#but they pretty much say the probe was true positive right?

[resssistance]

Not that it matters a lot, but this ruling was made by ДАК (Anti-Doping Disciplinary Committee), RUSADA's committee independent from them. RUSADA said they got only the ruling part of the document atm, so they are waiting for the full text with the rationale part to make a legal assessment of that and see if they want to appeal it.

So it's not even over with RUSADA yet.

lol. russia saying russia isn’t at fault with doping. 

[yandere-sins]

hello!! may i request prompt 23 “I’m so happy you finally wanted to take a picture with me! They can go right next to all of the ones of you sleeping.” with deku? thank you!💓

Of course!! That one works so well for Deku, thanks for requesting :D I decided for a bit less scary yan this time hahaha Enjoy!

Photos - “I’m so happy you finally wanted to take a picture with me! They can go right next to all of the ones of you sleeping.” 

»»———————— ♡ ————————««   

At first, you had been very nervous when you were invited to the get-together by your new college class. Who knew what kind of weird strangers you were sharing the lessons with, so did you really want to go on a weekend hike with them? There were enough horrifying stories on the internet about people getting lost or murdered, which didn’t give you the courage to roll with it.

Even if you thought nature was great, conquering it with a bunch of strangers you only met a week before, probably wouldn’t be the greatest idea of your life. But you didn’t want to be the only one to sit it out and have the other’s form friendships and connections while you were at home being unproductive. Even less you wanted to regret your decision later. This was college! You were all young adults! It was time to have fun and be merry!

That’s why you agreed to it.

And honestly? It was better than expected. Everyone seemed very careful on the first day to not step on each other’s foot. Still, by the end of it, people were joking around and laughing about stories. You quickly made connections with some boys and girls when you were grouped up with them to collect firewood for the great campfire that was going to burn on the first night of your hike. They all seemed friendly and welcoming, and you had a lot of fun with them.

Very quickly, over the next few days, you found out about good sheep and bad sheep in the group. It was simply impossible for everyone to get along, but you were glad that others had your back, making you forget about the negativity some people spread around. Before you knew it, it was already Sunday, and though you laughed at the few who very quickly got drunk and made out, you were glad for the friends you had gathered around you.

So much so that when someone suggested taking pictures together on the last night, you jumped onto the idea, running around to make additional memories with all the friends you made. It was already getting pretty late, some returning to their tents to rest up for the night (and some to have extra fun with students they got along too well, in your opinion), so you hurried to catch everyone before they went to bed. You wouldn’t see them in the morning where you’d go your separate ways again, so it had to be before that.

“Izuku!” you called out as you ran up to your new friend, immediately slowing down as you saw he was busy talking to someone else. But without a second of hesitation in him, he turned to you, smiling widely. You apologized for the interruption, and Izuku quickly wrapped up his conversation to dedicate himself to you.

“What’s up?” he grinned, and you immediately felt at ease, having feared you might have come off as rude. The last thing you wanted was to upset him since he had been your strong pillar this weekend. Talking to him was so easy and comfortable; you two had stayed up for hours talking at night and then continued while you were hiking. Even walking in silence side by side had been nothing less but comfortable, and you were glad that you caught him one last time before the end of the get-together. Not that you feared you two would lose sight of each other afterwards. However, not knowing how busy your lives would be once the studies became serious, you didn’t want to miss having something to remember your time by.

“Someone suggested making pictures with each other, and I just had to come and ask you!”

Immediately, you saw his posture straighten, smile only widening at your suggestion, while you fiddled with your phone. Who knows why, but you had been scared he would say no, which you’d have to accept, but would regret either way. Perhaps, there were budding feelings you had for him that you denied so far, and that’s why it would have hurt so much to be rejected. But you breathed a sigh of relief when he replied with a chipper, “That’s a great idea!”

You two quickly got into position as you turned on your phone’s face camera. Boldly, Izuku put his arm around your hips as if you two had been friends forever. You still remembered how timid he had been at first, but you quickly came to admire him for his courage and that he would stand up for you and your friends when you were confronted with one of the rotten eggs of the group. It truly made him look like a hero, his true colors showing, and you admired him for his strength yet modesty.

“Say cheese!” you chanted, both of you flashing your biggest smile before the camera went off. “Oh, that’s cute,” you beamed as you gave the photo a quick look to make sure it came out alright. “Let’s take another one,” Izuku suggested, grinning at you, both of you feeling giddy.

Quickly, you got back into position, leaning into his side and readying your camera. However, when you snapped the picture, you felt him hunch over and witnessed in the camera as his lips laid down against your cheek. Stunned, you looked on as the picture disappeared, Izuku’s gaze firmly stuck on you as you heard him whisper, “Another one?”

Reaching up to touch your cheek, you leaned away, and his hold around your waist loosened, giving you space. “Was that too much?” he asked, his shoulders sinking while he looked at you apologetically. “I didn’t mean to--”

“No!” you were quick to wave it off. “I- I was just surprised.”

“Oh...”

For a moment, you two stood there like ordered and not picked up before you could muster a single chuckle, shaking your head. Next thing you knew, both of you burst out into laughs and giggles. Yes, it was just like that with Izuku. It was easy. It made you feel at peace. As if you had known him forever, even though it had only been this last weekend. You had probably told him more about you than even your parents knew, and you felt like he had been very open about his past and present as well.

“You don’t have to keep that picture if you don’t want to, but would you mind sending them to me?”

That wasn’t a question he had to ask twice, as you quickly nodded, typing away a message with the photos attached to him. He was the first chat that popped up in your log, your conversations going way beyond mouth to mouth and having continued in your messages, so it was a matter of seconds until you had sent the files over. “It wasn’t uncomfortable...” you mumbled as you saw the picture of him kissing your cheek once more.

“Hm?” he replied, seemingly not having caught your small voice. “Oh, nothing!” you quickly brushed it off, suddenly losing the courage to repeat it and reveal some more how you felt.

Izuku didn’t probe further, nice enough to give you space in the matter, instead fishing for his phone, which was buzzing as it received your texts. “Ah, it’s so cute,” he laughed as he opened the pictures, a tinge of red falling over his cheeks. “I’m glad,” you mumbled, unable to keep the smile away from your face as you saw him so happy. Heat rose to your own face as well, and some of the buds in your stomach were blooming up as your fantasy ran wild. Perhaps this was the start of something special. And you were hopeful that you both felt the same way.

“It’s perfect for the collection,” he sighed, satisfied.

“Collection?” you asked, wondering if you had missed something. Did the group gather pictures to make a collection out of them?

“Yes!” Izuku peeked up, shining brightly. Your prince charming always shone brighter than the sun, in your opinion, but he managed to really string you along with his enthusiasm, making you feel excited as well. “I’m so happy you finally wanted to take a picture with me! They can go right next to all of the ones of you sleeping. Although...”

Wait. Sleeping? Pictures of you?

“This one is special, I’ll have to frame it.”

“What do you--”

You wanted to ask him about it when Izuku turned around, humming happily as he walked off, too deep in thought to even say ‘good night’ to you. You looked after him, flabbergasted, trying to make sense out of what he said. What pictures? What did he mean?

Days later, you found out exactly what Izuku had been talking about at this bizarre end of the trip you two had taken.

When he sent you a picture back, labeling it, “Perfect, isn’t it?”

Zooming in, you saw what must have been hundreds, if not thousands of pictures stuck to a wall, every one of them showing you. Some of you at your old school, some where you were out with your friends, some of you at home, in bed, getting dressed... And in the middle of it all, framed and polished, was the one where he kissed you, red marker scribbles on the glass, saying,

My Darling ♥

[disgruntledspacedad]

The White Room

The Better Love Series || Join My Tags

a sequel to Shit Hits the Fan

pairing: Javier Peña x Fem!Reader (Ears). Part of the Better Love ‘verse.

summary: Bill Stechner makes his move. You never even saw it coming.

words: 6.1k

warnings: 18+, plot, a little angst, a little fluff. 

notes: unbeta’d. this is a big one. notes at the end.

<< Shit Hits the Fan || These Hands are Magic >>

MASTERLIST

You take the embassy steps two at a time, wishing you’d have been notified about the change in your schedule just half an hour earlier.

You’d gotten a page just as you were headed out the door of the apartment. Stechner has decided to pull you from Centra Spike’s night flight over Medellín. He wants you at headquarters this evening instead. He didn’t say why. 

Part of you isn’t sorry. Escobar has been getting desperate lately, and between the outbreaks of violence in Medellín and the continued bombing campaign in Bogotá, you’ve been burning the candle at both ends. Javi, too. He’s been spending more and more time at the base in Medellín, and you’ve been spending more and more time in the skies, pulling random shifts through all hours of the day and night. 

It hasn’t put a strain on your relationship, exactly. In fact, in some ways, the little moments that you steal with Javi when your schedules just happen to mesh are all the more precious because of it. You’re both exhausted and a little cranky, but there’s been an underlying desperation to your recent interactions that’s only served to stoke the flame that flickers between you. 

It’s a bittersweet feeling. You cherish the time you get together, but on the other hand, it seems like even when Javi’s right there next to you, you miss him so much that your chest aches.

Which is why you’re miffed that Bill couldn’t have shuffled you around a little sooner. Javi’s been in Medellín for the past two days. He’d caught an early flight back to Bogotá just as you’d been finishing up another late shift flyover. You’d just happened to run into him at the embassy airstrip, a perfect coincidence. Your eyes had met over the tarmac, and like a pair of magnets, you’d crashed into one another. Javi had wrapped you into a fierce hug, and you’d pulled him into a heated kiss, and the two of you had spent a good five minutes canoodling in a hidden corridor near the water fountains, kissing and whispering and grappling for position as he’d pinned you against the wall. He’d breathed you in, and you’d reveled in the taste of him on your lips, each of you pressing frantically against the body of the other as if it had been weeks and not mere days since you’d been together. 

“I’ve got to go,” Javi had apologized into your mouth, breathing the words between a series of soft, desperate kisses. “Fucking… fucking early meeting with Martinez.”

“It’s okay, baby,” you’d reassured him, feeling very much like it wasn’t okay. You hardly get enough of him as it is. This tiny little taste had only deepened your aching need, and you’d felt your heart splitting in two as he’d pulled away from you, a small little grimace of frustration twisting his face. 

“I’ll see you soon,” you’d called as he’d hurried away, and he’d responded with a tight lipped smile and another dark look of longing. 

Now, you round the corridor toward the DEA office, walking as quickly as you can without drawing attention to yourself. Javi is working late again. If you hurry, you’ll have twenty five uninterrupted minutes with him before your night shift starts. 

“Ears!” You stop in your tracks, a little shudder of resentment flashing down your spine at Bill’s overeager greeting. “Just the lady I’ve been waiting to see.”

You school your face into a neutral expression of polite interest. Most days, you like Bill just fine, despite the fact that you really don’t trust him for shit. 

Today, damn him straight to hell.

“What’s up?” you ask, quirking your lips into an intrigued little grin. There’s a certain informality and blasé banter that Bill’s grown to expect from your encounters, and he’s sharp enough to sense that something’s off if you don’t perform.

“Oh, loads and loads,” Bill says, leaning casually against the corridor wall with his arms folded. 

You bite back a sigh. You really, really don’t have the patience to dance around him today. “Oh, really?”

Bill arches a questioning brow at you, and you remind yourself to be convincing, dammit. Usually, this isn’t an issue. Most days, you like your job, and your boss, just fine. 

Most days. 

“You’re bored, aren’t you, Ears?” Bill continues, pitching his voice deep, those probing eyes piercing straight through you.

“I -” you start. Bored isn’t how you’d describe it, lately.

Tired, more like. 

“No, no,” Bill’s expression is patient, endearing. “Don’t deny it. I’ve been watching you. I know that hungry look when I see it. You want more. You came to Colombia to do something important with your life, I can tell.”

Six months ago, hell, even three months ago, Bill’s words would have been true. Now, the very thought of more is enough to send you crawling into bed and sleeping for a week. 

‘Isn’t tracking down Pablo Escobar pretty fucking important?’ you’re half tempted to ask. You hold your tongue.

Obviously, it’s not to Bill Stechner.

“What do you have for me?” you say instead, hoping you sound intrigued, carefully not confirming or denying Bill’s suspicions. 

“Real work,” Bill says with a sharp smile. Something cold jolts down your spine at the his use of the word ‘real.’ 

As if everything until now has been a sham.

“Follow me,” he beckons, and you have no choice but to obey.

Bill leads you past the DEA offices. You catch a glimpse of the top of Javi’s head from the corner of your eye. He’s hunched over his desk, pouring over an open manilla file. You can barely see the deep furrow in his brow. He doesn’t notice you pass by, and you don’t pause to acknowledge him.

Something throbs in your chest at that.

You follow Bill through a few more winding corridors, down into the basement, past Centra Spike’s room, right up to an unassuming little bookcase built into a nondescript wall in the middle of nowhere. 

Bill pauses here, turning to look at you with shining eyes. 

You meet his stare, giving away nothing. 

With an enthusiasm that borders on theatrical, Bill huddles over a little keypad that’s tucked away at the edge of the bookcase. He punches in a series of numbers, glancing over to confirm that you’re still watching. 

You definitely are.

Bill steps back, and like something from an Indiana Jones film, the entire fucking bookcase slides aside, reveling a reinforced steel door built into the wall. 

“Whoa,” you can’t help but breathe.

Bill’s eyes glitter. He’s eating this up, impressing you. 

And truly, you’re impressed. That little spark of interest that had died in the past months of your burnout has flared with a vengeance. 

This is the shit that you joined the CIA for, and Bill Stechner knows it. 

“Welcome to the white room, Ears,” Bill announces lowly. It’s the soft, knowing voice of a man sharing a deeply guarded secret. He opens the steel door with a flourish, and it swings slowly aside, heavy and creaking, as if its weight alone could announce the gravity of what you’re about to see. 

Carefully, you step inside the room, ducking a little to avoid knocking your head against the low hanging doorway, crawling past the steel corridor entrance before you can straighten.

You blink, astounded at what you’re seeing.

Of course, you’ve heard whispers of CIA’s fabled “White Room,” a repository of classified files tucked away somewhere in the embassy basement. Even Javi’s mentioned it a couple of times, always with a hint of resentment, like he’d give his left arm for even a glimpse inside. Rumor is, Steve Murphy’s been in here before, but just once, and he was heavily supervised the entire time. It’s a fucking goldmine of intel, stacks upon stacks of carefully organized file folders, all at the fingertips of the few individuals who are important enough to be need-to-know. 

“Okay,” you whisper beneath your breath, taking it all in. Reality is a little different than you’d pictured. The entrance is impressive, sure, but what you’re staring at is even more so. Box after carefully labelled box is packed atop one another, stacked six deep on a never-ending series of steel shelves. 

You could spend an eternity here learning all of the secrets of Colombia. The implications are mind-boggling, and distantly, you wonder how many other well-hidden rooms the CIA has tucked away across a spread of foreign countries, a never-ending fountain of secrets related to god-knows-what.

Your brain stutters at the thought.

You realize suddenly that Bill is watching you carefully from the corner of his eye, observing your reaction as if he’s surreptitiously taking notes on every thought that flits across you brain. Again, you school your expression, reverting to that practiced, dead-eyed stare of careful neutrality. 

“Cool,” you say, a little breathlessly, knowing that Bill’s eager to wow you, and not seeing any reason not to acknowledge the fact that, yeah, you’re pretty fucking wowed. You turn to face him, ignoring the temptation to sweep your gaze over the many, many labeled files at your eye level. “So, what are we doing here?”

Bill laughs. “I’ll show you.” He leads you past the shelves, and now that you’re behind him, you can’t stop your eyes from tracking over the labels at your eye level. You’re appalled by what you see. 

Shelves upon shelves devoted to Escobar, and even more to the Cali Cartel, all broken down into sections of the individual godfathers. Rodriguez, Herrera, Bejarano, Moncado are all names that catch your eye. There are folders on each major sicario that you recognize from Javi’s info board: Mosquera, Lucumí, Vásquez, Gaviria... the list goes on. Even more files files are labeled Castaño. There’s a whole series of boxes on M-19, and a little past that, an entire shelf devoted solely to FARC. 

It’s more than your mind can possible comprehend in one quick sweep, and hell, that’s just what you could catch at eye level. 

It occurs to you that this is what Steve and Javi are always bitching about. Sure, you’re aware of the ever present pissing contest between the DEA and the CIA, but it’s always been peripheral information to you. Steve in particular is pretty vocal about his frustration with the ‘fucking CIA.’ “Goddamn file’s so redacted that it might as well be scrap,” you can just hear him muttering. 

Christ, if this is the kind of intel that the CIA has open access too, you can kind of see his point. 

Bill stops at a table in the center of the room, indicating it with a sweep of his hand. Reluctantly, you sit, a little annoyed that you’ve got your back to him now, but not feeling comfortable enough to twist around to track what he’s doing. Your instincts are screaming at you that this is a test. A big one. So you wait demurely in your tiny plastic chair, your hands folded primly in your lap, listening intently as Bill shuffles for something behind you.

After a long moment, Bill leans his hip heavily against the table, just a hair too close to your shoulder for you to be totally comfortable. You don’t have time to think on that, though, because he’s sliding a black and white photograph under your nose for you to view.

The man that leers up at you has a pinched face beneath a deep brow. His nose is long and lopsided, as if it’s been broken at least once. His thinning, limp hair hangs low over his eyes, giving him a mysterious, almost rebellious look. His mouth is wide, crooked teeth exposed in an open-mouthed grimace. He’s angling toward the camera, obviously unaware of its existence, leaning forward with a machine gun cradled to his chest.

“Feo,” you say instantly, your mouth working before your brain can catch up. You recognize him from the evidence board in the DEA office, and even more from your conversations with Javi. 

Feo is a low level sicario, one that’s just now caught the attention of Search Bloc, mostly due to the recent chatter that Centra Spike has picked up. You’ve yet to get a positive ID on his voice, but he’s been mentioned in several conversations lately, always in reference to ‘drops.’

Javi’s been working deep in the night to decipher these conversations, eager to learn what ‘drops’ Escobar and his sicarios are so desperate to come by.

“Feo,” Bill drawls, a hint of something sharp licking at his tone. You glance up at him, curious. “That’s an unfortunate nickname.”

He’s staring down at you with eyes that are too aware. Probing, assessing. 

Fuck.

“I’ve seen him on the DEA board,” you explain, grateful that you can provide an answer so quickly. You don’t like the way Bill is looking at you, like he’s daring you to confess a sin. 

“I didn’t realize there were many photos of him floating around,” Bill says casually. But you aren’t stupid. You read the threat in his statement, loud and clear.

“It’s a new one,” you reply automatically, feeling as if you’re scrambling to claw yourself out of a hole. 

But this is also true. Feo has been an ongoing mystery to Search Bloc, one that they haven’t taken seriously until recently. You wonder what it is about this man that’s got Bill so on edge. 

Bill hums. “Good eye.”  He hunches over the photograph, so close that you can feel his body heat against your neck. 

“This is Raul Manriquez.” Bill taps the forehead of the man in the photograph, then turns to leer at you. “Apparently, he’s known to his friends as Feo.”

He’s watching you for a sign. You refuse to give it.

“So,” you ask after a beat. Bill folds his arms across his chest, waiting for you to continue. He’s not giving any signs either, the dickwad. “What does the CIA want with Raul Manriquez?” 

Bill has never behaved this way with you before. There’s a certain weight to the way he regards you that hints at paranoia. He’s deeply, almost obsessively interested in this man, and it doesn’t make sense. 

Feo is a sicario, sure. But sicarios are far, far below Bill’s pay grade. The thought is laughable, even.

Something drops in your stomach. If Feo is more than a sicario, as it seems he must be, then it is far, far above your pay grade to be this involved.

Bill pulls out a chair beside you and sits heavily. He leans on his elbow, swinging his legs so that his knees brush your thighs. 

You echo him, carefully positioning yourself so that you’re facing one another, but no longer touching.

“We have intel to suggest that Raul Manriquez is connected with a Russian weapons ring,” Bill starts. You notice for the first time that he looks tired, too, his eyes a little bloodshot, heavy bags dropping darkly beneath them. 

Something clicks in your brain. “He’s Pablo’s weapons guy,” you breathe. The pieces fall together with startling clarity. The drops that the sicarios had mentioned. The fact that Feo seems to stay at the periphery of things, not nearly as involved with the day-to-day bullshit that other sicarios seem to thrive on. “He’s running guns.”

“Among other things,” Bill drawls, seeming thoroughly bored by the turn in the conversation.

You ignore that. Your thoughts are spinning wildly, forging connections, solving problems. Escobar’s got to get his weapons from somewhere. In the back of your mind, you’ve always sort of known this, but the significance of it has stayed firmly out of sight, swamped by other things that, at the time, had seemed far more important. 

But if you could catch Feo… If you could choke off Pablo’s lethality directly at the source…

“We could end this,” you whisper, sitting up to look Bill directly in the eye. Your voice rises. “Bill, if we neutralize Feo, Escobar’s lost his access to his guns.” Something swoops in your heart, and you feel brighter, more energized than you have in weeks. “We can end this war!”

“Oh, the fucking drug war.” Bill scoffs, waving his hand in a casual gesture of lazy dismissal. He looks frustrated, disappointed. “Ears, broaden you horizons a little, sister. Escobar is on the run. When he’s gone,” Bill leans in, the glint in his eye damned near dangerous. “And he will be gone, Ears, trust me.” He huffs a deep sigh, shaking his head as he pitches away to balance on the far feet of his chair, rocking back and forth in a way that reminds you of a restless kid in a elementary school classroom. His eyes are sharp, possessive as they pin yours. “What then?”

You stare at him flatly, a little miffed to have nearly a year of your life’s work brushed aside as if it’s just petty bullshit. 

You shake that emotion away, blinking hard, reminding yourself of where you are, of who your boss is. With the lines as blurred as they are in Colombia, and your unique position dancing between Centra Spike, the DEA, and the CIA, and Search Bloc, it’s easy to forget that ultimately, it’s Bill Stechner who owns you.

