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thetiredbiwrites · 4 years

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And then...

Dad!Tony x Son!Reader

(mentions of Uncle Rhodey)

Anon: // hello can you do angsty tony x Son reader. Tony and reader has strained relationship and they we're not in good terms, Tony prefer Peter than his son but it got change when both of them got kidnapped, they been together for a few days and slowly they reconciled. Soon they got save by the avengers but the Son Reader notice that one kidnapper pulled a weapon to Tony then R save his father, he got shot then Tony is scared to see his son dying. Its up to you the ending. ☺

A/N: Thank you for the Tony request 🤗🤗 Hope this is ok! (I love dad!Tony, I think he’d be so good...even though this fic is on a different note🤔😂)

Warnings: Cliff hanger end. It was getting pretty long and I wanted to upload something before bed (which also means it hasn’t been checked but oh well, I’ll re-read it tomorrow) BUT I do plan on doing a part 2 :)

(Also swearing, just always assume swearing)

Words: 3100+

Tony’s relationship with his son had always been strained. Ever since he was practically dumped on his doorstep at 4 years old.

Tony had no prior knowledge that he has a kid, none of the women he’s been with had ever even told him they were pregnant. But if he was being honest with himself, it didn’t surprise him. With the way he got around it was bound to happen eventually.

He just wished he’d known from the beginning.

Having a 4 year old left in his care with no warning put him in a whole new territory he was completely unprepared for.

A baby gives you time to prepare and are essentially a ‘blank slate’ at birth. A 4 year old has experiences, like and dislikes, routines, a connection to someone who abandons them with a stranger…

At the time, Tony was still a playboy, out at events and travelling a lot. As well as CEO of a company manufacturing weapons for the military. He didn’t have time for a child. To break through recently arisen trust and abandonment issues and build a relationship.

He cared about his son. Always made sure he had everything he needed or wanted, a good education and was in good health. But forming personal, emotional connections can’t be done with money, and Tony could barley cope with his own true emotions.

It quickly became clear that they did not share talents or interest in maths, sciences or mechanics. His son struggled especially with maths and Tony initially really did try to help, finally thinking something was in his element and he could bond.

But elementary (followed by middle and high) maths was so simple and automatic for Tony’s brain that he found it difficult to slow down and explain the process to the young boy.

He hired a tutor in his place.

That’s not to say Tony expected or needed his son to be a genius in the same subjects as him. He didn’t need his son to follow him (or his father) to be worthy of his time. But it would have made it easier.

Instead, his son excelled in English and arts, and was amazing in the kitchen. He loved to write stories, create pictures to accompany them and experimenting with new recipes.

Unfortunately, Tony did not excel in these areas, thus distancing them further.

At least he wasn’t taking after his father though. He didn’t force his son into one path or degrade him. No forcing him to grow up, giving him alcohol at a ridiculously young age or sending him away to be completely alone.

Tony often wondered himself if he’d have taken the path he did if his father hadn’t pushed him. If he’d be the same person without the verbal abuse and constant neglect of his father.

He wasn’t blind to his emotional distance and lack of bond to his son. Or to the connection the boy had to both Rhodey and Pepper. He could see that his son was connect to the two people he trusted the most and he was glad.

When Rhodey was available, being in the air force meant he wasn’t always around, he made sure to take the boy out, go to school events and even read his stories, giving feedback and support.

Pepper made herself available if he ever needed to talk and was always willing to taste test.

Even Happy was around to take him where he needed to go, training in the gym and joke with.

So even if the young boy didn’t have a relationship with his father, he had adults around to support and love him and help him through life.

It didn’t stop him wishing he did have a relationship to his father though.

While MIA in Afghanistan, Tony realised he wanted to try harder to build a relationship to his nearly teenaged son.

It didn’t happen.

He returned home and completely changed his company, which required a lot of time. His guilt also led in him to putting on that damn suit and trying to save the world.

And then he nearly died from palladium poisoning.

And then New York was attacked by aliens and the avengers were formed.

And then Tony had PTSD; anxiety, panic attacks and nightmares.

And then ‘terrorists’ blew up their house and nearly killed Happy and Pepper.

And then murderous robots.

And then the avengers broke up.

And then Tony worked with the UN to amend the accords and set up more help and cleaning crews. Back to lots of travelling.

And then…

And then… Peter.

It never eased up and his son turned 18.

His son made excuses over the years. He genuinely was busy and obviously struggled with relationships. Maybe he’s just not paternal? You can’t blame someone for trying to save lives either.

Of course he was aware it isn’t all on Tony, he could have tried harder to bond with his father as well.

But then Peter came along.

Scientifically and mathematically gifted Peter.

Superhero Peter.

Enthusiastic, smart and funny 15 year old Peter.

And then Tony had the time.

He made the time.

For Peter.

To talk to him. Help with his homework and superheroing.

Teaching him. Training him.

They spent a lot of time in the workshop and lab.

Tony was always so interested in what Peter had to say. Whether is was about science or mechanics, school, spider-man or even teenage romance.

It came so easily and naturally to Tony.

He had the time.

Even the team had noticed this relationship and dubbed them ‘Iron-Dad and Spider-Son’.

That hurt.

The time he overheard Clint comment, ‘why couldn’t we have had dad-Tony this whole time?’ really stung.

Tony’s been a dad, to a son, the entire time he’s known the avengers.

He didn’t hate Peter though. It’s not his fault and he’s actually perfectly nice. But to see his father so easily bond with another kid in a short time made him realise that he’d never get that father-son relationship.

Tony is paternal. Just not for him.

His eyes fluttered open, the ground cold against his face.

Wait, ground? What-

A groan passed his lips as he sat up, pressing a hand to the side of his head where pain radiated.

He blinked the fuzziness from his eyes, trying to remember how he got there, but the last thing he could recall was leaving the Stark Industries event after supporting Pepper.

The room was dull and very basic. With stone walls and floor, no windows, one dim light and two metal framed beds so rusty they would probably break under his weight.

As he glanced back down to the ground, he noticed another body in the room. They were still slumped on the ground and back to him.

Scrambling across the floor, he pushed on the mans shoulder to lay in on his back and see his face.

Dad?

Quickly he checked for a pulse and when he was satisfied with the regular thumping, he moved away, letting out a sigh of relief.

With his back to the wall, arms resting on his bent knees, he waited.

It was only a short while later when Tony began to wake. Groaning and sitting up in the same manner his son had moments earlier.

“Oh God, what the hell-where am I?” He mumbled, clearly unaware he wasn’t alone.

“I was hoping you’d know the answer”

Tony’s head snapped over at the grumbled voice to see his son.

“Y/N. What- what are you doing here?”

“hell if I know. Can’t imagine why anyone would take me. I generally don’t piss people off and I’m neither an Avenger or a tech genius.”

“Maybe they mistook you for me” Tony joke, completely oblivious to his sons disinterested and cold tone.

He shuffled back to lean against the opposite wall as his son scoffed.

“Sorry kid, you got the Stark looks.”

“Yeah, that’s all I got” the young man mumbled, leaning his head back on the wall, closing his eyes.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.”

Silence fell between them until the door opened.

The two men rose to their feet as two armed guards entered the room, a third following with a tray of unappealing food and bottled water.

Neither Stark was acknowledged as the tray was placed on one of the beds and they turned to leave. They even ignored Tony’s incessant questioning and cocky attitude.

