#and instead embracing their natural hair for ages at this point

[diamondrib]

i feel like there’s gotta be something about curly hair suddenly being “in” that’s like. gentrifying/somehow connected to the natural hair movement that we’ve been doing for decades

[wh0reforcoriolanussnow]

First Lady || Young President!Coriolanus Snow x reader

GIF by @unknown divider by @firefly-graphics

Summary: Coriolanus Snow is a man of his word, he once spoke to you about making you Panem’s First Lady, and he intends to do that.

Warnings: just Snow being a softie

Wc: 1,134

Coriolanus Snow Masterlist

Flashback

“You will be Panem’s First Lady, my love. That is a promise.” Coriolanus whispers into your ear. Your naked bodies were pressed up against one another, his hands caressing your hip as you smile at his words.

“Y/n, First Lady of Panem. It has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?” You giggle as he laughs. God you loved hearing his laugh. “It does, I think you are destined to become First Lady, birth our children and create a family” He grins, pulling you closer to him as this would be the final last moments before he would be banished from Capitol.

Snow had a plan. He was going to do whatever it took to return and become President. And that was exactly what he did.

End of flashback

There he was. Coriolanus Snow was back. Coryo was back. A single tear dropped from your eye as you finally set eyes on him for the first time for what felt like an eternity. “Y/n..” His eyes finally meet yours as he runs to you. You both embrace so tightly as if the other was going to slip away.

“You’re back.” You whisper as he pulls you closer. “I promised you I would make you First Lady of Panem, and I sorta need to be here in order for me to do that” He jokes as you both chuckle. You pull back and take a look at him. His hair was different, his blonde locks were no longer there, instead he sported a buzz cut.

He gained more muscle, you could tell by how his arms felt around your frame. His uniform also seemed the tiniest bit tight on his body. “How are you? I thought about what you were doing every second of the day,” His hand pulls you closer to him by the waist as you both make it out of the station.

“Everything paid off, my love.” You pause and look at him. Snow dug his hand in his pocket and pulled out a ring. “If I intend on making you First Lady, I should probably marry you huh?” He grins widely as he kneels on one knee. Tears brimmed your eyes as he spoke the words you had been waiting for since the day you two met. “Will you marry me?”

Timeskip

At the age of 23, Coriolanus Snow became President of Panem, and you, his wife, became First Lady of Panem. It was everything you could have ever dreamed and hoped for. “President Snow, and his wife, Y/n, First Lady of Panem!” The crowds roared in excitement as they all clapped for the newly wed couple, the couple who would run the nation.

You were loved by all as First Lady. You were a natural at it, proving Snow’s point that you were destined to be First Lady. After an exhausting day of fulfilling public duties, you finally lay in bed. The other side of the bed dipped as Snow lay in bed beside you. His body moved closer to yours as you snuggled against the warmth of his body.

“What do you think about starting a family?” Coriolanus whispered in the shell of your ear as you pause. You turn around meeting his gaze with a smile. “I love that idea,” You whisper as he grins, kissing you hard as you both make love to one another.

Another timeskip soz

“Coryo!” You excitedly call out as you fasten your steps towards Snow’s office, the nanny, with your daughter was following along aswell. “My darlings!” He lifts his head up at the sight of both of you with a grin. “I have such great news,” You couldn’t contain yourself, your face ached smiling so much.

Coriolanus lifts an eyebrow as he follows your movements as you walk around the desk. He moves his chair back letting you sit on his lap. “What good news has made you this happy y/n?” He chuckles, looking to the nanny who smiles.

You take his hand and place it on your stomach. His eyes automatically lit up as you nod, “I’m expecting again!” You squeal, wrapping your arms around his neck as he stays still for a second, processing it all in his head. From his lack of response and stillness, you pull back, “Aren’t you happy?” You furrow your eyebrows.

“No! No. No of course not, It’s just happening again so soon after you birthed Auggie,” You turn to Auggie in the Nannie’s arms before beckoning her to give her to you. “I’m ready for another one,” You kiss Auggie’s chubby cheek before looking at Snow, “Are you?” She gazes at him with a look he cannot explain.

Coriolanus smiles at you, thinking how lucky he is to have such a strong willed person like yourself. “I’m always ready to grow our family” Snow smiles, kissing Auggie on the cheek as the baby girl babbles.

~

The crowd cheered at the sight of you arriving at the Hospital. Camera’s focused on you as you wave a smile. Coriolanus quickly came up beside you, lending you his arm as you gratefully take it. You were heavily pregnant and ready to deliver the baby, with Snow by your side.

“And we are here live with President Snow, and the First Lady who is about to deliver their second child! How are we feeling?” Lucretius Flickerman beams as he holds the mic near your face. “Slightly nervous,” You chuckle as Snow rubs your arm. “My wife is a strong woman, I believe she will bless the nation with a healthy son or daughter” Coriolanus grins before they are whisked inside the hospital. The two of you give a final wave to the crowd and almost immediately you go into labour.

~

Snow and you walked out the hospital, your newborn son in your arms as you two year old daughter hold her father’s hands. Camera’s flickered as they took pictures of the family who ran the nation. You looked radiant as ever after delivering your son. The crowds were calling out their congratulations to you as you even sign your autograph to some of them.

Even after gruelling hours of labour, whenever you saw the people of Panem, it never failed to make you 100 times happier. When you got into the car, you rest your head against snow’s firm chest. “Are you okay my love?” He softly says, careful to not wake up your son. “I feel like the luckiest woman in the world. Thank you, Coryo. Thank you for doing everything you’ve done to us and our family we created.”

You softly spoke, your hands intertwined as your rub your thumb against his, a sign of your affection. “You feel like the luckiest woman? I feel like the luckiest man, darling.”

[seungrem]

Seonghwa (Ateez) x male!reader

Burying the Hatchet

request ~*+ - masterlist ~*+ - part 1 of ??

summary: Though rival mob bosses separating their territories by north and south, m!reader and Seonghwa frequently bump into each other at socialite events. With tension building up in m!reader’s half of the city, he needs decide whether or not to confide in his connections for support.

( overview: mafiaboss!seonghwa, mafiaboss!reader, both socialites and well known, reader controls the south, seonghwa controls north, associates/goons = mob members, Ricky (zb1) feature because he’s very mob coded, reader is lowkey tsundere, established non-romantic relationship w/ eachother, reader inherits wealth, the park family = seonghwa’s mob group )

( warnings: mentions of plausible violence (guns/fighting), blood, injuries (scrapes/bruises/cuts), hostile personalities, mentions of psychotic/psychopathic behavior, threats, cursing )

emoji code:

🌿 ( long story/series )

-🧸 ( very light fluff )

🫧 ( pieces of angst here and there )

🪐 ( mafia / mob AU )

☁️ ( stands for y/n )

likes, comments, & reblogs r appreciated ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Chatter echoed through a ballroom bustling of attires fit for only the most affluent. If it were up to him, ☁️ would be perched on the mezzanine, people watching until the gala had concluded. Instead, he walked into room preparing a flashy smile to anyone who would have the misfortune of catching his gaze.

“Can I take your jacket for you, sir?”

As ☁️ awaited the host of the gala’s presence, a teenage boy wearing a tuxedo approached him. The boy flinched slightly as ☁️ turned in his direction, ☁️ assuming he was just someone who worked there.

“No- I’ll keep it, thank you. Could you tell me where Ricky is, though?” ☁️ asked, turning his attention back to the crowd of people in the distance.

Though the two were the same age (early 20s), Ricky had made a name for himself apart from his parents- unlike ☁️. The man had the city’s media in a chokehold, with news of his whereabouts and appearances circling weekly. In contrast, ☁️ had inherited his parent’s wealth and “business” after their passing. The public also kept a close eye on him, but for reasons less alluring.

“Last I’ve seen he was on the other side of the room beside the DJ. Here’s your pamphlet.”

“Thank you.” ☁️ replied, him then taking the paper and watching the boy scurry away. He sighed as he flipped through the pages, reading carefully over the guest list and seating arrangements.

‘What the hell is Seonghwa doing here?’ ☁️ muttered to himself before taking a few steps toward the crowd. Recognizing a familiar face slip out of the mass and approach him with a smile, he quickly placed the pamphlet into his suit jacket as he walked.

“☁️, how have you been?” Ricky called out, waving to the man as the two closed the distance in between them. It was then that the two embraced, holding each other for a moment more. ☁️ noticed Ricky’s navy blue suit had a velvet look to it, him feeling the texture as he held onto the man’s forearms.

“I’ve been great, how about you? And what happened to the blonde?” ☁️ responded, smiling and then pointing to Ricky’s hair. The last time that he had seen Ricky, the man had bleached his hair a platinum silver. Now, his raven-black hair was slicked back, with a few strands falling onto his forehead.

“I’ve been better, and my roots grew out so I just dyed it back to a natural color. But listen, before you leave tonight, I’d like to speak to you. In the meantime, you need to do your rounds.”

☁️ huffed, knowing that this meant he had to greet everyone.

“We’ll be fast.” Ricky assured, once again grabbing the man’s arm and escorting him through the crowd.

☁️ smiled, introduced himself, shook hands, and kissed cheeks more times than he remembered that night. Following a conversation with a couple, Ricky led ☁️ out of the crowd, the two now standing for a moment.

“We done?” ☁️ asked, exhaling.

“One more. You aren’t going to like it, but please be respectful. I don’t want my gala to become a war-zone.”

“Is it Seonghwa?”

“Yes. But-“

“Why the hell did you invite him?”

“I do business with him just as I do with you. I’m prompting neutrality.”

“Understandable. But why do I gotta go over to him?”

“Because you two aren’t going to mean-mug each other all night like you did last year. That caused problems, did it not?” Ricky led ☁️ to his table, the two sitting beside one another.

“I don’t even have my guys with me tonight.” ☁️ argued, though he knew was simply delaying the inevitable.

“Neither does he. It’s invitation only this time.” Ricky’s tone was calm and fresh, though firm. ☁️ didn’t want to push his buttons, ultimately deciding to get it over with.

“Alright, let’s go.” ☁️ straightened his tie and stood up, Ricky following.

“Last I saw him he was standing beside the DJ’s stage. Let’s walk behind it.” Ricky said, motioning ☁️ to follow him.

The two tiptoed around the DJ’s elevated setup, emerging on the other side of the room after carefully stepping over wires and boxes.

“There he is. Behave, please.” Ricky whispered after leaning into ☁️.

“Always.” ☁️ muttered back before noticing that Seonghwa had three of his goons around him. The man leaned his back against a column and looked around the ballroom. He wore a bold outfit- a shiny gold top (that exposed some of his cleavage) with a brown fur coat and grey dress pants. His hair was in an up-do with strands hanging in front of his eyes, and silver chains dangled from his neck. ☁️ thought that Seonghwa was insanely hot, especially in this outfit, but would never vocally admit it.

“You said invitation only, Ricky.” ☁️ muttered through his teeth.

“It was... Let’s just make this quick.”

As the two approached Seonghwa, two of his goons noticed and walked over to his side.

“Seonghwa. I’m sure you remember ☁️.” Ricky chirped, hiding his nervousness very well. ☁️ and Seonghwa stared at each other for a few seconds before ☁️ forced a smile and held out his hand.

“I’m sure you’re well.” ☁️ remarked dully, watching as Seonghwa took his hand and squeezed. It took everything in ☁️ not to call him an asshole, but Ricky was luckily there to mediate.

“I am. It seems like you’re here alone tonight.. what a shame.” Seonghwa replied in his usual deep voice, ☁️ watching the man look him up and down.

“I’m here to donate to a charity, not intimidate socialites with my goons.” ☁️ kept a straight face, but wanted to laugh in Seonghwa’s face. “And you look rediculous.” ☁️ whispered after leaning into Seonghwa, only taking a step back when Ricky grabbed his arm and muttered a ‘Jeez.’ Seonghwa sneered and looked around in response, licking his teeth as he nodded in amusement. ☁️ could tell he was already ticked off.

“I’ll see you later tonight, yeah?” Seonghwa nodded his up as he spoke, patting ☁️ on the arm and nodding to Ricking before departing to his table with his goons.

“You couldn’t have made that any worse.” Ricky whined, furrowing his eyebrows as he looked at ☁️.

“Somebody has to humble him.”

“I don’t want any bad blood here, ☁️.”

“I said that I understood. If he can’t take criticism then maybe he shouldn’t be The North’s premier mob boss.”

“Well Southside’s premier mob boss seems to not know how to behave.”

“I was-“ ☁️ paused. “Well… He’ll be fine.”

“Right.. I’ve been meaning to talk to him so I’m going to do that now. The service should begin in the next few minutes. Make some friends while you’re here, you need them.” Ricky said before he began walking away. ☁️ gasped teasingly, the two smiling to each other as the distance in-between them grew.

—

His footsteps tapping up the staircase’s crimson-colored carpet, ☁️ was on the hunt for someone specific. He stepped onto the mezzanine and walked over to the beige railing, him then leaning against it. Scouring over the many faces on the dance floor and sitting at tables, ☁️ found that Seonghwa was nowhere in sight despite having seen him before the service had begun. Assuming that the man had left early, ☁️ frowned and turn around.

“Whatcha doin’?” Seonghwa asked, leaning against the wall a few feet in front of ☁️. The man’s goons weren’t next to him, but ☁️ could see them on the other ends of the mezzanine through the corner of his eye.

“I was looking for you. Have a minute?”

Seonghwa raised an eyebrow and walked over to ☁️, standing beside him.

“Make it quick.” He muttered, looking down at the people below.

“I received this letter a few days ago. I wanted to ask if you knew anything about it.” ☁️ pulled an envelope out of his jacket pocket and handed it to Seonghwa.

“People still write letters?” Seonghwa said with a scowl, pulling a piece of paper out of the envelope.

“So is it safe to assume that you weren’t the one to send it?”

Seonghwa took another minute to analyze the letter.

“No.. not my style... Whoever did hates you, though.” Seonghwa whispered, handing the piece of paper and envelope back to ☁️. “What’s the red stuff at the bottom? Don’t tell me it’s blood.”

“It is. Instead of signing a name, the blood is suppose to be the signature. That’s what I think, anyway.”

“Wow.. you really pissed someone off. Did you figure out whose blood it is?”

“Mine.”

Seonghwa laughed and turned to ☁️.

“So someone wrote a letter threatening you, somehow got ahold of your blood and smeared it onto the paper, and then mailed it to you?” Seonghwa shook his head with a smile. “Good luck, really. You need it.”

“I thought that you’d be more helpful. That’s all I needed, though. Have a good night.” ☁️ said, turning to walk away. Seonghwa quickly gripped his shoulder and stopped the man in his tracks. ☁️ to looked over his shoulder somewhat menacingly.

“Do you need help? Seriously.” Seonghwa’s unserious smile quickly turned into an expressionless display of concern, as he slightly leaned into ☁️.

“Never will I need your help. Stay on your side and I’ll be fine.” ☁️ quipped, brushing Seonghwa’s hand off of his shoulder and stepping away. He stopped upon hearing Seonghwa continue.

“I hate you.. but don’t die, please.”

“The hell are you talking about?” ☁️ snapped, looking over his shoulder again.

“That’s psychotic behavior, ☁️. You can’t just have one of your guys find and take care of ‘em.”

“Why not?”

“This isn’t just some guy on the street.”

“No shit.” ☁️ rolled his eyes. “I have to go, Seonghwa.”

Seonghwa remained silent, watching as ☁️ strolled back down the staircase.

“How the hell did they know it was there?” ☁️ walked up the stone walkway to his home, with two of his associates following beside him. The mansion had been broken into, with a suitcase full of hard drives having been taken from ☁️’s chambers.

“Respectfully sir, we suspect a mole in the group. After the passing of your parents, the associates haven’t necessarily been well-monitored.” The older man beside ☁️ replied, opening a door for him as the three arrived to the entrance.

“Please get in touch with the gentleman who set the security systems up.” ☁️ paused as he stepped inside. “Actually, I’ll just do it. You two should go home for the night.”

“But sir, we really think someone should stay with you until everything’s resolved.” The second associate replied, following ☁️ as he unbuttoned his suit jacket in the spacious living room. The room glowed in orange and yellow hues from the lit fireplace. ☁️ sighed and turned to his two henchmen, a sense of nervousness trickling down his spine. He wondered if he could trust them, but also wondered if there truly was an outsider out to get him as Seonghwa suggested.

“I’ll take care of myself and this.. situation. Please, go home.”

“At least let me contact the programmer. I’ll get him here as soon as I can.”

“Thank you. I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

1 week later

“Two events in a row? This must be a record.”

☁️ felt a tap on his shoulder and turned around. Seonghwa smirked, looking ☁️ up and down. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

“Wasn’t sure why you invited me.” ☁️ replied, crossing your arms.

“Oh, here I thought that you wanted to support charities..”

“You held a gala one week after Ricky and invited me on short notice.”

“Seems that I did. So?”

☁️ exhaled. “Thanks but I should go.”

“Wait.” Seonghwa held his hand out to stop the man. “I heard things weren’t going well on your side of the city. You sure you don’t need help?”

☁️ looked around the crowd of people surrounding him. This ballroom was smaller than the previous gala’s, but just as loud. ☁️ leaned into Seonghwa, who reacted by leaning forward as well.

“If I find out that you’re playing me again, it won’t end up for you.” ☁️ murmured into Seonghwa’s ear. Seonghwa leaned back up, with a seemingly offended expression.

“Are you accusing me of what’s going on?”

“No, simply warning you- just in case. I need to go.”

“☁️.”

☁️ turned around and slid past people to get out of the crowd.

“☁️!!”

☁️ froze as the room went silent. Everyone turned to Seonghwa as ☁️ slowly turned around to glance back at the man. An awkward silence filled the air for a few seconds, with Seonghwa not taking his eyes off of ☁️. After the chatter picked back up, ☁️ continued out of the room, leaving an abandoned Seonghwa alone on the dance floor.

☁️ walked through the hallways and toward the glass double doors, waving down a bellman as he did so.

-

A few photographers stood behind red ropes, clicking their cameras immediately after ☁️ began descending quickly down the white staircase. A few began shouting out to him.

“Hey, ☁️! What’re you doing in The North?”

“Have you and the Park family finally made amends?”

“You look great tonight, ☁️!”

☁️ smiled and waved as a bellman pulled to the curb with his grey sports car, getting out as soon as ☁️ reached the sidewalk. The bellman handed the keys to the man as the two walked past each other, ☁️ then jumping into the drivers seat.

“Hey, Mr. ☁️. The programmer was able to stop in today.”

“That’s great, has everything been recovered?” ☁️ responded as he walked into his home, an associate beside him.

“He said he needed a password.”

“To the computer? Why didn’t you call or text me? Is he available tomorrow?”

“He’s still here, just using the bathroom. I’ll tell him you’ve arrived after you put your password in.”

☁️ looked over to the associate after hanging his suit jacket up.

“It’s midnight.”

“It’s the only time he could come this week.”

☁️ raised an eyebrow and walked to his chambers past the living quarters and down the hall. After his shoes tapped echoed through the hallway, he leaned into the double doors, pushing them open. The lamp on his desk was already turned on at the other end of the room. ☁️ also noticed that the associate was still behind him, him turning to the man before walking inside of the room. He was suspicious at this point, hearing more voices in the living quarters.

“Why don’t you go let the programmer know that I’m back. Please tell the other associates that they’re good to go, as well. I don’t need anybody here right now.”

“You want us to leave you alone with the programmer? What if he tries to-“

“That’s an order. I’ll see you tomorrow.” ☁️ narrowed his eyes, allowing his voice to become slightly belligerent.

The associate sneered and nodded, turning around and walking toward the living quarters. ☁️ sighed and closed the chamber doors behind him, walking toward the desk in front of the large stain-glass window. Bookshelves covered the left and right walls, and though the room wasn’t huge, the ceiling was very high up.

☁️ walked around the other side of the desk, sitting down and tapping the computer’s keyboard to turn the device on. He didn’t put his password in, choosing to wait for the programmer to arrive. Another thirty seconds passed before the oldest associate opened the room’s doors, walking in.

“☁️. Do you have a moment?”

“Where’s the programmer?”

“I think he’s still talking to the other associates. I think we should speak in the meantime.” The associate called out, standing at the door.

“Come.”

The associate strolled slowly over to the side of ☁️’s desk.

“What did you want to talk about.” ☁️ asked, giving the man his attention.

“You know, your father and I were extremely close. He entrusted me to do everything beside him.”

“Yes, I remember.” ☁️ nodded, tilting his head to the side.

“He also hated the Park family with every fiber of his being. And I know that you’ve been going out of your way to attend Seonghwa’s galas.”

“To support his charity and rebuild my family’s reputation. Yes.”

“Do you think that your father would’ve wanted this? To knock down the legacy that he has built?”

“Excuse me?” ☁️ snickered. He felt his body become tense, and his tone dull.

“I just think that with you as the head of this.. well, what used to be a mob group, you’ve dug our reputation into ground.”

☁️ felt his body heat up, making him stand up and grab the associate by the collar. The associate responded by pulling a gun out from his back pocket and pointing it at ☁️’s head. ☁️ exhaled and let go of the man’s collar, putting his hands to his sides.

“You need to give this up, ☁️. It’s in your best interest. Your father wouldn’t want this.”

“And his inability to be harmonious with other people is what got him killed.”

“Put your password into the computer so I can put this gun down.” The associate muttered, tapping the gun against ☁️’s head.

“No.”

“Please don’t make me do this.”

☁️ laughed.

“You’re not gonna have the password if you do ‘this.’”

“Don’t mock me.”

“Don’t be an idiot, then.” ☁️ laughed again, pausing before quickly shuffling to the side and knocking the gun out of the man’s hand. The gun landed on the desk and slid across it, falling off on the other side. ☁️ leaped over the desk and grabbed the gun before the man could snatch it, ☁️ then kicking his knee out while still on the ground. The associate quickly stood up and ran toward ☁️ as he got on one a knee. With a loud bang, ☁️ shot the pistol, hitting the associate in the leg. The man fell to the ground and clutched his knee.

