#being around him and having to interact with him made me anxious to the point of almost puking my guts out and fainting

[robinsnest2111]

whenever I see The Sopranos mentioned anywhere I'm reminded of my storytelling and programming teacher at college. it's one of his favourite shows and he had us analyse an episode in class.

that man gave me the worst anxiety of my life just by being the way he is and it not meshing well with my own issues but I hope he's doing alright nowadays

[neverfilth]

"Bloberta made Clay drink so-"

OKAY, BUT DO YOU KNOW WHY?

Let me explain

'Help'.

A very important word when describing Bloberta.

First, it is integral to understand that Bloberta feels torturously alone and unwanted. Her friends are all getting married while she has no one.

She isn't clever enough to help Censordoll.

Her own family leaves her out of the family choir. 

And the only crumb of validation she is offered is from her mother.

“Why don't you help me out and… Clean your room?” Note even the slight pause her mother has, as if she doesn't even know what to do with Bloberta.

Next, we see her trudge to her room. And what does she hide under the covers of her bed?

A flask.

She turns to alcohol when she is confronted with how unwanted she is. But where did that draw to alcohol come from?

We know she comes from a home where she is ultimately ignored and seen as valueless by everyone except one person.

Her Father.

I have a lot of thoughts about Bloberta and Raymond's relationship (the one scene where they interact just UGH LIVES IN MY HEAD) but the main thing to get away from it is that she associates the act of drinking with her Father.

A man who, without alcohol, is unable to speak his mind at all. He drinks to better tolerate his situation and his wife, who clearly doesn't value his words or opinions.

But Bloberta is very receptive to her Father, she greatly values his company and his thoughts and she finds comfort in being around him. She feels like someone cares about her and values her even if she knows he can't change anything.

Notice that despite her desperation to speak with her father, to form that connection that would validate her, she can't even touch him because she knows doing so would break the frail connection they have currently. Her Father is so reserved that at this point, any unexpected emotional reach would immediately cause him to shut down and retreat. Demonstrated just by him closing up immediately after she told him she loved him.

So how does this affect Blobertas perception of alcohol?

Well she says it herself.

"I think it helps us to be better people".

This rationality was reinforced by the small acts of kindness her father would show her.

And we don't have any reason to believe she is lying about this because up until the night of the reception, she's experienced nothing that contradicts this belief.

Bloberta's reliance on alcohol can be seen as her reaching for a solution to her need to feel wanted. She knows she's left out, both by friends and family. But if she believes drinking can make you become a better person? Then of course she would drink, because maybe then someone will want her.

What does she say directly after that?

"My Father drinks.”

Further insinuating her belief that he is good and he is the main reason she sees alcohol as a positive force.

She thought it would genuinely help Clay.

There's that word again.

Importantly, notice her clear anxiety and tenseness in her beginning interactions with Clay. From her first question, their conversation began falling apart.

So what happened?

Just after the wedding, she was almost suave in the way she invited Clay to the reception.

Why was she so nervous now?

Well, in her eyes, this was her chance.

After an undisclosed time of having no luck she finally convinces a handsome single man to have some semblance of a date with her.

She NEEDS this to go well.

So she's obviously anxious and stressed, and that's showing, but she figures that some drinks will make it easier for both of them. She's full panicking because she feels it's just so normal to drink, especially socially, and she can't understand why he wouldn't drink. She has no frame of reference for that mindset.

Things are already awkward between them once they settle in, and its not getting better. So of course she is going to fall back on what makes things easier for her.

And initially things are looking up.

Suddenly Clay's more talkative, and more receptive to what she's saying.

He's complimenting her.

He says she helped him.

The one thing she wants more than anything is to feel useful, she wants to be able to fit into that role that everyone expects her to so that she can be of worth to someone.

She isn't worth it to her peers,

she isn't worth it to her family,

but she could be worth it to him.

This only reinforces her resolve. 

This is it.

She is going to finally find her place to fit in, and everyone will welcome her with open arms as she finally finds her place in the role society has chosen for her.

But it's not that simple.

Things go south quickly, Clay doesn't want these things that Bloberta has to have. 

But she needs them.

To Bloberta, those things are proof of your value. The value society, friends, and family place on you.

Who would she be if she couldn't attain that value?

We again recognize that Bloberta has a fixation on being helpful. Helpfulness is the clearest indication of one's value, after all.

After being turned away by Clay, she immediately returns to a default ‘helpful’ act, cleaning. Just like her mother would tell her to do. But this was still her only chance, and Clay had already told her she had helped him. If she could only help him again, then maybe she had a chance at the real value she craved.

Once her anger passes and Clay sobers up, she returns to him and paints herself as ‘helpful’ as possible. She's desperate for that validation again, and if he would agree to her help then everything would certainly be fine.

She is practically begging him, help becomes a plea for him to save her from the pain of her day to day.

She hopes more than anything he will accept her and make all her pain go away.

He does accept, but in exchange, her previous world view is shattered.

Drinks don't help you become a better person.

They just help your true nature come out.

[herejusttosufferalong]

Pancake anon here with my thoughts on recent events:

My thoughts really haven't changed. I've said from the first post I made that there is going to be back and forth during this process. L is codependent and with A & L both having anxious attachment styles (confirmed by attachment anon) it isn't abnormal for them to easily fall back into things after an attempted break.

I don't think the shift we've been sensing over the past few weeks is wrong. I do still think things have been rocky and a possible attempted break was made. The key points that keep me here are: A not attending the wedding or at the pub the night of the big match, A posting an old photo from GQ the night of the wedding trying to insinuate she was there, the lack of A outing any locations or hints of L being around for weeks, L's unliking spree on insta, A's deactivation of her insta, continued shady happenings with DM, the legs in lap photo, and A's seemingly entry level new job when it seem's she was trying to go the influencer route.

I thought maybe the friends & A had finally stopped leaking L's location when with him, but now I think he hasn't been around much in the past few weeks because their posts during this trip are back to their normal.

Which brings us to current events. L is on a trip with his childhood best friend for his 30th birthday along with their respective girls. We've seen a couple very short clips of them. Everyone wants to overanalyze the way they are interacting. But here's the thing: A wouldn't still be around if L didn't enjoy her company. That has never been in question. He obviously does, which is why I think ending things will take some back and forth, which I think has already been in progress.

While I'm still very suspicious that A has her hands in things that are happening with DM and the pap walk, I don't think L has quite pieced it all together yet. I could also see him having very mixed feelings about the pap walk. On one hand, I don't think he was expecting it or was happy it was happening. But I could see him having some resentment towards the public's reaction to it. I could see him feeling like "I'm allowed to have a personal life and a girlfriend. I haven't done anything wrong." And he really hasn't.

Basically, what I've said before. L is dealing with a very complex situation right now. He's obviously in love with his bestie and costar. They had a whirlwind amazing 6 months together. They did some questionable things publicly (and who knows what privately) and everyone is analyzing his every move. He's also in a relationship with a girl that has now become very public. People are bullying her online which likely makes him feel protective. She is intertwined with his childhood best friend's girlfriend. He enjoys her company and she can give him a lot of attention during this confusing time. There is likely guilt toward her around the way he acted while on PR tour. And who knows what he's dealing with regarding N. Did she reject him or has she completely distanced herself? His behavior reads as someone who has had their heart broken and was trying to avoid processing it, then maybe did start processing it, and is now back to avoidance for a bit. It's a lot of things happening very quickly.

We are less than 2 months out from the London premiere and end of PR tour. I know that feels like ages ago, but it really isn't a ton of time to process such a complicated situation. His time with A serves a purpose, likely offering some comfort right now, but she isn't end game.

There will be more. But I still believe we are on course and things are moving in the right direction.

🥃

[eclecticmiasma]

Yandere DunMeshi MBTI: Laios Touden

No one in the world requested this, I just think this man needs to be studied under a microscope and I can't quit rolling him around in my brain. Headcanons based on the Yandere MBTI indicator conceptualized by the lovely ddarker-dreams! Please send them love and feel free to request me for any characters. [Warnings: general yandere scariness]

CRUEL Vs. REVERENT Darling captures Laios's attention primarily because they are kind. They smile at his stories even if he's told them a hundred times before, they ask him questions about monsters and don't shy away when he pulls out a tome's worth of notes detailing each one. Darling always has a terrible look on their face when Laios is injured and has never once made him feel less than. To Laios, darling is the sun.

If darling is part of his party, they can expect to be doted on, fussed over, and guarded to a point where the only time they are truly alone is when bathing. Even then, Chilchuck has to constantly assure Laios that darling is absolutely fine, much to his chagrin. If they are injured or die, Laios almost becomes a different person for hours after they're revived. He's anxious, snappy, even hostile until darling can bring him back down with their calm nature.

If darling isn't in the party, they can still expect to see Laios nearly all of the time. Sometimes it doesn't quite make sense how Laios can go on so many trips to the dungeon and yet still have time to consistently be in darling's personal space on the surface. Darling can expect to receive souvenirs from the dungeon (mostly monster parts, always frightening) and letters about adventures that Laios will simply tell them again in person anyway. He'll insist on walking them home and greeting them in the morning before he leaves to the dungeons again.

AWARE VS. DELUSIONAL

All Laios knows is that the emotion he feels when the object of his affection is around seems measurably different than his love for his sister or love for his friends. Truth be told, there has always been a nagging worry at the back of his mind that he might never be able to feel for a human the way he loves adventuring or studying monsters. That he's doomed to a life of solitude surrounded by nothing that understands him. When darling comes along, they're like a beacon of light that tells Laios he's capable of being normal for once. After all, he finally feels the kind of love he's been lectured time and time again that he should be feeling at his age. A chivalrous need to protect, to treasure, to study and bring gifts and share meals and troubles and maybe, just maybe even taste and touch and devour- It's just what loving someone means.

MANIPULATIVE VS. HONEST

There is no need to manipulate darling because Laios himself doesn't feel that any of his behavior is wrong. He doesn't know how to be anything but himself, and any hint darling or others try to give him that maybe his interactions are bordering on unhealthy and obsessive don't reach him at all. If darling says they'd better get going, Laios is there to walk them home. If Marcille tries to tell Laios that darling is perfectly capable of taking care of themselves, he marvels at how talented darling is and then does nothing to change his behavior. If Namari outright tells him that he needs to give darling space, he'll nod seriously and then decide that sitting across from darling and not next to darling is sufficient. In Laios's mind, everything is perfect.

STRICT VS. LENIENT

As long as darling is safe, or what Laios deems to be safe, everything is fine. Darling can do what they want on the surface, talk to whom they want on the surface, go dungeoneering if darling is part of the party. Problems begin to arise when that sense of security wanes. The look of that gnome chatting with darling isn't one that Laios likes. As a tall-man, it's very easy to keep him from speaking to darling ever again. Darling wants to go on a trip to Kahka Brud, Laios is quick to insist that he come along. After a particularly nasty event in the dungeon, Laios might make it his mission that darling never venture beneath the surface again. Laios is harmless until threatened- that's when his brand of love becomes suffocation.

*do not post elsewhere without explicit permission. please consider reblogging, as Tumblr tends to hide darker content!

[RULES] [MASTERLISTS] [AO3] [KO-FI]

[hatchetings]

i honestly agree with the idea that pete wasn’t really friends with ruth or richie, and it’s not because of his reactions to their deaths or anything.

i say this because he is the most reactive to ruth’s death compared to grace & steph. also far more reactive to richie’s death compared to grace & stephanie too, but ruth on the other hand is like? majorly more anxious compared to rest of them hearing that richie was murdered, which will play into my take later but anyways.

i believe that pete isn’t really close with the two because of his reactions to the shit they do and say. like every possible moment, he is fidgeting nervously around them, spacing off, correcting them, or ridiculing them. and when he’s not doing that, he’s… trying to be nice, but good god does he seem so damn anxious about it. not to mention when he calls ruth and richie, “fucking nerds” they don’t laugh it off like… friends would? they roll their eyes and become offended. also! also also!!! gosh i love pointing out details, but pete seeming semi-confused at richie’s statements about the body-pillows. if they’ve been friends for years, pete would be used to it by now, completely ignoring it.

also, the lin manuel miranda thing, why is pete going up to richie and saying that? wouldn’t he have gotten a better reaction of ruth, the theatre kid? or is he getting ruth and richie’s interests confused?

they aren’t friends to pete, they’re just people pete decides to hang around with because he has no choice. why doesn’t have a choice? because of the system the school runs on. max, every other popular & cool kid at school, and then, the nerds.

that’s who he’s limited to.

it’s the way they talk and interact with one another that makes me think pete is just not as close to richie and ruth as we think he is.

but you know what, ruth and richie? oh, they’re incredibly close and you can tell. the jabs at one another with no reaction (ex. “who are you trying to impress…? ruth?” and ruth continuing on the joke). the overdramatic faces made toward one another?? also, the fact they tend to stand closer to one another than to pete? there are multiple scenes like that… almost every interaction these two have, you can tell they’re best friends. going back to my point with ruth’s reaction to richie’s death above, she is visibly more anxious hearing that richie is dead compared to every single one of the people being questioned. it’s heartbreaking actually, because this is a person she’s known for, likely, years and it’s just!

it’s so obvious how close they are.

they can joke around with each other because they know they’re joking when they insult one another.

there’s probably reason why pete gets somewhat defensive of richie’s comments about his outfit, or how the idea of him & steph together is ridiculous.

pete cannot tell they’re joking because they’re not as close.

but i do want to throw in. i think ruth and richie consider pete far more of a friend than he does them. they actively seek pete out, they feel like they can make jabs at him because they think they’re close enough pete can take it as joke. they worry about him, and pete just doesn’t think about them the same way (and he doesn’t realize they consider him a friend).

which is… kind of sad to think about!

anyways, that’s my ramble for today

forgive me for any misspellings and grammar mistakes

it’s like 1am rn

[anemhoez]

Lunae…

Dan Heng/Reader

WARNINGS: unprotected sex (use protection, even with dragons) and language

A/N: this one’s for the real cultured freaks out there 🫵 we ARE gods strongest soldiers 🫡

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

“Are you even comfortable here?” you asked Dan Heng, his eyes scanning the screen in front of him. He reached out and tapped the screen, inputting the latest information from your mission into the data bank. “Did you hear me?” your voice a few octaves louder now. Dan Heng smirked, “I did, I just don’t know what you’re talking about?” You simply pointed to the mat on the floor, his comforter and pillow strewn about. “Its a bed, why would I be uncomfortable on it?” You sighed and went over to the screen he was just tapping on. “It’s hardly a bed,” you pulled up the file he just created to review it, “mine is way more comfortable.” The words slipped out of your mouth without much thought, your focus on the text in front of you. “Hmph.” the small sound coming from the man behind you made you realize what you had just said. “What I mean is, I actually have a real mattress!” your face got hot out of nowhere and you tried your best to seem aloof.

Dan Heng stayed quiet as you spoke, “I’m not like, inviting you to sleep in it or anything.” He smiled and walked over to you, his fingers brushing past the screen to close the file. “You sure?” He always kept his responses short, but it always made an impact on you regardless. You figured it was because you had feelings for him. “What I’m trying to say is, you should try to take better care of yourself,” you moved your hands to tug on his jacket, the small gesture making you unsure of your proximity to him.

The two of you admitted to liking each other a few weeks ago after a very close call during a mission. Dan Heng was badly hurt, the Trailblazer and March 7th doing their best to fight off the fragmentum creature ambush as you tended to him. “You fucking idiot,” you cursed as you did your best to heal his wounds with your gifts of abundance, “why did you just jump in front of me like that?!” The glow from your hands reflected on his skin as you looked into his eyes. “Because I care about you, more than normal.” His wounds began to seal shut, a groan of pain escaping his mouth. “Well, the feelings mutual.” you brought your hands to rest on your lap once you were done. Dan Heng sat up, his piercing eyes meeting yours. It was quiet for what felt like hours, but in reality it was only a few seconds before the two of you leaned into one another and kissed. The two of you kissed passionately, only being stopped by March’s voice screaming, “I knew it!”

You remember that kiss fondly, but its been a while since it happened, and you weren’t sure if the two of you still had that connection . You liked him a lot but, didn’t want to seem too clingy. He keeps his feelings to himself most of the time, so you were never really sure how to approach him. “Have you been well?” he asked awkwardly breaking the silence. You couldn’t help but giggle, “Yes, I’ve been well, you?” He reached down and took your hands in his, intertwining your fingers together. “I’ve been thinking about, that kiss.” You suddenly felt anxious, wondering where he’d take the conversation from here, maybe he didn’t really like you after that. “What about it Dan Heng?” your voice was practically a whisper, your heart beating faster as he moved in closer. “it was, better than I had imagined.”

Your heart skipped a beat and you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you. Your lips brushed against one another, a small chuckle coming from him. You closed the gap, letting yourself melt against him. Your lips melded together in a fervor as you finally got to kiss him again. His hands came to your waist, his grip tight as he pulled you closer. Your hands moved from around his neck and trailed down his tight and toned body. You moaned against his lips, pulling away to look at him, “Do you want to,” your hands stopped at the hem of his jeans. He pulled you back in for a kiss, his hands on your waist squeezing harder before they came to cup your rear. He pulled away, his lips wet and swollen, “Absolutely.” he whispered and began kissing you all over your face. You laughed and started to unbutton his pants, your gut stirring as he continued to kiss you while you reached down and took a handful of him. You screamed internally, his cock semi erect already, letting you know right away that he did want you as bad as you wanted him. You pulled away from him, keeping eye contact as you freed his member from its confines and got down on your knees. “Someone’s eager,” he teased and you watched his jaw go slack as you took his tip into your mouth. His hand came to the back of your head immediately, pushing you further onto him as you took more of him in. Your mouth salivated heavily around him, your core aching as if you could already feel him inside of you.

You bobbed on his long shaft up and down, looking up at him through your lashes, your hands on either one of his thighs. He looked down at you with a cocky smirk, his eyes slowly began to change color to a paler blue. He grunted deeply, his eyes closing shut tightly. You pulled off of him, saliva dripping from your mouth. “Are you ok?” you asked worried if you had hurt him in some way. “Yes, please don’t stop.” he opened his eyes, the usual grayish blue color was back. “I don’t know if I’m hallucinating but, it looked like your eyes changed color,” you said as you pumped him in you hand. Dan Heng shook his head with a chuckle, “Really, how strange.” he said and took off his jacket, his shirt soon meeting the fabric on the floor. The man before you looked down and gently thrusted into your hand, “You’re probably just seeing things, ahh!” he threw his head back as he moaned.

Aeons everything about him was gorgeous. The soft outlines of his abs, the veins that decorated his arms and hands, and those eyes of his. Those piercing eyes of his that bored through you as he looked down at you. He could convince you to commit war crimes right now with that look, “You’re probably right.” you stuttered out before taking him back into your mouth. Your tongue flattened under his shaft as you took him in fully, his tip hitting the back of your throat. “Fuck,” he huffed out, the sensation causing him to buck against you, causing you to gag on him in response. He took a handful of your hair, tugging on it gently, “I need to be inside of you soon.” His words hit your core like a crashing wave, your moans loud as you worked. You reached a hand into your pants, dragging your wetness from your core to your clit and rubbed hard. The sight of you, the way you were pleasuring yourself while sucking him off was way too much and his eyes changed color again, faster this time.

