#but ah well. associations come quickly.

[fatalism-and-villainy]

@overripethighbones:

YEAH, this. and tbh I think the assumption that liking specific media means something about you underlies a lot of fandom tension and the feeling of betrayal some people have when they turn out not to automatically get along with everyone in fandom. There’s somehow they expectation that we are all fundamentally alike, similar people because we like the same TV show, and that is just. not how it works.

Yeah man. I've been thinking a lot about this for uhhh... a long time. Probably since before I got deep into Hannibal. And I honestly have many many tangential threads I could go on relating to this topic that I've been trying to narrow down.

But I think first of all, that tonal undercurrent of betrayal is a big part of what I find exhausting about fandom (perhaps especially on tumblr) right now. The sheer pervasiveness in the style of expressing disagreement with a certain perspective with this tone of anger and entitlement... yeah, I don't care for that. Part of being in fandom, for me, is about cultivating a sense of curiosity about other perspectives - why interact with other fans otherwise? I'm a pretty opinionated person, and pretty firm in my convictions, and there are certain approaches that I'm never going to vibe with, but it's because my view is so singular (as are most people's!) that that curiosity is necessary. I'm never going to find anyone whose sensibility completely overlaps with mine, so if I'm going to interact at all, it requires some grasp of the concept that, wrt relationship with the source material, people are different from each other.

I also think one frustration I have with this "well why would you even like this canon if you don't like this central aspect!" mindset - and I wrote up a post on this topic awhile ago, that I've been meaning to reblog and bring back around - is that what people perceive as being "central" or "essential" to the text varies considerably from person to person! Not in the sense that one can never make any more objective analytical claim as to which textual and thematic elements are more central to a text, and which are more ephemeral or not engaged with at all. But in the sense that... well, for one thing, most texts worth engaging with are pretty multifaceted, and analysis and critical approach pretty much requires zeroing in on one of those facets. One can never engage with literally every single essential element of a story. And for another, everybody carries their own perspectives and their own interpretative lenses with them at all times. Most of us have some sort of subjective overlay we're inclined to use for our personal engagement with stuff, or certain elements we're inclined to latch onto and amplify in our responses that others might not notice at all. That diversity is part of what's intellectually engaging about both fandom and criticism!

For me personally, for example, regarding Hannibal as a piece of media - I'm not a huge horror person. It's not its frightening or disturbing qualities that put me off, it's just not remarkably compelling as a story structure or bundle of critical concerns to me at the moment. The same is true for gothic fiction, although to a lesser degree - I have some interest in the gothic in the sense that a lot of film noir (a genre/style I do love) was influenced by it, and because a lot of the applications of queer theory that interest me engage with gothic tropes and narrative structure in some way. But I'm not especially drawn to gothic fiction for its own sake. I can recognize that Hannibal is a work of gothic horror, and that its engagement with that genre is a significant aspect of it. But I do not believe that one has to be a fan of that genre to "understand" Hannibal, or that one is "missing the point" of the show for not personally being drawn to that particular quality it possesses. (In fact, the question of why someone who doesn't normally like those genres likes this particular work that falls under those headings is, in fact, an interesting critical inquiry that's worth following through on, rather than snidely dismissing!)

Regarding what does appeal to me about the show - this will be a non-comprehensive overview, but: very stylized and avant-garde visuals, and an awareness of the expansive possibilities of the visual medium and visual storytelling that so few TV shows possess. Applicability to queer theory stuff that I'm invested in, like camp, decadent literature and the aestheticism movement, queer epistemology, gothic doubling (there's the gothic!), etc. A strong ensemble cast with lots of well-constructed and nuanced parallels between different character dynamics (one of the show's under-discussed strengths, imo). A primary ship that appeals to my id in a vast number of ways. ...Yeah probably lots of other stuff I'm forgetting about.

I think all of those things are absolutely relevant to what the show is doing, and what its thematic and artistic concerns are. (Yes, even the last one - the interpersonal dynamic between the show's main characters, and how its erotic undercurrents are implemented, are ripe for serious analysis, and have received it!) Yeah, these points of appeal are pretentious as fuck, because that's who I am as a person, but that's also the point - you cannot actually cleanly separate out what the "point" of a piece of media is from personal and subjective investment in it. I'm not missing the point by focusing on what interests me about it - what has continually interested me about media in general.

And I think this failure to understand how multifaceted and idiosyncratic everyone's approach to stories is, to some degree, also produces the idea that people can just transfer enjoyment from one work to another work that shares certain attributes with it. A lot of media that gets touted as being "like Hannibal" has been vastly disappointing to me, or has entertained me without prompting the same sort of love and creative investment. Conversely, when I think of media that has absolutely thrilled and delighted me, made me revel in what storytelling as a whole is capable of, in ways that feel similar to the feelings Hannibal instills in me - the first thing that comes to mind is The Insider (1999). It has absolutely nothing in common with Hannibal, outside of it being directed by Michael Mann of Manhunter fame, but it gave me the same sense of awe as to what the filmic medium can do - the attentiveness to its visual composition, and its operatic soundtrack, elevate it far above the bare bones of its story. See also Barry Lyndon (1975), which, like Hannibal, has so many frames that are pure works of art (they literally look like paintings! how!!).

Idk man. Art is complicated and has lots and lots of moving parts. The same is true of people. You can't guarantee anything.

A meme is not that deep but I do really reject the idea that it's possible to simply list television shows that will allow people to get to know you. All people know from a list of your favourite shows is that those shows resonated with you or were enjoyable to you in some way! Watching the shows wouldn't clue anyone into what you specifically liked about them, or what values or interests or aesthetics or ideologies of yours they reflected, because what people take from media varies wildly from person to person.

[edenesth]

The Way to His Heart [16]

Pairing: general!Seonghwa x wife!reader

AU: arranged marriage au (Joseon era)

Word Count: 3.3k

Summary: Life has been hell ever since your mother's passing many years ago. Despite being from a prominent family, you've never received the privileges associated with it. It only got worse with the arrival of your stepmother and her daughters. When the intimidating General Park was in search of a wife, your father seized the opportunity to dispose of you, simultaneously securing a connection with the powerful general—killing two birds with one stone.

Part 15 | Fic Masterlist | Part 17

What's the meaning of this, Your Highness?

As you entered the grand hall, discomfort painted across your features, Jongho and Eunsook trailed closely behind, exchanging concerned glances. The announcement made by the palace staff had only made the prince's intentions abundantly clear to them.

The head maid, not wanting you to feel alone, stepped up beside you to check on you, "Are you feeling alright, mistress?" She inquired. Jongho nodded in agreement from your other side, suggesting, "Yes, perhaps we can leave early if you are not feeling well."

"Miss Jang! Are you not feeling well, my lady?" Yeosang's deep voice interrupted, your eyes widening at his appearance. As you began to perform the formal bow, he quickly halted you by gently grasping your arms, "No need to be so formal with me," He said softly, "If you're feeling unwell, you can come and rest in my chambers."

Jongho and Eunsook froze at the fourth prince's suggestion, dread washing over them. They could only hope you would decline the invitation, but they knew it wasn't their place to intervene. The idea was simply inappropriate; as a married woman, retiring to another man's private chambers was scandalous. If news of this spread, it would undoubtedly tarnish your reputation and bring dishonour to the general's name.

To their relief, you didn't hesitate to shake your head, "Oh dear, no, Your Highness. Thank you for the offer, but I was simply taken aback by the grandeur of everything. It's my first time attending such a prestigious event, and perhaps I just need a moment to take it all in."

That wasn't entirely untrue, as you finally seized the opportunity to marvel at your surroundings. While your husband's estate was luxurious, it paled in comparison to the opulence of the royal palace. Palace servants bustled about, ensuring everything was flawless. However, you couldn't help but notice the absence of banquet guests, which surprised and unsettled you.

Yeosang fought hard to conceal any disappointment, maintaining a composed smile at your response, "Ah, yes, indeed. How inconsiderate of me not to offer you a tour of the palace first, especially after the delightful tour you provided me at General Park's estate. I believe it's only right for me to return the favour now."

You blinked, "B-but the banquet—"

The prince grinned, cutting you off, "As you can see, you've arrived quite early, my lady. The other guests are not here yet, so I might as well keep you entertained until the event officially begins."

The assistant and head maid were deeply uneasy about the situation unfolding before them as they watched you, left with not much of a choice, agreed unsurely to the so-called tour. It was evident to them that this must be part of Yeosang's scheme. Jongho had ensured your departure from the estate was precisely timed; you couldn't have arrived too early.

"Fantastic! Now, if you'll just come with me," His Highness beckoned as the three of you began to follow him. Just as you started to move, he turned around smugly with an additional suggestion, "Oh, actually, your staff can stay behind if they'd like. That way, we can converse more freely, just the two of us, as we did back at the general's estate. What do you say, Miss Jang?"

It took everything in Eunsook to resist the urge to firmly remind the prince that you already belonged to another.

Similarly agitated by Yeosang's persistence, Jongho silently prayed that Seonghwa had received his letter. Despite being well aware of the impropriety of distracting the general during wartime, after much consideration and discussion with the other guys, they concluded that your husband deserved to be informed of the situation.

Fortunately, you offered a reassuring smile to your two chaperones before turning to address the fourth prince, "I'm sure that would not be necessary, Your Highness. I prefer having them close just in case I require any assistance."

As they witnessed your resolute refusal of the offer, Jongho and Eunsook felt a surge of pride. Truthfully, they had been anxious since Hongjoong had confided in them about the doubts you were harbouring regarding Seonghwa. But they dared not bring it up, wary of your potential reaction. Though a part of them had worried you might be swayed by Yeosang's charms, your firm stance reassured them of your unwavering loyalty to the general.

However, they couldn't shake off the sly glint still evident in the prince's eyes. He seemed oddly pleased despite your rejection to spend time alone with him. That troubled them deeply, and the two exchanged worried glances, silently contemplating what else he could possibly have in store.

With a light chuckle, His Highness replied, "Very well then, I suppose they could come along. This way, my lady. I know a few places you'll find intriguing."

Unlike your husband's staff, you were entirely unaware of Yeosang's intentions. Even then, there was just an inexplicably ominous aura to his demeanour that unsettled you, further intensifying your longing for Seonghwa. The banquet had barely even begun, but you already felt mentally exhausted, wanting nothing more than to rely on the general as you always had.

I miss you, Park Seonghwa.

Before you could dwell on thoughts of your beloved and his well-being, you suddenly recognised the surroundings. The enchanting cherry blossom garden, where you had first met the prince, spread out before you, "Do you remember this place, my lady?" He asked, his tone soft with nostalgia, "It has become my favourite spot in all of the palace since meeting you."

"How could I ever forget, Your Highness?" You replied, momentarily causing Jongho and Eunsook's hearts to sink until you continued with a genuinely innocent smile, "This garden is the only place I've had the pleasure of visiting so far."

Although your response should have let him down, Yeosang found his heart melting at your sincerity. It only served to deepen his admiration for you, knowing that you weren't one to offer insincere compliments or put on a fake smile just because of his status. You were simply yourself, and he found that utterly captivating.

As the four of you neared one of the garden's tallest and most exquisite cherry blossom trees, you found yourself gazing upward in awe at the falling petals, taking in the breathtaking sight. The beauty of the place was undeniable, and you couldn't help but imagine spending hours strolling around and admiring the flowers if this were your home.

His Highness watched you beneath the gently falling pink blossoms, feeling his heart swell with warmth. The scene before him was like a painting, and he longed to preserve it in his memory forever. Just standing there with you, experiencing this moment, filled him with an overwhelming desire to give you everything he had. It was a new and unfamiliar feeling for him, this deep sense of affection for another person. For the first time, he found himself completely enamoured by someone's presence.

"It truly is a sight to behold, isn't it?" You nodded wordlessly in response to the prince's question, reaching out to catch some of the delicate flowers before he continued, "You know, perhaps it's not too late to change your favourite flower from lotus to cherry blossoms."

Though his words seemed simple and harmless, they carried a subtle yet unmistakable implication. This was apparent to the assistant, the head maid, and, for once, to you as well. Deep in thought, you pondered the best way to respond to his suggestion. Somehow, you sensed a deeper meaning in his words from the determined look in his eyes that were almost silently urging you to choose him.

With a soft smile, you caught a falling flower, "Thank you, Your Highness. Cherry blossoms are indeed beautiful, but I still prefer lotus flowers. You see, cherry blossoms may be stunning when they bloom, but they also fall quite fast. To me, the lotus represents endurance and resilience, as it thrives in adverse conditions and blooms beautifully despite its surroundings."

This time, you hoped the prince understood the subtle implication behind your words. The short lifespan of cherry blossoms symbolised fleeting happiness, whereas the lotus embodied strength and perseverance through difficulties—a sentiment you hoped would mirror the love shared between you and Seonghwa.

Jongho and Eunsook exchanged a subtle glance, their smiles growing wider as they registered the meaning of your response.

Meanwhile, Yeosang's composure faltered ever so slightly at your polite rejection. The light in his eyes dimmed momentarily, but he quickly regained his composure, masking any hint of disappointment, "Understood, my lady," He replied with a gracious nod, "You do make a good point. Since we've already been here before, let us move on to the next location then."

As he guided you through various parts of the palace, you found yourself fascinated by the history and beauty of each location. The royal library, with its towering shelves of ancient texts, stirred a sense of awe in you as the prince shared stories of his lessons there. The astronomy tower offered a breathtaking view, and you marvelled at the cityscape from above.

In the kitchen, where the aroma of freshly prepared dishes filled the air, His Highness confessed with a mischievous grin that he often snuck in for a late-night snack. You couldn't help but chuckle at his antics, finding his playful side endearing.

However, as Yeosang led you past the main hall where morning assemblies with His Majesty were held, Jongho's earlier worries resurfaced. Despite the seemingly innocent nature of the tour, he couldn't shake the feeling of unease gnawing at him. Each step further into the heart of the palace felt like a step into unknown territory, and he feared what might happen next.

The assistant's breath caught in his throat as he realised the path the fourth prince was leading you down, the daunting sight of the palace torture chambers coming into view.

No, not this place. Anywhere but here.

In the warzone on the other side of the nation, General Officer Song grappled with his own internal conflicts as he tightly gripped the letters from Jongho and Prince Yeosang. He felt a strong reluctance to deliver them to his superior.

The truth was that General Park had sustained injuries in his recent and one of the more challenging battles. While the situation had calmed down and most of the enemy troops were either strewn lifelessly across the battlefield or had retreated to their camps, Seonghwa's injury had been kept secret to prevent causing panic within their army, following the general's direct orders.

Mingi stood in the makeshift office tent, the letters weighing heavily in his hands. His mind raced with thoughts, torn between his duty as a military officer and his concern for General Park's well-being.

On one hand, keeping the letters hidden seemed like the logical course of action. They were in the midst of a war, and any distraction for their most crucial member could be detrimental to their efforts. Having Seonghwa away from camp for personal matters could compromise their military strategy and the safety of their troops.

Yet, on the other hand, he couldn't shake the feeling of responsibility towards the general and his relationship with Lady Park. If he withheld this crucial information and something were to happen between you and the prince, he would bear the blame. The thought of Seonghwa's potential anguish at being kept in the dark about his wife's situation weighed heavily on him.

With no time to spare for further contemplation, a soldier from the medical team entered the tent, "Officer Song, the general's condition has stabilised. You're permitted to see him in his private tent now."

Acknowledging the news with a nod, the military strategist expressed his gratitude, "Understood. Thank you, soldier. I'll head there immediately."

Not wasting another second, Mingi made his way over to General Park's tent, his concern for his friend overriding any other thought for now. As he pushed aside the tent flap and stepped inside, his heart lurched at the sight before him.

The usually formidable military commander lay in bed, his complexion pale and his once-strong demeanour replaced by one of weakness. Seonghwa's hand was clenched tightly around the bandages covering his abdomen, his expression a mixture of pain and discomfort.

"Hyung-nim," Officer Song's voice was filled with worry as he approached the bedside, "How are you feeling?"

Suppressing a wince, the general released a breathy chuckle, "I'm fine, Mingi," He reassured, though his tone lacked conviction, "I've never seen you look this bothered before. It's almost funny."

The taller man scoffed in response, "And I've never seen you in pain like this before. But this isn't funny."

Seonghwa waved off his friend's concern with a weak smile, "Don't worry, it's just a scratch," He insisted, though his tone contradicted his words, "One of those sneaky bastards on the battlefield played dead. I let my guard down for a moment, and he took advantage of it."

Mingi's eyes widened in alarm, "And he managed to graze you?"

Nodding grimly, the general replied, "Yes, it could have been worse if I hadn't reacted in time. But it's strange. The wound shouldn't hurt this much, considering it's just a graze. Perhaps it's my age catching up with me. After all, I'm not as young as I used to be," He admitted ruefully, "But it's nothing serious. Just a minor setback."

Relieved that his superior seemed to be in stable condition, the strategist decided it was best to allow his friend some much-needed rest. With a reassuring pat on the shoulder, he advised, "You should probably rest up. We can't have you bedridden for long. I'll keep watch for now."

As he moved to leave the tent, the general posed a question, stopping him abruptly in his tracks, "Wait, Mingi, did anything happen while I was being treated earlier?" The taller man froze, his hand pressing on the papers he had kept in his pocket anxiously. He debated whether to reveal the contents of the letters now or wait until Seonghwa was in a better state.

He hesitated, grappling with the weight of his decision. After a moment's pause, he opted to keep the letters from your husband. Turning to offer a strained smile to the general, he denied any incident, "No, nothing happened. Don't worry, hyung-nim."

Seonghwa nodded slowly, his brows furrowing slightly, "I see."

A heavy silence hung between them until the strategist broke it with a forced cough, "I should probably head out now."

Before he could move, the general's voice cut through the air with accusation, "Do you honestly think me a fool, Officer Song? I offered you a chance for honesty, yet you persist in deceit. I may be injured, but I am not deaf. I heard the messenger loud and clear. Now, hand me my letters."

Mingi cursed inwardly, realising his mistake in attempting to deceive the great General Park. Sputtering, he reluctantly retrieved the crumpled letters from his pocket before handing them over, "I-I'm sorry, hyung-nim... I didn't mean to—"

Seonghwa shook his head in disbelief, snatching the papers from his friend's grasp, "I know you only did what you thought was right, just as you always do. But we both know you're a dumbass when it comes to anything outside of war strategising."

The taller man sighed as he observed the general's expression darkening further with each word he read from both letters. His fists clenched tightly as he digested the contents of the prince's letter, the paper tearing at the edges from his grip.

This son of a—

Jongho's prayers seemed to be answered as his master finally received his letter, but merely reading it wouldn't be enough to fix any of the damage the fourth prince was about to inflict.

As you gazed at the looming building ahead, an odd sense of dread filled your stomach, signalling that it probably wasn't a place any of you should be near. Yeosang's grin only heightened your apprehension, "Do you know what this place is, my lady?" His question struck fear into the assistant, who now realised the prince's strategy. Casting an anxious glance at Eunsook, his eyes conveyed the hopelessness of the situation. Previously confident in your faithfulness to your husband, they now harboured doubts.

Blinking rapidly, you croaked out, "I'm afraid I'm not too sure, Your Highness. But perhaps we should head back to the hall; we've been gone for a while now."

