#idk i’m willing to do tag lists if anyone wants. just ask.

[scoops-aboy86]

Window pt 1

Steve doesn’t realize quite how much he’s put on recently (or how enamored to a certain metalhead he’s become) and gets stuck in a window. 

Inspired by this. Part 2 from Eddie's POV is here.

rated: T | words: 2765 | cw: none | tags: chubby steve, pre-relationship, weight gain, steve’s bisexual awakening in progress

And, uh. Don’t have a couple beers and drive. But, like, it was the 80s, so. 🤷‍♀️ 

Maybe also don’t try to climb through a window when it’s the 80s and most people don’t lock their front doors anyway. 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️ 

(Would Eddie and Wayne lock the trailer, when it’s just as easy to pry a window open? I mean yeah Eddie has drugs in there but he clearly hides them well enough that even he can’t find them sometimes, so idk.)

Eddie isn’t home, but that’s okay; it’s an impulsive visit, as most of them are, so Steve knows what to do. He goes into it all confident and cocky because he’s pretty sure it’ll be easier than the other times he’s done it because the porch is right there, no drainpipe climbing required or nosey younger sibling to catch him at it with a look of annoyed disgust that will echo down through the years. 

Mike still looks at him like that, no matter how many free rides or free movies he and his friends manage to wring out of Steve, which is, in Steve’s opinion, really dumb of the kid. He doesn’t even like Nancy like that anymore, for fuck’s sake, get over it Mike. (And it’s easier to go off on a tangent in his head about Mike than really examine the comparison between climbing into Nancy’s room and climbing into Eddie’s, so Steve is just rolling with it.)

Anyway, the point is, he’s got this. He pulls the BMW up a respectful distance away so that Eddie and Wayne will still have room to park later in case he’s here that long, and all but bounces out of the driver’s seat into the warm night air. 

Maybe he should have thought about it a little more, because, as it turns out… he does not got this. 

“Do mine eyes deceive me? Is it the King Steve, what through yonder window breaks?”

“Hi Eddie,” Steve says flatly, unsurprised. He’d heard the van rumble up, and the distinctive squeak of the driver's side door. For the last hour or so he’s resigned himself to standing by on the old easy chair on the porch, chin in his hands where his elbows rest on the dresser just inside the window. At least it’s late enough (and Lucas managed to talk Max into summer camp this year) that no one else is likely to see him.

He can hear the grin in Eddie’s reply. “Hiya, Stevie. Mind explaining what I’m coming home to here?”

Steve doesn’t want to dignify that with a response, because fuck, isn’t it obvious? But he also doesn’t want to antagonize his friend and risk being stuck in this window all night—not that he thinks Eddie would leave him here, but Steve doesn’t want to deserve to be left. With a heavy breath out through his nose, he says, “I’m a little stuck here, man. Help me out?”

Almost immediately he feels Eddie step in close, hand on his right hip where it’s caught in the window frame, and maybe just a hint of warm thumb brushing over where the skin is pink and pinched. Steve has to hold himself very still to avoid reacting to that, not completely sure he didn’t imagine it anyway. 

“Out?” Eddie asks, sounding like he’s trying to calculate something in his head. “Or in?”

“Uh… whichever gets me unstuck faster, I guess?”

Eddie chuckles. “In it is, then. You must’ve been pretty determined to get in there and wait for me, you made some good progress here. I’m guessing you got to a point where you couldn’t get the angle right, huh sweetheart?”

“Jesus, Eddie…” Why did he have to put it like that? And why is it giving Steve goosebumps? “Look, I think if you just lift me by the legs a bit I can, like… walk forward on my hands, kinda, and—” He tries to demonstrate, but bumps the neck of the guitar with THIS MACHINE SLAYS DRAGONS scrawled across its front and makes a failed attempt at lunging to catch it, wincing when it thumps down against the floor.

“What was that?”

“… What was what?”

“Steve…”

“Okay okay, it was your acoustic, I’m sorry dude, I just… I’m pretty sure it’s fine.”

“She’d better be, Harrington. Lucky for you my sweetheart is still safe in the van, far from your clumsy fumblings, or I might have to call in the cavalry.”

Again Steve twists, trying to look at him, and something else falls off the dresser—he thinks it’s just some sort of magazine. “Liar. I know you wouldn’t call the cops on me, Munson.”

“You’re right, I wouldn’t.” Eddie shoots back. “I’d call Robin.”

Steve grimaces again. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“And Wheeler, too. Jon’s still in town, maybe he could be persuaded to bring his camera to document this posterior for posterity.”

Suddenly Eddie’s hands are on his ass, and Steve is torn between a vivid memory of trying to shove Dustin into a vent at Starcourt and a zing of nerves that should not be linked to his pseudo-little-brother in any way, and it’s all Eddie’s fault—

The first real shove catches Steve and his flatlining brain by surprise, jostling him enough that his elbows slip and he nearly cracks his chin on the cluttered dresser surface. “Hey,” he calls sharply over one shoulder. 

“Sorry sweetheart, did you need a ‘one two three go’?” Eddie pats at his ass with both hands, tapping out a little rhythm, and Steve has to restrain the urge to donkey kick him. 

“This isn’t funny, Munson,” he insists. “And some sort of warning would’ve been nice, yeah.” His tone is sarcastic, but his face is burning red, and once the words are out he has to bite his lip to keep from saying anything else. Not that Steve even knows what, there’s just… something, precarious, on the tip of his brain that might spill out his mouth if he’s not careful, and he doesn’t want to find out what it is like that. 

Eddie snickers. “It’s a little bit funny, but point taken. I’m going to give you another push here. Ready?”

“Yeah, I’m ready.” What a fucking day. All Steve had wanted was to smoke up a little and hang out, like they usually do. And okay, maybe he’s a little grumpy that Eddie wasn’t even home when he got here— “Where were you, anyway?” he asks, grunting and trying to wriggle forward with every shove. Might as well talk, get his mind off the vice grip the window frame has on his hips. “You’re usually—oof—here when I finish a closing shift.”

“Practice ran long,” Eddie grunts back. After the first few rounds of ready steady go he started to get more serious and really put his weight into it. “That, and Gareth’s been having some… shall we say, romantic troubles lately, and needed consolation and advice.”

Steve feels a vague prickle of jealousy, even as he manages to grip the dresser edge hard enough to hold onto a fraction of an inch of progress. “What kinda consolation? Been smoking without me, Munson?”

“No,” comes the amused reply. “Just a couple beers. I do have other friends besides you and the monster hunters club, you know.”

Which really makes Steve’s face flame, because he… doesn’t. Not anymore. Not even a girlfriend; it’s like his heart’s not fully in it anymore and they can smell that on him. He tries to replace his embarrassment (Eddie didn’t mean it like that, Steve knows he didn’t) with determination, wrenching himself forward without regard for the way the window frame’s hard metal edges scrape against his skin. He doesn’t feel the full bite of it in some places, thanks to the knots of scar tissue the Upside Down had left him with on his sides, it’s fine. 

But almost immediately there’s a strong grip on the outsides of his thighs. “Woah there Stevie,” Eddie cautions, and he actually sounds concerned. “Don’t hurt yourself, man. We’ll get you out of here and get you caught up if you want, I have beer here too, alright? Just…”

“Just what?” Steve grumbles. He doesn’t know why he feels so stung, feels like Eddie ditched him—they didn’t even have plans for fuck’s sake. At most, they’ve had a string of casual hangouts roughly every other night at around the same time for a months now, but they’ve never really talked about it, never solidified anything. 

He tells himself that he wouldn’t even care if he hadn’t gotten stuck in the window like an idiot, but if that’s the case then why does this show of concern feel like a cooling balm over his temper?

Eddie sighs, but not like he’s annoyed. More like… he’s choosing his words carefully. “Just, uh… try to suck in a bit?”

Blinking, Steve tries to look over his shoulder. He can’t quite see Eddie, just out of the corner of his eye, but it looks like he’s chewing on his lip. Then he pushes himself up on the dresser and looks down along the front of his body to where he’s stuck, trying to make sense of…

Oh. His face goes hot again. 

The window doesn’t open very far, is the thing, and for the first time Steve fully registers that it’s not just his hips that are caught. Reddened skin peeks out from the bottom of his shirt, and some of that is because it’s ridden up during his struggles, but he also… makes contact with the top of the dresser, which comes up to about an inch or so below the frame. Now that he’s paying attention, he registers part of himself pressing against the metal of the trailer exterior, too.

He used to be pretty trim, but that had been back in high school and while running from monsters and dark wizards in an alternate dimension. 

When did he get a belly?

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath, and does as he’s told. 

Eddie doesn’t belabor the point, just gets his hands on Steve’s ass again with a “One, two, three, push.”

And it’s still a hard drag against his front, but it works this time. Steve jolts forward, too caught by surprise and still flustered, catching himself hands-first on Eddie’s messy bedroom floor and gracelessly flopping the rest of the way in. The carpet (or really, the layer of dirty laundry on top of it) doesn’t smell great, but he stays slumped there for a moment, recovering. 

At least he avoided landing on the acoustic guitar, though. 

“You okay there, dude?”

Steve groans. “I’m fine. That fucking window looked bigger from the outside, that’s all.”

Eddie lets out a disbelieving snort, then follows him in, shimmying over the narrow sill with an ease and silence that comes from years of practice. When he’s done, he leans his scrawny ass back against the dresser and spreads his hand in a tada motion. 

And Steve’s not dumb, he knows that he’s put on weight since the Upside Down. Since finally coming down from constant recurring nightmare panic mode. Yeah he didn’t realize it was so obvious, but he can admit (at least in the privacy of his own head) that that’s why he got stuck. 

He opens his mouth to say something along the lines of you don’t have to rub it in, but snaps it shut again when Eddie steps forward and offers him a hand up. The grip is calloused from guitar playing, strong and sure from slinging amps around—and he feels that zing again, phantom handprints on his ass. 

“You okay?” Eddie asks once they’re on the same level again. “You were really wedged in there, looked kinda painful.”

“I,��� Steve starts, but stops when Eddie’s other hand lands on his hip. Which is not completely unusual… Eddie is a touchy guy, very hands-on with all his friends. He’s poked at Steve’s sides before, comparing their bite marks, and Steve hasn’t really thought about it much before now. 

Because that’s what trauma-bonded people do, right? The last party that had rounded up all the young adults, Nancy smoked with them and she and Jonathan had spent most of the rest of the evening cuddled up together, lining up the scars on their palms. 

Eddie’s thumb brushes the skin above his waistband, ghosting warmly over where it’s red and a little raw. 

“I’m fine,” Steve manages to say, but he’s not. His brain is going haywire—from the touch, from Eddie’s Bambi-eyed stare, from all the thoughts that have been pining around his head tonight and everything he’s pointedly not thought about too. (About climbing in a boy’s window. About being jealous. About hands on his ass and how it hadn’t been a bad surprise, and the thumb grazing deliberately over the swell of softness at his middle with concern bordering on reverence.)

Something in Steve aches, and it’s a familiar pang. It reminds him of how he used to feel whenever he looked at Nancy, before he had let go of the last scraps of that dream. Eddie seems more real, more touchable… He always is, when they hang out, and especially when they’re by themselves. Eddie is a touchy guy. 

“Yeah,” Eddie says slowly, distracted. He keeps running his thumb along Steve’s softness, drifting up a little further under his shirt until his pointer finger meets skin too like a dazed afterthought. His tongue darts out to lick his lips—Steve can’t help the way his eyes are drawn to the motion. “Yeah, you are… pretty fine…”

Not once, not for months, has Steve felt electricity like this in the air, under his skin, sparking at a simple touch. It’s why he stopped flirting with the girls who came into Family Video, even the ones who eyed him in a way he knew meant they were a sure thing. The way Eddie is looking at him right now, even though he’s…

Well. He’s let himself go, hasn’t he? And he knows it, kind of knew it for a while and just not thought about it because he didn’t think he had too, but it’s getting obvious now. Steve has never felt more self-conscious about his body in his entire life and, right while he’s in the middle of reconciling wanting to pout because his best guy friend was off having fun without him, Eddie just had to go and compliment it. 

Steve swallows hard. “You, uh. You think so?” He’s not fishing for complements, he’s not, he just wants to know what Eddie means. 

Still slowly, Eddie looks up at him through his eyelashes. It’s almost shy, which is so unlike the Eddie that Steve has come to expect, but his eyes are big and brown and a little wild in an achingly familiar way and Steve has to resist the urge to sway forward—

“Of course, Stevie,” Eddie says quietly. Is he afraid that they might be overheard in the empty trailer? Afraid to break the moment by speaking too loud? His hand is still just under Steve’s shirt, light little touches that Steve can’t help but find soothing, almost hypnotic. “Always.”

Steve wants to lean in, because he knows he’s not reading the signs wrong. 

But then, at the last second, he remembers what Eddie had said about having a few beers with Gareth. Probably just enough to be a little tipsy. But if Eddie is gay—and, like, Steve wouldn’t be surprised, he’s learned some of the clues from Robin and there have always been rumors—he’s not out. Not to Steve, anyway, and Steve… is whatever he is, apparently, which definitely warrants a phone call and possibly a bathroom floor confession to his platonic other half as soon as he gets a chance, holy shit… Suddenly everything feels delicate, like there is something there but one wrong move and it could shatter, and Steve doesn’t know if he could take anymore shards to his heart. Not these days, not if it’s Eddie. 

He just wants to be a little more sure first. Do this right, if it’s really happening. So, for now, he only says, “So, uh. Wanna smoke?”

Eddie smiles, dimples popping and eyes lighting up, and his hand gives Steve’s hip a little inadvertent squeeze as he bounces past him. “Yeah, we can do that. I’ve got a few joints already rolled, I’ve got snacks—” He’s already hauling his black metal lunchbox from under the bed and riffling through it, his bright enthusiasm making Steve feel warm all the way through. “Prop my baby back up, will you? Treat her right, Stevie, or I’ll be forced to rescind my offer of pretzels and bagel bite pizzas.”

“Wouldn’t want that,” Steve agrees with a chuckle, and does as he’s told. It doesn’t escape his notice that Eddie just mentioned some of his favorites for when the munchies set in. 

He’s going to figure this out, but for now they can just hang out like normal and have a good night.

[lowkeychenle]

Is It Over Now? [ZCL] fic teaser

Description: Your relationship with Chenle is nothing but fight after fight. Amidst the toxicity, infidelity comes into play--except you're determined to one up him...but is it ever truly over?

A/N: this is inspired by Taylor Swift's Is It Over Now? and I highly recommend listening to it because omg...but also...y'all voted for Jisung and this is what it was for so...................he is for real a willing accomplice that's so crazy chenji who

Genre: Smut/Angst (there is no smut in the teaser, the teaser contains an argument that can be triggering for some readers. PLEASE!!! Read with caution)

Content Warnings: This is very dirty idk y'all i'msosorry...but basically content warnings are infidelity (both reader & chenle, explicit on reader's part), some very crazy arguments (there are no physical fights but these can be triggering), explicit, unprotected sex, overall just a big, big crazy cluster fuck where these two are just trying to hurt each otherimsosorry

Expected Word Count: 10k

Release Date: 5pm EST 2023.3.2

Taglist: Open!! Please let me know if you want to be tagged when this comes out <3

Pairing: Zhong Chenle x fem!Reader | Park Jisung x fem!Reader

Juliet's Masterlist | Tell me what you think? :)

Chenle downs the rest of whatever’s in his cup—it’s safe to assume what the bronze liquid is as he swallows and cringes. He doesn’t look at either of you.

“You should go.” Glancing at Jisung, you catch the worried gleam in his gaze.

“Will you be okay?” he asks.

“The fuck does that mean?” Chenle snaps. “Get the fuck out, Jisung.”

“Call me if you need me.” Jisung hesitantly leaves your side, and once the door closes behind him, you slide your hands in the back pockets of your jeans.

“Really?” Chenle finally breaks the silence. “You could’ve picked anyone, and you fuck Jisung?”

“That’s what you’re mad about?” You snort and walk over to the fridge to grab a water bottle. Untwisting the cap, you turn back to Chenle, unaccustomed to his glare being directed at you. “What? It’s okay for you to fuck anyone you want, but when I do it, it’s wrong?”

“What the fuck are you talking about? I don’t fuck anyone but you.”

“You really think I didn’t see that?” You shake your head, anger bubbling in the pit of your stomach. “There were pictures, you dumbass. And now I can’t even act like I’m ignorant. I can’t act like you love me anymore, Chenle. Be serious right now.”

“Oh, right, because being seen with a girl has to mean I’m fucking her, yeah?” He runs his fingers through his hair. “You’re just insecure, (Y/N), and I can’t fucking help you with that. Did you think fucking Jisung would make me want you more? May as well add crazy to the list, too.”

Under different circumstances, you know those words would kill you. They’d be like bullets fragmenting in your heart, but today? For some reason, everything shut off. You don’t want him anymore, and your irritation sparks at the base of your spine.

“You putting this on me is fucking hilarious.” Your voice is sharp, and you hope you return his bullets as knives.

“We’re fucked.” He pours more liquor into his glass, a scowl on his face as he downs it. “Are you kidding me? I make a mistake one time, and you go out of your way to screw my friend? Did you think you could hurt me or something?”

“Don’t know.” You shrug.

“The sooner you admit we were over long before I ever slept with anyone else, the easier it’ll be for both of us. You’re being a child by inviting Jisung over here.” His grip on the counter tightens.

And just like that, something inside you snaps.

“You did this, Chenle. You fucked up, you ruined everything, you are a piece of shit.” You jab your finger in his direction. “At least I had the decency not to get caught in public. You don’t even care at all. Not even a little bit. And it’s so fucking frustrating because I do everything for you.”

“Bullshit,” he says.

“Was it over when you brought that girl here? Was it? Because you cried and begged for me to stay. You said it was a mistake, and you’d never be able to love anyone the same way you love me. You really think it was over, Chenle? Then what the fuck are you still doing here?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You fucking did it again!” you yell, hands tugging at your hair. “You want me to be the bad guy so bad, but all of this is on you. The blame is on you. You’re the one that can’t keep it in your pants. What are you searching all these beds for, huh? You want something better than me?”

“Fuck,” he shouts, hand swiping across the counter.

Time slows as his palm comes in contact with his glass, as he sends it flying into the cabinet, as it shatters beneath his force. How fucking ironic you relate to it.

[bewitchingbaker]

SHIPPING INFO // Answer the following for your muse(s) so people know how shipping works on your blog.

REPOST. Don’t reblog.

[long post so under a cut it goes]

What’s your OTP for your Muse(s)?

Ummmmm technically all my pairings are OTP's in their own way. Idk the closest is maybe his potential canon partner/wife Delainey and even then I'm still writing and figuring that out.

I think ships with @moonrevolutions @siiinfully (Harper) @dethdvncer @brooklynislandgirl @smolcuriouskitten and @hunting-songs had a big influence on how I write his romantic headcanons honestly.

What are you willing to RP when it comes to shipping?

Nonmonogamous things are cool, platonic things, romantic things. I’m pretty game for most things. noncon and abusive stuff clearly not for me. i work a 9 to 5 i hate, i'm trying to have fun and vibe. Maybe the occasional toxic ship but Chris is a very tired dude and doesn't have time for another toxic ting.

How large does the age gap have to be to make it uncomfortable?

Are you selective when shipping?

Half and half? Like Chris is easy to ship with but by the same token it also makes tough to ship with? Like he's such a nice easy going guy that he can work with alot of people. But at the same time, he's not always going to go for just anyone. I think it depends on the chemistry of the muses and their dynamic with Chris.

How far do steamy moments have to go before they’re considered NSFW?

Usually when clothes start getting removed and Chris is begging for more of his partner I usally slap on a read more or move it to the ol smut blog.

Who are other muses you ship your muse with?

-I have a few shippy ships

- familial - @escapedartgeek , @the27percent @everyoneismytoy @smolcuriouskitten (Rocky) @tarnishedhalo

-platonic - @pyrokineticwarrior @weregonnagetyou @temporalobjects (Pinky) @awkwardcourage @gretaphasmatosmartin

-romantic - @brooklynislandgirl @hunting-songs @siiinfully @moonrevolutions (its still in the beginning courting/crush stage) @smolcuriouskitten (Ren) @jelloandbeer @temporalobjects (Eshu) @werspinna (technically FWB/casual but there's that hint of more) @illbringthechaosmagic @ofdemonessence and Chris's potential vampire wife Delainey

Does one have to ask to ship with you?,

Not exactly ask but having some form of interaction between our muses would help. Even if it's just a introduction that works or if you reach out, I'm down to clown and figure out their love story.

How often do you like to ship?

