#[vaguely gestures at the aftermath]

[dysfunctionalspirit]

ok just bc Mexico fans were behaving like shit doesn’t mean you pinches gringos get to be racist

[chvoswxtch]

secrets

pairing: frank castle x fem!reader

summary: in the aftermath of your fight with frank, you get more than one unexpected visitor.

warnings: swearing, lots & lots & lots of angst

word count: 4.4k

a/n: it's getting juicyyyy. friendly reminder y'all voted for a double drop this week, so chapter twenty one is coming this friday. enjoy. ;) as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

[previous chapter] | [next chapter] | [series masterlist]

“You keep frownin’ like that, you’re gonna get wrinkles.”

Lifting your focused gaze from your computer screen to the source of a familiar voice, the creases etched along your forehead deepened at the sight of Billy standing in your office doorway, leaning against the frame with his hands tucked into the pockets of his perfectly tailored suit pants and that signature vain smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“What are you doing here?”

“Good to see you too, darlin’.”

Billy let out a dry chuckle, crossing the threshold over towards your desk in just a few quick strides. Leaning over your desk, Billy stretched his hand out to brush his thumb along the space between your eyebrows, effectively smoothing out the crinkles of concentration coupled with confusion. The gesture caught you off guard, and you blinked a few times in surprise as Billy unbuttoned the middle button on his dark gray suit jacket before sitting down in the chair in front of your desk.

“There, that’s better. Now, how ‘bout you at least pretend to be happy to see me.”

Billy arched one of his dark brows, that same smirk still gracing the edge of his lips in a silent tease. Looking over at him, it occurred to you that there always seemed to be some hint of mischief lingering in his deep espresso tinted eyes. Leaning back in your chair and folding your arms over your chest, you gave him a pointed look.

“What can I do for you, Billy?”

“Well aren’t you a ray of sunshine today.”

“I could be worse, if you’d like.”

Billy’s lips split into a full blown grin, and he let out an amused chuckle at the sass dripping from your dry reply.

“Nah, I’ve seen you pissed. I’d prefer to stay on your good side, sweetheart. You wanna tell me what’s got you in such a pleasant mood this mornin’?”

Being around Billy just made you think about Frank, and thinking about Frank only reminded you of the fact that the two of you weren’t in a good place right now. He swore to you the night you confronted him that he was going to wrap this job up as quickly as he could, but that meant he had to devote all of his time to it, which resulted in him being around even less than he had been last month. 

Two weeks had passed since you’d last seen Frank in person. When you woke up in his bed the morning after you’d shown up at his apartment to confront him, he was already gone. He’d left a note on his pillow saying that he would call you soon, but that call didn’t come for four days, and neither one of you had much to say. You thought hearing his voice after being apart for a while would make you feel better about the whole situation, grant you some sense of relief or jumpstart a spark of acceptance you couldn’t find beforehand, but it only made you even more pissed off about what was happening.

And then the call you had with him two days ago really set you off.

Frank had been trying to keep the conversation light, and there was an apologetic tone to his gruff voice, but you couldn’t bite your tongue. The more you sat alone with the vague explanation he had given you, the more his promise of reassurance felt like fraud. You drew blood first, like you always did, but after a round of back and forth passive aggressive exchanges, Frank lost his own temper and went on the defense.

“For Christ’s sake, what else you want me to say, huh? How many other ways I gotta apologize?”

“We shouldn’t even be in this situation right now, Frank-”

“Yeah, well we are, and you’re gonna have to find a way to deal with it cause it ain’t changin’ any goddamn time soon.”

Frank’s aggressive retort only incensed you further. The stress of the current job combined with the growing rift between the two of you eroded his patience into raw frustration, and you were matching his verbal lashes blow for blow.

“Just deal with it? Just deal with you being away and hiding things from me?”

“That’s the job sometimes, alright? You know first hand the kinda shit I gotta do. You know what my world’s like. I told you I was gonna do what I could to get this handled as soon as possible-”

“But this isn’t your normal job, Frank! Stop using that as a fucking excuse. You’ve never had to disappear to God only knows where before, and you’ve never kept secrets from me-”

“Oh for fucks sake. You think that’s what I’m doin’? Makin’ excuses? That’s bullshit and you know it. I told you what I could-”

“And that’s supposed to be enough?“

“It was enough for Maria.”

Those five simple words stunned you silent. They struck a nerve you didn’t even know existed, and Frank, blinded by his aggravation, just kept hacking away at it with his verbal arsenal.

“Ya’know, she never gave me this much fuckin’ shit, and she had to deal with way worse than you. I was away from her and the kids for months at a time, couldn’t tell her a goddamn thing ‘bout what I was really doin’, and she was never on my ass the way you are right now-”

“I’m not her, Frank!”

The only sounds on the line were yours and Frank’s labored breathing, shallow and heavy from yelling and exhausting your vexed emotions on one another. For several moments, neither of you spoke a word, until finally you broke the silence by gritting your teeth and delivering one last blow.

“You know what, don’t fucking call me again until this shit is over.”

Frank, being the stubborn ass that he was, hadn’t attempted to contact you to smooth things over or to apologize. It infuriated you, but in the same breath, you didn’t want to speak to him right now. 

Still, it wasn’t fair of you to take your sour mood out on Billy. He hadn’t done anything wrong. You were upset with Frank, not him. Letting out a deep exhale through your nose, you slowly dragged your palm down your face before leaning back in your chair. You hadn’t noticed how stiffly you’d been sitting until you felt a dull ache in your lower back.

“I…sorry. There’s just…a lot going on right now. I’m spread kinda thin so, I’m…a bit on edge.”

“A bit?”

When you shot him an unamused look, Billy let out a light chuckle and held up his hands in a show of faux surrender.

“Alright, alright. I didn’t come to here to fuck with ya. I actually came to ask a favor.”

An expression of surprise swiftly coveted your features. What could you possibly have to offer Billy Russo?

“A favor?”

Billy leaned back in the chair, adjusting the lapels of his suit before crossing his left leg over his right knee, placing his elbows on the arm rests. Maybe it was because your office was familiar to him, or maybe it was because he was so rich he felt like he owned everything, but Billy had a way of being able to make himself comfortable no matter what setting he was in. Fixing his deep brown eyes on you, that signature smirk of his graced his lips once again when he caught your look of intrigue and confusion.

“As you know, Anvil has a government contract with Homeland Security. It was a big deal for the company, and it’s proven to be a damn good business investment. As a matter of fact, it’s been so successful, that I’ve been meetin’ with a few other branches negotiatin’ another expansion, and recently closed a deal with the CIA.”

“Don’t government contracts kinda defeat the whole private military operation thing?”

“I didn’t hear you complainin’ when that Homeland contract brought you to me.”

Rolling your eyes at the smugness in his voice, you reached for the nearly empty iced coffee sitting on your desk.

“It wasn’t a complaint.”

“Anvil is more than personal protection, darlin’. It’s also convoy security, tactical operations, tailored training, and more. Most of our military contracts are outside of the U.S, so havin’ two on American soil is a huge deal.”

“If you’re trying to sell me on investing, I hate to break it to you, but I think the number currently reflecting in my bank account would make you cry.”

Billy let out a deep chuckle at that, his lips stretching open into a tooth bearing grin. Giving a faint shake of his head, he ran his right hand along the top of his head, smoothing his perfectly styled raven hair back into place.

“That’s not what I’m askin’.”

“Then how do I come into this, exactly?”

“The news hasn’t hit the media yet. Anvil’s hosting a Veteran’s Charity Ball this Saturday night, and I’m gonna make the announcement then. That, pretty girl, is where you come into play. I’d like you to personally cover the story.”

Looking across your desk at Billy, you could see by the look on his face that he was serious about wanting you to cover the piece. A slight furrow nestled between your brows at the idea.

“Why me?”

Billy cocked his head to the side, a sparkle of mirth in his eyes and a sly smile tugging at the edge of his mouth.

“Why would I ask anyone else? You know me, you know the company-”

“Which is kind of conflict of interest-”

“I already cleared it with your editor. You bein’ under the protection of Anvil is classified through Homeland, and since we’re a private company like you mentioned, our records ain’t public. Besides, your editor seemed pretty confident you could write without bias. Look, I want you on this. I’ve read the work of some of the other journalists here, and I gotta tell ya, even if I didn’t know ya, I still woulda picked you.”

Hearing that Billy had already talked to Ellison about this was a surprise to you because Ellison hadn’t mentioned it at all to you. When had Billy talked to him about this? Why hadn’t Ellison told you? Perplexity shrouded your features as you looked over at Billy.

“Ellison didn’t say anything-”

“I asked him not to. I wanted to ask you first, in person. He gave it the green light, but ultimately, it’s up to you if you wanna do it.”

Being kept in the dark seemed to be a recurring theme in your life lately that you weren’t happy with, and it stirred up dull embers of irritation from your fight with Frank. A part of you didn’t want to do it purely out of immature spite, since Billy indirectly had a hand in creating the chasm currently deepening between you and Frank. But that wasn’t fair to Billy. You owed him your life as much as you did Frank and Dinah. Billy played a vital part in keeping you safe and protected from the Defenders of Freedom, and recording Steven’s confession ended up being the smoking gun in proving his involvement.

After a moment of silent contemplation, you let out a light exhale through your lips.

“Alright, I’ll do it.”

“Don’t get too excited, now. It’s only a fancy party with an extensive open bar and catering from all of the best restaurants in the city.”

Trying to fight the smile that threatened to escape across your lips, you looked over at Billy and arched one of your brows.

“Are you trying to bribe me to write you a good article, Mr. Russo?”

“Is it workin’?”

Billy’s mouth was stretched in a wide, wolfish grin, showcasing the top row of his dazzling pearly white teeth. His dark brows were raised slightly up his forehead, and he had that familiar devilish twinkle in his eyes. Giving a soft shake of your head with a dry laugh, you crossed your arms over your chest and relaxed back in your chair.

“What time?”

“Starts at seven, I’ll send a car for ya ‘round six-thirty.”

“You don’t have to do that, I can take a cab-”

“C’mon, you’re doin’ me a favor.”

“Hey, I never agreed to write a good article. I might make you look terrible, just for the fun of it.”

Returning your teasing smile with an amused grin, Billy chuckled with a shake of his head. As he stood up and fixed his maroon tie, he motioned towards your office door with his head.

“Alright, c’mon.”

Staring up at him with a puzzled expression, you let out a soft laugh while he buttoned the middle button of his suit jacket.

“What?”

“I’m takin’ your bratty ass to lunch. Maybe after some food you’ll be a bit nicer.”

Making a show of rolling your eyes in faux exasperation, you stood from your chair and locked your computer before closing your notebook.

“No promises.”

“Well in my experience, you’re more tolerable when you’re fed.”

“Keep talking. Your article is getting worse and worse.”

“I’m sure a few glasses of expensive champagne will fix that.”

Billy turned to take a step towards the door and then abruptly paused, turning back to look at you with another teasing grin.

“Oh, and do me another favor, would ya? See if you can get Frankie to drag his ass out and make an appearance. I think he’s forgotten how to use his phone.”

The mention of Frank’s name instantly tarnished the light hearted mood Billy’s banter had put you in. Letting out a dry scoff, you slipped your phone into your purse and pulled the straps over your shoulder.

“I wouldn’t hold your breath. That job you and Madani have him working has not only turned him into a ghost, but also a complete dick. I’ll let you deal with him.”

Tucking a loose strand of your hair behind your ear, you started to round your desk when you looked up and caught the expression on Billy’s face, and it made you stop in your tracks. His sharp features were suddenly void of their usual playful warmth, and there was no charming smirk etched onto his mouth. His lips were set in a firm line, outlining his chiseled jaw that was covered in a perfectly trimmed dark beard, and his dark brown eyes looked nearly obsidian. 

“The job with Madani?”

There was a faint serrated edge to his tone when he spoke, but you didn’t miss it. Billy’s stare was intense, and you realized he probably thought that you knew something you shouldn’t. Crossing your arms over your chest, you let an irritated exhale escape through your nose as your gaze drifted towards the window of your office.

“Don’t worry, he didn’t tell me anything. Not where he was going, not what he was doing, nothing. So whatever top secret thing you two have him doing, it’s still top secret, alright?”

There was a long pause of silence, and your annoyance started to fade into a feeling of perplexity when you looked back at him and saw a look in Billy’s eyes that you didn’t know how to read. There was a sudden coldness to him, and an emotion you couldn’t decode hidden in his steely gaze. The tense quietness in your office sent an uneasy shiver down your spine, but then it was like a switch was suddenly flipped, and Billy reverted back to the version of him you’re familiar with.

He plastered that charming smirk on his lips again, but you noticed this time, it wasn’t accompanied by the usual mischievous glint in his eyes. 

“Trouble in paradise?”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you dropped your gaze down to the floor for a moment before letting out a heavy sigh.

“I don’t like being lied to, or kept in the dark. I know your line of work is…complicated, I just…I thought Frank and I didn’t have any secrets between us.”

“Sometimes lyin’ and keepin’ somethin’ hidden is the only way to protect someone from the pain of the truth.”

Lifting your head, you met Billy’s intense gaze with an incredulous and inquisitive look.

“You really believe that?”

“Trust me, some secrets are better left buried, darlin’.”

»»———　　———««

The following evening when you came home from work, all you wanted was a long soak in a hot bath and an entire bottle of wine. The stress of the last two weeks wasn’t just taking a toll on you emotionally, it was also physically manifesting in your body. Closing the front door behind you, the lock sounded with a click when you twisted the oval knob, and you lazily tossed your keys onto the side table in the entryway before carelessly tossing your purse onto it as well. 

Coming around the corner into your living room, you nearly had a heart attack when you were suddenly met with the sight of a large figure sitting at your dining table, waiting in the dark. Clutching at your chest in panic and jumping nearly two feet in the air, your voice came out in a shrill shriek.

“Jesus Christ, Frank!”

Frank didn’t physically react to your outburst. He sat as still as a statue in one of the chairs, slightly hunched over with his thighs spread wide, his forearms resting just a few inches above his knees. A bit of dark stubble coated his cheeks and sharp jawline, and his grown out hair was a tousled mess of ebony waves resting against his forehead instead of being pushed back in their usual style.

The swift scare of Frank’s intrusion, his silent treatment, and the lingering resentment you’d been harboring for the past two weeks had you glaring at him.

“How the hell did you get in here?”

His deep brown eyes were fixated on you and his plump lips were set in a stubborn line. Frank’s rugged features were even more pronounced in his resting semi-permanent broody expression. Wordlessly, he lifted one of his large hands, showcasing a set of keys on a ring pinched between his thumb and index finger. One of which, belonged to your front door. 

After everything that had happened at your last place, you couldn’t stay there anymore. You’d quickly moved into a new place that happened to be closer to the Bulletin, and as far as you knew no one had died in it, and there weren’t lingering bullet holes under the paint. Frank had helped you move and set up your security system for you again. You’d forgotten that you’d given him a spare key so he could get in while you were at work.

When you crossed your arms over your chest in a defensive stance, Frank caught the pissed off look on your face, and when you opened your mouth to lash out at him, he quickly cut you off with his rough voice before you could get a word out.

“Said not to call. Didn’t say nothin’ ‘bout comin’ to see ya.”

The snippiness of his comment made you narrow your eyes in his direction. Clenching your jaw, you pursed your lips tightly as your face contorted into a portrait of annoyance. You were about to snap back at him when you noticed out of the corner of your eye that there was a packed bag sitting on the dining table next to him.

It was yours.

Eyes flickering between your bag and Frank, you stared at him in a mixture of irritation and confusion.

“What the hell is that for?”

“I gotta leave town for a bit. I told ya I’d make sure you were taken care of while I was gone, so you’re gonna stay with a friend of mine.”

“And you didn’t think to ask me if that was something I even wanted to do?”

“It ain’t up for discussion.”

Frank hadn’t been this cold towards you since the early days of when he was your bodyguard. For a moment your exasperation evaporated, wondering if things between the two of you were worse than you thought. Picking up on the slight change in your body language and facial expression, Frank let out a deep exhale through his large nose and slowly stood up from the chair.

