#but for me it's female tactician because i like hector

[aestheticitii]

the thought of roy and lilina dancing after roy convinces his parents to have a wedding reception with their friends...

they talk about how lilina was hoping to get the bouquet for herself, after she comments that seeing her parents getting married would be so so wonderful. they talk about how she's seriously considering re-entering next year for that reason, because askr is the only time she can relive the times when her family was together, just like roy

and roy offers to pair up with her or otherwise help her in her quest. because he knows how much it would mean to her, because her very-obviously-in-love parents are half the reason she wants to get married

when she ends up hinting at who it is that she'd want her fairytale wedding with, he picks it up immediately because they used to talk about it all the time. how could they not?

after all, roy's dad leaves little love notes for his mom, and his mom rolls her eyes lovingly before carefully pasting them into a diary she keeps. she's got at least fifteen of those by the time she dies because he gives out at least one per day and he gets one kiss per so sometimes he writes more. after they spar, if she even just compliments him, his dad feels like he was the one who won their bout instead because he's so happy about it

she buys him a gift every time she heads to town because "it reminds me of you" but they're very, very loosely related things, so much so that even she can't recall what connection they have to her husband. she just thinks about him a lot and it shows in the way she accidentally slips into praising him any time someone says something remotely nice about him

meanwhile, everyone's quietly scared of lilina's mom because they know her dad will be furious if they disrespect or hurt her in any way—he's her biggest supporter and it's something she mentions often whenever lilina talks about wanting to get married. "find someone who supports you like your father supports me. and make sure to support him just as much."

and her mom goes out of her way to give him a singular wild flower—sometimes a weed—she found every day to let him know she's thinking of him. he keeps a list of their descriptions. anytime she complains about any sort of pain, he'll take it as an excuse to carry her around and even though she acts like she'd be fine if he didn't, she makes no moves to let go, even when she's teased about it

but like back to their dream wedding—lilina's dream wedding really is just what they both wanted, what they both talked about as kids. and roy's never really thought about it too hard, because in the back of his mind, he's always assumed it's going to be lilina walking down the aisle and well, he's already talked about it to her

she kisses him on the cheek when the dance ends and he asks, hesitating slightly before telling him that she's always liked him, and apologizes for taking the moment away from his parents

he asks her to dinner instead

lilina never gets to answer because everyone starts taking pictures with the bride and groom, and of course, lyn and eliwood insist on roy being in most of them.

but when he shows up at the place he mentioned, she's waiting for him.

[the-darklings]

Can we have something nice? Maybe something happy please? Something that doesn't make me want to scream due to angst? P̶o̶s̶s̶i̶b̶l̶y̶ ̶s̶o̶m̶e̶ ̶H̶e̶c̶t̶o̶r̶/̶V̶ ̶l̶o̶v̶e̶ ̶m̶a̶k̶i̶n̶g̶?̶ Something that has an actual happy ending?

you asked for more elites and here i am!

wc: 2.2k+

.

“I bet twenty you can’t do it.”

“Twenty what? Thousand? Be specific, idiot.”

“Dario, Julian is bullying me!”

A sigh; long and worn, a sound of a man who has had to deal with this for years. “He’s allowed to bully you. You know you have to be specific about bets, Step.”

“V,” Step whines, turning to look at you as you walk behind him. “Julian and Dario are bullying me. Help me, carina.”

“I’m about to bully you with my shoe up your ass, chickenshit,” Hector warns from beside you. In the shadows of the night, his features appear even harsher and he blows out a puff of smoke, glaring. “Stop your yapping.”

Step—in all his unwise, slightly tipsy glory—promptly flips Hector off and the Devil of Camorra growls under his breath, ripping the cigarette from his lips. Those icy eyes appear silver grey in the moonlight and you watch the shadows dance across those wide, sharp features. 

“I’m going to break your goddamn arm,” the man warns and you know it’s not an empty threat. “Try that shit with me one more time, I dare you.”

“V won’t let you hurt me because I’m her favourite,” Step shoots back smugly and sticks his tongue out. “She danced with me all night so, uh, stronzo, maybe next time.”

Dancing all night is a bit of an exaggeration. When the Four—or at the time the three—had invited you out for a night of food and drinks, you had agreed right away. It’s been a few, long months of pulling job after job, mission after mission. Camorra doesn’t rest. There is always some hill to climb or people to kill. You don’t stay at the top by being comfortable with what you have.

Giovanni wields you all like an expert tactician. Aware of every strength and every weakness and delegating appropriately. You are the core that holds his empire together. 

The five of you together have reshaped Camorra into something downright terrifying. 

Looking at you all right now—casual clothes, too wide grins and snarky banter—it would be hard to assume so. 

Except maybe Hector. He makes people uneasy by simply breathing. 

It’s been an amazing night of hearty Italian food and several, eventful bar hops where you danced and laughed and danced some more. Finally relaxed and happy. You’re well known in Rome. Whispers follow you wherever you go, and good service is expected whenever Camorra’s finest and deadliest are present at your establishment. 

