#and a swan but i understand his intentions and that's what matters

[kiiwiigii]

The Red-Eyed Boy pt. i

Pt. Two | Three | Outtake

Alec x Swan!Fem!Reader

Summary: When Edward goes to the Volturi seeking death he accidentally exposes Bella's sister. Not taking any chances Alec is sent to finish you.

Warnings:

I haven't written ff in forever soooo...

Also I have trouble with the whole Y/N thing.

Language

Kinda, sorta NSFW I guess? Lot's of kissing.

Word Count: 1,938

A/N: Alec is aged up.

Aro let his mouth twist into a cruel smirk. Apparently, the Swan girl was dead, a sad waste of possible talent he lamented silently, but what was done was done. Edward had had no intention of turning her anyway, so what did it matter?

However, there had been another problem that Edward hadn't meant to expose.

Her sister.

"NO!" Edward shouted. "No! No, she's not aware. She doesn't know-"

"Now, now Edward. We cannot take chances, you know this. The girl already has her suspicions."

Edward's face crumpled into a half snarl. Going to the Volturi for your own death was one thing, but not only had he been denied this sweet relief, he had sentenced another to death. Surely he could get them to understand that Y/N was completely in the dark. Sure she had suspicions but that was just it. Suspicions. And aside from a few shopping trips with Alice (in which Alice had to practically drag Y/N out of the house in an attempt to get to know her better) she had stayed relatively far away. What Bella should have done, he thought with a cringe.

"Alec." Aro called over his shoulder.

Alec was at his master's side in less than a second, staring blankly ahead and awaiting orders.

"You are to head the Swan household in Forks. Take care of Bella's sister."

"Of course Master."

Alec gave a bow before sharing a look with his own sister and heading out of the throne room; Edward's renewed attempt at talking Aro into sparing the other Swan girl's life fading away ever so slightly. He couldn't help but smirk. Fresh blood that didn't have to be delivered. A chance to hunt. Maybe he would play with his food before he finished her off. Make her run. Make her beg. Or perhaps... a different kind of begging. A begging brought on with kisses and meaningless words whispered in her ear. His smirk twisted into a smile. There were always different ways to play, right?

Dad,

I'm with Alice. Edward's in trouble. You can ground me when I get back. I know it's a bad time. So sorry. Love you so much.

Bella

"You gotta be fucking kidding me."

With a groan I let the letter slip from my fingers and back to its original place on the kitchen counter. I knew Bella was still healing, but never in my wildest dreams did I picture her dropping everything and just taking off for the boy who dumped her.

I paused, leaning against the counter with my head in my hands, wondering if I should just go ahead and call dad or wait to break the news to him when he got home. On the one hand if I called him now, it would distract him from his job... however if I didn't tell him now and he finds out I knew before he got home, I could possibly land myself in hot water and get grounded myself. And oh boy was Bella going to get grounded. Probably for the rest of the year if not her life.

She probably figured I'd find the letter first and would butter dad up anyways. Soften the blow that his eldest daughter went missing with a barely half-assed explanation. Well, she would be wrong about the latter at least. She'd be dealing with dad by herself on that one. As much as I loved her, I didn't want to be mixed up in her shenanigans.

Mind made up, I picked up my cell to make the dreaded call, and as expected dad picked up on the first ring.

"Uh, hey dad..."

I'm dreaming of him again. The boy with the red eyes.

He was standing in front of a familiar house, just watching. Waiting. I could see it in his eyes as they flicked back and forth. He was contemplating something, his head tilting just slightly as he took in the sloping roof and the off-white siding that was in severe need of cleaning. A truck and police car rested in its driveway, silent and empty.

My heart leapt. Why was he in front of my house? I'd dreamt of this boy plenty of times before, but never had he been in my own yard. Or anywhere I was even familiar with.

Instead, he was usually shrouded by a fine black mist. Sometimes, if I was lucky enough, he would simply be doing something rather mundane, like reading a book or walking in a garden. Other times my dreams would be rather violent, and I could hear the screaming of his victims as he ripped them to shreds. Then there was the girl that usually stood by his side. If the boy was violent, she was easily a hundred times worse. It was like watching a horror movie come to life and I couldn't close my eyes. I found that I didn't want to close my eyes. He was fascinating to me.

Or maybe it's because I'm a weird and sick individual.

He circled around to the back of the house now, his eyes trailing upwards until they landed on the second-floor window, a smirk beginning to curl on his lips.

My window.

I woke up with a gasp, clutching at my sheets.

What the fuck?

My imagination was finally getting away from me.

I couldn't help but look towards my window, still tightly shut and locked, only the soft glow of fairy lights winking back at me. Untangling myself from my sheets, I slipped from my bed and plodded over to the window. Nothing's out there, I thought. It's a stupid dream. They've all been stupid dreams. The red-eyed boy doesn't exist, Y/N. I unlocked the window and pushed it upwards before sticking my head out and looking around. Of course, I couldn't see worth shit but I squinted my eyes anyway, you know, just in case it would help me see better.

The yard was dark and empty. No handsome, red-eyed boys anywhere to be found.

I almost breathed a sigh of relief before a loud jingle broke through the silence, causing me to jump and slam my head into the window.

"Fuck." I hissed, cradling the spot that I could now feel a nice bruise forming.

It took me a moment to realize that the jingle was coming from my phone. Scrambling towards my dresser I managed to trip on the sheets I'd thrown off just minutes ago and go crashing to the floor. Tonight was just not my night. Despite my new entanglement, I reached up and managed to grab my phone, flipping it open without looking at the caller ID.

"Y/N? Y/N?" The voice on the other end was frantic.

Bella. I finally let out a breath I didn't realize I had been holding, the tension easing from my shoulders for the first time in days.

"Who else would it be?"

Despite my irritation and anger from her stunt I couldn't help but crack a grin as relief flooded through me. She was safe. I could already feel the hysterical laughter bubbling up. But that was quickly quashed as a new voice spoke from behind me.

"You're just as clumsy as your dear sister."

I whirled around and promptly dropped the phone as my eyes took in the dark figure standing at my feet. He was beautiful. Sinfully so. Dressed in all black, his pale skin stood out all the more. Agonizingly perfect and flawless, with dark hair sweeping across his forehead. And his eyes. Oh those eyes. My dreams didn't do them justice. Didn't do any piece of him justice.

"You." I breathed; eyes wide.

He suddenly tensed as our eyes met.

"You." He repeated.

Before I could blink, he was right before me, a gloved hand cradling my face. My mind was going haywire, trying to comprehend just what was happening. What was this pull I was feeling? What is this warmth? Did he feel it too?

"Your eyes." I whispered.

He arched a brow in amusement. "What of them?"

"They're beautiful. Like- like rubies." I stuttered quietly, feeling myself flush. "Am- am I dreaming again?"

Now both brows shot up. He probably thought I was crazy. And at this point he would be right. The boy that I had literally been dreaming about since I was a child was right in front of me.

"Y/N!"

The faraway crackle of my phone pulled me back to reality and I slowly picked it up, watching the boy in front of me. He made no move to stop me, only brushing a cool thumb across my cheek.

Wait, when had he lost the glove?

"I- I'm here."

"Did you hear anything I said?"

It was Alice Cullen

"Er- no."

"Listen," Alice began hurriedly. "I know this a lot to take in, but Alec isn't going to hurt you. It's- mates are a complicated thing in the vampire world."

"I'm sorry, what now?" I blinked rapidly as I tried to process what she was saying.

There was a low growl before I felt the phone being taken from my hands gently. I would be lying if that growl hadn't sent butterflies fluttering in my stomach.

"Cullen. Given your talent I think you would know that Y/N is perfectly safe with me." He leaned in as he tilted my head back, his nose running along my neck. "She is my mate after all."

My breath hitched at not only his words but the little nips and licks he began to trail along my neck, cool against my flushed skin. Oh gods, this could not be legal.

"Please inform Aro that Bella's sister will be coming to stay with us soon."

With a click he snapped the phone shut and molded his lips mine. I was pretty sure that my heart was about to beat out of my chest. Finally, he let me come back up for air with a small nibble on my bottom lip and burying his face back into my neck, his hands running down my sides in a slow caress.

"So- so you're Alec?"

He let out an actual purr at the sound of his name. "Say it again."

"You know people usually introduce themselves before making out right?"

There was a growl in response, and I almost let out a moan. Oh fuck, please stop doing that. It was doing weird things to my body.

"Alec."

He lifted himself up to look at me again, eyes no longer that beautiful ruby red but nearly pitch black. He kissed me again and again, swiping his tongue along my lower lip before delving into my mouth with a hunger that shot heat straight between my legs. This time I moaned. He chuckled as he pulled away, placing light kisses along my jaw until he reached my ear and nibbling yet again. Lord did this boy like to nibble.

"I will be back, mio cara."

Suddenly he disappeared just as my door opened and my dad stood there looking rather alarmed. I just blinked at him in a daze.

"I heard voices." He grumbled, looking for all the world like he had just rolled out of bed... which he had.

I felt my face heat back up, trying to figure out exactly what he had heard and trying to come up with an excuse.

"Uhm. I heard from Bella!"

For once my sister saved the day.

NEXT

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[fortheloveof-sebastian]

The One Who Has My Heart

Pairings: Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Summary: The second task of the Triwizard Tournament is to recover what’s been taken from you…little do you know just how true that is.

Warnings: potential kidnapping?, kissing, fluff

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: This request is for @scarydeadlavender Thank you for the prompt, I hope you enjoy it😁

Currently, you’re standing on a platform that’s been erected out of the lake. A few hundred feet below you, the surface of the lake roiled, dark and murky; it made sense why it had earned the nickname of the Black Lake. It wasn’t too difficult to imagine terrifying creatures dwelling within the unpredictable waters.

If the other two champions — a broad shouldered boy from Durmstrang and a wispy, waif-like girl from Beaxbatons — were nervous about this task, this didn’t show it. In fact, they stood on two adjacent platforms, leaning forward with intent.

Your eyes scan the crowd nervously.

Still no Sebastian. You can’t help but feel disappointed by his apparent absence. Where else could he be? He even told you the night before that he would be ready to congratulate you on another win, considering that he had been in detention during the first task. You had tried to assuage his guilt on missing out by insisting that it didn’t matter — and it didn’t, not really — but it had lifted your spirits to think that he might be watching today.

“ — have precisely an hour to recover what’s been taken from them.”

A whistle blows, and the other two champions waste no time diving into the water. You shake your heads, dislodging your worries of Sebastian. A roar of impatience and disbelief assails you from the Hogwarts student section, shouting at you to go and launching you into movement.

You take a deep breath and swan dive into the lake, the icy water engulfing you. The shock nearly immobiles you, until you open your eyes and notice the two other champions are already swimming away, leaving behind a trail of bubbles in their wake.

“I’m here.”

You turn, relieved. Staring back at you is a mermaid, more otherworldly than human, with hair that flows and waves in the current like the tangled black seaweed below you.

The mermaid encircles her arms around your neck and latches a necklace there. Instantly, the pressure of holding your breath releases, and the water clears significantly. The necklace granted you breathing and visibility abilities beneath the water, a special relic that the mermaid swore to bring to you — thanks to Ominis, of course.

Sebastian told you in confidence that his fellow Slytherin had struck up a friendship with one of the fishy beasts, and upon hearing about your latest task, you knew that it would be a great help. Ominis was incensed, understandably, that Sebastian had given away another one of his closely guarded secrets but eventually conceded. After all, he wanted Hogwarts to win the Triwizard Tournament as bad as anyone.

You and Ominis struck a deal with the mermaid, after Ominis vaguely declared that she owed him a favor.

Part of you didn’t believe she would come, most likely because you didn’t trust this mermaid. Her name was Kaya, and she had taken an instant liking to Sebastian as soon as she saw him. Too much of a liking for your taste.

“They said that I needed to recover what’s been taken from me,” you tell Kaya, recalling the only instruction you managed to catch.

The mermaid smiles knowingly. Or else, you think that she’s smiling. Her mouth, lined with razor sharp teeth, looks more cunning then helpful. “And what are you missing, human?”

You rack your brain. Was this task metaphorical? Did they secretly steal away with something from your dorm in the middle of the night?

Then, it strikes you — Sebastian. Sebastian was missing.

Your heart pounds. You knew he wouldn’t have missed for just any reason! But that means that he was here somewhere, in the lake.

“Sebastian,” you say aloud. “Where is he?”

“He’s safe,” the mermaid says.

You narrow your eyes. “Where. Is. He.”

“I helped you with your task,” the mermaid hauntily replies. “So I’ve just taken my payment.”

“If recovering Sebastian is my task, and you’ve taken him, then you have not helped me!” You shout. Red hot anger shoots through you. “You can’t do this. Bring me to Sebastian. Now.”

“Mr. Gaunt said that I only had to give you the mermaid relic,” Kaya says.

Your hands form into fists. “He also said that you have to help me win.” Resisting the urge to throttle the mermaid, you demand, “You have to take me to Sebastian or else your debt with Ominis — er, Mr. Gaunt — will not be repaid.”

Fae can not be trusted, you remember from your studies. But they also take favors and debts seriously, which you hope is enough to convince this magical creature to listen.

The mermaid studies you for a moment, and it’s as if you can feel your alotted time to complete the task slipping away. Finally, she sighs. “Fine, follow me. But keep up. I won’t go back for you.”

Easier said than done. It’s a battle to keep up with her — although she might’ve alleviated your need to breath air and your poor human vision, you aren’t nearly as fast as her. Her fishlike body cuts effortlessly through the seaweed, churning up sand and rocks in your face as you scramble after her. Fortunately for you, her supposed hiding place isn’t far from where you had dived into the lake from the platforms.

The mermaid points inside the mouth of an underwater cave. “He’s in there.”

You don’t have time to debate whether or not she’s telling the truth. At this point, your concern isn’t about the tournament but whether Sebastian is safe. Forcing your way into the cave, you navigate through the pitch darkness for a few feet before remembering that you have your wand. “Lumos,” you whisper.

Light illuminates your surroundings.

And there, at the end of the narrow tunnel, lays Sebastian. His eyes are closed, and if it wasn’t for the seaweed binding him, you would’ve assumed he was just asleep.

Frantically you dart forward and grab him.

“Depulso!” The spell propels you out of the cave. You cling to Sebastian, his body limply bumping next to yours as you swim for the surface.

The mermaid is nowhere to be found, but you prefer it that way. Cupping your hands, you fight your way to the surface, kicking your legs as fast as you can. Your muscles scream at you but you don’t stop until your bursting above the water, greeted by a chorus of cheers.

Durmstrung has already made it back.

You’re rescued by two older wizards who use their wands to carry you back up onto the platforms. Only then does Sebastian snap out of whatever trance he’s in — sputtering and heaving as he coughs up lake water.

“What’s going on?” He asks weakly.

Quickly you cut him free from his seaweed binding, and help him into a sitting position.

“How much do you know?”

Sebastian shakes his head, the motion sending out droplets of water onto your robes. His lashes are wet also, spiky, beads of water collecting on the ends and somehow, despite having literally just been dragged up from the bottom of a lake, he looks infuriatingly handsome.

“I—not much.” He frowns. “I remember leaving the common room and then…nothing.”

You quickly fill him in: about the task, the mermaid, and his temporary kidnapping. He listens attentively, his features morphing from confusion to shock, and then back to confusion.

“She kidnapped me?” He echoes. Sebastian leans back on his hands. “Well, I suppose I can’t blame her. I am rather good looking.”

You scowl at him. “I should’ve left you for mermaid chow.”

“But wait, if I was unconscious, then that means that I missed another one of your tasks,” he says, straightening. A look of guilt passes over his face.

“It’s not like you could really help it,” you say empathetically. “If you think about it, you’ve been kidnapped twice within the last twenty four hours. I suppose I can forgive you.”

He clasps your hand. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“Sebastian, you really don’t have to —”

“And Durmstrang wins the second task!” The announcer booms. “One task Hogwarts, one task Durmstrang. Join us for the last task for the tiebreaker!”

Later that evening, you get an owl from Sebastian requesting your presence. You’ve been trying not to pity yourself for losing the task today, although it’s hard not to when your fellow Hogwarts students cast you accusatory glares. There’s no way you can refuse Sebastian, though — the cheeky bugger — so you heave yourself from beneath your covers and get dressed.

The Slytherin common room is mostly empty, besides a few students who are studying. You traipse inside uncertainly; Sebastian gave you little instructions, just to meet.

“Sebastian?” You call out.

Avoiding the pointed glares from a few of the students, you round one of the magnificent columns and spot a familiar backside. Sebastian’s turned away from you but whirls to face you when he senses your presence. Delight breaks out on his face.

He hastily fills the space between you in two long strides, then sweeps you into a passionate embrace. When his lips find yours, you’re taken aback by his fervent display of affection — it’s as if you’ve been apart for a dreadfully long time, and he can’t wait to reunite. You melt into the kiss. Sebastian’s hands slip behind your neck and around your waist, pulling you close. You’re busy relishing the moment when you suddenly hear the telltale sound of water being splashed.

You pull away from Sebastian just in time to see a large fin swish away from the view of the window looking out into the lake.

“Was that—?”

“Maybe,” Sebastian says, grinning.

“Sebastian,” you scold him. The matching grin that unfurls on your face negates the scalding nature of your tone. “That’s so impolite.”

“What? I think it’s a fitting punishment for a potential kidnapper,” he says defensively.

“Are you going to kiss me in front of the entire Triwizard board then, too?”

Sebastian’s grin widens. “Only if you insist.”

“I can’t believe you,” you say, laughing in disbelief but allowing him to ensnare you in another toe curling kiss anyway.

He punctuates the kiss with several smaller ones, peppering them from the corners of your mouth to the top of your noise. “Why not? I can’t just go around letting psychotic, kidnapping mermaids think they have a chance with me. Everyone needs to know who really has my heart.”

[bookwyrminspiration]

hello you are the god of canon and i've been confused about this for a long time so i am turning to you as my last desperate hope to understand.

remember in everblaze, there was a leak? i'm not talking about the black swan leak, i'm talking about the leak that was leaking classified council information, like fintan's healing. sophie thought it was bronte at one point? well i'm pretty sure we never found out who that actually was.

tiergan says he suspects that the thirty missing dwarves are behind it right before the healing (somewhere in chapter 34 iirc) and sophie agrees and says yeah that makes sense, but it's never actually confirmed. then the story moves on as if that has been solved, so either i'm stupid and i'm not picking up what shannon's putting down (that the thirty missing dwarves are responsible for the leak) or i'm missing something? are we supposed to assume that tiergan was correct and that the thirty missing dwarves are the leak? if so, i'm pretty sure that's never actually explicitly stated, it was just a theory.

i'm pretty sure we're also supposed to assume that the thirty missing dwarves are the dwarves that fled to the neverseen (even though that's also never explicitly stated iirc), so that checks out. but then, the question becomes, why the heck do the neverseen care if random classified secrets are released to the general public? it doesn't make any sense. i get the neverseen wanting to know those secrets for themselves, but what interest would they have in the public knowing those secrets? if the thirty missing dwarves are the dwarves that fled to the neverseen and they're responsible for the leak, then it's like. okay, but why?

like when sophie thought the leak was bronte, she was able to sort of reason it out like "okay, maybe he's leaking these secrets to get the public riled up against the healing because he doesn't support it" or something like that. so it gives bronte a proper motivation (it wasn't him, but using this as an example).

so i guess the questions are:

are the thirty missing dwarves confirmed to be neverseen dwarves?

are the thirty missing dwarves confirmed to be the source of the council leak?

if they are the source of the leak, why would the neverseen care if the general public knew about fintan's healing and those other secrets?

thanks in advance i know this is long

Hi! You're totally fine and not at all stupid--it's quite nebulous.

Off the top of my head, I don't think we've revisited the council leak's source since that conversation. So unless and until Shannon circles back around to reveal Noland or Clarette or someone was up to nefarious deeds, I do think we're supposed to believe the dwarves are the source.

The dwarves also are working with the Neverseen, as seen in the battle of Mount Everest (p. 560) and much later in Legacy. I can't recall a line where the number thirty specifically comes up again? But as it doesn't seem they knew there were any dwarves with the Neverseen (p. 275, 570--not definitive, but it seems the general intention) prior, I don't think it matters we don't get the specific number

As for why they leaked secrets, I think it perhaps has something to do with Mr. Forkle's later theory about destabilizing everyone and swooping in to take over. The healing was highly divisive, and it shook people's trust even before it went wrong. Cluing everyone in to how much the council obscures diminishes their power and influence--makes the Lost Cities that much easier to conquer.

But again, a lot of this is off my memory--and I might be missing some details. If someone's got a stronger understanding of this conflict specifically, please do share!

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

Hong's purpose in life is Bella. How is it different from Jacob with Renesmée? (I know its different. I just want you to say HOW. I dont get it.)

The Seventh Seal

Well, you go for the jugular, don't you?

There's a few major things off the top of my head.

Hong Thinks Bella is His Purpose in Life, He's Lying

Not to get too into the weeds with this fic but Hong's already started to deviate from what should be his ultimate destiny. Bella Swan is not, in every moment, his priority.

The big thing is that he pursues his Vat Baby venture when this has nothing at all to do with Bella Swan and he even admits as much to himself.

Right now he thinks Bella's his only point in being here, but he's already fucked that up, in doing something entirely different for purposes of his own.

Hong just hasn't realized that yet.

Hong Has 0 Interest in Being Anything to Bella in Particular

With Renesmee as the center of Jacob's universe, we see Jacob needing to be needed in some capacity by Renesmee and to be the most important person in her life. He wants to be her best friend, her brother, and... strongly implied her lover when the time is right.

Jacob wants to be the only thing that matters to Renesmee with everyone else being secondary.

Hong doesn't give a flying fuck what Bella thinks about him beyond how it furthers his own agenda and her safety.

Hong concludes early in that a distant, platonic, friendship is fine with him because all he needs is for Bella to not fall in love with Edward. She seems distracted enough with friendship, ergo, that's fine.

Should Bella announce she has romantic intentions towards Hong, Hong probably would shrug and go along with it, but only after a "does this actually help Bella in any way to be stable/not run into heavy traffic"

Everything Hong thinks, in concern to Bella, is if it will or will not keep her alive.

He generally only cares about her feelings in the context of: if I ignore this, will Bella do something stupid?

Hong Actually Dislikes Bella

We're just seeing the seeds of this in the fic as Hong hasn't realized it himself (as his capacity to 'dislike' anything has thus far been minimal) but he doesn't like Bella.

At all.

He finds her frustrating, obtuse, oblivious, contrary, and purposefully getting in the way of her own best interests. (See the Port Angeles scene)

Not only does he not understand her but he sees her willfully, consistently, choosing what he views as the worst possible option and getting very upset if anyone tries to get in the way of this.

I don't think Jacob, thrall that he is after the imprint, has the capacity to either like or dislike Renesmee: he just needs her, desperately.

[loraxswiftie]

Palace of Greed

Pairing: Onceler x reader

Summary: Inspired by the lyric “now he sits on his throne in his palace of bones, praying to his greed // he’s got my past frozen behind glass, but I’ve got me.” Once-ler and reader reminisce about the past; you are not fond of the man he has become. 

Word count: 1,651

Warnings: angst

A/N: I love writing angst, so I had a blast with this one. I don’t know if I’ll continue to write for this fandom, but we’ll see. 

this fic is unedited.

How bad could it possibly be that your lover was in denial over the severity of his actions?

How quickly things change, even when you savor each moment, you’re tormented once they’re over because there is no return to better days unless you learn from where you’ve come. You were dragged here, forcibly, by the skin of your heels and plunged into the ice-cold depths of an empire you did not fully understand.

