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idkwhatever580 · 8 months ago

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I would die happy

Pairings: teen!Natasha Romanoff x teen!reader

Song Inspiration: very loosely based off of the songs Casual by Chappell Roan and Ashley by Zolita (They’re good to listen to before hand but not necessary. I’ll link them)

Prompt: what happens when “good girl” y/n breaks it off with “bad girl” Natasha and Natasha realizes she needs y/n more than she thought?

Warnings:mentions of sex, angst then fluff, mentions of death? (From the song).

Pronouns: unspecified (one use of ma’am but in a silly way)

A/N: No this is not an actual songfic. I just took inspiration from the songs so there might be a line or five in the mix. I have had these songs stuck in my head the past few days and I kept imagining like a teen romance coming out of it? Idk. Hopefully I write this better than the last one 😭

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Y/n’s pov

I am in my room doing my homework when I hear tapping on my window. I look up from my neat desk to see Natasha.

My instinct is to smile and open the window up but I freeze.

Natasha Romanoff.

Bad girl. She vandalizes things. She doesn’t participate. And she dresses like a fuck boy.

Some call her a player. Some call her a cheater.

Whatever they think there’s one thing everyone can agree on. Natasha romanoff does not do relationships.

She’s usually the one night stand type of girl but then she met me. And that’s when everyone says she went soft. She never fucked another girl other than me.

But that’s all. For half a year. All she’s ever done is sex, aftercare, leave, repeat.

Another set of tapping falls upon my ears and I zone back in. I open the window and whisper

“What are you doing here?”

Natasha crawls in and says

“Wanted to see you. You alright there? You zoned out for a sec”

I nodded my head and my eyes fall upon her necklace. It’s silver with a little arrow.

I hate myself when I think of it. I nod my head and say

“Yeah. Totally fine. Just doing some homework”

I sit back down at my desk even though I know why Natasha is here.

After a whole 6 months of this it’s hard to not know what her routine is. But I don’t want it anymore.

Obviously I caught feelings. Who wouldn’t catch feelings for her? I just thought that I would get over it. I thought that having some of her is better than none of her at all right?

Wrong.

I cry so much now. All I want is for her to love me back. But that’s not reality. She doesn’t do love. She doesn’t do relationships. And I can’t do it anymore.

Natasha walks up behind me and rubs her hands down my arms and starts kissing my neck. My body lets her do it but then I think about it and take her hands off me.

“Not tonight. I have to study”

She doesn’t let up. Because usually I like playing hard to get. So she doesn’t know. And that’s okay. It’s my fault she doesn’t know.

“I can help you relax baby”

I roll my eyes at the pet name and say

“Natasha. Can we talk?”

She stands up straighter at my use of her full name and says

“Yeah. Sure”

I can tell she is a bit surprised at me but she nods her head nevertheless.

She sits down at the foot of my bed and I roll my chair over to her.

I sigh and look at the ground.

“I don’t know how to say this, but I can’t do this anymore Natasha”

She furrows her eyebrows and says

“You can’t do what?”

“This Natasha,”

I point at her and myself

“I hate myself for letting this drag on so long because I know you. I know you don’t want a relationship. But I lo- I like you Natasha. And I want you. All to myself. I want labels and I want to go to the pier together and eat popsicles and I want you to tell your friends and I want a future with you.”

I can tell I’m overwhelming her with this information but I keep going

“But you don’t want that. And that’s okay! I understand that some things aren’t meant to last. But I can’t keep hurting myself for some fun okay? I need to heal and move on. And you can go find another toy to play with and that’s okay. I just can’t be the one you go to anymore. It’s not what I want. And our ideals clearly do not align. I thought maybe I could do it and be able to handle all of this but I can’t.”

I tear up a bit

“I can’t be casual with you. I want feelings attached and I want you to myself but you don’t want me like that. So I need to cut it off.”

I finally finish my rant and I look down feeling embarrassed.

“I’m sorry”

I apologize and she shakes her head

“Don’t apologize. I get it.”

We sit there for a minute of awkward silence and she sighs and says

“I guess I should go then”

I nod my head and sniffle a bit. She lingers like she has something to say but she ultimately leaves and on her way out of my window she says

“I’ll see you at school I guess”

I nod my head.

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It’s been a week since I cut it off with Natasha and I look rough. My friends are worried about me but I tell them I’m fine.

Even some of my teachers have asked if I’m okay. Of course I lie to them. But it’s nice to know someone cares.

I have avoided Natasha at all costs. But I still find myself thinking about her.

Her arrow necklace. God I hate myself when I think of it. Because then I think of her. And then I start crying. Or I just shut down.

Yes. I may or may not have almost said I love you the night I cut it off with her. But I didn’t want her to have to hold all of my baggage. It’s not fair. She doesn’t like me like that. And she doesn’t deserve to feel guilty for what I feel.

My friend Emerald walks up to me during a free period and she says

“Hey did you see Natasha today?”

I shake my head and say

“I don’t want to talk about her.”

She shakes her head and says

“Well you’re gonna have to listen. She is the talk of the school right now so either you hear it from me or someone else.”

I roll my eyes and say

“What Em? Does she have a new toy hanging on her shoulder?”

Clearly I’m a little ticked off about having to hear about her.

But em shakes her head and I look at her and wait for her to continue

“She’s wearing your hoodie”

I look at her and say

“My hoodie? She doesn’t have any of my clothes, except for that bra that I’ll probably never get back”

She takes out her phone and shows me my favorite hoodie. It’s the pink one that I got from the thrift store. They all knew it was mine because it has em’s name on the sleeve. And a duck on the front.

I remember now. I forgot it at her house one time after she fucked me in her beach house. That was the day everyone found out and started talking about how I’m just a girl she fucked on her couch.

I cried so much that I forgot about it. And of course she just came over to make me forget about all the things people said.

I look at her and say

“Why would she ever wear that?”

She wiggles her eyebrows at me and says

“She obviously likes you y/n”

I roll my eyes and say

“She doesn’t like me Em. From the beginning everyone has known she doesn’t do crushes.”

Em shrugs her shoulders and says

“People can change.”

I roll my eyes and get a little frustrated and say

“Leave it Em. I don’t want to talk about it.”

She puts her hands up in surrender and leaves it at that.

The rest of the day goes by slowly. But I catch a glimpse of Natasha at the end of the day. She is wearing my hoodie. She looks good in it. But she shouldn’t be wearing that. I’m not hers. And she’s not mine.

