#its like. nev thought nothing of him before ! thought he was just another Pretender ! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jimlingss · 4 years

Text

Arcadia

➜ Words: 9.6k

➜ Genres: 50% Fluff, 50% Angst, Dystopia!AU, Utopia!AU

➜ Summary: In a new era, the human race has largely been eradicated through warfare and disease. You are one of the few left, living in the forest and making use of the wild. Or at least that's what you think until a man quite literally crashes into your home.

cr.

It happened in the afternoon. A deafening noise from the sky. A thin whistle that crescendoed. Louder than what you’re used to hearing. Ringing in your eardrums. It shrieked horrifically — rumbling the ground — roaring through the silent forest. And you looked up to see a streak of white in the sky. Immediately, you dropped the animal in hand, abandoned the trap at your feet and ducked your head. But the explosions never came raining down on your skull. Instead, it happened in the distance. An explosion that made the evening sky spark bright white. It took a full minute for it to die down, for the smoke to fade into the horizon as if nothing occurred a moment ago. Yet, you stalked the fumes and commotion, crept in the shadows. You knew better than to approach foreign things, to approach clamor and potential danger. But the forest had been quiet for so long that it provoked your curiosity. What you found past the shrubbery and trunks of spruce is a giant white cylinder with rounded edges. A capsule. So white that it burnt to the back of your eyelids, in no way natural whatsoever. But the colour had been marred by dirt and foliage after it crash-landed. The mud and ground hugged it, molded against the shape after it quite literally smashed into the Earth. Before you could approach the thing and investigate, there was another noise. An unfamiliar whirring. It made you flinch and stumble back, taking refuge behind the trees. But as you peeked out, you saw something crawling out of the open compartment. A groan. Someone. You hadn’t seen another person in years. Immediately, you stepped forward and he saw you. Eyes darting to look into yours. He was in stark white clothing from top to bottom, pants that stopped too short at his ankles, a shirt that was cut awkwardly and too small for his broad shoulders. It was vivid against his dark hair and golden skin, almost made him look ridiculous. But you supposed at the time you didn’t look any better — ripped jeans, dirtied boots, a worn jacket taken years ago from some loot and your hair tucked into a baseball cap with a logo too faded away to discern. “I-I won’t hurt you,” he stutters out, putting up his hands. “I...I’m Seokjin. I’m part of the rescue fleet of Arcadia.” Arcadia? The man, Seokjin, sighs after your ongoing silence. “Sorry. Of course you wouldn’t understand me. I,” he enunciates slowly and points to himself. “Am. Friend.” His hands wildly form a heart for you to see and then he points at you with his left while still making wild gestures with his right. He tries to smile brightly. “I. Help. You—” “I understand you,” you deadpan with an impassive expression. The man is visibly taken aback, eyes rounded as his mouth opens and closes comically. “Y-You can speak?” Your arm lifts and your index finger points at his head. “You’re bleeding.” ... .. . He looks around the interior of the tree house like a lost child, seated on the floor and waiting for his parents to return. It’s a meager shack made of alder, large gaps for windows, tattered backpacks stained and collected in the corner by some pairs of shoes and an old radio. There’s a fishing line hung diagonally across the room and above his head, used to dry clothing. But he finds himself drawn to the radio and crawls over to try to switch it on, tugging on its antenna, turning the dials. Yet, all that answers is noisy static. “It’s been broken since a long time ago,” you pipe up, nearly startling him to death with your sudden presence. But you had simply climbed up the ladder quietly. “I’m still tinkering with it.” Seokjin sets the radio down. “I have a device similar to it. Thought this one would work.” He pulls out a black and thick rectangular piece of plastic from his back pocket and you scarcely recognize it. “A walkie-talkie?” “Kind of. It’s called an Erewhon device. State of the art technology, even if it looks chunky. It transmits radio waves without any limit of range and it syncs to one other device. No third can ever join or hack into it. I use this one to communicate with my base. Or at least I usually would, if the thing didn’t break in the crash.” You don’t understand anything he’s saying, so you chalk it up to gibberish. “It stings.” Seokjin sharply inhales as you apply pressure to his wound. But the ache soon alleviates when you wrap bandages around his head. “What’s your name?” It’s your last roll of bandages. “Y/N.” It’s not like you to be so generous or welcoming towards a stranger. The nature of your upbringing and life has ingrained an innate suspicion to anyone who isn’t yourself. But there’s a characteristic about the man in front of you that doesn’t make you doubt his intentions. It must also be partly because you’ve been on your own for so long and your inner subconscious is willing to dance with danger if it means having some kind of contact with another. But whatever the case may be, you don’t feel wary of Seokjin even if you should. “Are...there any others?” “Other humans? There hasn’t been any for years.” “There’s….just you?” “Just me.” Until now. “Where did you come from?” “I come from a place called Arcadia. It’s a utopian society just off the Zion mountain and Elysian Fields,” he says as if you know what those places are. “It has everything and it’s where the remaining people have gathered for years. I actually rescue people like you who are still alive and bring them back. How...how did you manage to survive on your own out here?” “I just do.” “How long have you been here?” “I don’t remember. The apocalypse happened when I was young.” Seokjin makes a noise of acknowledgment like he understands. “It happened when I was seven.” “I remember celebrating my fifth birthday in an underground bunker with my parents.” He doesn’t ask where they are. If they aren’t with you now, it’s safe to assume your parents are dead like his are. “I had a lot of people help me along the way, a lot of people who died,” you say, “I’ve been in sanctuaries and communities until they fell. Everything was only temporary. So, I’ve been on my own for a while.” “Arcadia is different,” he says with bright eyes, breathy voice full of wonder and hope. “It’s where the new world is beginning. I can take you there.” “Isn’t your flying machine broken?” “You mean my Xanadu Shuttle?” Seokjin scratches the back of his neck and chuckles. You notice how the tips of his ears turn scarlet. “Actually, it was my first time taking it out that far. I’m kind of new to all this. But don’t worry! When it crashed, it sent a notification to headquarters and gave coordinates, so they should find me soon. I’ll try to fix my Erewhon device too.” You don’t pretend like you know the things he’s referring to. “Are you hungry?” “I have dried pemmican!” He lights up as if remembering and pulls a transparent wrapped bar from his back pocket. You wonder what else is in those endless pockets of his. Seokjin must read the puzzled expression on his face since his smile widens. “Want to try it?” “Sure.” You rip open the wrapper and you’re met with a dark red and gray block, and a meaty scent that makes you slightly nauseous. But you’ve eaten worse before, so you take a bite. Seokjin instantly laughs when your expression wrinkles up. “It tastes better the more you eat it. Promise.” “It’s awful.” There’s a temptation to spit it out the window, but afraid that it might be considered rude, you swallow it down and quickly hand back the monstrosity to him. “Do you want rabbit?” “Sure.” … .. . It’s odd to eat a meal with someone — an experience that you’re unable to pinpoint your last memory of. It’s rather mundane, but mundanity has long been a privilege in this era. “You can sleep in the tree house if you want.” “Where will you be?” “I usually like to sleep on the forest floor anyway.” It isn’t a lie. One of the few things you love is drifting off while gazing at the stars, that the last thing you see is the sparkling horizon before it’s blue again when you awake. “How many people are there in Arcadia?” “About twenty five hundred people so far.” So far. But if what he tells you is true, then it’s a big settlement. As if able to see how he’s piqued your curiosity, Seokjin continues, “It’s an amazing place and we’re completely self-sufficient. There’s an agriculture industry that’s growing and greenhouses underground that gives us all the food we need. They developed a water filtration system as well and it’s connected to the mountain springs nearby. There are pods that people live in, schools that kids can go to, jobs, medicine— you’ll see when I take you back.” “I never said I was going with you.” “What? Why wouldn’t you?” You don’t answer. … .. . “Morning.” You watch as he climbs down the ladder and nearly slips off. It’s an amusing sight to see his hair in a disarray and his eyes swollen beyond recognition. “Glad to see you’re finally up.” Seokjin, on the other hand, is baffled at how you’re already moving so energetically. “When….did you get up?” “Since sunrise. Changed your bandages too, if you didn’t already notice. I’m getting breakfast prepared. There’s a stream down this path that you can wash your face in. Collect water for me while you’re at it.” You hand him a silver pail. Walking off, Seokjin finally gets a good look at the forest. It’s quiet, save for the chickadees he notices in the thin branches of the spruce, twiddling as he passes and the woodpeckers hammering against the alder. There was just enough rays of light bursting through to allow the saplings to flourish and shrubs to overgrow. And the verdant green almost blinds his vision with how vivid it is. He’s never been so surrounded in nature before — never has it encapsulated him completely. When Seokjin returns, he’s more alert than before. “Thought you got lost for a second. You can set the water over there. Do you want to help me look at my traps?” He follows you and nearly steps into a trap before you yell at him. But he’s amazed. You’ve designated a whole section full of traps made of loose string and branches, and when he asks, he learns they’re treadle snares to drowning snares. “They don’t yield a lot of food. It depends on the season, but it mainly depends on luck.” “What do you usually eat then?” “I have some canned stuff from the cities, but there’s a lot of berries and herbs around here that are edible. I’m in the process of growing some basil and tomatoes too, so I never really starve out here.” Seokjin is astounded. You can see it on his face, but you don’t know why that is. It’s not like any of these things are impressive. It’s just things you learn once you’ve lived out here long enough. “You’re making a fire now?” He watches as you take out a curved piece of wood with string attached and another piece that’s pointed at the end. You saw it back and forth on some more wood and Seokjin watches the smoke, how the friction creates the heat, how you transfer the embers to tinder. “Is this how you always make fire?” “Nowadays. At the beginning when I still had materials, I would use batteries and steel wool. Even flint and steel. But the bow drill method works fine. I save my matches for when I need them.” “That’s incredible. Is this what you do? I mean, collect food and make fires.” “I guess.” “Do you do anything else? Do you ever get bored?” It’s an interesting question — boredom. A privilege in itself to be bored rather than worried. Though you suppose that in this quiet forest with no one else, it’s a wonder how you never went insane. But while loneliness sporadically plagues you, you’ve never necessarily felt isolated or deprived. It’s always been this way. You’ve learnt to adapt to it. Humans can handle more than they think when push comes to shove. “There’s always something to do. Whether that’s upkeeping the tree house or making more traps or planting. But sometimes in the summer, I go exploring for a few days. Into the cities. There’re lots of places I haven’t been. It’s a good opportunity for me to get seeds, food, and clothes, so I’m never….bored.” “Wow, t-that’s...that’s impressive.” “There’s nothing impressive. It’s just the way things are.” “I...went to Arcadia in its early days,” Seokjin explains, “It was established twenty years ago, right after the apocalypse began, so I’ve never really got to see the outside world.” “They don’t let you leave?” “It’s not that. It just isn’t safe to. Actually, that’s why I wanted to join the rescue fleet. It gives me a chance to see the outside world.” “You haven’t even seen anything yet. If you want….I can take you somewhere. Better than this.” “Really?!” Seokjin’s eyes widen, irises practically glistening. Your lips tickle, threatening to upturn. “Sure.” … .. . Past the stream and thicket is a clearing. A meadow of daisies. It’s overgrown grass that reaches to your knees, white petals spilling over with yellow centers filled among them. The sound of insects buzzing and circling through the field is heard as the sun beats down. You found this place a good year ago and while it doesn’t serve much of a purpose, you left it undisturbed. The apocalypse was a catastrophe, but it did a lot for nature. “This….this….” Seokjin is breathless, unable to force a coherent word out. He looks over at the blue horizon that seems to steal the land as the abundance of flowers overwhelms his senses. “It’s beautiful, huh?” He stays silent, taking in the sight in front of him. He has seen a vase of flowers at best — most certainly not a boundless field of them. Not like this. Not in the entirety of his life so far. Not in a way where he could inhale the fresh air, count clouds, memorize the azure shade of the sky, and not where he is unable to see where the end or the start is. Seokjin is overwhelmed, and he realizes why the choice to stay remains. Why you would refuse his offer of coming back with him to Arcadia. A part of him also wants to stay here. Where freedom lies. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs while still taking in the sight. The colours are so rich that he feels regretful he couldn’t see it sooner. “I didn’t mean to push you to come with me.” “It’s okay. I’ll come with you.” Seokjin finally peels his eyes away from the scenery to gaze at you. Yet you continue to look forward. “You made me curious about this Arcadia.” And the corner of his mouth turns into a smile. … .. . The next few days are spent with Seokjin — noisy at your side, but it’s entirely invited. He goes back to his vehicle, his so-called fancy Xanadu Shuttle, and tries to contact his people. Much like your radio, there’s only static on the other end when he flips and fiddles with switches and the lights eventually die off. He messes with his Erewhon too, the little walkie-talkie device, though it’s to no avail. But Seokjin never becomes discouraged. He remains optimistic, a rarity in today’s climate. The man has no doubts they’ll come for him and even reassures you. In the meanwhile, you show him how to start a fire, how to collect berries and certain plants, and he helps you sharpen the knives you have. But the man looks away when you have to kill the animal you trapped and he makes you kill the bugs that land on him as well. It’s a bit ridiculous and outlandish, but frighteningly natural how quickly he falls into place and adapts. You forgot what it was like to have someone with you. To be able to talk to someone. … .. . “Are you ever lonely?” Seokjin asks one night when he’s laid on the grass, arms tucked underneath his head and staring up at the stars by your side. He copied you after several occasions where he found you like that. You immediately heard the gasp that left his mouth the first time he laid down. It’s beautiful enough that he’s unconcerned with insects and doesn’t get up until you chide him to. “Sometimes. Then I think about how people are more trouble than they’re worth.” He grins. “Why do you say that?” “People mess up things and always have their self-interest at heart. Learned it after I had a gun pointed on me by someone I thought was a friend.” “I’m sorry.” “It’s alright. Just the way things are. Anything to survive, right?” “Is that why you’re on your own?” “Partly. It’s hard when people die too. I’d rather not deal with that.” “Why’d you agree to help me then?” Seokjin asks after a moment. “If people always mess things up.” “I don’t know. It’s been a while since I’ve seen someone. I thought talking to you would be worth the risk. And it’s not like you’re not messing things up. I’m leaving with you, right?” Seokjin grins, meeting your eyes. It goes quiet and then you pipe up again— “I do sing sometimes to myself. Helps keep me sane.” “Like what?” “I don’t know.” “Show me.” You outright scoff. “No.” “Please?” A sharp exhale later, you start mumbling, slurring words together in some obscure melody. Your voice is rigid and stiff, out of tune even to your own ears. But you’ve heard it from your parents before. It’s some jingle on television back when electricity still worked. Instantly, Seokjin starts laughing. “Hey, it’s not my fault I don’t know the lyrics!” “No, no, i-it’s amazing, please continue!” Seokjin squeaks out in the midst of a giggling fit and the corner of your own mouth twitches into a subtle smile. … .. . Unfortunately, these simple days don’t last long. Seokjin continues messing with his Erewhon device whenever he gets the chance — banging it on the tree house wall much to your dismay, curling up with it using a screwdriver kit he got from his capsule — and one evening, it suddenly comes alive. There’s the sound of static and someone’s muffled voice. “Hello?! Code White. R-six-four-three. This is Kim Seokjin from fleet seventy two.” “R-four-......three-nine.” It’s difficult to discern, but that’s all the other line says before the device goes silent again. You look to Seokjin, anticipating dejection and disappointment. But instead, a grin spreads into his cheeks and his eyes crinkle ever so slightly. “Y/N. They’re coming soon.” … .. . It’s a morning of checking for traps, of hearing the orchestral songs of nature, of holding your breath as the breeze whisks through the strands of your hair. You’re tip-toeing to the simple snare laid on the ground when the familiar, deafening noise returns to the sky. A thin whistle that crescendos. Louder than you’re used to hearing. Ringing in your eardrums. It rumbles the ground, roaring through the silent forest. And you look up to see a streak of white in the sky. It’s a larger white vessel with glass windows around. So white that it burns to the back of your eyelids, in no way natural whatsoever. And it descends to the same place Seokjin crash-landed. Seokjin finds you and the two of you venture through the forest and shrubby towards it. There’s a whirring and a compartment opens. Three different people step out, dressed in that unnatural white much like Seokjin is, pants and shirt cut off oddly. They look at Seokjin with smiles and incredulous expressions. “I can’t believe you actually crashed.” “It wasn’t my fault, JK!” Seokjin whines immediately and then quickly greets the other two females who he’s evidently less friendly with. “Amber. Lizzy. Good to see you too.” “This something I expected from Namjoon or even Jimin, not you,” the shorter-hair girl named Amber huffs out as she playfully shakes her head. “At least he’s safe,” Lizzy says with a smile. “Saves us from having to transport him back in a stretcher. But….who’s….that?” Her eyes dart over to you and the other two strangers follow her line of sigh, re-directing their attention. Then their mouths drop open, eyes widening in surprise, having not seen you there. Seokjin steps aside, allowing the light to shed on you. “She’s a lone one.” “A-A lone one…?” “Are you okay? Do you need help?” Amber whispers softly, lowering herself to meet your height and connect your eyes with hers as if you were a wounded animal. But then light flashes beneath her irises and her brows furrow. “Right. She might not know how to speak. Where’s my translation devi—” The corner of Seokjin’s mouth tilts. “She does.” You step forward, directly underneath the canopy spotlight coming through the spruce, walnut, and alder. “My name is Y/N.”

