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slowd1ving · 5 months ago

Note

hello!! Your fic is so cool and if your request is open, can I request DG x male reader when DG still in his James lee era while reader is the King of Busan

XENIA ゜゜・DG

Xenia, noun: the classical concept of hospitality to strangers. This, unfortunately, includes a wandering dog and his conniving owner—a most irritating, tooth-grinding conundrum the King of Busan has with Charles Choi and his boy-genius. sorry for the wait anon I was away from my laptop for the past week or so! and I couldn't write :'( first meetings and onwards for this particular work haha chicken and egg problem.. haha introspection on business and corruption... haha capitalism pairing: dg (james lee) + male reader warnings: male reader, canon typical violence, arguing (bickering) wc: 3.3k

LOOKISM MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

In the lengthy chronicles of Charles Choi’s grand plan—to mould the precarious South Korean underground into something far more profitable—James Lee finally came across his very own cause-and-effect conundrum.

What came first, the chicken or the egg? Plutarch initially posed this question in The Symposiacs: a symbolic tug of war between creator and creation. James supposed, in his bored sort of way, that this question described the relationship between cities and Kings as well. Chronically, objectively, the cities existed first—tall structures and unique ecosystems that forged shadowy figureheads to rule the violent underbelly. But poetically, it was rather hard to ignore the hands etching—pummeling—a pathway for the power to flourish. Without those in charge, what were the cities? And without the cities, who were the people in charge?

Parsing the matter, it distilled into who influenced whom.

Of course, the dazzling sprawl of Busan refracting from the glass under his feet was no exception. Even he, who satiated his youthful wanderlust with blood on his fists, couldn’t deny his reluctance to sully this city more. But, what did it matter? The second most important city in South Korea (some would froth at the mouth and argue it was the first for its gateway to Eurasian trade, or at least for its world-class ports) was built from perfectly respectable trade; but alack! it was also protected by its snarling underworld. It had already been befouled: polluted by fists no better than his, trodden by legs more filthy than his own. Blood and toil smeared its golden sand, and its money was just as dirty.

Sure, the city was propped up by honourable (hah) commercial deals, but it was shielded by the illicit ones.

A defiled aegis, if you would.

It was clear the current glitzy glamour of Busan night-life was carefully orchestrated by someone: from the specific mouthfeel the night air had, to the businesses that ran late into the witching hours. Those mythical beings and chaebols who fed and extracted money from this place, in endless loops, were culpable for these towering skyscrapers and glittering lights.

Creators.

In turn, the city cradled your grimy little body—chubby hands wrapping around index fingers of the metaphorical hounds—and made you.

Did this metropolis represent you, or did you represent the metropolis?

It was not in a polite setting that James Lee scouted the venerable King of Busan: arguably the second most esteemed figurehead for the Kings of South Korea. In theory. In theory, since Busan’s reputation as a hub for trade and exalted trade (rather than the mere cold, hard cash ill-reputed other cities offered Choi) entwined with your own. Except, in practice, you were a far more reticent King than anyone could imagine. A shadow to fade into obliquity more than any other shadow.

Underbelly, yes. This was the turf you were most at home in; he could forget all about the glamorous, illegal casinos in basements, he could forget about eavesdropping on business moguls and their lackeys, he could forget about waiting in the entertainment districts for the proverbial snake to finally rear his head.

You were the fucking microcosm of this city: draped with expensive fabric and chainmailed with gold, but the blood on your knuckles stank of impurity. In a parking lot nestled on the outskirts of Busan, he witnessed the King in his court: complete with the luxury, the opulence, and the hamartia of brutality that came with capitalism. Yes, Busan had minted you as a shadowy side to a glitzy coin—as your eyes snapped to where he lounged against concrete, he couldn’t help but observe how your imaginary hackles raised.

Thwomp. Casually, you tossed the grunt beaten black-and-blue to the frigid asphalt, with the magnanimity of tossing breadcrumbs to ducks in a pond. Like the lackey was the bread and James fucking Lee himself was the duck. A bloodied cheek squished into his sneaker, but you merely stared at him owl-like. No, cat-like, because it seemed to be the same nonplussed stare a cat would give someone after bringing them a dead rat.

“Nice city.” Since you clearly had no intention of speaking first. Deftly, his fingers unravelled the mystic plastic of a lollipop: popping the cherry-flavoured candy into his mouth to soothe the acerbic irritation he tasted. “You treat all your guests like this, or do kings not follow xenia anymore?”

It was a rather futile attempt to lighten the mood. After all, if he could help it, he’d rather negotiate to pave the way for the second generation before resorting to throwing his fist. No, that was a lie. His flexing fingers wanted nothing more than to curl into a fist to let off some of the steam he’d garnered from searching for you in this uselessly big city, but fate had him making stupid jokes based on The Odyssey he’d read just last week for his Classics competition. If he rummaged in his pocket, he could probably find the gold medal clanking against hard sweets.

Your expression changed minutely—a slight disturbance in your brows. They furrowed, and for a brief moment James Lee thought his joke fell flat. With all the blood soaked into your expensive garb, maybe you just valued fists over Homeric hexameter. Violence over prose. Brawns over brains. You slinked like shadows. Crude. Ominous. He could barely see your face even with the city lights flashing neon in the backdrop, but when your loping gait came to a halt, there was an exasperation that afforded more subtle nuance to your character. A bitterness to tinge what he thought was mindlessness.

“Mr. Lee.” Your voice curled low in your throat, as quick and elusive as mercury, and perhaps just as poisonous. Shadow King of Busan, the man who never introduced himself to you noticed. Silence was golden, and he suddenly understood why Charles Choi so badly wanted sway over the young King in charge of this port city. “I hope you’re aware that beating my subordinates would invalidate any sort of hospitality between us. You’re no god amongst men either, so ritualistic hospitality is a very weak premise to coerce my amiability with. Try again.”

Deity in the flesh. Perhaps James Lee was the closest thing to breaking the limits of humanity, but all men were fallible. That wasn’t what caused his brow to rise though; going in blind may have been risky, but it was worth it to find someone with a silver tongue like this.

You looked about his age—treading on the precarious cusp between First and Second Generation, fists stained as red as his hair—but you spoke as if you were triple your years.

“You wanna transfer to my school? It’d be fun to have you in the Debate Club,” he said on a whim, but it wasn’t really a whim either. His instructions were expressly to negotiate with Busan—the city was far too volatile to create a power vacuum in. For cities like Ansan, struggle was welcomed; but Charles Choi had too little of everything to contend with Busan, of all places. Just like in Seoul, the situation would resolve itself, and it was far too soon for the HNH Group to meddle in a place like this. “You talk like a teacher.”

His tone was as syrupy as his candy, but there was half-provocation, half-probing-curiosity entrenched in his cadence. Go on, it coaxed, throw a punch. Argue back. Unorthodox was his means of securing cooperation, but he’d have to be a little unorthodox to secure the deal old man Choi had painstakingly written out. A contract between Elite and the capricious man before him, between HNH Group and the microcosm of Busan himself; it sounded like every capitalist’s wet dream.

“Good question, kid,” you smiled, but it was less of a smile and more of a sneer as you ghosted closer to him. Kid, like you weren’t one yourself.

Crack. You stepped, heavy, on the hand of the man you’d pummelled—only his unconscious groan of pain re-alerted James to his existence. “The term isn’t over. You should still be in school. Playing around like this makes me far less likely to listen to whatever you’ve followed me for. Try again.”

The thick scent of metal invaded his personal space as you peeled your black gloves off; the rings beneath them were tinted with the blood that had seeped through the material. Just like that, you callously tossed the garment onto the slumbering man under your feet—though he truly wasn’t sure whether it was a final affront to a beaten man or throwing down the gauntlet towards James Lee himself.

It was a reminder, once again, to not be hasty. There was the real possibility of fucking Charles Choi several times over if he didn’t get this right, but the thought of his imminent doom didn’t seem all too unappealing. On the contrary, he found his heart beating faster—pulse hot on his tongue as an intriguing challenge presented itself before him.

“I’m sure your informants have relayed more intel than just my name,” he mirrored the jagged stretch of your lips. The Legend of the First Generation. The Genius. The original, associated with the base moniker of the Ten Geniuses to show just how unparalleled James fucking Lee was. “Take a guess as to how my scholastic life is going, then consider the opportunity that I’m bringing you.”

Ambiguous. His words were dusted with just enough information to seem straight to the point, but vague enough that it was tantalising. A hook to ensnare the snake of Busan himself. And rather than sating the itch in his fists, he found himself looking forward to a parley instead.

You studied him, appearing to consider his words seriously. Syllables phrased like he was the one with the upper hand, when in fact the HNH group was still tentatively unfurling and in the process of negotiations with both yakuza and Triad alike. He awaited your favourable response, hearing the stats roll into your mind as you calculated the preliminary gains and losses to joining hands with Charles Choi.

Bloodied fingers tapped a rhythm into your jacket absentmindedly. He watched, anticipating your invitation.

“Fuck off.”

“Huh?” he spluttered. Maybe he misheard you. Maybe he finally choked on his candy and induced a coma in which he was now dreaming of your response.

“Your boss sent a high-schooler to broker a deal with Busan.” Your fingers now drummed in irritation against your forearm, but he was just as irritated. He took care of every other prefecture and province, only to have this guy who was his age, nonetheless, tell him his presence wasn’t good enough. Like, what? “Tell old Choi to come himself to negotiate if he wants any sort of foothold in my city. If he truly wanted a respectable contract, why would he send you as a messenger?”

“Excuse me?” If he wasn’t restricted from fighting you—the only exception was valid self-defence—he would’ve made the asshole in front of him eat shit. Alas, Choi wasn’t that generous or lenient. “He sent one of the Ten Geniuses, the primero, for this. I’m one of his greatest assets.”

“Are you a damn car or a person?” you snapped, and it suddenly felt as though he was looking upon an ancient wizard as he lectured a troublemaker outside his tower. His eyelid twitched, and he was finding it quite hard to keep a cool head. “Talking about assets… can’t believe Choi’s sent the guy who’s fucked up all the smaller provinces to deal with us.”

The latter sentence was more grumbled to yourself; it appeared he annoyed you just as much as you annoyed him, which he found a delighted satisfaction in.

“Tell Elite to come himself,” you uttered finally, not even letting him get in a word edgeways as you ambled back into the shadows—not even sparing a glance for the pile of bodies left in your wake.

And despite his objective, despite the imminent yelling he’d no doubt face, he couldn’t help but stare at your blood-soaked coat fluttering in the frigid coastal wind.

Out of hatred, obviously.

・゜゜・

Charles Choi was a conniving bastard. You already knew it, but seeing him in the reception hall really drove the image home. He was polite, a little too polite; yet as soon as you slid that manila folder across the mahogany table, his demeanour prickled into something knife-like.

Snake of Busan, you were nicknamed, but this guy was something else entirely. Once he sank his teeth into your determination to keep Busan flourishing, you could practically see his pupils contract into thin slits. Of course you’d dealt with tricky deals. Weaving through negotiation as though it were a riptide was how you clawed your way to the very depth of Busan’s underworld—navigating until you finally found that crown mired in cess.

Or, more accurately, it was Miss Crystal Choi who’d pierced her venom right where it hurt. A Genius of Business, her father had called her—and boy, did it take all your wit to match her expertise in trade.

But did he really have to bring that guy along?

The scion of the Geniuses was also in your office, leaning against the wall far behind Elite and his daughter. And though nobody asked for his input—not even old Choi spared his prodigy a glance—it still irritated you to no end that he’d tagged along. A bright, cheerful grin cast the sun against the city nightlife on the top floor of your building—one directed right at you, considering the only other two people he knew had their backs facing him. Quite the foolish move, but you weren’t one to concern yourself with people who were basically daylight robbing you. If the dog they’d raised bit them, all the better.

Or maybe he was beaming right at your bodyguard-turned-assistant, who stood discreetly in the shadows of the blinds: slatted light gently cresting over his tall build. Well. It certainly was one of the less strange things Mr Lee had done.

Still, for someone who’d been glaring at you just a week ago, the change felt far too eerie to ignore.

“—and onto the temporary personnel exchange section—” A feeble attempt to pry open the walnut that Busan was, which would only end with the unfortunate bastard failing. You’d choose a loyal subordinate, they’d select someone who was doomed to only grunt work—far from the impenetrable fortress of this building. Boredly, you tapped the pen on the contract, before freezing up at Miss Choi’s next words. “—we’d like to recommend James Lee to transfer to this office.”

A pen snapped, and ink spilled onto the page. Dumbfounded, you barely registered her sliding over a fresh sheet, as though she knew full well this would happen.

No, it was no recommendation. Her very mention of his name was a forceful shove of him into your office. No wonder he was grinning like the devil. No wonder he was here in the first place. At that moment, you wanted nothing more than to leave Busan behind.

Your eye twitched.

He kept smiling—an ominous prelude to the brimstone and fire you were sure to experience promptly.

・゜゜・

“Aren’t I a better bodyguard than that useless one you keep around?”

James Lee had been a bit too quiet these past few days; duly loping around behind the lower-ranked subordinates as they made their rounds, never crossing the proverbial line when you’d handed him his duties as interim grunt. Though, whenever you passed him, his eyes followed the shadows of your fluttering hem—two pinpricks of an arid glare sweeping on your back.

But James Lee was a dog, and whatever command Elite gave him, he’d obey. Heel. Roll over. Serve under the King of Busan for a month. A jester, if you would, with a leash around his neck that kept drawing more and more blood from him. What were the limits? Just how far would he go for the man with a crimson shadow?

“No,” you said. He stood, far too proud, on a summit of lackeys that had been sent your way by one of the companies who’d attempted to cheat their way to getting a more favourable deal. It would’ve been a simple ambush—one doomed to fail—fated to end with you tossing blood-soaked gloves right on them before you postponed the meeting you were on your way to.

But not today. It appeared the limit of the dog of Elite was passing up petty competition with the man two paces behind you.

“Unlike you, Song’s actually pleasant to listen to.” Yes, Song wasn’t the most useful of bodyguards point-blank, but it wasn’t like you particularly needed someone to take care of protecting you. He made people lower their guards. And he made a mean cup of tea. “I don’t have any use for you, so you’re still worse.”

“Semantics,” he shrugged. “I made your life much easier, did I not?”

He was smart. Too smart, but you already knew that from the intel that had not yet been erased. Hushed up, because of course Elite would painstakingly conceal his cards.

And unfortunately, you were always drawn to a risky hand. A pleasure far removed from the mundane violence of your everyday life—a heart-pounding thrill of betting all your chips in a hazardous (though not desperate) gamble.

“Maybe.” For it was one day removed from the multitudes of late meetings and burdensome glove changes. Your hands weren’t seeped in oily red, sliding and dripping onto your expensive clothes that were tailored—though still felt so fucking ill-fitting that it made you sick—right to your body.

You considered the man toeing carefully past the dogpile located against a cargo container: donning what could’ve been your life. A beige school uniform, pinkie slightly indented from books and study, pen marks still dotting his fingers. Closer. He ambled lazily to your direction, and as he approached with the dying sun behind him, you could see his smile. Just as languid as the day you first met him, and just as irritating.

Closer. Strawberry candy laced the iron odour, though you could faintly taste lemon in the profile too—testament to the yellow wrapper stuck crudely on one of the men. Closer—he was far too close now, standing chest to chest while he stared directly at you.

If there was one thing that came from this ill-fated encounter, it was probably the permanent furrowed brows that decorated your perplexed face—the bloodhound had been reduced to this fluffy thing demanding your attention.

And it was just as unfortunate that your impression had been chipped away for him too—a King whose expressions were utterly delightful to witness. A straight mouth, grinning ever-so-slightly when a deal went your way. A routine rhythm to your biro tapping your notepad. Eyes that shone with practical constellations as you breathed the briny air of the port in.

A particularity to the way you treated others, steely to the strong, awkward with the weak. So utterly flustered, when it came to tiny kids tugging on your long coat, or the grandmas you lent your arm to on the streets. If he had to compare it, he’d attribute your personality as a non-Newtonian fluid: your very own mix of cornstarch and water. Tough with pressure, all soft without.

Like now.

“Come on,” he whined. Psychologically, he was doing a damn good impression of pitifulness—even if you’d just witnessed him commit a beatdown so one-sided that you could feel the second-hand pain. And little by little, he was watching you falter: breath caught in his throat as he watched your brows default to their furrow once more. “I saved you a good few minutes, didn’t I? Don’t tell me Busan can’t even acknowledge hard work and effort.”

“Fine, whatever,” you crumbled just like that, under the heavy weight of his triumphant eyes. “Good job.”

So cute, he thought, then froze almost immediately the moment the words came to mind.

Fuck.

・゜゜・

#slowd1ving #res ･ﾟ writing #x reader #male reader #x male reader #ask slowd1ving #anon request #requested #lookism #lookism x male reader #lookism manhwa #manhwa x reader #manhwa x male reader #dg x reader #james lee x reader #pre dg james lee

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aeralux · 11 days ago

Text

"I'd Rather Be With You" - Lucerys Velaryon

Modern!Lucerys x Reader

Summary: "People have a way of leaving. Best to not let anyone close." This is the saying Lucerys lived his whole life by. Keeping others at a distance even if it hurts both him and others. Why should you be the exception?

Warnings: SMUT 18+; sad boy Lucerys; virginity loss (Lucerys); fingering; soft sex; angst; creampie; small dead city

Words: 15k

Notes: No description of the reader. It came out long but it's literally full of them interacting idk. This ends how it ends... if you want a part two, please let me know. I am not responsible for the media you consume.

It was honestly a pretty stupid thing to do. Spending the last bit of your summer break like this felt boring and pointless, but your mom insisted you visit your great-aunt for two months. You didn’t want to go, but no one bothered to ask youwhat you thought. It had been four years since you last saw her—so why should you bother now?

She resided in the decaying seaside town of Littlewater, a place where charm had long faded, replaced instead by a haunting sense of isolation. With only about 700 people, the city was filled with rundown buildings and overgrown dunes, giving off a vibe of loneliness. In your eyes, it was no place for a young woman—too stifling, too dreary, an echo of abandonment.

The name was spot on, too—Littlewater. Just a short distance from the lively port city of Duskendale. Your great-aunt Glorina moved there with her husband when it still had some life. But after her husband passed away, so did the town, leaving her alone with her memories and the eerie quietness of Littlewater. What a sad story, you thought.

With little choice, you piled into the car with your dad, your small suitcase in the back, along with your loyal buddy, Cannibal—a big black mutt who thought he was a lap dog. At least he could keep you company and help keep the creepiness at bay.

As you finally stood outside Glorina’s quaint seaside house, the world around you seemed to hold its breath. The tyres of your father’s car screeched against the gravel, shattering the uneasy tranquillity. Tentatively, you raised your hand and knocked on the door.

When it creaked open, there stood a small woman with a warm smile and long grey hair. She pulled you into a hug that felt both comforting and strange. “How good it is to finally see you, my little,” she whispered into your hair, smelling ofsalty sea breeze and cooking grease. You smiled back, feeling a hint of warmth even though you hadn’t seen her since your teenage years. Yet, amid that comfort, there was an odd feeling stirring deep down—a mix of welcome and something else, something a bit off, waiting in the shadows.

You feel a deep sadness wash over you as you unpack your clothes in the small room designated for you. The walls are painted a soft baby blue, adorned with whimsical white clouds that drift lazily across the surface, evoking a sense of innocence and nostalgia. This was once the room of Glorina's little boy, Niclas—the baby who was taken from her far too soon. The air feels heavy with unspoken memories, and as you set the last of your clothes into the small closet, a long sigh escapes your lips. You turn away from the room and head back downstairs.

"I just finished unpacking. Is there any way I could help you out?" you ask, seeing Glorina busy behind the stove. The enticing aroma of pancakes fills the air, golden and fluffy, as she expertly flips one onto a waiting plate. A wide, genuine smile spreads across her face when she turns to you, and despite the sadness lingering in your heart, you can't help but smile back at her warmth.

Maybe it was a good decision to come here, to heed your parents' advice and not make too much fuss. Glorina clearly needed the company, and you felt relieved at the thought. "No, my dear, I'm fine on my own," she replies softly, her voice as comforting as the smell of fresh pancakes. "You should go and take a little walk before dinner. Explore the area, and take Cannibal out for some air." She beams at the large black dog, who sits patiently by her side, his eyes sparkling with excitement at the mention of a walk.

You huff a soft laugh, fetching Cannibal's leash from the hook by the door. "Come on, big boy. Let’s go discover," you coo at him, feeling the weight of tension in the house lift just a little. "I'll be back soon... don’t wanna stay out after dark," you add quickly, a shiver running down your spine at the thought of the town's eerie ambience as dusk approaches. The shadows dance outside the windows, and you can't shake the unsettling feeling that clings to the air like a thick fog. As you open the door, Cannibal lags happily at your side, and you step out into the fading light.

Following the narrow path to the sea, grains of sand sifted into your worn-out sneakers. The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm, golden hue over the horizon as it slowly began to dip below the water. Perhaps it was time to head back; you were unsure how the people of this town felt about strangers, the thought lingering in your mind.

Just as you turned to retrace your steps, your gaze caught on a figure in the distance. A tall young man stood there, his silhouette outlined against the fading light. Something about his presence made you pause. You felt rooted to the spot, unable to move as you watched him from afar. He was pulling in a fishing net, his movements strong and fluid, yet there was a weight to them. There was an undeniable magnetism in his demeanour—a quiet strength with a profound loneliness that seemed to resonate with you.

Suddenly, Cannibal’s loud bark broke the stillness, jolting you back to reality. You took a moment to collect yourself, and then with heavy steps, you made your way back to Glorina’s little cabin. As you entered, the sweet, inviting aroma of pancakes drizzled with condensed milk enveloped your senses, momentarily pushing aside thoughts of the mysterious boy on the docks.

“So? What do you think of Littlewater?” Glorina asked, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she leaned forward, eager to hear your impression.

With a hesitant smile, you replied, “It’s quiet. Not that it’s bad, but… it seems a bit lonely.” Glorina nodded slowly, her smile dimming slightly as she processed your words. Sensing the weight of the topic, she chose not to pry any further and simply encouraged you to dig in, serving up a plate piled high with golden pancakes.

The first night in an unfamiliar place always felt like the hardest, so you decided to rise early and make the most of the day. Cannibal still lay asleep peacefully in the small hut just beyond the door, blissfully unaware of your restlessness. The grass glistened with droplets of morning dew, while birds chirped cheerfully in the trees, making the whole area feel a bitmore alive than it had the night before.

You chose to follow the same path as yesterday, seeking comfort in its familiarity. A small part of you held on to the hope of seeing the boy again. But how would you recognize him? You only remembered that he was tall and had dark hair—details that barely scratched the surface.

After a while of wandering, you found yourself at the marina. It was surprisingly quiet, with only a few men scattered around, busy with their tasks. The absence of lively chatter was almost eerie. Among them, one young man caught your attention. He was hunched over, tinkering with an old boat. His hands were smeared with grease, and damp curls framed his face, glistening from the ocean spray.

“Excuse me? Do you know how I could get back to Rosemary Lane? I seem to have gotten lost...” you asked, your voice barely breaking through the stillness. He barely glanced up, mumbling a polite answer before returning to his work, though you caught a flicker of intrigue in his eyes—a brief moment you didn’t fully recognize. Feeling dismissed, you turned to leave, only to realize too late that he was the same young man from yesterday.

“Stay away from the Velaryons.”

You spun around sharply at the sudden voice. A small blonde boy, maybe about 12 years old, sat on his bike. His knees were scraped and dirty, evidence of rough play. “What?” you asked, puzzled by his warning.

“Stay away from the Velaryons,” he repeated, his voice serious despite his young age. “They’re trouble.” With that, he pedalled away, leaving you standing there in confusion, trying to grasp the weight of his words.

With a furrowed brow and a swirl of questions in your mind, you felt your curiosity deepen. Who were the Velaryons? What sort of trouble did they bring? Looking down at your feet, you took a deep breath and pressed on, hoping thatGlorina would have a strong cup of coffee—that definitely had whiskey in it—to soothe your racing thoughts.

Your great-aunt Glorina was still a busy woman despite not working due to her old age. The small, lively woman had embraced a range of new interests that kept her spirit vibrant: tarot cards, crystals, and healing herbs danced around her daily routine. And cooking, oh thank the Gods for that!

As you sat across from her at the small kitchen table, the faint aroma of her famous herb-infused eggs wafted through the air, making your stomach rumble. She cleared her throat as you shuffled the worn tarot deck in your hands, and when you finally drew a card, she flinched.

“Ohh, the Three of Swords,” she said, her eyes widening as she glanced at the card, a mix of sympathy and mischief in her expression. You narrowed your brows in confusion, leaning closer as if sharing a secret between you. Over the past few days, you had formed a bond, finding comfort and understanding in each other’s quirky interests.

“Is it bad or…?” you asked cautiously, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly but still palpable.

“Well, that depends on how you look at it,” she replied, her voice soothing, almost rhythmic, like a gentle lullaby. “It’s a heart pierced by three swords. Can’t be much clearer than that,” you said with a shrug before tossing back the last sip of your coffee.

“Take two more cards, then we’ll see the whole story,” she instructed, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she offered the deck toward you, her hand steady, as if inviting you to seal your fate.

With a hopeful heart and eyes closed tight, you let your instincts guide you, reaching into the mystical air that seemed to hum with energy. “Well? What’d I get?” you asked, slowly opening your eyes again, curiosity bubbling inside you.

Glorina looked up, her expression a puzzle. “The Star and The Hermit… reversed.”

“Um, what does that mean?” you mirrored her serious expression, your excitement tinged with a hint of nervousness.

“Just eat the eggs I made for you. I cooked them just like you used to like… all those years ago,” she said, nudging the steaming plate toward you with a gentle smile. It was something she often did when she wanted to dodge deeper topics. You noticed how the corners of her mouth turned up, masking emotions you knew were lurking beneath. You let it go this time.

