking), fluff, etc.

A/N: im so down bad for this old man that the plot ends at 1k 😀 cross posted on ao3. Please consider donating €5 to Rital's GoFundMe, so that she and her family can evacuate Gaza.

Tagging: @ceoofyearning sabi mo tag kita wag mo ko block

Tywin Lannister lifts his gaze from his computer screen, eyes narrowing at the sight across the room. His desk is positioned in front of a window that looked out to the large expanse of the Casterly Rock estate. Directly in front of him, laid upon his massive bed, there, I sprawled, squealing into a pillow, wallowing in the velvety sheets.

He leans back into his leather office chair, stretching out an arm. He rests his palm on his oak desk, "will I be hounded for concert tickets to some smelly half-wit vocalist's concert again?"

His stubbly jaw clenches as he awaits a reply. He gets none.

I throw my phone onto the pillows and stand. I start pacing around the bed.

Tywin calls my name.

It does not register. I jump back into the sheets and continue to scroll on my phone. After I yelp and sit up, I flinch when he calls my name sternly.

Tywin shakes his head and sighs. He raises a hand and beckons me over with two fingers.

I chew my lower lip and rub my thighs. My skin is cool to the touch, as I only had booty shorts and an old band tee of The White Walkers on. Tywin hated it.

I sluggishly walk over to him, dread lumping in my stomach as I take in the old man's expression. "I didn't do anything wrong," I pipe up.

Tywin turns his chair to the side, anticipating my arrival. He spreads his legs, giving me perfect view of his well-ironed, grey dress pants. He opens his arms out for me, and I gratefully take my seat on his lap, my bum on one thigh and my legs in the middle of his. He links his hands together, resting them on my hip bone, "then who would cause a troublemaker so much trouble?"

I drop my head and peer up at him through my lashes, unable to fully meet his gaze knowing what I would have to say to him.

I nestle my face into his neck. One hand sneaks its way around his back, the other fondles with his white dress shirt. I undo two buttons as I take in his rich, earthy scent.

Immediately, he understands what is happening, "speak, girl, even if it's petty."

"But it's hella petty."

Tywin sighs and tries to look at my face. He cannot, so he instead turns his chair back to his computer and pulls us closer to his desk, "I cannot help you if you do not tell me what ails you."

I scowl when his hands leave me to go back to typing on his keyboard. I pull away from the comfort of his shoulder to show him my displeasure.

He ignores me.

My pout exaggerates, "nooooooo."

"No?" he spares me a raised eyebrow, "so you want my attention?"

I furrow my brows and cross my arms, "no."

"Funny," he looks back at his computer, "I was certain you'd sooner perish than be rid of it."

I sound off, offended and annoyed.

He clicks on his mouse, then scrolls through his emails.

I shoot him a nasty look.

He mumbles whilst reading the text on his computer screen, momentarily making a face because of whatever he reads.

My annoyance festers.

He begins to type his response.

I grumble, "Tywin."

He continues typing.

"Tywin," I groan and whine, "I want your attention."

He leans back on his chair again, hands coming down to his armrest. We stare at each other for a moment, I knew, because he was waiting for me to take it down a notch. He tilts head, "sit properly then, girl."

I make an annoyed sound, tightening my lips.

Tywin acknowledges the challenge and simply squashes it, "will you really make me repeat myself?"

I scoff, "I don't even like sitting on your lap."

He chuckles, deep and gutteral, annoyed and amused at once. It makes my stomach do flips. He motions with his pointer, "then get off."

I growl and straddle his lap, sitting on him 'properly'. I wrap my arms around him and nuzzle back into his neck, "stop telling my what to fucking do."

He nostrils flare. His thorax emits a low hum. He scratches his nails on my back then digs one hand into the roots of my hair. He tugs my head back, forcing me to turn to him, "watch your mouth, else I'll put it to good use-"

"Try me-"

"-I'll make you record the Lannister jingle for me."

My eye twitches. I pull away and sit up straight.

His expression shifts, knowing how much I fucking loathe his company's stupid-ass jingle. My lips curl in disgust, "yuck, the fu-- the... heck."

Tywin's lips curl slightly upward. His one hand rests on the curve of my bum, the other rests on my cheek. He swipes my lips with his thumb then brings that hand opposite the other, "filthy girl."

I scowl again.

He leans on his headrest and shakes his head, "will you speak, or shall I return to Mr. Baelish and his Vale proposal?"

My brows relax at the mention, "he's proposing something in the Vale?"

"Mmm. Undoubtedly a plot to get a promotion," he says, swiveling to reach out for his keyboard.

I swat his hand and place it back in my side.

Tywin looks back at me.

I growl and brush my hair back in annoyance. With a deep sigh, I cross my arms, looking down at my lap. I feel him looking at me, so I toy with his belt to distract myself from his scorching gaze.

He does not appreciate it, "behave."

"I ammmm."

He does not respond.

I sigh again and finally look up at him, "you know that show I watch?"

He places his hands on my thighs, his large, warm palm heats up the area, "the ghastly one about looney blondes?"

"Mmm."

"Yes. Are they finally cancelling it?"

I turn to his chest and trace the opening of his shirt with my fingers, "opposite actually. They renewed it and my moots are killing each other."

I look up at him when he does not respond.

"Online friends," I correct and drop my hand.

He furrows his brows, "so? Let them die."

I inhale deeply, "Tywin-"

"No," he raises a finger, "I understand these online friends of yours mean something to you, but if they are causing you to scream and roll around the bed over an idiotic programme, then you're more simple minded than you've let on."

I scoff, "why not just call me a slur?"

He slips a hand underneath my shirt, rubbing my sides, "I will never understand why such an exquisite creature finds such entertainment in something so dull anyway."

"Hey, it's not that bad, plus I'm only watching the show for Smith Matthews."

He hums, "and what shall we do with the people vexing you over that show?"

"They're not vexing me, they're destroying themselves over opinions on fictional characters and started bringing personal agendas into it."

Tywin watches as a line forms between my brows.

"It's seriously making me anxious because, oh my gosh, it's not that deep," I sigh, resting my hands on his shoulder.

He stares at me for a moment, "show me."

Without another word, I stand up, get my phone from the bed, and sit back down on him. I open my app and begin to drone about the details of the drama.

"Which user is doing this again?"

I show him my screen and he takes my phone, staring at my following list as I explain what happened, "--and then she was like, 'no fucking way' then posted this whole-ass thing about-"

"I've blocked them," he hands me back my phone.

My soul escapes me, "w h a t?"

"I believe the feature was created precisely for moments like thi-"

"DID YOU ACTUALLY?!" I gasp, "OH MY GODS, OH MY GODS--"

Tywin watches as I frantically look through my phone. My expression drops and my heart races as I swipe the screen, seeing that I, in fact, was now following significantly less people. I frantically unblock them.

"TYWIN, YOU BLOCKED PEOPLE NOT EVEN PART OF THE-"

"Enough!" he grabs my phone and chucks it onto his desk.

I stare at him and clench my jaw. My adrenaline is pumping, and so I take it out on his arms, squeezing his biceps until he groans and grabs my hands.

"Your calamity is imagined," he mutters. He rubs my shoulders, "do not waste your time on people you'll not even meet."

"IT'S NOT IMAGINED!" I shake my hands, "IT'S REAL TO ME!"

He flinches at my shriek. He releases me and sighs.

"You can't just do stuff like that!" I whine, feeling my eyes water, "this is like if I went through your emails and deleted the ones that annoyed you."

He purses his lips. He takes a moment before sighing his response, "so? What would you have me do?"

I glare at him and scratch my eyes.

"Hmm?" he shrugs his leg, nudging me on his lap, "is all that's left? For you to cry about your digital pals?"

"grAH! It's not like I can just follow them back and say someone took my-- no wait... I can just say that!"

Tywin raises his brows as I turn to take my phone. Before I can do anything though, he shakes his head, "I thought interacting with them 'freaked you out?'"

"Yes, but I can't just-"

"I'll have their accounts suspended." 

I raise my brows as he turns to his desktop.

"What's that app called? I'm sure it will be easy to get someone to-"

"No-- honey, that's so dramatic," I place my hands in his chest.

He turns to me with a raised brow, "now it's dramatic?"

"You're talking about suspending accounts just because!"

"Because they bother you," he rebuts, face dead serious.

His deadpan makes my stomach roll. I gulp and feel my heart race.

"Besides, what's one more bloody email to me when I've gone through hundreds?"

My breathing begins to grow heavy, but no longer because of my internet dilemma.

He averts his attention to his computer, "now tell me the name of that stupid app."

I take a deep breath and chew on my lip. I place my phone down and slump as I look at him, "you like me so much you'd waste your time on this?"

If it was possible, Tywin's deadpan drops even more. 

I lick my lips and hold back a laugh, momentarily grinding down on him.

He turns to me.

I mutter, "my stomach feels fuzzy."

"Because of your internet issue?" he leans his head back.

"Hmm... and cos I like how much you like me."

I catch the slight glimmer in his eyes, though he tries not to betray his deadpan.

I sniffle for effect and shrug. I rub our noses together and bite my lower lip, "Mr. Lannister, do you have a crush on me?"

His brows quirk and he is unable to conceal his chuckle. He breaks into a groan and rubs his hands up my back, "what irritating creature you are."

My breath hitches as he leans in for a kiss. It was a chaste one, one that meant to show affection or even soothe. In truth, it was slightly surprising, considering his affections were mostly tangible. I pull away to giggle at him and grasp his cheeks, "you like annoying girlies?"

"Careful now, girl" Tywin narrows his eyes, "I enjoy you, but be careful."

"Mmm," I nudge his face with my nose, "and how would you like to enjoy me, kitty?" I bring my hands to his belt.

"Gagged."

I chuckle as I undo his buckle, "but milorddd--"

He gruffs.

"--I want you to use this on my wrists."

Tywin draws a deep breath, "the brat wants to be bound, does she?"

I nod slowly and pull his belt off. I hang the black leather on me like a scarf and grab his face, kissing him greedily. I shift on his lap and grind down on him. I chuckle when I feel him hardness through my shorts.

"Where do you want to enjoy me, daddy?" I mutter before licking a stripe up his neck.

He groans, "on my desk, whore."

He doesn't have to tell me twice as I shove his things out of the way to make room for myself on the surface. I lie on my back, curling my legs up as I excitedly loop the belt.

"On your belly," he commands.

"Nooo," I whine as I willingly trap my wrists in knot I prepared, "wanna see you. Wanna see you get tired as you fuck me."

Tywin grabs his belt and tightens my bounds, "filthy brat."

I giggle then huff as he yanks my arms up and positions me on his desk. He pushes the hand that held my bound ones above my head and looks down at me. I stretch my legs and wrap them around his waist, "love seeing your face when you come in me, daddy."

"Mmm," he leans and grinds down on my steadily dampening core, "you like seeing me use you like a clock sleeve?"

My breathing strains. I nod with enthusiasm, "all I'm good for."

He hums again, deeply pleased. He grinds rougher into me, causing me to shift from my spot. He grabs my thigh with his free hand and repositions me, "you know your place-"

I grind my hips, meeting his rhythm.

"-yet you somehow believe I should reward you for being a whore," he mutters, stopping his movements.

I make a sound at the lack of friction and seal him tighter around my legs.

"So audacious in your need," he digs his fingers into the garter of my shorts, "beg for it."

"Please," I lick my lower lip, "I need you-- need you to fuck me- use me like toy-"

"Desperate hussy," he pulls my shorts down.

Just as he said, I desperately wiggle to help him pull my shorts off with one hand. He chuckles and sinks his face into my neck, taking in my scent then nipping my skin.

"Let's see how desperate you are," he whispers hotly against my ear.

He rids me fully of my bottoms. He fastens my legs back around him then grinds down into me once more. The friction of his pants on my bare cunt makes me hiss. I moan and throw my head back, adjusting my hips until it feels good. The sound that leaves me when he rubs me the right way is nasty.

Tywin simultaneously moans and sighs. His nails scratch up my thigh and he squeezes my hips before continuing the travel to my breast. He pushes my shirt up and kneads my fleshy lumps. He hums in approval when I arch my back.

"Please. More," I whimper, looking up at him.

He tilts his head, "more what?"

"More you," my hands begin to strain as I overcome with the need to touch him.

He senses it and tightens my bounds, making me whimper. He renews his grip on my wrists then brings his other to inspect the building mess between my thighs.

I moan when he rubs my clit. He pulls back and inspects my arousal. He wets his two fingers with my slick before sinking into me. I whine at his prodding, jaw hanging low, hips grinding into him, "Tywin."

"So soft," he pumps his fingers into me, "so fuckable."

My stomach tightens at the wet sounds of his ministrations, and in turn, I clench around his fingers.

He moans my name, making my stomach flip. He rubs his palm into my clit, "your cunt's hungry for my fingers."

I moan, needing more friction. I pant like a depraved animal, "more, fuck, please."

Tywin basks in the way he makes me tick. He tunes in to the sounds I emit as my folds leak more and more.

I whimper when he pulls out and brings his fingers to my lips. Without any thought, I dutifully clean them, lapping evidence of myself off his digits. I graze his skin with my teeth as he pulls out with a pop. He chuckles, "dirty work for a dirty girl."

"Yes, please, I'm a dirty girl."

I yelp when he grabs me by the throat and pushes my head back. He does not choke me per se, but there is pressure in his hold. He clicks his tongue and shakes his head, "again, you think you deserve a reward for being a harlot?"

"No, daddy," I whine, "being a needy whore doesn't win me prizes."

"Mmm," he trails his hands back down to my breast.

"But it does make your cock hard," I sigh as I roll my hips.

This sets Tywin off. It's a visible change. He proceeds to rub my clit to prove a point, and clearly the point is to make me writhe and come all over his desk.

I moan unabashedly, something he's always loved about me. I whine his name and chant agreements, encouraging his finger fucking. I roll my hips and arch my back even more. I throw my head back and feel my neck strain as I chase the building pleasure he was supplying.

And I really shouldn't have been surprised, but he stops just as my orgasm was dawning.

I look at him, teary eyed from the loss of my incoming high. I pout and whine.

"Beg."

"Please, please,  I wanna come, baby. I need it. I need it, I want it."

Tywin teases me with his thumbs.

I let out a strangled moan, feeling my body quake, "mmm-- daddy, please. I need you! I need you to fuck me. I want you to fuck me with your fingers, with your cock, oh- fuck- want you to come in me and spit in my mouth and ruin me."

Tywin groans and shakes his head, "you truly are a depraved little whore, aren't you?"

I moan and nod, "yes. Yes, I am. I need it so bad, daddy, it hurts. My pussy needs you-"

He grabs my jaw, squeezing it to keep it open, "you want my spit in your mouth?"

I nod rapidly and stick my tongue out.

"You will not get everything that you want, slut," he says, releasing me to undo his pants with one hand.

I pant as I watch him free himself. When he does, my cunt quakes in anticipation, aching to be filled. I spread my legs, bringing my knees to my sides. My brows furrow in concentration, "please, please, please, I need your cock. Use me, please. I need you--"

My words are cut off by him finally driving into me. I squeal in excitement. I groan and tightly grip on the belt as much as I can. He thrusts into me with little regard for anything but himself. He gets lost in his thrusts. He presses his hand into my inner thigh and pushes my leg down. He pulls the belt on my wrists and pistons harder.

I cry out in approval. I mumble incoherent words of praise and encouragement in manner that scratches my throat.

Tywin eventually releases his hold on my bounds in lieu of rubbing my clit. At the same time, he thrusts slower and deeper, making me throw my head back in pleasure.

"Fuck! Just like that. That feels so fucking good, mmm fuck-"

He drags out his cock even slower, withdrawing until he's nearly out then sinking back in till his stones hit my ass. His deft fingers, wet with my lust for him, rapidly rub my clit in a fast and delicious pace. I squeal when he sporadically slaps into me, only to draw back out in a languid manner again.

My eyes begin to water and my belly trembles at the ministrations.

I whine on beat with his thrusts when he grabs my hips with his large hands and plunges deep, bullying my cunt with short and shallow shoves. My breathing is loud and hard as I wrangle out of my bounds, dying to touch him as he makes my pussy flutter. Seeing this, Tywin growls and pushes my hands back down, "stupid whore. Lay down and take it."

I make a squeaky noise, "wanna touch you- needa touch you."

"Were you not the one who asked for this?" he groans through laboured breath, "are you so dumb fucked already you've forgotten?"

I squeal and feel my breath get knocked out of me when he returns to a more brutish pace, holding me down by my decolletage. My body jolts on impact, in turn, making the desk creak and the objects upon it jostle. My salivating mouth chokes out a response, "no-- wanna to- wan' touch you, da-" I whine, "please."

"Greedy come slut."

I let out a broken moan, "lovie, please- please. Wanna touch- wanna pull you close--"

"I'm inside you," he chuckles darkly, one hand tightening around my throat.

The lack of oxygen and his thrusts make me see stars.

The next moment, he begins to fuck me slowly again, grinding into me in a moderate tempo. He stuffs his thumb into my mouth, effectively muffling my whines. I haughtily suck on his finger. With the new found quiet, the wet slapping and thrusting was now audible to anyone earshot. The sounds makes my belly wild with lust.

"Look at you," he mumbles as he does just that. He looks at me as I suck on his thumb and mewl; he watches as his cock disappears into core, my puffy lips parting with every thrust, "so eager for my seed."

I pathetically sound off at the idea, rolling my hips as I did.

"Shall I put an heir into your belly, pet?" he releases my wrists, bringing the now free hand onto my stomach, "my pretty girl."

I gag at the idea, nibbling down on his thumb as I desperately wiggle the belt off my hands. Tywin ignores me as the fantasy of fucking me pregnant clouds his mind. His breath strains as he rubs a side of my stomach, "though, I do like painting your skin with my seed."

I whimper and furrow my brows. I choke on his thumb as I mutter, "no, inside. Inside, please!"

Tywin is snapped out of his fantasies and pulls his thumb out of my mouth. He tilts his head as he watches me struggle out of the belt, "oh? You think you deserve that?"

I make a frustrated sound as I free myself from my bounds. All the while, Tywin uses his wet thumb to slowly draw circles on my clit.

I gasp when I finally manage to shrug the belt off my wrists.

Lost in the thought again, Tywin continues with his steady and deep pistoning. He imagines how my body might change to accommodate his child, how my belly will grow, how my breasts will heavy, how my slick will sweeten. He hums and curses under his breath. He doesn't actually want an heir, he doesn't think, but gods fantasy of it all.

"Need it," I whimper, reaching out to him. I grab his dress shirt and scratch the sides of his ribs. I lick my lips and debate ripping the his shirt open, but don't want to deal with repercussions of flying buttons nor what he'll do to me for destroying his shirt. I hastily unbutton his top and rub the expanse of his chest. My hands run up to his neck. I massage his shoulders and pull him close, lifting my head up to kiss him.

Tywin leans down, lips finding my own, but just before I can deepen our kiss, he pulls away and clutches my jaw, "I asked if you deserve it, my stupid fuck-toy," he rests his forehead on my temple, "not if you need it."

As this point, his movements slow then cease altogether. I whine in protest.

He clicks his tongue and rubs my thighs, "use your words, darling."

I continue to whine as I scratch as his nape. "I deserve it," I stretch out, peppering kisses all over his face. He leans into me. I lick his lower lip, " 'm a good girl, officer. So good."

He groans when I begin to roll my hips again. He grips the curve of my ass and shakes his head, "your whorish nature proves overwise."

"Please, please, please--"

"Will you cry to me about your woes and then cry again when I take action?"

I rapidly shake my head, "never. Never, lovie."

Tywin hums and rubs his nose on my cheek.

"Please," I beg, "please," I urge, "please."

He kisses my jaw and begins to move again. I squeal in relief and nip at his ear.

"Since you asked so nicely," he mutters, propping himself up on his palms.

I shift my weight on my elbows and chase after his mouth. I give him messy kisses and make it a point to catch his lips between my teeth at least once. Though normally, he would see this as an act worth punishing, in the moment, he did not care. He, quite frankly, loved the neediness, not that's he'd say that out loud.

Tywin loses himself as he bucks into a thorough pace. He plows into me with enough force to make his desk squeak and thud in protest. I meet his movements with the grinding of my hips and wanton pants. Amidst all the sensations, I feel my climax quickly drawing near.

"Yeah, baby, so good. So good."

He grunts as he squeezes the flesh on my hips. He pushes my knees back with one hand as the other rubs down to the small of my back, "you like that?"

I claw at his shoulder, dig my fingers into his nape, and rapidly nod, mumbling in mindless agreement. He huffs, looking down at me in self-satisfaction, wholly enjoying the reaction he was garnering. He spectates the wet slapping of our skin and the shuddering of my belly. He rubs circles on my clit.

"Fuck, Tywin."

He hums, "such sweet sounds."

I drop my head back.

"Prove your obedience then. Come on my cock."

I whimper his name out repeatedly and chase my incoming high.

Tywin pounds into me with more vigor, rougher and harder and more desperate.

I feel my belly begin to tighten. I howl and pull him close. I bring my mouth to his neck and graze him my teeth. I sigh and lick his skin before sucking the area, "give it to me, gimme, baby-- need it, need'a-"

His mouth finds mine and we share a heated kiss. He pushes me flat on the desk, hands on my shoulder and hip. He grips me tightly as he stokes the fire building inside him. He flicks his hips at a desperate pace and his expression displays his single-mindedness: his brows furrow, his jaw drops. My own face makes known how intoxicating it all was. Much as I wanted to watch him come, the twitch of my features prevent me from doing so, and soon enough, my eyes screw shut to focus on my pleasure.

Tywin's nails bite into my skin, and with two strong, distinct plunges, he grunts and releases his lustful heat. He continues to fuck me through his peak, and I feel him throb as he sighs deeply in ecstacy.

Quickly after, I let out a throaty squeal as my body breaks into burning bliss. My spine twists and my thighs shake as I feel my come spill down my ass onto the wood supporting my weight. I heave heavily through my open mouth and squeeze the arm pushing my shoulder down with both my hands. I lick his fingers as I grind into him, riding out my climax.

He begins to falter moments later. I wrap my legs around his waist and seal him in place. My body buzzes as he caresses my neck and rubs my lips with his thumb.

Breathlessly, he praises, "good girl."

My belly tingles and my eyes open to his look of bliss. I lick his thumb then kiss it, pulling his hand off me to then kiss his palm, "thank you, daddy."

Tywin takes a couple open-mouthed breaths as he examines me. He kneads my exposed breast then rubs down my belly. He licks his lips, evidently satisfied. I whimper as I push myself up and bury my face into the crook of his neck. I sneak my arms underneath his open shirt and pepper kisses on his skin, licking, nibbling, and doting on him.

He's accustomed to how I get after a good fucking, and though his sigh was that of content, it was also something else. He places his hands on the curve of my hips and nudges me with his nose, "I have work to do, needy pup."

I bite his neck hard enough to make him react. He calls my name out as a warning. "Wanna stay like this," I whisper hotly against his ear.

He sighs again as my lips kiss their way to his. He knits his brows but returns my affection.

I drape my arms over his shoulders, one hand combing through his white hair, "don't want my old man to be cold."

Tywin makes a disapproving sound at my feigned concern. He rolls his eyes and I simply giggle, knowing even in his annoyance, he'd let me have my way. "You will not distract me," says the man with his serious Lannister™ voice.

I am immensely undeterred and overly confident in my post-sex state, and so I stick my tongue out through my teeth before shaking my head. He sighs yet again, shaking his head as he tries to push me off. I whine and scowl in offense, tightening my arms and legs around him. The man knows it's futile, and yet he continues to push me back, as he also knows he will let himself get distracted once this work stokes his ire.

Coming to terms with his defeat, he stops pushing me off. I pull my lips into a pleased smile and look at him.

He raises his brow and warns, "you will not speak a word unless spoken to."

My stomach rolls at the severity of his tone.

"And you will not complain about how I'm ignoring you, nor long it's taking me to complete my work while you are nestled on my lap."

I chew my lip and tilt my head, "can I complain if I'm off you?"

"Yes."

I nod, "okay, kitty meow meow, sit down on your chair then."

Tywin's brow quirks.

I blink expectantly, "come on, honey. With all the exercise we do, I'm sure you can manage to get us on your chair."

He glares at me, but I simply do not care. I grin and rub the line between his brows.

With a grunt from him and a giggle from me, we end up on his chair. I kiss his cheek and rub his shoulders, "good boy."

He ignores me and rolls his chair towards his desk with slight difficulty. He arranges his things and wipes down the wet blob on his desk with a tissue, "dirty temptress."

I chuckle and rest my head on his shoulder.

We both know Tywin Lannister would never donate to charity 🤢 be better than our old man, and please consider donating €5 to Rital's GoFundMe if you enjoyed this fic.

[jedisupernova]

compress, repress (part iv) — kwon jiyong & choi seunghyun

summary it is said a lot can happen in one night, but what about two years? the three of you have ventured into different lanes: jiyong ascending into tennis superstardom whilst you and seunghyun make compromises to build a life together. there's only so much avoiding one can do, however, and so much tolerance the universe has before reality implodes.

notes minors dni contains challengers au (for my girls who know: the sauna scene, art crawling to tashi on the bed, challengers: match point), fem reader, unabashedly plus sized reader as i am myself but anyone can read, mainly takes place in the late 2000s (hence mentions of certain music, technology, media, etc.), takes place over the course of multiple years (from two years post-college to their mid-thirties,) tennisplayer!jiyong, tennisplayer!seunghyun, angst (dealing with a friendship break-up, description of accidental bodily injury, all three are at times depicted as not the greatest of people, insecurity, unresolved tension, avoidance, life-altering events, severing ties, this does not have a happy ending,) domesticity, fluff, smut (oral f receiving, p in v, sub!seunghyun,) i made up my own tennis tournament bc the actual olympic qualifications were too difficult to understand and write into this fic naturally so pls don't laugh at me, and some inevitable typos though some are purposeful.

author's note we made it . . . welcome to the fourth and final part of my challengers au 🍾 i cannot thank you enough for your love and enthusiasm for this series 🩷 its crazy that its coming to an end!! a brief disclaimer: these are only characters; in no way do i claim either would act this way in real life. please read the previous parts (linked below) or else you will be very confused! this is about the same length as part iii (long as fuck) so get comfy. it was bittersweet writing this. this part really goes into the sports drama of it all. please lmk what you think, my ask box is always open!! enjoy 🎾

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv

the next six months were of visceral change. summer was avoidant: jiyong spending it either lodged in his bedroom and maintaining physical regiment on the tennis court. seunghyun spent copious amounts of time catching up on sleep—no longer riddled with complex equations and multi-part exam questions written in a different language—spending long afternoons at the court, ushering in the transition into going pro, and talking to you on the phone. these conversations took a more serious turn with each dial—talking of your future and how either of you desired to share it. “i got in touch with my former mentors at the academy i went to growing up,” he told you over the phone one afternoon, mouth full with cornflakes. “they say they know somebody willing to take me on as my coach.” he swallowed, wiping a drop of milk off his lip with the back of his hand, “to go pro.” “that sounds promising.” you said, kicking your feet up onto the couch. you meant it when you said summer was for turning your brain off. like seunghyun, you also slept in, taking time in making your perfect bagel before putting the view on the living room television at a low volume. “i’ve been thinking . . . if i’m going to be with a tennis player, i might as well know a thing or two about the game itself. because i’ll be honest. right now, i couldn’t give two shits.”

seunghyun let out a hearty laugh. “just wait until i get into wimbledon.” he ate his last spoonful. “then i’ll show you a real game, baby.” “i don’t want to be clueless.” “there’s no way with that brain of yours that you’ll ever be clueless about, like, anything.” your eyes diverted to the window, watching a bird land on a tree branch in the front yard. “there’s always a first time for everything, though.” seunghyun kissed his teeth, “you and your stubborn ass.” you smiled, “it's why you like me so much. it's like looking into a mirror.” “love.” he corrected. “i love you.” “i know you do.” you said. “i miss you. badly. horribly, one would argue.” an amused upside-down grin tugged at his lips, “you have no idea.” he said smoothly. you licked your lips, trying to subvert your warming face. seunghyun inadvertently did it for you: “what movies are on the docket today, hm?” “i haven’t had the chance to head to blockbuster yet.” you told him, hearing him hum on his side of the line. “but i’ll text you the titles once i do.”