Arcadia. It’s protected by a dome-like structure reminiscent of glass, but as one of the strangers narrates, it’s supposedly a magnetic force field to protect against natural disasters. The place is ruled by tall buildings like the cities, but unlike it in the sense that they’re not decaying. They haven’t turned brown under wear and tear, don’t have moss growing on the sides of it. Rather, there are patches of green in between the paved pathways, flickering screens that are seemingly floating mid-air, masses of people walking past one another. It’s a utopian society, they tell you. But you’re not sure what that means. “Welcome to Arcadia,” the voice from above speaks rigidly. The door whirs as it opens. And white is all you see. White floors. White walls. People dressed in white. The white lights burn your vision as you stagger out, being aided by the strangers who were onboard with you. They welcome you. Tell you they hope this place could be your refuge and new home. And you’re taken immediately by strangers until you begin thrashing, calling out to Seokjin until he consoles you. He promises that they mean no harm, that he’ll see you soon, and it’s enough for you to be relieved. They lead you away, give you a new set of white clothing that are soft to the touch and a bin to place your old clothes in. You feel vulnerable as you strip from your grimy clothes and trade them in. You’ve never been able to afford to hold onto sentimentalities. But it’s hard to let them go. … .. . “Hello—” The doctor glances at his clipboard. “You must be the new refugee, Y/N! Oh right, they call it newcomer now, not refugee. Anyway, nice to meet you, I’m Jung Hoseok. I’ll be assessing you today and setting you up to live in Arcadia. You understand me, correct?” “Yes, I do.” “Excellent! Makes things easier for me if we can speak the same language. But feel free to tell me if you want me to slow down. We’ll take things one step at a time.” The man grins brightly and sits on his stool, spinning around to a thin screen on the desk. “We’re going to be doing some tests together today, so I can figure out what I’ll need to help you with and we can make sure your transition is as smooth as possible.” “Okay.” You knew a doctor once. She was similar to him, whimsical as he seemingly is, until she had to amputate her own arm and then bled to death. “Do you have any questions?” “Not really.” There’s an eye examination done until you tell him you don’t know all the letters of the alphabet. He switches to pictures afterwards and is enthused as he tells you that your eyes are apparently fine. He makes you lay down and open your mouth to examine your teeth. You spit into a vial, have your blood drawn. You step into a white capsule with black bars twirling around you. He shows you a picture of your bones and scanned brain with the excitement akin to a child’s afterwards. And he asks too many questions. “So you mainly ate rabbits, berries and other plants? Fascinating.” — “How often do you sleep?” — “So your bowel movements were pretty consistent?” You miss Seokjin. … .. . “Seokjin, can you please tell us what happened on the fifth?” The commander, chief, supervisor and several others are seated on the other side of the table. “Yes. I was dispatched to forty one degrees, twenty four point two eight minutes north. Halfway there, I….became distracted by the scenery, and went off course. I became alert again when the shuttle skimmed along treetops. The console received a malfunction notification and I subsequently crashed into a forest area.” “The maintenance record shows your Xanadu Shuttle was updated on the second of the previous month?” “Yes.” “Then do you accept responsibility for this incident?” “Yes, I do.” There’s no point in putting up a fight. All the evidence is all in the machinery and Seokjin had made no attempt to hide it. “I’m interested in the girl you rescued,” the Commander speaks up, tapping his pen on his clipboard. “When did you come into contact with her after you crashed?” “After I crashed, I exited my Xanadu Shuttle and caught sight of her standing amongst the trees. I think...the accident got her attention and she came to investigate what it was.” He nods and the people on the other side of the table look around at one another. There are soft murmurs and Seokjin stays quiet through their deliberation, keeping his eyes on his own report. After a minute, it simmers down. “The panel appreciates your honesty and integrity, Seokjin. In spite of your circumstances, you were able to rescue someone who will become a valuable member to our society and such a thing should not be overlooked. However, the crash was ultimately on your part and as such, you will have to be put on probation for a period of two months. The panel will also require that you retake your license class. Do you agree these actions are necessary?” Relief washes over him. Seokjin thought this was it. He was anticipating that he’d lose his job. “Y-Yes. Thank you.” “You will have to pass your license class.” “Yes, I will.” “There is one more thing I would like to discuss with you, Seokjin,” The Commander speaks up. “I spoke to our Premier and Minister prior to this meeting and we came to an agreement that it would be in the best interest of everyone involved if you could foster the newcomer you rescued. Typically, as you know, we house newcomers for a while and monitor them. But she...seems to be a special case.” The Chief furrows his brows. “Yes, she was isolated, wasn’t she?” It’s known to all that the lone ones are usually the people that are most unstable. The ones with animalistic behaviour as a result of living in the wild and being socially deprived. The problematic ones. But they’re wrong. Seokjin doesn’t outright refute his own superiors, yet he’s certain that you don’t have any of those issues. You’re not violent. Uncivilized. Barbaric. “Usually people are found in groups or clusters.” “Exactly that. But it seems like Seokjin has built a rapport with her. It might lead to a smoother transition if there’s immediate integration. Or at least, it’s an experiment we want to try. He has a calm temperament as well which makes him an ideal candidate to attempt this new method. Would you be willing to house this newcomer for a period of time, Seokjin?” He doesn’t need a second longer to think about it. “I wouldn’t mind whatsoever.” ... .. . Seokjin finds you and almost bursts out laughing with how relieved you look. “Jin!” He doesn’t mind the nickname either. “I haven’t seen you in a while.” Hoseok twirls around with a blazing smile, his white coat fluttering with him. “But I have a feeling you’re here to see my little guest and not me.” “You’re right.” He enters and stands by your side. “Has everything been alright?” “Of course!” Hoseok interjects before you can answer. “I’m one of the best doctors here, what do you take me for? We had a very fun time together, right, Y/N?” “Uh, sure.” “I’ll take it.” Seokjin smiles and looks at his old friend. “Is there anything…?” “She’s healthy. She’s been taking care of herself well. Nothing that’s too concerning.” Hoseok's eyes meet yours and he grins. “You’re approximately twenty to twenty five years old. Unfortunately, it doesn’t look like you have any family here in Arcadia, but you don’t have any diseases, so that’s something to be happy about! Minimal dental work that needs to be done. Blood pressure is good. You have a slight magnesium and iodine deficiency, but nothing dark greens, whole grains, fish and eggs can’t fix. I’ll give you some vitamins to be safe and some medication to avoid illnesses you’re potentially susceptible to in Arcadia.” “That’s good news,” Jin exhales. “You’re also healthy enough to have children!” Hoseok announces and if possible his grin widens. You blink at him and he quickly reads your confused expression. “Right, you might not be aware but it’s one of the main ambitions of Arcadia to repopulate society. People with the most compatible genes get paired together into family units. Depending on how your integration goes, you might get paired up in a family unit by the end of the week.” “What?” You’re reeling. Starting a family and having children are things at the very back of your mind, not even in the realm of what your thoughts are, and you’re not sure what to think at this news. Jin sighs at his friend. “You’re freaking her out.” “Am I? Sorry,” the man laughs and looks at you. “Don’t worry. No one will force you. It’s just...highly suggested and recommended.” … .. . “That’s the dining hall.” “What do they serve?” “On Mondays, there’s quinoa. Tuesday is this dried beans dish. So on and so forth. Don’t worry, there’s poultry too, so there are eggs and chicken breast which you can order. There’s corn, milk, cheese and a selection of fruit too. They also serve protein powders you can mix with water that gives you the same nutrition value.” “It’s not like...that stuff you gave me, right?” “You mean pemmican? No, it’s better. Or at least I hope so.” He smiles. “Everyone has the same food. Sometimes during celebrations though, they serve different things.” “There’s not much privacy, is there?” Seokjin follows your line of sight to the glass buildings where you’re able to see the people working on each floor. “I guess not. I’ve never really thought about it.” You suppose it’s something to get used to. “Are...people staring at me, Jin?” “Don’t mind it. It’s not everyday we get a new face around here.” Right as he says that, you lift your head to discover your face plastered on one of the screens at the top of the building as if you were a wanted criminal. Seokjin laughs. “News spreads fast around here.” “I bet it does,” you mutter, a bit unnerved. “It’s a nice place if you follow the rules, trust me.” “What happens if someone breaks a rule?” “Well, there’s a focus on restorative justice for small crimes. So people often do community service or talk to victims or the people they affected and try their best to fix their mistakes.” “What about big crimes? Like if you killed someone.” Yet, Seokjin stays silent for a moment. “They disappear.” Your brows furrow, not sure what he means. But he doesn’t elaborate and you don’t push for an answer, uncertain that you want to know more. Arcadia isn’t as you expected it to be. When Seokjin told you stories, part of you anticipated it being lesser and merely blown up in proportion through his evident love of this place. You had predicted a community ridden with suspicion, like many of the sanctuaries you had been to before they inevitably collapsed. Leaders suppressing their people. Scarcity in resources. Another part of you expected an otherworldly universe, full of gibberish and things you didn’t understand. Much like the technology he carried with him or the shuttle that crashed in the forest. But what is presented in front of you is a sort of familiarity in a changed background. People like you know them, except courteous and independent. “This is my housing unit.” It’s a blinding white, two stories with the top floor off center and extended off the right side. It looks like two boxes haphazardly stacked on top of each other with giant pane glass windows at the front. “It’s not much but it’s my home.” You nod as your eyes drift to his lawn — a tiny patch of grass that surrounds the path leading up to the front door. As if entranced, you launch forward towards it. But it feels different underneath your feet, past the soles of your shoes. The soil isn’t soft. There aren’t any lumps, no grip when you try to root yourself into it. Seokjin notices your reaction. “It’s artificial grass.” “What does that mean?” “It’s fake.” “Fake? You can’t get real grass?” “Guess not.” The interior of his home is less white than all of Arcadia. There are mismatched cushions, wooden tables and bookshelves, fake yellow flowers on his marble kitchen counter, paintings of oceans and cities placed on the wall next to photographs of himself growing up. You glance over the knick-knacks lining the shelves, snow globes and postcards, tiny things you’ve always seen lying around shops in the decaying towns, but never paid much attention to. “Sorry. It’s a bit messy.” “No, I like it.” He shows you to your room, an empty one down the hall. It’s much less decorated than his living space and he quickly excuses himself to tumble back in with heavier blankets and proper pillows. “Had I known you were coming, I would’ve had everything already set up!” “I don’t think any of us knew I would be here.” He laughs. “That’s true.” You walk to the window, taking a peek outside to the white city that towers over and covers the blue sky, the tiny patches of grass that alleviates the brightness of Arcadia, the flying shuttles hovering past the paved paths. “You’re probably tired, right? Do you want to rest a bit? I have a few things to do, so…” “You don’t have to worry about me, Jin. I can take care of myself. Probably.” Seokjin ends up shutting the door after promising he won’t take long. But it’s the first time in hours that there’s finally silence. And you allow the quietness to simmer down on you as you take a seat on the edge of the soft bed that sinks underneath your weight. You stare at the sheets, the white walls and floor, the luminescent sunlight streaming through the windows. You’re not sure how you feel. … .. . You stare down at your slab of white meat, so white that you wonder if everything in Arcadia is dyed in this blinding shade. It’s something you might have to ask Jin, even if it’s a bit ridiculous. You’re just not used to having meat that isn’t charged by the flames of a bonfire. But still, you tear it with your fingers and when you bring it to your mouth, it tastes dry and heavy — like it’s fake. “This isn’t very good, is it?” “It isn’t?” Jin blinks and you lift your head. Immediately, your eyes connect to a stranger who instantly turns away and it occurs to you that people are watching. “Don’t worry. It’s because you’re not using utensils. Here.” He hands you a metal stick with three prongs at the end and another one that’s rounded. Understandably, it’s awkward in your hold, hurts in your grip. It goes silent as you fumble with it. The chicken breast almost flies off your metal tray. “It’s okay.” He smiles at your visible frustration and reaches over to slice it with a knife. Jin gently takes your hand holding the fork and pierces the piece. “Like this, see? Not too bad, right?” “It would be easier with my hands.” He agrees, “It would be.” “Hey, you’re Y/N, right?” A familiar red-head comes prancing up to the table and steals a seat next to you. “I’m Lizzy. We met on the Xanadu Shuttle, remember? I was the one telling you all about the history of Arcadia?” “Yes, I do.” “This is Namjoon. He’s one of our robotics engineers,” she introduces a gawky, strapping male with framed glasses. He takes a seat next to Seokjin. “A pleasure to be of your acquaintance. I’ve heard quite a lot about you in the past two hours or so. I am friends with Hoseok. He doesn’t indulge me in much information, he told me he received a great person of interest in his office. I believe that person may be you—” Seokjin interrupts his ramble, “Namjoon.” “Don’t mind him,” Lizzy laughs, ignoring the two men as she leans over the table to intrude into your personal space. “How are you getting settled in? Everything okay?” “Yeah. I’d say everything’s okay.” “I heard you were living with Jin now. Tell me, is he as messy at home as he is at work?” “I am not messy,” he protests. “Only a little,” you divulge her with a small smile. Namjoon smiles. “I heard you crashed. Glad to see you’re still alive and well.” “Thanks.” Seokjin’s eyes roll as his voice drips of sarcasm. “I’m sorry you couldn’t use my body for your next humanoid robotic experiment.” “Not now, but in due time,” the other man teases then turns to you. “It’s a shame you’re partnered with Seokjin. He can be quite clumsy and forgetful. You’ll end up becoming his handyman like I am.” “His first time he got into a Xanadu Craft, he broke the console,” Lizzy tells, making your mouth upturn. Namjoon swallows down his food before asking, “If I may be intrusive, Y/N, is it really true that you were alone? In the forest, I mean.” “I...was.” “How long were you alone for?” “I’m not sure. I think maybe two years.” “And before that?” “I...uh...traveled around and met different people.” He leans forward. “And what happened to those people?” “Well, some...passed away and others went somewhere else.” “What did they pass away from?” There’s a loud scraping of a chair against the tiled floor, grating to your ears. “I’m stuffed. Aren’t you, Y/N? I think we should head back now. Sorry, Joon, Lizzy. Might have to cut your questions short there. Maybe you can ask more next time.” “Oh, alright then.” They bid you farewell and Lizzy waves with a smile. As you exit, you look at Seokjin. “Thank you.” He saved you from answering, from bringing up memories you had no intentions of returning to. Yet he smiles and then looks away, feigning ignorance. “For what?” … .. . They’re wrong. It’s not a shame at all to be with Jin at all. If anything, you think you’re quite fortunate. Ever since you’ve met him, he’s proven himself time and time again to be thoughtful and considerate — traits that you thought were gone in this era. But it’s him who makes it easier to deal with these changes, to enter into this new world. … .. . “I thought you were gone,” he says, looking down at you with a smile. You’re laying on his lawn in the middle of the night in bare feet. “I knocked on your door and then searched my whole house.” “Where did you think I was?” “I don’t know.” Seokjin plops down on his artificial grass, stretching out his body and laying beside you like all those times before. “I was worried. I thought something happened to you.” “I’m sorry.” “Don’t be.” “I couldn’t sleep.” It’s quiet as the pair of you look to the sky with your hands folded on top of your stomachs. The lamp posts nearby casted warm glows on your visages. The warm breeze making his cheeks rosy. Yet, none of you can see the stars — not with the light pollution of Arcadia, not when all the buildings were towering so high and covering it, not like out there in the middle of the forest. “Remember when we were in the forest, Jin?” “I do. I remember that one time, you didn’t completely put out the fire and my pants almost set on fire.” You giggle and Jin relishes in the sound. “I apologized for that and who told you to sit so close to that spot?” “Hey, I just wanted to be next to you.” You remember the nights when you were able to drift off while staring at the horizon and how you were awoken by the first blush of dawn, sunlight coming through the trees. You have a feeling it’s going to be a long time before you have an experience like that again. It’s going to be a long, long time. If ever again. “I feel homesick,” you whisper, finally being able to pinpoint your emotions and it’s the most honest you’ve been since you arrived. “I don’t want to be paired up with anyone or have kids.” Jin reaches out and you feel his hand against the back of yours. He holds it, clasping it tight. You shift and your eyes meet. “Don’t worry. They can’t make you do anything you don’t want to.” You trust him. … .. . “If you want, we don’t have to eat in the dining center anymore. We can eat at home.” The corner of your mouth pulls. “Is that allowed?” “I’ll find a way around it,” Jin promises. … .. . “Please, Hoseok.” “You know that’s not how the system works. There’s not much I can do anyway.” “But you can put in your recommendation.” He’s silent in contemplation. “She’s compatible with you, but more so compatible with others. Plus, she’d assimilate better with someone stricter.” “I want to protect her. She’s my responsibility. Pair her with me.” Seokjin won’t let you be paired up with someone else in a family unit, expected to stay together and have children. He’ll keep his promise to you and be with you until the end — it’s also his selfish wish to be with you. The other man sighs. “I’ll make a note of it, but I can’t promise anything.” … .. . You’re unfamiliar with the devices at hand — the kitchen appliances with automated voices that speak when you come close, the machines with tens of buttons you can’t read. They’re all things you once overlooked when you scrambled for remaining supplies. “Is everything okay?” “I’m trying to heat this up. You said I could use it, right?” “Yeah. Here.” Seokjin comes behind you and takes your hand, guiding you where to press. “Click this button and then this one.” You don’t understand technology at all. Even the television is odd, an overload on your senses. “What do you think?” he asks, watching your reaction in amusement and how your eyes are as wide as the screen flashing against your face. “It’s...a lot to take in.” “That’s okay. Do you want to go outside instead? We can, if you want to.” You glance out the window. “I’m fine here. I’m not used to there being so many people.” “How about we work on some more worksheets?” “Again?” Jin laughs and the sound is tinkling. “You have to learn eventually. Come on.” He pulls you up and is happy to sit next to you at his kitchen table to teach you how to hold a pencil, how to write each letter and answer your questions. You’re a fast learner. Today your strokes are smoother and you learn how to spell his name. … .. . Seokjin often knocks on your door before going to bed to bid you goodnight. Yet he seldomly finds you there, where you’re supposed to be. He wonders if you’re outside on his lawn again, but instead, he discovers you standing in his living room. You’re gazing out the window quietly with an unreadable expression. “Is there something wrong?” You turn around with a small smile. “I’m just a little homesick.” He joins you, staring out at the city and the lampposts lined on the paved paths. “How do we go outside, Jin? Not just outside, but beyond the dome.” To the forest again. “Most people aren’t allowed outside because it’s dangerous. You would need to have my job or something similar, and that’s after you graduate from a three year program and pass several exams.” It’s quiet and neither of you look at one another or speak when you reach over, discreetly taking his hand into yours. Seokjin laces his fingers through yours and squeezes. He’s the only reason you can starve off the longing sewed uncomfortably in your chest. ... .. . In the following days, he receives a notification. The leaders are interested in you as a newcomer and extended an invitation to the party. So he helps you pick an appropriate outfit and the two of you enter with your hand looped around his arm as he reassures you. “You must be Y/N!” The strangers, leaders of Arcadia, welcome you with tall bubbling glasses, one of which that you receive from a waiter. It tastes disgusting, but you try to not let it show on your face. “It’s good to see that you’re getting yourself accustomed to Arcadia. I see you’re with your future partner this evening.” The man laughs boisterously while you exchange expressions with Seokjin. “That’s supposed to be a secret,” the woman beside him chides. “Right, right. The postings of the new family units go up on Friday. My apologies for ruining the surprise, but I assume it is a happy one.” You look up at him, gazing meeting Seokjin’s at once. The relief is overwhelming and what follows is a kind of excitement. Part of the weight lifted off your shoulders and Jin smiles tenderly. He leans in close, whispering in your ear so you’re the only one who hears— “You shouldn’t look at me like that in a place like this or I might just do something about it in front of all these people.” It’s bold. Unexpected but you know with the heat that rises into your face, it isn’t unwelcome. “Y/N, is it?” The intimate moment is intercepted by other individuals approaching in blue attire, form fitting dress simple and modest. “You must be the newcomer! I’ve heard so much about you.” “Yes, how has your transition been? Are you finding everything accommodating?” You hope they don’t come close enough to feel the warmth radiating off your cheeks. “Yes. Arcadia has been very welcoming to me.” They smile. “It’s so fortunate you can understand us and we don’t have to use those translating devices.” “You were alone, correct?” another asks. “How did you fare in the wild like that? How did you manage to even eat?” “I trapped animals like rabbits and squirrels and roasted them over fires.” Laughter is suddenly roused all around you. “Aren’t you glad you don’t have to do such a primitive thing anymore?” “What I’m curious about is how you’re still alive without any radiation poisoning.” “I used a radon detector. It was given to me a long time ago by an older woman who was with me. She died.” Automatic silence sweeps through the crowd. You clear your throat. “But I used it when I traveled through the cities.” “I see.” Some are fascinated while others aren’t. “How preserved are these old cities?” “Most buildings are still relatively in-tact. There are abandoned cars and buses too, but they’re useless without fuel and everything’s been raided, so there’s not much left. It’s one of the reasons I started to live in the forest.” “Poor thing,” someone sympathizes, “Someone should’ve rescued you sooner. You wouldn’t have to suffer so much.” “I didn’t suffer.” They’re taken aback, clearing their throats and moving on from the subject. A man directs to the refreshment table — all the while Jin pulls you closer to him and away from the prying eyes of Arcadia. … .. . Later on in the evening when Seokjin’s gone to relieve himself, you meet an old man seated alone at the table. “I was outside too,” he croaks. “Until two years ago.” Your eyes find his — past the wrinkles are bright irises — and you remain silent. “Many things happened that the people here would never understand. But my biggest regret is coming here willingly. Arcadia offers many things,” he says, “it has everything but one.” “Freedom.” … .. . The words stick to you. Like flies to honey. Or the magnets on Jin’s fridge. They don’t cease from your mind — a plague that spreads, a pollutant that you can’t shake off no matter how hard you try. Jin worries about you, but he doesn’t ask. He knows every time he does, you’ll reassure him that you’re fine. So one night, he takes your hand and shows you to his television. “Put this on.” He hands you a black, heavy device and smiles at your visible reluctance. “Trust me.” You slip it on top of your head and it sits comfortably over your eyes, obstructing your vision in complete darkness. Headphones are put over your ears and you discover both of your senses of sight and sound are completely disabled. “What are you doin—” The words die upon your tongue the moment the machine flickers on. There are chickadees chirping and woodpeckers digging against the bark. The sound of insects flapping their wings in the beating sun and the whistling wind intensifies. You see the forest, a forest. Canopies of spruce, walnut, and alder cascading light to the verdant floor overgrown in shrubbery. A cry chokes in your throat, but then it bubbles into laughter instead. You jump up and down. “I see it. I see it!” You whirl around, looking in each direction. To the blue horizon and the sound of the rustling leaves. Your home. But when you take it off, it’s all gone. You’re shrouded in darkness with Seokjin’s features barely discernible. You’re trapped in the very utopia you had followed him to. And you cry. For the first time in his presence, for the first time in a long while, sobs break through your frame at what you’ve lost — what you’ve traded in, what you’ve given up. Jin embraces you, arms wrapped around your frame, trying his best to keep you whole. “I want to go back.” … .. . Jin makes it easier to be in Arcadia. He gives you reason to become accustomed to it. He makes you wish you wanted to stay. But he’s not enough to dissipate your constant wistfulness. He isn’t the solution to your plaguing dilemmas, but you’re glad he doesn’t have to bear that burden. You wouldn’t want Jin to harbour the hardship of being your fix. … .. . It’s in the dead of the night that Seokjin comes out of his room and finds you. In the dark, you’re seated on the floor with your knees folded to your chest and the virtual reality headset slipped on top of your head, over your eyes and ears. You’re taking it all in. The orchestral songs of nature, the birds and leaves, the swaying of the grass and flourishing shrubs, bathing in the warm sunlight you cannot feel. He sees you, but doesn’t say anything, merely turning away. At same time, you feel the presence of another and slip the device in time to catch his retreating backside. “Jin,” you call out for him, knowing you’ve been caught. He hums, turning around and the two of you look at one another. “I’m sorry.” The dark-haired man smiles tenderly. “It’s me who should apologize. I’m the one who brought you here selfishly.” “It’s not your fault. I’m the one who agreed to some and I’m...the one having trouble adjusting.” “That’s not it. The problem is you’re not where you should be. Home. Not my home. Not Arcadia. But your home. “ You stand and he meets you halfway. You press your face to his shoulder and he embraces you. “I’ll help you go back,” Seokjin murmurs against your hair. “I thought you would be happy here, but I don’t want to keep you against your will.” “Come with me.” “You know I can’t,” he whispers in spite of your soft-spoken plea. “I have a life here. Like how you can’t leave yours. Arcadia is my home. It always will be.” You hold him closer, shutting your eyes to savour the moment. “Won’t you get into trouble?” “I’ll find some way.” The corner of his mouth turns. “I always end up fine. You will too.” … .. . The year’s posting goes up and just as the man had said, you and Seokjin are paired together. The two of you hold hands as you look at it, taking your time to read it over. It’s slow, but you understand nonetheless. You’re congratulated by those around him, people you recognize and friends you have yet to know. It’s fortunate it worked out that way, but it’s still bittersweet, knowing of your upcoming departure. And that same night, five hours past twelve, Jin takes you across Arcadia. The white shuttle is ready when you arrive in the dark and you scarcely recognize its scratched paint and dented surface. It’s the same one that he crashed in, the one that took him to you. “I programmed the path back. It’ll go automatically without you needing to drive it. And once you close the door, it’ll come back on its own. I’ll erase the data’s history. Take this.” Seokjin gently places the sling of a heavy bag on your shoulder. “There are clothes in here, blankets, medicine, a first aid kit, some canned food and seeds of new plants you don’t have. It should help you out.” Tears threaten to spill from your lash line. “Jin. Wait.” Hope blooms within him, wondering if you’ve changed your mind, that you want to stay. But he knows having such selfish desires won’t help him, so he puts them away. Just for a moment. He tries his best not to hang onto you, to hold you down. “It was because of you that I could even cope so well. You made it so much easier for me. I...I…” But Jin lets his greed slip. He closes the distance and kisses you senseless. The man swallows your soft gasp and comes to cradle the back of your neck as you ease into him. You relish in the gentle touch, his tender affections and taste one another’s lips. It’s bittersweet, yet he pulls away with a faint smile. “You should get in.” You nod, pulling away from him. Everything the two of you wanted to say has already translated through the kiss. Still, you take every moment you can and look to him. “Thank you, Jin.” The doors whir as it closes. He gazes at you till the very last second, till it shuts. The thin whistle diminuendos as it lifts into the air. He watches the shuttle fade from sight and when the sun lifts at the first blush of dawn, what’s left is a streak of white in the sky.