“You might want to make some friends around here. Can’t be cooped up with an old woman for two months, now can you?” she tried to say playfully, but you heard the hint of sadness in her laugh, a self-deprecating joke that only made your heart ache for her.

“I like spending time with you here,” you admitted, your voice softening as you carefully placed your hand over hers. You could have sworn you saw tears shine in her eyes, yet she kept smiling, and that made you want to hug her fiercely. “I really do. I mean it.”

“But I’ll look around for some people my own age… if they still exist here,” you added with a teasing scoff, and as you took another bite of the comforting meal, you felt a warmth spreading through the room.

And that's where you saw him again. At the local diner, which had seen better days, adorned with faded posters and peeling wallpaper. The only thing missing was the waitresses on roller skates, zooming around with trays in hand.

He sat in a booth with a boy who looked like a slightly older version of him—maybe a year or two apart. It was clear they were brothers. You caught a quick glance, something casual but charged, before deciding to avoid any awkward moments. Instead, you opted for a slice of warm apple pie and a bitter cup of coffee, steering clear of stare-downs.

“Will that be all?” came the soft voice of a waitress with bleach-blonde hair and wide eyes, her smile friendly but faintly curious. You simply nodded, still feeling like an outsider in this place.

“You’re new,” she remarked, not quite looking at you as she placed your pie and coffee in front of you. “Nothing goes unnoticed here.” Finally, she looked up, meeting your gaze. “I’m Hel. You’re pretty.”

You were taken aback by the sudden compliment, a blush creeping up your cheeks as you stammered your thanks.“Thanks, you as well.”

But before it could turn into a conversation, she returned to her duties, leaving you alone with your thoughts and an odd sensation of being watched. Despite your instincts telling you to ignore it, you turned back. There he was, his striking green eyes locked onto yours, steady and intense. The weight of his gaze made you feel exposed, and before long, you looked away, unable to hold his stare any longer.

The second encounter happened at the shore. Your great-aunt had taken you for a walk to explore the town, Cannibal rightbeside you, his presence comforting. Just as Glorina stepped aside to gřeet an old friend, he appeared, as if out of nowhere, standing tall behind you on the narrow dock meant for kids to leap into the water.

“Hi,” you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper, trembling slightly as you fought to maintain your composure. The air felt thick with anticipation, and for a moment, it felt like the world around you had faded away.

He hesitated, his lips parting slightly as if searching for the right words. Up close, you noticed things you hadn’t before—the faint freckles scattered across his nose, the way his damp curls clung to his forehead, and the guarded expression that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Hi,” he finally replied, his voice soft and tentative, as if unsure whether speaking to you was a mistake.

You felt the moment thin, taut like a thread threatening to snap. He looked away, glancing over the waves lapping against the dock before returning his gaze to you. This time, his expression was cautious but curious. “You’re... new here, right?”

“Yeah,” you said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear nervously.

He nodded, his jaw tightening slightly, though you��couldn’t tell why. His gaze flickered to Cannibal, who wagged his tail lazily beside you. “Your dog?” he asked, almost as if searching for a safe topic.

“Yeah. He’s my shadow,” you said with a small smile, trying to put some warmth into the conversation.

Luke smiled faintly, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. His hands fidgeted at his sides, betraying an undercurrent of unease.“I, uh… I saw you at the diner,” he admitted, his voice dropping a notch. There was something in the way he said it, like it wasn’t just a casual observation.

You blinked, caught off guard by his honesty. “Oh. I thought I saw you too,” you said, your own voice softer now. “With your brother?”

At the mention of his brother, Luke’s expression shifted. His lips pressed into a thin line, and he looked down at the planks of the dock, the gentle creak of the wood filling the silence. “Yeah. That was Jace,” he said finally, his tone carefully neutral.

You wanted to ask more, to pull at the threads he seemed to be guarding so tightly, but something about his body language warned you not to push too hard. Instead, you opted for a lighter approach. “Do you come here a lot? The shore, I mean.”

His shoulders relaxed slightly as if your change in direction eased some unseen weight. “Sometimes,” he said, his eyes lifting to the horizon. “It’s quiet. You can think out here.”

The way he said it made you think he came here not just to think, but to escape. For a while, neither of you spoke. The waves filled the silence, a rhythmic backdrop to the unspoken tension hanging between you.

“I don’t usually talk to people,” he said suddenly, breaking the quiet. His voice was low, almost drowned out by the sea.

You turned to him, your brows knitting together. “Why not?”

He shrugged, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “People have a way of leaving.”

His words hit you harder than you expected, an ache settling in your chest. You didn’t know what to say, so you didn’t say anything at all. Instead, you let the moment linger, hoping he might fill the silence.

When he finally turned to look at you, there was something raw in his eyes, a mixture of fear and curiosity. “You don’tseem like you belong here,” he said, his tone not unkind but laced with quiet wonder.

You swallowed, unsure whether it was a compliment or a fact. “Maybe I don’t,” you admitted. “But I’m here now.”

For the first time, his lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile. It was fleeting, like the first glimpse of sunlight after a storm, but it was there.

And somehow, in that moment, it felt like enough.

That was until Glorina called out your name, her voice warm and inviting. "Come, darling! Let's head back! The chicken in the oven should be ready soon!" With a lingering glance at the boy whose name you didn't even know, you turned away, feeling a mix of curiosity and regret. Cannibal, your loyal dog, wagged his tail excitedly at your side, eager to follow you back.

The next day, your great-aunt sent you on an errand to pick up groceries and other essentials for her. With her cooking bistro-level meals for you three times a day, it was hard to refuse her request. You appreciated her efforts, even if it meant stepping out into the eerie streets.

Standing in the grocery store, you found yourself caught between rows of bright packaging for toiletries and hygiene products. Clutching the crumpled list she had written, you squinted at her small, messy handwriting. It curled and swirled across the page, making some items almost impossible to read. You leaned closer, trying to decipher her hurried notes while the familiar sounds of carts rolling and kids laughing filled the air around you.

"Need help with reading?" Came a deeper male voice from beside you.

You turned toward the voice, already half-smiling in reflex, only to find yourself face-to-face with the boy from the shore.

He stood there, holding a small basket of groceries in one hand, his other tucked into the pocket of his hoodie. Up close, he seemed even more striking—freckles dusted across his nose like constellations, his green eyes sharp and inquisitive. The faintest smirk tugged at his lips, though his posture remained casual, almost distant.

“I—uh, no. I’ve got it,” you stammered, gripping the list tighter as if to prove your point. Heat rushed to your face, a mix of embarrassment and that strange, undeniable pull you felt toward him.

He tilted his head slightly, his curls shifting with the motion. “Sure about that? You’ve been squinting at that thing for a while.”

You glanced down at the paper, realizing you’d been staring at the same word—toothpaste—for a good thirty seconds. Clearing your throat, you looked back up at him. “It’s my great-aunt’s handwriting. Feels like trying to crack a secret code.”

His smirk deepened, but only just. “Sounds like a challenge.”

The tension between you both hung in the air, delicate and unspoken, like the space between two magnets just shy of connecting. You weren’t sure what to say, and for a second, neither was he.

“Well,” he said finally, nodding toward your list. “Good luck with the decoding.”

He started to walk past you, and for reasons you didn’t fully understand, you couldn’t let him leave just yet. “Wait,” you called out, the word slipping out before you could stop yourself.

He stopped mid-step, turning back to you, his brow slightly raised. “Yeah?”

“Do you… live here?” The question felt clumsy as it left your mouth, but you couldn’t shake the need to know more about him.

“Yeah.” His response was short, clipped. His guard was back up, the brief openness you saw at the shore now buried under layers of caution.

“Oh,” you said, feeling the weight of his reticence. But then, a flicker of courage sparked within you. “You’re not big on talking, are you?”

His lips twitched, not quite a smile but close. “Depends.”

“On what?” you pressed, curiosity weaving through your words.

“On who I’m talking to.”

The words landed softly between you, not quite an invitation, but not a dismissal either. He shifted his basket to his other hand as if to distract himself from the weight of the moment.

You weren’t sure why, but his quiet intensity made you want to push, just a little. “Am I that bad of a person to talk to?”

His gaze flickered to yours, and for the first time, you thought you saw something in those green eyes—something hesitant and searching. “No,” he said quietly, almost as if the answer surprised him.

Before you could say anything else, the shrill beep of the intercom announcing a sale broke the spell. Lucerys looked away, the brief moment of vulnerability gone as quickly as it came. “I should go,” he muttered, nodding toward the exit.

And just like that, he was gone.

Later that night, as you sat on your great-aunt’s porch watching the sun sink below the horizon, you couldn’t stop replaying the encounter in your mind. His voice, his gaze, the way he’d seemed to want to talk but held himself back—it all lingered, like a song stuck on repeat.

The boy with the stormy eyes and the quiet demeanour.

A few days had passed, each one quietly shifting from dusk to dawn. You hadn’t done much during this time, choosing to spend moments with your affectionate dog and your quirky great-aunt rather than exploring the town, which still sent shivers down your spine.

But as the days went by, your legs began to crave some movement, and you longed to feel the ocean waves lapping against your skin. So, you decided to take Cannibal, your playful dog, along with an old backpack that Glorina had found for you. You made your way to the small beach a short distance away. The beach was nearly empty—a perfect escape.

With loud splashes and bursts of laughter, you ran into the cool, salty water. Cannibal, dashing ahead, barked joyfully as he swam toward you, his tail wagging as if he had the biggest smile on his face.

“Let’s race to the docks, okay? Come on, big boy!” you called out, starting to run toward the wooden docks. The soft sand made it a bit tricky to sprint, but your excitement pushed you forward. As you neared the docks, you spotted a figure seated at the edge, legs dangling over the water’s surface. You suddenly came to a halt, squinting to see who it might be.

Cannibal, however, had already reached the person and plopped down beside him. You felt a mix of curiosity and hesitation as you jogged closer, trying to understand the scene before you.

“Cannibal, let’s head back, alright?” you said, trying to coax your dog. But Cannibal wouldn’t budge; he sat contentedly next to the stranger, looking up at you with his bright green eyes that seemed to sparkle with mischief.

“Your dog’s name is Cannibal?” the figure asked, a hint of surprise in his voice as he held a closed notebook tightly in his hand.

You stopped a few feet away, catching your breath. The voice was unmistakable, and as the figure turned slightly, you confirmed it—him.

“Yeah, Cannibal,” you replied, brushing a strand of damp hair from your face. “He kind of eats everything in sight, so… it fits.”

He glanced down at the dog, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Doesn’t seem very cannibalistic to me,” he said, scratching Cannibal gently behind the ears.

“Well, don’t let him fool you. He’s a menace,” you joked, though your voice softened as you watched the way Cannibal leaned into his touch.

He didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he shifted his notebook in his lap, the edges of a pencil tucked into the spiral binding catching your eye. “He likes the water, huh?” he asked, nodding toward the ocean.

“Loves it,” you said, stepping closer. “Sometimes I think he’s part seal.”

He chuckled under his breath—so quiet you almost missed it. You hesitated, your gaze flickering to the notebook in his lap. “Do you, uh, come here often?”

“Sometimes,” he said with a shrug, his eyes fixed on the horizon. “It’s quiet.”

The same answer he’d given before. But now, with the notebook in view, you couldn’t help but wonder if there was more to his visits than just seeking quiet.

“What’s that?” you asked, nodding toward the notebook.

Lucerys stiffened slightly, his grip tightening around it. “Nothing,” he said quickly. “Just… something I mess around with.”

His tone was guarded, but not unkind. You tilted your head, curiosity blooming. “Can I see?”

For a moment, he didn’t answer, his jaw clenching as if debating whether to let you in. Finally, with a quiet sigh, he handed the notebook over. “It’s not… good or anything,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

You took it gently, sitting down beside him on the dock. Cannibal wagged his tail happily, oblivious to the tension between the two of you.

The first page was filled with rough sketches of the ocean—waves crashing against rocks, a lighthouse in the distance, and the silhouette of a boat. The lines were delicate but precise, each stroke capturing a kind of quiet beauty.

“These are… amazing,” you said, your voice soft with genuine awe.

He shifted beside you, his shoulder brushing yours lightly. “They’re just sketches,” he muttered, clearly uncomfortable with the praise. “Nothing special.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” you said, flipping to another page. Your breath caught as you took in the next drawing.

It was a figure—a girl, standing in a grocery store aisle. Her expression was contemplative, almost pensive, as she squinted at something in her hand. Though the strokes were light and the details subtle, it was unmistakably you.

“This is…” you started, trailing off as you stared at the page. “This is me.”

He didn’t answer immediately. You looked over at him, catching the faint flush creeping up his neck as he kept his gaze fixed firmly on the water.

“I just—” He swallowed hard, his words halting and rushed. “I saw you at the store. You looked… interesting. And I guess I just… remembered.”

“Interesting?” you echoed, your lips curving into a faint smile despite the strange fluttering in your chest.

He sighed, running a hand through his damp curls. “I don’t know. You were squinting at that list, and I thought it was funny. And… I don’t know,” he said again, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just drew it, okay?”

You looked back at the sketch, your fingers brushing lightly over the page, careful not to smudge it. “You’re really talented,” you said softly.

He didn’t respond, his gaze still fixed somewhere in the distance. The silence stretched, filled only by the gentle sound of the waves and Cannibal’s occasional huff of contentment.

Finally, you closed the notebook carefully and held it out to him. “Thank you,” you said. “For letting me see.”

He took it, his fingers brushing yours briefly. “It’s nothing,” he mumbled, tucking the notebook under his arm.

But it didn’t feel like nothing—not to you.

“You never told me your name,” you said after a beat, your voice breaking the quiet.

He blinked as if the question had startled him. His green eyes flickered toward yours before darting away again.“Lucerys,” he said, his voice so soft you almost didn’t catch it.

“Lucerys,” you repeated, the syllables unfamiliar but captivating. “I’ve never heard that name before.”

He shrugged, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Most people just call me Luke.”

You nodded, testing it out. “Luke.”

“You’re really talented,” you continued, hoping to ease his obvious discomfort. “Do you do this a lot? Draw people?”

“Not really,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t know why I… I just thought you looked…” He trailed off, his voice faltering.

“Looked like what?” you prompted gently.

Lucerys glanced at you, his green eyes meeting yours for a fleeting second before darting away. “I don’t know,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “You just… stood out.”

You felt your cheeks warm at his words, the honesty in them catching you off guard. “Well,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady, “I’m glad you did.”

He didn’t respond, but the faintest hint of a smile curved his lips, there and gone in an instant.

"You're quite far from home... on Rosemary Lane," he said, his voice trailing off as he stared into the distance.

"How do you know that?" you questioned, raising an eyebrow in curiosity.

Lucerys turned to look at you, his expression a mix of surprise and hesitation. "Well, you... um. You asked me for directions about two weeks ago, I think," he replied, his voice quieter now. A hint of regret crossed his face as if he wished he hadn't mentioned it. The way he spoke suggested he was nervous about admitting he remembered such a smalldetail.

Lucerys shifted, his fingers brushing the edge of his notebook as if to ground himself. “I didn’t mean to sound… weird or anything,” he added quickly, glancing at you with a flicker of uncertainty in his green eyes.

You smiled softly, your curiosity easing into something warmer. “It’s not weird. I guess I should’ve remembered you too.”

He looked down at his lap, a faint flush creeping up his neck. “I wasn’t that memorable.”

“Maybe you were,” you countered, your tone gentle but teasing. “I just didn’t know it at the time.”

Lucerys blinked at you, startled by the unexpected honesty in your voice. For a moment, his lips parted as if to say something, but then he just nodded toward the empty stretch of sand behind you. “You need a ride back? It’s getting late,” he offered, the words rushed but earnest.

You hesitated, glancing back toward the shoreline. The sun had already dipped low, casting long shadows over the waves. Cannibal barked once, as if in agreement, wagging his tail beside you.

“Sure,” you said, brushing the sand from your legs. “If you don’t mind.”

Lucerys stood, tucking his notebook under one arm. “It’s not far. My car is parked up the road.”

The two of you walked in comfortable silence, Cannibal trotting ahead as the faint hum of cicadas filled the warm evening air. When you reached the car, an old, slightly battered Mercury parked along the narrow road, Lucerys opened the passenger door for you without a word.

“Nice car,” you said with a small smile, sliding into the seat.

“It’s my mom’s,” he replied, rounding to the driver’s side. “She’d probably kill me if she knew I took it.”

The engine rumbled to life, and the radio crackled as he fiddled with the dials. Static gave way to the familiar, haunting intro of a song you knew all too well—Crush by Ethel Cain.

The melancholy melody filled the small space, and for a while, neither of you spoke. The road stretched out ahead, flanked by trees swaying gently in the evening breeze.

You couldn’t help it—you started humming along to the tune, your voice quiet but steady. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Lucerys glance at you.

“What?” you asked, your cheeks warming under his gaze.

“Nothing,” he said quickly, his voice soft. But when you turned to look at him, his expression had shifted. The usual guardedness in his green eyes was gone, replaced by something softer, something you couldn’t quite name.

The song played on, the lyrics wrapping around the moment like a fragile thread. Lucerys tapped his fingers lightly against the steering wheel, the ghost of a smile flickering across his face as he watched the road.

“You sing,” he said after a moment, almost like an observation rather than a question.

“Not really,” you replied, laughing lightly. “Just… when I like the song.”

He nodded, his gaze briefly flicking to you again before returning to the road. “It suits you.”

You tilted your head, confused. “What does?”

“This song,” he said, his voice quiet but certain. “I don’t know why… but it just does.”

You didn’t reply, unsure of what to say. The air between you felt charged, filled with unspoken words and something deeper you couldn’t quite put into words.

As the song swelled, its haunting refrain filling the car, you found yourself stealing a glance at him. His profile was illuminated by the golden glow of the setting sun, and for the first time, you saw Lucerys not as the quiet boy with walls around his heart, but as someone reaching out, even if he didn’t realize it.

And in that moment, you let the music fill the silence, the connection between you as fragile and fleeting as the last notes of the song.

The car slowed as the familiar sight of your great-aunt’s house came into view. The warm glow from the porch light spilt across the front yard, and you could already hear the faint bark of Cannibal, who had bounded ahead as soon as Lucerys pulled over near the driveway.

He cut the engine, and for a moment, the world seemed unnervingly quiet. The melody of Crush still hummed faintly in your mind, but whatever thread had connected the two of you during the ride felt like it had been severed.

“Thanks for the ride,” you said, your voice soft as you reached for the door handle.

“Yeah,” he replied, his tone clipped, the warmth he’d shown earlier now buried under a familiar layer of restraint.

You hesitated, glancing at him. His hands gripped the steering wheel loosely, but his eyes stayed fixed ahead, staring at the house as if it were something distant and unimportant.

“Do you…” You trailed off, unsure of what you were even asking. Finally, you settled for, “Do you want to come in?"

Lucerys shook his head almost immediately. “No. I should go.” There was no bite to his words, just a quiet finality that made your chest tighten.

“Okay,” you said softly, your hand lingering on the door. For a second, you thought about pressing him—asking why healways seemed to retreat just when things felt real—but something about the tension in his shoulders told you he wouldn’tanswer. At least, not tonight.

You opened the door, stepping out into the cool night air. The sound of crickets and distant waves filled the space left by his silence. Cannibal barked from the porch, his tail wagging furiously as if calling you home.

Turning back, you leaned into the open window. “You know, you can stop by if you ever want to. My aunt makes killer pie.”

Lucerys glanced at you then, his green eyes catching the faint glow of the porch light. For a moment, you thought he might smile again, but instead, he just nodded. “Maybe,” he said quietly.

It wasn’t a promise.

You stepped back, watching as the car rolled out of the driveway, its taillights disappearing down the road.

Cannibal whined softly, nudging your leg as you climbed the steps to the porch. You gave him a reassuring pat, but your mind was elsewhere—still in the car, still sitting beside the boy whose walls felt impenetrable.

Inside, your great-aunt greeted you warmly, the smell of freshly baked bread wafting from the kitchen. But even as you settled in, the house feeling as cosy and safe as ever, your thoughts kept circling back to Lucerys.

The way he had looked at you when the song played. The way he had shut himself off the moment you’d arrived.

You couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever let you see the parts of himself he kept locked away—or if he was already too far out of reach.

"You look distraught, my darling. Would you like me to read your cards?" Glorina's voice was gentle, a soft nudge trying to pull you out of the whirlwind of thoughts that swirled in your mind, all circling around him—Lucerys.

"If you want to..." The words slipped from your lips reluctantly. You didn’t have the heart to turn her away, even though the last thing you needed right now was another card depicting dismal outcomes. With a resigned sigh, you knocked three times on the worn card pack, handing the control over to her as if that simple act could somehow change your fate.

Glorina shuffled the deck, her fingers moving effortlessly over the worn edges until she laid three cards face-up on the table. The first one was the Seven of Pentacles reversed, its imagery twisted and bleak. Next was the Two of Swords, depicting a figure blindfolded and balanced precariously between two choices. Finally, there was the Three of Swords, a stark illustration showing a heart pierced by three sharp blades.

You leaned back in your chair, letting out a long sigh, your fingers rubbing your temples in frustration. "Let me guess... nothing good, huh?"

Glorina’s expression turned serious as she examined the cards. "You feel trapped and powerless, don’t you? Are you trying to avoid something?" Her brow arched, probing deeper. "You need to make a decision and face the situation head-on." Her words hung in the air, heavy with foreboding.

"Either way, I’ll get hurt..." you murmured, your eyes lingering on the card with the three swords through the heart—a painful reminder of your current turmoil. Feeling the weight of the reading press down on you, you quickly finished your dinner, the taste as bland as the evening felt.

With a sense of urgency, you retreated to your room, a storm of emotions brewing inside. Maybe, just maybe, screaming into a pillow would bring you some relief from the ache in your chest.

Tossing and turning, sleep eludes you once again. This simply won’t do. Despite the pouring rain, a wild urge pushes you to the docks, the town's most recognizable spot. You sprint there in your flimsy white dress, a picture of a maiden lost in her thoughts.

As you approach the docks, the boathouse comes into view on the empty pier. It’s the one that belongs to Glorina’s late husband's brother’s son, always welcoming with its open door—one of the perks of living in a small town where everyone knows each other. The raindrops fall harder, and the thunder rumbles in the distance. Logic tells you to stay away from the water during a storm, but your mind isn’t listening right now.

You burst into the wooden boathouse, breathless and soaked to the skin. Your dress clings to you, heavy and dripping, but the warm summer air wraps around you like a comforting blanket, chasing away any chill. You pause for a moment, taking in the scent of wet wood mixed with the sharp tang of the sea. It feels almost like a refuge from the storm outside.

You hadn’t expected anyone to be here, but the faint creak of wood under shifting weight made you freeze in place.

At first, you thought it was just the wind rattling the old structure, but then you saw him—Lucerys. He was seated near the far corner, his long legs stretched out in front of him, a sketchbook balanced on his knees. A dim lantern sat beside him, casting flickering shadows across his face, making his green eyes glow eerily in the dim light.

He looked up sharply, his eyes widening in surprise when he saw you. For a second, neither of you moved. The only sound was the rain hammering against the roof, the storm outside mirroring the chaos inside you.

“You’re soaked,” he said finally, breaking the silence. His voice was quiet, but there was an edge of concern in it.

You looked down at yourself, noticing how your dress clung to your skin like a second layer. “Yeah. I guess I am,” you replied, your voice trembling—not from the cold, but from the sheer force of everything you’d been bottling up.

Lucerys set his sketchbook aside, standing slowly. His movements were tentative like he wasn’t sure if he should come closer or keep his distance. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his brow furrowing.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you admitted, wrapping your arms around yourself. “I just… needed to get out. Clear my head.”

“In a storm?” His tone wasn’t scolding, but there was a thread of disbelief in it.

You shrugged, looking away. “Didn’t think that far ahead.”

Lucerys sighed, running a hand through his damp curls. He hesitated before shrugging off his hoodie and holding it out to you. “Here,” he said, his voice softer now. “You’re gonna catch a cold.”

You stared at him for a moment, the gesture so simple yet so uncharacteristically kind that it left you momentarily speechless. Slowly, you reached out and took the hoodie, your fingers brushing against his.

“Thanks,” you murmured, wrapping it around your shoulders. It was warm and smelled faintly of pine and something distinctly him—clean, familiar, and comforting.

He sat back down, leaning against the wall as he watched you carefully. “Why here?” he asked after a moment, his gaze unwavering.

You hesitated, unsure how much to say. “I don’t know,” you admitted finally, sitting down on a nearby crate. “It felt safe, I guess.”

Lucerys nodded slowly as if he understood. “Yeah. It does.”

The silence between you was thick but not uncomfortable. The sound of the rain pounding on the roof and the occasional rumble of thunder filled the space, giving you both an excuse not to speak.

“Do you ever feel like…” You trailed off, unsure how to put your thoughts into words. But when Lucerys turned to look at you, his expression expectant, you forced yourself to continue. “Like you’re stuck? Like no matter what you do, you’rejust… trapped?”

Lucerys’ jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he wouldn’t answer. But then he said, “Yeah. All the time. I don’tthink I’m good at being what people want me to be.”

His words hung in the air, raw and unguarded, and they made your chest tighten.

“What do they want you to be?” you asked, your voice gentle but cautious.

He exhaled, shaking his head. “Perfect. Or something close to it. Jace—he’s my older brother—he’s always talking about responsibility, about doing what’s expected. About how I need to ‘step up.’” His voice dipped, bitterness creeping into his tone. “Like I don’t already know that.”

You leaned forward slightly, trying to catch his gaze. “That’s not fair to you.”

He gave a short, humourless laugh. “Yeah, well, life’s not fair. My mom… she doesn’t say it, but I know she’s counting on me. To hold things together. To be… good enough.”