“I can’t do what I need to do if I’m worryin’ ‘bout you bein’ alone here, alright? It’s just for a few days.”

“Frank, I’m not in any danger anymore. No one is actively trying to kill me. If you’re that worried about me being alone, Billy can stop by-”

“No.”

The aggressive tone of Frank’s voice and the roughness of his tone caught you off guard. Frank glanced away from you, his eyes darting around your living room for a few seconds before they finally returned to you. His left hand was tightly grasped in a fist, but on his right, his index and middle finger twitched. A sharp exhale escaped his large nose, and his tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip quickly before he spoke again.

“Look you wanna be pissed at me, be pissed at me, but don’t put yourself at risk cause of it. Maybe you’re right, yeah? Maybe you ain’t a target no more. But I’d rather know you were safe than have to deal with the fact later on that I shoulda done more. I ain’t takin’ that risk again.”

It was like a light bulb went off in your head when he spoke that last sentence. In the midst of your own tangled mess of selfish feelings, you hadn’t once stopped to think about how Frank felt about all of this. A sinking feeling of remorse settled in your stomach hearing the frustration but also the lingering pain in his voice when he spoke. 

I ain’t takin’ that risk again.

He’d had his entire family ripped away from him in one single moment, right in front of his eyes, of course he was fucking paranoid. From your perspective, Steven was facing life in prison, and all the remaining members of the Defenders of Freedom were gonna rot with him, so you didn’t think you had anything to be worried about.

But Frank saw danger everywhere. He anticipated it. He planned for it. And that’s what he was doing right now. 

Frank was doing the exact same thing he’d been doing every single day since he met you: keeping you safe.

Letting out a deep sigh, you looked down at the floor for a moment to gather your irrational thoughts and rein in your impulsive emotions. When you raised your head, your eyes flickered from the packed bag sitting on your dining table back to Frank’s unrelenting stare. Running one of your hands stressfully through the roots of your hair, you made a faint gesture of throwing your hands up in concession.

“Alright, well if you’re not leaving me with Billy, I’m assuming you’re not taking me to Madani either. So, does Matt know I’m coming?”

Frank’s steely expression crumbled at the mention of Matt’s name. He pulled a face like you’d just asked a ridiculous question, a furrow of annoyance and confusion settling between his thick brows.

“You think I’d leave you with him?”

Letting out a dry scoff void of humor, you rolled your eyes with a shake of your head and folded your arms across your chest.

“Just because he’s blind-”

“It ain’t got shit to do with him bein’ blind.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“The problem is I don’t trust him to keep his fuckin’ hands to himself, and I ain’t lettin’ him pull that ‘poor blind orphan’ shit on you.”

A look of surprise crossed your face as your brows lifted slightly up your forehead, and it took every ounce of self control not to laugh or show any indication of amusement. Frank wouldn’t leave you in Matt’s care because he was worried he would…hit on you?

Letting out a grunt, Frank grabbed the handles of your bag in his left hand and swiped it off the table.

“He’s too preoccupied at night anyway.”

“Doing what, exactly?”

“Bein’ the goddamn Devil. C’mon.”

When Frank walked past you towards your front door, you turned around to watch him, narrowing your eyes in irritation.

“Can you at least tell me who you’ve employed to babysit me then?”

Frank paused at your front door, which he took up the entire frame of, and his head dropped between his shoulders for a moment. You could hear him audibly voice his frustration with your attitude when he let out another sharp exhale before turning to look at you over his shoulder.

“A friend of mine.”

“Yeah, you said that. A friend of yours, that you’ve never mentioned before. Do I have to have some kind of top secret security clearance for you to tell me their name?”

There was a scowl on Frank’s face as he glowered at you, turning around to face you fully. He dropped your bag on the floor with a light thud, scrunching up his face for a moment as he inhaled sharply through his large nose, cocking his head to the side.

“Christ. This what you wanna do right now, huh?”

Returning his glare with just as much vehemence, you let out a dry and humorless laugh as you gestured around loosely.

“No, Frank. This isn’t what I want-”

“Look you wanna keep bustin’ my goddamn balls, fine. But do it from the truck, yeah? You can antagonize me with your bullshit all you want while I drive, but we got somewhere to be.”

Clenching your jaw, your hands balled into frustrated fists at your sides. For a moment the two of you were locked in some kind of silent staring contest. You were so sick of every conversation with Frank lately turning into an argument that ended with the two of you at each other’s throats. You didn’t have the patience to combat his stubborn dedication to being a self righteous asshole. Gritting your teeth, you stormed forward and grabbed your own bag as you brushed past him out your front door, swearing under your breath.

“Dick.”

Frank pursed his full lips and nodded his head, turning around to follow you after forcefully shutting your front door behind himself.

“Yeah yeah, get in the goddamn truck.”

tags: @thyme-in-a-bubble @day-dreaming-goddess @messymissy @itwasthereaminuteago @strawberry1042 @queenofthenoobs @wanda2themax @xcastawayherosx @avengerstower-houseplant @stevenknightmarc @ponyosmom35 @babygal-babygal @wellwwhynot @oldermenaremyreligion @combustiblemeow @tired-night-owl @fairykiss32 @danzer8705 @calkissed @fxckahs-blog @lemon-world1 @polskiperson @imperihoe @v4leoftears @harperdoodle @spideyvibez @joalslibrary @cherry-berry-ollie @sorrowfulfragmentation @kdogreads @sumo-b98 @blackhawksfanatic @gloryekaterina @whistle1whistle @starbritestarlite @callmebrooklynbabes @hallway5 @scarletfvckingwitch @bifuriouslatina @soupyspence @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @wonwoosthetic @linguist-breakaribecca @nerdytreeflower @mrs-bellingham @smhnxdiii @s3riou2 @slavic-empress

[ashen-char]

you like that? 🔞

ship: max fox (better things) x gender neutral reader

warnings: explicit smut, discussion/exploration of kink, exchange of power

summary: max doesn't like being treated too softly. so she tells you just how she wants it

word count: 1900+

notes: ok so i got asks abt max smut like this and this and clung to this idea of it being soft/fluffy. inspired by this ask about power bottom!max and this about bossy max. there's a lot of ideas in these i wanna explore more too!

"You're too sweet to me," Max says. Usually, she tells you this with a smile. The gentle treatment was nice. Different. From dating all the wrong guys that only wanted her for her body, being so obviously liked was a blessing.  But today she says it like she's noticing something.

"Yeah?" You sit up, hand holding hers as you lay on your futon together.

"Yeah."

Laying in the afterglow of a particularly satisfying session of making Max fall apart over and over with your mouth, you're still a bit hazy. 

How am I meant to help it, you think, when she's so adorable?

Lifting her hand up to your lips, you kiss it all over, from the back to the meat of her palm. Max laughs. She stretches her fingers when you reach them, enjoying your simple affection.

"Is that a good or a bad thing?" you ask.

"It's not what I'm used to," Max says, giving a small sigh. "That's what's weird."

Searching for the truth in her big brown eyes, you can see how in conflict she is with herself. She likes it, you both know she does. Max enjoys your romantic gestures, swoons at the cheesy compliments and affection even if she swears she's too cool for it. Your girl is softer than she'd like to admit. But there is an honesty in what she's trying to share with you.

"Don't think that I don't appreciate the..." she pauses, trying to find the right words. "The softness. I do." Max affirms this with fixing your hair as it falls over your face, tucking a stray strand behind your ear. "I chose you."

"Sure," you say. Nodding, listening like always.

Max is an angry person. Passionate and rough around the edges, never pulling her punches. You take the time to think things through. You'd never want to hurt someone you love and yet Max thrives in these yelling matches, her whole family getting into fights and being closer in the aftermath. It wouldn't be far fetched to think that she'd like some of that in her romantic relationships too. That she'd feel uncomfortable if it was too easy. If she was the only one bringing that heat.

"I should mix it up sometimes? Be a little rougher?" you ask.

"Yeah. Yeah." She nods quickly, almost too quick, like the very thought of you using a little more force excites her. Then Max bites her lip. A flush goes over her cheeks, suddenly embarrassed with admitting that.

Before you can react, she turns from you, grabbing a pillow and hiding her face in it. "God, I sound so thirsty," Max groans, words muffled.

You chuckle. If anything, she sounds cute. She's ashamed but honestly that's a huge thing you like about her. Max always knows what she wants. "That's not a bad thing, come on," you say, taking the pillow away. "You can tell me anything. You know that."

She pouts up at you. It's like Max wants to melt your heart on purpose! Those full pink lips could get you to do anything. How dare she complain about how well you treat her when she's being so cute that you wouldn't dare do anything else? Leaning in, you kiss that pouty expression away.

"I'm being ridiculous," Max whines.

"No, you're not!" Another kiss, this time to just her bottom lip. When she juts it out like that, you feel the urge to bite it. "I wanna hear!"

"It's like you're not interested." Before you have the chance to refute that, Max puts up her hands. "I know that's stupid! But, like, when we're you know-" she makes some vague hand gestures. You think it's funny that she swears like a sailor but is embarrassed to say the word sex in front of you, even if you've literally been inside of her an hour ago.

"Uh huh," you say, encouraging Max to keep going as she hesitates.

"You're soft. And slow. Until I tell you to give it to me," a flush. Max immediately hates her choice of words. "Until I make you go faster. And it's nice sometimes. But sometimes I feel like I need you to touch me or I'll die. And the fact that you can go slow is like you don't feel the same? You don't need me the same?"

Ah. Probably not the time to kiss her then, even if she's so kissable when she's moody. You don't want Max to feel insecure. You two simply have different ways of showing that you want each other.

"Sure. I get that." You do like touching her, and you think Max already knows that so you don't bother saying it.

Max feels an urgency when it comes to your more physical moments, while you're all about affection even then. You like leading her through the pleasure, giving her more and more. And those preferences have clashed. When you slow things down, something in Max wants to snap at you. She has before, actually. It was hot.

"I just-" Max's jaw clenches. It's hard being so vulnerable. "I hate that I feel like I need to push you to see if you actually want me. I don't want to push you, but sometimes it's like you don't even care."

"Max." You sit up.

You hate that she's beating herself up over this when in reality, the times you've been most excited has been when Max has taken control of the reins. When she's told you to go harder, or faster, or to pull her hair. You hate that you haven't communicated that well and that your girlfriend was left wondering if she was bossy and made you do things.

"Hey, look at me," you say, tilting Max's head up with your finger under her chin. "I like it when you tell me what you want. It's so hot."

"Really?" she asks. There's a hope to her voice, an eagerness now that she knows she wasn't ever pushing you to do something.

Max melts into your touch like she can't help it. She thrives under your assurance and care. It's part of why you're so sweet to her. But sometimes, and now you know it for sure, even a girl as sensitive as Max needs some rough loving. You'll let her tell you when that is.

"You're so sweet that I felt bad asking you to do certain things," she admits. "Every time it'd hurt, I was loving it, but I couldn't say anything because you'd slow down if I told you."

She's right - if you had known that you were hurting her, you probably would've stopped things right in its tracks to check on her. "It's alright if you like that. What gets me off is when you're feeling good," you tell her. "And if that's something that gets you off, I wanna do it. I'd do it all the time."

The thought of hurting Max on purpose doesn't appeal to you, but pleasing her sure does. You could get into it if that's what she needs. And the few times she's asked you to rough her up - to give it to her harder, grip her hips tighter, spank her harder - you've actually liked it.

As you're thinking about that, what you'd be willing to do and not do, Max shifts. She tilts her head back so her throat is exposed, a silent invitation, a gesture of vulnerability. Asking you to get aggressive with her. That invitation breaks its silence when Max says, voice raspy now, "bite."

When she tells you what to do, the mood in the room instantly heats up. No longer are you two expressing your desires for future intimacy, because the intimacy is here and now.

Your hands go to her waist, eyes staying on hers. A quick nip to her exposed pulse point as you test if this is what she meant. You pull Max closer, a moment of hesitance as you silently ask if this is alright, if you're finally fulfilling what she's wanted all along.

"Harder," Max whispers. Her shiver and that breathier tone tell you all you need to know. She wants you to make a mark on her - something to remind herself that she is so so wanted. Of what she has with you - that it's real. "Bite harder."

Max pushes her body into yours when you go in for the next bite. Higher up, more to her throat. You adore the idea that she's letting herself go, finally asking for what she wants and knows that she can get it from you. The pleasure that she's clearly getting from you listening ignites a spark in you, confirming something you always knew.

"That's it, baby," she whispers, a little breathless. You can tell Max is getting wet - she's clenching her legs together to give herself some friction. "You know just what I want, right?" She runs a hand through your hair. "You just want me to tell you."

And you do. You bite your way along her throat, leaving red marks along her delectable flesh where her neck was pale, untouched. Anyone seeing Max would know that you did this. These are your teeth marks on her skin, it's your mouth that's making her shiver and moan. Her hand tightens on your hair, guiding you down now.

Lower, and lower still. You find yourself with your head between her legs, tongue lapping away at Max's most sensitive spots. She cries out demands and praise in equal measure. "Yes, there," one moment and "fuck, don't you dare fucking move," another.

There's no guesswork now, not when Max is being so vocal about her needs. When you've got her pretty little clit between your lips, she tells you to suck so you do. When you're licking along her slit, Max tells you to flatten your tongue so you do. When she's quivering, cumming, soaking your mouth and chin and you think your job's over, she tugs you back to her cunt.

"Tell me you love this," Max breathes out.

"I love this," comes out of your mouth so easily. Not one to give up, your jaw might be aching and your tongue tired, you'll stop when Max tells you to. "I love this pussy. You taste so good, Max."

Hungry. You eat it like you're starving and God does Max dish out commands like she's been power hungry for forever. Both of you seem to like it better like this. Max could tell you to do anything right now.

But you dare to give her one command of your own, as your fingers are shoved deep into her cunt and your tongue flicks against her clit. "Come for me."

She convulses. Your pretty girl melts into you one last time, panting and gripping to your hair for dear life. "Fuck, baby!" Max really is so adorable. When she breaks, her body wracking with ecstasy, it's like you're the one feeling it. 

"Kiss me, please," Max says, less of a command than a beg now.

You surge up from your spot between her legs, smashing your lips against hers. Max can taste herself, you know, and that makes it that much hotter. Her sweet tang is addicting. You'd fuck her with your tongue for eternity and say thank you to her for letting you. 

She bursts into giggles and you can't help but laugh along with her. "I think I could get used to this," Max says. "I should boss you around more often."

"Mm, I'd like that." You lick her wetness off your lips, excited for the next time already.

✦ pt 2 here! ✦

[jmscornerlibrary]

Snape's Retirement Headcanon:

In an alternate reality, in which Snape survives Nagini and is pardoned by the higher powers or whatnot, both Minerva McGonagall and he come to a decision: as soon as the aftermath of the war is over, they are going to retire.

And they do retire. Minerva manages to find two matching bungalows somewhere in a village and after a lot of snapping and arguing Snape agrees to move into the one meant for him. They visit one another every day, read to one another, go on walks dressed exactly as they normally would be in Hogwarts and become somewhat of a mysterious attraction for the locals.

The village children don't like Snape at first - he's always grumpy/scowling, hardly laughs, and he looks pretty ominous in his black clothes which he wears even during the summer. Minerva is slightly more welcoming: she invites the children for biscuits and tea and they after a week or two they all call her Granny Minnie and are fascinated by all the things she has in her house and how amazing the sweets she has are.

After Snape catches a cold or something irritable like that, and the children arrive at Minerva's for their usual visit and after they get scolded for having muddy knees and hands (which they wash), Minerva gets up using her walking cane, gestures with it and says:

"Come on, children, we're all going to pay Mr Snape a visit to see how he is!"

