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hidden-otaku-stuff · 4 years

Text

The Return

tw: mentions of alcohol

Word count: 950

Pairing: Alpha Iwaizumi x Omega Reader

Genre: Angst

AN: Omg, this was going to be more of the implicit sex route, but damn i’m feeling angsty today sorry.

You were startled awake by the thunderous pounding on your door. A soft whimper left you as you buried your head under your covers, hoping that the noise would go away. The sound of a familiar voice had you shooting out of your sheets and slipping on the hardwood as you approached your front door.

“Omega!” He called, head thudding against the door as he continued to pound against it with the side of his fist.

You quickly flip the latches, unlocking the door and opening it. On the other side of the door was Iwaizumi. “Finally!” He stumbles in, grabbing onto your arm. “I’ve been waiting for so long.”

“Iwaizumi,” you stammer, reeling as the scent of alcohol fills your senses. He must have drank a lot because the bitter tang covered up Iwaizumi’s pine scent.

He flinched, eyes creasing. “Call me Hajime. Please.”

Your Omega was at a loss. On one hand, you wanted to reach out and comfort Iwaizumi. On the other, this was the Alpha that had broken your heart. “Iwaizumi,” you repeated, swallowing. “What are you doing here?”

Iwaizumi’s brows furrowed, swallowing thickly before attempting to straighten himself. “Every day, all I can think about is making you my mate and filling you with pups and it pisses me off.” His voice broke as the well of tears overflowed. “Please, come back to me.” His grip on your arm tightened, causing you to wince - not that Iwaizumi noticed in his drunken stupor.

You shake your head, forcibly removing his hand from your wrist. “You left me, Iwaizumi. You promised me that you would come back, that you wanted this to work-out.” Your heart was a mess. He had left you last year to pursue an internship in the states. He promised that once he finished his program, he would be back by your side and you promised to wait for him. Unfortunately, you ended up running into Mattsun and Makki at a local izakaya and found out the startling news: Iwaizumi had moved on.

“Hey is that (Name)?” Makki asked, nudging Mattsun in the stomach as he looked up from his mug of beer.

“Oh it is.” Mattsun’s eyebrows quipped up. “Let’s go say hi.”

The two Alphas stood, making their way towards you as you laughed with some of your Omega coworkers. “(Name)!”

You turn, grinning at the duo. “Hi guys! I haven’t seen you guys since we saw Iwaizumi off.”

“How have you been?”

“Still single?”

“Wait what?” You giggle. “You know I’m not single, Mattsun. I’m waiting for Haji.”

The males exchanged looks. “What?”

You tilt your head at them. “Haji and I made a promise. When he left, we’d wait until we could be together again.”

Makki chewed on his bottom lip. Mattsun’s expression softened as he gently grasped onto your shoulder. “(Name), I don’t know how to tell you this, but Iwa’s courting someone else now.”

At that moment, your heart lurched.

“You-You’re lying. Hajime would never.”

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry, but we have no reason to lie to you.” Makki said with a gentle frown. “I’m sorry you had to hear it from us.”

You reached for your phone, opening InstaFeed to see if there was any new posts from Iwaizumi only for you to find yourself blocked from his profile. “H-he blocked me.”

“I’m sorry ‘Mega. You deserve better than this.”

You looked between your coworkers and the Alphas. “I have to go,” you choked out, throwing down money and running out.

It had taken years for you to repair your heart. Though was it really repaired if you stood there in this moment desperately wanting to envelope yourself in the familiar pine? That with that one touch from Iwaizumi, you felt like putty in his hands?

You shook your head, taking a deep breath. “Go find that other Omega, Iwaizumi. I’m not waiting around for you, and I will not be second-best.”

Iwaizumi let out a soft whine, hurt bubbling in his eyes. “There will never be anyone better than you. You’re not second-best.”

“You chose someone else.” Glancing up, you checked the clock in the kitchen. “It’s 2 AM, why are you in my apartment?”

“I missed you.”

At this, you scoff. “You had three years to miss me. You can’t just suddenly decide to appear in my life and tell me that you want me back.”

Iwaizumi collapsed onto your couch, burying his face into his palms as his chest shook with haggard breaths. He was mumbling something under his breath. Leaning down, you caught him repeating, “I’m so sorry” over and over again.

You sigh, crouching in that position. “C’mon, spend the night. We’ll talk about it in the morning while you’re sober, ok?”

Iwaizumi shook his head, forcing himself back onto his feet. “No, it’s fine. You’re right. I have no right to continually hurt you.”

Rolling your eyes, you shoved the Alpha. “You either sleep on the couch and we’ll talk in the morning, or you’ll sleep in my bed and I’ll sleep on the couch so you can’t sneak out.”

Guilt washed over Iwaizumi as he took in your tired expression. He shook his head. “You can sleep in your bed. I’ll stay on the couch. I promise I won’t leave until we talk in the morning.”

You hum, grabbing spare blankets from the ottoman. “Be sure to keep your promise this time, ok?”

He gave you a weak smile. “I know it’ll take you a while to trust me again, but I’d rather live in a world with you in my life than one without you.”

“We’ll see about that in the morning. Good night, Iwa.”

“Good night, (Name).”

****

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thinkyoureholy · 5 years

Text

A Woman Scorned [11]

[Warning! There is smut in this chapter!!!!]

Pairing : Kim Jongin / Reader

Genre : Angst, Mature Language, Fluff, Smut

Words : 4k

Pt 1. Pt 2. Pt 3. Pt 4. Pt 5. Pt 6. Pt 7. Pt 8. Pt 9. Pt 10. Pt 11. Pt 12. Pt 13. Epilogue.

-Y/N’s P.O.V-

I walked briskly to my car, the tears of sadness that had been falling from my eyes had turned into tears of anger. As soon as I got in my car I let out a scream of frustration, a sob getting stuck in my throat as I hit the steering wheel. How dare he...how fucking dare he have the audacity to say that to me? Me? A whore, a slut? What gave him the fucking right? I was no longer his to claim, I was no longer bound by the restraints of our relationship that had gone to shit. Our relationship was a thing of the past so he had no right to barge in there and- I cut my thoughts off as I let out another scream of pure anger, angrily turning on the car and pulling out of the parking lot. My hands had a death grip on the steering wheel, my fingers turning white at the tight grip I had on the wheel.

Once home I got out of my car, slamming the car door and consequently the front door to the house as well. My pent up anger was starting to eat me up and I knew if I didn’t do something about it things were going to get ugly and they were going to get ugly fast. I wandered over to the kitchen, throwing my bag onto the couch. Just as I reached over to grab a cup from the cupboards my phone started ringing. I reached into my pocket, answering it without even checking who was calling.

“Is this your fucked up way on getting revenge!”

I pulled the phone away from my ear, wincing at the sound of her voice coming through the speaker. I looked at the number to see it didn't have caller ID but there was no way I'd ever mistake her voice with someone else's. I sighed heavily, leaning back against the counter as I brought the phone back up to my ear.

“What the hell are you even talking about?” I asked simply to entertain her, not actually caring about anything she had to say.

“Your fucking dog beat the hell out of my Jongin!” Bora yelled, “Y'know I always thought you'd never use violence but I guess I was wrong.”

“Bora, what the fuck-”

“Junmyeon! Your fucking boy toy or whatever he is to you I don't really care!” She yelled, clearly frustrated over how clueless I was.

As she was yelling I heard the front door open, Junmyeon walking in and as soon as I saw him I realized why she was so worked up.

“You know I can press charges against that asshole right? I don't give a fuck if he's a lawyer or not! He can't just go around-”

“Oh my God just shut up! Your voice is single handedly the worst fucking thing I've ever heard, fuck, just shut up for once in your miserable life!” I yelled, my annoyance rising the longer I heard her talk.

Before she could get another word out I hung up on her. I looked down at the phone in my hand for a few seconds before setting it down and made my way over to Junmyeon who had plopped down on the couch. I noticed the bruise forming on his jaw and his split lip first, taking in how his right hand was covered with blood, whether it was his or not I couldn't tell. Seeing him like this I could only imagine how he left Jongin. I set my jaw, crossing my arms over my chest as I kicked at his leg, getting him to look at me.

“Is it true you got into a fight with Jongin?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

Junmyeon scoffed, dabbing the cut on his lip with a napkin that was on the coffee table, “I'm so tired of hearing his fucking name.”

“Answer me.”

Junmyeon balled the napkin up in his hand before roughly throwing it back onto the table, “I did and what about it?”

“Dammit Junmyeon why?”

“You know damn well why.”

I sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of my nose, “No I don't Myeon. Why the hell would you get into it with him? He's not worth it.”

“You know what he's not...but you are.” He said, rising from his seat and staring right into my eyes, “I'm done. I'm so fucking done with all of this. I hate how he still gets to you. I hate how much his words and actions still affect you. I'm no fucking idiot I know everything so don't even try and deny it.”

I poked my tongue against the inside of my cheek, hating how right he was. I was annoyed that he let Jongin get inside his head but I was more annoyed at the fact he was throwing all of this in my face, like I already didn't know that. Doesn't he think that I hate that about myself too? I hate it so much that I want to bring the son of a bitch that makes me like this down but I won't have anyone doing it for me.

“I did this for you. I beat his pretty little face in because of the crap he said to you back there but you have the gall to ask why? He made you cry tears he doesn't even deserve yet you're still here asking me why?”

“No. You did this for you,” I said in a low voice, seeing a frown beginning to form on his face, “If it truly was for me you would've let what he said go over your head and let me handle-”

“Handle what?! You marched out of that office with tears streaming down your face. Tell me, exactly how you were going to handle it?! Huh?! I'm all ears so fucking tell me!” He yelled, cutting me office, his anger from before returning, “I wasn't about to let him get away with the shit he said.”

