#and like. i feel like the stakes won't be as high with them so. again. it's as good a time as any to take a breather so to say

[thesvnandthemooon]

𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐩𝐭.𝟐

18+ MINORS DNI

a/n: as requested, part 2 :) not sure if this is what you had in mind, but i think i like how this turned out

summary: masc rich lawyer!reader, (former) bartender-turned-trophy-wife!nat

warnings: smut (fingering, oral, penetration/strap in v), alcohol/being drunk, reckless driving (is that a warning? idk), angst

word count: 11.7k

part 1, part 2

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

— NEW YORK, USA —

Dinner's been ready for almost three hours, yet you're still in the office.

It's not entirely your fault. You're currently working on a big case — some corporate war between two giants. Your client got sued for billions because of a fraud scandal, and since you're known for handling high-stakes cases, you got the job.

Losing this could mean either bankruptcy or a stock market crash — both, probably —, so you've been working overtime for weeks. No missteps allowed for you. All eyes are on you, always, but especially when handling things that others deem to be out of your league.

The problem? You promised Natasha to be on time. Just tonight, since it's Friday, and Fridays are date nights. You're not allowed to spend them in the office. You're supposed to spend them at home, with your wife, and not with a ton of contracts and emails you still need to comb through.

Outside, the sky is dark. No stars are visible. The glittering city beneath it, alive with lights and vibrant neon signs, makes up for that. Everything looks small from up here. Manageable. The mess on your desk, however, seems to only be getting bigger.

You squint your eyes when your vision goes blurry. Too focused on the email you're reading, you don't notice how your phone vibrates again.

When you don't pick up, Natasha slams her phone down on the table and crosses her arms. The lobster in front of her: cold. The mashed potatoes: having formed a crust. The asparagus: soaking up lemon juice and oil and turning limp.

The big penthouse, once so appealing, is nothing but a big empty shell. It's silent, lifeless, lonely. So much so that Linda, your private chef and maid, even offered to stay and keep her company. Of course, Natasha had turned down the offer. It's not that she doesn't enjoy the woman's company, but come on — having an employee stay overtime just because her own wife won't come home from work is just embarrassing.

She exhales, slowly, twisting the wedding ring on her finger. One leg crossed over the other, she stares into the adjacent kitchen. She's still hoping you'll show up soon, but it doesn't seem likely. Eventually, she gets up. Bare feet pad over the woolen rug and carry her all the way into the hallway.

She pauses, but only to slip into a coat. She picks out a pair of high heels and takes the elevator downstairs.

You're immersed in a thick financial contract when the door opens. Any normal human being would jump up immediately — but Natasha's found you have the survival skills of a rock, at least compared to her, so you keep your head in your hand and your eyes on the paper you're holding.

Natasha pauses for a second, just taking you in. Messy, tousled hair, soft to the touch and smelling like the guava shampoo you love. A suit, ironed and fitted. Shoes you got in Italy.

It's the little things she notices about the idiot sitting in front of her. Because that's what you are — an idiot. An idiot she loves, though. Her idiot.

She's already decided you're done working. You shoot out of your chair when the contract is suddenly plucked from your fingers.

"Jesus fucking- oh, it's you!"

Natasha slams the contract down on the desk, glaring at you. You feel your insides shrivel up with shame.

"Yes, it's me", she says, keeping her hand pressed on the stack of papers. "And, oh!, it's you. Still not at home."

You rub the back of your neck, shifting. You're tired. You're overworked. And now, you're also feeling guilty.

"Sorry", you start, cringing at yourself. "The case, it just...it's a big deal. There's a lot to go through. It's important, and-"

"And I'm not?"

Your eyes widen and you nearly start sputtering. Admittedly not the smartest move, but again: you're tired. Overworked, in fact. Hopefully she'll forgive you for being a bit of a dumbass at the moment.

"Come on", she challenges. "Say it. Say it's more important."

"What?? Of course it's not! But it- it's a case, you know, and I'm a lawyer, so I kinda sorta gotta..." You gesture awkwardly and she rolls her eyes. "I'm sorry, love. You know how it is."

"One night, Y/N", she says, stepping closer. "One night. I don't ask for anything else."

"I know, baby", you quickly say, voice desperate. God, you really fucked up. "I'll make it up to you."

Natasha sighs. She lifts her hands and runs them through your hair, ruffling it up further. You crack a hesitant smile and wrap your arms around her waist. The look on her face is pointed, but she keeps combing her fingers through the unruly strands she loves so much, so you know she can't be too mad.

She grabs your tie and yanks you closer. You let out a wheeze, but she's unfazed.

"Listen, honey", she says, tugging at the tie a few times. "We'll go home. We'll have dinner. Tomorrow, I'm not letting you out of my sight."

"Deal", you immediately say.

"No more nights at the office."

Your mouth opens, but she presses her index finger against your lips.

"Don't even try to argue", she says firmly.

If she lets loose now, this will never end. You've already spent a few nights too many asleep at your desk. Your bottom lip pokes out, just barely, and she pinches it.

"Sorry", you mumble, looking like a kicked puppy.

Gone is the lawyer-level damage control, the confidence with which you carry yourself. You've spent hundreds of hours standing in front of judges and other lawyers, yelling at people, repeating your points and finding new arguments and letting others yell back at you as well.

But this is your wife. When you're with Natasha, that facade you built so meticulously just crumbles. Which, despite the fact that she's bossing you around, is actually a good thing.

Her thumb brushes over your bottom lip, then she lets go of your tie and smoothens it out. You exhale, leaning in and catching her mouth in a kiss. She makes a soft noise, but then wraps her arms around your neck.

Hands run up and down her sides, around to her back. You pull away and study her. Green eyes, plush lips, a face so pretty it hurts.

The case you're working on may be out of your league, but Natasha definitely is. You have no idea how you got her to marry you.

"I'm sorry", you repeat, massaging her back through the fabric of her coat. "Let's go home."

Natasha softens. She squeezes the back of your neck and leads you out into the hallway. The rest of the building is dead silent, except for the soft hum of the a/c's. All your employees have gone home.

You blink, a little disoriented, and run your hand through your hair. Spending nearly 16 hours at your desk, even having lunch there, took a toll on your brain.

You enter the elevator and lean against the wall. Natasha notices your tired eyes and tuts. You look at her, see her smile, see the worry in her gaze, and recover enough to grab her and spin her around. A soft thud, and she ends up pinned against the wall.

"Oh, now you're awake?"

"No matter how much energy I may spend on work", you mumble, undoing the front of her coat, "I always make sure there's enough left for you."

She hums and sighs, hips buckling forward. You let the coat slide off her shoulders and bite back a grunt, then press your lips to her neck. Your hands roam and squeeze skin, soft as butter and smelling heavenly.

Natasha wore nothing but a tiny piece of lingerie underneath when coming to pick you up from your office. It makes you wonder what she had planned originally. It's not like you haven't made use of your reclinable office chair before.

The elevator dings. You whine softly, trying to stay attached to her, but she's already slipped away and out into the lobby.

"Wait, wait, wait-" You grab her coat and hurry. She's too close to getting outside, into the streets, where anyone could see her. "Fuck!"

You reach her just in time, throwing the coat around her like a shield and pulling her back against you. She stumbles backwards, but you've already got your arms wrapped around her. Before she knows what's happening, the world tilts and you've got her dipped down.

"We've talked about this."

"I like seeing you freak out."

"Obviously", you murmur, kissing her. You kiss her like you don't have time, like you're in a hurry, which is far from the truth. This is your law firm. If you wanted, you could drag her behind the reception desk and let her have her way with you there.

She runs her hands into your hair, slowly tousling it up more and more. She loves the messy look. Adores it. If it was up to her, you wouldn't have access to a hairbrush.

Slick mouths slide against each other, lips kiss bitten and swelling up. You straighten up, still clutching, still kissing her, and walk her backwards until the summer night air envelops you.

Her back against the wall. Her back against the front of your car. It takes all of your strength to let go and get into the driver's seat.

"Fuck", you mutter, glancing at her. Lips red and still slick, cheeks flushed. A dream to kiss, a nightmare to sit next to while driving. "Pray we don't get in a car crash."

"You'll do fine", she says.

You won't.

You're driving down the street when she suddenly turns around. She leans in, one hand playing with the hair at the back of your head and the other slowly loosening your tie.

You gulp, and your throat bobs. Natasha smirks faintly and brushes her fingertips over the little hollow base of your throat.

"I have to focus", you say, voice strained, and shift in your seat. You were already worked up, and she's not making it easier on you.

"Focus, then. Focus on me", she mumbles, dragging her finger down to the part where your shirt is buttoned up. "A good driver could do it, you know."

"Nat, baby, I-"

"Come on, hotshot", she whispers, unbuttoning the first button. The car swerves slightly, and she laughs. Laughs. Right in your ear. "We got five more minutes, then we'll be home. Can you last that long?"

Can you? With the way heat is flooding your body, making wetness gather between your thighs? With her lips against your earlobe, her fingers continuing to slowly undo button after button?

No. Not without crashing the car, at least.

You shake your head, gripping the steering wheel desperately. "I'm pulling over", you say, begging. "Please."

"No", she says, hooking her finger into your sports bra. "You made me wait three hours, and you're telling me you can't do five minutes?"

You let out a quiet, frustrated wheeze. That's why she's doing this. To get back at you for working overtime.

"A normal wife would-" You squirm in your seat, her hand sliding down your stomach, "would just make me sleep on the couch."

"Should've married one, then."

"Nat", you whine. "Come on. Get in the back."

She makes a disapproving noise, her fingers trailing back up your chest. Suddenly, she cups your jaw and makes you look at her. The car swerves again, this time so badly it makes your eyes widen.

"Four more minutes", she taunts.

You glance at the road, blinking a few times. Your hands are white-knuckled, your pupils blown. Arousal and panic are flooding your veins and soaking your underwear.

Natasha lets go of your jaw. You turn your head. You hear the rustling of clothes. Dumb as you tend to be when it comes to your wife, you glance at her.

Gone is the coat. She's back to being in just lingerie. Red lace adorning creamy supple skin, showing off every inch of her body. If you could, you’d get on your fucking knees and worship her, but that’s not an option right now. Instead, your brain gets fried by the inability to act on your urges.

Tires screech on asphalt. You curse under your breath.

"Eyes on the road, love."

"Put that back on."

She tilts her head at you. "Put what back on?"

You exhale and grit your teeth, stubbornly staring at the road. So far so good. Out of sight, out of mind. Maybe ignoring her will work.

Then, she reaches into your lap and starts fumbling with the zipper of your slacks.

You jump on the gas pedal and make the car accelerate way too rapidly. You slam backwards into the seats, but that's not what you're worried about. Natasha's fingers, deftly undoing the button now, is.

"Do you want us to get into a car crash?!"

"Hush, baby. Focus on the road", she coos, tugging at the waistband of your boxers. "These are my favorites."

You keep going faster and faster until you're well over the speed limit. A bad idea — the faster a car goes, the harder it is to keep it under control. But you're not exactly able to think rationally.

Two minutes, you think, silently begging you'll make it out alive.

You let out a frustrated noise and slow down the car just enough. One hand on the steering wheel, you grab her hand with your free one. She clicks her tongue.

"Awfully feisty tonight. I thought you were tired?"

"Nat", you whine. You recognize one of the stores nearby the building of your penthouse and speed up again. "Give me a minute. Please."

She hums, cupping the side of your head. Suddenly, her lips are all over you. Your neck, your jaw, your ear. You squirm and curse and grip the steering wheel.

The car rockets into the parking lot at such an insane speed you can't slow it down fast enough. It bumps against the wall, but at that point, you don't care. You jump out of the car and hurry to the other side, only to basically throw her over your shoulder.

"You're so dead."

Her arms wrap around your neck, body still half-naked. Grumbling, you grab the coat and kick the car door shut behind you.

"Well done", she says, cupping your face and making you look up as you carry her into the building. Almost midnight, so hopefully you won't run into any neighbors. Your reputation hasn't been exactly flawless since Natasha moved in.

What can you say? You're noisy and shameless.

"I crashed the fucking car", you mutter, lips attaching to her chest before the elevator doors have even closed.

"We made it home, though", she says, her voice shifting into a sigh. You pepper kisses all over her chest, resisting the urge to just slam your fist on the button next to you and make the elevator stop. "My, you're eager."

You don't say anything. You're too distracted by the feeling of her body against yours, soft and warm. Humming against smooth skin, your face nuzzles the spot between her breasts.

The elevator stops and the doors slide open, revealing your living. It was once so cold here, so lifeless. It wasn't a space you lived in; merely one where you existed. Then Natasha moved in, and everything changed.

It's the small things. Her reading glasses on the coffee table, the stack of magazines next to it. Her abandoned cup of coffee. The painting she picked out and hung above the fireplace.

Not that you're paying much attention to it right now. You move to the couch and drop her down on her back. Straightening up, you pull down your pants and boxers and reveal the strap you've got attached to a harness. For the first time that evening, Natasha's speechless.

"You..."

"Date night", you say, kicking off your slacks and unbuttoning your shirt. It falls to the floor. "Wanted to be prepared."

"God", she moans. You crawl on top of her. "You can't just do that."

"No?" You run your hands up her body and hook your thumbs into the sides of her lingerie. You pull it down right as you kiss her neck. "Did it, anyway."

You lean up to kiss her. Your hands slowly part her thighs. You settle between them, but right as the tip pushes in, you nuzzle her cheek.

"Love?"

Natasha bites back a soft sound of frustration. This isn't the right moment to start talking, but you'll do it anyway.

You push in deeper, fingers gripping her skin for stability. You feel her body tremble. Her hips rock against yours, searching for more — more friction, more depth, more you.

You kiss her ear and bottom out. She moans, her head dropping back into the cushion.

"You, me, London. Next week."

"Again?"

You hum, rolling your hips. Her eyes roll into the back of her head, thighs squeezing your middle. You're aware you've been traveling a lot, but most of the time, it's necessary.

"Yeah", you grunt, simultaneously thrusting into her and pulling at her hips. You're fucking her into the couch, you're leaving her head devoid of thoughts, you're literally mid-stroke — yet you're talking to her like this is a completely normal situation. "Got a meeting with an investor. We'll stay in a suite. Have some fun."

"Baby, you..." She makes a useless noise, her hand gripping your tie. "Don't talk."

"Why?", you ask, breathless, and keep pounding into her. She lets out a choked moan. "It's important."

"Sure, but...oh..." Her lips part and her chest heaves. Her hips meet every thrust, and you smile against her neck. "Fuck."

"Close already? I haven't even told you about the new private jet I bought."

Natasha shakes her head, refusing to talk. She's writhing and moaning beneath you, stomachs slick with sweat as they rub together, back arching and thighs clenching. And you're trying to talk business trips with her? Absolutely not.

You decide to have a little mercy on her. You kiss her, deeply, taste her moans as she comes apart and shudders. Every moan is taken like a win.

It takes a moment for her to recover. You smile at her, your fingers brushing sweaty strands of hair away from her forehead. She stares up at you, panting and eyes unfocused, then tilts her head.

"Another jet?"

"New model."

"Dear god", she mutters, wrapping her arms around your neck. "You've got to calm down a little."

"Why?" You lean in, nibbling her earlobe. "You said you liked the seats."

Natasha pauses and lifts her head. You raise your eyebrows.

"That's why we went looking at jets?", she asks, the disbelief written all over her face. "You said it was a gift!"

"For you."

"Well, that wasn't clear."

You snort and kiss her cheek before sitting up. Natasha follows, grabbing the shirt you discarded on the coffee table and putting it on. You pad into the kitchen, her hand in yours.

You turn on the lights and make your way to the fridge. Natasha sits on the counter, bare legs crossed, and accepts the plate you hand her.

"Warm it up?"

"No", she says, grabbing a piece of asparagus and biting into it. "You're returning the jet."

You look up from your own plate. The first thing that Natasha can think is that you should probably get a haircut — the strands in the front are long enough to partially block your vision. But she can't voice that thought. She adores this look a little too much.

"Why?", you ask through a mouthful of mashed potatoes.

"Because it's insane."

"The interior was custom made, though."

"So?"

"Well, I can't return that, can I?"

She frowns, then sighs. You have a point. Returning a multi million dollar aircraft? With a custom made interior? Not happening.

"Okay", she says, thinking. "Donate it."

You give her a deadpan look and set your plate aside. "Love. Baby. You can't be serious."

"I am."

You shake your head and kiss her. She tastes like lobster and lemon juice, but when it's the right person, the fishy taste doesn't throw you off much.

"You're sweet", you mumble, squeezing her waist. Natasha places a dollop of mashed potatoes on your nose, and you scrunch up your face. "Play nice."

"I'm serious", she says, kissing the mashed potatoes off your nose. You grimace and grab a napkin to wipe it off. "Donate it. Someone might need it."

"I think we're both too tired to think straight", you mumble, pecking her lips one last time. You step away and put the half-full plate back into the fridge.

Natasha slides off the counter. Her arms wrap around your middle, her chin comes to rest on your shoulder.

"Finish your dinner", she says, watching you grab a bottle of sparkling water. "You had a long day."

"At this point, all I want is to go to sleep."

"Fair. We're still not keeping the jet."

You turn around, a little disgruntled, and wrap your arm around her. You start your two and a half minute journey into the bedroom.

She pulls you over the threshold, making you stumble right onto the bed with her. Guilt nags at you as you realize it's been a while since you didn't get here only after she'd fallen asleep.

"I love you", you murmur, kissing her. Your fingers brush over clothed and bare skin, the feeling enough to make your heart beat a little faster.

No reply. Natasha deepens the kiss, fingers gripping your face and keeping you close. No way to leave, at least for tonight.

Good. You don't want to leave, either. Because you're right where you want to be, where you're supposed to be. You'd buy her the moon and the stars, fulfill every last one of her wishes.

(You're still not returning the jet, though.)

. . .

— LONDON, UK —

"One more hour", you mumble, typing away on your laptop. Natasha hums, her legs stretched out on the leather sofa.

You're 50 thousand miles in the air. Clouds surround the private jet you're in. You're in slacks and a shirt, the top button undone, your hair damp after you washed it in the bathroom onboard.

There's a platter of fruit on the table you're sitting at. Cubed mangoes, papayas, strawberries. Two champagne flutes, empty now.

You let out a frustrated noise, the click-clack of the keyboard becoming more pronounced. Natasha turns her head, but you don't notice. What a shame — she's wearing that one red dress that'd normally leave you drooling. But you're focused on work, again, so you're not becoming part of the mile high club yet another time.

She watches you for a moment. Her teeth sink into her lip, chewing slowly. You're focused, which is as attractive as it is annoying. Why did you even get her a jet with a hot tub if you don't plan on using it? What's the huge couch for, then?

It's not even sex that she wants. Just a tiny bit of attention would be nice.

Natasha gets up and approaches you. She grabs your arm, ignoring your noise of protest and gently peeling your hand off the keyboard, then slides right into your lap. You adjust her so you can see the screen again and continue working.

The audacity makes her roll her eyes. Subtly, she reaches for the laptop and shuts it. You grunt in surprise.

"Hey, that-"

"You can finish later", she says, turning around enough to undo more buttons, "but first, you let me finish."

Heat shoots into your cheeks. You squirm beneath her and grab the laptop, opening it again. You let out a silent sigh of relief when you see the email you were working on isn't lost.

Natasha frowns, her fingers loosening. She's used to your attention wavering quickly, but this quickly? For god's sake, she's literally in your lap. She's undoing your shirt and offering herself to you like a buffet.

"Love", she mumbles, tracing your jaw. You hum absently, still staring at your screen. Then, the dreaded click-clack continues.

Click-clack, click-clack. Your moans should be filling the air instead of this annoying noise. Your hands should be on her, not on the keyboard.

Maybe Natasha is being selfish. Given the fact that this is one of the rare occasions where you're able to spend a couple hours together, though, she seriously doubts that.

She swallows, trying to ignore the feeling of hurt that's settling in her stomach. Don't take it personally, she tries reminding herself. She works a lot. You knew that when you married her.

It still hurts. It's been hurting for a while.

Finally, she finds her voice again. Her fingers are tugging at the top button of your shirt, tentatively, but the only sign of you noticing is the subtle raise of your eyebrows. The light from the screen in front of you is making your face glow.

"Is it always going to be like this?"

Your head whips around, mouth opening in shock. Now you heard her.

"What do you mean?", you ask, cupping her cheek. She takes your hand and peels it off her face.

"You know what I mean."

"Nat, you..." You exhale slowly, your stomach turning with guilt and mild nausea. The words 'you knew' are on the tip of your tongue.

Because she did. She knew what your life is like when she married you. She knew how much you work. She knew you only spend about a quarter of your week at home. Most of the time even less.

It wouldn't be fair bringing that up, though. Nobody expects the negative things to stay negative when getting married. That little flame of hope usually dies way after.

"I'm sorry", you say quietly. "I'll make it up to you."

This time, it's Natasha's turn to swallow down something she'd regret saying. She just nods, lip balm-soft lips pressing against your temple and slender fingers tousling your hair, then she gets off your lap. You watch her sit back down, staring out the window, her manicured hands twisting in her lap.

Do you get up? Do you continue working?

You exhale, slowly, then quickly finish the email you'd been writing. Just one more email, then you'll hop into the hot tub together. You'll have just enough time to relax a little before arriving in London.

One email turns into four. Four emails turn into you reading through a contract. As you're reading, you conclude that you may as well take notes now.

The click-clack doesn't stop. Natasha sits there, staying silent as to not disturb you.

You're still typing when you reach London.

The silence is suffocating when you enter your suite. You've barely even closed the door, and Natasha has already disappeared in the bathroom. You stand there, suitcase in hand and hair slicked back, a little stunned.

You're aware of where you went wrong. Right in the damn jet, when you couldn't take a ten minute break from your stupid job for once. You should've closed the laptop. It's not like you're behind on anything, anyway.

It's too late now, though. You hear the water run, which probably means she's running herself a bath. You hesitate — is it even worth trying? — but then you go and knock.

Silence. Nothing but the muffled sound of water lapping.

"Nat?", you call. You knock again, then rest your ear against the door. Your hand is flat against the cool surface. "Nat, baby-"

The door opens so suddenly that you nearly tumble over. Natasha crosses her arms, not making a move to steady you.

"What?"

"Uh", you say stupidly, rubbing your neck. "What you doing?"

Her expression doesn't waver. What happened in the jet was enough to make that last string of patience snap. And now? Not yelling, no. Not trying to start a fight. Just giving you that detached coldness.

"The water's running", she says. "I thought you had work to do?"

"Yeah, but-"

The door slams shut. You stare at it, baffled, then the panic sinks in.

Fuck. Oh, fuck. Sweat starts gathering at the back of your neck, your heart begins to race, you blink in disbelief. During your entire relationship, you've never had Natasha slam the door shut on you. Not even during your worst fight.

This, however, has been building up for weeks now. The pot has been bubbling — it was only a question of when it'd boil over. It hasn't boiled over yet, though, not fully at least. Are you going to let it boil over? Oh hell no.

You shake your head and reach for your phone. Meeting? Canceled, done, over. (Actually, postponed. Cancelling a meeting with a potential investor, especially one who's this powerful, wouldn't be the smartest move.)

Then, you start reaching out to a few contracts.

Contact one. Book a castle (the entire thing, of course) for the night. Make sure they have those silk bedsheets Natasha loves. In her favorite color, obviously. Don't forget the little chocolates — she loves those.

Contact two. Find a horse-drawn carriage. White horses too, while you're at it.

Contact three. Private chef, please. Specialized in Italian cuisine.

Contact four. A new dress, tailored if possible so it'll hug her curves perfectly. Of course, you have all her measurements on hand.

Contact five. Jewelry. Necklace, rings, earrings, all matching and all of them with a price tag that'd get the average couple through an entire year.

By the time Natasha's done with her bubble bath, you've got everything planned. She exits the bathroom to find you on one knee, a bouquet of  baby's breaths in your hand. The way you tilt your head is nervous, and she almost feels bad for slamming the door shut on you like that.

"What's that?", she asks, nudging one of the flowers.

"Flowers", you say dumbly, then shake your head. "An apology. A question. Let me take you on a date."

She gives you a wary look, but accepts the bouquet anyway. She takes a tentative whiff of the white flowers. Light, fresh, slightly sweet, but so subtle she can barely smell them.

"You have a meeting tonight", she says.

"I do. No, did. I, uh, I postponed it", you explain, straightening up. "You, me. Tonight at 7. I just...I've been acting like an idiot, and you don't deserve that."

Natasha smiles faintly. She looks at the flowers again, her nose buried in them. They tickle her face. Just watching her like this is enough to make your heartbeat stumble.

"Good thing you're self-aware", she says. "I was close to booking a flight on my own jet and go back home."

You stare at her, doubting both her statement and your interpretation of it. Is she being serious?

She shakes her head at the look on your face. Suddenly, she's on her tiptoes and pressing her lips to yours. Minty and sugary, the bouquet against your chest and the petals brushing your neck.

"Good thing you always know what to do", she mumbles, stepping closer. You let out a breath of relief and wrap your arms around her. "You promise we'll have time for us?"

"Promise", you immediately say, kissing her again. Your hands smooth down her back, the robe she's wearing fluffy beneath your palms. "Just us two."

And this time, you do.

The dress looks stunning on her (obviously — not like you ever doubted that). The carriage makes her laugh (now you're doubting something, though, and that'd be your ability to choose the right form of transportation). The castle leaves her speechless.

You're not sure whether her red dress is giving queen or vampire bride, but either way: it gives you a few dangerous ideas.

"You like the castle?", you ask, leading her up a stone staircase. "How much?"

Natasha pauses, her hand on the railing. "No."

"I wasn't-"

"You were."

Maybe you were. You bring her hand to your mouth and kiss her knuckles.

The dining room is all set when you arrive. A roaring fireplace to your right, a domed ceiling, crystal chandeliers and polished marble floors. Food served on fine bone china, brought to you by staff in uniforms.

Much to your relief, the night has been going well. Good food will always better her mood — that's something you learned a while ago. And not many people can stay mad while getting a taste of carpaccio and handmade black truffle tagliatelle. You're right at dolce when things seem to take a turn for the worse, though.

You're holding her hand over the table. You're talking, laughing quietly, pressing kisses to fingers and sharing a tiramisu al limoncello that's sitting between you.

Then, your phone rings. You pause but ignore it, squeezing her hand. Natasha raises her eyebrows.

It stops. You keep talking. It starts ringing again.

You shift, clearly conflicted. Being called twice in a row when you told your assistant to cancel all meetings and appointments for the night usually means it's important.

Natasha knows that, too. She glances at the table, chewing her lip, her thumb rubbing your fingers like she's bracing herself.

You reach into your pocket and accept the call.

Ten seconds. It's fine. Natasha clears her throat, eats another bite of the tiramisu.

Twenty seconds. She sighs, and you pinch the bridge of your nose. The guy on the phone is still talking rapidly.

Thirty seconds. She puts her fork aside and crosses her arms. You shoot her an apologetic look.

A minute. She exhales, eyes closing, and drums her fingers on the table.

After five more minutes, you finally hang up. The silence between you is far too awkward, far too heavy. You rub your neck and adjust your tie, then get up from your chair. Natasha gives you a look that's both wary and warning — if you leave, you're done for.

But no. You grab her hand and give her a shy nod. She tilts her head but gets up, letting you pull her close.

"That wasn't about work", you start, wrapping your arms around her. She loops her hands around your neck, and you begin swaying slowly. No need for music.

"No?", she mumbles, frowning.

"No", you confirm, lowering your head to press kisses to her jaw. She closes her eyes. "I booked something. Just us two. That was the confirmation."

Natasha sighs. The last time you went on vacation together, you spent 90% of it working. She's grateful, yes, but she'd rather spend time with you at home than watch you overwork yourself in some tropical paradise.

You overwork yourself at home already. You'll step into the living room, spent and exhausted, barely able to talk. She rarely witnesses it, but when she does, it kills her.

"Y/N..."

"Just hear me out", you say, one hand slipping under the fabric of her low back dress. Smooth, warm skin, soft and familiar under your palm. You trace her spine with your thumb. "I know you, baby, and I know London isn't going to cut it. Let me take you to Bora Bora."

She shakes her head, but you shush her with a kiss.

"It'll be different", you assure her. "Just us."

Believing you is hard. Just us — two words she's heard too many times. You rarely ended up keeping that promise.

Natasha tilts her head. You kiss her, again and again, the wind outside howling and the leaves rustling. Candles flicker, the fire in the fireplace bathing you in a slow, lazy heat.

Summer is ending, but the sun is coming up anyway.

. . .

— BORA BORA, FRENCH POLYNESIA —

A white bikini and strawberry lip balm.

The netted hammock swings in the warm breeze, the sun warming your skin and the cocktails your throat. She's draped over you, hands on your sides, lips trailing down your neck.

You turn your head and catch her mouth in a languid kiss. Coconut, salt, expensive perfume. Your thumbs hook into the waistband of her bikini bottoms. She hums, sucking your tongue into her mouth.

It's quiet. It's secluded. It's everything you needed and more.