And Snape gets absolutely swamped by these loud and hyper village children (including little girls of six with frilly bows in their hair which fetch their plush toys and dolls and place them all on his bed and rowdy boys trying their best to be helpful whilst fetching things and knocking furniture over) who all offer him tea and show him their treasures and babble nonsense while he vaguely resembles the 'A Bug's Life' ladybird. He's obviously really irritated but cannot for the life of him bring himself to chase them away since they obviously mean well. During all of this, Minerva basks in the image and almost gets a stitch from laughing and... well. After some time, they end up adopting all these village kids, deemed a mad uncle and auntie, get invited by their parents for tea and get interested in the small village community state of affairs (though Snape obviously pretends he couldn't care less, which is a big fat lie).

Minerva often says things like:

"Wow, Franny has grown so tall and quite a proper young lady! We'll have to use a warding charm so that she doesn't get into trouble when the admirers start pouring."

"Don't worry, Dylan, you'll look as good in braces as you did without them, like I have told you before... What? Your teeth magically straightened overnight? Merlin's beard, what a surprise! [hides wand] I cannot imagine how that possibly could have happened."

And Snape:

"You say Antoinetta has a boyfriend, now? Tsh. I remember when she was six and could hardly tie her laces... a tidy, neat creature, that has to be admited. Though she had a gift for breaking all of my porcelain... What? He left her for another girl? She was in floods of tears? [drawing wand] Oh, no, no, don't be silly Minerva, I'm just going to repair the sink. It broke recently... [under his breath] And it won't be the only thing that's broken when I'm through with that wretch."

and:

"No, for the final time, Minerva, I don't give a damn whether Brandon wants a cat or an even an ostritch for his birthday. Honestly. [scoffs and adds 'cat for Brandon' to shopping list] Who do you take me for, a fairy godmother?"

And for them, life is good, and they do live happily ever after.

[astarionsilverbough]

Usually, Halsin finds how excessively messy battle is to be a nuisance. Stoic though he seems in the aftermath, the tacky, cloying nature of blood drying on skin makes his teeth itch - never mind the stench of it, overwhelmingly metallic and musky in a way that makes his eyes water like he’s about to sneeze.

So, understandably, Halsin usually finds the excessive messiness of a fight to be incredibly inconvenient.

Until, of course -

“You know,” Astarion muses as he prowls lazily towards Halsin in the direct aftermath of a nasty tussle with a group of truly ambitious bandits, “when it’s not from goblins, you do make all that gore look so very good, darling.”

The world narrows as Halsin’s focus zeroes in on the sway of Astarion’s lean hips. He’s always so beautiful, his little dawnstar, but Silvanus preserve him - there is nothing quite like an Astarion fresh from a fight. He’s damp with sweat and mist, snowy hair gleaming, that single perfect curl bobbing low over his brow, and there’s an edge to his smirk that sets fire to the primal instinct inside Halsin’s belly.

A low, pleased rumble echoes through his chest as Astarion slides his hands over it and tips his chin up for the rain-slick kiss Halsin bows to give him. The vampire chuckles against his lips, fangs glancing off Halsin’s tongue. Clever fingers sink into his damp hair and the gentle tug Astarion gives him sends lightning down his spine. Growling, he frames Astarion’s slim waist in big hands and holds.

There is no finer armor to keep him safe.

“Nothing,” Shadowheart says, sounding utterly bewildered as she gestures vaguely at the pair entangled in front of the gods and everyone in the middle of a dozen corpses, “nothing dissuades them.”

“I don’t know why this still shocks you,” Wyll says as he stoops to wipe his blade on a dead bandit’s jerkin, “remember what they were like after we defeated Thorm?”

“Oh, yeah,” hum both Shadowheart and Karlach, who look judgmental and misty eyed, respectively.

And as narrow as his world has become - as narrow as the set of Astarion’s hips, to be exact - Halsin still hears enough to say, “no wicked god could stand between us,” and Astarion coos.

“Eugh,” Shadowheart says. Karlach elbows her.

Usually, Halsin is about as disgusted as the former Sharran in the wake of a bloodbath - until, of course, Astarion, who looks at him now like he’s set to devour him and continues to be the exception to every rule.

[putnamcapital]

s3p6.3 the aftermath

another snippet, writing time this weekend regrettably truncated by demonstrating, someone stop this genocide so i can write my silly little story

“How? There’s no way my parents would have said anything. And the Court doesn’t even have a press line on this yet so they won’t have put anything out.”

“No, no, I don’t mean officially … I just wonder if anyone noticed …”

“Noticed what???”

Simon eyeballs Wille like he’s a complete idiot. Sara and Felice smirk at each other. Simon deadpans, “Wille, I think Felice is saying that someone might have noticed you sprinting half a kilometer down the road screaming my name at the top of your lungs.”

Linda nearly spits out her coffee, “What?!” She stares at Simon, and then at Sara, and then back at Simon. Wille has gone so red that it looks like it might be hives. Sara giggles, “Later, Mama. I’ll tell you later.”

Wille gestures vaguely around him and interjects, “There’s nothing to tell. It worked, didn’t it?”

The faint air of self-satisfaction is quickly replaced by panicking. “But Felice, are you serious? Do you think anyone noticed? Oh God. Do you think August noticed? Has he posted anything anywhere?”

No one wants to look at their phone. A conspiratorial glance passes between Sara and Wille, but Linda does not understand why.

“Oh fuck, if this gets out before … before Farima can fix up something … Oh god, oh fuck, oh god …”

“Hey, hey …” Simon pulls at his arm. “Hey … can you try to calm down? This isn’t the end of the world. People are going to find out. We want people to know.”

Wille groans, “I wish I could just disappear. Just for a bit.” He shakes his head in defeat. “I’m just so tired of this shit.” Linda reaches over and pats his other arm.

[from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras]

It’s Wídfara Wednesday! With Guthláf included, of course, because it's always a good day for some Guthláf.

Catch up on parts one and two if needed. Part 3 finds Wíd in the aftermath of his first romantic encounter with Guthláf and wondering what to make of it. This part picks up a few…hours, let’s say, after the end of part 2. Still in Wíd’s room. T for Teen.

Wídfara was doing his best not to stare. 

He had admired Guthláf’s face and form from the moment they met, but to see him this way – all of him, luxuriously stretched out and casually bare – was so much more than anything Wídfara had imagined. He found it terrifying and thrilling in equal measure, the fulfillment of a desire he had long known and understood about himself but feared to expose to anyone else. Now that he had, though, he wanted just to bask in it for a while, to take this unprecedented chance to openly savor the sight of things he found affecting. The rounded curves of biceps and shoulders. The sprinkling of blonde hair over strong thighs. The deep grooves of muscles just inside the hips. After what they’d done together, taking an appreciative look now hardly seemed like a big deal. But his own sense of propriety forced Wídfara to tear his eyes away, and he rolled over to look up at the ceiling instead.

“If you’re tired, I can head back to my room.” Guthláf ran a hand lightly over his own face and pulled himself up to sit. “Don’t let me overstay my welcome.”

“Oh. Well, I wouldn’t mind if we just…” Wídfara hesitated. He had no idea what the custom was in this situation. He’d be content for Guthláf to stay with him and let the unforeseen thrill of the night last as long as possible, but perhaps that’s not how things were done. “Whatever you think is best.”

“To be honest with you, Wíd, I don’t really know.” He looked down with an apologetic smile. “I don’t have much experience here, so I’m not sure what’s usually expected.”

This admission surprised Wídfara, coming from someone who otherwise seemed so self assured and confident. “You haven’t done this much with other men? Or at all?” He didn’t mean to pry, but his own lack of experience left him more than curious to know how others like him had gotten on, especially someone who had been living in a bigger city.

“Either. Both.” Guthláf laughed. “It only took one try for me to know for sure this wasn’t something I ever wanted from a woman.” He paused, reliving a past moment in his mind, and then laughed again. “It was an awkward mess. And as for men, well…there have been a few that I suspected might share my inclination and some that were of interest to me. And there have even been a few that I would feel safe being honest with. But all three traits in the same man is a true rarity. So this”— he gestured vaguely at himself and then at Wídfara—“is not something I’m really accustomed to, though I imagine that my behavior tonight might imply otherwise.”

“I understand.”

Guthláf raised an eyebrow. “What about you then? Similar story?”

Since he had raised the subject, Wídfara felt it only fair to be equally candid, and he nodded. “I gave women more than one try. Not because I enjoyed anything about it, but because part of me hoped that I could learn to like it over time. Things being how they are, that just seemed as though it would be easier.” He looked away momentarily. “But this is who I am. It’s what feels right to me. And for most of my life, no one else I knew even acknowledged that it was possible for a man to feel this way.”

“I know how that goes.” Guthláf gave his arm a gentle squeeze and then looked off in thought for a few moments. “Well, if neither of us is certain what we’re supposed to do, we’ll just have to make our own way. Would it be alright with you if I stayed?”

Wídfara turned and lifted the edge of his blanket with a smile, making space for Guthláf to fit himself in against the warmth of Wídfara’s chest, stomach and thighs. The nervous flutter of happiness this caused kept him awake for a while, long enough to hear Guthláf’s breathing become long and slow as he drifted to sleep. But even when Wídfara’s heart calmed and rest began to feel possible, he fought against it, unwilling to relinquish his feeling of contentment to the end of the day. And when his eyes finally grew irresistibly heavy and he gave in to his creeping exhaustion, his last waking thought was excited anticipation to see Guthláf again in the morning.

Wídfara slept harder and longer than he had in years, being roused only by the chimes of the morning bells, and he woke with his memories of the night before still vivid in his mind. But when he rolled over and opened his eyes, he was startled to find himself now alone. Some time while he slept, Guthláf had slipped out, leaving behind so little trace of his presence that Wídfara might have convinced himself the whole thing had been a dream if not for the mead bottle on the floor and a distinctive sweet scent lingering in the blankets that he would forevermore associate with Guthláf’s bare skin.

He pulled himself up on an elbow, his sleep-fogged mind trying to make sense of the empty space beside him. In another circumstance, he would take such an abrupt, unexplained departure as a sign of either desperately needed escape or cold dismissal. But he simply couldn’t imagine either to be true of Guthláf. He had little experience in these matters, but he had understood well enough the generous words of praise and sounds of pleasure. There had been only kindness and sincerity in Guthláf’s behavior, and it had been his suggestion to stay. Wídfara trusted in nothing more than his own intuition, and it told him that Guthláf wouldn’t hurt him for no reason. But then what else could explain such a change, one that he must have known would leave Wídfara surprised and confused? 

He dropped back to his pillow and threw an arm over his eyes. Perhaps it was fear, a loss of nerve that came on in the quiet of the night. The fear of exposure. The fear that a new entanglement, with its many unknowns and uncertainties, could ruin a lifetime of the prudence and caution that had always offered protection. Wídfara certainly understood that fear, which dwelt deep within him and probably always would. But he felt something else now, too. Something that, for the first time in his life, outweighed the fear and pushed it from his own mind. 

Amid the night’s heady mix of attraction and discovery, Wídfara had sensed a spark of real possibility – not just plain desire, but also admiration and acceptance and true understanding. And that spark was strong enough and precious enough to him that he would dare to follow it no matter the danger, to chase after that brilliant light and see where it led. To learn whether it could eventually kindle a roaring fire or would fizzle out on its own. 

He was certain that Guthláf had felt that same spark, a deep, instinctual sense that this could be something different. But he wouldn’t blame Guthláf if a moment of reflection had left him unwilling to risk the happy and successful life he had laboriously built just to pursue whatever prospect might exist in that bright, intense burst of feeling. That was much to ask of someone, and Wídfara had only compassion for the difficulty of making such a choice.

Still, disappointment settled on him with an uncomfortable heaviness, and worry soon joined it. He might have to accept the lost potential of what had felt to him like a special connection, and that was regret enough. But he would regret it still more if awkwardness between them now cost him even the friendship that had already taken hold – a friendship he valued and wanted to keep. 

If fear had really driven Guthláf from the room in the dark of night, perhaps he wouldn’t want to talk about any of it now — or even acknowledge it — in the light of day. Wídfara saw no advantage to forcing a conversation if doing so would make Guthláf uneasy. But if talking about it would make things worse, would not talking about it solve anything? Wídfara had no idea and no way to seek advice. Without a better thought, he decided simply to take his lead from Guthláf – to wait and see how he approached, how he acted, what he said, what he didn’t say — and then try to adjust his own intentions and reactions accordingly. It might not get him everything he wanted, but it would be far better than nothing.

He tossed aside the blankets with a sigh and pulled himself to his feet. Wallowing in his own disappointed hopes wouldn’t help anything, and he was eager to escape the room and the sight of the rumpled bedding that only seemed to mock those hopes. He readied himself as quickly as he could and rushed out the door to find a task to better occupy his mind. 

It was another warm, sunny morning, and the stable was coming to life as Wídfara arrived – riders dipping in and out of the tack room in search of a lost piece of equipment, farriers sorting nails and shoes, bales of hay being tossed down from the loft above. He took a surreptitious glance down the aisle where Syndrigan, Guthláf’s horse, was kept, but he saw only stablehands and took care not to break his step as he continued on toward his own horse’s stall. Before he made it, however, he was intercepted by a smiling Elfhelm, who threw a friendly arm around his shoulders and steered him gently away from his intended destination and toward the back of the barn instead.

“Now that you’re here and getting settled, it’s time for you to choose a novice. We have a bunch of them here today, and you can pick whichever one suits you best.”

“A novice, Marshal? I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Did you not have novices in the Wold?” He shook his head in answer to his own question. “No, I expect you didn’t. If population loss was a problem out there, they probably had to discontinue the practice some time ago.”

He turned them around a corner, where a group of boys in their early teenage years sat. They jumped to their feet at the sight of Elfhelm and lined up neatly in front of him.

“These young men hope to enter as rider candidates next year. If we pair them with a current rider now, they earn a small wage by helping to care for your equipment, run errands, or look after any particular needs of your horse beyond what the stablehands manage. And they get a chance to see the inner workings of the éored, observe training and learn more about what they can expect if they should qualify themselves someday.” He walked Wídfara slowly down the line of boys. “There are several new riders in the city’s other éoreds, but they aren’t here yet this morning and so you can have the first selection.”

“I’m to choose?” Wídfara stared blankly at the young faces in front of him. He had never laid eyes on any of them before that very moment, and he had no idea how he was supposed to distinguish between them other than to select one at random.

“It’s entirely up to you,” said Elfhelm. “Many of the finest families in Edoras are represented here, with generations of service to Rohan. I know you aren’t familiar with these boys like the other riders will be, but they’re all good young men and you really can’t make a bad choice.”

Wídfara looked again down the line of hopefuls, all facing straight ahead and standing as tall as possible. He could see that many of them were, indeed, from very fine families, sporting polished gold clasps on their belts and wearing handsome leather boots that probably cost more than every piece of clothing he’d ever owned. They weren’t boys that needed a wage, and Wídfara guessed they didn’t really need any extra help to be selected as rider candidates either. He hadn’t known many families with wealth in his life, but in his experience, money made opportunities happen all on its own.  

His eyes finally came to rest on the last boy in line, and only here did Wídfara see a novice he could relate to — a shirt with patches and visible wear, hands that were clean but already calloused from real labor, no finery or decoration or any element to his appearance that didn’t serve a necessary function. And yet, this young man stood just as tall as the others around him, determined to show his equal worth and proud, no doubt, for having earned his place there. Wídfara smiled at him and beckoned him over.

“Congratulations, Freogan,” said Elfhelm, putting one hand on the boy’s shoulder and the other on Wídfara’s. “And congratulations to you, Wídfara. You won’t find a harder worker in the whole city, and I’m sure he’ll do well by you.”

Elfhelm left them to prepare for the morning’s drills and exercises, and Wídfara and Freogan walked together to ready his horse. Wídfara chanced one more glance toward Syndrigan’s stall as they passed, and this time he could see the familiar blonde head towering over a cluster of young stablehands, all at rapt attention as Guthláf demonstrated a trick for maintaining balance during a full gallop. They clearly already understood what Wídfara had learned for himself the day before – that Guthláf was one of the best horsemen they were ever likely to see – and they stared up at him as he spoke like they were watching Eorl himself astride one of the mearas. Guthláf’s gaze never wavered from the boys in front of him, and Wídfara pulled his own away before anyone could follow it.

