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coweye · 3 months ago

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Just Logan

The worst Logan part ii

Logan Howlett x Reader!Loganverse| smut | 10k words

Summary: You return from the void ready to navigate your new reality with the not-quite-love-of-your life. Second Part to worst Logan.

Warning: Mentions of drugs, Canon Typical Violence, gratuitous Laura paternal love. smut, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, assplay mentioned.

AN: Fair warning my loves - this hasn’t been proof read… unless you’re reading this after the 26th August! I’m currently posting this on my phone at an airport 💖 I love you all so much and can’t express how much your love for my stories has meant to me!

Achilles once said “I would recognize you in total darkness, were you mute and I deaf. I would recognize you in another lifetime entirely, in different bodies, different times. and I would love you in all of this, until the very last star in the sky burnt out into oblivion."

For seven excruciating years you’d been without him.

Eventually, time had dulled the ache, made it so you forgot what it was to have another hold you through the night, to make you feel safe and loved. Love was like a drug; one you had unknowingly spent the past half a decade weaning yourself from.

Then he appeared; ‘The worst Logan’ as Wade had not-so-affectionately dubbed him, and in one fell swoop undid years of hard work. He came and reminded you just how fucking good drugs were - that motherfucker was class-A narcotics and he was addictive as hell.

By mid morning you were already desperate for another hit, your eyes searching for him around every corner. Part of you was afraid you had gotten him all wrong, that perhaps you didn’t know this man as well as you thought you did. Though at the last second Logan had shown up, unfolding him from the boot of the Honda and joining the fray, every inch the hero he insisted he wasn’t.

You and Laura sliced a path through your enemies, side by side, the two of you moved in perfect synchronisation. In the years since his death, she had taken Logan’s position in your formation, and now the two of you fought together as naturally as breathing.

Logan couldn’t help but watch the two of you together for a moment, though after a knife to the ribs as reward for his lack of awareness, he shakes his head free from the indulgence of his ready-made-family and returns to the task at hand, carving his way through the enemy to get to Cassandra.

It had been a hard-won battle, though Laura had been extraordinary. You, yourself had been outmatched with the Juggernaut, only in a position to bend the light keeping yourself from sight as you inflicted shallow cuts with your blades along his arms and torso creating confusion and pain that allowed Laura to find her openings.

Your girl sliced through his Achilles bringing him to his knees before she ended his life with four claws through his chest.

In your eyes, as she stared down Goliath her soft features melted into a renaissance painting. A woman in her own right, overflowing with untold power, those shades making her look every inch the badass motherfucker you knew she was.

You can’t help your untimely realisation that your daughter has grown into a formidable woman as you propel her through the air with bubbles of psionic energy to deliver the helmet to her not-quite-father and Wade.

The brief moment of triumph as you overcome Cassandra’s men is followed in quick succession by the sobering loss of Logan for a second time, as he leaps through the golden shimmering portal.

It had been the plan all along, and yet you couldn’t quite account for the stone in your stomach weighing you down at the realisation he is gone yet again.

Laura’s deep brown eyes, all too often full of difficult emotions, are hidden behind the colourful sunglasses, though you can tell from the fall in her shoulders that your girl feels the same grief. She had held out childlike hope that the two of you would stay with him despite his earlier brush off and you are far too ashamed to admit you had been harbouring similar hopes.

To have gotten him back for a single day only to lose him again, for you it is painful. For her, it must be torment.

So, you put a pin in your pain for now. Loss is an old friend, one that will no doubt visit in the dead of night when sleep inevitably evades you, but Laura needs you.

Swallowing your grief deep down, you begin by tucking her wild dark hair back behind her ears and with the bone of your knuckle you wipe an errant splatter of blood from her brow.

Around you, your team bask in the defeat of Cassandra and her people, yet the two of you mourn losing yet another Logan.

“The time we had with him was a gift.” You whisper to her. The second you touch her palm with your finger tips; her claws instantaneously retract. You interlock your fingers with her own bloodied ones.

For a moment the two of you stand together like this, coming to terms with the loss. It doesn’t destroy you the same way North Dakota had, but it has certainly taken the air from your lungs.

“What now?” Laura asks, burying her emotions, more like Logan than you care to admit.

“Now we find a way to get back home, Cassandra’s not hunting us anymore, maybe we can-“

“Miss Y/LN, Miss- “At the sound of an unfamiliar voice your head whips round and you are armed with a knife before you even make the decision and from the telltale ‘snikt’ behind you so is Laura.

“Holster your weapons.” The agent shouts as the group of forgotten heroes turn their gaze on the TVA squad who have appeared from the orange glowing doorway. “You have been offered a pardon on order of the time variance authority - please come with us.”

Laura steps forward, though you place a steady hand on her shoulder stopping her in her tracks. “The last time we trusted you people, we ended up in this dump.” You shout across the gulf that the agents have left between you.

When has anything in life been this easy?

“Mr Howlett and Mr Wilson saved the multiverse. All they have asked in return is for a second chance for the people who helped them do it.”

Whilst remaining utterly compelling it still feels far too good to be true. You look at your daughter; she pushes her sunglasses to the top of her head and nods once. She’s not a little girl anymore and she wants to go through the damn doorway. With little in the way of options you decide with a deep sigh to be an optimist, which is how you end up in Wade Wilson’s apartment.

Five people (six if you include Dogpool) living in a two-bedroom apartment was … to put it lightly, snug. Wade being the secret gentleman he was, offered up his room to you and Laura.

Nights he didn’t spend at Vanessa’s were spent sharing a bed with Al, much to her delight, which left Logan sleeping on the couch.

Logan: This Logan was nothing short of an enigma to you.

The two of you had been friendly, smiling and laughing, sitting together at the party Wade had thrown to celebrate saving the universe.

It felt good, easy even to joke with him and Laura. You had felt like a real family as you sandwiched the young girl between the two of you, taking it in turns to make her laugh.

When she had abandoned the two of you to talk with Yukio and Ellie, you had fallen into comfortable companionable silence. The simple fact of the matter was that you didn’t have much in the way of small talk, all of your talk was massive talk. A mountain you’d soon have to overcome, but neither of you wanted to break the spell.

So, you simply enjoyed each other’s company and when your knee knocked against his under the table, you didn’t bother pulling back. Instead, when he didn’t immediately recoil, you left it there pressed against the warm muscle.

This casual touching was new to both of you and you were drunk on it, occasionally you’d brush his plaid covered bicep as you leaned across to stroke the monstrosity that was Mary Poppins or you’d brush your fingers against his with a smile when you handed him a fresh beer.

It’s fair to say, you are both black belts at emotional avoidance.

Her abandoned airbed, more electrical tape than plastic at this point, lies deflated in the corner of the bedroom, dual holes from slender claws having led to its untimely end.

With a sigh you rise, stretching your aching back.

Wincing as it cracks from contorting on the edge of the double mattress- even in the goddamned void, you’d had more personal space than this.

Sparing a glance at the alarm clock on the bedside table, you see it’s 6:23am. In a vain hope you just listen to the sounds of the quiet apartment, no one else has awoken yet. You sigh with relief, desperate for some alone time, after living for a week with everyone underfoot.

Closing the bedroom door behind you as silently as possible, you tiptoe with bare feet with the honest intention of going to the kitchen for some coffee.

Only you’re sidetracked by the man sprawled across the sofa looking like he was carved from goddamn marble.

The blanket is wrapped around his plentiful jean covered thighs as his bare size twelves extend comically over the arm of the sofa. Logan’s thick, veined and extremely bare arm hangs off of the leather cushion, whilst the other clutches a pillow under his head. Logan is wearing a white vest that leaves very little to the imagination, so much so you’re unable to help the flashback of stroking the abs you know linger below the almost transparent white cotton. You’re unsure how long you stand there, but it can’t be more than 30-seconds before his eyes wearily blink open, startling you.

“Paint a picture, it’ll last longer, Bub.” When he speaks, his voice is even thicker than usual with sleep, it’s like honey on gravel and it makes your skin tingle.

“Uh-” You’re lost for words after being caught ogling the sleeping man. All you can do is a quick apology as you carry on through to the kitchen.

When you’re safe from view, you slap palm to your forehead - Why? Why couldn’t you for once in your life just be smooth?

The second you're out from under his searing gaze a million infinitely suaver responses flood your mind. ‘Don’t mind if I do.’ ‘Don’t tempt me.’

You’re nearly (Y/A+7 years) old, not the idiot girl that pined after the unattainable bad boy of the mansion. For the love of all that’s holy; two different versions of that man have been inside of you, and you ran away!

You’re pacing in front of the fridge when you hear his body slide against the leather of the couch. Honestly, you’re praying for the void to swallow you back up as you try to act casual, filling the coffee machine with water.

“Mornin’.”

“Good Morning, Logan.” You reply though you can’t quite meet his eyes as you flick the switch for the drip to begin.

“Back on the couch - Eh, I was just kiddin’ around, Bub.” He scratches his neck awkwardly.

“Oh. I, uh, I know.” You reply, finally meeting his eyes. Those hazel eyes stop you in your tracks as they scan your face for any trace of emotion. He’s as out of his depth as you are, and that thought alone calms you. “I’m sorry, If i’ve been strange the past few days… I thought…I just assumed I would never make it out of the void and I was there for months and uh-”

“Bub… y/n... I don’t hold you to what happened that night.”

“What?” You narrow your brows in confusion, you were only going to talk about the uncomfortable adjustment period to regular life.

“You were vulnerable, I look like your guy. I get it.” His voice is still deep and he’s trying to be so understanding and noble, you can’t help as you reach out and grab his bare wrist, your forefinger can't even meet your thumb as you hold onto his thick warm flesh.

“Logan, no that’s not what I meant at all. I-”

“-Mornin’ love birds! Don’t let me stop ya’ from takin’ care of that mornin’ wood, just getting some delicious nectar of the gods.” Wade comes from the bedroom wearing Al’s lilac dressing gown and what looks suspiciously like the older woman’s pyjamas, riding far too high up his shins to be his own for the much taller man. Wade leans against the counter next to you and the coffee machine, burying himself in the neck of the dressing gown and looking pointedly at your hand around Logan’s wrist and whispers. “Pretend I’m not even here.”

“God give me strength, Wade.” Somewhere along the way, Logan’s rage with the mouth has dampened to the point there’s no real threat behind the warning.

As there’s probably about a few teaspoons of coffee in the machine, every fresh drop plinks against the glass jug only enhancing the newfound silence in the kitchen.

“Good Morning, Wade.” You sigh finally, rubbing your thumb against the hair covered flesh of Logan’s wrist in a promise as you try to use your eyes to communicate; we will discuss this.

“Honestly, I’m not even here. Just go back to staring longingly at each other, talk amongst yourselves.”

“Fu-” Logan starts, his nose flaring at the man beside you, his finite patience already slipping.

“Incoming.” Wade sings-song lowly, as he drops his head onto your shoulder.

“What are we all doing in the kitchen?” Laura asks through a yawn, her bed head innately ridiculous standing up on all sides - probably from a night spent tossing and turning, kneeing you in the spine. When Logan tears his wrist away from your hand it stings a little, but you understand, the last thing Laura needs in her life is more confusion.

“There’s a line for the coffee, kiddo.” Logan gives her a look that's somewhere between a smile and a grimace. The man’s sharp edges were slowly being worn away again and he was really trying with his daughter, though a tiny growl leaves the young woman at his words.

“She’s not a morning person.” Is the only answer you have for him when he looks your way both confused and quite frankly a little frightened as your daughter takes the first cup of coffee and returns to her room slamming the door behind her with her foot.

“Teenagers, huh? Whatcha’ gonna’ do with them?” Wade sighs, still leaning his head on your shoulder having made no effort to stop the queue jumper.

Logan gives Wade a meaningful look and tilts his head towards the door, which the man currently invading your personal space bubble continues to ignore.

There’s something about Wade you can’t find it in yourself to be annoyed by.

Those years on the run with Charles, Logan and Caliban had been so hopeless, so void of laughter, that the man with the constant jokes puts you at ease, makes your heart feel lighter. Wade makes you smile which has been a rare commodity in recent years.

Perhaps it's the fact he makes the world feel a little lighter that makes you so willing to tolerate the overly familiar head on your shoulder.

The two men are having a silent conversation, as you stare at the fridge awkwardly.

“I…uh… I think I’ll jump in the shower.” You detangle yourself from Wade and place a meaningful hand on Logan's arm. “Talk later?”

He looks to your hand, and then to your face and simply nods.

Only, you don’t end up talking later, because after your shower, you return to your bedroom hell bent on getting dressed and heading out into the city for the day to get some distance before you start your new job tomorrow.

That’s when you find Laura twisting her hands and waiting for you. The second you close the door behind you, she stands.

“You alright, bug?” You ask, giving her the opening she so desperately needs.

“I, um, have some news.” She can barely meet your eyes, a trait you’re sorry to say she’s picked up from you.

“Yeah?” You prompt, taking her hand in yours.

“I want to join the X-Men.” Your mouth opens involuntarily to reply, but no words can find their way up your throat; you’re irrevocably thrown.

In the years since the devastation Charles had wrought on the manor, you hadn’t been able to muster the strength to return to West Chester.

“I know, you might not be sold on the idea but I want to use my powers for good, I don’t want to get a normal job - not that the coffee shop isn’t great for you - but I’m-”

“It’s great, Laura.” Your voice sounds wrong even to your ears. “I’ll do my best to get used to being back in the Mansion-”

“No.” You can tell it slips out, she honestly doesn’t mean it to. “I … I, uh, want to join the X-Men, me. I want to go alone.”

“Oh.” You can’t help the deflated sound of your voice, you hadn’t foreseen your daughter breaking up with you when you woke up this morning.

“No, mamá,” She takes your hand in hers, desperate to fix it. “I love you and I can’t ever repay-”

“No, Laura.” You tell her. She looks terrified before you rush to finish. “You don’t ever have to repay me. You are fucking magnificent, so you go be an X-Man. I love you so much.”

She wraps her arms around your middle, buries her face in your shoulder and squeezes, she's just as tall as you are now at nineteen years old and fuck if it doesn’t break your goddamn heart.. “If you get yourself hurt with those do gooders, I’ll fucking kill you.”

After dressing and many more tearful hugs as the two of you talk logistics, it's decided she’d be heading over to the mansion in the morning.

You start work and so does she.

Your heart drops when you hear she’s put off telling you for the past five days, ever since she’d had the offer from Ellie and Yukio at the party.

Later that evening telling Logan goes, well, about as well as you might expect.

“No.” He growls furiously. “Absolutely, no fuckin’ way.”

“Logan-” You try.

“You agreed to this?” He’s blind to reason as he turns on you. Al and Wade both sit in the living room, having called an ‘urgent family meeting’.

“I for one think it's a great idea! - not that we haven’t loved having-” One look from Logan does what you had up until this very moment thought impossible and shuts Wade up.

“Logan, she’s an adult - she wants to join them. We should be supportive.”

“Supportive?!” He’s incredulous as he laughs harshly, voice utterly brimming with condescension when he continues. “You forgettin’ what happened there, huh, bub? You and I are the fuckin’ sole survivors - Last of the class! How's your Storm doing? Your Hank? Your Scott? Oh wait, their all fuckin’ dead!”

Your Logan never spoke to you this way. Never directed that fire within him at you, it's unfair, the comparison, you know this but your brain is misfiring with shock.

Had your Logan ever truly cared about anything this much when you’d been together in those dark days? Had all the fight truly left him back then? Had the two of you just ended up together out of mere convenience?

When you don’t reply, he just stares your way, his nose flared still utterly furious, at you, your betrayal, at Laura, at this situation he’s not emotionally equipped to deal with. This Logan’s shoulders are squared like he’s preparing to go a few rounds with you and not in a sexy way.

It's not a situation you’re entirely sure you’ve been in before; you’ve never been his enemy. So you’re not sure how to approach this cornered animal, ready to swipe out at you in his fear.

“If I didn’t go to that school, I never would’ve met any of you. I would be back in Y/H/T (your hometown) and I’d be lesser for it.”

It utterly disarms him, he’d clearly been prepared for harsh words to combat his own.

Pacing like a tiger locked in a cage, he finally sighs rubbing his forehead irritability. Logan turns, grabbing his leather jacket making the doorframe shake as he slams it after himself.

“I think he’s secretly happy for you, Laura.” Wade’s voice is light and full of sarcasm.

“That went just about as well as to be expected.” Al huffs from her position at her side as she takes Laura’s hand in her own. “I’m sorry, Sweetie. He’ll come round to the idea.”

“Yes, he fucking will.” Seeing your daughter's face crumble as he storms off like a child is apparently your breaking point.

You follow after him, though as you’re a grown adult in charge of her emotions you simply allow the door to close behind you.

“Haha! - She’s gonna beat the shit outta’ him! Its gonna’ be like 454 when she-” You hear Wade cackle as you take off.

It doesn’t take long to find him, you know the man better than you know yourself, though it does certainly help that he’s predictable as shit.

The closest bar to the apartment is where he’s pulled up a stool, his nose flares the second he smells you.

“I mean it this time, I’m not looking for damn company.”

You ignore him, just as you did the time before.

“Two Corona’s please.”

“I don’t drink that shit.” he huffs. “Corona and a Blue Ribbon.”

It shouldn’t hit you the way it does.

Just like before, this miniscule insignificant difference, it utterly devastates you.

A simple fact; his favourite beer. The drink he ordered at every bar he entered without fail - is suddenly, without warning, repulsive to him.

It just serves to remind you that the man slouched on the bar stool beside you is a complete stranger wearing the face of your dead lover.

Perhaps your Logan drank it simply because he didn’t want to hurt your feelings?

Had he hated it all along?

Did he only drink it because you did?

Maybe the beer is a pertinent metaphor for your entire life.

He only drank the beer because it was there, just like he only fell for you because there was no one better around.

Your mind is moving a mile a minute, you’re only bought out of your spiral by a bottle being placed down in front of you.

Shaking your head, you will yourself to calm down. After a few centering breaths, Logan is looking your way.

“Thought you were comin’ to give me a talkin’ to.”

It's funny, in a way, your spiral actually has calmed you, reminded you that this isn’t your Logan.

He’s a different man with his own set of wounds, trying to navigate this awful situation just like you are.

“I was going to. You were a dick to her back there.” You sigh, taking a sip of your beer. “Then I remembered everything… everything you’ve lost and I thought maybe I could just cut you some slack this time.”

“That's generous.” He shakes his head, sipping his own beer. “This whole things a fuckin’ mess.”

You can’t help but agree with a nod.

The two of you sit in silence, which would appear to be the norm these days, you have so much to say to one another, yet you can’t seem to find the words.

Speaking to him, finding out more of the things that are different about him, terrifies you.

Little do you know, Logan is fighting a similar battle.

He hates the weight of your gaze, how it seems to hold the expectation of the great man you’d lost with every glance, it's a constant reminder how short he falls of the anchor being this world lost.

“Where am I in your world?” You ask the question you’ve had on your mind since meeting him. He knows almost everything about you, and yet you know so little.

“Dead.” He sighs rubbing at his eyes. “With the rest of them.”

“Did we ever?” He looks your way sharply at this question, then gives a harsh shake of his head.

It hurts a little to know you were always in the background for him - it's difficult to think of a world where you always loved him from afar, never getting to feel his skin on yours.

“I mean - you’d have had to pay attention to someone other than her for that to happen, I guess.”

“How the fuck’-” He growls voice filled with a new emotion, one you’re not quite familiar with. Bemusement? Disbelief? “-has this turned into me being the bad guy for not noticing you?”

“Eh - you were a real asshole upstairs.” Smirking, you take another sip of your drink. “Question for a question? - Take it in turns?”

“I don’t wanna’ know anythin’ about your world.” He snaps, turning his head back, though you can see him watching you in the mirror beside the booze.

It's like a countdown, you watch him battle his volatile emotions.

5, 4, 3 , 2, 1.

“Fine.” He grunts into his beer bottle. “How’d they die?”

That throws you, you’d expected how’d we meet? What happened to Charles? Instead he hits you with that straight out the gate.

“Uh - Charles had started showing signs of a degenerative brain disease. I mean, he was old, prone to seizures. We were desperate to find a way to control them. We were blind… to the reality of the situation.” You take a sip, resting your forehead on your hand as your eyes ache and threaten to water, this was the first time you’d ever discussed this out loud.. “Then, he had a fucking grand mal … it … it wiped out everyone within a 100,000 foot radius.”

Unable to help it, you pick at the skin around your thumb. “It was… devastating. He killed them all. All the kids in their classrooms, our friends and family. Not even Jean could stop him.”

“He… he killed Jean?”

You're a little ashamed of the flare of jealousy at his devastation about the woman you’d always come second to. But you push that deep down, it's not the time nor place.

“How’d you survive?” He questions.

“I was away. I’d heard of a neurosurgeon in Germany, he was developing… Well, it doesn’t matter now. But I was away, whilst everyone I cared about died.”

You’d never had a need to speak of it, Logan had lived it alongside you - there was something cathartic about saying it all out loud. You wipe at your cheek as you gulp down the last of your drink, a heavy stone weighing your stomach now.

“Your turn.” Logan’s voice is deep in thought as gestures to the bartender for another. He’s extending an olive branch, a kindness in the face of your vulnerability.

You think about it for a moment, what you’d like to know.

“We were friends at least?”

“Oh yeah, we were the best of friends, Bub. You were… uh … a lil’ younger back there, never really looked at you that way.” He scratches at his bearded chin, he’s avoiding looking your way again, uncomfortable sharing these parts of himself. “You… uh… you were gonna have pups with Pete.”

“With Maximoff?!” You squeak disbelieving, whilst taking a sip of your beer prompting a coughing fit to end them all, as you gasp for air.

Logan sighs, slamming his open palm between your shoulder blades. He rubs the spot he just hit in a circle pattern, reminding you somewhat of the last time he drew circles.

“I had a baby with Peter?” You push your hair back from your face. “...That's why he used to stare at me … y’know there was one time…”

You smile fondly recounting a time you caught him staring creepily across your classroom before you remember that sweet silver haired kid in your memories is dead. The smile drops from your face in an instant; you didn’t have children with him because he’s six feet under.

“No. You were pregnant when….” He grunts, his voice has a raw edge to it. For two people constantly at odds, your souls were in the same state of flux, continually aching for vastly different reasons, yet at the root, the same cause.

The two of you sit in silence for a moment or two, you’re processing the fact that you almost had kids with Quicksilver and he’s no doubt regretting ever playing this game.

The game.

“It's your turn.”

“This is why she shouldn’t join them, everyone we know is dead.” Logan has had enough of the game as he sighs, rubbing at his eyes. “Being a goddamn hero gets you killed.”

“Logan.” You touch the back of the hand currently gripping the beer bottle neck like it owes him money. “She’s strong, stronger than me. Laura is you in every way that counts. She’s ridiculously stubborn, headstrong - even when she’s wrong - and she has a kind heart. She wants to use those gifts you’ve given her for good. How can you stand in the way of that?”

Logan’s hand flips over, his warm callused fingers coming to link around your own.

“The kind heart is all you, bub.”

The beers have loosened your tongue, made your anxieties seem a little further away.

“I don’t know. You have your moments.” His fingers dance along your palm, stroking the broken planes.

The two of you enjoy this easy intimacy you’d been forming over the past few days.

“How’d we get together?” Those instruments of death you’ve seen take countless lives, glide over the soft skin of your wrist. Your eyes, usually so afraid to meet his, can’t leave their hazel captivity as you process his blunt question

“Oh, uh…” Tucking your hair behind your ear with your free hand, your eyes dart to his fingers still drifting across your flesh.

“Don’t get shy on me now, bub.” He smirks, though his heart’s not in it.

That asshole.

Taking a deep gulp of your third beer, you rely on the liquid courage, before raising your eyes back to his.

“One night. It was a few days after everything, we had finally got a sedative for Charles. We had a moment to take stock of everything we’d lost. You … uh … he came to me and … he cried. The first time I’d seen it.” His hand pulls back, but you can’t help it, you refuse to release your hold. You don’t want to lose this connection. Your thumb dips, rubbing at his knuckle, at the joint where his claws always caused the bone to ache. “I held him and he kissed me, it was messy. It was desperate but I think we both needed to feel something that wasn’t grief.”

“And I thought I was special… ” His voice holds sarcasm though you can tell the sentiment behind it is anything but humorous.

“You are special to me.”

“Yeah.” His voice is dismissive, like he doesn’t believe what you’re saying.

“You are.”

“I look like the guy who’s special to you, darlin’. I’m not him, as much as you may wish I am. Hell I wish I was.” He has snatched his hand away as he slams cash down on the bar.

Logan has started the short walk back to the apartment, cutting through the alley.

He’s hurt, burying it deep beneath the rage. His anger is an old friend. One he’s comfortable confronting.

“I’m done with your stupid games. I’m done with it all. Haven’t you got the memo? I’m the worst Logan.”

“I’m so fucking sick of that! You’re so goddamn cruel to yourself.” You cry out at his leather covered shoulders, that in itself seems to stop him in his tracks. The Y/N from his world was a mousy wallflower through and through, nothing he’d seen from this world led him to believe you were any different and yet his ears weren’t deceiving him. “I loved my Logan - I fucking adored him. Yes, sometimes it's hard to separate the two of you, but I care for you.”

He stands motionless in the alley as you bare your soul.

“I’ve known you for a week. I can’t love you the same because you’re not the same person, not entirely, but my soul knows yours. You’re Logan.” You’ve closed the distance but he still wont turn around and perhaps that's what makes it easier to say the things you’ve been desperate to say for days. “I look in your eyes and I feel safe, when you touch me everything feels like it's going to be okay. You’re not the worst, you’re not the best. You’re Logan; you’re just Logan.”

Logan is on you instantly, silencing your words with a scorching kiss. It's the kind you see in movies, desperate, filled to the brim with passion, usually taking place in the rain.

His hands find your lower back, pulling you to him as your wrap your arms around his neck, making sure he can’t escape from your grasp, as he growls and pushes you against the brick wall.

Your nose aches from the pressure of his cheek pressed against it as he devours your mouth with his own. He is claiming your mouth with a week of pent up emotions. He grips your thigh, hiking your leg up around his waist, pressing the hardened bulge of his jeans against your core.

“Mom? … Logan?”

There in the street light Laura is illuminated. Her face gives nothing away, she may as well be wearing those sunglasses for all you can garner from her expression.

“Hey Love! - I.. We…uh-” Logan slowly releases your thigh, slyly adjusting his jeans in an attempt to hide his erection. You do your best to stand in front of the -ahem- sizeable bulge.

“How's it going?” You ask with a faux air of casualness as you place your hands on your hips, though your voice has a weird edge.

“Pretty good. How’s it going for you?” Her own voice has a coy little smile to it, which puts you at ease just a little.

“Great, I’m great. Logan? You great?”

“Great.” He grunts behind you.

“Great! - Everyone’s … great.”

The three of you stand in silence for a second or two, processing what's just happened or perhaps trying to decide if great is still a real word.

“You’re so weird.” Laura snorts. “For the record I’m happy that you both pulled your heads out of your asses.”

“Baby-”

“Kid-” You and Logan speak in sync. Your eyes lock as you both try and decide how the other was going to finish that sentence.

“Laura - me and your Mom… uh… things are complicated… and we don’t want to drag you into this.” Logan, the man of very few words, has managed to find them. You’re stunned into silence as he takes control of a conversation… about feelings… with his daughter.

This is not any Logan that you know.

Laura looks to you, waiting for your seal of approval on the message.

“I know how confusing things are already, Bug.” You close the distance between the two of you, linking your fingers with hers. “Me and your dad, we’re working through some things.”

You notice Logan’s shoulders setting straighter at his new title, like a welcome weight has been placed upon them. She nods at your words, smiling devilishly.

“It was just a matter of time, Mama. He has a staring problem.”

“No, I fuckin’ don’t.” He growls from behind you both. Your heart feels lighter than it has in a decade as the two of you cackle at his defensive response.

He digs his hands into his pockets glaring your way, though it has no heat whatsoever behind it, in fact he looks like he’s fighting a smile.

With your hand still firmly in Laura’s you pull her back towards the apartment, linking your arm through Logan’s warm, thick leather clad one. He doesn’t take your hand, but he also doesn’t pull away as the three of you walk back to the house.

“Can we get pizza? - For emotional trauma?” She questions.

“Baby, I’ll buy you all the pizza in New York.” You reply rolling your eyes.

“Not with fuckin’ pineapple on.” Logan groans.

“Pineapple on pizza is objectively delicious!” Laura defends from her place on your otherside, she pulls on your hand still hanging between the two of you. “Back me up.”

“I will always have your back … but…. pineapple on pizza is in fact a crime against humanity.”

Logan lets out a guffaw of victory, as Laura snarls his way. You take a mental picture, the warmth in your chest, bracketed in by your two favourite people in the world. Life is good.

Laura leaves the next morning.

It is a difficult pill to swallow, after seven years by her side. You can’t quite make the leap to take her to the mansion, it's something she understands. So when you embrace her at the doorway after Ellie reassures you for the 30th time she’ll look out for her, you find it hard to let go.

There hasn’t been a day you’ve been without her since you first met the scrawny 12-year old in Mexico. Laura is an extension of you, like your heart is on the outside of your body and you’re not ready for your heart to go to West Chester without you being there to protect it.

At that moment you understand why she needs this independence, she’s 19 years old. She needs her own life, to experience everything it has to offer but that doesn’t make letting go any easier.

“You call if you need anything, anything at all.” You tell her as you push her hair behind her ears. “Don’t stay up too late but also don’t go to bed too early to make friends but make sure you get plenty of sleep.”

“I will get the perfect amount of sleep, don’t worry.” She grabs your wrists, removing your hands from her hair.

“Okay, okay. Sorry.” You sigh, your anxiety is eating away at your stomach. She’s not the vulnerable child being hunted anymore, you try to remind yourself. “If you need me-”

“-If you need us. We’ll be there.” Logan cuts you off, interjecting his own amendment.

In a show of affection you’re not quite expecting, he hugs the girl. It's somewhat awkward and clumsy, the two have known each other for a week, but when they pull back, you can see the gesture was all that really mattered.

He hands her her backpack, which she throws one strap over her shoulder. The two smile at each other in their silent language, both such quiet souls.

When she turns back to you, you ask. “We can walk you down?”

“Stay here? It’s easier this way.” She looks so small as she pleads with you.

Taking mercy on her, you nod.

“Okay.” Waving you watch her turn for the door. You don’t expect however when she turns back and barrels into your chest for a final time, burying her face in your neck.

“I love you, Mama.” She whispers, you can’t help it as your eyes water. You wrap your arms around her, squeezing her tightly to your chest.

“I love you. You are my world.” You know she needs you to let her go for her to be able to walk through that door. So with a deep inhale of her hair for the road, you pull back gathering your strength. You pull her other strap onto her shoulder and push her hair back from her face. You wipe her tears from her cheeks and give her the biggest smile you can muster, despite your teary eyes and broken voice. “Give them hell, baby.”

Laura nods, giving her own matching teary smile. Her back straightens and her shoulders square as she follows Yukio and Ellie down the hall. The duo waving at you as they descend down the stairs.

You’re so busy watching your world disappear down the hall you barely feel the heavy warm hand wrap around your shoulder in comfort. You melt into Logan’s side as your heart shatters.

You wait for him to leave in a hurry, only he does the last thing you expect of the Wolverine. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you to his chest. You close your eyes as the tears begin to fall against your will.

Logan strokes your back. He doesn’t offer any words of comfort, but he doesn’t need to, his presence alone is enough.

His trimmed beard, bristles against your hair as he places a kiss on the top of your head, burying his nose in your hair as he holds you.

It's hard to say how long the two of you stand there like that. Only when your body stops shaking do you finally look up through tear streamed eyes. Logan looks down at you, his face is lined with concern.

“You good?”

“I will be.” Your voice is broken from crying. “I-”

“I know, Bub.” He smiles your way, one you’ve not seen, perhaps ever.

It's soft, sympathetic but filled with adoration. He pushes the strand of hair, now sodden with tears, back behind your ear. His finger lingers on the curve of the bone for a moment or two before he pulls back.

“Bar?”

“Bar.”

Things change when Laura leaves. Not massively, and not entirely for the worst.

You and Logan had started sharing the bed, not like that (unfortunately), but sleeping next to one another. It was comfier than the sofa and his body curled around yours made you sleep a hell of a lot more soundly. Suddenly years of insomnia were cured by his muscled warmth curled around you like a safety blanket.

He never made a move to further it, even if you had once or twice tried to entice him by grinding your backside against his morning wood. The man was nothing if not resilient as he rolled away, grunting.

The two of you had been getting to know one another, you had resolved to treat him like a whole new man. This revelation meant that their differences weren’t such a blow anymore, you didn’t actively compare the two of them as much.

You had created a clear picket line in your head and it seemed to be working. They were two different versions of the same man, each with their own merits and disadvantages.

They weren’t to be compared.

The two of you had started a ritual of movie nights, evenings where you’d sit a little too close on the couch and pretend it wasn’t happening. He’d share a blanket he knew he didn’t need just to get close to you. It was a little uncomfortable when Wade asked to come under the blanket but you enjoyed the time spent with the clown,

In fact, your favourite night had been when you, Wade and Al had all sat down to watch the Notebook - the movie Logan point blank refused watch.

Yes, the movie he objected to so strongly, then proceeded to watch from behind the couch, standing awkwardly on the threshold of the lounge. Where he lingered for the first half an hour pretending to have no interest in it.

When the end credits came around he was back under the blanket with you and Wade, utterly refusing to admit that he’d cried.

That argument with Wade had gotten heated and he’d put three little tears in your blanket, but it was one of your fondest memories in this apartment.

It had been three weeks now. Only two of them had been spent hunting for a room that you could afford on a barista’s salary, which was the only job you were qualified for after dropping off the planet for the past ten years.