His son stayed silent, taking on of the bottles as he sat back on the floor, still not ready to trust the beds.

“Could they just answer a simple question? They got to have a fucking reason for this.”

“Whatever it is I wish they’d just hurry up with it.”

“What, are you bored? Got places to be?” Tony asked, before taking his seat back on the floor.

“Yes, actually. I have an interview Monday and I’m not ready.”

“An interview? What for?”

“Like you actually care.”

“Hey, that’s not-“ Tony began to object but his son looked over at him and cut him off.

“Unless it’s about Peter or Superhero shit, you don’t want to know. You haven’t magically become interested, you just don’t like the silence and unfortunately I’m the only one here. You never cared about what was actually happening in my life before, why start now?”

Tony stared at his son in shock. It’s hard to make The Tony Stark speechless, but right now he had no words at all.

As his son dropped his head back to the wall, looking away from him, Tony couldn’t take his eyes off his son.

Thoughts ran through his head as he examined his son, becoming aware of how little he really did know.

-When did he get so tall? Not tall-tall though, definitely the Stark gene at work there.

-That suit makes him look so grown up, even if those a-holes took our jackets and shoes. Why did they take our shoes? No. Not important. Focus.

-I care about my son. Come on Tony, think. Something.

-School? Crap, when did I last even read a report card? He’s always aced English. Didn’t he do band? No, shit, that was Peter. Goddamnit, is he right?

“You’re 18.”

“Well done. You want a medal?”

“Is the interview for college?”

His son still didn’t move, wouldn’t even look at him.

“Please, Y/N. I-I know I’ve not really been… present in your life. But I do care about you.”

“Do you?” His eyes burned long repressed anger and Tony prepared himself for everything that was coming. He knew he’d deserve it too.

“You gave up so easily. It was too hard to bond with your idiot son, a shy kid who couldn’t understand simple maths. You’d rather be with women and go to parties, and the company always came first. All you did was throw money at things. For year I was fine with it, you using money to help me. I had more than more. It was clear you struggled with relationships of any kind and I was just dumped on you with no warning. It was fine because I had Rhodey, Pepper and Happy. They were there to talk to, they taught me things and supported me, Rhodey would go to school events whenever he could. I just figured maybe you’re not a paternal person. Then you became Iron Man and started saving the world and I can’t be mad about that.”

Tony stayed silent and watched as his son stood up, running a hand through his hair as he began to pace.

“Then you met Harley and kept in touch with him. You upgraded his garage into a high-tech lab. But he did help you save Pepper and the President so I guess you owed him and I didn’t let it bother me. It wasn’t until Peter came along that I noticed that you are one of the most naturally paternal people I know. You became his father figure, took him in so quickly, bonding immediately. If he needed help, you were there. He wanted to talk, you listened. Whether it’s out being Iron Man and Spider-man, training him, helping him with his school work or just locking yourselves in the workshop for hours building new shit. You’re always there for him. He witters on about some stupid crush for 25 minutes and you hang on every word. But you couldn’t do that for me?! What, did I need to be a genius at maths?! Interested in building extravagant technology?! Would you have noticed me then? You know, you went to Peter’s science show last month but you’ve never been to any of my school events. It was always Rhodey, Pepper and Happy a couple times, or no-one. But never you.”

The young man stared at his father, chest heaving, eyes burning as he held back tears. Yet Tony said nothing. He couldn’t take his eyes off his son. Lips parted and eyes glistening with unshed tears, he just sat, no words coming out.

“Yeah I’m 18 any yeah it’s a college interview. I graduate in a few weeks, Rhodey’s going. I’ve already been accepted to a couple colleges. Only a few months and I can leave.”

He didn’t give Tony a chance to respond as he risked the bed, laying down and facing the wall as he focused on bringing his breathing back to normal.

Behind him, his father watched on as tears fell down his face, guilt taking over his whole being.

Neither of them spoke for the rest of the night. While his son eventually fell asleep, Tony stayed on the floor, thinking through everything his son told him and looking back over the years.

The following morning, two guard came in and took Tony away.

They brought him back a few hours later, unharmed. The younger Stark watched as Tony worried his bottom lip and fussed with his clothes. He noted the troubled look on his father’s face and it was clear that whatever the kidnappers told him wasn’t good at all.

But he remained silent.

Eventually Tony settled, sitting on the floor again. But the two still didn’t speak for a few more hours.

“I’m sorry,” Tony finally broke through the silence and tense atmosphere of the confined space.

His son remained silent but his eyes moved up to look at him. This was enough of an acknowledgement that he was listening and so Tony continued.

“You might not believe that, but I am. I don’t know why it was so hard or why it was so easy with Peter. I didn’t- It wasn’t intentional, I didn’t even realise.”

The young Stark kept his eyes on his father but his face stayed blank and lips sealed.

“And you know, just because maths and science subjects didn’t come naturally to you doesn’t mean you’re an idiot. I’ve never once thought you were. I know the Stark name has become so tied to them, mechanics, advanced technology and engineering… but it doesn’t mean you’re not…good enough? Because you don’t follow that. I never thought you should have been, it didn’t-didn’t disappoint me or anything. But you were always so talented in arts, you wrote the most amazing stories and a complete natural in the kitchen. Things I’m not so great at. It just made it harder for me to figure out how to connect. I didn’t know where to start.”

A small smile flashed across his face, eyes glazed as he recalled the past.

“Y’know, I loved those stories about the uh, the dragons that live on your shoulder. I’d find drawings and paintings of them all over the house, and it was a big house!”

Across from him, his son’s head raised a little higher, eyebrows subtly furrowing and looked at the soft expression on his father’s face. He had no idea Tony even know about those.

“I should have been there, tried harder. There’s no excuse for that. But I have always cared. You were just so talented in things I didn’t understand. Then I saw how close you and Rhodey became and-“

Tony let out a sigh, looking away from his son.

“You were left with me, an egotistical ass and a- a playboy. I didn’t think I deserved you. You deserved someone better. Someone emotionally available and mature. Someone to help you grow into an amazing person and progress your talents. Someone like Rhodey. He deserved you and you him. He was -and is- better for you. You were loved and supported by him, and then Pepper and Happy, so I – I thought you’d be ok. That you wouldn’t need me.”

Once again it was all quiet in the small room. This time Tony wouldn’t look at his son, but he couldn’t take his eyes off his father.

“I did need you.”

His voice was raspy as he admitted this to not only Tony but himself.

“Rhodey’s the best. I love him. Couldn’t have asked for a better Uncle. But that’s what he is; my Uncle. You were supposed to be my Dad. I shouldn’t have had a father figure when my father was right there. You were so cool, before and after becoming Iron Man. You made everything around you seem like fun. I didn’t understand the tech crap but- I’m an artist. I can, and did, design things. It’s not all on you, I didn’t make it easy.”

“You were a kid, it is on me. But, maybe- When we get out of here I’ll do better. I want to be an active part in your life. I also understand if it’s too late though.”

“It’s not. It’ll take time but, I’d like that. Rhodey might get jealous though.”

A huffed laugh slipped past Tony’s lips as they spread into a smile on his face when his son cracked a grin.

They continued to talk into the night, about school, which colleges and courses, friends and dating. Once they started they couldn’t stop.

It is hard to shut up a Stark.