He turned instead to Freogan. His novice was a quiet boy of fourteen, slight but strong, who seemed determined to show his gratitude through diligent effort. He proved both a fast learner and a good hand with Cypren, and his company helped provide Wídfara a welcome distraction, something else to concentrate on rather than allowing his eyes and thoughts to keep straying back in Guthláf’s direction. They made quick work of the morning’s preparations, and he used the extra time to allow Freogan a few shots at the archer’s targets waiting in the training ring, always happy to try to convert another Rohirrim from the spear to the bow.

Training stretched well into the afternoon, broken up only by a short break at midday. Wídfara was ever conscious of Guthláf’s presence, aware of where he stood or sat or rode, but he followed his own plan, keeping his distance and trying not to look too often in Guthláf’s direction. As he waited and hoped for a reassuring word or look or gesture to make their own way to him, he threw himself fully into every exercise, grateful for another focus and eager to expend some nervous energy. He did extra runs through the training course, gave advice when it was requested, and tried to put all his attention on his fellow archers, which at least had the happy side effect of helping them get to know one another better after the prior day’s brief introductions. Arengan, the chief bowman of the éored, even invited Wídfara out for a pint with the group, and he left Cypren in Freogan’s capable hands after training in order to accompany them to the tavern up the hill from the barracks.

They took up a position at a table in the back, eight of them in all, and Wídfara soon found himself having a good time in spite of everything. The easy teasing and good natured bluster reminded him of his friends from back home, and it was comforting to feel like part of a unit again. His enjoyment only wavered when, an hour after arriving, Guthláf came in and took a seat at the bar, chatting casually with the woman who poured drinks. Wídfara felt the uncomfortable pang of disappointment in his chest again, further heightened from a long day with no word or sign to set his heart at ease. But he couldn’t allow one night’s impulsive encounter to totally derail his efforts to get settled in Edoras and so he stayed with Arengan and the group despite his discomfort. He even stayed when he had finished his ale and knew that he couldn’t spare the money for another. Instead, he held the table while the other men went up to seek their own new pints.

He counted his coins again as he waited, and when he heard the chair across from him scrape on the floor, he looked up expecting to see one of his group returned. But instead it was Guthláf himself, holding a full mug, who slid into the open seat and smiled softly at him. 

“You’re a hard man to get a private moment with today.”

“Am I?” Wídfara felt a nervous little flip in his stomach. “I didn’t mean to be.” That wasn’t entirely true, as he had purposefully distracted himself with constant activity. But if the effect had been to discourage Guthláf from approaching him, that certainly wasn’t what he intended.

“Indeed. I kept a careful watch, and there’s hardly been a minute when you didn’t have at least one other person around you.” He looked over his shoulder and to both sides. Although no one else sat close enough to hear him, he lowered his voice nonetheless. “I’ve been waiting for a moment to try to explain myself, if you’ll allow it.”

Wídfara’s eyes shifted to the bar, where Arengan and his companions were still gathered a safe distance away. He kept his gaze there as he spoke. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. You don’t owe me any explanation.”

“I’d like to offer one all the same. And an apology. In the rush of everything that happened last night, I somehow stupidly forgot the fact that I would need to look after my dog. It was already near dawn when I realized it, but you were still sleeping and I didn’t want to disturb you without need. I thought I could slip out and back in before you woke, but I was wrong. While walking Slaga, I got trapped in a conversation with Harding, who is always absurdly talkative early in the morning, and by the time I shook him off and got to your room again, you were already up and gone.”

Wídfara’s eyes cut back quickly to Guthláf. “You came back?”

“I did, but I must have just missed you. And then I spent the whole day doing that over and over again, always seemingly unable to catch your eye at the right moment or get to you before Elfhelm or Arengan or someone else appeared at your side. But all I wanted to do was tell you that I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have wanted to suddenly wake up alone, with no word of explanation, and it was never my intention that you would.”

“So then you weren’t…having regrets about everything?”

“I wasn’t. Last night meant something to me, and I’d hate to think I ruined it by making you believe the opposite.” 

Wídfara felt his disappointment sliding away as Guthláf spoke, the weight of it sloughing off him like a mailcoat that had been unfastened and dropped to the floor, and he smiled. “Nothing is ruined. It was just a misunderstanding. And for my part, we can pretend this morning never happened. We can go back to things as they were last night.”

“I’ll be glad to try, but that will be hard for me because, in fact, I like you even better now than I did last night.”

“Better?” Wídfara laughed. “How could that even be possible when this is the first we’ve talked since then?”

“I saw this morning that Freogan is your novice.”

“That’s right.”

“And Elfhelm tells me the choice was yours and not his.”

“That’s also right, though I’m not sure I see the significance of it here.”

“I’ve known Freogan’s family for years. They’re good people who have far less than they deserve, and the extra money he’ll earn as a novice will do wonders for them. I suspect you could see that, and I think that’s exactly why you chose him. Is that not so?”

Wídfara’s cheeks colored a little in surprise, and he wondered how Guthláf had guessed so much. “Horse breeding families like mine have really struggled ever since the army started supplying its own horses. I know what it’s like to worry about meeting even basic needs, and I guess I saw a little of myself in him.”

“You’re a good person, Wíd. A kind person. I thought so already, but now I know it for sure.” He glanced back over his shoulder again, where Arengan and the other archers were gathering up freshly poured drinks and preparing to head back to their seats. “Stay here and have a good time. These men will be great friends to you. But if you’re not too tired when you get back to the barracks, I’d like it if you would find me there so we can spend a little time together.” He slid his own untouched ale across the table, allowing his fingers to brush lightly against Wídfara’s hand as he passed him the drink, and then stood.

“Guthláf! Come to join the Arrow Club, have you?” Arengan dropped mugs onto the table and gave Guthláf a slap on the back before gesturing at Widfara. “You were right about this one. He’s as good a drinking companion as he is an archer.”

“As a mere swordsman, I wouldn’t presume to intrude on your night out,” said Guthláf with a smile. “But take good care of your newest addition.” He glanced back briefly at Wídfara and then nodded to the group. “I’ll see you all later.” And then he was off, cutting through the tavern and out the front door.

Wídfara stayed at the table for another hour, joining with his new friends in talk and laughter until the first of them left to get home to a waiting family. Then he took the opportunity to slip out as well, walking with an undeniable haste in his steps as he headed back to the barracks and to Guthláf. 

He waited until the hallway was empty and then knocked lightly at Guthláf’s door. A voice called him in, where he was greeted most immediately by the curious attentions of Slaga, the tiny cause of all of that day’s confusion and worry. He hopped up now to paw excitedly at Wídfara’s shins, but a short whistle drew him back to his little cushion near the foot of the bed, where Guthláf himself sat, boots off and comfortable and smiling.

“I’m glad you came.” 

Just the sound of his voice sent a surge of pink warmth creeping over Wídfara’s face. “I was glad to be invited. For…whatever this is that we’re doing.”

Guthláf shifted to make room for Wídfara to sit beside him. “I’m not sure what we’re doing, and we’ll have to be very careful about doing it,” he said, laying a hand atop one of Wídfara’s. “But I think it might be something really great. Should we find out?”

Notes: Harding, the talkative early morning riser, is canon. Arengan and Freogan are not.

Next week, we time jump a number of months to Wíd and Guthláf in a really happy, loving place. Until Guthláf is given an opportunity to fulfill his dream at last, and Wíd…does not take it well. Click here to Part 4!

Dividers as always by the lovely @quillofspirit

@emmanuellececchi @konartiste @sotwk @hobbitwrangler @dreambigdreamz (This list is based on prior expressions of interest but feel free to let me know if you want off! (Or on!))

[asimplearchivist]

‘ 𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓮𝓼 𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓼𝓪𝓷𝓭 . ’

𝐂𝐇. 𝐈𝐕 𝐨𝐟 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒.

[𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓼𝓽'𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽] [ 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐊𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓 ] AO3 | SPOTIFY | PINTEREST summary ☾ ⤏ you manage to impress the boys’ mysterious patron. pairing(s) ☽ steven grant/reader | marc spector/reader | jake lockley/reader word count ☾ 6.8k a/n ☽ ⤏ this took wayyy too long but it’s finally done! now i get to work on the fun pieces since plot is out of the way! the next one should be a chapter taking place between i and ii, featuring the immediate aftermath of steven returning home from cairo! :) ☽ MASTERPOST ☾   ☾ PREVIOUS CHAPTER ⤎ ☥ ⤏ NEXT CHAPTER [TBA] ☽

The first time Steven had met you, it had been strictly by happenstance.

The first time Marc had met you, officially, it had been an accident.

The first time Jake had met you, it had been an inevitability.

The first time you met Khonshu, it was somewhat (if not mostly) expected.

It wasn’t long after you moved in with the boys (a couple of weeks, maybe)—almost a full year after officially beginning to date all three of them. It started with you finding the little Djehuty statuette that Steven had gifted you from Cairo’s backstreet markets turned onto its side where you kept it on the bookshelf over your side of the bed one morning after Jake had already left to start his driving. You had righted it, figuring that it had been knocked over by the bed shifting during the night—sometimes the books fell over because the mattress was propped up right against the shelves, and…well, sometimes things were moved around. Passionately. (Ahem.) You hadn’t given it any further thought beyond that.

…Until it happened again the next morning, anyway. Then the morning after that. And while your relationship with the boys was by no means lacking, you knew for a fact that it wasn’t your (albeit frequent) evening exertions that were upsetting the figurine that consistently.

The fourth morning in a row, you stood at the foot of the bed with your arms folded over your chest and your fingers drumming over your mouth. Steven was rustling around in the bathroom getting ready for his shift at the museum, and when he emerged, still trying to tame his unruly curls, he raised an inquisitive brow at your puzzled expression. “What’s wrong, love?”

You pointed at the statuette. “Poor Thoth keeps getting knocked over. I’m trying to figure out what’s causing it.”

“You don’t think…” He gestured vaguely towards the bed, cheeks darkening as his voice quietened bashfully. “...you know.”

“That’s what I thought at first, too, but it’s been every night recently. You guys were wiped out last night, so...” Your brow furrowed as you looked up into the rafters. “The vents aren’t strong enough to blow it over.”

“Maybe it happens when we swap the driver’s seat. I do know we toss and turn quite a bit.” Steven stepped in behind you, curling himself around your back and hooking his chin over your shoulder to tuck his nose behind your ear. “We can move him if you’re worried he’ll break.”

“Yeah…that’s probably a good idea. I’d hate for his beak to get chipped off or something.” You twisted in Steven’s arms and leaned up into his chest to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. He’d gotten away with not shaving again (much to Marc’s chagrin, you were certain), and you caught a whiff of his cologne on his collar as you hugged him tightly. “Let me know if you want to meet up for lunch.”

“Will do, love. Be careful going to class.” He kissed your forehead, lingering just long enough to tempt you to drag him back to bed. “Laters, gators.”

“In a while, crocodile.” You waved him out of the door, then set about getting dressed to head up to the campus. You crawled over the mattress to scoop up the figurine carefully into the cradle of your palm, running your fingertips over the fine, hand-carved glyphs in the base of the polished lapis lazuli. You set it in the windowsill overlooking Steven’s crowded desk amongst your plants, smiling as the sunlight poured over it and cast its silhouette across his papers.

You found it knocked over again when you came home from your classes.

You got there before Steven did, thankfully, with fresh ingredients in tow for supper. You didn’t even notice it until you had put the dish in the oven to bake and wandered past his desk to grab a quick shower. The fallen statuette caught your eye because it was lying prone on top of one of the books Steven had left open, languishing in a trajectory of direct descent from where you’d set it that morning. Almost as if…well. Was the idea so far-fetched?

You had your suspicions, although you had dismissed them as silly at first. Odd, inexplicable, borderline supernatural things had happened in the time since you’d first met Jake. After a week or so of all three personalities getting acquainted with each other, Marc had sat you down to explain their story—the full one, starting with the untimely death of his brother. All the pieces that you had been given or had gathered yourself before then had been woven together that night during the long stretches of silence Marc had to take to organize his thoughts and to compose himself. It took well past midnight to get through it all since dredging up bad memories wore on Marc’s (admittedly limited) emotional threshold in ways you deeply sympathized. Despite the utter bizarreness surrounding the latter half of his life, it all made sense. You had no reasons to doubt him after everything that you’d witnessed since you’d met Steven in the first place.

…Although, the concept of him having served a real life Ancient Egyptian deity had certainly been a tough wad to chew, if you were honest. What you had always considered simple characters in the (supposed) myths related to the Ancient Egyptian pantheon were, in actuality, alive and kicking—and still involved in humanity’s affairs, to an extent (some more than others, obviously). You’d had to reassess all the knowledge you’d learned about the culture, and a long discussion with Steven about such implications had carried throughout most of the next day.

(You had thought it strangely fitting, though, for them to be the avatar of the god of the moon. It suited them in ways you could not express with words…save, perhaps, that white was one of their best colors.)

You weren’t privy to the renegotiation of the terms for their agreement with said deity, since they did it one of the following nights while you slept, but they had told you that morning that they would continue to act as the Moon Knight when time allowed or if pressing situations—strictly local, as they weren’t keen on traveling anymore unless it was strictly necessary—occurred that the rest of the pantheon couldn’t handle. They had been firm in their boundaries, for which you were thankful; hearing about the manipulation that the god had utilized to ensure Marc’s cooperation had made you sick to your stomach, so knowing that they had settled on an exchange that was comfortable for all three of them was an immense relief.

Since then, they only spoke of him like one would their annoying and somewhat demanding boss. You knew that he was condescending, arrogant, and lofty. He complained almost constantly. Steven said he reminded him of a petulant child who never got his way. But, for all that, you still had no idea how Khonshu really was in person, or what he even looked like—and you suspected part of their arrangement might have had something to do with that.

You still blamed the lunar deity for the strong drafts through opened windows that would scatter your papers while you worked on your projects, the blown light bulbs when you stayed up late with the boys, and the eerie shadows, silhouettes, or noises which you witnessed in the middle of the night while suffering with your insomnia, however. You couldn’t see nor hear him like they could, evidently, but you’d figured out rather early on that it could not be a simple coincidence that you had only just started experiencing your first paranormal activities after they had revealed their direct involvement with a primordial, eldritch entity.

Based on how infantile all three of your boys had described him to be, it would not have surprised you one bit to find out that Khonshu was defacing the one monument in the apartment dedicated to another god—even if it was completely unintentional on your part and was only meant for decoration as a sentimental keepsake (though you’d wondered about Steven, being the sneaky little troublemaker he could be when pressed to react to things spitefully).

You took a lingering gander around the apartment from where you stood, squinting into the shadows, but found no signs of the potential otherworldly intruder. Not that he would make himself known to you, you were certain—why would such a superior being stoop so low as to make himself known to a lowly mortal like you, after all? Just because you were in a relationship with his avatar? You found that notion highly unlikely.

With a sigh, you took poor Djehuty and tucked him into one of the upper drawers of Steven’s desk amongst loose papers and things in hopes that he would see no more abuse and left the room to clean up before the boys got home.

Still. If he could be so petty as to knock over such an insignificant bit of merchandise, then you could only imagine what his goals were. To frighten you? You were more intimidated by the thought of him having one wrong interaction with the boys, not with you. You didn’t have as much to lose to his malicious tactics in mental warfare. You were troubled, sure—you’d never dare claim that you were totally sound—but you were acutely and worriedly aware of the fact that Marc’s system was still more precarious than you’d like to openly acknowledge. 

They’d adjusted to each other for the most part. Consulting their therapist had helped immensely—to your great surprise, Jake had taken quite the liking to talking with her despite how closeted he’d acted with you at first. He’d fared better once he was exposed, forced to reveal himself, like you’d expected. Marc had been deeply suspicious and untrusting at first, but Steven had been the first to cross the gap to bridge mutual understanding between the three of them. They bickered endlessly, just like brothers, and now that they were fairly comfortable with each other you found it more endearing than anything. You were glad they were finally getting along…at least until another quibbling argument came up, anyway (although they were rarely serious, fortunately). They could treat each other with the silent treatment like nobody’s business; whoever caused the offense usually would come to you to try to remediate things, but you tried to stay out of their quarrels as tactfully as possible. (You knew it was healthy for them to work through their problems on their own, as their therapist had suggested to you once during one of your occasional requests for advice on how to handle them with care and respect rather than ignorance and disregard—but damn if it wasn’t hard to ignore their puppy-dog eyes.)