The world is limitless. You have learned of such a fact at a young age, traveling from desserts to mountains, finding all the hiding places and safe spots that others had claimed no longer existed. But they did and you’ve sought refuge in this forest, found a home amongst the rustling foliage and canopies ruled by spruce, walnut, and alder. There was just enough rays of light bursting through to allow the saplings to flourish and shrubs to overgrow. And without the presence of others, you could listen to the woodpeckers hammering against the wood, the wings of insects fluttering about. Everything was the way you left it. Unchanged from the time you left like it was waiting for you. It’s as if Arcadia and Seokjin was a fever dream. Except the mementos brought back with you reminds you otherwise. You dig into your bag, looking through what he’s given you, everything he picked out that he knew would help. But you discover something special at the very bottom. It’s a black, thick rectangular piece of plastic reminiscent of a walkie-talkie, synced up to only one other without a third in between. You hold the Erewhon device to your lips and press the side of the button. “Hello.” There’s a pause. “My name is Y/N.” Silence follows. But then there’s the sound of static and someone’s crystal clear voice. “Nice to meet you. I’m Seokjin.” A wide smile spreads into your cheeks.

#bts fanfic #bts scenario #seokjin fanfic #jin fanfic #jin scenario #seokjin scenario #seokjin reader insert #seokjin x reader #jin reader insert #jin x reader #btsboulangerie #I don't really know if there's 50/50 fluff and angst #there's not really that much fluff and not that much angst in general #but I don't really know how to describe this fic any other way lol #so I went with 50 50 cause it is truly neutral #hope you enjoyed this piece!!

430 notes · View notes

slippinmickeys · 5 years

Text

Of the Eight Winds - Part 5

This is part five in who knows how many from the prompt from @sunflowerseedsandscience : “Mulder is unhappily married when Scully is partnered with him, and while he doesn’t cheat (because sorry that’s not romantic), he falls for her so hard that he finally gets the courage to end the marriage and start fresh.”

Links to parts one, two, three and four.

“He left his wife,” she said, apropos of nothing, cutting her sister off mid-rant. Melissa had just walked through the door, carrying a bottle of wine and complaining about the parking in Dana’s neighborhood.

Missy froze where she was, one arm still in her coat.

“You’re kidding,” she said.

“I’m not,” Scully said, trying not to smile and failing.