“Fuck.” ☁️ muttered under his breath, putting the gun on safety mode and into his pocket. He grabbed his computer from the desk and threw it through the stained-glass window, shattering it. The door then slammed open, with a bunch of ☁️’s members running in. After seeing the older associate on the ground, the group whipped their guns out and pointed them at ☁️. The man was already halfway out of the window at this point, him having jumped through the hole and falling into the bushes below. With scrapes and bruises along his body, ☁️ rolled out of the bush and secured the laptop beside him- though he presumed it broken. He shot up and ran alongside the mansion’s side, hopping over the iron fencing as soon as he reached the front of the building. ☁️ considered taking one of his cars, but quickly realized that the keys were still inside.

Continuing to run through the forest, he eventually emerged into the city after a few minutes. ☁️ noticed a university campus in front of him as he wandered, him power walking through it and waving a taxi down. He ran to its side and jumped in, him recognizing the driver as he did so. The two stared at each other through the rear view mirror before the driver smiled.

“Oh, right- you’re ☁️. I worked a lot with your father.”

☁️ froze with his hand on the car’s handle, preparing to run out.

“Your family has helped mine out a lot. But anyway, where to?”

“Can you just drive, please?” ☁️ asked nervously, his hand still on the handle.

“Sure thing.”

The two drove in silence for a minute before the driver pulled up to a red light.

“You alright? You look pretty disheveled there, chief.”

“Yes, just some work issues.”

The driver chuckled. “Your dad had the same problem. I’d always wait a block or two away after he handled business, and he’d come running over with ripped clothing and red fists.” He paused. “I’m a bit relieved that the whole mob business thing is dying, though. I hope you don’t mind me saying that.”

☁️ pondered his words, repeating them in his head before responding. “..Yeah, I’m relieved as well. Can I bother you to drop me off in The North?”

“Oh, sure. I heard that you buried the hatchet with the Park family. That true?”

“I think that’s what I’m going to do now.”

“I see. Is there somewhere specific in the North?”

“Do you know where that gala was held today?”

“Oh yeah, I’ll have you there in a few.”

“Thanks.”

-

“Well, it’s an honor to help you through this last hurrah. I hope it goes well.”

“Thank you sir. How much do I owe you?”

“You don’t look like you have anything on you, respectfully. Just get me back next time you see me.”

☁️ nodded and slowly turned around toward the large building in front of him. There were no photographers, no red ropes, and no people wandering around at this point. With his computer under his arm, he began up the steps.

Upon walking through the glass doors, a receptionist was packing her belongings in a large purse.

“Oh, Mr. ☁️. Are you looking for the gala’s after party?” She asked as the man approached her desk.

“Ah- yes, I am. Can you tell me where it is?”

“It’s down the hallway to your left, the last door down. Also.. you’re bleeding a bit..”

☁️ looked down to where she pointed, seeing small patches of red stain through his white button-up shirt.

“Oh.. yeah, it’s just part of the outfit. Thank you though.”

“Oh, ok.. Have a goodnight.”

“You as well.”

☁️ continued down the dark hallway, stopping in front of a frosted glass door with loud music playing behind it. Streaks of blue, pink, and white flashed across the glass as he pushed the door open. The room was pretty big, with confetti and balloons spread across the floor. A group of around a hundred people danced in front of a smaller DJ booth, with a few wallflowers conversing amongst each other with glasses in their hands. ☁️ walked over to a table full of champagne glasses, grabbing one and sitting in the nearest seat against the wall. He plopped down, leaning his head against the wall and chugging the glass. He looked around, though couldn’t see Seonghwa from where he was. It didn’t help that the room was somewhat dim, with pink lights illuminating half of the room from behind the DJ. Spotlights also casted quick flashes on the dance floor, them occasionally dancing across ☁️’s body as he sat.

Choosing to calm down before searching for Seonghwa, he opened his computer and tapped the keyboard. Surprisingly, it survived the seven foot fall and still worked- the only flaw being a few cracks in the top corner of the screen and a few missing buttons on the keyboard. ☁️ sighed and placed the computer on his lap, him then closing his eyes. 

-

“Psst. Hey, sleepy head.”

☁️ heard someone whisper from beside him, making him jump. He opened his eyes and looked to his left, seeing Seonghwa sitting beside him. He clutched his computer and looked around, seeing that everyone was preparing to leave the party. The music had stopped, and a few workers were vacuuming the carpet. Seonghwa’s face was barely visible in the dim, pink lighting, though his voice was softer than ☁️ had recalled. “So, you came back..?”

“…I think I need your help.” ☁️ hummed.

Seonghwa smirked. “I won’t rub it in your face even though I wanna. Do you need a place to stay?”

☁️ nodded, standing up as Seonghwa did. Seonghwa placed a hand on ☁️’s back, guiding him to the exit. The flashing lights turned into white spotlights that illuminated the exit at this point.

The two followed the crowd out of the room and down the hallway. As they walked out of the glass doors, ☁️ recognized the cars lined up on the sidewalk, with multiple bellman awaiting the guests at the bottom of the stairs.

“We’re all the way in the front.” Seonghwa stated, walking down the staircase with ☁️ and turning right down the sidewalk. A bellman approached the two, handing Seonghwa a pair of keys. He unlocked the red sports car and removed his hand off of ☁️’s back, hurrying in front of the man to open the vehicle door for him. ☁️ rolled his eyes and attempted to hide a smile as Seonghwa gestured him inside. As he sat down, ☁️ covered the patches of red along his top with his arms and hands. Seonghwa shut the door and ran to the other side, him hopping in and hurrying to start the car. After a few seconds, the two were speeding through empty city streets.

“Have you ever been to this part of The North?” Seonghwa asked with a tender tone, turning to ☁️ as he pulled into a lofty condo complex’s garage.

“This is my city. Of course I have.”

“Our city.” Seonghwa retorted.

☁️ smiled at the answer, opening his door after Seonghwa had parked on the highest level.

“We’ll have to take the elevator to the lobby, and then we’ll take a different one to my place.” Seonghwa stated from the other side of the car. ☁️ waited for Seonghwa to lead the way, but upon standing beside ☁️, the man froze.

“What the hell happened?! You’re bleeding.”

“I know.” ☁️ sighed, him having forgotten to cover the red stains.

“You’re explaining everything once we get inside.”

“Ok.”

Seonghwa linked his arm with ☁️’s, ☁️ speculating that Seonghwa thought he was too badly injured to walk by himself, which elicited the act.

The two quickly reached the elevator and stepped inside. With mirrors along the walls, a gold accent lined the corners of the elevator. Seonghwa leaned forward to press a button, and the two were soon moving up.

“Are you tired?”

“Extremely.” ☁️ replied monotonously.

“I could tell by your tone. You can take my bed and I’ll sleep in my guest room.”

“You don’t have to do that. I’ll take the guest room.”

“No. You can take the bigger bed.”

☁️ was too tired to argue back, instead choosing to lean against the mirror as the elevator continued. After a few more seconds, the door buzzed and the two walked through. The lobby’s lights were dim and the spacious room was empty. The men walked across the marble floor to another elevator, Seonghwa pressing the button again though the elevator doors opened immediately. The two walked through, and Seonghwa pressed the button of the highest number- 16.

“You’re on the highest floor?”

“Yes. It’s a penthouse with lots of windows , you’ll like it.”

The two stood silent for a few minutes until the elevator buzzed again, the men stepping out into a small walkway. Taking a few steps forward, Seonghwa flipped a switch, which turned on a small lamp above the two of them. He then pulled out his keychain, picking out a key and twisting it into the black door.

“After you.” Seonghwa said, gesturing ☁️ forward. Seonghwa’s penthouse was full of monotonous colors and exotic furniture- definitely a reflection of his personality. Small lamps lit the space as the two walked into the living room area. Large windows sat on each side of the walls, with the moon peering down from the large skylight above.

“I do like it.” ☁️ murmured as he moved his arm away from Seonghwa’s. Seonghwa simply smiled in response.

“Let me show you to the room.”

“Show me the guest room.”

“No.”

☁️ rolled his eyes, following Seonghwa down the end of the hallway. He switched his lamp light on, it illuminating the large bedroom. The walls, bedsheets, and furniture were all visually-pleasing shades of grey. The windows on the right side of the room touched both the floor and ceiling, stretching across most of the wall to reveal a beautiful view of the city. To the left, a door led into another room.

“Just sit on the bed. I’ll get you some new clothes and medical stuff.” Seonghwa instructed, walking into the bathroom. ☁️ walked to the bed and sat, him waiting for the man to come back out. After a minute, Seonghwa walked toward ☁️ with a small bottle, cotton balls, along with a roll of bandages and placed it beside ☁️. He then trudged over to the wardrobe across from his bed, opening it and throwing a pair of green and blue pajama pants with a white tee onto the bed.

“Those are old so they should fit you. Do you want me to get out while you change?”

“I don’t care, just turn around.” ☁️ replied taking off his pants and unbuttoning his top as Seonghwa faced his wardrobe. He threw the man’s pants on but put the tee around his neck, exposing some of his stomach and arms.

“Okay.”

Seonghwa turned around and sat on the bed. ☁️ pushed the shirt away from his arm for Seonghwa to clean.

“So, you gonna tell me what happened?”

“My associates tried to overthrow me and take over my company’s accounts. They said I wasn’t being a mob boss.”

“Is that where the letter was from?”

“I think they’ve been planning this for a few months now. They probably got ahold of my blood after your guys tried to take over my company’s building. Your goons show no mercy.” ☁️ chuckled, but Seonghwa frowned.

“I didn’t initiate that, by the way. That was my father, and we’ve.. talked about it.”

“It hasn’t happened again, so I don’t care.”

After a few seconds of silence, Seonghwa continued disinfecting, and then wrapping ☁️’s arm.

“So what specifically happened?” Seonghwa asked.

“Well, I got home from the gala. I was told someone was coming in to help me retrieve missing data from drives that were stolen after Ricky’s gala last week. I’m pretty sure they lied, and one of my guys cocked a gun at me and told me to unlock my computer so they could use the drives they stole. I didn’t do it obviously, and I ended up shooting him. The gun probably fell out of my pants when I jumped out of the window and ran into the city.”

“You jumped out of a window?” Seonghwa furrowed his eyebrows, seemingly worried. He wrapped the bandage around ☁️’s arm and clipped it so that it stood in place. ☁️ lifted his pant leg up to expose another cut, him then scooting back on the bed to put the cut beside where Seonghwa sat.

“Do you mind?” ☁️ asked, looking over to Seonghwa.

“Not at all.” He replied, preparing another cotton ball to use.

“And.. yeah, I kinda did. It was only six or seven feet and I landed in a bush. So it was fine. I used this to smash the glass.” ☁️ said, pointing to the computer that he placed beside him. “That’s why it’s fucked up.”

“I have another that you can use.” Seonghwa said as he applied alcohol to the cuts.

“I have important filled on there. I don’t know what I’m going to do just yet.”

The two remained quiet again until Seonghwa finished wrapping the wounds.

“Alright, you should be good.” He stated, grabbing the used cotton swabs and walking into the bathroom with them. ☁️ grabbed the alcohol bottle and roll of bandages, carrying them back into the bathroom for Seonghwa.

“It’s 2:30 in the morning. You should rest.” Seonghwa said, watching ☁️ sit back down on the bed, Seonghwa then walking to the lamp.

“Before you go-“ ☁️ blurted out, stopping Seonghwa.

“Hm?”

“Why’re you helping me?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. Why’re you doing this for me?”

“Because I like you, despite the “conversations” we’ve had in the past. And we’re not like our parents.”

☁️ nodded.

“Sleep well.” Seonghwa called out, turning the light off.

“Wait-“

Seonghwa turned the light back on, exhaling. “Yes?”

“Sleep in your bed.”

“I already told you I’m sleeping in the guest room.”

“I don’t want you to.”

“Then move over.”

☁️ scooted back toward the wall with the windows so that Seonghwa could sit in front of him. Seonghwa leaned over to turn the lamp off before pulling the covers over the two of them.

“I’m glad you’re okay. I worried about you a lot.” Seonghwa muttered, him then turning his body to face ☁️.

“Shouldn’t have.” ☁️ murmured in response.

“Well, I did.”

☁️ smiled. “Well, thanks for worrying.”

Seonghwa smiled back, grabbing ☁️’s hand from under the blanket. “Do you mind?”

“No.” ☁️ hummed before turning his body around. He scooted his body back to lie against Seonghwa’s. Grabbing the man’s hand and pulling it over his waist, then two now laid together a spooning position.

“Goodnight, ☁️.” Seonghwa whispered.

“Goodnight.”

a/n: genuinely can’t tell if my stories are good anymore 😄 hope u enjoyed tho! alsoooo gonna be a part 2- just to follow up and see how the reader and seonghwa build a relationship together while the reader is still under the other mob’s protection. def gonna be more fluff and character development in that one!! there can be ❄️ if u guys want it bad enough lol

likes, comments, & reblogs r appreciated ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

[steppin-on-the-last-train]

As it Comes Back to Me

Natasha Romanoff x WinterSoldier!Reader

Summary: Your whole life you'd been living for a mission, whether it be protecting your family or fighting just to see the next sunrise. If you didn’t slow down though, you stood to lose someone you couldn’t live without.

Takes place during the events of Captain America: Civil War.

Word Count: 8,000

A/N: I spent way too much time writing this instead of studying for class.

“Hey kids,” you said, walking up to wrap your arms around Steve and Bucky. You’d just  been promoted to Major and had been sent back to the states to escort a fresh round of recruits to the front. There was a big event tonight though which begged for your attention. Howard Stark was showing some new invention or other of his. You’d never been too interested in what the scientists had to say, but there would be plenty of girls out looking to be asked to a dance.

Steve, your little brother–both in age and stature–looked less than thrilled at your return. “What’s wrong, buddy?” You asked, shaking his shoulder.

“It’s not fair,” he protested, shrugging out of your embrace. “I should be heading out with you and Buck tomorrow. I want to fight. I know I can help.” You felt for Steve. If it was him and Bucky standing in uniform and not you, you’re sure you’d be missing out on a whole lot.

“I know, I know. I’m sure you’d give them Nazis real cause to turn and run,” you said, knowing he wouldn’t be able to hold a rifle properly.

“Yeah,” Bucky added. “Ya know you should’ve seen him earlier today. Fought off some punk in an alleyway with a trash can lid. Kicked his ass real good if you ask me.” 

“Bucky,” Steve said. “Ya said you wouldn’t tell.”

“Oh, right. Sorry, what I meant to say was that Steve got beat up and I had to come rescue him.” The soon to be sergeant ruffled your brother’s hair.

“No, I know what you’re really upset about is that I’m stealing your boy here,” you said, nodding at Bucky.

“Yeah, yeah, enough. Now come on, I wanna get a good look at the car. All the posters were sayin’ Stark could make it fly.” Steve began to weave his way through the crowd, giving you no choice but to follow. 

“I’m worried about leaving him here all alone, ya know?” Bucky said, a crease forming between his brow. 

“He’s tough, and he’s smart. Always has been, you know that. Honestly, if they should be sendin’ anyone to fight they should be sendin’ him instead of us. But spirit’s not gonna win a fight, ya gotta back it up with somethin’. Point is, he’ll be fine on his own. Maybe if we’re lucky when we get back he’ll have found himself a nice girl to care for.” You smirked at Bucky. 

He ignored the jab as he waved at a group of nice looking girls. You waved too, flashing a smile and admiring the way their skirts fit. “Hey girls!” He shouted. As they made their way through the bustling crowd, he turned to you again. “I just worry about him. I care about him a lot and I can see how torn up he is about us gettin’ to go when he can’t.” A frown appeared to dim the light on his face. “What if he does something stupid while we’re off?” 

You clapped him on the shoulder and said, “You worry too much Barnes. You ought to save some of that for the war.” 

Giggling, the girls–the names of which Bucky had supplied earlier and which you had promptly forgotten–siddled up. The one nearest to you was a brunette with a yellow skirt and a white flower in her hair. She took your hand and pulled you right up to the front row. “Come on soldier, the show is startin’.” 

You smiled and let yourself get lost among the din and the spectacle. 

From beside you, Steve waved at you and said your name.

He said your name again, and again. You finally tore your gaze away from the TV monitor mounted in the corner of the room. Steve was much, much bigger now; even taller than you. You were still adjusting to the change. Although he still had the same kind gaze that came with naturally always wanting to do what was right, and believing others wanted the same. You wondered if you had been like that once too. 

“We need to get him out of there,” he said. Your gaze flicked back over to the security footage that showed Bucky restrained in a mobile holding unit reinforced with metal supports and bullet proof glass. You had thought he was dead, and turns out Steve had thought the both of you were long gone. And apparently, fate wasn’t done with any of you yet. Bucky looked drastically different. His hair had grown out to his chin and he had lost the boyish swagger and proud glimmer in his eyes. But beneath the bulk and hardened exterior you still saw your friend.

“I know. Something doesn’t feel right about this,” you said. A year ago you had been similarly detained. But you were held in the Avengers Compound and were surrounded by friendly faces. The people here were not so sympathetic. You could feel the passing judgment not just on the Winter Soldier, but on you as well. 

“Maybe we could talk to Tony again,” Steve said. 

From his seat across the table Sam shook his head. “Did you not just hear him tell us he was fully committed to kissing the government’s ass? Steve, I understand this whole ‘peace at all costs’ approach, but I have a feeling we’re not going to get our way by talking this time.” 

“Sam’s right,” you said, mouth twisting into a defeated frown. Through the glass wall of the office you were sitting in you watched a certain Avenger weave her way through the crowded room. You were torn, but Natasha had made her choice. “We’re going to have to consider punching our way out of this one. I got off lucky, but things are different now. The whole world is watching what will happen to him. Compromise isn’t an option anymore.” 

Hands on his hips, Steve sighed. “Well, we aren’t going to be able to grab him and get out of here. And we need our gear back if we have any hopes of not getting locked up in a real cell.”

As if sensing your staring, Natasha looked over. Quickly you averted your eyes and suddenly found the tabletop very interesting. But you knew she had caught you. Just a couple of weeks ago you had been spending your mornings going out on runs with her and your evenings watching her try and fail to play chef. She could go on for hours talking about the world and bringing you up to speed. You didn’t know what was more interesting; that the world had turned upside down or the way her voice sounded as she helped you make sense of it all.

And you both enjoyed the newfound freedom neither of you believed you’d ever see nor deserved. You had thought you knew her well enough to predict which side of the so-called Sokovia Accords she would be on. Turned out maybe you didn’t.

Sharon Carter walked into the sound proofed room, hopefully bringing more news. She seemed to have a soft spot for Steve, and you and Sam by extension. She was also the only person here that seemed to want to communicate with the three of you.

On the screen a man sat down at a table across from Bucky. He shuffled some papers around and faced your friend as if in conversation. You stood with your hands braced on the table and watched intently. A glove covered the shiny metal of your right hand. Under your sleeve, the flexible steel plating melded with flesh just below your elbow.

You knew visual without audio would only get you so far, but you’d be damned if you could figure out how to turn it on. 

“The receipt for your gear,” Sharon said, handing a slip of paper to Sam. 

He took one look at it and scoffed. “Bird costume? Come on.”

“I didn’t write it,” she said, trying to hide a faint smile. Now was not the time for jokes. Noticing the attention on the TV screen she pushed some buttons on a control panel and the audio switched on.

The camera showed a modestly dressed middle-aged man. “I’m not here to judge you,” he told Bucky. “I just want to ask you a few questions. Do you know where you are, James?.” He glanced down at his notes and removed his glasses amicably. From another angle, part of the screen detailed an uncomfortably close profile of Bucky’s face. After a moment of silence, he went on. “I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me, James.” 

“My name is Bucky,” he answered, still not making eye contact with the man.

“Who is that man?” You asked, wary of the stranger who was supposedly the only person authorized to make contact with the Winter Soldier.

“He’s a psychologist sent by the United Nations just to conduct a primary evaluation. I’m not familiar with him personally,” Sharon said.

Steve studied the blurry photograph of Bucky that had been taken after he set the bomb off in Vienna. “Why would the Task Force release this photo to begin with?”

“Get the word out, involve as many eyes as we can?” Sharon supplied.

“Right. It’s a good way to flush a guy out of hiding. Set off a bomb, get your picture taken. Get seven billion people looking for the Winter Soldier.” You could see the gears in his brain turning. Steve had always been the intuitive one.

“You’re saying someone framed him to find him,” Sharon said, catching on.

Sam spoke up, unsure of where your brother was going. “Steve, we looked for the guy for two years and found nothing.” 

“Sam has a point,” you said. You were all too familiar with the Winter Soldier program. If you didn’t want to be found, you had the ability to make yourself dead to the world. “We were trained to blend in, to hide in plain sight. Even if he had to run, no one man would ever be able to find him.”

“We didn’t bomb the UN. That turns a lot of heads,” Steve asserted.

“Yeah, but to your point,” Sharon said, nodding at you. “That doesn’t guarantee that whoever framed him would get him. It guarantees that we would.” 

“Yeah,” Steve breathed.

So there was a mole in the government, and he was probably in the building. Your gaze narrowed and you watched the people milling about outside your little bubble with a new suspicion. Whoever it was was obviously already ten steps ahead, you would have to wait until he made his next move. Beside you Sam stood from his seat, eyes similarly flicking from the screen to the windows and back. Steve looked like a racehorse ready to spring from its stall. 

From the corner of the room, the conversation continued on through the speakers, even if no one was paying much attention any longer. “Tell me, Bucky. You’ve seen a great deal, haven’t you?” The man asked. 

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You fear that…if you open your mouth, the horrors might never stop. Don’t worry.” 