You watched as blue horns began to sprout from his forehead, the shock of what you just watched made you move back and off of him. “Horns?!” you yelped, catching a glimpse of his now longer hair. “And hair?!” your eyes then went to his dick, well, dicks, “AND COCKS?!”Dan Heng turned away from you, muttering something under his breath. He looked back at you, “Sorry, I’m trying to go back to my usual self but, I’m too excited” He adjusted himself back into his pants and reached for his shirt, “I understand if you’re, disgusted.” You stood up and took his hand, “Im not disgusted, I’m just surprised.” You looked at him closely, his face the same despite his eyes and horns. “You’re still the same Dan Heng.” He sighed, moving to lean against the rail that separated his bed area from the rest of the room. “Its complicated but yes, its still me.”

You moved closer to him, your hand rested on his back. You rubbed his back up and down, feeling the small scales that now textured his skin. “You really are the mysterious type huh?” you teased and moved in for a kiss. Your lips met, the tongue in his mouth now forked, but you didn’t pull away and simply moved your tongue along his. When you eventually pulled away though, he looked at you dearly, searching for something in your eyes.“I’ll tell you everything one day, its just, “ he rolled his eyes and sighed again. “Hey its ok, this doesn’t change how I feel about you.” you said trying to reassure him. You moved to bring your arms around his neck, “i’m just worried about you, fitting inside me with, those.” Dan Heng smiled and rested his forehead against yours, “Are you actually, open to that?” he kissed your lips, and licked a path from them to your neck. “Of course, I want you.” His hands came to your pants and he quickly undid them and pulled them down. “Alright then.” he helped you out of the fabric and grabbed you by your thighs, “I’ll have to get you ready then.”

While pulling you closer, he sat on the floor, then lay down on his back. You took the hint and moved to sit on his face. He moaned upon you resting on his mouth, his tongue quickly lapping you up. You pulled off your shirt, finally completely bare in front of him for the first time. He watched as you grabbed your breasts and squeezed them, rolling your nipples between your fingers. His strong hands held you close, his slightly sharper nails digging into your skin. “Dan H-Heng,” you huffed, the pleasure between your legs building. You threw your head back, grinding your hips against his face, reaching behind you to rest your hands on his stomach. His tongue was wrecking you, the forked muscle taking your bud in between it, only to round his lips against it to suck hard. “Aeons,” you cried out, practically bouncing on him, needing more to reach the climax you were chasing. He slurped and sucked, graciously eating you out and licking you like your very essence was ambrosia to him. You felt it. that familiar rush starting to wash over you, your hips grinding faster and harder. You moved your hands from his stomach suddenly reaching forward and grabbing onto his horns tightly as you finally came.

“Ah!” your voice cracked, your body hot from the rush and the look in his eyes as he drank you deep. You let go of his horns, realizing what you did as you moved off of him. “Sorry about that,” he sat up, kissing your mouth immediately. You tasted yourself on him, his breath was heavy as he pulled away, “Don’t be, that felt amazing.” He reached down and pushed his fingers into you, your folds extra messy from your fluids. “Can I touch them again?” He inserted another finger into you, looking at you without a word as he pumped his fingers into you, “Sorry is that weird?” your hips moved against his ministrations. He laughed, “Not at all,” he pulled his fingers out of you and put them in his mouth. He moaned as he licked you off of him. “Go ahead.” he said and reached out to touch your breasts. You moved in and took each horn in your hands. They were hard and slightly cold in your hands, you wondered just how sensitive they were.

You felt compelled to kiss them, so you pecked them softly, starting from the base going up to the rounded tip. The sound that came from his mouth was unlike anything you’ve ever heard, almost like a whine mixed with the sudden loss of breath. You flicked your tongue out, licking long stripes up them. He pulled you closer, his mouth taking one of your nipples in his mouth to muffle the sounds he was making. You continued licking them, teasing them slowly with long sloppy strokes. The horns were slick enough now, and you took one of them into your mouth and sucked. “For Aeons sake!” he yelled and pulled you off and onto your back. This was the most emotion you’d had ever seen from him and fuck was it sexy.

He pulled his cocks out of his pants, lining them up and slowly, agonizingly slowly pushing them into you. “Ahh!” your voice cracked and hitched in your throat, the stretch he was providing almost too much for you. He looked at your face, stopping and trying to gauge your reaction. “Are you-“ he said worried it was too much, too fast. “Just fuck me already!” you pleaded, your eyes half lidded and filled with lust, drool started to drip from one of the corners of your mouth.

Dan Heng continued with your pleading in his ears, your praises about how good he felt aiding in the build up of his peak. He pushed further, soon bottoming out inside of you. He leaned down, his dicks nestled deep inside of you as he came in for a kiss. “Thank you,” his voice was soft, his kisses hard and needy. You kissed him back, sucking and biting on his lips as he thrust in and out of you. He took you by the hands and pinned them above your head, the kiss sloppy and wet, his thrusts picking up speed as his balls slapped against your ass. You moaned loudly, the pleasure so intense and unlike anything you’ve felt before. The feeling of being so full like this, you were certain you’d get addicted to it. “M-More.” you pleaded, wanting even more of what he had to offer, “Harder Dan Heng, please!”

He sat up, pulling you by your thighs, fucking you so hard the sounds reverberated against the walls. Dan Heng’s moans grew louder, a flash of blue appeared behind him, a long dragons tail whipped around behind him. He really had more tricks up his sleeve, huh? You felt the appendage pick you up gently off of the floor, his hands on your hips bringing you to sit on him. “You’re amazing, so fucking amazing.” you huffed out and he smiled against your lips.

His tail felt like light pulses of electricity against your skin, adding to the sensitive sensations you were feeling all over. From this position, and being stuffed so full, you let him do the rest of the work, and he gladly took the lead. He thrusted up into you, his cocks hitting your cervix, brushing against your spot deliciously. The end of his tail rubbed your cheek, coming to your lips and tapping as if it was asking for entrance. You opened your mouth, the semi solid state of it moving in and out with the aid of the saliva that dripped from your mouth. Dan Heng had never had anyone this fully, this close and loving every inch of his dragon form, he felt incredible. With your pussy and mouth filled, you let him use you as a sleeve, your hands coming to his horns once again, holding on for dear life as you moaned deeply, your climax finally washing over you. You clenched down onto Dan Hengs two dicks, his thrusts halting, his orgasm overtaking him right along with you. He growled out, the scales on his body convulsing as he came into you. “Aeons,” you huffed out softly as his tail disappeared with a flash.

He held you close, his chin resting on your shoulder, hands resting on your lower back. You rubbed your hands against the scales on his back, bringing your mouth to his ear to kiss and whisper sweet praises to him. Dan Hengs dragon form slowly began to fade, his horns disappearing and the full feeling inside of you diminishing. You moved back to look at him, his eyes softer now as he admired you from this position. “Lets go to bed,” you kissed him before getting off of him. his seed gushed out of you as you stood up. “Theres so much of it, wow.” He stood up and rummaged through his clothes to find a towel. He came back to you and knelt down before you, gently cleaning himself off of you. “Don’t you mean, go to floor?” he said with a smile and you laughed at his one designated joke a day.

The two of you now clean and laying down cuddled together closely, his hand rubbing your head softly. “You don’t have to tell me anything until you’re ready.” you said as sleep began to overtake you, tired from getting fucked senseless by your crush. You’d never in a million years guess this was the secret Dan Heng was hiding. He pulled you even closer to him, wrapping his other arm around your stomach. He simply kissed your forehead as his form of response and followed you into a deep slumber. Joining the Astral Express continued to prove to be the greatest adventure you’d ever taken in your life, and now you had someone to share it with.

A/N: HE’S FINALLY HOME! Thought this up after finally noticing the place where Dan Heng sleeps in that data room 😭 i fucking love him so much, PLEASE GET HIM A REAL BED WELT!

[rabbitblackx]

Hello again, can i request an Bubba Sawyer x Shy reader: When Bubba introduce them to his family for the first time, at first, the reader was nervous that his family might disprove of them since their cannibals but was proved wrong when they interact with his family? (Side note: Bubba and the reader were together for a long time and he come up with the idea of introducing them to his family since he's been telling his family all about them.)

Hope that your having a great month rabbit 😊

Hope u don’t mind it’s just a silly little headcanon thing!🫠💞 also hope ur having a spectacular day!!😸💖

Shy!Reader meets Bubba’s family

You had been in a relationship with Bubba for quite a while now. You met on accident one night, while him and Chop-Top were ‘grocery shopping’. Instead of killing you, Bubba grew a fondness for your shy smile and pretty face. He didn’t let Chop-Top see you, effectively hiding you away while they wasted anybody else nearby

To Bubba’s surprise, him being a cannibal killer wasn’t a dealbreaker. You still actually really liked him. You just had a hard time expressing it due to your shyness and fear

This strange, masked man continued to visit you almost every night, clearly infatuated with you. There were times where you didn’t utter a single word. You just sat with Bubba in your living room, silently admiring each other. Though you didn’t speak, your big shy eyes said a thousand words

It was now the day where you were gonna finally meet Bubba’s family. You were dreading this for the longest time. You stood outside this abandoned theme park with Leatherface, visibly shaking

“Maybe we should just turn back. They’re not gonna like me.” You squeaked

Your boyfriend made a grunt of disagreement, placing a large paw on your shoulder. You glanced down at it, before shyly meeting his gaze

“I’m scared, Bubba.” You uttered

Bubba attempted to comfort you with numerous pets and a small cuddle. He wished he could tell you how keen his brothers actually were to meet you. He had told them all about you

Bubba led you down into the quarters of the theme park in which they lived. The large space was littered with bright lights, skeletons and dust. It wasn’t that bad…

As soon as Chop-Top Sawyer popped up to greet you, you were immediately hiding behind Bubba. You squeaked in fear and pressed flush against his back. Chop-Top couldn’t take a hint, moving around his brother to get a look at you

“This them, Bubba? This yer little friend?” He crooned

Bubba nodded his head, carefully pulling you out from behind him by your waist and setting you next to him. Chop-Top’s wide blue eyes and insane grin made you hug your boyfriend’s arm tight

“Hi…” you peeped shyly

Chop-Top was loud and boisterous as ever, crudely complimenting you on how good looking you were. Of course, you had no idea how to respond, face red and pressing against Bubba’s arm. As different as you were to this man, he wasn’t the one you were afraid of the most. It was their oldest brother, Drayton, that you were anxious to impress

Drayton emerged from the kitchen with a surprised look on his face. He couldn’t believe that you were here. In fact, he couldn’t believe that you were actually real. For all he knew, Bubba was lying about this imaginary partner of his for the past few months

Drayton felt threatened by you at first, and protective of his baby brother. But once he found how shy and quiet you were, he let his guard down. He was actually quite glad Bubba found you instead of some hussy or whore

You stayed for dinner, where you met grandpa. You liked him. Mostly because he didn’t talk to you but that was beside the point. You barely said anything at all really, making Drayton eye you suspiciously. He liked quiet people. So were you just too good to be true?

After dinner, you stayed back to spend some alone time with Bubba. But just before you were to leave for the night, you popped into the kitchen. It took a lot of courage, but you offered to help Drayton with the dishes. He looked beyond shocked, like he couldn’t believe such kind words came out of your mouth

Bubba watched from afar as you and his brother silently washed dishes together. Just as you thought it was going to get awkward, Drayton turned to you and said something that warmed your faint heart

“I’m glad Bubba brought you home.”

[betterfettered]

This is the part where everyone is nice to me because I haven't written anything like this before T T

Your yandere is your boyfriend's brother, and you feel alone when he creeps you out.

(Gn!reader x AMAB!yandere; I use "tit/ty" for the gn reader; please tell me if there’s anything else non-gn about the reader)(stalking)(noncon)(plus size reader 💖🫡)(18+ readers only please, mdni)[This is fetish content; rape and stalking are disgusting and inexcusable in real life.][edited dialogue to be gn!]

It wasn’t that you hated Beelzebub.

In fact, you thought that he was really nice. Perhaps that was the problem, though: he was very, very nice. Nice to the point that you often looked over your shoulder expecting him to be behind you, nice to the point that you felt anxious talking to other men because he may show up at any moment to abruptly end the interaction. It made sense for him to be so protective over you – he was your boyfriend’s twin brother, so naturally he felt close to you and wanted to see you happy. That was normal, you told yourself.

So why the sense of dread whenever he was around?

It was not possible to escape him, and you didn’t want to cause discord by outright rejecting his helpfulness, but it always left you feeling deeply unsettled. Just like when you’d taken a trip to the human world with the twins. On the train, you and Belphegor had squabbled for a bit about who would take the one open seat, but you pointed out that he would end up falling asleep and hurting himself if he stayed standing, so eventually he acquiesced and sat down.

You stood in front of him and watched as he fell asleep in less than a minute, his head lolling forward uselessly, and just as you were thinking that his gentle snores were cute, you felt yourself being pulled back so forcefully that you stumbled a little as Beelzebub’s barreled chest pressed into your back and his chin settled on top of your head. The arm that had pulled you back stayed wrapped around your thick middle, his fingers pressing into your soft tummy hard enough that you winced a little, while his other hand held onto the overhead strap. You grabbed his forearm to pry it off, but he did not budge in the slightest.

“Hey, what are you doing?” you asked. “Let go.”

He shook his head, his chin brushing back and forth on your head, before he tilted his head so he could see more of your face.

“No." You could feel his warm breath on your cheeks, his piercing eyes boring into you.

“Um,” you started, trying uselessly to pry his arm off again.

“I’m keeping you safe,” he murmured at your temple. “So you don’t fall over and perverts can’t grope you.”

You didn’t want to struggle and make a scene or hurt his feelings or be rude, so you just allowed him to hold onto you and keep you pressed tight to him until your stop was coming up and you had an excuse to grab Belphie and shake him awake.

There was also the way Beelzebub ­would not let anyone else sit next to you in class besides Belphie. You’d made friends with a very sweet underclassman during one seductive speechcraft class, and the two of you had cast childish spells on each other; you convinced him that he would love to clean your locker, he convinced you that you would love to write a newspaper entry for him. You’d been giggling with him and thought nothing when you happened to see Beelzebub who was watching you across the room.

The next time you saw the underclassman, he didn’t give you even a second to talk to him before he scurried away, and that familiar sense of dread settled over you when you saw the awkward way the boy moved, like each step pained him.

Beelzebub appeared by your side soon after, putting his arm around your shoulder and his large hand over your cheek, pulling you closer to him.

“We should clean your locker today,” he said.

Normally you would have joked about how he probably just wanted to plunder your things for snacks, but you felt weak imagining the small freshman boy being hurt for no reason. You felt weak realizing that Beelzebub had memorized his face, hunted him down, and threatened him over nothing. You’d just been talking to him about schoolwork. Was that worth him being hurt? Was that worth the suffocating sense of isolation you suddenly felt?

Your knees buckled, and Beelzebub’s arms wrapped around you immediately, his arm cinching into the cushion of your tummy and his other hand coming to cup the side of your face and hold your head upright enough.

“Are you feeling sick? What’s wrong?”

You couldn’t think of what to say or how to answer. You just wished Belphegor was here to send Beelzebub away. You shut your eyes as tight as they would go and wished over and over for Belphie to appear, even as Beelzebub promised to take you home and take care of you, even as he collected you in his arms, even as he kissed you on your forehead and promised that you were safe with him, that you didn’t need to worry anymore.

You kept your eyes shut as he carried you out of the school,

And through the winter air outside,

And up the stairs of the House of Lamentation,

And into his room, where he dropped you onto Belphegor’s bed.

For a second, he let you go, and your eyes shot open to look for an escape. You tried to sit up and he pulled you closer to him by your ankle, splitting your legs so he could stand between them.

“Beel, stop,” you said, and immediately regretted it, because he shoved his fingers into your open mouth, pressing a medicine pill onto your tongue. You didn’t even have time to properly struggle before he grabbed your shoulder with his other hand and leaned onto it with all of his weight.

You tried to tell him to stop again, but only managed to drool on your lips and his fingers while making incoherent gargles from the back of your throat. The noises coming out of you sounded like some kind of terrified animal, which was really embarrassing, you shrunk back into the bed and  clamped your teeth down on his fingers and gripped at his face with your nails, but he seemed completely unfazed.

“You need water to swallow it, so I’ll give it to you,” he said.

You tried to sit up to drink, but his other fingers closed around your jaw, and his hand pressed you down into the bed. This time, watching him suck water out of the bottle he always carried around, you really started to panic. Your hands calmed, and you rubbed them over his shoulders and up his neck and onto his face to earn good will.

You tried to say “Listen to me, please. I'll be good. Stop stop stop please listen don’t do this to me stop” but nothing could come out with the way his fingers had pinned your tongue, and as soon as he withdrew them he smashed his lips into yours pressing his fingers hard into your cheeks until you opened your mouth and he could push the water into it. The hand still wet with your spit grabbed your nose until you ran out of breath and sucked the water from his mouth just to try and get a chance to breathe.

He pulled away and licked up the entire side of your face, making you squeal. For a moment, your nails dug in, and then you tried to rub his face again gently.

“This isn’t right,” you chided. “I want you to stop. If you stop right now, we can both walk away and –”

You inhaled sharply, feeling his hands slip under your shirt. Panic overcame you again, and you punched him and kneed him and screamed and cried but that dazed look had come over his face, the same as when he could smell an entire hog in the oven and was thinking about eating it and only eating it.

Again, you grabbed his wrists to try and get his hands off of you, but this time you screamed for Belphegor, all the more frantically when you felt his hips push into yours. As though you were not wailing, as though you were lying still and allowing this, he shoved all the clothing on your upper body away and pressed his lips to your chest. You were sobbing by then, so he laid his head against your shaking body and licked up from your belly until he had your nipple in his mouth. His tongue traced up and down over and over as his hot breath spilled onto your skin.

He had just shoved his hands between your giant thighs to grope you when you heard the door open.

“Beel, what the fuck are you doing?” Belphie hissed.

“Belphie, help me, please,” you sobbed. You’d done everything you could to avoid a fight, and didn’t want them to argue, but you were at your wits end.

And help you he did. Belphie rushed over, grabbing Beelzebub by the shoulders and leaning back until he pulled him off of you, the both of them toppling to the floor. Belphegor shimmied out from beneath his brother, smacking his face to get him out of his trance.

“You’re being scary. What kind of welcome is that into the family?” he chided. Belphie kept him placated with rock candy from his pocket, shoving it deep into Beelzebub's mouth and tugging it back and forth to occupy his mouth

At that point, your belly felt like a void, like its emptiness was sucking you in hard enough that you would collapse.

You had wanted Belphie to realize all along, you’d thought your Belphie would rescue you from Beelzebub’s wandering hands.

“Try being sweet and gentle,” Belphie murmured. "You are coming on too strong."

Beelzebub only tried to stand up again, then focused his eyes on Belphegor’s glare and held still, despite how visibly hard his cock was getting in his pants at the thought of you. Belphie stood and then leaned over you and pulled your shirt back down.

At that moment, you understood that he knew how Beelzebub clung to you and grabbed you and forced himself on you.

 He knew it and he did not mind.

“I’m sorry, darling,” he sighed, kissing your eyelids when you started crying. “What’s wrong?”

You could only feel panic as you watched Beelzebub stand up and leer at you over Belphie’s shoulder.