For the first time, that thought deeply unsettles you.

Bill falls forward heavily on his elbows, looking at you with a furrowed brow, and you remind yourself for the umpteenth time that this meeting is a performance, one that you’ve utterly and completely bombed until now.

You brain spins, processing the little bits and pieces of information that you’ve been given. Bill sees Escobar’s fall as in inevitability, inconsequential, even. He’s concerned about Feo in the context that he’s connected to the weapons trade in Colombia. 

Quickly, you consider what you know about Bill Stechner. A CIA big wig with a shady-ass military background. A man who’s mind lives in the future. 

A future without Escobar. He’s made that much clear.

“You’re looking to fill a power vacuum,” you announce suddenly, knowing instinctively that you’re not far off the mark. Bill Stechner is a man who is always thinking ahead, studying the political chessboard to analyze his next move, and the one after that, too.

And that truth bomb jars free even more thoughts that have been floating untethered in the back of your mind. When he’s not skulking around his office, Bill is gone for weeks at a time, supposedly off in depths of the amazonian jungle, brushing shoulders with his right winged military buddies. 

Commie hunting.

The pieces fall perfectly into place, painting a sobering picture, and all the while, Bill watches, a sharp little grin playing at his lips as you connect the dots. 

“Bill,” you say, refusing to accept any bullshit. You thump your finger hard against Feo’s leering smirk, pinning Bill with a dark stare. “Is this guy connected with FARC?”

Both of Bill’s brows arch skyward, and he leans back, looking at you with a new light in his eyes. You get the impression that once again, you’ve impressed him. 

You’re not sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing.

“I don’t know, Ears,” Bill admits, glancing away to his hands, which are suddenly curling into fists in his lap. You can tell it really grinds his gears, the uncertainty. “That’s what I want to find out.” 

You consider him carefully, keeping your face expressionless. This is the most open response you’ve ever gotten from Bill, and you file away that information along with everything else you’ve learned today.

It’s a lot.

“What do you need from me?” 

It’s a valid question. Part of you, the part that is equally intrigued and enraptured by Bill Stechner and the CIA as a whole, genuinely wants to help. 

The rest of you is just desperate to get out of this room.

Bill’s lips slide into a knowing smirk. “Well, Ears,” he drawls, eyeing you in a way that makes something sink in your gut. “I’m glad you asked.”

“I’m listening.” You deliberately leave off the ‘sir,’ that you’re tempted to tack on to the end of that statement. Damn your army background.

“This is the moment that we’ve put you in place for,” Bill confesses, hunching forward on his elbows. Again, you get the impression that he’s trying to reel you in, seducing you with a show of honesty. 

You brace yourself. 

“The DEA is interested in this man, too,” Bill starts, shooting you a pointed look that says ‘I know you already know this.’ You keep your face carefully blank, so Bill continues. “I know that they’ve been working to track his location.”

Something cold coils in your heart. “Are you asking me to spy on Search Bloc?” you ask point blank. 

Bill shakes his head. “No, no, no, Ears,” he chides with an expression of extreme patience, as if you’re a child to him. “That would be counterproductive. We’re all on the same team, after all.” He pins you with a dead-eyed stare that sends a shiver down your spine. “I’m asking you to fully engage in your position with the CIA.” Bill stresses the last point, again reminding you of who you are, who you answer to. “You’re a liaison.” He hums a little, all casual disinterest, disarming you, reinforcing the bonds of loyalty that he’s forged with a simple shrug of his shoulders. “So, liaise.”

You realize with a starling, icy jolt of clarity that Bill Stechner has tolerated your relationship with Javier Peña for this very reason, that he’s garnered your favor - accepting your transfer request, giving you a raise, buying you drinks, playing your buddy - all in preparation for using you as his own personal mole in the ranks of Search Bloc.

And you’d fallen for it, hook, line, and sinker.

Your throat works hard to swallow against a suddenly dry mouth. “I understand, sir.” 

For the first time, Bill doesn’t correct your formality. You hardly notice the shift, though. You’re still reeling from the implications of what he’s asking of you, of how he’s exploited you, taken advantage of all of your vulnerabilities.  Suddenly, you feel as if you’re choking, like a noose is tightening, tightening around your neck. You have to stop yourself from reaching to massage your throat, clenching your hands into tight firsts into your lap instead.

Bill watches it all in cool amusement. “Atta girl,” he praises, and you swear you taste bile. He stands, and you copy him absently, feeling detached and awkward, walking on legs that require all of your attention to keep from trembling. 

Bill claps a heavy hand on your shoulder. His eyes flash with something like pride, and you decide in that moment that you hate him, this motherfucker, almost as much as you hate yourself for falling for his bullshit. 

Goddammit, you’re so fucking stupid.

“Good talk,” he says, and you nod in a way that you hope is contemplative without being telling.

You follow Bill out of the room on wooden legs, your mind spinning with the implications of your conversation. He nods to you as the bookshelf slides shut behind you, and you nod back, relieved to see that he turns to head the opposite direction from the DEA office. 

You glance down at your watch. You’ve got ten minutes if you hurry. With all your heart, you hope that Javi is still working. 

You need to see him.

You push past his glass door, swinging it open hard enough that it bangs ominously against the wall. Javi is still slumped over his desk in the exact same position as before, studying a jumbled series of papers, a half-spent cigarette dangling from his lips.

Your breath catches at the sight of him. 

His head snaps up at your noisy arrival, dark eyes narrowed at the intrusion. His expression softens when he sees that it’s you. 

“Ears.” His voice is a sigh, a release of that same tension that you feel leaking from you own bones, and you dart forward, heedless of who might be watching beyond the glass walls.

“Hey,” you say, shoving aside an opened manilla folder to create a bare space for you to lean against. Javi doesn’t seem to mind that in the least, so you flop up onto his desk, pressing your thigh against his elbow, enjoying the feeling of just sharing the same space.

Javi glances at you, and your something lurches in your chest as you take him in. He looks haggard, exhausted, dark bags gathered beneath his bloodshot eyes like he hasn’t had good night’s sleep in far too long. 

“Another little chat with Stechner?” he grouses, peering up at you with narrow gazed suspicion. 

Your heart sinks, and you have to blink hard against the onslaught of his ire. Javi’s always been grouchy when he’s tired, and there’s nothing that drives him into a funk faster than any mention of Bill Stechner. It’s as if he has a sixth sense in that regard, like he can smell Bill on your skin. 

And that’s a gross thought.

Until now, Javi’s attitude had irked you, and you’d written it off as petty, just another brand of that delightfully obnoxious possessiveness that he’s continuously displayed since your apartment was bombed.

But dammit, you’re the moron here, not Javi. He’d been right not to trust Bill.

You shut your eyes tightly. You wonder if Javi should even trust you, given your most recent assignment. 

“Please don’t,” you whisper, not knowing how to put your many worries into words, and Javi must read your conflicted mood, because he lets the subject drop. He huffs, his attention falling back to the open file on his desk, his long fingers working little tapping patterns into its intricate woodgrain.

You follow his gaze, noticing that he’s been pouring over the same photograph that Bill had shown you in the white room. Feo’s ugly mug leers back at you, a knowing, secretive smirk playing at his upturned lips, like he’s mocking you, the motherfucker.

A flood of emotions swamp you. You’ve watched Javi squinting down at this same photo for days, his mind spinning as he attempts to tease out connections, completely stumped as to how this unassuming, ugly man fits into the bigger picture of Pablo Escobar and his sicarios. 

And now you know, but there’s not a damn thing you can say about it. Bill’s going to be watching you. Hell, he’d admitted as much today. Verbatim. If he thinks that his little spy is sharing classified CIA intel with her DEA boyfriend… 

Well, honestly, you’re not sure what would happen. You just know that it would be bad news for you, and probably even worse for Javi.

You release a deep, broken sigh, exhaling though your nose. You wonder how you’re going to balance it all, working for Bill without betraying Javi.

Well, you absolutely refuse to do that. Fuck Bill Stechner for even asking.

But now, watching Javi huddled over his messy desk, squinting in the dim light because he refuses to wear his fucking glasses, frazzled and careworn and a little cranky, something pulls at your chest. 

Refusing to share this intel feels a lot like a betrayal already, and suddenly, you’re desperate to confess it all to him, to crawl into Javi’s lap and spill your guts and cry and beg for his forgiveness for blowing off his concerns about Stechner, for even entertaining the thought of withholding information from him.

Just as you feel like you’re ready to burst, Javi sighs deeply, flopping the file shut. He grinds out  his cigarette and turns to glance at you, his eyes dark with need. 

Your breath catches.

Then, without a word, Javi pitches forward to rest his head against your thigh. He nuzzles there for a moment, and you find yourself carding your fingers through his hair, helpless against the temptation to touch him, comfort him.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs after a long moment.

“Shh,” you whisper. Guilt gnaws at you. You’re the one who should be sorry. 

But Javi huffs a hot little breath against your leg, and you brush aside all thoughts of who should trust who, of loyalty and ethics and treason and chain of command. Right now, your entire universe is resting his head in your lap, and you’re determined to enjoy this moment, fallout be damned. 

“Baby,” he murmurs into the rough denim of your jeans, and your heart flutters. You bring your opposite hand to rest at the back of his neck, savoring the softness of his skin there, winding your fingers through the curls that brush against his collar.

Javi shudders at your touch, and you remember belatedly that you’re stroking at his number one erogenous zone, teasing him mercilessly without meaning him to. 

Reluctantly, you pull away, resting your palm at the slope of his shoulder instead. “Whoops.”

Javi snorts, craning his neck just enough to arch his only visible eyebrow in your direction. The rest of his face is squished into your thigh.

It’s fucking adorable, and it reminds you all over again how little you deserve him, this precious, perfect man. 

“What’s wrong?” Javi asks, like he’s sensed the direction of your thoughts. He twists further to frown up at you. One hand comes up to rest at the juncture of your hip, his thumb pressing deeply into your skin. 

It’s a comfort. 

“Nothing,” you mutter, because you can hardly say ‘everything.’ You busy yourself with working little circles at the base of Javi’s ear, hoping it’s enough to distract him from his line of questioning. 

 It’s not. Javier Peña has a mind like a steel trap, and he notices everything. “Bull,” he breathes, shutting his eyes despite his best efforts. “You’re worried ‘bout something.”

God, he looks wrecked. 

“I just…” You struggle for the right words to to offer him, come up empty. “God, I hate this.”

That one dark eyes flutters open again, soft with concern. 

“I miss you,” you blurt before he can dig any further. And oh, god, that’s not a lie. You miss Javi so much it fucking burns, even with him nuzzled right here in your lap.

Javi draws a deep breath, rolling over to expose the entire left side of his face. His opposite arm comes up to wrap around your waist so that he’s almost hugging you, his fingers digging gently into your flank. “What time is your shift over, baby?” he mumbles, his one visible eye glinting, nearly feverish with need. 

“Mmm,” you hum, your pulse hammering away in response to the how he’s looking at you. “I can probably be home by eight,” you say sadly. 

And really, that’s pushing it. It all depends on what you hear over the frequencies, and how quickly you can vet it. Anybody’s guess at this point in the game.

Javi blusters a deep sigh that prickles hotly at your inner thigh. “Dammit,” he groans, clenching his eyes shut in frustration.

“What’s your morning like?” In the craziness of the past few days, you’ve completely forgotten his schedule. 

“Early,” Javi mutters darkly. He doesn’t look at you.

“Fuck.” 

“Hardly,” he pouts against your jeans.

And god, you can’t blame him. Resentment wells hot in you. You just want a break, dammit, just a single fucking day to spend with the man you love. 

Is that so much to ask?

Suddenly desperate for more contact, you bend down to drop a gentle kiss at his temple. 

Javi inhales sharply as your lips meet his skin, and you lay there like that, contorting over him in a way that makes your sides ache and probably displays half of your bare back to anybody who happens to walk past the glass walls of the DEA office right now. 

You don’t fucking care. You need this. 

“Can I meet you for lunch tomorrow?” you ask as you finally pull away. You haven’t bothered glancing at your watch, but instinct is telling you that you’re already running late for your shift, and your back is killing you.

Javi sits up, slumping against his office chair with his legs splayed sideways. He’s all wild hair and furrowed brow, and if you weren’t at work, you’d be tempted to crawl into his lap and kiss that contemplative look right off his face.

“That might work,” he says slowly, licking his upper lip a little in that way that means he’s thinking hard. Something coils deep in your belly, and you have to shake your thoughts away from those lips and that tongue, and what all they’re capable of. 

Javi cocks a brow at you, tilting his head a little. “What are you thinking?”

Fuck it, it’s late. You slide off his desk, planting yourself in his lap with your legs spread across his, grinding subtly against his thighs. His belt buckle digs into your belly, but you don’t give a shit. You tilt his face to yours, reveling for half a second in his confused, awestruck expression before you plant your lips on his for a deep, gentle kiss. Javi moans a little at the contact, plaint and responsive against your advances, his hands coming to graze at your back reverently. 

“I was thinking I’d ride,” you whisper against the stubble at his lower jaw just as you lean in to suck at it. 

Javi twitches against you, a tiny jolt of his hips, like he’s tempted to take you right here in his rickety office chair, damn the glass walls. 

“I need to see your face,” you continue, pulling his hands up to rest at your ribs as you rock gently against him, a subtle preview of tomorrow’s menu.

Javi shudders beautifully beneath you. “What, this ol’ thing?’ he teases, nuzzling against your breastbone. You can tell that he’s pleased by the thought. 

“This pretty thing,” you correct, working your way back to his lips. 

Javi bites back a groan as you kiss him. “Was asking about food,” he murmurs against your mouth. “But this is better.” 

“Don’t worry about food,” you say, falling forward to nuzzle against his neck. “I’ll take care of it. And it will be perfect.”

Javi snorts. “Better be takeout, then.” He gathers you against his body with strong arms, cradling you close. You breathe him in, reveling in the distant smell of coffee and stale cigarette, all mixed in with a hint of musky sweat and something smoky and dark that is uniquely Javier Peña. 

“God, baby, I’m looking forward to it,” he confesses against the hollow of your throat, and you throw your head back, shut your eyes and let him ravage you there, just for a moment. 

Javi pulls away far too soon, and you shudder at the loss of him, your body damn near trembling with need. 

He rolls back in his chair, glancing up at you with an apology in his eyes. “It’s eight oh five,” he tells you somberly, and you wince, disentangling yourself from him, stumbling out of his chair and straightening your shirt and threading your fingers through your wild hair in an effort to smooth it down. 

“How do I look?” you ask after a moment, backing up enough to give him the full effect of you. 

Javi’s eyes are burning as he takes you in, damn near shimmering with want and exhaustion and pent up emotion, and you curse Bill Stechner once again for butting his big nose into your relationship, for complicating things that should be so fucking simple.

“Perfect,” Javi says lowly, his lips pursed into a thin line, his eyes glittering with some thought that you can’t name. “Fucking perfect.”

Something wrenches in your chest, and you catch your breath, feeling tears prickle at your eyes. You suck them down, frustrated at how often life in Colombia seems to draw your emotions to the forefront. 

Nobody needs that. 

You lean forward, unable to resist dropping one last, chaste kiss to Javi’s forehead. “Go to bed, Javi,” you whisper against his skin. You pull away, a gentle, teasing smile spreading across your face. “Seriously, baby. It’s just getting stupid now.”

You wink at him, and Javi huffs a little laugh. “Get out of here, Ears,” he grouses, waving a lazy hand at you, but his smile is gentle and soft, and you know that he’s recognized the reference for what it is.

Feeling lighter than you have in days, you shoot him one last cheeky wave. Javi blows a little kiss at you in response, and your heart stutters at the gesture. 

God, he’s such a sap.

You damn near dance to the Centra Spike office, slipping into your headphones a full ten minutes later than you really should. Nobody bats an eyelash, though, and you busy yourself with the normal nightshift bullshit, sipping your coffee and switching to the proper frequencies, the promise of tomorrow glowing in your heart. 

♠

notes/confessions:

I struggled so hard with this. I still don’t love it, but I’m sick of looking at it, so here ya go. Enjoy.

Okay, I know I have thrown some massive plot things at you this week. I know it’s complicated, and I know it’s a lot. Feel free to ask me questions. I’ve tried to make things as clear as possible, but I’m only human, Narcos is complicated af anyway, and Better Love is even worse, probably. 

Look for updates to slow back down again, because a) I actually do have a job, and b) we’re getting close to the point where I’m going to have to start posting If I Fall, and I want to have my chapters outlined a little better and maybe even a few deep before I do that. Look for a few little fluffy one-shots scattered between then and now, but guys... for the most part, the pieces are in place, and we are in the home stretch - of the setup, that is. 

Holy fucking shit.

Tags:  @jedi-mando, @perropascal, @hotspacepilots, @mostly-megan, @starlight-starwrites​, @thirstworldproblemss, @knittingqueen13, @yespolkadotkitty, @lv7867, @pascalisthepunkest, @sarahjkl82-blog, @corrupt-fvcker, @artsymaddie, @leonieb, @justanotherblonde23, @princess-and-pedro

Javier Peña tags: @magpie-to-the-morning, @tiffdawg, @danniburgh, @1800-fight-me, @mandoandgrogu, @hybrid-in-progress, @va-guardianhathaway, @speakerforthedead0, @feminist-violinist, @herefortheart, @dontmindifidontt, @blo0dangel 

[kekoma]

— 𝐫𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐥 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫. (𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞)

❝you wouldn’t defy my favor, correct?❞ | one more is all ushijima says so one more is what he’ll get. 

word count : 1,274

contains : overstimulation, ig dubcon, slight manipulation, praise

note : keep in mind this isn’t an modern day prince setting. rather its the edo era instead. also wrote this while low on sleep so apologizes if it’s not great/has some mistakes  (may possibly re-do this later). regardless, hope you enjoy. 

chants from nocturnal creatures combined with the nearby soothing flow of water accompanying an lily pond had no longer orchestrated the vastly chamber anymore.

rather an obscene resonance painted themselves on the walls as frigid orbs cauterized your glowing skin from above, your lips extracted from one another due to his deft fingers toying between your. as much as you squirmed, mewling small pleads for his majesty to free you from such torment— none of it worked. instead, it had fueled him to continue his torment on your cunt.

“won’t you enlighten me with another lewd face my sweet little one?” ushijima whispered immorally, leaning down as if he would grant you the opportunity to kiss his plushy soft pink lips to escape your stimulation that drowned your body, however, it only hovered tauntingly; “just one more. one more.”

the words ‘just one more’ had felt like they were engraved on his tongue, rattling inside of your mind as those few words had no truth behind them. rather, it was another way of him to bring you to the idea that you would be freed from his hidebound grip and your body wouldn’t have to continue to be subjected to such an lewd scene. a lewd scene that you couldn’t help but squeak out in pleasure with embarrassment mixed within at the thought of it all.

your robe had been bedraggled, revealing your figure to the paper lantern that sat near you both. the sweet scent of your nectar, sweat, and pure lust intoxicated you both as your eyes continuously fluttered with each feeble touch toshi provided. legs parted enough for him to fit between with comfort as he indulged in a few lust driven kisses with you before returning to his previous position to watch you. to him, it was like playing an instrument— knowing your body as if it were one, he knew exactly how to strum you in order to hear those melodic sound he considered pure ecstasy to his ears.

as much as you tried to recall how you ended up in this situation, nothing could came to mind yet again, the feeling of your core preparing itself to spasm once more stopped any incoming memories or thoughts; “’m close..! so c-close.” you whimpered out as your hands reached to grip his forearms— nails digging into his flesh and leaving small wounds, “go ahead little one, but look at me while you do it.” instead of his typical voice from early, it came more horsed just a bit but you paid no true mind once you came all over the prince’s nimble fingers for the 5th time while following his order. when he pulled him away, licking up your juices with an delighted smile, you assumed a clean up and rest would follow suit. oh were you wrong. so so wrong.

instead ushijima completely disrobed himself, revealing his fat cock, angry-redden tip with precum leaking from the glistening slit— sliding down the prominent veins that greeted your eyes;

“you’re such a good girl for me angel. almost too good for me.” he collected your slick with his cock, making sure to coat it nicely even if your body twitched from the feeling and you whined, “no more.. no more your highness.”

“no need to call me that. it’s toshi to you angel and just for me. i have to prep you like that or else you won’t be able to take me all.”

hearing his words made your heart skip a beat. did he truly expect you to be okay with all of this? your body was exhausted. you were generally exhausted. cold too from all your cum covering your legs. 

before you could disagree, the feeling of his tip circling and probing your small hole caused you to automatically push against his stomach. the feeling of your hands pressed against his hot flesh inflicted a bit of pique.

“now little one... can’t do that. you wouldn’t defy my favor, correct?” ushijima’s tone became sweeter, tooth rotting sweet as he came close to peck your lips. one time. two. three, “say you wouldn’t defy me. not when i treat you so well and proclaim you as my favorite chambermaid.” you weren’t in the right state of mind to completely comprehend the bitter sweet words he spoke. rather you let him get into your head, allowing him to do what he desired with you.

when noticing your hands traveling upwards to wrap around his neck, ushijima knew he had you right in his hold. however, he didn’t gloat in the glory of winning for long— rather he took the chance to shove his dick into you with one swift thrust. your squeal of pain echoed as tears threaten to leak as your nails ripped away at his bare back. 

an afflictive hiss escaped his lips yet he did remove your hands, restraining above your head like normal. instead wakatoshi opted to comfort you through doting touches on your sides— occasionally his hands will stop at your hip and clutch them until you mewled for toshi to stop.