Natasha shifts a little, the hammock swaying in the wind. You smile against her lips and tighten your grip. She's not going to slip away, but you'd rather be safe than sorry.

"What are we doing tonight?", she mumbles, raking her fingers through your short hair and tugging on it. You got a haircut just before you left.

"Dinner", you say, nose nudging hers. You press another kiss to her mouth. "Swim." You tug on her bikini. "No clothes necessary."

Natasha smiles against your mouth, her soft laugh slipping straight to your heart. It's intimacy in its rawest form, and even though you've been married for nearly two years, you feel like you haven't had enough of it so far.

More of this. Less of everything else.

Forget getting up at 5 in the morning. Forget working until a regular teen's bedtime. Forget emails, and contracts, and having to wake her up to kiss her goodnight. Forget the press, who's been after your relationship ever since the public caught wind of it. Forget not being able to want kids because you work so much. Forget it all.

Natasha sits up and straddles your waist, her knees sinking deep into the hammock's net. Fingers trail over skin, find the clasp of her bra, let it pop open. She shrugs the delicate piece of fabric off and you make a noise of appreciation.

You're not sure why you put on clothes in the first place. You're alone out here — when booking this overwater villa, you made sure no one could see you. All the other villas and guests are far away. It's you and the ocean, fishes and other sea creatures included, and nobody else.

Unfortunately, you didn't consider two things: the existence of boats and the fucking audacity of the media.

You slowly pull away, staring in disbelief. An entire boatful of photographers, slowly getting closer to the house. Natasha, confused, turns to look at them, but you quickly pull her down against your chest. She's literally not wearing anything on the top half of her body.

"What the fuck?", she asks, voice muffled against your neck.

You curse quietly and grab your phone. She made you turn it off the night you got here, to avoid distractions. Now, as you're scrolling through messages by your assistant (most of them written in all caps), you realize that may have been a bad idea. Headline after headline, speculating about why you'd go on vacation when your high-profile case isn't finished yet.

You toss your phone aside and grab a towel, wrapping her up in it. You nod at the door.

"Inside. Now."

She doesn't argue. Your wife doesn't want topless pictures of her going viral, and neither do you. You shield her as best as you can, shooing her into the house and locking all the doors and windows. Once the curtains are closed as well, you sit down on the counter to call a few people.

Natasha doesn't need to be told what to do. Unfortunately, she's used to this. It's even worse than that time where paparazzi chased her around the city.

"This is unacceptable", you bark, sliding off the counter. You're too pent up. You need to pace, otherwise you'll explode. "This is a private villa. Nobody should be able to approach it... No, I want you to fucking go outside and get rid of them!"

You scrub a face down your hand as they continue to find excuses.

"No", you say firmly. "Complete privacy was guaranteed, yet you failed to provide it. I can take legal action against you."

Natasha, leaning against the wall in one of your shirts, gives you a tired look. She's not mad at you. She's mad at the fact that, recently, everything seems to be going wrong.

You bite your lip as you look at her, guilt churning in your stomach. Your time here had started well. Ice cream, late night swims, sex in the hammock and privacy. No distractions, no worries. Too good to be true, apparently.

The resort manager apologizes once more, promising to take care of the issue immediately, then hangs up. You're not done there — your PR team and some of the employees at your law firm follow. About half a dozen calls later, you exhale shakily and put your phone aside.

Your eyes meet. It's eerily silent in the way too big villa.

It's just the two of you. Suddenly, you don't get why you had to book this real estate-monster. A nice hotel room would've done the trick. Actually, your penthouse would've done the trick as well.

Natasha doesn't say anything, just clenches her jaw. You rub your neck.

"What do you want?", you ask quietly. She tilts her head. "I've called the shots way too many times. It's not fair."

"I want you."

"You have me."

"Do I?"

You frown, blinking. "Of course you do. You always do."

She bites the insides of her cheeks. You step closer, tentatively. She lets you.

"Tell me", you mumble, grabbing her hand. She glances down at your entwined fingers. "Tell me what you want and I'll do it."

Natasha sighs. She squeezes your fingers.

She knows you're being sincere. Whatever she asks for — she gets it. Vacations, expensive rings, perfumes specifically designed for her. You treat her like royalty, but your time together is limited.

"I told you", she says carefully. "If that's something you can even do."

Your free hand comes up to straighten the collar of the shirt she's wearing. She swallows when your fingertips brush against her neck.

"I can do anything."

"I'll believe it when I see it", she teases, her heart heavy. "Let's just stay here."

You hum, looking up, and take that last step that brings your bodies flush together.

"And the photographers? The paps?"

"Screw them", she says. Her fingers hook into the pockets of your swim trunks, keeping you pressed against her. "Actually, sue them. They'll probably leave us alone."

You hesitate. Now that your location is known, there's the possibility that this will keep happening. The resort manager assured you it wouldn't, that they'd take the necessary steps and guarantee complete privacy and safety everywhere. But they failed to provide it once, and you don't gamble — especially not when it comes to your wife.

"I don't know", you say quietly.

Natasha studies you. Way too many words lie on the tip of her tongue, way too many fears and doubts. She wouldn't be this intent on staying if she didn't think you'll go straight back to work as soon as you arrive home.

You know her, though. You know what she's thinking. You kiss her.

"Okay", you mumble, pecking her lips again. "We'll stay. The full week."

A breath of relief. Arms wrap around your neck. Outside, the photographers find a curtain that's nudged aside just enough to provide a glimpse of you.

. . .

— VIENNA, AUSTRIA —

Your fingers ghost over her arms. You adjust the straps of her dress, then push her hair aside to kiss her shoulder. Perfumed skin, warm and soft to the touch. You look at her in the mirror and press another kiss to her ear.

"You're beautiful."

Natasha turns and brings her hands up to your hair. It's messy, but in a nice way. She brushes her fingers through the gelled strands. "I like this on you."

"I know."

"Mhm?"

"You're not exactly subtle", you reply and quickly kiss her cheek. "I noticed years ago."

Natasha hums, studying you. She smoothes her hands down your front and makes sure everything sits right. The tie, the shirt, the rings on your hands. They match her own jewelry. A small detail, but it's enough. Enough for her to kiss you.

Dark chocolate and vanilla. You deepen the kiss and pull her closer. Your hands toy with the silky fabric of her dress.

"So", she mumbles, briefly pulling away, "business dinner, huh."

"Not exactly." You nuzzle her cheek with your nose, then step away. "Just...dinner. But an exclusive one. I don't know, a bunch of CEO's will be there and I feel like it can't hurt to charm a few of them."

"You?", she teases, turning around to slip her heels on. You watch her, the adoration in your eyes unconcealed and simple. "In your suit and with your short hair? Charm old men?"

A crooked grin tugs at your lips. She has a point. For obvious reasons, you don't seem to check the boxes of what straight old men are attracted to. Not just that — they seem to actually resent you. Probably because, despite it all, you married someone they can only fantasize about.

"Fair", you say. You can't help yourself. You take a few steps closer and wrap your arms around her, feeling her rounded backside press against your crotch. "Good thing I got you."

"I see. I'm the eye candy, huh?"

"Mhm." You kiss her shoulder. Your fingers sneakily nudge aside the strap of her dress. "Eye candy for them."

Natasha laughs quietly. "And you? What about you, hotshot?"

You go quiet, lips lingering on her shoulder. Your hands rest on her stomach, squeezing and rubbing gently.

"Too many words", you mumble, "and not enough time. We gotta leave."

The Palais Coburg. Massive wrought-iron gates, a red carpet rolled over the stairs, marble steps and a white-stone facade. High society and wealth, packed into one restaurant.

You get out of the limousine and round it to get to Natasha's side. You open the door and she puts her hand in yours. Around you, camera lights flash. The smile on her lips is polite and practiced. She's used to this.

You aren't, though. You should be — you're the one with the famous parents, the one who grew up surrounded by cameras, the one who knew how to dodge paparazzi before you knew how to long divide. Yet you're still the one who looks like a deer caught in the headlights.

You fight your way into the restaurant. By the time you get inside, you feel like you're sweating through your suit. Natasha watches you tug at the collar of your shirt a few times, then she leans in and loosens your tie.

"Are you sweaty? I'm sweaty."

"I'm good", she replies, brushing her thumb over the lapel of your suit. She's close, so close you can smell her perfume. It's that special blend you had a luxury perfumer create just for her. "You're good, too."

"I'm not good", you mumble, scanning the room. The people walking past you are exactly the kind you usually surround yourself with — mostly out of obligation —, but you feel like someone who randomly ended up here. "What am I even doing?"

"Hey", she says, tugging you closer by your tie. "None of that, hotshot. You're not alone, are you? So stop acting like you are. Anything goes wrong, I'm getting you out of here."

"But-"

"But no." She presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth. She smiles when she sees the smudged lipstick on your skin. "Come on. I'm starving."

There's no point in arguing. You trail after her, grasping her hand, looking a little like a lost puppy that's clinging to the only source of comfort it knows.

Nothing should be able to go wrong in a place like this one. Vaulted ceilings and massive chandeliers, mirrors that reflect suits and form-hugging dresses, arched windows and candlelight. A pianist, not unlike the one who played at your wedding, is sitting in the corner.

Nobody's loud here. The voices are soft, hushed, exchanging secrets that aren't nearly as precious as it's pretended they are. You stare at a group of people, zoning out. Natasha brings you back to reality.

You give her an apologetic look. She nods at the table.

Everything is fine at first. You're served caviar, figs prosciutto, wine. You talk to a few people, introduce Natasha, hold her hand and twist her wedding ring whenever everyone else becomes too much.

You're not sure where you go wrong.

Maybe it's when you let go of her hand. When the closeness, once comforting, suddenly becomes as overwhelming as the dozens of conversations happening around you. When you close your eyes, rub your temple.

No. That's not it. Natasha knows what's going on, and she doesn't blame you. You may be a lawyer, a businesswoman. You may deal with insufferable clients and judges and opponents and employees all the time — but you're used to being on your own. You're used to the silence of your office, to the soft hum and her slow breaths in the darkness of your bedroom. But big events? They still freak you out.

Steak is served next, accompanied by aligot and an array of colorful vegetables. More wine. You down it like it's water.

Once you're right between tipsy and drunk, you're doing better. Much better. It's almost over the top, considering how you were too close to spiraling just moments ago.

A CEO turns to you, introducing himself. He's polite at first. He seems interested, and competent. Everything about him is typical — old-money, rich, well-respected. You should want his approval and, at first, you do.

Then, he starts pointing out things that aren't his to point out. He asks about Natasha — which is good. You like talking about her, being able to introduce her. She's that one part of your life that makes every other part worth it. You once used to do this without her. You're not sure if you could anymore.

Most of his questions are expected. 'You're married?' 'For how long?' 'Where?'

People like him tend to be nosy, though. They thrive on watching others feel uncomfortable, inferior. From the moment he saw you, he recognized you. Best believe he's not a fan.

He takes a long sip of wine, studying Natasha with that kind of look that always makes you wary. Most rich people have no shame. They can buy their way out of almost everything.

"So", he says, swirling the dark red liquid around, "married a bartender, huh?"

Your grip on her hand tightens. He saw the headlines — the ones being released right after your marriage. To this day, you don't know who leaked Natasha's former profession. You don't know why it should be important, either. You do know that everyone expected you to follow in your parents' footsteps and marry someone who's in a similar social class as you (which would already cancel out over 99% of people). Ideally, a man. Ideally, you'd have swapped the suit for a dress and let your hair grow out.

"I did", you reply. Your thumb rubs her knuckles, firmly. A desperate attempt at reigning in your composure. You're too drunk to start arguing. "She makes a mean martini."

"Oh, really?" He nods, looking at her again. Really looking. From head to toe, from her high heels to her makeup. She averts her eyes. "Well, maybe it'll work out."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

He raises his eyebrows. You give him a challenging look and ignore Natasha squeezing your hand. Drinking this much wasn't a good idea. You're a little too loose-lipped.

"I'm just saying", he says, leaning back in his chair. His beer belly makes his shirt strain. "When two people — especially with such different life experiences — jump into marriage like that? It doesn't end well. You should've looked for someone who's in your league."

Your hand slips away from hers before she can do anything. Thankfully, she manages to catch your wrists just before your hands twitch toward his collar.

"You take that back now."

The older man stares at you, stunned. "Why are you young people so sensitive these days? Child, I've seen way too many marriages break up over absurd things. There are differences that love just can't overcome."

You try to pull free from her grasp, but Natasha's relentless. "Get yourself together", she whispers.

"You're saying an awful lot for someone who's here without a wife", you snap, still wiggling your wrists. "Nobody could stand being married to you, huh? Have fun dying and leaving that shit ton of money behind for nobody."

"That is unacceptable-"

"It is?" You laugh bitterly and give pulling free one last attempt. Natasha keeps hissing at you to stop, to shut up and go outside with her, but you're drunk and furious and this entitled shit-bag is the perfect target for your anger. "You don't know anything about my marriage. Anything. We're doing perfectly fine! We're happy! Are you happy? You don't seem happy!"

By now, the entire room is staring. Conversations have turned into whispers that are both scandalized and amused. You're still glaring daggers at the man.

"Someone who's happy wouldn't spend this much time defending their happiness", he says, voice curt and cold.

He's right. You know it, and Natasha knows it. That's why you finally break free and grab your wine glass, dumping it right into his face.

Gasps and chairs screeching on marble floors. Natasha jumps up and grabs your arm, pulling you straight toward the exit. You try resisting — you're leaving, which means you'll be alone, which means a conversation you're not ready for.

Natasha? On the verge of tears. On the verge of starting the worst fight you've had so far.

Because it isn't about you defending your marriage. It's about how you did it. About how it seemed like you're trying to prove something. Like overcompensation. Like fearing the truth being said out loud. You were too desperate, too terrified of what he was saying.

If you were confident in what you and her have, you would've laughed it off. But you didn't. You did something that was even worse than what she was fearing.

The car ride is silent. Natasha's behind the wheel this time. If you're drunk enough to cause a scene like that, then you're definitely too drunk to drive.

The hotel appears in front of you. Natasha stops the car, but neither of you get out.

"You want to tell me something?", she finally says.

"No", you mutter, slumped into the seat. You screwed up, and now you'll have to pay for it. "I'm good. We're good."

"Stop lying."

You turn your head, frowning. "Don't tell me you believe what that old bastard said. He's old and unhappy. Probably just pissed he'll have to plan a funeral no one important will attend."

"That's not what this is about!"

"Oh, no?" You sit up and hit your head against the roof of the car. You glower and rub the spot. "What's the issue, then? The whole 'bartender'-thing? 'Cause you know I don't care about that!"

"Can you stop deflecting for just one goddamn minute!", she says, turning in her seat to face you entirely. "Why were you so afraid? Why did you lose it back there?"

You stare at her, breathing heavily. You can't take it. You're drunk, defensive, spiraling. You don't know how to handle this. So you do the only thing you know how to do.

You grab her face and slam your lips against hers. Natasha moans in surprise, her hands flying to your neck. You start tugging her into your lap, and she resists at first. But one soft 'please' is enough for her to break and straddle you.

Clothes barely come off. There's no need to get undressed. You're still in the car, still in front of the hotel. Being caught would be bad enough already — it'd be all over the news, just like those stupid pictures from Bora Bora. So all you can do is bunch up her dress a little and dip your hand underneath it.

She squirms and grinds against your palm. Breathless sounds escape her, her breathing heavy. You trail kisses down her neck and mouth at her shoulder. Your lips brush against the necklace she's wearing. It's the one you got her as an apology for having to work on a holiday.

Your fingers nudge the fabric of her underwear to the side. You rub circles on her clit, then pump your fingers into her. Natasha's back arches.

No 'I love you'. No kisses. No softness. You feel too much to express it.

You thrust your fingers into her, pressing your knuckles in deep. She buries her face in your hair, smelling guava and hair gel. Her fingers toy with your earring.

Tingles shoot up and down her spine. She shivers against you, hips jerking forward and thighs shaking with the effort of keeping herself upright. She comes around your fingers, pulsing and throbbing hotly, and you pull out.

Outside, a car pulls up. You adjust Natasha's dress before getting out of the car with her. You sneak into the hotel using the side entrance that the staff gave you a key for. You're still not talking. Silence fills the vast space between you as you hush through hallways and find the staff-only elevator.

She looks at you. You've got her pushed up against the wall before she can say a word, her butt pressing random buttons on the control panel.

No talking. Gasping into each other's mouths is easier.

It's a game of guessing. You stop at random floors, but don't pay much attention to them. When you hear your floor get announced, you briefly break the kiss only to dive back in.

The elevator door opens and you step out into the hallway, still lost in each other. You fumble with the zipper of her dress before you're even halfway to your suite. Ragged breaths and lips against skin, her fingers unbuttoning your shirt.

Your back is against the door to your suite. You slide the straps of her dress off her shoulders, and the piece of fabric pools at her feet. She steps out of it, one leg between yours. Gripping her thigh and hoisting it up, you pepper kisses along her collarbone.

Her scent is literally just hers. A mix of her special perfume and the scent that always envelops her early in the morning, the one that makes you bury your face in her neck sleepily. You've done that not nearly enough times. You wish you'd set the alarm an hour later more often.

Natasha's hand sneaks past your hip. She unlocks the door and opens it, making you both stumble into the room. You don't even care that you left her expensive dress in the hallway.

More clothes come off. Your tie, shirt, slacks. Her bra and underwear. You make a pleading sound against her neck and press her down into the mattress. Her hand in your hair, you trail kisses all over her body, worship every inch, before parting her thighs and burying your face between them.

She tastes familiar. You spent your first night together doing exactly this. Something cold wraps around your stomach, twisting and squeezing, when an unbidden thought hits you. What if you spend your last night together doing that same thing, too?

Your train of thought is interrupted. It's hard to think straight when you've got her thighs wrapped around your head. Your nose nudges her clit in silent reassurance, then you continue eating her out.

Manicured nails dig into your scalp, massaging lightly. You drink her down, grip her hips, pin them in place. A raw moan, sweet and wrecked. Her thighs are slick with sweat, and she comes for a second time that night.

You swallow and look up, cheeks slick. Natasha's staring at the ceiling, still trying to catch her breath. You hesitate before pressing a kiss to her thigh. She looks at you when you crawl up to face her.

Your index finger tips her chin in your direction. Lips still swollen and tasting like her, you kiss her.

She pulls away after a moment. You lay down and let her curl into you, head on your chest and one leg thrown over yours. You rub her thigh, staring into nothingness, feeling everything hang between you. Her fingers draw circles on your side. The room smells like perfume, candles, faintly like sex.

The memories from earlier sober you right up.

You should feel at peace. Neither of you do. Words tumble out of you, sharp and stabbing at what's left of you.

"You think we rushed it? Marriage, I mean?"

Natasha's hand stills, her entire body seeming to pause. Slowly, she continues tracing your ribcage.

"Where's that coming from?", she asks, turning her head so her nose is pressed against your chest.

"What do you think?", you mumble. "We're a fucking mess."

Natasha exhales, her breath shaky. Her fingers curl into your skin, grasping for something. She's not sure what she's holding onto, but she knows letting go isn't an option.

"You're saying you want a divorce?"

"What?" You almost shoot up and out of bed. Natasha lets out a surprised noise and you quickly wrap your arms around her. "God, no! No. Not a divorce. Just...I don't know. I feel like if we keep going like this, it...it might become an option."

She closes her eyes. The necklace she's wearing doesn't feel as suffocating anymore.

"You want to change something."

Not a question. A statement. You kiss her hair.

"Yeah." You take a breath, smelling her shampoo. "Not just 'something.' More like everything."

"Oh yeah?" She looks up, chin on your chest, eyes both lazy and wary. "Think you can do that, hotshot?"

You hum, studying her. You brush your fingers along her jaw. You're tipsy, but you're genuine.

"For you, I think I can do anything."

Natasha scoffs but smiles. Her hand comes up to your face, squishing your cheeks and making you roll your eyes. You tilt your head and awkwardly kiss her thumb.

"You mean that."

"I do."

"And that thing at dinner?"

You feel your cheeks heat up, a rosy flush creeping into your face. That's what she does to you — she managed to make you forget about the fact that you threw a glass of wine into some CEO's face.

"About that", you mumble, resting your forehead against hers, "what was the guy's name?"

"Gerard Ash-something."

"Ashford??"

"Yeah, that", she says, kissing your chest. You sigh. "You don't sound too happy."

"His business is a fucking empire, babe", you say tiredly. You really screwed up. "He's one of the most successful people of the century. He has connections to literally everyone. How did I not recognize him?"

Natasha shrugs, her hand sliding up and down your side. "Face blindness?"

"You're hilarious", you mutter. You pull her closer until she's basically on top of you. "I think he shaved his beard."

"Well, he should've kept it. Maybe it would've helped with that gush of wine he nearly choked on."

You pinch her side and she flinches. Her hand slaps your arm, lightly, and you laugh into her hair.

"It's fine", you say, then let out a sigh. You embarrassed yourself and your wife. You also probably ruined your career. "At least it'll make selling the company easier for me."

"The company that's lost a bunch of its worth?"

Silence. You exhale.

"That one, yes."

Natasha looks up, and you give her a guilty look. It's out in the open now. You're not sure why you've been hiding it from her. She's your wife, your partner. You should've told her. But how could you? It's not like anyone ever told you wealth or success aren't the keys to love and happiness. Quite the contrary.

Besides, you met her when you were at your peak. When your business was thriving, and your career as a lawyer. When everything seemed perfect. Now, you have to disappoint her. Your business has been failing, and all your attempts at saving it were in vain.

"You should've told me", she says.

"I didn't want to scare you." You pause, closing your eyes. "You noticed?"

"No", she says. "It seems obvious now, though. You were overworking yourself all the time, and there was no real reason for you to do that."

You let out a short, bitter laugh. "Thought I could fix the unfixable."

Natasha smiles, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. You've been keeping secrets from her. She understands why, but does it sting? Does it wound her pride? Yes. In a way, yes.

She stays quiet for a few seconds, her fingers drumming against your side. She's not sure she wants to know the details. She asks, anyway.

"How bad is it?"

"It's still fine", you say vaguely. "Even if I stop working, we're financially sorted for the rest of our lives. It still sucks, though. My family..."

"Honestly, fuck your family."

You crack a smile and kiss her temple. "So charming."

She sits up enough to make you look at her. "I'm serious. Y/N, even if you have to sell the company, we'll do okay. I'll find a job, you can work as a lawyer in some law firm."

"I'll go from CEO to employee. Lovely."

She grasps your chin, eyebrows raised. "Hey."

You lift your hands. "Okay, okay. I get it."

"I'm just saying. As long as you're telling the truth, we'll be alright."

You nod, your throat suddenly feeling tighter. You should've had more faith in her, should've known she'd react like this. You pull her in and kiss her, one hand resting on her lower back.

"I picked the right girl, you know."

"Mhm?"

"Yeah." You smile softly, brushing your thumb over her cheek. She's leans in again, lips grazing yours, hand resting over your heart.

Maybe you will be alright.

. . .

— ŠIBENIK, CROATIA —

The ocean glitters in the sunlight. Birds chirp, cars drive by. A beach, concealed by a bunch of trees and basically empty. It's noon, which means that, at least according to locals, the sun is at its most aggressive — best to stay indoors for the next few hours.

It's not like Natasha cares about that, though. She's perched on the wooden table on the porch, a bowl of figs next to her, hair damp and tousled from the breeze. You join her outside and kiss her forehead.

"Hungry?"

"Filled up on figs", she says, hooking her index finger into the pocket of your shorts and tugging you closer. "What did you have in mind?"

"There's this restaurant in one of the surrounding areas", you say, leaning against the table. "A tiny one, but apparently really good. Freshest fish you'll ever eat."

"I think I've filled up on fish, too", she teases. "But sounds good."

"We don't have to. We can grab a bite at the bakery, if you want. The heat's kinda killing my appetite."

"Sounds even better." She puts her hand on your nape and pulls you into a kiss. Her fingers toy with the short hairs at the back of your neck.

Definitely figs. Their taste is all over her tongue. You step closer, put your hands on her waist, feel the warmth of her through the thin fabric of her tank top. Gone are the dresses and expensive blouses.

You deepen the kiss. Natasha tugs at you so you're standing between her legs. Her thighs are snug around your hips.

When she pulls away, the redness of your cheeks results from something that definitely isn't a sunburn. You exhale, lips twitching, and steal another kiss before she can notice.

You break the second kiss and cup her cheek. She's warm, and you're not sure if she's already developing a sunburn.

"You should go inside", you say, grabbing one of the figs and peeling it. "You heard our neighbor."

Natasha sighs and leans back on her hands, head lolling back. You bend down and kiss her knee.

"I mean it", you say. "Come on, we'll go swimming later."

Reluctantly, she slides off the table. She'd probably live outside if she could, and you don't blame her. The air is salty from the ocean and sweet from the fig trees, the sun is warm, the world seems at peace. It's so unlike your penthouse in Manhattan, and it only confirms that moving here for a while was a good idea.

Why stay in New York, anyway? Your company has been sold. You're currently unemployed, for the first time since you were 16. Staying in the US didn't make any sense. You don't regret coming here — you only regret not coming here sooner.

It's healing, that's what it is. You're not just married, but actually in a marriage now. She's not your wife, but your partner. Whatever you'd been doing wrong before has been fixed. And for the first time, there's no hurry. You're allowed to exist with her, in the same space, and don't have to worry about anything but the two of you anymore.

Inside, it's cold from the air conditioning. After being outside for over an hour, it's enough to give Natasha whiplash. You pull her into your side.

"Told you not to stay outside. It's too hot."

"And I told you to get sunshades."

Smiling faintly, you roll your eyes and let go once you reach the kitchen. You grab the empty bowl from her and watch the sticky residue of the figs away. You only notice how she's gotten closer when she wraps her arms around your middle, her front pressed against your back.

"I don't want to leave, you know."

"Mhm?"

"It's nice here. Nicer than New York." She kisses your shoulder, lips lingering. "Maybe we could stay a little longer."

You hum. You did buy the house for this specific reason — so you can stay as long as you please to, return whenever you like. You have the necessary money, too. And if Natasha wants to stay? You're staying.

"I like that", you say. Her hand slides under your shirt and splays out on your abs. "We'll stay, then. How long did you have in mind?"

"I don't know." Lips press against your neck, again and again, covering your skin in kisses. She nuzzles your shoulder. "Maybe until we get started on our family."

'Family' could mean anything. You don't need the specifics — you feel like you'll be happy with anything.

You're in this together, after all.

[freakyformula]

Unexpected Love part 1

Summary:

Things weren't meant to turn out this way.

I had everything thought out perfectly. My life was perfect. And then Toto came and wrecked everything.

I can feel myself becoming more bewildered and hopeless with every passing second.

I look at the stick in my hands again and confirm my worst nightmare. Two faint lines. Just like the one I took before. And the one before that. It was truly happening.

I can barely breathe as I slide down on the floor, with my knees tucked under my chin.

Tears run down my cheeks as I sob my heart out.

This is the first part of Unexpected Love, a series about Y/N, who falls in love with Toto Wolff, the CEO of Mercedes AMG Petronas Formula 1 team. Follow along on her journey, as she experiences love and desire for the first time in her life. ps. This series contains sexual themes, and may not be fitting for younger individuals.

Writers comment: I'm working on the requests you've sent me dw <3

Warnings: Major age gap and fluff

Word count: 2,9k

"Come on, Y/N, it'll be fun!" My best friend, Vanessa, laughs while yapping away about the Australian Grand Prix that will be held next week. We sit on her bed in her studio apartment, surrounded by books about engineering and car design. We were both students, both in uni, working on our theses.

"How to build a car?" I ask, holding the book up, looking at her with a charming smile. "It's written by one of the best car designers of all time, Y/N!" She laughs. "Adrian Newey..." I whisper to myself, getting more and more fascinated by the elegance and beauty of the sport.

You see, Vanessa had gotten an internship at Mercedes a year ago as a trainee mechanic, and had been pestering me about the sport and how I needed to join her for a race weekend ever since.

"I'll pay for your tickets, as long as you join, please just come with me!" She practically begs. "I've heard there are handsome dudes at the races." She looks up from her notebook and winks.

"Alright, sold!" I say in an instant, surprising myself and her. "I mean, I won't go because of the men but rather because I love you so much." In my friend group, I was the one with the least experience, and I was okay with that; it seemed like everyone else had an issue with it. I was known for being proper and shy, and I guess that made me unattractive. I didn't really mind being single, though. I actually quite enjoyed it.

"Will you really?!" She asks, not sure if I was serious or not. "As long as you pay my tickets, then yes." I smile at her.

Vanessa, being the funniest, sassiest, most outgoing person I know of, starts jumping up and down on her bed in what I can only assume is happiness, making her books and I jump along with her. "Yay!" She yells. "Melbourne, here we come!"