[noeou]

THE ART OF AVOIDANCE.

the only way to get rid of a crush is by avoiding them, at least in your mind.

includes: vil schoenheit, idia shroud, and riddle rosehearts. ( x gn!reader. )

next parts: curently unavailable.

contains: fluff! platonic to romantic. open ended for idia and vil. ooc 'cause i said so.

sincerely noe ,⠀this takes up 8 pages in google docs 0.6k words minimum (each), lhm. i'm gonna go eat now. also a quick thank you to the person that answered this, you helped me pick the other two characters <3

vil schoenheit [ pomefiore ]

the main reason you and vil got along was because you could take criticism. that and the fact that you didn't take his long and (oddly) specific 'observations' to heart, but after a while it got hard to put up with.

no, your skin didn't get weaker. it was just the fact that the person you loved (debatable) and adored (also debatable) was constantly telling you your mishaps and it's impossible for it to not get to your head.

it felt that you couldn't tell anyone about your feelings 'cause you knew you'd get met with judgement on you 'type' and get told 'but you're yn, you can take it!' if you say you can no longer take his criticisms.

"Ace, hand me the glue gun please."

But you'd always have the duo and Grim. So that's where your time went instead of chasing the around house warden that probably didn't notice your absence.

"On it!" The red head turned from his project to hand you the glue gun.

"Are you guys almost done?" Deuce asked, pausing on his as well.

Grim jumped up excitedly, "Yeppers! Look at our super cool one!"

You chuckled as your companion showed off a mini doll version of him you both knitted.

"Mine's cooler!" Ace joined, except with his doll.

Their banter was interrupted with a knock on the door. Ace visibly paled, becoming nervous as he went to get the door.

"Warden Riddle, I swear it wasn't me!" You facepalmed at the sight of your friend. He didn't even look at who was at the door before he spewed apologies.

"I'm not Riddle..."

Apparently, you didn't check either. It was your turn to panic at the sight of the very person you tried (not that is was hard) to avoid.

vil didn't mean to criticize you to the point of scaring you away. all the little details he'd point out were things, most of the time, he admired about you. it was just impossible to say. people in his life would take the smallest compliment from him and twist it to fit their fantasy of him being in love with them or something to that affect.

he knew that repeating all those observations may affect how he thought of you so he did keep a journal, expressing the little things he felt too suffocated to say.

when epel suggested he may have scared you away, he was afraid the first year was right. that's why he went to go find you, not sending rook or epel but going himself. and his worse fears may have been confirmed.

Vil had no intention of forcing you to interact with him, he just intended to give you said journal and leaving. He wanted to leave the future of your relationship to you and he'd keep his distance until the decision was made.

He was willing to share thoughts and feelings he kept between him and the pages with you, a small hope that was put out by the sound of your laughing with the Heartslabyul two.

It took a minute, a foreign hesitance, before he knocked on the door.

The sudden silence made him even more anxious. Until it was filled with apologies addressed to the Crimson Tyrant, then he was simply confused.

He scanned the room for you, meeting not your eyes but a hand covering your face. Did you know it was him? Was he making a mistake?

You looked more comfortable as well. Your uniform was messed up, your hair was down. It was as if he was looking at a much younger version of you, a look of youth that he purposely had you hide.

"I'm not Riddle..." he managed, not looking away from you.

The mixed emotions on your face didn't go unnoticed, but he had no time to try and interpret them.

"Vil." Ace bowed again, not as deeply as he was a moment prior. The blue haired one stood as well, fists clenched and tied with a look of irritation.

"I mean no harm—"

"As if!" Vil nearly screamed why your cat-like companion jumped up onto Ace's head. "All you've done is harm! It's better for all of us if you leave now."

"Grim!" You pulled him off the redhead and pulled the other away. "We should talk."

The expression of surprise on the house warden's face was mirrored by your friends, only without his relief tied in as well.

"I would like that— if only if you're comfortable."

You led him out of the twisted Heartslabyul halls. Neither of you able to look at the other as you walked.

It was strange. Suddenly the roles were reversed and Vil was the one following you. He didn't mind it completely, but the anxiety of your next move was too great for him to think clearly.

Eventually, he was forced to speak.

"I've only come to deliver this to you," he handed you a hardcover book, magic sealing it.

The moment it made contact with your skin as you took it, the magic seemingly became void and you could open it. For a moment, a childlike curiosity took over as you examined it.

"But..."

You looked up, returning to reality.

You had no idea how to react as you watched Vil's mask so tightly sewn on break before you. The emotion made him unrecognizable, in a good way. For the first time in you knowing him, the Fairest of them all became personable.

Was it really possible for a perfect person to become more perfect?

"I've decided that waiting is something I don't want to do. I feel stupid for trying to tell you in any other way than face to face… but infatuation is something I rarely encounter, and I want you to know— I want you to know I like you. Like in that way.”

idia shroud [ ignihyde ]

you tried your hardest to be patient, knowing idia’s rocky relationship with human interaction. you made sure he was taking car of himself and had neat surroundings and as he got more and more comfortable with you, he’d help you out and join ortho and you when you’d visit.

getting to know him was not, at all, an easy feat. but it was fair to say it was worth it. you ended up falling for him, no? the hard thing about that is, you fell for a side of him he kept well hidden.

you knew pulling back and away would permanently damage your relationship to a point of no return, however staying knowing the potential would break you.

“Do what you think is right, Y/n.”

You and Ortho were collecting scraps to bring back to the dorm when you broke the news to him.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt Idia—”

“As much as I care for my brother, I also care about you. If he truly is putting you through this, especially if he doesn’t know he is… I think you’d Gould put yourself first.”

It was times like this Ortho’s childlike form truly didn’t fit his maturity. You smiled at his words, nodding as your confidence grew in your decision.

“Thank you, I hope our friendship—”

Ortho used his shoes to propel him higher in the sky, high enough to pat your head. He grinned as he said, “Nothing will change between us, you’re like an older sibling to me!”

From that day forward, you continued things as they were only when Idia wasn’t around. Ortho was a big help in this, not forcing you to talk to his brother if you didn’t want, but not even he was able to predict the older’s every move.

idia knew something was up when your time on animal crossing increased as the amount he saw you decreased. you were never one to be interested in games as much as he, but he made you an account anyway and you played together sometimes.

he had a full proof plan, he'd log onto his computer like a facetime and confront you when you came to visit while he was out. however, you looked calmer, ignoring the evidence of lack of sleep in your eyes.

he decided to keep his mouth shut, watching you for a moment longer before hanging up.

Idia is not stupid, he was aware that the more time that passed would only mess up your relationship further. He needed to act quickly.

Locking himself in his room for a few days, he thought up a full proof plan to win you back but as more than friends. Double or nothing, as they say.

Staring at his hightech whiteboard, empty for hours at this point, nothing was happening. He frowned to himself, retreating to his gaming chair with an exasperated sigh escaping him.

He did as you'd do in a situation like this and logged on to animal crossing. If his assumptions were correct you wouldn't be able to log back on for a few hours now, logging onto your account he started working.

Back when you were still talking to him, you mentioned you wanted to build something that resembled the hade's underworld. You said it reminded you of something called 'Hadestown' and you showed his a few pictures so he had the idea.

So far it looked really good, he just planned on helping get you the necessary tools you need. Maybe it was the tiredness getting to him, but he made a pin, telling you it was him as well as all the things he also wanted to say.

Logging off, he went to take a nap without a second thought.

riddle rosehearts [ heartslabyul ]

the main reason you chose to distance yourself from riddle was actually because you thought he'd hate it if he found out you had feeling for him in that way. you were hoping, since it's exam week, that he'd be too busy preparing to notice you were gone and after this week your feeling will be gone and things could go back to normal.

it felt weird though, studying without him. normally study sessions would be productive, but with you carrying the team with the last two braincells… productive isn't the word i'd use.

considering how riddle is the housewarden of your bestfriends, you had to take them in when your plan started. while you trusted them to keep your secret, ace would most likely slip up in one way or another during a scolding.

It wasn't as bad as you thought having the two over, it was like a long sleepover. They had made makeshift beds on the floor out of fear of your (mostly) see through roommates. 

Most of your time was spent attempting to study before the four of you inevitably gave up and headed to Sam's for ice cream to sulk about how you'd definitely fail. It was a cycle with seemingly no end. 

"We can do this!" You pumped a fist in the air, the others beginning to match your energy. 

Grim put on a look of determination, much like the other two. "We'll mop the floor with this!"

"Indeed we will."

And just like all your other attempts that week, you only ended up 'moping the floor' with your tears. 

You werent sure how you got in this position, but you stared at Deuce's paper through glossy eyes at an attempt to understand the explanations he tried to provide. It was dark outside, cool in your room. A blanket was laid over the both of your laps and over Ace's face as he gave up long ago and took a nap on the Deuce's leg. Grim did the same, but rested on your head. 

"I want Riddle back," You mumbled, the last of your frustration transferring into sadness. You wiped the threatening tears with the back of your hand.

Deuce let out a sigh, trying to think of what to say. "Maybe we can get someone else's help?" 

"Like who?" You sat up, pulling your companion down from his resting place above you.

"Az–"

"Don't mess with me, Deuce. We both know how that'll end."

"Or you could ask me as you usually do."

in the beginning, riddle thought that you, ace and deuce were up to something when you went missing at the same time. there wasn't much he could do about it with his schedule. don't be mistaken he didn't forget about you.

normally around this time he'd be pulling all nighters with you, feeling frustrated at your slowness, but still trying his best to stay calm. he missed that, not the lack of sleep, but having an excuse to be with you without having to initiate it. it was a mutually understood (?) thing. 

no, he didn't ask questions until those days turned into the majority of the week. during a sudy session with trey and cater, they pointed out how he should at least message you, because even they were getting worried. he sent you a quick message that turned into two, then three, and four. 

Riddle isn't one to appreciate interruptions, especially when studying so it was surprising how irritated at a lack thereof. 

"Where are you going?" Cater watched him, curiously.

In one moment, Riddle was sitting working somewhat peacefully and the next he was fuming out the door. He thought of the worst case scenarios, you were never one to ignore messages; he also couldn't get ahold of his freshmen (though that was that out of the ordinary.)

A shiver was sent down his spine upon entering the cool place. It was also possible it was because he walked in on three ghosts playing cards.

"Are you looking for your lovely?" the smallest one asked.

"Y/n! Your boyfri–"

"Refrain from that." Riddle addressed the biggest one. He patted his uniform, calming himself. "They're upstairs?"

"Who's asking?" The slim one dragged.

The smallest floated up to whack the other's nonexistent head, "Y/n's husband, obviously!"

"Wait they got married?" 

"No!" Riddle headed for the stairs, deciding not to waste a moment more on them. 

In their laughter, one managed to warn, "Knock! The youngins' are hard at work up there."

Riddle wanted to make sure you three were at least alive and not wanted criminals, the first confirmed at the sound of your voices. He wanted to scold each of you for scaring him, but the mention of his name made him stop and listen.

"I want Riddle back," You sounded weak, and low on energy. It wasn't something he wasn't used to, but knowing he wasn't there to help in the ways he was able.

Deuce let out a sigh,  "Maybe we can get someone else's help?" 

No, why weren't you going to him?

"Like who?" He heard shuffling in the room, pressing his ear to the wooden door to hear better.

"Az–"

"Don't mess with me, Deuce. We both know how that'll end."

Unable to listen to you foolishness for a moment longer, he made his grand entrance. He wasn't sure if he was angry or sad, but looking at your tear stained face made him concerned.

"Or you could ask me as you usually do." He managed, taking in your conditions.

"Housewarden!" Deuce tried to shake his redheaded counterpart awake but stopped at Riddle's command.

"Do not bother, I'm here for Y/n. You get some rest, as well, we can review tomorrow. I'll return them safely." Riddle looked to you, who didn't return his gaze. 

He let out a sigh of relief as you got up and collected yourself– "wait for me downstairs."

That he did, awkwardly being examined by the three transparent elders.

"Win 'em back, alrightie?"

"Yeah! It's been a snotfest without ya', a pain really."

"Mhm, they're not all that bright."

In sync they laughed, in sync they stopped. Looking at him again, they disappeared into puffs of smoke and reappeared the same way around him.

"Break their heart again and I'll request that you join us in a game of cards."

"And we've been playing for a while…"

"I wasn't planning on it!" Riddle face felt much warmer at the thought of doing so. 

"Guys, leave him alone." You groaned, groggily. 

He led you outside and you found a seat on a cut down tree's trunk. Patting the space next to you, he joined you. 

"Why are you here?"

"Why are you not talking to me?"

More awkwardness ensued when you both said that at the same time. He looked at you, again not meeting his eyes.

"'Cause you'll hate me. Banish me even," The lack of sleep was talking. 

"Banish you from where?" He asked, confused.

"Heartslabyul… and here," – you pointed at the spot on his chest his heart would be– "Because I think you're adorable and smart and amusing and so many other things. And because I like you, but I don't think you'd like that, would you?"

His expression changed to one of more surprise, his lips tugging upward only for the keenest of eyes to notice. Looking down at the landscape before him, with another relieved breath, "And what if I would?"

[idkfitememate]

Ooo!!! what if a Melusine!creator?? (are they consider animals? I dont think so) I think that would be cute!! I mean look at their tiny face!! their button nose??? and and their cutie horns/antlers!!! AND AND THEIR TAIL???( and wings that sometimes flatters!!(I research some melusines on google, and I saw a melusine with wings! is that canon?))

A Melusine!creator with a cottage vibe or or baker that stays in fotaine!! now thats cute!!

wonder how will the fotaine characters react to them🤔🤔

Fontaine Encounter

૮꒰˶ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ˶꒱ა Pairings : GN! Melusine Reader x Fontaine

૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა W.K. : 595

໒꒰ྀིᵔ ᵕ ᵔ ꒱ྀི১ Tags/CW&TW : Fluff, Reader is anxious (anxiety? Never heard of her)

Seeing a Melusine attached to the hip with Neuvillette wasn’t the most uncommon sight. What was uncommon was just HOW attached to the hip this particular Melusine was.

They clearly weren’t employed anywhere, a probably lived in Mersusea or around that area, but there were around Neuvillette every single day.

The other thing about them that was so odd, was generally how they looked.

Melusine were usually short with their little antlers, tiny tails and sometimes little wings. The only know outlier was, of course, Sigewinne.

At least, that’s what was assumed. Then you showed up.

You were on the taller side, coming up to the Sovereign’s chest, with longer horns and a larger tail. Your wings were also larger… they even looked functional. And you honestly looked like a mix between a Melusine, a leaf sheep and a Blue Dragon sea slug. The most different trait being that you looked perfectly androgynous.

You constantly spent your time holding onto Neuvillette and he let you. Your hands were always either around him, gripping his clothes or holding his hands.

The man was perfectly reciprocating to your affections. Holding onto you and allowing you to hold onto him.

The only issue?

He was the only person who you interacted with.

Whenever anyone else tried they were always met with extreme hesitance and silence or you running away. Furina was the most hurt by this.

Though, when Neuvillette requested all officials to come meet him for a conference, they all had a feeling that you may be part of the reason why.

And when Wriothesley, Sigewinne, Furina and Clorinde all came and found him alone in the conference room he called them too, they thought that they may have been wrong.

Well there were wrong about being wrong.

“I have called you here today,” Neuvillette started, “to talk about my mew friend.”

Silence around the room.

The Dragon cleared his throat before continuing.

“If you could not tell before this point, the reason they do not interact with anyone outside of myself is because they are shy.”

Furina huffed at that.

“They have admitted to me that they feel tremendously bad about that, and wish to remedy their relationships with you all. As such, they have a gift for each of you. You may come in now, mon chéri.”

He gestured at a door, and you creeped in with four wrapped baskets on their arms. Blush dappled your cheeks as you looked down. You walked around the table, placing a basket in front of each official - minus Neuvillette.

All the baskets matched the general aesthetic of its recipient. And when unwrapped, we’re filled with all kinds of pastries and treats. You made your round and ran behind the Dragon Sovereign, shoving your face into his side.

He chuckled before leaning down and whispering something in your ear. You stepped forward and began to speak.

“Je m'excuse pour mes actions et mon comportement. Dans la mesure du possible, pourriez-vous trouver dans vos cœurs la possibilité de me pardonner?”

You barely looked up as you spoke, the flawless yet soft speech of the old tongue of Fontaine shocking them. Then Furina stood with dramatic tears in her eyes.

“OF COURSE I FORGIVE YOU DARLING!!! AWE OF COURSE I CAN!!” She quickly got out of her seat and run up to hug you, you wrapping your arms around her.

You shoved your face in her hair as you spoke.

“Merci Madame. Ton pardon illumine mon âme.”

It seemed as though the sun shined a bit brighter into the room.

໒꒰ྀི˶˙Ⱉ˙˶꒱ྀིა Author’s note : Little baby!!!! Little baby!!!!!!! I wanna hold them so bad??? Mmmm little baby Melusine!Creator…໒꒰ྀི˶˃ᆺ˂˶ ꒱ྀིა

*My darling - Neuvillette to You

* I apologize for my actions and behavior. If at all possible, would you be able to find it in your hearts to forgive me? - You to Everyone

* Thank you my Lady. Your forgiveness lights my soul. - You to Furina

[dumpsterfire-daydreams]

Reader POV:

Being on a military base had a way of immediately making you feel small. The imposing, armed men who scrutinized your ID at the front gate while another peered into the back seats of your car with a small flashlight before giving the all clear - the whole scenario made you inexplicably anxious. It’s not like you would be turned away or detained. You were the furthest thing from a threat that you could think of. What 5 ft 4 in. girl could take on even the smallest soldier here? You were unarmed (though your boyfriend was constantly encouraging you to at least carry something with you for self-defense). But even if you weren't, where would you hide a weapon on you? The tight fabric of your shorts would give it away immediately. And your crop top didn't leave many other hiding places either.

As always, you were waved through the gate and had made your way towards the barracks assigned to Task Force 141. Now, you sat fidgeting with your hair and staring at your phone, hoping your boyfriend would see your text soon. You didn't feel unsafe, but you still didn't particularly enjoy the idea of walking around base on your own. With him, you felt a bit more at ease socially. But alone, your shyness always got the best of you. And god damn it, everyone around here was either tall, muscular, intimidating, or all three!

"Come on," you whispered. "Just look at your phone."

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw movement. A figure approaching the driver side of your car. You kept your eyes down, trying to look even smaller and hoping they would continue to walk past. But they didn't. They stopped, their large figure hunching down a bit to your eye level before tapping on the glass.

You raised your gaze to meet theirs. A man stared you down, his face concealed behind a black balaclava and a skull mask. All you could see were his eyes. Unreadable, all-seeing, shadowed eyes. You blanched as you rolled the window down a bit, worried that you'd somehow already landed in trouble.

"Um, am I allowed to park here? I've never been on base before, but-"

"Name?" He cut off your nervous rambling abruptly, his expression unchanged. He spoke with an air of command that gave away years of military life turned to habit. But the gruff British accent certainly caught you off guard.

"Y/n. Um, I'm supposed to meet my boyfriend here, I think? Do you know someone named König?"

Silence. He didn't answer right away. Instead, his eyes narrowed slightly as if he didn't fully believe your story. You couldn't help but squirm under his pointed gaze, feeling your face grow hot. Seconds felt like minutes as his eyes ran over you, scanning. It seemed like he was sizing you up or looking for something. Any indication that you weren’t who you were claiming to be. Whatever it was, he must not have found it. Because he gave a curt nod before stepping back from the door a bit.

"Right then, out of the car," he ordered. "You're with me."

