#have no idea if he would get along with anyone else

[gallusrostromegalus]

As someone a bit too young to have seen Bleach the first time around, AEIWAM is still consuming a crucial portion of my brain cells. So imagine my surprise when I looked up Tousen, the reason you started this behemoth of an alternate universe, on TV tropes.

Among other shocking revelations...

WHAT DO YOU MEAN, HE JOINED AIZEN OF HIS OWN FREE WILL IN CANON???? What do you MEAN, TITE KUBO, that the reason your Tousen wants to destroy the Shinigami is that his crush died of DOMESTIC VIOLENCE???

Who is this man and what has he done with my eternally suffering Tousen?

You understand why I had to take custody of this poor bastard.

I can respect what Kubo was going for- Aizen was right in the fact that Soul Society does suck, and the extended canon is that Tousen's crush was killed by her husband, everyone knew it, and nobody would prosecute the husband because he was a Noble. Canon Tousen is, more or less, suffering from the same kind of rage-based brainrot that is unfortunately so common these days- the idea that because a system is imperfect, or ever corrupt, that it's a good idea to tear the whole thing down/restart the universe (the real Path Of Least Harm is of course, the much more complicated and frustrating work of Dis-and-re-mantling the system piece-by-piece without leaving vulnerable people to fend for themselves, but that isn't as emotionally satisfying or fun to draw as senseless destruction, but I digress).

but his arc is only barely on the page at all, mostly after his death and contains one of the blandest and most obnoxious tropes- fridging- and the whole thing falls flat. It also fails to explore the FASCINATING angle of disability and tbh, racism in soul society- two VERY fucked up things that would very much justify his rage. But it's shonen and the series was deep in production hell at that point, and tousen was far from the only victim. I still don't know what the fuck Gin's deal was.

ANYWAY,

Notable changes between Canon!Tousen and AEIWAM!Tousen and some art under the cut:

Kakiyo is Kaname's adopted sister, and despite looking nothing alike, since they re-incarnated in soul society at the same time, they regard themselves as twins.

Kakiyo does kind of a lot in the plot before her demise- she's responsible for introducing Kaname and Komamura, teaches Zaraki and Yachiru how to read, and unintentionally helps Aizen by recommending him to be promoted to third seat in the 5th division, because she and Kiganjo were thinking about starting a family soon, and Aizen would make a good stand-in for her while she was on maternity leave.

She also gets to do a bunch of stuff after she dies too!

The characters in Tousen's name approximately mean "Necessary Scholar" and make an allusion to a legendary scholar from China who came to Japan to find the elixir of immortality for the emperor. He returns with an elixir that stops the emperor from aging, and the emperor kills him so he can't make anyone else immortal (the emperor doesn't age, but he's still vulnerable to stabbing, and gets stabbed). I thought that was an extremely fun literary allusion so I'm leaning into it- before he becomes a Shinigami, AEIWAM!Tousen took over the library run by his ans Kakiyo's adopted godparents, and ran a children's literacy program. he has a special interest in information sciences and educational methodology. even among nerds, he's a mega-nerd.

Kakiyo meets and marries Gosuke Kiganjo, who goes back to West 51 to meet his beloved's brother and the weird giant monk that runs the library with him. Kaname is immensely fond of Kiganjo, and has no qualms being the best man at their wedding. He and Gosuke are good friends for the first few years of the marriage, until Aizen gets his claws into Gosuke and slowly drives him insane.

In AEIWAM, Tousen is cursed into going along with the plan by Aizen. Aizen was just going to make Kiganjo kill him, but Gin is getting impatient with Aizen's hogyoku progress, and persuades Aizen into cursing Kaname into compliance instead with a Forbidden Bakudō: Kyuunodo — Ningyō Kugi Saiyaku (人形釘誓約, Puppet Nail Covenant)

I do keep the canon!Tousen's reputation for being pedantic, unecessarily critical and generally kind of boring. The reason for AEIWAM!Tousen's reputation is different: He is kind of a pain in the ass, because he is in Horrific Pain and Deeply Traumatized and that makes people irritable to say the least, and he deliberately cultivates a reputation for being Boring to keep people far, far away from him- and hopefully, far from Aizen as well.

An underrated bit of Canon!Tousen is that Suzumushi is not his zanpakuto. Suzumushi was Kakiyo's zanpakuto, and we see him take the sword from her coffin in the manga. Which is insane because it means HE ACHIEVED BANKAI WITH A ZANPAKUTO THAT WASN'T EVEN HIS. Dude is SEVERELY underrated as a swordsman. In AEIWAM, Suzumushi is still Kakiyo's zanpakuto, and only BARELY clings to life on the last reserves of the Spiritual power Kakiyo put into her before Kaname finds her. Suzumushi persuades him to take her up, enter the academy and bring Kakiyo's killer to justice (Suzumushi has fallen to Aizen's illusion and doesn't know who the killer is). She kind of glosses over how they bond, but she more or less crawls into his soul and supresses Kaname's native Yume-kon that would have been his own Zanpakuto spirit if it had been allowed to awaken. She did make an entirely new Shikai and Bankai for him- the chime that makes people lose conciousness is entirely new, the AOE of Just A Shitload Of Swords was Suzumushi's original Shikai. The Bankai of a space where anyone not touching the sword experiences no sensory input? Suzumushi made it first and foremost as a refuge for Kaname when the pain of the curse became to unbearable.

The biggest difference, of course, is that Kaname lives through the Aizen Arc and gets a Happy Ending: Once he wakes up after the battle, he is free, and chooses to marry the wolfman he's been in love with for centuries. Here's some art of them, finally home:

[juyeoz]

SOFT SPOT — HAN TAESAN

SYNOPSIS — To the eyes around you all, you and Taesan are enemies. You hate anything to do with each other and recoil at the mention of your names. However, behind closed doors, you two are completely different — inseparable. Clearly, Taesan and you will go to an extent to keep your relationship private.

PAIRING — fake-enemy-but-boyfriend!taesan x gn!reader

CONTAINS — kissing, corny love birds Likee i kinda recoiled when writing some lines, and literally just fluff.

WORDCOUNT — 1007 words

NOTE — soph sent that taesan pic and our lives were changed……..and this fic was born duhhh!!!!

“Absolutely not!” You exclaim and spin around in your chair after hearing a few words leave your superior's mouth.

Mr. Lee looks taken aback by your response. Yes, everyone knows about the ongoing battle between both Taesan and you, but your reactions to each other’s names being mentioned never fails to catch them all off guard. 

In the office, you and Taesan never get along. It's been this way since the beginning of your careers. 

Yes, you two have taken a liking to one another since you met, but you couldn’t let anyone else at work know about it, so you played it off as enemies. 

Well, you two at least pretended to want to do nothing with each other to make things less obvious. 

The “enemies” title was given by your coworkers.

Therefore, working with each other is never an option. You “can’t” even stand being in the same room as him, making working in the office a “terrible” experience.

“I won’t work with him.”

“Please, the two of you are the only free ones. We need this proposal by tonight.” Mr. Lee explains with a pleading gaze.

“Then I’ll work on it alone. I don’t need his help.” You say while collecting your scattered papers on the surface of your desk.

“That won’t do.” 

“And why is that?” 

You stack your papers into a pile and turn off your computer in a swift motion as Mr. Lee sighs from behind you.

“It’s too much for one person to handle. With his help, you’ll surely get it done.” He crosses his arms over his chest as you snicker.

Is he looking down on you right now?

“Whatever that means,” you begin and stand up from your seat, with your papers in hand. 

“I’ll work overtime. It can’t be that hard.”

Although it has only been three hours since you uttered those words, you surely are regretting them now.

There you sit, staring at a blank document showcased on your monitor. No matter how long you sit in silence, nothing is coming to your mind. 

Brain fog is after you, and clearly, it doesn't need to try so hard to catch up.

The longer you waited for something, a starting sentence, words — even an overall idea to come to your mind, the more and more workers left. The sun is starting to set, casting an orangey light on your belongings.

In distress, your hands pull at your strands as you let out a groan of frustration. 

You should have listened to what Mr. Lee suggested, but you couldn’t let your relationship become known.

Everyone is used to both you and Taesan rejecting any projects that have to do with one another, so, if you switched up, would they have questioned it?

It sucks, really. You want to spend time with your boyfriend at work, but there are too many eyes on the two of you. To be honest, you can’t even recall why you chose to keep your relationship a secret. It could be because of the awkward tension that would come if you two ever break up and everyone knew about it.

That is a possibility.

The only times you two interact romantically are in the break room when you coincidentally both end up there at the same time. The teasing glances that make your eyes lock with one another and break out into a smile. Or when he secretly leaves anonymous sticky notes on your desk belongings.

Other than that, there is nothing. However, despite that, things will be seen eventually. 

“What’s worrying your pretty mind, love?” A voice approaches you from behind, instantly calming your tense figure due to the familiar warming tone. 

It’s Taesan — your loving boyfriend and so-called workplace enemy.

“A proposal.” You inform as Taesan’s hands slide down from your shoulders and his chin rests on your head.

“Is it the one Mr. Lee suggested we do together?” He asks and you hum in response.

“Why’d you say no? I would be more than glad to help you.” 

“It’ll draw too much attention if I agree, no?” Your head begins to turn to look his way, causing him to rise from his resting position. He looks down at you and smiles while you look up at him.

“That’s too bad.” Taesan begins, then leans down to give you a short and sweet kiss on the lips, which you happily return. 

“If it didn’t, then I could’ve done that many times during work hours instead of after hours.” He teases while your face becomes slightly flushed.

“Why don’t I just help you now? I mean, there’s nobody around…” The boy suggests as your hands lower into your lap.

“Would you actually?” 

“Of course. Here, let’s have a food break first. You seem too overwhelmed by everything to even continue your supposed brainstorming process.” 

You roll your eyes at what he truly meant — your flustered expression — and rise up from your seat for him to lead the way to the break room. 

“A coffee will do?” Taesan questions and you nod. 

“That and your presence, of course.” You reply, giving him another kiss on the cheek once you reach his side.

“Hey.” He stammers out because of the sudden warmth on his cheek. Now, it’s his turn to be left a blushing mess.

“Only I can catch you off guard with a kiss.” He says and you laugh while interlocking your hand with his. 

Out of nowhere, his thumb rubs against the skin of your hand — a reflex he has whenever he intertwines your fingers with his own.

You hum at his words, pondering on his new sudden rule.

“Doesn’t that seem unfair?” Your brow raises as you say your question and look over at the boy interrogatively. Taesan looks back at you, holding eye contact with no signs of breaking it and smiles.

“Not at all.” Taesan replies to your question.

Best believe, after his words, you earned yourself another kiss on the lips for him to prove whatever point he had.

© JUYEOZ

BOYNEXTDOOR PERM TAGLIST — @ancnymcnzjy @miumura @ilovedallywinston @i03jae @borednia @s0shroe @leehanwish @sol3chu @en-dream @ribbeoms @itsactuallylina @macapunoz @hollxe1 @r1kification @mensisim @mydearyeseo @sunghxxnie @taesanfav @wonzzziezzzz @ijustwannareadstuff20 @tanghuyuj @ranjupotato @mimimimiaa @ningizuo @hyunjinslongasslegs

[clarkeyhill]

Eyes only for, you.| George Clarke

Fluff

The air was electric with the usual buzz of our friendship group—laughter, the clinking of glasses, and music that pulsed through the bar. But there she was again.

Sophie.

She had always been part of the group, a friend of a friend, and up until recently, she’d been just another familiar face. But now, something had shifted.

It started subtly. The way she dressed differently when George was around—her hair styled in a way I’d never seen before, her makeup more striking. At first, I told myself I was imagining it. But then came the way she spoke to him, leaning in just a little too much, her laughter a little too eager.

George, to his credit, never played into it. He was his usual charming, carefree self, friendly to everyone but never crossing a line. And yet, a feeling settled in my stomach like a weight—what if he just acts disinterested because I’m here?

Weeks passed, and her energy towards him flickered like a faulty lightbulb—sometimes distant, sometimes entirely too present. And then, on a night out, she made her move.

It started with playful touches, brushing her hand against his arm. Then, she danced erratically, laughing loudly, making sure he noticed. George, drunk and carried by the group’s energy, laughed along. Arthur Hill and Chris encouraged it, making it feel like some big, harmless joke.

I stood there, watching. My drink in my hand, my heart sinking.

George wasn’t doing anything outright wrong, but he wasn’t exactly shutting it down either. I tried to push the feeling aside, tell myself I was overreacting. But as the night wore on, it became harder to ignore.

