#Can I even tag this with Jimmy? I never mention him by name

[dead-sp1der]

Stand by my grave and try to weep

I short piece about grief and guilt from the perspective of Scott during 3rd life at the end of episode 7

Scott stood by a grave and wished the events of the last few days hadn’t transpired the way they did. 

A battle in the desert. An expert shot from Skizz. A dead husband. The aftermath. Skizz striking once again. A dead friend–

It was a small grave, in retrospect. 

It was fitting –Grian had remarked when he saw the size of the grave– since “Timmy had left a small impact on the world.”

Scott knew he should’ve disagreed, but he couldn’t think of an example to disprove it at the time, so he had laughed along in agreement. 

He stared at the grave some more. It looked like a picture perfect grave; The stone was perfectly symmetrical, the dirt in front was not too flat–not too messy, the stone was clean as can be. Everything was how a grave was supposed to look; if you asked someone to think of a grave, this grave would be what they’d imagine. 

Scott sighed, he supposed he was a widow now. He had followed the correct steps in order for the widows alliance to be formed. 

But then his fellow widow-to-be had to go and die before her husband, leaving Bdubs to be the widow instead of her. 

So now Scott was completely alone. 

Just him and his husband’s perfect grave. 

This was the part where he should reminisce about the good times he and Jimmy shared. 

Like their first meeting! Or foiling Tango’s cow operation! Or- or…

Scott felt a wave of terror wash over him. Were those two really all the good moments he could come up with off the top of his head? 

He forced himself to take a deep breath. 

No, no. He’s grieving, he’ll remember the rest of the good moments later. 

Cleo would’ve told him it was okay; probably something about how both their husbands’s incompetence clouded the good memories of them. 

Scott involuntarily started to smile. 

Cleo would have built Bdubs a big grave and then joke about how she and Scott switched the graves around. They would’ve known how to cheer Scott up…

Scott’s thoughts trailed off; his smile slipping from his face. 

What kind of widow was he?

He shifted his feet uncomfortably. He felt more sadness over Cleo dying than his own husband.

If anyone were to drop by now, they’d see him not act like a proper widow and judge him for it. 

Why wasn’t he crying? His husband died in front of him. A normal widow would be crying. Why couldn’t he make himself cry?

Why couldn’t he cry? Why weren’t the tears falling? 

Scott wiped away tears that didn’t exist; that should exist, but he failed to actually deliver. 

Maybe he just needed a reminder of all the good times. He should find the poppy Jimmy gave him. 

He turned around before pausing. Where did he leave that poppy?

His gaze turned to the sky, as if the sun or the clouds would answer his silent question. 

But alas, the sky stayed silent. It was probably judging him as well.  

Defeated, he let his gaze wander down. 

Ah, the tears were coming. Finally.

He caught a glimpse of the hill where he and Cleo made the widows alliance.

He felt his nose start to prickle and his eyes sting. 

He quickly speedwalked –not ran, that would look desperate– to the centre of the Flower Valley and plucked the neared red flower he saw. 

He didn’t have the time to get the correct flower; the tears would dry up if he wasn't quick enough. 

He walked back, deliberately slowing himself down, to his dead husband’s grave. He carefully laid the red –tulip, apparently– on the dirt. 

His eyes might have started to water, but no full tears were rolling yet. 

Scott pressed his eyes shut, but there just wasn’t enough liquid to squeeze out of his eyes that way. 

Scott kept his eyes closed though, and thought about happy smile, shared laughter, inside jokes, hair that reminded him of the sunset, skin the colour of grass on a cold day–

He opened his eyes and bit back a sob. Tears finally escaped his eyes and started to roll over his face. 

Now he looked like a proper widow. 

Now he was a proper widow.

Scott stood by a grave and wished the events of the last few days hadn’t transpired the way they did.

Scott closed his eyes again before turning around. 

He couldn’t stand to look at the grave anymore. 

He hopes he’ll start missing him tomorrow. 

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

the hottest man north of havana

pairing: cabana boy! javi x rich older woman! reader

cws/tags: oral f! receiving, p in v, (semi) public sex, young (adult) javi!!, cheating (reader has a husband but he is prob cheating too and sucks)

summary: lonely rich woman at country club while her husband is away has a thing for the cabana boy

a/n: title reference to copacabana by barry manilow (that's either really obvious or really not obvious idk). obv you should listen to that while reading (long version) and margaritaville bc mentioned as well, but i listened to a lot of steely dan while writing this?? so, do with that what you will

*the cosmo article referenced is real and i have it saved to my computer and might post it bc it's so funny

wc: 3.6k

thank you @almostempty for your help on this one <3

Your husband’s away on ‘business’. AKA he’s in bed with a girl half his age a couple thousand miles away from where you sit on a lounge chair by the country club pool. It fazes you less than it should, but women like you don’t marry men like him for love. Or, at least, you don’t stay married for love. Half the women, wearing designer swimsuits and oversized sunglasses to hide aging under eye bags, are with their husbands for money too. The only difference is that you’re willing to be honest about these things. 

Honestly, the new cabana boy is handsome. They usually are, but this one has a certain charm that has you hiding behind an issue of Vogue to sneak a peek at his toned body when he’s not looking in your direction. 

In your persistent delusion, he pays special attention to you. He delivers fresh towels to the women on the other side of the pool, but he never lingers around them like he does with you. That pretty grin is genuine, you tell yourself, he’s not only working for tips. 

He nearly startles you when he comes by to offer you a refill of your margarita, a dizzyingly beautiful concoction since the bartender never skimps on the tequila, at least not when you’re the one ordering. He surely has a thing for you, or the way your tits look in a bikini, especially when they’re pressed up against the counter as you call his name.

“I really shouldn’t,” you say with a smile that begs him to convince you to have another. “It’s too early for more alcohol.”

“What’s that saying… ‘it’s 5 o’clock somewhere’?”

“Sure, in Margaritaville. I think we’re still a couple hours behind, though.”

“I’ll be back in a couple hours, then,” he says, taking your glass from the table beside you. “In the meantime, can I get you anything else?”

You can think of many things you’d love him to get you, but you settle for a seltzer with lime. 

You take a short nap and when you wake up, you know exactly what time it is because Jimmy Buffet is playing through the speakers to let you know, in addition to cabana boy who is humming along to the tune.

Your knight in a tightly fitting t-shirt approaches swiftly with your drink already in hand.

“How’d you know?” you ask, coyly, before taking a tiny sip. 

“What can I say? I know how to please a woman,” he says with a wink. 

You smile through the scoff you give him. “Alright, cabana boy, don’t let it get to your head.”

You learn his name the next day when you overhear one of the women you used to play tennis with bitching to him about this or that. 

“Javier,” you say as he walks past. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, turning on his heels with a look of relief on his face. 

“I heard you getting an earful back there. What’d you do to earn that?” 

Knowing her, whatever he did shouldn’t have landed him on anyone’s shitlist, but she’s got just about every name in the phonebook written down. 

“She requested an extra towel and a bottle of water to be brought to her in the women’s locker room, but I wasn’t very prompt.”

“Risking your tips, aren’t you?” you tut, teasingly. 

“Doesn’t usually tip me anyway,” he says under his breath, looking off to the side, pretending the confession isn’t meant for your ears.

“Oof. Even you can’t win her over,” you say with a pout.

“Suppose I was wrong about the whole ‘knowing how to please a woman’ thing,” he says with a faux-dramatic sigh. 

“I suppose so,” you say. Sitting upright so he can hear your voice when you say much lower, “but, you’ve really tugged on my heartstrings here, so I give you my deepest sympathies.” You grab a couple twenties from your wallet and hand them to him. 

“Pity tips,” he muses, a smirk tugging at his lips as he plays along with your little game, “I’ll bring you another sob story with your next drink.” 

The wink he gives you is his way of saying ‘thank you’. 

While you’re acutely aware of the power dynamic between the two of you, it does feel like he’s become a confidant in a way. You’d be far happier with his company than anyone else’s. 

While you’re in the midst of reading the latest issue of Cosmopolitan, Javier comes by to check up on you - something he seems to do more frequently now. Maybe it’s the tips, maybe it’s the tits. 

“Is it any good?” he asks, nodding to your magazine. 

“About as good as trashy magazines get. Why? Were you looking for some fashion advice, sex tips, embarrassing breakup confessions?” You offer up the gifts promised on the outer cover, nonchalant with equal attention paid to each, hopefully masking the fact that one of those topics is far more interesting than the others when you’re up close and personal with the effortlessly handsome Javier. 

Your eyes meet briefly at the mention of sex tips. 

“Hmm. How ‘bout those sex tips?”

“Alright, then,” you say, patting the spot beside you, beckoning him to sit. “Here are the best places to have hot summer sex…”

You can feel his body heat, his hand placed behind your body to hold himself steady as he leans in to read over your shoulder, pretending to be enthralled with this stupid article. 

“Number one,” you begin, “in the water.”

“A classic,” he notes, looking towards the pool only a few feet from you. 

“It says here that the ‘dirty mermaid’ position is ideal.” You point to the illustration of a couple getting it on. 

“Seems simple enough.”

“Wait ‘til you hear this,” you say, pausing for suspense, “their next suggestion is sex on a trampoline.”

“I can see the appeal,” he says. 

“Okay, well, then you better try out ‘the circus freak’ position the next time you have a rendezvous on a trampoline.”

“I’ll keep that in mind in case the circumstance arises.”

And just when you think you’ve got him to yourself, he’s whisked away from you by another dissatisfied country club member - maybe she’s jealous, you think,  until she gives you a sneer and then, you’re positively certain she is. Before he departs fully, he places a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Let me know if you find anything you think I might like in there.”

The magazine tells you to fuck in a tent, on a sailboat, or in the woods, but all you want is Javier, right here, right now - be it the dirty mermaid, the circus freak, or just a man and a woman unable to ignore their overwhelming attraction to each other. 

Alas, you go home alone. The only one to touch you that night is your vibrator, and no matter how creative your imagination can be, you can tell the difference between silicone and the real deal. 

You return to your spot by the pool the very next day. Usually, you can apply your suntan lotion by yourself, albeit with some difficulty, but today, you struggle to get the part of your back that would normally be covered by your swimsuit - but of course, you know to avoid tan lines you need to keep your top off and your tits pressed to the towel. 

“Need any help?” Javier asks at a most opportune time.  

“Maybe a little, but let me just lay down first. I don’t want to flash you or anyone else.”

“It wouldn’t bother me at all, but I’m a gentleman, so I’d look away if you asked me.”

“I didn’t take you for a gentleman.”

“I could be one. If that’s what you’re into.”

You struggle to get your top off enough to put lotion on without exposing yourself, and Javier whispers to you, “Just take it off. No one’s around.”

You look at him, suspicious - and excited - about his motives. 

“I’ll be a gentleman,” he reiterates. 

“You better be,” you say with a face that dares him not to be  one, before turning and taking your top off. 

Javier takes the bottle of suntan lotion and squeezes a dollop onto his hand before rubbing it from your shoulders down your upper back, remaining cautious not to touch you anywhere too scandalous. Still, his touch lingers and he begins to massage your tense muscles. 

“Wow,” he says, “You’ve got a serious knot right here. What’s got you so tense?”

“A masseuse and a shrink?” you tease, expertly avoiding the question. “Javier, you’re really working overtime.”

“I’m just trying to build a good rapport with one of our most loyal members. It’s part of my job description.”

You suppose it is, but he’s surpassed ‘good rapport’ and made it to the number one spot on the list of men you have sexual fantasies about. You want to give him more than cash tips or sex tips. You also want to take far more than the tip from him. 

So, you keep him beside you for longer by letting him see deeper into your life as he shifts his touch. 

“Well, if you really want to hear all of my life’s hardships - Ooh, yes, right there - I’ll spill.”

You swear you can hear him inhale a sharp breath when you tell him where you want his hands. 

“Right here?” he asks, tentatively pressing his thumbs in more forcefully. 

“Yeah, that’s perfect,” you say. “You’re doing great, Javier.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” he says, but you’ve heard those words enough times to know that his voice is different this time. That he’s affected by your praise. 

“It’s so stupid,” you begin with a light laugh, “I’m just pissed off at my husband.”

“Oh?” he says with a hint of disappointment in his tone. 

“Yeah, he’s off on ‘business’,” you say, air quotes included, “but we all know what that means.”

“Do we?” he asks, and he may have said something else, but you cut him off. 

“Ooh, down a little bit, babe.” The pet name slips from your lips accidentally, but he doesn’t seem to mind. 

He moves his fingers to the perfect spot and you nearly moan. 

“I can’t believe your husband would give up spending a day with you, especially… one like this…”

“One like what?” you ask, curiosity piqued. 

“Ma’am, I’ll be honest, you look great in this swimsuit.” When he hears your laugh, he adds, “I swear. I wouldn’t lie about something like that.”

“Well, Javier, I’m halfway out of this swimsuit right now.”

“As a gentleman, I wouldn’t dare take a peek, but I imagine you look even better like this.”

But you know he’d love to - as would you. You imagine there’s a tent forming in his uniform swim trunks. 

“I know I was planning to lie on my stomach, but would you mind getting my chest as well,” you suggest. 

“It would be my pleasure,” he says. 

You turn to him, revealing your naked upper body, simultaneously praying that the pool area is empty and that it’s crowded with women who’d certainly be jealous of what’s going on between you and the cabana boy. 

You’d think he’d never seen a pair of tits before if you saw his face - absolutely awestruck, unable to tear his eyes away from them. 

At your request, he gently massages them. 

“Goddamn, your husband is lucky,” he says under his breath. 

“Is he?” you say. “You’re the one touching me right now.”

His hands trail down your sides, testing the waters. 

“It’s a hot day… you don’t wanna get burned… so maybe you’d like me to get your thighs too? Just to be safe?”

You never thought you’d have a man begging just to touch your thighs, but you can’t complain. 

“You’re so thoughtful,” you say, “if you don’t mind, that’d be wonderful.”

You can tell he’s itching to get your swimsuit bottoms off. 

You whisper to him, “You can take them off if you want.”

“But my hands are covered in sunscreen. I wouldn’t want to give you an infection or anything.”

“You have a mouth, don’t you?”

His brown eyes melt as he eagerly dives between your thighs without another word.

His tongue works wonders as it glides over your folds, paying special attention to your clit, flicking his tongue teasingly, then sucking lightly. You realize how large his hands are when he wraps his arms around your thighs and pulls you into him. You’re fixated on his fingers, how badly you wish he could give you them.  

“Javier,” you say, “I want you to fuck me.”

(If you weren’t so needy, you’d beg to get on your knees, to scrape them on the concrete, and to suck him off. He serves you too often, you owe him more than just tips).

When your vulgar language reaches his ears, he looks up at you, wiping the shock off his face with a hand through his hair. He looks excited from his eyes to his shorts as you give him the once-over. YOu quickly slip your bikini back on before he takes your hand and leads you to a slightly more secluded part of the pool. Anyone who swims nearby could see you, but women further away with their noses in their trashy romance novels (when they’re not stuck in everyone else’s business), won’t be able to tell who is getting it on behind the waterfall. 

No, it doesn’t look even close to as gorgeous as the tropical destinations you’ve visited, but it does conceal your identity. And, Javier looks better than any man you’ve ever seen. The country club made an active decision to hire hot young men who could easily be printed on an advertisement in one of those stores in the mall that you no longer frequent - you’ve outgrown the overbearing scent of cologne and the juvenile style. Last summer, there was a blond pool boy, the summer before, he had blue eyes. But, Javier is something else - he’s a walking wet dream. And he’s yours. 

The water is cold, particularly so when you’re in a shady area, but Javier’s sun-warmed chest pressed against yours keeps you from shivering. And, with every subtle touch, heat pools at your core. 

When you’re submerged in the water, he slides your bikini bottoms to the side and lowers his swimsuit just enough to free his cock. You can’t resist the urge to touch him, so you stroke him slowly and you can tell he’s holding back pretty moans that you’d die to hear.  

Before he can lose himself to the feeling, he picks you up and you hook your legs around his hips. He keeps you close to him, not letting your back scrape the edge of the pool behind you. His grip is firm but his touch is soft. 

You coax his cock to your entrance, and he lets you, but not without warning.

“If we do this, I’m gonna need you to be real fucking quiet.”

“Same to you.” Your voice falters as he slides the head along your folds. 

Quite frankly, you couldn’t care less if everyone in the general vicinity heard the moans you hold back - in fact, you’re proud to be the one in Javier’s arms - but you try your best to collect yourself, to pretend the first inch, the initial stretch, doesn’t faze you. Even the anticipation of being filled by him makes you clench around him, your body trying to pull him closer, ignoring your intentions to keep up this coy persona with a quip readily stowed just behind your lips when he says something flirtatious and witty. You want to be the one to make him blush.

It is the opposite of sex with your husband. Not only because Javier is younger and far more attractive, but because you have to make an active effort not to cum too quickly when his fingers reach between your bodies and find your clit. You’ve spent years faking orgasms with your eyes closed, imagining a man like this is the one panting above you. Better make it last. 

Javier’s hands have a steady grip on your hips, forcing them to meet his with every thrust while your arms take place on his shoulders. You lean in and kiss his neck, eliciting the slightest moan, and you have to hold yourself back from sucking at his skin. You want to hear him, you want to mark him. You want to make him yours. 

You hear the clop clop sound of sandals approaching accompanied by a pair of feminine voices. It snaps you from the momentary daze and what is meant to be a warning comes out like a whimper. 

“Javi,” you say, and the sound of his name coming from your lips only spurs him on. 

You have to stifle your cries by burying your face in the crook of his neck. Your words are muffled but you manage to convey enough to get a response - not the one you were expecting, though.

“I don’t care,” he says. “I want them to know I’m fucking you.”

You know that Javier can have just about any woman he wants, you feel lucky to be chosen, but you know, despite his words, he wants you in secret. He’s just good at dirty talk, and you’ll gladly take the fantasy he builds for you. 

“I’m serious,” he says. “I want them to know how good I’m making you feel.”

Good would be an understatement. Pleasure ripples through you, threatening to push you over the edge, into an intense orgasm. He angles his hips so that every time his cock fills you, it strokes your g-spot along the way. And his fingertips work tirelessly on your clit. 

But he slows his pace, he pulls you back from the ledge.

“I wanna hear you when you cum,” he says, and he’s unable to hide his ragged breathing behind his sternness. 

He’s not demanding, he’s begging. 

And it works all too well with you. 

You meet his eyes - an agreement - and he returns to his previous routine, the one that makes your thighs tremble and your head loll back. 

“Javier…” His name flies past your lips and you wonder if you would’ve said it anyway, without his direction. It comes out in a desperate cry — one that covers up any noise that comes from Javier. You only catch the latter end of his orgasm, taken entirely by your own, but his face will be forever etched into your mind, in that corner that you keep secret and sacred. 

All of a sudden, in your post-orgasm haze, Javier pushes you gently into the waterfall, so you end up soaked (in a new way). You understand why when he pulls you out of the pool bridal style. 

As everyone in the area gawks at you, likely having heard you scream Javier’s name, he acts like the hero he is. 

“Someone had a few too many drinks,” he announces. “Luckily, no CPR is needed, but I’ll be taking her to the med station for a checkup. Everyone may resume their regularly scheduled lounging.”

There are whispers amongst the crowd - there always are - but you’re impressed by his acting. 

When he sits you down on a chair meant for the aftermath of swimming-related accidents (most of which result in nothing more than a bandaid), he says to you, “It’s important to stay sober if you don’t want to end up in sticky situations.”

“Sticky situations like the one on the front of your shorts?”

“Goddammit,” he says with a sigh. “They’re gonna fire me.”

“I hope it was worth it,” you say. 

“I’d say so,” he says, but you can still see a tinge of worry in his eyes. 

“Besides,” you say, “I think I might be able to get another job.”

“Really? That’s awesome,” he perks up. “But, I’ll miss seeing you every day.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that.”

Your husband arrives home the next day and you immediately complain about how the maintenance men did a terrible job keeping the backyard pool clean. Truthfully, they really weren’t the best and you’d been thinking about finding a new pool boy anyway. 

When your husband goes to look up ‘pool maintenance in my area’, you say, as nonchalantly as you can, “I heard that one of the cabana boys at the country club is quitting, and he’s actually really good at his job. He works super hard, never slacking off.”

“Alright. I trust your judgment. Maybe you can get his contact info from the club and we can ask for his rates.”

You already have his number saved in your phone so you call him and get his email address and pretend you’re calling the country club. You draft the perfect email for him to send your husband, to show him that he’s the perfect man to work for you. 

“Wow,” he says, when he receives the email. “He says here that he even offers extra services like bartending and poolside service… whatever that means. His rates look reasonable too. You did a great job, honey.”

“Thank you,” you say, accepting a kiss on the cheek from him. “I can stay home and monitor him, assuming you have to work on Monday…”

“Actually, I’m so sorry, but I’m leaving again in the morning.”

“What? Where are you going?”

“San Francisco. Another conference. But, don’t fret, I’ll be back in a week. I would love it if you stayed home when he’s here - just in case - but I trust your decisions either way.”

Needless to say, Javier is great at his job when your husband is home, and even better when he’s away. 

[famousstatesmanbearroad]

DISTRACTION PART 2 (WWE CODY RHODES)

•Summary: He’s allowed you in his head, allowed you to play mind games, allowed you to make him vulnerable, causing his match against your cousin at WrestleMania 39. Months later and he finally earns another match, just for you to start the distraction all over again, dwelling on the pass

• Parings: Cody Rhodes X Samoan fem reader

Warnings - mentions of sex, praise kink, choking kink, moaning kink, fingering, grinding of some sorts (over the clothes), Dirty Talk, 18+ only (Minors DNI), (READ AT YOUR OWN RISK)

Word count: 5k

The day before the WrestleMania kickoff show was declared a pre-kickoff for everyone in WWE as Paul Levesque and Stephanie McMahon hosted their first annual pre-kickoff dinner party to celebrate the road to WrestleMania. You sat in your hotel room, applying the pieces of jewelry that you placed out to put on.

Roman asked you to accompany him to this dinner party. Though you were surprised, he even asked you. After last week with your interaction with Cody, Roman made it clear how pissed he was with you.

Cody, that man has not left your mind. You haven't seen him since, other than watching him on TV when he appeared on Monday's show.

You would be crazy if some of you thought about seeing him, but you did. You had no idea why, however.

There wasn't any point in being near the man; he wasn't completing this WrestleMania with Roman anymore. You won't have to worry about being a distraction.

But you couldn't help but think about the past. You wished you could forget what happened between the two of you.

But the way he touched you, the way you moaned for him, the way he made you feel, how could you not forget that!?

You've had sex before, but never in the way you did with Cody. You held in for so long just to focus on your plan, give in, and throw yourself at him the minute he became vulnerable. You, too, were vulnerable.

And you couldn't help but bite your lip as you thought about that night. The way he talked to you, it made you realize how much of a praise kink you have, how much you get turned on by how dirty he can speak to you, all while fucking you.

"We're on a tight schedule. Are you almost ready?" Roman asked as he exited your hotel bathroom, adjusting his tie.

You cleared your throat, looking down as you hid the flustered from your face. "Yeah, I'm ready."

You took tiny breaths before sitting up, turning to Roman as he grabbed his keys before looking at you. "How do I look?" Roman asked, adjusting his top suit. You nodded in approval. "Like you just got inducted into the hall of fame."

Roman smirks, nodding at your comment. He then got serious. "Listen, a lot of our family will be there, some we haven't spoken to in a while, that we haven't been on good terms with."

You knew who Roman was talking about, Jey. The last time you saw Jey in person was when he and Cody were undisputed tag champs. You didn't even see him at the Royal Rumble. But you miss Jey. He was someone who allowed you to express your feelings whenever you were upset. And despite how malicious Jimmy acted towards him, they were twins; they missed each other.

"Just say Jey's name, Roman; you're talking about him."

Roman sighed. "Look, I can't stop you from talking to him; that's your brother, " he said. But promise me he's not going to get into your head."