And just like that, I had tickets to the Melbourne Grand Prix, the first race of the season. I had to admit, I was nervous. I didn't like flying that much, and I wasn't the biggest fan of large crowds either. It seemed like I had a lot of things against me. I had been wondering what to wear ever since I agreed to go, and as I was a poor student, I couldn't afford anything expensive. My friend knew of this and assured me that one of my cute sundresses and a cardigan would suffice. So, here I was in a yellow sundress, hoping to fit in.

Friday was the first real racing day. Stakes were high, the sun was warm, but not scorching, and the city was filled with expectant people. I'm busy reading the info pamphlet as we walk to the track, with my friend excitedly babbling away about her schedule.

"Here are your tickets. Keep them on you at all times. Don't lose them!" Vanessa smiles as she slides the link with the tickets over my head and runs off to the garage to get ready for practice.

I spent the next 10 hours walking around, feeling totally lost and misplaced. I even thought about leaving early and walking back to the hotel. I knew how Vanessa would react though, she would be heartbroken. I let out a sigh of relief when I got a text from Vanessa, telling me to meet up with her near the gates. When I say I ran, I'm not exaggerating.

"Hello, darling!" She says as I hug her tightly. "How was your day?" She asks.

"It was okay." I simply state and sigh. She instantly stopped and looked at me, sensing that I wasn't enjoying my time. "Y/N, let me introduce you to someone." She blurts out and drags me along with her at a quick pace.

"Hi guys, this is my plus one, Y/N." My friend chuckles and introduces me to her colleagues, judging by their Mercedes clothing. I can't help but gaze down and feel out of place.

"Hello, Y/N, nice to meet you! Welcome to Australia!" One of the men opposite me says and offers me his hand. I look up at him, giving him a faint smile and shaking his hand. He had a kind smile and deep brown eyes that smiled down at me.

"H-Hi." I manage to blurt out as he gently lets my hand go from his firm handshake.

"How are you liking the weekend so far?" The man asks.

I look up at him, with the others looking excited to hear my opinion.

"Well..." I start. "She doesn't like it so far." My friend fills in, and to be honest, she wasn't lying. She knew me better than anyone and she definitely knew I wasn't enjoying myself without even asking.

"In that case, I think it's best if she joins us in the garage for a tour, don't you think?" The man says.

I frankly had no idea what to expect, but I humbly accepted, and parted with the rest of the group, and followed my friend and the mysterious man to the garage.

"Tadaa! This is our garage in all its glory!" My friend says as she dances around, making sure not to touch the cars or the equipment. As she dances around by herself, humming some song that was popular at the time, I walk around looking at the cars, absorbing every detail about them.

"You, Y/N need something to fit in." The man starts. "What about..." He says as he searches the lockers. "This?" He says, and hands me a Mercedes T-shirt. He even got my size right.

I look at him and accept his gift. "Thank you! This is too kind of you."

"No, Y/N, this is the least I can do." He chuckles as we watch as Vanessa hums and attempts a waltz.

The silence was palpable, except for Vanessa of course, and I started to panic, not knowing what to say as we leaned against the cupboards, standing next to each other.

"Ummm..." I start. "We should probably-"

"I'm Toto, by the way. I never told you my name." Toto says.

"Toto..." I say to myself as I look up at him. I couldn't part from his piercing gaze, and for a moment, we were stuck in each other's eyes.

"Y/N, boss, earth calling?!" Vanessa chuckles, cruelly returning us to reality. Even as Vanessa is yapping away, I feel Toto's gaze burning my skin.

"Wait... Boss?" I think, but the words happen to slip out. My eyes move between them, having more questions than answers.

"You didn't know?" Vanessa asks. "Toto is the CEO and team principal of Mercedes."

"That's right." Toto nods his head and smiles.

"What the actual..." I say in complete disbelief. Toto and Vanessa look at each other and smile, as I'm left gaping at them.

"I-I..." I say, as I look at the Mercedes T-shirt and Toto with shocked eyes, and he seems to notice. "I know, it's probably a lot to take in."

"Anyways, I'm going back to the hotel. Are you coming, Y/N?" Vanessa says as she walks out into the chill Aussie air, and I start following her.

"I should probably make sure that Y/N gets something to eat. If you want to, of course." Toto says as he moves in front of me, and looks down at me with those dark eyes of his. Usually, I wouldn't go out with a man I had met not even an hour ago, but something about Toto just lured me in.

"That is so kind, Toto, but-"

"Of course you're going!" Vanessa cuts me off and leaves me looking at her with a questioning look.

"Okay, guess I'm going..." I say, holding my hands up in defeat.

"Are you ready to go right now?" Toto asks, and I nervously nod as an answer.

"Have fun." Vanessa whispers in my ear as we walk out of the garage.

"I won't be long." I assure her.

"Sure thing..." She laughs to herself, and walks off, leaving me and Toto alone. As we walk towards the parking, I can't help feeling nervous about the whole situation. I'm about to have dinner with a CEO twice as old as me. What am I thinking?!

"I can tell you're nervous Y/N. You don't need to be." Toto stops and looks down at me with that gorgeous smile of his. "I'm just taking you out to dinner."

And he's right; it's only dinner. Nothing more, nothing less. Deep breaths.

I wasn't exactly surprised when he guided me into a Mercedes. That felt like a given at this point. This man was the brand itself.

As we got to know each other, I realise that he was quite enjoyable, despite our differences.

"I'd guess that you're... In your twenties?"

"You would be correct, sir." I giggle. "Now, my turn. My guess is that you're in your fifties." I say, scanning him for his reaction.

His face was blank for a moment before finally speaking. "My god, Y/N, you are so accurate! Do I look old?" He asks.

"Not exactly." I chuckle. "But you don't look twenty either."

Toto sighs. "Fair enough. I'm not senile, though."

"Touché." I say, as we sit in comfortable silence.

I'm almost dozing off when I'm awakened by Toto's loud ring tone. "Sorry for waking you up..." He mutters as he answers.

"I wasn't... Asleep." I say as I heard a voice on the phone which didn't sound too happy, and I started wondering if his wife was angry with him for taking me out for dinner. "I'm not having this conversation now, Susie." He says, surprisingly calmly, before switching to German. As the call ended, which felt like an eternity later, the air felt tense, and Toto looked as if he was ready to snap.

"I-I'm sorry if I got you in trouble." I finally break the silence. I'm ready to break down crying, fearing that I had ruined a perfectly good relationship.

"What? No, no Y/N! You haven't done anything wrong." He says as he grabs my hand reassuringly. "That was my soon-to-be ex-wife, Susie." He spat the last part out.

"You're married?!" I panic.

"Was." He clarifies, holding his finger up. "Trust me, Susie and I are not on good terms." Toto says, tearing his eyes from the road to scan me for any uncertainty.

Our gazes meet for what feels like forever, and he gives me a reassuring smile. What I felt at that moment cannot be described with words. Was I already falling for this man?

"We're here." He interrupts my racing thoughts. I audibly gasp as we turn onto a road to a vineyard and as I watch the rows of plantations., Toto turns to me, smiling to himself. "Never been to a vineyard before?" He asks as I take in the beauty of the endless hills and plantations.

"Never." I say in awe. "It's beautiful out here..."

"I'm glad you like it." Toto says as he parks the car and helps me out. As we make our way towards the building on the hill, which Toto told me was the restaurant, I can't help wondering what exactly brought me here. I had a feeling that I'd have to thank Vanessa at the end of the night.

"Are you okay?" Toto asks while we slowly walk towards our destination, and I quickly nod as an answer, giving him a wide smile.

"Good. I hope you like Italian food." He chuckles.

"I love Italian food actually, it's my favourite cuisine." I admit.

The restaurant was almost empty as we walked in, and we were escorted to a small booth where we could sit alone. "Order whatever you want; it's on me." Toto says as he studies the menu.

As soon as I heard that, my eyes spring up to the man sat beside me. "You don't have to do that, Toto... I can pay for myself."

Toto doesn't look at me when he continues, "Shush, Y/N, I was the one inviting you out for dinner. I will be the one paying." He says, as he calls the waiter over.

"A mushroom risotto for me please... And for the lady?" Their heads turn and all of a sudden, the attention was on me.

"Umm..." I'm left panicking, unable to read, or breathe for that matter. "I-I'll have the same thing." I announce, making the waiter nod and walk off.

As the day turns to night, Toto and I keep talking, getting to know each other.

"And so, that's how I became team principal." Toto finishes off his story.

"Wow, you've seen a lot through the years." I smile to myself while sipping on the red wine Toto had insisted he'd get for me. The price tag, I feared, was juicy.

"Here you go, two mushroom risottos." The waiter announced as he carried the two plates our way.

"Thank you!" We said at the same time.

I could feel myself getting tipsy and more relaxed as the evening progressed and Toto for sure noticed. The fact that I was enjoying my time made him relax too, making our conversation more easy-going. I have to admit, I was really enjoying myself.

"Are you ready to leave? I'm sure Vanessa will alert the authorities if I keep you for much longer." Toto looks down at his clock and sighs. "We've been here for a little over 3 hours."

"Sure thing." I say as we get up. As he had already promised, he paid the bill, much to my dismay.

On our way down the hill, we walk a little closer than we did before, close enough to touch hands, close enough to feel the heat radiating of each others bodies.

"I've had the best evening." Toto starts, "I haven't had this fun in a long time."

"I feel the same way." I smile up at him, and stop in my tracks, taking the grace of him in. He turns around, surely wondering why I stopped.

At that moment, I have no idea what got into me, but I clap his arm, and run towards his car. "You're it!" I yell.

I run down the hill playfully, with Toto in close tow, as I snort with laughter. When he gets close enough, he lifts me up and slows down, carrying me on his shoulder all the way to his car.

"Toto! Let me down!" I protest.

"You little riot!" He laughs as he walks up to the car, while letting me down carefully. "Now, back to the hotel? We've got a long day ahead of us tomorrow."

"Yes, please." I reply, smiling up at him, earning a smile back from him as he helps me into the car.

The journey back to the hotel was blissfully silent, and it felt as if no words were required, as if everything was said in our minds.

"And we're here." Toto says as he approaches our hotel and stops at the entrance. "Let me take you back to your room." He says as he guides me to the lifts.

"I will find my way back to my room, Toto." I try to protest, not wanting to be an inconvenience to him.

"I'm sure you will, Y/N, but I want to make sure." He says as we enter the lift. As the doors close, Toto approaches. He was terrifying in this close proximity, and I automatically tense up.

"Shhh..." Toto shushes me. "No need to be scared, Y/N."

I won't lie, his words didn't exactly calm me down, but on the contrary, his closeness made me feel safe, and I didn't have the strength to move away. Something about him just reeled me in, fast, and I bet Toto noticed how my breathing became faster.

Faster than I would've preferred, the elevator stopped and we step out. "I enjoy your company, we should do this again." Toto admits as we slowly walk along the corridor. "I agree, Toto. I really enjoyed this, just let me know when you want to do it again."

"How am I going to do that if I don't have your number?" He asks.

"Smooth, Mr. Wolff." I say, earning a shrug from him, as I dig through my bag for a pen. "Here!" I hold the ballpoint pen up in the air like a prized possession as Toto giggles at my antics. "Hand, please." I ask, and Toto willingly offers me his hand. With a certain level of clumsiness, I manage to write my number in his hand.

"This is it, 303, my room." I announce. The silence that follows is awkward, and none of us seem to know what to say.

"I..." I start. "I've had a good time tonight." I say as I smile up at him.

"Likewise." Toto says while taking my hand and giving it a light squeeze. "See you soon, sunshine." He nods at me as I close the door behind me, letting out a heavy sigh, finally getting to relax.

"Hello, sunshine." Vanessa announces as I close the door.

"Vanessa? What the fuck-"

"You've been gone for hours, now tell me everything. How did it go?"

"Okay, you won't believe it..." I say, and as the night progressed, Vanessa questioned me about our dinner, and I readily provided every detail. Vanessa probably had no idea her boss had such a tender side, and I considered myself fortunate to have witnessed it myself.

We both fell asleep, worn out and exhausted. As I stare up at the roof, Vanessa is already snoring beside me, and I can't help but wonder what Toto is doing at this exact time. Was he thinking about me, or was he looking for his next fling? One never knows, but I fell asleep pleased and content, with one question in mind: when will he contact me again?

[idkyetxoxo]

Daemon Targaryen - Atonement

Summary - Power and pride unfold as Daemon is brought low by his arrogance. In this charged moment of dominance and desire, he must prove his worth while confronting the cost of his reckless words. Submission is the only path to salvation—and the stakes are dangerously high.

Pairing - Daemon Targaryen x reader

Warnings - Sexual content (oral f!receiving)

Word count - 2503

Masterlist for Daemon • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

"Do you want me back?" I asked, arms crossed as I leaned back against the worn velvet of the settee. 

The room was dim, the flickering candlelight casting shifting shadows on the walls, but my voice was clear and unyielding. 

I was beyond the point of pretending to care—or so I wanted him to believe. 

"Say it," I demanded, eyes narrowing with a cold glimmer as Daemon Targaryen fell to his knees before me.

The sight was almost laughable—the rogue prince feared and revered in equal measure, brought low. To many, this scene would have been unthinkable. He, the fire-blooded scion of dragons, reduced to this. 

But I knew better. This was not just humiliation—it was a desperate man's one last gamble. His fingers curled into fists against the rug as he bowed his head, refusing to meet my gaze.

"I want you back," he said hoarsely, his voice trembling with emotion. "Please." The word cracked in the air like brittle glass, his pride bleeding from every syllable. 

He avoided my eyes, unable to face the abyss he'd been pushed into.

I studied him, unblinking, savouring the power that coursed through me. This was what I had warned him about. 

I had drawn the line clearly: disrespect me, and I would walk away. 

There were no idle threats between us. And when he had dared to shame me before his precious Goldcloaks, I made good on my word. 

Now, he knelt before me, feeling every ounce of that consequence.

"Say it again." My voice was soft, almost tender—a deceptive whisper of steel. I held his gaze this time, forcing him to lift his head. 

I wanted to see the hopelessness dance in his eyes, to watch him unravel.

"Please," he breathed, his desperation now laid bare. "I want you back." His chest heaved, the words drawn out of him with all the weight of a dying man's final plea.

A smirk tugged at my lips, and I allowed myself a low, mocking laugh. 

"Gods, you're pretty when you beg," I murmured, taking perverse pleasure in his helplessness. The room seemed to tighten around us, the air thick with a stifling, electric tension. 

He stared at me, as if searching for any shred of mercy I might spare him.

Slowly, I leaned forward, letting my fingers trace the line of his jaw. His breath caught, and I could see the raw vulnerability in his eyes, an emotion he rarely allowed himself to show. 

"Maybe," I teased, savouring the way he flinched under my touch, "but begging won't be enough."

His expression shifted—a war waged within him. Pride clashed with longing, but desperation won out. His shoulders slumped, and a glimmer of defeat softened his features. 

"Convince me," I whispered, my words curling around him like a silk noose. "Prove to me that you're not just desperate for a fleeting moment of forgiveness. Show me you're willing to fight."

He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. 

"Convince me," I pressed, my voice an unforgiving melody. "Convince me that losing me would be a fate worse than any you've ever faced."

For a moment, the silence threatened to swallow us both. He closed his eyes, grappling with the weight of what I'd demanded. 

When he opened them again, his gaze was raw, his desperation more potent than before. 

"Please," he implored, the words scraping his throat. "I can't bear the thought of losing you. I'll do whatever it takes. Just... don't let me go."

Triumph sparkled in my eyes, but I kept my expression cool. "That's more like it," I purred, leaning back, savouring the small victory I'd won over him. 

"Now, let's see how far you're truly willing to go, Prince."

A flicker of determination ignited behind the vulnerability. "I promise you," he vowed, his voice gaining strength. "Not with empty words, but with every action, every breath—I will fight for us. Losing you is a fate I will never accept."

His resolve sent a thrill through me. 

"Good," I whispered, a smile playing at my lips. "Then prove it."

His desperation thickened the air, weighing every word he spoke, every breath he took. For a moment, I let the silence stretch between us, savouring his discomfort. 

Finally, he looked up, a glimmer of defiance mingling with the need in his eyes. "What would you have me do?" he asked, voice taut with the strain of his surrender. 

There was no hint of bravado now, just a hollow shell of the man who once thought himself untouchable.

I leaned back, feigning contemplation. My eyes never left him, and I knew he felt the burn of my scrutiny. 

"What was it you said to your Goldcloaks?" I asked, letting each word drop like stones into the heavy silence. His face paled slightly, and for a moment, I thought he might refuse to answer. 

But this was not the place for defiance, and he knew it.

He shifted uncomfortably, the proud prince reduced to a man cornered by his own foolishness. His jaw worked, his mouth opening and closing, but no words came out. 

"I'm asking a question, Daemon." My voice was ice, slicing through his hesitance. "Say it."

He stared at the ground, shame colouring his cheeks. "I said..." He faltered, voice a hushed rasp. "I said I would never... go down on a woman. No matter how sweet she was."

The admission hung between us, and I felt a cruel satisfaction as his words echoed back at him, stripped of their bravado. 

"Right," I said, drawing the word out. "And why was that said, Daemon?" 

I leaned forward, pressing him with the same relentless intensity I had felt when he first uttered those words to his men.

He looked away, his shoulders hunched. "I didn't mean it," he mumbled, barely audible. "I just wanted to seem..."

I cut him off, my voice cold and mocking. "Powerful? Feared?" I leaned in closer, the faintest hint of a smile curling at my lips. "Well, Daemon Targaryen, you are a liar. Because we both know you've tasted plenty of sweetness."

His eyes darted back to mine, a mixture of shame, frustration, and something darker. 

My words were a whip across his pride, a reminder of every whispered night, every unspoken promise made in the dark. I held his gaze, unyielding, and let him simmer in the weight of it all.

"Was it worth it?" I continued, my voice softer but no less deadly. "A fleeting moment of posturing before your men? A lie to paint yourself as untouchable, when in truth, you've knelt at my feet more times than I can count?" I leaned in, my breath warm against his cheek. 

"Tell me, Daemon, how does it feel to be exposed like this?"

His jaw clenched, and for a moment, I thought he might lash out. But instead, he bowed his head, the weight of his choices pressing down on him. 

"It was never worth losing you," he whispered, each word laced with regret. "I was a fool."

"More than a fool," I corrected, my tone merciless. "You were reckless. And now, you will pay the price for every careless word."

"Whatever it takes," he vowed, his voice raw, stripped of every last ounce of pride. "Just tell me how to make it right."

A small smile played at my lips. "You'll know soon enough," I murmured, tracing a finger down his cheek. "But for now, I want you to remember the taste of this moment—what it means to beg for what you once thought was beneath you."

He nodded, silent, and I knew he understood. There was no redemption without suffering, no forgiveness without penance. This was only the beginning.

The silence between us grew heavy, laden with his shame and my cold satisfaction. 

Daemon's head remained bowed, and I relished in watching him squirm under the weight of his own reckless words. 

"Please," he whispered, his voice rough with desperation. "Let me prove it to you. My words... they meant nothing. I was lying. I was a fool. I never thought you'd overhear or find out."

I leaned back, crossing my arms as if considering. Inside, my pulse quickened, heat blooming beneath my skin despite the icy mask I wore. 

I wanted to deny him, to make him grovel longer—but the sight of him like this, stripped of his pride and pleading for redemption, sent a thrill through me that I couldn't ignore. 

I took a slow, measured breath and uncrossed my legs deliberately, letting my gaze linger on him.

"Fine," I said, at last, the word slipping past my lips with cool detachment. I feigned disinterest, even as desire pooled low in my belly. "But understand this, Daemon—this is not forgiveness. This is your chance to prove just how empty your words were."

His eyes shot up to meet mine, wide with a mix of hope and fear. He moved closer, instinctively drawn to me, but I raised a hand, halting him in his tracks. 

"Slowly," I commanded my voice a whisper of silk over steel. "You do not touch until I say you may."

He swallowed hard, nodding, and I saw the faintest tremor in his hands. This was a man used to power and control, now utterly at my mercy. 

He inched forward, his movements measured, and I leaned back into the cushions, watching his every step. The room seemed to contract around us, every heartbeat, every breath, magnified by the tension coiled tight between us.

I tilted my chin, a cruel smile playing at the corners of my lips. "Show me, then," I said softly, an edge of challenge in my tone. "Show me that your words were hollow."

For a moment, he hesitated—just a heartbeat. Then he knelt before me again, the fire of determination mingling with the desperate need in his eyes. 

"I will," he murmured, his voice low and trembling. "I'll show you."

Slowly, reverently, his hands moved to my ankles. He glanced up, seeking permission, and I gave the barest nod. 

His fingers were gentle as they traced the curve of my calf, then slid upward, his touch feather-light, as if he feared I would shatter beneath him. I fought to keep my breathing even, to maintain the veneer of control—but inside, I was burning.

Daemon leaned closer, his breath hot against my skin as he pressed a kiss to the inside of my knee. He moved with a mixture of hesitation and fervour, each touch a plea, each kiss an apology. 

I felt his lips against my thigh, soft but insistent, and a shiver rippled through me.

"Is this what you said you'd never do?" I whispered, my voice tight. I saw the way his jaw clenched, the way he fought to contain his pride and obey. 

"Show me how much of a liar you are, Daemon."

He exhaled, a shuddering breath, before he pressed his lips lower, tasting me with a reverence that belied the arrogance he once displayed. His mouth was warm, and he moved with a blend of desperation and worship. 

I tangled my fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, forcing him to deepen his surrender. 

The air crackled with tension, and I revelled in every second of his degradation, every flicker of desire that betrayed his need.

"You're good at this," I taunted, my voice breathy despite myself. "For someone who claimed otherwise."

He paused, his eyes blazing with a mix of humiliation and raw yearning. "I was wrong," he rasped, his voice shaking. "I'll prove it to you, over and over, until you believe me."

I let out a low laugh, the sound vibrating through both of us. "We'll see, Daemon," I said, a dangerous promise in my words. "We'll see how far you're willing to go to earn my forgiveness."

And then I let him continue, knowing he would give everything, knowing he would not stop until I was convinced. 

In that moment, I held all the power—and I intended to savour every bit of his fall from the lofty pedestal he once stood upon.

His lips brushed lower, the heat of his breath mingling with my skin and making every nerve ignite. 

The moment hung between us, heavy and laden with unspoken promises, and when his mouth fully claimed me, there was nothing delicate about it. 

He devoured me with the hunger of a man who'd kept himself restrained far too long. 

Each flick of his tongue, every rough and tender movement, spoke of a desperation he could no longer deny. It was as if he sought to etch his submission into my flesh, to make me feel every ounce of the humiliation and pride he grappled with.

I gripped his hair tighter, feeling the silky strands slip between my fingers. The sensation of having him so utterly at my mercy made me dizzy with a sense of power that was almost intoxicating. 

I angled myself, demanding more, and he complied instantly, his mouth working tirelessly, the warmth of his tongue drawing gasps from me that I barely recognized as my own. 

Each flicker and press seemed to map out every tremble, every quiver I couldn't suppress.��

He was a contradiction of roughness and reverence, and it felt as if he was pouring all of himself—his resentment, his shame, and his desire—into this act.

"Good," I hissed, my voice jagged, designed to pierce and praise in equal measure. "I want you to feel it, Daemon. Every bit."

His eyes met mine for a heartbeat, the intensity there staggering, as if he understood every nuance of my words. And then he closed them again, giving himself over completely. 

There was no hesitation, no holding back as he used his lips, tongue, and teeth to push me further and further into oblivion. His hands, strong and sure, pressed into my thighs, keeping me anchored to him. 

There was no escape, and I had no desire for it. I wanted him to consume me—and he did.

The way he moved was calculated, deliberate, but there was a ragged edge to it, too, like he was being undone along with me. 

When his tongue traced patterns that felt designed to undo me, a groan escaped me, raw and broken. He paused just enough to murmur words that were lost to the haze of pleasure, but the vibration alone was enough to bring me to the brink. 

His humiliation became his offering, and he lavished me with it until I was trembling.

"Prove it," I managed to bite out, the words ragged, daring. And he did—over and over until nothing else existed but the heat, the pressure, and the way he unravelled me with a skill that belied every proud word he once spoke. 

The room around us faded, leaving only his mouth and the all-consuming fire between us.

I shattered, gasping his name, feeling his pride crumble with each ragged breath. And as he drew out every last tremor with his mouth still against me, I knew that I would take more. 

This was just the beginning of his fall—and my ascent to the height of our twisted exchange.

A/n - Love writing Daemon begging xx

[icedout-pacemaker]

Loser twin older brothers who still live at home and have been in a rivalry with each other their entire lives that are possessive of their adopted black sister who they both fuck on a daily basis. I had plans to head to college and it was the first time I saw them actually collaborate with one another, determined to keep me home with them.

They said they wanted to have a celebratory night in, show me how to smoke weed for the first time. I agree, since I figure I'll probably end up doing it when I get to college. We hang out in my room, eating pizza, drinking soda, and smoking together. I cough the first few times but get the hang of it. It only takes four puffs before I start to feel it. They say I'm a lightweight but that it was a good thing, sitting on either side of me on the bed.

One of them brings the blunt to my lips, making take another puff. I tell them I don't need anymore but they just blow the smoke in my face, laughing when I cough. I don't realize my shirts are coming down until I feel one of their hands on the top of my thigh, pulling my panties off too. They're stuffed in my mouth, only a small bit hanging out of my full lips as they both take one of my tits, harshly kneading.

I can feel my pussy getting wet but I don't want them to know. But they know. They say they can smell how wet I am, blowing more smoke in my face. I try to move but they keep me in place, one of them kissing me while the other climbed down, getting in between my legs.

I set a timer on my phone. We switch after 20 minutes.

20 minutes..?

Whatever. Slide her down so I can get a good angle on her mouth.

One tug of my ankles and I'm flat on the bed, looking up at my brother's balls. He snatches the panties out of my mouth before he pulls his hips back, guiding my chin up as he slides in my mouth with his cock, bottoming out until he's at the back of my throat. I can feel my brother slide into my pussy, doing the same. They both hold, not moving.

Who's bigger? Me or him?

She can't talk with your cock in her mouth, idiot.

He pulls out in one hard movement. Watching me cough.

Who's bigger?

I can feel saliva on my lips, thinking about it before saying, "I don't know."

She's just being nice. She knows I'm bigger. She barely reacted when you slide in her mouth. You should've seen her feet when I bottomed out in her.

She's high as fuck, she doesn't know what she's talking about. She couldn't even talk for a second.

Bullshit. Watch.

He starts to pump into me. Fast and deep. I feel like I can feel every vein on his cock, every thrust feeling like the very first one. Desperate moans spill out of me, my tits bouncing as he ruts into my pussy, gripping my legs for the best angle.

My brother scowls, angling up before shoving his cock back in my mouth, picking up to the same pace. The movie from earlier enters its credits, only playing a light tune that is overtaken by the sounds of the both of them fucking me in a competitive rush to the end.

My eyes rolls back, soft sounds of pleasure leaking out of me as my body is vigorously fucked. They temper themselves well, stopping short when they're about to cum before starting up again. The timer rings, and they switch, as agreed. Somehow it is rougher, as if both of them have something to prove. As if it were paramount to prove that whatever I had been receiving before would not be as good as what it would be now.

They edge themselves. Thrusting. Stopping. Thrusting. Stopping. Has it been an hour? Why won't they just cum? Their grunts are louder. I know it is getting harder to hold back, but they continue. Brother looks back at brother with a smirk before looking back down on me, pushing his cock in deep as if staking his claim. I'm bottomed out on both ends, the both of them straining to hold back.

Why hadn't it been obvious? Whoever came first would be the "inferior" one. They were going to keep going to be the last one cumming. My body is on fire, numb yet wildly sensitive. My jaw slacks as I lay there, being used just three nights before I was meant to tour a potential college.

Thrust. Stop. Thrust. Stop. Thrust. Stop.

What time was it?

Thrust. Stop. Thrust. Stop. Thrust. Stop.

They had always used her like this. A fleshlight to show dominance towards one another.

Thrust. Stop. Thrust. Stop.

Had they even looked her in the eyes at all tonight?

Ugh!

It happens. He's buried deep in my pussy but I feel it spill into me, ending this contest of endurance. Brother groans in relief and slight pain, snatching my head forward and finishing at last.

They both fall flat on the bed, deflated. Brother is smirking despite his panting, I pant as well, a sloppy display of holes as my tits were glistening with my spit, my pussy wet and leaking. The three of use lay on my bed, spent.

I told you I was better. I win. I get to keep her.

Brother is too angry and tired to speak.

Brother rolls over, facing me.

He set the timer, but I set up the phone. All of that was recorded. And I'll send it to any school you apply to. You'll start sleeping in my room so mom and dad can still turn your room into their gym. Anyone who wants to fuck you has to have my permission. Including him.

Fuck you.

Brother just grins, running a hand over my cheek.

You're gonna stay here with us, sis. Forever.