Colossus had offered you your old teaching position though you didn’t want to cramp Laura’s style and you didn’t think you could face stepping foot back in that mansion, too many of your ghosts lingered there. The same could be said for Logan, though he had found much better paying work at St Margarets.

He and Wade did odd jobs, merc work to pay the rent. They killed bad guys and got paid for it, and boy they got paid a hell of a lot more than you.

The coffee shop below Wade’s apartment, or waking hell, as you’d come to know it was your slice of a regular life; trying to push your circle peg into a triangle hole.

Its a 24-hour coffee shop, cause who doesn’t need caffeine at 3am? Tch. New York. You’re leaning on the counter a million miles away, contemplating if the graveyard shifts are worth the illusion of paying your way when Logan makes up most of your share of the rent anyway.

Your singular customer is a young guy typing away on his laptop, desperately trying to finish what looks like a college essay. He’s eleven espressos in and has been here since before your shift started at 5pm. You haven’t been told if you can cut someone off, but surely that much caffeine must count as overserving.

The bell above the door tingles loudly, the warm lights illuminate his red mask.

Wade.

“Hey angel baby!” He comes to the counter, pretending to read the board as if he hasn’t been here a million times before.

“Hi Wade.” You smile tiredly at the man. “What’cha want? It's on the house!”

“Ooooh, gimme’ a Caramel Macchiato but hit me with like 6 shots espresso, extra caramel and don’t skimp on the whipped cream - I like to call this the don't stop til dawn.”

“Your insides must be a mess.” You shake your head and get to making his drink.

“How’s the soul crushing service industry treating ya?” He asks, leaning one hand on the counter.

“It’s okay. A little boring, but not so bad, nobody's shooting at me.” You motion downwards with your eyes to the fresh bullet holes in his red suit.

“Ha! Yeahhh. But it's good old fashioned fun, beating guys to a pulp, saving kids from trees, taking candy from cats.” You roll your eyes at the man. “But they say, if you love your job you never work a day in your life! And boy, I love my job.”

You're steaming the milk when he speaks up again, shouting loudly over the machine. “You should come and work with me and Logi Bear. He’s 10% less of an old grumpy fuck when you’re around.”

He’s still shouting when the machine quietens, making your cringe a little as the kid looks your way. This isn’t the first time Wade’s broached the subject with you.

“I get you wanna move out, we love having you, but I get that Al’s old lady smell can get sorta’ overwhelming after a while.”

“Wade.” You sigh, admonishing his jokes about the lady who you’ve grown to care for in the past month. “If you didn’t live in a two bed, I’d love to stay, but it's just too small and I want you to have your bedroom back. I hate feeling like a burden.”

You secure the lid to his drink when its finally complete. “One heart attack in a cup.”

“My favourite.” His mask contorts around the eyes showing his smile. “Oh Wolvie’s upstairs in bad shape. Something took a fuckin’ chunk outta him.”

“What the fuck Wade?! Why didn’t you lead with that?” You’re pulling off your apron and halfway around the counter before you remember your shift isn’t over for another hour.

“Cause’ then you wouldn’t have made my fast juice.”

Ah fuck it.

“Don’t steal the cash register.” You warn the kid looking your way. “He’ll hunt you down and beat the crap out of you.”

Wade waves at the kid behind you, he has his macchiato in one hand and baby knife in his other for special effect. The kid gives a look of ‘Jeez’ before returning to his work.

“You coming?” You ask when your almost half way through the door.

“Nah - saving innocents makes me hungy. Fork hands has his healing factor. He'll be fine.” Wade replies dismissively.

Huffing you turn on your heel and practically run to the apartment.

A chunk out of him?

Logan's healing factor was significantly better without the adamantium poisoning but surely he could die. In an instant you’re back in North Dakota, holding his hand as he fades away.

Your breath is heavy as you take the steps two at a time.

Not again.

The door is thrown open and instead of chaos you find the lights dimmed, candles all over the apartment and there Logan stands in a new plaid buttondown and his finest wranglers. He’s holding a bouquet of sunflowers in those veined hands you love so much. It's like something out of a Danielle Steel novel and you utterly melt.

The panic that had clutched your heart recedes. Your anxiety releases its grip on you.

“You’re not hurt?”

“No, bub. I’m fine. Sorry for the clown. He offered to help and I…”

You shake your head and smile at him, hesitantly you take a step forward. When you’re close enough he hands them your way. “I have it on good authority, they’re your favourites.”

“They are.”

“I wanna give you what you deserve, sweetheart.” He starts, it's like he’s rehearsed it in his head. Little do you know it's all his thought about for the past three weeks. “You deserve more than a romp in the woods, or an alley.”

He seems to cringe at this before continuing.

“I’m not like the other guy. He was a goddamn anchor being, hero through and through from what I hear about him. I’m angry, I kill people and I drink too goddamn much, but when you look at me, I feel like I could be him.” For the first time, it is him that takes your hand in his much larger one. “Do you know how jealous of that asshole I am, Bub? That he got you first? That he got to have your uncomplicated love. If you’d been older in my timeline, I would've’ met you first, I wouldn’t have looked twice at another and I’d have fallen for you the second you looked up at me from beneath those eyelashes, how could I not when everything about you is so easy to love?”

You’ve always been a crier, and this is no different. The man is stamping down every single one of your insecurities, reassuring you as you go. Making you feel more loved then you’ve ever felt before.

“I adore you. From your crappy cooking-”

“-Hey.”

“Your porny books you think I don’t see, to the way you cry at movies, how much you love our daughter. I fuckin’ love you Y/N. Its messy and complicated, I’m not sure if you could-”

In a total role reversal it is you who cuts him off, grabbing his face in your palms and dragging his face down to yours. Your mouths join for the first time in weeks, it is hot and full of desire and love. It's like the two of you are releasing all of your tension into this kiss, finally the air has been cleared and it's rejuvenating.

You press your forehead to his, gasping for breath as his kisses steal the air from your lungs.

“Lo, I guarantee every version of me loves you, even if you were too blind to see it in your world.”

“You were a married woman in my world, bub.��

You gasp theatrically. “Adulturerer.”

“You’ve spent too much time with that fuckin’ idiot.” He kisses your lips, though you don’t let it turn into anything deeper, as you pull back rubbing your nose against his.

“Fornicator.”

“tch… stop.” He groans, grabbing your ass pulling you into his bulge, you bite his lip with a giggle. “Why do you have these lined up?”

He never gets his answer as he picks you up, wrapping your legs around his back and carries you through to the bedroom. You pull away from his mouth, looking over to the set dinner table.

“The food… you went to all that effort!” He is kissing your neck, nipping and lathering the bites with his tongue.

“Can’t cook for shit, darlin’. It’s take out, we can heat it up. I’m hungry for your fuckin’ sweet cunt right now. “

Your lower stomach clenches at his positively filthy words, you join your lips back to his. His teeth nip at your lip as he plunges his tongue into your mouth, running the tip along your teeth.

Before there had been need, but now, you’re both desperate. You’ve had a mere taste of what the other has to offer and now you’ve starved yourself for months.

“Not gonna’ last long on the first, darlin’.” He groans into your mouth as your hand works its way into his pants. He is eager as he throws you back onto the bed and is already working at peeling your black jeans down your legs. “Those fuckin’ shorts you sleep in, fuck. I’ve been dreamin’ about buryin’ myself in ya’ for weeks.”

“Please, Lo.” You’re not sure what you’re already begging for but you are desperate. You’re left in your uniform tee and panties, as he slowly unbuttons his button down, slowly revealing the white undershirt beneath. You’ve never found collarbones particularly attractive, but the tanned skin stretched across his is quite frankly delectable.

You pull your shirt over your head, all too eager to be rid of the reminder of the job you should by all rights be at right now. Your bra is quick to follow.

“Those gorgeous tits, been thinking of these every fucking night.” You groan at his admission. He himself is shirtless, you have half a mind to return the same complement as your hands brush against his perfectly sculpted pecs.

This man was the perfect specimen, it was unfair, t shirts should be outlawed for him. He grabs the waistband of your panties.

‘Snikt’ and a rip sound and you are utterly bare before him, laying across Wade’s bed.

Those gorgeous strong hands trace the planes of your body, circling your nipples before his mouth takes their place.

He groans as his hands descend to your core. “All this for me? I’m gonna’ fuckin’ slide in, Baby.”

And he does, two fingers push through your tight slick opening, three weeks of foreplay have left you soaking wet and wanting. How can you live with a man who looks the way he does, who consistently works out in the living room shirtless and not have the ocean in your panties.

It seems Logan has had all he can take as he slides a third finger in, pumping it in and out of you, rubbing at your clit with his thumb. Gasping you grab at your sheets desperate to anchor yourself.

He kisses up your breast, lavishing your chest in kisses and bites. Never enough to leave a mark but just enough to excite you.

When he’s at your neck he leans in, whispering into your ear. “I’m gonna fuckin’ ruin that pussy.”

You can’t help it, maybe you’re a whore for this man, but you don’t fucking care. Your legs part even further on the bed.

“Please, Logan. I need you to fuck me.”

He grins savagely, pushing his already undone belt and jeans down his hips. He’s back up and claiming your mouth, your legs wrapped around his ass, pulling you down to him before he knows it.

One hand is bearing his weight as the other disappears, he lines himself up at your entrance, the head of his cock breaching your folds. He’s thick, thicker than you remember, but there isn’t any discomfort this time. He settles for a moment, his forehead against yours. His mouth dips to join your lips, his tongue lashing out and fucking your mouth as his hips leap forward spearing you on his cock. The bed creaks with the power of his hips as he fucks you hard into the matress.

Skin slapping on skin is all that can be heard as he readjusts onto his knees, he’s desperate to be as deep as possible and you need the same thing.

“Lo-”

“I know, darlin’.” He grabs your waist, lifting you as if you weigh nothing at all and flips you over. Suddenly you’re astride him, your knees either side of his hips as his head rests in the pillows.

His eyes are distracted by your tits as he smirks, happy with the view.

You ache for him, so you reach down, lining his thick purple headed member with your core before you sink down in one stroke, his extended groan absolutely wrecks you as his big hands come to rest on the meat of your hips.

You rest your hands on his amply hair covered chest, using his pecs as leverage before you raise your hips before slamming back down and bottoming him out.

He’s so deep inside you, the tip of him must be brushing your goddamn cervix as you raise yourself once more, until he almost slips out before meeting his hips once more.

Logan’s strength never fails to surprise you as his hands follow your lead yet help lift you through the manoeuvre.

You’re bouncing on his cock, quick rise and fall sporadically grinding your clit deliciously into his pelvis.

Logan feels fucking amazing inside of you, maybe its been the buildup of weeks but you find yourself heading towards the dive faster than ever before.

“Ride my cock,sweetheart. That’s it, make yourself feel good.”

Gasping at his words and the change of position as he sits up, wrapping his arms around you and claiming your mouth. The second you find the angle that feels amazing against your clit, you hit it again and again, grinding hard against him.

“Lo - I’m gonna … I’m gonna -” You crash before you can get the words out, your toes curl by his knees and your whole body seizes in ecstasy. The world feels right as the stars appear behind your eyes.

The world stopped for you for a moment but not for Logan. He has bought his knees up and is pistoning his hips into your contorting body. He’s holding you against him, groaning into your neck as he continues to fuck your clenching pussy relentlessly.

“Oh fuck … your so fucking tight. Fucking perfect cunt- made - for - me.” He growls into your neck, but you’re too cock drunk to hear it properly, as he frantically thrusts his powerful hips up and into you.

“Where? ” He pulls back, never slowing his hips as he grabs your cheeks with one hand. Your sweat laden face, vacant and looking back at him, your cunt hasn’t stopped clenching around him as he plunders your depths, his voice is strained as he asks again “Darlin’...you gotta … tell me … where?”

“...inside, Lo. Please come inside me…” Your so overstimulated, you could cry. The sound of his balls slapping against skin as he thrusts upwards deep inside of you, whilst he pulls your body down. He’s so fucking deep inside of you, your pussy squelching from a mixture of precum and your arousal.

With another string of lewd words he’s coming hard, Logan’s head has fallen back against the headboard exposing the thick chords of muscle, you can't help sinking your teeth into it, you dip your hand and rub at your clit clumsily, you’re so fucking overstimulated from watching him you follow him over the precipice once more, giving him an insanely tight sheath to come in.

“That’s it, take it all, sweetheart” He groans as he continues to slowly pump his seed deep within you

Gasping you fall slack in his arms, your bones are jelly and your muscles ache, you really are a pillow princess.

“Still with me?” You manage to nod your clammy forehead against his pec, you currently have your cheek squished against. He chuckles, as he lies back against the pillows, leaving his cock still inside of you, you can feel him leaking out of you as he softens a little, recovering for what you imagine will be another enthusiastic round if history is a teacher.

You are utterly fucked out as you lie on his chest, listening to his breath with his cum slowly leaking from your abused hole.

The two of you have never needed words, you lie against his chest, the hands you adore so much, come out to stroke your hair.

Rubbing soothingly at your scalp before running his calloused fingers through the locks and repeating.

When you’ve finally gathered enough strength you lean on your hands, looking up at him.

“Welcome back, bub.”

“Hello.” You smile shyly, like you hadn’t just sunk your canines into his neck whilst wantonly riding his cock to oblivion.

“You okay?” He asks, his hand rising to stroke your swollen bottom lip.

“Someone fucked me brain dead - but yeah, I’m good.” You smirk, nipping at his thumb.

He grins wolfishly and chuckles with his whole body, the movement causes his cock to move inside of you. Slowly you feel him hardening once more.

“You can still talk, Darlin’. Means I haven’t done my job properly.” The predatory gaze in his eyes excites and scares you in equal parts. Though you’re probably asking for trouble when you take his thumb back in your mouth.

It's light outside when you finally have to tap out.

Your pussy is aching, your ass is stinging from the new sensation, your jaw throbs and your entire body is boneless.

You can’t quite catch your breath and your cunt is leaking so much cum, that you’re probably 10% Logan at this point.

The Wolverine has utterly devoured you, making up for three weeks of torment in one night. Though he’s not all bad as he feeds you noodles from chopsticks as you lay on his muscled hair laden thighs.

When Logan had suggested food, you’d had to stop him from eating Wontons from your belly button as none of your holes were currently operational.

The two of you have dressed, though that is a strong use of the word as you’re wearing only his button down and him only his underwear.

You’re lazing on the couch watching reruns of Friends as your bed sorely needs fresh sheets and a new base. Poor Wade, you’d have to replace it before you move out. Like he could read your mind, Logan begins.

“I found a new place, its nothing fancy but its got four walls and no roommates.” You smile at him around your mouthful of noodles as he takes his own bite.

Sitting up you smile. “That’s great news, Lo.”

“I uh- wanted to see, if you’d wanna come with me.”

You can’t help your grin.

fin.

I am currently posting this at the airport before my flight. I love you all! 💖

#wolverine x reader #worst logan x you #worst logan x reader #worst logan #logan howlett x you #logan howlett x reader #Logan x reader

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gor3-hound · 22 days ago

Text

ETERNITY — SUGURU GETO

a/n: hiii !! first geto fic on this account maybe?? shocker bcs i love him so bad... commission for @nexysworld !! love her so bad, pls check her out <3

cw: 18+ content, father-daughter incest, possessive behaviour, sheltered reader, mildly dubious consent, yandere-ish themes, very teeny tiny amount of religious themes, too. p in v, creampie, brief choking

Suguru Geto is not a man you would consider to be unkind, but there was very little affection within his actions. Your father was often patient with you - strict, but forgiving. When he touched you, it was always cold and clinical; always born out of necessity.

Your mother had always been irrelevant to him, nothing more than a means to an end. That just so happened to be you, his daughter, and one and only heir. He had sensed the cursed energy within you the moment you were born, and he took you in to raise you on his own. He had no need for that woman anymore - she had served her purpose and bestowed him with a gift greater than any other.

Your life was free of troubles. Perhaps you did not get to play with the village children, but that was alright. You were allowed to play with the others within the compound. His followers were always kind to you, if not somewhat on edge in your presence. You did not understand it then, but now you realised the apprehension they held did not stem from your actions, but from fear of upsetting your father. You had been sheltered, yes, but you found you did not crave much else. You were well-fed, well looked after… It was hard to feel caged when the compound was all you had known.

Your youthful naivety could not last forever, and Suguru knew this. He dreaded your growth with each passing year, waiting for the questions that would come. He could keep you from the outside world, but he could not keep the outside world from you. He had many visitors, people looking to be cured of their ailments. He could keep you from watching these interactions, but he could see the way your curious eyes shone as you watched them come and go.

You asked him about the outside world only once, shortly after he had ‘cured’ a young child. You had been excited to see someone closer to your age, but his words quickly shut you down.

“The child has been plagued with demons,” He had told you simply, eyes cold as he glanced down at you. “I can keep them at bay, yes. But it would not do you well to socialise with others such as him. They will corrupt you.”

It had not convinced you entirely, and he could see that in your eyes. With a small frown, he kneeled before you, tilting his head to the side. “I extracted one from him. Would you like to see it?”

You nodded, as expected. Hopeful curiosity glimmering in your eyes, the idea of being shown something new and dangerous exciting to you. He sighs, allowing the cursed spirit he had absorbed free. He had no worry - he knew it was safely under his control. But he could see the fear in your eyes as it stalked towards you, the way you instinctively backed up, glancing at your father for protection.

“Daddy-”

He lets its maw open inches from your body, the acrid stench of its breath filling the room as it goes to attack. He watches, unblinking, as you tremble and beg for his help, tears streaming down your face. Even still, he waits a few more seconds before driving his cursed tool through the spirit, exorcising it with ease.

“Do you see now why I cannot let you outside? It is far too dangerous for you.” You nod, clinging to him as you sob into the fabric of his robes. He lets you, holding you close to him. “I do not wish to see you hurt. Promise me you won’t ask to leave the compound again.”

“I promise.”

The years pass, and you do not dare mention leaving the compound again. Even as you reach adulthood, the memory of the demon you faced as a child keeps you biting back any requests of more freedom.

Something in your father has changed - you’re not sure what it is, but it leaves you with a lingering sense of unease whenever you cross his path. His gaze has become sharper, watching your every movement like he’s waiting for something. What it is, you’re unsure of. Your pulse is constantly racing when you’re forced to be in his proximity for more than a few seconds, but your brain can’t register what it is about him that’s making you so tense.

Your realisation comes to you slowly. You’ve seen that look before in some of them men that have wandered around the compound. Not directed at you, but you’re able to identify it all the same.

Hunger.

Your realisation doesn’t come with any changes in his actions, but you can see in the subtle curve of his lips that he knows. He can sense that you act differently around him. Geto is an intelligent man, and it’s clear he planned for you to find out from the start. Months pass by without any changes in routine. You rarely see your father unless he deems it necessary to address you, his followers often being the ones responsible for ensuring you attend meals and stay within the compound.

Then, suddenly, he comes to you.

It’s the middle of the night when he wakes you with a gentle caress on your cheek. It’s one of the most affectionate touches he’s given you since you were a little girl, fingertips gently brushing over your cheekbones. When you meet his eyes, your heart stops beating for a moment.

His gaze is anything but kind. His jaw is set tight, and in that moment you realised how naive you were to think ignoring his glances would be enough to keep him at bay. Seeing your eyes widen with fear is enough for a sharp grin to spread across his face, his hand shifting to grasp at your hair, tilting your head back harshly.

“You're looking so beautiful these days, sweetheart.” Suguru murmurs, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck, free hand grasping at your hip. “I thought about resisting my impulses, but it’s as if you were made to tempt me. Pure, kind, beautiful. Forbidden fruit is always said to be the sweetest, but I had never thought temptation would come to me in the form of my very own daughter.”

You stiffen under him, hands pushing at his chest. He tuts disapprovingly, his fingers slackening as he pulls his hand from your hair. Suguru slides his fingers down the side of your neck, delicately wrapping around your throat before he squeezes.

“Shh, calm down. It’s only me, bunny.” He purrs the nickname, one he has not used in years in an attempt to soften you, It works, momentarily, but your muscles still feel fraught with tension. He leans down, fingers tightening around your neck in a warning as he presses his lips to yours.

His mouth is hot against yours as he kisses you. He keeps the pace leisurely, almost teasing as he presses his chapped lips against yours, tongue coaxing your lips open. The hand on your hip slides under your shirt in a way that makes you jolt, immediately breaking the kiss.

“Daddy, wait-”

Suguru scoffs, raising a brow at you. “That makes you sound so childish. You're a big girl now, aren't you?”

“D-Dad?” You correct, feeling yourself squirm under his harsh gaze.

“Better.” He breathes out, lowering his head once more to lathe his tongue along the flesh of your throat, licking hotly at your quickening pulse beneath the skin. The hand on your bare slides higher, dragging the fabric of your shirt up until he’s cupping your breast, thumb brushing gently over your nipple. You gasp softly at the pleasure it brings, something that brings an unfamiliar heat searing through your veins as wetness pools in the gusset of your panties.

He grins at the gasp he draws from your lips, teeth gently nipping at your skin as he releases your throat. His thumb flicks over your nipple once more as he drags his other hand down, moving to feel the wetness seeping through your underwear.

“I promised I’d protect you, bunny, and I meant it.” He murmurs, tracing a finger down the middle of the dampened fabric. He feels you tremble as he brushes over your clit, so he presses down gently to hear you whimper.

“I meant it,” he repeats, “I won’t hurt you, I just want you to feel good. You trust me, don’t you?

It’s a question, but it sounds more like a threat. You felt that familiar sense of unease in the back of your mind. You hadn’t experienced these things before, but you weren’t clueless. You knew this was wrong, that he shouldn’t be touching you like this, but as his thumb replaces his finger so he could gently rub circles into your clit, your apprehension melts.

“Good girl.” He praises, words smooth and sweet. His fingers hook in the waistband of your panties, and he slowly slides them down your legs. His eyes hone in on your cunt, slick with arousal that he caused. “Look at you.”

Shame burns your face as you close your thighs, attempting to hide yourself from his view. Suguru grabs your knees, prying your thighs away before sliding his body between them to keep them from closing again.

“What’s wrong? You said you trusted me, bunny. Why are you trying to hide from me?”

“I wasn’t, I… I’m sorry.” You reply, gaze dropping nervously. Your heart pounds almost painfully in your chest, feeling more ashamed for disappointing your father.

“I don’t want to punish you, darling. Don’t you want to be good for me?” He says quietly, his tone almost condescending. He doesn’t wait for a reply before he sinks a finger into your tight cunt, a groan rumbling his chest as he feels you squeezing the digit. “Such an innocent little thing. So tight and wet.”

Suguru pulls back briefly only to remove his clothing, settling between your legs once more. His thumb presses down the base of his cock, allowing himself to align the tip with your dripping hole. “This may hurt at first, but you need to relax for me. Can you be a good girl?”

“Yeah,” you breathe out, voice soft and nervous. Suguru presses forward, sliding himself inch by inch inside of your tight heat until his cock is pressed to your cervix. Tears prick at your eyes from the sudden burn, your chest heaving with heavy breaths as he pauses to allow you to adjust to his size.

“Shh, shh. You’ll be alright, bunny. Your body was made for me, after all. It will feel good soon.” He promises, gently rocking his hips. “My sweet girl. I’d never have another have you like this. No, it has to be me. I won’t ever let anyone hurt you.”

He tries to be gentle with you - he has no intention to hurt his sweet little girl - but the way you squeeze around him feels divine. He’s sure he’s never felt anything so perfect before, feeling as though he’s being driven mad as your slick walls cling to his cock, sucking him greedily every time he starts to pull out. Suguru is not one to lose control, but he can’t find it within himself to hold back as he starts to fuck into you with earnest, pounding you into the mattress until you’re crying out with every thrust.

His hand falls to rest on your pelvis, thumb brushing your clit in a way that makes you mewl, arching into his touch. He grunts as you squeeze tighter around his cock, his hips stuttering as he rubs circles into the sensitive bundle of nerves. Your hips buck, and he slams into you harder, bruising your cervix each time his hips snap forward. You’re so tight and warm and perfect around him, and he’s not sure how much longer he’s going to last inside of you.

He watches through hooded, lust-glazed eyes as your body coils up tight, the prettiest moans and whimpers spilling from your hips as you come undone around his length. His teeth clench at the feeling of your walls fluttering around him, the grip on your hip turning bruising as he fucks into you erratically, chasing his own release. His hips stutter before he stills, spilling deep inside of you with a low groan. His eyes squeeze shut, hand falling away from your clit to grip the sheets as he floods you with his cum.

“There we go, bunny.” He murmurs softly as he returns to himself, slowly pulling out of you. He sighs shakily, brushing some hair from your face. “You’re mine forever, darling. I’m never letting you stray from my side.”

His tone alone assures you his words are a promise.

#geto x you #geto x reader #geto suguru #jjk geto #jjk x you #jjk smut #jjk x reader #geto smut #jjk suguru #getou suguru x reader #suguru geto smut

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raineydays411 · 1 year ago

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My Fathers' Daughter pt 13

Hello everyone! Can I just say thank you to everyone for the love and support! Thank you everyone for sticking by me while I took a break. Thank you everyone for the kind messages and ideas. I'm the type of person that needs positive reassurance so really, it's you guys that are the reason I returned to writing.

For the first time in months you felt at peace.

Ironically, it was when you were shoved in a stinky backseat of a dirty taxi. But you were in a stinky taxi with people you truly love.

And Dopinder.

But even he's better than being in that house right now. Anything truly is.

"Hey" A soft voice breaks your thoughts, you turn from where you're looking out the window.

Peter was gazing at you with concern in his eyes. He had his own reservations about coming to get you, that's why Wade had decided to kidnap him. But seeing you, practically throw yourself into him and cry?! He didn't need any more convincing than that.

One thing Y/n Stark does not do is let people see her cry.

"Are you okay?" He asks, knowing that you're not but he knows that you won't tell him if he doesn't ask.

You take a look into his eyes, seeing concern. Then from the corner of your eye you see Wade turn his head an inch, trying to subtly listen in without giving away the fact that he cares about you.

"I'm.." You pause, feeling a knot in your throat, " I'm just really craving a burger."

"What the dick?!" Wade screams from the front, startling all of you in the car, and causing Dopinder to swerve, " We came here for emotional support goddamn it, let us support your emotions!!"

You chuckle at the outburst, mood momentarily lifting, " You can support me by getting me something to eat outside this taxi. It reeks back here...no offense Dopi"

"Non taken Ms. Stark, I am well aware of the unpleasant scents in the back."

Dopinder makes a stop at what looks like a local burger joint in the city , allowing you and Peter to take a breath of fresh air.

Or at least as fresh as Gotham city air could be.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Back at the Manor, Christine and Bruce are having a long overdue conversation about you and her relationship.

" I just don't understand where everything went so wrong" Christine cried, face held in her hands," I just don't"

"Perhaps when you stopped visiting her when we adopted Dick" Bruce said in a semi sarcastic semi serious voice.

Christine shot a glare to her husband, " I'm glad you find the destruction of my relationship with my daughter funny Bruce, I really do."

Bruce sighs from where he's standing, " I don't find it amusing one bit, but Christine you have to admit this situation is your fault."

"I know it is! Believe me I know" Christine shouts, " These last few months, all I've been reminded is that it's my fault!"

"But where is your accountability?" Bruce asks, " I don't hold what you did against you because it's not my place. The kids don't because quite frankly, this hasn't affected them except for Cassie who thinks you're replacing her, and Damian, who sees you sad and believes Y/n is the sole cause of it."

Christine sighs, the few months you have been in the home, she has noticed Cassie's jealousy towards you and the resentment for the situation. She's done her best to reassure her that she has enough love for the two of you girls, but she still insisted on being as far away from you as possible. Damian...Damian is young and perceptive but difficult so she isn't so worried about him.

"If Y/n just spent time with them--"

"It isn't her responsibility to reassure your children that she isn't taking you away from them. Hell Christine, it isn't her responsibility to make anything easier for you." Bruce says impatiently, " I have been holding my tongue because you're my wife above anything and I am on your side. But being a husband and on your side means that I have a responsibility to tell you when you are wrong."

"Then tell me Bruce, tell me what I'm doing wrong. Please beacause every move I make, I just mess things up." Christine cries, genuienly asking for her husbands help

Bruce looks Christine in the eye, " Well first, you have to stop forcing your motherhood on that poor girl"

He holds a hand up before Christine can say anything, " I know that biologically you are her mother, but you know as well as I do that biological relation has no meaning."

Christine nods, allowing Bruce to continue

"The child you knew is not the young lady you want to get to know." Bruce says sternly, " She has life experiences that you were not a part of, and most of all she's not looking for a mother, Christine she has one. It's just not you."

Christine bursts into tears, the weight of that statement hitting her heart. Bruce gathers her in his arms.

"You need to get to know Y/n not as the child you left behind but as Y/n. That's what all of us need to do."

Christine weeps silently in her husbands chest, truly absorbing his words.

She knows he's right. He usually is.

But it hurts her. She truly has to acknowledge the one thing she has ever been ashamed about. The one thing that she has been repressing and repressing all these years.

That she abandoned you.

She abandoned you. She abandoned you when you were six and she didn't show up to the mothers day dance.

She abandoned you when you were eight and she promise dthat she would take you to get your ears pierced and she didn't show up because of a phone call.

And she abandoned you when you were nine, and she adopted Dick.

"What I don't think I understand is why?" Bruce asked quietly.

All these years, she said it was because she was needed more at the manor rather than in New York. But why did she really?

"Why?" Christine repeats quietly, " I..."

Why did she? What on earth possessed her to do the one thing she promised she'd never do the day you were born.

"I don't know." She says, " I.. spent years, hiding this huge secret from you. Years taking back and forth trips from here to New York, pretending she didn't exist or pretending like you didn't. I just..."

Bruce hums, urging her to continue

" And seeing the disappointment every time I left and didn't take her or disappointment from Tony that I didn't choose them. " She teared up, she hadn't even thought about the pain she put that man through, " Then it was the disappointment from Dick everytime I left. It got too.."

"Too hard." Bruce finished for Christine,

" Yeah," Christine sighed, " I just wanted to stop all the lying and the double lives, but by the time it became too much...it was too deep and I was scared I'd lose it all."

Bruce stayed quiet holding his wife, "I would've hoped that you had enough faith in me to tell me"

Christine scoffed, " Please, do you really believe that at that time you would've forgiven me? Before Damian?"

Bruce sighed, " I guess not."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As the conversation between Bruce and Christine went on, the kids were having one of their own.

"I don't understand what's so good about her anyway" Cass mumbles, " All she's done since she's been here is cause trouble"

"Yeah like any of us made Ma's life easy since we got here?" Jason spits back defending you, " Dick you didn't even talk to Ma because of your fight with Bruce, I died, Tim didn't even consider her a mother for years, Damian..is damian and hated her for months, plus is a product of Bruce cheating, and you Cass, you almost killed her before you became family."

Everyone stayed silent as Jason basically read them to filth.

"Why?" Damian asks quietly, " Why does everyone like that girl so much?"

"She's just had a hard go of it Damian, just like all of us." Dick said softly, " Think about how you felt when your mother stopped coming around. When you came here and didn't know anyone."

Damian stayed quiet.

"I know you love Mom, I do too" Dick continued, " But the hostility towards Y/n has to end. From all of us."

They stood quiet, letting the words sink in.

"I have been quite pleasant towards her actually" Jason said smugly

"Yeah cause you think with your dick and not your brain" Tim said smartly, only to receive a slap on the back of his head.

"That's my sister you fucking idiot" Jason says angrily.

Dick smiled, glad that at least one person was truly and genuinely on your side in this house, even if it's not him.

" How about we take her out?" Dick says, " Both her and Mom need some space, there's no point in her staying in that room all day and night."

Jason nods," Yeah, that's actually a good idea."

The two oldest sons rise, about to head to you room when Damian speaks up

"You won't find her there."

The boys pause and look at him

"What did you do to her you demon?" Jason says suspiciously

Damian rolls his eyes, " I've done nothing of the sort, but I saw her sneak out and leave in a taxi with an Indian man, a man in a red suit and unfortunate looking face, and a teenager in hello kitty sleeping pants."

Silence.

"Okay, if you're having a stroke please let me know so I can take you to the hospital." Tim said looking concerned.

Damian rolled his eyes again, " She left."

Jason was already barging into your room not even bothering to knock, seeing your room empty and the window open.

"Fuck."

Dick raced in after him seeing the empty room

"Well fuck."

They look at eachother, wondering who was going to tell their mother that you were gone but it was actually Damian that suggested

"Perhaps we should go after her? Mother and Father seemed rather preoccupied at the moment."

Jason looked at Dick and said, " She couldn't have gotten too far."

"Well, it has been a couple hours since she left." Damian adds

"Hours?!" Dick shouts, " Damian why didn't you say anything?"

"I don't like her." Damian rolls his eyes.

"Where's Y/n?" a voice asks

All heads turned to the doorway, seeing their father standing there.

"Um... about that."

"Find her, and you all better hope she's okay."

Everyone scrambled, either to put their suits on or to just make it out of the house.

He said that with his Batman voice.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Back with you and the red team, as Wade took to calling you all, you all were eating burgers in the parking lot of the now closed burger joint.

" So are you going to tell us what happend or what?" Wade ask with food falling from his stuffed mouth.

You and Peter look on with disgust.

"What?" Wade asks, " Go on and tell us about your mommy issues."

You roll your eyes and look away, missing the look Peter gives to Wade for being to crass.

You get lost in thought, the argument still fresh on your mind.

It made you so angry.

Why? Why did she hide those emails?

The one thing you wanted most in this whole situation was to go home. You missed your father, your mother, the team. Your family.

Instead, she made you believe that your father just forgot about you and your family didn't miss you.

