#anyway water wide loves the gays (in our hearts)

[danganronpa96]

Can you draw Walter White cooking something up for pride month because I know he loves the gays 🙏🙏

"A guy opens his closet and comes out, and you think that of me?"

Extra lil thing under the cut hehe

you have to know your target audience after all ;)

[sdaomine]

'til death do us part... or 'til i kill you first

Things take a sharp turn when Marius and Vyn discover each other's secret identities. Filing a divorce is on the table, but Vyn takes matters into his own hands—after all, he'd rather end the marriage here than in court.

A/N: Finally, FINALLY done with this fic that has long been rotting in my drafts! I've been wanting to write a Mr. and Mrs. Smith AU for my favorite gay ship but lacked the time to actually finish it (but here we are!). I wrote this in 2022 but only concluded it today, AMIDST my many, many university backlogs <3 Anyway, I know some stuff here won't make sense but this is a self-indulgent fic so... yeah.

wc: 13.8k words.

==

Six years in.

Six years of a wonderful marriage. Six years of black tea and chocolate drink during early mornings. Six years of intoxicating kisses, sweet and zealous; six years of what the youngest von Hagen called the best fuck he’d ever get in his lifetime.

You see, when you marry the love of your life and spend wild, beautiful years with them, you start to think you are building your relationship’s mighty foundation—that sooner or later, the two of you would be able to finally lower those invisible walls which had always separated you, because admit it or not, there is no marriage built without deep, dark secrets.

But six years in and Marius von Hagen finds himself holding tightly onto his gun—a pretty sleek silencer he so cherished, a gift from his brother—his back pressed hard against the wall just beside the stairs, waiting.

“Hah—shit. Shit,” he muttered under his breath, his chest heavy, almost suffocating. Marius pressed one hand against his heart, feeling its erratic pace and, at this very moment, he was all but trying to calm his rapid breathing.

But then there was a quiet creak on the wooden stairs.

Marius’ eyes screwed shut. Fuck fuck fuck—

Marius threw himself to the side, hiding further beneath the wall, just in time—just in time before a series of raining bullets holed through the wooden wall and the staircase banister, which was soon followed by another round of rapid firing. Marius shook his head as he waited for it to stop.

With one arm protecting his head, Marius leaned slightly against the safer side of the house. Deep down he cursed and cursed the sheer agony of having to prop himself like that against the wall, right after he had dived into the floor like it was some massive pool of water. “Goddamn,” he cursed quietly, and however could he not? His once neatly painted Victorian walls that probably cost some other person’s soul were now ripped into shreds, the wood falling off, their deadly splinters scattered around. There were holes all over, both small and wide, and Marius took a little peek.

There he is.

Vyn Richter, Stellis’ most esteemed psychiatrist: well-mannered, elegant, so fucking pretty. Marius was in awe even when the doctor, who still wore his pearl, white coat, carried two massive rifles in both of his hands. Fucking assault rifles. Just where the fuck did you keep those in our fucking house, Vyn?

A sly smirk curved the doctor’s lips. Vyn caught a glimpse of his husband peeking through the small holes and asked, a little too seductively for Marius’ taste, “Darling, you are still alive?”

Dammit!

Vyn held back a scowl when he heard nothing. Marius used to surprise Vyn whenever he came home from work, so it was not impossible the young CEO had already switched hiding places. And so Vyn, as silently as he could, made his way down the stairs—

“Still am, baby.”

Vyn dived down the stairs instinctively,  hissing out small, foreign curses as he landed—crashed—on the floor. He helped himself up with animalistic speed and grabbed his weapons, dashing towards the room opposite the wall where Marius continued to fire his silencer gun.

The doctor clutched his side and winced. Two minutes in and he already got himself a bruise.

“Stupid brat,” he muttered sharply as he reloaded his rifle. “Whatever crossed my mind? I should have killed him that fucking night.”

==

Two nights ago.

Vyn—in his white Mercedes—took a sharp turn round the bend of his English garden, leading out of the mansion gates. He was running, no, driving away from Marius. Why? Nothing much, really. Just that after six years of marriage Marius found out that aside from being a psychiatrist, his dear husband actually worked as an assassin. Learned that Vyn was a killer from another agency, which unfortunately for Marius was PAX’s worst rival with… well, dirty work.

But that wasn’t the worst part. Marius was an experienced killer, too, a secret even the best psychiatrist in the country must have somehow missed.

So… shit.

It was supposed to be a romantic dinner date. Vyn came home earlier than usual (he had to call off his assassination schedule that night) so he could cook his husband’s favorite dinner. The ever-so-loving Vyn Richter even lit candles on the table, did some last-minute flower arrangements, all so they’d have a good time (He even had half a mind to light candles and scatter rose petals across their bedroom, for a change). It had been a while since the last time he’d eaten a proper meal with Marius, anyway.

But there was something amiss, and Vyn was upset. Upset with the fact that he couldn’t figure out what was wrong. Or what could possibly go wrong.

Although he was quite certain it involved his husband. And involved he was indeed because Marius was all but suspicious that whole evening, asking this and that, inquiries Vyn himself often utilized whenever he questioned a target or a client. And he wouldn’t have been a renowned psychiatrist if his husband’s dubious actions went unnoticed. Marius. I did not know he would be this daft.

Until the bottle of wine Marius was holding suddenly slipped from his grasp, and Vyn—who was seated, his back turned away, his attention wholly fixated on anything other than Marius and his wine—caught the bottle swiftly with one hand.

It was then he realized he’d made a grave mistake, because if anything his husband’s grip was always firm, and not in this life would Marius von Hagen let a million-stellin wine slip from his hands.

Marius let it slip on purpose.

And now Vyn drove his Mercedes the way a lunatic would their car, ramming on the trash bins and fences and even some of the patches of roses from his beloved garden, all to escape from his husband. Because apparently, his dirty secret’s out, and Marius is out to get him (perhaps).

The car screeched as he took a sharp turn, finally out from their mansion. Was he a free man, now? Not exactly—Marius von Hagen suddenly appeared in the middle of the road, running. Vyn muttered under his breath. Goddammit. He took the shortcut. I forgot about the shortcut—

A bang sounded, and the next thing Vyn knew, there was a crack on the windshield. The car halted abruptly.

Vyn scrutinized the crack. A bullet.

“Did…” he mused—hissed, rather—as his eyes trailed to where Marius was knelt on the ground, slowly helping himself up. “Did this bastard just try to shoot me?”

Marius almost flinched when Vyn, just a meter or two from him, slammed his hands on the car horn repeatedly. If it wasn’t his pretty little husband Marius would’ve just shot the car until the tires go off and the driver dead; but then again it was Vyn inside that car, and—

And the windshield… has a crack. And I have a gun. And I…

Marius swallowed. And he must’ve accidentally pulled the trigger when he hopped out of the bushes from the sidewalk and tripped. And now Vyn thinks he tried to shoot him.

“Baby, accident.” Marius now stood in front of the car, and the sight of his husband—who looked angry as hell—could be seen clearly from his line of vision. He hoisted both arms, the way a cornered, guilty criminal would, and repeated his words gently, “Baby, accident. Accident.”

Marius gestured to his gun. “I tripped. Accident,” he shouted. Marius didn’t really give a damn anymore whether or not the neighbors would hear him. “Baby, accident—no, stop!”

Marius inhaled sharply as he heard the engine rev—and it revved loud, as if a warning, more than enough to tell Marius if he didn’t step out of the way at that very moment Vyn would drag him to death by way of a hit and run.

And he did not hesitate.

“No, stop! Wait!” Marius waved his arms frantically, almost throwing away his gun just so he could show Vyn he wouldn’t dare hurt him. However it was his mistake that he pondered it at all, because Vyn Richter was the pettiest man alive, petty enough to actually hit the gas and hurl the vehicle towards Marius.

Oh, shit. Is this my end?

The car steered forward, its speed almost inescapable (for anyone in Marius’ situation). Marius gathered all his weight and lunged at the car, and Vyn then piloted the steering wheel in a rapid pace, left and right, in an attempt to haul his husband—probably ex-husband soon—out of the car, but to no avail. “Get off my fucking car!” he yelled irritably. “Marius von Hagen!”

Marius even managed to smirk as he held onto the side of the car (for dear life). “Stop the car—” he shouted back, his face almost hitting the windshield. “Vilhelm von Hagen!”

“Fuck you.”

“When?”

“Saturday, if I have not killed you yet by then.”

“Sweet.” Marius took advantage of Vyn getting carried away by their banter—Vyn could only hiss out in frustration as Marius broke the passenger seat window with the handle of his gun. It didn’t take long before he was halfway inside the vehicle, and Vyn was fumbling with his seatbelt.

But Marius was a second too late. The moment he’d gotten inside entirely, Vyn had already thrown himself out of the vehicle, and the Mercedes, along with Marius, was heading straight to the dark woods.

“Fuck you,” Vyn spat, still lying on the asphalt, catching his breath. He had wounds and scratches all over his skin—so much for all his skin routines—but that did not matter at the time. He fished out his phone from his pocket and dialed a number.

“Good evening,” he greeted rather blandly. “Yes. Please fetch me, and bring something sweet. I need my sugar levels to spiral.”

==

Present times.

And so they are here, trying to shoot one another’s head. Marius had initially come to gather his hidden weapons, only to find them gone. Vyn must’ve found out. The psychiatrist, on the other hand, returned home and got his guns ready. Heck, Marius even considered the great possibility of his husband setting up traps within the house.

Now we can tell who loves who more.

Yeah. That would be me, Marius would say. I love this sick fuck more than he loves me.

He peeked at the stairs. Marius caught Vyn claiming the opposite wall as his barricade, swore to god heard his muse wince at what could’ve been new bruises. He chewed on his lower lip as he crouched and stalked along the hallway with confident precision—he moved the way shadows would devour the night, utterly soundless as he coursed towards their dining area, which was also a connecting room to their massive kitchen.

To Vyn’s kitchen, his mind noted, almost like an instinct. His beloved had always been the one to cook all their meals, bake mouthwatering desserts and mix their cocktails and most times they’d end up hot that Vyn would find himself bent over the counter with Marius railing him from behind. Sometimes atop that long table, where Marius would feast on his husband the way he would his favorite meal; in return, Vyn knelt on the carpet under the table and sucked Marius’ hard cock until he moaned and screamed his name and squirted his cum on Vyn’s crystalline smooth face.

Marius was never in the kitchen, that sacred place. Sacred to his husband, at least, but when he did go there, it was always to admire Vyn while he prepped their meals.

He let out a bitter chuckle as he entered the dimmed space. Good old days.

Marius scanned the room, one he was most familiar with, before he proceeded to check under the table and chairs, ran his hands along the wall, removed the exquisitely-framed portraits hanging on them as a precaution. He knew Vyn couldn’t have been here for long; he wouldn’t have ample enough time to set up his baits within the house, but just in case.

He’d learned well not to underestimate Vyn. Vyn Richter, of all people.

Keeping his steady stance, Marius trod towards the high archway that led to the kitchen hall. He moved with a spy’s practiced grace and quiet, walking about the area as he quickly drafted a plan in his head. It was safer here, he thought, for almost little to no lights were switched on, and none of them would dare, since the lights could only be opened with two claps or a snap. Even without Marius’ careful movements, Vyn won’t be able to locate him that quickly. Especially since their house was a goddamn mansion.

No, screw that. A goddamn castle. If Vyn had not declined his husband’s initial offer with regard to housing, their residence would have looked like Buckingham Palace, except it was in Stellis.

Well great. How nice would it be to reminisce while your husband’s lurking in the same house, trying to kill you? Marius blew a sigh through his nose, frustrated. Couldn’t this be resolved with yet another delftware imported from France—

Marius went cold. “Fuck.”

He went cold because somehow, he’d forgotten that he didn’t really own this kitchen. That even though he’d been here a lot of times to fuck his husband on that table and over that counter, he wasn’t there enough to fully know and memorize each tile, each wall, each delftware that perched on display. Because somehow, Marius had focused on the possible threats that he’d missed the most unsuspecting yet lethal ones: Vyn’s decorative collection of teacups and teapots and plates.

And perhaps the odds were not in his favor tonight, because Marius accidentally bumped into one, and the teapot—even though he had caught it with his hand at first—proceeded to take its fall and break itself into hundreds of tiny shards. Marius stilled, his blood thrumming in alarm.

At first, there was silence. The eerie kind.

And then rained a series of bullets from the dining room entrance.

“Fuck fuck fuck—”

Marius dived into floor, clutching his silencer. He crawled swiftly under the long table until he reached the archway to the kitchen. He stood on his feet and snatched his other pistol from its belt holster, scanning the kitchen—a fucking enormous kitchen—for efficient shields, weapons, or if the heavens somehow favored him again, a possible way out. An escape from his deranged husband.

He’s too beautiful for someone demented, though.

He heard footsteps. Slow and steady, its familiar, elegant cadence enough a warning for Marius to keep his guard, his guns hoisted and at the ready. In one stride, he took refuge beside the fridge, the opposite side of it facing the entrance.

And then there was a distant, honeyed voice. “You dare break my delftware.”

“You fired because of a fucking teapot?” Marius sneered, but cackled all the same. “You’re crazy.”

“Your fault for marrying me.”

“A horrible decision, really.”

Vyn pulled the trigger and fired, the bullet merely grazing past the fridge. A warning. “I gathered. Seeing how you are out almost every other night, only to a foolish spouse will that go unnoticed,” Vyn uttered, his voice laced with venom—bitterness. “Tell me, darling. How many ladies have you fucked while you were gone?”

Marius resisted the urge to step out of his hiding spot and confront his husband head-on. “Fucking stop it, Vyn. Are you serious? This again?” he complained, the grip around his silencer tightening in his simmering anger. “I never cheated on you, godammit. I told you—I was out for business. How many times do I have to drill that into your head?”

“Ah, yes. Business. And what exactly is your business, Marius?”

Marius chuckled. “I could ask you the same, baby,” he said in his smoothest, sweetest voice, then strode out from his refuge, aiming his silencer at Vyn. In those few, shared seconds of conversation he’d noted where his husband stood, where he was facing, the appliances which surrounded them—Vyn won’t be able to duck anywhere, and could not possibly sprint too fast to shield himself from Marius’ attack.

But then again—he shouldn’t have underestimated.

Because when he’d stepped out, Vyn was not there.

He was already behind him.

“Shit—”

He did the most possible, most horrible thing he could think of: as he swiveled round to Vyn’s direction, Marius hooked his fingers under the fridge’s recessed handle, pulled it open, then slammed its massive steal door against Vyn.

“Scheisse.” The fridge door rammed against him face-first—Vyn’s nose throbbed with a nasty pain, and he sensed hot liquid leaking from it, tasted the coppery tang of blood when it drifted further into his mouth. “Fucking. Swine.”

He knew the fridge door would be a serviceable shield, knew the bullets he’d fire would protect Marius no matter what and doing so would only be a disadvantage. However Vyn blasted back that instinct, that knowledge, and proceeded to rain yet another series of bullets towards Marius (or the fridge, actually), all because of sheer aggravation. How dare he slam that door into his face—was he not his muse, his darling? Was he not this ethereal man Marius had always drawn and sketched and painted on his canvases for he wished to preserve his beauty?

Goddammit—the curse looped inside Vyn’s head, his nose flaring with rage. His nose fucking hurt.

And Vyn screamed along his firing, both weapons aimed toward the fridge. The kitchen was dimmed, with no lights on and so all he could see were the blazing yellows and oranges and reds, could only hear the all-too-familiar bangs and booms as the shots blasted through the metal.

He stopped attacking. Vyn wept the blood from his face with the sleeve of his once immaculate, white coat, wincing as he did. His nose stung so much and it rendered him so very, very furious. “Marius von Hagen,” he said. Hissed.

A low chuckle. “Vilhelm von Hagen. Or would your surname be back to Richter now?”

And there was silence, utter silence, before Vyn’s life flashed before his eyes.

The psychiatrist could only slide back as the fridge—which was a whole lot bigger than him in all aspects possible, completely towering over him—started slanting from above and down to crush him. It was too swift that he could only clumsily stumble back, almost slipping on the tiles and making a fool out of himself.

Marius heard Vyn curse in a vague, foreign language—German, no, Svartian, probably—as he scurried to save himself and dodge his husband’s pretty little trick. Actually, screw that, Marius thought. Pushing this goddamn fridge might very well be his disadvantage: one, it was too heavy it took a lot of effort and energy, and two—the kitchen was a spacious room and he threw his only barricade away.

No matter. He will just have to remedy that, in whatever way he can.

Like taking advantage of his disoriented, recuperating rose by means of taking their electric stove and throwing it in Vyn’s direction.

He’d turned away before that stove hit his husband.

No. He didn’t want to see that.

Didn’t want to see his husband hurt.

He released a sharp breath and looked skyward, then blinked his eyes repeatedly, well-aware of the stinging tears threatening to flow. He ran to the exit all the same, his only goal to escape—he didn’t wish a violent shoot-out with his love, inside their home, no less, but he needed to return the act lest he got killed.

All this—the thought of killing Vyn would kill Marius just the same, anyway.

Heh. He didn’t seem to hesitate shooting me, was what roved in his mind as he made his quick escape. God. That hurt. That fucking hurts.

And he was now well on his way out, finally, with only a step before the archway when Marius peered over his shoulder—then regretted it shortly after.

A kitchen knife had grazed past his ear, the tip of its blade hitting the wall with a dull, slicing thud.

Marius stood there for a while, utterly shocked. Vyn hurled the blade too skillfully that blood trickled down his ear—only a slight brush with the knife, truly, and there was only a minor sting—and Marius recalled it again and again, the way that knife went past him so swiftly, almost like a soft winter’s breeze.

Maybe he deserved it. He’d broken not only Vyn’s delftware but his nose, too.

“Just to remind you, my darling.” Vyn stood steady far across him, his gun hanging by his side, his other arm still held forth after throwing the knife like a sports dart. He was bleeding, his nose and his arm, yet his poise was much like a prince’s, still, as if he hadn’t partaken in this chaos of an indoor shoot-out.

Oh and despite himself, Marius swooned when Vyn had addressed him darling.

“That you destroyed my fridge.” He leveled his gun, his aim at Marius’ direction. “And inside that fridge were all the pastries I had worked so hard for this goddamn week—more particularly that matcha cake.”

Ah, Marius thought, almost nodding unconsciously. I’m thoroughly fucked, then.

The psychiatrist fired another time, only once, but close enough to shoot off Marius’ ear.

Thoroughly, completely, perfectly fucked.

If that bullet blasted a few inches down Marius was sure he’d only have one serviceable ear left. Fuck it. Vyn’s aim was as good as his so thank the heavens the odds somehow favored him tonight because if they didn’t, his head would be pounding with a static burn at this very moment for he got his ear blown off to oblivion.

Marius sprinted. Not out, because the hallway was narrow and with how accurate Vyn’s aim is, he was certain he’d get shot at some point. So instead he darted to the side at lightspeed. “Goddammit, Vyn!” he shouted as Vyn fired constantly, following his every stride; thank goodness there were no kitchen lights and Vyn couldn’t see clearly even with those ugly glasses. “You’re really going to blow off my ear? How am I to hear your needy moans then?”

“You will not hear them again.”

“Not of pleasure,” said Marius as he slid behind the mid counter, hiding away from Vyn. He tugged open the small cabinet and swiftly made a slice on the gas hose before he slithered away like a madman and out to the archway. It would be nasty with that leaking gas and Vyn’s shotgun.

Wow, thank god we weren’t all into electric shit.

When Vyn fired, the kitchen exploded in flames.

Vyn threw himself back, and he crashed into the wooden floor, breaking his glasses in the process. Every part of him ached, and his head pounded; his vision was obscured without his glasses, the narrow hallway a distant horizon he was not sure he’d reach because he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe—

His thighs burned, a hot, searing pain pulsating within his loins, and it was only then that he realized he was on fire. Like it was his second nature the doctor halted thrashing and crawled to the nearest open space, that area near the archway, and rolled himself across, exhausting the flames on his person.

He wouldn’t dare glance at his burns. He couldn’t stomach them for sure.

Not because they were gruesome, no, but because he cared greatly for his vanity, and now his efforts had been all in vain. So much for face and body value.

He snatched his gun, then, and hastened out of the burning kitchen and into the dining area.

Vyn didn’t mind the burn, the throbbing, the pain that wished to devour him. Not when his adrenaline was spiraling and begging to be put to fucking use. His instinct—an assassin’s or a husband’s, he couldn’t discern—led him out and around the lobby, up the stairs, to that one, distinctive chamber his husband treasured most.

The Atelier.

The memories rushed in with each step, every soundless stride. He’d designed that room with Marius, had decorated it day and night with him. Had baked cookies and delivered them there, so Marius would have something to eat as he worked on his new opuses; had stayed by his side as he recounted stories with his paint.

Had taken off his silken robe as he perched on the chaise, naked, looking so ethereal as Marius painted him, brought his beauty to canvas.

The reward? Marius had fucked him silly all through the night, on that very same couch.

Vyn took deep breaths. He acknowledged those memories, accepted them. Then locked them all away.

He hoisted his gun, and tiptoed close, closer. No signs told him Marius was inside, but Vyn steered forward, trusting his gut as it churned at his intuition—he is here. I do not know why, but I know he is here.

He ticked that box with a check.

As he entered the room a silencer shot, hitting just behind him. Marius stood by the opened windows, his weapon in hand; a thick cable wrapped around the atelier’s metal handle and it fell outside, down to Vyn’s precious garden. He was escaping.

“Heh.” Vyn aimed his gun at Marius, the smirk on his face menacing. “Planning for escape?”

Marius threw him an annoyed glance. “You put the house on a fucking lockdown.”

Vyn shrugged his shoulders. “You were able to open that window,” he said. “Whatever happened to the alarms?”

“Switched them off first.”

“And the window?” No one was supposed to open any part of the house when it is on lockdown.

“I know shit on this house that you don’t know of.”

“Ah. Well, that does not matter.” Vyn trod forward, careful. The weapons were still aimed at one another as he neared a small, circular table where Marius’ rarest pigments sat in glass bell jars. “What matters is… oh, look. These are your pigments.”

“Vyn.”

“Such rare pigments,” mused Vyn, eyeing the expensive, imported, rare set of paints atop the table.

Marius took a cautionary step forward. His hand reached towards his husband, the gesture as if attempting to halt whatever deranged thing Vyn framed out to do. “Vyn—”

“Imported from Italy, yes?” The older man trailed, his finger brushing against the glass. “Ah. And this one was from our Grand Tour—France, if I remember correctly. From Louvre.”

“Don’t shoot it.” Marius’ voice shook. “Don’t fucking shoot it.”

Vyn stopped. He chuckled—then looked up at Marius. “All right,” he said with an innocent smile, “I won’t.”

Then struck the table’s legs so it tumbled down, onto the floor, the special paints now mere, vibrant stains that tarnished the wooden tiles.

Vyn sneered at Marius. “Screw you.”

And proceeded to fire not to his husband, but everything inside the atelier: the canvases, both empty and brimming with colors, the vases and the chairs and stools, the portraits on the wall, the unfinished sketches and all the works in progress—the Seti Falls among other brilliant landscapes of their travels in Skadi, in and around Stellis, all the way to Europe.

Marius seethed, and one may even argue he was about to breathe out flames. “You fucking fiend—”

Vyn halted his advances when his aim pointed to an unfinished portrait of him.

Gods, he looked beautiful in it. Like the image of a prince, one of which a hopeful maiden would see only in the fairytales she reads, wondering if she’d ever snag a man as handsome as him. His lips were curved into a half-smile, all so lucious, and Vyn felt that familiar, rancid guilt tug at him—only a little, he wanted to deny it—as he wondered the many hours Marius had worked to capture him as beautifully as he could. Not that it was a hard task, for Vyn had always been a most spectacular muse, but still…

He lowered his gun and spared that portrait from his rage—saved himself from his own, unfettered violence.

But soon enough, Dr. Richter would realize that only portrait Vyn had been granted salvation.

Vyn nonchalantly aimed at his husband another time, did not hesitate, even a sliver, as he pulled the trigger toward Marius. But Marius dodged and rolled to his back, deftly until he tumbled against the wall under the window, and with a terrifyingly calm expression poised himself to kneel on the tiles.

Vyn reloaded his gun. “What are you doing, kneeling there?” he seethed. “Have you given up, darling?”

“No,” said Marius, a chuckle rumbling down his body. His amethyst eyes had darkened, and Vyn tensed, feeling gooseflesh all over his skin as Marius took something out of his person—a hand grenade.

“You know what,” the young von Hagen began, his voice low and cold, “I shouldn’t have tended your garden during the days you weren’t here.”

“You are to stop this instant.”

“What do you say? Fuck off and say adiós to your precious little garden.” It only took a split of a second as Marius pulled the pin with his mouth, and tossed it behind him, the grenade hurtling over his husband’s precious sanctuary of roses and lilies.

Only a split second before Vyn Richter’s garden exploded into a thousand, splendid fireworks.

And if it weren’t for his unmitigated, passionate fury thrumming with each breath, each step, and every thunder of his heart transcending over the harrowing, golden flames burning in the dead of night, of which singed the beloved flowers he’d tended to for years, Vyn would’ve fallen to his knees onto the wooden tiles, and cried his heart out in heavy grief.

But Vyn stood there, not moving an inch, as he watched the scorching fire. The flares flickered in his eyes, round and round the deepest trenches of those golden hues, until all he could see and feel was…

Well, nothing. As if unbothered.