“Fucking hell Junmyeon this isn't your fight!” I shouted, my patience wearing thin, “I won't have you fighting my battles for me!”

“No it’s not my fight but you made it my fight the moment you asked me to become the company's financial advisor! Why the hell do you think I dropped everything to go there, to be there for you, huh? Ask yourself why I beat the shit out of that bastard for saying those things to you.”

He exhaled deeply, all the energy seeming to leave him as he took a few steps away from me. His words had rendered me speechless, my mind going blank. At seeing that he wasn't going to get a response he let out a scoff, the corners of his lips curling upwards for a few seconds before he bit his bottom lip quite harshly. He said nothing else as he turned on his heel and walked out of the living room. It felt like my feet were glued to the floor, hearing his footsteps as he left. I jumped slightly at hearing the front door slam shut, the sound echoing through the house. I was stuck in this stupor for a few seconds until my anger hit me once again. Today just wasn’t my day. First Jongin opened his damn mouth and drew tears from me he certainly didn’t deserve and now Junmyeon was telling me to ask myself a question I don’t know the answer to. I set my jaw as I thought how infuriating everyone was being today.

Turning on my heel I made my way over to the counter, grabbing the bottle of tequila Minseok had there and opening it. I was planning on downing it in its entirely, thinking I’d replace it later for him. I took a long swig from the bottle, ignoring the burning in my throat as it went down. I grimaced as I plopped down onto the couch, kicking the coffee table back to try and get rid of the last remaining bits of anger that was still left in my system. I tried to clear my mind, refusing to think about what had happened in the day as I drank away. I was almost down with the bottle when I heard the front door open. I threw my head back, a lazy smile spreading across my face as I called out to Minseok. I got no response and now that I had time to think about it I remembered Minseok texting me earlier this morning that he’d be down with his parents for the weekend. Before I could get alarmed by the idea of it being an intruder I saw Junmyeon walking into my line of sight. I said nothing but raised the bottle in my hand towards him but he simply snatched it out of my hand. I didn’t have the energy to yell at him as I watched him look down at the nearly empty bottle.

“I was gone maybe ten minutes and you’ve already downed this entire bottle of tequila?” He asked, clearly irritated.

I let out a soft chuckle, following his figure as he sat down on the coffee table in front of me, “That is false...it still has about half a cup left in it.”

He sighed heavily, leaning forward as he rested his elbows on his thighs, “You’re drunk,” He said after silently observing me for a few seconds.

“I am indeed my dear Junmyeon,” I said with a grin, my words slightly slurred.

He shook his head, reaching over to grab my hand to get me to stand up, probably wanting to lead me to my room. I slapped his hand away from me, startling him. He stared at me with a frown on his face, my eyes not meeting his. I looked down at my fingers, idly messing with them as I ground my teeth together.

“Why’d you come back? You obviously had nothing more to say…” I trailed off in a low voice before adding under my breath, “Asking me such a stupid question…”

I scoffed to myself, keeping my eyes from looking at him as I entertained myself to staring a the tv on the far wall. I heard nothing from him for a few seconds. If I hadn’t known better I would’ve thought that he up and left but I could hear is breathing perfectly, even in my drunken state I was perfectly aware of everything that was going on around me.

“No...but I didn’t want to go home knowing you were angry...at me no less.” He said after a moment of silence, his tone soft.

“Then you shouldn’t have picked that damn fight with Jongin.”

Soon after that sentence left my mouth I heard a scoff leave his, a dry and humorless laugh following, “Don’t tell me you’re actually worried about him? After everything he’s said and done?”

“I’m not but that wasn’t your fight to pick.”

“And what would you have had me do, huh? Tell me what I should’ve done after hearing the shit he said to you in your office. You know I had half a mind to actually kill that bastard-”

“Fucking hell Junmyeon you should’ve just walked away like I did!” I yelled, cutting him off.

At my outburst it seemed like the feelings he was holding back reared their ugly heads as he stood up abruptly, kicking at the coffee table and knocking it over on its side, beginning to pace in front of me, “In tears like you did?! Is that what you wanted?! For me to walk out of that room with my head down and tail between my legs?! Fuck. That. I gave that stuck up little prick the beating he deserved and I did it for you!”

“I never asked you to-”

“You didn’t have to! I would’ve beat the hell out of any son of a bitch that even thought to speak to you the way he did.” He said, red in the face as he stared down at me on the couch.

I couldn’t help but hate the feeling of being looked down on, figuratively and literally so I stood up so I was eye level with him. I opened my mouth but before I could get a word out I felt his hands on the side of my face before feeling his lips on mine. The fight that I had in me vanished the moment I felt his lips captured my own in a hungry kiss. I reached a hand up to grab onto his wrist tightly, using my other hand to pull him in closer by his shirt. Instead of just stepping closer to me he had me take one back, the back of my knees hitting the edge of the couch. He brought one of his hands down to wrap around my waist, the other to stop himself from completely letting his entire weight fall on top of me as we fell back onto the couch. His lips didn’t leave mine for a second as his hands started to roam my body. With his knee in between my legs I couldn’t help but grind onto his leg. He moaned softly into my mouth, his hands pinning my hips to the couch as he finally pulled away from the kiss. He hovered over me, his eyes staring into mine intently, as if looking for something in them.

“What are you doing?” I asked, panting slightly.

He smiled softly, “Looking to see if this is something we both want and not just to let out the pent up anger we have in our systems. I also wanted to see if you had sobered up enough to want this…”

I leaned up, pulling him down the rest of the way by wrapping my arms around his shoulders. He kissed me back just as eagerly, his fingers playing with the hem of my shirt, “Just finish what you started in my office.”

He grinned at that, his fingers already beginning to hike up my skirt, “Yes ma’am.”

And with that he reconnected his lips with mine but only for a few seconds before he started peppering kisses onto the side of my jaw, his lips finding the soft spot on my neck rather quickly. I was so engrossed in the feeling of his lips I wasn’t aware of the way his fingers had brushed against my thighs and then again later but much higher up until I felt his fingers press lightly on my clit over my underwear. I moaned at the feeling, my fingers digging into his clothed back. I felt him smirk against my skin, his lips not letting up on their assault on my neck as he moved my underwear to the side, his fingers running up and down my folds. I whined as I ground my hips against his fingers, wanting him to stop his teasing. Just as I was going to speak my thoughts aloud he pushed one of his fingers into my entrance. I arched my back at the feeling, a loud moan leaving my lips at having him push in a second fingers no more than a few seconds after the first one. He kept still but feeling his fingers inside of me was driving me crazy. I brought my hands up to his hair, pulling him up so his face was right above mine.

“Move.”

He let a smirk grace his features, leaning down to capture my lips with his when I felt him pull his fingers out slowly, before pushing back in. He kept this up for a few seconds, my juices covering his fingers and probably his whole hand by now. I could tell just how wet I was by the sound, his fingers finally picking up speed. I arched my back into him, feeling his bulge pressed up against my thigh. Without much thought I brought my hand down to cup him gently, a groan leaving his lips. He bit down on my lips, his fingers moving fast when his thumb joined them, drawing circles onto my clit. I gasped against his lips, reaching down to grab his arm with both my hands as I pulled away from the kiss.

“I’m--I’m gonna cum, fuck.” I moaned out, throwing my head back at the knot that had been tightening in my stomach just about ready to snap.

I felt myself getting closer and closer to the edge until I finally let myself go. My orgasm hit me hard, my legs shaking as he kept moving his fingers in and out of me. It took awhile for my orgasm to subside and when it did he finally pulled his fingers out of me, bringing them up to his lips and sucking my juices off them as he stared directly into my eyes. I let out a whine at seeing that, pushing him back and off of me. He seemed confused for a second but soon caught on when I began taking off my clothes in front of him. He didn’t waste another second in stripping himself of his own clothes. Once my bras was off and I saw him slip on a condom I sat on his lap, my lips immediately attacking his neck. He groan low in his throat at having me suck on the sensitive skin, his hands gripping the flesh of my thighs tightly when he felt my tongue soothe the skin after sucking on it so harshly. Without much thought I reached down in between us, lifting my hips from his for a second, aligning his member with my entrance. I sunk down on him with a moan, a moan of his own leaving his lips. I didn’t even allow myself time to adjust to him before I started moving. I let out a shaking breath at the feeling of him inside me. I had been so long since I had been with anyone and this felt like pure ecstasy.

“Holy shit…” Junmyeon let out in a shaky breath, his fingers digging into my thighs harder than before.

I let a smile spread across my face for a second before burying my face into his neck when I felt him hook his arms underneath my thighs and began thrust up into me. My nails dug into his shoulders, clawing across his back as I tried to muffle my moans as they got increasingly louder but to no avail. I don’t know for how long we were at it but I knew it was for quite some time, if my fatigue had anything to say about it.

I walked down the hallway of the building, opting out of wearing heels due to the activities I had participated in over the last few days. Junmyeon...had a hell of a lot of stamina and endurance but I wasn’t really complaining. Though going for as many rounds as we did I was left...a little sore. So heels were definitely out of the question this morning. Junmyeon unfortunately wasn’t able to come to work with me this morning since the director of his firm had called him early in the morning, saying he had some urgent business with him. As I walked to my office I could see Bora sitting at her desk, a knowing look in her eyes. I ignored the look entirely, going into my office and sitting down in my chair.

I hadn’t even been sitting for longer than a minute when Jongin entered the room. I kept an emotionless face as I watched him march over to me, noting the bruises on his jaw and over his eye barely beginning to heal. I only showed confusion when he slammed an envelope onto my desk. I looked down at it with furrowed brows, surprised to see that it was his letter of resignation.

“You’re quitting?”