You scoffed. "How would Jey get in my head?" You asked him. Roman was quiet for a moment.

Roman knew that Jey was the number one person who stood with you when you left Bloodline. Jey thinks you deserve better than doing what Roman tells you to do. The last thing he needs is someone convincing you to do such a thing. Because despite the plans he makes, you plot, despite him telling you what to do, you're his family. He's been betrayed by his family before. He doesn't want to happen, let alone from you.

"Just remember what I said," he said. It was now your turn to remain quiet as he turned to your side, pulling his arm out for you to wrap around. You took it in silence as you walked out of your room.

-

The dinner party was elegant. Silent music played in the background as chatters filled the room. The moment you and Roman walked into the room, you were greeted by many people—a hall of framers and workers who worked alongside Paul in the headquarters. Whenever Roman enters a room, heads turn, and people from every corner greet people. All you can do is say hi and smile as people approach him.

However, you notice his smile, which he had as people greeted him, disappear as he stared into the distance. You looked in the direction he was staring at, and all two of you saw two figures, one you hoped you wouldn't see, although you knew you would.

Jey. He stood from afar with a drink in his hand, laughing at whatever joke he had told himself. His eyes drifted into your and Roman's direction, matching the same faded-off smile as Roman's. Although he was looking at you and you only. All Jey wanted, although his big brother, was his little sister. You looked beautiful, he thought. All he wanted was to talk to you, ask how things were, and tell you he's still your brother.

Then they were Cody, who you sucked the air out of the minute his eyes laid on you. You looked absolutely stunning, he thought. Your dress fits perfectly on your body. It made him frustrated with how beautiful you look. A part of him wanted to come up to you and tell you how beautiful you looked. The other part wanted to take you to one of the bathrooms and undress you out of that incredibly sexy dress.

Roman eyes narrowed at the two men. He feared Jey's words, but he also feared Cody's actions. He had no clue what was going on between you and Cody; after seeing how close he was to you a couple of days ago, it absolutely made Roman boil. Yes, Roman's is your cousin. But the two of you were more siblings than cousins. And seeing a man that he truly despises be incredibly close to you was something he never wanted to happen again. And he knew a part of it was his fault.

Roman was the one who told you to distract Cody and do whatever it takes. Now he questions what exactly happened to you. It was like he accidentally set you up as bait.

You let out a shaky sigh as you looked at Roman. "I'm going to go grab me a drink, " you said as you walked off, not allowing Roman to speak.

You knew that tonight was going to be a long night. And you knew that avoiding Cody as much as possible would probably help. But it is impossible, especially when you are in the same room.

You finally grabbed a drink, sipped it, and breathed to calm down. You looked back to see Roman conversing with Dwayne and other people you did not know their names.

From a distance, Jey was debating whether he should approach you. He wasn't sure if you would want to talk to him. But he gained the strength anyway, looking over at Cody, who watched you. "Aye uce, let me go to my sis real quick."

Cody looked at him. A hint of surprise formed in his face, but he nodded anyway. He wasn't sure how your conversation with Jey would turn out.

Jey hesitated for a moment, then walked towards you. Your back was turned as you were unaware of Jey's presence getting closer. That wasn't until you heard his voice.

"Y/N."

You turned around, seeing your brother in front of you. You glanced over at Roman, who hadn't seen you two. You then looked back at him.

You wanted nothing more than to hug your Jey and tell him how much you missed him, but you kept your distance, giving him a small smile. "Hi."

Jey smiled back. "How have you been, little sis?" he asked. He was glad you were talking to him.

"I've been better, big bro." You replied as your smile grew. "I miss you."

Hearing you say that made Jey happy. He would be lying if a small part of him thought you hated him for leaving the bloodline. If only he knew that was far from the truth. Deep down, you admire him for doing that.

"I miss you too." He said. Your eyes showed a hint of happiness hearing that from him. Your eyes then drifted to the tie that lay on his chest, causing you to suck your teeth as you placed your drink down. "I see things haven't changed." You say fixing his tie correctly. Jey couldn't help but laugh. "I've been trying to fix it; you know I hate ties."

"Well, you could have worn a bow." You tell him. Jey shakes his head. "I look ridiculous in those."

"No, you do not, Jey," you said, remaining silent momentarily. "Okay, maybe a little."

"Wow!" Jey was taken aback as he looked down at you. You couldn't help but laugh at his reaction, which caused him to laugh back.

However, your eyes wander towards Roman, whose eyes are now on you two, causing you to stop laughing. Jey realizes this, looking over at Roman before looking at you. "He's controlling you, Y/N."

"Jey-"

"Y/N, he uses you. The only reason he still has you around is because you've helped keep that championship belt he got." Jey tells her. You shook your head. "That's not true." You tell him and yourself.

Jey frowns as you deny his words. You now knew what Roman meant by Jey getting in your head. Deep down, you question whether Jey was right.

However, you still deny it. "Look, I've been there for Roman through everything. He's family. And Families don't betray each other."

Jey scrunch his eyebrows together as you said that. "What's that supposed to mean?" You looked at him as you realized what you had said, seeing the effect that it had on him. "Jey- it's not like that,"

"Nah, I get it," Jey spoke, shaking his head. "I betrayed Roman. I turned my back on my own family; I decided to be selfish. It's not like Roman selfishly treated all of us like crap whenever our job isn't done."

"Jey-"

"He would have done the same if he knew about you and Cody,"

You immediately froze as you looked at your brother. Jey still had no clue what had happened between the two of you, but he knew something had happened; otherwise, Cody's reactions to what he had seen wouldn't have been how they had been.

"I don't know what you're talking about," You choked out as you looked away from Jey.

"Yes, I do," Jey said. "I don't know what it is, nor is it none of my business, but Roman is gonna find out what it is, and he's gonna be furious."

"There's nothing going on between Cody and me, okay?" You snapped at your brother out of frustration. "For once, can't you understand that Roman isn't doing any using and isn't controlling me!?"

Jey noticed your body language and tone of voice; it was your reaction to him mentioning Cody. And as much as you really wanted to talk to your brother right now, you tried to get away and calm down.

"Aye, sis? " a voice said, bringing your and Jey's attention to Jimmy, the eldest sibling.

Yours and Jimmy's relationship was different from yours and Jey's. You and Jimmy were close despite what happened with your other brothers. But you couldn't talk to him about how you were feeling occasionally. You couldn't even do that with Jey because of how distant you had gotten.

You didn't want to mean it, but you couldn't help but think that Jimmy had his head up Roman's ass so far that everything you did felt, and you did want to tell Jimmy, but you couldn't because of Roman.

"Everything's good?" Jimmy asked you as his eyes heavily narrowed at Jey. Jey and Jimmy made eye contact as Jimmy got closer to the two of you. More Jey than you.

You took a step back. "I'm fine," you said, feeling overwhelmed by what was happening. I'm going to go use the bathroom."

You didn't even give Jey a chance to react before you were off into the bathroom. He looked over in your direction, watching you walk as he sighed. All he wanted was a civil conversation with his sister.

And that couldn't happen.

-

The index finger of Cody's hand gently slipped across the rim of his glass cup as he stared down at his drink. He sat down by the bar by himself, examining his surroundings and the party that was currently going on.

A few people have approached him, making small talk, but most of the time, he was thinking.

He was thinking about a lot of things. His head was clouded. From his decision about WrestleMania to seeing you walking in, Cody knew that his time was limited from exploding.

He noticed the glances from Roman the moment he walked in. Though, Roman kept his distance. Cody wasn't stupid; he knew Roman was more cautious towards him after seeing how incredibly close he was with you. And as much as he needed to stay away from you, a part of him didn't mind pissing Roman off.

But it's you. It wasn't any random woman. He needed to stay far away from you for his sanity. You were all he could think about. It was affecting him badly.

Cody glances at you and Jey as you are in his head again. Fuck, you looked breathtaking in that dress. He knew you knew you looked good, but my god, Cody felt himself wanting to undress you with his own eyes.

He couldn't help but notice your expression—you looked overwhelmed. Your brothers were now standing in front of each other.

Cody knew everything that went down between Jimmy and Jey. The whole world knew what happened between the two. But Cody was the one who took Jey when Jey needed someone the most. And he knew you and Jey's relationship was a bit rocky, which allowed Cody to know precisely what you were feeling.

His eyes followed you as you walked into the bathroom, leaving the two brothers to themselves. His eyes stared at that door. He had a crazy debate about going into it, though it was a girl's bathroom, and he knew how stupid that would be for himself.

"Hey, Cody." Cody turned his head as he saw a figure standing in front of him, causing him to be taken aback a bit.

Dwayne was the last person Cody expected to approach him. His smile indicated that he meant no harm, allowing Cody to smile back.

"Hey, Dwayne," Cody said as Dwayne sat beside him. Dwayne grabbed the bartender's attention as he ordered a drink. Once receiving it, he looked back at Cody. "How you doing."

"Well," Cody said, forcing a small smile. "Just taking one step at a time." He said.

"Well, that's something," Dwayne said, chuckling a bit as he took a sip. Cody let one out, too, and he drank from his cup.

The conversation had already been 20 seconds, and it was already awkward. It wasn't like Cody hated Dwayne. Despite being related to someone he despised, Dwayne was one of his few role models.

But family is family. Deep down, Cody knew that Dwayne would rather defend his cousin than someone who looked up to him. That's how their whole family works.

"Listen, I just want to talk to you about WrestleMania," Dwayne started the conversation. Cody held his hand up. There's nothing really to talk about; I made my decision."

Dwayne nodded. However, the two of them knew that this was not true. Cody didn't want to talk about it, especially to the man who was facing Roman instead of him. "I just want to know if we're good," Dwayne said. "You hear the fans all over social media saying they want you, and I don't want anyone coming in the way and confusing your decision."

Cody took in what Dwayne said. Yes, in less than 24 hours, Cody has been trending all over social media. #wewantcody even took him by surprise. His entire career, he's been in the mid-card. He's never gotten this much notice.

But Dwayne's mention made Cody think a certain way. If Dwayne had only said so, his decision would have stayed the same.

"I made the decision; I can't go back on my word, can I?" Cody said, looking at Dwayne. Dwayne stared at Cody back before nodding, forming a smile on his face. "It wouldn't make sense if you did," Dwayne said. He then got up from his seat. "I'm glad you and I are on the same page."

Cody nodded, taking a sip from his drink. "Yeah, me too."

Dwayne patted Cody on the shoulder as it looked like he was going to walk off and finally end this dreadful conversation. But suddenly, Dwayne stopped and turned back to him. "Oh, there's something else,"

Dwayne took a step closer to Cody as he leaned in to whisper in his ears. "I need you to stay away from Y/N. Or there will be consequences."

Something in Cody infuriated him as he looked at Dwayne. Dwayne patted his back once again before walking off.

Dwayne walking up to Cody and him mentioning WrestleMania didn't get under his skin. But you?

Cody rubbed his temple as you were now back in your head. Roman was the person who sent you to him. And now he's being told to stay away from you.

He couldn't help but laugh. He knew a thousand times that he should stay away from you. But now, just to piss Roman and Dwayne off, and because he knew eventually that he was going to fail at staying away, it made him not want to at the moment.

Cody's eyes scanned the party, then drifted back towards the bathroom door. You haven't left the bathroom since talking to Jey. And Cody fought with his intrusive thoughts, telling him to stay where he was, but wanting to go into that bathroom so badly.

Suddenly, he stood up from his seat, adjusting his suit as his eyes wandered, ensuring no one was looking in his direction. He cautiously made his way toward the bathroom door, making sure no one was watching. Once making it to the door, his eyes looked around one more time before stepping in.

-

You walked into an empty bathroom stall, straight towards the mirror, and started steadying your breathing. Your conversation with Jey went the way you didn't want it to.

You looked at yourself in the mirror as you replayed your conversation with Jey. From Roman to Cody, all you wanted was a peaceful talk with your brother without the outside drama getting in between, but that couldn't happen.

You stayed in the bathroom for a good minute, standing as you continued to take breaths, not trying to get everything under your skin.

All you wanted to do was leave the party, go back to your hotel, and sleep away the problems in your life. However, you couldn't do that, and reality kicked in when you jumped from getting scared of the door opening.

Unfortunately, your face immediately dropped as you looked at the person who had walked in. Cody.

He stared at you, watching your expression. Followed by a click, indicating that he had locked the bathroom door, you involuntarily gulped, followed by silence. His stares imitated you for some reason. You two were known for having intense eye contact, especially when you were around him to distract him. But for some reason, he made you feel small. You can feel him undressing you with his eyes. If only you knew that was exactly what he wanted to do to you that night.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, your voice soft, almost whispered. Cody watched how you reacted to him. This wasn't the first time he'd seen you like this. But it felt different because there wasn't any distraction, no mind games, and just you two.

Cody walked up to you. You're back leaning against the bathroom table as you look up at him. You were trying to read his facial expression, but it was more of curiosity that you could see. "Are you okay?" He asked, not answering your original question.

However, you nodded, watching Cody, then looked down at your lip. You were unaware that you were biting your lip. He had his hands in his pocket right now, but at the moment, he felt himself clenching his hands hard, desperately stopping himself from bending you over and fucking you so severely.

"You shouldn't be in here, Cody," you tell him. Once again, Cody ignored what you said and asked a question about your statement. "You ever thought about that night, Y/N?"

Your heart dropped hearing what he had said. The night the two of you had sex for the first and only time. You thought about that night a little from time to time. The thought of you touching yourself to Cody crossed your mind, causing you to turn away and have your back facing him.

Cody caught a glimpse of your facial expression before you turned. At that moment, you were probably thinking about that night, something dirty. Cody's head was screaming at him to run to that bathroom stall, forget what came out of his mouth, and never speak about it again.

However, it suddenly got hot in the bathroom as you felt him very close to you, breathing down your neck. His hands secretly hesitated before pulling themselves out of his pocket and onto your waist.

"I thought about that night too many times; it's starting to torture me," Cody whispered in your ear. Your hand grabbed onto the table, clenching on it so hard. It took everything in your power not to lean your head back.

"The thought of touching you, making you moan, you'll be such a good girl."

Cody knew that you had a praise kink; it was something that he found incredibly attractive about. He had a kink to females who had a praise kink.

And because of that, he noticed your head shifted a bit, your eyes fluttered closed, and your lips parted open. Fuck those lips. God blessed you with beautiful lips. If it wasn't your skin or your moans that turned Cody on, it was your lips.

"We can't speak about this, Cody," you spoke. Cody felt himself sighing as he laid his head on your shoulders. Not because you were right, but because he was getting hard knowing they shouldn't be doing this.

And you felt it. It poked, causing you to think nothing but yourself throbbing for him. "Fuck," you let out as you couldn't help yourself from grinding against his clothed hard-on.

Why, all of a sudden, the two of you were folding so quickly? You wondered why Cody made you so needy so quickly.

But it didn't matter because he was the same way as he gripped your waist, pulling you closer to him. He watched you through the mirror that you had forgotten was the. Those pretty faces you were making as you bit your lip, stopping yourself from moaning. God, you looked so beautiful.

Cody couldn't help but grunt, seeing how you were reacting to grinding on him. His pants were highly uncomfortable, and he wanted more to fuck you in this bathroom. But he knew he couldn't. And he wasn't, not tonight in this bathroom, at least.

He turned around, however. Your eyes shot open as you stepped so close to the man, his chest almost touching. You now notice him staring down your lips. "Let me taste them, just this once?" he spoke. You remained quiet as his large hands were placed on your chest. They slowly crept up to your neck as he wrapped them around you.

You let out a small moan, causing his grip to be tighter. "Do not moan. Otherwise, I'm going to cum on myself."

Fuck. Why did he say that? It immediately made you do the opposite as another moan slipped out unintentionally. You didn't care that the man had just walked into the women's bathroom; you wanted him badly.

And hearing you moan once again caused Cody's hard-on to joint, tightening his grip. But his grip around your neck wasn't helping him either. You were getting turned by it. Fuck, praise kink, and now a choking kink, has had he remained himself from fucking you.

Cody leans in and lightly places his lips onto yours. He just wanted to touch your lips, that's all. And you didn't stop him; once you felt his kissing, you immediately kissed him back.

The hand that was around your neck was now wrapped around the back of your neck, as his other hand was on your chest. The kiss was slow, and both of you took in how you two felt.

It wasn't until you and your actions nearly made Cody explode as he groaned in between your kisses that caused the two of you to fight with each other using your tongues.

Your hand tugged on his hair as your other hand pulled him close, and you leaned against the bathroom sink again. His hands now went straight down to your ass, squeezing it as your mouth opened while kissing him. Cody rolled his tongue, swallowing your moan.

Your mind couldn't process the fact Cody put his tongue down your mouth. It wasn't processing because of how good the kiss was. You couldn't help but push him away; however, the two of you couldn't even stare at each other, and you were both out of breath.

But Cody wasn't finished. You felt his hands slightly lifting your dress a bit before he reached the side of your underwear.

You watched him, lips slightly swollen, as his eyes darted down at your dress, pulling your underwear down till you kicked it off your ankles.

It was now in Cody's hand as he stared down at it—a black lace thong. Despite walking into the bathroom, he felt you were doing this on purpose. Oh, to see your legs spread open, having nothing but a lace thong covering your pretty clit of yours. He would have tasted you over the thong. The last time he ate you out, he had to reframe himself from making you cum so quickly. He's given head before to other females. You, the taste of your wet clit was too fucking good.

His breathing was what you notice. His chest was rising heavily as you held your thong in his hand. You bite your lip as you take it from him and shove it in his pocket to give him a souvenir. Then, with risk, a substantial fucking risk, you took his hand and placed it in between your thighs.

He didn't pull his hand back. Instead, he moved his hand upwards, allowing your legs to spread again. Your eyes fluttered shut as your hand immediately held onto Cody's hand. You could feel his fingers playing with your folds, feeling how wet you were.

Oh, my fucking gosh, Cody felt absolutely ruined. The pretty sounds coming out your mouth, the fact you were so wet for him you could hear it. He knew that after tonight, there were going to be consequences for his actions. But right now, he rather sees you cum on his fingers.

"You're so fucking dirty," Cody whispered in your ear. "You like that I'm playing with your pretty pussy in this bathroom where there are so many people out there."

Cody bit down on your ear lobe as you let out a whimper. You then looked up at him as he moaned and grew louder, trying your hardest not to have someone hear. But both you and Cody were making that difficult.

"I love it when you play with my pussy, Cody." You moaned out. "Fuck, I missed this, I missed the way you made me feel."

Cody was going feral right now. His fingers were now inside you as he felt you grinding down on them. What has he gotten himself into?

Your mouth was filthy, and you didn't care. Significantly when Cody sped his pace with his fingers, thrusting them in you faster. You threw your head back as he immediately started kissing your neck.

You can feel Cody grinding on your thigh, trying to find some release. You wanted to return the favor as your hand found his erection, cupping it.

However, you frowned as Cody pulled your hand back as he looked at you. "Not today, baby. Right now, it's about you."

You didn't argue. You couldn't argue as Cody added another finger, finger fucking your clit. You felt your orgasm coming.

All you wanted to do was moan loudly as you felt yourself about cum. But you couldn't. Despite being a party, you knew someone would hear you two.

Cody moaned, however, as you brought your lips to his ears and moaned in them. He felt your legs clenching, your clit clenching around his finger. "Ohhh, I'm close, fuck!"

Cody's finger didn't stop thrusting into you as you reached your climax, cumming on his finger. He watched as your face washed over with bliss, your knuckles turning white as you held on to the table and his shoulders. It was such a beautiful sight to see.

You felt him move his fingers out your clit and watch him look down his finger before raising it to his mouth and getting a taste of your wetness. Cody couldn't help but moan. You taste so sweet, so fucking good. It was impossible that you tasted that so fucking good

Your mouth slightly parted as you let out a small gasp, watching him do something unholy. It turned you on all over again, watching him taste you on his finger.

The two of you tried your hardest to avoid each other. After tonight, you knew it was going to be impossible now.

Last Part | Next Part

TAGGED LIST

@yolobloggers @reebs-luvs-rhodes-and-wrestling @rickastleybaby

@princessesareforsuckers

[presidentsdaughter]

note/tags - suicide but not jimmy.. just his mom, slight gore mention, some smut?, dry humping, jimmy is like early 20s in this.. start to a fic i couldn’t bother to finish, bad writing..

Jimmy’s mom is all over the walls. It’s like someone has set off a fucking party popper. She didn’t even have the decency to get him a banner.

Welcome home Jim! Congrats on getting bailed out! I knew you could do it!

Not even that. Not a single slice of cake. Not even a candle or a party hat or a gift box or a fucking hug. Whatever people get on their birthdays.

Jimmy stands there, jaw tight, unblinking as he looks over the mess she has made of herself, the house, and his life. She’s smoked all her cigs, drained every bottle, snorted anything fine enough to suck up through a straw, and he knows Mom, she’d never leave a needle behind. So the only thing she leaves in his name is this mess and this awful smell.

He toes at what is left of her, her legs bent awkwardly at the knee like a mistreated Barbie doll. Her face is this gaping hole that looks something like her bloody cunt the day she pushed him out. For a second he wishes that it would open up like the maw of a beast and swallow him whole, take him back to where he came from, and then he goes back to feeling nothing much.

It’s no biggie. Jimmy never liked her much. She liked Curly more than she liked him, but everyone likes Curly more than him. He’s a sole-crushed peach splattered on the sidewalk, picking up grit and dirt, and Curly is a fucking prized watermelon or a silver spoon, a real nice spoon, the fancy kind you only get out for guests—He’d come and use his polished edge to scoop Jimmy right up, shape him into something nice, clean him off and serve him for dessert.

Curly bailed him out. He drove Jimmy home in his nice new car, it smelt good and had his initials on the number plate. He did this all because he needs Jimmy to feel good. So he can go and tell anyone that’ll listen about his piss-poor junkie best friend. How he put him back on his feet. Curly is modern day fucking Christ and Jimmy is a crippled leper.

By his mother’s open hand is his father’s handgun. She’s named Mia after the chick in Pulp Fiction. Jimmy picks her up, gives her a once over, and tucks her in his back pocket for a rainy day. He goes to take a piss because he’s been busting for one ever since Curly picked him up, but the throbbing urgency numbed when he saw his fragments of mom’s skull dotting the carpet like milk teeth.

Jimmy takes his piss and then he notices mom didn’t even leave a single sheet of toilet paper behind. He shakes himself dry, returns to the couch where she lays limp, thinks of blowing off her tits and then decides she isn’t worth another bullet. Jimmy turns the gun to himself. He wonders if mom put it to the right side of her head or the left. Probably in her stupid whore mouth. She would let anyone in there.

“You’re joining the party, huh?” You’re standing in the doorway of his trailer, lukewarm and unsmiling, snapping your gum like this is no big deal. You’ve always been that way. Unaffected. Jimmy pulls the trigger and Mia jams. She’s an old girl. He forgives her. He just wanted to see you cry.

Jimmy doesn’t really think you would cry, but he likes the thought of it. You would look so fucking ugly when you cry.

“I found her earlier, heard the shot and came to check.” You’re wearing short shorts so short the inside of your pockets hang out past the cuffs. “But I thought it’d be a nice surprise.”

“Fuck you,” Jimmy says, arm dangling by his side. Mia clatters to the ground when his fingers lose grip.

“That’s not very nice,” you tell him evenly, sidestepping clumps of clotted blood to get to him.

Jimmy flops down beside his mom’s faceless body. She talked too much so the silence is kind of nice. He spreads his legs and you drape yourself over him, pressing your tits to his chest and sucking his tongue into your warm mouth.

“I didn’t forget your present.” You’re rolling your hips into his, the old couch creaks with the weight of all two and a half of you. His mom topples sideways onto his shoulder and Jimmy shoves her dead weight back the other way. Blood smears the arm of his shirt where she fell, but he can’t find it in himself to care.

“Oh, yeah?” Jimmy bites your neck, he feels the pulse of your hot cunt through those tiny shorts.