They were laughing about one of Tony’s stories of his time in MIT with Rhodey when an explosion shook the room.

The men stood up and faced the door as the sounds of fighting and yelling grew nearer. A smirk spread on Tony’s face as he recognised the noises of his teammates.

It wasn’t long before the door was broken down and Captain America stood in it’s place.

“Bout damn time. Did you stop for coffee?”

“Yeah, yeah, tin man. You’re welcome.” Hawkeye quipped as they walked down the halls.

Rhodey broke through to get to his nephew’s side, checking him over and ensuring he was ok.

Tony led the group to the main room. The kidnappers had access to files and tech that would be too dangerous to leave.

As Tony wiped everything, quips flowing between him and his teammates, none of them noticed the man sneak in through another door.

The younger Stark moved before his brain could even process what was happening, placing himself between his father and the gun that was raised to his back.

*bang*

#tony stark x reader #platonic tony stark x reader #platonic!tony stark x reader #tony stark x son!reader #tony stark x son #tony stark imagine #avengers imagine #avengers reader insert

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ziamfantasyfest · 4 years

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Chosen Prompts

Hello everyone, the day is here!

Prompts have been assigned to writers. Thank you to everyone who signed up! We are very excited to read the following fics. If you would like to know, the list will be under the cut. If you want to be surprised when the postings start then feel free to skip this post!

1. #22: Zayn is a magical tattoo artist. Liam goes to him thinking he’s a regular tattoo artist, completely unaware magic exists. At least until he gets home and his now healed tattoo starts moving around.

2. #38: Liam and Zayn are both superheroes who have been rivals forever. Liam thinks Zayn is too brash and impulsive. Zayn thinks Liam is too much of a boy scout and needs to loosen up. They each try to one up each other and get to crime/incidents first. Lots of banter. Until they’re both taken by a supervillain and have to work together to escape and stop his plan.

3. #10: HP!au Zayn as a brooding Potions professor and Liam as Quidditch professor that students all houses ship together. They ask and prob and even make them go on a date without professors knowing it’s, you know, a date, but all in vain. They’re just friends. Friends. Who are married. And has been in relationship since their 6th year when Slytherin!Zayn punched Hufflepuff!Liam with his mouth on said boy’s one right after he said “come on, then” but, details.

4. #23: Zayn is a prince of a small peaceful coastal kingdom focused on beauty and healing magic. Due to military advances from surrounding kingdoms they form an alliance with the mountain kingdom notorious for their army and defensive magic by arranging a marriage with their crown prince Liam.

5. #20: AU where if you haven’t found your soulmate by age 21/25/etc., the soulmate bond is broken forever. It’s almost Zayn’s birthday, and they still haven’t met each other. Their connection is so strong, however, that the universe steps in. The day before the deadline, they each wake up in the other’s body. Everything goes wrong as they race against time to find one another.

6. #7: One of them is a dragon rider/warrior and the other is a prince (author can choose which is which) and they can’t stand each other at the start. But then another country threatens to invade their land and the king orders the dragon rider to take the prince on a long journey to a neighboring country to get help. Really I just want a secret mission with enemies-to-lovers and dragons.

7. #41: People are born with their soulmate’s hair color on their wrist. The color on Liam’s wrist keeps changing.

8. #29: Hybrid Liam is given as a gift to Lord Malik for saving the Paynes from destruction. At first, Zayn doesn’t know what to do with him; his parents made him accept the offer, he didn’t want a puppy (with those eyes and those lips) and he didn’t want to go against everything he stands for (being owner=bad, very vocal about hybrids rights, etc) and yet, here he is. Liam needs love, gentleness and attention, he hopes Zayn can provide it; all he wants is to fall in love and have his happily ever after.

9. #15: Modern magical AU- Liam buys a potion to see true love from his friend Zayn. He is surprised to find that his true love is Zayn! He returns several times to see Zayn and attempt to profess his love, but chickens out. Zayn is worried that his potion didn’t work, and that’s why Liam keeps returning to talk about it. He takes his potion making very seriously, even though he’s jealous of whoever Liam’s true love is.

10. #11: Ziam!witcher AU with zayn as a quiet moody geralt and Liam as as the overzealous bard Jaskier who follows zayn on his Witcher adventures and works his way under the stony exterior. Zayn does everything he can to send Liam away but soon finds he’s grown more than attached

11. #45: Zayn is a witch in a kingdom that believes magic is sin unless they can exploit their powers for their gain. So when Zayn is forcefully recruited to help the kingdom’s army in a war, not only is he terrified but he’s also furious. But he is kidnapped and forced into joining them. However weeks into the war out in the cold climate in the middle of the night, he decides he will risk it all and run away. When he loses his way and accidentally ends up in the camp of their enemies he’s sure he will be killed on sight. But when he bumps into a soldier while trying to find his way out without anyone seeing him he gains a sliver of hope that he might live. What he doesn’t know yet is the soldier he bumped into is the commander and crown prince of the enemy kingdom who seems much more accepting and appreciative of magic. Things suddenly change and Zayn doesn’t leave the war all together but decides to join the other side.

12. #39: When Zayn was little he was obsessed with the idea that doors could lead to different realities. They never did. As he’s grown up he’s forgotten this as a childhood fantasy. Until he opens a door and steps into a world that is DEFINITELY not his own.

13. #26: Liam is a mermaid. Zayn is the fisherman who catches him in a net. Liam knows it’s a bad idea to get too close to humans, but just can’t stop thinking about him. Just friendship is fine, but if romantic: a mix of pining and friends to lovers. (Try to avoid “and then Zayn keeps him in a bathtub” if you can)

-Self Prompts-

1. Legend of Zelda-esque AU. Z is a prince from a lineage of (insanely) powerful wizards yet to awake his full powers. He’s more of a historian than a magician. L is Z’s childhood friend (not royalty). They are separated in their teens and reunite as adults. They go on a journey to save Z’s dad from an evil wizard. Friends to strangers to friends to lovers I suppose. With MAGIC.

2. Liam is an immortal angel type that helps humanity from the background. When strange and dangerous events start happening more frequently, Zayn, who works as a reporter. Finds himself involved in things he never thought possible.

3. Zayn is a sorcerer who is having trouble keeping an apprentice. He becomes desperate enough to hire Liam, a complete magic novice. Despite this, Liam turns out to be the best apprentice Zayn’s ever had. Except for one major problem: he’s exactly Zayn’s type. And everybody knows you never lay your hands on your apprentice, no matter how hot you think they are.

4. Bewitched AU where Zayn is a witch (Samantha) and Liam a mortal (Darrin) who remains blissfully unaware of Zayn’s big secret until their honeymoon!

5. When Liam finally builds up the courage to talk to the quiet regular at the cafe he works at to tell him he’s Customer of the Week, he hopes to learn what it is that keeps the man coming back every day. Maybe find out if he’s noticed Liam all these months too. But the barista’s taken on a wild ride when he discovers that the humble patron isn’t just a comic book/graphic novel creator, he can enter his stories and experience them alongside his characters too.

6. When Liam moves into his new house, he decides to introduce himself to the neighbors. The next thing he knows, he’s tied to a chair and threatened by a small army of fairies.