“I’ve already cleared my office, all I needed was to give this to you. It’s what you wanted right? Now you can do whatever the hell you want with this damned company.” He snapped, his face clear with anger.

I set my jaw at the look in his eyes, remembering what he had said to me the Friday prior, “So instead of a fucking apology you chose to run away from me? Pathetic.”

“I was going to apologize, I wanted to fucking apologize but with what I heard that same night I decided to swallow my damn apology.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I heard you, the both of you.” He said, still being vague about everything.

When he saw that I wasn’t understanding anything he was saying he explained, “I looked through our documents, looking for your address so I could apologize to you. When I found your address I went there immediately but when I got there-” He cut himself off, his teeth grinding against each other as he tried to reel in his rage, “I heard everything, his moans...your moans. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that you and Junmyeon were fucking.”

I couldn’t help but laugh once he was done, throwing my head back as I was thrown into hysterics. It took a minute for me to finally calm down and when I did I could see how appalled he was to have me laughing at him after what he had just revealed to me.

“And that’s why you’re quitting? Just how much more pathetic can you get seriously?” I asked through a grin before I let my eyes scan his figure, a scoff falling from my mouth, “And to think...I once loved a man like you...it’s laughable really.”

“You’ve really turned into a stone cold bitch haven’t you?”

I grinned at his words, resting my elbows on my desk as I leaned forward, his letter of resignation in my hands, “Well as much as I’d love to see you out of a job…” I trailed off before tearing the envelope and the letter inside to pieces, “I can’t allow you to leave...at least not until I say so,” I said, throwing the torn pieces to his feet.

He had what I could only assume was a disgusted look on his face, losing his footing as he stumbled back, “Isn’t this what you fucking wanted? You wanted me gone right? You wanted my money, everything I ever had. So take it, I have no need for it anymore.”

I said nothing as I watched him pull out his wallet from his back pocket, pulling out the bills his was carrying in cash before throwing them at me. They simply fell to the floor in front of him as I stared at the money, uninterested.

“Take it, take it all. I’m done playing your fucked up game. I’m done being pushed around by you with the hope that you’d maybe, someday forgive me-”

“Don’t hold your breath, that’ll never happen.”

He let out a dry laugh, the smile on his face not reaching his eyes, “Oh, I know. I know that more than ever now so just take it all. My money, this cursed company, all of it...but I’m no longer gonna be around to fucking see it.”

The was the last he said before turning on his heel and leaving my office, slamming the door shut before him. Once he was gone I sat back in my chair, frowning at what I had just witnessed. The only thought that came to mind was...how was I going to go through with what I had planned for him if he was no longer around? The longer I thought about it the faster the wheels in my head turned. I grinned at the new plan I had formulated, a giddy look crossing my features.

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brawlingdiscontent · 5 years

Text

terrible with the brightness of gold, 6/6

(cherik fic, viking au, subtle a/b/o)

(part 1 here, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5)

Thanks so much for your patience, everyone! I’m not dead!! Here’s the last part for this section.

Warning in this part for discussion of child murder, some dub con elements, and threats of self harm.

----------

Throughout the rest of dinner, Charles is left alone to process what has just happened and what it means for him. On the edges of his awareness, a rowdy song rings through the hall and inebriated Vikings toast their victory.

It’s clear from Lehnsherr’s announcement that he plans to make England his base and home, even if he intends to continue his conquering outwards. It’s an unprecedented move and Charles can’t begin to account for it; but, regardless of the cause, he must readjust his plans for these new circumstances.

Around him the torches burn low once more, and this time aren’t replaced. The drunken singing and reveling tapers off and the hall slowly begins to empty of its occupants.

“Come.”

Charles looks up to find Lehnsherr’s hand filling his field of vision, once again extended towards him. It seems that most of their interactions thus far have consisted of the other commanding him about.

He ignores the gesture, and stands on his own, figuring his rudeness can this once be excused.

As they leave the hall, Charles following behind Lehnsherr, he doesn’t make eye contact with any of its denizens. He doesn’t want to know what he will find in their gazes.

Fortunately most of the remaining men are too drunk to take notice of them.

To his surprise, rather than heading back to the keep he finds himself being led towards the city gates. Lehnsherr, then, is not setting up in the palace, at least not yet. He wonders if this is a decision moved by habit or a sign of lingering mistrust: the keep, while secure, could well be breached from within the city.

At least he gets his own horse this time.

The moon is bright, and its light is enough to guide their way back to the camp.

They are alone, and for a split second Charles thinks of running. He could turn his horse around, break off in another direction. He’s a good rider, and it would take him only a few minutes to reach the woods: a terrain with which he is familiar and Lehnsherr and his men are not. But it’s just a fleeting thought. What keeps him here is not Viking force, but his loyalty to his people, his sense of duty, and the mission he has yet to accomplish.

He re-adjusts his grip on the reins and moves on.

He pays little attention to his surroundings as he rides. Horses’ eyes are keen and can see well in the dark; he trusts his mount to carry him safely. Instead, Charles considers the fact that he is once again facing marriage to a stranger.

He’s survived it once, and he can do it again. He and his husband of fourteen years had never been particularly fond of each other, but all things considered Sebastian hadn't treated him badly. He was never overly cruel (to Charles, at least). The Black King had recognized in him an asset; a keen mind, an aptitude for statecraft, and had taken care to shape his young spouse accordingly, treating him as well as any useful object.

They had had what might be called a workable relationship--and perhaps in time something like that could be crafted again. But right now, that’s of little importance. Right now all that matters is how this new development can help him to complete his mission: namely that Lehnsherr has inadvertently given Charles a position of strength from which to bargain.

The camp is still bustling but slowing down when they arrive back. Charles dismounts and hands his reigns over to a figure in the waiting party--a boy, perhaps a page of some sort. He looks very young to be a part of a Viking war party, and Charles feels a pang of sympathy.

As Lehnsherr leads the way back through the camp, they are flanked by several men. Some carry torches, others seem to be reporting back to Lehnsherr, exchanging tidbits of information in low tones. Occasionally he sees them look over to him, a half-step behind, with curious glances.

They weren’t at the banquet, of course. They wouldn’t yet know.

They weave through the tents and presently stop outside what Charles is surprised to recognize as the tent from this morning. It was so plain, unlived-in that he would never have imagined it belonged to Lehnsherr--though maybe if he had he might have seen some of this coming.

Lehnsherr detaches the heavy train of his cloak, sweeping it off his shoulders and handing it over to an attendant. He’s giving instructions to someone else, but Charles doesn’t really pay attention. He doesn’t speak Danish, anyway.

At last they begin to disperse, exchanging a short phrase that could be ‘good night’. Lehnsherr lifts the tent flap and gestures for Charles to walk in ahead of him. He goes.

After the evening’s events, this at least is not unexpected. There are all sorts of reasons for Lehnsherr to want to bed him: to bind their engagement, to stake his claim in the eyes of his men—plus the fact that Lehnsherr has been fighting without omega company for quite some time. He imagines it’s been many nights since the man had someone to warm his bed. And Norsemen have a more relaxed approach to the vows of marriage, not requiring them in order to sanctify their conduct.

“I’ve no intention of hurting you,” Lehnsherr says shortly and gruffly, perhaps misattributing Charles’ silence to fear. “We Danes respect our spouses.” He's already started stripping off his battle layers. Putting aside the thick, leather gambeson, unlacing his vambraces. Someone has left several candles burning, bathing the tent in a gentle glow.

It is this ridiculous assertion that finally pulls Charles out of his stupor.

“Oh really?” he huffs, “Do you respect them enough to ask their consent to marry them?”

Lehnsherr’s head snaps back towards him—perhaps surprised by this spark of energy after his relative docility since dinner.

He levels Charles with a measured gaze before responding. “There wasn't enough time to consult you, and there seemed little point, knowing you could hardly refuse.” He leaves the final part unsaid; that their last interaction hadn’t left him in the mood to confer. He goes back to tending to his garments, folding them and piling them neatly, and finally, unbuckling his sword and laying it to the side.

“So which am I, then? Your prisoner or your spouse? As I assure you, I won’t be both.”

Lehnsherr huffs a laugh as he turns back to Charles, now wearing just a light tunic. “You’re quick, I’ll give you that.”

And then those hands are on him, grasping Charles and pulling him in closer to capture his mouth in a kiss—

Charles firmly pushes him back. Straight to it, then. “You’ve still not answered my question, Your Grace.”

Rather than reply, Lehnsherr crowds forward once more, the corners of his mouth curling up into a smirk, carrying this interaction with an infuriating air of humour. As though Charles poses no threat. Charles backs away as Lehnsherr advances. His foot seems to catch on the edge of the piled furs that make up the sleeping place, and he stumbles, falling back onto their cushioned surface.

With a hungry look, Lehnsherr prowls over him.

And then he freezes.

“Not a sound to your men,” Charles quietly directs, his boot knife resting lightly across the back of the other man’s neck, his heart beating wildly.

The sharp edge of the blade has fixed them close together, their breath mingling and sharing the same space.

“You would attempt to kill me in a camp surrounded by my own men?” Lehnsherr’s voice is threaded with amusement, but he’s being carefully still, the bite of the knife discouraging him from taking any action.

“Perhaps I would. Perhaps my only goal is your death, consequences be damned.”

“Then I would already be dead and we wouldn't be talking. No.” appraising eyes sweep over his face, intent. “You’re too clever for that.”

Charles pushes down the flush of pleasure at the rarity having his intelligence recognized as vastly inappropriate. Besides, the other didn’t intend it as a compliment, merely an observation—and he is perfectly right. Even if Charles managed to kill Lehnsherr, the guards outside could quickly gut him, and then would feel free to exact a bloody retribution on the city and all of its inhabitants, something that Charles has already shown his unwillingness to risk.

He craves the clarity of distance.