“Good enough for who?”

“For them,” he said simply, his voice breaking slightly. “For my family. For everyone.”

He glanced at you then, the weight of his words pulling down on his green eyes. “You ever feel like you’re running, but no matter how fast you go, you’re still stuck in the same place?”

The honesty in his voice left you momentarily speechless. You nodded slowly. “Yeah,” you said softly. “I think I know what that feels like.”

He looked away again, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “I don’t let people in,” he admitted, his voice barely audible over the sound of the rain. “Because every time I do… they leave.”

“Not everyone leaves,” you said instinctively, the words slipping out before you could think about them.

Lucerys’s gaze snapped back to yours, sharp and searching. “They do,” he said firmly. “My dad. People I thought were my friends. They always leave.”

The vulnerability in his voice made your throat tighten. You wanted to tell him he was wrong, that you wouldn’t leave, but the words caught in your throat. How could you promise something you weren’t even sure you could keep?

“I think…” you began hesitantly, “Sometimes people leave because they don’t know how to stay. Not because of you.”

Lucerys stared at you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, his lips twisted into a faint, bitter smile. “Maybe. But it doesn’t change anything. It’s just easier to keep everyone at a distance.”

You hesitated, your fingers curling around the edge of the crate you were sitting on. “That’s a lonely way to live,” you said softly.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “It is.”

The rain continued to drum against the roof, the sound filling the heavy silence between you. You wanted to reach out, to tell him you were different, but the fear of saying something wrong kept you frozen.

Finally, you asked, “So why’d you let me in?”

Lucerys looked startled, his lips parting slightly before he quickly averted his gaze. “I didn’t,” he said, his voice quiet.“Not really.”

“You sketched me,” you pointed out, your voice firmer now. “That has to mean something.”

His fingers fidgeted with the edge of his sketchbook, his shoulders tense. “I don’t know why I did that,” he muttered.“You just… stood out. In the store.”

Lucerys’s gaze flickered to yours, and for a moment, the mask he always wore seemed to slip. The boy behind the walls, raw and unguarded, looked back at you, his green eyes filled with something that felt achingly familiar—fear, hope, and a longing he didn’t know how to name.

But just as quickly, the moment was gone. He shook his head, letting out a shaky breath. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this,”

Lucerys didn’t say anything else after that. He stared out at the storm as if it might offer him answers, his green eyes fixed on a point far beyond the boathouse walls. The rain hammered against the roof, a relentless rhythm that matched the heavy pounding of your heart.

You sat in silence, unsure of what else to say. The vulnerability he’d just shown you was raw and rare, and you didn’twant to push too hard. Still, the ache in his voice lingered in your mind, pulling at something deep inside you.

Finally, Lucerys let out a breath, running a hand through his damp curls. “You should get back,” he said, his voice quiet.“It’s late.”

You frowned, reluctant to leave him like this. “I don’t mind staying.”

He glanced at you, his brows knitting together. “It’s pouring outside.”

“You don’t say,” you replied with a faint smile, gesturing to your soaked dress. “I think I noticed.”

A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips before disappearing just as quickly. “I’m serious. You’ll get sick.”

“So will you, sitting here with your wet clothes.” You tilted your head toward him, challenging. “Unless you want me to go and leave you to brood by yourself?”

Lucerys sighed, his shoulders slumping as if the weight of the world was pressing down on him again. “I’m fine,” he said, though his tone lacked conviction. “This isn’t the first storm I’ve sat through.”

“Maybe not,” you said softly. “But you shouldn’t have to sit through it alone.”

For a moment, Lucerys didn’t respond. He stared at you, his green eyes flickering with something unreadable—confusion, maybe, or disbelief. Then, almost unnoticeably, he nodded toward the crate beside him.

“Suit yourself,” he said, his voice low.

You smiled faintly, moving to sit closer to him. The wood creaked beneath you as you settled in, the two of you side by side in the dim light of the lantern.

The silence stretched, but it didn’t feel heavy this time. The storm outside seemed to soften, the rain still steady but less urgent, as though the world was giving you both a moment to breathe.

“You know,” you said after a while, your voice barely above a whisper, “I don’t think you’re as alone as you think you are.”

Lucerys turned to look at you, his brows furrowing. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” you said, meeting his gaze, “you’ve got people who care about you. Even if they don’t say it the right way, or even if they mess it up sometimes.”

He stared at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he let out a quiet laugh, though it was more bitter than amused. “You don’t know them.”

“No,” you admitted. “But I know you. A little, at least.”

Lucerys blinked, caught off guard by your words. He opened his mouth as if to argue, then closed it again, shaking his head.

“You’re different,” he said finally, his voice soft. “I don’t know why, but… you are.”

The vulnerability in his words made your chest tighten, and you found yourself leaning closer to him, the space between you narrowing. “Is that a bad thing?” you asked, your voice barely audible over the rain and thunder.

Lucerys hesitated, his green eyes locked on yours. For a moment, you thought he might retreat, and put his walls back up. But then he shook his head, his voice so quiet it was almost a whisper.

“No,” he said. “It’s not.”

The two of you sat there, the storm raging outside and the warmth of his presence grounding you. The walls of the boathouse seemed to fade away, leaving only the soft rhythm of your breaths and the steady hum of the rain.

His gaze lingered on your face, tracing the curves of your cheekbones and the fullness of your lips as if committing every detail to memory. The air between you felt charged, heavy with a tension he didn't understand but couldn't ignore.

Slowly, hesitantly, he reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek in a feather-light touch. His skin was warm, his touch gentle yet tinged with a barely restrained intensity. Your breath hitched at the contact, a shiver running down your spine that had nothing to do with the dampness of your dress.

Lucerys' eyes flickered to your lips, then back up to meet your gaze, darkening with an emotion he couldn't quite name. The space between you seemed to shrink, the storm outside fading into insignificance compared to the electricity crackling in the air.

You just sat there, gazing at him with wide, hopeful eyes. Fear clutched at you, making it hard to find your voice. You worried that even a whisper might shatter this fragile moment and drive Luke back behind the tall walls he had built around his heart. You parted your lips slightly, a soft, shaky sigh escaping as you became lost in the deep, warm intensity of his gaze. The room felt charged with unspoken feelings, and time seemed to slow, wrapping around you both.

Lucerys sat frozen, his heart pounding as he gazed at you with wonder and trepidation. The air between you thrummed with palpable energy, the unspoken words and feelings hanging heavy in the dim light of the lantern.

Slowly, as if drawn by an invisible force, he leaned closer, his face mere inches from yours. His breath mingled with your own.

Time seemed to hold its breath, the rain and thunder fading into a distant murmur as Lucerys reached up with a trembling hand, his fingers grazing your jawline with the lightest touches. His gaze flicked down to your lips, lingering there for a long, charged moment before meeting your eyes once more.

"Tell me to stop," he breathed, his voice low and rough with an emotion he couldn't quite articulate. "Please, tell me to stop…"

But even as he said the words, he made no move to pull away, his body radiating a heat that seeped into your skin through the damp fabric of your dress. The intensity of his gaze held you captive, the depth of feeling in those green eyes making your heart race and your pulse pound in your ears.

You could see the battle raging within him, the war between the part of him that yearned to close the distance and the part that feared the consequences of surrendering to this overwhelming pull. The air crackled with tension, the moment stretching between you like a taut bowstring, ready to snap at the slightest provocation.

Lucerys swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he fought for control. But the hunger in his eyes was unmistakable, the longing for connection, for intimacy, for something more than the fleeting glances and stilted conversation you'd shared thus far. It was a longing he'd suppressed for so long, a desire he'd never dared to voice aloud.

"Please…" he whispered again, his voice breaking on the word as his gaze searched yours, silently pleading for guidance.

"Don't stop," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears. You could hardly catch your breath, your chest heaving with the effort of drawing air.

You leaned in. Your heart slammed against your ribcage, urging you to close the remaining distance, to answer his unspoken question with a kiss.

But you held back, trembling on the knife's edge of surrender, waiting for him to take the final step. Your body thrummed with fear and exhilaration, every nerve ending alight with sensation.

Lucerys's breath hitched as your words reached his ears, the soft whisper settling over him like a balm. The tension in his shoulders eased, the fight draining out of him as the last of his reservations crumbled away. Your permission, your encouragement, was all the invitation he needed to surrender.

Unable to resist any longer, Lucerys surged forward, closing the scant distance between you in a heartbeat. His lips met yours in a searing kiss that sent electricity through your veins. It was a kiss filled with pent-up longing and barely restrained desire.

One large hand cupped your cheek, his calloused palm warm and slightly rough against the smooth skin. The other hand settled on your waist, his fingers splaying across the damp fabric of your dress, tugging you closer. His body was hard and solid against your own, the muscles of his chest and abdomen pressing into the soft curves of your figure.

Lost in the intensity of the moment, you found yourself melting against him, your curves moulding to the hard planes of his body. Your fingers curled into the damp fabric of his shirt, anchoring yourself to him as the world tilted and spun. The storm outside faded into insignificance, the only sound was the harsh rasp of his breathing and the pounding of your own pulse in your ears.

Lucerys kissed you like a man starved, pouring weeks' worth of longing and desire into the single, searing embrace. His lips crashed against yours again and again, each kiss more desperate than the last, as if he feared this moment would slip away and leave him bereft once more. The weight of his desire was a palpable thing, the heat of his skin searing you even through the barrier of your clothing.

Your breath came in short, sharp gasps between kisses, your lungs burning with the need for air. But you were dizzy with the taste of him, the feel of his strong body pinning you in place, the heat of his skin seeping through the damp fabric of his shirt. You clung to him, your fingers fisting in the worn cotton.

In between the fierce, hungry kisses, he peppered your jaw, your neck, the sensitive skin just behind your ear with far softer ones. His breath was hot against your flesh, his lips and tongue painting a scorching trail down the column of your throat.

"Need… more…" Lucerys panted against your skin, his voice low and needy. "Need to feel… need to touch…"

His hands slid down to your thighs, gripping them possessively as he hitched your legs up and around his waist, pulling you into his lap. The new position pressed your most intimate places against him, the heat of his arousal burning through the last of your defences.

A breathless moan escaped you as his hands gripped your thighs, hiking your dress up and pulling you astride him. The new position sent a jolt of white-hot need straight to your core. You could feel every hard, muscular inch of him pressed against you, igniting a hunger you never knew you had.

Your eyes fluttered closed, drunk on the feeling of his hands on your skin and his breath on your neck. The world narrowed down to the electric sensation of his touch, the pounding of your hearts, and the ragged sound of your breathing mingling in the charged air between you. You arched into him, your soft curves pressed against him.

Lucerys's fingers trembled as they slid up your thighs, pushing the damp fabric of your dress out of the way. His touch was feather-light, almost reverent as if he were worshipping every inch of newly exposed skin. He swallowed hard, drinking in the sight of you straddling his lap, your dress rucked up around your waist.

As his fingers brushed against the lace of your undergarments, he heard you gasp, the sound sending a jolt of electricity straight to his core.

His hands settled on your hips, gripping them gently, almost hesitantly, as if seeking permission. He leaned in, his forehead resting against yours, his breath mingling with your own.

"I want to touch you," he whispered, his voice low and rough with a need he could hardly articulate.

He leaned in, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses to the hollow of your throat, to the sensitive skin beneath your jaw. Each kiss was a question, a silent plea for more, for permission to explore the depths of this newfound desire.

You admired his beauty, his dark lashes fluttering against his cheeks as he gazed at you with hunger and desire.

Slowly, hesitantly, you slid my fingers through his soft curls, gently tugging, drunk on the feeling of his skin beneath your touch. Your heart raced as his hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer.

Lucerys shuddered as your fingers raked through his hair, his eyes fluttering closed at the sensation. The gentle tugging of your fingers ignited something primal in him, a hunger that clawed at his insides, demanding to be fed.

He surged forward, capturing your lips in a searing kiss that stole the breath from your lungs. His tongue delved into the warm cavern of your mouth, stroking along the soft flesh, tasting you, consuming you.

"Tell me," he gasped against your lips, "tell me what you want."

Breathless, you gazed into Luke's intense, searching eyes. "You," I breathed, your lips brushing against his. "I need you." Your voice trembled with nerves and desire, your body aching for his touch.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked softly, his grip on your hips loosening slightly as if giving you a chance to change your mind. "We shouldn't… not here, not like this."

Lucerys hesitated for a moment, his brows furrowing as a flicker of doubt crossed his face. He searched your eyes, looking for any sign of hesitation or uncertainty, any reason to pull back. But seeing only the reflection of his desire staring back at him, he knew he could not deny either of you any longer.

With a low, almost pained sound in the back of his throat, Lucerys stood, easily lifting you into his arms. He cradled you against his chest, holding you close as he carried you towards the old bed in the corner of the boathouse.

As he loomed over you, his gaze drank you in, taking in the way your hair splayed out across the pillow, the rise and fall of your breasts with each shallow breath. It was evident he was both thrilled and terrified to be here, caught somewhere between boyish enthusiasm and a deep, fierce desire.

Your heart fluttered wildly in your chest as you gazed at Lucerys through the dim light filtering in through the small window. You felt shy suddenly, like that giddy teenage girl you thought you had left behind.

"Lucerys," you breathed out, hesitantly reaching up to cup his cheek. His skin was warm beneath your trembling fingers. "Are you… so?" you asked lamely, words escaping you.

You searched his green eyes. A blush crept across your cheeks as you realized how intimate this moment felt, how vulnerable you both were.

Lucerys leaned into your touch, his skin warm and slightly rough beneath your soft fingers. He covered your hand with his own, turning his head to press a gentle kiss to your palm, his lips lingering against your skin.

"No," he admitted softly, his voice low and slightly rough with emotion. "I'm not. I've never… I mean, I want to, with you. More than anything. But…" He trailed off, swallowing hard as he tried to find the right words.

Lucerys took a deep, shuddering breath, his eyes flickering away from yours for a moment as he struggled to express the fears and doubts that still lingered in the back of his mind.

Without voicing his thoughts, Lucerys leaned in, capturing your lips in a deep, searching kiss. His hands began to wander over your curves, mapping the swell of your breasts, the dip of your waist, the flare of your hips.

Each touch was tentative at first, as if seeking permission, before growing bolder, more confident. He tugged gently at the neckline of your dress, exposing more of your soft skin to his hungry gaze. His breath grew ragged as he explored your body, marvelling at the way you responded to his touch.

Your body tingled everywhere his fingers grazed your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. You arched into his touch, craving more, as a breathy whimper escaped your kiss-swollen lips. It felt too intimate, too perfect, like a scene from a romance novel. Being here with Luke, tucked away in this cosy boathouse as the storm raged outside, just the two of you…

"Luke…" you breathed out, your cheeks flushed and heart racing as you gazed up at him through heavy lids. "You can take it off," you whispered, hardly believing the bold words leaving your own lips. Your pulse hammered in your throat.

Lucerys's breath grew ragged as he slowly, almost reverently, began to peel the fabric up your thighs, inch by excruciating inch. His fingertips brushed against your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps and igniting sparks of electricity in their wake.

"Tell me if you need me to stop," he breathed, his voice rough with emotion and the effort of holding himself back. His eyes never left yours, searching, seeking, desperate for any sign that he was doing this right.

You nod softly, your eyes wide and trusting as they meet his gaze. A soft, breathy "I don't want you to stop," falls from your lips as you lean into his touch, craving more.

Lucerys swallowed hard at your breathy words, feeling a surge of heat rush through him at the trust and desire he saw shining in your eyes. He leaned down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth to stroke along yours, tasting you, consuming you.

His hands slid up to the hem of your dress, bunching the fabric in his fists as he slowly, teasingly, drew it up and over your head. He broke the kiss just long enough to tug the garment off and toss it carelessly aside, his eyes hungrily drinking in the sight of your bare skin.

"Beautiful," he breathed, his voice low and rough with a need he could hardly articulate. His calloused hands skimmed over your curves, mapping every dip and swell, committing each inch of your skin to memory. He cupped your breasts, his thumbs brushing over the hardened peaks of your nipples, drawing a gasp from your throat.

You could feel the heat of his skin, the strength of his hands on your bare flesh, yet you yearned for more. An imbalance lingered between you, one you suddenly needed to correct.

"I… I want to see you too," you breathed out, your voice small but filled with hesitant courage. Your words were a plea, a soft, intimate request as you traced the firm line of his chest through his shirt.

A flicker of uncertainty crossed his handsome features, and you realized he was still guarding himself, keeping a part of himself hidden behind the fabric. You needed to bridge that gap between you, to break down the last of the walls he'd built.

Lucerys hesitated, a flicker of hesitation in his eyes as he gazed down at you. The uncertainty was palpable, the weight of his past and his fears threatening to overwhelm him. But as he drank in the sight of you, bare and wanting beneath him, he knew he could not deny you this.

Almost shyly, he reached for the hem of his shirt, slowly peeling the damp fabric over his head. He tossed it aside, leaving him bare from the waist up. The moonlight through the window cast a silver glow over his skin, highlighting the lean muscles and the scattering of freckles across his chest.

Lucerys's chest was toned, the muscles defined and strong from years of flying and training. A thin line of dark hair trailed down from his chest, disappearing beneath the waistband of his breeches. His skin was slightly flushed, a light sheen of sweat glistening in the dim light.

You gazed up at Lucerys, your heart pounding as you took in the sight of his bare torso. He looked like a Sea God standing before you, all lean muscle and tanned skin. You wanted to tell him how breathtaking he looked, how the sight of him stole the very air from your lungs, but the words stuck in your throat.

Instead, you reached out tentatively, placing your cold fingers on his stomach. You could feel the heat of his skin, the firmness of his muscles beneath your touch. Lucerys shuddered slightly at the contact, his breath hitching softly. Emboldened, you ran your hands up his chest, admiring the way his skin felt beneath your fingertips, the way his heart raced beneath his ribs.

His breath came faster, each inhale and exhale more ragged than the last as your hands explored his body with a boldness he hadn't expected.

He caught your wrist as your hand reached his navel, his fingers curling around yours and holding it still against his skin.

Lucerys gazed down at you, his green eyes dark and intense in the dim light. He swallowed hard, his tongue darting to wet his suddenly dry lips.

"Please," he breathed out, his voice low and rough with a desperation he could no longer hide. "Touch me."

His hand slid from your wrist to your elbow, his fingers trailing up your arm until he could tangle them with yours. He brought your hand to his lips, pressing a fervent kiss to your palm before trailing his mouth to the inside of your wrist, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the sensitive skin.

Your heart raced as Luke's lips brushed against your wrist, the intimate gesture sending a shiver down your spine. You couldn't help but gasp, the sound catching in your throat.

Emboldened by his plea, your hand drifted lower, tracing the line of hair that disappeared beneath the waistband of his jeans. You could feel the heat radiating from his skin, the firmness of his stomach muscles tensing under your touch.

Your fingers dipped just slightly beneath the waistband of his jeans, teasing the sensitive skin there.

Lucerys's abdomen clenched, muscles jerking beneath your teasing touch. A strangled groan escaped his lips, his hips jerking forward slightly as if seeking more contact. His grip on your wrist tightened, fingers curling around your arm instinctively.

Lucerys's breath was coming in short, sharp gasps now, his chest heaving with the effort of holding himself back. He was painfully hard, his arousal straining against the confines of his jeans. The denim was rough and coarse against his aching flesh, a contrast to the softness of your skin.

"More," he gasped out, his voice desperate and needy. "Please, I need… I need to feel you." His other hand slid down to cover yours, guiding it to the button of his jeans. With shaking fingers, he helped you pop the button open, the sound seeming to echo obscenely loud in the charged air between you.

You gazed up at Lucerys through your lashes, a soft smile playing at the corners of your mouth. Your heart fluttered in your chest as you slowly, teasingly, pulled down his zipper.

"You'll need to take these off," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. Fear gripped your heart, a lingering uncertainty that he might still decide to leave at any moment. You longed to feel every inch of his skin against yours, to banish the last of the distance between you.

But you were still shy, still hesitant, unsure if you dared to believe this was truly happening.

Lucerys swallowed hard, his heart hammering against his ribs as he gazed down at you. The way you looked up at him, the shy smile playing at your lips, sent a bolt of longing straight to his core.

With trembling hands, he stood and shimmied out of his jeans, kicking them off to the side. He hesitated for a moment, standing before you in nothing but his boxers, before hooking his thumbs under the waistband and slowly pulling them down.

His breath hitched as the fabric slid over his aching arousal, his length springing free to stand proud and hard before him. He could feel your eyes on him, drinking in every inch of newly exposed skin, and he fought the urge to cover himself, to hide away from your heated look.

Your breath caught in your throat as you drank in the sight of Luke's naked form. You could feel your heart pounding wildly, a fluttering sensation in your stomach as you openly admired his masculine beauty.

With trembling fingers, you reached for the waistband of your knickers, slowly peeling the damp fabric down your thighs. You lifted your hips, pulling the garment off and tossing it carelessly to the growing pile of clothing on the floor.

Lucerys's eyes darkened with desire as he watched you remove the last barrier between your bodies. His gaze raked over your naked form, taking in every dip and curve, committing each detail to memory. He felt a surge of possessiveness, a fierce need to claim and worship and cherish every inch of you.

Unable to hold himself back any longer, Lucerys leaned down, covering your body with his own. The feel of your bare skin against his was electric, sending a jolt of sensation racing through his veins. He shuddered, a low groan escaping his lips as he settled his hips between your thighs.

Lucerys's length, hard and heavy, nestled against your core. The heat of him seared you, the thick length of him throbbing against your most sensitive flesh. He rocked slowly, rubbing himself against you, coating his arousal in your slick heat.

His lips found yours in a hungry, desperate kiss. His hands slid down to grip your hips, holding you in place as he rolled against you, the friction delicious and maddening all at once. He swallowed your soft cries, his own breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps against your skin.

"Lucerys," you gasped, breaking free from the kiss to catch your breath. Your hands clawed at his back, nails digging into his skin, leaving angry red marks in their wake. The feeling of his hard length rubbing against your aching core was driving you wild with lust. You arched your back, pressing your body flush against his muscular frame as you panted softly.

Lucerys shuddered as your nails raked down his back, leaving red lines of passion in their wake. He groaned, the sound rumbling deep in his chest as he felt your body arch beneath his own, pressing against him with wanton desperation.

You could feel every thick, pulsing inch of him, and a flicker of fear raced through you at the realization of his impressive size. You knew it would hurt at first, stretching you, filling you.

"Please," you begged, your voice ragged and desperate as you bucked your hips against his, seeking more of that delicious friction. "Use your fingers first, Luke. I need… I need you to prepare me. I can't… I can't take all of you yet."

"Shh, it's alright," he murmured softly, his voice low and soothing. "I've got you. I'm going to take care of you."

His fingers teased along your entrance, stroking and caressing, before slowly sinking inside. He took his time, letting you adjust to the new sensation, before beginning to pump his fingers in and out of you. He curled them, rubbing against that spot deep inside that made your toes curl and your back arch off the bed.

Lucerys could feel how tight you were, your walls clenching around his invading fingers. He could only imagine how incredible it would feel to sink his length into your welcoming heat, to feel you enveloping him like a velvet glove. But he knew he had to be patient, had to take his time and make sure you were ready for him.

Your breath came in soft, needy gasps as you gazed up at Luke through hooded, half-lidded eyes.

"Mmm," you whimpered out, your voice breathy and quiet. "So good."

Your hips undulated against his hand as he worked his finger inside you, your body responding instinctively to his touch. You could feel yourself getting wetter, your arousal coating his finger as he pumped it in and out of your tight heat.

"Mmm, you feel so good," he breathed, his voice rough with desire. "So tight and hot and perfect."

He added a second finger, then a third, stretching you slowly. His palm pressed against your mound, applying delicious pressure as he fingered you, his eyes never leaving your face.

"Tell me how it feels," he panted, his own arousal throbbing and aching with the need to be buried inside you. "Tell me what you need."

Lucerys paused, his fingers still buried deep inside your warmth. He gazed down at you, green eyes intense and searching as they roamed your flushed face. His thumb circled your sensitive pearl, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips.

"I want…" You trailed off, suddenly shy, before taking a deep breath and meeting his gaze. "I want you inside me. I'm ready now."

Lucerys swallowed hard, his heart pounding against his ribs at your boldly spoken words. He could hardly believe this was happening, that you wanted this as much as he did. With shaking hands, he reached down to grasp himself, aligning the broad head of his arousal with your dripping entrance.

He hesitated for a moment, giving you one last chance to change your mind. But when no protest came, he began to slowly push forward, the thick length of him parting your folds and sinking inch by delicious inch into your tight, welcoming heat.

Lucerys's breath caught in his throat at the exquisite sensation, his brows furrowing as he struggled to hold himself back. He could feel every pulse and quiver of your walls around him, gripping him like a vice.

"Oh gods," he gasped out, his voice strained. "You feel… you feel incredible."

"Ohh, fuck," a ragged cry tore from your throat as Luke drove his thick length deep inside you, stretching you around him. Your head fell against the pillow, hair fanning around you as you arched into him. You'd had lovers before, but none as well-endowed as him. He was so big, so hard, filling you utterly.

"Move, please, Luke," you mewled wantonly, your nails digging into his back. You needed him to move, to claim you utterly. The anticipation was driving you mad with lust.

Lucerys groaned as he felt your nails digging into his back, urging him on. He knew he should go slow, and take his time, but the way you were arching into him, the desperate pleas falling from your lips, made it impossible to hold back.

With a low growl, he began to move, his hips pulling back so only the tip remained inside you before surging forward, burying himself to the hilt inside your dripping cunt. He set a steady rhythm, each thrust driving the breath from your lungs, each retreat leaving you aching and empty until he filled you again.

Lucerys braced himself on his elbows, his strong arms trembling slightly from the new sensations. He gazed down at you, his eyes dark and intense, drinking in the way your face flushed with pleasure, the way your breasts bounced with each powerful thrust.