“my pretty girl. you always make the prettiest sounds for me and taking me in so well. i never want to stop fucking you.” 

praise after praise left those soft lips of his as you could no longer muster the energy to speak back. with half-lidded eyes, body occasionally arching away from his bed as every single thrust and another climax approaching. a familiar one at that—nothing but incoherent babbles were enough to tell the prince you were too far gone. most of the time, he would be satisfied with it, however, he wasn’t this time. 

to gain another type of reaction, toshi never halted his movement when lifting one of your legs onto his shoulder so his fat cock could hit deeper into you; “t-tosh...! please, please, please,”

“please what little one?” proceeding to change the pace for something more ruthlessly than before and that would leave you almost foggy, toshi switched from watching your cunt flutter around his cock aimlessly to your adorable lewd faces followed by those sweet sweet sounds that escaped. when you hadn’t responded, putting a hand back on his stomach and attempting to push him away— he released a hand from your hip and grabbed your face, “speak to me. what are you begging for angel?”

“toshi! toshi! h-haaah..! hah— toshi!” 

no need for him to know what you were warning him about due to the fact your figure shook more as you squirted on his cock, practically spraying his torso and yourself. eyes rolling back a little as your back arched, the sight of you had been able to bring ushijima to cum inside you with an loud yet deep groans. 

“good girl. my sweet little good girl.” ushijima praises you one last time as he cups your face, leaning in to kiss all over your face in silent. you took this opportunity to hold him closer and he showed no sign of pulling away, rather letting you feel a smile form on his lips when he returned for your lips once more, “you’re really too good to me.”

“mhmm.” a hum was all you could managed to produce as you connoted that you were going down for a nap, however, with the feeling of toshi lifting you up to sit in his laps— feeling of dismay washed over you when catching on to the sweet smile you felt just merely a few minutes ago turn into something sinister:

“one more angel. just one more and i’ll set you free. think you can do that for me?”

© all content belongs to kekoma 2020. do not repost, modify or translate.

[writefightandflightclub]

Tiptoe around this (Poe Dameron x reader)

Summary: Poe x short!reader. He CANNOT deal with your smolness.

Rating: TEEN

Author’s note: I’m doing soft blurbs this week bc you all deserve a hug from one of our fave fictional husbands. Let’s all destress and be comforted one blurb at a time, okay? (I’m doing these quickly so I can complete as many as I can for you, so they’ll be a bit scrappy, please forgive!) This one deleted itself and then I ahd to recreate it from nothing. The first version was better and probably had fewer typos but here we are. Ran out of time to check before dinner!

Warnings: short!reader; kissing (mildly steamy, no smut or implied smut).

GIF: @thestarwarsdaily​ LOOK HOW PRETTY

Poe’s dying. He swears he’s dying.

He’s doing his best to obscure this fact from Rey and Finn, however, so continues engaging in casual chat all the while as he hurtles towards his demise.

Poe’s dying, and, cause of death? Your cuteness.

Poe watches you surreptitiously from across the hangar. Watches as you realise someone has stolen your step ladders again, despite the fact you etched your kriffing name onto them in Aurebesh last time this happened. And so, to reach the tools you need -valiantly struggling on with your tasks anyway- you clamber up the face of the shelves and stretch to your full length as you attempt to grab down the box.

It appears you can’t quite reach them, even having climbed into a pretty precarious position.

The trouble is, you’re just too kriffing smol.

And it kills Poe. Every single time.

Of course, your height is only one of the reasons he likes you. He’s never even had a preference for his partner’s height before, to be honest. There’s just something about you. Something about how short you are which brings out his protective instincts. Makes him want to hold you and take care of you and spoil you. And Poe is already the type of guy to spoil his partner, so you can imagine how he feels about you.

Oh, and it certainly helps that you’re so kriffing gorgeous too. And funny. And nice. And did he mention SMOL?

Poe would never be patronising towards you because of your size, of course. He knows you’ve been underestimated plenty of times because of it - by both the enemy and allies- and without good reason! You might be cute to a lethal degree, but Poe is also well aware that you’re badass, capable, intelligent, and fierce. Small but mighty, you could say.

Still, when he sees you on your tippy toes trying to reach the box of parts, his heart melts and dribbles out of his feet. Or, at least, that’s what it feels like.

Death, by cuteness.

As you continue to persevere, Poe stops pretending to listen to Finn and Rey’s chatter altogether, a dopey smile settling on his face. He stands from the chair he’s straddling to zoom over to you, before some other handsome, height-endowed recruit can come to your assistance. He couldn’t have that, now, could he?

“Hey,” he says from behind you, a warm and gentle hand settling on your shoulder in greeting. “Can I help you?”

Poe hopes he can reach the damn shelf, because whilst he’s certainly taller than you are, he’s not exactly Chewy. Now, that would be embarrassing.

“Sure,” you say, even as you huff and puff, successfully grappling the box down to the floor without any further intervention. You recognise the Commander’s familiar, sandy voice before you even turn around, but when you do, you flash him a warm smile, and he could swear -if you killed him a moment ago- that smile has revived him back to life. “You can tell your damn recruits to stop stealing my ladders, Commander. I wouldn’t tolerate this behaviour from my squadron.”

You’re adorable, for sure, but there’s a fire in your eyes telling Poe you are not to be messed with. In fact, he’s sure that given half a chance you could raze the whole First Order to the ground, even if you did the whole thing on your tip toes.

Poe simply looks at you goofily, trying to remember how to speak, your eyes big as you gaze up at him from beneath your lashes. You’re basically a whole head shorter than him, if not more, and he can’t help but want to pull you into a hug, imagining how it would feel to enfold you against his chest and rest his chin on top of your head as his arms wound around you.

“Commander?” you ask again, clicking your fingers in front of his face. “I’m sick of doing everything on my tiptoes - I’m not a ballerina.”

Your gesture brings him back to the real world, and he notices the rolled-up sleeves of your flight suit as they hover in front of his face, his eyes dropping to the rolled-up cuffs of the legs resting on top of your boots. Standard-issue is too long for you and… yes, you’ve guessed it…

Kriffing adorable.

“Sure thing, Commander,” he finally says, still retaining that dopey, lovestruck expression on his face.

You nod to thank him, getting lost in his umber eyes somewhere along the way. He’s always entirely flustered when he speaks to you, and quite frankly, it’s so adorable that it makes your heart melt out of your feet. At least, that’s what it feels like.

You like Poe, and you think he likes you, but... both of you have been tiptoeing around this for far too long now.

“You know, there’s maybe one thing I like to do on my tiptoes,” you say with a knowing smirk as Poe looks helplessly between your eyes and lips, helplessly lost in yearning.

“What’s that?” he asks, and he can swear he intended the words to come out at a normal volume, despite the fact a mere whisper is all that emerges. Still, he’s happy as it causes you to lean in closer.

“Kissing,” you say with a gentle suggestion in your eyes, voice breathy and matching his hushed tones. You think it’s about time one of you makes a move, and it may as well be you.

Poe visibly gulps, and shuffles his feet a little closer to you.

Is this really happening?

He’s not sure how many times he can die and be reborn in one day, if he’s honest. The implication of your words and in your eyes encourages him though. Besides, he’s waited long enough for this moment, and now is as good a time as any, right?

“Kissing, huh? Well, honey, do you think you’d need to be on your tiptoes to kiss me?”

Your tongue darts out over your bottom lip, and an eagerness swells in your whole being, your body tingling with nerves and heat. Your mouths inch towards one another as if magnetised, your chin tipping up and his head stooping lower to greet you, as months of tension is compressed into the diminutive space between you.

“Guess we should find out,” you suggest with a sultry smirk, pausing a small distance from his lips, sharing the same air in the tight space between you.

Poe wraps his arms around your back, his hands feeling large and broad against you. You feel delicate encased in his strong arms, and you grab firmly at the holsters around his wide hips, tugging him close and bringing his body flush to yours. Poe feels warm and big and sturdy pressed against you. You’ve always been independent and capable, and yet there is something about Poe Dameron which makes you want to swoon for him, if only he would pledge to protect and care for you in all the ways your diminutive form might suggest you need him to.

Poe’s face inches closer and closer to yours, his lips pausing a hair’s breadth away from yours as your eyes fan shut, leaving you wanting. You swear your lips are tingling from the near-contact alone, crying out to brush with his.

“Oh oh,” he teases. “Can’t reach.”

You smile as you stand up on your tiptoes, closing the distance in an instant and crushing your lips to his, finding them soft, a hint of stubble grazing your cheek and he tips his head to the side. Upon contact, his tongue melds immediately with yours, deftly probing the cave of your mouth and melting you from within. Your hands slide up and up, coming to rest with your fingers laced around his neck, slipping into his hair.

As the kiss sparks and grows, Poe’s arms wrap firmly around your waist, and he bundles you up towards him, easily taking most of the weight of you, until your toes are entirely lifted off the floor as the kiss reaches its peak. You feel like you’re floating, in every sense.

Breathless and floored by that kiss, Poe sets you gently down, idiotic grins spreading across both of your faces as you stand there for a moment, still holding each other close. Poe looks down at you with adoration shining in his eyes, backlit with a gentle heat.

Feet back on the ground, more or less, you look self-consciously around as you both become suddenly aware of the hubbub created by the fact you both did that in the middle of the hangar.

Oops.

When your eyes look up at Poe again, he still has the softest, lovestruck smile on his pretty face.

“See you later?” he asks hopefully.

“Yeah. I hope so,” you respond, returning his smile, and you stand on your toes to plant a quick chaste kiss to his cheek, cupping his face in your hand. You could swear his skin darkens in embarrassment, and he turns from you with the most bashful and adorable expression you’ve seen on his face yet.

You’re dying, you think. You must be dying. Death by cuteness.

You ignore the commotion you’ve caused, for the most part, and you watch Finn accost Poe for gossip as he tracks across the hangar. You see Rey beelining for you too, the dumbest grin on her face, and you turn back to your work as you notice her approach, taking a much-needed moment to catch your breath.

You kissed him. Poe Dameron. Your long-time crush.

It was true, that the two of you have both spent far too long tiptoeing around this, but it seems that Poe has finally swept you off your feet. It’s safe to say that you’ve never been so glad in your life to be too short to reach a shelf. Funny then, that his kiss has you feeling ten feet tall.

What’s more, this the last day that anyone steals your stepladders. Poe sees to that. Ain’t no-one gonna mess with his precious, smol bean. At least, not if he has anything to do with it.

[jerkbitchidjitassbutt]

It Was You (Part Two)

A/N: Jensen and Y/n are childhood best friends. When his agent informs him that his image could use some improvement for a role, will she help him? Or will her feelings get in the way?

Read Part One Here!

A holiday (Christmas centric) Jensen x Female!Reader Best Friends to Lovers series for @spnchristmasbingo​. This chapter and others will fill the square of ‘fake dating’. Un-beta’d, so all mistakes are mine. Header created by me with images from Google. Chapter word count: 3284

Series Warnings: angst-ish at times (if you squint), but mostly all the fluff.

I consider this an AU, as Jensen is single in this fic. This is completely a work of fiction, and I wouldn’t want his reality to be any different, this is purely for entertainment.

Jensen returned home right around 3:30 and went to his place to grab the beer he’d promised Y/n before heading to her apartment, his mind still reeling from the conversation he’d had with Stacy.

Letting himself in, as he always did, Jensen called as soon as he stepped into the entryway, “Sweetheart? It’s me.”

When he entered, he found you lying on the couch with your arm covering your eyes, and soft sniffles were coming from your direction. You were huddled in a mess of blankets and tissues littered the floor surrounding you.

Jensen quickly set the beer on the counter and hurried to you, kneeling on the rug in front of your sofa and reaching towards you. “Hey… Y/n, what’s wrong?”

Pulling your arm away from your face, he was met with puffy, red eyes. You’d been crying.

“Oh, nothing.” You sniffed, wiping your eyes. “I just got dumped, is all.”

You quickly sat up as Jensen climbed onto your couch and pulled you into his arms. Honestly, it wasn’t that you were broken hearted in any way. Sure, Stephen had been nice and sweet, and you were sad to lose him in a way, but the tears were more for your own sorrow of no longer being with someone, which seemed to be more often than not lately.

“I just don’t understand. What is it about me that I can’t just be with someone?” You cried.

Jensen simply swayed you back and forth as you curled into his chest and crawled into his lap. After a few minutes, you wiped your eyes once again as he said, “You know, any guy would have to be crazy for letting you go.”

It was another little jab to the heart, but he wouldn’t know why. You straightened up and took a deep breath. Your head was beginning to hurt from crying, and at this point you needed that beer he brought over. Running your hands through your hair, as you sat on the edge of the couch, Jensen seemed to read your mind as he quickly got up and returned with an opened beer for you.

“Thanks, Jay.” You said, taking a long drink.

He bent down and kissed your head before retreating to your kitchen. Peering over the island, you saw him taking down pots and pans and grabbing ingredients out of your fridge.

“What are you doing?” you called, standing and bringing your beer with you, leaning on the counter and watching him move from one end to the other as he emptied the contents of his arms onto the countertop.

“Well, it may not be your mom’s recipe, but I’m going to make you some chili. I know you were probably really looking forward to it, and I’m not gonna’ to let you go hungry.”

“You don’t have to do that. I can still cook.” You objected, even though the thought was exhausting in itself.

Jensen turned to you and began to chop an onion after setting the pot on the stove, “Nope. You sit your cute butt right there and watch me work.” He replied with a wink.

Smiling, you sat at your kitchen island and tried to avoid being a back-seat chef and allowed him to take the reins. He was a great cook, so you didn’t mind letting him do so. It wasn’t long before he had you laughing and clutching your sides. Between the way he was dancing around the kitchen and cursing when he made a mess, your mind had been cleared and you were in a much better mood. The situation with Stephen sucked, sure, but it wasn’t the worst breakup you’d endured. You’d find the one, eventually.

Jensen made the cornbread and put it in the oven while the chili simmered and came to sit on the stool next to you, bumping your shoulder with his and swiping your beer to finish it.

Clearing his throat, he dared to ask, “So, do you want to talk about it?”

You grabbed the bottle back from him, if only to hold and begin peeling the label, needing to fidget with something in your hands, “It’s not a big deal, really. It’s not like I’m super upset about it. Honestly, you were right. Stephen wasn’t the most exciting person, and I don’t think we really meshed well. He was sweet and everything, but I knew it wasn’t going to work out. It’s more of the fact that I was dumped, again. If you’re not in love, it’s easy to get over. Your hearts not broken.”

“I know, sweetheart. Trust me.” Jensen said with a small sigh.

“Have you ever been heartbroken, Jay?” you asked in a whisper.

“You remember when Allie dumped me the summer before senior year?” he laughed. “You never left my side. That was more of a high school type heartbreak though. I don’t know if that was real, you know?”

“Yeah, I do. Really. I’m sad about Stephen, but not in a heartbreak type of way.”

“What about you?” Jensen asked.

“Hmm?”

“Have you, uh… have you ever had your heart broken?”

You stiffened in his hold and took a deep breath, “Once.”

“Really?” he probed. “Who was it? Was it Tyler?”

You snorted, “Tyler was in tenth grade, dude.”

“I know, but still. I’ll kick his ass. Or whoever it was.”

A nervous bubble caught in your throat. He didn’t know, and he shouldn’t. “It doesn’t matter. It’s in the past.”

“Well, again. They’re an idiot, whoever they are. Besides, you’ll always have me.”

You gave him a small smile, hoping to hide the pain that the memories brought with them.

Jensen draped his arm across your shoulders, allowing you to rest your head on his shoulder as you shook off the emotions from so long ago.

You continued, “He, um… he asked me about you, right before we had lunch. I don’t think he liked how close we are.”

Jensen pulled back a bit, an unreadable expression on his face, but you were quick to grab his hand and tug him back towards you, lacing your fingers with his, “but, I don’t care. I don’t want to be with anyone who can’t respect this friendship. We’ve been through everything together.”

With that, he smiled and squeezed your hand, bending his elbow so that you were almost in a headlock and he could plant his lips to your forehead. He lingered for a moment as you both sat, tangled in each other’s arms. He released your hand and ran his soothingly along your side before getting up to stir the chili.

It was true. You didn’t care who came along, Jensen would always be your best friend.

The two of you ate seated on your oversized sofa and watched Elf, a favorite of yours and Jensen’s, even if he wouldn’t admit it. Jensen was right – it wasn’t your mom’s chili, but it was damn good. Grabbing the last spoonful, you couldn’t help the moan that escaped as it landed on your tongue. Jensen’s eyes snapped to you, the sound making something within him stir.

Dropping the spoon in your bowl, you set it on the coffee table and leaned back, satisfied.

“That was amazing, dude. Remind me to tell you to cook more often.”

He laughed, grabbing your bowl and his and setting to work at the sink to load the dishwasher. You got up to help, but he snapped his fingers, making you sit back down with a grin.

“So, how was your meeting with Stacy today?”

He wiped his hands on the dish towel that hung on his shoulder after cutting of the sink, “Oh, uh…” he paused, looking down and busying himself with starting the dishwasher. “She brought me a script. It’s a different character, to say the least. A single dad who meets a small-town woman when he moves to a new place with his kids.”

“That’s interesting. What’d you think of it?”

“She’s going to send in my stuff, and we’ll see how that goes. I wouldn’t mind getting it… could be pretty cool.” He shrugged casually, but something in his expression told you he really wanted it. “It’s a really competitive part, though. A lot of interest, so she wants me to keep up my image.”

He returned to join you on the couch with a fresh beer, casually draping his legs across your lap as you asked, “What does that mean? You’ve got a good image. You’re not scandalous or anything.”

“Yeah, but I’m a ‘bachelor’.” He replied, using air quotes to indicate that Stacy used that term specifically. “She thinks I’d have a better shot at the part if I were in a relationship or something. Even threw around the idea of just finding someone to help me out for a bit so I could look like a committed man.” He huffed out a laugh at the ridiculous request.

You’d heard of some of the lengths agents would go through, but you could never imagine being asked to do something like that, even from your own. “You mean, like… a fake girlfriend?”

Leaning his back against the armrest, he stretched out as you scooted closer, with his knees coming to rest over your thighs and his legs extended as you both got comfortable. “Apparently, but I told her it was a bad idea. I wouldn’t feel right finding some random girl and selling a rouse.”

You nodded, your hands casually laying over his strong thighs, “That doesn’t sound like you, so yeah… I get how that could be hard.”

He sighed heavily before sipping his beer once more. Gruffly, he seemingly put the issue to bed for the time being, “Yeah, well you know how it is. If I get it, cool. If not, oh well. I’ll just keep up my appearances. Besides, I get to go to work with you every day now. Wouldn’t want to change that, right?” he nudged you with his foot, grinning at you.

Jensen had encouraged you to apply for a position on the show in season two and you were lucky enough to be considered. He’d been so excited that he’d flown you up from your shared hometown. Prior to that, you hadn’t seen him much since he moved to L.A. shortly after you’d both turned 18. The haunting memory of him driving away crept up as you studied his face, looking very much like the boy you’d always known but also the man he’d grown into. It’s in the past, you thought to yourself as you quelled the small amount of lingering feelings of that day.

You simply smiled back, finding yourself a bit lost in thought.

“Hey.” Jensen said, grabbing your attention. “You okay?”

“Oh, yeah. Just thinking.”

“About the Stephen thing?”

You realized in that moment that you hadn’t thought about Stephen since Jensen started cooking dinner. He’d done a great job of distracting you, but you also didn’t want him to know what you were thinking about. “Actually, no. I think you helped out a bit with that.”

A proud expression donned his features as he puffed his chest, obviously pleased that he completed his mission successfully. You chatted a bit more until you grabbed your tablet to do a bit of shopping and you both fell into a comfortable silence. You turned away to hide the item that you’d added to your cart, seeing as it was a little something extra for him. Pleased with the items you’d found for your family back home, and that they’d get to you before your flight in a few weeks, you placed your tablet on the coffee table before snuggling into Jensen’s side, who was enthralled with the animated Rudolph film playing on your TV. He was always a sucker for Christmas movies, though he might not confess that to anyone but you.

The stress of the day began to wear on you, and you soon found yourself drifting off. Between your comfy pajamas and Jensen’s heartbeat in your ear, you fell into a peaceful sleep.

 You awoke the next morning to the sunrise shining faintly through the curtains adorning your living room windows, confused to find yourself in the room. With a sleepy mind, you slowly shifted as you began to stretch your limbs but froze slightly when you met resistance. Eyes widening, still heavy with sleep, you came to find yourself snuggled against Jensen’s chest with the blanket from the back of your couch draped over you both. Your back was towards the cushions as you lay on your side, tucked beneath his shoulder and curled into his body with legs tangled beneath you. He was on his back, his one arm securely wrapped around your shoulders and the other resting on his midsection and your forearm that was enclosed around his trim waist. As gently as you could, afraid he might wake, you tilted your head to gaze at his sleeping form. His face was peaceful as he slept, his mouth slightly open and his chest rising and falling in a soft rhythm.

Content to savor the moment, you allowed yourself to revel in the feeling of being in his arms and nestled a bit further into the blankets, finding the chill of the morning slightly eased from his body heat.

You awoke again a bit later, when the sun had settled high in the sky, roused by something feathering across your cheek.

Jensen’s velvety voice jogged your sleepy mind, “Y/n? You awake?”

His thumb was slowly caressing across the apples of your cheekbones, the touch sending a shockwave through every inch of your body and straight to your chest. When you opened your eyes, he was peering down at you still in his arms with so much emotion behind his eyes that you couldn’t quite read. He smiled warmly, his dimples, freckles, and crinkles all present in the light. He was looking at you with such adoration that it made your heart skip a beat.

“Morning, sweetheart.” Came his usual greeting, but you couldn’t help but shiver at the gruffness and tone, stealing a glance at his lips. “Did you sleep well?”

Tearing your eyes from his face, you stretched slightly, “I did. Very well, actually. You’re a nice pillow.”

He chuckled, his chest rumbling beneath your head, “Yeah, I guess I am. I was gonna move you to bed, but I didn’t want to wake you. And I’ll say, I was quite comfy myself.”

Jensen ran his hands up and down your side and back, almost as if it was second nature to do so, before he moved to sit up. You did so first, giving him the space to swing his legs over the edge of the couch and set to work at the coffee maker. Taking a moment to head to the bathroom and brush your teeth, you smiled finding him with your mug already at the windowsill.