I quickly leave so she doesn’t see me. Even though we definitely made eye contact. But it’s whatever.

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It’s about 8 pm now and I’m studying again. This final is about to make or break me so I can’t let myself loosen the reigns even though it’s only a midterm.

I have my headphones on and I’m listening to classical because it apparently helps people study. I’m honestly doing anything to help me.

A hand taps my shoulder and I jump up quickly but thankfully I don’t yell.

I turn around quickly and see Natasha standing there.

I immediately get frustrated and say

“What are you doing here?”

I take a second to actually look at her and she looks like shit. Honestly she is looking at me like a lost puppy. Like she hasn’t been in my room for six months. Her hair is a mess, shes still in my hoodie, and the bags under her eyes indicate that she hasn’t been sleeping well. I almost feel bad for her. Then I remember I can’t let my feelings get in the way. She says

“I um… I wanted to talk to you”

I sigh and say

“Well what is it? I’m listening?”

I feel bad for being so short with her but I can’t do it any other way or else I’ll break down.

She kind of stands there for a second and I sit down on my bed and pat it. I might as well be nice to her. She’s not a horrible person anyways.

She shakes her head slightly and keeps standing. I look at her and say

“You wanted to talk?”

She nods her head and says

“I don’t know how to say this but… I- I need you y/n”

I have never seen Natasha cry once. But she immediately breaks down in front of me

“I can’t do this without you. I need you so bad I just want all of you. I thought that if I convinced myself that it was for the better, that if I said I wanted this it would come true. But it’s not true I- I love you and I know you are probably over me by now and that’s okay I just need to tell you that I want you and only you. I know I’ve never done anything like this but I want to I want to change. I want to be good. For you. I want to take you on dates and tell everyone about you. And I don’t think I can do this without you because life is like a bad dream without you and I didn’t even realize what I had until I lost it!”

She starts crying. I start tearing up at her confession and I say

“Stop it. Stop it Natasha.”

It’s short and snippy because I’m about to cry.

“You can’t just say those things and pull at my heart just to get into my pants okay? I’m sorry that nobody wanted to get with you but I cannot just go crawling back to you if you just lie to me to get me back”

She looks at me and she shakes her head aggressively and says

“No. No I don’t. I don’t want to get into your pants I actually love you. I didn’t even know it because I’ve never felt love before y/n. Please you have to understand me I love you. I love you so much and I want a future with you. I was just scared but I’m not scared anymore I want you!”

She drops to her knees and tries to calm down a bit and says

“I understand if you don’t want me but I want you. I want to be your girlfriend. I want to introduce you to my friends and family. And- and I know my past doesn’t help anything. My reputation is probably your biggest fear but I can’t imagine my life without it. I’ve never been the sappy type but I’m telling the truth. If loving you kills me then I will die happy y/n”

I look at her from my bed and I see the genuine look in her eyes. I tear up again and the I get down from my bed and she looks down. It’s like she’s worshipping me. Like if she doesn’t she might lose me.

I envelope her in a hug and she starts crying into me. And I say

“Tell me that you love me and you won’t leave me.”

She looks at me with tears running down her face and her nose is sniffly and she says with such confdence

“I love you y/n. Nothing can change that. I won’t ever leave you. Not even if I could. I want to be yours”

I smile at her as she waits for me to answer and I grab her head and lean into her. I kiss her.

This kiss is different than any other kiss I’ve ever shared with her. It’s soft and tender. And full of love. I don’t even care that her tears and boogers are getting on me.

I don’t care. I just love her. I pull away and giggle and she kind of sits in criss cross. And I say

“Natasha. I love you too. I’ve loved you for a while now. I was just scared to say it.”

She sends me a dopey smile. I’ve never seen her smile at me like that. I like it. So I boop her nose and say

“Cute.”

She scrunches up her nose and says

“I’m everything but cute right now.”

I shake my head and say

“You’re always cute.”

I kiss her again after she wipes her face off and it’s sweet. I pull her into my lap and she says

“I don’t like this.”

Normally I guess she would be more comfortable with me on her lap. But I don’t care.

“I guess you’re just gonna have to suck it up.”

We sit on my floor for a bit and I say

“Oh shit! It’s late.”

I check the time and say

“It’s nine o’clock already! You have to get home baby”

She stops at the nickname and says

“Wait. So… are we?”

I giggle and say

“After all of that? There’s no way we’re not dating. So yes. I’m gonna call you baby. But you need to go home and I need sleep”

She smiles and says

“Can I have a hug before I go?”

I nod my head and pull her in for a long hug.

I kiss her head and then her nose and then her lips and say

“I love you. Now go. I’ll pick you up for school tomorrow?”

She usually walks to school and I drive but I want to pick her up now. She nods her head and I stop her before she leaves my window and I say

“And I want my hoodie back.”

She laughs softly and says

“No way. It’s mine now.”

Then I pull her back in to me and distract her with a kiss. I say

“Well then. I guess this is mine now”

I swiftly pull the hoodie she has on right now off of her and she pouts and says

“Aw man. That’s a good hoodie.”

I smile and say

“Only the best for me right?”

She smiles finally and nods her head and I say

“Text me when you get home okay?”

She nods her head and says

“Yes ma’am”

I giggle and shake my head. I watch as she walks off into the night and I hop onto my bed and cuddle my stuffed animal with a bright smile on my face.

All of that heartache must have been worth it.

She was right. If loving her kills me, then I would die happy.

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A/N: I actually kind of like how this one turned out. I know I pulled from the songs a lot but at least it was built into the words and not like a normal songfic lol. Because I’ve heard that many people do not like songfics :)

#natasha x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #marvel #fanfic #avengers

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sophiethewitch1 · 11 months ago

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What We Want - Chpt. 3 - Dreams And...

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE) - PLEASE REMEMBER TO CHECK, THIS CHAPTER IS DARKER IN TONE!

PREV - NEXT

Your hands are pruned. It’s quiet in the extravagant bathroom, other than the sound of the tap’s running water and your own shaky breathing. This was all a bit much. Your hands are more than clean now, but you absolutely do not want to go back out there.

You kind of just want to go back into one of the stalls and cry. A core girlhood experience, except you were an adult with a job and taxes. Or, you were. You think you’re some rich scion or something in this dream. Which like, cool, who wants to slave under capitalism anyways?