#assigned prompts #updated

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go-diane-winchester · 5 years

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Misha Collins is not the Professor of Slash Fiction

What Misha Collins has done to Supernatural slash fiction, has ruined slash within the fandom and added fuel to the fire of hatred that gay men are starting to have for slash fans. I feel very sad for the teen destiel shippers in fandom, who have fledgling sexualities and instead of letting them explore these things organically and healthily, via slash fiction, Misha wants to school them on slash, a subject he has piss poor knowledge of. Because he is a well known figure, in SPN circles anyway, they assume that he knows what he is talking about. Actors and characters are merely muses, not the foundations blocks for a shipper's happiness mansion. You don’t need their permission or blessing. You don't need their validation. What Misha did was, he made destiel his personal brand. Anything for popularity. And he did it, despite knowing that the other half of the pairing is disapproving of it.

A slasher's sexuality is being exhibited through the stories she writes. Slash fiction is not about an actor, show, character or other external parties. It is internal. It has everything to do with the girl writing the story, and is a reflection of her sexual expression. Once upon a time, women wrote only what they like. If they didn’t like something, they steered clear of it, because that is what people with common sense do. I, for example, can’t read fellatio because it doesn’t do anything for me. I guess its because I am not a man, don’t have a penis and therefore don’t know what it feels like, so I don’t appreciate it. In my stories, my characters don’t fellate each other. If I read a story that is really enjoyable and fellatio makes an appearance, I skip that paragraph. However, I don’t berate the person for writing something I personally don’t like. She wrote it perhaps because she finds it enjoyable.

Today, women are not really writing for themselves. They are writing homosexually appropriate sex scenes, just so that their gay male readers, that are not the majority, don’t scoff at them and go “that’s not how we do it”. Yes, the gay friends in this bubble are happy, but the majority of the slash fans that are mostly heterosexual women are left feeling lackluster. Perhaps that is why there is a general trend for women to “grow out of slash fiction” and even mass media is seeing slash fiction as a teenage girl’s pass time. Women, who are fully grown, and fully aware of their sexuality can’t pretend to like the stories because the stories are no longer appealing. Of course, some Misha fans are A-OK with that artistic injustice because “Misha would love it because he is not a bigot”. It has nothing to do with bigotry. Sometimes, it is best to leave out the sex scene rather than make a select few happy. Slash sex was never meant to be realistic sex. It is, after all, written generally by straight females for straight females. Throw in the bi females as well. Its fantastical, as it should be.

In early slash stories that I read, back in the lord of the ring days, ukes came the way women do, without a hand on them. Why? Because that is how women usually orgasm. They write what they know. However, young sexually inactive girls, listening to Misha and his LGBT slash tirades, endeavor to make stories “accurate”. So now we have lots of young girls, growing up with a better understanding of gay sex than of straight sex. I have even heard a few saying that they wanted to be gay men. Misha is interfering with a natural process and confusing teenagers, which bites because as it is, sexuality is so confusing for young people. Proper slash or classic slash is an artistic manifestation of straight sex. The drivel that we have now is political correct, inclusive nonsense that gay men didn’t ask for and women don’t feel overwhelming enthusiastic about. I don’t know what the ramifications of that is going to be other than women deserting slash fiction.

I would like to point out at this juncture, that as far as SPN is concerned, Misha is a culprit. But there were one more culprit. There was one who communicated with general slash fans around the early 2000s. His name was minotaur. And he tried to school slashers on how to write gay sex correctly because they weren’t doing a good enough job for his liking. He had no business doing that. It has nothing to do with him. Slash fiction is for woman. Gay fiction or bara is for men.

For Supernatural, I like J2 alternate universe. There aren't very many other people left to love on this show. They are all back stabbers. If I write a story, Jensen is always the baby. Baby is the word I used to use during my Lord of the Rings days, before I realized that the word uke existed. Its not the correct way to write Jensen. It is my favorite way of writing Jensen. I like Jensen as the baby. When I write a story where I need the baby to be a kidnap victim or abused stepchild or ethereal unattainable prince, I like to see Jensen in that role. It has nothing to do with him. It is how I like to write. Its about my perception. He is just a muse.

I like seeing Jared as the daddy. Go ahead and laugh. I still smirk about this embarrassing word that I used before I know seme existed. I like when Jared as the savior. I cant see him as a baby because he is so fricking huge and tall, with the rippling muscles, expansive torso and broad shoulders. Its is, for me at least, too easy to write him as a ferocious warrior, then as an abused baby locked away in a dungeon.

P.S.: THIS IS ONE OF MY FAVORITE JARED GIFS.

The Jensen and Jared in my stories are mere avatar of the real actors. They are manifestations of my sexuality and what I like sexually. They have nothing to do with the real actors. That is what hellers fail to understand. They think that whatever they read in a destiel story is a manifestation of the truth. That is why destiel and cockles stories are not imaginative. J2 stories are so diverse because the actors themselves, despite being slash friendly, have never interfered with the genre. They allowed the art form to grow at its own steady pace, organically.

Only the destiel fans do that now. Because Misha turned an innocent art form into a drug, and he is their only dealer. And you know how druggies love their dealers. Reader opinions matter but not about who should be the baby and who should be the daddy. You can't tell others how to navigate their sexual expression. That is what Misha fails to understand. Misha tries to show that he is an alpha. So he is, essentially telling his fans what to write. That is why Cockles stories are one trick ponies. Artistic growth is completely stunted. They are mostly High School AUs with the Jock Dean and Nerd Cas falling in love. Even Twist and Shout was like that. Except that Cas died in the end. From AIDS. No wonder gay men hate slash fans. AIDS has no place in a slash story. Its not a trope or a fetish. Have some respect. And who made hellers think slash was a gay thing? Misha. So blame him.

Mpreg is proof that slash is a female art form. The only other people who write mpreg now, write it as a creative exercise. I used to feel embarrassed by mpreg especially if men found out about it. But now I am fiercely protective of it. Because its one of the last remnants of female sexuality in slash fiction. You don’t see mpreg popping up as frequently in bara, because gay men don’t fall pregnant and therefore don’t have a natural maternal desire. Mpreg is big in SPN. The brothers, Cas, even Kevin have gotten knocked up. SPN is like a regular maternity ward. I realize that Misha might not know anything about mpreg because he hasn’t spoken about it in his panels. If this is true, then I hope it stays that way. I don't want Misha to ruin mpreg, because imagine poor Jensen dealing with that.

I was under the assumption that Misha doesn't know what tin hatting is. I assumed that he thought Cockles is just an RPS pairing. His talks about Cockles has started to make me think otherwise. Misha doesn't realize that he is playing with fire. And the day the penny drops for Jensen, he is going to be furious. He is going to realize Misha is the reason his and Jared's reputation are completely tarnished. He is going to realize Misha is the reason he and Jared get so many threats. That is why, I wish Misha will stop talking about Cockles. Just his interference, by itself, has turned his destiel shippers into a militant group. Notice how his sastiel fans don't do that. It is because he doesn't indulge sastiel. In other words, he neglects the expendable fans, because he assumes, incorrectly, that destiel gives him more clout.

Because he is schooled hellers for the past ten years, they are brainwashed into making slash fiction something it isn't. It is not an expression of gay rights. Its not a sexuality and its not about making the writers do what you want. Even having a civil discussion about slash fiction is hampered because the answer to anything, from that camp, is usually “Well, Misha doesn’t have a problem with it”. Misha is not your father. You don’t have to see slash fiction or anything else through the Misha Collins lens. Use your own common sense. Normal destiel fans understand this. Why cant hellers?