But they still had their bad days—everyone did, and with fewer issues and traumas to work through, too. Those were the days you worried about them most: when whoever was fronting was quiet—not from immature sulkiness, but from feeling melancholy about whatever was bothering them. Those were the nights that you guarded them jealously, holding them close and giving them all the extra love they would never readily admit that they needed nor wanted—all for fear that their own personal specter would come and haunt them at the most inopportune of times in his own avidity.

To your distress, it seemed that night would be one of those—you sensed it even before you laid eyes on the man wedging the door open and shuffling through the too-narrow gap he afforded himself. In the middle of divvying out the food onto plates, since he’d texted you when he’d reached the bus stop near the complex so you’d know it was him at the door, you’d glanced over your shoulder to confirm your unfortunate gut feeling.

Chin tucked against his clavicle, Steven went about toeing off his shoes and putting away his things as quietly as possible, almost as if he were afraid to draw your notice or to disturb you. He shed his jacket, shook it out, and hung it up without even looking in your direction.

“Steven,” you said gently, but even that low tone still made him jump and jerk to stare at you with rounded eyes. “Hey, I’m sorry. Are you okay, baby?”

And just like that, what little resolve he seemed to be clinging to crumpled like wet paper. He grabbed at his frazzled hair with both hands and hid his face behind his forearms, already startling to sniffle and shake, clearly overwhelmed and finally having reached the tipping point for the day.

You padded across the floor to him as quickly as you dared, taking care not to make any extra noise or sudden movements, recognizing his reaction and knowing that any sudden stimuli would only worsen his condition. You brushed your fingertips against his elbows to let him know you were there, lightly touched his shoulders with a soft, inquisitive hum. He lowered and opened his arms to make room for you, but he kept his head down until he could bury it into the crook of your neck with a miserable, warbly sound that rent your heart in two.

“Hey, darlin’,” you murmured, gently pulling him into a hug that he returned fiercely, like one would a life preserver. “It’s okay. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Y’didn’t,” he mumbled, scruffy lips brushing against your shoulder as his warm breath bloomed over your skin. “Just…had a day, yeah?”

“I’m sorry,” you sympathized. “Was the noise too much again?”

“Yeah. Kids were loud. Teens were louder. Ran into Donna when I was clockin’ out.”

Ah, hell. That always made everything ten times worse. That devil woman epitomized the mountainous stress Steven had felt when he thought he was losing his mind, so when he had the bad luck to bump into her—especially when he was overstimulated—brought a lot of that back to the forefront…to him and to you, both.

You remembered that fateful morning that he’d come to the bookstore seeking solace, how hard it had been to restrict your nigh unignorable concern for him in that state wandering off chasing a lead that sounded like it had been pulled straight out of a spy film, how badly it had upset you to see him so distressed and confused and frustrated—all right before he’d disappeared off the face of the planet for two of the longest weeks of your life and had faced a hell unlike anything you could ever possibly imagine.

“You don’t have to talk it out if you don’t want to,” you told him, reaching up with one hand to run your fingertips through the curls bordering the nape of his neck while the other rubbed circles between his shoulder blades. You rested your chin on his shoulder, too, feeling his rapid heartbeat against your breast with how tightly he was crowded against you. “You want to sit for a minute? Want me to turn some of the lights off?”

“No, I’m…I’m all right. Thank you, love.” He drew in a deep, shaky breath, fingers digging into your back, and released it slowly. “Might wash off first, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course,” you responded. “Do you need anything in the meantime? A cup of tea?”

He paused, hesitant. “...Chamomile?”

“On it.” You turned your head to press a chaste kiss beneath his ear. “You know that you can always ask me for anything. I don’t mind doing things for you.”

“So you’ve said.” Lots of times, actually, and yet he still didn’t quite seem to believe your generosity. You’d long since learned not to take offense by that incredulity, and he’d gotten much better about accepting it since you’d both admitted your feelings for each other—but he’d been mistreated and disregarded for so long that his old insecurities bubbled back up when he hit a low like this. “Still think I’m incredibly lucky to have you, love.”

“And I’m so very blessed to have you, darlin’.” You leaned back just enough to peer up at his tender, watery eyes through his unruly, tangled curls. Out of habit you reached up to comb them back, even though you both knew they wouldn’t stay there for long. “I switched out the wash, so your favorite sweats are dry. They’re in the top of the drawer.”

“Thank you,” he sighed, smiling softly. He reciprocated the kiss between your brows, lingering there as he subtly smelled your skin and the products perfuming it. “Want to pick somethin’ on the telly in the meantime?” Meaning he wouldn’t mind the noise.

“Sure. I’ll put your plate in the oven so it doesn’t get cold.” You leaned forward and up to catch him in a full, loving kiss before releasing him. “Don’t forget that it’s your treatment night.”

“Right.” He offered you another grin, slightly more relaxed and genuine. Marc and Jake were more fastidious and consistent about tending to their hair than Steven was, since he often needed reminders of what he needed to do to it and when, but you just considered it a part of your job to help keep them looking as gorgeous as ever. “See you in a mo’.”

“Take as long as you need,” you told him, but gave him a wink. “But not too long, or I might join you.”

That managed to coax a boyish little chuckle out of him, and your nerves dissipated for the most part. It didn’t seem like the sensory overload wasn’t as bad tonight as it had been in the past, thankfully. That he was willing to watch some TV was a good sign, although you were already thinking up some lower energy series or movies that wouldn’t push it (or him).

Steven always turned into a cuddle bug when he needed some quiet time, so you made the necessary preparations. You put the kettle on the stove, turned off most of the lights despite his gentle protest, and brought the blanket from the dryer to drape over the couch so you could wrap the both of you up in it. By the time you were getting his cuppa ready, he shuffled back into the main section of the apartment while rubbing his eyes.

“Not sure I can last a full film, love,” he mumbled as you herded him to the couch, setting him down with the blanket over his lap and placing the saucer and cup in his hands. “Somethin’ quick to get us through eatin’, maybe?”

“Sounds good to me. Some of our channels updated.” You bustled back into the kitchen to grab the food, then settled in next to him. “Are you feeling fashion history or archaeology?”

He hummed a bit into his tea, then set it down on the coffee table so he could dig in to the meal you’d prepared. “Fashion. That hand-stitching is so mesmerizin’.”

It also put him to sleep faster than any ASMR he’d ever tried at the peak of his supposed sleepwalking issues—he’d laughed at that realization once you’d introduced him to the genre, shaking his head all while fighting to keep his eyes open.

You leaned over to bump your shoulder against his affectionately as you grabbed the remote and began to scroll through the tabs. “Look, she’s made a Darcy shirt this time. I should make you one, too—course it would probably spend more time on the floor than on you, sadly.”

“All that hard work, just to catch dust,” he mused, eyes glittering with mirth. “I love you.”

“A shame, truly.” You pressed your cheek against his arm as you pressed play. “I love you, too, baby. We’ll hit the hay early tonight so you can recuperate better, okay? I’m tired, too.”

“Yeah.” He nuzzled the top of your head with a low, rumbling sigh of contentment. “Can’t argue with that.”

You forgot to bring up the statuette like you’d planned to.

You had always been a heavy sleeper by nature, growing up never having to share a bed and owning a room all to yourself. Perfect darkness and background noise usually in the form of the AC or thunderstorms on a noisemaker helped to lull you asleep since you were a bit of a chronic night owl. Once you succumbed, though, you slept like a corpse—or so you’d been told.

But when you’d moved in with the boys, you’d faced a long adjustment period. It didn’t help that they were relatively light sleepers—and while Marc struggled the most with night terrors, the others didn’t have an easy go of it, either. Insomnia reared its ugly head at times, and you always tried your best to stay up with them when their body couldn’t shut down, but—more often than not, unfortunately—you ended up drifting off despite your best of efforts. They didn’t seem to mind, though, and Steven had been the most vocal about it; he cited that it was soothing to have you there, even if you were “snoozin’ away,” because it gave them a reason to stay still. Whether you were holding them or vice versa, each one of them had confessed that having you there resting at their side helped them to relax to an extent, even if they didn’t end up catching a wink. You told them once that simply laying there with their eyes closed still gave their body much-needed time to decompress, and their restless frustration seemed to ease after that.

Thankfully your body had finally grown accustomed to sharing a bed with someone else since then—and your quality of rest had even improved by being so close to the men you loved.

Despite their mental struggles, you did wonder why they struggled as much as they did at times because they worked their collective ass off constantly. Two jobs to keep the bills paid plus occasional ventures out into the night at Khonshu’s behest meant that—when their schedules overlapped too frequently for too long—they’d get overloaded and thus severely fatigued faster than what made you comfortable. This often led into the mental breakdowns usually prompted by overstimulation and thus resulted in taxing them beyond what a single night’s rest could manage. 

Poor Steven could barely keep his eyes awake once he fed himself full (and didn’t manage to eat the whole serving, either). He slipped off at some point during the meal, head falling to rest on your shoulder. You almost hadn’t the heart to rouse him again, even if it was to gently coax him to go brush his teeth and settle into bed while you put the dishes in the sink to be washed in the morning. By the time you turned out all the lights, cleaned yourself up, and climbed under the covers, Steven was adamantly futzing with his phone in a plain effort to remain awake—for your sake, likely.

“Want me to put that on the charger?” you asked softly as you crawled closer to him.

He glanced at you, eyes bleary, and nodded as he handed it to you. “Yeah. Thanks, love.”

“Of course.” You took it and twisted onto your side, fumbling for the cord and setting it on the shelf over your side of the bed. You then snuggled up to his side since he opened his arms to you. You maneuvered your pillow to cushion his bicep and you laid your temple there with a contented sigh, curling an arm over his chest and relaxing as his own coiled around you. You tipped your head to kiss his shoulder. “I love you.”

“Love you, too, poppet,” he mumbled, and with a quick peek you saw that his eyelids were already shut. “G’night.”

You smiled softly and stilled. “Good night, boys. See you in the morning.”

Steven hummed, an absentminded sound indicating how close he was to tipping. You weren’t terribly far behind him yourself.

It wasn’t until the faint flicker of a light against your eyelids in the other end of the apartment made you realize you’d dozed off.

You sluggishly lifted your head and blinked rapidly to clear your vision, squinting through the dim into the cavernous room. The bookshelves were arranged in such a way that the majority of the bedroom space was hidden away from the rest of the apartment, but through the narrow gaps between and above the rows upon rows of books you saw only darkness. The few beams of moonlight spilling through the windows offered little in the way of illumination. 

You watched for a moment, confused and dazed and struggling to keep your eyes open. After at least half a minute of not seeing anything, you dropped your head back onto your pillow with a soft sigh. The man next to you snuffled in his sleep, tugging you a bit closer with an indistinct mumble. You closed your eyes with a low, flat hum.

Clack. Thump. Clack. Thump. Clack. Thump.

Your body jolted, neck straining as your head jerked back up. The surge of alarm that coursed through your bloodstream in an instant cleared more of the fog from your mind. You shivered as the temperature of the room seemed to dip. Frissons rocketed over your skin and caused every last hair to stand on end. You braced an elbow beneath you to sit up, apprehensive.

Was that…a silhouette in the dark, or were you seeing things?

The lights flickered again. A looming, eldritch specter cast a shadow over the bed in that split second of clarity that stung your eyes and caused them to water before the room was plunged once more into pitch black. You reached down on instinct, hand lighting on the arm still slung around your waist. Your voice emerged shaky and hoarse, terribly quiet. “Baby.”

Like the result of an incantation, the man lurched. You didn’t dare to tear your eyes away from the now empty space where you swore you had seen a ghost, but your pulse began to thrum in the pit of your throat as he stirred with a grumble. “...Wh’s’it?”

“Tell me I’m not seeing things,” you whispered, so softly that you almost didn’t hear it over the thundering in your ears—was that ringing simply tinnitus or something else?

“What’re you…talking about?” The hand at your abdomen cupped your belly, and you stole a glance down at the heavy-lidded eyes peering up at you bracketed by thick lashes. Marc looked confused, and you wondered at this being the one time that the body seemed to have relaxed enough to enter such a deep sleep…or whether they had simply been that tired.

“Marc,” you breathed, tipping your head forward. “I don’t know, but…I think…is it—?”

A cold chill made you shiver again, and this time you felt Marc’s body stiffen. His hand slipped up to your sternum, fingers spreading over your chest, flat and firm as though ready to pull you down with him. He was still struggling to wake up, you could tell, but the sharp crescents of the white of his sclerae against his umber irises cutting towards the same direction at which you’d been staring was telling enough.

You found yourself holding your breath as he watched for a long, tense moment. His arm flexed, ready to anchor you down. Then he let out a gruff, low huff and croaked, “...You’re not supposed to be here.”

You strained your ears and eyes, trying to pick out any indication of what—or whom—he spoke to, but now you only saw the bookshelves amongst the moonlight and the shadows.

“I don’t care. This was part of our agreement.”

You glanced back at him again in trepidation.

“No. It doesn’t matter. You know that you’re supposed to—” His jaw clicked shut, and you watched the tendon flex at his temple in agitation. He scowled. “You can’t be serious.”

“Marc,” you said softly, stomach twisting.

He squeezed his eyes shut, drew in a deep breath, and held it. You felt his fingertips drum in time over your shirt: one, two, three…then he exhaled slowly. Then he looked up at you. “Got to go, baby,” he murmured, and you saw that he could scarcely still keep his eyes open.

You stared at him for a long moment. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what was going on. You frowned at him. “No.”

Marc’s brow softened just slightly as he pressed lightly on your chest. “Hey, it’s fine. Something came up. I’ve got a job to do. I’ve tried not to let it interfere so far, and nothing’s really happened, but there’s—”

“It is in the middle of the fucking night, Marc Spector,” you hissed. “It’s obvious that you’ve all had a day from hell, and you don’t need to be gallivanting across rooftops as exhausted as you are. It would benefit no one if you got hurt in the process, or slipped up and accidentally got someone innocent involved.”

“I know it’s not ideal,” he tried to soothe, tipping his chin up and relaxing his expression. “But it’s not just something that I can let slip by.”

“I think the fuck not,” you muttered, pushing his shoulder down as you sat up and faced the darkened interior of the flat. Your voice grew firm, echoing off the walls. “Khonshu?”

Marc tensed, his fingers coiling around your wrist as he opened his mouth, but you didn’t falter.

“Steven and Jake are working two different jobs to make ends meet since you don’t exactly offer any benefits,” you began tartly, “on top of taking many of their nights to follow you around…God knows where doing God knows what. They’ve had a long week to boot. I respect that you’re trying to keep us all safe in your own weird, misguided little way, but I’m sure putting away petty criminals can wait. If you don’t have a world-ending emergency queued up for them to solve, then I don’t want you to set foot near them again until the weekend is over. They need to get some damned sleep.”

Marc murmured your name, but he was obviously fading fast despite his persistence—a testament to their weariness. You smoothed your palm over the slope of his arm without looking away from the shadows stretched out across the hardwood floors. The eerie, anticipatory silence made you shiver again, the weight of the air in the room threatening to suffocate you.

Marc flinched under your touch at the same time that the lights flickered ominously. His eyes cracked open again—but just barely—and fixed on an otherwise empty portion of the room (closer to the bed, you noticed). His free hand curled into the sheets with whitened knuckles.

You had the distinct impression that someone was staring right at you. The prey-driven portion of your brain, the flight instinct, was screaming at you to cower and duck, hide and wait until the danger passed over. But this was the love of your damned life, and you would sooner die than back down to some dusty ancient deity who felt a little too entitled to the body he inadvertently shared with you, now. So you ground your jaw, held your ground, and trained your glare on the place Marc was watching with bated breath.