While you knew logically that was impossible, you still stood up late at night because of the doubts creeping in. You cried, longing to hear your father croon rock music while he was tinkering with something, or the soft voice of your mother as she handled some business. You missed the smell of the training room and the sound of Steve teasing whoever he chose to tourture train that day. You missed FRIDAY. The tech. Your life.

"What happened in there" Peter asked softly.

You maintain eye contact with him for about a second before looking away, feeling ashamed with your emotional state.

"I couldn't take it anymore" You said softly, "These people...they weren't... they weren't mean to me or anything but I didn't belong there."

You take a pause then continue, " It's like... I had no purpose there. You know? At home, I help dad with whatever he needs, I helped mom with the business, hell I could just take a step outside. But here? I'm either in my room or being snuck out by Jason for a few hours. I can't go into a room without killing the happy family vibe they have going on. I'm just..."

You choke up, the knot in your throat growing, "I'm just a reminder of the past. Of the life she didn't want."

Peter's eyes soften even more, he reached out a comforting hand.

"I have to be there, while she and her family are happy then I walk in and it's like I'm either a ghost or a pest." You cry tears falling from your eye, " I feel so unwanted. I've never felt this way in my life."

"Didn't your mom abandon you?" Wade asks, getting an elbow to the side by Dopinder.

That comment causes you to cry more, but before Peter can make a move Wade actually pulls you in a hug.

"Alright Alright" Wade says, " Look kid, obviously you're happy there, so how about we go find those asshole that are looking for you and take them out ourselves?"

You sniff and look up at him, " What?"

"Yeah. That's the whole reason you're here. So lets kill those motherfucker and you can go home and forget this shit hole of a city. Seriously it's disgusting here."

You chuckle wetly, " It is gross here. I thought New york was bad"

The four of you laugh, the mood finally lifting.

But good moments never last forever.

Peter's head jerks up, face shifting from amusement to concern

"Guys there's something wro-" Peter gets cut off.

"How about we make it easier for you, now you don't have to look for us." A voice says, you aren't able to see it before you feel Wades body jerk and suddenly there's a pain in your arm.

You look down and see a dart, and you're barely able to make out the blue and red dots on the building across the street before darkness consumes you and you hit the ground.

#marvel x reader #avengers x teen!reader #reader insert #marvel #dc comics x reader #tony stark x daughter!reader #jason todd x reader #dick grayson x reader #x reader #bruce wayne x daughter!reader #deadpool #wade wilson #peter parker #marvel comics #damian wayne #damian wayne x reader

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katerinaaqu · 4 months ago

Text

Achilles and Patroclus: Friends Lovers or both? (An analysis based on Homeric Epics and some ancient sources)

Yet another analysis requested by my dearest friend @artsofmetamoor while we two explore the complexity of human relationships in our own projects including romantic relationships of various kinds, including homosexual and homoerotic material as well as more traditional notions of family and kinship along with the complexity of values such as companionship and friendship, which we hold in the same regard as in the above so here's one of the most discussed relationships in greek literature. Buckle up with me because it is gonna be a looooong ride!

Achilles and Patroclus are two figures of greek literature and mythology that sparked discussions and analysis from the very first time they were introoduced as characters in the homeric poems in 8th century BC and not for their heroics in Trojan War but rather the nature of their relationship. Not to mention in modern day times we also start the rather overused and kinda ridiculous joke of "Historians say" around. But there might be some truth in some concerns in regards to their relationship.

A small history of their family

Achilles and Patroclus were related by a distant ancestor, Aigina. Aigina had a son with Zeus named Aeacus who in turn got married and had Peleus, who has the father of Achilles. Patroclus comes from the same line for Aigina later marries Actor and has Menoetius with him. Menoetius marries his cousin Damocratea, also possible daughter of Zeus and had a son named Opus who in turn had Patroclus, making Patroclus and Achilles de facto first cousins by the line of Aegina

(Yes...sorry "Troy" haters out there...hahaha Patroclus really WAS Achilles's cousin! ^^; Not that it ever stopped anyone in greek mythology!)

Patroclus was ellegedly exiled from his homeland when he accidentally killed his playmate and he fled to the court of Peleus where he got adopted by him thus the two characters lived most of their childhood together. Patroclus by most accounts is quite older than Achilles so in a way he was also assigned not only as his playmate but also as his "squire" or protector in various occasions. Needless to say that of course the two of them developed a very strong bond together.

Greek Text

To be honest, every time some person who does support the theory of them being lovers is being asked on it and that person claims that "the greek text is quite simple really". Allow me to disagree though. It is not. Quite frankly if it were, it wouldn't have sparked the conversation even to ancient greeks themselves of their time!

Arguably Homer never explicitly describes them as lovers in his poems (as opposing to other figures in the text that are undoubtedly sharing sexual relationships in the Iliad such as Hera and Zeus, Paris and Helen or even, ironically Achilles with Briseis once she is returned to him). However one would be a liar if they denied certain insinuations of a romantic involvement betwen the heroes.

Φιλέω-ώ= to love < > φίλος=friend, companion (Substantive), beloved (epithet)

Quite frankly Homer as we said before he a master of words and none of his words is picked at random. And the term φίλος is no exception. The word is being explicitly used in Homer by various of characters. The term can be translated interchangably from either "friend" to "beloved" depending the context. One of the most infamous and touching moments this word is being used is at the lament of Achilles when his mother asks him to speak up on why he laments so hard:

With heavy groans, fast in feet Achilles responded to her: "Oh, my mother! The Olympians have done what they had predicted for me! But what joy remains for me, for my beloved comrade Patroclus is gone! I lost him! The one that I valued most among my other companions, equally to my own life!"

(Translation by me)

In here the concept of "φίλος" is clearly an epithet or plays the role of one since the actual word that we are looking for as a substantive is the word "ἑταῖρος" which stands for "companion" or "comrade" (a term used generally throughout the poems to indicate bonds in army or of friendship or even husband and wife at some cases). In here it clearly means "beloved" by the general text for the word "φίλος" is not used as a substantive. Other cases such as this appear in other parts of the poem even with the fullest form φίλτατος which means "the most beloved"

However it needs to be noted that the term φίλος as the essence of "friend" comes directly from this term "to love" which means someone "you are close with" someone "of your own kin" someone "dear to you". The ancient greeks do not seem to be making a distinction between love as in lovers and love as in family or relatives when using this verb and the words coming from it (one good example is Thetis referring to Achilles as "φίλον υἱὸν" which means "beloved son" and here has no romantic implications at all).

The term is being used interchangably throughout Homer to speak about characters with close relations of kinship that are not linked to romantic essences at all. For example the way Menelaus adresses Odysseus as such in the Odyssey:

Oh, how strange! That has come to my house the son of a man much beloved to me; who for my sake has suffered so many ordeals!

(Translation by me)

In here Menelaus again is usingthe term φίλος but he doesn't speak out of romantic intentions at all. He speaks with the warmest words but in here it is the most intimate form of friendship and kinship and is followed by the implication of gratefulness, how he adds up how Odysseus suffered "for his sake" aka to fight the war and be lost afterwards. And before someone says "it is not the same amount of warmth" one must think again because before Menelaus speaks about how because of the agony he feels for his friend he does not eat or sleep properly and given that it has been 10 years already since the last time they saw each other that is a damn long time.

But all of them I do not grieve as much, even if I mourn for them, as much as I do for one man, because of which I both detest sleep and neglect to eat, for there is no one of the Achaeans that suffered more than what Odysseus suffered and endured

(Translation by me)

So not only Menelaus feels like Odysseus suffered the most out of them (and strictly speaking one can look at fates of other heroes like Diomedes to see they are not far behind in suffering) but that the way he constantly wonders about his well-being makes him unable to sleep or eat and that seems to be happening for years and years which shows the true depth of their friendship.

So no, strictly speaking the word "to love" is not used by the greeks to imply only romantic love and it can be used pretty intimately even if it is not referring to romance. And the difference can be perceived by the same writer as well not just some play that was written several centuries later in which, inevitably, we could talk about some alterations of meaning to the words over the course of time

However there seems to be another phrase used to express intense feelings of love which is κεχαρισμένε θυμῷ which means "dear to my heart" and in Iliad ironically that phrase is spoken by no other than Briseis herself!

Oh, Patruclus! Dearest to my wretched heart!

(Translation by me)

This interesting shout of love coming from Briseis is also interesting for it could be implying both emotions of romantic love but also of affection in general. Which is another phrase that researchers have looked upon in search for hidden meanings of romance but once again it was often used either as such or with the term "φίλος" instead to speak of relationships of family or kinship. But grieving scenes such as the one of Briseis might also be indicator of romance although not exclusively referring to that.

The Lament

Quite frankly speaking, Achilles's lament is one of the most infamous and well-known in greek literature exactly because of its explicit nature. We do see characters lament in plays before but it is not as frequent to see lament SO strong coming from a male character and so openly (see for example in the Odyssey how Odysseus tries to hide his own tears many times or how his men are wrapped up in veils in lament for their own lives and their fallen comrades' but by n large the male lament is more subtle, more silent). Achilles is different. For example when he is first told about the news of Patroclus's death the result is nothing less but the ultimate emotional collapse:

So they spoke and black mist of distress covered him: With both his hands he gathered smoky sand and he poured it over his head and disfigured his face: his nectarous chiton turned black with ashes. And he himself dropped in the dirt and stretched over his lying (here: the corpse) friend/beloved pulling out his hair in lament. The slaves given as war price to Achilles and Patroclus, released a great cry of sadness and they approached all to the sides of mourning Achilles, beating their chests with their hands, and their knees each. Also Antilochus with them was lamenting and pouring tears holding the hands of Achilles: for he was moaning with his noble heart: worried that he would cut his throat with iron (here: a knife).

(Translation by me)

There is no words to express such an intense display of pain given by Achilles from second one when he receives the news of the death of Patroclus. He immediately pours ash over his head (quite a common trope for mourning done by many characters before.) and "disfiguring his face" which means he was digging his nails down his cheeks which was again a trope of mourning in greek literature. The intensity of his lament is so great that Antilochus feels the need to hold his hands just in case he would want to comit suicide in his pain!

Ironically for most part in this lament does it mention that Achilles was making any sound at all during the process, which somehow makes it even more disturbing to think that Achilles simply drops to his knees, covers himself in ashes and scratches his cheeks while lamenting over the body of Patroclus hardly making any sound at all. It is the slave women who arrive later that release the cries that undoubtedly are within the soul of Achilles. Somehow his lament is extreme and yet no audible hint exists for most part of the text EXCEPT the final one where it says "moaning with his noble heart". It almost seems that his body does most of the talking till the women arrive and cry out like he so much wants to and then his mouth also makes sounds. It is not a scream; it is a moan. It is possible of course that the clip refers to Achilles constantly moaning but I do like this as a possible food for thought that if Achilles was firstly responding to pain with his actions and then with his voice and in a way the moment he actually made a sound was the moment Antilochus truly began to worry!

There is a certain theatricality to this scene of lament and drama which of course as many analytics before me would say, it seems to be hinting to some other infamous laments of mythological characters and more specific the laments of Apollo. Apollo is one of those figures for whom we have no doubt he was lamenting his lovers and some classical examples are Hyakinthus and Cyparissus both of them transformed into a flower and a tree respectably. The associations of Achilles and the grieving god seem to be more than just a possibility here. Which of course enforces even further the idea of them being lovers. It is also the amount of time that Achilles mourns plus the intense way that he refuses to let go of the body of Patroclus to which he seems to be holding on from the 18th rhapsody when he first finds out of his death till the moment that she arrived with his armor one rhapsody later. Quite a gruesome scene is when she enters the tent and finds Achilles crying while clasping Patroclus onto him:

And she found her dearest son still lay there, clasping Patroclus and crying woefully and his comrades around him mourning

(Translation by me)

And at this point Thetis hasn't yet given nectar and ambrosia to the body of Patroclus to prevent the sepsis from happening, which happens a few lyrics later. So Achilles was holding the dead body for the entire day even after it was cleaned and prepared showing the intense pain Achilles was expressing and going through. And he seems unwilling to part from him till Patroclus's spirit itself arrives in his sleep and requests a burial so he can rest.

Of course it needs to be noted that intense lament is not exlusive to lovers in greek mythology. To name a few Athena grieves intensely the loss of her friend Pallas and by some accounts she does take her name as her epithet post-mortem. Antigone intensely mourns her dead brother and laments his disgrace when she finds that the ritual burial she performed had been disturbed. And the acting of killing oneself out of sorrow again is not strictly remaining to the love affairs. For example Ismene killing herself after learning the deaths of her family members in general and Antigone in particular. Another most prominient example is king Aegeus who throws himself into the sea when he sees the black sails of the ship coming from Crete, thinking his son was dead.

So the exessive expression of grief are not just dedicated to lovers or husbands and wives in greek literature but rather it is expanded to all people who mourn someone dear to them regardless of the nature of the bond between them. In the case of Achilles of course he does seem to be having a specially strong mental breakdown every time some important person in his life that is said to be romantically involved with him dies or is taken from him starting with Briseis for whom he expresses his emotions many times in the Iliad and she is the first reason of his anger, of course Patroclus and Penthesilea for whom he apparently has feelings for a few monets after he sees her face after she dies. In Posthomerica it is even said that his lamentover her dead body is "the same as the one over Patroclus" and of course Antilochus later according to the Epic Cycle when he died protecting his father, caused another explosion of anger to Achilles which was fated to be his last one.

It is possible since his love is clearly stated in the cases of Briseis and Penthesilea that the same can have occured for Antilochus and of course Patroclus which was the most heartbreaking of them all and for good reason. In fact the case of Patroclus seems to be that he plays every role in the life of Achilles. He is his friend, his companion, his squire, his advisor so why not his lover too.

The Same Urn

Now of course where people surely think they have a clear case of romantic bond seems to be the request of Patroclus to be burnt but his bones to be kept in the same urn that is to be used for Achilles as well. The passage happens in the 23rd rhapsody:

And one more thing I ask for you to excecute; do not place my bones apart from yours, Achilles, but together just like we were raised in your chambers, when I was brought to your land by Menetoios as a little boy from Opois because of the grievous manslaughter, for when I was a child I was foolish and killed the son of Amphidamas without wanting to, for I was mad over a game of dice: there I was accepted to the chambers of the horseman of Peleus who kindly took care of me and named me your squire. And the same way I want for my bones to be together with yours in the same golden box, the one your divine mother prepared for you.

(Translation by me)

So apart from the fact that it is a highly emotional scene, seeing your dead companion arriving at you and begging to be let go (this is literally Patroclus saying "Let me go, Achilles...just let me go" for Achilles literally refuses to give up his body not even for a burial) it is also the scene that seems to be winking to the fans of the idea of them being lovers as a proof that they are together. And quite frankly I can absolutely see why and it would be foolish to ignore this possibility especially given how tenderly Achilles calls him "my beloved" (or "as loved as my own life") after the whole request is done from the spirit of Patroclus which is more than clear indication for many accounts and that makes perfect sense.

The custom of co-burial was known in Greece from the earliest times of its civilization till the end (because quite honestly I am not sure the custom will stop existing in Greece since despite the lack of cremations, we still have the custom of common graves even if it is only for those who can afford have a family monument). We often find urns contain bones of multiple individuals and yes more often whatnot they are maritable partners and the obsession of words that mean "together" in this passage such as; "μή (...) ἀπάνευθε" (not apart), "ὁμοῦ" (at the same place, together) or "ἀμφικαλύπτω" (cover each other) seems to be pointing to the direction of a romantic relationship and it won't be the only time someone is co-relating the mingling of ashes and bones with "marriage" (and example is The Hunchback of Notre Dame, where Victor Hugo describes the way Quasimodo and Esmeralda's skeletons turn into inseparable dust as "Quasimodo's Marriage")

However on the counter-talk, co-burials were also common among family members (which is exactly what Achilles and Patroclus are). Ironically from the excavations to Mycenae several co-burials were discovered that were not related by blood but they were theorized to be connected to some relations of adoption (which again seems to fit the case of Achilles and Patroclus from the time Patroclus was brought in and ellegedly adopted by Peleus)

I am also convinced that the fact Patroclus gives us some good portion of his background story here was not just a random thing. It seems that Patroclus places emphasis on why he wants to be in the same urn as Achilles; because they were raised together, they were together all their lives and he wants them to be together in death as well. It absolutely could be a romantic insinuation on Patroclus's part however it seems equally possible that the background story serves as a lever to make the public understand how the two of them were raised together and wished to remain together. It almost feels like Homoer wants either to stimulate the idea that the past is an extra point towards their romantic relationship or yet another point of the closeness of their kinship or both (to me it seems the latter)

However another factor to this urn seems to be Antilochus. Antilochus who was close to the age of Achilles, the one who was in charge to bring the news of Patroclus's death to Achilles and the one that we saw consoling him and trying to prevent him from doing something foolish seems to be added to this circle. In fact in some future sources he is featured as the reason Achilles died, for he was driven in yet another furious attack against the Trojans, forcing them to fall back when he saw him fall dead protecting his father from the Ethiopian king Memnon. In some accounts, even possibly Homer included, is insinuated that Antilochus was also included in the funerary urn with Achilles and Patroclus although in the Odyssey it is clearly stated that his bones are not in it:

Your mother gave me this golden amphora (here an urn with two handles); a gift from Dionysus she said to me, made by the renounced Hephestus, in which lie your white bones, radiant Achilles, mixed with the ones of dead Patroclus son of Menoetius, but without Antilochus, whom he honored above all his comrades after Patroclus died.

(Translation by me)

So in the Odyssey it doesn't seem like they were indeed in the same urn (unless somehow Nestor could tell the bones apart and took them out? hehe) but they all thee of them are joined in one tomb and worshipped as heroes. So in a way Antilochus seems to join them just not in the same box. However the three of them are indeed seen together in the underworld as one trio literally. They are apparently joined after death according to what Odysseus saw in the underworld.

Once again seems like the romantic as well as the kinship theories could be true interchangably or even at the same time.

Ancient Greeks on their relationship:

As I mentioned above many ancient writers and not just the infamous "historians" everyone mocks on the internet, seem to have placed their own guesses and opinions on the relationships of the two heroes.

Aeschines seems to be contemplating the idea they are lovers (aka he says that Homer "hides their love") and he even reads Patroclus's story as "an intercourse they had once". He names their relationship έρως aka romantic love (eros). Aristotle in Nicomachian Ethics and Rethoric he uses the term "comrade" to talk of them, choosing to focus more on their friendship. His teacher Plato though was a different story. He was convinced that they were not only lovers but he had also figured their roles in their relationship as presented in his Symposium, naming Patroclus as ἐραστής aka "the one who gives love" and mentions how Achilles is in love with Patroclus. Plato remains one of the most...great "shippers" of the two having no doubt about their love affair. To the other end is Xenophon who is adamant that they are not lovers, in his own Symposium. A large number of greek writers seem also to comment on both possibilities, it seems to me quite interesting how many different readings the homeric poems provide.

More mordern readings:

While it is true that there is a certain confusion to the public since a large number of texts either were deliberately modified or genuinely mistranslated (given again how terms like φιλώ means "to love" in general in ancient greek and not just romantically or that the term ερώ does mean "to love as a lover" in some contexts but it also means "to desire very much" and it was used in various of contexts) and these double-meanings were taken advantage of to translate the texts differently and that is because when someone in modern times says "my beloved" by n large they refer to a lover which was something that was greatly hushed up in public

Of course as we stated above for ancient greece that was not the case since the term "beloved" could be used in various contexts and it showed intense emotions of kinship between two people regardless of the nature of their relationship.

However in some accounts the obsession upon trying not to show intense potentual homoerotic material made many of these translations unreliable. There were exceptions to the rule of course but the real breakthrough wouldn't really happen till later in the 19th century where we also have more samples of printed work. Translations like Butler at the end of 19th century are far reliable to the text and seem to follow the spirit of Homer. Quite frankly there was already a breakthrough to homoerotic material thanks to not only the neo-classisim but also gothic literature such as the vampire novelle Carmilla so many writers became more bold into translating the tender words of love as they were and leave the public decide upon their nature.

However this effort to hush up the tender words spoken in Homer out of fear that they might be interpreted as homoerotic created of course this modern uprage in which we have the other way round; that people are afraid to talk about friendhsip and kinship because they will be hushed up by the readings of the text as homoerotic

(see my other post for this)

This, in my opinion simply removes all the abive context; that love can be expressed between family members or friends or people who have been through a lot. Quite frankly as you can see not only I am not denying their energy as lovers, I like to believe I am also supporting this theory a lot because there is a lot of possibility in it just like there is on the direction of tenderness and affection. I do think today people are afraid to speak up on the other side exactly bcause nowadays the most famous way to see them is as lovers as opposed to the previous periods that did the other way round

Conclusions:

I have no doubts that Homer, even though not clearly speaking about it (for example referring to sexual acts) he seems to be insinuating that the two of them were sharing romantic bond or feelings for each other

(it needs to be noted that it is not entirely clear that if there WERE romantic feelings that they were confessed or known by both parties, which could potentially mean the two of them loved each other romantically but did not fulfill their love which could be another tragic note to their story)

Homer seems to be sending several hints to his viewers/readers that one could interpret them as lovers given the tender dictionary they use between each other and for each other, allowing his...fans to decide for themselves. It is also highly possible that he too saw them as star-crossed lovers, for he gives them all the elements of various other stories that involve homoerotic romance, even the tragic end to their story.

However I am equally sure that he also wanted to say that their friendship was of equal importance. There is no doubt that Homer considered them close friends (for he gives us a small hint of their backstory, how they grew together) and their story is being projected like many other duos and characters in the Trojan war that are linked together with bonds of kinship and companionship; stories that flourish at war. He might not straight out tell us that they are the case of story "from friends to lovers" but he absolutely seems to be letting us know that their kinship is there!

And I am grateful to Homer for his writing because it seems to me he wanted both sides to equally enjoy the story; whether they are those who do think their closeness is romance and those who think it is close kinship, strong family bonds or friendship. I am almost convinced that Homer deliberately used that as a way to please both sides of the audience or to give a more tragic aftertaste to their story since closeness is much more impactful to the face of separation.

I like them both and in fact I support them simoultaneously for honestly there is no best lover than your best friend; someone you can trust with everything you have. If I had to support one form of love, this would be it but at the same time I do support the idea that friendship is already a powerful bond of two people and that romantic love in this case would come as a bonus. Somehow Homer does seem to entertain this idea in his writing given again the extreme tenderness and the tragedy of these two while at the same time leaving the door open for his audience to speculate, make interpretations and enjoy the story in their own perspective.

If that is not art I dunno what is.

Okay guys this is only but scrapping the surface of this relationship that lasted for 3000 years now! Hahaha but I hope you like this! It took me several hours to synthesize but I hope you like it.

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chaosandmarigolds · 6 months ago

Text

Dearest...

(Fem!reader, weapon’s dealer daughter, and yeah this is also just sadness. Sorry y’all)

He didn’t account for the emotional factors of living a lie, sure he had thought of them, but very briefly at that- barely a second thought, more of a passing notion rather than a pure line. At least it had be a passing mist, then as the days grew into nights and the nights began to liner into mornings, he found himself to be thinking of it every waking moment. Every time he looked over to you his mind flashed with how heartbroken you would be, he dreaded the very moment he was now living in.

“It’s two in the morning,” You mumble, hand finding the switch on the wall to turn the light on, hair messily in its braid and eyes riddled with sleep. After all, you had just thought your boyfriend of close to six months just woke up (not uncommon) so you chose to join him. Yet when you turn on the light you find him, in what seemed to be full gear, minus a mask that he held in his hand and in the other he held a few folders. So, unsure of what to do you laugh eyes going between the folders and his eyes, “Goodness, it’s June, I don’t think it’s the right time for…um...for costumes.”

The silence was suffocating.

The folders held all of your father’s contacts, and you knew this, after all, he had trusted Simon to keep them safe while he was aware of work. It made sense, your father was a weapons dealer with a longer rap sheet than any convict, and Simon had worked his way into your father and his business. he was strong, he was kind and he treated you with love and respect, he was a trustworthy man…or…you had thought. In that moment you slowly put the pieces together.

“Can…” Your words die on your tongue and you take a shaky step forward, reaching for it, “Can I have that, please? Please?”

As you move forward he moves back, moving the folder behind his back, his expression unreadable. He hadn’t thought of his own emotions getting caught into this, he accounted for the millionth of a chance he wouldn’t want to leave, that he would want to leave you unscathed, loved, and coated in the warmth of his love. He hadn’t thought tears would worm their way into his eyes as he spoke, “Let me go.”

To his words, you take a shuttered breath and look up to meet his gaze, voice shaky, “Then give it back, th-those are important.”

“I can’t do that.”

”I’ll call Ivon.”

A short pause, squeezing his mask a bit tighter as if it would hide the blood with the black, “He can’t help.”

A short sob rips through your throat and you shake your head, “What is this?”

He couldn’t come with an answer.

“You came for the files,” You were whispering, as if to just allow yourself time to wake up, to fully process the events before you, “Were you just going to leave? In the middle of the night and I don’t even get a GOODBYE? You were going to leave the past six months for nothing? Was-was I-Was I just… No-” You sniffle up the emotions and hold your hand out, as if waiting for him to take it but your eyes go to the folder, “Give it to me, I’ll forget about it-we-we can go back to normal.”

“Please, let’s go back to normal, Simon.” You said again, “Tell me you love me again, I don’t care if it is real or not I just want you to love me, because I love you. Tell me…” As your voice falters he looks away, taking slow steps to the door, and with a crushing wave, your tears begin to fall down your face.

“It was never real. Never meant a word did you?”

He did mean it.

“None of it, huh? You must’ve been so annoyed when I would tell you I loved you.”

He treasured those words more than his own life.

“You didn’t mean it and I fell for it. Oh god…I fell for it….I loved you.” Your words then become a hiss, “I LOVED YOU.”

A million things he wanted to say, a million times he had almost backed out of the mission and prayed he could vanish off the face of the earth. A million times he wished he could hold you once more. A million words but only two could be choked out, “I’m sorry.”

You take a heaving breath, shuttering for air and you tilt your head, “For what?”

“Breaking you.”

You stare at him for a long moment, tears riddling your eyes and you breathe slowly, “You don’t get that honor.”

Apparently, it was a good thing you never told him about the secret alarm you had embedded in your bracelet.

(That's all!! Thanks for any and all comments and feedback you may wanna leave! <33)

#simon riley fanfic #simon riley x you #coco's chaos <3 #cod x you #simon riley x reader #cod fluff #simon riley imagine #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #mw2 ghost #ghost mw2 #cod ghost #cod imagine

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aestheticaltcow · 11 months ago

Text

Family Ties

I love that the fandom sees Carmy as a girl dad who practices gentle parenting. Gentle parenting is a great parenting style, don't get me wrong. Personally, I can see him butting heads with his teenage daughter like he wants her to express herself- but he also knows that teenage boys are weird and would want to protect her at all costs. This was just a thought I had a couple of days ago, and once I started, I couldn't stop. More Dad!Carmy content to come...

A/N: I didn't realize until I copy pasted this from my Google Drive. This was 6 freakin pages. I like longer fics, I'm sorry.

The Bear Masterlist

Carmy was furious. It took a lot of effort for him to ‘gentle parent’ with you when the kids, Grace and Oliver, were little. Now that both kids are in high school, he wishes he had been harder on them. You reassure him that the two of you have great kids, both work hard in school, participate in extracurricular activities, and aren’t afraid to talk to them about anything - he insisted he should have been harder on them, especially when he gets calls from the school about Oliver getting suspended… again.

Oliver was 15, and Carmy was convinced he was Mikey's reincarnation. Like you had, he did well in school, but he was Mikey in every other aspect of life. He just needed to get his head out of his ass before out-of-school suspension became stints in jail.

As Carmy walked down the hall to the principal’s office, he saw Oliver sitting on a bench talking to Grace- Grace, his little girl, granted she wasn’t as little anymore. She’s 17 and looked exactly like you when you were her age- except she had gotten his eyes. “Oliver.” Carmy barked, getting his attention.

Grace looked at her brother nervously. Carmy wasn’t the kind of Dad to ‘approve’ of her clothing, but he’d fight her on it occasionally, especially regarding crop tops and dresses. It came from a place of caring and not wanting his little girl to get hurt, but Carmy could take it too far.

Carmy noticed Grace turning the opposite way to get away from the Berzatto boys,

“Grace? Shouldn’t you be in class or somethin’?” Carmy questioned; she stopped in her tracks, knowing Carmy wasn’t in the best mood. She turned around and hoped he was too mad, Oliver, to notice the cropped corset she’d worn to school that day. It’s not like she’d worn it to get a guy to notice her; she’d just liked the contrast of its light green color with her baggy jeans, and she was supposed to match outfits with the rest of the dance team that day so he couldn’t be mad at it- especially since he’d encouraged her to join the dance team freshman year. “Someone texted me that Oli was out here- just wanted to make sure no one beat my baby brother’s ass.” she laughed. Carmy shot her his classic ‘I’m your father, I know when you’re lying look’ but shook his head; he was not ready to deal with that. “Put on a sweater.” Grace nodded at Carmy’s casual dislike of her top, “Yes, sir.”

Initially, Carmy was going to let it slide. He knew Grace was 17, she was going to college next year, and he wouldn’t be able to encourage her to make the right decision anymore, but while she was under his roof, she’d live by his rules. You laughed when he brought it up to you that night in bed. “Carmy, she’s a good kid. Gracie has good grades. She has good friends. She works; if she wants to wear a crop top, she can wear a crop top.” Carmy sighed. He saw the point you’d been trying to make with that explanation but wasn’t happy.

Grace hoped Carmy wouldn’t bring up her wardrobe, but unfortunately, she was wrong. Carmy had hired an older brother of one of Grace’s friends at The Bear- that’s how he’d found out about Grace’s non-family Instagram account. She hadn’t posted anything too scandalous; there were some pictures from parties where she was holding a red Solo cup, a few from a dance competition after-party where she’d been wearing something Carmy wouldn’t have allowed her to leave the house in, and of course the soft launch of her relationship. He was seething; you hadn’t known about the account either- you’d heard Grace talk to her cousins about a boy she liked, but the drinking and parties also surprised you.

“Carmy, you neeeeed to be careful with how you speak to Grace about this,” you emphasized through the phone. Of course, this would come up when you were out of town. “Baby, I’ll handle it.” “Carmen Anthony Berzatto. Do not, I repeat, do not shame our daughter. You can tell her you’re unhappy-” “I’ll handle it.” he hung up, and you knew you’d be walking into a shit storm when you returned home.

“Fuck off, Dad!” Grace screamed as she slammed her bedroom door. To say Carmy mishandled the situation would be an understatement; he stood outside Grace’s door, immediately regretting what he’d said about Grace. He questioned her character; he knew she was a good kid; he wanted to knock on her door and apologize, but Grace didn’t want to hear it.

Oliver sat in his bedroom and heard Carmy and Grace yell at each other throughout the weekend. He laughed when he realized Carmy double-downed on what he’d initially said about Grace ‘not being that kind of girl.’ and how people would ‘never take her seriously’ when he dropped the word ‘whore’ he knew there would be hell when you came home. The front door slammed, and he heard Carmy yell ‘fuck’ and slam a door. He looked out his bedroom window to see Grace running up the street. Oliver sighed and fished his phone out of his pocket; “Oli fuck off.” Grace huffed before immediately hanging up on him. He rolled his eyes and dialed your number. “Hi baby, everything okay?” “Nope.”

The house was antagonistic. Carmy was pissed at himself, you and Grace were also pissed at him, and Oliver managed to sink into the background. The family dinners you’d shared were typically full of conversation and life, but tonight was awkwardly silent. Oliver decided he’d take a crack at making it better, “Uncle Richie got to 100 Instagram followers. He’s pretty excited about it.” no one took the bait. He poked at the chicken on his plate, “Good dinner, am I right?” he grinned, looking around the table. Grace rolled her eyes and stood up from the table, “Grace?” you called after her. She ignored your question and went upstairs. “Well, I think it’s a good dinner- conversation wasn’t the best, but… we’ll get through it.” Oliver tried to lighten the tension in the room, but he inevitably failed, and Carmy told him to go to his room. Oliver obliged, taking his and Grace’s plates to the sink before shuffling upstairs. He walked past Grace’s room on the way. He paused and stood before the door; it was too quiet. He knocked softly before opening the door; she was gone.

“I just don’t know what to say to him. I’m pissed.” Grace vented as she lay beside Eva in the park by her apartment, “My dad was the same way, except he threw my clothes away. My mom ripped him a new one over it.” “Should I accept his apology and move out as soon as possible?” Eva shook her head and laughed at the suggestion. “Gracie, you know what you need to do.” Grace sighed, knowing her cousin was right. She sat up and pushed her hair back. “I’m gonna hide out at Danny’s house. Cover for me?” “Of course. Don’t get pregnant.”

“Gracie girl? Can I come in, honey?” you asked outside her door, but there was no response. “Baby, please?” you asked again. “She’s not home,” Oliver said, walking past you to the bathroom. “What do you mean she’s not home?” he shrugged. “I guess she snuck out after dinner.”. You pinched the bridge of your nose in frustration before walking into your and Carmy’s bedroom, “You have to fix this, Carmen.” you scolded in your best mom voice he’d heard a thousand times, granted it was typically directed at one of the kids. “Baby, how can-” “Carmen. If you ever want to be inside me again, you’ll fix this.” Carmy leaned back against the headboard; he didn’t think something like this could be fixed.

“Oh, hi, Grace.” Danny’s mom greeted her when she realized she was sitting on the couch with Danny. “Hi, Mrs. De Luca.” she smiled back, “How are you, sweetheart?” Grace shrugged at the question, “Been better.” “Oh, I’m sorry, Grace,” she frowned before turning her attention to her son “Danny. I need you to take Annie to school tomorrow morning, okay? I’m doin’ an overnight.” Danny nodded in acknowledgment. She smiled again and quickly ran out of the house, leaving Danny and Grace in the living room and Danny’s sister Annie upstairs, tucked into bed.