Alot more than I thought. I was anxious to ship when I came back cause I did'nt want Chris to fall into any weird shipping things (fetishizing, trying to infantilized my boy, or just weird dynamics) and I haven't written a ship for a while. But now that I'm here, I have a solid list of ships for the young Luna.

Are you multiship?

Yep yep.

Are you ship obsessed or ship more-or-less?

Ship more or less? Idk, I love me a good ship with nice dynamics (friends to lovers, childhood friends with a crush, opposites attract and I love the figuring things out deal I have with a few ships)

What is your favorite ship in your current fandom?

None?

Finally, how does one ship with you?

Hit ya boy up if you see a thing. Write with me and Chris to get a little chemistry going and we'll go from there.

Tagged by: stole it from the homie @escapedartgeek

Tagging: steal the ting.

[cyborg-franky]

Hi Franky! How are you? How is your day going? I am sending many chill and comforting vibes your way. So umm I wanted to ask if you are comfortable writing for a muslim reader? To clarify a muslim is someone who practices Islam? And a muslim reader who wears a hijab (headscarf)? Also rant incoming sorry. Because there are no, if any at all, fics or content for muslim specific readers and yes I know it’s very specific and I can get as to why nobody writes for that category but it’s one of those things where when I do find content like that I’m like “OH MY GOD CONTENT RELATED TO ME SPECIFICALLY ARE YOU SERIOUS YESSSSSS” like anyone else would react with chubby reader or short ready or adhd reader etc you know? It’s just something special to me whenever I find fics that I specifically myself can relate to you know? I mean this isn’t uncommon but like idk it’s different because it’s so underrepresented. Anyways, sorry for that ramble you can ignore this if you want. I hope you have a good day!! *sends many virtual hugs*

So, I've asked many people for help on this, some wonderful people reached out on both anon and DMs and I have ran this piece by them for the check and it passed. HUGE thank you to the following amazing and helpful people who checked for me, imparted information about the culture and basically held my hand through this.

@hi-mimosa @jin-supremacy01 and @mikuisasmash

Disclaimer: I am a white little dude, but I tried my best for this piece, I did some reading, talked to people above and I mean full respect and hope you can enjoy this piece. I also have been told this doesn't fit strict rules of dating.

I picked three characters but I would be willing to do more in the future.

Someone even sent me tag suggestions and I hope they are all good. I hope I didn't offend anyone and anon I hope this was the sort of thing you wanted and were hoping for.

Ace

It might take him a minute to understand certain traditions and rules but he listens and asks questions.

He knows to keep things simple, not to go too fast, offers you his hand, and doesn’t make a move until you take it.

He bought you a bright orange hijab, it matched his hat and he was very excited to give it to you.

His smile is bright as you look the hijab over and feel warmth, he wanted to match and that was so sweet to you.

He gets up, letting you have privacy to change, he leans down and kisses your forehead.

You look at yourself in the mirror as you gently collect up all your hair, putting it away in the gifted hijab, and smile wide when you admire it in the reflection.

The fabric is soft and feels nice on your skin, it also smells like him, like cinnamon and firewood.

Something to always remind you of him when he’s away.

He comes back, a knock on the door which you tell him he can open.

“Wow, it looks really nice on you, it compliments your eyes.” Ace says with a hum and sits down next to you.

He offers you his upturned palm and you place your hand in his.

“Thank you, Ace.”

Marco and Sabo undercut!

Marco

He’s watching you sit there reading, a look of concentration on your face as you look over words, absorbing the story.

You huff when a strand of hair slips out from your hijab.

It was always the same rebellious lock that always insisted on peeking out.

You heard Marco chuckle and glanced up, seeing him open his drawer, grab something and walk over.

“I almost forgot I got this on my list trip for you.” He said with a hum and knelt down, he unwrapped a beautiful blue and gold pin.

You took a breath as he carefully tucked your hair back, using the ornate pin to slide your hijab into place.

He sat back on his haunches and admired how you looked.

Marco places a finger under your chin, carefully, admiring your eyes and how your lips curled into a smile.

Touched by such a gentle gesture you mumbled a shy thank you as he moved away, a hand resting on your shoulder, a firm squeeze of affection.

Sabo

He knows there are a lot of rules you have to follow and he never makes it hard for you, he does his best to understand and be a good partner.

And you love him for it.

He always offers you his arm, and you are often happy to take it. You rather hold hands when it’s just you and him.

You walk along with him, across the shore and the wind picks up, there's a nasty gust that pulls at your hijab and he quickly blocks the wind as best as he can.

Despite how panicked the situation is, how the rush of wind takes you both by surprise.

He’s so gentle with how he grasps the fabric, helping you keep it secured.

Sabo makes sure your modesty isn't compromised as you adjust and let out a sigh.

“Thank you,” you say with a sigh and he smiles at you.

“Anytime,”

[swfandomevents]

hii i'd like to run my own event and looking at some of the events, i noticed the same patterns, like the same graphics, themes etc (maul week and fordo week got the same graphics, and subcody and the clone bb got the links | like | this idk if it makes sense)...sorry if its dumb but do you know what websites they use or if theres a masterpost w helpful links somewhere??

Hello!

All good things to ask about! Personally when I make graphics for events I make them myself in photoshop, but I imagine some people may also use services like Canva to make graphics. I’m not really sure which was used in the case of the specific events you mentioned, so you might try reaching out to the mods of events you like and asking if they’d be willing to send you their template. It’s always possible they won’t want to, but it’s always possible they will.

Otherwise for post formatting, I think looking at posts from other events is a good way to do it, if you like the | bar between event links, then try to format your posts using them :).

Unfortunately I don’t know of any “how to run an event” master posts (anyone else please feel free to link any you know of below!) but in general, for example, fan week events have:

- Interest check. Usually people use Google forms, but I’ve also seen people just ask for a post to be reblogged with tags or to reply or like a post to show interest. Tag posts with relevant character, pairing, and series tags so that interested people can find it. Of course you can also tag this blog and/or @clonefandomevents if it’s a clone-related event

- Based on the interest check, decide when the event will be held. Most interest checks ask about which month or week people would like to hold the event. Week events are usually from Sunday to Saturday, but some start on a Saturday or a Monday. Just make sure it’s actually 7 full days. Make a post announcing your schedule including when you will be open for prompt suggestions & voting before your event.

- Make a prompt suggestion post. Generally Google forms are used to get suggestions. You can also just go straight to voting if you have a lot of prompt ideas from the start.

- Voting. People also often use Google forms for this, but depending on the number of prompts or how you want to arrange it, I’ve seen people use tumblr’s polls recently.

- Posting of prompt lists. For accessibility, even if you arrange your prompts nicely on a graphic, it’s good to post the prompts as raw text also, under a cut if you feel it’s long. That’s good practice in general - make sure all the info in any graphics is available in the text of the posts.

- Post to remind people about the event when it’s coming up (a week before, the day before, etc). Post on the event days to remind people what the prompts are if you like. Check the event tags or notifications and reblog people’s work.

- When the event is over, create a masterpost of all works with links

You can tag this blog in pretty much any post about your event you make, although a reminder to please put any NSFW images or text under a cut when you want the post to be reblogged :).

Hope that helps a little! If anyone has any guides to running fandom events or creating graphics for fandom events, etc, please link them!

[violetlilysunshine]

Late Night

Chris Evans x Female Reader

Summary: You meet Chris working in a bar, before he invites you to his house after closing.

WC: 3,525

Warnings: maybe a quick make out?? idk if I need to warn that, but better safe then sorry. Fluff, fluff, fluff 

A/N: I’m sort of feeling a part two, because I’ve been in such a fluffy turned smutty mood recently. Anyone down?? Lemme Know :)

Tagging the lovelies that wanted this! @maximeevansblog @saltyflowermakertaco

MASTERLIST

You’ve been working in this small bar for years now; it mainly catered to older folks, the owners having fallen in love with the 40s and 50s and themed their bar after that. You quickly fell in love with the decades as well, hearing the old music and seeing all of the older people’s faces light up, reliving their glory years. However, usually, there were a couple younger groups there to relish in the theme a bit.

You started as a waitress at 18, trying to work your way through college. Quickly, you moved up to bartender, before one slow night when you randomly decided to sing along to one of the songs that the Thursday night live band always played. They were a pretty good group, and you soon found yourself listening to the songs they played in your free time. After you sang with them, the owners decided to add you to the regular Thursday night entertainment, still bartending on other nights.

You were nearing the end of your set, just two more songs to go before you could take off the heels you had ridiculously decided to wear tonight. They were very 50s and you loved the look, but, carelessly, you hadn’t broken them in yet. You thought you would be fine, but your typical little dance during Fly Me to the Moon had suffered greatly. However, they matched your midi-navy-polka-dot dress and your pin-up style curls, so it wasn’t a total loss.

“Alright everybody, we’re getting close to that time of the night,” you hummed into the microphone, “for this next one we’re gonna slow things down a bit. To those of you I’ve been watching sit in your chairs all night, you’ve only got two more chances to ask your ladies to dance. Even if you don’t know how, ask her anyway, she'll love it.” you joked.

The band started to play Paul Anka’s Put Your Head on My Shoulder, a personal favorite of yours.

“And remember, if anyone needs a partner, I’m ready and willing,” you joked as the intro played. Quite a few times, older men who no longer had a partner took you for a spin for a song or two and you loved it.

You hummed a bit before you started singing along.

As you were singing, you watched a few of the younger guys in the back finally bring their girls out on the floor. Smiling as you watched them, you swayed back and forth.

You kept going with the song, almost at the end, glad that someone hadn’t asked you to dance, because your feet were really killing you.

You finally finished it off, earning a small applause as you twirled with the mic.

“Alright y’all, last song of the night and you know what that means as well,” you spoke to the crowd, “last call for alcohol,” you sang out.

You pointed back at the bar, and your friend who was tending tonight, before she waved at the group. A few people left the dance floor to get a drink as you continued your end of the night spiel, “fellas still sitting by themselves, last chance to take a spin on the floor. I see you still sitting there in the back! It’s a short song, I promise,” you chastised the last table you saw still sitting there.

Two couples from that table got up to dance, leaving one man sitting by himself. You felt kind of bad for turning everyone’s attention to him, but you had offered earlier to dance if anyone needed a partner, so the ball was in his court.

You signaled to the band to start up and spoke, “alright here we go,” into the mic.

It’s Been a Long, Long Time kicked off, and you instantly swayed. The band didn’t usually play this song, but after your Marvel obsession kicked in, you convinced them to add it to the set list.

You sang away, loving life, but your eyes didn’t leave the man in the back. He was obscured by shadows - probably purposefully - but you felt drawn to him already. Something about him sent tingles down your spine.

Before you knew it, the song was over. You took a small bow before turning and pointing at your band, getting the audience to applaud them individually.

“Thanks everybody, have a good night and drive safe. Hope to see you next week!” you spoke quickly and everyone filed off the dance floor to collect their things.

“Thanks, you guys, that was a good show!” you spoke to the band before you rolled up your mic cord and packed it away backstage. As soon as it was safely in its case, you took a seat on one of the saxophone cases and started rubbing your feet.

Soon, the band came back to put their instruments away and you reluctantly gave up your seat. You headed to the bar to sit with your friend while she finished cleaning up; this gave you a chance to rest your feet a little more before attempting to maneuver yourself home.

You glanced around the room quickly and everyone had cleared out except the back table. They were all standing, putting on jackets, and just beginning to file out the door. The couples went first hand-in-hand, followed by the single man. You looked back at your friend and began to make small talk about the next night, seeing as you were off, before you felt a tap on your shoulder.

“That was a great set,” the man spoke out in a low raspy voice, “I wish I had a dance partner.”

“Thank you, but if I remember correctly, I did offer to dance with anyone. Anyone included you, Chris,” you quipped back lightly, chuckling.

“Well, doll, the way you were stumbling about up there, I didn’t want to risk it,” he joked back, “and you know who I am?”

“I’m gonna head in the back to finish cleaning up and then we can go,” your friend spoke, gently tapping your forearm. You usually carpool to work because you live a few houses down from each other and it just makes sense.

“Alright, sounds good,” you answered her before turning back to Chris, “well I did just sing Steve and Peggy’s song. I wouldn’t be doing it justice if I didn’t know at least its major history. And I don’t think I was stumbling.”

“Okay, fair,” he answered, “maybe stumbling wasn’t the right word, but I can tell your feet hurt in those shoes.”

A small silence settled between the two of you as you got lost in his eyes, barely registering what he had said. His lips curled into a small smile as he gazed back. His eyes darted from yours to your lips for only the slightest second, before wandering down to your feet, which you were rolling slightly on the leg of the barstool, attempting to massage them a little. He looked back into your eyes again, his smile growing. The tension in the room rose quickly, and you began to get a little hot under his gaze. You were wondering how you ever got so lucky to have Chris freaking Evans looking at you like that.

“I’d offer to get you a drink, but you did say last call a little while ago,” he spoke slowly.

“That I did,” you answered, “maybe next time.”

“Or, I could take you somewhere else,” he offered lightly, his voice raising in pitch.

“Hmm, I don’t know if my feet are up for it,” you said softly, “and I don’t know where else we would go on a Thursday night. Everyone is probably announcing their own last call.” You were surprised by your own confidence in front of him. You had no idea how you were keeping it together, let alone flirting.

“Another option,” he suggested, “I could offer you a nightcap at my place. Or maybe coffee? A glass of wine?”

“Eager there are we?” you quipped.

“Well, what can I say, that last song did it for me,” he chuckled, “but really, it would be totally casual, no expectations.”

You thought for a moment, weighing the options. He probably wasn’t a murderer, or a kidnapper. He was probably one of the gentlest guys you could go home with, and lord knows you’ve taken a few risks with others.

“Totally casual doesn’t sound too bad.”

“Really?” he asked, “great! Do you have a car here?”

“No, we carpool,” you said, gesturing at your friend who had just walked back into the room.

“Ready to go?” she asked.

“Actually I was going to head out with Chris,” you said, looking at him while you spoke.

“Oh, okay,” she said, her voice dropping slightly, “well, I’ll lock up the front and we can head out the back together then.”

“Great,” Chris answered, his eyes never leaving you.

You slipped your shoes back on and stepped down from your stool. You grabbed your purse from next to you and turned to grab your jacket, which was no longer on the back of your chair. You looked up and saw Chris holding it open for you and you slipped your arms in, your heart swooning wildly. You smiled at each other and followed your friend out the back.

You hugged her quickly, whispering “I’ll send you my location,” in her ear. After all, a girl can’t be too careful.

You followed Chris to his car around the front of the building, where he opened the door for you before jogging around to the driver’s side.

His car was nice, as to be expected, but not flashy and you enjoyed his modesty. It smelled freshly cleaned - a big plus - but also rode incredibly smoothly. You were more than content to drive around with him, listening to pop songs and belting out musicals, but before you knew it, he was pulling into his driveway.

He got out first, stepping out quickly. You waited half a second, sending your location to your friend quickly. As you were reaching for the door handle, it was being pulled from the outside. Always a gentleman, he is.

Chris flashed you a charming smile as you stepped out, swinging your purse over your shoulder.

“This way, darlin’,” he spoke lowly, shutting the car door. His hand was quick to find a home on your lower back, gently guiding you towards the front door.

Once up the stairs, he crossed in front of you, unlocking the door and slowly pushing it open. The alarm on the wall chirped, signaling the opening of the front door. Chris quickly bent down with his hands in front of his knees, preparing for the impact. Dodger came flying around the corner having heard the chirp, and slammed right into his dad’s hands before jumping onto his dad’s legs begging for pets.

“Hey bubba, how you doin’?” Chris spoke to his best friend, rubbing his ears, “this here is Y/N, be nice to her buddy, no jumping.”

Dodger quickly took notice of you and immediately tried to jump onto your legs, a greeting you weren’t necessarily against, but since Chris said no, you quickly pushed your hand down and met him on the ground. He sat at your feet, immediately accepting your presence.

“He never does that!” Chris spoke, shocked at how quickly Dodger took to you.

“What can I say? I must be magic,” you joked and shrugged at him, making him laugh.

“Well let’s move out of the doorway, yeah?” Chris asked before closing the front door behind you.

Chris moved to the side of the hallway quickly; he kicked off his shoes and encouraged you to do the same. You happily followed suit, aching to get those damn heels off again. You sighed in contentment once your bare feet hit the cool hardwood floor, throwing your head back slightly, closing your eyes, and breathing deeply.

“That bad, huh?” Chris chuckled, waiting for you at the end of the hall.

“Oh yeah, I definitely have to get used to those before I try to wear them again,” you answered back.

“Well, follow me and we’ll figure out that drink I offered.”

You set your purse on the bench next to your shoes before following him into the kitchen. He strolled around the island, resting his forearms on the island.

“Take a seat, doll,” he encouraged you, gesturing to the barstools on the other side.

Usually you wouldn’t have obliged so quickly, offering to help him make whatever, but given the state of your feet, you hopped up quickly.

“Alright, so you have a lot of options, water as always, coffee, beer - my personal favorite - tequila, a slew of other liquor, juice, soda, milk, - which would be weird but whatever - wine, take your pick,” he said smiling at you.

“Coffee sounds good to me, to be honest,” you answered quietly. You would’ve chosen beer simply because it was his favorite, but you weren’t a big fan if you’re being honest.

“Coffee it is, gorgeous,” he answered, filling the pot with water and loading in the grounds, “milk, creamer, sugar, black? What do you like?”

“Milk and sugar would be good.”

“You sure? I’ve got peppermint creamer,” he coaxed you.

“On second thought...” you chuckled, taking him up on his offer.

“Alright, doll, peppermint it is,” he laughed.

Soon the coffee was ready and as excited to try the peppermint creamer as you were, you could’ve watched him flutter around the kitchen for days. He handed you a sleek navy blue mug, taking a red one himself.

“Shall we head to the living room?”

“Whatever you want, it’s your house,” you laughed.

“Alright, follow me,” he said, leading the way, “you too, Dodge,” he called over the island. Dodger had been sitting at his feet the whole time, watching his dad.

He settled into one arm of the couch, pulling the coffee table closer to rest your mugs on. He placed his mug down and gestured for you to join him. You sat on the other end of the sofa, gently, looking over at him. He threw an arm over the back of the couch, kicked his feet out in front of him, and turned his body towards yours. Dodger watched you sit down and looked at you, almost saying “you’re in my spot,” before turning around and going over to his bed by the fireplace.

“How’re your feet doing now?” he asked you.

“They’re okay, it may take a few days to recover,” you laughed back, turning to face him as well. You held your mug in one hand, bringing the other to your foot as you swung your legs up at your side.

Chris reached over towards your feet, pulling them into his lap, “here let me,” he spoke.

You blushed lightly at the very domestic action, but who would say no to a beautiful man rubbing their feet? He massaged them gently and you let out a little groan.

“You really don’t have to do that, but you’re so good at it I don’t want you to stop,” you told him.

“Well then I won’t stop, darlin’.”

He looked at you from across the couch, making your heart swoon again. You let out the quietest moan, enjoying the work of his hands, and closed your eyes.

Chris laughed lightly, whispering something to himself under his breath. You were a little lost in the moment, so you didn’t hear him.

“Sorry, what was that?” you asked him.

“Oh, nothing, just talking to myself,” he answered. You knew that wasn’t the case, but let it rest anyway; it couldn’t have been too important.

Chris started asking you about your work and friends and family, what kind of movies you liked, and music preference of course. You asked him as well, really getting to know each other. He had stopped rubbing your feet a long time ago, but kept them in his lap, an arm thrown across them, rubbing your shins and ankles lightly. Dodger was snoring loudly across the room, and had been for quite a long time. The both of you were so lost in the conversation, that you didn’t realize how late it had gotten. You glanced out the window behind him, beginning to see the sunrise.

“Oh my goodness, what time is it?” you asked him, chuckling.

He glanced at his phone quickly, “almost 5:00,” he said with wide eyes, “I didn’t realize it had gotten so late.”

“I’m so sorry,” you said a little embarrassed, “I’ve stayed way too long, I’ll just get out of your hair.” You began to pull your legs out of his lap, but he locked them down.

“You don’t have to leave if you don’t want to,” he spoke quietly, “I’ve really enjoyed your company.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to overstay my welcome…” you trailed off.

“Positive, sweetheart. Please, stay.”

“Okay, if you’re sure,” you asked him, raising an eyebrow. He nodded slightly at you. “Then I'll stay,” you said, settling back into the couch.

“Can I get you another cup?” he asked, gesturing to your mug.

“Sure,” you answered lightly, handing it to him. He got up and trailed into the kitchen. You waited half a second before following him.

Chris heard you walk into the kitchen, turning around to look at you quickly, “sorry, can I get you something else?”

“No, I’m fine,” you answered.

“Oh, well, uh… I would’ve brought your mug back to you,” he chuckled.

“Oh that’s okay, I felt weird just sitting there,” you laughed lightly.