The CIA agent, Captain America, the Falcon, and the Wolf Spider were too busy looking for a threat aimed at themselves to notice what was going on before them.

In the secured, private room five levels below the surface, Helmut Zemo received a message on his phone. A package of his had been delivered. Looking up, he wiped the false pretenses of innocence from his face. “We only have to talk about one.”

For a moment the room was plunged in darkness before emergency lights bathed the building in a red glow. The monitor with the video footage remained black. You looked at Sam. Now was your chance.

Steve looked to Sharon and she spoke without hesitation. “Sub-level five, east wing.”

No sooner than she had finished were the three of you bolting from the office and back the way you had been escorted in. You flew down the stairwell, concerned only for Bucky and getting to him before it was too late. But even super soldiers could only descend a dozen floors so fast. Heart racing, you jumped down the last flight, only to be met with a sign on the wall that read ‘Sub-Level 5; West.’ 

Without pause you pushed through the nearest doorway and wound your way through the maze of hallways. “This way!” Sam shouted. You and Steve rounded on your heels and went sprinting after him down a narrow corridor that served as a connection between the two wings of the building. The soft glow of emergency lighting lit the way, but between flashes the basement levels were pitch black. In the final stretch you overtook him and spilled out into another landing.  

The doors to the room on your right were destroyed. A dozen guards lay spread out on the floor unconscious. The chamber was completely silent, but you doubted the chase truly ended here. You knelt and checked the pulse of the agent at your feet. He was alive. 

“Help me. Help,” a voice cried out from further in the room. You picked up a discarded pistol and tucked it into the back of your waistband.

Steve was closer to the man than you and wasted no time picking him up and pinning him against the wall by his jacket collar. “Get up.” You’d never heard him sound so furious. “Who are you? What do you want?”

“To see an empire fall,” the man replied vaguely. After staring down Steve he turned to face you with the gleam of a predator in his eyes.Your heart pounded in your chest. 

“Steve, we need to find Bucky,” you said.

The echo of footsteps rang down the hall as Sam caught up. Right as he stepped through the door Bucky came lunging out of the shadows, metal fist swinging for Sam’s face. Sam ducked just in time to avoid getting his teeth knocked out. Instead, a fist-sized chunk of the concrete wall blew away into pulverized chunks. But by the time he righted himself Bucky had already launched another attack. This time he grabbed him by the jaw and threw him all the way across the room to crash into the holding unit. The impact was enough to knock him out cold.

Steve looked torn between chasing after Bucky, checking on Sam, and further interrogating the psychologist. 

“Go,” you said, nodding toward Bucky. “I got him.”

Steve launched himself at Bucky and pushed him back out into the hall. 

You pulled the gun and trained it on the guilty party. Outside the exaggerated sound of two super soldiers fighting reverberated back to you. The shuffle of quick footwork followed by the concerning crash of a metal fist colliding with a wall at inhuman speed. 

“Your name. Now,” you demanded.

“My full title is Baron Helmut Zemo. But I think the more important question is, who are you?”

The brawl in the hallway had stopped, and the renewed silence made you uneasy. “Enough with the games.” You flicked the pistol toward the exit. “Move. I’m taking you upstairs.”

He began to pick his way slowly across the room. “Okay, you’ve got me beat. But I just need to know one thing. Steve seems to think you’ve miraculously been returned to him the same as before he became Captain America.” It bothered you, how Zemo felt he had the right to use your brother’s name. “Show me what you hide from them, Wolf Spider. Show me who you really are.”

“Shut up,” you said, annoyed with his riddled speech. But before you could make another move, Bucky came ramming back into the holding room, kicking right at your stomach. The impact forced you to take a knee and as you scrambled to stand up, Zemo pulled a slip of paper from his pocket and began to speak. “Мрамор.” 

Even over the rushes of blood pumping through your veins and the stomp of Bucky’s boots on the ground, you still heard it. Like a heat-seeking missile the word wormed its way into your brain and you faltered.

Panic seized you. You needed to get to Zemo. “Bucky, stop!” You yelled, desperate for any way to get around him for even a second. As you tried to stand he planted a foot and your chest and pushed you to the floor. The air left your lungs in a gust as your back slammed into the cement. The gun went flying from your grip and skittering across the floor. “Dick move, Barnes,” you said in a strained whisper.

“Восемь,” Zemo said, sounding closer now even though you couldn’t see him. You clamped your hands over your ears and screamed. Taking a chance you bashed your metal fist into Bucky’s knee and charged for Zemo. “Жжение.” His voice sent you careening off course as if repelled by his words. Fighting for any last scrap of control you punched the wall until your knuckles left bloody streaks. You counted back from ten in your head, jaw clenched so tight it was close to shattering.

Your defenses broken, Bucky reengaged the fight. You scrambled, narrowly blocking his punches from beating your face in and counting you out. You reassessed and went on the offensive. You’d have to take him out before going for his handler.

Easier said than done.

“Рекрут.” You fought even harder, even as a fog crept up the back of your mind. Where was Steve?

“Снегопад.” Another nail in the coffin. He landed a punch to your face and a deep split opened on your cheek. You barely felt the blood run down to your chin.

“Пять.” You managed to land a right hook on Bucky’s weak side. You capitalized on the small victory. Seizing him by the shoulders you grappled with him for a moment before sweeping his leg from under him. He fell with a thud and you lined up a kick to the side of his head. You’d apologize later.

“Увядший.” The Wolf Spider crawled up the back of your spine, jaws gnashing at your brain for control. Your attention slipped for a fraction of a second. But that was all the time the Winter Soldier needed. He seized your ankle and pulled you to the ground. Before you could get your bearings he clamped his fist around your neck and threw you against the wall.

“послушный.” The Soldier rammed his knee into your stomach and you doubled over in an attempt to suck air back into your lungs. The room spun and the lights blurred together. A male Sokovian accented voice was all you could hear above the ringing in your ears.

An arm snaked around your throat from behind and forced you to stand. 

“An impressive attempt to be sure. But I’ve found that dogs can always be tamed.”

A fading voice in the back of your mind yelled at you to fight. Halfheartedly you tried to twist out of the Soldier’s hold.

“Одиннадцать.” A dam had cemented itself and separated you from your body.

“Пекин.” Your breathing became even and you looked to the man before you for instruction.

“Солдат?” He asked.

“Я готов отвечать.”

—

Natasha Romanoff walked through the chaos-ridden office, catching up to Tony Stark. Your swift absence hadn’t escaped her notice. She had almost chased after you herself. She’d desperately been wanting to talk to you since the Accords had been dropped in the team’s lap, but you had made yourself scarce since. She could tell that her decision had upset you, even if you were as unlikely to tell her so as you were to turn your back on Steve and Bucky. 

“Please tell me you brought a suit,” she said. Because a fight against three super soldiers would be much easier won with a trick of their own.

“Sure did,” the Iron Man replied. “It’s a lovely Tom Ford, three-piece, two-button.” He stopped his nervous rant. “I’m an active-duty non-combatant.” Fancy speak for the government not being comfortable with his access to the greatest weapon’s system on the planet.

Sharon Carter ran up to them, an earpiece providing information Natasha nor Tony were privy to. “Follow me,” she told them. 

They made their way downstairs onto the ground level. “The Winter Soldier has been unleashed,” Agent Carter said. “He’s on this floor in the lobby, probably trying to escape.”

“That’s a no-can-do from Agent Ross. We need a plan. Nat?” Tony looked expectantly toward the Black Widow.

“Why is it always up to me?” She asked, even as a plan formed in her mind.

“Because everyone knows my job is to look good and provide charity for you free loaders.”

Natasha narrowed her gaze at Tony’s watch. “Which outfit is that a part of?”

“It is as practical as it is fashionable. Glasses too,” he said.

“Tony, you’ll come up on him from behind. Get his attention, and try to disarm him if you can. Carter and I will be right behind.”

“I don’t remember volunteering to be the bait, Romanoff.” 

Natasha motioned for Sharon and they picked their way around the edge of the sun-lit lobby. Civilian workers fleeing for their lives rushed around them in a current, but the women stood as solid as stone. The sound of combat reached her ears before she was able to see into the main lobby. A metal fist pounded against flesh and man after man crumpled to the floor. The snap of a bone being broken and the subsequent screams. 

Natasha rounded the corner into the foyer just as a terrible supersonic blast flooded the area. Tony had stunned the attacker if only for a moment. To her horror it wasn’t Barnes standing there, but you. She couldn’t see your face as you moved to pummel Tony, but she knew what she’d see. A figure of a ghost from the Red Room flashed before her eyes.

A gunshot shook her out of her stupor and she ran after Sharon into the fray. You elbowed Tony in the face before punching him in the gut hard enough to send him flying into a table several feet away. 

Before you could finish the job Sharon ran at you, forcing you to block a kick and a jab. You wound up an answering punch that would’ve cracked her sternum but she ducked away and you missed. As you recovered, Natasha lodged a knee into your stomach before crouching down to jab you in the groin. She didn’t want to fight you, but she would. All it took was one look into your eyes to separate the Wolf Spider from the person she knew you were.

Sharon landed a roundhouse kick to the head but as she wound up for a second assault you caught her leg and hurled her down onto a table. The legs broke underneath with a clatter. 

As you were turned around, Natasha took the opportunity to seize you from behind and flip herself up onto your shoulders. With anyone else she would’ve been able to floor them from this position. But the Wolf Spider intimately knew all of the Black Widow’s moves. All those years ago, you had taught her much of the combat she still used today. 

She rained down blows on your head as you crossed the lobby. She grunted as she threw her fists down over and over in a vain attempt to get you to drop her. Instead you carried her to a table and slammed her down. Before she could recover, you clamped your hand around her neck and choked her out. 

Scrabbling at your metal forearm, Natasha’s face burned red. She felt her windpipe being crushed under your grip. But even under the eclipse of death’s shadow, the scariest thing was what they’d done to you. She knew you’d tear yourself up about it later, and worse she knew no one here would understand.

On the verge of passing out, she managed one last choked whisper. “You could at least recognize me.” Maybe, as Natasha’s heart was shattered in two, she could pass some of that anguish onto you.

If anything you only squeezed harder and she felt the strength waste away from her muscles. 

Seemingly out of nowhere you were shoved off of her. She gasped and pulled as much air in as she could through her bruised throat. All she could manage was to stare up at the ceiling and blink away the spots from her vision.

Rallying, Natasha pushed herself up and saw Tony standing over you with his mechanical gloved hand extended. She coughed and asked, “How?” 

You were on your knees, hands clamped tightly over your ears and fingers digging into the back of your head.

  “Lucky guess,” Tony said. “Think of it like a dog whistle, but for super soldiers. And also like blow your head off levels of loud. Had to estimate the frequency after getting beaten half to death. But it looks like I’ve outwitted the killing machine.”

Natasha was frozen. You’d just about suffocated her, but a large part of her still wanted to yell at Tony and tell him to cut it out. “Does it hurt?” 

“Well, it’s no symphony, I can tell you that.” 

She threw a glare in his direction.

“I don’t know. Ballpark? Somewhere between a migraine and an ice pick through the ear.”

A dozen more security personnel came flooding in. They rounded in a circle around you and half of them readied their guns. The rest assaulted you with tasers. You fell to the floor in a series of violent spasms and Natasha looked away. 

“Let’s get this one ready for transport,” one barked.

“Natasha, are you okay?” Tony asked.

“I’m fine,” she said, voice still raw.

“That psycho almost killed you.” He always got assertive when he was worried. “You see, this is why we need the Accords. To keep chaos from breaking out in refuges of peace for godsake.”

Natasha looked back at where your limp body was being dragged away. She wished she could go back to before any of this started. She was terrified that she had missed her chance to tell you how she felt. “He’s not a psycho.”

“Then you and I have very different definitions of the word.” 

“Stark.” The disappointed voice of Secretary Ross called.

“We have the Wolf Spider in custody sir.” Tony adjusted his tie.

“And Barnes, Wilson, and the other Rogers are all in the wind. One out of four is three less than I expected of you.”

But Natasha had had enough of Thadeus Ross for a lifetime. She walked away wishing that you were by her side instead. Isolated from the beaurucrats and politicians and the bridge with Steve having been thoroughly burned, she felt lost. All around her the pieces of the life she had worked so hard to build lay scattered. The overwhelming urge to hit something surged. How did she get here?

—

You sat by Natasha under a tree in the forest behind the Avengers’ Compound. The chirping birds and the rustle of wind through the leaves were the only sounds that broke the silence out here. Everything at the compound was a blur of light and rush of movement all the time. You couldn’t get two seconds without someone needing something from you. So you had developed the habit of sneaking out and picking a random direction to pass an afternoon. 

Natasha had a book in her hands. Today her hair was pulled back in a braid and thrown over her shoulder. You liked when she put it up because you could see her face more clearly. 

“He talked a lot about the past, and I gathered that he wanted to recover something, some idea of himself perhaps, that had gone into loving Daisy,” she read. You ran your hand through the grass and dirt absentmindedly. “Are you listening?”

“Yeah, of course.” You had been listening, but not to what she said, but how she spoke it. “It’s just I’ve read Gatsby before. Jay is a dreamer, but he still loses everything. It’s not fair. He didn’t know any better but to follow his heart.”

“That’s not how I see it,” she replied. “Listen. ‘His life had been confused and disordered since then, but if he could once return to a certain starting place and go over it all slowly, he could find out what that thing was’.” She shifted closer, leg almost bumping your own. Uncomfortable with the proximity bordering on affection you subtly moved away. “Jay is chasing a life that he can no longer have. And in the process he ruins himself, and the woman he loves. He should’ve known better.”

Overhead the branches had become indistinguishable from one another and instead blended together as one entrapment. The fading orange glow cast by the setting sun reminded you to start heading back. The woods would be near impossible to navigate without the light. You stood and reached a hand out to help Natasha up. She grasped it tightly and instead pulled you down to her.

“You should’ve known better.” A haunted despair paled her features.

“What?”

The crack of fracturing bones echoed throughout the lonely clearing and Natasha cried out. Your hand had begun to squeeze hers tight enough to crush it. You willed yourself to let go but your stubborn metal fist refused to obey. 

“You destroy everything you love, even if you never say the words out loud.”

A bullet hole slowly materialized in the middle of her forehead. Blood seeped down her face and she smiled a bloody smile. 

“You should’ve stayed dead.”

You jerked yourself awake with a gasp. The dream faded from your mind almost immediately, as had the once before where you’d been stuck in a cave, and the one before that where you’d slaughtered an entire family.

You took a second to examine the unfamiliar environment. The cell you were in was bright and clean, and the camera assured there was no privacy. Across from you was an identical unit. In fact, the entire room was just an octagon of prison cells. 

You rubbed at your face, only for the movement to be followed by a metallic clanking. Both of your wrists were manacled with thick iron cuffs which were anchored to the wall with a chain. Your left wrist was chaffed and dried blood coated your hand. Alarm surged through you. 

No, you would rather die than play prisoner and puppet for anyone else again. 

You stood up, suddenly feeling claustrophobic. But when you tried to step away from the wall you were yanked back, not by your wrists, but by a chain around your neck. Coughing, you fell back against the wall and pulled at the tight restraint. All you succeeded in doing was irritating the inflamed skin underneath. 

“Hey buddy, are you okay?”

You snapped your attention to the voice. You didn’t recognize the guy who had spoken, but the man in the cell next to him looked familiar. Your head throbbed as you tried to remember. He had short brown hair and sat hunched over on a bench, just watching. 

“Fine,” you said. Your voice sounded about as shitty as the rest of your body felt. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Scott. You actually don’t know me cause we haven’t met, but I fought with your brother. He’s a really nice guy. Of course you know that.” You shot him a glare. “You know what, I’m just going to shut up now.”

Confusion spun your battered brain around even further. Your brother. You had a brother named Steve. Steve was small so you had to–wait, that wasn’t quite right. Steve’s strength had caught up to the size of his will. He was a soldier. The Soldier. Солдат. A fresh pang wracked your head. No. A captain. Captain America. 

The room felt cold but your hand was clammy. Sweat dampened your hair as if you had caught a fever. You squeezed your eyes shut. Why were these lights so damn bright? Where were you? 

“Hey, what’s going on? I can’t see into the cell. Is he back?”

You knew that voice. You trusted it as well as you may trust anyone. If only you could think harder. You opened your eyes and again saw the familiar-looking man. The name came to you this time. “Clint,” you said.

Hope cleared some of the melancholic fog that had marred his features.

“Where are we? What happened? Where’s Steve?”

When he spoke, it was reserved, but you could tell he was holding back. “Steve called me. The Avengers fought. Some of them are picking up the mess. The rest of us landed our asses in here. You though…you were already here when they brought us in. I wish I could tell you why.”

“It’s Sam,” the man in the unit directly to the right of yours said. He banged on the wall for effect. “You were with me and Steve back in Berlin. Bucky was controlled and he went after us. He knocked me out and by the time I woke everyone was gone. I met up with Steve and Bucky outside, but you were gone. I’m sorry. If we would have known…”

“It’ll come back eventually.” Even if you could barely remember your own name now, somehow you knew this. The memories always came back, especially the bad ones. 

“I should tell you, this isn’t the first time you’ve woken up,” Clint said. Scott looked away. “The first two times you didn’t say anything or acknowledge us. You just pulled away as hard as you could until you made yourself pass out.”

“Great,” you muttered under your breath. So they had all received a front row view of the mindless monster you were. “What is this place, anyway?”

“They call it the Raft. It’s an American prison unit that they dropped into the middle of the Atlantic.” Barton’s voice had taken on an undercurrent of anger. “It’s where they stick the worst of the worst.”

“Is anyone else here?” You asked.

“Wanda. Probably. I don’t know, they put her in a separate transport.” Your heart dropped. Why would they bring her into this? She was just a kid. And with her powers, you could only imagine what they were doing to keep her locked up. 

You didn’t ask if there was a plan. The atmosphere here wasn’t exactly revolutionary. You drew your knees up to your chest and rested as best as you could.

Sometime later–you were sure the room had been built to be purposefully disorienting–the door slid open with a whir. In walked Tony Stark, his left arm in a sling and sporting a terrible black eye.

Clint stood up and began to slowclap, finally finding a target to take his anger out on. “The Futurist, gentlemen! The Futurist is here! He sees all! He sknows what’s best for you, whether you like it or not.”

The goading worked, drawing Tony’s attention away from you. “Give me a break, Barton. I had no idea they would put you here. Come on.”

He spit on the ground in defiance. “Yeah, well, you knew they’d put us somewhere, Tony.”

“Yeah, but not some super-max floating ocean pokey.” Stark gestured at the barred cells, gaze catching on you for a moment. “You know, this place is for maniacs. This is a place for…”

“Criminals?” Clint walked closer to the glass of his cage. “Criminals, Tony. Think that’s the word you’re looking for. Right?” The two estranged teammates stood eye to eye.  “That didn’t used to mean me. Or Sam, or Wanda. But here we are.” A long time ago that didn’t used to mean you either. 

“Because you broke the law.”

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t make you.”

Clint turned his back on Tony. “La, la, la, la, la…”

“Alright, you’re all grown up, you got a wife and kids. I don’t understand, why didn’t you think about them before you chose the wrong side?” Realizing he wasn’t going to get anywhere with Clint he walked away. 

Barton rounded on him. “You gotta watch your back with this guy. There’s a chance he’s gonna break it,” he said, slamming on the glass.

“Hank Pym always said, you never can trust a Stark,” Scott said with as much menace in his voice as he could conjure. You wondered how a civilian like him had gotten wrapped up in this fight.

“Who are you?” Stark walked right past him and onto Sam’s unit.

“Come on, man.”

“How’s Rhodes?” Wilson asked, not as willing to bite as Clint had been.

“They’re flying him to Columbia Medical tomrrow. So…fingers crossed. What do you need? They feed you yet?”

You couldn’t see Sam from your cell, but you hoped that he’d tell Stark off too.

“You’re the good cop now?” He asked sarcastically.

“I’m just the guy who needs to know where Steve went.”

“Well, you better go get a bad cop, because you’re gonna have to go Mark Fuhrman on my ass to get information out of me.”

Stark messed with his watch. “Oh, I just knocked the ‘A’ out of their ‘AV’. We got about thirty seconds before they realize it’s not their equipment.” You looked up at the security camera in the corner of your cell. Could he really do that? “Just look,” he went on. “Because that is the fellow who was supposed to interrogate Barnes.” A little picture of a clearly dead man appeared out of thin air. “Clealy, I made a mistake. Sam, I was wrong.”

“That’s a first.”

“Cap is definitely off the reservation but he’s about to need all the help he can get. We don’t know each other very well. You don’t have to…”

“Hey, it’s alright,” Sam interrupted. You wished you were in his eyeline so you could shake your head no in silent protest. But you didn’t have the energy or mental capacity to pick a verbal fight right now so you stayed quiet. “Look, I’ll tell you…but you have to go alone and as a friend.”

“Easy.”

Sam spoke so quietly you were sure without super hearing you wouldn’t have heard. “They went to an old Soviet-HYDRA bunker in Siberia. The fake doctor is going to unleash five more Winter Soldiers.”

“Okay. Wilson, I won’t forget this,” he said with fake malice in his voice to impress the cameras. 

He turned to you next. “Rogers.” He saluted. Shame burned your face. You felt like a wild animal on display. And Tony Stark’s presence wasn’t exactly a comforting one since you presumed he was largely at fault for the team’s current predicament. “You’re not going to go all Terminator on me again, are you?”

You stared at him blankly, not moving from your place on the floor in the middle of the cell. 

“Really? Nothing. I just came up with that one. Any messages from you to your brother I can deliver when I find him?” 

“Tell him after all this he needs to get his ass as far from trouble as possible. Tell him I’m right where I should be.”

“How about I just say you’ll send him a postcard?” He quipped, walking away.

“Stark,” you called. “Lay a hand on Steve and I will find you.” 