What matter was it of yours, then, if you weren’t at the helm, driving this ship into the black night further and further away from port. This vessel ran on cold hard cash, gasoline, manual labor and exploited the ecosystem that was never meant to support it but now there was no other way. A capitalist society ran on greed and your dearly beloved made no exception; he would drive these poor helpless creatures to extinction all while continuing to defraud and cut corners for the sake of his own greed.

You were sick to think that it had come to this. In the beginning, you’d tried to stop him, or at least slow him down. When you found sickly Bar-ba-loots scrounging for pieces of fruit to eat, you fed them their fill of what you were lucky enough to find. You cleaned off the oil and slop that clung to the poor humming-fish and washed the feathers of Swomme-swans that were ruffled and black with tar and suet that the smokestacks from the factory belched into the air.

Were there no rules? No regulations? No justice for malicious intent?

You were so overwhelmed by the consequences that you could not keep up with how many animals needed your help. You were powerless to stop this on your own, nor could you cease your efforts in good conscience. Your hands were tied, but you still had one more hand left to play.

You stormed into the Once-ler’s office and the double doors groaned from the effort with which they fought to remain on their hinges and not smack straight into the walls. You could not remember a time in which you had been this angry, but destroying company property was a lot more gratifying than taking away so many creatures’ habitats with no recourse.

He reclined in the great chair behind his desk, busying himself with the next big project to be underway. You hated the way he sat, stretched back like a king on his throne, praying to his greed as he built his kingdom brick by brick, bone by bone, life by life on the backs of anyone he could exploit to get the job done with the least amount of impact on cash flow.

He hadn’t built the economy; he was the economy.

This was never going to stop until it was too late.

“Once-ler, we need to talk.”

You stood before his desk, prepared to hold him accountable and this time you wouldn’t back down. If there was even the indication that the man you loved still existed somewhere within him, you were intent on bringing him back to you. Money had turned him into someone you no longer knew; how far were you willing to go to get him back?

“Yes, we do,” he agreed and his response shocked you, “we’re going to need to increase production again and I think the only reasonable way to do that is-”

“Reasonable?” you scoffed, “when have you been reasonable about any of the things you’re doing?”

He seemed surprised even though the way you had entered the room more than expressed your displeasure, “this, again?” He sighed exasperatedly and drummed his gloved fingers on the gold gilt chair arm.

Even his posture was unrecognizable from the man you knew before all of this.

“I told you,” he began, “there is nothing wrong with what I’m doing. If you don’t like it, I can’t force you to be here, but the decision is mine to make. I built this company and I take care of us. I take care of you. This is a good thing that we’re doing and we’re doing it together. Can’t you see that?”

If only you were as blind to it as he was.

“There has to be another way…”

“You used to tell me that you didn’t care what we did, as long as we were together.”

He was trying a different approach, determined to have his own hide and steer the conversation down a path that was within his control. In his obsession, he had become manipulative. Anyone could see how hard he had fought to get to the top. With perseverance and dedication, he had done the impossible but that would never be enough to satiate him. He had created a monster whose hunger knew no satisfaction and with that his days were numbered. Even if he couldn’t see the writing on the walls, you had always known that nothing good comes from sacrificing what is right for the sake of something so insignificant as money.

You’d do best not to start that argument again.

“Within reason,” you corrected him, “always within reason.”

His constant pursuit of wealth and power-hungry ethics clashed dramatically with your own principles and you were beginning to bear the full weight of grief over the man you had lost. The Lorax had warned him to be careful which way he leaned and when he fell, he would hit the ground harder than the trees because there would be no one to pick him back up.

It wasn’t wishful thinking to hope that he might change his mind or his ways. It was foolish to think that this was still the same man whom you had fallen in love with so many years ago.

Once-ler smirked at you from behind his desk, long legs spread as he regarded you with a glint of want in his eyes. The suggestive look made an uneasy shudder unfurl down your spine; he never ceased to look for what more he might have…or take.

“I always give you what you want, don’t I?” he asked and waited for an answer that never came.

His eyes had you mesmerized, spellbound and completely at his mercy.

‘Don’t tease me,’ you thought and your eyes filled with tears, “don’t tempt me with the promise that things will be different.”

“I buy you nice things. I provide for you. I give you all my love.”

He got to his feet and glided around the length of his desk. An air of confidence wreathed around him like the smog that hung over what was left of Truffula valley. His shoes snapped harshly against the cold floor and he stopped mere inches from you. Gloved fingers gently grasped your chin and tilted your head to look at him, “we’re better off now than we ever were before.”

You’d have begged him until your knees bled if you thought it might make a difference.

You needed him to hear what you were not saying. He could read between the lines and make his own annotations, but the dialogue stayed the same. He could not rewrite the past, but he was the writer, the editor and the publisher of his and your futures. If you could not convince him to change, how could you remain indifferent to his transgressions?

The perception of you he kept frozen in his mind held nothing on who you were now.

“I don’t want to do this anymore, Oncie,” the words tasted bitter on your tongue.

How long had it been since you’d used that nickname? You were already starting to forget; convenient, you noted, to the man who seemed to have taken over and wiped away your precious, ambitious inventor who had done his best in the beginning to keep the promises that he made.

He released your chin to pull you against him, held fast in his embrace as hot tears rolled down your cheeks. You clutched desperately at the lapels of his tailcoat and muffled your sobs against the fabric, “I miss you.”

He had to strain to hear those three words, but they were not lost on him. If it were enough to break through the façade, he’d have burnt the place to the ground, destroyed all his hard work as we knew it and began anew, but it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough for a man who wanted so much that he wasn’t willing to compromise. He couldn’t lose you or the factory, his wealth, his status, his power.

He could and would have it all.

He was better than this though and in the most self-centered recesses of your tired heart, you wished he’d never sold that stupid invention. His success had come at a price, but he was too busy digging his own grave to notice.

Once-ler’s hold on you tightened and his hand soothingly rubbed at your back as he let you cry into his clothing. He’d have it cleaned later; he could offer you this much without a fuss. A few tears won’t hurt, he reasoned, lest you forget how much he had sacrificed and how hard he had worked to maintain this level of wealth.

If you were afraid he had forgotten who he had been, then the least he could do was remind you he was still the man you loved. With all that you had now, the love was there, even if that did not change the outcome.

He was not too busy for you, even though you saw less and less of him as the days dragged on.

Reminiscing wasn’t such a bad thing. Not when one was so fond of the memories.

Neither of you had much in the beginning, but at least you had each other and for you, that had always been enough.

You suffered knowing that he had never felt the same.

[lsdjrn]

[A little bit spoiler alert for Prospect...]

The inspiration came from jilyevnz on TT. Swan Lake by Tchaikovsky is the background music.

They made a video edit of Pedro's performance as Joel Miller (The Last of Us) and how he tried so hard not losing her daughter Sarah during to cordyceps outbreak but we know what happened - and he risked everything to protect the new one he found during his journey: Ellie.

So I made something similar, featuring Prospect (2018). I feel like this movie is one of the most underrated work Pedro ever done, despite the beauty of it. I've rewatched the movie 4 times up till now lol and I cried at the latest rewatch. I love Cee and she deserves better.

I guess many of Prospect audiences have a headcanon that Ezra eventually adopts Cee. Or at least taking her under his care. Back then, my first thought was: wow wait, Ezra acknowledged his actions which lead to Damon's demise and even told Cee to blame him instead for her father's fate? Ezra is a scoundrel. Morally grey. But he even appreciated Cee (being a literal kid) better than her own father.

I wish his character development could be explored more if they ever make a continuation of Prospect. There must be something preceded his understanding behavior towards Cee, aside from most likely realising her loneliness. Funnily I can't stop thinking how Cee had an uncanny resemblance with Joel Miller, hence I was inspired when I saw that TLOU video edit. I mean, in the sense of "redeeming" themselves for their previous loss... Cee lost the only family member she hadーno matter how bad Damon was as a father.

Cee probably felt like she's given a second chance by (ironically) saving Ezra instead.

Interestingly, if you pay enough attention, around the first 10 minutes mark there is a shot from Cee's side in the cockpit seat when she and Damon prepared their departure. While at the end, they put similar scene but Cee was smiling, with Ezra besides her. Not sure if this was intentional, but I'd just assume it's her full circle moment hahaha.

Cee lost her father, Ezra lost his arm, but maybe all the misery was worth it when they found each other.

[ouatsnark]

Not related to CS, but I feel like a large amount of Regina stans and even those of Emma's (including Swan Queen Shippers, who I've seen multiple edits of their's where Swanqueen treat their kid, Henry, like shit) tend to forget Henry's still a kid throughout most of the seasons.

Can he be annoying? Absolutely. All kids are at one point or another.

Can he be ungrateful towards his relatives (I've seen this argument multiple times even not involving Regina)? Probably, but as a wise man once said kids aren't supposed to be grateful. They learn to be as they grow.

But I don't really think he deserves the treatment some of these writers/editors/fans give him. That some of these writers/editors/fans write his moms/other relatives giving him.

Like, I could understand trying to give Henry some discipline or something (because he puts himself in a lot of danger by not listening sometimes) but most of the time, they take it way too far.

Henry's a kid. Kids aren't perfect. People aren't perfect.

He has emotions and he reacts to them like most people would.

I don't get how people can claim to be fans of his moms and that his moms are good people but then have them abuse their kid they supposedly love just because he has real emotions that Regina or Emma don't always like.

They never try to see things from Henry's pov.

They don't acknowledge that Regina wasn't a good mother in season 1 or 2, and will make her seem like a saint or have her act childish by not making the punishment fit the crime in their fics.

They don't acknowledge that being given up for adoption, even if for a good reason, can make a kid feel abandoned (talking from experience. I am NOT bashing Emma)/want to know more about their bio family even if they love their adoptive family.

They act like he's unreasonable for getting mad at Emma when he found out she lied (he NEVER even got the context to why she lied. Of course he was mad).

Most of his behavior can be explained by the situations he's in or his upbringing.

Hell, I've even seen people bash him for his actions in season 7 regarding Lucy. Calling him a hypocrite and a bad father as if he HAD his memories the entire time and wasn't a full grown adult by then.

He was cursed! He didn't even remember Regina/Roni was his adopted mother let alone that his daughter and wife were alive.

I get not liking Henry.

No one has to like a character.

But to stretch the truth/outright ignore reasons behind it and to write characters abusing their child/grandkid and expect people to think it's funny is odd....

Like, I've never seen a Neal fan do this (I am not a fan of him at all, I just noticed I've never seen a fan of his write him treating Henry like crap. Just people who don't like him in things that they acknowledge are oc). But I've seen so many fans of other characters do this.

I apologize for the mini rant this has been bothering me for a while. I think it's a symptom of getting older and realizing things you missed as a kid.

It REALLY makes me angry when Regina stans call Henry a brat for acting out against her abuse in Season 1 - 2. They truly believe that their queen is a bloody saint.

"They act like he's unreasonable for getting mad at Emma when he found out she lied (he NEVER even got the context to why she lied. Of course he was mad)."

This one is tricky. Like in real time I understood it and Henry's anger made sense. But then as the series progresses you start to realize something.... Henry's anger was only ever directed at Emma and I think later on, me and others, started hating on the writing here because Neal's part in this was never acknowledged. Emma took all the heat. And Neal just got to skate by as if he did nothing wrong.

And, ok, I can forgive that. Henry just met the guy. He wanted to get to know his father. But...

Then the writers had Henry bending over backwards to console Regina in S4 when Regina is having, what she believes to be, an affair with a dying woman's husband (intent matters). Jump to Season 6 and Henry could care less that Emma is hurting after Killian's been forced into a portal.

I know SQers and Anti-Hookers love this because they use it as a way to prove Henry doesn't care about Hook. You can chalk this up to teenager hormones while pointing back to his concern in S5 for Hook and Emma as to how he truly feels... but it is frustrating.

Because at this point it seems like the writers used Henry to prop up Regina but when it came to Emma she always had to be the true parent. Which is how it should've been! They got the writing right when it came to Emma and Henry. Henry had to coddle Regina but when it comes to Emma it's like "oh well it's just the bio mom whose life was destroyed by Regina but Regina's feelings always matter more." And that makes people go "hmmmmm maybe this character is just a brat."

My point here is that I get why people hate the character. It isn't fair and I wish the writers would've done a better job with the character. But they didn't.

I think I may have went on a different rant because I don't read fanfic. Also. Fanfic is a way to borrow someone else's world and characters and write them in a completely different way. It seems that is what most of these fanfic creators do. It's why I don't read it.

[redemptioninterlude]

[ COFFEE ] //for rue

domestic intimacy meme ( no longer accepting ) + @sunxsin // ling [ COFFEE ] sender gives receiver a cup of coffee

slutty chais are something that make itself into her vocabulary. which is like, a whole new thing that she doesn't really understand until everyone's saying it, and ling looks like, weirdly proud about it. or maybe that was just his DEFAULT SETTING? sometimes, rue is still trying to figure that part out, how much of ling was intentional versus accidental, and in the end, does it actually matter? because she's just as equally charmed as always with him, hanging onto his arm and grinning like a fool, dark eyes flickering back up to meet his, her heart eternally unsettled whenever they were near.

the fact that he has to work at all is like. kind of funny. it's not as if he couldn't, or hadn't, it just seemed like this level of closeness to the public was far above and beyond what ling was willing to put up with. mostly because the number of ignorant normies that tended to swan about the cafe, who seemed DISGRUNTLED that they had to share their space with those employees from the university, but... whatever. he seemed to enjoy it, even if he equally seemed enamoured with the idea of skipping work at the same time.

he asks her to COME ON BY whenever class scheduled aligned, and she was all too happy to watch him with a smile forming on her lips, palm folding there underneath her chin. tucked up within a corner as younger schoolgirls came by to flirt with him, who was too oblivious to notice, who'd only look too pleased when asked if he had a girlfriend and he had the chance to point her out. ling was.... he never gave her much room to doubt. save when he was making yet another fucky wucky but, they're working on that part.

and whenever he had a spare moment to give, there he was by her again, bringing her another coffee, or hanging out for a few moments so that she could ADJUST his bow tie, or hold his hand. she loves every moment of it, even as she took a sip and found it wanting, needing to chase it with a kiss from him, her arms still slung about his neck, her grin made warm and all too pleased. "love you babe... thanks for this. i think you have a line up? but like. you're almost done, right? think we can go stop off home together before our evening classes?"

[teleporte]

real.be (kim min jae) ig

Thank you very much for watching and loving me during this time. I was very happy while living as Jin Moo Hak. Yours sincerely, “what a load of garbage” Jin Moo Hak  🦆🦢

[jimblejamblewritings]

the imprint or the blood singer | part 22.

Summary: Y/N Black. All about La Push. Shy girl unless you get to know her. Not one to make friends easily despite the fact that she very well could. Friends with her brother’s friends until one Bella Swan comes back to town.

Warnings for the Series: light violence, light smut

Pairing: Edward Cullen x reader, Embry Call x reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Previous Part | (Series Masterlist)

The Cullens sped back to their house as soon as Jacob called. Carlisle cleared everyone out of his office and into the living room. The other Cullens aside from Esme left the house, knowing the bloody process of labor.

“You and Em can stay if you want,” you forced the words out as a rather painful contraction went through you.

Edward stiffened up. He wanted nothing more to be there for you but his mind always wandered back to Isle Esme. There would be blood, your blood.

“If I, what if—”

Edward cut off as Embry grabbed his shoulder.

“Whatever you think you’re gonna do, you won’t. (Y/N) needs you, wants you here.”

Edward nodded deftly, he refused to open his mouth. You can’t bite if your mouth is closed to start,right? Both Edward and Embry did whatever Carlisle instructed to help you through your labor. Carlisle has delivered many babies and maybe because you were supernatural but he was honestly surprised that a vampire-werewolf baby would be just as simple as those other deliveries.

Edward held his tongue as he read the thought between you and Embry as the wolf held Masen. It was important to get it over with, if anyone in the pack imprinted you wanted to know sooner rather than later. But Edward said nothing as Embry left the room with Masen. He said nothing and just held your hand, breathing a sigh of relief when he heard nothing from the living room.

After you had rested and everything was cleaned up, the rest of the Cullens came back. Rosalie busted out the camera and forced Edward to lay next to you on the small hospital bed as you both held Masen for the picture. The pack said their congrats and hesitantly slipped into the guest bedrooms the Cullens had at your request.

As you slept, Edward rocked Masen in his arms. The Cullens smiled as he entered the living room. For once not being able to sleep was a good thing. Masen would always have a pair of comfortable arms to rock her to sleep. Rosalie took Masen from him around 2 am so Edward could go hunt. He had a feeling that even if it wasn’t for him to go hunt, Rosalie would be stealing his daughter from him a lot.

~~

You lifted up Masen from the crib in Edward’s room. You were fully recovered after a few weeks, grateful for enhanced healing. However, you definitely didn’t have the same muscle mass as before, you had slimmed down a lot due to the strain on your metabolism attempting to return to before the pregnancy. You would probably have to work out in order to rebuild lost muscle, maybe you could ask Edward to workout with you.

You walked downstairs and strolled into the kitchen. Like always, you would say everything you were doing so Masen could learn new words. At first you weren’t sure if you were truly teaching her anything considering the baby couldn’t talk back but Edward assured that Masen was understanding loud and clear.

“And now we have a cream cheese bagel and your baby formula for breakfast,” you said as you made your way to the bar stool at the island.

You didn’t get the chance to breastfeed Masen if you wanted too, for whatever reason you didn’t produce any milk. Carlisle surmised it to be the advanced healing because of the complications that come with a vampire baby no matter how smooth a labor. For all intents and purposes, it was like your body didn’t even know you had been pregnant.

The school year had started and you hadn’t taken the time to apply to any colleges physically. So you opted to take college online, at least for year one, until you and Edward figured out what exactly you were going to do. After you finished your breakfast you took Masen over to the living room bookshelf.

“Pick something, Mase.”

Her small fingers reached out for something so you took it off the shelf.

“Hmm, Lord of the Flies… I don’t think so Mase. Ed, do you guys not have any other more children friendly books?”

The Cullens laughed.

“We weren’t exactly expecting any children.”

You frowned as you looked through the books for something you haven’t read to her and that was somewhat appropriate. Masen whined, strings of “bah, bah bah” coming out of her mouth.

“She wants to know why you can’t read that one,” Edward said.

“You’re a baby. When you’re…” you didn’t finish. The rest of the Cullens didn’t move.

“I guess now’s the time to address the elephant in the room,” Emmett muttered.

You sighed as you reshelved Lord of the Flies. It was very apparent that Masen, while still looking like a baby, didn’t look like a newborn.

“It’s just a growth spurt,” you said, not believing in your own words.

“She’s growing every day, (Y/N),” Esme said carefully. “We just are wondering how much time—”

“How much time we have with Masen, I know.”

Edward came off the couch and walked towards you. Tears were rimming at your eyes and you were grateful as Embry strolled through the door right, a huge box of books in his hands.

“Look, Masen. BriBri!”

“I heard we were lacking in kiddie books. My cousin loved these when she was younger.”

Embry held up one of the Anne of Green Gables books. He walked further into the house and set the box down on the window seat. Embry took Masen out of your arms.

“These are perfect Embry. I was really starting to think we’d have to reread Pride and Prejudice.”

“You read my goddaughter Pride and Prejudice?”

“Tried… she whines every time Mr. Collins is mentioned.”

Edward wiped at a stray tear. “Embry, can you read to Masen while we discuss some things? We have breakfast if you’re hungry.”

“Yeah I can read to her.”

Embry sat down with Masen as Edward led you to Carlisle’s office, Carlisle following the two of you. You broke down the minute Carlisle closed the door. Edward tried to console you as he let you cry in his arms. Carlisle didn’t have to be a mind-reader to understand the silent conversation between the two of you. It was a reality you had just now come to terms with.

For whatever reason, Masen was getting older almost every single day and you didn’t know how long you would have with her. You felt hopeless. Masen’s dad was an immortal, you were practically an immortal yourself. And here you both were with a baby aging, and aging fast.

“Oh, Charlie was looking for you the other day. Billy let it slip about Masen,” Embry said as you reentered the living room.

“Shit, Uncle Charlie. How are we supposed to explain any of this? I don’t have any good lies.”

“Jacob’s handling it now.”

You sighed in relief. You might’ve been the favorite but Jacob and Charlie always had an easy relationship, this was probably better coming from his mouth. He was the smoother talker, better liar.

~~

“Jacob, you did WHAT?” everyone yelled.

Embry spoke up from the kitchen where he was eating a lunch Esme prepared for him. “Man, when you said you were going to handle it. This isn’t what we thought.”

“I fixed our problem.”

“Our problem? If the Volturi find out a human—”

“I didn’t tell him about your little bloodsucking ordeal,” Jacob cut Edward off. “He only knows about us, the pack.”

Edward’s jaw clenched. “And about Masen.”

“There wasn’t a good way to explain that.”

“Fine, it’s fine. At least we can invite Charlie over now instead of hiding out,” you placed a hand on your boyfriend’s bicep.

“About that… he’s um, he’s on his way right now.”

“Jake! What the hell!” You looked at your brother. Well, you were going to have to face Charlie eventually.

Charlie came bounding into the Cullen house. He very eagerly embraced you.

“Feels like forever since I’ve seen you kiddo… you um, so you turn into a giant animal too?”

You laughed, nodding. “Yeah, Uncle Charlie. Wolf just like Jake.”

“Wonderful.” He coughed out.

Edward came from upstairs with a finally-awake Masen. Charlie hesitantly stepped towards him, gently taking her from him.

“Son,” he addressed Edward. “You don’t turn into a—”

“Ha, no Chief Swan.”

“Oh good, one normal person.”

You all shared knowing smirks as Charlie turned his attention towards Masen instead.

“And your daughter, and I was told this was a need-to-know.” Charlie held Masen out, she was looking like a one-year old and you all knew he knew she was born recently. “Yeah, definitely a need-to-know.”

“Mase, this is Uncle Charlie,” Edward said as he poked the baby’s cheeks.

Charlie smiled at her. It had been years since he held a baby but the feeling came natural. Charlie’s father instincts were about as strong as Rosalie and Esme’s motherly ones. You could add him to the list of people constantly stealing your baby.

“Little Black… Cullen?” he asked looking at you.

“Cullen.” You nodded.

“Aren’t you a cutie, Little Cullen. Where’d you get these pretty eyes from?”

Masen’s eyes were hard to miss. They were bright green, like Edward’s when he was human. They stood out against her skin. It wasn’t hard to tell she was part Quileute. Masen giggled at Charlie.

“Uncwe Bawi!”

You all stood in shock. It wasn’t quite his name but it was clear what Masen meant.

“Unbelievable. I read to her every day and her first words are Uncle Charlie…” you joked as you tickled Masen who was giggling even harder.

(Part 23)...

[evita-shelby]

Nothing More Difficult than Love

Chapter 7

Tw: the end mentions oral sex,thats it.

Taglist: @whitejuliana1204 @lovemesomevesey @livelifewondering

One of the Irish men, Maguire, starts singing. He does this to get Eva’s attention. Everyone and their dog know one of the eccentric rich fucks from the SRA is her.

“Nice song, isn’t it.” Grace comments trying to get her to trip on her words.

“I think Mexico has better songs, but I’m biased.” Eva said as if this was not something that could get arrested. For the wealthy getting arrested is of no consequence.

Eva had wanted to be in there with him, he had suggested it too when the IRA men mentioned having heard she was kin to the great Captain John Riley who led Irish Catholics and Catholic Mexicans against the Americans.

“Do you think they’ll make Ireland independent?” the blonde asks, trying to get her to say something incriminating.

But it’s her word against hers and no proof a confession she might get out of her would hold up in court.

“A rather obvious question to ask a retired revolutionary, Miss. Burgess.” Eva only called her that when Grace stepped out of line or for humor. This was both.