"this is going to be my sixty-seventh time begging you to watch 'donnie darko.’” you let out a laugh, “i’ll make it a hundred.” seunghyun kept his phone to his ear with his shoulder, washing his dishes. “what’ll convince you, huh?” “well, first of all,” you said. “it's summertime. not purgatory.” “its art, though.” you waited for him to say sike. when he didn’t, you laughed harder, “you’re insane.” he raised his eyebrows, though a smile molded his mouth. “you’re annoying.” “that’s another thing you love, too.” “yeah, well—” he had a witty comeback in his arsenal, but the time on the oven decimated it. “shit—it's already 1:30?” he thought aloud. “i’m late for practice. i’ll call you later, baby.” “no problem.” “i love you dearly.” your vernacular rubbed off on him, hearing him give his blackberry’s receiver a big kiss goodbye. you laid there on the couch, amused: if seunghyun a year ago knew he’d be acting like this now, he’d break down in tears.

jiyong’s birthday came and went in august. many family, friends, and cousins were invited, so it made skirting around seunghyun easier. what he couldn’t avoid, however, was knowing it was most definitely you on the other end whenever he looked at his phone, or when seunghyun attempted to hide his smile after putting it back into his pocket. come autumn, though, seunghyun was up and out of town, down in berkeley to meet a group of possible coaches. when his birthday rolled around in november, he was back home for the party, shocking his relatives with the news he was moving to britain before the new year to begin training professionally: “i’ll be home for thanksgiving. but i’ll be leaving before christmas, unfortunately.” jiyong remembers his heart collapsing to his stomach, hands almost dropping his utensils. he looked to seunghyun’s parents, watching their bittersweet yet prideful expressions over their son’s mature decision for his future.

if things were different, jiyong would have been part of every fiber of seunghyun’s planning: helping him choose between coaches, sorting through housing options, making sure he’s surrounded by good people, etc. but now? he was just a stranger. a bystander. adjacent to a nobody. he kept it together, though he could feel seunghyun’s eyes on him for something. a twitch of an eyebrow, remnants of a grimace— anything. but jiyong continued eating without a word. “she's—she’s coming with me, yeah.” he overheard seunghyun tell his aunt. “my new coach got her in touch with a firm in london. helped her fax over her resumé, too. we’re in the middle of sorting our visas out, but everything’ll be fine. she’s really excited, yeah. her parents are too, thankfully.” laughs reverberated around the table, though jiyong didn’t lift his head. “she’s always wanted to live there. so i guess it worked out for her, y'know?”

others would argue your twenties are enviable, but you would immediately point to how quickly life became real for you. though you made a decision that in your gut you knew was not only the right one, but what you wanted to do (and you have the arguments with your parents to prove it,) it didn’t make it any less scary. let’s be clear: you were in a new country less than six months after you graduated college with a man you’ve been with for barely a year. objectively speaking, that’s fucking insane. most would think someone who’s spent her life thinking rationally in unpacking arguments wouldn’t make a decision that is nothing but brash. in that case, however, you would point to exhibits a through z: seunghyun’s undying devotion. he, who gladly went out of his way to find you a job, landing you an entry-level policy analyst position with a comfortable wage; lined up your work visa interviews to prep together and alleviate the nerves for something so intimidatingly complex; flew out to your hometown a few nights before you two were flying to england  (which he paid for too, by the way)—helping you pack and finalizing your arrangements.

seunghyun was fully aware of the sacrifices you continuously made to be with him and didn’t take it lightly whatsoever. he said his thanks in many ways: doing his best to ensure your cut of the rent was lower than his; covering the groceries; quickly showering after an intense practice to make a hot meal to eat together once you came home; paying for as many calling cards as you would ever need to phone family back home; ironing your work clothes and packing your lunch before leaving for his early morning run preceding training; and his utmost favorite, his tongue penning his routine letter of thanks to your clit, dutifully signed by his fingers kneading the plush of your thick thighs.

though it was a mere matter of time before he weighed your left hand down with a diamond, it felt as if the nuptials had already been signed off on. perhaps it was the level of trust necessary to keep what you two had going. not to mention, you came out swinging for one another, like how jiyong came out swinging at the australian open in january 2007. his added efforts and re-centered energy in training paid off big time, landing him the grand prize and into a different tax bracket overnight. his sudden star status combined with impressive academic credentials to back him at a young age incited an influx of sports press attention he had never received before, granting him the novel task of finding a manager. seunghyun hadn’t qualified for the australian open, opting to focus on the french open and wimbledon coming in the summer instead. your heart stopped beating when he won his final qualifying match, nearly launching out of your seat in the stands after the realization hit you. you hadn’t accumulated enough paid time off to cover the entirety of the two week tournament, though seunghyun was quick to assure you whilst he packed for paris: “i’ll stay in long enough for you to come see me.” he told you. “i’ll play good for you, baby.”

something shifted on your train ride from london to paris. it was early june, zeroing in on the last few days of the french open. seunghyun kept his promise: he was inching closer to the final rounds of the men’s singles. he called you every night to recap his day, including the uncomfortable parts: “jiyong walked out of the locker room when i was walking in today.” he said. one hand held his blackberry to his ear whilst the other worked his razor against his stubble, eyes trained on his reflection in the bathroom mirror. “he’s doing real well.” he muttered, rinsing his razor underneath the running water. he grinned to himself, “looks like a fuckin’ hot shot, too. even from the back.” as the scenic landscapes and buildings passed by you on the train, your face turned more stoic. your vision mimicked a tunnel. a feeling stirred in your gut—but what was it? nerves? maybe … well, it was seunghyun’s first professional event. maybe that’s it: it's your first chance to see if his hard work was going to pay off. on a famously prestigious stage, no less. but it’ll work out, right? right? you were ushered to your seat in the player’s box, reserved for the athletes’ families, friends, significant others, etc. seunghyun spotted you easily in the stands, waving with an unabashedly joyful smile. you blew a kiss before sitting down, readjusting how your sunglasses sat on your nose, happy that your hair was out of your face.

you remained straight-faced through his sets against the player from italy: relief exiting your nostrils whenever it went seunghyun’s way, your posture stiffening when it didn’t. from his recent games, you developed a foundational understanding of the mechanics of the sport. visual cues were your greatest aid, along with listening closely to the umpire—the official who enforces rules, makes decisions about plays, judgment calls, disciplinary actions, etc. you knew you made progress when grimacing at one of his calls against seunghyun. not because he’s your boyfriend, but because it was just wrong. you mentally logged questions to ask him, readjusting your posture as he and his opponent switched sides before starting the next odd-numbered set. it was seunghyun’s turn to serve. he got into position, placing the tennis ball in the center of the neck of the racket. beads of sweat trickled down the bridge of his nose, hitting the floor of the court. he took a deep breath, raising his racket into his service motion, but his inhale caught in his throat—descending into a coughing fit. it didn’t stop. the umpire called a time-out after seunghyun began wheezing, clutching his chest. concerned murmurs percolated around the court, all eyes on him whilst medics took his vitals, offering him an oxygen mask.

seunghyun accepted with a nod. he closed his eyes, taking his time to breathe. you closed your eyes, too, fingers rubbing your forehead, chin lowering. it's the cigarettes, your inner monologue just knew, the stress has been making him smoke more the usual. seunghyun was back on his feet ten minutes later, ensuring his throat was secure by drinking a generous amount of water. jiyong watched the whole thing go down from the locker room. he stood in front of the mounted television with his arms crossed over his chest, ignoring his mother ringing his cell. he never coughed like that when we played, he thought. jiyong ran his hands over his face, palm brushing past the nike logo on his custom-made sponsored polo. though the match was close, seunghyun wasn't completely there after coughing like that in public, handing italy a spot in the semi-finals. it was quiet that evening in seunghyun’s hotel room. he sat at the end of the untouched one of the two queen beds, head hung low with how elbows on his knees. he hadn’t changed out of his jersey nor taken his shoes off. you were stood, leaned against the wall with your arms crossed over your chest. he felt your stare. he heard your silence.

all you did was ask him a simple question: “do you want to win?” “i do.” he answered. “where are they?” “in my duffel. the left pocket.” “your lighter?” “in there, too.” you unzipped his duffel, collecting both items, walking out of the room. you entered the room at the end of the hall housing the ice machine, tossing his cigarettes and lighter into the garbage bin. seunghyun didn’t move, hearing your footsteps return to the room. “go shower.” you said, closing the door behind you. “our dinner reservations are at eight. it's six-thirty.” it took a moment, but he listened. he felt your hand between his pecs, beckoning his attention. “hey.” you spoke softly. your hand rode up his chest, palm molding against his cheek. seunghyun couldn’t help his fucking innate reaction, turning his head to kiss your palm, feeling the pad of your thumb lightly tug at his bottom lip. “i love you tenderly. always.” his lips parted, a shaky breath of what sounded like relief slipping between his teeth. “i love you dearly.” he whispered.

his forehead fell to yours. either of your mouths hovered the other’s, yet neither leaned in. you inched closer. seunghyun nearly retracted, not knowing what this kiss would do to him in such a vulnerable state. he trembled upon feeling your lips against his, kissing you back firmly and with fervor. his whimpering into your mouth was as pitiful as much as it was beautiful. he melted into you, inadvertently pushing your back against the wall. his hands found your hips, palms penning a letter of trust to your lower back. thus a new layer of your relationship was discovered, cemented by the tear escaping his closed eyes, trailing a messy line down your palm: you’re in this shit for life. you’re his for life. he’s yours for eternity; bed-bound to desire, a worshipper of the divine feminine. not co-dependent per sé, but symbiotic nonetheless. there’s no you without him, and there’s sure as fuck no him without you.

on your early sunday afternoon train ride home to london, jiyong was declared the winner of the french open—officially halfway to a grand slam—whilst seunghyun snored next to you, half of his face snuggly hidden behind his hoodie, working as a makeshift eye mask. upon returning home, he trained like a madman for the wimbledon qualifiers in london later that month. he ran more strategically in the mornings, purposefully working different muscles depending on the day; ran tennis drills like it was his life’s work, because it is; switched out a few of his supplements; fucked you harder to let out the pent-up energy and maintain a consistent sleeping schedule, and took up yoga to hone in on the key to maintaining demanding physical regiment was heavily dependent on mindset. he won his qualifiers with flying colors, all the while gnashing nicorette like a motherfucker in-between. this time, he made it to the semi-finals—and nearly went up against jiyong, your inner monologue reminded you—but was tapped out by a seasoned player from ireland. “he offered to buy me a pint when we ran into each other after the game.” seunghyun told you on the taxi ride home. “but i said i just really wanted to see my girl right now.” after helping him set up and naturally warmed up after his ice bath, seunghyun settled into your shared bed, taking a much-needed nap on your chest.

two days later, on the living room television in your shared flat, jiyong accepted the trophy for wimbledon’s gentleman’s singles. he looked and was triumphant, holding the silver-git cup in the air, smiling so hard seunghyun could feel it on his face. you read jiyong’s surname—embroidered on the side of his nike baseball cap—as he took a photo with members of the british royal family who were in attendance. you both watched from behind the kitchen counter in mutual silence. the bottom of seunghyun’s ceramic mug scraped against the counter, taking a sip of his coffee. “all he needs is the open,” he muttered, referring to the final major championship taking place in the united states come august, and also the last one needed for jiyong to win a grand slam, “and then he’s got it.” you hummed in acknowledgement, eyes trained on the screen. there it was: your unspoken language. the same cogs turned in either of your heads. you wanted to win and you wanted it bad, though seunghyun had a different plan: “i wanna skip the open.” you turned to look at each other at the same time. he read your mind: “to focus on the olympics.” you learned a lot in these last six months, particularly when it came to how complicated qualifications are for prestigious tournaments. to qualify for the olympics tennis tournament, for example, it is determined by many factors like national rankings, but also participation in team competitions.

jiyong’s post-game press conference played in the background. “do you think you can get on the team?” you asked. “i will.” said seunghyun, looking you dead in the eye. you stared right back at him, “does this sound like a smart idea to you?” “yes.” “how about here?” you rubbed his stomach through his shirt, referring to his gut. he was stubborn, “yes.” “fine then. i trust you.” you said. “get to work.” “i will.” and he did—tenfold. he used his earnings from competing in france and london to bring on a new team equipped with a like-minded nutritionist and physiotherapist, respectively. sooner than later, you mimicked his routine. seunghyun reached over, turning his alarm off at 5:30 am. it was barely light outside, yet you were already up, applying body lotion in the mirror. you topped yourself off with body oil, the vanilla scent rubbing off on his bare back. your touch woke him up, “good morning, my love.” you leaned down, kissing his warm temple. “i’ll get your smoothie ready.” he mumbled something in response, exhaustion meddling in his words. “let’s go.” you called out as you left your shared bedroom, heading to the kitchen. seunghyun groaned, getting up soon after.

your morning routine was the exact same for seven months straight: get up, shower, wake up seunghyun, prepare his breakfast smoothie, pack your lunch, make your breakfast, and observe his physiotherapy session before going to work. you weren’t an expert by any means, but knew enough from shadowing about where his pressure points were. it came in handy whenever a knot in his shoulder kept him from sleeping, hearing his tears of relief muffled by his pillow after your elbow dug into him just the right way. his coach lent you footage of seunghyun’s past matches, reviewing them in your spare time. you eventually started showing up to weekend practices, too. you fed him tennis balls from the net, calling out shots: “inside in! line! inside out! inside in! line! line!” seunghyun hustled from side-to-side, hitting the cones you set up along the court as targets. every ice bath ended with cuddles; petty arguments ranged from him being upset you wouldn’t be able to make it to his practice to you calling him out for finishing your moisturizer; if he was pissed at his coach over some petty disagreement, seunghyun would purposefully make himself late to practice the next morning: spending the extra time fucking you from below, sending you to work with glossed eyes and a firmer grip on the grab bars in the london tube.

without a shadow of a doubt, however, your days ended in conversation, wrapped in bed. sometimes serious: “do you think we’ll ever find time for ourselves?” “of course we will, baby. what makes you think that?” “my world revolves around you and tennis. and i want to get married someday.” “well, mine revolves around you, too. and we will. it's only a matter of time.” sometimes sweet: “something’s in my eye,” seunghyun rubbed his left one whilst laid next to you in bed, diverting your attention, “been bothering me since i was in the shower.” he stopped rubbing, blinking a few times to adjust his vision. he looked at his finger, flicking something away, “just an eyelash.” he muttered. you grinned to yourself, “they’re so heavy they blind you, hm?” his face warmed immediately, soon burying his nose into your neck. “you can’t just say shit like that so casually, baby…” he drew out his syllables, trying to avert his sheepishness, but failing miserably.

you chuckled, hand reaching into his hoodie, fingers carding through his hair. “they are very pretty.” you said. “your eyelashes, i mean.” “stop.” “what? i look at your eyes, like, all the time.”; or when you’re telling him about a disagreement between your co-workers, elbow on your pillow, palm against your temple propping your head up as he laid on his pillow, listening intently. “and then he—” you glanced in his direction, cutting yourself off. seunghyun’s eyes were soft, a small yet faint smile on his face as he listened to the love of his life ramble about her day, the sweetest expression on his face. “don’t.” you covered his eyes, feeling warmth creep up your neck. “don’t look at me like that.” he let out a giggle, manuevering out of your grip. “like what, huh?” he asked knowingly. “i’m just using my eyes, baby.” “use them elsewhere.” seunghyun sat up on his elbow, dousing your cheek in kisses, arm around your waist keeping you close to him. “i make my baby so shy, hm?”

jiyong fell to his knees, breaking down in tears after hitting the winning shot at the us open, clutching himself a grand slam. the cameras caught his parents in the crowd, his father holding onto his mother tightly, the pride so overwhelming that her muscles temporarily gave out. seunghyun’s parents were in the player’s box, too, buying the bottles of expensive champagne at the celebratory dinner that evening. jiyong’s relatives went around the table, making speeches regarding the pride he’s brought to the family name. “it's the one thing you wish for when you have children.” his father said, teary eyed. “and he’s done it. and knowing him, he’ll continue to.” when it was seunghyun’s father’s turn, he kept his son out of his sentimental remarks, though how he ended it was telling of their rift has affected either family: “and—and . . .” he came to a brief pause. “if only. if only he was. . .” he nodded, unable to say the words, hands characteristically behind his back, settling back into his seat. jiyong nodded to himself, cutting into his steak without another word. a year ago, he was a heartbroken nobody. now, he was a fresh-faced millionaire with a budding agenda: “i’ll see you in beijing.” he winked to the cameras before leaving his post-game press conference, ushered into a van by us open security.

despite his newfound fame, jiyong kept a close circle, ranging from his family and a few friends. besides a few fleeting anecdotes from his relatives at holiday dinners, he hadn’t kept tabs on you and seunghyun all that much. it was very different in those first few months, however: jiyong checked both yours and seunghyun’s facebooks borderline obsessively when you first moved to london. he was craving proximity that was once his, blinking away tears before heading to his practice court, or completely succumbing to them in bed whilst looking through old photo albums him and seunghyun compiled on his family’s computer. though his best friend was alive and well, jiyong couldn’t shake the feeling that someone he loved dearly had passed into the next life. it felt as if part of him went missing and he didn’t know how to put the pieces together again.

he had to rewire his brain, reminding himself his go-to person wasn’t there for him anymore, and he wasn’t there for him, either. it made his past break-ups look like child’s play in comparison to the deepening abyss in his chest. there was some closure between him and seunghyun, but jiyong still had a million questions. knowing seunghyun his entire life, jiyong knew he would have a million and one, but neither made the move to contact the other, and didn’t plan on it. though they weren’t talking, the metaphorical threads tying them together remained tightly-bound: evident in their dependence on the court to absorb their pain and frustration; re-focusing their energy to lift this indescribable weight off their chests; taunting themselves with the what ifs before falling asleep at night.

jiyong had to protect his peace before flying to australia for the open. he unfriended you before you found out whether you were admitted at oxford for your master’s. he unfriended seunghyun after he posted a status about qualifying for the french open. his body remembers the trauma from the night in the parking lot, but instead of shutting down, he exhumes the frustration with the meanest grunts ever heard after performing a stellar back-handed swing, hurling his opponent in a loop. 2007 was his year for re-centering and conquering, and he did just that. jiyong just kept his mind on the next thing as he finished another, focused yet charmingly sweet in interviews, earning him more fans with the delicate bunch of his cheeks every time his wide, sheepish smile appeared at the mere mutter of a compliment. as an athlete, he was quickly gaining respect and acclaim to his name as a professional, but did not let that get to his head.

he stayed grounded at home, oftentimes speaking with his mother about his worries. though there was only so much a mother could do: “seunghyun would know what to do,” she told him one afternoon over lunch. by the look on her face, jiyong could tell she’s been meaning to mention him. she did it periodically: “don’t you think?” on seunghyun’s end, it was the same: “have you told jiyong about your olympic training?” his father asked him over the phone. “he’s doing it, too. his coach is spectacular.” “i know.” said seunghyun, keeping his phone to his ear with his shoulder, opening the window in your shared bedroom to filter in some fresh air. “and no, i haven’t told him. we don’t talk, remember?” his father huffed, “the three of you are so stubborn.” he tsked. “you’re too mature to let something ruin your friendship. especially when you’ve all built such good lives for yourselves. be adults, i beg of you.”

you and seunghyun celebrated new year’s 2008 at a pub in dublin. he finally took his opponent at wimbledon up on his offer for a pint, spending the rest of the three day weekend being tourists before boarding the plane home. it was officially olympics year, meaning extensive conversations with his coach regarding qualifiers, matches, and travel for the upcoming summer. it was settled that come april, seunghyun would compete at the national championships in oregon back in the states, hopefully earning him a spot in the olympic trials in june in new york city—a month before the opening ceremony in beijing. it was a quick turn-around period, but: “we’ve worked way too hard to get nervous now.” you told him, passing the necessary spices to season the roast chicken you two were making for dinner. “plus, i’ve accumulated way too much pto to let it go to waste. you’re gonna show up and decimate the fuck out of those bitches.” and that seunghyun fucking did—making you jump out of your seat and clutch your chest upon his securing a spot for new york. “yes!” you yelled from your gut, clapping your hands approvingly like a suburban father watching his team at the super bowl, “that’s what the fuck i’m talking about!”

the first time jiyong saw you or seunghyun face-to-face after nearly two years was at those championships. he flew to oregon a week before everyone else to get good practices in—his qualifying match for the olympics trials being the next day. at first, it was passive. he was a good enough distance away having just walked out of the bathroom and into the bustling crowd emerging between the day’s matches. but then, he caught his mother’s eye. she hoped to usher in a good-faith reunion: “over here!” she called to her son. seunghyun’s father caught her drift, his eyes lighting up at the possibility, waving jiyong over, too. jiyong glanced at you and seunghyun, seeing you both in conversation with his seunghyun’s mother. seunghyun was still so sweaty from his match, using the back of his hand to move strands of hair stuck to his forehead. his mother gestured for you two to turn around. the air shifted. it wasn’t comfortable, yet it wasn’t entirely horrible. almost bittersweet: “hey, man.” seunghyun’s tone was bland, unsure of where they stood with so much time having passed. though his eyes held warmth, “congrats on the grand slam.” “congratulations, jiyong.” you added amicably, you and your boyfriend nodding cordially. “thanks.” jiyong murmured, offering a tight-lipped expression before immediately looking away.

to jiyong’s fortune, one of the many professional photographers working the event asked for a group photo, diverting the attention away from him. either family got into an appropriate position: you and seunghyun on the left end, jiyong on the far right; on opposite ends, ironically enough. another was taken of just you and seunghyun with his family—the two of you posed in the middle. in his periphery, seunghyun saw jiyong look away entirely. he thought it was pitiful. can’t even look me in the eye, huh? his inner monologue tsked. after all this time? he checked his watch, “baby?” “yeah?” “car’ll be here soon.” seunghyun let you know, seeing you nod. he turned to his parents, “are we all going for dinner tonight?” he gestured to the entire group. “i think jiyong’s family has their own plans.” his mother relayed. “that’s fine.” said seunghyun. “our reservation’s at seven-thirty. don’t forget. and remind dad, too.” he looked for you over his shoulder, gesturing that it was time to head out. you both said your goodbyes for the day, switching between polite waves and brief hugs. the door you needed to head out of was coincidentally in jiyong’s direction. he couldn’t stomach turning around when you two walked past him. a subtle one-sided, amused grin tugged at seunghyun’s lips. he shook his head, just completely over it. jiyong froze, feeling seunghyun’s palm pat his shoulder, “see you in new york, ji.”

jiyong’s eyes widened. chills ran down his spine, looking over his shoulder, seeing seunghyun hold the door open for you before taking your hand in his. he spoke to me like nothing happened, his thoughts ran a mile a minute. like it was just another fucking day. the fuck is his deal? and the way he spoke, too … so knowing … so … definite. like he knew something jiyong didn't—a dynamic-defining imbalance between them ever since they were kids. seunghyun could’ve been referring to jiyong’s grand slam, thus making his advancement to the olympic trials a no-brainer, but still. it's like he has something planned, jiyong thought, albeit irrationally. the strange, contradictory feelings of annoyance coupled with an odd sense of relief toyed between his temples. some part of him felt at ease that seunghyun spoke to him to begin with, let alone like the brothers they once were. mourning their friendship hasn’t been linear. jiyong was smart enough to understand what he felt, that it was normal to wish things went back to as they once were whilst acknowledging it would never be the same again. too many feelings unaddressed. too much time passed. but still, his inner monologue remained stubborn. he feels so familiar. after all this time.

seunghyun took his time drying off after his ice bath, attempting to warm his body back up gradually. he came out of the bathroom of your hotel suite twenty minutes later, rifling through his luggage for a fresh pair of boxers. he came over to you on the bed, settling into his routine laying on your chest, but without the duvet. for now, at least. his teeth quietly chattered, feeling your palms dotingly rub up and down his bare back, trying to soothe his goosebumps. “i’m okay.” he assured. “i know you are.” you said gently. “think you want the blanket now?” “y-yes, please.” his nose burrowed into the side of your neck, pressing a kiss of gratitude onto your skin once his teeth ceased chattering. you both unpacked your afternoon, seunghyun addressing the elephant in the room without hesitation: “didn’t even spare one fucking glance.” he grumbled about jiyong. “is it too much to ask for? i mean, we haven’t seen each other in two fucking years.” “i mean,” you began, fingers combing his hair back. “the last time you saw him, he found out you fucked his ex-girlfriend. and that i cheated on him with you. and that we were dating behind his back.” “but it's been two years.” “wounds don’t heal easily for some people. do they for you?” “are you asking if i miss him?” “i think you bringing it up answers your own question, seunghyun.”

he sighed, knowing you were right. “of course i miss him. he was the literal other side of my brain.” he said. “none of that ‘two peas in a pod’ shit. we were like night and day—complementary.” you hummed, letting him know you were listening. “its not like i’ve forgotten him. you know me, baby. i haven’t.” “you haven’t, yeah.” you affirmed. “right,” said seunghyun. “so—i mean, i didn’t think things would be back to—back to normal, or whatever. but i just…” he fell silent. “i don’t know, baby.” “its fine not to know how you feel.” you assured. “or not know how to describe it.” “no—i know how i feel,” seunghyun corrected, arms wrapping around your waist. “its just that … i don’t how how he feels. does that make sense?” “it does.” you said. it was quiet for the next few minutes, nothing but the white noise of the air conditioning percolating in your ears. you looked down, seeing the top of seunghyun’s head. he was comfortably warm now, melting into you. something you meant to bring up earlier crossed your mind: “did you see the look on his face when you touched his shoulder?” seunghyun lifted his head, eyebrows furrowed as he looked at you. “no.” he shook his head. “did you?” you nodded, thumb tracing the temporary sleep lines on his face from laying on your wrinkled shirt. “what’d he look like, baby?” your eye contact didn’t waver, “like a deer in headlights.”

seunghyun didn’t like the sound of that. he kept his front up, “he did?” his tone was leveled. you nodded, seeing right through the well-hidden quiver in his eyes, “mhm.” “oh.” the volume of his voice lowered to a perishable degree, returning his temple to your chest, “okay.” as expected, jiyong clinched the last spot to new york with ease. his post-game press conference was brief, much of it spent trying to say his thoughts coherently in the midst of patting his sweat dry with a towel and leveling his adrenaline. he downed water in the van whilst on the way back to his hotel, grimacing at the aftertaste of the energy gel he ate during a set break just wouldn’t wash away. he glanced at the rearview mirror, eyebrows furrowing at the unexpected sight of three motorcycles tailing him. is that—are those paparazzi? he wondered, perplexed. the car came to a gradual halt at a traffic light. jiyong rolled down his window, peeking his head out, but quickly retracted, caught off guard by how quickly they sped up; camera shutter going off. jiyong put his window back up with haste, i knew that i was known, but does this mean i’m famous? and in the middle of oregon?? he sunk into his seat, grateful the windows were blacked out, and the speed in which the traffic light turned green. a little shaken up, he hurried into his hotel, back in the quiet of his suite. he took his nokia out of his duffel, phoning his mother: “i think i just got paparazzied.” “paparazzied? is that even a word?” “it is now, mom. do you think i need a bodyguard?” “maybe. i’ll call your accountant today to see how much it’ll cost, and loop in your manager.”

the distance was far, but the parallels went farther. “seunghyun?” you called to him from the bedroom of your flat. he was in the kitchen making dinner, feeling fresh and clean from his post-practice shower, “yeah?” “could you see if the washing’s done? and put it in the dryer, and bring what's in the dryer to our room?” “you got it, baby.” he put the pasta on a low simmer, walking past the living room, opening the closet housing both appliances. “here we are.” he kicked the door open enough to let him and the filled laundry basket inside, setting it atop the duvet. “i can fold these for you after dinner.” “s'fine.” you waved your hand in assurance. though it was a week and a half away from flying to new york, you slowly started packing, knowing the closer it got the crazier the time crunch would become. you stepped around your open luggage on the carpeted floor, peering into the basket with your hands on your hips, “need to sift through this for a few things.” you told him, seeing him nod in your periphery. “do you think it's too hot to wear my creme blouse tomorrow?” “the long sleeve one?” “mhm.” “might be,” he thought aloud. “i read the humidity’ll be up.” “shit.” you bit the inner part of your lip in thought. “i washed that thinking i’d wear it. whatever. i’ll figure it out.”

you lifted your head, looking at your boyfriend. so much had gone down in the last two years, yet the sight of the kt tape on his wrist stilled the world for a brief moment. so much sacrifice, so much compromise, and copious trial-and-tribulation, all leading up to next week. you saw the work in his calloused hands; determination in his pilled sunscreen; devotion as his love language. he ran a hand through his hair, completely clueless to your softening heart whilst he scratched a itch on his temple. “seunghyun?” he met your eyes, “yeah, baby?” “you know i’m really proud of you, right?” he couldn’t stop his bashful smile if he wished upon a shooting star. he tucked into himself, crossing his arms over his chest, suddenly avoiding eye contact. “course i know.” he muttered, glancing at the floor. “i wouldn’t want nothing else from my baby.” you grinned, feeling your heart stutter. he turned towards you, unfolding his arms at the feeling of your hand riding up his chest, palm settling against his cheek. the way he looked at you would make the stars alternate their gravitational pull in creation of your constellation. you both let out an exhale, his hands finding your lower back, breath warm against your neck. he pressed kisses on your supple skin, spelling out his gratitude up to your cheek. “m'real fucking proud of you, too.” he spoke lowly, voice like honey. “you’re built different. not everyone could do what you do. no one has a head like yours, baby.” you chuckled, “at least you’re aware.”