The pit in my stomach grew heavier. I wasn’t my usual self, my mood shifting from lighthearted to withdrawn. I wasn’t laughing anymore, wasn’t engaging.

George noticed.

Pulling me aside, his brow furrowed, he asked, “What’s wrong?”

I hesitated, but then, what was the point in holding it in?

“It’s her,” I admitted, my voice quieter than I intended. “She acts differently around you. Like she’s trying to get your attention. And tonight, she—” I exhaled sharply. “I don’t know. It just doesn’t sit right with me.”

George looked at me, genuinely taken aback. “Wait… you really feel this way?”

I nodded.

His expression softened, and without hesitation, he said, “Why would I want to pay attention to anyone else when I have you right in front of me?”

The words settled in my chest, warm and certain.

I searched his face for any trace of doubt, any hint of guilt. But there was none—just sincerity.

Maybe I had let insecurity creep in where it didn’t belong. Maybe I had let the what-ifs cloud what was right in front of me.

George pulled me close, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “You don’t have to worry about anyone else. It’s always been you.”

And just like that, the pit in my stomach began to fade.

-

🫶🏻

Sorry for not posting! I have 0 ideas🙄

[kimoralov3]

click cute - 16

<- previous next -> | masterlist

your suitcase rolls behind you as you step into the air bnb, taking in your surroundings. being friends with sarah definitely had it’s perks.

“y/n, you’re here!” you hear a voice call from the top of the stairs. you remove your glasses with a smile, bracing yourself as sarah runs up and hugs you.

“sarah! oh my god, you look so good! fresh highlights?” you ask as you pull away, taking in your friend’s new look.

“of course. you know i had to look good for vacation.” she says as she does a little shoulder shimmy. you snort at that. she was really something else. “how was your flight? sorry i couldn’t go with you, i had to get here early to make sure everything was all good.”

“girl, you flew us first class. even if i did have complaints, you would not be hearing anything from me.” you say as you loop your arms together. she throws her head back in laughter, bumping her hip with yours.

“glad you enjoyed it. only the best for my girls.” she says teasingly before turning her head towards the stairs. “john b! come down here really quick!”

the sound of quick footsteps follow sarah’s call, along with the visual of a brown haired boy taking the steps two at a time. “oh hey, you must be y/n.” he says as he holds his arm out for a handshake.

“yeah, i am! it’s nice to meet the guy sarah won’t shut up about.” you say, causing sarah to playfully elbow you in the side. john b laughs at that, pulling sarah closer to him and slinging an arm around her shoulders.

“all good things, i’d hope.” he says as he presses a kiss to her head. as much as you hated to admit it in an attempt of solidarity with lex, the two of them were cute together. really cute together. 

“so, is anyone else here? or are we the first ones?” you ask as you grab hold of your suitcase once more.

“oh no, jess and jj are upstairs ‘blessing’ their room.” sarah says with barely contained laughter. you make a face of disgust, a hand coming up to your chest.

“ew, gross. please tell me my room isn’t right next to theirs?” you ask with a laugh.

sarah quickly shakes her head. “oh no, i could never do that to you. me, john b, and lex’s room is right next to theirs.” she explains. oh, thank god. you could not handle sleeping next to an overly “touchy” couple and— wait a minute.

“wait, you guys are sharing with lex? why?” you ask as you look between the two of them. god, let’s put those facial muscles to use to hide your shock at how bad of an idea this was.

“there’s only four rooms. we figured jess and jj would need their own rooms, and pope and rafe can’t share for some reason—” sarah starts.

“rafe complains about pope staying up all night to play his games, pope complains about rafe waking up at ungodly hours to do his in room workout routines or whatever.” john b intercepts as he scratches his eyebrow. there was definitely a story there. 

“so i’m rooming with pope?” you ask for clarification. judging by the look on sarah’s face, that was not quite the case. 

“no, actually. you’re uh, you’re rooming with rafe.” she says, looking anywhere but your eyes.

this was fine. it wasn’t a big deal. the two of you had made up or whatever, so you weren’t really mad at him anymore. but there was that whole thing about you possibly hearing him call you cute, so it was still awkward, as some people would say.

“that’s fine!” you say, pretending not to notice how high your voice had gotten. you clear your throat before speaking again. “so, does that mean pope is rooming with cleo and aubs?”

“oh, yeah. there really wasn’t anywhere else to put him. plus you know how aubs is, she goes to sleep pretty late anyways.” sarah says. she had a point; you had woken up to one too many 2 am text messages from aubree about any and everything that was on her mind. 

“well good luck to pope.” you say with a chuckle, ignoring that pesky feeling in the pit of your stomach. you were overreacting, really. it wouldn’t be that bad, or awkward, or weird or whatever to room with rafe.

right?

taglist: @arkofblake @ivysprophecy @murdockcastleslut @lmaowhatt @fruitcakerafe @ayy1234567 @freyawhitexxx1 @my-name-is-baby @baocean @yesshewrites1 @gxuxhdjdu @cyberkitty1 @hypnotizedstarkey @eddxemxnson @amterasuu @bee-43 @dreamybabbyy @hello-therree @marleymarleymarleymarley @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @starsval @cali-888 @chalametlover444 @uarmyhopeworldwide

[caffinated-squid]

Jerry Stokes and the consequences of inaction in The Eltingville Club

Time to talk a lot about the last character in the crew, Jerry Stokes. A couple of quick things before getting into some lukewarm observations, this is not me trying to morally grandstand about a character actually being bad, this is The Eltingville Club, all of your faves are problematic. This is just about how his role feeds into the environment, and because I am not satisfied with only going over a list of bad things Jerry has done in the comics and want to go into why he is like this. I have seen a handful of people already go into his toxic behavior, so this is my attempt to contribute. To summarize, Jerry is both the support and doormat of the group. Even though all the characters rip on each other for their interests, Jerry is usually the main target. He is also the character that attempts to break up a lot of the arguments/feuds that the characters have. However, Jerry never actually fixes the problems present in the group, the most he does is postpone the terrible actions, but still goes along with whatever happens. I call Jerry the support of the group, but only by a slim margin. Like Pete, he has the tendency to enable the clubs behavior, but in his case, it’s by his lack of action rather than exacerbating the conflict.

Jerry’s main concern in the club is avoiding conflict. If he prevents the club from arguing, he won’t lose his friends. But because of that, it leads to a refusal to challenge any of the groups bad ideas. The Eltingville club has cultivated an environment where they all need to have the same opinion, and anyone who doesn’t is wrong or stupid and not a real fan. So the most that Jerry can do is just meekly suggest that something is a bad idea, but because he is also the doormat of the group, and isn’t really going to stop them, his protests can easily be ignored by the rest of the club.

Jerry ends up becoming both a bystander as well as an enabler, which has the tendency to get looked over because characters like Bill, Josh, and Pete are more blatantly toxic and destructive, so Jerry’s behavior usually goes under the radar in comparison to the rest of the clubs.

**The main reason the club will actually listen to Pete when he tells them to cut it out is because he backs up his threats, he will follow though if they don’t listen to him.

Jerry’s tendency to postpone conflict also comes with the result of refusing to call out any of his friends for their terrible behavior. He has almost never defended Josh even though the entire group bullies him for being fat is because it’s been normalized. From how bad arguments tend to get and how no one in the club takes Josh’s concerns seriously, he probably just writes it off as playful jabbing rather than bullying. Even with something like Bill making the Greedo-318 account to tell Josh to kill himself and telling Jerry to keep his secret, Jerry’s main concern is not wanting to lose his friends. He wants Bill to like him, because if Bill still likes him, the club can still exist. Jerry already has a lot of anxiety about the club breaking up, so revealing this would do nothing but add more conflict.

From what I can tell, the characters live in the suburbs. Eltingville is a tiny town with not much to do. None of them have a drivers license so they can’t go anywhere by car, days are monotonous, and the only place that holds any of their interest is a shitty comic book shop. I mention this because in this environment there is the need for community, even if that community is terrible, because it’s better than being alone. It is established that the club takes up a majority of all of the characters time, so outside of this group, there isn't really anywhere else for Jerry to go to.

Even if Jerry was able to make new friends, I have the feeling that the rest of the Eltingville Club would probably try to sabotage any attempt, considering that they spread rumors about him going around telling people that he fucked Agnes Zawatsky to reel him back into the club.

Misery loves company, and even if Jerry is the main punching bag of the group that the characters put most of the blame on, he can't leave, because they are The Eltingville Club, and its always them against the world.

[mxtantrights]

Beggin' on my knees, baby won't you please

paring: Johnny Storm x fem!reader a/n: okayyyy so like I watched the trailer like everyone else and remembered how much of a crush I had on the human torch. and I would say that while writing this I could envision both the new and old castings so you can read it as who you want! I might come back to this with another piece or two. (I write with a black reader in mind but this piece doesn't specify race, only gender)

Johnny Storm has stopped at almost nothing to get you to go on a date with him. He's persistent, he's flirty, and most dangerously he's not too far off from his goal.

You had been Sue's intern since you took her class a couple of years ago at the university. She had seen in you what she knew she had in herself when she was a student. The grit, the knowledge and the courage to ask why.

She took you under her wing fairly quickly. You found her to be more of a friend than a boss. She always listened to your ideas, though she never played favorites. And she valued your input on important things.

Such as the specs for the flight she, Reed, Ben, and Johnny would be on in the coming months.

You don't really have time to be going on dates with anyone, let alone with Johnny, when you were going to be sending him along with the others into space. It kept you up at night sometimes. If your calculations were triple checked. If you had tested every hypothetical.

That is why for the past week you've been avoiding Johnny. If you see him in the caf, you go the other way and get lunch from outside. If you see him hanging around your lab you wait him out. You're quick to leave with the other workers so he won't offer you a ride.

It's been going well.

Up until now.

You manage to take another peek into the lab. The glass window that appears across from your desk. And there he is. He's sitting in your rolling chair, waiting for you. He's playing with some sort of pen. rolling it between his fingers.

If you avoided him now, he would know for sure. And you have to get to work on a quick fix on confirming the materials needed for the rocket's fins.

With about as much confidence as a cactus in a ballon party. You roll your shoulders back and tug down the white coat that shrouds you. Then you walk over to the door.

As if he's got a heightened sense, he looks up at you as you step through the threshold. You duck your head down and walk over to him. On his face is a growing smirk.

He leans back in the chair, leaning a bit, meaning he totally un-stabilized it. You'll have to re-stabilize it once he's gone.

"Where've you been?" he asks.

You huff a bit at that. As you make it over to your desk you see that's he's rearranged some stuff. You make to move past him but he just rolls with you.

"Johnny, I've been around." you answer finally.

"I know, but just not around me. Which is a same." he pouts.

You chortle, "Oh my god. You can't be serious with that one."

"About as serious as you avoiding me, Specs." he says.

You rolls your eyes. There goes that nickname. To this day you still don't understand why he calls you that. You don't wear your glasses all the time. So what gives?

"I'm just trying to get everything right, Johnny. You are going to space in a few months." you explain.

Johnny opens his legs wider and rolls the chair closer to you. At this angle he's looking right up at you. It's warm and fucking dizzying and you have to remind yourself that even though it feels like the two of you are the only ones in the lab, there are other people here. Your coworkers. His coworkers.

Sue's coworkers.

"I know, but I miss seeing my favorite girl." he admits.

And it shouldn't like it does when he says it. Like he's sharing a secret with you in the middle of the night. Like he's telling you something that is treasured and safe. If only you could tell your stomach that.

"I want you to get to and from space safety, Johnny. If I hang out with you I'll worry myself about it." you confess.

Johnny nods his head, "Okay give me a day then."

"A day for what?" you ask.

"A day where that stress is less. A day where you don't itch to be sitting at this desk and working out things in that beautiful mind of yours." he continues.

The truth is there is no day that is less stressful for you. At several points in each day since this project was announced and your name was attached, you've felt the stress of it. While cooking dinner at home. While doing laundry. While trying to get sleep so that you could get to work.

It's always there.

It's going to be there until the crew comes home from space.

You can't let Johnny know that. He has his own things to worry about. You would hate to add to his plate.

"Sunday." you answer simply.

He nods his head again. And with a smile he gets up from his seat in your chair. It's slow and agonizing how he seems to go from looking up at you to being eye level with you. His gaze never leaving yours as he does.

"I'll see you Sunday." he adds.

[shoot-i-messed-up]

Clark didn't like Hal??? what dis?

It’s this fic idea I had where I pretend as if there’s some actual friction between early JLA days Clark and Hal—and then explore how that friction might have come to be between those two very agreeable people and how they might come to resolve it. Basically, they get stuck in a place somewhere and have to air out their grievances & bond over having to control such limitless power and what that means for both of them.