You don't need actor validation to enjoy slash fiction. In fact, in my ideal world, I would hope that the actors never heard about slash fiction. Personally, I find it mortifying. The actors [decent ones anyway] are not there to fulfill your sexual needs. They are not sex dolls. They are only muses because you love them. That doesn't mean they have to approve of your fetishes. The proper definition of slash fiction should be: Slash fiction is an escapist fantasy platform showcasing stories and artwork, by women for women, about male subjects in a romantic setting. Leaving out the words “homoerotic” does away with multiple confusions, because slash is not gay porn. This is what Misha believes and his own shipper fans got angry with him for calling destiel pseudo-porn. Misha researched slash fiction on Wikipedia, like the complete idiot that he is, and it gave him biased, incorrect information. It is the first time I actually saw destiel fans questioning Misha about this subject. Even they acknowledge he doesn't know what he is talking about.

Misha Collins is singlehandedly ruining something he had no business getting involved in. I don’t really bother about what minotaur did to other slash fans, because originally it didn’t disturb my little corner of the internet. Misha had ruined slash in this fandom. When slash was true to itself, in the classical sense, women were still honest with themselves about their sexuality. Bullying was infrequent and slash fiction was not ruined beyond repair. Gay men weren't getting infuriated because women were fetishizing their lifestyle. Now the hellers are bleeding into other fandoms and influencing their thought processes. Misha's rotten influence has had a domino effect. I really wish he would read this and stop.

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ghostbustermelanieking · 6 years

Text

the fountain chapter six

chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four

s6 fic: post milagro, tithonus and detour casefile, immortal scully, part of my series that i write as i rewatch the x files

warning for kidnapping and some violence

chapter six

may, 1999

He blinked in surprise when Samuel Barclay said that the Fountain didn't exist. He'd been expecting this a little, from someone, but it was a bit of a surprise coming from these people, for some reason. He didn't know why, but it was. “What, you don't believe?” he asked, shrugging it off.

“I don't believe. My brother has the good sense not to believe,” Samuel said, turning half-towards the river. He seemed almost bored. “As for my father, he gives it the benefit of the doubt.”

Peter shrugged, running a hand over his silvery head. “I suppose I have something of a romantic in me.”

“So you've never come across anything that looks a little suspicious?” Mulder asked. “Anything to make you believe?”

Andrew laughed, as if Mulder was an amusing child. “I've come across several tourists looking for exactly what you were,” he said. “And I've all told them the same thing: you're probably looking for St. Augustine.”

Mulder laughed too, a little irritably, said, “Well, I suppose if you can't help me, I should probably be on my way.” He bent over and hoisted the heavy backpack off of the ground. His shoulders groaned in protest, but he ignored them.

“Well, good luck with your fruitless pursuit, Mr. Mueller,” Andrew said, eyes towards the river like his brother.

“It's Mulder, actually,” Mulder said shortly.

“Good luck, Mr. Mulder,” Peter said, deadly serious. “Sometimes you find things where you least expect them.”

He reached out to shake Mulder's hand, and Mulder accepted, watching the man carefully. He couldn't read Peter’s expression. “Thank you,” he said, and turned to leave.

Something else occurred to him after he took a few steps. Barclay. Virginia Barclay, who had no records.

There had to be more than one set of Barclays in the Tallahassee area, but it was worth a try. He turned around and said, “Hey, do you guys have a relative named Virginia? Virginia Barclay?”

Andrew raised his eyebrows in surprise, like he couldn't believe Mulder was asking. Samuel snorted, turning back to the river. “I'm afraid not,” Peter said. “Do you know a Virginia Barclay?”

Mulder shrugged. Reading over her file didn't seem like a synonym for knowing her. “Once,” he said. He wiped his dirty hands on his jeans and added, “Good talking to you gentlemen.” And then he turned and left.

---

He walked as the sun sunk low in the sky, as blue-black touched the edges of the horizon. The ache in his back from the weight started to become routine. The boredom almost became a bit routine. He considered turning back around and going the way he came, but the truth was that he had no idea where he'd come from. What was it Michele had used to mark their path through the forest last time? Pebbles or something. Like Hansel and Gretel. He should've remembered that before coming in here. Or maybe he should've waited and talked to Scully, explained what was going on after she'd cooled down a bit and waited to see if she wanted to come with him. Definitely shouldn't have tramped into the woods by himself. It wasn't dark, not yet, but as the day gave way to dusk, the jumpiness came back. He couldn't fall asleep. He wouldn't fall asleep. If he did and the mothmen came, he really would be helpless. He tonelessly whistled Joy to the World to break the silence.

It happened all of a sudden: he was walking, and then he was falling. The ground gave way beneath him and he plunged into darkness. He let out a pained grunt as he picked himself up off the dirt. What was it Scully had said a couple of years ago? Soft dirt, kind of? It was not soft at all. He groaned, picking himself up off the ground and shifting on the hard dirt. The backpack scraped against his spine. He sat back on his haunches and looked around. He was in some dirt cavern, dark and dank. It seemed to be a tunnel, an underground tunnel.

He'd found it. The caverns he and Scully had fallen into. Maybe it wasn't the same one, but a similar one. And definitely worth checking out, seeing as how he'd fallen at least seven feet and, looking above him, he could see no easy way out.

Smiling a little to himself, Mulder stood on stiff legs and unzipped his backpack, took out a flashlight and one of his water bottles and chugged half of it before tucking it back inside. The least he could do was keep going. He turned on the flashlight and started walking.

There were bones in the tunnel. He wasn't surprised, considering what he'd seen of the mothmen a couple of years ago, but it still came as a bit of a fear-inducer. He was relieved to notice that none of the remains looked very recent, but it still spooked him. If the mothmen were still there…

He fumbled anxiously for his gun and held it in his free hand as he walked through the tunnel. Not for the first time, he wished Scully was there.

After at least another hour of walking in the dark, occasionally under holes to the above that were way too high to reach, Mulder got to the end of the tunnel. It was styled like some sort of rotunda, with other tunnels spiraling out like a pinwheel. And at the center was a tree.

Somewhere between a sapling and a full-grown, it was set up in the middle of the rotunda, directly underneath a circle that let in sunlight. It was about as high as Mulder, a thick and round trunk. It looked young, near new, but he noticed a carving that looked older in the bark. At least as old as the Ad Noctum post they'd found in the tunnels two years ago.

Mulder drew closer, shedding the backpack on the ground, and the words became more visible to him: Fuente de la juventud. His high school Spanish was a tad rusty, but he guessed that meant Fountain of Youth. He reached out and touched the carvings: they were deep, engraved into the wood. Definitely old.

I always thought if it was real that it wouldn't be made of water, Peter Barclay had said of the Fountain.

Was this is? Had he known? Was this sad little tree what Mulder had been looking for all this time? He traced the letters absently with one finger, looking up and down the tree. It was possible, he thought. This could be the key to Scully never being alone. All he'd need to do was show her where it was, and she could do whatever she wanted.

But what if it didn't work? What if he was wrong? If he was going to offer Scully a solution, then he had to be certain it was one, and it seemed that the only way to do that was to test it.