seunghyun smirked, vibrations from his laugh tickling your cheek. “of course i am.” he affirmed. “c'mere.” he kissed you sweetly. you reconnected your lips with intent, hand slipping into his hair, keeping him close to you. seunghyun gradually broke the kiss, lips doting on your forehead before returning to your gaze. “i love you so much.” “i love you, too.” you were quick to respond. your knuckles softly grazed down his cheek, pad of your thumb gently pushing against his chin, making his lips bunch together briefly. a low chuckle rang from his chest, making you laugh sweetly, too. suddenly, your mind worked in flashes, reminding you of what may lay ahead. some call it anxiety, others call it being prepared. you would say it was being realistic, whereas seunghyun took it as a sign. “something’s on your mind.” he clocked it immediately. “you have that look in your eye.” your eyebrows furrowed, buying yourself time. “what look do i have?” “the same one you had when i told you i wanna skip the open.” he said, “and when i wanted another guinness on new year’s.” you tsked, amused by the memory. “you don’t tend to hold your alcohol well.” he smiled, “probably would’ve maxed out my credit card buying pints for everyone on the block.”

comfortable silence brewed. you held his face in your hands. he could practically see the thoughts swirling around in that head of yours. his lips doted on your palm, moving to your inner wrist. “tell me, baby. i’m here.” the pasta could wait: “what if you end up playing jiyong, hm?” seunghyun’s face dropped somewhat. “you got close at wimbledon.” seunghyun nodded, though didn’t provide a direct answer to your question, “i know.” you didn’t prolong his chance to avoid it, your eyes spelling out something different: be honest with me. it took seunghyun a moment, but he licked his lips, nodding. “i’d beat him.” “okay.” you said. you leaned in closer, honing in: “but what would you do?” he knew exactly what you were asking: his personal reaction; any individual vendettas that could come out the moment he hears of his opponent. you weren’t looking for the correct answer per sé, but more-so where seunghyun’s head was at. like always, he read your mind: “i’d keep my shit straight.” not a fraction, let alone an iota of hesitation was present in his tone. “i’ve been working too hard to let something petty fuck it up.” you were surprised by his word choice, though you didn’t show it on your face: he thinks what went down that night is petty now? your inner monologue voiced. or is this the man in mourning i’m speaking to?

you didn’t give it much thought, knowing seunghyun needed your assurance. “okay.” you nodded, tone soft. “i trust you.” he kissed you, tilting his head to the left upon the re-connect, deepening it with intention. you breathed him in through your nostrils, a subtle yet brief squeak erupting between your mouths. “when we get back from beijing,” seunghyun said against your lips, “we’re getting married.” your chuckle made chills run down his spine, “don’t surprise me with a connecting flight to vegas.” jiyong, on the other hand, was in the passenger’s seat of his father’s car. he had offered to take him to practice that day, spending the thirty minute commute in either amicable quiet, muttering something about a song on the radio, or what his coach was planning.

it was reflective of his childhood, though now there was a new air of respect with his acclaimed status as a decorated professional athlete. there were rarely any comparisons made—twelve year old jiyong fighting for his dignity at the academy would never believe him at twenty-four—but with prestige, comes minimal sugar-coating. his father gradually applied less pressure on the pedal, stopping at the yellow-turned-red traffic light. a feeling stirred in his gut, “i think you’re going to play against seunghyun in new york.” jiyong looked out the window, not wanting to give the possibility power. let alone admit that he’s contemplated it, too, “what makes you say that?” “you two have avoided each other long enough.” his father said. he pulled into the training center, unlocking the car doors as jiyong unbuckled his belt. “it's a matter of time before you’re forced to face each other.”

the tournament was cutthroat. 48 of the country’s best tennis players—24 men and 24 women—fighting to the brink for the next two weeks. the first week was to weed half of them out, the second for determining who had the chance to play for a medal the following month. a competing nation can send no more than twelve qualified athletes (six men, six women) to compete across the olympic tennis events. in other words: you lose, you’re out. it was easy money for seunghyun that first week. he built a routine for himself after overcoming the jet lag: get up, go on a morning run in central park, return to your hotel suite for a shower before ordering breakfast; or on mornings where his pheromones dripped off him (it's been reported high intensity workouts can increase libidos, and you can attest to that with being his girlfriend) he claps those cheeks like the goddess you are or makes the bed creak as his hips rut into yours, all whilst your omelettes and fruit platters are being prepared in the kitchen, finishing your shared shower just in time to open the door for room service, kissing you sweetly before heading to the national tennis center to do his warm-up drills, looking to you in the stands in every in-between moment during his match; you sat next to his parents, nodding to one another in your unspoken language only discernible by either of you, sending his opponents’ sorry ass home, setting his mind and pumping adrenaline right in the sauna every other day afterward, lulling you both to sleep with either your fingers carding through his hair or his tongue lapping your clit, repeat. he survived that first week with flying colors, spending the weekend regulating his nervous system with you and his family.

jiyong had a great week, too. his parents stayed with him in the penthouse suite he rented for those two weeks in manhattan, ending his days with a hasty throw of his duffel onto the couch after letting his bodyguard off for the night, starting his mornings at six am sharp, heading to the gym after having a protein shake. he didn’t give his opponents a fighting chance. jiyong didn’t go many post-game interviews either, thinking it would jinx his chances of getting a spot on the olympic team, often booking it to the locker room after hitting the winning shot. to his astonishment, he didn’t physically see seunghyun the entire week. though he saw his name on rosters whilst speaking with his coach regarding changing certain plays with certain players—but jiyong kept his focus in the right place, at least to him.

he saw you, however—sat in the stands after seunghyun won his match in the middle of the intensive first week, speaking with his seunghyun’s mother whilst the court was swept and prepped for jiyong’s match. you didn’t see him, getting up and leaving the player’s box soon afterward, but jiyong eyes stayed on you the whole way through. he hated the fact he knew you were going home to seunghyun—but none more than the realization that it still pestered him to this day. sure, one could argue everyone has the one thing that never sits right with them no matter how much time passes. but jiyong felt straight-up childish. so much in his life had changed these last two years . . . why was his mind trying to convince him it could all be thrown away at the mere sight of you? he kissed his teeth, running his hand over his face, re-centering himself before picking up his racket, proceeding with his warm-ups.

at the start of week two, a showdown between jiyong and seunghyun felt it was coming to fruition. it was especially pertinent after seunghyun won his match on monday. he saw the look on your face when joining you in bed tuesday night—the evening before his match that would really solidify the line up. he read your mind: “i know, baby.” he spoke lowly. he got underneath the fluffy duvet with you, kissing your forehead tenderly. you let out a long exhale, feeling his hand make residence on your lower back. his palm soothed you, his lips finding your forehead once more, “everything’ll be okay.” “i just worry about you, seunghyun.” you said candidly. he hummed in acknowledgement. “you’ve put so much into this.” “we’ve put a lot into this.” he subtly corrected. “i won’t be the one to fuck it up for the both of us. you get me?” “i do.” “good.” he pressed doting kisses to your cheek and neck, “get some rest f'me. i need all of you tomorrow.” “c'mere.” you beckoned gently, fingers pulling at his bare shoulder. “need to hold you, baby.” seunghyun didn’t hesitate, laying between your legs wordlessly, resting his temple on your chest. light snores followed after your fingers began combing through his hair. you fell asleep relatively quickly as well, head comfortable on the pillow.

jiyong, however, didn’t want to hear it. he could smell it from across the table at dinner—either of his parents giving him a knowing look similar to yours. ironically enough, he said the same thing seunghyun did, just with different tonality. “i know what you’re thinking.” jiyong said curtly without looking up, cutting into his steak. “i know you wanna say i told you so. go ahead.” “it's not about who’s right and who’s wrong, jiyong.” his mother tried to ease the tension. “we just—we just miss you two. being together.” “i know you do,” jiyong said, taking a sip of his water. “even if you don’t say it, i see it on your face everyday.” “can you blame us?” his father interjected. “two years and we still don’t know why you and him parted ways. what could’ve been so bad that even his parents won’t tell us clearly?” jiyong let his father’s words hang in the air, stubborn. “was it really because of—because of some girl? that you threw a lifetime of friendship away?” jiyong put his utensils down, taking a deep breath. “it's more complicated than that.” “you’ve made all this money,” his father gestured around the luxurious restaurant, “yet you still can’t afford some common sense?” jiyong’s head shot up, looking at his father sharply. “will anything be enough for you?” his mother jumped in, extinguishing the fire: “thats enough.” both backed down, though his father wanted the last word. “you’ll see.” he muttered. jiyong’s knuckles turned white from how hard he was gripping his fork. “sooner or later, you’ll wake up.”

seunghyun won his match wednesday morning, cementing a place in his final match come friday. with how names were drawn and the order of matches were decided, seunghyun’s match was going to be for the final spot on the olympic team. you two rushed back to the hotel, keen on watching the afternoon match on television—the winner to be seunghyun’s opponent. fate would have it: seunghyun was stoic after jiyong made his winning shot, his arm stiffening around your shoulders. he was taken out of his head in the feeling your temple resting against his shoulder, a long exhale deflating your chest. neither of you spoke. he grabbed your hand, letting his kisses to the back of it speak for him. you responded by sitting up, bringing his lips to yours. “i love you.” he whispered. he leaned down, pressing a kiss to your neck before wrapping his arms around your waist. you accepted his embrace, “i know you do.” your arms found him, palm rubbing tenderly up and down his back before settling on the back of his head. seunghyun’s grip around you tightened, burrowing his face into your neck protectively. “i love you too.” you spoke softly, hearing and feeling his vulnerable huff.

thursday was as normal as seunghyun could make it. in an effort to not completely obliterate his nervous system, he treated it like any other day. the humidity wasn’t so bad that morning, making his run in central park a breeze. after washing up, he made the sweetest of love to you: fingers intertwined over your head, hips rutting into yours poetically. you took up as much space as you wanted, spreading your legs as far as your body could handle so early in the morning, sprawled out in a way that made renaissance painters envious. seunghyun was a mess in your ear, somewhere between panting and whimpering. “f-feel so fucking good—g-goddamn.” his voice quivered, bed creaking underneath his knees. “you gonna—” you cut yourself off, suddenly feeling how dry your throat was. you swallowed quickly, “you gonna cum for me?” “y-yes!” he mewled, toes curling into the air, his hands gripping yours tighter. he didn’t halt his thrusts, “c-can i? can i cum, baby? pl—please—mmph!—please le—lemme cum.” “let go of my hands.” “wh—what? o-okay.” seunghyun halted his thrusts, letting go of your hands, swiftly sucking in a breath, pulling out temporarily. you turned onto your stomach, turning your pillow vertically to rest on it comfortably, spreading your knees as far as you could.

seunghyun got the message, knees dipping into the bed, closer to you. his bottom lip was caught between his teeth, palms kneading both large cheeks of your ass, watching the right recoil after a characteristic smack. you re-adjusted how you laid, inadvertently deepening the arch in your back. seunghyun separated your puffy lips with his condom-wrapped tip, gradually pushing back in. you gasped, expression sinful: “fuck!” your mouth was agape. “thats so fucking d-deep!” you gasped again, mind stirring the more his cock was inside of you. “you’re so fucking d-deep—oh my god. y-yes—” you praised, voice falling meekly, overwhelmed with how whorish you suddenly felt. seunghyun wasn’t any better. his eyes were glossy, unable to look away from your ass, or his dick disappearing into heaven. “sh—shit. . .” his voice shook, swallowing harshly. “s-shit, baby. y-you’re so fucking hot. i—i can’t take it.” he looked like he was about to cry, but didn’t stop himself. you felt so fucking good. “i can’t handle you, baby.” he whimpered, letting out a small cry, bottoming out. his voice cracked, throwing his head back, “oh my god!” “i n-need you to give it to me,” you said, breathing heavily. you looked over your shoulder, catching him in your periphery, “i need you to give it to me like the good boy i know you are, s-seunghyunnie.”

the clapping was heard from the elevator—clear as day to your hotel neighbors, who hated either of your guts. your arms wrapped around your pillow for dear life. your boyfriend listened to you diligently, as he always did, pummeling you from behind. he rendered himself mute, eyebrows stuck in a perpetual furrow with his jaw hung open, eyes glued to your globes recoiling lewdly against his pelvis, hands firm on your waist. seunghyun alternated between grabbing your ass or lush waist to propel his thrusts, nearly thrown off track when you reached behind you to grab his wrist, egging him on. your constant moans and lewd cries of pleasure didn’t help the illustrious horny haze enveloping his brain; contracting his muscles to go faster, making you stuff your face into your pillow. he whined aloud pathetically, “am i d-doing good? am i—f-fuck! ngh! a-argh!—am i g-giving it to you like a good boy?” his athletic strength was no joke, humbling you after all this time. it was delectable: feeling your thighs jiggle with every thrust, ass clapped so good seunghyun finally figured out why it's been looking even better than usual these days. you lifted your head, trying your best to maintain your balance. “you’re g-gonna make me a mess,” your voice shook. “you’re gonna make a mess of me, seunghyunnie.” you drew out your syllables, biting your bottom lip, moaning every time your body was launched an inch back-and-forth with his thrusts. “i-i’m gonna cum!” he exclaimed. “p-please—lemme cum. i’m so c-close—” “keep going. m'c-close t-t-too—oh fuck!”

seunghyun sat in the sauna in peaceful silence. another arduous day of training in the books, capping it off with relaxing his back against the wall; head and periphery covered with a towel, eyes closed, taking his breaths in and out: entering his routine meditative state. hearing the door open, he adjusted the towel around his waist. seunghyun thought the heat went to his head: it was jiyong. he nearly backed out, though seunghyun spoke too soon: “all the other ones are full.” he said. “i’m all you got.” jiyong clenched his jaw, taking the loss. he stepped inside wordlessly, making sure his towel was secure around his waist, taking a seat on the other side of the room. his eyes were avoidant, steady on the wooden floor tiles. “could you—” jiyong cleared his throat. “could you pour water on the rocks.” his voice was so monotone no question mark was detected in his inflection, “it's not hot enough in here.” seunghyun purposefully let his words hang in the air, a darkly humorous grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “not hot enough for you?” he saw jiyong’s eyes flicker, but not meet his. “what? you made some money and now you think you’re too good to do it yourself?” jiyong kissed his teeth, getting up. he grabbed the ladle, looking into seunghyun’s eyes for the first time in two years: “do you mind?” jiyong asked the rhetorical question with a bite of unabashed attitude. seunghyun didn’t say a word, laying his head back, closing his eyes. he heard the rocks steam and jiyong’s bare feet patter.

in the awkward silence, seunghyun couldn’t help himself: “congrats on becoming an olympic trials finalist.” he said, a shit-eating grin stretching his lips at his own joke. he opened his eyes, straightening his posture to look at jiyong whom still wasn’t looking at him. “or did some bushy-tailed reporter tell you that already?” jiyong didn’t say anything. “too good to talk too, huh?” seunghyun took the towel off his head, using it to gently dab his perspiring forehead and temples. “we’ve been here a week and have barely said two words to each other, ji.” “don’t call me that.” seunghyun raised his eyebrows, “what? your name?” “ji.” jiyong corrected sharply. “you don’t get to call me that.” seunghyun was dismissive, “you’re being dramatic.” it was jiyong’s turn to raise his eyebrows in disbelief, “am i really?” “no, yeah. really.” seunghyun nodded. “why’re you still so angry with me? i won’t buy it if you said its 'cause of,” the mention of your name made jiyong’s skin crawl. “or what happened with her. its been two years. i think you’re just disturbed by the fact that she could’ve been—i mean, is—into someone like me.” seunghyun didn’t know why he came out swinging. he knew it was partly from the frustration he’s felt from their severed friendship and no-contact over the years—tipped off by jiyong’s disregard for any iota of professionalism in oregon. he didn’t want to inadvertently say i got her and you didn’t. get over it, but it seemed his notorious wielding of his ego took the words out of his mouth. the passage of time can sour any relationship, but it seemed these layers were impenetrable—but not if seunghyun had anything to say about it, however. if anything, their dick-swinging contest is perpetual. a cycle. a constant.

though he tried to forget seunghyun these past two years, jiyong’s familiarity with his antics deepened the annoyed furrow of his eyebrows. jiyong attempted to deflect, “i left that shit in college.” seunghyun didn’t give him a chance, “with how you looked at me when you walked in here, i’d think a day hadn’t gone by.” they stared at each other—the moment pregnant with tension. jiyong was the first to give in, nodding before laying his back against the wall; skin glowing, “you’re right. i did find it disturbing.” “there’s no need.” seunghyun shook his head. “it's two years behind you. both of our lives have changed. especially yours, ji.” he ignored the annoyed grimace on jiyong’s face. “anyway,” seunghyun cleared his throat. “that shouldn’t be what i’m for. not after this long.” jiyong looked up at him sharply, “what are you for then, seunghyun?” it felt naked in a way that had nothing to do with skin for jiyong to say his former best friend’s name, but none-more than for seunghyun to hear jiyong say it. in pure brotherly fashion seunghyun deflected, too: “honestly?” he began. “i thought you’d be happy i was in the draw.” he brought the conversation back to tennis. “i mean . . . you’ve always wanted to beat me in a tournament, right? since we were kids.”

jiyong didn’t look away. he was in awe of his seunghyun’s sheer audacity, “and a few weeks before the olympics? that’s the perfect confidence booster.” the tension thickened to the point of it being humorous, tugging at the corners of jiyong’s mouth like a poorly-written joke. he tried to bare his grit, speaking in a sing-song tone: “i know what you’re trying to do right now.” seunghyun dismissed him like the master he is. the master he’s always been: “i’m not trying to do anything, ji.” he chuckled. “you’re a grand slam champion. you have a fucking bodyguard. this is nothing to you. i don’t need to play mind games with you.” “right,” jiyong affirmed, getting some of his lick back. “you don’t give a shit.” seunghyun backtracked, albeit minutely. “i didn’t say that.” a beat went by before jiyong spoke, “we both know you have considerably more at stake here than i do.” seunghyun looked up at the ceiling in faux-thought, condescending smile making jiyong’s blood curdle, “i do?” jiyong looked at seunghyun for a long beat, letting out a hearty laugh, “holy shit.” he couldn’t believe it. seunghyun wasn’t sure where this was going, but he laughed along aimlessly. “fuck,” jiyong shook his head in disbelief. “where do you get your swagger, man? i mean, you try to swing your dick in my face like i’m supposed to be afraid of it, but . . . do you realize how embarrassing it is that you’re here right now?”

“not as embarrassing as you being here.” seunghyun tried to bite back. “you’re above something as tv as the olympics.” jiyong didn’t waste time allowing himself to be spun in circles, nipping this right in the bud: “i’m just stopping by, man. this is where you live.” seunghyun stalled himself. his smile gradually fell, gaze diverting to the water-soaked rocks in front of him. jiyong’s gaze was unwavering, eyes piercing into seunghyun’s soul: “always so close to being a runner-up. but far enough to be put in your place.” he said. he watched seunghyun’s jaw tighten, his grin sharpening in return, “i always tried to figure out what happened to you. but, you know, the more i’ve thought about it, the more i realize . . .  it's what didn’t happen. you never grew up. your old habits die so fucking hard you coughed yourself out of the french open. you say i’m still caught up in what went down with,” he said your name, hoping he wouldn’t be caught in his minute lie, “yet you’re the one who brought her up the first chance you had. you wanna tell me because of the look on my face it feels like we’re not a day out of stanford? i look at you and i see you’re still playing in the sandbox. being so cowardly fucking territorial, yet wondering why no one wants to come play with you.”

seunghyun turned his head, starting to speak, but jiyong cut him off: “you still think you can talk to me like i’m your peer because we came from the same place.” jiyong shook his head dismissively, “but it's not about where you come from in tennis, seunghyun. it only matters if you win.” seunghyun’s gaze darkened, though his expression was hurt. pitiful, even. jiyong was unrelenting: “and i do. a lot.” seunghyun had one last tool in his arsenal, “you’ve never beaten me.” it's true: in the games they’ve played either in practice, at the academy, or leading to stanford, jiyong has never outright won. he laughed it off, however: “so what? like you said, things have changed for me.” he said. “this is a game about winning the points that matter, anyway.” a long beat filled the room. a strange weight pressed into seunghyun’s chest, blinking rapidly to deter the uneasy feeling of shame and embarrassment stirring between his temples. when he did open his mouth, it would take a fool for his subdued tone to go unnoticed: “i don’t matter?” jiyong stared right back at him, “not even to the most obsessive tennis fan in the entire world.”

“i’m not talking about tennis, jiyong—” he didn’t let seunghyun’s uncharacteristic use of his full name stop him, “what the fuck else do i have to talk to you about?” there was another long, tense beat between them. seunghyun broke the tension for himself, a grin tugging at his mouth. he gradually stood to his feet, adjusting the way his towel wrapped around his waist, “i promised myself i’d wish you luck if i saw you.” jiyong looked away, his stare blanking. he slowly shook his head, trying to work his way out of this riddle, “that makes no sense.” “i wanted to say that i’m looking forward to it,” though seunghyun’s words held edge, his tone was melancholic. “and i miss playing with you.” jiyong looked at him, “oh yeah?” seunghyun nodded. jiyong’s expression soured slightly, manifesting in his pitiful frown, “i don’t miss playing with you. i’m too old for it.” jiyong watched seunghyun leave the sauna, turning away at the sound of the door slamming. after a moment, jiyong got up, walking over to the other side of the room. he poured water onto the rocks, sitting in silence, stirring in his complicated frustration.

you entered the bedroom of your hotel suite, keen on calling it a night after finishing the dishes from dinner. you undressed, overhearing the running tap whilst seunghyun brushed his teeth in the en suite, putting on shorts and spare french open t-shirt you wore to sleep. seunghyun turned the tap off after rinsing the toothpaste from his mouth, suddenly alone with his thoughts, and mirror view of a lump the shape of a small, velvet box protruding out of the left pocket of his pajama pants. he snuck it onto his person whilst you finished in the kitchen, fishing it out of a well-hidden and cushioned pocket in his luggage. it resembled a prospect you two have discussed at length and were agreeable on, knowing he was just waiting for the right time to ask. blessings from either of your parents were in order, and both of you were on the same page . . . not that the likelihood depended on whether he won tomorrow, but it would be ideal, right? the cherry on top, so to say. or maybe seeing jiyong at the sauna put a level of spite in him, though he knew it was in his bones to marry you, and you him. seunghyun turned his head, seeing you sat on the edge of the made bed, back turned to him as you did your routine applying of body cream on areas that tended to dry out at the end of a long day: your knees, elbows, wrists and hands. he walked to the threshold of the bathroom, stopping and looking at you for a long beat.

“tell me it doesn’t matter.” he voiced. you massaged the body cream into your hands, taking your time, back facing him. “tell you what doesn’t matter?” “if i win tomorrow.” that made you glance at him over your shoulder, but the direction of your body remained intact. “where’s this coming from? its a different tune than in london.” it didn’t take much for seunghyun to come clean, “i saw . . . i saw him today.” “you can say jiyong’s name.” you said. “he’s not an ancient curse. you shouldn’t be giving him power like that, anyway.” seunghyun nodded, listening to you diligently. he crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the threshold in thought, “i saw jiyong at the sauna today.” “how was he?” “different.” answered seunghyun. “in a good way. more grown. finally got a haircut that suits him.” “you’re all those things, too, y’know.” you said, screwing the cap securely onto your moisturizer, returning it to your nightside table. you adjusted how you sat on the bed, looking at seunghyun comfortably. “you’re not the same person you were two years ago, either. and i like your hair shorter, too. i can see your face better.” you grinned at the sound of his sheepish chuckle. “did you talk to him?” seunghyun nodded, “i did, yeah.” “what’d you say?” “our conversation was . . . messy.” he was truthful, though the returned feeling of shame begged him to say more, “disjointed.” he added. “i wished him luck for tomorrow. he said that didn’t make any sense.” his words lingered in the air, punctuated by your brutal honesty: “it doesn’t.”

you didn’t say anything more. his gaze narrowed in on you, “tell me it doesn’t matter if i win tomorrow.” you stared at him, “no.” you took a breath. “you tell me if it matters, seunghyun. you’re the professional competitor.” he didn’t say anything. “it can’t be about avoiding my judgement. not when you’ve made it this far. not when you’re this close.” you shook your head. “i’m not a nun. i’m not your mommy.” seunghyun pushed his back against the threshold with a huff, bringing his arms to his sides. he peered down at his left hand, playing it off as he picked something out of the nail of his ring finger, “i’m just asking that you love me no matter what.” you let out a small laugh of disbelief, “who am i? jesus?” “yeah.” he affirmed, completely and unequivocally. this halted you in your tracks. you turned to face him entirely, legs and hands resting comfortably atop the duvet. “you’ll beat him.” you said. “you will beat jiyong.” seunghyun lifted his head, meeting your eyes. “what if i don’t? how are you gonna look at me?” “just like this.” you told him, holding his gaze. seunghyun took a long breath, deflating his chest with a much-needed exhale.

he approached the bed, crawling to you as the duvet softly crunched underneath the weight of his elbows, hand reaching for yours, eyes capacious with an insatiable desire for validation only the love of his life could provide. “we’re doing this together. we’ve always been doing this together.” he said, looking up at you. “i’m playing for the both of us. i know that.” “i’m the only reason you’re here.” you told him. “nothing else.” his head sunk to his wrists, so overcome by relief, succumbed to his devotion to you, you heard his muffled sniffle. your free hand reached over, tracing down the nape of his neck, gently sneaking past his shirt’s neckline, touch soothing between his shoulder blades. you sat in silence for a few moments, co-existing tenderly. “i’m serious. does that help you?” you whispered, fingers filing through his hair. seunghyun lifted his head, naturally moving your palm to mold against his cheek. he turned to his left, pressing a kiss to your palm, descending to your inner wrist, feeling your thumb dotingly trace his cheekbone. seunghyun lifted himself up, pressing a kiss onto your exposed arm before planting one of your clothed shoulder. he found your neck before taking your lips for himself. “i’m coming to you.” he whispered, swiftly scooting to your side of the bed.

seunghyun stood in front of you, leaning down, returning his lips to yours. his fingers wrapped loosely around your ankles, gesturing for you to bring your feet forward. you thought he was going to pen his routine letter of thanks, spreading your legs enough to allot ample standing room for him between your knees. his kisses were slow and steady—romantic, just the way you liked them. your hands reached up to hold either side of his face, silently pleading for him to deepen the kiss. he obliged, tilting his head to the left. in the midst of your satisfied huff, breath brushing against his pores, you didn’t notice he got down on one knee. or when he muttered something against your lips, caught up in how good it felt. “baby,” his voice was low, dripping over your ears like honey. he accepted the kiss as it came, palms dotingly tracing your thick thighs up and down. “i need to . . . i need to ask you something.” “hm?” you broke the kiss, either of you opening your eyes. “what is it, baby?” you murmured. you glanced down, realizing he was eye-level and on the floor. wait—he’s on the floor, your inner monologue was stunned, and on one fucking—"oh my god.“ was all you could say in you realization of what was happening. you looked at him, floored. "i . . . i—”

he swallowed, his eyes glossy. “i am person because of you.” he said sincerely. “you’ve made it so i can’t exist without you. i—” he briefly tightened his mouth, feeling his bottom lip tremble. “i walked this earth aimlessly. i thought i knew fuckin’ everything—that i was hot shit.” he dismissed his past self with an abrupt wave. his vision blurred, feeling a hot tear trail down his cheek. your sinuses loosened, holding his face as he cried. “but holy fucking shit, baby. i was clueless. i didn’t have any sense of direction until i met you.” he sniffled. “you don’t tolerate me,” he shook his head, looking into your eyes. “you love me.” your eyes closed, succumbing to your tears, pressing your forehead against his. “i do.” you affirmed in a whisper. “i love you.” “i love you so fucking much.” his voice trembled. he shook his head, forehead rubbing against yours, “no one moves this earth like you do. they could only be so lucky. i don’t know what i did in a past life to earn you in this one. i must have ended a war or some shit.” you chuckled meekly at that, sucking in a weak breath, sniffling. he leaned back an inch or so, looking into your eyes. you wiped your cheeks, pads of your fingertips wiping his stray tears. “but i’ll be fucking damned if i don’t show you how grateful i am, baby. for the rest of our lives. 'till death do us part.” “oh my god.” your heart couldn’t take it, sinking your face into your palms to steady your mind and chest.

seunghyun let himself breath, too. co-existing beautifully with his soon-to-be wife, palms tenderly rubbing up and down the sides of your thighs. “baby,” he called gently. “lemme see those eyes. i miss you.” you put your hands down, returning your gaze to his. “ask me, seunghyun.” you told him softly. “i’ve waited long enough.” he reached into his left pocket, pulling out the small black velvet box. upon seeing the ring, you hid your face again, hot tears falling. “it's so beautiful.” you sniffled. “you know me—” your voice quivered, “you know me so well.” it wasn’t cartoonishly big nor modestly small, but just the right size that complemented your divine beauty; cementing your souls together. seunghyun frowned, heart doubling over as he actively tried to thwart crying again, feeling his bottom lip shake. “look at me when i ask you, baby.” he coaxed softly. you did—cheeks wet and eyes glossy. “go ahead. i’m ready.” he held the ring up to you in its box, the diamond glimmering underneath the warm-toned suite ceiling lights. “can i—will you—” he cleared his throat, wanting to ensure his voice was stable. “will you marry me?” “yes,” you answered, nodding. “of course i fucking will. hand it over.”