It’s kinda been left to collect dust because I had a couple of good pages in my head and then…moved on to greener pastures, I guess. Shrug

But anyway!! Here’s a snippet:

“So,” said Hal, looking expectantly at Clark, “what gives?”

Clark frowned. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Okay, it’s not like I really wanna sit down for a talk about feelings or whatever, but come on. It doesn’t take the world’s greatest detective to see clearly, there’s some sort of reason why you don’t like me.”

Clark looked up at Hal, surprised. “I don’t dislike you,” he said quickly. A little too quickly.

“Yeah right,” Hal said with a visible roll of his eyes behind his mask’s seamless white lenses. “You’re jumping for joy at the prospect of spending an indefinite amount of time with me in an enclosed space.”

“That’s unfair. Anyone would be worried about being imprisoned,” Clark said.

Hal raised an eyebrow. “Okay, so you admit that you don’t like me.”

The thing was, Clark didn’t like Hal.

But he didn’t…not like Hal.

Clark certainly didn’t have any reason to dislike him, not like Bruce, who regarded Hal as the reckless and needlessly flashy antithesis to Batman, or Diana, whose heartbeat tripped in grief everytime Hal said or did something a little too like Steve Trevor, or even J’onn, who carried a justified simmering resentment against the Guardians and, by extension, the Green Lantern Corps for what they did to his people.

For his own part, Hal was actually pretty polite, if distantly so, with Clark. He was, in fact, probably more polite to Clark than he was to any of the other members of the League. Of course, Hal was much closer to his friends, Barry and Oliver and Dinah, but weirdly enough, he deferred to Clark a lot of the time, whether that was following his orders in the field or hushed down at meetings when he was making snarky asides to his seatmates, where with others, he would argue, flirt, or joke.

It was…odd, that Hal singled Clark out like that. Clark grew up in rural Kansas, where Midwest Nice reigned the dominant conduct toward strangers and friends alike, so he shouldn’t have found it strange, but Hal was a Californian bred true and blue. It shone in how he teased and cussed and took up with the most amount of space possible—with everyone else, that was, except for Clark.

It could just be plain old simple respect. But Clark’s journalistic instinct told him it wasn’t—not when he knew that when they thought nobody would notice, Hal and Bruce would do little check-ins with each other after a mission. For the two most antagonistic and argumentative members of the Justice League, they seemed to understand each other on a level that wasn’t deeper than what Clark had with Bruce but was…somehow, different. But Clark knew Hal respected Bruce, and Bruce, begrudgingly, respected Hal; so whatever Hal had for or against Clark, it wasn’t respect. It was simply…distance.

So…yeah. Clark and Hal each held each other at a distance, and it was fine. And he didn’t even mean it in the way that Batman would grunt out after taking a heavy hit that was most definitely not fine, Clark really meant that it was just…fine.

It’s not as if it created any discord within the Justice League, this little disconnect between two out of the nine members. Hal was far from a social pariah, considering how much he got along with the other half of the League.

Clark was content to let sleeping dogs lie, but it seemed Hal wasn’t.

“I don’t dislike you,” Clark repeated, willing his voice to be firmer this time.

[izloveshorses]

surprise! *chapter 2's your dash*

the sex isn't as rough as the previous chapter, but it's still pretty intense lol. this clocked in at 8k, so i recommend reading on ao3, but you're welcome to read it all under the cut :)

They held hands the entire walk to the hotel, which Anya felt the gesture to be rather charming and innocent. 

The lobby was a bit busy, with women in furs and men holding cigars milling about, with chatter and clinking dishes echoing from the restaurant. Dmitry was at her side, was practically her shadow, while they waited for the lift. Earlier he had been all rough hands and biting teeth, but now his touch was gentle, light as fresh snow. Even so… his hand never once left her lower back. Rubbing in soft circles, fingers reaching over the side of her rib cage and down her hip bone, he was protective, possessive. A warning to anyone within sight who might’ve thought to ask this young lady for a promenade along the Seine: she had already given her heart to someone else. 

It wasn’t cloistering, either. He wasn’t caging her in or preventing her from stepping away. But his touch, the unspoken message that her nearness was wanted, that someone craved her for once, was a soothing change, after years of fending for herself on her own. Someone had her back. 

His hand had slid up her spine between her shoulder blades to the base of her neck, massaging her gently, by the time the lift was available. They filed inside and closed the heavy cage doors shut, and as soon as the button to their floor was pushed Dmitry was on her, hands on her hips and his lips spilling from her mouth down the side of her neck, his solid body warm against her back. Anya had to bite back a smile. 

“I seem to have activated something in you,” she sighed. He half laughed and half rumbled into her neck. 

“You have no idea.” 

To think he had been indifferent towards her mere hours ago. Earlier she had been seething for a fraction of his attention, now he was almost giving her too much. Now he was practically worshipping the ground she walked, hands and lips and eyes reverent and pious. A man on his knees. 

She managed to push open the cage doors of the lift without removing her mouth from his. They stumbled down the hallway, giggling softly when they bumped into a wall. “Dmitry,” she murmured, trying to get him to listen while he nosed at her jaw. “Do you have the key?” 

“Check the pocket.”

She still had his jacket draped over her shoulders, so she peeled her hands away from his chest to dig for the key. It took them both a couple of tries to get the door unlocked, but they eventually made their way through the entry of their suite, finally in the privacy of their own space, not bothering with the light switch. Dmitry had his back to the door and his hands cupping her face, and lord help her, they could barely stay standing upright. 

“Your room or mine?” Dmitry asked between kisses. She pushed his face away so she could get a word in. 

“Mine,” she answered, “because the view is better.”

He rumbled another laugh against her, wordlessly agreeing. They shuffled slowly in the vague direction of her bedroom, refusing to part, which was ridiculous, considering it was taking them way longer than if they would just stop and focus on getting there for a few seconds. Dmitry tripped on the side table by the chaise in the common area and laughed. 

“I feel drunk,” he whispered. 

“Are you?” 

“No. Just on you, if that’s possible.” 

Anya rolled her eyes at his flattery, but kissed him all the same. 

They managed to kick her door open and shut, and she let his suit jacket slip from her shoulders to the floor in a heap. He grinned with half his mouth, delighted to have more skin to explore, pressing soft kisses on her shoulder, ghosting over where he had left a purple mark earlier, and he slowly kicked off his wingtips. She was just about to work on unbuttoning his clothes when he suddenly broke their kiss with his hands on her wrists. 

“Wait, wait wait—” Dmitry lifted his face away from reach and she whined, trying to pull him back down, standing on her toes. Why must he use his height against her? “Before we get started,” he was breathing hard, “is— is there anything you don’t want from me?” 

Her eyebrows pulled together, confused by the question. Or rather frustrated he had halted in the middle of this just as things were getting interesting. 

“I don’t want to do something that you don’t like.” 

Oh. He was giving her a chance to draw some hard boundaries, then. Before they were too wrapped up in the throes of passion to properly object to something. She hadn’t considered the possibility of him asking that, it took her a little off guard. She was flooded with memories of past experiences where men didn’t ask her anything, they just took what they wanted and left her in a pile in the street. But this overwhelming wave of gratitude, of affection, for Dmitry, the selfless and adoring boy pressing gentle and patient kisses to her wrist, swelled so big in her chest it washed away all of the fear and doubt. And that made her brave enough to voice these boundaries. 

“Nothing from behind,” she whispered quietly, thumb brushing his cheek. He nodded right away and she appreciated him not asking for further details. “And nothing in the back.” 

He pressed another kiss to her wrist, hand holding her close, eyes earnest and honest. “Is that all?” 

She bit her lip, trying to think. “I don’t think you would do this, but don’t, like, actually choke me.” 

He grinned, bumped his nose with hers. “I wouldn’t dare.” He brushed his mouth over her lips. “Unless you ask.” 

She grinned back. His hand was just wrapping around her hip with intent to resume when she asked, “What about you?” 

He blinked, pulling his chin into his neck in what appeared to be surprise. “I… don’t know.” 

“You don’t know?” 

“I just— no one has ever asked me that before.” 

She cupped his cheek, a wave of sorrow washing over her for him. His eyes weren’t sad, but he was looking at her with a vulnerability she would never have predicted he could possess. God, they were the same. “If you think of something,” she murmured, “let me know, okay?” 

His lips tilted and he nodded, “You’ll be the first to know.” 

She laughed a little, tipping her mouth open for another kiss, and just like that they resumed where they left off, with renewed vigor and even more passion than before. Maybe it was because they trusted each other now more than ever. Maybe because they were more fond of one another than they were of anyone else. 

Dmitry folded his fingers in her hair, helping her remove all the clips and pins holding it up, just as eager as she was to keep moving forward. Just as it fell in heavy curls over her shoulders he pushed it away, as if annoyed his access to her neck was interrupted. And then he used this as a new means of angling her head where he wanted her, kissing down her throat and humming. 

Anya fumbled with the buttons of his vest, blindly tugging at his necktie. When he wouldn’t cease his mission of mouthing at every square inch of her neck possible, she shoved him back a bit, so she could get a clearer grasp on everything keeping his goddamn clothes together without him getting in her way. He laughed but got the message and removed his vest for her and lifted his tie over his head. Her fingers hooked on each of his suspenders and pulled them off his shoulders one at a time, zealously yanking them down his legs. When his trousers were gone, halfway bare in front of her, she pushed at his shoulders until he was sitting on the edge of the bed, boiling over with impatience. He let out another laugh at her insistence.

His amused grin fell into complete awe and arousal when she carefully reached under her skirts and smoothly slid her panties onto the floor, stepping out of them one foot at a time, watching him the whole way. 

His eyes followed the movement without daring to blink. “Fuck, Anya…” his mouth was practically watering, his hands grabbing at the fabric of her skirt at her hips, “you don’t know what you do to me.” 

She smirked, propping her foot on his knee so she could start unclasping her kitten heels, his strong white thighs tensing. “I think I’m getting an idea.” 

His hand dutifully wrapped around her calf, tossing the shoe away with glee when that was done. And he did the same with her other leg when she worked on the opposite shoe. His fingers sliding up her leg sent pulses of heat through her, but when he reached her thigh he gave her a sharp and short tug, making her cling onto his shoulders and throw her other leg over his hip, straddling him. He mirrored her smirk. 

A dance. That was all this was. They were dancing. Give and take. Tease and reward. Forward and back. 

She let her mouth hover over his while she worked on the buttons of his shirt. His hands roamed at her hips, bunching up her skirts and sliding up the bare skin of her thighs. And then with exaggerated grandeur he tossed his shirt away and his bare arms came around her back, mouth capturing her smile, all before she could really get a chance to take in the view. 

As he kept kissing her— and kissing her, and kissing her, and kissing her— his hands were searching a little more intently now, gliding up and down her back, her sides. He finally found the clasp holding her dress together and she broke apart from him with an inhale. 

“Hold on—” she breathed, holding his wrists. He was breathing hard but he met her eyes. What was the best way to word this? “Whatever…” Anya decided there really wasn’t a delicate way. “Whatever tried to— whatever happened to me left some pretty nasty scars.” 

His eyes flicked over hers in question. 

“I just… don’t want that to turn you off.” 

His lips twitched. “Nothing about you can turn me off.” Her hands found the side of his face. “Can I see?” 

She nodded, even though she wasn’t sure if he would still want her after seeing how torn up she was. How someone had chewed her up and spat her out again. Slowly his hands found the fastening of her dress, and she helped him pull it open and off of her. He took his time working on the laces of her brassiere, expression serious and hard to read, fingers stroking the bits of marred skin on her stomach. And then she was completely bare in front of him, the air biting at her exposed skin. He looked like he was drinking her with his eyes. 

For a long time he didn’t say anything, just ran his hands up and down her sides. “Does it hurt to touch?” he asked softly. She shook her head. His fingers gently traced over the few marks on her ribcage and abdomen. Whoever had patched her up had been in a rush, sewing her skin back together with haste, leaving lumpy, ugly stitches. Some were round and small, some were short and narrow, and others were long enough to stretch from her chest down to her navel. 

She was just about to apologize for completely dousing the mood when he finally murmured, “Someone really wanted you dead, huh?” 

For some reason that made her laugh. He always knew what to say, how to get her to lighten up, even at this. “I guess so.” 

“Do you remember…” 

She shook her head. “I don’t know if I was in some accident, or if… or if…” 

He wet his lips, still studying her. “Goddamn,” he whispered. “You’re not just strong, you’re…” he lifted his eyes up at her, “I think you’re fucking invincible.” 