“Thank you.” You said, picking it up and taking a seat across from him.

“Thank you for the sleepover.” He grinned, toasting towards you with his own cup.

After a few moments of chit chat about how happy you both were that the snow had lasted, you made you both breakfast and ate together at your kitchen island.

“So, what are you going to do about Stacy’s idea? Have you given it any more thought?” you asked around a mouthful of bacon.

“Actually, um… yeah. I have.”

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little disappointed that it sounded like he was considering her proposition of getting a girlfriend to help his image, but urged him continue none-the-less, “Oh, yeah?”

“I was—I was actually thinking about it this morning. What if—and you can totally say no—but what if you were my pretend girlfriend?” he proposed, looking toward you nervously.

Nearly choking on your breakfast, sure you’d heard him incorrectly, you stared at him in surprise, “Are you serious, Jay?”

“Well, it was just a thought, you know. The fans think I’m with you, anyway, considering they know how close we are and have always been. You’re all over my social media already and I get a ton of comments about you all the time. It would be a cute story, but I totally understand if that’s pushing things too far.”

Still in shock, you hardly registered the sip of coffee you’d taken before putting your mug back on the counter. Your arms and legs felt like Jell-O as he looked at you expectantly.

“Are you sure I’m the type of girl Stacy had in mind? I mean, you’re you ya know. I’m hardly a celebrity or anything and I don’t have a ton of clout. What would the story be?”

He perked up a bit, seemingly please that you were asking more questions. Maybe that meant you were considering it. “It might be good to play the childhood sweetheart angle, but this would only ever happen if you were 100% okay with it. I’d never do anything that would make you uncomfortable in any way. Then, maybe after a few months, we decide to just stay friends. We wouldn’t even need to necessarily announce it to the world or anything but getting people to talk wouldn’t hurt and we just wouldn’t correct the rumors.” He looked into your eyes and took your hand in his, “Y/n, I swear… if it’s too much you can call me crazy and it’ll be no hard feelings whatsoever. No job or role would ever be enough that I’d jeopardize anything with you. It was really just an idea that I had, and it can be shot back out into the abyss and we can forget it ever came up.”

You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, considering his proposition. It wouldn’t be so hard to fake it for a bit, would it? It’s not like much would change. You were already always together, and yeah, people had been speculating about the two of you for years, especially when you started working on set. “What about our families, Jay? What would we tell them?”

He considered your point for a moment. Both sets of parents had been friends for more than thirty years and would no doubt be aware of the rumors once they started, but again that wasn’t anything new. They’d been answering the same questions about you as a pair since you were kids. “We can tell them we’re together, or not. It would be whatever you choose, but we can always keep things vague for a while. We can even chat with Stacy together and see what would be needed, but it’s all totally up to you.”

Running it through your mind in that moment, it didn’t seem much different than what you and Jensen already were – best friends that everyone, everyone speculated about. Giving Jensen the opportunity to appear he had settled down wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, would it?

With a hint of a smile, you nodded, “Okay.”

“Wait, really?” he said, an obvious shock written across his face.

“Yeah… I mean it’s like you said. Not much would be different anyways, right? We can meet with Stacy, for sure, but it’s alright with me.”

He pulled you in for a tight hug, “You’re seriously the best, sweetheart. Don’t worry, I’m going to treat you like the queen you are for as long as this goes on. You’re gonna get spoiled.”

“Well, then…” you teased, patting his back as he kept you in his arms, “At least I’m getting something out of the deal.”

“Oh, trust me, Y/n. I’ll make sure it’s worth your while.”

Suddenly, you thought maybe this wasn’t the best idea after all, given the way your blood began to rush as he shot you a wink.

To be continued...

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It was you

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Jensen Only

@mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk​

[dramaqueeenamby]

WAP • Steve R. & Thor O.

A/N: Smut. No plot at all. Just smut. THIS IS A ONESHOT. 

Warnings: SMUT. 18+. Threesome. Double penetration. Oral (male and female both receiving and giving). Cum kink?. Light choking. Very light dom theme.

Words: 3.4K 

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You wanted to fuck Steve.

But you also wanted to fuck Thor.

It was a problem, a persistent desire that lapped at you even while doing the most mundane tasks such as sitting in on a teleconference meeting with either of them. They spoke politics. You thought dirty.

It was the textbook definition of unprofessional, but damnit, you wanted what you wanted, and you wanted them both.

Separately, of course.

Or maybe at the same time.

The thought sent chills up your spine and throughout your core.

The infatuation began the first day you accepted the job as Stark’s assistant. And that was another thing, your desire initially geared toward Tony. Maybe it was the wife and kid that obliterated the flame. You couldn’t do that to a family man no matter how badly you wanted to literally do the family man.

Some things, some people, were just off limits.

Stark was one of them.

And so, you’d accepted your position as his assistant and became okay with the fact that it was the only position the retired playboy could put you in.

Perhaps that was what did it. You’d never liked not having someone to play with.

And here walked in Stars and Stripes, himself. For a fossil, he played the role of everyday Jake quite well.

There were tiny telltale signs, however, that he was truly the right man living in the wrong time.

For one, his damn wardrobe. Slacks and a button up shirt. That was all you ever saw him in. Goddamnit, the man was in desperate need of some jeans or even better—gray sweats.

And his hair, it was always slicked back. You could always imagine him standing in the mirror of his one-bedroom apartment, making sure it looked presentable.

No one gave a damn about that anymore.

You just wanted to reach up and mess it for him half the time or grab onto it as he ate you out from off the copy machine, but you digressed.

And his speech, so proper, so focused on the semantics. Two things he never did: contractions, profanity, and you.

Okay, so that was three, but your prayer was to get it to two!

Or was it to nail two of them?

That brought you to Thor.

That smug, son of a bitch.

You wanted to slap that smirk off his face at least once a day and smother his face at least once every half hour. A good balance, if you could say so yourself.

You knew his dick was big. You just knew it. So was Steve. It’s just you weren’t sure if Born In the USA remembered how to use it. That wasn’t a concern with Thor. You saw how he eyed some of the interns and trainees. Hell, even Natasha before she promptly put him in his place.

That selfish bitch.

You’d give anything to have him put you in your place.

Right on top of his dick.

And it wasn’t like you were enduring a dick famine. You had several men on rotation, but they were all so boring. There was no spark there, anymore. Half the time, you had to do all of the work anyhow, and that just simply wasn’t fair.

You deserved better.

You deserved the Dream Dick Team.

“Scan these in for me.” Stark dropped a stack of paperwork onto your desk with his left hand while reading over another massive pile in his right. “Thanks, kid.”

You reached over, grabbing it already knowing that I had to be separated and sorted as well. Stark’s method of organization didn’t exactly correspond with the systems that the company used, but it did help to eat up time, so there was that.

“I do have a name, you know.”

“I know. It’s kid.” He called out, disappearing down the hall, oblivious to the middle finger you flashed his way.

“I saw that.”

Or maybe not.

“Sorry, boss.”

You didn’t actually mean it. One of the benefits of working for Stark, sans the much-needed medical coverage, was that the line between professionalism and unprofessionalism was pretty damn blurred. And no one smudged that line more than Stark. He was a fun boss, which made you inclined to believe he was equally as fun in the sheets, not that you would ever get to find out.

Your huff was laced with disappointment and frustration.

All of the good ones really were taken. Or too damn polite to choke you and spit in your mouth. Or from another fucking planet with an abundance of readily available alien pussy.

A tiny gasp emitted as you shuffled through the paperwork. What if they had multiple genitalia or some shit? The thought nearly brought tears to your eyes. Double penetration. Double the pleasure. Double the fun. And fuck forever—ever ever.

This was so damn cruel. The universe clearly didn’t want to see you and your four holes happy, and you were sick and tired of the ardent disrespect.

“Greetings, Y/N.”

Goddamn that fucking greeting bullshit. Unless it was a greeting between your mouth and his dick, you didn’t want to hear it.

“Captain. Thor.” You nodded to each of them, respectively, fully aware of the discomfort that stemmed from Steve.

“I’ve told you, Y/N. Steve is just fine.”

“How about daddy?”

Okay. So, a couple of things could happen in that moment. You could slide back in your chair with wheels and knock your head into the desk until you were unconscious. You could roll back in that chair with wheels, and sprint like you stole something. Or, you could play dumb and pretend what you just said wasn’t really what you just said.

All seemed viable options, really, and you were leaning more toward the sprinting.

But then something happened, something completely horrible and disgusting and despicable and just vile.

He laughed.

The motherfucker laughed.

You.....what?

And then, he made it even worse.

“Sure, why not.”

You pushed your braids behind your ears. Maybe your hearing was off. Yeah, that was it. You were way overdo for an appointment with the ENT doctor, anyway.

“Excuse me?”

This time, Thor spoke. “He’s been waiting some time, Lady Y/N. For you to say that. We both have.”

Your eyes darted from side to side. “What?”

Steve stuffed his hands in his slacks and shrugged. “It’s true, but we knew you’d finally say something when you were ready.”

“Say what?”

Steve spoke so plainly, so calmly, so unlike everything that you were currently feeling. “That you want us to fuck you.”

Sweet, Black Baby Jesus. It’d finally happened. The world had gone to hell in a handbasket.

That was literally the only explanation for not only what was just said, but for what followed what was just said.

“So, come on.”

You struggled but managed a response. “C-come where.”

“Hmm. Preferably, all over that pretty face of yours.”

“Or the pretty lips.”

But, for now, with us.”

You know those moments where all you can do is say what in the actual fuck is life? Well, that statement was made for moments like this. Kelly Clarkson was definitely onto something.

“Y/N.” You jumped in your seat when you realized that he was merely inches away from your face, fists into the desk. “We won’t ask again.”

The sensible thing to do was to continue to probe to figure out just what level of hell this was. Dante should have showed up at any minute. But what did your dumbass do? You slid back in your chair with wheels, stood, and allowed the two men you considered bosses to lead you down the hall, into the elevator, and into the same conference room where you often patiently sat and waited to the side for Stark to finish.

And unfortunately, it was never on you.

Except, this time, you weren’t in the corner, you were on the table, courtesy of Thor picking you up and placing you down as if you were a lightweight.

He stepped back and stood beside Steve while you just looked like any meme from the mid to late 2000’s, still 100% confused as to what in Beyonce’s name was going on.

“Where do we start with you?” Steve spoke to himself, or maybe Thor too, your brain was too foggy to pay too much attention to where or who his words were directed.

“Take your clothes off. Everything.”

Like the dumbass bitch you are, you looked from side to side and pointed to yourself. “Me?”

Wrong move, Dory.

With inhuman speed, Thor stood in front of you, hand around your throat. His grip was loose but firm, so much so that your thighs pushed together. God, you wanted him to squeeze tighter.

“Now.”

And just like that, he was back next to Steve. You wasted no time in following orders this time around. You couldn’t unbutton your blouse fast enough, tossing it to the floor. Every other piece of clothing that covered your body followed suit until you were completely nude, back sitting on the table, legs pressed together.

Well, initially.

The silence was making you uncomfortable. You craved some type of communication. Contact would be even better. And the way they were just looking at you, it didn’t help.

Gradually, your legs parted, revealing your bare pussy. God, you were grateful you kept that wax appointment. It didn’t miss you how Thor’s brow quipped, and Steve’s jaw twitched.

A small smile played on your face as you innocently asked. “What?”

Okay, so maybe it wasn’t so innocent, but time was of the essence, and you needed your essence to be spilling from here to the 98th floor sooner rather than later.

“She mocks us.”

“It seems so.”

Holy fuck, this was getting to be fun. You’d hooked their attention, now you just had to reel it in. Your right hand seemed to sense the pending activities and wanted to get a jump. Slowly lifting from its firmly planted spot on the table, your hand moved to your full breast, down your stomach folds, over your fupa, and bow chika wow wow.

You chewed on your bottom lip when you felt your kitty. She was already leaking dew.

“Fuck yourself.”

Two words. One task. Mission: accepted.

You went to work, your three middle fingers working in perfect synchronization, tending to your sensitive and neglected bud. God, you’d masturbated in the shower just this morning, but this felt so different. Probably because of the two men who stood before you. Speaking of, you opened your eyes and grinned wryly at their reactions.

They were pissed, and that only caused a loud moan to leave your mouth as you slapped your own cunt, loving the sound it made because of the slickness.

“I’m so fucking wet.” You played around with your wetness, lifting your hand and sticking your fingers in your mouth, licking each digit one by one, dropping your hand to your breast and playing with your nipples. “Oh my fucking God.”

You were gradually making yourself a sticky mess, not to mention, the mess you’d made all over the table, but you gave not a single fuck. The only fuck, fucks, you gave were about the two men who stood before you.

Returning your hand to your throbbing pussy, you laid back on the table so that you could reach deeper, plunging your fingers inside, milking yourself. Every so often, you’d remove your fingers and spread your juice all over your vaginal area. Call it a kink, but you loved the feeling of cum all over your body. Yours. His. Anyone’s. It was just a serious thrill for you.

“Fuck!” You shouted just as you started to feel the familiar intensity brewing in the pit of your stomach because your ankles were grabbed, harshly yanking you down off the table. Your feet never touched the ground, however, because you were laid on your stomach over the arms of a wheely chair.

Seconds later, your hips were lifted, your ass perked up in the air.

“I think she’s ready for us, don’t you, Thor?” You whined. You could feel Steve’s cool breath on your pussy. He had to be centimeters away from fulfilling ½ of your dream fucking, and yet was insisting on this tantalizing yet frustrating wait.

“Would you just eat my fucking pussy alr--” You shouted as he silenced your protest with obedience. Holy fucking hell, if you could, you would have screamed so loud that all of Manhattan could hear you. He lapped and sucked with an insatiable hunger, booty jerking around but only momentarily as he brought his hands to your hips to hold you still while he feasted.

You dropped your head only to have it yanked up by Thor grabbing a fistful of your braids and forcing you to look at him.

“Such a pretty mouth.” Your eyes almost bugged out of your fucking head when you saw his massive dick, hard and dripping with cum, just hanging in front of you. You were already salivating in anticipation when he used his thumb to part your full lips. “We shall see if you can use it to please your king.”

Without even so much as a warning, he forced your mouth open with his thick fingers and forced your jaw to its absolute max as he stuffed his even thicker dick in your mouth, You immediately felt him stabbing the back of your throat, and the sensation brought tears to your eyes and butterflies to your stomach.

He didn’t have you too shook though because you immediately went to slurping and deepthroating, bracing your elbows on the arms of the chair while holding onto his hips to stabilize you.

Thor’s head went to the top of your head, taking a fistful of your braids. You peaked up over your eyelids to see his head tilted back, eyes closed, mouth tensed. You were so proud of yourself that you took another inch, practically gagging as tears continued to spill from your eyes. The tears a combination of how stuffed you felt, orally, and from the oral pleasure America’s finest was causing down below.

God, who would have thought the fossil could eat pussy so well?

Thor had started face fucking you, the intensity of the thrusts of his hips into your mouth causing the chair to slide back and forth. Still, Steve’s mouth stayed attached to your pussy, and by now, your entire lower half was a stick hot mess.

And you fucking loved it.

It was enough to make you cum. Again, that was.

Even as Steve made you cum, Thor refused to allow you the room to breathe. This caused an intensity in your tears. It was so blissfully overwhelming. You hadn’t a clue what you’d done to deserve this, but goddamnit were you relieved.

Hell wasn’t so bad after all, and if Dante wanted to join in, the more, the merrier.

You moaned, mouthful of Thor, when Steve pulled out only for your ears and ass to perk up when you felt something thick and hot against your ass. “Such a sweet pussy.”

“Is she?”

“Absolutely,” Steve grunted, reaffirming his grasp on your hips. “Now to feel you around my dick.”

Impaled. Stuffed. Exploding. Those were all words that only halfheartedly described how you felt. You didn’t have to see Steve to know that he was big in girth and long in length, I.e. the perfect combination. He was so deep inside of you, hips repeatedly and firmly clashing into yours, driving his dick deeper and deeper into you.

By now, Thor had also freed your mouth and allowed your jaw a respite, but not before emptying all over your face. Your pussy clenched against Steve as you excitedly allowed your tongue to travel as much of your mouth as you could, sucking in Thor’s cum. It was simply majestic, as was he, as was this entire fucking, well, fucking.

Your moans and screams echoed and bounced off every wall, surely reverberating down the hall and across the various floors. You gave absolutely zero fucks. All of New York could hear you for all you cared.

Thor continued to jerk off in front of you, still very much hard even after splattering you with his cum.

What a God.

As expected, Steve made you cum several times, squirting the last time, the first time you’d ever done so. It was more than you could have ever asked for. And yet, it truly was the gift that kept on giving.

After completely filling you with him cum, Steve pulled out of you, making sure to use his fingers to smear the cum that leaked all over your pussy lips.

Seconds later, they switched, Thor was behind you, Steve in front of you. However, Thor quickly flipped you over so that you were on you back and stood between your spread and tacky thighs.

“Do you think you can take me, little one?” He asked mockingly, fingers playing with the cum on your stomach. You nodded furiously, only to feel your jaw grabbed and head craned back.

Steve’s bulbous head tapped against your lips. You opened eagerly, downing him at the same moment Thor slammed into you. If not for them steadying you, you would have jumped right off that chair. Steve was big, but Thor was massive and curved. A curved dick was your dream come true.

Actually, being dually fucked by a God and Captain America yourself was your dream, and now, a reality.

What an afterlife.

The both took you, front and back, roughly. You were being whisked back and forth like a rag doll, your titties flopping all over the place. Whiplash was most definitely a concern as well as the inability to walk tomorrow, or ever, but really, what a better way to be rendered incapacitated?

I mean, Steve was literally beating on the little dangly thang that swing in the back of your throat, and had you been able to look down, you could almost bet you could see Thor in your fucking stomach. He was just that deep.

This was the hill you would die on, and you couldn’t be happier.

Your face was damp from persistent tears and tacky from slowly drying cum, a layer of light sweat soaking you from head to toe, and you knew that your edges were shot, but none of that mattered, especially when Thor pulled out and started to eat you out, your thighs clamped around his head, trapping him. He could stay there forever. They both could.

Unfortunately, all god things must come to a respite, or whatever the fairy tales said.

After cumming at least 87.5 times, they both freed your beaten and thoroughly used mouth and vagina. There was so much cum, it was splattered all over your pelvis, dripping onto the floor. You’d never been so stuffed. Literally.

“Are you okay?”

Thor asked, or maybe Steve. You were too physically exhausted to pay that much attention, your eyes fluttering shut. “Fucking divine.”

“Excuse me?”

Your eyes shot open and you were met with puzzled expressions from both Thor and Steve.

You looked around, you were seated in your desk, hair still intact, fully clothed, edges still laid. You paused.

What the fuck?

“Are you sure you’re alright, darling?” Steve’s concerned voice broke your stunned trance. This....this couldn't be happening. No fucking way. You did not just dream all that. It wasn’t possible. It was too damn real.

And yet....

You felt at your face. It was moisturized, but with CeraVe. Not CeraCum.

“It was a fantasy....” You whispered to yourself, holding back tears. “None of it was real.”

“Would you like us to talk to Stark about allowing you to get off earlier?”

Your eyes widened. “But, I already did,” you all but whined.

Thor whispered to Steve. “Is this what you Midgardians call a psychotic break?”

This was cruel, beyond cruel, sinfully wicked. You had no words. Thor and Steve watched as you whined while gathering your shit. You didn't even bother clocking out or shutting off the computer. You just had to get out of there and fast.

You said not a word to either men as you stumped off completely done with the day, and, well, life. 

It wasn’t until you entered the elevator that both men chuckled.

“This is going to be fun.”

“No, she is.” 

Steve and Thor chuckled, anticipation for the next time already brewing. 

[undercoveravenger]

Judgement Day

Pairing: Cato x Male!Reader

Requested: Yes

Original Request: “Hi! Can you write a super angsty story for a Cato x male reader? One where they both like one another but neither of them is making the first move. Cato is distant because he doesn’t know how to deal with these feelings and male reader takes this as Cato not liking him. Something happens that makes Cato super jealous and finally confesses to male reader.”

A/N: Y’all don’t understand HOW LONG I’ve been waiting for someone to ask me to write for Cato. Like, this man could choke me out with his biceps and I would probably thank him. Please ask me for more Hunger Games things when my requests open back up!

__________________________________________________________

Cato had always known that he was going to end up a tribute. He’d been raised to be a survivor and trained to be a winner. He’d fought and clawed his way through District Two’s Tribute Academy to earn the right to Volunteer when he turned eighteen uncontested, and he’d never once doubted his choice.

Never once, until he was on the train to the Capitol watching the videos of the other Districts’ Reapings and saw you for the first time. You hadn’t been from one of the Career Districts like Cato, but instead of looking weak or scared as you took your place on the stage the way many of the past tributes from most of the outlying districts always did, you merely looked resolute- acknowledging that you may not be coming back, but determined to go down fighting.

The resilient spark that he had seen in your eyes haunted him throughout the rest of the ride into the Capitol.

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

Cato’s thoughts had been torn away from you when he was handed over to his stylists, but his attention had snapped right back to you when he saw you before the tribute parade. He’d known that he looked brutal in his golden armor and shining headdress, but somehow your stylists had made you look striking in a way that was both strong and beautiful and altogether different from him. 

They’d taken the color palette of autumn trees (Lumber was the specialty for District Seven, so that made sense) and cut miniscule leaves out of the fabric, sewing and weaving them together in a way that made the long cape that flowed from your shoulders look like they’d been caught a breeze right from the forest and bound it to you. In a strange way, Cato could almost relate to that thought. The rest of your outfit was a dusky brown with thick ridges and swirls marked into the fabric to make it look like the rough bark of a tree, leaving you and your District partner looking like the very embodiments of autumn as you stepped up into the carriage pulled by a pair of bay horses, their coats shining a brilliant crimson as the bright lights hit them.