Missy finished taking off her coat and threw it haphazardly over the back of Scully’s couch, swinging into the seat next to her at the table, her eyes intense.

“Are you sure?” Missy went on, “because they always say they’re going to leave their wife and then they nev-”

“I’m sure,” Scully said, sitting up straighter. “He went to court on Wednesday. I guess it’s been in the works for a while. It’s done.”

Missy sat there with her mouth open like a koi. She put her hand on the neck of the bottle of red wine she’d brought and then looked at it.

“Now I wish I’d brought champagne,” she said, excitement creeping in.

Blackwell chose that moment to jump onto the table. She sauntered over to Scully and gave her gentle head butt. Scully ran her hand over the cat once and then put her back down on the floor.

“What are you going to do?” Missy asked.

“Do?” Scully said, “He literally just got divorced. I’m going to give him some time to heal. I can’t do anything, Missy, the ball is necessarily in his court.”

Missy leaned back in her chair.

“That’s a mistake, Dana,” she said, “what if someone else swoops in?”

Scully smiled, thought of his mid-air confession.

“I’m not worried,” she said.

The morning after he walked into her apartment and kissed her, bedded her, started their forever—was awkward.

It was like taking the invisible fence collar off the dog--it still didn’t feel comfortable leaving the yard.

Finally, at 11:00am, he leaned back in his chair, threw the pen he’d been holding onto his desktop, and huffed a sigh.

“Why is this so weird?” he said, sounding perturbed.

Scully, sitting at her own desk across the room, laughed lightly.

“It doesn’t have to be,” she said, gently.

“And yet it is.” Another sigh.

She looked at him sympathetically.

“Up until very recently, what we did last night was… impermissible. Forbidden. It’s bound to take some adjustment,” she said.

He frowned.

“But I feel like we wasted so much time,” he said.

She smiled again, charmed.

“Can I see you tonight?”

Bless him, she thought, he looked nervous.

“I’d like that,” she said.

Mulder showed up at her door with flowers. Nervous, looking a little sweaty.

She took the flowers from him, smelled them thoughtfully.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve done this,” he said, when she finally looked up and caught his eye.

She pushed her door all the way open, stepped back so he could enter.

“You…” she started, clueing in to his mindset, “you don’t need to court me, Mulder.”

“Sure I do,” he said, swiping a hand across his upper lip.

“You’ve been wooing me for five years, Mulder,” she said, her heart melting a bit at his nervousness, “an intellectual, platonic wooing, but a wooing nonetheless. You’ve got me.”

He pulled at his collar and she had to stop herself from laughing.

“Let me take you out,” he pleaded.

“Mulder, the last time you walked through that door, you planted a kiss on me that ended in my bedroom. I’m kind of a sure thing.”

“Christ Scully, I have flop sweat,” he said, plowing ahead, “please just me do this.”

Her heart ached for him.

“I’ll get my coat,” she said.

Just before they headed out the door, he pulled a tiny terra cotta pot with a small catnip plant growing out of it from his pocket.

“For Blackwell,” he said.

He relaxed over dinner. The bottle of Merlot helped.

They had finished their meal and were waiting for dessert. Scully ran her finger over the top of her wine glass and looked closely at Mulder. She felt emboldened by the alcohol, and the restaurant’s dim light made his eyes dark, brewing with intrigue and a shade of lust.

“You mentioned earlier that you regret all the time we wasted?”

He nodded at her slowly, licked his lips.

“Take me home, Mulder,” she said, “take me to bed.”

He threw a wad of cash onto the table and they were in a cab three minutes later.

XxX

She fell back onto the pillows, out of breath and panting, her throat raw. She’d never been loud during sex, but Mulder’s oral fixation had proved to be her undoing.

He crawled back up her body, gave her a peck on the shoulder.

When she felt like she could talk again, she said, “I will never again complain about sunflower seeds. You can leave the husks wherever you want.”

He huffed a laugh and rolled onto his side lazily, his erection bumping into her hip. He looked at her languidly, he seemed in no hurry. She reached down, her fingers light.

“Shouldn’t we do something about this?” she said coquettishly, grasping him in her hand and giving him a long, slow pull.

His eyelids fluttered closed for a moment and then he smiled, grabbed her hand and pulled it away.

She gave him a puzzled look and he leaned in, kissed her softly but insistently. She could taste herself on his tongue.

He pulled back an inch and said “we’ll get to it.”

He began kissing his way down her body once again, stopping at her breasts to lave at and then suck one nipple into his mouth and then the other. Her back arched off the bed of its own volition.

Then he began working his way lower again until finally he was settled back in between her legs in a very oh-I’m-just-getting-comfortable kind of way.

“Oh,” she said, “listen, I can’t… I’m not one of those women who can... twice.”

Mulder quirked a grin at her.

“But you see, Scully,” he said, lowering his head until he was talking directly into her sex, “you’re the skeptic here. Me?” he paused and ran his tongue slowly and firmly from her perineum all the way up to her clit, “I’m a believer.”

Robert Modell had a sister. In the end, they were able to subdue and apprehend her, but she would never forget the raw sound of his voice, nor coming around the corner to the sight of him clutching at Linda Bowman’s body as though it were her.

“I’m going to kill you,” he said when he pulled his gun, and she had never seen a rage as shattering as the one flowing through Mulder when he said it.

After she had fired at and dropped Linda Bowman over Mulder’s shoulder, he had dropped his gun to the floor and wrapped her in an embrace so tight, she feared she might bruise.

It took three weeks for him to let her out of his sight.

A freshly-tumbled Mulder was quickly becoming her favorite view. Hair mussed and sticking up, lips swollen from kisses, penis laying thickly down his thigh.

He came in from her bathroom and paused at the foot of her bed to consider her. She looked her fill.

“Let’s move in together,” he said.

“You think the Gunmen will let you move out?” she asked, as he slid under the covers and wrapped an arm around her waist. “Your presence has upped their cool quotient by a factor of ten.”

He smiled.

“I’m sick of hauling clothes back and forth,” he said, snuffling her ear thoughtfully. “We could carpool everyday, or take the Metro. It’ll be good for the environment.”

“Well, when you put it like that,” she said, swatting at him playfully.

“There’s a place I want to show you,” he said, “get dressed.”

He slid back out of the bed and whisked a shirt over his head. She wondered what she’d done to deserve him.

In LA, he took her to Griffith Observatory. They were still in their formalwear from the movie premiere. As night set in, they looked out over the city, at the vast sprawl, the lights shimmering in the desert heat. The dark void of the Pacific was miles off to their right.

“What did your mom say about the movie?” he asked her, as they leaned over the railing meant to keep people tumbling down the hillside near the top of the mountain. There was a sign warning people of cougars ten feet away.

“She’s thrilled,” Scully said, shaking her head, “she’s getting a big group of friends to go on opening night. How about yours?”

Mulder laughed.

“She’s mortified. She’s pretending it doesn’t exist.”

“I think I’m going to do the same,” Scully said, and pushed off from the fence, grabbed Mulder’s hand. They began walking back toward the waiting limo. Their driver, Carl, had told them to take their time.

They passed a couple of statues scattered intermittently throughout the landscaping.

“Galileo, Copernicus, James Dean,” Mulder said, listing them off.

“All the greats,” Scully said, shaking her head. She squeezed Mulder’s hand. “I’m hungry,” she said, as they approached the waiting car. Carl had seen them coming and was holding open the door.

“I think anyone in that dress,” Mulder said, and held up his arm to twirl Scully around once, “could probably go for a hot dog.”

“You read my mind,” she said, smiling at him.

They had Carl take them to Pink’s.

When Lily was born, Scully wasn’t even sure her labor was real labor, at first. She was a week past her due date, and as far as she knew, was having Braxton-Hicks. By 9:00pm, she knew it was the real thing. Mulder wanted to go to the hospital, but she wanted to be able to eat, so she sent Mulder to bed, thinking it would be best if at least one of them was rested. The contractions were just painful enough that she couldn’t fall asleep.

He was back by her side by 10:00.

“You shouldn’t have to do this alone,” he said.

She smiled up at him, rubbed her stomach. “I’m not,” she said.

By 2:00am he was digging his thumbs into her back while she rested on a yoga ball, her back aching. He would gently ask about every 30 minutes if she was ready to go to the hospital. She would not so gently tell him no.

At 4:00am, she felt a gentle pop and a warm gush. Her water had broken. She told Mulder to make her a sandwich and get the go bag. It was time.

Her contractions, now about five minutes apart, had gotten a lot worse. She had to stop walking to the car twice just to breathe.

It was dark in their neighborhood, quiet. Mulder was doing his best to remain calm, but there was an anxious excitement in his eyes. She looked over at him after a contraction passed, streetlights throwing light on him in waves as they drove down the silent streets, and she felt a rightness to her life.

“Did you picture this,” she said, “that first day you met me in the basement?”

He looked over at her, his eyes crinkled with affection, and put a gentle hand on her hard stomach.

“This?” he said, “Is why they put the ‘B’ in ‘FBI.’”

The sandwich went uneaten. Lily was born three hours later with a throaty complaint and full head of red hair. It was only the second time she had ever seen Mulder cry.

The baby was sick, had a fever. They’d all been up for at least 18 hours--it was the middle of the night. Lily wouldn’t stop crying, gut-wrenching wails that raised Scully’s blood pressure. She felt like crying, too. She was pacing the living room with the baby -- she had one lamp on and could see nothing out the window but her own reflection; eyes dull, hair a mess, holey yoga pants with dried spit up down the knee. And Lily would not. Stop. Crying.

Movement in the window and she turned to see Mulder shuffling down the hallway, blinking into the light. He’d gone to bed an hour ago.

“Do you want me to take her?” he asked, and had to repeat himself so she could hear him over the throaty wails of their daughter.

Scully shook her head, tears in her eyes, turned away from him, bouncing the baby, even though it didn’t help. She should let him take over, try to get an hour or two of sleep, but she was exhausted and so close to tears herself and misery loved company, didn’t it? She felt like being a martyr.

“Let me take her,” he said, this time not framing it as a question.

She was a millisecond away from picking a fight, but she handed the baby over instead.

“Is it time for the Tylenol?” he asked, shifting the baby to his other shoulder, and wincing when she screamed in his ear.

“She won’t take it,” Scully mumbled, and then on one piercing shriek, she felt the goosebump-flush of her milk letting down--and liquid began leaking from her breasts, soaking her shirt. She felt a drop slide down her abdomen to soak into the waist of her yoga pants.

“What?” Mulder said.

“SHE WON’T TAKE THE FUCKING TYLENOL!” she screamed, and then broke down in tears.

Mulder gave her one good look and then turned and walked the baby down the hallway and into the nursery.

Scully crumpled to the floor, spent.

The wailing continued from Lily’s bedroom, and she jumped in surprise when she felt a gentle hand come down on her shoulder. When she looked up, Mulder was crouched in front of her, his face one of sympathy.

“She won’t take the medicine?” he asked softly.

Scully sniffed, ran her wrist over her eyes and shook her head.

“I should go in there,” she said, and started to rise, but Mulder pressed her back.

“She’s in the crib, she’ll be okay for a minute or two.” Scully nodded again. “I’ve got her, okay? I’ll try again with the Tylenol. You should go try to sleep.”

Scully looked down at her shirt, twin circles of wet fabric looking back.

“Sleep,” she said doubtfully, shaking her head, wincing.

Mulder ran a hand down her face, his touch light as a feather.

“I’ll bring in some clean bottles so you can pump, okay? Just leave them on the bedside table, I’ll take care of them. I’ve got her, Scully. We’ll be alright.”

Scully felt defeated but tiredly acquiesced, shuffled to their bedroom, whipped off her soaked shirt and threw it towards the dirty laundry. Blackwell looked up from where she’d been asleep next to Mulder’s pillow, lazily watched the arc of the shirt until it hit the edge of the hamper and fell to the floor. The cat yawned, bored.

Mulder came in then with two clean bottles. Lily was still crying down the hall. When he left, he closed the door, and the silence felt loud until she turned on the pump and it wheezed to life beside her.

Six hours later she awoke from a dead sleep to find a peacefully sleeping Mulder on the couch with a peacefully sleeping Lily curled on his chest. On the coffee table sat the liquid Tylenol, two empty bottles of breast milk.

Father and daughter slept deeply, their matching full eyelashes fanned decadently across the tops of their cheeks, both their lips wet and loose in the bright morning sunshine. She touched Lily’s back lightly -- her fever had broken.

He was offered answers. Information. The golden ticket he’d always sought. There was a time when she knew he would have pursued it without thought to fallout or consequence, but instead he stepped back.

He chose her.

When she asked him about it, he said “I’ve chosen unhappiness before. Over and over again. I know what lies down that road.”

Two weeks later, they found out she was pregnant with their second child.

#the x-files #fanfic #my fic #prompts #of the eight winds

141 notes · View notes

allisonbaelfire · 6 years

Text

Orenda

Pairings: Thor Odinson x Reader

Summary: Thor was feeling guilty because he didn’t kill Thanos. He blamed himself for everything that happened. You try to comfort him, while trying to keep a big secret from him.

Word Count: 2,442

Authors Note: I’ve never written anything for Thor so please don’t be mad at me if you don’t like it. - But I think it’s one of my best Stories yet.

Orenda ~ /ɒˈrɛndə/ = A mystical force present in all people, that empowers them to affect the world or to effect changes in their own lives.

___________________________________

We lost. We lost our friends, we lost our families, we lost and everyone felt it.

Two days after Thanos’s “Snap” you and the rest of the Team, that didn’t vanished into dust, stayed in Wakanda.

For four days nobody dared to say anything, if it wasn’t really important. You couldn’t see anything in the eyes of the people, who were still in the palace. No hope and no faith. Any attempt to comfort someone seemed hopeless.

Everyone had lost at least one person he loved. In your case, the Avengers were your family and not knowing if you would ever be reunited with all of them hurt the most.

While Steve and Banner tried to figure out were all the people that disappeared could’ve been, while Natasha trained every second she could, when she wasn’t reaching out for Clint. Rhodey was in his War Machine suit all the time, trying to find someone as he flew through the air. Rocket and you searched for a signal in space, for anyone that could help. Rocket thought that maybe Peter and Gamora would answer. But Thor was the only one who was sitting in a corner, looking out of the window.

“Do you think he’s looking for someone with Asgardian Power?” You asked Rocket curious.

Rocket squinted at Thor. “Meh. He’s blaming himself.”

You thought more about Rocket's words than he was probably aware of. Rocket could be right. Thor flew through half the space to Nidavellir, to create a weapon that could defeat Thanos, and all Thanos said was "you should have aimed at the head".

“I never saw him like this. When Thor came to earth and S.H.I.E.L.D. arrested him, I helped him to escape and since then we were really good friends. Eventually he be became family.”

“What is S.H.I.E.L.D.?” Rocket was confused. “And why did they try to arrest a God? I thought Quill was a complete idiot but arresting a damn god?” Rocket laughed.

You liked Rocket. He was alone and you could understand the feeling very well, even if in opposite to rocket's family, a part of your’s was still with you.

“S.H.I.E.L.D. is where I learned to kick your ass, if you are cheeky.” You grinned and hugged him, like you’d hug a teddy bear.

The little raccoon always pretended, he didn’t like it when you hugged him like that. Everyone knew how much he actually did like it. And besides, he often slept with you in a room, so he wouldn’t feel completely alone. Rocket had a soft spot.

~*~

The next day began and it was still very early, that meant that most of the people in the palace would still be asleep.

But you couldn’t sleep. You tried as well as anyone else to deal with what happened, the only difference was that you tried to hide the most of your feelings and tried to help everyone else. You did a lot of thinking about how you could help in finding your family but nothing came into your mind.