The prince shook his head dismissively, "You're always so thoughtful, my lady, but the banquet can wait. Come on, aren't you curious? This is a place General Park frequents. Surely, you'd be interested to learn what he does here." Your blood ran cold in an instant, sensing the conversation was taking a dangerous turn.

"I'm sure Assistant Choi has become quite familiar with this place by now, haven't you? You're always here to pick the general up after he finishes his sessions." Yeosang remarked, amused, as he observed the younger man struggling to respond.

Smirking, he went on, "Welcome, Miss Jang, to the palace torture chambers. I thought it'd be enlightening to show you where your... husband typically conducts important duties. You must have been curious about his activities during his working hours."

The revelation hit you like a tidal wave, freezing you in place. This was where your family had suffered, where Seonghwa had overseen their punishments, as San had explained. The weight of the truth settled heavily on your shoulders, sending a shiver down your spine as horror and disbelief mingled within you.

Jongho and Eunsook exchanged a look filled with desperation. They silently prayed for some miracle to whisk them away from this awful place. Oh, how they wished their master could appear now, but they knew it was nothing more than a wistful hope.

Your silence seemed to fuel Yeosang's discourse, "We should be thankful for General Park's services to the nation, of course," He continued, his tone dripping with faux gratitude, "Only the lord knows how many war criminals and spies he had tortured behind these walls to protect us."

Feigning contemplation, he added, "And if I remember correctly, he was also here when the Jang family underwent their physical punishments. Though I'm sure the general must have already informed you of that," He glanced at Eunsook, who lowered her head, her eyes shut tightly in fear of your reaction, "Especially how he made sure to spend extra hours with the former minister post-punishment."

Extra hours...?

Your heart plummeted to the lowest pit of your stomach as his words sank in. Did your husband do more than just supervise the punishments? The implications gnawed at your mind, and a thousand questions raced through your head. What else could Seonghwa have possibly done to your father? Dread washed over you in waves as you struggled to comprehend the truth behind the prince's insinuations.

« Preview of Part 17 »

"General Park! Where is he?!" The military doctor rushed into the main tent in a panic after realising Seonghwa was nowhere to be found in his private tent.

Mingi looked up from his documents, "My apologies, I should have informed you earlier to prevent any unnecessary alarm. The general mentioned feeling slightly better and had left camp to return home briefly for a family emergency."

"He left?! Is he making the journey back to the city alone?" The physician squeaked, eyes widening in alarm.

Officer Song nodded, his brows furrowed, "Yes, doc. What's wrong? You're scaring me."

Gulping nervously, the doctor retrieved the dagger used by the enemy earlier, "We found it unusual for such a small wound to affect the general so severely. We ran some tests on the weapon and..."

Mingi began to rise from his seat immediately, anxiety was evident in his expression, "Tell me, what did you find?"

"This dagger was laced with poisonous viper venom. It's potent enough to cause damage to his internal organs. He's lucky it was just a graze, but even so, we can't be sure how much venom has entered his system. He requires thorough treatment to prevent the poison from spreading."

Shit, shit, SHIT.

I AM SO SORRY! Okay, I know I said there would be drama in this part, and believe me when I say this, I fully intended to include it in this part in the beginning... but I am planning to end the story in part 20. So, after careful calculations, seems like it's only right to put the climax in part 17.

Also, it's official! There will be spinoff stories for the other members, I'm so excited! I hope you are too! As always, thank you for reading and please let me know your thoughts! <3

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[cinnamonest]

I've been thinking more about promiscuous darlings which led me to the idea of prostitute!darling, and I was thinking about that like in that event a while back where Paimon says Kaveh seems like “the kind of guy that would be easy to take advantage of” and it got me thinking how quickly and readily he would fall in love with a prostitute… literally lured and baited as easily as a fish to a hook.

He doesn't like the thought of what he's doing, initially. He's never been the sort of person who associates with morally questionable things — he’s heard that a lot of those girls don't really want to be doing it, they just need money, so participating would be taking advantage of them, wouldn't it? He couldn't do something so awful.

But he's got a lot of pent up frustration. His work is hard, he's not in a good place financially, he's stressed, pent up, and has no outlet for release. And even if he strives to be a good person, he's still a guy, still has urges that, when gone unmet, only contribute to that frustration.

In hindsight, he feels like something possessed him. Couldn't say exactly what caused him to take a course of action so far removed from what he would have thought was his personal character.

It's just a particularly bad day, after particularly disagreeable clients spent a particularly long time endlessly getting in his face and complaining and snapping at him, he worked particularly late and is particularly frustrated and seething and wallowing as he sulks home so late at night, and he's particularly irritated because some construction going on forces him to take a different route home, and—

You just so happen to call out to him. And when he turns his head, he immediately stiffens up.

So pretty. You have that specific body type he’s always found most alluring, always pictured in his head when he would lay in bed and jerk off all day after classes. And he can certainly tell, because those outfits you girls on this part of the street wear certainly leave very little to the imagination. So much skin, he can see your entire leg, from the hip down to the ankles and all the curving along the way, he can see most of your tits too, cleavage spilling out from the top. It's immediately captivating. If he was thinking straight, he would suppose that's kind of the point, but he's too lost in the sudden burst of stimulation to his eyes to think about much at all.

You have such a nice smile, such a sweet voice. And now that you have his attention, you put on that whimsical feminine charm, shift your weight from one foot to the other, hips swaying all playfully, and he has to ask you to repeat what you said because he didn't hear you the first time, he was too distracted, and it feels so embarrassing to say that, but you just giggle — it's so cute — and repeat your question — if he wants to come inside.

He swallows, stumbles over his words at the prospect, you're being very forward — oh, wait, you probably mean come inside the building. Oh… that makes more sense, at this stage in the process. Whoops…

But that isn't much better. He's still red in the face and hesitates, all uh, ah, I, um, I just…

Yes, he isn't sure exactly what possesses him. It’s not something he would ever do on his own, surely. It feels more like the word comes out of his mouth on its own.

Sure.

The following events seem almost surreal, in hindsight. He can't remember what you even talked about, some empty meaningless conversation about what he does for a living or if he's been around this area before, some placeholder of a conversation that he knows full well is merely a courtesy to make it all feel a little more natural, empty words that are mutually understood to be just a buffer to prevent awkwardness as you walk up the stairs, to fill the short span of time before you get to the point.

He remembers said point a lot better. Long after it's over, he can remember the feeling of your mouth on his, and the way you pulled on the back of his neck to pull him on top of you, the rush of euphoric chemicals to the brain the moment you pulled just one little button undone and the whole thing you're wearing comes falling off, the visual of your body (he’s never actually seen a girl naked in real life before, it’s so captivating, the anatomy textbooks don’t do it justice), and the way your tits bounce with the movements and the way they feel in his mouth and the image of his cock driving into you over and over (no one ever told him it feels so warm and wet, so good, has he really been missing out on this all this time?) and the sounds you made are practically permanently burned into his brain.

So much so, he keeps thinking about it for days on end. He felt kind of sad when he left, but he knows that he only paid for a limited time slot, so it would be unfair to ask to stay any longer, but the way you smiled and waved and told him you hoped to see him again — still naked, body pressed up against the doorframe, the way your chest shifted when you waved — made him feel so warm, made his heart beat fast all over again.

It's all so distracting. He works at a much slower pace than usual, the following days, keeps getting distracted by the lingering visuals in his head and the way he keeps getting hard whenever he thinks about it, and not to mention the guilt.

Yes, as euphoric as it was, he feels terrible. Like he's done something wrong. Swears to himself that he'll forget about it and never do it again, that it was a one-time thing.

But he begins to rationalize it to himself.

Sure, you do it because you need money, but that means that if no one participated in the exchange, then you wouldn't make any money at all, and that would be worse, right? Besides, everyone knows some of those guys that engage in this sort of thing are terrible, mean people — but he's not, he's a really nice guy! So by seeing you, by being the one to buy your time, he's protecting you from potentially having to do it with really bad men. So, when you think about it, he's actually doing something really good.

And it improves his life, too. The next day, he finds that the nagging clients don't really get under his skin at all. Sure, they're complaining and being mean to him, but he's not really paying attention, it all feels far away, like it's not even real. He just feels full of this warm, fuzzy feeling, total bliss, like floating, without a care in the world. He isn't stressed, isn't worried. He even thinks to himself that, you know what, that task or that work can wait until tomorrow, no rush, and if someone gets mad about it, too bad.

He ends up just laying in bed, grinning like an idiot, basking in the euphoric high that lasts him several days on end.

…Except then, it fades away.

Soon he's back to the stress, constant state of being overwhelmed, the little things start to upset him again, and he actually feels more miserable than he did before, now that he has such a good feeling to compare to.

You said you hope he comes back, didn’t you? And he’s pretty sure he stuttered out an o-oh, okay, so now he’s obligated.

Thus, soon enough, he's back.

It's not like he's intentionally seeking you out. He just felt like walking home a different way today, is all, which just so happens to be the route that took him by you last time, and he has no intention of seeing you, it just so happens to be the case that you are standing around outside and you do happen to see him and you choose to call out to him (by his name!! You remember him!!), you're smiling and have such a sweet voice, you clearly want him to come in (do you like him? You wouldn't be smiling if you didn't, right?) and it would be mean of him to reject you, wouldn't it?

Yes, you're clearly happy. You smile all over again. He's not doing anything wrong, it's only wrong if the girl doesn't like doing it. He would never taken advantage of one of those vulnerable girls that's forcing herself to do it for money. But you're not like that, so it's okay.

Which is how he ends up back there a third time. Because it's okay, and it makes you happy, and it makes him very happy, so it's all okay.

And besides, what you two have is different. It's not like the normal cases, where the girl is just in it for money and doesn't want the guy at all. You clearly enjoyed your time with him. Probably a welcome relief from all the gross old guys you have to see.

And it's different because it's not just sex. Normally, with this sort of thing, it's cold and impersonal, isn't it?

But you smile so sweet and run your fingers through his hair, and cradle his head in your arms and pull him close and coo and fuss and run your fingers down his back. And since he intends to pay for the entire night this time, you get to just lay there together, and you're so warm and soft and you smile and giggle as he talks, so pretty, so nice to him, your skin is so good to touch, you smell so nice.

And the sex itself is different too — you like it, genuinely, he can tell, you make such nice sounds and lewd faces and look directly into his eyes and pull his head forward to kiss him (he one heard someone say that prostitutes never kiss clients, so if you do that it must mean he's different), and you hold him so close and tighten up around him and it feels so so so so good, and the way you quiver and the sounds get louder and you squeal and spasm and it's so so SO good, too good, it feels so passionate that it has to be real.

Yes, it is real. It's not just acting. He can feel the slick wetness all over his hips from you, that means it's real. And you don't even mind when he gets a bit lost in the feeling, starts to really let all the pent-up irritation out, gets rougher and harder and holds you by your throat. He feels so terrible after he cums and realizes what he was doing, keeps sputtering out apologies over and over, but you smile and wave your hand and say it's more than fine, giggle and kiss his forehead, say you wouldn't expect it from such a sweet boy like him, but you like it. If you're fine with it, if you like it, then you're not scared he might actually hurt you. You must really trust him, then.

The downside is that now, work feels so miserable. He keeps thinking about how much he wants to go back to you. Each project feels like torture — why is he here, negotiating with these disagreeable people, slaving away all night, when he could be balls deep in you again, hear your voice, feel your touch?

And he starts to get so irritated and frustrated again, and he finds that this time around, he doesn't have to sit there and let the frustration hit a peak before deciding to do something, he doesn't have to rationalize it for hours on end just to allow himself to give into the urge — the moment the frustration rises, his mind immediately settled on the decision. He has to go see you. You'll make everything better.

Except now, he realizes as he reaches into his drawers, there's a different problem.

…He has no money left.

That means he can't see you. He spent all his savings on you last time.

It makes him feel sick. This can't be happening. What is he supposed to do? He can't just go back to dealing with the frustration all the time! Now that he knows what it's like to be so happy, he can't go without it. He needs it.

It's not just the sex itself, he's not some kind of degenerate, he wants to see you! That's wholesome and good, isn't it? So it’s not like he’s some sort of pervert addicted to sex itself, he’s addicted to you.

And besides, if he isn't there for you, you'll have to deal with other men, and most guys who see prostitutes are bad guys, right? What if one of them hurts you? What if you're expecting him to come, and then you'll feel hurt and sad if he doesn't? You'll be disappointed. He can't let that happen.

So where is he supposed to get money from…?

Well. He has a few means, as he starts to brainstorm a bit. Right, there is a small stash of emergency money he had put away at the bottom of another drawer, that he was saving for a situation where he needed it, but put it away so he wouldn't be tempted to spend it on something unnecessary.

But this isn't like that. It is necessary, for him to continue functioning properly. And for you to have the money to get by! Not only is he guaranteeing your safety for the night, but what if you didn't get anyone if he didn't come? Well, it's unlikely no one would come, but still, you might not make enough money, and what happens then? Don't those guys that own the brothels get really mean to the girls that don't make enough? He can't have that happen. So, this situation absolutely justifies the use of the emergency stash. It's enough to give him another three nights or so. He can just use enough money for one visit, and then by the time he needs another one, he'll have brought in some new money.

No, no, you know what? You need it more than he does. He just gives it all to you at once, and to be honest, it does make his heart skip a beat when your eyes widen in shock. This way, he can reserve the next three nights in a row, right? He originally intended to space them out a bit, but, no, he’s already here, and he’s really needy right now, he’ll just do three nights in a row and figure out how to get more later. He'll just pay upfront. You're so happy. It makes him feel good.

And then, as the night goes on, when you're laying there all curled up together talking about all sorts of things, he off-handedly mentions that you wear that dress of yours all the time, he's never seen you without it, is it your favorite?

And then you get this sheepish look on your face, give an awkward laugh, say that well, you don't really have any other clothes, you sold them all to get by before you ended up here, and you give so much back to the owners that you just don't have enough to get any more…

That's so sad. Poor thing. You can't just not have enough clothes… well, he only has a few things he changes back and forth himself, but girls are really into clothes and stuff, aren't they? You deserve to have nice things, it's sad that you don't get to. He keeps it in mind, says he promises he'll get you something. You say he doesn’t have to. You’re so sweet and considerate. That just makes him want to help you even more.

So when his next project is complete and he gets the payout for it, sure, he only needs about half of it to pay you for one or two nights each week for the next month, and he could get you something cheap and still have a little left over for rent, but… you deserve nice stuff. And the nice stuff would make you so much happier, too, it would earn him favor from you… besides, he has another project he'll finish soon, he can just pay late rent using that.

So he can get the nice stuff. Besides, even shopping exclusively for higher-end stuff, it's still a bit cheaper to buy the super revealing clothes, since they use less fabric. Not that he's a pervert or anything, it's just that you need clothes like that for your job, don't you? It's part of how you lure guys in. The fact that you'll look really nice in it to him is just a side bonus, it's really for your sake.

…Which, actually, does make him feel a bit sick to his stomach. He's getting you clothes that you'll use to hook other guys who aren't him. But, no, he's a mature person, he can't… let himself get upset about something like that… it’s not your fault… he'll just choose to not think about it.

He can distract himself with how happy you are. Your eyes light up and you smile so big and you stand on your toes to wrap your arms around his neck and kiss his face all over. You're happy. You're really, really happy, because of him, he made you happy, his heart is beating so fast, and when you put them on it shows off even more than he thought it would, you can almost see everything, it just barely covers the bare minimum and you seem to really like that, you pull him close and reach a leg up behind him and pull his hips forward and the rest of the night is a hazy blur of lust and euphoria, you're so happy, and he's happy too.

It feels so good. He's been missing out on this all these years. It's the best feeling of anything in the world. He's so, so happy.

He's so happy that people in his life start to comment on it. They ask if something good happened, they say they're glad he seems less stressed. He just shrugs it off, says he's just been feeling better recently, or makes something up about a different change in habits.

And sure, he has to tell Alhaitham that he won't have rent just this one time, it's just that something came up, although he won't specify what it is, but he makes it sound important — not dishonestly, because it is important, it's just that he knows that the first assumption one would make would he something a bit… more important, but if that assumption is made, that's not his fault.

Nonetheless, he's soon out of money again. Gets hit with the same wave of panic. He's got a routine now, a habit, he's dependent on you for his stress. He needs it. If he doesn't get what he needs, how is he supposed to go on? How is he supposed to function? He can't just use his hand anymore, it's not enough, it doesn't have the same effect. And he can't just beg you to sleep with him anyway, he knows you need money, he would never put you in that situation, it would be unfair to you, he's a better man than that. He has to pay you somehow.

He has some things he doesn't need. Tools he hasn't used in ages. Some stuff he hasn't worn or needed in a long time. He can sell a few things.

And, you know what, this client has been really mean to him anyway, so if he cuts a few corners to get paid a bit earlier, it's no big deal, the guy doesn't deserve his best work anyway. It’s a mentality he normally would never take, but… this is different. This is a unique situation that calls for such measures.

And he's taken out loans before from the bank, usually for projects, and he usually pays it back, so they undoubtedly assume it's just another case of that, so he'll take out a decently sized loan… of course, he may need more money for more upcoming projects, and then they won't give him a new loan until he pays back the old one, but… well, he'll cross that bridge when he gets to it.

And normally, he would never, ever, ever do something bad, he's a person who prides himself on his moral values, but it's not like he's doing something bad in this case, its just pure coincidence that he happens to find some guy’s wallet dropped on the ground. It just so happens to have a lot of money in it. And he returns the wallet itself into the nearest law enforcement, he gives the object itself and all the IDs and such back. He's sure the rightful owner would pay him for the good deed anyway. And when you think about it, the fact that this would happen to him just when he needed it, it's probably some kind of divine grace that this happened, and who is he to deny what the higher powers gift him with?

He can keep making it work. And he can keep buying out larger and larger blocks of your time, to ensure no one else gets to you — after that one time he arrived to find out you were already occupied for the time being, it practically made his blood boil, made him feel so sick he walked home and couldn't get the images out of his mind of you with someone else, he can't let that happen again, it would kill him inside.

Likewise, he has to get a bit more earnings, take on some more jobs, sacrifice some more sleep because you keep hinting at certain things you want, and if he doesn't buy them for you, who will? It's all stuff you need anyway — well, stuff you need for your job, all the fancy jewelry and perfumes and clothes and stuff. And he gets benefits, too — your love and favor, you take initiative more, you ride him and kiss him more and let him do all sorts of filthy things you don't let anyone else do (he knows because you told him so), you even let him stop wearing protection when he sleeps with you, and it's so much better, it's completely different, he can't go back to the old way, having to be deprived of that warm, wet heat would be utterly miserable. You even give him a night or two for free, because you like him so much, tell him it should be a secret just between you two, okay? Of course, you can't do it all for free, so he has to come back again soon, but you know, this way, he'll stay incentivized, which is good — because you want him to come back because you like him, not for money, no, never that.

You tell him he's your favorite. You say that he makes you happy. You say you would be heartbroken if he ever stopped coming. You say that you need him.

You say that you love him.

He feels like he's going to die of happiness right there on the spot.

You mention that if someone just paid off your price to the owner (said buying price is whatever the owner decides), plus the debt you accumulate from staying here (it's well known that those fees are how they trap these poor girls into endless servitude), then you would be free — that if someone just pays for you, you could be free to do what you want, that you could sleep with him every day, you could even get married.