You swallowed thickly. “With all due respect,” you said, low and terse, “fuck right back off into the cosmos where you came from, Khonshu. Come back Monday night.”

Marc breathed your name, something like fear couched in his raspy tone.

You waited. No more lights, no more sounds. Then, like taking a breath of fresh air after being underwater, the pressure in the room lifted in a heartbeat—you swore that the temperature rose by several degrees. Your anxiety settled almost instantly, but you only let your guard down once Marc’s rigid frame loosened and sank back into the mattress.

“Holy shit,” he mumbled.

You released a heavy, shaky breath. “He’s gone?”

“Yeah. I didn’t think he’d—”

“I’m tired, honey.” You clamped a hand over your mouth as a yawn forcibly rent your jaw open. “We can talk about it in the morning.”

“Baby—”

“Marc,” you sighed, just a hint of a whine creeping into the edge of his name. “Please. Just go back to sleep.”

His hands guided you as you settled back down against his chest. He tugged the sheets up and over your shoulder, fingertips brushing the shell of your ear in so doing. He nuzzled into the nape of your neck and let out a sound of disbelief.

“What?” you mumbled, already fading fast after the unexpected adrenaline surge.

“...You didn’t have to do that,” he said softly. “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” you returned dryly. “He’s not going to come into my damn house and jerk you around like you don’t belong to someone else.”

Marc’s sleepy chuckle was warm, low, and rumbled against your spine. “He won’t be happy about it.”

“He can go cry to pantheon HR or whatever the hell. I won’t let him walk all over you.”

“I think he’s learned that now.” He laid a gentle, lingering kiss below and behind your ear. “...I love you, baby.”

You leaned back to press the length of your body against his. “I love you, too.”

“I had an interesting conversation this morning, querida.”

You roused, mostly from the voice rumbling in your ear, but also from the lips skimming up the slope of your shoulder and neck. You shivered as the stubble scraped against your sensitive skin, fumbling with a heavy hand behind your head until your fingers wove their way into the meticulously gelled curls brushing the shell of your ear. The resulting sigh that shuddered over your warm flesh sent gooseflesh erupting over your skin.

“Mmm? With whom?” you mumbled, tilting your chin to allow him more room.

“El pájaro de la muerte,” Jake murmured.

Your eyes shot open and you leaned back enough to squint at him through the crust blurring your vision. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t meant to get you guys in trouble, I just wanted—”

“Ssh,” he chuckled, reaching over you to cup a hand around your cheek to draw you into a sweet, chaste kiss. “No one’s in trouble, least of all you or me.”

You frowned, wiping your eyes clean with your fingertips before resting your hand over his. “But…Khonshu isn’t upset?”

“Oh, no, he’s livid.” Jake’s eyes glittered with mischief.

You sat up slowly, glancing across the interior of the apartment with no small amount of trepidation. The tepid morning light steeped through the windows, providing lukewarm gray light that offered little warmth or illumination. So goulish silhouettes were to be seen, no haunting supernatural phenomena to be had.

“He’s not here—off pouting on top of a skyscraper all sulled up, more than likely.”

“I wasn’t trying to butt into your business. I know that it’s…complicated between you two.” Your lips thinned. “I just don’t like that he jerks you boys around, even after you talked things out with him and made an agreement. Supposedly. But I worry about Marc especially.”

“Oh, he knows by now that he’s stuck in here with us, not the other way around.” Jake flashed you a devilish grin and tapped his temple. “I made sure of that. Between Steven and I, he won’t give Marc any more trouble like he used to. That’s why I made it a point to talk to him this morning.”

You gave him a soft smile of relief. As far as he had come—as all of them had come—you still fretted. Needlessly, perhaps, but…well, it was one of your greatest talents.

But despite the fright it had given you, and the agitation you’d felt towards the deity (about whom you couldn’t decide was more realistic an option: that he simply felt he stood too far above you to reveal himself, or that he felt too uneasy to do so…had your bluff worked?), you had to admit to your curiosity—which had arguably piqued since you’d inadvertently interacted with him for the first time on a somewhat official basis.

“...What did he say about me?” you asked him with no small amount of trepidation.

“He said you have ‘too much audacity to contain in one frail mortal body’ and that you ‘would only bring trouble in your wake’. You royally pissed him off.”

Your brows furrowed in concern. “Then why do you look so smug?”

Jake’s grin broke out into a full, beaming smile. “Because I’ve never seen anyone able to get under his skin like that—not even the last guy. He didn’t stop talking about you the whole damn night, kept tossing around threats that he’d send you packing.” He laughed, then, a bright, boyish sound. “I think he likes you.”

“I…how on earth would you get that conclusion?” you questioned dubiously.

“Because I finally told him that you weren’t going anywhere,” Jake said plainly. “You’re our girl—you take care of us, make sure we stay running at top efficiency. If he wanted you gone, then he’d have to find a new avatar, too. He got real quiet after that.”

You shook your head. “...I still don’t see how that could possibly mean that he likes me.”

“Because he told me that you’d make a suitable replacement.” Jake’s eyes twinkled, belying the worry you might have felt knowing that Khonshu would ever consider you to be his ‘fist of vengeance’. “He used that as leverage against Marc while he was still married to Layla, but I’ve learned that Khonshu is very picky about who he chooses to be his fantoche. Only those he thinks have the most potential make the cut. We know better than we used to—you’d have to agree to his terms and conditions for that to happen, and you’re a smart enough cookie to call him on his bullshit, just like Layla did—just like you already have.” He stooped down and nuzzled into your neck, laughter still brimming from his belly. “I told him that he’s going soft.”

You couldn’t say that your peace of mind was any more alleviated than before, or that you understood completely, but as long as a literal ancient god wasn’t threatening the wellbeing of yourself or your lovers, then you supposed you shouldn’t press the issue.

“So…” you started tentatively, “does this mean I have his seal of approval?”

“Not that you needed it in the first place from a dusty old dirtbag like him,” he snorted, pulling back to eye you appreciatively, “but I’d say he likes your spit and vinegar. He did say he was surprised that you didn’t back down from him.”

“I didn’t even see him.” You raised a brow. “Did he really say that?”

“Basically. But the semantics don’t really matter.” Jake nudged your chin with the crook of his finger. His tone deepened. “You stood up to the god of vengeance without flinching once—for our sake. I’d say that you’re deserving of a reward after that.”

Heat crowded your cheeks as your body instinctively responded to the memory of that particular register. And even as he leaned in to pepper kisses along your mandible, fingers closing carefully around your throat to anchor you in place, your mind recalled the one detail that had consequently initiated your exasperation with their patron to start with.

“Will you ask him to stop knocking over the figurine that Steven got me in Cairo?” you complained, making him draw back slightly in surprise. “I don’t want him to break it, but if he does then he’s getting me a new one. It’s special to me.”

“It’s an image of another god,” Jake chuckled, lips curving as he returned his attention to your neck. “Of course he’d be jealous.”

“Jealous?!” you protested, hands falling onto his shoulders. “Why would he be jealous?”

“He’s used to commanding total devotion. Iconography not related to him is offensive.”

Your eyes fluttered shut as his lips found the tender place behind your ear once again. “That sounds like something Steven would say.”

“He did, actually.”

“Steven acted confused about it, though.”

Jake chuckled, wedging himself closer. His hand slipped to the middle of your back so he could leverage you back into the mattress. “Oh, he was, but you know him—he figured it out pretty quick.”

You gave him a dubious look. “Why didn’t he say anything? I was almost convinced I was going crazy.”

“He was being a smug little shit about it. He likes getting under Khonshu’s feathers.”

“He has feathers?”

“Not that I’ve seen—it’s figurative.” He snorted and kissed you. “Now hush and let me do my thing.”

“And here I thought you didn’t like referring to women as objects.”

Jake huffed a laugh and reached for the hem of your sleep shirt.

[gingerlee-holds]

Tinkering Hearts

This is a birthday fic for @cxra-melty! It's a Splatoon tword fic about lesbians lesbianing all over the place lmao- DISCLAIMER: i have never played splatoon nor do i know anything about it so if i get something wrong, lemme know!!

Word Count: 2,028 Reading Time: about 8 minutes Warnings: none that i can think of!! enjoy!!

The evening was Marina's favorite time of day since it's among the few times in Inkopolis when it's quiet. All the little critters settled down to sleep, but the sun still bathed the earth. Warm streams of light flowed into her studio, seemingly transforming the rather plain skyrise apartment into the inky aftermath of a turf war, awash with vibrant oranges, pinks, and yellows. The scent of grease that usually filled the studio was, at her girlfriend's strongly worded request, replaced mainly by a citrusy aroma, courtesy of an air freshener of her own design.

Marina Ida leaned back in her desk chair, smiling as she set down her screwdriver. Wiping her hands on her apron, the mechanically adept Octoling sighed in contentment at seeing her new invention: a speaker with a 23% longer battery life, petitioned by her girlfriend for her characteristically prolonged singing sessions in the shower. Marina's personal speaker, her 'precious baby,' sat on a bookcase next to the door, playing her mellow vaporwave beats while she worked. Swiveling slightly in her chair, she gazed out the large windows of her tinkering studio. She had always counted herself incredibly lucky to live in an apartment like this one, with a tremendously gorgeous view of the sunset. 

'It's so pretty,' Marina thought to herself. 'The setting sun gives the undersides of those clouds a beautiful pink color, like cotton candy. Like bubble gum. Like…' She suddenly looked down, feeling her face warm up a bit. 'Like Pearl.'

Marina heard a loud groan from her girlfriend, Pearl Houzuki, as if on cue. Turning again in her chair, she smiled at the mess of a girl crashed on her couch, lounging, as she often did, to periodically pester Marina while she worked. Today, though, Pearl had kept mostly silent as she lay on the sofa, idly kicking her feet behind her as she played on her phone, the nightcore blaring from her headphones only barely audible from across the room. However, the Inkling was face-down on the cushions, shamefully holding up her phone as she removed her headphones.

"'s dead," Pearl mumbled, making the Octoling smile fondly. 

"Well, I did recommend you bring a charger in with you a few-" Marina stopped her 'told you so' when she broke into giggles at the sight of the death glare her girlfriend gave in reply. The pouting Pearl huffed and rolled over onto her back, staring at the ceiling as Marina returned to her desk. Her next project was to begin right away, so without wasting any time, she opened her drawer and pulled out the sketches for a marginally more efficient Splattershot. 

It took less than a minute for Pearl to become restless. 

"I'm boreddd…" she grumbled. 

Marina chuckled. "Go charge your phone, then, silly squid. I also have those graphic novels you like somewhere on the shelf." She gestured vaguely toward one of her bookshelves without looking away from her work. As she focused back on the task before her, she failed to hear her girlfriend slowly rise from the sofa and sneak across the room, muffled by her fuzzy socks and the carpeted floor. Just as Marina put the tip of her pencil to the page, a rapid, simultaneous poke to each side elicited a squeaky yelp, making her hand shoot back to protect herself.

The Octoling whirled around, trying her best to glare at her adorable girlfriend's smug smirk, unable to suppress the smile on her face. 

"There is one rule in this studio! One! I know you can count to one!" Vainly trying to sound authoritative, Marina ended up sputtering out her warning. She accidentally drew a sharp, dark line across her page with her pencil.

Pearl giggled and innocently rocked on her heels. "You know I'm garbage at math. But hey, you can't blame me! Golden hour makes your skin look even prettier than normal! I was just checking that you were real and not some sort of hologram!"

The clever Inkling's flirt had its intended effect: Marina lost her entire train of thought as her face heated up like an overclocked CPU without a cooling fan. Instead of playfully scolding Pearl about the sacred 'No Shenanigans' rule of her tinkering studio, Marina hid her face behind her tentacles and let out what she intended to be a growl but became a flustered whine. Pearl waited patiently for her girlfriend to regain her composure, smiling from ear to ear.

"Y-you know that I haven't been able to build one of those yet-!" It was a lazy rebuttal born from her genuine vexation with holographic devices.

Pearl hummed, tapping her chin. "Well, you can never be too sure! I'm not worried, though, cuz I have a surefire method of proving you're my Marina~!" At that, she teasingly wiggled her fingers at the poor Octoling. "My little Marina is deathly ticklish~!"

Pearl's 'little' Marina leaped to her feet with a squeak, standing two full heads taller than her girlfriend. A determined expression entirely replaced her flustered countenance. "G-glass houses, babe! I know for a fact that you, of all people, shouldn't be throwing out accusations of ticklishness since you're a walking tickle spot!"

The smaller girl stammered, her cheeks turning as pink as the tips of her tentacles. "B-bullshit!" 

"Ooo, strong words from such a wittle Squid~! Are you gonna pout me to death~? Or do I have to ticklEEEK-!" Marina's cocky taunting was interrupted by about 100 pounds of Inkling suddenly slamming into her torso, almost bringing the tinkerer to the ground. Thankfully for her knees, Marina managed to get turned about, letting herself be pushed across the room and onto the couch by her growling girlfriend.

"You," Pearl huffed, now that she pinned the Octoling, "deserve every friggin' second of what you're about to get!" 

Before Marina could reply, a wave of giggly laughter poured out from her lungs as Pearl began scribbling up and down her sides. "NohOhoHO!!" was all she could get out as Pearl's nimble fingers skittered and poked each inch of skin from her hip to her ribs. 

"If anything," the Inkling said over her girlfriend's laughter, "this is your fault! I mean, for such a clever girl, it's awfully silly to keep one of your most ticklish spots so exposed like this~! Not that I'm complaining, though - makes it sooooo much easier for me to tickle the shit outta you!"

“ShuUHuHUhUT UhuHUHUHUP!!!” Marina cackled, kicking her feet. She brought one arm over her eyes while the other wrestled with Pearl's surprisingly agile hands. 

"Oh, believe me, I've been shut up for the past few hours! Gotta get this energy out somehow!"

Marina bucked, desperately trying to squirm out of reach or pry her girlfriend off, but Pearl was stuck to her like a mussel, mercilessly exploiting the Octoling's ticklishness. 

"PleHEhEHehheASe!!! PeHEhEhehHEARL, IhihhIhI’M BEHEEHEHEGGING!!” Marina threw her head back when Pearl began drilling her fingers into her hips. Her pleas, however, made Pearl slow down her tickling just enough for Marina to launch her counterattack.

Marina's hands shot down past Pearl's, landing on her thighs in one swift motion. The Inkling's eyes widened with shock for a moment before she was sent into peals of ticklish gleeful laughter from Marina's squeezes. She fell onto her back, hugging herself around the middle. The tinkerer took her chance, pulling herself upward to continue her onslaught. 

The mellow vaporwave from her speaker was drowned out by a different sort of music, which Marina enjoyed far more: the snorts and hiccups of her beloved bratty squid when her thighs were squeezed. Pearl waved her arms around like an inflatable tube man, giving Marina access to her underarms. Scribbling in each underarm, Marina had successfully invented liquid cuteness.

Nevertheless, despite her thrashing around like a fish on land and babbling through her hiccupy laughter, Pearl had concocted the perfect scheme. When Marina stopped for a moment to readjust her position, Pearl leaped upward and wrapped her arms around Marina's torso, planting her face in her girlfriend's exposed belly. Paying no heed to the panicky warnings, the smaller girl deposited a big, wriggly raspberry, transforming the tall attacker back into a cackling girl, unable to hold back the mountain of melodic laughter. Pearl, determined to get revenge and with her competitive streak shining bright, resolved to continue raspberrying Marina's belly button until the latter had no more laughter left in her. However, true to form, she made one vital miscalculation: she hadn't removed her girlfriend's hands from under her arms. 

She was immediately aware of this flaw in her plan before delivering a second attack when Marina resumed wiggling her fingers. The small Inkling squealed through her raspberry, which did less to dampen its ticklishness than Marina had hoped. Both now were squealing and laughing, both because of the tickles and the ridiculousness of the situation.

The two were locked in a stubborn tickle war of attrition: could Pearl withstand the curious wiggling fingers in her underarms before Marina inevitably gave in to her raspberries? Regardless of the outcome, Pearl was happy to finally have her girlfriend to herself after not being given any attention for so long. As silly as it seemed to be jealous of a toolbox, she felt pleased to finally have all of Marina's focus exclusively on her. She'd never admit it out loud, of course, but Pearl was more than happy to lose this battle if it meant spending more time with her favorite Octoling.