“Course I didn’t, saved the date and everything.”

He half expects you to dig into your bra and pull out a baggie of something, but you just offer him a half smile, giving a sideways glance to the stinking corpse.

[hugheswritetr]

D-Day

MASTERLIST

Heartbeat | Jack Hughes

Author’s note: the longest chapters so far, hope you enjoy it;)

Song: Daylight- Taylor Swift

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

The bathroom counter in my room is overflowing with make-up. As always, I decided to lay a little bit longer than necessary in bed as I should, and this is the result of it. I cannot even navigate through the stuff, making my frustration rise more.

My palms are sweaty, my arms are aching and the goddamn eyeliner is getting crooked more and more each time I try to fix it. This is not my day. I am hoping that it at least looks presentable, the last thing I want is to look horrendous on national television.

Don’t even get me started on my outfit, the new bought heels I put on to stretch already digging into my feet. Sure, the heels are Jimmy Choo’s ( I would never buy anything else ), but even the price tag can’t fix the already forming blister.

,,Thalia! Stop hogging the bathroom!” my brother screams from outside, banging on the door for the millionth time.

Did I mention it was the day of the draft?

The day Mattheo had been working towards his entire life, the past week of his life incredibly stressful, the combine and interviews going with being the fourth projected pick.

We had flown to Dallas two days later than him, residing in the Mariott hotel in downtown Dallas. The whole family is here for this once in a lifetime event. Whole family but one person.

I can see that it’s troubling him, dad was one of his biggest supporters, paying for various trainers and private ice time with them. Despite all that, he is not here. I am sad for him, remembering the special father and son bond between them.

,,Give me a second” I shout back at him, even though knowing that the second would be a lot longer. How much more can my arms ache?

,,Thalia!” my brothers annoyed tone making me screw up more ,,Come on!”

,,Oh my god Theo stop! You’re making me nervous!” I report back in annoyed sneer. “You?!Nervous ?!” I don’t know how he manages to be louder each time. “Are you forgetting it’s my draft day?!”

,,Oh my god! Fine!” I reply, trying to swiftly gather my things into my make-up bag. Luke’s bathroom will have to do. I open the door, revealing my annoyed brother standing there.

,,Finally” he says as he enters the bathroom. “Asshat,, I retort my last comment before leaving the room.

The trip down the hallway is short, five steps and I am already knocking on his door.

But the boy opening the door is not the brother I am expecting . ,,Thalia?” Jack is raising his eyebrow at me making me squirm under his gaze. ,,Um, Could I finish getting ready in your room? Mattheo needs to get ready and he can’t when I’m in the bathroom” the blush to my cheeks rising as I ask the question.

,,Sure, but Luke is not here” the newfound information making me almost wish I hadn’t come here. I enter the room and swiftly aim for the bathroom, hoping to get away from the awkward silence that fell between me and the boy who stole my heart and doesn’t even know it.

What I didn’t expect is him following me and sitting on the bathtub beside me. “So, what are we doing?” he asks, catching me off guard. “We?,, I nervously laugh. “Sure, Lils, I’m not going to sit there when I can keep you company,, he nonchalantly replies.

I pray he doesn’t see the effect he has on me and that the foundation tint is covering my red cheeks. If it hadn’t been for my mind replaying the sentence over and over again, I wouldn’t even notice the name he said.

“You know my name is Thalia, right?” I ask and he laughs like it is the greatest joke he heard for a while. “You think I’m dumb? Lils is my new nickname for you, you have lillies on your dress” he voices the detail of my dress.

,,Oh” it was as I forgotten all of the english vocabulary and the only response I can muster is this.

,,Let me help you, sit” he says, noticing me still not drawing the eyeliner right. “Jack, please, like you know how to do it” I reply, rolling my eyes. “And you do?,, he jokingly answers.

He puts his hand around my biceps and sits me down on the bathtub, standing up and taking the make-up tool from my hand.

I gaze up to him, admiring the focused look in his eyes, but most importantly admiring him. The small freckles covering the bridge of his nose, the pink hue on his cheeks from spending time in the sun. The lines of focus between his eyebrows reminding me that he is human, and not some carefully carved sculpture. Jack Hughes is perfection.

,,Here, done” he finishes drawing the eyeliner. I stand up, expecting the disaster on my eyes, but when I gaze into the mirror, the eyeliner is drew on, good? It honestly makes me surprised.

I voice my thoughts with surprised laugh ,,Where did you learn this?”. Jack looks at me “I often watch my girlfriend do make-up, I’m kind of a pro right now” the world girlfriend silencing my next words. I just stand there gaping at him, the awkward silence sweeping over the room. The sentence is a dig to my heart, reminding me that I can admire him all I want, but I can never have him.

I think that my guardian angels decided to help me, and thank god they did, because Luke enters the room.

,,Come on Jack, we have to go - Thalia?” he asks surprised. “Oh Hi Luke, I was just here to finish my make-up, Mattheo occupied the bathroom” I answer his confusion.

Quickly cleaning up the stuff, I gather it to my hands leaving the room ,,I should go see if mom and Theo are ready, see you” I leave without waiting for the answer.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

I am in a state of awe for the last 5 minutes, and the cause for a first time in a while is not Jack. As I am sitting in my seat, the NHL level stadium makes the situation feel ten times more real than back in the hotel, signalling the significance of the event.

Our seats are in the higher part of the arena, right before the Hughes family. Luke is shaking his leg notoriously, he seems even more nervous than Quinn and Theo, the actual people being drafted.

There is a limit on the amount my nerves can handle, and before I know , I am complaining to him ,,Luke! I swear to god, if you’re going to shake that leg one more time, I’m going to slice it” I say to him, making him widen his eyes. “Geez Thalia, never took you as the psycho type” Jack inserts himself into the conversation. Once again, reminding me of his unforgettable presence in my life.

My mother knowingly smiles at me, knowing the real reason for my snapping. I feel sad for Mattheo, one of the most important events of his life is here, and dad is missing. I can see it’s troubling him, so I put my hand around his leg.

,, He is looking, you know it right?” I say to him, trying to calm him. He offers me a bittersweet smile in response ,,I know”.

The ceremony soon begins, anticipation filling my entire body. The reports saying Mattheo is going to be one of the first first rounders - making it known that the fate of his draft is going to be revealed soon.

First pick belonged to Buffalo Sabres, and the smile on the lucky hockey protégé picked for them making me excited for Theo’s moment.

I am thinking, not even noticing that the next team is picking. Selfishly, I hope that he would be going to the Detroit Red Wings to be close, but I know he is going to be picked sooner.

Then the Montreál Canadiens appear on stage. Making the usual speech.

The second Mattheo's name is called by the Montreal Canadiens, we jump from our seats and scream in joy. First mom hugs him, her eyes are shining with tears making my own spill in reponse. I hug him too, being the proudest sister there is on planet earth in this moment, my heart soaring with happiness. He made it, and I couldn’t be more proud. He leaps a few steps up to the Hughes family to hug Quinn, his now former teammate. And then the journey to his new team begins.

My heart skips a beat as I watch him make his way to the stage, a mix of emotions swirling within me. Pride, excitement, and pure happiness radiating off him and in return, off me.

After the moment ends, we sit back down. I can basically feel the anxiety radiating from Quinn by not being picked yet. All I can do is plead with god and my dad to bring the moment sooner.

It is as they hear my prayers, because as soon as the Vancouver Canucks call the name of their next new player, my ears reach the sound of a name of the boy I had grown to care about so much over the span of past three and a half years. I jump from my seat for a second time, expierencing the happiness once again.

The proud feeling coursing through my body from both of the boys successful drafts is beautiful. Me and Luke hug, feeling proud of our eldest brothers and wanting to share the moment together. The two bestfriends made it onto the international stage, an accomplishment we will be celebrating for a long time.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

The draft had been a rollercoaster of emotions, but seeing Quinn and Mattheo's dreams come true was an incredible moment.

We meet with them after the draft, the smile is permanently etched on their faces for the rest of the evening, making the whole group feel good.

The only thing that doesn’t feel good are my feet. Who suggested these painful heels? I know the answer, making me frustrated at myself. My ,,silent” huffing is unnoticed, until I see the middle Hughes boy stopping and waiting for me.

,,Come on, jump” He says, catching me off guard. “What?,, I reply, the confusing train of thoughts surging through me until he crouches . ,,Jump” he says, waiting for me to jump on him.

My proud mind is screaming at me not to, wanting to prove my mother I can wear heels for the whole evening even if she insisted I couldn’t.

But as I try to take another step, the pain spreading through my feet is too much for me to bear, making me jump on him.

Despite being dark, I can see daylight. Personified in the presence of him.

I don’t even notice the knowing look on the elder women faces as they watch us. As if secretly knowing what the future holds for us. We will soon find out.

[cianmarstoo]

wip wednesday

getting yall before you can get me - it's literally 4:06am

heres a snippet from my next chapter on Did things I didn't wanna!

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

Derek distracted Alex with different bath toys, bubbles, and bath bombs, while Meredith added a box of pull-ups to the cart underneath the clothes so Alex wouldn’t see: he hadn’t used them so far, but they were required to have them for him considering his drop age.

“Do you want this bud? You can have one in your bath tonight.” Derek pointed at the pack of different bath bombs, one of which was a shark which had caught Alex’s eye.

Alex bit his lip, then shook his head, sadly. “They girls ones.”

“Bath bombs are for girls?” Alex nodded and Derek forced himself not to frown, he kept his voice soft, “Bath bombs aren’t just for girls, Alex, they’re for anyone.”

“Nuh uh, Jimmy said girls.”

“Who’s Jimmy, Alexander?”

Alex frowned, staring at the bath bombs, the shark was glittery, but it looked cool; a big white with sharp teeth and a big red tongue. “... daddy… he gone.” 

Derek pressed a kiss to Alex’s forehead. If he ever saw the guy he was going to kick his ass, though from what Alex said, and his file which hadn’t mentioned Jimmy by name, he hadn’t had a thing to do with Alex since he was young. “That’s very silly of him. You know I like bath bombs, sometimes I use ones Meredith has, and I used to use ones my sisters had when I used to live at home: I’ve never seen any as cool as these ones though.”

“.... you have them too?”

“Uh huh, I do. They’re a lot of fun- you get to watch them swirl around, and they change the color of the water. I think these ones are cool, what have we got… a shark, a turtle…”

“Fishy.”

“That’s right, a fishy, what’s this last one… is it a bird?” 

As expected, that silliness made Alex laugh, “Nuh uh, crocodile!”

Derek smiled at the adorable way he’s said crocodile, like ‘cwock-id-aisle’. “Ahhh, of course, a crocodile, silly me! How about we get this one, and one of the bubble baths, theres a cool space one, or a car one-”

“Piwate!”

Derek grinned, picking them up with the hand which wasn’t holding Alex, “Good choice, you can have them in a bath after dinner tonight, before bedtime.” 

“Don’ need bedtimes.”

Derek couldn’t help but smile, considering this was the most awake he’d seen Alex in days, and he was normally fast asleep before it even hit 7pm. “Sorry, Alexander, that’s just one of the rules we’ve got to have so you’re safe and healthy.” 

Alex let out a sigh and pouted at him, “I doc-tor.”

“And you’re a very good doctor when you’re big, sunshine, but you’ve got to follow rules at the hospital, right?” Alex frowned confused then nodded his head, “well, you’ve got to also listen to the rules me and Mer made, Alexander,” he smiled as he walked over to the cart where Meredith had finally hidden the boxes, “but, maybe we can pick out some more books today, then one of us could read you a bedtime story?”

“... any book?”

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

No pressure tag-

@anewkindofme (ha got u before you can get me lol), @pocketspencer , & @bobadiin

[eleven441]

The Story 1 🤍💙❤️

Cody Rhodes x Eleven story.

First of all i wanna say congrats to Rhodes once again. And all Roman reigns fans are pathetic why are you crying. You know he couldn't be champion forever. Y'all can stay mad.

Meh he's leaving meh this meh that, can't he do something normal like you know , finally starting a tag team, you know winning the tag titles. Join a Battle royal emg Andrea the Giant. Can win Money in the bank idk.

Stuff like that , it's fun. But noooo no championship you just leave anyway it's giving petty vibes.

He's now as good as someone like Ricochet, or Kofi Kingston. The Underdog never had a problem. I LOOOOOVVVVED THE UNDERDOG. But ever since he became the tribal chief and had brown eyes.... Ugh.

Soo to the story....

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

So in this story Cody is 28, Jey 25 and Seth 26.

Cody still has brown hair. And Seth black.

Ok umm

Me

🟣🟣🟣🟣🟣🟣🟣🟣🟣🟣🟣🟣🟣🟣🟣🟣🟣🟣🟣

Hi my name is Eleven I'm 25 and i am one of the biggest WWE superstars yet. I live with my brother Jey Uso🙄. With his friends Cody and Seth. And also with my best friend Becky. In a real big house.

I have another brother named Jimmy you know his stage name. But we don't live with him, due to some "personal reasons". We've been going through alotta ups and downs in the Anoa'i family. We'll get into that later.

Jey is an annoying Wild Card , who could be bothering me for no reason. He just comes and takes my chips. He uses my equipment without asking and he is always yelling.

Seth is very toxic in a funny way. He is always making these offensive jokes in serious situations like at funerals. He is a real foodie, i stash up the whole pantry and fridge with food, next morning poof it's gone.

Then we have Cody...Coooodeeey ......CO-D

Umm yeah we don't talk at all I don't even think he likes me. I guess i can't tell because whenever we're in the same room. It's just an akward silence. I am kinda crushing on him especially when he walks in without a shirt. But i ignore my feelings and let it slide.

...

Today Jey and Seth were out running errands for this week's upcoming SmackDown. I was in the gym busting my ass off. Cody was with me, but he was like literally on the other side of the room. It was total akward silence from there.

All he said coming in was a quiet hi. Then he went to his business. What weirded me out the most is how I could feel eyes on me. I felt bright blue eyes on my skin and for some reason it stung. I decided to ignore it and lift some weights but i was failing.

My brother Jey usually gives me a spot. But now that he ain't here it's gonna be hard. I wasn't expecting anything from Cody at all.

"Y-You need help with that?"i heard his soft voice gently echoing from the other side of the room. I was in shock just thinking of what Cody said. "Umm yeah yeah" i answered back. He came over to me snd stood behind me, to help me lift. The idea of squatting Infront of him made me uncomfortable.

He made sure i didn't hurt myself. ".....25! Woof that was one work out!" I said. "Thanks" i said softly fluttering my eyes. He smirked at me , with sparkling eyes. "Don't mention it" with that he walked off into the distance.

Thursday....

Seth , Jey, Cody and i went ot waffle house to have breakfast. Once we were there we so a real fat guy tryna get through the doors. "HEY! WHY DON'T YOU LOSE SOME WEIGHT!!!" Seth yelled. "Seth!" Jey and i hissed. All Cody did was chuckle, and shake his head then went through the other side of the door.

I had to answer a call from an Unknown number

Hello?

Oh hi, Elé....

Who the fuck , is this?

Liv Morgan ofcourse

(Ugh bitch)

Why the living fuck do you want?

Nothing , nothing, just let Jey know his time is almost up.

Leave my brother alone.!!!!! Hello he-hello?

Ugh i put my phone in my pocket and entered.

Seth and Jey were sitting next to each other. Which left me with Cody... He looke at me with a small smile and bright eyes. I sat next to him knowing it was ok.

Seth and Jey went to order and now Cody and i were left alone. That fat giy came back and bardged through the doors , he had a cake, sadly the hit the floor him too.... "NOOOOOOO , I WAS GONNA EAT THAT" He said , i could bear Seth laughing from the counter.

"Well you don't see that every day"Cody finally said with a small smile. "Yeah"i added on."We don't talk much"Cody said softly. "Yeah , we really don't...." I responded.

"would you like to join me at SmackDown"he asked.I eas surprised. "Yes , id love too" i smiled. "I love you" he whispered."What?" I asked. "Umm i want stew" he said.

After that Jey n Seth came with our food.

I guess i wasn't meeting Bianca and Naomi on their segment. Oh well ...

Story continues...

@alyyaanna @codyrhodesnet-blog @jeyusos-girl @wwe

[liloinkoink]

addressing two common types of tags/replies on this post

first, the funniest the of tag: gang you don’t need to tell me about red spring it’s in the post i promise i referenced it by name and explained what it was i know about red spring it’s the third to last paragraph of the previous reblog it’s in the post—

second, the other more common type: a lot of people argued Martyn is for sure loyal to Ren

and that one is… a bit complicated

listen. i love AUs and fics and headcanons about Martyn being loyal to Ren. i’m literally the religious devotion treebark paladin fic guy, i promise i understand the appeal of Martyn being eternally loyal to Ren

and yeah, if you take third life on it’s own? Martyn ends the story a loyal hand. the only real hint he’s going to betray Ren in the final episode is a poem from the watchers when he goes red:

After every winter there comes a spring

The banners burn, the songbirds sing

Vanquish them all, then ally with none

This is our call, our will be done

(i promise i know about red spring guys i promise—)

it truly could not be more obvious what the watchers are asking—betray Ren and the red banners, end red winter and bring about red spring. you can say this is content creator Martyn telling us his plan and what his character was thinking, but we don’t know that��this isn’t the direct voice of character Martyn, it’s the watchers telling him what to do, and we can’t know if he planned to follow it

you can easily headcanon Martyn in Third Life chose to ignore the call of the watchers here. you can also read it as he simply didn’t have time to enact their will (or that it was simply beneficial for him not to—they fight well when working together, and Ren was killing and eliminating people left and right).

and i’m definitely not arguing Martyn didn’t care for Ren, or that a lack of loyalty means a lack of love. Martyn’s said his character’s facial fracture is a tear from losing Ren. and we saw that after Ren died, Martyn charged Scar to kill him for taking Ren to him. Martyn followed Ren loyally for the entire latter half of the series, and there is no way to know whether Martyn would truly have been able to go through with red spring

but he also tried to kill Ren in the finale of Last Life. he set up a bomb and called Ren’s name / told Ren to come to him, acting as if he wanted to work together, because he knew Ren would. and then tried to kill him. i can only assume—because he cut himself setting it up—that he did so because he knew Ren trusted him after two seasons working together, and he knew he could exploit that. the only reason he didn’t blow Ren up was he misclicked and missed the button

(to the person who tagged this post w smth to the effect of “i think Martyn would try to team with Ren again and kill him next time”—yeah! you’re right! because he did!)

and listen. this post isn’t “Martyn hates his allies” or “you can’t make aus about Martyn being loyal.” i would be a rather big hypocrite if it was, considering that’s like, my bread and butter as a treebark writer

but it is me asking to take your rose tinted glasses off about Martyn. he’s never been unendingly loyal. he’s selfish and scared and aware the kind of games he’s supposed to be playing, and the sacrifices it will take to win them. he’s also perfectly willing to make those sacrifices, if he and the allies he made survive long enough for him to do so

characterizing him as being endlessly loyal to all his allies is a misread of his character. even his loyalty to Ren is more complicated than that

because even if he is willing to sacrifice everyone… he sure does miss his allies when he loses them. he cried when he lost Ren in Third Life. he mourned Mumbo and Jimmy hard enough to hallucinate them and try and make a deal with the watchers for them back when he lost them in Last Life. he tried desperately to get Cleo back in Double Life. not to mention the Dogwarts banner he wore in Limited Life…

yeah, i can get behind the loyal knight. ive written plenty of aus that include that deep loyalty and trust. but i also think we should acknowledge Martyn as he presents himself in canon: a character who cares deeply for his allies but still isn’t afraid to sacrifice them, who will follow them to the end and absolutely no further.

no, he isn’t loyal to Ren. or Jimmy, or Mumbo, or Scott, or anyone else. but that doesn’t necessarily mean he feels he cares for them any less. he might love them, but that isn’t enough to save them

one thing i think people get wrong about Martyn in the life series is he really isn’t loyal

like yeah, we all know him as the Hand, following the Red King as far as their shared grave, but that is… truly the outlier and not the norm with him

i mean, let’s take a brief look at other seasons. i can’t speak to Secret Life, as it came out when i was incredibly busy and i haven’t yet had time to watch it, but what about the others?

he won Limited Life because he’s a chronic traitor! he betrayed Scott, his ally for the whole season, so that he could win, and said he’d been planning it / wanting to do it the whole session. spent a whole season protecting and helping Scott, and laughed in his face to betray as soon as he saw a shot to do so

Double Life was a whole mess of Martyn and weird loyalties. just one example: he spent all of the first session hanging out with Pearl in favor of even looking for either of their soulmates, with no regard for how he’d been putting his soulmate in danger. when their soulmates dumped them due to being ignored all session and stormed off, he dumped Pearl just because. one session in and he’s betrayed both his soulmate and his day one alliance!

Last Life he teamed with the Southlanders and then made the Shadow Alliance in secret, so he was on two teams and never truly committed to either. he tried to kill Grian basically immediately when he got boogeyman, for example, and in the final fight he tried to lure Ren to himself by offering to team and then tried to blow Ren up

of course, i’m simplifying and ignoring a lot. he doesn’t earn the loyal reputation for nothing. he does a lot of things to help his teammates, like giving a life to Ren in Last Life, trying all season to win Cleo over for all of Double Life, or working to protect Scott for all of Limited Life. it’s not like Martyn doesn’t play the part of a loyal friend well, but, well.

the thing about Martyn is that he’s selfish. he’s basically always going to prioritize his own survival over anything else. he’s never going to roll over and die, especially not for another person. he’s good at looking loyal, because having allies will help you survive, and he knows making outright enemies is a bad idea. he knows he can’t make it obvious he’s a traitor, because then he’ll certainly be killed. but, when it comes down to the wire, he will generally bail at the last minute to save his own skin rather than protecting the people around him. when his loyalty is tested, nine times out of ten, he will not only fail, but do so completely without remorse

it doesnt take a lot to become Martyn’s ally, and once you’ve got a foot in the door, he will take his allegiances seriously (at least, to a point). but it takes effort to really earn Martyn’s trust. and, even when it looks like you have, there’s no guarantee he won’t yank the rug out from under you if he decides having you alive is more detrimental to his survival than seeing you dead

and yes, you can especially see all of this in Third Life. Martyn was absolutely not instantly ride or die for Ren—for a lot of the earlier episodes, he won’t say he’s on Ren’s team or that he lives at Ren’s base, and often tells other players he’s simply Ren’s employee rather than teammate and that he’s wandering or homeless. he trusts Ren so little due to Ren’s inability to keep a secret or stand up for himself that even Ren acknowledges in the third session that Martyn is probably going to leave him and find someone else. Martyn’s loyalty had to be earned, and it very nearly wasn’t. if Ren had taken a session more to grow a spine, Martyn probably would have left

but Ren became an ally that Martyn could rely on, who could stand up for himself and keep secrets. it became more beneficial to Martyn’s survival to have Ren around, so he stayed with Ren for the rest of the season, and committed hard to their kingdom. Ren earns Martyn’s trust by becoming a more dependable ally, and because of that, Ren earns Martyn’s loyalty…. probably

(half related, bc i want it in the post and i don’t know where to put it: after the execution, two sessions after Ren officially earns Martyn’s loyalty, Ren admits to being genuinely convinced Martyn was going to take him out of the series as soon as Ren gave him the chance!)

because yes, even here, even after Ren earns his trust and Ren trusts Martyn to execute him and they become King and Hand, Martyn was okay with killing Ren to save himself. Martyn has said he was going to betray Ren in the final session of Third Life. his entire plan was that when he and Ren hit the final 5, he was going to kill Ren. end Red Winter, usher in Red Spring. even the most loyal version of Martyn was a traitor!

now, you can decide for yourself if you believe he could have actually gone through with this—he and Ren were 6th and 7th out of the game, after all. maybe he wouldn’t have been able to steel himself. maybe his loyalty would have, for once, been too strong to kill Ren.

but it’s very possible that even the most loyal version of Martyn—the version of Martyn who has created this “loyal” image of Martyn in fanon—was only loyal because he died too soon to show his true colors

[itsallyscorner]

I was wondering if you can write something about reader x marvel cast where they go on the tour bus with James Corden. Maybe reader is dating a costar (you can choose who)

💌

We Are Avengers

Pairing: Marvel cast x reader, Sebastian Stan x Fem!reader

Summary: Basically what happens during James Corden’s Star Star Tour😌

Warnings: None :)

Hello darling, thank you for the request! I apologize that it took so long for me to write, but I’ve been busy with school and I’ve been lacking motivation in general. But thank you so much for this request, it gave me the chance to rewatch one of my favorite Marvel cast videos so thank you for that as well, it never fails to make me smile. I hope you don’t mind that I chose Seb as the co-star you’re dating! Also, yes, I know I’ve been writing a lot of headcanons but writing this as a headcanon seems like the best way to write it for me😭 I’m gonna add in some pictures that the cast took with their disposable cameras, so enjoy😉

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

(GIF from Pinterest)

✧───── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *. ☽.* :★. ─────✧

When it was mentioned that you and some other members of the Infinity War cast were going to be on James Corden, you were very excited.