So he has to do it. He feels bad about the concept of buying a human being, but, his situation is different, because he's a good guy and loves you. Besides, the sooner he does, then the sooner you'll never have sex with anyone but him ever again. He's saving you, really.

And if he doesn't, what if someone else does? What if someone else took you away from him? He can't even imagine it. The very notion makes him feel nauseous, panicked, distraught. He can't let that happen.

It's not unfeasible. If he really budgets well, saves just a little at a time, he can get you out in no time. Just a year or so. He'll start saving.

And sure, he hasn't paid rent in a while now, and he gets these questions of where his money is going, why he's leaving late at night when he never did that before, all these pesky questions he shouldn't have to answer, because it's none of your business, as he mutters in response. He's just got too much going on right now, and strapped for cash, he'll pay it back eventually, that's what matters.

…Which also makes him realize that, even if he does buy you, you'll have to just come live here with him, and how is he supposed to explain that to Alhaitham… he can just say he got a girlfriend, right? Still, people might recognize you, he'd find out eventually, and then he'd probably realize all the missed rent payments were actually going to him getting laid, and that's… not good… he just wouldn't understand, he's totally lacking in any understanding of romanticism or love… such unfeeling pragmatists are so annoying to deal with… he'll just have to deal with that when it happens…

Except it does end up happening sooner than later. Someone or another (some jerk who can't keep their mouth shut, he'll find out eventually), must have seen him around at night, going to you, and that same person must have reported on him (like a grade school tattletale crying to a teacher, hmph!) and that's how he eventually gets confronted, point blank (absolutely no sense of tact or appropriateness!), one night as he’s trying to leave to go see you, but finds the other blocking the door.

Are you blowing your money on a whore?

Of course, before addressing the matter directly, it's important to point out that it is rude to call women terms like that, they are prostitutes and they deserve to be respected as much as anyone else—

So you are.

Which starts off a much bigger, longer, more heated argument, in which he tries to explain that no he’s not dodging the question and that it is not prostitution, you two are in a relationship, you just so happen to also be a prostitute, but he's trying to help you change that— hey, what's with the sighing like that and rubbing the bridge of his nose like he's exasperated? It's true! You even said you love him!

Okay, yes, maybe it's true that they all say that, but in this case, you mean it, you're different, he wouldn't get it.

And sure, the whole thing is probably surprising from him of all people— what do you mean it's not that surprising? What's that supposed to mean? What— who are you calling an “ideal target”?! That's so mean! You—

And despite his best efforts, there is no point in trying to use reason with someone so cold and devoid of capacity to understand love. It's futile. How pessimistic, so annoying. Besides, he's implying you're a bad person, and he can't stand for that. No, you're not using him, how could he say that?

Eventually it becomes very clear that the conversation is going nowhere, it's very much like talking to a brick wall, someone who just refuses to even try and understand what you two have. No matter. Fine, fine, he'll focus on paying back rent first, but then he's going to buy you, and then he'll see firsthand how loving you are (and surely will not charge him extra for another person living in the house, as he was just threatened with)… he'll see. Eventually.

[lionizingheathen]

can u please do another smut for luna?? just discovered your works today and they are gems!! its rare for writers to write luna’s uniqueness well and you did so freaking great with yours!!

Sure thing! I appreciate the compliment

Luna Lovegood x Fem!reader

Warnings: Smut, cunnilingus, fingering, orgasm, aftercare, oral sex reader receiving, fluff

Eucalyptus. That was the scent that always stuck with you when you showered because of the intense amount that Luna had in your bathroom, and you'd come to associate her with it, even when she wasn't there... It was nice, other than making your mind wander to when she was there, to the feelings of her fingers, her tongue, her lips-.

"Love?" Ah! She was home.

Fuck yes.

"In here." You called, turning off the shower as you cleared your throat, trying to push the thoughts down as Luna pulled the door open.

"You showered without me?" Luna sounded almost betrayed, and you chuckled, not opening the shower curtain yet, not even bothering to grab your towel.

"Sorry, did you want to join me?" She paused, really thinking that over. That was something that you liked with Luna; she seemed to be deliberate in everything that she did.

"Well, I quite like it... But we do get distracted, which defeats the whole purpose of our shower." She said, and you chuckled, shaking your head as you restacked everything you used in the shower, wanting to keep the space as neat as possible.

"Baby, that can be the purpose of the shower." you reminded her, rubbing the towel through your hair with a sigh... It felt good to be clean.

"Right... But you wanted to get clean, right?" She asked innocently, and you nodded. This time, yeah.

"Mhm." You crawled out of the shower, feeling her presence behind you.

"Then it's good I didn't join." That made your cunt throb. "Mmmm." She licked lightly over your skin, making you shiver.

Fuck.

"What're you doing, Lovegood?" You felt her teeth dig lightly into your shoulder, pulling a gasp from you. "Ah." You'd let her bite you, you'd let her consume you if that was what she wanted.

"Did you know that your skin is sweet?" Luna asked, and you chuckled, leaning back into her as you cupped her cheek softly, feeling her fingers explore your skin, still damp from your shower... Part of you worried that you felt too rough, sometimes she commented on how your skin felt different right out of the shower, but she didn't seem to mind right now.

"I mean, I've never tasted my skin, so I can't say that I've really thought about that... What does it taste like?" You asked, and Luna tucked her face against your neck, inhaling again.

"I don't know... You... But you if you were a sweet." You furrowed your brows, chuckling as you shook your head... Luna had such an interesting way about her.

"Careful there, you're making it sound like you wanna eat me." She paused, her hands pressing softly on your waist to turn you around, easing you against the wall... You were realizing just how much you hadn't dried off now, how much her clothing was probably damp

"Not in a cannibalistic way, no... But I do want to go down on you." Your eyes widened as you felt her lick across your collarbone, moaning at the taste of your skin. "So... In a way, I do want to eat you right now." Oh my god.

"I..." You had no idea how to respond to that other than saying hell fucking yes, but Luna read you too quickly in her own way.

"Sorry, is that not something you want right now? We can lay down and I'll hold you, we don't have to-." You pulled her into a messy, frantic kiss, careful to hold her face the way that she liked before you let go, gesturing for her to get down.

"Get on your knees, Lovegood." Luna's cheeks pinkened as her lips gaped open, clearly shocked by what you'd said... You sometimes struggled to talk like that to her, even though she'd asked that you do sometimes... You just didn't wanna make her uncomfortable.

"Oh." She immediately followed your directions, and then you paused, grabbing her arm... There was something she'd said last time...

"Wait. Do you still get that weird feeling when you're kneeling like last time? You said it felt like your bones were moving wrong, like..." You trailed off, unsure of exactly what she'd said, but Luna caught on quickly, nodding.

"Nargles in my skin. Yes, I think I do." She said, and you pushed off the wall quickly - the last thing you wanted was for Luna to have any discomfort during this, and that had caused her a lot of discomfort last time and had really taken away from it.

"I'll be right back." She trailed her hand on your body as you walked off, only letting it drop once you were out of range of her touch, like the idea of her fingers leaving your skin was tragic. You smiled to yourself, shaking your head as you grabbed a pillow from your bed, walking back in with it triumphantly. "This'll help." You said, crouching down so that Luna could readjust herself on the pillow. She leaned forward, kissing your cheek softly in a way that made you blush.

How funny was that? She was about to go down on you, but her kissing your cheek made you blush like a schoolgirl... Small things, always small things.

"Thank you." Her beaming smile as you sat up was enough to make your knees feel like they had turned to jelly. "Now nothing can take my focus off of you." She said, sounding so determined that you really did believe her, but there was one thing that you wanted to make clear.

If she saw anything, she did have to say something.

"I mean, if there's a Nargle near me, I expect you tell me so that we can move... I don't want any peeping Toms."

"Currently... They are nowhere near you. I promise." She said, and you smiled down at her, brushing her hair out of her face as you let out a content sigh... You couldn't see them, obviously you couldn't, but you knew that Luna could, which sometimes?

Not what you wanted to have around you... You liked the private moments with her to be private like this. It was nice to get away from it all, even away from the unseen creatures.

"Good, because that would be-." Luna leaned in, licking a stripe up your cunt, pulling a gasp from you as you tried to not let your legs close around her head. "Awkward, fucking hell..." You whimpered, seeing Luna's smile when she pulled back.

Oh, you did that on purpose.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt you... I just... You taste so good, I got distracted by my urge, you can keep talking if you'd like-." You let out a breathless chuckle, grinning down at her.

She was so sweet with you, fuck.

"Luna, I think you know what I'd like right now, go with your gut, baby." You murmured, and Luna frowned, shaking her head.

Why not?

"The gut isn't always the most reliable..." That didn't matter... The gut was right with you.

"But with me it is, we're in love, your gut can be trusted." You promised, pushing her hair out of her face as she sat there for a moment, looking at you with such vulnerability that it made you feel breathless.

"Promise?" She asked, and you nodded... She didn't need to ask, but you understood why she did. She was used to people messing with her, even if she didn't acknowledge it as that there had to be something in there that had absorbed that.

"Promise." She leaned in, her tongue tracing over you again.

Fuck me.

"Mmmm..." Your eyes rolled back as you felt her hum around your clit, a move that never failed to make your head spin... You weren't sure how you were staying upright, but God, you were gonna do you best.

"Luna... Oh, fuck..." You breathed, fighting the urge to just push her down and ride her face... you knew she liked it like this, that she liked you like this.

"You taste amazing, love... Always." Luna mumbled, spreading your folds with her fingers before she buried her face in you, like she wanted to consume you whole. You gasped, clamping a hand over your mouth as one found her hair, your world feeling tilted when her tongue found your clit.

Merlin, she always felt so good.

"Oh... Fuckfuckfuck... Yes..." You whined, grinding against her face even as you tried not to, her arms looping around your thighs to pull you closer, making you nearly lose balance.

Careful there, baby.

"Merlin, you're so fucking good." Luna was the best you'd ever had, and she just kept getting better. "So good." You whined, hanging your head back as two fingers slid deep inside you, making your mouth drop open as she curled them.

Oh fuck me... Fuck me, please...

"Luna..." Your voice was hardly above a whisper, but that was all that Luna needed to hear to know exactly what was going on, to know that you were frantically nearing the edge... You always finished fast with her.

"Are you close?" Luna asked, and you nodded frantically, biting on the back of your hand to keep from collapsing as she continued to toy with your clit, two fingers buried deep inside you.

"Mhm! Almost... I'm almost there, don't stop." You whined, your voice sounding completely unlike you as Luna grinned up at you, sweet and gentle even as she worked quickly inside you, making your legs turn to jelly and your mind melt.

"Perfect." She murmured, sucking your clit back into her mouth as you let out a high whine, scratching down the walls as you felt the heat in your stomach snap and you fell over the edge.

"Cumming, holy fucking shit... Luna!" You gasped, riding your orgasm out before falling into your next one ridiculously quick, making your head spin as you pushed her face away, wincing when you felt her fingers leave you.

Damn.

"I really like how my name sounds leaving your lips." Luna said, pressing kisses up your body as you let your head thud against the wall, heart still thumping as you fought hard to catch your breath. It was crazy that she managed to stay so calm while giving you such pleasure.

"That's wonderful, baby..." You murmured, feeling Luna's arms around your waist, pulling you to slump against her.

"Here." She traced up and down your spine, making you sigh as you tucked into her. "You need to steady your breathing, let me hold you up." You smiled lazily, leaning over to press a kiss to the side of her head... You could rally if she wanted something.

You wanted to rally if she wanted something.

"Do you want-." You started, but Luna just held you closer, effectively cutting off your communication.

"Not right now." Oh. "I will want something later though, but right now, holding you is good." Oh... God, that made your heart feel warm as you sighed, letting yourself fully be held up by her.

"Mmm... Protecting me?" You asked, enjoying the way that she seemed to hold you tighter the second you said that, like you were some precious thing that she didn't want to let go of... That she couldn't let go of.

"Always."

[highonakuweeds]

Who Says Money Can't Buy Happiness? (Pt 3)

Sylus/right hand man!reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | ao3

Summary: The aftermath of last night had left you absolutely in shambles, though you would never let anyone know. You expected Sylus to talk about it more, spark something more, but no. Instead, he talks about a certain MC...

You just had the best sleep of your life. You woke up, flushed, yes, but you also had nicer skin, the silk pajamas you had on were smoothly gliding along you, tickling you in the process. And you woke up… early for once. Since you got used to Sylus’ schedule of things (which made it significantly harder for you to wake up for your “day job”), you always had to begrudgingly force yourself to wake up. But for the first time in forever, you felt energized, just like how a person is supposed to be after sleeping.

Wait, you don’t remember changing into pajamas last night. Nor removing your makeup. And wait, when did you turn on your vinyl player—

Oh.

…OH DEAR GOD—

Your face immediately heated up when you remembered the events of last night. You also clearly remembered passing out after… the best fucking orgasm of your life—Jesus Christ, where did Sylus learn how to please you that well?

Rushes of memories coursed through your brain as a replay of Sylus’ voice echoed. “Use me,” he whispered in your ear, making your heart jump. Ugh, it’s too early in the morning for this.

You sat up on your bed and checked the clock; you had a good amount of time before you needed to go to the Hunter’s Association. With a very, very red face, you sat on the side of your bed, taking deep breaths as you calmed yourself. “Don’t worry,” you whispered to yourself. “It didn’t mean anything.” 

But, fuck, the look in his eyes when you moaned, or his easy compliance when you grabbed his hair to ride his face. All of that stuck with you. By all means, you aren’t a virgin, but no man had ever made you cum that hard and that quickly. So embarrassingly quickly….

You squealed, patting your cheeks to snap you out of it. Could you blame yourself? You had the leader of Onichynus eating you out ! Normally, you were unphased by the borderline-romantic gestures he would do to you, but were you really wrong for thinking otherwise after he’d seen you literally bare ? He changed your damn clothes for you, for God’s sake!

“‘It would be rude of me to not accept it, right?’” You mocked, standing up to turn off the vinyl player. Your voice was significantly lower than your usual and you honestly surprised yourself as well when you noticed just how well you did a Sylus impression. “‘Want a view, don’t you’? I will shove a shovel up your ass.” You grumbled to yourself, cursing your boss quietly as you sat down on your vanity to brush away your bedhead.

—--

Sylus did not sleep at all last night. Well, when has he ever?

But it seemed like no matter what he tried, whether it be going through the agenda for the day or rummaging through his vinyls, he couldn’t get your pretty little moans out of his mind. And no matter what he drank, what he ate afterwards, he couldn’t get the taste of you off his tongue.

Not like he wanted it to fade, though. Sylus wanted to give into vices and sin, indulge in gluttony for once. And it’s not like you didn’t give into your own, either; you were as greedy as they come.

Sylus’ jaw tightened when he realized he was getting distracted. A certain little hunter was going to be paying him a visit today, and he was going to make sure she resonates with him.

Ah, he knew. Since you also worked in the same workplace as her, he could ask you about her.

—--

You went out of your room, your hair away from your face as you walked towards the kitchen. There, you found your boss, head rolled up as he silently slept. You snorted at his vulnerable state before glancing at the chef, who just raised his brows, a playful smirk on his face as he glanced at your boss. 

You huffed, pouting at his implications. A slight glint from the light caught your eye, and you grimaced when you saw caviar and oysters on the ready for Sylus to eat when he woke up. Sure they were expensive, but it was too salty for you. Too… ocean…y? Is that even a word?

Fortunately for you, though, the chef knew you well; you were well acquainted with him due to your frequent midnight meals. He just stifled his laughter, putting on a big smile as he brought out a lighter meal, something more in your comfort zone. The ingredients in it were still a higher quality of it (hence making it more expensive nonetheless), but it was way better than pretentious rich food.

You squealed softly at it before whispering a small, “thank you” at the chef, to which he bowed. Silently, you walked towards your room once more—or maybe you should try the balcony; you could finally finish that book you were meaning to read—

“(Nickname)?” Sylus’ voice made you jump, almost making you drop your plate. Every morning, he sounded lower and gravelly than usual, and you never thought anything about it until you thought about what it would sound like if you woke him up on your knees and sucking his co—

“Sylus! Hi, hello.” You turned on your heels, grasping your breakfast plate with two, very shaky hands. Your boss’ eyes glanced down at them, confusion and intrigue flashing on his face for a split second. The chef placed his breakfast (or lunch? You don’t know when he woke up) and resumed to his spot behind the counter, idly checking everything. And just when you were about to race towards the balcony,

“Eat with me.” 

You froze, wincing at the three-worded sentence before turning with your heels, walking stiffly towards him. Sylus pretended not to notice, the only thing evident that he did was a small smirk on his face. You sat down with an awkward smile before digging into your food; you weren’t sure for Sylus, but you were hungry as hell.

So you two sat there in comfortable (awkward?) silence, the only noise filling up the air being the scraping of utensils on plates. And just when you were about to bring up what happened last night, Sylus’ voice interrupted you.

“What information is there about a certain MC ?” He didn’t even look up at you as he spoke, and you just huffed, pushing around some of the more decorative pieces of your breakfast. Even in simplicity, the chef couldn’t say no to some random herbs to spice up the aesthetics. Here you thought he was going to talk about how he ate you out last night, but nooo. Of course it was business immediately.

Eh, what did you expect?

You rolled your eyes, grumbling something about “talking about work while there’s breakfast in front of us” before tapping your wrist, an organized info sheet about an MC popping up immediately. Suddenly, you knit your brows together, recognizing the woman in the picture provided. “I know her; she’s from my sector.” You narrowed your eyes at Sylus, clearly suspicious. “...Why do you need to know about her?”

He just smirked at you, finally looking up from his food, a brow raised. Ah, he’s expecting you to dig for it. With a grunt, you closed your eyes. Instead of darkness, however, you found yourself looking through endless amounts of strings of possible answers until you found one. You opened your eyes groggily as you grimaced, feeling a headache coming on. The Hunter’s Association surely knows how to keep their secrets confidential. But not confidential enough.

“She’s going to the Nest tonight.” You hummed, impressed, also realizing she most probably won’t be at work today, then. Placing your inner wrist on the table, your eyes stuck to a spot behind Sylus as you figured everything out. “Huh, she has a good chance of coming here, too.” A surge of protectiveness and skepticism rushed through you as your eyes darted towards your boss, jaw tightening. “What are you planning on doing with her?”

He just tilted his head, a pointer finger finding its way to his temple. A habit you’ve seen so much you know when he would do it. “So you can see the future now? What an ability you have, hmm?”

You laughed humorlessly before pushing your food away, no longer having an appetite. “She’s one of my friends’ friends, okay? Don’t break her. And answer my question, Sylus.” You picked your plate from the table to place it on the counter near the sink. He leaned back with a scoff, amused brow raised. “Who are you to boss me around?”

You locked eyes with him with an uninterested glare, and he just sighed deeply. “I’m just planning on having a little chat with her. Are you happy now?” 

With a scrunch of your nose, you dumped the extra food into a small take-out container, making a small high-pitched hum to show your unenthusiasm. “I still don’t believe you.”

Your breath hitched the moment you felt arms wrapped around your waist, hot breath meeting the skin of your neck. You prayed the Sylus couldn’t see just how red your ears were getting despite your face’s expression remaining that of indifference. “Oh, so you’re jealous.” He muttered into your ear, smirking when he saw your ears. Fuck.