…You wonder if anyone would notice if you slipped out the window. You’d been gone for a while and nobody had come looking for you, since you’d totally gotten lost trying to find the bathroom. Sure, you were on the third floor, but at this point you were willing to risk it. Even if you couldn’t walk in a straight line right now, much less climb the trellises. For some reason, you could not handle your liquor today like you usually could. But once again, this was all just a very vivid dream, so it wasn’t like you could die.

To punctuate that thought, you hear someone scream.

It cuts off instantly, and then there’s quiet again. You pause, then turn off the tap, listening for any more sound. Drip, drip, drip… you press the tap down again and properly turn it off. Still no noise. Immediately, you realise you are standing directly in a horror film. You live in Gotham for fuck’s sake. It wasn’t an unlikely occurrence. You’d gotten mugged just a few days ago.

And you were alone in the bathrooms. So unbelievably drunk, and alone in the bathrooms. You were actually so dead, it was crazy. A dream, a dream…!

Your head bows, staring into the white porcelain of the sink as you focus hard on your hearing. You don’t think you could hear the party before, but you’re not sure. It’s definitely not there now. You swallow the dry pain in your throat, trying to summon a modicum of courage. Your vision spins.

You slap your wet hands to your face and then blink through your fingers. God. Okay, okay, okay. You can do this. You survived a mugging just last week with only minimal bruising. To convince yourself of your badassery, you dig your fingers into the blemishes, hoping to wake yourself up with the pain. It’s a bad habit but you have lots of those.

…Where’s the pain? Oh god, where’s the pain? Wait, don’t panic, it’s a dream! Of course, you wouldn’t have your bruises in a dream. That made total sense. And you definitely weren’t panicking.

You splash more water on your face. Time to face the music, you drunken moron. If you were going to be in a horror movie, you’d be the final girl of all final girls.

One hand on the sink, you take your heels off. They’re going to get in the way, and the sound of them clicking against the marble will give away your location. Massaging your sore ankles, you try and come up with a game plan. You don’t know what’s going on, and it really could all just be a false alarm, but better safe than sorry and all that. It’s a gala full of some of the richest people on earth, and you’re pretty sure you saw a swat team of security guards at the entrance.

So this was probably a hostage situation or a villain attack. You’d hear more noise if it was a supervillain fighting a superhero downstairs. Then you’ll bet on a hostage situation for now. Depending on who had taken you all hostage, that could be a totally fine situation where you all just end up leaving with lighter purses, or it could be the Scarecrow’s shown up and he’s about to mentally traumatise you. Like you needed any more of that.

Of course, this was all probably still a dream. Maybe if you say it enough times you’ll actually believe it. You’ll just plan ahead in case this is real (which it definitely isn’t). Plus you’d proven you could feel pain in this dream anyway, with all the times you’d slapped yourself. You hoped the fucking Tim Drake didn’t think you were too weird. Because he definitely thought you were weird.

It’s cool. You’re cool. You could handle this. You were a Gotham native after all. Totally cool. You have to force yourself not to gag on your own fear. Totally, absolutely, terrifically cool.

A few deep, calming breaths later, and you’re cracking the door of the lavatory open just an inch. You peer through the crevice, taking another deep breath when you don’t see anyone in the hallway. You push the door open a bit wider, peek your head around it to look the other way. Still empty. Another deep breath, you feel your chest rise and fall, and then you take the first step out onto the wooden floors. You wince at the slight noise the bare sole of your foot makes and hurry over to the long Persian rug to snuffle any more sounds.

And then you’re standing in the middle of the hallway in your ballgown, head swivelling back and forth as you try and catch any minuscule sounds, shoulders bunched up to your ears.

The first thing you need to check is the exits. Since you are on the third floor, and the banquet was on the first, you can assume that they’re well-guarded, but probably far away from you. Still, this is the Wayne Enterprises Tower, and there wasn’t just the party happening tonight. It was mostly empty as you’d seen but there’d been a few people you’d wandered past. They’d all seemed like late-night office workers, and the female janitor you’d bumped into was the one who had told you where the toilet was.

Was the janitor okay? Was that her scream you’d heard? Concentrate, dumbass. On airplanes, they tell you to put your mask on first before you do it for anyone else. The idea was the same here. Save yourself before you can hope to save anyone else.

That was… that was if you even needed saving. This could all still just be your own paranoia. Someone hit their knee on a ridiculously fancy side table or something. Like that scream wasn’t of pure terror. Like it didn’t sound like someone on death’s door.

Concentrate! Okay, check the stairs first. Don’t take the elevator, because you’re not an idiot. Maybe. Hopefully. Slowly but surely you creep your way back towards the entrance to the third level, where both the elevator and the stairs were. There was a map, too. You hadn’t been able to figure it out earlier, but you had a bit more incentive this time.

You make sure to place your feet carefully, aiming for the carpets and rugs. Even if your drunken steps miss half the time, you’re still mostly quiet. Every time you have to walk across a crossing you spend a minute listening, and then peer around every corner too. You’re not sure if you should be running, or if you really should try one of the windows.

Deep breaths. Keep moving. That’s the best course of action. Don’t get caught, but don’t just hide either.

It’s when you’re almost at the third-floor foyer when you hear something. There’s a crash, the sound of something breaking. No voices, though. Still, you can’t convince your body to move for a full minute. There’s a part of you that wants to go hide in an abandoned cubicle and wait, but there’s another part of you that is very aware of the rates of fires in this city. You keep going, taking a longer route to avoid the source of the crashing.

Another noise. A scream. Laughter. Spine-chilling laughter.

Shit, motherfucker. Why the hell did you get smashed at a fucking Wayne gala? Everybody knew the rogues of this city were totally obsessively in love with Bruce Wayne. Especially your own personal worst nightmare. You don’t dare even think his name, lest you summon the bastard.

Was he in Arkham right now? He should be. Like you should be at home in the Narrows getting a good night’s rest. Like you should be wearing dorky Flash pyjamas, not a dress more expensive than your rent.

He should be. It’s not nearly enough.

You realise, suddenly, that you have to make a choice here. You can walk away, pretend you didn’t hear anything, that you can’t hear anything. A woman’s cries, you think. You could leave her, save yourself. Hideaway and let whatever fate she’s facing befall her. Could you do that? Could you even stomach the idea?

In the end, the universe makes the decision for you.