[cloversnstrawberries]

Can I request a platonic yandere Stars members (Wesker, Jill, Chris, etc) with a fellow stars member

If won't/don't do multiple people, could you do Wesker or Chris

All of your work has been very good and I love the layout of your blog and the actual work

Have a good day or night

platonic!yandere!S.T.A.R.S & S.T.A.R.S!gn!reader headcanons ! !

masterlist !

includes albert wesker, jill valentine, chris redfield, and rebecca chambers !

additional notes; hello!! i absolutely can do multiple people, and thank you so much for dropping this request, i had a lot of fun writing it :) and aaugudhg,,, i literally died when i read this,, you're so sweet (˃̣̣̥ ︿ ˂̣̣̥) i'm sorry i took so long to finish this!! i really wanted to make sure they all had a lot of content/were equal (more or less) in word count :D i also hope i got their characterizations correct,,

the dynamics for this is fatherly albert, big sister jill, big brother chris (+sister claire, because i find myself incapable of not including her), and little sister rebecca!! yandere found family dynamics.. yandere found family dynamics save me...

warnings; Overprotectiveness, possessiveness, jealousy, (very slightly) implied kidnapping(?), manipulation, guns, light violence/mention of, Reader being left out of the loop, isolation, and probably more that i may have forgotten :[ if you think there's any I should add, please let me know!! :D

w/c; Albert (3.0k) | Jill (2.6k) | Chris (2.9k) | Rebecca (3.3k)

Albert Wesker

Even if you weren't qualified for it, he'd have you on the Alpha team. You’d been shooting for a position in the Bravo team, but somehow-- someway, you managed to charm your way into the captains good graces, enough for him to put you in the Alpha team,

Don't get me wrong, that doesn't mean you're going on missions with them. There were a few times where you did-- only because his higher ups (Umbrella, though you didn’t know that’s who he had to answer to) forced Wesker's hand, saying that you'd need to be demoted if you weren't actually going out in the field.

No, you were usually stuck behind, doing paperwork. You weren't complaining-- not usually, anyways. Yes, it often got boring and repetitive at times; but it's leagues better than the chaos you'd had to endure on the few required missions you went on every now-and-again.

And even then, your captain claimed they were some of the more mild missions the team had gone on. If that was mild, you sure as hell didn't want to see what the extreme could possibly be.

All in all, you were pretty alright with being saddled with all the technical things-- there were some you couldn't do, like the personal recounts that members had to fill out after a particularly high-stakes mission; but you did a good chunk of it.

One time, when you were heading to the break room for your lunch-- passing by Wesker's office, you heard him being... unusually loud. Animated, you're sure; the frosted window giving way to the interior obscured the finer details, but you could still see how he paced back and forth.

His hand was pressed to his ear-- no, his hand was holding a phone; the kind that can detach from their bases, that he was pressing to his ear, and you could practically feel the agitation that was just radiating off of him in droves.

It's not your fault-- that your curiosity got the best of you. That you tucked yourself against the nearby wall and pressed your ear to the door. If Wesker ever found out that you'd been eavesdropping, then he'd surely demote you-- or fire you entirely, was the more logical conclusion.

Which gave you all the more reason to not get caught. Despite it all, you liked this job. You liked the people you worked with-- you couldn't bare the thought of losing this job, if only because of your beloved co-workers.

The door was thick, but your captain was loud enough that you could catch most of the conversation.

It seemed like he was talking to his higher-ups-- strange, the thought of him having to answer to anyone but himself. It makes sense, though-- now that you've come face to face with it.

"I'm not sending them with the others," was what you heard first. You wondered who he was talking about-- and what he wouldn't be sending this mysterious person to, that seemingly, all other S.T.A.R.S members were going to.

...Quickly, you realized the only logical conclusion was that he referring to you. Maybe it was a high-stake mission, and whoever held authority over him (God, that never stops feeling like a strange concept to you) was saying you hadn't met whatever mission-quota required to stay on the Alpha team.

Which checks out, seeing as you were trained for the Bravo team-- graduating in the same class as Rebecca Chambers, not a single lick of real-world experience under your belt; you got the job on the basis that it'd be smaller stuff. Easy stuff, something a rookie like yourself could easily do without much trouble or personal harm.

For some god-forsaken reason, Captain Wesker was certain you'd make a fantastic fit for the Alpha team.

Whoever his higher-ups were, didn't seem to agree with him at all. And you wouldn't blame them! The last mission left you so shaken that Wesker told-- no, demanded-- you to take PTO. Reluctantly, you'd gone along with it. he sent you away with a pat on the shoulder, telling you to relax-- not worry about work for the three days he'd allotted you.

You weren't even sure if he could do that, just hand you PTO out of the blue. But then again, he is your boss-- and you have no personal experience in being such a thing to anyone, so who's to say.

Suddenly, a crash sounded out behind the door-- you jumped, leaning just a little further forward to make sure nothing seriously bad happened--

One of the chairs opposite from Wesker's own, the ones he'd tell anyone from interviewees to employees to have a seat in-- had somehow tilted over, and the loud crash was from when it collided with the ground. If you didn’t know any better, you’d assume that Wesker had, in a fit of uncharacteristic (to your knowledge) and explosive anger, shoved the innocent piece of furniture over.

A funny though— your captain, usually so calm and collected, doing something as silly as shoving a over a chair because he was having a tough time with his boss(es),

Really, you should've pulled yourself back-- but you felt rooted to the spot, watching as the clouded, but still recognizable, figure of Albert Wesker was absolutely just seething inside the office-- even through the barrier, you could see how tightly he was gripping the phone. Any harder, and it'd probably turn to dust in his palm.

Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration-- but he was holding it very, very tightly; his jaw clenched so hard that you worried for his teeth. If it'd been you, your teeth would've cracked ages ago with how tightly he grinding them together.

"I don't care what the execs want, Birkin! They're not going. I'm not sending them in like the others." Huh. That was the first time you'd ever gotten a name to the mysterious, possible higher-ups of your captain. You don't recognize the name from the precinct-- or any branch of Raccoon City law enforcement.

Maybe not a higher-up, then? Perhaps an acquaintance, or someone on a similar level of work hierarchy as Wesker? Maybe even a friend, if you were feeling so inclined.

But that didn't explain why they appeared to be talking about something relating to S.T.A.R.S, about a mission that you (you assumed he was talking about you, but you could be wrong) were being completely barred from for seemingly no reason.

Then, Wesker laughed-- an incredulous sort of noise, equal parts angry as it was mocking to whoever was on the receiving end of this phone call.

"What's got him so riled up...?" You mumble to yourself, unable to keep in your confusion-- as soon as you realized your mistake, Wesker paused. You darted back, heart pounding-- you should just head for your lunch break already. you were afforded a generous 30 minutes, but you'd probably used 1/4th of the time allotted,

If you weren’t careful, you'd waste half, or maybe even the entirety, of your break; if you didn’t restrain your curiosity soon,

And yet, you didn't leave. Didn't turn on your heel and run away like a dog with its tail between its legs.

Warily, you stared at the door-- willing the knob not to turn, praying to whatever would answer you that your boss hadn't heard that little question you'd intended entirely for yourself.

When you pacing started up again, his heavy boots thudding against the scratched hardwood floor of his office-- you breathed a quiet sigh of relief, and continued the task at hand.

This time, you didn't dare lean forward to see what he was doing. Having learned your lesson, you stayed far from the window; but just close enough to hear clearly.

A heavy, heaving sigh came next-- and you could practically visualize it now, your captains ever-present sunglasses pushed up to rest on his head, disturbing his perfectly gelled hair just a tad-- fingers pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

"What am I going to do with them, huh?" He... was repeating what the other person, this Birkin, said over the phone-- you think. That's the only way you could make sense of why he could've possibly said that.

A few moments of silence followed, before Wesker-- tone eerily calm, such a stark contrast to the irritated-- no, dare you say enraged-- demeanor he'd had less than five minutes ago.

It was giving you whiplash-- Wesker didn't make much sense with his emotions and personal actions on a good day, when he was actively trying to make himself understandable to you and the other S.T.A.R.S members.

He must be pretty damn close with this Birkin person-- making no attempts to hide his strangeness, the almost cryptic and archaic way he experienced and expressed his feelings.

"Well, you know better than to think I'll spill it all over the phone, Birkin." The name was said more fondly, supporting the idea that this Birkin was a friend of your captains-- we all get annoyed with our friends form time to time, yeah? Maybe that was it.

Maybe... this wasn't even about S.T.A.R.S at all? Would that be considered a stretch? You aren't too sure, the nerves eating away at you eased at the thought-- the idea that Albert was simply speaking about his own personal affairs.

In the absence of your anxiety about being involved in whatever he was talking about, you felt an immense guilt settle, heavy and suffocating in the back of your mind.

You had half the mind to just turn on your heel and head back to work-- to eat lunch at your desk, and work twice as hard on your assignments that day. Either because you wanted something to take your mind off the fact that you butted in on your Captains personal life (something he's obviously very cagey about in the first place, god knows how he'd react knowing that you'd pried some information about it from listening into his conversation, while he stayed entirely unaware to your presence) -- whichever made the most sense. Both, if you were feeling like being honest with yourself.

But, the next thing he said made your blood run cold-- your muscles lock up and your spine straighten. You're sure you resembled a rabbit ready to bolt than a trained (albeit new) member of S.T.A.R.S.

"But I'll let you in on a little secret," His voice wasn't as loud as it was clear-- precise, and it felt as if he was directly addressing you-- but you knew that couldn't possibly have been it.

"I've grown rather fond of them, and I don't feel like giving them up to be one of our little lab rats.” After that ominous bit of information was dropped like a bomb on you, Wesker went quiet.

The person on the other side of the phone must've been responding-- within half a minute, Wesker continued speaking himself.

"I wouldn't call them a pet, Birkin. More like a companion. To call them a pet would suggest they're so much lower than me; which isn't true at all." For a split second-- despite all the... strangeness of his other words, and the context of it all (no matter how disjointed and incomplete it was with you), you let warmth curl around your heart and ease any aches and pains.

For a second, you'd imagined that-- minus the clear superiority complex, he could've been giving you this odd compliment. Could be complimenting you to his friend.

You knew it wasn't so, but you couldn't help but dream for it. You always craved Wesker's praise and approval, no matter how pathetic it'd be to admit that, it was the truth. Honestly, you're surprised you haven't accidentally called him dad before.

And if you did let something like that slip without catching yourself, you'd hand in your two-week notice yourself-- given that you don't die of embarrassment before you had the chance to.

He laughed-- you'd never heard him do that before. Sure, he’s chuckled before; and he'd snickered a few times, but never laughed.

You were shocked by how he laughed-- it seemed more fit for a cartoon villain rather than a specialized police force captain. Maybe that's why he didn't do it often? Previously, you'd just assumed he found very little amusement in most things; or was just physically incapable of laughing for some unforeseen reason.

He'd stopped pacing a little while ago-- you'd been far more focused on his words, that you hardly saw a point in keeping track of his movement, or lack of such.

But, oh god, did you realize it when he started moving again--

It sounded like he was heading toward the door.

"I know, Birkin." Your captain said-- his voice closer. Fear gripped your heart; you had to move, you had to move now, or he'd find you out and you'd be absolutely done for-- That's something you can't really get past in this line of work, eavesdropping on your bosses private conversations-- whether or not he was speaking with a higher-up or a personal acquaintance.

No matter what, if that door opened and he saw you-- then you could kiss your job goodbye, and probably any chance to get a different job in this field ever again.

Nobody liked a Nosy Nancy, did they? Especially not Wesker-- who'd snapped at nearly everyone (noticeably, everyone but you) who'd had the misfortune of even entering the goddamn breakroom while he was in there and taking a call.

He laughed again, far too close for comfort-- you had enough wits about you to stumble back; if he were to open the door now, your position wouldn't as incriminating as before. No longer bracing against the wall, ear pressed to the door of his office.

But still, not a very good look; you just standing there. But your curiosity would be the end of you-- it made you stay stuck to the spot, wanting to catch the last bit of the conversation, even if you didn't understand it at all.

"Yes, yes. I'll be sure to keep them out of your work. As long as you keep your work from them, You know how I feel about my things getting damaged." The knob began to turn-- and as the door began to creak open, the beep! from his phone signaling that the call was over--

You still didn't move, not until the very last minute; turning on your heel, you barely got a few steps forward before your heart dropped your stomach, at the sound of--

"How long have you been out here?" He... didn't sound mad. A strange undertone of... amusement, you think, colored his tone. Fear and relief flooded your body at once-- relief at the idea that he didn't know any better,

And fear that you'd have to either fess up, or lie to cover your ass.

"I just got here, sir." You said, lying through your teeth. It's moments like these, where the fact he's always wearing sunglasses makes you feel even more nervous then if he wasn't-- because, as it was, he was absolutely impossible to get a read on, expression wise.

Then again, there's no real telling if him losing the sunglasses would help at all-- but it still gave you immense anxiety. Not being able to see the look in his eyes, not being able to see any possible emotion he may hold in them.

A few seconds pass by, spent by internally queueing up your goodbyes to your fellow co-workers-- bracing yourself for the worse, for him the reveal that he knew you were lying; because obviously, he'd know. You were an awful liar, and he'd told you so numerous times before,

Though, always with a sort of fondness in his tone-- the kind he never seemed to spare to anyone besides you. At least when you're present, that it-- could be a completely different story while you out of the room.

...Probably not, given how your colleagues always seem to surprised by how 'soft' Wesker was with you-- it'd gained him the nickname 'momma bird', only whispered when you all know that there's not chance of him finding out about it.

"Hm," He said-- before stepping to the side, pulling the door with him, his arm outstretched, silently inviting you inside. You didn't take it, still so nervous-- had he seen you? did he see through your lie?

"Well then, aren’t you going come in? There is something you wish to speak with me about, yes? Or were you just checking in on my well-being?” Finally, you felt the pressing weight of absolute hopelessness lift from your shoulders, the tension visibly leaving your body all at once.

He quirked a brow at your silence, at your immobility-- you jolted, and nodded enthusiastically, scanning your brain for anything you could possibly talk to him about. You'd just been on your way to lunch-- that was it, you had nothing to speak with him about.

But he seemed... expectant. And you swore you saw a smirk on his face--

Well, it was better not to overanalyze it. You followed his 'invitation' (more like a command) and headed into his office; he gestured to the two chairs opposite of his own bigger, fancier one-- he hadn't picked the chair up from the ground yet, you realize.

You stood there for a moment, before picking it up for him. However, you sit in the other one. He gave you a token "Thank you." Before walking around the desk and sitting in his own chair.

Never in your life had you been so quick to bullshit some random, silly question-- that strange little smirk never left his face, but you opted to ignore it in its entirety. If you kept thinking about it, that'd only serve to make you even more anxious.

You didn't know it-- you didn't know how he was looking at you from beneath the sunglasses, like he was studying you. Like he was planning something-- and maybe if you had, maybe if his eyes hadn't been obscured and you would've somehow caught the concerning glint in them, then maybe you could've saved yourself a hell of a lot of trouble down the line.

Jill Valentine

When you first joined S.T.A.R.S, you and and Jill hit it off in an instant-- getting along like a house on fire, Chris jokingly remarked.

You could either be on Alpha or Bravo team, but no matter what, Jill latched onto you like nobodies business. Showing you around the office-- at times hijacking the tour your boss was giving, just so she could give it herself. She always got away with it because she was so enthusiastic about it.

If you were on Alpha team, she'd constantly be pairing up with you during missions; no doubt about it, she's keeping you as close as humanly possible. You don't have a choice in it.

Now, if you were apart of Bravo-- she'd definitely try to change that, to put a good word in for you to Wesker... only to get shot down, and for him to tell her that you were right where you were supposed to be. And unless you showed a 'great deal of talent he otherwise hasn't seen', then you would stay with the Bravos.

Suddenly, after that conversation, she started to drag you from your desk and take you to the shooting range-- like, daily. She'd try her best to help you improve anyway she could, including (but certainly not limiting) how to handle a gun, how to properly utilize a melee weapon against both an unarmed and armed perp, hand-to-hand combat, how to pin someone bigger than yourself down and keep them down,

and of course, her Specialty, lockpicking. You took to it like a fish to water, she said-- it was by far what you were best at among the things she tried to teach you at the point, and she could barely contain her glee at that fact.

However... it was a completely different story for the other things she tried teaching you. The kinds of skills that you develop naturally over an extended period of time, over multiple missions. Something you can't just... learn.

You weren't skilled enough in aim to hold a gun like she tried to teach you to, and in the same vein-- you weren't skilled enough in handling the gun to use the tips and tricks she gave you for aiming.

It was like a never ending cycle, where you couldn't do one thing, and when she tried to target it form another angle-- that didn't work either, because you couldn't do the first thing.

It was extremely frustrating for the both of you, particularly Jill. She did great at not showing it, though. She was all smiles as she gave you a pat on your shoulder, and said you'd get it eventually.

Eventually was the keyterm-- but Jill refused to believe that'd it'd take any longer than two weeks tops to get you up to Alpha team status.

That, evidently, did not happen. She had to switch tactics, and came up with the idea of doing more joint missions with Bravo.

Jill is very... protective, and at first, you thought nothing of it. You saw it as normal for this line of work, for her to be watching your back-- always checking in on you after missions, trying to push you to be your best, so on and so forth.

But then, you started to notice just how... far she could go with it. Apparently, if she was in the office and you were out on a mission-- she wasn't able to get anything done, and all she could do was just wait for you.

Her captain-- the head honcho, someone you don't like interacting with all too much out of pure, unexplainable primal terror at his very presence, often referred to her as 'your dog', 'your guard dog', your 'lap dog', or something else along those lines.

You wanted to tell him to stop, that it was degrading to Jill and just plain rude-- but you were too scared to stand up to him. It was silly, how a S.T.A.R.S member-- even if you were apart of the secondary team-- could go on missions and be just fine, but tremble at the idea of asking your boss to 'please stop calling your employee, my co-worker and friend, a dog'.

However, when he'd say it in front of Jill, she never seemed too bothered by the title.

If anything, she looked proud to be labeled as your guard dog-- one time, you asked her about it. Asked if it bothered her, and told her that if need be, you could probably sic the regular RPD police captain on Wesker if she was too afraid to speak up against it (God knows you were).

That conversation... didn't go how you were expecting it to. Actually it didn't go anywhere, not by your measures at least.

Jill laughed, said "Oh, that's just how he is!" and then completely switched topics, asking you if you'd watched Blade yet-- and if you wanted to tag along to the theaters with her to see it.

You didn't have the heart to steer the conversation back, so you just let her dodge it. But hey-- at least you got to see a movie out of it? Granted, she was probably going to ask you anyways, but still. It takes away a bit of the guilt you have for not pushing the issue, weirdly enough.

At some point, whether or not you get on the Alpha team doesn't matter anymore-- because somehow, for a completely archaic reason that nobody (including yourself) but the two main people involved could figure out, Wesker begins planning and executing more joint missions between the two teams.

It'd be a good thing, if you could just believe that this was entirely the A team captain's doing-- of course with the involvement of your captain as well, but he was much less involved from what you could tell.

But the thing is-- you just couldn't bring yourself to believe it. The proud, almost victorious looks Jill kept giving you on the first few joint missions-- like the cat who caught the canary, or a gladiator who just won the match of the century-- made you question if the decision had laid solely on Wesker.

During this joint missions, Jill was hard-pressed to let you out of her sight. Even when your captain suggested the teams go opposite ways; you always stuck behind. Maybe because you didn't want to worry Jill,

Or maybe, just maybe, it was because of the way her grip tightened on your hand, arm, shoulder-- wherever she was holding you-- tight enough to bruise (if you didn't have your tactical gear on, of course).

Whatever the reason was, whether it be one of the two, or an unseen third option, you never split off with you team on these joint missions.

Neither captains said anything of it-- sure, Marini would give either Wesker or Jill a strange, almost suspicious, look-- but he never commented on it. At least, he never commented on it with you.

It was strange, yes, but you chocked it up to her history in the military-- for lack of a better reason. Maybe she saw a rookie in need of help, and took it upon herself to help you any way she could; that much was evidenced by her rigorous training sessions she'd been subjecting you to until the joint missions started up.

But still, it didn't feel like... that. It didn't feel like she was simply a co-worker-- you saw her as a friend, and you're sure she felt the same about you; she never seemed to have viewed you as her subordinate, like you'd viewed her as your superior for a(n albeit short) amount of time.

You and Jill hung out all the time outside of work, completely unrelated to S.T.A.R.S at all-- movies, skating rinks, and carnivals; anything and everything interesting happening in and around Raccoon City, Jill was always sure to drag you along.

Then, it escalated to hanging out at each others apartments/homes. More often than not, it'd be her place-- it was nicer than yours, an actual home and not just a residence. There were pictures and posters hung up all over the place, her own personal touch having reached every corner of the apartment.

Sometimes, you'd forget how you met her-- that she was really just a co-worker, at the end of the day. You were fresh out of training, slapped right in the workforce, where you'd met Jill. You don't know how these things work, in all honesty, you never quite understood how to make friends past the kindergarten way of going up to someone, hand extended, and straight-up asking "Wanna be friends?"

Eventually, you progressed to practically living with Jill. It was unofficial-- but with how many sleepovers you two had, you were barely at your own place anymore. Hell, you had your own toothbrush at her place!

She didn't comment on it much-- the one time she did, you two were camped out in her living room; the couch pushed back, chairs pulled from her kitchen table and various sheets and blankets draped over them; pillows and cushions below, along with more blankets.

A pillow fort, to say the least. Right in front of her big CRT TV-- you were watching X-Files, something Jill had expressed interest in started, but only wanted to if you started with her.

You were dropped right at the start of Season five-- there was a marathon going, preparing for the new season that was preparing to release 'soon' (it never said a specific date, just an ominous 'soon' was all the network could afford at this point), but you two picked up on the little bits and pieces pretty quick, piecing it together with things from previous seasons that'd you'd hear here and there from others.

both of your were laying on your stomachs, propped up by pillows so you could 'sit up' comfortably, your arms braced against the floor, while Jill was more or less laying down, her chest resting on her folded arms as she watched the TV diligently.

When it cut to commercial, she turned to you, and out of the blue, just...

"When I was a kid, I always wanted a sibling, y'know?" You turned to face her, and hummed in acknowledgement, "Oh?" You said, prompting her continue the thought.

She turned back to the TV, mindlessly staring at the Mr Clean ad playing at the time-- but it was obvious her mind was elsewhere, she probably didn't even register when the ads switched, or what it had switched to.

"Yeah," She started off with, as the ad transitioned to Taco Bell "A little one, specifically. One I could share clothes with, give advice to," She turned to you again, a sly little smile on her face as her arm reached out and lightly-- playfully, barely any force behind it-- pushed you.

"Sleepovers in the living room-- all that jazz. The stuff they showed on TV and I read about in Babysitters Club." You felt a smile break out over your own face-- a warmth blooming in your chest.

Maybe this wasn't normal for co-workers-- to view each other as family, just like you two did; but you didn't care. Whether or not it was a normal thing remained unseen by you, but even if it wasn't...

You wouldn't trade it for the world.

...Even if Jill got a little too protective at times-- acting more like those dads in films, that'd come to greet their daughters prom date with a shotgun in hand and a violent threat on their tongue than the sister figure you viewed her as.

On one of your more low stakes joint-missions, one where you all had to track down a group of lost frat boys from the local university (who'd gotten turned around in the local forest while high, and cried about zombified dogs hanging around when you'd found them), one of the aforementioned frat boys had the grand idea of hitting on you.

His bad pick-up line was cut short as a gun shot whizzed by you two-- just narrowly missing his head, and loading itself into a tree about 30 feet back.

Understandably, he started freaking out-- he pointed to Jill, and yelled about how she tried to kill him. Wesker shot her a glare-- you think he did, couldn't really tell with the sunglasses, but the way he tilted his head gave you that vibe-- and Jill just shrugged her shoulders.

"I thought I saw a wolf." Was all she gave for an answer-- flimsy at best, an obvious lie at worst. Wesker let it go, though-- to your knowledge. Sure, he told her "This'll have to go in the report.", but when you read over the report later-- there was no mention of the shot Jill took at a 'wolf' during that mission.

After the mission was over and you'd got the group back to where they were meant to be, she threw her arm over your shoulder-- pulling you close and saying "That's why I don't like dealing with these college-types all too often, they always do this. Don't let 'em walk all over you though, 'kay? You deserve better than that." before she pushed off, leaving you with that... cryptic piece of advice.

It was a good piece of advice-- don't get me wrong! Jill was just... like that sometimes, giving you cryptic, almost archaic in nature, pieces of advice before bouncing off to somewhere else-- smiling like nothing was amiss.

maybe to her, it wasn't. But to you, these behaviors of hers weren't getting rather concerning. Maybe because they were becoming more frequent, or maybe because they were getting more intense. A mix of the both, honestly.

Still, you didn't confront her about it.

You kept having sleepovers with her-- to the point where you like, actually lived with her. You don't even remember what color your bedroom walls in your apartment were-- or even what the kitchen looked like.

Eventually, she asked you to move in with her. Saying it'd be easier, since you were basically wasting your money-- paying rent for a place you hardly ever visit anymore. Not many of your things remain, most were packed up and placed in Jill's guest/storage (or, what was once her guest/storage room, but you'd now taken it over) room. You could probably get all the stuff left in one trip-- except maybe the furniture, but even then, the furniture wasn't too much of a loss.

You'd be surprised what college students will put out on the curb at the end of the school year-- or, to be more specific, the private university students. Still, you were a little proud that nearly 95% of your furnishings had come from that method-- walking along the alleyway of streets with a lot of rental places for the local university's students.

It was a logical step and you knew it, officially moving in with Jill, that is. But the way she worded it was... odd.

"C'mon, what am I good for if I don't help out family?" She could've meant that figuratively-- if anyone else said it, then you would've defaulted to that;

But knowing Jill, that just wasn't the case. Hell-- you got called Rookie Valentine by one of the regular cops just a couple weeks ago, and when you went to correct them-- they just laughed and brushed you off,

"Fightin' with ya sister, huh? I used to do that-- with my dad, 'a course. Deny my last name 'n all that." Then, the cop gave you a pat on your shoulder and walked by you "Whatever you're upset about, it'll blow right over; trust me, bonds like you's two have don't go away like that."

Maybe it was stupid-- how quickly you folded, simply nodding your head; within a second or two, Jill had practically flown into you, her arms outstretched. She pulled you into a tight embrace. You reciprocated it-- no reason not to, after all.

But... hey, at least you don't have to deal with your landlord anymore, yeah?

Chris Redfield (and claire)

In some ways, Chris and Jill act pretty similarly when it comes to you. In others, they were near opposites.

For example, If you happened to be on Bravo Squad, he would much rather have you stay there indefinitely. He knows how mentally and physically tiring the Alpha team's work can be compared to Bravo's, which were pretty much just backup, in simplest terms.

He'd want to distance you as far away from Alpha teams work as he could manage. There's not point in putting you through that-- his way of protecting you is shielding you from it all by keeping you uninvolved, where Jill would much rather prefer to have you involved, by keeping you right next to her at all times.

You two hit it off the moment you stepped into that office- of course you did, who didn't get along with Chris? He was a literal ray of sunshine, and every morning, you couldn't help but look forward to that beaming smile he'd always give you once he spotted you.

It was normal-- run of the mill. You two were just friendly in a way co-workers were friendly; you saw yourself as no different then everyone else, when it came to how Chris treated you.

But it was small things-- at first, but they began to pile up, and up, and up-- until you couldn't help but notice them. It's not like you're painfully oblivious to everything,

...Just this, you reason with yourself. Listen, it's not your fault you didn't realize you were a special case to Chris! You thought it was normal, how he'd always drop by your desk when you both had morning shift, and slide a muffin, danish, a doughnut-- whatever he'd gotten that day, over to you.

He'd always check up on you, make sure you were eating properly-- he didn't try to cover it up either, didn't try to pull the tried-and-true "You need the proper nutrients to do your job well!", he just straight up admitted that he wants you to be healthy. No ulterior motives-- just... wants you to take care of yourself, because that's what you're supposed to do, for your own good.

He's a very caring person-- you assumed that he had this same level of caring for everyone in the office.

One time, when Claire swung by the office during her winter break-- she immediately beelined it to your desk. It was a little intimidating, because for a split second, you didn't know who she was; to be honest, you were a little afraid she was here to yell at you for messing up on a mission somewhere along the line; either as a civilian or a higher up, even though she didn't seem too far in age from yourself.

But as soon as it clicked-- right before she got up to your desk, that she just had to have been Claire Redfield, Chris' younger sister, you relaxed just a bit. She was probably just introducing herself to the newest addition; after all, most everyone else seemed to know her personally, or have at least met her once or twice before.

She was pretty nice, actually-- you two had a good conversation, and you're pretty sure you left a good first impression on her. But meeting her-- how she greeted you for the first time, was what tipped you off to the fact that no, Chris does not go out of his way to make sure all his co-workers are eating well, or keeping up with a solid sleep schedule like he does to you.

"Hey, you're the new addition to the family, right?" is what she said, word for word. At first, you thought nothing of it; thinking that she was referring to S.T.A.R.S as a family-- Jill did that pretty often, and you'd caught Chris doing the same a few times before.

