#MAN I wish I could draw I’d hand make every one of those lol

[rogueshadeaux]

Chapter Fifteen — A Surface Memory

I sorta froze; this was the history I knew. My life, the bits with Mom? It stopped here, on this page, and yet we had barely made a dent in the photo album. Why was the idea of turning the page so daunting?

Dad wrapped one arm around my shoulder, the other coming into view as it slowly turned the page. 

5k words | 20 min read time | TRIGGER WARNINGS: Continuation on the mentions of loss, Pregnancy, Pregnancy Complications, Surgery, Drugs, Gangs, Terrorism, Mass Casualty. Not like, all at once or deeply described, but definitely mentioned. Imagine if that all happened at once, jfc

I turned the page again, this section surprisingly different; the photos were of Mom and some dude with a blue mohawk, all a bit rough at the edges; like they were old, but well preserved. Mom’s pink hair was still there, but she didn’t look as…edgy, I guess. Plain shirts and simple earrings and stuff. “This is Abbs and her brother,” Dad clarified for me. 

Brent, the first Brent. 

I didn’t know a lot about him at all. I imagine that was intentional, another thing Dad had to hide. “Did you know him?” I asked.

Dad shook his head. “He died before everything, even before your mom was a DUP prisoner.”

“How?” 

Dad suddenly looked very uncomfortable. “I…” he trailed off, biting at his lip. “Gang war bullshit.”

Oh. 

I mean, Dad said Mom had a history with drugs and the Akurans, but were they actually involved with that stuff? Not just victims? “Your mom had a hard start to life,” Dad started gently, as if reading my mind. “Had to…run away when she was a kid, ‘cause her parents were trying to turn her in for being a Conduit. Brent had taken her and ran and they…well, they had to survive somehow, you know?” 

“They were gonna give her to the DUP?” I whispered. 

Dad nodded. “It was worse back then than it is now,” 

And that’s saying something, ‘cause it was still pretty fucking bad. 

But they bought into the propaganda and were actually going to turn Mom in! How could a parent do that to their kid? “Were they gonna turn Brent in too?” I asked.

Dad hummed, confused at my question before realizing what I meant. “Oh, no, Brent wasn’t a Conduit. Just Abbs.” 

I knew there was some genetic explanation to becoming a Conduit; something about both parents needing to have a recessive gene — and even then there was only, like, a 1 in 1,000 chance of a child being a Conduit. The fact that both Brent — my Brent — and I were Conduits was a lucky draw. 

Or unlucky, depending on how you looked at it. 

“So he—“ I faltered, looking down at the picture of Uncle Brent using Mom as an armrest, sat on some kind of retainer wall. “He ran away with her? Or to protect her?” 

Dad shrugged. “Both.”

“Oh, wow,” I whispered. He didn’t look that much older than Mom — he had to only have like, three years on her, max. And if she left as a kid…there was a good chance Brent was one, too. A kid, a normal kid, who threw away a comfortable life for his sister. But…when those Akurans kidnapped me, and I had those three minutes where I thought Brent was the only Conduit out of the two of us…I can’t say I wouldn’t do the same. I was totally willing to, in fact — it’s why that gun was on my temple in the first place. 

I turned the page; this next section time hopped forward, summer on the trees just in front of the house. Mom and Dad were next to an old white truck, the back full of stuff covered with a tarp and strapped down. Next to it was Mom, a shaky shot, sitting reclined in an old leather chair, staring at a TV above the fireplace. “I was really excited to move her in,” Dad said. “Y’know, not just because she’d be there but…it was the first time she really had a home since she was a kid. She deserved something stable.” 

Another page, and another flash forward; Mom’s brown roots were taking over her hair, and she sat on a bench at the patio of the Longhouse, leaned back, arms protectively caressing a decent-sized bump. Another one had Dad sitting beside her and they just…stared off into the Sound. “I managed to get Betty to sneak quite a few pics because—“ he motioned towards the pile of books on his side, “—you saw my mom’s stuff. She’s barely in it. I wanted Abbs to be in pictures more,” 

Well, Dad had quite the foresight, then. 

Next page was something Dad called a gender reveal, something that died off a few years ago. Not that there were many people in the photograph; I could pinpoint like, three of Dad’s friends I already met, some girls I didn’t know. That old lady that gave me pads was there, and one caught Dr. Sims hiding off on the side away from everyone else. They were in the recreational room of the Longhouse, I saw it when I walked by it to go to the bathroom. One of just Mom and Dad, a big group one, a few of them milling. Flipping the page came with the actual reveal, blue confetti everywhere on the wood floor beside Mom and Dad. “You guys really thought I was a boy,” 

Dad laughed. “Like I said, Brent was the only one to ‘show the goods,’ so we had to assume.”

“That had to be a surprise,” I commented, turning the page to a baby shower feature. Everything was blue, including every piece of clothing they got. 

“What?” 

“Me, coming out a girl.” I looked up at him. “Was it weird?” 

Dad chuckled. “Weird? No. A surprise? Oh yeah,” his laughter grew. “Your mom thought they brought back the wrong kid at first,” 

“What?” 

Dad nodded, flipping the page; this one was a selfie of sorts, Dad holding up a peace sign with Mom glowering behind him in a hospital bed, the captioning explaining something about inducing labor. “You’ve gotta remember; she had surgery. It…” the laughter suddenly evaporated. “This went bad. I wasn’t even allowed in when they wheeled her to the operating room. Just got shown you two before they took you to the NICU. She wasn’t awake to see you two come out.” 

That shadow crossed his face again, that dark one when he was reliving something that involved loss. And I hadn’t realized it before, simply ‘cause I never really thought of it; if Mom had an emergency surgery, that meant it was an emergency. Could we have died, all three of us? 

Maybe that’s why this page only had the one picture. 

Dad turned the page again, two porty little potatoes wrapped up in white baby blankets, shoved under some giant warming light. They had tubing in their nose, wires sprouting from their blankets like growths on spuds. “Your mom…you know what a placenta is, right?” I nodded — I took health class. “She had an abruption. It…there was so much blood, and the heartbeat reads on both of you just took a nosedive. There wasn’t even any warning to it — one moment we were watching this zombie show and then she was gone for surgery. I only got a glimpse at you both before they took you to get oxygen.” He breathed shakily, rubbing a hand on his knee in an effort to rid himself of the nervous energy. “But after a few hours in the NICU, they figured you guys were okay,”

“But we did have to be taken care of?” I asked, pointing to the picture.

“For like, four hours. But I got to be there after finding out if your mom was okay,” 

“Ah, made sure Mom knew her other boy wasn’t switched out.” 

He smiled a bit. “Took some convincing but, yeah,” 

There were a couple other snapshots of these little babies, barely distinguishable from each other. Funny, for a few moments, we really did look like twins; fat noses and fat faces and fat. Just fat. Was it normal for babies to look so squished? I was the slightest bit darker, that’s literally all that was different. That and the giant weird red mark on Brent’s forehead. 

I turned the page again, greeted with the familiar face of Mom and Dad holding Brent and I, the same photograph Dad kept on his desk. The other page had some souvenir birth certificates from some hospital called Swedish, that same cursive on the wall in the nursery writing out my and Brent’s full name…with the last name Walker–Rowe. 

“We weren’t always Rowland, were we?” I asked, as if the proof wasn’t right there. 

Dad shook his head. “Your mom and I had a deal: hyphenated last name, and she’d be willing to change it if we ever got married.” 

Rowland was probably a part of the witness protection program thing we had going on. Keep us hidden, safe. I definitely didn’t plan to ask, at least; the shadow was still on his face, and I didn’t want to make him spiral any further. 

 I sorta froze; this was the history I knew. My life, the bits with Mom? It stopped here, on this page, and yet we had barely made a dent in the photo album. Why was the idea of turning the page so daunting?

Dad wrapped one arm around my shoulder, the other coming into view as it slowly turned the page. 

Mom was there, there for the trip home from the hospital and the Akomish Naming Ceremony, something Betty dressed up in full traditional garb for. There to hand one of us in a bundle of blankets over to Dr. Sims, there in the next pic laughing as he reacted to being spit up on. There for the sudden influx of pink clothes that she happily mixed with the masculine blues before forcing my chubby little appendages into them. There rocking Brent to sleep, there feeding me a bottle. Dad was there too, don’t get me wrong; there was a sweet one with him asleep on this very couch, me laid on his chest with some sort of headband-bow around my impossibly small head. But Mom. 

Mom was there. 

We got older, grew out of the awkward doughboy look and into actual, distinguishable babies. Brent started out blonde, surprisingly, and darkened rather quickly over the weeks. He matched Mom’s brown by the time he began pulling up to stand, propped up against furniture. I browned out a bit more from birth, never straying too far from Dad’s side once I started crawling. “You remember S’mores? How she’d always shove herself under our feet when we were walking in the kitchen?” Dad asked, and I nodded. I missed that cat. “You were like that with me when you learned to crawl.” 

My cheeks heated up. “I was a bit needy, wasn’t I?” 

Dad chuckled, “Oh, yeah,”

Once Brent and I got a handle on walking, though, the pictures changed drastically; anything with Brent always seemed to be mid-motion, snapshots of him running around like a miniature tornado while ones of me were more calm yet just as chaotic, on top of a kitchen table or under somewhere that looked impossible to reach. “You weren’t as energetic as Brent, but god you were a Houdini.” Dad laughed, shaking his head. “We had Betty babysit Brent once to just watch you and make sure there wasn’t anything Conduit you were doing to get wherever you wanted.”

I turned the page again, this time to one of me on the fridge. On the fridge, like atop it, standing in that space between the top of the fridge and the ceiling. “You guys had to study me to make sure I wasn’t using random powers?” 

“Yeah. Turns out you’re just smart and don’t stop until you get what you want. Like the toy I put on the fridge to stop you and Brent fighting. You used the kitchen cabinets as stairs.” 

Ah, that’s what that weird thing in my hand was.

Next set was of a birthday party, just Betty in attendance with Mom and Dad, stock little safari animals decorating the living room. The Christmas tree was still up, paper streamers wrapped around the branches in place of ornaments and with presents under it wrapped in paper that screamed HAPPY BIRTHDAY in bold. “Is this where the birthday tree came from?” I asked. We always kept our Christmas tree up till January 18th, the bottom of the tree holding bigger presents while the branches would hold smaller things like paint brushes or video game cases or gift cards. It was one of my favorite traditions.

“We were just lazy,” Dad shrugged. “You try finding time to put up Christmas stuff when you’ve got Brent learning how to open the front door and you trying to pull everything out of the kitchen cabinets to hide in them.”

Yeah we were definitely why he was graying fast at 44. 

“But yes, your Mom and I talked about doing it after getting you two to bed that night,” Dad added. “I wanted…it didn’t hurt to keep the idea after we moved to Portland, you know?” 

I nodded. A snippet of Mom in our life wasn’t something I was upset to have around. 

The next pages were of the nursery gutted or tarped, Mom handing Brent a paintbrush while visibly holding me back from trying to eat some paint out of a bucket. Nice. Glad that’s a memory now. The wall was tarped too save for a cut out square, the elephant’s canvas in it. “So you made it before we were born?” I asked, Dad nodding. I looked back at the pictures, the next one a close up on Mom. 

The smile began to slip off my face; Mom, she…she didn’t look the same. I mean yeah it looked like Mom but I hadn’t noticed her skin was a bit gray, cheeks seeming to become sullen. She looked sick. There was life in her eyes that didn’t match her body, but she just didn’t look right. 

This had to be what Dad was talking about. Whatever our birth did to her was starting to become obvious.

I flipped the pages, ignoring a lot of what we were doing more so to track how Mom declined; her arms got a bit skinnier, her collarbones more pronounced. There were less pictures of her in action with us and more of her sitting or laying down. There were quite a few pics of her with little wrappings on her elbows, the after effects of a blood draw or something. She…she looked like she was on borrowed time. If the Akurans never got to her, would she have lived anyways? She didn’t even have the energy to keep up with the dye in her hair, the brown roots coming back with a vengeance. She took to wearing baggier tees as summer returned and I wondered if that was to hide that she lost weight. S’mores was suddenly there, a Burmese kitten that looked like a toasted marshmallow, Mom holding her as if she’d melt away in her hands. “S’mores was Mom’s cat?” 

Dad nodded. “I got S’mores for her as a late birthday gift. You guys were not nice to her—“ he pointed to a picture of me with my hand on her head in a bad pet, S’mores glowering but otherwise unmoving, “—but she was a great cat. Let you do almost anything to her, and would only swipe if you pushed too far.” 

“She never used her claws,” I commented, remembering all the feverish little rapid patpatpatpatpat smacks she’d hit me with when I tried shoving her in doll clothes. She’d smack me, run to Dad yowling, and I’d get in trouble — but she never hurt me. I never even heard her hiss till her cancer got bad when we were 13. 

Dad was torn up when S’mores died, and now I got why; it was another piece of Mom, ripped away. 

There were Fourth of July pictures featuring only Dad and Betty, Mom missing from the festivities at the Longhouse. Betty playing with me, Dad holding Brent’s hand more to keep him in place than anything as they walked the shore of the Sound — but no Mom. Mom was on the next page, wrapped up in bed with Brent and Me under her arms, all three of us having some sort of movie night where she managed to placate us two into stillness. There was a little bit more color in her face, but it could have also been from the blush she gave the camera, caught by Dad. One beside it was Brent and I now fully active on the bed, chasing around a pink light that overexposed our faces on camera — but it didn’t erase the joy. Not at all. 

Next page was a cute family one, Mom and Dad wrangling Brent and I down respectively, posed on the front steps of the Longhouse. Another one of Betty losing her grip on us, but nonetheless laughing, reaching out to try to snatch Brent back up before he could run too far as I was slung over her shoulder, looking back at the camera and laughing. 

There weren’t any other pictures on the opposite side, nor the rest of the book as I flipped through. The memories stopped there on the Longhouse stairs. “That’s the day I proposed to your mom,” Dad said sadly. “Betty wanted a picture when we came back in celebration.” 

And a week later, Mom would be dead. 

I sniffed, trying to push back the tears. I had so many emotions flowing through me, all touched with a twinge of sadness. Mom was here. On this couch, in this house, at some point — and I had proof. I could sprint outside right now and scream to the heavens that I had a Mom, that she loved me and I had proof! It was right here in this old album, which I subconsciously brought closer to my chest as I closed it, breathing shakily. 

Dad’s arm on my shoulder tightened a bit in a side hug, drawing me closer into his side. “You okay?” He asked gently. 

I nodded rather feverishly, sniffing again. “Yeah, I…” I gripped the book tighter, like if I squeezed it hard enough it’d hug back. “She knew us.” I whispered. 

“Hm?” 

I tried to raise my voice higher, but couldn’t. I may as well have been vapor, the way it suddenly vanished. Everything welled up in my chest, trying to shove its way out. 

Dad’s hand rubbed against my arm softly, and he breathed deeply before saying, “She loved you. Both of you, and it’s been hard keeping these memories from you two because you deserve to know how much she loved you.”

Tears began escaping without my consent. God, I didn’t think I could cry anymore today. Dad’s other arm came around to grab me fully and I couldn’t hold back anymore, pain and joy and sadness all flooding out on choked sobs as I cried. I even felt Dad’s breathing shake, his nose sniff — he joined at some point, but never stopped consoling me. Didn’t worry about anything but how I was doing, keeping a hold on me even as I pulled out of the hug, throat raw. 

He let the silence hang as I composed myself, trying to steady my breathing and get those embarrassing hiccups to stop. I let the book rest on my lap again, freeing my hands so I could pull the sleeves of my shirt over them and wipe my face dry. Weird, you’d think the powers would deal with them. 

Dad’s thumb was rubbing a gentle pattern into my bicep, and I tried to force my breathing to match the rhythm of his movements somehow. “She was really happy you were a girl, by the way. After the whole scare that you got swapped out and stuff, she actually was so happy she cried. Something about not being surrounded by testosterone,” 

I snorted, the sound gross because of my congestion. Yeah, sometimes it sucked being in a house full of boys, I probably would have been relieved too. 

“Brent needs to see this,” I eventually said, my voice a harsh croak that required me to cough to even it back out. 

“He will,” Dad promised. “I’ll show him tomorrow at some point.” Dad then sighed hard, giving me a slight bit of room as he went from squeezing into me to leaned back on the couch. “How was he?” 

I shrugged. “He…upset. I missed whatever fit he threw, but that construction site is completely unusable now.” 

Dad blinked, looking down at me. “Really?” 

I explained what I saw, how absolutely destroyed the site and surrounding trees were — but Dad didn’t look surprised. In fact he hummed, as if it was a curious outcome. “I’ll have to talk to him about it. I think I might know what happened,” 

“Tommy just—“ I sputtered a moment, trying to find the words. “How could he? Not exactly being pro-Conduit is one thing but he sold you out! After everything!” 

Dad stared into the fire, which really needed a stoke, thinking. “You know, when we left here and I became Damion and everything, I sort of thought that…maybe it was a good thing. I was scared of what being Abigail Walker and Delsin Rowe’s kids was going to do to you two. Not even the death threats or the stalking or the harassment but…stuff like this, with Tommy. Especially when I thought you two were normal, I felt like I made the right move. That maybe we should have done it earlier.” 

What would that have done? Tommy would still be prejudiced, we’d still be Conduits, Dad would still be Delsin Rowe. Mom probably would have died from whatever made her sick. “We shouldn’t have to hide,” I huffed. “It’s not fair! I mean, why is it so wrong that we’re Conduits? You know how much good we could do?” 

“People are scared of what they don’t understand,” Dad said sadly. “And with Empire City and the Plague and Augustine’s stunts — they have reason to be scared. They’re worried they can’t protect themselves.” 

“They don’t need to protect themselves! It’s not like we’re hunting them for sport.” I scoffed. “And even if something happens, I mean — doesn’t it feel safer to have a Conduit help?” 

Dad was giving me a weird look, like he was analyzing all I left unsaid. Probably to chastise me for the curse words I was keeping out. “Jeanie, I want you to think back to when those Akurans had you. You couldn’t do a thing to safely get out of that situation, right?” 

I nodded, the idea of that day enough to cause knots in my stomach. Even after it all, the only reason I got away from his gun was because I turned to water in his arms. If I wasn’t a Conduit, or if I didn’t form powers then…would I even be alive? 

“That fear is what everyone has about Conduits. Guns and stuff can only do so much. If someone shoots at us, we can dodge or block it — and we heal fast. What’s to stop us from killing them?” 

Not much. 

“But we aren’t killers, Dad! You’re not, me and Brent aren’t, and none of those Conduits in COLE were either.” 

Dad’s soft smile he gave me was weird, sort of like he…felt sorry for me? “There’s a lot more to this than you know, Jean. It’s not always that easy.” 

Then fucking make it easy, Dad! I’m not a child anymore, I’m 99% adult and you can tell me what you really think instead of hiding behind the ‘you’ll understand when you’re older’ excuse. 

That’s what I wanted to say. Instead I sort of huffed under my breath and looked at the fire, grabbing the poker to stab at it a bit. 

A few embers shot out from my poking, and I watched them flitter down to the cold tile that lined the edge of the fireplace, dying midair before they could even hit the ground. My mind wasn’t on the argument I wanted to start with Dad at all anymore, but the absolute tragedy that happened earlier. “Dad?” He hummed. “Did…is it still at nineteen?” 

His hand came up from its lax position, running over his face. “Yeah. Didn’t go up, but there’s a couple people in critical condition,” 

So it could change. 

“So…how many of them did you know?” 

Dad’s eyes didn’t leave the fire, the flames haunting him as if he watched COLE explode in person. “All of them.” 

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. 19 acquaintances or friends gone, snuffed out like those embers. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t right. 

“There’s a vigil tomorrow,” Dad said. “Got an email about it. They’ve kept me on the email chains just in case I…” he shook his head as if resetting the thought, trying again with, “I hope they stay safe about it. Another big gathering isn’t the best idea.” 

The thought came to me, and left my tongue just as quickly: “You should be there.” 

Dad turned to look at me like I just ate ash out of the fireplace for a midnight snack. “What?” 

There was a brief second where I thought about shaking my head and saying ‘never mind’ — but there wasn’t a good enough reason not to. We didn’t have the liberty of reasoning anymore. “You should go. They — the Conduits need a voice right now and I know Dr. Sims is there but it’s—“ I shrugged, finishing lamely with, “It’s not you.” 

“Jeanie, I need to make sure you two stay safe—“

“Dad,” I cut him off, pulling out of his embrace to face him fully. He blinked, surprised by how serious I was being. “I don’t think we can hide anymore. It didn’t work, anyways — they found us. And besides, staying silent right now is admitting it’s the truth. They know you’re Delsin, and they know about me and Brent. There’s video and Tommy is ratting us out anyways so it isn’t like we can just pretend things are okay.” I thought back to that one on one I had with Betty on the patio; maybe she did know what she was talking about. “COLE was just blown up and I don’t — maybe if we did something no one would have died—“

“Jean—“ 

“But we can’t just leave them to fend for themselves! They need you. Not Sims, not some other guy, not the politicians, but the man they credit for freeing them. I don’t think anyone but Delsin Rowe can fix this.” 

Dad shook his head. “I’m not — Jean, this isn’t one of those comics you want to write. I can’t be that guy, I just care about you and your broth—“ 

“But you are.” I stressed, a few seconds away from dropping to my knees in a plea. “You’re that guy to them. I thought you were that guy too: you didn’t have to help them, but you did, and that’s what they care about. That’s why they need you. And I know you care, Dad! You wouldn’t have made COLE if you didn’t.” 

He looked at me for so long I eventually dropped my vision to my hands, chickening out of the staring contest. But it’s the truth: he should be there. For the people he knew, for the ones he helped. Everyone knew Delsin Rowe was alive, and it was too late to shove that fact back into its little box. We did have a choice, and ours was probably more important than any other average Conduit, because I fully believed Dad’s involvement could change the tides. 

“You really think that?” Dad finally asked, just above a whisper. I looked up; he was still staring, the ghosts of a thousand fears and the shadows of a dozen emotions crossing his face. 

“Yeah,” I answered with no hesitation. “I think they need you again.” 

Dad breathed deeply, squinting his eyes shut like the action hurt him. “I don’t want to leave you two alone, but I can’t take you back there right now,”

“We aren’t alone,” I shrugged. “Betty can babysit us so you know we aren’t drinking.” 

“Oh I’m not worried about that,” Dad suddenly chuckled. “You have a super high metabolism now. You’ll need to drink an entire handle to feel a buzz.” 

“What?” 

Dad’s stare tried to be disapproving, but cracked under the amusement. “You could pretend to not be so heartbroken, y’know,” but that pensiveness came back, and Dad went quiet. 

I couldn’t think of anything else to say. What could I say? I couldn’t force him there, and it definitely didn’t look like he was ready to decide what to do. 

So instead I shifted to lean against him again, grabbing the photo album and asking, “Do you remember anything about these pictures? Like, what was going on that day?” 

I didn’t look at Dad, but I could tell he was caught off guard by the sudden change in topic as he said, “Y-yeah, a few of them, why?” 

“Tell me about them?” 

For a moment, Dad tensed, and I was sure he was gonna shrug me off and tell me to just go to bed. But then he shifted, leaned into the couch so I fit more to his chest and opened the album like it was a storybook. “So it’d been…almost two months since I heard from your Mom — there were so many interviews with the FBI and Reggie’s funeral and Curdun Cay that we barely got a moment of peace. Didn’t even really say a proper goodbye to each other. But one day she called and asked if I was still close to Seattle, if I’d meet her at the warehouse where she sorta kicked my ass…” 

I fell asleep there, the rumbles of Dad’s chest becoming a white noise as I listened to him explain a past I was only becoming acquainted with. 

[genericpuff]

Okay I need someone to know there is an equally bad Hades x Persephone story (it might've been self published? But I'm not sure. I read it years ago as a gift from a friend).

But the basic premise of the story is very similar to a touch of darkness and lore Olympus. The names are changed slightly - Persephone is now Persy or something and hades is Hayden.

Persephone works at an accounting firm or something as a new hire and guess who the new business partner is that her company is trying to strike a deal with? Hades who's Uber rich and handsome. Only difference is for some reason Persephone has the power to make people tell her their deepest secrets so like for example when she was a kid people would confess creepy things to her - like her middle school teacher blatantly admitting to being a pedophile and she does nothing about it. (Granted it's like what would she do even magic powers aren't admissible in court but still). And there's a love triangle with some random human guy? Who is immune to her powers through sheer will power (and masturbation. Yes this is a plot point).

At some point Persephone travels Hayden's domain (which is somewhere in Asia like Shanghai for some reason and not Greece). I gave up at that point. There was lots of creepy things going on in the story a la "young new girl Persephone is constantly almost assaulted at every turn due to her irresistible beauty and people's need to tell her their secrets").

Worst book I've ever read. It's so bad I cannot for the life of me remember the title but it fashioned itself as a modern retelling of Hades and Persephone.

Could it have been The Cursed God? That's what I pulled up from a google search at least LMAO

Here's the summary:

"Hades is coming for me. But that doesn't mean he can have me . . . He says he knows me. Who I am. What I am. I'm pretty sure my boss Hayden is on some sort of weird power trip. He's sexy as hell, but has an arrogance that spells danger. I'm only serving drinks in his seedy strip club until I can afford my own flower shop. I just have to avoid the inexplicable pull between us in the meantime. Then he claims I'm Persephone and he's Hades, the God of the Underworld. He says I was taken from him and now he's here to awaken my spirit so he can take me back to the underworld. That his position in the underworld depends on it. Either he's crazy . . . or I'm a mythical goddess. A queen of the underworld. His Queen."