However his mind, his brilliant mind toiled clearly—too vivid, the thoughts smooth-sailing in his ocean of schemes.

“Dieser verdammte Marius,” he muttered—that goddamn Marius—as he strode near the doorway, opened an emergency cabinet, and pulled the heavy, metal handle, activating the manor’s fire sprinklers.

Wet chemicals erupted from the ceilings, all over the house. Vyn navigated the halls and the rooms with precision, checking the bedroom, the lounge, the bar, in a search for a certain von Hagen.

He hoisted his gun as he trod to each chamber, each corridor. Vyn went down the stairs and proceeded, with much caution, to the main living room—

When a click sounded behind him.

“Let’s stop this now, Vyn,” Marius said quietly as he drew closer, his silencer only a meter or two away from his husband’s back.

“Unlock the house, and we can separate in peace—”

Vyn swung around, pivoting on his heel, and knocked Marius’ weapon out of his grasp.

Marius stumbled to the side, but maintained his balance almost as instantly. “What the—”

“You are naive to think that after all this, I would let you out.” Now it was his time to brandish his gun, leveling the weapon slowly to Marius, who now had both hands raised in surrender. He was on the farthest corner of the room, trapped; his only escape was the very path Vyn stood on, getting in his way out, deliberately so. “Well, well. What do we have here?”

“Your loving husband.”

Vyn’s brow raised, and his features scrunched into disdain. “I would not say that—”

He was cut off by Marius pouncing onto him with all his weight, Marius’ hands wrapped around his own, restricting him and the gun. And before Vyn could even try to get away Marius sent him to the ground—Marius had forcefully slid his leg against Vyn’s, and when his husband lost his balance, the two of them plunged into the floor.

At the impact, Vyn’s grip loosened, and Marius kicked the gun away from them as he helped himself up.

Oh, zounds. Why did I kick it away? I should’ve taken it—

A flower vase came hurtling toward him, and Marius shielded his face from the glass, letting it break into tiny shards as it fell to the floor. And his jaw might’ve been broken, too, for Vyn had suddenly appeared in front of him, and threw Marius the best jaw-breaking punch he had ever received.

“Fuck—”

It was painful, to be sure, but he had no time for such. He caught Vyn rushing to the doorway.

What’s he doing?

Marius’ face scrunched and he winced, the pain in his jaw utterly excruciating.

Oh.

Oh.

Fuck.

He’s going for the gun.

“No way in hell.”

Marius the nearest object he could find—a mini coffee table—and hurled it in Vyn’s direction.

He stood on his feet and sprinted to the doorway. The table had hit Vyn’s torso, the impact heavy on his waist, and he dropped to the floor, groaning in pain.

But before Marius could reach for the gun himself, Vyn held him by the leg.

He landed face-forward. His arms, thank goodness, saved him from rendering his handsome face wretched. Marius rolled onto his back, only for Vyn to lunge at him.

Vyn first threw a punch to his jaw yet again, but Marius caught his wrists. With a mighty force Marius was able to toss Vyn to the side—he was the stronger one, after all—and Vyn ended up with his back against the couch.

Vyn was still recuperating when Marius came to wrap his hands around Vyn’s neck, restricting his breathing. His hands went instinctively around Marius’, punching and pulling and desperate to get away. At last Vyn gathered enough strength to move away from the chaise and to the side, bringing Marius with him; Marius who, despite his strength, admitted to struggling with Vyn’s futile attempts to escape.

But the next thing Marius knew, he was throwing his husband across the room.

Vyn flew directly to the massive grandfather’s clock, the glass shattering and raining over him.

Blood now stained the doctor’s face, his body. But at that very minute he wouldn’t feel any wound, any injury. Just the unfaltering will to fight to death with his husband.

He felt betrayed.

He was scared. He was so scared he would lose him—to a woman, to PAX, to this. Add the five consecutive nights he’d prepared dinner for them and Marius never came home.

He’d rather end the marriage here than in court.

Marius dashed towards him, ready to pounce. Vyn caught sight of the expensive wine bottles on the table beside him.

And so he snatched two of the wine bottles and smashed them on either side of Marius’ head. The bottles crashed, and Marius bellowed in pain. Crimson leaked in his skin, his clothes—was it the wine? His blood? Vyn swallowed as took in the sight of his husband, hands on his head, moaning in deep pain; he looked away immediately and strode out from Marius’ reach.

Marius chuckled. “Of course you’ll go for the gun.”

“Do you not think it the easiest way out?” Vyn merely said, his voice higher, obviously vexed. Yet the way he spat those words was honeyed, still. “I shoot you, I win.”

“Is that what this is all about?”

“Yes.”

“Ah.” Marius staggered, but pressed onward. “Then you’re not getting that gun.”

In quick strides Marius threw himself at Vyn, but the older man rolled himself easily over the couch. Marius pushed the chaise to the side with one swift move, and only the oval glass-lined coffee table separated them.

Like that table’s gonna do shit.

And it all began with footwork. In his fighting stance, Marius assessed his husband, the two of them circling around the table slowly, vigilantly. Waiting for the other to hint at their weakness, to give away their hidden cards—neither knew the other’s tricks, having only found out their secret careers this evening.

But goddammit, Marius cursed inwardly as he observed his muse with that perfect sparring form, however his bearing elegant, still. The lock of his shoulders, the way his forearms were bent to his elbows, his knees curved just right; that determined face, his brimming confidence—goddammit, goddammit, goddammit.

Perfect.

He’s perfect.

I love him.

“Well fuck me. You always made me carry your heavy stuff, but now you look like you’re ready to carry me to my grave.”

Vyn smirked—then pushed the table with his foot.

The force was too strong that Marius knew he wouldn’t be able to stop it on his own, and that he’d only hurt whatever part of him that met the table’s edge. The table slid forward, launching straight at Marius, and all he could do was leap on top of the table.

It was small, that table. Marius lost his balance and fell face-forward to the marble tiles.

“Fuck it,” he groaned, his elbows stinging. “I fucking hate you—”

Vyn gripped his shoulder and swung him around, his back now on the floor. “Hello, my love,” he purred as he pinned both Marius’ hands atop his head, then straddled him. “Do you like this?”

Marius smirked. “You on top? Hell yeah.”

Vyn’s fist went flying to his face.

“FUCK—” Marius groaned, his nose stinging. He could almost taste the metallic tang of blood. “I can’t believe you ordered me to carry your shit around when you can punch this hard.”

“You betrayed me.” Vyn landed another punch. “You are a liar! You lied to me!”

“Look who’s fucking talking!”

“Go to hell.”

With his weakening grip on Marius, the young von Hagen was able to snatch his arms and finally turn the goddamn tables. He wrapped his legs around Vyn’s torso and flung themselves to the side.

Vyn gasped. Marius now sat on top of him, towering over him. His grip on Vyn’s wrists was too tight they could’ve been red with the mark of his fingers, or a nasty purple because of bruising—god, they could’ve been a pale blue for that grip might as well halt the blood from coursing through.

“Now, now, sweetheart.” Marius pinned his lover’s wrists on the floor. He noted the slightly frantic tussling, Vyn’s… sexy labored breathing. “I think I like this better,” he whispered. “Me on top of you.”

And Vyn could only gasp as Marius grappled his throat. Not to kill him—to weaken him, somehow. To make him lose consciousness. And then he’ll decide from there.

“Hck—” Vyn’s choking filled his ears and, even when he wanted to, he couldn’t look away. “M-Marius—”

Stop it. You’re hurting him.

His grip did not weaken.

“Hck… P-Please—”

Don’t say it. Don’t.

Say it. Vyn hurt you. You’re just returning the favor.

I can’t...

“Look at you. I love choking you like this,” Marius spat, his eyes dark and wicked. I’m going to hell for this—I’m sure of it. “If only this were a different circumstance.”

He caught Vyn’s arm flailing to his sides, and Marius wondered why he’d suddenly stopped grasping the hands that throttled him—until Vyn seized something and smashed it to his head, sending him backward.

A lampshade this time. From yet another small desk drawer just beside them.

Well, Marius thought. I should’ve seen that coming.

Vyn was, however, still frail from Marius’ attempt to strangle him. His breathing was strained, his face breaking out in cold sweat.

And hot tears rolled down his pale, bloodied cheeks.

However his adrenaline pumped again, and again, and even when his head pounded a fire burned from within, and he tried to go on all fours, a futile attempt to stand.

Marius now stood, albeit unsteadily due to the impact of the lampshade on his temple. “Come on, honey,” he managed to say despite himself, imitating a sparring stance, “come to daddy.”

Vyn inhaled a sharp breath.

He turned on his back, then, and used all his remaining strength to kick his husband’s groin.

“Fucking fiend—” Marius moaned in agony as he fell to his knees.

“Heh,” Vyn chuckled darkly. “Who’s your daddy now?”

“Ahahaha,” Marius managed a laugh. For some reason, it did not sound even the least sarcastic. In fact, it sounded so… genuine. “That’d still be me, Vyn,” he breathed, “still me.”

Then he rolled to the side, Vyn the other way around.

When they got up to their feet, nimble as men who were yet to be injured and beaten up, Vyn and Marius found themselves in a rather precarious situation:

Their guns on each other’s heads.

Blood coated their faces. Some trickled down, some already dried from earlier’s violence, the crimson-brown marking their skin as if pinpointing just where they had tried to inflict pain on one another. Desperate breaths filled the thrashed room, heaving in attempts to ease the thumping hearts, seemingly beating for something other than the desire to kill—perhaps beating for love, still.

The room had now quieted. No more crashing and shattering and heavy thuds brought about by relentless kicking and punching and hurling. The once catastrophic space was now but a peaceful one, at least in terms of sound and every other external force of nature.

“Let us end this here.”

Vyn’s tone never wavered. It was still as honeyed, elegant. But neither had the strength to actually ask, is that what you really want?

“Baby.”

“Stop,” he said, or rather breathed, as if Vyn had drained all capacity to speak, and Marius almost didn’t hear it, but he did. He always did. “Don’t you dare call me that.”

“Okay.” Marius nodded. His gaze remained fixated on Vyn, who so determinedly held out his gun, although Marius wondered why his finger was a little far off from the trigger. He took that as a good sign—something to hold onto. “So,” he began, his silencer still aimed towards his husband, “what now?”

I do not know, he had the urge to say. But he wouldn’t say it. Not in this life.

“Are we to stay like this the entire night, Vyn?”

“No, of course not.”

“Should I worry now?”

“As you should.”

“You’re going to kill me?”

Vyn’s eyes snapped to him, meeting those eyes of dark amethyst, and Vyn realized he hadn’t been looking at Marius this whole time, only to a random part of his face so it would seem like he was strong enough to take this head-on. But when their eyes met he felt his breath catch, and gods did Vyn want to whip everything back in time just so this didn’t happen. Just so he would have him back.

It is still him, he told himself. This youthful man, so willingly returning his gaze even though Vyn bore some brutal promise, always the man who could see him, who chooses to see through him and accepts what sought refuge beneath the facade—still Marius.

My Marius.

Vyn gasped, more loudly than he’d intended, when the silencer dropped to the floor.

His line of sight panned up to Marius. “What are you doing?” he hissed with unmistakable, rising fury. “Pick it up.”

Marius raised his arms, slowly, in surrender. “I don’t want to.”

“Pick up the gun.”

“I can’t.”

He inhaled sharply that the air could cut his throat, which was painfully drying, his heartbeat starting to race another time as he attempted to persuade him, “Pick it up, Marius! Pick the fucking gun—”

“No,” Marius said, shaking his head in regret.

“FIGHT. FAIR. THIS IS NOT FAIR.”

He swallowed the lump in his throat. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you?”

“Believe me.”

He was pleading, and Vyn knew that. Not pleading for his life, but pleading his love.

Until Vyn asked, “Why did you do it?”

His eyes lit up. It didn’t matter whether Vyn would accept his answer, he didn’t even care if he would believe him, but he was so damn happy Vyn was at least interested to know. And he deserved the truth—he ought to grant his husband that.

“I’m…” He breathed in, his line of sight entirely on the floor, trying to find the perfect explanation. “I don’t know. I guess I just love—”

“Killing other people?”

He looked up at Vyn. “Bloodlust—that’s it, yeah?”

Vyn scoffed. “Bloodlust. Are you kidding me?”

“I had killed someone for Giann. Accidentally,” he began, “an act of self-defense, to save myself and him. He was drugged and unconscious and we were alone, and we were kids.

“And I felt like a different person, you know? Stabbing that man to death. Torturing him until he begged that I end his suffering. Instead I got a blunt knife…” He trailed, his voice now dripping with that familiar longing, that familiar tone of satisfaction Vyn so knew about him, “started carving the family insignia deep into his skin while I listened to his pleas, his screaming, and watched the way his blood leaked from his cuts…

“It was, to say the least, a feast to my senses.” Marius chuckled, his voice dark, almost evil. As if Vyn’s kind, youthful husband had gone, had turned into someone unspeakable, someone he didn’t know. Or perhaps, a Marius he has yet to meet. “That was when I realized I let another me live within. He’s someone who loved drawing blood, someone who craved for violence. All of this, Vyn—I do it all for fun. I couldn’t get it out of my system. So, yeah.”

“You could have told me,” whispered Vyn. Marius wanted to believe he saw those golden irises soften, even only for a passing beat. “You could have trusted me.”

“I trust you, baby. But no,” he said resolutely, “I love you, so damn much, and I wanted to be perfect for you.”

Marius took a step forward. Vyn’s grasp tightened around the gun.

But Marius pressed forth. Arms falling heavy on either side he took yet another step, his mouth curving on a slight, sad smile as he walked closer, and closer, dangerously closer to the beautiful man who carried such a hideous promise.

“I want to be the perfect man…” Marius halted, just a few breaths away from the gun aimed directly at him. He crouched a little, leaned forward—

Vyn gasped. His whole body tremored, a sudden chill running all over his skin.

Marius wrapped his long fingers around the gun’s barrel, tugging it towards himself, pressing his chest against the hot muzzle. “The perfect husband for you.”

He observed as Vyn continued to nibble on his lower lip, biting it hard that it reddened with the threat of blood, and Marius’ chest tightened as he saw those golden hues now glossy with emerging tears. Vyn’s breathing had gone from composed to ragged, and soon the hand which held the gun started to shake.

“Vyn,” his husband called softly, “I love you, okay?”

He was surprised to feel hot tears filling his eyes, a stray of it rolling past his bloodied cheek. “Marius…”

“Vyn?”

“I…” he paused, grasping for words, suddenly losing all the vigor to fight. His heart shattered at this, at everything—at himself for being such a petty husband who never truly gave Marius the chance to prove himself, all because of some missed dinners. Who never gave Marius the benefit of the doubt even when Vyn saw in his eyes a flicker of hope.

He was so lost swimming in his ocean of thoughts that he never noticed Marius, who started easing away the gun ever so calmly, and Vyn—exhausted and drained out of his wits—allowed him his weapon to make its descent, down until he himself decided to drop it to the floor.

And he seemed to be in a daze indeed as Marius pressing closer to him went unnoticed, until Vyn realized, only after almost a minute, that Marius had gotten their bodies closer, almost skin to skin…

Marius knew he was quite awake now—from all his little reveries—and while he expected Vyn to land another blow or finish him once and for all, he was surprised when his husband’s gaze flitted from his lips before it settled up to his eyes, his pale, slender hands sliding to his chest as he whispered, “I love you too, Marius.”

Then Vyn was pushed onto the couch.

The doctor gasped, too surprised that it was a pitch higher than usual, and for a moment he was afraid that Marius had gotten the upper hand with his trick and now he ought to strangle him, but his gut believed otherwise, and his gut turned out to be right because Marius leaned down to kiss him—rough and wet, hungry as his tongue lapped in his mouth, a quiet sentiment of how Marius would rather kiss and touch and fuck him instead of sending blazing bullets all over their house.

“Mm—oh, Marius…” he whined as Marius pressed against him, almost straddling him, his hands relishing the softness of Vyn’s face and disregarding the feel of dried blood there, and now making their way towards the back of Vyn’s head, fingers brushing, tangling, pulling on those silver locks.

He felt his pants tighten at the sound of Vyn’s moans, and he grabbed a fistful of his hair and dragged his head back, suddenly feeling the lust of tasting Vyn’s exposed neck. Marius leaned down, his mouth pressed against his neck, trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses along soft skin, tasting blood and hot sweat. He bit lightly at the hollow of his shoulder—

“Ah!” Vyn cried in perhaps both pleasure and pain, his fingers clutching desperately on Marius’ sleeves—sleeves that were rolled all the way up near his elbows and it was so sexy Vyn almost wanted to wave the white flag, in the middle of their shoot-out, just so he could fuck him. So he could kiss him, kneel in front of him, fulfilling his husbandly duty of sucking his cock. “Marius…”

“We literally just started,” Marius said as he looked up to meet Vyn’s eyes, a smirk curling at the edge of his lips.

“Fuck you.”

“Darling, I’m about to.”

“Well why don’t you get on with it? Or would you rather waste my—oh, fuck—Marius!”

Vyn could only screw his eyes shut, and Marius could only let out a satisfied groan as he ground his hips against Vyn’s, biting his lip as he felt that hard erection, the proof of his husband’s growing need and oh, how he’d love to satisfy him. “What was that?”

“Will you ever stop talking—”

Marius shut him up with another kiss on the mouth. Vyn tasted sweet, as usual, however Marius made out the metallic flavor of blood, but it’s not like he would mind. It’s his husband’s blood, anyway, and he’d be most willing to take a sip of it, drink it, chug it until it sank down his throat the way he would his chocolate drink.

Ah, but Marius loved it more when it was Vyn who did that with his cum.

As he kissed Vyn he continued moving, grinding his hips until all he could hear were the melodies of Vyn’s whines and sighs, and gods was he so distracted Marius failed to notice Vyn already taking the matter into his own hands unbuttoning Marius’ shirt, and with fervent speed at that.

He suppressed a laugh as he bowed his head, watching in awe as Vyn fumbled with the buttons of his black shirt, breathing so hard and sensually as if he could wait no longer. In fact it felt like Vyn would be very much happy to just tear his shirt apart—not that his husband would mind, either.

“You were so determined to kill me earlier,” Marius said as Vyn unbuttoned the very last one, “but now you’re so hot and horny for me. I told you I did like your mood swings—hmph!”

He was cut off by Vyn’s mouth claiming his own—much to his delight—and soon he found himself hooking his arms under Vyn’s spine and the back of his legs, his feet then making way to their bedroom on the second floor. Vyn wrapped his arms around Marius’ neck instinctively, even pulling him closer as if he needed more, plenty more of him, and Marius loved the way his husband craved for his kisses that it must have given him some omniscient power to navigate the halls and the stairs in the dark so precisely.

In a minute a heavy thud reverberated, echoing across the massive bedroom as Marius opened the door—or rather twisted the knob then kicked the door—and went towards the bed with much haste. He’d licked, bitten, lapped at Vyn’s mouth one last time before he dropped him to the king-sized bed, covered in midnight-lacquered sheets, and proceeded to take off his shirt—

“Wait,” Vyn protested, but before his husband could respond he hooked his two fingers round the belt loop of Marius’ pants, and tugged him closer. It was so damn hot Marius’ cock twitched.

Suddenly he wanted to grab a fistful of Vyn’s hair and make him suck his dick. He’d fuck Vyn’s mouth so well with his hard cock the man would be a beautiful, crying mess the moment he swallowed his cum.

“I…” Vyn turned a little red. “I want to suck you.”

Marius swallowed as he hurried to comply, feeling a certain heat within him intensify. Vyn was already kneeling on the bed, making quick work unbuckling Marius’ belt and letting his cock spring free and fuck, Marius’ cock was heavy and warm and slick with precum, and Vyn felt his own twitch against the fabric of his pants.

He did not waste time. Vyn wrapped his long, slender fingers around his husband’s cock, feeling Marius throb against his palm, his cold fingers. He had sucked Marius dry since god knows when, but suddenly he felt like this was all new, that he was nervous and shy again, and it was as if he was taken back to their first night as two married men. That first night after Vyn said Yes, I do, I shall marry you, and Marius beamed and Vyn thought his husband could rival the sun. Funny what some husband quarrel and house violence could do to you—

“Just so you know, Vyn.” A low, impatient voice pulled him away from his thoughts. “I’m this close to shoving your face down my cock, if you don’t mind.”

Vyn bit his lip as he saw yet again that massive, hard cock staring right in front of him, waiting to be devoured. God, his husband’s cock was so beautiful, thick and velvety soft that his breath caught. And realizing once again that someone was getting impatient, Vyn leaned in and licked gently under the crown of Marius’ dick.

“Fuck.” Marius’ head dipped back, feeling his cock twitch against Vyn’s tongue. “Please—”

He rasped as Vyn complied, letting his mouth close around the head of his husband’s rock-hard cock—

“Fffuck,” Marius breathed, panting as Vyn made swirling motions with his tongue as he slid halfway down his length, “Fuck, Vyn!”

His eyes screwed shut, his hands clutching onto Vyn’s silver locks, and moaned out a broken cry as Vyn sucked his whole length, deep throating him, his wet, warm lips touching his Marius’ hot skin. “Fuck, Jesus.”

Vyn moaned around his cock, and as Marius felt it vibrate around him he dipped his head back again, seeing the goddamn stars. Vyn’s moaning didn’t stop even as he sucked his husband’s dick, Marius’ cock moving in and out of his mouth. Marius tasted so good. Every time Vyn sucked him it seemed he tasted even better and better, as if there were new flavours to his taste of clean sweat, of salty skin, and god even his precum seemed heavenly to Vyn’s tongue, melting like chocolate. His eyes fluttered shut as he sucked. God, he would suck this man’s cock forever.

Until Marius tugged Vyn’s head back, “Fuck, wait.” He panted heavily, and as he saw Vyn lick his lips—still glistening wet from his own saliva and Marius’ precum—Marius wanted to plug that pretty little mouth with his dick again. But he held himself together and said, “Wait. I’m… I was about to…”

“I’d swallow everything, Marius.”

“Fuck, stop it. Stop it or you’ll have to choke on my dick the rest of the evening.”

“What is the matter?”

Marius’ cheeks tinged a bit pink. He looked much like a teenager who wanted to try sex with his crush. “I want to… I—”

“Too good?” Vyn smirked.

“Fuck you.” A smile tugged at the edge of his lips. Marius caressed Vyn’s hair, as softly as he could. “I want to come inside you.”

Vyn swallowed, his mind once again drawn to their little memories of fucking every night until both their legs had given in, and Marius thought the same. God, he  couldn’t stop staring at his husband. Vyn looked ethereal bathed in the bedroom’s soft orange glow…

However this time it was Marius who was stripped—so quickly—from his reveries as he was pulled, thrown to the bed, with Vyn taking off his shirt, leaving his necktie around. His shirt was hauled off to the floor in a second, and now Vyn looked like some fallen angel as he straddled Marius, untying the silken tie with deft fingers, his wet lips parted in awe…

“What are you gonna do with that, huh?” Marius’ hand slipped round his husband’s waist. We’ve been married for years but goddammit, your waist is so fucking small.

“You’re gonna use that on me?” he added, whispering against the shell of Vyn’s ear, making his husband shudder. God, he loved it when Vyn did that. Loved it when his ministrations, even the smallest ones, had a great effect on him. “And look at you, don’t you think you’re a bit overdressed for the occasion?”

“I—ah—”

His cock twitched again that it almost hurt, as if begging to be hilted inside Vyn’s ass. Vyn had the sexy habit of whining and making those kinds of sounds whenever he’s surprised or caught unawares, like that very moment when Marius stripped him off his vest with one go, the buttons clinking on the floor in unison. Marius didn’t waste a second and gripped the sleeves of his doctor’s coat, tugging it off him.

Until Vyn caught his wrists and said, “Let me.”

The muse started taking off his vest—slowly, tantalizingly. He knew all too well this act was a feast for his husband’s eyes, for his cock. The slutty bottom that he was, Vyn removed his clothing alongside his heavy, sexy breathing, his mouth slightly ajar, with some stray, silver strands falling over his eyes.

The vest went abandoned. Thrown to the floor just like all else. The shirt followed, Vyn making sure the sounds he made were heard, acknowledged—oh acknowledged indeed, what with his husband’s erection poking against his leg—and he couldn’t help but suppress a smile knowing Marius was having a hard time keeping his hands to himself.

When everything was unbuttoned, Vyn let the right sleeve slide down his arm, revealing some skin on his chest, his collarbone, his shoulder. Marius had seen it all, but still he thought he looked so ethereal, and so hot all the same that he was torn between treating him right—sweetly, gently—and fucking him so rough and so hard he won’t be able to walk the next day.

By instinct, Marius looked away. He bit his lip as he did, setting his sights away as he was suddenly so overwhelmed, so doubtful—do I even deserve this, he asked himself, realizing that it had been his fault why the shoot-out occurred in the first place: he missed a lot of dinners with Vyn. He was always out for his business of killing other people. He hurt him in all ways possible, especially tonight.

But then, “Marius.”

His gaze returned to Vyn. “Darling?”

“Do not look away.” Vyn’s hands, soft and cold, reached to caress his face. “Just look at me,” he said, his voice like that of an angel’s, “this is all yours—all of me. I am yours.”

Marius made sure that shirt was off his husband immediately.

He’d kissed him again, a mix of love and dominance, of lust and longing. Arms tight around Vyn’s waist he pulled his muse close to him, skin to skin, but he wanted them to be closer. He wanted to be inside him—to own him, body and soul.

He loved Vyn. Marius wouldn’t know who he is without him.