“And who do we have here? What’s a pretty little thing like you doing wandering around?”

You hear your doom in his slimy voice, even though you didn’t hear him sneak up on you. Shaking, you raise your hands into the air, and slowly turn around. You see your doom in the twisted clown mask’s grin. For a second you think it’s really him, but then you notice his dark brown hair and the tanned skin under the mask. God, god, god. It’s a Joker goon. Your literal worst nightmare, given flesh. Is he here? No, no, no- You swallow down the urge to scream, to run, and do your best to keep thinking like a person and not a prey animal.

You feel like one. You think he knows that. You hope he doesn’t.

“Hey Travis, I found another one!” the man calls out, raising his gun to point at you. He jerks it, moving forward, and you turn back around obediently. The gun presses against the back of your head, and you move forward, obediently.

“Shithead, don’t say my name out loud!” another voice replies. You get to see its owner when you come around the corner and find the foyer.

There are five other people here, all tied up. Four seem to be exhausted office worker bees, who just stayed too late on the wrong day, and the last is the janitor who helped you. The kind lady gives you terrified eyes, but she’s the only one not crying among the hostages.

“Man, you worry too much. Like there aren’t hundreds of Travis’s in the city.”

“Just shut up, my god! If we leak info and it gets traced back to us, he’s docking our pay.”

Who’s he? Who’s fucking he?! He can’t be here, right? He fucking can’t be. You can’t, you can’t. God, you're going to vomit right here and now.

“Whatever. Anyway, this is the last person on this floor.”

“Check the feed again, dickhead,” the second one commands, obviously the leader between the two.

The one who caught you groans, and then you hear the sound of fabric shuffling. Is he looking at his phone? You wish you could turn around and look. You don’t dare with the barrel against you.

Your teeth dig into the side of your mouth. So did they have the security feeds? That meant you were doomed from the start. The only other option would’ve been to actually jump out one of the windows. They would’ve probably found you anyway. Hunted you down to meet their quota.

Shit. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. This is looking like a big deal. And everybody knew Joker never left out on his big deal jobs, he enjoyed them too much. He’s probably downstairs demanding the Batman come meet him and have tea or something. Shit.

All of a sudden these goons seem like the much better end of the deal.

“Checked, checked, double-checked, triple-checked… There’s nobody else here,” the man behind you grumbles, and the one in front of you sighs.

“Alright, alright. Bring her over, I’ll tie her up, and then we can blow this joint,” the man says, and you really, really hope he’s not being serious about blowing this place. You’d had enough of explosions, thank you very much. Especially ones organised by the Joker.

The gun digs harshly into your skull, “Well, go on.”

Swallow, swallow down your fear. Don’t let it stop you. You walk forward to the other man, arms in the air shaking. When you’re in reaching distance, the second goon roughly grabs you and shoves you to your knees. He pushes your hands in front of you, not bothering to tie them behind you. You don’t know if that’s a good thing or not.

The rope cuts into your skin. It’s going to leave marks, and bruises. The man finishes tying the knot and then pulls you back to your feet. Then he shoves you towards the elevator and turns to start picking up the other hostages. You turn so your back is toward the wall, not willing to have your eyes off the monsters for even a second.

It’s when he’s pushing one of the office workers towards you, that the second man speaks again.

“Hey, the boss said we had to kill one of ‘em.”

What? What did he say?

“Oh yeah, oops.”

The gunshot goes off before you can process the words. Before you can process the gunshot, the janitor’s body is crumpling to the floor. Before you can process her fall, blood is starting to seep from the wound in her chest. Before you can process any of that, the man behind you laughs.

He laughs. He laughs and laughs and laughs.

The janitor lies on the floor, blood seeping into her hair and uniform. You squeeze your eyes tight, tears slipping over the lids. You refuse to look at the wound. At the gaping hole in her chest. And despite yourself, you know why they shot her, not you. Not any of the workers either.

Because she wasn’t worth the cash.

Yesterday, that would’ve been you on the floor. You were a fake wearing a fancy dress, who didn’t belong here at all. Still, they didn’t know that. You didn’t think anybody knew that. Not anyone but you, who had woken up in a world a little to the left.

“I’ll be down in a minute, Trav. I wanna play with this one for a bit,” the shooter says, and all of a sudden you’re thrown back into your body, into your frail mortality. You’re cold, your spine gives a shiver, and your horrified eyes find the wretched clown mask.

Like you said, your doom. You wish you weren’t right all the time.

“No way. She’s one of the high-profilers, we need her,” his leader replies, and you’re desperate to stick by his side. You didn’t think a Joker goon would be your saviour, but here you were.

“I’ll give you five K of my split,” he offers, not willing to let go of it. Of you.

The other one pauses, glances at you assessingly. There’s a glint of something in his eyes, something that tells you you’re not making it out of here unscathed. It’s something you recognise, something you even recognise inside yourself.

It’s greed. And it’s going to kill you. You always knew it would, you just didn’t think it’d be like this.

“Make it seven,” he finally announces, the deal for your soul made without any fuss or fanfare.

“You’re such a hardass. Fine, fine, seven it is.”

“Alright, and only thirty minutes, tops. Not a hair on her head, you understand me?” he says over his shoulder, waggling a finger at his coworker.

The group leaves through the elevator. It dings, and you watch in mute, stunned horror as the other hostages refuse to meet your gaze. As they abandon you to save their own asses. You couldn’t really blame them, as much as you wanted to. You were ready to do the same earlier.

“I think not even a hair is pushing it, right?” the creep says, finger reaching out for said hair. You jerk back out of his reach, an instinctual flinch. He grins, and lets his hand fall back to his side. You take a shaky step backward.

You’re trembling with fear. With the need to get away from this terror, this situation.

He gestures with his gun, pointing back in the direction of the branching hallways.

“Well, go on. Run.”

And God help you, you do.

Spinning on your heel, you flee to the echoing sound of his laughter. Your feet fall rhythmically against the marble floors, the sound of your bare soles far too loud. You can’t even do anything about it. There’s no option for stealth here, only the sort of hunt you’d expect to find in the woods.

Not here in civilised mankind’s territory. But this was Gotham, and the monsters often looked human.

You dart into a large room filled with tiny square cubicles. A call centre or something, a maze of low walls that are too small to hide behind. You keep going, teeth-gritting when his laughter cuts off. He’s taking this seriously, hunting you down. You think he’s done this before. ‘Played’ with people.