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss as he drove himself deeper, harder, faster. His hands slid under your thighs, lifting your legs to wrap around his waist as he loomed over you, his powerful body blanketing yours.

"Mmm, you feel so good inside me Luke. S-so deep."

Your fingers trembled as you cupped his chiselled jaw, pulling his face closer to yours. You drank in the sight of his handsome features, the stark contrast of your soft, delicate hands against his masculine face.

"Don't stop," you whimpered. "F-feel every inch of you, stretching me…" Your words trailed off into a soft moan as he hit a particularly sensitive spot inside you, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your nerves.

Lucerys shuddered as your fingers trembled against his jaw, your breathless praise sending a thrill down his spine. He nuzzled into your touch, his lips brushing against your palm as he gazed down at you with hooded eyes.

"Never…" he panted, his voice low and rough with desire. "Never want to stop. Feel… feel too good. So tight. So perfect."

"You're doing so good," you praised breathlessly, pulling Luke into a passionate kiss. You tugged at his lower lip, pulling it gently between your teeth.

Lucerys gasped as your teeth tugged at his lip, the sharp sensation sending a bolt of electricity straight to his groin. He shuddered, his hips stuttering for a moment before he regained his rhythm, thrusting deep and hard, filling you again and again.

Panting softly, you rested your forehead against his, gazing up at him through heavy-lidded eyes. Each deep, slow thrust sent a jolt of pleasure racing through you, drawing a moan from your lips.

"S-seems like you're the one doing all the good things," he panted, his breath mingling with yours as he pressed his forehead against yours. "Feeling you… it's… it's..."

His hands slid down to your hips, gripping them tightly as he rolled into you, grinding his pelvis against yours. He kissed you again, hungry and desperate, swallowing your moans and cries of pleasure.

You gazed up at Luke through hooded eyes a breathless giggle escaping your lips at his praise.

"Mmm, you're one to talk," you murmured, your voice low and sultry. "The way you make me feel…" nipping playfully at his jaw.

You could feel the heat building between you, the air growing thick and heavy with your mingled breaths and soft, breathy moans. You tangled your fingers in his hair, urging him closer until your lips were a mere hairsbreadth apart.

A shudder wracked through Lucerys's body as your fingers tangled in his hair, your breath mingling with his own. He could feel the heat building between your bodies, the sweat-slicked skin sliding deliciously with each powerful thrust of his hips.

"Can't… can't help it," he panted, his voice strained with the effort of holding himself back. "You're just… mmm… so responsive. So perfect."

He claimed your mouth again, kissing you deeply, his tongue delving inside to tangle with yours. One hand slid up your side, cupping the slight weight of your breast, his thumb and forefinger rolling and pinching your nipple until it pebbled beneath his touch.

Lucerys could feel the pressure building at the base of his spine, his release fast approaching. But he gritted his teeth, determined to hold off until he'd brought you to yours first. He wanted to feel your walls clench around him as you came undone, wanted to hear his name on your lips as ecstasy overtook you.

You moaned into the heated kiss, your body arching into his touch as Lucerys's fingers teased and rolled your sensitive nipple. Sparks of pleasure radiated from the point of contact, stoking the fire that was rapidly building in your core.

"Mmm," you whined as he thrust deep, your walls starting to flutter and clench around his hard, throbbing length. "Lucerys, I'm…" Your words were interrupted by a loud needy cry as he suddenly took one nipple into his mouth.

Lucerys groaned around your nipple as he heard the need in your voice, the desperation. He sucked harder, swirling his tongue around the stiff peak as he felt your walls starting to flutter and clench around him. He could tell you were close, could feel your body tensing and shaking beneath his touch.

"Touch yourself," he murmured urgently against your breast, his voice vibrating against your skin.

Your breath hitched as Lucerys's words sent a fresh wave of arousal crashing through you. You couldn't hold back the desperate whimper that tore from your throat, your pussy clenching around his throbbing length. His commanding tone set your nerves alight.

Shuddering, you obeyed the command, your hand drifting down the curve of your belly to the junction between your thighs. You found your clit, swollen and aching with need and began to rub tight, swift circles over the sensitive nub. The added stimulation had you seeing stars, a choked cry of ecstasy spilling from your lips.

Lucerys's hips snapped forward, burying himself to the hilt inside your clenching heat as he felt your fingers find your clit. He could feel your walls starting to ripple and squeeze around him, the sensation driving him wild with lust.

"Yes, just like that," he growled, his voice low and rough with desire. "Don't stop touching yourself. I want to feel you come undone around my cock."

He pistoned his hips faster, each thrust driving the breath from your lungs as he chased his own rapidly approaching release. One hand slid down to cover yours, his fingers tangling with your own as he guided your movements, helping you rub your clit in tight, desperate circles.

You gazed up at Luke with lust-glazed eyes, your plump lips parted in a silent scream of pleasure. Brows furrowed, you panted out between clenched teeth, "I'm… I'm so close, Luke. Don't stop."

Your fingers were under his guiding touch as you rubbed at your throbbing clit together. You could feel your walls fluttering wildly around his pistoning length, gripping him.

Lucerys could feel your walls starting to clench erratically around his throbbing cock, your body tensing as your climax approached. He could see the ecstasy playing out across your face, your lips parted, your eyes glazed with lust.

"Y-you feel… ohh," he panted, his voice strained with the effort of holding back his own release. "I'm going to… fuck…"

He could feel the pressure building at the base of his spine, his heavy balls drawing up tight against his body as his orgasm approached. He knew he couldn't hold back for much longer.

"Lucerys," you gasped out, your voice breathy and weak. "I'm so… Ohh fuuck!" Your words dissolved into a shameless moan as the intense sensation of your climax ripped through you like a tidal wave.

Your body convulsed and shook beneath his. You could feel your release gushing out around his length, your arousal coating his shaft and dripping down onto the sheets below.

Lucerys cried out, his voice breaking with pleasure as he felt your walls clamp down around him. The sensation was too much, too intense, and with a guttural moan, he buried himself to the hilt inside you as his own release crashed over him.

His hips jerked and stuttered as he emptied himself inside you, his thick seed spurting in hot, heavy ropes against your fluttering walls. He shuddered and gasped, his body wracked with the force of his climax as he clung to you, holding you tight against him.

Panting harshly, Lucerys collapsed against you, his muscular frame blanketing your own as the last waves of his release shuddered through him. He peppered your face with soft kisses, his lips brushing against your skin like the gentlest of feathers.

Softly, you turned Lucerys's face, pulling him into a tender kiss. Your lips melded against his. Your heart fluttered in your chest as you lost yourself in the gentle brush of your mouths, the intimate press of your bodies.

Lucerys melted into the tender kiss, his lips moving softly against yours in a dance as old as time.

He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close as he deepened the kiss, his tongue delving inside to tangle with yours in a sensual dance. He could feel your fingers tracing patterns on his back, your touch soothing and exciting in equal measure.

Breathless and sated, you clung to him, your fingers tracing the strong lines of his back. The storm outside raged on, wind howling and rain lashing against the window panes, but inside your little world, all was tranquil. You nuzzled into his chest, breathing in the clean, masculine scent of his skin. Your curves fit perfectly against the hard planes of his body, two puzzle pieces interlocking into one.

Lucerys shuddered, a soft groan escaping his lips as he felt his spent length twitch inside your still-fluttering heat. He knew he should pull out, but he couldn't bring himself to separate from you, not yet. He wanted to stay like this forever, joined with you in the most intimate way possible.

Sighing softly, Lucerys nuzzled into your neck, breathing in your scent as he held you close.

In that moment, Lucerys realised he was falling in love with you, losing himself in the softness of your touch.

The warmth of Lucerys’s body pressed against yours lulled you into a deep, dreamless sleep. The sound of the storm had become a distant murmur, fading into the edges of your awareness as exhaustion overtook you.

You didn’t feel him pull away.

Lucerys lay beside you, watching the soft rise and fall of your chest in the dim glow of the lantern. His fingers itched to reach out and brush a strand of hair from your face, but he stopped himself.

This shouldn’t have happened.

The thought echoed in his mind, sharp and unforgiving. He couldn’t let himself believe in this, in you—not when it was bound to end the way it always did. He had let his guard down, let you in, and now the walls he’d spent years building felt like they were crumbling around him.

Lucerys sat up slowly, careful not to wake you. He ran a hand through his curls, his breath shaky as his mind raced. He could still feel the ghost of your touch, the way your body had moved with his, the softness of your lips against his own. It was intoxicating, overwhelming, and utterly terrifying.

Because he knew—knew deep down—that if he let you stay, if he let himself fall any further, it would destroy him when you inevitably left. He stood, his movements silent as he dressed quickly, his damp clothes sticking uncomfortably to his skin. He glanced back at you one last time, his heart twisting painfully in his chest at the sight of you curled up on the small bed.

You looked peaceful, and content, and it made him feel selfish for even thinking about leaving. But he couldn’t stay.

Lucerys slipped out of the boathouse, the door creaking softly behind him as he stepped into the rain-soaked night. The storm had passed, leaving behind a heavy stillness that seemed to press down on him. He walked down the docks, his footsteps muffled against the wet planks.

The guilt clawed at him, a relentless ache that wouldn’t go away. He told himself it was for the best, that putting distance between you now would save him the inevitable heartbreak later. But even as he thought it, the pain of leaving you felt worse than anything he could imagine.

By the time the first light of dawn broke over the horizon, Lucerys was long gone, leaving behind only the faint imprint of his presence in the boathouse.

When you woke, the space beside you was empty.

You blinked sleepily, your body sore but pleasantly warm from the remnants of the night before. At first, you thought he’d just stepped outside, maybe to get some air or watch the sunrise. But as you sat up and glanced around the small room, the absence of his belongings told a different story.

“Lucerys?” you called softly, your voice rasping from sleep.

There was no answer, only the faint sound of waves lapping against the dock outside.

A sinking feeling settled in your chest as you swung your legs over the side of the bed. Your bare feet touched the cool wood floor, grounding you as your mind raced to make sense of his disappearance.

Pulling on your dress his hoodie that he had surprisingly left behind, which still smelled faintly of salt and him, you stepped outside. The boathouse was eerily quiet, the storm from the night before leaving behind a fresh, rain-soaked scent in the air.

You scanned the empty docks, your heart sinking further when you saw no sign of him.

The ache in your chest grew sharper as the truth began to sink in. He had left.

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voxslays · 27 days ago

Note

Hi! I really hope you read this but I had a specific request where y/n wants to play games on Vox’s screen like block blast or something and it takes a bit, but they convince him and likes, they’re in his office and they’re on his lap trying to get a high score like “stay still, I’m trying to get a high score!”

I hope it doesn’t sound too weird and you could decide on this but could it be mostly fluff but a bit suggestive? Thank you! Also don’t do this request if it’s too much, I really like your writing and wouldn’t want you to overwork yourself.

Have a nice day :)

A/N: Thank you for your request, Anonnie. I hope dress to impress is okay. I don’t know very much about block blast except for the fact that it’s a block game lol- I hope you have a nice day aswell! <3

DRESS TO IMPRESS

“C’mon Vox!” You begged, as you bombarded the already overwhelmed overlord with your strange request. He looked up from his mountain of paperwork, his eyes filled with irritation as he glared at you. "I am not letting you play games on my screen." He says harshly, the blue light from his screen flickering and shuddering. “Please…?” You plead, giving him your best puppy dog eyes.

Sighing heavily, Vox rubs his nonexistent temples (the sides of his screen) as if trying to physically push away the looming headache. "Fine. Five minutes." He relents gruffly, sliding his chair sideways to grant you access to the hulking, imposing console. “YES!” You pump your fist in the air enthusiastically. Vox watches you with a mixture of annoyance and curiosity as you eagerly plug his ports in and start up your game, crawling into his lap and straddling the overlord.

Suddenly, instead of his usual facial features that are displayed on his flatscreen TV head, is the game of your choice—dress to impress. His flatscreen TV head now displays the colorful, lobby of the game. "You have four minutes left," You quickly begin dressing up your avatar, the game in progress only having two minutes left. Time passes quickly, but luckily your avatar is almost completely done. You can feel Vox shifting below you—and it startles you. For a moment, you had completely forgotten you were straddling the TV overlord! “Sit still!” He groans in annoyance below you.

He tries to sit still, his large, flatscreen body rumbling slightly as he suppresses the urge to shift and knock you off. His eyes, now the glowing cursors on the screen, stare impatiently at the timer. "One minute," he warns gruffly. The runway portion of the round begins. You give out a few stars to some of your favorite outfits, before it’s your turn. You spam pose 28 as your avatar fashionably walks down the pink and white runway.

Vox’s screen flickers slightly as you spam the poses, showing the vibrant runway show. Unexpectedly, a small spark of interest lights up his digital eyes as he watches the graceful movements of your avatar. "Thirty seconds…" He mutters, though his voice isn't as harsh as before. When the results are revealed, your avatar wins second place!

You are about to type a simple ‘Ty’ in the chat, before Vox’s screen goes completely blue. The screen goes dark, and the room falls silent. For a moment, you're left sitting there, wondering what happened. Then, the screen flickers back to life, but it's not the game anymore. Instead, its his handsome flatscreen face.

“Thanks Vox.” You say as you gracefully climb out of his lap. Once completely standing, you smooth out your clothes. He blinks slowly, his expression unreadable as he stares up at you. For a long moment, he's silent. Then, he speaks, his voice slightly softer than before. "You're welcome." He pauses, then asks curiously, "You play that often?"

“Very often.” You giggle. He nods slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. There's a strange glint in his digital gaze, something almost…appreciative? "I can see why." He murmurs, before adding gruffly, "Don't tell anyone I let you play on my screen." You let out a soft laugh. “I won’t, glitch-boy.” You tease, before walking out of his cold monitor room and out of sight. As you leave, he's left alone with his thoughts. He blinks slowly, his screen flickering slightly as he processes the unusual interaction. A small, rare smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. "Glitch-boy…" He murmurs to himself, almost fondly.

#hazbin x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel headcanon #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin x you #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel imagine #vox x reader #human vox #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin vox #vox the tv demon #vox #vox hazbin hotel

124 notes · View notes

rafesapologist · 11 months ago

Text

the setback ─ rafe cameron (sequel to the set up)

summary: it's been two years since your departure from the outer banks and rafe cameron has seemingly convinced himself that he can go on with his life as if you never happened, except now more than ever his addiction is at an all time high. whether he was snorting lines of cocaine at wild parties or drowning himself in alcohol to numb the pain, rafe couldn't escape the memories of you. despite his efforts to bury his feelings, your absence lingered like a shadow, haunting him at every turn. meanwhile, you've been navigating life outside the outer banks, trying to carve out a new path for yourself. but no matter how far you've traveled, the memories of rafe cameron still linger in your heart, leaving you with a sense of unfinished business. as you find yourself facing new challenges and opportunities, you can't help but wonder if fate will eventually bring you back to the place where it all began.

warnings: not much, angst, mentions of addiction and drug use, mentions of alcohol

author's note: the sequel is here!! thank you guys for showing so much love for the set up and i can't wait for you guys to read the continuation of the series! mwah

Rafe wiped the sweat from his brow as he hoisted another crate onto the ship's deck, the muscles in his arms straining against the weight. The salty tang of the sea filled the air around him, mingling with the scent of freshly sawn wood and the metallic hint of the gold hidden within the crates. His father, a rugged man with a weather-beaten face and a glint of mischief in his eyes, worked alongside him, his movements deft and sure.

"You're moving slower than a sloth today, Rafe," Ward teased, his voice carrying over the sounds of the bustling port. "Pick up the pace, boy!"

Rafe shot his father a mock glare before responding with a grin. "Maybe if you'd stop distracting me with your incessant chatter, old man, I could actually get some work done."

Ward chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Ah, but where's the fun in that? Besides, a little banter makes the time go by faster."

As they continued their task, Ward's tone shifted, his voice taking on a more serious note. "You know, Rafe, I've been hard on you over the years. Pushed you to be better than you thought you could be."

Rafe paused, surprised by his father's admission. He glanced up, meeting Ward's gaze with a mixture of curiosity and anticipation.

"But you've turned out to be my best child," Ward continued, his expression softening with pride. "Strong, capable, and fiercely loyal. I couldn't ask for more."

Rafe's heart swelled at his father's words, a rush of emotion flooding through him. For so long, he had sought his father's approval, yearning for even the smallest sign of acceptance. And now, here it was, offered freely in the midst of their everyday routine.

"Unlike your sister," Ward muttered, his voice heavy with regret. "Sarah always had a wild streak in her. Ran off two years ago, couldn't handle the life we lead. Sometimes I wonder if I pushed her too hard."

Rafe's heart clenched at the mention of Sarah, his sister who had always been their father's favorite. He'd watched with a mixture of resentment and envy as Ward showered her with praise and affection, leaving Rafe to feel like an afterthought.

"Yeah, well, maybe if you'd paid as much attention to me as you did to her, she wouldn't have felt the need to run," Rafe blurted out before he could stop himself.

Ward's gaze snapped to Rafe, his expression a mix of surprise and hurt. For a moment, the air between them crackled with tension, each of them grappling with the weight of their unspoken words.

But then Ward's features softened, his gaze filled with a mixture of regret and understanding. "I'm sorry, Rafe," he said quietly. "I never meant to make you feel like you weren't enough. You're my son, and I love you, no matter what."

Rafe swallowed past the lump in his throat, his eyes burning with unshed tears. In that moment, he realized that maybe, just maybe, there was hope for their fractured relationship after all.

Rafe wiped his forehead with his shirt, the midday sun beating down relentlessly as he and his father continued their task under the sweltering heat of Figure Eight's early summer. The air was heavy with the scent of salt and sweat, the rhythmic lapping of waves against the dock providing a backdrop to their labor.

"So, how're things with you and Sofia?" Ward asked, his voice cutting through the oppressive heat as he glanced over at Rafe.

Rafe paused, taken aback by his father's sudden inquiry. He hadn't expected Ward to broach the subject of his relationship with Sofia, not after their last conversation had ended in a heated argument about Rafe's antics.

"Uh, things are good," Rafe replied cautiously, unsure of how much he wanted to divulge. "We're… figuring things out, I guess."

Ward nodded, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "She's a good girl, that one. Strong-willed, like you. You two make a good match."

Rafe couldn't help but feel a surge of pride at his father's words, a warmth spreading through him despite the oppressive heat. It was rare for Ward to offer his approval so freely, especially when it came to matters of the heart.

"Yeah, she's something special," Rafe agreed, a fond smile playing at his lips as he thought of Sofia. "I'm lucky to have her."

Ward clapped him on the back, a grin spreading across his weathered face. "That you are, son. That you are."

As Rafe continued with his work, his thoughts drifted back to the early days of his relationship with Sofia, a bittersweet smile tugging at his lips. They had been through so much together, weathering storms both literal and figurative, yet somehow emerging stronger each time.

But as memories of their first meeting flooded his mind, Rafe's smile faltered, replaced by a pang of sadness. He remembered the excitement and nervousness he had felt as he approached her that day, the thrill of possibility mingling with the uncertainty of the unknown.

And then, like a sudden storm cloud on a clear day, another memory intruded upon his thoughts. A memory of someone else, someone who had once been a constant presence in his life but had vanished without a trace.

"You were still here," Rafe whispered to himself, the words barely audible over the din of the bustling port. "Before you ran away."

The pain of your disappearance still lingered, a wound that had yet to fully heal. Rafe couldn't help but wonder where you had gone, what had driven you to leave without so much as an explanation. Had it been something he had said or done? Or had you simply grown tired of waiting for him to change, to become the person you had hoped he would be?

As the memories threatened to overwhelm him, Rafe shook his head, banishing them to the recesses of his mind once more. There was work to be done, and he couldn't afford to let himself be consumed by thoughts of the past, no matter how painful they might be.

But deep down, in the quiet corners of his heart, he couldn't shake the feeling that he would never truly be able to move on until he had unraveled the reasoning of your disappearance and found closure once and for all.

With a determined shake of his head, Rafe pushed aside the tumult of emotions swirling within him and focused on the task at hand. He hoisted the final crate onto the ship with a grunt of effort, the weight of it a physical reminder of the burdens he carried both on and off the dock.

"Finished up here, Dad," Rafe called out, wiping his hands on his trousers as he made his way over to where Ward stood overseeing the loading process.

Ward glanced up, his brow furrowing in mild surprise at the sudden interruption. "Already? Well, I'll be damned. Looks like you're finally starting to earn your keep around here."

Rafe grinned at his father's gruff praise, a sense of satisfaction settling over him despite the lingering ache in his heart. "Guess I'm good for something after all."

Ward chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder with a rough hand. "Don't sell yourself short, son. You've got more potential than you give yourself credit for."

With a nod of thanks, Rafe stepped away from his father and headed toward the gangplank, eager to escape the confines of the dock and lose himself in the familiar streets of Figure Eight once more.

"I'm heading out to meet up with Sofia," he called over his shoulder, his voice carrying on the breeze. "I'll be back later."

Ward waved him off with a casual salute, his attention already turning back to the task at hand. "Take your time, Rafe. Just don't keep the girl waiting too long, or she might start thinking you've forgotten about her."

Rafe laughed, the sound ringing out clear and bright against the backdrop of the bustling port. "Trust me, Dad. That's the last thing I'd ever do."

As Rafe cruised down the sun-drenched streets of Figure Eight in his trusty old truck, a sense of freedom washed over him. The wind whipped through the open windows, tousling his hair and carrying with it the scent of salt and sea. He couldn't help but feel a surge of joy bubbling up inside him, the promise of the afternoon ahead adding an extra spring to his step.

But as he idly flipped through the radio stations, searching for the perfect soundtrack to accompany his journey, his heart skipped a beat when he stumbled upon a familiar melody. The haunting strains of "Gold Dust Woman" by Fleetwood Mac filled the cab of the truck, wrapping around him like a warm embrace.

For a moment, Rafe's finger hovered over the buttons, torn between the desire to switch the song and the inexplicable pull of nostalgia that tugged at his heartstrings. It was a song you had loved, one that had become intertwined with memories of lazy afternoons spent driving aimlessly along the coast, lost in each other's company.

With a sigh, Rafe let his finger fall away from the radio, surrendering to the flood of memories that threatened to overwhelm him. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to be swept away by the bittersweet melody, the lyrics weaving a tapestry of emotions that mirrored the tangled mess of his thoughts.

In that moment, you felt closer to him than ever, your presence lingering in the spaces between the notes, in the warmth of the sunlight on his skin. And as he drove on, your memory by his side, Rafe couldn't help but wonder if somewhere out there, you were listening to the same song, thinking of him as he was thinking of you.

As Rafe pulled into Sofia's driveway, he couldn't shake the feeling of being haunted by your presence, like a ghost lingering in the shadows of his mind. He sighed heavily, trying to push aside the memories that threatened to overwhelm him, focusing instead on the task at hand.

He turned off the engine and leaned back in his seat, the familiar comfort of his truck offering him a brief respite from the turmoil within. But even as he tried to clear his mind, he found himself unable to shake the feeling of unease that gnawed at him from within.

With a shaky breath, Rafe closed his eyes, willing himself to find some semblance of peace amidst the storm of emotions that raged inside him. He reminded himself that he was here for Sofia, that she was the one who mattered in this moment, not the ghosts of his past that threatened to consume him.

Minutes passed like hours as Rafe waited in silence, the weight of his thoughts pressing down on him like a heavy burden. But just when he felt like he couldn't bear it any longer, the front door of Sofia's house swung open, and she emerged onto the porch, a bright smile lighting up her face.

Rafe's heart skipped a beat at the sight of her, the warmth of her presence chasing away the shadows that had threatened to engulf him. With a sense of relief washing over him, he pushed open the door of his truck and stepped out onto the gravel driveway, ready to leave the ghosts of his past behind and embrace the promise of the present moment with Sofia by his side.

Sofia's cheerful voice broke through the haze of Rafe's thoughts as she opened the passenger door and greeted him with a warm smile. The kiss she placed on his cheek sent a flutter through his chest, dispelling the lingering shadows that had haunted him moments before.

"Hey, you," Sofia said, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she leaned in to kiss his cheek. "Ready for tonight?"

Rafe returned her smile, the weight of his worries easing at the sight of her infectious enthusiasm. "Absolutely," he replied, his voice laced with anticipation. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

As he stepped out of the truck and joined Sofia on the driveway, he felt a renewed sense of purpose wash over him. Whatever demons lurked in the corners of his mind, he knew that as long as he had Sofia by his side, he could face them head-on with unwavering determination.

With a quick squeeze of Sofia's hand, Rafe followed her lead as they made their way towards the house, leaving the shadows of his past behind and embracing the promise of the night ahead. Whatever challenges awaited them at the party, Rafe knew that together, they could conquer anything that came their way.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

You were sprawled out on a hammock with JJ, the gentle sway of the hammock lulling you into a state of blissful relaxation. The warm summer breeze rustled through the trees, carrying with it the sweet scent of freshly cut grass and blooming flowers. You took a deep inhale, the fragrant smoke from the blunt swirling around you as you passed it back and forth with JJ.

"Man, this is the life," JJ said, his voice lazy with contentment as he took another hit before passing the blunt back to you. "Just kicking back, enjoying the sun, and getting high with my favorite person."

You couldn't help but chuckle at his words, the corners of your lips curling up into a lazy smile. "Right back at you, JJ," you replied, taking a long drag from the blunt before passing it back to him. "Couldn't think of a better way to spend the day."

As the two of you lounged in comfortable silence, the stresses of the outside world melted away, leaving nothing but the warmth of the sun on your skin and the soothing rhythm of the hammock beneath you. In that moment, surrounded by the peaceful tranquility of nature and the company of a good friend, you felt truly at ease, content to simply exist in the here and now.

JJ took another hit from the blunt, his gaze distant as he reminisced. "Life was wild back on the cut, huh?" he mused, exhaling a plume of smoke into the air. "But I gotta say, we're much better off where we are now."