“I love you,” he grunted as Vyn ground against his erection, “I love you.” His hands wandered up his spine and down his ass, squeezing it, eliciting a moan from Vyn. “I love you.”

But it wasn’t long until Marius took his black, silken tie, staring intently, lustfully at Vyn before he hoisted it in between them, “May I?”

Vyn raised his wrists in answer. “And my tie?”

“For your eyes,” Marius said, his eyes darkening. “I was thinking your mouth, but I love hearing your noises.

“I love hearing your moans. Your whines. I love it when you scream my name.”

Marius licked his lips, and his chest swelled with triumph as he saw Vyn shiver again, turned on by a few words. Vyn gasped in surprise as Marius finished tying his wrists, pulling on the knot a bit harshly than he’d intended.

“Now,” Marius said as he worked on Vyn’s red tie, “you love the dark, don’t you darling?”

A whine escaped his lips as he was pushed to the bed. He couldn’t even recall how Marius looped and that red, silken tie around his eyes. All he knew now was he’s on the bed, on his back, his hands tied in front of him. “Ah, Marius…”

“What was that?”

Vyn could only nibble on his lower lip. “Please… oh!”

He moaned as he felt his husband’s mouth, warm and wet, close around his nipple. His toes curled at the sensation, especially at how Marius knew just how to kiss, lick, and suck his nipple and make him cry and moan so loud. His body moved frantically, the pleasure almost maddening now that his vision was obscured, and not knowing what Marius was gonna do next was killing him.

However soon he felt large hands grip his thighs, hoisting them, and Vyn most willingly submitted by wrapping his legs around Marius’ hips. He was now on top of him, could feel his hot, ragged breaths against his skin.

“You’re so hot,” Marius whispered as he kissed Vyn’s beauty mark, that one on his collarbone, “I just love fucking you so much,” he said, before unbuttoning Vyn’s pants and sliding his hand down under, wrapping his fingers around Vyn’s length.

“Oh! Marius, ah—”

“Yes, just like that…”

“Please!”

“You like that? Damn, you’re actually making this harder for me… let me just…”

Marius stopped, his hurrying hands fumbling on Vyn’s pants, in much haste to get inside him. Oh how badly he wanted to fuck his husband when he all but looked like a willing captive, writhing underneath him—he let his fingers travel down under, lingering on Vyn’s back, then trailing further south, massaging his arse, lifting Vyn a little in the process.

Marius did not waste any more time and took the head of his own cock, moving his hard-on closer until it rubbed softly, carefully over Vyn’s hole. He rasped as he did a little push inside. “Shit.”

“M-Marius…”

Marius took that as his signal to push further, letting out a small grunt as he moved another inch, then another, and he took satisfaction witnessing Vyn’s mouth parting as he whined, silver brows furrowed in pleasure. “Ohh, Marius—”

Marius gripped on his husband’s waist and hilted his entire cock inside him.

Vyn whined again, so loud Marius wondered if his voice reached the outside, even with their windows closed. Vyn cried as Marius moved inside him, his thick, warm cock fitting perfectly in his ass, hilting deeper and deeper with each thrust that Vyn couldn’t stop muttering curses and Marius, Marius didn’t have any words for it—just sounds, low and needy. Just grunts, and moans, and whines and cries.

Marius thrust again. Harder, deeper—

“Ohh, just like that!”

“Yeah?”

“Mm—ohh, f-faster please—!”

Marius nodded frantically, and he thought how much Vyn had an effect on him that, despite Vyn being the one tied up and writhing underneath him, Marius was actually the one in his mercy.

Good. Deservedly so. Vyn Richter was his Saving Grace and he’d worship the man forever.

“Ah—fuck! Marius…!” moaned the older man, biting his lip as he welcomed the familiar pain—and pleasure—down his nether part. It was only then Marius realized he had been too excited to claim Vyn that the thought of using a lubricant or even covering his dick with saliva never crossed his mind.

“Fuck, Vyn. Does it hurt?” he asked, but never stopped moving, pulling and pushing back in.

“N-no! It feels good. You feel good…” he moaned as he shook his head, “I’d rather you—ah!—fucked me hard.”

And it was enough to make Marius pin his husband’s hands atop his head, cursing as he thrust in, and out, so hard and so deep tears started rolling down Vyn’s pale cheeks. “Faster?”

“Y-yes!”

Marius gripped hard around Vyn’s wrists, railing the man as hard as he could, making Vyn cry with each powerful thrust. The sounds of wet, forceful squelching echoed across the room and, partnered with Vyn Richter’s needy moans, Marius thought damn, I should’ve brought a recorder.

Well, it’s not like he couldn’t do that soon. Pretty sure Vyn would be most willing to film all their blasphemous activities together. “I’m close.”

“M-me too…” Vyn bit his lip, his back arching in ecstasy brought about by their bodies, skin to skin. Marius pounded faster. It felt like fire, really, and he felt his stomach surging and ebbing and surging again and again with pleasure. They moved in sync now, Vyn’s hips thrusting to match his husband’s pace, and he knew he was close when he felt that electric sensation zipping through his veins, his loins, his cock. “M-Marius…!”

His balls drew up tight as Marius slammed into him, again and again. Vyn could only let out a broken cry as he sensed Marius’ hand grasping his cock, jerking it as fast and as hard, perfectly matched with the way Marius pumped his dick inside him in a relentless rhythm.

Vyn came. Loud, majestic, his hot cum spurting on Marius’ stomach and making a beautiful mess there, much like the way he was one. His head was fucking spinning and he thanked Marius for it. And he kept on crying out even as Marius came, his fresh seed filling Vyn up like he was always meant to.

He kept on going. Grinding in him so deep, so sensual, thrusting again and again and letting his very hard cock feel inside Vyn, helping both of them through the very last of their orgasms. Again, then again. One last time, until Vyn croaked weakly, and Marius grunted as he fell on the empty space on the bed, beside his husband.

Despite the exhaustion, he shifted to his side. Took the blindfold off his husband. Vyn’s eyes fluttered open immediately, albeit blearily, the fringe of his long, silver lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. He gave Marius a weak smile. “That was…”

Marius let out a soft laugh, feeling the last bits of his energy dripping away. “I want to fuck you again.” He relaxed, but felt himself stiffen at the sight of his husband: ethereal. Beautiful with his cheeks flushed and mouth parted, his neck and chest gleaming in sweat. Vyn Richter, once again, in the afterglow of mindblowing sex.

“I love you,” he whispered, though he was not sure if Vyn heard. His eyes were already closed, and he looked like he was fast asleep. Marius smiled and snuggled close to him, with Vyn’s soft breathing lulling him to slumber.

==

Sometime around his dream, if he ever truly dreamed, he heard a silken voice say, “I love you, too.” Felt a gentle kiss on his forehead once, twice. Then another, “I will love you forever.”

When he awoke in the middle of the night, the quiet surrounding them, he saw Vyn was sound asleep. He rested his head against the hollow of Vyn’s neck, inhaling his sweet scent, and wrapped his arms around him. “Vyn,” he whispered, “I’ll love you forever, too,” before he kissed him on the cheek.

Somehow, Marius knew he hadn’t dreamt it.

==

Vyn awoke three hours earlier than usual, his eyes bleary, almost blind as he stared at the digital clock which blinked 5:58 AM. He wouldn’t be up this early, but his phone rang so alarmingly in the distance—atop that couch beside their bed where Marius fucked him the whole night—and with a ringtone he wouldn’t dare not pick up, lest he received yet another lecture. An hour or two of it, even if that lecture came from his, well… not his superior, because he was the superior.

He sighed—it was his junior calling. “Good morning, my rose.”

“DON’T ‘MY ROSE’ ME, RICHTER-VON HAGEN!” came his beloved junior’s rather sweet response, and Vyn instinctively pulled his phone away from his ear, unless he wanted his hearing damaged forever. “WHAT THE HECK HAPPENED TO YOU?”

“Language, beloved.”

“VYN!” Ah, there it was. He knew she was suppressing those sobs. It was conspicuous she had been pulling back tears the moment Vyn answered the call, the moment she’d heard his voice and confirmed he was alive, although not much well. “I was so, so worried about you… I thought… I thought you were—” she paused to take a light sniff, “dead. The squad is on their way. What happened?”

“I… I cannot tell you right now. I am sorry, dear,” he said, his gaze drifting to his husband who was still snoring in his sleep, and gods did Vyn thought Marius looked ethereal even during his most vulnerable moments. He fucked me so well last night…

“And please, Rosa,” he said, “tell the squad to halt their mission. I am all right—harmed, but I am faring well. And so is my husband.”

“Oh, my god. Mr. von Hagen was a witness?”

“Sort of. I shall tell you all about it when we meet.”

“Which is when, exactly?”

“Tomorrow,” he replied, his fingers running across the bare skin of his chest, wincing at the hurt from where Marius bit him. “You are in charge for now. Make certain the HQ is still up and about,” he said, “you are my second-in-command, so do what you must in my stead. Meet me tomorrow, same place.”

“Oh, uh—tomorrow, you said?”

“Yes. Is something the matter, dear?”

“Er, well…” she trailed, and Vyn’s brow arched in curiosity. He tried to rewind their past conversations, see if she’d mentioned anything she ought to accomplish tomorrow. There was nothing in particular, and Vyn was about to tell her twice until she cleared her throat and answered, “I actually… have a date tomorrow, Vyn.”

Ah. Understandable.

However, “I have taught you of the risks which comes along with our line of work. I hope you do keep your emotions out of your job—”

“What a hypocrite,” Marius muttered beside him. Was this idiot fake-sleeping the whole time?

“Never you mind. I am not against your relationships. I will meet you in two days, then,” Vyn continued—not without glaring at his husband first and foremost in the morning—and added, “but of course, what is this lucky lad’s name? Age, hair colour—”

“Luke Pearce, thirty years old. Coral eyes, chestnut blonde, and very cute.”

“Make certain you put up his records in the office. That aside—please enjoy your date, Rosa.”

Vyn pressed on the end button. He was thinking whether to check up on his husband or do a background check on Luke Pearce first, but he heard another phone call—this time from Marius’ phone—and even though he never truly meant to listen… well, however could he not?

“Hey, Luke?”

Vyn’s ears perked at the sound of his name. Luke.

“Yeah, sure. Wait, you can’t tomorrow?” Marius asked through the phone, his voice getting inaudible as he yawned, “oh, man. Congrats on bagging your first date—oh, wait a minute. Is this girl Rosa you’re going out with?”

“Who is that?” Vyn mouthed to him with those piercing golden eyes. My junior, his husband mouthed back, shrugging his shoulders. It’s not like I can hide it anymore from you.

Well, Luke was not his junior since Luke was older by a few years, but Marius had been an assassin earlier than him. And, well… he was Luke’s boss.

Vyn didn’t need to do a background check. He’d have to pester Marius for it. Just great, what are the odds that their juniors were going on a date?

The first thing Marius did when he ended the phone call was tackle Vyn into a hug, which the older man reciprocated much lovingly (despite his grumpy morning face). He was still scowling, but it was a contrast to the warmth which he gave Marius in return, and the eagerness emanating from him as he pressed closer against Marius’ exposed chest. It wasn’t very soon that Vyn had started nuzzling his face against his husband’s cheeks, like a cat trying to be sweet.

“Vyn.”

“I thought you addressed me as darling or love or baby, but I suppose we—”

“Really, Vyn? This early in the morning?” Marius laughed as he cuddled him more. “You know, I was just gonna ask you something…”

“You want to fuck me again?”

And there it was, that familiar pout and puppy eyes, all too powerful even for Vyn that he knew immediately he wouldn’t be able to deny him. Well, it’s not like he’d decline some more good fucking. “Don’t you want me to?” Marius said, his pout much guilt-enducing now.

But not until Vyn pushed the sheets down until it reached his thighs, revealing his now bulging erection, his sudden craving for Marius. “Whatever are you waiting for?”

“Fuck. You sure know how to—”

Another phone call.

Vyn sighed and took the phone. His eyes widened, only for a fraction of a second, upon seeing the caller ID.

“Please tell me you’ll ignore that.”

“Unfortunately for us—” he slid a finger down the green button, “we cannot decline this one.

“Good morning, Captain Morgan.”

“This is Artem,” came that deep, familiar baritone, and Vyn felt himself shiver from the way Artem sounded in the mornings. The senior lawyer had always been a morning person, but there were times too wherein he was too lazy to get up for work—can you actually believe that?—so Vyn had to do all sorts of things to get him moving. His voice during those moments hadn’t changed at all: deep and husky, almost seductive.

“Artem,” he repeated, and the name seemed to capture Marius’ attention, too. “Good morning. Why are you calling this early in the morning? And why are you using Captain Morgan’s phone?”

There was a sigh at the other end of the line. “Darius forgot to bring his phone,” he answered. “I called to let you know he’s coming, along with his squad. Too many noise complaints last night. They’re going to investigate.”

“Just so you know, Wing—my house is an estate. I am quite certain no one was bound to hear us…” Oh, shit. Marius threw a grenade in my garden.

He shot Marius a glare before he returned, “Tell Captain Morgan to go home.”

“I kept telling him that,” he replied, quite vexed now. “It was supposed to be our day off, Vyn. Our only day off, and you just had to ruin it.”

“It is not my fault you cannot persuade your boyfriend to stay in bed with you.”

“Are we—”

“Hello there, Artem.” Marius had snagged the phone away from Vyn, having felt that impending argument that would probably last hours—he wouldn’t admit that he was only jealous because Artem was Vyn’s only ex-boyfriend, almost husband—and had taken matters into his own hands. “We’ll meet Captain Morgan when he gets here, all right? I’ll tell him to go home, so let’s have peace, yeah? Bye!”

“I could have handled that, Marius,” Vyn spat, but not before Marius hopped out of bed and went to browse through his cabinet. He got himself a clean set of sleepwear in pastel green, Vyn’s most adored colour, and threw the shirt in Vyn’s direction. “Give me the pants as well.”

“No,” said Marius, already in the process of wearing it, “you take the shirt, I take the pants. It’s too long for you, anyway.”

Vyn crossed his legs, folded his arms. “What are you planning?”

“We’re gonna give ‘em a show.”

==

When Vyn opened the front door to their house, he was met with the rather hot welcome of flashing lights, towering video cameras, fully-dressed reporters and papparazzis in all black. He could make out the faint sirens coming from the police cars parked outside the estate, and he only hoped no one was able to round the bend leading to his recently-bombed garden.

“Vyn Richter, is it true there was a shoot-out here last night?”

“Vyn, did you have a quarrel with Mr. von Hagen?”

“Vyn, the people are curious—is divorce on the table yet?”

“Are you and Mr. von Hagen are going to be available in the marriage market again?”

“Vyn, rumors say that you and Mr. von Hagen are involved in matters of Mafia and secret services. Is that true?”

“Vyn, are you pregnant?”

His eyed widened. “I beg your pardon?”

“VYN!”

If he really ought to be true to his role of being a… babygirl who would pretend to be lightheaded or unwell after coming across crazy reporters with no sense of privacy, he would’ve done it after a few more moments or so. However Vyn truly was made unwell by said blinding lights and mad interviewers, and by instinct he pressed a palm against his temple and leaned against the doorframe, suddenly dizzy at the commotion. “Please…”

“Give him space, everyone. Move, move!”

Oh, dear. Thank goodness for Captain Morgan, he thought as Darius practically shoved the reporters out of the way as he reached for Vyn. A strong hand gripped him by the arm, enough to steady his slowly unstable body. “You okay, Richter?”

“von Hagen,” he corrected. “And not quite, Captain.”

“You can hold onto me,” he said, then faced the crowd of reporters again, “stop it with the cameras. If I see another shot I’ll have you all arrested—”

“You better listen to him.” Marius stepped beside Vyn, and in a heartbeat slipped his arm around his huband’s slender waist. Vyn felt his cheeks grow warm at the feeling of Marius’ hand holding him around the waist, in front of all these people—not to mention he was only wearing a green button top and Marius only in his pajamas. Thank god the cameras had stopped—courtesy by Darius who threatened an arrest—because those dark red hickeys and bite marks were clearer than the clearest of blue skies.

This man, Vyn thought as he leaned against Marius’ chest, he really likes to show off, doesn’t he?

He tried to hide a chuckle. It was true Marius loved to show off, but he loved it most when Marius showed him off for everyone to see, for everyone to know who owned him. At this moment, the message was pretty clear. Even the most senseless person would make sense what Marius wanted to say—that Vyn was his, and Marius was Vyn’s. It was written all over the young von Hagen: from the smirk on his lips, the red marks on his exposed chest. The top which covered Vyn’s probably hickey-filled body.

And so Vyn acted the part, pretending to be nauseous as he rested his head against his husband’s shoulder this time, and hooking his arm around Marius’. “I am not feeling very well…”

Marius squeezed his waist gently. “I’ll get you inside,” he said, and Vyn nodded faintly. Marius then turned to Captain Morgan, who was staring at them rather incredulously. It was conspicuous he never wanted to be here, to witness all this—he’d rather spend the day fucking Artem. “Sorry, Cap. I’ll give you a call and help you fix our mess. For now…” he paused and gestured to an exhausted Vyn, “my husband needs rest. You’ll handle this for now, yeah?”

Darius sighed, massaging his temples. “Yes. I’ll also let Artem know.”

“You better go home to him. He was pretty pissed with us this morning.”

“And whose fault is that, Mr. von Hagen?”

“Ehh ~” Marius pouted, but before he could say another word Darius asked, “What am I going to report? There were a lot of noise complaints. Some said it sounded like a grenade.”

“The answer is right in front of you.” Marius winked. “You see, this is what happens when you’re away for work too long. You tend to really, really miss your husband…”

Darius wanted to roll his eyes—no, he wanted to punch Marius. Does this brat really expect me to write ‘very loud, earth-shattering sex’ as the reason for those noise complaints?

Whatever could he do, though? He couldn’t possibly deny the Marius von Hagen of all people. Besides, he was not anointed as the newest NXX member for him to report Marius and Vyn just like that. Fine—he was going to write that unreasonable reason.

Marius seemed to know Darius was not going to deny him, and so the captain was met with the von Hagen’s signature, youthful grin that seemed to say: Hehe, you can’t deny me, can you?

Darius eyed Vyn one more time. He didn’t seem as sick as he appeared, but Darius knew he was indeed exhausted. However he wondered, as he waved the couple goodbye and ordered the reporters and paparazzis to keep out lest they get arrested, how can Richter—er, von Hagen—be this radiant after that violent shoot-out?

The moment Marius closed the door, Vyn muttered:

“Tell Vincent to arrange you an appointment with me,” he said, almost half-moaned, “based on my findings last evening, you need psychiatric help.”

… This hypocrite!

[nityarawal]

2/2/2024

Math= “Love Bomb You Anyways,” *2+2= 4

Morning Songs

“Of Course,” We Love You,”

Elon Drones

“Of Course I Love you,”

Drones

Of Course I Love

You

Anyways

Hashtags

Of Course We'll

Love 

Love Bomb You

We Promised

“It's Hot!”

Eloning 

Love More Than

Anyone Before

Anti-Harem

Choose To Love

A Gay Man

With All Our Hearts

Fearing Anti-Semetic

Smear

Big Love

Weaponizing

Symmetry

Motherhood

“Thunder From Down

Under,” Tragedies*

Surgeries

Anomalies

Hearts

Balls

Broken

Love With, ”All

Our Hearts,”*

“Love Eternal,”

Love Our Stars

Love You Starlights

Agape Valentines

Love You Mammas

Aunties

Even If You

Can't All Have

A Nitya Nanny

For Eternity

I'll Leave You

My Songs

I'll Share My Songs

You Can't Break Up

With Me

Because You Never 

Triangulated Me

With Government

You Can't Break Up

With Me

Because You Never

Matchmaked Me

You Can't Divorce

Me

Because You Never

Conned Me

You Can't Silence Me

Because You Never

“F'd” Me

Because Vegas 

Never Got Me

Into Her Lair

Got Alot Of

Free PR

“Egypt Station”*

Gay Cabarets

No Tips

Just Condemnation

“Space X” *

Kidnappings

“Solar City”

Eric Budd

Crypto Cons

“Boring Company”

Obviously Not

Trillionaires

Tunnels

Gold Alot Of Doje

Lost

Was That With

Ambitious

Dojo Bernards

Or Joel’

Swingers

Oleg Vydra

Day Traders

Born Again Kyle Cleveland

Lost The Spiritual

Center

We Gave You Goddesses

Chandra

Made A Fountain

Of Me Bathing

Pouring Water

Over My Head

We Gave You

Goddesses

Vayya Died Of

Breast Cancer

We Gave You

Goddesses

Helen Lost

Her Uterus

After She Married

Our Principal

And All Her Female

Organs

Bad Choices

Augmented Breasts

Diabetes

We Gave You

Goddesses

Ayni Raimondi

Was My Angel

Botticelli

Rolling Out Of

Bed

Masons

Millionaires

Pilots Fought

Principal Daddy

And Buzzed Around Her

Head To Be

Her Forever Dad

AirBnb Feds

Raped Us With

PNC Pfizer Banks

Into BBVA AI

Rewind Scams

Close Rewind YouTube

Close ElonMusk@Rewind.com

Close The Silencing.org 

Cohens’

Byron Katie Coaching

Centers For Cons

At Courts

With Abi Odam

John Hochman

Ivette Havasi Hochman M.U.M.

Hungarian Greencard

Spies

And Monika Fodor Mullen 

On Football Crimes

Headhunting My

Xs

Grooming Maxes’

And Jacks

Probation Officers

Soldiers

Beyonce Lost 

Her Pants 

Cher’s Back 

At Court

Elephant

In The Room

Is Our Children

Moms’

#FreeBritney

Elephant In The Room

Is Our Sisters

Gone

“Ganesh”

Remover Of 

Obstacles

Dr. Wally

Daddy’s Pilot Mason

Airforce

Hooker

Elephant

In The Room

Is The Mergers

With Brazil

Russia

S.C.O.

Elephant In The Room

Was When

The Little

Russian Giggolo

Cackled 

At Sharon Stone’s

Who-Who

Leg’s 

Wide Open

In “Basic Instinct,”

Rapunzel 

Giggled

Until

She Lost

Custody

Of Her

Kids

Elephant In The

Room

Is Elon Crying

#Rockets Tears

Rape

Extorted

Son Transed

Vivian

Trying To Shake

The Lineage

Karma

By Airforce 

Labs

Nazi Spies

Since Elon’s

Grandpa's Days

But Especially

Trying To Shirk

Errol Musk

And His 

Accomplices

Like

Ben Shaphiro 

On Parody

Rap

Sporting Dog Collars

Spoiled Boys

Can't Fulfill

Woman

Molded Last

Knight Standing

With Neuralink

Robotics

Keep On Singing

Genuine

More Flattering

Eloning

Eternal Love

Forever

Moms 

Peace,

Nitya Nella Davigo Azam Moezzi Huntley Rawal 

*Inspired By “Settings By Mona,” XO

**”Thunder From Down Under,” Is Adam Steck's Famous “Vegas” Gay Cabaret. 

*** “The Boyfriend,” Musical My Friends & I We're Trolled At Since M.S.A.E Maharishi School Of The Age Of Enlightenment.)

**** Elon & I are partners on Rewind- and I’m a silent investor on all projects he's involved in due to data crimes by our associates on various corporate/AI/Matchmaking/X/Twitter Cons. They obviously originated on Facebook with political hookers. I'd like to bow out of all US Corporate services and be sovereign when we rebuild for sincere Martians. We're done servicing court hookers- even our beloved BFFS that gingerly sold us and our children on black market. 

[super-ion]

Alright, ask a silly question, get several enthusiastic responses.

Okay, so I'm just gunna preface this that I backburnered this story back in December because I was worried about falling into the trope of autistic-coding the non-human changeling character especially when the central premise of the source material is that she needs a human to fall in love with her so that she can get a soul an become human.

That said, I'm feeling better about my writing abilities now and my confidence in being able to subvert the more problematic aspects.

Background - in 1811, the German author Friedrich de la Motte Fouqué published the novella, Undine. Honestly it's not that great, it's kinda chauvinistic, and I would not recommend it. It did serve as inspiration for The Little Mermaid, so I guess it's got that going for it. Anyway, I was trawling around for fairy tales to make gay last fall, and I stumbled across it, and it seemed ripe for the taking.

So here's the detailed synopsis of my gay take on it:

Alda is the adopted daughter of the duke. She's hella gay, but her family is not accepting so she's such in the closet. There's a tournament in her honor and her childhood friend, Huldbrand asks for her favor. She panics and sets him on an impossible task, but he's a knight, so he's like yeah sure, and goes off into the enchanted/haunted forest.

Meanwhile, in a small fishing village by the sea, our other heroine, Undine is just living her life. She's the daughter of a fisherman and a weaver who found her on the shore as a baby the day after a storm took their own child away. Undine is a little odd, and she has some uncanny abilities, like predicting storms and such. One day, she has a vision of a great storm and she rushes home. There, she meets Huldbrand, who has been injured in his quest and has been granted shelter by her parents while he recovers and becomes smitten by her.

The storm arrives and while the four of them shelter, a stranger appears, he claims to be a wandering priest named Kuhleborn. Her parents offer him food and shelter from the storm and he repays their generosity with a fairy story.