a grand, stupidly happy smile graced his face. he took the ring out, placing the box next to your body cream. in his rush of emotion, he forgot something crucial: “i don’t remember which—i don’t remember which hand it goes on.” he sniffled. you let out a chuckle, understanding where his head was at. “t-the left, i think.” you nodded encouragingly. the ring fit somewhat loosely, but not enough to warrant worry about losing it. “we can—” he cleared his throat again, sniffling, overcome with joy. “we can get it adjusted when we’re back home.” “c'mere.” you beckoned, bringing his lips to yours. you pulled him into bed with you, feeling his hands ride up your hips and waist before settling in between your legs, kissing you as if you were a life source. “we’re getting married.” you murmured, giggling into the kiss as he smiled. “i get to be your husband.” he said, hearing you hum in response, feeling your hands ride up and down his back. he reconnected the kiss, slowing the speed in which your lips separated. “how cool is that?” “you’re the luckiest man on earth.” your hand held the nape of his neck. seunghyun let out a satisfied huff, feeling the cooling chill of the ring against his warming skin. he didn’t hesitate to affirm, “abso-fucking-lutely i am.”

you gradually broke the kiss. your fiancé doted on your soft jawline and neck, allowing you to get a good look at your engagement ring. “you picked well.” you told him. “yeah?” he murmured, the vibrations of his voice against you making your eyes nearly flutter closed. “mhm,” you hummed. “when did you get it?” “i was eyeing it for a few months. i was stuck choosing between, like, four. the jeweler had the same taste as you, coincidentally enough.” his lips pressed a kiss to your temple. “she helped me pick this one. remember when you had that last minute work conference? like, two days before we flew here?” “you’re kidding. that’s when you bought it?” “mhm. i took it as a sign and got my ass right on the tube.” he smiled, heart warming at your bright laughter. he nestled his head into your chest, eyes fluttering closed when your fingers combed his hair back, “and here we are now. i’m glad you like it.” “i love it.” you corrected, feeling him hum. comfortable silence brewed. “here we are now.” you affirmed like him, tone soft. “our parents are gonna have a field day when they see this tomorrow.” he couldn’t help his hearty laughter, “they will—oh my god. entire facebook albums dedicated to it.” “immediate wedding planning before you even get on the court.” you riffed, laughing harder as he did, too.

seunghyun left his wired headphones at home for his run the next morning. you woke to his arms wrapping around you in bed, skin cold from his shower, nuzzling into you once you turned around to face him. your engagement ring was safely tucked away in its velvet box, ready to shine in the sunlight during his match today. “morning.” you mumbled, eyes closed whilst your senses cleared from lingering sleep. “how was your run?” “good morning, baby.” he kissed your clothed shoulder. “it was normal. how’d you sleep? good?” you hummed weakly in response, his chuckle tickling your neck. “m'not gonna tear your shit up today.” he said, seeing you grin. you gradually opened your eyes, rubbing out the last remnants of sleep. “just wanna hold you.” “fine by me.” seunghyun moved higher on his pillow, welcoming you into his embrace. you were secure against his chest, soothed by his palm tenderly rubbing your back. “how long until you go for warm-ups?” you muttered. “about two hours, give or take.” he nestled his chin atop your head, feeling and hearing you hum in response. “do you think you’d be able to come with me? i just . . . really need you there,” he paused, “today.” “of course.” you answered sincerely. “it's just another day, seunghyun. treat it as such.” “i know,” he spoke lowly. he kissed the top of your head, lips staying there. “i’m trying.”

seunghyun kissed you firmly after finishing his warm-ups, left to his own devices in the men’s locker room whilst you went to the stands to meet with his family. jiyong arrived on the court before his opponent did, waving to his family in the player’s box. he spotted you not long after, in deep conversation with seunghyun’s mother, showing her something on your hand, but he couldn’t make out what it was. not that i care, his inner monologue voiced. he adjusted the way his nike cap rested on his head, beckoned over by his coaches to his side of the court. seunghyun stepped out roughly ten minutes before the match was set to begin. he approached the designated bench on his side of the court, setting his duffel bag down. he unzipped it, pulling out his racket and setting it aside. he looked up, searching for the player’s box. he offered a friendly wave to jiyong’s family, blowing a kiss when he saw you sat with his.

to jiyong’s detriment, as he got into position, he couldn’t divert his gaze. he twirled his racket in his hand, freezing when he realized what was on your hand. he watched you wave to your fiancé gleefully, a grand smile shining under the sun. your eyes were hidden behind your sunglasses, but he could just feel the spark—happiness pulsating, potently reeking off you. jiyong thought he understood what it meant to feel bitter, but it was as if his body succumbed to it. he was known for striding onto the court with nothing but tunnel vision leading the way. he’s known the game seunghyun has played their entire lives. he let out a long exhale, centering his balance—nothing mattering to him but winning.

the first of their five sets went to jiyong. either played relatively calmly, almost as if they disassociated from their history—hell bent on just getting through this game. both showcased the reason why they made it this far in their careers: jiyong’s muscles lending unwavering power into his dependable backhand swing; seunghyun’s height and quick reaction time never missing a beat, sending that ball back with pointed sharpness. to you, sat in the stands, it felt a little too safe. at the start of the second set, however, you got your answer why: avoidance. these two could evade reality for only so long. to face one another so viscerally and so suddenly, it could only manifest in seunghyun sending his first serve into the net. he wasn’t any better in the reset—thwwaacckk!—the ball went wide, landing out of bounds, nearly handing jiyong the second set. seunghyun’s parents adjusted their postures anxiously, watching you in their periphery. your face sunk to your palms. you tried to ignore the gasps rumbling throughout the court at his double fault, pinching the bridge of your nose in muted frustration, “get it the fuck together.” you muttered; addressing both yourself but more importantly him. you took a long exhale, straightening your back into your seat, re-centering your focus.

seunghyun looked to you, seeing your stoic expression. he cleared his throat, bouncing the ball before going into his service motion—thwwwaaaccckkk! the game resumed, but not for long. seunghyun rushed to the net quicker than he should have, landing his hit out of bounds again. he saw jiyong’s shoulders relax in real time, comfortable in the knowledge he was basically halfway to winning the match. seunghyun didn’t dare look at you, though he could feel your tut of disapproval. the umpire announced a break before the next set in which jiyong and seunghyun would switch sides, setting the clock to a countdown of ten minutes. seunghyun made way to his bench, sitting down before peeling off his sweaty polo. he let his melanin breath in the sunlight, shoulders relaxing as the universe gifted him a generous gust of wind.

jiyong used the wind to dry his hair, leaving his nike cap behind to let his dark follicles air out. he wiped his face with a towel, having water before downing an energy gel. as the time ticked, the umpire felt someone’s eyes on him. he looked to the stands: it was you; eyes narrowed in the sunlight, sunglasses resting on your head. you turned and looked at your fiancé, who was already looking at you. though there was ample distance, you felt the weight of his eyes, wordlessly asking for any semblance of its going to be okay. you gave it to him: you tapped your finger on your temple as if to say you got this. seunghyun nodded, straightening his posture, letting his face soak the warmth of the sun in, calming his heartbeat. you put your sunglasses back on, hearing the umpire call time. seunghyun put a new polo on before heading to his new side of the court. you caught the look on jiyong’s face: resentment.

seunghyun came back strong in the third set, clutching it securely. jiyong didn’t flinch, keeping his logic at bay. still plenty of chance i walk away with that spot, his inner monologue relayed like a mantra. he started the fourth set with his graceful service motion, both his and seunghyun’s movements echoing the junior us open when they were teenagers: seunghyun dictated, jiyong sprinted from corner to corner, both metronomes; working in tandem though their energies collided instantaneously. it was a recipe for a perfect storm when they used to play together, scaring the ego out just about anyone. now, it was fuel to the fire—each grunt a more visceral grab at power than before, each skid and slide of their shoes a vivid command of respective grit, each wipe of sweat off the forehead a trained target. you fell into a trance yourself, keeping your eyes on either, thinking. your head was the only one not swiveling to follow the ball. thwacckk! thwacccckkkk! seunghyun pumped his fist, looking to you after the umpire announced the fourth set went to him. you met his eyes, expression complicated—not comfortable celebrating victory just yet—sending him off with a curt nod of approval.

another break was called before the fifth and final set. jiyong and seunghyun crossed each other at the net, heading to their benches. jiyong settled with a huff. not one of defeat, but reflection. it was cosmic coincidence that this came down to a tie after everything he’s been through and with the person sat some feet away from him. he took off his custom-made nike top, wiping himself off with a towel. he pulled a fresh polo from his duffel, putting it on the bench next to him. he reached back down, trading his current racket for a fresh one, pulling the plastic off. he set it beside him, unzipping his backpack for his water bottle and packed banana, pacing himself through re-hydration.

he peeled the banana, intaking potassium in a cerebrally meditative state, elbows on his knees. his stare wasn’t vacant. it was the opposite: fruitful—disciplined. though he was one game away from losing, he wasn’t betting on it. he turned his head, seeing seunghyun finishing an energy gel. he watched him swirl it around in his mouth before definitively swallowing, his eyebrows and mouth molding into a muted grimace. he never liked those, jiyong remembered, i don’t know why he’s forcing it on himself. seunghyun downed water the first chance he got. he closed the cap of his reusable bottle, tossing it back into his duffel. he inhaled sharply through his nostrils, fingers wiping away thick beads of sweat from his temple. he turned his head, glancing at jiyong. his gaze remained steady, realizing he was already looking at him—exuding cocky ease. jiyong extended the banana as if to say want a bite? seunghyun’s expression didn’t falter from its unreadable state, but his eyes darkened with the unmistakable look of hatred. looking at me with the same cocky shit he did in the sauna, his inner monologue voiced, i gotta to decimate the fuck out of him.

seunghyun looked to the stands, seeing you getting back to your seat, having returned from a quick trip to the bathroom. you fixed your hair with your left hand after a gust of wind flew by—the diamond of your engagement ring glinting in his eyes from a distance. you felt your fiancé’s eyes on you, seeing him staring behind your polarized lenses. the stakes were getting to him; the tension reaching its peak. you waved, hoping it would alleviate the fumes radiating off him. you watched him exhale, slumping his posture with his elbows on his knees, contemplating. you thought quickly: setting your purse on your lap, pulling your blackberry out.

you looked at the ticking timer by the umpire’s chair, seeing five minutes were left. you typed a text, waving your phone in the air since his gaze was still on you. seunghyun understood, unzipping the side pocket of his duffel. you knew it worked when his head sunk, spotting his attempt at hiding his amused smile once he came into view again. You look so hot right now—unserious, disarming, but most importantly playful. he texted back on his blackberry, Youre hoterr—sweaty hands making way for typos. seunghyun was a little more at ease now, putting his phone back. you felt accomplished. by chance, you glanced to your right, seeing jiyong also looking at you. you thought it was mere coincidence, but as he put on his polo, his gaze remained steady. right then, seunghyun’s mother grabbed your attention for something, stealing looks back at your fiancé and jiyong.

jiyong and seunghyun stepped onto the court after the umpire called “time!” into the microphone. they looked at each other across the net. sets one through four were history—all that matters is what happens next. though it was jiyong’s turn to serve, either came out swinging. it was intense, neck-and-neck—enough to warrant your head swiveling, following the ball. they went back and forth in earning points, jiyong inching closer to the cusp of winning. seunghyun’s knuckles whitened around his racket’s grip, though he kept his cool. he took a deep breath, resetting—it was his turn to serve, anyway. he took the spare tennis ball out of the pocket of his shorts, bouncing it on the court. he looked up, staring at jiyong like two old-town rivals in an aged western. seunghyun brought his racket up, about to go into his service motion, but paused. he glanced at jiyong, crouched down, ready to the win the match. he looked to you in the stands, seeing your unreadable expression, though you were holding your breath. he looked back at jiyong, who was wondering why he was taking so long. seunghyun started his service motion again, but stopped abruptly. “time violation.” the umpire spoke into the microphone. “warning, choi.”

a brash breath separated his lips. seunghyun tightened his mouth, reaching up, using the back of his hand to wipe sweat off his forehead. this is all so fucked, his inner monologue complained. not even unfair. just fucked. jiyong saw a smile on seunghyun’s face. his eyebrows furrowed, confused: to this day he’s a fucking riddle. he sucked in a sharp breath when seunghyun unexpectedly looked up, meeting his eyes. his heart stuttered like an instinct: i know that face, he thought to himself. he just got an idea. his gaze followed seunghyun’s; the two of them looking to you in the stands. jiyong swiftly re-centered his attention, keen on heightening his reaction time for whatever was coming next. but if seunghyun knew how to do anything, it's humbling somebody. he went into his service motion again, but this time, he made sure jiyong saw him put the ball in the center of the racket, just like the day after jiyong’s first date with you. it served as a reminder—of everything lost; everything taken. thwwaacckk! jiyong was too shocked to even move for it. he just stood there, frozen. the ball landed in, giving the point to seunghyun. you looked back and forth between them, unsure what was going on. jiyong glanced at you and seunghyun before making it crystal clear: “fuck off.”

seunghyun smiled, chuckling when a wave of shocked gasps reverberated through the stands. “code violation.” the umpire said into the microphone, “audible obscenity. point penalty, kwon.” jiyong ignored the grumbles from spectators. seunghyun moved over for his next serve, seeing jiyong’s cold expression. jiyong just continued looking at his opponent bouncing the ball. the umpire covered the microphone with her hand, “jiyong?” he didn’t move: “he can serve.” “you need to get into position.” a pregnant beat went by. still looking at seunghyun, jiyong backed up to the other side of the service line, just standing there. the grumbles throughout the crowd were now confused. you looked at seunghyun, then to jiyong, then back at seunghyun—unsure of what the fuck was going on, assuring your future mother-in-law that you had no idea, either. jiyong remained just standing there, racket at his side. “serve.” he said with conviction. seunghyun followed his petulant order, hitting a soft-as-a-pillow underhand serve, like he was feeding jiyong the ball during practice. jiyong didn’t even move for it. he let the ball sail right by, not sparing a glance. he hated the way seunghyun was smiling at him.

the umpire tapped the microphone, “tie break. kwon to serve.” patches of scattered, confused applause peppered through the crowd. in a swift panic, you looked at jiyong, then to your fiancé—suddenly, it all clicked. your eyes went to the jumbotron, showing jiyong. it then switched to seunghyun. as they stood there, looking at each other wordlessly, they both thought the same thing: let’s really play now. jiyong received the ball for his serve. seunghyun readied himself for the return, getting into position. jiyong didn’t waste time going into his service motion—thwwaacckk!—sending the ball right at seunghyun’s head, like he was trying to decapitate him. seunghyun dodged it, returning the ball with matched power—thwwaacckk! they rallied: it's immediately clear to spectators and fans alike that they’re playing their best tennis in their careers—the best tennis in their lives, frankly. they traded blows: smacking and whacking the ball furiously—each hit more angrier, more vengeful than the last. though malice polluted the air—poignant in the sweat trickling down their backs and grunts deflating their lungs—your head swiveled back-and-forth; you’ve never seen seunghyun look so alive. you never imagined disdain could flex muscles and irritate the soles of shoes like it did jiyong’s. each hit released something, forming them into one, electrifying unit: like the good old days.

you subconsciously gritted your teeth, hands gripping the armrests, leaning forward in your seat; playing as jiyong, playing as seunghyun, playing as the ball itself—thwwaacck! thwwaacck! thwwwwaaaacccckkkk!!!! jiyong was on auto-pilot. he moved like a machine, hitting the ball like it was target practice; mind turned off, completely in a trance. seunghyun wasn’t trying to keep up, he was the pacemaker—swinging his racket hard enough to change weather patterns. though his ball came in hot, it hit the top of the net, slowing its trajectory. jiyong narrowly sprinted to the net, trying to prevent it from dropping shallowly onto his side. his foot slipped, but he caught himself, succeeding in his return. he swiftly ran backwards to where he was before. he shifted his body to make seunghyun’s fierce return, but once again, he was on autopilot. he went into his wind-up, stepping forward, not noticing seunghyun’s ball was coming off the court with just the tiniest bit of spin to it. jiyong tried to correct his stance mid-swing, but his legs went one way and upper body went the other, and he slipped again: his left knee contorted in a way that was completely unnatural.

SNAP—his knee popped out of place, sending his racket clanging and himself falling to the ground. the crowd gasped. you instinctually rose to your feet; petrified, hearing his mother howl in horror as her son screamed in pain. a medic was already by his side, trying to calm him down. jiyong writhed around, sobbing profusely, holding his knee for dear life. though he was in a state of shock, his subconscious begged whichever cosmic force sinisterly wrote his fate: “no no no no no no,” he cried, sweat mixing with his hot tears, a blubbering mess. “please. please. no no no no—” he cut himself off with a curdling yelp of indescribable pain as another medic turned him onto his back, reminding him to breathe. it all happened so quickly, but seunghyun’s face went cold. he dropped his racket, leaving any and all petty grievances behind. in milliseconds, it was as if nothing happened between them—all that mattered was making sure his best friend was okay. he leapt over the net without thinking, falling to his knees behind jiyong’s head: “ji? ji!? oh my god—what the fuck!?” he panicked. he tucked his hands underneath jiyong’s shoulders, lifting to prop his head on his knees. “look at me—oh my f-fucking god, look at me, ji. just breathe, okay? just breathe for me, man—oh my god.” his bottom lip quivered, looking at his best friend, completely helpless. “this wasn’t supposed to happen.” he shook his head, vision blurry. “this wasn’t supposed to fucking happen.”

jiyong stared at the ceiling of the hospital room, mute, completely drained of life. the painkillers have long since kicked in, but he can’t stomach looking at his knee. wrapped in what looked like yards of stretchable gauze, propped up by two fluffy pillows. he’s been there for hours, replaying the moment in his head in a torturous loop. he was numb, but felt everything at the same fucking time. he forfeited the game since he couldn’t continue playing, giving the last spot up to seunghyun, so what does this mean for his career? would he ever play again? what was he going to be known for now? how was he going to move forward? what did this all mean?

he didn’t have the energy nor the bandwidth to even consider thinking about the logistics or the after—but the look on his mother’s face, who was sat beside his bed, desired otherwise. his father stood outside the room, in intense conversation with his doctor, prolonging it long enough for his physiotherapist to arrive after being stuck in hellish new york traffic. his father peered inside, gesturing for his mother to come out. she looked to her son sympathetically, having no tears left to cry, “you’ll get back out there.” she said meekly. she got up, putting her purse on her seat. before she turned, a mother’s intuition kicked in. she picked up jiyong’s backpack, taking out his cell phone, setting it on his over-bed table next to his cup of chipped ice. she walked out without another word, closing the door behind her.

ten minutes later, his phone rang. he didn’t pick up, too lost in his mind. his eyes flickered downward when it rang a second time, though he didn’t budge. it was the third time that he hastily picked up: “what?” “jiyong?” his palpable frustration in the moment didn’t let him recognize your voice on the other side of the line, “what do you want? who is this?” “it's me,” the sound of you saying your name humbled him. “you still have my number?” he asked. “i wasn’t—i wasn’t sure if it would still work, but i wanted to try.” you explained. “i deleted yours.” he told you. “a long time ago.” there was a brief pause on your end, “that makes sense.” “why are you calling me?” “i wanted to see if you were doing okay after what happened.” “no, i’m not okay. why would i be okay?” you shook your head, “that was bad word choice.” you thought aloud. “i just wanted to see how you’re doing.”

silence. you expected jiyong to hang up, but he didn’t: “does he know you’re calling me?” “he does.” you turned around, looking past the kitchenette counter in your hotel suite, seeing seunghyun sitting with his face in his hands on the couch. “he’s . . . he's—” you ran your free hand over your face. “you were wheeled away so quickly. we didn't—we didn’t know what to do.” jiyong didn’t say anything. he heard you take a breath. you were sure this next part was for sure going to make him hang up. but you had to say it. you felt it wouldn’t be right if you didn’t: “i know a lot has happened in the last few years.” you spoke. jiyong’s chest tightened, “but we still care about you. i still care.” you crossed your arm over your chest, “that will never change. no matter how hard it gets.” jiyong’s mouth morphed into a frown. his eyes watered, unable to shake the feeling of just wanting his best friend there. jiyong felt naked in a way that had nothing to do with skin or clothing; exposed like a child who lost their parents at the mall; lost at sea though anchored to the casualties. he wanted to brashly push the petty chess pieces off the tainted checkerboard, sending each and every one to their demise though it was the same collective and muddled selfishness that cemented them in the first place—every stride seunghyun took following after you in the parking lot; every swing of jiyong’s racket at the international opens; every avoidant glare whenever the universe brought them together again.

you were another piece of the unsolvable puzzle, one he was so emotionally exhausted over he couldn’t bring himself to care anymore. now that life got fucking real, and he didn’t know whether his days would be tempered on the court in the same way, providing distractions in the guise of goals apt enough to convince himself he was living in technicolor, he just wanted community. he wanted familiarity. though the history between you three was hard, his life worked out in a way that the people who hurt him most also understand him the most, too. it was complex and complicated. jiyong became nauseous. seunghyun felt it, too. you were caught off guard when he abruptly got up from the couch, not immediately processing him saying “let me talk to him.” jiyong overheard, along with your “hm? oh, okay.” you handed the phone over to him. “ji?” seunghyun’s voice cracked. he cleared his throat, “ji? are you still there?” jiyong was frozen in his panic, blinking so hard that a few tears inevitably fell. “listen, man. i just—” seunghyun stopped himself, feeling his sinuses loosen. “i j-just need to know how you’re holding up.” jiyong couldn’t take it anymore, feeling suffocated, wanting the call to end: “have a nice life. okay?” he hung up with a quivering bottom lip, taking the battery out of his nokia, throwing it onto the floor.

ELEVEN YEARS LATER

it was never the same for jiyong. his twist of fate made unfiltered rounds in not only the sports community, but mainstream pop culture, too. he ignored requests for interviews left and right, focusing on getting himself right after surgery and throughout physical therapy. nine months after his injury, he steadily ushered his return to the practice court, equipped with a knee sleeve. though his coach tried to ease the pressure, jiyong knew the truth: its over. it wasn’t initially easy to accept, however: he smacked the ball way out of the court when it was apparent the player he was training with was tip-toeing, “stop going easy on me. i won a grand fucking slam.” or the shouting match he got into with his coach—“hit the ball! actually start hitting the ball! what’re you afraid of!? hurting me?”—only to be reduced to frustrated tears after failing to hit a shallow drop shot; his knee having given out from under him. his coach rushed over to help him up, but jiyong did it on his own: “i’m fine. i’m okay, i’m okay,” limping back to the baseline. he suddenly smashed his racket into the concrete a few times before throwing brashly to the side, walking off the court without another word.

his parents tried to help regroup: “you’ve done enough in your life already.” his father said over dinner one evening. “maybe it's time to take some for yourself.” “i could’ve done more.” jiyong said bitterly. “if you think that way, you won’t have another day of peace.” his mother warned. jiyong put his utensil down, eyeing the both of them: “how has my life ever been peaceful?” he retorted. “my entire life has been on that court. it became my purpose. you never taught me otherwise.” he didn’t watch any coverage of the olympic games in beijing, overhearing his parents rejoice over the news seunghyun had won bronze in the men’s singles and silver in the doubles. a year later, jiyong went outside to get the mail after breakfast, inadvertently being the one who opened his family’s invitation to your’s and seunghyun’s wedding. a couple years after that, some months after seunghyun clinched his second grand slam in the men’s singles, jiyong heard through the grapevine about you greeting your in-laws at the door of your london flat with an apparent baby bump. photos of you and your well-behaved two year old in your lap, equipped with protective headphones around your baby girl’s precious ears, sat in the stands at seunghyun’s singles match at the london olympic games in 2012 went semi-viral on twitter. the photos landed on jiyong’s feed, along with the ones of you rejoicing with your daughter clutched in your arms when your husband won the gold.

jiyong did many things to pass time over the years: coaching gigs that didn’t feel right or he said yes to too early in his recovery, tried starting a foundation but ended up backing out over logistical disagreements with his team, dating around, journaling until he spent the last drop of ink in his pen, and taking up meditation. it wasn’t easy adapting to a life-altering change. but over time, he learned to give himself some grace. in 2015, seven years after his injury, he accepted a coaching position at stanford. not only was it fulfilling, but his pupils began to heal his severed heart. they were good kids: listened well, trained better, and performed phenomenally come game days. jiyong also started seeing an adjunct professor, who taught english literature to sophomores to fulfill requirements for her master’s. she saw him as a person and not a tragedy. that alone was good enough for him. however, every morning before going on his routine jog, without fail, jiyong pauses after putting on his shorts. he runs his fingers over the scar on his left knee, thinking about what could’ve been.

on a foggy morning in 2019, jiyong walked onto the practice court, seeing a group of his players huddled around a bench. “break it up, guys.” he called aloud. “your drills aren’t gonna do themselves.” they dispersed, one turning to him: “sorry, coach.” she apologized. another one joined her: “we were just talking about how someone’s, like, having this q-and-a thing on campus and were trying to see if any tickets were left. i think you might know him?” her teammate nudged her with her elbow, giving her a look of are you serious? read the room. this piqued jiyong’s interest, “show me.” she reached into her backpack, unlocking her iphone, showing him a post on stanford’s student programming association’s instagram page. it was a digital flyer for the event, though jiyong recognized the photo used of seunghyun instantly—taken at wimbledon last year after shaking hands with the player he beat not only at that tournament, but also in rio for the gold in 2016—accompanied by caption: Only a few tickets left: Come see 3x Olympian, 4x Grand Slam Champion, and proud Stanford alum Seunghyun Choi this Friday at 8 PM!

jiyong kept it professional, offering a curt nod with an unreadable expression. “we played together a long time ago.” he left it at that. “go do your drills. or you’ll be late for class.” he pondered whether he wanted to go. when friday morning came, though, he called a colleague who also was the faculty member overseeing the student programming association, scoring him a spare ticket. the auditorium was packed—filled to the brim. a mixture of athletes, student reporters, actual reporters, professors, and the like. jiyong spotted his kids sitting together on one side, waving gingerly as they waved excitedly back. he found a seat in one of the last few rows, closer to the aisle, giving him a good view of the stage. all there was were two cushioned armchairs with a table in-between, equipped with two glasses of water and microphones, respectively. the applause was rapturous when seunghyun came out, dressed in a tailored suit as he humbly waved to the crowd before sitting down next to the moderator. it was odd: hearing someone’s voice for the first time in over a decade, let alone seeing them. though jiyong was a distance away, he could tell seunghyun’s aged in the same way he has: a wider frame complemented by muscle, a new hairstyle that looked handsome but teenaged-them would have made fun of, and an inexplicable air of maturity naturally enriching his aura.

seunghyun answered run-of-the-mill questions: “how’d you get your start?” “what was the transition into going pro like for you?” “what's it like in olympic village?” “what advice do you have for student athletes today?” and perhaps an arguably cheesy one, “what does tennis mean to you?” he exited the stage an hour and a half later the same way he entered: graciously, and with a smile. in the traffic of the crowd funneling out of the auditorium, jiyong was led away from the entrance he came in from. he hoped to pass time, thus lessening the amount of people he had to squeeze through, by making a pit stop to the bathroom before the drive home. to his chagrin, there was a line there too, but he took the loss, hoping as a result he wouldn’t have to sit in road traffic for long. his plan worked: it was much quieter. jiyong mistakenly walked out of the wrong entrance, though, only realizing when he didn’t recognize the side of the block he was headed towards. he pulled out his fob, hearing his car beep! in the opposite direction. he walked down those couple of blocks, past parking meters and flocks of students headed downtown to start their weekends, looking to his left at the sound of a door opening.

it was seunghyun, shaking hands with the heads of various stanford athletic departments sponsoring the event. they then turned to you, shaking your hand diplomatically, before leaning down to your daughter, offering high fives. she returned them shyly, quickly turning to you for assurance. you sported a black blazer and trouser set, aptly matching with your husband, whilst your daughter wore a dress her father sped to macy’s for this morning. you said your amicable goodbyes before parting ways, headed to the suv to take you back to your hotel. your daughter stood between you two, holding both yours and seunghyun’s hands—your free one reaching over to fix her hair after a gust of wind flew by—listening to her shoes skid against the pavement whilst her parents talked casually. seunghyun, by chance, looked to his left. he stopped in his tracks. you and your daughter did too, the only difference was you didn’t know why. though it didn’t take long for your husband to provide, like he always does: “ji?” he asked aloud. “ji? is that you?” “y-yeah,” jiyong nodded, clearing his throat. he scratched the back of his neck, “it's me, seunghyun.”