She shook her head, thinking he was joking again. “Dmitry—” 

“I’m serious, look at this,” he brushed his thumb over one of the short scars on her stomach, “someone stabbed you here, with a knife or maybe even a bayonet, because up here,” he touched the little round marks up near her shoulders and the top of her breasts, “are bullet holes.” His fingers traced down the longest scar. “You’re a fucking miracle, Anya.” 

She tilted his chin up with her fingers so he would look at her. “How do you know…”

Before she could even finish her question, he lifted his undershirt over his head. And— her breath caught. Though he didn’t have quite as many as she did, there were several scars scattered about his front like constellations in a sky. Her hands found his skin without thinking. Yes, he was right, he had a stab wound on his side, cuts here and there on his abdomen, bullet holes in his shoulder and on his bicep. She swallowed, a little overwhelmed.

Their eyes locked. You. You’re just like me.  

Her mouth crashed into his and his arms pulled her close, their fronts flush, marred skin on marred skin. She had always felt some sort of connection with Dmitry, an innate kinship and understanding, but now she felt closer to him than ever before, on some strange and mystic level, like their very souls recognized each other. 

He clearly felt the same. He was still handling her with strong, deliberate hands, but there was a reverence to his touch now, not quite a gentleness but something she might’ve even called love. 

“You had me worried for a sec,” he whispered, gasping a little when her hips ground against him. “You’ve never been shy around me before.” 

Anya was exploring all his skin with her hands, folding her fingers into his soft hair, almost driven mad with want. “I wasn’t shy. I just— didn’t want you to see me differently. Like I’m nothing more than a collection of scars.” 

“I don’t even see— them, I just see you.” He caught his breath and, like he couldn’t wait any longer, he rolled them over so she was flat on her back, handling her with ease and gentleness, eyes raking over her slowly, like he couldn’t believe how much she trusted him. He wet his lips. “I just see you.” 

Her hands held the side of his face, trying to steady her breath. Trying not to let her heart get too carried away. 

What had happened? Where was the man who had angrily fucked her in a dirty alleyway outside of a nightclub hardly an hour before? Who was this person? Soft and sweet and attentive Dmitry, who would never let her go to bed without feeding her even on their worst nights, who blushed and fumbled with his words when she tried on her first new dress in the city, who held her close while she sobbed on a train, who was tracing up and down each and every one of her scars with his mouth. 

“Who made you feel unlovable, hmm?” he hummed, his voice rising to that sanguine condescension he had murmured in her ear outside earlier, the memory of which had her blushing fierce. “Some fuckwads who don’t know how to take care of you?” 

Ah, there he is. He was playing that same game again, now. “Yes.” 

His tongue lapped at her nipple, just once, making her breath catch in surprise. “Need me to kiss it better?” 

She nodded before she could even think, too caught up in the anticipation of him. “Need you.” 

His mouth engulfed her breast, sucking softly, like a starving man. Her nails ran up and down his shoulder blades. “Don’t need anyone else,” he was muttering, mouth muffled by her flesh. “M’make you feel good.” His mouth moved over her other breast, giving her the same devoted attention, before running down her stomach, tasting every inch of her. “Won’t let anybody hurt my girl anymore.”

She hummed, basking in his ministrations. Running a hand through his hair, she said, just to get him more worked up, “Do you think the other gentleman from tonight would’ve given me the same treatment?” 

He snorted, angry and amused by the suggestion at once. “That fucker?” He nipped at her side, just above her hip bone, in retaliation, no doubt leaving yet another mark for him to find later. “Bet he couldn’t get you this hot and bothered. Not the way I do. He wouldn’t take care of you properly.” 

Dmitry manipulated her legs, pushing them wide open with firm hands, studying every last inch of her. And Anya let him. She was limp in his hands, putty at his fingers. She couldn’t help it. Somehow he had rendered her useless with anticipation. 

“You fought me every step of the way out there,” he smirked, commenting on how pliant she was for him, “but now you’re practically melting for me.” 

She laughed. “I think I’m just waiting to see what you’ll do.” 

Dmitry sighed heavily, dropping another kiss. “Need me that bad, huh?” Anya pushed herself up so she could look down at him, run her hands through his hair. She quite liked the sight of him on his knees for her, like this. His face tilted towards her wrist. “Need more attention?” 

She cupped the side of his face, her other hand propping herself up. “You need to make up for how long you’ve been ignoring me.” Her thumb brushed the inside of his lower lip. Earlier when he had done the same thing to test the waters she had nipped at him, but now his tongue swiped at the pad of her finger and his lips willingly closed around the digit, happily and dutifully sucking gently. That surprised her so much she could feel her face warming to the roots of her hair. 

He smirked, devilish. “You really thought I hadn’t been paying attention to you…” He brushed his fingers over the bruises he’d left on her thigh earlier tonight, as if reminding her what he was capable of, then curiously mouthed at the flesh there and bit down, making her hiss, “when I’ve actually been enamored with you for months.” 

He kept kissing her skin but ignoring where she needed him most, and her breathing shallowed. “Prove it.”

He yanked her hips with a sharp tug until she was hanging off the edge of the mattress, his hands under her ass propping her up while he kneeled, and she gripped the bed sheets tight and bit back a shout when he plunged his face between her legs. Some of it felt a little premeditated. Like he had been wanting to do this, specifically, for a very long time. He ate her out as would a beggar at the feast. With hunger and love and desire and glory. 

“Dima—” she grunted, gasping. “Are you— are you gonna be mean again and— stop before I’m—”

“No no,” he shook his head. “Want you to come all over my face this time.” 

Anya could manage that. 

He was relentless, devouring her. There was no rhythm to it either. Just a man indulging his whims. When he nipped her— he nipped her, just once, the bastard— she hissed a curse and tried moving her hips, but he held her still, her thighs over his shoulders and heels pressing into his back. It was overwhelming. And it should’ve been embarrassing, but. Here they were. 

“Look at me,” he whispered against her. She fought to open her eyes, lift herself up onto his elbows, if only to get him moving again. “Look at me.” 

His dark, beautiful eyes stayed locked with hers, unblinking, while his mouth engulfed her again. And that was all it took, apparently. Because the coil that had been tightening within her snapped and her spine was arching off the bed and everything in her was shaking and on fire. 

He didn’t let up, still mouthing and licking and sucking, and wouldn’t stop until she had to weakly push him away. Her head fell back against the mattress, breathing ragged, eyes heavy. She could still feel his breath fanning on her, like he was thinking about doing that again, somehow, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted that or not. But all he did was press soft kisses on her thigh instead and carefully remove her legs from his shoulders. 

The action made her peel her eyes open and angle her head to look down at him. His mouth was parted, panting hard, fighting and failing to keep a smirk from splitting his face. 

That pissed her off. 

“Come here,” she grumbled, pulling his hair. 

That activated him enough to get him off his knees, one hand propping himself on the bed, hovering over her, his head dipping willingly to meet her kisses halfway. Her fingers threaded through his hair on the back of his skull, and he guided her leg to hook around his hip, then her other arm around his neck. He was rubbing himself between her legs, hips rocking just enough, all hard and enthusiastic and everything she could ever want, and she thought— dear god, he could take her right here, even though he had just given her every bit of attention she could ask for. Breathing was a little difficult for more reasons than his tongue in her mouth. 

But then he pulled his face away slightly, smiling like a mischievous child, and with an exaggerated suddenness he lifted her completely, making her laugh in surprise. She clung onto him tighter but he held her in his arms without a bit of trouble. “How’d you get so strong?”

“What do you mean?” he quipped. “Forging papers is hard work.” 

Anya laughed again. All Dmitry did was move her up the bed a bit, but he was holding her so easily, so effortless, handling her with intention and care. Once again, what a contrast to the man who had fucked her outside earlier. She couldn’t decide which she liked better. 

He kept kissing her as she settled, her head and upper back propped up on the pillows. Until he said softly, “I’m gonna fuck you now.” 

The bluntness made her snort. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He was nudging her knees apart with his own. “You ready?” 

“Wait, just—” she put a hand on his chest, stopping him, “just hold on a second.” 

He met her eyes. Her hand ran up and down the side of his face, trying to memorize him, trying to memorize this. There was something special in the way he was looking at her, adoring, and she didn’t want to live another day without committing it to memory. She lifted herself to press a kiss to his mouth. “Okay. You can fuck me now.” 

He grinned. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He was adjusting himself, holding his weight on one elbow. “We’re gonna have to work on your vulgarity before you meet the dowager.” 

She was impatiently pulling at the flesh above his hips. He was taking too long. “I really don’t want to talk about that right now.” 

“What do you want to talk about?”

“I want—” she choked mid-word. He was pushing his way inside her, in and out, and she entirely lost her train of thought. He smirked. “Fuck you.” 

He kissed her then, nudging further into her, until he was seated all the way. “You already are, sweetheart.” 

Fuck him. Fuck him! Fuck, fuck—

“What do you think? Should we go nice and gentle this time?” His hips rolled slowly, almost lazy. But then he thrusted once, so hard and deep her breath caught in her throat, “Or do you want me to rough you up again?” 

Her fingers wove in his hair. “Show me what you got, Sudayev.” 

Dmitry’s hips snapped into hers, once, twice, and again and again, while he shifted his weight above her. “You’re such an eager thing,” he grunted, still trying to play the game, but losing his composure with every thrust. He had his arms braced on either side of her and her heels pressed into his thighs. Her nails dug into his bicep, making him hiss, but his eyes were hard, locked on hers, and that alone was making her heart race. 

Even though he was still moving with an intensity she had never known before— ‘roughing her up’ as he called it— and still playing some kind of game, this was still different from earlier, somehow. Not so incidental. More romantic.

When he slowed down a second, as if to catch his breath, she exhaled, “Would you fuck Anastasia like this?”

He shook his head. “She’s not the one I’m—” He bit his tongue, catching himself. His eyes dragged down her body. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to hear him say, how she wanted him to finish that sentence. He seemed to be struggling with the same question. “Only you.” 

Only you, only you, only you. The sentiment mirrored how she felt about him, too. 

She pulled him down for a kiss, and his hips picked back up again, making her gasp into his mouth. She squeezed his waist with her knees. One of his hands ran down her side, fingers digging into the marks marring her skin, and wrapped around her thigh to push it flat and hold her down. She could move a little, but she was entirely at his mercy, like this. His lips moved down her neck and he licked the mark on her shoulder, panting hard. 

“Fuck, Anya… holy shit…” he moaned. “Oh my god…” 

She found his hand, intertwined their fingers. “Don’t stop.” 

He made another noise and shifted again, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to watch her or feel her skin on his mouth more. His hand found her neck and he angled her head so he could kiss under her jaw. The tenderness of this was so different from how wild he was moving inside her. Her leg moved higher up his back until her knee was bumping his elbow. And all he did was moan, hovering his mouth over hers and her throat. It was overwhelming. The noises coming from him, the creak of the mattress, the frantic yet rhythmic pump of his hips into hers. 

Dmitry must’ve noticed the way her leg was moving higher and higher, because he found the bend of her knee again and hooked it over his shoulder, lifting himself so he could look down at her, and then with this new angle he hit something inside her that was so perfect stars fractured her vision for a second and she let out a gasp. 

“Here?” he breathed. “Yeah?” 

Anya’s nails were digging so hard into his arm. “Right there.” 

“That’s it,” he whispered. He was already moving fast and deep, but now he was going even harder, picking up the pace, encouraged by her enthusiastic reaction. “Always gonna— always gonna take care of my girl.” His hand slid down until he was rubbing between her legs, doubling the intensity of this. He was everywhere at once, the world had narrowed to just the snap of his hips and his perfect hands. 

When she came it was sudden and sharp, too fast for her own good. He didn’t stop. He let out a moan, biting a curse. “You feel too damn good—” he whimpered. “So fucking good, Anya.”

When she remembered how to exhale, she let out a breath, trying to keep up. She had never known anyone so attentive, so attuned to her needs and desires, the way he was so perfectly shaped to match her. 

But he wasn’t stopping. 

If anything, he was pushing even harder. He sat back on his heels, lifting her hips, moving with some sort of vengeance. Like he was still trying to prove himself. His hands moved up her body and trailed over her scars. 

“Dima—” she tried, barely managing the word. “Oh my god—” 

“I got you,” was all he was saying, jaw tight. She didn’t know how he could speak. He wouldn’t shut up. Most of it was nonsense until: “Never— never gonna let anyone hurt you again— not even lay a fucking finger on you—”

Her hands pawed at his sides. So that was it, then. It all made sense now. What this whole show of strength was about. 