A sarcastic “Yes sir” welled up within you. But you bit your tongue, turned off the car, and stepped out. You were mildly offended at his rough, blunt mannerisms. He wasn’t your commanding officer, and you weren’t one of his men. But you gave him a bit of grace. Clearly, this guy didn’t interact with civilians too often. Additionally, you found the skull mask a bit unnerving. The last thing you wanted to do was immediately get on this guy’s bad side. He practically radiated a heady mixture of danger and authority. And the way his eyes studied you made you inexplicably nervous.

With a tilt of his head, he motioned for you to follow him before turning on his heel and loping away. In order to keep up with his long strides, you had to take up an awkward half-running, half-walking gait. His broad shoulders swayed gently as he went. They took up most of your view due to the vast height difference between you. The top of your head only came up to his shoulders, so you fixated on the back of his tactical vest as you walked within his shadow.

Ghost POV:

So this was the girlfriend König had mentioned. When he’d mentioned a relationship in passing, no one really believed him. Knowing how shy of a person he was outside of a combat setting, a majority of 141 assumed it was a little white lie he had told after one too many drinks and one too many virgin jokes. But yet here she was.

A flood of emotions had flickered through his mind when he finally laid eyes on the girl. First shock, then doubt, then a brief pang of jealousy. Apparently, they both shared the same taste in women because she was certainly attractive

Cute little curls framed her round face. The slight upturn of her eyebrows and the panic in those doe eyes of hers when she’d met his gaze through the window. The way she subconsciously nibbled on those plump, soft lips of hers as she had tried to quell her anxiety.

“The lucky bastard,” he grumbled internally. It’d been far too long since Ghost had indulged in the touch of a woman. And his day job made doubly sure of that. Knowing the most timid member of his team had managed to find the one thing he hadn’t brought out a streak of competitiveness in him that he couldn’t bat away.

When she had climbed out of the car, Ghost was surprised at how short she was. In order to meet his eyes, she had to crane her neck to look up at him. But the rest of her was just as he had expected. It was like König had climbed into Ghost’s head, developed a reference for his fantasy girl, and then intentionally found a girl of his own that matched that description. Tanned skin, perky breasts that bounced nicely whenever she moved, wide hips and thick thighs,... Those short shorts of hers were just salt in the growing wound at this point. The fabric clung to her body like skin. When she had turned to climb out of her car, the fabric had risen tantalizingly high in the back and revealed a fair portion of her ass peeking out beneath it. A portion that jostled so beautifully when her feet met the gravel of the parking lot. And then she just stood there, hands clasped behind her as she gazed up at him waiting to be told what to do.

And, oh the things he wanted to tell her to do for him.

I know this story includes some pretty dark themes. But at the end of the day, I care more about the well-being of my readers than I do for hits or kudos. Period. I never want my writing to conjure up emotions or feelings that negatively impact you beyond the story. This story can be dark and uncomfortable at times. But it is always intended strictly for fun and fantasy. If at any point along the way it stops being a pleasurable experience, please please close this page and walk away. My stories are never worth your well-being, loves.

[dwaekkicidal]

After Last Night

˚ʚI.N x Bang Chanɞ˚

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ summary: After an incident with Chan at the onsen, Jeongin realizes that he's not as small down there as he thought he was.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ word count: ~3.1k

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ warnings: MxM content, bottom!Chan, top!I.N, big dick jeongin 😼, shy & lowkey pervy Chan, kinda cocky Jeongin?, sex in a public place but nobody sees or hears them (or do they?)

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ notes: I know I previously said I probably wouldn’t write “full” mxm content but max corrupted me (whats new) and I went a little feral.. Hehe. so I changed my mind; ill write it but it wont happen very often! :3

if you dont like this stuff then simply don't interact! also block the tag "#mxm" so you never see it from me <3

This was a lil collab I did with @chvnmax :3 go read her Felix ✗ I.N version!!

DO NOT republish or translate+post my work!

All members of Stray Kids were currently in Japan for a MV shooting. The day prior to the shooting they agreed to check into an onsen to unwind a little. They generally headed to the group-assigned onsen in pairs, but Jeongin was anxious to join them so it took him a little longer and he decided to walk alone. It wasn’t exactly that he was scared of being fully naked in front of the entire group, since they had all lived together at one point and they would all be naked anyways. It was more so the nervousness of one of his more recent body growths.

Over the years he had grown used to seeing the other men half-naked, but within the last year or so he realized that his lower area had grown quite a lot. The mixture working out and finally growing out of puberty had paid off, in ways that he wasn’t even aware that would be affected. He assumed that his hyungs would have had similar growths to him, and that he would still be smallest among them, like he was all those years ago. While he knew that nobody would make fun of him or point it out, he couldn’t help but be anxious at the thought of lingering eyes.

This is all the maknae could think about as he walked down the hallway, fiddling with the strings on his robe with each step. In no time he was at the makeshift fabric door, so he took a few breaths before stepping through and following the curved hallway to the outdoor, yet private, pool of water. He watched as a few heads turned to smile at him, some even beckoning him over before turning back around. When he thought no eyes were on him he slid off his robe and speed walked his way to the edge of the water, where a dry small towel waited for him. Of course it being courtesy of the dad of the group, making sure everyone was taken care of.

Speaking of the male, Jeongin watched from the corner of his eye as Chan’s eyes followed his movement, his jaw dropped a little in what Jeongin assumed (hoped) was awe. When he sat at the edge of the water and dipped his legs in, he finally turned to meet the eldest’s eyes. They both watched as each other’s cheeks heated up, and Chan blinked a few times before gulping visibly and sending the younger a shy smile. He bashfully mouthed a ‘sorry’ before turning around and splashing his face with water.

‘Not the kind of lingering eyes I expected…’ Jeongin thought to himself as he sank the rest of his body into the water, sighing happily at the warmth. As he felt his body relax, Jeongin's own eyes trailed around. He spared a few glances at his members before letting his eyes trail lower on some. He felt a little weird about it, but his curiosity got the best of him and he was desperate for some soothing thoughts.

He quickly looked at the roof before blinking a few times, not sure if what he was seeing was being altered by the water or if he was actually bigger than the hyungs he saw. He let the idea marinate in his head as he made himself focus on the conversation he was being pulled into.

After soaking in the warm water for a few hours, the boys got out and headed to their rooms in pairs again. This went on until eventually it was just Chan and Jeongin in the pool. Chan was leaned on the tiled edge with his head laid back and arms spread, as Jeongin sat on the staircase a few feet from him in a similar position.

Jeongin found himself watching water drip down the older’s handsome features, ogling at how sexy the man looked in the water. He always knew his hyungs were good looking, but seeing him this bare with water dripping down his body had blood rushing to his dick. He always had a little crush on his Channie-hyung, but he thought that as he grew older and as the dorms changed, his feelings would too.

He opted to lay his head back as well, taking deep breaths to try and calm the sudden heaviness between his legs. As he did so, Chan’s ears picked up what he thought was a heavy sigh of stress, so he naturally picked his head up to check on the maknae. When his eyes opened he was met with a drool worthy sight, the other boy dripping with water as his toned chest rose and fell. He couldn’t help as his eyes dipped lower, landing on the long and hard length that was out in the open as the younger sat with spread legs. He gulped again and bit his lip, zoning out slightly and trying to stop himself from drooling over his member’s penis size.

Suddenly remembering his goal, he ripped his eyes away and opened his mouth to speak. Though he quickly cut himself off when his eyes met the fox-like ones of the younger man. He laughed nervously and scratched the back of his head before mumbling out another “Sorry…”

“Listen, hyung, I know I might be a little smaller than you guys but you don’t have to stare..” Jeongin mumbled out, suddenly self-conscious under his gaze.

“Oh- Jeongin.. that’s not… what I was staring for… Sorry if I made you uncomfortable, but that wasn’t the reason I was staring” Chan nervously replied, taking a sudden interest in the leaves on the other side of the water. Anything to avoid his gaze.

“It’s not? Then why?”

“Haha… Jeongin.. You’re not exactly ‘small,’ man. I don’t know where you got that from. You’re probably the biggest out of all of us.” Chan laughed out, returning his gaze back to the younger and watching as his eyes widened. He tilted his head and laughed again, suddenly not feeling as embarrassed, “What? You thought that you were actually smaller than us? You’re fucking huge, mate. Seriously..”

Jeongin chuckled to himself but quickly got lost in thought as he watched the older boy rise up out of the water. He unintentionally caught sight of the other's length and realized he wasn’t lying, making him feel much better but a little flustered.

“Is that the reason you were staring?” He finally asked, watching as Chan walked over to the bench with his robe on it. He watched his shoulders tense up at the question, sitting in silence for an almost uncomfortable amount of time before he picked up his things and finally responded. “I mean…. Yeah?... Yes and no..” Jeongin let out a confused ‘Huh?’ at the statement, but before he could question him further Chan spoke out again. “Anyways… sorry about that… You should get out soon, it’s late and we have to be up early for the recording.” he said loudly as he wrapped himself in his robe and quickly left.

Jeongin watched as he walked out, the words hung for a while in the thick air before he eventually dragged himself out the water, heading to his own room to end his night.

The night passed fast and Jeongin quickly found himself in the junkyard with his other members. They’re dressed in more casual, black clothing and are running around being their loud, chaotic selves. After a few hours of shooting, the director called for a lunch break and said to return in an hour and a half. Some people left to find a local restaurant while others, namely the members and their manager, ordered for delivery. They ran around and played like children as Chan called the order in.

Jeongin was lost in thought as this went on. Throughout the shooting, he felt Chan’s eyes lingering on him. But anytime he would turn his head to meet his eyes, he would be met with Chan’s neck basically breaking as it snapped around, leaving nothing but his red ears and the back of his head being visible. This happened multiple times throughout the morning, so when the other members sat with each other to eat, Jeongin pulled him to the side to question him.

“Channie-hyung, are you okay? I’m sorry if last night made you uncomfortable.” Chan watched as a head or two turned when they overheard the question and he suddenly felt super nervous. He grumbled to himself as he grabbed the younger’s wrist and pulled him away, leading him between the cars to a more private area where prying ears and eyes couldn’t eavesdrop.

“Hey… nothing’s wrong, I’m sorry. I just have been a little distracted and I just so happen to keep zoning out while looking at you.” He finally responded, ears still bright red.

Jeongin let out a giggle at the statement, “Hyung… is my dick size that distracting?”

“What? N-No that’s not what-”

“Why else would you zone out looking at me so much? Especially after last night.” He said, taking a step closer. Chris sputtered as if he was tongue tied and took steps back until he felt his ass meet the trunk of a car. Jeongin smirked and with this new confidence, he stepped forward to close the distance between them. “You sure you’re okay, Hyung? You seem a little red in the face.” He asked with faux concern and an eyebrow raise. “Or maybe,  just maybe, all those long stares and lingering touches from you over the years weren’t a figment of my imagination? Hm?” He teased, ending his sentence with a head tilt as he leaned more into Chris. With his hands caging the shorter man, Jeongin could feel pride swelling in his chest at how flustered he managed to get his hyung.

“Iyen-ah..” Chris started, his eyes darting everywhere but the boy in front of him, “We shouldn’t talk about this here… let’s wait until we get back home, yeah?”

“Mmmm... normally I’d listen to you, hyung. But something’s poking against me right now and I really don’t think it’s the sushi rolls we ordered.” Jeongin slotted his leg between Chris’ thighs as he finished his sentence, pushing it into his bulge and biting his lip at the whimper he got in return. “Oh hyung… you’re a really bad liar haha.. If you like me that much just say so. I know I like you that much. Just look at how hard I am too.” Hearing this, Chris looked down and almost moaned at the sight of the younger’s bulge. His long dick was so obvious even through the black jeans he wore. Feeling his self control break at the seems, he cleared his throat and spoke up again. “My feelings don’t matter here, I have to be a good hyung and a good leader to my members. It’s my responsibility.”

“A ‘good hyung’..? Ahh. But. A ‘good hyung’ would help his members out, right? As should a ‘good maknae’. So let’s take care of each other. We can talk more tonight at the hotel or once we’re home, like you said.” Jeongin whispered into his ear, his hand slowly trailing from the spot on the car, to Chris’ hips, before finally grabbing at his bulge and palming it. “Or. If you don’t want this, you tell me now and we move on. Act like nothing happened... Deal?” The man under him moaned quietly at the contact before biting his lip trying to stay silent. After a few seconds he finally looked up to the boy and nodded. ‘Fuck why does he feel so tall all of the sudden.’

“Words, hyung.” Jeongin said sternly, tightening his grip before letting go completely and playing with the zipper on his pants.

“Fuck. Yes, Jeongin, please touch me.” He whined out, feeling embarrassed at the disparity in his voice, though this feeling was quickly forgotten once his pants were undone and pulled down his hips alongside his boxers. They lingered at his thighs as Jeongin’s big hand grabbed at his length, pumping it as he pulled his own jeans and boxers down. Their dicks stood against each other as Jeongin gathered his saliva, spitting it onto where their dicks met and pumping them together. His hand almost completely covered their combined width, and the sight had Chan whimpering with his head thrown back.

Jeongin’s hand grabbed his chin and pulled them to be face to face, lips mere inches from each other. He gave it a few seconds to let him pull away if he didn’t want it, but when Chan’s head leaned forward, his quickly followed. Their lips met in a sloppy kiss and they moaned into each other's mouth with every pump from Jeongin.

Once he felt himself getting close and the suddenly shaky legs from the other man, Jeongin’s movements slowed down almost completely and he pulled away from the kiss, panting as their foreheads stayed connected. “How far are we going, hyung? You gonna let me fuck you here, against this car, or should we end it fast and go back to the others?”

“God.. fuck me please..” He moaned in response as his hips bucked into Jeongin’s hand, desperate for a faster pace. His hand pulled away completely and he was swiftly turned around. Jeongin’s clean hand rested between his shoulder blades and pushed him down onto the car as he hissed at the cold metal.

“Let me get you ready then, yeah? Fucking you raw is one thing, but fucking you unprepared is a whole other one.” He said breathlessly as his hands spread Chan’s ass cheeks, thumb teasing his hole. He spat once more, directly aiming for it and rubbing it in with his thumb before his pointer finger finally pushed in.

“You don’t have to do much… fucked myself last night a little bit…” Chan groaned against the car. Jeongin’s eyes rolled into the back of his head as he realized he wasn’t kidding. His finger moved around with no resistance and he moaned at the sight of his 2nd finger pushing in, being met with barely any resistance.

“Fuck.. hyung..” He whined, “What, did you fuck yourself with your fingers at the thought my dick?” When the older only answered with a muffled moan into his jacket, he couldn’t help moan at the thought and add a third finger into the mix, finally feeling more resistance.

After a short time of stretching him out, Jeongin pulled his fingers out and spit a few times on his own dick, rubbing it in and trying to make it as wet as possible. After teasing Chan’s hole for too long and getting an annoyed ‘Jeongin..” from the man below him, he finally pushed inside.

“Ugh… stretch you out with 3 fingers and you’re still so tight.. Relax, hyung. Nobody’s gonna catch us I promise..”

After giving him time to adjust and relax, Jeongin gave some test thrusts. He grinned at the desperate moans falling out the other’s thick lips and set a nice pace. Once he heard his name in between moans, it only spurred him on. He grabbed Chan by his shoulder, pulling him back to chest with himself and speeding up his pace. With this position, he easily pounded into the older’s prostate, and it was made pretty obvious by the whiny moans he was starting to hear.

“Hah.. You’re so loud, hyung. The others are gonna hear you if you’re not careful.” He teased, lifting his hand to hold a palm over Chan’s mouth. “I know it feels good but if somebody finds out, we’re gonna have to stop. And you don’t want that, do you?” When the older man whined into his hand and shook his head, he chuckled to himself and kept up the pace. He kept it just fast enough to faintly hear their skin slapping together but not enough so that their members could hear it.

Trying to keep himself quiet, Jeongin nibbled and left kisses against his throat, leading them up to his jawline. He bit a little too hard after Chan tightened suddenly and he heard a loud moan against his hand. He smirked against the skin and found himself biting more often and harder each time. It wasn’t long before the grip around his dick was tighter and more frequent, so Jeongin removed his hands to push him back against the car. They quickly planted themselves on both sides of his hips as he sped up his thrusts, pounding into the man below him at a rougher pace.

For a while, his eyes were trained at the area they connected, but a sudden movement caught his eye and he forced himself to look away. He was met with the sight of Chris’ cheek being squished against the trunk, one hand spread out against the metal as the other rested near his face. His eyes focused on the teeth locked onto his finger and the drool falling against the metal of the trunk.

He moaned at the sight and leaned forward with newfound vigor, reaching one of his hands beneath them to stroke Chan's length. Within seconds Chan's cumming, shooting onto the pebble-ridden dirt as his hand moved to completely cover his mouth, desperate to hide his loud whines. After finishing him off, Jeongin pulled his hand away and made a show to lick up the bits that his fingers came into contact with.

Chris would’ve moaned at the sight if it weren’t for the new, bullying, pace that the maknae set.

“F-Fuck Jeongin, I can’t a-anymore-” He moan-whispered, trying to keep quiet while the gummy spot in him got roughly pounded.

“I k-know hyung.. Just a little longer I promise. Let me use you for a second, okay?” When the older nodded and bit into his palm, Jeongin leaned back and reveled in the constant tightness around his dick. By the time Chan was almost crying at the combined stimulation and pace, Jeongin was finally cumming, opting to pull out and push Chan further against the car so that neither of their clothes got dirty. He let out low moans as he fisted himself through his high, unconsciously massaging the hip where his free hand rested.

As the last spurts hit the ground, they heard a distant voice calling for them: “Channie-hyung! Iyen-ah! Shooting continues in 10!”

They both took a few minutes to catch their breaths as Jeongin pulled both of their pants back up, even fixing Chan’s shirt from where it had risen slightly. Their eyes met and Chan laughed in disbelief. “Sorry hyung, I got a little carried away.”  Still a little out of breath, the older took a deep breath before replying, “Yeah… we both did… I promise we’ll talk about this properly later tonight.”

With a nod from the younger, they fixed their posture and started heading out of the cubby area. Before they would be in line of sight of the other members, Chan pulled Jeongin by his collar into another kiss. One that was way less sloppy and way more passionate than the first. Before it got too heated they pulled away from each other, sharing a smile before returning to the rest of the group.

They both reluctantly continued shooing hungry, thankful for the water they were offered at least. But with the newfound feeling in their stomachs and the common stares they gave each other, neither of them could really find it in them to complain.

[miniwheat77]

Into you. (Gaz x Reader.)

!CW! NSFW, Smut, p in v sex, protected sex, blood, violence, (lemme know if I missed any.)

(Summary): Y/N has a fat crush on Gaz, but what will it take for them to be together in the end?

This a short lil story of Gaz, hope you enjoy it.

Sitting at a table completely alone was something Y/N had gotten used to.

Ever since joining this base with 141, being the only female on base was a little awkward. She hadn’t made friends with anyone just yet and spent a lot of time alone. Her sleep schedule was messed up, her meal schedule was even worse, and she was expected to work through it, as they all were. The others on base could see this. A few times during the night they’d come out into the mess hall to find that Y/N had just then gotten the time to sit down and eat.