He tells them about a water spirit that became fascinated by human beings. She begged her mother, the Ocean, to let her become a human to live among them, but she refuses and asks why she can't be content as she is. She begged the same thing from her uncle, the father of storms, but he refused, telling her about the cruelty of humans. Finally, she went to her other parent, the Moon, to beg once more. The moon granted her wish and crafted her a human body that would grow and age, but when she died, she would return to the sea and live out the rest of her immortal life, unable to return to land. If however, another human pledged their heart to her, she would become truly mortal.

As he finishes the story, Undine is deeply shaken. She ventures outside into the storm and commands it to cease and she realizes she is the water spirit from the story. Huldbrand witnesses this act, but he has fallen for her and promises not to tell anyone.

Back at the castle, Alda is beside herself with worry. She sent Huldbrand out and now he's caught in this storm. She decides that she should just accept his courtship, since he's more decent than most guys and she could do a lot worse (especially since rumors are starting about her and she may be forced into a less favorable political marriage). The storm breaks mysteriously and a few days later Huldbrand arrives with a wide eyed girl in tow, who he introduces as his betrothed.

As Undine is introduced to the city, she is taunted by Kuhleborn, who is revealed to be her uncle from the story. As he taunts her, he reveals that he carried her to the shore at the behest of the Moon, and switched her with a human child. Undine realizes that the child she replaced is actually Alda, who was discovered by the duke. She reveals this fact and Alda, who is basically at her breaking point already, goes off to be alone. Undine approaches her later to apologize and Alda ends up kissing her, triggering a gay awakening. But Undine realizes Kuhleborn is watching them and panics.

Later, Alda is out on a tryst at a covert gay bar in the city, when it gets raided and she's outed to her adoptive parents. Her life is just sorta falling apart at this point and she runs away only to be beset by a flood sent by Kuhleborn, who wants to use her to drive a wedge between Undine and Huldbrand. Undine uses her powers to stop the flooding, but the more she uses her powers, the stronger she feels the call of the sea.

The three of them agree to go on a cruise up a river to get away from stuff for a bit, but as Undine and Alda's relationship grows, Huldbrand becomes more distrustful of Undine, which isn't helped by the fact that their boat is being hounded by river spirits sent by her uncle. He finally confronts Undine and accuses her of bewitching him and Alda. Just then, the boat is rocked violently, causing Huldbrand to accidentally stab Undine. She falls into the river and sheds her human form and returns to the sea.

Undine cannot bear the pain of her loss and her uncle convinces her that it is because Huldbrand pledged himself to her in betrothal and broke his vow and that the only way to be free of the pain is to kill him. She returns to the castle, as a spirit of storm and fury, intent on killing him. Alda intervenes and begs her to stop, professing her love. Huldbrand is moved and releases them from any bonds and vows they shared.

Kuhleborn arrives in a rage, and demands that Undine finish what she started, declaring that she was to become a storm that would wipe humanity off of this land. The Moon spirit intervenes and Kuhleborn sulks away. Undine begs her parent to become human once more, now that she has found a human who will pledge her heart to Undine. The Moon grants her request and she becomes fully mortal, with a human soul that will go wherever human souls go in the thereafter.

Alda runs away with Undine to the shore and they are wed and grow old together and live happily ever after.

So yes... now that I've revisited this idea, I really wanna get back into it. I've currently got about 9k words and it could use a few tweaks, but I really like what I've got. Might make this one of my next projects.

Y'all wanna hear about the lesbian changeling fairy tale I sort of partially wrote last year?

[teenyweenynightghost]

@superchrystaldrug

“Enjoying the view, beautiful?” X Damiano

Dream View

Y/n looked out the balcony and took in her surroundings. Right in front of their house was a long alley leading to a meadow, hidden deep in the woods. There were trees, plants and flowers everywhere and y/n thought she could never be more in love with a place.

What made it truly special is that it was hers. Hers and Damiano’s.

Their relationship had been long and rocky. To say the least.

With Damiano being an international rockstar and Y/n an achieved medic, work and stress brought them apart more often than they would have liked.

Oh how many nights could y/n think of in which she would cry herself to sleep, praying she hadn’t lost Damiano forever.

All her prayers must have been answered, because just today they had moved into their new house.

It was a large villa in the countryside. They both loved every single thing about it, especially the privacy and intimacy it offered them.

One month ago, when they had come to visit the house for the first time, both of them pointed out how large it was. Because of that single thought on their head, they brushed past it.

Once they went upstairs, the agent mentioned that there were plenty rooms for more than two people, a soft smile on his face. Damiano immediately dragged Y/n to a spare room and hugged her from behind, resting his hands on her stomach.

“Love, I think I want to spend the rest of our lives here.”

They were both grinning like love-struck teenagers when they exited the room, exploring the house once more, with a new-found interest.

The way y/n was currently prompted against the fence made it easy for Damiano to embrace her just as he did one month ago.

“Enjoying the view, beautiful?”

She hummed, her eyes lighting up at his presence.

“What are you thinking about?” He whispered in her ear, leaving countless kisses on her neck.

“You..” she purred, pleased at the contact. Damiano chuckled a little and turned her around, pushing her against the fence.

“Aren’t you always.” He said smiling, brushing a few strands of hair from her face.

“Im bored.” Y/n sighed, looking around the balcony.

A devilish grin appeared on Damiano’s face as he led her back inside.

“You know what we haven’t done yet?”

Y/n raised a quizzical eyebrow and hummed.

“Ikea. Furniture. Chaos. Let’s go babe!” He turned around, still holding her hand so she would follow him, a hand raised in the air as he gestured widely.

“Oh gods have mercy.” Y/n giggled, before she grabbed her purse and a water bottle.

***

“FOR FUCK’S SAKE Damiano! WE are NOT getting a NEON PINK glow in the dark couch!” She exaggerated each of her words, making sure all of them reached her incredibly stubborn boyfriend.

“Fuck yeah we are.” He said calmly, checking the price tag.

“I swear to fucking god, WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO WITH IT?”

“FUCK ON IT!” He screamed out so loudly, the whole store heard.

Y/n closed her eyes tightly and pursed her lips, hoping the ground would open and swallow her whole.

“Please tell me I had a hallucination and you did not scream that out.” She whispered, embarrassment creeping up her cheeks.

“You told me that honesty is key. Are you saying you were wrong?” He asked loud enough for the people around to hear, a shit-eating grin on his face.

“No fucking kisses for you, motherfucker.” She deadpanned, while brushing past a pouty, devastated, mess of a man.

***

“Y/n look!” He whispered excitedly in her ear, pointing to the baby section.

“I can see that, darling.” She answered softly, already grinning like a fool.

They made their way towards a small cradle, which was decorated with white stars and dark blue sheets.

“This one is so beautiful.” Damiano breathed out, brushing a finger along the wooden structure.

“It actually is!” Y/n responded, surprises at the creative decorations.

“Until now I think I’ve only seen clouds and princesses or bows. But not galaxies.” He commented, his gaze now fixated on the lamp above.

“So were you serious about wanting a baby?” Y/n asked reluctantly, afraid to hear his response.

“Are you kidding me? Did we really buy a fucking mansion for two people and two cats?” He faked an emotionless expression, but Y/n could tell he was amused.

“Okay, okay, I just wanted to make sure.” She blushed at the whole conversation and continued to look at the furniture.

“What would you want to call the baby?” He peeped in, magically appearing next to her.

Y/n hummed and thought of an answer, before speaking again.

“Well, If it’s a girl, I really like Calliope, we could call her Alia, and if it’s a boy, I’m kinda obsessed with Sebastian or Matteo.”

“Ew.”

Y/n frowned, confused, and turned to him.

“What?”

He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “I have two names being repeated in my music and you don’t even bring them up. Rude.”

Y/n snorted and gave him a quick kiss.

“Oh, you baby. Of course I like Marlena and Coraline but I don’t want our child to be named after someone who keeps leaving or someone who always cries and has anxiety.” She joked, earning a dazzling laugh from Damiano.

“Fair enough. I really did like Alia though!” He commented, picking up a pair of baby shoes.

“Y/N!!!” He exclaimed, holding the little shoes in his large hands, while jumping up and down.

“THESE BARELY FIT ON MY FINGERS!!” His eyes were full of adoration and longing as he looked at them, a million possibilities speeding around through his mind.

“Can you imagine? Having a little munchkin who looks just like us and is this small?” Y/n giggled, holding one of the shoes delicately.

“Honey I think we should have children with separate people.”

Y/n was shocked at his words and pulled away instantly, insulted at his words as regret flashed over his face.

“WHAT?!” She all but screamed, already feeing a dreadful sensation in her stomach.

“Chill. I meant that we are both so hot out future child will probably anger Venus herself with their looks.” He replied wide eyed, mimicking his version of a goddess.

Y/n bursted out laughing as Damiano joined her, the couple becoming the centre of attention once more.

“We should really be more quiet.” Y/n whispered through giggles, as she pulled Damiano behind a wall.

He nodded and kissed her gently, before pulling away and continuing to look at clothing.

The couple spent hours at the shop, proud with their purchases, and returned home on the dark streets.

They were both seated on a swinging chair, y/n in Damiano’s lap, overlooking the woods.

“We’re gonna make great parents some day.” Damiano whispered, breaking the silence, as his hand wandered over her stomach.

Y/n had never felt happier, her heart filled with love and certainty, as she nodded and nuzzled further into Damiano.

Author’s note: I have baby fever part two (?) or maybe three. Anyway. I think it’s cute👏🥺😩

Taglist: @fuckim-so-gay @ginny-lily @messyhairday-me @cheese-toastie-11 @wannabemarlenabutiscoraline @simp-per-ethan @maneskinrollercoaster @juststalking @superchrystaldrug @immrbrightsideeee @shehaddreamstoo

[nicknellie]

Anonymous requested: Alex meets Willie at a coffee shop and they’ve been talking for a few weeks but Alex is afraid to admit anything of liking Willie. But his friends push him to and he finds out that Willie likes him back and they go on a date.

I combined this with a prompt from this amazing list because I thought it was funny. I didn’t include the actual date because I know nothing about skating but if enough people want it then I’d be more than happy to do a part two of this!

I also added Julie, Carrie, and Alex being best friends because we deserve it.

Batman and the Barista

Aside from his co-workers, there was not one single thing about working at Eats ‘n’ Beats that made Alex Mercer’s job there bearable. If the coffee machine wasn’t straight-up not working, it was spurting scalding water at him; the customers were generally speaking entitled and rude; his boss was so laid-back and carefree that it was painful and no problems in the workplace ever got solved; and the hours were ridiculous – for example, some days Alex worked from four a.m. until nine a.m. Who in their right mind wants coffee at four o’clock in the morning?

The only other thing – or rather, the only other person – that might have stood any chance of making Alex’s job worthwhile also made it worse. They would have been perfect if only for the fact that they wouldn’t tell Alex their goddamn name.

He was a regular at Eats ‘n’ Beats and seemed to come into the shop at least once on every one of Alex’s shifts. He was, in Alex’s eyes, utterly perfect – beautiful tawny skin, long dark hair sometimes twined into a bun at the base of his neck, and the most adorable smile Alex could imagine. It was downright unfair how attractive he was, and how funny, kind, and smart he was too.

If only he would tell Alex who he was.

Every single time he came in the shop, the guy ordered the same drink (hot chocolate with cream, marshmallows, sprinkles, the works) and every time Alex would ask for his name. Every single time he had received a different answer.

The first few times he had hardly noticed. The second time the guy came in the coffee shop he had told Alex his name was Horatio – Alex could have sworn his name had been Patrick the week before, but it was possible that he was misremembering, so he hadn’t thought anything of it. But the next time the guy came in his name had been Edmund. After that it had been Marcus, then Jason, then Rudy, Stewart, Bob, Milo. The names had got increasingly weirder; just yesterday Alex had scrawled Megamind on the guy’s to-go cup. Before that it had been Sherlock.

As lovely as the guy was, Alex often found himself complaining to his friends about him and his lack of naming consistency, usually on his too-short breaks.

“He just seems like a really cool guy,” he was saying to his co-workers Carrie and Julie one day as they all sat around a small, cramped table in the staff room. “I’d really like to get to know him but he seems intent on me not knowing him at all!”

Alex could practically hear Carrie rolling her eyes. “We know you’d like to get to know him,” she muttered, “it’s all you ever talk about.”

“That’s not true,” Alex protested. “I talk about other things!”

“Like what?” Carrie asked, raising a perfectly trimmed eyebrow.

“Like the band,” Alex returned.

Julie shook her head. “Only if I bring it up first. And your contribution is usually something along the lines of ‘I wish coffee shop guy would come to one of our gigs, how cool would that be?’”

“That’s not– I– okay.” Alex sighed, then said under his breath, “Although it would be kinda cool if he did come to one of our shows.”

Carrie sighed dramatically. “You are so far gone it’s painful to listen to.”

“Just ask him out,” Julie said, smiling fondly. “I see the way he grins at you when he gives you a ridiculous fake name – his smile is so wide it practically falls off his face!”

“I don’t want to ask him out,” Alex lied. It wasn’t as if a lie like that could work on Julie and Carrie anyway; they both rolled their eyes and crossed their arms, eerily in sync with each other. “I don’t! I just want to get to know him.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?” Julie said.

“No. I wanted to get to know you guys without wanting to date you.”

“That’s because you’re gay,” Carrie said matter-of-factly, “and Julie and I are, correct me if I’m wrong, girls.”

“That’s fair,” Alex conceded. “But I don’t want to ask him out.”

Julie patted his hand. “Sure, Alex.”

A few minutes later, their break ended and the three friends made their way back out front to the shop. It was bustling and busy, and the co-worker Alex took over from on the register looked one customer away from breaking down into a mess of tears.

Alex, Julie, and Carrie (each manning their stations either on the cash register, at the coffee machine, or calling orders) started working, getting drinks and snacks for everyone. In the first five minutes, only one person yelled at Alex for accidentally spelling their name wrong on the cup, which passed as a good five minutes in his book.

Alex wouldn’t deny that he was watching the door, waiting for someone specific to come in. So maybe he was a little distracted, and maybe he did mess up a few orders or names, and maybe he could feel Julie and Carrie fondly glaring at him for being a little bit elsewhere, but it wasn’t really his fault. It was entirely Cute No-Name’s fault and if asked that was exactly who Alex would blame.

Eventually, with only ten minutes to go until closing time when the customers had dwindled down to just one or two every few minutes, the door swung open and the guy finally came in. There was something a little different today, and Alex’s throat went dry when he saw it – Cute No-Name had a skateboard tucked under his arm and removed his helmet as he entered the shop.

There was no queue at this hour, so he sauntered right up to Alex, a wide smile on his face.

“Hey, hotdog,” the guy said. It was a name he’d started using for Alex after seeing that one of the many things he had embroidered on his work apron was a hotdog (right between the rainbow flag and the drumsticks). Alex didn’t like the nickname, but No-Name couldn’t be stopped.

“Hey,” Alex replied, clearing his throat. “Hey, how are you?”

“I’m good,” No-Name replied. “You?”

“Yeah, yeah, great,” Alex said. He was aiming for a casual tone, but judging by Carrie and Julie’s poorly masked snickers he was not doing a very good job. “You want the usual?”

“Yeah, thanks, man,” the guy said. “To-go, please.”

Alex nodded, punching the price into the cash register and giving the guy his total. After he had been paid, Alex picked up a to-go cup and a permanent marker, turning to No-Name again. “So, what’s your name today?”

No-Name considered for a moment, then grinned. Maybe Julie was right, Alex thought – nobody could find this whole thing so funny that they’d smile that wide.

“I’m Batman,” the guy said. The worst part was that he did the voice too.

Alex groaned and shook his head, fighting a smile as he scrawled ‘Batman’ on the cup. “Of course you are. Carrie,” he called over his shoulder, holding the cup out. “This guy’s usual, please.”

Carrie didn’t take the cup. Instead, giggling along with Julie, she said, “Sorry, but who is ‘this guy’?”

“Carrie,” Alex said warningly.

“Who is he, Alex?” Julie asked, face bright with laughter.

“Not you too,” Alex said. Carrie, Julie, and No-Name were all properly laughing now. “I seriously can’t be the only one who doesn’t find this funny.”

“What’s his name, Alex?” Carrie asked between laughs.

Alex scowled at her. “Batman.”

Finally, Carrie took the cup and started making ‘Batman’s’ drink. Alex, shaking his head exasperatedly, turned back to face No-Name.

“Can I ask what your actual name is?” he said while Julie and Carrie were distracted by throwing marshmallows at each other, clearly not listening. “Genuinely. Because you always give a fake or different name and I… I mean, I just want to know who you really are.”

No-Name’s beam faded to a smaller, more delicate, warmer smile. “Sure, hotdog. It’s Willie.”

It was really that easy? All he’d had to do this whole time was ask?

“Really? No joking around this time?” The guy nodded. Alex thought for a moment and then said, “Willie what?”

Willie shrugged and leaned on the counter. He wasn’t that close, but Alex felt as if they were practically nose-to-nose. He wouldn’t have admitted how much that made his heart race.

“It depends,” Willie said. “What’s yours?”

Alex furrowed his brow, confused, but still said, “It’s Mercer.”

The mischievous grin was back. Willie straightened up and said, “Well, in that case, hopefully one day it’ll be Willie Mercer.”

Alex felt his jaw drop, heard Julie gasp, and heard Carrie not-so-quietly utter a swear.

Willie was the only one who seemed unaffected. He beamed over at Carrie, saying, “Is my drink nearly ready? I’ve got a skatepark to get to.”

With shaking hands, Carrie passed Willie his drink, and after they’d all said their goodbyes she slapped Alex’s arm. Repeatedly. Hard.

“He likes you,” she hissed. She almost sounded angry, but Alex knew that she was simply passionate about something potentially going right in his love life for once. “He totally likes you!”

“You think so?” Alex asked sceptically. “Because he could have just been joking–”

Julie scoffed. “That guy’s idea of a joke is giving a fake name at a coffee shop, not the implication of marriage.”

Alex couldn’t help it. He let himself smile and felt himself blush.

“So,” Julie continued, “will you ask him out now?”

Alex looked at the floor, still smiling sheepishly. “I’ll think about it,” he mumbled through his smile.

In the end, it didn’t really take much thinking about. Willie came in again the next day, even though it was one of Alex’s four-til-nine shifts. At six a.m. on the dot, Willie pushed the door open, the only customer in the shop.

“Hey, hotdog,” he greeted as usual, coming over and leaning against the counter.

“Hey, Willie,” Alex returned, smiling. He couldn’t believe he had a real name to use for this guy now; it made his heart beat in a way that was far too over the top for the situation. Without asking what Willie wanted or for a name to put on his cup, he set about making the drink. “You went skating yesterday, right? How was it?”

Willie grinned, fiddling with a ribbon on a charity collection tub. “It was fun. I mastered a trick I’ve been trying to learn for months. Have you ever skated?”

“Yep,” Alex said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Loads of times.”

Willie laughed. Alex adored the sound, and the way Willie’s eyes crinkled with his smile as he giggled. He felt his heart beat even faster. “So that’s a no. Maybe I could teach you sometime.”

“I’m not sure you really want to do that,” Alex said, handing over the drink, the name ‘Willie’ written on the side of the cup. “I don’t think I’m exactly badass skater material.”

“Still,” Willie said with a shrug. “It’d be fun. And we could make it a date. If you want.”

Yet again, Alex felt his jaw drop. “Wait, really? You want to… okay. You want to go on a date with me?”

Willie said nothing, just smiled brightly.

“I… I mean, yeah,” Alex continued, feeling very flustered, overwhelmed by the butterflies in his stomach. They were happy butterflies though – unnaturally happy. “Yeah, I also want to go on a date. With you. Thank you. People probably don’t say ‘thank you’ when they’re asked on a date, do they? That was probably weird, I’m sorry–”

Willie laughed and Alex stopped talking. He wouldn’t have been surprised if the whole world stopped, if the Earth ceased its spinning every time Willie made that sound.

“It’s a date,” Willie said, grinning. “Are you free today?”

Alex choked to find his voice and said, “Yeah, I finish at nine.”

“Cool, bro, I’ll be here to pick you up then. Sound good?”

“Sounds great,” he returned. Once again, he wasn’t quite sure he hit his target of ‘coolly disinterested’ and instead landed at ‘so disinterested that it was obvious that he was interested’. “I’ll see you then.”

“Catch you later, hotdog,” Willie said, saluting as he left the coffee shop, the bell on the door ringing behind him.

Alex couldn’t help but do an excited little jump and something that might have passed for a happy dance, but there was nobody there to see him so it didn’t matter. He couldn’t wait to tell Julie and Carrie about this.

[yutahoes]

Otou-Chan

Yuta Nakamoto x Reader (Y/N) Smut

(Chapter Twenty Two)

Summary: 𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐝𝐮𝐥𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐡𝐰𝐚 𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐘𝐮𝐭𝐚’𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬.

Warning: Fluff, Teasing, Sex, Angst (?)

Word Count: 3.1k

Masterlist

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ ❤️❤️

22. Kanojo

Every night, (Y/N) would wake up with the same dream of his dad choking her to death. A dark reality that turned into her nightmare. But she cannot tell Yuta about it. She can’t tell him how scared she is now that she knew that her only family hates her that much. That she doesn’t really know what to do with her life. She badly wanted to lean on Yuta but she’s not his responsibility. She should at least be responsible for herself. And the first thing she thinks she needs is to get over these nightmares. 

The warm water is colder now that she was too preoccupied with thinking. Her thumb rubbed the rim of the cup that she’s scared she might erase it. “What’s wrong?” she heard someone say and she turned to the bedroom door to see Yuta walking to where she is on the couch. “Nightmare?” 

His hands were warm as he held her hands. The warmth she badly needed now. “Can you hug me?” 

He complied, pulling her closer and wrapping his sturdy arms around her. Yuta’s warmth and scent. “I miss my dad, Yuta.” she sobbed on his chest but he just held her, letting her cry. It’s been days and although he’s proud of her for not crying, he can see how tough everything is for her. Now, he just wanted her to let everything go. To let herself cry. “I miss how he makes bungeoppang for me and mom when I was young.” His eyes widened in surprise. That’s why she liked that food. It reminds her of her dad.

“I don’t know what to do anymore.” 

It breaks his heart that he can’t do anything. Of course, she’s still a daughter yearning for a father's love, yearning for her parents’ love. Even if he could give her the whole world, he cannot really give her that missing part in her life. “Do you want me to help you find your mom?” he asked. She looked up to look if he’s serious and he is. “I can ask Taeil to look for her. Maybe if she comes back, your family will be whole again.” 

“She already left, Yuta.” He knows. And somehow when she said those words, it breaks his heart even more. “She also doesn't want me in her life. What can I do?” If only he could curse at her parents for making her feel this way.

Yuta breathed heavily. “It will not make up for your family but would you like to meet mine?” he asked. “My dad would really like you.” He kissed the top of her head, her forehead, then a quick kiss on her lips. “Then let’s make a family of our own, (Y/N).”

--

“Will you be drinking at Jungwoo’s place tonight?” Yuta asked when he dropped off his girlfriend at the publishing house one morning. She shook her head at the question. “Call me.” Then she nodded, opening the door of the car. 

Before she could step away from the curb, she turned to Yuta who was watching her. “Your dad?” she asked. “Do you think he’ll enjoy the sushi at that sushi place we went to before?" 

The guy smiled while nodding. "He would really love that."

--

(Y/N) was still surprised when he let her stay at Jungwoo’s for a night, reasoning out that they had an illustration to finish. But really, she just wanted to talk to her best friend. She was lying on Jungwoo's lap while she shared the story of her dad and Jungwoo cursed at the old man. "Don't tell this to Johnny, he might get too mad." the guy claimed and she nodded, knowing full well that Johnny might really do that. “(Y/N), you poor little thing.” he cooed, brushing her hair with his fingers. “I’m glad Yuta is here for you.” 

She turned to look at him, pouting. “Yuta helped me a lot,” she confessed. “But I feel like I’m depending on him too much.” 

“Does he hate it?” 

She shook her head. “He wants us to have a family of our own.” 

Jungwoo gasped dramatically that made her laugh. She sat on the couch next to him. “He already proposed to you?” Is that even a proposal? But he would always say that he wanted to marry her. Maybe that’s it. She nodded which made the other gasp again. “Oh my God! Please tell me you said yes.” 

She just sighed as an answer. Jungwoo had to slap her arm at that. She did reject him. “I don’t think I deserve Yuta. Everyone will leave me in the end anyway.” 

The guy rolled his eyes at that. “I really want to meet your parents and smack the hell out of them for instilling that in your brain,” he complained that made her laugh. “But you know, Yuta seemed different.” She gave him a curious look. Different? “His eyes, I’ve seen that look before. Whenever Johnny would look at Jessica or when Lucas’ dad would look at his mom. That’s love, (Y/N).” 

“Yuta is so in love with you that he’ll probably take a bullet for you.” That was too cheesy. 

(Y/N) breathed heavily, leaning on his shoulder. “What should I do, Woo?”

“Marry the guy already. He’s willing to give the world to you,” he claimed then smiled widely. “If you don’t, I’ll marry him instead.” She glared at him, making Jungwoo laugh. “You’re in love with him, aren’t you?” he asked in a small voice. 

The girl had to smile at that. She didn’t know that these feelings would just grow inside her. But can she blame herself when Yuta shows her all the love she was yearning in her heart? “Yes, Jungwoo. I’m in love with Yuta.” And she felt good when she muttered that. Now, she’ll just have Yuta know that.

--

(Y/N) was so nervous at the thought of meeting Yuta's dad. Jaehyun said that he's a nice fellow and even called Taeyong to ease her nerves. "His dad would really love you. He'd been asking Yuta to date for years. He's even convinced that his son is gay." Jaehyun claimed that made Taeyong lightly punch his stomach. "Honestly (Y/N), we're just really happy that Yuta's cock is functioning." The older glared that made Jaehyun shut up. 