in a sudden moment of panic, your husband turned to you. you didn’t hesitate, “go to him.” you said. “we’ll wait.” “i don't—i don’t know how long we’ll talk for.” “that’s okay.” you thought quickly on your feet. “we’ll head to the hotel. is your ringer on?” “y-yeah. i think.” he nodded, hand patting his left pocket, feeling his phone there. “good. i’ll send the car. now go, baby.” he bent down, kissing your daughter’s head, “go with mom for a little bit, okay? dad’ll be right back.” she nodded, earning a kiss to her cheek. he came up to you, planting a chaste kiss to your lips. “i love you.” “i love you. now go.” you kept your daughter’s hand in yours, walking to the car. seunghyun turned around, walking to jiyong. “did you—” he cleared his throat, nervous. “did you come to the event tonight?” he gestured to the venue behind him. he took a moment, but jiyong eventually nodded: “i did, yeah. my—my kids told me about it.” seunghyun’s heart stuttered out of near shock, “kids?” jiyong quickly clarified with a swift shake of his head, a ghost of smile tugging at his lips, “the ones i coach. they were here tonight, too.” “thats right, you do coach.” seunghyun nodded, remembering. “its about four years sinc you got the gig, right?” “yeah.” jiyong nodded, eyebrows starting to furrow. “how’d you know?” seunghyun smirked, though it wasn’t arrogant. “our families still talk, ji.” “sure.” said jiyong. “but we don’t.” “yeah,” seunghyun confirmed. his expression fell, albeit minutely. “but we don’t.”

a beat went by. seunghyun looked to his left, seeing a bench. he took a seat, looking at jiyong with an expression reading if you’re willing, i am too. jiyong was hesitant, “you don’t have somewhere to be?” seunghyun shook his head, jutting his bottom lip. “not right now, no.” he checked the time on his watch. “but my daughter’s stubborn and refuses to go to bed until both mom and dad are there to read her a bedtime story. so it's up to you.” he quipped, an upside-down grin on his face. jiyong snickered, taking a seat. “is she more like her mom or dad?” seunghyun smiled, thinking of her fondly: “a lot like me, unfortunately.” he chuckled. “when the missus was getting her doctorate at oxford,” he referred to you. “and she had, like, long lectures or meetings, or if anything came up, i’d do pick up, drop off—y’know, everything. i can’t tell you how many times i’ve been pulled off the court during practice to help with math homework, man.” jiyong exhaled through his nostrils, grinning. “one day—” seunghyun said your name, “—came home and said it felt like talking to two of me. she demanded we have another, until we both realized we only just caught up on the sleep we didn’t get while raising the one we have now.”

jiyong couldn’t stifle his chuckle if he tried. “does she have an accent?” he asked, referring to the fact she was born and raised in london thus far in her life. seunghyun shook his head, “weirdly enough, no. i guess we won in that case.” he grinned. a pregnant beat went by. seunghyun’s eyes widened, “i just realized you haven’t met her yet.” jiyong’s mouth tightened awkwardly. the emotional gravitas of their reunion; everything left untouched; the passage of time creating what felt like a void of the unknown of how either of their lives have progressed, humbling the both of them. “i haven’t, no.” said jiyong. “she’s turning nine next month.” seunghyun told him. “we’re having the party at my parents house. you should come.” “you’re staying for that long?” jiyong asked. seunghyun shook his head, “we’ll be back in town for it.” perhaps it was a symptom of long distance: traveling frequently to lessen the effect of living an ocean away from your loved ones, or a symbol of seunghyun’s wealth. the bountiful fruits of his labor on the court, winning one grand slam after the next, collecting olympic medals the same way he did flight miles, bagging unimaginable salaries from multiple nike campaigns—living the life jiyong once knew. not that he was living in destitute conditions whatsoever: living off a six figure salary with savings that kept him in the top one percent come tax season. but like anyone else, the what ifs preface his rem cycle.

jiyong looked ahead, at the other side of the street, avoiding both seunghyun’s eyes and invite. “i don’t think i could’ve imagined you being a dad.” seunghyun kissed his teeth playfully, “with how i was back then? it’d be like expediting the end of the world.” jiyong tried to keep his laughter in, but failed miserably. he let it ring out from his diaphragm, making seunghyun smile stupidly, too. they both felt nineteen again—staying up late; clueless about what they were going to make of their newfound independence after moving into their respective student apartments. “holy shit, man.” jiyong ran his hand over his face, posture relaxing in the bench. he crossed his arms over his chest, “you’re right. it would.” “you see yourself being a dad one day?” seunghyun asked.  jiyong nodded, “yeah, i do.” he said earnestly. “i’ve been seeing someone these past couple of years. but we haven’t had that talk yet.” he heard seunghyun hum, letting him know he was listening. “y’know, to be honest,” jiyong continued, licking his lips in thought. “between us, i thought i’d be the first to do so. but i guess—i guess it just didn’t work out that way. like a lot of things.” he descended into a mutter, avoiding eye contact, picking something off his jeans. his heart stuttered with anxiety, palpitating between his temples. a heavy pit of shame weighed on his chest. his mind ran through the last several years: “look, man.” he said. seunghyun looked at him, but jiyong didn’t move. “i'm—i’m sorry i didn’t come to the wedding.” seunghyun blinked, taken aback. “that was ten years ago, ji.” he said. “you’re good.”

jiyong shook his head, stubborn. “it wasn’t right of me to not go.” “that’s because you’re speaking with hindsight.” countered seunghyun. “don’t forget how you felt in the moment. if i’m being completely honest, we would’ve been surprised if you did come. i mean, with everything that happened, and how you were in recovery . . .” his voice trailed, cutting himself off, verging into sensitive territory. jiyong’s posture stiffened, though he could see seunghyun glance over in his periphery. “how—how is your knee, ji?” jiyong inhaled sharply through his nostrils, “tough as ever.” he patted his left knee. “strong enough to keep me upright when i’m telling other people how to play tennis, but stubborn in letting me play.” jiyong joked blandly, tightening his lips. seunghyun’s expression was sympathetic, though proud: “i heard one of your kids is a favorite for tokyo.” he referred to the host city for the olympic games the following year. “you’ve done well.” “i haven’t done enough.” jiyong countered stubbornly.

seunghyun let out a long exhale. he turned his head, momentarily looking at the traffic light a few blocks down. he tightened his lips in thought, rallying: “i’m gonna say something, and it’s probably gonna confuse the fuck out of you. but i want you to hear me out.” he cleared his throat, swallowing afterward. “i’m not going for tokyo. matter of fact, after the open, i’m hanging it up entirely.” jiyong turned his head sharply, eyebrows furrowed, “you’re retiring?” seunghyun simply nodded, “mhm.” he confirmed. “you’re the first to know. well, after my wife, of course.” he corrected himself with an endearing grin. “what’d she say?” jiyong wasn’t sure if was asking out of plain curiosity or to use your reaction to mitigate his own, ensuring he didn’t lose his goddamn mind. “i let it slip when we went for dinner to celebrate getting her doctorate.” seunghyun explained, face warming at the memory. “she thought it was her graduation gift. so i guess you could say she was relieved. everything—all of this,” seunghyun gestured around, referring to the hustle-and-bustle of his career, “it's been a lot on her, too. i’d say it's about time.”

“but why?” jiyong couldn’t wrap his head around it. “why would you? you have plenty of good years left.” “because i’m over it, ji. i’m tired.” seunghyun said earnestly, looking into his eyes. “i don’t wanna be one of those guys that don’t know when to walk away. i don’t wanna be doing this in my forties.” he shook his head. jiyong was flabbergasted. seunghyun continued, “and plus, i love being a dad. i love being a husband.” jiyong was nearly rendered speechless. his expression was almost offended, “you’ve changed.” seunghyun’s eyebrows fluttered in and out of a furrow, “you say that like it's a bad thing.” “no, that’s not what i—” jiyong cut himself off, trying to find the right words. he only grew more frustrated, trying to make sense of his complicated feelings, “you’ve always had the freedom of choice, seunghyun. since we were kids.” he said, looking at him in disbelief. “doing whatever you want. getting to do anything however you want to do it.” seunghyun’s expression faltered to one of defense, though his tone didn’t follow: “it wasn’t either of our choices to be good at tennis.” he said. “just like how it wasn’t my choice for that last match to come down to us.”

jiyong tried to bite back, “you don’t know what i’d do to be in your shoes. to be able to just—resume.” seunghyun didn’t give in to his trap, “you’re more than tennis, ji.” he said. “you always have been.” jiyong turned his head, looking at seunghyun, but for once in his life, he didn’t have anything to say. as they both sat there on that bench, unbeknownst to them, their unspoken language rose from the ashes. one conversation didn’t bare the teeth nor the bandwidth of making up for over ten years lost to time, but it was a stepping stone into a new chapter. of what? jiyong didn’t know yet, and neither did seunghyun. as they parted ways and left that bench behind—seunghyun quickly taking off his shoes and hustling to where you and your daughter were waiting for him, quickly finding his place in her choice of book for the night; jiyong walking into his quiet apartment, getting ready for bed—it seemed cosmic destiny could be re-directed.

their shared intuition was reborn in this new, matured stage in their lives: spoken in jiyong’s knocking on the door of the choi family household, carrying a gift bag for the birthday girl; seunghyun’s prideful gaze when finally getting to introduce his daughter to the man he owes his life to; in your comforting touch to his lower back, both you and your husband in awe, watching your daughter come out of her shell in a way you hadn’t seen before. “she really is a mini-you.” you told her father, tone soft; loving. “yeah.” seunghyun muttered. he quickly turned away, growing emotional. you caught on, turning with him. “c'mere.” you beckoned, welcoming him into your embrace. he sniffled into your shoulder, arms holding you close. “i’m really proud of you.” you told him. “i’m nothing without you.” he spoke sincerely. your fingers carded through his hair, palm falling to the nape of his neck, feeling his lips press a doting kiss to your cheek. “i love you, too.”

seunghyun saw jiyong out at the end of the night, walking him to his car. “you really opened a new avenue by getting her that lego set.” seunghyun smiled, hearing jiyong chuckle. “like, i knew she inherited her smarts from her mom. but now it's gonna be that, but tenfold.” “yeah.” jiyong laughed. “sooner or later, she’ll start talking circles around you.” “are you kidding?” seunghyun countered. “she memorized her times tables when she was six. i’ve been fucked.” they shared a brief hug. some of the awkwardness had yet to be overcome, but that was okay. if either have learned anything, it's that things take time. seunghyun gingerly waved as jiyong put his key in the ignition, waving back before putting his car in reverse. ushering off of the driveway, jiyong glanced at his rearview mirror. he caught sight of seunghyun ensuring he got out safely, walking inside the house once he approached the curb. jiyong came to a gradual halt, looking both ways before merging onto the street. it occurred to him he wasn’t the little boy at the block party anymore, but rather a man lucky enough to have a brother.

honey's taglist ☕️: @gongyoosgf @infinetlyforgotten @riddlerloveb0t @mesopotamism @pepsicolapussi @breakmeoff @thanosspills @moontabi @tabibabib @lexalith @lavenderobsessed @heartubeatusalon

[oumaheroes]

Congrats for the 1000 followers! :D You and your fics are such a blessing to this fandom

If I'm not mistaken, one of your answers said about the brit bros getting drunk and ends up in Wales' garden but Wales himself nowhere to be seen? O.o My mind went to that news about a drunk Welshman swimming across the hoover dam (I know it happened in the U.S but still) and your answer makes me very curious. Where he disappeared to? To the comfort of his own room or is he outside doing God-knows-what? I need some answers, please.

Thank you so much, @notnobleone! And I did say that, you're right! They go out drinking, Ireland ends up passed out in Wales' garden bushes, England's missing his shoes or something sat stupid on the doorstep, and Scotland's been trying to drunkenly unpick the door all night long. And Wales, the homeowner?

Wales is nowhere to be seen

And you know what? I spent hours looking for that post to link this to and I CANNOT find it; your memory is incredible! I don't even know how far back I wrote that!

Here are the answers you seek, just for you and your lovely brain ❤️

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

Jail Break

Wales emerged into the Police Station waiting room behind a very stern looking young constable, overdressed for the weather in a long-sleeve t-shirt and jeans. The constable looked away when Wales tried to smile at him in thanks, his mouth a disapproving hard line before he began to read him his exit procedure.

Wales was mostly presentable looking from his brief stay in the cells, despite wearing only last night’s clothes, and the only real sign that anything was amiss was that he was alarmingly more rumpled that Belgium had had reason to see him in years- hair all angles, dark circles under his eyes, and a curious amount mud around his hems.

He smiled at her once he caught her eye, giving her a small nod, ‘Hello, Marie.’

‘Rhys.’ Belgium smiled to the constable as Wales came closer and motioned with her arm towards the door, ‘After you.’

‘No forms to fill out?’

‘Already done.’

‘You’re a treasure.’

Belgium smiled, ‘I know.’

Outside, Wales blinking gritty eyes in the bright midday sunshine, Belgium took the arm he offered her and began to lead him forwards through to the centre of Brussels.

‘I’m so sorry about this.’

‘Don’t be.’ She squeezed his arm, ‘Was exciting. I’ve not been woken up by a call from the police in a good few decades.’

‘Francis?’

‘Lars.’

Wales raised his eyebrows but didn’t enquire further, ‘Were you asleep?’

‘Most people are at six in the morning.’

‘Six.' Wales rubbed his eyes, ‘Lord. I don’t even remember twelve in the morning. I'm surprised I remembered your land-line number.'

'You didn't. The police picked you up stumbling about outside the train station. You told them my name and I'm known enough by a few authority figures for them to make the connection.'

Wales held a hand over his eyes and sighed something in Welsh that sounded offensive. 'I won't ask you to keep that between us; it's too good not to share.'

Belgium watched him run his tongue across his lips, looking sheepish and uncomfortable, for long enough to make the early wake up worth it, and then took pity on him. She dug about in her handbag and handed him a fresh bottle of water. ‘Here.’

‘Ta.’ He took a long drink. 'You'd think I'd learn by now not to mix hops and grapes.'

‘I wanted to come and get you earlier,' Belgium told him, 'but there was some hassle with border control. They were a bit concerned that you’d managed to get through border control without a passport and it took a while to get them to drop it.’

Wales capped the bottle and shook his head helplessly. ‘I can’t tell you how. Didn't even have one when out.’

‘Yes, I thought that. Why would you ever carry a one at all.'

They fell silent as they came to a crowded crossing. The press of human bodies that close was a bit too warm even for Belgium in her summer dress and sunhat. She could only imagine how Wales felt, dressed for a presumably Welsh summer evening and legs stuck in thick denim.

‘Where are we going?’ Wales asked as they began moving again, across the road and then down a cobbled side street further into the heart of the historical part of town.

‘Home.’

‘Oh no,’ Wales looked horrified, ‘No love, you don’t have to do that. I’ll take myself home; get out of your hair.’

‘No offense, but you do need a bath-‘ Wales winced, ‘and I’d rather you leave my lands in decent condition, at least. Despite the inelegant arrival.’

Wales laughed awkwardly, ‘That’s fair enough.’

‘So, come on then.’ Belgium tugged his arm again, ‘Tell me. Consider it payment,’ she said as Wales made a face, ‘For breaking you out of jail.’

‘Like a hoodlum.’

‘Like a hoodlum.’

Wales let out a breath of air, ‘I do wish I could tell you. I’m not sure what happened, honestly. We were-‘

‘-out in Cardiff?’

‘Bristol.’

‘Oh.’

‘We all took trains there; none of us could have driven home again, of course. I remember being in a pub and then-‘ Wales waved a hand, ‘bit and pieces in between. I remember the train seats, oddly enough, because they looked like the material of one of Alisdair’s shirts, you know those really ugly ones that he has-‘

‘Oh I love those. The terrible retro 80’s ones.’

‘Hideous things, absolute disgrace. But anyway, I remember the chairs, and I remember being at a station. I think Patrick was there, or maybe all of them were...’

He trailed off, thoughtful, ‘Actually, now that I think about it, I think Patrick put me on the train. He told me the platform and was there when I went through the gate, at least. How the fuck I didn’t realise I was going to London, I’ll never know. Then the Eurostar? Maybe night ferry? I would have had to have got the Tube to get that line, somehow, and I couldn’t have been in any fit state to-‘

He stopped, cheeks pinking.

‘Why were you in Bristol?’ Belgium asked, taking pity on him.

‘Arthur’s turn to pick the place we went. Bastard chose the nearest city to my house though, presumably knowing that I’d host rather than us needing to get a hotel or travel far back again.’

‘I’m surprised you let him.’

‘He said London’s too expensive.’

‘Still.’

Wales shrugged, ‘It is too expensive.’

Down another street, the smell of chocolate shops with their wide open doors and windows making the heavy air sickly. Wales took another sip of water. ‘So, Bristol it was.'

'And they just left you alone.'

'I'm starting to think it was more a planned abandonment.'

It took Belgium a considerable amount determination not to show her amusement openly. 'I'm sure they didn't know you'd end up in Brussels.'

'No,' Wales acknowledged gracefully with a rueful smile, 'That little mess is all my own.'

'I'd say safely making your way through several different transport methods and customs to illegally slip into the European Union is a decent achievement. I really hope you remember how you did it, the government won't like that gap sitting about.'

'I'm very sure I couldn't have done it any way other than by being far too drunk for sense. And maybe with a dash of fraternal vendetta.'

Belgium laughed, 'Well. Lucky you because now you can spend your day here with me instead of waking up with them.'

'Lucky me too,' Wales patted his pocket with a grin, 'Because I've still got my house keys with me.'

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

AN: This fic was written in honour of the many Brits who get drunk and end up wandering about in Europe with no memory of how they got there, like Switzerland, Spain, the Netherlands, France... it's common

[elvhenahhh]

Hail the Loamy Earth

This post made me so mentally unhinged that I started to write fic about it in March 2023, and finally finished it just now in April 2024. Fic is as follows below, but also, here is the AO3 link if you'd rather read it there.

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

She comes to you both on the eve of the final battle.

She scoffs. Head high, eyes narrowing, airs all apparent. But time and hardship have brought you close, and you can see the tremble in her fingertips, the stress lines along her cheeks.

She proposes. And you… consider.

Alistair scoffs. “Figures the witch would wait for the last minute to force us to do blood magic.” He stands closest to the only exit in the room. Arms crossed, lips twisted, he’s never gotten along with Morrigan, never trusted her.

She snipes back. “We could go the natural way, you and I, as our dear Warden sadly lacks the equipment to do so.” He quickly pales at the thought.

You lay your hand feather-light on the crook of her arm, and you wait. You’ve found that Morrigan balks at questions but will give you your answer if, in return, you give her the time to think.

She watches your face with intensity and with a haunted look you’ve never seen before. She puts her hand over yours, pressing your hand into her own skin as if that would help you believe her.

“I would not offer if it were not true, if I were not confident that this would work.” Here, her eyes cut back to Alistair. “There is no love lost between you and I, but you are a good man in a world with so few. Your death would be unfortunate.” She hesitates again, and steps closer as if to gain more privacy in the very small room the three of you are in. She whispers, “You are… my friend. I do not wish to see you die, not when I have the power to prevent it.” You allow the silence to linger for a moment more, and her grip becomes bone-crushingly tight. “Please, my friend. Please.”

Behind you, Alistair inhales sharply. Morrigan is a proud woman. She would never beg. The fact that she is doing so now…

You turn your palm, grasping her hand in yours, and return the squeeze. You turn to Alistair. For all that he defers to levity and humor, he still understands the gravity of the moment. Grim-faced, he shrugs and says, “I do rather like my skin and yours, I suppose. What have we to lose anyway?”

Visions of gold hair and tan skin flicker in your mind. What have we to lose, indeed. You slip your hand out from Morrigan’s and begin to remove your vambraces. You hear Alistair begin to do the same. 

Morrigan sighs in relief and turns away to pick up a sharp knife and a concerningly large bowl. “As you know, healing magic is not my expertise,” she says, “but I did learn enough to make the process as painless and harmless as possible.”

Alistair steps up to stand beside you with a grimace on his face. “Well.” In one motion, he holds up a bare forearm above the bowl and reaches down to hold your hand with the other. “Let’s get on with it then. We have an Archdemon to fight in the morning. And I, for one, need my beauty sleep.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Live well, my friend. Live gloriously.” Morrigan’s expression twists mournfully. She does not touch you, but you feel her magic surround you as if in an embrace. You simply nod, emotion choking your throat just as much as the literal ash in the air.

You turn away, bracing yourself for one last goodbye. Zevran approaches, charming grin in place as always, but there is a desperation in his eyes he cannot hide. “So here we part ways. You do not wish me to stand by you, in the end?”

The way he speaks - First sentence light and playful! Then, voice dropping, becoming oh so small and terrified - almost shatters your carefully crafted demeanor. “I don’t want to put you in that kind of danger.”

The smile falls abruptly from his face. “Oh, now you worry about my health!” You quickly reach out and clasp one of his hands in both of yours. 

“The Archdemon is dangerous.” He scoffs, of course, he knows this! But you need him to understand. “If you were with me… I wouldn’t be able to focus. I’m sorry.” You squeeze his hand, willing him to understand. 

Slowly, too slowly for all that you’re in the midst of battle, the tension leaves his shoulders, and he laces his fingers through yours. Stepping forward, he brings your joined hands up to his lips and gazes intently into your eyes. “For the chance to be by your side, I would storm the Dark City itself. Never doubt it.” 

The temptation to kiss him in this moment has never been stronger, but it would hurt the two of you more than help. You press your lips against the back of his hand instead. “Ar lath ma, vhenan. I will see you again with the Archdemon’s blood on my blade.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In truth, Zevran has no idea why he is here. 

He had expected to hear the roar of the archdemon. He had expected to turn to face the lofty tower where his love and the dragon were, and he had expected to resist every fiber of his being which screamed at him to go to them. 

What he had not expected was for Morrigan to grab his arm and haul him away from the gates and into the woods. So surprised was he, that he could only exclaim in surprise and stumble along after her. 

Now he is staring, dumbfounded, as Morrigan claws at the dirt with her bare hands with such frenzy that he believes that she has finally gone mad, and he can only say, “What are you doing?”

The snarl she emits truly befits her shapeshifter nature. “Get down here and help me dig!” She hisses with such ferocity that Zevran finds himself on his hands and knees before he can even blink.

The ground is soft and loamy beneath his hands, and for a moment, he almost feels at peace. Morrigan suddenly swats his hands and sits back on her heels. “This is good enough.” She unclasps a large flask from her hip and carefully doles out a portion of liquid. The moment it lands, Zevran recognizes the smell of blood. 

“Morrigan, what are–?”

“Do you know what the strongest demon is?” Now that the hole is dug, she speaks unhurriedly and of the strangest things. 

“No, Morrigan. I do not.” A spectator once more, he watches as she carefully begins to mix the dark blood with the even darker dirt.

“A mage of the circle will say that pride demons are the strongest. They are the largest and most intimidating-looking after all.”A pause. Adds more blood. Continues mixing.

“I assume that they are incorrect.” She nods.

“Any type of demon can become great and terrible so long as they originate from the strongest human emotion.”

“Which, pray tell you, is what?”

“Love.” She pauses, hands stilling, to look Zevran in the eye. “Do you love the warden?”

His breath catches in his throat. Is now truly the time to be asking such things? Morrigan wastes precious moments staring intently at him, as if his answer were life or death, so… he nods.

“Good.” She grabs his wrists with hands sticky with bloody mud and shoves them into the mess. “Think of them, and help me create a child.” 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Zevran has few good memories of children. To be fair, he has few good memories in general, even less so of children.

But to see that he has no good memories of children would still be a lie.

He remembers being a child, laying his head on his mother’s dusky breast as she sang softly to him, winding her fingers in his hair.

He remembers peeking over the edge of a bassinet, peering curiously at the unfortunate babe one of the whores had chosen to bear to term as they bared toothless gums in a pink smile.

He remembers, as a trainee Crow, being beaten, black and blue, by older, newly-initiated Crows. Being thrown back into the dark, cramped room with the other children. Smiling through gritted, bloody teeth. Uncurling to reveal his stolen prize of extra rations to share with the children who would cheer silently, smiling and eating as they allowed Zevran to pat their greasy heads.

He thinks of those children as he molds now a child with the witch, Morrigan. He wonders if they survived as he had survived. He hopes that they did. He hopes that they found love as he had found love. He hopes that they are far away from this mess and that they are happy.

He thinks of Mahariel. He wonders what they were like as a child. Were they as grim and stone-faced as they are now? Or were they a happy child, chubby-cheeked, grubby-handed, running higgledy-piggledy around the forests amongst their clan?

He wonders what a child of theirs might look like. Would they take on the warmer tone of his skin or the cooler tone of theirs? Would they have his blonde hair? He hoped that they would at least have Mahariel’s golden eyes. 

Normally, he would force himself away from such thoughts, but if there were a time to think whimsically of a future that may never be, what better time than in the middle of a war?

Zevran finds himself focusing the most on the child’s features. Morrigan seemed to be more focused on form over precision, pushing the mud together firmly to resemble a healthy torso and well-formed limbs.

Let her be the mother. Let her create a healthy child, strong in body. Let Zevran be, then, the artist.

“Let us create a face that cannot be ignored, yes?” he whispers softly. If Morrigan hears his murmurs, she doesn’t care to give him a reaction.

A wide brow for a healthy mind. Eyes like almonds, not quite the wholly round orbs of Morrigan nor the warden’s slanted gaze, but something in between.

A thick head of hair. Here, he recalls not of himself, Morrigan, nor Mahariel, but of Alistair. Black though, he thinks to himself, would suit this child better than brown. 

He shapes chubby cheeks, still. He hopes, for this child, a childhood of happiness and abundance, of wide smiles and a mouth never wanting for food or care.

A button nose, here modeled after Morrigan the most. Finally, sloped lips and a sweet chin, taken from no one, but Zevran’s gift to the child, something wholly their own. 

He leans away, satisfied with his work, almost smiling now, ‘till he hears the Archdemon’s dying screech.

In a moment, he is on his feet, child forgotten, eyes and heart searching for the warden along the smoky parapet.

There! A beam of light, shooting upwards into the sky. An explosion! Then… Maker, was the light coming their way?

“MOVE!”

The world spins sideways as Morrigan shoves him to the ground. The light skin-meltingly hot as it barely passes their forms and shoots into the ground behind them.

Moments pass as Zevran rubs and blinks the spots away from his eyes.

When his vision finally clears, Morrigan is kneeling next to a pink-skinned, black-haired, wailing child who, to his surprise, is clearly male.

He wonders, briefly, if his mother had the same look of joy and relief on her face when he was born as Morrigan now wears on her own.

“So… what now?” he asks.

“Now, nothing.” She quickly bundles the child in her cloak and stands. Zevran stands with her, but when he takes a step forward to get a better look at the child, she steps away.

He eases back, hands raised in deference. “What will you do now?”

“I will leave as I told the warden earlier. And the child is coming with me.”

Zevran hums and turns back towards the tower. “It is because of you and this ritual, isn’t it? That the warden is able to survive slaying the Archdemon.”

“Hmf! How do you know they even survived?”

Zevran laughs and turns his head just enough to toss her a smile. “Because I believe in them! And I believe in you.”

Morrigan tsks once more and re-adjusts the precious cargo in her arms. “Go and live gloriously. The both of you.”

This time, Zevran turns fully to show the full force of his gratitude. “As the lady bids. But if you ever need the aid of a friendly crow, you know where to find me.” 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It isn’t until many years later that all the people responsible for Kieran’s creation are all under the same roof. Of course, such circumstances would never have come about if I had had any say in it. 

Alistair’s eyes narrow at him. “That’s him? I thought he’d look, I don’t know, more demonic. Tentacles and fiery breath.” This is his first time meeting the boy, and of course, he acts like this.

“He is a normal boy, Alistair,” I say. Mahariel huffs out a breath, the closest they get to open amusement around mixed company. Zevran has no such compunction and throws back his head in full-throated laughter. Kieran, ever the sweetling, turns his head into Mahariel’s shoulder, though his gaze never leaves Alistair.

“A normal boy who now houses the soul of an Archdemon!” the elf crows and ruffles Kieran’s hair. To his credit, this finally causes Kieran to look away and smile at his… uncle? Such a title would suffice for now.

When I finally turn back to Alistair, I am surprised to be under his dissecting gaze this time around. 

“He’s changed you,” he finally says, tone soft and subdued. Damn him. For all that he is a fool, he does sometimes have these moments of lucidity.

“Tch! Don’t be absurd.” I step away from him and go to join Mahariel on the bench. As I do, Zevran swoops my son into his arms and has soon cajoled him and Alistair into a game of ball and snatch or something or other.

For a moment, I lean on my own friend who gently rests their brow against my own.

“He’s right, you know,” they whisper. “Kieran has changed you.”

I hum and say nothing more.

After a moment, I find myself saying, “Did I ever tell you about the night Kieran was born?”

I feel them shake their head.

“I remember kneeling in the dirt. Desperately mixing your blood with the mud. Trying to remember what a child looked like.” 

For a moment, I’m there. The mud, so cold it felt like ice in my hands. The sulfuric smell of blood and burning bodies. The desperate hope and desire that the spell would take, that the ritual would work, that my dearest and only friend would live if only I were to be successful.

“Do you regret having him?” they ask.

We watch the three of them. Zevran, golden and smiling, darting around in a confusing pattern. Alistair, wrong-footed but trying, tongue poking out between his teeth as he focuses on the ball. Kieran, red-faced and  whooping, looking for once like a boy of his age.

“I would never regret saving you, my friend. That I received Kieran in return?” I turn to whisper that my next words would lay only between the two of us. “Becoming his mother is the greatest gift I could ever have asked for.”