She was a Combat Medic. Went along on missions to help patch people up, and cared for them when they were here as well. Which meant she didn’t get too much sleep. Right now, her schedule was normal. 141 had tracked down Hassan and were onto new missions. They were at a point where they could relax for a couple weeks until their next mission. Nobody was getting hurt and she was the only medic on base for now. Just in case. And the only female on the entire base. Or so you thought.

To your surprise, your Captain had recruited another female Soldier. You were worried at first, sometimes women could be a little mean. But from the moment you met her, you got along with her well. You no longer sat at tables alone, always had someone to talk to, and she gossiped with you just like teenage girls would. Something you didn’t realize you had missed so much. The very first thing she noticed about you, was the giant crush you had on Gaz. She hadn’t said anything at first, but noticed the way you’d look at him when he wasn’t looking. How you always sent him awkward waves in the halls passing by. But never talked to him. Eventually, she brought it up to you. You denied it, but your reddening cheeks said otherwise. So, for now. She was going to be your wingman.

She didn’t want to walk right up to him and tell him you liked him. She didn’t want to do you that dirty. But she had to find a way to throw hints his way. The best way to do that? Mention how pretty you are to his friends.

It wasn’t a lie, you were stunning. The scrub outfits you wore did you Justice, hugging your curves. She’d even recommended tucking your shirt into your pants so it didn’t get in the way, it was advice you’d taken. Advice that was going to work in your favor. She became friends with Soap and by association, Gaz happened to be around all of the time too. That’s where she did most of her work. She made you sit at the table with them, made you interact with them more than you usually did. When you weren’t around, she explained to them how shy you were and how sweet you were. And how “under that scrub outfit I can tell she’s got a rockin body.” Which resulted in everyone laughing, Gaz too. She was going to get the both of you together. One way or another.

“Hey Gaz. You mind doing me a favor?” She asks him. “Yeah sure what’s up?” He asks. “I’d like to check on Y/N, but I don’t know where her room is, could you go check on her for me? I have to go take over watch.” He nods. “What’s wrong with her?” He asks. “She just seemed a little anxious earlier. On edge about something.” He nods his head. “Alright, I’ll check up on her.” She smiles. “Thank you so much Gaz. I’m sure she’ll appreciate it.” After, she disappears. Right about now, you’d be getting undressed and ready for bed. She knew your schedule. Gaz makes his way for your room, knocking at the door but you don’t answer, which concerns him. He opens the door and his jaw drops. Your eyes go wide and you rush to cover yourself. Tugging your earbuds out. “Shit! I’m so sorry. I knocked but didn’t hear anything.” He laughs, eyes covered with his hands. “It’s okay- I’m sorry I had my earbuds in.” You blush. You rush to put your shirt on, quickly sliding on a pair of shorts that were available. “You can come in.” You breathe. “Sorry. Um.. Riley wanted me to check on you. She said she had to take over watch, so she couldn’t. Is everything okay?” He asks. “Oh uh.. yeah. I was just feeling a little off. That’s all.” You smile. He closes your door behind him. “Is something going on? You want to talk about it?” You sigh. “I really don’t want to bore you, Gaz.” You laugh. He smiles. “You can call me Kyle, love. And you can’t bore me. You need someone to talk to, I’m not busy.” He shrugs. He sits down on your bed. Patting the spot next to him. So you sit down. “I’m just a little homesick. That’s all.” You laugh. He nods. “Missing someone?” He smiles. “Yeah. My cat.” You laugh. “What, no boyfriend?” He laughs. “Oh- no.” You give him a face of disgust. “Sorry, Girlfriend?” He smirks. “No, not that either. I’m not gay.” You blush. He nods, a smile on his face. “You don’t do relationships or something?”

You shrug. “Just haven’t really hit it off with anyone yet.”

“Have you ever had any boyfriends?” He asks. “Yeah. Just one. We dated for a couple years but it didn’t work out. That was when I was young though.” He nods. “What about you? Got a girlfriend?” You ask. A pit forming in your stomach. “No. Same reason. Haven’t met the right girl for me just yet.” He laughs. “I’m sure it’ll happen for us in time Ah?” You joke. He smiles. “I’m sure it will. Try not to be so hard on yourself though. You’ve got a family here until we can get you back home.” He smiles. You nod. “Thank you Gaz.”

After you finish your conversation, he leaves and you’re left there alone. Your mind is running wild, never having a one on one conversation with him before, how the hell. Why?

That bitch set you up! She was so dead when you seen her next.

—

Riley was getting tired of this. Nothing she was doing was working. She didn’t want to do you wrong, but she was running out of options. She’d just have to do it. “Hey. Gaz? Can I talk to you?” She asks. “Yeah sure, what’s up?” He asks. “I’m gonna tell you something and I need you to keep it between me and you.” She crosses her arms. “Yeah sure, what is it?” He asks, “Y/N likes you. Has a massive crush on you, has since I got here.” He raises his eyebrows. “If you don’t like her, let this conversation die here.” He nods. A laugh leaving his lips. “That why you sent me to her room?” He asks. “Yeah but she’s so shy she wouldn’t do anything about it anyways.” He smiles. He nods his head. “Alright well.. thanks for telling me.” He laughs, turning around and walking away.

She thinks to herself for a second, maybe that was a horrible idea. You’d never get closure if you ever decided to tell Gaz yourself. She sighs, walking away. She felt like a horrible friend.

Gaz takes a deep breath as he walks away from the conversation. He'd definitely be making an effort to get closer to you. He had only ever talked to you a couple times. If you liked him, he needed to see if you were compatible before getting his hopes up.

-

Over the course of the next couple weeks, that's exactly what he does. It took some explaining for why he wasn't sitting with the guys at lunch and sitting with you instead. He went out of his way to see you in the hallways, and one thing he really noticed during this time was how sweet you were and just how much you guys had in common. You shared a ton of stories and every second the both of you were free, he was hanging around you. Riley noticed, but didn't say anything to either of you. She was scared Gaz didn't like you back and was just being nice. The more time Gaz spent with you, the more he realized just how compatible you were.

He's currently sitting in his room. He's nervous because he's definitely going out on a limb doing what he's about to do. He slides on a white shirt and jeans. Not his usual gear but he wasn't doing anything important. He slides on a pair of boots, adjusting himself the best he can to look as good as possible. When he's finished, he slides his phone into his pocket and begins his way down the hallway.

He makes his way outside, he knew you were out there. You took inventory in the storage shed for the infirmary once a month. You’re sitting down, going through some medication to make sure it’s not out of date when you hear the door open, making you look up. “Oh.. hey Gaz.” You smile. Heart skipping a beat when you see his outfit. You don't think you've ever seen him in anything like it before, always just his usual gear. “Hey.” He smiles, closing the door behind himself. “I just thought I’d ask if you needed any help. I know inventory is kind’ve repetitive.” He smiles. “Oh uh.. I think I can manage. Thank you though.” You smile. “That’s really thoughtful of you.” Gaz admires the way the safety glasses look on you. “What’s with the uh…” he points at his eyes, motioning to the glasses. “Oh uh.. I was working with some liquid medicine earlier and I always wear these just in case so nothing gets in my eyes. Wouldn’t want to have to Narcan myself mid overdose.” You laugh. “Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.” He crosses his arms, making his way toward you. “I am, training under pressure was rough.” You laugh. He nods. “Makes you quick on your feet though. I’ve seen how fast you jump into action when people are hurt.”

You shrug. “Have to be. Don’t have any other choices.” You’re focused on something you’re doing pretty intense and Gaz smiles. He likes how much you cared about your job. “So.. what made you decide to be a combat medic?” He asks. You shrug. “Like helping people, wanted to get away from my hometown.” He nods. “That’s fair.” By now, he’s standing right behind you. He places a hand on your shoulder, trying not to chuckle at the way you tense up so much when he touches you. “Why don’t you take a break hm? I’d like to ask you about something.” You nod your head, swallowing hard and praying he doesn’t hear your gulp. You slide your chair out, and stand up. Beginning to put the medications away in their locked cupboards. “Is.. something wrong?” You ask. You close the cupboards back up and spin around. “No.. Riley just told me something. Thought I’d ask you about it.” You swallow hard. “What did she tell you?” You ask nervously. “She told me that you have a crush on me.” He smiles, crossing his arms. Your eyes widen, lips parting just slightly. “I- I..” you laugh awkwardly. He walks closer, making you back up into the table behind you. “I don’t know what she’s talking about.” You laugh awkwardly. He slides his hands into his pockets. “Are you sure? Because.. maybe I’d believe that if I didn’t see it too.” He chuckles. Closing the distance between the both of you. Standing only a few inches from you. He towers over you, making you feel small. “Look.. I’m really sorry, I know it’s wrong an-“ he leans in, lips pressing against yours. Your eyes screw shut as he moves his lips against yours. Closing the remaining gap, hands wrapping around your waist. “You okay?” He smiles. “Yeah.. yeah I just..” you blush. He lifts your head up to look at him, kissing you again. "You trust me?" He asks. "Of course I do." You breathe. He smiles. "When she told me you liked me, I was a little skeptical at first. You know I'd seen you glancing at me before but I always thought it was my imagination getting the best of me. I never thought a girl as pretty as you would go for a guy like me." He smiles. A gasp leaves your lips when he lifts you up, setting you on the tabletop. He moves himself between your legs and a breath leaves your lips. No way this was happening. He kisses you again, deepening the kiss this time. He glides his hands up your thighs, drawing a gasp from your lips as his hands crept higher. When he draws away, your cheeks are burning.

"Kyle-" You try to say but he laughs, cutting you off. "It's okay. If you want to stop me you can." He smiles. "I was just going to say that uh..." You blush. "There's condoms in that drawer right there." Your cheeks turn red and his eyes widen. A smile forming at his lips. "Good girl." he smiles, taking a step back. He picks one of them up, walking back toward you. "Did you lock the door?" you ask. He nods his head. He helps you off of the table, smiling at how short you are compared to him. He kisses you again, and the time slips on from there. Your ears buzz, you can't hear anything but pants and sighs from each other as you undress each other. When you've got nothing else on to discard, he picks you up, setting you onto the table again. He's still got on his pants, his shirt is gone. He unbuttons his jeans, sliding them down just far enough to free his cock. You slide your hips to the edge of the table. Looking up at him. "You're really sexy you know that?" He smiles. "Thank you, I think you're really sexy too." Your cheeks are burning. You're sure you'll wake up at any minute, no way this wasn't a dream. He slides the condom over the tip of his cock, rolling it down to the base. He lines himself up with your entrance, holding onto the table for stability. He looks you in the eyes, this was something he wanted to remember.

This was out of the ordinary. For the both of you. Neither of you had done anything like this before. Neither of you were ever the type to have sex with someone you weren't even in a relationship with.

It hits Gaz and he takes a deep breath, looking down. "I'm sorry." He sighs. "It's okay." You breathe. "I've never done this before." He bites is lip. "Neither have I. I've only slept with one other person after a couple years of dating." You giggle. "We'll just have to do it together than." He smiles. He lines himself up with your entrance again, tip nudging at your opening. "Look at me." He breathes. "Keep looking at me." He pants, the tip of his cock spreading your folds apart, stretching you as he slides into you. You only just now realize how long it has been since you've been with someone. He's larger than the only other person you've been with. By a lot. When he bottoms out, your eyes finally close and he sighs. "Fuck.. You're really tight." His legs weaken just a little bit, not used the pleasure he's feeling. It's been a while, since he's been in the military he hasn't had any time for relationships or women. Who would've guessed you'd be the one to change that for him. He watches his cock slide out of you, your arousal soaking him. You were really into him. He had no issues sliding into you because of how wet you were. He blushes when he sees this. You really did like him. It takes him a little off guard.

He speeds up his thrusts and you're trying to stay quiet, quiet mewls and whimpers escape your lips, especially when he slides over this one spot, and he knows exactly what he's brushing up against. He moves his hips just slightly, until he's thrusting right into it, and you clamp a hand over your mouth, earning a smile from him, that's what he was aiming for. You're struggling to keep yourself together and he admires that he can make you feel so good, and maybe it's a little selfish because every time he hits that sweet spot, you clench hard around him. He pulls you even closer to the edge of the table, sliding even deeper into you. He tilts his head back with a groan, feeling hot. His face is flushed and he's starting to sweat a little. His thrusts are a little sloppier than he'd like to admit. But he can't help himself. You feel so good and it's been so long.

He feels a knot forming in his stomach, he'd forgotten just how long it's been since he'd even bothered to make himself cum. "You're so tight." He groans, leaning forward to suck at the skin on your neck, but being sure not to leave marks. He knew how much trouble you could get into and he wouldn't do you dirty like that. Not yet anyways. He pushes your legs up, kissing the skin on your calves, an attempt to soothe you that doesn’t go unnoticed. Kyle knows a lot about what he’s doing. Pounding himself inside of you, yet still making an effort to soothe you. A gentleman. You’re catching onto that pretty quickly. A cry leaves your lips and you’re clutching onto the table for dear life as he rocks his hips into you. "Fuck- Kyle. I'm really close." You whimper. He smiles. "That's my good girl hm? Cum for me sweetheart." He breathes. He’s gritting his teeth and he's right on the edge too but he needs you to cum first. He moves just slightly, thrusting a tiny bit harder and after a couple thrusts, he sends you spiraling. He has to clamp his own hand over your mouth, your death grip on the table has him smiling. His force pushing you until you're laying on your back. His hips don't stop and he rides out your high, overstimulating you just a little bit. He smiles down at what he’s done to you. So pretty and worn out. He groans out, whimpering as he reaches his own high, sloppy thrusts slowly coming to a halt as he fills the condom, eyes rolling back and his knees weakening. "F-fuck!" He gasps, you sit up to quickly kiss him to quiet him. The warmth from him filling the condom has you whimpering into his lips.

When you pull away, you're both panting and blushing. He finally breaks the silence with a laugh. "Fuck.. Can't believe we did that." His own cheeks burn but he looks down to hide it. "Me either." You giggle. He slides out of you with a groan and slides the condom off, tying off the top and discarding the packaging and the condom. He tucks his half hard cock into his jeans and zips them up, a groan leaving his lips at the sensitivity. You've gotten redressed by now and he slides his shirt over his head.

Afterward, he sits down next to you for a while. Talking about anything and everything as you finish up with inventory. You can’t help the tingling you feel between your legs, you and Riley were definitely having a conversation later.

This was the first of many Thursdays he'd sneak into the storage room with you. Any chance the both of you got alone, you took it.

[ohraicodoll]

Teeth

Joel Miller x f!Reader (Feral Reader as you’ve all lovingly called her) The Last of Us (show/game) 4.5K Words (3rd POV) Part II to Monsters Summary:  “Only Joel could make offering to get her off sound like a business transaction. But the intention was clear. This wasn’t intimacy, wasn’t passion boiling over, wasn’t romance. It was bodies and tactfulness and practicality.“ Warning: 18 + Minors DNI. Smut, pwp, mentions of violence, enemies to fwb, can be read standalone Part I | Part II

The house was too quiet.

So often on the road, they’d taken to sleeping in whatever buildings they could secure, alcoves in the woods, even an old run down vehicle on the side of the road occasionally. But this time they all got their own rooms, beds, to sleep in and instead of being comforting it made her anxious. She was used to the sounds of nature going on at night, the steady breathing of her companions, the slight vibrations of the world around her. There was nothing in the cabin but silence. They’d strategically picked rooms, Ellie taking the master bedroom as that was the farthest away from the entrance with hers and Joel’s closest to the front door. If someone went through the effort of getting through all the defenses and fences and managed to get inside, they’d have to get past their rooms first. Except not even that because she was awake and laying on the floor in the living room. The bed had been too soft, the walls pressing into her too much. Caged. So she had grabbed the blankets and pillows and thrown them on the floor on top of the couch cushions she’d yanked down. All where she could have a good vantage point of the front door, pistol resting beside her head and knife under the pillow. It was better, but still not the same.

All the clothes in the house were too big, no matter how tight she knotted the drawstrings, so she’d forgone pants and had thrown on an oversized shirt while her pants dried in what the previous owners had deemed the “laundry room.” The blankets were warm but a little itchy against her bare skin and she sighed. It was hard to relax, to take advantage of the amenities. The need to constantly be prepared for anything a humming nerve under her skin. She tried to calm herself, to focus, to slow the constant stream of thoughts going over the previous day. Finding the group, the bullet graze on her shoulder, the look of pure uninhibited rage as Joel caved the man’s skull in with his bare fist. And then the feel of that same hand in hers, rough skin against her own, and the warmth of Joel’s thighs against her body. “Except you’re wrong if you don’t think I like seeing you on your knees for me.” She wasn’t an idiot. The man was attractive and had been since the day she met him, no matter how much he set her teeth on edge and made her want to wring his neck. They were the same, hackles raised and maws snapping at every turn. She didn’t feel the need to play nice and hide who she was. He never batted an eye at her lack of hesitation towards violence, never looked at her fearfully or disapprovingly for shooting or stabbing first. She’d been around others before, had seen the way they skittered away in fear as if in a blood haze she’d go after them as well. Joel Miller was a survivor and knew that the world was ugly. And sometimes you had to match that ugliness to see the next day. He would have been the type of man that had intimidated her when she was younger. Too gruff, hardened, assured with his cocky attitude and rare smiles. Nothing like Harry. She’d been bashful before, wanting to break out of her shell but unable to take that leap. Not a leader, not a go-getter. Not quite the best at social interaction, at interacting with men specifically, words never coming easily. She would have blushed from one look from the Texan. The world wasn’t made for blushing anymore though and that was twenty years ago. That girl was dead. She was just wearing her skin. A skinwalker. A monster wearing a human form. The Outbreak had changed them all. 