You scoffed, slipping from his grip easily and slapping his ass. Sylus scoffed at your action, turning back at you before letting a smirk grow on his face, realizing you had his wallet. “Sure. Whatever rocks your boat. Now, after work, I’m going to be doing a bit of shopping with Tara, and I wanna spoil her, so I’ll see you in a bit.”

He rolled his eyes, placing a hand on his hip as you walked towards your room to get ready for work. “You have to be present when she comes here.”

She? Tara? You tilted your head in confusion before coming to the understanding that he was talking about MC. There was a certain sharp feeling in your stomach whenever he mentioned her name, but maybe it was just because you had just eaten and you were scared for her life. 

—--

“Here you go, baby,” you muttered at the small puppy you had been feeding your leftovers, placing the tupperware on the floor for him to enjoy. He barked out at you before digging into the food, and you couldn’t help but smile. 

You heard a familiar voice call your name over, and you turned to look at who. Ah, Tara. You joined her going inside of the Hunter’s Association as she blabbered about the latest gossip she was somehow able to acquire in the span of just a day or two. How she was able to do so, you weren’t quite sure.

“Oh, and you know MC, right? One of my other friends?” You tensed at the name, remembering the morning before you had to go to work before nodding, hoping that Tara didn’t see the tension under your skin. Thankfully, she didn’t since she began to ramble on about how MC was going to go on a business trip for a while, complaining and whining about how the workload will be piling up now that she would be gone. You just snorted at her antics, not really minding the extra work. Jenna wasn’t a monster; she was probably going to raise your pay a bit more for compensation.

Speaking of Jenna, you were greeted by your day job boss, who was teasing Tara about her complaining. It didn’t take long for your friend to start apologizing profusely.

Sometimes, you wondered what would’ve happened if you just came to the Hunter’s Association immediately, or if you just stayed at Sylus’ side as promised. But no, you were a greedy little thing, and you wanted a bit of hard-earned money and not just what Sylus had given you. Plus having someone inside of the most prestigious association for wanderers would be easier for you to gather information and report back to Sylus. 

It’s always Sylus, Sylus, Sylus. You need to have a life outside of that man.

As Jenna left, you grabbed Tara’s arm excitedly, a greedy gleam in your eyes. “Are we still up for shopping later?” You asked her, trying your best not to sound too eager.

Air passed through your friend’s lips before she laughed. “Of course!”

—--

“Are you sure I could get this?” Tara asked, her voice high-pitched with elation. Beside her was the vintage Serpentine Duo bag from Bulgari and a sales associate trying her best not to let Tara brandish the bag itself. You nodded, grinning with your arms crossed. You walked towards the woman near the bag and asked her just how much it was. And just when she was about to answer you out loud, you pursed your lips, a clear smirk on them before you told her to whisper it to you.

When she whispered the answer to you, you hummed, surprised. “It’s actually cheaper than I expected it to be…” You muttered, before beaming at Tara. “Go ahead; I’ll take care of the payment.”

In just a blink of an eye, Tara was crushing you with her embrace, and you struggled to find oxygen. You shot a glance at the saleswoman then at the bag, indicating to her to get it fixed up. She did so immediately, leaving you with your friend.

Fortunately for you and your airway, Tara let go, still looking like she was about to burst with joy. She took multiple deep breaths to calm herself down, which made you snort. “So,” she said before exhaling deeply one last time. “Why are you spoiling me all of a sudden? Not that you don’t regularly, but this is Bulgari ! My mother could only dream of having a bag like the one you just bought me.” Her grin turned into a smirk, and swiftly, she was behind you, both hands on each shoulder respectively. “Do you have a sugar daddy?”

Ah, the most prevailing question that she teases you about endlessly. You would always joke about money being your boyfriend, and very shortly after would spoil your friends until they were drowning in expensive gifts. 

You just sighed, smiling. But just as you were about to answer her and deny it one more time, your phone pinged, its vibrations startling you. Ah, crap, did you forget to mute your phone? Wait no, you clearly remembered turning it off before going to the Hunter’s Association. There’s only one person you have sounds on for.

You grimaced, glancing at the time before picking up the call. “Yes, I know; I’ll be there in a minute.” You whispered, making Tara raise a brow skeptically.

“I need you here, (Nickname); it better be in just a minute.” Sylus’ voice, though your phone was on its lowest volume, rang in your ears. You rolled your eyes, passing air through your lips. “Whatever. You’ll see me.”

“I’ll see you.”

You ended the call with an annoyed huff, nodding in acknowledgement at the saleswoman as she gave the bag to your friend. You were quick to drag her out of the Bulgari store, however, which made her yelp in surprise. Tara snapped out of it, though, when she processed what was happening.

“Was that your sugar daddy?” 

“TARA!”

—--

The doors opened with a loud crack as you rushed into the living room, sighing in relief when you noticed your signature hood hanging on one of the chairs. To your left was Sylus whose brow was raised due to the commotion you caused, and to your right were the twins, who were both waving at you.

With an exhausted smile, you waved at them back, legs aching from running. “You ran.” It wasn’t a question; Sylus knew that you always took his calls seriously no matter how you retaliated. 

You pressed your lips into a thin line—a pathetic excuse of a smile—before grabbing your hood and pulling it on yourself. Before you were even in the room, you made sure that you covered your forearm to hand in bandages other than a small slit showing the faint glow of your inner wrist. You always thought taking even more precautions in hiding your identity was even better than just carelessly throwing on your hood.

“So, she’s here already?” You glanced at your wrist, the glow flickering slightly. 

Sylus shook his head, the smirk that never seemed to fade growing. “No, not yet. I’ll personally make sure she comes here.”

At that, your head whipped towards him, clear concern written all over your face. “Are you sure? I mean, you have Luke and Kieran—”

“—who will be going with me. The reason why I needed you here so urgently is because you’ll take charge until I come back.”

You snorted at that. “So what am I, a house sitter—and he’s gone.” 

—--

You sat and waited for two hours. Two. Whole Hours. It’s like Sylus didn’t even value your own time! With a groan, you racked your brain for another tune to hum; you were running out by the minute. Luckily, a familiar 6’2 man with a… certain knocked out person behind him came bursting through the door. You gaped at the sight of our own colleague, eyes darting towards your boss in disbelief. 

“What did you do to her!?” You rushed towards her, but he placed a hand in front of you, telling you to stop. Having no choice, you obeyed; you hated the times where he actually felt like a ruthless boss. So much more boring than the usual teasing.

Sylus plopped MC’s body onto the middle of the floor before taking a seat calmly, indicating you to stand by his side by a swipe of two fingers. With a grumble, you did as he “said” and walked towards your original spot. At this point, you were surprised that the floor hadn’t worn out from under it after all those years of standing there.

It took not that long for MC to wake up, and when she did, you quickly pulled your hood down, hiding some of the sympathy you were feeling for the poor girl. Seriously, what did Sylus want from her? 

You saw her glance at you, at the moment you noticed it, you made a big show of gathering intel from your wrist (as if you didn’t know anything about her). Unease settled in your stomach when you new information popped up; her Aether core was something similar to Sylus’, which was why he needed her in the first place. With a cock of your head towards your boss, you crossed your arms, loose sleeves revealing more of your bandaged arms.

Sylus looked at you with no trace of a smirk on his face, but unadulterated seriousness. Not towards you though, but towards the woman trembling and kneeling in front of the both of you.

“You…” MC’s voice was raw and rough, as if it took her an endless amount of strength to speak alone. It probably did.

You prevented yourself from taking any course of action, knowing that in this state, you cannot defy Sylus one bit. It was part of your deal with him, after all. And you’d rather kill yourself than get killed by a man like him.

“So, you do remember me.” Sylus responded with a raise of his brow, using his Evol to force MC to kneel in front of him, and with two fingers, he lifted her chin up. You took a deep breath; you can sit through this. You’ve sat through worse before.

But it was different now that you know her.

MC’s face contorted in confusion and fear, though it was masked by a face of indignation. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve only met you today.”

Sylus hummed lowly, shaking his head slightly before gripping her chin tightly. MC sucked in a breath before exhaling sharply. “Resonate with me.”

Your head sharply turned towards him. They couldn’t do that; from the conclusions you drew earlier, it would be too powerful for them to resonate so suddenly. And given just how terrified your colleague was of him, it would be near impossible. 

You made sure your voice was lower than your true voice. “Sir, are you sure—” 

“Did I tell you to speak?” His voice was sharp in comparison to how he usually talked to you, making you draw back into your indifferent expression, bowing your head slightly in apology. Damnit.

Sylus’ hand dipped lower to her hand and forcibly made their hands intertwined with each other, making the same sharp twist in your stomach appear once more. You gritted your teeth, taking a shaky yet quiet breath to compose yourself. You watched as he attempted to resonate with her, but to no avail. 

“A shame.” He muttered, though even with it, his voice commanded the room with ease. From your limited vision, you could see MC clearly fighting something in her head, and the groans and grunts you were hearing from her weren’t contradicting your small theory, either.

Like you said, it was near impossible for them to resonate.

Silence engulfed the room before Sylus exhaled sharply. “We’ll do this again tomorrow. If you can’t resonate with me by then, you won’t be having any dinner.”

“What!?”

Sylus’ Evol snuck around her mouth and neck, causing her difficulty to breathe, and it was only then did you actually interfere. You knew he would never actually kill her, but it was already enough torture as is.

“Sylus.” Your changed voice boomed all around the room. And in the last moments of MC’s consciousness, she saw the man suffocating and choking her obey you, as if his name was enough for him to understand. 

Her limbs grew limp the moment Sylus let go, and you took a deep sigh. “You didn’t have to go that far.” You whispered as you slung her across your shoulders, one shoulder slotted between her legs and the other supporting her chest, making sure all the blood in her body wouldn’t accumulate in her head and make her even more unconscious.

Sylus didn’t respond to you, and the only thing he gave you was a small huff and a twitch of his brow. Without anything left to say or do, he stood up from his throne, walking towards the big doors in which he came from. You grit your teeth, walking towards the hidden side door of the room with a passed out MC on your shoulders.

—--

“Luke, Kieran, see to it that this girl still eats something when she wakes up. I don’t think she’ll be able to survive having this weak of an immune system without any sustenance.” You told the two henchmen as you placed MC on a small bed somewhere deep in Sylus’ base. They nodded hesitantly before leaving the room, and you sighed, sitting down on the edge of the bed as you stared at the colleague you weren’t quite affiliated with, but knew due to mutual friends. From her breathing, you could tell just how close she was to actually dying, which made your nose scrunch in concern for her and anger for your boss.

Jesus, he didn’t have to go that far. He could’ve asked you to befriend her, then you’d introduce her to him, then the whole resonate thing probably would’ve been easier for the both of them.

No, MC would’ve gone to the N109 Zone nevertheless; it was inevitable.

Just as you were about to leave, you heard the shifting of clothes, making you pull your hood down to cover your eyes, leaving a shadow to cover the rest of your face. 

The next thing you heard was a small voice. “Who are you?”

Well, you couldn’t disclose that information, duh. So, you went with something… Sylus themed. If Luke and Kieran means light-bringer and little dark one (respectively), of course you’d have to go for something within that range.

“...Call me Nyx for now.” You flashed her a smile, lowering your voice to match what she heard in the throne room.

MC’s brows furrowed, her body tense. She was clearly agitated, and you had no right to tell her that she shouldn’t be. Though you could barely see with the hood over your eyes, you were able to get a glimpse of her silhouette shifting on the small bed you put her on. “Where am I?”

“You ask a lot of questions,” you muttered, pursing your lips. “To save our time, I’ll answer all of them. I can’t tell where you are nor can I tell you where Sylus is, though rest assured we are still in the N109 Zone. Sylus told us that you shouldn’t be fed, however I had told them to give you a little something to keep your spark alive. Oh, and the two people you saw with masks were Sylus’ henchmen, Luke and Kieran. You’ll be… seeing them more often.”

The information processed in MC’s head, making her lay her head down on the headboard. “So, you have the same power as Sylus in this place?”

You furrowed your brows, your full attention piqued now. Crossing your arms, you shook your head. “No. What gave you that idea?”

“Well, you were able to counter the command of Sylus by telling ‘them’ to give me food. So, I assume you do…?”

You opened your mouth to speak before closing it again. How do you explain the complicated stand you have in the N109 Zone? Yes, you were below Sylus in terms of the hierarchy, but if you were reasonable enough, he would allow you to give your own commands—even if it countered his—towards his men.

“It’s complicated. But all I can say is that I do not. Just as he is Luke and Kieran’s boss, he is also mine.”

You could feel the mistrust of MC filling the entire atmosphere, and you sighed, dropping your head down low before sitting down on the edge of the bed. She flinched, hand quickly going towards her holster, only to find it empty. Despite your eyes being covered, you deadpanned at her. “Of course we’re going to be taking your guns; can’t have you shooting the entire place up. Listen, uhm,” you patted your thighs awkwardly, sighing. “All I can tell you is that I will make sure you don’t die here; it’s a very shitty place to live your last moments in, believe me. And that, you’ll be able to do it.”

MC tilted her head. “...Do what?”

You just smiled. Your words could mean anything, honestly. From the resonance to winning Sylus over (as must as the latter hurt you). So, to fit into the mysterious aura of being Sylus’ right hand woman, you merely shrugged. “You’ll see for yourself.”

Mm, vague. Perfect.

And with that, you left, giving MC a bunch of unanswered questions in her mind. 

—--

The next day, Sylus had called MC back for another attempt at resonance, however you didn’t stay by his side this time. You were at the opposite wing of the base, preparing a little snack for yourself to fuel your mind for the upcoming research your boss had told you to do. Luckily, Luke and Kieran were by your side as they had agreed to be a listener to your mumbles in order for you to not forget anything.

You sat down on the edge of the large couch, crossing your legs as you placed a sleek laptop and your plate of snacks on the table. Shrugging your silk jacket over your shoulders, your hands idly played with the same fabric of your shorts. “Okay, so, the thing with resonance between these two is that it’s completely risky, right? Well, the only way Sylus can actually have a chance in this little plan of his—which he never told me about, by the way; it’s very insulting—is if, and only if, he stops being an ass towards her. He needs to lower his pride.”

Luke snorted at your words, reaching across the table to nonverbally ask if he could get a piece of your food. You nodded absentmindedly, not looking at him as you typed something down on the laptop. Having multiple paragraphs running through your mind sometimes made you forget your actual train of thought, so Sylus had gifted this laptop which only he and you had access to to help you with it. “If Boss heard you, he would’ve killed you.”

His brother hummed, lounging on the couch until his head reached your shoulder and his legs laid across Luke’s lap. “I don’t know, Boss seems to favor (Name).”

You rolled your eyes at what Kieran had said, trying to ignore the reddening of your ears. “Please. His new toy is MC; I probably would’ve gotten killed.”

“Sure.” The both of them had replied, making you knit your brows together as you looked at them. “Luke, weren’t you just saying that Sylus would’ve killed me?”

“Changed my mind; he definitely favors you.”

You rolled your eyes, scoffing. “Whatever.”

Your idle chatter with the two men got cut short the moment you got a ping from Sylus on your computer, telling you to come pick MC up. You clicked your tongue, standing up. You ignored Kieran’s yelp as his head fell onto the couch as you shook your head. “He’s being too harsh with her.” You muttered to yourself, sprinting towards the throne room once more.

What really ticked you off was the last time your boss had tried to resonate with MC.

Even with the secret food and water you were giving her, she was clearly still so weak, though that fire in her never faded. So imagine your surprise when she was forced by Sylus to kill him. 

Your mask of indifference and stone broke the moment blood splattered on your cheek and hood. Normally, you were accustomed to it, with it happening so many times before. However, this wasn’t just anyone’s blood, no, this was Sylus’. 

Your eyes widened in horror as Sylus threw the gun away, and your throat closed up the moment you saw MC desperately trying to “save” Sylus, despite her not realizing that he just. Could not. Die. 

But to inflict that kind of trauma onto somebody you knew…

The blood dissipated from where MC held his heart, and the wound in it disappeared, too. The shock and panic of it all, however, led MC to pass out once more. Mix that with the sheer fatigue of the past couple days, and you weren’t even sure if you could keep your promise to her of making sure she doesn’t die here.

You were quick to catch her and sling her arm around your neck, and just as Sylus was about to stand up, you pulled your hood down and slapped him as hard as you could across the cheek. He didn’t react, only stared at where his head was facing from the blow. Though through your boss’ peripheral vision, he could see the pure anger in your stare. “Never do that to any of my friends again,” you whispered, but it was loud enough.

“She isn’t your friend.” He growled in response.

“A friend of a friend is , Sylus.” You raised your voice slightly, holding MC closer to you. “She hasn’t done anything to deserve this.”

“You don’t know that.”

“You heard her, right? How she ‘doesn’t remember’ you.” Sylus finally looked at you, his gaze cold, though you didn’t let the sign of angst in his eyes go unnoticed. “I don’t know what happened before, but she’s more than changed, Sylus. Accept that.” You took a deep breath, shaking your head. “When she wakes up, be kinder. Consider where she’s coming from.”

And with that, you left the throne room, not looking back once. Though whether it was to make him contemplate his actions or for you to hide your tears, you weren’t sure.

—--

You stormed into your room the moment you placed MC on her bed, a much better bed than the initial one she was in. She was finally placed in a room much closer to the surface, which should hopefully put her more at ease the moment she wakes up.

If she wakes up.

You clicked your tongue as you shed your hood, sitting down on your bed with shaky hands. From your position, you glanced at the full body mirror just beside your bed. Sylus’ blood was still on you.

You may have overreacted, maybe, but that horrid sinking feeling in your stomach prevented you from thinking rationally. 

You were going to honest, the reason why you’d done that wasn’t just because of what he did to MC. It was the sheer lack of care that Sylus had for his own life and lack of care that you had seen. Yes, you knew he couldn’t be killed, but it still felt like he could. Just for a split second, you cared for Sylus , not your boss .

Your mind drifted towards a couple nights before, making you grit your teeth and tick your head sharply once. How had he gotten so obsessed with a different woman just a couple hours after he’d done something so… intimate to you? After he had expressed care, not the kind of care that a boss would have to his subordinates, but the kind of care that a lover would have to his significant other.

Ugh, you felt so selfish.

Well, he did say he was just going to help you. So that you wouldn’t get hurt. Feel any more pain.

If that was so, then how come he’d forced someone to place a gun against his chest? How come he’d forced MC to pull the trigger? If he truly didn’t want you to feel any pain, then he’d know just how much care you had for him and wouldn’t have done that at all.

Multiple thoughts ran through your head, and it wasn’t long until you were crying again. The tears mixed with the blood on your face, and stained your clothes as they dripped down. The metallic scent filled your nostrils, forcing you to stand up and finally take that hot shower you needed to relax your mind.

When you get out of your shower, sighing at the feeling of fresh, clean skin, it was only then did you notice a pretty bouquet of your favorite flowers on top of your nightstand. Your heart skipped at it, and it was embarrassing how quick you were to read the note beside it.

You sighed sharply when you realized it was from Aries. In all honesty, you’d totally forgotten about him. I haven’t heard from you in a while, it read in his pretty handwriting. Here’s some flowers to calm you down if you’re having a stressful week. You mentioned these to be your favorite, right? 