You can’t worry about those other poor victims, lest you become his next one.

Another crash, this time to your left. Your head snaps to the side, eyes wide, but when you look there’s only a broken lamp on the floor. You have to swallow down the urge to cry. He is. He’s playing with you. He’s having fun with it.

You keep running, passing by halls and offices and don’t stop running till you can’t. Out of breath. You’re out of breath. You bend over, the stitch in your side too much for you to stand. Why are you out of breath? You can run more than this. You often run more than this when you’re late for your morning train.

What’s going on? What’s happening to you?

A bang, behind you. You spin around. Don’t see anything.

He’s nearby. Right under your nose. You need to keep running, you have to. Through your panting you hear his laughter again, and that’s enough fear to get you moving again. Maybe you were in Arkham, arms strapped to your side and screams wailing down the halls.

You didn’t believe it. No, not in this moment. Not right now, as you run for your life. If you lived through this, you’d probably go back to thinking it was all a dream or a delusion.

But with that monster nearby, there’s nothing this could be but real. With sweat dripping down your neck, smearing your makeup. With the feeling of your heart beating out of your chest, in your ears. With the blind, all-consuming panic you’re in.

He’s real. And he’s coming for you.

You lift your tied hands and press them to your lips, muffling the sound of your harsh breathing and soft sobs. Heart beating out of your ribcage, you push your body even as it screams for you to stop. You’re flagging. Vision’s swimming, and you can feel bile creeping up your throat. You can’t keep doing this. You need to keep doing this.

For a moment, you stop to catch your breath. And he catches you too.

You scream, tugging at the rough grip on him. He swings you around into a wall, and again, you cry out. Side throbbing with pain, singing with it. Still, you don’t stop. Can’t stop. Not safe, not safe, not safe. You push back against him, and he pushes back against you. Your drunken state is no match, and you tumble down onto the carpet. When he laughs, you look up at him, and he down at you.

The goon’s plastic mask merges with the Joker’s mutilated face, until you can’t tell the difference.

You aren’t the type to fight back. It’s just not instinctual to you. But when you hear his belt buckle clack, your foot kicks out before you can even think. You hit him squarely in the stomach, knocking him backward, and then you scramble away from underneath him.

“You bitch!”

He grabs you by the nape of your neck, yanking you backwards. You choke, hands grasping desperately at the grip around your throat, but he offers no relent. You’ve pissed him off. That doesn’t mean you can stop, can give up. You can’t stop fighting. Can’t stop struggling. Can’t stop, can’t stop, can’t stop-

The gun clicks. You freeze.

“Yeah, figured you’d be more obedient if I did that. Now, get up,” his voice is breathy, from the high of the chase or the hit you delivered, you’re not sure.

You hope it’s the latter. You hope this fucker drops and dies, right on the spot. You’re not that lucky, though.

Ah, your hands are hurting again. Not just the one, but both. Maybe you touched something. An allergic reaction of some sort. It shouldn’t be distracting you, it shouldn’t even be noticeable in the situation you’re in but god. The itchy heat is nearly as unbearable as the evil cretin in front of you.

“You think you’re gonna get away with that? I’m so fucking sick and tired of you whores who think you matter anything. You don’t, and I’m going to help you realise that,” he rants. His eyes are red through the tiny slits in the mask. Angry, dangerous, on the edge.

“Please, look I’m sorry,” you stutter out, stinging hands in the air. You want to run, but you think he’ll shoot if you do.

“You’re lucky I don’t fuck corpses.”

No, that doesn’t sound very lucky at all, actually. No, this seems like maybe it might turn out to be the new worst moment of your life. You don’t think it can get much worse than this, than the next moments that will pass. And it’s too much. It’s too, too much. Your palms are itchy and there’s a gun pointed between your eyes and the goon’s licking his lips and oh my god you’re going to die from an allergy before the bullet and-

And you just want it all to stop. You want it so desperately. You want the man in front of you to disappear, to never exist again, to go right down to hell where he belongs. You just want him gone.

Your hands stop hurting. The burning heat disappears. It’s quiet again. You can’t hear him laughing, the awful slick sound of him licking his lips. You can’t feel the cool iron on your forehead, the heat from his body so close. You can’t smell his sweaty stench. Your eyes open.

…There’s no gun. There’s no man.

You crumple to the ground with a relieved sob. Fisted hands lift to your eyes, as big blubbery tears stream down your face. Your shoulders shake with your cries. Your heart is screaming in your chest, trying to beat out of it. He’s gone, somehow. You’re alive, somehow. You’re not dead with a bullet in your brain, somehow. Somehow, somehow, somehow.

An impossibility. It’s an impossibility, and you’re so goddamn grateful for it.

As always, you don’t give yourself long to cry. Even as your tears still fall, even as you lick them off your mouth, tasting salt and lipstick and fear, you push to your feet shakily. You almost fall over with your hands still tied, shouldering the wall next to you for balance. You don’t have time to cry. No time to process what just happened. You need to get to safety.

You creep back into the main area, heart pounding in your ears, breath hiccuping. You don’t know how long it takes for you to get there. Ten minutes, thirty, maybe even an hour. When you try the staircase door, it doesn’t open. You yank on the handle, grab a chair and try and smash it in, but it stands strong. Fuck. You try the elevator as a last-ditch effort, but the buttons don’t respond.

You press your overheated forehead to the cool metal. Okay. Okay. Okay, okay, okay.

You turn around and storm back into the cubicle space, find one at the edge of the room with a clear view of all the doors, and tuck yourself under the desk. Pulling your knees to your chest, you resist the urge to rock yourself like a baby.

And you sit there, and you watch, and you wait. It doesn’t matter how many hours pass, you are not moving from this spot. It doesn’t matter how heavy your lids feel, how the adrenaline leaving your body has you sagging.

You’re not going to sleep. It’s not safe, and you’re not dying today. You’re simply not.\

You’re not allowed to.

A hand touches your shoulder, and you snap awake. Your fist slings out at the would-be attacker, but they dodge it smoothly. When you rear up for another, they move back, hands in the air in a show of surrender. Panting, you don’t lower the fist, your vision swimming.

It’s the Joker. But the Joker wouldn’t back up, right? And the Joker isn’t red, he’s green and purple.

It takes a while for the Joker’s pale, laughing face to disappear. But when you blink and he’s gone, you find someone else underneath. A red mask, a man you think you recognise from TV. A vigilante. God, you hated the vigilantes in Gotham.