“So. What’s goin on with you?” Danny finally asked. He wasn’t mad that she’d come over unannounced, but it was obvious that Grace had been crying. Grace shrugged at the question, “Guess I just wanted to see you.” Danny scoffed. “Grace. Com’ on. You only come over on weeknights when you’re upset.” “Do not.” Grace challenged, leaning into his side. “I will tickle it out of you, baby. You should just tell me what’s up.” he insisted, sitting up slightly. Grace groaned and sat up, bringing her knees to her chest. She told him that she and Carmy were fighting about her ‘secret online life that everyone can see’ and how ‘she’s not that kind of girl,’ so why was she pretending to be? She was hesitant to include the part where Carmy had called her a whore, but as she looked at Danny’s sympathetic face, she couldn’t hold back. “The house is awkward- Oli tried to make a joke out of it, but it was just so fuckin’ annoying. I’m just disappointed in myself… he’s never mad at me, Danny.” Danny nodded. “I get that. What me to beat him up for callin’ you a whore? You know I will.” Grace rolled her eyes. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Carmy sat outside on the porch smoking when he saw headlights coming in his direction; it was almost 2 in the morning. He sighed and took a final puff before ashing his cigarette. He assumed it was Grace, and he was correct. He heard her say her goodbyes to whoever dropped her off and waited for her to come up the driveway. “Hi, Grace.” he greeted, his lips pulling into a tight line due to their growing awkwardness. “Dad,” she responded, crossing her arms over her stomach. “Where were you?” “With Eva.” Carmy nodded. “Can I talk to you?” Grace shrugged and moved closer to Carmy. “I want to apologize, Gracie. I shouldn’t have said that about you. You have a good head on those shoulders- but I don’t want you to get hurt. Girls who posted stuff like that online when I was 17… you know what happened. Rumors and shit- I just don’t want people doin' that to you.” he explained, scratching at the back of his neck. Grace nodded, taking in what he’d said. “I understand, but I’m not a little girl anymore, Dad. I can handle myself; if I can’t, Danny has my back.” Carmy nodded, “We good?” he asked, looking down at Grace. He smiled when he saw her pulling her sleeves over her hands like when she was a little girl and felt uneasy. “We’re good.” Grace agreed. Carmy brought her into a lazy hug and kissed the top of her head. “I love you, always.” Grace smiled and hugged Carmy back, “I love you too, Dad.”

As the two went inside, Carmy remembered something she’d said, “Who’s Danny?” Grace stopped and looked up at Carmy cautiously. “Uh… he’s my- my boyfriend…”

#the bear #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto imagine #carmen berzatto one shot #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy the bear #carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto #dad!carmen berzatto #dad!carmy x reader

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generalluxun · 13 days ago

Note

Who do you think is more fitting to be “Creator’s Pet” of the show: Astruc’s virtual daughter Marinette or perfect and flawless Adrien?

Okay, before I start- I don't like the term creator's pet, it tends to suggest currying favor on the 'pet' part, and obviously Marinette or Adrien can't do that.

Perhaps 'favorite'? and let me lay some ground rules.

This is not character salt! Nothing here should be used to deride the characters. This is about the narrative woven with/around them. This is examining the external biases at play.

We must recognize that Marinette is the PoV character for the show. That is value-neutral. We can't hold screen time as evidence.

That said let's tackle Adrien being 'perfect' first. I know the show and creator use that word a lot but it is very clear in the show that ... He's not. He makes mistakes, he gets *called out* for his mistakes, he gets upset, he apologizes. He's not perfect.

So, why/how/what is the purpose of the perfect mantra in the show? It's because Adrien is a *trophy*. He was Gabriel's trophy, and now he's Marinette's. A trophy must be 'perfect', or how can it be a trophy? He makes no demands(his flirting as Cat Noir was shown as him being wrong and he corrected his behavior to be more perfect), he gives everything, he carries emotional baggage and costs nothing.

All of his perfection benefits *other people* in the narrative, not himself. Does that sound like a favorite? No it sounds like something you *give* to your favorite.

Because yes, I do believe Marinette suffers from an above-average attachment by her creator(and some fans) I say suffers from because I think it hurts her as a character. Superficially it seems to her benefit, but below the surface it's empty calories.

Marinette makes mistakes too, but they are always framed as best intentions. At the end of any disagreement she is the one in the right. Her pain is always the focus/valid one in any situation. S5 amped this up to the point I call it 'Poor Mari' when it happens. Any emotional situation must make you sympathize with Marinette first and often only. It doesn't matter what or who is involved. The entire Agreste Arc has been summed up by the emotional impact *Adrien's family being the villains and his father dying* have on *Marinette* not Adrien. Marinette gets the sympathy for someone else's crisis. How weird is that? It's not even that she did anything wrong (before the lie) but no one else seems to be allowed to experience more emotion than she does, no matter the situation.

That is a strange choice and one that hurts the narrative and her character. (As they find new/more/repeat ways to put her in emotional turmoil to keep her always center all the time)

As an example from before S5, we can look at how Luka/Kagami were handled. It's two parallel situations, handled at the same time. How they're handled gives the insight you are asking for.

Marinette's struggle is the first an foremost thing in Truth. Luka is the sweetest bean, and even when he's akumatized it is all about her pain the end and her having to break up with him. He's upset but he never blames her, never corrects her. After the breakup he is still completely supportive and always there. He works to find her happiness, even though he openly admits to still being in love with her. Marinette is handled gently and put on a pedestal.

Meanwhile, Lies focuses more on Kagami and her efforts to connect with Adrien who is pining for Ladybug( just as Marinette is pining for Adrien) She gets mad at him. She breaks up with him. She holds him accountable for his behavior. She gets over him. When she finally joins team Adrienette it is for *Marinette's* sake, not Adrien's. (MP72)

So yes, Marinette is favored heavily, beyond simply 'the main character' she is the center of this world physically and emotionally in a way that is only more noticable as time goes on.

Oh- and another easy metric: How many people have said Marinette is the best Ladybug ever vs. has anyone ever given Cat Noir the time of day except Ladybug when she felt bad about leaving him out of the loop?

#ask #miraculous ladybug #narrative favoritism #not salt #analysis #don't bring any saline to this discussion #narrative choices #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste

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aboutdifferentthings · 1 year ago

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Jess never stood a chance with Lorelai.

I have read a lot about Lorelai trying to be nice to Jess and trying to help and what a douche bag he was because of the way he talked to her in 2x05. I will not say that he was not harsh and rude but, honestly, I get it. In fact, I do not only get it, I find him quite restrained during the episode until it is just too much. His wording was far from best but he was completely right about he said.

What happens in 2x05 is what sets the path of their relationship because as Lorelai herself said once.

And Jess is not what she wants him to be. She wants Jess to be like she was at his age but he is not and that is what she never gets.

She has a bad disposition towards him even before she meets him. She tells Luke if he needs her she will be there but it just sounds forced because she only says it after not getting him to say she is right.

But what I think is the key are these two sentences.

These sentences show how Lorelai has no faith in Luke doing this but guess who is a great communicator? Guess who is going to be able to straighten him out with her charm? Yes. Exactly.

When Lorelai and Jess meet Jess is being polite enough.

He says ‘hi' he waits (more or less patiently) while she says her daughter can show him where the wilding takes place ( half joking, assuming he is wild). He goes after ‘the class is dismissed’ line. She gets upset. She was expecting him to laugh around her jokes because she was being cool and nice? He is angry, he is hurting, he has all the right not to be happy but she is not taking that into account because she is in the ‘I know what to do’ mode.

When Jess meets Mia, he acts more or less the same than with Lorelai . It is not personal, it is how he is feeling.

However the difference between Mia’s and Lorelai’s reactions is huge. I am Happy Lorelai found Mia, I wished Jess had found someone like Mia too.

Luke and Jess make it to the dinner (the worst of the nightmares for a socially awkward teenager) but he stills holds it. Lorelai’s face when she does not get him to be supper happy because he got invited to her house with a bunch of strangers after being kicked out from his home says it all.

She is so ready to fix this boy and his situation because she knows.

Jess still behaves when he meets Sookie and Jackson and he gets to interact with Rory and ask her to bail with him ( he needed hardly one minute to ask her to walk around with him or sit on a bench and look at their feet, just saying).

He stays, and he would have made it to the table but he needed some air, and he took the beer and she finds him. If she would have just said. - Sorry Jess no beer allowed today, we are waiting for you at the table, I am sure he would have come in ( not in the best mood, probably but he would have). Instead she goes with the fake tone again, half joke, over acting ‘refreshing’ and from there to the you are not hungry. And Jess talks.

He says he is not hungry but she does not listen and she ‘guesses’ ‘you do not want to be here’ and he talks ‘I doesn’t matter’ but she is still not listening, she goes on 'in Star Hollow'…. Of course he doesn’t want to be in Stars Hollow, he wants to be home, and she does not get it because she ran away from home and was happy to find Stars Hollow and Mia and she assumes it is the same for him. She run from home but Jess wished he had one. And here comes it, The little advice….

No Lorelai, you have not been there. This kid was abandoned by his father when he was a baby, this kid has been kicked out of his home by his neglecting addictive, abusive mother because he was being a nuisance she didn’t need. You have been in a bad place but it was a different place, you have not been in his place. He is not playing the ‘my parents don’t get me thing’ he is not maybe screwed, his feelings are not maybe valid instead his parents do not love him, he has been living in a traumatic situation you can not imagine all his life, his feelings are totally valid. Are you really telling him he is lucky? Yes, she is.

Here is the thing, she tried to be Mia but the problem is that she is not being genuine. She is doing it because she wants to be the cool understanding adult who totally gets this rebel boy and to show Luke how well she can handle the situation and how clueless he is, but it backfires because she is the one being clueless: Jess is a high sensitive boy who is going through a lot and she has zero empathy with him. She patronizes him and what happens is that he can see through her, he can feel no connection, he could never trust her because she thinks she already knows everything so she does not listen, she has zero interest is what is really going on with him.

You can see the change of expression in Jess’ face the second Lorelai says Luke is very special. He detects something but she is so absorbed in her own discourse she can not read Jess and she still has the audacity to say ‘you are so lucky’. That is the last straw. He snaps at her with the 'you are naive or you are getting some’ but really, what did she expect?

She expected him to say: ‘yeah, thank you, you are right I will give it a chance I am sorry I took the bier’. And when this does not happen she wants to smash a pie in his face and decides he is screwed forever.

She is completely overreacting because she can not believe he has not surrender to her. And she decides to hate him from here to the end of times. She will never accept he might have a good side. She will hold onto this conversation and build her own image of Jess. No matter if he, Luke or Rory try to change her mind, she will always think the worst of him.

Let me show you what Mia tells Emily about the day she met Lorelai.

And what Emily answered.

Emily would have wanted Lorelai to find someone who did not listen to her and sent her home. She never listened to Lorelai. Lorelai never listened to Jess (and very little to Rory). Lorelai wanted to be Mia but she turned out to be Emily.

He never stood a chance with her.

#jess mariano #It took me a while to put my thoughts together #I just could not let it go #it just frustrates me #it is sad

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writersundersiege · 10 months ago

Text

New Girl in Town Part 3

Rafe Cameron x F! Reader

a/n: Hello, everybody, so this is my first time making an authors' note. I want to place one on this one since I’m new to posting, and also, this chapter took me two days to write, considering I did try to go in and add more depth to my characters. I want my reader (aka you) to have a broader sense of the world. As you can tell, she knows a lot about stuff most people don’t learn, has been to places many of us haven’t had the opportunity to visit and has experienced things I can only hope as a writer is not something you have experienced. But for the margin of you who have experienced any of these warnings below, If you need any resources, please reach out. I will work on putting resources on my account later on or anyone to talk to; my messages are always open to you all as readers of my work. Feel free to ask me questions, give me criticism, or suggest things to the story. I want to continue this for as long as you enjoy it. Thank you for supporting my work, and I hope you enjoy the new chapter

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To read any other parts of this series, click here:

The New Girl In Town - Masterlist

Summary: Rafe accepts the request from your father to fill your place at the clothes drive. When he gets there, he bumps into an unlikely but friendly face, your brother Jason. During the setup for the event, Rafe gets the chance to talk to your brother and find out more about you. What if he finds out your story goes deeper than he thought? Also, what will he do when he discovers more information about your friend who mysteriously pops into town

Warning: Grief of losing family and loved ones, fears of self-harm, peer pressure, allowing someone to binge drink, mentions of potential assault, swearing, self-doubt

As Rafe pulls up to the front of the country club, he parks and throws his bike helmet off immediately. He hurriedly starts walking, hand ghosting over his pockets, double checking for his wallet, keys, and phone and that they’re all still with him. As Rafe walks to the front, his palms are getting sweaty. Rafe never gets nervous. Usually, he’s the one controlling the situation, but with you, your family, it is so different it’s like you will slip out of his fingers the moment you make contact, like handfuls of sand slipping through every time you pick it up.

Rafe stops looking into the country club one last time, taking a deep breath. Rafe has never felt as though he deserves good things. Ward has always rewarded Sarah; the town continuously believes he’s either causing trouble or breaking someone’s daughter's heart; he’s aggressive, psychotic, and a loose cannon when it comes to you, you’re like a ghost to him; no matter where he goes, the image of you haunts him. He wants one thing to go well, one thing to go his way this time, and that’s the things with you.

Straighten up, he clears his throat and runs a hand through his hair as he begins the walk back into the country club; his phone pings with a message. He quickly pulls out his phone while still making his way inside

Unknown number: Thank you so much again, Rafe! I don’t know what I’d do without you, and I owe you one! 🫡💕

Rafe: you can always count on me, angel, always. Also, I’ll never turn down a good favor 😉

He watches as three bubbles appear like you’re about to answer when he runs smack into someone, sending him flying back and stumbling a bit; this has Rafe looking up, starting to say, “Watch where—“ and he cuts himself off because standing in front of him smiling from ear to ear is Jason holding a box of clothes while some still laid on the ground from the collision.

“Rafe, right? he says, smiling with a chuckle. “Seems like I can’t escape you, man if I’m hearing about you or seeing you, I'm nearly trying to knock you on your ass,” he leans down, picking up a shirt from the ground. “Are you here to help with the clothes drive?” Your brother turns to look at him, eyes big and bright like yours are but also kind in a way that makes Rafe want to spill his guts to the guy and tell him his life story; your brother has a soft smirk on his face, not one that is intimidating or meant to be mischievous but one that shows humility like he knows it’s not how Rafe would prefer to spend a random Thursday in June.

They were finally coming to full height, looking at each other. Jason looked to Rafe like an old friend waiting for him to tell them all the things they’d missed in the years past. Smile lines prominently shown on his cheeks, and his eyes creased on the corner just like your whole family has; it made Rafe wonder how often you all smiled to have such prominent and similar facial marks that show happiness and this aura that looks like the dude is being basked in the sun in the middle of a June evening in Kilandre.

Rafe, who at this point has bent down to pick up the last shirt to return to the box, having tucked his phone in his pocket, long forgotten is your response left unread and unanswered.

Rafe decides it’s now or never; he has to play some moves right for a bit, with no snarky attitude or outbursts; he must get this right with your family and you. Show them just how much of a lovely gentleman he can be.

Smiling back and placing the shirt in the box, he looks up to meet your brother's eye, channeling the irritation and pent-up anger from earlier into charm and charisma; both aren’t so far from each other; all depends on lines and delivery.

“ I am here to help. I was not expecting it, but I’m happy to be here. Also, don’t worry about bumping into me. I should have watched where I was going.” Smiling and shaking his head, he motioned with his head inside. “Well, get in there, man. Moms about to give out-groups.” walking down the steps and to your blue Jeep of all things, he turns back to Rafe, calling out, “Also, you’ll have to try and nab us a spot with some of the girls, few in there are our age and they are pretty girls,” you brother says with an awarding smile on his face and wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, spinning on heels jogging over to the back of your Jeep.

Rafe shakes his head, looking down, knowing there isn’t a single girl in the whole country club, hell, on the entire island, perhaps even this planet that compares to you. All the more, he’ll help your brother out. What better way to get close than becoming your brother's best friend? A smirk evolves on his face now that right there is a plan and a good one.

Rafe walks through the entrance down the hall to the ballroom area where they usually hold parties and events; there are tons of different Kooks from Figure 8 here to help; he sees a few of the women Rose gossips with after pilates on Wednesdays, a few of the single kook dads who you can tell their sole purpose of helping was your mother who they are ogling, as well as a few of the islands Kook kids Sarah and Topper stand near Ally and Kayla two girls they all went to school with and a boy who he can’t see with his back to Rafe.

Scanning the room more, Kiara is sitting crisscross on the ground, folding baby clothes and watching as your mom describes the night Kiara’s parents are seated at a table behind your mom, quietly talking and writing on papers. Suddenly, Rafes broke from his search of the crowd as your mom's voice rang in his ears, making a beeline for him. “Rafe, you came?” she said this with so much joy, not like she expected him to fail or disappoint her; then, before he knew it, she was wrapping her arms around Rafe's large frame, his arms limp at his sides, patting her back where he could reach but smiling and laying his head on your moms saying “Of course, I’m here Andy, where do you need me I’m ready to help however I can.”

Your mom pulls back, showing her glittering smile, stilling, holding Rafe by the shoulders and gently reaching up to pat his cheek. “You are a good boy, Rafe.” she moves her hand, turning him to look at the crowd. “your sister, I believe she is here. You can stand with her. I’ll put you in a good group, don’t you worry,” she gives Rafe a wink and chuckles, walking off back to the table where Kiara’s parents sit and kneeling in front of the table, looking at the papers they were writing on.

Once again, he eyes the crowd, scoffing when he watches a few of the single dads congregating and staring at your mom's behind, kneeling until one the guy he believes to be Mr. Chusing, who owns a law firm here in Kilandre. he watches as Mr.Chusing kneels right next to your mom and put his hand on her lower back. Your mom stands immediately and politely puts her ring finger on her chest, prominently showing the man her ring. Rafe smiles, shaking his head, knowing your family is a good set of people.

Rafe looks around again at the group standing with his sister; Sarah and Topper are focused on a guy who looks his age; he notices the guy talking animatedly, which makes everyone laugh. Sarah was laughing so hard she had to wipe tears from her eyes. He walks toward the group when he feels a hand on his shoulder. He turns to find your brother; he looks at him, and he shakes his head as if saying “No” and then shakes his head to the other side, where Kiara sits folding, and he follows him.

“Trust me, you do not even want to go over there, no matter how much fun they look like they are having; that kid is a rat,” Rafe frowns, looking over at the group again as he sits next to Jason, not too far from Kiara folding sock’s together.

He looks at the group, inspecting the boy; he is pretty tall around Rafe's height but not much muscle in his upper body, a thinner build, his hair is a sandy blonde color and curly, kind of like he just got a perm, he turns and sees the guys face he’s pretty tan with a set of perfect white teeth just like your family and even from here Rafe sits he sees the green of his eyes were like sea algae growing on his iris.

Rafe looks at your brother, who is already scowling in the boy's direction. “What did he do?” Jason harshly folds a pair of jeans, looking down on them, not meeting Rafe's eyes once. “He has no respect, loyalty, grace, love, compassion, empathy. I don’t know humanity,” shrugging his shoulders and slamming the pants in the box sitting next to him

Kiara looks up from the baby clothes she sits with, eyebrows arching at Jason. “You good?” she asks like she’s confused. Jason shakes his head, looking down at his hand, shaking and flexing his fingers a few times. Rafe and Kiara look at each other, and she stands to move closer and kneel by your brother. They look back down on the newly bright boy, who seems to be slowly withering in front of them.

“What’s up, bro?” Rafe reaches his hand over to your brother's shoulder with uncertainty; when he makes contact, Jason’s head drops down, hands coming to his face. “You know I was supposed to be with him- them. When they went out there, I was supposed to go with Luca and Cameron on that fishing trip, and I wasn’t because of a damn Stats test. I couldn’t break my honor roll; I couldn’t stop..” Jason’s words are muffled and broken off at the end because he’s looking down with his hands over his eyes, the energy to finally let go of what he’s been holding in dwindling before it’s even sparked.

Rafe knows immediately where this is going for them. He saw it on your face when he asked, and he’s seeing it all over again: a family that seems so picture perfect having a moment where it looks like the world shatters, but for just a moment, you’ll never let them see it too long, but why? Maybe it’s the same reason Rafe is known as the aggressor because of the sentiment he thinks of repeatedly when he’s alone; if people knew the truth, would they still like you? or would they hate it just as much as you do?

What broke Rafes thought was your brother looking up, eyes tinged pink with the welled tears created from the silence, and him looking at the boy across the room leaning into Sarah’s ear to whisper something that made Topper look like he was about to pop his lid. “I may hate myself every day for not being there with them. But I thank god every day for keeping me here and sending me home when Luca was pronounced dead every day to catch that sick son of a bitch over there” Rafe and Kiara both turn to look at Jason with a questioning look he can already feel anger bubbling within him knowing something happened.

“When my sister found out Luca was gone, she was a mess for weeks. Honestly, it would have been months if it weren’t for Luca’s best man, best mate since birth, Ethan; he spent every day with (F/N) and took her to the beach to be near Luca, the aquarium where they had their first date, it was great for months he was the only one who could get her to sleep and eat, but it all went downhill on the six month anniversary and a certain area that struck me as strange one not but basically there is this hiking trail in the neighborhood we lived in back in Malibu that goes up to the cliffs it’s gorgeous and super secluded it was only a place Luca knew and took (F/N)” Jason paused looking down grabbing more clothes to fold

“Cameron told me that that was Luca and (F/N)’s spot..” He trails off, not waiting to discuss this part, but it’s intentional for the story. On the other hand, Kiara gets it immediately, knowing this must be hard for him to talk about on a typical day, but more so for two boys; he called his family and is now gone. Rafe completely misses the hint and frowns at Kiara, giving her eyes like, ‘wtf.’ She looks at him and says, “Sorry for this, Jason, Rafe; it was the first place she was intimate with someone. Get it now.” Rafe's eyes go wide, and he feels his heart drop to the pit of his stomach, but the story can’t wait for him to recover

Jason looks up with the tiniest chuckle. “Don’t worry, dude, it took Cam a while to tell me, too. I played dumb. I didn’t want to know what it was my baby sister was up to in that way anyway; on the six-month anniversary of Luca and Cam's death (F/N), she was distraught; she still had hope he was coming home, but by nearly half a year without him, the light for her simmered out. Everyone was over at our house here and there all day, and nothing. None of her friends, our extended family, or even Luca’s mother could get her out to accept a plate. Eventually, we let her be; we didn’t want to overwhelm the hurt she felt already because none of us knew exactly what she felt.” he looked down, shaking his head. Rafe brings his hand back to his shoulder, squeezing it. At the same time, Kiara says, “ Jason, you don’t have to tell us if it’s something that makes you uncomfortable.” this makes the older boy in front of them shake his head more. “ no, I’ve kept this on my chest too long, and every time I bring it up, everybody else shuts it down cause he’s family in their eyes if he said nothing happened they believe him. I need somebody else to listen and hear me out.”

Kiara looks around to see if anyone has moved since the start of this conversation, and Rafe settles back, one eye on Jason, the other on this new kid he doesn’t like in his peripheral. Kiara turns to Jason, letting him know no one’s listening and he’s good, indicating they haven’t moved a muscle or a manicured nail yet. Jason clears his throat and says, “That night, by ten thirty, I had enough. I hadn’t seen my sister in over 24 hours at that point, and I was scared. They were special to me; I mean, Cameron was my best friend since I was born. I didn’t care if she wanted to scream at me or have me hold her and cry with her. I just wanted to see my sister was okay, so I snuck to her room and knocked slightly, opening the door to check on her, and when I opened the door, she was gone.” he looked down at his hand, ringing them together back and forth like a wet rag eventually he looks up like he saw a ghost in front of him “I’ve never been more scared in my life than running to her bed and feeling that her sheets were cold she hadn't been there for at least an hour.”

Kiara put her hands on his to stop him from rubbing his skin raw. “ immediately, I went to find my friends to see if there was anything; when I checked her location, she was at her spot, but what I couldn’t understand was why she would go someplace so desolate, so lonely by herself first I was screaming waking up my parents I thought she was doing something horrible until I thought a little deeper and the only person we didn’t see all day long who didn’t come to help the family as well as Ethan.”

At this point in the story, Rafe is already seething with anger thinking about you being taken somewhere so dangerous at such a late hour; Rafe turns to laughter looking at the boy, staring at the boy across the room with a vicious look, and Jason, scowling at the boy, for whom he feels so much anger as well. Kiara, in some act of comfort, holds Jason’s hand, rubbing her hand over his knuckles, trying to calm him down. Jason clears his throat once more. “When I got there, she was so drunk she couldn’t even tell me her name; she doesn’t remember that night. He swears up and down nothing happened, but it seems like ever since that day, he will not leave her alone. It’s like he believes what belonged to Luca now belongs to him, and I can’t take it; every time I see him, I want to kill him.”

Rafe turns for a moment to look at your brother's face for the first time since he met your family; he sees the slightest glimmer of darkness behind his eye, the same kind Rafe has; the same one so many people in this town warn others about with Rafe, and then just like the sun on a rainy day it’s there and gone before you believe you saw it. His eyes only showed the cloud of grief and hurt.

Rafe pats his back again and says, “You’re in the Outerbanks now, bro, and your sister is safe; the people out here, our people, we’ll have her back.” Kiara gives Rafe a look like you can’t be serious about telling this boy he can trust any kook; the only trustworthy people on this island were the pogues and, more specifically, her group of friends.

Like always, though, with rich boys, they band together, not even acknowledging the look on Kiara's face. Jason looks up and says, “Thank you, Rafe. I appreciate you hearing me out, and my sister was right about you, that’s for sure.” Rafe's eyes blow out, and his neck turns red as he shakes his head and says, “Your sister is something else.”

To further this thread of thoughts in Rafe's mind, he feels his phone ping twice and pulls it from his back pocket

(F/N)🌊💕: Angel huh? I like that one, and yes, Rafe, I now owe you A favor that means only one. Don’t think I’m out here doing favors for anyone!

sent at 6:15 pm

(F/N)🌊💕: We should hang out sometime, maybe catch some waves tomorrow??

sent at 7:00 pm

(F/N)🌊💕: I’m heading to bed; let me know :) Thank you again, and see you around Reef 🪸🐠

sent at 7:30

Scanning these messages, Rafe starts to type a response before he’s even finished reading but immediately deletes it, thinking it better to let you sleep since something made you sick. Turning to your brother and pondering just what did make you head out? He asks, “Hey, what ma—“ but before he could finish, your mom was calling groups

“Okay, everyone, we will split into groups to make distributions easy. Take a little of each kind of clothing, men to babies, with you. The spot I give you is where you will be sitting at a distribution table, which my wonderful daughter (F/N) and her friend Ethan helped set up.” Ethan smiled and waved around at the people who were looking for you “ (F/N) who is unfortunately very sick and has to raincheck on being here was the mind of this event, and she was overwhelmed and overjoyed of the community outreach here; it shouldn’t take us more than 45 minutes to get rid of these items and help some families in need.” Everyone starts to clap. Jason stands and lends a hand out to Kiara and helps her stand as Rafe stands and moves to make sure he has a good line of sight on the pretty boy with no manners.

Everything is muffled as he stands examining the boy who’s most likely 20 feet across the ballroom from him, trying to catch a slip of any kind and the fun demeanor he’s been portraying all evening. Still, he seems respectful and well-mannered. Rafe watches, knowing under the stone image of a nice guy is a monster clawing its way back out.

Rafe hearing his name is what diverts his attention. “Rafe, would you mind leading the last group?” he looks to your mother, smiling; he shakes his head, dying inside but smiling, saying, “Would be happy to Andy.” This being out, Rafe sees for the first time in the evening; the boys' eyes snap, and it is immediately like the pin pulled from a grenade getting ready to blow.

Rafe sees Ethan’s eye lock with his; you would think Rafe has lit his house on fire and spit in his face with the disgusting face he throws his way. Rafe stares back, the usual dark look in his eye, a smirk on his face, knowing now this kid knows the monster has met its match. Looking at Ethan but saying to your mother, “Where would you like us?”

Rafe is walking outside to your jeep with your brother in hot pursuit, with no emotions, as he carries boxes to be loaded in the back. His group comprises Jason, Kiara, Sarah, Topper, the girls, and the goon. They all agreed to take separate cars, Kayla and Ally with Kiara in her vehicle; Topper and Sarah were so kind as to offer to take Ethan, leaving Jason to drive Rafe in your jeep. As they loaded the back with their few boxes, Jason turned to Rafe with an almost incredulous look. “I know what I told you is a lot to believe—“ Rafe stops him by simply saying, “I see it; in his eyes, he’s done something, and he doesn’t like me 'cause she does.” They had an entire moment of understanding between the young men he had done something that night, and now they both knew, and they will know what happened eventually.

This has both boys rounding the car and hopping in. Jason turns on the car, but before turning off the country club driveway with his hand on the wheel, he turns to Rafe again. “Just don’t let him provoke you, bro; he can be complicated. I told you the kid likes to be a bit of—“ Rafe looks at him with literally no emotion on his face saying, “a bitch.”

Jason laughs, throwing his head back against the headrest for the first time since he greeted him; he sees brightness return to Jason’s face; he lays his head there a moment, laughter dying back slowly. He shakes his head, bringing it forward. “Ethan is a crude bastard, and he’s not afraid to say what he thinks even if it's stupid, but he also likes to pick a good fight.” This has Jason looking at Rafe dead in the eyes, more serious than he’s seen or heard anyone in your family this far.

He says, “Don’t let him provoke you.” Rafe frowns, but Jason looks at him like a kid whose parents picked him up during a fight at school, and they’re waiting for him to say what he knows and won’t. Rafe starts to get a little pissed. “What makes you think he’ll—“Jason eyes him again, turning to drive as Rafe sits back silently for a moment. “I won’t. I’m here for her, and she wouldn’t, so I won’t,” Jason chuckles. “She’s got you wrapped around her finger already, huh? Yeah, she has that effect.”

Jason smiles, looking forward to driving them to the Heywards Shop to set up a pickup for clothes. Rafe stares out the window, watching the yellow streetlights mix with the blue-green hue of the evening sky and looking out at the hint of the stars he can see shining in the night sky. He thinks of you and how fast his heart beats when you smile and how warm he feels when you are next to him. You make him feel and think so differently in a way that makes him want to explore and experience things as you do; he wants to see things from a positive and enthusiastic perspective.

Against his better judgment, he pulls his phone from his pocket and pulls up the contact he’s already saved for you and the messages you’ve already shared.

Rafe: I'd take any favors you’d give, and also, I’d love for you to tell me where, and I’ll be there; sweet dreams, angel. ❤️

All rights belong to the owners of Netflix and the Outer Banks. I do not own any characters except OC characters. The fiction is simply for fun. All copyrights belong to the original owners.

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darkpoisonouslove · 4 months ago

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Something You Can Do

Summary: Alicent goes to Helaena to tell her about Jaehaerys' funeral and try to comfort her as best as she can. A rewritten scene from 2x02 "Rhaenyra the Cruel" that pays more attention to the awful choice Helaena was subjected to and her feelings in the wake of her son's murder. The idea of rewriting scenes from the second season of HotD is a great way to engage with the show despite its flaws and I would like to thank @aegoncarney for creating this event. It got me to write my first HotD fanfiction! AO3

The eyes of the Red Keep are like knives in Alicent's back, in her ribcage, in her mind. She wants to turn to the seemingly empty hallways and scream, yell at them, demand their accountability. Always watching, at least a dozen pairs shadow her every movement now but where were they when her daughter had been all alone against the monsters in the night?

They are only here to confine her, stop her from going two steps back for every three steps forward like she's lost her mind. She has to leave herself to the motion of walking, keep her mind on other things to let her feet take her to the quarters where her daughter and granddaughter had been moved on their own.

The thought of what she'll see when she gets there only makes her slow down as she wrestles with the impulse to turn around and storm the Small Council again to countermand her father’s commands. But she can't run from this forever. She has to be there for her daughter, as close as Helaena will allow her.

She had been in shock last night, staying in Alicent's chamber. They'd hardly talked her into letting go of Jaehaera and she'd remained perched on Alicent's bed and watching over her the whole night. The alertness in her posture had been disturbing, her hands stroking Jaehaera despite the distant look in her eyes as if to make sure the girl was still there. Alicent had barely convinced her to lie down and rest her body at least if she refused sleep, gaze penetrating the space in front of her as if she could see something in the distance the rest of them were unaware of.

The knight in front of Helaena's door opens it for Alicent, a little too quickly as if he's ashamed of how little use there is for him, now. She thanks him regardless – for guarding her precious girl, for saving her from agonizing over whether to knock and startle Helaena or risk frightening her if she walked in without warning, and for the sake of announcing herself to her daughter. Maybe even for her own sake, to earn herself another second to steel her nerves and bear the sight of what had become of her sweet girl, all because of her.

Helaena is on her feet again, holding the bedpost for support. She has Jaehaerys' blanket in her hands, hugging it to her to feel any trace left of him – his scent or the warmth that is no longer there. Something leaves her throat but it is unintelligible.

Alicent's heart pounds in her ears frantically despite her resolve to listen in, to never let Helaena feel alone or unheard again. She tries to ask… something but the possibility that a sob would be the only response she gets is an insurmountable lump in her throat. Helaena has every reason to weep and never stop. Why should she herself be allowed anything different?

Helaena turns to her, head snapping in her direction so fast that Alicent almost gasps in fear that she's hurt herself. Her eyes are focused now, her gaze so intense as it lands on Alicent that she nearly collapses to her knees. Whatever her sweet girl is looking for, she will fail to provide.