Cato had had to drag his eyes away from you when his and Clove’s chariot lurched into motion.

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

When training had started, Cato had already begun to suspect that he felt something for you, though he thought it was merely an attraction. He was proven wrong when his heart lurched in his chest when one of the trainers had you trapped in a wrestling hold, wrenching your feet up off the ground and slamming you backward onto the hard training mat.

He knew in the back of his mind that you weren’t in any real danger yet (the trainers were there to help you all stand a chance in the arena, not kill you before the Games even started after all), but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t positively fuming at the fact that someone had dared to put their hands on you. He shoved his way past the couple of other tributes that’d been lined up at the wrestling station, holding your gaze as you pushed yourself back to your feet. He looked back to the trainer in front of him when you shook out of your daze and made your way to the back of the line.

Cato grinned as the trainer lowered into a fighting stance in front of him, quickly launching himself into the match. He managed to duck out of the way of the trainer’s grappling pretty easily, having gone through much more intense training back in his District anyway. He kept his distance when he could, keen azure eyes waiting for any opening- there. 

He moved immediately upon realizing that the trainer was favoring his left leg, moving quickly to knock him off balance and then throwing him hard to the mat, pinning him face-down against the stiff plastic. Cato let a self-satisfied grin slip onto his face as he moved to get off of the trainer, the corners of his lips twitching up ever higher as he met your awed (e/c) eyes and suddenly he found himself hoping that the line between the two of you and the mat never moved again.

“That was incredible,” you told Cato as he came to stand behind you in the line and the blond had to fight back a smile at the fact that you were speaking to him for the first time.

“If you thought that was impressive, you should see what I can do with a sword.” He winced internally, knowing that while that sort of thing mattered where he was from, you probably wouldn’t find it nearly as awe-inspiring. You’d probably just be afraid of him.

You just chuckled and Cato’s hope was restored. “Well, no offense, but I’d just as soon not be on the other end of a blade from you.”

Cato laughed, a little relieved that you hadn’t taken his thoughtless remark as a threat. “That’s probably a good idea,” he grinned. “Really though, I’m not too bad. It’s Clove you’ve gotta watch out for,” he nodded toward his District partner, wincing when one of the throwing knives she was using struck the target with deadly precision.

“Thanks for the advice,” you muttered, eyes wide as you watched her throw again from across the room.

Cato opened his mouth, struggling to come up with something to say. “Uh, what about you?”

“What about me?” You asked, raising an eyebrow as you looked up at the blond.

He shrugged, looking away sheepishly and hoping you couldn’t see the ghost of a blush forming on his cheeks, “What’re you good at? Clove’s got her knives and I’ve got swords and spears. What’s your thing?”

Your brows furrowed as you looked away, clearly deep in thought. You brightened, grinning at him as you cocked your head toward the throwing station. Cato watched curiously as you picked up a throwing axe, tossing it idly between your hands. “It’s a little different the way we do it back in District Seven, but it’s a good way to have some fun once the work day is over.” He watched as you pulled back, the axe turning head over handle as you released it, the sharp end of the head sinking deep into the target with a loud thud, nearly as precisely as his District partner.

“Holy shit, that was cool,” he murmured, smug satisfaction settling in his chest as you flushed at the praise. “What else do they teach you out there in the woods?” he prodded, hoping you’d open up about yourself now that he’d gotten you talking.

You opened your mouth to speak, but cut yourself off as the bell to signal the end of the training day chimed. “Ask me tomorrow and find out.”

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

Just as you’d asked, Cato met up with you as soon as you made your way down into the training room the next morning and you showed him many of the other things that growing up in District Seven had taught you. In exchange, he helped train you in a few different methods of hand-to-hand combat.

With all the time the two of you were spending together, it was no wonder that he’d grown quite fond of you, something that he’d struggled to hide, even during his televised interview.

Caesar Flickerman, dressed this year in a gaudy shade of blue, had shaken his hand warmly and guided him to sit in one of the chairs situated before the massive audience. A few minutes of meaningless banter passed before Caesar finally asked a question that threw Cato for a loop. “So,” he had started, wide blue eyes fixed on the blond and hands clasped in front of him, “Is there anyone that’ll be in the Arena that makes you nervous?”

Retrospectively, he knew that Caesar had been asking whether there was anyone he was worried about facing, but in that moment the only face that came to mind was yours. “(M/N),” he’d answered reflexively, scrambling to backtrack as soon as your name had left his lips. “The boy from District Seven, I mean. We’ve spent some time together during training. He’s good; he’ll put up a good fight in the Arena, no matter who he’s up against.”

Caesar had caught on to his hesitation and, in true interviewer fashion, had to probe further. “You’ve spent time together?”

Cato schooled his expression back into the nonchalance that his mentors had wanted him to show, forcing himself back to the effortless confidence he was meant to exude. “We talked. Sparred some. He showed me some things he knew and I showed him some that I did.” He forced himself to laugh, “Of course, I still have plenty of tricks up my sleeve, so it’ll still be a hell of a show.”

Caesar had laughed, making a few more jokes to the audience and shaking his hand again for the innumerable cameras before dismissing him.

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

Cato forced himself to sit through the next few Districts’ interviews with relative indifference, but then it was your turn and Cato had to force himself not to visibly perk up, though his eyes remained fixed on you. 

Caesar greeted you the same way he had the rest of the tributes and guided you back to the interviewee’s chair, setting into his wheel of questions easily. Cato had nearly tuned out your interview entirely when one question in particular caught his attention. “Is there anyone special waiting for you back home?” Caesar had asked, leaning forward like he was expecting some juicy gossip. “A handsome boy like you must have a girlfriend waiting for you, right?”

You’d flushed, the brilliant red of your embarrassed blush bright enough to even be seen on the huge screens the interview was being projected up on. “No, uh, no girlfriend.”

“Seriously?” Caesar had asked disbelievingly. “Surely, there must be a girl-”

“No,” You’d protested, raising your hands defensively, “I’m actually, um,” you’d turned your gaze to your lap so you could avoid his eyes, “I’m attracted to boys.”

Caesar let out a noise of understanding, sitting back in his chair and shooting the audience a knowing look. “If that’s the case, allow me to revise my question, is there anyone back home that you’re interested in?’

“Back home? No,” you shook your head, offering Caesar a polite smile. Cato could tell that Caesar had been about to push you for more details when the buzzer went off, signaling that they had run out of time to question you. The interviewer looked slightly off-put, but he had to abide by the rules so he shook your hand for the cameras and sent you off.

Something about your interview had left a bad taste in Cato’s mouth, so as soon as you’d retaken your place in line and your District partner had made her way up onto the stage Cato found himself storming down the line of tributes until he reached you, grabbing the front of your shirt and dragging you close enough that, though it looked like he was snarling an insult at you to anyone else, only you could hear him asking you to meet him on the roof that night. When you gave him a barely perceptible nod, he released you, shoving hard on your shoulders for show before making his way back to his place, a frustrated grimace on his face.

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

The interviews ended late, but the Capitol was still in an uproar even later into the night when you finally made your way up into the rooftop garden where Cato had been waiting for you. He turned to face you as soon as the elevators slid open, azure eyes reflecting the lights of the city as you came to stand beside him, looking out over the city.

He was quiet for a long moment as he stared out over the horizon, but eventually forced himself to speak. “I don’t want to be here,” he said finally, chancing a look over at you. “I thought I did. I mean, I Volunteered and everything, but it just didn’t feel real until now.”

“What changed?” you asked.

Cato wasn’t really sure that he knew the answer until he thought back to the way he felt after your interview. The burning ache that your words had left in his chest had been jealousy and the way he hadn’t been able to take his mind off of you since he’d first seen the recording of your Reaping had been far more than just an attraction. Finally, like the sun peeking out of the clouds after a heavy rain, the answer dawned on him. “I did.” He bit out a laugh, “I met someone, and it made me realize how much the Games were going to take from me before I even realized what I was going to lose.”

“Clove is a lucky girl,” you mused, taking a seat near the railing around the edge of the roof. “Or is it that girl from Twelve? You might have to compete with that bakery boy for her, but you seem like you’d be more her type than him anyway…”

Cato turned to look at you curiously, “It’s not a girl.”

You seemed surprised, but you were quick to shrug it off. “Then maybe you’re after the bakery boy yourself, then? Or what’s-his-name from One?”

“Nope,” Cato hummed, grinning a little as he dropped down to sit next to you. He remained quiet for a moment, clearly entertained by the way you were seemingly running through the list of other tributes in your head. “Y’know,” he started after a moment, “It would be a lot easier for me to tell you that I have feelings for you if you were to stop guessing every other tribute.”

His words seemed to stop you in your tracks and he couldn’t stop the grin that threatened to take over his features as you stared back at him in surprise, eyes wide and mouth slightly open, like you’d been about to suggest another name. “M-me?” you forced out eventually.

Cato laughed, nodding. “Sorry, I made it weird, didn’t I?” He huffed, turning his attention back to the galaxy of lights spread out below you, “I just-” he shrugged, “I didn’t want to go into the Arena tomorrow without telling you how I felt. You don’t have to worry about saying no; it’s not going to make me target you or anything. I’ve already asked the rest of my alliance to leave you alone, so you don’t really have us to worry about.”

“What if I wasn’t going to tell you no?” Your voice was steady, even and contemplative, even though what you were talking about could give the both of you a major Achilles heel in the Arena in just a few hours.

Cato jerked around to face you, visibly stunned by your words. “What?!”

“What if I liked you back?” you prompted, turning to meet his gaze. “Would it change anything anyway? We’re from two different Districts; we’ve got a worse chance than the wanna-be lovers from Twelve.”

Cato sighed; he knew that you had a point. No matter how much you liked one another, you were still going to be thrown into the Arena and be expected to kill each other. “I don’t care,” he said finally, determined blue eyes meeting yours, “I don’t care if I only get a few days or a few hours. I just want to be with you, even if I only get a little while.”

You looked torn and Cato couldn’t blame you. On the one hand, being able to be with someone who liked you a lot would be great, but it would hurt more when one of you was killed in the Arena, but forcing yourself to stay away from the person that held your heart? Cato was sure the not-knowing would kill him.

After a moment, you nodded and Cato felt the weight in his chest that’d been dragging at him lighten, if only a little. You scooted closer to him, letting him wrap his arms around you and press a kiss to the top of your head before turning back to watch the lights of the city before you again.

Cato knew that there was no way he could promise you forever, not when you were about to get thrown headlong into a bloodbath, but he could promise you that he would be here to hold you in his arms until the sun began to rise and that, even as the canons sounded to start the Seventy-Fourth Annual Hunger Games, he would be praying for a miracle that would allow him to stay with you.

[killiansprincss]

Two Victims of Bad Form

Okay so this fic is inspired by this post I made last week and it blew up and I had a few requests to write it, so here it is!! I really hope you enjoy it!! 

link to A03

Tagging: @the-darkdragonfly​ @elizabeethan​ @superchocovian​ @lostintheskyfaraway​ @pirateprincessofpizza​

_____

Liam Jones was used to The Underworld. He hadn’t yet had a run in with Hades and it wasn’t too bad of an afterlife. He didn’t try to keep track of his time here, it was a waste. While he did wonder when he would see his brother again, he only wished he was living a long and happy life.

Liam does wonder what he is up to and what happened when they returned to their home kingdom. Killian was Captain of the Navy now, would he go in front of the King and reveal the true nature of that awful plant, and become a hero?

But had he also found happiness? As a navymen Liam can’t lie and say the female sex didn’t find ways to converse with them and Killian would often become flustered, not knowing the correct and best way to talk to them, as a men of the King there were expectations. But he had hoped there was a special female who he had found happiness with.

But his life-or-afterlife was pretty good. It wasn't great at first though. Accepting the fact you are dead was not something Liam was able to accept straight away, he kept playing his last moments over and over again, and wishing he could go back and stop himself from scratching the dreamshade on his arm. It was a foolish and rash decision which every day he regrets. He fell victim to bad form quickly. The Underworld was a strange town but the wide variety of alcohol was one thing he liked.

There was a bar that Liam would go to every day and the Rum was far spicier than the one he had become accustomed to in the Enchanted Forest, and it was stronger too. Apparently being dead knocks out your tolerance for alcohol. He was a mess. He grieved for his own life, all the things he planned to do and see, and he grieved for his little brother and how now he was all alone.

The owner of the bar, Alaric, was a former King of a long forgotten kingdom. He wasn’t the kindest or most understanding King in his former life, so in the Underworld Alaric devoted his time to helping others, and he helped Liam come to terms with the fact that while he was dead, it was not the worst thing in the world.

“If your mother is here, her gravestone will be up. If she’s in a better place it will have fallen, but a crack will appear if that is not the case.” Those were the last words Alaric said to Liam before he found peace.It was the one thing Liam wanted to know.

Finding out his mother’s fate was a high priority for Liam, he hoped she were in a better place and they would be reunited once Killian arrived in years to come. He hoped she could be proud of her two boys. He doesn’t know what he would do if she were in a worse place.

And there it was. A grave marked “Alice Jones”

Liam smiles. It had fallen over. She was in a better place.

Knowing his mother was in a better place, at peace likely, was all Liam needed to get on with his life in the afterlife.

Alaric was the first person Liam felt like he could speak to and open up to. And it felt good. He wanted to do the same for other people.

So Liam takes over and starts working at the Bar, working his way through the ranks until he eventually becomes manager and owner, well nobody is really an owner of any property in the Underworld, but in every sense the bar was his. He becomes to other people what Alaric was to him. Letting them grieve and come to terms with their own passing and potentially their unfinished business.

Every day he’s at the bar, he hopes his little brother will walk through the doors and they can be together again. Deal with their unfinished business and find peace together. But every day he doesn’t. And as much as it hurts not seeing him, it’s a good thing.

Every day Killian doesn’t walk through his doors is another day he is on Earth living his life. Maybe he's married to a Princess and is the greatest Captain the Royal Navy has seen in centuries. Just maybe.

These dreams keep Liam positive, until one day.

________

It started out like any normal day in the Underworld, Liam would wake, go for a morning run before his shift at the bar. It wasn’t too busy, a few regulars who would sit quietly on the other side to where he was working. Until a woman came in who he hadn’t seen before. She was beautiful, with strong bone structure and dark curls that accentuated her face. But she didn’t look in the best state. A new arrival to the Underworld Liam guesses, he’s seen that scared face all too many times.

“I need something strong.” is all she says as she sits on the bar stool to steady herself.

Liam nods as he reaches around for the strongest whiskey they stock and pours it into a frosted glass. This was a much nicer way of serving alcohol, he assumed this was how royals drank, vastly different to the dirty taverns he and Killian drank in.

“How did I end up here?” She sighs as she takes the glass in her hands.

“Well, this is the Underworld, therefore I’d say to end up here means you died. Sorry to be the one to break the news.” Liam says with a sarcastic smile.

She looks up from her glass, clearly not amused by the sarcasm, and Liam can see the pain in her green eyes. “It gets easier, I promise you that.”

“I was murdered.” She finally says. “How am I expected to feel better?”

It was an unfortunate fact that a lot of people ended up in the Underworld due to falling victim to murder.

“Well, I died because of my own stubbornness, left behind my little brother who is all on his own. It takes time to accept these facts, not saying it gets easier right away but you’ll get there in time.”

“I left my son behind with his horrible father. I am a horrible person.” She admits. “It wasn’t meant to be like this. I was going back for him and we would’ve been a family.”

Liam doesn’t say anything else, so he pours her another shot of whiskey and lets her sit there until she eventually leaves. This was her journey and Liam didn’t want to probe into open wounds. And if anyone knew anything about being left with a horrible father it was Liam. He hoped the poor lad ended up on a better path.

But the next day she comes back. “So that whiskey was really good yesterday. Got anything else?”

Liam smiles as he grabs the spicy rum he’s grown accustomed to drinking on days where he needs to drown his sorrows. “My bar is always here if you need a drink or a chat. Names Liam.”

The dark haired beauty takes the glass from Liam and takes a sip, “Milah. Have we met before? You look awfully familiar.”

Liam studies Milah for a second, her green eyes and dark curls don’t ring a bell, and he was normally good with faces. “Can’t say that I have, unless you’ve been dead longer than you think.”

__

Milah comes in almost every day for a few weeks before she starts to open up. Liam doesn’t pry, he serves her a drink while she ponders her afterlife.

“My ex husband killed me.” She tells Liam one day. Liam didn’t try to force her to say anything which she appreciates, so she doesn’t mind telling him her story.

Of all the things Milah could’ve said about her murderer, Liam was not expecting that. “I’m sorry to hear that. Do you mind me asking why?”

Milah takes another sip before saying, “I ran away. To be with my lover. He was angry that I left my son behind, but he was just a boy and the high seas are dangerous. I was going to come back for him when he was older. After I ran, my ex husband got hungry for power and revenge so he found a way to become the Dark One, and sure enough he got his revenge on me. Rumple ripped out my heart and called me a bad mother, which I hate to admit he was right.”

“I don’t think you were a bad mother.” Liam tells her. “Sure you could have handled your situation differently, but it sounds like you never forgot about your son and the fact you wanted to go back for him speaks volumes. You mention the high seas, was your lover in the Navy?”

Milah laughs. “Oh no, far from it actually. He was a Pirate Captain and I guess I was also a Pirate. We weren’t bad people, I assure you that, but Baelfire was far too young to understand anything.”

Liam gives her a disapproving look which Milah catches. “Don’t look at me like that. We both ended up in the same place. Don't tell me you were in the Navy.”

Liam just nods. “Naval Captain. Died on a mission the King sent us on. My little brother tried to save me but it was poison and it went straight to my heart.”

“Well I’ll cheers to that.” Milah says, raising her glass.

A few days later Milah is telling her story again, and giving more details about how bad her life was at home with her husband. “He took my choice away from me to have a second child. Baelfire was sick, and he was too much of a coward to steal the medicine to save his life. Rumple made a deal instead that this man would take our second born in exchange, so I could never have a second child.”

“You’ll get to face him again one day, when he arrives down here and you can tell him what a coward he was.” Liam felt horrible for Milah, she was a victim of another man's bad form and it ruined her life and led to her destruction.

“One can only hope. Anyway, it was that night I met Killian and everything changed.”

Liam freezes, he hadn’t heard that name come out of another mouth since he died. Milah notices, “are you okay?”

“Sorry. Killian was my little brother's name, I haven't heard it since, and it brought back memories. Sorry, continue with your story.”

“So he tells me he’s a Pirate, and he’s captain of the fastest ship in all the realm and he can take me anywhere I wish.”

Killian. It’s a common name surely. Fastest Ship in all the realm, Liam is sure a lot of Pirates say this. But just to be sure. “What was his name? Captain who? We came across Pirates in my Naval days, I’d be interested to know who he is.”

“Jones. Captain Killian Jones.”

Liam freezes and his vision suddenly becomes blurry.

No. It couldn’t be. His little brother, his trusted Lieutenant, a Pirate. No, not just a Pirate, but apparently the most ‘fearsome in the land.’ “I believe you’re talking about my little brother. Only when I died he was Lieutenant Jones of the King's Royal Navy.”

Milah’s eyes widened, “That’s why you look so familiar, you have his eyes.” Tears began to form thinking about what she had heard and what Killian had mentioned about his brother. “Something called Nightshade, it poisoned you, but the King wanted it for his army. Killed you as soon as you left the Island.”

Liam smiles, Killian had told someone about him. “The poison was called Dreamshade. I didn’t want to bore you with details of my death but I guess it relates. We didn’t know that it was a poison, and assumed it was a simple herb or plant used to heal our warriors. It was a strange island, there was this boy no older than 15, he told us it was deadly. Course I didn’t believe the kid so I cut myself with the plant. One thing led to another and I died because the water I drank which healed it wore off as soon as we were back in the Enchanted Forest.”

“I’m so sorry Liam. Killian spoke of his brother, of you. I didn’t put two and two together.” She felt horrible that she had been speaking about Killian not knowing his blood and flesh was right in front of her.

“Don’t worry about it, I’m not angry at you-how were you to know. I’m a little disappointed in my brother though, as soon as he became a Navy Man he stopped drinking and always believed in good form, Pirates were the epitome of bad form.”

Milah shakes her head. “No stop that. You don’t know what your death did to him. He told me the reason he became a pirate is because how could a King send his best men on a mission that had such dark consequences, he would never serve under the rule of such a cruel man. He would not let you become a victim of the King, he didn’t want the man who sent him there to die and speak crap about what a fine captain he was and what a tragic accident it was.”

“So you’re saying he became a Pirate because of me?” Liam was having a hard time understanding how the most noble man he knew would live a life like that when they had worked so hard for their position.

“I met Killian only  a few years ago, and by then he had made a name for himself in the lands. But once I got to know him, I understood he was a broken man who drank away his sorrows. He mentioned you to me but he mainly buried what happened to you inside, bottling up his emotions so he seemed hard-faced and scary to others. But not to me.” She explains. “He idolizes you, always believing you were the best man he ever knew and how could he ever live up to that. But it was the anger over what happened to you which forced him into the situation he was in, he made a statement as the King had to scramble to find a new Navy and a new ship.”

Liam smiles at the thoughts of their so-called great King realising his navy men were now a band of Pirates and convincing the people it was fine and explaining to trade leaders why he needed a new ship and a brand new legion. “Our terrible King paid a dear price for his wicked plans, I guess it’s what they call karma.”

“We were happy, Killian and I. He was happy, his men commented they hadn’t seen him like that since you died.” Milah tells Liam. That’s all she would want to know about Bae, if he was happy.

“I’m glad he was able to move on and find love. And I’m just sad it didn’t last.”

“He will be happy again. It’ll take time but I’m sure he can find what he has with me with someone else.” Milah wasn’t cruel, she wants Killian to find love again someday with someone special- he doesn’t deserve to be alone forever.

______

While Milah stops coming to the bar every day, they still keep in touch and give each other updates if someone new arrives who knows Killian.