“Oh, okay,” he chuckled back, “well, since you’re here now, can I offer you breakfast?”

You didn’t realize how hungry you’d gotten until he offered, “only if I can help,” you responded.

“Oh well, that’s a deal breaker, darlin’,” he answered, almost seductively.

“Well then no breakfast for me,” you laughed.

He was starving too, only having had a small dinner before he went to the bar last night. He didn’t know when you’d eaten last, so you must be hungry as well.

“Well, maybe there is one way, you can help,” he said in a high pitched voice.

“What can I do?” you asked quickly.

“Come here,” he said.

You walked around the island you had been leaning on, joining him between it and the cabinets on the wall. Chris extended a hand towards you. You took it quickly and allowed him to guide you closer to him. Once you were fully in front of him, he dropped your hand and grabbed both of your hips. He picked you up quickly, surprising you, before setting you on the counter.

You laughed lightly at him, “okay, now what?”

“Now, you sit there and look pretty while I make breakfast,” he chuckled out, standing between your knees, keeping a little distance between the two of you.

“Chrissssss,” you whine out at him.

“What, doll?” he asks, taking a step closer to you as you wrap your hands around his shoulders.

“I can do more than just sit here.”

“Oh, really?” he asks, taking another step towards you, now standing between your thighs, almost flush to the counter.

“Yeah, I can,” you breathe out, barely able to contain yourself now that he’s slotted between your legs.

“Nope, darlin’, this is enough help. Promise,” he says quietly.

Chris glanced down at your lips quickly before looking back into your eyes. He ran his hands up your thighs, starting at your knees, before settling onto your hips again. The temperature in the room seemed to rise at an unbelievable rate as you stared into each others’ eyes. You could feel his breath on your lips, you were sure he could feel yours as well, the smell of coffee and peppermint radiated between you. He slowly leaned in and connected your lips.

It was like time stood still. He moved one of his hands around to your lower back, pulling your body to the very edge of the counter and flush against his chest. The other hand stayed firmly on your hip, digging in just a little. You wrapped your arms around his neck even tighter as you molded your lips together. He licked your bottom lip slightly, asking for entrance, which you granted. He explored your mouth just a little bit before pulling back, breathless, and resting his forehead against yours.

“Well, that was, uh…” he spoke.

“Yeah,” you answered, breathless as well.

You held his gaze for another second before moving forward and kissing him once again. You pecked him sweetly, before mumbling against his lips.

“I’ll let you cook, as long as you let me clean up,” you laughed a little before connecting your lips again.

Chris let the kiss hang just a little longer than a peck before pulling back completely. He pecked your forehead quickly, before answering.

“No,” he said firmly, turning around and letting out a loud laugh, one you knew so well.

You laughed right back at him, watching him start to cook and shaking your head to yourself. How did you get so lucky?

[minor-solemnity]

yay you're taking requests!! i would lovee if you could doing a tom and reader pair. something fluffy, maybe when he wants to make sure he didn't hurt her during sexy time😳 idk something along the lines of aftercare. love you bb

Ahh thank you and yesss aftercare, fluff, comfort - all my favourite things! I hope you enjoy this because I had a lot of fun writing it haha <3

Tag List: @naps-and-lemons @jinxqsu @riddles-wifey @cakesarecute @mainlynonsense

Companion Fic: Truth Will Out

Tender, We Lay Bound

“Darling, you were perfect,” He murmurs. He tilts your head upwards and you take in his expression, concerned and fond and proud. Of you - Tom’s proud of you, and that realisation does wonders in settling your nerves. “Come here, let me look after you.”

You flop back against the soft pillows and immediately begin to burrow under the covers, feeling sated and glowing in the aftermath of your orgasm. What you want right now is a hug and to fall asleep in Tom’s arms. Tom it seems has other ideas though and you poke your head out from under the duvet, still feeling hazy and dizzy and slightly giddy. You watch with mild curiosity and confusion as he roots around in his bedside table drawer for a few seconds before he finds what he’s looking for. He passes you a small vial, not dissimilar from the one that he’d given you earlier, except the vial you're holding now is full of something that looks like mercury.

It’s at this point that your euphoric daze begins to lift and the gravity of what you’ve just done begins to set in, burying itself deep in your stomach and churning uncomfortably. You down the potion and the last effects of the Veritaserum lifts - your tongue feels like your own again and you know that if Tom were to ask you anything right now, it would only be his scarily accurate ability to weed out untruths that would stop you from lying. Well, that and the fact that you don’t like lying to him anyway.

The vial drops from your hands and you stare blankly at the canopy of his bed, willing the array of emotions that tumble around inside of you to still and calm. It’s no use though, now that you’ve started thinking about it and the implications of what you’ve done - what you’ve said - you can’t stop. You reach for Tom because of course, you do, and when you find him, you don’t let go.

“I… Was that okay?” You ask, and of course, what you’re really asking is if you were okay, if he’s pleased with you. You feel him shift and then his arms are wrapping around your torso, rubbing gentle, reassuring strokes down your sides as he pulls you close. Despite the slow rising anxiety inside you, you smile when he presses his lips against your forehead, the heat and weight of his body, and the calm, confident strokes of his hands are reassuring in a way that is impossible to fully describe.

“Darling, you were perfect,” He murmurs. He tilts your head upwards and you take in his expression, concerned and fond and proud. Of you - Tom’s proud of you, and that realisation settles your nerves as nothing else can. “Come here, let me look after you.” You press yourself close to him, throwing a leg over his hip and nestling against his side, your fingers splayed across his chest as he brushes your hair, damp with sweat, away from your eyes.

You stay like that, slotted together in quiet, peaceful silence for a few minutes, as your breathing deepens and a drowsy contentedness begins to take root and grow inside of you, overshadowing the worry you had been feeling earlier. Eventually, he shifts and you cling to his side, entirely unwilling to let him leave, but all he does is reach over and take a glass of water from his bedside table which he presses into your hands. “Drink this, you’ll feel better, I promise.” He watches you intently as you take a couple of gulps and pass it back to him, and you’re struck by how caring he’s being. It’s not a side of Tom that many people get to see; he’s an enigma to most other people. Polite, charming, a little distant, and very intimidating when he wants to be, but with you, he’s softer. Especially in moments like this when all his energy is focused on your wellbeing and happiness.

“Did I push you too far?” He asks at last, and you almost don’t want to answer. Because you’re honestly not sure - you’ve never been very good at talking about your feelings, something that you know annoys Tom, who wants to know every part of you as intimately as he can. You’re certain that’s why he wanted to use the Veritaserum - to allow you to tell him your wants and desires without the culpability of free will to get in the way.

You mull over your words carefully before answering, “It was… a lot?” And then, because he stiffens slightly, you continue, “I… You know I’m not good at telling you what I want. It’s embarrassing and I get scared that you’ll—” Realise that you’re not the person he wants. Find someone better. Leave. “—judge me, I guess.” He makes a low noise of protest in the back of his throat and a soft chuckle escapes you at the sound. “I enjoyed it though? I guess I’m surprised at how much I enjoyed it.” Without the Veritaserum in your system to force you to be honest, this admission feels far more important than any of the things you’d told him earlier. Honesty for the sake of honesty is not something you’re all that familiar with and you can tell by the way that Tom smiles, soft and indulgent and maybe a little smug that his plan worked the way he wanted it to, that he’s appreciative of you’re telling him the truth.

He passes you the water again and you drink obediently. Now that you’re more aware of your surroundings, you notice the way he watches you, taking in your every move and action no matter how minor, his eyes flickering across your face as though he’s trying to catalogue and dissect every micro-expression. His attentiveness and care fans the warm flame of love and happiness that burn bright inside of you whenever you’re near him. His expression grows serious for a moment and he reaches out to run his thumb across your cheek, curving your jaw before he twines a lock of your hair around his fingers. “I would never have suggested it if I didn’t think you’d enjoy it.” He says. “You have so many delicious thoughts hidden from me. I want to know all of them - all of you - and I’d never judge you for your desires.” Sincerity laces his voice, and though you know that he is an excellent liar, capable of hoodwinking almost anyone, you also know that he won’t lie to you about this. “Everything you told me tonight, can really only endear me to you more.”

A faint flush creeps up your neck and along your cheeks at his words and you bury your face in his chest, feeling more than hearing his laughter. “How?” Because you’d been fairly explicit in describing all the ways you wanted Tom to ruin you for anyone else, and whilst he certainly doesn’t seem put off by your secrets, you can’t really imagine why.

“Because I want the same things,” He says this simple and without shame, which is entirely unsurprising because you're not sure that Tom has ever once felt shame for things he wants, he begins to pet the top of your head and the light pressure of his palm against your scalp grounds and reassures you. “When I say I want to know all of you, I mean that there is no part of you that could possibly repulse me, of that I’m quite certain.” He pauses, and then adds in a more serious tone, “That you trust me to take you over the brink and bring you back again is… Important to me.” You hum in response and the two of you fall into a slow and easy quiet for a few minutes before he reaches over and finds a book. “Would you like me to read to you?” At your mumbled yes please, he huffs a quiet breath of laughter. Him reading to you has become a routine of sorts, on the days when you’re too tired from school, or, in this case, sex, he’ll recite passages from whatever book he’s reading at the time until everything but his voice is drowned out.

You can’t exactly remember when it was that you realised that you love him, or when you realised that he loves you, but in moments like this, when the world fades and all there that is left is the two of you, you feel that spring of love and safety begin to overflow. It’s just as overwhelming as everything else that has happened tonight and you lay there, in Tom’s bed, in Tom’s arms, drifting through the afterglow of your pleasure, your worries and anxieties abated as his voice, soft and smooth, soothes you to sleep.

Companion Piece: Truth Will Out

[livexdolan]

The Cage - Part One

A/n: so hi! This is a UFC based fic about Grayson Dolan. This is an AU with an OC. There is no face claim as of now but they might change idk. I’m not going to ramble lol I’m just very very nervous. Anywho please enjoy and let me know what you think! There will be many parts to this series by the way lol so this part is kind of slow but just wait aha

Word Count: 5924

Warnings: fluff, mentions of death, explicit language, and triggering topics (maybe?) mentioned

“I’ve always wondered what it’d be like to be famous- never telling anyone but I’ve always wanted to know- wanted to get in the head of someone famous and see what they go through- but I could’ve never guessed this was how I was going to find out.

It all started when I was 22, fresh out of college, with a crappy assistant job at a publishing company in Los Angeles, California. Having been stuck at this job for almost three years and never even having my articles read, I was starting to lose hope that I would never be more than an assistant. Until one day…”

“Lily! Get in here! And bring me a coffee!” I scurry to Mr. Lane’s office, clutching the coffee I had just gone and grabbed for him, stopping by my desk to grab my notebook and pen.

I opened his glass door and put his coffee down on his desk, pushing up my glasses as I opened my notebook and clicked my pen, looking up at him expectantly, waiting for him to say what he needed me to do. He looks at me, his eyes bright at first but quickly losing their color and he sighs as though he’s already exasperated, “What is this?” He holds up a copy of a story I had put on his desk.

Oh jeez, another rejection. I push my glasses up again and start to stutter out an explanation in a quiet voice, “Well, I-I heard you talking to some of the reporters about need-needing a new story for next week's issue and well, I-I already had an idea so I thought I’d-” He cuts me off with a quick raise of his hand and a stoic look on his face, giving nothing away.

“Look,” he sighs and rubs his face with both hands before continuing, “It’s not a bad story, but it’s a half-baked idea. That’s your problem. That’s why you haven’t gotten a byline yet- you can never deliver a full idea- let alone a full article, do you understand?”

I look down, refusing to let him see my cheeks burn red and my eyes water. This is what he says every time I give him an idea. “Do you want to be a journalist?” He questions.

I make eye contact with him quickly lifting my head and squaring my shoulders to try and seem more confident, “More than anything, sir.”

“Well then, I have a proposition for you.” He gets up from his chair, his tall, lean body going to perch on the corner of his desk as he looks up at me his blue eyes sparkling with a mischievous glint, “I’ll give you a lead, and if you can follow through and get me a full 12000-word article by Monday, you can keep your job and I might throw you a lead here and there. But if you fail to deliver…” He pauses momentarily, thinking over his next words carefully, “you lose your job.”

I gasp and try to reason with myself for a second, making a mental pro-con list before replying quietly, “What’s the article on?”

He shakes his head and smirks lightly, filling my stomach with more unease, “No, you have to agree to the proposition. Then, I will tell you the story.”

Can I do this? Can I risk everything? I mean, that’s what my life’s been so far, a lot of risks and sacrifices. But is this a sacrifice I’m willing to make?

What would mom do? I sigh, “O-ok. Okay, I accept. Now, what’s the story?”

He claps his hands together excitedly and looks up at me with a boyish grin, he moves swiftly behind his desk and grabs an envelope, handing it to my shaky hands, “Grayson Dolan, he fights tonight here at the arena, go with a press pass, get an interview with him and ask him a couple of questions. Oh, and make sure we get a quote.”

I stare at him open-mouthed, frozen to my spot, “What? The Grayson Dolan?! You and I are both very aware that he refuses to do interviews. This isn’t even possible.” I say without trying to raise my voice too much.

Jace just leans back in his desk chair, lacing his fingers together and putting them behind his head, “Not my problem- it’s yours now. If I don’t have that story in my hand Monday morning, just pack your things up and leave, got it?” He smirks up at me.

I just silently walk out of his office and back to my desk, sitting down and putting my head against the cool wood surface. I don’t know if I want to cry or punch myself in the face.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“And then he told me that if I accept- but fail to give him a story- I lose my job!”

“Wow! I never liked that guy, you know. He gives off such- such a douchebag vibe.”

I can’t help but chuckle at my dad’s voice dropping a little, he hasn’t been big on cursing since mom passed. At first, it was weird because both my parents cussed when I was growing up. But after mom passed, dad decided that, ‘there’s enough hate in the world’ and that he’s not going to add to it with foul language.’

“I know Dad, but what am I supposed to do?”

“Don’t accept it! You should never risk your whole career on whether or not some guy is feeling up to an interview!”

“Ok, one-” I start, “it is not just some guy! This is Grayson Dolan! And two,” I lower my voice and chew my lip, a bad habit I picked up in middle school, “I already agreed.”

“Of course you did!” he sounds exasperated and I pull my phone away from my ear a little out of reflex, “You are just like your mother, you know that?” he sighs and the line goes quiet.

“Daddy?” I whisper into the phone. He stays silent. It’s my turn to sigh and fall back onto my couch. I mutter into the phone, “He wouldn’t tell me the story until I accepted. I have to go get ready, I’ll talk to you after the match. I’ll be sitting ringside so look for me, ok?”

“Ok, I will. I’m still not happy about this.”

“I know Dad, you’re not happy with two-thirds of the things I do.”

That gets a reluctant chuckle out of him, “I guess you’re right. Good luck, by the way. If anyone can get an interview out of Dolan- it’d be you. And if you can’t, your childhood bedroom would love to have you back.”

“Ha-ha. Thanks. I love you.”

“Love you too baby, I’ll see you soon?”

“Dad,” my stomach drops at his hopeful voice and I can’t bring myself to tell him the truth, “Maybe, bye.”

I hang up the phone before he can say anything and I sink into the couch.

I wake with a start, my neck sore from the back of the couch. Oh no. I grab my phone in a haste, I turn it on and my whole body sags in relief when the time shows up; 6:45.

I have about an hour and a half to get ready, that’s enough time!

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Wrong. Very wrong. I feel a wave of heat wash over me, igniting my anxiety as I look at the time on my phone; 7:45.

I quickly put on my normal, light makeup consisting of moisturizer, skin tint, blush on my cheeks and nose, giving me an almost sunburnt look. I shape my eyebrows a little, fix my glasses, and put on my chapstick. I quickly brush out my short, wavy hair and clip back the front parts. I shake my head slightly to get my bangs in place and do one last check in the mirror before heading to my closet.

Too pink. Too casual. Too tight. Too- ugh where did I even get that from? I start moving the hangers faster, getting frustrated with my lack of options. I move past a pastel purple dress- wait. I go back to the dress and grab it off the rod, holding it up in the light.

When did I buy this? My eyebrows furrow as I look at the beautiful and delicate dress that I must’ve forgotten about. I pull it off the hanger and slowly put it on, saying a silent prayer that it fits.

I smooth the soft material out and look in the mirror. I’m pleasantly surprised by how the dress fits. It’s silk with spaghetti straps and is a lilac color with little flowers all over it.

I don’t have time to overthink my outfit now. I throw on my roommate’s white Timberlands, grab my black purse, making sure my ID, wallet, and phone are all tucked safely inside. I grab my press pass and put the lanyard around my head carefully.

Taking a deep breath, I walk out to the living room where my roommate is sitting waiting for me to come out.

I clear my throat and try not to look too awkward. Ryan looks up from her MacBook and gasps, tossing her laptop onto the couch next to her, she moves over to me, her long legs gracefully walking around the coffee table.

She investigates every part of my outfit, making me feel small and self-conscious. Before I can stop myself, I start rambling in a quiet tone, “Is-is this too much? Do you th-think it looks okay?”

She grasps my shoulders and a wide smile makes its way onto her face, “Of course, you look amazing!” I smile at her and she winks at me, “When that pretentious ass sees you- he might want to do more than just let you interview him.”

I snort and roll my eyes and she laughs, “Yeah right,” I mumble.

She walks over to our coat rack and pulls off a small black cardigan, “Here, I know it gets cold in there,” I smile gratefully and take it from her, folding it over the crook of my arm and taking a deep breath.

I start to walk towards the door and she calls my name, I look back at her as I open the door, “You look hot Lil- knock ‘em dead,” I smile at her and nod, walking out before I get sappy.

I pull into the busy parking lot of the arena and gulp down my bubbling anxiety. I find a parking spot, towards the back of the lot seeing as I don’t get bothered by having to walk a little. I go up to the line, seeing a sign that says, ‘PRESS ENTRANCE HERE’ I smile at the worker looking at me and pointing to the Press sign and then at my pass hanging around my neck, he nods.

I go towards the other entrance and show a different security guard my pass and he opens a door for me, I smile up at him, “Thank you-” I glance at the small name tag, “Don.” He blushes slightly and coughs.

I blush too and walk through the door quickly. I realize that I’m ‘backstage’ and can hear the fans cheering for one of the main card fights happening. I check my small watch and see that it’s going to be another hour or so before Grayson Dolan fights.

I take another deep breath and start walking forward, trying not to look like a lost puppy and failing when a man wearing a UFC crew shirt comes over to me with furrowed brows, “Who’re you looking for?”

I look at him, his deep voice vibrating against the walls, “Grayson Dolan,” I answer back.

He gives me a once-over and I try not to make a face when he meets my eyes and smirks, “Oh, he’ll like you.” I furrow my brows but decide not to question it as he points down a long hallway, “Four doors down, take a right, then the last door on the left is him- the one that’ll say, Grayson Dolan.” I thanked him even though he was a bit rude, and made my way down.

Once I turn down the hallway I see someone sitting outside one of the rooms on a single chair. I make my way closer and my heart drops into my stomach when I see it’s a girl sitting outside Grayson Dolan’s room, “Hello? Are-Are you okay?”

The girl looks up at me from her phone and gives me a once-over, except it’s different from the way the worker did- she looks annoyed with me. She stands up, her high heels making her about an inch or two taller than me, “Who are you?” She asks, crossing her arms over her chest, pushing her cleavage up.

I cough to clear my throat a little, taken back by her abrasive tone, “I’m a reporter- Are you okay?”

“I’m perfectly fine, and if you’re here for Grayson Dolan- he won’t talk to you.”

“I- I’m sorry, why do you say that?” The woman steps closer to me and I try not to gag at the smell of her cheap, overused perfume. I step back from her and she straightens up slightly, glowering at me.

“Just run along, maybe you’ll understand when you’re grown,” She says, looking back at her phone, when she glances up and sees I’m not leaving she rolls her eyes, “Grayson Dolan doesn’t talk to reporters. I wouldn’t be surprised if you weren’t actually a reporter anyway, you’re probably just here to fuck him, huh? Get in line,” She laughs.

My whole body feels like it’s on fire. I don’t understand why she’s being so rude and malicious towards me but I have to get this interview. I can’t let people like her bring me down anymore. When she gives me a fake smile and sits back down, I decide to be the bigger person. Not snapping back at her and ignoring her. Because she doesn’t know me and she doesn’t know what I’ve been through.

The door opens before I can say anything anyways and we both look over, startled. A man looks over at us, then turn and glances back inside the room before he nods, looking at me, and asking what my name is, “Lily Taylor, here with Ace Publis-” I try to tell him but he cuts me off opening the door wider and my eyes widen as he tells me to come in. I try to keep from laughing when the girl asks if she can come in but he just shakes his head at her, I turn around quickly before he shuts the door, “If I were you- I wouldn’t lie to others and say you’re around his age, it’s very obvious that you’re old enough to be his mom,” And the door shuts on her shocked face.