There was another one I found called Descent. And its summary is equally crazy:

"He was my savior once. Twice. Now he’s become my tormentor.

Hayden Montgomery was my best friend’s big brother. The last time I saw him was that Halloween night. The night he found me in the ruin of the chapel. The night he carried me home through a storm that was the omen warning us all of what would come.

That was five years ago. Now, he’s back. But he’s not the same man he was.

Once upon a time, I’d fantasized about our happily-ever-after. Once upon a time, I think I loved him.

But that was before he stood in the wreckage that is now my life and offered me the solution to my problems. And the cost? My body and my soul.

There’s something dark between Hayden and me. It binds us for better or for worse. Mostly worse. Like the moth to the flame, we can’t seem to resist the draw.

I just don’t know which of us is the moth and which the flame, but either way, we’re both going to get burned."

That last bit about the moth and flame is just- it's so delightfully Twilight "the lion fell in love with the lamb" vibes.

Anyways. Those are the two closest ones I could find that matched your description, but this has me learning that there are ... a LOT of 'modern' retellings of H x P that involve Persephone being an uwu babygirl and Hades being some wet rag abusive dickhead named Hayden. This is a sub-genre I didn't know existed and now I'm wishing I could just scrub my brain of it LOL

On the one hand, part of me now wants to believe that this issue goes deeper than Rachel, that Rachel is just yet another side effect of a bigger problem... but then I spot all the publication dates on these H x P "dark romance" books are from 2019 onwards. Obviously LO doesn't exist in a vacuum either, it's clear it took influences from works that existed before it, it's not the first "modern" retelling of Greek myth. But I can't help but feel a sense of dread that really makes me wonder just how much LO's existence has subsequently oversaturated the market with these "retellings" of a story that was originally a tragedy and meant to sympathize with the mothers whose daughters were forced into marriage, the same way 50 Shades and Twilight oversaturated the market with the "dark romance" genre itself, which is really just a dog whistle for abusive relationships at this point.

Don't really have anything else to say to close out this post. It's just depressing and I desperately want us all to hurry the fuck up and outgrow it instead of dressing up the same abusive "relationships" with a new coat of paint every 5-10 years.

[atlabeth]

hold onto me (im a little unsteady) - sokka x reader

i was listening to the song when i came up w this so feel free to listen to that if you want

summary: a late night with sokka reminds you that even on the worst days, you always have someone in your corner.

a/n: lmao this is 100% self indulgent i have no excuses. my parents are getting divorced and almost every time they're together they argue and so this is just a comfort fic after it happened again tonight bc GD i wish i had a sokka. this one goes out to all my divorce babies or people with parents that never stop arguing. you are very loved<3

wc: 1.7k, this got away from me lol

warning(s): mentions of parents arguing n shit, like the tiniest mentions of implying sex and problems with consent (in general, not with them), but this is all fluff

hey. i know you’re probably asleep right now but could you come over?

It was far too late at night when you sent the text. A question asked on a whim, an offer that would most likely go ignored due to the boy on the other end being asleep.

But goddammit, you really didn’t care. Even if he didn’t respond, just hitting ‘send’ made you feel slightly better. You had already taken refuge in one of the sweatshirts he had left at your house (read: one that you had stolen and refused to give back) and as your eyes fell on the glow of the digital clock on your bedside table, you were once again reminded of how stupid this was.

But you heard the telltale buzz of a notification and all but lunged for your phone, an uncontrollable smile tugging on your lips. You didn’t know why you ever doubted him.

sokka💙: you know i never sleep babe

sokka💙: a curse of my genius

sokka💙: im omw

you’re the best thank you love<3

A pair of fuzzy socks and a refilled water bottle later, you heard the sound of something hitting your window. Though you tensed up at first, a roll of your eyes was all it took before you remembered just who you had invited over. Another smile took over as you pushed yourself off of your bed, pushing the curtains aside in time to see another pebble hit the pane.

A physical effort took place to stifle the laugh as you pushed your window up, and you leaned against the sill on your elbows to get a better look at your ridiculous boyfriend.

“Throwing rocks at my window? I think I’m stuck in a bad romcom.”

He grinned and let the remaining pebbles fall to the ground. “It’s what’s to be expected from your Prince Charming, right? Besides, I’m assuming that your parents wouldn’t just let me walk through the front door at this hour.”

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks. Just the sight of Sokka was always enough to make you feel better, and tonight was no exception. The vice on your heart was already starting to loosen. “Right as usual. Think you’ll catch me if I jump?”

He laughed and made a show of looking up and down the distance and then at his arms. “I’d like to say so, but I think we’d have better luck if I climb up.”

“You sure you can do that, big guy?” you asked with a teasing grin. He rolled his eyes with the same sentiment.

“Of course I can. I just thank nature that there’s a tree so close to your window. It’s saved me from a lot of embarrassing falls.”

You chuckled and backed away from the window, the slight chill from the night air beginning to get to you. “I’ll leave you to it while I get things ready.”

Truth be told, your room was a total mess at the moment. You knew Sokka wouldn’t care, especially not now, but it put you slightly more at ease to have something in your life that you could control. You were in the middle of shoving some previously strewn-about clothes into your closet when you heard the click of your window closing. When you turned around, you were met with your boyfriend’s smiling face.

“You’re so pretty,” you murmured as you walked over to him. He wrapped his arms around your waist as you kissed him lightly on the lips, unable to stop the blossoming smile nor the warmth that the action gave you. “Thank you for being here.”

“Of course.” The softness of his words were in stark contrast to the joking bravado from only minutes earlier, and as you stepped away from his embrace and pushed yourself onto your bed, he joined you on the other side. “And not that I’m not happy to be here, but I just wanna know. What’s going on?”

You sighed, letting one leg hang off the bed as you tucked the other in. It was a testament to Sokka’s power how quickly he had gotten you to forget about the new mess of the night. “The usual showing of fuckall and fuckup. I’m more impressed by how they never run out of things to scream at each other about.”

Your bad joke didn’t get a laugh out of him, which you were secretly glad for. Instead, he snaked an arm around your back and tugged you closer, a contented sigh falling from your lips as you nestled your head into the space between his shoulder and his head. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “You know it’s not your fault, right?”

The phrase had gone in one ear and out the other more times than you could count from your parents, but each time Sokka said it, the words held a different weight. You knew it wasn’t your fault in the first place, but guilt didn’t care all that much for logic. You knew he meant it though, and once more the vice loosened.

“I know. But it still helps to hear it.” You glanced up at him, reaching a hand up to twist a loose strand of his hair around your finger. “You should wear your hair down more often,” you mused. “It makes you look like a prince.”

He chuckled, amusement glinting through his ocean eyes. “I did say I was your Prince Charming, didn’t I?”

You smiled, slowly uncurling his hair from your finger. “Yeah.”

“That means I’ll always be there for you. Especially to save my royal from their evil stepparents.”

Another laugh bubbled in your chest at that, and you leaned closer into him. “Thank you. The more I visit your place, the more I want your family to be mine. Hakoda is like, the nicest man I’ve ever met, and your mom? She actually makes me want to cry with how sweet she is. I think I know where you get it from.”

He grinned and bumped your leg with his own. “You know you’re welcome over there any time. But maybe you shouldn’t — I think my mom might actually adopt you with how much she loves you. That… that would be really weird.”

His joy was infectious as you planted another kiss on his cheek, something that earned you a, as you liked to call it, dazzling Signature Sokka Smile. “I’ll make sure she holds off on the adoption papers for now.”

“I’d like that.”

And though the happiness you felt at the moment was almost overwhelming, that was just what caused that tiny sliver of doubt to come in. When people invited their partners over at three in the morning, it usually wasn’t to sit on the bed and talk about their problems. It was… it was for more, and you didn’t want that right now. And because you were an expert at it, you decided to put your foot in your mouth and start talking.

“I— I’m sorry that I called you over here so late, for no reason. I know you probably expected something else than me ranting, but…” you sighed, drawing your knees closer to your chest as you brought your other hand to Sokka’s resting on your shoulder. “I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong idea.”

He sighed at that, but you knew it wasn’t one of disappointment. “You know I’m here for you. I don’t care if you just want to sit in silence for the next five hours while we stare at the wall, or if you want to watch sappy rom coms until your eyes bleed. I’m more than okay with staying like this. I didn’t come over here because I expected anything from you — I came over here because you needed me, and so I’m here.” Sokka smiled, an image you didn’t think would ever stop making you melt, and intertwined your hand with his. “This is perfect. You’re perfect.”

You were so stunned at the brazen declaration that your voice got stuck in your throat for a moment, holding back tears. (Happy tears. They were never anything other than happy tears with Sokka.) It hit you then that you didn’t really know what it was like having someone get close to you without an ulterior motive.

“Thank you,” you murmured after a moment of comfortable silence. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” You knew he was smiling, even without having to look up at him. You could hear it in his voice, feel it in the kiss he pressed to your hairline.

A comfortable silence hung in the air for a long time until you broke it. “You know… my dad kinda ran off to a motel for the night after this whole thing, and my mom leaves early in the morning. If you were serious about those rom coms…” You allowed the unsaid question of staying the night to fester so Sokka knew he could say no if he wanted to, but he didn’t even hesitate.

“Of course I was serious. I mean, I’ve gotta get the ideas for our future wedding from somewhere.”

You laughed, a sentiment that had occurred more times in the ten minutes he had been here than the past week, and picked the remote for your little box TV off of your bedside table. You clicked through various movies until you found one Sokka liked, and then you cuddled deeper into his side to prepare for the ride you had ahead of you.

Thirty minutes into 27 Dresses, he had fallen asleep, arm still around you and one of his legs slightly intertwined with one of your own. But it’s not like you minded — the familiar weight of Sokka in your bed had caused all your worries to melt away, if only for the night.

You didn’t expect him to last past the first movie, but you were sure you would at least get through until Katherine Heigl got the man. But there was an overwhelming feeling of safety permeating the air with Sokka’s arms around you, and you ended up knocked out before she could even get through all twenty seven dresses.

It wasn’t lost on you how fortunate you were — he didn’t expect anything like that from you, he just wanted you to be safe. He was there for you. You would never understand how you had gotten so lucky with your boyfriend, but you would never stop being grateful for him.

-

this is the most self indulgent thing ive ever written and i am NOT sorry

perm tags: @dv0412 @siriuslyslyslytherin @maruchan77

atla tags: @marianne1806 @brown-eyed-thang @akiris

[lesbian-deadpool]

Saving Rosie

Part One of Two: “I’m Not A Spy.”

Rosie Betzer x Reader

Words: 5,768

Warnings: WWII (and everything that comes with that era), Nazis, spy shit, arguing, alludes to execution, sadness... I think that may be it.

Request: No.

Summary: You save the woman you have grown close to over the past few years you have been undercover as a Nazi general, and now you’re going to save her family.

A/N: Me, still broken after watching Jojo Rabbit almost a year and a half ago?? It’s more likely than you think... so, apparently I write Rosie Beltzer fics now lol

Also, just some lil notes. The reader in this is undercover as a male Nazi general, and they’re not actually German in this fic.

EDIT: I accidentally tagged this as a Natasha fic lmao. I fixed it now tho.

Ko-Fi

Commissions

(Not My GIF)

***

"It's a lovely night for it, huh?"

For what? You weren't 

certain. Maybe it was the full moon. Maybe, it was the clear sky. The deserted streets, perhaps... what loomed in the following days to come.

Or maybe, just maybe. It was the woman by your side.

The woman hummed, a small sweet smile caressing her face.

"One of the better ones we've had in years. Came her strong German accent. A stark difference to yours, considering you no longer had to mask it. Around her, anyway.

Your smile mirrored hers as it brightened.

"It sure is."

"I can't believe it's almost over. And after so long..." she said, while you grunted, sitting down beside her on the small roof over the open attic window. "This unjust war is finally coming to an end."

"Okay, you're starting to sound like my commander now."

Rosie chuckled at your words, moving to softly lean into your side, keeping her head up to continue looking at the bright white stars that littered the midnight blue sky.

"Why do you always insist on meeting up here?" you grumbled, no malice in your voice, "It's a pain in the ass to get up onto the roof, from the outside, y'know?"

"You're a spy, aren't you? Aren't you supposed to be good at this stuff?"

"Oh cheeky," you laughed, lightly slapping the side of her leg, with the back of your hand. Rosie's quiet giggles following your remark, "And I'm an undercover soldier. Those are two very different things."

"Still." She shrugged.

You sat in silence for a small while. Over the few years, you and Rosie had grown close. Meeting up on her rooftop, at the dead of night, where there was no chance of anyone seeing you together, this way, becoming an almost every day occurrence.

You knew you could trust her the moment you first met, almost three years ago. After you had stolen the identity of a Nazi officer, that looked starkly like you. Luckily, there was hardly any information about this person. So, there was less chance for your cover to be blown.

Soon, the resistance that Rosie had been deeply a part of was un-earthed to you, thanks to your informant and the letter she carried. It wasn't long after that you started working with them too. Helping them better than they could ever hope, thanks to the military resources and information you brought.

"What happened to your neck?" Rosie asked, pulling you out from where you were, deep in your memories.

A hand came up to rub at your slightly sore skin.

"My informant can be cruel..."

Rosie cocked a blonde eyebrow at you, wanting an explanation from you.

You sighed, getting ready to tell her.

***

Eyes burned into the woman from all sides as her heels kicked against the polished wooden, yet stained, floor. Her light brown hair shone under the glowing lights, confidence radiating from her just the same.

"Can I help you?" a German Soldier slid in front of her, she had to stop herself from sneering at the man. For both his being a Nazi and his sweaty stench. But instead, she managed a sultry smirk.

"I'm here to see your General," she replied, in a German accent.

"Don't bother," another Soldier, this one drunk and slightly swaying, called over, from where he was pressed into the wall a few feet behind her.

"I don't think your General would take too kindly to you stealing what they paid for."

"They're gonna have fun with you," he replied, blatantly looking her up and down. Like a wolf would, to a tiny bunny, ready to devour it whole. However, the wolf was not a wolf at all, the wolf was, in fact, the bunny, and the bunny was the actual wolf.

She would tear him to shreds, given the chance.

"The General is in the usual room," the original man said, "Fair warning, though. They're not in a good mood today."

The woman began strutting down the hallway, once again. Throwing, "Aren't they always?" over her shoulder once she passed him by.

When she opened the thick wooden door you resided behind, the sounds of your continued groan began pouring through the crack.

"Sometimes I cannot believe that you got this assignment," she uttered in her original London accent, with her back pressed against the now-closed door.

You finished your groan off and took a deep breath before you uttered your reply.

"Luck-of-the-draw, I guess," you spoke from the floor where you lay on your back, with a shrug, "That, or I look strikingly alike the guy who died. The Nazi prick."

She walked over to you, one foot rising to press her heel into your neck, your thyroid resting in the open space of the shoe.

A choking noise sprang from your mouth as you flailed your limbs around gently. You knew that if she were to press any harder, she would surely manage to choke you.

"You're not suited for this job."

The brunette pressed harder against your throat before she released you. Leaving you to turn on your side, coughing and spluttering.

"Well, no shit. I'm a soldier, not a spy."

"You can tell."

"What was that all about?" You motioned to your neck. Red marks already making their way upon the tender flesh.

"We need to make it seem like we are having sex. Remember? I am supposed to be your hooker after all."

"You're a bitch, is what you are."

She scowled at you as you rolled yourself onto your stomach, sighing when you finally got to your feet.

"Where's the update?"

You hummed, almost as if you were remembering what you were here to do. Removing the crystal tumbler from your lips the whisky sloshing around inside. Reaching behind you, you pulled the file from where it was tucked into your pants and under your shirt. Handing it over to her.

"Is this it?" She asked, weighing the file in her hand, "It's very light."

"Yeah, and so's the information swimming around. Unless you wanna hear about the fish Agatha caught last weekend," you snarked back, moving to point at the file with the same hand that held your glass, "There's some good stuff in there. It's not much. But it's good."

"I'll take your word for it."

She tucked the folder into the long overcoat she wore, then you saw her eyebrows furrow.

"Aren't you supposed to take care of that?" She nodded towards the uniform jacket you had thrown across the room not long after you had entered it.

"You sneered at the fore-talked about item.

"I hate it and everything it stands for." You turned back to face her. "As soon as all of this bullshit is over, I'm burning that fucking armband. And then the rest of the fucking uniform."

"Real calm there, aren't you?"

"Don't start shit with me, Hannah." You took a large swig of your drink, almost emptying the glass. "I know that you wish you had somehow gotten this mission. But trust me, you don't fucking want it. The shit I've seen and done. The stuff that I've had to authorise, just to keep my cover. The fucking horror storied these monsters have told proudly, or as if they're fucking jokes." You were panting now. "You don't want that."

You had her startled into silence. Hannah had never expected this to come from you.

"How's the resistance?"

You grunted. Downing the rest of the brown liquor before moving to pour yourself another glass three fingers tall.

"It's going." you gave a heavy nod. "Still trying to spread the word."

Hannah hummed, slowly making her way towards you. Fingers coming up to razzle her hair, and wipe her lipstick, so it smudged onto her cheek.

"How's the blonde?"

"What-?" you were cut off when she wiped the red lipstick on her fingers across your own lips, leaving a smudge like hers there. "Ugh," you groaned, moving away from her palm, only to utter small obscenities and sounds of pain when her lipstick freehand messed up your short, slicked-back hair.

"What blonde?" you finally managed to ask.

"The one from the resistance. What's her name?" She clicked her fingers together, in realisation, "Rosie."

"Oh! Yeah, she's fine, and so are the kids."

"You seem to be taking a shine to her, from what I hear from the resistance. You and Rosie seem to be something of a dynamic duo."

Suddenly your shirt was ripped open, from the collar to your ribs. Making your eyes widen in shock.

However, you were used to this by now, so they soon returned back to their regular size.

"Yeah, we're friends."

Hannah hummed, something akin to a knowing smirk on her face. As she untucked your shirt.

"I'd keep an eye on her, though."

She opened your pants.

"She's being watched."

Breathless at what she just said, you stood stock still, watching as she walked towards the wooden door.

"Oh." Hannah stopped, her hand upon the handle, pulling some pieces of paper from her pocket and threw them to the floor, "I'll leave you to deliver the bad news."

And with that, she left.

***

You forewent telling Rosie everything from the mention of her.

Thinking it the best if she heard it differently.

"That really sounds like a spy meeting to me," Rosie said with a smirk, knowing it would annoy you to no end.

You closed your eyes before you could roll them into the back of your head. Taking a deep breath, you exhaled, "I'm not a spy."

"So, you've said," she giggled.

"You're drunk," you mumbled to yourself.

"What was that?"

"How are the kids?" you asked, clearly watching as Rosie groaned lightly. Her head down-turned, almost sad looking.

"Jojo's still obsessed with Hitler and everything. And Elsa's doing her best. But I can tell how much this is affecting her. And in what world wouldn't it?"

"She's strong." You nodded. "She'll get through it. We all will."

"And what about Jojo?"

Rosie turned to face you, hair swaying as she did. You could see the glazed look in her eye's, telling yourself to be extra vigilant with the woman upon the roof. You had to make sure she didn't fall off in her drunken state.

"Is he going to be like this for the rest of his life?"

Tears were building in her eyes now.

"Supporting evil dictators, wanting to take over the world, and fill it with hate?"

"No. No, of course not," you whispered. Reaching over, you clasped her cheeks between your rough, war-hardened hands. Wiping away her silent tears. "He's just a boy. A boy who wants to be a part of something, even if he doesn't understand what that is. What monster's he's following. He will realise one day. Trust me."

"I trust you." She nodded. "It just. It's hard. It's so hard. Especially when he plays up, like he did at dinner today."

"He did?"

She hummed with a nod.

"We're low on food right now. I had to go without to feed Elsa. But Jojo, he didn't know, obviously, so he took that too. Then he started arguing about his father-"

You inhaled sharply, shoulders tensing. But luckily for you, she didn't notice your reaction.

"-I yelled at him... we made up not long after, but I still feel awful about it. I'm a terrible mother."

"No, you're not-"

"I am-"

"No. You're not," you said firmly. Grabbing her forearm, gently moving it side to side, to get your point further across, "You're such a caring and amazing person. Your heart is so big and kind. And you're an even better mother. It's like all of that is doubled for those kids."

"Thank you," Rosie whispered, tears in her eyes once again, before she moved to wipe them away.

"Anyway, you're way better than my mother. She abandoned me at a farm. I was lucky a cow didn't shit on me."

She giggled at your little joke.

"I'm so sorry that happened to you."

"There's no need. I wouldn't change it."

Things were quiet for a few minutes when you suddenly remembered.

"Oh!" You reached into your pocket and pulled out three packages, wrapped in brown paper and tied together with string. "I guess it was just lucky that I brought these then."

"What are they?"

"Beef sandwiches, I thought you would like them."

"Oh, you're a lifesaver," she spoke in something close to a moan as she took a bite out of her sandwich.

You gave a small chuckle at the woman seated beside you, "I'd thought you'd say that. I'll have to start bringing food over to these meetings of ours because it's not like I can do it out in the open."

"People would think something was going on between us," Rosie hummed.

"You're right about that. Everyone is so bored around here. Gossip is like their life sauce."

"Would you be surprised if I told you that it was the same before the war?"

"Not at all," you laughed.

Rosie finished her sandwich, and you dreaded what was coming next.

"I need to tell you something," you almost whispered.

She bumped her shoulder against yours when you didn't continue.

"Well? What is it?"

"It... it's about your husband..."

You watched her carefully as you said that, all the while emotions, flew into her while she processed them.

She held back more tears, ones from the look on her face that she had shed more times than she could count. Face contoured into one of concealed pain. Looking away from your gentle, caring eyes while rubbing her hands together.

"He's dead, isn't he?"

"I'm afraid so." You nodded, looking out before you, into the starry night sky.

That's when you felt a tiny jolt beside you. Looking over at the blonde, you watched as a tear trickled down her cheek.

"I'm so sorry," you whispered.

With a gasp and a wet sniff, Rosie wiped her tears away.

"What happened?"

"There was a raid, some members of a resistance was there, your husband included. None of them made it... they saved the people they intended to, however."

She nodded with a sad yet proud smile.

"How long ago was this?"

You swallowed. Hating the words you were about to say.

"A little over a year ago."

You winced when you heard her sobs, ones being held in so hard just so no one could overhear her cries.

And, sickeningly so, the worst thing of all was that you didn't know how to help her.

Placing a hand upon her back, rubbing small comforting circles into her shoulder. Feeling her lean into you, face now pushed into your neck.

"I'm here. Everything's going to be alright."

You left not too long later, after already spending way too much time up on that roof.

Rosie wished you a "goodbye" with the promise that she would be fine. However, she didn't reply to you when you told her not to finish the rest of the wine. That she had been pounding for the majority of the day.

Before you arrived "home" and promptly collapsed onto the bed.

***

The afternoon sun was warm upon your face as you walked the streets of the German town. Watching as children ran around, women worked, and well, gossiped, and Nazi soldiers came and went.

Soon. You thought. This will all be over soon.

That's when you heard the murmured words from the women you had just walked past.

"Yes, the Gestapo. They're here right now."

"Who for?" the other woman asked, voice slightly higher at the aspect of such "juicy" gossip.

Sometimes it surprised you just how detached some of these people were from human lives. But then you took a step back and saw everything that was happening in the world. And you weren't surprised anymore. Just disappointed.

"The traitors wife. Beltzer."

And now you were scared.

"-They should be taking her to the square, right now."

It was like the world had slowed down as you turned to look at them, meeting their curious eyes.

The last thing you heard before taking off at a run towards the town square was a fading, "Like husband, like wife. I guess."

The people you passed by looked at you like you were insane. To see a, what they thought, General, sprinting down streets and panting like crazy, it set them on edge.

But you didn't give a damn about what anybody thought.

You just had to get to the square.

And quick.

***

By the time you got there, you had a light shine over your skin. Thanks to the sweat from both the running you had done and the worry that coursed through you.

"Remove your hands from her," came your faux German accent.

"She is a traitor to the Reich," one of the Gestapo's, seemingly the leader, replied assuredly.

"And what proof do you have of this?"

Rosie was terrified. You could see that as clear as day, no matter how she tried to keep calm. It was written all over her face.

So, you forcefully pushed their hands from the heavily breathing woman and pulling her to stand by your side and away from the group of men dressed in black suits.

"I'll have you know, we have very probable tips from some of the community-"

""Probable"?!" you shouted, causing the on edge woman beside you to jump slightly. To which you pulled her closer to you as a form of comfort. Your hand, coming to rest on her shoulder.

"Yes. Probable. We cannot have risks."

"Well, I say that it is bullshit."

"You have no jurisdiction or authority over our department."

"And I never said I did. I am saying that I vouch for this woman."

"But the tip-off's-" another man began.

"You choose to believe lonely and bored housewives over a General?!" You watched as their faces fell, and they tried to grab onto any straw they could to change your mind.

"There is still a chance-"

"There is no chance!"

"And can you be so sure?!"

"Do you really believe that I, a General, would be with her if you were right?"

"With her?" a third Gestapo asked curiously.

You knew what you had to do to get her back home, safe and away from the men trying to execute and make a spectacle of her. Just like the poor people hanging to your right.

"It means that I have been seeing her. Romantically, if you still do not fully understand, what I mean."

They didn't say anything for a few short moments, only stumbling and stuttering over their own voices.

"So, tell me. Who are you choosing to believe?"

"Uh. Y-You General."

"Good." You nodded once. "Now, I'm going to take her home. Goodbye, gentlemen," you spat. Turning on your heel, with Rosie under your arm, and walking away.