You enjoyed making appearances on late night talk shows; Jimmy Fallon, Jimmy Kimmel—they were always fun to be on. Though you’ve always loved making appearances on James Corden’s show.

When you first heard about being on The Late Late Show, you were expecting to do a typical interview in the studio that would lead to playing a game later on in the show.

What you didn’t expect was to be led out to the parking lot with the rest of the cast, only to be greeted by a double decker bus with James’ face plastered alongside it.

At first you were all a bit confused but one of the producers came up to you all and explained the segment you were all filming.

Everyone was buzzing with exhilaration waiting to get on the bus. One by one you were called up, you being paired with Sebastian.

Wait, he would make you go up the stairs first so he can stay behind you, making sure you don’t fall. Omg and he would place his hand on your lower back too😭🥺

“Wow—Marvel’s own power couple, it’s such an honor to have you both on here. Thank you for coming!” James greeted the both of you. Partially acting because the cameras were rolling.

You and Sebastian beamed at him, proud of the title the fans and your cast mates have given you both over the years. “It’s always a pleasure to see you, James.”

James gives you both your name tags, pausing mid way while he was handing Seb his. James’ gaze shifts between you and Seb, “I’m sorry, you’re just both so beautiful.”

Seb bashfully thanks him, pulling you towards the seats, as you giggle behind him.

You and Seb sit towards the back, behind Don and Tom.

You all sit tight, talking amongst yourselves as you wait for the bus to start. In the seats were disposable cameras and some Late Late Show merch.

The bus hasn’t started driving yet, but you were all having too much fun with the disposable cameras.

Everyone was just taking pictures of each other. You and Seb took a couple selfies and some stolen shots of the others, mostly Anthony.

You even got a cute shot of Don and Tom:

Yes I know they used disposable cameras but I decided to tie in my ‘Polaroid’ series into this even though they’re not using Polaroids—just go with it😭

Being the more social one in the relationship, you were going up and down the aisle talking to everyone.

Seb stayed towards the back with Anthony and Winston. While you were at the front talking to Lizzie and Chris.

Being sad when you were all told to go sit down because you had to leave Lizzie.

Though it probably wasn’t shown in the video, I just KNOW that the filming for this segment was chaotic as fuck.

Chaotic in a good way.

But the whole bus was loud I just know it.

You could hear Mackie across from you talking loudly and laughing that contagious laugh of his.

You, Lizzie, Pom, and Zoe attempting to talk to each other from different spots on the bus over everyone else’s voice.

Chris and Paul can also be heard laughing all the way from the back.

James feeling like a parent because it felt like he was babysitting a bunch of toddlers.

The whole thing was freaking chaotic from the start, I mean ya’ll started the ‘tour’ with Benedict and Chris rubbing sunscreen on James’ legs.

Everyone passing around the sunscreen after, because it was sunny as hell and no one thought of wearing sunscreen.

Seb being a cheeky asshole and ‘accidentally’ smearing sunscreen across your face.

“Sebastian!” You gasped before a flash of light went off on you. When your eyes recovered from the flash you see Seb holding up a camera at you, snickering to himself.

James began to act as your guide, pointing out things like a coffee shop and explaining what it is.

All of you being childish and pretending to not know what a coffee shop or what a line is.

Laughing at Don when he got out of his seat and took a picture of the coffee shop. Like how he got into an over exaggerated position just to take a picture was funny.

Everyone being childish and acting as actual tourist in Los Angeles. Like pointing things out and asking about them or taking pictures of literally everything you drove by.

When Reggie Watts began that sing along thing everyone joined in, bopping and dancing along to the beat.

Like you guys are just having a really great time, happy to be in each other’s presence.

You could hear Sebby singing along to Reggie beside you, and you couldn’t help but just adore him singing and having fun.

He’d notice your stare, he may have had sunglasses on, but you could see the crinkle of his eyes from behind his sunglasses as he smiled at you.

“Na, na, na, na, na, na!” Seb repeated, leaning towards you to press a kiss on your temple.

Throughout the whole ride, he’d have his arm along the back of your seat or have it across your lap.

After the sing along, James went back to acting as a tour guide. He pointed to a red building—whatever it was—and deemed it as “Barbra Streisand’s holiday home”.

Josh Brolin, who was sat along at the back of the deck, raised his hand. “Excuse me! I—uh don’t mean to interrupt, but I have to use the bathroom. Can I use the bathroom?”

James pretending to cringe and telling him that in order to use the bathroom you have to be in three or more Marvel movies to use the bathroom—end credits don’t count.

Everyone being childish once again and yelling “OHHHHHHH!” Like a bunch of school kids.

James points to Tom, “Tom Hiddleston do you need the bathroom?”

Tom, with his soft voice and a small shrug says, “I’m actually okay!”

James then points to you and Seb, “My lovebirds at the back, Sebastian, (Y/n), do either of you need the bathroom?”

You and Seb glance at each other, “Nah we’re good.” Your boyfriend answers.

“Yeah, I used the bathroom before we came here.” You look behind your shoulder at Josh, a smug expression on your face, “Unlike some people.”

Josh flipping you off while everyone laughs at him.

Since Anthony and Seb aren’t sitting together, I just know that Anthony would be yelling at Seb from across the bus to get his attention.

No seriously, I saw them in the background of the video and even heard Mackie yelling lmao😭😂

“(Y/n) call Sebastian!” Anthony yelled at you from across the bus, pointing to the man beside you with a grin on his face.

You chuckle and nudge Seb, “Your boyfriend’s calling you.”

Seb would shake his head at you and turn his attention to Anthony; who just wanted to take a picture of Seb from his side of the bus.

James trying to get spoilers out of all of you but thankfully you all aren’t Tom Holland or Mark Ruffalo.

“Does anyone on this bus die in the next Avengers?” James asked. Suddenly you were all quiet, not a word coming out of any of you.

Until Paul began to scream his infamous line, “snITCHES END UP IN DITCHES!”

Getting confused when James suddenly asked the bus to stop and ran off the bus.

Next thing you know, you’re all hopping off the bus and walking into a comic store with a Spider-Man statue at the front.

Seb motioned to the statue and looked back and Anthony, “We gotta get a picture with that.”

Anthony instantly agreeing—he was willing to do anything to tease Tom Holland.

Seb’s not that huge with PDA, but he always needs to be touching you. So he’ll be interlocking your hands with his the moment you walk off the bus and all the way into the comic store.

Feeling thrilled to surprise the people who were shopping at the store.

You all walked around, mingled with some fans, taking selfies with them, and signed a few things.

You were looking at some Funko Pops with Lizzie when you felt a small tap on your leg.

You looked down to see a small girl looking up at you with wide eyes full of admiration. In her tiny hands was a Funko Pop of your character.

You and Lizzie instantly coo at the toddler, crouching down to her level so you can talk.

“Hey, sweetheart!” You greet her, taken back when she suddenly wraps her arms around you into a hug. You laugh wrapping your arms around her small figure and hugging her back.

“I love you so much!” She squeals into your ear, arms tightening around you. Your heart swelled as she excitedly babbled about how much she loved your character and how you were her favorite.

“I love you too! Oh my gosh, you’re so cute!” You decide to carry the toddler, who you later learned was named Lila. Her parents scolded her for distracting you from the other fans in the store, but you brushed them off, your attention focused on your tiny fan.

You carried her around while you met other fans and signed more comic books and merch.

You even introduced her to your other cast mates.

Sebastian’s heart absolutely melting at the sight of you with a baby.

Homie wants to wife you up one day and seeing you with a baby made his baby fever sky rocket.

“Lila, this is Sebastian! You know who he plays right?” You ask the toddler in your arms. Sebastian ducking a bit so he could hear her over the commotion in the store.

“Yeah, he’s the wiener soldier!” She replied. Both you and Seb had to hold back your laughs at her answer.

Lila bragging about how she loves you more than Sebastian.

Seb having to agree because he doesn’t wanna make a toddler cry.

Before you all left, you took pictures with Lila and her parents and signed a bunch of her merch.

^ the boys got their picture.

You guys get back on the bus only to come back to rolls of paper under your seats.

You all sang the “Avengers” song, singing screaming the lyrics dramatically.

Don and Anthony bringing on the vocals.

Before you guys get off the bus you all take a selfie together.

Leaving Chris Hemsworth on the bus and walking off the bus with your heart all warm and fuzzy because you had an amazing time with your boyfriend and your friends :)

This is so long holy shit

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

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Marvel Cast/ Avengers Tags

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[deancasbigbang]

Title: The Sun of Huntra

Author: Inkblooded Witch

Artist: PetraAmia

Rating: Explicit

Pairings: Dean/Castiel, Sam/Eileen, John/Mary, Benny/Anthea, Garth/Beth, Bobby/Crowley, Ishim/Naomi, Past Dean/Others, Past Castiel/Other.

Length: 162200

Warnings: Graphic Violence, Mentioned Past Dub-Con, Brief Bouts of Suicidal Ideation, Largely Seasonally Induced Depression, Mentions of Miscarriage.

Tags: Omegaverse, Magic AU, Shifter AU, Arranged Marriage AU, Royal AU, Leopard Shifter! Castiel, Wolf Shifter! Dean, Smut, Fluff, Impala is a horse.

Posting Date: October 13, 2022

Summary: Castiel, firstborn prince to the Enochian crown, has lived his life largely out of public view. His father is a staunch supporter of tradition, and to have your firstborn be an Omega is shameful. Castiel didn’t even inherit the king’s Shifter breed. The first time he is truly useful in over thirty years is when a strong treaty must be made with their northern neighbors, and to secure it Enochia needs an Omega to mate off to Huntra’s crown prince, Johnathan Dean Winchester III. Obliged by duty, bound by honor, Castiel prepares himself for what equates to banishment, after decades of having to sneak out just to be allowed beyond Enochia’s capital. He sees no reason to think his intended will be any better an Alpha than those he’s accustomed to, and so he plans accordingly. A final rebellion after years of silent complacency. He only questions his resolve after he meets the Huntarians sent to escort him north, royal guards led by Dean Campbell. The more time he spends in their company, the more he questions what he knows of his new home and her people. The more he finds himself doubting the bitter, bleak fate he’d seen laid out before him. Perhaps life on Huntarian land won’t be as desolate as he’d envisioned. Perhaps a life mated to this prince of theirs won’t be his damnation. Assuming he can make it there alive. Even then, it may not be assassins or haughty nobility that spells his doom, but something far more merciless.

Excerpt:   Naomi took a step back. “You didn’t learn the language properly? How can you speak it to them now? You dare humiliate us before you even leave us?”    “Actually, they’ve complemented me,” Castiel countered. “They say it’s stiff, likely due to lack of recent practice, but good. I wouldn’t humiliate you, mother. Not intentionally.”    “Even if this is true, it’s improper to be conversing so easily with them. There are Alphas in that group, it’s unseemly.”    “Travel makes formalities difficult to maintain. I’m to be spending a great deal of time with these people in the near future. I thought it best to engage, garner goodwill.”    Naomi’s eyes were beginning to narrow. “Are you unwell? It’s been a long time since you’ve been so outspoken. You’re bordering on disrespect. I thought I had taught you better.”    “Perhaps. But neglected habits become broken habits. That was one of your teachings. You’ve neglected me too long. I’m curious, do you hate me because you hate your own breed so much, or because I survived when Jimmy didn’t?”    He saw the slap coming. He didn’t dodge it. Even through cloth he felt the sting, head snapping to the side.    Slowly, Castiel faced his mother again. No one had spoken his brother’s name in years, that he knew of. He rarely spoke it himself. It was something that had brought his mother enough shame Ishim had kept her in a tower for years, and something that had earned him the ire of many in his family before he was old enough to understand.    “I wouldn’t worry. After today, you will never have to look at me again. You will never hear from me again, unless you read letters father receives from my husband. Any shame or dishonor will no longer reflect upon you.”    He left Naomi there, mute, tight hands trembling. He’d known he would likely be seeing his father in regard to his behavior, to make sure he wouldn’t embarrass them. He hadn’t expected to speak with his mother, never mind end on such a bitter note.    As he walked back into the party he didn’t even want to attend, it occurred to Castiel his mother had been correct. He’d stayed unobtrusive for so long because he played their game so well. He could obey, keep his head down, do as he was told. Yet these last few days, he’d been blatantly pushing their boundaries. Granted it was forging a sort of bond with the Huntarians, they seemed to get along with him well enough, but it wasn’t something he’d planned on doing. He just…had.    The more he thought about it, gulping down what was left of his sweet wine in a single draft and going to find another, the more Castiel began to realize why. In short, he did not care. At all. Caring had always been his drive for what he’d done, and it had gone well for years. Now that he no longer cared, the urge to comply was gone.

DCBB 2022 Posting Schedule

[whirlybirbs]

               (   another gif by @unearthlydust​ from this beautiful set !   )

✪   —   VACANT MIRRORS  ;  B.B.  |  3/?

summary: you find out about bucky’s past, he finds out about yours. 

pairing: bucky barnes / f!reader

tags: set before & during tfatws, friends to lovers, therapy positive, trauma healing techniques, ptsd mentions, the normalization of anxiety disorders, and a good ol’ slow burn

word count: 6.4k, va va voom

a/n: oh look out here comes the plot, charactization, and growth between to pals who are maybe starting to feel a little something begin to take shape. but ignore that, there’s danger afoot. no spoilers for tfatws here!

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“You know I have to ask these questions. It’s part of the check-in.”

“Yeah,” you fire back, flat enough to warrant Dr. Hart’s scowl to grow. You can’t see it over the phone, but you know the way her words whip around you means she’s upset, “I know.”

“If you’re not following the action plan set out by the judge,” she begins, leaning forward as her tone drops into a scalding hot sort of seriousness on the other end, “You will go to prison. You know this. So, do you want to spend ten years of your life behind bars? Are you trying to get yourself locked up? Come on.”

You can’t look up from your computer’s screen. Or maybe you can, but right now, there’s a dangerous mixture of anger and guilt and frustration boiling under your skin.

“I’m trying.”

“Trying isn’t good enough for the GRC,” Dr. Hart snaps, “You know this. They’re giving you a chance — they know you’re talented. You have the ability here to go straight, to earn a living, to finally make up for those years of blackhat work.”

“Everything I did,” you fire back, ripping your eyes up to meet Dr. Hart’s, “Was for others. I didn’t get a fucking penny.”

“You’re not Robin Hood,” she shakes her head as her tone softens, “We all make mistakes. But, everything has a consequence. You know this. And this conversation isn’t even considering the other charges.”

“You know the extortion case would never hold up in court.”

Dr. Hart sighs raggedly. “And I don’t intend on ever seeing it play out in court, because you’re going to follow the conditions of your pardon.”

“The GRC is a bunch of fascists—”

“Enough,” she snaps, “If you want to go and appeal your case with the judge, be my guest, but I can almost guarantee you’ll be perp-walked out of that Federal courtroom in cuffs.”

She’s right.

Dr. Hart is right.

Your knee is bouncing, up and down and up and down. You’re wound up around yourself, arms crossed tight, brows knotted. With a shaky exhale, you just nod. You breathe, and you remind yourself that she’s right. She’s right, she’s right, she’s right. It’s not worth it. Dipping yourself back into that world, the layer of the web beneath the surface, isn’t worth it.

The GRC is your way out.

Just be a good little girl and do as you're told.

“So, I’m going to ask you again,” Dr. Hart begins, pen clicking alive on the other end of the phone call, “...Have you engaged in any illegal activities online in the last seven days?”

                                                       ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦   

Inessa Sidrova’s photo stares up at him from its place on the speckled marble counter, stacked neatly next to his notebook where her name is scrawled in chicken scratch — between two other names: Zemo and Henrikson.

His laptop, technically on loan from the FBI, sits beside both.

(When Barnes had agreed in that closed doors meeting to the conditions of his pardon, a certain FBI agent by the name of Jimmy Woo had been rather insistent that Barnes needed a personal computer in order to carry out his portion of the conditions insofar as tracking down the remaining HYDRA pawns in the States. Woo had also insisted, to the agreement of Dr. Raynor, that a personal computer would help better acclimate Barnes to the new world he’d been dropped into.

Woo was even nice enough to take an hour of his own time to show Bucky enough to get started — but was whisked away for some investigation out in New Jersey.)

Bucky rubs the cold vibranium of his left palm into his eye, then exhales long and slow.

He’s done all he can. And still, no leads on the woman.

Rounding the kitchen island, he digs his cell from his pocket. He goes back to staring at that text — the one he’d laughed out loud at the moment it lit up his phone — and he can feel that ol’ bite of anxiousness creep into his arms. His fingertips tingle.

On the television, a laugh track plays over a clip of The Three Stooges. Blue eyes flick upward, and he partially wishes a ladder would put him out of his own self-induced misery.

Outside, the antics of a Saturday night in Brooklyn roll on.

In the last few days he’s parsed through his thoughts enough to realize it’s not telling you that scares him — no, it’s telling you the truth. The whole truth. All of it. After all, the good comes with a lot of bad; the sort of bad you chain in a chest and sink in the ocean. And Bucky finds that, even still, the good is questionable at best. The good is… small. Microscopic. Completely and totally tainted by the fuckin’ decades of brainwashed, war dog bullshit.

He groans and drops his head back against the wall.

He tries, for the next twenty minutes, to formulate some sort of reply to your text message. But, half the battle is figuring out what to say, and the other half is actually typing it out. This whole flip phone purchase was really starting to sting like regret — and as much as Bucky loved technology back before the war, and all the magical possibilities it held, he can’t help but feel like an ornery old man now.

It’s the change. Steve was right. Too much change.

He can’t find the space button and he can’t figure out how to delete the random 3 he’d accidentally punched in — so, with a grumpy huff of disapproval, Bucky simply dials your number.

You pick up on the third ring.

“Don’t you know it’s Saturday?” your voice is a welcomed sound, “The History Channel is running a bunch of old war documentaries you might enjoy, grandpa.”

Bucky snorts, fiddling with the hem of his hoodie. “What makes you think I’d wanna watch that shit?”

“Everyone knows that old men like two things,” your voice is light, half-distracted from the sounds of it, “World War Two, or grilling. And honestly, you don’t strike me as the grilling type.”

“I like a good burger.”

“Yeah?” you snort, and Bucky can hear you shift your phone from one ear to the other, “Is that why you called? To hint at being hungry?”

“No,” he exhales, looking out the window, “No, I was trying to reply to your text but I can’t find the fuckin’ space button. Calling is easier.”

“Oh my god—”

“Shut up,” he barks with a laugh, sitting up, “Don’t even start — are you hungry?”

“Almost always, why?”

“Got any plans tonight?”

“... You do know who you’re asking, right?”

Bucky grins, a little boyish and a little tired. “Good point. Loser.”

“Oh, shut up. You’re the one calling me to hangout,” you snort, leaning to prop your feet up on your desk and lean back. Your chair wheels backwards, far enough for you to get a good look down the street. It’s a nice night, cool enough, and it seems like the whole borough is awake, “But, I’m only hanging out if you tell me what the fuck is up with court mandated therapy. I can’t wait another three days.”

Your anxiety has been pricked the last few days over it.

“... Do I get to pick the place?”

You roll your eyes. “Fine.”

“Great,” he exhales tightly, “I hope you’re in the mood for sushi.”

                                                       ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦   

Izzy’s is busy, but there’s privacy in the bustle.

Bucky had buzzed your apartment’s ringer and you’d flown down the stairs, looking… alive. The sort of alive that was new — like a fresh bud beginning to bloom in spring. It had made him grin, and he’d watched you push a tress of hair behind your ear as you decided it was warm enough for no jacket tonight. The light of the crosswalk sign lit you up like a star.

He was sweating.

Dr. Raynor was right — that was it, of course it was — that it was getting too warm for his usual outfit. So, he’d settled on the next best thing: a sweatshirt that was big enough and black enough that he could bury himself in it. His hands are tucked neatly into the pockets.

No gloves tonight.

He feels naked.

He shoulders the door and holds it open with the toe of his boot as you duck towards the back of the restaurant. There’s a booth in the back by a large bamboo plant — you weave through the place with a new found confidence. There’s anxiousness in your shoulders but it melts when you look back at Bucky. Like a watchful guard dog, he nods.

You settle into the booth, toss your jacket in the corner, and smirk.

“I get out sometimes,” Bucky remarks before you can even say anything. He shifts in the booth and reaches up to scratch his cheek with his right hand, “Not often, but I do.”

“I didn’t say anything...”

“You were going to,” he nearly smirks back, his brows raised as he adjusts the chopsticks on the table, “I know that look.”

You snort, nudging his boot under the table. That works a huffed little laugh out the man across from you. Almost immediately you can sense anxiousness rolling off him — it’s the tightness in his mouth that gives him away, the way he’s fussing with the soy sauce dish and trying to get it to line up perfectly with the marbling on the table. Worry flashes in your eyes.

“Bucky.”

He raises his head.

“You alright?” you ask quietly.

“You have to promise not to flip out.”

Your brows knot tightly — but before you can even question what the fuck he means, he’s casually dropping his other hand onto the table.

And you almost don’t notice at first. Your brain fills the gaps in, figuring it’s his glove. But, then you blink and his hand catches the light and you realize it’s not leather. It’s glittering obsidian, garnished with gold, and it’s moving. Flexing. Seams bending and warping and there’s a gentle hum coming from the appendages and you squint because he’s tapping his fingers on the table and there’s a metallic tik-tik-tik that meets your ears.

Then, your eyes jump to his face.

He looks pained.

You’re confused.

And then you’re not.

“You’re —”

You slap a hand over your own mouth. You have to promise not to flip out. Your eyes are eighty miles wide and your jaw is falling open and you’re leaning forward, whispering in a rushed tone because what the fuck.

“You’re that Bucky?!”

Oh, you feel stupid.

The hostess appears, suddenly. You snap backwards in the booth, Bucky tucks his hand away, and you both muster forced smiles to the waitress. She’s young. Pretty. Her name-tag says Sarah.

She asks about drinks.

Bucky gets a beer.

Slowly, you knock your knuckles against the table and drop your head into your hand. The look on your face is exhausted. “Do you guys have Mai Tais?”

The answer is yes. And you’re glad. Because you’re going to fucking need it.

The two of you are quiet until the drinks come — avoiding one anothers gazes for completely different reasons. Bucky is sheepish, a bit mortified, like he always is when people recognize him. It’s why he shaved his fuckin’ head. It worked well enough but… the arm was usually a dead giveaway.

Meanwhile, you’re wondering if you could shave your own head and disappear. Because there’s no easy way to explain the weird elation swirling in your chest right now.

Bucky’s first to speak. His beer is in his good hand. He inhales quickly, eyes darting to you as he leans forward and whispers incredulously. He speaks quickly and his words are pointed with an edge of curiosity.

“...What do you mean ‘that Bucky’?”

“Y’know, I knew there was a reason you acted like you needed a senior citizen discount. And you know exactly what I mean,” you rush out all while waving your Mai Tai and jabbing the side with the umbrella towards him, “Listen, this is a lot to take in, Mr. Avenger.”