Your eyes stung once more at the message. It actually felt quite nice having someone other than Sylus give you flowers. Whenever your boss would give you flowers, it would probably just be to make sure that you don’t develop a random hatred for him. But this somehow felt… different. 

You slept with a smile on your face, though memories of hours before still plagued your mind.

—--

How did your slap hurt more than a gunshot to his heart?

That was what Sylus wondered, holding his cheek in his room. Even after he’d freshened up, he could still feel that sting of your hand, and for some reason it hurt more than anything else he’d ever experienced.

He knew that you wanted him to apologize to both you and MC, but he wasn’t going to do that; what was he going to apologize for towards any of you? He did what he had to do.

…

Granted, he may have overreacted. And granted, he did see pain covered by the anger in your glare. 

He was the one shot; why were you the one that looked so hurt?

He’ll just… make up for it tomorrow somehow.

[rainintheevening]

Professor Digory Kirke is delighted to tutor the Pevensie children for a term, he makes that very clear to their mother.

'Delightful children,' he calls them. 'A pleasure to associate with.' And he means it.

He learns them well in the months following their adventure in the wardrobe.

Peter's handwriting is quick, slanting, rounded, normally legible, unless he is in a true hurry, and then only his siblings can decipher it. His signature is always large and clear, and he does not need to look at the paper as he does it.

He loves history, adventure, languages. He is a delightful debating partner on the merits of battle strategy and treaties, by turns serious and merry. He spends hours with Fiona the driving mare, learns how to harness and hitch and drive, teaches himself to ride her bareback with a few bruises and scrapes. If he is struggling with a Greek translation or looking like he'd rather pitch his mathematics text out the window, the Professor learns to send him out for a run or a ride, to give him something vigorous to do with his hands. He likes to sing.

Susan's writing is smooth, graceful, slow loops, thoughtful. She cares about what it looks like, as much as what she's saying, and it is always readable.

She likes beautiful things, has an interest in paintings and art, gravitates to the romantic poets, and frets often about 'getting it right'. She is cautious, not one to attempt something unless she believes she can do it well. She enjoys helping Lucy when her little sister gets stuck on something, and she and Edmund linger over long deliberate games of chess that drive Peter to distraction.

Edmund writes quickly, but carefully, clear lines, a little squared off, as if he is accustomed to fitting what he wants to say into a precise space, and spelling mistakes are rare for him. He crosses his 't's in bold strokes, dots his 'i's with a little flick. He can write with either hand, but the Professor can't tell if it's natural or learned, and Edmund can't remember either.

He is a quick reader, good at memorization, picks up on the unspoken. Sharp eyed, and sharp tongued, but he's careful about it, or at least he tries to be. To him history is a tapestry to be unraveled, science and engineering are mysteries to be solved. He appreciates the precision of mathematics. He is clever, good at disappearing into the woodwork, good at listening, good at finding weakness and exploiting it. He and Peter tell tall tales of what they would do in the many battles they read about, bicker over games of chess, pass their work back and forth for the other's assessment.

Lucy, ah Lucy, she writes in a hurry, choppy, round, smudgey, hand never quite keeping up with her thoughts. She dots her 'i's with a circle, draws little pictures in the edges of her paper.

She learns swiftly, when it comes in story or song, when she can hear the voices of the ancient kings, or feel the tree bark, or taste the desert air. She loves the rhythm of words, memorizes poetry with a kind of hunger. She learns in spurts, reading about nothing but medicinal herbs for a week, and nothing but the wildlife of Africa the next. She sings hymns like a bird, dances with her brothers, gets annoyed by mathematics lessons. She's fascinated by mythology—Greek, Roman, Norse, Briton—and often begs the Professor to read them aloud; she says he has the best voice for it.

"Oh, yes, they are delightful," the Professor assures Mrs. Pevensie, when she comes for Christmas. "Quite extraordinary." And he smiles gently into her worn and worried face, presses her hand. "I have not had this much fun in years."

[kheta]

Soul-Swapped...Again?

I don't know how to make this coherent so just take this premise and all the chaotic associated sentences lol *Might be a bit confusing. But due to the time period, I'm refering to them as Cale and Rok Soo. No like Og!.... Cale is Cale, even if he was Rok Soo and Rok Soo is Rok Soo, even if he was Cale. Make sense?

Premise: Rok Soo and Cale swap souls with one another (temporarily) for whatever reason buuut. This happens after they have both already reconciled with living their lives as different people. And because neither one know how the other is leading their former lives, they just. Decide to revert to their original personas. Until things can be sorted out.

-They are both found out almost instantly.

-Raon is the only one who KNOWS who is in his humans body and even though he doesn't love it, he decides to help this human hide and find out a way to his original body.

-KRS, on account of also being a dad, takes to not babying or spoiling either On or Hong, because that's how he treats his niece. Unfortunately this unwillingness to spoil them (monetarily) and his compulsive need to make sure they are in reach of him clue the siblings on to him straight away.

-On and Hong decide its best to trust their little brothers judgement and don't tell anyone his secret. They also kinda like his head pats and the way he like to stroke and groom them for soooo long and that he'll actually play outside with them. (But they still miss their Cale, even if this new human is kinda fun)

-By the end of the week everyone from Bud to Hans and the Blue Wolf Tribe kids know that someone else is in Cale's body. Unfortunately they don't know who and they are unwilling to cross Raon to find out. Raon and his siblings meanwhile are viciously protective of the KRS, because he's nice and funny and is in Cale's body, they can't dislike him.

-Ron is instantly on guard and sends out so many bad vibes and thinly veiled threats. Choi Han needs to physically walk away, because he knows he'll do something bad if left with this stranger. Alberu actually does stop in to threaten this stranger. Lock is standoffish but non-confrontational and Rosalyn is purposely nice to uncover the strangers secrets. Vicross makes sure not to appear, because the kids will know his intent instantly. He also wants to hurt this imposter.

-KRS meanwhile is pretty nonchalant about the threats. He is a bit bewildered that they picked him so quickly though. It's kinda. Maybe. A little offensive? Like okay, the heroes and the Prince, fine. They never knew KRS when he was Cale. But Ron, Vicross and his dad? Knowing KRS isn't Cale after a week, meanwhile KRS has only been KRS for two years. What the fuck kinda logic is that? Oh well, not like KRS minds anyways. He needs to study with Raon Miru and Rosalyn. Things to do first. Not like he has times for stupid, pointless things anyways

-It takes Cale a little longer to be spotted. At first his team think maybe he's having a bad week. Even his niece thinks that, because he's not as thoughtlessly affectionate as usual.

-But a week turns to two and some of his team are mad because? Seriously? Near death attempts and two years of bonding and suddenly he regresses? Kim Min Ah and Jung So Hoon are a bit more sceptical. Because this coldness is just weird. The barriers that exist feel both alien and familiar.

-By Week two they've come to a weird, crazy conclusion that KRS has multiple personalities. Because anything else is just too weird and crazy. When they confront the 'Protector' with this knowledge, Cale figures it's easier to tell the truth. He likes to keep his cards close, so he just says he's close to KRS but he's not him and for whatever reason he woke up stuck in his body. He doesn't want to hurt the bonds KRS had created, he was just acting like the KRS he knew.

-Which brings me to: The vague way KRS and Cale talk makes their respective Found Family's have completely different ideas about the others identity.

-Everyone in LCF come to the conclusion that KRS is a child Cale picks up in the future, because he talks about being so close to Cale at one point in his life. And that he's just acting like how he thought Cale would act, based on stories. And he's just. Weirdly knowledgable about the Molans and the Henituse family and even the heroes, even if his knowledge is a bit skewed. And kinda paints them as scarier than they are? (The only other possibility based on his comfort level with Cale and the people who surround him is a future lover and they all point blank refuse to accept that) But it's nice to see Cale('s body) eating well and exercising and having a good sleep routine. If they weren't still immediately suspicious, they might think this kid would be a good, healthy influence on Cale. Privately, they wonder if the grounded, active way this man acted would help to make Cale more solid, more present and less likely to jump into danger. -On Earth, their whole Team thinks that Cale is some sort of jilted childhood friend who lost contact with KRS as he became apart of the Survival Forces. They are actually advocating for Cale to refriend KRS because KRS desperately needs a friend (or more~~❣️) outside of their team. And there's no way this smart, but truly lazy man could be anything but a good friend for KRS. He could convince their team lead to slow down and relax and actually indulge in things! Maybe then their Team Lead would be less of a freakin' pain.

-Niece!Jour (I can't find a name for her and I'm not gonna make one up) likes her Not-Uncle! He's super smart and he gets her presents just cause and only buys them the yummiest food. And he never tries to cook, which is good because Actual-Uncle is maybe. sorta. Not great at cooking? Like he can cook two dishes really well and he bakes one really nice biscuit but everything else is just kinda. Okay. So it's nice to have really, really yummy food in the house. And to have someone who likes sitting with her while she reads or watches tv, instead of trying to plan elaborate days out. Because she does like those day! But sometimes she just wants to watch her movies without pauses or finish a really good chapter without going to park.

-Raon likes to play 'tag' with his Not!Human and to receive actual smiles, not the scammer smile. He also loves being able to fly around with his Not!Human watching his cool new tricks and patting his head all the time and the Not!Human bakes really, really good jam and butter cookies and he's even teaching him and his older siblings how to make them. It's really cool.

-Rosalyn hates how smart this punk is, he knows things he shouldn't and he's obviously got some plan to get back to his proper body, if the journeys to different temples mean anything, but she can't tell what. He's evasive and infuriating because he doesn't lie. He just. Speaks weirdly around all topics. The only time he's sincere and talkative is around the kids. And he's never allowed near the kids alone after they figure him out, so it's not like he's just honest to only the kids. It's just. They're the only ones who can get a straight answer out of him and none of the kids want to interrogate him.

-I want some angsty scene where their true identities are revealed but also can't see the point? Because the only reason an identity reveal would happen would be to cause more drama/angst. And trying to get back to their own world after a truth reveal feels a bit?Futile and cruel? Like 'Oh you KNEW me, but idrc, I have a life I prefer that you are not welcome to and it's also in another world, bye ✨✨✨'

-A more satisfying ending would be them accepting that they are definitely not who they were and no matter how much they might enjoy some aspects of their old life (Cale the convenience and KRS the bonds he has/had) they ultimately have no role to play in each other's lives anymore. Maybe they write a letter to each other before the swap back? Where they both tell each other to cherish their family and either be more involved/take a step back from all the action so they can actually treasure their found family?

-I think it'd also be beautiful for maybe some people to reach a bit of a conclusion (looking @ u Molans/Henituses) on the identity of KRS, but ultimately doing nothing (like always 🙄) because the person they love and bonded with is not KRS. Not anymore. And they have not and will never force any version of Cale to stay somewhere he is unhappy. Because even if they didn't always love him in a way he could relate to, they had always and will always love him. But also, this end doesn't feel like it fits with the ending letter ting.

-Also while I'm adding random thoughts. Both found families are wrong. Cale and Rok Soo would be the worst influence for each other. They're both different flavours of neurotic control freak meets push over enablers. Like both are used to manipulating people for their own gain, they just go about it differently. And if they ever decide to fully trust each other? Chaos. Un. Mitigated. Chaos. I feel like they'd have the similar plans that they tell people about, all except for the last step since they both just randomly decide they are the acceptable casualty. And Cale will leisurely, with feigned reluctance, walk his way up to the sacrificial alter. And Rok Soo will be there already, determined and unrepentant. Cue spiderman meme.

[sentientfunfetti]

What if reader gave dollhouse!Wally a cute little box with a clay heart inside it? Like, "here's my heart, for you" kinda thing.

“giving you my heart” a dollhouse! wally/reader drabble

(dollhouse!wally and his au belongs to @/itskorrychang on twitter! go support them!)

REBLOGS AND FEEDBACK ARE APPRECIATED!

-

-

it had been a few weeks since you and wally had been seeing each other. time seemed to move a bit slower in the neighborhood, but you associated that with the bliss of being utterly comfortable where you were. when you had moved to the neighborhood, you were off-put by how quiet it was. from what you were told it was a bustling community full of games, jokes being told, pies and other baked good being baked and other types of fun…

but, when you arrived it was quiet. too quiet. it was unnerving say the least.

then you met the only resident. wally darling. as eerie as he was there was always a level of endearment to it. wally seemed harmless, just a tad socially inept. on your first day he invited you over for tea in his home, and you couldn’t help but marvel at the rows after rows of dolls he had.

“oh…those? i made them myself…”

he said it as if it wasn’t a big deal. his level of craftsmanship wasn’t lost on even you, who had no idea how to make anything like that. they were so pretty…and he seemed to appreciate your enthusiasm and compliments, even going as far as to make one of you. most people would have found that creepy…especially with how many details of you he had captures on such a small base, even going as far as to point out his favorite ones.

least to say, you were swooned. head over heels for him, and you wanted to show your appreciation for both his hospitality and for you to express you feelings for him. your crafting skills were…limited least to say. the only thing you could wrap your head around besides from drawing was clay, and so you spent all night making a heart shaped…object…for wally, even going out to find a cute box to paint over for the heart shaped ‘thing’ to be held in.

looking down at the box in your hands as you make your trek to wally’s house, you couldn’t help but feel a bit anxious about how he’d feel about it. there was no doubt about it; wally’s skill level was leaps and bounds above your’s, so that left one question: would he even accept your gift? you could only hope not.

…you weren’t even able to get your fingerprints off of it like most people are able to.

pushing all of that aside, you were already at his doorstep seemingly within a blink of an eye, and now all there was to do was knock. you lifted your arm up stiffly and knocked.

“coming.” he announced through the door, and you heard his footsteps approaching. you jumped when he opened the door, his usual lax smile on his face. you quickly hid his present behind your back without thinking. “ah, neighbor. you’re a bit early today…” you smile the best smile you could muster and giggled. “well, i wanted to come and see you early this time! i hope that’s okay…” you watch his lazy grin grow and your face warms. despite you at first being apprehensive to him, you quickly found out that he was just as kind as any other person.

“oh, neighbor. you know that my doors are always open. all you need to do is call or knock and if i’m able, and available, then you’re always welcome…” he responded lowly, standing in his doorway. his words were sweet, but they did nothing to soothe your already growing anxiety. it bubbled up in you just like before. “…thank you, wally…i really appreciate that.”

he responded with a nod, before stepping aside and motioning for you to come in. “anything for you, lovely.”

the pet name made your heart swell, as you stepped inside, making sure to angle yourself so that he wouldn’t be able to see the box you had in your hands. you hear the door click closed, the lock following. he turned to you with an eyebrow raised. “…neighbor…” he put a hand on his face, amused with the fact you were so obviously hiding something behind your back. “what’s that you’ve got there…?” he inquired, pointing, and you felt yourself shrink, your eyes shifting to the floor.

“o-oh…well…uhm…” his gaze was intense now. he was looking for your answer in your body language due to the now lack of eye contact between the both of you. “yes, precious?” he urged you to continue, leaning down a tad to be eye level with you. your eyes were glued to the floor, however. after a bit of silence, you suck in a breath and tap your foot on the floorboards underneath your feet. you stay silent for a moment, the only thing filling the silence is the sound of wally’s large grandfather clock ticking away every second you weren’t speaking. “i…i uhm…made you something…” you finally mumbled under your breath, your eyes flicking up to him for a moment.

“what was that, dear? i couldn’t quite hear you. you were mumbling.” you couldn’t tell if wally was teasing you or being serious. he did have a tendency to do that accidentally…only occasionally doing it on purpose when he realized what he said had affected you. he stood back to his original height and waited for your response, his intense gaze still on you, making you feel just a bit smaller than usual. you repeat yourself, a bit louder. “i made you something, wally.”

“is that so?” his smile widened, and he outstretched his arms. “can i see what you’ve made me? if you made it i’m sure it’s lovely.” you shake your head, and take a step back, chewing on your bottom lip. eyes back on the floor. “it’s not that good, really. it’s really not as good as the stuff you make so…”

“…so…what, precious…?” there was a dangerous edge to his voice you couldn’t quite place a finger on. you knew he probably didn’t mean for it to startle you, but you felt yourself shrink into yourself just a bit more at it. wally seemed to notice, and you watched his shoulders lax. he quickly corrects. you forget that he had an edge to him at times. that’s what being alone for so long will do to people, you think.

“it’s alright. really. i’m sure whatever you’ve made me is just as nice as you are. as nice as you have been.”

you look up and into at his red orbs and let out a bitter chuckle. “you’re only saying that because you’re curious.” you respond, raising an eyebrow at him. he shrugs off your accusation with the same smile as before. “can you blame me? my favorite neighbor—“ only neighbor. you don’t correct. you don’t dare. “— visits me with a gift, and now doesn’t want me to see it? who wouldn’t be curious?” dammit. he had a good point. you were stumped, and running out of energy to fight, so with a sigh you revealed the small box from behind your back. your face burned as soon as you saw wally’s eyes train on the small box in your hands. he hummed, before taking it away from you, your arms falling limply to your sides as you counted away the seconds until doomsday.

…okay…maybe doomsday was a bit overdramatic…but if he didn’t like it you would most definitely be thinking about that for the next few weeks. definitely. you mentally crossed your fingers, and let out a weak ‘surprise’ as you watched him open the box, his intense gaze fixing onto the smaller object inside.

he was silent. dead silent. so silent in fact that you were sure you didn’t even see him take another breath in. his chest stopped rising and falling as his intense gaze softened for a moment. “…see? i told you it wasn’t as good as the stuff you make—“ your hand clamps around your forearm for comfort as your shift.

“gods, i’m sorry wally—“

“…oh…neighbor it’s…this is…!” he looked up at you from the box in his hands with glazed over eyes. tears threatening to spill. he looked back down and plucked the small heart shaped clay piece out of the confines of the box and let out a shaky breath. “…it’s…it’s perfect…” he moved over to the table next to the front door and deposited the box in order to hold the heart in the palms of his hands, as if it was the most precious gem. as if it was made of glass and one drop would threaten to break it. you stood there…confused…almost shocked.

“…it is…? i mean i just like—“ you immediately begin to backpedal. you had never seen wally so passionate before except a few times, so this was almost scary. you weren’t even able to get your fingerprints off the damn thing, much less make the shape look uniform.

“yes. yes. it’s…it’s so cute…and…you made it for me? did you really, neighbor…?” wally asked, looking at you with a warm smile. “it’s wonderful. thank you. you even put my initials on it…” he outstretched a palm and pointed to the small detail, utterly infatuated. sometimes you forgot his eye for small details. you felt like a ant under a magnifying glass. studied.

you laugh and blush, rubbing the back of your neck. “oh…well. ya know…didn’t want it to get lost…!” at that, wally let out a warm chuckle, and a sniffle, regaining his composure as he continued on. “well, i assure you neighbor, the detail is appreciated…and i won’t be losing this anytime soon.” he took a step closer.

