#I had it since March half written

[van-yangyin]

Ryuuya Kitta 1 ~ Introducing my family (I really don't know what title to put here 😕) - IcarRyuu [Ryuuya's POV]

Hello everyone… I don't know how these things work so…. I'm Ryuuya Kitta, nice to meet you all. Today, I'll start by introducing you to my family, my daddy Ryuu (瑠), my papa Tatsu (健) and my mommy Mikoto (光言). Almost all the pictures I'll share around here are made by me, if the quality is bad, especially when I was little and used analog cameras (specifically polaroids), you can't complain, I didn't know nor know how to make it better…. And it's not that I can change their quality, because are already made… who knows is my boy friend Icaro. I will indicate who is the author of the photograph, in the ones that aren't made by me.

I'll start by introducing myself, I'm Kitta Ryuuya (吉田竜矢), you can call me Ryuuya, I would tell you to call me Ryuu but better not, otherwise you want my father to think you call him. Well, unless you don't meet him, if you don't meet him, then you can call me Ryuu. My best friend Icaro sometimes calls me Ryuu-chan, although that's what my parents also call me… Unless they get mad at me because then they call me by my last name and first name, like all parents do when they get mad, I guess. Although I'm sure it's not necessary to point out that your parents won't call you by my last name and my first name, but by yours?

It always happens the same to me, why I start writing about something as simple as my first and last name and at the end I end up talking about what my parents call me and how parents call their children when they scold them? I hope that doesn't bore you because it's something that happens to me quite often.

Oh, that's right… I'll mention it now so I don't forget later and place it somewhere that it doesn't look well integrated. When I take photos I usually put a warm filter afterwards, because the ones I take look like are lifeless. By the way in the second picture I tried to get my best smile, it's not something I'm very good at…. I just wanted to clarify it, in case you find it weird. Also, English isn't my native language, so please be patient with it, and if I've written something really wrong let me know! I really like to learn and improve day by day.

I was born in Suita, in Osaka prefecture, Japan (rightmost part of the Komorebi area), as you can see, above I've put a photo to familiarize you a little bit with the place… Or at least with the concept of the place…. (although it's actually a photo of my old house, taken by me at the age of 7 or 8 before I moved to another place, that's why it looks so busy). At the age of 6, when my mother died, after a couple of years passed, my parents officially declared to the world that they loved each other and were going to continue raising me as a family, they argued with my maternal and paternal grandparents and we moved to Kizugawa City, Kyoto Prefecture, Japan (Evergreen Harbor). From a family house we ended up in a small apartment. I guess at that time my parents wanted to forget about my mother as soon as possible…. There I started at a new school and did quite well, especially with the theoretical subjects and baseball.

Oh, yes, I forgot! Although I don't know if it's something that should go here…. Before I turned 6, at the age of 4, I was officially diagnosed with ADHD (Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder) and ASD (Autism Spectrum Disorder), a somewhat late diagnosis because of the doctor who took my study. And the doctor said that it would personally make some aspects of my daily life difficult, but it seems that those words to my daddy Ryuu were taken very seriously because to this day he keeps trying to help me in everything he thinks I need help with and also papa Tatsu has also made a kind of alliance with him and they're so heavy handed with me that I think the best way to call them would be helicopter dads. The photo was taken by daddy Ryuu… and they were the ones who put me in those clothes… I know, totally boring clothes.

My favorite animal has always been the cat. I've always loved cats, especially black cats. In fact I've always gotten along very well with them and they've gotten along very well with me, I guess we're alike at some point. The picture was taken by Icaro on the spur of the moment, in case that's something you're wondering about. By the way, have you guys ever listened to the song by 「黒猫のタンゴ」(Kuroneko no tango)? I leave you the link here, listen to it if you want and let me know what you think. This song is inspired by the Italian song "Volevo un gatto nero", if you listen to the tone of this one here, you will see that it's the same, although the songs have nothing to do with each other. The Italian version talks about how the singer wants a black cat but is always given a white cat in exchange for what the others want, while the Japanese version the black cat symbolizes the runaway girlfriend of the singer.

On the other hand, my favorite topics and the ones you will always find me talking about are music and videogames. I love playing the piano, it's something I discovered when I went to school and saw a piano for the first time. On the other hand, video games stimulate me and when it comes to the ones I love, I can't stop speculating everything that happens around it and memorizing everything in it. By the way, the photo was taken also by Icaro, he said loves it when I play the piano, because I transport him to other worlds. Although I was a little worried because Icaro was listening to me.

I think I've already written too much about myself, and I can say more in other posts, so now I'm going to start with my father Ryuu.

This is daddy Ryuu, I took his picture recently. He's a writer and loves to write books for adults. Well, there you can see him at work. A long time ago he married my mom and they had me, when a few years passed my mom died, time passed and papa Tatsu confessed to daddy Ryuu. Daddy Ryuu told me what it's to be bisexual, that he told Papa Tatsu that had always liked both men and women, but that he never wanted to make a step forward, because he also loved Mom very much and didn't want to break the beautiful relationship and friendship that had formed between the three of them. My paternal and maternal grandparents never accepted this relationship, they told him that if he was homosexual why had he played a role by marrying mom and they didn't accept that a person could be able to like both men and women, I think they didn't understand as well as I did what it was to be bisexual, even though I was 9 years old. They believe that you can only like one thing or the other, so with me they have no problem, although they don't know that I've fallen in love with Icaro for who he is and not for being a man, but that's something I'll write about in another publication. My grandparents want me to visit whenever I can, but they don't want to know anything about my parents.

He's papa Tatsu, for as long as I can remember I've always called him papa, although technically at that time he wasn't romantically with either daddy Ryuu or mommy. No one ever denied it to me, not even he himself, so I got used to calling him that from a very young age. When I was little, I called him daddy Tatu, it was very difficult at that time for me to pronounce the character "つ" (tsu), although surely the first few times they heard me pronounce it they laughed at me.

Papa Tatsu works as a journalist. Some time ago he told me that when was studying journalism he worked in a bar part-time. There he met daddy Ryuu while writing books that he sent to publishers to try his luck. He confessed to me that from the day he met him it was love at first sight. I remember asking him why he didn't confess his love to daddy until long after mommy died and he told me it was because he was already engaged to mommy and never wanted to stand in the way.

He also told me that was the best man at his wedding and that mommy always knew that he was in love with daddy Ryuu. In fact, he told me that it was thanks to mommy, for her words of support before she died, that to this day he was formally my dad, because he had the courage to step forward and confess his love. The picture above is one that papa Tatsu and mommy took before I was born, I have permission to post it.

I've always wondered why I look more like papa Tatsu than daddy Ryuu, but they've never said anything to me, so I'd rather let it be.

This is my mother, Mikoto. She has long since left us and protects us from the stars, the sun and the moon. She worked as a medical scientist and developed and conducted experiments to test new drugs and medical devices, as well as studying the root causes of diseases and improving the effectiveness of treatments. Daddy Ryuu says that some people are very sensitive or don't want to read things that may remind them of sad moments in their life, so please if you're reading this, I'm now going to talk about something that happened to my mom and you may not like to read it. The picture I've posted above was of what my mom looked like when I was still very little, something I don't remember and that baby she's holding, is me. That picture wasnt taken by me, it was taken by papa Tatsu, so all rights go to him, he gave me permission to scan it and post it. The written part that comes now you can pass it and go to the end or until you see again this red color, I don't want to cause you bad memories or bad feelings, in fact for that reason is why I left it last.

My mom, Mikoto, died when I was 6 years old. I took that picture when I was little and it's one of my most precious objects. A year after I was born, mom talked to papa Tatsu, he was the first to know what she had. My mother had metastatic cancer, meaning the cancer was already far away from the area where it originated. The doctor told her that the chances of being cured were very low, and she was only given two or three more years to live. There were very remote possibilities of being cured, but the treatment with chemotherapy and pills would at least slow down its growth and reduce her symptoms. My mom was a fighter, she spent 5 years fighting to the end and for that I admire her very much. I was never told what kind of cancer she had, but I know my dad Ryuu and my dad Tatsu were always by her side and helped her in any way they could, plus I'm not very good in the medical field so I don't think would find what I'm looking for (actually I think the only thing I could do is go see the doctor who took her when when I have legal age and ask him) I know I said above that they moved to forget her, but specifically I meant to forget those bad memories that were left in that house. Surely they wanted to move out to treasure the good memories in the memories and videos we take with us.

I took the photo one afternoon when I found a dandelion on my way home. Since at that time my mom couldn't leave the house much anymore, I brought it to her and when we were both on the bed I told her to blow on it to make a wish. Mommy blew it and the dandelion seeds spread all over the room. She looked so beautiful that with my polaroid I took a picture of her (although it was actually with papa Tatsu's help, that's why the photo looks so good, I was 5 years old). I never knew what she asked for that day, and she never wanted to tell me either. By the way, mommy always liked to attach stickers on polaroid pictures, I think it's a habit I ended up picking up from her.

The last time I saw my mom she said, "Promise me that you will take good care of daddy Ryuu and papa Tatsu and that you will always, always, always be a fighter like mommy. This is for you, the bracelet that has accompanied me all my life. When I'm no longer in this world, I want you to know that the stars, the moon and the sun reflected in each pearl will be me watching over you from each one of them." And this photograph is of the bracelet mommy gave me, my bracelet, another of my most precious objects. I never mourned her death, no tears came from my eyes. I don't remember much about her either as I don't have an eidetic or photographic memory like Icaro, but I do remember the sound of her voice, I can always hear it in my mind, tone by tone. Oh, sure, there was a song my mom always sang to me that I remember how it sounded with her tone of voice perfectly my mind, it went like this:

"My little cat, my little cat, is always jumping. My little cat, my little cat, is always going on adventures. What will I do if my little cat gets lost in the grass? Wow, I found my little cat, he's right here!"

「あたしのこねこ、あたしのこねこ、いつもジャンプしている。 あたしのこねこ、あたしのこねこ、いつもぼうけんにでかけている。 もし、あたしのこねこがくさむらでまいごになったらどうしよう？ わぁ、あたしのこねこをみつけたよ！ここにいるよ。」

And right after that she tickled me. Sometimes she would change the lyrics to the song a little bit, depending on the day or the situation, but this was the version sang me the most. If you're wondering if you can find it on the internet the answer is no, because it was a song that mommy created especially for me. If someday I'm not so embarrassed I'll sing it and upload it for you to hear.

And this is the end of today's post. For the first one it has been quite long, hasn't it?

What would you like me to feature in my next post? Would you like me to write about who my best friend Icaro is and how I met him? My best friend Marena? Leave it in comments below.

See you in my next post, although I don't know when it will be yet as I'm learning to manage time and figure out how others work here.

[euphoriaslux]

two’s a party.

summary: you recently transferred to stanford, and decide to tutor a tennis player in your class. he has a friend. severe indecency ensues.

word count: 3.3k

warnings : smut, threesomes, f!oral receiving, swearing, smoking, drinking. slight cuck energy if you squint (i’m sorry ((no i’m not))). no challengers spoilers!

a/n: this fic got away from me big time but this movie has rotted my brain and as a result i have written utter debauchery that i will not apologize for. just had to get this out of my head, enjoy!

-

stanford science hall. monday , march 3.

You swear the last thing you’ll hear before your body is lowered into your grave is the process of lactic acid breakdown.

It’s 2:30 PM. Kinesiology 189 with Professor Wilson, a lanky middle-aged man with a PhD in exercise science and a half-grown beard that you don’t think will ever fully grow in, is almost over. He’s teaching Extended Studies of the Human Body in a humid classroom filled with student-athletes, most of whom are trying to stay awake, trying to hide that they’re taking a nap, or making no attempt to hide that they’re on their phones. You don’t really blame any of them, because the professor’s voice is so soft and monotone that it feels like he’s begging everyone to pay attention to anything but him. You’ve managed to stay somewhat on course with the thread of today’s lecture, the notebook in front of you filled with scribbles of incomplete molecular structures and somewhat legible drawings of the muscular anatomy of a hamstring.

This class is required for your biology major since you’re on a pre-medicine track. You don’t know why you’re doing it, the whole doctor thing, but you’ve developed a weird fixation for this class. The functionality of the body, how muscles stretch and tear with each movement, and how amino acids work to build them back even bigger.

And, possibly because of the tennis player who sits four rows ahead of you every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.

His last name is Donaldson. You know because of the faded label on the massive bag he throws on the floor every time he walks into class, at least ten minutes late with a backward Stanford Tennis cap on his head. His first name remains a mystery, partly because he never talks in class, and mainly because you’ve made no attempt to speak to him. You like to think it’s because you’re so focused on the curriculum.

Professor Wilson knows your name, though, since you’re in his office hours every Thursday at 11 A.M. In part because he gives out most of the answers to his homework, and because you just transferred to Stanford your last year and very desperately need a letter of recommendation for medical school. Hence why you agreed to tutor a student with lower than 60% in the class during one of your meetings. And why everyone in the class was staring at you right now.

“... first come first serve, so reach out to her sooner rather than later.”

You give a tight-lipped smile, glancing around the room. Most people have looked away, back to their distraction of choice, but you meet eyes with the fluffy blonde-haired tennis player.

stanford library. wednesday, march fifth.

It’s 11 A.M., and you feel like your brain is about to explode if you look at another practice set.

“Hey”.

Your head whips around to the harsh whisper, only to be met with the blue-eyed mystery from your class. He has that large bag slung over his shoulder, with the end of a tennis racket peeking out of it. His hair is slightly stuck to his face, and his compression tee is slick to his chest like a second skin.

“Hi,” you whisper back. He smiles before tossing his bag on the floor and sitting in the chair across from you, either unaware of or completely ignoring the glares he’s receiving from the other students studying.

“You know,” he pulls out some kind of nutrition bar from his bag, unwrapping it and taking an aggressive bite, “for someone advertising their services, you’re pretty hard to find.”

“You’re in Mr. Wilson’s class, right?” you ask, hoping your subdued voice will remind him that he’s in a notoriously quiet place. He hums, pointing at you with his half-eaten snack.

“And I’m trying not to fail, but you didn’t leave your number anywhere in the classroom, and you bolt after every class. So how am I supposed to patronize your tutoring services…” he trails off, his volume the same level as when he walked in. You furrow your brows as he leans back into the chair.

“That’s when you say who you are.”

You feel a burn on the back of your neck as you tell him your name. He glances down towards the problem set you’ve nearly finished.

“How do you turn in any of those, I can’t get halfway through one of them.”

You pause for a moment before leaning slightly across the table to whisper:

“This new weird thing called studying. I think it just got approved by the CDC.”

“Very funny,” he shakes his head as reaches for your binder with your class schedule printed out on the front of it.

“Why are you taking so many bio classes?”

“Because I’m a biology major,” you can’t help the sarcasm dripping from your voice, and he looks at you with a raised eyebrow.

“Sorry, you’re making this too easy for me,” you raise your hands in conceit.

“I have practice every day at five so you can tutor me for like an hour beforehand,” he says before standing up, crunching up the silver wrapper and stuffing it into the front pocket of his blue jeans. You scoff at his sentence.

“Well, thank you for so generously fitting me into your schedule,” you roll your eyes, turning the page in your textbook. He grins.

“Tell the coach you’re there for Art. They’ll let you through.”

stanford tennis courts. friday, march 7th.

It’s 4 PM, and the California sun is sweltering. Your shorts feel like they’ve become a part of your legs, and your bag feels like it weighs a thousand pounds. By the time you make it to the tennis courts Art is already on the green concrete, shirtless with beads of sweat dripping down his face and chest. You hear his grunts as he sprints across the court, hitting the ball toward a slightly taller brunette with dangerously short red shorts. You watch them at the entrance for a few minutes, slightly entranced as the two play so seamlessly, as if they know every move the other person is going to make. You force your eyes away as you walk up the bleachers, stepping over leftover water bottles and chip bags to sit down and grab your notes from your backpack. It takes a couple more minutes for Art to notice you, yelling your name after he turns around to grab a ball his partner had hit particularly hard. You wave, and he says something you can’t hear to the brunette before the two of them jog across the courts and up the stands to where you are, blocking the sun as the two stand side by side.

“Who’s your friend?” you ask as you stuff the problem set you were working on in between the pages of your notebook.

“I’m Patrick,” he says, with a toothy smile and his ears poking out from under his hair. He has a bit more of a boyish charm to him than Art does, whose eyes are glued to his brunette counterpart.

“Are you in Mr. Wilson’s class too?”

Patrick opens his mouth to answer but Art speaks first, slightly pushing his friend with his shoulder as he says “He doesn’t go to Stanford, too busy being a tennis pro.”

Patrick rolls his eyes but his smile doesn’t leave his face. You notice how different this Art feels from the one in the library, how direct his playfulness is and how close he and Patrick stand together, their sweaty torsos nearly melding together.

Interesting.

“Like, Andre Agassi level pro?” you smile as the two of them laugh. Patrick raises the bottom of his shirt to wipe the sweat off of his forehead, and you can’t help but take a glance at the exposed skin just above his waistband.

“Sorry, he’s like the only tennis player I know.”

“No, no I’m taking that as a compliment that you think I’m on the level of Agassi. No takebacks if you see me play,” Patrick points at you.

“Will do,” you salute, turning over to Art.

“You ready to study?” you ask him as he makes a comically loud groan, his head falling back. Patrick laughs, reaching over to ruffle his friends hair.

“You do remember that’s why I’m here, right? Midterms are in two weeks.”

“I definitely have not forgotten that.” he says. You purse your lips just as Patrick’s eyes seem to light up.

“I’m staying at the Courtyard Hotel for the weekend. You two can come over and study, I need to review my last match anyway. Kill two birds with one stone,” Patrick suggests.

“Just studying?”

“Just studying,” Art says, wrapping his arm around his friend's shoulder. You glance between the two of them, trying to decipher the unspoken communication they seem to be doing. But you can’t crack it, so you shrug.

“Sure.”

“Let us finish this set, and then you’ll have me all to yourself. Sound fair?”

“Wow, what a privilege. Don’t take too long, it’s hell on Earth out here!” you yell the last part as Art jogs down the steps and back down towards the net. You look up once you realize that the sun is still being blocked, and Patrick is still standing in front of you.

“You ever play?” he grins, flipping the tennis racket in his hand.

“Tennis? God, no, that would not be a pretty sight. I’ll stick to what I’m good at,” you gesture to the books and notes in your lap. Patrick nods.

“If you ever want to learn, I could teach you sometime, you know if-” he’s cut off by Art yelling his name, and you both glance to see him with his hands on his hips.

“Go, don’t keep your boyfriend waiting,” you wave him off, and you swear you can see him blushing. Must have been the glare.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says over his shoulder as he runs toward Art.

courtyard hotel. saturday, march 8.

It’s 11 pm. There’s a cold shiver in the elevator as you wait to get to the fourth floor, your tennis shoes tapping against the floor as one hand plays with the handle of the pack of beer in your hand while the other crumples and re-crumples the piece of paper with the hotel room number Patrick scribbled on it.

what are you doing?

You don’t have time to think about the consequences of your actions as the robotic voice signals that you’re on the fourth floor, the elevator doors fluttering open. It’s like your feet have a mind of their own, as you find yourself almost mindlessly wandering through the hotel halls until you’re planted in front of room 4B. You raise your hand to knock on the door but before you can make contact with the wood it’s thrust open, and Patrick is standing behind it. His dark hair is slightly tousled around his face, his striped shirt unbuttoned and his black boxer briefs low on his waist. He’s smiling, that same big smile as before, but his face is a little flushed, a gentle pink hue touching his cheeks. The two of you don’t say anything for a few seconds, as if you were both testing to see who would concede first to acknowledge the other’s presence. You raise the pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon in your right hand.

“I brought studying fuel.”

You were never good at waiting.

Patrick laughs before he moves slightly out of the way to allow you to walk into his room. It’s small, with a queen-sized bed and a tiny desk, and the A/C emits an odd rumbling sound as it smacks against the window. Clothes and scorecards are strewn across the floor, and the scent of cigarettes permeates the room. You place the alcohol on the floor before deciding to sit on the bed, kicking off your shoes as you cross your legs. Patrick seems to stall for a moment, smiling to himself before closing the door behind him. He doesn’t lock the door, but you didn’t notice.

“Art’s not here yet?” you ask, watching as Patrick walks over and tears open the cardboard case, cracking open a can. Taking a sip, he leans against the desk as he smiles.

“Art can be bad with time.”

“As I’ve noticed,” you reach your hand out to motion towards the drink and Patrick hands it to you, staring as you take a large sip.

“Well,” you wipe the side of your mouth, “I told him to bring the topics he wanted to study, so I guess we can’t do anything until he gets here.”

Patrick nods with a slight pout, his fingers playing with the pop tab of the can. “I guess we can’t.”

“How’s tennis… stuff,” you laugh as you finish the question, not sure of exactly what to say.

Patrick seems to tense a little at the mention of the sport, moving over to sit next to you on the bed. His knee grazes your leg and you feel a slight buzz at the contact as he takes the beer from your hand.

“I’m kinda fucking it up right now,” he says, and you furrow your brows.

“How? You were like, really good yesterday.”

He chuckles, shaking his head slightly. He hands you the beer and you finish it off, placing the empty can at the bottom of your feet.

“I’m good with Art. It feels so fucking natural and easy with him. But in my other matches, I don’t know. I just … can’t replicate it.”

You nudge him with your leg.

“Sounds like you two were made to play tennis together.”

He makes a noise of agreement, his hands slowly moving to ghost over your thigh.

“You and Art are pretty close?” you ask as he plays with the bottom hem of your shorts, but he doesn’t say anything. You take his silence as a yes.

“Do you ever get jealous?”

“Of Art?” he asks, almost incredulously. You shrug.

“Yeah, or jealous of the girls he’s with. Either or.”

Patrick sits on that for a few moments before smirking.

“What’s mine is mine, and what’s his is mine.”

You laugh at that, a real deep laugh, and Patrick giggles next to you, the both of you tipsy from the can of beer you finished. You reach over and put your hand on his flushed face, rubbing your hand across his cheek.

“What were you doing before I came?” you feel his face warm even more against your skin as you position yourself closer to him.

“Practicing- or, sorry, rereading my scorecards from my last match.”

You tutted as you moved your hand to the back of his neck, gently running your hands through his hair.

“You can tell me the truth, Patrick.”

He turns his head to press a gentle kiss to the palm of your hand before looking up at you as if to check if that was too much. Whatever your expression is gives him the confidence to move down to your neck, his tongue licking your skin.

“I think you know.”