You thought that maybe a bit fresh air could help you to clear your head. But as soon as you walked outside, you saw Thor.

“Good morning, my King.” You said in a soft tone.

Thor turned around and tried his best to fake a smile. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see you, more that he didn’t know how to talk to anyone, after everything that happened.

You stood next to Thor and looked at Wakanda, in all his beauty. You just once saw something so beautiful and that was when Thor took you to Asgard, a few years ago.

“I’m not a King anymore.”

You looked confused at Thor until you understood. He didn’t know if anyone of Asgard survived.

“I don’t know if this helps but, you’ll always be my King.” You looked at him. “Or have you already forgotten that Loki had officially appointed me an Asgardian?“ You smiled proud.

Thor smirked. “How could I? He really liked you.”

“I liked him too, despite what anyone said. He never really tried to kill me so.” You chuckled.

Thor took a deep breath. You knew that it was hard for him to talk about his family or his people, but you found it important to remind him of the good things in life.

“Thor, it wasn’t your fault.” You said.

But he shook his head. “If I had hit his head, nothing would’ve happened. We could’ve found Stark and the others. Everyone would still be there and not just a mere reminder.”

You grabbed his hand. “Listen to me, okay? We’re going to fix this. Rocket and I’ve an algorithm and try to reach out for anyone in space, that could help. Maybe we’ll find Tony or maybe your people.” Thor was about to say something but you stopped him. “I promise you, whatever happens I’ll nev-”

“-Please don’t say, that you’ll never leave me.” Thor looked at you and you could literately see the pain in his eyes. “Everyone who said that, is dead. To be honest, every one I know is probably dead and I couldn’t bare loosing you too, Lady Y/N.”

You tried to suppress the tears. But next to your anger, your grief, and your compassion for Thor, you felt something different when he looked at you. But also this feeling you tried to suppress, like so many times before.

You looked Thor in his eyes and it was hard for you to think of something else that could have stifled your feelings but luckily, you knew a little clingy Raccoon.

“What do you actually think, leaving your room without informing me?” Rocket shouted. You grinned. “Do you think that this is funny? It is not. I was worried.” Then Rocket was silent. Did he really just said that? “No! I didn’t mean- no, not like this. I meant-”

Thor and you laughed. You let go of his hand and didn’t noticed that he was looking at you still.

“Whatever. Captain America is looking for you both.”

Rocket went first and you followed him until you realized the Thor was not coming. You looked at him.

“I’ll follow right away.” He said and you knew he truly meant that he needed a little time for himself.

You nodded. You ran after Rocket and lifted him up. “So you were worried about me, huh?” Thor heard you and smiled.

“No, I wasn’t. Now let me go!” Rocket said pissed.

“Nope, not gonna happen.”

~*~

Steve called everyone in for a little briefing, on what everyone was doing, to find a way to reverse what happened or to find help.

Everyone was trying their best, but you could see the disappointment, as all noticed that it wasn’t enough and actually you all had nothing.

But Steve wouldn’t be Steve,if he didn’t give an encouraging speech. If he really believed it himself? I don’t know. But it seemed to help some of you, but not Thor.

If you wouldn’t have known him, you’d say he seemed to be sad, but you knew that he became angrier everyday. Thor felt useless and when the God of Thunder couldn’t stand something, than it was feeling like this.

After the briefing, Thor went straight into his room. You, Rocket and the rest went to dinner.

~*~

“Are you alright?” You heard a female voice asking. “Y/N?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I was in my thoughts. What did you say, Nat?”

“I asked, if you’re alright? You seem so distracted.”

Natasha was right, you were distracted. Normally, you would keep a clear head while the others were around you. As soon as you were alone, you’d start overthinking everything and maybe even grieve. The only one who knew was Rocket, and he promised not to say a word. Actually, you were like Cap - you always had hope, when no one else had.

“Is it because of Thor?” Natasha questioned and you looked at her in confusion. “Oh please, I’ve known it for years. You love him.” She smiled soft.

“No, I’m just worried about him. I never saw him like this.” You replied.

Natasha nodded. “You’re right. Maybe he needs some good news.” She smirked.

“Nat, I told you.. Its not what you think it is.” You replied.

Natasha sighed. “Okay, lie to me but not to yourself, Y/N.”

“I need some sleep.” You said and went to your room, followed by Rocket.

~*~

You made yourself ready to go to bed, but Nat’s words were still buzzing in your head. You knew that she was right, but it was never the right time to allow yourself to have feelings for Thor, and it sure as hell wasn’t now either.

“You ready to go to bed?” Rocket asked.

You smiled. “Do you want to sleep next to me?”

Rocket was a little ashamed but he nodded. He knew you wouldn’t tell anyone.

He climbed into your bed and under your sheets. You laid your arm around Rocket and closed your eyes.

“Y/N, you should tell him.” Rocket said soft. “We all need something good to happen.”

You were surprised, sure he must’ve noticed it too but it was nice to know that he cared.

“What if he doesn’t feel the same way?” You nearly whispered.

Rocket turned around you to see your face. He gently touched your cheek with his little fingers. “Then he’d be the biggest idiot in the whole universe, and I’d kill him.”

You hugged Rocket. “Thank you, Rocket. I’m really happy to have you.”

Rocket ended your hug. “Okay, okay, enough. Now go to him and let me sleep.”

You looked surprised. “You want me to go now?”

“What? Are you planning on waiting another millennium to tell him? Well, he’ll still be alive but you’ll be dead.” Rocket hissed.

Not only were you surprised that Rocket wanted you to confess your feelings for Thor now, but that it was okay for him to be alone.

“And your nightmares?” You asked worried.

Rocket turned around. “I’ll be fine. Go.”

You kissed Rocket on his head, and went out of bed.

~*~

Thor's room was at the end of the corridor. It wasn’t like you were ashamed of your pajamas or anything but you looked like you weren’t feeling well. You were nervous and wondering, if it was really such a good idea to confess your feelings now where the whole world, the whole universe was at its end.

But before you could overthink everything more, you were in front of his door and had already knocked. And after you heard a heavy “Come in”, you walked inside Thor’s room.

You weren’t prepared to see Thor like that. He probably was training right now.

“Lady Y/N.” Thor said.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, I can come back tomorrow.” You replied and were already on your way out.

“Please, don’t got.”

You get a weird feeling in your stomach when you hear Thor say that. You turned around again and looked into his eyes.

“I’ve to tell you something and I don’t know how.” You confessed. Thor smiled. “Why are you smiling?”

“It’s the first time that I get to witness that you don’t know how to say something.” Thor chuckled. “That never happens.”

And his words didn't make it any easier for you. If there was a guide to telling a god that you have been in love with him since forever, then you would have liked to have it in that moment.

You went to Thor. “Okay, I know that this is probably the worst moment for this and I- I.” Thor looked at you and you forgot your words. “Damn it. I’m in love with you Thor Odinson.”

In the second where you finally said it, you regretted it. You just risked everything, the friendship with Thor and also the Avengers.

Thor smiled. He put his hands on your hips and pulled you slowly to him.

You were confused. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t think it through. It- It’s not the right time and I-

Thor just nodded. “Took you long enough, Lady Y/N.”

You hit him against is bare chest. “What?!”

Thor laughed. “I must admit, I didn’t know it for that long but it still took you a lot of time.” You looked at him in disbelief. “What? You can’t say that it is my fault, you haven’t seen my hints.”

“There were no hints!”

“Yes, there were hints.” He said soft and leaned over to kiss you.

All the thoughts you had about saving the world, the universe and your friends - the guilty feelings. All of this was of no importance for a small but brief moment.

“Or why did you think, I brought you to Asgard to meet my family?” He smiled and noticed that you didn’t know what to say, again. “If I had known that this would make you so quiet, I’d have said something when you talked endlessly with my father that evening.” Thor smirked.

You wanted to say something, but you decided to kiss Thor instead - but at that very moment there was a knock on the door.

You grinned as you saw how bad he wanted to kiss you again. “Come in.”

“Is everyone still dressed?” Rocket poked his head through the door. You smiled as you saw him. “Just wanted to check on every one.”

Rocket looked like he had seen a ghost, he probably had a nightmare again. You knew that it would be uncomfortable for Rocket, if Thor knew about it.

You looked at Thor, “and because you let me wait, my king, I’ll let you wait now.” you kissed his cheek and walked to Rocket right after.

“You’re leaving me now?” He asked.

“You’ve to earn, that I stay.” You chuckled and he laughed a bit.

~*~

You closed Thor’s door behind you and walked with Rocket along through the hallways of Wakanda’s Palace and couldn’t stop smiling.

“So, did he kiss you in that Pyjama?” Rocket was curious.

You looked confused. “What is wrong about my Pyjama? Its a pink sweeter and black shorts.”

“Still.”

“Watch out little rabbit, or you’ll sleep on the floor.” You countered.

Rocket looked at you in disbelief. “You wouldn’t. I was the reason why prince charming kissed you in the first place... without me, you’d still be crying about if you should tell him or not.”

Rocket and you went into your room and talked a bit more, until you both fell asleep and for a short time, at least the world seemed to be all right for you two tonight.

_______________________

It would mean the world for me, if you’d tell me what you think about this Story!

#Thor Odinson #thor odinson imagine #thor odinson x reader #thor odinson x you #thor odinson fluff #thor odinson fanfiction #Rocket Raccoon #rocket raccoon imagine #Marvel Avengers #marvel #marvel imagine #avengers #thor odinson one shot #Loki Laufeyson #Steve Rogers #natasha romanoff imagine

231 notes · View notes

inloveandwords · 6 years

Text

The last couple of months of the year consisted of me binging on books during my Thanksgiving and Winter vacations. It was absolutely glorious and satisfying to catch up with my Goodreads challenge and read a bunch of books I’d been dying to get my hands on for a long time.

With those huge binging sessions, though, came a giant backlog of reviews that needed to be written.

Instead of trying to remember exactly what I liked and didn’t like in all of the novels I read, I decided to do a series of mini-reviews instead!

These are little bite-sized snippets of my thoughts and feelings about these books, along with a star-rating. Perfect for those who like to skim (like meeeeee!)

I hope you enjoy!

About Last Night by Ruthie Knox

★★★★

Cath Talarico knows a mistake when she makes it, and God knows she’s made her share. So many, in fact, that this Chicago girl knows London is her last, best shot at starting over. But bad habits are hard to break, and soon Cath finds herself back where she has vowed never to go . . . in the bed of a man who is all kinds of wrong: too rich, too classy, too uptight for a free-spirited troublemaker like her.

Nev Chamberlain feels trapped and miserable in his family’s banking empire. But beneath his pinstripes is an artist and bohemian struggling to break free and lose control. Mary Catherine—even her name turns him on—with her tattoos, her secrets, and her gamine, sex-starved body, unleashes all kinds of fantasies.

When blue blood mixes with bad blood, can a couple that is definitely wrong for each other ever be perfectly right? And with a little luck and a lot of love, can they make last night last a lifetime?

I don’t recall why I originally added this to my TBRASAP shelf, but I’m glad I did. This was a super quick, light read that I easily devoured in a day.

Where I Belong (Alabama Summer #1) by J. Daniels

★★★★

When Mia Corelli returns to Alabama for a summer of fun with her childhood best friend, Tessa, there’s only one thing keeping her on edge. One person that she’d do anything to avoid.

Benjamin Kelly. World’s biggest dickhead.

Mia hates him with a fury and has no desire to ever see him again. When she decides to start her summer off with a bang and finally give away her v-card, she unknowingly hands it over to the one guy that excelled at making her life miserable, learning a valuable lesson in the process.

Always get the name of the guy you’re going home with.

Ben can’t get the girl he spent one night with out of his head. When she leaves him the next morning, he thinks he’ll never see her again. Until he sees her lounging by the pool with his sister.

Mia is determined to hate Ben, even though she can’t forget him.

Ben is determined to prove he’s not the same guy he used to be.

What happens when the one person you wish never existed becomes the one person you can’t imagine being without?

I love, love, loved the premise and execution of this book, particularly the beginning of the novel, but it wasn’t quite a 5-star read for me. It fell a little flat in a few areas – toward the middle of the book – but it definitely picked up in the end.

Big Rock (Big Rock #1) by Lauren Blakely

★★★★

It’s not just the motion of the ocean, ladies. It’s definitely the SIZE of the boat too.

And I’ve got both firing on all cylinders. In fact, I have ALL the right assets. Looks, brains, my own money, and a big c*&k.

You might think I’m an a*&hole. I sound like one, don’t I? I’m hot as sin, rich as heaven, smart as hell and hung like a horse.

Guess what? You haven’t heard my story before. Sure, I might be a playboy, like the NY gossip rags call me. But I’m the playboy who’s actually a great guy. Which makes me one of a kind.

The only trouble is, my dad needs me to cool it for a bit. With conservative investors in town wanting to buy his flagship Fifth Avenue jewelry store, he needs me not only to zip it up, but to look the part of the committed guy. Fine. I can do this for Dad. After all, I’ve got him to thank for the family jewels. So I ask my best friend and business partner to be my fiancée for the next week. Charlotte’s up for it. She has her own reasons for saying yes to wearing this big rock.

And pretty soon all this playing pretend in public leads to no pretending whatsoever in the bedroom, because she just can’t fake the kind of toe-curling, window-shattering orgasmic cries she makes as I take her to new heights between the sheets.

But I can’t seem to fake that I might be feeling something real for her.

What the fuck have I gotten myself into with this…big rock?

I went into this book knowing that I am not the biggest fan of douchebag playboy heroes in books, but I’ve also been on a huge Lauren Blakely kick and figured if anyone could do this trope right, it’d be her. I wasn’t wrong. On either count. I still don’t like those kind of heroes, but I did really enjoy her take on it.

Dreams of Gods & Monsters (Daughter of Smoke & Bone #3) by Laini Taylor

★★★★★

Two worlds are poised on the brink of a vicious war. By way of a staggering deception, Karou has taken control of the chimaera’s rebellion and is intent on steering its course away from dead-end vengeance. The future rests on her.

When the brutal angel emperor brings his army to the human world, Karou and Akiva are finally reunited – not in love, but in a tentative alliance against their common enemy. It is a twisted version of their long-ago dream, and they begin to hope that it might forge a way forward for their people. And, perhaps, for themselves.

But with even bigger threats on the horizon, are Karou and Akiva strong enough to stand among the gods and monsters?

The New York Times bestselling Daughter of Smoke & Bone trilogy comes to a stunning conclusion as – from the streets of Rome to the caves of the Kirin and beyond – humans, chimaera, and seraphim strive, love, and die in an epic theater that transcends good and evil, right and wrong, friend and enemy.

It took me so long to finish this series, but I loved every second of it. Every time I pick up a Laini Taylor book, I’m captivated by the world, the characters, and, most of all, the writing. I loved this ending to the series!

Hate Notes by Vi Keeland and Penelope Ward ★★★★★

It all started with a mysterious blue note sewn into a wedding dress.

Something blue.

I’d gone to sell my own unworn bridal gown at a vintage clothing store. That’s when I found another bride’s “something old.”

Stitched into the lining of a fabulously feathered design was the loveliest message I’d ever read: Thank you for making all of my dreams come true.

The name embossed on the blue stationery: Reed Eastwood, obviously the most romantic man who ever lived. I also discovered he’s the most gorgeous. If only my true-love fantasies had stopped there. Because I’ve since found out something else about Mr. Starry-Eyed.