“Thomas Shelby is now the beginning, middle and end of your mission.” Campbell orders Grace at the Opera House.

“So, you support them then?” Grace asked again, thinking Eva was making her job easier.

“I could lie to you and say I don’t, but I can freely admit to it knowing that the only proof the police have would never hold up in court.” Eva said with a wink and Grace chuckles as she pretends not to care. Its not like there was tangible proof about it that they could present to Churchill. “You could turn me in with a confession, but you would only find yourself fired and dead in an alley. My money and connections make me untouchable here.”

One slight and England loses its trade with the second biggest shipping company in the western hemisphere. Iron-clad contracts made sure companies cannot use other companies for shipping and they knew that.

“You believe freedom is inevitable.” Now they had gone from politics to philosophy.

“All empires are destined to fall, and people will fight for freedom no matter who they fight against. Slavery was legal until it wasn’t, the United States was part of the Empire until it wasn’t, Cuba passed hands twice, but are now free from the Yankees after they took the from Spain.” Eva drank her gin, “So yes, I, a witch who can see the future, know that eventually Ireland and every country conquered by the empire will break free.” Eva felt disgusted that she had the gall to get a crush on a bootlicker.

The meeting ends and the IRA boys from Sparkbrook leave.

“I thought you only allowed singing on Saturday.” Grace asks. Its s subtle, but Eva knows it’s there.

The witch is torn between wanting to make out with her and taste lipstick instead of cigarettes one last time or grabbing her by her pretty golden locks and show her a taste of a witch’s wrath.

“Whisky's good proofing water. Tells you who's real and who isn’t.” Tommy answered, unaware of what his fiancé was thinking.

“And what did my countrymen want?” The blonde asked knowing she would not find the answers with Eva.

“Oh, they're nobodies.” He dismissed Grace’s suspicion. “They drink in The Black Swan in Sparkbrook. They're only rebels because they like the songs.”

“Their accents are so thick, it's a wonder you could understand them. Next time, I could translate.” Again, subtle flirting, but with the wrong intention.

Eva sees her follow Maguire whom tries to arrest her when he recognized her as an Ulster Volunteer. Grace shoots in self-defense, but a good operative wouldn’t have gone off script.

“You would work for me?” Tommy asks, a little surprised by her suggestion. Part of him knows the dangerous of having her too close and the other knows that sometimes a gamble can pay off.

“They might take offense, you being protestant and all.” Eva points out a little too quickly. “Besides, I am more than capable of doing the job. Wouldn’t want to overwork you.”

He notices and Eva pretends she did not slip up a little and let those tiny stabs of jealousy past her mask.

----

They are drinking at her granny’s house when he broached the subject. Subject Eva does not want to bring up because it feels stupid.

Couldn’t do that anywhere else but here.

“Tell me something, Evie. Are you jealous of Grace?” There is a hint of teasing in his voice, one that makes her want to roll her eyes and deny it, but instead she takes another scotch glass and keeps her back to him as she pours herself a drink.

“Just making her job more difficult, Campbell ordered her to seduce you, you know.” She shrugs and only half-lies.

One drink, just one wouldn’t do her any harm. She tells herself. Eva could drink socially now, but she wanted to play it safe, so she never drank more than one glass.

He doesn’t believe her; she can read the words in the air before he even says it.

“But I’ll be honest with you because you should know this before we tie the knot. I am a jealous and selfish and petty woman; I try not be, but I just can’t fucking help it.”

This time Eva lets her insecurities show, and feels a little better about it. “Which is fucking ridiculous because we both know why this marriage is taking place and I should know better. So, yes, I am jealous of Grace who thinks I won’t care about her flirting with you right in my face.”

She feels him come and stand behind her, feels him pull her to his chest and takes the empty glass from her hands before she can refill it.

“If any man showed any interest in you, Evie, I’d kill him.” His voice sent a shiver down her spine and she bit her lip when his mouth found her neck. He understood her in a way other people couldn’t and that made her want him even more. “You were mine before you even stepped off the Marigold.”

She should be angry, she hates being reduced to property, but the way he said it had fed the flames of her desire for him. If a man should own her, she’d chose him. In every lifetime, she’d chose him, the romantic girl hidden inside her thinks.

Eva turned to face him, lips a whisper away from his. “Will you be mine and no one else’s, Tommy Shelby?”

She wanted to see the truth in his eyes before he tries to lie to her.

“Yeah, Eva Smith, I’ll be yours and you’ll be mine.” Tommy answered and she is stumped.

It’s too convincing, she doesn’t trust herself to decipher it when her head is clouded by her want for him.

“I was yours the moment you stepped off the Marigold, love.”

Eva chose to believe him.

A mistake, but what a glorious mistake it would be, the young witch tells herself.

-----

He’s sitting on a couch in her granny’s parlor and she’s still kneeling between his knees. If granny and her aunt came home now, they’d die and take her with them.

She grins wickedly after she let him have a sample of what would be his in two weeks.

He won’t touch her because of that stupid agreement in the contract he signed with her uncle, but who said they couldn’t have their fun?

“I may be a virgin, Shelby, but I am no saint.” The witch said, hands using his thighs to pick herself off the ground. Eva knew too many workarounds, enough to destroy the image of the proper lady people had assumed she was.

“No, you’re a wicked witch with a wicked mouth.” He said with a grin just as bad as hers. Tommy will leave to Cheltenham with the memory of her worshipping him with her mouth and come back to her with a thirst for more.

“Yes, but I’m your wicked witch, Tommy Shelby, don’t forget that.”

Grace may try all she wants, but in the end, it will be Eva to whom he comes home to.

[confessionsof-a-writing-freak]

I Don't Wanna Be a Memory

Summary:

“Well, I’m not just your boss!”, Steve hears himself say, “I’m not just your boss. I’m also an omega. And I want you to tell me what to do. Your voice is like it’s permanently in alpha command, and I want you to fucking command me! Because I’m not just your boss. I’m not just an omega. I’m your fucking omega! And I can’t stand you saying my name like you’re seconds away from telling me to get down on my knees because you never do!

And it isn’t your fault! It’s not! You don’t want me anymore, and that’s fine, but my omega hasn’t forgotten, and my heart won’t forgive you for not loving me anymore. So stop. Stop saying my name like you still want me. Because every time you do, I feel like you’ve come back to me, but you haven’t- you won’t! And it’s killing me, Buck.”

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33385405

Rating: Explicit

Ship: James 'Bucky' Barnes/Steve Rogers

Additional tags: A/B/O Dynamics, Alpha bucky!, Omega Steve!

Bucky’s voice is the single most dangerous weapon he possesses.

Not the guns, or the knives, or even the years of government-issued muscle memory in hand-to-hand combat could compare the carnage that rubbles and quakes the earth when he says Steve's name.

“Stevie,” Low and silky. Full of authority-full of alpha. But still understanding the difference in rank despite the apparent superiority in designation. Never challenging or speaking down, but fuck did it make Steve want to sink to his knees and watch Bucky fall apart due to his mouth for a change.

“Steve?”

Okay, maybe not the entire earth, but Steve’s world sure feels like it’s been turned on its axis.

“...Steve.”

The worst part of it all is Bucky has no idea. No clue. No motivation! He simply exists and speaks like that with no intention of letting his voice get all severe and appetizing for the purpose of getting Steve’s omega excited for Bucky's alpha.

It’s especially distracting during missions.

Steve’s heart races, his conscious thought nowhere to be found as he conjures up impossible scenarios involving his reformed assassin best friend and naked cuddling.

The second they boarded the Quinjet, Steve had torn the earpiece away as if it had burned him.

Can you imagine leading a team or keeping them safe when every so often your second in command asks for your position, voice rough as he asks Steve for orders?!

Can anyone really blame him for getting lost in the phantom sensations of Bucky saying his name like a secret no one else deserves to know?

He didn’t think so.

That being said, all the control he can muster in order to actually complete a mission evaporates into the wind the moment the dance between life and death comes to a close; every suppressed, shameless fantasy unleashed and unforgiving as they consume his every thought.

Steve is abruptly pulled from his most recent daydream when a cool metal hand taps the back of his wrist twice, “You with us, Steve? I’ve been calling your name for a minute now.”

Quickly, Steve straightens his back and squares his shoulders, meeting stormy grey eyes.

“Sorry, Buck. Had a lot on my mind.”, He says with more confidence than he actually has.

It’s not really a lie. He does have a lot on his mind, all the ways he can find himself face down, ass up on the other man’s bed. Drooling and crying and breathing in Buckys scent with every breath he takes.

Of course, he can’t very well say that, can he?

He was lucky the S.H.I.E.L.D issued, super soldier approved suppressants made him nearly null. He can’t fathom the level of embarrassment that would claim him if Buck- or the whole damn plane for that matter- could scent the desperation, horny inside of him.

Bucky shifts closer, grey eyes softening the tiniest bit with concern, “Is everything alright?”

No.

“Yes, of course, “ He lies, “Just thinking about battle techniques is all. Scouts honor!” Steve makes an odd, incorrect gesture as a mock salute.

Bucky allows a small huff of air Steve recognizes as his poor imitation of a chuckle. There’s a moment of fuzzy pride that nearly causes Steve to purr; happy he brought a smile to the alpha’s face before his stomach drops clear down to his toes as murmured laughter rumbles too close to a growl in Buckys chest.

“My memory may be shit, Stevie, but I know for damn sure you weren’t no boy scout.”

Aaaand there it is.

Stevie.

Steves omega stirs and preens before the captain shoves them back down. Resenting the butterflies crying out in his belly and the urge to beg Bucky to just say his name over and over and over…

“Steve?”, This time, the concern isn’t quite as subtle, “Are you sure you’re alright, pal?” Bucky takes a step closer towards the blonde, drawing out skittish blue eyes, lowering his voice in case anyone was listening.

Again, the omega clears his throat and squares his shoulders.

“Did you want to tell me something, Sargent?”

Bucky opens his mouth, defiance dancing on his tastebuds before something makes him snap it shut, offering a curt nod, “Yes, Captain.” His voice strained, everything he wants to say lodged in his throat.

“I just wanted to let you know that we should be landing in less than 15 minutes.”

Like before, Bucky opens his mouth to say something but thinks better of it. Choosing instead to take a seat beside his captain, slipping his arms through the provided harness. He gives Steve a pointed look, “We should probably buckle up.”

For a moment, Steve is taken back to the war. When his body was just beginning to react to the serum and the increased suppressants. (The government had taken every percussion necessary to ensure the public wouldn’t know Captain America was an omega.)

After Steve became ‘big’ and outranked Bucky in the military, the brunette never did anything but follow him into the fire. Loyal and boundless. Never questioning his strategies or actions unless it put him in direct danger. That didn’t mean he could keep himself from telling Steve what to do. He just found different ways to do it.

Suggesting tasks, like putting on seatbelts, for instance. Strapping extra weapons to his ankles before handing one to Steve and forcing it into his hands even when the blonde would roll his eyes, whispering his disapproval so only he would hear.

Never raising his voice or permitting his tone to deepen or his scent to take on that spicy, electric feel that never failed to make Steve bare his neck. Never stepping out of line. Never disrespecting or demeaning Steves title. Always in charge anyway.

Bucky doesn’t utter a single command or request, but Steve buckles up anyhow. Drinking in the small, hardly there smile that Bucky offers to the air in front of him, not even meeting Steve’s gaze. And the omega hates the happiness, the relief he feels at satisfying Bucky.

Hates that Bucky doesn’t even have to tell him what to do for him to obey. Hates that he has to obey, even though Bucky doesn’t need him to anymore.

He doesn’t need him anymore...

Bucky still hasn’t said a word when they land, but it’s not like Steve gave him much of an opportunity.

Things have been strained between them since Steve began pulling away. Avoiding Bucky’s calls and limiting their time together.

It was just easier that way. Miserable and lonely, but easier.

The moment the Quinjet is stationary, the supersoldier is up on his feet and stomping down the runway, leaving the Avengers and Bucky behind him.

He needs to breathe.

He can’t breathe!

If he didn’t know any better, he would say he was having an asthma attack. It feels like an asthma attack.

Steve’s eyes sting with unshed tears, taking large gulps of air into his lungs, and it burns!

He arrives at his door by the grace of God, not remembering entering the tower or if he passed anyone on his way.

“Jarvis. Door.” He gasps. Actual fear starting to seep into his bones.

“Yes, Captain Rogers,” The AI responds, the oversized steel doors swinging open.

Distantly, Steve hears the door shut behind him and feels himself settle against a wall. He pushes his back against the surface and tries to even out his breathing. Revisiting everything he can remember about how to resolve an asthma attack.

After several attempts, he stumbles into a somewhat consistent breathing pattern, his chest heaving at a slower rate.

In through the nose. Out through the mouth. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. In through the nose…

It’s not working!

Steve’s heartbeat only hammers against his chest and neck quicker, his breathing sharply turning back into hyperventilation.

It’s then that he realizes he isn’t having an asthma attack at all. He’s having a panic attack.

Fuck, Fuck, Fuck.

In through the nose. Out through the mouth. InthroughthenoseOutthroughthemouth.

Why isn’t this working!?

The blonde clenches his eyes shut, a sob fighting its way past trembling lips. He feels so alone. So unwanted, Unwarranted.

He thinks back to the 40s- back to him and Bucky. After the serum, during the war. Hidden behind the cover of night and an abandoned building at the far end of Base. The first time since the change, his heart felt like it would crawl its way up Steves throat and swan dive right off his tongue.

Struggling to ease the fogginess in his mind, Steve remembers strong arms wrapped around his waist. Cool metal poking his nose as he bumped Bucky’s dog tags with each of his movements, scenting warm flesh.

Bucky’s voice is rumbling demands, his voice leaving no room for argument while every word was also laced with patience and love. Scent projecting love, understanding, I’m here, you’re safe.

“In through your nose. Out through your mouth. In through your nose. Out through your mouth.”

He repeats the mantra until Steve’s Omega obeyed his alpha, sucking in lung fulls of oxygen and releasing it in time with Buckys orders.

The memory of bombs and gunshots lost behind the sound of Bucky’s voice.

In through your nose. Out through your mouth. In through your nose. Out through your mouth.

He conjures up the memory of Buckys voice, coated in alpha command, urging him to breathe evenly. Fingers digging into Steve’s flushed skin, grounding him.

His alpha always knows what he needs...

Steve misses him.

Misses more than just the raw irrefutable attraction that got them into more trouble than it should have growing up. But he misses the rest of him too.

Misses the smirks and the long nights dreaming of what the future would bring. He misses Bucky’s laugh. God, he can hardly remember what it sounds like now.

Steve misses the way he would kiss. Gently. Chaste. Rough. Long. Kiss him in private and kiss him places that weren’t safe. On the stoop in front of their apartment, before the sun would come up and wandering eyes could catch them. Or alone in their bedroom, lips starting on his eyelids, across purple bruises, then down to his chest. Swallowing the omega’s moans and grinning into his mouth before settling beside him and chuckling deep into his ear, the last thing Steve would hear before sleep would overcome him. He misses the way Bucky would say his name like a prayer, wrap his lips around every letter like a caress, eyes sparkling with their love.

He misses knowing he’ll never be alone.

His heart thunders in his ears, chest feeling seconds away from crumbling in on itself as he thinks maybe it was easier when he believed the alpha was dead. Before he found out Bucky was alive, he mourned the man who loved him. Now, he grieves the love he’s lost. The alpha- his alpha-standing beside him without an ounce of affection or desire in his eyes.

Bucky wasn’t mourning the loss of Steve because he didn’t want Steve. Not anymore.

He clearly remembered enough. He may remember it all. However, knowing didn’t mean he had any intention of returning to what they had.

But even if every memory was gone, if the omega mattered at all, Bucky would remember him- his soul! If Steve himself were robbed of his past and they were just meeting again for the first time, he knew his soul would remember Buckys. Would want to know him all over, not needing to understand why!

The tears are falling before Steve has the chance to notice. A jagged whine barreling past his lips. All the weight of devastation and loneliness finally falling onto his shoulders.

Bucky had met him again. But he didn’t need him the same. Didn’t know his Omega; he didn’t want his heart.

Steve slumps further against the wall, blonde hair drenched in sweat, hands clawing at his chest, trying fruitlessly to manage his racing heart.

Closing his eyes, the omega summons an image of Bucky smiling reassuringly, soothing him as he tells him what to do.

In through your nose. Out through your mouth. In through your nose. Out through your mouth.

Okay… okay. That’s better.

“It hurts to think of you,” The omega confesses to no one, the tears running past his chin onto his suit. But I need you, “And I can’t breathe without you.”

“In through your nose. Out through your mouth. In through your nose. Out through your mouth. I’ve got you, Stevie. In and out. That’s it. In through your nose. Out through your mouth.”

Steve allows himself to sink deeper into his fantasy, swearing he could actually feel Bucky's hands running down his back and through his hair.

“I’ve got you, Stevie.”

It’s the last thing Steve hears before he passes out.

***

Steve is warm.

Steve’s bed has always been too soft, even after Sam suggested a firmer mattress. While helpful, he still couldn’t manage anything better than a fitful half-sleep most nights. He knew why, but in an effort to avoid further misery, he chooses not to dwell too much on that matter.

Aside from the too-soft mattress and the alpha missing from his bed, the omega was never warm enough. He shivered and reached out for body heat too far from his reach. But…

Steve is warm...

For a moment, he swears arms are around him.

And for a moment, he doesn’t care who they belong to. Because he isn’t shivering, for once. Isn’t suffering through another cold sweat, and the omega constantly pacing within him is actually settled. He hasn’t been this comfortable since the previous century, so whoever the hell is beside him can very well stay where they are, as long as he can keep this feeling.

It’s with another breath, he feels consciousness slowly creep up on him.

He almost laughs at the thought of being comfortable in anyone else’s arms. Of course, Bucky should have been his first thought, but honestly, at this point, Bucky willingly in his bed was a cruel dream.

Bucky must be using the same blockers Steve does. His Omega can’t scent him even this close, but who else’s arms fit so perfectly around him?

It’s the closest they’ve been at all since rescuing Bucky from Hydra, and Steve hated it as much as he loved it.

He wants to go back to sleep. Wants to bask in the warmth Bucky offers and pretend they’re back in their tiny apartment in Brooklyn. Struggling to make ends meet and unplagued by the horrors of war. Hidden from the world behind wilting wallpaper, sharing sweet kisses and bruising grips.

But this isn’t 1939. Bucky doesn’t share his bed...or his affections.

He would give anything to go back. He’d give anything to have his alpha again.

“I didn’t know you still had panic attacks.”, of course, Bucky noticed he wasn’t asleep anymore.

Steve feels him shift away, the arm around his waist, already feather-light, hardly there.

The omega within him whines, not wanting him to pull away. No, he wants him to climb on top of him. To drop all of his weight onto Steve’s hopeless body, make him stay in place. Unable to move until Bucky tells him he can...

Steve clenches his eyes tightly, suppressing his every unrelenting instinct from manifesting into something that will only push Bucky further away. And he needs him. Steve needs him, even if it is killing him.

“Yeah, well, there’s a lot you don’t know about, Buck.”, the omega remarks, his back still firmly pressed to Bucky’s chest.

Bucky may be ready to move, but Steve certainly isn’t. It’s not like the Alpha will say anything. Steve is far from perfect, despite whatever bullshit the news wants to feed the public. Steve is flawed and can be as selfish as anyone else. There are times where he permits his gaze to linger longer than it should, hands lazily pulling back when they should’ve never left his side, to begin with, or say Buckys name in the dead of night, surrounded by nothing but darkness and the sticky evidence of his spent weaknesses.

In private or in front of the alpha, Steve has toed the line of what is appropriate between friends and behavior shared between lovers.

Bucky has never reacted to any of it. Robotic and perfect all at once. His responses are exactly what they’re supposed to be, feeling false all the same.

Never contesting. Never reacting. As if Steve doesn’t ache for him.

It’s then that the confusion begins to twist at the recess of the omega’s mind.

“Why are you in my bed, Buck?” And how can I keep you here?

There’s a beat of silence, Bucky’s breath even beside Steve’s ear. It almost feels rehearsed, as if Bucky is concentrating on his breathing. Steve shakes the thought away before he can fool himself for the millionth time something is there that has proven again and again to be long ago dead.

“I was worried about you,” Bucky eventually admits, the arm just barely resting on Steve’s hip returning to its previous pressure, fingers hot and electrifying as they accidentally meet bare flesh peeking beneath Steve’s sleep shirt.

Sleep shirt?

“Did you change my clothes?” Steve says without thinking, saying anything to stop himself from moaning. He can’t remember the last time Buckys hands were this close to his body without explosions and frantic shouts playing in the background.

He turns his neck enough to meet Bucky’s clouded grey gaze.

A gasp falls from his lips instinctively, his own eyes widening on their own accord, taking in the receding blood red only just beginning to fade from the alpha’s eyes.

Just like that, Bucky is removing his arm entirely, releasing the Omega and taking all of that delicious warmth with him.

Bucky stays on the bed, though. His back resting against the headboard.

Steve just narrowly stops himself from shouting, ‘No! Stay, please!’, his heart pounding in his ears and his hands burning with the desire to reach out and drag the other man in.

Instead, he swallows his cries and urges his weary muscles into a sitting position, facing away from the former assassin.

While Steve was changed into something more comfortable than his uniform, the omega notices Bucky remains in his clunky tactical gear, down to his boots.

He had no intention of staying, Rogers. Take deep breaths, and give him an out.

He just needs to go.

The blonde is good at pretending. Well, most days anyway, he can fake a smile when the world is falling apart; he can pretend to be happy. But what he can’t seem to do anymore is pretend that he isn’t painfully in love with the man currently sitting on his bed, not a single reminisce of what they once were hanging between them.

He can’t manage a smile or a whisper of optimism when everything good has been taken from him. He knows what’s expected of him, but there are days when the sorrow is crippling, and he feels weaker than he ever did as that little guy from Brooklyn.

Clearly, no more talking is going to happen. And Steve isn’t emotionally stable enough right now to act as if he doesn’t want the alpha to bathe him in his scent, forcing the lingering panic, unwell, lonely away.

He moves to stand when,

“Rest.”

The order is sharp and certainly unintentional.

The shiver that races down Steve’s spine is violent, and his body locks up, ready to obey.

Turning his neck again, Steve catches the profile of the alphas annoyingly handsome face. His eyes are closed, brow pinched in concentration.

Steve stands slowly, hands shaking. It’s sickening how dreadfully good that single word made him feel. Floaty and sated. His blood, always raging, rushing, and crying out, settles within him, preparing to be taken care of.

The logical part of him reminds the omega they’ve been here before. Bucky will do something so woefully familiar, he dilutes himself into thinking he’s still wanted.

It’s never the case.

Steve keeps the hope from his tone when he challenges, “Excuse me?” Waiting for another command with bated breath.

“You should probably rest, Cap,” Bucky folds his arms across his broad chest, still ignoring Steve’s previous question as well as his gaze.

Forcing a smirk that makes him want to throw up, Steve teases, “Are you avoiding my question, Sargent?”

“Steve,” Bucky objects, voice chastizing.

Something uneasy burrows into Steve’s stomach, his body rejecting the discontent emanating off Bucky's skin.

He shrugs away the urge to whine, instead offering an ingenuine chuckle, “Jeez, I’m fine. Why so serious, Buck?”

Bucky stands, eyes hard, glaring right into Steve’s soul. The blonde sucks in a harsh breath, his fingers tingling and breath shallow.

Bucky’s eyes are red.

“Why so serious? “ The alpha growls, not moving from his spot beside Steve’s bed. The distance separating them not making sense in contrast to the intimate edge heavy in the air. It would be comical if not for the current sparking the negative space.