The deciding factor was what Andrew had said about the Fountain being temporary. If he tried something from this tree, and if it worked, he wouldn't be trapped in immortality forever if Scully didn't want him to be. But he might as well make sure it worked. He could just slice his hand open or something and see if it healed. If it didn't, Scully never had to know his intentions. If it did, well.

Mulder debated for several minutes how, exactly, the Fountain-tree-whatever worked. He considered boring a hole in the tree and drinking the sap, but that seemed too complicated and he didn't have anything to do that with, anyway. He considered the bark for a moment before finally giving up and grabbing a handful of leaves from the trees. He inserted a couple in his mouth and chewed, wincing at the bitter taste. It tasted horrible. “One must really want immortality to eat this shit on a regular basis,” he cracked, in an attempt to lighten his own mood. It didn't work. It was a heavy thing, what he was doing. If this worked, for some indeterminate amount of time, he wouldn't be able to age or die.

And if it didn't? His hand was really gonna fucking hurt.

Mulder chewed every one of the leaves, only retching a couple of times. He hoped to God they weren't poisonous. It would be ironic if he was poisoned by the Fountain of Youth. His joints groaned in relief as he sat down beside his backpack, leaning against the dirt wall behind him. He wiped the sweat off of his forehead and drank the last of a water bottle to rid his mouth of the bitter taste. He leaned his head back, wiped sweat out of his eyes, and rummaged for the pocket knife in his pack. And then his phone rang.

His phone, shoved somewhere deep inside his backpack. “I didn't even know I had a signal,” he said out loud, blinking in surprise. He abandoned the pocket knife pursuit and searched for his phone, whipped it out and managed to press Answer just before it went to voicemail. “Mulder,” he said, shoving the phone into the sweaty space between his cheek and his shoulder.

“Mulder, it's me,” Scully said. She sounded tired and pissy. “I got your note.”

The note. He'd almost forgotten the note. His mouth still bitter from the leaves, he swallowed, said, “Yeah, Scully, I…”

“Obviously there's a lot for us to discuss, but I wanted to call and ask where it is you went.” The tension was audible in her voice, tight and sharp. “I know I kicked you out, and I'm sorry for that, but Mulder, I need to know that you did not run off to that forest and out yourself in danger…”

He caught a glimpse of the Fountain-tree out of the corner of his eye, and couldn't help grinning. He'd found it, he'd actually found it. He didn't know if she'd be happy about it, but he wanted to tell Scully that he found it. “I actually did, Scully, uh,” he said, laughing a little to himself. “I found it. I found the fucking Fountain of Youth. I'm looking at it right now.”

Silence on the other end. “Scully?” Mulder finally ventured gingerly. He probably should have lead with an apology.

“Jesus Christ, Mulder,” she said in a weary exhale. “You went into those woods alone? After we almost died last time? What the hell?”

He rubbed at his forehead. “Scully, I've been careful,” he sighed. “I haven't even seen those things…”

“Why did you ditch me?” she demanded. “Why the hell did you ditch me? Why would you come to Florida and pretend to help me for a stupid case like this?”

“Scully, I didn't ditch you. You kicked me out,” he said, a little irritated now.

“Yes, because I was angry, and I didn't really think you'd leave, and if you did, I thought you'd go home. I didn't think you'd run off to chase the very thing we'd just fought about!”

“You don't understand,” he tried, “if you'd just let me explain…”

“How selfish can you be, Mulder, that you absolutely ignore everything I said this morning? Ignore the important case in favor of this, this stupid, nonexistent legend? Why does it matter so much, Mulder? What do you care?” He grimaced, closing his eyes; he didn't make any effort to answer, his hands leaving sweaty prints on the back of his phone. He didn't know what to say. She just kept going, plowing through him like a freight train. “What the hell is so important about tracking down something that had supposedly been around for thousands of years, if it even exists? Why do you have to look right this very second? Why can't it wait?"

“It's because of you,” he said softly, on an impulse. He hadn't planned on doing this, not like this, but he needed her to know. To understand. “I'm doing this for you. So you won't have to be alone.”

There was a silence on the other end, one that indicated Scully's surprise. For a minute, he thought maybe she was furious, raging at his presumption. He was about to apologize when she said, “Oh,” in a voice that was soft and almost near tearful. “Oh, Mulder,” she said.

He softened a little, ready to explain further, to apologize as many times as he needed to, when he heard a thunk on the other end, and then a clattering sound. “Scully?” he called, a little nervous. “Scully, are you there? What happened?” Nothing on the end but a faint moaning sound. What may have been scratching. “Scully!” he shouted, truly frightened now, stumbling to his feet.

He heard Scully's voice, wobbly and faint through the speakers. “Mulder,” she rasped weakly. And then another smacking sound. She went quiet.

“Scully?” He clutched the phone hard in his hand, some part of him chanting frantically, Not again, not again, not again. It hadn't even been that long since fucking Padgett. “Scully!” he shouted. Why the hell did he leave her? He never should've left her side, never should've yelled at her, should've apologized right away… “Scully, are there? Can you hear me? Scully, answer me, please…”

The phone clattered as someone picked it up. “Scully?” he asked, eagerly. Please please please be okay.

“I'm afraid not,” said a strange woman's voice on the other end.

Fury boiled up inside of him. “What did you do to her?” he snarled, pressing a hand hard against the dirt wall so he wouldn't punch something. “What the fuck did you do?”

“Nothing much yet,” the woman said pleasantly, like they were just making conversation. “Is this Mulder? Special Agent Fox Mulder? Agent Scully's partner?”

“Fuck you,” he hissed, hitting the wall with his hand. Chunks of dirt fell to the floor. “Leave her alone! Let her go right now, or so help me God..."

“I don't think I can,” said the woman. “Very sorry about that. I've been watching the both of you, and I've noted how close you two are. Very close. It's almost intriguing.”

Fury bubbled up inside him, and he was about to say more, hiss furious things into the phone, bargain for her life, but something happened before he could. Someone grabbed him from behind, an arm around his neck, and a sweet-smelling cloth came down over his nose and mouth. He struggled, grabbed for the arm that had him in a chokehold, gasped for air, but a sense of drowsiness came over him like a descending fog. He had no idea who was attacking him, or why. He hadn't even heard them coming. How could he not have heard them coming?

He thrashed, but he was growing weaker. The phone dropped from his hand. The arms released him, and he fell facedown into the dirt. Scully, he thought, but he couldn't speak. His lips were stuck together. He tried to reach for the phone, but he couldn't move. His eyelids drooped.

Just before he drifted off, he heard a familiar voice: “Well, then. This is an interesting turn of events.” It was the voice of Peter Barclay.

---

october, 1999

Scully's palms pressed hard into the bark. It bit into her hands, but she ignored the sting, zeroing in on the man. He locked the door behind him, shrugging under his jacket and walking towards the house. She fumbled for her gun, curling her hand around the butt of it as she watched him, fury building. She had found the man who tried to kill her, who had taken Mulder. He could have Mulder inside. She held her breath, watching the man carefully. Considering him. She could go up and arrest him now, but that didn't seem to be a wise idea. What if he had more weapons on him? What if there was someone inside the house with Mulder, who would kill him as soon as she had the man in her custody? She couldn't risk it.

The man went slowly up the front walk, unlock and open the door and enter the house. Scully let out a breath of relief. She clenched her teeth and pulled her gun out of her holster.