I realize my heart is pounding in my ears and that is probably the meanest thing I’ve ever done, “I should probably apologize,” I whisper to myself and jump slightly when I hear a deep chuckle.

“What can I help you with, Ms. Taylor?” My shoulders tense at the familiar voice and I turn around slowly, facing a couch with a very amused Grayson Dolan sitting on it.

“I- I’m so sorry for being so rude to her. I didn’t mean to be.”

“Why do you think I’d care about her? She’s been sitting out there for two hours,” He laughs and I think he caught the raise of my eyebrow but ignores it, “I asked you once, Ms. Taylor, I don’t like repeating myself.” He reminds me of his question.

I square my shoulders, “I’m here with Ace Publishing & Co., I would love if you could answer some questions for me,” I smile at him, trying to come off as friendly.

His amused expression drops and he scoffs, “You’re one of them? God- here I was hoping you were a die-hard fan. Was going to make you feel very special,” He smirks at me and I scrunch my nose out of habit at his gross words. I quickly stop, realizing I need this, “Frank- show Ms. Taylor out please,” He sighs, and my eyes widen and I stick my hands out and Frank stops moving for a second.

“Wait! Wait! Please I-” Frank huffs at my refusal to move and grabs my arm as I move closer to Grayson, “Please. I wouldn’t be this adamant if I didn’t need this. Please. My career is counting on this moment. Please, I will get down on my knees and beg if I have to, please,” I put my hands in a pleading gesture, hoping he’d take pity.

He holds his hand up to Frank and he lets go of my arm, I sigh and straighten up a little, hoping to gain back some of the dignity I seemed to have lost, “What do you mean?” He cocks his head to the side curiously and I blush, glancing at the ground.

“My boss he uh- he told me that if I don’t get at least a quote from you I can kiss my job goodbye and well, it’s not the best job but I’ve worked my ass off to get where I’m at and he’s being unfair and I understand that this isn’t your problem and I understand why you don’t like to talk to interviewers-”

He cuts me off, “You know why I don’t talk to interviewers?” I look up at him and nod meekly, “Why? Explain it to me,” he crosses his arms and I think he might be upset with me.

I look back down at the ground and take a breath, glancing back up at him through my lashes, “You don’t do interviews because doing an interview is personal and revealing. You’re scar- scared to let the world see who the Grayson Dolan is because you don’t think they’ll like you as much.”

He cocks his eyebrow and uncrosses his arm, sighing, looking away from me to the wall, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek as he contemplates for a minute, “You got like 20 minutes to ask me whatever you want, and no stupid questions that all the interviewers ask, okay?” I nod and move to sit in the chair next to the couch.

“Do you mind if I record this? I’d like to keep this paper-free, meaning I don’t have a notebook out and try to write everything down. We’re just going to have a conversation and let it flow. I can stop recording at any time if you say something you’d like erased. I’m not here to expose you, just here to get to know you. As a person. Not as a fighter. I’m not going to ask you anything about how being a fighter’s been or what your inspiration is. I’m going to ask you about you. As a whole. Because the UFC is not your personality,” I explain to him, pulling my phone out and pulling up my voice memos app and looking back up to him, waiting for an answer.

He stares at me until finally, I say his name quietly, hoping he’s okay, he blinks and flushes, shifting, “Sorry, y-yeah, that’s okay. I just- I didn’t expect you to be like- acting like a human.”

I laugh and start recording, “Maybe that means I’m a bad journalist? I don’t know- I feel like it’s easier to connect and get the questions in without papers and cameras and all that other stuff.”

(this part is going to be a dialogue as though we are just listening to the recording)

“That makes sense, and no I can tell you’re going to be great, you treat me like I’m just- a guy, which doesn’t happen often.”

“I bet, you don’t deserve that though. Okay, I’m going to start us off with some icebreakers- so tell me what your childhood dream job was, your favorite ice cream flavor, and 3 things you do on the weekends.”

“Oh, jeez, what is this- first day of 6th grade? Fine- Uh, I always wanted to be a pro wrestler, that was my dream job as a kid. My favorite- vegan- ice cream flavor is probably mint chocolate chip. And, uhm, three things I do on the weekends...okay okay I got it; eat, sleep, workout. Now you.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you, Miss Reporter. If you want this to flow you gotta participate as well.”

“Okay, fine. Uh- as a kid I always wanted to be a veterinarian, and then when I was like 10 I realized I wanted to be a writer. My favorite ice cream flavor is probably mint chocolate chip as well. And on the weekends...I’d probably say; read, watch fights with my dad, and drink tea with my best friend at a cafe.”

“Every single weekend?”

“Yeah, my dad lives on the other side of the country so we do a FaceTime call and watch UFC together. My roommate has a job that takes up a lot of her time during the week so we go to this small cafe by our house every weekend.”

“Wow.”

(this is where the rest of the interview would be but, for later in the timeline, we aren’t going to cover every question she asks him :))

“Okay, now tell me about your family. Where you grew up, were your parents married, did you have a dog, and how do you think this all helped make you the man you are today?”

“I grew up in New Jersey; my dad left when I was 10. I’m allergic to dogs and cats, so I have a parrot named Gizmo. My mom never remarried and my sister lives with her. My brother and I moved to LA when we were 18, with no money, no job, just hope. We went to a gym and asked them if they’d train us. The next thing I knew, my brother was getting a job working at the gym and becoming one of my trainers. I learned how to fight and used my wrestling experience and worked my way into the UFC.”

“You didn’t answer my last question.”

“Yes, I did.”

“No, you told me how you got started in the UFC. I don’t want to know about that- everyone knows that story already. I want to know how you think the things you went through as a child have shaped you as a person.”

“I- I guess- I don’t know, to be honest. I don’t think much of who I’ve become so that question is hard to answer.”

“Why do you say that? You are one of the most accomplished men in America.”

“To others, but this- I wasn’t supposed to be a fighter. Everyone sees me as accomplished but I just feel like this was an accident. There was no great event in my life that caused me to become an MMA fighter- it just happened.”

“You don’t believe in fate, Mr. Dolan?”

“No, I don’t. Do you, Ms. Taylor?”

“Yes, I believe that we all have a path we are meant to follow and that everything happens for a reason.”

“Why?”

“Because- I don’t know- it’s nicer than the alternative to me, I guess. I don’t want to live in a world where nothing has a reason behind it. We’ll move on to the next question. You don’t disclose personal information; relationships, family, children, etcetera.”

“Where are you going with this?”

“Why is that? Are you afraid?”

“Afraid? Of what?”

“The same reason I said earlier as to why you don’t like interviews; you are scared people will see the real Grayson Dolan and not like you as much or think you’re different.”

“Are you like- a profiler or something? Why do you think that?”

“I’m not a profiler- I’m a journalist. It’s my job to look for clues, pick up on the small things about someone no one else would notice.”

“Ok, I’ll accept that. Is it my turn to ask you questions?”

“No that’s not how this works.”

“You said you wanted this to be like a normal conversation, did you not?”

“Yes, I did say that, but-”

“Okay, well, I don’t know about you but normally when I’m getting to know someone- I get to ask questions just like they do.”

“Fine. What do you want to know?”

“I want to know...if you’ll go out with me?”

“What? Like on a- like on a date?”

“Yes, a date, Ms. Taylor.”

“Uh- I don’t know, maybe, I-”

“30 minutes to the fight, Dolan! Gotta get you warmed-up!”

(the story is back to normal now)

“So?” He questions as he stands up and I try to gather all my stuff. Trying to push down the butterflies while I stop the recording. I just continue to get more flustered, especially when he puts his hand out for me and I shyly take it, he pulls me to my feet and I stare at him through my lashes.

“I- sure. On one condition,” I smile slyly up at him and he raises an eyebrow at me, I ignore the unfamiliar feeling between my thighs at the look on his face and continue quickly, “You have to win this fight. I’ll be in the front row watching. If you win- I’ll go out with you.”

He smiles and then chuckles, “I thought you were going to make it hard? I could win this fight in my sleep baby, I’ll let you know the time after the fight, just stick around, yeah?”

I snort and roll my eyes, ignoring the pull on my heart when he calls me baby, “I’ll be there,” He smiles at me again and I jump a little in surprise when I feel his warm, large hand on the small of my back, he opens the door for me and leads me into the hallway.

I try not to laugh at the face of the Instagram model when she sees Grayson’s hand on me, “I’ll be looking for you in the front row, just so you know.” He teases.

I smile at him and kiss him on the cheek, “I’ll be the one cheering the loudest. Knock Em dead!” I walk away quickly and glance back seeing him standing there, his right hand gently going up to touch the spot I kissed and we both blush. My heart drops into my stomach when he looks over and sees the model. I have to turn the corner and get to my seat so I don’t see how he reacted. He wouldn’t sleep with her right after asking me out, would he? My subconscious snaps back; you barely know the man! Maybe he does this all the time! I push her down and ignore the bad feeling in my gut.

As I sit down in my seat, everything that just happened hits me and I slouch into my seat, what. the. fuck. I’m going on a date with Grayson Dolan! I got an interview with Grayson Dolan! I kissed Grayson Dolan on the cheek! I bite back a smile and take out my phone, taking a video showing me smiling at the camera, then flipping the camera around and showing off how close I am to the octagon. I sent it to my dad quickly.

He responds almost immediately.

*From Daddy: Wow!! So cool! Have tons of fun! Not too much though! Not ready to be a grandpa...yet ;)

I snort and roll my eyes, responding and then turning my phone off when the lights in the arena dim.

*To Daddy: Lmao, shut up. I’ll try to have fun though! The main card is starting! I’ll talk to you later, love you <3

After I watch a few of the fights before Graysons’, I take some pictures and jot down some information about the fights and who won, knowing it’ll add more substance to my piece.

I watch as the whole arena transforms and the whole place is bursting with barely-contained energy and the place goes dark. Suddenly, lights start beaming and music starts playing, I smile at the Kid Cudi (each fight he uses a different Cudi song) choice for tonight- Enter Galactic as it blasts through the speakers everyone goes wild, Grayson moving swiftly to the octagon with his head low and singing the song softly to himself. I can tell he’s not the same Grayson I was talking to, he has flipped the switch- as he told me he does- and is now The Grayson Dolan- UFC Fighter and Champion.

He takes his shirt off and I blush at his tan skin, the rippling muscles making my brain go straight in the gutter. The ‘doc’ pats him down and puts vaseline on his face. I try not to laugh at how weird he looks with his eyebrows slicked down.

He makes his way into the octagon and I see him scanning the front row when his eyes land on mine. I smile at him but he just gives me a curt nod in response before turning away. I’m taken aback by his attitude but I know he has to stay in his fighter mentality.

The other fighter, Dominick Reyes, comes in and he has a good amount of people cheer for him but the majority of the arena boos when he comes out. I know that having some of how this fight goes in my article will make it look better because it’s such a big deal, so I jot some notes down, some about Grayson and some about Reyes.

I subconsciously chew on my nail, scolding myself when I realize what I’m doing. He’s going to win. I tell myself to calm down, I’ve never been to a fight before so the chaotic and anxiety-filled energy around me must be getting to my head.

The ref announces them both, and then they go to the middle, Grayson goes to touch Reyes’ fist, but Reyes pulls back and smirks at Grayson, “C’mon pretty boy,” he sings.

Grayson’s jaw clenches and he starts moving around the octagon, Reyes slowly falling into a pattern of chasing him around. Grayson continues to step to the right until suddenly, he moves to the left, and Reyes doesn’t see it. I watch in astonishment as he puts all of his power into the punch, hitting Reyes perfectly on the temple. Reyes drops to the ground and Grayson’s about to follow him to the mat but the ref stops him, officially calling the fight. Grayson looks over at me, my mouth hanging wide open and he smirks, winking at me.

That asshole just winked at me.

I stand up quickly, cheering loudly with everyone else and he shakes his head, turning back to his team as they run into the octagon to hug him. Once Grayson is done with everything and the crowd starts shuffling out, Grayson comes over to me, “D’you see that?” He smiles and I smile back.

“Yeah, yeah, I saw,” He chuckles and grabs my arm pulling me into him.

I gasp as I hit his hard, sweaty chest, “You’re sweaty,” I scrunch my nose up and try to pull away but he tightens his grip, staring down at me with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“You owe me a date,” He responds and I roll my eyes, ignoring the hammering of my heart at how close we are to each other.

“What time and where?” I say, acting bored.

He chuckles down at me, “I’ll pick you up at 5:30. This Saturday. Just bring your beautiful self and don’t worry about anything else.”

“What’s the dress code?” I raise my eyebrow and he shrugs.

“Whatever you want to wear, although I’ll tell you right now they might frown upon you wearing lingerie or something like that.”

I snort and as he moves away from me a little and we start walking behind his team I realize that I’m a lot colder than I realized, rubbing my arms subconsciously and realizing that I left my sweater in the car damn it.

Grayson notices me rubbing my arms and bumps my shoulder, “You cold?”

“A little. I have a sweater in the car, I’ll be fine.”

He frowns as he opens the door to his dressing(?) room, “I have a jacket you can wear.”

He goes over to a chair in the corner and grabs a big, soft black jacket with DOLAN on the back and the UFC and Reebok logo on the front. I shake my head, “No, r-really it’s- it’s okay,”

“Just take it, you can give it back later, s’not a big deal, I don’t need it. I’m way too hot right now.”

He hands it over to me and I look down at it in his hands and then glance back at him, crossing my arms. He rolls his eyes and comes over to me, putting it on my shoulders and looking down at me, “Just wear it. Please?” He whispers and I flush, seeing that if I moved too fast our lips would be touching.

I nod softly and he steps back. I take a deep breath and put my arms through the sleeves and the jacket immediately warms me. I relax into the warmth and pull it tighter around me and he smirks, “Like you in my clothes.”

I blush and look down, “I- I should be goi-going,” I point my thumb at the door and he bites back a smile.

“Yeah, I’ll see you Saturday then?”

I nod and stutter out a response as I walk back to the door, “Y-yep! 5:30! Wait- I didn’t give you my address o-or my phone num-Ow!” I yelp in surprise when the door handle digs into my lower back and he can’t hold back his laugh as he walks over to me, trapping me between him and the door.

I swallow at his large frame covering me up, his arms resting on each side of the wall by my head, I can see his large biceps and the veins running up his arms in my peripheral vision. He smirks and leans down, “Check your pocket,” he says softly and I look up at him with furrowed brows.

I slowly move my hands to the jacket pockets and after digging around a little I feel a small piece of paper in the right pocket. I pull it out and open it up. I glance up at him in surprise at the digits scribbled onto the paper.

“H-How did you- why-” He cuts me off by moving away from me, my body on fire from how close he had been to me.

I move off the door when he motions for me to move and he opens the door, “Ms. Taylor,” He says, trying to hide a smirk.

I scoff incredulously and walk past him, stopping outside the door in the cold hallway, I turn back to look at him before I walk away to go have a panic attack in my car, “Mr. Dolan.”

A/n: okayyy so I know it’s bad and I’ll be editing it soon but I’m posting this on an ipad lmfao so please cut me some slack.

Tag List:

@pineappledols @episkygrant @georgia302 @dolan-habits @leahs-existentialcrisis @persistence-ofmemories @bubsdolan @ohdolans @vinylhazza​ @vintagedolan​​ @astrodolan @zeusgrayson @deeperdolan @blindedbythelightt @dolsobsessionz @evergreendolan​ @dicedols @plantbasedgray

[wndrcarol]

daddy’s favorite | ceo!c.d. | part 2

part one

summary: working for your fathers company has its perks. But one of those perks is being able to gain connections.

a/n: okay! so here’s chapter dos. I was thinking of making a picture for the chapters, sorta how I did for kinktober, but idk 🤔 

also! If you’d like to be tagged in future parts just lmk and I’ll add you to the tag list

pairings: Carol Danvers x F!Reader

other characters in chap.: Sam Wilson, Tony Stark

warnings: nothing too crazy

italics are flashbacks

———

Straightening out your outfit, you looked over yourself in the mirror, letting out a shaky sigh. You didn’t think you’d be this nervous going to a party that Carol invited you to but here you were, nearly about to throw up from the nervous.

All you kept thinking back to was what your father said once you got back to the office.

“She invited me to a party to finalize the decision?” Your father said, looking at you over his glasses.

“A fundraiser” you corrected him which made him roll his eyes and shrug his shoulders.

“Sure, I guess. I’m not going to say I’m not upset how long the deal is taking but hopefully this’ll be the end of it” he said, turning back to his computer before you nodded and stood up, ready to leave the room before stopping in your stance.

“Do you mind if I go?” You asked your father, turning towards him quickly as he looked at you with a confused look. You couldn’t tell him that Carol personally asked for you to be there because then he’d find that odd and tell you no.

“Just..to take note and bring the paper. And maybe some moral support” you smiled softly at him, hoping that he would buy the excuse.

He continued to stare at you, squinting his eyes lightly while thinking before shrugging again.

“Sure, I don’t mind. I guess I need some support so I don’t go berserk if things get heated” he chuckled before turning back to his computer, typing away an email.

Letting out a breath of relief, you turned back around, feeling nervous that it was settled. You’d be going and you couldn’t back out of it.

You couldn’t help but think why. Why did she want you there specifically when it’s not really your place to be there at all.

Shrugging lightly, you grabbed your bag and made sure you had everything before putting on a coat and leaving your apartment. You had decided to meet your father there since he said he’d be going early just to get settled and meet everyone.

On the drive over, your mind kept running, still questioning her motives. It was its so confusing to you and you felt stuck in the middle for some reason.

Shaking your head, you pushed the thoughts away, not wanting to think too deep into something probably simple. Maybe it was because you were the one who brought up making the deal? Who knows. Only Carol.

Parking on the side of the road, you walked into the venue where the fundraiser was going to be. There was a lot of people, mainly a lot of people from both companies as well as other companies, wanting to help donate. It was a nice turn out and it made you happy to see how much money the fundraiser had already made.

Looking around the room, your eyes quickly landed on Carol who stood across the room, already looking at you.

Raising her glass at you, you gave her a small wave before beginning to take off your coat, ready to put it down at the empty table you stood infront of.

“(Y/N)!” You heard someone scream. Turning around, you smiled realizing it was your father coming up towards you. Leaning in for a hug, he pulled back and taking your coat before walking you over to his table.

“Took you long enough to get here” he said, placing your coat down next to what looked like his as you chuckled.

“Didn’t know I was on a schedule” you said before he scoffed at you before giving you a smile.

“Well, now you are. We’re going to go talk to Danvers now since she wouldn’t say anything until you got here” he said with a curious tone which made you pause your actions.

“I wonder why” you said to him, giving him a quick smile before clearing your throat.

“Let’s get this started” you father said, ignoring how you sounded before dragging you across the room where Carol stood, conversing with two men next to her.

You watched at how they looked at her, eyeing her up and down, seeming more interested in her looks than what she was saying. It aggravated you slightly to how they were looking at her. You don’t know why but it just did and you hated feeling like that, towards someone you barely know. Someone your father was rivals soon to be friends with.

Shaking the feeling away, you reached the table without realizing it until your father punched your arm, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“Danvers, so good to see you again” your father said, with a tight smile. Carol looked away from the two men, turning back quickly to say ‘excuse me’ before turning fully to your father and you.

“Tony, please. Call me Carol” she said, reaching her hand out for him to shake. “We’re supposed to be partners, no?” She smiled, as he shook her hand.

“So you agree to the deal?” Your father asked eagerly, taking his hand away as Carols gaze move to you before shaking her head.

“Don’t jump time conclusions now, Stark. Nothing is final” she smiled, her eyes still on you before looking back at him.

“Dan- I mean, Carol” your father said, leaning against the table as you just stood their idly. You stepped back a bit, giving them space to converse. Looking around again as their conversation became white noise to you, you saw Sam laughing with a guy. Turning slightly to the side, he met your gaze before waving at you and turning back to the guy who began saying something else to Sam.

You felt your heart flutter at the small gesture as you looked down lightly, a small smile on your face, feeling your face heat up slightly. Unknowingly to you, Carol saw you through the corner of her eye as she shifted her gaze across the room to where you were looking. She had blocked out anything your father was saying as she zoned in on the guy who waved at you, feeling an inch of jealously wash over her.

“Stark, I’m going to stop you there” Carol said, turning back to Tony as he shut up quickly. That caught your attention as you turned to her too, clutching the folder in your hands that you dragged along with you that held the contract.

“Listen, the deal does seem...iffy. Our companies, being as high functioning as they are, shouldn’t be in deals where we become partners” Carol started, he gaze shifting back and forth from you to Tony.