“We’re just gonna pretend like I didn’t find you seconds from passing out less than an hour ago? Is that something casual, am I supposed to just ignore it?”

Steve’s plastic smile fades, a tired expression painting his sharp features, “Yes. That’s exactly what you’re supposed to do.” He sighs, scrubbing his face in frustration, “Ignore it. Like you ignore everything else, Bucky...Just go.”

“What’s tha ‘posed to mean?”

“It means I’m sorry you had to see that, but you don’t have to worry about it.”

“See what? You being irresponsible?”

The thin scrap of patience the omega has evaporates; actually, it burns the fuck up, raging as loud as Steve’s fury, “Irresponsible!?”

The anger shoots through Steve like a wildfire, his temperature rising and his hands balling into fists. If the Alpha didn’t know any better, he’d think Steve was going to punch him.

Even so, he doesn’t back down. Instead, he takes a single step towards the blonde, body tight and rigid. Voice booming when he sneers, “Yes, goddamn it! Irresponsible.”

“Fuck you, Bucky!” Steve shouts, “Who the hell are you to lecture me on being irresponsible?”

“I’m your… I’m your second in command, and if you were struggling with PTSD, you should have told me something! Instead of me following you to your rooms and basically threatening Jarvis into letting me in. You were pale, Steve. Snow White ain’t got shit on how you looked- you were nearly blue! And I’m sorry for stepping in. We can blame it on your biology, but you finally managed to relax when my alpha came forward. It’s irresponsible to let yourself get to that point when you could have come to me- or, or anyone in the avengers for help.”

“You’re sorry,” Steve scoffs, “ You’re sorry you had to help me.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

“Oh, but it’s what you said, isn’t it?” The Omega is nearly in hysterics. Half sad laughs, the only thing keeping him from crying.

“Steve...”

Buckys voice is now soaked in concern, the anger lost behind wisps of worried seeping from his concealed scent. Which serves only to break Steve further.

“Stevie.” Bucky repeats, wondering if Steve was spiraling into another panic attack.

He is only two steps away from him in a second, twitching, never touching but always close.

Steve feels another shock rack his entire body. His name falling from Bucky’s lips so effortlessly. The authority he holds swallowing every syllable. The sheer force of it nearly brings the omega to his knees.

Steve's heart pounds against his chest, like his heart is trying to escape. Running both hands across his face, then over tufts of blonde hair, his hands meeting behind his neck craned up towards the sky. Praying to anyone up there with mercy that Bucky will just leave. He keeps his arms where they arm before he can do something stupid like reach out.

“Bucky, why are you so concerned about it?” Steve’s eyes are still trained to the ceiling.

Steve knows he’s playing with fire. Playing with his own emotions, but sometimes he can swear he lives for it.

Bucky hesitates, watching Steve with careful eyes. “Because…You are our Captain and my best friend. If you need help, I am going to help you.”

The finality in his tone almost sounds like an alpha command, but his words contradict any sense of attraction or desire.

Another huff, gaze and arms dropping, “I’ll be fine once you leave.” Steve counters, harsher than he intended.

But fuck if he cares. Bucky doesn’t want him. He deserves to be a little angry. If he can’t grieve him, he can at least have this!

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing!” He snaps, “Just leave, James.”

“James? Oh, I’m James now?”

Steve could care less if he’s hurt his feelings. He’s had enough. His heart hurts, and his head aches. He is done playing this ‘I’m okay with everything’ game.

He is not okay with this, Dammit!

His heart is broken. Shattered. Irreplaceable. And he’s just supposed to be okay with that? He’s supposed to be Bucky’s friend and make jokes and smile when he is dying inside? Crying for his alpha- for stability when he feels like his whole world has been rocked?

Well, he’s had enough. He’s behaved for 2 years. He’s done!

Clenching blue eyes shut, Steve feels every carefully constructed wall of deception crumple at their feet.

“I don’t have time for this. Just leave so that I can breathe! I can’t breathe with you here!”

“Stevie…”

“Please,” the omega whimpers, all the fight leaving his body, long pale fingers running through sleep tousled hair, pulling at the roots, “Just stop.”

“Stop what? I can’t stop doing something if I don’t know what it is I’m doing!”

It’s Bucky’s turn to be panicked. In two strides, he’s in front of Steve, feeling the alarm creep up his chest, a flash of something sharpening eerie grey.

“Steve! Answer m-” Bucky lifts his hands as if to reach out for the other man but catches himself before metal could find flesh, “Will you tell me what I am doing wrong?”

Steve wants to cry and scream and rip that stupid mental arm out of its socket just so he can slap Bucky with it.

“Stop!” He repeats desperately, “Just stop! Stop saying my name! Stop talking to me like-like…”

“Like what!?”

Taking a calming breath, Steve forces himself to meet the alpha’s eyes, “Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to give you orders and never receive a protest in return?”

There’s a beat of silence accompanied by a blank expression. Steves heart shouting in his chest.

“...What?”

Steve continues, “Telling you what to do and how to do it. At least before you would fight me, yell at me. Make it easier to breathe.”

“Steve, what the fuck are you talkin’ about? You’re my boss. I’m s’posed ta take orders from ya.” Steve just about weeps when the Brooklyn accent begins to peek through, just as it usually does when Bucky is confused.

“Well, I’m not just your boss!”, Steve hears himself say, “I’m not just your boss. I’m also an omega. And I want you to tell me what to do. Your voice is like it’s permanently in alpha command, and I want you to fucking command me! Because I’m not just your boss. I’m not just an omega. I’m your fucking omega! And I can’t stand you saying my name like your seconds away from telling me to get down on my knees because you never do! And it isn’t your fault! It’s not! You don’t want me anymore, and that’s fine, but my omega hasn’t forgotten, and my heart won’t forgive you for not loving me anymore. So stop. Stop saying my name like you still want me. Because every time you do, for precisely one second, I feel like you’ve come back to me, but you haven’t- you won’t! And it’s killing me, Buck.”

Steve’s eyes are misted with tears, his chest heaving and skin flushed with embarrassment and shame, “Please… Just don’t say my name, or I’m just gonna break.”

The words pour from his lips, and he wants to disappear. He wishes the ground would just swallow him whole and save him from Bucky’s response.

Steve trembles beneath stormy grey, choosing instead to watch the ground. His omega whining and clawing at the back of his mind.

“I can’t do this anymore, Bucky.” He murmurs, waiting for the outrage or worse; the indifference-the clunk of footsteps walking away from the mess he’s made. The life they had. The man he no longer loves.

Steve hasn’t found his eyes again. Won’t move his head. He doesn’t care how submissive it makes him look because he’s spent most of his life searching for steel grey eyes in crowds and across rooms. Seeking them out in the dark, the only beacon of light he would see most days. And now… Now those eyes that kept him so safe when the world was crumbling around them made him feel like winter on a summer day, cold and alone, only seconds from melting into nothing.

He’s not sure how much time passes without a word between them. He waits another moment before surrendering a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, shaking his head and turning to leave.

He didn’t know where he was going, but he couldn’t stay here.

Like lightning, Bucky’s right hand snaps forward, catching the omega’s wrist before he can make it far, and just like electricity, a jolt of fire scorches where their skin meets.

As one would an old friend, Steve invites the sensation to consume him, feeling every nerve respond to Bucky, it’s like he was brought back to life, and he wants nothing more than to cry because he knows it won’t last. He knows as soon as the alpha lets go, he’ll return to reality as only half a man. Something-someone always missing from him.

“Steve.”, his breath hitches, and his hands shake. A whisper of a scent he’s all but forgotten seeps into the room, but it’s gone before Steve can determine if it’s only a memory.

Steve’s name rolls off of Bucky’s tongue too easily. Too pretty. Too dark. Too much!

Jesus!

Hadn’t he been clear enough the first fucking time? How else exactly was he supposed to phrase it; ‘Don’t say my name, or I’ll break from how horny it makes me?’

“Steve,” The alpha repeats.

Steve feels another pang of electricity shoot to his fingertips, itching with the need to just touch, “Bucky, I think you should leave.”

He doesn’t want him to. But when was the last time Steve got what he wanted.

“Now,” He adds after another second passes. Bucky's feet were firmly placed on the ground, not a single muscle prepared to even twitch.

The room is blanketed in heavy silence before, “No.”

Steve feels as if the wind has been knocked out of him. His lips part in surprise, brow furrowed as his heart begins to pick up the pace.

“Excuse me?”

“I hate that I can’t scent you,” The alpha announces, talking slow, calculated steps forward, eradicating any space brave enough to separate them,

“I hate that I can’t tell where you are during missions.” Suddenly Bucky’s grip loosens, yet it doesn’t move far. He runs his hand up Steve’s forearm, fingertips dragging across perfect porcelain skin, not stopping until the palm of his flesh hand rests on Steve’s neck.

“I picture what it would feel like to sink my teeth into your neck and keep you there, with my fangs in your flesh, drawing blood from your skin and moans from your lips. I dream of you whimpering, “ He whispers harshly, eyes trained to Steve’s neck.

The omega’s eyes flutter closed, lips trembling around the alpha’s name, “Bucky,”

Ignoring the blonde, the other man continues, not quite done yet, “I defend those thoughts by saying to myself, it’s all so that I can feel you. So I can feel where you are when we’re in the field. So I won’t worry as much, won’t get distracted. But I know it’s just half of it. I know I want to tell you to take those damn blockers off. To wash it away, or let me lick it away with my tongue-whichever came first.”

“I hate that I want to fall asleep with you curled above my chest because you’ll be warmer that way. And for whatever reason, I remember you always being cold before bed. I want to demand you buckle up and wear extra layers. I want you to fight me a little. I want you to tell me to shut up but get all soft when I give you a hard look. Like, you are now, with my chest touching yours, hands at your neck and waist. Your heart stuttering against me. I want you to tease me because you want me to get annoyed so that I tell you to shut your mouth and put it to good use. I hate that I want to do all these things, but I can’t. Because you don’t want me to...”

Blue pop open, held hostage by grey. Bucky is everywhere. His face is so close Steve can feel every breath the alpha takes fan over his eyelashes. His eyes tracking over the curve of pink lips and soft skin. Left arm curled around Steve’s waist, metal grip unmoving. His other hand still firmly placed over his scent gland, Bucky’s long fingers spread over the column of flesh, thumb running back and forth along the length of it, causing goosebumps to follow his trail of fire.

Steve moans at the sensation, baring his neck so Bucky has the access he would need. His legs nearly giving out beneath him, but the arm at his waist won’t let him fall.

“Are you telling me that you want me to?” Bucky presses. His voice is sharp and promising. The hand around Steve’s neck, a light pressure the omega finds himself pushing into.

“Steve! Look at me. Look at me, omega.”

The blonde hadn’t noticed his eyes fluttering shut again, the sensation of being held, of having so much alpha- his alpha right there in front of him. Soaking him in his scent. Not a true claim or even a scent mark, but this is more than he ever thought he would ever get again.

Bucky’s words have barely registered for the omega; he lost the ability to comprehend English the instant Buckys hands found his body. But he reacts to the order, all the same, seeing the steely, beautiful grey (beginning to tint red again) he has known since he was a boy.

Slowly, so slowly, Steve begins to piece together the things Bucky has confessed, his eyes once more welling with tears.

Patiently, Bucky waits for the understanding to reflect in sapphire eyes, speaking only when he knows the omega can now retain information.

“Are you telling me you want me to touch you, Stevie?” Bucky murmurs, staring at Steve’s bottom lip.

“Yes,” He breathes, just barely audible without an ounce of hesitation.

The next thing Steve knew, Bucky had him against a wall. His nose buried in his neck and his hands rounding his ass, using his shoulders to pin Steve to the wall and lift his legs until the omega joined the program and wrapped his legs around Bucky’s waist. Bucky’s hardening cock pushing into his hip.

“Oh shit, Buck!”

“ I have to say your name,” Bucky growls, grinding into his omega.

“As much as I can, even if it doesn’t work in the conversation, because it’s the closest I can get you in my mouth. It tastes like heaven, and memories I can’t decipher are real or just fantasy they- Oh, fuck baby. Yeah, Stevie- They don’t compare to this- Keep moving, just like that, babydoll.”

Steve ruts against Buckys friction, his eyes closed tightly, whatever was left of their blockers bleeding out, replacing the neutral aroma in the room with their combined scents, desperation, and slick.

“God, Bucky. I missed you so much. I’ve been so alone.”

Buckys mouth finds Steve’s trembling lips, nothing subtle or slow about his movements. The alpha’s tongue swallows the moans tumbling past Steve’s lips. Hands gripping his waist tighter.

The sun bursts behind their eyes. Blood rushing and hearts bumping to twice their regular speed. For different people, people who aren’t Steve and Bucky, a first kiss after so long should probably be slow and tentative, something soft and building. But they aren’t different people. They are too broken and too powerful and undeniably deserving people who have had nothing to count on besides one another their entire conscious lives. To entertain even a second of not indulging in hard, fast, desperate supersedes unthinkable and settles somewhere over cruel.

“Never again, Stevie. I ain’t leaving you alone” another thrust, “Ever, “ another bruising kiss, “Again.”

Bucky’s cock strains against his uniform, desperate for Steve’s hole. Steve is a withering whimpering mess, drunk on Buckys scent and high on all the delicious friction causing his weeping cunt to flutter, uncomfortably empty.

After several more minutes of making out, Bucky moves them back to the bed, lying Steve out on the mattress. He only has a fraction of a second to admire the work of art that is Steve Rogers sprawled out and waiting to be fucked when Steve’s hands are at his neck, pulling him back in.

His lips move against the alpha’s sloppily, sucking on his bottom lip until the ex-assassin growls impatiently, searching for his mate’s tongue. His mate…

His mate. Steve thinks he may cry as the sheer relief almost painfully washes over him. All of the uncertainty and shame of being unwanted melts away, and all that surrounds him is the vibrating want, mine, love, love, love from the man above him, trailing scorching hot kisses down his neck.

“I wanna be ‘side you, baby. Please, Steve. Let me, ugh, please, babydoll. Can I-”

“Yes!” steve interrupts, “Yes, Alpha, you never have to ask! I’ll do whatever you ask, oh just touch me, Bucky, alpha, my alpha, touch me-”

“Shh, “ Bucky chuckles, stopping the omega’s rambling. He runs his flesh hand through disheveled blonde hair, dragging his nails through Steve’s scalp and marveling at the hiss the omega releases, “I’ve got you, Stevie. All I needed was a lil consent, then all bets are off, aren’t they? ‘Cause you’re mine now, aren’t you, baby?”

“Always have been, jerk. I never stopped.”

“Good. Now, stop touching me.”

With a whimper, Steve can’t stop his hands from frantically clawing every inch of Bucky he can access.

“Now, babydoll, don’t you wanna be good for me?”

Still clutching one hand around Bucky's thick, muscular biceps, the other pulling at the strands of dark brown hair helplessly, “I can be good,” the omega babbles, “I’ll be good, Alpha. So good, I can be good, so so good. Please-”

“ Then listen to what I am telling you. I won’t repeat myself again, Steve. It’s my turn now. I wanna get my mouth on you, and I can’t do that if you keep pullin’ me back up to kiss. So stop touching.”

The moan that stutters past Steve’s lips would be embarrassing if not for how fucking fantastic it feels for Bucky’s alpha command to slam into him. Paralyzing him in place. Hands falling unceremoniously at his sides.

Crystal blues brimming with tears, he feels safe for the first time since coming out of the ice- he feels familiar. Not somewhere foreign with no understanding of anything besides, fight this, kill that. This is different. This is them. This is intimacy- their intimacy.

There’s trust swimming within the negative spaces Bucky extends, and he knows, to his core, he can let go. Steve surrenders all his false smiles and exhausting positivity. This is home. Bucky is home. He doesn’t have to put up a front because his alpha has it handled.

Steve isn’t Captain America or some beacon of hope. He’s just Steve, Stevie. Bucky's Omega.

He’s unsure how much time passes or where it went, to begin with, but his body sinks deeper into his mattress, feeling entirely boneless.

“You okay, baby?” Bucky’s husky voice breaks through the fog, “I lost you for a second there.”

Steve feels himself come back, callused hands running through damp blonde hair.

“Mmm,” he hums.

“You spaced a little, Stevie. You’re so beautiful when you get all soft for me. But you’re back now, aren’t you? Look at you. So perfect. Pretty, perfect omega-mine. Kept your hands at your side the whole time too. Such a good boy. You’re gonna keep your hands right where they are, Stevie. Don’t you move a fucking inch. I’m going to lick you open now, babydoll. And you’re gonna come on my tongue as many times as I want you to. Because I’ve gone 70 years without you, and I’m goddamned starved” Bucky’s voice goes from soft praise to near feral growls. His voice sending nothing but jolts of electricity down Steve’s spine, another wave of slick slipping down his thighs.

Before the ‘please’ has the opportunity to touch Steve's mouth, Bucky's hot, slick tongue finds his pulse point, just mere inches from his mating gland.

“Bucky!”

“I want this off!”, The ex-assassin grunts, in one swift move yanking the crisp white shirt from Steve's chest.

“Oh!”

Bucky backs up to lean on his knees, eyes tracking over pinkening skin. Steve’s own gaze glides over now exposed skin. Steve tries to finger out when he removed his clothes but falls short.

After so long without Buckys tenderly harsh commands, falling into space came a little easier than he would have thought. Overwhelmed by the unanticipated satisfaction.

“Open your eyes.”

When had Steve closed his eyes again?

“There you are, dolly. Keep those pretty eyes on me, okay? Always on me, baby.”

Rough, mouthwateringly calloused hands find the waistband of Steve’s pants and yank down in one fluid motion.

The blonde hisses for a moment at the sudden cold air biting his skin, but it only lasts a moment before he’s screaming.

“Fuck!” Steve throws his head back in favor of making sounds even a prostitute would blush at.

One moment Bucky’s on his knees, eyes predatory and sinful, calculating all the things he could do to the man shivering beneath his gaze, the next finds him throat deep, swallowing down Steve’s sweet omega cock, slurping up his precum and getting high off the scent of slick so close to his nose.

Steve can’t breathe.

God! It’s too much. It’s so good. It’s too good!

Steve can feel the familiar pull of an orgasm tugging inside of him. The corners of his closed vision whitening out around the black, lacking the energy to even feel embarrassed by how quickly he’s reached his pinnacle.

Pulling off agonizingly slow, Bucky lets his tongue harshly lick along Steve’s little shaft and twirl over his tip, remembering- fucking remembering! All the sounds and glazed looks elicited from the man below him in the past.

Grey eyes flick up hungrily, ravenous for a look into perfect crystal eyes; he can remember the glazed debauched expression that could devour Steve’s pupils, but it’s not enough!

He wants the real thing.

He wants something tangible and alive in his hands he can never again confuse with desire. Something he’s sure happened, a gift Steve is willingly offering instead of a snarled half-memory he can’t allow himself to believe.

“I-ugh! I’m gonna-“Steve stutters, toes curling and knees bending, framing Bucky's face between his thighs. His hands twitch beside him, but he doesn’t dare move them.

“Oh!”

It should have been a cry of ecstasy.

Should have been the Yellow River Flood; relentless and relieving. No survivors.

Instead, Steve is left with his chest heaving violently. Gasping for air just as he did when he was small.

The omega hears Bucky tutting before he manages to pry his eyes open. Immediately recognizing his mistake before the words fall from cum slick lips.

“Oh, baby. You were doing so good.”

“Nno! Buck, please!”

“Shhh, What did I say, dolly?” Bucky replaces his mouth with one strong hand, lazily jerking at Steve’s straining cock.

He’s smirking when Steve hisses beneath him and hums in approval when his hands stay at his sides.

“F-Faster! Please, Buck! Goddamn it, stop teasing’ me.”

“What did I say, Stevie?” Bucky repeats sharply. His movements slowing further.

Steve’s omega cries.

“You wanna cum, baby doll? “

“Yes!”

“Then what do you have to do?“

Steve’s mind has gone to mush. He thrusts his hips up, chasing after Bucky's friction. Hands struggling against the bedsheets.

“Still, omega!”

Bucky's voice is rough as sandpaper, sounding as on edge as Steve feels. A firm metal hand presses into the omega’s hip holding him in place.

“Be good, Stevie.” The alpha asserts firmly, scent growing muskier with every heavenly noise gasped and groaned from Steve’s sinful lips.

“If you wanna cum, what is it you have to do?”

Bucky rubs a metal thumb soothingly over a sinfully sharp hip bone before trailing his fingers over Steve’s quivering thigh.

Grey eyes nearly roll into the back of his head, “Fuck, baby, you’re so soft. C’mon, don’t you want me to touch you?”

“Yes! Please, fuckin touch me, you jerk!”

Chuckling darkly to himself, Bucky watches Steve with bated breath, and all at once, he feels like his mind had never left. Like an addict, he was never over his addiction; he just forgot how good it was. And like the degenerate addict he apparently was, he sucks in deep breaths, sucking in as much of Steve’s aroused scent that his lungs can handle.

All it took was one hit of Steve- his omega- and he had fallen into himself, more of who he was than any memory had offered.

Steve is his clarity and his habit. The one thing that will always bring him back because Steve is home.

And he’s gonna make him feel good. He’s gonna make up for all he put his omega through, and he’s gonna enjoy every second of it.

Every moan, every shiver, every cry. He’s gonna hold him and bruise him because Steve is his, and that’s how the omega likes it. Bucky’s omega. Bucky's Sweetheart. Bucky’s mate.

The ex-assassin lets his fingers trail lower, his other hand still just barely moving over Steve’s pulsing cock.

The first touch of cool metal meeting Steve’s hole causes the blonde to nearly jump off the bed.

“Buck!”

Steve thinks he’s gonna die.

He feels every cell in his body vibrating with a hot, hopeless sensation. Slick pours out of him the second Bucky’s teasing, perfect, godforsaken pinky circles Steve’s core. His lungs and eyes are burning, nearly out of breath, and only capable of volunteering a broken sob when that fucking pinky just barely pushes in.

“Please,” he whispers jaggedly.

He’ll be good for bucky. He’ll keep his hands at his side. He’ll do what he says even without the command, the fogginess of his brain settling deep enough that any request will register as a command anyway.

That’s just how Steve is wired.

Designed to submit to Buck’s direction.

He knows what Bucky wants, but to physically pry his eyes open at that moment was easier said than done. He struggled to determine whether or not he’s trying to starve off a quickly approaching orgasm or trying to chase one.

Whatever the answer, Bucky doesn’t let him reach it.

The alpha’s dark, whiskey voice sounds as wrecked as Steve feels.

“What. Do. I. Want?” Bucky growls impatiently. Another wave of slick dribbles from the omega wetting the sheets beneath them.

Think, steve! Give alpha what he wants! You can be good. I can be good…. What does he want again?

“My…ugh! M-My eyes.”

Finally, fucking finally, Bucky pushes a finger into Steve’s hole. Fast and absolutely delicious.

Just when he thought Bucky would stop playing games, he realizes the ringing in his ears is replaced by the alpha tutting above him.

“Very close, baby, but not quite.”, Buckys finger starts to draw out slowly; what little fullness Steve has is threatened, and the distressed mewl Steve makes in protest causes the alpha to chuckle darkly.

“P-pretty! Keep my pretty eyes on you! Only on you!” his eyes snap open frenzied, finding a swirl of grey and red zeroed in on him.

In a millisecond, Steve has two metal fingers thrusting into his hole. His back arches on the mattress, fingers nearly numb as they grip the sheets tighter, but his eyes don’t close again.

“That’s right, baby. Only on me.”

“Oh! Yes!”

“Fuck! You’re so tight, Stevie.”, Bucky groans, lowering himself as to mouth along Steve’s jaw, nipping his skin between tentative licks.

“Pl-Ease! Oh, yes... Please, Buck.”