"Are you okay?" you whispered. Not drawing any attention to yourself or Rosie.

"I'm fine. Thank you for saving me," she replied in the same way.

"I wouldn't have done anything else." Your hand slipped down to the blondes dip in her lower back, helping to guide her back home. "Where are the flyers? Did you have any on you?"

"Yes. I threw them down the drain before they could see."

"Good. You did good." A squeeze to her hip before your hand returned to her lower back, just to keep up the appearance of the lie. "They're not gonna find them."

***

Rosie had relaxed more by the time you were at the bottom of her street when you saw a distinctly expensive car parked outside of Rosie's house. A car that everyone knows belongs to that of Gestapo's.

"Is Jojo home?" you asked, just stood there starring at the sight, with Rosie by your side.

"Yes," she husked.

"Shit."

And that's when you both broke out in a run.

You, being faster than Rosie, arrived at the building first. Barging through the door, with her hot on your heels.

Pounding your way up the stairs, only to come face to face with a gang of men, identically dressed to the Gestapo's, you had just saved Rosie from. Along with Jojo and Elsa, in clothes that didn't look like they belonged to her. Not to mention the demoted soldier, holding an identification book.

"What is the meaning of this?!"

"What are you doing in my house?!" you and Rosie said at the same time. Your yell angrier, compared to her more so worried one.

"We are searching the premises," the lead man, who wore round glasses, spoke. Face confused as to why Rosie was still alive. But as soon as he saw the anger chiselled upon your face. He could take a successful guess as to who had stopped the execution.

"Mama, they were just checking Inge's identification," Jojo said as his mother rushed towards him. Her hands, on his cheeks, as she checked him over.

"Oh, yes. Of course." Rosie pulled Jojo along to bring Elsa into her side, just as you had done for her mere minutes ago. "Are you both alright?"

She gained words and nods of confirmation from the two children.

"I think it's time that you all left."

"But-" one Gestapo said, looking to Rosie.

"But nothing," you continued, "I'm sure your associates will fill you in on their mistake. Now, if you are finished, I ask that you leave this house."

"We were just about to, anyway," the leader said, leading the way out for everyone. But not before the ID was handed back to the assumed Inge. With you trailing after, to slam the door behind them.

You turned, leaning your back against the wooden door, sighing deeply.

"Are they gone?" Rosie called down, leaning over the railing, to peer down at you.

The stairs creaked below you, the layer of carpet doing nothing to quiet them. You spoke your confirmation, as you reached her, "They're gone."

The kids looked like they had just been caught with their hand's in the cookie jar.

"So..." the caring woman started, "You two know about each other."

They nodded.

"For how long?"

"A couple of weeks, at most," Jojo said.

"How did you even find out about her?"

"I-I found the hatch-"

"He crawled in-"

"And I found her-"

"He was terrified."

"Was not!"

"Was too."

"Was not!"

"Was too!"

"Okay, enough," Rosie raised her voice, gaining the bickering children's attention.

Taking a breath, she ran her hands through her soft blonde hair.

"And you never told anyone?"

"No." Jojo shook his head. "I didn't want you to get into trouble..." It was at that point, he realised you were silently stood behind his mother, watching as everything unfolded and who you were.

Rosie caught this and looked over her shoulder at you.

"Don't worry," she told both of the kids, crouching down before them. Elsa's face one of mild terror.

This is when it hit you that these kids were exactly that.

Kids.

Kid's that were too scared of their mothers, or motherly figure, scolding them, than the actual, apparent danger that lurked not too far away.

"They're not going to tell anybody. They know. And won't let anything happen. To any of us." she manoeuvred to face you. "Right?"

You nodded. "Absolutely. I will do my best to protect all of you."

"Speaking of." She slowly rose to her feet, walking towards you.

The hand that Rosie placed upon your arm was gentle, almost like she was worried she would hurt you. Fingers curling into the jacket of the uniform you loathed.

"I have to speak with the General. So, you two stay up here. Understood?"

They nodded.

"Good." She pulled you through the open door, but before she could close it fully, her head popped through the door, "Oh. And we're not done yet. We still have a lot to talk about."

Then the door clicked shut.

"You're really good at that."

"What?"

"Being a mother."

"I know. You've told me before."

***

Things had changed rather quickly when you arrived downstairs.

Sat upon the blue cotton cushions of the wooden framed couch. Watching as Rosie paced around in front of you, fingertips rubbing against her full lips, worry etched across her face.

Your eyebrows shot up, and your body straightened when she turned to face you. Arms now down by her sides.

"So, we're together, huh?"

"I'm sorry," you replied, German accent dropped, "But that was the only thing that would get them to back off and drop the suspicions against you."

"I know." She nodded, completely understanding. Before her minimal composure dropped, and the worry came back. "What do we do? Jojo obviously thinks you are a traitor now. What if he tells someone?"

"He won't." You stood abruptly, taking Rosie's shoulder's into your hands, squeezing them gently. "He didn't tell anyone about Elsa when he had so many chances to do so. Hell, he had the chance, not even five minutes ago. But he hasn't said a word, purely just to keep you safe... he doesn't understand that this could hurt him and Elsa too. He doesn't know what's happening."

"But this is different-"

"Yes, it is different. It's better he thinks I'm a traitor, helping his family, than him knowing I'm an undercover soldier."

"You mean a spy?"

"Don't you start with that shit." You pointed at her playfully.

Rosie's smile dropped when a thought popped into her mind.

"Do you think they will still come back?"

"It is possible," you said honestly, "Which is why we should leave as soon as we possibly can."

"And go where?"

"Anywhere that isn't here."

"What do I tell the kids- What do I tell Jojo?" she clarified.

"The truth. You tell them that they could come back and that we all need to leave because we could all be in danger."

With her head in her hand's, the blonde scoffed tearily, "God. This fucking war."

"I know. I know."

You pulled her into your chest, letting her cry into you. Arms wound around your torso tightly.

"I hate it, For so many reasons."

"I know," you repeated again, "I feel the same."

"When will it just end? When will people be safe again?"

Deciding that it would be best to tell her the truth, you said, "I don't know. Soon I hope."

And there you sat, for a small while longer, allowing the blonde to cry into your chest.

***

You had left.

Gone to go gather some of your things, thinking it best to stay with Rosie and the kids while you were forced to stay in town.

All the while Rosie, spoke to the kids about leaving.

"I don't understand why we have to go!"

Was what you were greeted with as you entered the home.

"Because it is not safe for us here anymore," Rosie's voice came, calm but firm.

"But they won't come back."

"That's not entirely true," you spoke, entering the kitchen. Placing the leather bag you carried and the wicker basket upon the small table against the wall, you continued, "There's always a chance, no matter how small."

The young boy watched you silently for a minute. Not knowing what to say.

"Trust me, Jojo. I know how all of this works. I just want to keep you all safe, so does your mother. And this is the best way to do it.2

Jojo sighed.

"Where will we go?"

Rosie looked at you intently when her son asked this, wondering the same thing.

"We'll get out of town first. Then we'll focus on a safe place for us all to go."

"Jojo, would you. Would you go to your room, please?" Rosie asked, "I need to speak with the General, alone."

Just as the blonde boy was about to protest, he was cut off.

"Now. I also have to start preparing dinner."

He huffed and walked from the room, bounding up the stairs rather loudly.

You felt bad for the woman as you watched her grip the sides of the oven, bow her head, and give a great sigh.

"Where's Elsa?"

"She's in her hiding spot." Then she turned to face you. "Y/N, K know that Elsa isn't Inge."

"What?"

"She got Inge's birthday wrong, and he didn't say anything."

Your eye's wandered as you took in the information that was just given to you.

"Do you think he will say anything?"

"I don't know," you said with a shrug, "But I don't wanna take any chances. It's too risky."

"I agree." Rosie nodded once. "So, when do we leave."

"As soon as possible. Tonight if we can. Only pack the essentials. And not yet, we can't raise any suspicions."

Rosie's only reply and indication that she had heard you were a good few nods.

And then.

"What's in the basket?"

"Oh," you said chipperly, "Don't worry about cooking. I brought dinner."

***

Turns out "tonight" wasn't a viable option for skipping town, as with loud, almost deafening sirens of dread filled the sky came the air-raid strike.

"Wouldn't it give us a good cover, though?" Rosie had asked, preparing for bed.

You had resigned yourself to staying over, as a sort of bodyguard, while still in town. And the threat was still very much weighing in the winds.

You looked over your shoulder at her. Being spotted by her through the mirror of her vanity, where she sat. Removing her makeup and then applying some face cream.

"I'm not the only one by a window," you told her. Then moved to peer through the window, at the moving lights in the black, midnight sky. "I'm sure I heard Elsa and Jojo in the attic watching them."

"They are," she confirmed.

"See. We're not the only ones. Too many eyes. A good distraction," you admitted, "But almost impossible. And with two kids added to that? No chance."

A hum came from Rosie.

"So, what are our options?"

With a sigh, you began explaining, "People will be too jumpy tomorrow, so our best bet would be the day after."

The blonde, now ready for bed, came over to you. Moving to stand right in front of you, looking out the window herself.

"Wouldn't it be too risky, staying here that long?"

It seemed it was your turn to hum, shrugging your shoulders.

"I'd rather stay here a few more days than risk it out there. But there is a good side to these change of plans."

"And what's that?"

"Now, we can sneak stuff to the car. And won't risk being caught doing it all at night. That way, all we have to do is get in, then drive off."

"Good plan. Partner," Rosie spoke in a slight mocking about sultry tone. Which only made you roll your eyes good-naturedly.

"Yeah. Yeah. You're welcome."

"Seriously," you halted at Rosie's serious tone, raising your head to peer at her, "Thank you for everything."

"You don't have to thank me." Your lips ticked up in a small smile before you lightened the sober mood and atmosphere. "And you definitely won't be thanking me if I accidentally kick you in my sleep."

Rosie laughed at your words, watching as you said into bed beside her.

"Do not worry. If you kick me, I'll just kick you out of the bed."

"Now that's just rude."

Waking up the next morning was strange for you, to say the least.

With the bright sun shining through the thin drapes, across the cosy room, and onto the bed. Duvet lumpy above your forms.

And then there was Rosie.

The blonde pressed up against your side, head resting on your shoulder, arms curled around one of yours, still fast asleep.

Now that.

That was very unusual for you.

But then again. You were too sleepy to process anything at that moment. So instead, you just watched her breathe soothingly, looking so peaceful by your side, with your eyebrows furrowed and eyes squinted in curiosity.

It was a wonder how someone could look so contest face asleep like Rosie was, with everything that is going on in the world.

The world wouldn't be that way for much longer, you thought, it was only a matter of time before everything was over.

And the same thing could be said for the blonde sleeping by your side.

The wooden door barged open, alerting you fully awake, as Jojo strutted in. Only to stop dead in his tracks at the sight of you. In bed. With his mother.

You could see the slight anger in his eyes, purely out of protection for his beloved mother.

"Good morning, Jojo," Rosie said sleepily as she moved to sit up, looking at the boy with a sleepy smile.

You grunted as she pressed her palm into your abdomen to raise up into a seated position.

"What are they doing here?" he asked, nodding his head towards you.

Rosie looked over her shoulder at you, tired eyes evaluating you. Before she turned back to her son.

"There's something I forgot to tell you yesterday."

You watched the mother and child with slightly wide eyes, not uttering a word, just looking like you wanted to escape this situation.

"What did you forget?"

"The General here-" she patted your abdomen where her hand still resided. "-And I, are seeing each other."

It was a few good long moments as Jojo processed the words. You thought he was going to be angry. It would be natural. You would understand. He was a young boy, one who undoubtedly missed his father and would not be happy with his mother being with anyone else.

But you also had to understand that he idolised you, if only for your -albeit fake- position in the German military.

And yet, you were still surprised and confused by what he said next.

"A lion?"

Rosie smiled brightly, nodding her head, "A lion."

"A lion?"

That was the first thing you said that morning, and it was full of confusion.

But it fell on deaf ears.

Jojo nodded once at his mother before turning on his heel and walking from the room, without saying what he initially came in for.

"What?"

Rosie smiled at you.

"Come on, we should get moving."

The bed shook and bounced as she got up from the bed, preparing to get ready for the day.

"I'm so confused," you almost whimpered, only gaining a soft giggle in return.

***

Permanent Tag List: 

@imnotasuperhero, @veteranwerewolf95, @natasha-danvers, @marvelfansince08love, @higherfurther-romanova, @lesbian-x-blackwidow, @sestra-inestro, @thelastavenger-3000, @mixed-fandom-mess,

SFW Tag list: 

@peggycarter-steverogers, @natalia-quinzel,

(I didn’t know if you guys wanted to be tagged in this, but...)

[egcdeath]

checkmate

summary: you’ve always refused to lose, and love was no exception. (gone girl-ish au)

pairing(s): ransom drysdale x dark!reader, a special mystery guest ;) 

word count: 3.7k

warnings: 18+ because of heavy themes! faked death, framing of crimes, manipulation, alluding to sex, alluding to cheating, terrible relationship dynamic, very loose usage of the word crazy/psychotic, implied mention of self harm, brief choking & slapping (in a non sexual way lol), pregnancy trapping (idk if thats the right term), the reader is a very bad human being, overuse of italics  *please let me know if i’m missing any warnings!

author’s note: this is my 2nd submission for @stargazingfangirl18’s 5k soft dark challenge, i decided to make the reader dark >:) but ransom is also not a good person. I used these prompts: “I’ve waited a long time for this, sweetheart.” & The town golden *girl isn’t as sweet as everyone thinks.

this is definitely the most unhinged thing i’ve ever written, but blame @literate-lamb for making me write this because when i pitched this to her and said that i’d probably never write it, she enabled me. 

okay that's enough from me. join my taglist if you want :D

“I know women whose entire personas are woven from a benign mediocrity. Their lives are a list of shortcomings: the unappreciative boyfriend, the extra ten pounds, the dismissive boss, the conniving sister, the straying husband. I've always hovered above their stories, nodding in sympathy and thinking how foolish they are, these women, to let these things happen, how undisciplined. And now to be one of them! One of the women with the endless stories that make people nod sympathetically and think: Poor dumb bitch.” Gillian Flynn, Gone Girl

Your whole life, you’d considered yourself a competitive person. Constantly overcompensating for one thing or another, whether it was the chronic desire to achieve perfection that had been installed in you since you were a little girl, or your persistent internalized sense of inadequacy. You realized early on that it was much better for you to win than for you to lose, no matter the physical, emotional, or mental cost of the prize of perfection.

For the most part, this mindset worked out for you. You graduated as Valedictorian from your high school, neared the top of your graduating class at Harvard. God knew you earned it, all those tears you shed into overpriced textbooks, all the popping of unprescribed Adderall, and robbing yourself of the parties and social events that the rest of your peers gladly indulged in. 

You were just different, which was why you gained a job nearly immediately after your exit from school, quickly climbing to the top at the Blood Like Wine publishing company after only a few years of being there. 

And one night, at the party celebrating the release of A Thousand Knives when you laid your eyes on Hugh Ransom Drysdale, the grandson of your boss, you knew that you needed to have him. Rich, hot, a bit of an asshole. You deserved to finally complete your image, and that socialite flavored eye candy seemed to fit the part perfectly. Luckily for you, he was desperate. It only took a few tugs on your dress’ V-line, and a number of knowing smirks to find yourself being finger-banged in his family manor’s bathroom.

From there, you wormed your way into his life. Leaving belongings at his place as an excuse to come back, and offering booty calls in the middle of the night. Ransom must’ve been much more desperate than you originally thought, as it really only seemed to take one night of stroking his hair while he vented about his family to make him want to be with you. Men with mommy issues were always so easy. 

Except, he wasn’t that easy. The longer you got to know Ransom, the more fucked up you realized he really was. He had no boundaries at all, became jealous and enraged at the drop of a pin, and occasionally told you things that made the hairs on your arms rise. 

This of course all came to a head after the night of Harlan’s 85th birthday party. When the news broke of his tragic death, you’d immediately known it was the works of your Hugh. If your intuition wasn’t enough, his confession in the shower, where he’d demanded you take off your clothes to display that you were without a bug, certainly was. 

You were completely devastated. The man that you’d invested so much into for years had thrown both his and your reputations down the drain in just a matter of hours. Of course, you felt bad for Harlan too. He was a good guy (when he wasn’t instigating a family fight).

Still, you showed up during the funeral in your best mourning clothes and dawning your biggest crocodile tears. You rubbed Linda’s back while she mourned the loss of her father, and the new truth about her husband. You played dumb when interrogated by some Southern private investigator, even giving Ransom an airtight alibi. You testified on his behalf in court with enough conviction to grant you an Emmy. 

You’d gotten so far, devoted so much energy into him, that you simply refused to lose now. 

To your friends, you’d seemed to lead a near perfect life. Dream job, dreamy boyfriend, dream bank account, but it wasn’t enough. You wanted more, you just didn’t know what. 

It dawned on you while sipping mimosas at the country club, Ransom playing tennis with his friends just a few yards away from you while Danielle showed off her brand new engagement ring, a .59 Carat Asscher Diamond, that if you heard her speak of again, would probably make you lose your shit.

You zoned out as she droned on and on about the shape, and how Matt proposed to her in their own private room in one of the most exclusive Parisian restaurants, instead focusing on how you could find yourself in the same position as that airhead next to you. In all honesty, you couldn’t stand the idea that someone was doing better than you, let alone someone in your own social circle. Dani got all the bragging rights of being engaged to the heir of some tech giant, being the first in your friend group to get eloped, and worst of all, Matt wasn’t even making her sign a prenup. 

You blankly watched Ransom from afar, taking occasional sips from your sweet drink, while you thought of how you deserved all of that and more, and you were going to get it one way or another. 

——

It didn’t take much to come up with something, your first and most obvious plan being to simply ask Ransom when he was going to propose to you. Of course, this wasn’t the first time you’d tried to approach him about this subject, you just wondered if maybe this time things would be different.

Panting heavily after a rather rough night in bed, you rolled off of your boyfriend’s chest and gave him a messy, yet sincere kiss. You knew your man well, and if there was any time to pop the question, it was in his post-nut haze.

“Baby,” you said breathily, “I wanna ask you something.”

“Shoot,” he responded casually, glancing over at you. 

“When’re you gonna propose to me?” you hummed.

Ransom groaned and shook his head, rolling his eyes, “this is about Matt and Dani, huh?” he tutted, then extended a hand out to your warm cheeks so he could gently caress one with his thumb. “Thought we agreed marriage is just a piece of paper and it’s stupid.”

You huffed in response.

Of fucking course.

“I never said that,” you muttered, setting a hand on his broad chest. “Besides, it’ll be good if you get pissed and decide to like, kill your dad or something. Y’know, spouses don’t have to testify against each other in court.”

Ransom chuckled as if this whole thing was funny, like your feelings were some kind of sick joke to him. “You know my lawyers, babe. They could prove that bees don’t make honey. That bears don’t shit in the forest. I appreciate your attempt, though. This has been some really nice pillow talk.” 

“Whatever,” you muttered, pinching his nipple in retaliation before turning your back to him and yanking the blanket onto your side. 

You weren’t sure why you were so surprised that he was being stubborn, most of the time you felt like you were pulling teeth from the man. But that’s why you had a backup plan! You always had a backup plan. That’s what separated you from your boyfriend. Where Ransom was extemporized and impulsive, you were calculating and prudent. 

Although you devised your plan that very afternoon while watching your partner backhand small green balls, you were going to need some time to get everything in order, to prove Murphy and his stupid law wrong in making sure that everything that could go wrong wouldn’t. 

After all, love was a game. And you sure as hell weren’t losing to Hugh Drysdale. 

——

You sacrificed too much to have your plans ruined by some trust fund baby with impulsivity issues. You deserved your dream marriage, the stability you wished you had as a child. You wanted the white picket fence, and everything that came along with it. Your desire to be the best, to be perfect was what drove you to poke holes in every condom in the box, what led you to draw liters of your own blood in hopes of staging a fake crime scene, to buy a cheap getaway car and burner phone off of Craigslist, and reach out to a high school boyfriend who you knew was in a position as desperate as you. 

You planted seeds of doubt in your friends throughout the following weeks, feeding them lies about Ransom’s behavior, how you were afraid of telling him that you did in fact see two faint red lines on that damn plastic stick– only half of the statement truly being false–, telling them that he was behaving erratically lately.

It all was going without a hitch. Ransom didn’t seem to notice anything was off, despite your frequent visits to the bathroom and newfound affinity for true crime documentaries. 

You almost felt guilty, knowing the world of pain you were about to throw the man into. Granted, he deserved the pain. You were in a relationship with a genuinely terrible person, and that person had made a conscious effort not to commit to you. You tried to make this easy for him, give him a chance to say a few words to you and slide a ring on your finger, but no, he always seemed to take the hard route.

You slept like a baby the night before you were setting your plan in action. You made sure to uphold the facade of everything being fine, making Ransom a nice breakfast before sending him halfway across town to the hardware store with an oddly incriminating list.

Once he was out of the house, you hurried off to the fridge in the garage where you’d been keeping a small stash of your own blood. It wasn’t pretty, but it had to be done. You poured the blood throughout the kitchen, splattering bits of it on the counters and cupboards. You poorly cleaned the mess, just as he would.

You put your next move in motion, falsifying a home invasion. You tossed over a table and some chairs, throwing books and photos onto the floor, but left some aspects slightly untouched, like an upright picture frame to give yet another hint that things were not exactly what they appeared. 

You left a tiny blue post-it note on the nightstand of Ransom’s side of the bed, a quick and simple doodle of a ring along with the first initial of your name inked onto the tiny piece of paper. 

With that, you were off. Technically missing, soon-to-be presumed dead.

----

 The days following your disappearance had gone even better than you’d initially planned. Local news coverage had been all over you, search and rescue groups were assiduously looking for you, your parents had opened a tip line, and begged for you to get home safe on news segments. But the best part of it all was that Ransom had been briefly found himself in police custody, only to be released shortly thereafter. His past of an accused murder quickly made your disappearance even more of a national story, and you watched the whole thing unravel from the safety and comfort of your high school boyfriend, Andy Barber’s Newton home. 

Of course, you fed him the same lies you’d given to your friends, and seeing the rather lonely position he was in, he gladly let you stay with him. You were absolutely having a hay-day with it all, dedicating hours of your day to watching Ransom slowly unravel. Maybe it was a bit sadistic of you to enjoy torturing your partner so much, but he needed to learn his lesson. You deserved better. You needed Ransom to rise up to your level, allowing you to finally complete your image. To let you two appear to be the perfect couple. Really, this was all on him.

Andy, for the most part, had been a good host. He was gone for the majority of the day, dedicating himself to his work while you lounged around on his dangerously cozy couch. Around two weeks into your stay, you were sharing a box of pizza in the living room with your old lover when something interesting on the television caught your eye.

Ransom, broadcasted on CBS, being interviewed on your disappearance. 

You watched with wide eyes as Ransom begged for your return on national television. It was one thing seeing your mother plead for you to come back, the same woman who had installed such toxic behavior in you sob for your return, but Ransom. You’d never loved him more than in that moment.

“Hugh, if you could tell Y/N one thing, what would it be?” the interviewer asked.

Ransom turned, looking straight at the camera, directly into your soul, “Y/N, I love you so much. More than you’ll ever know. I need you to come back safely, to see you, to hold you again. I’d give anything in the world for that right now,” he looked down, a tear falling down his cheek. “I can’t live without you in my life, I-”

His sentence was cut off by Andy grabbing the remote, and turning off the TV. You turned your head and frowned deeply at him.

“Why’d you do that?” you asked with a bit of a pout.

“I just couldn’t stand listening to him talk about you like he hasn’t treated you like shit for the past few years. C’mon, let’s get ready for bed.”

Your blood boiled. Andy was once a means to an end, but now he was interfering. He was clearly much too selfish to see that you and Ransom were quite obviously soulmates. A match made in hell. 

You followed him to bed regardless, curling up on what had been your side of the bed for the past few days, and staring at the wall until Andy’s breaths moved from a soft and rhythmic pattern to loud snores. God, those snores were obnoxious. 

You slipped out of bed and to his dresser, grabbing two soft ties from the drawer, and daintily tying his wrists to each side of the bedpost.

“What‘re you doing?” he mumbled, instinctively yanking both of his wrists as he awoke.

“I’m going back home,” you whispered.

“You can’t be serious,” Andy huffed, tugging on the restraint attached to the headboard.

You shook your head, “I am.”

“I should’ve known. Why would you do something like this? Do you know how much trouble you’ll be in with the law?”

“Do you know how much trouble you’ll be in when the world finds out that you kidnapped me?” you retorted.

This threat seemed to wake him up right away, “what about this was kidnapping? I gave you a nice home, fed you, I didn’t even make a pass at you. I didn’t do shit to you,” he hissed. “You think I can’t prove that? I’m a lawyer, for god's sake!”

You nearly laughed, “Okay, Andy,” you paused for a moment, “As a lawyer, who do you think everyone’ll believe? Someone who the world was on a wild goose chase for in the last two weeks? Or the man with a family history of violence? Must I remind you that your father and your son have killed people?”

Andy shook his head, face pinched in sorrow at the mention of his deceased son, clearly a low blow. “You’re insane,” he muttered.

“Swear to god that you won’t tell a soul what happened here,” you leaned over him, getting right in his face. “Or I promise, Andrew Barber, I will ruin you. You’ll spend the rest of your life behind bars, or disbarred, or whatever the hell I decide to do with you. So keep your goddamn lips shut.” 