He didn’t turn back, but he gave a thumbs up on his way out.

—

You don’t think you could ever tire of the view before you. For most of your life you never believed you’d travel outside New York City, but here you were on the other side of the world. The waters below the ship were as blue and clean as great artists imagined in their scenes. The current lapped gently at the hull and you let the sound wash through you. Ahead, snow-capped mountains rose into the cloudy sky. The buildings and streets you were so used to being surrounded by in the city were replaced by miles of undisturbed woodland. The sky was overcast, but calm for now. Mist hung in the air and clung to your jacket. Maybe it would storm later, maybe it wouldn’t. You found peace in the apprehension. 

“Hey,” Natasha said. You hadn’t heard her come up. She joined you at the railing and pushed a phone into the water.

“How’s the Good Secretary?”

“I’ve got him chasing his tail in D.C. We are officially in the wind.”

Steve and Natasha had broken you out of the Raft three days ago. Since then you’d decided to split up while the heat died down. He had wanted you to go with him, but you couldn’t look at your brother without feeling crushed by six decades worth of guilt. You still thought he would be safer without you, but you couldn’t escape the disappointed look on his face. Hurting him was like kicking a little puppy.

“Steve would love this place,” you said. Natasha took in the view while you admired her. Her hair was down and flowed past her shoulders. The wind blew strands of it about in a way that told you God indeed played favorites. “He loved to draw. And he was damn good at it too. Kid used to draw everything. Our old apartment, back alleys, the sky. He wouldn’t know what to do if he saw all of this.” 

“You’re worried about him.” 

“Really? Was I being that obvious?” You were tired, but you smiled anyway.

“The first time I met Steve he couldn’t make heads or tails of the shirt on his back, much less anything else humanity had changed. Yesterday, he was piloting the most advanced jet on the planet. Sounds like he’s the same resilient kid you grew up with. Except now he can throw a man a couple dozen yards.”

“I think he could literally be invincible and I’d still worry,” you admitted.

“I think that’s how family is supposed to work. And if it helps, he’s got Sam to watch his back.”

“Why did you volunteer to come with me?” You asked. You bit your lip nervously and scanned the grayish-blue horizon. “I almost killed you. I mean I would have killed you if Stark hadn’t…” You’d opened Pandora’s Box and couldn’t stop all of the guilt from pouring out. “And all those years ago in the Red Room, what I did to you. Why don’t you hate me?”

“Because I know who you really are. And that wasn’t you. Never was.” She said it so fervently that you almost believed her.

“But that’s just the thing. It was me. All of that blood is on my hands. If something happened to you, that would be on me.” And I don’t think I would survive without you. You left the rest unsaid, but it hung in the air just out of reach. “All he had to do was say the goddamn words and I lost it.”

“And you came back.” You found your mind wandering off into the mountains afar. “Hey look at me.” She laid a hand on your shoulder and brought you back from your reverie. Her warm breath fanned across your cheek. “You’re okay. We’re okay.”

“I can’t shake this feeling, Nat.” You heaved a shuddering breath. “That horrible voice is always in the back of my head. I’m so scared that one day it’ll drown me out.” Your eyes hurt from the force of holding back tears. “Please don’t let it drown me.”

Natasha wrapped her arms around you in a supportive hug. “I’ll never give up on you,” she said. “You can always come back to me.” You cautiously hugged her back and draped yourself over her. You concentrated on what was around you. The smell of the sea-salted air, the warmth of her body, the churn of the boat's engine.

You let her go and cleared your throat, rubbing harshly at your eyes. “Me too,” you said. “I mean, I’m here for you. ‘Til kingdom come.” You’d always fight for her. Truth is you had been for a long time now, you just didn’t realize it. 

“You’re not the only one who’s done unspeakable things,” she whispered, as if preoccupied with reliving some awful memory. You weren’t the only one with demons intent on ruining any scrap of peace.

“Aren’t we quite the pair?” You inspected her hoodie and all of its familiarity. “Is that my sweatshirt?”

“No,” she lied, even as she messed with the ends of the sleeves that went well past her hands.

“Mhm. So did you bring any of my clothes for me or…?”

“I didn’t know if I was ever going to see you again,” Natasha said. Her voice was shaky with frustration and pent-up anxiety. “I was so worried. I thought that this would be all I had left to remember you by. I kept thinking that we would get into the Raft and you wouldn’t be there.” 

“I’m sorry,” you said. The week and a half you were locked up for you hadn’t thought about where she might be. You told yourself you were too preoccupied with Steve and Bucky to otherwise focus. But you knew to think about Natasha was to admit you cared deeply for her. That was a battle you weren’t ready to surrender. “I didn’t know.” But maybe now was the time to lay down arms.

“That’s right you didn’t know. You didn’t think. That’s the problem you think you’re invincible and you run headfirst into danger time and time again.”

“I can take care of myself.” 

“Except it’s not just you anymore, Rogers. There are people that care about you and how you act affects them. When you make a stupid move it’s not just you who suffers the consequences.” Her voice cracked under the weight of the words.

“I can’t just sit around when something goes bad. You can’t ask me to do that.” You had so much time, so many lives to make up for. And that came about by means of action.

“I thought that you were dead. Don’t you understand that?” Natasha’s eyes were full of sorrow and accusation. Your cheeks flushed and you stared into the icy waters. She had every right to be mad. “When they dragged you away I was sure they were going to execute you. Again.” 

The reference stung. When the Red Room found out you’d broken your programming they’d practically beaten you to death in front of Natasha before shipping you back to HYDRA. The scars still burned in your dreams.

An apology formed on your lips. “I know,” she said. The bitterness had burned itself out of her tone. What was left you couldn’t describe. A profound understanding, edges brightened by the hope of a fresh start.

An unspoken something lingered in the cool morning air. 

Natasha grabbed your gloved hand and intertwined her fingers with yours. She leaned over and rested her head on your shoulder. A warmth bloomed in your chest. 

You thought that, just maybe, you’d found where you were supposed to be.

[navigatebetweenthelines]

I think Kyouka and Kyusaku might be the next Skk

IF there will be one. It feels really perfect if it would be them. I mean they're the closest in age. Q is 13 and Kyouka is 14

All the skk pairings have had a tie to the last and It's clear Akutagawa is the future of the PM the way Atsushi is the future of the ADA. Akutagawa would then would have custody of Kyusaku which gives the two of them a tie to the last skk.

Kyusaku and Kyouka would also have the characteristic differing points of view of the world. They both know the same people at different points in their life. Kyouka has seen the best of Dazai and Kyusaku has felt the worst. Kyouka has felt the worst of Akutagawa and Kyusaku will meet Akutagawa at his best.

They also have the same color scheme (red, white, blue and yellow) but they wear them in opposite ways. They both wear a hair piece, have a children's toy that represents both an aspect of their ability and their trauma,

Their stories also act as the complete opposite of the other. Kyouka is embraced and celebrated by her entire organization while Kyusaku is hidden and shun. They both discovered their abilities at a young age and were used as weapons for it but Kyouka is deemed controllable while Kyusaku was too unpredictable.

They would have a natural point of contention considering Kyu would have the biggest reason to hate the ADA (outside of organization politics) considering they embraced Dazai immidiately. Kyouka's trauma with abilities that compell people to kill will have natural overlap with Kyu's ability.

also their abilities together would be soooooo cool. I can imagine the first time they fight each other and Kyu just barely manages to nick her and instead of allowing the ability to control her she calls on Demon Snow to stop her from harming anyone at all costs JUST LIKE HER MOTHER. Kyu would have to undo it to save her if they wanted her to survive it.

They have the PERFECT experience to teach each other to make peace with their pain which is what every skk pairing will be about.

the two of them were created to be the perfect sacrifice.

like they're JUST kids.

[cerisesakurainspring]

KITA SHINSUKE × READER

~~A compassionate love you will never trade for any riches.

"Anata?" You call for your husband.

You had just put your twins to sleep not long ago and were about to retire for the night when you saw Kita wasn't on the bed in your room. You like to think you knew him like the back of your hand, so with your confident knowledge of his routine, you decided to go to a place he frequents.

You ascended the attic with a lamp in your hand, then climbed through the mini-steps that led through the rooftop. Against the window frame was your husband leaning his shoulder on it. You smile at his serene expression and how it softened further when he saw you.

"How's our two little rascals doing?" He held his hand for you to take, and you took it gratefully.

"Finally fast asleep." You wrapped your arms around his waist and snuggled closely, craving his warmth in the chilly night. The silver-haired lad indulged you by wrapping his well-built arms around you and giving you a peck on the temple. The view in front of you was one of serene ambience and you could not help but feel relaxed in the calmness of the night.

Kita has always loved connecting with nature. He much preferred the clean air and peace of the countryside to the hustle and bustle of the towering main cities. This was one of the reasons why he chose to start a farming business instead of taking on a salaryman job. Quite a stretch away from the standard practices of men his age.

You nestled closer into his embrace and sighed contently, the memories of yesterday pulling you back to when your life started turning for the better. Five years ago, you gave birth to twins and Kita was slightly anxious about the fact for he had experience dealing with twins. He was nonetheless the happiest man on earth when he held them both in his arms as tears of joy cascaded down his alluring features.

Occasionally, his former volleyball teammates would visit and play with your adorable children. To no one's surprise, they bonded with the Miya twins the most. Two twin flames merging and creating an inferno, for every time they visited, trouble was always guaranteed.

You remember seeing an angry Kita for the first time when Atsumu taught your kids how to prank his brother. Osamu was to pick up sets of rice sacks for his onigiri shop then, and when he lifted the last sack, the grain came bursting from the hole the three monsters had created. Two mini monsters incited by a supposed mature adult. The full-grown monster Atsumu.

To escape the wrath of the silver-haired Miya, Atsumu carried both your twins on his shoulder and ran across the rice field. The two 4-year-olds giggled as they bounced on the pro player's shoulder while he skipped through the run-off platform. This was a bad move on his part for it had just rained the day before, so the soil was still moist. To his bad luck, he slipped and the three ended up falling into the rice paddies.

What would have been a fun play of tag ended severely for all of them.

The older of your twins cried his lungs out when he fell, and Kita came running from the rice mill. The fear on your husband's face was still vivid in your memory, and he was pretty livid when he found out Atsumu was the one liable.

The fury in his demeanour was enough to root all five of you in place that even the crying twins hushed down. Kita stared down at his kouhai with anger no one expected him to have.

You remember him pointing at the parked car with gritted teeth and only saying, 'Leave.' and all the Miya twins could do was bow their heads in apology and rush out.

Poor blonde Miya was almost banned from visiting your twins.

The memory made you giggle, and your husband turned his head to look at you, curiosity dancing in his breathtaking eyes.

"I guess twins are naturally born to be troublemakers," you proposed.

Kita chuckled at your remark and then kissed your temple once more. "You're doing a marvellous job keeping them on their toes."

You melt in your husband's embrace and let the gentle breeze caress your skin as it carries the scent of earth with it. The rice field before you swayed softly against the whispers of the wind, and it seemed to be in tandem with the crickets singing. 

It was like watching a concierto of nature made for just the two of you.

You stare at the stars above as it continued to twinkle in the velvety sky. The moon towering over the nocturnal landscape seemingly made the moment feel like a dream of wonder. Time seemed to crawl at that moment, and the sense of harmony and tranquility permeated your very core.

A content sigh escaped your lips as you realized nothing could make the moment more perfect.

You were grateful for the man beside you and the two little munchkins you were gifted with. Even though you were a full-time mother, you were very appreciative of the affluent yet simple lifestyle Kita has provided for the family.

It was like your own little paradise. Full of warmth and laughter.

Your husband's brown eyes look over the field stretching out far with a happy smile on his lips. For him, there was no greater joy than living a farming life with you and the twins. He was content to live out his days, experiencing the simple pleasures of what life offered him.

He did not need anything more.

To Kita, the three of you were his ikigai, and that was more than enough.

This is part of a one-shot series called Haikyuū Lovers. It was previously called Haikyuū Husbandos, but I had to rename it because it started to sound cringy, lol.

It is also up for reading on AO3 and Wattpad with the same title and pen name.

[bunnyuki]

UNSAID WORDS. toge inumaki

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ) gift for: @darlingspeach

CW!! AFAB READER, she/her pronouns. au fantasy/medieval. toge is a dragon, reader is a human. mentions of slaughtering/people dying/hunting. mentions of blood and injuries. he doesn't understand much of human language. this is very short and silly, i apologize. SFW, FLUFF.

YOU DON’T SEE as many dragons around as you used to. the kings of the earth and the heavens were destroyed by greed. their wings were struck by spears and cannons, their blood was collected and tested as a product. the rich wear their scales at dinner parties, because they become necklaces and delicacies. their teeth became hunters’ trophies. dragons had nothing against humanity, but humans had a desire to have everything. their ruin brought that of other peoples.

and so, the remaining dragons fled. running from the world, choosing the loneliest places to call home. deprived of reliable companions, of their companions with wings, dealing with the losses of their loved ones. nothing was left for them but memories and bones. so disappeared that they became merely legends.

fantastic stories that parents told their children to amaze them, or scare them. false and lying stories for merchants desperate to sell their products cheaply. one of the strongest, most influential and powerful races in the world. reduced to nothing more than tales. a small belief spread among the dragons. humans were dirty. rotten, spoiled. disgusting creatures that cared about nothing. the sick apple that would rot the rest of the basket. by extension, hatred for those creatures that had barely sustained themselves for a century grew. humans who encountered dragons and their treasures did not come out alive to tell the story. and no one heard from them again.

life in a village is not easy. taxes are merciless, and nobles drown in champagne while families in your village count coins to find out if they can eat. you are not exempt from this. the marquis who controls the region is obsessed with more amounts of money. the village has been going through difficulties, and with winter approaching, some have already said their goodbyes. people will die. that is a fact. for the king and his court, nothing more than numbers.

the sweet embrace of death comes to seek everyone, eventually. this is the mortal life. but that’s not how you’ll end up. huddled in a bed, on a cold morning, praying to a god who wouldn’t listen to you. you refuse. that will not be your end.

plantings have been disappointing. food becomes scarcer every day, and from what it looks like, this will be a year with lots of snow and abundant hunger. and for this reason, a good deal of adapted hunting became the main source of food and income.

the local forests are dark, specks in the middle of nowhere that is your village. full of trees and animals that need to hide from people like you. like a squirrel collecting dried fruit and nuts. all you have is a rusty knife, a crossbow with five arrows, and faith. not in god, not in greater forces. all you need is yourself.

the traps you planted exist in strategic points. hidden by grass and branches, abusing the natural environment to create the illusion of safety. merely for a noose to tighten around the body of a small animal, or a bear trap to bend into a cruel bite.

checking the traps daily has become part of the routine. just as many other villagers were forced to adapt, so were you. the skins are usually removed and worn by you. or sold.

instead of finding a small animal split in half by your bear trap, what’s in front of you now is a boy. a young one. maybe your age. his purple eyes seem to contain decades of wisdom you couldn’t dream of. his hair has an abnormal tone, like a very pale shade of blonde. he turns over and groans, his ankle caught in the trap. the metal teeth dig deeper into the flesh every time he moves, and the blood is thick and red.

but what really draws attention to him are his horns. and the tail. highs rising from the forehead and rising, white like the snow that will soon fall, with purplish tips. the same pattern for the long, tail full of scales. his nails are sharper than normal. when he opens his mouth to groan in pain, his teeth look like fangs. around his mouth, there's a strange pattern that doesn't seem to be a painting, but his skin. snake eyes and fangs.

he raises his arms to try to open the trap and free himself. the skin on the forearms has traces of scales of the same whitish tone.

his first instinct seeing you is hissing. actual hissing. like a scared snake, ready to pounce. the reaction of a scared, injured animal. you— pity him.

of course, you shouldn't. legends about dragons make it very clear what they think of your species. this boy would make you a forgotten corpse once he had the chance. but that didn't seem true. he was scared. alone, lost. his ankle caught in a trap that hurt more every moment. contrary to common sense, you choose to put the beast down and follow your instinct. approaching slowly, with your hands raised.

“easy there.” another hiss. it's a clear message. stay away. your steps are slow and you show that you are not holding any weapons. “i'm not going to hurt you. i'll help.”

no matter how sweet and loving you force your voice to be, the distrust in his eyes doesn't go away. you crouch before the stranger, staring for a moment. he is a pretty boy. you can't deny that.

your hands grip the bear trap, and you look him in the eyes. “I'm going to open this, and you're going to take your foot off. all good? on three. one. two. three.”

at the end of the count, you muster the strength your hungry muscles allow you to open the bear trap. the stranger quickly understands the message and moves away from it, allowing you to let the metal go without consequences. his hands release the trap, and it closes again with a click. the metal resonates as it strikes itself. there is fresh blood on his fingers and on the trap, and his face turns to look at the boy.

he's sitting by a tree, grabbing his injured ankle with a groan. you approach slowly again, and he nearly jumps out of his skin. his eyes narrow in suspicion.

“hey. hey, i'm not going to hurt you. okay? i promise. just let me help.” he frowns at your words, his lips parting to reply in a language you do not know. oh, well. this can be complicated.

“i don't— i don't understand.” you pause, moving to sit besides him. he furrows his brows, but doesn't say a word. “can you understand what i am saying?”

by his pout and frown, you think the answer is no. okay. what to do now, then? you quickly point to yourself, pronouncing your name out loud. then again, slowly. he repeats, the sound beautiful on his tongue. his pronunciation is a little bad at first, but the third time he's repeating it, he seems to have understood.

he follows the example, pointing to himself. “toge.” he states, and your eyes narrow.

“toge. okay. i think that's your name. you are injured.” you point out to his ankle, and he stares at you for a moment. if he could speak your language, you are sure he would be sarcastic right now. oh, don't say.

you gesture nervously, trying to sign you wish to help. after almost ten minutes of denying and hesitation, he holds out his injured foot to you. your hands are gentle, and you don't touch the injured area unless you have to. he hisses and groans in pain.

toge stares at you, decided to say something. his lips part, and he sounds confident when he says. “salmon.” you frown.

“what?”

he repeats again. salmon. seaweed. tuna mayonnaise. he only talks about...ingredients? toge is desperately trying to tell you something, confused why you don't understand the message. then it clicks. oh.

“you only know ingredient names. that's all you know in my language.” you murmur. he nods slowly, and you sigh. communicating like this won't be impossible, but it will prove itself as a challenge. but these thoughts are for later. he is injured. because of you.

it's your obligation to help this young dragon — secretly. the people in the village would take every last drop of his blood for gold coins. you'll have to improvise. “okay. uhh. does it hurt much?”

he pauses. “salmon?” another sigh escapes your lips.

this will be complicated.

[adore-laur]

SUNSTRUCK

— a sensual addition to southpaw 🌞

——

TODOS SANTOS, 1992

Palms slick with saltwater spread atop the surfboard floating in Mexico's turquoise ocean, its waxed surface scorching to the touch as it sparkles underneath the smoldering sun. Heaving himself up with taut and tanned arms, Harry switches out the cool engulfment for a beating heat that strikes his skin just right. Droplets cascade down the toned muscles of his back. Freckles that have come out of hiding dot his face in scattered clusters. The ultraviolet rays of June naturally bleach his tufts of baby hair blond.

He's unequivocally thriving, surrounded by a yellow aura gleaming brilliantly in the daylight.

Lying on his stomach, he manually paddles over to where Sawyer is supine on her pink inflatable raft. With a caramel-colored complexion and slim, silky legs that shimmer from the start of a sun-drenched summer, she resembles a solstitial vision for the ages. She has never looked more relaxed in all the years he's known her. Her limbs, which soak up splashes of vitamin D, are loose and not tense from working stationary hours at her office desk. There's no wrinkled crease of frustration between her eyebrows that needs to be smoothed out, nor is there a troubled frown pulling at her lips that needs to be lifted. She's in her own bubble of iridescent ecstasy.

This hush-hush getaway has rejuvenated their souls. The lush ocean breeze and visually flamboyant architecture lured them like they were a message in a bottle destined for the shoreline. Harry finally has uninterrupted time to spend with Sawyer in private in a nestled town where no one knows his name. Domesticity has already begun blooming in the desert bungalow where they're staying. Whispered confessions of love and gratitude were spoken around the rims of coffee mugs. Waking up with her in his snuggly embrace is a luxury he's still getting used to. Kisses followed by wandering hands careen lazy mornings and sleepless nights. Their relationship is flourishing every day, and it feels like paradise.

As Sawyer tans like a sun goddess, Harry grows increasingly bored. The sluggish waves weren't nearly powerful enough to triumphantly catch, so he resorted to catching some rays instead. It didn't pan out too well because now his back is burning and his girlfriend isn't paying attention to him. It's a deadly combination he needs to fix immediately.

"Sawyer," he says, peskily flicking water at her. "There's a shark behind you."

Opening her pretty brown irises, shielded with cat-eye sunglasses, she flips him off and grouses, "You're not funny."

Harry smoothly straddles his surfboard and points past her. "I'm serious. Don't move, okay? I can see its fin circling."

It only takes a single second for her precious face to drop. She timidly shifts her sunglasses to the top of her head and stares at him in terror. "Is there really?" she whispers, as if the non-existent shark is eavesdropping on the two lovers. "What do we do, Harry? Oh no, what do we do?"

To not crack a mischievous grin severely tests his might. "I'll grab you and take you to land. Don't worry, baby."

"We can't!" she tells him urgently, her voice rising to a whisper-shout. Thankfully, she doesn't dare turn around to see if they're actually in grave danger. "It'll follow us if we move. We have to be smart about this."

Harry dramatically looks off into the distance, like he's in a film playing a determined survivor lost at sea. "If this is the last time we see each other," he declares with faux valor, "I want to die knowing I tried saving you."

Sawyer gawks at his morbid statement. He thought it was romantic. "Are you out of your mind? Don't say things like that!"