“Very well, then; how about this? You want me as your consort to legitimize your claim to the throne of England.” He says it as statement but there’s an element of question in it that is resolved when Lehnsherr doesn't blink nor challenge his words. Feeling some satisfaction at his powers of assessment, he continues: “I will play along, provide you with an English heir, even, but first you must give me what I want.”

“And what might that be?” Lehnsherr asks indulgently

“My children. You must promise to spare their lives.”

He wishes they were further apart for this conversation, not pressed close in a parody of intimacy. Rather than the proximity of their bodies, he focuses on the other’s eyes, trying to discern Lehnsherr’s thoughts from his gaze.

“What makes you think they're in any danger?”

Lehnsherr’s trying to rile him. “They’re the last legitimate heirs to the throne, thus their claims far exceed your own. I understand your situation: in order to stabilize your own position, you’ll seek eliminate any threats, and I’m not naïve enough to assume our union will protect them.”

The other’s face takes on a thoughtful, more serious expression than his earlier amusement.

“Say that I do have plans to harm your children. What might induce me to spare them? As the greatest threats to my rule, surely it’s in my best interests to remove them.”

Charles senses this is more an intellectual exercise than a direct threat--at least for the moment--but just hearing the words inflames him. The knife digs in just a little more, drawing a hiss from Lehnsherr.

“They’re children. They have no plots or schemes, no interest in ruling anything. I’ve already sent them to Normandy, as no doubt your spies have informed you. They will stay there, you have my word, far from here and no threat to you, as long as you give me yours that you will not send assassins after them.”

“So I let Shaw’s vipers wriggle free? To sting another day.” His face is impassive, but there’s a new intensity underlying Lehnsherr’s words. The difference on the surface is barely perceptible, but Charles senses that he is betraying a depth of feeling long hidden.

“My children are not vipers! I protected them from that. Why would I encourage ambition in them when, so far down the line of succession, it would only get them killed? Sebastian saw little reason to shape them to his will, the spare children of his political second marriage. I remained useful to him, and he left them alone. It was our agreement. Of course he could never have imagined that in just a few months of battle you would slaughter all of their siblings.” Or that Charles would be here, lying in bed with their killer. “Would you have the blood of innocents on your hands? Even if they had inherited the predation of their sire, they care for me deeply. They would never attack here if they thought it might endanger my life. Wasn’t that in your thoughts when you arranged this marriage? Besides, I would hate to think that a warrior of your supposed might is afraid of a couple of children.”

This last dig, a transparent attempt to goad the other man, draws a hint of a smile to his now mollified lips.

“Well, your Highness, even if I were willing to concede to your wishes, tell me, what reason do I have to do so? You have no leverage when my death would bring you nothing.” He leans back just a bit more as though to emphasize his point, pushing his throat a little further into the blade.

“That’s where you’re wrong.”

Lehnsherr’s eyebrows raise. “Then, please, enlighten me.” His flippancy and distraction creates Charles’ advantage. He puts sudden pressure on Lehnsherr’s throat and rolls them, turning until their positions are reversed, and he straddles Lehnsherr. He lets the other’s faint look of surprise fuel his next words.

“I suppose you imagined that I would quietly acquiesce to your plans, for fear of you, or for the privilege of remaining royal consort---or perhaps because I’m simply too meek and too pliable to do otherwise. But I would do anything for my children. Even die.”

Perfectly calm now, he pulls the knife back from Lehnsherr’s throat and moves it to his own, pressing down against the skin. The other’s eyes widen slightly, revealing, for the first time that evening, a hint of uncertainty.

Lehnsherr tries to sit up, pushing himself up on his hands. Charles holds out his other hand in a stalling gesture and presses the knife further into his own throat. A bead of blood wells up where they meet, the sting of it sharpening his thoughts.

“Stop.”

There’s not force behind the word, and yet Lehnsherr lowers himself back down.

One corner of Charles’ mouth twists up in a grim smile.

“As you've so astutely pointed out, I’m not a fool— and you’ve revealed a vulnerability in your plan. You need me to legitimize your claim on England. But it would be only too easy to turn this knife on myself. And how would that look?—Erik the Conqueror ruthlessly murders the defenceless omega consort of his dead rival—or, better still, his own consort (thank you for that). With the span of your kingdom, you can’t afford the resulting upset; your men can’t be everywhere. Not to mention that my family in Normandy would hear of my death and feel obligated to seek vengeance against the perpetrator.”

Lehnsherr is watching him avidly, now, his eyes bright with something unnamable.

“So the way I see it you have two options: spare the lives of my children and gain a compliant, strategically advantageous spouse; or refuse my bargain and live with the consequences.”

The warlord seems to consider his words.

“Done.”

“Done?” For all that he has been angling for this outcome, it feels unreal to hear it spoken aloud.

“I agree to your terms, Charles of Normandy.”

The wave of emotion that flows through him is strong—but Charles has the presence of mind to stutter-- “Swear it.” -- before he lets it carry him away.

“I swear to you on my sister’s grave that in exchange for your cooperation your children will come to no harm from me--nor anyone in my service.”

Charies’ eyes flicker over his face, searching for signs of veracity, sincerity; and Lehnsherr returns the gaze in an in entirely different mood, expression rapt, a bright, almost eager look in his eyes.

Charles finds no signs of deception and in the resulting wave of relief, relaxes his arm marginally--and Lehnsherr presses this advantage.

He grabs Charles’ wrist, pries knife from his grasp and tosses it to the side. In one fluid motion he flips them back over, pushes Charles back into the furs and leans forward to take his mouth in a kiss.

Lehnsherr kisses him roughly, like a man used to taking what he wants; but there's another layer underneath, a tenderness that undoes him. It sends hot streaks of want slithering up his spine. He grabs at Lehnsherr’s shoulders, shocked, torn between pulling him closer and pushing him away.

For a brief moment, Charles lets himself reciprocate, gives in to his surprising desire. He breaks from his paralysis and returns the kiss, pushing back against Lehnsherr and matching his fervour.

And then, using surprise to his benefit, he pushes up one of his knees and shoves Lehnsherr off of him with all of his strength.

While Lehnsherr is momentarily stunned, collapsed on his side and fallen off the edge of the furs, he snatches up his knife from the ground, grabs a thick blanket from the pile, and removes himself to the farthest corner of the tent.

“We’ll wait until we’re married,” he says.

The words suggest a firmness that doesn’t quite make it to his voice, as he tries to ignore his racing pulse, hide how he’s affected.

When no response is forthcoming, he looks back over to Lehnsherr and finds him still stunned, looking vaguely winded. And then he can’t help it--a laugh bubbles up out of him, borne of relief and vaguely hysterical. Perhaps his thrusting knee had brushed some sensitive areas.

“Glad we could come to an agreement.”

He half-expects Lehnsherr to come after him, like a brute; but when the other finally moves it is just to blow out the candles, plunging the tent into darkness.

When Charles works up the courage to look back over, he sees that Lehnsherr has turned away to face the tent wall, seemingly committed to sleep.

He can hardly believe it.

He has done it all, rescued his people, preserved the lives of his children. Everything that haunted his nightmares, that had kept him awake for days on end, has been resolved.

He breathes out.

And then, in a tent in the middle of the Viking camp, surrounded by his enemies on all sides, he at last falls into a deep and dreamless sleep.

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

Thanks all for following! This fic started with just two images: Charles waiting on a beach, and threatening Erik with a knife in bed. I was inspired by the story of the 11th century King Cnut and Emma of Normandy.

After the death of her husband King Aethelred, Emma (his second wife) held a besieged London for months alone against the Danes. Less than a year after the city was surrendered to Cnut, they were married. There has been much speculation around the fact that, despite the custom of the time, and Cnut’s swift execution of other potential claimants to the throne, Emma’s two children from her first marriage were not killed but survived in exile.

I think my next step is editing this part bit more until I’m somewhat satisfied and uploading it to ao3, and then I may develop more in this series. I have some ideas of what to cover, for one, this fic didn’t really have time for Erik’s backstory/motivations, but let me know if there’s something that you’d like to see. :)

Thank you all for your amazing support and encouragement!!

#cherik #viking au #historical au #Erik Lehnsherr #Charles Xavier #X-men #subtle a/b/o #cherik fic #brawlingdiscontent #encomium carolis regis

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hunterartemis · 6 years

Text

Couch: pt-3- Finale (Dean X Reader)

Prompt: Once a Wise man said: if you can’t catch the culprit, you’ll just have to wait until the culprit catches himself.

Inspired by: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zRCYEkA0_q8

Read: Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3

warning: angst and drama alert. Introvert reader and dealing with emotion-issues.

“ _ , I called truce days ago, please talk to me...” Sam whined again from my back, as I looked away from him, placing my neck, fulcrumed on my palm. My elbow had been slipping slightly from the greasy bar counter, but withdrawing my hand would mean readjusting my position and most dreadfully, signalling Sam that I was ready to forgive him for the heinous things he did.

When I thought his futile apologies stopped, something cool and smooth touched my forearm. As I turned to look at it, it was a glass of (favorite drink) and Sam was slowly sliding it towards me. The entire attempt looked like an elementary school kid trying to pass an ‘I’m sorry’ note to another kid, whom he hit or pulled up her skirt in the playground, during lunchtime.

‘Non, Je n’vais plus te parler’ (no I won’t talk to you) I answered him firmly.

‘C’est suffisient, d’accord. Mais, Je t’en prie pardonne-moi.’ (Fair enough, okay. But please forgive me) Sam answered me with his hands together, ‘I would like to apologise on my knees, even if people think that I am proposing you which I’m not...’ he added with a mock distress that broke into smile as I finally loosened up.

‘Okay fine... But, never again!’ I warned him, ‘I don’t like to be teased, you know that don’t you!’