"Are you going to meet his dad wearing that?" Taeyong asked gesturing to her pink blouse and black washed out jeans. What's wrong with her clothes? "Jae, is Sica noona's shop open today?" The younger nodded. "Call Yuta, we'll borrow his girlfriend for a while." 

Yuta's only revolt was 'Yah, don't do anything weird to my girlfriend' that made Jaehyun laugh, saying that he just want to boast that he has a girlfriend. (Y/N) didn't expect that Yuta can be this playful with his friends. It's like a different person and she's excited to know more about that Yuta. 

Taeyong chose a dark blue dress for her to wear, even asking the stylists to put on a little make-up and style her hair. These two boys dolled her up, and she giggled realizing that it will always be like this. Why didn't she have friends who are girls? 

Because of Yuta's incessant request, it was Taeyong who drove (Y/N) to the restaurant. This is awkward, she thought. This scene already happened before. "Do you remember our talk in the car park?" Taeyong started which made her nod, she was just thinking of that. "I remember you saying that you cannot give him enough." Again, she nodded. "You know Yuta isn't the type of guy who would ask you something in return. And I know how much he adores you, (Y/N)."  

"I often tell Jaehyun this but Yuta changed, for the better, when you came." She just gave him a confused look. "He smiles more often now. He doesn't get annoyed at Jaehyun that easily unlike before." Taeyong laughed. "I'm glad Yuta gets to meet you. I hope you won't break his heart." 

She nodded and he smiled. It's nice to know that Yuta has friends like Jaehyun and Taeyong to take care of him. "I hope I won't break his heart."

Taeyong had to smile watching at how Yuta stared at the girl who just went out of his car. His friend gave him an acknowledging nod and (Y/N) smiled at him before he drove away from the place. Those two really. They look so good together that he swore the heavens would rumble if they don't end up together. He really can't wait to see how pretty their babies will look like in the future.

"You look…" Yuta started. "Wow."

She giggled at that. "This was all Taeyong's work." She said as they boarded the elevator. "I thought we're just having dinner in that sushi place?"

"Dad has a business meeting in this hotel." He reasoned out just as people went inside the elevator, pushing the two of them by the corner. He stood behind her, hands on both her waist, pushing her closer to his body. She gulped when she felt something poking her from the back, Yuta is hard. His breathing on her nape doesn't even help at all. 

People were having their own conversations that when she moaned in a soft voice, no one turned to look at them. His hands went inside her skirt and she hid the exposed high with the clutch bag that Taeyong insisted that she bring. Maybe this is its purpose. "Fuck, I want you." He whispered against her ear.

"But your dad." 

"Let's just be quick."

--

(Y/N) laughed at the irony. The guy who doesn't like quickies is now suggesting to be quick. But she missed his cock. When was the last time they had sex? To her surprise, Yuta did reserve a room and somewhat she's convinced that they were plotting this. Him, Taeyong, and Jaehyun. 

They were kissing when they got inside the room. He slipped the strap of her dress down while the other held her thigh, wrapping it around his waist as he pushed her to bed. She was breathing hard, watching Yuta tower above her with a lot of want in his eyes. He removed his dress shirt then the belt of his pants before kneeling above her body. "Do you want to do this, baby?" She gulped at the intensity of his gaze that even if she's not in the mood earlier, she'll just say yes to him. She nodded, licking her lips. "Use your words, baby." 

"Yes, daddy." He smirked before leaning in to kiss her hard on the mouth. His hand massaged her clothed mound while leaving a trail of kisses on her neck to her chest. He pulled down her bra, his warm mouth quickly replacing the cold air that made her moan in pleasure. He took his time in sucking and licking her hardened nipples that she's so wet when his mouth sucked the skin of her stomach. "Yuta…" He only moaned as a response, his tongue licking the skin by the hem of her underwear. "I love you." 

He stopped to look at her, obviously surprised at what she just said. "What?"

She smiled at him. "I said I love you." She repeated that made him blink. "I am in love with you, Yuta Nakamoto."

"God!" His eyes become misty that made her surprised, a new reaction from Yuta. "I love you." He mumbled, kissing her lips sweetly. He smiled when he let go of the kiss then muttered 'I love you' once again, kissing her once again. His kisses become so warm that she had to touch his arm to remind him that they're in the middle of sex. "Let me make love to you, baby." 

Unlike the other times that he's inside her, he wasn't rough or rushing into it. His thrusts were slow and sensual, following a rhythm that made her so accustomed to it. The sex wasn't the usual dominant Yuta but a new type of Yuta who obviously wanted to savor the moment. He kissed every inch of her body, touched her in places he hadn't explored before. She can feel him getting hard inside her and she realized how much self-control he was harnessing to not ruck her mercilessly. "Yuta." She called, threading their fingers together. "Your dad is probably waiting for us." 

He laughed at that, kissing her on the lips. "He can wait." 

"I can't." She whined. "Please be rough on me." His hips faltered for a while, gazing at her with a questioning gaze that made her nod. "Yuta, I miss when you fuck me hard so…" but her sentence isn't finished when he started thrusting into her in an inhumane speed that made her shout his name. 

"Oh fuck!" he cursed, still fucking her real hard that the mattress was squeaking in protest. Why is he so fucking turned on when she shouted rather than moaning her name? And why does he like it when she's raking his back with her sharp nails? "You want this baby?" he asked and she nodded, feeling the heat in her stomach. "You're getting close. Should I make you cum?" she shouted a muffle yes that made him rub her clit for added pleasure. 

Her moans resonated throughout the room urging the guy to fuck her senseless on the mattress. "Aaah. Yuta," she shouted, clawing his back at the wave of orgasm splashing to her. (Y/N)'s pussy was so sensitive at the sudden orgasm but he abused it by keeping his thrusts that made her wet once again. Fuck, if this continues on they'll definitely have sex like when they were in Paris. Yuta didn't disappoint as always, staying hard until she came and blowing off his load on her stomach. He started licking his mess, slurping every semen, and tongue touching every part of her naked body. He started eating her, tongue fucking her brains out for the second orgasm. 

He rolled beside her, breathing heavily. "You're so bad at quickies, Yuta." The guy had to chuckle at that, pulling her closer then kissing her once again. The girl giggled when he hovered above her once again, grinning at him. "Let's go and meet your dad." 

"Say it again." 

"Let's go and meet your dad?" But he shook his head, putting on weight when she tried to escape him. Her hands cupped his cheeks, smiling sweetly at him. "I love you, Yuta Nakamoto." 

"Marry me, (Y/N)." 

She giggled at that, holding his shoulder. "That's why we need to meet your dad. Let's see if he wants me as his daughter-in-law." 

Yuta laughed, lying on the bed as she sat up and picked up her bra to fix herself. "I think I'm the happiest guy alive. I can die today, you know?" 

(Y/N) smiled then picked up her underwear and dress. "Don't die yet." She teased kissing him. "I still want you as the father of my son." She announced while heading to the bathroom. 

That's it, Yuta thought, if someone could die of too much happiness that would be him now. Is she still the same (Y/N)? Why is she so confident now? How can she shake him up like this now?

--

The difference between (Y/N) in the hotel room and the (Y/N) standing beside Yuta is so huge that it seemed comical now. He slipped his hand on hers, holding her reassuringly. "He'll love you, baby." She gave an acknowledging smile, holding his arm as the elevator doors open to the restaurant if the hotel. 

Yuta talked to the receptionist and they were directed to a table where a man was already seated. The first thing in her mind is that he does resemble Yuta, their eyes are the same. And when he grinned at their way, she found out where her boyfriend got his lovely smile. The younger casually greeted his dad as if they had always seen each other. They spoke in Japanese and she cursed herself for not studying basic conversations in Japanese. 

He introduced her as his 'kanojo' and she had watched too many anime to know that it means girlfriend in Japanese. "You're yeppeo." The older said in English and Korean that made her breathe in relief. "I'm sorry, I'm not good at Korean." Well, this will be a struggle. 

The three were seated and she wondered why there are four plates and four chairs. The two started conversing in Japanese so she didn't get the chance to ask Yuta about the additional person. He held her hand above the table which made her glance at him. "Are you okay?" She nodded, lightly staring at his dad who was just watching them while smiling. "Let's just wait for my stepmom." 

Stepmom? Does Yuta have a stepmom? He didn't mention that he has a stepmom. "Dad said she's pregnant so she comes to the restroom a lot. Do you want to eat first?" She shook her head. His stepmother is pregnant? Then Yuta is going to have a sibling soon. She might see another side of her boyfriend when he meets his baby sibling. 

If she gets pregnant, then his sibling and his child would be almost the same age. That will be cute. At least she'll know that her child will have a friend. Now, she wonders what Yuta's stepmom looks like. 

"You look good together." His dad commented in English while staring at the two of them. Yuta just smiled, running his thumb on the back of her hand. "Here she is." 

Yuta quickly stood up and (Y/N) wondered if she should do the same. The clutch bag fell under the table when she adjusted her dress that she had to pick it up, hearing Yuta introducing her to his stepmom. (Y/N) quickly stood up in panic and thought that she might get dizzy from the sudden movement. 

She blinked in surprise when she faced the woman he called his stepmom. A classy lady wearing a pearl earring and red lipstick. A lady in a silver dress with a bulging stomach to show that she's pregnant even at her age. If she didn't get dizzy earlier, she might be dizzy now. She bit her lip to prevent a word to escape her mouth. "(Y/N)?" And time stopped that she thought they're the only ones in the room. 

Is this why she left? Why does she look so well? Why do they have to meet like this? "You know each other?" Yuta asked and a choked sob escaped her lips. Why does it have to be like this? "(Y/N), are you okay?" 

"I'm sorry, Yuta." She mumbled, moving past him and outside the restaurant. Before the elevator door could close, Yuta held her hand asking what's wrong. Of all the whys running in her mind, there's only one sentence that made her heart hurt.

"Why does it have to be you?"

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ ❤️❤️

Chapter 21 / Chapter 23

Hi. If you reach this part, I would like to thank you for reading my work. I also would like to apologize since this is my first time reading a chapter I posted and realized that there are some parts that seemed out of place or some typing errors. I'm really sorry, I should have checked my work before posting. I'm really sorry and thank you for understanding.

🐼

[passivenovember]

Laughing Stock

Mrs. Jacobson changes their whole world with a pink sticky note and it's almost poetic.

Billy finds it on Friday, a little pastel tombstone wedged between an empty yogurt tube and the head of Dawn's favorite Barbie Doll in her Myth Busters lunch box.

She's having trouble making friends. 

It's solemn in tone, like a smoke signal. A warning scribbled in shades of green.

Breaking news: Area Kid Prefers Goosebumps Over the Mystery of Multiplication Tables, the Stress of Socializing, or Conforming to the Standard Everyone Else Has Put in Front of Her. More on this at seven.

The color of that afternoon, the muted pinks and greens of steely skies dipped pastel criticism, reminds Billy of Easter. Of baby Jesus and betrayals. Good intentions that try to take over the world. 

She's having trouble making friends.

Billy reads the sentence twice. First out of necessity, again out of annoyance, feeling more and more like he should've seen this coming. Through the large kitchen window of the sink Dawn builds mud pies on a spool of fresh grass. Armed with sticks and funky painted rocks, she carries a threadbare toy rabbit and the weight of seven other people.

Imaginary friends.

Only friends.

On toward adventure. Steve appears in the reflection of the window and Billy hands him the sticky note.

"It's my fuckin' fault." Billy says, to no one in particular.

Dawn's lady-bug roller skates tromp through the grass, tearing narrow clumps in the soil as she locates the perfect spot for her third mud pie. The trainer skates were an early birthday present from Joyce, hand painted with little metal antennae welded on, courtesy of grandpa Hop.

Billy doesn't want her to wear the wheels down before the big surprise next week, but.

The skates are perfect.

Cute and adventurous, just like Dawn, and every time Billy sees her racing around the house while Steve complains about their security deposit, he's reminded of the love that colors every afternoon.

Dawn parks herself in front of an old tree stump as something is disclosed to Hopper the rabbit. Secrets, plans. The window is closed so Billy can't hear what she's saying, exactly, but he chokes on something sharp. 

And wet.

Anyway.

Steve runs his fingers through Billy's hair. "What's wrong, baby?"

Hopper the rabbit is thrown onto the stump, discarded, as Dawn sorts through her pockets for leaves and animal bones.

Billy gestures to the window, like, "Our kid's a goddamn freak."

"Billy."

"She carries around bags of animal bones."

For lack of anything better to do, Steve reads the sticky note once more before finally shrugging his shoulders. “She’s playing.”

Dawn begins separating her skeletons into piles.

“Where’d she even get them?”

”The woods. Uncle Dustin, maybe?”

Billy shakes his head. “It’s fuckin’ weird.”

"She's just being herself, Bills, aren't we encourage that kind of bullshit?" Steve manhandles Billy around the edge of the countertop until brown eyes draw firm conclusions. "This whole thing isn't fair. Not right of you to blame yourself. Not fair to say those things about her."

Billy fights back anyway. "Mrs. Jacobson said--"

A haughty, irritated puff of air forces clouds to move away from the sun. "Who gives a shit what Mrs. Jacobson said?"

"I do. It's important that Dawn makes friends with other kids her age, Steve."

Through the window she buries a rock in the ground, using tree bark to build a cemetery, and. 

Billy's. Trying not to get upset. 

He bites harshly on the ridge of his tongue, fending off heavy, obnoxious tears. "She doesn't even try to like the other kids her age."

Steve snorts. "What's to like?"

"Steve--"

"No, I'm serious."

"They could get her into. Y'know." Billy thinks about it, turning to put on the kettle. "Baby dolls, little pink dresses, glittery stickers, you know."

Steve grits his teeth. "Girl shit?"

"No, Steve." Billy rubs at the bridge of his nose. "Not girl shit."

"Well, she's into mud. And science. And dead animals, because Dawn likes to know the way things work." Steve slides onto the counter next to the oven, poking at the grip of the kettle with forced interest. "Science. Boy stuff. That's what Dawn likes."

And Billy.

Doesn't like there this is going. He folds his arms. "Maybe she could learn to like other stuff."

"So you agree?" 

And. "What?"

"You want down to enjoy girl stuff."

"Yes. No, fuck." Billy squeezes his eyes shut. Opens them again to find his husband sat next to an open flame, shoulders stapling themselves to his ears and just. Hanging there. 

Billy tries again. "I want her to be into normal stuff. Five year old stuff."

"Other five year old's are interested in whether each playdough tube has a unique flavor," Steve counters, tossing Mrs. Jacobson's concern into the recycling bin without a second thought. "Dawn's beyond, like. Way beyond everyone else her age."

And Billy gets it, alright? 

Because their daughter is kick ass. She's everything Billy wished he could've been at her age--adventurous. Kind. Open hearted. Brave. Smart. He fills two mugs with water, also thinking about how hard it was to be.

Different.

When he was going up. Billy knows, like. He and Dawn are unique in different ways, targeted for different reasons, but. 

Still.

"You don't think we should be worried about this."

Because He is. And he will be. Forever.

Steve shakes his head, lost. "Worried about her not making friends?"

"It wasn't always. Easy. For me."

"I know, baby."

"And with us. After, like. Neil and the party and Dawn having to explain the two dads thing. One who sleeps with a nail studded, bat. And." Billy swallows thickly. "The other, who couldn't stay dead."

He opens a bag of sugar. 

Forces himself to go slow with each movement, as if studying for an exam. 

Steve lets out another fertile pass of air. "Kids are little bags of shit."

"You don't mean that."

"Of course I do. They pick each other apart for no reason at all, if it wasn't the bones and the gay dad thing it'd be something else. Her hair cut or her shoes."

"What's wrong with her shoes?" Billy demands, but.

Steve rolls his eyes, almost. Fondly. "Nothing, but since when have I had a clue what the kids are into these days?" Steve asks, reaching for Billy and taking the hint when Billy recoils, as if bitten by a snake. He offers a kind, easy smile. "She has us."

Billy stirs their coffee. "That's not the compliment you think it is."

"What's so crazy about us?" Steve wonders, eyes going wide and watery, just. Adorable. His tongue pokes out with his grin. "Besides the whole, y'know. Living corpse and baseball bat situation."

Billy opens his mouth to respond when the back door slams open. 

The kitchen is a flurry of activity. 

In the last ten minutes it's started raining and Dawn is covered from head to roller skate in mud. 

Her pigtails are lopsided, caked with mounds of Earth and grass as Billy lunges forward with a tea towel in hand. He's learned what kinds of questions to ask if he wants the full story. Steve helps their daughter to the bathroom Billy figures out the basics. 

Chasing worms.

Wiggly, quickie worms who burrow too fast beneath beds of roses. 

Dawn was trying to see if they could burrow all the way to the center of the Earth. 

[tooruluv]

Tooru Oikawa x F!Reader ( part 3 )

❝ my love for him is much like winter, a skeleton for the world to see. too bad he never liked the cold. ❞

description: being the neighbor and lifelong best friend of tooru oikawa definitely had it’s perks. you were never an outcast, always had a seat at lunch, got into volleyball games for free. the problem was, however, that being in love with him outweighed those perks. you would never tell him that, though, even if it hurt like hell.

genre: best friends to lovers, angst, unrequited love, fluff if you squint hard enough

word count: 2,210

warnings/notes: um yeah. this one moves fast, but this whole fic is basically about this one scene, this one part. so enjoy. no serious warnings, just strong language and some gay shit. angst.

tag list: @afuckingunicornn​

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“You’re... gay?” you whispered.

“It isn’t a fucking slur, you drunk ass.” Iwaizumi spoke, shoving you with his arm (making you hit your head on the door, but you barely noticed). “And I don’t know what exactly I am, but I just know it’s not straight.”

“Matsu?” you turned to the other boy. 

“I’ve been gay, and Iwa is sexy as fuck so who am I to deny his sexual awakening?”

It almost made you laugh.

It was hot in the closet. Dark. And you were squished in between two (very tall) men. A single light hung from the ceiling, swaying slightly.

“I uh,” You were so numb. You played with your sleeves. “I watched ‘Kawa make out with this girl. Stood there like an idiot and watched it happen. And it… it sucks to like know about it but to see it…to watch it happen…it’s way worse.”

“Oh,” They both said, sadness laced behind a whisper.

“You were going to tell him, weren’t you?” Matsukawa inquired.

You gasped, turning wide-eyed to Iwaizumi. He held his hands up in surrender. “You told him?” and “I didn’t tell him I swear!” coming out of both of you at once.

“I knew for, like, years now.” Matsukawa interrupted. “You’re the most obvious person ever, just so you know. You might as well be the fucking heart eye emoji whenever you look at him.” He paused to gauge your reaction, which was nothing. “Back to my question: you were going to tell him, weren’t you?”

“I..” you bit the inside of your cheek. “Yeah, I think so? I don’t know. I just know I really wanted to talk to him and see him and hear his voice. And I still do. But now my mind is full of him and the really pretty brown-haired girl exchanging spit.”

“Gross.”

“Maybe we should get out of the closet and get some air.”

The next morning, you woke up on the floor in the guest bedroom. Iwaizumi had taped a piece of paper to your forehead (“drink water” it said), and a blanket was wrapped around your upper body. You could not remember what happened after leaving the closet, how you ended up in the guest room, or why you were on the floor and not in the perfectly good bed above you.

But, nonetheless, you got up and headed downstairs to the kitchen. Where the fuck is Oikawa?

A loud thump interrupted your thoughts. Yup, there he was. You let out an annoyed groan as he decided to make the most noise possible on his way to the kitchen.

You pulled yourself onto the counter, wanting to slam your head against the cabinet. You never got hangovers, why was today the day you got one?

“Well don’t you look beautiful this fine morning.” Oikawa greeted, smiling.

He always looked his best in the morning, you thought. He may come across as perfect, but it makes your heart do flips when he comes in with bed head and his glasses on. Not to mention he looked absolutely gorgeous in the morning sunlight, beaming and bright.

“You don’t look too bad yourself.” Your eyes were still closed.

You heard movement, a cabinet open then close, and only opened your eyes when he stood in front of you (in between your legs, no less). You held your breath.

“I look amazing, and you know it.” He was so close you could feel his breath. He brushed his teeth, the smell of mint circling you. Why was he so close?

He reached forward, pressing his hand to your forehead. Still half awake and clearly extremely hungover, you leaned into his touch as he moved his hands to your cheeks. His eyes scanned your face, but your eyes never moved from his.

His hands paused and stayed on your neck, just below your jaw. Hovering.

Unconsciously, you leaned forward. Only a little bit.

And he did too.

Your lips were so close. If you wanted to, you could kiss him. Just like that. A few centimeters away, and you could do what you’ve wanted to do for years. Feel what it would be like to be one of the many girls who had their lips against his. The air was so tense, so full of something you couldn’t explain. Just a few centimeters. Was he leaning in too?

He moved back.

“Medicine for your head, and you have a little bit of a fever so there’s something for that too.” Oikawa spoke. His voice sounded deeper, but maybe you were just thinking things. A small cough from him. He put pills into your hand. “You get something to drink. I’ll start picking up trash, you’re on…”

“Cups and cans duty.” You finished. It was always the routine. “Thank you.”

“Don’t slack off too much, you fucking drunk.” He joked, smiling at you with a trash bag in his hand.

You rolled your eyes at him, throwing the nearest empty can at him. You smiled, but your heart was aching.

The first time Oikawa had ever thrown a party, it was a disaster. 

People flooded the house, though it was only supposed to be a small get-together and ended up a huge banger. The school talked about it for a while. An increase in his popularity.

The two of you were left to pick up the mess. 

“Where the fuck do we start?” you asked, staring into the abyss that was once his living room.

“I’ll pick up the garbage and you pick up the cans and bottles?” Oikawa suggested. “If my mom finds any alcoholic beverage in this house she will pelt me with my own volleyballs.”

“I’ll help too.” Oikawa’s older brother said from the doorway, trashbag in hand. “Let’s get to work. We only have until six.”

Matsukawa soon joined your routine.

For the past month or so, Iwaizumi would eat lunch with you in the library as you studied for the entrance exams. Oikawa would join sometimes, or he would come right before lunch was over. He liked to eat lunch in the cafeteria, liked to “have that break from studies”. You two didn’t mind, you got more done without him distracting anyway.

Matsukawa had become your third-party during Lunch Study Dates. You didn’t complain, and you didn’t ask the two of them what exactly their relationship was. You joked with Iwaizumi that you were simply there to hide the fact they never stopped flirting. He would just laugh.

“Wait, you almost kissed?” Iwaizumi asked, studies long forgotten.

“I think so, yeah.” You kept your eyes on your paper. “It was weird, and the air was super heavy. And he hasn’t talked to me since. Not even while we were cleaning.”

“Not even a text?” Matsukawa asked.

“Not even a wave in the hallway.”

“Now that’s weird.”

“You’re telling me.” You finally looked up. “I.. Nothing has ever happened between us like that. Ever. And it was so out of nowhere, like, you would think our first almost kiss would be some cool moment or something. But it was just us, and I was hungover as fuck, and we just spent the rest of the afternoon in silence. And all that there has been since is just that. Silence.”

“I’m sorry, love.” Matsukawa reached over to place his hand over your wrist. “You know what. Tooru is an idiot. He is. I would have kissed you.”

“You’re gay.”

“And I would’ve kissed you. That’s the highest compliment you can receive. Accept it, woman.”

Growing up with Tooru Oikawa, you knew many things about the boy that many didn’t. You knew that he always put extra syrup on his pancakes and waffles, you knew that he always preferred hot showers rather than the cold ones his mother always tells him to take for soreness, and you knew that he practiced more than anyone could imagine.

He grew up with a volleyball attached to his side. He set it whenever he could, he would serve it into your yard (and then go get it and serve it back into his). He would ask you to join, but you always just watched.

Growing up with Tooru Oikawa also made you witness his growth. And you think that’s another reason you fell in love with him.

His passion was indescribable. You couldn’t count how many times people (including yourself) have told him to relax, take a day off, remind him to eat and drink. But his heart was in it, no matter how much it distracted him from daily fleets. You admired him for that.

You didn’t have that Thing growing up. You tried a lot of different things, different hobbies and sports and classes. But you never had that thing that you had so much passion for that you had to remind yourself to breathe.

One week of silence. One week of nothing from your best friend. Not a text, a call, a smile sent your way. Not even an eye contact.

It was strange. Your entire life had revolved around being around him, your routine included smiling and walking with him in the hallway, fixing his tie in the morning.

He was already in class when you came to school. And his tie was straight.

You decided to spend most of your free time in the library, knowing that Oikawa didn’t find himself in there very often. If he was going to avoid you without an explanation, you could avoid him just as hard and for just as long. That was your logic.

Iwaizumi joined you, plopping himself down on the couch beside you. It sat in the back of the library, in the corner away from everything. You were being Sad TM.

It was so stupid, of course. To be upset or sad about something that didn’t even happen; at something that almost happened but never did. Iwaizumi reminded you that it wasn’t about the near kiss, but the silence after.

A body appeared out of thin air in front of you. You wouldn’t mistake the boy for anyone in the world.

“’Kawa.” You said, looking up. He looked way taller from your position on the couch. “Hi.”

“Hi.” He said. No “nut” this time. He fidgeted with his fingers. “Can I get my jersey back? The one you wear to the games?”

Your eyes shot up.

“’M sorry?”