“Captain Liam. What a sight for sore eyes you are!” Miller, a former crewmate of Liam and Killian arrives one day, explains he was killed by someone called a Lost Boy, another Pirate. “Your brother is a fine captain, Hook may be a Pirate but you’d be proud of him.”

“Hook?” Liam asks.

Miller looks confused for a second before realising, “Oh I forgot he got the hook after you died!”

Turns out the Dark One cut off Killian’s hand and in Pirate fashion he replaced it with a hook, so now he’s ‘Captain Hook.’ Well at least he now knew to listen out for Captain Hook when new arrivals came.

And sure enough this worked out, though he wasn’t fond of some of the stories he heard.

“Did you hear there will be a curse?” Milah says to Liam one day.

Liam shakes his head, he doesn't like to hear too much of what is going on up there, he’s only interested in his brother.

“There’s an evil witch or someone who is planning on cursing everyone in the Enchanted Forest and placing them in her own personal hell.” Milah explains, she leaves out the rumours her ex husband is involved. “They say they will be frozen in time for 28 years until a saviour comes.”

“28 years? That means-“

Milah finishes his thoughts, “28 years frozen in time means nobody comes down here and we are in the dark about Killian.”

Liam sighs, it had been a few hundred years in the world upstairs, and they had learnt Killian was in Neverland, a place where nobody ages. But they had learnt so much about him and were hoping to find out more, but this curse was a setback.

_____

They know the curse has broken when people start entering the Underworld. Also turns out the town where the curse put them was based off the Underworld.

At first they don’t hear much about Killian, or “Hook”. Until one day.

“They took the Saviour’s son. Hook lent his ship to the Hero’s, they’re going after them.”

Not too long after, a face Liam would recognise anywhere shows up. The boy who led them to the dreamshade. And he is joined by the Dark One himself.

“I’m not ready to face him.” Milah tells Liam.

“It’s okay, he’s the only one who knows about my brother. I shall keep your name out of it.”

“Well if it isn’t the one handed Pirate’s brother.” The Dark One says when he enters the pawn shop, which he apparently owns in the cursed land. He’d never met the man before, but supposedly he was all knowing.

“You’re the only person who can tell me about my brother. Please I mean no threat.”  It wasn’t his place to defend Milah, he also did not wish to anger the Dark One.

The Dark One sighs. “I met your brother when he was a Pirate and I was a man with no power. He beat me in a duel when I was still powerless, so it was an unfair advantage. Many years later we met again and I cut off his hand as I thought that’s where a magic bean was but alas he tricked me. The Pirate hid in Neverland for a couple hundred years to get revenge. But I will say your brother has changed while in Storybrooke, he’s in love with the Saviour who hasn’t quite admitted she feels the same just yet. But he’s changed his tune, he may be a Pirate but he’s working on being a hero.”

Liam smiles, his little brother has found love? And a hero. This woman he was in love with- a saviour, the one who was destined to break the curse? Not admitting her feelings for him, sounds like the perfect match for the ‘womaniser’ that he had rumoured to be.

“He’s on the side of the heros.” He tells Milah that night at the bar when she was sure she was not going to run into her ex.

“You’re not serious?” Milah couldn’t believe it, Killian was working on the good side?

“Dark one confirmed it himself. He also, um,” Liam begins to tell her about how he found love, but isn’t sure how she would take to it.

“What? What is it” Milah can tell he’s hesitating, not wanting to tell her something, wait. “He’s found someone-hasn't he?”

Liam nods.

Milah lets out a soft laugh, “It’s okay that he found love again. I’m not so daft to wait 500 years for him to return. Killian is not my unfinished business, my son is. Tell me about the woman he’s found.”

___

And so Liam wonders about this woman his little brother had fallen in love with. He imagines she’s strong and feisty, like he remembers his mother was, and doesn’t put up with his brother's cockiness he inherited from their father.

Killian was always destined for great things and it sounds like he is finally on the path for this greatness. He tries to listen out for little things here and there when new people start arriving, but he wants to hear it himself when he eventually does see his brother again. Although he hopes it won’t be for a very long time, he wants to hear how his brother fell in love and started a family, giving his kids a better childhood than the two of them had.

But unfortunately one day, sooner than expected, he does overhear

“Captain Hook is here.”

He arrives at the blue house by the water, it’s grand and beautiful. Knocking at the door was the hardest thing he ever had to do, but a blonde woman dressed in white opens the door, this must be the saviour.

He doesn’t know what he will say to her, does he say thank you for being the woman his brother needs? Or does he just introduce himself and hope Killian isn’t too far away.

“Hi can I-“ she begins, but that’s when he sees him standing behind her,

“Killian!” 300 years of waiting, looking a lot older and dressed in modern black leather, his little brother was finally here.

[wandaswigglywoes]

Junksen - Aubrey takes care of lil werewolf Emily

Don't know if Aubrey is also a were

This took me some time to figure out what I was doing. Thank you for prompting me!!! :3 I hope you enjoy!! I’m going to try and let this be sort of ambiguous— let the reader decide if they wish to ship them romantically. (If my muse will let me. We’ll see where the girls decide to take it lmao) Haha, just kidding-- this has been sitting in my drafts for 84 years. basically ignore that above, i can't do ambiguous apparently. bye

“Why me?!” Emily winces at the shrill voice on the other side of the door, but only for the fact that it’s loud and causes the sharp pain behind her right eye to pulsate. “Why do I have to take care of her? I should be out in the trenches!” The voice continues, outraged. Emily thinks under normal circumstances, she would feel hurt, and guilty that this woman would rather be out fighting then to have to deal with her, but the only kind of emotion that Emily can muster is a sort of throbbing numbness.

“Aubrey!” A warning growl. “Her entire pack was brutally murdered before her eyes, and she was taken captive only to be tortured. Have a bit of sympathy!” Something sharp digs through the numbness and suddenly, as if she’s being submerged into an icy fjord, it all hits her at once. She has nothing— no one left.

There is silence on the other side of the door, but Emily’s exceptional hearing picks up heavy breathing. “I— I’m not saying that what happened isn’t terrible and despicable,” The shrill voice from before is much softer now, remorse evident in her tone. “I’m saying that perhaps I’m not cut out to be the one to take care of her. Someone like Chloe could—“

“Chloe is unavailable, and you know that, Aubrey. She is dealing with our spy that brought Emily in.”

“But daddy, I—“

There is a low growl and the hairs on the back of Emily’s neck stand on end. “Are you challenging me, Aubrey? I know I am your father, but I am also your alpha, so are you challenging my authority?”

“No. Of course not.” This time the voice is tight and controlled.

“Good, then you will do as I say.” The sound of someone retreating is followed, leaving no more room for argument.

Emily stares down at her bruised and raw wrists, waiting for the door to open, but it doesn’t. Not right away at least, but she knows that someone is still standing on the other side of the door.

Finally, the door creaks open, sounding so much louder in the quiet bedroom. Emily keeps her gaze downcast, wishing for all the world that she could disappear. There’s a sharp intake of breath that Emily knows has to be about her appearance. She hasn’t been able to bathe in— well, she isn’t really sure. Maybe a week? Her wrists and ankles are raw and bloody from where they had kept her shackled in pure silver, and there were fang marks at her neck where they had fed from her.

Werewolf blood was said to be warm and intoxicating to vampires, and not only that, but they lasted a lot longer than normal humans. "How are you feeling?" The voice sounds much softer now, though Emily can still hear the strain underneath.

Anger burns the back of her throat. "You don't have to be here if you don't want to," Emily says darkly, still unwilling to look up.

There is a sharp inhale through flared nostrils before it's exhaled shakily. "You heard that..." Emily chuckles derisively, but says nothing. "Right, of course. Look, I'm sorry. I'm just-- I'm not good with--" The voice trails off and Emily finally brings her gaze up to put a face to the voice.

It's a mistake. The woman is beautiful, blonde hair pulled into a tight bun with wisps of it framing her pretty, delicate features. Her eyes are a piercing green with flecks of gold, and behind them is remorse. Emily feels all the anger melt from her body in that moment. The woman's hands are clasped together tightly in front of her, as if to keep them from fidgeting. She's wearing a pair of form fitting jeans and a maroon colored Henley shirt, the whole outfit making her look effortlessly beautiful.

Emily clears her throat. "It's fine." She finally murmurs, eyes dropping back to her bloodied wrists, feeling as if she's been staring for too long.

"I'm Aubrey," The woman says gently, slowly approaching the edge of the bed where Emily sits rigidly.

"Emily," She mumbles, a shaking hand coming up to push a few greasy strands of hair out of her face.

She looks up to see Aubrey smile gently and Emily feels her insides clench. She has a nice smile. "Emily, is there--- is there anything I can help you with? We should probably clean up your wounds so that the healing process doesn't take more time than it's already going to."

Emily feels herself blush, realizing she's going to have to ask Aubrey to help her with bathing. "I--I'd really like to wash up, but-- I don't think I can stay standing long enough."

Aubrey nods. "Of course, and then we'll tend to those wounds." She approaches slowly and then holds out her arms for Emily.

Emily slowly reaches out, gripping both of Aubrey's forearms and allows herself to be pulled into a standing position. Her body screams in protest at the movement, but Emily manages to keep from crying out in pain.

//

Emily sits in the warm bath, knees pulled up to her chest and head tipped back slightly as Aubrey carefully pours water onto Emily's hair. Some of the tension leaves Emily's broken body as Aubrey's fingers massage shampoo into her scalp. The last time someone else washed her hair, Emily was a small child and it had been her mother.

This is-- it's different. The air feels charged, the action too intimate for two strangers.

Aubrey had respectfully kept her eyes averted while Emily struggled to undress, using Aubrey's outstretched hands to keep herself upright. They hadn't spoke since Aubrey had agreed to help her, the silence somehow louder than anything Emily had ever heard.

"Are you okay?" Aubrey finally asks, voice quiet, as if afraid to break the previous silence.

Emily swallows the dryness from her throat. "Yes, thank you."

"Close your eyes, I'm going to rinse your hair." So Emily does, barely suppressing a shiver as Aubrey's fingers comb through her hair.

//

After Aubrey had helped Emily get dressed (Some borrowed sleep clothes of Aubrey's), she lead Emily back into the bedroom at had her sit at the edge of the bed once more.

Aubrey is very gentle as she wraps her ankles and wrists, before looking her over for any other wounds. They still hadn't said very much to each other, which is fine with Emily. She doesn't have the energy to try and make conversation, too emotionally numb to think.

It isn't until Aubrey's fingers gently trace the fang marks on her neck that Emily's mind buzzes to life quite suddenly, pain shooting down her neck. Emily jumps and in turn, so does Aubrey. "S-sorry, is it painful?"

Emily blinks, suddenly realizing how close Aubrey's face is to her own. "I--a little," She squeaks, a soft blush coloring her cheeks.

Aubrey's fingers are still on her neck as she stares into Emily's eyes. "I'm sorry, the ointment should numb it." She finally says, and Emily realizes that Aubrey's fingers are coated in something thick and that the pain is slowly receding.

"T-thanks," Emily says, eyes quickly finding somewhere else to look other than Aubrey's probing gaze. "For everything, for doing this even though you didn't want to."

"I'm sorry you heard that," Aubrey looks ashamed as she finally pulls her hand back, wiping it on a towel. "It had nothing to do with you, I hope you know. I'm just-- not very good at any of this."

Emily smiles for what seems like the first time in a while. It doesn't quite reach her eyes, but it's gentle and earnest. She reaches out and takes one of Aubrey's hands in her own, ignoring the way her heart picks up speed as she does. "You've done a pretty good job so far."

She isn't sure if it's a trick of the light or not, but Emily thinks Aubrey blushes at the compliment, eyes falling to their joined hands. "Thank you, Emily."

//

Emily wakes up screaming, her neck burning and her ankles and wrists aching painfully, and the haunting screams of her family echoing in her mind. For a moment, Emily isn't sure where she is, chest heaving as she chokes on her own tears.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," Hands are on her shoulders, stilling her thrashing, and when that doesn't work, arms wrap around her. "It's just a dream, Emily, you're safe."

"A-Aubrey?" Emily sobs, her world slowly coming into focus, nose picking up Aubrey's scent.

"Yes, it's me. I have you." Fingers comb through her sweaty hair.

Emily's body sags into Aubrey, nose burying into a slender neck and allowing the now familiar scent to push away the image of her family being murdered in front of her. "They're all dead," Emily hiccups, her arms wrapping around herself. "I'm-- I'm alone."

Aubrey pulls Emily practically into her lap, fingers trailing up and down her spine. "I'm so sorry they're gone, Emily," Aubrey murmurs, her voice thick with emotion. "But you aren't alone, I promise."

"Y-You don't even kn--know me," Even as she says it, her fingers grip the edge of Aubrey's sleep shirt as if she might disappear.

Aubrey sighs softly. "It doesn't matter. I have good instincts, and I can tell you're a good person. So, I mean it when I tell you that you aren't alone."

"Will you-- will you stay with me?" Emily doesn't think she can be alone again. True, Aubrey had made it into Emily's room in record time, but the thought of laying in this big bed alone with her thoughts scares her.

Aubrey doesn't hesitate. "Of course I will."

//

Emily sits with her back against a large tree, basking in the sun. It had been months since she was rescued and the war was getting closer to ending, and though Emily's heart still ached for her family, she had adjusted relatively well in this new pack.

A shadow crosses over her face and Emily frowns, opening her eyes to find Beca staring down at her-- the one who had rescued her. "Hey." She offers Emily a crooked grin before settling beside her.

"Hey, what's up?"

Beca lulls her head to the side to look at Emily. "Just checking in on my favorite little wolf."

Emily chuckles, nudging Beca with her shoulder. "Are you sure that title doesn't belong to someone else?"

Beca flushes slightly. "Shut up."

Emily's grin grows wider. "Pretty blue eyes, red hair--" Beca shoves her playfully and Emily laughs.

"If you're going to tease me about Chloe, then I can tease you about Aubrey."

Emily's smile drops. "Aubrey and I are friends." She says mechanically.

"Why don't you just tell her?" Beca asks gently.

"Why don't you tell Chloe?" Emily counters, annoyance evident in her voice.

Beca sighs resignedly. "I plan to... Later today. So you've got no reason not to to tell Aubrey."

Emily whips around to stare at Beca in shock, before something dawns on her. "You're going on another mission, aren't you?"

Beca inhales slowly, seeming to hold the air in her chest for a moment before exhaling. "Yeah, and life's too short to keep this shit bottled up."

Emily swallows the sudden burn of tears in her throat and nods jerkily before dropping her head to Beca's shoulder. "You better be careful, or else." She murmurs.

"I always am." Beca lets her own head drop onto Emily's.

//

Emily smells her before she sees her, the scent of lavender and earth growing stronger the closer she gets.

Aubrey stands outside her room on her balcony, leaning against the railing and staring up at the moon. "Hello, Emily." She says without turning around, probably having both scented and heard Emily.

Emily steps up beside her, heart in her throat. "Hi," She replies quietly, leaning against the railing next to her. Their arms brush against each others, and Emily allows it to calm her racing heart. "I uhm-- I wanted to talk to you."

Aubrey turns slightly to look at Emily. "Oh? Is everything okay?"

Emily visibly swallows as she brings her own gaze to meet Aubrey's. "Yes-- I mean, I think so." She can feel her cheeks heating up beneath Aubrey's concerned eyes and hopes it's just dark enough that Aubrey doesn't notice. "It's just-- I was talking to Beca earlier, and she said-- well, she said something to me that made me realize that I should tell you how-- how I really feel about you."

Aubrey's eyebrows draw together in confusion. She turns fully to face Emily. "How you--"

"Life's too short to keep these feelings bottled up, and I should know that better than anyone. So even if you don't feel the same, I wanted to tell you that I-- that I have feelings for you."

"You have feelings for me?" Aubrey stares at Emily in shock.

"Yes. Well, technically, I'm like-- a little bit in love with you. Which--- I don't want you to feel pressured to love me back, or feel guilty if you don't. I'm perfectly content to be your friend, I just-- I felt like you should know. So don't--"

"Emily," Aubrey's fingers press against Emily's lips.

"Hmm?"

Aubrey grins, eyes watery. "I'm a little bit in love with you, too." And before Emily can try to say anything else, Aubrey kisses her.

[chicgeekgirl89]

A Lover, Not a Fighter

For @badthingshappenbingo​

Fandom: 911 Lone Star

Characters: Carlos Reyes and T.K. Strand

Prompt: Broken Nose

Rating: T

Summary: T.K. comes home to find Carlos is no longer quite in one piece. 

A/N: Special thanks to @bluenet13​ without whom I would not have a Bingo card nor a fic. 

AO3 Link

“Hey babe!” T.K. called as he walked in the front door. 

His shift had been long but fine, a few fender benders, a pregnant woman, and a couple kids who would need stitches, nothing major. Nevertheless he was tired and looking forward to the next twenty-four hours off.

“Hey,” Carlos called back from where he was lying on the couch, his back toward the door. His voice sounded oddly muffled and T.K. frowned as he dropped his backpack and slipped off his shoes. “You okay?”

“Don’t freak out.”

The words had the opposite effect and immediately caused the blood to start pounding in T.K’s ears as he rounded the couch to find his boyfriend with an icepack pressed to his face. “Holy shit,” T.K. sat down next to him, eyes full of worry.

Carlos removed the icepack to reveal his nose, twice its normal size, and the beginnings of two black eyes. “It looks worse than it is.”

“Well it looks pretty fucking bad Carlos,” T.K. said in alarm, paramedic taking over as he reached out to gently probe at the bruising. “What the hell happened?”

Carlos winced and moved away from his touch. “Domestic dispute. Everyone is fine, but the guy came out swinging and I just happened to be in his way.”

“Why didn’t you call me?” T.K. asked, running a hand comfortingly up and down his thigh.

“It’s not that big of a deal,” Carlos told him. “I didn’t want you worried and unfocused on your shift.”

“Did you get it looked at?”

Even with an injured face Carlos managed an eye roll. “Yes Mom. It’s swollen right now but the alignment is fine. Should be good to go in a couple weeks.”

“Did you take anything?”

“Um,” Carlos squinted at the clock. “Like five hours ago?”

“Okay you should take something again,” T.K. said, standing and moving to the kitchen cupboard where they kept the ibuprofen. “Are you hungry?”

Carlos put the icepack back in place. “Not really.” 

T.K. returned with the pills and a glass of water. “You should eat something.”

“Oh, are you going to cook for me?” Carlos said, leaning back into the couch with a smirk.

T.K. held up his phone. “No. But I will order the best takeout you’ve ever had in your life.”

He placed an order for soup and sandwiches from a local deli and then returned to the couch. “Here sit up,” he said, sliding in behind Carlos so the latter could rest his head against T.K.’s chest. “My poor policeman,” he said, pressing a kiss to Carlos’ curls and rubbing a hand up and down his arm. 

“Yeah well you should see the other guy,” Carlos murmured, sinking into the affection and warmth of T.K.’s body.

T.K. chuckled. “I know for a fact that guy walked away arrested but physically unharmed, didn’t he?”

Carlos hesitated. “True. But if I had been off the job—“

“Then he still would have walked away unscathed,” T.K. teased. “Face it Reyes, you’re an excellent cop, but you’re a lover, not a fighter.”

“I’m tough when I want to be,” Carlos defended himself. 

“Mmhmm sure you are,” T.K. said, pressing another kiss to his hair.

“Fine. But I am an excellent lover,” Carlos said, and T.K. could tell he was smiling even though he couldn’t see his face.

T.K. nodded in consent. “Now that I can agree with. Is that what we should say when everybody asks about this at Judd’s birthday party on Saturday?”

T.K. felt Carlos’ shoulders drop. “Oh god I forgot all about that,” he groaned. “I can’t go looking like this.”

“It’s not that bad. No one will care.” T.K. resumed rubbing up and down Carlos’ arm.

“I look like a raccoon. People will be taking pictures.”

“I won’t let them. I’ll jump in front of every camera I see.”

“Maybe your dad has something that could help with the swelling?”

T.K. made a face. “Yeah I don’t think there are enough essential oils in the world to help with this babe.”

“You just said it wasn’t that bad!”

“Shhh,” T.K. soothed. “I’ll still love you even if you do look like Pinocchio after he’s lied his ass off.”

“Your bedside manner needs work,” Carlos grumbled, readjusting his position in T.K.’s arms.

T.K. smiled. “Ah, that’s the great thing about being a paramedic. Minimal bedsides.”

Dinner was a bit of a struggle; it clearly hurt Carlos to move any part of his face even though he kept insisting he was fine. And when T.K. suggested they turn in a little early he didn’t argue, clearly exhausted and ready to put this miserable day behind him. 

T.K. grabbed an extra pillow while Carlos was in the bathroom, adding it to the one already on his side of the bed and fluffing them both. “Having your head elevated should help keep the swelling down,” he said when Carlos returned.

“Thanks,” Carlos said, wincing as he started to get into the bed.

He must have moved too fast because he let out a pained grunt and his whole body stiffened. “Hey,” T.K. sat up and reached for him. “Easy.”

By the time Carlos was fully in bed, his eyes were closed tightly, his breathing coming out strained, hands clenched into fists. “Just breathe,” T.K. said softly, stroking his arm, his own heart squeezing at the sight of his boyfriend in so much pain. “Try and relax your body.”

Carlos let out a shaky breath and uncurled his fingers. “God,” he said, voice tight. “Just breathing hurts like hell.”

“I’m so sorry,” T.K. said. “We can get you some stronger pain medication tomorrow if you need it.”

Carlos let out another slow exhale and briefly closed his eyes. “No, I’ll be all right.” He turned his head slightly to look at T.K. “Thank you. For being here.”

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” T.K. said, putting a hand on Carlos’ hip and rubbing his thumb up and down soothingly.

Carlos hesitated for a moment, something clearly on his mind. “I’m really sorry I didn’t call you today. I could tell that it bothered you.”