“…no…in fact…i’ll be keeping it close. as close as i can…” his voice was hushed, his grin wide and his eyes narrowing with it. you swallow thickly, face red. was he talking about you…or the gift? stars, which one was less likely to make you explode? “i’m…i’m glad.” was all you were able to muster out. wally didn’t miss a beat, however, leaning a bit again to catch your gaze, gift still in his hands. his hand went to cup your cheek, and you swore you could see a glint in his eye. “why are you so red, precious? aren’t i supposed to be the flustered one here?” his thumb stroked your cheek. yep. he was definitely doing it on purpose this time. you huff and put your hands on your hips. “listen here, if this is how you’re gonna react every time i give you a gift, this may be your last one, buster.” you turn your back to him and begin to walk towards the dining room to have a seat, pulling away from his touch, but the ghost of it was still there.

“precious.”

he called out, and you turned to see him now holding the heart in-between his thumb and forefinger to where you could see it; a mischievous glint in his red eyes. you shuddered and narrowed your eyes at him. “…what…?” you spat playfully.

“…was this you giving me your heart?”

author’s note ⊹˚. ♡

thank you for the request, neighbor! it was such a sweet one. i really enjoyed writing this one.

i also have a few things to go over, actually:

firstly, i’d like to thank you all for the requests and the likes and the follows! i’m really surprised i’ve been getting the attention i’ve been getting. thank you all for that.

secondly, i’d like to ask for a few things if that’s alright.

1) reblogs. self explanatory. likes don’t really do anything for me traction-wise as you may or may not know and i’d like for more people to be able to see my things!

2) can you all pretty please be more specific with the things you’d like for me to write? if you just send me a prompt and not specifically state that you’d like headcanons, or a drabble then i have no idea what you’d like.

3) more feedback. i want to grow as an author so criticism is of course encouraged and welcomed.

besides from that, ill be working on my reboot wally fanfiction over on ao3 and the requests i have lined up for me at the moment. thank you guys for the support. it means a bunch./gen

[thefallennightmare]

Arranged-five

Pairings: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: language, smut, angst, fluff, mentions of death.

Summary: Reader would do anything to make her parents happy and that included agreeing to an arranged marriage. She never expected it to be to one of New York's most feared Mob Boss: Bucky Barnes. He is anything but lovingtowards Reader however when her parents are mysteriously killed, Bucky makes it his mission to find out who were at fault. And in the process, ends up coming close to losing Reader.

Authors Note: Tags for this will be open, just shoot me a message or comment if you're interested!

Tags: @alexxavicry @mdpplgtz03 @broadwaybabe18 @samsgirl93 @cherryflavoureds-blog @findthebeautyinbreakdowns @clqrosmgc @loumaaria-blog @queerqueenlynn

Arranged Masterlist

Bucky was at my back while Steve led the way up the front steps and they quickly ushered me inside, with no words spoken the entire drive back home. Something wasn’t right with this meeting they were almost late for, I couldn’t shake the weight in my stomach. 

“Steve, can you take her to her room and stay with her until I’m finished?” Bucky asked. 

“I’m not going to be held prisoner. You said it yourself, I can have free reign,” I reminded him. 

Steve simply placed a hand at the small of my back, trying to lead me upstairs, however my foot remained planted in the main entry way of the house. That was when Bucky’s other two bodyguards stepped in, ready to grasp my elbows to drag me upstairs. My yells of protests bounced off the walls. 

“Don’t fucking touch me,” I sneered. 

Bucky stepped between his men, anger flushing his cheeks. “Let’s get one thing straight, you don’t ever lay a finger on her, understand? She is to only be handled by Steve or I.” 

“Boss, all do respect, she’s been a pain since she’s first arrived,” Jake, one of his men said. 

The other man, Ryan, agreed with a nod. 

“Excuse me?” I asked, shocked. 

“Listen lady, I’d suggest you keep my mouth shut. You have no idea what you got yourself into,” Jake snapped. 

A shriek fell from my lips as I watched Bucky wrap his metal fingers around Jake's throat and pinned him against the back of the front door, feet dangling inches above the floor. 

“Bucky, stop.” I placed a hand on his other arm but it was as if Bucky couldn’t feel my touch. 

Jake was gasping, swallowing, for any ounce of air around him as Bucky tightened the grip on his throat. Jake scratched and clawed at the metal arm but failed, it not having any effect on Bucky. 

“I’d suggest you apologize to my future wife.” 

Nothing came out of Jake’s lips so Bucky squeezed harder. 

“Sorry,” Jake choked out. 

“Okay, let him go,” I said to Bucky. 

He still wouldn’t drop him so this time I did my best to step between the two of them. 

“God damnit, Bucky. Let. Him. Go.” 

Bucky’s gaze bounced from Jakes to mine and when he saw my worried one, he reluctantly dropped Jake to the floor; his gasps echoing down the halls. 

“You’re lucky I need you two assholes for this meeting otherwise you’d be gone,” Bucky threatened towards Ryan, who had been standing there, head down and avoiding the wrath of Bucky. 

“Y/N, let's get upstairs,” Steve suggested. 

“Well it’s about time you showed up. I’ve been waiting over an hour.” 

All eyes landed on the new man that entered the room. He was dressed in a suit that screamed expensive and he placed his glasses into his pocket, brown eyes resting on my face. The smile that crept to his lips didn’t sit well with me. 

“You must be the bride to be. I’m Tony Stark, an associate of your lover boy here. Will you be joining us?”

I stared at Tony’s extended hand and before I could even make the choice to shake it, Bucky had his hand on my hip and was leading me towards the stairs. 

“Not this time, Stark,” Bucky grumbled before motioning towards Steve. “She doesn’t have to stay in her room but make sure she stays away from my office.” 

“Ah, come on Barnes. She would be a real asset,” Tony spoke once again. 

Bucky’s metal fingers twitched with rage so I reached for them and linked our hands together. He immediately eased into my touch, eyes softening as I looked into his eyes. 

“I’ll be up in my room. Come find me when you’re finished?” I suggested. 

He quickly nodded before he composed himself, ushering all the men to follow him towards his office. 

There was a nice breeze that afternoon, fall in New York fast approaching, and I smiled while bringing the blanket closer to me. I had been sitting on the balcony of my bedroom, watching the fast night life of the city approaching. Even if Barnes Manor was secluded, we were high up on a hill that you could still see the constant movement of cars driving through the city. 

I had a book perched on my lap but after reading the same sentence a handful of times, I had closed it with a long sigh. My mind had been wrapped up in what was happening downstairs and if Bucky would be finishing up soon. It had been almost two hours since he disappeared into his office, Steve standing outside my bedroom door that whole time. I mentioned it a few times to him that he didn’t need to stay, he could do whatever he wanted. 

“I figured you could use the company.” 

The only positive thing about Bucky being in that meeting for so long was that I was able to do a bit of research on this mystery man. 

Tony Stark was a billionaire, one of the few in New York. He had lost his parents when he was in college but he never let that affect him. He created his own empire by investing in other smaller companies and building them high for success. 

A silent investor is what his Wikipedia page said. 

What confused me was that Bucky had money, lots of it. He didn’t need Stark or his money, so I had no idea what his part in Bucky’s company was. 

To be honest, I didn’t even know what Bucky was working on or into. All I knew was that he was some feared mob boss. 

But did I want to know that information? Could I live with what he does to the people that go against his orders? 

“Y/N?” 

I looked over my shoulder and gave a smile to Steve, who was leaning against the doorframe to the balcony. 

“Everything alright?” I asked. 

Steve ran a hand through his long hair and nodded. “Bucky sends his apologies. His meeting is running a bit longer than expected.” 

I shrugged. “It’s alright. I’ve got plenty of time.” 

He could hear the falter in my voice. “Did you want to talk? About anything?” 

I hesitated. “Is that a good idea? From what I hear, you and Bucky are best friends. I don’t want to say something that would upset you.” 

Steve shook his head with a chuckle. “It wouldn’t be anything I hadn’t heard before. Buck may come off as a hard ass but he really does care about the people closest to him. Plus, I’m here for you; safety wise and someone to vent too.” 

“Well, in that case,” I pointed to the seat next to me. “Have a seat.” 

“So, Bucky tells me you two are doing a courthouse wedding?” Steve asked while straightening out his dress shirt. 

I nodded. “When I think of a wedding, it's supposed to be this huge celebration where you prove your love for one another in front of your loved ones.” 

“I understand that,” Steve said. 

“I wish my parents did,” I sighed. “They’re upset because they arranged this whole thing to make sure the rest of my life I didn’t have to worry about anything.” 

“You didn’t get a say in this?” 

I shook my head while fidgeting with the rings on my fingers. “Nope and I can’t go against my parents; it was the number one rule while growing up.” 

Steve looked at my fingers and his brow raised in confusion when he saw the bare finger on my left hand. 

“No ring yet?” He questioned. 

“Oh,” I looked at my hand. “I don’t think Bucky is going to give me one, to be honest.” 

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” Steve suggested with a smirk. 

Suddenly, I felt a large presence behind me and when I looked over my shoulder, the pace of my heart began to quicken. 

Bucky was leaning against the railing, a smirk playing at his lips. He must have been so quiet as he walked in because I didn’t hear a thing. 

“Hi,” I breathed. 

“Steve keeping you company?” He questioned. 

“Yeah. Is that alright?” 

I couldn’t tell if Bucky was upset with Steve and I being alone. 

He nodded. “Steve’s the only one I trust to leave you with.” 

“Meeting go alright?” Steve questioned while he rose to his feet. 

Bucky nodded. “Do you mind bringing the car around? I’ve got an errand to run.” 

Steve quietly excused himself, leaving Bucky and I alone. 

“What about Jake?” I asked. 

From what I could tell, he had been Bucky’s driver. 

Bucky’s eyes clouded over with darkness, only for a moment. “He won’t be working for me anymore.” 

With the curtness in his voice, I decided not to press on with the issue or with the splatter of blood on Bucky’s metal knuckles. 

“So,” I changed the subject. “I’m assuming you have other plans then?” 

He nodded. “I’ll only be gone an hour. Since Steve will be with me, can you promise that you won’t go anywhere?” 

“I’ve got nowhere to go,” I shrugged. 

Bucky let out a sad sigh while stuffing his hands deep into his pockets. “I don’t want to make you feel like a prisoner, Y/N.” 

I disagreed with his worry. “You don’t. I’m still settling in so it’ll take me some time.” 

“Would that stop you from spending some alone time with me tonight?” Bucky noticed my hesitation. “I’ll cook you dinner, that’s it.” 

“Please?” A smile began pulling up in the corner of his lips. 

I gnawed on my lip at how cute he looked when he begged. “Sure. I’d like that.” 

Bucky nodded. “Dining room. Seven o'clock.” 

“Seven o'clock,” I repeated before watching him walk out of the room, not before throwing another smile to me over his shoulder.

[crow-stars]

❝RISES THE MOON❞

❦summary; under the moon's gentle light, a bond can be strengthen and affections shared ♪the characters in this story; gn!reader, riddle rosehearts ✎word count; 1,336 ❀what do the ghosts say?; romantic, very fluffy, sleeping next to each other, reader is stubborn, riddle is also stubborn, stubborn together🌈 ☛the author's notes; hi, hello. do not mind i haven't written in 6 months. ☪look at the catalogue?

It was cold tonight, the breeze a bit stronger than normal. A blanket was brought along for the journey to accommodate for the colder air. It was dark, so you brought along your flashlight. Footsteps echo in the empty corridors, shadows stretching as the light you hold hits the columns. 

You had never been out in the school when it was dark before. If you were younger, the fear of ghosts and ghouls that come to snatch you away would be present in your mind. Now though, you know that the ghosts here wouldn’t snatch you away. Or at least won’t hurt you. There was a thrill to all of this though, almost like you were a teenager sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night. The feeling of it all makes your heart race, your legs carrying you through the halls. However, a mundane act of teenage rebellion isn’t the reason why you’re here tonight.

Your goal tonight was the library. Though there was a slight difficulty due to the different environment, but you make it there in due time, the lights dimmed to a more soothing and less harsh color. Your eyes are drawn to the only light source that wasn’t a gentle green, the glow of the orange lamplight drawing you in. At that table lies a head of red hair reminiscent of roses, hunched over a project he no doubt is trying to do as perfectly as he can. 

“Riddle!” 

Riddle looks up in confusion, swiveling his head until he sees you, who was already walking over to him. He stands up quickly, a mix of confusion and a hint of a frown on his lips. Of course, Riddle was never too pleased when you would break any rules, big or small, and being awake at night when you’re supposed to be asleep. Though, one would suppose that he was more worried about what his partner was doing up so late than mere rules. 

“What are you doing up so late?” Riddle’s hands go to hold yours, trailing up to adjust the blanket around your shoulders. “And why are you wearing a blanket around your shoulders? Are you cold? This is too thin for you.” He doesn’t even allow you a nod before Riddle is taking off his blazer, pulling the blanket from your shoulders to replace it. Riddle makes sure to put the blanket back on, an added layer of protection against the cold. 

An expression of thanks slips from your lips, much warmer with the added layer. The only response you get is a soft “of course”, which is better than his usual flustered expression. Riddle leads you back to his area of operating, sitting you down first before he does the same. For a moment, it’s silent, the two of you staring at the other. “Now, what are you doing up so late? You shouldn’t be roaming the halls so late. Students shouldn’t be roaming the halls during night and it’s bad for your health.” Ah, there it is. You were wondering how long it would take. 

You turn your head away, a light grin on your lips as you turn to look back at Riddle, though it’s obvious he’s none too pleased with you. “Well,” You begin, fingers fiddling with the buttons of his blazer. The fabric wafts the gentle scent of soil and flowers, a smell that you associate with the one you call your partner. You have to take a moment to just let it envelop you, to breathe it in and allow yourself to relax. “I wanted to see you.” A simple and sweet answer. The truth too. 

This, however, doesn’t seem like a suitable answer for Riddle, because he lets out a long exhale, gloved fingers pinching at the bridge of his nose. His forehead wrinkles in the way he does when he thinks for a long time or when he frowns. “You can see me in the morning. I don’t understand why you would sneak out of your dorm to simply ‘see me’.” Riddle responds, brows furrowed as he gives you a stern expression. He isn’t angry, no. More worried for your well-being or this becoming a common occurrence. Of course, it isn’t everyday that the Riddle Rosehearts is staying up late to finish homework. He was too busy today to even begin to think about his homework. 

Riddle’s response makes you frown, an expression that could almost be called a pout on your lips. “But you’re staying up too. And you’ve been too busy for us to actually spend time together.” 

Riddle is quick to retort with, “I talked to you before class.” Though, this is quickly countered with, “You asked me how my day was and left.” 

“We spent lunch together recently though.” 

“Yes, we did. Last week. And we barely talked!” 

Back and forth, each example is quickly refuted. Back and forth, you and Riddle fuss at each other almost endlessly. 

“Well–” Riddle pauses, thinking about his words before he continues. “You shouldn’t be up so late at night.” 

“Well you shouldn’t either! You said you would go easier on yourself!” 

Riddle opens his mouth, likely to return the remark so that this argument could end, more like squabbling, but pauses. He takes a moment to breathe, hands planted firmly on his thighs before he exhales. After a moment, Riddle takes one of your hands into his own, a shy little peck pressed to your knuckles. An apology, of sorts. Or maybe to sate your wanting for his attention. Either way, it’s enough to calm the air, 

“You know you shouldn’t be up so late.” Riddle says, hand still holding yours. You nod and squeeze his hand. 

“You’re so busy lately.” It’s a plain statement, a fact that has been true for the past couple weeks. Of course, Riddle has felt the lack of time spent with you, though his mind has been more preoccupied with other matters that, unfortunately, didn’t involve you. 

Silence takes the two of you for minutes, what seems like hours. Hands intertwined, eyes locked. It was romantic, in a way. But romantic enough.

Then, a sigh is heard from Riddle and he scoots his chair closer to yours. In almost an instant, your head is on his shoulder and a pen is in his right hand again. This time, his left hand is preoccupied with holding your hand, his head slightly tilted towards your own. He doesn’t say anything, pen hovering above the paper in wait for something. It takes a moment before you respond by squeezing his hand once more, an exhale escaping you as you lean your head’s weight on his shoulder. That was apparently the confirmation Riddle needed, as the sound of his pen against the paper is heard, a calming noise that can be heard along with Riddle’s soft breathing. 

Your ears are filled with the sound of the pen scratching against paper, the scent of roses and strawberries filling your nose, your hand held in the tight and reassuring grasp of your partner. This was what you wanted, to be near him. Even though this wasn’t what you imagined when you came here tonight, then again what else would you have expected, but it felt enough. Not enough to make up for the weeks of being without Riddle, but it was a start. 

You don’t know when you fell asleep, or even when you closed your eyes, but you do. And Riddle notices it, with the way your body leans its weight against him a bit more. It’s what signals him to take a break, if only to fix the blanket around your shoulders. Riddle can feel himself already relax in simply your presence, eyes fluttering in an attempt to not fall for the allure that is sleep. No one can resist the call and, soon, Riddle’s eyes slip shut. 

There the two lay, a picturesque scene of two lovers leaning against one another as they sleep.

[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.

[cxrsedeclipse]

Votes were better than I thought… well then, here you go!

STARSCOURGE RADAHN — I’ve come to save you…

Warnings: very little gore, blood, violence, mention of bondage, combat, swords, forced situation for Radahn, killing, brainwashed Radahn; SPOILERS FOR THE DLC!!

Fight: M!Tarnished!Reader vs Radahn (brainwashed) & Miquella

Parings (briefly mentioned): M!Tarnished!Reader x Starscourge Radahn

Overview: You went to the Shadow Realm when Sir Ansbach informed you of the events that were happening involving Miquella, and you went there with the intention of killing him but came face to face with Radahn, your beloved that you saw dead so long ago…

One day in The Lands Between, you got a letter from Sir Ansbach, telling you to come meet him, so you went over to the Shadow Realm, heading for the Gate of Belurat. You had everything you needed with you, your armor with a cloak, and a Moonveil katana holstered on your left hip. When you approached Ansbach, he immediately turned to you. “Ah, Y/N… there you are. I have some things to discuss with you. It’s about Miquella… we need to kill him. He’s a monster… you know what happened to Mohg because of him.. and I’m afraid you’re going to be associated in all this aswell.”, Ansbach spoke. You were a bit confused on why he thought that, tilting your head slight and asking, “Me? How come you think so?” Ansbach sighed, as if he didn’t really want to tell you the truth. Not that he wasn’t truthful, he was worries about your reaction. He hesitated for a bit before continuing, “I’d rather not tell you… but you trust me, right? Y/N, this is an extremely important situation, you won’t wonder why I called you once you see the situation..” You were a bit disappointed by his response since he looked genuinely really worried. “Okay, okay… I do trust you, Ansbach… just, calm down… I never seen you so concerned before.”, you said. Ansbach took a deep breath, regaining his composure. “Apologies… it’s just a bad situation…”, Ansbach said while looking toward the ground. You quickly waved off his apology, “No need to be sorry, it’s no problem. If you’re acting like this there must be a good reason why.” Ansbach nodded and spoke, “Alright then… I’ll leave things to you. You’ll have to go to Enir-Ilim, all the way to the top to the Divine Gatefront. You should be able to confront Miquella there.” You nodded, waving while turning around to walk away, “Thanks Ansbach. I won’t disappoint.”, you reassured. Ansbach let out a sigh of relief, waving back.