“Even the board has advised against it. But, I’m willing to take the chance on the deal, on some conditions of course that we can get to soon” Carol said, smiling softly as Tony let out a breath of relief.

You let out a sigh, feeling relief wash over you. Carol reached out her hand to Tony as he shook it before turning to you to give her the contract to sign.

Taking out the paper from the folder, you moved it toward her as well as a pen as she watched your movements before looking up at you, giving you a smile.

Right before she signed, Carol looked up at Tony. “But know this Stark. If things go to shit, we know who’s to blame here” she joked but you could tell she was being serious at the same time. Your father laughed nervously as she signed the paper before moving it back towards you on the table.

“Don’t lose that” Carol winked at you before taking a sip of her drink and excusing herself to go to the bathroom.

Your father turned to you with a smile on his face. “That took long enough” he said before pulling you in for a side hug and placing a kiss on the top of your head.

“You did good, kid. Don’t know what you did to convince her since she’s tough but I’m proud of you” he said, leaning his head against the top of yours.

“I’m proud of you too” you said, hugging him before he pulled away.

“I’m going to make my rounds again, ya know, boast about the new deal” your father winked at you before walking off to a table that most of his colleagues were at.

You sighed before making your way back across the room to put the paper away in your bag. You felt good about tonight, finally feeling happy that the deal was done and finalized. Your thoughts from earlier slowly dissipated and that only made you feel better.

Tucking away the folder and zipping up your purse, you leaned back up, your phone in hand.

“I’m glad you came” you heard a voice say which shocked you, making you drop your phone. Turning to the side, you saw Carol smirking as she took a sip from her drink.

Bending down to pick up your phone, you stood back up quickly, feeling eyes on you as checked your phone for any cracks which, thankfully, didn’t have any.

“Didn’t seem as if I had a choice” you said, giving her a tight smile as you placed your phone in your pant pocket.

“Well, you did. But, if you didn’t then your father would’ve been upset for not landing the deal” Carol said, swirling the drink around in her glass. You felt your stomach drop slightly at the mention of the word ‘father’. You and your father had decided to keep that you were family under wraps since you didn’t want to jeopardize anything or let anyone know he has his daughter working at his company. So hearing the word fall from her lips, shocked you.

“How did you-“ you said before Carol chuckled, cutting you off.

“There’s something you should know and it’s that I know everything” she smirked before taking a step towards you.

“But one thing I don’t know is if you have a boyfriend or not” she said, practically so close you could almost feel her breath on you.

“And how is that any of your business?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest as Carol looked you curiously.

“Well, I’d like to know so I could do something” she smiled as you raised your eyebrows at her. Part of Carol wanted to know so that jealously she felt earlier could wash away.

“And if I don’t? What would you say?” You asked, giving her a small smirk. You wanted to play along to see how she’d react and what she’d say. You felt almost a bit excited by this.

“Well, I’d love to take you on a date and show you a good time” she said, taking another sip of her drink as you stood there a small smile on your face as you began to feel flushed.

“A bit bold aren’t we?” You asked, looking away quickly before turning back to Carol.

“What can I say? I have to beat the competition to take out a girl like you” she said, leaning her glass towards you when saying ‘you’

“Well, in that case” you started, giving her a small smile and batting your eyelashes lightly at her, “I'm gonna have to think about it. It’s a big decision, I’m sure you know all about those” you finished, patting her shoulder, repeating to her what she had told you in her office before picking up the rest of your things and heading to the bathroom, the smile still on your face.

Carol chuckled as she walked you walk away, downing the rest of her drink before placing the glass on the table. “Touché”

————

feedback is appreciated!

tagging - @marvelbbyx @mynameispurple

[snarkwrites]

ssw | pietro maximoff; you make my heart beat faster. [ suggestive ]

Notes:

Okay, so.. This is kind of a follow up to the one shot I wrote a few months ago, happy birthday. So this picks up the next day. Idk where this idea came from or if it even makes sense when read immediately after that one, but ah well. My brain kept nagging at me to write the thing so I wrote the thing.

[ happy birthday ] for those who haven't read it already.

The translation: ty chuvstvuyesh', chto delayesh' so mnoy, kotenok = "do you feel what you're doing to me, kitten?" loosely via Google translate.

Prompts:

taken from either [ HERE ] or [ HERE ] give or take. It could be one or the other or a mix of both at my own choosing.

the daydream of him inside you // seeing the bulge in his pants // you make my heart beat faster. - those were all the prompts / inspiration used to write this.

Fandom / Character:

MCU / Pietro Maximoff x Barton!OFC, Nicola.

Other Writing Nicola / Pietro can be found in:

[ happy birthday ] + several other oooold posts way back on the blog I think. I wanna write a fic for them one day. We shall see, though.

Warnings:

[ NSFW. Absolutely no minors.] If you're underage, this was not written for you -nor should you be reading it. If you choose to keep reading, this is strictly a you problem. I can't do anything about it. I warned you.

Things you need to be warned about before reading: implied sexual encounter.

Yes. I realize that I don't go full into writing out the scene. But there's enough here that anyone underage has zero business reading it. So, I'm warning you guys now.

Tagging:

@chasingeverybreakingwave

@kyleoreillysknee

@micolegg

@mrsstevenbuchananstark

Other Stuff:

[ ABOUT MY WRITING | TAG LIST DOC - IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED, THAT IS. ]

“Are you feeling okay? You’ve barely touched your food, Nicola.”

My mom’s concerned question cut through my thoughts and I made myself smile, nodding. Taking a bite as I replied through a mouthful, “I’m fine. Was just thinking. That’s all.”

“About?” my mom eyed me expectantly. Hints of an amused smile played at her lips. I hesitated for a moment. If I didn’t know any better, I’d almost swear that somehow she knew something was up.

,, would it be a stretch to think so? One, she is my mom and two, I’ve been acting skittish and just plain out of it all damn day...” the thought came and as quickly as it did, I shoved it down in the depths of my brain.

I shrugged. “ Nothing in particular.” I gave the vaguest answer I could come up with. If she had one tenth of a clue what I’d really been thinking about just now, I’m honestly not sure how she’d react to it.

I’d been replaying last night over and over again in my mind all day. Every single part of me was dying to ask Pietro if it meant anything or not but at the same time, every single part of me was also scared to death to do that very thing. The one or two times we’d been alone with each other today and I did try, the words got stuck in my throat. And he wasn’t behaving any differently than he normally did, so I kind of just… Let it go. Started to convince myself that making the two of us love the night before was just a one time thing. As my best friend Simone would put it, “Sometimes, you just need to scratch that itch.”

The whole problem with her theory is that even now, having scratched this particular itch.. I wanted to do it again. And again.

I wanted so much more than that too. The brief glimpse I’d gotten of Pietro beneath the sarcasm and the flirty swagger the night before completely did me in. I’d gone from trying hard to keep him at arms length to falling head over feet in love with him and knowing this drove me crazy.

I felt someone staring at me.

I looked up just as Pietro was looking down. Pouting to myself a little, I reached out to grab the spoon in the bowl of mashed potatoes to scoop another serving onto my plate. Pietro reached for the spoon at the same time and when our hands brushed, I felt this little jolt.

He moved his hand but not until he’d let it linger against mine for a second or two. His gaze not leaving mine for the entirety of it. Under the table, my thighs clenched tight. I could see his hands all over me again in my head. Feel his cock buried deep inside me.

I went from a little wet to full on soaked between the mental imagery and the brush of his hand against mine. My stomach coiled.

My body tensed a little.

I dropped my gaze first, busying myself with putting more potatoes on my plate. Pietro kept watching me.

My parents were talking at the head of the table as my mom fed Nathaniel some smushed peas and carrots... My little sister scarfed down her food and then shot out of her chair and out the backdoor to go play a game of tag with my brother in the backyard before it got to dark to play and they had to come inside.

I dared to glance up from shoveling food into my mouth and Pietro gave a teasing wink. Biting his lip as he openly fucked me with his eyes.

And there it went.. The lazy flip flop of my stomach. And no matter what I tried, I couldn’t tear my eyes out of the ocean blue depths of his.

I couldn’t take any more of the torture that was being around him and not having the courage to ask what I was dying to know so I stood and grabbed my plate as soon as I finished eating, making my way into the kitchen to put it in the sink.

I went ahead and washed it while I stood there. I was just drying the plate and about to put it away in the cabinet overhead when I felt Pietro’s muscular body press against me from behind. Wordlessly, he took the plate from my hand and sat it on the top of the stack inside. I turned to face him.

This put us body to body.

I swallowed hard. My mouth opened and closed and for about five or six seconds, I willed myself to say something. Do something.

But I couldn’t bring myself to. Because as much as I was dying to know whether last night was a one time thing or if there was really something between us… Parts of me were scared to death that if I asked, I wouldn’t like the answer.

And that kept me quiet.

Pietro’s hand raised. Reaching out. Brushing strands of hair out of my eyes. I barely restrained a whimper at the touch. His eyes flashed a brighter blue and his head tilted slightly as he stared down at me.

Lost in thought.

His hips pressed into mine harder. When I felt the bulge in his jeans, I took a few shaky breaths. His hand rested on my hip, squeezing. Digging the tips of his fingers into it. He leaned down slightly and his mouth grazed the shell of my ear as he asked, “ty chuvstvuyesh', chto ty delayesh' so mnoy, kotenok?” in a breathless whisper.

If I thought I was wet before, hearing him speak to me in his native tongue had me soaked. Absolutely flooded. The only word I could pick out of whatever he’d asked was kitten. And as usual, when he called me kitten, my heart fluttered just a little more in my chest. He rocked himself into me clumsily and I sucked in a breath.

“Pietro.” I muttered. I was right on the verge of asking him what he’d just said. And asking him about what the night before truly was, if he felt anything or if it just kinda… happened. But just as I thought I’d finally be able to get the words out, it’s like my brain froze up all over again. I frowned at myself in frustration and sighed, shaking my head. “Nothing. It’s silly.”

I heard my dad calling my name from the next room, so I stepped away from Pietro reluctantly and went to leave the kitchen. Pietro grabbed hold of my hips, holding me in place for a few seconds. Staring down at me.

“ I need to talk to you later, kotenok. Alone.”

All I could do was nod. Tell him that I was going to go up to my room in a few minutes.

He nodded.

I stepped away and walked into the next room, only barely managing to pull myself together enough to talk to my parents without either one of them seeming to be aware of just how flustered I truly was.

As soon as I got done talking to my dad, I made my way upstairs. Shutting the door to my room and leaning against it just to hopefully pull myself together.

I still couldn’t.

I flopped across my bed, picking up the Anatomy book and my notebook, preparing to start studying again for the final I had coming up soon and just as I settled into it, there were two knocks at my bedroom door.

I slipped off the bed, wandering over to the door. Opening it.

Pietro leaned in the doorway, gazing down at me. That hungry look in his eyes again.

I stepped out of the doorway and let him into my room, shutting the door behind me. When I turned around to face him, we were body to body. Leaning into me, he put a hand against the door, just above my head. I could feel him straining even harder against his jeans. His other hand raised, resting against the side of my face. Cradling my cheek as he closed the distance between our mouths.

I started out with my palm down. Determined to keep distance between us until I finally worked up the courage to ask my question, hear my dreaded answer and be done, but by the time his tongue slipped past my lips and started to trace my teeth, I was clutching at the front of his fitted black shirt instead. He nipped at my bottom lip, tugging until I felt it swelling under pressure. The kiss deepened until I got so lightheaded I thought I’d melt.

He seemed to sense this because he crushed me against him and the hand cupping my face drifted down. Skimming down my side. Stopping at my hip.

The kiss finally broke so we could breathe and we pulled apart; breathless. Staring at each other quietly. Wide-eyed.

“Kotenok…” he muttered softly. Fondly. His voice dying away as he stared down at me like he was lost in thought. Trying to say something.

“What’s up?” I mumbled, my stomach flipping and flopping lazily.

“Last night was..” he went quiet on me again and I tensed a little, bracing myself for him to continue. Preparing myself in the event that what he was about to say wasn’t what I longed to hear.

So it shocked me when he was closing the distance between our mouths all over again as he muttered in a lust-filled whisper, “Last night was more than just sex. You make me feel things that I haven’t before, kotenok.”

My breath caught in my throat and I didn’t realize it until I finally took a breath and it was shaky. I gazed up at him, letting his words sink in. Trying to wrap my head around it. I went to say something, to tell him that I felt the same way and I didn’t do what we’d done last night often, but he pressed the side of his finger against my lips, silencing me and continued to speak.

“You make my heart beat faster.” he took hold of the hand I had rested against his chest, placing it over his heart. I gasped quietly as I looked up at him again and saw the way he was looking back down at me, a look of pure and total adoration.

He looked nervous as hell. Fidgeting a little. Not quite sure what to do with his hands after he moved one off my hip and let go of my hand with the other. He went to step away, swearing under his breath and I realized that he wanted me to react somehow.

I pressed against him from behind. My hand wrapping around his where it lingered on the knob to my bedroom door. “Don’t go. Please?” I asked in a hushed whisper. Pietro turned around and when he did, I melted against him. Raising my arms to wrap them around his neck. Dragging my fingers through a thick mess of platinum blond. Tugging at it as I rose to tiptoe and crashed my mouth against his. Laughing softly when our noses bumped and our lips connected all over again; hungry. Desperate. Frenzied.

He reached down, twisting the lock on my door knob so that it was locked and no one could come in by accident. A low growl rose up from the depths of his chest, hanging in the air between us only to be swallowed by the kiss as our mouths reconnected and it deepened. I rubbed myself against him clumsily. Needy.

His hands locked across my ass and he slipped me up his body, stepping over to my bed. Dropping me against my mattress softly and positioning himself on top of me. Pressing his hips into mine. Bucking against me as his mouth strayed from my own, working it’s way down the side of my neck. His lips caught on my pulse, making me shiver and rock myself up into him as I gave a needy whine and raised my legs, squeezing his hips with my knees. The kiss broke and he muttered against my mouth with a teasing grin, “ Think you can be quiet for me, kotenok?”

“ I can try.” I whimpered as his mouth worked down the front of my throat, teeth scraping against skin. Stubble tickling me. Making me cling to him as he snapped his hips against me and his hands moved down between us, catching in the hem of my shirt. He pulled me up to a sitting position and pulled my shirt off, tossing it onto my bedroom floor. I tugged at his shirt, whining impatiently and he chuckled. Nipping softly at my bottom lip as he teased, “Patience.”

“Pietro.” I pleaded.

He tugged his shirt over his head, letting it settle on the floor near mine. And then he was leaning in. His hands moving up my sides. Stopping to squeeze my breasts, growling to himself quietly before reaching around. Hooking a thick digit beneath the band of my bra and working the clasps free. He pulled it off, balling it up and tossing it on the floor with the rest of our clothes as he leaned into me even more, my back pressed flat against my bed all over again. He positioned himself on top of me, his body spreading my legs wide and as his head dipped down, my fingers curled in my blanket and thick blond hair.

His mouth worked across my collarbones. Then lower. He squeezed my tits together, mouth diving down. Latching onto one of my nipples. Tongue circling lazily until he’d teased it to a point and I was squirming beneath him, rocking my hips, desperate for any kind of friction I could get. My fingers caught in the waistband of his jeans and I worked the button and the zipper free. He pulled away and slipped off the bed to shed his jeans and underwear and eyed me hungrily. Leaning down. Meeting my gaze with a mischief filled smirk as he took off my pants. Holding my gaze the entire time.

I kicked my pants free at the ankle and he was on top of me again. The tip of his thick cock brushing right against my fabric covered crotch as he bucked into me and muttered against my mouth, “Are you ready for me, kotenok?”

“Please?” I begged breathlessly, barely managing to keep my voice a whisper as I did so. When he smirked at me as if he were pleased with himself, I realized exactly what his goal was.

He wanted to see just how close he could get me to getting loud.

I pouted up at him and he chuckled. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re being a tease. I know what you’re trying to do.”

“Oh?” he muttered, his hand disappearing between us. Slipping into my panties. Fingers working me open. Burying deep in my throbbing, wet sex. I arched my back and gasped, my fingers tangling in his hair, tugging at it as I rocked against his hand.

It wasn’t enough. I wanted him buried to the hilt inside of me. Now.

But Pietro was in a teasing mood tonight. Something told me that the more I begged, the more he was going to prolong it. And if I didn’t beg? He’d prolong it.

I was absolutely fucked.

One way or another, he was going to have me screaming his name by the end of the night.

[calpops]

shatter | c.h.

Distance brings problems to the surface of your relationship with Calum. A break feels like the only option. You hold onto hope that it will bring you back together and that if it’s meant to be it will be.

1.5k words

dates with cal masterlist

<< >>

Your heart sinks as Calum sighs and sets himself on the edge of the couch cushion; three places away from you. Usually he’d settle completely at your side, pull you into him and let your head rest against his chest, grin as your fingers tapped the rhythm of his heart against his ribs and know you were both finally home for the night. The moon would have usually guided you both to bed but tonight it casts haunting shadows that cut across Calum’s somber face. You swallow down a lump in your throat and play with your hands set in your lap.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” He asks, voice tight and trying not to break.

“I think it’s what we need,” you explain and try to convince him and yourself.

Things had gotten rocky between you as band responsibilites took off and distance made everything hazy. He was gone and busy, you were home and alone. You convinced yourself that when things calmed down and he was home more it would be different. Things would go back to the way they were before he left. It would go back to feeling like home. But they stayed distant. He was still gone; celebrating the success, riding out the highs of all the successes his hard work brought. You were happy for him. But, you were still alone, not one for parties or late nights. You were shaken by the disturbance that entered your lives and lent you realizations. You felt like three different people all in the same breath. There was you when you were with him, you when he was away, and you somewhere in between those times. You weren’t sure who that was anymore.

“A break,” he said around a sigh. “You really think we need a break?”

“It already feels like we’re in the middle of one,” you admit and feel your heart crash. You hate to admit it but the truth has never been easy to admit. “You’ve been gone for so long.”

“I’m home now,” he insists and doesn’t understand—you can’t fault him for that, you haven’t explained yourself all that well.

“Not really. You’re still gone almost every night. When you are here it’s different. There’s a disconnect. It’s not like it used to be. I don’t know if I can handle how it is right now. I don’t know—it’s me, it’s me, it has to be me. I’m just”—Calum moves to you and cuts off the bubble of hysteria you can actively feel rising in your chest. He grabs your hands and soothes you.

“If you need a break I can stay with Ashton for a while,” he says and you can see the heartbreak and crash of emotions that sweep through his eyes. He frowns, you hear his breath catch in his throat and you turn away from him; unable to witness how much this is hurting him. “You’re right. I haven’t been around. It’s been different.”

“I want to get back to normal, but I don’t know how.”

“Time. Communicating. This… this is the first step,” Calum said and though the realization was painful for both of you it was necessary and held a splinter of hope for the future. “Thank you for telling me. I want to get back to what we had too. If this is how you think we should do it then I’ll do it. I’m sure Ashton won’t mind if I crash with him, for a while.”

A while held a certain promise that things would recover. It held heart and hope and a certainty that sounded unbreakable. You don’t know how long a while might last, what challenges might crop up in the face of a break or how feelings might change. Something sits heavy on your chest. You are asking for a break and now you feel you need to afford Calum his freedom in the meantime.

“You can see other people, if you want,” you say though it burns from the tip of your tongue to the bottom of your heart.

He shakes his head. “I don’t want that. I don’t want anyone but you.”

“I just need time to find me again,” you say but the sentence breaks in the middle and though it feels the break has begun Calum pulls you to him and offers you comfort.

“When you find yourself, I’ll be waiting.”

***

Days without Calum bleed on in a heartbreaking haze. He wasn’t around much before the break became official but now there’s no waiting around for the possibility of a late night call or an early morning surprise of him walking through the door. He took a few suitcases of things with him—clothes, his bass, journals and when you come upon the empty nightstand on his side of the bed you realize he took a photo of you two he snapped on your first anniversary. Duke went with him to Ashton’s and without the click of his claws on hardwood or the low hum of Calum’s bass the house is much too silent for your liking.

There’s no more waiting around for him or the crushing disappointment of missed calls. There’s no more aching over his absence and wondering if he preferred being out than being with you. It was your choice and now you can only hope he isn’t hurting the way you were. All of the absences also mean there is no more play fighting for the remote or making jokes while making breakfast. There’s no more erratic heart beats and smiles that leave you with wildfires of warmth blazing through your blood. There’s no more Calum.

He surprises you one day, shows up on the doorstep with a timid knock and bashful eyes.

“I need to get some things,” he admits and you realize more time has slipped past than you thought if he’s in need of extra things from the house.