You feel a pull in your lower stomach at his words, muffled by his mouth nipping at the sensitive spot just below your ear, and he sucks hard enough for you to put your hand around on his face at the pressure. Pulling his face up, the two of you stare at each other for what feels like an eternity, and his eyes glance toward your lips. You wanted to wait, to make him beg and plead for it, but your body seemingly pulled you forward as your pressed your mouth onto his.

You were really quite bad at waiting.

He tastes like tobacco and faintly of the fruit medley in the dining hall, and you sigh as his lips interlock with yours and his hand grabs the back of your neck, pressing you into him. The kiss gets messy and hard, his tongue gliding over your bottom lip and into your mouth as you lift your leg to straddle Patrick, grinding into him. He whimpers into the kiss as his calloused hands drop down to the waistband of your shorts, hesitating for a moment before dropping his hand into your underwear. You grind just a little bit faster as his fingers press circles into your clit, covering your mouth with your hand as you moan.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs as he uses his other hand to guide your hips, and your move your hands down to tug firmly on his hair. You can feel your climax building, the pressure in your stomach getting closer and closer to taking you over the edge-

You both jump at the sound of the hotel room dor slamming shut. Art is standing there, in that damn backward cap and a Stanford tee shirt as he crosses his arms over his chest, saying nothing as you and Patrick sit up straight, him adjusting his crotch and you smooth down your shirt, avoiding his gaze. Finally, the silence is broken by Art laughing.

“Christ, I’m not the cops,” he slips out of his slides as he waltzes over and opens a can of beer, drinking about half of it in one go. You look at him, and at Patrick, and then back at him, not knowing what the hell you just got yourself into.

“You want to fuck him right?” Art asks, and you can’t help your small gasp at how easily he said that. You glance at Patrick, hoping he’ll know what to say, but he’s just staring at Art.

“I-um,”

“So, no one’s stopping you,” Art cuts you off, taking a final swig of his beer and moving to stand directly in front of you. You open your mouth to try and explain, but before you can talk Patrick’s mouth is on yours again, his hand roaming your body. His grip is firmer now, his fingertips digging into the side of your stomach. He tugs at the bottom of your shirt and you separate, breathless as you pull your shirt over your head and toss it on the floor. Patrick’s mouth moves down to your neck, then your collarbones, and then your chest as he reaches around to take of your bra, and you feel on fire from Art’s gaze across the room. As Patrick kisses down your stomach and yanks down your shorts, you turn over to meet Art’s eyes.

“Come here.”

Whatever resolve Art was holding onto crumbles as he quickly takes off his shirt and slips out of his Nike shorts, tossing his hat on the dresser. In a flash Art’s hands are on your neck, tilting your head around to kiss you as Patrick lifts up your hips so he can take off your underwear. Art’s lips are softer than Patrick’s but he kisses you a little bit harder, his hand cupping the base of your neck. Somehow, they both taste the same. You moan into Art’s mouth as you feel Patrick’s tongue swirl around your clit, rolling your hips into his mouth as Art’s cock presses into your back. It’s just so much so fast, and that familiar buzz starts to pool in your lower stomach.

“Look at him,” Art turns your head to Patrick and you look into his eyes as you cum, Art’s hands hold your head forward as a wave of euphoria crashes over you. Patrick’s hands are digging into your hips as he stares up at you and Art. Your chest heaves up and down as you try to catch your breath, leaning against Art as Patrick leans back up, his mouth a few inches from yours.

“Who do you want first?

[mydadleft471]

For The Love Of A Daughter

Summary: After getting caught looking for food to feed your daughter, Lord Messmer takes pity on you and extends mercy.

Spoilers for Elden Ring and Shadow of the Erdtree. Slight warning for descriptions of violence and death.

This was requested by anonymous! I'll link the request here. This was SO MUCH FUN. I've never really wrote anything involving young children before, so I'm going off of the scant interactions I've had with some younger family members. I've also never wrote for a GN! reader. It was easier than I thought lmao. Thank you for the request anon!

I'm really considering making this a series tbh! If you'd like to see more, please let me know! I could've spent the whole day writing but I need to go eat lmao. (I've been writing for 2 hours help)

As always, thank you so much for reading, liking, commenting, and reblogging! I haven't had this much fun writing in such a long time and it makes me so unbelievably happy that I'm able to write things that make other people happy. Hope everyone enjoys!

Your lungs were on fire.

You hadn’t stopped running from the moment you entered the Land of Shadow. A few Tarnished once accompanied you, but they had been slain and you had no choice to move on for your sake and hers.

The little girl carefully strapped to your shoulders was maybe about 4 years old. You’d found her in the rubble of an old village in Caelid accompanied by two corpses, most likely her mother and father. Her sweet green eyes pierced yours and you knew you couldn’t leave her there. You were never much of a fighter anyways. Your hands were gentle and steady and your nerves did not hold strong in the throes of battle.

She only had one thing with her: a golden locket with a piece of folded paper inside with the name Jasmine written on it. You were unsure if that was her name or her mother’s, but you called her that. You found it fitting for her.

Currently, you were running from a pack of armed men all wielding the same unnatural fire. You had carefully snuck up to a dark looking castle in search of any food you could find, when suddenly, guards had honed in on your position and you ran for it, not knowing if they would be kind to you and your child.

Booking it straight for a charred town, you tried to maneuver your way around its buildings to confuse the men chasing you. After randomly choosing directions to turn and heading down a few alleyways, you found your way to a staircase. You squeezed yourself down into it, hoping that you were out of sight to go unnoticed.

You heard the thundering of footsteps approach your position and you held your breath. Jasmine began to squirm from where she was attached to your shoulders, so you quietly repositioned her in your arms. Her little hands meekly clutched your arm; it had been two days since she had last had something semi-filling.

You froze as you heard the sound of clanking metal approaching you. A man ducked down and his eyes found yours, your heart nearly stopping. He shouted to alert the other guards and they soon surrounded you. You couldn’t see them, but you heard so many footsteps. You were found.

“Come out, or we’ll drag you out.”

Slowly, you slid yourself from your hiding place, clutching Jasmine to your chest defensively.

“Please, I beg of you, let me go. She’s hungry. I was looking for food, that’s all.” Your voice wavers at the sight of so many weapons.

“Lord Messmer will decide your fate. You will come with us.”

With your head hung low, you follow their orders. They search you for any possessions you might have, which is basically nothing but a half-empty waterskin and a dull dagger, and confiscate them. They eye Jasmine, looking for anything she might be hiding, but they don’t dare touch her. Mercifully, they allow you to hold her as they march you back to the blackened castle you ran from.

You make your way up what must be a thousand stairs and your legs ache from the amount of walking you’ve done. Slowing down causes a guard to firmly grab your shoulder and keep you going at a brisk pace. Jasmine hides her face in your shoulder and you try to calm her by rubbing circles into her back. You would promise her that it would be okay, but you can imagine her parents promising that same thing, and now they were dead and she was being carried into an unknown place.

If it came down to it, you’d beg for her to remain safe and allow them to kill you.

Finally, the guards stopped you in front of a large metal door. It was intricately decorated and instilled true fear into you. This must be where Lord Messmer resided

“You will show respect at all times. Speak only when spoken to, or we will put you to the sword.”

You merely nod in response, not willing to test how quickly they would kill you.

The doors open with a protesting creak and the metal slides against the stone floor with an unnatural sound. It grates your ears and you cover Jasmine’s to save her from the awful noise. Two guards flank your shoulders and tap your shoulder, signaling for you to move forwards.

The room is lit with a few candles shimmering in the stagnant air. It smells like sulfur and blood. The guards stop you and push down on your shoulders, and you kneel. Jasmine stays in your arms, small hands wrapped tightly around your neck.

“My Lord, we’ve found an intruder. They were scouring around the castle and fled when seen. They say that they were looking for food for their child.” The guard barks out.

You keep your head down, terrified to look up. 

“A child, here?” A new, lower voice cascades across the room sending shivers down your spine.

“Yes, My Lord.”

“A child does not belong in the Land of Shadow. Thou hast endangered them.” He doesn’t sound pleased. “Prithee, tell me thy reasoning for bringing one so fragile here.”

“I found her in Caelid, My Lord. Since then, we’ve been traveling with a group of Tarnished and our path led us here.” Your voice shakes as you speak.

“‘Tis not thy child in thine arms?”

You shake your head. “No, My Lord. She was in a ruined village, surrounded by rubble and rot. I couldn’t leave her there.” Your heart stings at the painful memory.

“Intriguing. What reason didst thou have to come to my castle?”

“As your guard said, My Lord. She is hungry. Food is not easy to come by here.”

“Dost thou remember when last she ate?”

“Two days ago was her last full meal. Since then, we’ve been living off of rowa fruits.”

Silence is your response, until you hear heavy footsteps approaching you. You squeeze your eyes shut and hug Jasmine tight. She trembles in your arms.

“The child has a name, I presume?” His voice is only a few feet away from you now.

“Jasmine, My Lord.”

He sighs. “How was thee treated by my men?”

“They didn’t take her away from me, My Lord. They never hurt us.”

He lets out what you assume is a sigh of relief. Something thumps against the ground making you jump. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the hilt of his weapon. You remember other Tarnished referring to Lord Messmer as the Impaler, and you shuddered in fear.

“Thy only crime is trespassing, but do not thinkest me heartless. Thou art forgiven, and I shall extend mercy unto thee.” His tone changes as he addresses one of his men. “They shalt be taken to comfortable quarters and attended by female staff only. Shall any man lay a hand upon the child, they shalt be killed immediately, without mercy.”

“Yes, My Lord.” The guard leaves the room quickly, probably thanking his lucky stars for permission to exit the room.

“Rise. Thou needn’t stare at the floors any longer.” His voice softens as he speaks to you.

With shaking legs, you do as he asks and you spare a glance in his direction. He towers over you, serpents coiling around his slender frame, and you notice he has one eye that glimmers a brilliant gold. His great spear is held firmly in his right hand.

“Thank you. Truly.” You do your best to bow in your current state. Without adrenaline, you’re extremely shaky. You almost collapse, but a serpent gently coils around your waist and holds you up.

“I shall have food sent to thine quarters immediately.” You can almost hear worry in his voice.

You nod and mindlessly pat the serpent holding you up gently. It nuzzles into your palm.

As if on cue, a female servant with deep brown hair enters the room and you see a smile work her way onto her face at the sight of Jasmine.

“Is this who you would have me attend to, My Lord?”

“Yes. They are exhausted and have been without proper food for days. Ensure they are looked after.”

The woman places a hand on your shoulder and the serpent withdraws itself from your waist. You feel extremely unsteady, but the woman is stronger than she looks. 

“Come on now, love. Let’s get you some food.” She hooks your arm over her shoulder and wraps her other arm around your back. 

Slowly, she guides you out of the stagnant room and towards your quarters. She keeps you upright and doesn’t allow you to sway.

“Lord Messmer has taken pity on you, truly. Usually, trespassers are not dealt with so lightly.” She explains to you.

You don’t desire to dwell on what your fate could’ve been, so you quickly change the subject. “Do you have a name?” You ask her and she smiles once more.

“Sianet. A pleasure to serve you.”

You reach your room and Sianet gently helps you inside, settling you on a large, extremely comfortable bed. She goes to shut your door, then grabs a large pitcher of water. She helps you drink, the cold water a welcome luxury.

“Would you like some, little one?” She holds out the glass to Jasmine who keeps her head tucked into your shoulder.

“Hey, it’s okay. You should drink some water. It’s cold.” You keep your voice steady and she slowly raises her head. Her eyes quickly scan around the room and she looks at Sianet.

“Hello, sweet thing. Do you have a name?”

You prepare yourself to answer for her, as Jasmine really only speaks to you, but you’re shocked when she replies on her own, her voice a meek whisper.

“My name is Jasmine.”

Sianet smiles wider, her white teeth almost blinding. “That’s a lovely name, Jasmine. Would you have some water for me?”

Jasmine nods and grabs at the glass. Sianet helps her drink, tipping the cup back slowly. Once she finishes drinking, the glass is put beside the pitcher on the table next to your bed.

“Your dinner should be ready soon. While we wait, shall I draw a bath for the little one?”

Jasmine’s eyes light up and she nods furiously. Sianet laughs and makes her way to the corner of the room, beckoning for her to follow. Jasmine looks at you with wide eyes.

“Can I follow her?”

“Go on. You stink.” She giggles and launches herself off your lap, toddling off after Sianet.

You flop unceremoniously onto the bed and shut your eyes. You had been wandering for so long that you almost forgot what a proper bed felt like. You remind yourself that you’re safe, even if only for a little while. You can relax and rest. You’ve earned it.

A sudden knock at the door interrupts your thoughts. You hear Jasmine and Sianet talking in the next room, so you make your way to the door yourself. Opening it, you are surprised to see Lord Messmer himself. His serpents flick their tongues at you, almost like a greeting.

“What can I do for you, Lord Messmer?”

“I came to ensure thy room was to thine liking.”

You smile at him. “I’ve never stayed somewhere so beautiful. I have no complaints, My Lord.”

His eye twinkles and he peers around you to look inside the room. You silently berate yourself for your horrible manners.

“My apologies, My Lord. Would you like to come in?”

“I shalt not invade thy privacy. Where hast thy child gone?”

“She’s currently taking a much needed bath. She’s okay.” To confirm your words, Jasmine lets out a delighted squeak. The corners of his lip turn up in a small smile.

“Sianet: is she to thine liking as well?”

“She’s very attentive and sweet. You don’t need to worry.”

He clears his throat. “Thy room is guarded well. If thou have need for anything, thou must only ask.”

“Thank you, My Lord. I hope you know how much this means to us.”

“‘Tis no matter. ‘Twould make me a monster to not attend to thee, especially the child.”

“Not that I’m not grateful, but… why are you helping us? Sianet told me that trespassers are usually not dealt with in such a manner.”

His expression falters a little. You worry you overstepped.

“Thou did not hurt my men. Thou did not invade my castle with ill intent.” He pauses, looking away from you. “And it hath been countless moons since a child has inhabited the Land of Shadow.”

“I see.”

Silence encompasses you both, and you take in the details of his face. He has strong cheekbones and a proud, regal nose. His golden eye shimmers in the dim candlelight around you.

“I shalt not bother thee any longer. Give my regards to thy child, and if thou hast need for anything, I permit thee ask.”

“Thank you, Lord Messmer. I’m lucky to have met you.”

His eye widens and a peaceful smile finds itself on his face. He looks handsome like that, you think to yourself.

He bows slightly and leaves you, his serpents coiling themselves around him as he gets further from your door. You shut it and sigh, returning to your bed. The mattress envelops you in a comfortable embrace, and you swear you could fall asleep now and not wake up for a few days. Exhaustion clings to your nerves and bones, and your eyelids grow heavy. You shut them and find yourself immediately succumbing to slumber.

“Wake up! Food’s here!” You’re rudely awoken by Jasmine bouncing excitedly on the bed. You groan and sit up, your body creaking in protest at the sudden movement.

“Alright! I’m up.” She giggles and grabs your hand, pulling you to stand.

Yawning, you do. Rubbing your eyes, you notice that Sianet is carefully arranging a table of food. The smell makes your mouth water. Jasmine runs to help her, her skin now cleaned and clothed in a new dress. Her little feet pad across the marble floors and you don’t remember ever seeing her so excited.

“Sleep well?” Sianet asks, turning her head to meet your gaze.

“Better than I’ve ever slept before. Until someone interrupted.” Jasmine giggles and runs behind a chair, hiding from your teasing.

“I am glad.” She dusts her hands off on her apron and stands back. “Your dinner is ready.”

“Thank you, Sianet.”

You make your way over to the table and sit down in one of the chairs. Just like your bed, it is extremely comfortable. Before you is a large spread of meats, fruits, and a few desserts. You had been given a bottle of wine to indulge in if you so desired. You can’t remember a time when you had so much choice in what to eat.

Jasmine is lifted into her chair by Sianet, which has been outfitted with a booster seat, and her eyes go wide at the amount of food. You see her gaze immediately lock onto a small tray of chocolate.

“You can’t have just chocolate for dinner, Jasmine.”

She scowls. “You’re right. There’s not enough.” You laugh and shake your head.

“If you need me, say something to the guards. I must go and ensure you have clothes. A bath has been drawn for you already.” 

“Thank you, Sianet. We appreciate it.”

“Thank you for giving me a bath.” Jasmine has already stuffed a piece of chocolate in her mouth.

“Of course. I will be back shortly.” She bows her head and takes her leave.

You and Jasmine have your fill of whatever you want. You indulge in some chocolate and a glass of wine and eat until you’re completely full. You imagine this is how Messmer lives each and every day.

You could get used to this.

You make an effort to clean up your plates and stack them so they can be easily taken away and Jasmine makes her way over to the bed. Once you’re finished, you sit beside her.

“Will you tuck me in?”

“Of course.” You pull the soft blankets up and over her, folding them delicately so she can keep her arms out. She smiles and wiggles, getting comfy.

“Mother used to tuck me in every night.” She never spoke of her parents, so this was surprising to you. “She had long hair and a pretty smile. But that’s all I can remember.”

Your heart pinches painfully. “I’m sorry, little one.” You grab her hand and squeeze it.

“Why?”

“Because you can’t really remember your mother.”

“That’s okay. I have you.” She smiles at you and you feel tears well up in your eyes. You finally know that she’s safe and fed and warm, unlike so many other nights. She is protected by a demigod in his home. Nobody can touch her. She can finally be a child.

“You will always have me,” you promise.

She shuts her eyes and you gently stroke her hair. The brown shimmers in the candlelight. You wonder if her mother had brown hair. When you found her parents, you were so worried about Jasmine that you never looked at them hard enough to remember. Maybe that was for the best.

You rise slowly from the bed to not disturb her sleep, and gently tip-toe your way to the bathroom. Like the bedroom, it was extravagant. Marble floors and tiles and a large candelabra hung from the ceiling, painting the room in a serene glow. The bath sat full, the water still steaming with some petals gently floating on the water. The room smelled like vanilla.

Undressing yourself, you catch your reflection in the mirror. Bruises litter your body like constellations and scars are forever etched on your flesh. You’ve grown skinny, far too skinny, from not eating. You prioritized Jasmine’s food over yours. You did not want her to grow up malnourished.

Tearing your gaze away from yourself, you step into the water and sit down, your body relaxing into the water immediately. The warmth permeates your skin and soothes your bones. The tub is big enough for you to full submerge yourself if you so choose, and you do. The only noise you hear is the gentle swooshing of water. It’s almost like being in a void.  You remain under the water until your lungs quickly remind you that you need to resurface for air, and you do. Your hair now wet, you shampoo and condition it, leaving it soft and silky smooth. You choose a purple soap sitting on the edge of the tub and thoroughly lather yourself in it, basking in the lavender scent.

You remain in the water until it begins to chill, and you step out. Drying yourself off, you notice a silk robe hanging on the rack by the door. It is much too large for you, but you don’t really care. You take it and wrap yourself in it. Once more, you look at yourself in the mirror, and you don’t recognize who stands there. They have soft hair and smooth, clean skin wrapped in fine silks. You remind yourself that it is, in fact, you who stands there.

Making your way out of the washroom, you smile as you see Jasmine still sleeping soundly in the bed. The fireplace nearby roars and you begin to extinguish a few candles. Gently settling into the bed beside Jasmine, you lay a kiss to her forehead before shutting your eyes and returning to St. Trina’s domain once more.

Little did you know that Messmer himself had ignited the fireplace and brought you one of his robes. He doubted that he’d tell you. But he’d be a liar if he said seeing you in his robe didn’t make his heart flutter in his chest.

[croquis-el]

Mitsurugi's chess set as a metaphor for his relationship with Naruhodō

We all know about the famous blue and red chess set that was custom-made for Mitsurugi.

And we all know about the single blue pawn surrounded by knights with swords. In the original, this comparison is more poetic than in the adaptation (the knights hold tsurugi 剣 - like in Mitsurugi's family name 御剣, and the pawn 歩 (ho) is blue - like in Naruhodō's family name 成歩堂)

剣 (ken, tsurugi) - doubled-edged sword

歩 (fu, ho) - pawn (chess), step, infantry

“naito” wa “ken/tsurugi o motta kishi”

“pōn” wa “hohei” desu.

"Knight" is "knight with sword (tsurugi)"

"Pawn" is "foot soldier/infantry".

akai “tsurugi” ga, aoi “ho” o oitsumete iru

The red "sword" is chasing the blue "step"...

In the original, there is no pawn with spikes. This was made up to adapt the play on words. Unsurprisingly, Naruhodō says that this could be just his imagination, and he doesn't see anything special in it.

(ki no seida yo na, kitto)

(I'm sure it's just my imagination)

The only time we see a chess set in the trilogy is in Case 1-5 (Rise from the Ashes) - February 2017

The next time we get a chance to look at Mitsurugi's office is in Investigations, and this is already March 2019.

What happened in the time period from February 2017 to March 2019, unsurprisingly, affected Mitsurugi and his personal belongings. But what is this! The chess set with blue and red pieces disappears from the office, and white and red pieces take its place.

Where did that set go?

It became a travel set.

And it can be seen next to Mitsurugi's passenger seat in the case 1-2 (Turnabout Airlines). At the same time, Mitsurugi continues to convince us and those around him that there is nothing strange about the fact that there are too many knights and one pawn on the chessboard. It is difficult to refuse competition between the attorney and the prosecutor. We'll take your word for it, buddy.

Years later, in 2027, when we are shown the office of the head of the prosecutor's office Mitsurugi, we can see his chessboard again. Now there are no recreated chess puzzles on it. Only carefully placed pieces of red and white.

And now about how chess literally reflects the relationship between these two.

While Mitsurugi at first sees Naruhodō as an opponent, as a rival, and tries to predict his thoughts and actions using tactics like in chess, Naruhodō himself doesn't believe that they're on different sides of the barricades. Therefore, he doesn't react in any way to the alleged "hints" about their rivalry. For him, he is an ally, not an opposing side.

Then Mitsurugi changes his mind about the role of the prosecutor in the trial, and realizes that it is necessary to cooperate with other lawyers in order to achieve the truth. Since then, the blue and red set probably disappears from the office, from the eyes of others. There is no urgent need for it.

And then harmony comes. Carefully placed figures. No crazy number of knights with tsurugi. Simple classics. Childhood rivalry is forgotten, now the person whose thoughts you had to predict, calculate options to always be one step ahead - a dear and reliable friend, whom you understand at a half-word, for whose sake you will pull all strings, put a reliable shoulder to support when he needs it. If Naruhodō initially doesn't see Mitsurugi as his rival (and this is not because of bragging or pride), then he comes to the same understanding a little later, completely rethinking his attitude towards the people around him.

P.S.