Not more than the Joker. Not more than him.

The man stays a safe distance away, gloved hands firmly in the air. He’s tall, really tall. Broad-shouldered, scary. But he’s a vigilante, right?

Is he here to save you? Someone should've by now. The bastard's late then.

He says your name, you think. You can’t hear him properly. Wait no, it’s a nickname, one you haven’t heard in years. You could barely remember your mother calling you that as she tucked you in, as she told you she loved you over the phone, as she disappeared from the world entirely.

You hadn’t let anyone call you that since.

How does he know that name? How does this bastard know your name?

“-hurt? Hey, hey. Listen to me, are you hurt anywhere?” his voice is deep and warbled through the red metal mask, his eyes peering down at you through his domino. You just stare at him, eyes wide, barely breathing.

You need to know how he knows. Unconsciously, your hand reaches up to him, and after a moment, he takes it in his own firm grip. It’s awkward, as you’re still sitting half under the desk and he’s trying to stay as far away from you as possible. Still, his hand is warm through the leather, grounding, keeping you from drifting off into panic and fear. Into your worst nightmares come to life.

Because this was real. It didn’t matter that it was impossible, it was real. You simply couldn’t deny it any longer, this was all real.

You stare at this stranger’s gloved hand like it holds the answers to the universe. It might, in the end. It really just might. It wasn’t like the universe was making much sense at the moment.

“She seems fine. Uninjured, if a bit shocked. Doesn’t seem to have a concussion. Hardly responding anyway,” Red Hood speaks, but not to you. An earbud, you think. Superheroes used wiretaps and things like that all the time, right?

If you could even consider Red Hood a superhero. Everybody knew he had his own gang. Of course, even as your very life is being saved, it’s by a morally grey hero who runs around with crowbars and guns. Ah, you’re crying again.

You told yourself a long time ago that you wouldn’t let yourself cry anymore. And you’d managed it, mostly. You think you’ll give yourself a pass for today, just a little one. You hold this stranger’s hand, and you cry.

You just cry. You cry, and you hold the hand of some stranger you hate, because you have to.

MASTERLIST - NEXT

#Series:WWW #yandere batfam #yandere dc #yandere batfamily #yandere x reader #dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #damian wayne x reader #robin x reader

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luimagines · 1 month ago

Text

Always in Ink

Another commission!

They asked for Calamity Link with a soulmate au. Of course I had to oblige.

Masterlist

Content under the cut!

You were under the assumption that your soulmate was either the most romantic person alive or you were going to be made into the most oblivious person on the planet.

Every person by the time they turn ten years old gets a special mark on their skin. It was usually on the inside of their wrist, but there have been known cases where it has appeared on the leg or back. It’s not exactly common but there were more than enough people to stand out from the norm that others needn’t be concerned when they didn’t see anything on their wrist.

This mark that the people receive is considered special and unique to each and every person. While it appeared to be nothing but beautiful calligraphy lines made up of total gibberish to everyone else, it was said to be the first words your soulmate would say to you.

No one else could read it but the person the words were written on and the person who was to speak them. It was both to keep the sanctity of the bond safe from those wishing to sabotage the connection and to keep either party from finding each other too soon.

At least that was what you were told from a young age. No one really seemed keen to prove whether that was the truth or not. Most were ready to merely accept it as reality since it made the most sense.

Your mark was directly over your heart. If you were to ask anyone they would have said that it appeared as beautiful climbing vines with a multitude of unique flowers that twirled up to your collarbone and over your ribs.

You on the other hand, every time you looked into the mirror saw the words etched in black ink, ‘You; it was always you.’

The idea of those very words being written over your heart was enough to send it pounding. The thought of having someone important enough, with those very words, the first words they’ll say to you, and having them etched over your skin in such an intimate location; was enough to make you swoon.

“It was always you.” You trace the words over your skin and smile to yourself.

A horn blares in the distance. It’s sharp, long and alarming. Your city is under attack!

Panic floods your system quickly. Before you can even begin to think of the ramifications of your actions, you go to the window to see what it could possibly be.

Bokoblins, moblins, lynels- each creature more menacing than the last, begin to storm Mabe Village. Screams of your neighbors begin to fill your ears and shake the walls of your house.

You rush out of the building and take to the streets, not wanting to be near the beginnings of the fires the monsters are setting. The smell of smoke quickly envelopes the main square and you’re stuck wondering where your family went.

Your first instinct is to go to Castle Town. The city had high walls and was fortified to withstand such an attack. There were countless talks from your neighborhood that should anything happen, you were run to the city at once. It was the safety plan after all if you weren’t on the field fighting to protect your homes.

The adrenaline however, serves to confuse you. As you run through the city of Mabe Village, you find yourself running in circles, always coming back without finding the exit.

The monsters quickly catch wind of your confusion, targeting you before you so much as have the time to gather your bearings. Bokoblins are quickly on your tail, rushing at you with high pitched shrieks and pig-like snorts. Their thunderous steps shake the ground as they begin to gain ground on you.

You’re already so tired.

Shing!

The monsters scream, turning their heads to a new attacker. You don’t look behind you, but you’re not too far gone in your panic to not notice that someone has come to your rescue. You hope it was one of the knights. Someone trained and able to defend just enough so you can make a proper escape from the attack.

As you hide behind one of the walls, you can hear that the battle is short. Even when your own breath threatens to cover up the sounds of the battle, it’s not lost on you that it’s only a matter of moments before the monsters are no more. There’s the tell tale sound of smoke as they poof out of existence. Their cries of agony cut short by their failing bodies.

Whoever has come to your rescue must be incredibly skilled.

The silence that falls over the area is unsettling at best. Almost like a calm before the storm. Eager to get away but unwilling to at least not thank your rescuer to his face, you poke your head out from behind the wall. What you see shocks you.

There’s a young man there about your age. At least that’s what you’re willing to assume. He’s blond with his hair in a ponytail at the back of his head. Pleased with his work, he sheathed his sword again, turning toward you.

Your breath catches in your throat. He has the bluest eyes you have ever seen on a person. “Th-thank you.” You stumble toward him, fumbling over your words as the shock of nearly being attacked washes over you. You introduce yourself quickly, wanting to know the name of your savior.

The young man’s eyes widened. You hear him suck in a breath to speak in reply before a loud crashing sound cuts him off, diverting his attention behind him.