“I am not an Avenger—”

“You helped reverse the Snap. You’re the Winter Soldier. That makes you an Avenger—”

Bucky’s shaking his head, eye screwed shut tightly because the sudden equation to his past self being considered a hero is like being socked in the mouth. He stutters over his words and shakes his head more vigorously, like he’s trying not to hear what you’re saying.

“I am not the Winter Soldier. Not anymore. And it’s not like I’m not on the fuckin’ roster, doll—”

You hold a finger up, stopping him there, and take a long sip of your sunset colored drink. You swallow. You exhale. Bucky swigs his beer.

“One, don’t call me doll,” you say curtly, then raise a second finger. You lean in and squint, “Two… Christ, the haircut really makes a big difference, doesn’t it?”

“That’s what everyone keeps saying,” he sighs raggedly, dismissing your scrutiny.

You puff your cheeks out and exhale. Leaning back in the booth, you try not to feel so fucking insane.

“...I can never have you over now.”

Bucky’s brows narrow quickly and his eyes snap to yours. “What?”

“I can’t have you over,” you explain slower with your eyes rooted to the soy sauce in the corner, “Because I don’t think I could ever handle you seeing my signed and framed Captain America poster from his USO tour in 1943.”

Bucky’s face is deadpan. “You’re kidding.”

“I really wish I was,” you gripe, “It’s an original.”

“...You’re a Cap girl,” he says suddenly, leaning back with this look in his eye. It’s less of a question. You can’t pin it down. It looks like he's damn near traumatized.

Bucky thinks — honestly — that this is the cherry on top. Every girl back then was a Cap girl, too. It figures, now, in this new century where he’s making new friends that… as per usual, Steve gets the cake. That fuckin’ pint sized bastard.

He’ll have to tell him about this.

You yank your eyes up to Bucky’s face. His mortification is shifting to surprise to amusement. You’re fast to sit up, mouth opening to fire a retort — but Bucky’s suddenly really enjoying the look of pure horror on your face at the insinuation. He’s smirking. Plain as day. He swigs his beer.

“No, no—” you raise a finger, “No, stop it. Don’t make it fuckin’ weird, Bucky, it’s not like I have his name tattoo’d on my ass. And I knew a girl in college who did.”

His brows rise sharply and you’re finding you’re regretting everything that’s coming out of your mouth.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you guffaw, gesturing for him to show you his hand again, “I wanna see.”

Bucky sighs and plucks his hand from his hoodie pocket.

With a sort of tenderness Bucky wasn’t prepared to handle, you take his metallic hand into your own. There’s an immediate twinge — one that’s procured by flashes of violence from years of being a walking weapon. He breathes, and he reminds himself that this arm is not the same that tethered him to HYDRA all those years ago.

This arm is his, it is not him.

The sensation is different. He isn’t used to anyone touching him like this; he’s used to the feeling of flesh on the other end of a punch, or a throat caught in his palm. Not the gentle pass of your fingers, delicate and purposeful, over his knuckles.

You turn over his hand, eyes alight with curiosity — and Bucky, desperate to stamp out the hotness growing in his gut, moves quickly to flick your nose.

“Ow—”

“Don’t stare,” he says coyly, “It’s rude.”

The waitress is back. His hand is tucked away, and you wrestle the stupid expression off your face long enough to order a plate of assorted maki rolls and some fried tofu. Bucky orders what seems like his usual — shrimp tempura and spicy tuna rolls.

The waitress, Sarah, disappears with a smile.

You’re grinning.

“So… Does this make me the sidekick?” you whisper playfully.

“Shut up,” Bucky laughs, his lips almost darting into a smile.

You cock your head, pushing your chopsticks across the table with a horribly coy look on your face. It’s comical. “...I think this makes me the sidekick.”

“It — stop it — it does not make you the sidekick,” Bucky says slowly as he sips his beer and pins you in the booth across from him, “I’m not a hero. You’d have better luck asking Cap on that one.”

You grow silent. There’s a question hanging on your tongue. You’re wrestling with yourself — Bucky can see that much. He frowns.

“Spit it out, Goose.”

You blink. “Was that a Top Gun reference?”

“You wanted to be the sidekick.”

You wave it off, blinking into your Mai Tai. Your voice is quiet. Even as you speak, there’s a hesitancy akin to walking on eggshells. “What happened to Cap? Is he… alive? He’s gone off the grid. It’s, like, this massive conspiracy theory online.”

“He’s upstate.”

You blink.

“That’s ominous.”

Bucky shrugs. “Someday I’ll take you. It’s… nice.”

You go quiet. You freeze, drink halfway to your mouth. Bucky can’t help but smirk at that. His laugh is more of a scoff than anything.

“Relax, Miss America.”

“Shut up — do you mean that?”

“What, that I think you’re in love with Captain America?”

“No, you bastard, that you’ll take me. To meet him.”

Bucky’s words are easy. They roll off his tongue without a second thought. He feels… okay. Like this part is okay. Not as bad as he thought it could be. His anxiousness isn’t as heavy now. He feels like he isn’t losing you. But then again, he hasn’t gotten to the bad part yet.

“He’s my best friend,” Bucky explains plainly, “And so are you.”

The admission is warm. As easy as breathing. Two months in the making.

“Your only friend,” you say quietly, offering the joke as a cover for the softening tone that dances over your words. It’s affection, you realize, as you mimic his shrug, “But, go on.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” Bucky chirps, “But, yea, I mean it. He’d like you.”

You raise your chin, wiggling a bit in the booth. It’s pride — and as much as Bucky likes the look of it, he can’t handle the ridiculousness that comes along with it. But, it’s sort of comforting. He knows this playfulness, this easiness, it’s all because he’s him. You trust him. In.a way, it strikes Bucky with guilt. There are wall of his still built up high. Maybe they’re slowly coming down, but… he’s like a stray dog, slow to trust.

“Safe to say,” you breathe, “I have a few questions.”

“I figured as much.”

You sip your drink and swallow. You raise a hand. “But — I wanna know the boundaries. I don’t want to… I don’t want to pry about shit I have no business knowing, alright? It’s your life and even if we are friends, I don’t need to know everything.”

The relief is almost immediate. He thumbs the label of his beer.

“Ask anything. But I can’t promise I’ll be able to give you the answers.”

“And I’ll leave it at that,” you say sternly, propping your elbow up on the table and offering your pinky finger, “Until you want to talk about it. Promise.”

He crooks his pinky in yours, squeezing gently. You smile.

Sarah comes back with the food, and then Bucky offers his usual half-exhausted, half-amused smirk.

“You get three questions now. Then, we shut up and eat.”

You fold your hands neatly over themselves, eyeing your food as you try your best to sort out what questions come up with the most urgency. There’s… a lot. I mean, everyone knew about the Avengers — and everyone had their opinions. The Sokovia Accords, Lagos, the Blip… and SHIELD. Years of bullshit culminating around those who were considered the heroes. The kickback usually ended up on everyday citizens like you. After the initial amazement, the reality of it all set in.

But, to Bucky’s point, he wasn’t really an Avenger.

Nowadays, there really wasn’t a team at all. No up-state compound, no leader, no Stark and no Rogers.

You’re sure the GRC will try — that the military will try. Morale and hope and blah, blah, blah.

You narrow your eyes. “How old are you?”

It’s quick. “One hundred and six.”

“How’d they keep you alive that long?”

There’s a wince that flashes across his face like he’s been stabbed with a white hot poker in the ribs. You see a twitch of irritation bubble across his lips. Not with you. No, it’s that this question is still hard for him to answer. Bucky exhales sharply.

“Next question.”

You feel a pang of guilt flare in your chest. You move along.

“Who kept you alive that long?”

“The Russians. HYDRA, if you wanna get specific.”

You exhale and settle on the fact you now have more questions than answers. But, you nod and snatch up your chopsticks. Enough of the twenty questions game.

In all honesty, it’s not like Bucky’s existence was common knowledge. The Winter Soldier was known mostly, sure, to those who had floated in the same circles as him when he was nothing but a rabid cur on a choke chain. He can’t help but be a bit thankful for the minor erasure of his new self — sure, in the eyes of the U.S. government he was a high-level threat to be reintegrated as soon as possible and surveyed at all times. But, to the average New Yorker, he was just another person. Everyone was so used to seeing the heroes in their costumes with their bigger than life personas and…

Bucky was just Bucky.

Even he didn’t really know who that was. He was starting to.

His pardon had come with some flak from some of the more political news outlets but… somehow, the details of the Winter Soldier’s exact crimes were being kept silent. Probably to avoid panic. And, even then, the connection between the newly alive James Buchanan Barnes and The Winter Soldier hadn’t been made yet in the public eye. He was glad.

The haircut definitely helped.

It’s like he was a walking classified redaction.

Bucky has a sushi roll in his mouth when he finally speaks. “For such a Captain American fan, I’m surprised you didn’t recognize me.”

“Oh, you’re really not gonna let that go, huh?” you say as you chew, covering your mouth. You swallow and waggle your chopsticks at him, “Listen, it’s been a while since I’ve… y’know, had my Avengers phase. That was years ago. It was at its peak when I worked for SHIELD. And besides, you’re kinda new to the whole superhero scene.”

Bucky frowns. “You worked for SHIELD...?”

“For a year,” you say tightly, “Back before the collapse.”

“Only a year?”

“It was for my graduate program,” you wave it off, “I won out on the most competitive internship NYU had to offer. I was working within their cybersecurity division. I will say I spent more time trying to sort of email phishing scams than anything else, though. I’m sure they saw my record and wanted to keep me away from the juicy stuff.”

Bucky squints.

You offer a sheepish shrug.

“I got into trouble when I was younger,” you sip your drink and sigh, “I always liked computers. I used to spend all my time on forum sites just… reading and talking to people and figuring out how these sites actually worked, so learning how to write my own code was just the next step. When I was fifteen, I learned how to tap phones. At sixteen, I was hijacking my neighbor’s internet conenctions and remotely controlling his laptop.”

“Sounds like a good time.”

“Yea, well, he was a sitting Senator who was having an affair with the nanny,” you mutter, “And I was stupid enough to try and blackmail him for cash. I wish I could say I learned my lesson.”

Bucky exhales long and hard at that, like he knows where that snap of misguided judgement goes. It’s not like he’s passing judgement onto you, but… like he knows the feeling. And you manage to not feel so small, then — telling him this is easy. It’s not your favorite part of your life by any means, but Bucky is listening. Really listening.

He fiddles with the paper wrapper of the chopsticks.

“So, less a Goose and more a Kevin Poulsen type, huh?”

You snort. “For an old man, I’m surprised you know who that is. But, I wasn’t hacking into the Pentagon at seventeen. I was too busy doing community service.”

“HYDRA had their eyes on him in the 90s,” Bucky mumbles through a bite of spicy tuna, the memory popping into his mind and flying out before he can stop it, “I remember… I thought his username was stupid.”

“Oh, you didn’t like Dark Dante?”

“Like I said,” Bucky chortles, “Stupid.”

“You wouldn’t have liked mine, then,” you smirk lightly, “It’s worse.”

Bucky raises his brows, somehow doubting that entirely. “Really?”

“...I was hackrabb1t for a long time. Y’know, with a ‘one’ for the ‘i’,” you cringe, “People kept thinking I was a furry.”

There’s a pause. Bucky’s face is set in an unreadable emotion. It’s confusion mixed with amusement mixed with… something else. When he speaks, he clears his throat and tilts his head.

“It’s clever. But,” a pause, “What is a furry? I’ve been seeing that word all over PlentyOfFish.”

Your jaw flies open. You raise your hands as your head reels around. Bucky has a look on his face like he knows, he knows he shouldn’t have asked and he definitely shouldn’t have given you enough context to know where he’s seen that phrase before, because now you’re looking at him like he has seventeen heads and they’re all on fire.

“Y’know what, nevermind—”

“—Oh, no, no, there’s way too much to unpack here,” you lean forward, “You’re on PlentyOfFish?”

“ChristianMingle wasn’t really my speed — stop laughing.”

“Shut up — stop it, stop — this is too much,” you say with a high voice, “If you get catfished, I’m not helping you track the person down…”

“—What the hell is a catfish?” he nearly cries, raising both hands in a desperate shrug, “I don’t even know what any of these words mean.”

“Oh, you sweet, naive, innocent, man—”

“No, no, no, no,” he chirps, raising a finger with a deadly look of seriousness on his face, “No, I am not naive or sweet or any of the above. I’ll take ‘cute’, sure, but none a’ those.”

“Is that what the furries call you on PlentyOfFish? Cute?”

He drops his head back against the booth and stares at the ceiling.

“Our friendship was a mistake, rabbit.”

You choke out a laugh. “Shut up, you walking claw machine.”

You’re both laughing now — quieter but sustained and everytime you think you’ve calmed down enough to sip your Mai Tai, you just have to look at the distraught, scruffy man across from you to break into another fit of muffled laughter. Finally, after what feels like forever, you both manage to calm down enough to finish the plates in front of you.

There’s a warmth that’s settled in Bucky’s chest — it’s eaten away at the usual jitter in his legs, the anxious twitch of his fingers. It’s a different emotion. Acceptance, maybe. Comfort. Affection.  

Then, while you’re piling the last bit of sushi rice into your mouth when your phone, set on the side of the table, begins to go off. It hums erratically, dancing in a circle, and all you do is stare at the name flashing across the screen. You’re smiling, hugging her. It’s from Jaimie’s wedding — out in some big, wide open orchard with the sun setting behind you. The picture there is old; you were both different people then.

Before… everything.

MOM Morristown, NJ

You scowl and stare.

Bucky blinks.

“You gonna get that?”

Quickly, you snap out of it. You reach and silence the buzzing with two quick taps. Quietly, you offer up a somber sigh.

“I never do.”

Bucky frowns again, this time with a worried look that digs deep into his eyebrows. You ignore it on purpose, pushing your plate away and leaning back in the booth. He knows what you’re doing — you’re avoiding his gaze, and therefore his own questions.

“Rabbit.”

“Oh, is that my new nickname, then?”

“It fits,” he chirps before crossing his arms, strategically hiding his metallic hand, “What’s up?”

You grow quiet — then it spills out.

“I can’t talk to her.”

“Why?”

You chew your lip. You bite your tongue and you hold back on the finer points of your anger — ones dredged up by the still present sting of your check-in with Dr. Hart this afternoon.

Here it comes.

“As a part of my pardon, I was ordered no-contact with my family,” you exhale, controlling the level of your voice, reciting the court papers you’d read over and over and over, “It was deemed that further contact would impact my progress towards reformed behavior and judgment.”

Bucky’s eyes are wide. His jaw is tight.

“What the fuck do you mean ‘pardon’?”

It’s your turn to cross your arms now, to ignore the sting of his look. It’s the kind that screams disappointment more than anything. You hate that you’re getting it from Bucky of all people.

“Like I said, I didn’t learn my lesson when I was a kid,” you shirk, “Last year I was arrested on a number of counts — I’d been evading the FBI, CIA, all of them, for years. I was doing it all for people like me. The ones who got left behind.”

Bucky’s tone is flat. It’s serious. His next sentence is less of a question, more of an order. The cadence is rhythmic and it reminds you of your brother the night he found out about the first time you’d been arrested; you decide, then, that Jaimie and Bucky would have gotten along.

“What did you do?”

“Whatever I could,” you wave your hands, “Identity theft, falsified documents, insurance fraud. Anything. There were people, like me, that in a blink, lost everything. Accidents, deaths, evictions and no one did anything for us. The insurance agencies wouldn’t cover damages related to The Snap. Life insurance policies, social security… It all got snatched up by people at the top while the system collapsed around us. I had to pay for my brother’s funeral out of pocket. And there were hundreds of thousands of people just like me, just trying to get by. And everything failed us.”

Bucky is stuck in silence. It’s like mud, dragging him to the bottom of a pond — the sort that’s dredged with misery. In an instant, his veins are on fire with an anger he hadn’t felt in a while. It manifests itself in the tightening of his jaw. He rubs his face and props his elbows up on the table.

“Why won’t they let you see your family?”

You fiddle with your napkin.

“My brother… His wife was on maternity leave when she disappeared in the Blip,” you mutter, “She came back to no job, a dead husband, and no home. Their apartment complex had been abandoned. She’s trying her best to make ends meet. She lives with my Mom in our old home. Neither of them can find work. They… The court thought that I’d be influenced to do something if I was around them.”

“What, like help?”

“They see me as a criminal,” you manage, “But I’m useful, so they’re keeping me around.”

Silence falls between the two of you once more — and the sad look on your face makes Bucky’s chest tight. He can see anxiety beginning to spill over; you’re wringing the napkin, fiddling with the edges. Suddenly, Bucky realizes you’re feeling exactly how he was an hour or so ago.

Your voice is soft. “I’m sorry. I was going to tell you.”

“Looks like we’re two birds of a feather,” he says, knocking the toe of your sneaker with his boot, “Listen, we all do stupid shit. I’ve got a lot worse weighing me down. I get it.”

You look up, sadness glistening in your expression like sun off a lake. It’s harsh. He wants to look away.

He doesn’t.

“... So, that means you’re good with computers?”

                                                      ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦  

That’s how you find yourself in Bucky’s Brooklyn apartment at almost midnight, wandering behind him in the long halls and watching curiously as he digs his key from his pocket and shoulders the door open.

It’s a small apartment. One bed, one bath, a kitchenette and that’s really it.

For its size, it’s hardly lived in.

You suppose it makes sense — Bucky didn’t have a lot of personal belongings, and with the hints he’d dropped about his life before The Blip, you were beginning to understand that he may have never really had that much to begin with.

There’s a blanket on the floor by the television and a single couch pillow. It’s tucked in the corner, behind a small sofa. There’s a chair in the living room, one from an old dining set. At the kitchen counter, there’s a stack of papers and a single laptop. Even though all the kitchen’s wares are older models, the bones of the apartment are good. Bare, but good.

You stop in the doorway to the bedroom and stare at the untouched bed. The sheets are tucked tightly in the corners — there’s something militaristic about it. Across the hall is the bathroom. It’s small. You can see a few amenities scattered across the sink’s top.

Being in here feels something like an open wound.

It was lonely. Quiet. Cold.

“We need to make a trip to HomeGoods,” you mumble as Bucky flicks on the lights, “I get the whole minimalist thing, but sheesh.”

“I don’t have a lot,” he says, kicking off his boots by the door and shrugging off his jacket, “And I don’t need a lot either.”

You watch as his shoulders sag a bit, like he can finally let down his guard just a little in his own space. It’s endearing. You perch yourself up on the kitchen counter as your eyes follow him; he moves to fling open a cabinet and grabs a mug. Then, he hesitates.

“You want tea?” he asks over his shoulder.

“Tea?”

“Dr. Raynor said,” Bucky reaches for a container of tea bags from the top shelf. His henley lifts enough to flash a bit of skin along his lower back and you swear you see a scar, “It would help with my anxiety.”

You swing your legs a little. “Then sure.”

“You can use my Captain America mug,” he chirps, laughing a little to himself, “Seeing as you’re such a big fan…”

“God, I regret even saying anything to you,” you spit as you hop down and lean around him to get a look at the mug, “Did you seriously buy that?”

“It was a gift.”

“Bullshit.”

Bucky snorts as you shake your head and wander backwards, eyeing the rest of his apartment with a bit of astonishment. It’s really nothing impressive — but, you suppose it makes sense. Whatever meager disbursement that the government was willing to give Bucky for his efforts in fixing the Snap was better than nothing.

Your gaze hangs on the blanket in the corner.

He watches you; and he notes the sore sadness that dissolves your posture at the sight of the nest in the corner. A bit of shame colors his cheeks as he heats up the water. When Bucky speaks, it’s slow.

“The bed was too soft. I couldn’t sleep on it,” he shifts from foot to foot and focuses on taking the tea bags out and methodically wrapping the strings around the handles, “Dr. Raynor said that’s a typical thing for soldiers to experience when they come home from war.”

You’re quiet for a while after that, only speaking when he rounds the counter with your tea. He offers it up with a tilt of the head.

“You never got to come home, though, right?”

“No,” comes the short reply as you both watch the lights outside the window, “No, I didn’t. Not until now.”

You nudge his arm with yours. You lean a bit. Bucky leans back.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he manages after a sigh and sip of the tea, “I can’t just feel sorry for myself anymore. I’m trying to fix the wrongs I did — and that’s why I need your help.”

You quirk a brow. He reaches around you and grabs the stack of papers on the counter. With a steady grip, Bucky presents the photo of a woman who looks strikingly familiar. You can’t place her face, but there’s something about her that feels like a slap across the cheek. She’s young here, in a faded photo with tattered edges. Beside her is a man who is laughing. The photo is candid, and they’re both beautiful. They’re both  wearing a uniform — but you can’t place the era or location.

You turn to Bucky for answers.

“Back in the 70s, at the height of the Cold War, HYDRA was working in tandem with the Russians to spy on American forces,” he offers easily, staring out the window, “The American HYDRA cell hadn’t yet been planted. This man, Andrei Kuznetzov, was a spy. He was feeding the Americans information on the Russian nuclear program. His wife, the one in the photo, was ordered to kill him. She refused.”

Bucky’s fingers twitch.

His words are soaked through with pain.

“I,” he continues, “killed him.”

You hold your breath. Then you spare him a mournful look.

“Inessa Sidrova went on to help form the same HYDRA cell that ended up taking over SHIELD here in America,” Bucky mumbles, “She’s dangerous. There’s others like her, ones who I helped create, all over the world. But, she’s my top priority. I just haven’t had much luck tracking her down.”

“That’s why you need my help.”

“I’m 106 years old,” Bucky deadpans, “The microfiches at the library were getting a little tedious.”

“But,” you chirp with a sly smirk, “You figured out how to set up a PlentyOfFish account?”

He shoulders you again as you sip your tea and laugh.

“Shoulda never said anything,” Bucky grumbles, “Dr. Raynor thought it was a good idea. Y’know, to get back out in the world.”

“I can promise you,” you say with a stern shake of the head, “The metal arm will get you plenty of chicks and dudes in due time.”

“Good to know,” Bucky replies as his words lilt with a playful sort of questioning that you purposefully ignore. You’re not feeding his ego today. Maybe tomorrow, after you take a crack at figuring out where this woman is.

It’s going to be a long night.