You didn’t waste any time, heading over to Enir-Ilim. It wasn’t really an easy time getting to the top, having to jump from rooftop to rooftop, not to mention the amount of enemies there. Once you finally got to the top, you saw the Divine Gate. This was it. You took a deep breath, you felt a strangely familiar presence behind the gates but shook it off, pushing the gate open. Once the immense bright light hit your face and blinded you for a few seconds, your eyes taking a moment to adjust to the light. When you opened your eyes, you couldn’t believe your eyes… the one standing there… was Radahn. You were absolutely shook… you saw him die to Scarlet Rot so long ago… “R-Radahn?!”, you shouted, no response. Just a blank stare. You looked a into his eyes, then it hit you… Radahn wasn’t in his senses. He was brainwashed, it wasn’t those usual loving yellow eyes you knew so well. He had his Starscourge Greatswords in his hands, tightly gripping them. Suddenly, he leaped into the air and pounced on you, you quickly reacted and jumped out of the way, though his Gravity Magic was active aswell as the impact created a shockwave which pushed you back either way. The shockwave made you roll back but you quickly got back up on your feet. No, you didn’t want to fight at all… your heart ached, panic seeping in and not knowing what to do. What was the reason of all this? What was the cause? “Radahn, snap out of it, it’s me!!”, you shouted in an attempt to get him back to his senses, but no use. Your words were only met with more swings of his sword, in which you unsheathed your Moonveil and tried to parry as much as possible, staying on the defensive to observe and act instead of going in recklessly… though it was mostly because you just didn’t want to lay a scratch on him. After a long time, he didn’t seem to be getting exhausted at all, but the problem was, you were.

You suddenly heard a voice… “My consort, Radahn.. let’s end this foolish Tarnished’s efforts.” Your eyes widened… that was Miquella’s voice, and, what did he mean with ‘My consort’?! You connected everything and things started to make sense.. Ansbach asked you because YOUR partner was at stake.. Miquella had used Mohg’s body and Radahn’s soul to make him his consort. That realization hit you like a truck, and you grew enraged, so enraged that your Moonveil was reacting to your inner turmoil, glowing a bright turquoise. “Show yourself, you bastard!!”, you shouted loudly. Miquella did show up, slowly descending onto Radahn’s back, his arms around his neck as Miquella held onto Radahn. “Quite the nice partner you had… he makes a nice toy, you know..when he’s all tied up, not in control and helpless…”, he provoked with a snicker. Oh you were absolutely furious now, the revelation that he even did bondage to Radahn.. “Oh you son of a—“, you shouted and didn’t finish, swinging your Moonveil as hard as you could at Miquella on Radahn’s back, the magic projectile that was created soaring at him but Radahn just blocked the attack with his greatsword. “Good boy…”, Miquella snickered. Radahn got ready to attack you again, performing a long combination of attacks on you that you struggled to evade. With Miquella, his swings now had holy projectiles that sometimes even hit you, and it did hurt like hell. A bit later, you were a bit bloody. You breathed heavily, this was hard. You then had an idea. You pulled out a dagger, you remember that you had put an Ash of War on it… Bloodhound’s Step. You decided to take full use of this and just directly ran at Radahn. He of course swung his greatswords down, but you used the dagger’s ability to quickly vanish and reappear right behind Miquella. Radahn couldn’t do anything because his swords were stuck in the ground, and Miquella was completely vulnerable. “I’ve got you now, you bastard..”, you mumbled as you gripped your Moonveil tight, stabbing Miquella in the back, blood spurting out as you twisted and wiggled the katana in the wound, making it more painful. Miquella let out a chocked gasp as his life slowly faded. “I-I won’t forget this, Tarnished…” He fell off Radahn’s back, a blood puddle forming on where he landed. Radahn’s eyes closed a bit and suddenly widened. He looked around hectically, meeting eyes with you. You couldn’t believe it… those loving, yellow eyes of his you always loved and missed were back. “Y/N..”, Radahn spoke as he quickly rushed to you, getting on his knees and leaning down to your height as he scooped you in his massive arms, holding you as he sobbed lightly. “I-I can’t believe it… thank you…” You smiled softly as you returned the embrace.. the two of you were finally reunited.

[ivystoryweaver]

Spectre

A Moon Knight Halloween Love Story

Event #10: A Quiet Place

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Summary: You and Steven get a few more answers before he takes you home and shows you how much he's missed you.

Pairing this chapter: Steven Grant x f!reader

A/n: I know I promised Jake, but I switched the order of 2 chapters, and I promise you'll like this one!

Word count: 2.1k

Content: exposition again, domestic fluff, steven gets to shine, fingering, p in v, bit of language, not beta'd

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PREVIOUSLY on Spectre…

"Ms. Marjorie, why does she look the same? What happened to her body?”

"When I cast the spell on her," Ms. Marjorie explained, leaning forward on her elbows, "It's like I froze time for her. She is exactly the same as the night she died, except no longer in her old body."

She turned to you, smiling softly. “Their love essentially made you…materialize, just as they perceived you to be. I really don't know a better way to explain it."

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“Let me get this straight,” Steven said. “This shop completely vanished, o-or I was hallucinating. What is actually going on here?”

"As I said, it’s Halloween," Ms. Marjorie explained. "Not a holiday you’d associate very closely with love, I suppose, but - you see - love is the most powerful magic in the world.

“Your lovely partner here wasn’t haunting you, as you’ve told me Mr. Spector feared,” she went on. “She was simply suspended between the world of the living and the dead."

“Then, why were you pretending to work here?” Steven inquired, gesturing around him animatedly. “What even is this place?”

“My shop," she simply replied.

"But...it disappeared," Steven argued. "When I needed answers most, it wasn't here."

"Ah yes," Ms. Marjorie smiled warmly. "When you needed answers most," she nodded your way, "you found her. When you were ready." She shrugged, beginning to tidy up the tea cups and saucers. "The rest was all a bit of witchcraft, nothing more."

You pondered your words for a moment before smiling fondly. "Thank you, Ms. Marjorie, for everything. You and Steven - both of you saved my life.”

"I fudged a spell that was meant to save your life, but if it turned out well in the end, then I suppose I did some good and for that, I am grateful," she chuckled.

"And we are grateful as well," Steven chimed. "Thank you for helping me, and for your kindness, but I do believe I may need to ask you one more favor."

"What is that, Steven?"

Steven took a deep breath. “The man who killed my partner. Do you know anything about him? Did you see anything else?”

“Nothing that will be of much help, I’m afraid. not that night anyway. But something mystical is at work here. Your grandmother called out to me because she sensed your danger from beyond. She’s connected to all this somehow.

"But enough time spent with an old lady. Go on and enjoy yourselves," Ms. Marjorie instructed, gazing at you pointedly. "Enjoy life."

"Thank you again." You stood, giving the older woman a warm embrace. "You’re an angel to me."

"Oh I doubt that," Ms. Marjorie chuckled. "But happy to help."

Golden-hued trees, late autumn sunshine and the changes that had infiltrated in your hometown over the last few months took your breath away as you passed them by.

Steven glanced over at you worriedly, reaching for your hand.

"This is all so unbelievable," you uttered, awestruck. "It's like I'm in some other universe. It's magical. But it's a lot."

“I can’t believe it either. We should get you some things from the drug store, but someone might see you. Maybe I should take you home first, and come back,” Steven suggested.

“No. No, I don’t want to be alone. I’ll just come with you,” you quickly protested, your racing heart reminding you just how alive you really were.

By the time you gathered some necessities and checked out at the drug store, Steven noticed you seemed a bit glassy eyed and short of breath.

"Let's go home, love," he said softly. "I've got you."

Back in your kitchen, you eased down on a chair, watching Steven carefully as he unloaded the bags from the store and put on the kettle.

"We'll order you some things online. Some clothes - whatever you want."

He watched you for a response, but you hadn't said much since you walked into the drugstore earlier.

Kneeling down in front of you, he reached for your hand. "Darling, I know this is all...impossible. But I'm here."

You nodded, mutely.

A line of concern creased his forehead as he chewed on the corner of his lip. But he was determined to take care of you. A few moments later, he set your favorite tea in front of you, despite the fact that you drank some with Ms. Marjorie.

The tea comforted you almost as much as when Steven brought Jeremiah to sit on the table beside you.

"I'm sorry," you finally uttered, tracing your finger over the cool glass of the fish bowl. "It...I think it feels too good to be true, it can't be true. It can't be."

"That's the way I've always felt about you, love," he sweetly returned, warm, earthy eyes locking with yours. "An absolute wonder, you are."

"Steven..." you whispered, your heart - your entire body so full of love an awe. "I think my head might explode if I think about this any harder," you confessed.

Steven brilliantly distracted you for the remainder of the afternoon and evening. He put on the most mundane documentary - just enough to hold your slight interest but keep everything calm.

Then he got the laptop and helped you pick out some basic clothes from your favorite store. They would arrive tomorrow because he paid for expedited shipping.

When your mind would start to wander, he would take the laptop and pull you close, even kiss you deeply. Once the documentary ended, he read to you for a little while.

The people on your street and the surrounding ones knew you had passed away, so not too many trick-or-treaters rang the doorbell, hoping not to disturb Mr. Spector, but Steven was prepared with a couple of bags of candy from the drugstore. You stayed out of sight as to not give the young ones a real fright.

The next time the doorball rang, it was for a dinner delivery, which somehow seemed like the most delicious thing you'd ever eaten. Before long, you grew sleepy, simply because existing was so damn draining. At least today.

You felt a little distant from Steven, not because there was anything wrong between the two of you, but because you hadn't spoken to him much all afternoon.

Still, he'd given you exactly what you'd needed. Just enough mental stimulation to keep your mind from wandering and getting overwhelmed. Just enough tenderness to make you feel special.

You ended the day feeling cherished, with a full belly. And you had clothes, shoes and other necessities on the way.

"I feel like I bored you to death on my first day alive," you finally joked after brushing your teeth.

"You know that could never be true," Steven refuted, wiping his mouth with a towel before pressing a kiss to your cheek.

"Thank you for today," you said seriously, wrapping your arms around his neck as you stared deeply into his eyes. "You're like a touchstone. I feel so safe with you."

"I would do anything to keep you safe," he whispered against your lips, taking them captive for a tender but sensual kiss, squeezing your hips possessively. "Come on, love, let's get you to bed."

"I slept a lot today. I really am boring," you joked.

"Oh we won't be sleeping," he cheekily returned, goosing your ribs which made you squeal.

Whatever slight distance you had felt with Steven evaporated once you were in bed, as he gathered you to the warmth of his chest and slotted his mouth against yours. Hungry hands gripped the t-shirt he'd slid over your head not ten minutes ago as he kissed you until you both needed air.

"Can't even say how much I've missed you," he murmured, pushing his fingertips over the curve of your back, easing your shirt upward. His thumbs grazed the sides of your breasts, underneath your arms, causing your breath to stutter.

"Tell me to stop and I will," he went on, sampling your lips one at a time, only pausing when pulling the shirt over your head interrupted you.

His eyes flickered down to your mouth, then your chest as he licked his lips. "Never thought I'd see you this way again."

You swallowed hard, your breath quickening under his hungry gaze.

"You alright, darling?" He smiled gently, brushing his hand across your collarbone. "Too much?"

"No," you breathed out - your fingers twisting through his curls as you pulled your bare chest flush against his cotton-covered one, sharing his breath as your body bloomed with desire. You tugged his hair a little too hard, desperate to somehow drag yourself closer still.

"Missed that," he moaned out, smiling against your cheek even as he rushed to get his own t-shirt off.

Your lips fused together again as the heat of his bare chest, the sweet warmth of his breath in your mouth - the soft seduction of his tongue tasting yours - and the possessive grip as he slid his hands once more up the curve of your back - set your body aflame with need.

Steven was clear that he wanted you, but still, he took his time - every nip of his teeth, soothed with the heat of his tongue. Every desperate grip eased into a seductive caress, and when his fingers finally slid between your legs - when he found the core of you hot and wet for him - he caressed you only once before pressing his forehead to yours.

"Let me make you mine again," he begged, fingertips twitching with the need to touch you - the thick outline of his bulge pressed hungrily against your bare thigh.

"Steven," you gasped, his possessive claim making you wild with desire. Your legs fell open as he coaxed you open, plunging his tongue in your mouth and two fingers deep inside you.

Your hungry moan spurred him on as he fingered you just the way you liked. Steven was all sweet seduction. It was fun to make him whimper, but he could really pull you apart when he wanted to.

But tonight wasn't about anything but cherishing you, here, alive.

So, as you worked him free of his pajama pants and stroked the velvet length of him, you found that you didn't want him to take his time. Not tonight. Just in case.

"Please, Steven," you sweetly begged him, tugging him seductively while grinding against his hand. "Need you inside."

He groaned at your touch, and your hunger to feel him, relieved that it wasn't too much for you. Soon enough, your remaining clothes were discarded and Steven climbed on top of you, caging you in with his surprisingly strong forearms. His biceps flexed deliciously as he held up his weight, positioning himself perfectly.

He knew your body as well as his own - better, maybe, since he shared his body. Without another thought, or a hand to guide him, he pushed inside you, tilting his hips exactly how he knew -

"Oh fuck Steven..." you gasped, your back arching off the bed.

Your partner knew how to please you, hitting that spot that only familiar lovers could find so easily - like the steps of a well-rehearsed dance.

"My beautiful girl," Steven breathed against your neck, between spine-tingling open-mouthed kisses laid seductively on your throat.

Slow, devastatingly deep thrusts made you whimper with both satisfaction and yearning.

"Stay here with me," he begged, hands touching you all over, finding a home on the curve of your hips as he worked himself in and out of you with fierce possessiveness. "Stay with me. Please stay..."

You whimpered his name, gripping the breadth of his shoulders as your bodies twisted, hot and wet and alive, faster and deeper until he spilled inside you only seconds after your body seized in absolute rapture, clenching him with your velvet warmth.

Steven kissed you messily, hungry and sated at the same time, hips slowing and finally stopping as his weight dropped down, caging you in. He quickly attempted to pull away, as to not crush you, but you slung your leg around his thighs and held him there.

"Stay," you echoed his plea from earlier. "Stay right here. Stay inside. I need you." You murmured plea tickled his ear, making him shiver with desire, even though he felt sated.

"Likely to crush you love." You felt him smile against your neck, his damp curls tickling your cheek. "But I'll stay right here as long as you want."

"Forever, Steven."

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

You jolted awake - your dreams vivid and intense once again. Cool air kissed your skin where you kicked off your comforter, finding yourself alone in bed, still naked after making love with Steven, but clean. He must have woken up and taken care of a few things.

"Steven?" You called out, sitting up, attempting to push down the anxiety stirring in the center of you. Maybe he was in the bathroom.

Drawing a cleansing breath, you tried to steady your breathing. Damn dreams.

"Steven?" You tried again, but before you could push yourself off the bed, you heard someone else.

"Cálmate, mi amor."

The smooth voice of your partner washed over you as you blinked, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes.

"J-Jake?"

next

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

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[nogenderbee]

Hello! I just decided to stop by.

Could I request Gorou, Kazuha, Heizou, and Thoma finding out their girlfriend's the daughter of a pair of well-known medics in Inazuma? S/O's parents are pretty chill but her dad's appearance always scares off suitors.

Hey! Glad you dropped! And of course you can! I hope I got your idea right ^^

♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ 𝕄𝕖𝕕𝕚𝕔𝕚𝕒𝕟'𝕤 ℂ𝕙𝕚𝕝𝕕 ₊˚ˑ༄

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Kazuha, Gorou, Heizou, Thoma with reader who has medician!parents

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ fluff

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ @bleachtheidiot

✧ Kazuha had a feeling you're not just any normal person but he decided not to question it, after all you'd tell him yourself if something was up, right?

✧ it was when he came back to his homeland, he discovered that your parents came back from work trip. He got a bit nervous since that meant it's finally time for him to meet them

✧ surprisingly he still didn't know they're medician's unless you told him yourself

✧ but if you didn't, he'll realize that once he's already facing them

✧ despite the fact he was pretty anxious on the inside, he acted really calm and was still the gentleman he is

✧ your dad didn't even really made him more anxious, he's used to people looking scary so he decided to not pay attention to that and just see what his personality is

✧ it's easy to say, he's one of the less nervous ones and showed just his calm side, maybe even told your parents about his haikus!

✧ he's not the type to lie about himself in order to be more liked so you can be sure he'll be his true self

"I must admit I didn't expect that... but I'm sure they're a lovely people. I promise to not make them disappointed."

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

✧ Gorou recognized your last name first time he hears it since your parents are well known and he most likely met them himself, even before dating you

✧ he's in army after all so he most likely met them through one of his people being hurt or even himself

✧ but once he discovered you're their child, he immidietly started thinking through if he ever said or did anything to upset them but luckily nothing came to his mind

✧ now whenever he happens to meet them during his job, he's paying strong attention to his words and moves, no matter if he's hurt or not

✧ thanks to that, he manages to get a good reputation among your parents before he officially introduces himself as your boyfriend

✧ so it's easy to say that when he and them did had official introduction, they already had positive opinion on him

✧ and your partner was already used to your father's appearance so that didn't stress him! But it doesn't mean he was calm... he was still a bit nervous about their reaction

"L/N!? That's... last name for one of the best doctors in Inazuma... I... I even had the pleasure of working with them... Do you know if I made bad impression already?"

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

✧ there was no way Heizou wouldn't know about the best medician's in Inazuma. He has great memory so just by taking quick look at you, he quickly recognized your features

✧ and because he knew who your family was, he was a bit more formal with you... at least at the beginning!

✧ when you got together, it was understatement to say he was stressed when he realized it's time for him to meet your parents personally soon

✧ he asked you himself to tell him a bit about them and it actually calms his down

✧ when the day comes, he tries to act tough but it's hard when your father is giving him that death stare... he knows he's actually a good person and that's just the way he looks but it still makes him nervous

✧ don't worry tho! Because eventually he makes a conversation and actually finds lots of mutual topic with your parents!

✧ it's easy to say your parents took a like of him, just like he did of them

✧ if they allow him, he'd definitely go to them to ask for confirming his evidences if he wouldn't be sure and they'd be associated with biology

"Ah, such a nice people~ I can't wait for another meeting! I'm sure I can make my reputation among them even better."

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

✧ Thoma knows people around Inazuma so he realized who you are only after he heard your last name and if he'd be drinking something, he'd be a step from choking

✧ it simply catches him off guard, he doesn't mind and if you reveal it during middle of your friendship, he'll make sure to treat you the same as he did previously

✧ the anxiety comes back when you two are together tho... he knows meeting your parents has to come sooner or later so he's preparing himself for it through your whole relationship

✧ when he does eventually meet them, he'll be a true gentleman that he actually is every day, just not as formal as he's in front of your parents but that can be excused because if stess

✧ he'd lie if he'd say your father didn't make him want to just leave the moment he noticed him staring at him

✧ luckily for all of you tho, he leaves very good impression on your parents!

✧ but as soon as he leaves your household, he legs out a bit sigh if relief as he starts to rethink if he did everything correctly

✧ you most likely end up comforting him a bit that he was perfectly fine back then

"I really hope I didn't ruined our relationship with my behavior... after all, I really don't want your parents to refuse letting you meet with me."

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[sunshine-theseus]

Everything’s Changed | Andrea Medina x Reader

Words: 1.7k Summary: your childhood best friend just disappears, then comes back like nothing happened. Warnings: angst, i think that's it Requested by @liverpoolfan96

The world was still after she left. Well for you at least. Birds didn’t sing as you made the walk to her house, winds didn’t rustle through your pale pink hair or the now dull green leaves of the trees that littered the side of the roads, and there was only a ghost of someone who should’ve been clung to your arm.