“Please what, Stevie? Use your words.”

Steve’s mind is a simple stream of 3 thoughts, Touch me. Fuck me. Love me!; all of which he can only vocalize as, “Oh please, please. Bucky!”

Working a third finger along with the other two, Bucky hisses with Steve at the stretch his hole gives.

So fucking tight, the alpha thinks to himself, I don’t know how I’ll survive it, but I’m gonna fuck this omega so gooood.

“Words, Steve. Or I’ll start thinking you don’t want me t’touch ya at’all. Huh, maybe I should stop...”

“No! God, Buck, don’t stop, don’t ever stop!”

“Then tell me what you want. What a’you begging for, Doll?” Bucky trails the tips of his fingers over Steve’s ribs, rounding at his back, “is it my fingers? Sliding through all your slick? Or is it my mouth?”

“Yes!”

Bucky chuckles,” That’s not really an answer, Stevie.” His voice gets darker each time he says the omegas name like he knows. Actually, the bastard does know! He knows exactly what he’s doing.

The prospect of teasing seems to pull him just the tiniest bit to the side of coherent, a snarky remark falling from his lips as easily as the desperate pleas had moments before.

“You havin’ fun, Buck?” Steve pants, “Seems like you’re having a little too much fun.”

“Aw no, baby. I’m having the exact right amount of fun. Aren’t we?”

“ ‘We’ are a lotta peop-le!! Oh shit!” pushing his fingers in deeper, Bucky just brushes against Steve’s prostate. A sinister and smug smile curling his lips upward.

“Words, Stevie. Tell me what you want. And I’ll give it to you, omegamine. Just tell me.”

Steve’s chest flushes more as the words tingle on his tongue. Bucky's nearly feral tone betrays his suave and calm demeanor.

He’s just as desperate to be buried deep in Steve’s hole as Steve is to have him there.

Bucky’s fingers push more firmly against Steve’s prostate, and the omega nearly sees stars.

“Sing for me” Almost like an echo, Steve hears Buckys words like gospel.

It’s a command he’s most familiar with. He knows just what ‘ song’ Bucky wants ….

“Daddy!” Steve hisses around a fourth finger. The words punching out of him before he could stop them.

“ I wondered if that was just fantasy,” the alpha mumbles. Eyes darkening a rich crimson. An ever-present growl rumbling in his chest.

Bucky leans over, letting his fingers get even deeper, dragging against Steve’s special spot with every new thrust. With red eyes and diminishing control, the alpha drinks in every pant and whine that drips past kiss-bruised lips and bouncing off the walls of Steve’s room.

Bucky drops his nose into Steve’s scent gland, swiping his tongue over the swelling tissue for a better taste.

“You smell so fucking good, baby. Like mate.”

“Buck…” Steve gasps, feeling overwhelmed. Any moans he could possibly wish to suppress are yanked from his chest with every move the alpha makes. Sounds too rowdy even for porn echoing in his small dark room.

Bucky can’t get enough of it, stuttering an accidental thrust into Steve’s hip when the omega whines in a delightfully sweet way, the scent of slick and alluring sounds steve makes nearly choking him.

Fuck, I hope Tony has these rooms soundproofed. Steve uses his last brain cell to think.

Bucky's metal fingers continue to work him open, preparing him for his big alpha cock fast and rough and exactly how he likes it, but his other hand still moves sluggishly over Steve’s, slowly purpling prick. Tightening and stopping entirely every so often as to starve off Steve’s orgasm.

“Bucky, please!”

Fuck, Bucky thinks, I hope everybody can hear him, fuckin; hear us,

The blonde knows all he has to do is tell Bucky ‘Fuck me’ maybe add on ‘Daddy’ to further wreck him like it did back in the days if he even still likes that. But as much as Steve likes Bucky telling him what to do, he loves to defy him into aggression, twice as much.

“Say it again,” Bucky mumbles against the omegas scent gland, unable to move a millimeter.

The laugh that tumbles past Steve’s lips is quickly swallowed by Buckys tongue shoved down his throat. Pearly white teeth pulling back only to stress a bite on his bottom lip, not stopping until a faint taste of metal joins the deliriously delicious taste of Buckys omega.

“Again, omega. Say it again.”

With another brush against his prostate, Stev’s vision begins to blur, but he won’t close his eyes, no matter how much he wants them to,

“Alpha!”

Steve is a debauched disaster. A puddle of liquid fire and Bucky wanted to fucking burn.

“You know that’s not what I want to hear, babydoll. But I’m feeling generous, so let’s make a deal, yeah? You say what I want, and I’ll tell my precious boy how good he is. How good you feel around my fingers swallowin’ my fingers so fuckin’ good. And I’ll say your name as much as you want. That’s what you were beggin’ for, wasn’t it?” Bucky rambles, fingers pumping quicker into Steve, hand starving off the omegas dick, tugging over the length with dangerous precision.

“You want me to say your name, dontcha dolly? Tell you you’re being good. Everything Daddy needs. My good, beautiful Stevie.”

Buckys cock presses into the mattress, the slightest friction sending magic to tingle over his skin. His knot calls out for Steve’s sopping wet pussy, fluttering around his fingers. The sensation alone is a mutual torture all on its own.

It would be so fucking easy to slide home into Steve’s awaiting heat. So fucking easy!

Not yet, he reminds himself.

No, he wants something first, and he’s gonna get it.

Outside of the bedroom, the thought of ever using his alpha tone with Steve is unthinkable. There isn’t a scenario out there that could justify taking away his omegas free will.

But here-like this. Sweaty and drooling and filthy, reeking of mate and sex, the tone combines with his voice as if that’s the only way there is to speak.

“Say it again, Steve. Now!”

“Daddy! Daddy, fuck me! Please,pleasepleaseplease”

Gently, the alpha removed his fingers. Steve’s mouth opens to cry, but before he can focus too much on the dreadful emptiness, Bucly is buried to the hilt in Steve’s ass.

“Ah!” Steve shouts, throwing his head back and moving his hands to grip at Bucky’s shoulders for the first time since being told not to move them an inch.

He quickly realizes his mistake, and in a fearful attempt to keep Bucky inside of him, confident he wouldn’t survive another moment of his teasing, his alpha’s voice rumbles past the panic.

“Touch me. Wherever you want, Stevie.”

The sigh of relief is an afterthought, long nimble finger trail over both metal and flesh shoulders, a satisfying wave pushing into the realm of too damn good. Being allowed to touch after being denied was always such an experience. Reverse touch starved. Bucky has the go-ahead to do with him as he wishes. Meanwhile, every instinct within the omega seeks Bucky out. His skin, his mouth, his scent. He wants to feel his alpha under his fingers as much as he wants to bounce on Buckys, but he can’t. He has to lay there and fight against the urge to suck hickeys onto every surface of skin he can find.

Pulling on stands of dark chestnut-colored hair, Steve tries to adjust to the girth inside of him.

“Move.”, the omega whispers harshly after a few moments.

Bucky doesn’t need much prompting; he knows Steve can take it, and more than that, any remaining sting that prepping might have missed, Steve fucking aches for.

“As you wish.”

It’s like a dam break. A flood, unforgiving, and exactly what they each fuckin need!

Bucky's shallow, calculated thrusts soon quicken, taking on a brutal pace.

He slams his cock home and grinds deep before pulling nearly entirely out and slamming back in. Again and again and again. Returning quicker every time he finds himself back inside Steve’s velvet-soft heat.

Words are lost on the omega, choosing to indulge rather on feral groans and guttural whines, meeting every thrust and dragging sharp nails across Bucky's shoulders.

It’s all so much. Like a storm, heavy and pounding in their ears. And it all makes so much sense.

They’re a natural disaster. Bucky kisses like a hurricane, all lips, tongue, and teeth. Steve moves and squeezes his walls around Bucky's cock, no rhyme or reason to his actions, just passion, just I have to have this.

Kisses pouring down upon kisses like rain, soaking them in love, and Steve nearly cries.

He never thought he’d have this again.

The ex-assassin is a bit more vocal.

He can feel his release creeping up, desire warm and urgent low in his belly. But cumming before Steve is absolutely not an option. Half the fun was watching the poster child for purity throw his head back in ecstasy, beggin for ruin with Buckys name on his lips. And he’d be damned if he's gonna miss it in the cloud of his own pleasure.

“D-Deeper!” Steve whimpers, pulling Bucky closer by the nape of his neck.

The hand that had been knotted in Steve’s own hair follows suit of the palm firmly placed over one sharp hip bone.

Gripping him with enough pressure to bruise, Bucky bends over Steve’s lithe build and takes hold of one muscular thigh, nearly folding the blonde in half as he settles Steve’s leg over his flesh shoulder.

“Fuck!” Steve cries, Bucky's cock sliding that much deeper, hitting his prostate with nearly every thrust.

Bucky groans at the new position, one large hand kneading and pulling at Steve's ass, tugging him back with the snap of his hips. His other hand runs over the omegas sweaty, slick body, sliding a finger over a single hard nipple before securing his fingers around Steve’s neck. Palm pushing into his scent gland.

It is a little more than light pressure, but it gives its desired effect; Steve’s eyes go from unfocused and glassy to piercing. More black than blue, pupils blown, but Bucky still catches the glint of gold mingling about, exactly what he’d been waiting for.

There you are, omegamine, he thinks.

“Ugh, yes, fuck! You like that, don’t you. Like me pushing you down. Like me pounding into your sweet pussy. But it’s not really yours is it, baby?”

“Gnnn”

“Answer me. Who’s pussy is this, Steve?”

“Y-yours, Daddy. I’m yours.”

“Mine.” The alpha growls, yet another wave of slick passing Steve’s thighs. “My omega. My good boy. Listened so good, doll.”

“Fuck, Buck. Alpha, my alpha. I missed you, I missed you so fuking much. I missed your big alpha cock. So good to me. I wanna be good, Daddy. Tell me how to be good.”

“You wanna be good?”

“Yes!”

“You’re already so good for me. Perfect omega. Pretty, perfect thing.”

“I can be-ugh yes!! I can...nnnn….be better.” The omega stutters between kisses, “Wanna be the best boy.”

“Yeah?”

“Please, Alpha. Knot me!”

“Okay, baby. Listen closely, hmm?”

“Keep still.” In two mostly smooth movements, Bucky is lying on his back, Steve’s lean frame now straddling the alpha, lifting him by the waist; Bucky sinks Steve further on his cock.

“Ride me.”

As if without his permission, Steve’s moving above the bigger man.

Thick thighs feel even wider between Steve’s slightly smaller ones. Bucky’s hands come to Steve’s waist, helping him grind down harder, deeper.

Steve can’t keep his gaze from trailing down to where they’re connected. His hole swallowing 6 to 7 inches of monster alpha cock, and he could just cry for how hot it is to see them connected like this.

I wanna be locked to you. I want your knot!

“Eyes, Stevie!” Bucky snarls with another hash snap of his hips, impaling Steve further and hitting his prostate. The omega falls over, making sure to lock blue with grey.

Abandoning their vice grip on the alphas thighs, Steve steadies himself with one hand over his lover's heart, fingertips brushing the mating gland by his neck as the other grips the headboard above the bed, wood splintering under every shock of pleasure jolting through Steve in response to each of Bucky's strident thrusts.

“Oh, oh! D-Daddy. I’m gonna, I’m gonna cum!”

“Now that I’ve got you back, we won’t be leaving this room for much, Stevie. I want you on your knees sucking my big alpha cock. Licking up the evidence of what you do to me. I’ll hold you by your neck and force-feed it to you just like you like it.”

“B-Buck-eyy!”

“Yeah, baby, say my name. You’re beautiful. Angelic. A work of. Fucking. Art.” He punctuates his words with a sharp jerking of Steve’s body above him. Pulling his center as close as he can get him, knot swelling mercilessly and snagging on Steve’s rim.

Steve feels pleasure like he’s never felt before. Words slurred and hardly coherent,

“‘Wan’ yur k’nnot!”

He sounds drunk.

Bucky loves it!

“Not until you cum, baby doll. You first, then Daddy. Good boys get their rewards, and this is-” using Steve as a ragdoll, Bucky manhandles him into circular motions, twisting and penetrating the omegas sweet spot with wild precision.

One hand (Steve couldn’t even tell you which, mind too fuzzy and too loaded with his quickly approaching orgasm) presses into the omegas gorgeous tits before sweeping down to tug on Steve’s crying cock, pre-cum dribbling from its bright red head.

Steve cums with a shout, back arching and eyes struggling to stay open, finally shut. His vision whites out with pleasure, but he can’t bring himself to remember anything outside of this bliss. No world lived outside of these walls. Just him, his alpha, and all the pleasure Bucky brings him.

“Ohhh, Allphaa,”

“Yours. Yes! Oh, you feel- God so fucking tight, Stevie. Look ‘atchyou. Milking my cock, pussy squeezing my knot, beggin for it. Daddy’s gonna give it to you.”

“Gimme,” he whispers weakly.

He doesn’t feel Bucky flip him over or the hands pushing both his legs over Bucky’s shoulders, but the moment Bucky starts pumping in and out again, his body jolts awake, and all Steve wants is to make his alpha cum.

“Daddy’s gonna cum right inside your tight, perfect pussy. Yeah, Stevie. ugh!”

“Wan’ be...hmm.”, he tries to form words, but they die on his tongue, not coming down fast enough to entertain even a murmur of conversation.

Another 30 seconds passing before he has enough brain cells to return his gaze to stormy grey.

As always, Bucky’s eyes are already on him.

“That's all you got, Daddy?” The blonde snarks between pants, another orgasm building in his belly, toes curling, and his half-soft prick smushed and pulsating against Bucky's abs.

Bucky laughs around a moan, pulling Steve into another kiss before giving one, two, three more thrusts, shouting out a string of praise as his knot pops inside of his omega.

Steve’s heavy punched out sigh joins the shuddered fluttering of his hole, another wave of release escaping him.

The room fills with pants and sloppy kisses. Each man nosing along their scent glands, finding where a bond mark would go and lapping over it lovingly.

In the 40s, hiding their love was a matter of survival, and a surrender of their need to properly mate. They didn’t have to hide here. They could love each other and bite each other someday. Unified in the one way they spent most of their lives thinking they’d never have.

They Lie there, tied together even after Bucky’s knot goes down. Thoughts of taking that step-marking each other, on the tip of both of their tongues.

They lie there, bathing in the calm after the storm.

Sometime afterward:

After another round and many minutes of lazily making out, the pair rest beside each other, touching the other man wherever he could reach, tracing nonsense patterns into heated flesh and feeling happier than either had in 70 years.

“What were you sayin’, y’know before we… Y’know”, Steve blushes as if he wasn’t just face down ass up drooling over Tony’s Egyptian cotton sheets.

“Before you started crying for my knot, and I fucked you 6 ways from Sunday?”

“You’re a fucking jerk!”

“Nah, I’m just fucking a jerk.”, The alpha smiles, joy like nothing he’s been able to remember trips over his heart.

“I’m serious, Buck. Before we...did it”

“Ha!”

A sharp smack falls onto Buckys bare chest, “Fine! Before you came like a geyser up my ass-”

“Steve!” Bucky barks a laugh, loving the pink blush dusting over Steve’s cheeks despite the faux aggravation he was attempting to express.

“Will ya quit interrupting me? You fucking alphas are so rude!”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry, Stevie. What were you saying?” Bucky concedes, the shit-eating grin doing nothing for the butterflies swarming the omega’s insides.

“You were saying that you couldn’t decipher real from what’s fake?”

Sighing, Bucky cards his fingers through Steve’s hair, not stopping, when the omega turns onto his stomach, exposing his back and facing the brunette. Bucky smiles down at the omega letting his hand slide down to his spine, tracing the smooth pale skin with the tip of his finger.

It’s freeing, liberating even, to let his hands and eyes roam wherever they want. After so many years of separation, then being reunited only to build unnecessary obstacles designed for the sole purpose of self-sabotaging, somehow they’ve found themselves again in the other man’s arms.

Bucky bends down to press a gentle kiss on Steve’s shoulder, loving the way the omega shivers beneath his lips.

I could just eat him alive…

“Buuuuck,” Steve shakes his head, smiling at the alpha underneath long lashes.

“Sorry, baby, you just look so sexy.”

“Oh, do I? Maybe it has a little to do with all the naked skin?”

Smiling goofily, Bucky allows his voice to get al sweet, “C’mere, smartass.”

Bucky pulls a yelping Steve into his lap, effectively laying the slender omega over his broad alpha chest.

The feeling is exhilarating. Bucky feels his stomach swoop and heart skip a beat, feeling more accomplished in this solitary moment entangled with Steve than in months of SHIELD work.

Steve grins despite himself. Settling against Bucky's chest, folding his hands in front of him and resting his chin onto his knuckles. Suddenly thrilled by the position.

He can stare into Bucky's eyes forever, and he has a sneaking suspicion the alpha won’t protest.

Cold metal fingers trail down Steve’s spine, eliciting a gentle quiver from the blonde man, shamelessly beaming beneath the attention.

“I remember how scared I would get in the winter.”

Steve’s brow furrowed in confusion, lying his head down onto his forearms and urging the larger man with his eyes to continue.

“I love that I can make you shiver now. But I think it would’ve just about wrecked me with worry back then.”

Bucky's flesh hand curls across Steve’s exposed waist, letting his heat seal into his fingers. His eyes close in relief. Like he’s remembered something… or rather; reminded himself of something.

“ I remember the worry best. The sleepless nights and evenings spent bent over pews, praying no one could hear your name falling from my lips because then they’d know… Know how much I wanted you. Wanted you to live. Wanted you to love me. Wanted you to be my omega. I remember going to work at the docks and feeling the bike rise in my throat as we talked about chasing tail when all that I fucking wanted was to make it through my shift and run my way home to you.”

Steve smiles fondly at Bucky. His head remains rested in the crook of his right elbow but reaches forward with his left to trail patterns on Bucky’s scent gland. Trailing back from his neck to his cheek, he will never understand how helpful he is just by existing.

“ I remember wanting you. I know there has never been a moment in which I existed, and I didn’t love you, even under hydra. Even when they told me- made me go after you. They had to wipe me twice before I stopped fighting… I should’ve kept fighting.”

“Buck-“ Steve’s tone is soft and reprimanding in the way only Steve Rogers could manage, but it’s not enough. The tears build behind grey and crimson. Shame burning him from the inside.

Bucky shakes his head, trying to shake away Steve’s tender touch.

Leaning forward, Steve ignores the alphas dismissal, warm petal-soft lips find Buckys, and he presses his weight deeper into his alpha.

“I’m here. With you. You stopped, Buck. You never, not for a second, stopped fighting! That wasn’t you.” Steve’s tone was loving and firm in the way only Steve Rogers could ever manage- or could ever feel for Bucky Barnes.

Bucky's eyes find crystal blue, and for a moment, he’s thrust back into his mind, his heart thrashing and growling, crying Not him! Not Steve. Stop! God damn it! You’re hurting him! We can’t hurt him!

For a moment, Steve’s sweet pink cheeks are bruised and bleeding, split by Russian metal and the free will Bucky was robbed of.

“Bucky!” Steve whispers harshly, just on the edge of frantic, “ C’mon, alpha. Don’t leave me alone again.”

“I’m here.”, Bucky chokes out, “ I’m here, baby. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

They hold each other for, neither of them speaking. Foreheads pressed together between grabby hands pushing firmly against heated flesh.

A reminder…

I’m alive. You’re okay. We’re together.

“ I remember those things; that panic of possibly losing you, very easily,” Bucky continues, “ And then… it started as flashes. Split seconds. But god, did I chase after them. It would be something minimal at first. You lying down on the bed or smiling at me over a sketchbook. But then they changed, and your head was thrown back, and the things you were drawing were us-naked. And I started hating myself because my fucking crush on you was filtering in on my memories of you, and it wasn’t fair. It felt real, but I knew it wasn’t or-“

“But they are real, Buck. We’ve always been us. This way! Laws be damned! We loved each other, and no one was gonna tell us we couldn’t have that!”

“It didn’t matter, though,” Bucky adds.

Steve shoots up off his chest, kneeling on the mattress, and as naked as the day he was born. More hurt than he thought he could ever be in his alphas arms, “ Of course it did. How could you say that? Wha-”

Bucky sits up quickly, reaching out, but Steve swiftly evades him, feeling colder than Brooklyn in February.

“Steve-“

“No! How could you say that? It matters! We matter. You matter. I fucking matter, Bucky! I lost you. You died! You fell off that train, and my alpha died!” he cries,

“I flew that plane into the ocean not because Captain America’s nobility prevails, I did it because l was grieving and life wasn’t worth living without you.”

“Steve-“

“No! Shut. Up.” Steve growls, but it sounds more like a whine.

“I died too, Buck. And woke up to a life I didn’t want either. Not just like you. I know what you went through was unthinkably cruel. But living without you was a prison sentence. And I had no choice but to wear red, white, and blue in place of orange and serve out my life miserably and without you. And that mattered.”

“I know, Stevie, I know. I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant, baby.”

“Then how else did you mean it?”

“There were things that I saw or remembered-whatever! But neither matter because fantasy is something that can never happen, and if it’s a memory, it will never happen again.”

Steve can feel his heart breaking in his chest. Angry and more than a little offended, he can practically feel the anguish emanating from his alpha’s skin.

“Because you wouldn’t want the blood-soaked into my hands to touch you. To touch your pretty perfect body, so I say your name, and I can’t stop because my alpha is always just before feral, and you are the only thing keeping Me on the side of sane. I know you matter. You’re the only thing on this entire fucked up bullshit infested planet that matters!”

“But the thought of losing you based on things I simply wanted and not what you needed from me? It didn’t matter- nothing mattered beyond you. I thought you wanted Bucky Barnes, the closeted best friend. I couldn’t trust myself to believe you wanted me in the 40s, and I couldn’t hope that if you had, you’d want me still.”

“You’re an idiot,” Steve sighs, eyes misting, but he lets himself be drawn in by strong, vulnerable arms.

“...I think I understand what you mean, though.”

“Yeah?”

“I wanted to say I miss you ao many times. But then I just...couldn’t. I thought it wouldn’t change anything, so I just kept pretending I didn’t. But then there are days when I wake up, and the fact that it’s without you won’t let me pretend anymore.”

“Now, who’s the idiot?” Bucky chuckles, brushing strands of hair from those hypnotizing blue eyes.

Bucky lets the Sympathy, understanding pool from his scent and settle over Steve like a warm blanket.

Smiling, Steve takes the comfort from his alpha in stride, “Of course, I talk like an idiot, Buck. How else are you ‘posed to understand me?”

Huffing a quick laugh, the ex-assassin feels all the love for this omega shine in a smile, “You’re such a fuckin’ punk, y’know that little omega?”

“ I’m your fuckin’ Punk, and besides, I’m not so little anymore.”

Whatever faithless semblance of decency they had left swiftly deteriorates as Bucky fully settles Steve into his lap, lying back into the cushions and pulling the duvet over them both.

He presses a soft kiss on Steve’s forehead and whispers with as much meaning he can muster, “You’re perfect, omegamine. Fuckin’ perfect! Perfect for me, you hear?”

Steve releases a joyful giggle,” I hear. Are we going to sleep, Alpha?”

“Yep!”

Snuggling deeper into the alpha’s chest, Steve feels content for the first time in what feels like forever, loving how perfectly he still fits in Bucky's arms, even all beefed up by the serum. Not a single gap between them.

“You comfortable, sweetheart?” Bucky asks happily. Certainly hearing and feeling Steve’s pleased purring.

“ I’m warm,” The omega mumbles, exhaustion barreling into him.

“Good. Sleep, Stevie. We'll talk more in the morning.”

Steve doesn’t respond, just nuzzles into his alpha more until his nose is close enough to the source of the brunette’s scent, humming satisfaction as he sniffs pleasantly.