There's a slight growl to her tone, and she appears borderline petrified, so he abandons his silly prank. He's close enough to her raft to stretch his body forward and lift her, so he does, but not before humming the menacing Jaws theme and wiggling his fingers in her direction. She looks bewildered as he grips her waist and carefully transfers her to his surfboard. Once she's sat in front of him, he clings to her like a koala on a eucalyptus tree, his perspiring chest pressed flat against her back.

"Hi," he murmurs, nuzzling her cheek with his nose. "There's no shark. I just wanted to be near you."

Sawyer stills, then hastily unwinds his arms from around her. "You're so annoying," she whines, harmlessly slapping his thigh and grabbing her raft so it doesn't drift away.

Harry cups her jaw and tilts her head toward him. "You love me. I annoy the hell out of you, yet you can't get enough of me."

Glancing at his lips, she situates herself on his lap and smiles. "It's true. My sunray makes me happy even when he's a complete ditz."

Harry suddenly doesn't know how to speak, too enraptured by her natural beauty paired with a doe-eyed gaze that melts him like an ice cube on a sizzling driveway. Those brown eyes could get him to do anything she desired. Does she know that? Does she see the influence she has over him? Does she know nothing made sense in his life before he met her?

Unable to express his undying commitment to her without stumbling over his words, he utters a simple and sincere, "I love you."

Sawyer places her hand over his heart. "I know it."

Eventually, the rolling tide brings them back to the shore. The Baja California Peninsula's tip possesses powdery sand grains that carry on for miles. This particular beach, Punta Lobos, is a hidden gem, and no tourists infest the area during the week. Rocky bluffs border the water, and the occasional hiker will admire the oceanic view from their advantage before retreating down the trail behind the cliffs. Other than that, there's no one lurking around and disturbing the peace.

Harry and Sawyer lie side by side, sand sticking to their wet skin as the foamy waves barely reach their toes. Their fingers instinctively interlock; their palms are smoother due to being immersed in saltwater for hours, and something about it sends a firecracker shooting off in Harry's heart. Sawyer's skin after sunbathing is always gorgeous—golden, silken, and stamped with secret birthmarks only he knows the locations of.

He suddenly feels hot all over. Blazing sunbeams mixed with coursing dopamine are making him antsy. Trying to ignore his straying thoughts only worsens the constriction.

Looking over at his girl, Harry swallows and swipes his thumb across her chin to garner her undivided attention. She squints and beams angelically at him, a sheen of sweat gracing her cheekbones.

"Pretty girl," he says, his knuckles tracing the shape of her jaw. "What's on your mind?"

"I'm thinking about where our next destination should be."

"Nowhere. Let's stay here forever."

Sawyer ruffles his wavy hair. "And do what?"

A thousand scenarios whip around in his brain, and he ends up settling on asking his favorite question. "Wanna make out?"

Her plump lips instantly melt into a blissful smile. She rolls over on top of Harry's body, her syrupy skin adhering to his as she clasps his cheeks with her hands. She grants him his wish, coaxing warm and salty kisses from his mouth. His greedy hands roam the back of her thighs, trailing them up and down her sun-kissed flesh. Her ankles prop up and cross over each other, and she hums into his mouth as their craving kisses deepen. The pendant with his first initial that rests perfectly between her clavicles reminds him she's not going anywhere, as does the ring he gifted her that's settled on her finger, the cool metal neutralizing his flaming body temperature.

The unfortunate cause of their breakaway isn't because their love-filled lungs are deprived of oxygen. It's because, after all, they're on a public beach, and the sound of distant chatter has them pulling apart as quick as a zap of lightning.

Sawyer stands, briskly adjusting her bikini straps and glancing around like what they were doing was a scornful obscenity. She's adorably flustered. On the other hand, Harry sits up and nonchalantly adjusts himself while pinching his swollen bottom lip. He would be lying if he said he hasn't noticed excessive PDA isn't something Sawyer is necessarily comfortable with now that they're dating. She shies away from it, while he's quite the opposite. It's almost impossible to suppress the urge to touch and kiss her like there's no tomorrow, so he doesn't feel awkward about the innocuous disruption.

As he snatches his floral-patterned button-up that he left stranded on the sand and begins putting it back on, he spots his camcorder nearby. He brought it along to capture memories, which so far have mostly been of Sawyer in her feminine element—sunbathing on the poolside lounge chair with a magazine in her lap, curling her eyelashes in the bathroom mirror, dancing and singing to "Venus" by Bananarama on the bungalow sofa. 

She's the center of his universe. The summit of beauty and love.

His gaze flits between the device and Sawyer, who is now red in the face. It's amusing, so he brings the viewfinder up to his eye and presses the record button. He purses his lips to hide his growing smirk as he zooms in on the small group of people strolling to the coastline and then on her rattled reaction. 

It doesn't take long for her to notice. She jogs over to block the lens with her hands, fretting, "Stop it! This is so humiliating."

Harry laughs, lifting the camcorder to a height she can't reach. Sawyer is looking at him unimpressed, her arms crossed, and her head tilted to the side. The people most definitely saw them being handsy and smitten out in the open, but what's there to be sheepish about? Love is meant to be shown to the world.

"Are you embarrassed?" he teases, dragging out the last word.

She raises her eyebrows and nods. A hint of a smile plays on her lips, but it doesn't seem genuine. It appears insistent, one of hidden discomfort. 

Harry isn't a total space cadet, so he takes it as a cue to quit messing around and acknowledge her unspoken signals. He stops recording and drops the camera in the striped beach bag slung over her shoulder. He then tucks his surfboard under his armpit and offers Sawyer his free hand. The energy between them has shifted by a smidge, and he doesn't like it one bit. The grains of sand beneath his soles somehow turned into eggshells within minutes.

"Ready to leave?" he asks. Sawyer nods again, still ominously silent, as she ignores his hand and fetches her deflating raft. "'Kay. Let's hit the road, then."

They arrive at the rental car, a vintage orange convertible that made his pockets hurt. Sawyer wanted it, and he couldn't refuse her. The hood is up in case of unpredictable weather, so Harry straps and fastens his surfboard to the top while Sawyer hops in the passenger seat, throws her raft in the backseat, and shimmies back into her daisy dukes.

Harry sits behind the steering wheel, his lanky limbs struggling to comfortably fit in the restricted space. The engine rumbles to life when he turns the key in the ignition, and he rolls the windows down before reversing out of the vacant parking lot. He peeks at Sawyer a few times as he merges onto the highway winding along the coast. She's staring at the desert landscape ahead that's saturated with a golden haze from the forthcoming sunset. Cacti and dead brush sizzle under the evening sun. Mountains tower over the feathery clouds. Vultures circle in the sky as roadrunners scurry along the pavement. It's stark scenery, but nonetheless transcendent.

None of his surroundings matter, though, when his favorite person to talk to is overtly ignoring him. He tries to convince himself that maybe she's just tired. No, that can't be right. He knows her. She's affectionate when she hits a wall and cuddles up to him sweetly, clinging to his arm like a sloth on its beloved branch.

The truth is that he messed up.

Before he can dwell on every misstep he took in the past ten minutes, an earsplitting boom cuts through the atmosphere, followed by a rapid whooshing sound. Harry firmly clutches the wheel as the vehicle suddenly loses equilibrium. Without outwardly panicking, he takes his foot off the gas pedal and lets the car naturally slow down before pulling it off to the side of the road and braking lightly.

"Shit," he hisses under his breath, his heart thumping erratically. "Goddamnit. I think one of the tires just blew out."

Poor Sawyer has her eyes pinched shut and a death grip on his bicep. Harry snaps back to reality and kills the engine, listening for any odd sounds. Before he steps out, he gives the top of Sawyer's head a gentle, comforting noogie and murmurs, "It's okay. We're okay."

She shakily gets out with him and leans against the passenger side door, anxiously biting her polished fingernails, while Harry perplexedly settles a hand on his hip and assesses the external damage. The front right tire looks like one of the clocks in Salvador Dalí's The Persistence of Memory—sad, melted, and a surreal depiction of an unfavorable outcome.

He looks up and down the highway, finding no signs of any buildings, vehicles, or humans. Something he does see, however, is a broken beer bottle a couple of yards behind where they were driving a mere minute ago. Most of the shards of green glass are scattered along the edge of the road, yet a few stray pieces are lying in just the right place for any vehicle that comes racing down the highway. It's the perfect puncture for a not-so-perfect boyfriend already on thin ice. Karma must have a vendetta against him today, but he won't let it clip his wings. When life gives him lemons, he knows how to make a delectable pitcher of lemonade.

So, Harry does what he's best at: distracting his girlfriend. He can quickly turn this misfortune into something fun and make Sawyer forget about how sour the day has turned.

Swiping his sweaty forehead with his wrist, he huffs and gets to work. He's changed a few tires in his life, so it should be done in no time. First, he takes his shirt off so he doesn't get heatstroke. The humidity outside is brutal, causing sweat to bead by his hairline and on his back. He makes a show of slowly unbuttoning it and slinging the fabric over his shoulder. It's obvious Sawyer's gaze is locked on him. He's willing to admit he possesses vanity over his physicality, and it doesn't help that the girl watching him constantly feeds his ego.

Next, Harry takes his sweet time and saunters to the trunk, where the rental agency told him the spare tire is located. Lifting the trunk and flexing his arms, he opens the well to reveal the tire. There's also a jack and lug wrench that'll come in handy.

After gathering everything, he kneels on the blistering road, loosens the tire's lug nuts with the wrench, and then places the jack under the vehicle's frame. He stretches his arms above his head before using the jack to slightly lift the car off the ground. After removing the lug nuts, he removes the ruined tire, momentarily glancing at Sawyer as he breathes heavily from his body's exertion in the unbearable heat. She's in front of the car now, looking at the sunset that paints elegant splashes of pink and orange across the horizon.

Harry grunts as he tosses the tire aside. Sawyer glances back, and he doesn't miss how her eyes flick down to his abdomen, now slick with a sheen of sweat. 

"Wanna learn how to do this?" he calls out, grunting again when he picks up the pristine spare.

He's given no response as he lines up the holes and pushes the tire into the wheelbase. His biceps flex with soreness, and when he peers up again, Sawyer still looks at him, her eyes communicating something obscure. They have a little stare-down until he can't take it anymore and begins replacing the lug nuts. His jaw is clenched as he works quickly to try to get to the bungalow as soon as possible so they can untangle this yarn of bizarre tension.

Once the tire is secure, the old one is thrown in the trunk, and the tools are all put away. Harry walks over to Sawyer. She's perched herself on the car's hood, picking at her cuticles. Standing in front of her, he places his hands on either side of her thighs, his shoulders taut as he watches her eyes dance over the sky behind him. He kisses the tender spot below her jawbone, tasting and smelling the residual coconut tanning lotion left there. Goosebumps rise across the expanse of her neck like a swelling tidal wave, and Harry can't help but bury his face in it and whimper pitifully. He's like a needy puppy when she ignores him, pawing for the tiniest bit of love and attention.

"It's so hot out," he complains before sighing dramatically. "Let's head back."

Sawyer doesn't push him away, which counts as progress. "I want to watch the sun go down," she says, lost in thought. "Who knows the next time we'll be able to see it on an abandoned desert highway."

He won't argue with that. He doesn't need to or necessarily want to. If Sawyer wants to soak in the sunset, he'll endure the feverish weather if it makes her happy. Besides, she's right; little precious moments, such as experiencing the sun dip below the horizon, leaving behind a new, wispy portrait of captivating colors each day, are worth pausing life from time to time.

Sealing a kiss on her forehead, Harry hops on the hood and settles beside her. "I'll never learn how to say no to you."

☼ ☼ ☼

Back at the secluded bungalow, an unorthodox band of tension is still waiting to be snapped.

Sawyer has started cooking dinner with the miscellaneous ingredients she purchased from the downtown market yesterday morning. Canola oil is popping and sizzling in a frying pan, and julienned bell peppers of various colors are ready to be sautéed. Harry took a quick shower to wash the ocean and sweat from his sunburnt skin and has since changed into a white long-sleeved button-up tucked into teal trousers. He also has a pair of sunglasses over his eyes to help relieve spending hours in saltwater and squinting under the blinding sun.

Sawyer is in a tight, cropped blue camisole with low-waisted silk pajama pants. Her hair is down, golden beach waves reaching the middle of her back as she maneuvers around the kitchen area. Harry observes her from the dining room table, not quite knowing how to initiate a conversation without stretching the metaphorical elastic too far. Or worse, past the point of no return.

He watches Sawyer tilt the cutting board over the pan so the peppers fall into it. They immediately crackle when introduced to the heat. She then takes a wooden spoon and stirs the vibrant vegetables, turning on the overhead stove fan so the smoke doesn't set any detectors off. She's still ignoring him, entirely focused on one task, and pretending there's not an elephant in the room that needs to be addressed before the night concludes. Harry knows if he brings it up, she'll shut it down, say everything is fine, and insist she's not angry. She's a terrible liar, so he'll save that tactic for another argument.

As he stares at the back of her head, he realizes he doesn't like her version of the silent treatment. It's okay if she won't talk to him, but acting like he doesn't exist is ruthless. So, he walks over to her and wraps his arms around her slim waist. She tenses but continues mixing the peppers in silence. 

Okay, that's definitely not the reaction he wanted. Not even an ounce of acknowledgment when he begins kissing her neck, taking his time loving on the beautiful ridges carved there.

"Slow dance with me," he murmurs pleadingly, squeezing her.

"I'm busy right now."

Now, don't get him wrong; he likes her stubbornness. He even finds it incredibly endearing, to a degree. But when it's directed toward something he's clueless about, he finds himself having to coax an answer past her adamant walls of defense. Being candid doesn't always end well, so choosing the proper approach is crucial if he wants to crawl out of the hole he's dug himself into.

Harry reaches around her preoccupied figure to flick the stove's heat off. The blue flame vanishes, and the sizzling ceases, causing Sawyer to sigh heavily as she sets the wooden spoon off to the side. She still doesn't turn around, even when Harry moves her thick hair over her left shoulder and starts planting warm kisses further down her skin, slower and more intentionally. She smells like the ocean breeze at the height of summer, sweepingly refreshing and pure. He doesn't know how he went so long without touching her like this.

Light from a dying yet persistent sunset pours through the slanted ceiling window. The nearby radio quietly plays a mariachi song that doesn't fit the fraught mood. Upbeat and punchy, the music is supposed to evoke happiness and camaraderie. It falls short this time, but like before, lemons can always be turned into lemonade.

"Do you know how to salsa?" Harry pipes up while stepping away, giving her room to breathe.

"How to make salsa?" Sawyer replies distractedly. She's begun garnishing the semi-cooked peppers with fresh oregano.

"No, how to dance the salsa."

She drizzles more oil into the pan. Her hand hovers over the stove's knob to light the flame again, but she retracts and mutters, "Um, not really."

Harry rolls his sleeves to his elbows and tosses his sunglasses onto the counter. "It's all in the hips, isn't it?"

She glances back at him for a split second before leisurely spinning around and crossing her arms over her chest. "Did you need something?"

"Sí, muñeca."

The almost invisible twitch of her lips doesn't go unnoticed by his attentive nature. "What is it?" she asks impatiently. "I'm trying to make dinner. You know, I've realized you always decide to be a pest when I'm not paying enough attention to you."

Busted. Well, at least she's talking to him now.

Harry begins clapping his hands to the song's rhythm in the background and swinging his hips in a terrible presentation of what's supposed to be salsa dancing. Sawyer arches her eyebrow and blankly stares at his uncoordinated movements. He's making an absolute fool of himself, but honestly, he just wants to see her smile. He'll go to the greatest lengths.

Shuffling closer to her, he caresses her limp hands and tries to get her to loosen up. "Let's dance."

“I'm not in the mood to dance."

He frowns dramatically, widening his feet to be the same height as her. "What's going on right now, hmm? We were having so much fun earlier."

Sawyer slides away from the stove and leans against the adjacent kitchen wall. A psychedelic painting of a gecko in the desert hangs above her. "It's not that hard to figure out," she says, looking everywhere but at him. It stings just a tad.

One of Harry's hands rests flat on the wall beside her, his thumb faintly yet purposefully touching the shell of her ear. He leans in and murmurs, "Are you still upset with me?"

The stubborn girl he knows and loves dearly steadily nods her head. "I'm furious. My body is on fire."

He bites his bottom lip with his front teeth as his piercingly intimidating gaze hungrily travels downward and lands on her exposed stomach. The silver bellybutton ring shining against her golden skin sets him on fire in an entirely different way. She's a delectable feast for the eyes.

Harry doesn't believe that her blood is boiling to the extent of fury, but he'll entertain her flair for dramatics. He says, "I'm sorry for shoving a camcorder in your face when you got embarrassed."

Sawyer gives him a puzzled look. "Huh? Oh, I don't care about that. I'm over it."

"Okay, then tell me why you're so furious." He's being thrown for a loop, and it's making him dizzy.

It's clear she's internally contemplating her response based on how her posture becomes less stiff. After rubbing her arm awkwardly, she says, "Because you're not nice."

Harry blinks slowly. Once, then twice. "What?"

"You were being a jerk by teasing me while fixing the tire."

It takes a while to realize his plan totally backfired. His innocuous teasing wasn't supposed to make her even more mad at him, and now he's stuck in a maze of figuring out exactly what he did wrong. Girls are so complicated!

Unless…

"Is that what this is about?" he asks, his lips quirking in amusement and slow realization. Perhaps the little show he put on for her had the intended effect after all.

Sawyer scoffs. "Stop smiling!"

He grins like a lovesick fool. "I'm not smiling."

"Yes, you are! Your eyes smile before your mouth does." She goes to tuck her stray baby hairs behind her ears, and when she does, Harry traps her fidgeting fingers with his hand still resting beside her head. 

"Yeah?" he goads, his pulse throbbing faster. "When did you notice that about me?"

"I've always noticed it. It's so easy to tell when you're about to smile. Your eyes glimmer, and then you scrunch your nose."

"You like watching me?"

"Cállate. We're not finished with this argument."

"Go on, then."

Sawyer waves her free hand around as incomplete sentences get caught in her throat. "I- you- we can't keep doing this!"

Harry's heart falters at the vagueness of her confession. "What are you saying? Be gentle with me."

She gathers her crumbling composure, then carefully says, "What I mean is... we can't keep fueling this fire if we're not going to do anything about it."

The fire she speaks of has been wildly swirling in his stomach for a long time. He's managed to tame the carnal flames by waiting for Sawyer to declare her desires first, since her comfort level is always his top priority. The opportunity has now risen, and he's lucky she has opened up so much so that he can jump in and kickstart the colloquy they've been hesitantly dancing around for months.

"Is this about sex?"

Pink spiderwebs of heat spread across her face. Harry's thumb presses down on the apple of her blushing cheek; her skin is delightfully warm. It's nice to know a little fire has also been burning in her stomach. It's just a matter of tending to both of them. Kindle the flames until they roar with lust.

"Sort of," Sawyer mumbles, her eyebrows plunging with an unknown emotion. "Maybe. Yes. I don't know. All I know is that I don't want to tiptoe around it anymore." Her hand reaches out to rest on his neck, her pleading body language igniting the embers again. "Harry, it's killing me. I can't hide it."

He cups the side of her head. "Why didn't you tell me sooner, baby?" His voice has stooped to a deep, gentle rumble that shelters her with compassion.

"I didn't want to rush into things." She drapes her arms over his shoulders and plays with the outgrown curls at the nape of his neck. "I want to take my time with you and soak you in day by day. Take slow sips of your sunshine."

Knees weak, Harry whispers, "Don't. Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"With those eyes, Sawyer. Don't look all innocent when your words are the opposite."

She's completely clueless about how her imploring brown eyes can hold such seductiveness. Amber flecks swim in her irises, which are the color of dark chocolate. Rich. Exquisite. Tempting. Harry wants to break her off between his teeth like peppermint bark and swallow her silky, revivifying sweetness.

The tip of Sawyer's nose trails along his jaw, her lips brushing a path against his hot skin and setting fire to his loins. "I'm just tired of being patient. Does that make sense?"

Harry gives her a slight, truthful nod, then slumps his forehead against hers. "Tell me what you need, and I'll give it to you. There's no need to be shy around me. I'm your boyfriend."

"What if you don't want the same thing? That'd be so embarrassing."

"Sawyer Alejandra, you are so goddamn stubborn. Do you want me to just give it to you straight? Because I will." He takes a deep breath before blurting, "I want to have sex with—"

She clamps her hands over his entirely-too-bold mouth. "Shush!" Pinching her eyes shut, she whines and grumbles, "Forget I said anything. I have to finish cooking dinner."

If there's one thing he knows about Sawyer's personality, it's that the second she feels an ounce of mortification, she immediately backtracks. He'd usually let it slide, but this topic of conversation is a tricky one to simply forget about and move on from, like nothing happened.

Harry unwinds her hands from around his neck and keeps them cradled in his grasp. Then, while staring into her devastatingly gorgeous eyes, he says, "This tension between us isn't going to just magically disappear. Either we do something about it or ignore it. Your choice."

Sawyer swallows thickly. "I want to, so badly. But I'm scared."

"Why?" he asks, trying to open her blooming petals. They're singed with uncertainty.

"It's an incredibly vulnerable act, dufus." She cutely wrinkles her nose.

"And we're incredibly vulnerable lovers, so what's the sitch?"

She brings their conjoined hands up to her lips and kisses his knuckles. Against his skin, she mumbles, "How do we even go about this? I've made it awkward."

He shakes his head in disagreement. "You didn't. Do you trust me to take the reins?"

"Of course."

"Then follow me to the bedroom."

Sawyer points to the stove. "But what about dinner?"

Harry pinches her cheek and starts dragging her down the hallway. "I know just the cure for an appetite."

☼ ☼ ☼

The queen-sized bed has sheer canopy curtains draped around it. They were too lazy to make it this morning, so the sheets are still crumpled, and pillows are strewn about. Sunlight streams through the open bay window, making the room glow a tender hue of honey. 