‘Je Sais madamoiselle, comme les alphabets anglais’ he smiled and patted my hair, ‘like English Alphabets... well, that wasn’t pretentious at all.’ I added sarcastically and chinked with his scotch glass, ‘I screwed up bad and I ran out of metaphors in French...’

We sat down with each other, and I looked at my drink, glowing as the light of the headlamp went through it. I bit my lips as the ice melted inside the liquid, and felt a light pressure on my hand that rested on the bar counter.

‘You really don’t wanna tell him _ ,’ Sam asked me softly, his hazel eyes compassionate and empathetic, as they always are, ‘think about it, you, I and Dean... we work on different paces, Dean likes things fast and frisky, and you and I, we like things... you know--’

‘Are you trying to tell me something Sam?’ I asked him seriously, I didn’t really like where it was going, not like I had planned to, ‘No... no, _ you know what we are and the similarities between us is too platonic, but I think you need to step out of your comfort zone for a while and man up and tell Dean you were the one whose voice he is dreaming about ever since.’

I did not speak, I was quiet and tried to listen to the voice of my mind, and strangely it’s not my outward silence that protested Sam, but my inner voice that wanted to agree with him.

‘You want that, don’t you?’ Sam said, ‘look, we have been with you long enough to make out what you are hiding beneath that poker-face of yours. You can’t hide it forever _ , you have to step out, tell him... I know Dean will never turn you down.’ he implored earnestly.

‘What if he does exactly what you say. What if he accepts me for who I am and someday, someplace, I become another Lisa Braeden... that he have to erase my mind and mourn for me forever? Do you think I want that in him?’ a lump in my throat made my voice hoarse, and I downed Sam’s whiskey in a go, wishing the burning sensation will make the lump of tears go away, ‘Sam, I can reason with Dean bringing a new girl every night, I can reason with the fact he sees me nothing but a friend, I can reason with the fact that I will never be his, but I cannot reason with the fact that I have to leave him forever.... so leave me alone.’

I got up on my feet, staggering as the Whiskey took its toll. But Sam grabbed my hand to stop me.

‘ _ , are you in love with him?’

I shook his hand off mine, and looked at him with bleary eyes. I felt my mouth failing to make a smirk and drooping at the end. That’s the furthest I could go, replying him. To fill my silence, I grabbed a bottle of beer and staggered through the door of the bar towards my way to the bunker. Dean was out for a day and I knew there was nobody in that place. Sam could not drive me there as Dean took his Impala to the case he needed to solve alone. The rustle of the leaves became harsher and harsher as I went further inside, and finally greeted the dreaded silence of the sitting room.

The call of the silence is more maddening than constantly hearing something you hate. I forgot where I put the bottle and my legs finally gave in when my left feet hit the leg of the couch. Grabbing my feet to prevent the throbbing pain, I toppled on the couch. Suddenly, I felt a burning urge to laugh... I don’t know why I was laughing, I just knew I had to laugh or else I will fall apart on my own ruins.

What if the world could disappear right now... what if I didn’t have to fight the things I had been feeling for so long... what if I could transform my feelings into objects and burn them so that I could go on with my life, pretending like nothing even happened. What if I could go back to the time where I was the arrogant smartass always outwitting Dean Winchester.

c’est paye, balliye, oublie... je me fous du passe (it’s paid for, wiped away, forgotten... I don’t care about the past)

God... I hated my voice right now.

‘ _ ?’ a voice called my name but it was not Sam.

‘What... now you have a problem with me too?’ I slurred as I tried to stand up from my position... I refuse to act drunk right now. I refuse to appear weak in front of Dean Winchester.

‘No... but, your voice sounded like--’

‘Yes my damn voice sounded like the record you heard once upon a time in your enchanted sleep.’ I said, as my knees shook. As I slurred I saw him coming towards me and trying to give me shoulder, but I threw them away, ‘why are you even here?’ I asked him, frowning... probably.

‘I called Sam that I was coming to visit you at the bar, but he told me you were home, drunk... so I came as soon as I could...’ Dean overpowered me by lifting me into bridal style, and his sturdy arms locked me with his chest.

‘Lemme go... Dean Winchester, you hear me?’ I slurred, trapped in his arms.

‘Will it kill you to depend on me at least this time?’ Dean’s right arm, that was under my knees tightened further, ‘yes... it will...’ I replied.

I never realized I was this close to his chest that his inviting warmth was basking all over me. That warmth was almost making my head clear all the confusion and suddenly that very moment felt the very awaited antidote to the past few torturing days I had been withholding myself.

But at the same time, I didn’t want this to happen.

The drunk stupor was vanishing with every minute, yet I pretended to be out cold. I didn’t want Dean to look at me when I listen to his constantly pacing heartbeat, the fluttering of his shirt as it caught my breath. At the moment I felt safe and secure, like nothing could harm me... and despite of myself, I didn’t want the moment to end. My heart dropped when he kicked the door of my room and very slowly I felt the futon touching my back. His firm hands grazed behind my neck as he placed me tenderly on my bed. The hand behind my knees withdrew ever to gently. A gentle finger brushed the hair off my face. I wish I could see the look of his eyes...

He will go any moment now... he thinks I am asleep...

Maybe I could act whatever and he will just forgive me, thinking that I am drunk.

‘Deeeeaaaan.... nghhh...’ I pulled his sleeve, feigning to be drunk, so scared to be my own self. It worked... his hand stopped on my temple and slowly withdrew. My heart quickened when he leaned towards me, dangerously close, his breath hitched near my lips, and he whispered.

‘Sweetheart... I know you are not drunk, so drop the act...’ His voice sounded cold and almost... hurt. I felt panicked, but my reaction was unexpected, even by me-- I laughed and sat up on my bed, looking at his face, looking grim in the slight light of my room.

‘You just shot my last line of defense...’ I sighed at him. ‘What do you want?’ I asked.

‘Was that true... you singing to me, was that true?’ Dean asked, hoarsely and as he uttered the last words, his voice shook a little. ‘Yes I did... so? What’s the big deal?’ I tried to brush it off despite my inside was screaming to do the entire opposite.

‘Of course it’s a big deal...’ He halted to find words, ‘things that you do for me, you should not do them... you should do them to someone who deserves’ his voice sounded very hurt.

‘Dean what are you talking about--’

‘I see the way you speak with Sam behind my back... I see the way you two move around, and I know...” Was he tearful? did I hear correctly? did he just...

‘Are you saying that you hate me--’

‘No god, I-I don’t--’ Dean sighed and grabbed my shoulder gently ‘I know you like Sam okay, and it’s obvious-- he speaks the way you speak’ Dean gulped and swiped his hand on his mouth, ‘I am saying this because... it kills me every time you do those little things to me...’

My drunken stupor gone, I was up on my feet, angry and tearful... that’s it, he will never see me that way, ‘thanks Dean... thank you for expressing things so fully.’ I stomped out of my room, and I heard Dean following me to the sitting room.

‘ _ , listen, sweetheart, I didn’t mean to hurt you and I am sorry that the words came out wrong and you can forget about my... you can just forget about it’ I saw Dean fidgeting around, pacing down and wiping his hand on his mouth, and very discreetly pretending to grab the temple, wiping tears... I know it because his eyes are rosy and he didn’t even smelt like alcohol all night.

‘Forget about it?’ I thundered at him, ‘forget about it?...You men... you are all the same.’ I said in anger, ‘your brain is like your boner... it points at one direction and it’s usually at the most easy, most convenient and most wrong way possible!’ I shook my head in anger. ‘Do you even understand the relation between me and Sam? Yes-- I like Sam, because he is easier to talk to. He was the first one who never made me feel like a freak, speaking in tongues, yes, we have so much in common but it’s not like that Dean--it’s not like that!’

‘But I heard you talking with him and--’

‘Oh god...’ I was going over edge, and when I looked at the poor guy, I felt a pang of pity for him. I knew exactly what he was feeling. I know that look on his eyes, he looks like this when he feels like an intruder, when me and Sam interacted. All this time he felt like an outsider who never belonged between me and Sam, who couldn’t keep up with us...

How could I do this to him?

‘He was coaxing me to admit to you that I sang to you when you were asleep’ that’s it... it’s all out in the open, I am all naked now. And look, he doesn’t even give a damn. ‘I never wanted to tell you at the first place because I knew you never felt the same for me.’

Dean frowned at me with confusion, he paced towards me and looked at me square in the eyes, ‘what exactly you felt about me?’ it wasn’t a mocking, teasing tone... it was disbelief.

‘I don’t know...’ I was scrambling to find my words, I was never good with words and feelings altogather-- I was very masculine, in this very sense and that’s why the boys and me were so similar. And now, I am trying to do the very thing I am worst at-- what a life!

‘I don’t know...’ the words rolled in my tongue, bringing some confirmation in the confusion, ‘I think-- it always was... a part in me. The comfort I felt when I was around you, I could rely on you all the time, the things you said that cheered me up... and then it just happened... when I stopped caring about you.’

I could tell he was shaking, although he was holding my hands to make me steady. He knew I needed to get the words out of my system, although the words may or may not be the words he needed to hear, but he is there--for me. He is waiting for me to tell it.

‘I stopped caring about how you behaved, how you goof around, how you mess things up... I stopped caring about your everything... your shortcomings and flaws and then I realized I never really cared about you before as much as I do now...’ I huffed.

It seemed that time ran slower than usual... I felt his hands sliding off mine. My heart dropped into my stomach like a cold stone when he let go of my hands, but wasn’t for the reason I was dreading. His right hand gently caressed my cheek as his lips crashed into mine. Softly and gently he held me into his arms like I was the most precious thing in his life. His arms slowly snaked around me lower back, that pulled me into an embrace as my head sank in his chest. I was too embarrassed to show my face right now, so I bawled, clutching his flannel shirt.