“I never thought I’d get to have this. That you’d be in my arms like this. I thought I’d spend the rest of my life just pining after you-loving you. I love you, omegamine. I love you so much.”

Steve replies in soft snores, but Bucky doesn’t care. He presses a kiss to the top of ruffled blonde hair and falls asleep with a smile on his face.

He doesn't mind that Steve fell asleep because nothing else matters besides his blue-eyed beauty. Not when he has this. Not when Steve is soft and asleep and warm. He has the rest of his life to tell his omega he loves him.

One thing is for sure.

Bucky will never stop saying Steve’s name.

[enthusiasticharry]

Swan Lake

summary: you've recently audition to be the White Swan in the Royal Ballet’s next production, only to learn that the new choreographer, Harry, will make this experience a lot more thrilling. 

author’s note: hiya! sorry the has taken so long but I've been busy with classes and only just had time to sit down and write this. this has been an idea of mine since i first saw harry’s snl promo when he was in the tutu and i'm glad i can finally share it!

word count: 10.6k words of smut, fluff and me trying to sound like i have a clue what i’m on about whilst describing ballet moves (i'm no ballerina, just a pre-warning) 

masterlist    |    asks

Even from being a small child, it had been your dream to become a dancer. You had originally gotten into dancing when you were very little, watching the different dancing programmes on the TV. You can remember like it was yesterday, the day you first watched the Royal Ballets performance of Swan Lake. You were around six, and you remember your mother flicking through the TV guide and seeing it and deciding to put it on, much to your detest at the start. But, you found yourself mesmerised as you watched the dancers flitter across the screen with such elegance and grace that you knew straight away that in the future you wanted to embody. It wasn’t the easiest occupation to get into, and it was very draining upon your body. But you loved it, and you were always going to — until you physically couldn’t anymore.

“Have you heard about the new choreographer?” Ethel, your friend asks as you walk towards the academy. You shake your head, “Apparently he’s very fit.”

“But he’s a choreographer.” You curl your nose up, “No choreographers are ever fit. They’re all old and hate the world.”

Ethel shakes her head, “This one is. He’s not too older than us either, but apparently he’s one of best Ballerino’s to ever walk out of the Royal Ballet School.”

“That’s a bold statement.” You say, pulling your bag tighter on your shoulder, “What is he choreographing?”

“The solos, I think.” Ethel adds, holding the door open as you both walk through, “He’s taking over Vernon.”

“Thank god.” You sigh, letting the door close behind you, “He was a horrible man.”

“He was.” Ethel laughs, “At least he’s someone new. We haven’t had a new choreographer in a year.”

A year ago, you and Ethel had graduated from the Royal Ballet school in London and you immediately joined the Royal Ballet. After auditions upon auditions you both had made it to the shortlist and then even made it through to the corps de ballet and were preparing for the audition for Swan Lake. You were positive that you wouldn’t get in, but you were also positive that you wouldn’t get into the school, never mind to the actual Royal Ballet.

Even though you felt like you had made it in life, you certainly hadn’t just yet. Today, you were auditioning to dance as White Swan. It was the next step into completing your dream completely. You were nervous to say the least, and you don’t think you’ve ever practiced something so much in your life.

“Are you ready for this?” Ethel asks as you walk into the back room, where there were quite a few other people who were obviously auditioning for other solos within the ballet.

You sigh, sitting down on the floor and starting to tie your pointe shoes, “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“You’ll smash it.” She smiles.

“I certainly hoped so.”

You were third to go, which wasn’t too bad. You certainly didn’t want to go first but you didn’t want to go last either. You were nervous, but you felt as though you dealt with it well and floated across the dance floor. You hated to say it, but you did find yourself being distracted quite a bit by the new man in the room, sat at the end of the table with a notebook and pen, watching intently as you dance and making certain notes. None of the choreographers made any hints that you were doing anything good, or not so good for that matter.

“Thank you.” The man said, his voice as soft as silk, “We’ll get to you shortly.”

A week later you were making your way to the notice board, where the solo and cast list were being posted. Ethel was in a rehearsal, so she wasn’t able to come with you and you found yourself being even more nervous due to being on your own.

You hung back and watched as other people rushed towards the list. You had just finished a pointe class, and your muscles were aching and you didn’t feel quite like making a huge scene trying to see the list. You watched as some people had very happy faces, and other had quite disappointed ones.

The group had dispersed quite a while ago, but you still found yourself stood in the corner. You had even started to pretend to scroll through your phone to distract yourself from actually going up to look at what it says on the sheet.

“I don’t think you can see the list from back here.”

You eyes flick up to the voice that startled you from your scroll. The man, who you had since the audition had learnt was called Harry Styles, stood across from you with one corner of his lips curled up.

“I was, uh.” You tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear, “I was psyching myself up to look.”

“I’d go look if I was you.”

You nod your head and walk up the sheet, flicking your eyes down until your saw ‘White Swan’. What surprised you even more was the sight of your name in the column next to it. You eyes widen and you turn to look at Harry, who’s stood leant against the wall next to you. He smiles at you, nodding your head as you look at him with a confused look upon your face.

“Me?”

“Yes.” He nods, “You.”

“I got it?” You’re in complete shock, “Me?”

“You did. You earned it. You have one of the best form’s I’ve ever seen in my life. It was an unanimous decision, and you were the certain choice.”

“Wow.” You smile, “Thank you.”

“It’s really no problem.” You watch as he turns slightly to walk away, “Don’t let us down, though.”

You really hoped you wouldn’t. You hadn’t worked harder for something in your entire life, and he was mistaken if he thought it would be the same for this. It was your dream, plain and simple. It was hard to have a dream that lasted only the first thirty years or so of your life. If you were only going to get a limited amount of time to do this, you were going to make the most of it and you had made your first step by doing this.

“I won’t.” You nod your head, “I promise.”

“Good.” And with that, he’s gone.

The first day of rehearsals came quicker than you expected, but you had spent every minute of every day thinking about this day. Ethel had landed a role in the corps de ballet which she was proud of, and you were proud of her for doing so too. It meant that you both were going to be in the performance and go to all the main rehearsals for the group dances. Ethel wouldn’t have to come to the solo rehearsals, which was understandable, but at least you still had the time together now.

“Have I told you how much I really love that leotard?” She says as you shrug your coat off, revealing your black leotard which you’ve paired with a blush pink jumper that falls off your shoulder to match your pointe shoes.

“It’s just a simple black leotard.” You shrug, “It’s nothing special. I think I got it on sale.”

“You style it well, though.”

You sit on the bench and lift your feet up, slipping your toes into your pointe shoes. They weren’t comfortable, that’s a given, but you were used to it by now. You went to your first ballet class at seven years old, and you were now twenty-three. Sixteen years of wearing these shoes frequently meant that your feet had gotten very used to feeling.

“Thank you, Ethel.” You smile, grabbing your water bottle and following her as she walks out of the door and towards the training room.

“Do you think Harry will be here?” She asks, tucking some of her hair behind her ear.

You shrug, “I don’t know. Possibly. He does solos so he isn’t technically required to be here.”

“He does. It’s the first rehearsal, though. He may want to at least show his face to the rest of us.”

You laugh, “You just want to see his face, Ethel.”

“Maybe I do.” She doesn’t even hide the blush on her cheeks.

In the training room, groups of dancers stand together either stretching or talking. It’s important to stretch and warm up before anything you do, so you and Ethel find a spare spot by the bar and start to stretch your muscles. You stretch every morning quite intensely, warming your muscles up for the day just because you know that you won’t get a lot of time to do so when you arrive at rehearsals and they even ask you to do so before you come so it works better. It’s nice to just refresh your muscles when you arrive, though.

“Can I have everyone’s attention?” Holland, the main choreographer says as her and a few other people walk into the room, “Welcome all to this years production of Swan Lake.”

A chorus of claps circle around the room, smiles all around as everyone congratulates each other on getting a part. It was very hard to get into productions like these, so you weren’t surprised that you were around the best of the best.

“I’m Holland, I’m pretty sure all of you know me but I’d like to introduce you all to the rest of the team.” She motions to the people behind her, “Isabella is in charge of Pas de deux this year and Harry is in charge of Solo’s, more specifically the Black and White swan’s solos.”

You immediately feel your heats cheek up, knowing that you and whoever is playing the Black swan will be spending time with him. You couldn’t lie and say that he wasn’t a handsome man, because he certainly was, but he was your choreographer and he spoke to you in a tone the other day that you couldn’t quite pinpoint but you knew that you weren’t too keen of.

“Today we’re taking it easy, and just introducing some of the group dances. Can both the White and Black swans see Harry, please?”

You freeze with your eyes upon the floor, not wanting to look up.

“That’s you.” Ethel nudges your shoulders.

You nod and stand up, walking towards the corner of the room where Harry stands as well as another girl who you know is called Frances, from being in a few of your classes during school. You smile as you walk over, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. Behind you, everyones already stood and following what Holland is saying.

“Hope you don’t mind.” He smiles, “But I just want to discuss some things with the two of you before proper rehearsals start.”

You both follow him out of the large training room into one of the smaller practice rooms that people can you use whenever they want. You find yourself lagging behind as you walk, the feeling of nerves bubbling within you. You have had one solo before in your life, but it certainly wasn’t as important as this one, and you felt yourself getting more and more worried with every second.

“It’s important that the two of you know that I’m your main choreographer, but also that you’re in the group sessions when they’re on.” You both nod, “There aren’t a lot, because even in the group dances you have a lot of solos so you are with me a lot more than in there.”

“That’s why we got these parts though, right?” Frances says, a smile across her lips that you can just tell isn’t a sweet one.

“Not really.” He tilts his head to the side, “You got these parts because we think that you’re able to make the role yours and work hard for it. We can take it away just as easy as we’ve given them you.”

You nod your head and Frances does too, but there’s a little huff that escapes her lips as she does so.

“Our rehearsals start tomorrow, with the White swan, and they’re all going to be in this room.” You nod, but you don’t take any notice of what Fran does, but you guess she nods too, “Just so you know, I don’t appreciate lateness or laziness whilst in the rehearsal.”

“Understood.” You smile, tucking a piece of your hair behind your head.

“Good.” He nods, “You can both return to the main group.”

The next day you find yourself walking into the studio ten minutes before the rehearsal is set to start. The door is open when you walk in, but no one is in which your thankful for. You place your bag down in the corner and start to put your pointe shoes on.

“Morning.” You jump out of your skin at the sound of Harry’s voice walking into the room, “Didn’t mean to make jump.”

“It’s okay.” You chuckle, “I was in my own world and wasn’t paying attention.

He smiles and drops his bag in the corner next to yours. He walks closer to where you’re stood and leans against the bar.

“Have you stretched?” He asks, shrugging off his hoodie. You try not to stare at his physique, but it’s hard not to. Especially when you notice the tattoos that you can see across his arms and his check and stomach underneath the white wife-beater he had on. He also had one some joggers, but you knew it wouldn’t make the best first impression if you continued to stare at him.

“Before I left.” You say, “Not since I got here.”

“We can stretch together.” He says, “Do you use the bar.”

You nod and stand up, smoothing down the wispy bits of your hair that had escaped your bun. You pull your jumper up on your shoulder also, due to the material slipping off everyone once in a while. Your eyes drift to watch as he starts to stretch, using the bar to stretch his peculiarly long limbs. Average male ballet dancers that you’d met in your life hadn’t been as tall as he was, but he had a sort of elegance to him even when he was only stretching that his long limbs only extenuated.

“Have you been dancing long?” You certainly hadn’t expected him to be making small talk with you, but here he was.

You nod, “Since I was seven. Have you?”

“I was ten.” He says and your eyes widen, “I was quite late, to be honest.”

That was quite late, you had to agree with him. Most ballet dancers that you met within your life started even earlier than you, and a lot of them were surprised that you’d started so late but were so successful. Talent comes in any shape or form, and even though he did start quite late, if he was as talented as people made him out to be, then you weren’t surprised that he was as successful as he was starting quite late.

“Did you dance before then?”

“I did.” He nods, “I did tap for a few years before I decided that it wasn’t for me, and then I started ballet lessons.”

You smile and continue to stretch, lifting your leg up to the bar to stretch as far as you can. You can feel your muscles starting to relax as you do so, and you know you’re warmed up.

“Are you ready?” You nod and make your way to stand behind him, at the side slightly so you could see both yourself and Harry in the mirror. You were nervous, to say the least, but you had a slight suspicion that Harry was going to try and make you feel as comfortable as possible.

“We’re going to take it easy.” He says, “Well, as easy as it can be with this show.”

You chuckle and watch as he starts to teach you your solo. You wondered how many times he’d watched the previous performances of the ballet to know the solo as well as he did. You got through the first quarter of the dance or so. It was very quick, and it was basically going through al of the steps and seeing where you needed to focus your practice.

By the end of the rehearsal, you were sweating and you knew that you didn’t look the best just from looking at yourself in the mirror. The dance was one of the hardest you’ve ever done in your life but you knew that was how it was going to be. It was intense, and Harry was certainly right when he said that he knew you’d be able to do it but you needed to put in the hard work. One of the hardest things you found yourself having to do was stopping yourself from getting distracted at the sight of him.

Every time he moved, the muscles within his arms contracted. You didn’t want to stare at him, but you physically couldn’t stop yourself. You wondered if he could tell, or if he was staring at you. More than once during the rehearsal your jumper slipped from your shoulder, dangerously close to revealing your chest and you swear that you saw his eyes drifting at some points but you would never say anything.

“You’ve done well.” He nods, taking a quite a large gulp of water from his bottle, “I knew there was a reason why we’d chosen you, and that certainly was it” 

“There are plenty of other dancers that will have been just as good, maybe even better, I’m sure.” You say, placing your hands upon your hips as you try to catch your breath from the jeté’s you had just been doing.

He chuckles, walking over to you and placing his hand on your shoulder, “Have a little more faith in yourself. Not many people will be able to do what you’ve just done.”

You hate to say it, but you do feel fuzzy inside at his words. Flutters fill your belly and you can feel your cheeks heat up. He can see it as well, you’re absolutely sure of it and you nearly faint. The feeling of his fingers upon your skin leaves it heated for quite a while, long after he’d taken his hand off, and way after you’d left the room.

He was your new choreographer, but you couldn’t help but feel as this was the start of something else.

You had been in the practice room for an hour or so.

The group rehearsal had finished an hour ago, and you had planned to go into a practice room to spend a little extra time going over the new moves that Harry had added a day ago at their second rehearsal. The new steps weren’t too bad, but the order they fell in you just couldn’t pick up. You practiced it over and over again but you still couldn’t get it right. You found yourself becoming more and more annoyed with yourself that you couldn’t do it.

You started to do it again, starting with the jeté before moving to the pirouette but you found yourself loosing your balance yet again.

“You need to keep your core straight.”

You jump out of your skin, placing your hand upon your chest as you turn to look at the culprit. It’s Harry, and you aren’t surprised to say the least. He has a tendency of jumping out at you when you least expect it.

“You should wear a bell.” You say, standing up and and walking towards his body, which is leant against the wall with his hands in his pockets. He was wearing actual trousers today, and you were wondering if that’s why he wasn’t in the group rehearsal earlier.

“I’ll announce myself next time, I promise.” He laughs, walking towards you. His shoes tap upon the floor as he moves towards you, “Your movements aren’t flowing because your core isn’t strong, and you’re letting your body go dizzy.”

He walks towards you, holding his hands out before retracting them.

“Is it okay if I touch you?” He asks, and you nod, allowing his hands to fall one upon your back and the other upon your stomach. He pushes your stomach in, straightening your back as he does so. You find yourself struggling to breath slightly, but once you do you catch up quickly, “Try again like this.”

“Okay.”

You stay as upright as you can, keeping your core straight as you move. Somehow, you manage to do the sequence without falling over. You sigh in relief and drop down to the floor once you’ve done it. He stands and nods his head, watching as you take a sip of your water.

“See.” He nods his head, “I knew you could do it.”

“Thank you.” You smile, “I knew I could too, I think I was just becoming lazy because I’m tired.”

“You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. Go home, take a break.” You start to unfasten your pointe shoes, sighing in relief as your toes separate after being in the shoes for way too long, “How long have you been in here?”

“An hour or so.” You shake your head, “I just wanted to get it right.”

“I bet it was right before.” He says, opening the door for you to slip through once you’ve put your proper shoes on and gathered your things, “Your body is just tired, that’s why your form was off. You usually have a great core.”

He had been looking at your. . . core? You felt your cheeks heat up, and you tired your hardest to not to let him see it but it was quite hard under the spotlights of the hallway.

“Thank you, but it really wasn’t. That was the first time I’ve done it properly.”

He turns to you with a grin, “We’ll just to have to agree to disagree, won’t we?”

You can’t stop the blush that rises upon your cheeks at his words, but more so at his grin. It’s cheeky and boyish and sort of flirty. He couldn’t have been flirting with you, but a part of you prayed that he was.

“Have a good night.” He smiles at you, “Sleep and don’t worry about the dance.” 

“I’ll try.”

“One. . . two. . . three. . . four—”

His counting has been ringing through your ears since your arrived at the rehearsal an hour ago. You couldn’t tell whether there was something wrong with him, or whether you had done something wrong for him to be in such a mood.

You had managed to ignore the fact that he completely ignored you once you’d walked in, and focused more on showing him that since you last saw him, you had mastered the sequence you were struggling with completely.

Everyone has bad days, you knew that, but it’s hard to learn a dance when your teacher is so stoic that you can’t tell whether or not you’re doing the moves right. His eyebrows have been furrowed since you walked through the door, and the clicks of his fingers were so loud that you can’t help but wonder whether or not they have blistered.

You manage to perform the sequence of steps, from start to about half way which you’ve managed to learn in the two weeks that you’ve been learning the steps. It’s nice to know that you’re able to do it, no matter how much you’ve struggled and that it’s been hard work, you’ve done it.

“We’re moving onto the pirouettes next.” He says, standing with his hands upon his hips as he does so. The harsh look upon his face doesn’t leave, and you truly wonder what had happened for him to be this way with you.

It’s making you feel as though every step you make isn’t right, when you know in fact that it is.

“The what?” You are struggling to catch your breath, after non-stop dancing for an hour can’t believe that he wants to do the pirouettes with you.

“Pirouettes.” He stands facing you, instead of you looking at him through the mirror and you wonder what you’re going to do, “Do as many as you can until the music drops.”

You weren’t quite sure what he was asking of you. You furrow your eyebrows, but Harry just stares at you. He looks at you as if to say why aren’t you doing it yet, so you decide you’re better off just starting the pirouettes.

You start, lifting your body into fourth position with both legs straight. You fix your eyes onto a spot where the mirrors meet. After taking a breath, you bend both legs into a deep pilé, concentrating on sinking your heels into the wooden floor so you could push into the spin. You focus your core, keeping it tight. You spring to a retiré position, before relevé to a full pointe with your back foot to your front leg. You hold your body in the position spin, flicking your head quickly so that you can focus yet again on the gap in the mirror. Once you’ve completed one, you continue to go round and round, trying to ignore the aching within your bones and the throbbing within your head.

You manage eight before you loose your balance and drop to the ground, immediately sitting with your head in between your legs. 

“Have a break, and then we’ll start again.” 

You sigh and shake your head, “I can’t do it.” 

“What do you mean?” Harry says, furrowing his eyebrows, “Of course you can.” 

“I can’t do it.” 

“You’ve done eight.” He shrugs, “You can do more.” 

“I’ll be able to.” You say, “But I can’t do them now.” 

If you honest, you hadn’t woken up feeling the best this morning. You often get headaches that throughout the course of the day transition into migraines. You had felt it coming on at the start of the day, and you knew with how much you had to do you couldn’t pull out of the rehearsal but at this point you were seriously considering it. The pirouettes seriously hadn’t helped with the throbbing within your head and you had started to feel quite nauseous. 

“If you have that attitude then you certainly won’t be able to, and it’s probably best that you leave.” 

You’re completely taken aback, unable to believe that the man who has been nothing but nice to you throughout this whole thing had just said something so horrid to you. You were mortified and if you hadn’t felt sick before, you certainly did now. 

“You know what.” You stand up, “I think that’s a good idea.” 

You leave the room and don’t look back. 

The next rehearsal, thankfully, was a group one. You and Ethel had made your way to the training room bright and early, ready for what the day was going to hold. You hadn’t told Ethel about what happened earlier in the week with Harry. It would have been nice to talk to someone about it but you knew that you shouldn’t, so you didn’t. It was, however, the thing that fluttered around in your brain on a loop. Doing everyday mundane things you found yourself distracted. Instead of being upset or angry anymore, you were concerned, and you just hoped that he was okay mainly. 

The two of you had stretched yourselves pretty quickly, leaving you stood in the right corner of the room waiting for it to start. You couldn’t help but wonder whether or not Harry was going to be in the rehearsal today. He normally was, but after the last one, you had no idea what was going to happen. A part of you wished to see him, and the other part of you didn’t. It was as though you had a devil and angel on your shoulder, bickering between the options of whether or not you wanted to see his face. 

In the back of your mind you knew that this man was your choreographer. You knew that traditionally that you shouldn’t be feeling this way about him, since he had the same role as a teacher would, but you really couldn’t help it. It didn’t help that he was one of the prettiest people you had ever seen in your life — and one of the nicest apart from the last time you saw him — but the was besides the point. You were an adult, and you were allowed to have these feelings, even though you were positively sure that they aren’t reciprocated. 

Both Holland and Isabella walk into the room, but there is no sign of Harry. You try to ignore the disappointment that sits in the pit of your stomach but you can’t. 

You should be angry at the man, livid even, that he said such a thing to you but you really weren’t. That was your own fault, but that didn’t mean that all would be forgotten from that day. You were at least expecting an apology the next time you saw him. 

“Everyone get into positions for the start of the second half.” Holland calls and everyone moves from their groups into positions. 

You weren’t on the stage at the start, so you move to the corner of the room by the door and watch everyone else. You try your hardest not to let your mind wander, but you can’t help it. Your thumb is running back and forth over your bottom lip, furrowing your eyebrows as you did so. 

“If you furrow your eyebrows anymore your face is going to stay like that.” 

You don’t even jump at the sound of his voice. Your heart does start to beat a little faster, since your certainly weren’t expecting him to be so close to you, but you wouldn’t tell anybody that. 

“Was starting to think you just hated me.” 

“Could never hate you.” He shakes his head, “You’re too good of a dancer for me to ever hate you.” 

You have to physically stop yourself from rolling your eyes at him. You manage to, but before either one of you could say anything else, you see your cue and you’re out on the floor. 

You try to ignore his stare as you move around the room, remembering the choreography you had learnt whilst also trying to be as elegant and strong as you physically could be. You remembered to keep your core straight, and if you weren’t mistaken by the few times you looked over at him, Harry’s eyes hadn’t left you.

You were unsure whether it was something your were flattered about, or whether you were slightly concerned about it. You weren’t too concerned, but you found yourself wondering why he was doing this. The last time he saw you he told you to leave, and now he couldn’t get his eyes off of you. 

Once the dance had finished, and you had your lips around your water bottle that you were taking a sip from, you swear you saw Harry’s head flick towards the door. You furrow your eyebrows and lift you finger up, pointing at yourself as if to ask whether he was looking at you. 

He nods his head and walks out of the door, leaving you confused but walking towards him and consequently out of the room. You bite the lid of your bottle as you do so. You knew exactly where he was, and the second you walked into the room you saw him stood in the middle of it with an almost defeated look upon his face. 

“I’m sorry.” 

You swear your heart almost bursts out of your chest. 

You nod your head, “Okay.” 

“I was a dick.” You nod again, “And you didn’t deserve it at all. I shouldn’t have asked you to leave and I should’ve asked if you were okay the second you dropped to the floor. I’m sorry, I really am.” 