The gold necklace that gleams in the sun feels like a noose around your neck, only seeming to grow tighter with every step as you encroach on her parent’s door. You carefully place your foot on the sparsely spread stones that lead you through the decadent garden, similar to how you would when you were a child. The same journey had been made every day for the past 15 years of your life, but there was something that hung in the air that made this one different.

Memories of the girl you’ve found hard to forget, laughing and rushing past you as her parents call for you both to come inside for dinner, flash through your head. 5 years old, 11, 14. You both grow, maturity slowly taking over your rounded cheeks and toothless smiles, but the dynamic never changes; two girls so obviously meant to be in each other’s life.

The memories end abruptly when the door is swung open, and you’re met with someone you don’t expect.

“Andrea-” your lips can’t stop the gasp that tickles your throat as the familiar brunette beams down at you, light reflecting off the identical gold chain that rests against her collar bone.

All other words seem caught in your throat and Andrea doesn’t seem intent on saying anything, so you stumble through the open doorway and into the kitchen where you know you’ll find her parents. They have similar smiles as the girl who now trails behind you. You were never supposed to see her again, why on earth is she here.

“Surprise!” echoes through the house that is suddenly lacking the warmth you associate it with.

“Qué está sucediendo? Por qué has vuelto?” (What is happening? Why is she back?) it feels a little hard to breathe as your eyes dart between the three bodies that surround you, none of them rushing to answer.

“¡Tuvo un tiempo libre y volvió a casa!” (She had some time off and came home!) it’s difficult for you to feel the anger and sadness in the pit of your stomach when the woman who is a second mum to you is so bright with joy.

“Sí!” Andrea finally chimes in, simply to support her mum’s statement, but she says nothing else.

“Ah, well I actually, um… I completely forgot but I won’t be able to uh… to help with your garden this evening. A lot of university work to do… you know.” Her face saddens and you almost tell her that you can cram it all in later tonight, another lie despite yourself, but you don’t.

Turning around to leave after pressing a kiss to her cheek, its embarrassing how quickly you forgot Andrea was looming behind you as you almost run straight into her. An awkward shuffle takes place before you manage to take a step around her and make your way today the door. The wood slots into its frame rather loudly behind you, but is closely followed by a familiar silence that blankets the town, not unlike the one that had taken over your life after Andrea left.

The aforementioned girl stalks closely behind you, barely sliding through the gap before the door to her family’s house closes.

“Y/N! Wait!” she reaches for you, but the pleas are ignored as you make your way down the street, a short walk to your own family’s house, but not short enough.

Andrea jogs to catch up, the exercise not phasing her in any way before she grabs your arm and spins you around.

“Would you just wait a second? Where are you going?”

“Home.” You tug your arm, trying to escape her steel grip.

“I thought you’d be much more excited! You can stay over and we can stay up and talk all night like we used to.” She’s so happy it almost makes you sick.

“Why would I want that Andrea?” the anger comes bubbling back when her face morphs into shock. How does she act like things are normal?

“W- what do you mean?”

“Why would I want to act like everything hasn’t changed? Everything changed when you left and never fucking bothered to tell me. When you blocked my fucking number. When you broke our promise. Everything changed.”

“I did it for a reason! Hear me out!” her voice carries through the empty street, but you continue your walk home.

“I don’t fucking care!” a sharp turn left and you’re pushed up against the brick wall of Señora Estrella García’s house, a lovely cook who would give your dad and you any leftovers she made on the weekends.

“Would you listen to me!?” Anger is present on her face but desperation and sadness float in her eyes.

“If you think this will get me to listen you are severely mistaken. Gilipollas” (shithead). You push against her, something that once was quite effective when the two of you were roughhousing in the streets, but clearly the professional training had given her an advantage as she doesn’t budge.

“No seas estúpida por favor.” (don’t be stupid please) you groan but sit against the wall, clearly not being able to escape any time soon.

Andrea takes a spot in front of you, your knees pressing against each other.

“Óscar, my head coach, he made me promise there would be absolutely no distractions. It was your birthday, when I spent a lot of the day checking my phone to talk to you between workouts and training drills. Coincidentally I was playing really badly that day anyway. Well he pulled me aside at the end of training and told me if I kept it up, they’d have to let me go, that maybe I wasn’t actually a good fit for the team.” Her hands rest on her knees, palms facing up, and you slowly inch your own towards them as she speaks.

“I planned to just ghost for a couple days to get back in the zone. I’d explain it to you and I’d fix my performance then we’d go back to normal. But it seemed he always had something to criticise me on, so I kept extending the time frame. Until like two months passed by and I hadn’t answered any messages from you. I thought maybe even receiving the messages and calls was what was distracting me. So I blocked your number.” Andrea’s voice shakes but seems to relax when your fingertips graze her’s.

“Okay well you then also didn’t come home for a year and a half. Every time you had a break your family went to you instead. And you could have had one of them explain it to me. There is no excusing what you did Dre.” Andrea suddenly looks awfully similar to the girl from your childhood. The furrowed brows and downturn of her lips an exact replica of the face she made when her parents told her off for eating too many lollies before a game.

“I know-”

“And you broke our promise. ‘No matter what happens, where we go, we’ll find our way back to each other, we’ll always keep in touch.’” You can feel the tears welling up and blink furiously to fight them back.

“I know. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” you both lean forward and rest your foreheads against one another.

“I’m home for the summer, I want to make it up to you in any way I can.” You find yourself staring into her eyes in the same fashion you always had. A soft gaze filled with pure love, hard for anyone to ignore.

With one glance at her lips, Andrea lifts her hand and loops a finger around the chain that no longer feels like it may carry you to your death, and pulls your lips to her’s. The kiss isn’t anything special, but you can feel the love that surges between you with every movement of your lips and your own pointer finger similarly wraps around the matching chain around her neck, pulling you impossibly closer to one another.

“I want to have my best friend back.” you murmur against her lips.

~~~~~

Three weeks pass by, and Andrea and you meet at the fountain at the crossroad of your two streets every morning at 10:19am. Your particular streets have always been suspiciously deserted apart for the cars that line the driveways and the rush of people on their way to and from work.

The first hour of your daily meeting is usually spent making out on the lip of the fountain, before Andrea escorts you to whatever she has planned for the day. Most of her ideas revolve around things you loved to do together as kids. Sneaking to the roof top of the corner store to watch over the people below you, playing in the fútbol field before sitting under the giant carob tree and eating random snacks, the arts museum.

“You’re paying!” you laugh as you run past Andrea into your tía’s restaurant.

“Again?” a joking groan escapes her lips as she pulls your chair out for you.

“I mean if you don’t want to make up ignoring me for years then I can pa-”

“No! No no I’ve got it.” A cheeky smile pulls at your lips as her forehead wrinkles in worry.

“I’m only joking bebita.” You lean over the table and peck her lips, taking a hold of her hand.

“Thank you for the past few weeks, I really appreciate it.” She beams down at you as you thank her.

“I’d do anything for you.”

“Like get the paella to share?”

“Ay bebé you know I hate seafood.”

“Is this enough of an incentive?” you lean over the table once again and take a hold of her chin between your thumb and pointer finger, ghosting your lips over her’s before pressing against them firmly.

“Sí.” It’s a breathless agreement after you pull away.

“Te amo. Estoy feliz de que hayas regresado.” (I love you. I’m happy you’re back)

“Me too.” You share a smile, hearts fluttering as you gaze at each other.

Always meant to be.

[owl-falls-au-gravity-falls]

Ooooo, wait I just realized that this would mean Stan meets father Titan aka King’s dad.

And just imagine with me, because of the curse, not only does he gain the Titian’s power and form, but gets to keep both cause it gets mixed in with the curse, and so when he reappears like a phoenix, he’s in this fusion form of himself, his curse form and the titan form.

Everyone is of course in shock. But before they can even really register it, Belos attacks again, but Stan summons a shield protecting them, and begins to fight Belos, while telling Collector to take Dipper, Mabel, and Ford as far away from here.

Luz, Eda, and King quickly join him.

Meanwhile Collector takes Dipper, Mabel, and Ford back to his palace, to help out the others in freeing everyone, while he holds the palace up. (Let’s agree that Stan and Luz had taught them all about how to make the right glyphs/ combinations, whilst they were still in Gravity Falls) and so everyone gets free a lot faster. So by the time they free everyone and get back, the fight with Belos is over.

The fight with Belos gets intense, they free Raine, they get back to fighting Belos, with it ending with both Stan and Luz pulling Belos off of the heart.

The just like originally, Eda, King, and Raine stomp off what’s left of Belos, though of course, with there being 3 extra people helping, the Hex squad were able to free everyone, and took Ford, Mabel, and Dipper back to where the fight had been happening. And so they also get the chance to stomp off Belos, especially Mabel, Dipper, and Ford, for killing their grunkle/brother.

Once that’s over with, they do get to reunite with Stan properly, with Ford crying hysterically, and apologizing so much while hugging him.

IN ENGLISH

You are absolutely right!

My idea for Stan to vanish into fire and ashes came from this post.

In this publication, an attempt is made to define what Stan's symbol means.

And since Stan has always been associated with fire, as well as phoenixes, he would rise from the ashes as a new person, someone complete...

I'd like to dig deeper into Stan's interaction with King's father.

After dying, Stan appears in the Intermediate Realm, descending once again, there, Stan would think that he should have told the children that he loves them.

Then someone pulls it out and it's none other than King's dad.

English:Stan: What...? King?

Titan: no, but I got the charm

Stan: … oh… Titan…

Titan: oh, I…

Stan: … you… are… are you King’s father?

Titan: King said it best, “I’m king and queen, the best of both worlds,” although “dad” works for me… I’m your fan, by the way - he points to a hat, once he’s on, with a crescent-shaped symbol and a small circle next to it -

Stan: oh, ah… thanks… I think… wait… if you’re here… does that mean I’m… dead?

Titan: not quite, your body was destroyed thanks to Belos, but it’s still possible for you to come back…

Stan: - relieved to know that - that’s great! … But… what is this place?

Titan: Welcome to the space in between! It's actually among many other things... this is a bridge that connects to all worlds...

Stan: you... you were the voice I heard when I tried to create the portal...

Titan: that's right... I must say that I'm very impressed... no human had achieved as many things as you... your family will be proud of you...

Stan: I'm not so sure...

Titan: don't underestimate yourself... taking care of those children, learning the glyphs, helping Eda and my son, coexisting with your curse, beating Bill at his own game, facing Belos, even when you doubted yourself...

Stan: w-well, when you put it like that, it does sound incredible... but... it's not much use if I can't protect them all... now I'm here...

Titan: it's true...

Stan: and... even so, I made many mistakes... I don't think I can help my family if I keep making mistakes...

Titan: ... all your life you've thought that you're someone replaceable, that you're not important and that no one I would miss you… life has treated you like garbage… but you never let that stop you… you accomplished amazing things… and you are capable of more than you imagine…

The squares around them showed memories of Stan and some of his exploits, how he discovered how to do glyph magic, how he managed to calm the beast from its own curse, how he tricked Bill into a truce between the two of them and how he saved the children countless times, even when he created the portals with little information and the moment he saved the collector

Titan: Your path may have started in a painful way… but for 40 years, you changed, you grew, you matured and you became stronger… you sacrificed yourself, not for the common good, but for the love of your loved ones… now they need you back…

Stan: … I don't stand a chance against Belos… it was easy before, but now… I can't…

Titan: mmh… well…

As everything around him shakes violently, Stan looks at his chest The Titan fills with something green

Titan: I don't have much time left... but you can still stop him...

Stan: How?! I'm not a witch or a wizard, I'm not like the "chosen ones" from the books of Light. I don't even know who I am!

Titan: Then you'll have to find out for yourself... I'll give you the power to stop Belos... but only if you accept it

The Titan extends his hand, a glow comes out of it and the four basic glyphs that Stan learned are drawn

Stan: I-I... I don't know... What if I fail?

Titan: ... listen carefully... you are Stanley Pines, from the human realm, one of the most powerful wizards of the boiling islands and warrior of peace... you have the power of your curse, you are the reincarnation of one of the most dangerous entities in the multiverse and you are undoubtedly someone with a good heart... the question is... Do you choose yourself, "chosen one"?

Stan hesitates, but knowing that his family needs him, and knowing that there are no other options, he decides to accept

As he shakes hands with the Titan's hand, he feels the magic entering his body

Titan: Belos is about to be able to control everything, so you must be quick…

Stan: I…

Titan: Unlike magic in humans, you have more power on your own, so my magic should last more than enough, just don't use it lightly and remember not to let Bill control you

Stan: Wait, what about King?! Don't you want to tell him something?

Titan: …

The Titan whispers something to Stan

Stan: Yeah, he'll definitely love it… but… What do you mean I'm a reincarnation?

Titan: What I mentioned about you being a reincarnation should be able to help you, once you come back, you won't be just Stan anymore, you'll be a new person and that person will be you, you, Bill and Lupin will be one…

Stan: What? But-

Stan is stunned to see that the titan has returned to its original form

Titan: Goodbye, “chosen one”… just kidding… goodbye, Stanley Pines…

And so, the titan sank into those strange black waters of the intermediate space

And Stan would return, no longer as a human with two demons co-existing in his mind, but as a different person…

And as the titan sinks, Stan hears a voice that slowly becomes familiar to him... AXOLOTL...

Well done, Stanley...

EN ESPAÑOL

¡Tienes toda la razón!

Mi idea de que Stan se desvanezca entre fuego y cenizas salió de esta publicación

en ella se intenta definir que significa el simbolo de Stan

Y ya que Stan siempre estuvo asociado al fuego, así como los fénix, renaceria de las cenizas como una nueva persona, alguien completo...

Me gustaría indagar más sobre la interacción de Stan con el padre de King

Después de haber muerto, Stan aparece en el Reino intermedio, descendiendo una vez más, ahí, Stan pensaría en que debió decirle a los niños que los ama

Entonces, alguien lo saca y es nada menos que el papá de King

Stan: ¿Que...? ¿King?

Titan: no, pero se mi heredó el encanto

Stan: … oh… Titan…

Titan: oh, yo…

Stan: … ¿tu… eres… eres el padre de King?

Titan: King lo dijo mejor, “Soy rey y reina, lo mejor de ambas cosas”, aunque “papá” funciona para mi… soy tu fan, por cierto - señala un sombrero, un vez que tiene puesto, con el símbolo de una especie de medialuna y un pequeño círculo al lado -

Stan: oh, ah… gracias… creo… espera … si tú estás aquí… eso significa que yo estoy… muerto?

Titan: no del todo, tu cuerpo se destruyó gracias a Belos, pero aún es posible que regreses…

Stan: - aliviado de saber eso - ¡que bien! … Pero… ¿Qué es este lugar?

Titan: ¡Bienvenido al espacio intermedio! En realidad está entre muchas otras cosas… este es un puente que se conecta con todos los mundos…

Stan: tu… tu eras la voz que escuchaba cuando intentaba crear el portal…

Titan: así es… debo decir que estoy muy impresionado… ningún humano había logrado tantas cosas como tú… tu familia estará orgullosa de ti…

Stan: no estoy tan seguro…

Titán: no te subestimes… cuidar de esos niños, aprender los glifos, ayudar a Eda y a mi hijo, coexistir con tu maldición, ganarle en su propio juego a Bill, enfrentar a Belos, incluso cuando dudabas de ti mismo…

Stan: b-bueno, cuando lo pones así, si suena algo increíble… pero… no sirve de mucho si no puedo protegerlos a todos… ahora estoy aqui…

Titan: es cierto…

Stan: y… aun así, cometí muchos errores… no creo que pueda ayudar a mi familia si sigo cometiendo errores…

Titan: … toda tu vida has pensado que eres alguien reemplazable, que no eres importante y que nadie te extrañaria… la vida te ha tratado como basura… pero nunca dejaste que eso te detenga… lograste cosas impresionantes… y eres capaz de mas de lo que imaginas…

Los cuadrados alrededor de ellos mostraron recuerdos de Stan y algunas de sus hazañas, como descubrió a hacer magia de glifos, como logro calmar a la bestia de su propia maldición, como engaño a Bill para que ellos dos llegaran a una tregua y como salvó a los niños incontables veces, incluso cuando creo los portales con poca información y el momento en que Salvo al coleccionista

Titan: puede que tu camino iniciará de una forma dolorosa… pero durante 40 años, fuiste cambiando, creciste, maduraste y te volviste mas fuerte… te sacrificaste, no por el bien común, sino por amor a tus seres queridos… ahora ellos te necesitan de vuelta…

Stan: … no tengo ninguna oportunidad contra Belos… antes era fácil, pero ahora… no puedo…

Titan: mmh… bueno…

Mientras todo alrededor se sacude violentamente, Stan mira que el pecho del Titán se llena de algo verde

Titan: no me queda mucho tiempo… pero aun puedes detenerlo…

Stan: ¡¿Cómo?! No soy una bruja o un hechicero, no soy como los “elegidos” de los libros de Luz ¡Ni siquiera se quien soy!

Titan: entonces tendrás que averiguarlo tu… te daré el poder para detener a Belos… pero solo si lo aceptas

El titán extiende su mano, de ella sale un brillo y se dibujan los cuatro glifos básicos que Stan aprendió

Stan: y-yo… No lo sé… ¿Y si fracaso?

Titan: … escucha bien… tu eres Stanley Pines, proveniente del reino humano, uno de los hechiceros más poderosos de las islas hirvientes y guerrero de la paz…tienes el poder de tu maldición, eres la reencarnación de uno de los entes más peligrosos del multiverso y sin duda eres alguien de buen corazón… la pregunta es… ¿Te eliges a ti mismo, “elegido”?

Stan duda, pero sabiendo que su familia lo necesita, y sabiendo quenp hay más opciones, decide aceptar

Cuando estrecha su mano con la mano del Titan, siente la magia entrando en su cuerpo

Titan: Belos esta por poder controlar todo, así que debes ser rápido…

Stan: yo…

Titan: a diferencia de la magia en humanos, tú tienes más poder por tu cuenta, así que mi magia deberá durar más que suficiente, solo no lo uses a la ligera y recuerda no dejar que Bill te controlé

Stan: espera, pero ¡¿que pasa con King?! ¿No quieres decirle algo?

Titan: …

El titán le susurra algo a Stan

Stan: si, en definitiva le encantará… pero… ¿A que te refieres con que soy una reencarnación?

Titán: lo que mencioné sobre que eres una reencarnación debería poder ayudarte, una vez que vuelvas, ya no serás solo Stan, serás una nueva persona y esa persona serás tú, tu, Bill y Lupin serán uno solo…

Stan: ¿Que? Pero-

Stan se queda anonadado al ver que el titán volvió a tener su forma original

Titan: adiós, “elegido”… es broma… adiós, Stanley Pines…

Y así, el titan se hundió en esas extrañas aguas negras del espacio intermedio

Y Stan volvería, ya no como un humano con dos demonios co-existiendo en su mente, sino como una persona diferente…

Y mientras el titán se hunde, Stan escucha una voz que poco a poco se vuelve familiar para el... AXOLOTL...

Bien hecho, Stanley...