You nodded, and you two got to talking. She was nice to talk to-- lively and animated, and you found yourself falling into a comfortable sort of routine. It was as if you'd known each other your whole lives-- she knew a lot about you, but just stuff that you'd told Chris, or he'd picked up on in passing.

"Does he talk about me a lot?" You remember asking, anxiety tinging your tone. Claire clocked it immediately, and leaned over slightly, from where she was sitting atop your desk; and gave you a pat on your shoulder, as you sat in your office chair.

"Hey, don't worry about it. It's all good things, and you sure as hell live up to how much he hypes you up during our calls." Yeah, you remember Chris saying he called his sister as often as he could. You were always impressed by how family oriented Chris could be. It was sweet, how often he'd talk about his sister.

A little bit of weight eased off your chest, as you let out a breathy little laugh "Hah-- that's good." You felt a little silly for being worried about it. Of course Chris told Claire about you, he's proudly boasted before that he tells her everything-- you were sure he treated the others no differently.

Even if you weren't on the same team as him. Even if, more often than not, he had to go out of his way to interact with you. You're sure Claire heard a lot more about the newest Alpha recruit-- you'd never spoken in depth with them, just passing "Hello"'s and "Good morning"'s as you pass each other on the way to your respective sections of the S.T.A.R.S office.

When there was opening in the conversation, you casually asked "Do you know anything about the new Alpha team recruit? I think their birthday is soon, and I want to get them a card." You were trying to take a page out of Chris' book-- being nice to everyone, going out of your way. It was a small operation in the grand scheme of things, S.T.A.R.S. It was best to try and make everyone feel at home.

Claire paused, her brows furrowed "...There's a new Alpha recruit?"

Why did that give you such a bad vibe? Why did it feel like an ill omen, you'd asked yourself at the time-- you quickly responded, unease curling in your gut for a reason you couldn't quite place at the time.

"Uh-- yeah, his name is... Mark, I think. He joined about a month ago, from what I know. Tall guy, ginger hair, seems to be in his mid to late 20s." Even as you described the man-- a very distinctive person, you think; there was no flash of recognition in Claire's eyes.

Claire seemed to think it over, before shaking her head slowly "No-- I don't think Chris has ever mentioned a Mark."

"Huh..." You said under your breath-- never mentioned him? They work together, on the same team-- you haven't been here much longer than Mark has. It set off alarm bells in your head, that he told Claire so much about you, and yet... she didn't even know Mark was with you guys in the first place.

There was a beat of tense silence between you two, then another-- until Claire suddenly said "How do you feel about roller skating?", obviously trying to divert your attention from the matter at hand.

You let her-- and you two fell into a conversation about roller skating, that eventually progress to ice skating, skateboarding, surfing-- those kind of activities/sports.

It had to have been at least an hour and a half before Claire got pulled away-- Marini approached you two, and shooed Claire off, like, literally. Made the motion with his hands and everything, as he told her "Redfield, you're distracting my team member. Go bug your brother."

Claire huffed, rolling her eyes as she pushed off your desk "Yeah, yeah. I'm going." It surprised you-- how casual she was with Marini, and disrespectful. But, she doesn't work under him, so you guess she has nothing to fear with upsetting him, since he isn't her brother's superior either.

...You just hope she's a little more delicate with Wesker.

Before leaving, she gave a quick little side hug, and told you "Catch you later, okay? It was nice meeting you.", you nodded and smiled, returning the hug best you could "Same goes for you. It was nice talking to you."

Claire laughed as she pulled away, giving you a light, playful punch in your shoulder "Hey, no need to be so formal. We're family now, I won't gut you for talking like an actual person.", Marini cleared his throat, and Claire rolled her eyes again-- leaving without another word to either of you.

She did, however, give you a little smile a wave, before she headed over to the A team's part of the office.

'we're family now', she said. Did that mean anything, or were you just overthinking it? She was just being friendly, you told yourself-- the Redfield's did this with everyone, you assumed.

After that, you and Chris started to go from work friends-- co-workers who were friendly with eachother, to actual friends. The first time you two hung out outside of work, was in a quaint little 24/7 diner near the RPD station.

The two of you had gotten off at the same time, 10 PM-- and Chris had dragged you along with him, saying that he wanted to get to know you more, without Marini or Wesker showing up at any given moment and telling their respective members to get the hell back to work, or for the member of the other team (often Marini to Chris) to leave the other alone, so they could do their work.

Chris always took it with a laugh and a smile-- but... well, it was stupid, you think. That look in his eyes couldn't have meant anything-- you'd never seen him look like that, but it was scarily close... hatred? No, irritation, it had to be. You don't think Chris is capable of hatred directed towards anyone short of a war criminal, in all honesty.

But at any rate, it's still an odd idea-- Chris being irritated at someone who isn't in the wrong. Objectively, Marini was doing nothing wrong; he was your boss, and he wanted you working while on shift.

But the way Chris would look at him suggested otherwise, like Marini had just kicked his dog or burned a belonging of his.

It was weird.

You forced yourself to-- well, not get used to it per se, the weirdness of it never went away, but you tried not to dwell on it too much. Tried to ignore it best you could, and while it was difficult, more often than not you could manage just fine.

Anyway-- it went well, hanging out with him at the diner. It was fun, and light-hearted; no imminent threat of the fun being broken up by a mission for work (while the chances weren't necessarily zero, they were very low while you two were off the clock-- unless it was like, a world ending sort of deal. if that was the case, then you'd have more problems at hand then getting called into work abruptly...), just you, Chris, and the local family diner that was done-up to look like a time capsule of idealized 1950s Americana.

He dropped you off back home-- insisting that you don't walk home so late. After that-- after he learned that you walked home after every shift, come rain or shine, and despite the time of day (or night), you always walked.

When Chris realized this-- every time you got off shift together, whenever he was available; he'd drive you home. You thought it was sweet, but... confusing to say the least.

Surely, he'd do the same for anyone else, right?

As the months passed and your friendship progressed-- where you hung out almost every weekend, completely unrelated to work in any capacity, it hit you like a ton of bricks that Chris wasn't just like that. Not to the level he was with you-- yes, he was kind and accommodating to everyone, but wasn't going above and beyond for anyone but you.

But... why? What was so special about you? How come he didn't do this for other new recruit-- that joined not so long after you, who was on his team. He definitely naturally sees/runs into the guy more then he sees you in passing.

It just didn't make sense, and no matter how much you thought and thought about it-- it never managed to get any better. You never understood it any further, and you all but gave up on trying to understand the reason behind it.

You could ask Chris about it, but then that'd be awkward, and you don't want to deal with that-- you don't want to seem like you're coming at him or anything. It might just be because you're younger, so assumed that sort of mentor role because he was in that position one?

By now, you've come to terms with that. That it doesn't make sense, and you'll probably never be able to make sense of it on your own-- and you were too scared of upsetting Chris to actually ask the guy.

So you kind of just... stuck in a loop. But that's fine-- because you had things to distract yourself with! Like your hobbies, and work, and hanging out with your friends;

...Maybe not the last one, thought. For some reason, all of your other friends have all but dropped off the face of the earth. You tried reaching out to one--

Only to find out that they were... in jail. It was a minor offense, but still. That wasn't like them at all-- it'd been their sister to pick up the call, and you'd been subjected to a very, very heated telling off by her.

She seemed to think it was your fault, that you sicced 'your brother' on them for some perceived slight-- one that you couldn't think of, and neither could she.

You tried calming her down, but it only ended with the call abruptly ending-- her screaming at you to "Leave my family alone! Yours has done enough damage to ours ot last a lifetime!"

Then it was over.

Whether or not you have brothers-- you know that couldn't be right. If you did have brothers, then you know they wouldn't-- or just didn't have the means to-- lock your friend up in jail for... whatever it was, you think it was some traffic related violation.

Something that you know can be easily staged-- Marini had told you so before, as you sorted through some old cases. These sorts of violations were usually a dead giveaway that the recipient had pissed off a cop, who wasn't above faking an offense to get back at them.

You could only think of one person who'd possibly fit that weird description-- Chris was sort of a brother to you, in loose terms. He acted brotherly with you, is what you'd like to call it.

Really, you want to confront him about it, but you don't have enough evidence.

He wouldn't do something like that, yeah? He's a good guy, he wouldn't fuck up someone's life by wielding his position of power over them for no reason at all. It had to be unrelated-- just a weird set of coincidence. You don't think you've ever told Chris about that friend, so how would he even know about them?

You didn't bother reaching out to your other friends-- hoping they'd reach out to you. It was stupid, your fear of getting an earful from a pissed off family member again-- or getting blamed for whatever happened.

So you just... well-- you wouldn't call yourself a coward, but Chris couldn't be it. He just wouldn't have done something like that, especially without clear reason-- it couldn't have been him.

Again. Nothing made sense-- it hurt, knowing you'd probably lost a treasured friendship for something you don't know anything about,

But at least Chris is there to ease your ills, right? At least he answered your phone call at 10 PM, and stayed with you for an hour after that, comforting you as you cried and told him that you didn't know what was going on.

he was so genuine as he comforted you-- even over the phone, which you knew had to be harder to do than comfort someone face to face-- that you ended up letting it go.

You ruled out the idea that Chris had been behind it all-- maybe because you really didn't think it'd ever been a viable explanation,

Or maybe, deep down, you know Chris could-- if pushed far enough-- probably be capable of something like that. Despite how you interact with each other, how you talk like you've known each other your whole lives, you'd known each other for under a year by that point.

But you selfishly hoped-- and presented this hope as fact to yourself-- that he didn't do it, because he really was one of your closest friends; especially since everyone else drifted away from you.

You couldn't lose him too-- or Claire, because you know that if a falling out happens with one, it's sure to follow with the other. They're like that, the Redfield siblings, as you've come to learn.

And you'd rather not be caught on the receiving end of Claire's world-ending death glare, thank you very much. You don't think you could handle it-- emotionally wise, that is.

Rebecca Chambers

Surprisingly, You'd probably be better suited on Alpha team when it comes to Rebecca.

Still, you probably graduated in the same class as her; however, you weren't a child prodigy like she was. You being older then her gave you leg up in the recruitment process, which landed you in the Alpha team and her in the Bravo team.

You may not have interacted with each other a whole lot during school-- no real reason, you two just never crossed paths all that often.

But after joining S.T.A.R.S at the same time, you two made a sort unofficial pact to stay together; despite being on two different teams, you'd try to look out for each other. For one, you were a little worried about hazing.

Was it a silly thing to be afraid of in workforce? Well, yeah-- but there was still a possibility. If any field of work would incite some sort of frat-esque hazing ritual, it'd be law enforcement!

So you exchanged landline numbers, and kept tabs on each other as much as you could. You took initiative a whole lot, and kept watch on both your and Rebecca's co-workers.

In the end, nothing happened. Obviously-- since there was such a miniscule chance it would, but the 2-3 week period of this, of constantly checking in each other (usually you to Rebecca, since Bravo members tended to be a little less mature on the basis of the less real-world experience and such; and she was young, an easy target in the eyes of people who didn't quite know her), built up a pretty solid rapport with the younger rookie. One that couldn't just easily fall to the wayside.

Even though you're on different teams, you still encounter each other pretty often. At first, it was a practical thing-- you checking up on Rebecca,

Until Rebecca started seeking you out for more normal things. Like to tell you about her latest mission, or a funny thing her captain did-- to exchange stories of your respective team members being absolute goofballs, so on and so forth.

it was nice, these little chats you'd have. They were never very few and far between, not even at the start-- Some were accidental, like bumping into each other in the break room, clocking out at the same time and having a little chat before heading out, so on and so forth.

But as the weeks went on, turning to months of working under the same roof-- If there was ever a moment where she could come find you, you better bet your ass she was there.

From the moment you stepped in the building in the morning, to whenever you came back from a mission; when you were getting ready to leave, Rebecca would do whatever she could to be near you. Sometimes they were conversations-- where you put your own thoughts and whatever into the topic, but sometimes it was just Rebecca explaining something she was interested in, or telling you every single tiny, microscopic detail of a story she'd already told you before.

You never stopped her-- it never hurt anything. Due to her being the youngest, people let her get away with it. As long as both your reports were turned in on time and done well, then what does it matter that you talk to each other while you were at it?

At some point, Rebecca would definitely just pull a chair up and do her work at your desk. Her own desk at the section with the other Bravo members went unused for long stretches of time-- you were fine with it.

Again, it was nice having someone to hang out with. She didn't talk to whole time, most of the time, you two lapsed into a comfortable silence as you did your own reports/paperwork at your own leisure. Sometimes, one of you would pop up with a little comment, spurring a response from the other-- but it never went much further then that, in those moments.

...That's when Marini cut in though. Saying it'd be better for Rebecca to head back to her own space-- to stop bothering you. You tried your damn best to reiterate that "No, she's fine. I swear, I work even better when she's here--" But a quick, withering glance from Marini made you reluctantly shut your mouth.

Rebecca looked heartbroken-- you met her eyes, and tried to convey your apology that way. She didn't look angry or upset with you, just sad about the circumstances. Understanding, that you'd done all you could in the moment, as she grabbed her papers and went to push the chair-- that'd you'd known as her chair for a few weeks by then-- into where it was actually meant to be, in an unused desk right by yours.

Marini was watching the whole time, arms crossed and one eyebrow raised. You saw how Rebecca's hand trembled ever-so-slightly under her captains scrutinizing gaze, and you reached out to pat her hand comfortingly; stopping her in her tracks. "Hey, it's okay. I'll get the chair, you go to your desk, okay?"

She looked up, and you gave her a reassuring little smile. She looked kind of like a kicked puppy-- it tugged on your heart, made you wish you really could do more.

She nodded, and softly said "okay.", and you'd expected her to pull back, to straighten up and walk off. Soon enough, you realized that, for whatever reason, she wasn't moving as long as you kept contact with you.

You removed your hand-- she looked saddened by the loss, but took it in stride, as she turned and trailed after Marini as he (presumably) led her back to Bravo's section of the S.T.A.R.S office.

it's not like they were really separate from each other-- or even blocked off per se, not in a purposeful way. You were just stationed on the far side of Alpha's side, the little dividers interspersed here and there primarily blocked your view of most Bravo team desks.

However, Rebecca's was right on the edge between Alpha and Bravo's unofficial-official sides of the room, and you were able to still look over at her from time to time.

After that-- you considered going to Wesker about it, but you were certain he'd either do nothing, or throw thinly veiled insults your (and indirectly, Rebecca's) way. Something along the lines of "Do you think this is grade school? That I'm a teacher you can negotiate a seating chart with?"

No matter how much you cared for Rebecca, you couldn't bring yourself to face that possibility of the utter mortification that talking to Wesker would undoubtedly bring you.

Two weeks passed, before Wesker pulled you into his office. He told you to sit in one of the two chairs opposing his own.

You bit your tongue, stifling the burning question of "Am I in trouble?" and waited for him to start on his own.

Apparently, Rebecca's performance had been experiencing a sharp decline during you two's times apart. Instead of firing her, Wesker sought to find another route to it.

"Would you say you two are close? Chambers and you?" He asked, and you had to question that yourself-- do you? You certainly see Rebecca as a friend, but a work one. Separate from a 'full-fledged' one, since you only see each other during work.

Finally, after a few suffocating seconds-- sat across from Wesker, his elbow resting on his desk as he held his face in his hand. You could feel him staring intently, even if you were unable to actually see that that was the case.

"Yeah-- I'd say we are. Why?" And then, that's when he told you about her performance, and presenting you with an opportunity that you took readily;

"How about you take a sort of mentor role for her? It seems she's having trouble acclimating to the workforce, which I wouldn't quite blame her for. She may be a child prodigy academically, but ultimately, she lacks the experience someone of your age does."

Immediately, you nodded-- before pausing, and asking "Have you talked to Marini about this?", and Wesker shook his head "No, I thought it'd be best to discuss this with you before going to him. Knowing Marini, he'd probably be less then stoked by this. I wouldn't want to go through the trouble of readying him only for you to decline the offer."

"...Yeah, makes sense." Was all you said-- You stayed there for about 15 more minutes, before being excused.

As you opened his door, a question crossed your mind. On a whim, you turned and asked "How long will it take, do you think?" You feared you might've been too vague at first, but Wesker seemed to know exactly what you meant, answering with his own "It shouldn't take too long at all, perhaps a few days at the most. I'd like to have this system integrated as soon as possible, before Chambers' performance rate drops low enough to where I have to consider letting her go."

You nodded, internally praying to whatever could be out there that she could keep it up for a little longer- long enough for your captain to talk to hers, to get this sort of mentorship up and a running so she can get back on track.

True to his words, three days later, and you walked into the precinct with your desk having been moved around; the empty desk besides yours had been moved, your desk turned sideways and the unused desk pushed to meet with yours.

It was set up to have someone there, no longer empty, it had a lamp, a computer, and some organizers and office supplies on it. Obviously, Wesker had gone through with the mentorship-- and when Rebecca came in a few minutes after you, her bus having been a little slow than usual, she was absolutely ecstatic.

She was talking a mile-a-minute, saying she didn't actually think Wesker would go through with it. In the end, she gave you a celebratory little hug; and you didn't hesitate in returning the favor, wrapping your arms around her and giving her a light squeeze before releasing her,

She took a few moments longer to unwind her arms from your waist, but you didn't mind. You were sure she was happy to be sat next to you.

Wesker never called you in about Rebecca's declining report quality/performance again, and that led you to believe that the issue was completely resolved.

Marini would come over sometimes, pull Rebecca off for a mission or something that needed the entire Bravo team present to hear. Every time, you would see her off with a little encouraging gesture. At first, it was a simple smile or squeeze of her hand-- then, the occasional hug.

But now, she borderline refused to leave with anything less than a hug from you. It wasn't bothersome-- it was comforting, actually.

And all was well and fine for a while-- until Alpha started to be called away for more and more missions, leaving your desk unoccupied more often than not.

While it didn't seem to be taking a toll of Rebecca's work performance, she was looking a little worse for wear. She was always so worried-- you didn't understand it, but you tried your best to be accommodating. The missions you went on were hardly dangerous, sometimes you'd be pulled in to answer a larger scale call about nuisance-- it always got like this around this time of year, Chris had lightheartedly told you before.

Move-in day for the local university brought a lot of traffic offences, and RPD usually outsourced some of these to S.T.A.R.S; rush week brought about a lot of nuisance complaints, frat parties obviously needed to be broken up from time to time-- things that the RPD were meant to do, but their hands got so full that S.T.A.R.S ended up stepping in where need-be.

But what worried you was, as weeks passed by with this uptick in missions, Rebecca was starting to seem so tired. Like she wasn't sleeping properly, and she was stiff and jerky in her movements.

Like she was sore. like she overexerted herself, and you asked her about it. She gave you the same bright, cheery smile as always-- and just said she was training harder than usual.

You didn't have the heart to go any further with it, just telling her "...Okay. Just make sure to take care of yourself, and don't push it, okay?", and she'd eagerly nodded, promising you "I will! Don't worry about me."

That didn't help anything, because she seemed to get worse-- during her off day, you bounced on over to the Bravo team's side of the room, and asked one of her teammates "...Hey, have you noticed anything strange with Rebecca recently? Has she been doing okay on missions?"

And Forest, the one you'd approached-- didn't look too worried at all. "Huh? Oh, yeah! She's been doing great! better than usual, actually." You made a questioning little noise, thinking over what that could possibly entail.

"...Has she been doing a lot of overtime, too?" And Forest paused, thinking about it "Uh... Yeah, I think she has."

"And has she told you why she's doing this?" Forest shrugged, giving you a little smile, none the wiser to Rebecca's less than stellar state, no doubt. "I think she wants to get on your team-- I know she's been hitting up the shooting range more than usual. Probably aiming for a different position than medic, 'cause Alpha doesn't really have a need for it."

Okay that... explained a lot, but did nothing to ease your worries. You thanked him, before heading back to your own desk; you made up a plan to confront her on it the next day, but the right chance never presented itself.

The first time you two hung out outside of work, was after she collapsed right before heading off. Just... fell right into yourself arms-- exhaustion and overexertion having taken its toll on her. You hadn't been able to ask her about it, before she keeled over from it.

You bit your tongue, preventing yourself from mumbling a little "i told you to take care of yourself..." but decided against it. And you'd stood there for a little while, just holding her-- then, you shook her awake, gently.

"mm?" She questioned, her eyes fluttering, and you asked "Rebecca, how do you get home? Do you walk or take the bus?" You don't feel good about leaving her on the bus like this-- hell, you don't even know if they run this late, the clock hung on the wall shining proudly, proclaiming it to be 11:07 PM.

But if she walked, you literally wouldn't ever forgive yourself if you made her go through that in a state like this. She mumbled her answer-- Walk.

Goddamnit.

"...I'm gonna have to drive you home, you okay with that?" She huffed, and leaned further into you. "'Kay." It's not like you feel good about this either, per se, it was just the best option at the time.

So, you carefully set her in the passenger seat of your car, buckled her in, shut her door and headed to your own side. You managed to get an address out of her-- a better part of town, thank god, so that made you feel at least a little better.

Through the whole thing, you had to keep yourself from trying to poke and prod about it all. About her pushing herself to her limits-- seemingly to join your team. It made you feel bad, guilty; as if you were the cause behind it.

Realistically, you probably were.

When you got to the quaint little one-story rental Rebecca resided in, you were just as careful to get her out of the care as you had been to get her in.

You helped her along and up to the porch; she took out her keys, but just before inserting them, asked you to stay. That she'd feel more comfortable if you stayed. You got a closer look at her face, under the glow of her automatic porch light, and realized how she was a little... thinner.

"Yeah, but I'm gonna make you some food. That okay?" You tried to frame it as a command at first-- but went back on yourself mere moments later. This was her house after all-- if she didn't want you cooking, then you couldn't do much about it.

She gave you an almost... mischievous little smile before chirping back an "Okay. That's fine by me." Before inserting the key and letting you two in.

You ended up cooking her something simple-- it wasn't a problem of she didn't have the food, that she wasn't eating. She just either forgot to between all the training, or didn't have the energy to make anything. That's okay-- you suppose you understand it, even if it was to such an extreme that you worried deeply for the younger S.T.A.R.S member.

And then, she asked you to stay the night. You two set up camp in the living room, with you on the couch and Rebecca on the trundle-esque pullout below; and watched some late-night TV (namely Murder, She Wrote; which put you right to sleep no matter what). When you two woke up-- you'd been the first to rise.

You were stiff from sleeping in your work clothes; it was off day, thank god, but it wasn't Rebecca's. Despite any apprehension you might have about it, you got up and set yourself to getting a good breakfast ready for her. You let her sleep as long as possible, before nudging her awake, a plate of pancakes in one hand, and some maple syrup in your other; since she had the half-used bottle on her countertop, beside of ready-made pancake mix, your assumed she was pretty fond of the breakfast food.

her eyes lit up, and sprung up to hug you-- the plate almost slipped from your hand, but you managed to narrowly escape tragedy as you readjusted your grip, and hugged her back best you could, with your hands full and all.

You pushed the trundle bed back into the couch while she added syrup to her hearts content, then you two sat down.

Really, you wish you could've just let her eat in peace-- but you had to confront her about the cause behind your impromptu sleepover. You two had a long, productive talk about it; about how she should care for herself more.

It ended in a truce, where she wouldn't do so much overtime or train so much it exhausted her, if you two hung out outside of work hours. Because at the core of it, that's why she'd wanted to get on Alpha. So she could be with you, even on missions.

You thought it was sweet.

And in a way, it was-- but... maybe not as textbook sweet as one would assume. You two were nearly inseparable, joined at the hip less than a month later. You stayed over at each other's places a lot-- and you started to view her as more than a friend, far more like family than anything.

You had silly fights-- bickered over dumb stuff that didn't mean anything in the end, you play fought, you poked fun at each other; really, it was no fault of passerbys to think you two were a pair of siblings; that you were her older sibling as you helped her tie her ice skates before you two went out on the rink.

That wasn't the problem-- you didn't mind it. However, you did start to notice how people seemed to... swerve you two. How you became more and more isolated, little did you know, that was entirely on purpose.

Rebecca cared for you a lot-- cared for you like an older sibling. She just wanted to keep you safe-- can't get hurt if she's the only one you interact with, right?

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

july 2024 savanaclaw + 4koma manga updates

There's no Episode of Octavinelle chapter this month! It should also be noted that the next chapter for the Episode of Savanaclaw won't be out until DECEMBER. With that news out of the way, let's get into this month's updates ^^ (It's a lot of me screaming)

Aaaaaah, I'll never get over how pretty this mangaka draws Leona's eyes and hair 😳 LIKE LOOK AT THAT HEAD TURN BACK SHOT, DOES HE NOT LOOK LIKE HE'S A MODEL MAKING A TURN ON THE CATWALK???? ?? ? ????? ? ?? Vil... eat your heart out 🤡 (This probably is not what I should be focusing on in a chapter full of action and high stakes qwegkuvqwoevqwdsa)

The way the other characters are reacting to Leona's UM really lets us see how powerful King's Roar is! You can see how their bodies are being pushed back by the sandstorm, how they're physically bracing themselves against it (like Riddle, Ace, and Grim) or even having their vision obscured and struggling to breathe in the new dry environment (like Deuce).

I didn't share them here, but we also see Leona blowing through many Savanaclaw mobs. The sheer magnitude of power on display is really amazing--and I can see why his UM sparks fear in others.

AYO RUGGIE YOU GO He leaps at Leona and attaches himself to his dorm leader in an attempt to try and get him to stop...

(Warning: lot of barking incoming)

HUH????? ? ? ? ? ?? ? ? RUGGGIEIEKZ/???? ? ? ?? ?? ? ? v LEONAKL88onanasan???a?A/a/a///A//???????v? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ?ohy mMYG FUFDSKDCKCIUNG GOAFKDk dsmdasnkdfsjlbyadosibiyoadsobadfbiyoegwofaegsouqetqfe LE*inAIBN na GRABBED HJSJUIJN IM BYT THE FFUCKINGGF F NNEDCKKKK>>>>>>????v?v?v??v?v?v?v? 😱 LOOkm at thhHOW RUgigie'es sa FACE AIj ssamS BREAKJGN???? ?? ? ? ? ? ? ? GSITHE SKING IS CRACKIXNG GFAN D TURNING NTO SAND ANDN LOEONA JUST DONES'T JBI EF VE A SINGLE SHITAS RUGIGIE SI WRITHTING OVER HERB E OTL

It's not like seeing Ruggie in this state is anything new; the dialogue hints at it in the game and the light novel also has an illustration of Ruggie with his skin cracking from Leona's UM. It's just... something about seeing it depicted across multiple frames + the sheer desperation in Ruggie's face (and the close-ups, MAN, the close-ups) really amplifies the emotions.

THIS IS LITERALLY THE SASUKE CHOKE MEME, ID ON'T TKNOW WHETHER TO LAUGH OR TO CRY OR TO BE WORRIED FOR TRUGIGIE

MAYBE ALL THREE 😭😭😭

DAHLBEFQBOUFQEYVIQEFYFQEBIPFOA But also there's a part of me screeching about L*ona gripping your neck like that while glaring at you like you're garbo 🤡

Here's the part where Riddle attempts to collar Leona and fails. Again, I MUST stress how well this mangaka draws Leona's hair and eyes, they are UNMATCHED.

OKAY FIRST IT WAS HUGGING RUGGIE'S NECK, NOW YOU'RE GRIPPING HIM BY THE HAIR????? Leona's handling the perceived traitor so callously 💦 The way Ruggie is looking back up at him, too... Caught up in Leona's shadow and glaring at him with such defiance... declaring that he will never EVER give up.., contrasted with how broken and empty Leona looks before he lets go of Ruggie... telling him to just give into despair… It's a lot of complicated feelings going on right now. As the Savanaclaw light novel elucidates, Leona was afraid of his own dorm members looking to him for leadership, afraid that they would make him hopeful again--because he expects to be let down like he has all those other times he tried to prove his merits. Now everything leading up to this point has proven him right, toppled that hope he had built up because he let himself be taken in by the starry eyed students under him, Ruggie included. AND NOW LOOKING AT RUGGIE, ON THE GROUND AND IN DESPAIR, IS A REFLECTION OF LEONA'S OWN FEELINGS... BUT HE WON'T LET HIMSELF CRY OR BE WEAK LIKE THAT 💀

WOW UH This feels really different from how the same "Leona tried to sand Ruggie" scenes played out in other interpretations of TWST. Here, we more clearly see that, despite the interruption of Riddle trying to collar Leona (which made Leona drop Ruggie for a second), LEONA JUST TURNS RIGHT BACK AROUND AND FULLY COMMITS TO SANDING RUGGIE????? That's so stone cold 😭 Look at the lack of care in Leona's eyes???? They're so blank, he has entirely given up :((

What a way to end a chapter...

Now for a complete tonal shift--

This month's 4koma (there's only one "segment") stars Sebek, who is receiving praise from Crewel for having the top exam score! Ace and Sebek proceed to work on Enigmics/Magic Analysis together. They are stated to share this class together in the game, so that's a consistent bit of lore for ya! In the end, Sebek's able to pull a transportation spell by visualizing where Malleus is. He earns an apple from Crewel for being a "good boy"!! Sebek is then asked to teleport the apple to Malleus and Lilia to demonstrate his mastery of the skill, but accidentally teleports a ton of them.