T.K. shifted up onto his elbow so Carlos didn’t have to strain to look at him. “You were trying to protect me and I appreciate that. But I’d rather decide for myself what constitutes an emergency and whether or not I should leave work and come be with you.”

“I’m just kind of used to taking care of myself.”

“I know. But I’m here now and you don’t have to do that anymore.” T.K. smiled. “Besides I like taking care of you.”

Carlos looked at him intently. “I love you,” he said softly.

“I love you too.” T.K. laced their fingers together and pressed a kiss to the back of Carlos’ hand. “Now come on. You need all the beauty sleep you can get to try and fix that nose up.”

Carlos glared at him. “Again with the bedside manner…”

A/N: I see Carlos as someone who prefers to end conflict as peacefully as possible. Of course he's tough and does the tackling and disarming when he needs to, but he's definitely a sweet little softie!

[eightyonekilograms]

Someone on the Discord brought up fertility

Just like last time I'm lazy and just going to dump it instead of editing.

[5:10 PM] Me: Oh boy, I have thoughts about this

[5:12 PM] Me: I haven't brought it up here but demographics has been one of my covid obsessions. I got a couple books about it (What to Expect When No One's Expecting, One Billion Americans, etc.), read all the articles, etc.

[5:15 PM] Me: I agree with you about a couple things: namely that if we had "infinite free energy" we'd be a a lot better off in many ways including demographically, but I disagree with most of your other points.

[5:18 PM] Me:

Also we need not assume decline in population growth is chronic.

This is a tricky statement because there's a social aspect and a mathematical aspect. Socially you're correct in the sense that whatever trends are driving the current decline could, in theory, reverse at any time. But mathematically, population decline is exactly symmetrical to population growth: it's exponential (technically it's logistic, but that's the same as exponential in the short term), because having fewer people means fewer people to make more people later on.

[5:20 PM] Me:

Infact there is some evidence to suggest that we actually did more science when we had 4-6 billion people.

I disagree with the implication here: we used to do more science because there was more low-hanging fruit, which is now plucked, and further discoveries require more resources (human and financial). Actually one of the big reasons I disagree with Ray Kurzweil and the other singularitarians is that when they show these impressive-looking exponential curves about scientific progress, they quietly hide under the rug that these increases are requiring ever-more investment (again, in both people and money) to accomplish. Just to pick a random example, every time chip manufacturers go to a new process (14nm -> 10nm -> 7nm -> 5nm -> 2nm etc.), the cost to build the fab basically doubles. I remember a couple years back Intel had to spend $5 billion to hit a new process shrink; now TSMC needs to spend $28 billion to hit their next target: https://www.wsj.com/articles/tsmc-to-spend-up-to-record-28-billion-in-advanced-chips-capacity-11610623587)

[5:23 PM] Me: I will try to find it but I came across a paper a little while ago laying out in detail that the cost of new scientific discoveries has been steadily increasing over time. It's not that there's anything necessarily going wrong with the scientific process, this is just what you'd expect as we pick low-hanging fruit: the later discoveries necessarily become harder. But if you extrapolate that trend out forever you eventually hit a point where every single person needs to be a scientist, and every dime of capital in existence, needs to be used to make any new discoveries.

[5:26 PM] Me: (In most fields we're a long way from that point, but it actually is here or nearly here in e.g. particle physics. What I have been hearing from leading-edge particle physicists is that we've got maybe one or two more generations of particle accelerators left before we reach a point where, to probe any further (e.g. to see if string theory is true), we'd need to build accelerators the size of the Solar System, which would take more raw material than the mass of the Earth. Barring some new theoretical breakthroughs, we might actually nearing the "end" of high-energy physics.)

[5:30 PM] Me: Fortunately most fields aren't at that point, but my point is that the more we discover, the more human capital is required to make further progress. That's a tricky enough proposition with a growing population, never mind a shrinking one.

[5:36 PM] Me:

I don't think it is safe to assume lowering population growth is a biological disorder so much as a conscious choice most people in the younger generations are making for a variety of obvious reasons.

I agree with this, but it's important to dig into that a little and understand the reasons. For example, I'm not yet convinced that there is a mass epidemic of people choosing childlessness because of anxiety about e.g. climate change. In internet comments sections you certainly see lots of people making that claim, but talk is cheap and randos on the internet can say whatever they want. In terms of the actual reasons, the data I've seen shows that number of children continues to track closely with a couple data points, mostly housing costs, expected lifetime income and uncertainly about future income flow.

[5:40 PM] Me: Third, I think you should give more weight to the concerns Rhys brought up than you currently are. The environmental stresses of more people is certainly a big issue, but I think it's one that can be dealt with without too much struggle with increased deployment of clean energy (one of the few optimistic data points lately is that there's a staggering amount of wind and solar power being deployed every year) and a couple of lifestyle changes like eating less meat. Not to say these are easy, but contrast with the pretty serious problems of population decline, particularly the social safety net.

[5:41 PM] Me: And I don't just mean the explicit ones like Social Security, but even market-based, privatized ones like retirement savings have a hidden reliance on a growing population.

[5:42 PM] Me: When you "save for retirement", you're not stockpiling food and water to live off when you no longer work, you're collecting financial assets that you expect to sell to someone else and live off that income. But if there's no one to sell to, that doesn't work.

[5:44 PM] Me: This is a problem that's starting to show up at the top end of the income stack: see this WSJ article about retirees who can't find anyone to buy their $3 million homes: https://www.wsj.com/articles/a-growing-problem-in-real-estate-too-many-too-big-houses-11553181782. It's easy to have schadenfreude here at those poor rich people who can't unload their huge mansion, but remember that this is inherently a problem which will start at the top of the income brackets and gradually make its way downward.

[5:46 PM] Me: You can push this problem back for a while by increasing taxes on the rich, and I do indeed think those should go up, but in a declining population that only buys you a little time. Remember that "money" is nothing but a claim on some fraction of total economic output. e.g. when you hold a dollar bill, you're essentially holding a note entitling you to one-zillionth of American GDP.

[5:47 PM] Me: At a certain point once population falls then total aggregate output necessarily falls too, and at that point taxing the rich hits rapidly diminishing returns: you're just claiming a bigger share of falling output

[5:49 PM] Me: One thing to keep in mind here is that most economies, but especially the U.S. economy, are primarily driven by consumer spending, i.e. normal people just buying and selling stuff to each other.

[5:50 PM] Me: This is why e.g. mass immigration isn't as huge a deal as a bunch of nativists like to think: immigrants get jobs, but they also spend money on goods and services just like anyone else: they generate labor demand as well as taking up supply

[5:51 PM] Me: But what I'm driving at here is that, again, a consumer-spending-driven economy with a falling population is going to get poorer pretty much by definition: fewer people buying stuff means fewer jobs to produce that stuff.

[5:54 PM] Me: Or to put another way, to use a ridiculously simplified model, GDP = Population X Productivity, and so if you take the derivative, then GDP' ~ Population' + Productivity'. So in a falling population environment, you need a lot of heavy lifting in terms of forever-increasing productivity in order for economic growth to be positive. And while there might be improvements down the pipe, frankly we kind of seem tapped out on productivity growth already

[5:55 PM] Me: Now, one possible response here is that we should work out how to have an economic system which delivers prosperity without endless growth, and I do agree we need that. But just saying that doesn't fix the problem that right now we don't have it and people will be poorer in a world without growth.

[5:56 PM] Me: And in such a world, I think it actually becomes harder to successfully transition to whatever post-scarcity economy can fix the problem, because people will be caught up in fighting over a shrinking pie.

[5:58 PM] Me: The neoliberal capitalist mindset of "a rising tide lifts all boats" isn't totally true and has been used to justify all kinds of nasty plutocratic behavior, but it isn't entirely false either. Without growth, at least in the system we have now, wealth distribution inherently becomes a zero-sum game. And that could get really ugly.

[5:59 PM] Me: So, that's most of what I have to say about why a falling population would be bad. But that's the easy part. Where this gets really complicated is why it's happening and what to do about it

[6:00 PM] Me: Now, I think one of the reasons I've been so fascinated by this is that it's been a pessimistic year, and falling birth rates are kind of the perfect pessimistic problem because I don't really see an easy way out. Also I'm just annoyed by partisans in general, and this is a perfect problem for that because it sort of frustrates partisans on all sides.

[6:02 PM] Me: e.g. the left mainly talks about the economic causes and proposes a variety of policy solutions, but an ugly little secret here is that government policy to increase birth rates has basically a perfect, unbroken track record of total failure

[6:03 PM] Me: All kinds of countries (mostly in Europe, but also in East Asia) have implemented all kinds of pro-natalist policies, and for the most part they have accomplished pretty much nothing. (Amusingly, this even goes back to antiquity: in the first couple centuries AD Roman Emperors were also concerned with falling birth rates, and implemented a variety of reforms that didn't do anything)

[6:03 PM] Me: You could always say they didn't go far enough, but at some point you're making an unfalsifiable hypothesis

[6:06 PM] Me: Meanwhile on the right, they're constantly talking about cultural factors, but this runs into two problems: it's again a set of mostly unfalsifiable hypotheses, but even worse since they're all tangled up in the Right's usual rants about The Way Things Ought to Be, but even if they turned out to be true, it seems like a hopeless cause because we basically have no levers to change culture.

[6:07 PM] Me: "Why does culture develop in the direction it does" is one of those huge questions I'm not sure we'll ever have a complete answer for, but I think it has to mostly involve technological determinism.

[6:08 PM] Me: https://www.sciphijournal.org/index.php/2017/11/12/why-the-culture-wins-an-appreciation-of-iain-m-banks/ <-- this is a great article explaining what I'm talking about, as well as explaining why you should read Iain Banks

[6:09 PM] Me: But my point here is that all the cultural changes the Right laments as causing people to have fewer children, assuming they're even correct which I am definitely not granting, are pretty much all products of industrialization. You can't roll them back without undoing the Industrial Revolution. At least not without an insane level of authoritarianism

[6:10 PM] Me: So on the policy side we have a bunch of levers which don't do anything, and on the culture side there are no levers at all.

[avengerscompound]

Until the End of the World - 6

Until the End of the World: A Captain America Fanfic

Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing:  Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Word Count:  1658

Rating:  E

Warnings: pregnancy

Synopsis: Four years after Steve and Bucky got to the bottom of the HYDRA conspiracy that had led to you and your son being hunted for the first three years of his life, you, Bucky, and Steve have carved out a nice life together.  Things are calm and you feel like a family unit.  When Geo starts calling Bucky and Steve ‘dad’, a decision is made to try and add to your family.

Things aren’t as calm as they seem.  When your pregnancy hits the papers, HYDRA rears its head once again, and Steve and Bucky need to track you down to protect the family they had created.

Chapter 6

Things were a little bit of a whirlwind after you got that positive pregnancy test back.  You suddenly realized how much needed to be done before the baby arrived, and panicked because all of a sudden you felt the need to do them all at once.  There were renovations to the apartment to get underway.  You needed to finish your master’s thesis.  You had baby things to buy - furniture, clothes, diapers.  That had sent you on a spiral where you got hung up on how you’d done this the first time on the run.  Living out of your car with an infant who didn’t even have his own bed.

Those days were over and now you had people.  Steve and Bucky noticed the panic spiral you went into, and sat you down and helped you through it.  Plans were laid out to move the four of you into a spare apartment within a few weeks so construction could get started.  They mapped out a timetable to make sure you had plenty of time to work uninterrupted on your thesis. They assured you that before the baby was born they would buy everything needed and that Pepper might even throw you a baby shower given you’d been so involved in throwing hers. They had reassured you about the life you had given Geo, telling you that you’d done more than most to keep him safe and he was growing up to be a kind and decent person.  That everything you couldn’t give him then, he had now, and more and that this new baby would be safe and loved just like Geo was, which was the most important part.

Which just left the doctor’s appointments.  You started by going down to the Stark Tower medical bay to get a blood test to confirm the pregnancy, have a check-up, and work out when your due date should be.  They then gave you a referral to an ObGyn and booked you in to have an ultrasound at the eight-week mark.

Even though five weeks was only three week's wait from the appointment, it felt like forever.  You wanted to share the news with Geo and they wanted to tell their friends.  So when you changed into the hospital gown and got into the ultrasound chair, you were buzzing with excitement, but you had the feeling that as excited and nervous as you were, Steve and Bucky were doubly so.

While your boyfriends were fantastic fathers to Geo, they had never done this bit.  They didn’t have the experience of fear and excitement as you waited for the shape of the baby to show up on the screen - part of you expecting the worst but mostly just excited to see how much they had grown.  They hadn’t done birthing classes or felt the kicks of their child as it grew.  None of that was important to being a parent, it was just new for them.

Bucky moved quickly to your side and held your hand and Steve shifted in close beside him.  An ultrasound tech who worked on staff stepped into the room.  “Captain Rogers, Sergeant Barnes,” she said, respectfully.

“Miss Brown,” Steve said, with a nod.

“Can we maybe, not do the Captain America thing in here?” You asked.

The technician giggled and nodded.  “I’ll try.  Not sure I can do it.”

Steve chuckled and a soft blush crept into his cheeks.  “Of course, sweetheart,” he said, running his hand through the back of his hair.

“So are we all ready to see this baby?”  Brown asked.

“We definitely are,” you answered.

She adjusted the chair so you were raised higher and lying back more.  You spread your legs as she prepared the probe.  “Alright, try to relax.  There will be a pinch,” she said.

She pushed the probe inside you.  You squeezed Bucky’s hand as you winced at the pinch.  Internal ultrasounds weren’t painful exactly, but they were pretty far from comfortable. Not to mention having a stranger poke around in your nether regions was not what you’d call a fun day out.

Steve and Bucky kept their eyes locked onto the screen, while you were slightly more interested in their reaction.  Your gaze flicked from the screen to their faces and back trying to gauge how they were feeling.

You saw the little bean shape that was the embryo growing inside you before Steve or Bucky picked up on what it was.  The flutter of its heart was so clear to you and a smile spread across your face.  It was just a vague blob but it was the start of a new path of your life, one you could see as being settled and happy and full of love.

There was part of you that worried that it wouldn’t come to pass.  After all, the last time you were in this situation you were with someone you loved just as much as you loved Steve and Bucky thinking this was going to be part of the happily ever after you had already started.  Instead, you’d ended up a widow on the run with an infant.

You hoped this was different.  Steve and Bucky had taken you off the radar and disbanded the group that had been hunting you.  You lived in a secure private military installation.  Geo went to school at a very secure private school.  There was no reason for you not to be safe now.

“Do you see this little shape here?”  The tech said, pointing out the embryo on the screen.  “Looks a little like a kidney bean?”

“Is that it?”  Steve asked.

“That’s your baby alright,” the tech confirmed.

A smile slowly spread over Bucky’s face.  It was pure and genuine and full of love and hope.  He beamed up at the screen as the tech pointed out different things. The heartbeat, the head, and the arm and leg buds.  He couldn’t take his eyes off it.

Steve looked more nervous than Bucky.  His eyes were flicking all over the screen and watching the notes the tech typed up as she did her measurements.  “It’s alright, right?  Everything is fine?”

“Looks good so far, Captain Rogers,” Brown said.  “I’ll forward this to the doctors here and your ObGynthough.  They can go through it with you.”

He relaxed and the smile on his face got bigger.  He turned to you and Bucky, leaning in a little. “That’s our baby,” he whispered. 

“Can you believe it?”  Bucky asked.  “I can’t believe it.”

“Believe it, Buck,” Steve said.  “It’s happening.”

Bucky grinned and pecked Steve’s lips and then turned to you and kissed your temple.

The tech removed the probe and hit a button on the machine that started printing out some of the pictures.  “We’re all done here.  Like I said, the results will be forwarded to the doctors,” she said as she cleaned off the probe and lowered the chair back down.  “You can go get dressed if you like.”

“You wiped yourself off and got up, heading into the cubical to change.  You could hear them talking as you redressed, though you couldn’t hear what they were saying.  When you came back out, Bucky and Steve were looking over the little print out of the ultrasound and they both looked up at you expectantly.  “You ready?”

“Yep,” you said.  “Good to go.”

The three of you headed out to the elevator, and both men wrapped an arm around you as you rode it back up to the apartment.  “Can we tell Geo now?”  Bucky asked.

You considered the question for a moment.  It was still early and things still could go wrong, but your experience had been that that was true no matter what.  You had the little printout of the embryo.   Now was as good a time as any to let Geo know he was going to be a big brother.

You nodded as the elevator stopped and the three of you got out.  “Yeah.  We should do it.  Let’s get him from school and take him to get ice cream and we’ll tell him that he’s going to be a big brother.”

“That sounds perfect, sweetheart,” Steve said.  “What about the others?”

You giggled and headed into the apartment.  “So excited to tell everyone.”

“This is big for us,” Steve explained.  “We didn’t think we’d ever get a family and kids.  Especially not with each other.  Especially not with each other and someone else.  We want to share it with the rest of the people we care about.  There’s not always a lot of happiness to go around.”

“You haven’t told anyone at all yet?  Not even, this is a secret you can’t tell anyone?”  You asked.

“I swear, I haven’t,” Steve said, shaking his head.

“Not even Sam?”  You asked.

“No, not even Sam,” Steve agreed.

“Bucky?”  You asked.

He held up his hands.  “Who would I even tell?”

“Okay,” you said with a nod.  “We can hold a dinner party, invite all your friends, and Geo can tell them.”

Steve smiled and pulled you into his arms.  Bucky wrapped himself around you from behind and nuzzled into your neck.  “That sounds completely perfect,” Steve said.

// NEXT

[charincharge]

Person A and Person B are co-workers who hate each other. They’re always competing with each other at work and they’re always getting into arguments. Then one day Person A is leaving an appointment with their therapist when they happen to see Person B waiting to see the same therapist in the lobby. I think one is perfect for rowaelin.

This was silly but fun. Word Count: 1,757

Aelin pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration, a horrible mannerism she’d picked up from her least favorite person. She could see her boss bite back a smirk as he noticed Aelin’s mirrored position from across the table. Aelin leaned back, removing her hand from her nose, refusing to have anything in common with the man who made her life a living hell. Fucking Rowan Whitethorn.

When Aelin had first joined Rifthold Marketing, she’d been excited to meet her team. She’d been warned she would be the first female to be hired as a senior account manager, and that it was a bit of a boys’ club. But Aelin could handle herself. She was fierce and opinionated and refused to be bowled over by any sexist asshole. But it turned out she didn’t need to be worried, the team of managers, who referred to themselves as The Cadre, invited her to their weekly happy hour her first day on the job, welcoming her with open arms.

Well. All, except one.

Rowan Whitethorn was a prick extraordinaire. He scoffed as Aelin sipped her chardonnay at their happy hour, frowning into his beer unhappily at her presence, and he hadn’t warmed to her since. It’d been four months, and every day he’d made Aelin’s life a living hell. Which is why for the life of her, she could not understand why Dorian, the company VP had asked them to work together on a new account pitch.

“This is insane, Dorian,” Rowan grumbled from his side of the table, his fingers ever present on the bridge of his nose, between his furrowed brow.

“As much as I hate agreeing with him,” Aelin said, clearing her throat. “Rowan is right.”

“I am?” he asked, straightening up slightly.

“Of course,” Aelin scoffed. “Us working together is ridiculous. I have an existing relationship with the account. Orynth Hotel Group is only taking the meeting because of me. They want to rebrand with me. Rowan has no business pitching whatever nonsense ideas he has to them.”

“Except Rowan also has an existing relationship with the client,” Rowan said, speaking of himself in the third person. It was something he did all too frequently, and it made Aelin’s skin itch every time.

“The existing relationship should not count if it’s not professional,” Aelin jeered, and Rowan’s lips curled into a sneer as his fist pounded on the table. “Who is she? An ex? You screw your way into all your accounts?”

“Excuse me?” Rowan gaped. “Dor, come on, she can’t say that. Not only is it not true,” he ground out. “But it’s grounds for harassment. I’ve worked with Maeve on three campaigns, and she specifically reached out to tell me she’d just joined Orynth.”

Rowan glared at his boss, who looked far too amused at his discomfort. Dorian sighed loudly.

“Which is why I need you to work together,” he said, giving the pair a small smile. “Orynth is a huge account, and we would be idiots to lose out because you two couldn’t come up with a cohesive pitch. I know I can count on my two best account managers to come up with something spectacular, yes?” He paused and looked at them. “By Friday, please.”

Aelin groaned and slumped back into her chair, nodding feebly at Dorian as he left the two in the conference room.

“Coffee?” Aelin offered, hoping to thaw the icy glare from Rowan’s eyes, but it hardened even more as he shook his head.

“While you waste time on that, I’ll gather my notes for you.”

Aelin tried her very hardest not to roll her eyes as she made her way across the hall to pour herself a cup of coffee. She could get through this. It was one week of her life. Just one fucking week where she’d have to spend every minute of her day with Rowan. She paused. Thank gods she had therapy tonight. Her therapist had heard far toto much about the infamous Rowan Whitethorn, and she had a feeling she’d be hearing another earful tonight.

When she made her way back into the conference room, Rowan had spread out a series of boards he’d drawn up across the table. The intricate pitch proved he’d already put a lot of work into it, but Aelin had done the same prepping for this meeting. She knew it was going to be a long battle between them. As she glanced at the boards, she couldn’t help but admire some of them. She hated that he was actually pretty talented. If only his attitude didn’t suck so badly, they might actually be a pretty great team.

“So?” Rowan asked expectantly as Aelin took a sip of her steaming mug.

“Your illustrations are beautiful…”

“But,” he ground out between his clenched teeth.

“But,” Aelin continued. “Orynth has worked incredibly hard to launch themselves as a luxury hotel brand. Cozy, family stay doesn’t exactly say – luxury to me.”

“I don’t know,” Rowan countered. “Taking time off work. Having a family. Sharing a meal. Feels like a luxury to me.” His eyes were suddenly sad, and Aelin felt slightly uncomfortable seeing it. She looked down at her coffee and when she looked back up, his eyes were back to their usual cold glare.  “I suppose you have something much better?” he asked, his voice defensive with sarcasm.