"I had nothing to give," Helaena's voice is so hollow – as if she knows her mother won't have what she needs.

Alicent chokes down her own sobs but her words are still wet when they come out, bathed in the tears welling in her eyes, "No, you are so loving and warm. A great mother-"

Helaena goes on as if she did not speak, "I couldn't offer myself. They only wanted a son."

Alicent freezes. The blood drains from her; she can't breathe. Her arm only shoots out to brace her against the wall when her knees buckle.

"I only had a necklace they didn’t take." Helaena's fingers are bunching the blanket, digging into it in search for her baby, or at least for an answer to settle her heart and mind. "Did I have something else to give?"

She whips around, eyes running over the room.

"This was my son's," she holds up the blanket. She steps towards the table and picks up one of Jaehaerys' toys. "This was my son's. All of these. He had many things. Why did I not…?"

Her arms fall next to her body, limp, the blanket pooling in her feet. She looks up at Alicent, her lips trembling. "I must have had something to give. If I am the queen."

Alicent runs to her. The moment she opens her arms, Helaena collapses in them and they fall to the floor, the blanket barely softening the thud their bodies make against it. The toy in Helaena's hand clatters to the ground and her nails sink into Alicent’s shoulders like she'd slip away if she doesn't burrow herself under Alicent's skin. She is only grateful for that pain.

She tries stroking Helaena's hair and only continues when Helaena doesn't push her away. Though, she doesn't really seem to notice, still clutches at her and her breaths come in irregular gasps. Like she's stifling the cries before they can form in her body.

Alicent doesn't know what to say, how to encourage her to let it out. She wants to tell her she'll remain with her as long as Helaena needs her but Helaena speaks first.

"What else could I have done, mummy?"

Alicent's heart breaks. She bites herself to blood to keep from weeping; the tremors of her body are already shaking Helaena. That's all she can give her. Not an answer but her own pain reflected back at her.

She has to remind herself not to cling to Helaena like that's the only thing keeping her head above water. She's supposed to be the one consoling her baby.

She has nothing to give.

"I didn't see them," Helaena's voice is so thin, like she'll break under unbearable weight. "Just the rats. In every hallway, swarming together, with a big shadow behind them swallowing the light. They were coming for us and I couldn’t pick him up, my boy…" She buries her face in Alicent's neck. "They were running from it."

Alicent can't help the pangs of guilt cutting through the relief of having Helaena nestled into her neck, safely in her arms where nothing can take her away. It's a comfort only to her while her sweet girl is twisting her mind inside out, looking for a way out of a tragedy that's already happened, that none of them could have foreseen. She has to soothe her, has to find a way to lead her out of the maze Helaena is wandering in her own head.

"There is to be a funeral for Jaehaerys. We’ve been asked to… accompany the procession."

Helaena has gone still, stiff, in her arms. She has to tread very carefully.

"If we show we need them, the people will help us. With them on our side, it will be easier to defend ourselves. You can protect your girl."

Helaena pulls back to look at her and Alicent tries to find her own conviction. She'd do anything for her sweet girl but this doesn't feel right. She's not lying; they need the people. She still feels like retching just thinking of standing next to her daughter while her pain is paraded around.

Her sweet girl needs a second but understands. Her eyes search Alicent’s face and she feels like she's failing her. Tears have already started to blur her vision and she knows her jaw trembles; she doesn't even have the strength to clench it hard enough to stop that. How can she harden herself when Helaena is in her arms? Only gentleness should ever touch her girl.

Only when she sees her tears mirrored in Helaena's eyes as she nods, she knows her girl is braver than her.

Her heart jumps when Helaena leans into her again. She tucks her under her chin immediately and strokes her back.

She wants to say, "I'm sorry."

All she says is, "There is something you can do."

She's not sure if she's talking to Helaena or to herself.

She repeats herself over and over again.

Maybe at least one of them will believe it.

#house of the dragon #hotd rewritten project #alicent hightower #helaena targaryen #hotd #fanfiction #my fanfiction #my writing

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robbinghisdick · 7 months ago

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As Dick looked down at his white haired baby, he wondered if her genetics knew that black hair was a dominant trait and by all accounts should've trumped Slade's silver hair (which wasn't even natural to begin with).

At the hospital, he said it probably wasn't white, just a very pale blonde and would darken as Elani aged. He could tell that Bruce was mentally listing any man he could think of with white hair, even as Dick told him sternly that he didn't want to know who the father was, so let it be.

Dick doubted Bruce would listen for very long.

Roy accompanied him home from the hospital, the only person Dick had told the full truth to. Considering Lian, Roy didn't have much room to judge, though he made relentless jabs about daddy issues. Slade was Bruce's age, after all.

In some time, Dick would allow the other Titans to come over and meet Elani, but he knew they'd likely piece things together quick once they saw her. He wasn't quite ready yet for their reactions. Slade had tormented them, and here Dick had just carried and birthed his child.

Roy helped Dick settle back home, pointing to the fridge full of meals the team had prepared for him as a gift. He told Dick to get some rest and to not be afraid to reach out for help.

The loneliness was felt immediately, his apartment painfully silent and empty. Normally it was a blessing to come home to. He loved his team mates, but it was nice to have a little space just for him.

Dick mostly rested, keeping Elani in his arms as he sat on the couch and mindlessly watched TV. He was restless but exhausted, a frustrating mixture that left to overthink.

He knew despite his scathing remarks to Slade to stay away, it wouldn’t matter. The man had yet to respect a single boundary Dick had ever tried to set. It was only a matter of time.

That thought alone made it hard to put Elani down in her crib. He chose this apartment so he could make the room without windows a nursery. He didn't want access to her to be easy, and yet he was sure Slade would find a way.

It got late and exhaustion wore out. He put Elani to bed, left his bedroom door open, and cranked the baby monitor volume all the way up. He sporadically got up to feed and take care of her as the soft cries came through the baby monitor.

He had only been laying down for a few minutes when his hair stood on end and he found himself suddenly awake. For a minute he didn't move, ears pricked for any sort of sound. No noise came, but Dick got to his feet, reaching just under his bed for a bat.

Soundlessly he slipped down the hall to the nursery. It didn't matter if he immediately recognized that the man in the nursery was Slade, seeing someone hold his baby left him chilled.

He froze, but Slade noticed him a moment later.

"At ease, Grayson. We both know you're not going to hit me while I'm holding her," his voice was quiet. Dick couldn't tell if it was for the sake of the sleeping baby or if it was because he was being treated like a startled animal. Possibly both.

"I thought I said I didn't want to see you again," Dick said, relaxing his hold on the bat but not putting it down altogether as he entered the nursery.

Slade laughs, unimpressed. "You also said the baby wasn't mine." One finger flicks a white curl on Elani's head. "I know when you're lying."

Dick scowled in return.

Slade's gaze turns down to the baby in his arms. "What's her name?"

"Elani Marie Grayson."

Slade makes a small noise of acknowledgement. "Thought your mother's name was Mary?"

"Marie sounded better." Dick hated that Slade remembered that detail about him. The voice in his head that sounded like his friends told him that Slade was weird and obsessed. It wasn't because there was anything more to their fucked up dynamic.

After a beat of silence, Dick sighed. "What do you want, Slade?"

"Just wanted to see my daughter."

"You already have one," Dick reminded him. "Elani is my daughter, not yours." He closed the distance between them. "If you care for her at all, you won't be in her life. You get people killed."

Slade's eyes scan over Dick's face, cracking a smile. "I don't recall your track record being much better."

Dick's lips press into a hard line, refusing to react. Not a day has gone by since Dick got pregnant that he didn't dread all the terrible things that could happen to Elani purely because she was his daughter. He knew he was just as big of a threat to Elani as Slade was.

But without further arguing, Slade pushed Elani into Dick's arms, ignoring the way Dick jerked his head away to give him a kiss.

"I'll come see you once you've recovered."

Dick didn't bother telling him not to.

[Prev]

#sladick #dick grayson #slade wilson #dc universe #sladedick #elani grayson #my writing

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ugh-yoongi · 2 years ago

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riding fakie | ksj

(or, the one where you think you’re getting a fake boyfriend, but you end up with a whole lot more.)

→ pairing: seokjin x f. reader → genre(s): enemies to lovers (lite), fake dating | humor, fluff, angst → rating: mature → warnings: based entirely on this edit i saw ages ago so good luck, swearing, reader is a trust fund kid with awful parents so classism and screwy family dynamics, a very brief but referenced two-night-stand with taehyung who has a foot fetish (canon) and is ultimately plot irrelevant, this is lite enemies to lovers so sometimes they are not very nice to each other, kissing. i think that’s it? this is mostly tame, all things considered, but i will revise if needed. → word count: 14.2k → written for: the catch of the century collab. thank you to @raplinesmoon / @joheunsaram / & @kithtaehyung for hosting and allowing me to participate! ♡ → thank yous: my holy trinity for keeping me inspired and accountable and letting me know when i don’t word good. @the-boy-meets-evil / @hot-soop / @effortandmore. also my husband who actually skateboards and helped me to sound knowledgeable but will also never, ever see this. → a/n: [looking a whole lot like the dehydrated spongebob meme] hey, long time no see. this fic absolutely kicked my ass like nothing has ever kicked my ass before, but it’s finally done and here. i don’t think i’m super happy with how it turned out and i think it’s probably rushed, but i hope you all enjoy it regardless! now, if you need me i will be sobbing on the floor holding a locket with seokjin’s picture inside.

[THE THREAT]

The thing about privilege is—

Well, nothing. It’s just there, propped up in the corner, looming over every aspect of your life. And usually it’s fine. You want for nothing. People just hand things to you. But, just like the apple tree and Isaac Newton and the Law of Gravity—everything that goes up must come down. Nothing gold can stay. Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. You might have your name and your money and your status, but you also have your parents and your brother.

Your brother, who has somehow found someone to marry him and is planning a wedding.

Your parents, who are threatening to revoke your trust fund if you don’t attend. And bring a date.

“I don’t want to hear it,” your mother says, preemptively cutting off your protests. She’s always had a knack for dictatorship, and another one for doing so as she barks orders to the hired help in the background. “This wedding is very important for us as a family. Do you know how bad it’d look if you not only didn’t show up, but showed up alone? It won’t do.”

On your end of the line, sitting at some bougie outdoor café with an overpriced latte in hand, you roll your eyes. “Wouldn’t it look worse to cut off your only daughter and leave her destitute? God forbid, what if I have to get a job?”

An aggravated click of her tongue. “I don’t know where you got that smart mouth of yours, but it’s unbecoming. I’ve at least managed to talk your brother’s fiancee out of including you in the bridal party, so you could show a bit of gratitude instead of being a brat.”

(Impossible, you think. Your brother had taken all the suck-up genes and left nothing for you. Alternatively, you’d taken all the backbone, so it’s almost even.)

“Why don’t you ask the youngest Jeon boy? They’re coming anyway, and it would look good for your father if the two of you were seen together.”

You grimace. “Jeongguk? Absolutely not.”

Another click. “Fine, but don’t you dare even think about showing up with some—”

“Piece of shit loser,” you finish for her. Usually she’d scold you for swearing, but it’s apparently allowed in the name of shitting on the middle-class. “Yes, Mother, I get it. Don’t worry, I wouldn’t dare sully our good family name by associating with the poor.”

She doesn’t trust you, you can tell by the way she huffs and starts mumbling under her breath, but it’s clear she’s just as done with this conversation as you. “You have three months to figure it out.”

Privilege can go to hell.

[THE SEARCH]

Park Jimin is a lot of things.

He’s got money. He’s got hundreds of thousands of Instagram followers for no reason other than he’s hot. He’s got a closet full of in-season designer clothes, so he’d look stunning hanging off your arm in a tailored suit. He’s got charisma and charm and that innate ability to talk to anyone about all that boring shit you can’t stand.

Most importantly, he’s got a chip on his shoulder, too. He’s on your level.

Park Jimin is telling you no. “Sorry, I’ll be out of the country that weekend,” he says. He doesn’t look sorry. “One of those things I can’t skip. You know how it is.”

Your eyes narrow. “You’re full of shit.”

Park Jimin’s got a laugh that rings like Tiffany crystal. “Maybe.”

Still, you’re not above begging. The list of acceptable arm candy candidates (which you’ve taken to calling The Armcandidates, because you also got all the humor genes) is rapidly dwindling, and although Jimin’s not bottom of the barrel, he’s close. “Jimin, please. Whatever you want, I just need this one favor.”

“Don’t barter with things you’re not willing to give up,” he chides, nothing but heat. Would you fuck Jimin to keep your trust fund? Pillowy lips, slutty little waist, thighs that could crush your head like a grape—you could definitely do worse, all things considered.

“Who says I’m not?”

Jimin would come dead last in a poker tournament, the way surprise flashes across his face. “Well, in that case, I’m actually sorry I’ll be out of the country that weekend.”

You groan, head dropping onto your folded arms. “Can’t believe I outed myself like that and you’re still turning me down.”

Laughter trails behind him as he disappears into his massive closet. “Have you asked Taehyungie? He loves weddings.”

“The last time I talked to Kim Taehyung, he jerked off on my feet and cried. I don’t think I could look him in the eye, let alone invite him to my brother’s wedding.”

Jimin snorts. “He’s actually quite lovely once you get past the foot stuff. Think about it.”

Regretfully, not only do you think about asking Taehyung, you actually go through with it.

One day you’re talking to Jimin and the next thing you know, you’re once again on your back in Kim Taehyung’s bed. No weird feet shit this time, you’d told him, and, well, here you are. Skin tacky from sweat, entire room stinking of sex. Kim Taehyung is weird as hell but he’s unreasonably hot, and you’d made it all of ten minutes in his presence before folding.

(The last time it’d been five, so you’re making progress. Surely that’s something to be proud of.)

“I actually came here for a reason,” you say, still trying to catch your breath. Beside you, Taehyung hums an acknowledgement. You try not to wonder if he’s staring at your toes and that’s why he’s breathing so hard. “I need to bring a date to my brother’s wedding or my parents are gonna cut me off.”

He whistles. “Damn, that’s cold. Fully?”

“That’s what they say.”

“And you’ve decided to ask me? I’m honored, angel.”

“I asked Jimin first, to be fair.”

Taehyung’s face falls comically. “I’m no longer honored,” he jokes. “Jiminie’s great at weddings. He said no?”

You shrug. Something about his rejection still stings. You’re trying not to take it personally. Or think about it too much. “Said he’s going to be out of the country that weekend. Told me to ask you because you quote-unquote ‘love weddings’.”

“He said that?” Taehyung asks, voice pitched higher, dopey look overtaking his features. “Wow, we’re so in sync.” Wistful, like he’s lovesick. “We really must be soulmates.”

You choke. “Sorry, am I interrupting something?”

“Uh, no. Is the wedding the weekend he’s going to Milan?”

That ‘no’ seems to be carrying a lot of weight. You eye him suspiciously. “Apparently.”

“Ah, I’ll be in Paris. I asked him to come with me and he told me no, too. Guess you know how it feels.”

You sit up, sheets clutched to your chest. “Seriously, what’s going on with you two?”

Taehyung heaves a long-suffering sigh. “How much time do you have?”

You roll your eyes. “About three minutes.”

“Next time, then. Sorry I can’t help with the wedding. You’ll find someone, though.”

Another day, another rejection. You tell Taehyung not to look at your feet as you get dressed to leave.

Jung Hoseok isn’t generationally wealthy, but he’s got enough money to be deemed respectable in the eyes of your parents.

He’s also got a 24 karat smile and a meticulously highlighted and underlined study guide for your upcoming exam, so he’s currently ranked number one on your Armcandidates list.

“Hobi, have I ever told you you’re my favorite person?”

He eyes you over the lid of his coffee cup. “A few times, yeah.”

“Jung Hoseok,” you singsong, “actual sunshine, number one human, best thing since sliced bre—”

“If you finish that sentence with some fire of my loins Lolita bullshit I’m leaving.”

You pout. “I need a favor.”

He tosses the study guide in your direction. “Just take it. I have another copy in my bag.”

“Not that,” you say, but you take it anyway. Hoseok’s study guides are a thing of legend: even if you don’t use it, you’ll be able to sell it to some idiot underclassman for a week’s worth of coffee. The bougie kind with whipped cream on top. “I need a date for my brother’s wedding.”

Now it’s his turn to choke. “And you’re asking me?”

“Yeah? What’s wrong with asking you?”

He shrugs, suddenly antsy, like he’s too big for his skin. “I don’t know. Don’t you have, like, actual prospects? Every dude in our cohort wants to date you.”

“Because I’m hot and I have a shitload of money,” you retort, and Hoseok makes a face that says yeah, fair. “I’d rather be tarred and feathered than ask any of them. We’re friends, and I trust you. Additionally, your family’s rich enough to get my parents off my back and we’d look good together.”

“Ah, yes, that last point is very important.”

You scoff. “Of course it is, it’s my brother’s wedding. Do you know how many pictures I’m gonna be forced to take? Hundreds. Possibly thousands.”

“Sounds terrible.”

“It will be, which is why I need a brother-in-arms. A confidante. A comrade.”

“Have you asked Jimin? He’s great at weddings.”

You nearly start shrieking. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”

“...Is that a yes?”

“Of course I asked Jimin. I asked Taehyung, too. They’re both going to be out of the country and are probably fucking, and that’s not particularly something I want to get in the middle of.” Hoseok raises an eyebrow. “It could be serious,” you argue. “Like, Actual Feelings kind of stuff, and that shit gets messy.”

“Yeah, fair,” Hoseok concedes, out loud this time. “Plus Tae has that weird foot thing.”

“Exactly! So you get it.” Finally, a lead! “Will you come, then?” You flutter your eyelashes. “Pretty please, Hobi.”

“When is it?” As you rattle off the date, Hoseok digs through his bag for his phone. Then he pulls up his calendar and frowns. “Shit, no can do, either. My elective rotation starts that prior Monday.”

“Ew. What elective are you taking?”

Hoseok nearly blinds you as he smiles. “Reproductive endo and infertility.”

Your eyes widen. “Holy shit, that one you applied to ages ago? You got it?” He nods. “Oh my god, Hobi, that’s amazing!” You launch across the table to hug him. “I still hate you for bailing, but think of all the tiny raisins you’re gonna help bring into the world!” You wipe away a fake tear. “You’re a god amongst men, Jung Hoseok.”

He takes a bow. “Thank you, thank you. Speaking of which, how’s the volunteer gig in the ER treating you?”

“It’s fine.” You groan, put-upon, and sometimes Hoseok is so smiley and endearing that you feel guilty unloading all of your burdens on him, so you aren’t going to. Not unless he asks. Because he’s prone to dramatics and neuroticism but not like you are, and you know it can be a lot for someone not expecting it.

However—

“That’s good. Is that annoying guy you told me about still bothering you?”

Wrong question.

You cock an eyebrow. “This is the third time this week.”

In front of you, Kim Seokjin just grins, dried blood cracking on his plush lower lip. “Yep.”

“It’s Tuesday,” you deadpan. The grin grows wider, warping the purple-black bruise beneath his eye.

Because he’s arguably the most annoying person on earth, Seokjin just hums an acknowledgement, leaning further against the reception desk. “Well,” he says, voice interlaced with honey, “you’d have to take that up with the Babylonians, since they invented the modern calendar. Not much I can do about that.”

A pause. Then, “You’re really fucking annoying, do you know that?”

“It's a bit rude to insult someone seeking out your services, don’t you think?”

You roll your eyes, pushing your tongue into the fat of your cheek. “Not really. Not if it’s you.”

Surprisingly—or maybe not, considering everything seems to roll off his back—a laugh comes tumbling out of him. “Listen, I know it’s probably overwhelming to be blessed with the sight of this face not once, but three times in a week. I can understand and excuse your insensitivity, so I won’t report you this time, but—”

Ignoring him, you slam a clipboard onto the space between you. “You know the drill.”

“What if I’ve forgotten it?”

“Name, address, insurance information, reason for treatment.”

“You know my name, you know where I live, insurance hasn’t changed, and I’m just here to soak in your sparkling personality.”

With as murderous a stare as you can muster, you push the clipboard further in his direction. It hits something solid. Probably a rib, judging by Seokjin’s pained wheeze, but you don’t get paid enough to care. “Do you need a pen?”

“Why, so you can stab me with it?”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

He rolls his eyes. Thumbs through the intake forms and pretends to read them, even though the last time he had to sign one he’d just drawn a stick figure giving you the finger. “Have you ever spoken to anyone about your sociopathic tendencies? Might do you some good.”

With prolonged eye contact, you toss a pen in his direction. Hits him square between the eyes. “A million times,” you deadpan. This is where you’d blow a bubble and pop it if you were allowed to chew gum on the clock. “I’ve been diagnosed with an incurable case of bitchitis. It’s a very tragic burden to bear. Fill out the form.”

Seokjin huffs. Stays standing right in front of you as he does as you say, ignoring the line of people behind him that’s rapidly stacking up. Someone towards the back yells at him to get out of the way, but the protest dies immediately once he turns around and smiles. You think an elderly woman faints. She definitely bobbles, at the very least.

“Thanks so much for your help,” Seokjin says, handing the forms back with a mischievous smirk playing on his lips. They’re free of doodled middle fingers, so you wave him off. “Have a great day,” he lobs over his shoulder. When you look down, he’s giving you the finger at waist-height.

“Have the day you deserve,” you fire back.

Your skin needles with anxiety for the rest of the day.

Seokjin comes into the emergency room again on Friday.

He’s got a large gash just above his eyebrow that’s gonna need stitches. You tell him as much as he fills out the same forms as the day before, and he tells you to tell him something he doesn’t know as he rolls his eyes and winces immediately.

“Here’s something you don’t seem to know: karma is real, and she also thinks you’re an asshole.”

You get the finger again for that one. Honestly, you can’t say you don’t deserve it.

“Kiss my ass.”

You pretend to pout. “Health hazard. Against hospital policy.”

Seokjin pauses. Seems to study you for a while, and then he’s cocking an eyebrow and asking, “What do you actually do here, anyway? Besides be a giant bitch.”

Wordlessly, you point at your name tag. There, right beneath your first and last name, lies the answer to Seokjin’s question. He squints. Winces again. “You’re a med student?”

Again, you point at your name tag.

“That means I can write a complaint.”

“Go ahead,” you retort. “My mother’s on the board of directors, and luckily for you she already knows I’m a giant bitch.”

Seokjin snorts, jaw dropping slightly. Just enough to draw attention to his mouth, which you’ve seen a hundred times for a hundred different injuries, but it looks especially sinful today. Maybe it’s just because he’s being mean to you, which is something you might need to explore with Taehyung in exchange for pictures of your feet.

“Ah, I should’ve known. You’ve got overwhelming nepo kid energy. Probably never had to work for anything a day in your life, huh? Probably a legacy to whatever shit-tier medical school was bribed into accepting you, too.”

Until now, you’d thought your banter with Seokjin was relatively harmless. Barbed, sure, and definitely effective. You’d throttle Seokjin if given the chance, and you know he’d do the same. But it’s never been outright cruel.

You try to look unfazed. Try to look like you don’t care about Seokjin and his words at all, because they’re nothing you haven’t heard before. Not like you’d asked to be born to your parents, so shit like this usually rolled off your back.

Now, though—

Your face must fall, just a little, because Seokjin immediately looks remorseful. Moves to say something, but you’re retrieving his clipboard and intake paperwork before he can stutter out an apology. “Thanks. They’ll call you back shortly.”

“Hey, I—“

“You can take a seat over there,” you interject, eyes locked on your computer screen. If you tear up, you can just blame it on eye strain.

You don’t see Seokjin for another two weeks.

And that’s… fine. His absence has given you some time to digest, some time to mull things over, decide if you’re actually upset or if you’d gone temporarily insane. It’d taken ten days, but you came to the conclusion that it’d just been a fleeting moment of sensitivity. People are mean to you all the time in the ER; if you took each insult or attack on your character to heart, you’d be in for a world of hurt.

So, yeah. You’d had a rough day and Seokjin saying you were a good-for-nothing nepot stung a little. That’s it.

Because you’ve got more pressing matters to attend to. You’ve managed to piss away an entire month without securing a date to the wedding, and now you’ve got time breathing down your neck. Two months, your mother’s shrill voice shrieks in your head, and it devolves into weeks and days and hours the longer you let yourself spiral. It’d seemed like so long before: you’d been so certain you’d have a date by the end of day one, and then the universe had to go and humble you. Cruel.

But the universe is also fair, because one day it’s been two weeks since you’ve seen Seokjin, and the next it’s a painfully slow Thursday afternoon and he strolls in with splinted fingers and a sheepish, weary expression.

“Uh, hi.”

You look up from your computer, taking in all the bruises and scars that dot his face but take nothing away from the beauty of it. “Sorry, exorcism hours ended at noon.”

Seokjin swallows, nostrils flaring. He looks like he wants to argue, just because he’s him and you’re you, but he acquiesces with a little nod. “Fair. I deserved that.”

“Here for the usual?” you ask, tone dry and neutral. When Seokjin doesn’t answer, you grab a clipboard and start your usual spiel—name, address, insurance information, reason for treatment—and then there’s a choked-off sound, not unlike a cat dying.

He looks pained when you dare a glance. Face contorted into a grimace, just like all the parents who bring in their constipated babies. “No, no,” he says. Sucks in a deep breath, and you nearly roll your eyes in exasperation. This guy’s acting like he’s about to give a speech at the goddamn United Nations. “I’m here to… apologize?”

You blink. “Are you asking me or telling me?”

“Telling you?” A pause. “Yeah, definitely telling you.”

“Okay.” Another pause. Seokjin fidgets, shifts his weight from one leg to the other, wipes probably-sweaty palms on his jeans, picks up every pen in the cup and drops it back in. “Well, the floor is yours.” More silence. His face seems to shift into reluctant acceptance. “Any day now.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Okay.”

“I was having a bad day and I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Okay.”

“I still think you’re really mean—”

“Sure, that’s fair.”

“—but I’d like to make it up to you. I think.”

“You sure are thinking a lot. Wanna give those brain cells a break?”

“Fuck you,” he replies automatically. “Here I am, trying to be nice—”

An idea strikes you then. Parts the hazy recesses of your mind like the Red Sea, and it feels like you’ve been struck by lightning. “How were you planning on making it up to me?”

Because he’s not wholly an idiot, Seokjin sends you a pointed look. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

You’re sure your smile looks straight out of a Creepypasta, but there’s an opportunity here, and you’d be a fool to let it slip through your fingers. “Because I just so happen to need a favor, and here you are, ready to dish one out.”

“I never said it was a favor.”

You pout. “But Seokjin,” you whine, “you were so mean.”

One of his eyes twitches. “Why does this feel like a crossroads deal?”

“I think the Grinch felt similar. Right before his heart grew three sizes and he saved Christmas.”

He doesn’t respond right away, and you can almost see the scales tipping in his brain, weighing whether or not it’s a good idea to entertain you at all. Which is impressive, all things considered, because he doesn’t even know what you’ll ask for yet. He could be expecting something humiliating at his expense, or a monetary bribe—you’re pretty certain asking for a date will catch him fully off-guard.

“What do you want?”

“Oh, nothing big,” you reply easily. Twirl your hair around your finger. Bat your eyelashes. “Just a little date.”

Seokjin sputters. “A what.”

“A date,” you repeat. “I just so happen to need a date to my brother’s wedding, and you just so happen to be overcome with guilt. It’s a win-win.”

“We don’t even like each other!”

You click your tongue. “Even better, because I don’t like my brother, either!”

“So this is… what? A game? Some kind of petty revenge? Bring the guy who looks like me to your brother’s wedding to rebel against your parents?”

“Yes, absolutely,” you answer, not even bothering to sugarcoat it. Seokjin doesn’t seem convinced. You sigh. “Look, you can say no. Or I can throw in something extra if it feels unfair—”

“Like what?”

You shrug. “I don’t know, I haven’t had time to prepare a fucking offer sheet, Seokjin. What do you want?”

“Depends. What’s this all entail? Is it a one-time thing or do I have to pretend to be your boyfriend?”

You choke. “My boyf—” But then it hits you: your brother will hate this. Your parents will hate it even more. Without even needing to ask, it’s clear Seokjin isn’t from your world, and if they’re ready to disinherit you for showing up to your brother’s wedding alone, might as well commit to the bit. So you clear your throat and smile again. “And if I say yes?”

“It’ll cost more,” Seokjin deadpans.

You nod, feeling a little like you’re swindling this poor man. “Add it to my tab, boyfriend.”

[THE MEETING]

Finding a date was supposed to be the hard part. Turns out, it’s only the beginning.

Your parents are thrilled and a little stunned when you tell them you’ve secured a plus-one. (So is your brother, but you have better luck with him listening when you tell him to fuck off. It’s a little hard to say the same to your mother and father when they’re dangling a trust fund in front of you like a carrot.) And, in true upper echelon form, they grill you. For hours. Family name, family business, how you met, what their intentions are, blah blah blah. You feel a migraine coming on somewhere around question two.

Eventually, your mother says, “I don’t know about this,” and your father grunts in agreement. You don’t think he’s used full words in years. Not with you.

“What’s there to know?” you whine, nearly rolling your eyes. “I’m not marrying the guy. It’s just a date.”

Your mother flutters around the kitchen, pointedly not looking at you. It’s weird seeing her like this: almost like a real mother, almost like she’s going to say something comforting and serve you a plate of freshly-baked cookies instead of huffing and puffing at everything you say and treating you like a pariah. “Do you even know this young man?”

“Of course I know him.”

“Do I need to remind you that it’s bad etiquette to bring a first date to a wedding?”

There’s a pang of annoyance that you have to tamper down. “It’s not a first date.”

“Oh? You’ve been seeing him regularly?”

This time you do roll your eyes. “Sure, Mom.”

“Don’t roll your eyes at your mother,” your father says, not bothering to lower the newspaper in front of him.

“How did you—”

“Is this young man your boyfriend?”

You think about what Seokjin had said: It’ll cost more. Not, you couldn’t pay me eight billion dollars to pretend to date you. Not, no thanks I’d rather die. Just, it’ll cost more. So, as you sit in this opulent kitchen with your parents and some ungodly amount of Italian marble, you think there’s nothing you wouldn’t pay to make these people miserable. These people, who never saw you beyond a status symbol. That traditional nuclear family tucked behind the white picket fence. Two kids. Golden retriever. Pool boy. Family vacations to five-star resorts, only your parents smiling in the pictures before they abandoned you and your brother with the nanny.

So, no, Seokjin isn’t your boyfriend. Not really. But he’s willing to play the part and that’s good enough. “Yeah,” you answer, and one simple word stops your mother in her tracks and gets your father to finally abandon his stupid newspaper, and just this little bit of power feels nice.

“Oh,” comes your mother’s reply. She shares a look with your father.

Because the patriarchy is alive and well and he loves to play the arbiter, he says, “I think we should meet him.”

And, because you’re not an idiot, you say, “Don’t forget the rule was that I had to find a date, not that you had to approve them.”

With a huff, your father disappears again behind his newspaper.

You: i need another favor

Rapid Onset Migraine: how much

You: shouldn’t my boyfriend want to do nice things for me out of the kindness of his own heart

Rapid Onset Migraine: no

(“Shouldn’t you have him saved under his actual name? Maybe a little heart emoji?” Hoseok asks, looking over your shoulder. “Unless he has a degradation kink, I don’t think anyone’s going to buy that someone named Rapid Onset Migraine is actually your boyfriend.”

“Shut up, Hobi. It’s one of those things that are violently affectionate and ironically cute.” A pause. Then—“Do you think Thunderclap Headache is better?”

“No. No, I definitely do not.”)

You: you don’t even know what the favor is

Rapid Onset Migraine: don’t care

You: fine

You: i would like to formally demand your presence at dinner with my parents this thursday at 7

Rapid Onset Migraine: i’m busy

You: i will literally venmo you rn to cancel your plans

Rapid Onset Migraine: i’m suddenly free. @jin-k92

Rapid Onset Migraine: five hundred dollars please

You: fuck off

You: $50. final offer. take it or leave it

Rapid Onset Migraine: leave it

You: sent. see you thursday!

It’s Tuesday night and you’re fresh off your shift, headed to your car, looking forward to doing nothing but absorbing into your couch and maybe using that new bath bomb, when someone on a skateboard crashes into you.

You’re on your ass before you can process, stunned, staring up at the fluorescent lights of the parking lot. A familiar face enters your line of sight, not looking all that apologetic. “Whoops.”

You groan. “Worst boyfriend ever,” you retort, sticking your hand in the air. “At least help me up.”

There’s absolutely no grace in the way Seokjin hauls you to your feet. Doesn’t bother to steady you when you bobble, either, and you have half a mind to give him the finger. Instead, you say, “Are you stalking me?” and delight in the split-second of panic that overtakes his features.

“No,” he eventually says, expression right back to neutral. “You’ve already agreed to date me. Why would I need to stalk you?”

“There’s at least seventeen different problems with that statement and I’m not going to touch any of them.” You take a second to look him over: no obvious injuries, still obnoxiously attractive. Hair a little longer than usual, rogue strands hanging loose and framing his face. No one should be allowed to look like this. He really, really gets on your nerves. “Why are you here, though? You look fine.”

“I am fine—”

“Uninjured,” you clarify, which earns you a scoff.

“I’m that, too,” he snarks, “but I came to find you to figure out the game plan.”

“Why didn’t you just text me?”

“I was already in the area,” he lies.

“Uh-huh.”

“And I thought I could con you into buying me dinner.”

“What’d you do with the fifty bucks I sent you the other day?”

Seokjin looks at you like you’re dumb. You’re really starting to wonder if you are. “I spent it.”

“On what?”

“Are you my accountant now?” he huffs.

“No, but you’re not my sugar baby, either. Buy your own dinner.”