That's it for this month! A little less content than usual, but still quite substantive. We're getting down to the wire; soon we'll see both Leona and Azul's OBs!!

[alchely]

My Top Gallavich fics

So, under the advice of the lovely @iangallagherisadeadman I've decided to compile a favorites Gallavich fic list along with a brief rec of each, this won't be a strict top 10 cause I'm not gonna torture myself into excluding some of these stories on some made-up self imposed arbitrary rules.

A bunch of disclaimers: most of these fics are long fics, going from 30k words up, I'm not purposefully excluding shorter fics, I have read plenty of them, but they do have a harder time sticking in my head months after reading.

Most of these fics will be explicit, just read the tags on the fic itself if you want to find out more.

Some of these fics don't have links because the authors chose to lock them and as such make them unlinkable, in order to read them you will need to go through the author's page while you're logged in your AO3 account.

This ended up ballooning out of control and is A LOT longer than ten fics, I apologize in advance :p.

YOU'LL NEVER SEE US AGAIN – spoonfulstar - 231k words

Mickey and Ian have been students at Marceline boarding school their whole lives, as their time at the institute draws toward the end they will start to discover many things, about themselves, about each other and about the world they live in.

THIS FIC! I CRIED! The number of fanfiction that are able to make me cry can be counted on a singular hand, the emotional stakes get higher and higher as the story goes on, leading to a beautiful and bittersweet climax.

This story will make you think and feel deeply about topics you'd never think a shameless fic would delve into.

I am obsessed with Mickey in this fic, he and Ian grow up in an environment that could not be more removed from South Side Chicago and yet his personality is still so recognizably and distinctly Mickey.

The story goes very dark at times, and the fic itself could be considered lengthy, but I assure you the author has made sure to not make you feel it. Those 200k words flowed so well the story did not feel long at all.

HELP ME (TEAR DOWN MY REASON) – wehangout - 34k words

Mickey is a detective and Ian becomes a suspect in an investigation except Mickey already knows him because he's his favorite dancer.

This fic falls under the umbrella of fics where “Mickey is so in love with Ian he does something unbelievably crazy”.

Oooh boy, this fic, it's written in second person (yes you've read that right), tbh out of all fics I've read from this author I think this one was the easiest to adjust mentally to the change in perspective.

I loved Mickey’s “love” in this, just… This raw connection to Ian, the perfect cocktail of feelings, I could read that all day long.

IN ANOTHER WORLD – Roryonic - 249k words

Mickey does not get sent to prison at the end of S5, what happens after and how his presence influences future events (mostly Ian, but also every other Gallagher as well as his own family).

As far as I'm concerned this fic is the closest to a perfect S6 and beyond fix-it. The dialogue writing in this story is so close to canon Shameless that I could picture entire scenes in my head with the actors playing the characters, with their body and personality quirks.

Sometimes I find myself describing this fic like it's the actual show's deleted scenes, “Look, Mickey has his own storyline! And Mandy is here! And the existence of Yevgeni does not become a plot hole!”

There are some Mickey lines in this fic that to me are as canon as if they'd been in the show. Absolutely iconic writing.

I love this author so here's a rec of some of their other longfics, however I highly suggest a lot of their other much shorter stuff as well:

BATTLESHIPS AND LOVE BOATS: Ian and Mickey start their “no strings attached” kind of sex relationship a little later than canon but their attraction and love is just as strong. This is a sort of High School AU that turns into a Prison AU that turns into something else and every shift is just as lovely as the next.

YOU SMELL LIKE LOVE: Ian and Mickey are childhood friends, to the point that the rest of the Gallaghers might as well consider Mickey a seventh brother, mmmh, I sure wonder how things will start to change. Look, I never thought I'd love a childhood friends AU for Gallavich yet here I am, if it's good it's good.

ME AND THE DEVIL: Mickey unconsciously calls for a vengeance demon and Ian Gallagher shows up at his door, because Mickey is a stubborn dumbass they fall in love instead. This story has a lot of twists and turns and the premise is only the very beginning of the story. I LOVED it!

THE INCREASINGLY POOR DECISIONS OF IAN GALLAGHER – Shamelessquestions - 309k words

Ian is a dancer in a club, he accidentally gets involved in the affair of a dangerous mafia don, but the true danger is the attraction he and the mafioso’s right hand Mickey feel for each other as soon as they meet.

What. A. Classic. Truly, an unforgettable story, and I don't mean this in hyperbole, I read this story around… 2016/2017 during my second round in the Shameless fandom, then I read countless other fics in a lot of other fandom and yet this story was the only one that my mind retained from back then, to the point that I could still remember some of the finer details as well as the final plot twists when I came back to reread it.

The plot is constructed beautifully and the original characters (part of the Shamelessquestions fanfiction universe, as they come back time and time again in every one of their AU to fulfill their role in the story) are just as vibrant.

What a story, truly.

Favorite original character in this AU: Sal, his downfall is so satisfying and yet so pitiful to read.

TEENAGERS SCARE THE LIVING SHIT OUT OF ME – Mellow_Yellow - 221k words

Ian finds something scary and calls Mickey for help, even though they had only reconnected that very day after two years of not seeing each other. Together, they get sucked into a situation they weren't at all prepared for. Can they even admit that they're in over their head?

The very beginning of this fic is SO cinematic it grabbed my interest from the very first scene and didn't let go until the end, DO NOT search for spoilers.

The only warning I'll give is that it does deal with a bit of gore and what I'm personally gonna define as slight psychological horror. That's it. Enjoy!

BROKE STRAIGHT BOYS – dancermk - 66k words

Mickey becomes a porn actor for a site where he has to pretend he's straight and not enjoying the copious amount of gay sex he's having on camera, enter Ian, another actor under the same agency and their off the chart physical chemistry.

This story has, needless to say, some really, really good smut. I especially loved their first time together, but every sex scene in this story is seared in my mind.

ETHERIZED AGAINST THE SKY – Snarfle - 213k words

So, I debated whether I should add this fic or not, but I think if there is one fic that will stay in my mind long after this Shameless binge of the past couple of months it's this one, and it should absolutely become one of those fic that everyone in the fandom should read.

After Mickey gets shot by Kash his life takes a completely different direction and he ends up in a group home where, through many difficult times, he turns his life around.

So many iconic moments in this fic, some funny as fuck, some sad, some so absurd that I'm surprised they weren't lifted straight from Shameless, one so gruesome in the very first chapter that I was surprised to have such a visceral feeling from just words on a screen. Yeah, this story will stay with me for a long time.

OLD RULES FOR NEW SIDE PIECES – Shamelessquestions - 217k words

Ian is a Fed and he spots Mickey looking suspicious in an art museum, the mutual attraction is overwhelming, Mickey is not what he seems and Ian is already with someone else, but that's not gonna stop him from pursuing what he and Mickey have.

Putting it as bluntly as I can, this fic made me face the realization that I love cheating fics (if the cheating happens to someone else to bring together the endgame couple). I have already reread this fic twice and I could probably go for another one and not get tired of it, it's that good, and out of all this author's fics it's probably my favorite.

Favorite original characters in this AU: It's a three way tie between Dre, Ivan and Carrie, they're all very captivating in this story.

Other fic from this author I'd recommend cause I really love their style:

LOST IN TRANSLATION: Ian meets a very attractive man while he's in Ukraine who doesn't speak English, a mere language barrier won't stop him from flirting for hours. (adorable)

YOU MAKE ME FEEL HUMAN – Dragona - 66k words

Ian is an assassin, he meets Mickey and thus begins a very sick love story.

To say I'm obsessed with this fic is an understatement, I suggest to everyone to just go read the original author’s own description of the fic, it sets the tone of the story magnificently.

This is an Ian Gallagher that almost resembles Jerome (also played by Cameron in Gotham) but like… a slightly more subdued and saner S1/S2 version of him. I love the layers that get peeled right in front of my eyes, the madness that creeps in a bit more every chapter. I LOVE this story.

DRIED INK - 87k words

This fic combines my two favorite Gallavich-specific tropes, one being ‘Mickey comes back from prison after s6, Ian is with someone else’ and ‘Ian cheats on that someone else for Mickey’

I love the Gallaghers in this and how unsurprised they are at Ian going back to Mickey right away. It's a little jewel of a fic.

Mickey tries SO hard to stop himself and Ian in this but their love is too magnetic, they're irresistible to each other.

THE QUESTION OF NORMAL – blue_newman - 92k words

Ian is a prison counselor, Mickey is in prison, they fall in love and it's beautiful and Ian is incredibly devoted to Mickey in this fic and I fell in love with them both in this.

KINDA RAW – catgrassplantdad - 6k

Quite simply this is my favorite short pwp fic.

Illustrating those “five times” in one night that Mickey references in 11x01.

This fic is so hot, I love it <3

QUATERVOIS – DodgerBear - 51k words

Soldier Mickey gets stationed in the middle of nowhere and meets a farmer called Ian who makes him question everything.

Falling under the same umbrella of “Mickey does something crazy for Ian” fics and this is why it stuck in my mind even if it's been a while since I've read it.

I LOVE this story, their dialogues and everything that happens in it. The setting is lovely and you will fall in love with the description of Ian’s farm.

Other fic by the same author that I also loved:

BURDEN OF PROOF: Cop Mickey gets caught in a legal battle between the two oldest Gallagher brothers, something doesn't feel right though…

THE WORDS HE DOESN'T SAY: Mickey is released before Ian in s10 and has to meet a court-mandated therapist. The story is from the therapist POV and goes AU from the beginning of s10 in that Mickey gets involved back into Yev and Svetlana’s life, the dialogue is, quite obviously, the main attraction of the story and it's really well done. (Also, written in first person).

THE MENAGERIE – CrossMyDNA - 147k words

Ian decides to re-explore his bdsm preferences at The Menagerie where he meets sub extraordinaire Mickey on his very first visit.

Shameless is undoubtedly the fandom that opened my eyes to what bdsm could be back in… approx 2016? When that other popular bdsm fic was still around *ahem*.

So it definitely feels like a sign that coming back into the fandom this fic now exists and is SO GOOD.

Obviously it's very explicit, the smut in this fic is one of the best I've ever read.

The chemistry between Ian and Mickey sizzles off the screen and can absolutely be felt even in moments not of the nsfw variety, absolutely recommended!

MICKEY MILKOVICH’S GUIDE TO FLIRTING – whatwouldmickeydo - 40k words

An s2 “missing moments” between Gallavich, completely canon compliant, all under the pretense that Mickey is following a step by step guide to flirting.

I wish this fic was describing canon moments, not kidding a single bit, I wish I could somehow magically manifest these scenes into existence they're that good and fit that well into canon.

M8TE – gallawitch - 53k words

Omegaverse fic where Ian and Mickey both start using an app and end up matching with each other, even though a connection is made almost instinctively, coming to terms with it with a sound mind will take a bit longer…

Hey,had to have at least one of these on here lol

I love omegaverse and this was everything I wanted from it, couldn't have asked for anything better really <3.

SHACKLED – MyRelapse - 19k words

Ian has a change of heart and he decides that Mickey IS the one he wants, even if he's still in prison, so he keeps in contact and goes through every hoop imaginable to have him back as soon as possible.

Reading this made me so happy like I could burst, love it.

WAITING ON MY OWN TOO LONG – Ride4812 - 266k words

This rec more than any other on this list is what I'm gonna consider self indulgent because it covers the trope I always craved to read in such a satisfying way: Canon AU where Mickey comes back from prison after 8 years, Ian has found someone else but the moment the two meet again they fall back into each other right away.

The series is made up of 4 smaller fics:

One more night

Something more this time

No more lonely nights

Ain't this life so sweet

(I will point out here and nowhere else that the last installment of this series has some segment that probably needed to be re-read a couple more times, but by that point I was too invested, and the quality fluctuates a lot only in certain parts)

The writing style is very direct and to the point, which I love, the smut is very present and written beautifully and most importantly never boring.

Ian is a MESS in this fic and had me Stressed™, mostly cause for some reason I can't handle too much casual depiction of drug abuse and addiction (I know, ironic considering the fandom).

Conflicts and resolutions are never clean cut, they don't necessarily resolve quickly or definitely or the way you probably imagine they should and I find this level of realism very satisfying.

Taking a bit of space here at the end to also rec a couple other Ride4812 fics that I also loved:

COUP DE FOUDRE - A model/photographer AU where Ian and Mickey fall in love the instant they meet and do some crazy things because of that.

HOPE HE MIGHT - A lawyer AU where Ian and Mickey are on opposing sides for the same client, an interesting murder mystery steeped in a religious cult.

Generally I feel like this author is really good at depicting just how unapproachable Mickey can be to anyone that isn't called Ian Gallagher and I eat it up every time.

WHAT THE NIGHT DOES TO THE DAY – andchaos - 9k words

A Gallavich childhood friends AU with a quite original arrangement for the story and the various segments of their lives. Very satisfying read.

RANSOM – BeckyHarvey29 - 112k words

Terry sends his sons to kidnap a Gallagher child to force Frank into paying back the money he owes, unfortunately for him Mickey and his brothers kidnap Ian, and a whole other kind of story unfolds.

Mickey and Ian falling in love in this fic is such a good read. I don't wanna spoil anything of how that or the kidnapping plot goes, since the two are so intertwined. Just know that it will be worth it.

UNDER LOCK AND KEY – Suzy_Queue - 106k words

Ian is assigned the night shift at his new job where he provides spare keys to his fellow college students stuck outside their dorm rooms. To make matters worse his shift coworker is the oh so infamous Mickey Milkovich.

I am magnetized by the way this author writes their pining for each other, their attraction and obsession, how it blooms and unfolds. This fic in particular had me develop a very bad case of tunnel vision, couldn't really turn away until I finished reading it all.

I still haven't read everything this author has to offer, but so far I also loved:

INHUMAN: A mysterious force starts attacking people close to Mickey and it all seems to lead to a mysterious redhead Mickey is oh so coincidentally obsessed with. Very cool paranormal story.

THESE FOOLISH GAMES: Mickey takes over as the boss of the local branch of a trampoline park, where Ian is one of the employees, they annoy each other to no end but what they don't know is that they're secretly texting each other.

IS THERE SOMEWHERE – andchaos - 48k words

Mickey is born with no words on his skin, convinced he's going to live a life of misery cause no one will ever say the words he's destined to hear, he's not a very happy guy. Here comes mute boy Ian who crashes into his life and won't let go.

A classic Soulmate AU, I love that like in a lot of other Gallavich fics their physical connection and compatibility usually comes before their emotional one, it is one aspect that I feel distinguishes their relationship to many other fandom’s ships.

LAST NIGHT AT THE VERONA GRAND HOTEL – the_rat_wins - 27k words

Mickey starts working at an ancient hotel who's supposedly haunted. Mickey doesn't believe in ghost stories, he is much more interested in this one guest he meets at night during his shift.

What a cinematic experience this fic is! Absolutely recommended, the length of it makes it so you can read it in the same time it would take to watch the same story in movie format.

Other fics by the same authors that have impressed me:

FADE THIS ONE TO BLACK: Ian dies of overdose in a pile of snow outside the club, when Mickey finds him there he vows to do anything to get him back.

I don't know why but this fic in particular gives off the vibes of being a pilot for a ya urban fantasy TV series, except we gotta imagine everything that comes after the first episode lol

NO LIE: Ian and Mickey are Soulmates and as such they can't lie to each other. This series is short and sweet and full of feelings, perfect

PARAGRAPHS – pink_ink - 100k words

Ian becomes a reading tutor for ex-convicts, Mickey is among them and Ian starts paying him more and more attention.

This is a story where they meet under very different circumstances and where they've lived slightly different lives compared to canon and yet they're still able to find each other in the end.

Also, sign me up for every fic where Ian has to work just as hard to help Mickey and care for him as the opposite, where Ian's brand of stubbornness is the only way to get through to Mickey.

I'm also adding a couple of ongoing fics, just two to not overwhelm too much.

NONE THE WISER – Loftec - ~218k words

Ian starts visiting Mickey’s diner, it takes a while and yet no time at all to warm up to each other.

I'm captivated by the author's writing style. I love Ian's and Mickey’s relationship. I love how they sort of take their time and yet pine helplessly for each other.

I'm obsessed with the fact that the whole point of the fic doesn't appear until two thirds of the way in cause the diner scenes were just too good to pass up on lol (and I 100% agree with them).

INTRO TO QUANTUM DATING – spoonfulstar - ~563k words

Canon Mickey and Ian meet in University. A college slice of life but drenched in the casual (and not so casual) darkness of canon shameless.

The dark humor in this is fenomenal and left me gasping laughing so many times.

Unexpectedly Ian in this fic is pursuing a linguistics oriented degree, which was what I studied when I tried university, the topics are explained in such an accurate way I have to assume the author studied them themselves and that this story is somewhat a reimagining of their own college experience because if not this would be an absurd amount of accurate research to make.

Reading this fic feels like living through the American college experience from the comfort of my home lol.

As I said before, this author's way of writing does not weight you down even with its length, the story flows perfectly from one scene to the next and before you realize it you've reached the end and you have to accept that 500k words weren't even enough.

Let's end this list with some quick recommendations

WHILE WE'RE MAKING OTHER (PEOPLE'S) PLANS - kyasticlikestea

Mickey is volunteered to organize someone's else's wedding after he managed to salvage his own so well, he'll do it, but his own Southside way.

THIS IS THE ROAD TO RUIN - bricoleur10

Ian and Mickey never go to rob Ned, the story unfolds differently from there. A fix-it with a lot of Gallavich longing , very good smut and some really good dialogue.

HEY, HONEY MINE (I WAS THERE ALL THE TIME) - serveteas

Mickey talks about his crush with Iggy and accidentally pronoun-slips. Short, to the point, funny af and I just really love it. Takes place after their fight at Kash’n Grab in s2.

AGAINST GLASS - AllThatMatters

Ian gets traded from one club to another as a dancer (and more) and ends up in the Milkovich family's club. This is a Mafia!Mickey story with some pretty tight sub-plots, I love his brothers in this.

ONE OF A KIND - fckyeahgallavich

Mickey breaks his finger and it has to be set in the hospital, chaos - of the homophobic kind - ensues. Protective!Ian, I wanna hug Mickey in this.

IAN THE FRIENDLY GHOST - Ravenheart

Ian is haunting an apartment and Mickey starts living in it, Ian is maybe starting to have a crush on him. This isn't angsty!

BLOOD IN, BLEED OUT - brewrosemilk, Whatsastory

Historical AU. Perfectly innocent bystander Ian Gallagher is thrown into the affairs of the Ukrainian Mafia back in 1954, his relationship with Mickey will span decades and he won't remain innocent for long, the mafia can corrupt anyone.

TEENAGE RUNAWAY - sadwhales

Ian comes to live and finish high school with his half siblings on the South Side, he's immediately captivated by a boy sitting under the bleachers, maybe his North Side naivety will catch his attention too.

GARDEN SONG - melwrtiesthings

A glimpse into their lives in their West Side apartment, a lot of initial angst due to a manic episode and then a lot of recovery and healing and learning more about themselves.

[freevoidman]

Binged the entire DMC Netflix show (wow holy shit I RARELY do that) and my super quick, spoiler free review is that the show is overall really, REALLY great. Action is spot-on, designs are great, story is pretty strong (episode 6 is easily the strongest of the bunch on a visual and story-telling level holy shit) with some fumbling of new characters. If you've felt the drought of DMC stuff since 5 and VoV ended, the new series will absolutely whet your appetite and leave you satisfied.

Obviously if you're going into this with the expectation of a 1:1 adaptation, you're not going to get it. The show is, effectively, doing its own thing. If that sounds good to you, great! If you wanted a pure adaptation of one of the prior games, you're not getting that here.

If you want some stronger and longer points to go off of, spoilers BELOW the cut, you have all been warned:

Anyone worried about Dante being written "wrong," let me assure you the show does him great. He's fun, he's sarcastic and cocky, you can feel he's in most of his fights for the thrill when there's not greater stakes at play. Out of EVERYONE in this show, Dante has the best characterization outside of the demons, both old and new. Again, however, you might find some of his moments to be written 'against' the Dante from the games. I'm brushing this off as 1) Dante is young in this series (supposedly takes place either in a time around or BEFORE DMC3, meaning he's probably 19-early 20s at the most?) and 2) again, this show is doing its own thing. Not enough that Dante feels completely different--we don't have another Donte from DmC on our hands here--but different enough that people might not like it depending on what KIND of Dante you like, if that makes sense.

Second runner-up here is the White Rabbit. Holy fuck, even for a spoiler section I don't want to give much away, but he steals the show. EASILY the best character in the show--especially amongst the newcomers (we'll get to them in a moment), I'm so glad he was done well, though his character flags the tiniest bit at the end. Overall though, incredible new character and antagonist.

Lady is the most different from her appearances in the games but, honestly? Not by much. Remember, this is 3!Lady we're talking about here, a Lady who hasn't made peace with her father, who still holds the trauma of her mother's death and a deep grudge against demon-kind, and who REALLY doesn't vibe with anyone that isn't a demon and isn't on the "good side" in her mind. I think her character is nailed really well in that regard, though I obviously miss the more 'laid back' Lady from 4 and 5, who we likely won't see for a long while in this show.

I think the most egregious part of Lady's character in this show is that she swears. Like, a lot of swears, combined with some really gross, vivid imagery. Getting close to rivaling Hazbin Hotel, but it's not done for pure comedic edginess like that show. Even I was getting tired of it by the end and I have a HIGH tolerance for it. Really hope in season 2 she doesn't swear as much. I think swearing is fine and definitely warranted at points (Dante swears in this show, but rarely, and only done in a few, key moments and I don't think that 'ruins' his character) but Lady gets really close to an unnecessary excess at times, you could easily cut out a few 'fucks' and the dialogue would be virtually identical with no major character changes.

Worst part of the show, unfortunately, is the new character Vice President Baines (voiced by the late Kevin Conroy, whose performance made me hate Baines less) and the rest of the ideology behind him. Baines feels like a character you're meant to hate, which (if intentional) is done well don't get me wrong, but he's very one note throughout the show and it gets exhausting. He is the Christian religious zealot who believes God has a plan for everything, and he's in an insane position of power to be able to act out "God's" will.

An underlying theme of the show, hastened by its setting in NYC and the greater 'real world' of America, is Christianity and basically what I would call "DMC manifest destiny" which gets very, VERY exhausting to hear repeatedly, always through Baines, and it's never given the full breadth of air to grow past simple dogmatic ideology. The second-to-last scene really made me uncomfortable as I don't think this show has given me enough confidence in its ability to pull of and/or criticize a viewpoint in a way that doesn't feel repetitive and won't feel lackluster.

To be fair: I am not saying this is necessarily bad. In the context of the show (1990s/early 2000s America facing a literal invasion from hell) this works! It would make sense that these characters would exist and have these viewpoints. Episode 1 establishes this and it feels much better executed... right up until we get to the government and VP Baines, where it becomes a very one-dimensional thing that never grows past its grassroots. My main worry is my confidence in the show's ability to tackle the topic and tackle it well, especially when the greater series doesn't touch on these topics (unfortunately, the DmC comparison here does land) and has stayed largely neutral, focusing instead on fictional organizations and plot lines that don't feel too frictional to me.

Season 2 DOES have a promising set-up in this regard. Darkcom (the organization Lady works for) seems to be massively crippled, if not out-right decimated, though this is somewhat unclear. Lady's fate is ultimately unknown, she could still be working for Baines or could be out there on her own. We see the freaking Ouroboros company from DMC2 and I can absolutely see the second season tackling exploitation and the evils of capitalism and giving the villains of DMC2 a proper go. Though, that implements a new worry that we won't see Lady at ALL and instead completely shift to Lucia who, as much as I love her, it would kinda suck to introduce when Lady is right there and still suspended mid-arc.

If a second season is anywhere close in quality to the first, I'll absolutely watch it. I'm hoping that the new characters will be satisfactorily fleshed out and, if nothing else, that the show is fun to watch and not stagnated to a complete halt after that ball tease of a cliffhanger lmao. Ultimately, the show's greater positives--its action, overall writing, overall character execution, and world building--outweigh the negatives and my gripes. I truly hope season 2 expands on the positives and makes the weak points as painless as possible when we brush up against them.

***

EDIT 4/11/2025: I wanted to add to this review that, in addition to the show not giving me the confidence necessary to believe it can pull off its criticisms well, Adi Shankar is not doing that confidence any favors either. I didn't want to touch on him as I felt my opinions on the show could stay separate from him, but unfortunately he's being an absolute weirdo on twitter and I felt I should touch on it here to keep my thoughts in one spot and not have to link two separate posts.

Adi Shankar is, at his best, a complete and utter weirdo to me. His shows have more left-leaning political ideologies--criticisms of the Catholic church in Castlevania, the various themes that even appear in Devil May Cry in regards to the government and dogmatic ideology, the EXCEEDINGLY direct parallels and criticisms towards Bush and Cheney seen with DMC's barely-present POTUS (who we only know as a wimp who cares about his image) and VP Baines (the main government leader who is respected and has all the power to declare war)--but his actual ideologies in real life are far more right wing, as are the people he's willingly associated with and continues to reach out towards. To me, Adi Shankar feels like a grifter. A grifter that rides whatever wave is most popular to gain the best financial and social status. Unfortunately, in 2025, that popular wave is the Trump wave, even if that means he's saddling up to bigots and assholes alike.

All of this to say, Adi's behavior mooching up to Trump and other known right wing assholes (like Asmongold most recently, to the point where a conspiracy nutjob podcaster seen in episode one that I thought was a caricature seems to be inspired by the cockroach fucker and is probably supposed to be seen positively???) makes the show's criticisms of America fall EXCEEDINGLY flat on its face. It is to the point where I can see the whole thing falling apart depending on where we're headed for the (confirmed) second season.

I wanted to come back here to say, regardless of this, I still enjoyed the show. I understand people's legitimate criticisms against it and respect them (and by legitimate here I mean the people who are willing to string together a thought and explain their reasoning outside of simply saying 'it's bad' or 'I don't like it.' Those aren't criticisms those are just opinions to me lol). I also feel like the show is so on-the-nose critical with its themes against christofascism, imperialism, and the greater American philosophy that it's really hard to reconcile those themes with its producer, who is saddling up with the very same people he's criticizing.

Obviously there are more writers on this show than just Adi Shankar and I really hope that Season 2 continues its criticisms and doesn't trip and fall flat on its face. Despite the show's success I do believe that this series was commissioned for two seasons and that's why we got a confirmation so quickly, and I can only hope that it doesn't fumble from its current centrist criticisms and fall down the right-wing spiral of death.

[liubovricci]

Astarion. Undead weirdo.

I thought a lot about this post https://www.tumblr.com/preciouslittle-bhaalbabe/759003055035416576/is-it-bad-that-that-is-my-entire-headcanon-for?source=share after I first read it and realized that a lot of it is actually my headcanon. And a lot of weird stuff started coming into my head that could be done with this kind of Astarion. This text is split into two parts, because I went further, delving into the contrast between Spawn Astarion and AA. This part is about SPAWN, so it's still odd (I warned you!), but not as much as the next part about AA.

1. Breathless

Sometimes Astarion forgets to breathe until he starts talking, and then takes a sharp breath as if to gather air for a line. Sometimes he forgets to breathe mid-sentence, his words dissolving into raspy croaks. Yara mimics breathing for him, placing his hand on her diaphragm. He stares, fascinated, as her chest rises. But during sex and feeding, on the contrary, he starts breathing too much, panting deeply and loudly, so much that any mortal could get hyperventilation. Not because he needs it or is trying to imitate life, but in order to constantly smell the scent of his lover's blood and body.

2. Eyes and sounds

His pupils dilate enormously when he's excited, turning a metallic shade like quicksilver. When light hits them, they glow with a subtle red reflection, and when he drinks blood, they turn completely black, the irises disappearing almost entirely. Yara loves to watch in fascination as his pupils return to their normal size and dilate again at the same speed as a cat's.

He often makes inhuman sounds: a hoarse hiss when he's angry; a low rumble in his chest when he's happy; and a grinding of his teeth as if he's sharpening his fangs before a hunt. During intimacy, especially when he is sincerely lost in sensations and feelings, he can forget how to sound human, tempting, and sexy, and then his voice splits—one tone is gentle, high-pitched, and almost inaudible, the other is raspy, deep, as if from the depths of the earth.

3. Sleep

Astarion neither sleeps nor meditates but can fall into a motionless brooding state when he wants to rest mentally, or torpor, a complete trance-like oblivion, when he needs to restore his vitality. While resting, he can move, and his thoughts transform into dreams that he can't or doesn't want to control. In torpor, however, his body is completely motionless, his breathing stops, and he becomes even paler than usual. He doesn't just look dead; he is dead. At first, this scared Yara to shit. The first few times she shook him in tears, trying to wake him up. She had to sit next to him until he came out of the trance on his own and sat up in bed with his back straight as a stake, not taking a single breath, like a fucking Dracula. Over time, she got used to it and even began to lie on top of him on particularly hot nights, taking advantage of the fact that he is cold and feels nothing at all.