[disembodiedvoicecrossover]

@systemadministratorclu

Cookie Masterson! he’s from various party games by Jackbox Games

below is a bunch of stuff abt him incase you’re doing a season 3 after this and want to include him

here’s the picture you could use to represent him. it’s from the end of YOU DON’T KNOW JACK: THE RIDE, where he’s eating a sandwich while talking to the other 4 hosts that tagged in throughout the game. this image was mostly uncropped when taken from a gameplay video (i assume they screenshotted it from a gameplay video on yt), you only see the lower half of his face throughout this ending sequence. same goes for the other hosts

now for a bunch of random cookie facts that i’ve managed to remember, you could list it all as propaganda below the polls if you were to feature cookie in the next season

he’s afraid of toasters and he basically flinches whenever toast pops out of one

it’s implied he wears women’s boots & crop tops on occasion

throughout the various you don’t know jack games, he occasionally implies having crushes on both male and female celebrities, which basically makes him bisexual. he even outright says so at one point, though i think he said it’s because he likes both lifestyle magazines and science fiction

he has 2 cats named poopsie and mayonnaise, they were canonized in the 2011 iteration of ydkj. though in the previous game, i remember him mentioning that he has a cat allergy, so that’s a little bit concerning? eh it’s fine, there are probably a few other inconsistencies in the cookie lore…

self-proclaimed ventriloquist, which might be a weird thing to practice since you never fully see him. his dummy is named Billy O’Brien and he comes out during the special “Who’s the Dummy?” questions in the 2011 & 2015 versions of ydkj. cookie mentions having trouble with the letters b, p, and m, so when billy speaks, those letters are replaces with d, t, and n respectfully. i feel like i’m overexplaining this fictional ventriloquism puppet (hypothetically i could also submit billy for this bracket, since while he does have a canon design, he is Not onscreen for a majority of his appearances in jackbox games. kinda like glados, who won season 1! but i don’t think i’m gonna do anything like this for billy. if you want him in season 3, you can try looking up stuff for him yourself. anyways back to the cookie stuff)

the most recent iteration of ydkj was in 2018, subtitled Full Stream. it was housed under a fictional streaming service known as binjpipe, and in the special episode Escape the Simulation, cookie finds out about binjpipe’s sinister plans to “know and consume all human life on earth”, but then has his memory reset at the end of the episode, so there isn’t really a good ending. but in two other, slightly more lighthearted episodes he has Jimmy Fallon on as a special guest and then beats him up after he refuses to leave, and in the other one the majority of the questions are about the tv show Frasier and cookie gets kinda fed up despite his voice actor making a brief appearance in a single episode of frasier! i just wanted to mention the other special episodes and that bit about cookie’s actor being in frasier before i move on to

Fibbage 4! it’s the most recent game featuring cookie, and this one has two more special episodes than full stream. so Five! he schedules a date at the same time as the game so he’s running between a romantic wine bar and his recording booth, he gets a new sound-proof recording booth and gets locked inside spending the majority of the game trying to get out, he tries to get a whole bunch of bats out of his house using stuff like crabs (they turn against him) and a large snake (he could Not get one from the snake salesman), his car gets impounded so he plans a heist to get his copy of ocean’s twelve starring george clooney back from the glovebox, and he gets locked in his closet by an evil ai clone of himself that was basically confirmed to have been sent by binjpipe (it mentions them twice). so they’re all very silly and stupid except for the ai one that i consider a followup to escape the simulation. also yes cookie Did escape the closet and shut down the robot at the end

i was gonna squeeze in a video of a moment in the ride where the studio gets raided and attacked by vikings but my paste isn’t working right now so nevermind

yeah i guess i think cookie’s neat, post over

shit season 2 is now!!!!!!! i was neever even given a chance to submit a character :< bit frustrated sorry i hope it's okay to kinda vent it like this...

That's ok to vent! Sorry you didn't get to submit, hopefully you find characters you like in the bracket

[bicycle4two]

say you wanna, say you wanna be || Sam Drake x Reader || Chapter 4

Summary: Sam isn't looking for a girlfriend and, frankly, you don't think you'd be a good one anyway, but you two aren't some one-night stand and it's been a long time since either of you thought of each other as a convenient booty call. This is something more, something the two of you didn't realize would be. It's uncharted territory. And there is no other choice but to figure out how to navigate through it together.

Pairing: Sam Drake x Fem!Reader

Tags(ish): developing relationship, implied/non-explicit sexual content, romance/fluff/hurt/comfort, age difference (though reader’s age is not stated), switching povs (second person reader, third person sam), no y/n but reader has a nickname

C.1 || C.2 || C.3

Chapter Four:

Here’s the thing.

Sam always knew that he and his brother were destined for something great. And, well, he can’t say that greatness didn’t fall on them. Yeah, sure, he spent thirteen years in jail. Who hasn’t? But despite that little hiccup in his life, Sam thinks that he’s done pretty well for himself. He’s discovered a lost city or two, with and without his brother, held some artifacts that were rumored to only be from stories, and tried one of the cigars from Sully’s collection. He even has a place to call his own now, his name on the mailbox downstairs, a doorman who greets him.

Honestly, it’s all he’s ever wanted growing up. More, even. Back in Panama, all he thought he wanted, besides, well, getting out, was to find Avery’s treasure with Nathan. It was that thought that kept him going most days. The idea of finding four hundred million worth of treasure! That was the dream. He and Nathan could finally settle down, or, rather, their version of it. Because they weren’t going to have a normal life. That was never in the cards for them growing up, but it was a nice thought, not having to worry about food or a place to stay.

And Sam hasn’t had to worry about that for a long time. He felt empty after Libertalia, that his story was only just beginning while Nathan’s was coming to a close. There are still things he wants to see, to do.

Time, he realized long ago, was something that he could lose so easily and he wasn’t going to let that happen again.

So he went on more adventures, climbed higher mountains, picked up little trinkets (a habit he got from his little brother, starting his own little collection) along the way to bigger, better things. (It’s just a shame that some things were destroyed along the way, like statues and buildings, but what can he say? It runs in the family.)

But tonight, after a long flight and an uncomfortable chair, all Sam wants to do is go to her and crash on her bed.

Because although Sam has a place to call home, a big apartment that’s filled with his stuff, clothes, souvenirs, a fish…it feels empty. Cold. Even if he had all the money in the world, Sam can’t shake off that feeling that he shouldn’t have too much. That in just a blink of an eye, all this could be gone. Because that has happened before—moving from place to place, packing what you can immediately get your hands on.

Sam wants riches, searches for them all over the world, but deep down he knows he doesn’t know what to do with them. That even if he dreams of more, he only knows how to live with enough.

So, he only has one pillow, a blanket. A towel and an extra, shampoo (the kind that has body soap mixed with it. 2 in 1! What a deal) and deodorant. Clothes, he knows to get the sturdy kind, the kind that won’t rip easily, that stains won’t be too obvious on. Shoes, too. He gets the ones that have good traction, that won’t chafe his feet, won’t deteriorate when wet.

The fish, Jim Hawkins—Jimmy was an attempt to liven up the place. To make it seem homey, to keep him company. But there’s only so much you can do with a fish and Sam can’t deck out Jim’s aquarium any more than he already has. He’s afraid that something would fall on the poor thing, that maybe there’s more inside Jimmy’s castle than meets the eye.

“Welcome home.”

“I’m ho…ome?” Sam drops his bag to the floor, more from being too tired to carry it than shock. He’d resigned to seeing her tomorrow, that it was too late to go over now, but there she is, curled up on his couch, toes peeking out from under a throw blanket. It’s hers. Sam recognizes it easily. It’s the same one she has thrown over her arm chair, the same chair Sam likes to lounge on when he’s found a good book to read.

“How was your trip?” She looks so cozy on his couch. Hands wrapped around an orange mug he’s never seen before, book on her lap. She doesn’t look like she going to get up and Sam can’t blame her. He sort of wants to curl up next to her, somehow squeeze his large frame in the remaining space. “Get me anything nice?”

“I, uh,” Sam’s swallows, blinking. “I’m not dreaming, right? Like, I didn’t get knocked out when I fell off the mountain?”

“You fell off what?” She’s moving to stand up, mug thankfully placed back on the table despite her haste, and Sam doesn’t want her to do that.

“No. No, don’t get up.”

She gets up anyway, blanket falling to the floor, and, oh god, she’s wearing pajamas, oranges printed all over her cotton shorts. She’s by his side in seconds, hands reaching up to his face, bringing him down to her height so she can get a better look at him.

“Ouch,” Sam says, the movement too fast for his aching body. His muscles are sore and the trip home didn’t do them any favors. But she thinks that it’s her fault, that she’s hurt him and her hands are in the air, her eyes wide with both surprise and concern. “It’s not you. It’s just…,” Sam hates to say it, makes him feel old, but, “My back. I hit the ground pretty hard.”

“I feel dumb for asking…but are you okay?” Her hands are back on him, her touch gentle and giving comfort Sam didn’t know he needed. She doesn’t seem to know what to do first, how to check for injuries, but the thought is enough, her being here is enough, makes him feel better.

“Well, I’m alive,” Sam brings up his hand to push her hair away from her face. It’s soft, slightly damp from a shower. Oh. He probably needs one of those. “Nothing a hot shower can’t fix.”

“Can you…,” she hesitates, sucks her bottom lip between her teeth and Sam bends down on reflex, damn his back, and kisses her. She relaxes, sighs, and pulls away, blushing. “Uhm, I, huh?”

“Can I…?” Sam prompts, smirking.

“Now I’m embarrassed to ask.”

“C’mon, princess, don’t leave me hanging. What is it?”

“Can you, uh, do you need help?”

“Do I need help?” Sam grins. “In the shower? Well, there’s only one way to find out.”

…

Sam mentioned it to Nathan before, when they were in Italy, trying to find their way into the Rossi Estate. When you’re locked up with no hope of being let out, it’s the little things you miss the most.  

And Sam didn’t think that there was much to miss anymore now that he was out. He can ride his motorcycle anywhere he wants, go to his own bathroom any damn time he pleases, shower, eat, sleep, drink without permission. He can call Nathan and Sully and Elena without request, without reason. He can stay indoors or go outside without a schedule. He can live. The simple joys of being alive, Sam is able to enjoy them now, in much a greater magnitude than he has ever before.

Citrus, he remembers telling Nathan, he had missed the smell of citrus. The novelty of fresh fruit. The refreshing scent, the taste. The sweetness on his tongue.

“Clementine,” Sam gasps out without thinking, his mind stuck on things he missed and maybe this last trip had gone on longer than he liked.

He’s brought back to earth when the movement stops, even when he adjusts his grip, tries to get her going again, to move her hips the way he knows they both like. He opens his eyes to look at her when she doesn’t budge and she’s frowning at him, there’s a wrinkle between her eyebrows. An angry look.

“That’s not my name,” she says and it looks like she’s going to get off of him and, goddammit, why does she keep doing that?

“What?” Sam’s confused, blood not quite in his head.

“You called me Clementine.” Her tone is upset. Hurt. Sam’s never heard her speak like this before. “Who the hell is that?”

“Shit,” Sam breathes out. “You weren’t supposed to hear that.”

“Yeah. No shit.” And there she goes, lifting herself off of him as quickly as she had sunk onto him half an hour ago. Sam lets out a grunt. His ribs are bruised yet she flattens her hands on his chest to support herself. She’s doing it on purpose. She was careful before. “I didn’t think you’d be the type to do this, but I guess I was wrong.”

Sam’s cold without her, for more reasons than one, and he knows that if he doesn’t say something, anything, now, she’s going to be out that door before he can even finish saying Hail Mary. And no amount of prayer, to any sort of god out there, is going to bring her back.

So, Sam swallows down his pride, and says, “It’s you.”

“Yeah, I heard you say that before. ‘Just you.’ How can I-I be so stu-stupid?” Her voice wavers and shit she’s crying, isn’t she? He made her cry.

“And I mean that. Hey, come here.” Sam doesn’t want to hold her too tightly, afraid to hurt her, but he has to know that she isn’t going to leave, that she’s going to stay and listen to him. She turns to look at him, tears flowing down her cheeks, nose red, lips quivering, and Sam’s heart just about breaks. He did that. He’s never felt more like an asshole. “It is just you. It has been since the start. I promise.”

She doesn’t say anything. Just waits. And Sam feels like he’s back in school, standing in front of his class, giving a presentation.

“I, uh, did I ever tell you that I was in prison once?” Sam manages to get out. He always knew he was going to have this conversation with her, knew that with how their relationship was going, he couldn’t keep her in the dark much longer, but he had hoped that he would at least be wearing pants for this.

“No,” she breathes out, wiping her nose with a tissue she got from his bedside table. Huh. Was that tissue box always there? Anyway. “But I figured.”

“The tattoos?”

“No,” she says again and by some miracle there’s a smile on her lips. It’s small, gone with a blink of an eye, but Sam knows what he saw, has all of her smiles memorized. “Someone like you just has the talent of getting into trouble.”

And Sam can’t help it. He lets out a laugh because it’s true. She knows him.

“Well, I can’t deny that. But anyway,” He clears his throat. Was talking always this hard? “When I was in prison. In Panama—that’s important. This was when I was in Panama. I was there for thirteen years and, Jesus, time moves differently there. It’s like the days can’t go by fast enough but next thing you know a year has passed by, two, three, and you’ve lost your youth because some asshole decided to get all stabby with the guard.”

The words are spilling out, like he can’t get them out of him fast enough. Because he needs her to know, to understand.

“It wasn’t my fault. Well, okay, I was there on purpose at first, but those thirteen years were like a punishment for what that asshole did. I was supposed to die there. We were escaping, we were almost there, almost free, but I got shot and I fell. The guards found me and got some ‘doctors’ to patch me up. They made sure that if I was going to die, I was going to die because I rotted in that hellhole.”

Sam can see that she’s listening, that she’s hanging onto every word so he continues, because now that he’s started, he can’t stop.

“I was only in my twenties. There was so much I wanted to see, to do. Nathan and I had plans, dreams. We were going to go all over the world. But I was stuck there. Alone. And no one knew that I was alive. It’s like I stopped existing. Sometimes.” The words are stuck. But Sam forces them out. “Sometimes I, uh, I wished it were true, that it would be better if I was just gone. That I had just died back there.”

She’s crying again and Sam wipes her tears for her, brings her closer to him. Because these tears aren’t because of him anymore, but for him. And isn’t that something? Having someone cry for you.

“You don’t realize how much you have until everything is practically ripped away from you. I didn’t have any privacy. I…I couldn’t take a leak when I needed to. You just end up thinking, cuz there really isn’t much to do but think, about what you had. How life was good. And I, I just missed everything. I missed Nathan, of course, he’s my little brother. But, it’s the small things, too. Like riding my bike into the sunset. Grass beneath my feet. A glass of cold water. And…”

“And?” She asks, eyes focused on the gunshot scars on his abdomen, fingers tracing their shape. It tickles.

“And the smell of citrus.” He makes her look at him because this is important. The most important thing. “I missed the smell of citrus. The taste. And when I was in Japan, I thought about it again. The things I missed back here, back at home. And it’s citrus—you. I missed you so much, you wouldn’t believe it. I could have called Nathan. Elena, even. To come over here but I called you because,” Sam clears his throat once more. “Because I wanted you here. I had hoped you would be here when I came back. And you were.”

She’s quiet, eyes searching. And Sam’s poured out his heart and soul and now he’s got nothing else to do but wait and see what she does with it. Is this what being honest is like? Being vulnerable? It’s torture. Sam hates it. But he can also think of worse things and that keeps him rooted in his spot, trying to keep his face as honest as he can. Years of hiding is finally coming to bite him in the ass.

“You must have been so lonely.” Is what she says, hands back on his gunshot wounds. She’s transfixed. Almost like she’s been wondering about them forever. And maybe she has. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

“Eh. It’s all in the past,” Sam says with a shrug. Because it is in the past. He’s made his peace with it. Mostly. Some things are harder to shake off than others but he’s okay now. He’s built from strong stuff, a sturdy breed. “But, y’know. You’re, uh, killing me here.”

“Killing you?”

“Cuz I don’t know what you’re going to do,” Sam admits. It’s all truth from here on out, huh? “I can’t read you right now. Are you gonna leave? Punch me in the face? Report me? Please don’t report me. I’d really hate to go back to jail. Nathan would kill me. And I still have a few years left to go, y’know?”

She smiles and Sam realizes that he was rambling. He takes a breath, feels himself calm down. Damn. He needs a cigarette. Maybe two. Are his hands shaking? They’re definitely shaking.

“I think you have more than a ‘few years,’” she says, fingers tracing scars. Sam twitches from her touch. Is this what it feels like when he touches her back? “Especially if you stop smoking.”

“I’ve heard it all before.”

“You should start listening.”

“Ah. Someday.” Sam takes her hand in his, mostly to stop her stop her from tickling him, but also to bring them back on topic. Because she still hasn’t said anything. Nothing to give him an idea where they go from here, if there is somewhere to go from here. “So?”

“So…” She leans close, talks in a whisper, like if she speaks any louder, something might shift, break this bubble that they’re in. “So, you have to tell me what you want, Sam.” It’s an echo of what he said to her months ago, a vulnerable, fragile moment just like this. “So I know what to give you.”

But this time is different because she’s always been more generous than him, always been willing to give.

And Sam’s always been someone to take what he wants and he’ll be damned if this time is any different.

“It would be nice if you stayed.”

“Stay? I can do that.”

...

Chapter 5

Read on AO3

...

Sam’s apartment was inspired by @missdictatorme​ ‘s post

[childrenofthenightt]

That’s The Way (Chapter 4)

Pairing: Jimmy Page x Reader

Word count: 5.7k

Warning(s): Jimmy and Y/N falling in love at first sight🥺, nsfw insinuations in the beginning but nothing bad, language

Author’s notes: It’s Jimmy time, mates! I’m so sorry for making you wait so long! Slow burns can suck like that sometimes. I hope you’re enjoying the plot so far, and that it wasn’t what you expected! There’s so much more drama to come, though, so I hope you’re excited for that😂 As usual, please enjoy, happy reading, and send us messages if you have theories, comments, music recommendations for the playlist, or if you want to be added to the tag list :)

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3

------

Y/N’s train ride home from The Yardbirds’ hotel was a constant swirl of what the fucks booming in her mind: what the fuck just happened, what the fuck does this mean, what the fuck am I doing, what the fuck is Jim doing, what the fuck will this become?  

Out of all the things on God’s good, green earth he could have wanted, he wanted her to kiss him. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Y/N thought when she initially heard the request. Then, when she questioned it, he escalated it to a blowjob since she thought a kiss was “too tame.” Y/N eventually did kiss Jim, as he wished. She was pretty sure that he still wanted her to kiss him after his little upgrade, and boy, was she right. ‘He called me a princess’, she remembered...what the hell was that supposed to mean?

As contradictory as it was, her mind was racing with so many thoughts, yet, at the same time, none at all. She was in overdrive, unable to think straight. Y/N forced herself to come to her senses as the train neared her stop, since her parents could not see the sheer bewilderment in her eyes and facial expression as she walked into her home. They would ask question after question, interrogating her as if she had committed a crime they had to get to the bottom of. She had to admit, reluctantly, that this was exciting. The star-studded aspect of it, the secrecy… It was a rollercoaster ride, yet Y/N wasn’t sure she wanted to get off anytime soon. In the back of her mind, though, she knew this little dalliance wasn’t going to lead to anything serious.

Jim, however, currently sitting at the foot of his bed in an empty hotel room, was in a complete daze. He couldn’t comprehend that this was reality. The most beautiful girl in the whole world had just sucked him off, and then kissed him! She was completely obedient yet willing, and adorably shy, blushing every two seconds. But the kiss. It was dizzyingly soft, sweet, and passionate on her part. To Jim, this meeting of lips was perfect. Addictive. Devastatingly addictive, like a drug. He wanted more. Her lips were something else to taste and feel. He wondered if she would ever come back to him with intimate intentions. Perhaps even to spend the night, or something even more serious. By the way she so often smiled in a bright and enthusiastic way, Jim thought she just might. He had come to the conclusion, after continuously replaying what had happened just minutes ago in his head, that he was falling hopelessly in love with this girl. His Y/N.

Jim had never felt like this before.

And he didn’t know what to do about it.

~~~~~~~~

A few weeks later...

Y/N’s mum had sent her and her brother Charlie by train into London to go grocery shopping, and perhaps to visit Carnaby Street, Portobello Market, and the Oxfam charity shops to get some new clothes for themselves. Pushing the cart around the supermarket, Y/N and Charlie looked intently at the handwritten list their mum had given them.

“Alright, what do we need next?” Y/N asked, her head tilted to see the small piece of paper.

“Uh, we still have to get oatmeal, eggs, and some fruits and vegetables,” Charlie replied, mirroring Y/N’s position as he gazed down at the list in his hands, which was slowly being painted with black ink. They were making good time, all things considered.

“Let’s go to the produce section then, so we can get everything all in one go,” Y/N decided, starting to push the cart in that direction.

“Yeah, that makes sense.” Charlie’s nod served as confirmation, and the two walked on, gazes captured every-so-often by the gaggle of people passing by.

Once the two siblings reached their desired destination, Y/N began inspecting the clear clamshell containers of assorted berries as Charlie went to fetch a bag of broccoli florets and a variety of potatoes. As Y/N began placing the fruit in the cart, she heard a familiar voice calling her name.

She turned around to see a very domestic-looking Jeff Beck, pushing around a grocery cart, just like she was. It was odd to see him going about his life as though he was just an ordinary working-class man, especially being the revered guitar god he was. Y/N laughed at the sight as he came over towards her.

“Hi Jeff,” Y/N greeted, walking over to give him a hug.

“Hello darling,” he responded, tilting the girl back and forth in the hug, long arms cradling her against his chest. “How are you doing?”

Y/N looked at him with a small grin after pulling away. An exhale passes through pursed lips as she replies. “As well as I can be, I guess. How ‘bout you?”

“Can’t complain,” he smiled, which then turned a little more solemn. He reached out a hand to place on her upper arm in solace. “I’m still really sorry about Sam, love. I wish I could’ve told you, but he swore me to secrecy… and I don’t want to lose my job just yet.”

“Don’t worry about it, I completely understand. It’s not your fault.” Y/N’s chuckle chimed through the air, much like the birdsongs that seemed to fill the space around them, and she paused, “I’ve done quite a bit of soul-searching recently, and I don’t think I truly loved him...the situation was all so new and exciting, that it made me believe I did. But now, I realize I didn’t.”

“I’m glad you found the light at the end of the tunnel, kid. But that’s life, Y/N. You win some and you lose some.”

“Thank you, Jeff. Really. For being so supportive,” Y/N said in gratitude, as Jeff flashed her a toothy smile.

“Ah, don’t mention it...actually, it’s funny I ran into you because I was actually going to call you, but I… may have lost your number.” A sheepish hand ran through the short hair at the nape of his neck, and Y/N giggles at the man’s hesitancy.

“That’s okay. Here, I’ll write it down for you,” Y/N grinned as she took out a spare piece of paper and a pen from her bag, “what did you need to call me for?”

Jeff watched Y/N’s hands as she scribbled down her number. Her handwriting was neat, soft spirals decorating the ends of her letters. Playful, yet full of grace. Just like her, Jeff thought. “There’s a May Ball at Queen’s College in Oxford on the 18th, and I was wondering if you’d like to come. It’s outdoors, and it should be a nice day.”

As Y/N handed Jeff the piece of paper, he continued. “More importantly, a good friend of mine is attending, and I thought you would like to meet him. You two are pretty similar, so I think you’ll hit it off really well.”

“Do you mean that this meeting is supposed to be a sort of… romantic proposition?” Y/N tilted her head in playful confusion.

Jeff smirked. “Not necessarily. He’s friends with the rest of the guys, so it’s only fair that you meet him, since we consider you a part of our inner circle.”

Y/N grinned at his statement, shaking her head, a chuckle tumbling past her lips. “Well, for the record, Jeff, I’m retired from dating for a while,” she admitted, “the whole thing with Paul shook me up a bit, and I need time to trust again, y’know?”

“Yeah, I understand. But my friend is a nice bloke, so I don’t think you’ll have to worry too much, or put up a front. If you’re uncomfortable, of course we can—”

Charlie came running up to Y/N’s cart and placed the bags of broccoli and potatoes inside. He then stood next to Y/N to see this stranger that she was talking to. Jeff noticed the little boy who suddenly appeared next to Y/N, and smiled warmly. Pointing to the boy, and changing his voice to be a bit gentler than usual, he asked, “Who’s this, Y/N?”

“This is my little brother Charlie,” Y/N said, softly putting her hand on her brother’s back, bringing him to the forefront. Charlie widely smiled at Jeff, baring his childish grin that was missing a couple teeth. Charlie couldn't wait until they grew in, because it would “finally make him look like a real man”, as he exclaimed so often at home.

Jeff crouched down to Charlie’s level and stuck out his hand to shake Charlie’s. “Nice to meet ya, mate. I’m Jeff, a friend of your sister’s.”

Charlie’s eyes widened as he recognized who this man was. “Jeff Beck?” Charlie asked hopefully, “as in the guitar god, Jeff Beck?”

Jeff chuckled as he looked up at Y/N. “Is this the shit you’ve been feeding him?” Y/N nodded and laughed.

“There’s an ounce of truth in that statement, isn't there, Beck?”

“Yes, I’m Jeff Beck, but I’m just the lead guitarist for The Yardbirds. The guitar god title goes to Hendrix, or Scotty Moore,” Jeff explained. What a humble change of pace for Jeff, Y/N thought.

Jeff stood back up and walked with Y/N and her brother throughout the store, pushing their carts in sync and grabbing food as they went. He asked her about what she was up to musically, and she talked about how she was polishing up some Debussy and Rachmaninoff pieces, as well as fiddling around with some old Fats Domino and Everly Brothers records. Charlie and Jeff bonded over their love of cars, which made Y/N very happy.