He was protecting her. 

Earlier he had been almost trying to claim ownership over her body, even merely in some showy playful way. But now he was declaring she would never be hurt again. That she would always be safe. That he would always be there to take care of her. 

She didn’t think anyone could love her so perfectly, could find and seal every unfindable crack in her soul, like he was right now. 

Dmitry pressed a flat palm on her lower abdomen, narrowing the already small space within her, absolutely exploding every bit of friction he was providing tenfold. He let out another noise and her fingers gripped his arm and tightened around the sheets. 

The ending crashed over her again, somehow, just as he finally let go, too. And watching him was worth it. He tossed his head back, eyes squeezing shut, his voice broken and cracking, throat moving up and down, chest rising and falling. His whole upper half was red from exertion. Even then he was still moving inside her, as if to get every bit of pleasure out of this as possible, but he was shaking, quivering with fatigue from just holding himself up. Yeah. Anya knew how he felt. 

She tried catching her breath, her hands resting over her head. The temperature of the bedroom had risen at least a dozen degrees. Dmitry let his eyes raked up her body and meet her own, carefully— and clumsily— pulled out, and collapsed at her side, trying not to crush her. 

Still taking care of her even now. 

When her breathing evened out she ran her fingers through his hair, fondly kissing a line up his shoulder. His salty skin was a furnace and he was breathing like he had just raced here all the way from Petersburg. He didn’t move at first but then his arm came around her waist with a deeper sigh. Like he had resigned himself to his fate. That if he woke up dead after this then so be it. 

Anya stared up at the ceiling and broke the silence. “I’m hungry.”

Dmitry laughed, exhausted. When he spoke his voice was hoarse and muffled by the pile of pillows and blankets. “There’s no way I’m putting on clothes to go eat at the restaurant downstairs right now.” 

She smiled. He was all soft edges now, slow and heavy, complete deadweight next to her. She smoothed down the hairs on his forearm. “We don’t have to eat downstairs. We could have it brought up here.” 

With great effort he lifted his head to turn towards her, expression baffled. “Is that a thing?”

“Yes,” she said patiently. “We just have to put in an order and they’ll deliver it to our door.” 

He still looked so charmingly confused. “Is that expensive?” 

“For an immigrant street rat Russian? Or for normal people?” 

He finally grinned, laughing at himself with her. The first few days in Paris had been a bit of a shock to him, appalled by every single expense, from the checks at the cafes to the price of this lavish suite. Anya and Vlad had shared a few chuckles those first nights. 

He could barely keep his eyes open and his words slurred together. “Order whatever you want, then. Dunno if I can stay awake.” 

She playfully swatted his shoulder. “Come on, you have to be hungry after all that, too.”

He groaned and shifted his weight to look at her more clearly, like every twitch of muscle was a strenuous exertion. “I’m not gonna lie,” he rubbed his forehead, “I kind of blacked out there for a second.” 

Anya grinned. “You did outside earlier too, I think.” 

Dmitry snorted, cheeks flushing. “I did.” 

Anya pressed a kiss to his shoulder and rolled and sat up so she could flick on a lamp and flip open the menu on the nightstand. “What sounds good?” she asked, reaching for the telephone. “I think we need some protein and lots of vegetables.” 

“I concur,” he agreed tiredly. She smiled to herself. He was being such a good sport. 

She dialed the number for the concierge, and read off what she would like delivered to their room. While she was ordering Dmitry found it in himself to sit up behind her and start pressing soft kisses to the top of her shoulder and up the side of her neck, his hand curling delicately around her arm and then her waist, and it was so distracting she dropped an article or two, fumbling over her French like a novice. 

As soon as she hung up the receiver Dmitry’s hand turned her cheek and he was kissing her, soft but insistent, and who was she to resist? She turned to face him, her body magnetized to his. His hand slid down the side of her face and down her neck. His earlier kisses had been harder, molding and shaping her how he wanted, taking and taking and taking, but this was slower, coaxing and inviting, drawing her in. 

She let him pull her back down into the sea of blankets and warm skin and soft lips. He lifted the comforter over them both, shielding them from the air biting their sweat-dried skin, cocooning her in warmth and love and safety and comfort. She smiled against his mouth. She broke the kiss and whispered, “Hi.”

“Hi.” His smile split his face clean open. For someone who smoked as many cigarettes as he did, and for someone as impoverished as he was, his teeth were white and straight, solid and gleaming and perfect. She wondered if he knew how handsome he was. “I like it when you speak French.” 

“Oh?” She curled her leg over his middle and propped her head up in her palm, elbow across his chest, getting comfortable. “This is news to me.” 

“It’s true. I even got you to babble something just a minute ago.”

Anya flushed. “I did?”

“You did.” 

She didn’t even realize. Damn. Anya pushed his bangs out of his eyes, obsessed with the one lock that always fell over his left eyebrow. His hair was so soft. A mess, but wonderful to the touch. “So the whole…” she pushed her mouth to the side, searching for the right words, “‘jealous alpha male’ thing you’ve got going on. Is that normal for you?”

His grin widened. “No. Don’t really know where that came from.” 

“Depends on the day?”

“No, it’s…” he stared up at the ceiling, biting his lip. “I think… I think I was holding back for so long, trying not to let myself want you, that it… it kind of boiled over.” 

He had fallen serious, but she smiled down at him. “You forget I’m capable of wanting things, too.” His eyes flicked over to hers inquiringly. “If you had bothered to ask, I would’ve told you I wanted you the same way.” 

Dmitry’s lips lifted at the corners a little. His eyes were lighter than earlier, honey warm with flecks of gold, serious and captivating as ever. His hands rubbed over the side of her rib cage, thumb stroking one of her scars. “And I’m so— so angry at whoever hurt you.” 

Her hand slid down the side of his face. “Don’t be. What’s done is done.” He still looked troubled, his eyebrows solid and scrunched together. “Do you really think it’s… a some one and not a some thing?”

“I don’t know. What do you think?” 

She lifted her shoulders. “The nurses at the hospital were cryptic and vague when I asked. It could very well be some sort of factory accident.”

Dmitry smiled wryly at her. “Nah, you’re aristocrat, through and through.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “How else would you know French and how to use the telephone for food? And how to look down your nose at me when you’re mad?” 

She smiled, lowered her mouth to his ear. “You make it so easy.” 

As she let her kisses trail from his earlobe to the corner of his jaw, indulging herself more than anything else, really, he stilled, until he folded his fingers in her hair and angled her mouth open over his, like he couldn’t wait any longer. His other hand came up to cup her cheek. And she kissed him like she was sipping wine, or sucking a cigarette. 

A knock made them break apart. “Food?” Dmitry asked. 

Anya nodded. “Be right back,” she whispered with a kiss to his cheek, tongue catching a salty bead of sweat for good measure. 

But he snagged her face and gave her another kiss on the mouth. “No, allow me.” And he kept peppering her face and mouth with more kisses, all while moving to get up from underneath her. And then he disappeared into their bathroom. She watched him every step of the way. 

“There’s something wrong with my robe,” he called. 

“Let me see.” 

He came out, and the robe barely covered his elbows, just shy of his ass. She let out a giggle. “Because that one’s mine.” 

“Is it?” 

“Take it off before you stretch it.” 

He sighed, struggling with the tie and getting it off his broad shoulders without tearing the seams. This allowed her to really study his physique, once again marveling at how on earth he got so strong in his line of work, with his poor man’s meals. Wide shoulders, dimpled back, sharp V in his hips, the curve of his biceps, strong thighs. He was lean, yes, but not one part of his flesh was wasted. 

Once he had his robe on he disappeared out into the suite, and returned with a silver tray with steaming platters and dishes and a bottle of wine. “I’m assuming we’re eating in here?” 

“You assume correctly.” 

Anya pulled on her bathrobe, since he was reasonably clothed now, and they collected their plates from the platters, poured the wine, and ate on the bed, backs against the headboard and knees awkwardly bent, laughing at nonsensical jokes. And it was nice. Peaceful. Anya never really pictured herself living like this with Dmitry, of all people, but… his company really was quite lovely. Perhaps the companionship she had been seeking, the balm to the bitter loneliness of the last ten years, had been in this orphan son of an anarchist all along. 

Dmitry tipped more wine into his glass. The food was indeed visibly reviving him, he seemed more alert, more his playful self. “Should we be worried about Vlad?”

“I imagine he’s having a similar night to us, so no.” 

He grimaced so hard Anya had to let out a laugh. His hands flew up over his eyes. “Oh god— the image in my head—” 

“Is it really that horrible?” she teased. 

“Yes.”

“Well,” she put her plate aside, “I, for one, am very happy for our friend. And you should be too. He deserves to reunite with his lost love.” 

He downed his glass. 

“I think he would be happy for us, if things were reversed.”

He met her eyes at that, swallowed his sip. “You think so?”

“I do.”

His expression was hard to read and his eyes flitted away. When he started collecting their dishes and stacking them on the cart, Anya assumed the conversation was over and happily settled deeper into the pillows. “Anya, I…” Something in his voice made her meet his eyes again. He let out a sigh. “I hope you know this wasn’t… incidental. You and me. I wanted this to happen.” 

Something in her chest tightened. He looked so vulnerable, like a puppy waiting to be scolded, as if admitting he had real feelings for her was something punishable. She took his hand and both of hers, lifted it to her mouth and pressed a kiss to his knuckle. “I wanted this too, Dima.” 

His eyes shone, searching hers. 

“All of this.” She gestured to the food, the bedroom. The simple domesticity of it. “And this,” she kissed his hand again, which had risen to tuck a hair behind her ear and cup the side of her face. She found herself moving into his space again, a gravitational force that was irresistible, and she whispered, “This too,” before pressing a slow and simple kiss to his mouth. And she swung a leg over his hip so she was sitting in his lap, and her lips were trailing down his neck, his jaw, his shoulder, his chest. “And this, and this, and this and this and—”

Dmitry was laughing, almost ticklish. He held her face in both of his hands so she would look at him. “Me too,” he whispered. “All of it. You’re perfect.” 

She let her mouth brush over his, tasting the wine on his breath. His hands slid up her back, warm and soft and large and perfect, and he sighed into her mouth, content and happy. Perhaps the happiest she had ever seen him since she had known him. As she settled more comfortably in his lap her hips slid forwards and he let out a sudden and quiet groan. She smirked. “This too,” she murmured, earning a snort. 

Encouraged, Anya started untying the knot holding her robe together, letting it slip down her shoulders. He let out a whine. “Anya… I don’t know if I have another round in me.”

“You sure?” She rolled her hips against him once more, a little more intentionally, and his exhale was strained and broken in half. She bit his earlobe. “Not even if we go slow?” 

His voice rumbled, making his throat vibrate against her mouth. “You’re trying to kill me.” 

She smiled, dragging her teeth over to the other side of his neck, indulging herself. “Come on…” she played with the fabric of his robe, nibbling on the chords of muscle jumping under his jaw. “Let me take care of you this time.” 

With a tremendous sigh, Dmitry tilted her chin up towards his with his knuckles and curled his lip in exaggerated passion. “Make love to me, woman.” 

She laughed. Leaned in and kissed him again. She unfastened his robe and he slid his arms out of the sleeves, which then came around her back, pulling her flush against him. Her arms looped around his neck and their stomachs slid together. He was so soft, so needy, so warm and good and loving, that she couldn’t help but smile into their kiss. There really wasn’t a man like him elsewhere. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, pushing her hair over her shoulder, holding the side of her neck. “Unreal.” 

She let her nose brush over his, soaking in his attention. He was an absolute mess with her makeup smeared all over his face, his hair going in all different directions, pupils dilated so wide his brown irises were just golden halos, too tired to even properly lift his head from the headboard, but he really was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. “Tu es très gentil, Dmitry.” 

His eyes narrowed. “Are you insulting me in French?” 

She smiled without answering. 

“That’s not fair— I don’t even know what you said, so I can’t defend myself!”

All she did was tilt her head, mouth hovering over his. “You’re going to have to learn eventually,” she whispered before kissing him. He sighed into her mouth, a noise of discontentment, but he let it slide. 

Her hips rolled against his again and he made another noise of an entirely different emotion. It was funny how just moments ago he was saying he was too tired to go again, but now there was no hiding how… interested he was, already hard and ready for her. With one arm she leveraged herself on his shoulder and the other she was angling him against her entrance, and then without much ceremony she was sinking around him, delighting in the way his mouth parted, his hands tightening around her hips. Even though he had been inside her twice already tonight the feel of him still managed to take her breath away. 