“In fact…” Aelin laid out her own papers. Her boards weren’t anything close to Rowan’s meticulously drawn illustrations, but they got the point across. Rowan’s eyes flicked across them quickly, and she could see the eye roll he barely restrained.

“What?” she snapped.

“It’s just… sex?” he scoffed. “It’s so overdone. This isn’t a seedy Vegas hotel for a forbidden affair.”  

“No, it’s… a staycation for an overworked couple who deserve time to relax. Away from their family. Time for themselves. Between sheets or otherwise. The luxury of being yourself.” Aelin used her best pitch voice and watched as Rowan barked out a loud laugh.

“You think that’s going to sell?”

“You’re infuriating!” Aelin said.

“You’re not much better yourself, Ace,” he spat, using Dorian’s nickname for her.

“Fine,” Aelin sighed. “Let’s scrap them both.”

“Fine,” Rowan agreed, pushing all the papers off the table and making room for new scratch. She was in for a long night.

Luckily, at seven on the dot, Aelin called it for both of them. They’d made a list of general areas to explore and a few sub headers without murdering each other. She deemed that extreme progress.

“Where you going?” Rowan asked as she gathered her things. “Hot date?” he asked, glancing at the clock.

Aelin snorted, thinking of her weekly date with her therapist. “Something like that,” she answered.

Rowan stretched, clearly annoyed. “I would have put in another hour, but who am I to judge? It’s not like we have to pitch something to Dorian in four days.”

Aelin didn’t dignify his taunt with a response, her fury rising up in her as she sped off to therapy.

“I wish I didn’t have to work with him. He’s just… rude,” Aelin concluded for her doctor, who sat listening to her intently. “All the time.”

“And you’re not?” Yrene probed. Aelin rolled her eyes.

“He started it!”

“Aelin,” Yrene sighed. “We’ve talked about this every week for months. Someone needs to be the first to extend an olive branch, and it doesn’t seem like it’s going to be him.”

“Well, it’s not going to be me, either.”

Yrene gave her a warm smile. “Did you think maybe that you two spar because you’re so similar? Obviously, I only know what you’ve told me, but maybe Rowan needs you to be the first to reach out.”

“Unhelpful session, doc,” Aelin laughed as she stood, the timer beside Yrene beeping softly.

“It’s going to be a stressful week for you, I understand,” Yrene said. “But, you can do it.”

Aelin walked all the way down to her car with Yrene’s affirmations ringing in her head. Should she reach out? Say something kind? It would maybe make this week better. Or maybe not, she sighed.

As Aelin reached for the car door handle, it didn’t open. She dug through her purse only to quickly see her key wasn’t there. She realized she’d left her car key on the arm of Yrene’s couch. She’d been in such an infuriated rush when she got there she must have forgotten to put it back into her purse. Yet another thing Rowan Whitethorn was to blame for.

She stalked back upstairs to the second floor, and saw that the light on Yrene’s door was on, meaning she was already in another session. Damnit. Aelin couldn’t wait around for another forty five minutes while Yrene’s eight o’clock appointment received their therapy.

Tentatively, Aelin knocked on the door. The chatter stopped from inside the office as Yrene opened the door a crack.

“Hi!” Yrene said, her voice high with surprise.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Aelin began, “But I left my car key on your couch.”

“Am I hallucinating?” a voice called from within the office. Aelin would recognize tthat voice anywhere.

“No fucking way…” she mumbled as she pushed the door open wider.

There, on her spot on her favorite couch in the room, sat Rowan.

“Did I conjure you? Said your name three times, and you appear like Bloody Fucking Mary,” he scoffed. “Date went badly?”

“I forgot my key,” Aelin said, crossing her arms defensively over her chest. All those times Aelin had complained about Rowan, and here Rowan was probably doing the exact same thing. Aelin couldn’t bear it.

Rowan’s eyes widened as he realized where Aelin had been. He reached over and grabbed her car key and walked it to her, handing it over.

“You know,” Yrene said softly. “You two are the only clients who sit in that spot.”

“Great,” Rowan sighed. “I’m going to need a new therapist,” verbalizing the thoughts that Aelin had just had.

“No!” Yrene called out as Rowan grabbed his jacket off the couch. “Rowan, don’t…”

“At least I get to keep something this week,” Aelin smirked, putting her key back into her purse. At her smug smile, Rowan growled and stalked back to the couch, plopping down on the opposite side. He flicked Aelin off, and Yrene gave her a soft smile.

“See you next week, Aelin,” she said, closing the door in her face.

No fucking way, thought Aelin. Never again would she be seeing the same therapist as Rowan fucking Whitethorn.

~*~

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@ireallyshouldsleeprn

@tillyrubes10 

@cityofchelsea16

[namgee]

implications | knj

❥pairing: Namjoon x Reader (f)   ❥genre: fluff, slice of life (pg) ❥word count: 2.3k ❥summary: The adventurer life isn’t for you. You like your routines and you stick to them, but a small mess-up finally forces you beyond your desired level of social interaction as you rely on a stranger. A stranger whose actions and words imply things you wish to explore. ❥warnings: none  ❥a/n: this was just a quick little thing I wrote a few days ago before I got started on another smut fic which should come out in about a week 😋 ^^ I did a quick proofread so sorry for any mistakes 😣

A silence that sounds with turning pages, graphite scraping against thick paper and the ever present hums that arise from thought. Your ears anticipate it even before you're there. It’s, for the most part, the same soundscape you’ve grown accustomed to since you started visiting the art atelier. Well, the building technically has multiple ateliers, whatever your artistic interest, for a reasonable fee each month, you can visit the space and use their resources. Each floor focuses on certain subject areas, people are allowed to move around and work wherever they want. Like a Google workspace except for the arts.

You usually stick to the 4th floor, where most of the graphics tools are. The elevator dings, you step away from the metallic box and towards the senior part-time receptionist, Diane, who gives unsolicited artistic advice under the guise that old age equates to prowess in art criticism. The advice isn’t half as bad as you expected still, you rarely take it. You place your folder on the desk giving her a smile, teeth barely visible, it’s the best iteration of ‘a lady should always smile when talking to others’ smile you can muster with your lips chapped from the borderline glacial air you had to walk through this afternoon.

“Well, hello young lady! You haven’t visited the establishment in a while. Mateo has been asking about you actually.”

Mateo is the head of the graphic art department who you might or might not like, there’s still a few weeks left for you to decide. Your roommate, Jovian, had given you the ultimatum, “You have until you finish whatever creature you’re trying to collage together this time around,” she had said waving her half painted stiletto nail around before diverting her attention to another girl who also seemed to be having a hard time choosing as her family and in laws attempted to decide for her. On one thing you were sure, you would have said no to the dress she had on.

“There we have it! That’s a much better smile that one you gave before. It’s always best to show some teeth,” Diane says, her two row of teeth (some of which look awfully fake) in full display.

“I’ll sure think about it next time Diane. I’m just here to check in right now,” you sigh, removing your decaying gloves which have lost their purpose, your fingers are about as stale as Diane’s as you fish around for your membership card in your wallet.

“The time please darling.”

“3pm to 8pm,” you say blowing warm air into your palms.

It takes a few minutes for her to find your name in the system. “Oh sweetheart, it seems someone else already took your spot.”

“Exactly how did they take my spot?”

“Hmmm,” Diane’s eyes lift upwards as she tries to find an answer in the air, “to be quite frank with you I do not know.” She sounds shocked that she doesn’t know something.

“Uh, excuse me?” Someone questions from behind you. You both turn towards the voice coming from a golden haired man sporting what is most likely the best variant of the fully toothed lady smile Diane advocates for. To make matters even better it’s shaped like a heart. “I believe that I was the one who took the spot.” he giggles nervously as if caught red-handed before sliding his own card onto the desk.

You assume he’s here to work with graphics for some sort of fashion related purpose, in fact he sort of looks like the graphics plastered around the building: colourful, bold, warm but still a bit overwhelming.

“You’re indeed the one who booked the slot first, young man.”

“I believe that this is what the trainer for my position was referring to as a glitch in the system.” Diane says with an air of pride.

“Hm, sorry about that,” The human embodiment of a colour wheel says with an apologetic pout.

“Oh, don’t worry I’m sure I can find another place, it isn’t your fault,” you wave your hand around giving him your second or third genuine smile of the day. He mumbles a shy ‘okay’ before heading right, away from you.

“Can you see if there’s any place on the other floors?” You reluctantly ask, after all you had never gone to other floors unless it was to buy snacks because the queues on the 4th floor were too long or to find unoccupied bathrooms.

Diane finds you an opening for the floor above. You thank her and move back to catch the elevator doors right before they close, swiftly slipping in towards a surprised figure, a big figure. You mumble a quick apology after bumping into him. When you turn your head to look at him he gives you what you assume to be his own equivalent of the barely noticeable smile you gave Diane a few minutes ago.

The ride takes a few seconds. You rush out the second the opening of the doors is big enough for you slip past if you just take a deep breath in. Another second goes by where you feel disoriented. The floor layout is not that different from the one beneath but the place looks far more cramped than what you expected. Don’t writers like to be alone? In their own space?

You watch as Mr. Big gives yet another one of his glances, you haven’t figured out how to describe them yet, you don’t know if you’re being judged or just being perceived or whatever it is that writers do.

He goes to the right, so you take the other way. You peruse the space for a place you could sit down to work on your project. Somehow, the writers with their notebooks and laptops seem stingy about letting you settle down despite how packed the floor already is.

For every glance you take at a potential working spot you receive three glances and these ones you know to be of the judgy kind. You walk and walk only to end up on square one. Just to make sure, you do another round and another one as if you were in a full parking lot waiting for one of the cars to magically pull out for you to get a place. By your third tentative walk, the one where you put the most effort to seem approachable and nice, someone takes pity on you.

It seems it’s not only his stature that is big but so is his heart.

“Oh god, thank you!” You sigh, sliding into Mr. Big’s little corner which faces backwards from the café.

“It was starting to look... sad.” He gives you a brief look before focusing back on his laptop screen.

“It wouldn’t have been, if you writers were more welcoming,” you scoff, shrugging off your jacket, the rustling brings your actions to his focus.

A delicate slender hand pushes against his glasses as he leans back, “You’re quite the daredevil, huh?”

“What? Why would you say that?”

“I don’t know, slipping past closing elevator doors and sitting down to probably do something noisy with a lot of... “ He takes a look at your stash of materials, “things while surrounded by silence seeking writers. Those things make me say that.”

“That’s a very boring view on action. Also the concept of this building is literally to allow anyone to work anywhere.”

“Sure, you’re right but just because that’s their goal doesn’t mean it turns out that way. This place is no different from high school, certain spaces have been sort of ‘claimed’.”

“And you expect me to act like a good teenage girl and not start trouble?”

“Your words, not mine.”

“Aren’t you a writer? You should know certain words can imply certain things,” you say matter of factly and receive a disjointed but delightful laugh as his hand fists to cover his wide smile.

“Anything else you know about writers that you would like to share?”

“You might end up making a character out of me, or a scene out of my situation.” You’re playing on stereotypes but for all you know they could be true. You lay out your material on the table forcing him to scoot a bit. He doesn’t protest and you appreciate that, so you give me a genuine tight lipped ‘thank you’ smile.

“So what are you doing?” He asks, lowering his computer screen a bit.

“A collage.”

“Of what?”

“I don’t really know yet. I’m just figuring it out as I go.” You stare at the big pile of magazines, newspapers and flyers you managed to collect over the past month. Something has to come out of it. “What about you?”

“Pretty similar actually, I just came here to write, figuring it out as I go you know.” He picks up a piece of paper nearest to him, a green flyer. “Do you even know what it says?” He holds it up to you. The text is in Arabic.

“No, I don’t.”

“Wouldn’t you want to know? I mean the work will be tied to you.” He questions.

“It doesn't matter, it’s not like anyone will see this,” you mumble, snatching the flyer from him.

“Someone should, I don’t know much about collages, actually I know nothing, but I like what I see so far.”

“What exactly do you see?” You probe.

“Ummm… uhhhh… it’s– there’s branches and,” he leans over to get a better look and hesitates “tentacles? Okay, so maybe I don’t know what it is, but I still stand by it. It’s nice to look at.”

“Would you give it as a gift to someone?” You probe even further.

“You know what, I’m just trying to tell you I like it. Like I would totally buy it! So yes, I would give it to someone, myself!” He has an overly cheery voice that encourages more glances your way. The more you look, the more you start thinking they’re watching you and not judging.

“How much?”

He gives you an incredulous expression, he seems both intrigued and confused with behaviour.

You snort a short laugh, “I’m just messing with you. But don’t get me wrong if you do want to buy it then I’m definitely taking offers.”

At that he retreats back into himself and his silence to focus on the blank document page. You shrug it away, you knew his words were too good to be true.

The two of you work in relative silence, your ripping and cutting does add a bit of a soundtrack for the period of time. After an hour or so of working, you move to buy a cinnamon bun, and while you’re at it you buy a second one. You did feel a bit apologetic for disturbing his workspace, you of all people should know.

You place his plate beside him but he’s too engrossed into his writing to provide any response. He does finally whisper a shy ‘thanks’ once he lifts his gaze from the screen. You answer with a nonchalant but truthful ‘no biggie’.

The hours bleed into themselves and soon enough your allocated time is about to run out. You’re quite used to that routine,packing up your material well in time to leave. However, the man in front of you doesn’t seem to have a good grasp of time. Last minute, he hurries to assemble his belongings, swiftly turning around to check that he hasn’t left anything behind, almost knocking down the plate that you manage to catch.

Your elevator ride to the bottom floor is as silent as the one you had earlier. You walk with synchronised strides somehow following the same way after you leave the building. You’re sure one of you is following the other, but as long as you’re concerned you’re taking the way back home. You walk in silence for a few more minutes before you think of asking him where he lives, just to make sure but he beats you to speaking.

“So uhhh, would–” he starts off in a high pitched voice which he masks with a cough, “I meant, would you like to grab a coffee?”

“At 8pm?” Your eyebrows shoot up.

“Or a drink?” He suggests.

“What does coffee or a drink mean?”

“I thought you were good at getting the implications of certain words.” He smirks, which seems out of character, but then again you don’t know him. You’re just curious about something first.

“What did you end up writing?”

“A short story about an avid museum visitor that discovers a collage at an exhibition that has him intrigued.” He chuckles knowing very well it just proves your point. And you smile satisfied to have finally figured out what that particular glance of his meant. He was just taking you in.

“It’s Y/N by the way,” you would have reached out your hand towards him but they’re cold so you compensate with a warm smile Diane would approve of. “And I wouldn’t mind a drink right now.”

“I’m Namjoon and I’m very happy you said that” He punctuates his excitement with a dimple. The same one you would come to grow enamoured with, so much you would make a collage piece out of all the pictures you’ve taken where it is present. In return, he would, just as he did today, unconsciously and deliberately write your works into his stories, and welcome you into his space.

“By the way, when you let me sit with you in your space, were you claiming me then?” You ask out of curiosity and urge to mess with him.

“I– I don’t know what you’re implying. But if you mean me taking pity on you then yes.” You scoff a bit too loud at his response. “But I wouldn’t be opposed to whatever it is you have in mind,” He says, looking down at your quizzical expression with warm eyes and a restrained laugh as he walks closer to you. It seems you’re not the only one who’s good with implications.

thank you for reading my fic, i hope you enjoyed it 🥺 any feedback or comment is welcomed !!

all rights reserved namgee

[hyrule-kingdom-updates]

...Little bird...

Yes? Oh...sorry, could you help me gather more parts? I apologize...Terrako’s parts are scattered everywhere on the forest floor...I worked on him all night.

Hmm, of course. Have at it.

Thank you...

...

...

Little bird...I think you would like to vent to me right about now.

Is that right? What makes you think that...

You’ve been passive agressive to Link this whole journey, as far back as the Woodland Tower...

Really? Well, gee. I wonder why!

Zelda...

I apologize if I haven’t been the nicest possible person to that, t-that hero! That picture perfect hero—

Little bird...

Perhaps I should bend the rules a bit further to suit him then? Start calling him, “Your Highness” and such? Would that be more suitable?

I’m not asking you to like him.

Then what are you trying to say?

I am asking you to let it all out, and tell me what’s really wrong.

What’s wrong is that he...he’s—

You haven’t called him a traitor to the crown this entire journey. I imagine if that was the true root of the issue, you would be mentioning it more...And this isn't just about him, but others have noticed it as well.

...

Don’t keep it inside. Let it out, and out through you.

...I understand Link’s actions. More than you could possibly know...

...

...I...but I......I just don’t understand everything else! Even when he was just my guard...I liked talking to him. I liked having...a friend. Someone that was just normal...

...

You know, we had this peculiar conversation, back in Zora’s Domain. It was the night after we had recruited Mipha. I was outside, dangling my legs over the balcony and watching the stars, and it seems I had awoken him, as he came outside to keep me company. “Must always watch your back,” he said.

...and it was mostly quiet, as it always is with him. I think that’s another reason I liked him. It’s not that I liked to be one hogging conversation, but he just had this...understanding of how comforting silence can be.

So anyhow, eventually, I asked him, a bit spontaneously for the moment, “Link, are we friends?” And obviously he was a bit surprised, he does this cute little thing where he scrunches his eyebrows up and down for a few moments, as if the movement would do the sign language for him...but eventually he said, “Why do you ask?

I teased him a bit for the response, like, “Oh, well. I suppose that answers the question,” but he immediately started waving his hands frantically and backtracking. It was funny to see him react like that, most knights just say something like, “If that’s what you wish,” or “Of course!” because, you know...I’m a princess. So it quite fresh to see someone openly ponder the question.

So he says...he says, “Princess, it is of my humble opnion that you know better than anyone what you desire. That you make good judgement when it comes to your company. I think that I’m just a knight, making sure that an important someone is able to get home safely at the end of the day.”

So I think to myself, “Ah, so that’s that,” but he continues. He says, “But the thing about me, is that I think I’m a pretty good knight. A pretty good guard. Because there’s something that I can understand that most old guys don’t. When you protect something, when you guard something...the first step isn’t to pick out the best sword, or to practice your stance. You have to start by caring. You have you care, and understand, on some level, why you’re doing what you’re doing. Otherwise, you will never perform your best when the time truly calls for it.”

Then he says, “I won’t pretend to know everything about you. I won’t say that I know enough to call myself a friend, that’s your decision, obviously. But I don’t consider myself a simply a guardsmen on duty, if that’s what you were asking.”

...

We chatted some more, that night. Then the night after, and nights, and nights, and nights. And as we talked, and I talked, and he talked, verbally, mind you, we gain...I thought we had gained this mutual trust and understanding. He said that my stuggles were valid, he talked to me about how he wanted to please his family, and he said that, “In the end, I believe you can save us. Even if you don’t think it yourself.” And then he would stupidly add, “but hey, I’m just a little knight. So take my opinions as you please.”  

That was so, so... That was basically everything I needed to hear. It felt so nice. That for once I didn’t need to question whether someone was just probing me, picking me apart to see what was wrong. He was just...he was just trusting.

How much of it was real, Urbosa? How much of it was...was him? Did ever actual care? Did he ever actual trust me? Because the fact that he had held his true self back this whole time...it just means...I wasn’t good enough for him wasn’t it? I wasn’t someone he could have placed his faith into. I would have helped him, had he told me. I would have protected his father, and his father’s father, and every damn Hartell in this kingdom, because he was my friend! He was one of my only...friends.

I understand the guilt that comes with casting aside duty, how in the world was a child supposed to make these decisions? How was I supposed to be able to make these decisions? Oh but it’s not that, I’m just mad. I’m just frusterated because now I don’t know for sure if he was lying. If he was just saying that to throw me off the scent. He said he believed in me, yet doesn’t trust me with the knowledge necessary for me to fulfill my destiny?! What...What am I...?

...And now, now he walks the same path as I. Yet, he takes it all up with ease, as if any struggles were just an act, a fake limp to be on the same level as the hier to the throne of nothing. Now, he has no reason to hold back, now he can look down on me all he likes. As soon as all his desires are met, as soon as the coast is clear. He excels. Higher than ever before. And I’m still left in the shadow of the greater hero, who told me he was “just caring for a someone.” I look like a fool. 

...

I have Impa, I have you all. And I love you all, dearly, yes I do, but it’s not the same. I must—I have to lead you, I have to light the way, but him? He was supposed to be my equal. He was supposed to be someone I could confide in without bias, and now he’s placed in the perfect position to look down on me? And I even helped him! I placed him there...why am I so stupid. What’s wrong with me...Why couldn't he believe in me like he said...

Why did my friend have to lie?

...

...

...

......Is that what you wanted? It’s out of me now. It’s not out and gone, but at least it’s out there.

... Zelda, I will not pretend to understand everything your going through. Even Hylia herself lives in mystery. 

But I can offer you this. You shouldn’t give up on trust so easily, your time together clearly wasn’t worth nothing.

I tell you this, little bird.

That boy...is a terrible liar.

I think, if anything he said was false, you would know immediately. 

...

It hurts to be betrayed, but it’s worst to let it fester, to let it plague your judgement for the rest of your life. Life isn't always a pattern.

I think you know that too, deep down, that Link isn’t like that. I think you know that you both could still repair what you had, but you’re acting like this because you’re scared. And that’s alright. These things take time. But you must understand, even casting aside the fate of the world you both have...you, you don’t deserve to walk alone, no matter what it is. 

...

You don’t have to be nice, but you know this isn’t the right way.

... It’s like bad advice.

Hmm?

Sorry, not you. This isn't...I know where not to go. I guess if I really want and answer...I should talk when I'm ready, but...that's not yet. You’re right as always, Urbosa.

Haha...well I wouldn’t say that. Wisdom only comes from years of foolishness.

Is that so?

Heh. Well, perhaps I’ll bear the Triforce of Wisdom, yet.