“Can I get my jersey back?” he asked again.

You felt Iwaizumi put his hand on your thigh. You must’ve been shaking. One week of complete silence and complete rejection and absence only to be met with the break of a tradition.

“Um, yeah.” You blinked. “Yeah. I have it at home, I can stop by later and give it to you.”

“Just bring it tomorrow. Before the game.” He spoke. But his voice didn’t sound like his. It was forced. Since when was talking to you a task?

“O.. Okay.”

A pinky promise was something taken very seriously. As kids, it was treated with the upmost respect and honor.

It was middle school, and the team announced that for a special tournament, and for school spirit, that the players would pick their best friend to wear their jersey to the games.

Oikawa immediately came to you with his “away” jersey, proudly holding it up. “Pinky promise me that you will always wear my jersey to my games!”

“Pinky promise!” you had told him.

You wore the jersey as you wrapped your pinky around his. Wearing his jersey became one of your favorite parts of going to his games.

Guess in high school, pinky promises don’t mean the same thing.

The thing about Tooru Oikawa is he never dates. This was something you knew for certain. He has never once had an official girlfriend, and he always talked about how he never planned on having one (“They’re both a distraction and a big responsibility,” he would say. “Besides, what would I need a girlfriend for when I already have a girl who does everything for me?” he would add).

Which is why you were surprised to see him hand in hand with a very familiar girl later that day. The long perfect brown hair, the long legs. After seven days of not speaking to you, he had a girl wrapped around his arm as though it was the most casual thing of him to be doing.

You stopped in front of them, trying your very best to hide your confusion.

“Oh!” he smiled, saying your name. Acting as though he hadn’t just asked you to turn in something that had meant something important to your friendship (at least it did to you). “You haven’t met Sana. My girlfriend.”

The aforementioned girl, Sana, smiled at you. Perfect teeth, of course. She gave a slight bow before reaching out her hand. Girlfriend.

“Hi! It’s so nice to meet you, I’ve been waiting to meet Tooru’s best friend!”

You forced a smile as you shook her hand. “Nice to meet you too, Sana.”

You looked over her shoulder, to Oikawa (who looked nervous, fidgety in fact), and to Iwaizumi and Matsukawa (who stood a bit further away, but just as shook and confused as you).

[patton-cake]

No thoughts- head gay

@katlikethesword Happy birthday Kat!! @irritating-lady-knight and I wrote this as your birthday present!!! We hope you enjoy it! We love you so much Kitty Kat! You're just always so precious and kind and I could go on forever. You're amazing Kat! Take all our love and affection

Pairing: prinxiety

Summary: Roman is precious and Virgil definitely isn't simping, no that would be ridiculous he would never simp for his roommate

"Ro? What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be in class? Don't tell me that you're skipping your silly theater thing for me"

Virgil gently hit Roman's arm and started walking next to him. Their footsteps echoing in the empty hallway.

"Pff don't flatter yourself too much finding emo. Class got cancelled, some dude tried to recreate the balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet. He broke 3 ribs."

Roman let out a muffled laugh and handed his friend some oreos

"Want one? I was bored so decided to stop for a snack"

"Thanks princey, you always know how to find your way into my heart"

Virgil rolled his eyes but softly smiled as he accepted the food. They ate in comfortable silence and made their way out of the school building.

"Uh Virge? You don't happen to have an umbrella do you?"

He looked up from his phone and saw the rain falling down from the sky

"What's the matter prince charming? Afraid of water? Afraid that it might ruin your hair?"

Roman glared at him before shoving Virgil outside.

"Go on sunshine, let's see how long your makeup will last in the rain"

"How mature of you Ro, afraid to go first? Well come on then! Go follow mother duck. I will protect you my little duckling"

Virgil pulled Roman into the rain and started to walk very proudly, arms linked with Roman.

"Okay, if this is how you want to play this V, then you need to carry me on your back. This poor little duckling needs to be carried!"

Roman pouted and dramatically leaned his full weight against Virgil, who started at him with an annoyed face. But unfortunately for himself, Virgil was way to competitive to give up now.

"Bring it on ugly duckling"

"Auch that one hurts V, that one hurts"

And that's how Virgil ended up giving Roman a piggyback ride all the way to their apartment. When they finally arrived, they both were completely soaked.

"Thank you my noble horse for carrying me to my palace!"

"I thought I was mama duck?"

Roman laughed and opened the door to their apartment

"Nah a horse suits you better"

Virgil rolled his eyes and dropped his backpack on their apartment floor.

"Whatever makes you happy Romano, I'm gonna shower, please don't burn the house down."

Roman sputtered out a complaining noice as Virgil walked up stairs

"THAT HAPPENED ONE TIME"

After Virgil was down showering, he walked downstairs and put on a movie. He heard Roman serenading himself under the shower and chuckled softly. When he finally heard Roman's footsteps, he looked up and his heart stopped for a second

"Is that my hoodie?"

A soft red blush spread over both of their cheeks

"Uh- yeay- I was really cold a-and your hoodies always look so soft and warm, but I can put it back if you want me to!"

"Keep it"

Roman awkwardly sat down next to him

"You want me to keep it? Are you sure?"

Virgil looked at him with a soft look in his eyes,

"Yeay, it looks better on you anyway"

He didn't think that Roman's face could turn more red, it almost matched his annoyingly adorable sweater that he was wearing. No Virgil, no more gay thoughts for today, he had already reached his limits. He just had to focus on the movie they were watching.

"Wait a minute, are you complementing me Virge? Awww you don't hate me!"

Virgil almost believed Roman's confident voice if it wasn't for the blush that still burned bright red on his cheeks

"I take it back, you're the worst"

After this, it didn’t take very long for the two of them to fall back in their familiar rhythm, Virgil grumbling about plot holes, Roman criticizing the choices of the main characters- both jostling each other while fighting to eat as much popcorn as possible before the other could take ‘more than their fair share’. Slowly their comments and arguments and movement died off, though, and they truly became invested in the plot.

After two and a half movies, a sunset, a frantic call from Logan, and 4 cups of cocoa, Virgil had settled into his corner of the couch, warmth pooled in his belly and a blanket pulled to his chin. Roman had decided that it was too much work to actually get up and put on socks, so he’d tucked his ice cold feet under Virgil’s thighs and flopped dramatically across the rest of the couch, mumbling about Virgil’s abundant heat that he insisted on taking advantage of. Selfish fucker. Virgil didn’t know why he continued to deal with him. Most certainly not because he’d grown fond of him, god forbid. Motherfucker. Getting attached

. This is why he didn’t want a roommate freshman year. But as he watched Roman mouthing lines right alongside Jack, he was unable to smother a fond smile, shaking his head in disgust at himself.

“V.”

He grunted in response, looking up from his thoughts to see Roman standing in front of him, Sally frozen on screen. “Mug.”

Virgil pressed his mug into Roman’s hands and nudged his shin with a gentle foot in thanks, shifting to turtle further into his nest of blankets. A few minutes later Roman returned, mugs filled to the brim with steamy cocoa, Roman’s piled high with marshmallows and whipped cream.

“Move over.” Roman demanded, sitting down right beside him, their thighs pressed together. Virgil was wide awake.

“I- move? I’m pressed up against the side, dipshit. There is nowhere else for me to move!” Virgil pushed at him gently, but Roman only made a soft noise in response, carefully putting his mug in Virgil’s hands, the latter spluttering in offense. “The f-” He cut himself off with a grunt of surprise as his roommate flopped against him, pressing his cheek flat against Virgil’s arm.

“My dude???” Virgil squirmed until Roman sighed dramatically and shifted again, until Virgil was sitting up, two mugs balanced precariously in his hands, and Roman was pressed up against his side, feet once again tucked beneath his roommate’s thighs.

“I’m staying here, don’t complain or I’m spilling your cocoa on you. You are a human heater and I am visibly shivering, don’t be selfish and share.” Roman stated firmly, snuggling back against Virgil’s shoulder before pressing play.

Virgil.exe has stopped working. Press any button on your keyboard to restart.

Roman smelled like lemon and sandalwood. Virgil didn’t know what sandalwood was, but Roman smelled like it. His hair was still slightly damp from his shower, and it was soft and gentle against Virgil’s neck. He was lying when he said that he was cold, he was a nice sort of warm that Virgil melted into on contact, and couldn’t convince himself to move away from. Not that he wanted to. Except he did. He was no simp. He refused. Patton was a simp. Virgil was no simp. Absolutely not.

Except..

No.

Virgil. No.

Stop.

If you-

But he did.

Virgil quietly scolded himself and shook his head. It was time to focus on the movie, he shouldn't think about Roman or Roman's stupidly perfect face. No. He wouldn't think of that.

He almost found himself focusing back on the movie, but of course, Roman had to make it more difficult. Virgil felt a soft breath in his neck and saw that his friend had closed his eyes, his chest moving in a steady rhythm. He looked absolutely perfect. Okay, Virgil allowed that one gay thought, it was simply a fact and Logan had always told him that you can't argue with facts.

The movie. Virgil had to focus on the movie. He just had pretend that Roman was not there! That his hair didn't tickle Virgil's face. That shouldn't be that difficult right?

"..V..?"

Shit

Roman's voice was soft and Virgil lost his mind again

"Yeay Ro?"

His voice didn't squeak, it didn't . Virgil fought against his urges to kiss Roman's perfectly soft lips and to keep him here forever, laying on their couch. That sounded perfect to Virgil.

"Did you know that you're really hot Virge?"

The urges kept getting stronger and Virgil swallowed, trying not to squeak again

"Another heating pad joke? You're repeating yourself Ro"

"I didn't mean it in that way"

And with that he placed a soft kiss on Virgil's cheek before laying back down, closing his eyes again.

From that moment on Virgil was certain of two things.

One: He failed his gay thoughts rule

And two: He would risk absolutely everything for his roommate.

[caranfindel]

Fic: The whirlwind is in the thorn tree

wincest | about 3000 words | R for language and adult themes | characters: sam winchester, dean winchester

synopsis: My first and probably last stab at Wincest. No actual sex, just post-coital angst.

Flowers in the Attic is a cheesy gothic novel featuring four children who are locked in an attic by their scheming mother who hopes to hide their existence; the oldest son and daughter eventually begin an incestuous relationship.

The title is from "The Man Comes Around" by Johnny Cash, which I never heard until recently but am now obsessed with.

. . .

Part 1: Dean

It doesn't start with romance or lust. It doesn't start with that little flash of bare skin visible above his jeans when he raises his arms (it makes you crazy and you don't know why; you see him shirtless all the time but for some reason that little strip of skin that isn't meant to be showing just brings you to your knees). It doesn't start with you staring at that perfectly sculpted spot at the base of his throat and finally setting your mouth to it and marking him up the way you've dreamt about for years (you've bruised him when you were sparring, and you've battered him in anger, but you've never left a mark for the purpose of saying hands off, he's mine and oh, what you would do just for the chance). It doesn't start with you too drunk to keep holding it all in and Sam too drunk to say no (you would never, you would never).

It starts with terror. Pure balls-to-the-wall terror that you're about to lose him. A horribly fucked-up hunt where you almost die, but more importantly, you almost watch Sam die, and you stumble into your motel room, both still out of breath, still not quite sure what happened out there, and you're checking him for injuries and every breath is a silent mantra, I almost lost you, I almost lost you, and nothing is enough, you want to crawl under his skin, you want to open him up and cradle his heart in your hands to make sure it's still beating, you're holding him tighter and tighter and he's clutching you just as tight, looking into your soul with those big wet eyes and saying “Dean, Dean," like your name itself is a prayer, a request. A plea. Whatever he is pleading for, you will give it to him. And it turns out the only thing he wants is all of you.

Which is convenient. Because the only thing you want is all of him.

. . .

But then comes After, and you have to face what you've done.

When you wake up (his arm is still flung over you, it's so wrong, it's so wrong), you quietly crawl out of bed and hurry into the shower. There is no water hot enough to scrub you clean, no soap strong enough to wash away your sins (watch out for your brother, it's your most important job). When you give up and turn off the water, you realize you didn't bring any clothes to change into, and you sure as hell weren't wearing any when you fled into the bathroom. There's nothing you can do but wrap a towel around your waist and hope he's still asleep.

He's not. He's sitting up in the bed you shared. His hair is a tousled mess, a silky brown cloud, and your fingers twitch with the craving to be tangled in it again. He doesn't look disgusted, or repulsed. He looks… hopeful. Like he hasn't caught on yet that you are a monster.

(He will be the death of you.)

(He is your reason for living.)

You sit on the other bed and try not to stare at that hickey that you finally managed to put at the base of his throat. (There are other marks. Don't look at them either.)

He speaks first. "Look, I know this is some crazy Flowers in the Attic kind of shit—"

"Oh, this is so much worse than Flowers in the Attic."

"Why?" His brow furrows. "Because it's gay?"

Which stops you in your tracks, because of course that's not the problem. But also because you haven't even thought of this as gay. It's not that you're interested in guys. You're not thinking about random guys when you jack off in the shower, or when you can't fall asleep, or when your life sucks and your heart hurts and you need an escape. It's not guys. It's not anyone else. You've chased a lot of tail over the years, trying to convince yourself otherwise, but it's just Sam. Only, always and forever, Sam.

But now he's looking at you like you're some kind of monster, like being a homophobe is somehow worse than being a sick bastard who wants to fuck his little brother. So you quickly say "No, dammit, you know that's not it."

"Then what? Why is it worse?"

And it's not fair that Sam is both your victim and the priest who will hear your confession; it's not fair that you're going to have to say the thing that will make him hate you, make him walk away from you again, but, well. Life stopped being fair when you were four years old. He would have figured it out anyway. He's too damn smart not to eventually realize whose fault it all is.

"It's worse because I raised you, Sam. I did this to you. I made you want this."

"What?" Sam's voice goes up an octave, incredulous. "You're saying you groomed me?"

"Not on purpose! But yeah, subconsciously, I must have done something! I must have screwed you up somehow. Otherwise, you wouldn't… there's no way you would have…"

"Slept with my brother? So there's no way I would have wanted to have sex with my brother unless someone snuck into my brain and planted the idea there? Someone must have made me want it? Is that what happened?"

Oh, Jesus, Sam just needs to stop talking, because he's making it worse. Yes, obviously you planted that idea in his sweet, trusting little head. Who knows when or where or how, but obviously you did that. Obviously you took him, the brother you were supposed to watch out for, you took his innocent love for you and twisted it into something awful and self-serving.

But he's not looking at you like he just realized what a monster you are, like he finally saw the darkness you've managed to hide all this time. He's smiling.

"You're an idiot," he says. "But okay, let's say you're right. Let's say the only reason I would want to have sex with my brother is because someone raised me wrong. Someone screwed with my head when I was little and made me want this. Then who did it to you?"

No, wait. That's not. You stare at him, mute.

"If you raised me to want this," he continues, "who did it to you? Dad? Is that what was going on, all those times you guys went off on a hunt and left me at a hotel? Dad spent the whole time convincing you that at some point you were going to have to throw me on the bed and have your way with me?"

"Dammit, Sam, that's not funny."

"I'm not trying to be funny, Dean. I'm just trying to show you how ridiculous it is to blame yourself. No one made you want it, and no one made me want it. It's just a product of our fucked-up lives. There are no victims here."

Is that possible? You want (so much, so much) to believe it. But even if he's not your victim, he still has to see how wrong it is. You've ripped your heart wide open and he's staring right at its dark, festering core. Surely he sees that.

"It may be a victimless kind of fucked up," you say cautiously, afraid to break whatever spell has been cast. "But it's still pretty fucked up."

"I'm not saying it's normal," he says. "You and me, this is definitely not normal. But we left normal behind a long time ago. We were never gonna have that. And this is something we do get to have."

Oh, okay. Sam can't have normal, so he's settling for Dean Winchester, the world's shittiest consolation prize. Well, that's the only part of this that makes sense. And you're not too proud to accept that role. You look at the carpet (you can't look at him) and nod. He will leave you again someday, when he does find normal, but for now? This is enough. This is still more than you ever thought you'd have. More than you deserve.

Sam throws back the covers. He is still very, very naked. Bruised from the hunt, and bruised from what happened after the hunt. (And so goddamn beautiful. He doesn't even know.) He gets out of bed and sits next to you. Not touching, but close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off him. When you do finally force yourself to look at him, he smiles at you again, that fond smile that stabs you right through the heart. You would give anything to have him sitting next to you, smiling that smile at you, for the rest of your life.

"You know," he says, "all those years I spent chasing normal, it was because I didn't think I could have what I really wanted. This, Dean. You and me. This is what I want. I wouldn't trade it for normal. I wouldn't trade it for anything."

If that's true. Oh God, if that's true.

"So," he continues, "maybe we just appreciate it. Maybe we hold onto it. I mean. Only if you want to."

Only if you want to. Like there's anything you want more. Sam is offering you all you've ever wanted, and all you have to do is reach out and take it.

You've lost the ability to speak, but whatever words you came up with would surely fuck it all up anyway. You take his hand and entwine his fingers in your own. He squeezes. You squeeze back. It's just one more in an endless history of wordless conversations, but it's the most important one you've ever had. You both sit there quietly for a minute, and you are very aware that you are wrapped in a towel and he is naked and you're holding hands and… it's not weird. It's okay. It's better than okay.

"You know," he says, "the most disturbing thing about all of this is that you just admitted you read Flowers in the Attic."

You have to clear your throat before you can answer. "It was a book? I saw the movie on TV once, when I couldn't sleep."

It's a lie. He knows it's a lie. He was there with you, that awful winter in Nebraska, when Dad dumped you at that weird old house for a couple of weeks and the only thing to do was pick through the pile of ragged paperbacks some teenage girl left behind. He knows you read it. He doesn't know you got to the incest scene and tossed the book away, no, no, I would never do that to him. I would never. He doesn't know you picked it up again, later, hoping it had a happy ending.

He knows you're a liar. He knows you're twisted and wrong. He loves you anyway. And maybe you don't deserve it, but you'll take it anyway, and hold onto it for as long as you can.

Part 2: Sam

Something about almost losing Dean puts everything into perspective. And yes, you almost died too, but it's hard to see your own death as comparable. Dean's near-death is what matters, the thing that paints everything in stark black and white.

There's no time to talk, no time to wonder, no time to check each other for injuries and try to figure out how you escaped this time. He shoves you into the Impala and speeds away from the scene, and you stare at his (beautiful) profile and think I can't do this any more, I can't die and not tell you how I feel, I can't let you die without knowing what you mean to me, I can't do it, I won't.

But it's not the first time you've told yourself that, or the second or third. And you know you'll fail, in the end, as you always have. Except. Except that when you finally make it into the room you're both still a little panicky, still having a hard time catching your breath, hearts pounding, and he says are you hurt, are you hurt as he paws at you, and then holds you tight and won't let go (you don't want him to, oh God you don't want him to) and you grab him, hold him just as tight and this is it, this is the moment, use your words, dammit, but all you can do is keep repeating his name like an idiot and you finally just kiss him and it turns out neither of you needs words after all.

. . .

Dean's hasty exit wakes you, and your heart leaps panicky into your throat for a minute. You fucked it up, he's running; all those years you held your feelings in check and now you've fucked it up and he's running. But he simply rushes into the bathroom and turns on the shower. He showers for a long time, which gives you time to think about what to say. Because you know he's going to be freaked out. You know he's going to say this is wrong, this is bad, we can't do this again. But there is no going back now; you can only go forward. You salted and burned just brothers last night. The only option now is brothers plus whatever this is. You'll have to make your way through whatever objections he has.

When he finally comes back into the room, every speck of his normal bravado is gone. He looks frightened and guilty (and beautiful, so damn beautiful, with the morning sun peeping through the flimsy curtains highlighting him in gold, picking out each eyelash as if God himself were directing it) and your heart melts like it always does. You are so fucked.

He clutches the towel wrapped around his hips tightly, and you're pretty sure the only reason he hasn't already put three layers of clothing between you and him is because in his hurry to get into the the shower he didn't take time to grab his armor. So, yeah. He's freaked out. It's okay. You'll talk him down (there is no choice, there is no other option) and it will be okay.

But it turns out you are not at all prepared for what his real objection is. Not at all.

You could tell him the truth. Yes, you made me want you. Just by being you. By being beautiful and brave and smart and funny and strong and exasperating. You made me love you in a way you are not supposed to love a brother, just by being you.

Or another truth is this. You think you were grooming me? When I was thirteen? When I was a gangly, clumsy, morose little barely-a-teenager? Because that's when it started, Dean. It wasn't anything you did. You weren't grooming me, you were busy chasing anything in a skirt. I had just turned thirteen years old and all I wanted was you.

But there is another very important truth, which is that you're both kind of irreparably fucked up. And this is possibly a silver lining to that. The fact that you're fucked up the same way, together.

"I'm not saying it's normal," you tell him. “You and me, this is definitely not normal. But we left normal behind a long time ago. We were never gonna have that. And this is something we do get to have." He has to see that, right? He has to understand that you two cannot measure yourselves by other peoples' yardsticks.

His reaction is to withdraw a little bit. Does he not believe you? Can he not tell, even now, that you love him so much it burns? You have no choice. There is no going back. You get out of bed and sit next to him. "You know, all those years I spent chasing normal, it was because I didn't think I could have what I really wanted. This, Dean. You and me. This is what I want. I wouldn't trade it for normal. I wouldn't trade it for anything. So, maybe we just appreciate it. Maybe we hold onto it. I mean. Only if you want to."

You gave him an out. You pray he doesn't take it. He doesn't. Thank God (or no, probably not God), he doesn't. You sit next to him, naked as the day you were born, and he doesn't flinch, doesn't lean away, doesn't say no, Sam, this is weird, this is bad, this is wrong. He just looks up at you like he's dumbfounded, but in a good way. And then he takes your hand. He's clasped your hand thousands of times, shepherding you across busy streets as a child, hauling you out of freshly dug graves as an adult. But this is the first time he's actually held your hand, and it feels like something greater; like a vow.

You need to change the subject pretty quickly, before you make a goddamn fool of yourself.

"You know, the most disturbing thing about all of this is that you just admitted you read Flowers in the Attic."

Dean's voice is hoarse. "It was a book? I saw the movie on TV once, when I couldn't sleep."

It's a lie. You know it's a lie. You made sure he saw you reading it, and you watched him pick it up after you were done. You had a thousand imaginary conversations where he said what did you think about that book and you said siblings locked in an attic for years, all they had was each other, it makes sense that their relationship would transform into something else, it wasn't hurting anybody, and after all, incest is only taboo because of the risk of birth defects, and many civilizations actually encouraged marriage between siblings, it's not really a big deal, and he said exactly, especially in a situation like that where they're literally in their own little world, and I've been thinking, and then and then and then.

None of that happened. What happened was he turned 18 and then 19 and then 20 and grew more and more maddeningly insane and reckless and beautiful and you realized that either he was going to die, or he was going to keep breathing but remain forever out of your reach, and either way you couldn't live like this any more.

But now he's sitting on the bed next to you, almost as naked as you are, holding your hand.

"You want to get some breakfast?" he says.

"I would love some breakfast. Let me shower first."

He gently swats you on the back of the head. "Go on then, Princess. Wash your pretty pretty hair."

The knot of fear that's been squirming in your stomach since you woke up quietly unclenches. And for the first time in a very long time, you think everything might be okay after all.

[hello-yue-here]

About your atla ship songs, I have a couple of questions (sorry if my phrasing comes out wrong, english isn't my first language and I worry it might across as accidentally defensive): how did you end up with the choices for zukka, jetko and yuekka (note: I haven't seen the great comet, so feel free to obsess over it, I'm intrigued now and the hype is appreciated!)? Sidenote: I think the mailee choice is HILARIOUS and the tokka one just make me sad, I didn't expect to be attacked like this😭

kdjfha;s i love you im gonna obsess SO HARD over great comet now. you may regret this

this is gonna be so long so the rest is under the cut whoops

yuekka: no one else from great comet

where do i even begin. WHERE DO I EVEN BEGIN

okay so background information on this show: it's based off of a 76 oages excerpt from war and peace and its centered around a woman named natasha (and this guy pierre but he's irrelevant to this song so we wont worry about him) and natasha's bethrothed is off fighting in the war right now. she hasn't seen him in a while but she is in love with him.

every single lyrics of this song SCREAMS yuekka to me. the innocence and purity of their love. the love at first sight. and even the melancholy ending just- i go apeshit for this song. i love this song so much. and denee benton's voice??? kljsdhflwksugf please listen to this song if you haven't already. listen to the whole show. your life will be changed forever.

onto the lyrics (i stg this is ab to be the whole song whoops)

"the moon"

THOSE ARE THE FIRST WORDS ON THE SONG. natasha and andre (her bethrothed) met underneath the moonlight. Sokka and Yue first spoke to eachother at night and always met each other for their most intimate moments under the moonlight. also yue is LITERALLY the moon so like: right of the bat with those two words it's yuekka.

"and i saw your eyes / and i saw your smile / and the world opened wide"

sokka fell in love with yue the moment he saw her in the canal. she literally enchanted this motherfucker. everything about her made his heart go crazy. and 'the world opened wide' to me is from yue's perspective. Yue had never left the north pole and sokka had seen a good chuck of the world at the point. He took her on appa, he told her about his adventures. he saw the world yue wished to see and you know damn well that Sokka would have done anything to give it to her.