He’s arrogant, cynical, and demanding. I should know. Thanks to a twist of fate, he’s my new boss. But that’s not going to stop me from discovering the story behind his last love letter. A love letter that did not result in a happily ever after.

But that story is nothing compared to the one unfolding between us. It’s getting hotter, sweeter, and more surprising than anything I could have imagined.

Something new.

But I have no idea how this one is going to end…

Both Vi Keeland and Penelope Ward are authors who don’t usually hit the mark for me a lot of the time, but this was not the case for Hate Notes. The premise sounds really good and it delivers in so many ways. I appreciated the serious elements as well as the more cliche ones.

Have you read any of these books? What are your thoughts?

Mini-Reviews {January 2019} The last couple of months of the year consisted of me binging on books during my Thanksgiving and Winter vacations.

#4 stars #5 stars #J. Daniels #Laini Taylor #Lauren Blakely #Mini Reviews #Penelope Ward #reviews #ruthie knox #Vi Keeland

0 notes

bastardnev · 5 years

Text

Broken (But Not Beyond Repair)

yknow i spent a whole lot of time referring to this as “the valentine’s fic” but meanwhile valentine’s day is mentioned like Once during this whole story. Nevertheless !

tagging: @sailor-slam-dunk @residentjoth @riveliciousx @lambchopviking @storyranger @nerdbrose (lemme kno if u wanna be added to my tag list !!)

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: World Wrestling Entertainment, Professional Wrestling, All Elite Wrestling Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Mustafa Ali/Pac | Adrian Neville Characters: Mustafa Ali, Pac | Adrian Neville Additional Tags: Valentine's Day, sorta but not really, its more mentioned than anything else tbh, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, i guess, Making Up, au where nev still lives in orlando and also has a big fucking dog, mustafa worries a lot, Implied Sexual Content Series: Part 2 of Jess Has Too Many Fics In Her Notes Summary: By all means, Mustafa shouldn't have even been thinking about Neville anymore. It had been over two years since he left WWE, and they were both at completely different points in their careers. It was pointless to dwell on the past or give any real thought to what could have been — all that mattered anymore was what the future held, and it looked like their respective paths were headed in opposite directions.

And yet, despite all of this, there Mustafa was. Seated in his rental car, in the parking lot of some cheap motel he had planned to spend the night at. Neville's number dialed on his phone.

(link to ao3)

By all means, Mustafa shouldn't have even been thinking about Neville anymore. It had been over two years since he left WWE, and they were both at completely different points in their careers. It was pointless to dwell on the past or give any real thought to what could have been — all that mattered anymore was what the future held, and it looked like their respective paths were headed in opposite directions.

And yet, despite all of this, there Mustafa was. Seated in his rental car, in the parking lot of some cheap motel he had planned to spend the night at. Neville's number dialed on his phone.

Mustafa stared down at the screen, squinting against the bright light. The rain rhythmically tapping against the roof of the car left him in almost a trance-like state as he debated whether or not to hit the "call" button. This wasn't the first time he found himself in this position — he was tempted to get in touch with Neville just about every time he and the rest of the WWE crew passed through Orlando during live event tours. He would usually only get as far as his contacts list, however, and he was never actually able to bring himself to make that move. Once he learned that the latest show would see him in the area again, he assumed that things would play out as they normally did, with him backing out at the last second and pretending like he had zero interest in seeing Neville.

But that didn't happen. This time, the urge to get in contact was so strong , far more than it ever had been. To the point where Mustafa was in the car and fully prepared to drive right over to Neville’s house. He had no idea what exactly it was, but he had arrived in town with an almost overwhelming feeling to just bite the bullet and do it. A sense that he needed to stop putting off something that was killing him not to do. He wasn't even sure where it came from, but it was certainly there — a feeling that he needed to reach out, to call, to talk to Neville again after so long of little to no contact.

To possibly rekindle a relationship that had meant so much to him.

To put it bluntly, Mustafa and Neville's relationship was, at its core, supposed to be just sex. Nothing more than that. "No strings attached", they always insisted. Once a week ( maybe twice, if they were feeling up to it), they would meet up in a hotel room to fool around, to blow off steam after a show. After Raw, after 205 — they weren't picky. Whenever they were both in the same place and could meet up, they spent the night together. It was nothing more than that, at least at first.

But then, it... changed. It had been gradual — Mustafa hadn't even noticed it right away — but the times they shared started to become something else. Before all they had done was meet up, do what they had to do, and then go their separate ways before anyone knew what they were doing. They did their best to make sure that no one even had a suspicion that there was anything going on between the two of them, hence why Mustafa would always go back to his hotel room after they finished. Whoever he was rooming with normally didn't ask too many questions so long as he was back from his "late night walk" ( horrible excuse, but it worked) at a reasonable time.

Then Mustafa started to actually stay the night with Neville. The first time he had simply been too tired and lazy to leave. The second time had followed a very similar format, only Neville didn't put up as much of a fight. Every time it happened thereafter, Neville cared less and less, and before either of them knew it it had become an established part of their routine, their desire not to clue anyone in on their secret be damned.

And then came the invites to each other's houses. It had started as a way to save money whenever tapings were in Chicago or Orlando, but before long they had becomed planned affairs, with one spending anywhere from a day to a whole weekend at the other's home. They acted like this was so they could hook up easier (and more frequently), but the fact was that those nights were... fun . More fun than they thought they would be. It wasn't just sex anymore — they were cooking together, and buying way too many snacks together, and eating those same snacks as they binged the dumbest fucking movies together. (Stupid Movie Fridays, they'd taken to calling them, though they weren't opposed to other days of the week being devoted to corny films.)

They were... getting closer. Close enough that Mustafa wasn't sure if they should be labeled as acquaintances, or as friends, or as... something even more than that.

Whatever the hell they were, it all came to a screeching halt in October of 2017, when Neville left the company and didn’t look back.

Mustafa still texted him after everything happened, but it was clear that things weren't how they used to be. Neville was distracted, so caught up in the drama of requesting his release that he didn't seem to have time to talk with him anymore. It wasn't like Mustafa didn't understand — though he'd never been through the process himself, he could only imagine how stressful it must be, especially given the specifics of Neville's situation. Not to mention that his own career picked up notably only a few short months later, and he hadn't done much better on the consistent communication front. This was far from being a one-sided issue.

What had gotten to Mustafa the most, though, was how abrupt it all was. How one moment the two of them were talking, and laughing, and genuinely enjoying one another's company more than they ever thought they would, only for all of it to suddenly stop. How they used to text each other the most ridiculous and pointless shit, only for their messaging to slowly taper off until it ceased altogether.

As of that moment, in February of 2020, contact between them was nonexistent. Like they were total strangers.

Mustafa wanted so badly to change that.

His thumb was hovering precariously over the "call" button. It was such a simple thing to do, but he was still having so much trouble with it. If he did that, then Neville would pick up, and then two of them would be talking again for the first time in years. He would get what he wanted. It was so easy, so doable .

Even so, he was hesitant. There was no guarantee that Neville would pick up to begin with. It was possible that he would see who was calling him and immediately reject the call, or let it ring and ring until Mustafa eventually gave up and left him alone. Worse yet, he might have deleted Mustafa's number, and he would hit him with a dreaded "Who is this?" the moment he answered. Each of those situations sent a chill down his spine, and it made him want to turn off his phone and forget about this plan like he always did.

But Mustafa couldn't let those worst-case scenarios get to him. Not anymore. He needed to do it, and he needed to do it right then and there. Otherwise, it would likely never happen.

With that, he made the call.

Bringing the phone up to his ear, Mustafa chewed on his lower lip. He listened to the rings, first one, then two. His heart was pounding in his chest by the time the fifth ring rolled around. A little voice was yelling at him from the back of his mind, telling him that he'd made a huge mistake and should just hang up the phone already. It was clear that Neville didn't want to talk to him — if he did, he would've picked up. It was only a matter of time before he got sent to voicemail and was forced to either hang up or leave some embarrassing message for Neville to delete—

"Ali?"

"Oh—" Mustafa's whole body tensed at the sound of Neville's voice coming from the receiver. He'd actually picked up — shit, shit, shit . He scrambled for something to say, anything . "...Hiya."

Real smooth, dumbass . "Hello..." Neville responded tentatively. God , it had been way too long since Mustafa last heard him. He probably would have enjoyed the moment more if he didn't just make a complete fool out of himself.

"What, ah...” Just say something! “What're you up to?"

"I'm... at home." Neville still sounded wary. Mustafa couldn’t exactly blame him.

"You had a match this week, right?" Mustafa remembered seeing tweets about it on his timeline. Reading that Neville had won had put him in quite the good mood for the rest of the night.

"I did."

"Good for you." Mustafa nodded. “Makin’ moves.”

Then, the line fell silent, and Mustafa had no choice but to come to terms with the fact that he did not plan this well — or at all, really. All those nights of internal arguments and wondering about how a potential phone call between him and Neville would play out ultimately failed him. He had no idea what to say next, or how to get to the point without making himself look like an even bigger idiot.

Fortunately for him, Neville was the one who eventually broke the silence. "Ali, what's going on?”

“What do you mean?”

“What do I— Are you kidding? You just called me out of absolutely nowhere. Why?"

“...Oh, that.” What else would he be talking about?!

“Yeah, that .” The tone left Neville’s voice and, quieter, he added, “Is everything alright?"

Mustafa swallowed. There, that was his opening. "Everything's fine, it's just..." He paused. "I... WWE's in Orlando this weekend.”

Neville was silent for a beat. "...Is that so?"

"Mhm. I just got to my motel a little while ago. Haven't even gotten out of the car yet, though, because of this rain." Taking a deep breath through his nose, he said, "I... was thinking about you. Wanted to know how things were."

“I see...” The line went quiet again, the only sound being that of Neville’s breathing and the rain, which seemed to have only gotten worse in the time they were talking. Mustafa was dreading eventually having to get out of the car.

“I-I know it’s sudden,” Mustafa explained, an attempt to save himself from this awkward situation. “And that you probably didn’t expect to hear from me.”

“I definitely didn’t.”

“Yeah... But I just wanted to check up on you. Make sure things were good.”

“They’re... They’re fine, thank you.” After a beat, “And you?”

“Same here.” Mustafa looked out the raindrop-speckled window. “I’m tired as hell, but... Still, it’s all good.”

This conversation needed to end. It was going nowhere, and Mustafa knew this. Hearing from Neville again was great, but all he was doing was embarrassing himself. Clearing his throat, he said, “Well... I guess I should be going. Still gotta get my room.”

“You haven’t even got one yet?” Neville asked. “What do you plan on doing if there isn’t one available?”

“I’ve slept in enough cars during my career to be okay with it. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

“I don’t remember ever saying I was worried.”

Mustafa snorted. “You haven’t changed a bit, you know that?”

“At least I’m consistent.”

“That, you are...” Mustafa licked his lips. “I’ll... talk to you later, maybe, okay?”

“Alright...”

Mustafa sighed softly. Here’s to hoping I’ll actually have the balls to call him again after this. He thought to himself as he brought the phone away from his ear. Considering how long it had taken him to initiate this five minute chat, it would probably take him an eternity to do it all a second time.

He was just about to hang up when he heard Neville say, “Wait!”

The phone was back to Mustafa’s ear in a flash. “Yes?”

Neville seemed to hesitate for a moment, but he asked, "If it’s not too far from your motel, do you... want to come over for a bit? Just until this storm lets up."

Mustafa’s eyes widened. “U-Uh...” He stammered, very much caught off guard. He had wanted to go to Neville’s house earlier, but he didn’t expect him to straight up invite him , completely unprovoked.

“If it’s too much trouble, then don’t worry about it,” Neville backtracked. “I know the weather is messy—“

“No it’s not,” Mustafa cut him off. “I mean, yes, it is, but I can still drive in it."

"Are you sure? I don't want you to get hurt."

"I won't. You know I'm a good driver."

"I know you're a slow driver."

"Close enough. I’ll... I’ll be over in a little bit.”

He heard Neville breathe out (in relief?) “Alright. You, uh, still know the way?”

“Yeah, I do.” Mustafa could never forget.

The one benefit to the rain being so heavy was that the roads were mostly clear. The few cars that were out at that hour were driven by people getting home late from work and lovesick idiots like Mustafa. He had to be careful, of course, since an accident was the absolute last thing he wanted at that moment (and always, really), but he maintained a decent speed as he went down familiar streets and made familiar turns, ones that he hadn't made in ages. All so that he could see Neville in-person again.

What would the two of them even do ? That question was bouncing around inside of Mustafa’s head the whole time he was driving. He... highly doubted that they would hook up, given the amount of time they had been apart. It was unlikely that they would so easily fall back into their old pattern. Chances were they would spend more time catching up (or sitting in uncomfortable silence) than anything else. He wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that — happy? Disappointed? An odd combination of both?

No matter how he might have felt, it was definitely happening. And before Mustafa knew it, he was pulling up to the front of Neville’s home, parking in what had been his usual spot only two years ago.

Mustafa shut the car off. Staring up at the house, he realized that it was no different than it had been the last time he visited. Very... ordinary. There weren’t any decorations up, despite Valentine's Day being just around the corner. He wasn’t quite sure what he expected, really — Neville had never been all that into decorating. Thought it was all a scam and a waste of time, even though it made his home stick out like a sore thumb during the holidays. Just as he’d said on the phone during their chat, he was as consistent as ever. The familiarity was... comforting.

Bracing himself for the weather, Mustafa stepped out into the rain, taking a moment to lock the car before hustling up to the front porch. His heart was thumping as he climbed up the steps. Come on, you can do this, don’t chicken out now. All the worst-case scenarios were starting to creep their way back into his mind, telling him that this visit was pointless. That they were far too different now, and getting together again even for a little while would only make things worse somehow. Mustafa stared intently down the doorbell, as if it were challenging him with its faint glow, and he pressed it before he could talk himself out of it. Screw that pessimism — he was already there. If talking to each other was bad, then running away when he was expected was even worse.

And, truthfully, leaving unnoticed at that point was impossible. The door was opened only a moment after he'd rung the bell, like Neville had been standing there waiting for him on the other side, and just like that Mustafa was once again faced with the man who he’d spent countless nights with only a few years ago. A soft, shy smile spread across Mustafa’s face. “...Hey, Nev.”

“Hi...” Neville’s expression mirrored his — his smile was still stunning. “It’s... certainly been awhile, hasn't it?”

“Sure has.” Mustafa’s hands were shoved deep in his pockets. Too long. Mustafa wasn't sure if he should say this last thought aloud or not.

“Well, don’t just stand there — it’s pouring.” Neville stepped aside. The rumble of thunder off in the distance did an equally good job of reminding Mustafa of the bad weather, and he nodded, making sure to wipe his feet as best as he could on the mat before he walked inside. "Just put your shoes with the rest of mine."

"Got it." Some of Neville's shoes were lined up against the opposite wall, surprisingly neat. This alone made it clear that Neville had managed to do (or, scrambled to do) some last minute cleaning before he showed up. They were usually a mess, one that Mustafa teased him about almost every visit. He couldn't say anything this time, however, and instead he went about slipping his own pair off.

Then, a large black shape came charging at him from the end of the hallway.

“Winston!!” Mustafa grinned, and he crouched down, scratching the bullmastiff on his head once he stopped in front of him. The dog responded by licking his face, and Mustafa laughed. “I missed you!”

“Looks like he missed you, too,” Neville mused from behind him, and Mustafa heard him close the door.

“It’s been way too long, boy-o!” Another rub to the head. Winston's tail was like a propeller, wagging rapidly. A paw came to rest on Mustafa's arm, and he faltered a little. "Hey, don't knock me over now."