He bats his lashes at you. “But honey…”

“Fuck off, Seokjin,” you say, stomping towards your car. Unsurprisingly, he’s right behind you, the wheels of his skateboard noisy as they glide along the concrete. “This is why you’re always needing stitches?” you ask, knowing he’s close enough to hear.

“Yep.” A louder noise; probably some kind of trick. You’re not going to dignify him by watching and being impressed.

During your second semester of college, Hoseok had gotten you into this horrible habit of parking far away. So you get your steps in, had been his reasoning, and it’s hard to say whether you’d given in to the 10,000 steps per day hysteria or just Hoseok’s convincing, evil little smile, but you still do it. And you’re really regretting it now, when you have to traipse through a half-mile of parking lot with the world’s most annoying person on your heels.

“Are you gonna take me to dinner, though?”

That’s how you wind up sitting across from him at a diner.

His cheeseburger is demolished in record time. Fries are halfway gone, too, by the time he asks what the plan is and seems genuinely shocked when you say there isn’t one.

“What do you mean there’s no plan?”

“There’s no plan,” you repeat, dipping your own fry into his ketchup just so he has to swat your hand away. “I mean, dinner is at seven, but that’s it.”

Seokjin looks confused, like you’ve tilted his world on its axis. “There’s gotta be a plan,” he argues. “There’s always a plan with you trust fund kids.”

Another dig, and you can tell by the way he avoids your gaze once he makes it. “There’s really no plan,” you say, ignoring the quip. There’s a reason you’ve got a fake boyfriend, and it’s not because your parents are benevolent and easy-going. “I don’t care what you tell my parents.”

“Now I know for sure you’re setting me up.”

You shrug. “Believe whatever you want.”

Seokjin studies you, clearly still unconvinced. “You’re telling me,” he begins, sticking the straw of his root beer float in his mouth, “that I can just walk in there and sabotage you? That I have carte blanche? That I can tell them you literally paid me to be there?” You shrug. There’s a disgusting slurping sound. You grimace.

“Well, I’m hoping you won’t, but I certainly can’t stop you.”

“You’re terrible at fake dating.”

A sigh escapes you before you can stop it. You don’t want to delve into twenty-plus years of parental trauma, especially not with this guy, but sometimes it can’t be helped. “Look, I don’t want to go to my brother’s wedding. I don’t like him, and I don’t like my parents. No one else wanted to fake date me”—you hold up your hand to kill the obvious comment before he makes it—“and, honestly, my parents are gonna hate you and that’s the entire reason I asked for your help. So, no, I don’t care what you tell them, because I don’t care if they approve. I’m sick of them making me jump through hoops just to be their kid.”

Unfazed, Seokjin breezily replies, “You obviously care enough to keep taking their money.”

“I consider my trust fund to be reparations.”

“That why you were so touchy about that nepotism comment?”

Nodding, you fidget with the hem of your scrub top, hands suddenly sweaty. “Well, it doesn’t feel great to have my accomplishments credited to my last name or whatever, but it’s not something I can stop anyone from assuming.”

“Are they?”

“It’d be naive to think they aren’t.”

“You got into med school, though,” Seokjin says, and you tamper down the flush that’s creeping in. You are not going to care about any man’s acknowledgement. “That’s not an easy thing to do.”

“Can you tell my parents that?”

A laugh bellows out of him, and you’re horrified to learn it’s a terrible sound. Everyone in the diner turns to stare, and you’re flushed crimson and trying to duck under the table.

Still, you can’t help but smile. Your parents really are going to have a stroke.

To your delight, Seokjin is good at getting people to hate him. Like, really good—almost scarily so.

He’d shown up twenty minutes late, having ignored the dress code entirely, clad in a pair of ripped black jeans and a plain black t-shirt, arm tattoos and innumerable scars proudly on display. He hadn’t bothered to shake your father’s hand or introduce himself to your mother, just fell into the seat next to you, stage-whispered a, this place is a shithole huh, and stuck his nose in a menu. When the waiter came by, he ordered a bottle of wine older than the two of you combined and the most expensive entree on the menu.

Now, an hour in, your parents are teetering on the edge of a major cardiac event.

“So, Seokjin,” your father says, voice gritty and forced, “what do you do?”

Seokjin shoves a large piece of meat in his mouth, making sure to smack his lips. “What d’you mean?” he asks, the question garbled around the food.

“For a living.”

Scarily good, you think. Seokjin pretends to choke, pretends to look shocked and appalled. “I don’t work,” he answers, tone bang-on to the one your parents use when they’re being condescending. “My parents give me money, and I figured I’d date this one”—he flicks you in the temple—“until she becomes a doctor and can support me. Then we’ll get married.”

Your mother gasps. Your smile is involuntary.

Your father, on the other hand, knocks over his wine glass. Spills it all over the table, goes red in the face, and it’s the most distressed you’ve ever seen him, usually composed to a fault, immovable. “You’ll do no such thi—”

Seokjin fakes a yawn. “You ready, babe?” He doesn’t bother waiting for a response, just stands, tosses his napkin on the table, and grabs your hand. The two of you are out of the restaurant before either of your parents can utter a word.

Feels like one of those movie moments, you think: the cool breeze in your hair, against your flushed cheeks, your hand in Seokjin’s, both of you not daring to breathe or make a sound until you’re safe outside, away from your parents and their gobsmacked expressions. And then you crack, just enough for laughter to spill out, and Seokjin snorts, another horrible sound, and before you know it, the two of you are collapsed against the side of the restaurant, tears in your eyes as the brick scrapes against your skin.

Maybe something shifts. Maybe the smile Seokjin sends you is genuine.

[THE RELATIONSHIP]

Much to your horror, fake relationships aren’t all that different from normal, authentic ones.

Which means two things: one, that your brother and his wife-to-be both received an earful from your parents about Seokjin and The Dinner, and two, you still have to compromise.

The first one wasn’t so bad. Your brother had called you and issued a vague threat, of course, because he’s never had a sense of humor about anything, but you hadn’t answered so it’d been easy to delete the voicemail and forget about it. And, luckily for him, your future sister-in-law was far more lax. Bring him, she’d texted. He sounds like a good time.

You’re not sure you’d describe Kim Seokjin as a good time, but you replied with a thumbs-up emoji regardless.

All of that had been fine. You’re well-versed in dealing with your family by now, so it’s easy to let their bullshit wash over you and down the drain like rainwater.

No, it’s the fake but has to look at least semi-real relationship that’s proving to be difficult.

Because you don’t like to compromise. You want to do what you want to do when you want to do it, and you don’t want to hear about it from anyone. But here you are, doing a quasi-photoshoot with Seokjin so he can “soft launch” you on his Instagram—which, honestly, is a little daunting. He has a lot of followers. Not surprising, considering the way he looks, but the thought of being perceived by hundreds of thousands of strangers makes you feel like you’re wearing your skin inside-out.

“Can you try looking less constipated?” he asks, tone dry as toast as he scrolls through the series of selfies the two of you just took.

You scoff. “First of all, I don’t look constipated.” Really, you don’t. “Second of all, why do you even need to do this? We only have to convince my parents, and you pissed them off so bad I’m not sure they’ll ever ask me to bring a date to anything ever again.”

“Because I have a competition next weekend that you’ll have to go to, and I don’t want anyone asking any questions.”

“What if I’m busy?”

“You’re not,” Seokjin retorts, all conviction. “If I had to clear my schedule for that dinner, you’re free for this.”

“What if I have a school thing?”

Seokjin raises an eyebrow. He’s looking at you, and you’re looking at him through his phone camera. It’s really not fair, the way his face is. “Do you?”

“No, but what if?”

He takes another picture and cackles, gleefully showing it to you. “See? You definitely look constipated.”

With a glare, you wrestle the phone out of his hand and aim it the way you want—the way you know looks good. And maybe you do a little pout, too; do that thing with your eyes that looks seductive and a little dirty. Not because you care about what Seokjin’s followers think, because you’re hot and you know it, but because you want him to suffer. Just a little bit. It’s illogical, the way you want him to look at this picture and feel… something. Half pride, half longing.

So, you angle and pout. Delight in the caught-out expression on Seokjin’s face this time, like it’s the first time he’s learning that you’re hot and that it troubles him a little. “Is that better?” you ask, sugar-sweet.

Seokjin doesn’t respond, just posts the picture to his Instagram story.

Skateboarding has never been your thing.

Your brother had gone through a phase, once. Spent all his allowance on the video games and collected CCS catalogs, spending imaginary money as he’d thumb through the pages and circle everything he wanted. Never bought a real board, though—just developed a superiority complex because he listened to the Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater 2 soundtrack one too many times and thought it was a legitimate substitute for actual pre-teen rebellion.

However, fake-dating Seokjin means you’re getting a crash course.

“What do these do?” you ask, holding up a set of wheels. There’s an alien holding a bong on them. They make you laugh.

Seokjin eyes you from across the shop and pointedly ignores your question. Instead, the disgruntled guy behind the register answers. “They’re wheels,” he says, tone clipped, which you answer with a surprised noise, like you’ve discovered something new.

“Wow, wheels,” you intone. “Cool.”

Done picking out new grip tape, or whatever the hell he’d said, Seokjin plucks the wheels from your hand and puts them back where you’d gotten them. “Fascinating invention, huh?”

The man behind the register smells like weed. Reeks of it, actually, and the stench is almost overbearing as you sidle up next to Seokjin at the counter. Yoongi, his name tag reads. You don’t think he looks like a Yoongi, because it kind of lends itself to a stoner character, but it also sounds kind of sweet, and the man in front of you looks like he could snap you like a twig and enjoy it.

Then—“Oh, you’re Instagram girl.”

You scowl. “I’m who.”

First, you’re reduced to nepotism and your family name; now it’s Instagram. There’s a huff halfway out of your mouth when Seokjin wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you against his side. You think he’d press a kiss to your temple if this was real. “My beautiful girlfriend,” he says, playfully hip-checking you.

Yoongi looks between the two of you, then pushes the tape back in Seokjin’s direction. “You know you don’t have to pay for this shit, man.”

“Sure, but I can. I have a rich girlfriend now.”

He yelps when you step on his foot with the heel of your boot. “Aren’t you so lucky,” you grit out.

You don’t see the way his gaze softens, but Yoongi sure does.

Anticipation crackles in the air.

Feels like the day you’d sat for the MCAT—that brand of nervous, determined focus, bordering on excitement. Something that will really only go one of two ways with a million variables, and it’s a small relief to not be the one in the hot seat.

Hoseok had been there last time. Now, a man that’s seemingly all limbs plops down beside you, ungraceful and awkward.

“You’re Instagram girl,” he says, before sticking his hand out. “Hi, I’m Namjoon.”

Seems like Seokjin’s idea of a soft launch is anything but. Briefly, you wonder how many more people are going to forego your identity entirely in the name of Instagram, but it’s kind of nice, too—nice to be someone other than your parents’ daughter, your brother’s sister, your family name. There’s a long way to go before the patriarchy is smashed entirely, because it’s not so nice to be newly reduced to Seokjin’s girlfriend, but baby steps.

For now, it’s all right.

For now, there are far worse things you could be.

“Hi, Namjoon,” you finally reply, because he seems out of place and nice enough—nicer than Yoongi, at least. Definitely far less gruff and abrasive.

He chokes a little, like he’s surprised you responded to him. Not for the first time, it’s just sort of par for the course when you are who you are. “Oh, sorry,” he says, cheeks flushing under the guise of the relentless afternoon sun. “I just—recognized you? And couldn’t help myself? Which probably sounds really creepy, which was not my intent, it’s just—Jin doesn’t bring anyone to these things. Like, ever. So it was a little shocking! Kind of like meeting a celebrity? Even though I’ve never really done that, either. Oh! I met Greta Thunberg once. That was cool. It was, like, on accident, though? So…”

On and on he goes, bless him, because he just talks endlessly without expecting a response. You look around: the bleachers are starting to fill up, awestruck kids with humored parents, and you wonder what that’s like. To have an interest in something and have it nurtured, instead of having to live up to expectations you never wanted. Maybe you would’ve been a skateboarder, too. Maybe you would’ve shucked all those societal norms and did something you wanted, even though it doesn’t really matter now.

“Hey,” you say, stopping Namjoon’s latest spiel in its tracks, “do you come to these things often?”

Namjoon lights up like Christmas. People must not ask him about himself much. “Yeah! Well, sometimes? I’m in grad school, so I come when I have time. I thought it’d be a good idea to get two master’s degrees, so I finished my first one—in philosophy, before you ask, which was pretty stupid, because what am I gonna do with that, you know? But I guess it worked, because I had a full-blown existential crisis and decided to get a second one to put off the inevitable second existential crisis over what I was going to do with my life—”

“What was that one in?”

Namjoon startles again, and it’s almost hopelessly endearing. “Huh? Oh, Botany and Plant Pathology.”

You blink. “Plant pathology?”

“Yeah! It’s really interesting, because everything’s connected, right? Like, you can’t really fight climate change and food insecurity if you have all these diseased crops and forests, and I leaned pretty heavily into biological philosophy for my first degree, especially environmental ethics and conservation—”

“...And you come to skateboarding competitions for fun?”

His ears turn red; his cheeks and neck follow shortly thereafter. “I like physics, and skateboarding has a lot of physics.”

Just your luck. “Can you explain to me what’s going on, then?”

Namjoon does as you ask, and takes his job very seriously. He explains the rules and the implications, the rankings and what they mean for the future, who’s who and the major players. He explains tricks as they happen—how they got their names, who did them first, notable events. You remember your brother screaming at the TV the night Tony Hawk landed the 900 at the X Games, and Namjoon’s smile is so bright when you tell him about it.

“Yeah, that’s—that was so fucking cool, man. You know he was 31 when he did that? I think about that sometimes. There’s all this emphasis on aging, this juvenile notion that life peaks in your twenties, that you need to have it all figured out before you’re thirty: the job, the marriage, the house with the white picket fence, and it’s bullshit. I know it’s bullshit, but sometimes I feel like I haven’t accomplished anything at my age, and I just think: Tony Hawk landed the first 900 when he was 31 years old, and now 10 year olds are doing it. That’s fucking dope.”

He’s off on another tangent almost immediately, telling you about how he’d met Seokjin and how they became friends. You hear none of it. Seokjin comes in second place. You don’t remember much of the celebration, either.

You can’t shake the feeling that you’ve been dunked in ice-cold water. Feels a bit like drowning.

You’re good at compartmentalizing.

You have to be, growing up in the family you did. Because Namjoon’s words had rattled you, sure, but you can’t linger on them. Lectures still need to be attended, hospital shifts still need to be worked, and it’d really hurt Hoseok’s feelings if you bailed on your study sessions, so you have to tuck away all those wayward thoughts for later.

Not until you’re alone, tucked into bed far too early for someone in their mid-20s, do you think about it.

Well, it’s less ‘thinking’ and more ‘ah, these are the existential crises Namjoon was talking about.’ Certainly not your first crisis, and it won’t be your last, but it’s still… unnerving. Being a doctor was something you’d always been rock-solid about. You hadn’t wanted to go into business like your father and brother, had no interest in kissing ass in the political sphere and wielding influence like your mother, but you’d been told all your life you had to do something. Something important, something impressive, something worth bragging about—because what were you worth if your parents couldn’t talk endlessly at fundraisers about how much better you were than everyone else?

You glance at the clock: almost two a.m. There’s only one person that’ll be awake at this hour, even though you shouldn’t. Seokjin has one job, and it isn’t talking you off the proverbial ledge in the middle of the night. Still—

You: you up?

Rapid Onset Migraine: this is happening a little fast don’t you think?

You: ??? huh

You: wait no

You: that’s NOT what i meant

Rapid Onset Migraine: yeah sure

Rapid Onset Migraine: well obviously i’m awake

Rapid Onset Migraine: you ok?

You: yeah, i’m sorry to bother you about this

You: i think i’m just having a bad time?

That’s that, you think, because minutes pass without a response. But then your phone’s vibrating, lighting up in your hand. Rapid Onset Migraine flashes across the screen, his contact photo set to a meme of Handsome Squidward just because you’d thought it was funny.

“Hello?”

“Sorry,” he says immediately, “I needed to make a pot of coffee before I had this conversation.”

You hum. The comment doesn’t sting. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drink coffee.”

“I don’t,” Seokjin answers. “Well, not usually. Only if I have an early flight or something.”

“Or need to talk through your fake girlfriend’s two a.m. existential crisis?”

“Yeah.” Seokjin laughs, and it’s almost enough of a balm. “But I’m friends with Namjoon, so I’m an expert in those by now. I keep weird hours, anyway, you know? I’m either skating or gaming, so he used to call me at, like, four in the morning because he’d read too much Kierkegaard or Beauvoir and was spiraling.” You hear him take a sip of coffee. He starts sputtering immediately. “Shit, that’s hot. Fuck, I think I burnt my tongue off.”

“Luckily you know a doctor.”

“I do,” he says, and his tone is warm. Almost proud? “Anyway, what’s going on? You read Being and Nothingness, too, or what?”

For a moment, you’re just quiet, trying to think of the words to say. You’re well aware of your privilege, make a conscious effort to not throw it around the way others might, so there’s a lot of guilt that comes with something like this. You know what people probably think: poor little rich girl, with her family money and their connections, it must be so hard to be her. It’s not, and you’re fine, but—

“Did you always want to skate professionally?” you ask, because you figure it’s safe. Doesn’t give it all away, even though Seokjin’s smart enough to read between the lines.

And, to your surprise, he plays along. Doesn’t call you out or press on the bruise, just says, “Hm, no, not really.”

“No?” you repeat, incredulous. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” he confirms. “This is really embarrassing, but I wanted to get into software engineering or coding. Whatever would let me make video games.”

“Why would that be embarrassing?”

“Because it’s me?” Seokjin forces a laugh, pure self-deprecation. “That’s the kind of stuff people like Namjoon do. And that’s—it’s fine. I’m good at skateboarding and I get paid to do it. That’s the kind of thing kids dream about, right? Getting paid to travel around and skateboard all day?” He sighs, and it’s broken in a way that’s unsettling and familiar. A sound that could be coming from your own lips. “Don’t get me wrong, I love it and I’m thankful I get to do this as a job, it’s just not what I thought I’d be doing with my life.”

A brief silence, and then Seokjin’s talking again before you can reply, which you’re glad for. Everything feels off-center. “Is that what’s going on? School stress?”

“Maybe,” you admit, still a little breathless. “I’m just… struggling? I think? With knowing what’s actual desire and what’s just expectation.”

“Ah, I see. I don’t think I can really help with that beyond empathizing, but I’m sorry you’re going through it.” Then, like he’s telling you a secret, “If it helps at all, I think it takes a lot of courage to do this kind of introspection. It’s not easy, especially when you’re likely to find things you don’t want to.”

You can’t help but snort, but it’s gentle. Quiet, though still loud in the stillness of your bedroom. “Thanks,” you eventually reply. “Surprisingly comforting.”

“Yah, I’ll have you know I’m a very comforting person!”

“Of course you are.”

“Besides,” he says, and his tone takes on such conviction you’re sure you’ll believe whatever comes out of his mouth next with no hesitation, “it’s fine if you decide this isn’t what you wanna do. It’s never too late, or whatever, but for what it’s worth, I think you’re going to be a great doctor.”

“Or whatever,” you echo, smile creeping up on you. “That makes it sound so easy.”

“I guess it is.”

What’s it like to live like that, you wonder. Completely devoid of expectations, just going with the flow, doing what you want without crippling fear of the consequences. Must be nice, is your conclusion. Life doesn’t work like that for you, and you’ve had plenty of time to come to terms with that, so it’s fine. You’re on a path and maybe it’s not what you would’ve chosen had you had time to look at all the possibilities, but you’re on a path and it’s yours.

You want to say this to Seokjin. You want to thank him, both for the pep talk and the unfounded confidence, but your eyelids feel heavy and he’s just babbling now, something about the first time he landed a tre flip, and it’s soothing. Comforting.

Sleep takes you before you can think about it too hard—think about how Seokjin used to be nothing but a menace, the worst part of your day, and now he’s not.

You’re on another night shift, third in a row, and you’re the kind of exhausted that has you smelling colors.

Nothing makes sense. Your bones hurt. When you think about going home and finally going to bed it feels like when you’re starving and wait too long to eat and don’t feel hungry anymore. Then you finally do and it’s not satisfying, kind of makes your stomach hurt, and the cycle repeats.

Seokjin texts you to check in. After your two a.m. convo, you’re hyperaware of how much time you spend venting, so you assure him you’re fine. He drops off a coffee and some snacks, anyway. Just because he’s already up.

—

There are other hangouts. You don’t call them dates, because that word has implications and meaning and this is fake, but you have them nonetheless.

Overindulgent takeaway, equally expensive alcohol that has sat unopened in your apartment for far too long, shitty movies playing in the background, and Seokjin’s inability to stop talking. He sneakily lobs popcorn at you when he thinks you aren’t looking. This prompts an all-out war, and you both have tears streaming down your faces by the time Seokjin calls a truce.

Just days later, you spread out a gingham blanket in the park. Seokjin makes up bullshit constellations, gives them horrific names and backstories, and revels in the sound of your infectious laughter. When your head feels too heavy to hold up, you lay back in the grass and try to keep your heart in your chest when Seokjin does the same, slender fingers searching out yours in the dark.

You want so badly to kiss him. Want to crash your mouths together and kiss him breathless, but you don’t.

On your third hangout, you cover each other in silly temporary tattoos and take too many selfies. Seokjin snorts at how dumb he looks in the filters and asks you to send him some, immediately setting a particularly couple-y shot as your contact photo.

And if you get butterflies when he posts one to his Instagram story? Well, that’s your business.

—

Seokjin gets the dumb idea that he’s going to teach you to skate.

Which is not only dumb because it’s impossible, but because you’re sure your skeletal system is probably insured for millions of dollars, knowing your parents. You can’t do any of your clinical rotations with broken bones—instant dismissal—and Seokjin knows this, but he’s annoyingly persistent and assures you you’ll be fine, so you relent because you trust him, despite all odds.

Physically, you are fine. Seokjin holds onto your waist and doesn’t let you fall, which is about all you can ask for when it comes to unwanted skateboarding lessons. Emotionally, though? Not so much. You’ve been close to Seokjin before. Enough to feel his body heat; enough to get goosebumps; enough to nearly become delirious with your want to taste him.

Normally that’s fine. But now, as he uses one hand to hold your waist and the other to hold your own hand, you can’t think of a single logical explanation for depriving yourself of more of this. Because he’s steady and warm, and sometimes you teeter and he grips tighter, causing your mind to wander and think about things it shouldn’t. You’re only human, and Seokjin is an otherworldly brand of handsome, so you don’t beat yourself up over it.

Still. It ignites something, that’s for sure, and if it’s anything like Seokjin himself, it won’t be easy to extinguish.

—

It’s by complete accident that you meet Jeongguk.

Well, that’s not entirely accurate. You’ve met him before, at some bougie function your parents dragged you to, but it was brief and forced and awkward. Jeongguk was weird back then. Still is, probably, judging from his entire… presence, now.

He’s dangling upside down from a tree branch when you meet him for the second time.

“Oh. Jeongguk. Hi?”

“Hi!” he says, smile brighter than the sun, and before you can ask him why he’s upside down in a tree there’s a massive camera in front of his face. “Are you here to see Jin?”

Here is a public sidewalk, but you don’t say that. Instead, you say, “I’m on my way home. Why are you in a tree?”

His response is nonverbal, just a finger point dead ahead of you. Some Brutalist architecture leftover from the ‘50s—a large set of stairs, public fountain, weird art sculpture, a small crowd. Doesn’t take long to learn what they’re there for: Seokjin grinds down the rail, lands perfectly, nearly skates into the street and gets whacked by a car. Everyone cheers.

Ah, that explains the camera, too. You vaguely recall your mother telling you the youngest Jeon went to school for filmmaking. She hadn’t sounded impressed. You wonder what she’d think if she knew he was your delinquent, skateboarder, fake boyfriend’s videographer. Probably something aneurysm-inducing.

“He’s so cool,” Jeongguk says, whimsical and dreamy in a way that sounds like he has framed photos of Seokjin on his walls. Maybe his picture in a heart frame, like that one meme. “You’re so lucky.” There’s definitely some jealousy there.

You raise an eyebrow. “You wanna date him instead?”

Jeongguk seems to mull it over. Doesn’t move from his spot in the tree, either, and you reckon he’s got another sixty seconds before you forcefully turn him right side up. “Nah. He seems really happy with you.”

“We’re not—” Together, your brain finishes, but you can’t bring yourself to say it. So you cough, hope Jeongguk hasn’t caught it, and say, “Yeah, we’re not doing too bad,” instead.

—

“I think you’re too far gone, personally.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes. What does Hoseok know? Okay, he’s probably the smartest person you know, but that’s medicine. He hasn’t had a long-term partner in years, so yeah, what does Hoseok know.

“I am not,” you insist, because the majority of your time in this library has been spent defending the validity of your love life, not studying. “Hobi, look.” You sigh, snapping shut your notebook. A migraine is forming just thinking about the amount of reviewing you’re gonna have to do at home to make up for this. “Does it really matter, in the grand scheme of things? Life is fleeting and we’re all inconsequential, so I understand why you’re grilling me on this and not the MLE review book we paid for—”

He pulls a face. “It was fifty bucks! You’re acting like I’m out thousa—”

“Not the point!”

Hoseok squeezes his eyes shut. Pinches the bridge of his nose. Presses his fingers deep into his frontal sinus points. “I think it not being the point is the point, though? None of this was necessary. You could’ve just brought him to the wedding without having to pretend he’s your boyfriend.” You move to protest. He waves you off. “I know you wanted to get back at your parents. Your parents suck, so I get it, but don’t you think this is a little much?”

“How?”

Now it’s Hoseok’s turn to sigh. Put-upon, like he’s a beleaguered parent talking to a very idiotic child. “Uh, how about the fact that the two of you are going on actual dates, for one? And they’re definitely dates, so I don’t want to hear it. You took him to a Michelin star restaurant, quote-unquote, just because.”

“I was hungry!”

“Sure, okay, whatever you say.” He throws his hands up, clearly defeated, and it settles all wrong in your gut. Hoseok gets mad, sure, but never at you. Not even annoyed. “Have you given any thought at all, even considered just a teeny-tiny bit, that this might not be as fake as you think?”

“No,” you retort, petulant, because it is fake and you don’t need Hoseok to tell you that.

But Hoseok is smart, you know, so you were never going to get off easy. “I think you actually like him.”

“I know. You’ve said that a hundred times.”

“And I’ll say it a hundred and one, if I have to. Fuck, your head must be made of concrete.”

“Could be,” comes your breezy response. “Maybe that’s why my mother hates me.”

Hoseok chokes. Knocks his tea over and onto the MLE guide, which prompts a distressed shriek from him and a harsh shushing from the rest of the library.

So much for it only being fifty dollars.

—

Unbeknownst to you, Yoongi does leave his skate shop, which comes as a shock for a man who has severe cavedweller vibes.

“Hey, Instagram,” he says, smelling like actual cologne and laundry detergent instead of a dispensary as he stands behind you in line.

Yoongi is clearly talking to you. You know he’s talking to you, but you still pause, fragile like a deer caught in headlights, and look over your shoulder as if he could be talking to anyone else. “Uh. Hi?”

He squints. “You are Instagram girl, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. I thought so, but you looked at me like I was the one who’s stupid so I wasn’t sure.”

Did he just call you stupid? “Did you just call me stupid?”

Yoongi shrugs. “What’s good here?” he asks, changing the subject. He definitely called you stupid.

“I—most things? I don’t know, I always just get a cold brew with oat milk.”

He grimaces. “Ew, gross. I’m gonna go grab a table. Grab me a medium iced americano.”

You order him a small, purely out of spite, and Yoongi doesn’t come to this coffee shop often enough to know the difference so he doesn’t even notice when you set it down in front of him. Takes all the satisfaction out of being petty. He must know. “Thanks,” he says, not looking up from his phone as he unwraps a straw and stabs his drink perfectly in the center.

“Sure. I’ll send you a Venmo request.”

“Oh, I don’t have Venmo.” He finally looks up. “Are you going to Jin’s thing?” All he receives in response is a blank stare. “The skate comp. Second qualifying round for the big championship event? Surely he’s told you about this.”

Let no man ever say you’re a bad liar. “Ah, yeah, of course! Med student brain. It’s all memorizing neural pathways and… stuff… and forgetting skate competitions.”

“Hm,” comes Yoongi’s response, and he quirks an eyebrow but doesn’t question you further.

(You bring it up to Seokjin later, expecting him to laugh it off, extend an invitation out of obligation. Instead, he laughs in a way that sounds fond. Says, “Yoongi beat me to it,” in a way that brings his scarlet red neck and ears to the forefront of your brain, and follows it up with, “I’d really love it if you came, but I understand how busy you must be right now,” that has your skin flushing all the same.

You’re loath to make promises, but sometimes they’re easy.)

Time is not on your side.

You barely make it to Seokjin’s second competition. Barely have your ass in the bleachers, hairline dotted with sweat and anxiety coursing through you, before he’s dropping into the bowl for his first run.

He’d mentioned it offhand. Told you it wasn’t a big deal if you couldn’t make it, because he knew how busy you were with school and that you needed to study because exam season was relentless, but he’d looked so relieved when you joked that it wasn’t so easy to get rid of you, that you’d be cheering him on from the first row. That being anywhere else just wasn’t an option.

And that had… taken you aback. Watching him skate is a good enough distraction for all those thoughts. You don’t have to dwell on the whys: why the thought of sitting in your apartment, nose stuck in a book instead of being here, had been so unconscionable. Instead, you’re able to focus on him, which is almost worse. Because the way he looks—wind pushing his hair back off his forehead as he skates around, calf muscles flexing every time he kicks, shirt fabric darkening under a light sheen of sweat, smiling at kids and the countless people he knows—is a little overwhelming. You’re winded for two reasons.

It’s a beautiful thing, watching someone do something they’re passionate about. Seokjin especially, but you’re biased. You want only good things for him.

His first run finishes. He chews on his bottom lip as the judges huddle together. Numbers flash on the scoreboard. Good—great, even. You know what the stakes are: score high enough and he’ll advance to the championship. More sponsors will fall in line. Someone will present him with one of those comically large checks that he’ll probably spend on god-knows-what at Yoongi’s shop.

More skaters follow. Highs and lows. Seokjin watches them all, enraptured, just as happy for their successes as his own. Someone bails out right next to him, arms out to break their fall, making a sound an arm should never make, and Seokjin’s there right away. He’s good.

Except the universe doesn’t always reward goodness. His second run starts off well: smooth as butter, impressively technical. Seokjin is fluid when he skates. Makes it look easy, like you could hop on a board and do it just as well. You watch him, but you almost like watching everyone else watch him more: the wide eyes, the whistles under their breath, the nods of approval. Seokjin’s got all of it, truly thrives on the admiration. He’s good, he’s good, he’s good.

You know it’s coming. That trick he’d told you about—the one he’s never been able to land during a competition. The one that’s gnawing away at him. He’s going to try it, and you’re holding your breath as he kickflips, grinds his board along the rail, does some kind of dismount that looks absurd and impossible to your untrained eye.

Then he’s on the ground.

He’s still for a second. Huffs in frustration. Back on his board before you can blink.

Seokjin’s not a child, but you know it stings. You’re overwhelmed by the urge to comfort him, the way he’s done for you countless times, but you shouldn’t so you don’t. The two of you don’t talk until after, and by then it might not matter.

It isn’t until he’s about to drop in for his final run that he scans the crowd. You want to believe the look on his face when he spots you is relief, but it’s painted over in a nanosecond. He smiles, smug but content, and then he’s shoving his helmet back on his head, clapping someone on the back, and he’s off.

Maybe the universe does reward goodness, because everything goes right this time.

Seokjin lines up to attempt the trick again, because if he’s going to go out it’s going to be on his terms. Completely unshakeable, the kind of attitude that gets plastered on those bullshit inspirational posters about falling down nine times and getting up ten, and you wonder, briefly, if it’s stupid. A good score would be enough to get him through, but he wants to do this.

And he does.

Everyone around you erupts as soon as the trick is landed. Seokjin calls the run early—just a handful of seconds left, anyway—and his fellow competitors are on him immediately. Someone picks him up in a bear hug and spins him around, and the joy on his face is so pure, so unbridled, that you almost cry.

But the wait is torturous. His second run had gone so poorly and those in the top spots had done so well that it’ll be close, even with a gazelle flip under his belt. Nothing is certain, and the way you can barely bring yourself to look at the scoreboard is proof enough. Seokjin is good, and you want only good things for him, and you can barely look at the scoreboard but you can’t look away, either—

The roar of the crowd is deafening.

A freeze-frame moment. All around you, there are fists in the air, shrill yells of Seokjin’s name, maybe a chant, nothing but chaos. You can hardly hear yourself think, but you can see just fine, and what you see is Seokjin’s gaze locked on yours. The corners of his mouth lifting into a smile. A flicker of hesitation before he’s gracefully shrugging everyone off of him and making his way over to you, and then it’s just reflex. Here, you know what to do.

You barely flinch when he grabs the back of your neck and pulls you in.

Everything is soft. Feels a bit like floating.

Seokjinnie: do you wanna come over later?

Seokjinnie: i can either cook or get takeout, your choice

The apartment is small and you love it because he kisses you at the door. Seokjin has lips you want to memorize, so you kiss him again as he pulls away. The two of you kiss for a long time: throughout the “tour,” which is just the large studio space and the bathroom, all over the kitchen as he finishes cooking, until he exaggeratedly pulls out your chair, until you have to shove food in your face to keep your mouth off of him.

Seokjin has the kind of lips that leave you questioning if it’s really this easy.

Because Hoseok had been right: this isn’t fake for you anymore. Hasn’t been for a while, if you’re being honest, and maybe before this would’ve been a realization that scared you, but this doesn’t. Not when it’s Seokjin. So, yeah, maybe it is easy.