Here I am only touching on the strong and dear friendly relations between them, please do not invent anything beyond what is written. (even though I myself love narumitsu tenderly).

English is not my first language, and I use dictionaries for Japanese words - so feel free to point out my mistakes.

[risingoftime]

AGAINST ALL ODDS | CORIOLANUS SNOW X PLINTH!READER | CHAPTER THREE

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TW - descriptions of death (Sejanus) & hanging/strangulation, night terrors.

Sejanus' trembling body materialized before you upon the wooden platform amidst the grim presence of the hanging tree. His once robust body now appeared frail and bruised, bearing the unmistakable marks of beatings, and starvation seemed to have drained the vitality from his once vibrant frame. He stood, a testament to the hellish spectacle the Capitolites had subjected him to be. Sejanus struggled to hold back tears; his voice desperately cried your name, yet no sound would escape his arid lips. An invisible force rooted you to the spot, rendering your limbs motionless despite your earnest efforts to break free from this immobilizing grip to reach Sejanus. 

The peacekeepers marched steadily past you, and a chilling lull descended, punctuated by the haunting sight of Sejanus standing at the precipice of his fate. They tightened and adjusted the noose around his vulnerable neck with methodical precision. Fear etched deep into his widened eyes, the anticipation of what awaited him palpable. The weight of the moment bore down upon you, beads of sweat tracing a trail along the nape of your neck as a surge of nausea threatened to release. The harsh finality of the situation washed over your being.

Sejanus resignedly mouthed a sorrowful apology, his wordless cry cutting through the heavy air. And then, an irreversible shift transpired with breathtaking swiftness. The ground beneath him gave way, dissolving into oblivion, the sickening sound of his neck snapping searing into your consciousness, an unshakeable echo of his death.

Your eyes snapped open to see Tigris pinning your arms onto the mattress. Blinking against the dim sunlight, you managed to stammer, "Tigris? Why are you in my room?" your voice came out hoarse.

The worry in her eyes was unmistakable. She loosened her hold on you slowly until she let go of your arms completely, her hands slightly trembling.

"Your screams... I heard them from downstairs," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I was bringing your dress in, and I feared...I was scared something terrible had happened to you." She paused, swallowing hard. "Then, I found you... sleeping, but your body thrashing in the sheets as if you were trying to escape something. Are you okay? Has this happened before?"

She sat down on the edge of the bed, her silhouette outlined by the soft glow of the sunlight peering in from your window. It made Tigris's blonde hair look like a halo on her head. However, her gaze didn't waver from you, the anxiety written plainly on her face, promising not to leave until she was sure you were safe. Seeing Tigris in this state made you sad. You didn't mean to let anyone else see you like this. 

"Just a nightmare, that's all. It used to happen every night since-" Cutting yourself off, It was difficult to say his name, not after what you had just seen. "I only get like this when I'm stressed." Tigris still didn't appear convinced by your response. Your nightgown stuck to your skin from the sheen of sweat on your body. You couldn't imagine how horrible you looked and felt in front of Tigris. Suddenly, painfully aware of yourself, you pulled the sheets above you as an act of modesty. 

"Where's Ma?" you asked. 

"She stepped out to run last-minute errands for the event tonight. She called me to help you get ready and, well, you know the rest." You half-expected Tigris to leave, respecting your privacy. But she pressed on. "I used to have dreams like yours when my parents died during the rebellion. It took me a while to cope with their death. I still struggle sometimes. You can talk to me, you know? You're my family too now." 

With a comforting pat on your thigh, Tigris rose from the bed. "I'll give you some space to freshen up. Meet me downstairs whenever you're ready." Her words stayed with you as the bedroom door closed with a faint thud, plunging you back into reality.

Today is your birthday, the day of your wedding shower— another reminder of your upcoming marriage to Coriolanus. The date was impending faster than you had hoped, and there was no sign of it stopping. Young marriages weren't uncommon in Panem post-war, but you had naively hoped for more time before earning the title of someone's wife. More time, much like you had wished for Sejanus. His life was taken from him at eighteen, the same age you were now. That's when it struck you: Sejanus won't see you off to get married, nor would he be there to watch over your kids and be the fun uncle you know he would be. 

You silently wept in bed, overcome by grief. This day was meant to be filled with happiness; it was anything else but that. You felt shame, aggressively wiping away the tears that poured from your eyes like a waterfall. You knew wallowing in bed would solve nothing. Yet, facing the world with red, swollen eyes filled you with dread. It would be an unspoken confession of your struggles, a silent admission of your turmoil. And you couldn’t have that. Ma would need you to keep it together. She’s already lost one of her children. 

Mustering your remaining energy, you got ready and adorned yourself with makeup before descending the stairs to join Tigris. In front of you, an awe-inspiring dark crimson red dress adorned a mannequin. The tulle gown exuded a celestial aura like the night sky had woven into every stitch. Handcrafted with meticulous attention to detail, shimmering pearls embellished the fabric, creating a mesmerizing constellation effect. The dress's form-fitting bodice gracefully accentuated the mannequin's curves before cascading outwards from the waist. Its sheer beauty left you speechless, your mouth agape in disbelief.

Turning to Tigris, you asked, "Did you make this?" Tigris smiled widely and nodded. 

"I hope that you like it. The pearls are handsewn and thoroughly placed to sparkle with your every move." Tigris says. "Come and hurry and put it on! I can't wait to see it on my muse." Tigris didn't show any distress cues from earlier or fawn over your every move. She offered a place of comfort as you stripped down to your undergarments and stepped into the gown. It fit like a glove, which was impressive, considering Tigris hadn't taken your measurements. Her eye for detail is astounding. The corset of the dress pushed your breasts up, giving the impression that you had more cleavage and a smaller waist.  As you gazed at your reflection, a gasp escaped your lips in awe of the masterpiece Tigris had created. "If I were to die in this dress, I would die a happy woman," you whispered. The sight of you was truly intoxicating, and in this dress, you felt a sense of confidence and accomplishment immersed around you. The person who stood before the mirror embodied a timeless beauty. You could envision yourself as someone suitable to be seen on the arm of Coriolanus Snow, the young man rumoured to be the next ruler of the Capitol. Without another thought, you brought Tigris into a hug. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" She held you closer with her warm embrace. An excited shriek pulled you apart to find Ma with Coriolanus. 

"Oh gosh! My beautiful baby girl is all grown up."

Coriolanus exhaled in surprise at your appearance. His eyes trailed from your face down to the heels that you wore. It was one of the rare times that Coriolanus was genuinely speechless. Tigris cleared her throat, “So… what do you think?” Coriolanus finally pulled himself out of his entrapped daze and faked a cough to hide his lust-filled expression. But it was too late. You have already seen it.

"You look beautiful." Coriolanus wore a suit in a similar shade to your dress. Tigris must've tailored his outfit to cater to yours. “Tigris, You've outdone yourself,” he said.  From the outside eye, you were well suited for each other and made a good-looking couple. It would be easy to fall into the fantasy you have been presented with. Yet it didn’t change that it was all a fallacy; Coriolanus had only agreed to marry you for the money. It was damn easy to forget all of this when Coriolanus flashed you his dazzling smile and wrapped his arm around yours to escort you out of the penthouse to your wedding shower and birthday party.

Coriolanus whispered to your ear, “And before I forget, Happy Birthday.”

𓇢𓆸

The event was hosted in an extravagant lounge. There were rows and rows of velvet red sectionals and opulent jade banquettes. The lighting around the room was soft and illuminated the lush plants and countless influential figures of Panem that filled the space. Your name and Coriolanus’s were etched on a banner for all guests to view. Your parents had invited almost everyone that you’ve known. The Dolittle family socialized with Dr. Volumnia Gaul over a glass of champagne. While Eris Dankworth and her family kept to themselves, overseeing and judging the festivities that took place. Some of the University and Academy professors were in attendance as well. President Ravinstill could be seen at the far corner, seated at a private table with his wife. He was the man who'd granted our departure from the Districts when your father sided with the President by providing munitions to the Capitol. The President wore his prewar military uniform like a badge of honour. The gall of it all made you feel unsettled. 

You observed Coriolanus closely, gripped by his ability to captivate everyone around him with his calm demeanour and impeccable manners. Whenever he engaged in conversation, his eyes would light up as if each person he spoke to had just said the wittiest remark he had ever heard. It was awe-inspiring to witness. A part of you was taken aback. This side of him was rarely revealed in your presence. The Coriolanus you grew to know had disappeared. This one was fun-loving and easygoing. It was a version of him that made you reconsider if he was all bad, like you initially thought. 

"Must I say Coriolanus, you've snagged yourself quite the catch? Miss Plinth appears to be Sejanus's better half." Dr. Volumnia Gaul smiled much too widely after her comment. She had a sneaky habit of appearing when she was least anticipated. It made whatever she had to say sound ingenuine and cunning. Your spine stiffened at the mention of Sejanus from his former professor. Coriolanus rubbed small circles on your lower back, a meek attempt to distract you. He returned Dr. Gaul's smile. Before you could devise your retort, Coriolanus replied, "Thank you, it'll be an honour to call her my wife." He looked upon you with a glint in his eye, something that you hadn't noticed before, admiration or possession? It was hard to decipher. His gaze travelled down to your exposed breasts, and the desire on Coriolanus's face made you feel feverish. Undeniably, a new side of Coriolanus was in front of you. 

"Fate is a funny thing, isn't it Coriolanus? The Plinth family lost a son, to soon gain another." She smirked as if she knew something you didn't, "I'm curious to see how this union will be fair in the future. Best wishes to the both of you." And with that, she departed to refill her glass of champagne. Coriolanus kept his hand around your waist. His hold on you was unshakeable, and his face turned straight. 

"Are you alright? What was that all about?" You asked. 

"Nothing, Dr. Gaul is quite peculiar in how she expresses herself." His glare didn't wander from her figure as she walked through the crowd of guests. 

"So I've heard, Sejanus would talk about her briefly after class and in his letters." 

"Letters?" Coriolanus faced you incredulously. The thought of Sejanus sending his younger sister letters during his time in District 12 hadn't crossed his mind. 

Suddenly, the lights were cut, and the crowd gasped in shock. In the distance, you could see Ma and your father holding a cake with eighteen lit candles making their way to the booth you sat at. Everyone erupted in song, singing You Happy Birthday and began to gather around. 

"Make a wish, Honey," Ma said. Your father flagged down the hired photographers with box-like cameras that appeared chunky and heavy to the eye. Flashing lights surrounded you as they fired shots at your every move until the last candle was blown out. You could see Romulus standing beside his brother with a big grin. The similarities were uncanny. He shook a blue velour box and mouthed, "I got you a present." Eris Dankworth stood not too far behind them and watched the moment unravel. 

“How about a kiss from the soon-to-be newlyweds?” Eris yelled out with a sickening sneer on her lips. She couldn’t help herself. “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” she began the chant amongst the guests. Anyone would think she did it all in good faith and fun. But you knew. It was a reminder of the conversation that took place in front of the Academy. 

With all eyes on you, there was little option but to comply. It would be odd not to. 

“Well, Mr. Snow,” you shyly peeked up through your wispy lashes, and Coriolanus stood tall, towering over you with his height. "Let's give them a run for their money." He softly nestled your face in his hands, his touch both consoling and electrifying. You sensed a slight tremor in his hands from anticipation. As his plush lips met yours, the kiss began tentatively, as if you were exploring unknown territory. Coriolanus pulled you in closer, pressing your bodies together until there was no space between you. Not knowing where to place your arms, you instinctively wrapped them around his neck, cultivating deeper access and connection. An unfamiliar warmth spread throughout your body, igniting a desire you hadn't experienced before. Nerves fluttered in your stomach. This was your first kiss. Your first kiss is with Coriolanus Snow, and damn was it a good kiss. It was unclear who moved away first, but looking at your Ma, you could see her with clutched pearls. 

Coriolanus chuckled silently beside you, "Wow, I didn't think you had it in you, Miss Plinth. You're just full of surprises." Your elbow connected with his ribs, although this didn't stop him from laughing. Amid your embarrassment that your parents had seen you practically make out with your fiancee, you excused yourself to go to the powder room. If you found Eris alone, you would surely give her a piece of your mind. You were navigating through the crowd with mindless “thank you’s,” and the half-assed hugs were beginning to get on your last nerve. You just needed a quiet moment to yourself. Someone followed behind and caught your hand as you freed yourself through the exit doors to the restrooms. 

“Hey, I’ve been trying to get you alone all evening. It's like chasing a rabbit in a hay field,” Romulus said, slightly panting like he’d just run a marathon. He appeared strikingly handsome in his tailored midnight blue suit, a perfect complement to his dark hair and captivating features.

“Haven’t you heard? It’s unbefitting of a lady to be seen alone with a man who isn’t to be her husband, especially with the wedding date around the corner,” you said.

“Oh, please don’t tell me you’re letting Dankworth get to you,” Romulus wrinkled his nose when he uttered her name as if he smelled something horrid. “Besides, I like you better when you're defiant. It keeps things interesting in this dull place.”  

You rolled your eyes at his statement. Of course, he did. That was before. When you could afford to do whatever you pleased and live your day as your own. "What do you want, Rome?" you asked. He didn't track you down to chat. 

"Geez, did that kiss get your panties in a twist too?" Romulus snickered. You shoved him and snorted at his mortifying question. Romulus always knew how to make you laugh. 

"Oh God, please shut up! What was I supposed to do?" 

"I don't know, give the guy a peck, maybe?" Romulus's smile widened at your reaction, and he rummaged through his pocket to pull out the blue velour jewelry box from earlier. "Besides, if you didn't run out of there so quickly, I wouldn't be able to give this to you." He placed the present in your hands gently, like a delicate flower. 

"Rome, you didn't have to get me a gift-" 

"I know, but I wanted to. Open it." He nodded towards the box, motioning you to untie the bow that was wrapped around it. 

Inside held a beautiful gold locket necklace that looked like it had cost a fortune. Intricate swirl patterns were engraved into the locket, with hearts nestled beside each other. When you opened it, your favourite picture of you and Sejanus was inside. Romulus had taken the photo of the two of you that day in the sun. You wore a childlike grin in the photograph while Sejanus slung his arm over your shoulder, sporting a crooked smile. His pure essence is captured eternally, frozen in time just for you. This was the Sejanus that you remembered. Your eyes welled up with tears, and your throat became tight, making expressing your overwhelming gratitude to Romulus nearly impossible.

Romulus knew this and seemed prepared. He offered you his handkerchief. "Would you like me to help you put it on?" he asked. You nodded, as words still escaped you while you dabbed the corner of your eyes, careful not to smudge your makeup. Romulus lifted the necklace, and it glinted in the light. Turning your back, he clasped the locket around your neck, which lay flat between your collarbones. A piece of Sejanus will always be near. 

"I think this is one of the best gifts I've ever received." you sniffled. 

"Even better than the horse your father bought you as a kid?" Of course, Romulus would try to crack a joke. 

"Even better." You took Romulus into your arms, holding him close and snugly, "thank you, Rome."

"Romulus, we need to stop meeting like this!" Coriolanus exclaimed with no humour behind the mirth in his voice. Peering over Romulus's shoulder, you could see him close the doors to the lounge behind him.

"Meeting like what?" Romulus asked. 

"With you, all over my fiancee." Coriolanus scowled at Romulus, tracking his every move with his glare. 

"He wasn't-" 

"I wasn't all over her, Coriolanus, don't be dramatic. I was merely giving her a birthday gift, and I didn't know that was a crime." Romulus raised both his hands in mockery as if he would be arrested. Your heartbeat began to pick up in pace. Little did Romulus know the severity of consequences that might lay ahead of him for taunting Coriolanus, even more so now that Coriolanus had seen Romulus holding you in his arms not too long after kissing him.

Coriolanus hid his malicious intent almost too well, "I know a couple of people who would beg to differ." There was a hidden meaning behind his choice of words. "I simply just came out to let my fiancee know that her parents are looking for her to make a toast before the guests begin to leave." Coriolanus turned to face you, making direct contact with the heart-shaped locket that embellished your chest. It made you feel naked under his scrutiny. 

"Yes, I'll be right there to join you soon. I want to say goodbye to Romulus. He was just leaving." 

Romulus caught on quickly about what you were hinting at and agreed, "Yes, I was. The only reason I came was to drop off her gift." He gestured towards the box in your hands and smirked. 

"Safe travels," Coriolanus muttered under his breath and turned to enter the lounge, but not before calling over his shoulder, "Please be quick. I'd hate to keep your parents waiting." 

When Coriolanus was out of sight, you hit Romulus upside his head. "Idiot! Why do you keep trying to get a rise out of him?" Romulus knew better. Coriolanus was not the type to engage in direct conflict. He would skillfully maneuver himself like a serpent, slithering to strike his opponents from behind when they least expect it. 

"You can't possibly believe that he'll make good on his threat." As suspected, Romulus didn't take it seriously when you told him about what Coriolanus said to you if he were to touch you. It would help if you had been wiser and not caught up in the moment. Getting caught up with Rome was a stupid mistake. 

"I don't know. But I'd rather not find out now. All I can do is hope that Coriolanus was bluffing." 

“The idea of you marrying him doesn't sit right with me. What do you even like about Coriolanus anyways?” Romulus sounded frustrated and perplexed, his hazel eyes filled with concern. 

Like was a strong word. You tolerated Coriolanus when needed. Still, the only things that you observed of him were from afar and through your brother until now.  

Sejanus was quite the optimist when he was ready. Coriolanus had always shown indifference towards us, the Plinths. He did not agree with my classmates' taunting but did not wholly disagree. Remaining neutral meant nothing to you, especially if said boy was Sejanus’s friend. What type of friend was he? An opportunist? Yes, for sure. But Coriolanus did not show much proof of friendship other than the tattered photograph he kept of them during the games and the letters Sejanus had written about Coriolanus to you. If you hadn't known any better, you would've called it a naive school crush that Sejanus had. Pa always chose to pay no heed to what displeased him, and Sejanus publicly grieving his childhood first love, Marcus, was undoubtedly one of them. 

Yet, you couldn't deny the chemistry you shared during the kiss. There was the possibility of growing to be fond of Coriolanus. This was likely at a different rate than your relationship was going. 

"I don't have to like Coriolanus," you sighed. 

"Well, you at least have to if you're going to spend the rest of your life with him," Romulus argued. 

"Rome, please, I don’t want to talk about this, not on my birthday." Your head began to pound from the onset of stress that returned to your body. One night, that's all you wanted. Romulus could see the tension rise within you and apologized. 

“I’m sorry; I didn't intend to damper the mood. Enjoy the rest of your night, and we’ll talk tomorrow.” Romulus surprised you by planting a small kiss on your forehead and departing shortly after. To see him leave so soon left a pit in your stomach. It was an unpleasant feeling. The more pressing concern was still present: would Romulus survive the wrath of Coriolanus?

𓇢𓆸

That question kept you up at night. The rest of the party was a success, although Coriolanus was in quite a sour mood for the rest of the event until we were escorted home. He'd returned to his usual self, only uttering a sentence in your direction if needed. After finding you in Romulus's arms, you partially expected him to be more brash towards you. It unsettled you when he was silent. 

Ringing from your landline telephone alarmed you. The only person likely to call you this late would be Romulus. There had to be something wrong. 

"Hello?" 

"You're awake." The voice sounded surprised that you had answered the phone.

"Coriolanus, why are you calling so late?" 

"Come let me in. I'm coming to your door." His words lightly slurred together.

"Corio-" you raised your voice in protest, but the line dropped. The flippant guy hung up on you. 

You rushed down the stairs in your silk robe as quietly as possible until you heard knocking at your front door. When you opened the door, revealing a dishevelled Coriolanus, his blazer was discarded and still in the dress shirt he wore to the wedding shower with a few extra buttons loose. "Shut up, will you! You're going to wake up my parents. Hurry and come in." He stumbled past you to sprawl out on the couch, faintly smelling of white liquor. Thank God the Avoxes weren't live-in help. 

"Have you been drinking?" you asked. 

Coriolanus pinched his thumb and pointer finger close together in response to your question. 

"Be honest, would marrying me be that bad?" Coriolanus's tone was soft and gentle. He looked tense and a bit unsure of himself. Even in this state, he looked handsome; it bothered you that Coriolanus didn't even seem aware of it. 

"I don't know," you answered honestly. "I can't imagine sharing a life with someone I don't love, regardless of their last name. I always thought I would fall in love with someone like Ma and my father. They grew up on the same street and started dating in their early teens. And I would raise a family and grow old enough to tell my grandkids stories of how I had loved and lost and met my greatest love of all, their grandfather." It was a small dream that wouldn't come true in this lifetime. 

"I can love you," Coriolanus retorted.

"You're drunk." You sat in front of him on the carpet. 

"So? I know I can love you better than Romulus. That guy couldn't wait to get his dirty little hands on you, and of all things, he got you a locket in the shape of a heart on the day of our wedding shower. I should strangle him with my bare hands, and I would do it again to any man who dares to lay a finger on you and what's mine." Coriolanus stumbled through his sentences, and if it weren’t for the last comment, you would've thought it was cute.

"Not this again. Are you jealous of Romulus? He's a friend, and it was a thoughtful gift, hardly romantic." 

"He's one of your only friends, and he makes you smile. You don't even laugh when you're around me. I should be the one that you want to lean on. I'm the one who will be your husband, not him." Coriolanus ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. 

"You sound like a child. I'll get you a glass of water," getting up from the floor to walk to the kitchen, Coriolanus took your hand in his to stop you. 

"Wait, don't leave. Let me prove it to you: I want to take you on a date." 

That earned laughter from you; it burst out of you and was hard to contain. “That’s hilarious coming from you, Snow.” But Coriolanus didn’t laugh, and his face became sober.  

Coriolanus expressed his sincerest intentions, “I’m serious. It’s still your birthday weekend. I’ll take you out to properly celebrate. I know tonight wasn’t ideal.”

You raised your eyebrows, still skeptical of him, questioning, “Why? So you could handle your vendetta?”

Unfazed by your disbelief, Coriolanus grinned, "No, it would be for you." His words lingered in the air. You were baffled and intrigued.

The room was momentarily silent, giving you time to process his response. You couldn't help but wonder what he meant by it. Was there a deeper meaning behind his words? Although you searched for clarity, you were eager for Coriolanus to continue, hoping his inebriated self would go into more detail. Yet, his face turned paler than usual, and his blue eyes met yours with focus. 

“I’ll take that glass of water now. I think I might be sick.”

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[vivwritesfics]

No Need To Ask - CS55

Chapter One - Protected

The Norris' were a notorious crime family in the UK. One of many. With Norris, the head of the family, running operations with his son, Lando, they work to keep Y/N Norris, Norris' daughter protected. Life in a crime family wasn't something they wanted for her.