4. Blood and feeding.

When he drinks from her, he does so slowly, with aching self-control. His hands cradle the back of her head, his lips pressed to the wound as if he wants to seal it, not open. He purrs and sniffles into her neck, taking only a few sips, and then nuzzles his face to the bite for a long time, as if he's going to keep going, but he never does, just licks up new drops until the flow slows down completely. Perhaps he's training his willpower, or maybe he's really enjoying it. With his love, this act is never about hunger, always only about sacred pleasure. Afterward, he always makes Yara do something about the blood loss, and sometimes she thinks he feels just the slightest hint of guilt.

“My love... you shouldn't be so generous. One day I might be unable to hold back.”

5. Sex.

Over time, he realizes that he can stop pretending and playing roles in bed and do what he really likes, and Yara won't judge him. Sometimes he gets too chatty and mumbles something about her being a real witch, a plague, a disease that infected him; sometimes it's just loving, sweet nonsense, and sometimes he starts to speak Elvish, and Yara really doubts that it's something meant for her ears.

After sex, he often fascinatedly counts, touches, and kisses the bruises, hickeys, and teeth marks he left on her body this time. He licks the sweat off her body and likes to stay inside her for a while, until he starts to harden again.

6. During periods

Yara doesn't need to keep a calendar because Astarion can smell her period coming a few days in advance. When it begins, Astarion becomes extremely affectionate and clingy, both because he cares and wants to ease her pain and because the constant scent of blood beckons and doesn't let go. He heats the blankets for her and brings her the herbal tea that she always brews for herself according to her father's recipe. But he adds something of himself to this recipe, and then the spoon stands upright in the cup because it is no longer tea with honey, but honey with tea. He drapes her thighs over his shoulders and presses his cold cheek to her lower abdomen. His voice cracks—part concern, part hunger. “Gods, you're hot like a furnace. Does it hurt? Tell me how to fix it.” But she never has time to answer, and it ends up with his face buried between her thighs anyway.

7. Weird habits

He can sit for hours twirling a strand of her hair around his finger like a boy playing with thread. Sometimes he tears off a single hair and puts it in his pocket like a talisman. When Yara silently looks at him questioningly, he makes an indifferent face: “What? You don't mind, do you? It smells like you, darling.” He collects her hair/objects, but never admits how many he already has. This habit makes Yara really happy because it reminds her of the behavior of rats, which she adores, when they drag everything they think is treasure into their den. But I wouldn't be surprised if among these treasures there is something bizarre, like a piece of bandage from Yara's wound, which almost killed her once.

Sometimes he puts her on top of him in an uncomfortable position for both of them, her back to his chest, so that her heart is in the same spot where his should beat, but she never complains. They lie there for a long time, silently. And he imagines that her heartbeat is his own.

Astarion lays his head on her stomach and listens to her body work: her stomach rumbling, her intestines moving, her lungs filling with air, her blood rushing through her veins. He knows he once had the same thing, but he can't remember what it felt like. “Mortal temple,” he murmurs under his breath, thinking she can't hear. But of course she does, and she smiles sadly and caresses his hair with her fingers.

He doesn't feel cold and always wears clothes unsuitable for the weather. And when Yara starts to freeze, he tears his own clothes and wraps her in them, trying to “warm her up,” but instead freezes her even more. Does she complain? No, hardly.

He watches her sleep, perched at the foot of the bed like a gargoyle. When she wakes up, he's inches from her face, eyes wide and unblinking. “You twitched. Were you dreaming of me?” At such moments, in the absence of light, it seems that his smile doesn't reach his eyes, and he looks like a ghost.

8. Care and romance

He never says “be careful,” but every time Yara goes on a dangerous mission, he discreetly puts some nonsense in her pocket that he considers a talisman. Maybe a cinnamon stick dipped in sandalwood oil because he remembers that she loves that smell. Or a fang that looks suspiciously like a vampire's, and she doesn't even want to know from whose mouth he ripped it.

Yara has almost completely given up the sun to lead a nocturnal lifestyle with Astarion. And when she goes too long without seeing the sun's rays, he cups her face in both hands, examines her skin and the dark circles under her eyes. He frowns, makes a noise. “You're getting pale. You'll soon turn into a drow.” And he goes to build her a nest of pillows and blankets by the window so that she can bask in the rays. He hides behind a curtain in a dark corner, watching the light play on her skin. They talk for hours, until the sun goes down.

He memorizes her heartbeat. When she's stressed, he curls around her like a serpent, aligning his stillness with her pulse. His hands flutter, unsure where to touch without triggering her trauma, so he settles for tracing the scars on her forearms with a feather-light touch.

Sometimes he silently creeps up behind her and demands that Yara tell him she's alive with a blank expression. “You know I'm alive,” she replies with a sigh.

“No. Say it out loud.”

“Fine. I'm alive, love.”

“Say you'll still be alive the next time I wake up.”

“OF COURSE I—”

“Say it.”

“Uhhh... I'll still be alive the next time you wake up.”

“Good,” he replies, burying his face in her hair, and for a moment he looks like an ordinary elf again. But after such conversations, he follows her around like a shadow for a long time.

He gives her gifts that he considers romantic, not those that are acceptable to give to loved ones. A wilted rose that he picked up from who knows where (“She's as beautiful as you are, even when she's hurt.”); perfume that he made for her, which has a completely incompatible mixture of scents (“Smells like a disaster. Specially for you, darling.”); live rats that he hates and she adores (“If you smiled like that because of jewelry, I'd steal it for you every night.”).

He teaches her how to waltz in the silence and darkness of the abandoned estate hall, but his movements are mechanical, as if he were copying movements from a past life. Suddenly he stops:

“I... don't feel the music. Could you... speed the rhythm for me?”

“Speed... the rhythm?”

“Yes, darling. Your heartbeat.”

Astarion kisses her scars with aching compassion and draws out all the darkest details of her own slavery. Sometimes she thinks that he is too distant and indifferent, his eyes become glassy and void, as if he doesn't hear her at all, but in fact he is experiencing all these moments with her live and comparing them to his past. And when she weeps, he never tries to stop her tears. He just cradles her and whispers, “Give it to me. Give it all to me, my love.”

And I love him like that.

[i-arch-my-backula]

How Louis and Lestat spend Halloween with you

So I'm decently into the first season of IWTV TV show, I'm on episode six of the first season, and I want to write about these gay vampires so bad, but I don't want to do anything too high stakes, so I'm just going to do a silly Halloween thing for them. Sorry if this is OOC for either of them. I'm basing the time around the late 1910's-ish.

Content includes: Mentions of 'hunting'

Louis De Pointe Du Lac

Because Halloween has only really been celebrated in the States for less than 30 years, Louis isn't too keen on it. He sees all of the greeting cards in stores and costume parties everyone throws, he thinks it's a little silly, but if you want to play around with it, he'll oblige.

If it were up to him, he wouldn't really do anything to celebrate, he sees it as just another holiday made up by some humans. But when you beg him to go to a party with you, he'll go, but he won't dress up.

I think he'll still be lighthearted about the whole thing. Just letting you have your fun dressing up and going to parties with him, doing this and that. He doesn't take it too seriously, but he won't explicitly tell you that.

If you suggest decorating the outside of the house for Halloween he'll slightly protest that. "Come on now, we ain't gotta do all that." He'll probably say. Louis already feels anxious about his standing in New Orleans at is it, so drawing more attention to himself and you probably isn't what he'll want to do.

But he'll find ways to compromise. If you want to wear a costume he'll hire a seamstress who is willing to work at night to come and make you whatever costume you'd like to be, within reason of course.

By now Louis has learned to be careful with who he chooses to eat for his dinner. Only going after those who no one will miss, or notice that they've gone missing, he's learned his lesson, and he won't make the same mistakes again.

That being said he's going to use you prancing around town going to Halloween parties as a way to hunt. If he grows bored of the party he'll leave you on your own to have your fun while he finds a bite to eat.

Overall Louis isn't that big of a Halloween fan. He doesn't hate it, but if given the choice, he wouldn't exactly engage with it either. But because his beloved enjoys this holiday so much, he's willing to do this just for you.

Lestat De Lioncourt

Lestat is a dramatic ass bitch. He's French, blonde, has a bob, and is bisexual, it's in his nature to be dramatic. But that being said I think he's indifferent about Halloween.

He doesn't hate it or anything, but he thinks it's just another human holiday that he could go without. But because you love it so much, he's willing to celebrate it with you.

Lestat is very old, and French, and to my understanding in France Halloween isn't celebrated on mass like how it is in the United States, so if that's true now I'm sure it's true back then.

So as Lestat sees Halloween rise up into this kind of a holiday he'll tease you about enjoying a holiday that just now became popular, but he ribs you about most things in general. It's just in his nature.

Because he's Lestat you two will be invited to many Halloween parties, and since he enjoys parties in general, he'll be happy to go with you.

I think he enjoys getting dressed up just for the hell of it, so while you wear a costume for a Halloween party, he'll just wear one of his fancy suits. But this is also a good excuse if someone asks him why is fingernails look like that or some other question about his appearance. He can pass it off as a Halloween costume.

Like Louis, Lestat takes this as an opportunity to hunt as well. He's not one to grow bored of a party easily, but if you two are walking around on Halloween night and he happens to find the perfect someone to eat, he can't deny himself that.

Like Louis I think he'll not want to decorate for Halloween, not because he doesn't want to draw attention to himself, but because he thinks the decorations are a bit tacky.

"Oh come on mon chéri. These decorations look like a child cut shapes out of some black paper. We can't hang these up for everyone to see."

[discordiansamba]

have some more thoughts about the aoex kyoto au, in no particular order:

rin had already decided by their last year of middle school that he wasn't going to follow the others to true cross academy. he has no interest in becoming an exorcist, and he definitely doesn't have the grades to get into a prestigious school like true cross, even with three very diligent tutors.

it takes him a little while to decide that he won't be attending high school at all! he actually doesn't tell his friends about it, at first. they're so focused on their own entrance exams, that it doesn't occur to them to follow up on rin's. they only find out after they've passed that rin hasn't actually taken any entrance exams.

(torako hires him on without a moment's hesitation. she knows how good he is in the kitchen, and it's always helpful to have someone strong around.)

rin just has so much free time in this period. he keeps himself busy making midnight snacks for everyone.

...and then when it actually comes time for them to leave for true cross academy, he just sort of ends up avoiding them for awhile. he's not doing it on purpose! he knows it's counterintuitive! he does it anyways, though.

it ticks ryuuji and yukio off.

they WILL chase your ass down if necessary, rin. get back here!!

he does end up seeing them off, in the end.

ryuuji: look. i might have said i'm not coming back until I become an exorcist, but that doesn't mean you can't visit US during school breaks.

rin: ...oh yeah. there is that option.

none of them witness the violent outburst that lands shiro in the hospital, but they all see the aftereffects it has on rin. he was so excited to go to kindergarten, only to have a miserable time once he was actually there.

he doesn't know why he's like this. he just can't stop himself!

so when he picks up on the warning signs of rin having another outburst, ryuuji just steps in front of him and headbutts rin. it shocks him so much he just snaps right out of it.

(ryuuji regrets it, a little. OW. what is rin's head MADE of?)

ryuuji promises him then and there that if he'll stop him before he can hurt anyone like that again. you can rely on me!

(he puts his money where his mouth is, too)

that promise is the first thing that crosses rin's mind when he sees ryuuji standing in front of his confinement cell.

(years later, demon rin will give him a chilling smile and ask him if he plans on stopping him this time too. you promised, right?)

rin and konekomaru as kitchen buddies! when they have get togethers, it's not uncommon to find them cooking together.

if ryuuji and yukio have an academic rivalry, then ryuuji and rin have one of the more physical side of things. it frustrates ryuuji to no end that no matter what, he can't seem to beat rin.

(when the finds out later that he's half-demon, he realizes that all this time he's actually been doing pretty well just to keep up with him. really puts things into perspective!)

rin going from defeating the impure king to flunking the candle exercise. it's so frustrating for him. makes him feel like he's back at square one, but shura points out that he's already proven he can do it. he just needs to be able to recreate that when the stakes are lower.

after shimane, yukio asks shiro if he'll tell him about how he and rin were born, but shiro says he'll only tell him if rin wants to hear about it too. this proves to be a mistake, because well. rin doesn't want to hear about it, and yukio very, very much does.

mephisto: so. bad news. kurikara broke while you were away.

shiro: what

mephisto: but good news! rin survived having his demon heart return to his body!

mephisto: bad news again. yukio has joined the Illuminati.

shiro: I was gone for ONE DAY?

mephisto: it was a very busy day!

[bootlegramdomneess]

Hello! If is okay I would like to ask you something about how you interpret this aspect of show as a therapist.

Why do you think is Sydney the one that calls Carmy’s panick attacks? (the one in opening day, and that moment in “doors” when she calms him down when he is screaming they are to slow, and because of her, he calms down and the frantic music stops)

Does it had to do with love (even though I also think they are in love) or is because of trust and the bond they share? Secure attachment kind of thing? Is it because the particular type of abuse he has suffered? Or is something about Sydney’s personality? Would love your take on that.

Thank you 🙏🏼

ooo. Thanks for the question. Okay, there are a lot of layers to this

In season one we see Sydney coming into the beef during a time where Carmy was trying to get everyone to understand what he was trying to do, and meeting Sydney, he saw she understood where he was coming from. It had to be a big relief. I think Carmy comes from a space of feeling as though no one truly understands him or who he is. I think meeting Sydney was a shock to his system because here was someone who understood what he was trying to do at the Beef. Here was someone who shared the same vision as him. Similar ideas. Similar plans. Who is passionate about cooking. Here was a person who knew the part of his life (Being a chef) he didn't share with anyone. As time went on, he connected with her on a professional level, he depended on her, he relied on her in a way, i think, he never has with anyone in the kitchen. Sydney has this way about her that can be very disarming. Disarming to the point where he felt comfortable enough to be vulnerable with her in telling her about his Al-anon meetings. I think by the end of the season, he tried to subconsciously sabotage this relationship by exploding on her, but still invited her back into his life---despite her challenging his core beliefs of no one understanding him or he has to do things on his own. Or he can't get close to anyone.

2. In season 2 we see a shift in their dynamic where trust has been built. They've grown closer. They're having conversations about their personal lives. They're giving each other advice. They've built this little family inside the restaurant. Sydney is slowly now integrated into his family. They're literally building their future together. But here Carmy goes, sabotaging things (by bringing the C person into the dynamic) again because his relationship with Sydney is once again challenging his core beliefs. This is the theme I'm starting to notice.

3. Carmy admires Sydney. He values her opinion. He sees interpersonal skills she brings into the kitchen, and into their dynamic, that he wants to mirror himself. (This is partway why he is ALWAYS watching her)

He constantly asks if things are okay between them. He doesn't lie to her. (outside of omitting who the C person was). He tries his best to articulate his feelings to her without her prompting. When he said "I don't want to do this without you. I can't do this without you. You make me better at this." He meant that shit. That is so hard to admit out loud for him because the emotional stakes and the fear of rejection is so high for him. it's obvious he holds her in such high regard because he does not do or say any of those things to anyone else in his life. He ignores them. He shuts them out. He avoids. He doesn't communicate. (Just look at his entire dynamic with the C person. Just look at how he's shut her out completely).

4.This season he feels so ashamed and upset that he left Sydney alone. "I left you alone." After promising to her various times, he won't do that. He is devastated by this. he was yelling GET SYDNEY when he was locked in the freezer because he left her alone. So now he's gone into the extreme mode to try and fix it the things between them even though she didn't feel he abandoned her.

He told Sydney to check him if he's fucking up. He trusts he will listen to her when she does and correct himself. We are now at a point where he does not want to fuck shit up with her anymore. He is now allowing Sydney's presence in his life to challenge his core belief without sabotaging it. I think, Carmy has already casually admitted in his mind that he has strong feelings for Sydney, but I think he's put it in a deli and stored it on a shelf for various Carmy reasons.

So, when Sydney checks him in the kitchen, tells him to calm down, he listens. Sydney doesn't view Carmy as broken. Despite knowing he has anxiety and panic attacks. Despite his emotional issues, despite his family dysfunction. I think Sydney views him as someone who can hold it together. She doesn't coddle him because she sees he is trying and has the ability to get his act together. When she says: "So don't fuck up" is a great example of that.

Sydney is clear in her expectations of him. She holds him accountable. Sydney is gentle and disarming and forgiving in a way he is not with himself and he recognizes he needs that. Him being able to calm down when she tells him to, is her shaping his behavior. His thoughts of her helping him calm from a panic attack is because he trusts her voice. She is the port in the storm. She is the only one he trusts enough to be this way with him. Because he is in love with her.

[skulkiee]

The boredom finally got to me i guess. Have this

"Six hundred lives at stake! It's just one life to take!"

Odysseus pauses for a moment to watch his men attacking the cyclops. He is proud of how they're doing, sure, they all survived ten long years of war, but they never thought they were gonna have to fight a monster like this.

"And when we kill him then our journey's over!"

His eyes catch on Polites and Eurylochus, the pair are fighting just as fiercely as always- side by side as always- and doing a pretty good job of dragging the cyclops' attention away from any of the men who have ended up in more vulnerable positions during the fighting.

"Push forward!" Odysseus yells, darting back into the fighting, a wide grin on his face. The cyclops looks like he's getting tired, the Lotus should kick in soon. Right?

"No dying on us now!"

Odysseus looks up by chance, and the cyclops is grabbing something from the back of the cave. Odysseus freezes.

"Defeat is not allowed!"

He follows the cyclops' line of sight, the momentum of the club and-

No. No. He can't let that happen. Not Polites- not after ten years of war.

"We must live through this day so fight fight fight!"

Odysseus takes off at a run. He is still too slow. He shuts his eyes when the club comes crashing down. Call him a coward, he doesn't want to watch his best friend crushed and killed so violently.

The cave falls into deathly silence.

"Captain?" Broken only by one tiny, hurt voice.

Thats not-

"Eurylochus!" Polites' terrafied scream rips him out of his thoughts, "No no no no n-"

"Enough!" The cyclops roars, slamming his club down again, once again barely missing Polites. Chaos breaks out.

"He's got a club! He's got a clu-"

Odysseus isn't thinking straight. He doesn't know- he can't- he knows he needs to do something, men are dying but- Eurylochus is dead. He's dead. His brother is dead.

"What are our orders? Captain? Capta-"

He really needs to do something. Odysseus can't do anything. His feet won't move, his mind won't work- Polites is sat huddled on the cave floor, battered and bruised, Eurylochus' limp body in his arms. Eurylochus is dead. Eury. Is. Dead.

"You've hurt me enough!"

Odysseus is vaguely aware of the Cyclops speaking. Not aware enough to figure out what he is saying past the fog of utter shock in his mind, but aware enough to feel the ground shake each time the club comes down.

He should do something. He really should.

But his Eury is dead. He is dead.

"Captain. Captain! Captain! Captain!" Odysseus looks up blankly at a panicked Perimedes. And then his mind starts spinning again and the world snaps back into focus.

"We must move quickly, we don't have much time. He didn't notice I mixed lotus in his wine!" He speaks to the men with a bravery he does not possess, forcing the shake out of his voice and the tears out of his eyes, "Mark my words now, this is not the end!"

"But captain, what'll we do with our fallen friends?" It's Elpenor this time, his voice quiet and shaky. His eyes wandering around the cave, catching on each fallen comrade, landing somewhere just over Odysseus' shoulder, where he knows Polites and Eurylochus are.

"Remember them." Odysseus says. He has a job to do now, "When the fire begins to fade, for the fallen and afraid, we are not to let them die in vain! Remember them!"

Odysseus starts walking through the men, trying to put his confidence that he doesn't feel into them, "We're the ones who carry on, the flames of those who've gone! And our comrades will not die in vain!" He stops before the fallen club.

"I need all our hands on his club, this is how we're getting out of here! Use your swords to sharpen the stub, and turn it into a giant spear!" He points his sword high in the air, and the men do the same.

"Let's kill him!"

"His body is blocking the path!" Odysseus half shouts, "If we kill him we'll be stuck inside!"

"Captain, where do we attack him?" Odysseus looks over at Polites, Polites who just before had looked slightly regretful at hurting the cyclops who was just defending his sheep, Polites who now looks just about ready to commit murder.

Polites who is covered in Eurylochus' blood.

Odysseus gives his friend a small nod, "We gotta stab him in the eye!"

"Yes, sir!"

The men take up Odysseus' chant as they carve the club into a spear. Odysseus turns to look at where he last saw Eurylochus, and sees that Polites has laid him at the edge of the cave, out of the way, his cloak covering his body.

Odysseus is glad Polites did that, not that he would admit that to anyone. He would much rather have the image of Eurylochus leaning slightly against the side of the ship, sword slung over his shoulder, and a small smile on his face as he argues with Odysseus or Polites over something, than how he must have looked after that club hit him.

"Now!" He yells, turning back to the men.

Polites is at the front of the men holding the club turned spear, theres an expression of single-minded determination on his face, and an anger he has never seen in Polites before.

"Scatter!" Odysseus pushes the fact that his brother is actually dead out of his head again, tries to ignore the blood and tears on his friend's face. He can think later.

"Who hurts you?"

"There are more of them?" Odysseus hisses as everyone freezes, waiting for his orders.

"Who hurts you?"

"Hide!" He snarls. He is not losing anyone else today.

"Who hurts you?"

Odysseus sits behind a rock, only looking up when Polites speaks next to him, "Captain we should run."

"Wait." He whispers back, putting one hand on his friend's arm.

"Who hurts you?"

"Captain please!" Polites' voice shakes. He's covered in blood that isn't his, holding a sword that isn't his either.

"Wait!" Odysseus snaps it this time. Polites just nods and leans against Odysseus' side slightly more.

"It was Nobody! Nobody hurt me!" The cyclops wails. Odysseus grins.

"If nobody hurts you then be silent!"

"Don't go!" He sounds so scared, so hurt, like a little child. Deserved. Odysseus doesn't care for this monster.

"Let's grab the sheep and away we go!" He says quietly, standing up and pulling Polites to his feet behind him. Odysseus goes to check over his friend, make sure he's not hurt too, when the world goes black and then blinding white and then a blank grey around him.

"Have you forgotten the lessons I taught you?" Oooh. Athena sounds mad, "He's still a threat until he's dead! Finish it." She snarls.

"No." Odysseus won't actually. He has no reason to, all he needs to do is get everyone back alive.

"No?"

"What good would killing do, when mercy is a skill more of this world could learn to use?" He spins around and jabs a finger at Athena's chest, "My brother is dead! Our foe is blind! The blood we shed," he throws his arms wide, "It never dries! Is this what it means to be a Warrior of the Mind?"

"Don't!" Athena shrieks at him when he breaks his way out of her Quick Thought and storms towards the cyclops.

"Hey, cyclops!" Odysseus yells. He is well aware he is crying now, theres only so long he can keep his emotions bottled up, "When we met I led with peace, while you fed your inner beast, but my comrades will not die in vain!"

He draws his sword, pointing it at the blind monster before him, "Remember them! The next time that you dare choose not to spare!" Odysseus feels Polites come and stand behind him, rest a hand on his shoulder, "Remember them! Remember us! Remember me!"

"I'm the reigning king of Ithaca! I am neither man nor mythical, I am your darkest moment! I am the infamous Odysseus!"

He does not see the way the cyclops' pained expression morphs into a cruel smile when he turns his back.

Polites does though.

I've got a whole bunch more of this i've done like nothing for days but i dunno if ill post that. I guess i was reading my old writing and i was reading other people's writing and ive seen Polites killed multiple times (mostly by me) and ive seen Odysseus killed but ive never seen Eurylochus get killed by Polyphemus so. This happened. And then plot happened. And then id spent three hours writing.

I might post the rest if i write more or if i reread it when im in a better mood i dunno✨

Anyways farewell friends

[lemotmo]

i am NOT dooming but i just wanted to know your opinion. now that we know T is coming back in episode 14/15, i have a bad feeling about buck being with athena in the police car. T’s most recent (and narratively, most important) link to the show is buck, so it would make sense that his plot in these episodes is related to buck eg like when abby came back for buck’s closure. however, he was on the same roof that the LAFD helicopter took off from… the LAPD helicopter seems to be chasing the LAFD one… buck and athena arriving at the same building and buck out of uniform… the only other time (i think) that buck travelled with athena is when doug kidnapped maddie. i have a bad feeling that something happens to T, eg his helicopter gets stolen or hijacked, and buck is worried about him so attends the scene with athena. i hope i’m wrong obviously and it’s something else, but in my head… T on the roof + helicopter chase + buck going with athena to the scene + that bts clip of buck crying ?? = too big of a coincidence :/

Oh oh oh Nonny! Slow down! You are making a loooot of assumptions and connections that might not have anything to do with each other.

First: Are we absolutely sure that he will be back in 14 or 15? The man made one vague post, the Tommies assumed it was for 911 and we just follow their lead? I don't know. Granted, since there seem to be helicopters he might be back, but let's not jump to conclusions yet.

Second: The Buck and Athena stuff might be interesting, I agree. But why would it have anything to do with T? If this episode is helicopter heavy, he might be there, but that doesn't mean that he will play some kind of vital part in the story. The man is a plot device character. They are only going to use him when absolutely necessary.

I think there might be some kind of hostage situation and there will be some helicopters circling the building. That's it. That could be the reason why he might be back: to show us someone we know in the helicopter.

Also, if he is there, I fully expect him to have some part in the Buddie plot, because he still is that plot device character designed to bring Buck and Eddie even closer together. That's his whole reason of existing.

Further more, they are not going to waste an nde on T, because no one from the audience would be emotionally invested. Most people have already forgotten about him. He is not that important and the stakes wouldn't be all that high. Let's face it, T possibly dying won't have a big emotional impact, so they won't do that.

That's why I think Eddie will be involved in all of this somehow. To bring Buddie even closer together. It's about time that one of them gets hurt again. 🤣

Third: For some reason everyone and their mother assumes that that one clip is Buck crying, just because someone on Twitter said so. I've listened to that clip many times now and I'm not convinced. I don't think it's Buck at all. it sounds like a higher female voice. I think it might be Hen and I think she's coughing, not crying.

Could be wrong though, but keep in mind that this might not be Buck at all.

Fourth: Please Nonny, it's important to take a step back and see T for what he is. Him and Buck are not getting back together. The show has been working hard to make Buddie happen and to get the GA involved. It's worked. A lot of people in the GA have started seeing the Buddie of it all. There is a reason for that.

Believe your eyes. Believe what the show is telling us. Forget about everyone's opinion and speculation for a moment and just watch season 7 again, watch 8a again and mostly, watch the first two episodes of 8b again. The show has been telling a story of two friends who have slowly, but surely given their heart to the other. It's all right there for us to pick up on. It's no longer subtext, it's text.

The first two episodes of 8b show us exactly where this story is going. So who cares about exes coming back or not? This is a love story. That's what they are writing and what they are showing us: a love story between two best friends who will soon realise they are in love. So whichever ex comes back? They're only there to propel the Buddie narrative, like they have consistently been showing us since season 7.

So sit back, relax and let the writers tell you this story the way they want to tell it, exes and all.

[bunnyb0ne]

The second post, yuppie! This time I bring you my Dialtown children, exactly two of them. I have more, but these two are the most complex and I've actually put a lot of thought in them.

This is M. O. N. O (Многофункциональный-Модуль-для-Охраны-и-Наблюдения/Multifunctional-Module-for-Security-and-Surveillance). It works as a guard/policeman and is very efficient at its job. It is well-trained, disciplined, and even kind of scary to its clients and coworkers.  However, this is its 'job mode.' This is exactly why it behaves and talks like a robot during his shift—I guess you can call it a coping mechanism. During work hours it must always be ready to jump into action and sometimes behave in a violent way. It must fight and act aggressively to protect people, but in reality he's a gentle and kind soul known as Adam—the name his mother gave to him. By 'pulling a switch,' Adam allows himself to quickly shut off any emotions or feelings that might get in the way and become M. O. N. O.  The module itself was created by his father, who always taught his son to be not just a man, but a brave soldier.  Adam is afraid that one day M. O. N. O won't turn off in time and it will result in a serious accident, but so far things go well. I actually didn't have much lore for him, but the more I think, the more I like him. His neck is supposed to be a pole completely covered with wires, but I don't have the skill to depict this.  M. O. N. O has a full vision on all of its cameras. If it loses its vision on all three cameras, it will be able to fully see with the fourth one.