She followed the line of trees around the house in an attempt to stay out of sight. When she reached the side of the house, she ran towards the most windowless spot in a crouch. When the flat of her palm hit the bricks, she crouched, pressing her shoulder against the wall. Keep breathing, she instructed. The adrenaline was so high that it pounded in her ears, and she couldn't tell if it was excitement or fear. Likely both. She could find Mulder in there, but she was terrified of what she'd find. Maybe she'd get the chance to see him again, or maybe she'd find out that he'd been dead for months, ever since that night in the woods. Or worse, maybe worse: that he'd started out alive, had survived that night in the woods and had died sometime in the six month period where she hadn't found him. Maybe she couldn't save him anymore because she hadn't looked hard enough before. Or maybe she'd been wrong all along, maybe he hadn't survived and she was an idiot for doubting what she'd seen, for believing in something as trivial as immortality and the Fountain of Youth.

Scully's breaths were coming more rapidly now; she wiped her forehead, pulled her hair back away from her face. You don't know what you're going to find in there, she told herself. But this was the closest she'd ever been. She had to go inside and find out.

She reached into her pocket where she had slipped the photo, touched its glossy front. Took a deep slow breath and rounded the side of the house.

She found a back door and tried it gingerly. It swung open, creaking a little, and she grabbed it to stop it before it could creak too much. She stepped inside, winced as a floorboard creaked under her foot. She curled her hands around the butt of her gun, holding it out in front of her. She started through the house.

It was nearly empty, she was surprised to find. Outside of a dusty, ripped, old fashioned couch, she found no furniture in the house, no pictures. There was a layer of dust over everything: thin, not a layer that indicated that it'd been left standing untouched for years, but she estimated that no one had been to the house in a couple of months, at least. No signs of life. No Mulder.

She cleared the first floor, gun held out in front of her. No sign of the man, either. She nudged the closets open with one finger and found them empty, too. No cupboards. The basement had a lock on it; she'd have the man unlock it when she found him. She turned away and headed for the stairs.

She had crept over halfway up without attracting attention when a step creaked horribly under her foot. Scully stepped off immediately, but to her horror, she heard footsteps in the hall upstairs. She acted on instinct, holding her gun up with both hands and clumping the rest of the way up the stairs. As soon as she rounded the bannister, she saw the man, and roared, “FBI, keep your hands where I can see them!”

The man raised his hands, an amused grin on his face, and if Scully hadn't already known that it was the man who tried to kill them, this confirmed it. The smugness. “I remember you,” he said. “The feisty FBI agent.”

Blood roared in her ears, and it took every ounce of her strength not to shoot him where he stood. “Shut the hell up,” she snapped, holding the gun on him with one hand while she reached for her handcuffs with the other. She pointed the barrel of the gun directly at his head as she rounded him, until she was behind him. Dutifully enough, the man didn't move. She kept the gun up as she grabbed one of his hands, pinning it behind his back. This is how it feels, you fucking bastard, she thought furiously, and was sliding her gun back into her holster so she could handcuff him when he threw his head backwards, directly into her nose. She swore, pain shooting through her face, and yanked his arm further up behind him. The man yelped in pain and tried to yank away, and he might’ve succeeded if she hadn't had such a hard grip on his wrist. She shoved him forward, spinning him around and pushing him so the bannister hit him in the ribs. He came terribly close to tumbling over. She wouldn't have minded one bit, except for the fact that he wouldn't be able to lead her to Mulder.

“You have the right to remain silent,” she said, pulling the man's other hand behind his back and securing them with the handcuffs. She sniffed back the blood dripping from her nose, but it still sounded like she was speaking through tissues, her words muffled. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”

“Are you going to arrest me, Agent Scully?” the man asked, the same amusement in his voice.

She wiped the blood off of her face and yanked him away from the railing. “You deserve worse than that,” she hissed through clenched teeth. "But you will be going to prison. I'll make sure of that."

She could've questioned him right there, but she wanted to look him in the face. She pulled her gun out of her holster before dragging him towards one of the rooms by his elbow. She thought of the way he had dragged her around, like this, and she wanted to throw up. The man was still talking, saying things she wasn't listening to. She shoved him into the first room she saw and threw him down on a chair that was still left in there. Dust flew up from the cushion when he landed. She wiped the blood off her face again. “Looks like I gave you a little nosebleed, Agent,” the man said, in an almost polite way that reminded her of the fucking smoker and made her skin crawl.

She did the one thing she always wanted to do to the smoker and pressed the barrel of the gun to his forehead. “Where's Mulder?” she hissed.

To her ever-growing fury, the man just smiled. “Go ahead and shoot me,” he said.

She cocked the gun and pressed it harder into his head. “I am not playing games with you,” she snapped. "You need to tell me, right now. Where the hell is Mulder?”

“Was Mulder your friend? The one whose throat I slit?” the man replied pleasantly. “My goodness, that was months ago.”

She hit him across the face with the heel of her hand. If anyone had asked, she wouldn't have been able to tell them why she did it, because she was the one who had asked for life for a serial killer who was going to bathe her and kill her, and she knew it was wrong to do this, to let personal grudges get in the way and harm a criminal she had in her custody, but the anger boiling inside her was too much. This man had stabbed her and laughed at her in the same breath; she'd felt the physical pain of what he'd done to her for months after. He still haunted her fucking dreams. This man had killed Mulder or taken Mulder, and she wanted to know why. She wanted to know what had happened to Mulder. She'd waited months without knowing, had nightmare after nightmare, people giving her pitying looks and his mother planning his funeral, and she'd watched this man order her partner's throat slit. He could very well be dead, and it would be this man's fault. Tears burned at the back of her eyes, her nose stinging like crazy. She blinked hard and spoke. “I'm not going to ask again,” she said evenly. She pressed the gun into the side of his face. “Where is he? Where is my partner? What the hell did you do to him?”

“I hardly know what to tell you, my dear,” the man said innocently. “You were there the night it happened. You know what we did to him; you watched it happen.”

She was close to hitting him again, but she forced herself to remain calm. She took a deep breath and said, “I was there. I survived. But when I woke up, he was gone. What did you do to him? Where did you take him?”

The man shrugged. “I'm sorry, Agent, but I'm afraid your partner is dead.”

Scully's breath caught unevenly in her throat. It was what she had feared all along, Mulder being dead, but something in her just wouldn't accept it. I would know, she told herself, that old cliché, as tears pricked her eyes. I would've known. He was her partner. She'd saved his life a million times. She'd helped him play dead once. She might have been in love with him. She would've known. She would have. Wouldn't she?

She felt like she was going to vomit.

The weight of the ocean roaring in her ears, she barely heard what the man said next. “We buried him in the woods that night, after he passed.” He cocked his head at her, disbelief. “You didn't know your partner was dead?”

#xf fanfic #i wrote this #xf rewatch

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pledis-17-trash · 7 years

Text

Drunk in Love || Jun x reader

✦Word Count: 1696

✦Genre: Fluff, hints of angst?

✦Blurb: Being best friends with Jun for such a long time, it was no surprise when you realized that you had feelings for the boy. The only problem was what you were to do with the information. [ Requested by Alana ]

✦A/N: Y/F/N would be your friend’s name.(:

“You’re not going to wait for Jun?” Your friend blinked at you in surprise when you suggested to stop by a café on the way home. These days, you had been walking home with her instead of Jun and your contact with him had become minimal. It was different, not having him by your side making greasy comments and nudging you every chance he got. You had tried to brush all thoughts of him aside, even though it wasn’t working so well.