~~~~~~~~

18th June 1966

The day of the May Ball came. Y/N was excited for the show, but she didn’t want a sour encounter with Paul to ruin her good time. Jeff had called her earlier in the week to give her instructions on what to do upon arrival, and how to access the backstage area safely.

The backstage area was a white tent with the sides covered. Inside, there were multiple long tables of different distinguished people, such as Mama Cass and Graham Nash. Alcohol and little finger foods littered the tables, served in such abundance that it seemed no one was going to see tomorrow.

Y/N walked over to where she saw her friends, and upon spotting the girl, they all waved and said their cheerful hellos. Y/N walked over to sit with them, and ended up taking a seat between Chris and Jeff, crossing her legs and folding her hands in a sophisticated manner, always the lady she was taught to be. She chose her seat at the table very carefully, sitting very far away from Paul Samwell-Smith.

As everyone chatted away, she noticed there was a tall, thin young man with short, dark wavy hair who sat down in a seat between Jeff and Keith, delicately holding a flute of champagne. He was looped back into the conversation immediately, as if he had known the band his whole life. When Y/N saw him, her heart stopped.

This new boy was the most beautiful man she had ever seen. He looked like an English James Dean; with the kind of attractiveness that anyone, male or female, completely swooned over with a single glance. This stranger could get anything he wanted at the drop of a hat, with his gorgeous looks and his graceful countenance. He had a sullen, mysterious edge to him, but he also looked gentle and sweet at the same time. He had eyes as green as a forest full of lush deciduous trees, flawlessly framed by dark, bushy eyebrows and accented by long, thick eyelashes. His nose was adorable, petite as it was, and his lips were full and pouty. His smile and laugh made Y/N melt on the inside, his perfectly straight teeth illuminating his porcelain face.

For a moment, Y/N thought she was in love. She was pulled back from her daydream quickly, though, because Jeff realized that now was the perfect opportunity to introduce his two friends.

“Y/N, this is my friend Jimmy, who I was telling you about,” Jeff said, getting Y/N’s attention. Y/N grinned as she refocused on the situation.

Jimmy turned towards Jeff when he heard his name, and that’s when he saw the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, sitting right next to Jeff. Lucky bastard.

His breath hitched in his throat upon sight of this girl. She was perfect; she looked like an actual angel. The way her hair, soft-looking and slightly wispy in the light summer wind, cascaded down her shoulders; her doe-eyes seemed to twinkle in the dimming light of day, pulling him in like the strongest of currents. Her  pillowy, supple lips encased a perfect smile, slightly crooked. It was, like the rest of her, completely endearing.

It was then, looking at this beautiful woman, (Y/N… Jeff had said her name, hadn't he?) that Jimmy remembers he was taken. His girlfriend, Jackie DeShannon, was waiting for him at home, but he only had eyes for the girl in front of him, and it would stay that way, it seemed.. He had to get to know her.

Jimmy snapped out of his hypnosis in the nick of time. He softly smiled at Y/N, a smile that made Y/N’s insides lurch, holding out his hand for her to shake as he turned on the charm. “Jimmy Page,” he initiated, his voice being softer and more calming than Y/N expected.

Y/N shyly smiled at him, a dark pink flush gracing her natural complexion, as she reached out to grasp his hand. “Y/N Y/L/N. It’s so nice to finally meet you. Jeff has told me about you.”

“All good things, I hope,” Jimmy chuckled.

“Yeah, I’d say so,” Y/N beamed, a feigned contemplative look on her face.

“How do you know Jeff?” Jimmy asked, turning his body towards her, now fully invested in getting to know Y/N.

“I met him...a year ago I wanna say? Is that right, Jeff? At a Yardbirds gig at the Marquee,” Y/N asked for clarification. The last thing she wanted to do is lie about Jeff to Jimmy, even if it was something as insignificant as this. In addition, she wanted to use Jeff as a temporary crutch in the conversation. Jimmy’s beauty was making her feel shyer than she already was; she felt as if she was curling into herself.

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Jeff intervened, “but she didn’t just meet me, she met the whole band.”

Jeff immediately noticed that the band was leaving the table to get ready to go on stage. Jimmy and Y/N didn’t even notice the table’s departure because they were so wrapped up in each other’s presence and words. Jimmy even moved a seat over to get closer to Y/N, although he said it was an attempt to “hear her better since the room was so loud of drunken buffoons”. Y/N had giggled at that, and it had sounded like music to the man’s ears. Jimmy was completely taken with her, as easy as it was to see.

“Wait, so how do you know Jeff?” Y/N asked curiously.

“I've known him since I was… gosh… thirteen or fourteen? We bonded over the guitar and blues. Indian music, too,” Jimmy grinned, taking a sip of his warming champagne.

“You play the guitar too?” Y/N gasped. Jimmy nodded his head enthusiastically.

“Oh jeez, I should’ve known! No wonder you’re tight with the Yardbirds,” she giggled.

Jimmy’s eyes twinkled at her now-flustered demeanor. “You’re okay, Y/N,” he chuckled, placing a hand gently on her forearm. Y/N felt her entire body break out into chills.

“I’m a session musician, actually,” he began, his hand lingering on the girl’s arm, for what seemed like a millennium to Y/N. “I’d hate to simplistically explain what a session musician is to someone like you if you already know what it is.” It sounded like he was holding back a bout of embarrassed laughter. “You must be quite intelligent, especially in matters of music, if Jeff has stuck by you for all this time.”

Y/N smiled bashfully. He’s so sensitive, she thought dreamily. “Yes, I know what a session musician is,” she giggled, “I’ve been a piano player all my life, so I know a thing or two about what you blokes are talking about when it comes to music.”

Jimmy’s heart began to thump a little faster as his smile widened. “Wow! That’s brilliant. Are you classically trained then?”

“Yes, but I do know quite a bit of blues numbers.”

“Oh, so you really know what you’re talking about! I have to admit, although I am a session musician, I’m not particularly good at reading music. Maybe you could teach me a few things about sight reading and we can jam some time?”

Y/N blushed as her lips pursed together in a grin. “I would love that. We’d have so much fun!” The way that Y/N’s full lips twisted together in a smile looked so damn kissable to Jimmy.

“My girlfriend was actually supposed to teach me music theory, but we never got around to it, unfortunately,” Jimmy continued.

“Ah, okay. Well, if you give me a time, date, and place, we can definitely make it work,” Y/N beamed.

“Wonderful!” An awkward, pregnant pause filled the space, and Y/N cleared her throat, unconsciously sliding closer to Jimmy. There was almost a magnetic pull to him, and Y/N was caught up in it.

“So, what’s it like being a session musician? I’m sure you get asked that all the time,” Y/N laughed.

Jimmy smiled. “It’s quite grueling, brutal at times, but I find it fulfilling. One mistake, and you’re fired, so it’s a lot of pressure.”

“Oh wow! That must be horrible to deal with.”

“Yeah, sometimes the pressure can really settle into you, but for me it dissipates once I’m in the booth. There’s three sessions a day, five days a week, so I don’t have much time for leisure. It’s been getting really dry lately since all I’m playing is rhythm guitar. I love experimentation and stretching out on lead guitar, so constant rhythm is getting quite annoying.”

“I understand where you’re coming from then, from a creative standpoint. How long have you been a session player?”

“Four years, roughly.”

“You must be quite dedicated then!” Y/N exclaimed, “who have you played with?”

“Oh gosh,” Jimmy exhaled deeply, calloused fingers raising to land on his chin. Slight stubble shadows it, and the sharp scent of aftershave wafted towards the girl. Lost in the scent, Y/N nearly missed his reply. “The Rolling Stones, The Kinks, Donovan, The Who, Petula Clark, Jackie DeShannon, Carter Lewis and the Southerners, Neil Christian and the Crusaders, Herman’s Hermits, Marianne Faithfull… just to name a few.”

“Wow! What a resumé!” she gushed, “That’s incredible. You should be so proud, Jimmy.”

“Thank you very much, love, I appreciate it.”

Suddenly, an announcer’s booming voice cut through Jimmy and Y/N’s conversation as he introduced the Yardbirds to the stage. As the five men walked on, Jimmy stood up from his chair.

“Come with me to the wings so we can see and hear them better,” he smiled, holding out his arm for Y/N to take. Y/N agreed, standing up and linking her arm with Jimmy’s as they walked in sync to the side of the stage.

The first few numbers were played perfectly, and it was clear that the audience (and even the road crew) were enchanted by the spectacle. Y/N knew from past shows that the next song would be “Train Kept A-Rollin’,” and she knew that they always knocked that one out of the park. It was always stimulating and explosive.

Jeff and Chris began the opening riff, the low E, G, and A notes thundering out of the monitors melodically. Just as Keith sang “got a train” on his cue, he fell straight backward and hit his head off Jim’s bass drum. Jimmy and Y/N’s jaws dropped in shock as a loud gasp echoed through the air from the audience. The music abruptly stopped as the rest of the band crowded around Keith’s fallen figure to see if he was alright. Murmurings of “fucking hells” were all that were spoken from the road crew as they tried to redeem the concert.

“He was drunk,” Jimmy whispered to Y/N giddily, “he was completely out to lunch and wobbling as he walked onstage.”

“I didn’t even notice,” Y/N replied quietly with a grin, “that definitely explains all the empty bottles and glasses on the table.”

Momentarily, Keith got back up and motioned for the band to restart “Train Kept A-Rollin’” and they finished the song without another mishap. The rest of the set was completed smoothly, and everything sounded sonically incredible. Jimmy and Y/N stood close together the entire time, Jimmy sneaking glances at Y/N from time to time. He lost his breath with the way her eyes were almost aglow in the fading light, and her soft-looking lips parted in childlike wonder as she watched the live music.

The Yardbirds came off the stage, begrudgingly making their way into the backstage tent, where Jimmy and Y/N had situated themselves. No one looked happy, especially Paul. Jeff had his usual stoic look, but he was rushing around for any alcoholic beverage he could find to ease his nerves after what could have been the worst possible scenario.

Everyone took a seat at the table where they were before the show. Jimmy and Y/N sat next to each other as they took in the distressed expressions of the five other men. Jeff was slumped in his chair, next to Jimmy, taking swigs of a beer he’d found. Jim and Chris just stared at the ground, drink in hand. Paul just looked royally pissed off, to the point that it almost scared Y/N. Keith, however, was still totally out of it in his drunken stupor.

“Hey, Jim,” Jeff said quietly to Jimmy, “look, you know, I’m really sorry about the gig. I’m sure you aren’t interested in joining the band now…”

“Oh no,” Jimmy chuckled, “that was amazing! Absolutely brilliant! I loved it.”

Y/N’s interest piqued as she heard their whispers of new information. “Wait! Jimmy’s joining the band? I thought there were only supposed to be five live Yardbirds,” she whispered.

Jeff leaned over Jimmy to whisper back to Y/N. “Oh yeah! I can’t believe I didn’t tell you this already. Paul is probably going to leave the group...and I think it might be sooner than we thought, especially after the whole Keith fiasco...Jimmy is going to take his place on bass, and hopefully he’ll take on dual lead guitar at some point. Then Chris will do bass,” Jeff’s eyes diverted to Paul, who was sitting with his arms crossed and face angry, staring off into space. Jimmy and Y/N followed Jeff’s line of sight mischievously.

“Oooh! Great plan,” Y/N smiled.

A little smirk creeped across Jeff’s face as he quietly counted down, “3...2...1…”

At the very prompt “1,” Paul abruptly stood up from his chair very loudly, capturing everyone’s attention.

“You know what? I’m done,” Paul exclaimed, stepping away from the chair as he pushed it in under the table.

“Woah, woah, woah!” Jim began, standing up from his own chair, “what do you mean ‘you’re done’? What the hell does that mean?”

Paul sneered at Jim. “What do you think I mean? I mean I’m done with this bullshit. I’ve had enough of the horrid travelling, not being noticed, and this drunk-off-his-ass bastard,” he exclaimed angrily, pointing at Keith.

“You need to relax, Sam,” Chris said gently, “look at everything we’ve accomplished over the last three years. You want to give that up? You’re losing your shit over one bad performance.”

“It’s been on my mind for a long time now, Chris. I fucking hate it,” Paul continued, anxiously running his hands through his hair, “and you know what? Y/N hanging around all the time has made it worse. She’s just here to be our fucking groupie. She’s only eating off our clout to be friends with famous people.” The entire table went silent, looking around nervously.

Y/N’s eyes widened at Paul’s awful accusation. “Are you serious?” she shot back coldly, “I knew you were an asshole, but I didn’t know it was this bad.”

“Oh what, you think I don’t recognize that that’s your motive?” Paul said condescendingly.

“If you think that being absolutely obsessed with you all is my sole hobby, my motive, whatever that means... you are sadly mistaken,” Y/N responded, her eyes closing to slits and her lips pressed together in disgust.

“You’re probably sleeping with Jim or Chris now for all I know!” he shouted, arms flailing in the air.

Y/N was fuming now, standing up from her own chair facing Paul. “How dare you make me seem like I’m a whore for the Yardbirds! Even if I was sleeping with Jim or Chris, that would be none of your business because you pursued me when you were fucking married, you dipshit.”

Paul’s maddening countenance grew. “You’re just an insecure little girl who needs famous musicians around her to validate her and make feel better about herself. You’re a fucking nuisance, like a gnat that just won’t fly away even when you swat at it again and again.”

Y/N gasped, the sound drowned out by the screech of metal against tile, as Jimmy stood up from his chair. He was distraught, upset at the antics between the two bitter exes, and stepped in front of Y/N to protect her from the horrible verbal blows served by Paul Samwell-Smith. Jeff beat him by a second, as he started to berate Sam for his little episode.

“You listen up, you wanker,” Jeff started, wagging his index finger in front of Sam’s face, “you’re just being a butthurt little bitch because Y/N found out that you were married. If anyone’s the whore here, it’s you. Y/N is our friend, even Jimmy’s now, and she takes care of us and makes us happy. She’s not just some whimsy, disposable groupie like the way you used her; she’s an intelligent, sweet, pretty girl who has our best interest at heart. And we have hers. You have to be a fucking idiot not to see that.”

Paul was taken aback. “I write, produce, and play bass for this group. All you do is play lead guitar. Trust me, Beck, I’m not the idiot here.”

“Well, your goddamn head isn’t screwed on straight, then,” Jimmy added, “I’ll be taking your place, thank you very much. And you will never mistreat Y/N on my watch. Ever. I’ve known her for about an hour, and she’s already absolutely magnificent.”

Y/N’s throat felt clenched, but some of the tension was relieved when she realized how protective Jimmy was being over her. As mad as she was, butterflies filled her stomach at his warm ways.

“I’m out of here! You all suck anyway. Have a nice trip to hell, all of you,” Paul said as he walked away to the road crew to get his belongings, flipping the people at the table off.

Y/N sat back down in her chair once Paul was out of sight, slouching and holding her cheeks with her hands as she blankly stared at the edge of the table. Jimmy and the four Yardbirds dragged their chairs closer to a saddened Y/N, who was determined to fight off the tears that threatened to roll down her fury-flush cheeks.

Jeff frowned at the state of his friend, starting to softly rub her cardigan-clothed back to console her. “I’m so sorry about Sam, Y/N. His behaviour was absolutely horrendous, and I can assure you, none of the things he said about you were even close to being true.”

Keith, still a bit drunk, stood up and walked over to Y/N, planting a peck on her cheek. “We’re so glad you’re here, dear. Truly. That belligerent little asshole can suck a fat one.”

A close-lipped smile found its way on Y/N’s lips. “Thanks Keith,” she chuckled.

“I’m going to go get you a cup of water, alright love?” Chris said as he stood up to walk over towards the bar.

“Thank you so much Chris,” she called after him. Chris flashed her a kind smile as he walked away.