[almostfoxglove]

sooo i’ve been seriously putting off sending in asks because i wanted, ideally, to give a whole breakdown of why i loved the most recent chapter of See You At Three and most recently The Prettiest, but the longer i wait the more i realize i am just… not regaining my spoons. which is devastating, because i want so badly to pick apart every little detail about why each story has me literally pinned to my phone until i’ve re-read each update twice, at minimum.

i’m low on energy and perpetually exhausted, but i need you to know that you are fucking killing it as always. you make me want to post more fics on my own, even, just by the sheer power of how much i enjoy and get lost in your writing. the ending scene of syat?? hello??? THE MOMENT WE’VE BEEN WAITING FOR??? (trying not to spoil but oh my god, okay, i cannot BELIEVE you dropped it like that and left us i’m buzzing). and don’t even get my started on max, because we know that stupid bloodsucking bastard has such a hold on me. i’m sitting here with my jaw open bc holy shit, the down-bad vampire caught a break? and also might be having a panic attack in the process, congrats to him.

you’re doing amazing, that’s my point, and i’m even eying this angst-y yearn-y max wip i’ve been chipping away at for ages because of the pseudo-writer’s high i get from the immersion. i froth at the mouth when you update, and i’m sending you all my love.

also, the sheer amount of pedro content we’ve gotten lately?? din? clint? lucien? joel? more on the way. romcom pedro? REED RICHARDS?? head in hands, does that man ever sleep?

okay that’s enough, and probably all i’ve got rn. rooting for you always, and i hope you know you’re so so appreciated. thank you as always for sharing when you have no obligation to. mwah.

- that one long and rambling anon ♥️

you sweet soul angel on earth, hi hi sweet rambling anon <3 you would not believe the warm fuzzies this brought my heart. I know those spoon deficiencies are a bitch and a half, so I'm sending you a lot of love <3 I hope you're able to find little pockets of time to take care of yourself when you can - easier said than done etc etc but really I hope you're okay. it means so much that my goofy fics can bring you a little comfort when you're feeling not the best, and omg what an HONOR that they get you excited about writing too, like??? the highest praise. I could sob. maybe I will just for fun because that is so sweet and kfjhskgah I am so very grateful. HELL YEAH WRITE THAT ANGSTY YEARNY MAX you knowww I'm here for that. if you ever end up posting more and wanna drop me a link... there's 0 pressure, but I would *love* to read it. goodness knows you have a gift with words honey!!

also OH MY GOD truly that man must sleep in 20 minute intervals like??? incredible. he will be the death of me. I'm not going to survive materialists or fantastic four like freaky tales & the uninvited took me OUT he was so good in them. AH

I hope you know how much I appreciate you & your infinite kindness, I truly don't know what I did in a past life but it must've been something pretty good to get to meet someone as sweet as you :,) thank you so much for reading & coming to squeal about the blorbos with me. I LOVE U SO VERY MUCH, RAMBLING ANGEL!! and I'm sending you a big ol hug <3 <3

[explosionshark]

Do you have any advice for fanfic writers just starting out? I’d love to post something someday, I only started writing fanfic a couple months ago, and keep it all to myself. Some of y’all out there (read: you) are so good at this it’s terrifyingly intimidating. I’m not sure I’ll ever be that good and I’m not sure how to improve, nor how to know when something is worth posting at all. Somedays I wanna be a writer and share so bad, but other days I think “what’s the point?” if I’ll never be that good. It’s tempting just to throw everything I have in the garbage. Also, writing fanfic is a new concept to me and I also really struggle with telling whether what I’ve created is in character. Basically…I love your writing, and, help??

first off, thank you so much for the kind compliments! it's flattering that you like my work so much and that you came to me for advice on this. it's important to keep in mind that everyone's journey into writing is different, but since i've been in fandom over half my life now, i can offer you a little bit of what i've learned has worked for me over the years

i know it's tough not to do, but you should try not comparing your work (especially when you're just starting out!) to others. i know that's not easy - i still have a hard time with this sometimes! but it's rarely helpful. it's good (and even motivating!) to find aspirational work in your fandom of choice, but once you start using that work to undermine your own confidence instead of inspiring yourself, it stops being helpful. i don't want my work to make you feel like it's not worth trying! i want you to create and enjoy the process!

i answered an ask similar to this some time ago. linking it here for a more detailed answer but the bullet points:

read fic! read books! read articles! read!

REVIEW - specifically, leave the kinds of reviews you would like to get on your own work. be specific and detailed. this is nice for the writer, it's good for you because it helps you learn to identify what you like in stories, which means you'll have a better understanding of how to apply those concepts to your own work, and it makes you more active in the fandom! (also, pro tip: if you review frequently and well, those writers will be more likely to check your stuff out and offer feedback too)

piggybacking off that - engage with people's posts! make rec lists. make meta/HC posts. leave replies. send asks. put yourself out there. meeting people in the fandom and engaging in fandom activities will make you more motivated. reach out to the writers you like, leave those good reviews we were talking about (they'll remember you), and if you're feeling spicy offer to beta. i credit beta-ing for friends and people i admired for helping me develop a lot of skill and confidence. it's a great way to learn from other people

re: keeping things in character - this can be really intimidating! if you know people who are familiar with the source material, see if any of them would be down for reading and offering you feedback! if that's too scary or not an option, well - take some notes! what character traits do you want to keep in mind? quirks of speech? what type of physicality do the characters have? what motivates them and how transparent are they prepared to be about it? ask yourself stuff like this, the things you like in other work or find important to your story, and write it down! make your own reference list, until you feel confident enough. sometimes it's nice to have something concrete to refer to, when you're editing or stuck in a scene

don't give up!!!! if i had given up when i was feeling unskilled, inexperienced, and unconfident i would never have gotten to where i am now. keep in mind the work you're reading and enjoying from me is the product of like 16 years of doing the damn thing!

Writing fic can be a really fun and rewarding hobby. For me, it's also a great social activity, because I get to meet so many cool people (yes, this means you too!) through it. The worst thing you can do when you're starting out (or ever?) is need the work to be perfect. Remember - finished is better than perfect will ever be.

At the end of the day, everyone's here because we love the same stuff and we want to have fun. Fanwork is a thing we do FOR FREE for each other! It's a gift you're putting out there for everyone else like you. That's something worth at least trying out, right?

i promise all these anxieties you're having are extremely common (i share or have shared... basically all of them lmao) but it's not worth letting them hold you back from having a potentially really great experience with your fellow nerds. i believe in you! write that fic! post that fic! you can do it!

[dreamswithghosts]

Tech's Wires (Tech x Reader)

This is an 18+ fic, anyone who is under the age of 18 please do not read this!

Summary: You and Tech were peacefully traveling through hyperspace on a small mission when all of a sudden something happens to the ship. Tech had to crawl into a small space to get to where he needed to fix the ship. Something scandalous probably ensues afterward.

Author's Notes: This was purely inspired by an old sailor story my dad and his navy buddies always talked about. They were all on the same nuclear submarine back in the day. There was a time when the nuclear reactor that was on the sub was malfunctioning and they were going to lose power to the ship. My father had to crawl into this little hole full of wires to fix the malfunction so they could all still have power. Very much a do-or-die moment, but the kicker was he couldn't fit with the safety gear so he had to crawl in there in just his underwear. Also, I want to thank everyone who reads this and likes this. This is the first time I have ever publicly shown any of my writing. I hope you guys like it and if you have any ideas or suggestions you want to share please let me know! I plan to eventually post this on ao3 as well once I make an account. I have always been a reader and have written for my own personal pleasure. I really hope you like this. Edit: Link to fic on AO3

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, grinding, mild biting, unprotected sex (please wrap it before you tap it boys and girls and everything else), creampie, after care is important y'all

Word Count: 2.6k

You are jerked awake from the feeling of the Havoc Marauder being yanked out of hyperspace and the alarms instantly blaring throughout the small modified attack shuttle. Tech was out of his bunk in a flash before you even had a chance to lift your head from your bunk. He was in the cockpit in seconds and his voice could barely be heard over the blaring sound of the alarm. You pulled yourself out of the bunk quickly making your way to the cockpit. 

"Take over the controls and keep the ship steady." Tech hollered, he was pulling a panel off of the inner walls of the cockpit. You threw yourself into the pilot's seat, grabbing the steering wheel and holding the ship steady. You also reached over, turning the alarms off so you could think clearly as you flew the ship through the dark black vacuum of space. Behind you, you heard Tech grumbling and grunting as he reached into the open panel pulling out some wires. 

"Tech, what's going on?" Your voice was full of worry as you noticed that they were in the middle of nowhere. 

"The wires to the hyperdrive must have short-circuited and fried the system. I'm going to need to get into the wall to fix it." Tech explained. You then heard the sounds of plastoid armor dropping to the ground and the sound of the leather from his belts followed quickly after. You glanced over the back of the red seat spotting Tech pulling his shirt off of his body, and you felt your face flush a little. 

"Tech? What are you doing?" You quickly yanked your eyes back over to the dash of the ship. 

"I need to crawl into the wall to do the repair and I cannot fit with my armor and clothes," Tech said simply. Your hands gripped the wheel tighter, "Tech, that's dangerous."

"If I do not do this, we will be floating in space with no power soon." He argued. You made a small sign knowing that once Tech sets his mind on something, you know there's no changing it. You peeked over the chair again to see the last of Tech's bare leg disappear into the wall. A few minutes later, the ship started to fly more smoothly and you heard Tech remerge from the open panel in the wall. He appeared next to you, shooing you out of the pilot's seat to get the ship back on track and back into hyperspace. 

"We should be fine until we land back on Ord Mantell." Tech signed, getting up to retrieve his things, but you stopped him.

"Wait. You're bleeding." You reached out, grabbing his arm. He made no protest as you led him into the main hull of the ship grabbing the medical supplies. 

"It's just a small cut. I will be fine." Tech objected vocally, but made no move to move away from you. 

"Yes, but who knows what else is in these walls? I don't want to risk any kind of infection." You argued, sitting him down in one of the chairs and opening the medkit. You started to clean the small cut on his bicep. It took you little time to put a bandage on it and fix up the other small one on his back. Once you were done, you gave him a quick, light kiss on his cheek. 

"All done soldier." You smiled lightly at him and put the medkit away. Tech looked over at you, a very small flush on his cheeks in the dark lighting on his cheeks. He might have finally caught up to the fact that he is sitting next to you in just his underwear. 

"How much longer till we are back at Ord Mantell?" You asked lightly, moving to sit in the other chair in the main hull of the small fighter ship. 

"Oh, probably only for another hour or two," Tech answered after a second like you had pulled him out of his thoughts. You raised your eyebrow at him, "You alright?" 

Tech sat still in his chair, his sharp brown eyes staring you down. The only movement he made was his left hand reaching up to adjust the goggles on his face. He took in a deep breath, "Come over here." 

You gave him a surprised look. This tends to be out of the ordinary for him. The two of you had been doing a small dance around each other for months now, trying to see if the other liked each other more than friends. It was obvious to everyone else around them and they never failed to tell you that. Tech has never been forward like this. 

Your curiosity gets the better of you. You stand up walking the short distance from your chair over to where he sat. When you were close enough, he reached out and pulled you into his lap, making you squeak in surprise. His hands lightly rested on your hips, leaving you plenty of space to move away if you wish.

He gazed at you through his goggles, "Would you allow me… To make love to you." 

You blinked once or twice, your brain processing his words for a second. Being this close to him, you could see the small blush on his cheeks. You made a small smile, nodding your head, "Please." 

Tech took the opportunity and leaned forward, kissing you on the lips. You made a small hum, moving your head to accommodate his goggles. This isn't the first time you've kissed him. There was a drunken night between the two of you where there was a small bruise on your cheek from accidentally hitting his goggles. This was the first time the two of you kissed without the hindrance of something else in your systems. 

You wrapped your arms around his bare shoulders, lightly pressing yourself up against him as he ran his tongue over your bottom lip. You gave him easy access, making a small moan at the feeling of your tongues sliding against each other. That seemed to push Tech forward, he pushed his hands under your shirt, pulling it up over your head. The clothing dropped to the floor followed quickly with your bra. Tech's hands started to wander, mapping out your torso, taking a moment to grope your breasts. His thumbs ran over your nipples, playing with them until they were hard. 

You decide to take the initiative, moving away from his lips and starting to kiss down his jaw and neck. You paused at the sensitive skin right at the base of his giving that spot more attention. He granted you with a whimper that sounded amazing from him. You instantly wanted to hear that again and again, so you started to slowly grind your hips down against his lap. Through your pants, you were able to feel he was already hard as he rocked his hips up against yours. 

"Is that a pistol in your pocket or are you happy to see me?" You teased him lightly, leaning back some to get a good look at the man flushed in front of him. His goggles were knocked out of place and his blush had increased dramatically, it spread to his shoulders and chest. 

You got a snort and a small crooked smile from Tech. Moving his hands down to your ass, using them a moment to guide your hips on top of him. Both of you shuttering at the pleasure you got from each other. 

"You might be a little surprised when it doesn't shoot blaster bolts." Tech teased, his hands moving away from your clothed ass to the underside of your thighs. He promoted a laugh from you from his words, not expecting him to say something like that. 

While he had you distracted with your laughter, he shifted under you, pulling you into his arms and standing up. He held you with some surprising strength that only a clone could have. You instantly wrapped your arms around his shoulders, holding onto him out of the small worry that he might drop you. He walked the two of you over to the bunks, laying you down on the bottom one. 

"This spot is probably better for now." Tech hummed as he crawled over you, "Eventually I want you in the pilot's chair. If this ever happens again." 

"You've thought about this with me?" You asked, pulling him close to you again, his chest pressing flush to yours. The warmth from his body was already starting to become an addiction. 

"Yes." He hissed out, leaning down, pulling you into another kiss. You made a small groan from the kiss once again, your legs instinctively wrapping around his hips so he could grind down against you. 

He moved away from your kiss, slowly moving down your body, kissing and sucking on your neck and chest pulling all kinds of sounds from him. Eventually, he got to your hips, his long fingers dipping under the waistband of your pants. He paused for a moment looking up at you to silently ask you again for permission. You nodded your head and your pants and underwear were quick to be pulled from your body.

"Marvelous." Tech breathed looking down at you completely bare for him. You were flushed just as much as him feeling a little subconscious now that you had his complete attention. His hands moved down your sides to your hips and then between your thighs. His hand moved between your legs, being quick to find your clit, rubbing it in small circles. Your back arched off the bunk a little as you let out a deep moan from the pleasure it brought you. 

"Oh my god, Tech." You gasped as you felt him slide one of his fingers in you, meeting barely any resistance from how wet you were. His breathing was uneven as he watched you squirm under his touch. 

He was quick to add in another finger to make sure you would be able to take him. You were so worked up that his menstruations had you already close to your peak. Tech let out a heavy moan at the sight, pulling away, "You are absolutely gorgeous." 

"Tech." You shuttered at his compliments. He smiled down at you, shifting himself as he pulled the last bit of clothing that was still on his body off. You gasped at the sight of him in his naked glory in front of you. He looked divine. 

"As much as I would love to see you cum from just my hands, I would prefer to see you cum on my cock." Tech's voice was deep and breathy, sending shivers up your spine. He grabbed your thighs to shift the two of you in a good position between your legs. He ended up pulling one of your legs on his shoulder. 

"W-Wait." You gasped suddenly freezing, "Protection." 

Tech paused looking down at you confused for a moment, "You mean condoms? I doubt they're hardly necessary. Clones are sterile and we were designed to not be able to contract illnesses easily. Plus we were tested regularly. I'm clean. Are you?" 

"Yeah." You breathed still looking up at him, a little concerned. He leaned down kissing you softly on the lips, moving your leg so you didn't have to stretch it too far, "Then there should be nothing to be concerned about."  

The two of you kissed a bit more and you slowly moved away again to ask him a question, "Are you sure? You're not lying to me are you?"

"Why would I lie to you?" Tech gave you a confused look and you looked away from him off into the distance, biting your lip.

"If you don't want to do this, you can just tell me." Tech's voice was laced with concern now. You jerked your eyes back to the man on top of you, "What? No, I do! Sorry." 

Tech stayed where he was. His thumbs lightly stroked your skin, "Would you feel better if I were to find some form of protection?" 

You thought about it for a second, a little concerned you ruined the mood. But as you glanced down, you saw he was still hard, flushed red, and leaking precum out of the tip. You found yourself shaking your head no. 

"I need to hear you say it." Tech's voice was soft as he leaned down again giving you a small kiss on your cheek. 

"Tech, I want you to fuck me." You breathed, your hands reaching up to wrap around his shoulders. Tech's breath hitched, his exhale another whimper. 

"As you wish, my dear." That was all the motivation he needed, moving the two of them again between your legs. He slowly slid his dick into you making you gasp at the stretch. He started to set a steady pace, the both of you pulling moans from each other. You ran your nails up his back, probably leaving small little lines. He leaned down kissing your neck more leaving small bites that will probably leave a mark. 

Eventually, he angled his hips right, hitting a spot in you that practically made you scream. The both of you panting and moaning, a small sheen of sweat on both of your skins. He hit the spot a few more times and before you could warn him, you felt yourself cuming around his cock. His name is like a prayer on your lips.

"Oh fuck." Tech gasped his hips rocking into you as you felt your walls squeeze around him. He made a few more weak thrusts and then he was cumming inside you. You moaned at the feeling of his warm, white seed filling you. The both of you held onto each other tightly, panting hard as you came down from the high of the orgasm. 

"That was…" you breathed as Tech shifted himself so he could lean up and kiss you on the lips. He smiled softly against your lips, "Yeah." 

The two of you stayed like that for a moment, softly kissing each other as he got soft in you. Eventually, he pulled away both of you groaning at the feeling of him pulling out of you. 

"I will be right back," Tech informed, moving off the small bunk the two of you were on. He went into the small fresher on the ship, eventually coming back with a small damp towel. You had moved to your side but moved again as he settled himself between your legs again. He gently ran the cloth over you, efficiently cleaning you up. Once he was done he lightly tapped your thigh, making the sound of a slap, but not being painful at all. 

"Okay. Go use the fresher and then come back here." Tech instructed, his voice is softer than it normally is. Honestly, it sounds very similar to the sound of him waking up and still feeling tired. You nod, moving out of the bunk as he laid down on it in your place. You went to the fresher doing your business and returned like he had asked you to. He was still in the bunk, naked, but with a blanket laying over his hips. He had his tablet in his hands. He put it aside when he saw you, motioning for you to join him. 

"Didn't think you would be the type to be a cuddler after sex." You teased him lightly as you laid back down on the small bunk, Tech wrapped his arms around your waist pulling you into a spooning position. He made a small huff kissing your shoulder as you wrapped the blanket around the two of you. 

"Don't want to let go of you yet." 

[halfmoth-halfman]

may i interest you in some fic recs????😉

y'all know the drill, we got a rec list for fics i read, liked, and were written in the month of may!! there were so many that i actually had to split this into two posts cause tumblr has a link limit LOL

if you wanna see more more of my fic recs and favs, i have em all on my recs blog, here!! please note the navi page is still under construction!!

and of course, if you have any fic recs of your own, feel free to send em my way here or on my sideblog - i love finding new fics and writers!! 💜

may fic recs pt. 2

Alex Keller

sfw headcanons - @deadbranch

✧ super solid characterization for alex, like you took how i imagine alex to be and explained it in the perfect way. like this line alone "Bearing his thoughtful & intentional demeanor in mind, he is sometimes reticent as he considers how to respond." what is it like to be able to understand a character so well, and be able to so beautifully explain them??

Anakin Skywalker

redshift - @chaoskrakenuwu

✧ how dare you pull me back into my star wars hyperfixation, and even more so how dare you make me feel things for anakin goddamn skywalker 😭 even though i knew what was going to happen, you still have me tearing up every time i read about anakin and his big feelings

Arthur Morgan

until the last falling star || blood upon the snow - @lunallaa

✧ i always love me a good arthur morgan fic and this was absolutely fantastic!! i cannot wait to see where this goes, i know it's going to be amazing because you're characterization of arthur (and the rest of the gang) is *chef's kiss*

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw

i fully blame @uselsshuman & @lunallaa for introducing me to tg:m and giving me brainrot and also cannot thank them enough!!

right now - @uselsshuman

✧ i'm such a sucker for characters holding in their feelings until a life or death situation when they finally confess, and you wrote it so great. i was giggling, and twirling my hair and cheering along with the rest of the squad at the end!!

i wanna hold you - @uselsshuman

✧ love me a good panic attack/comfort fic and this scratched that itch so unbelievably well!! it felt v close to my own experience with panic attacks and really hit home for me. very easily one of my fav new comfort fics!!

Carlos Oliveira

untitled - @cowboybxtch

✧ yeah i've been stunned to silence with this one absolutely no words just

David "Hesh" Walker

crimson fangs sing me lullabies - @halcyone-of-the-sea

✧ it's the way that i dropped everything to consume all 18k words of this fic like my entire life depended on it!! i've been turned into a hesh girlie, i am obsessed, taken over by the absolute perfection of this fic

Jake "Hangman" Seresin

darlin' loves only a game - @uselsshuman

✧ i need more "teaching someone how to play pool" fics in my life, esp ones like this!! the teasing, the hands on the hips, the flirty touching i need all of it. such a cute, fun fic emma i love it

would that i - @uselsshuman

✧ "The small tabby cat that had been your kitchen companion—affectionately named Sock for his one white paw." forget everything else, Sock is my new favorite character. this is a Sock stan account now. for real tho, i love the way you write jake and make him the perfect amount of tease and gentleman!!

Javy "Coyote" Machado

worry, my love - @uselsshuman

✧ ahh the source of my tg:m hyperfixation, i was so excited when you posted this and read it about 87 times and i'll probably read it 87 more time tbh. i love javy and the way you write him (and him using the word skedaddle LOL)

John "Soap" MacTavish

right person - @halcyone-of-the-sea

✧ how dare you. really, who gave you the right to do this to me? why must you hurt me in this way? why must you write so beautifully and so captivatingly that i literally could not put this down despite the ever growing pit in my stomach? you've ripped out my heart and crushed it to tiny pieces and all i can say is thank you and how dare you

cleaned up - @bloodyknucklesforme

✧ this was so cute, and omg i adore nina. she's so funny, and their banter and her little quips are adorable. “Next time have Kyle spray you down before you get back." adksadlj i love her.

memories are fresh - @mvtthewmurdvck

✧ it's not a fic rec list if i don't include a piece from jo that completely breaks my heart and then puts it all back together again with such beautiful words and sweet moments. idk how you manage to work my emotions so well, i'm in complete awe of your ability and talents.

infinity in the palm of your hand (eternity in an hour) - @yeyinde

✧ hello?? reincarnation!au??? soulmates??? not even a paragraph in and i'm completely bewitched by this fic. i can't be expected to be normal after this, this fic has re-shaped the way i feel and think and read.

[dalniente]

for the fic writers ask meme, i’m rather curious about 9 & 10; which of your fics did you find the easiest and hardest to write?

From this ask meme!

Which fic has been the hardest to write?

Each fic has its own challenges, but right now, it's probably a tie between Swansong and the Cold Fusion series. And for similar reasons! Both have complex plots - Swansong's is primarily emotional, with Megamind processing complex grief and a broken (and then new) mental link, and Roxanne processing having a roommate going through emotional turmoil, plus some mental stuff of her own...and then Metro Man's whole thing, and holy shit maybe there's still a chance, and mixing hope into the grief mix is just a fucking nightmare for everyone involved, and djf;aldjfa;ldjadflj;afjdj it's a mess. And because it's written in third person limited, rather than omniscient, there's only so much that I can tell readers directly. Which, in a story with so much happening internally, was...extremely frustrating, at times!

Cold Fusion's complexity is more events-based, but in that one I am having to balance the fact that there ARE external plotlines happening against the fact that...the primary focus of those fics is on the characters and their development. Also, for a LONG LONG TIME, I did not actually KNOW what the plot was, I was just sort of winging it, and now I DO know, and it's a lot bigger than I expected it to be? Which I think some people may not like. And on one hand, fuck 'em, I'm writing for me, but on the other hand, I do write fanfiction with my end goal being to share it with people, so my readers' enjoyment is absolutely a thing I have in mind, I'm not JUST writing for me. So, aaaaaaaaaaaa.

I am now also having to grapple with the fact that when I started writing Cold Fusion, many of my headcanons were different from what they are now. I was originally very set on it being canon-compliant, on ONLY working with things we knew from the source material and not doing my own worldbuilding more than was absolutely necessary. And then I fell into a depression hole for like 3 or 4 years and could barely force myself to write at all, and when I finally came blasting out of that hole on the Wellbutrin-fueled jet pack I titled Dive, the amount I cared about "canon compliant" had plummeted to pretty much zero. Writing Swansong helped with that, I think -- I had basically been writing nothing but Cold Fusion for AGES, and then Ramendobe slapped me in the face with that prompt, and I discovered that writing universe alterations was a lot of fun! And then Dive punted my desire to stay canon-compliant into the sun. So now, rewriting Cold Fusion as I post it to AO3, I am working with characters who are different from the way I now write them in other fics. I'm bringing some of my newer headcanons into that universe for shits and giggles, but still. It's an odd feeling.

Which fic has been the easiest to write?

Another tie! Because I cannot make decision.

By Chance, which I wrote because my buddy ElfKid dropped a prompt into my askbox when I was like, "holy shit the ADHD is BAD tonight and I wanna see if I can write a one-shot in one evening," I think...? aahahaha actually no I just went and looked it up, and I had tagged my 'weh ADHD sucks' post with #hey if anyone is reading this send me a writing prompt and let's see wtf happens when i can't motherfuckin think lmaoooo and...I basically sat down, put the best of black sabbath on loop, and waited to see what fell out of my hands. And it was that. (Here's the original tumblr edition.)

and everything emptying into white was originally just some tags I had put on an ask from another friend of mine about Megamind purring, and I couldn't stop thinking about them and that day at work just SUCKED ASS and so I copied and pasted them into an AO3 draft on my phone at work and churned that out over the course of my lunch break. And then added a bunch to it during the next couple days.

(and I gotta give an honorable mention to Dive. I basically churned that thing out in less than a week of HOLY SHIT I HAVEN'T WRITTEN ANYTHING IN YEARS AND MY BRAIN JUST WOKE UP AND REMEMBERED HOW TO ENJOY THINGS adrenaline, it was great. It wasn't as easy to write as the other two, simply because it wasn't as short & sweet, but it was easy and I owe that fic a lot. So.)

[ynscrazylife]

I saw your post about doing requests for Pride & was wondering if you could please do a Natasha Romanoff x Reader fic. Reader who's a part of The Avengers & is out gets invited to be a part of NYC's Pride Parade. Reader & Natasha end up coming out as a couple at the parade. Thanks & happy pride.

Not a Phase | n.r fic

Summary: Y/N and Natasha reveal to the Avengers (and the public) that they’re girlfriends at NYC’s Pride event.

Authors Note: Thanks for requesting and happy pride to you and everyone, too! You’re all valid ❤️🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️

Request to be on a Taglist (or multiple) here! (Taglists are at the end of the fic)

MCU Masterlist #1 | MCU Masterlist #2 | Main Masterlist

PSA: Do NOT copy, steal, translate, plagiarize, republish, etc any of my works on Tumblr or any other platform. Also, do NOT claim any of my works as your own. All of works are either requests I’ve gotten that people have wanted me to write or original ideas I’ve had for works. If you happen to take inspiration from anything I’ve written and want to write something inspired by that, please a) ask me first and b) IF I say yes, credit me as inspo in your post by tagging me and link whatever work of mine that inspired you. Thanks.

header c @/marvelocks

Even with Natasha’s excellent spy skills, it was proving difficult to keep hers and Y/N’s relationship a secret from the rest of their team. It wasn’t like they couldn’t tell them - they wanted to, but they hadn't yet for a couple of reasons. The first one being that they wanted to wait until their relationship was more serious and didn’t want the entire team knowing yet - it felt more special that way. However, their relationship was now more serious, and the second reason that they hadn’t told the Avengers yet was that they didn’t know how to tell them. 

Natasha had opted for a more simpler reveal, wanting to just tell them casually, but she had to respect that Y/N had wanted to go all out for this. Especially since June was arriving soon and Y/N wanted to plan something special for Pride.

They were struggling with what that “something special” would be, though.

Y/N thought of throwing a party, then scratched that out and said dinner - but decided that was too simple - and next thought of telling everyone individually and telling them they couldn’t tell each other to see who’d let it slip first. Natasha had voted for that one and even proposed that they place bets on who’d break first. They were pretty much set on this, until something came up.

Everyone was hanging out in the living room: watching T.V, eating snacks, talking, etc. The only person that was missing was Tony, who promptly ran in seconds later with his iPad made by Stark Industries. 

“Guys - guys, there’s a Pride event happening tomorrow!” He exclaimed with the biggest grin.

Sam paused from his epic ping pong battle with Bucky. “We know, Stark,” he said, cursing as he lost a round.

Tony scoffed. “Look,” he said, exasperated, and pointed to the tablet’s screen. The rest leaned forward and looked and, with squinted eyes, read an email to Tony and Steve about the Pride event’s organizers wanting the Avengers to come. “They want us to do something.”

Y/N immediately sat straight up with a dramatic gasp, her lips quickly looping into a smile. She locked eyes with Natasha, who raised an eyebrow at her. “Leave it to me. I have the perfect idea. Nat, will you help?” she said.