“I accept your apology, I do.” He seems to sigh with relief, “But! You have to be extra nice to me next rehearsal. If I want a break, I want a break.” 

He chuckles, “You can have as many breaks as you like.” 

“Good.” 

To say rehearsals have been different since Harry apologised to you would be an understatement. You found yourself enjoying them, no matter how hard you had to work, and you looked forward to them in your week.

You believe it might have been because of the change in relationship between the two of you. It was much nicer, and also a little flirtier. You had noticed Harry coming over to help you by touching you more, he was forever smirking and winking at you and some of the things he said completely turned you to putty in his arms. 

You’d like to think he’d noticed, but you really couldn’t be sure. 

“Dress rehearsals start next week.” He says as you take a break, sipping on some water whilst holding a banana in your other hand, “Are you nervous?”

You shrug, “A little bit. I know I’ve worked hard but there are still a lot of things that could go wrong.” 

“I disagree.” You throw him a quizzical look, “I agree that you work hard because you’re one of the most hardworking people I’ve ever met. I don’t agree that a lot of things could go wrong because that just isn’t true — one thing could.” 

You knew what he was talking about. 

You drop back so you’re laid on the group, “The pirouettes.” 

“The pirouettes.” He nods and stands up, so you sit up, “I know you can do it, you just need to believe in yourself.” 

You sigh, “Can you just do the pirouettes for me?” 

“Yeah.” He laughs, “Like the audience wouldn’t notice you slipping off and a six-foot man taking your place to do some spins.” 

“I’m sure they’d be highly entertained.” 

“I’m sure we’d have thousands of complaints to deal with.” 

You laugh and he joins in. You finish your banana and stand up, tucking some of the hair that had fallen out of your bun back before moving to the middle of the room. 

“I don’t think I’ll be able to do it.” 

“I do.” Harry nods, crossing his arms over his chest, “Focus on your spot and never take your eyes off it, remember your core and remember to bounce yourself. The higher bounce you get at the start, the more you’ll be able to spin.” 

You’re unsure how it happened, but after listening to Harry’s words you manage to complete almost twenty pirouettes. The most that had taken place during the small amount of time in a performance had been thirty-two, and to say that you’d never done more than ten in your life before meant that you were pretty proud of yourself. 

“See.” He says smugly, “I knew you could do it.” 

You watch as he walks towards you, shoving this hand into the pocket of his jogging bottoms. You weren’t one to necessarily like people who are so in-your-face smug but there was something different about the way Harry said things. He didn’t say them maliciously, or to make himself feel better but to just tease you slightly. He was close to you, and you resisted the urge to let out a little squeak of nervousness. 

“Are you going to start believing in yourself?” 

“Hmm.” You ponder, “I might have to be reminded again, and again.” 

It all happened quickly, but before you could process anything happening, Harry’s lips were on yours. 

He kissed you. You felt his lips upon yours, his hand immediately reaching to rest upon her cheek. The nervous squeak you held in escaped your lips as he did so, but he masked it with him. You gripped the material of his wife-beater, bunching it up at his stomach as you pulled him towards you. Your lips parted once you’d felt his tongue dance upon your lips, allowing it to slip through them. You were shocked, but you never wanted it to end. 

It did end though, like all good things do. He pulled away from you and you felt even more out of breath than if you had just performed your solo. You looked at him with wide eyes and lifted your fingers to run over your swollen lips, 

“Did that remind you?” 

Dress rehearsals had started, but all you could find yourself thinking about was Harry’s lips on yours. 

You stood backstage at the Royal Opera House, looking at yourself within the mirror as you ran your hand over your costume. It was white, and completely gorgeous. The tutu fluttered out gems and sparkles fluttered along the bodice with a hugged your curves perfectly. You had the head piece on as well, but you hadn’t done your makeup. It was the first time you’d seen the costume upon your body, and you were in love with it. 

“You proper look like the white swan now.” Ethel smiles, placing her hand upon your shoulder, squeezing slightly, “You look gorgeous.” 

“Thank you.” You turn to look at her, and the costume she had on and you gasp, “And look at you!  Absolutely beautiful!” 

The two of you giggle and walk towards the main stage where everyone was collected. You stood to the side with Ethel, even though she’s quickly scooped away by some of her friends. You stand and done move, going over the moves of your solo in your head just to make sure you knew what you were doing. 

Holland calls you all to start soon. It wasn’t the first time that you’d ran the performance all the way through, but it was the first time that you’d done it in your costume. 

You manage to make it through the first half of the performance without any malfunctions from yourself, but you can’t say the same for everyone else. It was around half way through the third section of dance or so when you noticed Harry sat on the front row, his eyes never leaving you as you dance around the stage. When your first section of solo dance came up, you saw Harry’s eyes furrowing as you danced. You couldn’t watch him throughout the entire thing, but you wouldn’t be surprised if he never looked away from you. 

During the interval, you go backstage and make your way towards a bathroom. As you make your way closer, you try to find the fasten of your tutu so that you can quickly pull it off. What you hadn’t expected as you down the hall and towards the bathroom was to be pulled into one of the rooms you pass.

You squeal as you feel the hand around your arm, but once you’re in the room, you’re silenced by someone’s lips upon yours. 

You can tell that it’s Harry immediately. You can tell not only from his lips upon yours, but also from his hand that he places upon your cheek. You feel the coolness of his ring, and the slight itch from his stubble, but you really aren’t complaining. You lift your hand to the back of his neck, slipping your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. 

His fingers run across your thighs, being light so that he doesn’t rip the thin material. After a minute or so, you pull away, turning your head so that his drops upon your shoulder whilst you catch you breath.” 

“Harry?” He hums against your neck, placing a small kiss there, “I really need a wee.” 

He laughs and stands up, pecking your lips once more. You smile into the kiss and it seems to only grow afterwards. 

“Well you better go and have one.” He chuckles and you nod, “But I’ll only let you go if your promise me something.” 

“What?” 

“You’ll wait for me afterwards?” 

“After what? My wee, because I have to back on stage after—”

“No.” He chuckles, “Not after you’ve had your wee, but after you’ve finished tonight. I want to take you somewhere.” 

“Sounding very stalker-ish of you, Styles.” She furrows her eyebrows, “But I’ll wait for you.” 

The second half, and your solo goes okay. You managed to do sixteen pirouettes but your brain was in overdrive, thinking of everywhere that Harry could be taking you. Once you all finished, you couldn’t help but rush to get changed and ready to leave. You hadn’t borough the nicest of clothes, only some jeans and a jumper since the air had started to get quite a lot cooler now that autumn had shown its face. 

“You ready?” He asks once you’ve walked out of the theatre and find him stood by the wall next to the door. 

You nod and follow him. The two of you don’t talk, but his hand does slip into yours as you walk. He’s very smooth in the way that he does it, slipping his hand into yours as you walked across the busy London road. Your cheeks heated as he did so, and you couldn’t help the small smile that planted across your lips. 

You knew that you shouldn’t feel this way about someone who was like a teacher for you, and you knew at some point that the two of you would have to speak about what this even was but at this point you were just happy. 

You certainly hadn’t expected to end up at a cinema, but here you were. Harry scanned the two tickets he already conveniently already had. The tickets were halfway up in the cinema, where you normally enjoyed sitting but you certainly had never told Harry this. 

“If you wanted to see a movie with me, you should’ve just asked.” You whisper to Harry as you both sit down, “You didn’t have to basically kidnap me into a storage room and shove your tongue down my throat.” 

“I didn’t hear you complaining about my tongue down your throat.” He says, and you can almost hear the smirk upon his lips, “Just watch, you’ll understand why I brought you here in a second.” 

You did understand. The recording was from 2015, one that you hadn’t seem before which was surprising because you’re absolutely certain that you’d watched the majority of them. You wonder if this was one that you hadn’t been able to find before, to nitpick every single movement that the white swan made. 

Harry’s hand sat tightly in yours as you watched, never moving throughout the entire performance. 

Once it had finished, you found yourself sat in an Italian restaurant that was next to the cinema, the both of you having ordered pasta and having large glasses of red wine to wash it down. 

“Why did you bring me to see that?” 

Harry smiles, placing his glass down that he had just taken a sip from, “It’s my favourite performance, so far, of Swan Lake. I didn’t know whether you’d already seen it, and you’re probably fed up of it but I thought you needed to see it.” 

You shake your head, “I hadn’t seen it.” 

“You remind me of her.” He smiles, “Giovanna, who was the White Swan. She was a few years older than me, and I met her getting lost in the school.” 

“You knew her?” 

He nods, “We were best friends, for a few years, and she taught me everything I know about how to be the best ballerino I could be. I was there when she was got the part, and I used to watch her practice.” 

“That’s how you know the solo so well.” 

He nods, “She believed she couldn’t do it. I can’t count the amount of times she said that she couldn’t do it. She hardly slept because of it. They recorded that opening night, and it took me sitting her down and showing her that for her to believe that she could do it.” 

He’s interrupted by the waitress coming with their pasta, which they smile in thanks at. 

“Thank you.” He nods his head at the waitress, “I’m more involved with you as the White Swan, and I swore to never let anyone who I worked with whether it be on this production or not, feel like Giovanna did.” 

“How could you tell?” 

“You always look as though you’re battling with yourself within your head.” He says, “You need to know that when you’re on that stage, and it’ll be even more like this when you believe yourself, you are elegant and you look absolutely beautiful.” 

If you weren’t in public, and if you didn’t have a mouthful of tomato pasta in your mouth, you probably would’ve cried at his words. You couldn’t believe how much this man actually cared about you and how you were doing. 

“Are you still friends with her?” 

“No.” He shakes his head, “She left a few years ago, didn’t tell me where she was going or why she was doing it. I haven’t heard from her since.” 

You drop your head, “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be.” He shakes his head, “You’re the new swan in my life, and between the two of us, I much prefer you.” 

“Do you think people are going to mind?” You ask, moving your pasta around on your plate, not daring to look up at him, “You’re like my teacher, and we don’t exactly have one of the more conventional relationships.” 

“I don’t care.” He shakes his head, “And you shouldn’t either, swan.” 

The day of the first performance was here, and you were absolutely dreading it. 

“Ethel.” You shake your head, “I really can’t do this.” 

“Oh shut up.” She places her hands upon your shoulders as you look at yourself in the mirror, sighing as you made sure your wispy pieces of your hair were down, “You’re going to be fine. You’re only worried about the pirouettes and you managed twenty-two yesterday.” 

“It’s not thirty-two though.” You shake your head, “It isn’t good enough.” 

Yesterday it was your last run through of the solo with Harry in the practice room. Even though the relationship between the two had shifted dramatically since their first rehearsal, and yesterday it almost felt as though you were back in with that Harry. 

The flirty banter that the two had adopted wasn’t there, and you were both focused on getting it right. It was the first time that you had managed to do more than twenty pirouettes, which had been your best, but it was now twenty-two. You had sighed in relief and finished your solo dance with a smile upon your face. 

“You’ll be fine.” Ethel smiles, “You’ve got nothing to worry about, you’ll go out there and smash it. I have to go and do my makeup, but I’ll see you during the interval — I promise.” 

You nod, accept her hug and sigh yet again at yourself in the mirror. You hadn’t felt this nervous in a long time, not even when you auditioned for the ballet school, or even when you auditioned for the part of the white swan. In every other aspect of your life, you were confident. In your dancing, that’s when you found yourself spiralling in the most. 

“Hey white swan.” You can’t help but smile at the sound of Harry’s voice behind you, your body immediately turning around to look at him. 

You don’t want to seem shocked, but the sight of him all dressed up causes your heart to beat quickly within your chest. You hadn’t seen him dressed up in this way before, a blue button up upon his body, as well as yellow trousers and a grey jacket. His hair framed his face in such a way that you couldn’t help but press your thighs together. You very much liked Harry’s practice outfits that show off his strong body, but there was something else about seeing him dressed in such a way that you liked even more. 

“Hi.” You laugh, standing up to wrap your arms around him. It’s an awkward hug, with the two of you trying to navigate your way around your tutu, “You look fancy.” 

“And you look gorgeous.” He pulled away from you and leant back against the wall, whilst you leant against the chair you were just sat on, “Ethel saw me on the way in.” 

You laugh, “What did she say?” 

“That you’re spiralling again.” He laughs, “I thought we’d spoken about this.” 

“I know.” You nod your head, “I’m just scared about the pir—”

“—If you dare say pirouettes!” 

You laugh as he interrupts your words, “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be.” He shakes his head, “You know that you can do it, and I believe in you. You’re going to smash this and I’m going to be front row cheering your on.” 

Without a single hesitation, you cast your eyes around the room in hopes to see nobody there, which there isn’t, and you throw your arms around his neck and place your lips upon his. He smiles into the kiss, and you do too, but you quickly pull away because you know that anybody could walk in at any moment. 

Harry flutters his eyes over at the clock, “It’s time, white swan. I’ll be here afterwards.” 

In your first performance of Swan Lake, you manage twenty-six pirouettes. It’s the most you’ve ever done, and once you’ve done it, you find yourself finishing the entire performance in higher spirits than when you started it. 

Somehow, you were finishing the day of your first performance with your thighs wrapped around Harry’s waist as he presses you up against the door of your flat. He had offered to walk you home, and the flirty way the two of you had become accustomed to felt a change as you walked home. You felt as though there was a magnet pulling you together and the closer you got to your flat, the closer you felt towards each other. 

You suspect that was why you were now pressed up against your door. 

“I’m so fucking proud of you.” Harry murmurs against your lips, and you smile against them. 

With him holding you up by your thighs, and with your half arsed directions, you both make your way towards your bedroom. Harry places you down upon your bed, his fingers grasping the jumper upon your skin. You pull away slightly and he pulls it above your head, exposing your chest to him. He leans down to press another kiss to your lips, moving down to your neck. He litters kisses down your cheeks, and your neck until he’s upon your chest. You hadn’t worn a bra with your jumper, so you’re completely exposed to him. 

The next movement he makes is to wrap his lips around one of your nipples, swirling his tongue around one of your budding nipples, using his thumb to tweak the other. Your hips are involuntarily bucking towards his. 

“Fuck, Harry.” You sigh, smiling down at his head as he kisses down your stomach until he reaches the band of your jogging bottoms. 

He stops his movements and rests his head upon your stomach, “What do you want?” 

“Want you to lick me.” He smiles at your words, and hooks his fingers into the band of your jogging bottoms, pulling them as well your underwear down your legs. 

He placed a litter of kisses across the inside of your thighs, teasing you until you can help but lift your hips up to him. 

“Are you this wet all for me, baby?” He questions, running his thumb across your clothed clit, “Got yourself all messy for me.” 

“You have a way with words.” You grin, reaching forward to run your fingers through his hair, “And a way with your mouth.” 

“You don’t need to flatter me anymore, I’m already in your bed.” He pecks your pubic bone, “But my ego really appreciates it.” 

“Your narcissistic side is showing.” 

“What did you expect?” He runs his fingers across your pubic bone, “You’re so fucking ready for me. All wet and ready for me to have a taste.” 

He starts with small kitten licks that have you withering across your duvet, small whines leaving your lips. He wraps his lips around your clit, mixing between nibbling and licking. 

You moan, lifting your back up off of the bed, “Can I use my fingers, baby?” 

“Please.” You nod, watching as he lifting his fingers up to your mouth, pushing them through your parted lips so you could swivel your tongue around them, wetting them to make them easier for him to push into you. He pushes his index finger in, rhythmically moving it in and out whilst also licking and flicking your clit with his tongue. Each thing his does coaxes you closer and closer to your orgasm, the way he skilfully uses his tongue sending moans spilling out of your lips.

“Don’t stop!” Harry drops his hand to your stomach, pushing down so that you aren’t moving you hips as he brings you closer to your peak, “M’gonna come.” 

“Come for me, baby.” He murmurs against you, flicking his tongue quickly. 

You can feel your stomach tightening as he moves quickly, the feeling causing your toes to curl as he does so. 

“Fuck.” He uses his fingers and his tongue to coax you through your orgasm. 

You honestly couldn’t believe that you had waited this long to have him touch you. Moans spill out of your lips as you reach your high, the euphoric feeling spreading over your entire body. 

Harry kisses your clit one last time, kissing up your stomach and around your breasts, up until he wrapped his lips around your nipple. He allowed you to recover and calm your breathing whilst he kissed up your body. 

“Good?” 

You hum, a small giggle escaping your lips, “Fucking amazing.” 

“I’m glad your enjoyed it.” He laughed, leaning down to place a kiss to your lips. 

Feeling as though you had recovered from your orgasm, you start to unbutton his trousers. He grins against your lips as you slip your hand beneath the band of his boxers, wrapping your fingers around his length. 

“I want you to fuck me.” You whisper against his lips, the corners of yours curling up. 

“Yeah.” He grins, “Have you got any condoms?” 

You were glad at this point that you’d picked some up during your daily shop. Not that you had expected anything, but it was always good to be prepared. 

“Yeah.” You nod, “In the bedside table.” 

He stands up from the bed and unbuttons his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders and he makes his way towards the drawer. You eyes never leave his body, watching as his ever muscle flexes. He opens the drawer and drops his hand in, and if you weren’t already flushed, you certainly would be from what he pulls out. 

“What’s this?” He holds up the small vibrator that you had bought a few years ago to relive some of your tension every once in a while. 

“God.” You drop back upon the bed, your head rested on the pillow as your bring your hand to your forehead, “Just something I use to relive some of the tension in me every once in a while.”  

“The tension?” He raises his eyebrow, “When was the last time you used it?” 

You shrug, “Ages ago. I think it was after the first dress rehearsal.” 

“That long ago? We’ll have to change that.” He turns the little machine on to its first setting, holding it as it vibrates in his hand. 

“Are you going to use that on me?” You ask, writhing as he places it upon your budding nipple. 

“As tempting as it is.”  He smirks, taking it away just as a moan threatens to leave your lips, “I think we’ll save it for another day.” 

He turns it off and places it back in the bedside table, taking the box of condoms that are in there out also. He takes the foil packet out and at the same time pushes his underwear off of his body, revealing his member to you. It was already red, the tip angry and already leaking pre-come as it stood out from his body. 

You can’t take your eyes off him. You had had some encounters with people before hand, you had needs, but you certainly hadn’t been with anyone quite so well endowed. He uses his teeth to rip open the packet, pinching it between his fingers and rolling it over his length. 

“Can I ride you?” You ask, watching as Harry kneels on the edge of the bed. 

He raises his eyebrows, “Do you want to?” 

“I do.” You smile, watching as he laid down next to you. 

“Hop on then.” He smirks, reaching for your hips as your straddle him. 

You take him in your hand, lining him up with your centre. He grips your hips, guiding you down onto his cock. You moan as he fills you up, but you can move at your own speed and wait as long as you needed. 

“Fuck.” He moans, sitting up to rest his head against your shoulder, “So fucking tight around my cock. Squeezing me just right.” 

You couldn’t believe how much you were throbbing between your legs at the sounds of his words. Once you’ve become accustomed to his size, you started to bounce up and down on him. You catch his lips with yours, allowing yourself to succumb under the pleasure he was giving you. You couldn’t help the moans that tumbled out of your lips whilst you bounce, Harry’s hips lifting to meet yours.

“Harry, fucking hell.” He was making you feel so full, and so good, “Fuck, can I go faster?” 

“Go as fast as you want, baby.” He kisses your lips briefly, “Make yourself come on my cock.” 

You bounce your hips faster, leaning forward to grip your headboard to give you more leverage to move your hips. You could feel sweat collecting upon your brow and body, your hair sticking to your neck. The only sound in the room was your moans and your groans, as well as the creaking of your bed and your headboard hitting the wall. You prayed at this point that your neighbours couldn’t hear you through your wall. 

“I’m gonna come, H.” You moan out, lowering one of your hands so that you could rub your clit. Harry immediately notices and pushes your hand away, replacing it with his own finger rubbing quickly to coax your second orgasm of the night. 

“Come on my cock, baby.” He speeds up his hips meeting yours, “Come on, I wanna feel you.” 

Your second orgasm washes over you quicker than your first, and your eyes roll to the back of your head. Harry thrusts harshly up into you a few time and you feel him spill into the condom. He groans against your neck as you collapse on top of him. 

You had never felt so close to someone as you did to Harry, and even though you weren’t together yet it just felt right to take this step. 

“You’re incredible, swan.” 

You laugh and roll off him, whimpering at the feeling of him leaving you. You lay down next to him and watch as he takes the condom off and places it in the small bin in the corner of your room. Whilst he does that, you quickly make your way towards the bathroom to pee and clean yourself up. Never in your whole life had you felt this wet and orgasmed so hard from being with someone, and you don’t know whether to thank Harry or worship the ground that he walks on. 

As you walk back into your room, you notice Harry laid upon your bed, shirtless and smiling as you walk back into the room. You slip into bed next to him. 

“Harry?” He hums, “If I perform like this every night, are you going to do this overnight?” 

“If you want me to, swan, I’ll never stop.” 

You didn’t want him to. 

A couple of months later, your time as the White Swan had finished. Your parents, as well as both Ethel and Harry, joined you for celebratory drinks. You found yourself loving having Harry with you, and Harry loved being with you as far as you could tell. 

Waking up the next morning, you can’t remember the last time you woke up without having something to do the next day. Harry’s deep breaths fill your ears as he rests upon your neck, his arm around your waist and his leg pressed in between yours. You loved the feeling of having him so close to you, and you felt as though you couldn’t ever have him away from you now.

“Are you awake?” His voice is low and gruff in a morning, and it sparks something between your legs almost immediately. 

“No.” You smile, “I’m still asleep.” 

“I think you should stick to ballet, lying isn’t your forte.” He squeezes your middle, pressing a kiss to your cheek. 

“I’m not lying. I’m still asleep.” You smile, relishing in the feeling of his arm around you.

He laughs, “I didn’t know I was with a sleep talker, swan. If I’d have known I would’ve been running for the hills.” 

“How long have you been awake then?” You laugh, “Have you been watching me sleep?” 

“Not watching.” He laughs, “Observing.” 

You turn your head briefly so that you’re looking at him, leaning forward to place a kiss to his cheek. 

“Kissy?” 

“Morning breath.” You grimace, “Once I’ve brushed my teeth, maybe.” 

“I don’t care.” He shakes his head, “I just want a kiss.” 

“I care, though.” 

“‘Gis a kiss, baby.” You lean forward and place a closed-lipped peck to his lips. 

“Good enough?” 

“I guess that’s all I’m getting.” 

“That is correct.” You laugh. 

Harry’s eyes fall upon yours, and he doesn’t look away. Even though he just woke up, he’s so effortlessly gorgeous that you can’t help but want to jump his bones and kiss him all of the time. 

In your opinion, you had hit the jackpot. It was the most traditional relationship, but Harry was your person. From the first day you walked into the rehearsal room and Harry looked at you with such joy in his eyes you knew he was for you. You didn’t care what anyone else though, and you only wanted him. 

You were falling for him, at a fast speed but you certainly would never complain. 

“Be mine?” 

“What?” You question, your eyebrows furrowing. 

“Be my girlfriend?” He asked, “Be mine?” 

You ponder the thought for a couple of seconds, leaving him waiting before your lips curl up into a smile, “Okay.” 

“Okay.” You kiss him again, “I’ll be your girlfriend.” 

“My swan.” He smiles, leaning forward to kiss you once again. 

You laugh, “I feel like that’s going to be my forever nickname.” 

“It’s how we met.” He smiles, “I never want to forget it.” 

You never do. 

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

Let’s say for whatever reason Bella doesn’t heed Edwards warnings about Jasper, for whatever reason, be it out of spite, curiosity or her misreading Jaspers distance in a different way. Maybe he’s just shy, yes that must be it. The more Edward insists otherwise the more curious/ determine she becomes. What happens then? Assuming Jasper doesn’t ignore her attempts at friendship or straight up eats her.