As it happens, the winner of the tickle war would not be determined that day, as a particularly devious raspberry to her side sent Marina rolling off the couch and onto the soft carpet, dragging a hiccupy Pearl down with her. The two girls squealed with delight as they landed, their legs getting tangled together in the confusion. Slowly, the laughter died down, and the two pairs of eyes opened to look into each other. Their faces melted with fondness, wobbly lovestruck smiles replacing helplessly plastered grins. As they gazed into each other's eyes, arms wrapped around each other, legs intertwined, and so close… It was poetry worthy of Sappho herself.

Pearl broke the silence first. "You oughta be more playful. It's fun to see you like this."

"What, you mean it's fun to see me all disheveled and a mess?" 

The Inkling giggled, nodding. "Yep! I don't see you so unraveled often, so it's always a fun gift to witness!"

Marina's smile widened slightly before she shyly said, "Then feel free to unravel me as much as you'd like, babe."

Led by the profoundly influential force whose origin lies beyond scientific scrutiny and which has always guided the hearts of two lovers throughout countless millennia, the two cephalopods pressed themselves closer and stole a sweet, blissful kiss. When they finally pulled apart, the sun had sunk under the horizon, swapping vibrant oranges with soft purples as the stars began to appear above.

"Welp," Pearl said after a moment, "can't sleep on the floor." With that, she untangled herself and stood, picking up the surprisingly lightweight Octoling from the floor and plopping her onto the couch.

Marina giggled. "The couch isn't much better for your back, y'know-"

"Shush, genius, or else I'll make you shush." Pearl poked her girlfriend one last time as she sat beside her, forcing the tinkerer to concede.

With that, the two relaxed into the cushions, holding hands. Unable to prop her head on Marina's shoulder, Pearl nestled into her bicep, making the taller girl coo silently and wrap her other arm around the Inkling. 

Yawning, Pearl said, "Can we, like, go to a karaoke bar or something tomorrow?"

Sighing fondly, Marina nodded. "We'll make it a date."

Pearl giggled victoriously. “Just us, right? You’re not gonna bring an Allen wrench or something?”

“Why on earth would I bring an Allen wrench with me on a date?”

“Not sure, but if anyone were to, it would be you.”

After a few seconds to consider, Marina nodded. “You’re probably right. No tools, I promise.”

So, with the gentle accompaniment of Marina's speaker, the two lovebirds drifted off to sleep, smiling all the while. 

[theggning]

Different anon than who spoke to sapphire-weapon but holy shit give me ALL of your metaltango thoughts from both OG and Remake please! That pairing is somethin' else.

ALL of them? Oh, anon, there's far too many for that... I do have plenty of thoughts though so if there's any specifics you might like do feel free to ask.

What I will do here is lay out some differences between Leon and Krauser's relationship (hypothetically romantic or otherwise) between OG and the remake and thus two different flavors of metaltango. Because Leon and Krauser are both pretty different characters between versions, *especially* Krauser, the differences make for some really interesting contrasts.

OG METALTANGO:

Leon and Krauser literally meet for the first time during Operation Javier (Darkside Chronicles version.) They are much more equal in standing and prestige, where Krauser is a career soldier with years of experience under his belt and Leon is the government's golden boy. There is kind of a gesture towards Krauser feeling jealous of Leon for this reason, but... well, there's kind of a lot of vague gestures made about Krauser's motivations that have always struck me as silly. (Poorly executed, to say the least.)

Because they meet for the first time on OJ and Krauser is immediately injured, any canon-compliant relationship between the two is going to have to happen in the aftermath/weeks and months after the mission. I've always kind of liked the idea that Leon befriends Krauser and they spend this time hanging out while Krauser is sidelined/in rehab to recover from his injuries. This has kind of been my go-to headcanon here, because otherwise there just really isn't any time for these two to even befriend one another apart from what's depicted in canon.

Once he decides to join up with Wesker to get his arm fixed/POWERRRR, Krauser fakes his death in a helicopter crash. This is presumably the source of the scars on his face in OG. Also, because he was discharged from the military, we are left to assume this helicopter crash happened while he was doing mercenary work (OG Krauser is said to work as a mercenary when he's not on duty with the military, because he feels unfit for normal society outside of the battlefield.)

OG Krauser works for Wesker, is genuinely loyal to him, and seems to genuinely enjoy his job. He joins up with the cult perhaps a few weeks before Ashley's kidnapping... and it is implied that the kidnapping was his idea to begin with to win Saddler's trust? Which it does not, incidentally. But I guess Saddler decides to opportunistically capitalize on the kidnapped head of state's daughter anyway. (OG Los Illuminados are a bunch of incompetent chucklefucks and their plans are completely doomed from the get go, ask me sometime.)

OG Krauser is sent by Saddler specifically to kill Leon, a task which he takes up with gusto due to... I don't know actually. If there's one constant with Krauser it's that his hatred for Leon is never really adequately explained, though at least the remake gives us a boatload of subtextual interpretations. I think OG metaltango is funniest if you interpret Krauser's grudge against Leon as the over-the-top actions of a jilted ex who left Leon on read when he got the breakup text (and also faked his death.) Anyway, one thing that really strikes me is how much fun Krauser seems to be having in OG. He's like, genuinely delighted to be attempting to murder Leon and with his plans to hand Leon's corpse over to Wesker once he's dead. (Put a pin in this one, it's a BIG change in remake.)

Leon is a lot more irritated with Krauser in OG and at least doesn't show an *unwillingness* to fight back. Only once Krauser has fallen does he lament that he "used to be a good guy..." He also seems really upset at Saddler boasting that he never trusted Krauser and the implication that Saddler was only using him.

Ada being the one to "really" kill Krauser in OG is dumb and has always been dumb, imo, and is more than likely an artifact of OG SW's clumsy development and what assets they had to work with.

REMAKE METALTANGO:

okay there is... a LOT more to work with here. Chiefest and most obviously, Krauser is now Major Krauser, and was Leon's commanding officer/mentor. This gives the two of them a much closer and more personal relationship, as well as 4+ whole years to work with, timeline-wise (Operation Javier happened in 2002.)

The mentor/student relationship provides another really delicious power dynamic to work with, shipping-wise. Yes, it's inappropriate for a military officer to have an affair with one of his subordinates, but we are also right in the middle of Don't Ask Don't Tell here so it's also literally forbidden for a soldier to be anything but heterosexual and still keep their job. Also consider, it's hot? Also like, bruh... if you're looking for Pure Wholesome Shipping Dynamics you are looking in the wroooooong ship.

Krauser is fulltime military this time around, no merc work to speak of (or at least no evidence of it.) He also never fakes his death in the remake. He has current contacts within the Secret Service AND is running around using his REAL NAME and ACTUAL military credentials to buy ordnance for Saddler (per SW,) there is absolutely no way we're meant to believe this man is legally dead.

There is evidence that Krauser showed special attention or favoritism to Leon, at least a little bit. Not only is Leon allowed to keep his hair while training (getting your head shaved/your hair cut short is like Basic Training Day One stuff,) but in the opening cutscene we see Leon and Krauser training in private in what appears to be a storage room- not a normal training space. Leon is the government golden boy here, but Krauser is also in charge of a whole unit of special forces guys. Somebody is getting private tutoring from the Major.

Leon respects and trusted Krauser. Krauser is said to have always been "an asshole" but also a man of honor. He is suggested to have been a difficult commanding officer, but also one who cared very deeply about his men and is traumatized by their avoidable deaths in OJ. (This one's my personal opinion, but I really can't stand the interpretation of Krauser having been an awful abusive piece of shit from the get go. Kind of wrecks the tragedy of his fall for me when he was always a cruel bastard. Why exactly would Leon trust, respect, want to emulate, or mourn such a person?)

So you could kind of intuit some trauma into OG Krauser, if you squinted. But there is absolutely no question that remake Krauser is suffering from some pretty massive PTSD. Along with his general unhingedness, all of his actions fit perfectly when viewed through a lens of a very, very traumatized man, used and abandoned by the government he trusted, desperate to gain the power that could have saved his men, and himself-- and the power to keep himself relevant so he can't be used and hurt again. I interpret that Krauser had his face scarred in OJ as well (he doesn't have the scars in the flashback scene with Leon.)

Remake Krauser joined Los Illuminados of his own free will, because they offered him the power to fix his crippled arm-- and the aforementioned power to unsuccessfully "fix" his trauma. But also, maybe it's just me, but I feel like remake Krauser does not give a fuck about the cult. He's loyal to Saddler, yes, but he openly disbelieves the cult religion ("Faith is for the weak, only power matters.") He commands the island mercs and helped set up the defenses, but he's also out here buying warheads under his own name. There is no way he doesn't think he's going to be caught by the U.S. sooner than later-- he just doesn't care. None of his notes read to me like somebody who genuinely thinks the cult has a chance to take over the world. Krauser joined these idiots so he could drink the juice, now the juice is all gone and he's still empty inside.

OG Krauser seemed to be having fun and set up his Leon deathmaze/training ground/mating display for a laugh. Remake Krauser, on the other hand, seems absolutely batshit out of his mind at this point-- alternating between the maze being a "final lesson" for Leon and a deathwish enactment mechanism for himself. Like... between Krauser's general demeanor and the "finish what happened two years ago" talk, this does not feel like a fight that Krauser wants to walk away from, whether or not he kills Leon. If OG Krauser killed Leon, he planned to bag him up and present him to Wesker like a trophy. If remake Krauser did... like, what's he going to do? Can you possibly picture him washing his hands of his blood and going back to work for Saddler? Because I sure can't. (I have a much longer meta piece in mind for this point... like I want to dissect the remake Krauser boss fight and his motivations therein at some point. Let me know if this sounds interesting.)

Remake Leon absolutely does not want to fight Krauser. Krauser forces every single encounter the two of them have. Even though Leon says "you won't get away with this" after Luis' death, he has absolutely no desire nor intention to hurt or kill Krauser back. He asks, over and over, if Krauser is "sure about this" and tries to talk sense into him. He is ready to straight up run away from the boss fight the first chance he gets.

I could probably write a whole other essay on Krauser's final moments and Leon stabbing him, which was one of the most shocking and powerful moments of the remake for me for several reasons. Like... god damn. Did anybody else think Leon was going to do the whole "I'm not like you and I won't do it" thing? (Though arguably it was more heroic/merciful/kind of Leon to put Krauser out of his misery here. Krauser clearly wanted it!!)

I was going to go to Capcom and chain myself to the doors in protest if they put the dumb stupid Krauser boss fight redux in Separate Ways after THAT absolutely poetic ending for him. Glad they didn't. Glad they actually showed Wesker picking up his corpse this time rather than handwaving it offscreen years after the fact.

If somebody has a heterosexual explanation for that picture of Leon in Krauser's tent, I'd certainly like to hear it. Because... bruh.

Well that felt extremely disjointed and pointless... But I hope it was useful or at least gave you some delicious food to feast on? (Or other ideas to interrogate me about, lmao.) Krauser is my favorite RE villain. For OG Krauser it was mostly for comedy reasons, but I am absolutely delighted that the remake gave him some real genuine pathos and a really compelling relationship with Leon.

Anyway, tl;dr metaltango, OG or remake: I ship it and I think it would be hot if they banged.

[electrikworm]

We'll find her

In the immediate aftermath of Omega giving herself up to the Empire, Hunter confronts Crosshair.

--

Content warning: Nothing I can think of

We probably won't get to see any of this in the show, so I wanted to write something short.

Read on Ao3

Dread claws it's way deep into Hunter's chest as he climbs the numerous steps leading to Shep's house two at a time. Something feels horribly wrong. Hunter's suspicions are only further confirmed by the Empire's ships leaving.

They wouldn't go if they hadn't gotten what they wanted.

Hunter can't seem to run fast enough, heart beating against his ribs like it wants to break them. Batcher sprints along side him, looking blissfully unaware of the gravity of the situation.

Lungs burning, Hunter opens the door to their friends house. He knows Omega won't be inside, can't stop the way his blood runs cold as he scans the room and doesn't spot her.

Lyana's knelt on the floor next to Wrecker, who's laying on the couch, still out cold. AZI-3's hovering nearby.

“Where's Omega?” Hunter burst out, panic lacing his words.

Lyana looks at him, fear and worry twisting her expression. The look says more than anything she or the medical droid could say.

“Hunter.” A voice, Crosshair's voice, says from behind him. Hunter snaps around, futile hope once again dashed as he spots his brother standing alone. Hunter can't help the annoyance he feels. He steps out through the door, closing it behind him. What ever discussion he's about to have with Crosshair isn't one Hunter wants to have in front of Lyana. He won't risk scaring her more.

“Where is she Crosshair?”Hunter hisses, voice low. Crosshair just stands there, helmet hanging loosely in his hand, vacant look in his eyes. “What happened?”

“Omega...” Crosshair forces out.

“Where is she?” Hunter snaps, shoving Crosshair for emphasis. Batcher immediately pushes herself between the brothers as Crosshair staggers backwards a few steps.

The sniper takes a shaky breath, Hunter can hear the way he swallows dryly from a good meter away. “Plan 99.”

The tears that had steadily been building in Hunter's eyes spill across his cheeks. “Why didn't you stop her?” He yells, pushing past the lurca hound to grab his brother's shoulders. “You were supposed to keep her hidden! Safe!”

Crosshair's eyes narrow. “She wouldn't listen to reason!”

“You should have tried harder.”

Crosshair shoves Hunter off, glaring. “Don't touch me.” He hisses, voice breaking.

“You let them take her!” Hunter steps forward, not fully sure what he intends to do, only knowing that the fear and anger building in his chest is letting itself be known one way or another. Batcher brushes against his legs again, whining softly.

Crosshair flinches, air catching in his throat. “I didn't!”

“They're taking Omega back there, back to Tantiss,” Hunter snaps, “because you let her sacrifice herself!”

This time, Crosshair's the one to push Hunter. “I didn't just let them take her! There was a plan...” His voice falters and gives out as he talks. Hunter clenches his fists.

“What plan could ever justify Omega giving herself up?” Crosshair looks pained at Hunter's words. “There's no telling what they'll do to her this time!”

Hunter steps forward again, Crosshair looking like he might do the same as well. From years of living with his vode, Hunter can tell things are about to get ugly. Batcher seems to be able to tell too, barking a couple times at both of them.

The door to the Hazard house sliding open with a hiss makes them both stop dead in their tracks, heads turning to look at it. Hunter expects to see Lyana poking her head out, no doubt disturbed by the argument outside.

Instead, it's Wrecker in the doorway. He looks like he's just barely managing to stay upright, eyes half lidded, pupils flicking erratically between his brothers.

“Th- The... Marauder.” Wrecker slurs, gesturing vaguely in what he must believe is the ship's direction. His expression is pinched with pain, his breathing laboured. Every word seems to take enormous effort to force out. “Under attack.”

As their vod steps forward weakly, both Hunter and Crosshair rush to try and steady him. He's already fallen to his knees when they get to him, but they stop Wrecker from hitting his head on the floor. Wrecker's body is almost limp against them holding him up by his shoulders, crouched closely next to him.

“Calm down.” Crosshair has the same concerned tone to his voice Hunter has hear him use countless times as they grew up.

“Wha- Wha's happ'ning?” Wrecker's voice falters more with every word, his breathing becoming barely more than gasps. “Omega?” His eyes are suddenly wide open as he frantically looks about, starts trying to get up.

“Wrecker, no.” Hunter tries, emotions painfully obvious in his voice. He and Crosshair have to fight to keep a grip on their brother, stop him from hurting himself. The weak way Wrecker pulls against them holding him is concerning. He doesn't seem to hear them, Wrecker's own word becoming progressively panicked and unintelligible.