But with tension with one of the Spanish crime families rise, Norris and his now deceased wife come up with only one plan, offer their daughter to the Sainz's or risk an all out war.

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"Check," said Y/N as her Queen took his Knight. He had no moves himself, none that would win the game for him. In one more move Y/N could take his King, winning the game.

Lando stared at his sister, annoyance and amusement written on his face. "How did you get so good at chess?" He asked and leaned back in his chair. There was no point making his next move, not when she was going to win anyway.

With a smirk on her face, Y/N made that final, winning move. "I played a lot with my mum while you were off with dad."

Off doing unspeakable things.

While Y/N and Lando had the same father, they didn't share a mother. Landos mother had died when he was young. Nasty business really. He and his dad were alone until Y/Ns mother came along.

Landos dad and Y/Ns mother weren't meant to fall in love. It just sort of... happened. She gave the Norris boys so much love while being ruthless with their men. She fell into place in their world and, before she knew it, she was the heavily pregnant Mrs Norris.

A lot of people didn't realise Y/N and Lando were only half siblings. Some didn't realise they were related at all.

After having a baby girl, Mr Norris wanted to keep her away from their world. He already had Lando set up to take over from him, as head of the Norris family, working for the Hamiltons. But Y/N wasn't supposed to be involved.

"How is dad?" Asked Y/N as she packed away the chess set. Y/N hadn't seen her father in near two weeks. His health was deteriorating and he spent all of his time and energy working. Lando would be taking over as head of the Norris family but it was only once his body was in the ground. That was going to be any day now.

Lando cleared his throat and turned towards the window. "Don't be surprised if he calls you into his room any day now," he answered.

Oh. That wasn't good news. Y/N placed the wooden chess set back on the desk that used to belong to her mother and turned back towards her brother. "You have your first meeting with Mr Hamilton, don't you?" She asked, nervously chewing at her nails.

Lando narrowed his eyes towards her. "You've been listening in, haven't you?"

"Only sometimes," Y/N answered, sitting in her mothers chair. Sometimes she'd be there for hours, sitting behind the desk, pretending she was as involved in the Norris Family as her mother once was. They were big shoes to fill. “I could go with you, you know?”

“No!” Lando shouted, slamming his fist down onto the table in front of him.

Y/N jumped back. This was what her brother had been bred and raised for. Already he was ruthless and calculating, every bit the man their father had been trying to turn him into. “Dad wouldn’t allow it and neither will I,” he spat and stood from his chair.

Lando was already dressed in one of his best suits. He had attended several meetings with Mr Hamilton before, but none without his father. This was his first. He wasn’t yet head of the family, but he was going to act like it. At these meetings he was used to being seen and not heard, but this was his first time speaking. It was on behalf of his father, yes, but the words were still coming from Lando.

He marched out of the study, leaving Y/N there. He didn’t apologise for being harsh; it was the only way to keep her safe.

Y/N watched her brother go. As soon as he was gone, Y/N began trying to pull open the desk drawers. They were locked, had been ever since her mother had died. But she was desperate for some way to be close to her mother; it was lonely in a crime family when you couldn’t be involved with the crime.

When she couldn’t get into the desk, she stood and walked out of the room.

The halls were full of portraits. Members of the Norris family that had since passed on. there were family portraits, too. One of little Lando with his mother and his father and one of Lando, Y/N and their parents. Further down the hall there was a portrait of Lando’s mother and another of Y/N’s mother. Mr Norris loved both of his wives equally, that was clear to anyone.

Two men stood on either side of Y/N’s door. They were silent, unspeaking. The guns Y/N knew they had on them were saying enough. She walked past them, giving just a curt nod and pushed the door shut behind her.

Just because she wasn’t a part of the crime family didn’t mean her father didn’t want her protected. There were men outside of her door and men under her window. There were at least two at every entrance; nothing came in or out of the house without them knowing.

She sat on her bed and looked towards her window. Normal girls could go out and spend time with their friends. They could go out and get dinner, sit at a bar with a cocktail in hand. They could go out to the club and dance the night away. But not Y/N. She had to sit in her room and dream of a life she could never have.

***

Lando was in the big leagues now. When he was a boy he used to sit on the side lines, taking notes for his father. But now he was up at the table with the other heads of house. Charles Leclerc of Monaco, Carlos Sainz Sr, one of the heads of family from Spain. There was Sergio Perez from Mexico, Jos Verstappen from the Netherlands and more.

At the head of the table was Lewis Hamilton. He ran everything, kept all of the families together. Before him there had been Schumacher and then Vettel. Hamilton was a wonder boy. He’d risen up in the ranks in the button family before breaking away and starting his own. It had started a war, a war that Hamilton had been quick to put an end to.

He was in charge of the crime family now.

Lando listened as Lewis ran the meeting. He spoke to each family member, a man from his organisation taking notes. “We have a newcomer at the table today,” Lewis bellowed, leaning forward with his hands clasped in front of him. “As we all know, Norris isn’t in the best of shape. So, in his steed, he has sent his son, Lando.”

Lando has a tight smile as he waved to the rest of the room. He’d met them all before, Sainz and his father were once friends. He’d spent a lot of time with his son when he was younger.

Finishing the meeting, Hamilton dismissed everybody. “Ah, Lando, can I speak to you for a moment?” He asked as he lit a cigar.

Lando walked over to him and accepted the cigar he offered to him. “What can I do for you, sir?” Lando asked, sitting in the seat beside his own.

Hamilton took his cigar from between his lips. “As you know, your father and Sainz haven’t always been the best of friends. There has been something brewing between your families for a while now and it is my job to squash it. Your father, Sainz and I have been having talks for years now, and we came to one conclusion.”

Lando cleared his throat. He hadn’t smoked very much before, but it was a habit he had been picking up since his father’s health started declining. “What might that be, sir?”

“Your sister.”

Lando’s face paled. His eyes went wide, and his mouth felt metallic. “What sister?” His protective instincts kicked in, but he couldn’t do anything in front of Hamilton. Lando felt sick.

“Before your mother died, she came up with a plan to unite your families. Your sister is to marry Sainz Jr and you’re to make sure it happens, okay?”

Hamilton gave Lando no time to reply. He put out his cigar and walked away, leaving Lando still sitting at the table.

He couldn’t stand up. His chest hurt and he needed to empty his stomach. Lando stood from his seat and rushed out of the room. He made his way through the halls and out to his car. He couldn’t throw up in Lewis Hamilton’s bushes, could he? No, Lando had to get home.

Driving around the fountain, Lando sped back home. He could hide his sister away, couldn’t he? Send her somewhere that didn’t have any of the families in power. Their house in Monaco was a no go, not while Charles was in power. Maybe their house in Belgium, but too many families in power surrounded the country.

Driving home was a blur for Lando. He couldn’t allow his little sister to marry into another crime family. And it was a plan his stepmother came up with. She was the one hellbent of protecting Y/N in the first place; how could she let this happen?

As soon as Lando was out of his car, he threw up onto the gravel driveway. He threw up until he had nothing left in his stomach. Lando couldn’t face going inside, not yet. He couldn’t tell her, not yet. How was his father allowing this?

Lando wanted them answers. He wanted them real bad.

Leaving his car where it was, Lando marched towards the house. He threw his eyes to somebody at the front door and stormed past them. Up several flights of stairs and towards the furthest bedroom. When he walked past Y/N’s bedroom, his steps faltered. She was in there, and she had no idea what was waiting for her.

Lando burst into his father’s bedroom. It was a horrible sight to see, him laying in bed hooked up to oh so many machines. He stared at Lando as he walked over to the desk, grabbed the chair and dragged it back over to the bed. “Dad,” he said, staring at him.

Mr Norris didn’t respond. He stared at his son, waiting for him to continue.

“I had my first meeting with the heads of the families today,” Lando said, his leg bouncing. “Hamilton pulled me to the side to talk about a deal Helena made with Sainz. Do you already have an invite to Y/N’s wedding? Or am I the last to find out? Well, aside from Y/N, of course.”

Mr Norris coughed. “Has she met with him yet?”

“What?”

“Has Y/N met with Carlos Sainz Jr yet?”

Lando shook his head. “No, she hasn’t.”

“Arrange it for the end of the week. I want the ball rolling on this as soon as possible,” said Mr Norris. He waved his hand, dismissing his son, but Lando ignored it.

“No,” he said and stood up. He pushed his hair back, knocking it over. “No, not until you tell me why! Why are you throwing Y/N to the lions when we’ve spent the last twenty years trying  to protect her?!” He shouted, fury written on his face.

Mr Norris shook his head. "You know what will happen if we do not make peace with Sainz. Set up a meeting between Y/N and Sainz Jr."

With no other choice, Lando left the room. He stopped just outside of his father's door and punched the wall. The men guarding Y/N's door watched, but they didn't let their gazes linger.

Lando let out a shout as his fist connected with the wall, but he didn't register the pain. There were more pressings things at hand.

He marched down the hallway and pushed his way into Y/Ns room. "Lan!" She cried when he pushed the door shut behind him. "How was your meeting with the heads of family?"

This wasn't something he wanted to talk about. Especially not with Y/N. But, what other choice did he have? He was supposed to arrange a meeting between her and Carlos.

Lando stood by the window, looking out into the gardens. "We've got something we need to talk about," he said, refusing to look at her.

"What's the matter, Lan?"

With a sigh he turned around and sat on the bed beside her. "Before your mother passed, she set up a business deal using the help of our dad, Hamilton and Sainz. This business deal actually involves you."

"Me?" Y/N gasped as she stared at her brother. "What could I possibly have to do with anything?"

Lando sucked in a breath. "You know the problems we've been having with the Sainz family? Well, your mother, our father, Hamilton and Sainz had been working together to try and rectify this. Before she died, your mum came up with a solution."

"Lan, just tell me," she muttered, picking at the skin around her nails.

This was the hardest thing he would ever have to do. "Y/N, you're getting married," he said quickly. "It was your mothers ideal, so there can't be any other solution."

Y/N was quiet for a moment. Married. She was going to be getting married.

"I didn't want this for you, but we have no other choice," he continued. "Please, Y/N, try to understand."

"No, Lan, I understand. I get it," she mumbled, placing her hands in her lap. "I know its something I have to do. Just, tell me, who am I going to be marrying?" But Y/N was pretty sure she already knew.

"Do you remember my old friend, Carlos?"

[tiddygame]

Ghoap god type Au part 2!

Ao3 /// part 1 /// part 2 /// part 3 /// part 4 /// part 5 /// part 6 /// part 7 /// part 8 /// part 9

i didn’t expect so many people to like this so this is a little addition written stream of consciousness style :)

Weeks have passed and the troops have marched on. Ghost is not very liked amongst his fellow soldiers, most viewing him as something less than human. If they notice the drastic uptick in him sneaking away, they say nothing. Whether it is out of respect, fear, or apathy does not matter.

When they stop somewhere, even if for just a night or two, he always searches the area for overgrown shrines belonging to the god. Now that he is actively seeking them out, he realizes that they’re everywhere.

Damn near every notable landscape was a ruin of what was once a commemoration for the god. Clearings in trees with stone circles on the ground, shallow caves with a pedestal holding forgotten gifts, eye-catching rocks that turned into statues when you paid attention — all for a deity that was now on the brink of death.

On the rare occasion he is unable to find one, he creates one. It was never really anything more than a pile of rocks, but the offerings were still accepted so he took it as a sign of approval. Before, he always ate his meals on the edge of camp, as far away from everyone as he could get while still being in camp. But then he remembered that he didn’t give a shit and would wander further into the woods before sitting down to eat.

Now, it was the same routine but a little less alone. To call some old ass god a friend was a stretch, especially since half of the time it felt more like trying to feed a skittish stray dog, but he enjoyed the time spent “together”. He decided not to think about whether that was an exploitable weakness or if he was going soft and instead tried to enjoy his newfound respite.

Of course, nothing stays happy forever.

When the battle they had been marched towards finally came, Ghost was put on the frontlines, as per usual. This time he felt Different but chalked it up to nerves with feeling like he might have something to lose now.

That morning, he hadn’t received breakfast so the only offering he had been able to provide was a few flowers that were in the area. He felt beyond stupid while picking them, but when they were laid down, the god hadn’t even waited for him to turn away to be able to dramatically accept the offering. They were accepted immediately, with a strong breeze rustling the branches and such an intense feeling flooding through him he’d had to take a step back.

The forgotten god of death likes flowers, apparently.

Within a few hours, he went from wondering if he would now be upgrading his food offerings to include a garnish of whatever flowers he found in the area, to wondering if that would be the last offering the god would ever receive.

The arrow had nestled between plates of his armor, striking him in the lower ribs. He was dying far too slowly for it to have hit anything vital, but he was still dying. He was an okay field medic, but it was that very knowledge that meant he knew he was doomed.

Being nothing more than a weapon, he was not allowed to see the healers the same way everyone else was. As the battle finished with their side unfortunately victorious, he wondered if the general even realized he could be fatally wounded.

The smoke cleared, the injured men were hurried to the medical tents, the general began planning their next attack, and Ghost lay there, dying and forgotten in an open field. He had been looking forward to this moment for so long, but now that he was here, he wondered who would give his god offerings tomorrow. Realizing that in dying, he would be taking the god with him made him feel almost remorseful.

But the darkness was creeping in on his vision and his woes seemed to fall away as did the rest of the world. Perhaps he would be seeing the god soon.

————

He did not expect to wake up, and yet he was staring at the canopy of leaves above him and wondering why Hell looked so nice. When the pounding in his head went away, he sat up slowly, first rolling onto his side and reeling from the pain. When he was able to push himself up into a seated position, he realized that Hell not only looked lovely, but incredibly familiar as well.

Once his vision stopped swirling, he saw that he wasn’t in the afterlife at all, but instead had been lying on the offering table he had just left flowers on that morning. Still barely comprehending what was going on, he scrambled off the shrine. Just because he’d challenge a god to a fistfight doesn’t mean he’s entirely stupid. He still remembers stories that the elders would use to scare him and the other kids — about how anything on the offering table was an offering that could be taken.

He wasn’t interested in becoming a human sacrifice just yet so he fell to the grass and tried to remember what happened. The pain made everything muddied, but he knew for certain he was supposed to be dead. The shrine he had woken on gave some indication of what must’ve happened, though the why of it all was still a mystery.

Would the god of death betray his own domain just for the sake of keeping him alive?

Lifting his shirt and finding a golden scar on what should have been a fatal injury, he found out that yes, yes they would. The pain made it take a good few minutes to stand and he distantly wondered how much power the god had. He’d heard of deities saving their favorite (and in this case, only) follower from the brink of death, but never heard mention of the pain.

He deduced that the god must still be too weak to have done such magic fuckery without repercussions and that the full-body agony must be at least one of those repercussions. As he sat pondering the power level of the being, he went to run his hand through his hair but stopped, feeling something that wasn’t there before.

A flower, tucked behind his ear. One he picked that morning.

The god of death saved him and put a dandelion behind his ear.

————

It wasn't until the next night that he was able to visit the shrine. As expected, he was yelled at for disappearing for several hours but he was too out of it to really hear any of what was being said. The pain would come and go at seemingly random and each spike that made his steps stutter was another reminder of just how close he had been to death.

Waylaid by his duties and own requirements of rest, he finally snuck out with the little dinner he had been given. Part of him was a lot more scared than he’d like to admit, having no idea what the god would want in return for the miracle they’d performed. He really did not want to be indebted to yet another person, much less a god.

It took him much longer than usual to make it to the shrine, slowed by pain and exhaustion. It was pitch black by the time he got there but the area around the pedestal had a slight glow.

He set down his offerings and really hoped it was enough to not incur the wrath of an angry god that felt like they were owed more than they received. His dinner — consisting of a bread roll and salted meat, a true feast — along with some jewelry he was able to pilfer and more flowers was far from what any god would expect in return for such a miracle, but it was all he had to offer.

He took a stuttering step back and bowed his head. He may be a prideful bastard but he’d consider the day a victory if he lived long enough to feel embarrassed. His fingers tingled, the leaves rustled, and he opened his eyes to find— Oh. Hmmm.

The flowers and jewelry were gone, but the plate had more food on it.

Well, that’s… something. He looked up at the sky, wondering if the god was watching him. After some hesitation, he verbalized his question, asking if this meant the offering was rejected.

There was no answer. When he looked back down, the plate had been moved closer towards him. Okay, what the fuck? The food looked kind of shitty, honestly, but looking closer he realized that’s because it was his offerings that he had given.

Still not quite grasping the situation, he slowly grabbed the plate, waiting to see if he’d be struck by lightning. However, no murderous rain clouds spontaneously appeared as it left the altar. He examined the plate. The food was stacked rather precariously; there wasn’t much of it but the randomness of the items ensured it was on the brink of falling.

Was this meant to be a gift? For him? Why would a god continue to give more and more while receiving almost nothing in return?

He took a moment to sit down, definitely out of caution and not pain, trying to figure out if this was what the deity wanted him to do. Tentatively, he grabbed a piece of bread and slowly began eating. He was slowed by the shake in his hands and for once was right in saying it wasn’t from nerves. The shakiness had been persisting ever since he woke up but had gotten better over time. Before, he hadn’t been able to even pick up small items without struggle. It all seemed a small price to pay considering he should’ve died in that field.

As he ate, he stared up at the altar and wondered how a god whose favorite offerings were flowers had gotten such an awful reputation. Lost in thought, he was pulled back to the present as the apple almost rolled off the plate. He caught it, moving to set it in his lap instead, but noticed something that made him freeze.

Someone was there.

He felt it, both the eyes watching him and the domineering presence that had taken up the area. He carefully continued his movements while looking around, alarmed to see nothing there. He took stock of his surroundings, trying to discern what he was sensing. It seemed the god was no longer simply watching him from the heavens.

Not expecting an answer, he asked aloud if the god wanted some of the food, resolutely staring at his plate. He was unused to feeling a divine being near him. It was unsettling.

No.

The answer seemed to materialize from nothing. He hadn’t heard it, hadn’t read it, it didn’t even feel like it had been some kind of psychic fuckery. It just was. Man, gods were weird.

Pushing the limit, he asked if they had a favorite flower.

Whichever you give me.

And then the presence was gone. He was back to eating alone in a clearing. What the fuck does that mean? The weird godly way of talking didn’t provide much in the way of tone. Was it happy? Flirty? Apathetic? Annoyed?

He shook his head and resumed eating. It didn’t matter. Tomorrow would be an even longer day as they pack up and march on.

He needs to get his god more flowers.

[ghostofbambifanfiction]

CYOA

You know what screw it, I wanted to finish chapter 59 today but I feel horrible and it's just not going to happen so for now you can have this completed scene under the cut with my great affection love love peace peace feel free to react as it'll make me happy etc. etc.

Private WhatsApp Chat Resumed: Friday 18th March, 2022, 07:57 Members: Lily Evans, James Potter

================================

James Potter: i think it's pretty amazing that you and beatrice know the exact date that you first met when you were two

Lily Evans: Lollllll Hello to you too

James Potter: although idk how sirius would react if we knew and i suggested celebrating that hello, also beautiful hello beautiful is what i meant to say

Lily Evans: Suave of you.

James Potter: i'm only just having my first coffee of the day, alright? give me five minutes and i'll be on my game

Lily Evans: I suppose I can allow you five minutes. We didn't always know, but my mum's been journaling every day for most of her life, so a few years back we did a little detective work and it turns out she'd written about my first day at Little Tots. We've done something for our anniversary every year since, but she's blown my gift out of the water this time around.

James Potter: why, what was your gift?

Lily Evans: I bought her a ladyship. She's Lady Beatrice Booth now. Officially. Incredibly it only costs £30 and you get a tiny plot of land in Cumbria with it. I gave the pack to her housemate to leave out today so she'll get a huge kick out of it when she gets home later.

James Potter: how ironic is it that you got her a ladyship and i was looking into getting her canonised earlier

Lily Evans: Lol why?

James Potter: because i really really really liked that video, evans

Lily Evans: I see. I see. I see. Not embarrassed about you having seen that AT ALL. Although I suppose I don't have a right to be embarrassed when I've seen all of your childhood photos, do I? It was probably about time that you saw some of mine.

James Potter: what would you have to be embarrassed about? you were an adorable child i loved watching you grow up on an instagram reel with, inexplicably, flo rida's musical accompaniment

Lily Evans: Lollllllllll I know that probably seems like a weird choice, but it was our go-to dance song when we were eighteen. And on that note, I was a very awkward teenager, as you've now seen.

James Potter: almost everyone on earth was an awkward teenager and the ones who weren't awkward peaked in their teens, so think of how they've suffered since then although i guess sirius is the exception anyway you say you were awkward, but fifteen year old me would have been DESPERATE for fifteen year old you's attention

Lily Evans: Oh, you say that now.

James Potter: no i would have been and i wouldn't have gotten it because as we've previously established i was a prick when i was fifteen so if i'd gone to school with you i still would have been a prick, but a prick who wanted your attention and did all manner of stupid things to get it i would have driven you mad

Lily Evans: Twenty-seven year old you wants my attention and I've not been driven mad over it once, to be fair.

James Potter: twenty-seven year old me has much improved with age and is more deserving of it you however have been a delight your whole life which i now have visual proof of hence i'll be calling your best mate saint lady beatrice from now on

Lily Evans: I wasn't a delight my whole life, I promise you. As a child I was a precocious little shit who thought she knew everything and couldn't be told otherwise. That's why I got into so many scrapes, doing stupid, dangerous things because I couldn't just listen to my mother when she told me "no, Lily, that's dangerous." I was like a working class Peppa Pig, honestly, no wonder my sister couldn't hack being around me half the time. So you're not the only one who has much improved with age. And fifteen year old me would have had a massive crush on fifteen year old you, BELIEVE me.

James Potter: oh really?

Lily Evans: Would I have let you know about it? Absolutely not. But it still would have been there.

James Potter: you mean like the crush you've had on me this whole time?

Lily Evans: I already have to get you back for some nonsense you pulled yesterday, Potter, so I'd advise you not to pile on and add this to the list.

James Potter: lollllllll

Lily Evans: I'm serious!

James Potter: oh i'm sure you are to which i say go on then do it

Lily Evans: I will do it.

James Potter: you go right ahead i can handle it

Lily Evans: You're being very cocky right now and while I can't pretend I don't like it, it'll also prove to be your downfall later.

James Potter: we'll see, we'll see

Lily Evans: We will see.

James Potter: whatever you need to tell yourself, sweetheart

Lily Evans: I think the fifteen year old you has taken over the controls in your head, mate.