"oh the moon /oh the snow in the moonlight / and your childlike eyes and your distant smile / ill never be this happy again / you and i and no one else"

natasha sings fondly about the moon and the snow, seeing as it was where she fell in love with andre. yue and sokka LITERALLY fell in love in the same place: in the snowy nothern water tribe under the light of the moon. childlike eyes: THEYRE CHILDREN!!! distant smile: this is where it gets a little sad. theyre both children with way too many duties during a world that has known nothing but war for the past century. they want to be happy but yeah, theyre smiles are distant and far away because happiness seems out of reach for them most of the time. i'll never be this happy again: the moments yue and sokka shared together were probably the happiest either of them ever were. they were able to ignore the war and the world in the moments they shared together. and with no one else. no one else would be able to give each other this sense of peace and happiness and love.

"joy and life inside our souls / and no body knows just you and me / it's our secret"

Yue and Sokka had to sneak out in secret at night to go and see each other. Yue and Sokka couldn't be together for real because Yue was already engaged, but they were literally in love so she decided to see him anyways in secret. kasdjfhklasjd im losing my mind over them at this point.

"this winer sky / how can anyone sleep / there was never such a night before / i feel like putting my arms around my knees / and squeezing tight as possible / and flying away"

these are my FAVORITE lines in the entire song. yue and sokka had never felt this strongly about anyone before and that's why they are so drawn to each other. they had never experienced love before and they wanted to hold onto it for as long as they could even though they knew they couldnt. Sokka takes yue up on appa and she is wistful and wishes she could live like he does every day: ie flying away. oh my god these two deserved so much better. so much fucking better.

now for the saddes part. the saddest fucking part.

"maybe he'll come today / maybe he came already / and he's sitting in the drawing room / and i simply forgot"

natasha misses andre so intensely at this point. when i first listened to this show and heard this song i was like "wait a min... is andre like... dead?" and im sure i wasnt the only person who assumed that this was why natasha felt so sad by the end of such a beautiful song. (spoiler alert andre is fine)

but this line really exemplifies how sad natasha is, and hints at the fact that andre may never come back. it implies that their relationship is doomed (at least in my opinion) and that's all yuekka. Sokka misses yue intensely when shes gone. Yue accepted her fate almost immediately but sokka was in denial. he thought there had to be another way. but in the end it wasn't meant to be. and sokka will go on, loving yue, wishing for her back, even though it's not possible.

fuck im gonna cry.

zukka: all i've ever known- hadestown

"i was alone so long / i didn't even know that i was lonely / out in the cold so long / i didnt even know that i was cold"

sokka is from the swt so theres where the cold comes in. also in the gaang (initially) it was just him katara and aang. and katara and aang were much closer to each other than sokka was with aang and the two of them were benders so sokka was kind of an outsider with the two of them. He also represses a lot of his emotions and feels the need to do everything himself so i do see a lot of loneliness in sokka. and the fact that so many people in his life have left him (his mom, yue, his dad, suki briefly, etc...) he is known to keep people at an arms length. i see a lot of loneliness in sokka.

zuko's loneliness is a lot more obvious: he has literally been cast out and abandoned by everyone except iroh. and even then he still feels the need to be alone (remember zuko alone? thought so) these boys look after themselves and push others away and revel in their loneliness in order to keep themselves from getting hurt. at least in my opinion on canon and also some fanon because id be a liar if i said fanon didnt influence how i view ALL my ships (not just zukka)

"all ive ever known is how to hold my own / but now I wanna hold you too"

COME ONE MANNNN, they just wanna hold each other. theyre both very big protectors as well and kljhflkasdhg they wanna protect eachother like kljdhfl im gonna lose it rn.

"You take me in your arms / And suddenly there's sunlight all around me / Everything bright and warm / And shining like it never did before / And for a moment I forget / Just how dark and cold it gets"

SUNLIGHT SYMBOLISM. zuko is literally powered by the sun. i don't think i even NEED to elaborate on this one anymore lol. They find comfort in each other away from all of their trauma. when they're together nothing else matters and i personally love that for them. they both deserve love.

"I knew you before we met / And I don't even know you yet / All I know is your someone I have always known"

these two are extremely similar in canon. many parallels. older brothers overshadowed by their prodigy little sisters. longing to make their fathers proud (granted one dad is good and one is fuckin evil), both are pretty bad with emotions. both are seen protecting others before themselves (sokka protecting suki during the serpant's pass, sokka protecting toph on like multiple occassions, zuko protecting katara in the final agni kai), the list goes on. they know who the other is because they see themselves in the other person. they already know each other because they are each other (in a way, not entirely, but the similarities are strong in my opinion)

"I'm gonna hold you forever / The wind will never change on us / Long as we stay with each other / Then it will always be like this"

i just think this line is so cute and sweet (ignoring all the symbolism and foreshadowing that comes with the last line in the musical itself. im gonna pretend this is nothing but happy) and i think these boys deserve happiness so yeah. this song is zukka to me lol.

jetko: thrill of first love- falsettoes

if you've never listened to this song go an do it now. you will know INSTANTLY that it is jetko because of the dynamics alone. marvin and whizzer are pure jetko and i take no crticisms.

marvin and whizzer are both extremely stubborn, and they don't always get along, and they fight a lot, and they get mad at each other a lot, and they are both passionate as hell, and they will bring this passion into everything. they love each other that is without a doubt, but they arent perfect and they are once again stubborn and determined as fuck.

sound familiar? it's literally jetko.

the lyrics aren't what remind me of jetko, but the dynamic itself. the lyrics are too on the nose for a gay couple in 1970's america so that rlly cant apply to jetko all that much. but the way these two characters bounce off of each other and get annoyed with each other and argue with eachother reminds me of jetko. because let's be honest: these two are the most stubborn characters in the whole show. they will fight for what they believe and it will take literally everything to change their minds.

i love jetko but i think they would have petty arguments all the time and get aggravated by one another so easily. and this is even seen in canon: they work so fucking well together but they did not even HESITATE to fight one another after neither of them would give in and let the fight about whether jet was right or wrong about zuko being a firebender. like i cannot say it enough they are stubborn as fuck.

but underneath all that stubborn pettiness and bickering: marvin and whizzer still love each other. and jet and zuko would still love each other. because even though they are stubborn when it comes to arguments, they are even more stubborn and determined when it comes to each other. these two passionate motherfuckers are in love.

(now when i chose this song i decided to ignore the fact that this song literally spells out the fact that marvin and whizzer's relatinoship is doomed because they literally say passion dies. thats the difference between jetko and whizzer and marvin because i dont think passion dies. i chose this song strictly for the bickering lmao)

and i know you didnt ask about tokka but,,,,

i rlly wanna talk about the tokka one

so im going to

tokka: on my own- les mis

look. i KNOW this song is about unrequited love and i love tokka as a couple but,,, the unrequited love in this song just SCREAMS unrequited tokka to me so thats what i went with.

eponine is a girl who has neglectful parents who lives life by her own rules: toph. eponine is shown to be tough and confident and spunky to others but behind all of that she has emotions, she feels love, she hides her vulnerability so much: toph. she is in love with a guy she cant be with because he loves someone else: TOPH

eponine is toph to a t and toph is eponine to a t. this is not up for debate lmao

"without him i feel his arms around me"

toph is always seen grabbing onto someone (and its almost ALWAYS sokka) when she's somewhere where she can't use her feet to see. FEEL and ARMS cmon. look at it.

"and i know / i know that he is blind"

COME ON. IMAGINE TOPH SINGING THIS LINE. this line is already powerful enough in les mis but having toph, a blind character, sing it just makes the symbolism even deeper. toph sees the potential relationship they could have together. toph sees that sokka is oblivious to this. toph is not blind to the truth or the potention, but sokka is blind to her feelings. im about to lose my mind over this line.

"I love him / But every day I'm learning / All my life / I've only been pretending / Without me / His world will go on turning / A world that's full of happiness / That I have never known"

i need to sit down for a moment. toph grew up in a household where her parents did not understand her. she has learned to hide her true emotions and vulnerabilities from everyone. and its the fact that toph knows that she and sokka will never be together and the fact that she still loves him in spite of that is what makes this even more heartbreaking.

"but only on my own"

TOPH AND EPONINE SWEETIES I LOVE YOU

thank you for indulging my theatre kid nonsense. you are very sweet and kind and lovely and awesome and i hope you have a lovely day bestie :) <3

ask me why i think these songs go with these ships

[yahboobeh]

Valentine’s Day

Tenten’s kitchen was a mess. The sink was overflowing with dishes, and the counters were dusted with sprinkles and smeared with bits of melted chocolate. 

Tenten popped a tray of chocolates into the fridge and followed the mess to her table, dropping gracelessly into a chair next to Hinata. 

“Oh man,” she sighed, and leaned back in her chair. “My stomach hurts from all of that taste-testing we did.” 

Hinata laughed. 

“Same.” 

“At least we got pretty much everyone’s chocolates made. It just sucks that Ino and Sakura had to leave early.”

“I hope the guys like them.” 

Tenten watched Hinata pick at a piece of hardened chocolate stuck to the table. Hinata’s body language said what she hadn’t. 

“Was there someone else you wanted to make some chocolates for?” 

Hinata’s eyes snapped up from the table, wide with shock and embarrassment. 

“I… I…” 

“Hinata, if you want to make something special for Naruto, we can.” 

“I-I mean… wh-what would I e-even…” 

She let her words trail off while Tenten reached for the magazine they’d been using for chocolate recipes. She flipped through it until she found the page she was looking for. 

“Hot chocolate bombs are pretty popular this year. We could make a few.” Tenten held out the magazine to Hinata, pointing at the photo of a woman’s hand holding a ball of chocolate above a mug of hot milk. 

There was a brief pause in their conversation while Hinata skimmed the recipe. She looked back up to Tenten. 

“D-do you think he-he’d like that?” 

“I think he would. We can make some extras and try them out.” 

“O-okay.” 

“I bought a mold because I wanted to try them, but when Ino and Sakura said they had to leave early I figured I’d do it another time.” 

She picked up the mold and scanned the recipe while Hinata made herself comfortable at the stove, melting down more chocolate. 

Tenten gathered up the needed supplies from her pantry and sat back down at the table when Hinata brought over the pot. 

They made the molds quickly and put them in the freezer to set faster. Hinata checked on the other chocolates in the fridge, bringing over a few set trays. 

“These are done,” she said, sitting down, “should we box them up for everyone?” 

“Sure.” Tenten reached for the package of folded boxes and opened it up. Then they carefully assembled and started packing up the many boxes, one for each of the girl’s teammates and their sensei’s. Hinata had also set separate boxes aside for Neji, Hiashi and Hanabi. 

“So, have you thought about how you’re going to give Naruto his chocolate?” 

Hinata paused, tying a ribbon around a box and shook her head. 

“Do you think you could help me?” 

“Sure, just let me know how.” 

“Well, first…” she sighed, “I feel bad saying this… but please don’t say anything to Neji-niisan.” 

Tenten laughed. 

“He’d somehow find a way to ruin it, huh?” 

 “He-he tries to help… but…”

“He’s too overprotective, I know.” Tenten laid a hand on Hinata’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, I won’t say anything.” 

Hinata sighed. 

“Thank you, Tenten.” 

“No problem, anything else?” 

“I… how do I give it to him?” 

Tenten finished filling a box and paused to think. 

“Hmm… how about we take a little extra time delivering ours and we can walk around the village until we see Naruto and we can make it seem like we just bumped into him.” 

While still very clearly unsure of Tenten’s plan, Hinata nodded and they continued their work. 

Once all was said and done, Tenten and Hinata looked across a freshly cleaned kitchen and six perfect looking hot chocolate bombs. 

A pot of milk was warming on the stove, and two mugs waited patiently on the counter. 

They each took a mug and placed a ball inside. When the milk was ready, Tenten poured some into each cup. The chocolate melted quickly and clusters of mini marshmallows popped up to the surface. They stirred together the mixture of chocolate, cocoa powder and other sweet fillings and drank. 

“Oh wow, that’s really good!” 

Hinata put her mug down after Tenten. 

“It really is,” she agreed. 

“There’s four left,” said Tenten, “do you want to give them all to Naruto?” 

Hinata took a moment to take another sip of cocoa and shook her head. 

“Two will be enough. Besides, if I took all four you wouldn’t have any to give.” 

Tenten felt her face flush. 

“Wait, I don’t-“ 

Hinata cut her off with a knowing look. 

“Tenten, if I can be brave, so can you.” 

—

Tenten glared at the two remaining hot chocolate bombs. 

Hinata had left them behind for her, knowing full well who she thought Tenten should give them to.

She’d slipped out quietly, carrying a bag with Sakura and Ino’s finished chocolates to drop off. 

“He’ll be receptive,” she said before closing the door. 

And suddenly Tenten was left alone, having been lectured about bravery by Hinata, of all people. 

This time when her stomach turned it wasn’t from all of the chocolate she’d consumed that morning. 

— 

Tenten’s bag was heavy on her shoulder as she left her apartment the next morning to meet Hinata in town. 

She’d never been unnerved by Valentine’s Day before.

She dug her fists into her coat pocket and headed out into the February cold. 

Hinata and Tenten found Naruto right away. Hinata seemed to know exactly where to find him. Tenten was more surprised to learn that one could stomach ramen for breakfast than how Hinata seemed to know his schedule. 

They stepped into the ramen stand and acted surprised to see Naruto at the counter. 

“Oh hey Naruto!” 

He looked up from his bowl and grinned. 

“Tenten, Hinata! What brings you here?” 

“We’re looking for Lee, have you seen him?” 

Naruto shook his head. 

“Bummer. Well, Happy Valentine’s Day anyway.” 

“Thanks, you too!” 

Tenten elbowed Hinata whose face turned an entirely new shade of red before she reached into her bag for the package of hot chocolate bombs and bowed her head, holding it out to him. 

“Ha-happy V-Valentine’s D-Day, N-N-Naruto-kun.”

Tenten smiled when his face lit up. 

“Wow Hinata! These look amazing!” He snatched the box up and inspected the chocolates. 

“They’re hot chocolate bombs,” said Tenten, “heat up some milk and drop one in.” 

“Woah. I can’t wait to try this! Hinata, do you want to try them together?” 

“To-together?” 

Tenten grabbed Hinata’s arm to steady her, answering for her. 

“Later, we have to drop off the rest of our chocolate, right Hinata?” 

She didn’t answer. 

“Naruto, maybe Hinata can come to your place this evening?” 

“Sure!” 

“Great, it’s a date!” 

“D-d-date?” Hinata mumbled, as Tenten pulled her away from the ramen stand. 

After a bottle of water and several encouraging words of reassurance, Tenten parted ways with Hinata. 

Butterflies danced in her stomach as she set her sights towards Team Three’s training grounds. 

Lee greeted her bursting with energy. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Tenten!” 

She rolled her eyes at his subtlety, before reaching into her bag to hand him a box. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Lee.” 

“Sakura-chan gave me some chocolate too! I think we’re in love!” 

Tenten sighed, wondering if asking Sakura to give Lee some chocolate had been a mistake, even if it had been a well intentioned one. 

“I don’t know if I’d go that far, Lee, but it’s nice to hear she thought of you.” 

Tenten gave Gai his chocolate next, earning a crushing hug and praise of her culinary skills. 

She dropped down to the ground by Neji and handed him his box last, the rest of his chocolate burning at her side. She would give it to him when they were alone. 

“Thank you, Tenten,” he said quietly. Her heart fluttered as she tried to quell the wave of heat creeping up her neck. 

“Don’t mention it.” 

Neji carefully opened the box and studied the chocolates before holding it out to her. 

“Would you like one?” 

“They’re yours.” 

He shrugged.

“And I’m choosing to share.” 

“I shouldn’t,” she said, reaching for a salted caramel chocolate. 

She took her time savoring it, the mix of sweet and salty bursting over her tongue while Neji selected one for himself and put the box in his backpack. 

They both leaned back against a tree and watched Lee and Gai hype each other up. 

“Neji! Tenten!” Gai yelled, “let’s do 5,000 laps around Konoha on our hands!” 

“Absolutely not,” said Tenten. 

“But hearty exercise is essential if we’re going to be eating a bunch of chocolate!” added Lee. 

“We’re going to spar,” said Neji. 

“Ah, most youthful!” Gai exclaimed. “Come, Lee, the village calls us!” 

And the green pair fell into handstands and headed into town. 

“Thank goodness,” Tenten said. 

“Mm.”

But then the relief was gone. That little rumble of accent that hummed in Neji’s throat threw her back on edge. 

They were alone. 

Tenten fiddled with the hem of her bag, daring herself to reach in for the remainder of Neji’s gift, but she couldn’t bring herself to. 

“If there’s something you’d like to tell me, you should go ahead.” 

Tenten fumbled with her bag. Despite knowing him and how well he could read body language she wanted to ask how he knew. 

Instead she reached her hand in and gripped the box. 

“I have something else for you.” Her face burned. Neji looked at her, confused at first before realization passed over his face. 

She pulled the box out and pushed it into his hands. 

“It’s nothing special, just something extra I had.” 

He looked down at the box, studying it carefully, just as Naruto had. 

“They’re hot chocolate bombs,” Tenten mumbled. 

“Did you make these?” 

She nodded. 

“For me?” 

Her stomach flipped and her mind reeled, searching frantically for any excuse. 

“Like I said… it was…” 

She stopped, feeling his hand over her own. 

“Thank you.” 

She spread her fingers, letting Neji lace his own between hers. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Neji.” 

--

FFN | AO3

[blouisparadise]

Upon request, here is a rec list of bottom Louis fics that involve a love triangle. We tried to choose fics where Louis or Harry have feelings for more than one person or have to make a choice between two or more people by the end of the fic. For each fic, we specified who the people competing for Louis’ or Harry’s heart are. We hope you enjoy all these fics. If you do, be sure to give the writers love and reblog this post! Happy reading.

1) We Are Wide Away | Explicit | 9091 words | Sequel | Harry vs. Liam

Liam watches Louis, his closed eyes, the way his skin is shining with moisture, the flutter of his lashes against his cheeks; when he looks up Harry is staring at him, watching him in turn.

2) Doesn't Have To Be A Real Thing | Explicit | 12532 words | Harry vs. Nick Grimshaw

In which Harry helps Louis get over his ex and it kind of becomes a regular thing. It’s totally casual – they have an understanding. But what happens to Harry when Nick reappears in Louis’ life?

3) Maps Can Be Poems When You're On Your Way | Not Rated | 18974 words | Harry vs. Liam

Harry falls in love with the guy his best friend is fooling around with.

4) Bloom | Explicit | 24887 words | Harry vs. OMC

Note: This fic has been locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

When they first meet at Harry’s flower truck, Harry falls hard but Louis’ unavailable. Only before long, Harry reignites a spark that Louis thought long forgotten.

5) If This Is It, At Least We Can End It Right | Explicit | 26369 words | Sequel | Harry vs. Zayn

Note: The first fic isn’t endgame Larry, but the second one is.

Harry breaks Louis and Zayn's there to pick up the pieces.

6) Sweet Dreams Are Made of This | Mature | 29982 words | Harry vs. Zayn

Loosely based on The Wedding Date. Inspired by 27 Dresses. Basically, Fake Boyfriend AU with a twist. Louis' sister is unknowingly getting married to the ex who broke his heart. When faced with the prospect of turning up alone, Louis panics and hires a corporate escort named Harry. General chaos and epic jealousy ensues.

7) The Blood Is Rare And Sweet As Cherry Wine | Explicit | 33569 words | Harry vs. Henry Cavill

“Sex therapy?” Louis asks, cocking an eyebrow.

To his credit, the doctor doesn’t blush, “An extremely personal and efficient form of therapy, Mr. Tomlinson.”

“Oh?”

“Should you and your husband wish to, I would be eager to help you in any way I can offer.”

8) Maybe We're Perfect Strangers | Explicit | 39849 words | Harry vs. Niall

When an EDM festival in the Caribbean touts itself as a “life-changing and transformative experience,” Harry’s not too sure he buys into it. Regardless, Harry wants nothing more than to please his best friend, so he goes along for the ride. What he doesn’t expect is to fall head over heels for the festival’s organizer who Harry discovers is also the object of his best friend’s affections.

9) With Stars Of Brightest Gold | Explicit | 41109 words | Harry vs. Henry Cavill

Louis Tomlinson is the premier courtesan at the Moulin Rouge. In his dreams, he has always wanted to be a famous stage actor. Locked into his contract, he has little means of escape until a handsome duke promises him freedom with a romantic alliance. Due to a case of mistaken identity playwright Harry Styles is thrown into the mix, compelling Louis to choose between his head or his heart.

10) Some Things Take Root | Explicit | 50269 words | Harry vs. OMC

Note: This fic has been locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

AU. Louis’ ex doesn’t get jealous of anyone besides Harry. Harry helps Louis use that to his advantage. 

11) The Bachelor | Explicit | 53953 words | Louis vs. many men

Note: This fic has been locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

The one where Harry dates six other guys and still falls in love with Louis Tomlinson.

12) Amazing Sin | Explicit | 56034 words | Harry vs. Liam, Louis vs. Taylor

Gears started turning in Louis’ head$. Purely mischievous gears that had Louis formulating a revenge plan against Taylor. He’d had enough of sitting around and taking it. If she was going to call him a whore, then fine, he’ll act like one for real. “I’m going to say something, and as my friends you are obligated to love me anyway.”

 “This can’t be good,” Niall said, Zayn just groaned.

“So I know we have this strict ‘no lashing back at Taylor’ rule with me, but what if I can get press revenge a different way?” Louis asked. He wasn’t expecting an answer, because they knew by now to just go with it. “What if I stole her boyfriend?”

13) Every Story Has Its Scars, Ours Is A Brand New Start | Mature | 62859 words | Harry vs. OMC

Life as a devoted husband and an amazing father turned out to be a little different than Louis had expected. Everyone tells him it doesn't have to be that way; that he's worth more and that he's so much stronger than any one person trying to keep him down. It's all just words though until he meets the one person who makes him truly believe it.

14) Curly Bun Man | Not Rated | 68600 words | Louis VS. OFC

I just paid for these Doritos but they're stuck in the vending machine and I know you've been waiting but I am not going to let you buy something until you help me. AU

15) This Wicked Game | Explicit | 70010 words | Louis vs. many men

An AU in which The Bachelor is gay, Louis is a contestant, Harry is the bachelor, everyone drinks a lot of champagne, the entire world gets to watch them fall in love, and no one plays by the rules.

16) You Drive Me Crazy (But It Feels Alright) | Teen & Up | 102036 words | Harry vs. Nick Grimshaw, Louis vs. Luke Hemmings

Note: This fic has BH mentions.

Bridget Jones' Diary AU.

“Harry is not short for Harold,” he corrects, his voice as thick as molasses. He lowers his eyes to Louis’ sequined lapels, rubbing one between two fingers. “Is this small or extra small? It looks lovely.”

Louis breaks away from his grip with a petulant huff and pushes him back with two fingers.

“You’re mocking me. Again.”

Harry smiles and it's a real honest swoop of his lips this time. Louis’ stomach swoops with them.

17) Blue Ice | Mature | 102967 words | Harry vs. OMC

An AU where Louis finds himself in a marriage he didn't bargain for.

18) Fucking Animals | Explicit | 116687 words | Harry vs. OMC

Louis is the frontman of an equal rights-movement, author of a book about beta-omega marriage and the struggles of being born and boxed into a personality you don't necessarily feel you fit. The notion that an omega must want to be with an alpha or else he or she's just settling for less, is bullshit.

But, fucking hell.

19) Like Water Over Fire (Like Water On Fire) | Mature | 119264 words | Louis vs. many people

Prince Harry has 46 men and 13 weeks to find the husband of his dreams, Louis has a limited amount to time to live out a royal fantasy. They might just be exactly what the other needs.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

[adhdeancas]

Sunset Sound: Honey Bee

Chapter 17 is available to read on AO3 too :) 

trigger warning: panic attack/anxiety attack

Dawn has not quite hit when Dean is suddenly blinded by a light. “Son of a- what the fuck?” They’re awake before they can notice, blind fear running in their veins. Dean scrambles for his keys, stomps Baby into drive, and they’re 0 to 80 in seconds. 

The spotlight hits him straight in the corneas again and he swerves and almost runs into a fence lining the road. Cas jumps back into the front seat, tugs the wheel over and they crash through the barbed wire. “Cas, what the hell?”

“We need away from the road!!” Cas explains, holding a hand up to try to fend off the horrible glare. The spotlight fades as they hit forest, Dean swearing left and right as he guides Baby through tight swaths of tree trunks. They abandon her once it gets too much and make a run for it. The spotlight can’t keep up; it pans across trying to find Dean’s plaid in the overgrowth or Cas’s trench coat, but Cas grabs Dean and throws them both into a bush before it can. Dean spits out a leaf and glares at him. “You’re welcome.” Cas mutters back, except it’s breathless, because for some reason beyond the physical exertion, Cas can’t breathe. It’s then that he realizes he’d left the walkie talkie, their only connection to their friends, in the backseat of the car.

He takes in big gulps of air but it doesn’t seem to matter, or maybe those gulps of air do too much, because it feels like his head is floating. He squeezes his eyes shut and just holds onto Dean; he needs to know that he’s still there but the panic in his skull finds the image of him too much.

“Cas?” Dean whispers, and it sounds far off. “Cas.” Cas can feel Dean’s grip on his arms, pulling at his coat sleeves like he’s trying to reel him back in. “You okay? What’s going on?”

Cas shakes his head then nods. “I’m fine, I just- am having trouble-” he takes another gulp of air because he keeps running out, and his confusion mounts. Is this what running normally feels like, to humans? Is it usually so uncomfortable and debilitating? Perhaps his vessel is just woefully - as Dean would say - flabby. Out of shape. 