It's alluring and equally terrifying.

Harry went into the master bathroom to mentally prepare himself, even though he told Sawyer he was just freshening up. His reflection in the mirror peered back at him pensively. He fixed his hair about ten times, swiped another layer of deodorant across his armpits, and then gave himself a hushed pep talk before swinging the door open and putting on a cool, calm, and collected face.

Yet the butterflies in his stomach currently contradict everything he's trying to convey, especially when he finds his sweet Sawyer sitting against the headboard, the puffy duvet covering her bare breasts. The sun casts light on her stunning face and accentuates her apprehensive features. She's innocently staring at him as if she didn't knowingly climb into bed without any clothes on and sit there patiently waiting for him like the good girl she is.

And... he's hard already. Well, that's one less thing to worry about.

Harry clears his throat and strips down to his boxers, then slides into the space next to her, waiting with bated breath. Neither of them looks at each other, too hesitant to make the first move. They've both had sex with different people before, so it's not like they're blind leading the blind, but now that they're actually in the bedroom, all confidence has apparently flown out the window.

"We could start with, like, kissing or something." So much for saying he'd take the reins. He can't even speak properly right now.

In his peripheral vision, he sees Sawyer nod hastily. "Sure," she says, quieter than ever.

"Okay. Are you comfortable doing it naked since you're already... naked?" She laughs, and Harry smacks his forehead. "Sorry. God, I'm so nervous. You're making me feel like a teenager all over again."

Silence lingers long enough for him to finally gain the courage to glance at Sawyer. She locks eyes with him, then slowly, almost teasingly, lets the duvet drop and pool around her waist. Harry's mouth goes dry as he takes in skin he's never fully seen before. She's soft, shapely, and undeniably tempting.

Sawyer crawls on her hands and knees until she's straddling his lap. She still has her underwear on, lace boy shorts that hug her hips deliciously well. With blood rushing to his brain (and other places), his reaction is a bit delayed until his hands eventually find their place on her waist. He's breathing deeply, nostrils flaring as he ravenously wonders how she will look naked underneath him, pleasure etched on her face.

"You're divine," Harry whispers while toying with the flimsy hem of her underwear.

"So are you," she replies, rubbing a coquettish hand down his chest. "Hey, let's maybe skip the kissing part? I'm kind of impatient."

"Damn, all right. We're diving straight in."

She presses her body against his torso and hooks her arms around his neck. "I want to feel you. I've dreamed about it."

A desperate groan sounds in his throat. "You're lying."

"I'm not. Then I'd wake up, and you'd be kissing me like you knew exactly what I needed. And your hands would get so close to where they were in my dream, but never close enough."

"Yeah? Where were my hands in your dream?"

Her eyes flutter shut as if she's recalling the fantasy. "Mm... everywhere. Warm and heavy between my thighs. Sliding up my stomach." A lazy, sensual smile creeps onto her lips as she adds, "Around my neck."

Harry is tired of waiting a second longer. He flips her over so he's on top, his silver necklace with the "S" pendant swinging over her collarbones like a pendulum. "Let me make you feel good. I'll give you the real deal."

Sawyer twists the chain around her pointer finger and tugs him closer. "Please. I want it more than anything."

"Dig your heels into my back," he instructs before shuffling down her body until his head is lined up with her thighs.

She complies, and the pressure on his shoulder blades makes him choke on a moan. Her bent legs effortlessly fall open, granting him access to the single layer of fabric that comes between him and paradise. He stares at her from his position, his hands hooking around her knees. She stares back at him, a vehement fire in her eyes.

"It's all yours."

Her readiness is enough for him to lose his last shred of self-control. He leaves a suckling love bite on her inner thigh, then murmurs, "Lift your hips for me."

She raises the lower half of her body, and Harry slides her underwear off. She assists him when it reaches her ankles by kicking it across the bedroom. He focuses back on the inviting sight before him. A shiver trails down his spine when he takes two of his fingers and circles them around her entrance. She's dripping wet.

Sawyer's jaw goes slack as she scratches her nails across the expanse of Harry's sturdy back. He hisses past his clenched teeth, loving the luxurious burn. Tingling and tantalizing sensations course through his system as he tests the waters, slowly sinking his middle finger past her drenched opening. He vigilantly gazes into Sawyer's eyes the entire time, gauging her expressions for the faintest flicker of pain or unease.

"Talk to me," he says.

"It stings a little, but keep going."

"You're doing good. So, so good. Tell me if it's too much, okay?"

She nods with a raspy whine, so he adds another finger, then uses his thumb to press against her clit and rub halo shapes onto it. Her thighs tremble and tighten around his head, with tiny gasps escaping past her lips. He leaves bruising, biting kisses on her skin as he skillfully works his fingers, which are now soaked with her arousal. Filthy thoughts invade his fuzzy brain—thoughts of dreams he's had himself. Vivid images of doing what he's doing right now, except they'd always be cruelly cut short by the breaking of dawn.

Harry grinds his hips into the mattress, alleviating the ache, while his kisses move closer to where his fingers are. Sawyer's panted breaths motivate him to ask, "Do you want my mouth?"

"Yes, please. Eres tan bueno conmigo."

The foreign praise rolling off her tongue enchants him enough to dive into her sweet, sticky heat. He laps up her wetness like melted candy; the taste is dangerously addictive. He hums insatiably, his palms spreading on her lower stomach as he swirls his tongue inside of her. His cheeks are ablaze with sex drive as his eyes train themselves on Sawyer's face. Soft, sensual sounds trickle out of her mouth, fueling the intensity with which he pleasures her.

Pulling away for air, Harry whispers, "I can't get enough of you," before replacing his mouth with his fingers. They slide past her clenching walls so enticingly, so perfectly.

"Harry," Sawyer moans, fisting his hair and tugging at the strands. "I'm almost there. It's so strong."

He removes all body contact while sucking his fingers clean, then catapults off the bed to quickly grab a condom before she loses her approaching climax. He sifts through his duffel bag, finding the box he secretly packed in case something happened on this trip. 

Maybe he manifested it. Or perhaps his girlfriend is simply braver than him.

Making his way over to the bed again (tripping on Sawyer's unplugged curling iron in the process), he bounces back on the mattress and hands her the foil package. Her skin is glowing with an angelic radiance, but sinfulness cracks through when she pushes on his chest to get him to lay back. She straddles him and rips open the package with her teeth. The arch of her back, the excitement in her movements, and the slickness of her arousal are all he sees. She has no idea how heavenly she looks.

Sawyer's fingertips walk down his abdomen and brush over his length, which is straining against his boxers. "Can I?" she asks politely, her eyes wondrous.

"Go ahead, sweetheart." Harry cradles her head and brings it down for a fond kiss, her hair tickling his face. "Feeling okay? Not in pain or anything, are you?"

She shakes her head. "No. I feel like I'm floating."

"Same here." He breaks into an aching smile, coming to the realization of how special this moment is. "I love you so much. I'm going to remember this forever."

"Me too." Sawyer slides his boxers off, their harmonious breathing mixing together. Harry's cock breaks loose and rests against his happy trail, reddened and throbbing. "Woah."

He laughs at her reaction. "Don't act so surprised. It's all your fault, baby."

She blushes and carefully rolls the condom on while Harry stifles his moans by biting his knuckles. He won't last very long, but he'll make it worthwhile for her. He'll take his time, just how she likes it. Soak her presence in. Slow sips.

He sits on his knees, then motions for Sawyer to recline and spread her legs. Once she's in position, he settles an arm on either side of her body and hovers over her. He tucks her hair behind her ears and leaves a hungry kiss on her lips. "Ready?"

"Yeah," she exhales. "You?"

"Totally."

"Change my life, sunray."

Grabbing the base of his cock, he lines it up with her entrance. He reminds himself to go slow as his tip sinks into her, and he keeps it there as he watches Sawyer's face. Her shiny lips are parted, and her eyebrows are pushed together. Her legs squeeze him while her hands hold onto his biceps. The muscles of her cheekbones twitch. God, she's an angel.

"I've got you," Harry says, a thrilling knot forming in the pit of his stomach. "Fuck, you were made for me."

He sinks further into her wet warmth, one hand grasping her leg to bend it more. She's tight, yet he's able to fit himself all the way in. Gasps leave both of their mouths at the feeling of him bottoming out, and it's like everything is moving in slow motion, the golden haze in the room adding to the delicacy of the moment.

"Mierda. Oh my God, Harry. Oh my..." Her fragile voice, leaking with whispery weeps, shatters his poise as he begins thrusting in and out. Sawyer's limbs are weak, her feet slipping down to the dip of his spine. It's all hot breath and swallowing each other's noises with sloppy kisses. Being inside her is a level of intimacy that electrifies every part of his soul. It's unfamiliar territory that binds him closer to the girl he wants forever. The orange flames they stepped around for years are now a cool, sapphire-blue.

Their hips reconnect with each thrust, a beautiful sound fused with their satisfied moans. Harry's pendant sways forward, his neck straining. Sawyer's nails pierce crescent moons onto his back, followed by more scratches that make him shudder.

"Goddamn," he chokes out, his cheek pressed against hers. "You feel stellar. I'm close. Give me... Christ, give me something to dream about."

"I'm there," she says. "I love you. I can't hold it any longer."

"Let it go, Sawyer. C'mon."

Arching her back off the mattress, she orgasms with a cry of release, and the vision of her has Harry immediately spilling out into the condom. It's powerful, otherworldly, and absolutely life-changing. He pulls out and lays on top of her, embracing her in a hold of overwhelming adoration as he whimpers into the pillow beside her head. They both melt into each other, sweaty and happy, coming down from their individual climaxes.

Every minute that passes, the room grows darker due to the moon painting the sky black with stars. Only the wind and their breathing fill the space, with cool and heated gusts reciprocating. Harry can feel Sawyer's lips against his temple, curving up with a smile every so often. He's got a permanent smile as his fatigued gaze stares at the ring on her finger. He feels like sunshine is bursting from his pores and serotonin is being absorbed.

Sawyer is the first to move. She uses her remaining strength to get up and tightly wrap the sheets around her naked body before stepping out onto the balcony. With the door open, he can see the full moon illuminate the expanse of the flat desert, with cacti and palm trees looming as far as the eye can see. The lack of humidity at night causes a balmy breeze to encircle her body, whipping her tousled hair.

"Can I tell you a secret now that we've had sex?" Harry asks from his place on the bed. His voice is sore and hoarse.

Sawyer turns around and bites her lip with a giddy grin. "Shoot."

He disposes of his condom, then puts his boxers back on and joins her, not caring about the chilliness. He still feels warm inside and out. "Do you remember our phone call last September when I was in South Carolina with a broken wrist?"

A flash of remembrance crosses her moonlit face. "Yeah. I was so worried about you."

He cradles her cheeks and pertly kisses her nose. "You took such good care of me when I got back."

It's the absolute truth. All the tagalongs to physical therapy, icing his wrist while cuddled on the couch, being a shoulder to cry on when he got frustrated—he couldn't have done it without her.

"I hated seeing you in pain," she says, looping her arms around his torso. "It hurt my heart."

"Never mind that." He inhales deeply and pushes forth his confession. "You... when you said you missed me during that call, a feeling came over me. Something in your voice made me weak. And something happened to me that had never happened before. I don't even know why I'm telling you—"

"Spit it out, Harry."

His head tilts back as far as it can go. "Fuck's sake. I got hard, Sawyer. Your voice made me hard."

Her mouth hangs wide open. A well-timed gust of wind passes like an awkward moment in a cartoon. "Um, wow. I'm not really sure how to respond to that."

"You don't have to say anything. I just thought you should know now that we've done the deed."

Sawyer giggles, hiding her face in the space between his pecs. "First off, please don't call it that." She looks at him and continues, "Secondly, you thought I should know that you got hard in South Carolina?"

He starts laughing, too. It's contagious around her. "I should also probably tell you that I jerked it out in a crummy Holiday Inn shower. It was quite pathetic and sad."

She sputters out a boisterous cackle that echoes across the barren desert. Harry's cheeks flush instantly. "I appreciate your honesty."

"On a more serious note," Harry starts, gripping the balcony railing with one hand, the other on her hip, "I appreciate how you forced a confession out of me the next day. I don't know if I've ever told you that."

Her expression turns sorrowful. "I didn't mean to pressure you. It had been building up inside me for so long, and you looked so beautiful that night. My heart spoke for me, and—"

Harry cups her jaw and kisses her unexpectedly, making her squeak. It reminds him of that night in the rain when his blue raspberry lips collided with hers for the first time. He pulls away slowly, fitting his nose over her own and swaying her slightly. "You did everything right. I was a coward who was frightened of rejection. The thought of ruining what we already had was nauseating."

"You thought I would've rejected you?"

"I never really know what you're thinking. That pretty brain of yours holds so many secrets."

Sawyer steals a ripe kiss. "Can I tell you one right now?"

"Always."

She kisses him again before saying, "I see forever with you. I want to wake up in your arms every day. I want to laugh with you until our sides ache. I want to kiss you until I get dizzy."

"Sawyer," Harry whispers, his eyes softening.

"I mean it. No one will ever make me feel this type of love again."

"I feel the same. You're all I need."

"Te quiero. Mi alma es tuya."

He nips her neck, slow and tender. "If you keep speaking Spanish to me, we're not getting any sleep tonight."

"Sí? Quieres más rasguños en la espalda?"

"Gonna tell me what that means?"

She gracefully traces the tattoo on his abdomen and says, "I can show you instead."

Harry's stomach suddenly grumbles with hunger, ruining the intimate moment. He peers at the twinkling sky above and laughs at the inconvenient interruption. "I would love that, but I'm absolutely starving right now. We skipped dinner."

"There are cold peppers on the stove."

"Delicious," he says sarcastically, shifting his gaze to her again. A few seconds pass before something he wants to mention pops into his thoughts. "Hey, did you know this month marks five years since we first met?"

Sawyer gapes at him, genuinely surprised. "No way. Five years?"

"Crazy, right? Five years since you almost gave me a concussion."

"I still feel terrible about that," she admits with a pout.

Harry remembers everything about that day, even when his brain got jolted by a killer volleyball serve by the prettiest girl on Cocoa Beach. Her brown eyes were up close, holding gentle concern for a stranger. That sassy hand on her hip thing she still does today. Clementine fabric against caramel skin. Orange juice in a bottle. Summerboy.

"But if that never happened," he says quietly, "then we might've never spoken to each other."

Her dreamy hum tells him she's musing about it too. "That's true. Isn't it mind-blowing how the tiniest of decisions can affect the entire course of your life? I like to think that every past choice of mine led me to you."

He admires the way her voice gets wispy when her mind wanders. "Word. Does post-sex make you all philosophical and shit?"

She shrugs. "Maybe."

"Cool." Harry backs away while holding her hands until their fingers eventually slip from each other's grasp. "Well, while you brood about Plato's teachings, I'm going to snack on your world-famous half-cooked peppers."

"Have fun with that."

"I will. Love you." Halfway through the doorway, he suddenly stops and rushes forward, giving her a suffocating hug, his lungs breathing everything about her. "All jokes aside," he murmurs, "I also believe everything I did brought me to you. And it just makes sense to be in love with you. Okay, bye."

He's off and running toward the kitchen before she can say anything else, not even the shadows of night on the floor being able to darken the natural luminescence he leaves behind.

——

[typellblog]

So I've been thinking about Illya's gender and it occurs to me that one of the core tensions of her characterisation is that she identifies with the things that entrap her.

Take, for example, Berserker. Despite loving him like a father figure his summoning causes her immense pain. He cannot perform the role of father, cannot gently hold her as she wishes, as a result of his insanity.

Instead he becomes a living reminder of her duty as a Master, his existence sustained entirely by the Grail that is her objective. He cannot live outside of the Holy Grail War and his role as a killing machine, just as she cannot while he still exists.

It is only in the moment of his death that he is able to speak with his own voice.

It is only after his death that Illya is willing to give up on the Grail war, because despite her lack of attachment to the whole thing I think she persists in it because of a sense of duty towards Berserker, who was summoned for that purpose.

It is hard to imagine a happy ending for Illya without Berserker in it, but it is almost impossible to imagine one where he is still there.

Take, for example, Berserker's madness. It's a formless, causeless rage, merely added by the Grail system. Illya is the one that shapes this formless rage into lethal violence. Illya is the one that has a justified grievance, a reason to resent the world that made her.

Shirou, in the Fate route, thinks Illya isn't suited to the violence & considers the possibility that someone else is making her do it.

He is half right - she was literally made to do it, tortured into becoming a better killer, but that doesn't change the fact that every day she wakes up in the morning and chooses violence of her own will. How could she not? She has nothing else.

Take, for example, the winter. Illya loves the snow but hates the cold. She 'gets used to' the frigid conditions in which she was raised without ever really adjusting to them, but nonetheless fully embraces the aesthetic sensibility of the Einzberns - the whiteness of her hair, the foreignness of her outfit, her resemblance to a 'snow fairy' that Shirou points out on multiple occasions are all a delight to her.

Take, for example, her age. She looks younger than she actually is because of human experimentation. Her immaturity is only natural considering her upbringing. But she leans into it. She calls Shirou onii-chan. Which one is the real Illya? Does she want to be seen as the older sister or the younger one? The answer, as always, is both.

Take, for example, the castle. It's a symbol of wealth and yet also, for Illya, a symbol of restriction and isolation. She wasn't allowed outside. She could have as many toys as she wanted as long as she remained compliant. In the Fate route she feels much freer when she abandons the Einzbern residence and comes to live in the Emiya household, and yet in Hollow Ataraxia her primary scenes still take place in the castle.

Of course they do. She's a princess. The fancy clothes, the manners, the gardens and the ballroom, the wine cellar and the dining hall, all these are as much a part of Illya as anything else. Even when she's free to act as she wants there's no reason to expect her to abandon them.

Take, for example, the maids. She says she wants to like them, but struggles to do so. It's not a surprise when it comes to Sella, who reveres her like a saviour while at the same time her job is to make sure she completes the Third Magic. It's not a surprise when it comes to Leysritt, who loves Illya more than she loves herself - because in a sense Illya is herself, she exists only to be fused with Illya and complete the Third Magic.

Which is really the crux of this whole thing, isn't it. Illya's character arc is about being forced into this role of the Holy Grail, and when it comes time to do so in the Heaven's Feel route she does so willingly. Shirou has a wish, and she grants it. But not as some impersonal vessel of a higher power, not to fulfill the Einzberns' ambitions, but to grant her own wish, of being someone who can protect the people she loves.

So, yeah, when I think about Illya's gender, I think about the expectations they had for her. I think about how even if she was born with male genitalia they likely would have done something to make her closer to their ideal reproduction of Justeaze. I think about how her clothes would be picked out for her, I think about how she would be educated in the correct mannerisms.

I think about how some people (including myself) have talked about the idea of Illya being transgender, and I think about what that would even mean in this context.

The idea that she was born in a different body and embraced this one purely of her own free will doesn't sit right with me, but neither does the idea that if given some freedom she would reject her prior gender presentation. Honestly I think the best label for her, if we had to give one, is AFAB transfem.

But that's the core tension for me, when it comes to Illya. I want to alleviate her suffering, but taking that too far just ends up with a different person entirely (e.g. Fate/Kaleid)

That's why it's important to remember that traits like viciousness, childishness, aristocratic mannerisms, doll obsession, miraculous powers and resemblance to the masterwork of an ancient line of alchemists are not just key aspects of Illya as a character, they're also things that she likes about herself.

In one way or another.

[paeliae-occasionally]

Character Intro!

Thanks for the tag @theink-stainedfolk

I have done this for Xaeren here so this time we are doing Marsh.

Marsh

Name: Marsh Atyros

- Nickname: None

- Age: 27

- Sex: Male

- Appearance: He is tall with short silver white hair and an elated smile that is terrifying to anyone who knows him. Unlike his brother Daimion, he has very few scars and even fewer are visible. He is very strong with semi-muscular arms which have much more useable strength than is visible. He is also strangely flexible and double jointed so he can do that thing where you only bend the first section of your fingers down while the rest of the finger is straight. Dai always hated it when he did that.

- Occupation: Incarcerated. About to escape to have a fun wander around the countryside with his brother. (Dai does have more of a goal)

- Family Members: His mother is still alive but he hasn’t spoken to her since she sent them to join the military. He never really knew his dad, only that he left when marsh was young. He has a brother Daimion, who might be the only life he values at this point.

- Pets: None.

- Best Friends: Daimion. He also knows a few people in prison well enough to not kill them, but that doesn’t really count.

- Describe his room: Well his prison room is maximum security so just a toilet, a bed and a sink and his knives. (They have struggled to take them off him, but it always ends up with a too many dead prison guards for them to justify trying again.)

- Way of Speaking: He speaks playfully and honestly. He doesn’t like lying, it is a moral boundary for him, he never lies if he can avoid it. Marsh is actually the happiest character I have written in a long time and speaks with that joy.

- Physical Characteristics (Posture, Gestures, Attitude): He stands straight and never sits on chairs correctly, always lounging in positions that look incredibly uncomfortable but he assures you it is much better than just sitting normally. His military training shows in his natural posture but he actively tries to move away from that, preferring instead to move fluidly.

- Items in his Back Pocket/Purse: A butterfly knife to spin dramatically, a larger pair of knives for actually fighting, and a stiletto knife for vibes. (This was taken from him when he was sent to jail but as soon as he gets out, he acquires a new one)

- Hobbies: He exercises, a couple of murders here and there, he throws knives, spins a butterfly knife, is altogether bored and tries to provoke the guards outside his cell in any way possible. This has included singing to them.

- Favourite Sports: Well knife throwing is a sport… still deciding whether he has guns. Probably yes.

- Abilities/Talents/Powers: Marsh is built to be deadly. He takes life without regret, and greatly enjoys the process. As such he has a lot of practice from a life of killing lawfully in the military then a life of killing illegally when he was kicked out. He is very good at it.