Anon, why do I have the strangest feeling that what you really want out of this is a Jasper/Bella fic?

As usual, my advice is to go and write the Jasper/Bella fic. You'll feel a lot happier than whatever I'm going to give you, I'm sure.

(I also like that Jasper's not allowed to eat her or ignore her even though these are by far the most likely outcomes.)

Edward Gives Jasper the Talk

Edward doesn't know the universe forbids Jasper from either ignoring Bella or eating her. I his eyes, there's a good chance his girlfriend's about to become Jasper's lunch.

Moreover, Jasper is the last person Edward wants Bella talking to. Jasper's lived the full vampire experience, of not only eating people, but turning and murdering fellow vampires for decades and fighting over territory. Edward is not at all at ease with Jasper's backstory and doesn't want Bella talking to him and potentially realizing just how dangerous and monstrous vampires really are. Not to mention that Edward just doesn't like Jasper or trust him.

Edward tells Jasper to back the fuck off.

No, Edward doesn't care if Bella would find it weird/keeps bothering Jasper no matter how much distance Jasper tries to put between them. Jasper can go take a vacation somewhere for a few months/years/however long this thing goes on.

Jasper, of course, then realizes that Edward intends to dump Bella Swan at some mysterious point. Could be a few weeks from now, could be at the end of high school. But it's very clear that Bella Swan's not getting turned and that Edward doesn't expect this to last more than a few years.

Jasper brings up why Edward isn't dumping Bella now and making it clear, up front, that they don't have a future together (would certainly save Jasper a lot of trouble).

Edward throws a hissy fit that doesn't make much sense but boils down to making the most of the time he and Bella do have together and that Edward... isn't emotionally strong enough to live without her yet. BUT HE WILL BE. SOON.

Jasper...

Does not see this going well.

Especially as Alice is convinced that, sooner or later, Bella will be a vampire which means that... Edward's plan isn't going to work.

Jasper Keeper of Secrets and Possible Homewrecker

Well, Bella's still convinced Jasper is her super cool friend (he's not, she just won't leave.) Unfortunately, Jasper now knows something Bella doesn't: Edward plans to dump her any minute now.

And Bella keeps talking about trying to get to know the family better (which is why she claims she's around him all the time), and wanting to really understand this family and be a part of it. Bella, very clearly, thinks Edward's not going to dump her or else will turn her into a vampire.

Any minute now.

More, Jasper realizes that the more time Bella's spending with him is less time she's spending with Edward. And she... Doesn't seem to realize that this is a problem and perhaps a very large red flag in her relationship with Edward.

You shouldn't be dumping your boyfriend to hang out with your boyfriend's scary brother.

Especially when said boyfriend is now very much noticing and getting very very angry and accusatory.

Jasper cracks like an egg.

He tells Bella that a) Edward has no long term plans for their relationship and has no intention of ever turning her into a vampire and will probably dump her come graduation b) if she's serious about dating Edward then she needs to actually spend time with Edward.

Bella is Shocked, Simply Shocked!

Bella somehow did not see this coming.

She loves Edward! How could Edward not know that? And he keeps saying he can't live without her but now Jasper is telling her that he can and that he plans to? Is Bella just some... temporary distraction?

Jasper realizes in horror that he's caused the breakup to happen as Bella sobs next to him (entirely too close and delicious smelling) saying that she should just get it over with so Edward can move on to Tanya and she always knew it was too good to be true!

Edward was just being nice to her!

This whole time!

Before Jasper can stop it, Bella dumps Edward with the "it's not you, it's me" speech and prepares to enter the rest of her life of miserable spinsterhood.

And all hell breaks loose.

You Better Fix This, Jasper!

Alice tells Jasper he better fix his own goddamn mess because he's just lost her her sister and best friend and Edward's wife all because he couldn't keep his stupid mouth closed.

Jasper feels genuinely horrible but legitimately doesn't understand. He was only being honest and telling Bella what Edward intended to do but hadn't had the courage to tell her yet. Surely, for a good relationship, they should be honest with each other.

Alice tells him that this is great, and all, except Edward wasn't being honest with himself either. He wants to dump Bella, but he can't, and he never will really be able to, so all Jasper did was cause a lot of drama about nothing and FIX THIS HUBBY! FIX THIS NOW!

Edward, of course, is livid about all of this and does not take it well when Jasper points out, again, that he was just telling Bella what Edward had told him and clearing the air. Why is this a problem?

Edward accuses Jasper of wanting Bella for himself. HE KNOWS SHE SMELLS DELICIOUS.

(Jasper can't even. He can't.)

Jasper, not sure what's even happening, goes to fix his mess and convince Bella that Edward was never actually going to dump her and the pair are hopelessly in love.

He Can't Do It

In the course of this, Jasper learns that Bella wasn't in love with Edward. She thinks she is, of course, but she doesn't even know Edward's favorite color. Turns out, she knows jack shit about Edward, and seems to have a minimal grasp on his personality.

Every part she lists off that she likes is essentially "vampire" and "pays attention to me"

Oh good god, Jasper thinks to himself.

He can't get these two back together.

Because Edward thinks Bella is genuinely in love with him. It would break him, if he finds out that Edward could pretty much be replaced with any single vampire who pays her any mind. It would be... so bad.

And if they turn her? What if she gets turned, she and Edward get married, and Alice gets her best friend and then all of them find out that Bella has no idea who any of these people even are? What if they all find out then after it's much too late?

It would be a disaster.

Jasper cannot get these two back together.

It Gets Worse

Jasper has to break the news to the family but...

He's learned that honesty is not the best policy. And he thinks Bella's young and stupid, and apparently very into the vampire aesthetic, but she's not necessarily a bad person.

It's not her fault she has a crush on Edward and doesn't realize it's only a crush.

So he... lies.

He tells the family that he agrees with Edward. That this is the best ending for Bella. She has a... bit of a messy break up now, but it's of her own accord, she'll have a human future, and she'll move on.

Edward does not take this well.

Especially as, deep down, he knows that Jasper's repeating his own arguments back to him. Turns out, it's very different when someone else says them as opposed to Edward saying them.

Edward throws a fit and accuses Jasper of just wanting to see him miserable and unhappy because he's jealous of Edward's control.

(Jasper still can't even)

He knows that Jasper's hiding something about this.

(Jasper's not about to admit that it's that Bella doesn't love him and is desperately blocking out that information.)

Edward becomes determined to win Bella back so that... he can dump her... later... on his own terms...

And sometime during this Jasper realizes, to his horror, that Edward doesn't love Bella either. He, in fact, is doing the same damn thing as Bella herself and seems to know next to nothing about her and just... likes how she smells. A lot.

Holy Jesus, Jasper thinks, what a mess.

It Gets Even Worse

In all this time, Jasper finds himself running between Bella and Edward, and feeling very guilty hangs out with Bella during the breakup. This unwittingly casts him into the role of Jacob Black, where he becomes Bella's source of validation.

Bella develops a crush on Jasper.

Now Alice is very upset with Jasper, accusing him of doing this on purpose, and ruining the entire family. She's so upset, in fact, that she claims there's no way out AND HE MIGHT AS WELL JUST DATE BELLA IF HE LIKES HER SO MUCH.

(He doesn't, he barely knows Bella, she seems nice and all, but this is all very fast and what is even happening?)

Edward comes to see Jasper as his most hated and sneaky rival and I imagine challenges him to a duel. Jasper, hoping to get this over with, wins very quickly.

He shouldn't have done that.

The Cullens as a unit implode. There's much nonsense and drama. And at the end of the day, I imagine Bella's turned anyway, perhaps because of the James fiasco, and Jasper finds himself suddenly married to Bella because everyone's decided he's married to Bella.

He has no idea what's even happening.

[aspoonofsugar]

Red and Gray in a Black and White World

Carmen Sandiego likes playing with colors.

In particular, VILE is black, while ACME is white.

This is why Carmen’s codename is Black Sheep, which later becomes ironic when she grows to be VILE’s literal “black sheep” and their thorn in the side. At the same time, Shadowsan too has a codename suggesting something dark in color. Of course, his name also foreshadows that he is the one protecting Carmen from the shadows.

Similarly, the ACME’s agent closest to Carmen is Julia Argent aka “silver”. She is not completely “white” and she is able to see the complexity of the world, differently from Devinaux and Zari.

As a matter of fact the whole point is that Carmen refuses a black and white vision of things. She doesn’t want to join VILE, but she doesn’t want to be a part of ACME either:

She wants to use her “wicked skills” for good.

This is a fitting theme for a show whose aim is to help kids learn about geography and how rich Earth is. It conveys the idea of complexity.

In other words, Carmen explores the world and its wonders at her own pace and with her own rules. This is expressed by her color being “red”. Everything about her is red. Her codename, her clothes and even her adoptive family:

Similarly, Gray is another character, who is neither black nor white, but (obviously) gray (duh).

This is made clear in Chief’s speech above and his moral complexity is also what makes his dynamic with Carmen so interesting.

“GRAY” AND “BLACK SHEEP”: NOT MY NAME ANYMORE

Carmen and Gray’s relationship is one of mutual attraction (platonic or romantic does not matter), but also of conflict.

They want the other by their side:

But they can’t agree on which side they should both be:

This is because they both refuse a part of the other. This refusal is well expressed through the name symbolism of both characters.

On one hand Gray keeps calling Carmen Black Sheep:

He refuses her new identity because he does not understand it:

On the other hand Carmen refuses Gray’s VILE persona, but also his civilian one.

This is interesting because her refusal of “Crackle” is something Carmen does willingly:

She does not genuinely understand it, just like Gray does not understand her being Carmen Sandiego.

At the same time, though, Carmen somehow also refuses Gray’s civilian identity and keeps calling him Gray instead of Graham:

Even if the brainwashing makes their friendship easier, Carmen still feels something is amiss. The person in front of her is not really “Gray”, but somehow a “white” version of him. It is not by chance that she is able to partially rebuild their past relationship by involving him in a dangerous mission:

And in this mission Carmen needs Gray’s “wicked skills” that are still a part of him. She becomes Gray’s link to his previous world:

Just like he is the one who symbolically introduces her to what truly means to be a criminal:

And to its harsher aspects:

At the same time, it is interesting that when brainwashed Carmen still refuses the codename Crackle:

And she only uses it when she thinks he has betrayed her:

In that moment it is as if Gray truly became “black” for her and changed from her partner in crime to an enemy.

In short, both characters can’t truly pintpoint who the other really is.

Who is Carmen really? And is Gray good or bad?

The answers to these questions are difficult because Carmen and Gray themselves are not sure until the end of the series.

THE MISSING MATRIOSKA AND BROKEN LIGHTS

Carmen does not know who she is, while Gray is caught up between his wish to be a criminal and his empathic side.

These internal conflicts are well conveyed through specific motifs linked to the two characters.

Firstly, Carmen’s journey of self-discovery is commented by the burnt matrioskas motif:

The matrioskas are what links Carmen to her biological family. They’re the only things she has had since she was born and it is later revealed they’re a toy her father used to calm her down.

At the same time, the matrioskas symbolize Carmen herself. Like her “oldest traveling companions”, she too is made of multiple identities who live inside her and change as she grows. She starts as Lambkins, grows into Carmen Sandiego and finally discovers her identity in  the finale:

Both in terms of her origins and who she wants to be:

The missing matrioska represents both. On one hand it is the link to Carmen’s past and it is symbolically the smallest one (like a baby). On the other hand seeing it makes Carmen remember who she wants to be.

In short, the matrioska is Carmen’s missing piece both when it comes to who she was and to who she will be.

As far as Gray is concerned, him being caught between “light” and “darkness” is conveyed by his electrician’s motif:

Gray’s criminal career started when a light bulb went off. This is an ironic inversion of a light bulb switching on when one has an idea. Still, it also symbolizes a fall to darkness. Gray’s job was supposed to switch lights on, but he chooses to turn them off, so that he can steal.

This motif comes back in season 2 ep 7 where Carmen’s mission is to stop Doctor Bellum from causing dangerous black-outs. This is tied once again to Gray’s character. As a matter of fact not only the objective is to avoid physical blackouts, but also to stop Graham turning back into Crackle once again. The blackout which must be avoided is the one of Gray’s personality.

At the same time, this motif is not as straightforward as it may seem:

As a matter of fact the whole reason Gray has turned into Graham is a metaphorical “black-out”. This is an interesting idea. Gray has left criminality and can have a new beginning and Carmen sees it as a positive thing. However, this whole new identity is a lie built through brainwashing:

Carmen has good intentions and is ultimately proven right about Gray’s good nature. However, she is still ready to accept a persona constructed through an unethical method.

She meets an idealized version of Gray, she realizes something is missing, but still accepts it. This is why she needs to see this illusion shatter and to confront the real Gray once more.

This happens when Gray gets his memories back:

The one on the Himalaya is the second real confrontation between Carmen and Gray after the one on the train.

At this point, we are shown how they have changed and how they have not.

On one hand Carmen is finally forced to accept that Graham was nothing, but an illusion:

However, she does not completely give up on Gray:

Even if confronted with the truth she still hopes Gray will change. It is just that this change to be true should happen because of her friend’s free will and not through a coercion.

On the other hand Gray has grown enough to accept Carmen:

And to realize she will never come back to VILE. However, he still begs her to stop fighting the organization. In short, he has grown a little, but is still asking Carmen to give up on her life mission, just like she wants him to give up on criminality.

The two characters have clearly grown closer, but they are still unable to see eye to eye and this is why they end the episode as enemies, despite this:

There is clearly affection between them, but this affection is not enough to let them overcome their rift. At least not in that moment.

THE FLYING DUTCH AND THE RED PHANTOM

In season 4 ep 4, while Gray is about to make his choice, we hear a song from The Flying Dutch in the background. This is not a surprise because Graham and Carmen’s relationship has also an Opera motif.

Graham works in a operahouse and famous operas pieces comment his relationship with Carmen while brainwashed. They meet at The Carmen, are reunited through The Swan Lake and finally Graham turns into Crackle again while The Flying Dutch is playing.

This last opera is important not only for Graham’s story, but also for Gray’s overall arc. As a matter of fact the story of this opera is one whose main theme is about how love leads to redemption.

This is precisely what happens to Gray in the end.

In particular, he finds himself in the position Carmen was just a while before: he meets an idealized version of Carmen.

Brainwashed Carmen is who Gray has wanted Carmen to be all along. She is loyal to VILE, close to him and in love with stealing.

However, despite Gray having all he ever wanted he quickly realizes he does not like it at all:

Black Sheep realizes she does not want anything to do with VILE after she sees how the organization has transformed Gray.

Similarly, Gray decides to betray VILE after he sees what they did to Carmen. This is interesting because, while Carmen refuses to work both for VILE and for ACME, Gray ends up working for both.

Anyway, in the end Gray leaves VILE out of love.

Not only that, but he shows to have been influenced by Carmen on a deeper level:

It is because of this that Gray survives his final confrontation with his old classmate.

All in all, Gray manages to save himself and he and Shadowsan are the two people that helped Carmen to save herself the most.

At the same time, Gray and Carmen’s story ends on a bittersweet note. They have both hurted each other, but still clearly love each other:

Despite this, they are avoiding each other. This is not something new, if anything Gray’s final choice:

Perfectly mirrors Carmen’s one in the first season:

Both times the two characters decide that the best thing for the other is for them to walk out from their lives. However, I think that both times this is wrong.

Carmen’s decision is later on proven wrong by how the story develops. Gray would have never truly changed if Carmen had not walked in his life again and he would have stayed prisoner of a lie forever.

Gray’s decision happens at the end of the story and seems to be built on this idea:

The idea is that Carmen deserves a normal life. She deserves to stop being a symbol aka Carmen Sandiego and to become a person. She can now live a normal life and meet her mother.

However, even if it seems Carmen will do just that and she even disbands her gang aka her adoptive family, in the end we are shown this:

Carmen has not given up on being Carmen Sandiego and on fighting criminality. Whatever happened after she met her mother, she goes back to her previous identity. This is because Carmen Sandiego is not just a mask she has worn all this time, but it is genuinelly a part of who she is. The difference between the beginning and the end is that Carmen previously was Carmen Sandiego because she did not know who she was, while now she is because she knows.

Carmen will always be both a good person and a thief. She is both and ironically she has told us (and Gray) this since the very beginning:

Because of this, Gray’s worrying he will make Carmen’s life complicated if he even just contacts her is probably false.

Anyway, in the end their relationship has an open ending, but both characters have both realized who they are and who they want to be and they have done so with the other’s help.

[agentrouka-blog]

what do you think about obara?

Hi there!

Obara would be my third favorite Sand Snake after Sarella and Elia.

Obara Sand always walked too fast. She is chasing after something she can never catch, the prince had told his daughter once, in the captain's hearing. (AFFC, The Captain of Guards)

My goodness, what could it be?

Oh, right. Her mother. Her identity. Her sense of self.

She is the reason I can never ever truly like Oberyn.

“I am the whore's whelp, or had you forgotten?" (AFFC, The Captain of Guards)

No matter how heartbreaking Oberyn’s determination to get justice for Elia’s murder, I can never forgive him for this.

"The day my father came to claim me, my mother did not wish for me to go. 'She is a girl,' she said, 'and I do not think that she is yours. I had a thousand other men.' He tossed his spear at my feet and gave my mother the back of his hand across the face, so she began to weep. 'Girl or boy, we fight our battles,' he said, 'but the gods let us choose our weapons.' He pointed to the spear, then to my mother's tears, and I picked up the spear. 'I told you she was mine,' my father said, and took me. My mother drank herself to death within the year. They say that she was weeping as she died." Obara edged closer to the prince in his chair. "Let me use the spear; I ask no more."

(AFFC, The Captain of Guards)

Oberyn not only suddenly came to take her away from her mother. He did not come to offer her a “better life”, or do his duty to her as her father.

He made her choose.

He demonstrated an absolutely despicable abuse of power. He shows up out of the blue after presumably no contact and no support, assaults and humiliates her mother, a woman already on the very edge of society, and then makes Obara choose between this distorted image of victimized weakness, and his own power. Female tears vs. his phallic symbol. It’s a false dichotomy, the birth place of “not like other girls”, of internalized misogyny, of self-hatred.

She cannot have both. She cannot love both. She must disdain one to reap any benefit from the other. It is a horrifying violation. He erases half of her identity by dragging it through the dirt and creating a clear distinction between himself and his offer, and the woman who has been Obara’s caretaker all her life up to then. Her own mother. Her own sex.

We know that the young red-haired prostitute died trying to save her daughter, little Barra, while Robert had not lifted a finger to support them, and only had scorn for the girl’s choice of name. Was she weak?

Even her mother’s grief and desperate end is turned into a weapon against Obara, instead of proof of her mother’s love, it is proof of her mother’s supposed worthlessness. She must hate her mother because to stop would be to recognize that her father, her sole source of security in the world, was a monster to do this. She must cling to this phallic symbol of a weapon because Oberyn tainted all alternatives. The whore’s whelp she calls herself, spitting on her mother every time.

When she arrives at Sunspear to confront Doran about Oberyn’s death, she asks for troops and permission to sack Oldtown. Her hometown. For the wealth of the Hightowers, supposedly, but somehow her first instinct upon the news of her father’s demise is to attack the place she herself came from, her mother’s city. Begging to use the spear.

Perhaps it is the only way she knows how to express her pain, as Oberyn stole her tears. Self-destruction.

Even Nymeria understands there is a personal motive outside of Oberyn’s death.

“Obara would have me go to war.”

Nym laughed. “Yes, she wants to set the torch to Oldtown. She hates that city as much as our little sister loves it.” (AFFC, The Captain of Guards)

Obara is the only one of the elder Sand Snakes for whom GRRM constructs this kind of look back at her "acquisition" into the royal family, and I sincerely doubt that it is accidental. It is the one that matters, the one that is the most illustrative.

Nymeria has her noble Volantene mother’s beauty and bearing.

Tyene is said to carry her mother’s innocent appearance, and received a religious education at least thorough enough to enable her to “ingratiate herself” with the new high septon. It is, of course, a cynical facade.

Sarella proudly practices the marksmanship of the Summer Islanders of her mother’s heritage.

But Elia and Obara both show the real cracks that counter this hazy facade of the fierce Eight Sand Snakes, liberal Oberyn‘s loyal and independent daughters. They are all an extravagant self-indulgence on Oberyn’s part, created wherever he went and then picked up like a shiny tourist trinket. They all must revolve around him, the reflections of Oberyn in the looking glass of their mothers.

No," Elia broke in. "You're the one they'll want to ransom. You're the heir to Dorne, I'm just a bastard girl. Your father would give a chest of gold for you. My father's dead." (TWOW, Arianne II)

Elia, bless her, has her mother to lean on and still she keenly feels the legal reality of her position. Obara does not even have that. 

Sarella out of all the elder Sand Snakes, seems to be the most emotionally independent. She is the only one NOT around all the others in Dorne, and while she follows her father’s footsteps in Oldtown, she practices her mother‘s traditional archery and emphasizes her.

Alleras smiled back at him. "I only buy for friends. And I am no lord's son, I've told you that. My mother was a trader." (AFFC, Prologue)

This healthier balance, this valuing regard for her mother’s heritage (unlike Tyene's pretense) is what makes Sarella truly remarkable to me. She is not hot-headed nor does she seem to be boiling with a thinly veiled fury. She does not seem to advocate for murder, but we see her muse about feeding the people. She is serene, like the black swans on the Godseye, like the swanships, with a steady hand and a sure intention. Whatever exactly that intention may be. Ironically, sexism forces Sarella into a masculine role, as well. But it is a deliberate mask, elegantly worn. Freely worn. Unlike Obara's struggle.

The character in whom I see most parallels with Obara Sand is Jon Snow in his current iteration.

Ned, well-meaning though he may have been, robbed Jon of half of his identity and left him with an image that is considered tainted by the world around him. His mother is as inaccassible as Obara’s mother, emotionally, though for different reasons. Their father’s choices left both of them emotionally crippled to a degree. One mother was erased by silence, rendered invisible. The other, worse, was erased by violent and verbal degradation.

Consequently, it is Obara we see the most seemingly “unhinged”, when she is introduced, the most overtly violent, the most “unfeminine”. This is not an expression of personal taste, nor a handy mask. It is a grim adherence to the choice she was offered.

She is almost thirty, and came to Dorne almost two decades earlier, well before Elia’s murder.

"It has been twenty years, or near enough to make no matter.” (AFFC, The Captain of Guards)

She was somewhere between Sansa’s and Arya’s current age when Elia was killed. Does she perceive the contradiction in Oberyn living for vengeance for Elia, when he treated her own mother not so very very differently? He did not kill her truly, but he erased her just the same, with a violent contempt. A "weak woman", with only tears for weapons, her child ripped from her.

If Obara sees it, she is not letting on. She craves violence. She craves an expression of power to put something where tears might have their place. The way she was taught.

Of course, it would be boring if that is where it was truly headed. Much like Aegon and Jon, much also like Asha Greyjoy who adapted to an extremely male-dominated society, Obara would probably benefit from turning away from her father's looming shadow to a certain degree. I have some hope that GRRM will make room to explore it.

Obara is given a quest of justice and distraction: Darkstar. "Beard him in his den", as Arianne travels to "beard the dragon".

Your Speculation here (by @sayruq) is extremely interesting, placing Obara in the line of defense of peaceful children at the watergardens. The same children she had dismissed earlier, like the child she was not allowed to be. Wielding that spear not for vengeance or self-glorification but in the way it should be wielded: to defend those soft weak things that are precious.

I really hope this is where it's headed, and I really hope she will find her peace in that role.