You nodded in agreement, the memories of your past life tugging at the corners of your mind. "Yeah, definitely," you replied, your voice soft as you passed the blunt back to him. "It's been a crazy journey, but I wouldn't trade it for anything."

As you took another hit, however, your smile faltered, a shadow passing over your features. Memories of your time on the cut flooded back, and with them came thoughts of Rafe. "Remember those days at the chateau?" you said, your voice tinged with nostalgia. "Those were some good times."

JJ's expression softened, a hint of sadness in his eyes as he nodded in agreement. "Yeah, they were," he said quietly. "But you know what they say about nostalgia… sometimes, it ain't all it's cracked up to be."

You couldn't help but laugh at his words, the tension easing from your shoulders as you took another hit from the blunt. "True that," you replied, a wistful smile playing at your lips. "But hey, at least we made it out alive, right?"

With a shared chuckle, you and JJ settled back into the comforting rhythm of the hammock, content to bask in the warmth of the sun and the camaraderie of each other's company, even as the memories of the past lingered on the edges of your consciousness.

As you and JJ lounged on the hammock, lost in reminiscence, the sound of footsteps approaching drew your attention. You glanced up to see Kiara emerging from the house, a cooler full of drinks in her hands, followed closely by Sarah, a mischievous smirk playing at her lips.

"Hey, look who decided to join the party," Kiara said with a grin, setting the cooler down beside the hammock. "Thought you two could use a little refreshment."

You couldn't help but sit up in excitement, the prospect of cold drinks on a hot day too good to pass up. "Hell yeah, thanks Kiara," you said, reaching eagerly for a beverage as she offered them around.

Sarah followed suit, her smirk widening as she made eye contact with you. "Enjoying yourselves, I see?" she teased, her tone light-hearted as she handed you a drink.

You chuckled in response, taking a swig from the can and relishing the cool liquid as it slid down your throat. "Absolutely," you replied, a grin spreading across your face. "Nothing beats kicking back with good company and a cold drink on a day like today."

JJ echoed your sentiment, taking a drink of his own and offering a nod of thanks to Sarah and Kiara. As the four of you settled into easy conversation, the worries of the past and the uncertainties of the future faded into the background, replaced by the simple pleasure of the present moment and the warmth of friendship.

As you enjoyed the drinks and banter with Kiara, Sarah, and JJ, your attention was drawn to a nearby jacuzzi where John B and Pope lounged, seemingly lost in their own conversation. You couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of JJ's impulsive purchase, a jacuzzi that seemed out of place yet strangely fitting in the backyard of the house.

"Check it out," you said, nudging JJ with your elbow and gesturing towards the jacuzzi. "Looks like John B and Pope are living the high life over there."

JJ grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he watched his friends. "Hey, if we're gonna do this whole beach lifestyle thing, might as well do it right," he remarked, a hint of pride in his voice.

You couldn't argue with that logic, especially not when you saw the smiles on John B and Pope's faces as they relaxed in the warm water, their cares melting away with each passing moment. With a nod of agreement, you settled back into the hammock, content to bask in the simple joys of friendship and camaraderie, even as the world around you seemed to spin with uncertainty.

As you basked in the warmth and joy of the moment, a sense of contentment washed over you like a soothing tide. Here, in this idyllic setting, you were free from the debts and drama that had plagued your life back in the Outer Banks. The weight of those burdens lifted from your shoulders, leaving you feeling light and unencumbered for the first time in what felt like ages.

You couldn't help but marvel at the peace you had found in this new life, a life where you weren't constantly running from something or someone. Here, surrounded by friends who felt more like family, you finally felt like you belonged.

But even as you reveled in the happiness of the present, a twinge of guilt gnawed at the edges of your consciousness. You couldn't shake the feeling that despite the freedom and joy you now experienced, a part of you still felt tethered to the past, to the people you had left behind without a word of explanation.

Memories of your abrupt departure crept into your mind, casting a shadow over the tranquility of the moment. You couldn't help but wonder if you had made the right choice, if leaving had been the only option or simply the easiest one.

With a heavy sigh, you pushed aside the doubts and regrets that threatened to dampen your spirits, focusing instead on the warmth of the sun on your skin and the laughter of your friends echoing in the air. Here, in this moment, you were determined to embrace the peace and happiness that surrounded you, letting go of the past and embracing the promise of the future with open arms.

With a satisfied sigh, you finished the last sips of your drink and set the empty can aside. Feeling the warmth of the sun on your skin, you decided it was time for a refreshing dip in the jacuzzi. With practiced ease, you peeled off your loose t-shirt, revealing the vibrant bikini underneath.

As you sat up from the hammock, the cool breeze playing across your skin, you made your way over to the jacuzzi where John B and Pope lounged, enjoying the warm water. With a playful grin, you called out to them, "Hey guys, mind making some room for me?"

John B and Pope looked up, their faces breaking into wide smiles at the sight of you approaching. "Of course, come on in!" John B exclaimed, scooting over to make space for you beside him.

You slipped into the jacuzzi with a contented sigh, the warm water enveloping you in its comforting embrace. As you settled in between your friends, you couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the simple pleasures of life, for moments like these spent with good friends in the warmth of the sun. With a smile, you leaned back and let the worries of the world slip away, fully embracing the peace and happiness of the present moment.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Rafe leaned against the doorway of Sofia's room, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he watched her finish getting ready. She moved with effortless grace, her movements fluid and purposeful as she applied the final touches to her outfit.

"You look beautiful," Rafe said softly, his voice filled with genuine admiration as he took in the sight of her.

Sofia turned to him, a radiant smile lighting up her features. "Thanks, Rafe," she replied, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "You're not looking too bad yourself."

Rafe chuckled, feeling a warmth spread through him at her compliment. He couldn't help but feel a surge of affection for this girl who had stolen his heart, who had stood by him through thick and thin, who had helped him find his place in the world.

As Sofia put the finishing touches on her makeup, Rafe couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation building within him. Tonight was going to be special, he could feel it in his bones. And with Sofia by his side, he knew that no matter what the night held in store, it would be a memory he would cherish for years to come.

With a final glance in the mirror, Sofia turned to Rafe, a playful glint in her eye. "Ready to go?" she asked, holding out her hand to him.

Rafe nodded, a grin spreading across his face as he took her hand in his. "Absolutely," he replied, his heart racing with excitement as they made their way out the door and into the night, ready to take on whatever adventures awaited them together.

As Rafe and Sofia headed to Topper's house party, the anticipation buzzed between them, filling the car with an infectious energy. With the windows down and the music blaring, they sang along to their favorite songs, laughter dancing on their lips as they shared the joy of the moment.

Rafe stole glances at Sofia in the passenger seat, his heart swelling with affection as he watched her sing her heart out, her laughter filling the air like music. Her happiness was contagious, and he couldn't help but smile as he soaked in the sight of her, the love he felt for her radiating from every fiber of his being.

But as he glanced over at her once more, something shifted. For a split second, he thought he saw a flash of your face superimposed over hers, your eyes meeting his in a haunting echo of the past. His heart skipped a beat, his grip on the steering wheel tightening as he blinked in disbelief.

The moment passed in the blink of an eye, leaving Rafe shaken and disoriented. He shook his head, trying to shake off the strange sensation that lingered in the air. But deep down, he couldn't shake the feeling that your presence still lingered, a ghost haunting the edges of his consciousness, refusing to be ignored.

Sofia's sweet gesture snapped Rafe out of his momentary dissociation, her warm kiss on his cheek grounding him in the present. He blinked, the remnants of the strange sensation fading away as he met her gaze, her smile a beacon of light in the darkness.

"Can't wait for the party, huh?" Rafe echoed, a smile spreading across his face as he reached up to brush a strand of hair away from her face. "Me neither. It's gonna be a blast."

Sofia's eyes sparkled with excitement as she settled back into her seat, the anticipation palpable in the air between them. With a renewed sense of determination, Rafe refocused his attention on the road ahead, the memory of your face fading into the recesses of his mind as he focused on the promise of the night ahead with Sofia by his side.

As Rafe drove, the weight of what had just happened settled heavily on his shoulders, casting a shadow over his thoughts. Try as he might to shake off the strange sensation, the memory of your face superimposed over Sofia's lingered in the corners of his mind, refusing to be ignored.

With a heavy sigh, Rafe felt himself zoning out, his grip on the steering wheel tightening as he lost himself in the rhythm of the road. The familiar longing for escape crept up on him like an unwelcome guest, gnawing at his impulses and filling him with a restless energy.

He couldn't help but feel trapped, caught between the pull of his past and the promise of the future. The road stretched out before him, endless and unforgiving, a tantalizing temptation beckoning him to leave it all behind and disappear into the unknown.

As Rafe navigated the streets towards the party, a sense of unease gnawed at him. He couldn't shake the feeling that this party was just another part of his plan to escape, a temporary reprieve from the weight of his troubles. And buried beneath that unease lurked the insidious craving for something more, something that promised to numb the pain and quiet the demons that haunted him.

Coke.

The mere thought sent a shiver down Rafe's spine, a mixture of desire and dread swirling in the pit of his stomach. He knew the dangers of succumbing to his cravings, knew the havoc it could wreak on his life and the lives of those he cared about. But in moments of weakness, the allure of escape proved too strong to resist.

As he pulled into the driveway of Topper's house, the bass thumping from the speakers and the laughter of the partygoers filling the air, Rafe felt a familiar sense of anticipation building within him. He knew what awaited him inside, knew the temptations that lurked in the shadows, yet he couldn't deny the pull they held over him.

With a heavy sigh, Rafe steeled himself for what lay ahead, determined to navigate the minefield of his desires with caution and restraint. But deep down, he couldn't shake the sinking feeling that tonight, like so many nights before, would end in a blur of euphoria and regret.

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sobbingsapphic102 · 1 month ago

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skye riley x reader who isn’t popular

The Art of Small Talk

a/n: by “not popular” i'm assuming you meant not famous and also not many friends. also in hindsight this is more of a headcanon sort of request but… it’s okay. I suck at titles. there are 3 unfortunate uses of y/n. so sorry. and I need to rewatch smile 2 so I can remember how she speaks...

word count: 2.5k

Sitting in an inconspicuous cafe, you drum your fingers along the tabletop while staring blankly at your empty Google Docs page.

You’re sitting in a corner by yourself. You are totally alone, except for the few girls behind the counter chatting away. The lights were dimmed, and candles were lit at the counter and on a few other tables. The warm environment mixed with the hot chocolate you were drinking and the smell of food, you were getting sleepy. You slouch against the plush chair you were sitting in and let out a sigh. You were meant to be writing.

Here you were, lazily nodding your head along to Eternal Life blasting through your earbuds, tapping away at your table instead of working. At least I’m having a good time, you think to yourself.

You wonder about your best friends, across the country. Feels like they’re across the world. Ever since you moved to New York to pursue your dreams of becoming a writer, you’ve been so lonely. So damn lonely.

Your train of thought is interrupted when you feel a tap on your shoulder. You turn to this person, removing an earbud at the same time.

You take in the woman’s appearance. Bleached blonde hair in a pixie cut, messy, but in a cute way. She was wearing a navy blue hoodie with an oversized jacket that was just too oversized. Her hood was on, leaving her face shadowy.

“Excuse me. Hi. Uh… do you have a charging port here? My phone’s about to die and… My table over there didn’t have one. So. Yeah.” She looked at you, and then to your laptop. The sweet smell of her enveloped you, but you couldn’t quite place what perfume she used. Or if that’s just how she smells.

“Yeah. Think so,” you say, a little too coolly. She probably thinks you’re rude, you thought, while looking underneath your table for a charging port beside. “Yeah, there’s one below the table.”

“Okay, great! Do you mind if I—“ she smiles, almost sheepishly, “— if I sit with you? I won’t bother you.” She fidgets with the sleeve of her jacket.

“No problem.” You could feel her looking at you from your peripherals, and though it was unfocused, you could’ve sworn she was looking at you oddly.

She sits down opposite of you, leaning over to get the charger in the port. You don’t watch her, but you can hear the inevitable struggle of the metal connectors hitting everywhere except the port. You fail to stifle your smile.

When she finally plugs it in, she sits back up and looks at you. You avoid looking at her. Because you’re afraid you’ll end up giggling at her. She lets out a little huff at that, and does exactly what she says. She doesn’t bother you.

For a little while. She’s scribbling something in her notebook, or maybe drawing? You’re working away at your laptop. But you keep feeling her looking at you. It’s very off putting. Eventually, you look back at her and maintain this weird eye contact.

“Do I have something on my face?” you say, half-jokingly because you were getting a little scared you did have something on your face.

She shakes her head no. With a subtle tilt of her head, she says “I’ve came here a couple times, but I’ve never seen you. What’s your name?” She speaks with an air of casualness, but you felt that there was something about her that was intrigued by you. Or maybe she was being polite and your ego is playing into it.

“Yeah, this cafe is so hidden, I didn’t notice it until last week.” You played with the rings on your index finger absently-mindedly. “My name’s (y/n).”

She nods. “That’s a pretty name.” You note that she doesn’t mention her name.

After a brief pause you muster up the courage to ask. “So, what am I supposed to call you?”

She takes a sip of her coffee, and looks out the window on the opposite side of the cafe. It’s starting to drizzle outside.

“Skye,” she says softly.

“Hm?”

“My name’s Skye.”

“Oh. Cool.” You raise your brows a bit to acknowledge her, and go back to work.

You can still feel her looking.

She takes her hood off. You don’t want to stare like a freak, so you continue to aimlessly type words just to look busy. As if Skye could see what you’re doing.

She lets out a breathy laugh after a few moments, smiling out of disbelief. “Do you.. not know me?”

Your brows furrow. “No?”

“Skye. Skye Riley. Does that name not ring a bell?” she laughs incredulously.

Holy shit. You’ve heard about her everywhere. The scandal of her and her drug problems. The car accident, where her boyfriend died. And she's just… sitting in front of you. Holy crap. She looks different.

“Oh. I thought—“you inhale sharply before saying this, “— she was in a— I mean, I thought you were in an accident. I thought your hair was long.. and dark too. Probably why I didn’t recognize you.”

Her smile falls. She swallows the imaginary lump in her throat, “Yeah. I was. And after it happened, after rehab, I changed my look.” While speaking her eyes were averted, and she wrapped a small strand of hair around her finger. Tugging it once. She looks back at you, with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

Awkward. So awkward. Why the hell would you mention the car accident? How insensitive could a person be?! You cringe internally, hoping this was all a weird dream and you’d wake up dazed but relieved. There’s a silence that smothers the both of you, and you try to quickly change the subject. Should you apologize and end up dragging it out, or just… Compliment her? You could say something about her hair.

“Hmm. I like the short hair.” You gesture to her head, “Think it suits you.”

She rolls her eyes, “You’re just saying that because you know who I am now.” She doesn't look quite as upset anymore.

You laughed, “Seriously! You look great. I’m not the type of person to flatter others.”

She smiles gently, her eyes wandering through your features. You can’t stand when people look at your face for too long. It doesn’t matter if you took your time getting ready in the morning, you felt that she could see the modest asymmetry of your brows, the blemishes on your face. She looked.. perfect. Perfect skin, teeth, brows. Perfect everything.

You look away from her. “I’ve heard a couple of your songs. Like, on the radio,” you mention.

You didn’t notice the admiring look in her eyes.

“Oh, yeah? What do you think?” She leaned forward, her elbows on the table as her hands supported her head. A smile plays on her lips. Your eyes lingered on them, and the brown mole just above her lip. God, you thought, she’s so beautiful. You felt heat rush to your ears.

“Makes the other songs sound like shit.” You hide a shy smile behind your cup of hot chocolate, taking a sip and feeling a slight burning sensation on the tip of your tongue.

She snorts, “Okay, now you’re just flattering me.” But, she was smiling too. “Anyway, why were you just sitting here alone?”

“Because I wanted to write and focus,” you deadpan. “And.. because I don’t have any friends here in New York.”

“Oh. Dumb question. So, where are your friends?”

“They’re studying in different places. I have two in Seattle, and another friend in Vancouver.”

She nods slowly, like she’s deep in thought. “That sucks. I don’t have many friends either.”

You laugh a little at that. How could Skye Riley not have many friends? “Is that why you sat with me? There’s literally nobody here, you could’ve tried another table.”

“I did check… one table..” she trails off. “Is it a crime to sit with another human being and have a nice conversation?” Skye asks, very defensively.

“Woah there, I didn’t say anything,” you raise your hands in a “settle down” gesture, “What if I ended up being a super fan of you or something?”

“I’d get the fuck out of here.”

“Aw man.”

She lets out a giggle from your childish response, and the conversation slowly dies out.

This is weird. You, talking to Skye. Like she’s your friend!

You then notice how it’s begun to rain heavily. How were you meant to get home? This is what you get for taking a walk and helping the planet a little. The rain lashes at the windows, spooking you a little.

“Shit, I have to walk in that rain.”

She perks up all of a sudden. “No you don’t, I can get my assistant to get us home.”

“Uh oh, you’re gonna know where I live.”

She raises her brows, “Yeah, as if I have the time to stalk you.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, can I have that ride home? Please?”

“Sure, since you said the magic word without me asking,” she teases. Skye goes through her phone and dials someone’s number.

You don’t pay much attention to what she says, instead packing up your stuff in your grey backpack. You pull it on, and practically feel the weight of the world on your back and shoulders. You put your earbuds away too.

About ten minutes later, you see a black car waiting outside the cafe.

“Damn, that was quick.”

She shrugs in response, and gestures for the both of you to get up.

You leave the wondrously cozy cafe and the harsh wind and rain whip your face and ruin your hair. Damn it.

A man steps out of the driver's seat and opens the door for Skye, giving her a questioning look. Was it about you?

“She’s with me.” Skye doesn’t even look at him, and mumbles a “Thanks,” as she gets into the backseat of the car.

You, hesitantly, get in beside her. She’s sitting in the middle of the three seats, and there’s another guy sitting on the opposite side of her, so you have to sit directly next to her. Great.

The seats of the car are leather, and so comfortable. In front of you, there’s a compartment with bottles and bottles of Voss water and, below it, some snacks.

Skye sees you looking at them, “Do you want something to eat?” She’s drowned out by the revving of the car.

You lean closer to her, your ear facing her mouth to hear her better. You hear her say “something to eat” and shake your head no.

When you move away, you catch her smiling at you. The sweetest smile.

“You smell good,” she says. Your heart starts chugging like a train. You smile awkwardly, “Thanks. You too.” You look out the window beside you, and cover your mouth in a casual way so she doesn’t see that the smile didn’t leave your face.

As the car pulls off the curb, the man beside her starts speaking to you. “So, you’re a friend of Skye’s?” The man asks, leaning forward to look past Skye and look at you, “I’m Joshua, and this is Elizabeth, Skye’s manager and mother.” He motions towards the woman sitting in front of you. That lady and Skye do not look alike.

“Oh, cool. Nice to meet you guys. My name is (y/n).”

“Sweet. How’d you guys meet?” Only Joshua is making conversation with you, and Elizabeth is on her phone, looking vaguely frustrated. He looks happy and refreshed, like he got a full eight hours of sleep. Lucky him.

“Oh we.. uh.. just..” You look over to Skye for some help.

“We met at that fundraiser a couple weeks ago, don’t you remember?” The lie came quite easily to her. “Stop interrogating her.”

“Sorry Skye, I didn’t mean to question you guys so much. Also sorry about getting this car instead of the limo. It would’ve dragged too much attention over here.” Joshua says, almost in a panicked way.

“It’s fine.” She’s very curt with Joshua, you wonder why she was so amiable with you.

A silence settles over the car. You clear your throat before telling Joshua your address, so he would tell the driver and they could drop you off.

“That’s not a good area to live in.” Elizabeth says. She turns around to look at you and Skye. She already rubs you the wrong way. “Is it safe?”

“Ehh. As long as it’s daytime it’s fine.”

As she turns back to face the front, she scrunches her nose up slightly, as if smelling something rotten.

You smooth down your hair after the wind dishevelled it. When your hands come down to rest on your lap, you feel another hand on top of yours. It’s soft and warm.

You look down at the hand, and then back up to look at Skye. She mouths “Ignore her.”

Oh. She thought you were upset about what her mom said. You mouth back “It’s okay.” Sweet of her to care.

The weird thing was how her hand didn’t move off yours. It was like you two were in your own warm little bubble. You leaned against her, and she laid her head on your shoulder. When you looked down at her, she didn’t meet your eyes. You hoped she couldn’t hear your heart drumming away.

You could feel Joshua looking, but he didn’t say anything at all. It would be pretty embarrassing if you were already disliked by Elizabeth in the first 10 minutes of knowing her.

When you finally got to the parking lot of your apartment complex, you sighed with relief. You gently got Skye off your shoulder, and opening the door for yourself, you step out and put your hoodie on.

“Okay, thanks for the ride, Skye.” You turn to quickly dash into your apartment.

“Wait, (y/n)!” Skye says.

You turn around, and stick your head into the car, “Yeah?”

“Can I have your number?”

You were taken aback. Why did she want your number? I mean… You and her basically cuddled but still. It’s Skye friggin Riley. “Okay, sure. Give me your phone, I’ll put it in for you.”

“Okay. I’ll put mine into yours,” she says.

You exchange phones and put your phone number as a contact. After, you snoop a little and see that she has Beyoncé and Adele in her contacts. Dang, you thought. You’re technically connected to them now.

You hand her back her phone, and she gives yours back to you.

“I’ll text you. Or call, ” she says.

You smile at her. “Sure thing. Later!”

You’re already half drenched from standing in the rain, and you waste no time jogging to the front door where there’s cover. You unlock the door with your key, and wave at the car before heading inside.

As you walk to the elevator, your mind is totally overwhelmed by this experience. Skye completely consumes you, without even being there. You wonder why she even talked to you. You wonder why she gave you a ride home, why she held your hand and asked for your number. Is she just as lonely as you are?

➽──────────────❥

After a few days, you wake up from a nap and see 2 new messages from Skye.

“heyyy how are you”

“are you free next week haha”

#skye riley #skye riley x reader #smile 2 #naomi scott #naomi scott x reader #smile #fanfic #x reader

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hardlyinteresting · 3 months ago

Text

A thorough analysis of medals, ribbons, and awards in Top Gun: Maverick

Have you ever wanted to know what medals The Dagger Squad and company wear in TGM? I did, and then I just kept reading and then I started a google doc and now I have a list I can share with all of you! (I feel like my brain might actually be melting)

I have done my absolute best to identify as many of their medals/ribbons as possible based on the clearest images I could find, and I have tried my best to comment on how realistic they may be for these characters. The photos I referenced for this deep dive are included at the bottom of this post.

Analysis below the cut

LT. Jake “Hangman” Seresin He wears 9 ribbons on his uniform.

Air Medal (is awarded for single acts of heroism or meritorious achievement while participating in aerial flight.)

Navy / Marine Corps commendation medal (is awarded for sustained acts of of heroism or meritorious service) *Jake wears an additional device on his but it doesn’t look like a star. It is likely a bronze “V” for valour worn to denote that the award was given for combat heroism.

Navy / Marine Corps Achievement Medal (awarded to those who have performed commendably in routine duties or exceptional achievements, that a higher award has not recognised.) *Jake wears 2 bronze stars on this ribbon indicating he has been given this award 3 times.

Navy Unit Commendation (awarded to members of a unit that displayed outstanding acts of heroism).

National Defense Service Ribbon (It was awarded to every member of the U.S. Armed Forces who served during any one of four specified periods of armed conflict or national emergency from June 27, 1950, through December 31, 2022.)

Afghanistan Campaign medal (The Afghanistan Campaign Medal is awarded to those who performed duty within the borders of Afghanistan (or its airspace) for a period of thirty consecutive days or sixty non-consecutive days.) * The pin Jake wears on his ribbon looks like a Fleet Marine Force combat operation insignia indicates that he may have been assigned to a unit that operated under a Marine Corps attachment and carried out duties under the Marine Corps operational control

Inherent Resolve Campaign Medal (medal may be awarded to members of the U.S. Army, Navy, Marine Corps, Air Force, and Coast Guard, for service in Iraq, Syria, or contiguous waters or airspace)

Global War on Terrorism Medal (Awarded to members of the United States military who have supported operations to counter-terrorism anywhere in the world any time after 2001)

Navy/ Marine Corps Sea Service Ribbon (Given to a member of the Navy and Marine Corps who is assigned to a deployable unit operating away from its home port for 90 days or two consecutive periods of at least 80 days within a 12-month period; or six months stationed overseas.) *Jake wears two stars on his ribbon. I can’t tell if they are silver or bronze. Bronze would indicate he has met this criteria 3 times during his service. Two silver stars would 10. Both are possible for his character.

From what I can tell, and the research I have done, Jake’s medals make sense for his age, rank, and experience level. They all seem to be displayed in the correct order of precedence.

LT. Natasha “Pheonix” Trace Natasha also wears 9 ribbons on her uniform.

Air Medal (is awarded for single acts of heroism or meritorious achievement while participating in aerial flight.)

Navy / Marine Corps commendation medal (is awarded for sustained acts of of heroism or meritorious service) *Natasha wears hers with 2 bronze stars which would indicate that she has received the commendation 3 times.

Navy / Marine Corps Achievement Medal (awarded to those who have performed commendably in routine duties or exceptional achievements, that a higher award has not recognised.) *Natasha wears 2 bronze stars on this ribbon indicating she has been given this award 3 times.