It was awkward when you realized that you liked him. He had been by your side since you were in preschool and never left since. You practically spent the entire day with him, chatting away then getting scolded by teachers or grumbling over a quiz that neither of you were prepared for. You had thought nothing of the times he had put his arm around you, where you would just push it off and scream at him for a good length of time, or the times he flirted with you, where you would turn beet red. You thought that any ordinary person would feel that way towards him, towards Jun.

The girls in the school would ogle at him, giggling over his muscles and his face, telling others that he could be a model if he wanted to. Rumours would spark of his family history, deciding that he must be of royal background because of the way he acted. It was funny, since you knew that he was only a regular student at a regular school, but the stories were still amusing.

However, it had recently started to get uncomfortable for you, to see him using the same lines on girls that he had used on you; what a mistake to have thought that you were special. You thought that you would have been fine simply being by his side not as a girlfriend, but you were wrong. Your hands clenched into fists every time he spoke of another pretty girl and you glared at the retreating form of every girl that he would wink at. Eventually, you had grown sick of it and stood up abruptly when he was talking briefly about yet another girl with you, leaving him confused and hurt.

“No, I’m not,” you finally responded flatly, your eyes wandering the hallways. People were at their lockers and coming out of the classrooms. Your eyes suddenly widened upon landing on a certain someone, afraid of getting caught. You turned quickly towards your friend, your back to the boy you were trying to ignore. “Y/F/N, let’s go!” You hissed, making sure that only she could hear your desperate pleas. You grabbed her elbow and led her away in the direction of the door. You were so close to escaping quickly and quietly until you heard him calling your name. You pretended not to hear it and slipped outside, breathing a sigh of relief.

“Y/N!” Jun grabbed your shoulder and spun you around to face him, a grin adorning his face. “Oh man, you really have to improve your hearing,” Was he acting like he didn’t know you were specifically dodging him, or was he stupid? His eyelids flickered towards Y/F/N, “Oh, are you leaving early with Y/F/N?” There was a hint of disappointment laced in his voice, but you didn’t notice.

“Yeah,” your curt answer was more than enough to set him over the edge and when you started to walk away, he tugged you back again. “Y/N. Why are you avoiding me?” When you didn’t respond, he spoke up again, but louder. There was fire in his eyes as he snapped, “At least tell me if I did something wrong!” People were starting to glance over, interested in the scene that was playing. You grimaced, then took him by the sleeve roughly to somewhere that people wouldn’t see.

“I’m sorry, please tell me what I did,” was the first thing that Jun said to you, and you sighed. How were you supposed to go on like this? It was obvious that he would never harbor feelings for you, and this friendship was only going to break your heart if it continued. Yes, it was difficult to destroy an over ten-year friendship, but perhaps it was for the best. When you kicked at the ground, he took it as you weren’t going to speak. “Look, this isn’t going to be good for either of us if you don’t say anything, so-”

“Jun.” You interrupted him, your voice hard and he did a double take. “Let’s stop this.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t want to hang around you anymore,” you said definitively. You couldn’t even look him in the eyes, since you knew that if you did, you would run back into his arms and hurt yourself even further.

“Why?” He asked, then when you opened your mouth to respond, he grabbed you by your arms, and brought them up to the middle of you. “Y/N, why? What did I do? I-I don’t want to stop being together with you, I-” He was usually so calm and collected that you would have laughed if you saw this scene, if it was with anyone but yourself.

“I like someone, and they’re going to get the wrong message if I spend all my time with you,” you lied, and tore your hands away from his while his dropped down to his sides. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, finally taking a glimpse of his hurt-filled face. Suddenly, he was the one that couldn’t speak. “I’m leaving now,” you turned and ran back to your friend, who asked if everything was okay. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you told her, ignoring the lump in your throat and wanting to instantly forget what happened. “Do you want to do something fun tonight?”

And that was how you ended up at a party with Y/F/N and a couple of other friends, drinking shot after shot with the music blaring and watching sweaty bodies collide with other sweaty bodies. You never did have a good alcohol tolerance, and got drunk quickly. Y/F/N had fled somewhere with an unknown male, while you were sitting at a counter with your head in your arms on the surface. You were mumbling some incoherent words, and your eyesight was blurry. The sound of someone sitting on a stool next to you caught your attention and you slowly brought your head up to take a good look at him. Dark hair, a sparkle in his eyes – hey! It was Jun!

“What part of ‘I don’t want to hang out around you anymore’ don’t you understand?” You loudly complained, reaching out to shake his arm. “Why do you always do this?” You muttered, setting yourself back in your previous position.

“Let’s go home,” was all Jun said, and he grabbed you by the waist, already knowing that you got feisty when you were drunk and that you would outright refuse to move if he didn’t do this.

“Hey! Let me go! I don’t wanna!” You whined, though your actions betrayed your words as you clung onto him tightly. You screeched the entire way to his car, and in your drunken stupor, you barely wondered why he was here in the first place. “It’s so hot in here,” you huffed, reaching to strip off the only article of clothing on your body.

“Hey – stop!” Jun put an arm out to stop you, and his face was red. It was a first to see that it was him flustered and embarrassed for once and not you in that state.

“Why?” You glared at him, your actions halting for a split second. “Why is it okay for you to see other girls without their shirts on and not me?”

“Because – because you’re my best friend!” He spluttered, trying to find his words, and leaned over to start the car engine.

“What if I don’t want to be just best friends?” His grip on the steering wheel tightened, and he could offer up a meek ‘what?’ in response. “You never see me as anything more, and I’m so sick of being in this one-sided love that I only recently discovered!” Your voice only grew louder as time went on, and Jun didn’t move or say a word. “I love you Jun, but you only ever look at other girls. Why? Is it because they’re prettier than I am?” You burst into tears, and still, Jun didn’t answer. All he did was put the car in reverse and start the drive to your house.

The entire car ride was mainly silent, your drunk sobbing being the only prominent sound. As soon as the two of you arrived, you tried to pull open the door but failed. Jun rolled his eyes, then walked out of the car. “Hey!” You yelled, then hiccupped. “Don’t leave me locked up in your car! I’m being kidnapped! Someone save me!”

“Don’t be so ridiculous,” Jun murmured into your ear, sending shivers down your spine. What? Didn’t he leave a few seconds beforehand? How did the car door open on its own? Was it magic?

“I can get out on my own.” You stubbornly stepped outside, then promptly collapsed. He sighed, then picked you up, kicking the car door shut. A small smile spread on his face to see you looking so adorable, your breathing even and your crinkle lines gone for the first time that day. He dug out the spare set of keys that you had given him once and opened the door.

When he set you down on the bed, he even tucked you in, his motherly impulses taking over. He was pretty tired himself, so he laid down beside you, wrapping an arm around you. Your body instinctively nuzzled into his chest. He was relieved that everything went okay, and the adoring love that shone in his eyes was obvious as he stared down at your relaxed facial expression. He decided that he could stay the night, and explain tomorrow. He closed his eyes, his final words being, “You idiot,” speaking softly after making sure that you were completely asleep. “I love you too.”

Admin Emi

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