Now it was hard to feel anything. She felt tiny sparks of amusement from Ellie when she tried out new jokes to get a reaction, concern as she took note of the weight that seemed to be on the young girl’s shoulders, affection watching her take in every new surrounding, irritation when Joel bossed them both around. Rage and anger were the easiest to feel, so she took aim at the older man. Like poking a bear if only to feel the exhilaration of being chased. She felt most alive in the middle of a fight and when Joel’s eyes were glaring into her, teeth snapping at her. Staring up at the ceiling, the slight creak of a hinge caught her ear from down the hall followed by almost silent footsteps. Too heavy to be Ellie, too quiet for the girl that blew through life like a tornado. No, she watched and waited as Joel came around the corner, the lantern she had left lit in the corner of the room illuminating the frown tilting his lips down. The sweatpants that hadn’t fit her fit him perfectly, settling loose and comfy on his hips while the faded shirt stretched snuggly across his broad chest. She could see the telltale signs that he’d been running his hands through his head, the slight curls in disarray and silver catching the light. If he had been asleep, she couldn’t tell. Maybe he’d heard her leave her own room. He always did seem to know when she was moving around. “What’re you doin’ out here?” he grumbled quietly, the sound rough and low. The darkness hid his eyes from her but she knew he was probably glaring. Still annoyed over their exchange earlier most likely. She blinked at him then went back to staring at the ceiling, “Bed’s too soft.” My mind won’t shut off, the room is too quiet, the walls are too close, I don’t like sleeping alone anymore. The words were there, buried underneath layers of skin. Joel grunted, scratching at his chin and the patchy beard there before placing his hands on his hips and taking her in. He could tell when she was bullshitting, she knew that, but he wasn’t about to call her out on it. They didn’t do feelings, didn’t confess their fears in the dark. It was practical and that’s how they both liked it. So she reasoned it was in the name of practicality that he sighed and walked over. Because they had shit to get done the next day and he’d gripe at her if she was tired and couldn’t pull her weight. He nudged her side with his foot, the silent command to scoot over, and rather than be a brat and stare him down she did so. The cushions were wide and worn down, big enough for both of them and weren’t entirely uncomfortable. Better than what they were used to sleeping on. Odd sleeping arrangements weren’t new, the three of them pressed tight together like sardines trying to fit in whatever small safe space they could find. So it wasn’t exactly odd for him to be pressed close to her. There’d been many nights she’d fallen asleep to her cheek against his shoulder blades and Ellie wrapped around her back. Maybe he had come out to the living room for the same reasons she had. She wasn’t sure but wasn’t about to ask. Joel placed his own gun on the ground next to his side of the cushions, carefully kneeling down and lifting the blanket up to get underneath. She could feel his pause more than she could see it, could hear the slight curse under his breath, “You wearin’ any pants?” “Does it look like it?” He shook his head, jaw clenching but continued climbing in beside her. The apocalypse did away with a lot of things like modesty and politeness. She didn’t care, had gone and helped him in only a towel earlier because she was already there and wasn’t going to take the time to change just to tend to his hand. Practical. He shifted beside her, getting comfortable under the shared blanket and laying on his side facing away from her where he could still hear from his good side. There was a moment where his arm went under the pillow and he paused, pulling out the blade while giving her a look before moving it beside him. Never surprised, always annoyed. The heat from his body made up for having to share the blanket, warmth radiating from him and seeping into her. She hadn’t moved, eyes still glued to the ceiling though now her concentration was mostly on the slight sound of Joel’s breathing next to her, the way his back muscles shifted against her arms, the anxiety lessening now that she wasn’t alone. “You’re thinking too loud,” his voice growled next to her, bare feet brushing hers as he adjusted. “That’s not a thing,” she replied, very much still awake. Joel sighed and looked at her over his shoulder, “You gonna go to sleep anytime soon or should I go back to my room?” Rolling her eyes, she met his gaze in the dim lantern light, his irises practically black, “You act like I’m not trying to sleep. Brain’s too wired. Feel free to go back if all you’re gonna do is complain, I didn’t ask you to sleep in here.” He huffed, facing away from her and let the silence take back over. 

This time the silence felt weighted, a heavy tension as they both acknowledged that neither of them were sleeping. Using his own words, she could hear him thinking loudly and it kicked up her nerves. She was extra aware of his heat, the press of his back against her arm, the slow and steady way his breath filled the air. It made her sensitive, made the world around her seem to vibrate. Joel was the one to break the silence again, the words deep and rough with his accent, “I can help, if you want…Distract you so you get to sleep.” Her heart sped up, the sound like a raging river in her mind. Her skin was tingling. “How so?” she could hear her own voice get huskier as she whispered back, the barest sound slipping out. He turned to look at her again over his shoulder, gaze heated, “You know how.” She did. Had more than once imagined his mouth on her, fingers slick with arousal and touching her- “Didn’t seem that into the idea earlier when you damn near bit my head off,” she scoffed and tried to ignore how every nerve was on fire. How he had been the one to bring it up and what he was offering. Joel didn’t say anything for a long minute, the memory of her on her knees and his fingers digging into his own thigh fresh. It’d been to rile him up, be a dick to him as he was being to her, but it wasn’t exactly not an invitation. She’d fucked worse to alleviate the tension, to say thanks, to satisfy a need. “Then maybe you weren’t listening correctly,” he grunted, “You want help or not? The window’s closing fast.” Only Joel could make offering to get her off sound like a business transaction. But the intention was clear. This wasn’t intimacy, wasn’t passion boiling over, wasn’t romance. It was bodies and tactfulness and practicality. She nodded, eyes on the ceiling. “Gonna need it out loud, darlin’,” he muttered lowly. Darlin. Not Starshine or Red or Hey You. It was a new one. “Okay,” she whispered and chewed on the inside of her cheek. She didn’t look at him, didn’t try and gauge his reaction or the look on his face. As unaffected as she was trying to come across, her heart was in her throat. It’d been a while, a good long while since someone else had touched her and it was Joel of all people breaking that dry spell. He turned over on his other side to face her and she could feel his eyes, the way they burned into her skin, “Turn over.” She didn’t argue, didn’t bristle at being ordered, simply faced away. It was better this way. It was too intimate to let him see her face, to watch his, and that wasn’t what this was. His chest was flush against her back and she could feel his breath against her neck, hands finding her waist as one of his knees pushed between hers. She expected him to be rougher, quicker, more methodical but he was soft and slow, taking his time. His fingers skimmed over her sides and down to her thighs, finding the hem of the worn shirt then the large expanse of bare skin. His palm was rough against the smooth skin and she bit down on her lip at the contrast in texture, finding she liked the feeling. Then the tips of his fingers were playing with the band of her underwear as his nose dragged along her neck, hot breath almost causing her to shiver. He slid his fingers along the thin straps, hand brushing against her heated skin and she could feel the edge of the bandage on the back of it. The bandage covering the split knuckles and sliced skin from him beating a man to death.

That kind of rage wasn’t supposed to be a turn on, but it had been. The old her would have been terrified, traumatized, backing away from him out of fear but not the person she was now. He had her back, had watched out for her and been there in the second she had been blinded by her overwhelming need to protect Ellie. 

Joel had her. She pressed herself back into him and could hear his swallowed groan as her ass rubbed against his groin, at his obvious arousal pressing against her. He didn’t speak and neither did she. Only the sounds of their quickening breaths filled the silence of the living room and then a barely audible gasp as his fingers finally slipped underneath the cloth and found her center already hot and wet. He trailed along her slit, gathering the arousal soaking there, and spread it around, encircling her clit. He took his time, going slow, getting to know her and the sounds she desperately tried to keep locked inside her. She’d been quiet back in the day. Never been one for dirty talk or loud moans. Maybe because she’d been bashful and inexperienced and easily embarrassed. Soft, breathless, throaty. Now it was more out of instinct, survival, control. There wasn’t much she could control in the world but herself and any noises she made were for her to decide if she wanted them to be heard. So she swallowed the moan that strained to leave her lips as Joel circled her clit even more urgently, lightning shooting through her. His hand was large, so much bigger than hers. His whole body could probably wrap around her completely, cover her up and shield her from everything around them. Joel was a solid wall behind her and as his finger finally dipped inside, she gripped the pillow tightly in a clawed hand while the other dug into the bicep stretched across her. He curled inside her, thumb pressing down on her clit, and she clenched her teeth against another moan, throwing her head back. Salt and pepper curls tickled her chin and then his mouth was on her neck, hot and wet with teeth and tongue. She could smell him, gunpowder and musk and pine. Distinctly Joel and she bit down on her tongue hard, welcoming the slight tinge of copper in her attempt to keep from drowning in him. Another finger entered her and she almost sobbed at the stretch. The coil inside of her was winding tighter and tighter with each stroke, each slow pump, as he managed to tease a part of her that had her delirious with pleasure. He was methodical, precise, bringing her to the edge then pulling back to bring her back down to the shallows before building her up again. It was the perfect kind of torture that had her pushing into hand, searching for more. Her nails were making indents in his skin from how hard she was digging in, struggling to keep herself in control. 

At last a gasp slipped through her lips unbidden. A crack forming. The small sound seemed to almost snap something in Joel. He cursed, pressing his forehead to her shoulder, before yanking her until she was on her back with his hand still down her panties. Before she could question him, his mouth was latched onto her neck and he was pressing deeper into her all the way to his knuckles, no longer going slow, no longer keeping her turned away from him. Their legs were tangled, thigh between his and hips pulled wider, and she could feel the hard length of his own arousal rubbing against her. She didn’t stop to wonder if this was about practicality anymore. If this had been part of the unspoken arrangement. Not when his mouth had inched down the collar of her shirt and he was pressing teeth into the small stars along her collarbone, worshiping the slip of skin. No, her hand reached out and pressed against his sweatpants, feeling him and taking in the way he hissed against her skin and jerked into her hand. Her back arched off the pillows as pleasure grew and their heated pants filled the room. Joel’s beard was scratchy against her skin and she knew there would be red marks all over her neck and across her chest but she didn’t care. His teeth nipped sharp spots of pain into her skin and then he would soothe the spot with his tongue. All while his fingers pumped in and out of her, the slick sound dampened by the underwear he’d shoved aside. Her own hand gripped him through his sweatpants, feeling his weight and length, mouth almost going dry at the size. He didn’t protest, didn’t say anything when she slipped her hand under the band of pants and past his underwear, feeling the hot velvet skin of his erection and passing a thumb over the tip to collect the moisture there. Instead he bit down harder and jutted into her hand, rocking and thrusting faster into her. Fuck, he was big and onehanded she stroked him the best she could, blind in the dark and moving in time with him. She was close, could feel the coil going taut and her breath coming out faster and faster. Her own face pressed into his shoulder, feeling the tight muscles in the arm holding himself over her. He almost seemed to shiver as she dragged her mouth along his skin then bit down, groaning open mouthed onto him as her orgasm crashed hard and unyielding. She didn’t slow down, didn’t release him, even as her body felt loose and HER breath came out in shaky pants. No, she had him and wasn’t going to miss the opportunity to take control over the smuggler. She stroked from tip to base, massaging him and drawing out his grunts with each movement. His fingers pulled out of her and gripped her thigh, smearing her own arousal all over the skin and digging in tight enough to bruise. “Fuck,” Joel hissed into her neck and she let go of the pillow she had been gripping with her free hand, combing through his hair and running nails along his scalp. She wanted to tear him open with her claws, rip away the hardened shell he’d built around himself and climb into him. Force some vulnerability to the surface in the same way he had with her. Revenge maybe, but the word didn’t feel right. He pushed himself up and finally met her gaze, their breath mingling as their eyes found each other in the dark. She wasn’t sure what he was looking for, felt almost more exposed than when his fingers were deep inside her. But she didn’t break her stride, didn’t blink or look away. She met him head on and it reminded her of that first day they had met. Saving Ellie, killing that man with a baseball bat, equal amounts of fury and brokenness meeting the other. A mirror. Joel grit his teeth and she watched the words “fuck it” shape on his lips but never forming sound before his lips were on hers. She hadn’t been expecting it. Kissing was for intimacy and this wasn’t that. But the kiss wasn’t gentle or soft or tentative, instead a clash that shook their bones. He was trying to devour her and she was trying to dominate him, his weight pressing down into her fully. She moaned into his mouth and hooked a leg around his waist, trying to draw him in as close as possible with her hand still tangled in his hair. She couldn’t define his taste. It was…Joel. Earthy and sweet and intoxicating. His tongue discovered every crevice of her mouth, sliding along hers, and she tugged at his hair until a hiss danced along their lips. Kissing Joel Miller was dangerous in its addiction. Her lungs burned and she thought she could taste copper, blood, but she couldn’t get enough, wanting to swallow every innocuous sound that left his throat because they were the only pieces of himself he let go of freely. She palmed his member, massaging it and feeling how desperate he was for release, before finally pulling away enough to whisper against him, “You can either fuck my hand or you can fuck me, Miller. What’s it gonna be?” He groaned as she squeezed him harder, hips jerking, “Jesus Christ…” Then his hands were tugging her underwear down in answer and he was on top of her fully between her thighs, lips bruising while she released him and helped yank his sweatpants down. It was frantic, hands clawing, teeth biting. A desperation she hadn’t felt in a while, only akin to when things were life or death and she was fighting for her life. 

Practicality had gone out the window and she wasn’t sure when it had happened. She felt alive, sharp and bright, and that had her fully pulling him to her, feeling him slide along her wet core heavy and pulsing and so fucking good. Joel braced himself with an elbow beside her head, muscles straining, hand gripping her hair tightly to keep her lips against his. His other fist pumped himself, sliding against her clit and drawing breathless moans into his mouth. There was no discussion about going slow, about making sure she was ready or stretched enough for him. That required a level of care, affection. No, that wasn’t them. Inside he hitched her leg higher around his waist and pushed into her fast and rough. Both of them groaned at the stretch, at the way he filled her completely, teeth swallowing the sounds. It never left their mouths, wasn’t for the world to hear, simply passed from one to the other like a secret. Her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him flush against her as he started to move. The proximity had him grinding against her, the rough hairs at his base adding friction and sending sparks through her. It was fast and bordered on painful, but it only heightened the feeling for her. She didn’t want him to be gentle with her, didn’t want to be handled like a doll.

She needed to feel something even if it was pain and god, if the man didn’t cause every single inch of her to alight with fire. “Fucking hell,” he whispered against her, the words a growl as he broke from her mouth and pressed his forehead to her shoulder, “Feel so fucking good.” His thrusts were beginning to lose their rhythm, going faster and harder as if he was aiming to tear her in half. She only wrapped both legs around his waist, hooking them at the ankle, the silent promise that she was fully along for the ride until the end. “This better than me on my knees, Miller,” she hissed, fingers tightening on his curls. He gripped the back of her head and drove deeper into her almost in answer, “Shut the fuck up, darlin’.” There was a reply on her lips but it never managed to escape, his lips crushing hers as they both began to hit the edge. She pulsed and tightened around him as her orgasm hit her like a freight train, lightning searing every nerve and dragging Joel down with her. He came hard with her, his warm release filling her and coating both of them as he fucked her through the last waves and aftershocks of their climax. Their breathless pants wrapped around them and painted their lips, a few centimeters apart but not fully pulled away from the other. She could feel him twitching inside of, was drowning in his scent and that familiar whiff of sex that clung to them. Even with his weight bearing down onto her, she felt good, filled to the brim, awake. Joel groaned, forehead against hers, sweat trickling down his neck and into the collar of his shirt, “Fuck.” “Ditto,” she mumbled, trying to catch her breath, releasing her tight grip on his hair and sliding it along his bag. He almost shivered at the slight caress. “I should have pulled out,” he frowned, brow furrowed as reality started to sink in. “It’s fine,” she answered heavily and fell back fully against the pillow, neck stretched beneath him, “Can’t get pregnant. Plumbing don’t work.” Her sentences were stuttered, short and to the point as a clear indication that it wasn’t a topic she wanted to elaborate on. It was the smallest admittance of something personal, a rarity between them, and he filed it away in the back of his mind.

He nodded and lifted himself up, only giving her a small warning before sliding himself from her. They both groaned at the sensation and loss of warmth, laying on their backs side by side under the blanket. The air was much cooler on their sweat slicked skin and in the back of her mind she was thankful that at least she’d get to take a shower in the morning. A second later though, her thoughts were cut off when Joel grabbed her and tugged her closer into his side, her arm across his chest. She froze, not quite expecting him to even acknowledge her after the deed was done, much less want to touch her. His ankle was still wrapped around hers and the threadbare shirt was soft under her cheek, his hand resting on her shoulder. “Didn’t take you for a cuddler,” the words lacked their usual mocking tone or bite, bordered on unsurety. This was out of her comfort zone and she was stiff, in unfamiliar territory with the smuggler. Sex and rage she knew, but not…whatever this was. “Shut up and go to sleep, Red,” Joel’s eyes were already closed, breathing relaxed and even. He wasn’t rising to take the bait, all the fight gone out of him. Biting her lip, she sighed. And true to his word, she followed him into slumber quickly after, leaving the new aspect of their relationship to ponder in the daylight. 

[compacflt]

For the requests/open inbox, this may not be the lane you're looking for, but you made a throw a way mention in a response to the ask about Ice's enforcement of DADT that Bradley and Ice probably got into it at one point about Ice being totally okay with DADT as a policy (which I love your read on Ice being like, 'yeah, nobody should ask and nobody should tell. what's the problem here?') I would love to see that argument go down. Or honestly, just any Ice and Bradley interaction after the reconciliation that suits your fancy. I find that dynamic in your world super interesting. Bradley sees him as a father, Ice sees him as the person whose father I killed. I love the drama.

Five times Ice was so obviously Rooster’s dad + one time he explicitly wasn’t.

[Carole. 1994.]

He’s such a nervous man. Usually that’s not the word people associate with him. Nervous? Never! But he is. Carole Bradshaw’s more a religious woman than a spiritual one. She’s never put any stock into “chockras” or “ouras” or whatever the other girls her age were fooling around with in the late sixties and early seventies. But she does believe that you can understand a person just by looking at him or her, and when she looks at Tom Kazansky, she sees a little anxious creature, shivering in the cold, like one of those tiny spindly dogs who always needs a sweater. Maybe it’s her southern maternal instincts, something primal and animalistic inside her, I need to take care of you—and when he nudges her with a nervous shivering shoulder and whispers, “Can I bum a smoke?” —she reaches down to take his hand and says, “I only have one left. We’ll have to share.”

She knows she makes him nervous. His ears are red, and so’s the back of his neck. It’s early on a Saturday morning, and the church is crowded, and he’s self-conscious about the fact that she’s holding his hand. Good. It’s so rare she gets to make a man nervous anymore. She waves to Bradley, proud in his little striped button-down and his little blue bow-tie, where he’s lined-up with all the other aspiring pianists against the stage along the far wall, under the bare postmodern crucifix. The recital isn’t going to start for another five, ten minutes, and it’s organized by age, so Bradley’s somewhere in the middle. If Tom Kazansky needs a smoke, Carole Bradshaw will bum him a smoke.

They exit out the side door, and the low murmuring of the other proud parents in the church fades to the quiet of the alley. Birds chirping nearby. The sound of a latecoming car on gravel somewhere far away. Her cigarette and the flick of his lighter, her eyes on his mouth and his puff of smoke—it’s lit. He takes a drag, closes his eyes, then passes it to her. “Sorry to make you share,” she says, and she’s watching the red flush creep up the side of his throat with a silent pleasure. When she takes her own pull, she looks down to see that the filter’s gone the sweet red-pink of her old lipstick. Kind of like a kiss, sharing a cigarette.

“That’s okay,” he says. Nervous spindly little dog. “Uh, what’s he playing?”

“Beethoven. ‘Für Elise.’” Then, before he can think to judge, she goes on quickly: “It’s more complicated than you’d think. Goes up and down and all over the place.”

“It’s a good song,” Tom Kazansky says, “though I don’t know too much about piano.” He pauses. “I’m learning a little German, though. I think it’s E-leez-ah. She must’ve been an alright girl if Beethoven wrote a song for her.”

Carole Bradshaw doesn’t know what to say to that. So she says this instead: “Thank you for coming. It made Bradley—well, over the moon, I guess.”

Tom Kazansky smiles shyly. “Sorry Maverick couldn’t come. I know he wanted to.”

Of course he brings up Pete Mitchell. Drags her back into reality. “He’s in Washington again, isn’t he?”

“Correct.” He reaches out for the cigarette; she gives it to him. “TOPGUN’s biggest advocate. I keep telling him he should go into politics. I just talked to him yesterday—he told me he went to the Natural History Smithsonian on Wednesday—he bought Bradley a dinosaur picture book, I think. Does Bradley like dinosaurs?”

Carole Bradshaw shrugs. What nine-year-old boy doesn’t like dinosaurs, but… “He’s more into sea life these days. Whales, sharks, fish.”

“Some fish used to be dinosaurs, they think,” says Tom Kazansky, clearly just trying to fill the silence. Ears red, lips red. Smoke out of his mouth like a fire-breathing dragon.

Carole Bradshaw doesn’t know how much dinosaur history she actually believes. So she says, “It’s still really nice of you to come. You know, Bradley—Bradley thinks of you and Maverick as his—well, his fathers, I s’pose. So it’s nice for you to be here.”