Inherent Resolve Campaign Medal (medal may be awarded to members of the U.S. Army, Navy, Marine Corps, Air Force, and Coast Guard, for service in Iraq, Syria, or contiguous waters or airspace)

Global War on Terrorism Medal (Awarded to members of the United States military who have supported operations to counter-terrorism anywhere in the world any time after 2001)

Navy/ Marine Corps Sea Service Ribbon (Given to a member of the Navy and Marine Corps who is assigned to a deployable unit operating away from its home port for 90 days or two consecutive periods of at least 80 days within a 12-month period; or six months stationed overseas.) *Natasha wears a pin/device on her ribbon, though it’s significantly smaller than the stars she wears on her other ribbons. The only devices authorized to be worn with this ribbon are bronze or silver stars, so I’m unsure what it is.

NATO Medal (The NATO Medal is a decoration presented by the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) to recognize international NATO military members who have participated in various peacekeeping operations.) However, there are 10 different variations and versions of this medal and I can’t see in enough detail to confirm which one it is that Natasha wears.

Again, from the research I’ve done, the ribbons that Natasha wears seem to make sense for her age, rank, and experience level. I have not been able to confirm if her NATO ribbon is in the correct order of presence, but I do believe it is.

LT. Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw

I can find only one image of him in his uniform and wearing his ribbons. However, I would have to assume that it’s an older photo and would have been taken long before the beginning of the beginning of the TGM film timeline and that he would have more by the time we see him on screen. I would also expect that having his papers pulled and being held back in his career timeline may have changed things for him as well. But, he’s wearing 8 ribbons in the photo. This could be a continuity error but I have no way of knowing for sure. Alas, I can only break down what I can see. (But if anyone can find me a still from the film where we can see his current ribbons I’d be over the moon).

Air Medal (is awarded for single acts of heroism or meritorious achievement while participating in aerial flight.)

Navy / Marine Corps commendation medal (is awarded for sustained acts of of heroism or meritorious service) *Bradley wears his with 2 bronze stars which would indicate that he has received the commendation 3 times.

Navy / Marine Corps Achievement Medal (awarded to those who have performed commendably in routine duties or exceptional achievements, that a higher award has not recognised.) *Bradley wears 2 bronze stars on this ribbon indicating he has been given this award 3 times.

Inherent Resolve Campaign Medal (medal may be awarded to members of the U.S. Army, Navy, Marine Corps, Air Force, and Coast Guard, for service in Iraq, Syria, or contiguous waters or airspace)

Global War on Terrorism Medal (Awarded to members of the United States military who have supported operations to counter-terrorism anywhere in the world any time after 2001)

Navy/ Marine Corps Sea Service Ribbon (Given to a member of the Navy and Marine Corps who is assigned to a deployable unit operating away from its home port for 90 days or two consecutive periods of at least 80 days within a 12-month period; or six months stationed overseas.) *Bradley wears two silver stars on his ribbon which would indicate that he has met this criteria 10 times.

Beyond the question of timeline, I would say that these ribbons all make sense for his level of experience, his rank, and his age. The ribbons all seem to be displayed in the correct order of precedence.

LT. Mickey “Fanboy” Garcia Mickey wears eight ribbons on his uniform.

Air Medal (is awarded for single acts of heroism or meritorious achievement while participating in aerial flight.)

Navy / Marine Corps commendation medal (is awarded for sustained acts of of heroism or meritorious service) *Mickey wears his with 2 bronze stars which would indicate that he has received the commendation 3 times.

Navy / Marine Corps Achievement Medal (awarded to those who have performed commendably in routine duties or exceptional achievements, that a higher award has not recognised.) *Mickey wears 1 bronze star on this ribbon indicating he has been given this award 2 times.

Inherent Resolve Campaign Medal (medal may be awarded to members of the U.S. Army, Navy, Marine Corps, Air Force, and Coast Guard, for service in Iraq, Syria, or contiguous waters or airspace)

Global War on Terrorism Medal (Awarded to members of the United States military who have supported operations to counter-terrorism anywhere in the world any time after 2001)

Navy/ Marine Corps Sea Service Ribbon (Given to a member of the Navy and Marine Corps who is assigned to a deployable unit operating away from its home port for 90 days or two consecutive periods of at least 80 days within a 12-month period; or six months stationed overseas.) *Mickey wears two bronze stars on his ribbon which would indicate that he has met this criteria 3 times.

From what I can tell, and the research I have done, all of these medals make sense for his age, rank, and experience level. They all seem to be displayed in the correct order of precedence.

LT. Reuben “Payback” Fitch Reuben wears 9 ribbons on his uniform

Air Medal (is awarded for single acts of heroism or meritorious achievement while participating in aerial flight.)

Navy / Marine Corps commendation medal (is awarded for sustained acts of of heroism or meritorious service) *Reuben wears his with 1 star, but I can’t quite tell for sure if it’s bronze or silver. One bronze star would indicate that he has received the commendation 2times. One Silver star would indicate 5 times. Both would be possible.

Armed Forces Expeditionary Medal (Awarded to members of the U.S. Armed Forces who, after July 1, 1958, participated in U.S. military operations, U.S. operations in direct support of the United Nations, or U.S. operations of assistance for friendly foreign nations). It is hard to tell from the photos I have if this is for sure the correct medal, but it’s the only one that fits the colour order I can see.

Navy / Marine Corps Achievement Medal (awarded to those who have performed commendably in routine duties or exceptional achievements, that a higher award has not recognised.) *Reuben wears his with 2 bronze stars indicating he’s been given this award 3 times.

Inherent Resolve Campaign Medal (medal may be awarded to members of the U.S. Army, Navy, Marine Corps, Air Force, and Coast Guard, for service in Iraq, Syria, or contiguous waters or airspace)

Global War on Terrorism Medal (Awarded to members of the United States military who have supported operations to counter-terrorism anywhere in the world any time after 2001)

Navy/ Marine Corps Sea Service Ribbon (Given to a member of the Navy and Marine Corps who is assigned to a deployable unit operating away from its home port for 90 days or two consecutive periods of at least 80 days within a 12-month period; or six months stationed overseas.) *Rueben wears one star on his ribbon. I cannot confirm whether it is a bronze star or a silver star. A bronze star would indicate that he has met this criteria 3 times. A silver star would indicate he met this criteria 10 times.

If the third ribbon Rueben wears is the Armed Forces Expeditionary Medal I am 95% sure it would be in the wrong order. I believe it should come after his Afghanistan Campaign medal and before his Inherent Resolve Campaign medal for them to be displayed in the correct order of precedence.

LT. Robert “BOB” Floyd Robert wears seven ribbons on his uniform.

Navy / Marine Corps commendation medal (is awarded for sustained acts of of heroism or meritorious service) *Bob wears his with 2 bronze stars which would indicate that he has received the commendation 3 times.

Navy / Marine Corps Achievement Medal (awarded to those who have performed commendably in routine duties or exceptional achievements, that a higher award has not recognised.) *Bob wears 2 bronze stars on this ribbon indicating he has been given this award 3 times.

Navy Unit Commendation (awarded to members of a unit that displayed outstanding acts of heroism).

Inherent Resolve Campaign Medal (medal may be awarded to members of the U.S. Army, Navy, Marine Corps, Air Force, and Coast Guard, for service in Iraq, Syria, or contiguous waters or airspace)

Global War on Terrorism Medal (Awarded to members of the United States military who have supported operations to counter-terrorism anywhere in the world any time after 2001)

Navy/ Marine Corps Sea Service Ribbon (Given to a member of the Navy and Marine Corps who is assigned to a deployable unit operating away from its home port for 90 days or two consecutive periods of at least 80 days within a 12-month period; or six months stationed overseas.) *Bob wears a pin/device on this ribbon, though it’s significantly smaller than the stars he wears on his other ribbons. The only devices authorized to be worn with this ribbon are bronze or silver stars, so I’m unsure what it is.

From what I can tell, and the research I have done, all of these medals make sense for his age, rank, and experience level. They all seem to be displayed in the correct order of precedence.

LT. Javy “Coyote” Machado Javy wears nine ribbons.

Air Medal (is awarded for single acts of heroism or meritorious achievement while participating in aerial flight.)

Navy / Marine Corps commendation medal (is awarded for sustained acts of of heroism or meritorious service) *Javy wears his with 2 star bronze stars so he has been given this commendation 3 times.

Navy / Marine Corps Achievement Medal (awarded to those who have performed commendably in routine duties or exceptional achievements, that a higher award has not recognised.) *Javy wears 1 bronze star on this ribbon indicating he has been given this award 2 times.

Navy Unit Commendation (awarded to members of a unit that displayed outstanding acts of heroism).

Inherent Resolve Campaign Medal (medal may be awarded to members of the U.S. Army, Navy, Marine Corps, Air Force, and Coast Guard, for service in Iraq, Syria, or contiguous waters or airspace)

Global War on Terrorism Medal (Awarded to members of the United States military who have supported operations to counter-terrorism anywhere in the world any time after 2001)

Navy/ Marine Corps Sea Service Ribbon (Given to a member of the Navy and Marine Corps who is assigned to a deployable unit operating away from its home port for 90 days or two consecutive periods of at least 80 days within a 12-month period; or six months stationed overseas.) *Javy wears what looks like one bronze star on this ribbon which would indicate he has met this criteria twice. But I haven’t been able to find a clear enough image to confirm.

From what I can tell, and the research I have done, all of these medals make sense for his age, rank, and experience level. They all seem to be displayed in the correct order of precedence.

CWO Bernie “Hondo” Coleman Hondo wears 15 ribbons on his uniform

Purple Heart (Given to members of the US Military who have been wounded or killed in any action against an enemy of the United States or as a result of an act of any such enemy or opposing armed forces)

Meritorious Service Medal (presented to members of the United States Armed Forces who distinguish themselves with outstanding meritorious achievement or service to the United States.)

Navy / Marine Corps commendation medal (is awarded for sustained acts of of heroism or meritorious service) *Hondo wears his with 1 bronze star so he has been given this commendation twice.

Navy / Marine Corps Achievement Medal (awarded to those who have performed commendably in routine duties or exceptional achievements, that a higher award has not recognised.) *Hondo wears 1 bronze star on this ribbon indicating he has been given this award 2 times.

Meritorious Unit Commendation (awarded to members of a unit who have shown Valorous or meritorious achievement or service, or exceptionally meritorious conduct and outstanding achievement or service, in combat or non-combat.)

Navy E Ribbon (Awarded to service members who were on permanent duty aboard a U.S. Navy ship or in a unit that won a battle efficiency competition after July 1, 1974.)* Hondo wears a silver wreathed E pin on his ribbon showing he has received this award 5 or more times.

Good Conduct Medal (awarded to any active duty enlisted member of the United States military who completes three consecutive years of "honorable and faithful service," without any non-judicial punishment, disciplinary infractions, or court martial offenses.)

Global War on Terrorism Expeditionary Medal (For military service members who have deployed overseas in direct service to the War on Terror starting from 2001 to a date to be determined.)

Global War on Terrorism Medal (Awarded to members of the United States military who have supported operations to counter-terrorism anywhere in the world any time after 2001)

Armed Forces Service Medal (Awarded to Service members who have participated in “significant action” for which no other service or campaign medal is authorized, ie. military operation that did not encounter foreign armed opposition or imminent hostile action)

Humanitarian Service Medal (Awarded to service members who partake in military acts or operations which are deemed to be humanitarian in nature)

His Global War on Terrorism Expeditionary Medal from what I understand would have later been replaced with the Afghanistan and Iraq Campaign Medals which he has also received and wears. He would not have received all three, so this is odd. Regardless, the ribbons he wears are in the correct order of precedence and make sense for his age and rank. However, I have less direct context and understanding of his role as a Chief Warrant Officer and what his career path may have looked like compared to the Dager Squad members and cannot comment on whether or not he is missing any that you may expect to see on a CWO.

CAPT. Pete “Maverick” Mitchell Maverick wears 22 ribbons on his uniform

Silver Star Medal (awarded primarily to members of the United States Armed Forces for gallantry in action against an enemy of the United States. It is the third-highest decoration for valour in combat)

Legion of Merit (for exceptionally meritorious conduct in the performance of outstanding services and achievements.)

Defense Meritorious Service Medal (For members of the armed forces who while serving in a joint activity showed outstanding achievement or meritorious service in non-combat situations, but not of a degree to warrant award of the Defense Superior Service Medal.)

Meritorious Service Medal (awarded to those who have shown meritorious achievement or service to the United States.)

Air Medal (is awarded for single acts of heroism or meritorious achievement while participating in aerial flight.) *Mav wears a bronze pin device on his ribbon on the second yellow stripe. This is usually a strike/flight numerals device. I cannot make out the number, but this would serve to indicate the number of Strike/Flight awards given for operations in hostile territory and count the total number of Strikes (operations that faced enemy opposition) and Flights (operations that did not encounter enemy opposition) added together.

Navy / Marine Corps commendation medal (is awarded for sustained acts of of heroism or meritorious service) *Mav wears his with 3 silver stars implying he has received this award a total of 15 times

Navy / Marine Corps Achievement Medal (awarded to those who have performed commendably in routine duties or exceptional achievements, that a higher award has not recognised.)

Combat Action Ribbon (Given to United States Sea Service Members who have actively participated in ground or surface combat)

Joint Meritorious Unit Award (given to joint units or units tasked with a joint mission where they have displayed meritorious achievement or service beyond what is normally expected, or for actions in combat with an armed enemy of the, a declared national emergency, or under extraordinary circumstances of national interest)

Navy E Ribbon (Awarded to service members who were on permanent duty aboard a U.S. Navy ship or in a unit that won a battle efficiency competition after July 1, 1974.)* Mav wears a silver E pin on his ribbon showing he has received this award 2 times.

South West Asia Service Medal (Awarded to those who participated in operations in South West Asia between 1990 and 1995. Including participation in operations Desert Shield and Desert Storm. Operations and support may have been carried out in any of the following nations and/or areas: Iraq, Kuwait, Saudi Arabia, Oman, Bahrain, Qatar, United Arab Emirates, Israel, Eygpt, Türkiye, Syria, Jordan, Persian Gulf, Red Sea, Gulf of Oman, Gulf of Aden) *Mav wears 2 bronze stars indicating he served in 2 of 3 major campaigns. His bronze stars are pinned in the incorrect positions however, they should not be centred side by side, but rather one on each of the inside yellow stripes.

Afghanistan Campaign Medal (The Afghanistan Campaign Medal is awarded to those who performed duty within the borders of Afghanistan (or its airspace) for a period of thirty consecutive days or sixty non-consecutive days.) *Maverick wears two bronze stars on this ribbon indicating he served during 2 of the 6 campaign phases. Once again his stars are in the incorrect positions. Instead of being centred side by side, they should each be on each of the inner black stripes.

Iraq Campaign Medal (The Iraq Campaign Medal is awarded to those who performed duty within the borders of Iraq (or its territorial waters) for a period of thirty consecutive days or sixty non-consecutive days.) *Maverick wears two bronze stars on this ribbon indicating he served during 2 of the 7 campaign phases. Once again his stars are in the incorrect positions. Instead of being centred side by side, they should each be on each of the inner black stripes.

Global War on Terrorism Expeditionary Medal (For military service members who have deployed overseas in direct service to the War on Terror starting from 2001 to a date to be determined.)

Global War on Terrorism Medal (Awarded to members of the United States military who have supported operations to counter-terrorism anywhere in the world any time after 2001)

United Nations Medal (award for any action in which a member of the military participated in a joint UN activity)

Kuwait Liberation Medal (Awarded by the government of Kuwait to regional and foreign military personnel who served during the Gulf War’s “Liberation of Kuwait” campaign phase between 1990 and 1993.

Navy Rifle Marksmanship Ribbon (Issued to members of the Navy, Air Force, and Coast Guard who pass their weapons qualification course with an above-average score) *Mav wears an E on his ribbon indicating that he has achieved an “expert” qualification.

Navy Pistol Marksmanship Ribbon (Issued to members of the Navy, Air Force, and Coast Guard who pass their weapons qualification course with an above-average score) *Mav wears an E on his ribbon indicating that he has achieved an “expert” qualification.

His Global War on Terrorism Expeditionary Medal from what I understand would have later been replaced with the Afghanistan and Iraq Campaign Medals which he has also received and wears. He would not have received all three, so this is odd. Regardless, the ribbons he wears are in the correct order of precedence and make sense for his age and rank. I do have questions about how many years he’s been serving and only making it to the rank of Captain but he also has not received, or at least does not wear any ribbons for good conduct, and he is known to rock the boat so I will suspend my disbelief.

VADM. Beau “Cyclone” Simpson Cyclone wears 19 ribbons on his uniform

Bronze Star Medal (heroic achievement, heroic service, meritorious achievement, or meritorious service in a combat zone.)

Meritorious Service Medal (awarded to those who have shown meritorious achievement or service to the United States.)

Joint Service Commendation Medal (meritorious achievement or service in a joint duty capacity.)

Navy / Marine Corps commendation medal (is awarded for sustained acts of heroism or meritorious service) *Beau wears his with 2 silver stars so he has been given this commendation 10 times.

Navy / Marine Corps Achievement Medal (awarded to those who have performed commendably in routine duties or exceptional achievements, that a higher award has not recognised.) *Cyclone wears 2 bronze stars on this ribbon indicating he has been given this award 3 times.

Navy Unit Commendation (awarded to members of a unit that displayed outstanding acts of heroism). *Cyclone wears a device on this ribbon, it’s not a star, but from what I’ve read there are no other devices authorized to wear with this ribbon.

Navy Meritorious Unit Commendation ( for valorous or meritorious achievement or service in combat or non-combat situations)

Navy E Ribbon (Awarded to service members who were on permanent duty aboard a U.S. Navy ship or in a unit that won a battle efficiency competition after July 1, 1974.)* Cyclone wears a silver E pin with a wreath on his ribbon showing he has received this award 5 times.

Good Conduct Medal (awarded to any active duty enlisted member of the United States military who completes three consecutive years of "honourable and faithful service," without any non-judicial punishment, disciplinary infractions, or court martial offences.) *Beau wears what looks to be 2 stars on this ribbon. I cannot tell what colour they are. 2 bronze would me he’s received this award 3 times for 9 consecutive years of honorable service. 2 silver would mean he’s received this award 10 times for 30 consecutive years of honorable service. However, before 1996 they were awarded every 4 years. So I think we’re likely looking at between 20-25 years of service, which makes sense for his rank.

Navy Expeditionary Medal ( Awarded to enlisted Navy service members who were confirmed to have landed on foreign territory and engaged in operations against armed opposition)

Global War on Terrorism Medal (Awarded to members of the United States military who have deployed in support of the War on Terror to locations beyond Iraq and Afghanistan.)

Global War on Terrorism Service Medal (Awarded to members of the United States military who have supported operations to counter-terrorism anywhere in the world any time after 2001)

UNIDENTIFIED SERVICE MEDAL

Navy/ Marine Corps Sea Service Ribbon (Given to a member of the Navy and Marine Corps who is assigned to a deployable unit operating away from its home port for 90 days or two consecutive periods of at least 80 days within a 12-month period; or six months stationed overseas.) *Beau wears what looks like one bronze star on this ribbon which would indicate he has met this criteria twice. But I haven’t been able to find a clear enough image to confirm.

Navy Rifle Marksmanship Ribbon (Issued to members of the Navy, Air Force, and Coast Guard who pass their weapons qualification course with an above-average score) *Beau wears an E on his ribbon indicating that he has achieved an “expert” qualification.

Navy Pistol Marksmanship Ribbon (Issued to members of the Navy, Air Force, and Coast Guard who pass their weapons qualification course with an above-average score) *Cyclone wears an E on his ribbon indicating that he has achieved an “expert” qualification.

His Global War on Terrorism Expeditionary Medal, from what I understand, would have later been replaced with his Iraq Campaign Medal which he has also received and wears. He would not have received both, so this is odd. Regardless, the ribbons he wears are in the correct order of precedence and make sense for his age and rank. However, I have less direct context and understanding of his role as a Vice Admiral and what his career path may have looked like compared to the Dager Squad members, and cannot comment on whether or not he is missing any that you may expect to see on a VADM.

RADM. Solomon “Warlock” Bates Warlock wears 22 ribbons on his uniform

Legion of Merit (for exceptionally meritorious conduct in the performance of outstanding services and achievements.)

Bronze Star Medal (heroic achievement, heroic service, meritorious achievement, or meritorious service in a combat zone.)

Meritorious Service Medal (awarded to those who have shown meritorious achievement or service to the United States.)

Joint Service Commendation Medal (meritorious achievement or service in a joint duty capacity.)

Navy / Marine Corps commendation medal (is awarded for sustained acts of heroism or meritorious service)

Navy / Marine Corps Achievement Medal (awarded to those who have performed commendably in routine duties or exceptional achievements, that a higher award has not recognised.)

Navy Unit Commendation (awarded to members of a unit that displayed outstanding acts of heroism).

UNIDENTIFIED SERVICE MEDAL

Navy E Ribbon (Awarded to service members who were on permanent duty aboard a U.S. Navy ship or in a unit that won a battle efficiency competition after July 1, 1974.)* Warlock wears 3 silver E pins on his ribbon showing he has received this award 4 times.

Good Conduct Medal (awarded to any active duty enlisted member of the United States military who completes three consecutive years of "honourable and faithful service," without any non-judicial punishment, disciplinary infractions, or court martial offences.) *Solomon wears what looks to be 2 stars on this ribbon. I cannot tell what colour they are. 2 bronze would me he’s received this award 3 times for 9 consecutive years of honorable service. 2 silver would mean he’s received this award 10 times for 30 consecutive years of honorable service. However, before 1996 they were awarded every 4 years. So I think we’re likely looking at between 20-25 years of service, which makes sense for his rank.

Navy Expeditionary Medal ( Awarded to enlisted Navy service members who were confirmed to have landed on foreign territory and engaged in operations against armed opposition)

Iraq Campaign Medal (The IraqCampaign Medal is awarded to those who performed duty within the borders of Iraq (or its territorial waters) for a period of thirty consecutive days or sixty non-consecutive days.) *Warlock wears two bronze stars on this ribbon indicating he served during 2 of the 7 campaign phases. Once again his stars are in the incorrect positions. Instead of being centred side by side, they should each be on each of the inner black stripes.

Global War on Terrorism Expeditionary Medal (For military service members who have deployed overseas in direct service to the War on Terror starting from 2001 to a date to be determined.)

Global War on Terrorism Medal (Awarded to members of the United States military who have deployed in support of the War on Terror to locations beyond Iraq and Afghanistan.)

Humanitarian Service Medal (Awarded to service members who partake in military acts or operations which are deemed to be humanitarian in nature)

Navy/ Marine Corps Sea Service Ribbon (Given to a member of the Navy and Marine Corps who is assigned to a deployable unit operating away from its home port for 90 days or two consecutive periods of at least 80 days within a 12-month period; or six months stationed overseas.) *Warlock wears what looks like 3 bronze star on this ribbon which would indicate he has met this criteria 4 times. But I haven’t been able to find a clear enough image to confirm.

Navy Overseas Service Ribbon (recognizes those service members who have performed military tours outside the borders of the United States of America. 12 months of consecutive or accumulated duty at an overseas shore-based duty station)

United Nations Medal (award for any action in which a member of the military participated in a joint UN activity)

Navy Rifle Marksmanship Ribbon (Issued to members of the Navy, Air Force, and Coast Guard who pass their weapons qualification course with an above-average score) *Solomon wears an E on his ribbon indicating that he has achieved an “expert” qualification.

Navy Pistol Marksmanship Ribbon (Issued to members of the Navy, Air Force, and Coast Guard who pass their weapons qualification course with an above-average score) *Warlock wears an E on his ribbon indicating that he has achieved an “expert” qualification.

His Global War on Terrorism Expeditionary Medal, from what I understand, would have later been replaced with his Iraq Campaign Medal which he has also received and wears. He would not have received both, so this is odd. Regardless, the ribbons he wears are in the correct order of precedence and make sense for his age and rank. However, I have less direct context and understanding of his role as a Rear Admiral and what his career path may have looked like compared to the Dager Squad members, and cannot comment on whether or not he is missing any that you may expect to see on a RADM.

#top gun maverick #jake seresin #beau simpson #bradley bradshaw #jake seresin x reader #bradley bradsaw x reader #pete maverick mitchell #natasha phoenix trace #payback #fanboy #bob #robert floyd #warlock #hondo

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justagalwhowrites · 10 months ago

Text

Days in the Sun: Part of For You - A Collection of Requests Benefitting Palestine

Oberyn returns victorious from King's Landing after defeating the Mountain and spends a day with his beloved wife and their daughters.

Event Terms: Commissioners could choose to donate between $15 and $50 via Ko-Fi for one fic of 1-2k words to be written by April 1, 2024. Payment due after completion of the fic. Donation with a match by the author to be paid to PCRF on April 2, 2024 in honor of Pedro Pascal's birthday ❤️ Commissioners had the option to choose to keep a fic private and all fics may not be shared here.

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Female Reader

Warnings: Basically none! No use of Y/N, Minors DNI 18+ only.

Length: 2.2k

A/N: Written for @aurasjournal, the OG Oberyn Girlie ❤️ She requested some soft, SFW Oberyn love. This fic takes place immediately after the fight with the Mountain in King's Landing, except Oberyn emerged victorious and unscathed to return home (as he always should have, fight me GRRM.) Enjoy!

For You Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Oberyn was tired of the sea.

It was fine when viewed from Sunspear, when he was on dry land with the sand at his back. It hadn’t been bad from King’s Landing, either, where there was sun and heat that he could feel on his skin. But that warmth was a poor substitute for your touch as you were so far from him, safe at home in Dorne.

The journey back to his beloved had not been an easy one, though. Even the satisfaction he had at killing the man who murdered his sister was cold comfort as storms bared down on his ship, bringing harsh winter winds and cold air from the north.

It would have been better if you were there, you and the three daughters you shared with him. The soft, gentle comfort of your warmth and love would have eased the passage, as would have the high peels of laughter that was so common anytime your daughters were close. But the risk of bringing you to King’s Landing was too great in Oberyn’s eyes.