"I don't mean to interrupt this tender reunion, but can I get you something to drink? Water, maybe?"

Mustafa looked up to Neville, Winston licking his hands now in an attempt to regain his attention. "That'd be good, thanks."

Neville gave him a nod and made his way towards the kitchen. Winston turned and followed him right away, which caused Mustafa's eyebrows to raise. "Wait, where're you goin'? I thought you wanted me to pet you!"

"He sees me going to the kitchen, he follows," Neville yelled back. "Seems to think me being in here automatically means he'll get a treat."

"Doesn't it?"

A pause. "...Well, yeah, but..." Neville trailed off, and Mustafa couldn't help but chuckle and roll his eyes. Who could've guessed the "Bastard" would be such a pushover?

Now alone in the hallway, Mustafa took a quick look around, noting some of the pictures on the wall. He wanted to say it was an evenly distributed assortment of photos, shots of family and the dog alike, but it was clear that there were just a few more of Winston than anything else. Neville's love for him seemed to have grown tenfold in the time he and Mustafa had been apart. Mustafa couldn't help but wish that he had a pet of his own. Winston had filled that role for awhile, but... well, it was hard for him to actually bond with an animal when he wasn't even speaking to its owner.

Mustafa decided to head into the living room then, and he sat down on the couch, shifting in the plush seat as he waited for Neville (and Winston, hopefully) to come back. The rain was still pattering away against the window, and Mustafa silently hoped that it would let up before the end of the night. Having to go back out into such a downpour and drive all the way to his motel — the same one he still didn't have a room at, now that he thought about it — would not be fun. The more he put it off, the more likely it seemed he would be spending that damp night in the backseat of his rental...

Mustafa shook his head and tried to get rid of the thought. He would worry about that later, after he did... whatever it was that he planned on doing with Neville. He still hadn't figured that out.

Sitting there and looking around the room, it was all so... familiar to Mustafa, just as so many other things were. Everything that had happened since he arrived at the house had been apart of his and Neville's routine — the old one, from before everything changed. It was all the same, from Winston greeting him at the front door to the drink offer. There was even some Netflix movie paused on the TV. Mustafa admittedly didn't recognize the name of it, but if he knew Neville half as well as he thought he did, it had to be tacky. Stupid Movie Night lived on, even though they hadn't actually gotten together to have one in years.

Mustafa missed this. All of this.

"Here you are," Neville at last returned to the room, handing Mustafa his glass.

"Thanks." Mustafa took it from him. Winston strolled in behind Neville, and Mustafa watched as he followed him closely, sniffing his lap after he sat down at the opposite end of the couch.

"I have nothing more for you, why are you looking at me like that?" Neville gave the dog a scratch behind the ear. "You've already gotten loads of treats tonight, take it easy."

"I see he's just as much of a mooch as he was before."

" Oh yeah. Actually, he might have gotten worse, if that's possible." Winston jumped up on the couch and settled himself as best as he could between Mustafa and Neville, the latter going right back to patting him on the head. "He's my boy, though. Wouldn't trade him for the world."

And then, without warning, it was quiet again.

The room that had just a moment ago been filled with their voices was now filled only with the sound of the rain. Mustafa licked his lips, and he stared at Neville, whose gaze was trained on Winston. When he looked to Mustafa, their eyes met, and Mustafa gave him an awkward smile (which was probably more like a grimace) before turning his attention to the paused movie on the screen. His nerves were beginning to make a comeback, just in time for he and Neville to have the first face-to-face conversation they'd had in a long time. He cursed his luck and, once again, his past self for not properly thinking through his plan for getting back in touch with Neville — he'd gotten as far as "call him and hope for the best" and left it at that.

Neville was the one that invited him over. He wouldn't have done that if there wasn't even a tiny part of him that wanted to see him, to talk to him. Even so, Mustafa was still hesitant, worried that he might slip up and say something that would do the opposite of saving their relationship. But he needed to take a chance. He'd told himself when he was standing on the porch that it was far too late to back out, and it was especially too late now that he was sitting on Neville's damn couch. Taking a slow sip of his water, Mustafa cleared his throat, and he made the first move. "Uh... So, things have been good with you?"

No sooner had the words left his mouth did Mustafa realize he'd asked him almost the exact same question on the phone earlier. However, Neville didn't seem to notice (or maybe he just didn't care). "They have." His hand was on Winston's back now, fingers slowly trailing over his fur. "Busy, but good."

"Weren't you wrestling on that cruise awhile ago?" At Neville's nod, "Damn, that must've been cool."

"It was... something, I'll say that much. Never thought I'd see myself wrestling in the middle of the ocean."

"Isn't there, like, no phone service on cruise ships, though? How did you even survive?"

"All the questions you could ask me about that trip, and you ask me about the wi-fi? I don't live entirely on social media like you do."

"Yeah, yeah..." Mustafa was tempted to take out his phone and begin scrolling through Twiter just to mess with Neville, but he decided against it. That would come later, once he was sure about where their relationship was at. "Either way, I'm really glad you've been able to find so much success."

Neville snorted. "Me too. And how about yourself? What've you been up to?"

"Things are..." Mustafa pursed his lips as he tried to come up with the right words. "They're okay. A little slow, but definitely not bad."

"Is that the polite version of 'I've been almost exclusively in dark matches for the last month'?"

He grinned sheepishly. "So, you know about that..."

"I haven't actually sat down and watched WWE programming in full in ages, but I still try to watch your stuff whenever I can. Once you stopped showing up, I kinda figured you were— ah, how do you put it? 'Stealing the show before the show'?"

"Hey, don't use my words against me like that!"

"Don't use them all the time, then! Seriously, you post the same thing after every dark match. Usually with a shirtless pic attached."

"Ooh, so you know about those , too?" Mustafa waggled his eyebrows. "You like 'em?"

Neville gave no response to this, though the hint of pink on his cheeks told Mustafa everything he needed to know. Cute .

Putting his glass down on the coffee table, Mustafa decided to follow Neville's example, and he also started to stroke Winston's back, the dog himself already sleeping. Mustafa had never known an animal that fell asleep so quickly until he met Winston. He nodded towards the TV. "I see you're watching a movie."

Neville looked to the screen. "Oh, yeah, that's right..." Had he forgotten all about it?

"Is it dumb?"

"Absolutely. You know I never watch anything good by choice."

"I knew it. So, what, is it a horror film?"

"It is, and it is atrocious , even by my standards. Sooner or later I'm gonna come across one that's actually decent, and I'm not gonna know how to handle it."

Mustafa chuckled. "There's no shortage of bad horror films, so I'd say your odds of finding a good one are pretty slim."

"Thankfully. It's, um..." Neville stopped suddenly, and Mustafa's brows furrowed.

"What?"

"It's... nothing, don't worry about it."

A statement sure to make a worrier like Mustafa worry every time he heard it. "Are you sure? You can tell me."

"Eh, you'll just laugh..."

"I will not." Mustafa's tone was gentle, yet firm. "I promise."

Neville blinked at him, then back at the screen. Mustafa couldn't even begin to imagine what it was that he was so hesitant to tell him. Of course, if Neville insisted that he didn't want to talk about it, then Mustafa would back off, but... Still, he didn't want Neville to think that he couldn't trust him not to make fun of him. Not if he wanted them to be back together for good.

Fortunately, Mustafa's prying seemed to be enought convince Neville. A moment later, they locked eyes again, and Neville quietly admitted, "Well... These movies just aren't the same when you're watching them alone. Sometimes I miss having someone to make fun of them with."

Oh. Mustafa's lips parted, his hand coming to a halt on Winston's back. This sudden stoppage caused Neville's hand to bump into his — ever so slightly, their fingers were touching. He expected Neville to flinch back, but he didn't, and his gaze was just as steady as it had been before. Mustafa couldn't bring himself to look away. Was this... an admission that he wanted he two of them to get back together...? Was that the sign that Mustafa had been looking for? He swallowed. "Um... Neville—"

BANG!

A sudden crash of thunder startled all three of them. The lights flickered, and a second later they went out, plunging the room into complete darkness. The loud noise prompted the now-wide awake Winston to leap off of the couch and bolt out into the hallway. "Winston, no!" Mustafa called after him.

"Christ, not again..." Neville griped. "Now is not the time for this..."

"No kidding..." Mother Nature sure had interesting timing.

The flashlight from Neville's phone was then turned on. Neville squinted at the screen. "Damn thing's gonna die if I keep the light on all night..." He muttered. He then stood. "I'll be right back, gotta go grab some candles."

"Can you check on Winston?" Mustafa pleaded to Neville's silhouette, which was already moving out of the room. "Make sure he's okay?"

"He's probably just in the kitchen — that's his hub whenever the power goes out." The little bit of light that had been in the living room faded away as Neville went down the hallway. "Yep, he's here. Hidin' out behind the island."

Mustafa breathed a sigh of relief. Winston was still scared, but at least he wasn't hurt. That was what mattered. "Good. You think he'll come back in with us?"

"Probably not." Neville's voice was fainter now — he must have gone into another room, possibly his bedroom. Mustafa was disappointed to hear this, but he had to have faith that Neville was wrong. He was sure Winston would rejoin them at some point before Mustafa needed to leave (he couldn't leave without properly saying goodbye, after all).

It was only when Neville re-entered the room holding two scented candles and a box of matches that Mustafa remembered the significance of those items.

The candles. How could he have forgotten about the damn candles ? He watched as Neville placed them down on the coffee table and went about lighting them, his brows furrowed as he moved the match from one wick to the next. That look of (almost unnecessary) concentration was such a familiar sight to Mustafa, one that he'd grown to like quite a bit during their time together, but also one that he had not seen for far too long. Now that he was looking at it again, he was transported to a different time, back when he'd first been invited to Neville's house. It very likely wasn't the same candles, but some of very similar scents and colors had been lit when he'd arrived. He teased Neville at first — he never thought he was a Mood Lighting kind of guy — but it turned out that he was just into candles. There was at least one in most of the rooms in the house. They had been a trademark of sorts for Neville.

Mustafa had lost sight of that fact after their separation. And now, on this gloomy, rainy night, he was once again being reminded of something that he'd missed terribly.

"There..." Neville's voice interrupted Mustafa's reminiscing, and he sat back down on the couch — notably closer than he had before, Mustafa realized. "That should be good enough."

Mustafa stared at the small, dancing flames. "Y...Yeah, it's fine," he replied.

"Something bothering you?" Shit. Mustafa had made his mood just a little too obvious.

"No, not really," he fibbed.

"Are you sure?" Then, "Am I... Am I sitting to close to you, or...?"

"No!" Mustafa quickly assured. "No, that's not it. It's..." He considered lying again, but after pushing Neville into talking a few moments ago he felt he had no right to keep any secrets from him — not to mention that Neville might get the wrong idea again. It was best to tell the truth. "These candles remind me a lot of the times we used to hang out. You had them lit all the time."

Neville followed his gaze, also becoming entranced by the fire. "Ah... Yes, that's right. The cinnamon one was your favorite, wasn't it?"

"It was."

"I wish I still had one, but it burnt out a long time ago. I didn't think to buy another one, to be honest."

Because Neville associated that scent with him. That had to be the reason. Neville had no reason to get a candle of someone's favorite scent if that "someone" wasn't even around to appreciate it. "I..."

"Hmm?"

"I..." Mustafa swallowed. "I miss you. A lot."

Neville didn't say anything to that. Mustafa continued, "I miss seeing you backstage, and talking to you regularly, and watching you wrestle, and just... being with you. Those nights we spent together were so fun , and I looked forward to them. I loved watching dumbass movies with you, and eating way too many sweets, and... everything else. But all of it— it just stopped . Out of nowhere. And I really, really wish that it didn't.

"I... I know you and I are both busy these days in our own ways. And I know that maintaining a relationship with our packed schedules is gonna be tough. But... I'm willing to give it a try, if you are. You obviously don't have to do anything you don't want to do, and I'm more than okay with you deciding that this isn't something that you're interested in, but I wanted to at the very least let you know how I feel."

Satisfied with his rambling, Mustafa took a deep breath, leaning back into the couch. He folded his hands in his lap and waited anxiously for Neville to reply — if he ever did. He was still staring at the candles, his expression unreadable. Maybe Mustafa's sudden confession was a lot to take in at once. Especially since it came out of seemingly nowhere, and was prompted by candles of all things. Is he... okay?

But then, faintly, Neville at last said something. "...I'm the one that fucked everything up."

"What...?"

"I'm the one that stopped texting you. I should've done more to keep in touch with you."

"But it's not like I ever tried to start a conversation," Mustafa argued. "I stopped, too. I'm just as responsible for what happened. You can't only blame yourself."

"I know, but..." Neville chewed his lower lip. "But I care about you. I never stopped caring about you, not even when I was sorting out my contract. And I should've done a better job at showing it. Instead, I just..." He shrugged. "I just let our relationship die."

Mustafa debated it for a moment, but ultimately he decided to take a chance, and he reached over and took hold of Neville's hand. For the second time that evening, Neville did not shy away from the contact. "It doesn't have to stay dead if you don't want it to. We can... try again."

"I want to," Neville admitted. "But like you said, it's not going to be easy. We're always traveling, and we're on completely different work schedules, and..."

"We can make it work," Mustafa cut him off. "It'll take some getting used to, but I think we can do it."

"But what if everything happens all over again? What if... What if something comes up and we just stop talking again?"

"Do you want that to happen?"

"No, absolutely not."

"Then let's try our hardest not to let it happen. We don't have to text every single day or anything, but if we both try to send each other something every now and again, things could work out just fine."

Neville swallowed. "...You're really serious about this?"

"I am," Mustafa said, clearly. "I wasn't lying before when I said that I missed you, and everything that came along with you. I wanna give us one more chance, see where things go. And if you want to, then... I say we go for it. What do we got to lose?"

Neville, whose eyes had been glued to the flames, turned his head to meet Mustafa's gaze. The soft, orange glow from the candles illuminated his face. The light gave him a haunting, mesmerizing appearance. One that Mustafa couldn't look away from even if he'd wanted to.

He looked... amazing.

Mustafa couldn't help himself from slowly leaning in and pressing a kiss to his lips.

It was soft at first. Mustafa wanted to provide Neville with ample time to pull away. It wasn't until he felt Neville gently reciprocating the kiss that he deepened it, a hand moving up to cup Neville's cheek. Mustafa's lips parted, and Neville's tongue slid into his mouth. The intimacy was almost dizzying. This was what he'd been waiting for. After all that debating about whether or not to make that phone call, this was what he'd wanted. What he'd missed so badly.

It had been over two years since their last kiss. Somehow, this one was the best of all.

If only Winston hadn't decided that that was when he'd choose to return to the living room.

All the two of them heard was another rumble of thunder and the sound of nails frantically clicking on the floor before the dog leapt onto the couch, where Neville had been sitting earlier. "Oh my God—" Neville gasped, putting a hand on his chest. "What the hell, Winston?!"

Surprised as he was, Mustafa couldn't help but laugh. "Hey, he came back! That's good, right?"

"Would've been good any other time..." Neville moped, but Mustafa putting an arm around his shoulders prompted him to smile, and a moment later he moved in for a second kiss. Just as good as the first one.

"...Hey," Neville breathed out against his lips. Between kisses, he continued, "Did you... ever end up getting a motel room...?"

Mustafa froze, eyes wide. In the excitement of being back together with Neville, he'd forgotten about the other date he'd be having that evening — the one with the backseat of his rental. "Uh..." He grinned sheepishly. "No, I did not."