She watches his reaction—just nervousness. Straight anxiety. He doesn’t meet her eyes, like she’s just kicked him in the ribs. He does not want to be Bradley’s father. 

She says, “You don’t have to sign any papers, Tom. You don’t have to put a kid seat in your car. I’m just saying. Don’t worry about it.”

He says, “I can hear the kids starting inside—we should probably go back in.”

So Carole Bradshaw drops the cigarette butt to the ground and steps on it with the bottom of her flat. They go inside, and wait for a kindergartener to finish an overly simple “Canon in D” to take their seats again. She takes his hand. He lets her. After another half-hour, Bradley sits down on the bench in front of the hand-me-down Steinway and busts out “Für Elise” without a single missed note. It still shocks her, sometimes, to watch him play—it still shocks her, sometimes, that she is the mother of all that talent. And now maybe Tom Kazansky is the father of all that talent. How did that happen?

At the end of the recital, Tom Kazansky lets go of her hand. She knew he would. Knew his fatherhood is only temporary. But he lets go of her hand to accept Bradley’s great-big hug in the parking lot: “Gosling, that was so good.” Bradley’s proud smile is missing a few teeth. It makes Tom Kazansky laugh.

And after he drops them off at home, and peels away with a wave and a smile, Carole Bradshaw lights another cigarette from the half-full pack she’d brought with her to the recital and brings Bradley out to the backyard so he can play and she can watch him. But before she lets him go, she looks down at him and says flatly, “If kids at school ask you about Uncle Tom and Uncle Pete—you need to tell them they’re just friends.”

And in his eyes, she can see the confusion of a little boy who hadn’t been aware that Tom Kazansky and Pete Mitchell were anything other than just friends—the confusion of a little boy learning about duplicity for the first time in his life. 

“Okay,” he says, so she lets him go.

—

[Maverick. 1998.]

“Don’t go easy on him,” Maverick hollers breathlessly over his shoulder, fishing around in the ice chest in the sand for two cans of Coors; “He just joined the J.R.O.T.C.; don’t go easy on him; he’s tougher than all your squadrons combined; beat him into the dirt…”

“Thanks, Uncle Mav,” shouts Bradley from across the volleyball court, where he’s getting initiated into one of the volleyball teams of younger fighter pilots. 

Maverick flashes him a thumbs-up and finds his T-shirt on the first bleacher bench, pulls it on with one hand, and then hops up the rest of the benches to sit with Ice, who’s got his CVN-65 ballcap on and a book open in his lap and is offering informal career advice to one of the other lieutenants: “Yeah, so, in my opinion, it’s all down to what you think you can stomach… If you want me to look over your C.V., I can totally do that—I think I’m free Monday at around thirteen-hundred, if you want to stop in to talk. Not a problem. Not a problem. Alright. See you later.” He watches the lieutenant go, then lolls his head over to look at Maverick, who’s tossing an ice-cold can of Coors up and down. “Hey. Good game. —Coors, Mav? This is an insult.” But he takes the offered can anyway, looking out onto the court, where Bradley—fourteen and just entering his beanpole phase of evolution—is currently spiking the ball. “Cool.” It’s a nice summer Saturday, a casual opportunity for the officers of Miramar to socialize with their families (Ice is wearing a golf shirt and jeans), and by now pretty much everyone knows that Maverick Mitchell’s raising his friend’s kid and that he and Captain Kazansky are good friends, so this is pretty nice. Not much to hide.

“C’mon,” Maverick says, popping open his own can, “you and I were having a scintillating conversation, a few minutes ago.” He’s hunting around for the sunscreen so the tops of his feet don’t burn to ashes in the sun.

“Scintillating. That’s a big word for you. Wow.”

“You’re rubbing off on me, Sir Reads-a-lot—”

“See, that’s funny,” Ice interjects, “because I seem to recall, before you so-rudely interrupted me to go play volleyball with the kids, I was telling you that it’s really not that interesting. It’s actually, Maverick, quite boring.”

“Well, I’m intrigued now. Go on. Finish it off, I wanna know.”

Ice slaps his book shut and gives the long tired sigh of a man who is very self-conscious about the fact that he’s about to turn forty. He pops the tab on his can of Coors and huffs in exasperation when it foams all over his hand. “I mean it, my family history’s really not that interesting. Typical eastern-European immigrant shitshow. U.S. officials change one letter in our last name and everyone loses their goddamn minds… Actually, that story might be apocryphal, I keep forgetting which former Soviet Socialist Republic I’m actually from, I just can’t remember, all the borders got redrawn so many times, one of ‘em…”

Maverick smiles and pulls his TOPGUN ballcap back down onto his head, tugs the brim down low over his eyes so he can tip his head back and not go blind from the summer sunshine. He’d thought Ice would be reluctant to share his family history, but it turns out that most people are just afraid to ask him, and he’s actually pretty eager to talk, if you just ask. Maybe over-eager. He’s rambling. Maverick cuts him off: “Yeah, you do have a left curve to you, don’t you. Genetic.”

The dirty joke strikes Ice dumb for a second, but then he forges ahead, wisely choosing not to engage. He keeps going, oblivious to the fact that Maverick’s not really listening… “Anyway, my grandfather was Jewish, but he died literally the second he stepped foot in America, so it doesn’t count…my grandmother was Orthodox, crazy story how they ended up together; actually, that story’s probably apocryphal, too…she’s the one who raised me, pretty much. I told you that. She brought my dad out to Southern California when he was a little kid, but I don’t know if you’ve noticed, So-Cal’s not exactly the Mecca of Orthodox churches or anything, so he wasn’t very religious at all… My mom was from Milwaukee, I think. Or maybe Minneappolis. Some kinda Protestant. Forget which kind. The preachy kind. But then she died and I didn’t have to go to church anymore, so I didn’t.”

“You just never believed?” Maverick mumbles, half-joking.

“Nah. I mean, I always had too many questions no one wanted to answer. For instance: okay, say you’re bad. Say you commit sin…”

“I’ve never sinned, sir. You’re talking hypothetically.”

“Right. Me, neither. Hypothetically speaking. So you go to Hell. Well, the devil’s there, too, ‘cause he’s a sinner, too. But why’s he want to punish you? What does he get out of it? You’re both in the same boat!”

“Probably a sexual thing,” says Maverick, watching the purple-green imprints of the sun dance around behind his eyelids. “He probably gets off on it. The devil, I mean.”

Ice laughs and laughs. “Sure. Try saying that in front of my mom and see if you survived. I learned pretty early on that they don’t want you to be too curious. So I kept all my questions to myself.” He’s also joking, not taking this super seriously, but that’s a pretty in-character answer. “What about you, Mav?”

“If I’ve told you my family’s history once, I’ve told you a thousand times…” That’s a joke. Maverick’s the one who doesn’t like talking about his family history. Ice hasn’t heard any of it, and for good reason. Maybe someday he’ll tell him about it. “Later. But, remember, I used to be Southern Baptist? Jesus, I was serious into that shit, Ice.”

Ice snorts. “Yeah, right. You.”

“Not joking. I had about eighty girlfriends between fourteen and eighteen, but that’s the most pious I’ve ever been. Lotsa loopholes to make my relationships biblical. Was thinking about being a youth pastor. —I’m not joking. It was my whole personality, for a while. Most of my childhood, anyway.”

Ice is still laughing in disbelief. “Oh, yeah? And then what happened?”

Maverick smiles. “…Got hooked on sinning.” 

“…Yeah,” Ice replies, and Maverick can hear the nervous smirk in his voice, “I guess I’d know a little something about that.”

And normally that would be the end of the conversation. But Maverick’s feeling a little sun-drunk, a little giddy, and he’ll never, ever, ever grow out of instigating stupid arguments with Ice just for the fun of it. From beneath the brim of his ballcap he mutters, “…You think Carole’s brainwashing her kid?”

Ice huffs a laugh, and says through a lazy yawn, “I’m not militant in my atheism, no.” But he, also, will never, ever, ever grow out of instigating stupid arguments with Maverick just for the fun of it, and his curiosity’s clearly been piqued. He stews in it for a second before he snaps, “Do you think Carole’s brainwashing her kid?”

“I’m just saying she has him readin’ outta the Bible, like, five times a day. She sends him to church camp. Does something to a kid.” He has no dog in this fight, but this is fun.

“And what did it do to you?” Ice says, reaching down to shove his shoulder good-naturedly. “Weren’t you just telling me not five seconds ago how you used to be the perfect model of Christian charity?” Maverick mumbles a retort sleepily; Ice pushes on through it: “Bradley’s a human being. Either he grows out of it like you did, or he doesn’t, in which case, whatever, land of the free. That’s the First Amendment. You swore an oath to the Constitution. Maybe you should read it.”

“I’ve read it. I’m not Congress, shithead. How’s it go, you want me to cite it to you directly, ‘Congress shall make no law…’ actually, I don’t know what comes after that. Got me there.”

“Don’t call me shithead, dipshit. And whatever. Good thing he’s Carole’s kid and not yours, then. He’s got a mom who wants him to go to church. It’s up to him if he wants to listen to her or not. That’s growing up.”

Maverick tips up the brim of his ballcap to look at him, sprawled out in the bleachers very unprofessionally for the CO of this entire volleyball court, and snaps back, “Well, he’s a little bit my kid. The same way he’s a little bit your kid.” 

Ice just flicks his sunglasses down onto his nose and purses his lips and neither confirms nor denies this allegation. 

They watch the game together for a while, Ice’s toes pressed against Maverick’s lower back discreetly, trying to work their way under Maverick’s T-shirt. Until one of the young pilots approaches a few minutes later: “Sir!” / “What’s that kid’s call sign again?” Ice mumbles to Maverick, prodding him with his foot. / “Hooker.” / “No shit.” / “Sir!” says Hooker again. / “Which one of us, kid?” says Maverick. / “Captain Kazansky, sir. We’ve got a spot opening up. Wanna play?”

Maverick looks up at Ice expectantly. Ice sighs and harrumphs and waffles for a minute— “I’m too old for this shit.”

“Sir,” says Maverick, “it’s not a competition, but if it were, I’d be winning.” 

Lighting the fire of competition under Ice like that is always a good strategy. He rolls his eyes, but immediately stands and tugs off his shirt and rolls up the cuffs of his jeans; “I’ll only play if I can play with the kid.” 

So Maverick watches the teams get scrambled again with a smile, and sits up to watch Ice join Bradley in the sand. Bradley’s only just now taller than Ice, and Ice clearly isn’t used to having to reach up to curl an arm around his shoulders to strategize, his eyes narrowed like an eagle’s, staring down the competition. Maverick can read his lips from across the pitch: Alright, kid, I’ve been watching for a while, and I think I know these guys’ strengths and weaknesses…okay, here’s what we’re gonna do… And the game begins when Bradley spikes the ball.

Ice won’t always be this fun, this down-to-earth, this human. The admiralty and the guilt and the grief of the years to come will strip it all away from him, bring him back to the cold, remove him from his own humanity. And maybe, even if it isn’t conscious, Maverick can recognize that, right now, watching Ice dive into the sand with a laugh: this summer sunshine is only temporary. It’s gonna have to end at some point. So he doesn’t take it for granted. He keeps his eyes open and watches and tries to commit it to memory.

And after the game, Ice and Bradley come over so Ice can finish his beer and put his shirt and his baseball cap back on, and Maverick can make fun of them for losing. And: “What were you guys talking about for so long before the game?” Bradley asks Maverick with a grin.

“Whether or not your mom’s brainwashing you,” Maverick says.

“Oh!” Bradley says mildly. “…No, I don’t think so!”

“Oh, that’s a great start,” Ice laughs. “You would’ve made a great Soviet. No, I don’t think I’m getting brainwashed. Hey, by the way, Gosling, if you want a beer, Maverick and I won’t tell anyone.”

“Aw, really?” whispers Bradley. “Thanks, Uncle Ice!” And he races down the bleachers towards the ice chest in the sand.

Maverick watches Ice watch him go, fingers still pinching the brim of his CVN-65 ballcap, clearly worrying about something the way Ice always is. 

Then he looks down at Maverick, stares openly for a minute, and says, “You don’t think we’re teaching him to rebel too much, do you?”

—

[Bradley. 2000.]

“Kiddo! You’re here early!” It was Uncle Ice, walking through his own front door, catching a glimpse of Bradley watching the Astros-Nats game on the TV. He was still in uniform, but smiling wide, and he set his bag down near the couch and leaned over to ruffle Bradley’s hair goodnaturedly.

“Practice ended early today.”

“Oh, okay. Cool. Maverick should be home soon, still at work—your mom’ll be here in about an hour—she told me to put the chicken breasts in the oven, but you know me, every time I use this oven I set off the fire alarm, so you oughta help me with that…”

“And,” Bradley said, watching Uncle Ice wash his hands in the kitchen sink, “I got here early because I wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh, sure!” chirped Uncle Ice. Then he paused, sensing a trap. “What about?”

“Advice,” Bradley mumbled. He took a deep breath, and stood to follow Uncle Ice into the kitchen “I was just—I was just curious. If you had any advice for me joining the Navy. You know, with me being gay, and all. How do I—I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about it a lot. It’s kinda been weighing on me. Do you have any advice?”

Uncle Ice was still drying his hands off on a kitchen towel. Rubbing them red and raw. And when he raised his head to speak, there was something dull and startled in his eyes: “I don’t, um—no, I don’t—I don’t know anything about that. —You should ask Uncle Maverick about that.”

“I did,” Bradley said desperately, because he had. Yes, he’d gone to Uncle Mav first. “He—he told me to talk to you.”

“…Oh,” said Uncle Ice, now standing in front of a shelf to return one of his books to it. This surprised him. Maybe hurt him a little. “No. I—I, I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

“But—”

“And there are probably better people to ask than me or Maverick. I—I don’t know—that’s not really my…I don’t know.”

“Okay.”

Uncle Ice swallowed, put the book back on the shelf, then clasped his hands together and set them on the shelf, too, as if leaning over his captain’s desk to chastise someone. He blinked for a long moment. Clearly shifting gears. Becoming someone else so easily. Why couldn’t Bradley do that? “But I can tell you this,” he said, and his voice had gone grave and dim, “and I know you and I don’t always see eye-to-eye on politics—but I can tell you this, professionally, because I respect you, and I care about you, a lot—you’re going to have to keep it a secret.”

Dismayed, Bradley said, “Why?”

“Why’s a funny question to ask about something like this,” said Uncle Ice curtly. He shrugged. “Why? Because it’s the law. That’s why.”

Bradley swung his bat at the hornets’ nest. This was always dangerous with Uncle Ice. “It shouldn’t be a law. Don’t you think?”

“Doesn’t matter what I think. It’s the law. And we get paid to enforce the law, internationally speaking. And the military doesn’t work if personnel refuse to follow the rules in broad daylight. So.” He trailed his fingertip along the spines of all his precious books, then eventually found a different one, started flipping through it absentmindedly. “And even if it weren’t the law, it’d still get enforced extrajudicially. You know what that means?” He did that, when he was intentionally being cruel; used big words that Bradley didn’t know to make himself sound smarter. “It means outside the law. The way people talk to you. The way people respect you or don’t respect you. And this business, the one you want to go into, is all about respect. Being a pilot is kind of like being a knight: you have to be noble, you have to be honorable, you have to respect your service and your adversaries and yourself. And because I respect you, and because I care about you a lot, I’m just telling you the truth—you’re going to have to keep it a secret.”

Bradley blinked. There was something crushing and overwhelming about the truth—maybe the fact that it was the truth, maybe the fact that he hated the fact that it was the truth. It made sense. But it also meant his future was unspeakably bleak. He tried to speak over the lump in his throat when he said, “Yeah. That’s what Maverick told me, too.” And what he’d wanted to hear from Uncle Ice was that Uncle Mav was telling a lie. 

Something went soft and slightly wounded in Uncle Ice’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” Uncle Ice said gently. “I wish I could give you better advice than that. But that’s all I know. I don’t know any more than that.”

“Don’t you want to know more than that?”

“No.”

And thus did the generational gap widen into a chasm. 

—

[February 2003.]

Dear SN Bradshaw, / Please call/email/write me back when you get a chance. / Love Uncle Iceman.

…

[August 2003.]

Dear AN Bradshaw, / I hope you’re doing all right. I hope at some point you and I can get in touch to talk. Please let me know if there is some other address I should be sending my letters to. I am not sure if they are finding you. / Love Uncle Iceman.

…

[May 2004.]

Dear AN Bradshaw, / I wanted to congratulate you on your acceptance to college. Yours is a very good AE program & you should feel very proud. Please let me know if there’s anything you might need as you prepare to start your first year. / Love Uncle Iceman.

…

[August 2010.]

Dear LT Bradshaw, / I wanted to let you know that I’ll be at NAS Oceana for a conference from December 6-9. I understand that’s your neck of the woods—would you be interested in having dinner with me on either that Tuesday or Wednesday night? I would love to hear how you’ve been doing. You can reach my secretary at the number below. / Love Uncle Iceman.

…

[October 2014.]

Dear LT Bradshaw, / We Maverick and I want to wish you a Happy Birthday 30th Birthday. We heard you are deployed out in the Atlantic now—we hope you will be able to enjoy the enclosed gift card when you make it back to terra firma. Our updated personal cell numbers are below. / HAPPY BIRTHDAY! FROM UNCLE MAVERICK & Uncle Iceman.

…

“Haven’t heard back from the kid yet.”

“…You think we ever will?”

The longest silence.

—

[Pacific Air Type Commander Beau Simpson. 2016.]

You could see it in the way they held themselves. An utmost similarity. Aristocratic propriety. Maybe a little sense of entitlement: look how hard we’ve worked to be here. All three of them had it. More accurately: Captain Mitchell and Admiral Kazansky both had it, and had passed it down to their son.

“Captain Mitchell.” Everyone was watching. The sun had only just set; the sky was melting from horizon-red through orange and yellow and teal up to midnight black above them.

“It’s an honor, sir,” said Captain Mitchell, accepting Admiral Kazansky’s handshake. God, you’d never know it by looking at them. Half the people here on this Roosevelt flight deck knew about them, but they were so convincing that more people weren’t sure. TYCOM Simpson glanced at Rear Admiral Bates, who glanced back in confusion—I thought they were…? They were, TYCOM Simpson signaled, just abnormally good at keeping it a secret.

“Honor’s all mine, Captain,” said Admiral Kazansky, and he passed by without a second glance.

And when he made it down the line of aviators to Lieutenant Bradshaw—you could see it. The similarity in the way they held themselves. Straight and rigid and unyielding. Cold and dismissive beyond belief, even to each other. Admiral Kazansky held out a hand. Lieutenant Bradshaw took it, but refused to make eye contact. Quiet rebellion under the radar: Admiral Kazansky had taught him well. 

TYCOM Simpson glanced at Captain Mitchell, to gauge his reaction. And for once, he and Captain Mitchell were clearly thinking the exact same thing.

Like father, like son.

You could see it in their stubborn determination. How far they were willing to go. How hard they were willing to push. How long they were willing to hold their own hands to the fire, if it meant the familiar painful comfort of staying warm. “Ice-cold, huh?” TYCOM Simpson asked him the next morning, trying to pin down their strategy, trying to secure a guarantee that their family would do what their country asked of them, even if that meant death. Even if that meant the ultimate sacrifice.