Yes, he was traveling as a Prince of Dorne and yes, he was visiting for a state event, but neither title nor time had protected his sister. He could not risk losing you to the lions that prowled in the capital, he could not risk your children together. You had to stay behind and he had to make the journey alone.

But while the storms early in the voyage had made the days on the water miserable, they had pushed the ship south faster and now, Sunspear was on the horizon, more than a day earlier than expected.

Oberyn stood at the bow of the ship, a smile on his face as he watched his homeland draw closer. This, he thought, was where he belonged. Where he could feel the sun, where he and you were far from the cold calculation of the Westerosi.

The port was unprepared for his arrival, dockworkers scrambling to accommodate his ships and the entourage that was necessary when traveling as a Prince of Dorne.

In other times, it might have bothered him. There were things he had become accustomed to in his position and the trappings of royal life were indulgences he much enjoyed. But today, ceremonial greetings and meals would have only gotten in the way of what he truly needed: seeing you and your children together.

“My Prince,” his advisor who had remained behind greeted him on the dock with a bow of his head but there was no sign of you. Oberyn frowned. “My apologies, there was no raven to warn of your arrival, we were not expecting you for several days at least…”

“My business in King’s Landing concluded early,” Oberyn cut him off. “I’m sure we will have much to discuss about our relationship with the new king when the time is right. But now, I need to see my wife and she is not here.”

“No, your highness, I’m afraid we could not find her when we saw your ships on the horizon,” he said. “She left your chambers this morning with your daughters and their guard but did not say where they were going. I am sure you missed the princesses greatly but I’m afraid that there is much to attend to…”

“If you were not expecting me for several days, surely business can wait,” Oberyn said, already walking away from him. “There are far more pressing matters that demand my attention.”

He didn’t bother to wait for any of the others to follow nor did he ask anyone for help in tracking you down. He knew exactly where you would be.

He heard you before he saw you, working his way to the quietest, most secluded part of the water gardens. Hidden away from the pressures and prying eyes of the palace and its stately visitors, the two of you had stolen away to this little place for many hours of your courtship. He had come to think of it as belonging to just the two of you long before your first daughter was conceived there. Now, it was the small homeland of the five of you, a place of escape and belonging and love.

“Mara, Elia, my loves, you mustn’t play that rough,” you called as Oberyn approached, a smile on his face at the sound of your voice. The guards hovering on the path leading to your corner of the gardens snapped to attention when they saw him. He gave them a nod. “You are sisters, not enemies. Stop pulling each other’s hair.”

Your back was to the path as Oberyn entered the clearing of palm trees and tall hedges. He took a moment to admire you when you couldn’t see. The curve of your waist as you sat on a blanket in the grass, the way the vibrant fabric of your dress draped over your frame, the arch of your neck as you watched your daughters dust themselves off, grass stains smearing the yellow of their clothes with green. The girls took off, chasing each other around the edge of a small pond and into the trees beyond.

“I sometimes wonder if we are raising little vipers, not little princesses,” Oberyn said, smiling. You jumped at the sound of his voice, turning quickly to find him there. You all but leapt to your feet, throwing your arms around him as he caught you, holding you close to him. He pressed his nose into your hair, breathing the soothing floral scent of you deep into himself.

“You’re here,” your voice was muffled, your mouth buried in the crease of his neck. Your voice was tender and wet. “Oh, how I missed you. You were so far from me, I was so worried…”

“I know, my love,” he ran one large hand from the back of your head down your neck, your back, pausing at the exposed skin to relish the softness of you. “But I promised I would return to you, did I not?”

“You did,” you said, pulling yourself from him to look him in the eye and he smiled as his gaze traced the familiar and beloved contours of your face. “But I was still afraid. What if they hurt you and I wasn’t there? The journey alone can be treacherous but King’s Landing…”

He silenced you with a gentle kiss, your lips soft against his own. He resisted the urge to deepen it, to pull you tighter to him and feel all of you in every way he could.

But there would be time for that reunion later, when he could take his time lavishing you with every ounce of and passion he’d had to set aside in your weeks apart. For now, he was happy to just know you were back in his arms where you belonged. He pulled away from you, cupping your cheek and running his thumb over the softness of your lips, pulling a small gasp from you as he did.

“I’m back where I belong, my sun,” he said gently. “At your side.”

You smiled and brushed your nose against his, closing your eyes for a moment.

“And how were our little vipers?” He asked. “On their best behavior, I’m sure.”

“If our daughters are vipers, they are vipers because of you, not I,” you smiled, stepping back from you before tucking yourself against his side. His arm slipped behind your back, finding its most comfortable home around you. The two of you began your slow walk around your favorite corner of the water gardens, the giggles of your daughters like chimes on the air. “But… yes, they were well behaved. Mostly. Though the maesters may say different. Alyse…”

As if on cue, you and Oberyn’s eldest daughter, Alyse, jumped out of a tree, wooden spear in hand, shrieking like a warrior. Oberyn, however, was ready for her, catching her out of the air and laughing as he set her down.

“Father!” She looked up at him, her wide, brown eyes so like his own. “You’re here! I learned a new attack while you were gone, with the spear, just like you! And if this were war I would…um…I would have…”

He smiled and rested his large palm on the crown of her small head, bending to be on her level.

“You would have attacked me well,” he mussed her hair. “My little viper.”

She beamed at him.

“Why don’t you find your sisters?” He asked. “Have they been learning, too?”

“Boring things,” she crinkled her nose. “Elia doesn’t like to fight and Mara likes a sword more than a spear…”

Oberyn felt you tense at the mention of his youngest daughter’s name. You had been the one to suggest it, knowing how he had so dearly loved his sister. You’d proposed it during each pregnancy but he felt as though it wasn’t right, not until his third daughter. She had become the gentlest of his children and therefore the one most like his late sister. She was kind hearted and sweet and smart, loving fiercely and caring deeply. But that also made her the least like him and a constant reminder of what had been lost at the hands of the Lannisters. He tried his best to not let that cast a pall over his relationship with his youngest child but there was always an air of sadness in how he saw her, one that you could feel as well as he.

“You know, my sister Elia didn’t like to fight, either,” he said kindly. “But we found other ways to spend our days. Can you find Elia and Mara for me, little viper?”

She smiled a toothy smile and gave him a nod before taking her small spear and darting into the trees. Oberyn looped his arm around you again, beginning your slow walk through the gardens again.

“You spoke of Elia,” you said softly, looking at him with deep and gentle eyes. He nodded once. “You did so happily.”

“I did,” he said. You watched him closely and he trailed his nose over your cheek to your temple. “I know it has been… difficult, the pain of her loss and how it has colored my life. Not just for me but for you and our daughters, too. But… I believe it will be different now. I killed Gregor Clegane and I forced him to admit to his crimes when I did. I forced the admission of Tywin’s guilt. No more are her killers alongside the iron throne so she can have peace. And so can I.”

You stopped your slow walk, your eyes searching his before you reached out, trailing your fingers through his hair before kissing him softly.

“Father!” Elia cried. Oberyn pulled away from you to find her standing beside the pond, the same glow of kindness in her eyes that he had so loved in his sister’s.

“You’re back!” Mara ran alongside her little sister, Alyse coming right behind.

“My little princesses,” he smiled and all three of his daughters ran for him. He let them tackle him to the ground, you stepping to the side just before they brought him down. They giggled and climbed on him and he tried to hold all of them in his arms but their squirming bodies and gleeful love were too much for him to bear. “Oh how I’ve missed you.”

“We’ve missed you, too!” Elia propped her elbows on her father’s chest and smiled down at him. “Are you back for a long time, Father?”

“Yes, my darling,” he kissed her forehead. “I am.”

The five of you made your way back to the blanket, you against his side as the girls ran ahead, laughing and playing as they went. There was a spread of your and Oberyn’s favorite foods waiting for you there and the two of you settled in side by side as the girls played.

“It’s good to see real food,” he moaned, taking a bite. “I sometimes think the Westerosi are sickened by flavor…”

You laughed and leaned against him, sighing happily as you ate a piece of fruit, watching your children play in the sun.

“Did you mean what you said to Elia?” You asked, looking up at him from your place against his chest. “That you will be in Dorne - where you belong - for a time?”

“I did, my love,” he kissed the crown of your head. “There will be nothing to take me away from you or our three children…”

“Four,” you said, leaning forward to pick up a goblet and take a sip.

Oberyn paused.

“Four?” He asked. You smiled and took his hand in yours, gently guiding it to your womb.

“Four.”

A smile broke over his face as he looked reverently at the place where his child was growing inside you.

“Oh, my sun, my beautiful wife,” his thumb brushed against you there. “I’ll not leave my home with you, not for a very, very long time.”

A/N: Thank you for reading my first foray into writing Oberyn Martell! I hope you enjoyed it!

#fanfic #oberyn martell x ofc #oberyn martell x reader #oberyn martell x you

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healingfairy000000001 · 2 months ago

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Trafalgar law x witch! straw hat (part 6) ---------------------------------------

"Another day, another spell! Or maybe not, because today is my break!" she thought excitedly as she walked around the dock. It seemed Law hadn't woken up yet, but neither had the crew! Except for Sanji and Brook, who always woke up at that time.

Sanji was cooking breakfast skillfully while Brook enjoyed a good cup of coffee. "MORNING!" Y/N greeted, stepping in to join them.

"Y/N-chwaaannn~ How grateful I am that you blessed me today!" swooned Sanji, while Brook returned the salute casually.

"Need help?" she asked Sanji, coming closer to the cutting board.

"No need! You must be tired from night guard duty," he replied, declining the offer but returning to his cooking as he casually asked about last night.

"Nah! I don't feel tired at all!" she answered cheerfully, sitting close to Brook.

"Yohohoho~ You never seem to be sleepy!" chimed Brook.

"And you'll never catch me slipping!" she said with a small, shared laugh, and the atmosphere returned to its usual comfort. Sanji continued to cook, Brook drank his coffee while thinking of his next tune, and Y/N read a book without a title.

It was peaceful, and soon, everyone started coming in, waking up from their slumber.

"Hey! Where’s Tragu?" asked Luffy, after munching on some breakfast. Nami and Robin turned to Y/N, prompting everyone to do the same.

"He's probably still asleep," she stated calmly.

Zoro looked at her from the side before going back to his food.

"That's not fair! Why does he get to sleep?" protested Luffy.

"That's true! He needs to at least wake up on time!" added Usopp

"What's with the commotion so early in the morning?" Law said as he entered, and all eyes turned to him. Some smiled, while others quickly returned to what they were doing. Luffy and Usopp, however, decided to tell him what the commotion was about.

"How dare you not wake up on time!" "Yeah! How dare you!"

The man in question didn't change his expression as he sat down for a cup of black coffee, ignoring the two idiots.

With an angry look, Usopp demanded one more answer, "And where were you yesterday? You didn’t sleep in the men’s quarters nor on the ship's deck!"

Now that caught everyone’s attention. "Where was he?" Everyone focused on Law, waiting for an answer. His response was simple: "Asleep."

Everyone’s faces fell to the floor. Was it the answer they wanted? No. Did it help? Maybe. But thanks to Nami bringing good news to change the subject, the situation was saved.

"We’re getting closer to an island!" she showed her compass, causing Luffy and Usopp to quickly leave Law alone.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As the Thousand Sunny docked, the summer island appeared abandoned, with overgrown trees and missing a port or road. It looked completely deserted. The crew decided to spend the day exploring or swimming.

"Not leaving?" asked the witch.

"Don’t feel like it," Law answered, leaning against the mast with his katana close by, his hat covering his face.

Hearing this, she sighed and rolled her eyes before walking away. "Oh! That should be obvious, but don’t touch anything in my lab."

He ignored her, giving her a side-eye. She jumped off the ship and caught up to Nami and Robin.

"Nami! Robin, wait up!" she shouted, catching up to them. "I believe we haven’t spent much time together lately."

The two women looked at each other and smiled. "Well, I am going to draw the island’s map," said Nami. "And I am accompanying Chopper to find some medical herbs," added Robin.

Nami's option wasn’t as tempting as collecting ingredients with the adorable doctor and the archaeologist, so the decision was clear. "Let's get to collecting! Nami, I'll join you in the afternoon!" Y/N exclaimed excitedly, throwing her fist in the air.

Nami shook her head and waved them off, preparing her tools to draw the map. Chopper got his bag, and Robin chuckled as she walked alongside the two into the heavy forest.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The forest was thick with branches and hanging vines, heavy with humidity, which excited the doctor and the sorcerer for the amount of plants around them—wildflowers, mushrooms, weeds, various berries, and animals.

The two had a blast finding and comparing the uses of certain herbs in their fields.

"This is useful for painkillers!" exclaimed Chopper, showing her a leaf. "It can be used to create ink for scrolls!" she answered. "It was a plant used in human sacrifices," added Robin.

Which understandably creeped Chopper out, but the conversation didn’t end there. "For real? To harvest their souls for dark magic?" "Usually it’s to please a god or bring fortune and get rid of illnesses." "Huh."

"Can we change the subject?" pleaded Chopper, looking at the two women like the subject at hand was a normal thing.

Deciding to continue, the conversation died down as the three continued the herb hunt, until...

The forest grew colder and less crowded with trees. Even the animals became scarce. That’s when they reached an abandoned town. Doors were torn down, windows were broken, and everything reeked of death.

Chopper hid behind Robin while Robin and Y/N got on guard, ready to fight at any moment. "We should head back," said Chopper, but it seemed only Robin heard. "Y/N?" But she didn’t respond, walking to the side of a house and inspecting its wall, which was covered in grayish, wall-climbing plants. Tearing them down revealed... a strange symbol.

"This is bad news," she muttered.

Cawww!

"We have to leave! The crow is warning us!" yelled Chopper, but it was too late. Blackened arrows were shot at them from the sky. Robin grabbed Chopper, shielding him with her body.

"Not a second time," whispered Y/N. "ARIELA!" she shouted as a purple shield engulfed the three of them, protecting them.

"A witch! Our lucky day!" The culprits, a group of people with ragged clothes and bone-like physiques, emerged from their hiding spots. "We can satisfy our goddess!"

"Nerocta evera aarota!" she casted another spell, this time conjuring a strong wind that blew the attackers back. The leader quickly formed a shield of his own, filled with horrified faces. "Shit!"

"Robin, Chopper, RUN!" she shouted, dissolving the shield.

The two nodded, though hesitant, understanding that returning to the others was in their best interest. Chopper shifted into his running form to save time.

"Catch them!" three of the attackers jumped forward at their leader's command, but were stopped by a rock wall slamming into them, taking them out.

"Come on, then," Y/N muttered, her fingers crackling with mana. "Show me what you’ve got."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

On the other side, things were more peaceful. Sanji returned with some fruits and vegetables, Zoro had hunted down some animals, and the rest were either resting on the beach or waiting for Franky's infamous 'SUPER BURGER!'

Nothing could disturb their peace—until Robin and Chopper showed up, barely catching their breath. The crew immediately got guarded, and Nami and Luffy rushed toward them.

"What's wrong?" asked Luffy, worried. "Where’s Y/N?" added Nami.

That's when Robin spoke up. "Magicians! A lot of them!"

With this new information, the crew exchanged looks. Zoro, Sanji, Luffy, a reluctant Usopp, and Nami decided to go help their friend. "Where?" Robin pointed in the direction they came from, and before she could give more details, Luffy and Zoro ran straight ahead.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As the commotion rose, the two sides continued their battle—two types of magic: those who used mana and knowledge, and those who relied on others’ souls.

"HAH! You think you can take US down?" the leader mocked, as ghostly hands emerged from the ground beneath him, attacking Y/N. "You’ll make a perfect sacrifice!"

Ignoring him, Y/N jumped high, creating a boulder to stand on. As she looked down at them, the witch felt... anger? Betrayal? Or just pity? She’d never know, because she had to finish this quickly.

"Ignia mi cora jejuteti sma tih berimah min thulg wanar ISMARI NEDAI YASAMA!" she threw her hand up with the palm facing the sky, the other straight by her side, palm facing the ground. "Waayuha ard kudibeamry wahibry tarwidatenla tasmahleaduwy LILHARAB!"

With the two spells cast, the sky filled with dark gray clouds, and the ground glowed with strange letters surrounding the whole village.

"RUN!" one of the dark magicians warned, running toward the edge of the village, but instead bumped into an invisible wall.

"What—THAT BITCH! Kill her!"

With one of them soaring high to stab her, an ice crystal pierced him, slamming him to the ground. And that was when the hell she unleashed began—ice-like spears and fireballs rained down, crushing the ceramic bodies of the dark magic users and burning them to ash.

Y/N descended, the sky clearing as the glowing runes on the ground faded. She bent down to pick up a ceramic shard that hadn't burned. "So, you also lose your humanity by 27, huh?" she chuckled dryly before letting the shard crumble into ash...............

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lanitalay · 1 year ago

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At sea

Rhysand x reader

a/n: Hi my loves!!!! I wrote this to break the ice after winter break. It will likely have one or two more parts. Wanted to write some Rhysand fluff after destroying his character in Before I say goodnight lol.

word count: 1k

warnings: none

Summary: reader returns home after months at sea.

Part 2

Salt coated the railings you clung to while walking down the stairs to the main deck. The summer sun had dried up the water that had crashed against the ship all night long. Now small crystals blanket every surface on board. You make it down the wonky steps, map rolled and tucked under your arm. It had been a rough passage last night, the shaking had kept most of the crew on board hugging buckets, unable to control the bile. It was the most dangerous part of the voyage, the captain had to watch out for jagged rocks that were mostly covered by water or mist, towering waves and fog overhead that prevented the guiding stars to be visible.

It would be a matter of days now. If you squinted you could swear the shoreline of Velaris was on the horizon. This time it had been an entire season. The trek had started the day after the last of the snow melted and you would be back just shy of the summer solstice. You had never been gone this long from your home. The salt air was starting to stink, you yearned for green fields and pine scented breezes.

You had collected more samples than ever before. The botany in the foreign lands you visited was truly magnificent and different to what you were accustomed to in the Night Court. In your private quarter you had managed to fit around one thousand dried samples of leaves, roots, flowers and a few insects along with some living plants, placed carefully near the port hole and a plethora of seeds. Your favorite treasure was an exceptional plant that you had meticulously looked after because the bright violet color of the flowers reminded you of a pair of matching eyes back home. Rhysand. You tried not to think of him. You really really did. But in the flowers you saw his eyes. In the stars you saw his smile. In dark waters you saw his fury. In the sea shanties you heard his drunken laugh. A sigh escapes your frowning mouth.

He might have married or mated by the time you return. Not that anything romantic existed outside of your wildest dreams. But he was your friend. You had known him since the head researcher of the priestesses had sent for a field researcher, since she did not feel ready to be outside of the sacred library walls. You had been recruited because your father was a renowned explorer and you had grown up by his side. Every shore in Prythian and the Continent was familiar to your family. Every shore unknown called your name.

Rhysand was the one who brought you to the library the first time. He had wanted to be present and even gave you a tour himself of the massive sanctuary. Since then, each time you return he flies you to the library and you tell him an abridged version of what you saw on your travels. Sometimes you think that he holds you a little tighter than the last time he saw you and you stop yourself before even thinking that there is a glint in his eyes that indicates something more than polite interest.

The days pass slowly. Eventually, the familiar cliff sides and hilly landscape come into view. Relief floods your chest. You would be staying a while this time. Cataloging all of the new materials would take at least until the end of summer. Flapping sounds from above and you look up expecting to see the mast ripped but instead a gliding shadow figure high above. An inevitable smile forms on your face.

It feels like docking the boat took forever. But once all the ropes are tied and the masts lowered, the bridge gets lowered and you all but leap to the wooden platform and to the young High Lord that’s waiting for you. Sprinting you pounce on him, wrapping your arms around his neck and relishing the feeling of being on solid ground. “Welcome home, explorer” his smooth voice soothes your racing heart. Seconds pass before you let go and look at him. He’s beaming, his hair has gotten longer since you’d gone, his face is clean shaven and he smells of home. You open your mouth to speak but his smile- his smile is making it impossible for you to concentrate on anything other than his mouth. So you stall. Your hands ruffle his hair in the way you knew would annoy him and he laughs.

“I’m so glad to be back” you finally say.

Flying to the House of Wind was routine at this point in your career. You would land and immediately go debrief with your head researcher. But today Rhys had asked you if you were hungry. The grumble in your stomach told him you were. So now you were eating a lovely lunch prepared by the house. It felt decadent to eat anything other than fish and potatoes. You moan as you bite and the High Lord in front of you chuckles.

“What else did you find?”

“Besides the plants there were incredible creatures there. Some had fur and some had scales. I drew them in my books” you point towards the bag you had brought with you most precious items. He reaches for it and begins to flip through the pages of your findings.

“This is fascinating” he breathes.

“What about you? Is there anything new in the Court?” You notice his jaw clench for a fraction of a second. “Is something wrong?”

He shakes his head and closes the book “there are whispers of war”. Your blood drains from your face. “What do you mean?”

His face is now the face of a High Lord, relaying important information to a court member “Hybern has been making some advances, Prythian is too fragmented to stand a chance”. The war that had put the wall between the human realm and the seven courts had ended not one hundred years ago. Villages were still recovering. The Courts were still shifting in new power dynamics.

“What can I do?” You were no warrior. The amount of times you’d trained with the Inner Circle you could count on one hand and it had always been to appease Cassian. Rhys looks away “nothing, we are trying our best to unify and organize our armies”. Something akin to a thorn nestles itself in your heart “and how are you going to do that?”

He swallows and looks straight through your eyes “I’m marrying the Princess of Autumn”.

#acosf #acowar #azriel shadowsinger #acotar fanfiction #acotar #acofas #acomaf #rhysand #lucien vanserra #rhys acotar #rhysand x reader #rhysand x y/n #fluff #light angst #angst #angst with a happy ending

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hottpinkpenguin · 7 months ago

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Easy Company HCs: Coming Home To You After the War

A/n: ahhhh my first time writing for a new fandom always makes me nervous. I'm rewatching BoB for probably the 5th or 6th time and just felt compelled to start writing for some of these incredible characters. please note all writings are based solely on the BoB TV characters and not the actual veterans. Let me know if you want any other BoB HC's or oneshots!

*Please refer to each character for warnings*

Dick Winters Warnings: angsty Major Winters, vague references to PTSD/war trauma

Dick is standing outside on the deck of the ship before the sun is up on the day they’re due into port. He can’t stop looking towards the horizon, waiting for the shoreline to swim into view.

He’s melancholy, thoughtful. Reflects on all he’s seen in the war. He feels different than how he was when he left almost 3 years ago. He thinks about all the men he left behind in Normandy, in Foy, in Bastogne, in Holland, in Hagenau, in Germany. And he looks around at the men whose bodies are coming home, but who lost pieces of themselves in foxholes, in the bombed out streets of Europe, on the beaches.

He also finds himself wondering what it’s been like for you. He hasn’t thought about that much, hasn’t let himself think on it too hard. He feels ashamed that he never asked much in his letters about how you were. He knows it was to protect himself. If he’d asked, and if you’d been honest and told him about the rationing, the fear, how many of your friends were losing their brothers, husbands, and lovers overseas, the suicides of the men who couldn’t go… well, Dick knew he’d have been distracted. And distracted leaders got men killed. So Dick had sealed off his thoughts on that account. He knew it was the right choice. But now, he doubted.

So as the ship pulls into port, he’s sad in a broken way. Like the war has finally caught up with him. And he’s terrified, suddenly. How is he going to see you like this? What are you going to see in him when you finally do? More importantly, what are you not going to see?

He lets all of his men debark before him. Partially because that’s what a good officer does, but partially to try and collect himself.

You know what to expect. You know Dick Winters isn’t going to really stop fighting the war until he sees every last man in Easy Company off that ship and safely home. So you wait. You’ve waited this long, after all. You can wait another thirty minutes.

When you finally see him in the thinning crowd, you call out his name and break into a beaming smile. He’s here, he’s home. He’s safe.

As soon as he sees you, the ice in his veins thaws. The sun is warm on his skin, he’s surrounded by clean sea air far from the burnt out husk of Europe, and you’re there. You’re smiling at him. He can’t remember the last time he’s seen something so singularly beautiful.

He strives over to you, taking his cap off as he approaches. His stomach is flipping like a schoolboy and he couldn’t keep the smile from his face if he had an entire firing squad of Krauts in front of him.

You run the last few dozen paces into his arms. He catches you easily, spinning you around with a long, languid sigh of contentment. Your laughter is like a peeling bell in his ear.

Richard, how dare you make me wait? you tease him.

He can’t find any words except to smile at you, looking into your eyes, memorizing your smile, reacquainting himself with the dusting of freckles across your nose, the scent of your shampoo, basking in the feeling of you in his arms. He smiles, then laughs. Your hands frame his face and suddenly he’s kissing you.

Dick Winters’ mind goes blissfully blank. The harsh edges of all his worries, his responsibilities, the burden of leading a company of men and ordering some of them to their deaths. It’s all soft now. There’s just you. You and that piece of land he’s been dreaming about.

Lewis Nixon Warnings: alcohol abuse, war-time violence, detailed reference to parental suicide

Lewis Nixon came back from the front with an exorbitant amount of contraband, shadows in the back of his eyes, and a terrible drinking habit. You had no idea what to do with any of it.

Two months after his return and you found yourself staring out across a sea of boxes piled haphazardly in the foyer of the summer home Lew had bought you for your six-month wedding anniversary. Your home had never been more crowded, and yet you’d never felt so lonely.

You wiped the damp tea towel you’d soaked in the kitchen sink against the back of your neck in a vain attempt to keep the heat at bay.

Lew! you called up to him, although you knew he wouldn’t answer. A brief glance at the clock - 2:15 pm - told you as much. Since coming back, Lew hadn’t woken up before 3:00 pm and you’d yet to share a goodnight kiss with him because he was liable to stay out until sunrise. Doing what, you’d rather not know.