You can sense his anxiety as he collects what he needs; note the hesitation as he reaches for shared things. Your worlds have become so intertwined it’s hard to tell what’s yours and what’s his. Separation becomes a fine line; a hairline fracture in the glass house you’ve built around each other. You hope you both don’t shatter as a consequence.

He leaves you all too soon—not before reminding you he loves you and breaking your heart in the same breath—it enforces a hollow hole that drives it’s way further through your heart. His reappearance shifts your perspective and keeps you up for nights on end. You feel the cool side of the bed is much colder now, you notice the fridge and cupboards are way too stocked with food and the coffee table is lonely without music magazines and picks discarded all over it.

It’s during a late night when you can’t sleep that you find yourself wandering the house. Pacing up and down the halls and feeling nervous energy bite through you. Your pacing isn’t enough. You leave the house with no real destination in mind but are not surprised when you pull up to a familiar abode. The lights are out but you wind up on the doorstep without hesitation, ring the doorbell and hear a bark that sets your already flickering nerves ablaze. The door opens to Ashton who rubs at his tired eyes but takes you in and gives you a sympathetic smile. He doesn’t complain about the late hour. Only invites you in and stalks off so that Calum might take his place.

You come face to face with him; curls mussed from sleep and eyes red rimmed. Your heart lurches at the sight and the distance he doesn’t seem to want to close.

“I think I’ve realized something,” you begin with around a forlorn sigh filled with regret.

“What’s that?” He asks barely above a whisper and you hear the hope that beats through each syllable.

“I’m my best me when I’m with you,” you admit and clap your hands together to get them to stop shaking.

He stays still; stoic and calm and it shoots uncertainty through you.

“I shouldn’t have come—I’m sorry,” you say in a sudden realization. It’s not fair of you to show up in the middle of the night with all of your regrets clouded around you. You start to turn around and rush out the door but his voice stops you.

“Sweetheart don’t leave.”

His term of endearment reserved solely for you beats your heart a little faster, fills it with hope and makes your eyes burn. You look down, willing yourself not to cry, not to shatter when you’re so close to bringing you both back together.

“Not without me,” Calum adds on and pieces together cracking shards of your relationship.

“You’ll come home?” You ask.

He nods.

“You’ll stay?” You ask again and hold your breath.

“I left once already. I’m not doing that again.”

You let out your breath and let go of all your hesitations and close the distance between you. He welcomes you with everything he has. You feel at home in his arms.

“I’ve missed you,” you mumble against his chest and finally slow tears to fall; tears of relief and love.

“I’ll get my stuff tomorrow. Let’s just grab Duke and go home.”

You nod, though you’re pretty sure just being in his embrace again feels more like home than your house ever could.

<< >>

If you’d like to be added to my tag list just let me know!

Tagged: @rosecolouredash @irwinkitten @golden-hood @who-do-you-love-5sos @caswinchester2000 @wildflowergrae @cuddlemecalx @malumsmermaid @babylon-corgis @outerspaceisbetterthannothing @mariellelovescupcakes @xhaileyreneex @goth5sos @gosh-im-short @feliznavidaddycal @loveroflrh @findingliam-o @flowerthug @g-l-pierce @talkfastromance4 @cashtonasfuck @sc0ttish-wildfl0wer @wastedheartcth @calumscalm @notinthesameguey @akafeliznavidaddy @myloverboyash @treatallwithkindness @haikucal @wiildflower-xxx @calum-uncrowned @egyptiangoldhood @drarryetcetera @another-lonely-heart @megz1985 @idk-harry @dinosaursandsocks @wildflower-cth @idontneedanyone @everyscarisahealingplace @myfavfanficsever @stormrider505 @karajaynetoday @333-xx @calumshpod @calumsphile @calumrose @mantlereid @hemmingslftv

[itsclydebitches]

I adore talking about this with you, it's so cool to be able to agree, everything I've read is just excusing yen lmao.

And with "geralt would rather do and say things Yen wants to avoid pissing her off" LIKE YEAHH I guess I annoyed yen with my answers and she teleported Geralt out of the tower thing, and then threatened to do it again like??? Like he pissed her off so she has fuck all care about him, was over water thank god but like girl??? omg and her refusing to tell the wticher bros what she was planning on doing to Uma, like I get that they would be hesistent but I mean it's cause it's cruel and painful and they have that trauma around that. She just expects everyone to do what she asks when she asks no questions. (Lambert's "I'm not geralt" when he and Yen are kinda arguring, bb red flags)

I just assumed she didn't believe him cause if she did whats her excuse for behaving how she is lmao??? Like you believe he has amnesia and you still blame HIM over the person who maniplated him KAY.

And goodddd that fucking scene when Triss and Yen see Ciri in Kaer Morhen is genuinely the worst, Triss and Yen see their sis/daughter (not gonna get into how weird I find it that Triss considers Ciri her sister and Geralt is Ciris father and she still wants to fuck him, uncomfy) for the first time in forever, she's alive and well and while Triss is hugging Ciri, Yen kisses Geralt and Triss throws a glare at her. I hated that scene so damn much, it's stupid and shouldn't have been there. (aso I get emotions and all but Yen kissing Geralt is so bitchy, idk even full of gratitude and emotion I wouldn't kiss the man who just dumped me lol, especially not in front of a situation like Triss)

I'm still mad about the women, I really wanted to like them fuck meeee

YOU GOT TO THE PART. Oh thank god, anon, I've wanted to talk about this since we started these conversations lol

Okay, let's set the scene, shall we? You arrive to find that, with our playthroughs anyway, your ex has barged into your home. I say "barged in" because although we (Geralt) know that Yen's help is necessary and she'll be tagging along, the other witchers living there are given no prior warning and, according to Vesemir, Yen teleported in without so much as a "Hello." She then immediately starts ordering everyone around like her servants, failing to explain the situation beyond there being a curse that they have to help with. No, this isn't negotiable. She (still being an ex) takes your old room for herself, which just happens to be the biggest in the keep, and proceeds to toss a bed out the window. It's only later that Vesemir recalls that Triss used to use it, so prior to that everyone apparently just accepted that Yen was destroying their stuff for no understandable reason. Classic Yen. You go upstairs to find her cursing a blue streak at her failed experiment and when you try to lighten the mood, she snaps at you. If you're of the opinion that Yen's every order must be obeyed, this is when you're supposed to drop the conversation entirely, because she said to. Except, funnily enough, you'd like to know why she's up here being The Worst Guest Ever and destroying your property. She tries to justify this by saying that destroying a bed is better than how she could be dealing with her anger over Triss. Be grateful and all that. Except, it's not really about Triss, is it? The line is "You shagged my friend. For upwards of a year. I don't know what your witcher's code says on the matter, but ordinary folk would consider it obscene, base, vile." The blame is not on the woman who knowingly manipulated Geralt into having sex with her while he was vulnerable, it's on Geralt himself! He is the "obscene, base, vile" person for... daring to have amnesia? And when you point that out - "Yen... told you already. I lost my memory" - she yells that she's "lost [her] patience" and teleports you into a lake! This is, apparently, how she really wants to deal with her anger. Not by destroying beds, but by attacking you for things outside of your control. And I do consider it an attack. Yen is meant to be insanely powerful, she is leveraging her magic as a weapon here, particularly when Geralt has spent the whole game commenting on how much he hates portals. Yen knows this. Not just because he says so in her presence, but because she frequently reads his mind, something else he's expressed discomfort with. She's not just demonstrating her power (controlling) and sending him away when he makes a point she doesn't want to acknowledge (immature), she chooses the one thing she knows makes Geralt uncomfortable, perhaps even scared. Then when you've swum your way back to shore and returned to, despite all this, begin her list of chores, she makes a dry comment about how next time she just might drop you high enough for the fall to be fatal. With the next time implied to be, you know, the next time you disagree with her. The next time you dare to do anything other than agree with her every belief and jump at her every command.

The fandom interpretation of all this: "Lol Geralt getting yeeted is so funny. And their banter is just 😍"

Me:

You mentioned red flags and yeah like that ENTIRE SCENE is a crimson banner for me. I mean, by all means, love the fictional ships that are super messed up (I often do), but it astounds me how many fans honestly think this is just a cute interaction with absolutely no problems attached. Nothing to question here, folks. I've mentioned before, but last I discussed this in depth the asker wanted to know if I'd been an asshole to Yen and... that's it. That's the perspective. Any disagreement with her, any pushback, anything that's not complete, blind obedience is something she will not permit AND something most fans take as a given. If you're not doing what Yen tells you to, you're automatically the asshole, and if you're the asshole, you automatically deserve any punishment she chooses to dish out.

Comic spoilers coming up if you want to skip, but this is made abundantly clear in "Curse of Crows." Yen and Geralt are at their best in the moment below, enjoying one another's company on a nice day. Yen asks if Geralt wants to swim and he says nah, he'd rather watch her. She appears to like that idea and, indeed, swims naked while Geralt admires from the shore.

Actually cute right? I really liked this moment! They're cuddled up together and exchanging smiles. It's a rare moment of peace where I can believe that they truly care for one another, outside of passionate sex and not wanting the other dead. Finally, something beyond that incredibly low bar.

...except Yen starts flirting with a young man who shows up, invites him to travel with them, all while refusing to explain why she's interested in his company. The sudden third wheel is clearly bothering Geralt, but Yen continues to ignore his questioning. The answer she finally gives later that night?

She did it purely to mess with Geralt! It's his "just desserts" for "refusing to swim with [her]." She is "not one to be refused - I thought you needed reminding" by giving him "a flick on the nose." When I say that Yen treats Geralt like a dog I mean she literally treats him like a dog. He's a servant who must jump at her every command and if he doesn't, he'll punished for disobedience. He might not even know why he's being punished for a long stretch because Yen enjoys making him think she's a normal person capable of accepting that he doesn't feel like swimming right now - insert the Kaer Morhen scene where she wants to go have sex upstairs, but Geralt wants to catch up with the brothers he hasn't seen in an age here - only to reveal that actually she's made their formerly nice outing uncomfortable because he needs to be put in his place. All of which is followed by, "So... willing to join me now?" The message is very clear! Geralt had better get his ass in that tub unless he wants to be punished some more. Whether he wants a bath right now or not is inconsequential.

This is also the run where she scares the women Geralt was with, despite them being separated right now. Why? "I could."

Claims that Geralt is allowed to return to his companions (who he actually waves away) only for him to realize she's cast a spell to burn him with the water. Yen loves pretending she's okay with things only to punish Geralt for them later - sometimes with physical punishments. And what would have happened if the women had actually joined him again? Do witchers weather hot water better than the average courtesan? Who knows, but Yen clearly doesn't care who might get hurt.

Just like her time in Skellige and at Kaer Morhen, she refuses to explain what's going on. She just expects people to obey her, so-called loved ones included. Geralt was to get her cider, and arrive before her bath went cold, not question what they're doing on this dangerous hunt. He's a servant.

And my favorite, petty moment: transforming her awful inn food into a lavish meal without offering to do the same for either Geralt or Ciri.

"But, Clyde, that's just the comics. They're not really canon." Nah, questions of canon aside, this is 100% Yen's characterization. She's prideful. Immature. Beyond controlling. And punishes anyone who dares to tell her "No." Fans are always pointing out that she's meant to be horrible, she could have been a villain in another life, like any of that explains why I'm supposed to root for this relationship or enjoy her existence outside of being a complex character. Yen is interesting, but she's interesting in a "I can't wait to see her get her own just desserts" way. Not "Wooo now I get to watch this story ignore her behavior again to push a True Love narrative."

She punished Geralt frequently during their first meeting, she punishes him whenever they get together, and, I think, she punished him during the reunion with Ciri. Given our playthroughs, do we really think that after breaking up with her and all this fury over Triss - an anger so deep she destroyed the bed and attacked Geralt - she's just overcome with such joy that she forgets they're not together anymore and forgets the anger she's been nurturing for years? Yen doesn't forget. She's staring at Ciri during that moment, right where Triss is currently running towards them, and then after a considering look at Geralt pulls him in for that kiss. That was calculated. She did that to make a claim she no longer had. To punish them both: make Triss uncomfortable by playing at the "perfect" family reunion; make Geralt uncomfortable by kissing him when she knows he doesn't feel the same way. But of course, the popular reading is that she just loves him so much she couldn't help herself. Riiight.

It's just all SO BAD. (Including, as you say, the ickiness of having Triss lusting after Geralt and referring to Ciri as "little sis.") I love a lot of the women in Witcher - Cerys is a fave, Ciri, Saskia, Philippa, Keira, etc. - but the two I'm supposedly meant to fall in love with are just the worst lol.

Basically:

Half the fandom: TEAM TRISS 🤬

The other half: TEAM YEN🤬

Me: TEAM REGIS 😭

[pomegranates-and-blood]

νοσταλγία (Chapter 21)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Summary: This is a retelling/romantization of the Greek myth of Persephone’s abduction with Ivar as Hades and you as Persephone. The Reader character is a Byzantine woman, follower of the Greek Pantheon/Religion, and a devoted follower of Persephone. This takes place after 5A, but the universe of this is a little changed in relation with the series, of course. Thank you for giving it a chance, hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: The usual

A/N: Kay, so, idk. I hope you like this, and I would love to hear your thoughts on this! Thank you for reading, I love you all! <3

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927 @toe-vind-ek-jou @xbellaxcarolinax @pieces-by-me @angelofthorr @samsationalwilson @peachyboneless 

@1950schick​ (Idk if you wanna be tagged in this story, you said everything Vikings but idk if this counts. Lemme know if I shouldn’t add you to this list, thank you! <3)

You lay on the bed alone, covered in warm furs and unable to get your eyes off the chains that dangle over your head.

Why on earth are there chains hanging over the bed?

You shake those thoughts off, and turn on your side and, burrowed under the furs and trying to find warmth, you close your eyes and let yourself relax into sleep.

Gods, this land is cold. That is your first thought as you wake after what seems like a blink of your eyes but the now quiet main hall merely a couple of walls away says were at least a couple of hours.

Before letting your thoughts wander into the horrifying realization that it isn’t even winter yet and you feel like setting yourself on fire again might as well be an alternative to consider, you cautiously turn around and face the other side of the bed.

Empty.

With a frown, you sit up -and immediately regret it as the furs slip from your shoulders-, looking around the room.

“Ivar?” Once your eyes adjust to the dimmed fires around the room, you find him sitting in that same chair that he was in when you retired for bed. “Ivar, why didn’t you come to bed?”

In an almost immediate reaction to your words, Ivar shakes his head and frowns, what is sure to be a mix of disgust and anger written in his features.

“Don’t-…” He stops himself, not looking at you and choosing to refill his cup with mead as he asks instead, “What you said before. That you would have said yes.”

“What of it?”

He turns to look at you, to meet your eyes, for the first time since you woke up. You cannot make out much of him in the dim light, but through his voice alone you’d know he is serious, uncertain.

“What did you mean?”

Swallowing past a dry throat, you offer the truth,

“If you had asked me to come with you when you were to leave Aneridge, I would have said yes. I would have asked for you to guarantee the Greeks’ safety, but…I would have said yes,” You take a deep breath, and rush to continue even if he is only passively looking at you, not intending to interrupt or speak it seems, “When you brought me here at first, before anyone knew you planned on making me your wife, if you had let me be free and asked me to stay in Kattegat…I would have said yes. Even after everything, if you had asked me to be your wife, I-…

Your words die in a choked intake of breath, and you shake your head.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore. You didn’t ask. You didn’t give me a choice.”

It doesn’t matter what the Völva said, because even if you now know that making a choice is, like she said, easy, and what is hard is facing what that choice we made says about us; none of it makes any difference now.

Because you didn’t make any choices, you didn’t choose anything. He didn’t let you.

Ivar breathes deeply, and you are startled to see his gaze fall from yours, his eyes that lower and focus on some far away spot on the ground before him.

But before long his nose curls in anger, his hand raises and he lifts a finger to you.

“This isn’t my fault, it’s yours.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I wanted you with me, and that Christian gave you up, I had every right to bring you here as a slave,” His hand drops to the armrest of the chair again, where he curls it into a fist. “But you-…you arrogant, insufferable woman, you hated me, you looked at me like-…”

“Did you think I’d thank you, Ivar?”

“I didn’t think you’d hate me,” He offers honestly, and the breath leaving your lungs in a stutter breath is all the answer you can give to the unevenness in his voice, to the vulnerability that shines in his eyes. “If I made you a free woman, I knew you’d run away.

For once you actually have no words, no idea on what to say. A part of you is still stubbornly and pridefully clinging to the outrageous idea that all of this is somehow your fault.

“But if I didn’t free you, you’d…what was it you said? You could never look at my with anything other than hate as long as I had you prisoner?” He turns his head to the side as his face twitches in anger. You don’t fail to notice even in his accented and foreign voice he still speaks differently, and a glance at the horn of mead still in his hand gives you an answer. You would have thought he’d be more explosive, not as…sulking. He returns his eyes to you, and insists, “It is your fault. If you hadn’t been so insufferable, I wouldn’t have had to make you my wife.”

“You chose that.” You remind him quietly.

“No, you made me!” He snaps, standing up with more difficulty than usual. He takes measured but wobbly steps towards you, but you hold your ground and meet his furious gaze. “I wanted you, but you weren’t you if I had you chained; and you would have left if I let you be free.”

“So you made me your wife.”

“You didn’t leave me any choice!” He snarls, and sits -falls- on the bed. He discards the crutch on the floor and with his free hand he reaches up and grabs at the back of your neck, but it is with surprising gentleness that he does. You could swear his eyes travel down to your lips as he whispers your name, making a thrill go down your spine. With the same hoarseness in his voice, he continues, “You forget you’ve chained me as much as you say I’ve chained you.”

Your eyes search his, and all you can offer him is a whisper, “What are we to do now, then?”

It seems he considers your question, but either doesn’t find an answer or isn’t willing to share it with you, for he lets go of you and with a grunt lets himself collapse on the bed on his back.

You carefully return to your previous position lying down on your side, and let time go by with you eyes slowly growing more and more heavy as the fire crackling and Ivar’s breathing lull you to safety.

Before you let yourself sleep, you whisper his name. A hum is his only answer, but at least you know he is still awake.

“I thought…you said you believed the Gods would reward you. That they fated me to be your wife.”

He shakes his head, but doesn’t look at you.

“The Gods are not cruel. They wouldn’t reward me with a wife that can’t love me.”

Because you are nothing if not foolish and mad and hopeful, you whisper,

“You don’t believe I could love you?”

Ivar only huffs a bitter chuckle, and the defeat in the way he shrugs makes dread churn at your stomach.

“Who could?”

He settles against the pillow and closes his eyes once again, still on the armor-looking clothes from today, still with the braces -that you know by now are painful, not only looking the part- still on his legs.

But he seems to be willing to sleep that way, and you are not willing to risk your head being cut off for trying to get those contraptions off when he has snapped in anger for you merely looking at them.

So, you turn to lay back on your stomach, hugging the pillow underneath you, and you ask in a whisper,

“What is your Gods’ reward, then?”

He doesn’t open his eyes, and you can understand his answer because your foolish eyes are intent on his lips, and can read the words that leave them so quietly you can barely hear them,

“It’s still you.”

____

You wake when stray rays of sunlight start peeking into the room, and though you frown at whatever it is that woke you up, you soon realize it is the sound of metal hitting the ground, dull little thuds as Ivar takes off the braces in his legs.

He moves back the furs on the side he was occupying when you last fell asleep, and you groan at the frigid air that enters the warm cocoon you had for yourself under the covers.

You only groan, and hold on tight to the furs over your shoulders, sending him a glare when he turns to look at you in question as to why he can’t freely move the covers.

“I. Am. Cold.” You bite out, and even though you see the tiredness in his expression, more than one kind of exhaustion making not only his face but his whole body be coiled with a strange tension; Ivar smiles.

Faintly, almost against his own will, in a manner someone that didn’t know him would say is soft, gentle.

You offer a small smile in return, because your own lips betray you.

You notice he’s chewing on something as he settles on the bed, and with a strange warmth taking a hold of you it is that you realize is the piece of willow bark you left on his chest when -stubbornly, infuriatingly- he chose to sulk over the covers and with those painful contraptions still on his legs instead of going to sleep normally.

A foolish, stupid, part of you wants to know what he thinks, what his thoughts were when he woke up and found the same remedy for the pain you offered him once in Aneridge, when you were just a Priestess, and he was just this strange and fascinating Viking you would have followed to the end of the world, if only the two of you could find a way to remain just a Priestess and just a Viking.

But you don’t listen to that part of you, you don’t voice any questions. You just hum an agreement when Ivar murmurs that it is late -early- and you should continue sleeping.

When you wake up next, he is awake but still on his back, looking up at the ceiling. You turn and do the same, only to be faced once again with the chains that hang over his side of the bed.