Natasha concealed her smirk, leaning back against the couch. She caught on, and could practically see the wheels turning in her girlfriend’s head. “Of course,” she replied.

It was set. Y/N and Natasha would take care of what the Avengers would do - but when Natasha asked Y/N about it, she admitted that she didn’t have an idea yet. All she knew was that that was how she wanted to reveal to her teammates that she and Natasha were dating, and the redheaded spy agreed.

When it came time for the parade, Y/N was biting her lip and not really talking much, just trying to take in her surroundings, as she still didn’t have an idea. Once her eyes soaked in the rainbow colored everything — the streets of NYC closed off, flags, signs, dancing, singing — it made everything 10x better. She felt at ease. At home.

The Avengers soon immersed themselves in the crowd. Talking with fans, signing autographs, posing for pictures. The entire team was decked out in rainbow and Pride gear. Face paint, dresses, shirts, all of it. Y/N even had her and Natasha’s flags tucked into her pocket.

The idea that she and Natasha needed to do something floated out of her mind, until she saw a band getting onto a built-in stage, beginning to play a song. Y/N grinned when she recognized it — “Not a Phase”.

As the song began, Y/N locked eyes with Natasha again as she finished signing a fan’s paper. They both grinned. Almost immediately, everyone began falling into a dance like second nature, and only Y/N could see that Natasha was mouthing the lyrics to her.

Y/N finally got an idea and walked over to Natasha, singing quietly, “At first I wasn’t sure of it, then I was just okay with it-” she continued singing as she grabbed Natasha’s hand and slowly led her onto the stage. “-I cannot get enough of it, now I love it.”

As the best dropped and the lead singer began with the “It’s not a phase,” line, Y/N cupped Natasha’s cheek and kissed her. Natasha immediately kissed her back and wrapped her arms around Y/N’s waist, one hand in her hair. She continued the kiss by dipping Y/N.

The crowd erupted in cheers - but even more so when they realized that the people kissing were two Avengers. The rest of the Avengers had turned their attention to the band when the music began, and their eyes were wide and jaw open to see two of their friends kissing.

After Y/N was dipped, she curled one leg around Natasha’s waist and Natasha hoisted her up, carrying her off the stage. On the sidewalk, Natasha put her down, where the Avengers shuffled towards to meet them.

“Was that your plan?” Steve asked with a smile, but still stunned.

Y/N nodded.

Wanda immediately squealed and hugged both of them, and the rest expressed their congratulations and support.

Y/N dug her and Natasha’s flags out of her pocket and showed them off before Natasha kissed her again, making everyone cheer once more.

Permanent Taglist: @natasharomanoffismywife @hehehehannahthings @paulawand @blackbat2020 @cerberus-spectre @marrymemcgrath @celestialbarnes @narcissasslytherin @snipyloulou @big-galaxy-chaos

MCU Taglist: @stephanieromanoff @summerlovingbaby @ineffablebean @okkulta @procrastinatingsapphictrash @prettysbliss @legolas-with-hearing-aids @sarahp-stan @thewidowsghost @basiclesbianbitch @mycosmicparadise @kidswhofightmonsters @xtraordinaryfangrl @peggycarter-steverogers @username23345 @ima-gi--na-tion @hateinthemorning @hi-i-1 @mmmmokdok @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @mads-weasley @tenaciousperfectionunknown @lilclownx @acertainredhead

Natasha Romanoff Taglist: @madamevirgo

[therenlover]

Therenlover’s Official Fanfic Glossary!

Hey hey hey! This is the place where you can find all my up-to-date fanfics linked nicely, read about what projects I have upcoming, and learn what requests I’m taking at the moment! Cheers!

This post is massive so, for the sake of your dash, everything is under the cut

A NOTE ABOUT REQUESTS!

I will do my best to fulfill any requests I get while my ask box/requests are open! That being said, I cannot promise every request will get done, and that if they do, they’ll be done in a timely manner. I’m currently working on a long-form project that needs a lot of time and energy to come out consistently, so unless I’m doing a writing event most of my writing juice will be focused on that. That being said, if you want something ask! The worst I can possibly do is direct you towards someone else who might be able to write what you want if I cant.

If I choose not to do your request based on personal preference (it makes me uncomfy/I don’t write for the character at that time/I don’t feel I can write what you want/etc.) I will do my best to contact you and let you know! That being said, if you think your ask got buried/forgotten, feel free to message me again and let me know, but please tell me when you message me if I should be looking for a prior request.

Characters/Fandoms I will write for currently

 💙 = I’m Currently Super Inspired To Write For This Character

Marvel/X-Men

Bucky Barnes

Loki

Peter Maximoff 💙

Pietro Maximoff

Helmut Zemo 💙

Hank McCoy

Ralph Bohner 💙

Vision

American Horror Story

Tate Langdon

Kit Walker 💙

Kyle Spencer (Pre- and Post- Death)

Jimmy Darling 💙

James Patrick March 💙

Kai Anderson

Fallout 4

Nick Valentine

Hancock

Star Wars

Poe Dameron

Armitage Hux 💙

Kylo Ren/Ben Solo

Finn

Han Solo

Assorted/Random

Diarmuid Ua Duibhne - FGO

Cu Chulainn/Cu Alter - FGO

Warren Lipka - American Animals 💙

Enjolras - Les Miserables

Grantaire - Les Miserables

Gabriel - Supernatural

Imagines - REQUESTS CLOSED

Songs From Musicals Y/N Would Sing To The Evans

Characters: Tate Langdon, Kit Walker, Kyle Spencer, Jimmy Darling, James Patrick March, Kai Anderson, Peter Maximoff

Rating: T

How The Evans (+ Quicksilver) Would React To Yoplait’s New Gushers Yogurt

Characters: Tate Langdon, Kit Walker, Kyle Spencer, Jimmy Darling, James Patrick March, Rory Monahan, Kai Anderson, Peter Maximoff

Rating: T

Would The Danny Bunch Survive A Holiday With My Family?

Characters: Laszlo Kreizler, Alex Kerner, Niki Lauda, Andrea Marowski, Ernst Schmidt, Helmut Zemo

Rating: T

Headcanons - REQUESTS CLOSED

Modern! AU Armitage Hux Boyfriend Headcanons

Zemo With A Well Dress S/O Headcanons

Zemo Getting Jealous Headcanons

Oneshots - REQUESTS CLOSED

Marvel/X-Men

Helmut Zemo

One Last Night In Madripoor

Synopsis: Baron Helmut Zemo is a lonely, wanted man looking for some fun, you’re a piss-poor bounty hunter in search of a connection before leaving your life of crime behind, and fate has brought you together at a party the likes of which has never been seen before. You only have one night left in Madripoor, so why not take a chance?

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 4200~

Still Some Catching Up To Do

Synopsis: As a member of the criminal underworld, people walk out of your life all the time. Some are killed, others kill themselves, most get caught and only a couple get out of the life unscathed, disappearing into the world never to be seen again. Very few walk back in. So when your supposedly incarcerated ex-lover, the Winter Soldier, and the Falcon waltzed through your door and made you murder your boss, needless to say, you were surprised and more than a little bit pissed.

Rating: 16+

Word Count: 6800~

Nine Years Starved

Synopsis: It had been a little over nine years since Helmut Zemo lost his family, his country, and his sanity. Nine years since his last kiss. Nine years since he felt like a human man. Finally, he was ready to start over again, but first, he had to pay his penance back where it all began; Novi Grad. That’s when, by the grace of the fates, he met you.

Rating: G

Word Count: 7000~

Daddy Dearest

Synopsis: Not everyone gets lucky enough to go from being a broke college student in New York to being the sugar baby to literal royalty, but not everyone is you. Most people would be worried about messing things up or losing him to someone else, but you knew he would never find another baby just like you. Besides, you knew exactly what to do to keep him wrapped around your little finger. He may have been the daddy, but you pulled the reins.

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 8000~

In Fleeting Touches & Airy Sighs

Part One   Part Two   Part Three   Part Four

Synopsis: As a wanted man, Helmut Zemo spends most of his time jumping from place to place in the hopes of avoiding a trip back to prison. Unfortunately, that means he can’t always be home in your arms. When he is, though, in the rare moments of calm, you’re reminded of just how worth it it’s been to wait, even if that wait was only shortened by the arrival of your enemies.

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 35,700~

Two Bodies In The Rain

Synopsis: It was raining the day you finally had to admit your feelings to Helmut. You hated to tell him the way you did, under the grey skies as your blood pooled below you, but at least you knew, in the end, he had seen the real you, even just once. That was enough.

Rating: T

Word Count: 5600~

Rest

Synopsis: Living life on the lam with your escaped super-villain lover means things rarely slow down enough for a real rest. When the exhaustion starts to take its toll on you, though, he knows exactly what to do to ease the pain. He may not be a good man, but he’s a good husband when it counts.

Rating: T

Word Count: 3200~

American Horror Story

Jimmy Darling

Red Nights In Jupiter

Synopsis: At the end of another long day, you fall into bed with Jimmy Darling. The men you served throughout the day don’t matter then, nor do the coins in the mason jar by the door, or the women scheduled to attend Jimmy’s next Tupperware party. No, in that quiet darkness it’s just you and the man you love, bone-tired and happy to be home. Who could ask for more?

Rating: 16+

Word Count: 3000~

James Patrick March

Heartsick

Synopsis: When you fall ill, James is given a forceful awakening about how he’s been neglecting your needs and what he must do to prevent harm from befalling you again.

Rating: 16+

Word Count: 3700~

In Sickness And In Health

Synopsis: Normally people don’t have their wedding and funeral on the same day, but you and James don’t quite have a normal relationship, do you? Besides, you wouldn’t wanna go any other way.

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 5500~

Fallout 4

Currently Empty

Star Wars

Currently Empty

Assorted/Random

Currently Empty

Long Form Works/Series

Young Artist!Zemo AU

Chapter One: The Boy With The Easel

Synopsis: About a month into your first semester at Novi Grad’s top university, you finally meet the strange young man that you’ve taken to calling “easel boy” in the back of a bookshop. From a distance, he always seemed cold and aloof. As you get to know him, though, you realize things aren’t always what they seem.

Rating: T

Word Count: 7000~

Till Forever Falls Apart (A Peter Maximoff/Reader Series)

Chapter One: Welcome Home

Synopsis: As if getting thrown through the multiverse, trapped in an attic (albeit a cool one), mind-controlled to manipulate his grieving sister, and subsequently dragged out of Westview “for his own safety” by the FBI wasn’t enough, Peter Maximoff has now been shipped off to New York to live with a glorified baby sitter like some tragic orphan in a comic book until they find a way to get him back home. Things are not always as they seem, though, and this change might just be for the better.

Rating: T

Word Count: 2400~

Chapter Two: The Doctor Is In

Synopsis: Peter’s first few days in his new home are mostly uneventful, so he decides it’s the perfect time to dust off his running goggles and steal some shit. The building with the massive circular stained glass window seems like a great place to start! People with buildings that lavish are usually rich and weak, so what could possibly go wrong?

Rating: T

Word Count: 2800~

Chapter Three: It’s Always Been You

Synopsis: After a month of adapting to his new universe, Peter Maximoff can confidently say that he likes his new life more than his old one. Sure, he misses home sometimes, but he’s been far too busy flirting with his new roommate to spend time crying over the things he’s lost. Everything is smooth sailing until a strange journal in his roommate’s study leaves him with more questions than he knows what to do with. Now he’s on a mission to discover who he’s really living with before she has the chance to turn against him.

Rating: T

Word Count: 8600~

Chapter Four: Before You Go

Synopsis: Peter, after days of contemplation, has realized that part of him loves Y/N no matter what she is or what she’s been through. Unfortunately, he can’t find her anywhere. When she finally returns home with the intention of leaving again, Peter realizes it’s his last chance to tell her how he really feels. Will he succeed, or will he fail to be fast enough once again?

Rating: T

Word Count: 4000~

Chapter Four And A Half: Gimme Swayze

Synopsis: Now that the issue of Y/N leaving is out of the way, and Peter has finally kissed her, he falls into the motions of learning how to love someone for the first time. It’s easier than he thought it would be.

Rating: T

Word Count; 2600~

Cakes For The Evans: A Blogging And Baking Adventure!

Kai Anderson’s Disaster Cake

Hey you! If you’ve made it this far down the list, thanks for supporting me as an author! I’ll be linking my AO3 here. I post everything there shortly before I post it here, and there are some older fics there you might enjoy along the way! It’s also easier to drop comments over there and I keep them open for non-members, so give me a shout if you liked what I wrote!

I love you all, you make me so happy, and without you support I would never be motivated to write! Cheers!

[insaneoldme]

Can you rec buddie fics? Pretty please?

OMG it's my time to shine, bitches!!!

Sorry if I went a little nuts, but this fandom has some of the best writers I've ever seen. I have 186 Buddie fics bookmarked in my AO3,

I'll link here if you are interested in taking a look cause if I put them all here it would be too long. Also, I tried to show here some fics I very rarely see recced, and a little bit o the classics. This fandom has some very underrated authors, everyone in my bookmarks is worth taking a look really.

Please take a look at the warnings before reading, enjoy!!!

I Hate Accidents (Except When We Went From Friends to This) by morganofthefairies (Rated E )

Buck and Eddie had always been unconventional. Neither of them gave it much thought – they were just them. Buck and Eddie - partners, best friends, co-parents – just as entangled in each other’s lives as any actual couple in the 118.

Or, the story of how Buck and Eddie went about their relationship in entirely the wrong order.

My Heart's Been Borrowed by ElvenSorceress (Rated E)

aka the one where Taylor gives Buck his ultimate fantasy and uncovers far more than either of them expected, forcing him to confront his long held feelings for Eddie

Half Awake in Our Fake Empire by HMSLusitania (Rated E)

Buck 1.0 fathered a child and Buck 4.0 comes into custody.

Love and Bullets Both Shatter Hearts (But Only One Can Put You Back Together) (Rated E)

Agent [Redacted] Diaz is the best at what he does. Usually. But lately there's this real pain in the ass* who's been ruining his missions: Code Name "Buck."

Keep It On by R_E_R6 (Rated E)

When Eddie walks in on Buck, bent over in nothing but a hoodie, their plans for the night immediately change. Buck's outfit though? Well, Eddie requests that it stays the same...for reasons.

Heart of Flowers / Heart of Gold by ElvenSorceress (Rated T)

Buck nearly loses everything and Eddie has to follow his heart

hungry for your love by evcndiaz (Rated G)

prompt: "who’s gonna write a fanfic where chris is not cooperating with buck and eddie accidentally says “listen to your dad”?"

or; breadsticks are a metaphor for love and boning

keep your eyes on the road by iriswests (Rated M)

A glimpse into buck and eddie’s developing relationship, told through ten moments stopped at a traffic light

when things fall into place by woodchoc_magnum (Rated M)

In which Eddie asks Buck to move in with them during lockdown to help look after Christopher, which leads to certain unresolved feelings being resolved.

Carbon Date Me, Excavate Me by extasiswings, letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Rated E)

Evan "Buck" Buckley has made a name for himself as the independent bad boy of archaeology. At least, until Professor Eddie Diaz shows up with his fedora and good looks and starts beating Buck to the punch more often than not.

Buck hates his stupid six-pack covered guts.

Except for how... he might not.

Objects in the Mirror by SevenSoulmates (Rated E)

The voice had always been around, Eddie remembers it, like a stream of consciousness that babbled incoherently to the point where Eddie just tuned it out.

But then the voice started speaking directly to him. Conversing like he was a whole person standing right in front of him. Like he could see what was happening around Eddie.

Eddie shook his head. No one was talking to him, and Eddie most certainly was not talking back.

He wouldn’t talk to the boy in his head ever again. There was no boy in his head.

ripples all the way down by iriswests (Rated M)

christopher partakes in some parent trapping

dream of some epiphany by extasiswings (Rated M)

Evan Buckley is lost.

It’s happenstance that he wanders into the navy recruiting center—he’s been in San Diego for a few weeks, bartending late nights and weekends, living in a house with three other guys not because he needs the roommates but because he doesn’t want to be alone, and the military is…respectable. Stable. So Buck thinks maybe and opens the door.

Buck leaves ten minutes later with a set of printed instructions for sending his first letter, assured that he can drop it off whenever he’s ready, and a name.

Staff Sergeant Edmundo “Eddie” Diaz.

Relationship Advice from Complete Strangers Online by HMSLusitania (Rated T)

Hi, I’ve never made a Reddit post before and I’m not 100% sure what I’m doing but I need advice and can’t ask anyone in my real life. So, I [30M] have this best friend [34M]…

Leading with the Left by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Rated E)

When Buck said he was a "bartender" in "South America" what he actually meant was "stripper" in "Mexico."

And when Eddie said, "What's your problem?" what he actually meant was, "Is this about the time you gave me a lap dance?"

In other words, there's a few things the 118 doesn't know about Buck. Or Eddie. Or Buck and Eddie's relationship.

fireflies where my caution should be by littlesnowpea (Rated M)

“You never talk about your parents,” Eddie says, which is not even remotely what Buck expects Eddie to say. He frowns, tilts his head, but it isn’t a question, as evidenced by Eddie charging on. “I never asked because I figured it was your business, but the look on your face any time they’re brought up tells me you don’t get along.”

Buck swallows hard, against a lump in his throat. His parents? Eddie’s right, he never talks about them, for good reason. He opens his mouth, then closes it again, not sure what he’s even going to say.

Eddie takes it as the answer Buck is trying to make it out to be. He squeezes Buck’s wrist again, takes a deep breath, like he’s on a call with someone who’s panicking. Buck finds his breathing slowing to match Eddie’s, and Eddie nods as Buck gets it under control.

“There are people on the porch,” Eddie says, voice even. “Saying they want to meet their grandchild.”

Asked, Offered, Given, (He's) Taken by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Rated E)

People like to flirt with Buck on calls. It kind of makes Buck uncomfortable.

And that makes Eddie frustrated.

I Hit the Accelerator (But the Car was in Reverse) by extasiswings, letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Rated E)

When Buck is forced to confront the truth about his breakup with Abby, having casual sex with his hot new coworker seems like the best rebound idea.

Unfortunately, that hot new coworker turns into his best friend. But best friends can keep having sex with each other, right?

There's no way this could possibly go wrong.

Memorable by JessicaMDawn (Rated T)

Six times Buck got recognized by people he saved during the tsunami, and how his team realized he was a hero.

All Bets are Off by NobodyKnows_U (Not Rated)

Or, the five times the firefam realized Buck and Eddie were in love, and the one-time Eddie finally did something about it.

fire on fire by extasiswings (Rated T)

Or: Buck and Eddie get in the habit of sharing a bed while living together during quarantine. It's platonic until it isn't.

Better Together by Randomfandombloggs09 (Not Rated)

5 times Eddie sees Buck wearing his last name and 1 time its not just his

Daddy and Pops by EdithBlake (Rated M)

When Christopher calls Buck 'Pops' things get a bit confusing. Buck and Eddie have a talk with Christopher that ends up with both of them being even more confused by how right it sounds.

the meaning of the words you see by florenceandthemachine (Rated E)

unknown sender: Hi!

unknown sender: Just wanted to say thanks for letting me buy you a drink, and for your number. Sorry I had to run.

unknown sender: I’m Eddie by the way.

sent: hey um

sent: i don’t want 2 be this guy but

sent: i think u mayb put the wrong # in ur phone

the dream you wish will come true by woodchoc_magnum (Rated M)

In which Christopher Diaz cannot understand why his father would want to date his former teacher when Evan Buckley is right there.

vienna waits for you by mottainai (Not Rated)

Eddie doesn't deserve a soulmate.

Work Husband by hideeho (Rated T)

“What...what have you done with Buck?” Eddie is going to kill him for messing with his phone. No, that’s too extreme. He’s going to maim him. Just a little.

“Check under H,” Chim offers helpfully, shooting a look over to Hen with a smirk.

Why the hell would he be under—

Then he sees it.

Husband.

Bad Neighbors by firstdegreefangirl (Rated E)

Eddie's new neighbors are keeping him up all night. He calls on his best friend for a little taste of their own medicine.

Cross the Line by Sirencalls (Rated E)

Eddie laughs, short and quiet and almost to himself. “No. If you want to learn, then I’m gonna be the one to teach you.”

Buck is pretty sure his brain stops working. “What? Why?”

Eddie turns to look at him and steps closer, their chests only a few inches apart. “Because there are people out there who will take advantage of how naïve you are. They’ll hurt you, and I won’t.” Eddie’s eyes are so intense that Buck doesn’t have any choice but to believe him. “If you want someone to do this for you, to—to dominate you, it has to be me. I don’t trust anyone else to do it right.”

pretty in pink by dykeevans (Rated E)

Buck forgets that he and Eddie made plans to hang out until Eddie shows up and Buck's in the middle of laundry day.

His laundry day outfit consists of a small pink crop top and grey sweatpants.

Eddie loses his damn mind. Me too, though, me too.

the distance to the stars by cloudydaisies (Rated G)

“Didn’t know you were seeing someone.”

Buck just laughs. Like, honest to god giggles. Eddie is stuck fighting off doubly massive waves of butterflies and confusion, all while Buck just gazes down at him.

“That’s cute,” he hears Buck mumble, just before climbing into the truck, calling Eddie after him.

-or, everyone knows eddie is dating buck except for eddie, literally.

Something Old, Something New by dumbhuman (Rated E)

“Damn, I love weddings!” Buck’s face lit up as he closed the door.

If asked later, Eddie wouldn’t have been able to explain what came over him in that moment to make him ask the question. Or, at least, he wouldn’t have wanted to explain. The exhaustion was an easy excuse, but he knew deep down that it wasn’t a real one.

“Why don’t you come with me?”

one of the few things by thatnerdemryn (Rated G)

five times that Eddie tells someone else that Buck is Christopher's legal guardian plus one time he finally tells Buck.

I Didn't Know I Was Lonely 'Til I Saw Your Face by HMSLusitania (Rated T)

Total strangers Buck and Eddie go to couple's therapy together to get out of the therapy requirements their captains have placed on them.

things we shouldn't do by Ingu (Rated T)

“Why is everybody taking my relationship status so personally? Can’t I be fine with being single?” Buck said.

“Hey, you don’t have to say yes, be sad and alone if that’s what you want,” Josh replied. “But, I’m just saying. I’ve seen photos and this guy is volcanic levels of hot. Also, single dad, super cute kid. Saves lives for a living like you. I think you should give it a go.”

(the one where Buck and Eddie accidentally get set up on a blind date with each other, and everything snowballs from there)

Keeping It In The Family by Wolves_of_Innistrad (Rated T)

A young man shows up at the firehouse looking for Buck. Turns out Javier was a Bartender with Buck in Mexico. He’s back in LA, looking to reconnect and very flirty. Cue Eddie realizing Buck is not as straight as he thought.

kiss me (like your ex is in the room) by rebeccaofsbfarm (Rated E)

Eddie Diaz gets drunk and protective and signs up for a fake double date to get back at his friend's ex.

Leave the Light On (I'll Be Coming Home) by HMSLusitania (Rated M)

An accident on a call leaves Buck with custody of Chris after Eddie is… missing presumed.

While they navigate their new family circumstances -- and fight to stay together, despite Eddie's parents' best efforts -- a John Doe wakes up in a coma ward with no memory of his own life beyond the knowledge he has a son named Christopher and, somehow, he needs to get home

All my Buddie AO3 bookmarks

As I said this fandom has some very talented people, some of my favorite Authors's Tumblrs below, I recommend all the things they wrote and their blogs are very good.

@elvensorceress, @hmslusitania, @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels, @extasiswings

For gifs:

@arrenemris, @skylessnights (very lovely AU gifsets)

@from-nova(good gifs & content)

For Podfics: @mistmarauder everything she ever read is amazing, her podfics are high quality and she has a very lovely voice and her presence calms me down lol I recommend it

I'm sorry there are a lot more people but I'm kinda in a rush haha most of the people I follow are amazing, but the ones I mentioned here are enough to get you started or entertained for a while.

Buddie fics are amazing, this pairing has spoiled me so much, everyone I met because of it is nice and so active and talented.

Sorry mutuals if I forgot someone! 

I hope I helped Anon, have fun!

(Tell me if any link is wrong please, thanks)

[creativeashproductions]

Welcome to Our Hell // Charlie Gillespie

IN WHICH: Charlie asks the reader a simple question that leads the man to fall down a rabbit hole of reading. Despite the panic you felt along with your fellow writers you still introduced and helped him navigate the pool of fanfiction.

Warnings: None (it’s actually possible with me??)

Words: 1k

A/N: I couldn’t resist making a tiny blurb about the revelation that Charlie has read fanfiction, that he enjoyed reading it. I actually talked about how Owen and Charlie would react to jatp fanfiction so sorry for manifesting 😬

ALL FICS MENTIONED ARE TAGGED.

TO BE TAGGED SEND AN INBOX/ASK PLEASE!

Masterlist

Your eyes slightly glanced up from your computer to where a certain someone was humming along to an Eagles song. His hips swayed as he slipped the egg in the pan, unaware of your eyes following him. He was entirely in his own world while he left you to finish up what he was led to believe was just school work.

The innate cheerful aura the male gave off regardless of the landscape had always been one of your favourite things about him. He saw the joy and good in things most people tended to overlook. It didn’t matter if he had his guitar in his hands or a cooking tool; he’d shoot that smile that melted your heart.

“Whatcha doin’?” Charlie questioned, peering over the island in the apartment you had rented in the city.

“Just doing some work.” You replied, beginning to type once more with a sudden burst of inspiration. You barely noticed he had slid the egg onto the plate before he was at your side.

“Are you writing for Tumblr?”

That one sentence froze you. Fingers stiffened above the well-loved keyboard of your computer you’d invested a fair amount of money on. Goosebumps swarmed every inch of your skin that suddenly lost a few shades.

Your skittish gaze found purchase in the warm ocean of hazel that bore no judgment, “Did you just say Tumblr? H-how do you know Tumblr Charlie?”

The Canadian hummed in response with a thoughtful expression, “I saw this really cool artwork, and it had a link. I followed it to Tumblr. It’s such a cool site.”

“It’s a hell site.” You deadpanned at the young actor who held no contempt for the different creativity methods unleashed in the fandom. Your e/c irises stayed stuck in a battle of colour with his own eyes.

“If it’s a hell site, why do you go on it?”

“It’s like a car crash or a burning building. It’s horrifying, but you stay to see which outcome ends up winning.” You had to carefully find the words to eloquently describe why you kept returning to a site that was frustrating at times.

“There’s so much diversity from songs, traditional art, poems, dances, covers and now writing. It’s insane.” Charlie chucked as he nudged the plate of breakfast he’d cooked for you, “I’m really digging the ‘90s Lalex books-”

“Fanfics. Fics for short.” You offered the man who held a slight expression of confusion that quickly cleared up, “And the writing has been going on since the series dropped. I’d be rich for every fic that referenced Luke’s aversion to sleeves.”

The boisterous laugh filled the room as Charlie hunched over. His arms wrapped around his midsection.

“Don’t you find it weird that there are fics about you?”

“Weird?” Charlie spoke, scrunching up his nose adorably. His hazel eyes lightened further, “Y/N, I’m not weirded out. I’m honoured that I made enough impact to have people writing about me.”

A small smile broke across your face, “You totally have a secret account, don’t you?”

“No. NO.” The whisper come in the dark of the bedroom where both sides of the couple should be sleeping. You had been before Charlie whined with his phone attached to his hand.

“Baby?” You groaned, turning to find him still invested in the world of fanfiction. His hazel eyes, tear-filled, raised to meet yours, “What are you doing up at-3am?”

“I just finished reading this adorable fic about Willex. The euphoria had me reading the next fic without reading the summary.” Charlie cried to the bedside light you’d turned when his sniffles woke you up. The near distraught man didn’t fight as you gently took his face out of his hand.

“Oh, Char.” You hummed, bringing the brunette into your arms as he mourned whatever was in the fic.

“Luke died with his girlfriend waiting in the Orpheum. She lived and began a life with Bobby..er Trevor.” Charlie whispered against the soft comforter you’d only recently bought, “They never got to say goodbye. As Luke’s portrayer, I just know the double betrayal took him to his knees.”

“Ah, you found @losttinwritings​ ‘See you Again’. That one is a doozy.” You winced, remembering the heartbreaker, “You, however, need sleep.”

Charlie’s eyes quickly met the phone sitting in between you two, “But-”

“Here.” You handed over your own phone after clicking your secondary account, “It’s one of my all-time comfort fics when I’m feeling sad. @dream-a-little-bigger-x​ always nails it out of the park but ‘Love Shack’? Immaculate.”

Charlie’s eyes flickered between the phone in his hand to your eyes twinkling in the albeit shitty lighting the cheap lamp offered. The vulnerability in your eyes at offering your blog took his breath away. This was a place where you were safe in your thoughts with no judgment.

“Oh! And @cherrymaybank​ created ‘A Romantic’. A beautiful story in the eyes of a hopeless romantic Luke and the stoic, independent reader.” You offered with a grin and sigh of happiness, “I’ll have to start tagging you in the ones I adore. Definitely gonna introduce you to @merceret​’s work; it’s always amazing regardless of how long the fic is or the distance between work. I’d wait a thousand years for her.”