With a weighty sigh, you decided you might as well pick a box and get started. Otherwise, this ridiculous maze of illegally shipped stolen goods would just go to rot in your foyer. And with your in-laws due in next month to visit your shell of a husband, you’d better try to clean up the mess.

You chose the box closest to you. It came up to your waist. As you ripped into it, you realized it was incredibly heavy, and you heard the unmistakable tinkling of glass on glass. You sliced the tape open with the boxcutter, marveling at how sharply the instrument cut into the flesh of the tape and cardboard. One of the first few nights after arriving back home, Lew had managed to stay at home and get drunk rather than do so out on the town. Somewhere between bottle three and four of the Chateau Rhone that you’d served at the reception, Lew had started to talk. Once he’d started, he hadn’t seemed willing to stop, as if he had one chance to pour out all the misery and regret and terror he’d accumulated in Europe. You remembered that at one point - one of his more lucid memories, when the slur in his words was light enough for you to understand him - he’d told you that he had seen a whole platoon of men shredded to ribbons by a Kraut tank. He’d recounted in excruciating detail how one of their fingers had landed on him, the blood and sinew drying on his uniform like an adhesive, and he hadn’t noticed it until the next day. You’d never seen anything quite so distasteful or violent in your life, but you imagined that it might be something like watching someone get sliced apart the way your boxcutter glided through tape.

With a shiver, you sheathed the blade and set the boxcutter aside to rip into the contents of the box. Tipping the heavy box sideways a bit, you spooned out the top layer of packing peanuts to reveal a familiar sight. Four corked bottles of wine sat at the top of the box. You stopped, staring down at the wine in the box in disbelief. This was the precious contraband that Lewis had spent thousands on to smuggle out of Europe? Fucking wine?

Your temper flamed to life with a vengeance. You pushed the heavy box over, letting loose a scream of frustration as you did. One of the bottles shattered as the box tipped over, a puddle of red wine staining the white marble floor. Once again, your mind flashed back to the war. Not to Lew’s memories, but your own. To the black-and-white films you’d seen in the theaters, to the newspaper clippings, to the reports that had come out of Germany about the death camps and the killing fields and the brutality of the war, to the letters your brother had written to you before his death at St. Vith. You thought of all the men you’d known who hadn’t come home - your brother Johnny, your childhood neighbor Tim Viens, your cousins Luis and Giovanni, the florist’s son from your hometown, your girl friend Jill’s fiance…

Your head was spinning and your blood was boiling as you summited the stairs to the darkened upstairs two at a time. When you flung open the door to Lew’s study where he’d taken to sleeping, you were seeing black at the edges of your vision.

Lewis fucking Nixon, you better wake the fuck up or so help me God I will strangle you in your sleep!

The words flew off your tongue faster than you knew what to do with. You’d never had a foul mouth, and you’d certainly never threatened your husband before. Despite his obvious hangover, he snapped to wakefulness faster than you’d expected him to. He regarded you with a wary, tired expression, and you wondered for a half second if he was going to ask you to make good on your threat.

Saints above woman, what is it? he demanded, reaching around the graveyard of beer and wine bottles strewn about the floor next to him. You noticed a particularly foul smell in the room at the same time you noticed the stain of vomit caked on one of the pillows he’d propped under his head.

The sight of your husband fumbling around for another drink at 2:30 in the afternoon with vomit caked on his cheek did something to you. You weren’t sure if the sight broke you or if it snapped you into form. Whatever it did, it took the wind out of the hateful words that had been boiling in your gut. You snapped your mouth shut as you became acutely aware that you had nothing left to say to him. You’d said it all already. You’d cried, threatened, screamed, pleaded, reasoned, demanded, and done just about everything you could think of in your power to bring Lewis Nixon back to something resembling sense. You weren’t without feeling - you knew that he wasn’t the only man who hadn’t fully come back from the front. Memories of your father’s glassy, empty-looking eyes flicked in your mind like a silent movie. Your father never really left the trenches, your mother used to say by way of explanation and apology. Some men just can’t come home after a war like that.

The last memory you have of your father was the sight of him leaned back in his chair, his head bent away from his neck at an unnatural angle, with a ghoulish bloodstain on his chest from the hole his pistol had left where he’d fired it under his chin and up into his skull. You’d found him like that when you were just six years old. At almost twenty six now, you were resolved never to see someone you love waste away like that again. Yet here you were, watching someone who’d once been your brash, fun-loving, hot-headed husband fade away like a ghost.

As Lew braced for what he felt sure was going to be a proper dressing down, you felt yourself deflate like a punctured balloon. Something final and irrevocable had happened in those few moments since you’d come running up the stairs, and you knew deep in your bones that there was no going back.

I’m leaving.

It was all you could say. Lewis looked over at you through slitted eyes, stifling down an acidic belch as he tried to figure out your angle. Usually your arguments started with much more heat than this, but he wasn’t sober enough to hear the goodbye in your tone.

After a few agonizing moments, he grunted at you by way of dismissal. Get me some Vat 69, while you’re out. Vat 69 was the only thing that Lewis Nixon had asked from you since he’d gotten back to the States.

You didn’t have the heart to answer him, so you just turned on your heel, letting the boxcutter that you hadn’t even realized you’d been gripping like a vice slide out of your hand and land with a thump on the carpet.

You descended the stairs with a strange buzzing in your head. You wondered if you should pack something, although you realized that all you really wanted to was to get as far away from the time bomb that was Lewis Nixon as fast as you possibly could. You called your mother from the kitchen phone. She didn’t need to hear you say the words to know what had happened. Come on home honey, she said gently. I’ll make your favorite key lime pie. The kind and simple gesture brought tears to your eyes.

After a few minutes to gather the essentials - your wallet, your pearls, your father’s WWI medals - you thought of one more phone call to make. A parting kindness, you thought, as you sifted through the Rolodex you kept next to the phone until you found the card you wanted.

The phone rang twice before a voice you knew well picked up.

Hello? Dick, it’s me, it’s y/n Nixon. Listen, you better come get Lew. He’s… he’s not well. And I’m leaving.

You didn’t wait for a reply before you clicked the receiver. If there was any saving of Lewis Nixon now, it wouldn’t be by you.

With one final glance at the house and the sad trove of memories it contained, you closed the door on your past and left, hoping that both you and Lew would find some corner of peace to spend the rest of your days.

Ronald Speirs Warnings: smut, sweet baby boy Speirs

Ron doesn’t even tell you that he’s coming home. You know it’ll be soon, and you’re waiting for a letter. None come. Years of waiting, years of him faithfully writing, years of dreaming and praying for this day. Now? Radio silence.

So when this man shows up at your door, his duty bag in one hand and his hat in the other, the first thing you can do is scream at him.

Ronald fucking Speirs! You didn’t fucking write me, I thought you were dead or lost or just done with me! Why didn’t you tell me! You fucking bastard, you utter fucking bastard!

You’re hitting him and screaming and tears are everywhere. Ron just smiles. You’re precisely how he remembers you. Better even.

He wraps you up in a hug, so tight that you can’t move. You’re still struggling, wiggling and sobbing into his shirt, trying to beat your fists against him.

When you feel him kiss the top of your head, it all just melts. Your knees buckle and instead of beating on him you’re clinging to him. Realization hits you in waves. Ron is home. Those are Ron’s arms around you. Ron’s voice murmuring into your ear. Ron’s breath on your forehead.

When you finally look up to him - eyes bloodshot, nose running, mascara streaking, cheeks tear stained and red - Ron smiles down at you. My beautiful girl, he says softly before catching your lips in a kiss. Everything breaks loose in that kiss. You practically want to crawl into his mouth. It’s all need: lips devouring each other, hands grabbing and nails dragging, tongues invading each other. Ron moans and you’re done, you’re a mess.

He knows. He pushes you across the doorway, his hat and duty bag long forgotten on the porch, lifts you up and carries you to the nearest couch, undressing on the way. He rips your blouse, knocks over one of your side tables when he kicks off his shoe, and almost drops you to let you rip off his belt.

Ron’s home to you when he slams inside of you. Your thoughts disintegrate as the two of you collide together, alternating between frenzied ferocious fucking and softer sweeter sensuality as lust, love, longing and whatever lives between those things rips open the walls you’d both built up around your hearts.

But Ron isn’t home until after, long after, hours even. The house is trashed, clothes and pillows and furniture disheveled and everywhere. You’re both in bed, exhausted from countless rounds of tangling, with dawn threatening. You’re asleep, and Ron’s watching you dream. There’s a small crease between your eyebrows, and you’re muttering. You look troubled; and he wonders if he should wake you. He can’t stand the sight of you in anything resembling pain. But then, suddenly, you roll towards him, your head settling on his chest and one of your legs slung over his.

Your face relaxes. You nuzzle into him. You sigh, a gentle smile on your lips. The crease is gone, your face smooth and peaceful.

He marvels. His head tips back against the headboard, looking down at you in awe as a distinct wave of content washes over and through him.

Ronald Speirs is finally home.

Carwood Lipton Warnings: just Lip and his perpetual angel-status <3

Lip is standing with the throng of men on the deck, watching as they pull into port. The crowd below is cheering and waving American flags, popping off champagne, and the women are waving handkerchiefs. There’s a band somewhere playing patriotic songs and jaunty marches. Home has never looked so good.

‘Ey, Lip, I think I see your girl

It’s Malarkey who spies her - why and how he picked her out so easily, Lip didn't rightfully know nor want to know. But Malarkey was right, there she was.

White ribbons in her hair, white dress on, white handkerchief waving. She’s craning over the other sweethearts and mothers and fathers, eyes combing the deck of the ship. Her expression - impatient longing - snaps Lip in two. How the hell did he ever leave that girl halfway across the world?

Carwood?! Carwood Lipton?!

He can’t hear her, but he sees her lips moving and he knows that she’s calling out his name. He doubts that any of the deck goers are having luck finding their men that way. The ship is alive with soldiers and airmen buzzing with excitement, calling out to the shore and cheering. The dock is no less vibrant, so the entire place is drowning in the sounds of joy.

Lip stares at her, unwilling to lose sight of her ever again. He vaguely registers the ship jolting to a halt at its berth, the enormous horn announcing the official arrival and, for all the men on board, the uproarious end to the war from Hell. Lip exchanges hugs, slaps on the back, firm handshakes with the men of Easy. It’s strange to have so many painful goodbyes at the same time as a long-awaited hello, but Lip knows he’ll see these men again. He can’t imagine life without them, just like he can’t imagine living without her.

The crowd of soldiers and airmen begins to move, a mass of jumbled emotions with a healthy sprinkling of joy. He watches as the first few men off the ship are swept up into the awaiting crowd as they step off the planks. He can still see her, a beacon of white. An angel, he realizes.

He shuffles forward with the rest of the disembarking ranks. The process is painfully slow, and he’s not close enough to call out to her yet. He tries to catch her eye with a few waves, but he can only imagine how many waving hands and beaming faces she can see at once. She’s almost passed him on the dock, and Lip feels himself losing patience with the slowness of the men around him. He contemplates yelling at the men to keep it moving or don’t stand at the end of the ramp, but he doesn’t. He can’t bear to ruin a moment of this, for anyone.

Suddenly, she sees him. Her hands fly to her mouth, tears welling in her eyes. That handkerchief blots at her face. She’s gone quiet; just staring at him, waiting. He waves at her, swallowing down the tears threatening in his eyes. She waves back, unsure whether to laugh or cry, so she ends up doing both. Once again, Lip wonders how he’d ever left her. He realizes he’ll never be able to again. He’s stuck to her like glue now, it can’t be helped. And he’s got his eye on a ring. He’ll buy it tomorrow, he decides. Maybe even today, if he can find a jeweler. No more wasted time.

The wait is agonizing. Every few minutes, she waves at him again, as if afraid that he’ll disappear like a ghost. He can’t stop smiling at her. He doesn’t notice, but the Easy men all softly agree that they’ve never seen this Lip before. A smile reserved all for her.

He steps off the ramp and she’s there, pushed through the crowd. He envelopes her in his arms as she peppers his face and neck with kisses. Soggy ones, from the tears. His or hers, anybody’s guess. She keeps repeating his name like a prayer and a plea. He holds her as she comes undone in his arms, body-wracking sobs and her head buried in his neck. He tells her it’s alright, I’m home and it makes her squeal with delight. Then they’re both laughing. He carries her a bit, not trusting her legs quite yet, and honestly unsure if he trusts himself to walk without her weight in his arms holding him to Earth. She babbles, he listens, she asks something, he talks. It’s easy - so easy - and Carwood Lipton feels himself stepping back into himself after so many years of being Lip and First Sergeant.

Her hand in his, they walk the streets of this strange town that neither of them are from, but yet somehow always find themselves feeling right at home. He has to squeeze her hand every once in a while to remind himself that she’s real, and he’s really here, and the war is behind him. All day and late into the evening, Lipton and his girl stroll together, two friends, two lovers, one very happy ending.

Buck Compton Warnings: cursing, references to alcohol abuse

No one’s there at the train depot when Buck gets home. His mother is tied up taking care of his baby sister and her new baby, sick with colic, and his dad is too frail to make the forty-minute trip by car to the station. And you’re done with him, as of Christmas time.

Some homecoming.

He wanders through the town’s sleepy Main Street, killing time before his brother-in-law’s shift ends at the munitions factory and he can pick Buck up. It’s a hot day, sweat runs down his back. It reminds him of Toccoa. He chuckles darkly, grateful that he’s not running up Currahee with Sobel’s sour puss hot on his heels. He’s grateful for a moment, but then he wonders if maybe those were the best days of his life, and he just didn’t know it. So far, the end of the war hasn’t brought much happiness his way. Maybe the best is behind him already.

He stops for a root beer float at the local soda counter. He brought you here for the first date. He still remembered that your lips tasted like strawberry milkshake later when he’d parked his truck in front of an empty cornfield and kissed you until he was dizzy. He knows he’ll never be able to order a strawberry milkshake again.

A couple of the old men sitting in the window side booths nod at him, one even pays for his tab. Buck thanks them but makes no move to engage in conversation. He’s not gloomy, exactly. Just lonely. He thinks about Joe Toye and Bill Guarnere, about the marrow-deep cold of Bastogne, and about just how far away he feels from the taste of strawberry on your tongue. Despite the scorching summer heat, he suppresses a shiver.

Buck’s sitting on a bench in front of the depot when his brother-in-law pulls up.

Hey Buck! Welcome home, buddy.

Thanks, Dickie.

His sister’s husband has a noticeable limp, one of his legs visibly wasted and bent at an unnatural angle from the knee down. Bike accident when he was six, kept him out of the war. From his sisters letters, Buck knows that Dickie’s been hitting the bottle hard after he got 4F’ed and told under no uncertain terms that he won’t fight for Uncle Sam. Buck can see the strain in Dickie’s smile, the dark bags under his eyes and the faint stain of gray at his temples. Buck feels about three decades older than when he left home, but Dickie looks it.

The ride home is quiet. Buck asks after his sister, Dickie asks after the war. Neither of them really listen to the answers.

When Dickie cuts the engine off in front of Buck’s parents’ place, the porch light is on and there’s a lamp in the front room window, shining merrily. Buck sighs deeply. He’d expected to come home to you, a little apartment somewhere. He’d planned on picking up his life from there, but instead he’s here, looking at a place he calls home without feeling at home. He thinks he might prefer a cot in Toccoa, or a hot cot on a transport ship, or maybe even a foxhole.

Aight Buck, you take it easy. I’ll see you ‘round. Make sure you stop in and see Kitty soon, she’s dying to see ya.

Sure, Dickie. Thanks for the lift.

The sun is setting fast behind the mountains. Cicadas are beginning to strum and the fireflies dance in the fields gone farrow behind the house. Buck climbs up the front steps, his duty bag slung over one shoulder.

Buck?

He freezes where he is, hand outstretched towards the doorknob. It can’t be… can it?

He hears the creak of the swing from the darkened corner of the porch as you stand up.

Welcome home, Buck.

It is you. Buck is still frozen, his upper lip beginning to tremble. He wished it were darker, wished the damn light was off so you wouldn’t have to see him like this. He feels the boards vibrate as you step towards him, hesitating at his side.

I’m sorry, Buck. I… I made a mistake…

A tear slips out. He swipes at it angrily. What the hell is he crying for? he wonders.

It’s just that Louise told me she read in a magazine that it’s harder for the men sometimes if they’re worried about someone back home and in your letters you were just always asking about me and how I was and what I was doing and I just knew that you were going through it, Buck, you know, I read the news and I knew you were right on the front lines and I started thinking about you being out there and distracted and what would happen if you lost your focus at the wrong time and you got shot or you got hit by a grenade or a sniper and I thought about losing you, Buck, and I just couldn’t, I couldn’t lose you, and I started to think maybe I needed to make it easier on you and I wrote you that awful letter and it was terrible Buck it was so bad and I hated writing it and I hated sending it but I convinced myself I had to and-

Buck silenced you by pressing his lips to yours mid-sentence. Whatever other explanations and apologies you had died in your mouth with a soft whimper, and suddenly your hands were traveling up his arms and tickling the base of his neck and you were sighing like you hadn’t really exhaled in months. Buck swallowed it up, kissing you deeply and gently. He didn’t know how to say that he didn’t care about all that, that all he wanted was you with him. The rest would work itself out. Buck knew from the war that if you surrounded yourself with good people, then you could get through anything.

He laughed when he tasted the strawberry milkshake on your lips. Smiling against your mouth, he broke the kiss and held you in his arms, his hands at the small of your back.

Why are you laughing you ask incredulously. Did you hear what I said? aren’t you mad? You hadn’t expected this reaction. In fact, you’d prepared yourself for Buck to be so furious that he wouldn’t even speak with you. It was less than half of what you felt you deserved.

Buck just shook his head, smiling to himself at a private joke. You wondered if he was laughing at how easily you fell for that kiss before he told you to take a hike and disappeared from your life forever.

Mad? He sounds incredulous, like that’s the most ridiculous question anyone’s ever asked him.

Yeah, Buck. I mean… I know I broke your heart.

He doesn’t deny it, just nods simply and looks deep into your eyes.

Don’t leave me again, darlin’, and I’ll consider it even.

You can’t reply because his lips are on yours again. All you can do is smile as you kiss your apology into Buck’s mouth until the sunset has faded and his dad calls out to the two of you to come inside already!

Bull Randleman Warnings: angst (you have been warned!!)

Something strange happened to Bull in the convent at Foy. He hadn’t expected it. But suddenly, there you were. Sitting in the back of his mind like an itch he just couldn’t scratch. His third grade crush from Ms. Wheeler’s class. And his eighth grade crush. And his prom date.

Bull grew up in a small town, and it had only gotten smaller to him since he’d left. Sometimes in quieter moments he’d wondered if he’d ever be able to go back home. He’d seen a lot of the world - granted, most of it with the threat of German artillery at his back - but still. His hometown felt so far away and so small that he couldn’t imagine fitting the size of his memories back there.

And yet, sitting there in the dim candlelight of that convent, listening to those angelic voices, that tiny podunk town was all he could think of. Why couldn’t he remember the name of that street, the one with the post office on it? And what was the name of those neighbors with the herd of basset hounds? He couldn’t recall what kind of flowers his Ma planted in front of the house, facing due east. Bull realized that he was forgetting home, and it opened a gaping wound in his heart.

One thing he did remember clearly was you. He hadn’t seen you in a long time, maybe not for months before he’d signed up for the 101st. You’d been working at the florist right off 1st Street the last he’d heard. Why he hadn’t looked in on you after high school, he couldn’t say. He’d been sweet on you back then, puppy love head-over-heels type stuff. You were his first kiss, his first date, his first of just about everything. Including his first love.

Somewhere along the way, Bull had gotten the hare-brained idea that he’d outgrown you. He’d stopped calling, stopped asking you out to the movies or to the diner. He remembered how he’d seen you out one night, his arm slung over some other girl that his buddy had set him up with. He remembered the way you’d stared with your lip shaking, your eyes welling with tears, before you’d practically run off into the Sears department store. Bull knew damn well you couldn’t afford anything in Sears; all of the money you’d ever made working as an English tutor and a nanny went to taking care of your eleven foster siblings. He knew you ran in there just to get away from him. At the time, he’d laughed about it. He’d told himself you’d be fine, you’d grow up eventually and get over it. He told himself that’s exactly what he’d done - grown up - but now he realized quite the opposite. He’d been intimidated by how much he’d liked you, how much he’d thought about you and worried after you and how scared he’d been when he’d realized that he wasn’t the only one who’d noticed you anymore. You with your hand-me-down dresses and your sweet, shy smile and your head always in the clouds of a romance novel. His buddies had commented on it, and suddenly Bull had felt jealous, insecure even. He’d hated it, and he’d run from it.

But that night in Foy, you were the only place his mind could land. You were all he thought of. And he’d promised himself that if he somehow managed to walk out of hell at the end of the war, that he’d ask you out again. Who knew what you were up to now. He thought he remembered his Ma make an off-hand comment that you’d started working at the hospital in the next town over, but he couldn’t be sure. But Bull knew you’d be back in that small town, probably just as sweet as ever. And if you gave him another chance, he’d never let you go again.

Three days after stepping foot back in the States, and Bill was standing outside your house in his Army dress uniform, a bouquet of orange lilies in his hands. He wondered if you’d remember that he’d gotten you those same flowers for your prom corsage. They’d stood out against the baby pink of your dress that you’d borrowed from your cousin. Every time Bull saw a sunset or a flower bed, he thought of you. In fact, there wasn’t much that Bull saw these days that didn’t make him think of you.

He knocked three times sharply on the door. Your house looked just the same as ever: the front porch sagged in the middle, the curtains drawn and stained, the paint peeling. There was a ruckus inside, and what sounded to be about a dozen kids all screamed out “DOOR!”

A severe woman with dark gray hair slicked back into a tight bun answered. Her mouth was a thin, straight gash and her eyes narrowed in something between distaste and disbelief. She glanced down at the flowers in Bull’s hands and at the sharp, crisply ironed lines of his uniform.

Mother Beatrice, Bull said with a slight bow. Not sure if you remember me, ma’am, but I-

I remember you. Randelman, right? You here for the girl?

Your foster mother looked older but her manner was as cold and loveless as ever. She never used names for the children she took in - just called them by various impersonal monikers. For some reason, yours had always been “the girl”. Bull wasn’t the only one who’d overlooked you.

He nodded, thinking that if Easy had Mother Beatrice in their ranks then Germany might have fallen about a year earlier. He’d have to be sure to tell you that. He was certain you would laugh.

I wondered if anyone would come Mother Beatrice commented as she shut the door behind her, muffling the sounds of screeching children. She walked down the front porch steps and turned towards the back of the old farmhouse without a backwards glance. Bull followed, his brow furrowing slightly at her cryptic comment. He figured you might have had a few pen pals on the front, some girls would do that sort of thing, write to strangers to try and keep their spirits up. He’d heard that some of the men had made a point to look in on their pen pals when they’d gotten back home. Maybe that’s what she meant.

She’s back here? Bull asked, taking in the sight of the rundown farmhouse-turned-orphanage and its weedy lawn. As long as he’d known you, he’d never known you to linger here. Too loud, no privacy you’d always told him. Bull usually found you in the library or a park bench. Somewhere quiet.

Mother Beatrice nodded, shooting him a strangely exasperated look. Course she is, where else would she go? The girl doesn’t have any other home.

Bull chewed his lip thoughtfully. He supposed that was true. Maybe things had changed.

Mother Beatrice led him around the backside of the dingy farmhouse, past a rundown chicken coop with a few mangy looking birds pecking at the dirt. There was a dilapidated stable off in the distance with one bony mare grazing on the tall grass and an overgrown vegetable garden. The tree line off in the distance looked ominously dark, like a line of guards sent to make sure the misery of this place didn’t spread.

Mother Beatrice stopped short, and Bull almost walked into her. There she is.

Bull looked around but didn’t see you. In addition to the forlorn horse, the garden and the coop, he noted a greenhouse missing more windows than it had and a towering oak tree reaching up for the sky as if running away from the unfortunate place it’d been planted. But no sign of you anywhere

Mother Beatrice looked at him intently for a moment, making Bull squirm in his boots, before sharply turning on her heel to leave. She called back to him at the base of the tree and vanished around the side of the house.

Alone at last, Bull looked at the shadowy trunk but didn’t see anything. Must be around the backside, he reasoned. He started walking towards the tree, but a strange quiet settled over him. Suddenly, his collar felt too tight and his chest felt hollow. Something wasn’t right.

As he approached the tree, he began to make out what Mother Beatrice was referring to. He could hardly believe his eyes, and with each step forward he felt his feet grow heavier as if his boots were filled with lead. About ten paces from the trunk, he stopped, unable to go any closer. His shoulders sagged and he felt the bouquet slip out of his hands.

There you were, your name staring back at him from the headstone.

Y/n Y/l/n October 11, 1924-January 9, 1945 Army Nurse Corps May she rest in the peace of the Lord

Bull wasn’t sure how long he stared at the stone. At your name. At the words Army Nurse Corps. Bull hadn’t known you were a nurse. He hadn’t remembered your birthday. He realized he’d been misspelling your last name this whole time.

Bull stood and stared until the light was almost gone from the sky. The sound of Mother Beatrice ringing a bell and calling out dinner! from the front porch jarred him out of his reverie. He hastily wiped the tears that had long ago dried on his face, feeling out of place and like an unwelcome intruder.

He left without saying goodbye. He did manage to tilt the bouquet against your headstone, and run his fingers over the cold edges of your name cut into the marble. He didn’t feel entitled to much else.

It wasn’t until he was home that night, deeper into a bottle of whiskey than a grieving man ought to be, when he realized something.

January 9th, 1945. The day you’d died. It was the same day he’d sat in that convent outside Foy, listening to that angelic choir, reminiscing about you and imagining a future that would never come to be.

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Still working on... Joseph Liebgott Doc Roe Maybe David Webster too? *let me know if you have any other requests

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