I guess Mum and Dad were wrong...they really do care about me, Y/N thought happily, they really, truly do.

~~~~~~~~

After the May Ball was over, and the sky was growing darker with the coming evening, Jimmy and Y/N walked around the grounds of the venue together, talking about anything and everything and sharing laughs.

The lighthearted mood took a drastic shift at one of Jimmy’s followup questions.

“So, Y/N, if you don’t mind me asking, what was the whole row between you and Sam about?”

Y/N flashed a sad smile, but it quickly faded as she took a deep exhale. “Well—”

Panicked, Jimmy took this as a cue that she didn’t want to talk about it. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, I get it because of how heated it was. I’m just worried about you, is all,” he interrupted.

“No, it’s okay. Really. I trust you,” she replied with a pursed lip-smile. Jimmy returned the sentiment, internally relieved that Y/N had already seemed to take a liking to him.

“Alright, so about a year or so ago, I went to a Yardbirds gig at the Crawdaddy Club, a few months after I met the band for the first time. Paul asked me out after that show, and nobody told me he was married, so naturally, I accepted.”

“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry, love. What a shitty thing to do, especially to someone as wonderful as you,” Jimmy replied with a little flush, giving the girl a little rub on the small of her back.

Heat rippled throughout Y/N’s body at his touch. Regaining her composure, she sighed. “Thank you Jimmy. That means a lot. More than you know, actually.”

After a short silence, Y/N continued. “We went out for about eight months...and in retrospect, it now makes sense why I could never go over to his place. But anyway, I found out about it before the band played on Ready, Steady, Go in February. Keith, Jeff, Jim, and I were all talking at the front of the stage before rehearsals and it slipped.”

“Who ended up telling you?”

“Jim, but it was purely an accident.” Suddenly, all of the events that had happened between her and Jim guiltily flooded her mind. Now with Jimmy beginning to infiltrate her mind and cloud her vision, how was she supposed to genuinely enjoy the secrecy? Ah shit, she thought, here we go again.

“After the show, I confronted him about it,” Y/N continued, “and he was blaming me for our time together, a-and for ‘tempting’ him into asking me out just by being… me?”

“He seems like a right wanker, I can tell you that for sure,” Jimmy muttered, sliding his hand from its resting place on her back, to her shoulder, squeezing it lightly in solidarity. Y/N met his eyes then, tears filling her gaze, and Jimmy frowns. No one as lovely as her should be feeling this way. He smiles at her, and to Y/N, it is filled with comfort and appreciation. Some emotion… something akin to love, perhaps, lit a fire in her chest, and she looks away. The evening ambience does nothing to hide the traitorous blush that painted her cheeks.

“It’s getting quite dark out, love. How did you get here?” Jimmy asked, stealing another glance at a girl as she looked down at her ballet flats once more.

“I took the train, actually,” Y/N replied.

“Oh, so did I! Here, I’ll walk with you over to the station then.”

Y/N grinned at him. “That’s so kind of you, Jimmy. Thank you.”

“No problem, love. What’s your stop?” Jimmy asked as they began to make their way over to the station.

“St. Alban’s. How about you?”

“Epsom. I still live with my parents, I’m afraid,” he chuckled sheepishly.

“Oh, it’s okay!” she laughed with him, “so do I. It’s nice though, to still live with your parents… home-cooked meals and laundry and all. Plus sleeping in your own bed, and using your own bathroom, of course.”

“Those are very good points,” Jimmy agreed with a chuckle.

The two boarded the train once they got to the station, only waiting on the platform for a few minutes. They continued to talk all the way to St. Albans, where Y/N got off to walk home.

“Say you’ll see me again sometime soon, Y/N,” Jimmy half-asked, half-declared as she stood up to get off the train.

Y/N grinned at him. “I definitely will, Jimmy. It was so nice meeting you tonight...I loved getting to know you.”

“The feeling is mutual, love. Please stay safe and take care of yourself, okay?” he reached out his hand to grab Y/N’s, shaking it a little and smiling at her. Y/N nearly swooned at the gesture.

“I’ll try my best. You do the same as well. Have a good night!”

“Thank you, you too!” Jimmy waved as Y/N walked out the train’s doors. Her scent, a delicious mixture of vanilla with a hint of laundry detergent, lingered in the air as she passed by, weakening him both physically and his rational judgment.

He had a lot of thinking to do on the ride home.

————

Taglist: @blood-on-blood @reincarnated70sbaby

[smaidjor]

and i pay for my place by the ring (Chapter 3)

Hey everyone and welcome to the third and likely final chapter of this saga! When I was writing this, I told my friends it might end up the shortest chapter.

Spoiler alert: it was not, in fact, the shortest chapter.

Anyways, thank you guys for sticking with me through this insane journey of angst writing! The story doesn't end here, but the fic does because I think I'm going to be switching how I write it a little bit. You'll see if I ever get the energy to write the continuation.

(Also, I've stopped putting AO3 links in the actual post because then it doesn't show up in the tag.)

Anyways, enjoy this chapter!

Chapter Title: to turn at last to paths that lead home

Chapter Wordcount: 4686

Content warnings: mentions of death, violence, blood, mild injury, religion, self-esteem issues. There is also something that could be considered similar to deadnaming, though the character is not necessarily trans, so read with caution if that could be triggering to you.

Actual fic under the cut:

That night, Scott dreams he’s a child again, playing amongst the peaks with Xornoth by his side. They laugh as they dart out of his reach, and he jumps over a rock to try and catch them.

“Too slow,” Xornoth snickers, and Scott glares at them.

“Someday I’ll be ten times as fast as you, and stronger too!”

They laugh again and tackle him into the grass, forceful enough to push him down but not enough to really hurt. “Alright, little bro.”

“You’re only older by seven minutes!”

“Seven minutes, more like seven times cooler than you!”

Scott reaches up and tickles them, grinning wickedly as they yelp and roll off him.

The scene shifts, and this time it’s a teenaged Xornoth laying on the hill beside him, staring up at the sky.

“Hey, Scott?”

“Yeah?”

“If anything ever happens to me-”

“It won’t,” Scott interrupts, heart in his throat. “Nothing’s going to happen to you.”

“It could-”

“No.”

They sigh. “Alright. But if it ever does, I need you to promise me one thing.”

“What is it?”

“I need you to promise that you’ll take care of Rivendell.”

Scott glares at them. “Rivendell hates me. Don’t ask-”

“Please. Scott, please just promise me this one thing.” Their face is deathly serious. “I don’t- nothing’s going to happen to me, but I need to know that Rivendell will be safe if anything does.”

"But-"

"Please, Scott. I know you would do brilliant at it, and I need the guarantee.

He sighs but ultimately gives in. “I wouldn't, but fine. I promise.”

Xornoth nods, seemingly satisfied. “You’re leaving tonight, right?”

“I am.”

“Then take this.” They roll over and press something into his hand. “You’ll need it.”

Scott looks down to see Vilya, the silver band gleaming in the sunlight. “Xor, you can’t give me this. This is-”

“I know perfectly well what it is, little bro.” He looks up to find them smiling sadly. “And I know you’ll need it. Now better wake up, your husband’s calling.”

“My wha-”

Scott’s plunged back into awareness to the sound of Jimmy calling his name.

“Scott? Please?” He sounds shaken, but it barely registers in Scott’s sleepy brain.

Scott rolls over and blinks his eyes open to see Jimmy watching him with concern. “Five more minutes, darling.”

“I think something’s wrong,” Jimmy says, urgent. “It feels wrong. Really wrong.”

That wakes Scott up, alright, the fear in his husband’s voice sending a spike of worry through him as he sits up. “What is it?”

“I don’t know. It’s alright, go back to sleep.”

“No, no, I trust your gut.” He trusts Jimmy more than anything else, really, which is why he gets up and out of bed. “Let’s go look, and if it’s nothing then I’ll sleep more, okay?”

Jimmy nods, hurrying after him. “I have a really terrible feeling, Scott. Be careful, please.”

“I should be telling that to you,” Scott teases.

“Hey, I’ve gotten more careful!”

Scott can’t help but laugh at how offended his husband sounds, but his mirth dies as quickly as it came. “You’re right, Jimmy. Something isn’t right.” It’s making the hairs on his arm stand up, a prickling unease similar to what he felt before the battle where Jimmy died.

“I know, it feels awful!”

“Mhm.” Scott grabs his favorite axe, glancing back at Jimmy one more time. “Stay behind me, just in case.”

He swings the door open. It takes a moment to spot what’s wrong, but once he does, his heart plummets; Xornoth is standing across the valley next to his enchanting tower, their face and body twisted with corruption but still unmistakably Scott’s sibling.

“That’s the demon!” Jimmy hisses. He sounds terrified, and Scott can’t blame him, much as it feels like a punch to the gut to know that his sibling is the one who’s been harassing his husband.

Scott grits his teeth. Protect Rivendell, that’s what he promised Xornoth all those years ago. “That?”

“Yes!”

“Right. Okay.” He takes a deep breath, trying to compose himself. “Jimmy, I need you to listen to exactly what I say right now. If I say get down, you get down. If I say run, you run and don’t look back no matter what you hear. Can you do that?”

Jimmy’s response comes a second later. “I trust you. If you say run, I’ll run.” The pure faith in the words is enough to make Scott’s throat close up for a moment, choked with sudden emotion at the level of trust Jimmy’s showing him even after everything that happened.

He shoves that feeling down. “Alright. Give me your engagement ring.”

“Wh-”

“Trust me. Please.” Scott’s nearly begging, voice cracking a bit on the last word. Jimmy must hear how weak he sounds, because he gives in without question, handing over Vilya.

Scott slides it onto his finger, hands trembling just a bit as he does. He remembers being given this ring, being just as terrified by how much Xornoth trusted him then as he is by how much Jimmy trusts him now. Ironic, really, that now he’ll be using this ring against the person who gave it to him to begin with. “Okay, Jimmy. I’m about to go out the front door, and when I do, I need you to go out the side door over there and run for the stables. When you get there, roll in the mud and then run for the village. Speed over stealth, corrupted elves track by smell and sound rather than sight.” He keeps the instructions quick and clear, praying that Jimmy’s not stubborn enough to disobey. He can’t lose Jimmy, he can’t.

Thank god, Jimmy nods.

Scott takes another deep breath, brain awhirl as he tries to figure out how he’s going to keep both Jimmy and Rivendell safe. “From there, I need you to track down an elf called Gilnar and tell them to lock down the kingdom and warn everyone of the danger.” After a moment's thought, he adds “I also need you to tell them that Lord Smajor orders them to protect you.” Gilnar’s trustworthy, they’ll look after Jimmy.

“What about you?” Jimmy asks. “Will you be okay?”

His heart aches at the concern, and it aches more when he opens his mouth to lie. “I will, I promise.” He doesn’t meet Jimmy’s eyes, knowing he’ll break if he does.

Thankfully, Jimmy says nothing about it, instead reaching for one of the spare swords. Good, good, he can protect himself.

“Ready?” Scott asks.

“Ready,” Jimmy confirms, though his voice trembles.

Scott shoves down the part of him that screams that this wasn’t supposed to be his responsibility, that he should just run while he can. He made a promise to his sibling all those years ago, and he’s going to keep it even if it’s now them that he has to defend Rivendell from.

He steps out the door.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Jimmy bolt for the stables, but the greater part of his attention is focused on Xornoth, still floating ominously across the valley.

“You do not belong here,” Scott calls out in Sindarin. It’s a challenge more than anything, practically asking them to come fight him.

He knows he’s messing with forces he doesn’t understand and cannot win against, knows it as surely as he knows his own name. Xornoth has always been faster and stronger, after all, ever since they were children.

And yet-

And yet he has to try regardless. After all, when they were children, Scott always tried to win anyways, even if it never worked. And now, the weight of an empire resting on his shoulders and his husband somewhere in the village behind him, the stakes are higher than just his pride. So he squares his shoulders and doesn’t back down as Xornoth appears in front of him with a ripple of smoke, a cruel smirk on their face.

“Well, well, well, dear brother. Never thought it’d come to this.”

“Neither did I,” Scott retorts.

They grin again. “I belong here just as much as you, you know.”

He raises his axe, gritting his teeth. “You did once, but not anymore.”

Xornoth laughs as they dart out of the way of his blows, tendrils of corruption curling around them and reaching for him. “I belong here more than you ever will.”

He stumbles back, trying to get out of their reach. “That’s not true either.”

“Oh, but it is. I thought you’d be too much of a coward to ever face me, you know. Spineless little Scott, running away from his problems like you ran away from our family.”

“We had no family left! It was just you and me!”

“And you left me to be consumed by my own greed and despair. The sibling you know died years ago and it’s all because you’re a coward.”

Scott flinches, barely bringing his axe up in time to block their next strike. “That’s not- that wasn't my fault! I didn't mean for that to happen."

“Do you really think that? Are you really foolish enough to think that you didn’t hurt me by leaving?” Xornoth’s grin is razor-sharp.

“You told me to leave if it would make me happier,” Scott cries, lapsing back into English without thinking about it.

“You shouldn’t have wanted to leave in the first place. No real elven ruler would want to leave the oldest sanctuary of the elves.”

They have him backing up again and again, barely holding them off. “I tried- I was-”

“Look at you, an elf speaking a human language,” Xornoth hisses. “How did you ever think you were going to be good enough for them? You’re never going to be the real king of Rivendell, Elinar.”

“Don’t- don’t call me that,” Scott pants.

“Elinar,” they taunt again. “Stupid, stupid Elinar. Weak, pathetic little Elinar.”

Scott stumbles backward, landing on his butt in the grass as Xornoth towers over him. His axe falls to the side, snatched by a tendril of corruption as they reach out, digging their claws into his shoulders and pushing him down. Scott’s helpless to do anything when those same tendrils reach for him, the smell of rot permeating the air. They hesitate for a moment, hovering above him, and then Xornoth grins sadistically and the corruption snatches him.

It hurts. It hurts more than any pain he’s ever felt. More than Etho’s arrow in his throat, more than Martyn’s arrow to the chest, more than Ren’s sword through his back. More than even waking up back in Rivendell. The corruption wraps itself around his throat and wrists, pinning him to the ground as his older sibling grins. Scott distantly registers that he’s screaming, writhing as he tries to get out of their hold, but everything’s fuzzy with his brain clouded by pain. He doesn’t want to die, not like this. Anything but this.

There’s a faint, familiar voice in the distance, though Scott can’t focus on what it’s saying through the haze of pain. It sounds comforting, though, and he clings to the noise like a lifeline.

All of the sudden, the pain stops and the corruption draws back slightly as Xornoth turns away.

“What did you say to me?” they hiss, in English this time.

“I said you’re ugly!” The same voice calls, and this time Scott recognizes it as Jimmy. Oh, god, Jimmy. “And you suck! Leave my husband alone!”

Xornoth loosens their hold on Scott’s shoulders, turning towards wherever Jimmy is, and Scott’s gets a rush of determination. He can’t let them hurt Jimmy.

Scott backhands them across the face, kicking his way free of their hold with strength he didn’t know he still had. They give a tiny yelp of surprise, a familiar sound, and he staggers to his feet.

This time, he doesn’t bother with the axe. Instead, he forces his will into Vilya, praying to any and every god that it will work for him. He doesn’t even believe in the elven gods any longer, and yet he’s still praying to Aeor, to Varda, to Manwe, to any deity out there that he’s enough of a true elvenking to make a ring of power bend to his will.

“You are not welcome here!” Scott shouts, and he feels the ancient strength of Vilya behind his words.

Xornoth hisses, staggering backwards. “Fine! Banish me, then, if you’re a true enough king to do it. Run back to your mortal lover, Elinar, and pray to all the gods that he doesn’t ever see how worthless you really are.”

He doesn’t flinch, though it’s a close thing. “Leave! Leave and never return!”

This time, Vilya pulses more strongly, and Xornoth is forced out of Rivendell with a hum of power.

Scott stumbles as that rush of power leaves him, collapsing to the ground. His entire body aches from the fight, but more than that, Xornoth’s last words are still ringing in his mind. Pray to all the gods that he doesn’t ever see how worthless you really are. They’re right. He knows they’re right, and that’s the worst part about it.

“Scott! Scott!” He can hear Jimmy call, and within a minute, Jimmy’s standing in front of him.

Scott looks up at his husband- his beautiful, brave husband who he’s never once deserved- his breathing ragged as he tries to reach out. “Jimmy,” He manages, a hoarse whisper.

Jimmy kneels by him, concern written across his face clear as day. “What’s wrong? Where- what’s hurt? I’ll fix it, I promise, I-” Scott grabs him and yanks him into a hug, hardly daring to believe he’s real.

“Oh,” Jimmy says, quiet, dumbstruck. He hugs Scott oh-so-gently, though his embrace isn’t enough to soothe Scott’s trembling. “It’s alright, Scott, we’re alright.”

“Jimmy,” Scott gasps. He needs his husband, needs him to be okay. “Jimmy, I can’t.”

“I-”

“I want it to be over.” It sounds so childish, but he’s so tired. “I don’t want elves or nations or politics. I just want you.”

“I know, I know,” Jimmy soothes.

‘Why does it have to be me? It wasn’t supposed to be! It wasn’t supposed to be me!” Scott wants to shout it, scream it to the world, because it’s not fair. He wasn’t supposed to be heir to Rivendell. He wasn’t supposed to have a ring of power. He wasn’t supposed to be forced to fight his own sibling. It’s not fair, but it happened anyways. It happened anyways, and that’s what breaks him, voice cracking as he begs for something, though he doesn’t even know what he wants at this point. Peace, maybe. Happiness. “I- please- shouldn’t have- Jimmy. Jimmy .”

He repeats Jimmy’s name over and over, searching for any small scrap of comfort as his sobs tear him to pieces, clutched in his husband’s arms on the grass. Jimmy’s so gentle with him, his embrace so kind as he presses soft kisses to Scott’s head and murmurs in a comforting tone, though Scott’s too far lost in his own head to hear any of what Jimmy says. His world narrows to warm arms around him, the texture of Jimmy’s shirt clutched between his fingers. Jimmy smells like dirt and swamp water- it’s the silliest thing to notice when Scott’s busy sobbing over having to fight his own sibling, but it’s easier to think about than anything else. It’s easier to think about Jimmy than anything else, really, easier to cling to the sound of his voice and his hand on Scott’s back than confront the way Scott’s grief is eating him alive.

Distantly, he can hear footsteps approaching. They’re too light to be anything but elven, not that that’s a surprise when they’re in the home of the elves. He can’t bring himself to lift his head and face them, not when his breath is still coming quick and ragged.

Gilnar’s first to speak, hesitant concen leaking into their words. “Uh, milord?”

Scott can feel Jimmy’s grip tighten protectively, can practically imagine his affronted look as he opens his mouth to snap back. “Give him a goddamn minute! He just fought a demon for all of you, let the man rest! I know you’re all elves and you’re all- all elegant and composed or whatever, but you can’t expect someone to be perfect! We’re all human, you know!” He winces a little, knowing the elves are going to tear Jimmy to shreds for that.

Indeed, one of his advisors speaks up, disdain clear in their tone. “You are human, Codfather. We are not. Lord Smajor knew the responsibilities and difficulties of ruling.”

It’s ever the way of elven royalty- their rulers cannot dare be flawed.

“He’s too young for this,” Someone else mutters. There’s as much pity in their tone as there is disdain, a strange mix of concern and derision.

“I- well I don’t think anyone could have expected a demon! And probably even less people’d be willing to fight one!” Jimmy’s voice rises with every sentence. Scott wants to tell him to spare the outrage- he’s not worth it. “Scott’s one of the bravest, kindest, smartest people I know, so lay off him, will you?”

“You know nothing of the affairs of elves,” his advisor sniffs, and Scott’s blood boils at how rude they’re being to Jimmy.

It’s that outrage that gives him the energy to raise his head, forcing his breathing to steady out. “It’s fine, Jimmy. They are correct, I do have responsibilities.” You shouldn’t be defending me, he doesn’t say. I’m not worth your outrage.

“They can’t expect you to be perfect,” Jimmy argues back.

Scott almost laughs, knowing full well that they can and should. Instead, though, he breaks free of Jimmy’s embrace and gets to his feet with far more effort than that should really take. “Gilnar, get the village out of lockdown and make sure people are aware of the threat of Xornoth. Celebear, search the library for any books on corruption of elves, and Lauriel, translate any you find that are not Sindarin into it. Elder council, I need research done on any rings of power that are strong enough to counteract Vilya to that degree, that will narrow down what Xornoth has.” His voice comes out hoarse, and he’s barely aware of what he’s saying, but he forces himself to carry on. “Now, the Codfather and I need to negotiate wool and fish trades,” Scott adds, the quickest excuse he can think of. He grabs Jimmy’s hand, dragging him away as quickly as he can manage, and ignores the stares that follow him.

They make it up the hill and into Scott’s house before Scott’s legs give out, sending him into a chair with an undignified thump. “Well, fuck me to the End and back.”

“Are they always like that?” Jimmy sounds more concerned than anything.

“Pretty much. Gilnar’s okay, just tough as shit, and so are Celebear and Lauriel, but...I wasn’t- well, I wasn’t meant to inherit Rivendell, and the Council of Elders takes every opportunity to remind me of that fact.” That’s just how it is- he doesn’t bother getting upset over it at this point. He’s always going to be second-best.

“Oh.” Jimmy hesitates, and then asks “Who’s Xornoth?”

Scott would be lying if he said he wasn’t terrified of Jimmy’s reaction, but he has nothing left to lose, so he laughs bitterly and answers honestly. “My twin, also known as the demon that’s been terrorizing you.”

“What?”

“My twin. My older sibling.” He gives another little laugh. “The person who was supposed to inherit the throne of the elves.” Who was better than Scott in every way.

“What?” Jimmy sounds shocked and confused, but not angry, not yet, so Scott elaborates.

“Let me start from the beginning. My parents were two elven monarchs, one of the Sindar, and one of the Noldor. With other bloodlines mixed in, but the Sindar and Noldor is the important bit since those two groups haven’t always gotten along. Somewhere around fifty-five years ago, they started trying for kids. What they didn’t expect was that Xornoth and I are identical twins, only the fifth set of elven twins ever recorded.” Old legend says that elven twins are only born in times of great conflict, and Scott can’t exactly say it's wrong.

“Whoa.”

“Mhm. Xornoth was- is- technically the older one, who was always set to inherit the throne of the elves and unite our divided people. They were compared to Elrond, wise and powerful leader of another land named Rivendell far in the past, and I was Elros, his twin. Impulsive, snarky, human.” Scott spits the word a bit like a curse, not because he hates humans, but because he hates himself and all the ways he’s too much like them. He closes his eyes against a fresh set of tears, blinking away the memory of Xornoth’s face when he left Rivendell. “Our parents died when we were both quite young, and we were brought up expecting Xornoth to take the throne as soon as they came of age. I spent my time hanging out with mortals, instead, getting involved in things like mcc and 3rd life.”

“Ohhh,” Jimmy says intelligently. It’s such a Jimmy way to react to something so serious, Scott might laugh if the mood were lighter.

“When I was the elven equivalent of seventeen or so, Xornoth gave me a ring. This ring, specifically.” Scott taps the ring that’s still resting on his middle finger, feeling it hum in return. “Vilya, an elven ring of power. They told me to leave Rivendell and not return.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t know at the time, but they were being corrupted by a ring of their own, not to mention their own desire for power.” Scott feels Jimmy take his hand, and looks up to see gentle concern written across his husband’s face. He has to blink again, turning away and forcing his voice to stay steady. “I returned after coming of age while away to find that Xornoth had fled and I was now the heir of Rivendell. Which absolutely no one wanted.”

“Why not? You’re amazing!” Jimmy protests. He sounds so very sincere about it, which makes it all the more heartbreaking how utterly wrong he is.

“Remember when I told you that I’m not a very elven elf? That. I’m too human for their tastes, spend too much of my time with humans.”

“Well, I think you’re wonderful.”

Scott squeezes his hand tight, letting a little of his fondness show. “Thank you, Jimmy. I love you.”

“I love you too.” Something like confusion flashes across Jimmy’s face, and then he opens his mouth again. “Wait. Scott?”

“Yes, darling?”

“Did you give me an elven ring of power for an engagement ring?”

Scott looks away again, his cheeks heating up. “….Maybe.”

“Me! You gave me, little old Jimmy Solidarity, an elven ring of power?” JImmy’s half-laughing, but the sentiment behind the words sounds real. Too real, Scott thinks; it’s as if Jimmy doesn’t know just how incredible he truly is.

“You’re the most precious thing in my life,” Scott tells him, and he means every word. “I gave you everything I could offer.”

It’s kind of adorable how quickly Jimmy flushes, his face going red and his voice rising an octave. “Stop that!”

“Stop what?” Scott asks- perfectly innocently, mind you.

“Saying that stuff and giving me that look, you know what I mean!” He definitely doesn’t. “That soft one that- that makes me all blushy and stuttery!” Jimmy adds, and Scott grins a little. Jimmy’s just too fun to fluster.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he denies, though he’s sure his smile is giving him away as less innocent than he claims.

“I’m trying to scold you for giving me a ring of power that’s super important, stop- stop flirting, for goodness sake!”

“You’re hot when you’re flustered, though.” Scott barely restrains a yawn from slipping into his voice, trying to wipe some of the blood off his face so it’ll stop getting in his eyes.

“Let me get that,” Jimmy offers. Scott’s too tired to protest his fussing, letting Jimmy dab at the cut with a wet rag and bandage it. Jimmy moves on to cleaning out smaller cuts and scrapes, then the bruises, handing Scott some ice to put on the largest ones. It’s sweet, really, how fussed he is over even the smallest injury. Scott doesn’t think he deserves Jimmy taking care of him this gently, but he can’t bring himself to push him away.

Even if it is a bit annoying that Jimmy’s making him do math to check if he has a concussion. “Ninety-two, ninety-one, I swear I’m fine, Jimmy,” Scott huffs, “Ninety, eighty-nine, eighty-eight, eighty-seven, I literally explained elven rings of power to you, eighty-six, eight-five, can I stop counting now?”

“No.”

“Jimmyyyyyyyy.” Scott must sound like a whiny child, but he’s tired.

“Just a bit more? For me?” Jimmy asks. And oh, that bastard, he’s giving Scott the face that Scott can’t ever say no to. Bastard. Absolute bastard. Scott won’t give in, he won’t.

That determination lasts all of ten seconds before Scott sighs and gives in. “Fine. Eighty-four, eighty-three, eighty-two…”

Jimmy makes him count all the way down to seventy and then multiply together thirteen and twelve, which Scott doesn’t hesitate to whine about

“I can’t believe my own husband made me do math.”

Jimmy’s laughter is worth every second of the math, actually, Scott decides as his husband bops him on the nose. “I’ll make breakfast to make up for it?”

“You better!” Scott tells him. He’s trying to sound affronted, but it just comes out fond, much to his exasperation.

Jimmy laughs again and sets about making pancake batter, which Scott doesn’t hesitate to steal bits of even when Jimmy scolds him for it. It’s peaceful, being able to lean back in his chair and laugh when his husband tries to scold him for flirting. The morning light streams in through his window, casting the side of Jimmy’s face in a golden glow, He looks so alive silhouetted like that, a grin splitting his face and bits of flour in his hair. Scott’s breath catches for a minute just looking at him, the familiar ache in his chest returning, though there’s nothing truly tragic about the scene before him.

He shakes that off when Jimmy offers him the first pancake, shoving thoughts of the future aside. For now, he’ll drink hot chocolate in a sunlit kitchen and pretend his hands don’t tremble just enough to nearly spill it. He’s not going to think about the cuts and bruises scattered across his body, not when Jimmy is looking at him like that, with such utter adoration that Scott can barely believe his luck. How did he get a husband so sweet and warm when he’s as bitterly cold as a Rivendell winter? But whether he deserves it or not, Jimmy’s right there laughing along with him, and Scott can’t find it in himself to be unhappy about it.

This won’t last, he thinks as he watches Jimmy try to fit an entire pancake in his mouth just to see if he can. If Jimmy doesn’t die to his own idiocy or the cruel will of Xornoth, time will take him from Scott as surely as the stars shine above Rivendell. Scott is not Luthien or Idril or Arwen, the elven royals lucky enough to spend the rest of eternity with their mortal husbands; Jimmy will die, likely sooner rather than later, and Scott will be alone with the cold weight of a crown to bear and no sunshine to warm him.

This won’t last, but Scott says nothing of it, sipping his hot chocolate and smiling a little sadly into the mug as Jimmy rambles about different types of fish and their personalities. And if his hands are still cold, and he can’t stop a small shiver? Well, Rivendell has always been a cold empire, hasn’t it?

[cowboy-anon]

Whumpmas in July - Day 21

Prompt - Secret

This is super short and a little late, but whatever! Not super whumpy. Just some Benji content and a sneak peek at the guilt they’re harboring from their time alone with Clay. Well, not so alone...

CW: Mentioned crying, food, past neglect, scars, starvation, Stockholm Syndrome

Tagging: @getyourwhumphere (I don’t know why your tag isn’t working?), @milk-carton-whump, @unicornscotty, @sideblogformindtrash, @a-series-of-whumpy-events, @whumpinggrounds, @happy-whumper, @whumperfulart, @starnight-whump, @whumpmasinjuly​

Benji’s Secret

Benji doesn’t tell them about the pet Master Clay replaced them with.

They don’t tell them when their limp, malnourished form is carried crying from Master Clay’s house to the car. They don’t tell them when they drag themself out of bed the next day. They don’t tell them, not the next day or the next day or the next, because if they don’t ask, Benji won’t tell.

Only the first time Benji is asked, a year later and still unable to stand the sight of their scars, they don’t tell the truth--well, not the whole truth anyway. “Master Clay got tired of me,” they say curtly across the dinner table. And then they shovel the rest of their dinner into their mouth, stand up with the scrape of their chair, and promptly rush into their shared room and shut the door.

Benji drops onto their bed with a groan. After everything that’s happened, they still can’t even stand to utter his name.

Duncan, the little blond-haired pet that settled into their place so easily.

Benji knows they have no right to hate him. How could the pet have known when he was adopted that he would be wearing Benji’s clothes and be sitting on their side of the bed and be receiving the love that was once theirs? He couldn’t have.

And yet Benji can’t bring themself to tell Jimmy and Apple about him. They know it’s jealousy just as much as it is deep-seated trauma.

A part of them knows without a shadow of a doubt that Duncan needs them. He’s cute and obedient and he’ll never escape, won’t even try after seeing what Clay can do to pets like them.

Benji could save him.

But... they’re afraid. They’re afraid of what might happen if they do. If they save him, Jimmy will no doubt take him in, and then where will that leave them? Sharing affection with not one but two other pets. They’re already second to Apple, they can tell by how the two of them touch and talk and smile. The thought of being an afterthought in yet another household, neglected and unloved--

Benji gets up and turns off the light.

They know it’s selfish. They do, and it hurts to think this is what they’ve become. Thinking about it earlier, they were bitter. Now they’re just... disgusted. Because a part of them well and truly hates him.

Benji hates how easy it was for Clay to replace them. They hate how Duncan could even stomach the food he was offered when not five feet away, Benji was starving. They hate how just a year earlier they were in that same position.

Benji hates him and yet they wish him well. Hence their bitterness. Hence their disgust. They could save them. They won’t.

But... that other pet, Duncan, he’ll be okay. He knows what happens if he disobeys, and he’s more than just a pretty face. He’s smart.

Duncan can shut up and be pretty.

That’s the only thing that makes it bearable, knowing that Duncan has the potential to live a better life than they ever did, one full of pretty clothes and soft touches and love, sick and twisted but real enough.

Benji tucks themself into bed, flips on the lava lamp on their nightstand, and wills themself to believe that the life Duncan lives will be a good one.

Even though they know Master Clay will eventually replace him, too.