A young woman of the sheikah clan screams, running past the both of you. The knight doesn’t hesitate to chase after her, cutting off the bokoblins from attacking her much like the ones before had planned for you.

You, with very little forethought, rush after her as well, wanting to drag her safety as the knight deals with the threat.

But she trips, dropping a strange object in her hand.

A small, white, egg-like structure jumps to life while the city’s foundation begins to shake beneath you. Unwilling to let that dissuade you, despite the strange tower that begins to emerge from the ground, you rush toward the young woman and pull her to her feet. Ducking to give her the strange plate-like thing she was carrying earlier, you shove it in her hands and push her behind you.

“Are you ok?”

“No.” She replies, looking up at the tower for longer than you think necessary. “I needed to bring this to the castle.”

Once the tower was fully erect, the monsters ran in the opposite direction, giving the three of you more time to breathe.

“It’s… a tower?” The sheika said softly, gazing questionably up at the massive structure.

“I… I guess so?” You answered her, looking around as if there were answers to be found in the air.

The knight nodded at you both and you gave him one in return. You were both alright. Unharmed for the most part. Just confused.

He turned to the egg-like thing and studied it. You followed his gaze and realized that you’ve really never seen anything like it before. It looked mechanical but ancient, seemingly brought to life by the change and attack of the monsters.

“An inexplicable guardian…” The sheika walked up beside you. “And a mysterious tower… I hate to say it, but we have little hope of figuring this out on our own.”

“He’s kinda cute…” You tilted your head at it, watching in fascination as the little being walked around on its three legs and made small beeps and boops.

Without warning, the little guy took off as fast as it could go out of the direction of your city.

“Hey, what are you-! No!” The sheika ran after it. “Stop right there!”

The knight ran with her, leaving you alone in the once chaotic square.

“Oh… ok…” You looked around awkwardly. Now what? The battle seemed to be over. The cries of the monsters and the sound of the clashing steel had faded to nearly nothing. It was quiet now.

With not much left to do, you went back home to check the damage.

Unscathed.

Odd, but not unwelcome. You tried to shake the events of the day off of your shoulders and get on with it. It was easier said than done.

The course over the next few days left the people of Hyrule dizzy with unrest. The hustle and bustle of daily life had shifted to more exciting times, with an inherent sense of doom and foreboding. Many were speaking of leaving the city or Hylian territory altogether, but where would they go.

Your family had tried to keep things calm within the walls of your home before the people had caught wind that the princess herself would be traveling through. It was probably the most positive news Mabe Village could have received, even if it meant she was only passing through.

Your neighbors were to remain indoors to leave her undisturbed. But of course that didn’t mean that people wouldn’t be looking through the windows to catch a glimpse of the beloved Princess Zelda.

You were of the same mind, if only because she was nearly elusive otherwise to the hylians of Mabe Village. You had no idea what she looked like.

Hearing the small troop pass by your street, you picked one of the highest windows your house had to offer. You saw her. Blond in her royal street attire. You smiled softly. She couldn’t have been much older than you either. The thought was somewhat comforting.

But then you started to pay attention to the people around her. There was a zora at the back accompanied with a rather large goron, but there was a familiar mop of blond hair next to the princess that had shaken you.

It was the knight from before!

Had he always accompanied the princess? Or did he get a promotion? If he was the princess’s personal guard, then what was he doing so far down in your city when it was attacked?

Your heart ached with a strange and foreign pain. It felt constricting, almost as if you were suddenly unable to breathe.

The knight turned around suddenly, catching you in the window at once.

You gasp and duck, hiding yourself behind the walls once more as you try to settle your racing heart. The eye contact was borderline electric. Your mouth was instantly dry and your palms were covered in a thin layer of sweat.

“What is wrong with me?” You whisper, hugging your knees to your chest. He was handsome, sure, but not panic worthy. At least, that’s what you thought. You’ve never had such a strong visceral reaction to a person like that before. You still didn’t so much as know his name.

You stayed hidden until the entourage had passed.

Sounds of chaos quickly started up once again. From the sounds beyond the walls of your home, the infamous Yiga Clan had gathered in an attempt to murder the Princess Zelda.

This time however, you stayed inside. The handsome stranger that saved you had much better things to do with his time than entertain you when you would only be getting in the way. Losing your life didn’t seem worth the price for simply wanting to meet him again.

Which would have been the end of it, if you had done the smart thing and stayed out of sight while you were at it.

Curious creature that you were, you looked back outside your window.

Right into the ever lifeless gaze of a Yiga mask.

You screamed as the cult member laughed and quite literally pulled you out of your home, tossing you to the streets and arms of another member waiting for you below. Their sicken laugh scratched the back of your brain like nails on a chalkboard.

You tried to fight out of their hold, but without any training on your side, you were no match for the ever ruthless Yiga Clan.

You screamed again as the man began to leave without in his arms. Thoughts of what’s to come and what they could have possibly planned for you invaded your mind at once, instilling panic and fear. “NO!” The shrill sound of your own screams seemed foreign to your ears, having reached a point of terror you’ve never experienced before. “LET ME GO!”

The Yiga Clan male fought to keep you within his grip. You kicked, punched and tried to elbow him in the weak points your father had tried to teach you in the past. But given that you were being held from behind, they had little to no effect on the beast which held you captive. A peaceful life has left you at a disadvantage unfortunately. There wasn’t anything you could have done to get out of his grip.

Even as you landed a considerable hit to his groin, you were simply dropped and picked up by another Yiga Clan member.

You screamed in outrage and adrenaline, hitting the person as many times as you could before you were teleported into a place the civilians avoided at all cost.

“Enjoy the party!” He taunted before teleporting away from you.

You shot to your feet at once, staying silent before making an attempt for the exit.

The beast before you was huge, bigger than most of the houses of Hyrule. With burgundy skin, gnarly toes and claws, it’s one eye opened with a flash. The hinox roared to life, indignant at being woken up from its nap.

The scream that tore through your throat was blood curdling and raw.

The beast settled its attention and rage on you as it took a step forward. You ran, knowing that this beast could eat you in a single bite if it managed to grab you. Anything within arms distance of this beast was a borderline death sentence.

You tripped.

Rolling over, you saw the massive, black tipped claws reaching out to you and screamed again, alerting everyone and everything to your impending doom.

Ffffpt-!