As Wrecker takes a particularly unsteady breath, his head suddenly drops forwards and he goes completely still. The world goes almost silent, if Hunter couldn't hear his brother's hearts beating hard and fast. Crosshair mutters quiet encouragements as he checks their largest brothers pulse, like he's trying to keep Wrecker from dying through telling him not to. Hunter should just tell him that he can still hear Wrecker's heart, but the words die on his tongue.

“I tried to make it clear to him that standing up in his state would do him more harm than good.” AZI-3 states, hovering his way out of the house followed closely by Lyana. The girl's eyes are wide, terrified.

Crosshair glares at the droid as he starts lifting Wrecker's arm to sling it across his shoulder. Hunter wordlessly helps him, their combined effort getting Wrecker back onto the couch with relative ease.

The twisted ball of anger in Hunter's chest fully transforms to worry as he watches Crosshair adjust Wrecker's motionless form on the piece of furniture barely big enough to accommodate him. Batcher bumps her snout into Wrecker's limp hand, making small, sad noises as she fails to get any response from the large clone.

“His vitals remain stable.” AZI-3 informs them. At Crosshair's request, the medical droid also fills them in on the damage Wrecker sustained. Burns, broken ribs and some embedded shrapnel. Lyana shudders as AZI explains how he removed pieces of the Marauder from Wrecker's skin.

“I'm glad I didn't have to watch that.” She mumbles under her breath.

According to AZI-3, Wrecker's burns could have been a lot worse if he hadn't landed in water. It's a small mercy, but Hunter will take anything at this point.

Hunter sits on the floor near Wrecker's legs, hit by a sudden wave of exhaustion. “The plan, what was it?” Hunter asks, turning to look at his kih'vod. Crosshair cringes at Hunter's question, looking pained by the thought.

“I was supposed to tag the ship taking Omega.” Hunter already knows what Crosshair's going to say next. “I missed.” Crosshair's voice cracks and he closes his eyes, tears threatening to fall across his cheeks.

Of course Omega would suggest something so risky, with such a high chance of going wrong. Hunter wants to be angry at Crosshair, his betrayal still fresh even if they've started to work through it. He can't truly find it in himself to hold this against his kih'vod.

It's been bothering Omega more and more. She blames herself for so much, despite every attempt they've made to assure her she's not at fault. The truth is, nobody could have stopped Omega, even if the thought sickens Hunter.

“I know what you're thinking.” Crosshair says, focusing on their unconscious brother rather than looking at Hunter. He's got a hand placed carefully on Wrecker's shoulder. With the other, he occasionally checks his brother's pulls or if he's still breathing. “If you're going to accuse me of missing the shot on purpose, or still working with the Empire, just get it over with.” A tear drops from Crosshair's face onto Wrecker's chest plate.

Hunter's chest hurts at his little brother's defeated tone. “We're going to find her, Cross. We won't stop until we've got her back.”

Disturbing batcher from her spot at Wrecker's side, Hunter moves closer to Crosshair, putting his hand on his brothers arm. Surprise crosses the sniper's expression, but morphs to something closer to determination.

“We'll find her.” Hunter repeats. “Together.”

[thatthirdtriplet]

Relationships:

Tim Drake & Damian WayneTim Drake & Kon-El | Conner KentJonathan Samuel Kent & Damian WayneJonathan Samuel Kent & Kon-El | Conner KentTim Drake & Bruce WayneBruce Wayne & Damian Wayne

Characters:

Tim Drake Damian Wayne Kon-El | Conner Kent Jonathan Samuel Kent Bruce Wayne Alfred Pennyworth Edward Nygma

Mentioned:

Mentioned Dick Grayson

Additional Tags:

Kidnapping kidnapping aftermath very very vague plot setting lmao good Friend Kon-El | Conner Kent good Friend Jonathan Samuel Kent Damian Wayne is a good brother Tim Drake is a Good Brother Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent Tim Drake Needs a Hug Tim Drake Gets a Hug I’m trying to finish all my wipes and this has been sitting in my docs for a year so here we are kjefbwekj they love each other so stfu i make my own canon

Summary:

“Look, I know you’re pissed at me, but you didn’t see Tim back there. He’s off, and it’s worrying me. What if I hadn’t been there to stop him?”

“I presume he would have killed Nygma.”

“And you don’t see the issue with that?”

“Of course I do,” Damian snaps. “Timothy has always practiced careful restraint. He values life just as much as you do.”

Kent nods, gesturing up the stairs, “So you agree it was out of line.”

“No.”

[wizardofrozz]

"Cut the crap and tell me what happened." with Thorn

Aftermath

Commander Thorn x senator aid!reader (GN)

Word Count: ~900

Warnings: violence, mention of a bomb detonating, death (in the background)

A/N: I plan on forcing my love for Thorn and all the corries on all of you 😈 enjoy a little hurt/comfort before smut takes over my brain again lmao

The silence only lasted for a moment. 

Then came the screaming. Voices calling for help, wails of pain, and shouts of names that you couldn’t comprehend right away. It felt like your head was going to cave in, a persistent ringing piercing through your skull even as you lay stationary. Opening your eyes was grueling and it took all of your willpower not to slam them shut at the blinding light overhead. 

The last few minutes came back to you in pieces as you blinked at the artificial sky over Coruscant. You had been trailing behind your senator one minute, discussing dinner party plans with your fellow aid when suddenly everything went dark. Now, soot and smoke adhered to the inside of your lungs, leaving a burnt taste on your tongue as you struggled to sit up. 

Your heart sank, the glow of burning debris reflecting in your eyes as you sat stunned. Bodies were strewn around the walkway, the few conscious beings attempting to offer help as the senate building burned in the background. You were so absorbed by the tragedy before you that you missed the thundering footsteps growing closer.

“Get a medic!” a familiar voice shouted. The volume of their voice had you scrambling away, your brain reeling until a red-winged helmet became clearer. Thorn. 

“Thorn?” you croaked, blinking rapidly. His head turned in your direction, pausing briefly before continuing to scan the area only to snap back to you at lightning speed. Every visible muscle locked up and he stood frozen for a moment before he was weaving through the mess, dropping to his knees at your side.

“Stars,” he breathed, hands hovering near your shoulders as he scanned your body. 

“Thorn,” you gasped, throwing your arms around his shoulders, nearly knocking him on his ass. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, muffin,” he whispered, restraining himself from squeezing you too hard. “What the hell happened?” You tried to recount the incident again, going rigid against his chest before leaning away with renewed desperation.

“The others,” you gasped, weakly trying to get out of Thorn’s grip. 

“Woah, slow down,” he argued, grabbing your scrambling hands. 

“We - we have to help them,” you snapped, trying to tug your hand free but Thorn held on. 

“No, I need to make sure you’re not injured,” he sighed, attempting to pull you into his chest again, “and I need you to tell me what happened.”

“I’m fine,” you growled, turning your head to meet his endless visor. A small part of you wished you could see his face but at the same time, it was probably for the best that it was concealed. “There are people that need help more than I do.”

“Stop,” Thorn barked, the tone of his voice piercing you like a blade. You sent still, focusing on the faceplate of his helmet again. Thorn had always been so sweet, tender in his gestures and never raising his voice in any serious situation with you. This was different, he sounded harsh, commanding. He’s doing his job, you absently realized. “Cut the shit and tell me what happened.” 

“I - I…we were leaving the senate building,” you stammered, the surge of adrenaline already starting to dissipate. Thorn’s grip on your wrists loosened and his gloved thumb lightly pressed on your thundering pulse. “It - it was a bomb. Someone bombed the senate building.”

“You’re doing great, muffin, what else,” Thorn urged, helping you into a sitting position. You were vaguely aware of one of his hands running over the length of your arms before a palm came up to rest against your cheek as you recounted all the details you could. 

“I woke up here but I have no idea how long it’s been,” was what you finished with, looking down at the duracrete beneath your legs. If it wasn’t for Thorn’s steady grip, the tremors racking your body would’ve been more obvious. It was no surprise Thorn was the one to physically hold you together, something he seemed to be an expert at. 

“Good job, cyare,” Thorn whispered, cautiously pulling you into a tight hug. “I’m so proud of you.” The weight of the situation hit you like a speeder and suddenly you were clinging to Thorn, clawing at his backplate in an attempt to get closer. You hadn’t realized you were crying until Thorn’s soft hushing crackled through his helmet's vocoder.

“Sorry,” you sniffled, hiding your face against his shoulder. 

“Look at me,” he whispered, gently tapping your back. You leaned away just enough to see the front of his helmet and a breath you hadn’t realized you had been holding rushed past your lips when he pushed the helmet up enough to rest on the crown of his head. The stray curl that had flopped onto his forehead caught your attention until Thorn cradled your face and forced you to meet his shining eyes. “I can’t begin to explain how happy I am that you’re alive. Do you understand that I could’ve lost you?” 

“I know,” you hiccuped, resting your hands over his. That’s when you saw it: the soul-shattering fear still lingering in his eyes. The realization that you were luckier than some of your colleagues made your chest ache. Thorn must’ve seen it because he tipped his head forward, bumping his forehead against yours with a shaky sigh.

“I love you so much,” he breathed, wiping away a stray tear with his thumb. “So if you could please sit still for five minutes and let a medic look over you, I’d appreciate it.” The laugh was hoarse and you almost didn’t recognize the sound as one from your own throat, but it did bring a smile to Thorn’s face. At least there was a bright side. 

“I guess I can do that,” you managed to get out. You could still feel his smile when his lips met yours and you let him hold you together one more time. 

Taglist: @a-single-tulip @techs-feral-wife @homie-one-kenobi @rain-on-kamino @rinwritesfics

[mindsmade]

@vulpesse

The lights are low — outside, and all the more so inside. Some coloured shafts pour in from outside at a downward angle, tinting the floor most of all. In this dressing room, a smattering of small lamps placed on the coffee table, the vanity, and even the ground itself cast some various shades of pink, purple and blue in a diluted radius about themselves.

Equally faint is the music outside; that vague, thrumming aftermath of a concert that went down all too well with its audience.

V's eyes land on the two bottles to the left of the almost mushroom-shaped model on the low table by the sofa he's sitting on. And it's not just him; Ahri sits not even a finger's breadth away from him, off to his right.

And he finds himself wanting to lean into it — again, his attention inevitably drawn back to her like a compass' needle to the northernmost pole.

There's a dangerous amount of validation to be found there.

He abstains from it despite his longing for it, remaining just shy of that true north, and of indeed leaning her way. Instead, he chuckles gruffly in agreement with her kindred giggle, idly gesturing to the near-finished bottles on the table. ❛  I'd be a shitty guard if I didn't insist you have a glass of water now.  ❜

[booksandpaperss]

tell me about both of the sskk wips please

I was hoping you’d ask about those <3

for the post singularity sskk:

I was actually planning to straight up gift you this one whenever I got around to finishing it! I imagine it will be a 2-3k type oneshot when it’s finished (unless I get carried away), basically I wanted to explore how I picture their relationship directly after defeating the singularity together. it’s a getting together fic, atsushi pov, and it’s making me feel all soft just thinking abt it LMAO

here’s the summary:

In the aftermath of, well, everything, Atsushi is horrified to find that he no longer hates Akutugawa. Like, at all. 

and a snippet of dialogue bc I’m so niceys to you:

“Why did you hesitate?”  “Are you serious? How was any of what we just did hesitating–” “No, you absolute fool. I mean earlier, when you fought me. You could’ve won, you had a clear shot, but you didn’t take it. Why?”  “...I didn’t realize you remembered any of that.”

for the one where they try to set up skk:

this one would definitely be chaptered, and I actually have the whole thing fully outlined and it’s way more detailed than I remebered making it lolll

it’s in a sort step by step guide type structure, currently titled something along the lines of “atsushi’s harrowing step by step struggle of trying to get his mentor back with his (more or less out of his league and also vaguely terrifying) ex boyfriend”

the concept is mostly crack and humor w some character study mixed in, and despite the premise it’s much more shin soukoku than soukoku focused 🙏 skk is mostly the plot device here and also I wanted sskk to clown on them

here’s the summary:

Dazai’s birthday is coming up, which Atsushi only found out by asking Ranpo mind you, and he really wants to do something nice for his mentor (despite how insufferable he can be). The only problem is that everytime anyone from the ADA actually tries to do something nice for Dazai, or even compliment him, he gets this really strange blank look on his face before either turning around and walking away or just fully ignoring that the gesture even happened. Atsushi is determined though, so he decides he needs to take the indirect approach, and forms a temporary alliance with Akutugawa to help Dazai get back together with his ex from the port mafia that he’s so clearly not over. This… goes about as well as one might expect it too.  Or, the one where Atsushi and Akutagawa, in an attempt to matchmake their emotionally constipated mentors, accidentally matchmake themselves (instead). 

and since the summary is lengthy as it is I technically don’t need to give u a snippet but I will anyway bc I know u are desperate 🫶

Kyouka does a single blink, and then says something even worse, somehow. “Is this about Akutagawa-san?”  “What?” Atsushi nearly pinwheels backwards before he manages to reign himself in (with Kunikida sending him a dirty look), because how did she know? Not that– well yes he was technically thinking about Akutagawa, but it was purely for practical reasons! If he was going to set Dazai up with someone from the port mafia, then he was going to need someone from the port mafia. And it just so happened that Akutagawa was who he most comf– ah, the only person he could feasibly reach out to. Really, Akutagawa was Atsushi’s only option. That was the only reason he was thinking about him at the moment.  

okay I hope that satisfies you for now bc I have no earthly clue when these will actually be out. mwah 🫶🫶

[made-ofmemories]

Fuck it Friday

Saying fuck it this Friday by posting what is without doubt the best part of what I am still calling 'Earthquake fic'. Moodboard and brief synopsis can be found here.

---

Chim lets out a low whistle when he follows Eddie into the kitchen which is fair. A tornado could have passed through and Eddie thinks it would look better than it does right now. There’s a stack of dishes from breakfast next to the sink that Buck won’t be able to get through even with as hard as he’s currently trying, the table is littered with the aftermath of last minute sandwich making and lunch packing. 

“Buck, can you go find Chris? It should not take 15 minutes to brush his teeth, you’re both going to be late.” Eddie says as he packs up the last of Chris’ lunch, a juice box and some fruit that will inevitably arrive home uneaten, but at least he tries to offer something more nutritional than a PB&J and pretzels. 

“Yeah.” Buck rinses off the dish he’s holding sets it aside, then pauses on his way out of the room to add. “Oh, I forgot to tell you there’s enough leftovers in the fridge for tonight but you’ll have to figure out something for tomorrow. I’ll grab groceries after my shift too.”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure I can manage dinner for one night. Chris won’t mind takeout, we’ll save you some for breakfast.”

“I thought you said you could cook now?” Buck teases. “How did you survive before you met me? On sandwiches?”

“Mostly boxed mac ’n’ cheese and abuelas cooking, but yes.”

Buck shakes his head, giving him a dopey little grin before he leaves the room with a call of Chris’ name. Chim clears his throat Eddie forgot he was there and whips around to face him so quickly it makes his head spin in a way it hasn’t since the first day he got injured. 

“You two didn’t pull a Bobby and Athena and get married without inviting us did you?” 

“What?” He knows he’s messed up the moment the word comes out of his mouth sounding nowhere as casual as he was hoping for. 

“Oh come on, I’ve lived with Buck before and I can promise you it was not like-” There’s a vague and somewhat frantic gesture around the room, “This. You’re totally married.”

“Just because he helps out with Chris and occasionally picks up groceries does not mean we’re married.” He thinks about adding that Buck used to do all of those things before he moved in anyway, but decides that probably would not help the situation. 

“Whatever, man, but maybe ask yourself why he’s been so willing to sleep on your couch for the better part of two months instead of looking for a place of his own.” Eddie’s face must do something without his permission because Chim’s eyes narrow suspiciously. “He is sleeping on your couch, right?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says like the liar that he is. “Where else would he be sleeping?”

Chim drops it after one more suspicious glare. The tension is defused a moment later when Buck comes barrelling in to grab Chris lunch and exchange hurried goodbyes. 

---

Tagging: @ladydorian05 @nmcggg @your-catfish-friend @jesuiscenseedormir @exhuastedpigeon @the-amber-raven