“Only when I have to be,” replied Admiral Kazansky, which meant always, and—soon thereafter, he ordered Lieutenant Bradshaw to his death.

But also, Lieutenant Bradshaw went willingly, too.

“Dagger One is hit.”

“Dagger Two is hit.”

Loss is supposed to hit a man in stages. Isn’t that the truth? —Not so for Admiral Kazansky, whom grief obviously swallowed whole in just an instant. He did not break, or bend under its weight. Just stood there staring at the E-2D AWACS screen with wide wounded eyes—not disbelieving eyes. They were gone. Captain Mitchell and Lieutenant Bradshaw were gone. He was in no denial whatsoever. He had leapt straight to acceptance.

“Sir,” said TYCOM Simpson hesitantly, and he reached out to touch him—the stars on his shoulder—guide him back to reality—what must it be like, to lose a son?—to willingly forfeit your family?—

But before he could make contact, Admiral Kazansky drew a breath, moved away, and closed his eyes for just a second. Perfectly composed, even with the waters of grief closing over his head, even with three dozen observers in this C2 room all scrutinizing him for his response. Perfectly composed. How did he do it? How could he manage? How was he possibly still this proud?

“Vice Admiral Simpson,” he said calmly, “I relinquish my command to you, until you deem me necessary to return to my post.”

“Sir,” said Rear Admiral Bates, darting panicked, sympathetic eyes to TYCOM Simpson, but it was too late—Admiral Kazansky was already leaving the room. Head held high and steady. 

Some confusing weeks later, after Captain Mitchell and Lieutenant Bradshaw returned from the dead, TYCOM Simpson and Rear Admiral Bates would casually debrief the mission together in the lobby bar of the Waldorf-Astoria in Washington, D.C. No hard liquor, just beers. Just barely enough alcohol to give them an excuse to philosophize. “You think pride is a sin or a virtue?” TYCOM Simpson found himself asking, tracing the rim of his gilt-edged Stella Artois glass with a finger, after having recounted the above testimony.

“Neither,” said Rear Admiral Bates. “Gotta be a vice.”

“A vice.”

“Yeah. Good men die because of pride, bad men die because of pride…we send our sons to battle because of pride…wars are fought and won and lost because of pride… every war in human history, when you boil it down, begins when someone says, ‘You’re wrong and I’m right, and I’m proud of my own righteousness, proud enough to kill, proud enough to die, proud enough to send my sons to die…’”

“Oh, okay. That’s the root of all human conflict, then, according to you, Warlock. Okay.”

Rear Admiral Bates smiled and laughed at himself, too. Pride, he mouthed. Then shook his head. “We’re a proud species. It’s our vice.”

TYCOM Simpson was thinking about the two proudest men he knew, Admiral Kazansky and Lieutenant Bradshaw, and wondered what it was, exactly, that had driven a wedge between them, you’re wrong and I’m right and I’m proud enough of my own righteousness to send you to your death/inflict my death upon you… And then he remembered the warnings he’d previously received about Lieutenant Bradshaw and Lieutenant Seresin and their open relationship, and then he remembered Admiral Kazansky coldly shaking Captain Mitchell’s hand… and he wondered if the wedge between them was exactly that: the matter of pride.

—

[Tom. 2018.]

“Merry Christmas and a happy new year, and all that,” says Pete, raising his glass and reaching over the dining table to clink rims with Tom and then Bradley. “A good year! A really good year! —Sorry your guy couldn’t be here, Rooster. We’ll call him tonight before you go. Tell him we miss him.”

“Where is he again?” Tom asks.

“Washington,” Bradley says with a smile. “Big conference at the Pentagon. I’ll see him next week.”

“You know,” Pete says with a sly grin directed at Tom, “I’ve never actually heard the story of how you two got together.” 

“Oh,” Bradley says, shrugging as he tears open a dinner roll, “not that interesting. Pretty much what you’d expect. Inter-squadron competition-turned-sexual tension. Not exactly within regs, but we did meet each other before D.A.D.T. got repealed, so it wasn’t like we’d’ve ever been within regs, either…” (All the while, Tom’s smirking over the rim of his wine glass at Pete, No, Mav, I’m not gonna tell him I had them reassigned to the same boat…) “We broke up when I got sent to TOPGUN. But we figured it out eventually.”

“Glad you did. Sorry he couldn’t be here.”

Bradley hesitates, then says, “You know what I just realized? I never heard how you two got together…! You’ve never told me that story!”

Tom glances over at Pete, do you want to take this or shall I, and when Pete motions all yours, he sighs and says, “Uh, we don’t really know. We’ve just been telling people nineteen-eighty-six because it’s easy. But in a much more real sense…” He thinks about it, then shrugs. “Whatever. If you really want to know. In nineteen-ninety-three, right after I came back to San Diego to take command at Miramar, he and I had a drunken one-night stand. By accident. Which then turned into twenty-five years of accidental one-night stands. So.”

“Oh, c’mon. You guys bought a house together.”

“Yeah, that,” says Pete, “that was, uh, to facilitate the accidental one-night stands. Make it more convenient for everyone.”

“Cut out the middle-man,” Tom supplies, then shrugs again at the look on Bradley’s face. “That’s our story, kid. It’s not super romantic. We weren’t thinking about it that way. We didn’t know how.”

Pete raises the wine bottle to refill Tom’s glass—though it’s still halfway full—and then raises his eyebrows when he “notices” the bottle’s empty. Changes the subject as he stands: “Okay, what’s everyone feeling? Red, white, what’s next?”

“Red,” Tom says absently. “Anything big, I guess—first cab you see…” But then he thinks about it, and he amends his order before Pete leaves earshot: “Actually—we’ve got that petite sirah we gotta drink—two-thousand-four. Israeli. Might be somewhere in the back, sorry. But now’s a good occasion, I think, to bust it out for the holidays. No reason to save it.”

“Israeli sirah two-thousand-four,” Pete repeats, “okay. I got that.” 

Then he steps outside, leaving Tom and Bradley alone. It’s not awkward—they’ve worked really hard over the last two years to make it not-awkward, after the mission—but human beings are human beings. Prideful, stubborn creatures. There will always be a little guilt between the two of them, and a little blame.

“I have to be honest,” Tom says after a moment, interested in being honest for Bradley’s sake, “sorry we don’t have a better story to give you, about us. It is a little hard to talk about.”

“Why?”

“Well—we don’t know the words we’re supposed to use, for one. It’s your generation who sets the standard for that kind of thing. You young people. We’re a little out-of-date. And…well. I guess we’re just jealous of you. It’s hard to talk about.”

“Jealous?” Bradley repeats quizzically. “Why?”

Tom leans back in his chair and really thinks through what he wants to say. This is one of those impromptu speeches you never really intend to make, but are probably still important to get off your chest. “Maverick and I,” he starts carefully, “will never stop feeling guilty about what we did to you. Ever. You need to know that.” And when Bradley scoffs and huffs and tries to interrupt, he goes on, “Not just pulling your papers from the Academy. It goes back further than that. We will always feel like we deprived you of your father. The merits of that feeling are debatable, sure, but it’s a fact of life. A fact of our lives, anyway. And it’s dictated so much of how we live, and how we’ve lived, over the past thirty years. Part of the reason I came back to Miramar in nineteen-ninety-three was to be with you and your mom. Because I felt I owed you that, in return for what I’d taken.”

“You didn’t kill him,” Bradley says. “Or, at least, I never blamed you for killing him. You or Maverick both. You guys were my dads. You didn’t take anything from me. —Excepting the obvious, the Academy, but that was mostly my mom, I guess, so, whatever.”

“I’m just telling you what our lives have been like since the day I met you. Why we did what we did.”

“Okay. But I still don’t understand why you’re jealous.”

Tom smiles, a little faintly. “Because the other part of the reason I came back to Miramar in nineteen-ninety-three was to be with Maverick,” he says, “and I’m jealous of you because I didn’t recognize that at the time. —Everyone hopes, when they have kids—because, look, I’m not your dad, but you are my kid, really—everyone hopes they can bring their kid into a better world than the one they had when they were a kid, and we did. But no one prepares you for how jealous you get when your kid grows up in a better world than you did. I’m not sure people your age understand how hard it was for us when we were your age.”

“I do.”

“Sure, but I don’t think you do. I—I didn’t…” He sighs. “I never meant to fall in love with Mitchell. He never meant to fall in love with me. There certainly were men in relationships in the Navy back then who could make it work—we weren’t those guys. We looked down on those guys. Most people did. And when you were an officer, your job security and your paycheck relied on your subordinates’ respect for you. If we’d rocked the boat, traded away our respect for our relationship, well, we’d have each other, but we’d be out of a job. And then, if we’d been fired—what did we kill all those people for? For nothing! What a waste of all the lives we took! It wouldn’t have been honorable. Would’ve disrespected the Navy, our careers, the men we killed. So we didn’t talk about our relationship. You know that. Didn’t talk about who we were, or what we were doing, or why, because we were afraid of losing our own honor. Didn’t talk about it until the day you two died and came back from the dead. That’s what it took. Maverick still hates talking about some of that stuff, all the labels, all the words—that’s why I sent him to get a bottle at the back of the fridge, he might be out there a while…”

“Cunning,” Bradley says softly, but leaves the space open after he speaks.

Tom looks away. “Maybe this is getting too deep into the weeds. I’m just trying to tell you what it’s been like for us. Not sure how much of this you want to hear.”

“All of it. —All of it.”

Tom clears his throat. “…Well, Maverick keeps trying to convince me that we never wasted any time. And I know there is some truth to that—we didn’t start out liking each other at all—even if we’d been as brave as people your age are nowadays, even if we’d been open with each other about that kind of stuff, we still probably wouldn’t have ended up together. I mean, we really didn’t like each other. Especially right after your dad died, and especially after you left, in two-thousand-two. So maybe it was better for us in the long run that we didn’t talk about it. But I look back on the thirty years I’ve spent with him, and…it still all feels like a waste to me.” Maybe he really is too deep into the weeds. But he just wants Bradley to understand. “Look, Mitchell is, beyond any possible shadow of a doubt, the love of my life. Always has been and always will be. Right? —I just wish I’d known that at the time. I’m jealous of you because you’re exactly the age I was when I came back to Miramar to be with you and your mom and Maverick, and you’re already married, and you won’t ever have to sacrifice any of your honor for your marriage. You’re one of the most respected men in the Navy.”

“So are you, Ice, and you’re also married to another man.”

“I’ll remind you, though it hurts a little, that I’m almost exactly a quarter-century older than you, and you and I got married within a week of each other. I had to wait for times to change.” He holds Bradley’s gaze for a moment, then finishes the last of his dinner and sets his fork down on his plate. “So, if you were ever wondering why Mav and I are a little bitter around you and Jake, well, it’s because we are.”

“Oh,” says Bradley. “See, I always thought it was just because you and Maverick are both notoriously bitter people.”

“We are,” Tom admits through a laugh. Then he continues, “But—you should also know how proud of you we both are. How proud of you we’ve both always been. We’re not very brave men—well, we are, of course, but maybe not in the way that matters. It’s pretty gratifying to have a kid who’s braver than you are. Every parent’s dream, whether we want to admit it or not. You’re brave enough for all of us.”

It’s at this moment that Pete opens the garage door and sticks his head inside and hollers, “Ice, I can’t find it. What about a merlot? Can we do a merlot?”

“No, baby, the sirah,” Tom answers without turning his head. “It’s on the second shelf, you might—have to rearrange some of the bottles—we have too much wine. We need to drink more, me and you.”

“Not a problem,” says Pete, and he shuts the door again.

“It’s on the third shelf,” Tom tells Bradley in an aside. “He’ll find it eventually. He would’ve tried to change the subject six times by now. —The previous Secretary of the Army—he actually just got married this week, I think; I need to send a card—also gay. He and his partner invited Maverick and me out to dinner the last time we were in D.C. Most uncomfortable I’ve ever seen Mav in my whole life. Asking us questions like, ‘How did you guys get together…?’ ‘Was it easier for you guys because you were in the Navy…?’ ‘When did you…know…?’” When Bradley laughs, Tom does, too. It’s really nice, it turns out, to joke about this stuff with someone who understands. “We just made our answers up out of thin air. I was uncomfortable too, admittedly. That’s what I’m saying. Mav and I never learned the vocabulary to answer questions like that.”

Bradley starts taking their plates to the sink. What a good kid. “You know,” he says from the kitchen, glancing over his shoulder when Tom joins him at the counter, “it’s so funny you bitch that you and Mav don’t have a romantic love story, or whatever. When I was a kid, you and him were literally the pinnacle of romance.”

“Oh, really.”

“Yeah. There’s something romantic about the secret, too. When Jake and I made our relationship official—the first time—I begged him to keep it a secret just for a little while. You know; it was sexy, for a few minutes! Something only he and I knew!”

“And you immediately discovered how awful it is, I’m sure,” Tom says noncommittally. “I’m jealous of you that you learned that lesson young. —Yeah, real romantic. Maverick and I could’ve ended each other’s careers fourteen thousand times over. Real romantic.”

“And trusted each other not to,” Bradley points out—

—which makes Tom reconsider. 

Yeah, okay, maybe it’s a little romantic. The way Grimm’s fairytales, once you wipe away all the blood, are just a little romantic. “I’m of the opinion that the only thing getting old is good for is looking back on your life through rose-colored glasses. Sure. Historical revisionism it is. It was a little romantic.”

“What’s a little romantic?” says Pete, stepping into the kitchen and triumphantly brandishing his 2004 petite sirah; “Have I missed something funny? —It was on the third shelf, by the way. Could’ve told me that before I went and reorganized the whole fridge.”

Tom graciously accepts the half-annoyed kiss to the cheek, and answers, “Nothing you would’ve laughed at, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, one of those conversations,” says Pete, hunting around in the drawer for the corkscrew. “If you were planning on continuing, I can go out and rearrange the wine bottles by region instead of by year—” and scoffs when Tom kisses him back to reassure him, conversation’s over.

“Did you know,” Bradley says, “your husband is now openly calling you the love of his life?”

“Oh, yeah,” says Pete with a smile, popping the cork from the bottleneck, “he tells me that all the time. Nothing new.” Tops up their glasses, then deftly changes the subject: “Oh, gosh. I never asked. This is the big news. How are you and Hangman enjoying SOUTHCOM?”

“Oh, God,” says Bradley, rolling his eyes. “Let me tell you…”

“I think we did good,” Pete says later that night—they’re alone now, so he’s fine talking—as he tugs loose the tucked sheets to clamber into bed, and when Tom moves to turn off the light he adds, “No, you can keep reading.”

Tom sets his book down onto his chest and pulls his glasses off anyway. “Well, you and I are known for doing ‘good,’” he muses after a second. “We’re pretty universally renowned for being good at stuff. But, regarding what in particular? —Raising our kid?”

“Yeah. We did good.”

Actually, they didn’t do very well at all. But of course that’s not what Pete means. Pete means: it’s shocking and stunningly fortunate that they did as poorly as they did and still somehow ended up with such a good kid. Tom’s looking up at the ceiling and feeling very small. “How did that happen? Genuinely, how did that happen? I did always build getting married into my plan for my life—but I never thought far enough ahead to consider having kids. And now you and I have a kid who’s in his thirties. How’d that happen? I remember when he could barely walk!”

Pete yawns and rolls over onto his side and closes his eyes. “You and I have a kid who earned a Medal of Honor.”

“I know exactly how that happened” —and doesn’t like to think about it too much. “I suppose we’re just a family of overachievers. A lot of failing upwards, you and me. Somehow we failed our way upwards into a very happy lifelong relationship, a superstar kid…a few dozen medals each, ourselves…”

“That’s life,” says Pete sleepily.

“That is not most people’s lives. You’re aware that our lives look nothing like the average person’s life, right? You understand that?”

“That’s our life.”

Tom considers this. Yeah, it is their life. Wild how that happens. 

He smiles at the singular word life, sets his book on the nightstand, presses a kiss to Pete’s bare shoulder, and turns off the light.

[danosrosegarden]

edward shimmer edward shimmer edward shimmer edward shimmer edward shimmer edward shimmer edward shimmer edward shimmer edward shimmer edward shimmer edward shimmer e

on occasion - edward nashton x gn!reader headcanons

elijah's anniversary celebration: post one!

✨ shimmer prompt: give me a character, and i will write a piece on how they would handle having a crush. ✨

{contains: edward being flustered and obsessive, general fluffy butterfly feelings!}

note: i am so sorry it took me so long to get to these. you can expect quite a few pieces to be published in the coming days! thank you for reading and supporting my work. xoxo, eli <3

♡ It would all be far simpler if Edward had the ability to admire in moderation. If only he could offer you the smallest speck of his heart, the littlest share of his love. That was just his problem. Edward Nashton did not love, but when he did, moderation was not possible. He loved all-encompassingly, with wide, sparkling eyes full of hope and a wildly skipping heart doused in desperate desire. There was nothing he could do to shake you from his thoughts. He simply wasn't able to rip you away from his brain.

♡ You didn't even do anything special; you just lived your life. But that was enough. Your pure, unfiltered existence was enough to have him entranced. Ever since you moved into his complex, he spent his days going crazy, waiting by his cellphone for a text or call. Hey, Ed, I'm off work! Wanna hang out? Hey, Edward, I'm going to the store! Want me to pick a treat up for you at the bakery section? God, you were so thoughtful. So caring. So funny and witty and so irresistibly you. Everything about you had him begging for scraps. Any piece of your backstory or future goals only fueled the crackling fire burning in his soul.

♡ Edward recognizes that the enormity of his longing could be perceived as overbearing or creepy. That's the last thing he would want, to scare you away. He can barely survive each day in his skin as is; he couldn't live with himself if he made you uncomfortable. So he does what he can to hold back. He declines your invitations to hang out sometimes so as to not seem clingy. He leaves you on delivered for a little while, even though he's practically glued to his phone, the intense, monstrous ghoul of FOMO looming over his shoulder.

♡ Even still, his crush is pretty pathetically obvious. He laughs hard and loud each time you tell a stupid joke. He blushes deeply when you compliment him, and his anxious finger-fiddling and lip biting isn't lost on you.

♡ Crystal clear, grade A anxiety. That's how he deals with a crush. He feels a rush of wildflowers bloom colorfully and brightly in his heart each time your name appears on his phone or he sees you in the complex's hallway. His stomach churns and his palms get clammy and goodness, he feels like an awkwardly love-drunk adolescent when he sees you: your glittering, smiling eyes, the way you walk and talk and smile at him...it all swirls around through his body like a whipping windstorm.

♡ He doesn't have the option of not overthinking every interaction, either. Did I say the right thing? Did I act the right way? Was I...cool? Jesus, he really did sound like a teenager, not a grown, mature man in his thirties with a real adult job and real adult responsibilities.

♡ The occasional high of courage shoots through him. He'll occasionally initiate a hang out session. He'll occasionally drop off a gift, maybe a baked pastry or a little trinket he found at the thrift that made him think of you. He'll occasionally write letters and practice speeches confessing his feelings towards you, and he'll occasionally rip the papers up and cringe into his pillow at the quivering in his voice.

♡ Maybe Edward doesn't know what to do with these monstrous feelings of adoration now, but it'll come to the tipping point where he can't bear the feeling of those blooming flowers in his heart anymore. They will outgrow their cage eventually, and he can only pray that you'll accept them and tend to them with him.