‘_ , what’s wrong, sweetheart... are you alright?’ Dean sounded alarmed as he bend to my face to look at me, while I was a teary mess. When his eyes met me, a series of emotions passed through the pickle-green eyes: concern, guilt, empathy and finally came down to gentle compassion. With his thumb and index finger, he pulled my chin up and with his relatively thick and big fingers started to wipe my tears away.

‘I don’t know Dean... I have never done this before.’

He pulled my shoulders away from himself, ‘what... confession?’

I nodded nervously, and waited for his reply. However, he gave me no answer, instead his wide green eyes slowly moved to inspect every crevice of my face.

‘What are you looking at?’ I asked him, after an eternity.

‘You...’ he mused as his lips barely moved with the words. He looked at me in a way that I never seen in his eyes. It was incomprehensible. I didn’t know he could look like that... was he really looking at me? My emotions were all astray and they finally rained in tears.

‘Shh... don’t cry sweetheart,’ He bent to my face to kiss the very place where my tears were concentrated into a thick droplet. ‘and don’t ever stop to tell me whatever comes into your mind without being embarrassed or scared or both.’ He cupped my face into his hands. ‘I was only wondering how long...’

‘Ever since I realized I won’t change a thing about you... even if it means letting you go with other girls different night, or do your usual shenanigans.’ I replied wittily, trying to smile.

‘Well, you shot my last amusement down... I am not going with anybody.’ He said while squeezing my nose, then again he paused to look at me.

‘God you’re beautiful....’

‘scuse me? where did that come from?’ I asked him, half amused, half surprised.

‘can’t you take a complement seriously for one time?’ Dean laughed as he kissed me.

‘What can I say... I learned from the best.’ I bopped his nose, ‘he is a master of denial and self-hate.’ I grabbed his hand to get him up and with the other hand I turned on the old transistor.

‘Dance me Dean Winchester...’ I said while putting his hands on my waist, ‘or don’t tell me you can’t...’ then I put my arms around his neck, as the old transistor whizzed with the oldie song. He gave me a smile that I haven’t seen in a really long time.

‘only if you sing to me...’ He whispered against my neck.

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfic #dean x reader #la vie en rose #dean winchester fluff #spn songfic #old songs #french referance #slow dance #humming songs

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aesirfalling · 6 years

Text

Sovereign Fist

Part 2 of 6 (Snow, A Beautiful Song) - Together We Brought the Moon Down

Character/Full ATB Skill Study of the Final Fantasy XIII Cast Set to Nier: Automata Music.

Neon lights, lacquer mask, masquerade dress: the world that is hinges on love in stupor, and everyone dances to deny. He’s no Olga or Berdy, gifted with song or words, born to entertain; he’s also no Lightning or Hope, capable of leading an entire world through thick and thin, stand tall at the helm when all appears lost and only a voice of resolute determination can turn the tide. No; he is Snow Villiers, the self-proclaimed hero who has watched the mighty world fall into a husk of what it once was, and tonight, he will oversee its celebration.

The construction of the Patron’s Palace had been a lavish affair, made so because he had willed it so. If the people still harbored a spark of affection for him – a spark for anything at all – he was going to milk it, damn it. The loss of the old commercial district had hit Yusnaan hard, and with the rumors that people had been throwing themselves into chaos infusions… well, the more people he could bring under his watchful eyes, the better.

The workers had built the cell to his specifications, gotten all flushed and tipsy from the taste of the new wine from the Wildlands, and departed. He can still hear their ghosts here, near-drunken and laughing, cracking a joke or two about the kind of slaughterhouse beast that must inevitably end up in such a destitute place. Most of them had died to human error in a fireworks warehouse explosion. What else? The chaos is still eating people. Epidemics have once again become endemic in the cities. He’ll see to a property dispute in the morning, before attending a dessert-tasting reception.

He locks himself in, climbs onto the broken bed, turns the betrothal necklace in his calloused hands thirteen times, and falls asleep.

“Don’t go,” he warns, raw-throated and exhausted and… afraid. It’s the dead of night in the middle of winter, and they are standing opposite each other on the top of an abandoned building in Yusnaan. The realization of fear in his system shocks him, paralyzes him more than even the fear itself. He shouldn’t be here. He should be back at the infirmary, with me, recovering. “You are not yourself, Hope.”

The silver-haired man turns, as if in a daze. The scientist’s dark boots are lingering just a few too inches too close to the edge. Under the faint light reflected by the star he has built, there are pale snowflakes in his hair and roses in his eyes. Snow reaches out in desperation, tries to seize his friend’s arm, ready to knock him out with his fists if he has to – and finds only air.

“Damn it, Hope, don’t leave me now!”

Nothing. He dashes forward and finds himself staring down wildly from the edge of the roof. A pristine field of snow. No PSICOM airships or boxes to break the fall. There’s not even a collapsed figure on the ground. It’s as if… Hope has simply vanished into the air.

How long has it been? How many years has it been since the cathedral was raised in Luxerion? What had Hope said to him the last time they met, and did he act strangely then? What if he had just forced Hope to –

“Serah,” he whispers, clutching the sphere of their lost world in his palm and weeping after the final person he’s lost to the wind, “I didn’t learn anything at all from losing you, did I?”

The streets of Yusnaan are empty. For some reason, he knows he’s not in a doomed timeline.

The chaos infusion howls after his blood, drinks away his magic for play. He laughs with the one in the Palace, the rift so large that he had to commission an entire citadel to contain it; every day it would dance with him – every day it would eat a guard and half of his magic – and he binds it amid grunts and pants behind closed doors and painted-over windows, marveling at the corruption of the world growing with the pointy end of his l’Cie arrows.

Why don’t you give in? He thinks he hears it hiss sometimes, as he narrowly dodges the down-swinging mace of a horrendously disfigured cyclops. Why do you, a patron, deny me my feast?

He laughs, a humorless sound. That’s one way to bring it all back. Noel standing right next to him as they guarded Pandaemonium’s supplies, Hope smiling down at the two of them from a balcony – “I SAID, STAND IN LINE AND WAIT FOR YOUR TURN!”

This is… my city to protect.

My people.

A thousand spiked icicles in my heart that refuse to thaw…

Sazh: gone for what feels like hundreds of years, hasn’t really seen him for a thousand. Noel: still mumbling and apologizing every day for committing his “great sin,” hiding in the Warren and refusing to tell others his name. Vanille and Fang: still frozen in their crystal, and likely will stay frozen until the end of the world. And then there is…

No, there was Hope and the sisters the two of them had loved…

How much can one man do?

How much can one soul will for?

The sovereign fist unlocks rusted-over doors and clears the space of monsters. Smiling and healing his wounds clean, he leans down to pick up the soul seeds before handing them to one of the guards. “Now don’t let those fall into the hands of one of those seed traders, you hear me?”

“Want another drink, Sire?”

“Don’t tell me your brother’s restaurant is still struggling?”

“It… it still is, Sire.”

“Tell him I’m coming over tomorrow evening, and tell him to change the name to Banquet of the Lord.”

When the stars align and the feast is at its most magnificent, the Patron would tell old world stories. No one knows how much he exaggerates; he’d speak of Fal’Cie bigger than Cocoon itself, a l’Cie woman who spent dozens if not hundreds of years serving the goddess Etro in Valhalla, the glittering golden murals of the dream city of Nautilus, and airships full of glorious white-clad generals from the Cavalry. He’d laugh about these things with liquid eyes and amidst festival frost, and the immortal children would all jump up and down, tell him with those pretend-innocent voices that they have to hear it again. Some women would berate the Patron for being single and try to lure him into a dance, only for him to become somber and say, no more stories if they are gonna force his hand. So they would stop. And then they would make up fantasy romantic stories about the daughters of the goddess instead. And the Patron says yes, he’s sure those two would enjoy it, he just hopes that they would hear those silly things for themselves one day.

Don’t you know? He’s grown used to saying, during the hard years when it had been next to impossible to gain authority, I’m the servant and messenger of the gods themselves. I am the last l’Cie. The last link between the mortal and the divine.

People have short memories. Within a few short centuries they’ve forgotten the key rebuttal: you are the servant of the fucking god of cactuars.

Under the Cactuar statue, dressed in impeccable black and presiding over the first festival since Hope’s disappearance (it feels like a goddamned funeral), he thinks, it’s better this way.

Hey, Serah. Am I doing the right thing?

She doesn’t answer. She’ll never look his way again, he’s sure.

To make up for a family of nil and a family he’s failed to save, he can only die to serve a family of all (that’s left of) humankind.

The savior lands in all the commotion, flashing startling dreamlike rose-colored hair and a sword that tingles with electricity. Hope’s words from nearly two centuries ago float tepidly back into his mind. Her expression is cold. His is one of anticipation.

“Ah… Lightning.”

I’ve been waiting for a very long time.

#Snow Villiers #Final Fantasy xiii #ffxiii #NaNo tag #lightning returns #GOD THE AMOUNT OF LR!SNOW ANGST IS OUTRIGHT DUMB #pats the tall son #....#idk if I can call him my son it feels weird #JUST GO BE HOPE'S BROTHER OR SOMETHING #THAT WORKS

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slowreaderr · 5 years

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Writing Challenge 2 (The Thing About Your Father)

Trigger warning: this short story deals with themes of sexual assault, sexual abuse, and rape.

Original prompt:

His eyes were cold and lifeless as he stared at me.

“You have no idea who I am, do you?”

“Ms. Miller, you have a visitor,” A woman in all white approaches with a wide smile. I scramble my brain to remember who she is. Catherine, I think.