You have half a mind to ask him what they are for, but the faint sounds of Kattegat waking up, of the world demanding you return your feet to the ground, make you realize what happened last night, yesterday as a whole.

You are married. You are now Queen of Kattegat.

A part of you mourns for a wedding that couldn’t be anymore, a wedding of happiness and free will and love; mourns for the life that could have been, mourns for the childish part of you that always thought marrying the one you want means the fight is over.

“We reached what was supposed to be the end, didn’t we?” You ask, hands folded over your stomach and looking up at the ceiling. He hums an affirmation, and you sigh, “Doesn’t feel like it, does it?”

“We can’t exactly start over, wife.”

You shake your head, and with the same amount of planning that took running towards that stream and jumping over it, with the same impulsivity and foolishness; you sit up and, folding your legs underneath you, you turn to him.

“I want to offer an arrangement.”

Ivar only considers you in silence before closing his eyes with a sigh, “You think you have the answers to everything, don’t you?”

You ignore his taunt, choosing instead to go ahead with your explanation.

“I made a promise. Not only to you, I made a promise before that,” He knows you mean your promise to have Stithulf die before you allow yourself to rest, you see it shining in his pale eyes. He says nothing, gives away nothing, yet you still continue, “That promise isn’t fulfilled. While he still lives, I have reasons to stay here.”

Ivar considers you in silence, a barely-there narrowing of his eyes the only tell before he asks,

“And when we kill him?”

Even when Stithulf is defeated, you know you’ll still have reasons to wish to stay. You know, but you cannot say it. You know the choices you would have made, but those choices don’t matter -and they don’t say anything about you, you tell yourself- for you didn’t make them.

What matters is the choice you would make once you are able to. Once Stithulf paid with his blood for the Greek blood he spilled, once your promises are fulfilled, you will, like Prince Ubbe said, have to make a choice.

You don’t know what the choice will be, because you don’t know who you’ll be once the Christian is dead at your feet, you don’t know how long it will be, how foolish and soft you’ll have allowed yourself to become, or how relentless on your pursuit of Attica you’ll be. Bu you need to know you’ll be able to make that choice.

That way, you’ll allow yourself to feel free here and now, you’ll allow yourself to be -if only for the time while the Saxon is hunted down and killed- as you were in Aneridge. Like you allowed yourself to pretend there was not a world past the door of that hut, you’ll allow yourself to pretend there’s not one past the walls of Kattegat.

They say power is not the same thing to everyone, and you find yourself agreeing. You feel powerful when you are free, when you can choose, when you have no binds. And you know, because you’ve come to know him in these past months, that Ivar feels powerful when he is control, in control over the kingdom and its wars, over himself, over what people say and think of him, control over you.

So you look into his eyes and continue, “I want you to make a promise. To honor the promise that you made in Dublin. Let me be free to choose. When Stithulf is defeated, when I have no promises to keep, let me choose.”

“Choose to leave me.”

“Choose to stay with you,” You retort as easily as he bitterly pointed out the other alternative. With your eyes searching his, you insist, “You don’t want a prisoner out of me, but I can’t be a wife if I can’t have it be my choice.”

And that is the question, is it not? Whether he is willing to rescind power to you in allowing you this freedom, the same way you rescind power to him in allowing him this control over you.

Whether whatever desire he has for you can surpass his desire for power.

Your mother’s words echo in your head, a painful reminder and the advice that makes a knot of dread clog your throat and a pit of grief -for the could be’s, the could have been’s, the hopes that can be crushed with but a word from Ivar’s lips- to form on your heart; “Never trust a man to choose you over anything, much less a man in power to choose you over the illusion of holding onto said power.”

Ivar’s jaw clenches, his eyes leave yours as his lips curve into a snarl.

“I don’t have a choice, you know that,” He sentences, and your lips part to let a shaky breath leave your lungs as you wait for him to continue. Looking back into your eyes, searching in the for something you don’t know if he can find, Ivar looks…uncertain, as if he stands as conflicted, as overwhelmed, as scared, as you. Finally, with but a twitch of anger in the angular face you’ve come to know so well, he states, “I agree.”

Your eyes fall closed as you breathe out a sigh, as your shoulders drop and a strange peace sets over you.

Sincerely, you offer, “Thank you.”

“One more thing,” Ivar calls out as you move to get out of bed, and you stop, bare feet on freezing ground. His eyes narrow slightly, his head tilts to the side, as if he is awaiting the chance to call you out on a lie as soon as the words leave his lips, “If Stithulf were to die today, what would you choose?”

You open your mouth, but close it again when no sound leaves your lips. Swallowing hard, you attempt,

“It is of no use to disc-…”

“I asked you a question. Answer me.” He demands, expression hardened as he raises his chin and squares his shoulders.

You meet his demanding gaze with your own, taking a deep breath.

“I would leave.”

He accepts your words with a hard nod, a moment where his eyes seem to want to lower from yours that tells you maybe, deep down, he expected a different answer.

But you know he tries to not give anything away, even if the underlying rage that simmers under the surface as he speaks next does,

“Tonight we’ll discuss what the scouts found on Stithulf’s movements. It is in your best interest to be there.”

The King dismisses you with a gesture of his hand, and you bow your head and take your leave.

____

So, that night you do as you were told and follow familiar paths to the room where his brothers await. You curl yourself into a ball in one of the softer chairs and watch the Vikings debate. Night is close to being over and the brothers still argue of battle. A thought of the rams in your homeland bashing their heads together for hours on end is brought forth in your mind, and you have to stifle a laugh behind the goblet you take a drink from.

“The warriors are tired and we lost too many, Ivar. Going after them now is a stalemate at best. Both your people and mine will resist.” Prince Ubbe insists, eyes firm and yet beseeching as they search his brother’s.

But the Viking King doesn’t give an inch, arguing with the tone of a man that refuses to even offer the possibility of losing a semblance of anything he deems his. In this case, power, his city, his army, whatever it is that seems to drive such a hard division between the two brothers.

“I don’t care if they resist, I am King, they are to follow my commands!”

Hvitserk stands up, standing next to Ubbe and narrowing his eyes, “You talk like a tyrant, brother.”

You watch from your seat as the King’s shoulders rise swiftly with a quick intake of breath born of anger, of fury.

“As King,” The Viking starts, and now it is, without a doubt, a jab at his brothers to recognize his authority, even if his next words carry responsibility, truth, “It is my duty to keep our people safe. They will not be safe while we have a nearby city willing to support the Saxon army that threatens our borders!”

You have a feeling the more they argue with him, the more stubborn he will remain on his stance.

Before he can speak, though, you try your best to avoid unnecessary death.

“If I may.” You try, keeping your eyes on King Ivar. He motions with his hand, impatient.

“Speak, wife. That’s what I want you here for.”

“Right now the Saxons are more than vulnerable.” You quip. Your stomach turns into knots when so many pairs of eyes settle on you.

“Exactly.” The King grits out, but you shake your head.

“I am not agreeing with you,” You are quick to retort, feigning courage when you walk up to the table, “What I told you, it proved to be right when you reached Dublin, did it not? Stithulf doesn’t care about the numbers in your army, he cares about revenge on you and your brothers. He will not move if he’s being scouted, because he does not care about hurting your army, he cares about returning with enough strength to get close to the sons of Ragnar and avenge his King.”

“If we can lure him into moving, we intercept them when there’s little chance an ambush awaits us.” Hvitserk agrees, his eyes on yours for a second longer than normal, you think relaying a silent message you cannot understand.

But Ivar doesn’t acknowledge his brother, keeping pale eyes on you. You offer him a small smile, even as his lips press into a thin line in annoyance.

“You wanted me here, Viking.”

Ivar shakes his head, “I’m not regretting it,” He promises, before turning to his brother and stating, “We dim their numbers while they are on the move, and we can buy ourselves time to take that fucking town before they can set foot on it. I will find a way to smoke him out of hiding.”

Conversation regarding Prince Ubbe’s desire to send settlers somewhere further North soon starts, and the revenge, both yours and Ivar’s it seems, for very different reasons, against Stithulf and his men is forgotten for a while.

After a while, you lay a hand on Ivar’s shoulder to call for his attention, and whisper that you’ll be retiring for bed. He considers you in silence for a moment or two, his pale eyes searching yours, before he nods and returns tired eyes to the men before him.

You say your goodbyes to the people in the table to then stand up from your seat and motion for Whitehair that you are retiring to your quarters.

As you walk away, a figure by the doorway stops you with a murmur of your name, and you turn to find Prince Hvitserk offering you a smile. He dismisses the white-haired man with firm words, and although the older man hesitates, he returns inside and lets the Prince escort you to your rooms instead.

The Prince offers you his arm with a flourish that makes you laugh, and you take it, walking slowly in the late night.

“So, turns out you are no guileless prisoner, witch.” Hvitserk says with a chuckle, and you answer with a shrug.

You clean the blood off your hands and arms on the ceramic pot offered by one of the slaves, and tell him quietly that he is dismissed to go rest. After all, they have spent as many countless hours as you and the other healers trying to keep as many men alive as possible.

“How are you feeling, little one?” Sieghild asks as she motions for the place by the entrance of the tent where you agree to take a seat.

“Tired,” You mutter, rolling your neck to relieve the tension and feeling your skin tacky where a soldier grabbed onto the back of your neck with a bloodied hand as he sought relief from the pain. With a grimace, you add, “Sticky.”

The Varangian chuckles, and passes you a wet rag to clean yourself further. You do so, feeling her always-probing green eyes on you.

“Why did they lose?”

“What?”

“You heard me. Why did the Abbasids lose today?” She grabs a small stick from a pile by the fire, and tosses it to you. The gesture is so familiar and so much of a routine by now that you only laugh and start mapping out the battlefield on the sand.

“I was taught well.” You offer in response. He answers with an affirmative hum.

It is only after a while of silence that you hear him speak again, “I told you Ivar listened to you.”

“What I know is useful,” You answer simply, “I know how Stithulf acts. He is also allied with Arabs, whose ways of war I know. Your brother is not blind enough to ignore my advice.”

A chuckle answers to your words, but you don’t think Hvitserk means it as an offense, so you say nothing as you approach your door. When you reach it, you let go of his arm and murmur your goodnight to the Prince. He leans closer, towering over you as he says lowly, just for you to hear,

“Ivar is very blind when it comes to you, just not in this matter.” Hvitserk promises, granting you a smile of goodbye as he leaves you at your door.

____

So, Ivar refuses to take responsibility for the shit he did, I hope that doesn’t surprise you lol. Between you and me, I headcanon (tho this is my story, so it is basically canon) that a part of him, however irrational or small, believed to some degree what the reader talks about here: that once you marry the one you wanted/loved, the story was done, the war was won. That didn’t work out how he expected it to tho, did it?

Anyhow, thank you so much for reading, I truly appreciate all of you, you have no idea how important you are to keeping me inspired and writing and motivated. Thank you. <3

[falloutmelody]

updated rules and fandoms!!

hello hello, it’s been a while. i kinda wanna get back into writing more serious pieces, so i figured it was time to re-open my requests and post my updated fandoms and rules to see if anyone wants anything!! below you will find my new rules and my fandoms, alongside the characters i will write for!! please take a look if you want something and let me know!!

MY REQUEST RULES:

-i tend to only write one off pieces, but if i feel like a piece has potential, or tons of people seem to be really into a concept, then i am open to writing multiple parts!

-i tend to try and write my pieces from a gender-neutral stance. however, if you would like a specific gender of reader, please don’t hesitate to let me know and i shall specify that in the little summary at the start of the piece!

-all my pieces are x reader!! i don’t tend to use named ocs for my pieces, as i want my pieces to be accessible to everyone!!

-idk if smut pieces are even allowed on here anymore? but if they are, i can have a go, they just might be kinda bad bc it’s not something i have a ton of experience writing?

-i accept aus, sentence prompts, vague ideas, whatever you have. just remember that the more specific you are in your request, the better job i’ll do with bringing your vision to life!!

-for the characters below, assume i’ll write platonic (friendship), familial or romantic pieces for all of them, unless specified otherwise!! i am also open to having the reader be related to another character (e.g. an oc that’s one character’s sister and is romantically paired with another one!)!

-the only things i won’t write is stuff that is incredibly triggering, illegal age gaps and stuff that is obviously distasteful. anything that i think may be mildly triggering in a piece will be tagged at the start of the post!

-please be patient with requests!! my motivation to write does tend to go up and down, depending on my mood!! if it’s been like a month and i’ve not written your request, please don’t hesitate to send in a message checking up on me!!

MY FANDOMS AND CHARACTERS I WILL WRITE FOR:

CRIMINAL MINDS -david rossi [please send requests in for him, i love this man so much??] -spencer reid -aaron hotchner -derek morgan -jennifer ‘jj’ jareau -penelope garcia -emily prentiss -elle greenaway -alex blake -kate callahan -luke alvez -tara lewis -matt simmons

there’s some other more minor characters i’m willing to write for like will, so feel free to ask if there’s a specific character you want that’s not on this list! just please note i won’t write for gideon, strauss or any unsubs!!

CSI: NY -mac taylor -danny messer -adam ross -lindsay monroe -don flack -stella bonasera -sheldon hawkes -sid hammerback (will only write platonic/familial pieces for him)

will write for jo when i rewatch her seasons!!

CSI: MIAMI -horatio caine -tim speedle -eric delko -ryan wolfe -calleigh duquesne -alexx woods -yelina salas

might write for other characters when i get to their seasons on my rewatch!

DOCTOR WHO -the thirteenth doctor -graham o’brien (will only write platonic/familial pieces for him!) -ryan sinclair -yaz khan -dan lewis -the tenth doctor -the eleventh doctor -the twelfth doctor -the ninth doctor -rose tyler -martha jones -donna noble -amy pond -rory williams -clara oswald -nardole -bill potts -kate stewart -petronella osgood -river song

only tend to rewatch jodie’s seasons atm so i will be better at writing those characters!!

and that’s all for now!! if you would like to request something, please send me a message, including the following pieces of information: -the fandom -the character -your prompt -any other information that you’d like me to know! (i.e. if you want the reader to be a particular gender, if you want the reader to be related to a specific character, etc!!)

thank you for reading!! stay safe, and i look forward to writing some stuff for you!! <3

[if you have any questions about your request and whether or not i’ll write something for you, please don’t hesitate to message me and ask!!]

[morganaseren]

WIP Meme (Warden Inquisitor Niamh/Warden Bethany)

Tagged by: @illusivesoul Many thanks!

Tagging: @this-is-something-idk-what, @noeldressari, @jellydishes, @w-h-4-t  As usual, I suck at telling who has or hasn’t been tagged yet.

So this WIP is from prompt #3 I made off this list. It doesn’t tie into the other Warden Niamh/Warden Bethany AU I’ve already written; this is something wholly separate. No knowledge of it is needed to read this.

Granted, this is a much rougher draft than what I’d normally post here, but given I’m already more than a month behind on updating OtSttCA, I thought you guys would appreciate the treat. :)

Things you might want to know:

As with any AU where Niamh is a Warden, she’s the one who undertakes the Dark Ritual with Morrigan in order to spare anyone from being sacrificed once the Archdemon is slain. Through magic, Kieran is born as a result of their union. While both women carry a great deal of respect for one another, they aren’t and were never in a romantic relationship although there’s gonna be a whole separate AU for that once I get around to writing it.

Niamh is the Warden-Constable for Ferelden while her sister Saoirse is the Warden-Commander and Hero of Ferelden. Saoirse and Leliana are married sometime after the end of the Blight.

As a result of going on the Deep Roads expedition with her sister, Bethany contracts the taint and has to undergo the Joining in order to save her life. She is transferred to the Fereldan branch of the Grey Wardens by Stroud not long afterward.

Niamh and Bethany are in an established relationship by the time the events of Inquisition begins.

While Niamh would normally be off searching for the cure by then, I'm just going to headcanon that she and Morrigan weren’t able to find a suitable lead in their research until much later—enough that they start hearing about the mass disappearances of Wardens across Ferelden and Orlais.

Out of concern, Niamh and Saoirse convince the remainder of their comrades (except for Bethany obviously) to head toward Weisshaupt for help, but Niamh senses that's enough wrong about the situation that she also tells them to journey there in secret. Vigil’s Keep is pretty much closed down at this point until they can figure out what’s going on.

Niamh and Bethany head out toward the Hinterlands to follow up on reports of some Warden sightings in the area. It's when they're stopped in the Crossroads area (where you meet Mother Giselle) that Niamh has Bethany to ask the villagers for any leads while she heads up to the Temple of Sacred Ashes to follow up on a tip there. The usual stuff happens, and she ends up waking up in Haven's dungeons, where she gets interrogated by Cassandra.

Honestly, this follows pretty closely to how OtSttCA unfolds as far as the major decisions being made within it goes. However, because she wasn’t in self-exile for a decade, Niamh’s a lot more laidback and confident in her ability to lead, especially with Bethany by her side.

Along that same vein, Bethany is also more self-assured in her abilities as a mage now that she no longer has to fear hiding from Templars. As such, she’s much quicker to speak about what’s on her mind rather than bottle them up as she used to in the past. She confronts Cassandra like an absolute badass several times during the beginning of the story in defense of her lover, which you can check out below the cut with the rest of the content. ;)

Like in her canon world state, Niamh isn't treated well when she’s imprisoned. The guards merely know that she's a mage, so they're operating under the assumption that she caused the explosion at the Conclave. It doesn't help that Niamh's been essentially undercover to search for the missing Wardens, so she's not wearing her usual uniform to signify her status. Cassandra does her whole intimidating interrogation as per usual when Bethany—in all her Warden regalia—bursts in with Leliana.

---

"She leaves with me," she leveled at the Seeker coldly before turning to Leliana with a deep frown. “Why did you not put a stop to this?”

“I arrived here at the same time as you. I didn’t know she was here until she was already imprisoned.”

Niamh couldn't help but chuckle under her breath, utter relief filling her. “I think you may invited utter ruination upon your heads with those two."

Cassandra frowned. "What? Why?"

“What do you mean why?” she parroted with a roll of her eyes, unimpressed with what she had seen of the woman and her colleagues thus far. "Leliana’s my sister-in-law, and the Warden next to her is my fiancée, whom—might I add—you've actually succeeded in making angry.” The corners of her lips turned up into a languid smile. “Not an easy feat, and not a fate I would normally wish upon anyone.”

“Hush,” Bethany muttered as she brushed past Cassandra—all but shoving her aside with a pointed shoulder—as she knelt at Niamh’s side to begin healing the wounds she’d received from her captors. All the soldiers began backing away uneasily, especially as Leliana walked alongside her. “I’m already upset that you sent me down to the Crossroads while you went up to the Conclave alone.”

“It was the easiest way of scoping out the area," Niamh defended even as she sheepishly shrank back beneath her lover’s glare. "If the individuals we were searching for were still down in the village, you would have seen them, and if they were up at the Temple…Well, I suppose that’s a moot point now, given what our new acquaintances have just revealed to me.”

“Do you remember seeing anything at all?” Leliana asked then in concern.

“I can’t recall much of anything before the explosion.” Niamh admitted with a frown. “I thought I remembered someone screaming, but then there’s just... nothing.”

“And...” Leliana gestured toward her hand. “That mark?”

She shrugged as much as she was able to, especially given her heavy shackles. “It certainly wasn’t there when I went to the Temple.”

“What is going on here?” Cassandra demanded then, perhaps confused as to why their supposed prisoner had proven so much more forthcoming with Leliana than anyone else thus far. 

“You’ve met my wife before, yes? This is her younger sister Niamh Cousland. She is also the Constable of the Grey here in Ferelden, Cassandra,” Leliana stated gravely. “While the Wardens may not regularly involve themselves in politics, Niamh’s high enough up their chain of command that this country’s branch would fight to the death to get her back, and that’s not even involving what Saoirse herself will do once she finds out her sister's been hurt.” She rubbed the bridge of her nose wearily. “Not to mention the Teyrn of Highever…”

---

After the demons upon the frozen lake had been defeated, Niamh felt the brush of a warm hand in the crook of her elbow gently pulling her back before all she could see was Bethany’s back as her lover marched right up toward Cassandra, heedless of the obvious height difference between them.

"Point your sword at her again, Seeker! Kindly test my patience right now, and see what happens!"

Niamh was mildly amused when Cassandra actually appeared to be a bit startled and had to move back a step so as to not accidentally stab the woman. The Seeker’s dark brows furrowed in confusion. "Are... Are you threatening me?"

"Only because you’ve threatened her repeatedly!” Bethany scowled. “Niamh's very life is in danger so long as that portal in the sky exists; she has no reason to put yours in harm's way. She’s made it more than abundantly clear she’s willing to cooperate even after the mistreatment she received from you and your colleagues." Amber eyes narrowed, and despite their bright depths, there was little mistaking the ice within them. "I haven’t, however, and I’ve no reason to if you’re going to blatantly ignore your own words to the contrary simply because she’s a mage."