You pulled away and he solemnly nodded, not bothering to put up a fight. You loosened the fabric around his left wrist and walked out of the room. You picked up the keys to Andy’s Audi on your way out, checking the time as you adjusted the driver's seat. 

9:45 PM. Fatherhood really changed the man.

You pushed that thought aside and began your drive home, which turned out to be a surprisingly short trip. When you pulled up in front of your home, you were met with a slew of reporters outside of the house, along with a police car that seemed to be permanently camped there.

As you slowly got out of the car, a gasp, followed by a loud silence fell across the crowd. You limped for dramatic effect up the driveway as cameras followed you, and glanced back at them pathetically. From your peripheral view, you noticed the officers get out of their vehicle.

You finally got to your door, ringing the doorbell and waiting. You blinked harshly a few times, conjuring up the tears you needed to really make a spectacle of the event. After a few minutes, Ransom opened the door, eyes widening as he looked at you. He stepped out, and you wrapped him in as big of a hug as you could manage, genuinely missing his embrace. It was possible that you even let out a few real tears in the moment.

Your emotional embrace was interrupted by the man you recognized as Lieutenant Elliott, the same officer who’d been assigned to Harlan’s case. 

“Ma’am,” he began, only to be shut down by you. 

“Please, just let me be with my boyfriend,” you pleaded, crocodile tears streaming down your face as you spoke with the officer. You still needed time to get your story straight.

“Just give us the night, Lieutenant. We’ll come in first thing tomorrow morning,” Ransom added, furrowing his brows at the officer that he’d come into contact with far too many times. 

He looked to his partner, who shrugged, then to you, “enjoy your night.”

Cameras flashed around you as civilians, journalists, and newscasters alike attempted to catch your attention. You grabbed Ransom’s hand and dramatically pulled him inside, insincerely attempting to hide your face by ducking and covering half of your face with your arm. 

As soon as you were in the privacy of your own home, Ransom threw you against a wall. 

“Why. The fuck. Would you pull a stunt like that,” he hissed through gritted teeth, eyes wild, and a hand around your throat. 

You whimpered as he tightened his grip, rage clearly flowing through his system uncontrollably.

“Do you know what you did to me? You almost had me thrown in fucking jail. Do you understand that?”

You nodded weakly, “Ran,” you whispered, “the baby,” you glanced down at your stomach.

He paused, dropping his grip on your neck and staring at you in awe, “no…” 

You nodded again. 

“How…? You told me you were on the pill… You- you made me use protection…”

“Surprise?” you said weakly. 

“You’re a psychotic bitch.”

“I’m your psychotic bitch. And no child of mine will be born out of wedlock,” you taunted. 

“That’s what this is about?” Ransom laughed manically. “You did this all because I won’t fucking marry you?”

You didn’t even have to respond.

“I should send you to the loony bin right fucking now.”

“What happened to all those things you said to me on TV?”

“You’re fucking delusional. I can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can. And you will. I’ve had to put up with you and your stupid little antics for way too long. How do you think I felt when you killed your own grandfather?”

Ransom scoffed, throwing his hands up in exasperation, “you are so fucked up.”

“I’m the fucked up one? You killed your own blood in cold blood! You’re unhinged!” 

“You faked your own death for attention, and got pregnant while doing it! Is that baby even mine?”

“The fuck are you trying to say, Hugh?”

“I asked if it’s even mine.”

“Really. You’re accusing me of cheating on you. That’s rich considering Mia, Layla, and whoever the fuck else. You’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m being ridiculous? You couldn’t have a normal adult conversation with me!”

“Are you kidding me? I asked you time after time to marry me and it was always some bullshit excuse!” you wagged a finger in his face as you spoke. “Oh, commitment scares me, oh, marriage is just a piece of paper, oh-“ you mocked his voice in a deeper tone before you were cut off by the sting of his hand against your cheek.

“Can you shut the hell up?” he growled at you as you held your own cheek, before you reached out and slapped him back, “I can’t believe that I’m stuck with such a deranged bitch for the rest of my life.”

“Maybe work on your vows a little, dear. I don’t think that those words are as charming to me as they’d be to the rest of our family and friends.”

“You can’t be serious,” he groaned.

“But I am,” you hummed, rubbing your cheek softly once again. “Look at how fast your life fell apart without me here. How quickly the public turned on you. Imagine how upset they’d be if you left me. I love you, Ran. I really do. You and I are perfect for each other, can’t you see that now?”

Ransom took a step away from you, pacing slowly in front of you. He ran a stressed hand through his hair, and took a long and drawn out breath, clearly at a loss for words.

“So when should we have the wedding? I’ve always wanted a Spring wedding, and I know it’s a little short notice, but I don’t want to be showing too much in my wedding dress,” you grabbed Ransom’s bicep gently, as if you were just having a regular old day with him, as if you hadn’t been choked and slapped moments ago. “But we can make it work. We always make it work, right?”

Your now fiancé stared vacantly at the wall ahead of him, giving you a slow, empty nod of agreement. 

“It’s settled then,” you smirked. “I’ll start looking at venues. You find me a nice ring, okay Honey? One that puts all those other bitches’ rings to shame,” you sighed pleasantly to yourself, “I’ve waited a long time for this, sweetheart.”

You pressed a soft kiss to his cheek before hurrying up the stairs and into your bedroom. You heard a distant shriek of  “fuck,” from Ransom, but you truly could not care less. 

You hopped into bed, grabbing your laptop from its charger and promptly opening it. You couldn’t help but to smile at your own reflection on the empty black screen. This wasn’t how you imagined your engagement, but you did the impossible. You tied yourself down to Hugh Ransom Drysdale, he went down kicking in screaming, and you were likely in for a lifetime of cheating and resentment, but you did it nonetheless. 

You finally won.  

[wangshuus]

delicacy | diluc ragnvindr

pairing: yan!diluc ragnvindr/gn!reader

genre: psychological

cw: unhealthy relationship, mentions of forced marriage, ooc diluc (lol)

wc: 2.6k

summary: to diluc, you are a delicacy that he wishes to savour.

note: i’m sorry in advance my dear readers this is absolute dog water ajfhaiufhfui. this was just an experiment since i don’t think i’ve written a decent yandere ever and this kinda proves it but it’s ok i’ll get there one day. just take my ooc diluc. yes, i know i screwed up real bad on this one but let's just say i loosened a few screw for the sake of the plot,,,yeah,,,i’ll probably need to proof read this again too but its ok ahhhhh.

“It’s useless to keep tugging at those binds. You know they won’t come off unless I take them off myself. Now, be good and sit still.” You heard a familiar voice. 

It was once a voice that you were delighted to hear but now the very mention of the owner sent a wave of striking cold upon your body, ironic considering who it was. You had no idea where you were, what day it was, or what time it was. You were completely clueless, being stuck in a dark room with nothing but a bed in which you’ve been bound by the headboard. The room was concerningly chilly, the air in the room being crisp, cold and suffocating. The figure in the room made their way to the edge of the bed next to sit next to you. You felt a gloved hand place itself upon your cheek. It was so warm you almost wanted to lean into it but you refused to find comfort in the touch of your detainer.

You were but a simple bartender, loyal to working at the famous Angel’s Share in Mondstadt. You previously resided in Springvale with your parents but moved to the city due to your job. Your family lived a happy little life, not drowning in riches but being comfortable enough to sustain a plausible living. In your head, you were so painfully boring; so here lies the question, how exactly did you get into this situation? Not even you knew the answer but one thing that you could make sense of in the whole ordeal was that the main that stood in front of you was mad.

Diluc Ragnvindr has many titles ranging from the renowned owner of the Dawn Winery to one of Mondstadt’s most esteemed bachelors. He claimed such a high and mighty reputation that no one would’ve guessed the devious intents hidden in the back of his head. Yes, you were a mere bartender that worked under him at his own tavern but ever since you were hired, he felt something stirring up within him. Now you see, Diluc wasn’t someone that you would find chasing after anyone in fact, he’s never chased after anyone at all until he met you. He was confused at first why he started feeling the way that he did when you were around, unfamiliar emotions began to bubble inside of him.

You were just so easy to talk to, so charming, so comforting, a breath of fresh air to him, truly. At first, he assumed it would be nothing but a short lived infatuation, expecting for his feeling to dissipate like a dying flame in a matter of time but this flame only burned bigger, brighter, and belligerent as the days passed. Diluc wasn’t exactly sure how his feelings came to be. Perhaps it was due to the loss, betrayal and tragedy that stained his past. Maybe it was his longing to be loved again, to hold someone close and never let go, or to have someone hold him and allow him to bask in the feeling of being lovingly embraced-- which was a feeling that became painfully foreign to him.

It had been so long since he found comfort in anything or anyone, becoming accustomed to being isolated, building up walls to keep everyone out and away. He had no one left to care for and presumably no one left to care for him, making the pyro wielder take on such an aloof personality. After his whole ordeal, he was never truly the same, so to see him look genuinely pleased by someone was such a shock to the public eye. Of course, you had come to enjoy Diluc’s presence as he stopped by the tavern fairly often to check up on the flow of business and you had the chance to talk to him during his visits. You had heard from others that the young man was awfully reserved and indifferent towards any subject matter but he was seemingly interested in any conversation between the two of you, even partaking in the act of idle-chit chat as a means to continue talking to you. Anything for you.

He was greatly enamoured by you; everything about you. He’s taken every second he could to observe you and your nature, falling in love with the little things about you from the way you brightened up the room with your cheerful demeanour, the way you gracefully made your way across the tavern during, the way your eyes twinkled when you were talking about him about something you loved--archons the way he wished for you to only look at him with those eyes full of an enthusiastic sparkle. He wanted that; and he wanted it all for himself. Once he realized this was the case, he went through a spiralling hole of madness. He found himself being obsessive with looking out for you, going above and beyond by following you in the shadows every chance he could get, his self control on his possessiveness running as thin as a strand of hair. 

Diluc was scary to say the least. His ability to deceive people into thinking he was still the reserved yet distinguished gentleman while he was falling into a pit of insanity was nothing short of terrifying. He remained unsuspecting and planned to keep it that way, deeming himself capable of being able to resist his maniacal urges. All until one conversation between the two. You had mentioned that your family had begun to run into a few financial problems, becoming entangled in a circle of debt. You had concluded that though you loved what you were doing, it couldn’t have been enough to support your situation so you had conversed with Diluc about going to Liyue to find extra work. All you knew was that there was a high chance you couldn’t stay grounded at the tavern forever, even rejecting Diluc’s offer of a raise, deeming that you didn’t deserve it and did not wish to trouble him. You saw this as a good opportunity to explore beyond the land of the wind that you had ironically been grounded at your entire life. 

Oh no no no, this couldn’t happen. He wouldn’t allow it to happen. And that’s when he snapped. 

Diluc’s mind worked quickly as he devised a dubious plan to keep you grounded. He knew what you were like; he knew you would be stubborn and go. He saw that shine of determination in your eyes when you mentioned your plans of fleeing Mondstadt, the same shine that he wanted to capture and keep for himself and oh boy, he was gonna have it. The next time you saw him, he had personally invited you to a party that he said he was hosting. You found it quite surprising since it was a rarity for him to ever host a party considering his nature but you accepted nonetheless. You trusted Diluc enough and besides, who would deny an invitation from someone like him. Little did you know, this was quite possibly one of the worst decisions you’ve made in your entire life.

“Dear, you’re spacing out again.” He spoke, a foreign tone that sounded so sickly sweet to a point where you wanted to hurl. 

“Please don’t address me as such. You’re twisted for doing this. What do you even want from me? Huh? I can’t offer you anything so this is nothing but a waste of time.” You spat at him, harshly pulling your cheek away from his grasp. 

“Your presence alone is enough to satisfy me. Also, I’d appreciate it if you stopped acting disobedient before I really lose my patience. I’ve been so patient with you, do you know that? I’ve been waiting for ages to have you all to myself like this but…” He paused for a moment.

“I was far too nice and considerate of your freedom. To think I’d let you leave just like that is absurd. That’s exactly why you’re here. I’d like to apologize in advance for tricking you into thinking there was an actual party, especially since you got all dressed up for me tonight but I believe this is quite the positive thing because now I’m the only one that gets to see you like this” He said as he gently lifted up a piece of fabric from your clothing.

“You wore the clothing I had custom made for you. I knew you would look ravishing in it. You’re my pretty little doll, aren’t you dear?” He said as he brought a piece up to his lips as they gently graced the smooth satin of your outfit. 

A strange package had made its way to your doorstep days before this treacherous evening. When opening it up, it was revealed to be a black and red outfit made of what felt like to be the finest fabrics and silk you’ve ever seen. The first time you tried it on, you felt ecstatic with being gifted to you, blushing to yourself over the fact that Diluc had gone out of his way to get you something this stunning. Now, you wanted nothing more than to rip the thing off your body and run away from the damned place you were held captive but you knew it was no use at this point. Your body shivered at the coldness of the room as it felt like the sheer cold was steadily increasing.

“You’re shivering. You’re cold aren’t you?” Diluc said, having the audacity to chuckle at your pathetic state. You stayed quiet, not wanting to admit or give into anything.

“No response? Oh well, it’ll only be a matter of time until the possibility of freezing to death becomes exceptionally high. I’d rather not have that happen so I’ll do you a favour since you happen to be a little shy isn’t that right? You don’t need to be shy with me. Come here.” He says as he draws closer to you. Your chains rattled while you attempted to put as much distance as you could between you two but it was no use. He swiftly wrapped his arms around you, one hand wrapped around your waist, the other at the back of your head, pulling you into the crook of his neck. Your hands pushed against his chest in a poor attempt to put as much distance between you and him but in the end, you couldn't bring yourself to. The coldness of the room significantly weakened you although it ceased when he held you, his body warmth being enough for him and yourself as well. You cursed the pyro wielder and his antics. He knew that you’d be freezing, seeing this as the perfect opportunity to get closer to you. Your arms fell back on to you sides 

“There you go, all relaxed now. See, nice and warm.” He cooed while stroking the back of your head lovingly. Although you were physically warm now, you still felt a shiver run down your spine at the touch of the pyro user.

“You’re sensitive to touch, how cute.” He stated before pulling away to look you in the eyes, the edges of his lips slightly upturned.

“On another note, I have some news to share with you.” He spoke out. Your eyebrows furrowed at the mention of more news, thinking there is no possible way that anything could get any worse; unfortunately, you were dead wrong.

“You see, I had the chance to speak with your parents the other day in regards to your financial situation. I explained to them that I was more than willing to help them but they became quite stubborn after I introduced my offer. I see where you get your stubbornness from now.” He sighed.

Your eyes widened, fear, anger and concern mixing in your (e/c) orbs. 

“Diluc, I swear to the archons what did you--.” He brought a finger up to your lips to hush you from your growing concern. 

“Hush now, there’s no need to get riled up, I’m not finished. Now quiet down and listen to me.” He stated.

“It was quite a simple offer I gave them, really. I would be a financial aid all in exchange for your hand in marriage. They started to get all defensive, claiming that they’d never marry off their child. They were oh so protective over you, but they could never come close to comparing to me.”

Dread and horror filled your eyes as you were rendered speechless, waves of unpleasant emotions washing over you like a tidal wave. 

“You see, it definitely took a lot of work to get where we are now, but you need not to worry, dear. They will not be of any concern to us anymore.” He said as a smile graced his features. You would’ve considered him to be handsome in the moment but the smile he held was so deranged that it was appalling. 

Tears welled up in your eyes, too afraid to even ask what happened to them or what became of them. You knew the situation; you knew the power that Diluc held. He was well aware of his looming power of you and he used it and abused it. It didn’t take very long for your tears to start streaming from your eyes as you began to sob, tears spilling onto your lap. Diluc cupped your face as he brushed away the oncoming tears that continued to overflow. 

“Shhh, don’t cry my dear, this news is excellent. I couldn't even fathom you getting hurt or even leaving me but I don’t have to worry now do I? Because you’re going to be all mine.” He said before forcibly kissing your tear-stained cheeks. 

You felt absolutely disgusting and embarrassed over the lips that graced your skin, having someone as unhinged and deranged as him seeing you in such a vulnerable and helpless state. 

“You know, I’ve had my fair share of people both leave and betray me.They’ve left me alone in this world but none of it matters now that I have you here. You’re the most divine person I’ve come across. So lovely, so warm, and so bright, like the rays of sunlight. I want to bask in your presence and now, I can for however long I’d like. I refuse to lose anyone else, especially not you and now this time, I know I won’t. If your freedom has to be sacrificed in order for you to stay alive, so be it. I’ll choose you the finest white attire for our special day. You’ll be me precious darling for the rest of your days. Doesn’t that sound lovely, dear?” You remained unresponsive.

One of his hands slipped past the fabric of your clothing as his gloved fingertips lightly pressed onto the bare small of your back, earning a yelp from you.

“I said doesn’t that sound lovely? Respond when spoken to. I want to hear your voice.” He said sternly. You managed to mumble out a small yes in return.

“That’s my good little darling.” He spoke before before he pulled you in for a kiss. You refused to return the action and it certainly didn’t go over his head. The hand that rested on the small of your back began to get hotter, feeling as if it was searing your skin, earning a shriek and a cry from you, allowing him to deepen his passion filled kiss, smirking at the way you’ve decided to submit yourself to him while his own lips remained locked with your own.

The land of Mondstadt was said to be the land of freedom and yet here you were, your fate bound and chained by the insanity disguised as love by Diluc Ragnvindr. You were a delicacy to him, and he’d be sure to savour every last bit of you. 

[hurting-fictional-people]

Betrayal Story - part 5

This is it guys, this is why the characters got names! I hope y’all like it <3  

CW: branding, burning, forced to watch, emeto (pretty brief and only at the end), whumpee restrained to a table, nonsexual noncon touch, hurt no confort again but that will change eventually I promise lol

tagging  @thelazywitchphotographer @swift-perseides @whump-it-like-its-hot  @sunflower1000  @msrandonstuff @fromtheo-withlove  @boxofsilence  @lionhxartx @sometouchofmadness @paleassprince @livingforthewhump (let me know if you ever want me to stop or start tagging you ♡)

Part one is here, continued from here

-

Fire is strangely beautiful, Liam thinks, watching it flicker and dance in the hearth. A kind of painful beauty that hurts to see, the idea of touching it enough for gooseflesh to rise, but pretty nonetheless. 

He wishes he could be like fire. Not because of its beauty, but because it produces no shadow. No darkness comes from the flames, only light. And pain, when touched without notice. If he could be like that, only light and self-defense, maybe all of this wouldn’t hurt so much. Chase’s leaving, the dread of what each of his breaths might bring as time passes, the plummeting of his stomach every time he hears footsteps outside his room’s door. 

The flames crackle, and Liam wonders why it is he can’t shake the fear off, as he remembers the guards bursting into his room and pulling him out of bed, leading him outside as Liam pretended each step didn’t make him want to scream. That was minutes ago, and yet the fear still drums in tandem with his heart, pulsating turmoil into his bloodstream. Why feel fear when all it does is make things worse? Wouldn’t it be easier if he could just be at peace in those moments between pain, before it comes? But instead, his mind or his body or his soul decides to fill him with dread – only another layer of horror he cannot avoid.

Jonah was waiting for him when they brought Liam inside a weirdly cozy living room, leaning against the fireplace and watching Liam’s uncertain footsteps as he was pushed down to lie on a steel table placed in the middle of the room. Eyes glued to him as Liam was restrained until he could no longer move. His gaze went straight to the fireplace and stayed there since, watching the flames as memories of electricity, lighting up his every nerve until he nearly lost his voice to screaming, flashed before his eyes. The memory is still fresh enough to freeze him into not resisting. What a pitiful sight he must be.

“Hello there,” Jonah smiles, taking casual steps towards him and stopping by his side to watch from above, hands in his pockets as if having someone tied to a table in his living room is nothing out of the ordinary. “How are you today, Liam? Has your voice returned after our last encounter?”

He lifts his gaze to find the man’s eyes blinking innocently at him.

“You are sick,” Liam rasps out, shaky and small, but the words are there. He might be restrained and scared, but he is not broken. He isn’t. Right?

“That’s a yes, then. Very good, I like to hear you,” scream – he doesn’t even have to finish the sentence for the word to be heard. Liam feels sick. “Now let’s call our mutual friend, shall we?”

Liam narrows his eyes as Jonah types something on his phone. He can’t be talking about– 

“Chase!” Jonah says to the camera Liam only now notices a few paces away, held by another one of Jonah’s men. He tries to hear more, but Jonah comes so close to the camera and talks in such a low voice that all he grasps and holds on to is the name. 

Jaw clenched and stomach churning, Liam stares at the ceiling, letting the wave of bitter rage break against him without resistance. It wins the battle against fear for one moment, and that’s enough for him to seize it with every last bit of willpower. It is better to be angry than frightened, and he’s had enough of the latter for a lifetime.

The frantic beat of his heart turns into aching memories of Chase’s lies, promises of love he never intended to keep, each word meant to trick Liam into being a fool. Twice. Once months ago, then again when he genuinely, stupidly, hoped Chase would pick him instead of a job. Fucking ludicrous. 

But bitterness can only do so much to keep fear at bay, and when Jonah’s voice reaches his ears again, not even a minute later, it comes crashing back and flooding his veins with pointless adrenaline.

“He was a very good boy if you want to know. Just stood there, still and obedient as we buckled in the restraints,” he says to the camera, stopping beside Liam once more, placing a hand on his head. “Say hi to Chase, Liam boy.”

“Fuck you,” he spits. Fuck both of you, he means to complete, but Jonah’s hand is already closing on his hair, drawing out a pathetic little whimper from his lips.

“Language, Liam.”

He closes his eyes and waits for the hand to let go. It’s all he can do. Still, his hands twitch uselessly by his side, palms turned to the ceiling closing in fists, knuckles scraping against cold steel.

“I guess this is a lesson for both of you, then. For Chase to not be a prick and for you to behave better, my pretty plaything.”

Eyes snapping open, he glares up at Jonah, feeling indignation bubble up inside of him.

Jonah doesn’t even see it. He is too busy looking at his phone with an unamused expression before handing it to one of the guards. 

Is he talking to Chase? Is Chase delighting in seeing Liam like this, helpless and scared?

The part of him that refuses to give up entirely shakes its head, remembers gentle touches and tender gazes that couldn’t possibly have been faked. The other part, the one that grows each day he spends in this hell, purses its lips and scoffs at his naiveness. If Chase cared, he wouldn’t have left him here. 

“You know, if it wasn’t for Chase, this wouldn’t be happening,” Jonah says, painful grip turning into deceivingly soft fingers that run through Liam’s hair in mock sympathy. “He knew what I’d do if he pissed me off. So here we are again. It is always him, isn’t it Liam? It doesn’t matter how far Chase goes, he’s always the one causing you hurt.”

He tries to fight it. Of all the things he’s been put through, he fights the tears that prick his eyes. And just like everything else, he loses. They fall in warm drops down his temples as he turns his head, looks away into the fire again. No shadows there, nothing like the darkness seeping through the cracks of his heart, tainting his soul.

“Now for the fun part,” Jonah declares, sauntering to the fireplace, crouching down in front of it. Something entirely too close to panic pools in Liam’s stomach as he gets back up, holding two iron rods he’d dismissed as fire pokers. As Jonah approaches him, he can see with disturbing clarity how wrong he’d been – the rods’ bright-orange tips shine in intricate shapes. Letter shapes.

“J-Jonah,” he breathes, more sob than word, “please, please don’t.”

Jonah smiles at him, and without saying a word hands one of the brands to a guard before placing himself beside Liam’s exposed arm.

He tries to breathe, beg, say something, but every rational thought disappears as Liam follows the blazing hot shapes with wide eyes, gasping for air that refuses to fill his lungs.

He is almost there, the please I’ll do anything hanging from the tip of his tongue when the branding iron is lowered onto the delicate skin above his wrist. 

Burn could never describe the pain that steals every last bit of himself Liam tries to hold on to. Fire sinks into his skin, into muscle and bones until it reaches whatever lies within, and destroys everything in its path. He screams, cries and wails senseless pleads, but nothing passes through the ocean of agony he’s drowned in. 

He barely notices when the brand is pulled away.

He does when the second one is pressed onto his other arm though. 

Liam writhes and sobs, but there’s no escape, no mercy to be begged for. Only pain to feel, nothing, no one else but pain and pain and pain that swallows and dissolves the world into searing flames that hold nothing of whatever beauty he thought he saw.

-

You know, what really makes me mad isn’t even your fucking stupid idea of keeping things from me. It’s the shit job you did deleting those files. Who do you think I am, Chase?

That was all that waited for Chase when his phone buzzed, along with a link to a live stream instead of a video. No recording this time, no certainty that at least while Chase watches, Liam isn’t in pain anymore. 

“Chase. I see you’re faster now. Pity you’re no smarter,” Jonah sighed as soon as he clicked on the link. “But I won’t go into how fucking idiotic it was of you to delete half the information I asked you to get me,” he hissed, low and angry enough for Chase to feel the words as bugs crawling along his skin, up and down, circling his throat, ready to squeeze. “What’s happening here today is entirely on you. I hope you see and hear and remember every bit of it, sweetheart.”

He felt like screaming when Jonah closed his hand in Liam’s hair and made him yelp. The impulse to clench his fist until it shattered the phone was strong enough for Chase to connect the live stream to the television in his living room and bite on his lip when the image expanded and Liam’s terror became so painfully obvious.

One minute later, Chase nearly threw the phone at the wall when he called the man and Jonah simply looked down at his muted cell phone on the other side of the screen and handed it to someone else.