James Potter: he probably has, yeah but what can i say he's really chuffed about your crush on me

Lily Evans: You mean the crush you've decided I have that I haven't confirmed?

James Potter: right, yeah, of course, clearly i'm the one in the wrong here still sleeping in my bed, are you?

Lily Evans: I have to go do a work thing now.

James Potter: oh, sure, that old excuse

[izudeeilo]

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You can study me

Sero hanta smau

volley-ball player sero x art student fem!reader, no quirks au, college au.

a/n it's been a while since I've written something like this...I'm nervous

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Senior year is finally here! You thought that this time, the teachers would be more lenient with you and your classmates, but not at all. In fact, they even got stricter... They assigned you a half year-long work, which would be worth 30% of your final grade. What does the work consist of, you ask? Making a complete study of the life of a student you need to pick and paint it.

But... you can't pick a friend.

Profiles • Part .2

Part 1

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You sat outside, pen in one hand, the other on your lap. Scribbling on the piece of paper quick doodles of a random animal. A rooster...a chicken…why was this one that popped in your mind, you don’t know.

A sight escapes your mouth as you look up at the sky. “This is going to be a nightmare” you mutter.

You would’ve been more ok with all of this if you could’ve chosen someone close to you instead. So much easier, simpler. But in the art course? nothing was easy.

You sometimes thought of quitting, completely. But the love you had for art kept you here and perhaps your supportive friends too. Seriously they meant everything to you, they’ve been here through thick and thin. They could be…themselves but you’d do anything for them, the other way around as well.

Taking your phone from your pocket, you check the time — 12:40 pm. “I should already be on my way to the cafeteria.” You get up slowly, grab your bag from the ground and shove the paper and pen inside.

As you enter the building, you greet with a wave of your hand some classmates you had met in your morning class. When you enter the cafeteria, you grab the tray from the pile and pick up a sandwich, a fruit salad and you pay for a soda can at the vending machine.

You weren’t particularly hungry today.

Scanning the room you make eye contact with your friends a bit further away. You march over to them and install yourself next to Himiko, Izuku in front.

”I’ve missed you guys so bad.” you say hugging Himiko’s arm. She hugs you back with a big smile. “Us as well!” she chuckles. “It’s only the first day of the week and I’m already tired.” adds Izuku with a slight smile before taking a bite from his sandwich.

You begin eating as well. “Can you guys believe it's the last year we’ll be together..” you say to them. “Oh don’t start already or I’m going to cry.” says Himiko, turning her head.

“ I know we’ll definitely be busy after but ain’t no way we’re getting separated, you better believe me, you ain’t getting rid of us” she taps her finger on your cheek in a teasing way.

”Oh that I already know” you chuckle.

Izuku suddenly perks up and says “By the way y/n I talked to some of my classmates and I’m sorry most of them don’t feel comfortable with that…” “Oh right mine as well…they say they don't want to meet new people or whatever” himiko adds.

”Oh well I did expect that honestly” you cross your arms and straighten yourself. “Guess the whole art course is going to struggle with finding someone” you sigh and begin to wonder how else are you going to find a student willing to participate in that. Ochaco may try with her classmates but you already have an idea of how it’s going to end.

You’d like someone with personality as well and there’s plenty of people like that here but—

You were cut off by a cheerful voice.

”Izuku you’re here!” A girl with pretty pink hair stopped in front of the table with her tray in hand. You all turned your head at her.

”Oh I didn’t know you were with friends my bad you guys!” she smiles.

”No it’s alright, you wanted something?” he responds.

”The boys are over there and I wanted to know if you wanted to come sit with us! Your friends can come as well if they’d like” She smiles at the both of us.

“Yeah for sure! Does it bother you guys?” He says looking at us.

”Not at all” Himiko and you respond at the same time. You look at each other before chuckling slightly.

”Perfect, follow me!” the girl begins walking ahead. “The name’s Mina by the way!”

”I’m y/n!” you respond back.

”And I’m Himiko”

You all reach a long table with four people already sitting and talking.

Four boys to be exact, one had blond hair and was just staring at the other three with a raised eyebrow, another had red hair and was laughing at something another blond said next to him and the last one with longer black hair was holding his sandwich with a smirk on his face.

”I am here and brought companyyy” Mina chants at the boys.

They perk up at the sound of her voice and all turn their heads towards us. You and Himiko smile not knowing what to do next.

”Hey, these are my friends, Himiko Toga and Y/n L/n !” Izuku introduces us.

He turns to us and points at the boys one by one.

”This is Kacchan- I mean Katsuki Bakugo. You already know him.” he laughs pointing at the blond with red eyes.

Bakugo nods his head with an almost visible smile.

”This is Denki Kaminari” The other blond points finger guns at us.

”This is Eijiro Kirishima” the red haired boy waves at us with a smile.

“And last but not least Sero Hanta” the black haired boy throws a peace sign at us and winks.

They all greet us happily and urge us to sit with them. You began talking for what seemed like hours, they told you they were part of the school volleyball team.

”Oh that’s so cool, how long have y'all been playing for?” you ask.

”We pretty much have been since we were kids. We practically all met through that.” Kirishima responds cheerfully. “Yeah we’re all like a biggg family” Kaminari leans on his shoulder.

Bakugo turns his head at us before speaking “So y/n, art huh? How is it being an artist?”

I laugh “I’m not an artist, artist yet but—“ you were cut off by Izuku.

”Oh stop that you draw, you paint even if it's not professionally yet you’re still an artist.”

”Yeah, it doesn’t matter even if it was just a hobby, you still are an artist.” Sero joins him before continuing. “And how is it going so far?”

”To be honest? Right now, horrible.” you chuckle.

They all seem taken back as their eyes slightly widen.

“It’s mostly because of an assignment our teacher already gave us.”

”Oh that's rough— On the first day?” Kirishima says.

”Yeah, I have like half of the school year to complete it? And it's worth 30% of my final grade too.” You lean your head on your hand. “I need to pick a student I don't know, to study their life? Like get to know them so I can make a painting of it—“

”You can study me?” Sero suddenly says, catching you off guard. “We just met so that’ll be perfect and I get to spend time with a cute girl like you so it’s a win-win situation.” He smiles and leans back on his chair.

You stare at him. That’s...a good idea actually you think to yourself and it’s not a total stranger if it’s one of Izuku’s friends…right?

”Well Sero you’ve got yourself a deal” I smile back at him.

”Call me Hanta.”

a/n i hope you guys like this aaah i'm so nervous and excited to post this...🤧 see u guys in the next part! 💋

[asgardianechoes]

It’s Nice to Have a Friend

Loki x Reader Slight Angst + Fluff

Summary: Loki is imprisoned for life, and you, his childhood friend, decide to visit him.

Inspired by the song It’s Nice to Have a Friend by Taylor Swift.

Note: It’s written in third person, and the pronouns at the beginning are she/her. It switches to the pronoun you after a while.

Word Count: 1.6k

Pacing around in his small cell, Loki was seething. His head still couldn’t get around what had happened to him. Imprisoned for life. How? How could Odin dare? Well, he thought miserably, staring into the opposite cell, I suppose he did always favor Thor. The thought stabbed him deep in the heart. He was always shoved aside. Always second. Always alone.

The thought of staying in this small, public yet private area for the rest of his four thousand years of living was painful. He didn’t want to stay here. Why didn’t his mother do anything? Bringing him books was nice, he supposed, but wouldn’t she try to save him, at the very least? Because she’s not… his thought trailed off. He couldn’t bring himself to think that. He loved her. He truly did.

It was the middle of the night, he could sense it, even if the dungeon was underground and had no windows. A distant patter of someone scurrying across the landing caught his attention. Man, it was hard, trying to fall asleep under these blazing lights. He swung his legs off the bed with little enthusiasm, sighed deeply, and walked towards the large window that exposed him to everyone who looked.

He wasn’t surprised when he saw the veiled shadow walk hurriedly, as if wanting to get something over with. What totally normal was, because no one liked to be here anyways, prisoner or not. What did surprise him was the flash of [h/c] hair that flew behind them, her steps marching toward his cell. His cell. A flash of memory flew past in his head, remembering. No, it can’t be. She wouldn’t… not after this…

Once she came to a halt in front of his giant window, he put on a tragic version of his signature smirk. But of course. He should’ve known. It was just another person about to rant how bad of a person he was. Just another being, about to tell him just now terrible and unworthy he’d been. But the person in front of his cell did neither. After a while of silent staring, she took her cloak off, revealing the one person he’d wished not to see: you.

You looked at him with tragedy glowing in your eyes. You’d never wanted to see him there, never. You knew of his familial troubles, but never knew he’d take it this far. It hurt, to see him like this. Imprisoned and lost. With no one’s support.

His heart also skipped a beat. How long had it been since he’d seen you? He couldn’t remember. He only knew that it was a lot longer than he wanted it to be. He doesn’t enjoy hurting people, especially not you. You were the only friend he had as a child, and never turned away from him, even after knowing he was a Frost Giant. You didn’t care about what being he was. You cared only about him. You were his sole glimmer of light in his realm of darkness. You led him out of sadness and misery. But he betrayed you. He left you, without thinking twice. Or maybe he didn’t think at all.

‘Why are you here,’ he asked, his voice determined but with a slight hint of longing, ‘Have you come to gloat? To mock? You’re just like the others, aren’t you? Just here to see me break, to see me fall.’

You stared back into his blue eyes but doesn’t say anything. This certainly wasn’t what she expected him to say when she decided to visit him.

‘Well?’ he hissed, his voice laced with venom and a sliver of guilt, ‘Say something!’ His voice raised.

You merely looked back at him, looking away when he half yelled at her. Guilt filled his entire being. He couldn’t- Why was he-

When you glanced back, your eyes were shining with unshed tears. You opened your mouth, your voice about to break. ‘I came,’ you whispered hoarsely, ‘because I missed you.’

These words hit Loki with a pang. I missed you. They echoed in his head, awakening every nerve and bringing out all the guilt that he hid away. His breathing became ragged, shallow. Before he could properly react, however, you pressed on.

‘You were gone for a year, I thought… I thought… I thought I lost you,’ you said, tears falling freely from your eyes. Every bat of your eyelids poured more down, until they collected at your chin and dripped onto the dungeon floor. Shakily, she steps through the barrier and leaves very little space between them. She stared up at him with her [e/c] eyes.

‘I was so worried,’ she said, taking his hand in her own and pressing her forehead against his chest. ‘I missed you,’ she repeated, fully leaning into him, wrapping her arms around his waist. Oh, how you missed his scent, his clothes, everything. He had meant so much to you. How many nights you’d curl up in his old room and cry. How many times hearing his name brought you new tears.

Slowly, his head came around. Tears were welling up in his eyes, too. He loved you too… But would he ever be able to love you like he did before? Before… a feeling of regret washed over him. If only he didn’t let go. If only he didn’t fling himself off the Bifrost… then maybe everything would’ve been alright…

His arms crawled up your back, holding you close. The emotions flying around his head was making him dizzy, unsure of what to do. Only two words made it past his mouth: ‘Don’t go.’

It wasn’t just an order. It was a plea, only found in the most desperate people in the world. Now he understood what people meant when they said that the most hurt people smile the brightest. Because they know. They know that everything is over. That everything will finally be alright.

You hugged him tighter. ‘I won’t,’ you told him quietly, your words slightly muffled by his clothes, ‘I won’t leave you. Not ever. I’ll stay with you, even after you go to Valhalla.’

Loki’s tears fell down his cheeks, his heart swelling. How he’d missed this. How he’d missed your voice, your soft body pressed to his. The gratefulness he had in himself was barely describable through words. In that moment, he felt like the happiest man alive. He was so damn glad you were there. Always there.

‘I never meant to hurt you, or any of them,’ he said softly, one of his hands coming up to pat your head. You nodded, showing your agreement. ‘Why,’ he gulped as he pressed on, ‘why don’t you… hate me like the others?’ Your answer didn’t come late.

‘Because I know you better than they do. I know you didn’t mean it.’ Your voice was soothing, like the fireplace in winter. ‘I know you’d never do something like that. Never. I know that it was him that forced you.’

His heard clenched when you mentioned Thanos. ‘That madman…’ his voice quivered, ‘He tortured me to the brink of insanity. Took pleasure in watching me break.’ You pressed further into him. ‘I know,’ you repeated, ‘I know. And therefore I love you.’

His heart skipped a beat again. Looking down at you, he asked, his voice barely a whisper: ‘Do you know, or even have the slightest idea, what I’ve become?’

‘You’re the exact same as before, just… you know. Tortured and broken.’ You were uncertain when you said this. You knew he was sensitive on this topic. You knew him so well.

‘Do you know what I’ve done?’ he asked, his tone sinking drastically, as if he didn’t want to know the answer.

‘Well, yes.’ You replied again, trying to sound as reassuring as possible.

‘Do you know,’ he was fully shaking by now, ‘what monster lives inside me…?’

You lifted your head, staring into the depths of his eyes. The only things you found were sorrow, fear, and guilt. Choosing your words, you said:

‘Yes, and it’s a monster that was born out of darkness. And before that empty darkness, there was a heart, a source of light and warmth that lit up the whole place. You see, hearts need to be fed with love, otherwise they die away. That’s exactly what happened to yours.’ You traced your index finger over where his heart was, drawing a shaky breath out of him.

‘Without the heart, the place was submerged in darkness, and out of that darkness grew a monster. Something people despise. But all that it’s trying to do…’ you trailed off, bringing your hands off his waist to hold his, ‘is to not let anyone else grow a new heart in that blank, because it’s afraid that if it ever happens, it’ll be broken again.’ A second of silence reigned between you, your breathings heavy. Finally, he spoke.

‘Will you… grow me a new heart…?’ he asked, his eyes filled with plea, ‘Will you fill that unbearable blank?’

You answered without hesitation. ‘Yes, of course. And I’ll make sure it’ll never be broken ever again.’

Loki’s eyes glowed as you said this. It was as if someone had taken off the invisible weight weighing him down. He sighed in both relief and gratitude, bending down to kiss you. You returned his kiss, hungry for him.

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered against your lips, his breath mixing with your own. ‘The pressure killed me. I couldn’t bear-‘ you shushed him, closing the distance between your lips once more. His heart lifted, rising up into his chest. It was just as you described. Your love and care made a new heart bloom in his chest.

‘I’m so damn glad I have you,’ he whispered again, his eyes closing, feeling you. ‘I must thank you. For everything. You made me feel… alive.’

You smiled. ‘But of course. It’s nice to have a friend, isn’t it?’

Hope you enjoyed it!

Tags: @vbecker10 @simplyholl @mischiefmaker615 @lokisgoodgirl

Tell me if you want to be in my taglist!

[yourstingrey]

“What are you wearing…?”

Description: you forget about laundry day and are forced with the tough decision of going out in your most embarrassing pajamas set in front of a certain Hermes camp counselor

A/N: I haven't written a fic since uh 2019…? So my writing is a bit rusty but I wanted to try to get back into it so hopefully you all don't think this is too bad😭😭😭 The pajamas are inspired from this OW2 character's outfit but obvi changed for the fic! Anywho if you do like this hopefully it'll inspire me to write even more little fics but thank you for reading if you choose to do so and I hope you're having a wonderful day/evening/night!!

wc:1009

Pairings: Athena!reader x Luke Castellan

Warnings!: fluff pretty much and the reader getting teased

You don't even know how you could have forgotten it was an honest mistake anyone could make but certainly not as embarrassing for everyone else. You had woken up just like any other day yawning not truly ready to get up for the day but at camp half blood unless you're a child of Hypnos sleeping in isn't the smartest.

As you stretch out and then slip your feet into your slippers you finally make that last stumble out of bed. Walking up to my dresser and open up the drawer noticing how barren it is so much so a cartoon mouth might as well fly out. I turned around to march up to my laundry hamper, deciding it better to re-wear something this once than to simply have nothing else until I noticed it was missing from its key spot. 

I looked up to see if any of my siblings were in the room and saw my sister, Bea “Hey uh Bea have you seen my laundry hamper? I can't remember where I put it…” I say to her with sleepy confusion laced into my voice “Oh yeah well it's laundry day and you were sleeping for a while so Annabeth decided to take yours and do it for you!” Bea explained, “So all my clothes are in the wash.” “Oh yeah sorry is that a bad thing I mean I can't say I won't judge you if you wanna be those people who don't bathe or anything..” Bea says with an astute tone to her voice and a clear grimace on her face “Um no no it's fine…” I replied under my breath.

I walked back to my drawer deliberating between just going out in my PJs or trying to squeeze into some old t-shirt from my first years at camp. I think we all know what I picked but I did decide if I'm going to wear my PJs out I can still wear my normal shoes, lacing up my sneakers I head out marching my way to the mess hall. 

I walk quietly the cold crisp camp air biting at my cheeks while I notice the cold I fail to notice the sound of a certain Hermes boy sneaking up on me before he lightly tugged on one of my braids “Woah woah where are you going girl” Luke said as he stepped in front of me.

 “Luke! I hate when you do that my hair takes a while y'know.” Luke irked me to no end yet I couldn't help but enjoy all our tiny arguments. “Hold on. What are you wearing…?”

 I look down at my outfit: a basic white sleep tank but then lavender pajama pants with owls and moons scattered about with a matching cardigan on top. “What are you jealous, Castellan?” “Very you think we can get matching sets, hm?” Luke replied with a smirk evident on his face.

“ Ugh Why have you come to pester me Luke” I huff out at him as I shift under his gaze “Just wanted to know if you’re still gonna come to training later” I almost freeze up a little as though it might be small Luke has usually never asked to see if I'm coming or not it's not like its hard for him to get another sparring partner. 

“Hmm I don't know.. These are my best fighting clothes. I think they actually might let me beat you this time butttt I already promised Annabeth to sneak out into the strawberry fields with her later..” As I say this I start to continue my walk to the mess hall not letting Luke interrupt my stride.

“Hey wait wait tell her you’ll go on a different day!” Luke jogs back over and starts walking with me “I don't know why you’re being so persistent this time you’ve never acted like this before!” I sass back to him “Oh what I just want to spare with my favorite Athena girl” “Well it's not gonna happen you can spare with me tomorrow okay” my voice holding a teasing tone.

I look at him and scrunch my nose at him as if he were the foul smell you would get if you ventured to the stables. But with that pause in my step, Luke took it to his advantage quickly snagging the owl sleeping mask off of my head and holding it up.

“Well, you'll just have to come by if you want this back then hmm little owl.” With him snatching my eye mask and this newly formed nickname my face glowed a light pink you would think I was a daughter of Aphrodite for a second “Wait what-” Luke already cut me off with a quick peck to my cheek stunning me again and starts to strut off before calling over his shoulder “Okay see you later then my little owl!”

I turn to watch him walk for a mere second before knocking some sense into myself and continuing my walk. I know I shouldn't go. I'm a daughter of Athena, I should be smarter than this but maybe Annabeth could wait a day. It's just fruit…  I think I just really need “my sleeping mask” back…

[middlingmay]

Birthday sex? Its Austin's birthday tomorrow so perfect occasion

Anon! I'm sorry this took me so long.

A while ago I asked for ideas for sexy scenes so I could practice writing them. Two of them helped me with an idea I've been kicking around for a while, and well. Here it is.

Bucky wears stockings, and Buck knows exactly how to feel about it.

It follows on several months after my Gale Cleven Never Learned to Flirt fic.

7K words of the spiciest thing I think I've ever written. Enjoy (if you're over 18).

-

It was March. The nip in the air had lost most of its bite, but it still nibbled at the tips of your fingers and ears and nose. It shot a draft up any nook and cranny it could if you didn’t wrap up tight enough. It was rarely a problem for John. The military get up was top heavy. Always had been. After the Stalag it was one of the few things that kept his feet on the ground, so to speak, when the winter came around.

But the bottom half of a fella? Protected only by wool slacks and some socks and whatever underwear you were able to fit under it? There was a reason the boys on base stamped their legs when they came in from the cold. John knew his own legs had borne the brunt of the bad weather more than once.

But today John felt pretty toasty down there. It was a delightfully unintended side affect of this whole endeavour.

He’d wanted to do this sooner. Ever since last summer when Gale had let it slip. But the logistics were surprisingly difficult, and in the end he’d had to resort to some identity theft and prayed his older sister didn’t ever come to town and need to use that particular store.

Besides, they had something special to celebrate in March, so it all worked out.

Why he’d worn them to work, John still couldn’t quite explain to himself. He’d wanted to try them on, and they had looked so seamless under the bulk of his uniform that he just…hadn’t taken them off.

He wore them as he was hailed and saluted by the junior ranks when he arrived on base. He wore them when he and the other COs had their morning briefing and shared some smokes over their morning coffee. He wore them when arguing with Vickers about the game. He wore them when he reamed out a cadet for trying to take a plane on a joyride—the very same thing he and Buck had done when they were reckless kids.

And it had…done something for him. Maybe it was just because it was taboo, and it always tickled John to push at boundaries and see what he could get away with. Maybe he liked having a secret when everyone called him an open book (he wasn’t; not since coming back state side, not to anyone but Buck). Maybe he liked the duplicity of it. On one hand, the Lieutenant Colonel. On the other, the degenerate.

Or maybe it was none of that psychological bullshit at all. John had never worn silk before today, with the exception of a tie or a handkerchief or a parachute. But fuck if it didn’t feel nice against his skin. Against all of his skin.

He’d requested an early finish today to he could beat Buck home, and it was a good thing, too. The closer it came to finishing time, the harder it was for John to keep his composure.

He and Gale had come a long way since they made that final step in their physical relationship. John had been so frightened of pushing. He had assumed that Gale needed time to acclimatise to wanting a man like that, wanting John like that. But he’d been terrifically, blessedly wrong, and Gale had been wanting for longer than John had ever realised. They never balked at asking each other to try something new, but Gale had never revisited what he’d mentioned that day he mounted John in the living room, taking what he wanted.

But John would give Gale anything. Including this. His Buck might be a little unsure, might be a little hesitant to go for it, shy about his desires, but John would get him there. John would guide Gale’s hands to his thighs so his fingers could tickle at the hems. He’d show Gale how to grip his waist without risking the clasps coming undone. He’d walk him through just how tight he could pull the straps without them breaking. He’d show him how to be gentle so he didn’t rip the silk.

He’d show him everything.

But first, dinner.

Gale was the cook in their household. Through sheer determination John had started to take up baking. He’d only just managed to make barely passable cookies, and that was because he threw a frankly scandalous amount of sugar in there and loaded them up with chunky chocolate chips that hid a multitude of sins. But when it came to making actual meals, he was hopeless. He could boil water, heat soup, peel vegetables and fry bacon in the pan. But anything more complicated than that was Gale’s far more patient, focused, and diligent domain.