- Relationships (How they are with other people): He is very loyal to Dai and deeply cares for him but is adamant that just embracing the psychopathic tendencies will help, Dai does not agree.

- Fears: Dai being overcome by guilt.

- Faults: None <3 (He is overconfident and stubborn)

- Good Points: He is loyal, honest and very talented with a variety of weapons. He also has a long memory.

- What they want more than anything else: Life to continue as it is, preferably with Dai at his side.

Tagging @drchenquill, @saturnine-saturneight, @tildeathiwillwrite, @phoenixradiant, @thecomfywriter

[auspex]

VtM Fangfest 2024 Prompt 9: Strength

Hello! Here is my ninth fic for Fangfest 2024 :) I am fallin' behind but still writing!!!

All my fics will be about characters that are previously established, so you might not have context for everything mentioned or hinted at within :( Feel free to reach out to ask I love explaining!

I've never really posted my writing before so be kind!

my first fic is here

my second fic is here

my third fic is here

my fourth fic is here

my fifth fic is here

my sixth fic is here

my seventh fic is here

my eighth fic is here

This fic is about Eden! Eden was a character i made for a game that unfortunately died after session one. She uses she/him pronouns (mostly she, but likes he as well) anddddd god i love her so much. He was a firefighter in life. She's a lasombra embraced into the Camarilla after they defected. He's a known corpse <3 he eats people who won't be missed <3 She has SELF ESTEEEEEM ISSUESSSS and she is super gay. Yeah.

EDIT: ALSO SHOUT OUT TO @dykeferatu AS THEIR OC PEYTON IS IN HERE FOR A BIT :D they were gonna be a player with me

I wanted this piece to be longer but wanted to post it... so maybe i'll continue this later!

Eden still liked the crunch of her boots on the snow, even if the icy feel of wind on her face wasn’t as sharp now, since she was cold too. He missed how the cold made everything come into focus, though to be fair, his senses were far stronger now than they ever had been when he was alive. That she liked. 

What she did not like was having to report to her fucking sire, Dante. 

Up the stairs to the his porch. She hated how this old wooden building looked like a stereotypical vampire mansion. She hated how she was hand delivered letters like it was the goddamn 18th century. She hated Dante, ordering her around like she was a child. 

But most of all, she hated herself for just going along with it.

It wasn’t time to think about that though. Bang on the door, yell “I’m here,” wait for his ghoul to open up. 

And there he was, the sniveling pathetic man. “Good evening, Miss Cheng.” God, could he be any more stereotypical, always insisting on ‘miss.’ 

“I’m here, so it could be better.”

His lip curled, shifting his graying mustache. “Certainly. Come in, Master Dante is ready.” 

Eden was already walking in the door. 

Dante’s haven had shockingly modern furniture for his age; probably because he was feral in the woods with the Sabbat less than a decade ago, and only recently joined society. Eden’s lips curled in distaste upon passing the foyer; he had bought more wine that he did not drink. What a joke. She made a note to ask him sometime if he even remembered what alcohol tasted like. 

Eden made a point to stomp wet snow and mud on the rug specifically on the way to his office. The door was open, and she swung it open without a second thought. 

“Sup.” 

“No knock today?” Dante gave his standard asshole grin and ran his hand through his hair as he replied. “Sit down.” 

Eden did as he was told, and said nothing. He hoped that Dante didn’t know what ‘sup’ meant and was just refusing to ask. 

Wait, oh my god. Was that another skull on his desk. 

“Is that another skull?”

“How observant, Miss Cheng. Yes, it is.” 

Eden almost spat on his desk at that; he hated being called miss. Second time tonight. However, he had previously told her not to spit in his office. She gave him a tight smile instead as he continued. 

Dante picked up the skull and looked at it, holding it just above eye level, as if he was in a goddamn theater. “This fellow is actually what I am here to talk to you about tonight. Can you feel it, Eden?” 

Eden sucked in her breath, stalling as he tried to come up with a witty reply. Failing that, she just said “no.” 

Dante’s grin never faltered. “Not surprised, you are certainly not a natural.” Bastard. “Look at this skull. Deep into its eyes. It’s a surprisingly strong fetter, even you should be able to discern this. Take it.” 

Eden took it, though she felt absolutely nothing. 

“You shall show this to Peyton, and request their sire take a look at it.”  

Peyton’s mysterious sire. Dante was always asking about her, in a roundabout way, though Eden had no idea why he was so fixated on her. “And what’s in it for you?”

“Promise them more where that came from if they teach you how to feast upon its energies. Do not show Anisha until Peyton promises you something, even if they cannot commit to fully teaching you.” 

“What.” 

“What is the confusion?” 

“You want me to ask them to teach me to feed off of energy? Huh? Isn’t our whole deal that we eat blood and only blood?”

“Eden, you sound like a fool.” 

“No, you do, what the hell dude. Vampire 101” 

“I’ve told you not to curse. It’s disrespectful. Now, do as I said”

Eden stood up abruptly, and stalked off without a word. She almost punched the ghoul when he tried to get the door for her. 

“Miss Cheng, you may want a bag for the, erm, skull.” 

“Don’t fucking call me that.” He stuffed the skull under his armpit, mostly hiding it, and headed out. 

Time to text Peyton, or whatever. It was difficult to do with one hand. 

“Hey need to talk to u got somethin”

Eden was not about to carry this thing around all night. He stalked back to the apartment complex where he had been making his haven recently. It was a good hour long walk, and the skull was already digging uncomfortably into her. 

She gritted her teeth and continued. 

~

In her current, temporary as usual, apartment, she set the skull casually on the kitchen counter. Seeing Peyton hadn’t texted back, he pulled up a stool and stared at this skull. 

It looked like a regular skull, not much notable about it. It was fairly white, so couldn’t be that old. Eden reached out and rubbed the top of it, trying to tap into well, something, but there was nothing. No energy, or whatever. At least not to her. 

Eden had only turned on one light; the room was dim and shadowy. Closing her eyes for a moment, she gathered the shadows around her - something she usually did to stalk prey in the middle of the night. 

Now, looking at her hand, or rather, trying to - it was cloaked in shadow - she lifted the skull once again, unintentionally similar to how her sire did. 

He focused in. Were the shadows darker, or just in his imagination? 

As she waited for something, anything, her phone vibrated. Eden put the skull down. 

Peyton had replied, finally. 

“Ok i’m free”

“Cool im at apartment 109 come when ya ready” 

Guess she’ll just bullshit it. 

[forest-meadow]

The Barbarian Witch Pt 2

Images of childhood flashed behind Monet’s eyes as they slept. Dreams of the clan they were born into, the training that came with it- both for survival and to serve the clan- their discovery of herbs and the things they did, apprenticing with the clan healer, but most of all: Katsuki.

Katsuki had been as much a rival as a friend to Monet, in his own way. He was a bully at first, picking on anyone he deemed weaker than himself. At some point early in childhood, he had deemed Monet as such. It wasn’t until they knocked him on his ass during a sparring match- supervised, of course- that Katsuki deemed Monet as strong. Not as strong as him, of course. Even as a child, Katsuki had an abnormal strength to him. But strong enough that he stopped calling Monet weak as an insult. Instead, the term became a taunt to push them to their limits, to help them realize that they had more strength than they realized.

As they grew older, the pair became practically inseparable, the exception being when Katsuki had to go to his private lessons that were required for the next leader of their clan. During that time, Monet learned all they could of the natural remedies of the world around them. It wasn’t until Monet was sixteen that they crossed some invisible line and was banished for messing with the natural order of things.

“I’m coming with you,” Katsuki had said as Monet packed only the essentials.

They shook their head, braids swishing with the movement, “You’re the next clan leader. You’re needed here.”

“So are you!” he insisted, “I don’t care what the hag says. You’ve saved my life more than once with your weird plant shit.”

“And I’d gladly do it again,” they assured, “But the Chief has spoken, and we both know she will  not be moved,” they tucked a foraging knife into their boot, “She never liked me anyway.”

Katsuki grunted, “I don’t like it,” and spat on the ground outside their tent.

“Ours is not to like or dislike. Ours is only to obey. Until you become Chief, there’s nothing to be done about it,” Monet said matter-of-factly, “I’ll miss you.”

Katsuki scoffed and folded his arms across his chest, “Of course you will. I’m the best.”

Monet let out a little laugh and finished tying up their pack. They swung it over their shoulders and came to a stand, “Don’t get into too much trouble without me.”

He grinned, “Why would I do that?”

They rolled their eyes and pulled him into an embrace. Katuski froze for a moment before returning it.

“Stay out of trouble, brat,” he said into their hair.

Monet felt tears prick at their eyes, “No promises, asshole.” Their voice was wobblier than they would have liked.

He pulled away and held their arms at arms length, “Hey! Don’t go cryin’ on me now. You might be a pain in my ass, but you’re still a warrior. Remember that.” He pulled away and pulled something out of a pocket.

Monet looked down at his hands and saw a dagger held in them. Not just any dagger, but the one he’d been carrying with him since it had been given to him at the age of ten.

“Katsuki, no. I can’t take this,” they said.

“Sure you can,” he shoved it into their hands, “Give it back to me when I find you.”

“When you find me?” they shook their head, “What do you mean?”

“You think I’m letting you get away that easy? You got another thing comin’, brat,” he said, “Soonest I can, I’m leavin’ the clan to come find you.”

“But you have responsibilities! You’re expected to be the next chief!” Rain protested.

Katsuki shrugged, “Never been my thing anyway.”

All Monet could do was look at him in bewilderment. 

He chuckled, “Be careful out there, dumbass,” and left Monet to finish packing.

[southshoretides]

Type of Guy Who Fears The Void

On the object level, I think this DeBoer piece correctly identifies a certain type of person (aging white man who self-consciously and showily hates all aging-white-guy pop culture in favor of trying to stay hip), but as the commenters implicitly/explicitly point out, that type of guy is concentrated among the east-coast-grad-educated-tastemaker-social-media-part-time-writer set, i.e. Freddie's milieu, which he often tricks himself into believing is the only milieu in the world. Go to any bar in the Midwest and poll the natives on BTS-vs-Pearl Jam and you'll get different results. (Freddie is of course interminably contrarian relative to whatever his local milieu is, and if fate had brought him to Kansas instead of Brooklyn, he'd be the most red-tribe-hating, pining-for-Brooklyn's-loving-embrace guy on the internet.)

But the meta level of "People recognize that the world naturally puts them in stereotypical boxes and either fight to escape that or wholeheartedly embrace it" is something I think about a lot. That first paragraph was all about different Types of Guy, and that's all it is these days, isn't it? Type of guy, type of guy, type of guy. A whole generation of internet-raised autists can pinpoint your political beliefs based on how you dress or what kind of car you drive. "Guy who makes youtube videos while driving his SUV and wearing wraparound sunglasses" is a different type of guy than "Guy who insists that Carly Rae Jepsen is the best songwriter of the 2010s" but they are politically and culturally opposite Types of Guy, even though there's no rule that says Democrats can't drive SUVs or Republicans can't like Carly Rae Jepsen. But the trend-lines are strong enough that people notice anyway.

@max1461 occasionally gripes about how quickly and thoughtlessly people transpose is-statements with ought-statements, or in other words, take objective factual data about something and try to force it into a prefab narrative. And it certainly is annoying, but to an extent it's like making fun of cavemen for thinking every rustle of grass is a tiger. That's what their environment is giving them, and it's what their brains adapt for. What our environment is giving us is an endless parade of people who eagerly and effusively promote their political and cultural opinions, and eagerly and effusively identify those opinions with such and such group, so no wonder it's so easy for even an amateur to unearth a Type of Guy. No wonder you can look at someone with a Roman-statue avatar and predict with reasonable accuracy his thoughts on young women who dye their hair. And I think this is something the internet makes worse, not better.

I think any objective accounting of the situation would have to conclude that it's easier to be an eccentric in 2023 than in 1993. The internet has allowed weird people to find each other, talk to each other, understand each other and themselves in a way that simply didn't exist before. At the very least, you don't get that "Am I the only human on earth who's like this?" feeling. And the cheap, Hallmark version of diversity/eccentricity is still a popular cultural value: those wall-hangings and birthday cards your aunt buys say "Be Yourself: Everyone Else is Taken", not "Yourself sucks, Be Someone Else." No one wants to be seen as the stodgy, bitter old fart. Part of it, I'm sure, is a cultural thing--Americans seem to obsess over individuality and being one's truest self more than others.

And yet...there's also this ambient sense that eccentricity-in-itself has been devalued in 2023 relative to 1993, at least in my circles. Everything from eccentric tastes in art ("What are you, some kind of hipster filmbro?"), sex ("Of course I'm sex-positive but weird creepy shit doesn't count!") or politics ("You don't really think that, you're just being edgy.") People who value weirdness and eccentricity for its own sake feel hemmed in by people who either openly see it as a threat to their own culture's local hegemony. A lot of the internet really does seem to live by the 'nail that sticks out gets hammered down' and sees that as a good thing. Seems paradoxical.

(For the record, I'm not laying the blame here at any particular subculture. Conservatives blather on about freedom and liberty and then say anyone who refuses to lick an HOA's balls is a dangerous subversive. Progressives say everyone is valid and beautiful and then plaster their spaces with various 'freaks DNI' equivalents, 'freak' status being determined by vibe-centric whisper campaigns. Liberals will Celebrate Diversity up to and no further than the point where it damages quarterly profits. No "name" group is immune to this, really, but certain subgroups are.)

A theory: the normie-weirdo ratio isn't particularly different than it used to be, but the way they interact is different. In the pre-internet days, the weirdos were well aware they were weird, and in having to navigate normie-land with psychological armor on, at least they might come to understand it somewhat. Now, for those who want it, there's an unending stream of validation and insistence that you're perfect the way you are. Without shading into the "can suffering be a good thing if it leads to change for the better?" argument, I think even people who are all-in on the answer being "no" have met at least one person defined by their self-actualization curdling into selfishness and narcissism, to the point where you can't understand how they function, in a way that is directly attributable to a having a stable of pseudonymous online enablers. That's a real phenomenon the way that "Shut up and repress, you freak" is a real phenomenon. They can both suck. They can even both suck in ways that make the other one worse.

The post-mainstream, pre-social-media 'Golden Age' of the internet was when it was basically a playground for weird people. Now everyone's on it by necessity, the weirdo-in-a-small-town dynamics are back, but now the whole world is the small town with the added "no one can ever really escape for good" dynamics of the internet tracking and recording and monetizing every aspect of human interaction.

The weirdos who are old enough to remember when the internet was their turf close ranks and start watching each other for the first signs of Turning Normie--itself something that's antithetical to actually following one's own star and drawing from whatever cultural tradition you find satisfying. The weirdos who aren't old enough grin and bear it because "you're constantly being judged by everyone" is just normal life for them. The stuff that's so popular that liking it puts you in the biggest box possible will benefit; stuff that was never gonna be popular under any circumstances will keep trucking. It's the cultural middle class, as usual, that suffers the most. Again, as I keep emphasizing, this cultural panopticon being both unending and global is unprecedented in human history.

I really think a lot of current cultural neuroses are due to this, although I can't really prove it and don't have the resources to research it. This sense of modern technology revealing to people how fundamentally uninteresting they are and rebelling against it explains a lot to me--the tendency of people to ideologically self-sort to narrower and narrower levels, the uncanny ability of observers to categorize even the relatively-novel versions of those self-sorts, the tendency of some people to just give up and openly embrace everything the hivemind says about them, "be yourself" as a zombified and omnipresent cultural meme when millions of people are struggling existentially with exactly that, every culture absorbing ambient victim-mentality and thinking they're the only right-living people in a world gone mad, the 'cultural class' getting deeper and deeper into objectively-adolescent pop-cultural obsessions and lashing out at the idea they should try something more challenging, the aging-out-of-relevance hipsters Freddie discusses being mortified by the idea of being perceived as exactly that.

The problem, for me at least, is that I understand there is a way out, and if anything it feels worse. I may be a bit younger than the type-case Freddie describes, and am not in an industry where I have to constantly prove my relevance to myself and others, but I am doing the opposite of aging gracefully. Instead of constantly trying to convince my social circle (I don't have a social circle) that having the political, cultural, and artistic preferences of a 21-year-old means I still am one at heart, I engage in the much-healthier practice of spending every waking moment fantasizing being 21 or 18 or, shit, even 14 again. I know nobody really likes getting older. I also think that if everyone was as obsessive and self-loathing about it as I am, society would cease to function. My regrets and pining are definitely unhealthy, obsessive and all-consuming, but I don't really talk about them because there's no way it ends other than "Yeah, that sucks."

But a lot of the people in Freddie's comment section are saying things like "Once I realized I was fundamentally unimportant and my opinions didn't really matter, I could get down to raising my kids/doing my job, which matters more than my feelings." And maybe ten years from now I'll be OK with that. Hell, maybe I'll actually have kids, unlikely as that sounds now. Right now that mindset sounds like a self-administered lobotomy. Maybe I'd be OK with it if I'd actually lived it up in my teens and twenties, tried to become an actual person and discovered what I like about myself, instead of just vaguely Following Rules and assuming there was a payoff to that. Maybe I'd accept that there comes a point in life where my destiny is to be a good parent/worker and that necessarily implies shaving off the hard bits of your personality. Or maybe even the people who were good at being young struggle with getting old. Maybe our cultural/technological moment is just making that a struggle for everyone. Guess I'll never know.

But as we creep closer to no one's parents, then no one's grandparents, remembering a world without the eternal and all-consuming Now of the internet, I suspect I won't be the only one aging with a complete lack of grace, and I suspect we as a culture are completely unprepared to deal with it.

[apolloabrams]

THE BASICS

name: apollo edward abrams birthdate and age: 1st august 1980 (40) birthplace: london, uk gender and pronouns: cis male, he/him nationality: greek/english power: fire breath

THE APPEARANCE

height: 6'/1.83m hair color: brown, plenty of white hairs eye color: brown (left), white and blind (right) scars: severe burn scars mostly on his right side, they begin on his upper thighs and spread up his torso, down his arms and all the way to his neck and jaw, with a few spots on his face as well tattoos: icarus falling on his left ribcage

THE BACKGROUND

home: lived between london, athens and los angeles family: elias abrams (father), talia watkinson-abrams (mother), -name tbd- (husband) occupation: heir to the abrams shipping company, model, life enjoyer languages: bilingual english/greek, fluent french

FULL BIOGRAPHY

tw drugs, eating disorders, motor accident

They say you were born with a smile that could change the world, but honestly, why would you want it changed? The only son and sole heir of the empire that is your father’s company, going back almost a century of Greek shipowning tradition, your future and fortune is set for life. Your last name carries billions, but your parents still parade you around like you are their most prized possession- they name you after the god of the sun, and shining comes naturally to you.

Your father teaches you that money is power. Your mother, who everyone says you take after, shows you that looks can be just as disarming. You learn that charm is like gasoline in the fire that genetics graced you with, so by the time you hit adulthood you can recite Shakespeare from memory just as easily as you can bench press double your weight, and just as perfectly.

Because perfect is all you allow yourself to be. You worship your beauty like a god, a wrathful and granting and punishing one. Every hour at the gym, every calorie counted, every classic book reread to the point of revulsion, it’s seemingly worth it when you see your face on the cover of the most renowned magazines, when the public eye praises the young man you’ve become in issue after issue, post after post. 

Even when you start to slip up, break under the weight, your innate sense of damage control is in constant overdrive. You make yourself throw up every time you get too drunk, you only buy the best quality of drugs, your bodyguards are of the highest training to make sure you don’t embarrass yourself and your family by doing something stupid like accidentally overdosing.

You marry your first wife because your parents tell you you should. You marry the second one because your parents tell you you shouldn’t. You marry your husband out of love, the only person whose eyes you can look into and admire the color instead of using them as a mirror. He teaches you to enjoy things without worrying you are being constantly watched, buys you books that you don’t have to memorize, makes you dance and sing out of tune and tempo for once.

And then your life changes overnight. You can’t tell whose fault it was, you don’t even remember the minutes leading up to it anymore, but one moment you are on your motorcycle going home, the next there is fire, the next there is darkness. You wake up weeks later in a hospital in Switzerland, covered in bandages and tubes, burns embracing your thighs and torso, licking their way up to your neck and part of your face like branches of a hideous tree. One eye left white and unmoving. In a great irony, your award winning smile remains unscathed, as does the tattoo of falling Icarus on your ribcage, still there to remind you what happens when you fly too close to the sun.

You have to learn to walk again, those muscles you have worked so hard on left somewhere on that ICU bed. You have to learn to talk, your voice deep and uneven after the tube leaves your vocal cords. And amidst all that, you are alone. It’s only doctors and nurses and physiotherapists who refuse to answer your questions and you wonder if it’s so easy to be forgotten when you stop being perfect. 

The answer never comes. You wake up on the cruise ship and for a moment you wonder if it was all a bad dream. But you catch your reflection in the mirror and you see that whatever ‘before’ was, the bad found its way to ‘after’ just fine. Everything is new and unknown, and you are almost scared by how liberating it all feels.

HEADCANONS

A very possible scenario in his head is that he died from his injuries and the island is some sort of purgatory or afterlife.

He is trying to keep up the charming laid back persona that comes instinctively to him, but he is deeply insecure and scared that people will see right through his facade and judge him.

Even though the last few months of his time before the island were spent in a hospital/rehabilitation center, which was a rather humbling experience, he is still deeply spoiled and materialistic and misses his private jet and fancy wine cellar more than he would ever admit.

He is wearing a lot of turtlenecks in an effort to hide as much of his skin as possible, but probably won't be able to keep it up for much longer.

[jokerislandgirl32]

You self ship with the grinch? :O that’s so awesome and cool I’m happy for you guys!! Can’t wait to learn more about your ship with him! —CCFM

Thank you so much for this sweet and supportive ask! Sorry it took me a while to get to!