“Wait,” he says, chest heaving, gently pulling away from you. “Before I—wait, I have to talk to you about something.”

You just smile, hands still grazing over warm skin. “I think I already know.”

He stills. Takes a few seconds to reboot his brain before he’s smiling, laughing in a way that almost sounds unhinged. “God, yeah. Yeah, me too. But it’s—not that.”

“What, then?”

Immediately it’s clear this is not going to go well. Seokjin sighs, tilts his head back against the arm of the couch. His neck is gorgeous, littered with marks from you, but you gear up for a fight nonetheless. “The competition,” he says, as if that’s enough explanation. “The final round got pushed up.”

Your stomach drops. You know what’s coming, but you still ask, “To when?” because you’re a little bit masochistic. Because maybe you’re itching for the fight. Itching to say see, I told you so, I knew this was never going to work, because it’s always been fake. Itching to hurt, because you want what’s familiar when you hurt.

“Saturday.”

The day of your brother’s wedding. “Of course.” You snort; the universe loves a good dose of irony.

He sighs again. Looks so genuinely distressed that you find it hard to truly be upset. “I’m sorry. I just found out today.”

“It’s fine,” comes your instantly reply, auto-generated. Some silly, naive part of you refuses to spiral, stubbornly convinced you can salvage this. You’d found a date. That was the rule. You’ve done exactly what your parents asked of you, and you think with a rueful smile that they’ll probably be relieved when you show up alone.

But Seokjin’s not convinced. There’s still turmoil painted across his face—some silly, naive part of him clinging to something stubborn, too. “I’m going to ask you to be there.”

Yet another freeze-frame moment. The part in video games where it’s clear you have a very important choice to make, neon signs practically blinding, saying you better choose right, better not fuck it up. But you’re going to. You’re going to say no, and it’s going to hurt Seokjin, and you have about ten seconds to come to peace with that.

“I can’t.”

To his credit, Seokjin doesn’t look surprised, and you think that might be more painful. He’d expected nothing from you and you still let him down, so his snort is sardonic and derisive when he says, “Of course you can’t.”

And your tone is defensive and disbelieving when you retort, “What’s that supposed to mean? What exactly do you expect me to do here?”

“Nothing,” he says. “I didn’t expect you to do anything, I’d foolishly hoped you’d say yes.”

Your jaw drops. Snaps shut when you swallow around the lump in your throat, because you’re not going to cry at not living up to another set of invisible expectations. “It’s my brother’s wedding, Seokjin. It’s not some small thing I can blow off.”

“Is that it?” he challenges, eyebrow quirked, expression bemused. “Or do you not want to lose your precious little trust fund?”

“Are you serious? Of course I don’t want to lose it, but I—”

“You don’t even like your brother,” he continues, giving you absolutely no reprieve. No chance to catch up, catch your breath. “You don’t even like your family, but I guess you like their money. Nothing was ever gonna be more important than that, huh?”

“That’s not fair, Seokjin.”

He hums; knows you’re right. Doesn’t try to get in anymore jabs, but he looks broken. “I don’t think this has been fake for either of us for a long time. It was stupid to think you’d go against your family on this, but I thought maybe, for me—”

“Again, that’s not fair.”

“I know it isn’t fair,” he shoots back. “I know that. I just…” He rubs his hands over his face. “I can’t skip this, and you’re not willing to skip yours, so I don’t—I don’t know what to do.”

“I can just go alone,” you say, because it seems simple. “I already did what they asked, so I can just go alone. It’s fine.”

“It’s not like that for me.”

You’re stunned into silence. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s irrational, but it’s… the principle. For me. I’m never going to match up, you know? I’m never going to be from your world. I can make all the money in the world doing what I do and I’ll still never come close. So I had this stupid thought in my head, like, if she comes then it’s real for her, too. It means something. If she’s there, we can figure it out.”

“And that’s the only way? It’s only real if I do this one thing? Doesn’t matter how we feel?” You laugh, exasperated, and you’re up and halfway to the door. “That’s bullshit, Seokjin. How am I supposed to live up to these expectations you’ve got of me if you never tell me what the fuck they are? You know, that’s—this is exactly what my family does, and you—you know that, what the fuck.”

“Hey, no—”

“I can’t belie—” Things go all glassy. Crystalline. You need to get out of here. “I shouldn’t have asked you to do this. I’m sorry.”

“Wait—”

You press harshly into your eyes. You’re not going to cry over this. “Good luck, Seokjin.”

[THE CHOICE]

Things come full circle during another two a.m. crisis.

You’d stared at the ceiling. Scrolled mindlessly through your phone. Ignored Seokjin’s texts and thought about texting Hobi but decided it wouldn’t be fair and instead went cross-eyed watching some questionable late night paid program. Tried to disregard the crippling weight on your chest. Couldn’t. Thought about what Namjoon might do, because he seems well-versed in these sorts of crises, and looked up Sartre quotes on the internet. Got as far as one and quit, both because it hit too close to home and because all you can think about is your last two a.m. crisis.

Seokjin’s voice had been so soft. It wouldn’t have that same tenderness if you called him now and that stings, knowing you had a good thing, something velvet, and you let it go.

And still you think about Namjoon, about the ethics of conservation: when to preserve and when to let die. Does preservation ensure survival, or does it stave off the inevitable? It all gives you a headache, because nothing is guaranteed but that doesn’t mean you don’t try.

Jimin goes to Milan. Taehyung posts a selfie looking sad and beautiful on some balcony in Paris. You don’t want to be like them, doing some perpetual song and dance. Resisting an obvious thing.

Your brother answers on the second ring.

“Hello?” Groggy and confused. A voice you’ve heard a million times that still feels indistinguishable from a stranger’s.

“I can’t come to your wedding.”

A moment of silence, both literally and for your trust fund. “Uh, okay.”

“I’m sorry,” you rush out, because it feels important to say even if you don’t necessarily feel sorry. “I, uh—I am sorry, because I like your fiancée and I know this is probably a huge inconvenience considering your wedding is in a few hours, but I can’t—”

There’s some rustling. You don’t think you’ve ever talked to your brother in the middle of the night before. “It’s really fine.” He yawns. “This couldn’t wait ‘til the morning, though?”

“Not really.”

“Alright. Why do you sound like you’re about to have a panic attack?”

A lightbulb moment: he doesn’t know. “I am. You don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“That Mom and Dad threatened to cut me off if I didn’t show up at your wedding with a date.”

More silence. Then, slowly, the trickle of laughter. Just a quiet snort at first, and you’re a little confused, wonder if you should be laughing too, if he’s laughing at you, and then it compounds until he’s nearly in hysterics. “Oh my god.” He’s almost shrieking. “Holy shit. That’s why you brought that guy to dinner, isn’t it? The one they hated?” It’s the first time you’ve heard him sound like this.

“Yeah.”

“That’s fucking hilarious. Fair play.” You wonder why you’ve spent two-plus decades hating this man on the other end of the line. “Okay, then. Why can’t you make it?”

You talk until you’re hoarse: about the competition, the fake relationship that hasn’t been all that fake for weeks, about the trust fund and growing up under the weight of your family’s money and expectations and always coming in third behind societal ass-kissing and your brother. You’re not looking for an apology but you get one anyway. A heart-to-heart in a moment that’s not entirely built for one, because the sun is coming up and your brother is still getting married in a few hours even if you won’t be there to witness it.

“All right, I really gotta go, but listen: I’ll talk to them, okay? And I’m rooting for you. Maybe in a few weeks you and Seokjin can come over for dinner, if it all works out.”

“Yeah, sure.” You agree readily, and it’s nice to have someone that shares your name in your corner. “I’ll make sure he behaves.” Your smile drops, chest cracked in half. “If it works out.”

Your brother says goodnight and wishes you well. Hangs up, and the silence is deafening and consolatory. You think about the Sartre quote again: Freedom is what you do with what's been done to you.

Whatever happens, you think you’ll do just fine when it’s on your own terms.

Perhaps naively, you expected the day of your brother’s wedding—and subsequently Seokjin’s competition—to be gloomy. Of course, the weather is perfect. Mid-70s, light breeze, cloudless blue sky. When you’re wounded everything feels like an attack, so maybe before it would’ve felt like the universe was mocking you, saying look how beautiful and intact the world is when you’re falling apart, but you see something else.

You’d done a lot of thinking. Soul-searching and introspection and all those uncomfortable, vulnerable things you and Seokjin had talked about before, and you’ve made it to the other side, so a cloudless blue sky on a beautiful afternoon doesn’t feel like an attack. What you see is clarity being reflected back at you.

But it still takes a lot of courage. Instead of putting on a stunning, designer dress and painting on a smile to pacify your family and anyone else important enough to be granted entry, you’re pulling on normal clothes and normal shoes. It doesn’t matter if your hair and makeup are done. Everything feels wrong for a moment, like you’re forgetting something important, and you suppose that’s normal. This is arguably the biggest and most consequential decision you’ve made thus far in your life. No wonder you’re out of sorts.

Normally, this is where you’d compartmentalize. Tuck all that discomfort away for later: a problem for Future You. But that had been your go-to for years, and it did nothing but turn you into an emotionally constipated mess, so you’re done with that—trying to be done with that. Which is fine, because you don’t have a plan, not really, but sometimes it’s enough to simply show up, so that’s what you’re going to do.

Rejection is likely. You’re smart enough to know that, and you’re mature enough to accept it, if it comes down to it. But you don’t want Seokjin to feel rejected. Not again. That’s more important. So you’re going to show up, heart on your sleeve, and if he rejects you, fine, but you’re going to be there. And you’re going to cheer when he wins, even if your voice is drowned out.

Another packed event. It helps to feel anonymous when your sympathetic nervous system is working overtime like this. You’re trembling by the time you find a spot—a little out of the way, no room left on the bleachers. Seokjin probably won’t see you here, wouldn’t think to look, and it’s okay. You’re here for him but you’re here for yourself, too. Just to prove you can. Just to prove that you’re still human.

It all goes by in a blur. The skaters you don’t recognize, some you do. Scores that are both meaningful and meaningless until they aren’t. Seokjin’s name gets called and your stomach drops, but it’s okay. You see Namjoon, Yoongi, and Jeongguk, all nervous energy and bit fingernails and cautious smiles. They don’t see you, but it’s okay.

Two runs happen in a nanosecond. Seokjin holds steady in third. The guy sitting in first falls on his final run, and it’s best of three so you’re not breathing easy yet but your fingers start tingling with anticipation. The guy in second does well but nothing good enough to improve his score. Your phone’s blowing up in your pocket. Presumably your brother’s told your parents by now, and you can wait just a little longer to get cut off. What’s in front of you is more important, it is, and you know it when—

Call it divine intervention, but Seokjin looks up just as he’s about to drop into the bowl. Looks right at you, and the tingle spreads from your fingers all over. Another freeze-frame moment; the two of you are getting good at this.

He smiles. He wins.

Feels a bit like falling in love.

As always, thank you for reading! My inbox is always open if you’d like to leave feedback. I’d love to hear your thoughts! ❤

#btswritingcafe #thebtswritersclub #btshoneyhive #btscarnivalnet #bts imagines #bts scenarios #seokjin imagine #seokjin x reader #jin x reader #seokjin x you #jin x you #bts fanfiction #bts fic #seokjin fanfiction #jin fanfiction #seokjin fluff

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written-in-flowers · 2 years ago

Note

Could you pretty please do another part to the only mine one that you just posted? The one with Otto and the Targaryen reader?? The smut there would be so amazing lol! Otto being all sexy Dom on their wedding night and her being all innocent and gentle. 🥺🥺🥺 please please please! 😂😂

Also, feel free to totally ignore if it’s not something you want to do lol! No pressure I just figured I would ask!

The Bedding

Pairing: Otto x Targ!Reader (daemon's daughter)

It's based on this fic right here: All Mine

Warnings: virgin!reader, old/young dynamic (consensual), oral sex (m. and f. giving/receiving), lots of breast and nipple play, light anal play, breeding kink, multiple sex rounds, multiple sex positions, lots of check-ins, otto being the nicest lover ever,

Word Count: 6k

***

The wedding of Ser Otto Hightower, Hand of the King, and Y/N Targaryen, niece of King Viserys, was by all accounts marvelous. Otto would've preferred a small ceremony and supper, but Viserys would not allow it. He said this marriage between their families once again should be celebrated lavishly. So, Otto allowed the council to host a tourney in his and your honor. Otto sat beside you as men knocked each other off horses all day, the victor finally crowning you as his Queen of Love and Beauty. Later, he listened to all the mummers, singers, and dancers who came forward. He ate the long line of courses, drinking small amounts of wine, and dancing with you when you requested it. He accepted ‘congratulations’ and well-wishes from friends, family and fellow lords. He smiled when you asked him for a kiss and again, when you both cut the wedding pie, with several doves flying out of it.

It was a grand affair; one to rival his previous wedding to his first wife.

But that was not the part he looked forward to. No, Otto sat throughout the night beside you, counting the minutes until he could finally claim you. When he danced with you, he held himself back with near pain. You looked beautiful. Alicent, wanting to give a proper gift, had paid for your wedding gown. A white silk dress that just barely fell off your shoulders, it had golden flowers embroidered into the bodice and down the center of your skirt. His own gift hung from your neck: a gold necklace with white pearls hanging off it. He regularly imagined tonight when he’d slowly strip you down to your nakedness, kissing and fondling your young body while you whined and whimpered. He bit down on his inner cheek thinking of your virgin cunt, untouched and unspoiled by anyone else, and how it’ll be his after tonight. You will be his. You are his.

As the night drew to a close, he spotted you talking to Alicent and several other ladies. His previous nerves settled when Alicent said she accepted the union. You are, after all, one of her dearest friends. After the marriage to Viserys, Rhaenyra had distanced herself from her childhood companion and cousin, so you only had one another. While the title of ‘stepmother’ did not sit right with you, you were happy she did not hate you. Being only a few years older than both Alicent and Rhaenyra, the age difference between you and your new stepdaughter was narrow. Perhaps his daughter saw what he did: either you married her father and stayed in King’s Landing or she’ll lose her only friend to a Pentoshi merchant across the Narrow Sea. You both hugged, kissing each other’s cheeks, before parting. When you turned around, he saw the nervous smile you gave him. You must be teeming with anxiousness about your wedding night.

"Husband," you said nervously, though still smiling shyly, "Did you enjoy the feast?"

"Greatly," he replied, stepping closer so only you heard him, "Though, not as greatly as I'm going to enjoy you."

You looked at him bashfully, giggling at his implication. He offered you his arm, which you took and walked with him home. His body burned with anticipation. He did not know how much longer he could hold back. Otto ordered his household staff not to disturb you both for the rest of the night. The last thing he wanted was being interrupted. Otto brought you into the bedchamber, his cock hardening the moment you looked over at him. Warmth crept up his neck to his cheeks, and he suppressed the feral growl the sight of you brought. His eyes scanned over your body as he walked over to you.

"How are you feeling, my love?" He asked gently.

"I must admit, I am quite anxious."

"You don't need to be," he said, coming closer to you, "We don't have to do it tonight, if you're uncomfortable." As much as it'd pain him to say it, your consent has always been part of his fantasy.

"No, no, I would like to…do that…," you replied, "But nobody has ever…I have never…"

"As it should be," he told you, pulling you closer to him. Otto examined the features of your face, cupping your chin and tracing your bottom lip. He placed a chaste kiss on them first, then another and another. "I will show you," he assured you, kissing you once more, "Let us get rid of these clothes."

He brought you to the long mirror nearby, and carefully began untying your dress from behind. He made sure you felt his fingers on your bare skin, knuckles brushing your spine as he went downwards. "You were beautiful tonight," he said, "I could barely take my eyes off you."

"Thank you," he saw you grin in the mirror. You gasped when he slid your gown off your shoulders and down to your waist, "My lord-"

"-As I have told you already, love," he said in your ear, letting the skirt fall to the floor and leaving you in only your chemise, bodice and stockings. "You may call me Otto now. I want to hear you say it all night," he kissed right beneath your ear and down your neck. When you giggled, he said, "Does that tickle you?"

"Yes," you smiled, shuddering when he continued untying your corset, and taking it off you.

He wrapped his arms around your waist, kissing your neck, and cupping your breasts. Your laughter turned into another gasp, and you forgot about the ticklish sensation. Otto groaned at the weight of your breasts in his hands. He gave them a gentle squeeze, and soon your nipples prodded his palms. This caused him to pinch them softly, rolling them between his fingers through the thin shift you wore. All the blood in his body rushed to his groin, where his cock pulsed in his trousers. He wanted to take it out, and shove it deep into you. But, he practiced patience once more. Otto glanced into the mirror to see you watching him, shivering and biting your lower lip.

"Do you like it when I do this?" He asked, still groping your tits.

"Yes," you nodded. "It feels good."

“Do you like it softly?” He brushed both his thumbs over your nipples gently, seeing you shivering against him. “Or would you like me to go harder?”

You winced when he pinched and rolled them harshly, and you shook your head, “Softly, please.”

He returned to gently palming and teasing. “If I do anything you do not enjoy,” he said, “Tell me. I do not wish to make this unpleasant for you.” He kissed up your neck, saying in your ear, “I cherish you so dearly. I’d hate myself if I caused you discomfort or made you feel you must do this.”

“I do want this,” you told him, confirming it by putting your hands on top of his. “I have for a long time. Please, Otto, don’t stop. Make me yours; make me yours so my father cannot take me away.”

“I’d kill him first, King’s brother or not,” he grunted, pressing his cock into your back and cupping your breasts delicately. He hooked his fingers on the last layer, and said, "May I? Or would you rather leave it on?"

"Y-you may."

He exhaled deeply and carefully lifted it off you. It was like unwrapping a gift. The curves and dips aroused him even further. In nothing but stockings, the sight overshadowed anything his fantasies conjured up. Otto's eyes fell down to your sex and his mouth watered. He saw the lips and pictured the sweet pearl in between them. You turned away, embarrassed and aroused at the same time. You put both your hands over it out of habit, but Otto gently pulled them apart again.

"There is no need to be shy, dearest," he told you, eyes looking back down to your pussy. He wanted to bury his face in it, giving you ultimate pleasure over and over. But, he held himself back. "I'm your husband now. It's alright to show your body to me."

“Forgive me,” you said, “I’ve never been this…exposed before.”

“It is a feeling you will get used to,” he kissed your neck softly, “Especially with me as your husband.”

When he cupped your bare breasts again, he took their supple flesh and hardened nipples. He toyed with them, making you squirm in his arms. Otto noted how your bare flesh felt smooth on his palms, and the wrinkles in your hard nipples brushed his thumbs. He briefly pictured the things he could do to your tits alone, and the visions drove him wild. He turned your head and kissed you deeply. You moaned softly into his mouth, and he moaned right back. His cock strained against his breeches, the tent pressing into your back as he started running his hands up and down your sides. You yelped when you felt him push into you. He took the opportunity to grasp your hips, letting you know where his hands were and where they’d go next.

"Would you like me to touch you there?" He asked you between kisses, "Or do you want me to keep touching you this way?"

"Um, I…"

"I will not be upset at either answer," he replied, going back up your body. "We can go to the bed, if that will make you more comfortable."

"I'd like that."

He brought you over to the bed, watching you climb to the pillows and rest there. Your thighs remained squeezed together, and saw you shudder. Otto took a moment to dress down to his shirt and breeches, before joining you on the bed. Delicately, he spread your thighs to see your sex in front of him. His jaw fell open at the sight of it so close and within reach. But, he refrained once again and laid down beside you. He continued kissing and caressing you. He wouldn't force you to do anything; he'd hate to ruin this perfect moment with hastiness. But, he groaned when something touched his groin.

"Is this okay?" You asked him meekly, keeping your hand there.

"Yes," he breathed, "Yes, it is."

"Do I keep rubbing like this?" You asked, still tracing his bulge.

"Yes."

Otto left enough space for you to comfortably grope him. He pulled you to him, bringing your leg over his as you continued touching and kissing. His arousal tenfolded when you started cupping him earnestly, going up and down his length through his pants. He did not want to rush you into seeing his cock, but he wished he could. The animalistic part of him wanted to lay you on your back and take you. Your tits in his hands, that same feeling continued throbbing inside him. He bent you back to take one nipple in his mouth. This next step had you whining and shivering. He gave it a careful suck, tender and light, and swirled his tongue over the very tip of your nipple. He did the same, suckling on one while massasing the other. When he kissed up your neck, you went back to fondling him.

"Otto," you whispered his name, "May I…" you hesitated, looking down at his crotch. "May I…"

"May you 'what', darling? Use your words, angel."

He knew what you were going to ask, but he wanted to hear you say it.

"May I take it out?" You asked in a single breath. "I've never seen one before. I’d like to see yours."

"Of course you may," he answered, sucking one of your nipples before rolling onto his back for you.

You knelt beside him, shaky fingers undoing the laces his cock pushed forward. Otto continued watching you, putting every naked inch of you to memory. He saw a mixture of eagerness and hesitancy in your eyes. You knew what you’d see, but never seen one in the flesh. He was glad your first would be his. You undid the flap of his breeches, then slipped your hand inside. The feeling of your cold hand on his hot muscle made him hum softly. When you took it out, you looked at it while timidly stroking him. He brought you back over to him as you did this, gripping your backside with one hand and kissing your neck. Otto groaned in your neck, focused on the hand jerking him slowly. You ran your thumb up under his tip, giving a soft squeeze so a droplet of precum came out. Otto’s heartbeat drummed in his ears. You held him out to see his full length and balls underneath. He isn't an intimidating size, yet you still pouted.

"What if it doesn't fit?" You asked him worriedly, smushing the precum leaking from the hole to test its slickness. "Lady Dustin said that can happen if a man's too big."

He chuckled, and kissed you, "It will fit just fine. I'll be gentle with you."

"Would you like me to use my mouth?"

Yes, yes he would. He'd kill a man to have your mouth wrapped around it, tenderly sucking and moaning. "If you wish to," he said. "I will not force it on you.”

“I’d like to…try it.”

“Then, be my guest, love.”

He watched with bated breath as you lowered your mouth over his head. Your tongue tentatively licked the precum from him. You swallowed it once, then did it a second and third time. The very touch of your tongue of his sensitive flesh had Otto quivering. He ran his hand up and down your back soothingly, simply taking in the curve of your spine and smooth skin. You then licked the shaft up and down. His excitement grew when he saw you take a space between his thighs, tug his pants further down and take the base of him in your hand. Your eyes met his while your mouth slowly engulfed the tip. You sucked him softly, unsure whether he liked it or not. But, when he groaned suddenly at the tongue licking the underside, you took it as a sign to continue. He wondered where you’d learned of this act. It is not the sort of thing Septas or mothers told their daughters. Then again, Prince Daemon is your father; you must’ve heard stories about the whorehouses he visited. This excited Otto: picturing you in a brothel, laying naked on a bed while you learned how to pleasure men. Imagining you doing it for his benefit made him harder.

“Am I doing it right?” you asked nervously, stroking him still.

“Yes, yes you are,” he huffed, removing his shirt to cool himself down. “Keep going like that.”

You continued enthusiastically, starting to take in more of him whenever he praised you. His eyes fell shut at the feeling of your mouth around him. The pleasure heightened when he remembered whose daughter you were, and the look on his face should he find you about your marriage. Otto took hold of your hair, simply to feel a part of you as you continued sucking him. He pictured Daemon’s face, enraged and scowling at him when he sees you wed and pregnant. Because, yes, he will impregnate you. He will fill you with his seed, and pray it quickened there. Otto had no interest in having more children until tonight, when he imagined you swollen and round with a child inside you. His child. Otto let out a long groan at the soft tongue sliding up and down the underside of his cock. He looked down to see your cheeks hollowed out, and stuffing him in your mouth. Innocent, pleading eyes gazed back up at him, eager for more praise and encouragement.

“Such a pretty girl,” he purred, lifting you from his groin and sitting to kiss you. He didn’t mind the taste on your lips or in your mouth. Your kisses were addictive, and he’d indulge himself every chance. “You’re doing so well, pet,” he murmured, pecking your lips.

“Do you like it?” you asked sweetly, stroking his hard cock in your hand. “Am I pleasing you, Husband?”

“Yes,” he breathed, grabbing your breast for a gentle squeeze, “Yes, you are. I’d like you to keep doing it just how you were: slow and gentle.”

“As you wish.”

The Seven truly favored him. Nothing aroused him more than hearing you obey his very whims, eager to please and pleasure him. You both fondled one another for a moment before he laid back down, groaning as he watched you slide him back into your mouth. You did as he asked. You tenderly sucked his length and hummed around it softly. He could tell by the way you rocked your hips to the bed, your cunt ached for him. Otto gripped the bed underneath him as he thought of your virginal sex dripping, throbbing and fluttering. When you picked up your pace, due to your arousal, he couldn’t help thrusting into your throat. He heard you gag, and he immediately withdrew.

“Forgive me, love,” he panted, “You arouse me so much, I’m having difficulty holding back my keenness for you.”

You pulled away, coughing and looking at him, “I do?”

“You do. Gods….come here.”

He brought you back to him, your thighs straddling his waist as he greedily kissed you. He allowed you to grind against his wet member, enjoying the sensation of your hard clit and soaked folds stroking him. You mewled and whined at the friction; you wrapped your arms around him and moaned into his mouth. Otto put his arms around your waist to grab your bottom. The deepest, darkest, filthiest parts of his desires involved doing things to your tight, round ass. He pictured himself buried deep inside it, you moaning and unable to handle the pleasure mounting inside you. He gave both cheeks a tender squeeze, and guided you along his length. You squealed when one of his fingers brushed against the center, and you broke from him.

“I’m sorry,” he crooned, still grinding and groping you, “Did you not like that?”

“I…I don’t know,” you replied nervously.

“Would you like me to do it again, and if you don’t I’ll stop?”

Only when you nodded did he continue stroking that area lightly. He went in time with your gyrating hips, still grabbing both your ass cheeks and massaging them. He knew you enjoyed it when you pushed yourself into his hands. Sucking lightly on his neck, he growled at the feeling of your tight entrance against his fingertips. Eventually, he sensed you starting to tremble on top of him. He left your bottom to smooth his hands over your back and shoulders; he trailed down your thighs and back to your sides where he cupped your chest again. You sat up on him, hands on either side of him as you went faster. Otto thought he might burst right then, but he’s an experienced man who is well trained in patience.

“Otto,” you cried out, “It…It tingles.”

“It’s supposed to, sweetling,” he moaned. “Would you like to cum now, or do you want to cum together?”

“Together.”

Otto rested you on your back, staying between your thighs as he kissed you again. Able to control the pace, Otto allowed you a short cooling period to gather yourself again, so he pecked along your hips and thighs for the time being. He knew you’d orgasm right away if he let it continue, and he’d normally give it to you. Yet, he wanted your bedding to be special. He didn’t want you looking back on tonight with disappointment or regret or shame. Part of his fantasy was you aching for more, wanting and craving him and his cock. Simply marrying you isn’t enough. He wanted you to want him, so then he could throw it in your father’s face when he uncovers the truth.

Feeling you relaxed on the bed, he started making his way towards your center once more. “Now, my darling, it is my turn to taste you,” he said against the flesh of your thigh.

"On me? Where?"

"Down here," he looked down at your sex again.

"People do that?"

"Some," he replied, rubbing the side of one lip and making you shudder. "I certainly enjoy it. I've been very, very, very," he rested his mouth right over your sex. It glistened, and he smelled that natural aroma that came from your heat, "Eager to kiss yours. Would you like me to do it for you?"

You nodded your approval, and tried staying still for him. His mouth salivated seeing a trickle of wetness there now. Your thighs and abdomen tensed when he rolled his thumb from bottom to top, spreading the sticky substance over your clit. The moment he brushed the small nub, you took a sharp intake. He smirked, and continued rubbing it slowly in circles. He fell in love with your pussy right there and then. Otto rested over your cunt, where he switched from thumb to tongue. The new sensation made you melt underneath him. Your juices coated his tongue, and he tasted your sweetness right away. When you started wriggling around, he buried his tongue further in to focus on your clit specifically. You gasped and your back arched as he lapped your pussy.

"Otto," you squeaked when he rapidly flicked over your clit, "Otto, oh god, Otto…"

"I take it my beautiful bride is enjoying my tongue?" He asked, sneering and sucking your clit as he did it.

"Yes," you nodded, "Please, don't stop."

Otto held you by your thighs and suckled at your pussy. He hummed against you just to hear you moaning his name. Otto looked up to see you massaging your breasts and teasing your nipples, and he groaned. You were the most erotic, sensual being he'd ever seen. He wanted to stay like this until the end of time, making love to you and seeing your naked body. To avoid too much overstimulation so early, Otto stopped kissing your pussy and instead pushed a finger to your entrance. He only had to look up and see your permission before carefully sliding inside. Your walls pulsed around his finger each time he slid in and out, nearly pulling them inside. He kept his thumb circling your clit in time with his gradual pace. Soon, he added a second.

"Is this alright?" He asked you.

"It feels…different."

"I know," he said, "But do you like it?"

"I do," you nodded.

"It doesn't hurt?"

"Not too much."

"Good," he pecked your inner thigh, "If it ever hurts, tell me."

You nodded, and let him continue. Otto teased your clit, letting the pad of his thumb circle the bundle while his fingers slunk in and out. He saw how his fingers stretched your hole, and the way your body reacted to his intrusion. Occasionally, he’d relax his thumb and switch to his mouth to suck up the sweet juices spilling from you. When you started pushing yourself to his face, he moved his hand faster. He was sure any guard standing outside would hear you moaning his name while he mercilessly flicked your clit. The mixture of fluids made fingering you easier, and your pussy clenched the digits curling inside you. His fingertips found purchase on the spongy, sensitive spot that made you quake each time he touched it, and he continued going.

Then, he stopped. Despite your disappointed groaning, your first orgasm would be with him inside you. He didn’t ask if you were ready. He knew you were by how you spread your legs further apart, giving him plenty of space to occupy. He grabbed your ankles and lifted them to your chest. Otto pressed his tip to your entrance, tapping and slapping himself against it for a while, before finally plunging inside you. Your eyes widened, and you yelped from the first penetration. Breathing heavily and grabbing onto his shoulders, he knew he’d done something right. Otto kept a delicate, slow speed, knowing he’s much wider than his fingers and you’d need a minute to adjust to his size.

“Does it hurt, precious?” he asked you, grunting as he filled you fully now and desperate to pound you.

“A little,” you admitted, wincing when he entered at a different angle.

Yes, perhaps your body isn’t ready for certain positions. Otto let go of your ankles and let your legs wrap around him naturally. Holding you close, he kissed you while thrusting carefully into you.

“Is this better?” he asked you between kisses.

You nodded, grabbing onto his shoulders and humming softly. Otto wanted to ravage you. He wanted to pin you down and have his way. Every instinct in his screamed to fuck you like a whore, but he refrained. There’d be plenty of time for that down the road. Right now, he was content to hold, kiss, and rock himself into you. He went back to teasing your nipples, knowing you enjoyed him touching them. He did this even as he flipped onto his back with you in his grasp. The new position made you wince, but not for long. Like before, you rolled your hips on his and your moans grew louder.

Otto let you enjoy yourself on him. He held onto your hips as you experimented with different speeds and angles, finding the ones you liked best and enjoying them thoroughly. You particularly liked the ones where your clit brushed into his pubic bone, but he used his fingers for this whenever you started riding him. Hands on his chest, your moans began matching your bounces and he couldn’t help admiring you. Though, after a time, he noticed you starting to weaken and grow sluggish even with the need to orgasm encouraging you onwards. Otto took hold of you properly, ceasing your movements, and pushing himself into you.

“How’s that?” he asked breathily, your cunt gripping him tightly and milking him each time. The squishing of fluids between you became more audible, and he almost picked up speed. “Is it better?”

“Goo-Good,” you mumbled, hanging onto him as he pumped inside you. “Otto, would you…would you…”

“Yes, love?”

“Would you go faster?”

“Faster, hm? You mean like this?” he picked up the pace very slightly, though not enough to hurt you.

“No, faster.”

“Like this?” He kept a firm grip on you as he bucked his hips faster, the slapping of skin matching the bed knocking into the wall behind him. “You wish for me to have you like this?”

“Yes! Yes, yes, yes!”

The new angle had you squealing as he rammed himself into your sex. For added pleasure, he rolled his thumb around your swollen clit and another pinching one of your nipples. Your nails dug into his chest, leaving small half-crescents on his skin, and scratches down his front. He knew your climax was coming, since your sex tightened considerably and he thrusted deeper inside. Otto felt his own starting to tighten his muscles, and slowly gained momentum the longer you rode him. He couldn’t stop himself this time. He needed you to cum. He wanted to be the reason you did.

“Otto, Otto, I’m…I’m…”

“I know, sweetling,” he huffed. “I know. You can. Go on, cum for me…cum on my cock like a good pet and let me fill you with mine.”

And as all good girls do, your orgasm erupted from you. Head thrown back, spine curved and your body shaking in every wave, your first true orgasm filled the room. Mixtures of his name and exclamations fueled his own desire, and he soon followed you. Your tight cunt quivered around his length as he spilled his seed into you, his juices mixing with yours. Otto wished he could bask in the moment, forever hanging in bliss with you. But, like all good things, it ended and you fell on top of him, sweaty and gasping for breath. Otto did not pull out of you until he’d softened completely, helping you onto your back to avoid his semen coming out. He meant it when he said he’d put a child in you.

Removing the rest of his clothes, Otto slipped you back into his arms and kissed you passionately. His hands gently roamed over your body, while yours did the same to him. Otto felt triumphant. He’d claimed the woman of his dreams and made her his wife. The thought alone had him sliding back into your tightness, pumping you gently from behind on your sides. His fingers spread the cum inside of you over your over-sensitive sex while his cock hardened within you. He gripped your breasts in his hands and teased your nipples.