But not tonight. Tonight John had the jump on him.

He pulled up outside Jenny’s. They kept in touch with Macon (and Jefferson, though he was more Gale’s pen pal than John’s, pair of know-it-all's), and it turned out he had a friend who’s wife had a restaurant out here. Her husband hadn’t made it back, but before he left he’d promised her that after the war they were going to start the restaurant they’d always dreamed of. So she’d gone and done it for both of them, and she served some of the best food John had ever eaten. It was Gale’s number one choice every time he got to pick where they went out for dinner.

He’d called ahead and placed his order, and Jenny had it waiting for him as he slipped through the door and tried to weave his way through the crush of bodies.

A server waved him down. “Got your food Mr Egan. It’s hot—Jenny just sent it through.”

Louis. A good kid. Sharp kid. John handed him a couple of dollars tip. “I don’t know how she does it, Louis. Woman’s magic.”

“Don’t I know it.”

John beat a hasty retreat and buckled the bag of food into the passenger seat. It was precious cargo, and their night was not going to go the way John wanted if he let anything happen to dinner from Jenny’s.

He got home with fifteen minutes to spare. Plenty of time to change into fresh clothes and plate up.

He was just pouring himself some wine and Gale some cordial when the man himself walked in the door. His satchel looked heavy over his shoulder and his cheeks were pink from the evening chill. John was already smiling like a goddamn idiot just looking at him.

When Gale saw him standing next to a fully laid table complete with one solitary candle and smelled that tell tale aroma, he shucked his coat and his bag with a rarely seen haste.

“Did you get dinner? From Jenny’s?”

“Mhm,” John trilled sing-song and smug. “Your favourite.”

Gale inhaled a lungful and moaned like he could already taste it from the smell alone. His hands floated to John’s waist as he looked longingly at the food, and John managed to quickly set his hands further up his ribs without him noticing the redirection.

“What’s the special occassion?” Gale pulled him close and pressed their foreheads together. “S’nice.”

John grinned wide and toothy. “Happy birthday.”

Gale pulled back, brows furrowed and tick of a smile playing at his lips. “My birthday was in December.”

Didn’t he know it. It had been miserable this year. A couple days before Christmas and right as a cold snap had hit them. It was the coldest the year had been so far, and they’d barely had it in them to celebrate. Instead they’d cooked as much food as they could, piled the fire high and burrowed themselves under blankets and pillows and each other. They’re refused to allow a single pang of hunger or chill of the cold get anywhere near them.

“Gale Cleven’s birthday was in December,” John corrected him. “Buck’s is in March.”

Realisation dawned with eyes sparkling like the sea in broad daylight from the cockpit of a B-17.

“We met in March 19—”

“1940. Happy seventh birthday, Buck.”

Gale wrapped his arms around John’s neck and kissed him slow and sweet. Warm like the glow of the fire they enjoyed in winter evenings. There was the barest, slightest hint of a pull, like Gale had to stop himself from drawing John’s lips into his mouth, into the waiting nip of his teeth.

He pulled back and set his forehead against John’s, his own smile a goofy match. “You’re a sap, John Egan.”

“Your sap.”

John got one more kiss before Gale was pulling away eagerly sitting down to their meal. To this day, watching Gale eat hale and hearty filled John with a joy he couldn’t quite describe.

Their meal passed with pleasant chatter, mostly led by Gale between bites as John tried to keep his focus on the good food and better company. But in his excitement, and a little nervousness, his leg was bouncing. And he could feel the slip of silk against his skin again.

“You haven’t paid attention to a word I said, have you?”

John’s eyes snapped back to Gale’s, who was trying not to laugh at him.

“Am I boring you?”

John licked his lip. “Far from it.”

Draining the last of his drink, Gale got up and stepped around the table to stand before John. John’s legs opened to let Gale slip between them. He tilted his head back as far as it could go as Gale stepped as close as he could get.

“Something else on your mind?” Gale’s voice was low and coy. Playful. John liked him playful.

“I got something else for you.” John tipped forward and kissed the flat of Gale’s stomach through his shirt, softer on account of their meal. “But it’s not for out here.”

That pricked at Gale’s curiosity. John wasn't one of those folks who thought sex was between them, the bedroom, and the Lord. They’d made it in every room in the house. So, for him to confine it to the bedroom tonight. Well, Gale wanted to know. Needed to know.

“Alright then. Take me upstairs.”

John obeyed the one and only command he expected Gale to be able utter tonight. They had an equal amount of give and take when it came to sex. They both liked being in charge and giving it up depending on their mood. But John knew this was going to be so far outside of Gale’s experience that he’d be the one leading tonight. And he liked the thought. Loved it, even, of being the steady hand behind Gale’s pleasure.

Inside their room, John flipped the lock and Gale’s brows kissed his hairline. But before Gale could ask the questions John could see brewing in that big ol’ noggin, he leaned against the door, hands clasped behind his back and pushed his hips out. A summons Gale had never been able to refuse.

And he didn’t now.

Gale's long, supple hands gripped his hips with a strength that always sent John into a tail spin. People saw Gale’s pretty face and often jumped to the wrong conclusions. He was wicked, sharp, fast, and strong, and more than capable of putting John down when he had to. It was a heady thrill to have that type of strength panting for you, whimpering for you. And that was John’s goal by the end of the night.

Gale swept his hands round to cup and grab at John’s ass, but John laced their fingers together before he could get there. “You missed something,” he said, drawing Gale’s hands up towards his waist.

Gale's pout was cute, and John wanted to pull at it with his teeth. But he wouldn't do anything to miss this moment. He didn’t even blink as Gale touched and traced and explored his body until he caught it. There. A deepening crease between his eyes as Gale felt something covering the thick, meaty softness of John’s waist. He watched Gale’s eyes close as he concentrated, following the line as he figured out it went all the way around. He watched Gale look down as he tried to gauge the thickness of it.

Then he watched that gorgeous fuckin’ mouth drop open and heard the sharp hitch of breath as Gale realised what he was touching.

“You didn’t think I forgot, did you?”

Gale’s fingers dug in. A couple of them slipped under the top of the garter belt, taking fingerfulls of John’s shirt with it. Quick puffs of air fell against John’s lips and Gale’s eyes were wide and unfocused as he stared at John’s waist.

“Hey, it’s okay.” John stroked up Gale’s arms until he could cup Gale’s neck and squeezed it in a soothing beat. “I know it’s new. But we don't have to do anything you’re uncomfortable with. And I’ll talk you throu—”

“John.” It was said with a bolt of steel that straightened John’s spine. He hadn’t heard that voice come out of Gale since they’d last disciplined replacements together in England. It had his cock hard and throbbing behind the delicate little panties so quick he near felt dizzy.

“You’ll talk when you’re spoken to. Do you understand?”

The door clacked as John slumped back against it. He felt a fine tremor start to warm and thrum in the muscles of his thighs. He wondered if Gale could see it? The way his eyes were focused on John like Gale was some great prowling beast and John the tasty morsel made him feel like Gale could see right through John's clothes, to the treat that awaited him.

Gale dragged his fingers, still just easing past the eaves of the garter belt, over the fabric on John’s shirt, around to the divots of his waist. He grabbed a better handful and tugged, testing the tautness, the tension, and the pull. Then John was yanked forward by his waist, the belt biting into his skin and straining under the strength of Gale’s hands. The pinch of the fabric had him gasping against Gale’s mouth as he smirked at John.

“I said, do you understand. Doll?”

John’s mouth fell open and a groan fell out. He let it roll out on his tongue as he tried to slip it against the petal-like softness of Gale’s lips. But Gale saw it coming and pulled back, and John tried not to whine like a dog.

Because he didn’t understand. He didn’t understand at all. He was supposed to help Gale fulfill one of his fantasies. He was supposed to lead and guide Gale through the experience and help him discover new realms of pleasure. He was going to watch Gale fall apart because of him.

But that wasn’t the Gale staring down at him now as he leaned into John’s space and had his back arching against the door. This Gale was in charge, in control, and ready to order his subordinate at his will.

How many women had John called doll in his lifetime? How many times had he said it to Gale and watched his cheeks pinken and eyes darken?

But oh, he got it now.

John nodded so hard his head smacked against the door, and Gale chuckled low and syrupy.

“Easy, sweetheart. Need you clear headed for this. For now.”

That’ll be a fuckin’ miracle, John thought.

Gale stepped back and John went to follow until a sharp click in Gale’s throat stopped him dead. Gale retreated backwards to the bed, eyes fixed on John, thumbing open the buttons of his shirt collar until the back of his knees touched the bed.

Slowly, he sank down with his legs spread wide, almost obscene like the way young men do when they have something to prove. But Gale didn’t have to prove a damn thing. He just wanted John’s attention, and he had it. John eyed the endless stretch of Gale’s legs, perfect for wrapping around his waist, or hooking over his shoulder, or driving John were Gale wanted him as he flexed his thighs. John knew their valleys intimately, from the delicate knob of his ankle to the mouth-watering bulge of his cock.

But John didn’t see that bulge now. He stamped down the little flash of disappointment that sparked up. He’d just have to work a little harder. Gale hadn’t seen anything yet, after all.

“You said you got a treat for me?” Gale’s voice was that deep and trembling bass he got that tightened John’s skin and made his insides quiver.

“Yeah,” he barely managed to whisper.

“Show me.”

John had never been one for following orders. But he’d never balk at Gale’s. That particular command gave him some of his Egan charm and bravado rushing back. A natural born showman, he was. And his man wanted a performance.

If he knew tonight was going to go in this direction, he would have found a good station on the radio, or put the record player on loud enough to filter up to the bedroom. But as it was, the only music he had was the warm creak of well-worn, trodden-soft floorboards; the soft shushing slip of his clothes as he ran his fingers down the length of his chest, into the v of his hips, into the flesh of his thighs. His only rhythm was the hammering of his heart, the breaths that hitched and gasped no matter how hard he tried to control them, and Gale’s minute shifts on the bed that sounded deafening tucked away secret in their room.

John traced his fingers back up from his knees to his hips, and he caught Gale’s finger stroking the bedsheets as he watched. John snagged the edges of his shirt and, using the flat of his palm just like he did doing yard work on a hot day, rucked the bottom of his shirt up to show Gale a flash of skin he loved so well. There was barely a day that went by that John didn't have some form of love bite fading on the skin of his belly.

But he showed Gale much more than that. After his rough handling earlier, one side of the garter belt had risen and settle higher on his hip, and now it peeked above the band of John’s slacks. John hadn't liked the belts that looked like a bolt of stretched, shiny fabric. Instead, he’d gotten one with semi-transparent windows against his flesh that let the pale skin peek through the opaque blackness. Stiff, geometric lines ran parallel, and pierced and broke up those glimpses. Gale was going to love it.

Gale’s hands clutched the covers underneath him in bunches as he glimpsed the little peek of the belt jutting over his hip, before John let his shirt fall back.

Gale’s eyes snapped to him and John caught the briefest flash of not-quite-anger, but heat. It was John’s favourite thing: testing that famous Cleven patience until it broke. Because Gale broke good.

“I said show me, John. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

John’s cock had been straining against the lake and silk on his panties for a while now. But the edge in Gale’s voice, the demand tinged with a hint of desperation? It jerked near painfully against its delicate confines, and John felt the sticky drops of his precum leak between flesh and silk, melding them together.

Fuck, he wanted to make Gale repeat himself.

His fingers trembled as he undid his shirt, button by button. He made sure to touch and pet each inch of skin as he slowly peeled his shirt open down the middle. He toyed on the last button a little, fingered the curve of it, rubbed it against his belly, until Gale leaned forward and opened his mouth to tell John off. But John didn’t let him get there. With a flick he undid the last button, but caught the edges of his shirt before they could fall away and it stole up Gale’s breath just like it snatched away what the younger man really wanted.

Holding the bottom corners of his shirt in one hand, John teasingly drew them down his torso and dipped them into the top of his slacks. He held his hand there a second, and pulled the shirt down tighter, stretching the fabric against the width of his shoulders and the expanse of his chest which he knew Gale loved. But the temptation was too much. He’d been achingly hard since Gale got the drop on him and it was right there. John pushed his hand down further before Gale could tell him to stop and almost sobbed as he pressed into the coil of his cock stuffed into too-small panties.

“Stop, John.”

John’s laugh was breathy and high. No fuckin’ way was he going to stop at the barest hint of relief. If he didn’t give himself something, he was going to blow untouched like some green kid.

But Gale wasn’t playing, and his next words were laden heavy with warning. “I said. Stop.”

John did, but didn’t remove his hand. Gale’s eyes were dark and hard and glinting with a side he didn’t trust anyone but John with. But God, John was desperate. It was no secret that he loved attention, but being under Gale’s scrutiny like this was almost too much. Almost.

“Please, Buck,” he sighed, shameless in his need. “I can’t… I just need a little…” He trailed off into a groan as his hand cupped and caressed his cock again.

He managed to open his eyes and Gale was half way to him from the bed. He was glowering, disappointed in John, and his jaw was tight.

Christ. He was in trouble, now.

Without a word, without looking away from John’s eyes, Gale pulled on John’s wrist and yanked his hand out of his pants. The fabric of his slacks roughed up John’s hand a little and he hummed at the pleasant burn. He went to rub it gently with his other, but Gale snatched that one up too and held them tight and unforgiving.

He gently knocked his forehead into John’s and let the tips of their noses brush.

“I know you can listen better than that, John. You wanna be good for me, don’t you?”

John grit his teeth. He did. He did want to be good. He always wanted to make it good for his Buck. But he wasn’t sure he could, he was so worked up. It had been building all day, bubbling and simmering and ready to boil over with just the slightest crank in the heat.

And Gale hadn’t even kissed him yet. Not since they came into the bedroom. Had barely touched him. John dared to pant into Gale’s mouth, but no further.

“Please, Buck.”

Gale tutted, the clack of his tongue like lead shot in his belly. “Poor baby. You just need a little help, right sugar?”

God, yes. He just needed Gale to touch him, just enough. Just until his head stopped swimming and he could do for Gale what he’d been planning all day.

Gently, like he might if John were a woman, Gale kissed him. Short, sweet, feather light kisses at first. And when John pushed harder, he allowed it. He pushed John’s hands behind his back and squeezed his wrists; a silent command to keep them there. But he would. He could be good now Gale was giving him something.

Gale let the very tips of their tongues touch in the barest hint of a caress before he gentled the kiss again. John keened but drank up every taste of Gale’s lips he could get, all sweet with cordial. Gale’s hands slid up his chest and over his shoulders and dragged John’s shirt down and down. John sighed into Gale’s mouth with relief. He’d foregone an undershirt when he changed after coming home from work, and was grateful for it now. The air of the room was cool against his heated skin, and he felt it tighten with goosebumps and shivered pleasantly.

Gale kissed his way from the corner of John’s mouth along the square jut of his jaw and down the thick column of his neck. John bared it all until he felt the skin stretch across the base of his throat with a tightness that told you that was enough. Gale suckled and nibbled on John’s skin just, just, below where his shirt collars sat. He tugged and tugged and John’s shirt, and John wriggled and helped him get it down to his wrists.

And he felt the pearly hardness of Gale’s teeth against his neck as he grinned.

“Atta boy, Johnny.”

Gale grabbed John’s shirt tight and yanked and pulled and twisted. John couldn’t see what he was doing, but when he was finished, wearing a pleased, satisfied smile as he took John’s face in his hands and kissed him sweet and full, John went to draw up his own hands so he could touched the beautiful planes of Gale’s face. But they were stuck fast.

Gale pulled back and his smirk was a small and wicked thing.

“You needed help,” he said and John tugged fruitlessly at the bond Gale had made of his shirt around his wrists. “That should help you behave.”

The groan that kicked out of John’s chest was bestial. He bit down hard on his lip and slumped into Gale, who laughed at him and petted his hair.

“It’s not too tight,” he asked, kissing the shell of John’s ear.

John shook his head dumbly against Gale’s shoulder.

“Mm. Good.”

John’s stomach swooped, that pleasant, almost arousing way it did on your first flight, as Gale ducked suddenly and John was left swaying there, trying to keep himself steady. But seeing Gale Cleven on his knees in front of you, smiling like the devil incarnate with fingertips plucking at the teeth and tongue of your belt, was as far from steady as a man could get.

Gale made mercifully short work of John’s belt. His button was yanked open so hard John thought it might pop, and his zipper was thurst harshly down. Gale shoved John’s slacks over his hips, and—

And stopped.

Gale could see the garter belt now. He traced those pretty black geometric lines with his fingers. He scratched along where it met the skin of John’s torso. He thumbed the opaque segments like he was testing to see if he could really feel John’s skin through them.

Then he unwrapped John like he was the birthday present he’d been waiting for all day. Gale carefully tugged John’s slacks down so he could see the ties properly. Strips of silk with tiny delicate bows stitched on. Gale tumbled forward on his knees like he was drunk, and nosed the line they ran from the garter belt down into spaces still hidden by John’s clothing. Gale nuzzled so close that the ties pressed into his skin.

John felt his panting breaths in the crook where his belly met his groin. He felt wet heat pulse from his cock and thanked God his hands were tied, because otherwise he may have grabbed a handful of Gale’s hair and put him to work.

“S’pretty, John,” Gale whispered, reverent and adoring. John felt it like the zap of a live wire. His whole body flushed, and there was very little left on him to hide it. He’d never been called pretty a day in his life.

Gale eased John’s slacks over the sizeable curve of his ass and down his thighs, until finally John’s panties were revealed and the very tips of the stockings. And that seemed all Gale could take. He fell face first onto John’s silk covered cock with a pained, eager sound. His hands scrabbled to pull John’s trousers off the rest of the way, shoving them down to John’s ankles and cursing when he had to pull away to tear Bucky’s socks off, too.

Until finally, John stood before a worshipful Gale, garter belt tight around his waist, ties good and tight, panties straining and wet, and stockings encasing his thick thighs and strong, long legs.

Suddenly, Gale’s eyes were large and wide and shiny wet. His lips pouty and half open. Like he might cry. “I don’t…” He shook his head as he gazed at John. “I don’t know how to deserve you, John Egan. I don’t know how…”

Gale’s hands grasped desperately at John’s legs, stroking and slipping all over the silk stockings. He was untethered, unmoored, and John had the passing thought that it was good neither of the joined the navy since they both needed anchoring so bad.

John gave Gale a slow crooked smile. “Just breathe, baby. That’s all.”

Gale closed his eyes and something wild tore out of John when Gale bit at the edge of his panties and pulled at them with his teeth until they snapped back into place with a sting.

Then John was in the air. Gale grabbed John’s thighs and bolted upright, hauling John over his shoulder. John yelped at the display of strength, positive Gale could feel the way his cock throbbed against his shoulder. He felt Gale’s hands worry at the panty line on his ass and land a hard, solid smack on the exposed flesh around the triangle of silk that hardly covered his ass. Then his world was tilting and Gale threw him on the bed. When John looked up at him, bouncing on the mattress, arms still behind his back, Gale’s eyes were raw and wild.

“Just breathe,” he repeated John’s words back at him as he petted the top of the stockings. “You best remember that.”

He slipped his hands underneath John’s arms and sat him up. A few rearrangements later and John was being pushed against a soft wall of pillows so he could look comfortably down to where Gale sat between his sprawling legs.

“Comfy?”

John tugged at his bindings. They were tight but not painful. And he had enough movement that his shoulders and elbows didn’t bear the strain.

“Like a kitten on a cloud.”

Gale gave him his favourite smile, apple-cheeked and from under lowered lashes. It made John want to grab and squeeze and bite him. But he couldn’t do any of that right now and had to lie there under Gale’s weighty, considering gaze and take whatever he was about to be given.

Gale's hands smoothed over John’s chest. His fingers traced under the ridge of his collar bones. The heel of his hands pressed into the bud of John’s nipples, dragging against them in their exploration and John arched his back and pushed into it. Gale dragged his nails down John’s ribs and it made him squirm and wiggle, but with the way Gale had him boxed in and trapped on the bed he had no where to go. So he had to writhe and tremble and take it, the slight scratch of pain the only thing keeping him from losing his mind.

Gale's hands finally came to rest at John’s hips, and his thumbs rubbed soothing circles into his hipbones. And John knew what came next. If he knew anything, he knew what came next.

Gale swooped down and mouthed over soft, giving skin of John’s stomach. John moaned his relief loud and unrepentant, gratified there was at least one thing he’d been able to predict about tonight.

The bite of Gale’s teeth rained down with his mouthing kisses. A shiny, slick trail dotted Gale’s path around the proof of their recovery over the past couple of years. He sucked in mouthfuls of John’s flesh until the skin tingled and throbbed and red and purpling patches staked his claim.

“You know," Gale murmured between tastes. "Some of the guys at college brag about how tight their girls can cinch their waists. I couldn’t help but find that strange.” He wrapped his long hands around John’s waist, something pleasant rumbling in his chest when they came nowhere close to touching. “Why would you brag about your girl going hungry? Hm? Wanna keep you full, John. Want my girl’s waist nice and thick and strong. So I know I’m sating her good.”

In more ways than one, John hoped. “Please,” he hissed and Gale’s hand’s dug tighter into his waist. “You do. You do. So good, Buck. Take such good care of me. Please—”

Gale cut him off with a kiss, a good and real kiss, and John felt the wet roll of moisture falling from the corner of his eyes that he hadn’t realised had been building. He wanted to wrap his arms around Gale, to bury his fingers in his hair and trace the sharpness of his jaw, but his hands were still tied uselessly behind him. So he could only sit there as Gale tilted his head back and pressed him as far into the pillows as he could get and kissed him deeper. The tip of his tongue dragged all the way down to the crest of John’s, right at that ridge that took the plunge down into John’s throat. Gale licked the underside of his tongue on his way back, sucking it into his mouth, then nipping on John’s lips, before plundering him all over again.

John could scarce breathe. He didn’t want to, if this was how he was going to go. It wasn’t until one of Gale’s hands pushed hard down on John’s hips that he realised he’d been rutting like an animal, fruitlessly trying to get some friction against Gale but meeting air.

Gale pulled back with one last tug on John's lip and said, “I think I’d like my present now.”

John fell back with a flump. His eyes followed Gale’s hands. They moved up first to tug and yank on the garter belt a little and see how far he could lift John with it. The muscles in Gale’s forearm flexed as he tested it, and finally dropped John back down with a satisfied smile. Then his hands smoothed over the dotted mess he’d made of John’s belly. And just when John thought Gale was finally going to touch him, was finally going to bring him some kind of relief he needed so badly, Gale swerved his hands around the triangle of John’s panties to scrape down his thighs instead.