“Breathing?” Dean gathers from Cas’s exaggerated gasps. The fear in his own chest calms down a little bit now he knows what’s happening. “Cas, it’s alright, look at me,” He puts a hand on his cheek, trying to convince Cas to open his eyes. “Cas, trust me,”

Cas finally does, of course. He takes a breath in and opens his eyes, and it’s a mixture of stunning adrenaline and comfort that goes through his body when he realizes he and Dean are sitting almost on top of each other within the poking branches of the bush. Dean pushes a stick out of his way so Cas can see his eyes clearly. “What’s happening?”

“You’re having a panic attack, doofus,” Dean smiles at him with his best bedside manner. “It’s fine, happens to me all the time. Just-” He grabs hold of Cas’s hand and raises it so Cas can see. “Up means breathe in, down means breathe out.”

“But what if-” Cas throws a glance up, focused completely on the wrath of heaven that could descend upon them at any moment. 

“Since when are we scared of a couple dicks with wings? We’ll be fine. C’mon, have I ever let you down?”

Confidence leaks back into Cas at the reassurance, and a glint reaches his eyes as he says, “Well…”

Dean mimes out a sarcastic laugh and holds their hands up again. “Alright, asshole, breathe,” He lifts their hands slowly, Cas’s breath growing past what he’s comfortable with, then lets them down even slower. Over and over again until it’s all Cas is thinking about, and he knows his heartbeat has stopped hammering so fast against his ribs. It’s still there, the panic still bothers him, but it’s manageable, which he guesses is what Dean is going for. He nods at Dean in thanks.

“I’m okay. We can go.” Dean ignores him to do three more breaths, which Cas grudgingly follows. Then he highers himself into a crouch, still holding Cas’s hand.

Dean pulls him back onto the run and they sprint until they see a cabin in the distance. They make eye contact and agree; they can take whoever owns the cabin, if they need to. It’s Cas who pounds on the door and Dean who peeks in the window, which means he only looks after the owner answers the door and Cas has grabbed him by the throat. 

“Corbett?” 

Cas lets him go almost immediately, but the poor boy’s eyes stay wide. “Uh-D- Dean?” Dean steps up and puts a hand on Cas’s arm, pulling him back to try and make Corbett a little less on edge. It works a little bit; the nervous man withdraws slightly and rubs at his neck. “Dean… Winchester, right?” 

“Yeah,” Dean nods encouragingly and steps in front to ease his way in the cabin. Cas has a hand on his back trying to push him in faster, still aware of heaven’s spotlights looking out for them. “Been a while, buddy. Mind if we-?” He pats Corbett on the shoulder as he just stands there and stutters and Cas and Dean both get to work drawing warding on the walls. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Sigils, to keep the angels off your back,” Dean explains quickly, glancing at the guy’s bewildered expression. “Dude, what are you wearing?” 

Corbett looks down, offended, and puts his hands on his hips. “A robe- I didn’t expect visitors!” The robe is baby blue and it stops above his knees, and Dean raises an eyebrow at it. “Hey!” He throws his hands up. “Listen, I’ll change and all, but what are you doing here? And who is he?” 

“Cas. He’s- well, you can trust him.” 

“...why do I need to trust anyone?” Corbett says suspiciously. He walks over to his bedroom and reemerges wearing actual clothes, not comforted by Dean’s silence. “Do you guys want something to drink- water, coffee?” His politeness takes over by instinct, and he gestures his guests to his table. “Please tell me what’s going on.” 

“Coffee would be great.” Corbett looks over at Cas and he nods the same. “Uh, we got angels on our trail.” 

“And that’s… a bad thing?” 

“I’m not on their good list.” Now it’s Corbett’s turn to raise an eyebrow from the coffee maker. Dean smiles awkwardly. To this poor guy, being on an angel’s shitlist probably isn’t a ringing character endorsement. 

“It’s a long story; promise we’ll tell you some other time. But, uh, you mind if we lay low here for a while?”

Corbett shrugs, not sure he has much of a choice, but he plops down coffees in front of the three of them anyway. “Looks like we have some time then. But, um, Dean… how’s Ed?” The kid looks at Dean hopefully, flashing some puppy-dog eyes that even Sam would be jealous of. Dean looks at Cas for help, but of course Cas has no freaking clue what Dean’s conflicted about. He looks back at him without a care in the fucking world beyond burning his tongue on his coffee.

“He’s good. I mean, not- he’s- he was sad- he mourned you and all, if that’s what you’re asking.” The tips of Dean’s ears turn red and he changes the subject before he can shove his foot in his mouth. Last time Corbett talked to Ed, Ed was pretending to be in love with him. The key word being pretending. “Anyway, so, hate to break it to you but heaven sucks.” 

Cas steps in then, helps soften the blow and explains with more eloquence than Dean could. Corbett takes the news surprisingly well, something about always figuring God was a dick (yeah, growing up gay in the Midwest will do that to you), although the fact that Cas was/is an angel threw him for a loop. 

“So you don’t have, like, wings or anything?”

“I did. I do.” Cas frowns down at the table. After losing all but all of his grace, his wings are but a mangled decoration for him now. Especially being in heaven, not being able to fly around stings, it feels like he is moving in slow motion sometimes. Dean’s hand appears over the table and taps his, his fingers soft and consoling. He pulls back slowly and Cas wishes he would keep touching him. “I can’t fly now, not without my powers.” 

“That sucks.” 

“Yeah.” Cas smiles up at Corbett. The simple openness of this man is making Cas instantly fond of him. It’s a refreshing change of pace from hunters and ethereal creatures’ secretive nature. “It was worth it, though. I’m alive.” 

“... you’re in heaven.” 

Dean snorts, and Cas nods, amused. “I’m not here… naturally. Given the ability, I believe I would be able to traverse back to the mortal realm and live as… well, as a human.” He looks up and meets Dean’s eyes, who looks shaken by the information. 

Cas could go back and live on Earth as just a regular old human, and Dean… Dean’s dead. Dean’s dead at 41 and that’s that. The thought makes his heart sink like a rock in his chest. 

“Well,” Dean stands up and slaps a hand on the table, breaking the quiet of the cabin. “We should probably get going.”

“Wait.” Corbett stands too and grabs Dean’s arm, an action far more forward than he’s used to. “Dean, you gotta… please, tell me. What aren’t you telling me about Ed?” 

Dean sighs, looking around the cabin for a possible exit. His eyes land on a stupid framed photo of Corbett and Ed, taken like a selfie before front-facing cameras existed. His stomach twists in a knot. How is he supposed to ruin this guy’s happiness? He thinks Ed is gonna show up someday and they’re gonna be happy and together and gay in a dumb little gay paradise.

“Please. Dean, the truth.” 

The knot in his stomach twists further and Dean winces. He’s gotta tell him. Better that than the guy getting his heart ripped out when Ed finally shows up and doesn’t want him. He swallows and looks up at Cas, who’s frowning at him in confusion. Dean looks away. Better to look at Corbett. “Uh, listen, Corbett… Ed… he’s not in love with you.” 

Corbett blinks. “Wha- no, he- he said-” 

“Yeah, he lied,” Dean sighs and sits back down heavily. “Sorry dude, but…” He shakes his head. Corbett shakes his right back.

“No, he said he loved me.” 

“I know what he said!” It bursts out of Dean before he can stop it, louder than he meant. He pauses and clears his throat, and the whole cabin is silent. 

Cas puts a hand on Corbett’s shoulder. “I’m sure he meant what he said, in a way.” he says, talking out of his ass. He has no way of knowing what the situation was, but Corbett talks about this Ed man like they were close, friends, pals. 

Corbett keeps his eyes fixed on Dean. Dean sighs and turns his head, looking at the young man again. “Listen, I’m sorry,” But he can’t get another word out before Corbett starts crying. He puts his head in his hands and sobs, and Dean and Cas look at each other helplessly. Cas pats his shoulder, but he shrugs it off. Finally Dean heaves himself up and squats down next to Corbett. He tugs on his hands gently, pulling them away from his face, and Cas imagines this is how Dean dealt with it when Sam cried as a child. “Corbett, man… Ed loved you, just not… listen.” He stops and Cas can practically hear the ‘shit’ in his head as he searches for the right words. “Ed loved you enough to tell you he loved you, just so you’d be able to move on. To save you.” his voice is steadier now, quiet and firm. Cas stills, just listening. “And maybe he doesn’t want to come up here and shack up and watch Desperate Housewives, but,”

Cas watches Dean’s train of thought trail away as he catches his eye. He holds his gaze, and Dean looks heartbroken. He looks insecure. He looks like he did that night in the barn, when Cas recognized his self-loathing without a second thought. Now, the expression causes Cas physical pain, and he wants to reach out and soothe him. Instead, he just stares as Dean continues talking without taking his eyes off him. 

“I mean, he probably still wants to, y’know, have a beer or something. And that’s shitty, it’s-  disappointing as fuck but… you gotta respect that.” He clears his throat and finally looks down. “Everything’s shitty right now.”

“Everything’s shitty.” Corbett agrees, sniffing. He was too lost in his own misery to notice the considerable tension in the room. Cas can’t get the image of Dean’s face out of his head, his words playing like a broken tape-deck over and over.

The rest of the goodbyes are said through a haze of Cas’s thoughts screaming at him, and it isn’t until they get back to the car, fuzzy small talk half-remembered, that Cas gets up the courage to say something. Still, he waits minutes into the car ride, because he doesn’t want to seem like he has been waiting to get into the car. The logic makes no sense but it controls him, and it makes his voice quaver when he finally says, “Dean?” 

“Yeah,” Dean smacks his lips and glances at him once, fingers tapping the wheel to the beat of the radio. 

“Why did you want me?” 

Dean furrows his eyebrows and looks at Cas like he doesn’t understand the question. “Why did I…?”

“Why did you bring me- to go with you to the Garden.” Cas clarifies. Helpfully. Almost confidently, if he’s being generous with himself. 

Dean gives him an incredulous glance. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t have my powers, Dean. There are angels you could have brought with you that are far more powerful. Or, if you wanted to attract less attention, there are plenty of hunters who could slip under the radar, who are more skilled in combat.” Cas tries not to let his self-doubt seep into the words. He’s not sure if it works, because Dean shifts uncomfortably in his seat. 

“I dunno, because I didn’t want to bring those other guys,” he says defensively.

“Dean,” Cas pushes, insistent. His heart is speeding up in his chest and he feels like he might explode if he keeps going, but he has to. His momentum is already started, and the look in Dean’s eyes as he’d talked to Corbett is giving him strength. 

“What!” Dean sounds annoyed now, but it’s just more defense. He’s starting to feel like he’s being cornered into doing something terrible, like telling the truth.

“Dean.”

“Because I like you?” 

It’s even and it’s uncertain and it’s vulnerable. Dean is scared as hell, but then he looks at Cas and he gets terrified. A flicker of hurt passes across Cas’s face, and it’s so severe even Dean can’t miss it. 

Cas feels like a child. He feels like he’s being spoken to like a child. He had expected… but that was too much. Instead of simplicity and vulnerability, he heard patronization. “You don’t need to do that Dean.”

“Do what? I do like you, man. We’re- friends. Didn’t think I needed to spell that out for you.” Dean laughs nervously, completely un-fucking-aware of what is going on right now. 

Cas looks at his lap. “Claire has explained to me what ‘friendzone’ means, and I assure you, it’s unnecessary. It always has been.” Feeling is excruciating.

Dean sputters. He had not expected the word “friendzone” to come out of Cas’s mouth like… ever. “I don’t- I haven’t-”

“You’ve called me your brother multiple times.” Humiliation burns across Cas’s face. 

“No, no, I don’t mean it like- I’m not trying to friendzone you…” Dean laughs, a little crazed that he’s actually in this conversation. More that he’s about to- “I just- I want you around…  because I like having you around. I want you around because I like seeing you and I like your grumpy little jokes and I like your dumb info dumps about plants and I like watching movies with you you’re only watching to humor my dumb ass…” Dean trails off, the little bit of pink in his cheeks matching Cas’s. “Listen, Cas, you’re not like a brother to me. I mean, I love my brothers, but I don’t love them like that.” He swallows, looking at the road in front of them. It stretches quiet and unremarkable, like it has no idea the progress being made in this old hunk of well-shaped metal. “Like this.”

He keeps facing straight ahead, fingers tapping out of beat against the wheel now. Cas is dumbstruck. The car is filled with the heaviness of it. It’s finally out there. Dean loves him. Cas looks over at Dean, and lights throw his face into half shadow, and he looks beautiful. Cas reaches out and grabs his hand off the wheel and holds it in his own. Dean keeps driving. One handed.

tag list: 

@dochunterwitch  @justonecitizenoftheearth @gnbrules @purpe @castiel-is-a-cat @alienapparatus @damian-janus-pendragon

[geralehane]

an unlikely cupid

Raven and Clarke get drunk and accidentally summon Lexa the old and powerful deity who's also hopelessly, helplessly gay.

or, the one where Lexa and Clarke live happily ever after.

READ ON AO3

patreon | ko-fi

If Clarke has ever learned anything in life, it would be two things. One: most ideas Raven comes up with are surprisingly idiotic, considering her brilliance. Two: Drunk Clarke never agrees with anything Sober Clarke thinks, and Raven’s ideas being idiotic is not an exception.

In fact, Drunk Clarke loves Raven’s ideas. Which is exactly how the two of them find themselves in their dorm at two-fifty five in the morning, spilling whiskey all over a wooden board Raven found in her grandma’s attic last weekend.

A wooden Ouija board, to be precise.

Sober Clarke told Raven to burn it down. Drunk Clarke giggles and snatches it from her hands, eagerly looking it over. “How do we know it works?”

“Fuck if I know,” is her answer as Raven takes a huge swig straight from the bottle, wincing at the strong burn. “We place our fingers on this small thing and hope for the best.”

“That’s what she said,” Clarke hiccups. “You ready? We ready?”

Raven’s enthusiastic nod and the splash of whiskey from the bottle notify her that everyone is more than ready. “Alright,” Clarke says. “Wait, why are we doing this, again?”

“Cause Halloween, man,” Raven loudly lets her know, nodding at her own words.

“Oh.” Clarke thinks for a minute. “True.” She squints at the board. “Is it okay that we spilled whiskey on it?”

Raven nods.

“Is it okay if I lick it off?”

Raven nods again.

So Clarke does. She drools a little on it, right in the center, but she’s too drunk to care, so she simply wipes it away.

“Hot,” her friend comments with a wide, sloppy grin. “Okay. Gimme those sausages, Griffin.”

“Hey!” Clarke makes two fists, hiding her fingers. “Fuck you. They are not sausages. They are magnificent.”

“As someone who bangs chicks, you’d think you’d learn to appreciate the gift from gods.”

“I’d trade them for a girlfriend,” Clarke says. “Or Cheetos. I’m hungry.”

“Quit dicking around and let’s do this.”

Clarke doesn’t voice another that’s what she said, but she makes damn sure Raven gets her train of thought when she waggles her eyebrows at her.

//

All Lexa wanted was to come back to her plane of existence and climb in a bathtub. That’s literally all she wanted. She doesn’t even particularly cares if there’s going to be water in it. She just likes the concept. Sometimes, humans have the best ideas.

Everything is giving her a headache that day. It’s like the whole universe with every world in it have decided to band together against her. Well. That’s Halloween for her. Despite it becoming a largely commercial holiday, no one cancelled Samhain just because humans decided they wanted to be a Joker once a year.

Vile creature, that man – and she says that as someone who’s viewed as demonic. She’s not actually a demon – that’s common misconception. She’s just an old goddess. Humans know a lot of her names, and none of them can even begin to imagine that she’s the one behind those faces, portrayed grim, evil, and, most offensively, male.

Lexa sighs. Her Hades days were certainly the most fun, but the tale’s been twisted so much she’s not sure she enjoys those memories quite in the same way. Oh well. Samhain is almost over. She can finally kick back and relax in a hot tub and maybe open up a bottle of ambrosia she saved for a special occasion. And what could be more special than a night of self-care?

Now, Lexa never considered herself particularly lucky. Mostly because Luck and her had a brief affair that did not end well, and she’s been mildly cursed ever since. Nothing she can’t live with, of course – but just a tad inconvenient. She’s certainly learned to cherish small blessings. That’s why, when she feels a tell-tale tug in her gut before being hurled back to a dimension she’s just left, she’s not even surprised. She simply whispers a quick thank you that she hasn’t taken her clothes off yet.

With that, she sighs and lets herself be whisked away back to Earth, wondering  with scientific curiosity who could have possibly found out the summoning spell.

//

“I’m pretty sure you’re doing it wrong.”

“This seems like a ‘that’s what she said’ moment, but I assure you, she’s never said that.”

Raven blinks. Reaches for the bottle and pouts when she finds it empty. “Who is she, anyway?”

“Fuck if I know,” Clarke repeats Raven’s words from earlier. “And I’m not doing anything wrong. You’re supposed to move this thing,” she gestures to the heart-shaped piece of wood, with a hole in the middle of it that she looks through at Raven.

“Maybe there’s an instruction or something,” Raven mutters, grabbing the planchette. Clarke resists and tugs it back, resulting in Raven’s forehead colliding with her mouth. Hard.

“Shit!” Clarke exclaims when a droplet of blood falls onto the board from her now-split lip. “Raven, what the fuck?”

Her friend only shrugs apologetically. Not even apologetically. In fact, she doesn’t even shrug. “You’re doing it wrong,” she says.

“I do everything right,” Clarke argues, taking the planchette back. “Sit and watch. And prepare for an I told you so.”

//

Lexa blinks when the spinning finally stops and she’s rematerialized in what appears to be a room in a college dormitory. That alone surprises her more than anything that’s happened today. Surely, a college student couldn’t have known all the steps necessary to complete a ritual.

“…prepare for an I told you so,” she catches and turns in the direction of the voice, squinting. English. American English, to be exact. Things are taking an interesting turn. She was expecting a bunch of men unsatisfied with life and recent feminist movement. Not two drunk college girls.

She comes closer to get a better look at them, and no, she’s definitely not prepared for what she sees. And what she sees is an angel. An actual angel with a bloody lip and unfocused gaze and a strong alcoholic smell. An angel with blonde tresses and bluest eyes.

Lexa can’t stop herself from letting out the smallest, softest gasp.

She’s immensely grateful for her ability to be invisible.

She’s frozen in place, eyes taking in every inch of the girl’s body when that same voice – and oh, what a voice it is! – addresses the room, husky and low. “Is anyone here with us?”

Lexa takes a deep breath, rubs her suddenly cold hands, and hesitantly steps forward, placing her own fingers on the wooden planchette and shakily dragging it to the word “yes”.

//

“Raven!” Clarke yelps, jumping from the board. “Raven, I did it!”

Raven, however, does not share her enthusiasm. “Yeah,” she says blankly. “I saw you move it.”

“No, see, see,” with fast slurred speech and disheveled hair, Clarke more closely resembles a maniac than a bright daughter of two respected surgeons. “I didn’t – Raven,” she gasps, happy she finally gets a good reason to pause for a dramatic effect. “I didn’t move it,” she finishes in a loud whisper.

Raven stares at her. And stares. And stares some more before she starts to chuckle, slowly at first. Soon, it escalated into a continuous giggling. “Sure, Clarke,” she manages to say. “I believe you.”

“But I’m telling the truth!” Clarke gets suddenly upset. Why doesn’t Raven believe her?

“And I’m marrying Finn tomorrow. Get real, Griff.” The planchette hits Raven’s forehead as soon as she’s finished talking.

“See!”

Clarke’s triumphant yell pales in contrast with Raven’s terrified scream.

//

That is very, very loud. Lexa does not like loud.

Unless Clarke likes loud. Then she loves loud.

Right now, however, it’s starting to become a little extreme. So she sighs and waves her hand, silencing the girl whose name is Raven. She has to admit – watching her try to scream silently is mildly amusing.

But then it scares Clarke, too. “Who’s here? Who’s doing this?”

She sighs again. Then, she makes her voice audible so that Clarke can hear you. “You have noting to fear. My name is Lexa. I will give your friend her voice back, but only if she promises not to scream.”

After Raven’s rigorous nodding, Lexa waves her hand again, and the girl coughs, eyes wide and expression sober. “Who – who are you?!”

“Oh,” Lexa says, because she hasn’t really thought things this far. “I have many names and positions. I believe you know me as the devil, but I promise you, I’m vastly different from that portrayal.”

Raven blinks. “Did she just say she’s Satan?”

“I think so,” Clarke whispers back, and Lexa freezes again, watching the way she presses her lips together. How is she so beautiful?

“Does Satan really expect me to believe she’s, what, nice?”

“Well, yes,” Lexa speaks up. “That would be a polite thing to do.”

“Oh hell no,” Raven says. “I don’t play with demons,” she announces, despite the fact that it’s exactly what she’s been doing for the past half an hour. “If you’re nice, tell us how to get rid of you.”

Now it’s Lexa’s turn to blink. “I’m afraid that’s not possible,” she says apologetically. Then her eyes widen with realization. “Oh! You meant get me to leave this room?”

“Yeah. Exactly. How do we do that?”

“Oh, you – you don’t. I can come and go as I please now. That’s the whole point of the summoning spell.”

Clarke and Raven look at each other, eyes wide. “The what now?!”

//

So turns out that while Luck and Lexa are not exactly pals, Fate definitely favors her. Through a series of events that they can’t exactly deem either fortunate or unfortunate just yet, Clarke and Raven manage to accidentally summon one of the most powerful beings known to man. And that being just happens to fall head over heels for Clarke.

Raven finds it weird. Clarke finds it sweet. And Fate – well, Fate doesn’t find it impossible.

“Lexa, dear,” she mumbles around a thin cigarette while Lexa broods all over her realm, having just come back from Earth after yet another night with Clarke, full of talking and laughing and soft unspoken confessions on both ends. “Just take some time off and spend a life with that girl. She’ll join you after it’s over anyway. What’s seventy years to you? A blink of an eye. Besides, have you forgotten how fun it is to grow old?”

So Lexa sighs, fishes the best outfit she has out of her memory, and goes back to earth wearing her corporeal form and a pale blue oxford shirt with sleeves rolled up. She faintly recalls Clarke liking that.

In hindsight, waiting for Clarke in her room might not have been her best idea, but can she be blamed, really? She got used to it. She just kinda forgot she wasn’t visible all previous times she’s been there.

Clarke walks through her door a moment later, eyes on her phone. “Lexa, I’m home!” she calls out, not looking up as she kicks her shoes off. “You here? Le- Jesus fucking Christ!”

Lexa never particularly liked the man, but the profanity still makes her wince. “Hello, Clarke.”

“Holy shit,” Clarke exhales, pressing a hand to her chest and bending to retrieve her phone that fell out of her grip when she jumped in fright upon finding a stranger sitting on her bed. “Who are you? Damn it, Raven. I told her to always let me kno- wait a minute.” She stops, blinking. “I know that voice.”

Lexa feels her lips stretch in a smile. It’s an incredible feeling. “Hello, Clarke.” She repeats, rising to her feet and offering her a giant bouquet she retrieves from thin air.

“Oh God,” Clarke whispers, rapidly blinking sudden tears away. “Lexa. Oh my God.”

“Well, technically, yes,” Lexa says, “but we can skip the formalities.”

Clarke’s warm, solid body slams into hers next, and she huffs in surprise, falling down on Clarke’s bed with the girl on top of her, clinging to her. “Lexa,” Clarke sobs. “You’re here. It’s you. You’re here.”  

“Yes,” she confirms. “I’m here. It’s me.”

Clarke’s lips on hers feel better than anything she’s ever experienced, and she’s been around for a little longer than eternity. “I can’t believe I’m holding you in my arms,” Clarke whispers when they part, breathing ragged. “You’re so real. So warm, too. Is that – is that how you really look like?”

“Yes,” she gives another affirmative. “I’m not wearing someone’s body. We’ve been over this.”

“I know,” Clarke chuckles. “I’m just checking.”

She trails a finger down Lexa’s cheek, slow and tender. Lexa sees the unspoken question in her eyes. She answers with no hesitation. “I’m here to stay. For as long as you want me.”

“Then that means you’re stuck with me forever.”

Lexa laughs. “Wouldn’t have it any other way. Although I do believe it’s the other way around. Clarke, I…” she swallows, and Clarke smoothes her thumb over the skin of her throat where it bobs. “If you ever decide to end our – this, I’ll understand. But I’m afraid I’m a little different.”

“Lexa,” Clarke coos, shushing her. She’s still roaming her hands all over her body, and it’s way less sexual than it sounds. She’s simply feeling Lexa. And Lexa’s completely okay with that. “When I said forever, I knew who I was talking to you. It’s not just a word anymore.” She leans in, pressing another kiss to Lexa’s lips. “For us, it’s a reality.”

Lexa’s heart soars when she says ‘for us.’ It jumps and stops and restarts, beating so fast she’s afraid it’ll jump out of her chest.

“A reality,” she whispers. “I like the sound of that.”

“And I like your face.” Clarke squints. “You didn’t tell me you were this hot.”

“I’ve exited for millions of years, Clarke,” Lexa reminds her. “I do not have an opinion on beauty, because it is as made up as it is subjective.”

“A concept can’t be made up and subjective at the same time.”

“Let me correct myself, then. I used to think it was made up.” Her smile grows. “Then I met you.”

“You’re so getting lucky tonight, I hope you know that.” Soft lips capture hers, and Lexa gloats.

Suck on this, Luck.