Cassandra sheepishly sheathed her weapon. "I’m—"

"If you ever think of drawing a sword on her again, your friendship with Leliana or no, I swear it will be the last time you ever draw breath," Bethany spat, tilting her chin up defiantly. "I’ve lost enough. I will not lose her too." She turned then to hold out her hand for Niamh, allowing the first bit of tenderness to enter her expression as she called out to her. "My love..."

Niamh chuckled quietly even as she weaved her fingers through Bethany’s. “Still so quick to defend me?”

Her lover smiled. “Always.”

Afterward, Cassandra was left to follow behind the two women, who proceeded to lead the rest of the way up the mountain.

"I did tell you not to make her angry," Niamh quipped to Cassandra later upon reaching the first outpost, grinning when she earned a soft sound of disgruntlement.

---

Nothing had really prepared Bethany for the sight that greeted them upon reaching the Temple of Sacred Ashes.

There were so many bodies scattered across the immense crater, expressions twisted in permanent states of terror as they tried to guard themselves against a danger beyond all earthly imagining. Horrified with such evidence of the Breach’s power, it was then that she realized that if Niamh hadn’t somehow received the Mark, she likely would have—

"Bethany?"

She jerked in place, turning to see her lover’s concerned eyes watching her.

"It's nothing,” she mustered up with a weak smile. “I'm right behind you." 

Bethany saw, however, that Niamh couldn’t be convinced, as was evident in the tender way the other woman had taken hold of her hand. Niamh said nothing else, as was always her way. She never pressed her to offer anything more than she was ready for. She sighed.

"I should have been there with you," Bethany murmured at last, looking at the strange mark still glowing upon her lover’s palm. It was nothing that even with all her healing magic can hope to fix, but Niamh merely shook her head.

"No.” She brought Bethany’s hand up to her lips to press a kiss reverently across her knuckles. “Were you there with me, I fear you would have died with everyone else," she admitted solemnly. "My heart would not have survived such devastation."

---

Bethany was beside herself with worry when Niamh fell unconscious upon the first, unsuccessful attempt to seal the Breach. Niamh was brought back to Haven to recover, but Bethany refused to leave her side despite Leliana's attempts to get her to take care of herself as well.

"Bethany—"

"You know as well as I do that your colleagues would have killed her down in the dungeons if we hadn’t arrived when we did," Bethany said flatly from where she sat by Niamh’s bedside. "Everyone in the village knows she’s a mage now, and I don’t need to remind you of how well-liked we are on a regular basis..."

"I’ll have my agents watching her. What nearly happened outside the chantry will never happen again."

Bethany bristled instantly at the memory.

---

She’d still been inside the building to relay some information regarding Saoirse to Leliana when they heard the first outraged cries beyond the doors. As the uproar grew louder in volume—all demanding the death of the one who had supposedly killed the Divine—Bethany had rushed outside immediately just in time to see civilians and more than a few soldiers attempting to stone Niamh.

Infuriated by the blatant injustice, Bethany reached over her shoulder for her staff and immediately slammed its point into the ground. At the moment of impact, a wave of force magic traveled violently across the ground, taking the mob entirely off their feet. She had been mindful to curve the energy away from Niamh—and inadvertently Cassandra, who had sidled up to aid the other mage, just as she unleashed her magic—so her lover had remained unharmed and even grateful for her arrival if her relieved smile was any indication.

Still, Bethany steeled her features to utter impassivity as she coolly strode through the crowd. Those within it seemed to be in various states of bewilderment as they tried to regain their bearings, but she took note of the many widened eyes that recognized the blues and silvers of her Warden regalia.

“You will show Ferelden’s Constable of the Grey the proper respect she is due,” Bethany said lowly as she placed herself alongside her lover, her gaze searching for any signs of rebellion to her words. “Anyone who would dare accost her in spite of her title will sorely live to regret it...”

---

"Can you really make such promises?" Bethany asked dryly.

"I can certainly try. Niamh’s family. Saoirse would never forgive me if something happened to her, especially if she knew there was anything I could have done to prevent it." She sighed. "Nor would I be able to forgive myself for that matter. Niamh’s a kind woman, and much like you—and any mage—she’s so undeserving of the treatment she often receives from others.”

---

Anyone who knows me knows that I LOVE mages; thus, it should come as no surprise that I always go to get the mages at Redcliffe as allies.

It should also go without saying that Bethany also would have gone with Niamh to deal with Alexius and the Venatori. Per the events of In Hushed Whispers, it's canon that the companions who went with you there become prisoners in the twisted, future version of Redcliffe.

While Warden mages are more susceptible to Corypheus' influence, I headcanon that Bethany was so furious with the loss of Niamh to Alexius that she fought against the mind control even to the point of torture like Leliana. When Niamh sees her in the future, Bethany's so pained, broken, and exhausted but so very thankful to see her lover again.

There's hope again—no matter how small—and Bethany's determined to help her set the world right again.

What little happiness they have at their reunion obviously doesn't last long, especially with Alexius’ death. With the Elder One beckoning at their door, Bethany goes off with the other companions to stall the demons and Venatori outside to give Dorian time to cast his spell.

I’ve always headcanoned that mages have auras unique to the type of magic they specialize in and that they’d be able to subtly influence the world around them based on their emotions. You see evidence of that a lot in OtSttCA, especially in those moments where Niamh’s angry or upset.

In any case, per my headcanon, mages would be able to sense one another although the distance at which they could detect such magic would be dependent on the senser’s overall power or their relationship with the other mage. As close as both women are, Niamh absolutely feels the moment Bethany dies... :(

---

She felt the absence of Bethany’s magic like a dagger to the heart.

It had been there, burning as bright as the sun, and then it had stuttered—dark clouds eclipsing its light—until it simply settled inside her like a dead weight. Left bereft of that familiar, constant presence that had been her very reason for breathing for so long, it was as if water had pooled into her lungs, threatening to drown her. The sensation immediately brought her to her knees, leaving her gasping for breath.

"No..." Niamh whispered out brokenly, anguish and horror overtaking her even as Leliana tried in vain to urge her back up to her feet again. She couldn't hear the other woman's concern past the shattering of her own heart. In its place was simply an aching emptiness that slowly began to consume her whole...

---

Let’s just say that Niamh’s not happy with Alexius when she and Dorian manage to return to the present...

---

The fighting between the Inquisition and rebel mages against Alexius and his Venatori was brought to an abrupt halt by the presence of the Fade rift that appeared overhead. The force with which it easily tore space and reality asunder was enough to take everyone within the audience chamber off their feet, especially as stifling heat and wind spilled from the portal along with two figures.

“Give her back..."

Bethany blearily looked up when she heard Niamh’s familiar voice, and relief filled her when she saw that she was standing beneath the now sealed rift. Even with its disappearance, however, she realized all too soon that it had done nothing to quell the storm that had now taken residence within the room, sending banners and tapestries flying with whipping gusts of wind. At its center was her lover, who was standing so still amidst the chaos around her, regarding Alexius with such apathy in her expression.

“What?" the old magister uttered in confusion, shakily rising to his feet only to have his progress nearly undone as lightning struck the ground next to him with a deafening peal of thunder.

Bethany saw how his throat undulated as he swallowed in nervous regard of the mage slowly making her way toward him. His fingers trembled with the effort to form flames between them.

"...Who gave you the right?” Niamh asked, voice as low as the rumbling thunder, as she strode toward the dais.

The pressure within the room escalated once more as an aura of absolute fire surrounded her. Like vines, they rose from the floor up in spiraling patterns before enveloping her entirely with almost playful licks of flame. Nothing in Niamh’s expression indicated the display of power was in any way exhausting to maintain whereas Alexius was already weakened from his initial spell to destroy her along with his efforts to keep the Inquisition at bay.

But it was not a woman who sought to meet him.

It was death.

As if aware of the sudden danger he was in, Alexius threw forth several barrages of fire at Niamh, but her smooth, relentless advance couldn’t be stopped. She made no attempt to even bat away the bursts of magic. If anything, the flames just seemed to absorb themselves into her. Her aura flared higher, burning more brightly beneath each attack, and as Alexius tried to back away, he inadvertently tripped himself into the throne behind him. He flinched as another peal of thunder made itself known, and as he reflexively turned his gaze to the dark storm clouds coalescing above them, he didn't see Niamh Fade-stepping forward to close the distance between them until he was choking from the fingers around his neck. With her enhanced Warden strength, Niamh was able to lift the magister off his feet entirely, leaving him to dangle helplessly.

“Who gave you the damned right to take her from me?!” she demanded.

With her cry, the fires along the sconces and the hearth behind the throne went out entirely, gone with the sudden gale of wind. As such, the only light to be seen came from the flashes of lightning above them and the fiery aura surrounding her. In the sporadic moments the room illuminated itself, there was little mistaking the utter hatred in Niamh’s eyes.

She was going to kill Alexius.

It would have been well within her right, given the magister had attacked her first within their meeting, but Bethany’s eyes widened when she saw how the staff on Niamh’s back began to rattle violently. Against the sheer heat emanating from her body, the silverite wolf head adorning the top of the staff began to melt entirely onto the floor in thick dregs of liquid while the shaft bowed and arched until it creakily bent in the middle, angling itself with the sharpness of an arrow.

Oh, no... With dread, Bethany scrambled to her feet and darted over toward Niamh. Without her staff to act as a catalyst, if Niamh burnt too much of her magic away, she could cause irreparable damage to herself and those around her.

Upon reaching her lover’s side, she placed her hands on Niamh’s face, desperately trying to draw her attention from Alexius. For a moment, nothing could sway her from trying to squeeze the life out of the magister, and she winced when she felt Niamh’s magic already begin to fluctuate erratically against her own.

"No, no, no! Look at me!” She jerked her lover’s head toward her. “Look at me, Niamh! Please!"

And as Niamh did, she watched in confusion as the woman’s expression froze. The lips that had been pulled back in a sneer of bared teeth slowly went lax, forming an ‘o’ of awe and disbelief, as recognition began to dawn in her lover’s gaze. With it, Alexius gradually slid from her grasp to collapse at her feet with desperate gulps of air, but Bethany paid him little mind. With relief, she saw Niamh’s fiery aura dissipate along with the glow of her eyes until they returned to the pale grey she adored.

"That’s it. Come back to me,” she encouraged. “Just breathe." Bethany took one of her lover’s hands in hers, placing it over her own chest, allowing Niamh to feel her breathing. “Slow and steady. Just like that.”

As each breath fell into sync with her own, Niamh's expression gradually softened into something so reverent and sweet that it almost hurt to see—as if salvation had finally blessed her—but Bethany smiled when she saw the battle rage finally leave her.

“There we are."

Niamh used her other hand to gently cradle the side of Bethany's face. “You’re still here…” she breathed, utter relief in her voice.

“Yes.” Bethany frowned in concern at her reaction. “Always."

---

When they returned to Haven, where Niamh gave her official report to her War Council, Bethany was horrified to learn all that her lover had endured from Alexius’ spell.

Afterward, Niamh suggested they spend the evening in their cabin together rather than explore the trails out the village as per usual, and Bethany didn’t object. She understood her lover’s need to reassure herself that she was still there with her—that she wasn’t simply caught in a dream that she could never wake from.

“Is... Is this okay?” Niamh asked quietly, wanting permission to seek such comfort.

Niamh was always thoughtful in everything she did for her—in bed or otherwise—and while she never treated her like glass, Bethany could count on one hand the number of times she saw her magic unfettered like in Redcliffe. She had felt subtle traces of it occasionally with their intimacy although it was usually with purposeful design—heat, ice, and tickling traces of lightning—that were meant to tease.

But rarely was it ever so close to the surface like this—a conduit of power coiled so tightly within mortal form—waiting to burst beneath Niamh’s skin.

“It’s okay,” Bethany said, gently lacing the fingers of Niamh’s marked hand in hers.

The other woman had been reluctant to let her touch it although it hadn’t shown any notable effects toward anyone—or anything thus far—save for its ability to close rifts. Still, Niamh had been skittish all the same, fearing that it might harm her.

...Or perhaps she believed it was a damning mark of shame—of guilt—much like it had been when the people of Haven had attempted to stone her to death.

---

“There’s no denying that this mark is tied to the Breach. You saw the wreckage at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. You saw how many people died, and I still can’t even remember what happened before or after that moment beyond waking up in the dungeons. What if I did do something to cause that explosion?”

“If you had, it would not have been intentional,” Bethany insisted with a frown. “The mark is unlike anything we’ve ever seen, yes, but that you bear it all does not mean you were the one who created it.”

But Niamh couldn’t be swayed as she paced back and forth before the hearth of their cabin. “How can you be so certain?” she murmured.

“Because I’ve known you for years, Niamh. You would never purposely hurt anyone without provocation. Trust in me if you can’t yet trust in yourself.”

---

With permission given, Bethany found herself gently laid out against their bed as Niamh sought to touch and bring her pleasure all throughout the night.

Over the years, she’d become remarkably acclimated to Niamh’s magic that felt so much like a forest caught beneath a winter storm of ice and lightning. It was normally as calm as it was now—crisp as the first intake of breath beneath a cool dawn—but there were times where it could be provoked. The incident in the audience chamber was proof enough of that, where it had settled over them all like the tolling bells of judgment—an inevitability inviting the nascent danger of death.

Bethany had been beyond concerned when she had seen the first bits of viridian energy springing across her lover’s eyes then. There had been an almost disturbing beauty to them—a ring of vines gathering just at the outside perimeter of silvery irises—but that they had pulsed in time with the mark upon Niamh’s hand...

Bethany had feared for her, especially when it seemed to flare all the brighter with the fury that had overtaken her.

She was glad to see no evidence of that now as Niamh laid contentedly next to her. Even though Niamh was sated at last—the burning, restless energy within the other mage having finally simmered down to faint embers—she seemed reluctant to drift off into sleep. Winter-grey eyes continued to lazily rove across her face and form, as if cataloguing every detail less she forget later.

In response, Bethany reached out to tangle her fingers through the dark mane of tousled hair, letting her nails gently rake across her lover’s scalp. Pale eyes had widened imperceptibly at the sensation, but like always, they soon became half-lidded with the soothing nature of it. She heard the quiet hum of disgruntlement, as if protesting the notion of Bethany’s attempts to lull her to sleep against her silent vigil, but she merely shushed her.

“Shh… Rest, my love. I’ll still be here in the morning when you wake.”

---

And that’s basically it.

Again, since this is still in its rough draft phase, it’s not as polished as I’d like it to be, but I hope you enjoyed it! If you did, leave me a like, comment, or send some love to my inbox! Until next time, dear readers!

[v-hope]

»part twenty six - oxygen? idk her

»hobi’s girl

»jung hoseok x army!reader

after attending a bts concert and very clearly catching one of the members’ attention, you can’t help but get flooded with hate comments once people find your twitter account. who would’ve thought that would be the reason jung hoseok would find his concert girl, too.

a/n: i hope you enjoy, please let me know your thoughts 💞 also, remember that one time i wrote a smol drabble with no importance to the storyline just for the sake of it? well, i did it again! now, since i’m on mobile i had to put the ‘read more’ thingy manually, so if it doesn’t work i am really sorry and promise to fix it next week when i get home :( but yeah, smol drabble (placed right after the second couple of texts) under the cut! 👇🏻👇🏻👇🏻👇🏻

“What are you laughing at?” you asked your boyfriend as you entered the room with a bowl of fruit you had just made, not being able to control your own smile at the sight of his bright one.

Hoseok’s eyes abandoned his phone to focus on you instead — his previous amused smile turning into a sweet one before he sat up in bed and leaned his back against the headboard, as you sat by his side and placed the bowl in between the two of you.

“Oh, it’s just Jiwoo noona” he chuckled, picking up a strawberry and shoving into his mouth. “She’s telling me I can’t take you on tour with me because she wants to go out with you when she visits Seoul next time”.

“Oh, yeah” you laughed, leaning your shoulder on the headboard so you could still properly look at him. “She mentioned it the other day, but I don’t think that’s possible given our situation”.

Hoseok’s head tilted slightly as you bit on a piece of apple. “Our situation?”

“You know,” you rushed to swallow. “If people see me with your sister, they’ll know there’s something going on between you and me”.

He smiled softly, gently running his fingers through your hair. “Just cover that pretty face of yours with a mask and a bucket hat and you’re good”.

“Good thing I still have the black one Guk let me keep then” a breathy laugh escaped your mouth.

“That’s a good thing, because my sister won’t take a no for an answer” he laughed as well. “My family really did like you so much”.

The mention of that made your heart feel at ease, having you dramatically let out a sigh of relief.

“Oh, thank God” the way your hand had clutched at your chest earned an amused chuckle from him. “I wanted them to like me so bad”.

“Well, consider your goal achieved” he nodded his head, picking up another strawberry and bringing it up to your mouth this time. “My mum told me to better not let you go. She called you a keeper” his words almost had you choking on the fruit you had just taken from his hand. “So I guess I’ll just have to follow her words and keep you”.

The way he had ever so nonchalantly shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal had you amusedly rolling your eyes right there.

“Aw, such a good son, aren’t you?” you teasingly pinched his cheeks. “Being a whole grown up adult and still doing as your mum says”.

He playfully slapped your hands away from his face in feigned annoyance, only for his eyes to soften when they fixed on yours. “This particular order I happen to like very much” his shoulders moved up and then down once again. “Besides, I planned on not letting you go even before she told me so”.

You felt your heart jump not only at his words, but also at the way his warm hand had cupped your cheek; taking advantage of that to bring your face closer to his.

“Well, that’s good” a sweet smile curved up your lips as you faintly bumped your nose against his. “Because I wasn’t planning on going anywhere”.

“Even if the distance becomes too much and some other idiot with a normal life tries to win you over?” he cutely stuck his lower lip out, forming a pout that you didn’t wait a second to softly kiss away.

“I didn’t fall for anyone before meeting you” you stated. “You really think I’ll do it now that I have a stable relationship with this one dork I love so much?”

The way you had ever so genuinely hummed those words made him smile in a heartbeat, not wasting another second before his lips trapped your lower one in them — one of his hands cupping your face to take control over the kiss as his other one moved the bowl of fruit out of the way so he could lie you down on the mattress and hover over you.

“Seriously though,” he mumbled, moving one of his hands down to your hip and unconsciously moving the white shirt of his you were wearing out of the way so his thumb could draw small circles on your skin. “If you ever have doubts while I’m away... please let me know so I can do something about it”.

You nodded your head, wrapping your arms around his neck so you could pull him down to your awaiting lips — planting a small kiss to his mouth and then another one to the tip of his nose. “I will”.

Not like you thought you ever would. You knew you wanted to be with him and no one else, no matter what. However, he seemed to need the reassurance right then, and you were willing to give it to him — knowing you had done the right thing when his lips parted into a bright smile that reached his eyes, and his mouth was once more savouring yours.

When you realised he had no intentions of stopping kissing you that one time, instead using his knee to pull your legs open so he could place himself in between them —getting a light moan out of you as his hand dug inside your shirt and began to dangerously trace its way up to your breasts—, you couldn’t help but pull away, only enough for your lips to still faintly brush on each other’s.

“Weren’t we supposed to go to the beach after eating?” you teasingly reminded him of the last text he had sent you minutes before that afternoon.

Hoseok chuckled. “We can go later, can’t we?” he pressed a kiss to your neck. “We do have two more days to go out anyway”.

And just like that, you were done trying to play it hard —not like you had really tried anyway—, kissing him back as you let his hands continue their ministrations on your body, and enjoying the small hum that escaped his mouth when your hands travelled down to the hem of his black t-shirt, digging them inside of it as well so you could tenderly scratch the skin of his back.

You did have two other days to enjoy the beach after all.

tag list: @lets-keepit100 @aquietkerfuffle @hobicomeholla29 @hhhhwww7 @brinnalaine @thefickive @zxlla @dreamcatcherjiah @booklover240 @luneseok @randomkoalablog @seokssbagel @thestral-balerion @unadulteratedlyunique @pikapikaachuu @salty-for-suga @biaisezabini @extaevaganza @reveluvroses @nerdycookiemonster-1222 @btsxdoll @cvbachacbitch @dearest-sunshine @tirednation @shakes0peare @moralita76 @re-sugance @babiejiji @yeontanie21 @notinmycomfortzone @slxtfortae @cherryjiminiee @creepysweet @hobi-love @betysotelo18 @zaryas @kpopgirlbtssvt @bubblegumcat229 @wwxlwjcql @uxwi @lovelymultiwrites @rjsmochii @margaritafariasw @moccahobi @lidda @seoulgotmysoul @sunskook @jayhope88 @magicshop-myg @longlivebnc