“Unreal,” he repeated breathlessly. 

She rolled her hips, the movement the same as before, but with him fully seated inside her it had an incredibly different effect. He breathed a broken curse. She did it a few more times to find the angle that would unravel her, and when she hit something that made her gasp, she lifted her hips and let them drop back down again, and again, and again. Dmitry’s eyes rolled shut, lost in the pleasure of it all. 

The rhythm they set was slow but steady, unwavering. His hips were circling to meet hers, matching her pace, enthusiastic and patient and perfect, so compatible with her she almost couldn’t believe it. She could go faster, harder, take what she wanted, even though she promised to go slow. But she was a little sore and tired too. And they both deserved to be romanced a bit after how energetic the night had been. After all they had been through. 

Outside had been as rough as it could get, against the hard and cold brick surface and his solid and demanding body. And though earlier had been a bit softer, it was still just as intense, just as rough and unyielding. But now? Now it was all softness, his lips pliant and supple and malleable against her mouth, his skin smooth and warm. Even though his fingers were digging into her flesh he was just holding her, not shaping her. But the passion was still there. Manifesting in a different way, with more tender kisses and caresses, but as passionate and attentive as ever. Anya was starting to think Dmitry didn’t do this— do anything— with half his heart. No, his heart was all there, in between her fingers, alive and vulnerable and beating with every fiber of strength he had. 

“You’re so good for me,” he murmured into her neck. “Doing so good…”

This. This was what she wanted, more than anything. His undivided attention, his sweet praises. 

“Are you close?” she asked, feeling how shallow his breathing had gotten, how strong and tight his fingers were. He nodded. “Let’s— let’s finish together, darling.” He smiled wearily and nodded again. 

“I got you.” 

His thumb slid between her legs just above where they were joined, rubbing in controlled and quick circles. Holy shit, okay. Her hips staggered a bit with her breath. Dmitry felt it too. She was moving faster but shallowly, just focusing on reaching this peak as gently as possible, and his hips matched her pace. 

Everywhere. He was everywhere. He was everything. Twin scars on chests, finger-shaped bruises on thighs, bite marks on necks, red wine sipped between sheets. A Petersburg sunset, dawn breaking over a new city, stories whispered on a train, hands pulling her back down to earth, words caught in throats that were just too daunting to say aloud. 

Honey brown eyes looking at her like he was thinking the exact same thing. 

She sealed her hips with his, moaning out his name, shaking, in the same instant he gasped unsteadily and twitched under her. His thumb immediately ceased contact with her. Even as he was actively spilling himself inside her, he was still coherent enough to take note of her body, to remember what she liked, what she didn’t like. Damn. Her mouth fell into his, inhaling him, molding her lips into his. He held her as close as he could. 

No, it wasn’t as intense as earlier, or as their first time. But she was as satisfied and sated as ever. 

Anya burrowed her face into the side of his neck, letting him hold her and breathe against her. There, in his arms, with him softening inside her and his chest rising and falling beneath her, she didn’t think she could be more content than right here. Maybe she could make herself right at home. 

“I think,” Dmitry rasped, planting soft kisses on her shoulder, “we should call for dessert.” 

Anya smiled, met his sleepy, adoring, awe-struck eyes. “You read my mind.” 

so no to the dancing

dimya one shot, canonverse, 5k, M, smut, jealousy 👀 some rough and possessive sex under the cut, but like in a feminist manner so it's okay don't worry about it. i posted this two weeks ago but i was embarrassed to link it here lol but whatever. here u go. have fun ladies <3 read on ao3 or down below!

Anya couldn’t figure him out. 

Not when they met in a dusty palace, arguing on either side of a broken chaise, when she was about to pass out from hunger. And certainly not now, months later, in this crowded nightclub in Montmartre, with these glances they kept stealing, eyes burning brighter than the embers at the end of the cigarettes between their lips.

It’s not like Dmitry wasn’t… complicated. He was. He had a short childhood and a long life of hardship, he loved his city but hated his country, he revered his father but was too apolitical to follow in his footsteps. He was a walking contradiction, for sure. But she was usually pretty good at reading people. Figuring out their motive, their ticks. Nothing about Dmitry made any sense to her, though. All she had was a collection of data and observations that didn’t add up to anything. He would mess with his hair when the conversation lulled. He lit a cigarette when he was upset. He smiled a lot but she didn’t think he always meant it.  

There was a time where she hated his guts, she had to admit. And then he confused her even more by revealing his past, how he came to be the man he was now. Anya couldn’t picture him as a child. Dmitry was just. A fully formed man from the beginning. A fully formed, certified asshole, in her mind. 

Once they escaped Saint Petersburg and Russia herself she realized somewhere along the way that hatred had shifted into something milder, something fond. She found herself whispering with him in the dark, when neither of them could fall asleep, musing what they would do in Paris when they finally made it, all while Vlad snored softly on the other side of the fire she had built. He was good at telling stories. Since she had no stories of her own to tell, not with this empty gap in her memory, she clung onto his every word with white knuckles. 

Somehow Dmitry had sort of become her best friend. Somehow he was sort of the person she trusted the most in this world. 

And then they hit Paris, and something else shifted. It was almost like he was avoiding her altogether. Friendly touches reverted back to walking in wide arcs around her. Lingering smiles changed to eyes flitting away the second she looked at him. It made her feel foolish. Somewhere along the way she had thought… well, honestly, there was something… simmering between them. What that something was she hadn’t even had time to explore. But there had been a weight to his lingering gazes, a meaning behind his hand brushing her own. And now he acted like she burned him at the barest glance. A new form of loathing took shape within her.

She couldn’t decipher it. She already had so much on her plate, especially now that they were in Paris and their deadline was fast approaching— as soon as Vlad could get them an audience with the dowager empress they would all part ways. She didn’t mean to let her confused heart get mixed up in all this. 

When Vlad insisted on going clubbing, Anya had welcomed the distraction, even if her feet ached from exploring the city all day. They had traded their tired Russian winter wardrobe for a spring Parisian chic, with light and flowy dresses and freshly pressed suits and stylish chignons. Anya didn’t look his way but she felt Dmitry’s eyes burning through her skin the whole way here, his hand like fire on her lower back as they stepped from the cab, the heat of his body beside her when they ordered their drinks. 

Vlad found a dance partner impressively fast, Anya admitted to herself, and left the two of them to swim in their thick, simmering silence on their own. Fair enough. She would be sick of the pair of them, too, if she were in Vlad’s shoes.

“Want another drink?” Dmitry asked over the noise of the swing band without looking at her. 

Damn, he really was handsome. Even if he wasn’t meeting her eye and his expression was entirely unreadable, he had such a remarkable profile, with the bump in his nose and his princely chin and his stern mouth. His new suit was tailored just right, broadening his shoulders and stretching over his chest. His hair was combed but one stubborn lock fell over his left eyebrow in defiance. Anya wet her lips. “I’m still working on this one, but thank—” 

He wordlessly left her side, weaving his way through the crowd towards the bar. 

All right. 

It wasn’t difficult to piss her off, sure, but something about Dmitry would always bring her blood to a boil, and now was no exception. So when another gentleman approached her to ask for the next set, she felt no remorse when she set her half empty glass on the nearest table and accepted his hand, even if he looked a little wolfish and angular and not at all her type. 

The gentleman was a good dancer. He waltzed her through one set, and then the next, and the next, without breaking a sweat or stepping on her toes. He even made her laugh once. She wasn’t sure if it was on purpose, but she still laughed all the same. 

At one turn, though, her eyes found his: Dmitry was staring daggers at them across the crowded dance hall, sucking on a cigarette with a tight jaw. He downed his drink and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before shouldering his way through the other wallflowers. Anya politely excused herself from her partner and did her best to escape the dance floor without stumbling. 

Anya followed him all the way outside. She hadn’t realized how hot and stuffy it had been in the club, the air thick and stifling with other dancers, until she came out here, where the cool spring evening chill was welcomed. The club was tucked away in a deserted alley, with nothing but cigarette butts and streetlamps for company. This must have been some side entrance because no one, not even a bouncer or a server on their break, was around. Dmitry was about a dozen steps ahead of her. “Where are you going?” she called. He didn’t stop. 

“Back to the hotel,” he said, barely over his shoulder. She was trying to catch up with him, but his long strides were difficult to compete with.

“But I’m not ready to leave.” 

“You don’t have to.” 

Her fists clenched at her sides. “So you were just going to leave me?” 

“I thought you found better company.” 

The words cut through her, searing. She finally caught up with him, walking side by side. He still only stared straight ahead without halting. “What does that have to do with anything?” 

“Nothing, it’s whatever.” Dmitry took another puff of his cigarette and blew out plumes of smoke with his words. “It’s a dance club, so go back and dance, I don’t care.” 

Anger flared up. She shoved at his shoulder. “It’s not like you were going to ask me to dance.” 

“I said I don’t care!” he lifted his hands as if surrendering. His expression was still guarded. “You can do whatever you want. I’m not your mom.” 

“What if I want you to care?” 

For a brief moment that mask flickered, his eyes darting to hers in curiosity. But then that moment was over in a flash and he scrubbed his face clean of any emotion with his palm, leaving nothing but a cool neutrality behind. “Sorry to disappoint.” 

Anya stayed planted while he was still walking away. An idea suddenly struck her, plain as day. A new angle to look at, a new method to unraveling the mystery that was Dmitry Sudayev. “He kept calling me cherie, by the way,” she tested, keeping her voice disinterested. 

Dmitry froze in his tracks. And that was when she knew she had him. She was onto something.

Her heart raced. “He even invited me to come home with him tonight. Told me he’s got a penthouse suite right on the Champs-Elysees and everything.” 

When Dmitry turned to face her his eyes were black. Smoking obsidian. “Well?” he said after a very measured breath. “Are you?” 

She shrugged, as if nonchalant. “I can’t think of a reason not to.” 

His nostrils flared, like he could fucking smell the man’s cologne on her still.

Anya lifted her chin. “Why?” she asked. “Does that make you jealous, Dmitry?” 

That was it. She had him pinned. His ears went bright pink in the low lamplight and he had the audacity to laugh. Angry and humorless, but a laugh all the same. “Jealous? Really? You think too highly of yourself sometimes.” 

“I think you’re fooling yourself if you believe that.” 

He angrily snuffed his cigarette between his shoe and the cobblestone. “You can do whatever you want with whoever you want, just leave me out of it.” 

“Do you want me to?” 

His eyes snapped back to hers, weary, angry. “You don’t need my permission.” 

“Do you want me to,” she repeated, more insistent. They were close now, not quite nose to nose, but too near each other for her to miss the way his chest rose and fell with each breath, like it pained him, and the way his eyes were a match about to burn down to fingertips. 

His nostrils flared again, muscles in his jaw flexing. He slowly shook his head.

“No.”

No. Now they were getting somewhere. She pushed at his chest. Not enough to make him stumble away, but enough to get him to pay attention. The attention she had been wanting for a really long time, she realized. “No, what?” 

His exhale hit her face. “I don’t want you going home with that guy.” 

His tone was low, dangerous, a warning. Thin and brittle and about to snap. “Then give me a reason not to.” 

Anya barely had time to suck in another breath before his mouth was on hers, crashing into her so forcefully she had to stumble backwards to catch her footing. But Dmitry didn’t let her fall, his hands pulling at her waist and the back of her neck, leveraging her against him. 

Damn, Dmitry could kiss. It was messy and desperate and frantic but it was perfect, his teeth pulling at her bottom lip, bunching the skirt of her dress into a fist. The cold air made goosebumps erupt all over her exposed thigh. Her mouth parted and her tongue swiped at the seam of his lips, which he graciously allowed access, and when her tongue slid under his he let out a moan so sinful she had to cling onto his arms to keep her knees from wobbling. She landed hard against the damp wall, and even though he was being forceful and rough he still cradled her head so she wouldn’t hurt herself on the brick. He could play tough all he wanted, but deep down he was a softie. 

“This what you wanted?” he asked, his voice still low and gruff. “Needed some attention?” 

Now that he was all in her space, crowding her and mouthing at her skin, she welcomed this feeling pooling in her lower stomach, something she hadn’t paid much attention to in a while. Sure, she was no stranger to desire. But something was different about him. A strange, darker need, sprouting from how fiery they could make one another. Her hand came up to fold into his hair. “Maybe.” 

Dmitry moaned a little when her fingers wove through his locks. Another discovery of the night. “You still gonna go home with him?” 