Neville smirked. Mustafa's heart rate ticked up just a bit. "Would you like to stay with me tonight? We still have some... catching up to do, you know."

Mustafa's expression mirrored his. Suddenly, his sleeping in the backseat seemed a hell of a lot less likely. "You're right..."

"Is that a 'yes', then?"

"It is. But , I left my bags in the trunk. With my pajamas in them."

This statement caused Neville to chuckle, and he kissed Mustafa again, tugging on his lower lip with his teeth when he pulled back. "Hmm, Mustafa..."

"What?"

"I wasn't anticipating either one of us sleeping with clothes on tonight..."

#mustafa ali #pac #wwe fanfiction #aew fanfiction #long post #just in case the read more decides not to work #jess.txt

8 notes · View notes

bastardnev · 7 years

Text

How Quickly The Night Changes

literally no one asked for nev/mustafa smut but guess what!! i fuckin wrote it anyway!!

tagging @champnatalya and @gulakattack!!

(link to ao3)

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: World Wrestling Entertainment, Professional Wrestling Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Mustafa Ali/Pac | Adrian Neville Characters: Mustafa Ali, Pac | Adrian Neville Additional Tags: Public Sex, Anal Sex, Post-Coital, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, in which nev is Confused, but mustafa is still a Big Cutie Summary: The more that Neville thought about the situation he was currently in, the more confused he was. The less he understood just what the hell had come over him in that moment.

The more that Neville thought about the situation he was currently in, the more confused he was. The less he understood just what the hell had come over him in that moment.

He hadn't even gone into the locker room with the intent to do anything like that. He was headed there like he always did every Monday night after his match on Raw so that he could shower and get dressed, and then he would promptly drive back to the hotel and get some rest. That night was no different than any other. He didn't expect it to take such a turn.

He remembered walking inside and spotting Mustafa straight away. He was distracted, searching through his bag for something to change into since he hadn't yet changed out of his attire. Neville couldn't help but smirk upon seeing him -- Mustafa was the one who he'd beaten that night. It made sense that he was rushing to leave, too ashamed to face the rest of the roster after suffering such a humiliating defeat.

Neville decided that, like the kind soul he was, he was going to rub the fact that he'd lost in his face, and he had sauntered towards Mustafa until he was at his side, leaning up against a locker. It started like all of their prior conversations -- that is to say, Neville was raving about how amazing he was all while Mustafa pretended he didn't hear him. Neville made sure to point out just how amazing it felt to lock in the Rings of Saturn on him, just how damn good it felt to feel Mustafa tapping out on his arm and signalling to the referee that he had had enough.

Then, just as Neville decided that he'd had enough and was about to back off, something happened.

Mustafa had muttered something under his breath.

At first, Neville thought he was just hearing things. There was no way Mustafa would have said something like that , would he? He didn't look like the type.

"Say that again, lad," Neville had demanded, noticing the blush on Mustafa's face. "Go on, don't be shy."

"I said..." He started as he sat down. "The Rings of Saturn felt good to me, too."

Neville's eyebrows raised, and he smirked again. He knew he hadn't misheard. So, that was the kind of stuff Mustafa was into? What an interesting thing to learn about his little rival. "You like submitting to the King, hmm?" He had taken a seat next to him.

Mustafa hadn't said anything in response. "Nothing to be ashamed of, Ali," Neville assured him. "Plenty of guys are into these kinds of things. I give you credit for being able to admit it, unlike the other peasants here."

As he spoke, he ended up making eye contact with Mustafa. Before, whenever Neville looked in his eyes, all he would see was passion. Drive. Ambition. Determination. This time was different. Now, he was seeing something else.

Lust.

Neville wasn't stupid. He knew where this conversation was headed. He toyed with the idea of making a smart comment about how clearly aroused Mustafa was, but the truth was that he was the same way. Neville had always known that Mustafa was physically attractive, and he would be lying if he said that he didn't look forward to competing against him so that he had a chance to touch him.

Now, they were both alone. There was no one there in the locker room to stop them from acting out the scenes that had played out so many times before in their heads.

Mustafa had already submitted to Neville once that evening. It didn't look like he was opposed to doing it again, though this time in a very different setting with a much different context.

"How would you like it if I brought you to your knees one more time tonight?" Neville traced a finger along Mustafa's bicep, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. He leaned in close, his hot breath against Mustafa's ear. "Just say the word, and I'd be more than happy to oblige."

Mustafa's tongue ran over his lower lip, and he had checked around the room one last time to make sure that they were truly alone before saying, "...P-Please, King."

As soon as he heard the word 'King', Neville stood up, grabbing him by the hand and pushing him back against the wall. He gave him a forceful kiss, his tongue slipping into Mustafa's mouth once his lips parted. Neville was pressed up against him, his thigh firmly resting against the front of his pants.

"Hmm, my sweet Prince..." Neville had said, feeling Mustafa growing hard under his touch. "You're getting excited for your King, huh? You like it when I touch you there?" One of Neville's hands slid down Mustafa's side, resting on his hip.

He had waited until Mustafa replied with a fervent nod before his hand slid over and rested over his erection, and he grabbed it through his attire. "And I bet you like it when I do this too, don't you?" He began to rub at him. "Go on, tell your King how much you're enjoying this..."

All that was able to escape Mustafa was a soft whimper, and Neville's eyebrows raised, an amused expression having now appeared on his face. "Ah, are you too shy?" He teased. "It's only you and me here, Ali. No one's gonna hear you. Only I will. Come on, now. Let me know how you're feeling."

Once he finished his sentence, Neville pressed his hand harder up against him, eliciting a small moan and causing Neville to smirk. "Good boy..." He cooed. "Keep it up. I want to hear more from you." He moved down to Mustafa's neck and gave it a few soft kisses, sucking at one spot.

"King..." Mustafa moaned a little louder that time, prompting Neville to suck harder, his hand moving faster.

Neville pulled away a moment later, admiring the mark that he'd left behind. He slowly ran his tongue over it. "Looks like you're gonna have to find a way to hide that before 205 tomorrow now, aren't you?" He moved over to the other side of Mustafa's neck. "And this one, too," he said before he chose a spot and began to suck there next.

Neville could tell that Mustafa was still trying to keep his voice as low as possible so as to not draw anyone's attention, so he bit down on the newest mark, his hand now squeezing him. He relished in the gasp that escaped his lips, and he squeezed him harder, alternating between rubbing and grabbing. "Ali, I already told you that there's no need for you to hold back. Be as loud as you want. Who gives a shit about who hears?"

"King, I-I..." Mustafa's breathing was growing more labored. "I-I'm gonna..."

"Do it." Neville pulled away from his neck, leaning forward until their foreheads were touching. "Come for your King. I want to hear more of those pretty noises of yours..."

Neville's stroking had become rougher and quicker, and it didn't take much longer for Mustafa to finally be pushed over the edge, the loud groan that Neville had been dying to hear finally coming out, a content hum slipping from the King. Neville's rubbing gradually slowed down, coming to a complete halt once Mustafa had finally gathered himself and his breathing calmed.

He backed off at last, stepping away and chuckling as Mustafa slid down the wall and sat on the floor. "I told you that I could bring you down, Prince," he taunted. "That's twice in one night. I think this is a new record."

"I... I need to return the favor." Mustafa was reaching up to him, trying to grab the waistband of his trunks.

"Ah-ah, not now." Neville swatted away his hands, a devilish grin on his face. "Not when someone could walk in." He bent down and grabbed hold of his collar. "Wait until the show is over. Then come meet me in my hotel room. We'll finish up there. Understood?" He waited until Mustafa nodded before releasing him, moving back.

It was at that moment that the locker room door burst open, a few other members of the roster entering the room. Neville quirked his eyebrows at Mustafa before heading towards the showers. The King has impeccable timing. No surprises there.

No one had heard a thing. Neville mused to himself, licking his lips as he recalled the memory. I told him no one would. He didn't want to believe me.

They had truly gotten away with it. Everyone else was busy preparing for their respective match or loitering in another part of the arena -- no one thought to go to the locker room to check and see what the King and the Prince were up to.

Neville remembered that not much else had happened at the arena once they had finished. Neville had gone to shower and struggled not to laugh as he listened to Mustafa trying to have a casual conversation with Cedric, as if he didn't just have a orgasm. No one thought to ask why the hell he was on the floor when they first came in, or why he kept covering his neck with his hands. Christ, how inattentive are these fools?

Neville also remembered what happened once he'd checked in at the hotel after the show ended. He had sent a text to Mustafa telling him to not even bother getting his own room and to spend the night in his, sending along the room number with the message.

And then, once he'd arrived, Mustafa did exactly what he said he was going to do.

“So, Ali…” Neville purred as the Prince sat on top of him, their clothes tossed aside and resting on the floor. “Tell me what you have planned.”

Mustafa pondered his first move for a moment, almost looking a little unsure of himself. This prompted Neville to reach up one of his hands, running a finger along his bare chest. “What? You don’t know? Huh, all that talk about returning the favor, and yet you’ve fallen silent when the time comes…”

“I do know,” he retorted. “I’m just… not sure if it’s what you want.”

“You think I can’t handle whatever it is? I’m the King. I’m pretty certain I can take whatever you give to me.”

“If you say so.” Mustafa licked his lips. “So, I’m just wondering, have you gone all the way with a guy before?”

“Well, duh. Are you trying to say that you want to fuck me, lad?” His bluntness seemed to catch Mustafa off guard, and he smirked. “Well? Is that a yes?”

“I, well… Yeah.” He laughed a little nervously. “But only if you’re up for it.”

“Didn’t I just tell you that I’m willing to take whatever you plan on doing to me? Do it. That’s an order from your King.”

Musafa’s eyebrows raised. “How can I possibly say no to that?” He quickly scrambled off of Neville’s lap, going over to his bag and searching inside of it for a bottle of lube and a condom.

“Do you always keep those with you in case of a situation like this?” Neville asked once he’d found them and made his way back to the bed.

“You never know.” He shrugged.

Neville watched as Mustafa began to slick up his fingers, his gaze shifting to look up towards the ceiling. “What do you think your little buddies would say if they knew this was what you were getting up to?” He asked.

“I’m not sure how I would even begin to explain something like this. I dunno how they’d react.”

“If anyone asks where you were tonight, just tell them you were off fucking royalty. God, I’d pay to see their faces if you said that,” Neville mused.

“ You would…” Mustafa placed the bottle aside on the night table and positioned one of his fingers at Neville’s entrance. “Okay, you ready?”

“How many times do I have to tell you that I am before you finally get it? Goodness, Ali, it’s like you’re--” Neville was interrupted by one of Mustafa’s fingers slipping inside of him, and he gasped softly. His eyes fluttered shut when a second one entered, humming as they started to pump in and out. He gasped again when he felt then go deeper.

“You good?” Mustafa stopped his movements.

“Yes, yes, I'm fine, just keep doing what you're doing.” Neville motioned for him to continue, sighing as he felt a third finger enter along with the other two. This wasn't something he was normally into, and he was a little surprised by how much he was enjoying it. Mustafa was better than he thought he would be.

Mustafa eventually took his fingers out, prepping himself for what would come next, and Neville made a bit of a frustrated sound. “Ali, don't keep your King waiting--”

“Hush up.”

“What?” Neville’s eyes widened.

“We went at your pace before, and now we’re gonna go at my pace. It’s only fair.” Mustafa leaned in to kiss him, smiling softly. “So hush.”

Neville couldn't believe that he'd just been told off like that. He was about to make a comment about how Mustafa needed to learn his place, that this was the King he was talking to, but Mustafa had suddenly entered him, causing a moan to escape instead. Whatever insults he had planned on unleashing would have to wait until later.

Mustafa adjusted himself so that he was fully seated in him, and he began to slowly thrust in and out. Neville hands rose to rest on his shoulders, squeezing them tighter at each jolt of pleasure he felt. “H-Harder.” He breathed out before internally scolding himself for speaking again so soon after he’d been told not to.

That didn’t matter, apparently, as Mustafa did as Neville wished and thrust harder into him, causing Neville to groan and dig his fingernails into his shoulders. He bent down to whisper in Neville’s ear, biting his earlobe as he said, “I can let that one slide.”

“Fuck…” Neville was feeling a bit overwhelmed. It had been far too damn long since anyone had done this to him last, and something about the fact that Mustafa was the one doing it excited him far more than it probably should have.

He continued with this pace, moving from Neville’s ear to his lips and kissing him passionately. “What’s gotten into you, Ali?... Huh?” Neville said once he’d pulled away, desperately trying to remain in control in some capacity despite being completely at Mustafa’s mercy, growing closer and closer to coming with each thrust. “You never struck me as the type to be rough…”

Mustafa smiled down at him and gave him another kiss. “I’m usually not.” A hand snaked down and grabbed hold of Neville’s length, and he began to slowly jerk him off. “But I’m dealing with the King here. I had to change things up.”

“Jesus, Ali…” Neville moaned, letting out a few small whimpers as both Mustafa’s hand and thrusts sped up. At that moment, one of his thrusts hit that one spot, and he yelled, clenching around him before he finally came, his head thrown back as he spilled all over his hand. He could feel that his face was hot, and he slowly let out a breath once he had finished.

It was a few short moments afterwards that Mustafa came as well with a loud groan, the sound of it pleasing Neville for the second time that night. He rested his head down on his chest, taking a moment to gather himself before he pulling out.

Neville watched as he cleaned off his hand, waiting until he was finished and lying next to him to say, “You’re good, Prince… Very good. If I’d known, I would have spoken to you sooner.”

Mustafa snorted and placed a kiss on the tip of Neville’s nose. “High praise from the King. I’m honored.”

The time was now 5 AM. The room was gradually growing brighter, and Neville was wide awake. He knew that he still had some time before he needed to get up, but he couldn’t bring himself to fall back asleep. He was too damn confused.

What in the world had come over him? The night was like any other and had nothing particularly special about it. What was it about Mustafa admitting that he liked being submitted that caused Neville to jump on him like that, that led to the two of them messing around in his hotel room? It was amazing, honestly, just how quickly it all happened.

Neville looked over to his right, spotting Mustafa sleeping peacefully and facing away from him. Careful not to wake him, Neville reached over a hand, gently moving some of his hair away and getting a good look at his neck and the marks he’d left. Those plus the scratches on his shoulders almost made Neville feel bad. He’s gonna have to deal with those later. He thought. I wonder if anyone will give him shit for it… Hope they don’t pester him too much.

Neville looked away and back towards the ceiling. Why did he suddenly care so much about him? Just a few hours ago, Neville couldn’t stand him. He’d been submitting him in front of thousands of people in attendance and millions watching from home. Now, after they’d spent a night together, he found himself concerned, hoping that people would just leave Mustafa the hell alone for once instead of picking on him and asking for details. This is fucking nuts… What does it mean…

Then, Neville heard the sounds of Mustafa mumbling to himself in his sleep. He watched as he tossed over, his head resting on Neville’s shoulder and an arm on his chest. Neville’s eyebrows rose as the gesture, and for a moment he was stumped on what to do. Should he try to move him and risk waking him up? What if a suddenly awakened Mustafa was rude and nothing like his usual easygoing self?

After staring at his sleeping face for a little while, however, Neville decided against doing that. He found himself smirking softly, and he brought a hand up to his hair, stroking it lightly as he shut his eyes and tried falling back asleep, arguably more comfortable now.

Whatever the fuck was going on, it could wait until later.

#neville #adrian neville #mustafa ali #205 live #wwe fanfiction #jess.txt #also if by some chance you ever wanna be tagged in any of my fics just lemme kno!!

6 notes · View notes