Charlie’s lips spread to reveal that smile that always had you falling back in love over and over again. It even eased the panic you felt viewing Charlie’s rather honest confession he put on his Insta story. He’d caused panic within the writing community as he boldly announced his pride, awe, joy and love for all the fandom provided creatively. 

Next thing you knew, you’d started sending each other fics you’d think the other would enjoy; it often ended up with the same fic being sent. Charlie didn’t address the topic publicly to allow the buzz of panic to die down. He also never discovered your personal writing blog either, well, that you knew about.

Sometimes you’d find him sniffling over a story where Luke discovers his girlfriend was unknowingly pregnant and never got to see him child grow up. That one also tore your heart apart and you’d been the one to write it. Just a secret you’d be taking to your grave.

Tag List (PLEASE SEND AN INBOX TO BE ADDED! I CANNOT GUARANTEE YOU WILL BE ON THE LIST VIA POST COMMENTS!)

@safehavenmuse @siennanoelle01 @whiterose291 @mell-bell @blackhood5sos @ficrecsideblog @ifilwtmfc @deadpoolgirl23 @crappy-unicorn @sunsetcurve-h @elioelioeli0 @lovesanimals @popcrone818 @lolychu @deepsleepnat @tenaciousperfectionunknown @aunicornmademedoit @just-a-writer-here @simp4reggie @faithiebrock01 @overlyhypedup @differentsoulrascalsalad @aesthetic-lyss @versaceapa @carleywhittaker @lostgirl219 @itsalexx21 @elllaoo4 @merxxleighann @mediocremunge @fantomlovesjuke4ever @dpaccione @oswin05 @kaylinfayezink @aberette13 @faithie-brock-gillespie01 @eharvey0218 @overlyhypedup @benstormy @auriandthepussicats @sarcasticsagittarius1998 @whothefuckstolemykeds  @siriuswvrld @princessvader15 @xoxbloodreinaxox @heimdoodle @joshy-obx @lovesanimals @oopsiedoopsie23 @am3l1a-24 @flying-solo-without-you @jaskiers-sweetkiss @lostrandomfangirln @must-be-a-weasley-92 @jatp-holland @ilikealotofpeople-younotsomuch @dxlanhxlland @dasexydevitt13 @ifilwtmfc @arianagrandes-things @kinda-really-lost @marinettepotterandplagg @ssprayberrythings @morgandamrose @thedarkqueenofavalon @zukoshonourr @crybabyddl @spooky-season-bitch @kcd15 @morganayennefertyrell @magnet-girl @all-in-fangirl @kinda-really-lost @tenaciousperfectionunknown @badwolf00593 @blowakissbabe @talksoprettyjjx @thesweetestsinner @kaitieskidmore1 @writerinlearning @aiofheavenandhell @sageellsworth05 @link-102 @thesweetestsinner @merceret​ @imsydneywalker​ @sunsetcurvej @nicoledawson5604 @merceret​ @kexrtiz​ @biqherosix @lukewearingbeanies​ @dangersolns @soverignparker

[swga-ficrecs]

june 2021 recap

ahh june was a really fic-filled month!!! i used to be a silent reader but then i realized that it’s hard to go back to the fics i really liked reading since i had no way of finding them except for remembering key words and googling the shit out of it lol so!!! i thought of doing a monthly recap of all my favorites in addition to the fics i like and reblog. thank you to these wonderful authors who just write pure magic  ✨

🏆 holy grail  |  ☀️ fluff  |  🌧 angst  |  💋 smut.

fave authors

🏆 @minyoongijjangjjangmanboongboong

HOLY GRAIL AUTHOR!!! Loved a lot of their series because of the tropes and the plot. I’ll definitely come back to their fics in the future for another binge reading session

@taecalikook

Really loved their fuckboy trope fics. Has a few unfinished fics I’m excited to binge read once they’re completed

🏆 @gukyi

Discovered their work back in 2017? Really loved IGYMH and reread their masterlist this month

@ve1vetyoongi​

All I can remember is the ending of Mic Drop and I can’t  😭 I’m really excited for their unfinished fics!!!!

fave fics 

Arranged by @.minyoongijjangjjangmanboongboong 🏆 ☀️ 🌧

Pairing: chaebol MYG x student reader

Y/N is a struggling student in Seoul: working multiple jobs, living in a broom closet apartment, and often sacrificing her dignity for the sake of her livelihood. What happens when a handsome stranger presents her with an offer she cannot refuse at the moment she needs it most?

Dissonance by @.minyoongijjangjjangmanboongboong  🏆 🌧 ☀️

Pairing: bassist KTH x student / band manager reader

Y/N is a struggling student in Seoul: working multiple jobs, living in a broom closet apartment, and often sacrificing her dignity for the sake of her livelihood. What happens when a handsome stranger presents her with an offer she cannot refuse at the moment she needs it most?

The Parting by @.minyoongijjangjjangmanboongboong  🏆 🌧 ☀️

Pairing: flower shop owner PJM x reaper reader

The only certainty in life is death, and it seems to follow Park Jimin. All his life, the icy shadow of death has hung closely by his side, along with the shadow of…something else. Reapers exist to guide the souls of the living to the world beyond. But what happens when a particular Reaper tampers with the natural order and saves a mortal boy’s life? What will they do once their fates become inextricably linked?

From Home by @gyukult  🏆 ☀️ 🌧

Pairing: chaebol JJK x reader

jungkook is the youngest of five boys, the last in line to truly inherit any his parents’ money. but what if his mom suddenly cuts him off due to his current poor behavior and he’s forced to learn how it feels like to be part of the working class?

(Not) Just Friends by @.taecalikook  🏆 ☀️ 🌧

Pairing: Bestfriend / fuckboy / fratboy JJK x reader ft. KSJ 

Befriending the fuckboy with devilishly handsome face and emotional capacity of a pea is not your choice, especially when you met him when you were in fifth grade, attracted for the unhealthy vermilion shaded face of the nerd he was that fateful day. So was Jungkook, as he is already putting strictly platonic label on your forehead and calls it a day. But it is only a matter of time before everything changes, and it only takes a frat party, lots of booze and… a certain Kim Seokjin.

Partiality by @jiminimoon  🏆 🌧

Pairing: Husband PJM x reader

You and Jimin argue about your kids not loving you two equally

Brown-eyed Baby by @jeonstudios  🏆 ☀️ 🌧 💋

Pairing: Single Parent JJK x reader

a lost child at the mall. eyes from a different time.

I’ll Give You My Heart by @.gukyi  🏆 ☀️ 🌧

Pairing: CEO bestfriend MYG x reader

gift exchanges are cool. gift exchanges with your ceo-slash-best friend min yoongi are less cool, because what the hell are you supposed to get the man that already has everything?

The Truth Between Us by @.gukyi and @jimlingss   🏆 ☀️ 🌧

Pairing: Editor MYG x reader

a book deal should be the most exciting time of your life, but there seems to be a constant and omnipresent damper on your mood in the form of a certain min yoongi, who you would just cut out from your life, if he weren’t your editor. but then, the world shifts beneath your feet, and you begin to wonder if maybe you’ve always been looking at life from the wrong angle.

Love is Blind by @cinnaminsvga 🏆 ☀️ 🌧

[Final] Pairing: Fake boyfriend KNJ x reader

social media au where y/n posts a fake boyfriend application on twitter as a dare but ends up seeking something real in the long run (aka how to fall in love the zillennial way)

Love Grows Where You Go by @hueseok 🏆 ☀️ 🌧

Pairing: Fiancé MYG x reader

determined to make you and yoongi grow closer for your upcoming wedding in two weeks, your parents plan a trip for the both of you that lasts five days long. you know you should be ecstatic about it, considering your longtime crush on your fiancé, but by how you’re positive that he secretly despises your whole being, you don’t find this mini vacation with him something to look forward to. that is until things take an unexpected turn and suddenly, he makes it apparent he doesn’t hate you at all as you reckoned.

Give Me Love by @.hueseok 🏆 ☀️ 🌧

Pairing: Lawyer boyfriend KNJ x reader

you’ve been in a relationship with your boyfriend for over five years now, yet the talk of marriage has never been initiated between the two of you. of course, you try to somehow squeeze it in from time to time, but it seems like no matter what, namjoon just won’t take the hint

Cornfields and Cosmos by @jessikahathaway ☀️ 🌧 💋

Pairing: Alien MYG x reader

Cornfields: He was an alien. You were a girl. Can I make it any more obvious? Probably. It’s the one where Yoongi’s a cold alien that needs love too.

Cosmos:  Yoongi and you had been travelling together for a long time. You’d begun the terrifying journey of becoming parents. When a new person arrives in a way you didn’t expect, you and Yoongi’s relationship is sent into a tailspin.

The Art of Craving by @venusiangguk  ☀️ 💋

Pairing: Single parent DILF JJK x reader

jk takes you to a bbq at his friends house. the tri-tip is good but the creampie is even better.

fics to i’m waiting to finish before binge reading

What we are not ; Soulmates by @.taecalikook

Pairing: MYG x reader x KTH

you love yoongi with all your heart throughout these five years being in a relationship with him. you always thought he is the one — your one, even when the infamous soulmate signs are still not showing. yet you always wait, because you know it’s him you are destined to be with, forever. but what would happen if then his childhood best friend comes along, with the universe-signed telltales that you have been looking for true love in all the wrong places?

When the sea sleeps by @.taecalikook

Pairing: KSJ x reader

marriage should be based on love, but it’s not really the case with you and Seokjin. what’s more beneficial than two person who sworn off romances to get married out of obligation, right? but you should have known better, that keeping your heart straight from wanting someone like Kim Seokjin is next to impossible.

After Midnight by @.gyukult

Pairing: JJK x reader

jeon jungkook only likes seeing you after midnight.

Better With You by @ve1vetyoongi

Pairing: KSJ x reader

A part time job as a chef at Paradise Resort seems like the perfect way to spend your summer and save up some spare cash to open your own restaurant back home. That is until you cross paths with the CEO’s son who threatens to fire you if you don’t help him inherit his trust-fund-baby-fortune. How? By making you his fiancé. Well, his pretend fiancé at least.

Operation: Love Letters by @.ve1vetyoongi

Pairing: OT7 x reader

When every student on campus is going crazy about a survey that claims to make true love bloom, your best friend manages to convince you to join in on the fun — except you’re disappointed to find out that your results just seem to be lost causes. That is until a love letter from a mysterious secret admirer turns up and you find yourself on a mission to find the person behind the pen — but you quickly realise it’s going to be a lot harder than you initially thought when you have 7 possible bachelors to investigate, right? Operation: Love Letters a-go!

Remember Me by @.ve1vetyoongi

Pairing: OT7 x reader

Taehyung wants to be forgotten. Overwhelmed by his life as idol persona V, he longs to just be Kim Taehyung for once. Even if that means forgetting everything he ever knew

🏆  The Prince and His Rose by @vanaera

Pairing: Football player / Childhood bestfriend JJK x reader

Drabble series of “For a While”

The Heart Holiday by @.vanaera

Pairing: MYG x reader

Valentine’s Day is declared as an official holiday. However, private companies’ standards dictate it’s only for the people who are currently in a relationship. Unluckily for Y/N, she doesn’t have this year’s PRS’ (Proof of Relationship Status) “in a relationship” box ticked – the only ticket out she can have to enjoy one paid week of holiday leave away from her hellish job. And more unfortunately for Y/N, everyone around her is oh so conveniently currently committed in a relationship. Except for one person: Min Yoongi, Y/N’s biggest critic in every pitch meeting, the picky guy who always picks on her, and the most annoying jerk of the century. Desperate for that holiday leave, Y/N strikes Yoongi up with an offer: Fake date each other two weeks before February 14, just enough time for the Department of Relationship Management (DRM) to consider processing their PRSs. After Valentine’s Day, they will go back to their own ways and never speak about whatever that may happen during the plan. Good, plain, and simple. That is until, Yoongi uncharacteristically oh so enthusiastically agrees to Y/N’s offer, leaving her thinking that she may have bitten something too much more than she can chew.

My Time by @.vanaera

Pairing: JJK x reader

A future technology allows cops to jump in the past and future to investigate crimes that have happened and prepare for those that are about to happen. A simple hit-and-run turns into something more when Captain Jeon Jungkook finds himself as the victim of a culprit who cannot be identified by the system. Especially when the culprit seems to be the same person behind the new case that’s threatening the order in the justice organization. All goes haywire when Jungkook gets involved with Y/N L/N, the clairvoyant sketch artist who may be his only help to solve the case.

Lost Stars by @.hueseok

Pairing: JJK x reader

the last person you’d expect to be there for you is your roommate, jeongguk, on the night you break up with your cheating boyfriend; because as far as you’re concerned, the both of you aren’t exactly friends, and he definitely shouldn’t be running to get you upon hearing you sob via phone call.

so when he does, you begin thinking that maybe you’ve just been hard on him over the years, or perhaps he just liked pretending to be an annoying shit most of the time. either way, it becomes the beginning of an unexpected friendship finally blossoming.

Dexterity + Stupidity by @.hueseok

Pairing: JJK x reader

a drabble series that features surgical intern!jeongguk x surgical resident!reader as they go through their odd senior-junior relationship, obviously having the hots for each other and yet, frustratingly goes into twists and turns in order to properly act on it.

Crimson Grail by @.jessikahathaway

Pairing: MYG x reader

There were tales of the famed pirate Min Yoongi, Captain of the Crimson Grail. However, one meeting with him is hardly ever enough… One taste of adventure, and you were addicted.

Baby Talk by @.jessikahathaway

Pairing: PJM x JJK x reader

Jimin and Jungkook had been trying to get a surrogate for years. Finally when you agree to help them, their dreams seem to be coming true. But, dreams change…

Vegas, Baby by @.jessikahathaway

Pairing: KTH x reader

They say what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas. What happens when there’s a little more legality to it than that?

Taming the Beast by @.jessikahathaway

Pairing: KTH x reader

You were the next in line to be the head of your village, when your mother gave you to the enemy to save your people from merciless slaughter. What happens when they try to Tame a Beast?

Owner by @.jessikahathaway

Pairing: JJK x reader

With your mother hounding on you (no pun intended), you decided to get a little help from a hybrid, who was also in need of assistance.

If Only You Knew by @agustdakasuga

Pairing: BTS x reader

From the start, you knew you wanted to be a hybrid rehabilitator. You needed to help these hybrids heal, learn to live with one another and lead normal lives. Even if they are all different, you hoped that they could give each other a new reason to live.

[imagine-loki]

The Tragedy of Thor of Asgard

TITLE: The Tragedy of Thor of Asgard CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: One shot AUTHOR: colifower ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki attending a play about his little adventure in Svartalfheim. It is too poorly written that he decides to take the matter into his own hands… The tragedy of Loki is born. RATING: G NOTES/WARNINGS: It’s an option on my Choose your own adventure fic, which was too confusing to be posted in IL. Link to the full story here!

“I’m in desperate need to take a day off. I’ll do it today; not much is happening anyways” shouted Loki-as-Odin. He had been suplanting his not-father for a while now and was only starting to learn the extents of Odin’s routine, which mainly consisted in doing nothing and claiming his counselor’s ideas as his own, so in order to fix it Loki had to take a few extra hours. He summoned their not-father’s horse as soon as he could and pet it’s side. He desperately wanted to ride with his own horse, Apricot, but still had to deal with the appearences.

They trotted out of the stables and into the sunshine. It was truly a good day to go for a horse walk. “Yes, that’s what I’m going to do! We’re going to the blue fountain! It’ll be very nice today, maybe even have a bath…”

Loki stopped his train of thought when he saw a yellow banner ad. “The tragedy of Thor of Asgard. Find out the details of The Midgardian’s murder of Queen Frigga, the betrayal of Prince Loki The Jötun and much more…” they read out loud. “Well, you got me interested. Let’s see the depths of asgardian propaganda.”

*

“This is going to be so painfully inaccurate” he muttered to himself while getting sited. He had parked Sleipnir a bit far away from the place not to bring much attention to himself. The piece was performed at a corral de comedias *, quite a musty place for a king. Loki foolishly hoped nobody paid much attention to the attending Allfather, but as soon as the space started to get filled, he noted the looks of the gossipy aesir piercing through his skin. He couldn’t do much about it now, so he remained seated and quiet, trying to remain unnoticeable.

The crowd got quiet as the actors came to the stage.

ACT 1 Scene I

Enter CHOIR.

CHOIR

Oh Norns be gentle with us. Our fates are sealed and our lives have no meaning. But what do we hear from the palace above? It must be Prince Thor and his latest human conquest. Look at her rags and horrid features: must be an evil witch, no human could have captured the Prince’s attentions otherwise.

“Wrong in so many levels” Loki murmured. Several of the attendees shushed at him. He got quite surprise with their support for the play, but said no more. It was going to be a long two hours.

Enter THE HAG, FRIGGA, THOR wiggling Mjolnir quite violently

THOR

I do not understand, mother. Why couldn’t we just kill Loki? One jötun less, one problem less.

FRIGGA

Can’t you see, my son? Even if we take his life, we will get nothing in return. He is an evil man and we already lost him along the way. We cannot do a single thing to save those poor midgardian’s lives. It’s best to leave things be. That’s what your father wants us to do.

THOR

But we must avenge the fallen. He murdered those 72 innocent guards. He’s just like Malekith The Dark, who burned Svartalfheim’s whole population alive.

FRIGGA

The sorrow will kill me. My own son betraying us like this.

Leaves crying

ACT I scene II

THOR

I still think we should do something about it. What do you think, my beloved?

THE HAG

Oh my muscular, muscular man. You are so right, we cannot stand here and do nothing while the monster is still alive. It is a risk for our people.

THOR

Our people? Does that mean you will marry me?

THE HAG

If you desire so.

THOR

Well, I…

A cloud of green smoke appears and surrounds THOR while THE HAG shakes her arms around. She is enchanting him to do as she pleases.

I do! I will marry you!

THE HAG

I am the happiest woman alive.

They embrace.

ACT 2 Scene I

Enter FRIGGA with a flower vase. THOR and THE HAG are still embracing each other.

FRIGGA

Oh sweet Valhalla!

She drops the flower vase.

Thor, my son. What are you doing?

THOR

Embracing my beloved, mother. We are to get wed this afternoon.

THE HAG [Aside]

Yes! My evil plan is coming to fruition. Soon after the wedding I’d just have to kill old king Odin to become the most powerful being in the universe.

FRIGGA

What did you say, my dear?

THE HAG

Oh, nothing. I am very excited by the event.

CHOIR

Oh, your majesty, our beloved royals, look outside the window. The forces of evil are slaughtering us! We need the help of our hero prince Thor to save our lives from the poisonous knives of the dark elves.

THE HAG

Is that true?

FRIGGA

Oh dear!

THOR

I’ll butcher the monsters that hunt our people. Wait for me, mother, wait for me, my beloved. I’ll be back in a heartbeat.

Exits

ACT 2 scene II

THE HAG

Well… now that we are alone…

Stabs FRIGGA

FRIGGA

Oh cruel Norns. To die at the hands of an evil creature like you. Ladies like me aren’t suitable to hold a knife, I didn’t stand a chance.

THE HAG

Ha! Only midgardian woman are enough deprived to learn the ways of war.

FRIGGA

Curse you sudden but inevitable betrayal!

Dies

THE HAG

One step closer to victory.

ACT 3 scene I

CHOIR

The dark elves’ threat is gone! Hooray the soon-to-be king! But inside the palace there are still some scoundrels left to slaughter. Prince Thor will surely get here in a minute

Enter DARK ELVES SOLDIERS and LOKI. His green cape is twice as long as his own height.

THE HAG

Who are you?

DARK ELF SOLDIER 1

Your new king! Bow to him.

THE HAG

I think not!

She moves her arms around and a green cloud of smoke surrounds the stage.

By the power of Girlb-oss you shall be defeated.

DARK ELF SOLDIER 1

Oh no!

DARK ELF SOLDIER 2

We are dead.

The soldiers die. LOKI starts circling THE HAG, ready to attack.

THE HAG

Damn! My seidr never fails me.

LOKI

The girlb-oss invocation doesn’t work on me, since I am both a seidr user and a weak man.

THE HAG

How is that even possible?

LOKI

I am evil.

THE HAG

Yeah, that makes sense.

LOKI

Anyways, time for you to die.

Stabs her

THE HAG

Curse you! You disgusting and treacherous creature. You will perish soon and painfully.

LOKI

If you say so.

She dies

ACT 3 scene II

Enter THOR

THOR

What is this? Mother is dead? My beloved too? Who has done this?

LOKI

Not me.

THOR

You ungrateful bastard. No jötun should be trusted

THOR and LOKI fight dramatically. THOR is the superior fighter. LOKI lays on the ground without much movement.

LOKI

I am defeated. I die now.

LOKI dies for no reason whatsoever. THOR doesn’t even threaten him with a weapon.

THOR

No! My brother no!

Enter ODIN

ODIN

We shall mourn the dead. My son Loki the treacherous should be buried like the rest, with honour. Even if he was born a monster, he was still my son. I’ll carry my queen to the boats, where they all shall reach Valhalla.

THE END

“What a bunch of nonsense” Loki-as-Odin muttered to himself yet again. “My muscular, muscular man. What does that even mean? And the xenophobia was off the charts (although it’s nothing new anyways), Dr Foster didn’t even have a name! Argh! So frustrating. Somebody needs to sort that mess before it has the chance to become a problem.”

An idea crossed his mind.

“Maybe I should tell the real Tragedy of Loki of Asgard.”

[sarcasticfina]

Fic Writer Tag Game

How many works do you have on AO3? 263

What’s your total AO3 word count? 4,901,188

How many fandoms have you written for, and what are they? including the fandoms on FFnet, that haven't yet been moved over to ao3, that'd be a total of 37. separating the larger fandoms (marvel, dcu) into their individual parts: Thor; Arrow; Smallville; The Vampire Diaries; Glee; Captain America; Supernatural; Teen Wolf; Iron Man; Life with Derek; Firefly; Friday Night Lights; X-Men; Fantastic Four; Harry Potter; Sons of Anarchy; Girl Meets World; Batman; Daredevil; From Dusk Till Dawn: The Series; Transformers; Lost Girl; Game of Thrones; Banshee; High School Musical; The OC; One Tree Hill; CSI: New York; Degrassi; Gossip Girl; NCIS; The Unusuals; Criminal Minds; iCarly; Secret Life of the American Teenager; Twilight; and The Listener

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

1. and I wonder (if everything could ever feel this real forever) - darcy/bucky - Steve tells him that Darcy's harmless. Bucky imagines, on paper, Darcy is harmless. HYDRA wouldn't give her a second glance. But he does. He can barely keep his eyes off her. He's not sure he wants to. | Kudos: 5576

2. I Climbed The Tree To See The World (When The Gusts Came Around To Blow Me Down, I Held On As Tightly As You Held On To Me) - darcy centric | darcy/steve - The path to self-discovery, including becoming Coulson's assistant-slash-liaison-slash-bff, Captain America's lady love, and rating fourth on the SHIELD BAMF scale, was like the yellow brick road; it was chaos and confusion around every bend. | Kudos: 3973

3. Take a little piece of my heart (and keep it for yourself) - oliver/felicity - A collection of Olicity prompts on Tumblr posted here for easier access/reading. | Kudos: 3498

4. You put your arms around me (and I'm home) - darcy/bucky - A collection of Darcy/Bucky oneshots, drabbles, and prompt fills. | Kudos: 3293

5. you (anchor me back down) - darcy/bucky - "I'll be right back." Famous last words. | Kudos: 2747

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? not all of them. i do try to keep up on them, especially on longer stories when there's been significant wait times in between chapters, or when a reader is asking a question or is unclear on something. and especially when someone writes a really indepth comment/review, i like to respond to those and talk about motivations and character growth.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending? I've written a number of fics that either had suicide or major character death, so i'm not sure if one outranks the other in terms of most angsty... hmm... i remember "be still and know that I'm with you (be still and know that I am here)" and "light a match, burn the world to ash (I will watch it die, and hold your hand as I fly)" both got some pretty intense reactions when they were posted. And "It's Your Song That Sets Me Free (I Sing It While I Feel I Can't Go On)" was basically just angst from beginning to end. buuuuut, i think i'll say "so you think you can tell (heaven from hell" was, only because there's a build up of everything going so right, only to pivot at the end, so it feels very bittersweet.

Do you write crossovers? If so what’s the craziest one you’ve written? i loooooove crossovers. i find writing in the marvel fandom makes things quite easy, but also smallville. as long as i can find a common thread, i enjoy finding a way to overlap two shows. i'll say the hardest one to write was "ruby red slippers (unavailable in her size)." I'm not sure why, but i found writing each personality together just felt strange. i liked the idea behind the story, but i definitely remember feeling like i was really forcing myself to keep going, like something just didn't fit right.

Have you ever received hate on a fic? oh, definitely. you cannot please everyone, it's impossible. for the most part, hate comes and i either argue back, take the criticism for what it's worth, or just ignore it when it's baseless. i think the hate that bothered me the most was a homophobic PM someone sent me re: "you know I will adore you ('til eternity)," on FFnet. i actually went and searched it up. they've since blocked me so i can't read our whole thread back and forth. but i did put part of it on tumblr so i could rant on it a bit, so you can see that here.

Do you write smut? If so what kind? ha. yes. depending on the story, it can be really detailed or really flowery. it depends on the ship, the plot, and how graphic i feel like being. i've definitely become more comfortable over the years with my writing. that said, i think everybody likes something different. i once had a reviewer tell me a sex scene was too much, just too intense. it was a stefan/caroline story and to be fair, that entire oneshot was just them fucking, lol, but it is what it is. to each their own.

Have you ever had a fic stolen? Multiple times.

Have you ever had a fic translated? Yes! for the record, i am always happy to have my stories translated and shared. i just like having a link sent to me and to be credited.

What’s your all time favorite ship? i have a list of OTPs, because interests change and as shows come and go, my love for a ship can be shelved for a while before it pops back up at random. currently, i can't get enough of buck/eddie from 9-1-1. and, historically, chloe/oliver (smallville) and felicity/oliver (arrow) have been two of my top OTPs. but i think i'd have to go with bonnie/damon. they had all the potential and the show dropped the ball by not exploring it. at the same time, that's kind of a blessing, because i don't trust those writers to properly explore what they had without eventually destroying it for the likes of de/ena. it means a treasure trove for writing where it could have gone and all the what if's.

What’s a WIP that you want to finish, but don’t think you ever will? the intention is always to finish. but given how i feel about allison mack and how that impacts my feelings re: chloe sullivan, pretty much anything with her as a main character is not something i see myself returning to.

What are your writing strengths? What are your writing weaknesses? i'm putting these together because my strength is my weakness. i love to write. when i get an idea, i go all in and i will skip eating and sleeping to just write write write. but i also eventually hit a wall and i get so many ideas that i hyperfocus on one until the steam is gone and then i hyperfocus on the next one to maintain that need to keep writing, accidentally leaving the last story in the dust for entirely too long. i also have clinical depression that comes and goes, which hasn't been super great mixed with covid and isolation, so more often recently, i find myself overly exhausted and despite wanting to write, can rarely get motivated to do so. so, pre-covid, wrote so much i left entirely too many stories dangling. during covid, i've just been reading and struggling to get myself focused enough to do what i love.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic? i appreciate the authenticity when possible, but i've recently been reading more about how native speakers of other languages feel when a) their language is butchered by google translate, or b) it's just not genuine in terms of how bilingual speakers act or speak.

What was the first fandom you’ve written for? it was smallville, but i remember adopting it out to someone else because i wasn't going to finish it. so if you look at my ffnet, the first fandom i wrote for appears to be x-men: the movie, but i remember writing a chloe/oliver story prior to that.

What’s your favorite fic that you’ve written? i have a lot. i mean, on ffnet, i have 576 stories, many of which were transferred over to ao3, with a lot of oneshots and drabbles getting joined together into collections. so there's a ton to pick from that span a 14-ish year timeline.

"you know I will adore you ('til eternity)" and "let me break (the walls that surround me)" hold a special place in my heart.

honestly, each story is important in its own way. there are bits and pieces of each that i love. every time i write something new it feels like my favorite. my best. and then a new idea comes along. there are scenes i've written that i loved more than the whole of what they became. lines that stand out that are almost too good to be a part of the larger picture.

one of my all time favorite passages i've written was bonnie's thoughts on damon and herself in 'if you love me (let me go)":

He is far from perfect. He is a novel of red, corrective ink. He is frayed pages and torn binding. His life, his choices, his mistakes leave lasting effects on everyone he meets.

She is a lifeboat with a hole in it. An anchor that drowns in the sea while everyone else remains steady above. She is both the calm and the storm, and while she screams that she will not be tamed, she cries. Bittersweet tears that go unnoticed and uncared about.

there are other stories, other pieces of dialogue, that i've been proud of. that make me laugh when i re-read them. that make me cry. and i love them. there are others that make me wilt and cringe and regret. it's a process. love and pride and growth, all bound together.

Tagging: @absentlyabbie, @anonymous033, and anyone else who'd like to fill this all out, haha