“You know, if it wasn’t for Chase, this wouldn’t be happening,” Jonah said, and Chase seethed, half anger and half guilt boiling inside of him. “He knew what I’d do if he pissed me off. So here we are again. It is always him, isn’t it Liam? It doesn’t matter how far Chase goes, he’s always the one causing you hurt.”

Chase dropped the phone in time to avoid crushing it, but the desk chair didn’t escape his rage. Its broken pieces fell on the other side of the room, doing nothing to soothe the horror building up in his stomach.

And then Jonah grabbed the branding iron, and Chase’s heart missed a beat at the sight, eyes widening in tandem with Liam’s.

“J-Jonah,” Liam choked out, “please, please don’t.”

“Jonah,” Chase said too, unable to hold it in just like anything else in his life, even if he knew he was the only one listening. There was never such a thing as restraint when it came to Liam. If only Chase had seen it sooner. “No–“

When the iron descended on that soft, silky, perfect skin above the restraint circling Liam’s wrist, Chase fell on his couch, legs too weak to hold his weight. 

Liam screamed, loud and raw and utterly hopeless, back trying to arch and being pulled back down by too tight restraints before it even left the table. His body spasmed, trying to escape the blaze, but there was nowhere to go, and it took only a moment for the despair to turn into sobs and tears.

It didn’t last more than a few seconds, but those would star Chase’s nightmares forever. Jonah pulled the iron off Liam’s now bright red skin, and Chase couldn’t bear to look at the letter-shaped burn. He also couldn’t help it. 

When Jonah exchanged the used iron with the second one, Chase felt bile rise in the back of his throat. “Please, p-please, please,” Liam begged, so little Chase barely heard it, so dazed he didn’t think Liam did either. 

He echoed it though.

“No, please don’t.”

But no one heard him, and the second branding iron was pressed to the inside of Liam’s other arm, and his mouth opened in a silent scream Chase heard nonetheless.

By the time the second one is pulled away, Chase is kneeling on the floor, hands covering his mouth and tears threatening to overflow.

It is nothing compared to Liam, though. His mouth hangs open even as the iron stops touching skin, and soft sobs wrack his slim body as his glassy eyes leak a constant stream of tears into his hair.

Chase doesn’t even move when Jonah’s voice leaves the speakers again.

“So? Do you like it?” he asks, a manic grin stretched across his lips as he points to Liam and the camera walks toward him. 

It focuses on his face first. Sweat, tears, pure agony written all over it. His eyes lay open and unfocused, lost to the pain. The image slides down to his heaving chest, restrained arms, until it stops above both his wrists.

Chase turns to the side and vomits at the sight. 

Two bright red burns mar the perfect skin he had once worshipped with lips and tongue and feather-light touches that never felt like enough. 

Jonah chuckles, and the live stream ends in that ghastly image of two letters forever engraved on Liam’s skin. Flourished and elegant, a C stands out on his right arm and an R on the left one. His initials. Chase Raymond. 

Chase pukes again, and then curls up on the floor and weeps.

(next)

[polishksiezniczka]

By God's Grace | Camerlengo Patrick McKenna x Reader

You believe Patrick, your lover, to be dead after the explosion but are eventually reunited.

Notes: AU—Patrick is the good guy! Angst, romance. Also, I can’t help but get serious Obi-Wan vibes again from this oneshot ?? I am definitely picturing a similar reunion between you and your dashing Jedi lover when he returns to you after a dangerous, far-off mission (minus the Italian, LOL). 1.4K words.

Thank you to the lovely @quiescentcrepuscular for being a phenomenal beta reader!

By the time you learned of the situation, it was too late: the helicopter had taken off, Patrick its doomed pilot. As you watched him ascend higher and higher into the night sky, you nearly became catatonic. You couldn’t bear to witness the man you loved so deeply die alone and afraid while you stood there, completely helpless.

So you ran back to the Swiss Guard’s headquarters, tears blinding your vision. You couldn’t calm down and slowly felt yourself pulled down into a spiral of panic. As you ran, images of Patrick replayed over and over again in your head. Your first meeting. When he reciprocated his feelings for you. Your first kiss. The first—and last—time he told you he loved you. The last time you had been together...

You had rushed to his side with Lt. Chartrand after discovering him lying on the floor of His Holiness’ study, his chest badly burned by the brand.

“Whatever happens, know I’ll always love you,” he had whispered hoarsely, so that only you could hear, his fingers ghosting over your hands as you cleaned and dressed his wounds.

“I know, Patrick. I know,” you replied, your eyes still fixed on his chest as you hushed him gently. “And I will always be here for you.” Your voice dropped to a murmur. “I love you...”

The memory of your distracted nature stained your last moments together—how you wished you could relive those moments again! Shaking your head, you squeezed your eyes shut, trying in vain to shut out the anguish which you now felt, but grief coursed through your body so violently you began to feel physically ill. Your lungs burned from overexertion, exhausted by both your sprinting and crying.

Why hadn’t you done more to comfort him? Why hadn’t you gazed into his beautiful, caring eyes one last time?

You did little to stop the loud sob which escaped your throat, surely drawing the attention of the Swiss Guards at the door to the command center, but you didn’t care about them, nor anyone else for that matter. Your entire world had died with Patrick.

Why had you not told him how much he meant to you? How much you cared for him? Loved him more than life itself?

You collapsed onto a sofa then, weeping bitterly. “Please, Patrick, please forgive me. Please…”

----------

You couldn’t tell how much time had passed when the door beside you burst open.

“...it is truly a miracle, what happened to the camerlengo!” At first you barely registered Olivetti and Commander Richter’s presence until you heard his name. You froze.

“What about the camerlengo?” you cried out, abruptly wrenched from your grief.

“Didn’t you hear? He survived the explosion!” Your heart stopped, barely processing the words coming from Olivetti’s mouth. “Before the bomb detonated, he was able to parachute out of the helicopter. He saved us all! Sia Lode a Dio!” he marveled.

“Where is he?” you demanded frantically. “Where is he?!”

Before Olivetti could even finish his sentence, you were already flying out the door, on your way to the hospital.

----------

You nearly let out a cry of relief upon seeing Patrick. Doctors and nurses fluttered about him, attending to his wounds. He looked so small and fragile in the moment, far from the confident man of God you knew. But that didn’t matter. He was alive. Your beloved. Your Patrick. Alive.

“M-Monsignor!” you exclaimed breathlessly.

His eyes immediately locked with yours, and you saw his heart break. Your eyes were likely still red from crying, tears glistened against your cheeks, and your windswept hair indicated your haste. He stared at you incredulously, afraid that you were merely a hallucination brought on by one of his injuries.

“Miss Y/L/N…?” Even in this state, he remembered his propriety, bringing tears to your eyes.

You needed to pull yourself together, lest you make a scene. You cleared your throat. “Monsignor, I have urgent news from the US Embassy. About the incident.” You gazed at him in earnest, silently begging to speak with him.

He tore his gaze away from you; his eyes darted about, as if deep in thought. Then, he spoke:

“Starò bene. Se ci scusi, sorella.”

You offered your arm to him, which he eagerly slipped into yours, carefully making your way to the hallway with him. Once out of view, he whisked you into an unoccupied room and shut the door.

Your reaction was immediate: you bolted into his arms and held him tightly, burying your face into his neck with a sob. You were careful to brace your weight against him, remembering the angry red marks of the brand which marred his beautiful chest. He held you just as passionately, stroking your hair and tenderly rubbing your back.

Although his scent brought you instant, indescribable comfort, your bawling only intensified. You felt his skin grow warm from your tears and ragged breathing despite his attempts to hush your incoherent babbling with his soothing voice. “Oh darling, shhhh. Please, don’t cry. Shhh…” He leaned back to study your flushed, tear-stained face, his hand coming up to cradle it. “I’m here, I’m here.” He lightly brushed his thumbs over your cheeks to wipe away your tears.

You stared up into his beautiful eyes, bringing your hands to his face in turn, memorizing its angels and curves with your soft fingertips. You felt him lean into your gentle ministrations, his eyes squeezing shut in sheer comfort.

“I thought that I would n-never s-see you again. I th-thought I had lost you f-forever.” You choked back a sob. The shakiness in your voice made it difficult for you to speak coherently as the tears relentlessly streamed down your face.

He clasped his hands over yours. As he slowly revealed his cerulean orbs to you, you noticed the luster of tears. “Never, angelo mio,” he whispered ardently, turning his head to softly kiss your palm. “Never. By God’s grace, I returned to you.”

He kissed you softly then, assuaging your fears; you tasted the saltiness of your tears lingering on his lips. As if to reassure you of his presence, he rested his forehead against yours. You remained like this for several minutes, the peaceful silence interrupted occasionally by your quiet sobs or the soft words of affirmation Patrick whispered against your lips.

You finally leaned back, your eyes immediately filling with tears as they scanned his face. “Y-you’re hurt,” you lamented softly, brushing back the few pieces of hair which had fallen into his face. Angry red gashes and bruises riddled his face and torso, and you longed to kiss each and every one, to hold him until he was no longer in pain. “I’m so sorry...” you whimpered.

As your eyes continued their frantic scan, Patrick brought you back to reality by whispering your name, pleadingly, his eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Cuore mio…look at me.” Your eyes found his effortlessly as he caressed the nape of your neck, the sensation sending shivers down your spine. “I’m all right. All that matters is you are here, safe, with me.” He smiled then, his eyes crinkling endearingly. “And I would never leave you without saying goodbye.”

You sniffled and let out a soft, choked laugh as you watched his face brighten. “Patrick, my love,” you whispered reverently, “I’d be lost without you.” You paused, cradling his face once again. “I love you more than life itself. Please…I don’t ever want to be without you again.”

His gaze softened as his eyes welled with tears. “Ti amo,” he replied, laying a soft kiss on your cheek. “Ti amo,” he repeated, planting another on your opposite cheek. He looked at you lovingly as he leaned forward. “Ti amo…” he murmured, capturing your lips in his. ¤

Translations

Sia Lode a Dio! = "Praise God!"

Starò bene. Se ci scusi, sorella. = "I'll be okay. If you'll excuse us, sister."

Cuore mio = "my heart"

Ti amo = "I love you"

Taglist: @seraferna @lemairepstuff

[mythicamagic]

As usual... I can never just choose one... soo here are my top choices you choose one. Lol

1. Are you flirting with me?” “You finally noticed?

2. The worst thing is, that even after all of that, I’m still in love with you.

3.that ship has sailed. i’ve had my one great love already

4. we’re just…friends.” “friends don’t do this type of shit!

5. Did you just slap my ass?” / “Actually, I firmly grasped it.” 

Why did I decide 2 of the hurt/sad/angst.. idk.. i suppose im glutton for punishment. Dont hurt me too bad if you choose to do one of them myth.

Decided to do a part two for - this ask. 

I chose;  The worst thing is, that even after all of that, I’m still in love with you.

---

The air felt crisp and clean, biting at Kagome's cheeks as she wound her scarf tighter around her neck. Winter markets were so much fun. The vast array of cute little items on display made warmth light up her chest, even as the candy and children's toys reminded her of a certain fox she'd left behind in the past.

Kagome smiled at Ayumi as she prattled on about something or other.

She shouldn't feel guilty. Shippo had barely visited the village in the last year she'd been there. Everyone had moved on. Including herself, somewhat. She'd been so wrapped up in her whirlwind romance with a certain Daiyoukai- the feudal era had been irreparably damaged as a home for her the second they'd broken up.

But she missed her friends. Dearly.

She shook herself. It was too late to go back on her choice now. The well had sealed shut for good.

Ayumi stopped to grab some hot chocolate from a street vendor, allowing Kagome a moment to warm her hands, rubbing them together.

Snowflakes gently danced about like powdered sugar, kissing Kagome's face as she turned- almost bumping face-first into a muscular chest. Fresh scents of wild forests and thunderstorms filled her nose, and she stiffened.

He smells the same.

Kagome bit the inside of her cheek, blue eyes narrowing. "Don't think I don't know what you're doing."

"Haven't the faintest idea of what you mean," he arranged his features into mild innocence, which was near impossible due to his smiling eyes.

"Riiight," she muttered, wishing Ayumi would hurry up.

Sesshoumaru gazed down at her, a pink gift bag in hand. Kagome grit her teeth, hating that she wondered who it was meant for.

"I did not intend to run into you here, before you accuse me of anything," his silky voice caressed her hearing once more. It sounded so lulling, designed to draw her back in. "Did you take my gift home with you or did you throw it away?" he asked, deceptively casually.

"Home. But don't think that means anything- it's not the plant's fault you're trying to worm your way back into my life."

The Daiyouki smiled to himself, obviously absurdly pleased. He began pursuing the street vendor's items right beside her, gazing at children's toys with a touch of gentleness in his steady gaze. Kagome was prepared to ignore him- until he leaned down, breath fanning 'accidentally' over her cheek as he picked up a doll and straightened.

"Do you remember Rin? And the other children-"

"Don't," Kagome said, unable to move away. She hated the thrumming of her skin so much. The way it cried out. Hated him.

Her skin flared alive, body humming with hunger. Like a shot of adrenalin to the heart, Kagome dipped her chin into her scarf to try and mask her escalating breathing due to his proximity. When they'd had sex- so many years ago- it hadn't been like human lovemaking.

He'd wired new pathways within her system via his youki. Sometimes she felt like it still lived inside her, having made a home for itself. They hadn't mated, but she felt irreversibly changed by it.

Kagome made a faint noise, squeezing her eyes shut.

Resist him-

"Kagome?"

Oh thank God.

"Ayumi, let's go," she said abruptly, facing her friend with an urgent look in her eyes.

Ayumi tilted her head slightly, eyeing Sesshoumaru curiously. "A-alright?"

"You do not need to leave," he turned, exuding a magnanimous air. "I am the one who intruded on your time, please continue," he gestured to the market, ensnaring Kagome's gaze with his own. Unblinking, unable to hide his more animalistic habits even after so many years.

"I hope to see you some other time when my presence does not disturb you," he said softly, walking away.

---

When entering work that Saturday, Kagome could already sense the buzz in the air. Someone had generously donated some priceless artefacts to their museum. The previously undiscovered finds that shaken everyone due to their rarity and mint condition. No one could stop talking about it.

Kagome's blood ran cold the second the items in question were described to her. Pushing through the crowd that had gathered, she stared in horror at the display case.

Itching for a fight, she immediately stormed to his office downtown, opening the door to reception and letting herself in. "Is Sesshoumaru here?" she burst, stopping in front of the secretary's desk.

"Mr Taisho?" the woman blinked, obviously thrown by the petite, angry miko currently glaring at her and using his name so informally. "Do you have an appointment?"

"No. Just tell him Kagome is here."

She was let into his office soon enough, trying to keep a lid on her crackling reiki. Sesshoumaru glanced up from his computer. "Miko? What a pleasant surprise."

Kagome slammed an article atop his desk. "What the hell is wrong with you?" she snapped.

He raised a brow, briefly flicking his attention to the contents. A photo of red and white silks, coupled with polished spiked armour sat in a display unit. "Something wrong? It was just a donation, given in good faith."

"Donated to my workplace!" Kagome seethed, groaning and burying her face in her hands. "Don't you realise I'm going to have to see your things now every day? I've worn those clothes! I've slept in them as pyjamas! Are you trying to mess with me because you want me back?"

"That's a little dramatic, dear one, I'm not trying to 'mess with you.' It was just a donation," he rose from his seat, face inches from hers. "And if I wanted to romance you, I'd go about it much differently."

"Don't 'dear one' me," she snapped. "You could've donated that stuff years ago- or to a different museum. But no, you had to give it to mine."

"My gift was not meant to distress you, but," he rounded the table slowly, fingers dragging over the wood. "It does make me worry, seeing you so worn thin. Is something else going on? Separate from...us?"

Kagome stiffened, avoiding eye contact. Things with her boyfriend had been strained as of late, and the Daiyoukai's sudden appearance back into her life wasn't helping matters.

"There is no 'us.' I'm frustrated and exhausted, that's all. Don't make things even more complicated by asking about that stuff."

Sesshoumaru lingered close, and Kagome didn't shy away. The one person she couldn't bear to be near was also the only being who could offer some semblance of comfort to her due to his familiarity.

"This one meant to give you something," reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a business card, handing it over. Kagome immediately froze, staring at the name. "You miss him," Sesshoumaru murmured. "The kit lives in Kyoto now with his wife and children. Call him."

Tears pricked her eyes, and Kagome bowed her head. Full lips crumpled into a wobbly line.

"If there is something I regret more than our parting, it is that you felt compelled to leave. The fault lies with me."

Shaking her head, a saddened laugh bubbled up her throat. "It was my decision to break up, and it was my decision to leave the Feudal Era. Don't...blame yourself for that part."

"You did not do anything wrong," a long-fingered hand reached out, blunt nails losing their glamour. Sharp claws stroked dark curling hair back from her neck. Kagome's breathing hitched. "When we were together- you did not do anything wrong. We were both so young. It was foolish of me to act as I did, but I think it is now... that we are in the right place for something more."

Kagome shivered, body warming to him. Intuitively, the brush of fingers on her neck made her foolishly anticipate a kiss- sorely disappointed when it didn't come. "I'm not," she forced herself to say. Seeing the disappointment darken his brown eyes, she sighed. "I miss you," Kagome admitted quietly, turning away to escape from his touch. "I miss how... we were. I'm terrified of that, though. I was...under the impression we'd be together. Permanently. Then you had to go and tell me you needed 'pure' heirs to continue the family bloodline."

She laughed bitterly, loosely holding her arms. "The worst thing is, that even after all of that, I'm still in love with you."

"You are frightened that I will hurt you again."

Kagome nodded mutely. She then forced a giggle, giving a weak smile. "Besides, you may not like me as I am now. I'm more jaded than before."

"I like what I see very much," moving closer once more as though experiencing a gravitational pull, he stopped inches away. "I have missed you too," he muttered quietly, genuinely. She could feel him inhale her scent through her hair. "Very much."

Her mouth suddenly became dry. "I'm with Natsuki-"

"Leave him," a rush of passion entered his voice as Sesshoumaru swept closer, backing her into the desk. The wood dug into her thighs, their hips meeting. "This one is not interested in being 'the other man' in an affair. Nor am I interested in watching you remain with someone less than ideal," he snorted, resting his hand over her wrist and grazing his thumb over it.

"Y-you don't know anything about it!"

"I could smell your scent. It was not bright and cheerful even before I re-entered your life the other day. His feels...murky on you. Unhappy."

Kagome swallowed thickly, glancing away. "Observant as ever," she admitted softly.

"Or perhaps you did a poor job of hiding it," backing off a little- he rested his hip next to hers beside the desk, remaining near but barely touching. And yet everything felt so close. "You've changed. But you're still the same at your core, miko," hot breath fanned over her neck, teeth ghosting over the shell of her ear. "If you permitted me, I would not be reckless with your heart again, as I was in my youth."

Her palms traitorously slid up, sliding over firm muscles- running across his chest. He felt warm. His heart was beating fast. Was he nervous? Such a thing sounded impossible.

She bit her lip, secretly longing for the sensation of silks under her hands again instead of the modern cotton of his shirt.

"I don't know that I believe you," Kagome met his gaze, rewarded with the golden glow of his eyes instead of human brown.

"I've gotta go," she said reluctantly, forcing herself to pull away. "I need to be at work."

"Very well," he hummed, unmoving. "But if you...need something. You know where to find me."

He sounded almost desperate for an excuse to talk with her. Giving a curt nod, she let herself out of his office with a long breath, shaking her head. Sesshoumaru's static youki haunted her steps for the remainder of the day.

[avintagekiss24]

heavy is the head that wears the crown; and the heart > bucky barnes

|| pairing: romanian!king!bucky barnes x black!queen!reader

|| word count: 3,273

|| warnings: language words

|| challenge: @marvelmaree‘s birthday challenge: royalty au + “i’ve dreamt about leaving so many times.” “that’s the problem with most people. they dream about what they want to do instead of really doing it.”

|| square filled: @star-spangled-bingo​ SSB2020 N1: modern royalty au

|| square filled: @buckybarnesbingo��� Y1: “i regret nothing.”

|| summary: there are many decisions to make as queen; some of the heart, some of the mind.

|| link: ao3

|| note: this is really late for maree’s birthday challenge! i’m so sorry babe, but i hope you like it! i hope it’s okay that i made it a modern royalty au instead of a traditional royalty au!

so, for this to make sense, we have to pretend that after the south seceded from the united states in 1860, they never rejoined the union and the civil war never happened. we also need to pretend that the united states had kings and queens instead of presidents, lol. we also have a cameo by a real life duke and duchess :) also, sis does not play in this.

hope you guys enjoy, and happy juneteenth!

You walk slowly through the trees, the tips of your fingers grazing over the bloomed flowers. The bottom of your dress is caked in dirt as it drags behind you, your black Converse shoes leaving soft imprints in the soft earth. You don’t care - you never have - but your mother surely will. Another dress ruined! My God, when are you going to learn some etiquette! You are thirty one years old, girl!  You smile and chuckle slightly as her words swirl through your head. Dinner will be fun tonight. 

You stop and bend slightly to pluck a rose from it’s bush. You bring it to your face and inhale deeply, letting the natural, earthy scent fill your nose. You close your eyes and hum a little as you exhale slowly, letting your eyes flutter back open. 

“I knew I’d find you out here.”

You laugh as his voice fills your ears. You don’t turn to face him. Instead, you do just the opposite. You turn away from him and keep on your leisurely stroll as you continue to sniff at your pretty red rose, “I’m not a hard person to figure out, Mr. Barnes.”

“That you’re not. That’s what I like about you.”

You scoff but laugh again, shaking your head softly. You take a few more steps before you shriek when two long arms wrap around your middle. He lifts you off your feet, twirling you around as you laugh wildly. He sits you back down, facing him this time, and crashes his lips to yours - stealing every ounce of breath out of your lungs. He squeezes you to him as you moan lightly and wrap your arms around his neck. 

“Hi,” he says softly after he frees your lips.

You giggle as he rests his forehead to yours, his eyes still closed from the kiss, “Hi there,” you whisper, “You are awfully brave for pulling this little stunt with my mother being right inside.”

“I don’t care about your mother,” he shrugs, “Do you?”

You send your eyes towards the sky, pretending to give it some thought, “Not really, no.” 

He finally opens his eyes and they almost take your breath away. You’ve been staring into those blues since you were kids, but the deepness of them - the emotions that swirl in them at any given time - surprises you every time. You cup his cheek, a dark beard blooming across his skin and rub your thumb underneath his right eye as a dreamy smile covers your lips.

“You’re so pretty.” You say softly, watching as the smile broadens on his face.

You send your eyes down to his chest, finding him in a crisp white button up shirt and a black velvet sport coat and pants, complete with a pair of off white, studded loafers, “You broke out the Tom Ford just to see me?”

“Not this time, darling.” He smiles, throwing his arm over your shoulder as the two of you begin to walk again, “I had an engagement with Prince Harry and the Duchess Megan this afternoon.”

“Ah yes, I remember now. I was supposed to be there.” You laugh, shrugging. 

He laughs at your nonchalance, “You were certainly missed. To be perfectly honest though, Harry and I had bet going that you’d blow it off.”

You nod, shooting him a quick finger gun, “Both of you are very smart men.” You giggle, “It’s just one more thing for my mom to be mad at me about. Whatever, I’ll text Harry and Megan my apologies.”

The two of you walk slowly through the vast garden until you are no longer visible from the main house. You wave at the horse handlers as they work your champion thoroughbreds off in the distance. You swallow and let out a breath as your mind starts to wander again, your stomach twisting a little. 

“I’ve dreamt about leaving so many times.” You say softly, dropping your eyes to the rose still in your fingers. 

You hear Bucky sigh, “That’s the problem with most people. They dream about what they want to do instead of really doing it.”

You roll your eyes, but a smile cracks your face, “Don’t be a smart ass, Barnes.”

“I’m not,” he smiles, threading his fingers with yours, “I mean it. You can do whatever you want to do. You don’t have to marry him.” He stops moving as you continue to step ahead of him, your arms spreading out between the two of you as he continues to hold your hand, “Are you listening to me?”

“Yes.” You answer firmly, “I’m listening, I know.”

“You don’t love him.”

“I don’t. I love you.”

“Then marry me. Come back to Romania with me, be my queen.”

“And denounce my country? Just leave them behind with no heir? I can’t do that.”

“Your cousin could be Queen.”

“She’s an idiot!” You laugh, “We’d be in a world war within months.” You drop his hand and step away from him further, spinning on your heels suddenly to face him again, “You could move here.”

He nods slowly, “I could.”

You scoff, “Stop it.”

“I could - I would. If you really wanted me to.”

You shake your head, “You’re too idealistic.”

“And you’re too cynical.” He rebukes, keeping his gaze on you firmly, “We could make this work, you know we can.”

“How can you run a country if you’re thousands of miles away from it?” You sigh, “You’re a King, you need to be there.”

He scratches his head as he closes his left eye, tilting his head towards the sky, “Um, have you heard of the internet? FaceTime, email - Zoom - I hear that’s great.”

You roll your eyes again as you groan loudly, turning away from him. You slump your shoulders as you throw your head back , closing your eyes as the sun beats down on you. You wish this was easier. You wish you had the guts to tell your mother to just piss off so you could run off to Romania and spend the rest of your life in his arms, but then there’s the other side of your heart. Half of you doesn’t want to leave. You want to take your rightful throne. You want to be Queen. You’ve prepared for it your whole life, it’s your destiny - and you’d be good at it. 

How could Bucky not be a part of that destiny? That’s the real question you have. That’s what keeps you up at night these days as your calling draws nearer and nearer. He’d throw it all away for you, but you can’t do the same for him - and that makes you feel guilty; and sad.

“Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?” You ask, not turning around.

“That,” he says in a way that you know he’s smiling, “Don’t feel guilty.”

“How do you know I feel guilty? I’m just standing here.”

You hear his feet in the grass as he moves towards you, and then feel his warm breath on the back of your neck as he sweeps your braids over your shoulder, “Because I know you.” He whispers into your ear before he pushes away again, stepping out in front of you. 

You open your eyes and watch as he spins in the grass, “I don’t want you to feel like you have to give this up for me,” he continues, “It’s 2020, not 1940 - you don’t have to give up everything you’ve worked so hard for just for some dude.”

“I’m glad we agree on that.”

“Just,” his voice trails off as he takes a deep breath,  “Please don’t marry him.” He says gently, his voice barely above a whisper. 

The him he speaks of is Scott Lang, the appointed King of the South, né Atlanta. He’s a nice man; kind, funny, sweet - and he adores you, but he’s boring. He’s predictable, and your mother loves him. That alone makes you want to scream and run for the hills. It’s bigger than you though, the marriage. It’s not one out of convenience or even one bred from a matchmaker. Your marriage will unite the South back with the rest of the United States. Scott will ultimately relinquish his throne, and you’ll be the first Queen to reign over an intact America in over a hundred years. 

But that isn’t what you want - not with him.

Bucky is slightly irrational at times - incalculable almost every time. He has a subtle boldness that’s attracted you to him since you were kids. You remember it like it were yesterday, the first time the two of you met. The annual meeting of the Royal families, this time held in Britain. You were seven, Bucky was nine. Your fathers introduced the two of you in the middle of the great library, telling you both to run along, don’t make a mess. Without knowing each other for a full minute, he grabbed your hand and dragged you through the library, reaching out and tipping random books off the shelves as you ran between the aisles.

You loved him right then and there, and every minute since. 

“I’m not going to marry him,” you finally answer, “I just have to find the right time to tell them. There’s a lot riding on this.”

He nods slowly, “I know. The merger is… big.”

“I’ll make it happen.” You shrug, “I always do. The South was stupid to secede in the first place and now they’re reaping what they sowed. A few more years of this and they’ll be destitute, they know it.”

Silence drops over the two of you as you look at each other, just blinking randomly and breathing. He tilts his head and smiles at you slowly, watching you as your mind turns. He knows that in three months time, on your thirty second birthday, you’ll be made Queen. He knows you’re ready, he knows you’re capable; but he also knows you’re scared. Uncertain of what’s to come for yourself, your country; and for the two of you.

He holds out his hand to you, not saying a word, just extending it - waiting for you. You move forward without hesitation, sliding your hand into his and letting him press you to his chest. His large hands sweep around your sides and slide up and down your back as you wrap your arms around his middle. You flatten your hands on his broad back and nuzzle into his sport coat, shielding your face from everything and everyone. You close your eyes when he runs his hand over your hair and presses kisses to the top of your head. 

“I’ll be right here,” he whispers softly, “I’ll always be here for you, sweet girl. No matter if you are mine or not. I promise you that.” 

“I know you will,” you sniffle as tears start to fall, “I want to be yours forever.”

He hugs you to him again, rocking your bodies back and forth softly, “Just say the word and I’ll pack my bags.” 

You squeeze him tighter.

You twist your hands within one another as you stand behind the two great doors. You can hear the muffled commencement speech taking place on the other side, people cheering and clapping. You swallow hard. You let out a focused breath through your teeth. You lower your head and unfold the balled up paper in your hands. 

I love you. Always.

Bucky

It’s simple - not even on his official letterhead. It’s just a blank sheet of paper confessing his adoration of and for you. You take another breath and force it out between your teeth as you ball it up again and lift your head. You run your gloved hands down your red and gold military jacket, rolling your shoulders before craning your head back and forth. Your medals clink softly from the disturbance of them, but to you, the sound is deafening as everything else blurs into the background. The doors open and the military men and women before you begin their procession into the Great Hall. 

Time to go.

Trumpets start to sound when you make your entrance into the room. Tv cameras zoom in on you as the audience in attendance stand to their feet. You focus forward as you move, painfully aware of all the eyes on you. The room is full of Royal families from all over the world, the press, and your extended family - all ready to watch the transfer of power. You blink, diverting your eyes quickly to your left, catching a quick smile and a secret wave from the Duchess of Sussex. The Duke of Sussex tips his head towards you and you return the gesture, winking playfully at Megan as she bounces baby Archie in her hands. 

You blink again and there they are; those ice blue eyes. Your breath catches in your throat as you stare at him, dressed in his military uniform. A white satin embroidered jacket, complete with the numerous gold medals he’s earned along the way. A white and gold sash crosses over his chest as the artificial lights glint off of the gold and silver pins and buttons littered across his jacket. 

His hair is trimmed - shorter than you like it, to be frank - his dark beard neatly manicured. He’s a sight - a vision, and if you had any doubt at all, it’s all thrown out the window now. Just with a glance of him. 

You walk to the steps where your parents stand, a diamond encrusted crown in your mother’s hands. You kneel on the small red pillow on the top step and drop your head as the speaker begins again. 

“Here, on the first of July, in the year twenty twenty and on her thirty second birthday, we honor the change of power from Queen Johana to its rightful heir, her only daughter, our royal Princess. Queen Johana, please remove the Princess tiara and replace it with the crown.”

Your mother bends, plucking the precious tiara you’ve adorned for so long from your head. You close your eyes and focus on your breathing as the official crown, her crown, is rested atop your head. She slips her index finger to your chin and lifts your head so your eyes can meet hers for the first time as Queen. You note the water that builds in her eyes as she smiles at you. You smile back, knowing in the depths of your heart that no matter how much the two of you fight, no matter how different your politics are - you are her only daughter - and her love for you knows no bounds. 

“I’m so proud of you.” She whispers.

“Thank you, mama.” 

When your mother stands again, the speaker announces, “Queen, please rise and address your court.” 

You stand and turn, holding your head high as the room erupts with claps and cheers. Your parents step into the background as you nod and wave, mouthing your thank you’s before you cross your arm over your chest to cover your heart with your hand. Picture cameras click loudly in every direction as the television crews zoom in on you again.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the speaker announces, “Your Queen.”

“I have something I want to say, if that’s okay.” You say, turning towards the commencement speaker. 

You move to the podium and clear your throat, waiting for the applause to die down before you start to speak, “I know this is unconventional to address you this quickly, but you all have always known me to be this way, and I do not intend to change. I am very proud and humble to be named your Queen today. This is a long time coming and I thank each and every citizen for supporting me up to this point and beyond.”

You take another breath, “As you know, I am to marry the King of Atlanta, Scott Lang, to unify this great United States of America again at the end of this month.” You lift your eyes and stare straight into the television cameras in front of you, “I have no intention of going through with the marriage.”

Gasps of shock ring through the room, the loudest coming from your mother. You throw your eyes over to Bucky as he blinks back at you, his lips parted, his face flushing red at your impromptu announcement. He runs his hand through his hair in complete disbelief and shrugs at you as he shakes his head, mouthing what are you doing? at you.

You smile, “The King of Romania, James Buchanan Barnes, and I are in love, and have been since we were children. I plan, if he’ll still have me, to marry him on the twenty fifth of July, here in New York. On the twenty sixth of July, I will issue an executive order demanding that the South rejoin the United States within thirty days, and that all members of their parliament dissolve immediately. King Lang will be acclimated into my court and will serve as an advisor to help oversee this merger. If there is any resistance, or the order is not signed by the end of the thirty days, I will have no choice but to find the South and Mr. Lang, guilty of treason, and will send in our military to take control.” 

“I realize this sounds harsh, but I’m giving plenty of time for both regimes to come together and iron this out peacefully. But I must warn, do not take my kindness or my generous time frame as weakness. If I have to take control the hard way, I will. We are only strong when we are together, and I fully intend to right the wrongs of the decisions made before me.” 

You glance to your right, finding Scott’s dark eyes on you, his mouth set in a hard line as anger washes through him, “I am not my mother,” you begin again, speaking directly to him, “I am not my grandmother, or any woman who has come before them. I will not let the South perish because of stubborn minds and brash, pompous attitudes. I will not continue to turn a blind eye to this situation, but I’ll need your help, Mr. Lang, to make this as easy as possible.” He takes a breath and lowers his gaze from yours, already realizing just who he is up against, “Please, do what is best for all of us.”

You turn, facing your parents, “If I learned anything from my parents, it’s to stand up for what I believe in. I believe in love. I believe in peace. I want to thank you all again, and please know that I look forward to serving you and this great country of ours. Thank you.”

Without another word, you step away from the podium and move down the steps as the room goes haywire, every media outlet shouting and screaming questions at you. You stop in front of Bucky, extending your gloved hand to his. He takes it without hesitation, without fear, and hand in hand, the two of you walk down the center aisle as all hell breaks loose around you.

“It’s been all of five seconds, do you regret this yet?” You ask, laughing a little as cameramen scramble to get pictures of the two of you.

“You know me, babe,” he says easily, shrugging as the two of you push through the doors, “I regret nothing.” 

Neither do you.

“Oh, hey!” You smile, “I forgot to ask you, will you marry me in like three weeks?”

He throws his head back, laughing, “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

[gondowan]

Over Your Shoulder

Pairing: Paz Viszla x f!Reader

You're used to working for others. As a freelance armstech, you flit from contract to contract, never staying too long in one place. Although the freelancer life is fun, you kind of wish you could trade it all for a little bit of stability. As the maker would have it, that stability shows up in the form of one (1) Paz Viszla.

Tags/Warnings: nothing right now, but future loving degradation, Good Communication Is My Kink, daddy kink, and other sexy consensual shenangians. Reader has slight self esteem issues.

Notes: I haven’t written for fun in forever, but new year new me! If you know me in real life never bring this up because I will combust lol. I was going to fire off a brief smutty one-shot pwp thing but of course I couldn’t resist adding ~ b a c k s t o r y ~ so here you go. Subsequent updates will probably just be pwp.

Chapter 1: All The Grass is Greener Everywhere You Look

Nervousness, you assumed, was a regular feeling for anyone who was newly married. Doubly so for the new spouse of a Mandalorian. Unlike the rest of the galaxy where marriage vows were somewhat loose, Mandalorians took their vows very seriously. Forever, generally meant, forever.

Your relationship with Paz Viszla was strange in and of itself. As a freelance armstech, you hopped from planet to planet offering your repair services, never staying in any one place for too long. While on Bothawui, you had let slip to a client that you were headed to Nevarro next. Greef Karga, the head of the Guild, had put you on a retainer for services to guild members for a few cycles. The pay was good, and he had promised you a steady supply of commissions from the local bounty hunters who frequented Nevarro in need of new weapons and repairs on top of the already nice stipend.

The Bothan, a short humanoid by the name of Eesk, perked up when you mentioned Nevarro, and the next day he came over as you were on your way to the spaceport.

“Can I ask a favor? Do you mind making a delivery for me while on Nevarro?” he asked, pulling a datapad out from his robes.

You looked up, eyes narrowing. Bothans were famous for their information network, and were instrumental to the destruction of the first Death Star, but still, you were understandably nervous. “ Eesk, I’m not interested in looking for trouble. I don’t need the New Republic or any Imp remnant breathing down my neck for delivering that for you,” you said.

Eesk laughed, “Relax, I promise you this isn’t serious. Just deliver this to a Mandalorian on Nevarro. It’s nothing classified, I’m just returning a favor for a friend,”. He slid over a stack of credits. “I’d take it to him myself, but unfortunately I’m held up on New Republic business”.

You reached over and tucked the datapad into your bag along with the credits, “Fine, but you owe me”.

“Next time you’re here, drinks on me.” he said as he walked away.

It was only until you had boarded the transport ship that you realized Eesk had never actually told you were to meet this Mandalorian. ‘Oh well,’ you thought, ‘he’s not getting these credits back’. You leaned your head against the wall of the ship, tired from hauling all of your luggage to the spaceport, and fell asleep.

You were three standard weeks into your contract with Greef Karga and the Guild, and still no Mandalorian had shown up to collect the datapad. It was nice to be somewhat settled in one place for longer than a week, and you had enjoyed the steady stream of work. You had also learned from Karga that the Mandalorian covert scattered from Nevarro, and he hadn’t seen one in a while. For all of their information trafficking and spy network, perhaps Eesk had gotten it wrong for once, and you didn’t really care to ask. After all, it would be nigh impossible to miss a person wearing head to toe armor, especially on Nevarro.

One morning, as you had returned from your walk to the lava plains, you discovered the door to your apartment was unlocked. Strange. Not a good sign. None of your alarms were triggered either. Carefully, you pulled your blaster out its holster before quietly pushing the door open.

“There you are. Been looking all over for you.”

A large man, clad in blue armor and covered in more weapons per square inch that any other being you had ever seen, sat next to your workstation. Despite the blaster pointed at him, he seemed unperturbed, posture open and relaxed.

“What do you want?” you asked, blaster raised, "You picked the wrong house to rob,". You had fended off your fair share of robberies, the expensive equipment you lugged around as an armstech was attractive to petty thieves, and not cheap.

“The datapad.” he said.

“I take it you’re the Mandalorian that Eesk spoke about.”

“Correct,”.

You rummage through your toolkit and dust off the datapad. “Here you go Mr. Mandalorian, although I suggest next time you knock during business hours. Breaking and entering is reserved for long term partners, and you haven’t even bought me a drink yet”. You wince a little inwardly, maybe this dry spell was affecting you more than you thought.

You tap the edge of the datapad on the Mandalorian’s chest plate. “Oh and you might want to get the blaster strapped to your thigh checked, those scorch marks are usually a bad sign,”.

The blue hunk of armor stood up and took the datapad from you. “Thank you for this,” he rumbled before heading out the door.

“Ah, so you do have manners,” you teased before moving to shut the door.

You can’t see the expression on his face, but you hear the huff of a laugh through his modulator accompanied with a shake of his shoulders.

You were pretty sure you’d never see him again.

Wrong.

The next day right as you returned from dropping off a box of repaired pistols, there he was again, blue armor and blank expressionless helmet, sitting in the same spot next to your workstation.

“Can you fix it?” he asked.

You gaped at him for a second, before remembering the comment you made yesterday. “I can take a look,”. You cross over to your workstation, turning on the light and the magnifying glass and grabbing your toolkit. It was an easy but time-consuming fix, and you quickly busied yourself with disassembling the rifle.

“You’re not from Nevarro,”. A question, posed as a statement.

You didn’t look up, “Nope, I’m just passing through.” Hmm, that power cell did not look too good.

“Where is home for you?”

“Nowhere,” you said matter-of-factly as you tinkered away, “Like most people, the Clone Wars and the Empire destroyed what little of a childhood I had. Got taken in by a kind armstech who taught me the trade, and now I hop from planet to planet making a living. What about you? I heard about what happened to the Mandalorians on this planet,”.

“Also nowhere,” the man grunted, and he remained quiet. You finished your work, and handed him the blaster, butt end first.

“You owe me two drinks now, breaking into my place like that.”

He took the blaster from you, two gloved finger tips drawing a line from the middle of your forearm down your wrist. An unnecessary movement, he could’ve just taken the blaster. You gulped. He put the gun back in its holster and leaned forward.

“I might, if you ask nicely. I saw the way you sized me up the first time,”.

You swallowed, mouth going dry. “It’s uh, part of my line of work. Gotta make sure everyone’s packing-- I mean, everyone’s weapons are in tip top shape.” Your stupid lizard brain, at it again.

He cocked his head to the side, “I’m sure it is,” the mirth evident in his tone.

Every evening thereafter, the blue Mandalorian showed up at your doorstep, a new weapon in hand for you to look at. It was nice, you had to admit to yourself. A consistency in your otherwise inconsistent life, and you grew to enjoy his company. What you couldn’t handle however, was the escalating tension between the two of you. He would occasionally stand behind you, his big, all-encompassing frame brushing up against your back, and lean over you to ask about this or that. The first time you thought it was an accident, but then he followed up with an oh-so-casual touch of your wrist, and you were pretty sure it was on purpose, but you also couldn’t tell if that was wishful thinking on your part. Occasionally the two of you would strike up a conversation, but for the most part he sat in a comfortable silence while you worked. When he came over the fourth night, large gattling gun in tow, you decided it was high time to try to get to know him better.

“Uh...would you like to stay for dinner?”, eyes looking down on the (ancient) gattling gun, trying to keep your voice light.

He paused and shook his head “I can’t,”.

Oh, an immediate shut down. Great. Well it was worth a shot.

“Not for the reason you think. I can’t remove my helmet in the presence of others, that’s part of the creed,”.

That made a lot of sense. You hadn’t come across many Mandalorians in your travels, but all of them were rather cagey about their armor and helmet. You had assumed it was due to the value of beskar, but this was the first time you had heard about this creed.

You looked up at him. “Don’t you ever get lonely?” you blurted out, the words forming on your tongue before your brain could shut you down. “Nevermind-- I’m sorry I-”

He interjected, “Sometimes. There are some exceptions though,”.

You leaned forward. “Such as?”.

A pause. He stepped forward, tipping your chin up with a finger.

“ Would you care to find out?”

Ch 2 here

[woogurl]

DISCLAIMER: I DO WOOSAN ANALYSIS, PLEASE SKIP IF U DON’T LIKE THIS SORT OF STUFF. I’M BY NO MEANS A PROFESSIONAL JUST SHARING MY OPINIONS. :)

so, i decided to make a san jealousy post because before i said i don’t think woo’s a jealous man, but now i think otherwise. however, unlike san woo is a lot more subtle(and at times he’s just outright brash with his jealousy) while san is a lot more transparent in general. so it’s easier to make a post about him. but i will include bonus moments or notable moments of woo’s jealousy. not only that, but we get less moments of woo being clearly jealous because san doesn’t give him much opportunity. ‘cause san is constantly giving him the attention he wants and is trying to woo him...

get it?

no? oke

anyway, i would like to preface this by saying jealous is not a bad emotion. in fact it’s not an emotion. it’s a feeling that every human experiences. unlike emotions a feeling is where you have a decent enough time to think about how to react to something. jealousy is often a feeling of insecurity. this may shock u but this includes ur idols. ‘cause u know they’re not robots. tho it’s understandable to get confused because they’re all so dreamy. but not the point. 

however, jealousy isn’t technically a good thing either and it can also derive from an unhealthy characteristic or trait of being possessive and territorial. to even someone’s detriment. especially if it makes the other party feel smothered, uncomfortable or constricted.  

now. the important question you’re wondering is whether i think san is possessive and territorial. 

well, yes, i do think he is a bit. but not to an unhealthy degree if u ask me. he isn’t overly dominating. such as making everyone else feel uncomfortable because he’s very careful not to impose himself on others. in fact i’d say san is mostly dominant/territorial and jealous because he’s insecure AND possessive.

but that’s enough talking let’s talk about moments of jealousy from san.

let’s start with some iconic jealousy moments that immediately come to mind when we’re talking about woosan. 

this moment where woo kissed seonghwa. as soon as san realized what was happening his body became stiff and awkward. just look at his face in the first ss. lmfao. he instantly became jealous and walked away and said. “i can’t watch this”. it was pretty obvious and his body and face also had a lot of tension which also shows displeasure. 

this moment where he became absolutely shocked that woo caressed seonghwa’s face. please note how he was looking at wooyoung as if he couldn’t believe that he would do something like that to him. san’s face instantly changes from smiling to just pure jealousy in response to woo’s actions.

let’s talk about subtle jealousy, i mentioned this moment in an interview analysis. https://woogurl.tumblr.com/post/620788572454371328/hey-i-wanted-to-make-a-small-mini-woosan for reference. 

as i pointed out before. san’s jealousy starts the second wooyoung places his hands on yunho. while the moments before show how easily triggered and jealous san can get. i feel like this interview clearly shows san’s possessive side. his jealousy consumes him to the point where he simply cannot focus at all during the end of the interview. it’s also interesting to see san genuinely seeing his members as a threat in this manner. 

let’s talk about another subtle jealous moment, however it’s also very open and aggressive body language. and i’m still surprised san reacted this way. but interesting moment that’s not often talked about. a friend sent this to me in dm a while ago. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=26rscSxwIEU @ 5:25.

san was initially just minding his own business until he noticed woo talking to someone named tag. i was told that this was woo’s friend (ofc who isn’t woo’s friend at this point). as soon as san spotted them he started walking towards them. which surprised me because san is an introvert, he wouldn’t normally react like this in any situation but i def felt like san reacted more aggressively in this atmosphere because he’s aware isac is often a place where idols “meet" cough cough if u get what i mean.

as soon as san approached them he smacked woo hard and i mean hard af on the back. like damn. lol. something u should take note of is a persons status in a group is often revealed through body language. if a person uses dominant indirect/unconscious body language they’re displaying an indirect form of aggression. 

not only that but san adds himself into the conversation. not only that but he touches/tousles woo’s hair which is a pretty affectionate gesture. tag is close to woo but san keeps invading that small space between them and his body and feet are pointed towards woo. you can see tag talking to hj from a decent distance but san is literally taking up that small personal space between woo and tag. he touches woo’s side and continues to try and get closer. u can also see that woo is fidgety avoiding eye contact while san’s eyes and gaze are directly on woo and follows his every move. it’s lowkey scary how san’s eyes are scanning woo. and as soon as woo has to leave the whole convo between them ends abruptly. lol.

next thing i wanna talk about is neck touches. i’ve already made an analysis about this. https://woogurl.tumblr.com/post/626125803005116416/woosan-neck-touches-this-is-probably-one-of-the?is_related_post=1. but there’s been many more moments since then. and my initial opinion has only solidified since then. 

now i mentioned before that san doesn’t touch the other members neck as often as he touches woo’s neck. and definitely not as often as i thought he did. i mentioned before that does this either out of habit, to comfort or to assert dominance(it could even be all of them depending on the situation). and because san has shown signs of being possessive and territorial. i wouldn’t be surprised if the later was true. here are some recent ex.

san was pretty protective of woo during the surprise youtube vlive. his hands just couldn’t keep off him. lol. and woo as always is extremely comfortable with san’s skinship. not only that but i also think it genuinely comforts him when san does it.

this video https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pAMfdeQ4DcM, was quite interesting. to me it was one of the most interesting recent interactions from them. yet people barely talk about it. lmfao. well it’s understandable ‘cause their interactions were def edited/cut but a lot of moments were cute but here. san was being more possessive and territorial than normal with woo. so much so that the staff literally had to move him. LOL. @4:30 san was lowkey jealous that woo chose yeosang(even tho san was first to volunteer himself) as his guard and not him. but it doesn’t matter because san still ended up next to him. lol. however after some time they moved him and i’m not entirely sure why. i won’t really go into depth about this moment because this post is meant to analyze san’s jealousy as an outcome of possessiveness/protectiveness. 

i would like to highlight again that i do not think san is possessive and territorial in a way that’s imposing. or in a way where he’s trying to dominate a conversation or propose himself as the ‘leader’. i think he’s this way because he’s naturally a caretaker. which is why he seems to want to protect those he genuinely cares about and are possessive over them.

next i wanna discuss this video. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2XslMoD5h3M&list=WL&index=12&t=2s. this video is one where san was particularly touchy and possessive with woo. attempting to physically draw woo into him as much as possible. 

he starts touching woo @1:54. then, @2:15-2:33. and there’s a moment at 2:33 in particular that interest me.

san’s still touching woo, and if you ask me his touches with woo are a bit intimate. and on the side you see seonghwa’s hand on touch san’s waist. and it’s either because 1. he can’t see or 2. he’s warning san of something. @2:40 you can see it more clearly. 

as you can see, seonghwa can’t(omg, joke from gmm don’t mind me). anyway, seonghwa’s kind of leaning forward. but this could also be because he wants to be subtle with his warning to san. you see the thing about subtle moments are.....they’re subtle moments. lol. they’re supposed to be subtle. and when they’re this subtle it’s easy for people to go. ‘oh, you’re overreacting, he’s just looking over’. so for now, i’m gonna say he’s just trying to look over.  

now, i know people wanted me to put the part where san’s hands glide over woo’s back but this isn’t the sexual tension analysis. so anyway san’s hand is placed on woo’s neck @3:00-3:17 until he has to clap. lol. 

san’s back to touching woo @3:35, but seonghwa can’t see again, because san’s pretty pressed up against woo and he’s a little in front of seonghwa and seonghwa keeps trying to pull san back. but at this point what is he trying to see? lol. and if you watch carefully, immediately after hwa touches san’s arm. he moves it. so i’ll leave that up to u guys to interpret it as you wish. there’s a couple of more moments after that where seonghwa attempts to warn or pull san back. and i’m pretty sure it’s because san was being touchy. i’m gonna guess it’s because he really liked woo’s fit that day. 

i mean just look at the way he was looking at him at 3:50. his hands were firmly place on his neck and he was staring at him while licking his lips. 

now let’s talk about how my man san is literally draped over woo at this point @4:46. i wanna mention the way san’s no longer literally holding woo’s neck anymore(which is a pretty possessive gesture because the neck is a pretty intimate are and san feels like he owns woo’s neck or something). now he’s pressed even closer to woo and his arm is wrapped around his him. something san has always done even in predebut is wrap his arms around woo’s shoulder and to me that’s pretty evident body language that he wants to be physically closer to woo by drawing him into him and wants to get rid of space between them which is pretty evident esp in this ss. just look at woosan compared to everyone else. so the reason i added this moment is because it shows how possessive and touchy san to be kind of like displaying ‘he’s mine’ or ‘we’re super close, see?’ and everyone else is just minding their own business while hwa is probably inwardly freaking out. lmfao. 

here’s a similar moment/situation. https://www.vlive.tv/post/0-18364450. the vlive on idol radio with woosan as host. 

we start off the video with san holding woo’s neck. can i just reiterate how intimate this gesture is. also how san often does this to woo and rarely does it with others? just imagine your partner holding your neck like this. it’s a pretty intimate and possessive gesture. it’s not mentioned often but woo’s neck is pretty sensitive and he viscerally reacts when it’s touched by others intentionally intimately. lol. but anyway san holds woo’s neck for quite sometime and their body language is once again so different from everyone elses.

i also wanna mention that someone said the interview with oneus and mostly onf was awkward in my dm. esp the tension between wooyoung and the boy in the green and yellow sweater. i’m sorry i don’t know his name. xD i would have to watch again. ‘cause i’m not sure if there was tension but i do know woo was quite bold in starting their amicus ad aras thing. anyway the clip was relatively short so not much to be said.

next this vlive. https://www.vlive.tv/post/1-18386548. san was pretty hyper here. lmfao. excited from the start he was already clinging to woo. 

but we’re here to pinpoint possessive/jealous san. lol. he starts holding on to woo around 21:45-22:57. he holds on for quite a while. lol. 

he let’s wooyoung’s neck breath for a while before it’s yeosang comes in @23:07 and he grabs it again. lol. and at 23:38 as woo was gonna blow in yeosang’s ear san comes down to peck woo’s head and grabs his shoulders with both hands. lol. 

and of course he continues holding woo and gets closer to him and he checks to see if the staff is looking at him weirdly. lol. 

he holds on to him a while longer before yeosang finally get up. i would also like to say san was following woo around for a bit previously before this happened. lol. now as woo gets up the camera kind of goes somewhere else and jongho’s kind of in the way(it’s oke, we love to see his handsome face). so i couldn’t really see exactly what happened but @25:15 woo clings on to hwa and san’s like, ‘oh...alright’ lmfao. i also wanna mention woo tried to peak under hwa’s shirt. at this point we can say he’s not only an ass man but a tummy/abs man oke. anyway that’s it in conclusion san loves to touch and hold on to woo in any way possible. 

i also wanna mention the moments where san wraps his arms around woo’s waist, because i also think this is possessive/territorial body language. i’ve made a whole comp of this because san does it that often. 