No, absolutely not. Anya could barely remember what that guy even looked like. But she only smiled a little and said, in her best princess voice she could muster, “I’m thinking about it.” Her words had the desired effect— Dmitry let out a gruff noise and shoved his knee between her legs, giving her access to relieve some of the pressure that had ballooned up there. 

“You don’t need him,” he breathed. “You don’t need anybody. Just ask me to take care of you and I will. Whatever you want.” 

Her head tilted back, letting him cradle her skull, while her hips, nearly involuntary, thrusted back and forth, rubbing herself on his muscular thigh. “I think you’re smart enough to figure out what I want.” 

His mouth cascaded down her neck, teeth scraping over the column of her throat. If they had done this earlier in their acquaintance they would’ve had to fumble with scarves and coats and wool to do all of this so she was grateful they had waited until now. Now all she had on was her thin, silky dress, and her new underwear, all of which the latest Parisian fashions, which tended to focus on revealing more skin than what was acceptable back home. More neck, more cleavage, more leg, which he was clearly enjoying, with his hand up her skirt and bruising her thigh and his mouth sucking on the base of her throat. Dmitry bit down at the junction between her neck and shoulder, something possessive and hungry, earning a surprised gasp. There was no doubt a bruise would bloom here in minutes. 

“You’re so sensitive…” he swiped his tongue over the mark, as if to sooth it or maybe admire his work, she wasn’t sure, “how long’s it been since you’ve let a man touch you like this?” 

Her heart was beating so fast against his, her chest heaving, face hot and flushed. His thigh between her legs wasn’t enough. “Too long.” 

His hand cupping the nape of her neck slid forward until it was around her throat, not squeezing or anything, but angling her jaw so he could kiss underneath, and also holding her in place. “I could touch you more,” he murmured, his hand gripping her thigh loosening to slide between her legs, fingers rubbing at her over her panties. Somehow he had sensed her need. “If you ask politely.” 

She squeezed the hair she was holding. “You’re in no position to negotiate.” 

“Aren’t I?” His thumb pressed into the base of her throat at the hollow of her collarbone, just a little. She knew he would never hurt her. Not even this way. But the thought of him threatening her like this was arousing and, absurdly, a little funny. 

Anya lifted her chin at him, meeting his eye, making sure he was watching her. “I don’t think this other gentleman would make me ask.” 

His nostrils flared, eyes hooded and dark and flashing with something ominous, as predicted. He grabbed her wrists in one hand and locked them above her head, all in a silly show of dominance for this little performance, and his other hand started fiddling with her underwear. He was probably looking for things to untie or unbutton but all she had on was a pair of lacy french panties. His eyebrows rose in surprise. “So accessible.” He kept playing with the waistband of her panties, just to torture her. “These new?” 

They were indeed new. She smiled a bit. “Bought them with the dress.”

Dmitry sighed. “Love this city,” he mumbled. “I could barely look at you since we got here, you’re too fucking irresistible.”

She frowned, struggling to escape his grip on her wrists. “But you’ve been ignoring me since we got here.”

“Because I can’t— I don’t think I can control myself around you right now.” 

He was so fucking confusing. This was why he had been ignoring her? She was too attractive to him? That was it? “All it took was a bath and some new clothes for you to notice me, huh?” 

“I’ve always noticed you,” he whispered. “Always. Driving me crazy since you walked into that goddamn palace all those months ago.” His lips twitched, like he thought of a joke. “But you do smell better now, I’ll admit that.” 

This made her laugh, because it was true. “So do you—”

She gasped when his hand finally slipped down the front of her underwear all the way, cupping her, rubbing at her. “Jesus Christ,” he marveled, “no wonder you’re so— this all for me? Or for him?”

Anya bit her lip, pressing herself harder against his hand. “What answer will make you shut up and touch me more?”

In spite of everything, the bastard grinned, white teeth and everything, like he figured out her game and was absolutely delighted to play. “Need me to take care of this for you?” 

His fingertips were making slow, sensual ovals, making her lose her composure a little. “Make me feel good.” 

Two of his fingers plunged all the way inside her, making her gasp, while his palm rubbed at her. His hand was so large and perfect, fingers thick and round. His other hand holding her wrists loosened its grip and slid down one of her arms and she let out a keening noise when his thumb brushed her nipple over the fabric of her dress. 

“So needy,” he dipped his head, pressing more hot kisses to her neck, “poor thing. All hot and bothered with no one to help.” His lips sucked around her pulse point behind the corner of her jaw. “You have needs, I get it. But why even bother finding someone else to satisfy you when I’m right here?” 

He had taken on a softer tone, bordering on cooing at her, and for some reason this irritated her more than anything. “You piss me off so much,” she mumbled, trying to catch her breath. 

He laughed a little, like he knew what she meant, like she pissed him off too. “Does arguing with me get you all worked up?” 

Her hands tangled in his hair. “Does picturing me with another man get you all worked up?” 

“No, it— it makes me fucking angry,” he grunted, his voice cracking. “Don’t like thinking about that.” His hand was moving a little more frantically now. Like this was how he proved himself. “You think that guy— anyone else— could make you feel this good?”

“How do you know he can’t?” she asked, just to piss him off. He all but growled in her ear. 

“Just by looking at him— he’s a fucking selfish piece of shit.” His fingers were knuckle deep, knocking against what felt like every nerve in her body, with his palm rubbing at her. It was a little difficult to focus on what he was saying. “Wouldn’t know the first thing about how to touch a woman. He’d probably just fuck you until he was done, wouldn’t care if you were satisfied or not...” The rest of his sentence trailed off, but he didn’t need to finish. Clearly he knew how to pleasure her. His fingers inside her was evidence enough.

She thought of something else. “You know,” she started. “If I’m— if I’m really her— you know I’ll have a whole lineup of suitors, right?” 

He nipped at the soft skin of her neck in warning. “No.” 

“No?” she asked incredulously. “I absolutely will. That’s how this works.” 

He lifted his head to look at her, his expression a calm satisfaction. “You know you won’t need them, don’t you?” He shook his head. “None of them could ever get you this riled up, not the way I do.”

That was true— she didn’t think anyone else existed with the perfect skillset to frustrate her so the way Dmitry Sudayev could— but there was no way in hell she was admitting that now. Even if her hips were wobbling against his hand, clenching around his fingers. “And you’d legally have to do everything I say.”

He gritted his teeth. “I don’t like being told what to do.”

A bold statement, considering he was right where she wanted him. Considering he had done everything she had asked him to so far. 

His fingers were so long, buried deep inside her, pressing every sensitive nerve she had, and the heel of his palm was cupping her so perfectly, moving rhythmically. “Fuck, Dima,” she moaned, the name slipping from her lips. Her head tilted back against the brick and her eyes had to flutter shut. “Don’t stop.” 

“Look at me,” he grabbed at her jaw, angling her face towards his. So she opened her eyes and glared at him. “I’m not loyal to princesses and kings, Anya. But I am loyal to you.”

His surprising sincerity, in the midst of how lewd and filthy he had been treating her, was a little confusing. He towered over her, surrounding her on all sides, cocooning her from the real world, eyes dark and alluring and honest. In a way, he was more protective of her than anything else. Her arms came around his shoulders and her fingers slipped into his hair again. 

He bit at her shell of her ear. “You gonna come for me or what?”

She was so close. But she spat, “Make me.” 

He growled in frustration. “You’re such a brat sometimes,” he hissed, “spoiled rotten. Mean as hell to me.” 

She yanked hard on his hair. “If I’m a brat, you’re a bitch.” 

He laughed, like he couldn’t agree more. “This mouth,” his thumb brushed over her parted lips, “don’t know how it hasn’t gotten you into more trouble.” When he pressed the finger over her tongue, like he was experimenting to see how much he could get away with, she bit him with her teeth, just hard enough to get him to react. He groaned. “You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.” 

“Don’t I?”

A third finger slipped inside of her and it felt so good her vision went white for a second. Holy shit, she was so close. His hand covered her mouth entirely. “So fucking noisy,” he hushed. “Bet it pisses you off how good I’m making you feel right now.” 

He wasn’t wrong. But she didn’t care— all of the bickering and the tension from the last few months was piling up and she was about to earn her payoff for all of it. 

But then he suddenly slipped his fingers out of her, entirely stopping. The loss of momentum was that of tripping while running downhill. 

“Fuck you!” she hissed. All he did was laugh, sucking each of his fingers clean. “I wasn’t done.”

“We’ll finish this up at the hotel,” he cooed. 

She shoved at his chest. “No, we’re finishing this here.” 

He still wasn’t taking this seriously. “No.” 

“It’s now,” she tugged at his pants, popping the button open, “or never, Sudayev.” 

When she started palming at him, his hips thrust himself into her hand, a new noise slipping from the back of his throat. “Dirty girl.” He let her fumble with undoing his pants, neither bothering with his jacket or vest or suspenders. 

Dmitry lifted her by her hips and she scrambled to cling onto his shoulders, her back scraping on the cold brick, legs wrapping around him. His grip on her was bruising tight, but he had a forearm behind her head, protecting her from the hard wall. Suddenly she was at eye level with him and her breath caught in her throat. He really was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

He was breathing hard. “You wanna know why I’ve been ignoring you?” 

He was inside her in one, sharp thrust, taking up every possible inch of space within and around her. 

“It’s because I’m so fucking terrified of what’s gonna happen to me when I lose you,” he confessed. “Whether it’s to some suitor who wants Anastasia, or some gentleman at a dance club, or— or anyone who actually deserves you. And I knew if I let myself… I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to let you go.” He shifted her in his grip. “Didn’t want to frighten you off with how bad I wanted you.” 

He was already moving. Clumsy and needy and messy, sure, but. She couldn’t breathe for a second. She could feel him everywhere, in her gut, in her toes, even all the way up to her throat. What could she even say to that, anyway? He was basically confessing this was more than just a fleeting moment of passion for him, confirming her suspicions. It was a lot to take in. Both emotionally and physically. 

“How much?” She managed. “How much did you want me?”

His next thrust was particularly deep and hard, insistent. “So fucking much.” 

He was so close to her, fingers sinking into her flesh, his front pressing into her own, like he was trying to actually climb under her skin in every way imaginable. “Like you said…” her nails dug into his suit jacket, waiting for him to meet her eye, “I don’t need anyone else.” 

That flicker of insecurity vanished, replaced with his smug grin. “Damn right.” 

They were moving a little more steadily now, not as clumsy. There was a ferocity to it, though, an animalistic haste and speed she didn’t expect from him. A sort of desperation that only starving men had. His fingers were bruising her thigh, holding her whole body aloft with ease, moving so fast she could hardly keep up. He mouthed at the side of her neck again and she couldn’t keep the embarrassing noises from escaping her throat. 

“God fucking damn it, Anya.” His breaths came out in heavy huffs, a moan here and there. “You like it dirty, don’t you? Taking me so good out here in this fucking alleyway. Not some fragile grand duchess, huh?” 

He was mumbling, babbling nonsense. And he had laughed at her for being noisy. “You’re one to talk.” 

He nosed his way back up to her mouth, not quite kissing her but mostly just showing he was paying attention. His hips were pistoning fast, but also powerful, precise, like he knew exactly where she needed him out of sheer will. Not a single movement was wasted. Thrusting upwards, stretching her open.

“Didn’t take you for the jealous type,” she breathed. “If I had known I would’ve— tried this weeks ago.” 

He scoffed. “Come on, as if the thought of me with someone else doesn’t drive you up the wall.” 

She thought about it. Someone else getting to have Dmitry this way, being the object of his attentions. And she felt something sour in her gut. “The girls on Theatre Street?”

He met her eyes, lips twitching with a bit of mischief. “Maybe.”

Okay, she really hated that. 

“See!” He was too breathless to laugh, but he was close to it. “Does that make you jealous, Anya?” 

She tugged his hair and he hissed. Damn, they were so similar, down to every wire, it seemed. She thought of something else. “You know you don’t need them, right?” Her ankles locked around him, clinging on, keeping him close. Like no one else would get him this way, if she had a say about it. “You won’t want anyone else that’s not me.” 

He smiled then. Like he knew her game. “I knew it— the moment we met,” he breathed. “You’re it for me.”  

His hips snapped into hers at an ungodly pace now, as wild and desperate as she felt. Her heart was pounding. Dmitry wasn’t speaking anymore, just huffing and moaning and panting. Everything they’d been through— all of the angry bickering, the stolen glances, the lingering touches, the desperate dependency on one another for survival, was crescending to this. To his hands holding her aloft, his brown eyes hooded with something dark and hungry, the skin of his scalp under her fingernails, the stretch of him moving frantically inside her. 