“Yes,” I said with a curt nod. Her smile disappears a bit too soon before she turns away. In that moment, I see how tired she is. How sullen her eyes are. How shriveled her hair was, clinging to her face over a thin sheet of sweat. She turned on her heels, swishing way too fast away from the rec room.

Rec room? Yes, the rec room. This room was filled with chairs and tables, and TV’s. A lounging area. I scan my eyes around the room, meeting each wrinkled, miserable face in return. Something told me smiling didn’t happen often here.

My eyes wander over to the TV, a commercial flashed across the screen. A handsome man with a brilliant smile was on a boat, surrounded by beautiful women. His tousled silver hair blew elegantly back in the wind. His blue eyes squinted only slightly when he smiled. I remember his face, I saw it often enough. He seemed like a senior citizen, maybe around my age, but he was always a million times more successful than I ever was. Something in my chest tightened, it was bitter and aching. But I always felt this way whenever I saw his face.

“Elise,” A gruff voice calls.

A man approaches me. He is tall, and just as rough-looking as his voice sounds. He wears a simple leather jacket and white shirt with blue jeans. When he gets close enough, the stench of nicotine slaps me across the face. I always hated the smell of cigarettes. The man has platinum blonde hair, and striking blue eyes.

I scrunch my eyebrows. Did I know him from somewhere?

“Hello,” I greet in the most pleasant voice I can muster, “Are you my visitor?”

“Yes, Elise,” he says with a frustrated sigh. He pinches the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes for a moment.

Impatience. It was an emotion I recognized often in other people. My chest tightened, my right hand gripped my left one.

“Do you recognize this person?” He flings a magazine into my arms. I stare at it for a moment before reaching into my lap. My lips pursed as I uncurl my bifocals. I hold up the magazine and give it a good look. The man from the commercial earlier was on the cover. Except he was wearing shades this time around, posing strangely on the cover.

“That’s the man from the commercial,” I smile up at the man. “He’s awful handsome, isn’t he?” I chuckled. To say he was a charming actor would do him an injustice.

The man sighs deeply, collapsing rather roughly into the chair across from me. His hands rub his face and he peers up at me with an ugly glare. I hear my heart beat loudly in my ears, maybe I was breathing heavily. I couldn’t discern if he could hear, because even if he could, he certainly didn’t seem to care either way.

“Elise, I need to know if you remember this man,” his voice is grave.

“Why? Are you looking for him?” He says nothing as he suddenly stares at me with widened eyes, mouth a bit agape.

“I’m afraid I don’t know anyone famous.”

Another long moment of silence passes.

His eyes were cold and lifeless as he stared at me.

“You have no idea who I am, do you?”

My eyebrows furrow. Was that not already obvious? This happens often. In events like this, I made it a habit to reference my notebook. I reach down into my lap and open the simple black composite book.

“What’s your name?” I ask without meeting his eyes. I didn’t want to see his frustration anymore and ignored the annoyance in his voice. He wasn’t the only one that could get impatient around here, but I still had some left.

“Carter Miller,” he emphasizes each syllable loudly.

“Oh, you’re my son!” My heart sank. How could I forget my own son?

“I’m sorry Carter,” I say quietly while closing the notes again.

“I . . . my medication . .” I raise my eyes to meet his, acknowledging the disappointment I already knew would be there.

“-Do you know the man in the magazine?” He says again, cutting me off.

I look at the cover again.

“No,” I say desperately.

“Elise, I’m looking for my father. You never told me who he is, and I need you to tell me now because this can change everything.”

I shake my head, biting my finger. His father? Who was his father? It definitely couldn’t have been this actor . . . could it? I tried to desperately remember what I could about his birth, but nothing comes to mind. No man at any birthday parties, or Christmas mornings, or baby showers, or even in the hospital room as I gave birth. I was never married, there never was a ring or a wedding. Who was the father?

Carter shakes his head, “Mom!” His loud voice shakes me from my thoughts.

“I need you to remember! You’re not going to ruin this for me too!”

My breathing becomes labored. Inevitably, words start flowing from my mouth before I can even think about what they mean or where they’re coming from:

“You’re just like him! Selfish. So very selfish. You’ve always been that way, that’s what I remember! You take, and take, and take until I have nothing, and once I’m empty you blame everything on me!” My voice started going hoarse from the yelling. A bunch of nurses enter the room and surround Carter.

We’re both screaming. What, I don’t know. I blink, and Carter is being dragged away by a security guard, demanding me to tell me who his father is. The nurses escort me back to my room to calm down, I take the magazine with me.

The next morning, Carter is here to see me again. The nurse, Catherine, I think, asks if I want to see him. I say yes, even though my blood is boiling the minute I hear his name. I don’t look at him when he enters. Or even when he sits down beside my bed. Several beats pass without any words being exchanged between us.

“I remember who your father is,” I say while watching a bird fiddle around in a nest. Today was surprisingly nice weather, I was hoping to lounge outside for some time before Carter came to ruin that.

“I’ll tell you, but afterwards I never want to see your face again. Just leave me to rot in peace.” Carter says nothing. I turn to face him, my eyes offering no hospitality this time. I don’t bother to smile either.

“I spent all night sifting through all of my old diaries for this. I’m tired, so stay quiet.”

I take in a deep breath:

“I met your father when I was twenty years old. I just dropped out of college earlier that year to become an actress: and I wanted it so bad. My parents had just kicked me out of the house, they were tired of a daughter that couldn’t keep a job and wouldn’t go to school. No gigs were calling me back.

So a friend of mine told me about an old college buddy of theirs who was making a short film. Some young guy that was trying to break into the industry. It was better than nothing. I auditioned, they said they would call me back. Two weeks later I get a call from the producer, saying he wants to talk to me about the part. I was so excited. This was my big break.”

I sighed, the little energy I held before seemed to have escaped me now. Rocks formed in my throat, my vision blurred. No Elise, we’re not going to cry. No more damn tears. Those days are over.

“He invited me to his hotel room, and of course I was stupid enough to go because I was desperate. He asked me how desperate I was, how badly I wanted the part. Told me to convince him on why he should cast me.

. . . I was so desperate.

He kept pouring wine. So much damn wine. And of course I drank it all. Drank until the room swirled and blurred into pretty colors. Next thing I know, I’m half naked on the floor, some guy breathing hot air all over me. I tried to scream, to push him off. He overpowered me in my drunken stupor. The next few minutes was pain. Then crying on the floor as a bloody mess before I finally stumbled out of the hotel room that night.

I never saw Sean Bybee again.”

Seconds clicked away on the clock.

“. . . Why didn’t you try to do anything?”

I chuckled, a bitter laugh that stung right down to my bones, “Would you believe a girl that was so stupidly desperate and drunk at the time?”

Carter didn’t say anything. I didn’t think he had the audacity.

“Sean Bybee is your father, Carter Miller. And if you want to spend the rest of your life chasing him down, then you can. But I didn’t sacrifice everything I could for you to hate me, and I won’t die with your pathetic face stuck in my head.”

“ . . . You did the best you could,” Carter mumbled, a smirk on his face.

I saw nothing but red, “You’re damn right I did! I worked a dead-end job for thirty-eight years for my shit of a son that I was too poor to abort!” Maybe it was too harsh, maybe I shouldn’t have said it. But I did. And at the time, I didn’t care if his feelings were hurt by it.

Carter turned his head, focusing at the TV again. Bybee’s face flashed across the screen in my peripheral vision, but I didn’t care enough to look and see what he was doing. I collapsed onto my bed, trying to steady my ragged breathing. Carter was in college now, I thought. He’s still young a dumb, he’s still making plenty of mistakes. But I won’t be around long enough to see how he gets past those mistakes, and I knew that.

“Did you ever love me?” It was mumbled into the blackness. I hadn’t noticed that my eyes had closed, or that I was even drifting off when he said it. I tried to will my eyelids to open, but they felt so heavy that I stopped trying almost immediately.

“I don’t know,” I mumbled back to the dark.

#short story #writing challenge #writers on tumblr #my writing #prompt

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bachelorbro-blog1 · 7 years

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Season 21 -- Week 2

This episode opens with Corinne proposing a toast to Nick and talking about how much she already likes him so obviously I’m ready to turn my television off already. The women are all sitting around discussing how excited they are to continue to get to know Nick. Each of them mentions that she thinks he’s sweet and down to earth and genuine, which means they didn't watch him on anything other than Bachelor in Paradise. I can defend Nick to some extent, but he’s definitely not the man they believe him to be.

Chris Harrison comes in to tell the women that it’s “physically impossible” for all of them to have dates this week. I don't think physics has anything to do with it, but I digress.

The first date card is read and Corinne finds that her name is first on the list. She brags about this. Of course. Because clearly this means something and wasn't arbitrary at all. The girls get into four identical convertibles and drive away only to end up at the exact same mansion they just left (?). They’re going to have a bridal photoshoot, which is a terrible idea seeing as they’ve known him for just about 24 hours at this point, but whatever.

The photographer is wearing some sort of multicolored romper and mirrored sunglasses. It appears as though, in a different setting, he and Alexis would have all kinds of fun. I would absolutely watch that TV show.

Then there’s a plot twist: some girls will get to be brides and the rest have to be bridesmaids! Imagine. Holy shit. This is the best thing to ever happen (save from Chad eating a raw sweet potato with his bare hands as though he had no idea what food is).

Alexis the shark mentions that she has no idea what a shotgun wedding is. She doesn't have to impress me though. This has officially become an Alexis fan blog. Lacey is also getting some screen time this week, but that doesn't mean I know who Lacey is. Brittany isn't wearing a shirt and Corinne is jealous as hell. She stares at Brittany as though she's going to rip her chest off with her bare hands (no one would be surprised if she did. No one. Probably not even Raquel, the nanny she has even though she's an adult).

Sarah is the Vegas bride. She bends down and puts her head near Nick’s crotch. I hope they’re very happy together.