THIS IS GETTING TOO LONG. so i wanna bring up a few of the online fansign moments. it difficult to interpret these because 1. they’re short clips without much context and 2. i don’t understand what’s being said but i’m gonna analyze this from body language alone.

so something we know about san is he often initiates contact first and i’ll be making an analysis talking about this soon. but anyway in a lot of these moments san is just in wooyoung’s space, but woo gets in san’s too and these moments make me realize woo can be just as possessive and territorial as san. because they crave for each others attention. (you can find most of these moments on woosan insta’s acc’s like kn nk, yowoosan, etc.)

here woo is talking to a fan but san suddenly pops out of nowhere and waves his hand as if he’s waving the fan away. i’m not sure what else this could have meant. i don’t think he was waving at the staff(who i think are in front of them) to leave ‘cause he was looking at the camera. he then left and came back and wrapped his arm around woo and left again and then came back and said something to woo, but woo looked annoyed. possibly bc he was trying to interact with the fan and san kept invading his space. to me it looked like san was being possessive, craving woo’s attention esp bc woo’s interest and attention was on the fan at that time.

i’m not gonna post all of the moments bc this post is already too long, but i think the fansigns showed how they both want each others attention and how possessive they can be. san’s jealousy appears more often because he’s just generally more transparent than woo. but anyway i’m tired, thas it. 

i’m gonna just do a separate post for woo, ‘cause it’s just too long. xD

[krreader]

the notes.

pairing: kim namjoon x reader fandom: bts warnings: non idol!au ; art students!au genre: fluff word count: 1.5k+

summary: it only takes one person to see your potential to change your life forever, one way or another.

a/n: I was really torn between a tae or a namjoon story for this one, but I really like how it turned out, so I’m glad I picked namjoon lol. I hope you like it too my love and I hope it’s everything you wanted and more ♥

When your paintings were part of an exhibition in an art school, with hundreds of other talented students/artists who were showing off how hard they had worked on their projects for the last couple of months, it wasn't easy to get recognition.

Usually, those who the professors preferred got the best spots to show off their paintings and those who were the most popular were the ones that invited others to the exhibition and therefor gained a few interested spectators.

As for you, you were neither a favorite of a professor, nor the most popular in your University. You were a regular student who ended up somewhere in a corner of this exhibition with maybe one or two people stumbling your way, looking at your paintings with a smile and then walking away again.

It's not like you were an exception here though, you knew that there were many struggling artists like you, sitting on that chair next to your paintings and hoping that at some point, someone would come and see that you had talent.

So that gave you a little comfort.

The exhibition would be open for the public for around three weeks.

The first week, nothing exciting happened and you were happy that you weren't able to count the amount of people that have looked at your paintings with two hands anymore. Just barely, but there have definitely been over ten.

It was during the second week, when you arrived at your designated spot and found a little post-it note hanging on one of your paintings.

At first, you had thought it might be one of your professors that had stopped by while you were gone, telling you you did good, but... no.

“I love this one. When I look at it, it's like I'm staring into another universe.”

You read the lines over and over again, before looking up and around, hoping to see whoever had written that, but the halls were empty. No one, but your fellow art students.

Nevertheless, it was a nice compliment and you quickly shoved it in your folder. It would be one of those cheer-up post-it notes that you’d stick on your wall.

You hadn’t gotten a lot of compliments on your paintings so far, most people just looked at them with a smile and then went about their way. To read something like this meant a lot, even if you wished that person would've said it to your face.

You noticed the second note a day later, when two guys found their way into your designated hallway and were looking at one of your paintings.

You stood next to them, beaming happily and hoping that they'd say something, or that maybe they’d allow you to explain the meaning behind it.

And finally, one talked.

“You really have a lot of talent,” he smiled brightly at you, the other guy walking around your small part of the exhibition to look at every painting that you've made, “What inspires you?”

“It's really hard to say. Something as little as a memory can make me forget everything and draw for hours until I get a result like that. Other times it's interactions, songs, poems.. really anything.”

The guy smiled once again, looking at his friend when he joined him again, before bowing a little, “Thank you.”

You wished they would have stayed longer, but as mentioned before, there were a lot of talented people here. It would be selfish to want them to linger only at your part when there was so much to see.

It was when you sat down again, that you noticed another post-it, this time, sticking to another painting.

“I know it's easy to feel discouraged, but please never give up on drawing. You are one of the most talented people in this school. Even the friend who placed this note here thinks so.”

When you read the last line, your eyes instantly widened, wanting to run after them and ask them about who it was that wrote these notes, but the two had already disappeared, there were too many hallways here and you didn’t want to leave your spot for too long.

You let out a heavy sigh, gently brushing over the note with your thumb, before reading it once more with a small smile.

Why wouldn't he just talk to you? It's not like you didn't appreciate this form of compliments, but you'd really like to thank him in person.

It was only the next morning that another note was waiting for you, only that this time, it was accompanied by a new brush.

“Use it well for future projects that will change the world.”

“Who are you?” you muttered under your breath as you let your fingers brush over the bristles of the brush, smiling at how good they felt.

“I should have introduced myself a while ago.”

The sudden voice made you jump a little and turn around in an instant, being surprised who you were now face to face with.

Because you knew who he was. 

Everyone did.

Kim Namjoon wasn't just a talented artist, he had the eye to find a special piece of art amid thousands of paintings. The professors were already trying to convince him to stay after he got his degree, hoping that he'd join the staff and teach here.

So why was someone like him here?

“Excuse me?” your eyes were wide.

“I was actually going to come myself yesterday and introduce myself, but then something came up and I asked my friends to give you the note after he got interested in your paintings as well. Did he give you the note?”

“Those... were your friends?”

“Taehyung and Jimin. They're students as well. They were as impressed by your paintings as I was when I first saw them.”

Maybe you shouldn't have wished for him to introduce himself and give you the compliments in person, because now you could feel your cheeks heating up and didn’t really know what to say anymore, other than:

“Thank you,” you stammered with a small smile, “That's really kind of you to say.”

“I know how hard it is... to be an artist. I just wanted you to know that you have a special kind of talent.”

“But.. why the notes in the first place?”

Namjoon shrugged with a cute grin, “I thought it was romantic...”

“Romantic,” you choked out, literally choked out, because you instantly started coughing, not having expected that to come out of his mouth.

It took a few seconds to regain your composure and once you did, you found Namjoon chuckling.

“Anyways, there's a reason I revealed myself this soon. There is a special display tonight for certain artists that the professors think should get a chance to present their paintings to a crowd. And... well, they allowed me to pick one too. And I'd like you to be my pick.”

“Me?!” your voice was an octave higher and louder, quickly bowing when you found at least five people staring at you with furrowed eyebrows, “Why me?” you repeated, a little calmer now.

“I meant what I said on these notes. Your paintings make me feel something and that is a quality that I cherish very much in artists. Also, the fact that they put you back here makes me really upset. You should be up front with your talent.”

“You really would put my name forward?” Namjoon couldn't help but smile once more when he saw how your eyes began to shine at this possible opportunity.

“I would.”

“No... strings attached?” you figured that he'd want something back. You would do a lot for an opportunity like this, to finally get the recognition that you've craved so badly.

But his answer surprised you, “If I had the opportunity to shine a light on every talented artist there is out there, I would. I'm trying my best to help at least a few... and I'd like you to be one of them. Without wanting anything back.”

No wonder the professors wanted to recruit him. He'd be an asset for this school for sure.

“Well, I really appreciate this, but I'd feel bad if I didn't give you something back, at least. You've made the past days a lot happier with the notes and also the brush, which is a really nice brush, by the way,” you gulped down hard, slowly building up all the courage that you had in your body, “Do you like coffee? I could.. buy you one if you want to. I mean, if you have a girlfriend or something then obviously not, or maybe? I don't know, uhm..-” you stumbled over your words, the more you spoke, the more embarrassed you became.

But Namjoon thought it was endearing.

“I don't have a girlfriend and I would love to go for coffee with you,” at that, you let out a relieved sigh and straightened your back a little, “But for now, let's focus on the show tonight, okay? I'd like to go over some details with you and figure out which painting you want to display.”

It was so refreshing to find a man like him.

He was open to a date, but he didn't make that a priority right now. The priority was what you had worked so hard for. He recognized that.

It made you fall a little for him already. Or maybe a lot.

It was a lot of emotions that moment, you couldn’t really tell.

[ohwereusingourmadeupnames]

Domestic fluff, with mechanic, silver fox, soft Tony married to professor Peter. Throw in any other trope we're both obsessed with lol

The Way You Hold Me 

Pairing: Peter Parker/Tony Stark Rating: Mature Notes: Holy. It has been a hot minute since I’ve put fingers to keyboard. I’m so stoked that S’s prompt is the one to pull me out of my slump. I’m a sucker for silver fox Tony & finally couldn’t resist. This is pure, tooth-rotting fluff, so I hope you’re up for some sweetness! Word Count: ~5K Warnings: There’s a bit of smexy in there, but it’s not that detailed. The rest is just indulgence of the love-dovey kind. 

Read on AO3 here

To say that Tony was hooked from the very start would’ve been a huge understatement.

Despite never laying eyes on Professor Peter Parker, Tony found himself completely overwhelmed with that obsessive sort of feeling he got when things sparked his interest. The words in their email exchanges were more than enough to draw him in – he could openly admit that strong character and a whip smart brain totally got him going. If his witty words and bright ideas weren’t enough, a quick Google search put the final nail in the coffin. Big brains and immense beauty – who was he to deny the attractiveness in that situation?

When the opportunity presented itself, Tony navigated his way around NYU’s campus, practically jumping on the chance to finally meet the notorious Professor Parker in person. He made his way leisurely through throngs of students until he found the not so surprisingly crowded lecture hall. If professors were as attractive as Professor Parker during his school days, he might’ve paid a bit more attention. Unlike most classes, each student seemed to be completely entranced by the information – or the man at the front of the room presenting it.

Tony rarely got the chance to observe someone else while working – most people that knew about his shop knew about his impeccable brains and talent; which meant a lot of the spectating happened while he worked. Flipping the norm on its head proved to be incredibly delightful – Peter Parker could hold the entire room’s attention without even trying. And man did he know his shit! He spoke about mechanics and fluid dynamics like they were extended pieces of himself, not convoluted theories riddled with mathematical explanations. If he weren’t already taking giant leaps towards infatuation, the time spent watching the professor lecture surely would send him spiraling in that direction.

For a brief instant toward the end of his lecture, Tony caught Professor Parker looking at him. Their eyes met and held for what felt like eons, the other man’s cocoa colored irises were stunning and seemed to become more so the longer Tony looked. A moment of recognition flashed in those deep eyes before he turned back to the class and continued to talk about fluid pumps like nothing happened.

By the end of the lecture, Tony knew a couple of things with absolute certainty – Peter Parker was the most gorgeous person (in every single way) on the planet, and he would do absolutely anything necessary to find a place for him in his life. Though he was getting ahead of himself, Tony could feel the rightness of the situation down to his very core – there weren’t many people who could spark a reaction in him, let alone one that moved him to action. He forced himself to calm down as a flood of students started to pile out of the room, each one looking at him with a mix of suspicion and appreciation – he forewent the hat that morning, so his longer salt and pepper hair stood proudly on display. Even he knew the appeal of that silver fox look.

A soft throat clearing brought Tony back from his contemplative state – he blinked a few times to orient himself before turning towards the noise.

Bright eyes on him had him once again stopping in his tracks; Peter Parker the man looked totally different than the lecturer standing in front of him only moments before. The owlish, almost nerdy look was replaced with a soft smirk and clear, knowing eyes. “Tony Stark, as I live and breathe. I would’ve happily met you at my office.” Peter didn’t seem to blink as he spoke, those eyes following every one of Tony’s minuet movements.

Tony knew in that instant – he wasn’t the only genius predator in that room.

Running a hand through long strands, Tony shifted his feet just enough to lean against one of the chairs closest to him. “I thought I’d catch you in your natural habitat. Even I know professors are never in their offices,” Tony remarked, his words light and just the slightest bit flirty. “Seeing you in action is much more informative than any meeting in your office would’ve been, anyway.”

Peter’s answer came in the form of a face splitting smile, the whites of his teeth showing through the stretch of soft lips. “You’re an actions speak louder than words guy – I like that.”

Grinning, Tony closed the distance between them, his feet carrying him in a manner that he never experienced before. It was as if the inches that separated them were causing physical pain, like if he didn’t get within touching distance that instant, Tony might actually combust. Now toe to toe, Tony stuck his hand out to shake, a daring look on his face. “Actions are the only thing that count in this muddled world, Professor Parker.”

And just like that, a bond developed between them. Aside from working on the research they cultivated over the past few months, Tony found himself seeking Peter’s company out as much as possible. For a little while, he made up lame work-related excuses – Peter was insanely dedicated to their joint academic pursuits and gladly came whenever Tony posed a question. As time trickled on, the questions and requests became increasingly less academic and much more personal. Instead of meeting at the campus library, Tony brought Peter to the big office he kept in the shop or the sanctuary of his kitchen. Slowly but surely, topics moved from engine parts to hobbies and ambitions. Much like the rebuild of a classic car, their steps towards something else were filled with anticipation and an overall feeling of contentment.

Instead of infatuation, Tony started to recognize the floaty feeling as love – the active process of falling into it much less frightening than he initially figured. Despite what the forty-nine-year-old knew about his previous “loves”, Tony found himself learning something new about the topic on a daily basis. Never before did he find someone’s coffee making ritual as endearing as the repetitional process that Peter went through. For the first time in his life, Tony understood what it meant to love every part of a person, not just a few individual pieces that made up the whole.

When they finally took the step towards realizing their love for each other, Tony jumped in headfirst. Being the ridiculously professional academic that he was, Peter didn’t want to mix any sort of business with pleasure, so they waited what felt like several long months to even think about anything other than friendship. Throughout those months, Tony wore out fantasy after delicious fantasy about what having Peter next to him would be like – how his ink-stained hands would feel on bare skin, how plush lips would press against his own. In all the ways, Tony tried to picture Peter as his.

Yet, nothing he pictured even came close.

The first time Peter kissed him, Tony was utterly unprepared for it. Upon their article being published, Tony and Peter planned to celebrate with a home cooked meal in Tony’s surprisingly well stocked kitchen. Throughout their time together, cooking dinner and hanging around the kitchen’s island with a glass of wine in hand became second nature to them – the whole ritual like a deep breath of fresh air after the long days both men waded through on a constant basis. Yet, this time, Tony could feel a crackle in the air – whether it was wishful thinking or fact, he wasn’t quite sure.

As they moved around each other seamlessly, Tony felt himself relaxing in a way that only happened when Peter was around. Instead of anxiety and a never-ending slew of thoughts, a clear head and empty spaces opened up around him. The comfort in Peter’s presence lulled him into a state that, until meeting the man, Tony didn’t know he could achieve. Which is why he was thrown off guard when a firm hand wrapped around his upper arm. Setting down the knife he’d been masterfully chopping vegetables with, he turned his body in Peter’s direction, the touch on his bare skin producing a sensation that sent tingles down to the very tips of his toes.

“What’s up – “ Tony started to say before the softest lips were pressing against his own. Whatever question he wanted to ask flew from his mind, the pressure of warmth and the delicate feeling of getting what he wanted, finally, overtook him. Leaning into the kiss, Tony tilted his head and returned it to the best of his ability – chances like this didn’t come by often and he sure as hell wasn’t one to let them pass him by. His own hand moved restlessly until it found the curve of Peter’s hip; the fingers there dug into jean and fabric and the slightest hint of what could only be warm, smooth skin.

Though it felt like just a second, Tony’s chest was heaving when they finally pulled away from each other. Without much thought, he renewed the grip on Peter’s hip and brought him back in for another kiss, the pressing issue of a lack of oxygen not even registering. Behind closed eyelids, he only saw, felt, and wanted the divine press of lip against lip – if he could live in this singular moment, all would be right in the world.

It was Peter who finally broke away, the redness in his cheeks sending a rush of some unnamed feeling down the length of Tony’s limbs. It felt electric, like shockwaves traveling across the surface of his skin. Sucking in a breath, Tony forced himself to look up and take in the melted chocolate of Peter’s stunning eyes. The black of his pupil practically overran the rich, dark brown, yet the color stood out even more because of that. The compulsion to reach out and touch Peter’s face rushed through him – the thought of more of that warm skin under his hands completely entrancing. Instead, he dug his fingers further into Peter’s hip, the bottom of his shirt riding up with ever clenching gesture.

“I’ve wanted to do that for months. Months, Tony,” Peter mumbled, his words still colored by the slightest pant of breath. The touch of his hand shifted up his arm, those long fingers settling on the naked skin on the back of Tony’s neck like they belonged there (they did). Slight callouses on the palm of Peter’s hand reminded him of the depth of the professor’s knowledge and experience – the roughness there spoke of words written with restless hands and technical brilliance brought about by steady, knowledgeable limbs. Unable to resist, Tony leaned into the touch, his entire being tuned in to the warm caress.

Leaning forward slightly, Tony brushed the tip of his nose against Peter’s, a soft sigh leaving his lips. So many times, he thought about this very moment and the reality of it couldn’t possibly be predicted – everything about Peter seemed like a surprise; every second they spent together another adventure, another excitement added to the list of things to LOVE about Professor Parker. The answering gasp of air against his lips had Tony pressing forward again, their lips meeting in a barely there caress.

“Now you don’t ever have to stop,” Tony finally managed to drag his lips away from Peter’s to mumble. “In fact – I hope you don’t. I really, really, really hope.”

Luckily, Peter hadn’t planned to. For weeks after that night, they flirted through shared time in the kitchen, and teased each other throughout tv show binges and candlelit dinners. No matter what they did, Tony ended the night with a writhing Peter Parker on his lap. With every second spent together, Tony tried to absorb everything he could about the man – how his hands felt gripping around his neck, the way his thighs flexed and clenched with the subtle roll of his hips – hell, even the way the taste in his mouth changed when things went from gentle and tame to overtly arousing. Many times, he wished he were a better writer – the ache Tony felt to document his findings was entirely too overwhelming.

Little by little, they crept towards what could only be considered to be something serious. There was no longer the pretense of academic pursuits to stop them from stepping out into the New York night life together – their dates took on a whole new nature when Tony realized just how well Professor Parker could clean up. It only took one night of Peter’s well-tailored ass dancing against him to know that demanding outings exactly like that one was absolutely necessary for his survival – and ever growing libido

Said libido spent a long time in self-induced isolation and took the magic of Peter Parker to reignite whatever passion seemed to be lacking earlier in his life. Up until the supple curves of his favorite professor sat in the palms of his hands, Tony struggled with the ease of intimacy – his brain ran a mile a minute and couldn’t often slow down enough to thoroughly enjoy the greatness of human contact. Yet, when Peter held him, touched him – something happened; the rest of the world sort of faded away, everything narrowed down to the lightest stroke and talented caress.

And despite the wild flame that seared between them, it still took four months of heavy petting and sleepovers on the couch after too much making out to finally fall into bed together. Tony knew – with every piece of himself – that the second he gave himself to Peter, there was no going back. Whatever addiction he willingly cultivated during their time together teetered on a precarious edge between not enough and too much. Physical intimacy would smash that cliff in half, leaving Tony with an inability to separate himself from the overwhelming feelings Peter made him feel.

Yet, when the moment finally came, every second of it felt righter than Tony thought possible. They didn’t tumble into the room in a tattered state of “can’t wait” and “right now”. Instead, Tony slowly unwrapped the present that a jean-clad Peter Parker presented. His lips mapped the route from a delightfully long neck to cut shoulders, then down from nipple to nipple, and lower – the soft hair leading down to lean hips and a gorgeous cock got more attention than either of them anticipated.

Between the dizzy effect of Peter’s moans and the effort to remember each of Peter’s moans, Tony almost forgot how he found himself two fingers deep in the tightest ass he could recall feeling. His cock, which brushed teasingly against Peter’s thigh, twitched with anticipation with every thrust – the tight clench around them was going to feel spectacular around his incredibly touch starved dick.

Clearing his mind of the more heady thoughts, Tony worked a third finger into Peter’s tight heat – the ability to control himself was slowly crumbling, each second that passed felt like one too many – the need to satiate his overwhelming craving hit him in the chest from one touch to the next.

Long fingers gripped his forearm, forcing his attention away from the pulse and stretch of the warm tightness around him. Tony looked up, his eyes seeking Peter’s without thought.

“I’m ready, Tony. I need you to fuck me. I can’t wait – don’t make me.” Peter’s grip tightened as each word slipped from his lips.

Sucking in much needed air, Tony moved until he could comply – his entire body thrummed with anticipation, his ability to wait seemed to fly out the window in that moment, too. He shifted to pull the bedside table drawer open, but he was stopped again by the hand still clutching his forearm.

“Just you, Tony.”

They locked eyes again, a silent conversation happening between them before Tony nodded, the outstretched hand finding Peter’s hip, instead. With the other, he uncapped the lube and poured a good amount straight on his heat-flushed cock, the cold of it pulling a pulse from him, a small bead of precum forming at the tip. Tony forced himself to take in a deep breath, the touch of his hand as he spread the sticky substance over sensitive skin reminding him how close he actually was. It wouldn’t do to finally be getting what he wanted and not last – he wanted, craved, desired the best of the best for Peter – with him, even.

Another quick shift had him pinning Peter on the bed below him, the forearm of his right arm pressed tightly against Peter’s shoulder – there wasn’t any space between them. When he finally pushed in, Tony let out a noise he never heard before – especially from himself. The moan radiated around the room, wrapping both him and Peter up in the delicacy of pure pleasure and steady connection. “Fuck, Pete – “ Tony couldn’t help but babble, his entire core clenching as he finally, finally bottomed out.

For all the time spent anticipating, Tony didn’t have any sort of word or feeling to describe what being connected to Peter was like. His strong thighs wrapped tightly around Tony’s waist, the muscles squeezing with every thrust – almost like he dreaded the slide out just as much as Tony. The tip of his cock nailed Peter’s prostate with every cleverly angled shift of his hips, the feeling on both ends bringing a new sense of bliss to the situation.

Though he tried to keep his shit together, Tony felt the coil in his stomach spin up uncontrollably, the inevitable end racing towards him without any of his permission. Picking up his pace, Tony untangled their joint limbs just enough to slip his hand between them, his work roughened fingers wrapped tightly around Peter’s cock to time his tight strokes with the movement of his hips.

The wet feeling of Peter’s release splashing against his fingers pulled Tony over the edge, the loud breaths and drawn out moans of the other’s orgasm a tantalizing soundtrack to his overwhelming peak.

He couldn’t remember losing the ability to hold himself up, but moments later, he resurfaced to find his chest pressed tightly against Peter’s with sweaty fingers brushing through his long, graying locks.

“Wow.” Tony whispered after a while, his nose finding its way to the crook of Peter’s neck. He pressed soft kisses and took in long, deep breaths – Peter’s normal scent was something more now, the undertones of it carrying the slightest hint of the cinnamon Tony himself carried around. A slow smile pulled across his lips at the thought – they were both forever changed now, each one another integral piece of the other.

Instead of answering, Peter tightened his grip around Tony, his soft lips pressing kiss after kiss against skin still slicked with sweat.

A while later, they tumbled out of bed and cleaned up in the shower, both men unwilling to put more space between them than necessary after such a powerful experience. Tony reveled in his ability to touch and caress as he washed hot water warmed skin, and then later when Peter crawled into his arms and settled against his chest under the plushness of soft sheets. He let the contentment of it carry him to the cusp of sleep.