“Otto,” you breathed, “It’s so sensitive.”

“I know, darling,” he moaned, sliding out of your pussy and going back in with short thrusts, “But you feel so good. Just let me have you once more, then you can sleep.”

“You can go for as long as you like,” you replied, putting one his hands back on your clit and guiding him over it, “I won’t stop you.”

This encouraged him to keep on going. It took you both longer to finish now that the initial orgasm happened, but it was still as sweet a second time. He couldn’t help himself. Otto spent the night pawing and groping your body; your soft moans aroused him every time, and he enjoyed feasting on your overstimulated sex every time. You returned the favor by sucking on him after the third round, tired but still so needy for him. By the time exhaustion and reason came back over you both, your bodies were planted on the mattress. Otto held you close, kissing you once or twice as you drifted to sleep in his arms. He felt the distinct stickiness between your thighs, and fell asleep imagining Daemon’s face when he learned the truth.

****

You woke up the next morning in Otto's arms. His light breaths broke the early morning silence, and you counted each one. His warm arms kept you encapsulated against him, and it was strange but oddly good. You liked feeling his hard body pressed to your back, his arms keeping you close and safe. Idly, you ran your own fingers over the light arm hairs, feeling more heat come off his skin. Everything smelled like him. The pillows, the sheets and blankets all carried Otto's light musk, which you inhaled deeply. As the silence continued, you thought about last night.

A delightful night that felt borderline magical. From the ceremony, to the feast, and to the bedding, you couldn't stop smiling. You'd originally felt hesitant to marry Otto. You knew it'd enrage your father beyond sense if he learned what you'd done. He'd kill you like he'd killed your mother. He had his new wife and daughters now; he did not have use for you. But, when Otto promised he'd protect you as he'd done since you arrived, you believed him. Adding to this safety was your mother’s family. Your Vale relatives rejoiced at the announcement, and all gathered in King’s Landing for the ceremony. Your grandfather, Lord Royce, gave you away in place of your father. He said your mother is watching over you always, and would have approved of this smart match.

The man currently holding you would never put you in harm's way. He adored you. He loved you. Not as a father might for a daughter, but as a man for a woman. You willingly gave yourself to him because you knew he'd be careful with you. He held you as if you were made of glass, being delicate and gentle with your body. When he broke your maidenhead, you felt safe. You were his now. You were happy with that.

Some time passed before you slid carefully from Otto's embrace. Last night came back in sore muscles and a slight pain between your legs. You liked it though. It made your bedding much more real to you. You pulled on a chemise and bedrobe when Otto stirred in the bed.

"Y/N?" You loved how he said your name, so intimately and informal. Titles no longer stood as a barrier anymore.

"Yes, Otto?" You grinned, immediately returning to the bed in your clothes.

"Are you well?" He asked, pulling you to him for a prickly kiss. You shuddered remembering that mustache and beard on your naked flesh, and briefly wanting it again. "You are not in too much pain, I hope?"

"There is some, but nothing I cannot handle," you replied, kissing him again. "Last night was the best night of my life."

"And of mine, sweetling."

You rested beside him, arm draped over his stomach and kissed him once more. Running your fingertips over his chest and abdomen, he gave a low rumble and pulled you onto him again. Kissing him deeply, tongues sliding over one another, you gradually grinded against him. Soft whimpers escaped you as your bare sex found his cock once more, sliding over the flaccid shaft under you. Otto’s warm hands went underneath your gown to grasp your bottom, and this time you moaned your pleasure at the touch. Your sex throbbed against his tip, the bulb pressing to your dampening sex over and over.

“Can I?” you pouted, pecking his lips and whirling your hips to hear him groan. “Please, Otto?”

“Yes…” he breathed, hands gripping your ass, “Yes, please.”

He tugged down the neckline of your dress and fondled both your breasts once more. You moaned at their gentle touch, palms pressing your nipples and fingers kneading the suppleness. The pinching fingers on your nipples made you rock on him desperately, whimpering and whining at the light tingles it brought. Soon, you sensed his cock pulsating under you, and you eased it into your aching sex. Nothing felt as good as being filled by your new husband. You found yourself becoming easily addicted to the sensation. Despite the twinges of pain, you rode Otto. Thighs helping you bounce on his length in short strokes, you felt him immediately pressing into that special spot inside you. Otto continuing to play with your nipples only added to the tightness building in your pussy. It was when he started pushing up into you that you nearly came around him. You never imagined sex being this enjoyable. Alicent told you it hurt. You thought it’d be awful and shameful, but Otto didn’t make it so. You bent forward, giving him access to your breasts and met his hips in the middle.

“Oh gods…” you moaned, “Otto, don’t stop. It…It feels so-so good…”

“I know, angel,” he grunted, rolling you onto your back so you yelped in surprise. “It will be every time, I promise,” he said, pecking at your lips.

Pinning your wrists to the bed, your husband ravaged you. You didn’t mind. You submitted your body to him completely. The bed hit the wall behind you each time, drowning out the moans and cries you both released. Your orgasms came sooner than you’d wanted, and Otto’s hot semen spilled inside you once again. You prayed it sunk deep and planted itself in your womb. You’d love nothing more than to have a child of your own; Otto being the father will make it even sweeter. Otto trembled on top of you, lightly kissing your chest and neck before finding your lips. You locked your legs around his waist to keep him buried between your thighs.

“Let us not leave yet,” you cooed, kissing him back. “Let us stay here and keep doing this. I want nothing else today.”

Otto chuckled against your lips, “We must, I’m afraid. I am Hand of the King. I am needed at his side during meetings.”

“His Grace is a man grown. He can handle affairs without you for one day.” You lifted your chest slightly to push your breasts to him, and said, “Please? If not all day, then a little while longer? I believe I have yet to have my fill of you.”

He paused, considering the request before kissing you, “Did I not fill you enough last night?”

“Not nearly,” you said, putting his hand on your breast, “I don’t want to stop until I’m pregnant with your child.” You then added, “I can imagine nothing would upset my father more than me being pregnant with your child, Otto.”

He hummed against your neck, and laughed, “Have we resorted to scheming to get my attention, love?”

“If that is what it takes,” you smiled, enjoying the warmth and weight of him on top of you. “Please, Otto, stay with me.”

You knew you’d won him over when he rolled his hips into you once more, making you squeak from the sudden movement. “May we at least break our fast?” he asked, “You must be famished after last night.”

“I admit I am.”

“Then I will call for a spread.”

He kissed you one final time, grabbed his own robe and left the bed. You stayed on the bed, soaking in more of Otto’s scent and warmth, and felt his remnants dripping between your thighs. It had not been a persuasive lie. It was a fact. You did not speak to your father, but you knew he disliked and distrusted Otto. His daughter being married and pregnant by his greatest rival would enrage him. Even if he ignored you. Even if he showed nothing but disdain at the thought of your mother. You’d foiled his plans for a political alliance as well as married into the family he disliked more than your mother’s. He’ll be furious with you. Watching Otto give orders to a maid, you did not care. Let the Rogue Prince throw a temper tantrum if he wishes. Nothing worries you anymore.

You had Otto, and that was enough for you.

***

A/N: two people had more or less the same request, so I went ahead and put them together <3 here’s more otto smut. Also, so sorry about the time between postings. I'm currently working on my own novel lately, since I hope to publish soon, but I am gonna try getting through some things on here. Thank you for sticking around lol

#otto hightower #otto x reader #otto x you #otto x yn #otto hightower smut #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd imagines #hotd fanfic #hotd drabbles

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raspberryfingers · 2 years ago

Text

A Lion in the Garden -Tywin Lannister x Reader- (Part 20)

WARNING: Mentions of sex

—————

Robb Stark was undressing and getting ready for bed, watching his wife and newborn son—Ned—playing on the bed with a fond smile on his face. It was an odd thing, for in the several months that he had been back at Winterfell, he couldn’t stop thinking about what you’d said. He would’ve walked straight into a slaughter had he married his uncle to one of Walder Frey’s daughters.

You’d saved his life and allowed him to return to Winterfell free of any treasonous charges. Plus, in the last several months, the gods had managed to bring his family back together. Minus Bran, who several Stark men were beyond the wall searching for. Not knowing whether or not he’d ever see his brother again made Robb quite anxious, but he held out hope.

Rickon had been brought back to Winterfell with a wildling, and according to him, he had escaped with Bran when Theon had taken Winterfell, and Bran had warging abilities. That was why he was going beyond the wall.

Ah yes, and then there was Theon. Robb had by all accounts intended to take his head, but when he returned to Winterfell and found the sorry state he was in, he couldn’t do it. He often wished he had, but deep down, he knew he wouldn’t have been able to in any circumstance. Theon had always been like a brother to him.

And of course, the Hound had brought Arya back too. She had told the family quite a lot about her adventures in the Riverlands, and at Harrenhal. Though she ‘failed’ to mention it to her mother, Robb had heard about her time as Tywin Lannister’s cupbearer. Besides you, he didn’t think he’d ever heard someone say such pleasant things about the Old Lion.

And then there was the Hound, who—upon arriving at Winterfell—found that he didn’t want to leave. He’d been at Winterfell ever since then, specifically in charge of looking after the Stark children. It gave him a feeling that was as close to joy as he would ever get, and seemingly helped to soothe the anger in him.

More than anyone, though, Robb’s mother was glad to see their family together again. Losing Ned had been hard, and she’d been so afraid of losing her daughters too.

But she was home now.

They all were.

Well, Sansa was in Highgarden, but Loras had vowed that they would come and visit quite often. It soothed Catelyn, and more than anything she was glad to see her daughter happily married.

Along with that, Robb still had to uphold a promise he’d made to Arya upon her return, which was that they would visit Jon at Castle Black. Though, with Stannis occupying it and preparing to march south, it would have to be postponed awhile.

He couldn’t wait for all of this to be over.

Robb’s thoughts were disrupted, however, by a distinct knock on his door. With a sigh, he moved over and opened it, finding two of his servants with a rather large box.

“What’s this?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

“A message and a gift for you, Lord Stark.”

“From whom?”

“Tywin Lannister.”

Robb Stark was shocked, and somewhat wary. What on earth could Tywin Lannister of all people be sending him?

Then he remembered something.

“Bring it in, set the box down on the table,” he commanded, letting them awkwardly shuffle in and do so. Talisa watched somewhat anxiously, holding her baby to her chest as she sat up in bed.

Robb thanked the men as they left, and moved to open the box once the door was shut. He knew what it was before he lifted the lid off, but was still excited to see it.

Ice.

Robb lifted the giant sword from its case, examining it and smiling. He was grateful to see it returned home, and for a moment he thought he might cry. This sword was one of the few things he had left of his father.

“This’ll be yours someday, little man,” he said softly, showing the weapon to his son, who certainly seemed intrigued by its shine.

“Not for a long time, though,” Talisa added, raising her own eyebrows at her husband. He chuckled and nodded, knowing she was right. She always was.

Carefully, he set the sword upon its holder on the mantle. It had been sitting empty for years now, and it made him happy to see it restored.

Oh father.

Robb made his way back to the table, lifting the letter that had come with it. Sure enough, it had the hand’s seal.

Carefully, he opened it and began to read.

Lord Stark,

My son Tyrion promised that this sword would be returned once you were no longer in rebellion, and he is true to his word.

Though, I am sorry to inform you that you have not been returned the entire sword. I doubt you would have noticed, but I feel compelled to admit there is about an inch missing from it.

This metal will be put to very good use, I assure you. Several months ago, Lady Tyrell—to whom you spoke—gifted me a ring made of Valyrian steel. I intend to do the same for her, the only difference being that should she accept my gift, I will take her as a wife.

As a man quite devoted to your own wife and family, I’m certain you can understand the sentiment. I’m also certain I can trust you to keep the content of this letter confidential, minus your wife. Best wishes, Lord Stark.

-The Hand of the King, Tywin Lannister

Robb Stark found himself beginning to laugh, not in the slightest upset about what he had learned. In fact, he was happy for the Old Lion. It was odd, especially because they’d been at war for years, and yet there was no bitterness in Robb Stark.

After all, Joffrey was dead, just as you had assured Robb he would be. And, knowing that Tywin Lannister intended to marry you made perfect sense. Who else but the Nightshade of the Garden would be able to satisfy and soften the most powerful man in Westeros?

“What does it say?” Talisa asked, not expecting her husband to begin laughing at a letter Tywin Lannister had sent.

Robb was still smiling as he handed the paper to his wife, and he watched her read it for a few seconds.

“It seems the Old Lion intends to take the Nightshade of the Garden as a bride.”

She looked it over completely, and began to gape. She certainly wouldn’t have expected the man to be so sentimental, but deep down she knew better than to doubt the effect that women had on men.

“Do you think he’s already asked her?” She questioned, handing the letter back to her husband. Robb shrugged, placing it on the table.

“It’s hard to say, really. There’s no date on the letter,” he said, joining his wife in bed and taking their son into his lap. Talisa watched her husband lift the boy into the air, both of them grinning and giggling at each other. She couldn’t help but smile at the scene, and she leaned over to kiss Robb’s cheek.

“And you’re not upset he took some of the metal off?”

“No, oddly enough. I should be furious about the idea of a Lannister attempting to alter the sword in any way, but Tywin Lannister is right. I’m a sentimental man, and I do love my family. Not to mention, I love my wife very much,” he said, grinning at Talisa and kissing her softly. She gave a small laugh in reply.

“And with that in mind, I can’t find it in myself to be angry. Lady (Y/N) was a well spoken, impressive woman. The type of woman a man like Tywin Lannister would enjoy and appreciate. Not to mention, I’m certain she’s earned his respect by now. She mentioned she’d yelled at him and even despite that they get along quite well. If the Old Lion has found happiness, good for him. Maybe it’ll make him less of an obnoxious cunt,” he reasoned, covering Ned’s ears at the end. Talisa smacked his shoulder, and he began to laugh.

“I mean it! I know you certainly made me a better man, who’s to say the same can’t be said for Tywin Lannister? Plus, everyone knows his last wife made him a better man, I bet it could happen again,” he shrugged, removing his hands and patting over his son’s head, which was already full of thick dark hair.

“Do you think she truly loves him though? Plenty of men have wanted her over the years, and yet she’s never married. Why would she pick Tywin Lannister of all men?” Talisa questioned, knowing that plenty of people thought the man to be disagreeable.

“When I’d spoken to her, she described him rather nicely. I had a suspicion then that perhaps something more was going on between the two, and it seems I was right. You’re probably not aware of this, but she hated him for a long time. She visited Casterly Rock as a girl and the two of them did not get along very well. It’s why I laughed when I learned that the Tyrells and the Lannisters were making an alliance. I honestly figured it would be a weak one given that their two leaders are not particularly fond of one another. But no, by all accounts, the two have gotten along rather well since the Battle of Blackwater. She wouldn’t have put aside that rivalry for show unless she truly, genuinely liked the man,” Robb explained to her, watching as she took Ned in her arms and placed him in the wooden crib beside their bed. He was thankfully a very quiet baby, and went to sleep with relative ease. It made Robb feel that they’d named him correctly.

“I see. Well, hopefully Lady (Y/N) says yes. I’m certain they would have quite the wedding.”

“I hope so too. Perhaps they’ll even invite us.”

The two laughed, laying back in bed and cuddling close together. As Robb began to drift off, he found himself smiling.

To the Old Lion and the Nightshade of the Garden.

—————

Tywin Lannister was nervous.

He found himself sitting in the garden where you two had properly fought for the first time over a year ago. Though, he hoped this conversation would go much differently.

He was fidgeting with his own rings, and he felt vastly uncomfortable. He was never nervous, and experiencing the feeling brought him great discomfort. What if you should say no? What if everything that came out of his mouth sounded incoherent, and he upset you?

There were a million possibilities when it came to what he was about to do, and he found himself imagining every single one.

He couldn’t recall the last time he’d wanted something this badly. The last time he’d cared so much about a single person’s answer, or opinion. He’d lived a long, decent life despite his losses. He had all that most men craved, and yet the one thing he truly wanted was you.

More specifically, to make you his wife. And what if you should be against that? How would he live with himself, knowing that you hadn’t wanted to marry him, but did so to avoid another lord? He had no doubt you would at least be content in the marriage, but he didn’t want you to merely be content. Tywin wanted you to be happy, to be fulfilled as his wife. Just as he would be as your husband.

More than anything, he wanted to give you the world. He wished he wasn’t hand of the king, so he could marry you and return to Casterly Rock. Oh to return to his chambers with their tall, large windows that overlooked the sea.

He wanted to share that bedroom with you more than anything else on earth. You had the perfect temperament to be the Lady of Casterly Rock, he knew it for a fact.

Oh to marry you.

Not to mention, to shower you with riches and dress you in the finest Lannister red and golds. He knew you’d always be a Tyrell, but it didn’t keep him from imagining how wonderfully you would represent his own house.

But, what if you didn’t accept his proposal? Again, these thoughts came back to him, and he sighed before rubbing his face again. Tywin Lannister felt as if he was in utter shambles.

He tried to distract himself with the flowers, which were currently in full bloom and looked absolutely magnificent. A lion in the garden, indeed.

Just then, he heard a noise, and looked over to find you standing there. He instantly sat up straighter, and took a deep breath. Your grandmother was right. It was now or never.

—————

“Tywin?” I said softly, a tone of inquiry in my voice. He had an odd look on his face, sitting on the bench while he fixed his ring. It was the one I had given him.

“(Y/N), sit, please,” he said quickly, scooting over a bit. I moved forward and sat down beside him, admiring our surroundings. The first time we’d sat here together, it hadn’t been nearly as beautiful. Right now, I felt oddly at home, almost as if I was back at Highgarden.

“It seems every time I’m sitting on this bench you’re right beside me,” I observed, to which he nodded and gave a gentle smile, but said nothing. Yes, something certainly was wrong, and it made my stomach drop. Had something happened? I swallowed, hoping I was merely in my head and all was well.

“You asked to meet me here?” I questioned then, having received word from a servant an hour ago that I should expect to come here at this time of the afternoon. Golden sunlight was peaking through the garden, and it was enough to be warm but not hot. It was a lovely afternoon, in all honesty.

“Yes, I did,” he said simply, rubbing his hands against his thighs. I’d never in my life seen any man display such nervous behavior, and it was even more unsettling from him. Since when did Tywin Lannister let himself be consumed by nerves?

Though, when I considered his behavior at the tourney, perhaps it wasn’t all that strange. Still, it didn’t make any sense for him to behave this way while merely conversing with me.

“Am I allowed to know why?” I asked, making Tywin look over and raise both eyebrows. Gods, what was wrong with him? He was acting as if I’d said something astonishing and he hadn’t expected it.

“Yes, you certainly are. I have, uhm- I’ve requested your presence so that I might give you a gift. Two gifts, actually,” he said, stumbling over his words a little. He wasn’t even looking me in the eyes.

“Are you alright, Tywin? You seem… anxious,” I questioned softly, furrowing my eyebrows with concern and pressing my hand to his forehead. Perhaps he was coming down with something? His face did feel awfully hot.

He reached for my wrist, kissing my palm as he brought my hand down from his forehead.

“I’m alright, my dear, just allow me to explain,” he assured me, seemingly relaxing a little bit. I nodded, then processing that he had gifts for me. What sort of gift would be making him act this way?

“There’s two gifts, and one requirement. The requirement is that in order to receive the second gift, you must accept the first one,” he continued, watching my face carefully. I nodded at this, though I was truthfully feeling somewhat confused. What was so important that I couldn't have both things individually? And why was he being so mysterious about the damned thing?

Nothing about this conversation had made any logical sense thus far, and it made me feel as if I was dreaming. Tywin was always so well spoken. So confident. He was a lion, after all.

“Very well, what is the first one?” I asked, deciding to ignore all my other concerns. Perhaps there was a reason for the odd behavior, and all would be explained momentarily.

Tywin paused, reaching for my hands and taking them in his. His hands were soft and warm, and the feeling of his skin on mine was pleasant. Not to mention, his hands were practically twice the size of mine, and I felt entirely enveloped by him.

“Before I give it to you, can I say something? Would you allow me to?” Tywin whispered, and there was a hint of emotion in his voice that I could not deny, nor place.

“Of course, Tywin. What is it?”

He swallowed, looking me in the eyes as he again fixed his posture. He inhaled awkwardly, closing his eyes for just a moment and then opening them fiercely. Somehow, I knew then that the lion was back. The anxiety that had been consuming him—for whatever reason—was gone now.

“The last time we sat here, (Y/N), you were lecturing me. You were expressing your hatred for me, and rightfully so. At the time, I thought you were being ridiculous. I thought you were still a girl, just as you had been the first time we’d met. But no, I quickly learned that you were not. And, despite the anger I felt while sitting here, I would soon become grateful for it. I am truthfully very grateful that you yelled at me that day, because if you hadn’t, I might not have become so obsessed with the idea of making you tolerate me. And if I hadn’t done that, I never would’ve entertained the idea of you liking me, let alone- let alone loving me,” he said, taking deep breaths and letting out shaky exhales as he did. It was as if he had to remind himself to be calm. Though, the sentiment was overwhelmingly sweet. I felt myself smiling as I pressed one of my hands to his face, letting my thumb stroke his neat stubble.

He leaned into my touch, placing one hand on top of mine as he continued.

“And more than that, I found that I liked you. I found that I enjoyed watching you smile, and hearing you laugh. I was comforted by your thoughts, and reassured with your advice,” he muttered sweetly, a distinct passion and adoration in his eyes as he stared down at me. Then there was a slight sadness.

“After losing Joanna, I never thought I’d love another woman again. I never wanted to. But you managed to force yourself into my heart, as ridiculous as that might sound. And now that I have such a fondness for you, I can’t imagine my life without you in it,” he said, eyes scanning over my face as he did. I still had not a clue where he was going with this, but my heart pounded with every word. I couldn’t ever recall him being so open about how he truly felt towards me.

“About a week or two before you left for Dorne, I received a raven from Catelyn Stark, requesting that her husband’s sword be returned to her son. I had, in all honesty, forgotten about that sword up until then. Upon remembering its existence, however, I found myself presented with an opportunity,” he began to explain, confusing me even further. What in the seven hells did the Stark’s ancestral sword have to do with anything?

Tywin paused, observing the somewhat confused look on my face. He looked away for a moment, as if considering what to say next. I then watched him move his hand, raising and positioning it so I would look down at his rings. The one I’d given him in particular, as it shone twice as bright.

“(Y/N), when you gave me this ring, it was a symbol of our improved relationship. It was a symbol of our friendship. The day you gave it to me, I was no longer the Lord Hand, or Lord Tywin. From that day on, I was just Tywin to you,” he said softly, looking down at his hand before looking me in the eyes again. There was something so serious, so dire in his voice. He swallowed and then continued to speak once more.

“And upon remembering that I would have to return that sword to Robb Stark, I felt compelled to take another step forward. Because for quite some time, I was more than satisfied being just Tywin to you. In fact, I was overjoyed. But eventually, I realized that I would be content as more than just a lover to you. And so, from that sword, I forged you a ring. A ring that I hoped would symbolize not only our friendship, but our love as well. A ring that I hoped to give to you… to give to you the day that I… that I asked you to be my wife,” he said, voice soft and progressively becoming quieter as he spoke. At the end, his voice was at a whisper, but not so quiet that I did not hear him.

I then watched him reach into the pocket of his coat, and when it was removed, I found a ring in the palm of his hand. It was made of Valyrian steel.

My heart skipped several beats, and I could not keep myself from gaping as I looked up at him. I searched his face, and I tried to contain myself. I did not want to jump to conclusions, but I felt tears begin to well in my eyes. Was he truly asking for my hand?

“I had this ring made before I bedded you for the first time. At that point, I did not feel ready to ask for your hand in marriage, but I did feel that it would be plausible in the near future, so I had it made then anyways. It was not until Dorne… not until you were away from me that I realized there is only one thing that I will ever want for the rest of my life. When you were gone, I of course feared for your safety, for your life. I often found myself lying awake at night, wondering if you were still breathing. I was terrified. But, more than that, I missed you. I missed your teasing and your flirting, your excitement over simple things. I missed your warmth in my bed at night, and the sound of your laugh during the day. I found myself increasingly aware of your absence more and more each moment. And, I found that I couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t bear to be without you, (Y/N), and it’s because of that fact that I want to ensure your permanence in my life. I want to ensure your permanence in my life for the rest of my life, no matter how short it may be, and that is why- that is why I’m begging you to accept this ring and wear it proudly for as long as I live. That is why I’m asking you to be my wife, (Y/N).”

There was so much emotion in his face, in his eyes especially, as he revealed all that he felt for me, and I couldn’t deny the tears that had begun to spill from my own eyes.

Oh Tywin, my dear.

I cupped both sides of his face with my hands, giving him a gentle smile as I spoke.

“When I was in Dorne, Tywin, I was sitting around the fire with Jaime and Bronn one morning. We were discussing how we’d like to die, and additionally how we’d not like to. I noted that the worst idea of death to me is somehow that of lying in a bed surrounded by too many children and grandchildren. I explained to them that my worst fear has always been being married off to some lord and losing who I am. My worst fear is being sold and bred like an animal, and only ever serving that purpose just as so many women are forced to do. I told them that, and reasoned that it’s why marriage has always made me so reluctant. But, upon saying this, Bronn pointed out to me that you had allowed me to come,” I began, giving him some context for what I was about to say. I spoke slowly, occasionally sniffling because I was somehow still crying. It seemed Tywin was about to as well.

“I realized then that Bronn was right. Even after the tourney, even after you’d expressed such a distinct fear about me being in a dangerous situation, you still let me go with them to Dorne. Not for Jaime or Cersei, but for me. You let me fulfill my more adventurous desires, which is something that few other men would do. And when I thought about that, I understood that the idea of marriage, the concept that I had been so against and hated so much for the majority of my life, was no longer something I feared. I no longer feared it because I knew that if you ever took me as your wife, I would still be more than just your wife. And with that thought came the realization that I do want to marry you, Tywin. To be your wife would be the most divine thing in all seven kingdoms, and I should be proud to take you as my husband,” I told him softly, both of our tears flowing freely now. Tywin smiled at me and wiped my cheeks, sniffling as he looked down and slipped the ring onto my finger. The weight was pleasant, almost as if it had been missing from my hand every day before this day.

I took Tywin’s hand in mine then, pressing our rings together and smiling at him. The metaphor was certainly not lost on him, and he did not waste another moment before leaning down and kissing me.

I wrapped one arm around his neck and held his face with my other hand, kissing him through my smile and simultaneously my tears. Tywin’s arms were wrapped around me, holding me impossibly close, almost as if he couldn’t believe I was real. There was so much love and passion in that kiss, and it was so overwhelming that somehow kissing him was not enough. I wanted to meld our souls together, to be eternally connected to him in every way that I possibly could.

“(Y/N)… (Y/N), I love you,” he whispered, swallowing and catching his breath. He let our foreheads press together, and all I was physically able to focus my eyes on were his eyes.

“Oh Tywin, I love you so much. So much,” I muttered in reply, kissing him once more before smiling as I pulled away. Somehow, I was still having trouble processing that I would truly be his wife.

Gods, I couldn’t wait.

“Now that I’ve given you the ring, would you like to know what the second gift is?” He whispered after a moment. I was utterly shocked then. There was more?

He moved his face back, and gave the smallest of grins at the shock in my eyes.

“I spoke with your father this morning. I told him I was going to ask for your hand in marriage today,” Tywin began, making me raise an eyebrow.

“And how did he react to that?”

“He began to choke on his wine.”

We both laughed a bit, because it was exactly what I would’ve expected from my father. I suspected he was the only Tyrell who was entirely clueless about my relationship with Tywin.

“I explained it to him in political terms, such as he needed to marry you off to a decent lord, and I wanted more children. I truthfully don’t care if you’re opposed to having children, but I did need an excuse, and your father thought nothing of it. I explained that we got along fine and would make a suitable match, but that I had a request to make,” he continued, much to my amusement, for I would’ve given anything to see my fathers face during this conversation.

“A request?”

“I told him that if he wished to see you married to me, he needed to keep you as the head of the Tyrell army. He stuttered and fumbled around for a minute or two, but I made it abundantly clear that it was absolutely necessary, and he relented,” Tywin revealed, watching with satisfaction as I began to gape once more.

“He’s not going to name Loras the head of the army?”

“Not so long as he wants to see us married, no he won’t.”

I began to laugh now, throwing myself into Tywin’s arms and holding him as tight as I possibly could. The man had just ensured I would keep the one thing I’d always valued so much and held so close to my heart, and how could I not love him even more after that?

“Oh Tywin, thank you. Thank you, thank you… thank you,” I repeated, still smiling and laughing softly as I remained in his arms. To say that I was overjoyed was an understatement.

“I told your grandmother this, and I’ll tell it to you as well. Anything you desire I will give you. If you want to be my wife, then you will be. If you wish to remain head of the Tyrell army, you will. I would give you all seven kingdoms if you so much as mentioned it,” he said, voice soft and low in my ear. I couldn’t stop smiling. I couldn’t think of a single day in my life when I’d ever received so much good news. I couldn’t recall a single day where I’d ever been so happy.

“I love you, Tywin, so much,” I whispered, unable to express anything but that. He chuckled sweetly, arms still wrapped around me. There was such peace in his arms, and knowing that I would spend the rest of my life in them made me smile brighter than the sun.

As I pulled away, I seemed to remember something Cerella had said once. Looking down and observing my ring, I contemplated it. The ring was adorned with intricate vines for a pattern. There was a beautiful red jewel on the top, and on the bottom, a lion appeared to be sleeping, covered in the vines. And of course, it was nightshade.

“You know, Tywin, the day I told Cerella that we were romantically involved, she gushed about it so much, claiming that we would be the most powerful match Westeros has seen in centuries. At the time, I hadn’t fully grasped that sentiment, but the more I’ve thought about it the more I’ve realized she’s right. Usually the lowborn get to marry for friendship and love, and we have to marry for political power. But, the curious thing about our marriage is that it will accomplish both. We’ll be combining the two richest houses, and in doing it, we get to marry someone we both truly love. That idea in itself feels quite powerful to me,” I said, motioning around with my hands as I explained my thought process. Tywin smiled at me the whole time. I didn’t think I’d ever seen him smile so much.

“Essentially, the two most powerful people in Westeros are getting married and have each other’s interests at mind. The two greatest powers are becoming a single entity,” he remarked, to which I raised an eyebrow.

“Well, you may be the most powerful man in Westeros, but to say that I-“

“I’m a puppet, (Y/N). I know that, and I don’t mind it. You’ve always pulled my strings, sometimes I’ve been conscious of it and sometimes I haven’t, but the reality of it is, I let you do it because most of the time it does no harm to me. In fact, when I let you take more control, things usually go better than they normally would. I wouldn’t let a stupid person sway my decisions and beliefs, you know that. My point is, if someone has the ability to influence the most powerful man in Westeros so consistently, then what does that make them?” He questioned, raising an eyebrow at me to demonstrate he was serious.

“The most powerful person in Westeros,” I answered. He nodded, satisfied with my answer. In all honesty, I had not realized he viewed it that way. He was right of course, I had been pulling his strings, though it was never out of malicious intent, and I usually only did it for the good of the realm. Or my family, as happened with Loras and Sansa.

“I’ve never wanted to manipulate you, I hope you know that. When I attempt to change your mind, I do it for the good of the realm or the good of my family. I’ve never once done it to gain personal power, you’re more than that to me,” I said, not wanting him to feel as if I was playing the puppeteer because it gave me personal glory or satisfaction.

“I know, my dear. It’s why I went along with the idea of Prince Oberyn killing Joffrey.”

My mouth dropped a bit, and he kissed my forehead.

What?

“Oberyn Martell did kill Joffrey, but everything that happened was too perfect. It was deliberate, well thought out. Men like Oberyn Martell are impulsive, and you’re the most thorough person I know. Plus, you had plenty of reason to want Margaery married to Tommen instead,” he said quietly, knowing we were in a secluded area but should still make efforts to at least be somewhat secretive. I was still gaping, shocked that he had known it was me the whole time.

“I’m not mad, dear girl. Tommen is much easier for me to control, and you know that too,” he whispered, thumb brushing over my cheek. I swallowed, somehow coming back to reality as he said it.

“I wouldn’t have put the thought in Oberyn’s head if it would’ve caused any complications of your power. I only did it because Tommen was clearly a better temperament for a husband and for a king.”

“I’m aware, (Y/N). We need not discuss it further now that it’s no longer a secret. All I ask is that you promise me one thing.”

“Hm?”

“The next time you decide to plot something like that, tell me first. If you cannot trust your husband with these things, then who can you?” He requested, both of my hands in his. He gave them a gentle squeeze, and I could tell he meant it. He genuinely was not upset about Joffrey’s death.

“I’ll tell you, Tywin. I promise.”

“Good. Do you think you can make it up the tower of the hand?” He questioned, tucking a strand of hair behind my ears. He couldn’t take his eyes off me either.

“It’s only slightly irritating to go up stairs, I’ll manage it perfectly fine,” I reasoned, knowing my wound was well healed enough for plenty of things. The look on Tywin’s face told me he already had one thing in mind.

“Will you join me there tonight? I’m tired of covering your mouth when I fuck you. I'd like to hear your moans tonight,” he muttered, looking me up and down before settling on my face again. There was a lusty haze in his eyes, and I expected he’d be a bit more unhinged tonight. I grinned at him and nodded, quite excited at the prospect.

“Yes, I’ll join you in your chambers tonight, Tywin.”

He leaned in and kissed me once more, and I felt my stomach consumed with butterflies like it was the first time I was kissing him.

I felt then, that despite their cruelty, the Gods rewarded us from time to time. And I knew it then, that the nicest thing they would ever reward me with was Tywin Lannister.

To spend the rest of my life with him, what a thought.

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