Hector joined you late, having just come back from his latest mission. His first solo mission in a while, in fact, but you haven’t asked him for information on it. When it comes to his service to Giovanni, there are no questions to be asked. 

Still it had been surreal seeing him cut through the crowded bar and heading for your booth after almost two weeks of not seeing him. For once, he was not wearing his Camorra suit. Not the burgundy nor his preferred black. 

Just loose, fluffy strands of hair, a white t-shirt and a familiar leather jacket with dark jeans. Effortlessly striking; a dangerous, wild thing claiming every inch of space as his own. More than one head had turned at the sight of him, but as always, Hector didn’t pay them any attention. 

He chooses who he wants, not the other way around. 

The man in question looks like he’s about to reach out and throttle Step till he truly is dead so you take this opportunity to insert yourself between them, walking backwards so you’re facing the Devil. 

“Twenty K was it?” you wonder with a slight quirk of your eyebrows as you link your arms behind you. “You’re all on.”

Silver, devious eyes zero in on you at those words. Warm summer breeze ruffles your clothes, his cigarette smoke hiding his features for a second but his full mouth quirks; a minute, taunting thing. “You sure you can handle that, sweetheart? You don’t take losing so well.”

“Careful, Hector,” Julian remarks knowingly, amused. “This one bites back and delights in laying you on your ass.”

“Yeah,” Dario adds from behind you. “We would hate to see that.”

You bite back a smirk at the way Hector seems to squeeze the cigarette harder between his fingers and bring it to his lips, his eyes narrowing. “Fuck off, Julian,” he shoots back dryly, no heat there, and you watch the way the amber light from his cigarette illuminates his rings. Only four from the eight fit your own— “You’re as bad as the skinny little shit over there. Fine, though. Next one you see. 40k. Let’s see if you have the balls to follow through, compagno.”

Never one to back down. You turn, careful not to let your feet tangle and watch Julian’s lips part. He splutters slightly and Dario chuckles. It’s a deep, rumbling sound that fills the otherwise empty street.

“Walked right into that one, Jules,” Step sniggers with a waggle of his fingers and you can’t help but to silently agree. What good has ever come from provoking Hector of all the people? You should know. “Sì? No? Is it ooooon? Come on, Julie, I’m dying from suspense—”

“Fine!” Julian snaps, irritated, his dark moustache twitching and he rubs his forehead with a huff of air. “Dio aiutami. You’re so annoying.” 

Step beams, bobbing his head and pushes his sunglasses up his nose. You, to this day, have no idea how he manages to see with them on. “It’s part of my charm.”

Hector snorts loudly and your lips curve. In the darkness of the night and in between the melody of bickering filling the air your eyes find his again. 

He throws the bud of his cigarette in the bin as you all walk by and you almost comment how, for once, he’s actually acting like a well adjusted citizen.

“You’re up, Julie,” he drawls suddenly and his eyes linger on you for a beat, a different heat there, before they move over your shoulder. “Better make it count.”

“Wait, what?” 

Hector rolls eyes and points up with his index finger. 

Your head slants and you know that your other three companions are doing the same. 

Above you, on the third floor balcony, stands a lone female figure, smoking in nothing but her lingerie and a loose robe. 

Every bit a self-assured, powerful woman confident in her body, in herself.

Step coughs weakly. Julian is beyond flustered and you don’t need daylight to know that, you can hear the small choked noises he’s making from where you stand. 

Hector, the clever bastard, just looks smug.

His eyebrows cock as he waits expectantly before wandering closer. “Well? Or would you like to give me the cash now, huh?”

A bet to ask out the first person you see.

Julian’s nose twitches and he sighs. “You won, Hector. Happy?”

“What really?” you ask, surprised. “Not even going to try?”

Julian shakes his head, his expression grave, and few loose strands of his dark hair flutter in the breeze. “I’m not stupid. Knowing him, he probably knows the woman and knows that she will yell and throw something at my face if I try. No thanks.”

Hector doesn’t disagree and you blink at him. 

“Hey, assholes,” a voice from above calls in accented English. “You may want to keep it down before someone calls the police on you. It’s 3am.”

Step steps forward, extending his arms as if in a welcome. “Bella signora,” he calls out happily, slipping into a charming Italian drawl. “Would you be so kind as to accompany me for breakfast in exactly two hours and ten minutes?”

Breakfast at sunrise? Oh, Step.

The shadowy shape of the woman peers down at your group and scoffs. “I don’t understand the word you just said,” she retorts, still in English, and you see her throw the cigarette down in your direction. “I’m Swedish. But next time lose the goofy glasses before trying to come onto someone.”

The balcony door slams shut behind her. 

Silence. 

You all burst into laughter simultaneously and even Hector smirks, his amusement apparent. Dario pats Step on the back sympathetically when the younger man’s arms plop to his sides. “Maybe next time, amico, hm?”