But, yessss! I do selfship with the Grinch!

This is a selfship I kept quiet about for a while, partly because of the strong hold Zach’s had/has on me, partly because of my ex’s reaction to finding out I liked Grinch a while back (it was not pleasant), and because I was trying to pursue an in real life relationship (haha, that endeavor is failing miserably)….But I’m now embracing my handsome green guy! So thank you, thank you, thank you soooo much for your support!

As of now I’m still in the beginning stages of figuring out the details of my ship with him. Originally, I wasn’t even going to create an official self insert, but after talking and brainstorming with my wonderful mutual and friend @creativegenius22 we’ve figured out a baseline for this self insert! Thank you so much for your help with this process and for being such an awesome friend!

So introducing….

Aurora Borealis Who

Image made with this picrew!

The tag for this s/i is her full name, #aurora borealis who, the tag for any grinch f/o stuff I post is #mr. grinch 💚, and the tag for the AU is #ribbons and bows au. I haven’t figured out a ship name for them yet, this is still in the works! If any of you have suggestions, please let me know!

Fun Facts about Aurora and how she met her wonderful Grinch are below the cut! This became wayyy too long, so consider it as something of a character ref sheet too I guess? lol, enjoy!

Age: 20s, probably early to mid 20s.

Apperance: Short, petite stature (she’s built like Donna, but is only as tall as Grinch’s chest). Long, Blonde hair styled with heart shape buns, parted bangs, and a little heart wisp; aquarium colored eyes, a cute little Who snout, earrings, pink clothing, and a white ribbon given to her by Grinch that she fashioned into a necklace.

Aurora is a fun, lovable, kind, compassionate, hyper Who that adores Christmas (like her Who counterparts).

Her parents named her after the natural phenomenon Aurora Borealis, since she was born in winter, specifically on December 22, the date of the Winter solstice.

Her father passed when she was a child resulting in her being raised by only her mother. Her other family members include, 🥁….Donna, Cindy Lou, and Buster and Bean Who! Donna is Aurora’s aunt and Cindy Lou and the twins are her cousins! They are related through Aurora’s father/Donna’s brother who passed.

She grew up taking initiative and learning to care for herself in order to help her mother out, resulting in her becoming a delivery Who for various companies throughout Whoville. Her real dream is to help take care of/teach children (hmm wonder how that might come into play later…).

This leads her into the arms, I mean clutches, I mean…into the lair…lol, of the Grinch! She is the only delivery Who that Grinch has not scared away. She persists and lets any insults thrown her way roll right past her.

Grinch and her first meet a couple years before the events of the movie when he needs parts delivered to his cave to repair some damage that resulted from one of his hating Christmas fits. After this they develop something of a friendship and he begrudgingly allows her into his cave every now and then as they grow to know each other/become friends.

When Grinch plots to share Christmas she notices an increase in deliveries to his cave, she questioned him about this, and he reveals his plans to steal Christmas because he feels he can trust her. It is at this point they start to have romantic feelings for one another.

Instead of getting angry with him she accepts it, she places her hand against his cheek and says, “if this is what you have to do to heal…I can’t judge you, and I won’t stop you.”

She hugs him kisses his cheek before she leaves, vanquishing any form of friendship they had and making them something more 🥰.

And…I think I’ll save the rest for future posts!

Their love song, by the way, is the inspiration for the AU name! It is Ribbons and Bows by Kacey Musgraves!

[evillittlebirdie]

The Lies We Want To Believe

Inspired by Daggers of the Mirror by ArtsyBecca.

Daggers of the Mirror is such a fantastic work of fiction. Please go read it. Also, we hold these truths to be self-evident. Gale is a chubby, indulgent bunny Gale is insecure about the aforementioned indulgence Gale uses a glamor spell.

There were few pleasantries in the world more pure than being in love.

At first, Gale was happy to find an educated, kindred spirit in Elisabeth. As slender and graceful as a willow, her body betrayed the amount of force Elisabeth could deliver with a single spell. He couldn't help but find Elisabeth cute when she engrossed herself in a book. Even if the book was found off a corpse or had a molded cover, Elisabeth struggled to let it go. She hoarded magical ingredients and flowers. Lavender was her favorite flower. When Gale offered to show Elisabeth his connection to the Weave, he knew he was planting a seed that could only be nurtured by Elisabeth's hand. He did not dare to think she would reciprocate. It was foolish to hope that guided him. But Elisabeth did return his interest. And even more.

Gale felt like a young man when he walked hand in hand with Elisabeth. Chaste kisses brought a blush to his cheeks every time. They made love in the Weave and physically. Elisabeth not only defended him against Mystra but empowered him. And not least of all, Tara absolutely adored Elisabeth. 

It was not all one-sided adoration. Elisabeth utilized Gale as her confidant. Gale could feel his heart skip a beat whenever Elisabeth asked for his input. 

Gale remembered entering the Gauntlet of Shar and Elisabeth suddenly freezing. She could not even talk or speak. Once Gale eliminated the possibility of enchantment or poison, Elisbath finally lifted her hand and pointed. It was the rats surrounding one of the alters to Shar. 

Later that night, Elisabeth shared with him her humble beginnings as a street urchin. She shared the days of hunger and sleeping in alleyways. She remembered waking up to vermin running through her hair and nibbling at her toes. Once Elisabeth revealed her fear of rats, she told him everything about her life. Gale held her as she shared finding a true family once she attended a school of magic; as she confessed falling in love with an older female sorcerer who let her feelings down easily; and as she revealed her hidden doubts about her leadership. 

After that long night, Gale and Elisabeth were closer than ever before.

Despite all of his misgivings and doubts, Gale admitted one last secret to Elisabeth. Gale brought her into his tent (or more aptly,  their  tent. It had been weeks since he slept alone). He twisted a plain silver ring on his right hand. He prefaced the action with an apology. Avoiding Elisabeth's confused expression, Gale pulled off his ring. Gale had utilized the glamor ring for years, especially since his age began to show. Without the glamor, his true body stood in front of Elisabeth. His hair was naturally grayer, his beard more rugged, and more noticeably, his true frame was nearly forty pounds heavier. He always had a weakness for rich food and decadent pastries. He had a penchant for snacking when he was studying. And the year he spent isolated in his tower did very little to help with keeping slim.

"I'll never take the ring off again. I just wanted you to know who you were truly with," Gale confessed, keeping his eyes away from her face. He couldn't bear to see her disgust. 

Instead of disdain or even polite rejection, Elisabeth just reached in and embraced Gale tightly. She buried her face in his chest and pleaded, "Wear it outside if it makes you feel comfortable, but please do not hide yourself from me."

Gale could have wept with joy. He had a beautiful, powerful woman who accepted him. She didn't need him to be a god. She didn't want him to hide his body. They shared the same interests, desires, and emotions. They were in love and nothing could tear them apart. 

Gale had to find a way to stabilize the Netherese orb and defeat the Absolute. Once the world breathed easy, he could begin the proper happily ever after. Wedding bells, cake, and flowers inclusive.

***

"Fantastic work today, soldier," Karlach praised, clapping her hand on Elisabeth's shoulder. 

Astarion rolled his eyes, "Yes, yes, praise the woman that hid back safely on a high ledge. Not the man who saved you from some brute bashing you in the skull," he feigned dismay, shaking his head in response.

"Oh, don't worry, I have full intentions on properly recognizing your efforts, pretty boy," Karlach grinned, winking her eye at Astarion. The pale elf returned her smile with a smug smirk before the two wandered off on their own. No doubt, Astarion would be thoroughly 'appreciated' by the end of the night. 

Lae'zel silently rolled her eyes at the pair before waving Elisabeth off. "Go mount your mate as well. You deserve to revel in your victory today."

Elisabeth chuckled at her companions' antics. As much as she enjoyed her company, there was someone else she would rather spend time with. "Good night, Lae'zel," She ended. She walked over to Gale's tent, seeing the flaps closed. She smiled endearingly. Maybe Gale had taken her advice and was resting. 

Typically, Elisabeth didn't like leaving camp without Gale by her side. But Gale deserved the break. Elisabeth was going after Guild thugs. Her magic was enough to ensure solid victory. Sometimes, having more than one magic user was a hindrance rather than an advantage. 

Elisabeth approached the tent and pulled the tent flap up, "Gale, sweetheart, I'm here-" Elisabeth stopped herself. Horror paled her face at the sight of... herself .

'Elisabeth' was straddling a shirtless Gale on his bedroll. He was unglamored. His silver ring was cast aside on the ground rather than safely put up. His eyes were closed tight and he was facing away from 'Elisabeth'. The double had Gale's wrists pinned above his head with one hand. With her other hand, she had a blade to Gale's cheek. 

"What in the hells?" Elisabeth shouted before taking her staff off her back. At the sudden yell, Gale opened his eyes and turned to face the tent's entrance. In doing so, his cheek cut against the doppelganger's blade. 

"Oh, here she is. Brave, brave adventurer back to save the damsel in distress," The replica responded with a mad laugh. Elisabeth's skin crawled at hearing her voice mimicked. The doppelganger's head twisted violently. Familiar ruby-red tones and pale skin appeared. And a devious laugh left the mouth of none other than Orin the Red. She pulled the knife from Gale's skin and ran her tongue along the bloodied blade. "Such as shame...If you only gave me a few more minutes, I could have made a  proper  damsel of him..." She cackled, disappearing in a shimmer before Elisabeth could brutally hit her with her staff. 

"Fucking bitch! I'll kill her," Elisabeth shouted angrily. She tossed her staff to the ground in frustration before rushing to Gale's side. 

Gale, who had shown every vulnerability to her, was unable to meet her gaze. Elisabeth placed her finger on the cut along his cheek. "Gods, look at that nasty wound. I need to get Shadowheart." She wanted nothing more than to pull Gale to her chest and never let go. But instead, she forced herself to move away.

But Gale reached up to grab Elisabeth's wrist. "Wait...I need my ring..."

Frustrated, not with Gale but with the situation, Elisabeth tried to pull her wrist away, "I'm very sure Shadowheart isn't going to mind-"

"Not without my ring," Gale insisted, his eyes darting around the floor of the tent. 

Elisabeth's eyes fell to the ground where the ring had fallen by the table. She picked it up and handed it over to Gale. The wizard let go of Elisabeth's wrist and quickly placed his ring back on. Elisabeth didn't wait to see the transformation; she just rushed to Shadowheart's tent.

"What's all the commotion? I thought I heard battle," Lae'zel stated her greatsword at the ready despite being out of her armor. She rushed to Elisabeth's side before her gaze moved to Gale's tent.

Even Astarion and Karlach had taken notice. Their weapons were at the ready. And if the situation was less serious, Elisabeth would have pointed out Astarion's backward shirt. 

"It's Orin, it was Orin..." 

It was all a blur. Finding Shadowheart and taking her to Gale's tent. It was only a flesh wound. And with Shadowheart's immediate intervention, there would be no scarring. Gale responded negatively to Shadowheart's question about additional physical wounds. 

Gale was present, but he didn't seem quite aware. He would answer yes or no questions, but otherwise, he was silent. He sat on the bedroll and kept his eyes on his lap. Once Elisabeth discussed with the group about Orin and increased defenses, she was able to speak to Gale alone.

"Gale, what happened?" Elisabeth asked before sitting down on the bedroll next to him. Gale was propped up by several pillows, encased in blankets. By this time of night, Elisabeth would have expected him to remove his glamor ring. It stayed on. 

Gale turned to look at Elisabeth, to truly look at her. He grimaced before Elisabeth felt the gentle probing of his tadpole. He wanted to show her something. Elisabeth nodded before she allowed the connection to form. 

***

Gale wasn't necessarily 'clingy'. He just felt out of place when Elisabeth left him back at camp. But he didn't complain. He gave Elisabeth a goodbye kiss and sent her off with Astarion, Lae'zel, and Karlach at her side. 

After preparing dinner for the members at camp, Gale retired to his tent with a cup of tea, two cinnamon buns, and a book on arcane cultivation. It would be enough to keep his mind busy until Elisabeth returned. 

It was after sunset when the tent flap wavered. Gale looked up from his chair in the tent and smiled at the sight of Elisabeth ducking in. "Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes," Gale beamed, setting the book on his desk. He got out of the chair and moved in to greet his lover. 

"I could say the same thing about you. My darling little pet wizard with his treats," Elisabeth cooed, gesturing over to the plate next to his glass of wine. Only a quarter of a cinnamon roll remained.

Gale chuckled good-naturedly before taking her hands in his own. He pressed his lips against her knuckles before kissing her lips. "Idling the hours away until I could see you again, my sweet."

"You like this, don't you?" Elisabeth hummed sweetly. She took her hands from his. She turned around and loosened the flap of the tent, giving them privacy.

"I love seeing you come back alive," Gale agreed with a nod before sitting down. 

"It's more than that. You like relaxing here, studying in safety, indulging in luxury, while I fight for us..." Elisabeth temped with a sly smile on her face, moving closer to him. 

Gale flushed as Elisabeth swayed with each step. Of course, she was instigating the prerequisite to a sensual game. "Well, I cannot deny the allure." 

"No, you cannot resist can you?" Elisabeth whispered. She moved to him, setting her hands on his knees. She began to spread them and Gale felt his heart jump. "My sweet little Gale, my sweet little lapdog, ready for me after a long day of...violence..." Gale couldn't help but notice the desire in her tone regarding 'violence'. It should have caused confusion or at least hesitation. But then Elisabeth suddenly cupped Gale's manhood through his trousers. The sudden sensation provoked a jerking motion and a thorough distraction from Elisabeth's manner. 

"Ah...not quite ready yet," Elisabeth huffed, referring to Gale's softness. "No matter."

"You're eager," Gale pointed out with a chuckle. It wasn't uncommon. They had planned lovemaking ventures. But due to their lifestyle, they often engaged in frenzied trysts. "Just give me a moment, love." 

"Well, of course...After today's bloodshed, I wanted nothing more than to find release with my Gale," Elisabeth murmured before she hooked her leg around Gale's waist. She pulled herself into his lap and kissed him warmly on his lips. Gale returned the kiss, sighing as his hands traveled along her back.

"The things I want to do to you," Elisabeth purred against his lips. She ended the kiss before she removed herself from Gale's lap. She gestured over to the bedroll. "Take off your shirt. Lie down." 

Gale nodded, his cheeks flushed with anticipation. He was not sure what his love had up her sleeve, but he was eager to partake in it. He walked over to the bedroll and took off his shirt. He folded the article of clothing neatly and placed it on top of the table near the bedroll. He lay down on his back, watching with a smile on his face as Elisabeth sauntered over to him. 

Elisabeth lowered herself to his body, straddling him. What a vision. "Ah, one more thing to remove..." She hummed quietly before she took Gale's hand. Gale's heart skipped a beat but he took a deep breath. Elisabeth knew what he looked like and she loved him and accepted him for it. Elisabeth removed the silver ring from his finger before promptly tossing it to the side. 

Gale winced as the ring disappeared somewhere on the floor of the tent. "Darling-"

"Oh, oh, oh, my. To see it in this light..." Elisabeth cackled demeaningly. The sound made Gale's blood run cold. The sound was so wrong to his ears. 

"Look at you, all plump and lazy. The picture of a spoiled scholar," Elisabeth mocked, a grin forming on her face.

"Ah...love, I don't know what type of game this is, but I'm not...I'm not a fan of it," Gale mustered out, his cheeks red from embarrassment and not arousal. 

"Game? Oh, he thinks we're playing a game? Oh if it were only a game," Elisabeth giggled out, her hand moving along his soft stomach. "I'm not playing a game." She pinched the side of his stomach, making him wince and turn.

"Eldritch," Gale stated firmly, pulling from her hand. He utilized their safe word. They came up with the safe word when Elisabeth utilized her strap. They never needed to use it outside of that context. But it had to apply in this situation too. She would stop this and he could shake off the crawling anxiety. 

But instead of ending this odd game, Elisabeth only laughed again. "As though you truly have any choice, any right to say no to my observations." Her hands and fingers traveled along his body, squeezing his skin. "Weak, useless, wizard...hiding off in his tent with his nose in a book, stuffing his face with pastries."

Gale attempted to sit up, but suddenly Elisabeth grabbed his wrists. She positioned them above his head and pressed down harshly. Surprised at her strength, Gale could only try to wiggle his way out. "El...Eldritch," He repeated desperately. Even though he knew she heard him, there was a small part that knew that Elisabeth would never purposely hurt him. 

"I heard you the first time, Gale. Do hush unless you have something important to say. Maybe someone else would like to speak for once, instead of hearing your inane, self-absorbed rambling. You're almost as bad as the elf. But at least he's a sight for sore eyes," Elisabeth criticized. She sighed, using her free hand to tap her lip, "Now...where was I..."

"You were exactly the type of person I hated growing up..." Elisabeth hissed at him, her nails digging into his wrists, "Privileged, spoiled, egotistical, power-hungry. Sitting fat and happy in their warm houses while people starved and froze in the streets. Craving power with no regard for the little people trampled in their midst."

Gale searched Elisabeth's face desperately. Something had to be wrong. But this was her voice, her words. Everything he feared was coming true. She finally saw him for what he was. The visions of Elisabeth smiling at him, holding him remained out of reach. He sought to hear the sound of her crying his name in passion, the sweet 'I love yous'. 

"But...because of my own benevolence...I saw past your shortcomings. I ignored the fact that behind the glamor I was laying with a wretch. To sleep with a goddess's ex-plaything; that is quite a trophy," Elisabeth continued to degrade him, her fingers resting now in his long hair. She pulled at his gray-brown locks. She laughed as she looked him over, "Yes, you're a novelty to me, Gale. A toy for me to use until I properly grow bored of you. Do you truly think I loved you? How stupid, how gullible."

"I keep you alive and comfortable. I shield you against Mystra's wrath. I risk my life again and again and again and again..." She gripped his hair tighter. She forced his head off the pillow and hit it against the ground with each 'again'. The shock overwhelmed any physical pain from the action.

"And I come to the tent  I  procured, to find my arrogant, gluttonous sloth of a lover unable to get it up on command. Like any other man. I have been too soft on you, little wizard." 

He couldn't handle looking at her anymore. Elisabeth who was so young, beautiful, confident, and powerful...She pitied him. And now she finally had enough. Gale forced his eyes closed and turned from her burning gaze.

Even if he couldn't see her, Gale could still hear her. She mockingly laughed at him before letting go of his hair. She kept his wrists together. "Hmmm, well, let's see if we can do anything to salvage this unhappy situation." 

Suddenly, something cold, sharp, and metallic was grazing against his face. "Let's see...I wonder if I could do something about this cheek, make it nice and lean." 

"Gale, sweetheart, I'm here-What in the hells?!"

***

Both Elisabeth and Gale physically pulled back once the memory ended. Elisabeth felt sick to her stomach. Gale's insecurity, panic, and sadness nearly drowned her. She struggled to keep her composure. 

"In retrospect, I should have known something was atypical. You never come to bed without refreshing the lavender satchels," Gale commented.

"That is what led you to believe something was wrong? Not the verbal abuse? If Orin bothered to shake up the dried flowers in our tent, you wouldn't have had a second thought?" Elisabeth fired off her questions in disbelief. When Gale flinched back, Elisabeth cursed herself and her tone. "Damn it, I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to...I'm sorry." She scooted closer to Gale and wrapped her arms around him. She was relieved when Gale melted in her arms. 

"I am so sorry she hurt you. She's a twisted monster and I cannot wait to kill her for what she has done to you, to us," Elisabeth told him, running her fingers through his hair. "Nothing she said about you was true. I love you. You're brilliant, selfless, gorgeous."

Gale mumbled into her chest, "You're only saying that because of what she said..."

"Fuck that," Elisabeth remarked bluntly, "I'm saying that because it's true. And I'll say it every day until the day I can't speak anymore. Then I'll write it. And if I can't move my hand anymore, then I'll tell you in the Weave. Then we'll die. And I can tell you again and again in the afterlife." 

Gale's shoulders began to move into half of a laugh, half of a sob. Taking it as an encouraging sign, Elisabeth made circles in his back with her finger. "I'm not letting you out of my sight for a very long time. So I hope you enjoyed your privacy while it lasted." 

Gale looked up at Elisabeth. His dark eyes shined with tears but there was a weak smile on his face, "I was foolish to think for a moment that she was you. I'm sorry."

"You don't get to apologize anymore," Elisabeth tutted, continuing to rub his back. "But..." She sighed, setting her head on Gale's shoulder, "There had to be a reason you were so eager to believe her. Something lingering inside of you." 

Gale opened his mouth as though to speak, only for a small whimper to leave. 

"Shhh," Elisabeth comforted him, "We can discuss this tomorrow. When you get some rest. I'm here for you. No matter what. I've chosen you. Just listen..." She eased him onto his back and lay next to him. She kissed the top of his head. 

"I love the wrinkles around your eyes, especially when you smile or laugh. The gray that peppers through your hair. The way your beard feels between my thighs. Your mind is so brilliant and intelligent. I know you only want to do better for everyone. You want to please. You're not selfish. Someone selfish would not do half of what you are doing. Your body makes me feel warm and safe. You enjoy the fine things in life. That is not a vice. I love putting my head in your lap. I can see why I will need to fight Tara over it. You have pleased me in a way that makes me forget the name of any other man or woman. Not because of what you do, but because of the love that is behind it. You make me feel like the most important person in the room."

"I love you, Gale of Waterdeep, Gale Dekarios." Elisabeth continued to stroke his back. With Gale's even, deep breathing, she thought that perhaps he had fallen asleep from exhaustion. But suddenly, Elisabeth felt something cold and metal in her hand. She looked down to see that Gale had passed his ring to her. His glamor was off. Gale curled into her, his face nuzzling into her chest. Elisabeth clasped the ring protectively in her hand before setting it under the pillow. 

"Sweet dreams..."