Hunter Hunter (same name as the surname AND the fan itself is called Hunter as well lol) is a former host of a controversial show, 'Thrill of the Hunt,' and a reporter and a journalist who currently works at Dialtown News Network.  He is just 23 years old, but has been through a lot because of his former workplace. Extreme sports, spider-scorpion-beetle-eating, stupid but crazy challenges, near-death experiences, and so on. This continued until the last episode, when the stakes became so high for everyone that he couldn't take it anymore. He got injured, more mentally, but also physically, left the channel, and his hometown to find some peace in a quiet and seemingly peaceful Dialtown. Hunter is an introvert who is not afraid to talk to people but gets tired of long, empty chatter. He can be seen as cynical and cold, and he is to some extent. He thinks pretty highly of himself and is fixated on an idea of improving his mind and body and meeting people who are on the same or higher level than his. He also heavily implies that he's normal and definitely-not-freaky, but... do you believe people who say that? His main hobby is gardening; he keeps a small company of plants at home and takes care of an ant farm and his hissing cockroach, Ashley III, who is named after his school crush. He often goes for one-night stands and avoids deep relationships as he's still holding on to the idea that one day he'll meet Ashley again and they'll fall in true love. I have more info on Hunter, but I'm not sure if anyone is interesting, so I don't wanna bother translating it. He is my 'main' OC, so I hope you like him too!

+ some artworks from my dear mates @karfecc-dreamer and @alexzahhak!! Hunter being handsome in a suit (he almost always wears those, actually), Hunter being...uhh...examined by Gingi, I guess, and a chibi-smol-bean Huntw aww how c00t!

[mooseyspooky]

Songs Moz says he wrote about Johnny:

-Angel, Angel Down We Go Together

Meanwhile, all the songs that I think are actually about Johnny, or in some way referring to him:

-Hand In Glove (1983)

-No, it's not like any other love. This one is different, because it's us.

-So, hand in glove I stake my claim. I'll fight to the last breath. If they dare touch a hair on your head, I'll fight to the last breath. For the good life is out there somewhere. So stay on my arm, you little charmer, but I know my luck too well. Yes, I know my luck too well. And I'll probably never see you again.

-Reel Around The Fountain (1983)

-Fifteen minutes with you. Well, I wouldn't say no. Oh, people said that you were virtually dead, and they were so wrong.

-I dreamt about you last night, and I fell out of bed twice. You can pin and mount me like a butterfly, but, "Take me to the haven of your bed" was something that you never said. Two lumps, please. You're the bee's knees but so am I.

-What Difference Does It Make? (1982)

-All men have secrets and here is mine. So let it be known. For we have been through hell and high tide. I think I can rely on you, and yet you start to recoil. Heavy words are so lightly thrown, but still I'd leap in front of a flying bullet for you.

-But now you know the truth about me. You won't see me anymore. Well, I'm still fond of you.

-But I'm still fond of you. Oh, my sacred one.

-Miserable Lie (Linder/Johnny) (1982)

-I know I need hardly say how much I love your casual way. Oh, but please put your tongue away. A little higher and we're well away. The dark nights are drawing in, and your humor is as black as them. I look at yours, you laugh at mine, and "love" is just a miserable lie. You have destroyed my flower-like life. Not once - twice. You have corrupt my innocent mind. Not once - twice.

-This Charming Man (1983)

-When in this charming car. This charming man.

-Why pamper life's complexity when the leather runs smooth on the passenger seat?

-This man said, "It's gruesome that someone so handsome should care."

-These Things Take Time (1982)

-Mine eyes have seen the glory of the sacred wunderkind.

-But I can't believe that you'd ever care, and this is why you will never care.

-I'm spellbound, but a woman divides, and the hills are alive with celibate cries. But you know where you came from, you know where you're going, and you know where you belong. You said I was ill and you were not wrong.

-The alcoholic afternoons when we sat in your room - they meant more to me than any than any living thing on earth. It had more worth than any living thing on earth. Vivid and in your prime. You will leave me behind.

-Handsome Devil (1982)

-You ask me the time, but I sense something more. And I would like to give what I think you're asking for.

-You handsome devil. Oh, you handsome devil. Let me get my hands on your mammary glands, and let me get your head on the conjugal bed.

-I crack the whip, and you skip, but you deserve it. And when we're in your scholarly room, who will swallow whom?

-Please Please Please Let Me Get What I Want (1984)

-So for once in my life let me get what I want. Lord knows it would be the last time.

-I Want The One I Can't Have (1984)

-On the day that your mentality decides to try to catch up with your biology - come 'round. 'Cause I want the one I can't have, and it's driving me mad. It's all over, all over, all over my face.

-And if you ever need self-validation just meet me in the alley by the railway-station. It's all over my face.

-That Joke Isn't Funny Anymore (1984)

-Park the car at the side of the road. You should know time's tide will smother you - and I will too. When you laugh about people who feel so very lonely their only desire is to die - well, I'm afraid it doesn't make me smile.

-It was dark as I drove the point home, and on cold leather seats - well, it suddenly struck me. I just might die with a smile on my face after all.

-Well I Wonder (1983/1984)

-Do you hear me when you sleep? I hoarsely cry.

-Do you see me when we pass? I half-die.

-Please keep me in mind.

-I Know It's Over (1985)

-I know it's over - still I cling. I don't know where else I can go.

-Sad veiled bride, please be happy. Handsome groom, give her room. Loud, loutish lover, treat her kindly. Though she needs you more than she loves you.

-I know it's over, and it never really began, but in my heart it was so real. And you even spoke to me, and said: "If you're so funny then why are you on your own tonight? And if you're so clever then why are you on your own tonight? If you're so very entertaining then why are you on your own tonight? If you're so very good-looking why do you sleep alone tonight?"

-Love is natural and real, but not for you, my love. Not tonight, my love. Love is natural and real, but not for such as you and I, my love.

-Never Had No One Ever (1985)

-Now I'm outside your house - I'm alone. And I'm outside your house. I hate to intrude.

-The Boy with the Thorn in His Side (1985)

-How can they look into my eyes, and still they don't believe me? How can they hear me say those words - still they don't believe me? And if they don't believe me now will they ever believe me?

-How can they see the love in our eyes, and still they don't believe us? And after all this time they don't want to believe us. And if they don't believe us now will they ever believe us?

-There Is a Light That Never Goes Out (1985)

-Driving in your car. I never, never want to go home. Because I haven't got one anymore.

-Driving in your car. Please don't drop me home.

-And if a double-decker bus crashes into us - to die by your side is such a heavenly way to die. And if a ten ton truck kills the both of us - to die by your side...well, the pleasure, the privilege is mine.

-Take me out tonight. Take me anywhere, I don't care. And in the darkened underpass I thought, "Oh God, my chance has come at last." But then a strange fear gripped me, and I just couldn't ask.

-Stretch Out and Wait (1985)

-All the lies that you make up...what's at the back of your mind? Your face I can see, and it's desperately kind - but what's at the back of your mind?

-Amid concrete and clay, and general decay, nature must still find a way. So ignore all the codes of the day. Let your juvenile impulses sway...God, how sex implores you to let yourself lose yourself.

-Stretch out and wait. Let your puny body lie down. As we lie, you say...stretch out and...

-Shakespeare's Sister (1985)

-But I'm going to meet the one I love. So, please don't stand in my way, because I'm going to meet the one I love.

-I can smile about it now, but at the time it was terrible.

-Sweet and Tender Hooligan (1986)

-He said that he'd never, never do it again, and of course he won't - not until the next time.

-Would you look into those motherly eyes? I love you for you, my love, you, my love.

-Is It Really So Strange? (1986)

-And I can't help the way I feel. You can kick me, and you can punch me, and you can break my face, but you won't change the way I feel. 'Cause I love you.

-Is it really so strange? I say no, you say yes - and you will change your mind.

-London (1986)

-Smoke lingers 'round your fingers. Train a-heave on to Euston. Do you think you've made the right decision this time?

-You left your girlfriend on the platform with this really ragged notion that you'll return, but she knows that when he goes, he really goes. And do you think you've made the right decision this time?

-Ask (1986)

-So if there's something you'd like to try...Ask me, I won't say no, how could I?

-Because if it's not love then it's the bomb...that will bring us together.

-Nature is a language, can't you read?

-I Started Something I Couldn't Finish (1987)

-The lanes were silent. There was nothing, no one, nothing around for miles. I doused our friendly venture with a hard-faced, three-word gesture.

-I started something, I forced you to a zone - and you were clearly never meant to go. Hair brushed and parted, typical me...I started something, and now I'm not too sure.

-I grabbed you by guilded beams. That's what tradition means. And I doused another venture with a gesture that was absolutely vile.

-Stop Me If You Think You've Heard This One Before (1987)

-Nothing's changed. I still love you, oh, I still love you...only slightly, only slightly less than I used to, my love.

-Who said I'd lied to her? Who said I'd lied, because I never...

-Last Night I Dreamt That Somebody Loved Me (1987)

-Last night I dreamt that somebody loved me. No hope, no harm. Just another false alarm.

-Last night I felt real arms around me. No hope, no harm. Just another false alarm.

-I Won't Share You (1987)

-I won't share you, no. I won't share you. With the drive and ambition. The zeal I feel, this is my time.

-Life tends to come and go. That's okay...as long as you know.

-I'll see you somewhere. I'll see you sometime, darling.

-I Keep Mine Hidden (1987)

-Hate, love and war force emotions to the fore, but not for me of course, of course. I keep mine hidden.

-But it's so easy for you...because you let yours flail into public view.

-The lies are so easy for you, because you let yours slide into public view.

-Alsatian Cousin (1987)

-Were you and he lovers? And would you say so if you were?

-A note upon his desk. "P.S. Bring Me Home And Have Me!" Leather elbows on a tweed coat -is that the best you can do? So came his reply: "But on the desk is where I want you."

-Angel, Angel Down We Go Together (1987)

-Note: I personally believe that this song is Johnny speaking to Morrissey shortly after the breakup.

-Angel, angel. Don't take your life tonight. I know they take, and that they take in turn. And they give you nothing real for yourself in return, but when they've used you and they've broken you, and wasted all your money, and cast your shell aside - and when they've bought you and they've sold you, and they've billed you for the pleasure, and they've made your parents cry. I will be here, oh, believe me. I will be here, believe me. Angel, don't take your life. Some people have got no pride. They do not understand the urgency of life. But I love you more than life.

-Late Night, Maudlin Street (1987)

-Note: In a similar vein, I think this is Morrissey's side of the conversation from Angel, Angel Down We Go Together. It is the very next song on the album (Viva Hate). This song is a mix of movie quotes, description of movie scenes, and (more or less) spoken word pieces. Those spoken word pieces I think are Moz' response to Johnny in Angel, Angel. 'Don't take your life, tonight.' 'I took strange pills, but I never meant to hurt you,' ect.

-Love at first sight. May sound trite, but it's true, you know. I could list the details of everything you ever wore, or said, or how you stood that day.

-Truly I do love you. Oh, truly I do love you.

-When I sleep with that picture of you framed beside my bed...Oh, it's childish and it's silly, but I think it's you in my room by the bed. Yes, I told you it was silly, and I know I took strange pills, but I never meant to hurt you. Oh, truly I love you.

-The last bus I missed to Maudlin Street. So, he drove me home in the van, complaining, "Women only like me for my mind..."

-And so we crept through the park. No, I cannot steal a pair of jeans off a clothesline for you...but you without clothes. Oh, I could not keep a straight face. Me, without clothes? Well, a nation turns its back and gags.

-Oh, truly I do love you...wherever you are.

-Suedehead (1987)

-Why do you come here? And why, why do you hang around? I'm so sorry...Why do you come here when you know it makes things hard for me? ...Why do you telephone? And why send me silly notes? I'm so sorry.

-You had to sneak into my room just to read my diary. "It was just to see, just to see." All the things you knew I'd written about you. Oh, so many illustrations. But I'm so very sickened. I am so sickened now...Oh, it was a good lay, good lay.

-Break Up the Family (1987)

-The strange logic in your clumsiest line - it stayed emblazoned on my mind. You say, break up the family, and let's begin to live our lives.

-Yes, you found love, but you weren't at peace with your life. Home late, full of hate. Despise the ties that bind.

-I Don't Mind If You Forget Me (1987)

-I don't mind - I don't mind if you forget me.

-So now you send me your hardened 'regards' when once you'd send me 'Love.' Sincerely I must tell you your mild 'best wishes' - they make me suspicious.

-The pressure to change, to move on was strange, and very strong. So this is why I tell you - I really do understand. Bye bye.

-Rejection is one thing, but rejection from a fool is cruel.

-I Know Very Well How I Got My Name (1987)

-A child in a curious phase. A man with sullen ways. I know very well how I got my name. You think you were my first love. You think you were my first love, but you're wrong. You were the only one. Who's come and gone.

-Treat Me Like a Human Being (1987)

-It's hard, but try...for once, just for once...Leave all your hate behind you. It's still all so strange and obscene for you to look and see one who is real and who feels life.

-Three words could change my life. So once, just for once...let the night pass with ease, son. Treat me like a human being. I'd like to know how this feels.

-Three words could change my life, yet you treat me like you never care.

-Happy Lovers at Last United (1988)

-Happy lovers, back together, and I do feel proud. Happy lovers, reunited, and I do feel proud now. I'm not the type to boast as you know, though it was me who brought them back together. He is so kind, and she is so clever, but they don't want me now, hanging around.

-I rang to her to explain of how he really wants to see you again. I said more or less the same thing to him too, which wasn't true. And now they walk, hand in hand, all is planned, by the silent glance I believe, that only lovers share. And I'm proud to have done something good for once. And she is so kind, and he's so clever, but they don't need me now, hanging around.

-Will Never Marry (1988)

-For whether you stay, or you stray, an inbuilt guilt that catches up with you - and as it comes around to your place at 5 a.m., wakes you up, and it laughs in your face.

-He Knows I'd Love to See Him (1989)

-He knows, he knows, or...I think he does. 'Cause when I lived in the arse of the world...he knows, he knows. He knows I'd love to see him happy, or as close as is allowed.

-Oh, my name still conjures up deadly deeds, and a bad taste in the mouth.

-He doesn't know...

-Yes, I Am Blind (1989)

-Love's young dream. I'm the one who shocked you. I'm the one who stopped you, 'cause in my sorry way I love you.

-Love's young dream...aren't you sorry for what you've done? Well, you're not the only one, and in my sorry way I love you.

-Yes, I am blind, but I do see evil people prosper over the likes of you and me always.

-Oh Phoney (1989)

-May this lovely letter reach its destination...if only. Question one is why do you pretend that you like me? Oh Phoney. See how the outside contradicts what's inside.

-Who can make Hitler seem like a bus conductor? You do, oh Phoney you do. You sing a lovely song to a scale, and the words spell out my name. Oh Phoney. But then you kick me down below, 'cause you know it won't show. How could you?

-King Leer (Linder?/Johnny) (1990)

-Your boyfriend, he went down on one knee...Well, could it be he's only got one knee?

-Your boyfriend, he has the gift of the gab, or, could it be...the gift of the grab?

-Your boyfriend, he has displayed to me more than just a real hint of cruelty.

-Found Found Found (Peter Hogg?/Johnny) (1990)

-Found, found, found...someone who's worth it in this murkiness. Someone who's never seeming to be scheming...(Oh, but if I'd never found)...I do believe that the more you give your love, and I do believe that the more you give your trust...the more you're bound to lose. (Oh, but if I'd never found)...Somebody who wants to be who wants to be with me...all the time.

-The Loop (1990)

-I just want to say I haven't been away. I'm still right here, where I always was. So one day, if you're bored by all means call. Because you can do...but only if you want to. I just want to say I haven't been away. I am still right here, where I always was. So one day, when you're bored by all means call. Because you can do...but you might not get through.

-My Love Life (1991)

-Come on to my house. Come on and do something new. I know you love one person so why can't you love two? (Note: Moz once changed this line to "I know you love one person, but why don't you love two?")

-Give a little something...give a little something to my love life.

-I know you love one person so why don't you love two, love? Love two (Note: Moz once changed this line to "I know you love one person, but why can't you love two?")

-Seasick, Yet Still Docked (1992)

-Wish I knew the way to reach the one I love. There is no way. Wish I had the charm to attract the one I love, but you see, I've got no charm.

-Tonight I've consumed much more than I can hold. Oh, this is very clear to you. And you can tell I have never really loved. You can tell by the way I sleep all day, and all of my life no one gave me anything...My love is as sharp as a needle in your eye. You must be such a fool to pass me by.

-I Know It's Gonna Happen Someday (1992)

-My love, wherever you are, whatever you are - don't lose faith. I know it's gonna happen someday to you. Please wait...

-You say that the day just never arrives, and it's never seemed so far away. Still, I know it's gonna happen someday to you.

-Tomorrow (1992)

-All I ask of you is one thing that you never do - would you put your arms around me? I won't tell anyone. Tomorrow...does it have to come?

-And what must come before. Oh, the pain in my arms. Oh, the pain in my legs. Oh, my shiftless body. Tomorrow. It's surely nearer now. You don't think I'll make it. I never said I wanted to - well, did I?

-All I ask of you is would you tell me that you love me. Tell me, tell me that you love me. Ah, I know you don't mean it.

-I'd Love To (1993)

-Again I lay awake, and I cried because of waste. I'd love to, but only with you...Oh, time is gonna wipe us out. There, I've said it loud and clear so that you will hear. There's no one in view. Just you...and time will never wipe you out. Now I've had enough. I've had more than could be my rightful share of nights I can't bear. How can it be fair? Time must wipe them out. So, again, I lay awake in a trance. Oh, I just want my chance, but only with you...that's all...

-Spring-Heeled Jim (1993)

-Spring-heeled Jim lives to love. Now kissing with his mouth full, and his eyes on some other fool. So many women - his head should be spinning. Ah, but no!

-Spring-heeled Jim slurs the words: "There's no need to be so knowing. Take life at five times your average speed, like I do."

-Billy Budd (1993)

-Say, Billy Budd. So you think that you should? Everyone's laughing! Since I took up with you. Things have been bad. Yeah, but now it's twelve years on. Now it's twelve years on. Yes, and I took up with you.

-Yes, and it's all because of us. Oh, and what was in our eyes...I said, Billy Budd I would happily lose both of my legs...I would lose both of my legs if it meant you could be free.

-Hold On to Your Friends (1993)

-A bond of trust has been abused. Something of value may be lost. Give up your job. Squander your cash - be rash. Just hold on to your friends. There are more than enough to fight and oppose. Why waste good time fighting the people you like? Who will fall defending your name?

-But now you only call me when you're feeling depressed. When you feel happy I'm so far from your mind. My patience is stretched. My loyalty vexed.

-Be mad, be rash. Smoke and explode. Sell all of your clothes. Just bear in mind: Oh, there just might come a time when you need some friends.

-Speedway (1993) (Johnny/Issues with the NME)

-And when you slam down the hammer can you see it in your heart? All of the rumors...keeping me grounded. I never said, I never said that they were completely unfounded.

-So when you slam down the hammer can you see it in your heart? Can you delve so low? And when you're standing on my fingers can you see it in your heart? And when you try to break my spirit it won't work, because there's nothing left to break...anymore.

-You won't sleep until the earth that wants me finally has me. Oh you've done it now. You won't rest. Until the hearse that becomes me finally takes me...And you won't smile until my loving mouth is shut good and proper. Forever.

-And all those lies, written lies, twisted lies. Well, they weren't lies. They weren't lies...I never said...I could have mentioned your name. I could have dragged you in. Guilt by implication. By association. I've always been true to you in my own strange way. I've always been true to you in my own sick way. I'll always stay true to you.

-You Must Please Remember (1994)

-A small boy, big ideas. You must please remember. A long road, with no turn-off. Oh, you must remember. Caught in your headlights like a frightened animal. You must remember. Someone cries twice nightly. Of course, I do remember. Someone cries, and you think quite rightly so, but you refuse to remember.

-Low-lights and long nights. I try hard to not remember. And you - too beautiful. I can't look. I've done so very many stupid things. It's too late.

-Honey, You Know Where To Find Me (1994)

-Honey, I'm not gonna cry for the things that never occurred. So do not remind me. Happy to be as I was in the first place. Honey you know where to find me...Kicking away from the mundane everyday. The envy is beyond me. I'm not gonna pine for the things that can never be mine. Do not expect me to. I'm happy to be who I was in the first place.

-Whatever Happens I Love You (1994)

-Names, secret names, but never in my favour. But when all is said and done - it's you I love. Cold loving prose. We stole each other's clothes, but when all is said and done - it's you I love. Yes, yes, yes, oh, yes. (Note: Moz often sings this as 'we wore each other's clothes')

-Fights for rights. Everyone's oh so quick with advice, and when they've all said their piece - it's still you I love. Now just like then...yes, yes. No, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.

-You Should Have Been Nice to Me (Jake?/Johnny) (1994/1995)

-You could have told me at the right time. You could have introduced me proudly. Never need to have to kiss me. Never need to ever touch me, but you should have been nice to me. It would have been so easy. And on the moments when I was down you could have been there. You could have once just spoke in favor. You'd never need to ever touch me. But you should have been nice to me...It wouldn't cost you money. And on the moments when I fell down - not for you to say, oh, I told you so. You could have waited...

-Trouble Loves Me (1996/1997)

-Trouble loves me. Trouble needs me. Two things more than you do, or would attempt to. So, console me. Otherwise, hold me. Just when it seems like everything's evened out, and the balance seems serene...

-Trouble loves me. Walks beside me. To chide me. Not to guide me. It's still much more than you'll do.

-Go to waste in the wrong arms. Still running 'round. Trouble loves me. Seeks and finds me. To charlatanize me, which is only as it should be. Oh, please fulfill me. Otherwise, kill me.

-Then at midnight I can't get you out of my head. A disenchanted taste...still running 'round.

-Heir Apparent (1996/1997)

-It's all changed. You were there. Departing, starting a trek I had once took. With that "no-one's gonna stop me when I feel this way" look.

-You think it's so easy, I tell you - it isn't. But you may change minds with your winning smile.

-So I tried to make my way back to the station. You were still there, gleaming and leaving. Wide-eyed and awestruck, saying "How can anybody hate me if I love them first off?"

-Heir apparent. You say that you want it, I'm sure that you'll get it. They'll seduce your heart, and then they'll slap your arse.

-The Edges Are No Longer Parallel (1997)

-All of the things you said...so meaningful. They are all so suddenly meaningless. And the looks you gave...so meaningful. They are all so suddenly meaningless.

-My only mistake is I keep hoping...

-I Like You (Jake/Johnny) (2000-2002)

-Something in you caused me to take a new tact with you. You were going through something I had just about scraped through. Why do you think I let you get away with the things you say to me? Could it be I like you? It's so shameful of me - I like you. No one I ever knew or have spoken to resembles you. This is good or bad all depending on my general mood.

-Magistrates who spend their lives hiding their mistakes - they look at you and I, and envy makes them cry. Envy makes them cry. Forces of containment. They shove their fat faces into mine. You and I just smile, because we're thinking the same line.

-You're not right in the head, and nor am I, and this is why...you're not right in the head, and nor am I, and this is why...this is why I like you.

-Let Me Kiss You (Jake?/Johnny?) (2000-2002)

-There's a place in the sun for anyone who has the will to chase one. And I think I've found mine...so close your eyes. And think of someone you physically admire, and let me kiss you.

-Say, would you let me cry, on your shoulder. I've heard that you'll will try anything twice. (Note: Moz often sings this as 'you'll try anyone twice')

-But then you open your eyes, and you see someone that you physically despise. But my heart is open. My heart is open to you.

-Friday Mourning (2004)

-For years, I warned you. Through tears, I told you.

-This dawn raid soon put paid to all the things I'd whispered to you at night time. And I will never stand naked in front of you, or if I do, it won't be for a long time. Look once to me, look once to me - then look away. Look once to me, then look away.

-The Never-Played Symphonies (2004)

-I can't see those who tried to love me, or those who felt they understood me. And I can't see those who very patiently put up with me. All I can see are the never-laid, or the never played symphonies.

-You were one, you meant to be one. And you jumped into my face and laughed and kissed me on the cheek. And then were gone forever. Not quite.

-You were one, you knew you were one. And you slid right through my fingers. No, not literally, but metaphorically. And now you're all I see as the light fades.

-I Am Two People (2004)

-I love you. It's murder. I am two people. One you know, but don't like. The other one you don't know, but you don't want to.

-I love you. It's pointless. In my soul if I live or die this life.

-I have two faces. One of which you know. The other one, for your sake, I never would show. It's just because I love you. I cannot bear to be around you, and if only one or the other of us would drop down dead.

-You Have Killed Me (2005)

-Pasolini is me. 'Accattone' you'll be. I entered nothing and nothing entered me 'til you came with the key. And you did your best, but as I live and breathe - you have killed me.

-And there is no point saying this again - there is no point saying this again, but I forgive you, I forgive you. Always I do forgive you.

-Life is a Pigsty (2005)

-And once again I turn to you. Once again, I do. I turn to you.

-Life is a pigsty. And if you don't know this then what do you know? Every second of my life I only live for you. And you can shoot me, and you can throw me off a train. I still maintain...

-I can't reach you. I can't reach you. I can't reach you anymore. Can you please stop time? Can you stop the pain? I feel too cold. And now I feel too warm again. Can you stop this pain? Can you stop this pain? Even now in the final hour of my life I'm falling in love again...again.

-I Just Want to See the Boy Happy (2005)

-I want to see the boy happy with some hope in his pale eyes. Is that too much to ask?

-I want to see the boy happy with his arms around his first love. Is that too much to ask? Before I die I have one final dream. For my own life I don't care anything. And I just want to...I want to see this boy happy. Why is this such a bad thing?

-To Me You Are A Work of Art (Jake?/Johnny?) (2005)

-I see the world. It makes me puke. But then I look at you and know that somewhere there's a someone who can soothe me.

-To me you are a work of art. And I would give you my heart - that's if I had one.

-Black Cloud (2007)

-The one I love is standing near. The one I love is everywhere. I can woo you. I can amuse you, but there is nothing I can do to make you mine. Black cloud, black cloud. The one I love roosts in the mind. Can snap this spell, or increase hell. I can chase you, and I can catch you, but there is nothing I can do to make you mine.

-I play the game of favorites now. I can, I must. I will, I do. I can please you, or I can freeze you out, but there is nothing I can do to make you mine. Black cloud, black cloud, black cloud...I can choke myself to please you, and I can sink much lower than usual. But there's nothing I can do to make you mine.

-Sorry Doesn't Help (2007)

-Sorries pour out of you. All wide-eyed simple smiles. Certain to see you through like a QC full of fake humility. You say: "Oh, please forgive..." You say: "Oh, live and let live..." But sorry doesn't help us, and sorry will not save us, and sorry will not bring my teen years back to me any time soon. Forced back, it springs right out. Seasoned, you have no doubts. You lied about the lies that you told - which is the full extent of what being you is all about.

-Sorry will not bring my love into my arms as far as I know...

-Sorry is just a word you find so easy to say...So you say it anyway. Sorry doesn't help us. Sorry won't protect us. Sorry won't undo all the good gone wrong, my love.

-I'm Ok By Myself (2007)

-Now this might surprise you, but I find I'm ok by myself. And I don't need you, or your morality to save me.

-Now this might disturb you, but I find I'm ok by myself, and I don't need you or your benevolence to make sense.

-After all these years I find I'm ok by myself. And I don't need you, or your homespun philosophy. No, no, no, no...This might make you throw up in your bed: I'm ok by myself! And I don't need you, and I never have, I never have.

-Forgive Someone (2010-2014)

-Use a weapon of words, or a fight with your fists. But can you forgive someone? Stand your ground and persist, and be the last one to blink - but can you forgive someone? And if you do...I'll run to you. Betray you? With a word? I would slit my own throat first of all, I will. The black peat of the hills...when I was still ill. See this mess and forgive someone, and then recall if you can...how all this even began.

-Our truth will die with me. Our truth will die with me...Shorts and supports and faulty shower heads. At track and field we dreamt of our beds. In the bleachers you sit with your legs spread, smiling: "Here's one thing you'll never have." Our truth will die with me.

-Home is a Question Mark (written 2003, released 2017)

-I hug the land but nothing more, because I haven't met you. I've wined and I've dined with every bogus music mogul. No sign of you.

-I have been brave. Deep in every shaven cave. None were you.

-If I ever find home...if I get there, would you meet me? Wrap your legs around my face just to greet me.

-My Love, I'd Do Anything for You (possibly?) (2017)

-My love, I'd do anything for you. Society's hell. You need me just like I need you.

-You know me well. My love, I'd do anything for you.

-We all go our own ways, separately in the same direction, and here am I every night of my life always missing someone. I'd like to be rotted out just before I become aware of the pain. The more I wish in my heart for someone less likely they come.

-Never Again Will I Be A Twin (2017) (Possibly?)

-Never again will I be a twin. The operation went well, but the patient died. Never again will there be a smile to wipe off my face once it's too much. In a twin-like realm, in the plastic arts of falling in love, what a joke that was. What a joke that was.

-Darling, I Hug A Pillow (2020)

-Darling, I hug a pillow in absence of you. Darling, I hug a pillow to replace your face. Loving you is a trauma no one else should face, or sit still for. Why can't you give me some physical love?

-Darling, you will cry for me in the years to come. In the hope of a moment that cannot return...thankfully. Why can't you bring figs all pulpy and moist? Roasted in passion and salty in voice? No longer keeping a secret of your secret place.

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