“Look at me,” she managed. She needed to see him come undone. His eyes were shining a little, a vein protruding from his neck, face flushed from his hairline down his chest, lips parted and red. She pressed a loose kiss to them. “Say it.” 

“Fuck—” he groaned. Like she surprised him. “You’re mine.” 

She was his. She knew it for a long time, how much she wanted to belong to someone, in one way or another. “And you’re mine.” 

Dmitry nodded once. Apparently even when incapable of speech he would still take care of her. I’m not loyal to princesses and kings, he had confessed. But I am loyal to you.  

He had already built a staircase for her to reach the end of this, so it wasn’t difficult to finally let go, to let this wave crest and wash over her. When she came all over him he let out the most obscene whimper she had ever heard and within seconds he froze, shaking. All without breaking eye contact. 

Her hands came to the side of his face, thumbs brushing his cheeks. “You okay?” she asked. 

He nodded and audibly swallowed, still breathing hard. Her makeup was smudged all over his face, his hair was going in all different directions, his shirt was wrinkled, his face flushed pink. 

She had to bite her lip and tilt her head back. For some absurd reason she felt an urge to laugh. 

“What?”

“I finally figured out how to get you to stop talking.” 

He smiled tiredly and huffed another breath. Slowly his eyes came back into focus. “Fuck— did I hurt you?” He anxiously brushed a loose hair from her face, searching her eyes with clarity and concern. “I’m— I’m sorry—” 

“Don’t,” Anya shook her head. “Never apologize to me. You’re fine.” Her fingers pushed his bangs out of his eyes. “You’re perfect.” 

They just breathed together for a second, foreheads touching. When he carefully pulled out he exhaled slow and angled her hips with a strange sort of reverence. As he gently set her back down on her feet, he brushed a soft kiss over her mouth, helping her fix her skirt and panties, cleaning her up with the cloth tucked in his breast pocket. The gentleness and care was so different from the way he was moving in her just seconds ago. He had bit a bruise on her neck and left indentations of his hand on the flesh of her thigh but now he was kissing her forehead and wiping her clean with a tenderness she didn’t know he was capable of. And then he pulled his suit jacket off and carefully draped it over her shoulders, almost boyishly shy about it. Confusing and contradicting. 

Dmitry Sudayev would continuously be full of surprises, it seemed. 

“You still gonna go home with that gentleman?” he asked, half joking and half serious. As if, even after all that, she was still on the fence, as if it wasn’t always going to be him from the beginning. 

She tilted her head up at him. “What gentleman?”

He grinned in obvious relief and bent down, mouth hovering over hers. “Good answer,” he whispered just before he kissed her. His hands were gentle around her waist, tugging her closer, his warmth as inviting as ever. “Would you like to go back inside for a dance?” 

She fixed his collar. “How likely is it, do you think, Vlad will find somewhere else to stay tonight?”

“I don’t know. He did say he was looking for Lily, and if that’s anything how I think it’ll be…” he grimaced, like a little boy encountering his parents exchanging a kiss. “Why do you ask?” 

He wasn’t getting it. Her hand slid down his chest as slowly and sensually as she could, finding his hand, intertwining their fingers. “Because in that case, we could have the suite to ourselves…”

His face lit up with understanding. “Oh!” His entire demeanor shifted, no longer weary with exhaustion, standing straighter and bouncing at the balls of his feet. When she started tugging him down the alley towards the street, he was practically skipping. “Got it. So no to the dancing.” 

She let out a giggle. “No dancing.” She held his arm. She was still a little wobbly on her feet, but he was steady next to her, so she knew he wouldn’t let her fall. “But yes to you.” 

His face reddened, endearing and embarrassed to be so obviously complimented, but his eyes danced with something a little akin to the hunger he’d shown before. A promise of more. A promise that he was worth her time. 

Dmitry would always be complicated and contradictory. But now Anya felt, with his hand in hers, she finally understood him a little bit. 

[drinkabletoxicdishsoap]

I was rewatching some mlp episodes for fun and then a thought came to my mind: fairly odd parents a new wish x my little pony 😞 (a lot of the yaps on my page are going to be crossovers sorry I adore them)

So dev is basically twilight! He studies at the canterlot school for gifted unicorns. Now Celestia sees how alone he is and he usually to keeps to himself. She sends a letter to twilight and is like “I got you a new student :3333” and dev becomes twilight’s student. He’s very good at magic and stuff but SUCKS at friendship. He always has his nose in a book to either learn about magic more or business like his dad. Twilight sends him to the school of friendship where he meets Pegasus Hazel, unicorn Jasmine, Earth pony Winn! They try to befriend him but he’s having none of that!! Nope!! Friendship is lame!! I just think it would be really funny to see the whole mane 6 + maybe the princesses + starlight trying to get this kid some friends but no matter what they do bro doesn’t care 😭 like they try every friendship lesson in the book and he still fails ☹️

I like to think Luna sometimes visits him in his dreams to talk to him because they can somehow relate you know?

It would be so funny if he became the next twilight 😭😭

I have no idea if Cosmo, Wanda, and Peri exist in this au but I don’t really think it would change the story if they did 🤷‍♀️ so you can imagine them in there if you want!!

[corioliseffect]

new curse dropped: having fic ideas but i refuse to write rpf/don't think i even could

[pynkhues]

https://x.com/pixielayer/status/1818003659675869381

since you're in your smut writing renaissance era... i'll just leave it here and hope it sparks the creative juice flow *wink-wonk*

(ok that sounded weird. i'm out)

Lmaooo, anon!! LOOK, I will keep it in mind.

[windupaidoneus]

now some people may not like to hear it but even the worst people who exist are still people & there is no human being who has More right than others to decide whether others deserve to live or die (does not mean i personally condemn murder in self defense or anything of the sort or killing fascists or whatever i'm just saying as a baseline This Is How it Is) & this is why the death penalty is not a good thing no matter how good & trustworthy the people in any government might be. people on average also deserve the chance to learn to do better. & no, someone who's been forcefed propaganda their entire life will not let go of that deeply entrenched mindset so easily, it's not particularly unrealistic & it absolutely sucks to deal with but in the context of tangibly working toward world peace it's also not an issue to try & help such people both in material ways & in helping them learn better rather than cut them down or abandon them to a grim fate. all this to say that's why i don't think garlemald is written badly, as unpleasant as the experience might be. walks off the stage

[em-dualism]

//Thinking about how Pat has ended up revealing pretty much all of his secrets to people he's met around here in one way or another... except one.

//He has yet to tell anyone about what he did with Gemini. About how he willingly went along with helping someone who was going to blow up the planet. Yes, he didn't know that was Gemini's end goal, but he knew full well that what they were trying to get had the level of power to do that. He and Rey were both drawn in by the opportunity to get revenge and it blinded them to that reality. It's a regret that he feels no reason to bring up around anyone besides Geo, and I do wonder if there will ever come a time he'll end up revealing it to someone else...

[transmasc-tabris]

More screenshots (bonus, managed to find Bull a shirt and don't know how to feel about that)

[fragmentedblade]

I hate that when I look up the "Kalpas" tag here there's me and then there's me again, but on another blog. Fake moustache me

[khioneee]

TAPPING OUT

synopsis. caleb graduates from the academy, but when you unexpectedly tap him out, a tradition where loved ones step forward to formally release a pilot from their duty, he realizes no achievement compares to having you by his side. (based on this.) word count. 1.1k an. loved doing this for codghost so i might as well do it for this man. lets pretend they have the tradition in their universe. okay? okay.

caleb stood in the crowd, his posture rigid and form still with precision despite the celebration around him. cheers echoed through the room, but they sounded distant, muffled. he watched as pilots, one by one, were tapped out by their loved ones. parents embracing their children, lovers reuniting in tearful hugs.

his chest tightened as his eyes scanned the room. he was waiting for gran, the one person he knew would come. gran had always shown up, had always been his anchor. he learnt not to expect anything more, not to hope for anyone else.

but then, like a shift in the universe, caleb felt you before he saw you.

when you stepped into the room, it was as if the entire world faded away. time slowed, the noise dimmed, and the lights seemed to soften, catching on the edges of your features. you looked beautiful, achingly so. heartbreakingly out of reach. you weren’t supposed to be here, not after the fight, not after the cruel words you’d both thrown at each other before he left.

you moved toward him with purpose, cutting through the room like you were meant to be there all along.

caleb couldn’t breathe. he couldn’t think.

his hands trembled at his sides as he watched you close the distance between you. he could act all stoic, but his heart didn’t feel stoic enough to make him calm.

when you stopped in front of him, there were tears already brimming in your eyes. his carefully constructed control, unshakable during training, steadfast through every grueling challenge, began to crumble.

caleb had faced impossible physical challenges, the grueling expectations of training, and the endless psychological evaluations that pushed him to the edge. but none of those had broken him nearly like you did. you, standing here, looking at him like that.

you were his undoing.

you should be his first sign. the first sign that there was something wrong with him. because you were his obsession. the one he was slowly losing control over.

caleb was not allowed to fall in love with you.

he trembled as your fingers brushed against his, tapping him out of his frozen misery. the soft touch was meant to symbolize recognition, acknowledgment. but to caleb, it was so much more.

you were here. you were real.

there was no second-guessing, no hesitation. before he could stop himself, his arms were around you, pulling you into him with a force that left him breathless. a strangled sigh escaped his lips and found its home in the crook of your neck, right where your heart beats: friends, friends, friends.

he held you like a man drowning, and you were the only thing keeping him afloat. he felt the soft shake of your shoulders, the warmth of your tears against his neck, and he couldn’t hold back any longer.

‘i didn’t think you’d come,’ he whispered, his voice low and raw, breaking under the weight of his emotions. you pulled back slightly, just enough to meet his eyes. there was something in his gaze, but before you could respond, he spoke again, quieter this time, like a vow. ‘i’ll never let you go.’

the words made you shiver. they were so soft you almost didn’t catch them.

‘you can try,’ you joked, your voice trembling slightly as you tried to lighten the mood. a nervous laugh escaped as you gently pushed against his chest, pretending to escape his embrace. ‘you love me, i get it.’

but caleb didn’t loosen his hold. instead, he pulled you closer, his lips brushing against your temple. there was a quiet laugh, quiet and unsteady, before he murmured, ‘you have no idea, pipsqueak.’

his voice was filled with something raw, something deeper than you could fully understand. it wasn’t just love. it was obsession, devotion, a yearning that had no end.

you smelled like honey. like the same thing you’d been smelling your entire life that made you feel like home in a way that hotels and dorm beds could never manage.

he reached into his pocket and pulled out the small, shining pin they’d given him for finishing aerospace academy. it gleamed in the light, a symbol of everything he’d fought to achieve. without a word, he placed it carefully in your palm.

your fingers brushed his as you took it, and the touch sent sparks up his arm. with careful, deliberate precision, you pinned it to his chest. caleb didn’t move, his gaze fixed on you, watching every motion, every soft touch of your fingers against his uniform.

‘they should give you a medal instead for doing so well,’ you teased softly, smiling up at him.

once the pin was secure, you smoothed down his uniform, your fingers lingering against the fabric. it was such a small gesture, but it felt so intimate that caleb’s breath hitched.

he tried his best not to be frantic, but it was almost impossible when he was overloaded with want, want, want, and with the feeling that this might not happen again, with the fear that if caleb thought about it too hard, he’d stop himself before he did too much.

he couldn’t stop himself any longer. leaning down, he kissed your cheek, his lips lingering on your skin. he didn’t move away immediately, letting the moment stretch as he closed his eyes, savoring the warmth of you.

he felt like a criminal on the run, but it was too good to withdraw from. so, he overdosed on unrequited love.

when he finally pulled back, there was a soft, almost shy smile on his lips. his voice was low, but full of meaning. ‘i already have my reward.’

you looked up at him, your cheeks warm, his cap still sitting crooked on your head. for a moment, neither of you spoke, and the weight of everything unsaid lingered between you.

and caleb, looking at you, standing there with your fingers still on his uniform, knew it was the absolute truth. you didn’t realize it, but you were the center of his universe. his greatest test, his deepest weakness, and the one thing he could never, ever let go of.

i’m a fool, he decided. damned in the bits of exhaustion at pulling and pushing at whatever’s left of trying.

the noise of the crowd finally broke through the haze, the sound of laughter and celebration pulling you both back to the present. caleb stepped back slightly, watching as you adjusted his cap, your smile soft but hesitant.

you didn’t have to know the struggle he’d endured to get here, the battles he’d fought within himself.

you were his obsession. his reason for everything. and he was losing control, but he didn’t care. because having you here, now, was all that mattered.