John swore and lifted his leg to kick at Gale, but he caught him easy.

“Be nice,” he drawled and pressed his thumb into the arch of John’s foot.

“You be nice! I’m dying, here.” Gale looked down to where John’s cock had made a valiant effort to escape his underwear. The flushed, red head peeked out from the bottom, pressed between his thigh, the silk, and John’s balls which had drawn tight, below.

“I can see that. But this was for me, wasn’t it?”

John bit his tongue and groaned harsh and grumbling.

“Wasn’t it?”

John sulked. “Yes.”

“Yes what?”

Another splatter of moisture fell from him and dropped onto the hairs on his thigh. “Yes, sir.”

Gale grinned sharp and toothy, and raised the leg he still held to his shoulder.

Heedless of John’s predicament, Gale turned his face, now lax and blissful, to rub his cheek against John’s ankle. Gently he kissed the bone and mouthed the silk of the stockings, catching that little piece of extra fabric that stretched between the peak of the ankle bone and the flat of his leg between the blunt edges of his front teeth. Just a bite then he let it go, before chasing it with his tongue, swirling around the bony mound and feeling the texture of the stockings.

John had never noticed before with how Gale was so appreciative of every part of him. But he was starting to get the suspicion that his fella might, might, be a leg man.

Gale’s fingers traced down the line of the seam, humming in approval at the military precision of its straightness. Resting John’s leg on his shoulder, he thumbed at the crook of John’s knee with one hand, and with the other kneaded the tense, hard muscles of John’s calf.

The noise John let out was wounded and obscene. “Holy—fuck, Buck. Oh…God that’s good.”

Gale continued to take John apart, teasing the tension out of his muscles and pushing mercilessly down on any knots he found. John was dragging air in through his teeth, whimpering and yelling when Gale locked on a particularly tender knot. And the whole time a constant trickle of viscous, warm pre dropped from his cock and collected in valley of his panties. It had built to the point that every time he shifted, he felt the sticky, squidgy mess against his balls and his taint. He was wet like a woman and Gale hadn’t even touched him there yet.

Gale pressed those lush, plump lips of his in an adoring trail up the inside of John’s leg. He licked and bit, careful not to snag the stockings. When he reached the hem, where black silk gave away to the creamy paleness of John’s thigh dotted with glossy black coils of hair, Gale moaned low in his throat and pushed his face into the crook between thigh and groin. John desperately snatched Gale up in the vice of his thighs and tried to drag him closer to his cock. And for one glorious moment, Gale allowed it. He tipped open-mouthed onto John’s satin covered cock until he could feel the lapping of Gale's tongue against the panties.

“Fuck, Gale, please. That’s it—right there.”

Gale moaned against him and the vibrations kicked John's belly to quivering and his thighs starting shaking, too. God he was going to embarrass himself but it’s be worth it. So fuckin’ worth it—

Gale tore his face away, breathing heavy and climbed back up the length of John's body. No mean feat as John, furious and choking on his own arousal, tried to drag him back down with the power of his legs alone.

But the kiss Gale gave him soothed him some, filthy and wet and slick, and with none of the finesse they’d learned over the years.

“John,” he rumbled into the underside of his jaw. “God, the things you do to me.” He rolled his hips hard against John’s, and his belly dropped so sharp he was sure he was about to come.

“Gale. I—I—”

A piercing sting nipped at the lobe of John’s ear then Gale’s voice was murmuring against him, sending tremors down his body. “You’re right there, aren’t you, John? Right fucking there. Me too, baby. Know how good you look? Fuck, me too.”

But just as John teetered on that precipice, as his eyes blurred with tears of pleasure, Gale stopped and pulled away, and John let out an embarrassing squeal.

“No! No, no, Gale, I was—I was—”

“Shh, shh, shh,” Gale soothed him, petting hair damp with sweat. “I know.” He rained kisses along his forehead. “Just a little longer, yeah. Wanna get a good look at you.”

He dropped a final kiss to John's nose and leaned back, kneeling between John’s thighs high on his waist, thumbing the sides of the panties.

“I’ll be sorry to lose, ‘em.” Gale eyed the thick band at the top of John’s stockings, lingering on where the clips bit into the fabric and pulled at them, keeping them up. They’d performed a valiant service this evening, but their time had come. “But I think you’ve been patient enough.”

With a fierce yank, the render of ripping fabric pierced the room as Gale yanked the clips out of the stockings, ripping the delicate silk. It tore another groan out of John and seemed to finally unseat Gale’s patience. He shoved the garter belt higher up John’s waist, and tore his stockings down, deepening the rips. The way Gale’s hands tightened over the split fabric, John came to the heady realisation that Gale had done it on purpose.

And then finally, finally, Gale tucked his fingers into John’s panties and pulled them down.

The air hitting his cock had John gasping and thrusting into nothing. He heard Gale choke on his own breath before he pushed John’s hips down with his palm, soothing him like he would an animal.

When John could focus enough to look at him, Gale was gazing at him with nothing short of wonder.

“Shit, look at you John.” Gale marvelled over the mess he’d made of himself. “You look like you’ve come already.” God, he might have. This whole time leaking in a steady stream of unbearable heat, maybe he’d been coming the whole time.

“Gale for God—fuckin’ please. I can’t take this. I can’t take this anymore. I’m begging ya. I’ll do anything.”

And Gale, eyes wide and brimming with something heady, something he kept banked and rarely let blaze out like this, and looking fucking ruined for it, shoved the blunt of his knee up into John’s crotch. The perfect mixture of blinding pressure and the tiniest pinch of skin, and John was writhing and thrashing, getting every ounce of friction he could take. He didn't even know what sounds were coming out of his mouth—babbling, whining, shrieking, it didn’t matter so long as Gale didn’t stop.

And thank God this time he wasn’t going to. Gale’s own crotch was mercy to John’s frantic, frenzied movement. He trembled down the length of his spine and the slender curve of his legs. His arms shook where he held himself over John. He felt his lips quiver as the heat bubbling in his gut frothed and spat and he felt the tingling at the base of his spine that told him his end was coming. But God, he’d see John there first. He would.

He weaved a hand into John’s hair and yanked his ear up to his mouth. “You’re so goddamn beautiful baby. My woman, getting all pretty for me? I nearly came at the damn sight of you. While all the fellas at college are complaining about their girls, I get to tell them how mine fed my favourite meal and served it in silk.”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Buck.”

He felt the solid lines of John’s body start to lock. His back arched in a deep valley. All tell tale signs Gale knew like a bedtime story.

“That’s it, sweetheart. That’s it, sugar. Y’look so pretty when you come. Lemme see. Let me—”

For all John’s loudness, Gale had worked him past words. His mouth opened in a silent scream, his lungs ceased to draw in air, and his eyes rolled up past thick lashes as he finally came. Hot spurts of seed lashed over his belly, and Gale drooled at the thought of cleaning him up, a line of spit pooling down into the mess. As Gale kept rocking and pressing into him, John kept coming. When finally dragged in ragged gasping breaths, there wasn’t a bit of him that wasn’t shaking. Gale didn’t want to miss a bit of it, but he was barely able to undo John's bonds with one hand, so he could feel John's touch on him, before his own orgasm hit him. It felt as violent as being torn from a plane. His vision whitened and he used John's body, his jerking, twitching, vulnerable spent body to ride out and milk every last drop from himself, until he mewling, pathetic and sensitive.

John was petting his hair and whispering in his ear when he came back to himself.

“It’s okay. That’s it. I’ve got you. You did so good, Buck. That’s it. You back with me?”

Gale nodded into the crook of John's neck and snuggled closer. He powered through the flinch that rocked both of them as the sensitive skin of their cocks brushed. But nothing could pull him away from John at this moment.

John kissed Gale’s hair and without even looking, Gale could feel the grin against his scalp.

“Happy birthday, Buck.”

“Mm.” Gale felt the loose, hazy drag of sleep put weight in his limbs and on his eyelids. He let them droop shut, but before he let sleep and the warm cradle of John's arms take him, he managed: “John?”

“Mhm?”

“We’re going to need more stockings.”

[milksnake-tea]

The Stellaron Hunters were a group renowned and hated across the galaxies, both feared and respected by the factions. But under those skillful manipulations and operations, was an organization as put together as a monkey circus. You should know this best, as a member of this menagerie.

stellaron hunter!reader (no specific pairings)

contains: cursing, possibly ooc, written before version 1.2, just a bunch of silly shenanigans, unedited, can be read as romantic and platonic !!

word count: 3.7k

a/n: i had to rewrite this like... 4 times bc tumblr kept deleting it :// anyways night dancer got me through this piece so :D u can tell i have a blade preference but listen he's hot

Before we get on with the sillies, let's lay down some groundwork.

Every Stellaron Hunter has a specific role in mind. Blade is the feral dog that you throw at people, Kafka pisses people off (and shoots ig), and Silver Wolf gets past all defenses.

You're the expert on espionage and disguise. With the power of masks, voice changers, and makeup, you can become basically anyone if you put your mind to it. Even people with completely different builds than you, you could pull off - as long as the holographs don't start glitching out.

You're often paired with Silver Wolf in order to infiltrate various bases. Silver Wolf can transcend any physical barriers, while you sweet talk your way into the inner circles of any leaders. Sometimes, you implant ideas into people's heads in order to guide them towards a certain path, sometimes you just do it for the fun of it.

Your favorite victim so far has been the Express. Ever since the Trailblazer joined, you've entertained yourself by posing as them or other members of the Express (the only ones you can't figure out are Welt Yang and the conductor, Pom-Pom).

And it was surprising, how easily you could trick March 7th and Dan Heng. You had no idea where the original Trailblazer was (probably up some poor soul's dumpster), but frankly, you didn't care.

You somehow managed to trick the two for the better half of a day. It wasn't until you didn't jump at the sight of the first trashcan on the Xianzhou Luofu that the duo realized that something was off.

"Who- Who are you?!"

March stepped back, Dan Heng already drawing his spear. But you weren't going to give in so easily. No, you wanted to see just how far you could take this.

"Guys?" You feigned hurt and confusion as you faced the two. "What're you..."

"Don't play dumb," Dan Heng cut you off, thrusting his spear under your chin. "You're not them. The real Trailblazer would've started ransacking that trashcan by now."

What kind of freak-

"C'mon guys, I have taste," you sighed, crossing your arms. "The trashcans here don't compare to the ones at Belobog. They're not as shiny."

"Trailblazer said that appearance doesn't matter when it comes to trash!" March shot back, her bow appearing in her hands. "Enough games, who are you really?"

You paused for a moment, contemplating your options. You could try to bullshit your way out of this, but you sincerely doubted you would be able to. What kind of freak personality did Silver Wolf program into the vessel, anyways?

You sighed, making the two tense up. Your face, still that of the Trailblazer's, twisted into a condescending sneer, before you doubled over in laughter.

"Ah... Damnit, and here I thought I was doing well!" You stretched your arms, March backing away from you. "Well, that just goes to show, I still have much to improve."

With a snap of your fingers, your disguise melted away, revealing your true appearnce.

"You're-!" March gasped. "You're one of the Stellaron Hunters!"

"Am I really that famous?" you pondered, leaning back on the railing. "And here I thought Kafka or Silver Wolf were more popular."

"What're you trying to pull," Dan Heng growled, "pretending to be the Trailblazer? What did you do to them?"

"Oh, nothing," you replied simply, popping your bone. "I just sent them a coupon for that restaurant down the street. So don't worry yourselves, I'm just here to have a little bit of fun."

Before the two could comprehend the stupidity of their companion, you jumped onto the railing, balancing on your toes.

"Well, it's been fun, Nameless." You waved cheerfully, taking a step back into the open air. "Let's meet again sometime soon, yeah?"

"Wait!" They rushed to the railing, adamant on catching you - but you had already vanished.

The world might see you as a complete weirdo, but honestly, you aren't even the worst of the Stellaron Hunters. In your humble opinion, you're the lesser evil compared to your comrades.

If you're going to survive in this job, you have to get used to Kafka bullying you. Don't worry, she does it to everyone, it's not just you. But signing up to become a Stellaron Hunter also means you sign up to a life of relentless teasing.

You roll your eyes at the feeling of a familiar gun barrel against your head. Kafka holds it against your temple firmly, but you know her finger isn’t anywhere near the trigger. It’s not like you’re Blade, who somehow survived getting thrown off a four-story building.

“Now who do we have here?” Kafka muses lazily. “A potential spy from the IPC? Or perhaps, one of the Xianzhou Cloud Knights?”

“Don’t fuck with me, Kafka,” you turn around, unimpressed. With one move, you pulled off your mask, glaring at her pointedly as you grab a bottle of water. “I know that thing isn’t loaded.”

“Oh, it’s you, [Name],” Your senior gasps mockingly, removing the gun. “When did you come in? I could’ve sworn an intruder-”

You throw the bottle at her. She dodges because of course she does.

And Kafka isn't even the least of your worries. At least she has a sense of financial responsibility.

There's no doubt that Silver Wolf is integral to the workings of the Stellaron Hunters, especially with her hacking abilities. She's certainly skilled with her work, and she has saved your ass many times before.

But sometimes, you have to play babysitter to her, because homegirl may or may not have a gambling addiction, especially when it comes to whatever those gacha games of hers. Whenever she visits the city's nearby arcade or casino, either you or Kafka have to be around so that she doesn't end up gambling all of your funds away. You would get Blade to do it, except he couldn't care less about your financial problems.

“Let me go! I’ve almost got it, I know I do!”

Silver Wolf kicked at your shoulders wildly as you hoisted her up. You paid her no mind as you left the arcade, Blade walking in tow. You kept a firm grip on his sleeve, making sure he didn’t run off and start any trouble. You saw the look he gave the claw machine. If you hadn’t dragged Silver Wolf away, he would’ve likely broken the thing out of impatience.

“I was so close!” The girl on your shoulder whined, like a kid who didn’t get their favorite toy.

“You already spent 500k on it,” you replied bluntly. “It’s a scam, don’t you know?”

“So what?” Silver Wolf retorted. “I would’ve won!”

“Yeah,” you shifted her up, your shoulder getting sore. You weren’t really built for hard labor. “After you spent another hundred thousand credits, sure.”

“I wasn’t!” She’d stopped fighting you, now hanging limply so that her entire weight pressed down on you. “I could’ve hacked it-”

“Really? You’d put that much effort into a claw machine?” Before Silver Wolf could argue, your phone dinged, as did Blade’s and Silver Wolf’s - successfully interrupting your bickering. You glanced at Blade as he checked his phone for the three of you.

“It’s Kafka,” he reported, typing out a quick response. “She says it’s time to go back.”

“Tell her we’ll be there in 10 minutes, if Silver stops her tantrum,” you said, looking pointedly at Silver Wolf. The hacker kicked you in response. 

“I am not throwing a tantrum,” she huffed. You rolled your eyes.

“Sure, whatever you say.”

Speaking of which, Blade is like your guard dog. A very intimidating guard dog. With a sword. And attitude issues.

Come to think of it, he's more like a cat if anything.

When he's not being launched at the faces of various enemies, Blade often finds himself acting as your shadow. He just follows you around, doesn't say anything, and the second he smells a whiff of a threat, the sword comes out and you have to talk him down before someone calls the cops.

It seems that you’re the only one unaffected by the suffocating tension clogging up the clothing store. There’s an obvious circle of space surrounding you and Blade as you browse through various suits, intent on finding one that would fit the man standing behind you. Elio’s next script required that Blade and Kafka go to a dinner party, and knowing Blade, the man didn’t have any clothes other than the ones you and the other Hunters got for him.

It wasn’t that Blade didn’t have an eye for fashion, rather, he simply didn’t care much for it. Shopping wasn’t exactly his cup of tea either. His hands itched for action, but he did have to admit that this was better than sulking around in his room all day.

You pulled out another suit that had caught your eye, a simple black one with a bronze lapel. It would fit the vest you’d already picked out for him. Holding it out in front of Blade, you squint as you try to picture what it’d look like on him.

Decent enough. You hummed in satisfaction, turning the suit around to show it to him. “What do you think?”

Blade shrugs, only giving the suit a brief glance. “It’s fine.”

You sigh, giving him a look. “Do you like it?”

“It isn’t the worst thing you’ve put me in,” he says nonchalantly. You huff, lightly hitting his chest. For a second, a glimmer of a smile flickers onto his face at your action.

“Watch your attitude,” you reprimand playfully. “Otherwise I’m giving you the shittiest suit I can find in here.”

“You wouldn’t,” Blade says easily as the two of you walk toward the cash registers. “Your heart couldn’t bear to do that to a face like mine.”

“Cheeky brat.”

You remember the day Blade was first brought to the base, picked up by Kafka and Elio like a stray cat. He had a strange resemblance to that of a drowned rat, being absolutely sopping wet.

Your seniors just kinda dropped him off into your room with the only instructions being "Make him look presentable", which didn't give you a lot to work with. You weren't sure how you were going to fix him, but after a lot of bathing, hair drying, and brushing, you soon discovered that the drowned rat had a pretty face.

So basically, you're the only reason why he looks remotely presentable.

And quite frankly, Blade does not make it easier on you. He doesn't care about how he looks, only how his enemies look - and that's dead and unmoving. Sir somehow manages to fuck up his fit every time he goes on mission, coming back with his very expensive clothes, mind you, covered in blood, and his hair messed up.

The audacity of him, to just walk into your room unannounced, clothes completely torn and hair a mess, and plop himself down on your perfectly clean chair and wait for you to fix him up. Granted, you'll do it (you wouldn't allow any of your comrades to leave without a decent haircut), but that doesn't mean you won't rattle his ear off with a scolding.

“Just what did you do to it this time?”

You grumbled as you cut away at Blade’s hair, the man in question sitting in your salon chair and scrolling through his phone. He had just come back from a mission, and this time he somehow managed to cut off the bottom half of his long locks, resulting in a horrendously uneven cut.

“You’re literally so photogenic and then you go and do this?” you huffed, blowing his hair into his face with a blowdryer.

“You can fix it, can’t you?” Blade didn’t even look up from his screen as he texted Silver Wolf, likely using this as an excuse to escape her pleas to game with her.

You scowl, venting your anger as you brushed his hair, cutting a few extra strands. “Just because I can, doesn’t mean I always have the time to do so! Now sit still.”

Oh, and another thing? There's no such thing as privacy when you're with the Stellaron Hunters.

You first learned this when you came back from a particularly grueling mission, early on in your career with the Hunters. You were covered in blood that wasn't (or was it?) yours, drenched from the rain and safe to say, not in the greatest of moods. All you wanted was to take a shower, and preferably, take an undisturbed nap on your warm bed.

Unfortunately, Kafka had other plans.

You opened the door to find her lounging on YOUR bed, IN THE DARK, ruffling through your makeup collection like it was normal. She didn't even seem bothered when you flicked on the light, didn't even acknowledge you until you threw a knife at her.

And what did she say when you made it abundantly clear that she shouldn't be in here? Nothing. She just scrunched up her nose and told you to take a shower.

And that is how you learned that having your own room is utterly useless because every single Hunter could pick a lock. You could try to use an electric one. Silver Wolf sure did. And to her credit, it worked, until a certain dog named Blade came around and just kicked the door down.

Out of all the Stellaron Hunters to creep around in your room, Sam was by far the worse. You could handle Kafka going through your makeup, or Blade judging your taste in books. You can deal with Elio having his fucking shoes on your bed because he's your boss and honestly what are you going to do against an actual seer? Exactly. Nothing. At least his shoes are usually clean.

But Sam? He doesn't visit so that he can go through your things, or just hang around. No. He comes around with the pure intention of scaring the shit out of you.

He just waits?? Outside your door?? In the dark?? Until you open it and he jumps you. It usually ends with someone getting punched, but honestly, it's nothing either of you couldn't handle.

Silver Wolf likes to pretend that she isn't as bad as the other because in her words, she "gives you a warning". Said warning is "You better be decent" before she barges in and starts rambling about the new game she bought.

One time you were not decent and someone had to pay the price. That someone was not you.

There is one good thing that comes out of all this invasion of privacy. Because whatever the others do to you, you get to do right back to them. 

“What does this button do?”

“Don’t touch that.” Kafka playfully whined as Silver Wolf snatched away the console in her hands. The hacker was less than pleased, having returned to her room only to discover that she’d been chosen as the Hunters’ victim for today.

You lean against Kafka’s shoulder, pouting alongside her at your latest toy being confiscated. “C’mon Silver, let us have some fun at least.”

“After you two invaded my room? Not a chance,” she replied, tossing the console to somewhere you and Kafka couldn’t reach. Kafka merely hummed at the loss, leaning back onto Silver Wolf’s messy bed.

“You know, you should really clean up around here,” she commented. “They nearly killed themselves tripping over a stack of DVDs.”

“Agreed, although I wouldn’t mention that last part,” you said, picking up another one of Silver Wolf’s consoles. This one had a fighting game on it. Silver Wolf rolled her eyes as you quickly busied yourself with fighting the boss she had left off on.

“If you don’t want to get hurt, then don’t come in,” she said, plopping down on the bed next to you. Kafka smiled.

“Sure, but where’s the fun in that?” she asked, watching you tap away at the screen. “It was just a suggestion, no need to get all worked up.”

“I’m not, but okay.” Silver Wolf hissed as your character took damage. “If you get my character killed-”

“I won’t,” you retorted, swiftly defeating the boss. You tossed Silver Wolf the console. “See?”

“You’re half dead,” Silver Wolf deadpanned.

“Doesn't matter. I still won.”

Your group chat is an absolute mess, with no one understanding Silver Wolf's slang or dialect. Blade's outdated brain short-circuited the first time he touched a phone, while Kafka just silently accepted her fate. You often have to translate because Silver Wolf sure wasn't going to.

Gambling Addict: Ykw blade

Gambling Addict: This is why u pull no bitches

Gambling Addict: Bc if [name] didnt yassify u 

Gambling Addict: U would have zero rizz

Gambling Addict: Negative rizz actually

You: I see no lie here

Gambling Addict: So stfu about my social life at least i can pull bitches

DONT PICK UP: [Name], translate

Gambling Addict: [Name] i have ur closet at gunpoint 

You: She means Blade can't attract maidens bc he has as much charisma as a blobfish

You: Also stfu silver I know you can't shoot for shit

Gambling Addict: [NAME]

Gambling Addict: Actually no, ur right

DONT PICK UP: Oh, I see

You: I'm always right 💅✨

DONT PICK UP: That does sound like Bladie

Gambling Addict: Listen

Gambling Addict: All i know is that blades been real quiet since i said that

Blade: Silver Wolf.