“Yeah.”

He’s practically pouting. 

Lowering his head, his tattooed neck disappears from sight and you step closer to him, patting his arm in comfort, too. 

“Next time, S.”

“At least you love me, bella, yes?” Step says with a crooked grin. 

A large, heavy hand lands on top of your head, then, roughly ruffling your hair. “Yeah, she simply adores you, idiot.”

You punch his gut and it’s like hitting a wall. Hard, solid muscle meets your fist, forged by years of relentless training and brutality. 

“She does!”

Dario sighs. 

“Whatever.”

“Hey! Don’t ‘whatever’ me, square face.”

Hector promptly ignores the Camorra Chameleon and turns to you, staring down at you unblinking. “We need to get your ass back home or you will be useless in the ring tomorrow.”

“I could lay you flat on your back without sleep and with my hands tied.”

His eyes spark at the challenge. “That can be arranged, sweetheart,” he warns but you read the double meaning behind his words even if the context might be lost on others. 

Your mocking expression strains and you pull away from his steady grip. “I’m not flinching,” you tell him sweetly. “But you have a point. It’s late.”

You don’t miss the fleeting look Dario shoots you both.

Julian stretches his arms upwards before wrapping his arm around Step’s shoulder, his Camorra rings gleaming in the streetlamp. “Come on, Romeo. Time to go. Boss will have your head if you’re late again. You can crash at mine, it’s closer.”

Step lays his cheek against Julian’s shoulder. “Oh, what would I do without you, JoJo?”

“Perish.”

You laugh. “He’s not wrong.”

Hector’s arm brushes against yours and your head slants in his direction, still grinning, and the man arches his eyebrow. Faint amusement lines his face but he doesn’t comment.  

“Enough you two,” Dario interjects and pats both their shoulders, towering over them. “I’m getting jealous.”

“Oh, Dario,” Step says sweetly, dragging out the man’s name. “You can join us any—”

The Strength of Camorra lives up to his name by effortlessly tugging the other members of the guard with him as he turns to go. 

“See you two in the morning.”

Julian follows Dario willingly as always but Step—in usual Step fashion—makes a fuss the entire way down the street,

You watch them go with a tiny, fond smile twitching your lips. 

Idiot men. 

Your idiot men. Friends. Family. 

You wish Ares and Roberto had been able to come too but Santino had business to deal with in Seoul.

Cassian was busy with Gianna. 

Busy. 

“Coming, blue eyes?” you call out with that faint smile as you turn to go.

You take a step. 

Before he grabs your wrist and drags you to him, his hungry mouth slanting against yours. You let out a small appreciative gasp when he presses you to him, his fingers sinking in your hip, trailing a deliberate path across your waist. His other hand tangles in your hair and your hands wrap around his neck. 

“Fucking finally,” he mutters and kisses you again. Hard. Tobacco and bourbon on his tongue. It’s a demanding and hot kiss that makes your heart stutter and he practically lifts you in his arms. His leather jacket presses into your skin and you moan softly into his domineering kiss, matching every slant and exhale and nibble of his teeth. “Been waiting all fucking night to kiss you.”

He tugs on your hair and presses a series of ravenous, rapid kisses down the length of your neck, his teeth scraping against your pulse. 

“I think Dario knows,” you gasp breathlessly, and suppress a hiss at the way his hand drags over the curved of your ass, squeezing deliberately. “Do you—”

He bites your earlobe, nibbling on it as the heat of his breath tickles your skin. “Dario knows. He’s always known,” Hector grumbles and kisses your jaw before his hand drags up again, slipping under your top and up your naked back. You shiver at the coolness of his rings against your flesh and lean into him further, breathing heavily. “He’s smarter than people give him credit for. Morons.”

“Do you think—”

He bites your neck; playful, deliberate. “Any other men you wanna discuss with me right now, sweetheart?”

Your fingers find the soft strands of his hair, unstyled for once. Your other tangles in the cotton of his t-shirt. “Just your favourite,” you breathe against his mouth and his jaw flutters, his eyes flashing. “You. Looking handsome tonight, asshole.”

His teeth flash. “You’re the one to talk,” he grouses, his eyes narrowing and he grips the skin of your waist—his fingers tracing, claiming—and you lean into his touch. He kisses you again. Bites your lip, tugs on it, and you do the same, and he only grows hungrier for it. “Looking like that, smiling like that. You tested my patience, I’ll admit. The only thing I could think about all night long was you between my legs. How pretty you look when you moan my name.”

“Such a romantic.”

His arms slide down your body and he lifts you in the air easily, your legs wrapping around his waist. Your arms wrap around his broad shoulders and he looks deadly and half-starved in this muted, hazy light. Half-shadow, half-devil he always gets compared to. 

“I’ll show you romance.” 

He carries you in his arms the entire way to your apartment, his lips attached to your neck. 

You barely make it through the door before he tears at your clothes.

You’re late for training the next day.