Right before he let his eyes close, Tony felt a kiss pressed to the side of his neck and Peter moving impossibly closer. “I love you, Tony,” Peter mumbled against his skin, the sleepiness in his voice making the words sound so fucking special.

Blinking, Tony tightened his hold, his fingers running in smooth patterns up and then back down the length of Peter’s back. “I love you, too. So much.”

----

Eight months later, Tony found himself right back where things started; his eyes took in the entirety of the lecture hall with fond affection. He got to campus a little earlier than usual, his excitement at getting to see Peter too much for him to handle back at the shop. Instead of fretting in the car, he stretched his long legs in a walk across campus. By instinct, or maybe nostalgic intervention, Tony got to Peter’s building without thought – he shook his head at himself, but walked through the doors, anyway. Sucking in the familiar smell that Peter brought back to the apartment every day, Tony kept walking until he was able to take a seat at the back of the overfull amphitheater.

Despite not making any noise as he walked in, Peter glanced up at him, the softest smile slipping across his lips as their eyes connected. A warm feeling sat in the bottom of his stomach – the all too familiar burn of love flaring up inside him at the look.

Never missing a beat, Peter continued through the last part of his lecture like Tony wasn’t even there. Bright whiskey colored eyes watched with fascination, the smile on his face growing with each passing minute. For a long time, Tony’s own intelligence made him feel like a social outcast – there weren’t too many of his peers that could even come close to his level of understanding. Peter, though – his brain worked in a way that Tony not only found interesting, but also wanted to know and explore in the same way he did his own. The rare treat of getting to see it in work made his heart slam in his chest – Peter was damn sexy when flawlessly controlling the classroom.

Unlike most of the students around him, Tony let out the slightest sigh of disappointment at the end of Peter’s presentation – he would’ve gladly skipped their dinner plans to hear Peter wax poetic about diesel; despite the oddity of it, Tony found Peter’s display of knowledge distractingly intriguing.

Tony went against the flow of students leaving the lecture hall to get to his boyfriend at the front of the room, a happy smile on his face as he did. When close enough to reach out and touch, Tony grabbed Peter’s hand, using his leverage to pull him into his arms. Planting a fleeting kiss on soft lips, Tony held Peter tightly to him, his eyes closing from the sensation. He would’ve gotten lost in it if it weren’t for a soft chorus of ‘awes’ that sounded from the back of the room.

“Ms. Pesto, class is over.” Peter leaned back into Tony’s hands on his back to speak to the culprit, a smirk pulling across his face. “Shut the door behind you when you go.”

Grinning, Tony leaned in to press a longer, more intense kiss on already swollen lips. “Have I ever told you how sexy you are when you’re teaching?” The question was broken up by soft kisses to Peter’s lips, cheek, and chin.

Peter shook his head in answer, a slight giggle falling from his lips. “You neglected to share that interesting piece of information.” Then, “what’s your favorite part? The way my brain works, or how good I look in these pants?”

Tony let his hands run more firmly over Peter’s ass at the comment, his pupils dilating with a sudden rush of arousal. “Most definitely all of the above,” Tony whispered, his fingers digging into the meat of a delightfully thick glute. “You’re my favorite part.”

There weren’t any more words shared between them for a few minutes, the solid weight and press of lip against lip the only thing existing in those moments. Peter forced them apart when the door opened again and a colleague started to descend the stairs. Reading the room, Tony forced himself to calm down and grabbed Peter’s bag from the desk, shouldering it before reaching out to grab Peter’s hand.

Throughout the rest of the night, Tony couldn’t stop the thoughts of how right and perfect things were – Peter drove him crazy with want, but even more importantly, love and adoring affection. For the first time in his entire life, Tony understood what it was like looking at the rest of forever. Popping the question entered his mind a few months ago, just the idea of it made him absolutely weak at the knees. Though he hadn’t given much thought to marriage before, Tony could picture it clearly with Peter – they already did so much give and take with each other, the next step just made sense.

He started to seriously think about it a couple of weeks later when Happy, one of his senior mechanics, brought up a jeweler he frequently bought things from for his own wife. “He does the best work,” Happy said, his hands already busy digging into his coveralls to snag a card from his wallet. “Tell him I sent you – he’ll hook you up.”

The card sat in his grease-covered hands reverently, the small piece of cardstock another piece to the next step with his most favorite human.

Horace, who turned out to be a gifted jeweler and a joy to be around, got him settled with a gorgeous damascus steel ring, the contrasting light and dark metals melding together to tangibly personify Tony and Peter. It was strong, yet delicate – the stunning beauty of it mellow and completely overwhelming. Walking out of the store with it made Tony feel fulfilled – with it soon, he hoped to make Peter his for the rest of his life.

Of course, things never went the way Tony initially planned them to go. He carried the black velvet box with him for weeks, waiting for the perfect moment to pop the question. Tony knew, despite the pulsing nerves, that Peter would say yes – they were meant to be, he couldn’t be the only one that felt that way. Not when, only after a little more than a year of being together, Peter felt like home. More than anything else in his entire life, Peter felt right.

After a string of long days in the shop, Tony was finishing up his last car of the day when Peter came storming through the side door. The slightly worrying tone of Peter’s voice when he uttered Tony’s name had him standing up too quickly, the hood he was working under smacking him in the back of the head with a dull thud. A slight whimper left his lips, his anxiousness not enough to stop the slight throb of pain.

“Pete, what’s up?” Tony asked, his voice only a little tight in his attempt to keep his slowly building panic to a minimum. They left the house that morning with a stolen make out session and a slight unwillingness to say goodbye – what could’ve possibly gone wrong between then and now? Rubbing the back of his head, Tony finally straightened himself completely, his attention totally on Peter.

His jaw dropped a second later when Peter thrust the very box he’d been worrying over between them, his eyebrow raised. “Want to tell me about this? I left some research on the passenger seat of my car and when I went to grab it, I found this suspicious black box on the seat. What is it, Tony?”

Peter’s eyes were wide, the look on his face telling Tony that Peter didn’t look, despite knowing exactly what resided within the box without the need to peek. Sucking in a quick breath, Tony snatched the box out of Peter’s hands, his knee hitting the floor a second later. That very instant was as good a time as any, he figured.

Pulling the lid of the box open, Tony used his free hand to grab Peter’s, his fingers gripping tightly. “It’s kind of fitting that I find the perfect moment in one of my fuck ups. You make all of the weird pieces of me feel so normal – like they fit, despite being totally obscure. No one, in my entire life, ever made me feel as complete as you do. I should have known that asking you to be mine forever would be as unconventional as I am. Will you be my husband, Pete? I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Instead of answering, Peter grabbed the grimy edges of his coveralls and pulled him up from the floor. His arms wound tightly around Tony’s neck, the space between their bodies getting narrowed down to nothing, the ring box stuck between them. Their lips met in a fierce kiss, spit-sticky tongues sliding together in an instant. Peter kissed Tony’s breath away, the two only pulling back when the risk of passing out ran too high.

“Yeah, I’ll be your husband,” Peter mumbled breathlessly, the pants of his breath making the words even more impactful.

A face splitting grin lit up Tony’s face, his cheeks straining with the effort. He wordlessly put a bit of distance between them, the space just enough to grab Peter’s left hand and slip the ring down his third finger. The juxtaposition of grease and pale skin and shiny metal stood out as he admired the perfect fit of forever’s promise, both on Peter’s finger and in the bond between them.

Leaning back into his new fiancé, Tony pulled Peter into him, their lips finding each other without fail. The perfectly imperfect thing that existed between them thrummed with new life. As they kissed, Tony succumbed to the pleasant ache of being completely consumed by Peter and all of the feelings that always threatened to overcome him. Peter had his back – and would for the rest of their lives. Their love deserved every overwhelming feeling Peter played muse to.  

[megashadowdragon]

whats the point of yamato

comments on youtube

Here's my take: the Wano Arc is about the "burden of inherited will." By this I mean something like, the burden of upholding the promises and dreams of those who came before. We've seen inherited will as an unambiguously good thing in the series so far, but the Wano Arc is trying to complicate the narrative, by showing what a burden it can be to take on the dreams of those who came before. And this theme isn't just in one storyline, it's laced throughout the Wano Arc, in the motivations of so many characters: * We have Momo struggling with the burden of living up to his father's legacy as a leader, and the burden of the throne of Wano. He's anguished over this, he weeps, because it's a burden to live up to someone as great as his father. * In Oden's flashback, we seem him struggle with the burden of his own father's dreams (that he become the Shogun, settle down, etc), only for him to eventually return and take on the burden of the country (literally, he puts his followers on his back!). * We have the Scabbards struggling with the burden of achieving Oden's dream of opening Wano's borders. They spend twenty years waiting and suffering, or travel across the sea and suffer, all for the sake of their leader's dream. We see Ashura-doji grow bitter under this burden, we see Denjiro mentally break, we see Kine'mon refuse to have a joyful reunion with his wife, all because they suffer under the burden of an inherited dream. * Orochi felt compelled to uphold the will of his ancestors and depose the Kozukis and throw the country into ruin. There's a reason we see his ancestors basically manipulate him into pursuing his path. They pass on their dream to him. * So obviously we have Luffy also taking on the dream of Oden, to defeat Kaido and Orochi, etc. But it's not a coincidence that in this arc we have two characters to whom Ace made promises: Tama and Yamato. They've become part of Luffy's burden, because he inherited Ace's will. (That's one way Yamato fits in) * But we also have Yamato struggling under the burden of a will she does not want to inherit, her father's. He wants her to be imprisoned, literally chained to a will that is not her own. That's quite the burden, I'd say. But there's another will she would prefer to inherit, obviously: Oden's. I think in the conclusion of this arc, we'll see characters (Luffy, probably) say something about inherited will being something chosen, it has to be a burden you choose to bear, not one forced on you. Yamato will probably feature in this conclusion in a few ways: (1) as a character foil to Momonosuke. It's not a coincidence that they're the exact same age and each want to take on the will that was forced on the other. Momo was swept across the world and travelled with Luffy in order to fulfill his role as Oden's son, but he wants to be Shogun. He takes on Kaido's appearance (via his Devil Fruit). Yamato was chained to Onigashima, and wanted nothing more to escape and travel the world with Luffy, but Kaido wants her to become the Shogun. She takes on Oden's appearance. The arc will conclude with something about Yamato and Momo freely entrusting each other with the dreams of their fathers, or something. (2) as a feature in Luffy choosing to uphold Ace's will. By taking her with him and reaffirming a promise with Tama, we'll see Luffy choose to take on Ace's will. In this way, we'll see that what makes a will truly inherited isn't a bond of blood or destiny, it's a bond of friendship, trust, et cetera. Yamato's storyline will be used to punctuate that theme for Luffy and Momo, the actual central characters of this arc.

I feel like Yamato’s storyline is learning about inherited will and not having to actually be someone (Oden) to carry on their will/dreams.

Hannya, which Yamato’s mask is based on, are well known in Japanese theatrical stage culture for representing characters who are the physical manifestation of twisted female souls.

Yamato seems to be inspired by Oscar François de Jarjayes, from the shōjo manga The Rose of Versailles, who is a woman raised by her father as if she were a boy in order to succeed him as the commander of the Royal Guard at the Palace of Versailles. 

an authors comment for chapter 945 oda talked about how he read rose of versailles and was surprised oscar was a woman 

The Shogun must be a male of Seiwa Genji lineage according to Japanese history so this explains why she is referred to as son.  Oda based Yamato on 2 people.  1) Yamato Takeru a crossdressing Japanese prince and 2) Oscar from Rose of Versailles.  Yamato Takeru being the son of Emperor Keiko who crossdressed to kill his enemies.  Oscar being a girl raised as a boy to succeed the throne.  Oda is mixing Japanese folklore with Rose of Versailles to tell a story of Kaido trying to force his daughter to be the Shogun/a boy.  Do you think I rip this from nowhere?  Chapter 945 if I recall correctly on VIZ Oda is on the authors comments speaking on Rose of Versailles.  Yamato wears a Hannya mask which originates from Noh theater and represents female obsession (Oden obsession) and I bet this arc has a theme of deliverance.  Not just deliverance from physical chains but familial bonds as well.  The people who refer to her as “he” miss the underlying themes the Shogun must be male and Kaido is probably upset he has no actual son.  Yamato does not want to be the Shogun and referring to the last chapter Kaido is trying to tell her what her fate is.  The Vivre Cards will not say (Male Heart) like in close reference to Kiku’s card and she will not come out and say “I am a man at heart!”  She uses the pronoun boku which is ambiguous and abnormal which is in reference to the “Oden” funny delusional act she has going on.  Coming chapters will reveal this more and more.  Since the combination of the title card saying daughter -> the Hannya mask -> explosive cuffs and the Shogun theme it was clear she was being bruteforced into something.

Not trying to speak for everyone here, but to say people use "he" because they don't pick up on themes is simply not the case. People use "he/him" pronouns because so far in the story, that is how Yamato has made clear that he would like to be referred to and so people use he/him pronouns out of respect for those desires. I'm not trying to say at all that I disagree with the themes/connections you've mentioned, but to say that you've "cracked the code" and you know better than Yamato on how they should be gendered is disrespectful to them. It may well be the case that everything you said is true and that by the end of the arc Yamato will wish to be referred to with she/her pronouns, but like I said to just assume this before it actually happens is disrespectful. Imagine refusing to use he/him pronouns for a trans-man because you know that their father always wanted a son and assuming their desire to use these pronouns only exists to validate their fathers wishes. I'm not trying to draw a one to one equivalence with this example, I get that One Piece is a story where information does just exist but is introduced with a specific purpose, I just hope I can better explain why many people believe he/him are the correct pronouns to use for Yamato at this time. Frankly, I think the presence of Kiku as a trans-women in this arc might be odas way of setting up the exact scenario you mentioned with yamato while still making sure he doesn't come across as invalidating trans identities. Hopefully that makes sense. Again I'm not trying to be argumentative, only trying explain why many people believe it is more respectful to use he/him pronouns at this time for yamato DESPITE the themes you've mentioned.

Quick fact check: Oscar wasn't raised as a boy to succeed the throne, she was a raised as a boy to become commander of the royal guards

This might not be accurate as I'm just saying off the top of my head but in a way, Yamato might represent wano itself. She was chained up and abused by Kaido like he does to wano in a sense.

Yamato is literally old name of Japan, lol

  Yamato by taking Oden legacy she is impersonating the man who's the main representation of wano to the world 

On a larger scale we are fighting to save wano from kaido

On a individual scale Yamato who disguises as Oden who represents wano is fighting to save herself from kaido 

It's like NAMI all over again 

A girl who is representing an entire population and territory is fighting to save herself and the people and territory she represents from a fish that keeps her and her territory enslaved

Her not being part of the mainland is symbolic to Wano exactly lol, isolated from the other world and chained there by Kaido for decades. She, like the people of Wano, has this black and white perception of Oden that they blindly follow without looking into why he did what he did. Even now people are putting Momo on some pedestal worth dying for without understanding who he is, similar to their past expectations of Oden for his dad. Yamato is doing the same with her declaration of dying for him based solely on his dad and the stuff in the journal.

Yamato's development seems to fall in parallel to Momo. Momo had to deal with the expectations of being Oden's son and his people want him to be just like Oden they don't see Momonosuke Kozuki. 

On the other hand Yamato similarly was thrust with a path set by Kaido her father but wants to be Oden this person who inspired Yamato to the point of worship that every action is posed with the question "what would Oden do."

The climax of both their arcs might be to just choose to be who they are and act as they would do not as their predecessors as they both could never be Oden for instance.

I sort of dislike how some people act like Yamato realizing not to “be oden” and Yamato joining the strawhats are mutually exclusive

if yamato does join the strawhats and is the 11th that would confirm the idea that yamato isnt trans  she just cosplays as oden due to idolizing him if you believe the MFMM theory due to people noticing that in east blue  the recruitment went zoro, nami, usopp, and sanji  in grand line it was chopper, robin, franky and brook a male female male male .

jinbe is the 10th who joined in new world  ( the male ) and it fits for him to be followed by the 11th a woman . ( so if yamato joins the strawhats and is the 11th ( meaning carrot doesnt join)  yamato isnt trans 

if yamato and carrot both join then yamato really is a transman

both okiku and yamato wore hannya masks

after okiku put on a hannya mask she revealed that she was a man in body but a woman in heart and a hannya mask represents female demon 

yamato was introduced as kaidos son while in a hannya mask but after she took it off revealed she was his daughter

"Yamato" (大和やまと?), meaning "Great Harmony", is an ancient name for Japan (originating from the Yamato Province) and can can also refer to the Yamato period of Japanese history, which lasted into the 8th century. Relating to that, Yamato is the dynastic name of the ruling Imperial House of Japan and further refers to the dominant ethnic group of Japan, the Yamato people. Otherwise:

Yamato Takeru is a legendary Japanese prince of the Yamato dynasty, prominent in mythology.

Yamato is the name of a prominent WWII-era Japanese battleship.

Yamato nadeshiko is a phrase that refers to the idealized image of a Japanese female.

[mason-knight-retired]

follows X (but before X lol)

Every now and then, the universe gives you a gift, Mason has the barest wherewithal to think. It hands you everything you never knew you wanted - wrapped up in a stylish suit, a gold flecked eyes and six little words that change everything.

He stares at Ethan, his breath sharp on an inhale and held… held tight because he can’t have this so close, handed to him on a platter and have it taken away. Maybe it’s not real, maybe he is really just asleep on his bunk dreaming this while the stars pass outside, maybe Ajax had made good on his thinly veiled threats or maybe the fury finally wholloped him hard enough to hard to send him to the med bay-

But no, there’s no mistaking this reality or the tortured look on the face of the man in front of him. There’s no fight in Ethan now and Mason has never seen him so shattered, so weak but to Mason, he’s never been more beautiful.

“Ethan, I…” He shakes his head, raises a fist to his mouth and tries to blink back the sudden wetness in his eyes. His voice is so rough, tight through his throat when he tries to speak. “Ethan, I swear to god, this had better not be one of your games.”

There’s a flash in Ethan’s eye that Mason immediately regrets.

“If it was, do you really think I’d be here? I had to beg my way onto this ship. I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life, Mason, and that’s saying something.”

“You have to know…” Panic makes Mason’s hands tremble. It’s right there. Everything he’s never let himself dream to want. It’s right there in front of him for the taking. And suddenly he’s terrified. “You have to know how I feel about you. You do know, that’s why you broke it off and now? Coming here, saying this… god, Ethan, you have to know what this is going to mean to me. What I want out of this-”

Ethan’s mouth twist twists ruefully. “Kind of counting on it, actually… If you don’t hate me.”

“Hate you? Hate you?” Mason laughs incredulously, shaking his head. “You mean too much to me to ever hate you, god. I was pissed, yeah, but don’t… don’t fucking say it if you don’t mean it, Ethan. I don’t care if you don’t, I can live with that, but don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not. I swear, Mase. I love you,” Ethan says it again, like a levee has broken and he can’t keep the words inside him any longer. Like he’s desperate to make Mason understand. “I’m in love with you and I-“

The rest of Ethan’s words are lost under the crush of Mason’s mouth.

He doesn’t remember moving. He doesn’t remember crossing the tiny space between them, only that he couldn’t hold back from touching the man in front of him after being apart for so long - not for another second, not with those words and all that they mean hanging in the air between them. He grips Ethan tight, hands around his waist and in his hair, running over the muscles of his back until they settle against Ethan’s jaw – and hold him there. Ethan returns in kind, hands up to grasp at Mason’s face, with a strangled sound that vibrates up his throat into Mason's mouth.

The need that burns through him, the feeling of Ethan against him is like coming home. The shuddering of Mason’s universe settles and shifts and clicks back into all the places it should be.

Home. Here was his home.

“Ethan,” he whispers, pressing his forehead against Ethan’s when they’re finally forced to draw apart for air. He's not sure if it’s him that’s crying or if the sounds are from the man he’s about to offer his heart to. It doesn’t matter anyway, not when he finally has Ethan’s skin under his palms and his whiskey sweet breath on his tongue. “I love you too. I’m in love with you,” he whispers, peppering kisses between each phrase. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

“Mase-” Ethan’s hands are on him then, hungry and insistent, like he’s been starving for too long. The grip on Mason tightens, hard enough to bruise but Mason welcomes the bite of pain, hopes there will be marks left behind even through the dermal weave of his skin to remind him of this moment. So he can trace them and watch them bloom and know that it’s not just a fantasy and that this is real, that Ethan is really here and not just a phantom of Mason’s unacknowledged wishes.

Mason tears his lips away long enough to suck in air and catch Ethan’s gaze. He cups Ethan’s head and presses their foreheads together. His heart is beating so fast, like it might burst out of his chest at any moment and his cheeks feel damp. He’s sure he tastes salt in their kiss. “God, I missed you.”

Ethan pulls him close and Mason tucks his face against Ethan’s jaw, breathing him in. “I missed you too. I couldn’t breathe without you.”

The wave is intense when it rolls over him.

“So, why?” Mason whispers helplessly then, the one thing suddenly plaguing him. Maybe it’s not the time, but he has to know, even if a little voice inside of him tries to scream its doubt. A small shudder ripples through him and he pulls back to search Ethan’s gaze. “Why did you break it off- If you knew I loved you, and you feel the same…” Mason thinks about the last few painful weeks. That they could have been avoided.

“It may come as a startling surprise,” Ethan drawls tiredly, but Mason catches the weary smile in his voice. The relief. His own heart becomes light with the knowledge Ethan is his now and the last of the secrets between them are gone. “But sometimes I’m not always the smartest person in the room.”

Mason’s lips suddenly twitch with mock suspicion as he leans back and eyes Ethan critically. 

“Alright,” he says teasingly. “Who are you really and what have you done with the real Ethan Sinclair? Did Cynthia send back a clone? Are there more of you? Because I might be into that-”

Ethan’s brows snap together in irritation and Mason finds himself pulled into another smothering hug to stop him talking. He swallows down his laugh, almost giddy now, high on life and and unstoppable, like a kid at the candy bar at party indulging in too many sweets and not even caring about the inevitable crash later because he knows Ethan will be there to catch him.

“Not even remotely funny, Huntsman.”

Mason allows himself to be stifled, just for a moment, before nuzzling against Ethan’s jaw and brushing his nose against the stubble there. He breathes Ethan in, reminds himself once again he’s not dreaming. He recognizes the struggle it took for Ethan to be here and takes comfort in the proof of it.

He presses a kiss to Ethan’s mouth in a silent apology, serious again.

“You were trying to protect me, I get it. But I never wanted protection from you, Eth. Never needed it until now. But fuck, promise me you won’t go back. Promise me you won’t ever go back. That’s not your home anymore.”

Ethan brackets Mason’s face with his big hands and stares into his eyes. “I know that now.”

“Good,” Mason lifts his chin, wanting another kiss but there’s a flicker of hesitation in the gold flecks he loves so much. “Ethan, what is it?”

Ethan glances away. “Mase, I can’t promise I won’t fuck it up-“

“One day at a time, Sabre,” Mason gives him a rueful smile, presses another kiss to the side of Ethan’s perfect jaw and grips his hips with his palms. He pulls Ethan against him, grinds slightly so Ethan knows just the effect he’s had on him, not that he could ever doubt it. “We’ll just take it one day at a time. Like we always do. It’s all we can do.”

Ethan’s eyes drift closed. “Marie could only get me forty two hours. Forty one now, probably.”

“It’s enough.”

“Is it?”

“Enough for you to show me just how much you mean it.”  

Ethan’s eyes go dark like Mason knew they would. The secret thrill that it only takes a few words to ignite the embers in the man in front of him. He hopes it stays like that between them always.

Mason draws Ethan close once again, cupping the back of his head as he sweeps his lips over his first in a gentle kiss that belies the heat already starting to spark inside him. He revels in the familiarity of Ethan’s embrace, the way their bodies align flawlessly to each other as though they had been created with the other in mind - perfect counterparts to a single whole. Even their biotics hum and flow in bone deep harmony around the edges of their skin. It’s Mason’s world made right, the equilibrium that had been so shaken until now settling and solidifying into something perfect and real and eternal.

There’s one, single fundamental truth that settles into his bones: He has everything if he has Ethan.

Their kiss deepens, and Mason shivers as fingers of desire walk up his spine and greedy hands pluck at clothing and tongues and lips hungrily sweep over skin. He’s inching his hands up under Ethan’s shirt when Ethan suddenly draws back, a frown on his face, like he’s heard something in the distance he can’t parse. Mason senses it too, a fraction of a second before the door hisses open.

“What the hell?”

Ethan blinks at the small whir and click of metallic feet. “Mase, is that a Loki mech with a plant stuck to it?”

The drone toddles in and Mason wants to groan. “I’m gonna kill all of them,” he mutters, gritting his teeth instead. “I finally get you back and now I’m being cockblocked by a plant with legs?! The fuck.”

He peers around the door, Ethan at his shoulder and of course, they’re all there, even the engineer, despite Nico’s valiant efforts to herd them all away. There’s a final holler from Ben at the end of the hall before silence descends and they’re left alone again.

Mason catches Ethan’s eye, a silent exchange travelling between them before their lips twitch. Ethan laughs then, the first real laugh in weeks and Mason catches the way it lights up Ethan’s face, savours it and files it away to turn over in his mind over and over for when their forty two hours are up.

His own smile is light when he reaches for Ethan’s hand and rubs a thumb over the back of his palm. Ethan’s fingers entwine with his and grip him back tightly.

“I suppose you’d better go say hi, or Ben’s timing might be a lot worse next time.”