Hailey is some sort of BDSM bride, which isn't really a thing, but whatever. I have no opinions of Hailey. I just hope she’s wearing underwear under that dress.

Alexis is a damn star and puts on an accent and everything for her shotgun wedding photo shoot. Again, this is an Alexis fan blog.

Vanessa is an ‘80s bride, complete with a side ponytail and enormous hoop earrings. During her shoot, Jasmine G. (the alpha Jasmine) starts making out with Nick (as bridesmaids often do).

Danielle L. (who owns a lot of nail salons or something) has a traditional wedding shoot and immediately goes in for the kiss. Lacey gets jealous and also kisses Nick. At this point everyone probably has mono.

Taylor shows up in a Disney princess-style wedding gown. The other women talk about how beautiful she is. Someone tears up. Then Taylor kisses Nick. Everyone has officially kissed Nick except for Alexis. You go, Alexis!

Corinne is jealous. She is ready to set all of these girls on fire if it means she’ll get the prize at the end of the shoot.

We cut away to the mansion, where the remaining women are talking about who they think will get the date rose. Liz mentions that she had sex with Nick at Jade and Tanner’s wedding for the six millionth time. She’s praying for a date because she wants to see what it’s like to have sex with him without wearing a maid of honor dress.

Nick walks in in a leaf-covered Speedo and Brittany shows everyone all of her bits. Corinne fumes. Brittany and Nick try to Lady and the Tramp an apple and then they kiss.

Corinne and Nick get into a pool and, because she’s jealous of Brittany, she takes her bikini top off. She insists that Nick should hold her boobs a la Janet Jackson. The other girls watch her fragile ego unwind while Nick stares at Franco uncomfortably. His eyes seem to scream, “Please call Raquel.”

Corinne wins the photo shoot because she took her shirt off, which means she gets to take more pictures with Nick on top of a car or something. She puts on an actual wedding dress and kisses Nick while talking about how jealous everyone is. She reminds me of a girl I went to high school with who had her mom call all of the other mothers in our grade to inform them that their daughters were no longer allowed to be friends with a girl her daughter didn't like.

“No one has ever held my boobs like that,” says Corinne in a drunken stupor. Then she steals him away to make out with him. Maybe they deserve each other. Corinne tells Nick that she wears her heart on her sleeve, but what she’s actually telling him is that if he doesn't pick her she'll wear his skin as a dress.

Jasmine G. (who still doesn't get to be just Jasmine even though Jasmine B. got the boot last week) gets a chance to make out with Nick for a little bit, while Raven talks shit about everyone. Raven steals Nick away from Lacey, who has yet to prove her relevance. She mentions that she walked in on her boyfriend cheating on her with another woman. Nick can sympathize. He has also been cheated on. I really hope he isn't talking about Andi or Kaitlyn.

Raven calls Nick a dick. Then he calls himself a dick. I’m glad they agree.

The second date card is introduced and Liz brings up Jade and Tanner’s wedding again. Please shut up, Liz. Danielle M. gets the solo date because she's sweet and perfect and deserves a halo and wings. Why has no one asked Liz what it’s like to be a doula? That’s so much more interesting than having sex with some guy at a wedding.

Corinne, clearly incredibly drunk at this point, talks about how it’s important to be ballsy and then steals Nick away from Alexis. “I’m interrupting you,” says Corinne. “Meet me in the parking lot after this,” Alexis responds (well, her eyes do). Then Corinne talks about how her nipple might have been out while she was talking to Nick as if he hasn't already seen her breasts in their entirety.

Taylor brags about how she got her undergraduate degree in three years and then got her masters degree. Corinne steals Nick away from Taylor. How much has she had to drink? What exactly is she drinking? She continues to make out with Nick. At this point his mouth is full of more of her spit than his own. Taylor finally comes back and shoves Corinne away from Nick. I wish she had thrown her in the pool, but something tells me that’s going to happen shortly.

Corinne is mad that she's been interrupted because she's never done anything like that before. Ever. At all. Then she talks about herself in the third person, further proving that she and Chad belong together. She confronts Taylor in a really passive aggressive way and then mocks her. She talks about how interruptions are going to happen (but didn't she just whine about being interrupted?)

Nick gives the rose that’s been on the table for fifteen hours at this point to Corinne. He's afraid that she’s going to cast a spell on him if he doesn't give it to her. She squeals when he hugs her and then drunk cries about how happy she is in an interview. She says that her dad would be proud of her even though she took her top off. Would Raquel be proud though?

Lacey believes that she deserved the rose...who is Lacey? “XOXO Gossip Girl,” says Corinne. I have no idea why.

Corinne brags about “winning” the whole day. At this point, this recap has just become a collection of reasons I hate Corinne, but I’m not going to apologize for that, ok? She’s drinking wine at breakfast. Wine is not a breakfast drink. At least put some orange juice and champagne in a glass, girl.

Danielle M. and Nick are in a plane together. He doesn't deserve her, but for some reason she doesn't see that, so we’ll all play along until she becomes the next Bachelorette and finds the man she actually belongs with. They land on a yacht and drink champagne on the edge of a hot tub. “Help yourself to some cheese,” says Nick, reminding everyone that they’re both from Wisconsin. Cheese is the only thing you can associate with Wisconsin.

Christen is wearing a thick cheetah print headband for unknown reasons. Liz mentions Jade and Tanner’s wedding because she had SEX WITH NICK THERE! Then she tells Christen, who has lost her headband, what happened at the wedding. Which wedding? Jade and Tanner’s wedding. You know, the one where Liz and Nick had sex. Christen promises she won't tell anyone about it, but we all know she's lying. Is Christen shady? Do I like Christen now?

We go back to Nick and perfect Danielle M. who are having dinner. She wants to know more about him. Nick talks about how Andi and Kaitlyn didn't love him enough to marry him and turns it into a life lesson about falling in love and taking risks. Then Danielle M. tells Nick that she was once engaged, but her fiancee (who she didn't know was using drugs) overdosed and died. I am now crying for her a little bit. Then she says that she was the one who found his dead body and I full on cry. Danielle M., you deserve better. You deserve the world, you rainbow-infused space unicorn. Nick acts like a genuinely decent human being, which is a nice surprise. Danielle M. is going to make it all the way to the end. She gets a rose and I cry again. They ride a ferris wheel to end the date. They kiss. I sincerely hope he’s used mouthwash since the last time he kissed Corinne because her germs should not be able to come in contact with the wonderful Danielle M. (who is the only Danielle anyone should care about this season.)

We get to the final date. Astrid’s name is brought up, which is good because most people have probably forgotten that Astrid is there. I know I have. Liz is going to confront Nick on the group date.

Kristina talks for the first time this week. I still have questions about her accent. Will they ever be addressed? I really hope so.

The second group date takes place at the Museum of Broken Relationships, which is apparently a real thing that exists (not ironically). Among the items in the museum are a dead rose, the ring that Nick was going to give Kaitlyn, a set of breast implants, a cheerleader uniform, and human cartoon character Josephine.

All of a sudden a loud break up happens in the museum. It’s obviously a gimmick, but everyone crowds around them as if they’re watching something real happen. Josephine hides behind a wall and covers her mouth, proving that she is a cartoon.

The women are told that they’re going to be staging their own breakups with Nick. He finally mentions that he and Liz had sex at Jade and Tanner's wedding. Christen gossips with the entire audience about her being the only person who knows. We all know, girl. People who don't watch the show know. Liz cries in an interview. She wants to be acknowledged. Maybe he would have acknowledged her if she had given him her number at the wedding. Maybe this whole season could have been avoided if she had just given him her number.

Astrid is the first to break up with Nick. She tells him that she can't accept the rose and he says that he didn't know he offered it. She snaps the rose over her knee. Everyone oohs and ahhs at her strength.

Kristina is next. She yells about dental hygiene.

Jaimi yells at Nick about how dirty he is. This is the most realistic of the breakups.

Christen says that Nick called her fat. Yikes.

Josephine slaps Nick! “Do it again, bitch!” I yell. Then I realize it’s three in the morning and I probably shouldn't be yelling. Josephine wins this date.

It’s finally Liz’s turn. Remember Liz? The one who had sex with Nick? At Jade and Tanner’s wedding? That Liz. She reads a prepared speech about the first time they met (at Jade and Tanner’s wedding -- the social event of the millennium). This is not the time or place for this, Liz. Please stop. Everyone is uncomfortable. Nick can't even make eye contact with her. Christen’s jaw drops. Liz says some more uncomfortable stuff. I have been cringing for ten minutes.

They end up at an abandoned nightclub. “I’m living my nightmare,” says Nick.

Kristina is from Russia originally. My questions have been answered. Thank you, ABC.

Jaimi dated a girl. Nick is flustered. “I won't go after the one you want,” says Jaimi, who may or may not become this season’s Tila Tequila.

During Nick’s private conversation with Christen, she tells him that she knows that he had sex with Liz at Jade and Tanner’s wedding. Christen is a backstabber. I officially like Christen.

Nick finally pulls Liz aside to talk to her and then makes her leave the show. It’s been real, It’s been fun, but it hasn't been real fun. Sorry, Liz. Pack your bags and go back to being a doula. I’m a little disappointed that we didn't get to hear about her career, but I’ll live.

Nick tells everyone that he and Liz had sex and then the episode abruptly ends without a rose ceremony. I’m not thrilled.

After next week’s preview Alexis and Nick celebrate her boobs’ first birthday with cupcakes and singing. I sincerely love everything about Alexis. The cupcakes are apparently disgusting, but Alexis can do no wrong in my book.

My top 5:

1. Danielle M.

2. Alexis

3. Rachel

4. Vanessa

5. Josephine

#the bachelor #nick viall #bachelor season 21 #recap

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