Gambling Addict: And so he speaks!

Blade: Count your days.

You like to fuck with the others by pretending to be them. Blade nearly murdered you because one time you got bored, and decided that slandering his nonexistent image would be ample entertainment.

In minutes, you turned yourself into Blade's lookalike, and spent the afternoon prancing around in a maid dress because what else were you going to use it for? Unfortunately, that also put you as a target for Blade's wrath. Fortunately, you have a lot of experience escaping people you pissed off.

Silver Wolf still has the pictures. Kafka laughed her ass off until you did the exact same thing to her. And that's when she started shooting.

"I can't believe you did this," you sniffed dramatically, fake tears falling from your face. In your hands was what used to be your pride and joy, the beautiful maid dress that you'd spent millions on (lie).

What used to be a gorgeous garment with frills and lace, was now in tatters from Kafka's bullets and Blade's sword. The two aforementioned culprits weren't the slightest bit guilty as they watched you lament over your clothes.

"You should've thought of that before you started walking around like that," Kafka blew at her smoking gun. Blade nodded firmly in agreement, holding his sword close to his chest.

"It was cute!" you huffed, shaking your head. You weren't actually mad at them. You could always buy another dress to mess with them. Besides, you already got what you wanted.

Your gaze met with Silver Wolf's, who grinned back, holding her phone in between her fingers.

None of the Stellaron Hunters know basic first aid, and that includes you. Most of you just slap on a few bandages, some weird smelling ointment, and call it a day. Silver Wolf doesn't even do that, she just downs three bowls of rice and walks off the broken arm like a Sunday hangover.

But one day, just as your luck would have it, you came back to base with an injury that you couldn't just bandage away. No one knew what to do, and you were bleeding out fast. So what did this hardened group of criminals do?

They googled it. They fucking googled it.

Silver Wolf deadass just searched up how to fix you while you were bleeding out next to her. Kafka, to her credit, did hold your hand to try and comfort you (albeit mockingly), and Blade just stood back and watched. If Elio foresaw a way to help you, well, he didn't say anything.

But it all turned out all right in the end. Eventually, Silver Wolf gave up and simply shoved a bowl of her fried rice in front of you. You still don't know how or why, but it somehow worked. It shouldn't have, but it did.

The scene in front of you reminded you of a bunch of school children watching a chemistry experiment for the first time. The Stellaron Hunters crowded around you, eyes trained onto your closing wound with unnerving fascination. Even Blade, who rarely had any emotion at all, was watching you with the faintest glimmer of awe.

"What the hell did you put in that thing?" you turned in disbelief to Silver Wolf, the only unphased person in the room. The hacker was already somewhere else, her thumbs tapping rapidly as she played another one of her rhythm games.

"Trash."

"WHAT." You almost throttled her before she quickly teleported a safe distance away, clutching her phone to her chest.

"Kidding, kidding, no need to get all worked up!" She sighed, clearing a level without looking.

"Just some solid water and protein rice, that's all."

"You mean ice?" You swatted at Kafka, who was poking at where your wound used to be.

"No."

Safe to say, the Stellaron Hunters are an... interesting bunch, to put it lightly. They're all assholes, including you, and seem to thrive over inconveniencing each other. The only time you all can somewhat work together is when you're acting out one of Elio's scripts.

But you'd be lying if you said you hated working at this job. You live for the thrill of things, and being a Hunter was the most fun you've had in a long, long time, even if your coworkers occasionally annoyed you to death.

None of you would ever say it aloud, but you wouldn't trade each other for anything in the world.

[hiraethwa]

one summer day

11 star-crossed. where you celebrate tanabata with your friends

<< 10 epiphany. | >> 12 shoot for the stars.

pairing: ushijima wakatoshi x reader word count: 1.4k warnings: just fluff <3 tags: @lemurzsquad @daisy-room @integers @brokenscaredakira -- (inbox me if you want to be added to the tag list)

there are several thoughts that run through your mind as your eyes land on ushijima. one, he kept his promise to you, wearing a simpler yet formal kimono. two, it is utterly, and you mean utterly, unfair how devastatingly good he looks in it, it cannot be healthy for your heart. three, how are you going to survive the night at this rate? and four, you are going to be swarmed by his fans and you only have yourself to blame. 

it is tanabata after all, the star festival that celebrates the ancient legend of orihime and hikoboshi, two star-crossed lovers who could only meet one day every year. almost every girl in high school is bound to attend the biggest tanabata festival in the miyagi area. 

“feeling a little warm?” you manage to find your voice to tease the stoic boy. there is definitely a pink tint to his golden skin, one you credit to the summer heat. 

next to him, semi and tendo jump into the fray as well, taking the rare opportunity to poke fun at their captain outside of volleyball practice, referencing inside jokes that you are not privy to. 

“you both cleaned up well,” you chirp, nodding at their yukatas in acknowledgement. 

“yeah, we didn’t want to leave ushijima-kun all dressed up by himself, and since we were part of the problem, we decided that we should shoulder some of the blame too,” tendo grins at you knowingly. 

you give him a half-lidded look that said wow, you are so funny.

“c’mon, we’re late, i want to go check out some stalls before the fireworks go off.” you make a point to link your arm with semi, marching off with your best friend before anyone could get a word in and ignoring the source of the heat you are feeling on your face. definitely the summer heat.

the night air is warm, ever so slightly cooler than the day, but you could feel the sheen of sweat forming on your skin beneath the thin yukata fabric. it is crowded as expected, with streamers hanging from paper balls of every color, low enough that you run your hand through the soft wisps as you pass by. 

the first stop of the evening is the center of the complex, where several man-made bamboo trees have been erected for festival-goers to write their wishes on a piece of paper and tie it to. you steer semi towards the tables with writing instruments and bands of color paper, tugging at his sleeve impatiently with ushijima and tendo following right behind him.

you grab a piece of paper and a pen, sidling off to one side so that your writing is not visible to your friends as you scrawl your wishes for the year on the thin material. once you are done, you sneak up to your friends stealthily, peeking over their shoulders to read what they have written. 

“oi,” semi exclaims as he discovers you looking at his paper. 

you look away innocently, standing to the side while waiting for them to be done. ushijima joins you, to which your heart stutters a beat to. 

despite having patched things up months ago, things have not gone back to normal. gone were the days where your unrequited love is the absolute truth. now, ushijima’s every action, every look leaves you second-guessing yourself, and your heart feeling like you just ran a marathon. 

you tried, you really did, to act as normal as you can around him without your heart on your sleeve. though you wonder whether you are doing a good job of it. there was no particular reason, but if you had to pick a turning point, it was that time when he got really close to you and you ended up kneeing him in the balls. 

nothing was the same since then, at least for you. 

so now, as he compliments you, your mind goes haywire. “you look beautiful in your yukata.” 

you smooth over the folds, thumbing the gold detailing on the blue fabric, mind blanking out at his words. “thank you.” warmness spreads across your cheeks, causing you to look down and concentrate particularly hard at the little thread poking out the seam, picking at it, hoping he does not see the redness on you. 

“wanna tie it together?” you nod at his question, following him to the bamboo tree. you end up picking a branch that you felt was more auspicious than the others, tying your paper strip to it. 

ushijima decides on the same branch, knotting his paper just above yours. his purple touching your green one, as if it is a representation of his wishes. you shake your head at the thought. you did not dare to even explore that possibility, regardless of how different everything feels. but maybe, just maybe, if you are accepted to the university of tokyo, there is hope there.

“you had to pick the same branch, huh?”

he shrugs, holding out an arm for you. you take it naturally, despite the weird feeling in your stomach as you clutch onto his sleeve. “wanna get some food?” 

you end up getting some yakitori skewers and a tornado potato from a roadside stall, easily demolishing the food in minutes before tugging him to a sweets stall. just as wakatoshi pays the vendor for the matcha mochi, two girls approach you both shyly, asking for a photo with him.

their eyes dart to you, probably wondering who you were and what kind of relationship you have with ushijima, making you shift uncomfortably. you take the hint to leave, spotting a stall selling handicrafts just a few stalls down. 

the expressionless falcon soft toy you picked up reminds you of ushijima. 

“we’ll take it,” ushijima appears next to you, handing over some cash for the toy that you are busy squishing. 

“i was just looking at it…” you trail off, tilting your head to look at him. 

he slant his head in confusion, “but you like it, do you not?” 

but you don’t get a chance to respond before semi and tendo comes flying at you both from behind, almost knocking you over in the process. good, you think. you are afraid of where the road leads into unknown territory. unfamiliarity terrifies you, and for that reason, you want to stay precisely where you are, on the even ground that you know like the back of your hand. 

good because if you went down that road and things end unpleasantly… no, you would much rather love him in silence than to risk losing him. 

“what is it?” semi whispers to you conspiratorially as he glances at ushijima.

you frown at the little falcon. “is it just me, or is ushijima not his usual self?”

“what do you mean? he’s always like this around you.”

semi’s words leave you speechless. sure, you’ve heard a few people point it out to you in the past, but you didn’t think much of it at the time as you were too busy trying to put yourself back together. now, you can’t help but hear the words repeat in your mind. 

you find yourself atop a small hill, sandwiched between ushijima and semi for the fireworks that opens the weekend long celebration of tanabata. just for a few seconds, you allow yourself to admire ushijima’s profile, his head turned towards tendo as he says something to the redhead.

boom. the first of the fireworks goes off, lighting up the night sky in showers of golden and blue. a smile finds its way to your face as you bask in the moment next to the people you care about, on a summer night in your final year of high school. 

you tense as fingers lace through yours, too shocked to even look in ushijima’s direction as your eyes lock onto each and every bright firework that shoots upwards and explodes into colorful reactions that illuminate the dark sky. much like what he is to you, walking into your life, a blinding sun unaware of its own light, bringing life to the darkness in your heart, chasing away the darkness.

despite your thundering heart, your body relaxes, fingers tightening around his larger digits. the thoughts firing through your brain are too many, too fast to process, so you let them wash over you, choosing to focus on the present. it is a gift, you realize, on tanabata, from the stars orihime and hikoboshi themselves. 

you can only hope that unlike the story of the star-crossed lovers, there will be a better ending for yours. 

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[solradguy]

hey whatever happened to that post of you defending sol x ky and sol x sin

Lmao. Ok. Alright. You know what? I've been putting up with this shit for six fucking months now. I'm done with you, Xavier, and your little echo chamber on Discord. You're telling people I'm into pedo shit now and you're straight up pulling it out of your ass. I'd call you out by your handles but you're a coward that gets everyone else to do your dirty work for you.

Six. Fucking. Months.

I haven't posted anything about you publicly, and have never said a single word to you, because of the sake of the wiki and the people in that project that are/were friends with you, and cared about you. But it's clear you're absolutely out of your mind. You've crossed a line with this Sol/Sin shit. This probably isn't you that sent this ask, but I'd be willing to bet it's someone from your echo chamber Discord server because no one except the people in there hate me as much as you do. Even the transphobes on Twitter that sent me death threats have moved on better than you have.

Here's the entire story about my (not even direct) interaction with you and your server for everyone to know.

Back in March—which was nearly six months ago, I cannot stress that enough—you wanted to edit the Bedman page on the new wiki and put information on there that wasn't verifiable, namely that he was a legal adult. We had the page locked because of other people that wanted to vandalize it and weren't willing to unlock it for you specifically, but we were willing to put any additions on there that you suggested. One of our admins spoke with you to try to resolve this. You wanted full editing credits for everything put on there that was written by you. Even if you were editing the page yourself, that just isn't how wikis work. During all of this, we were made aware that you were shit talking us and writing death threats about us. You also trash talked my translations, for some reason. When the negotiations with our mod didn't give you the outcome you wanted, I believe our mod blocked you.

We thought that was the end of it. Over the past few months we'd get little updates about you from concerned people that thought we should know. Other than those updates, we forgot you even existed.

Last night I was made aware that you've been stalking my blog, and trash talking me, for the past six months, and now spreading rumors that I'm into Sol/Sin. I made two vague posts about it, the first ones I've made since this situation started six fucking months ago. I deleted them after being told they were making the situation worse, which they were. You've also been manipulating one of my friends and saying you would kill yourself if any more posts were made about you or this situation.

Then I got this ask.

Xavier: You're a lying, manipulative, piece of shit that needs to stay in his damn lane. I'm sorry for whatever situation led you to become this obsessive over not being able to edit a VIDEO GAME WIKI PAGE to say that the maybe-minor is legally fuckable, but it's not my problem. Guilty Gear and Bedman are clearly bad for your mental health if you're still this mad at ONE PERSON who HASN'T EVEN SPOKEN TO YOU for as long as half a year now. You've made me out to be a demon in your mind entirely based on vague interactions and reading too much into my Tumblr posts that were never about you.

Move the fuck on already. I have never spoken to you, I hardly know who you are, and yet you still hate me so much.

[midsummer-semantics]

the hint of a spark

Written for day 3 of @steddieangstyaugust.

Prompt: "The sunset looks lovely, doesn't it?"

Rating: G | WC: 2k | S4 Canon Compliant

Title from "I Will Follow You Into The Dark" by Death Cab For Cutie

divider from @steddiecameraroll-graphics

The calm before the storm is always Steve’s least favorite part. The idle waiting they all have to do before a plan can be set in motion. It’s worse now, somehow, than it was in ‘83 or ‘84 (he doesn’t think about ‘85, when most of the waiting was done tied to a chair under the heavy influence of Russian drugs). Now, half of their group is AWOL and there’s a new person that shouldn’t have been involved in the first place.

It’s still early, their plan not beginning until after the sun goes down, but Steve is restless. He wants to finish this. Finally. Three years of his life tied to the bullshit that this Vecna guy has pulled and for what? What’s the goddamn point?

“Brooding all by yourself, handsome?” a voice comes, startling Steve out of his… okay, he was brooding. He looks over to find Eddie climbing the ladder that leads to the top of the caravan, which Steve had retreated to with a flimsy excuse of ‘keeping watch’ while the others tried to get some rest, charge up for the night ahead of them.

He waits until Eddie takes a seat next to him, offering a crooked smile before responding. “Got an image to maintain.”

Eddie snorts as he settles, one leg extended so his foot hangs off the side of the RV, the other bent so he can rest his elbow on his knee. “Even in the face of impending doom, you’re still the formidable King Steve,” he quips, but it lacks the bitterness that Steve’s used to hearing when that nickname comes up.

Steve bumps his shoulder to Eddie’s, a silent acknowledgment of the joke.

It’s quiet this far away from downtown. Not the suffocating quiet of his house or the droning quiet of Family Video on a slow day. A peaceful quiet. The kind of quiet that Steve hasn’t experienced in a while. The kind that lets him delude himself into thinking that the world is a quiet place, where the leaves rustle on the trees and crickets chirp to give the temperature and there’s no alternate dimension ready to rise up and raze the town. 

It’s a shame it’s March, he thinks. If it was summer, the fireflies would be beginning their nightly dance, one turning to two turning to a hundred as the sun sets over the open field. There’d be the smell of impending rain as another summer storm rolls in and a fox or two running to find a burrow.

Steve’s always been a big fan of summers: the sunshine and the adventure, the possibilities, the liminal space between school terms that allows him to just exist without thought for what came before or what comes after.

He still likes summer, even if the beginning of July is likely to be less exciting after last year. A lot of things have been ruined thanks to the crap they’re going to face later.

“How do you do it?” Eddie asks, once again breaking through Steve’s contemplative silence.

“Huh?”

Eddie flicks open his zippo, which is the only thing that survived the dive into the Upside Down since his cigarettes didn’t. Steve watches him spark a flame, snuff it out, open, spark, snuff, repeat.

“All of—” Eddie waves his free hand over them then the RV they’re sitting on, “—this. The battles. The interdimensional plot twists. The fucking….” He sighs, shaking his head, his hair swiveling around under the bandana he’s already tied over it. “Everything.”

Steve takes a moment to look, really look, at the man sitting beside him. Eddie’s eyes are huge, pleading, but beyond that they glisten in the fading daylight. They contain the horrors that he’s faced in the last few days, but they also contain galaxies, the beginning and end of worlds as they sparkle and shine.

He’s a little pale, sure, like he hasn’t seen daylight in two years, but the color rising to his cheeks as Steve studies him gives heat to the simmering in Steve’s stomach that started since Eddie held a broken bottle to his throat. 

Since before that, probably. The first time sophomore-Steve saw Eddie Munson stand on top of a lunch table and wax poetic about the system and forced conformity. 

The first time Steve really thought ‘I want to be like that.’

He doesn’t mean loud or angry or volatile, he has plenty of that hidden between the bricks of his carefully crafted walls. He knows what attention feels like, knows that, at one point, people looked to him like he brings some sort of message only they can get from him. No. He means unapologetic, open, himself.

He hasn’t really felt any of that since November ‘83. He’s made an active effort to feel nothing at all, because feeling means hurt and pain, and nothing means…

“You get used to it,” Steve states, tone light despite the tempest swirling in his being.

Eddie stares at him for several beats, enough time to have the younger man almost turning away. “That’s pretty fucked up, Steve.”

Steve scoffs, mostly because Eddie’s right and he knows that, but also because it’s second nature. Scoff at the drama, the trauma, the ridiculous things. 

Old habits die hard.

“No, but really,” Eddie continues. “You’ve been through a lot. Way more than you’ve told me, I know for sure. So…”

Steve shrugs, brings a hand up to scratch the back of his neck. “Well, normally we have—”

“The girl with super powers, yeah, I get it,” Eddie snaps. “But that doesn’t explain how you get through it all. Because if I’m honest, man, I’m about three seconds from running at every moment and you just…” He inhales and exhales heavily. “You just keep going. How?”

Steve sighs, turning back to watch the sky begin its change from blue to orange. 

“I dunno, man. I haven’t really gotten a chance to stop and think about it since it all started.”

That’s not entirely true. There’s been lulls between events before, time when Steve probably should have processed everything he’s been through. But again, it’s easier to just ignore it. Count his lucky stars that he survived another fight and then move on in the hopes he doesn’t have to do it again.

Eddie continues to fiddle with his lighter, occasionally spinning it between his forefinger and thumb before going through the motions once more. Open, spark, snuff, again.

“I guess that’s part of what I don’t get. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since it happened.”

Steve doesn’t ask him to clarify, he doesn’t need to. Not when he gets it completely.

“Barbra Holland died in my pool,” he says, once again looking out over the field. The sun has dipped below the treeline now, the sky darkening.

Eddie’s movements stop altogether. “What?”

“Yep,” Steve says, popping the P. “The night Will Byers went missing. The demogorgon that took him also killed her.”

He can feel Eddie’s eyes on him as the metalhead speaks. “And… where were you?”

Upstairs. Taking Nancy Wheeler’s virginity.

“Inside with some friends. It happened so fast, no one even heard it.”

“Shit, dude. So you’ve really been in this since the very beginning.”

Steve nods absently. “Yeah, I guess so.”

He doesn’t really think of it like that. Or, he hadn’t until now, he supposes. Mostly, he just blames himself, even though realistically he knows there’s nothing he could have done at the time even if they’d all been outside with Barb. It likely would have resulted in all of their deaths instead. There was no nail bat or firearms at that point. Just four stupid kids and an innocent girl who didn’t deserve to die.

“Billy didn’t die in the mall fire either,” he redirects.

“Oh jeez,” Eddie groans. “Don’t tell me, another demogorgon attack?”

Steve chuckles, can’t help it. “I wish. No, Mind Flayer that time.”

“It’s really uncomfortable the way all of these monsters are named after D&D characters.”

Steve laughs again, fiddling with the zipper tab on his vest. He wishes Eddie still had his cigarettes.

���Yeah, a bunch of people went missing and it turned out they were all melting into goo to create this 50-foot monster thing,” he explains, glancing over at Eddie’s horrified look. Honestly, it sounds unbelievable, like something entirely made up, so it’s a little sad to see in real-time that Eddie believes him. “Billy was working for it, I guess. I don’t really understand the connection even now. Anyway, we tried to take it out with fireworks—”

“Fireworks?” Eddie guffaws. 

Steve snorts. “Yeah well, it was all we had available. Well, that, and Nancy had a pistol, but there’s no way it would have stood a chance against this thing. But yeah, Billy tried to fight it, it was going to kill El, er, Supergirl, and Billy… I don’t know. Had a change of heart?” He shakes his head. “It was too strong, though. And he… he didn’t…”

Steve trails off, memories of that night flashing through his mind. It’s still, even now thanks to the drugs that had been in his system, but the crunching of bones and the piercing scream Max let out still ring in his ears if he listens close enough.

“So yeah,” he says after a moment. “I just try not to think about it.”

Eddie still looks scandalized when Steve looks at him again, his brows furrowed and his eyes shining in the dying daylight. He’s thinking, Steve can tell by the way his jaw flexes and his eyes dart over Steve’s face. Finally, the metalhead brings a hand up, resting it on Steve’s shoulder.

“And here you are, about to run head-first into battle again. You’re pretty amazing, Steve.”

Steve’s heart thumps hard at Eddie’s words, the touch to his shoulder that he can’t really feel through the tactical layers, but the weight of Eddie’s hand is enough.

“Thanks, man,” he replies, hesitating only for a moment before bringing his own hand up and resting it on Eddie’s bent knee. He can feel Eddie’s skin under his palm through the rip in the denim, and he absently drags his thumb across it. “So are you.”

It’s probably too forward. They barely know each other, and Steve might be overly familiar with what a crush feels like, but this doesn’t seem like the ideal time to explore that feeling. Although, if they’re going to die tonight, then he might as well let it ripple out in the open while he can.

Eddie drags his gaze away from Steve’s face to look down at his hand on his knee, this breathing a little shallower. Steve doesn’t stop touching him, won’t unless Eddie tells him to. But Eddie doesn’t, he swallows harshly and looks back up at Steve with a question in his eyes that Steve gives a nod and small smile to. They don’t need to talk about it. Either they survive tonight and can talk about it after, when the dust settles, or they don’t and talking wouldn’t make a difference anyway.

Instead, they sit in the quiet calm before the storm, Eddie only moving to brush the hand on Steve’s shoulder across his back to the other side, scooting a little closer to lay his head on the now free shoulder. Steve keeps his hand on Eddie’s knee, moving it just enough to cup the inside of it, holding him a little tighter.

“The sunset is lovely, don’t ya think?” Eddie asks, hushed, like it would shred the little blanket of night that’s folded over them.

“Yeah,” Steve replies, resting his chin on the top of Eddie’s bandana-covered head, wishing it wasn’t there so he could press his lips to Eddie’s hair, feel the curls against his skin, take in his scent if it’s the only chance he’ll get to do so. “It is.”