You gasped, feeling the air around you snap as an arrow embedded itself into the finger of the hinox. It bought you enough time to get back to your feet and run away back to safety. You crashed into somebody, making you scream again in the assumption it was another Yiga Member.

He grabbed your shoulders, settling you at once. You looked at him and gasped. “It’s you.”

The knight looked at you with an almost panicked expression before shoving you behind him.

A beat passed as the hinox roared again. It eyed you both but the knight wasn’t undeterred. He shoved your shoulder with a grunt before rushing the giant without a single look in your direction.

You took the silent order to heart and ran as fast as you could back to anything that resembled relative safety.

In trying to figure out where in your city you had been taken to, you ran into the zora and goron you had eyed before from your window when they had passed your house. You ran to them without thought, seeing that they were armed and more than capable of defending themselves.

“Help me!!”

The zora appeared to be a smaller female, red in the scales and adorned with chains and zora jewels that you saw from time to time when the merchants visited Mabe Village on their way to Castle Town. You ran to her first. “Help me! I don’t know what to do!”

She gasped softly when you collapsed to your knees by her side. She fought off the remaining Yiga and gently put a hand to your shoulder as you fought for your breath. A calming cooling sensation washed over you. It settled in your bones and chilled away the small aches and pains you had gathered in your tussle with the Yiga members that had taken you out of your home.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” She said softly.

You gulped and shook your head. “No. No, I’m not hurt. At least not terribly so. Thank you.”

“What happened to you?” The goron walked over. “I’m Daruk.”

You introduced yourself, quickly explaining what happened to you and why you were outside at the moment of crisis like this. “I think they wanted to use me as a distraction to get the hinox hungry for more. But there was a knight who came to save me. Blond. Blue eyes.”

“That would be Link.” The zora said with a soft smile on her face. “He is the princess’s personal guard.”

“Her personal guard…” You echoed with soft awe. That would make more sense. He appeared to be exceptionally skilled with a sword and he was no doubt good at what he did to be where he was. You gulped quietly, regarding the talismans on the zora in front of you. Something about her seemed important. “I don’t think I caught your name.”

“Mipha.” She bowed quickly. “Princess of the Zora.”

You quickly got to your feet in a rush. “I’m so sorry… I didn’t mean to get in your way.”

Mipha shook her head. “It was my pleasure to assist you. Head home and stay low. We will handle the Yiga.”

“They’ll regret ever stepping foot here!” Daruk swung his rock smasher with little regard to the space around him.

You nodded frantically, thanking them both for their assistance before making your way home with nothing but getting to safety in your mind.

It didn’t register until the next day that you had finally a name to the knight that continually saved you. One day, when things calm for the sake of normality again, you want to thank him to his face.

The unexpected attack on the princess, while it proved futile, had done nothing to lessen the tensions around your home.

As if to make matters worse, the skies had darkened on the evening of the princess’s seventeenth birthday.

The ground shook and the ever standing Hyrule Castle was shrouded in dark, blistering red smoke. Screams once again echoed through the streets as the men, women and children all began to run.

Mabe Village was close to Castle Town as it was. The smoke was quickly spreading and overtaking everything in its path.

The tower in the middle of the city shuts down. The lights dimmed and the points at the top collapsed as the power to the pillar was cut off.

Explosions are heard from the direction of Hyrule Castle and all hope is quickly lost.

Strange malicious machines that your stunned and melted brain unhelpfully identifies as guardians begin to storm all the inhabitable range of your people. People take off running, taking to the streets and the guardians blast through every wall as if the bricks were nothing but plaster.

You run, cursing your luck of living in interesting times for the nth time over the course of a month. You panted and ducked quickly into the woods for a safe hiding spot. You bobbed and weaved through the trees and the bushes, desperate to feel something akin to normality once more.

You trip, rolling to your side and tucking yourself close to the trunk of a rather large tree. There’s a small hole between the roots. Despite your exhaustion, you shimmy yourself into the hidey hole to catch your breath. The tension snaps from your fatigued body and you black out.

You’re not sure how long you’re there for.

You wake up every now and then, succumbing to the blissful realm of the dreamscape, wanting to escape the nightmare that your home has found itself in.

Shouting.

More shouting.

Human voices.

They’re coming closer.

“Is anyone here?”

“Come out! We have refuge!”

“We are here to take survivors to a safe point!”

“Anyone!”

“Here.” You call you weakly, your voice stunted and torn from the abuse and disuse it had gone through. You force yourself to wake up, to keep fighting. Pushing yourself free of the tree roots and the brambles, you crawl toward the voices. “Here!”

“We found one!” The men shout and rush towards you.

The next hours are a blur. You’re wounded (which would explain why you struggled with consciousness) and apparently weaker than you cared to acknowledge. You and a few others they had managed to comb out of the forest are quickly escorted to a horse driven carriage, where a doctor and healers await you.

You are taken away, through the thicker parts of the forest and through trails you fail to recognize. The doctors and healers treat you and patch you up, letting you drink water and broth to regain your strength.

You nap again, feeling safe in a way that the previous days hadn’t allowed you to feel.

You wake to find yourself on a bed, warm and undisturbed.

Strange. The last thing you remember was being on that carriage. How did you get here?

The light is nearly blinding after being shrouded in dim lighting as you were. The sky is still dark, appearing as if the world was bathed in a red tinted twilight. The view would otherwise be spectacular.

You can see nearly all of Hyrule from your vantage point. From the Hebra region, to Death Mountain, all the way to Akala and the seas beyond. Stranger yet, you know you’ve never been here before but you can’t help but recognize where you are.

“...The Great Plateau.” The words leave you breathless.

Looking around, you see that there’s many Hylians around. Most of them are knights. But was the occasional civilian out and about, tending to the soldiers and keeping the basic settlement afloat by attending to the basic needs.

“Oh you’re awake.” Someone notices you and quickly gives you the rundown of what’s been happening while you’ve been recuperating. Your hand lands over your heart, feeling the weight of something lost you’ve never obtained. Many have fallen. Your soulmate was likely to be one of them.

The King had taken to settling on the plateau for a counter strike after the castle was lost, bringing all that he could to safety beyond the blackened clouds.

In the distance, you can hear the roar of battles continuing to be waged, of monster cries and laser blasts and more explosions than you could count.

The skies get darker still.

Determined to make yourself useful, you begin doing everything you can, aiding your people with your talents as they regroup and form a strategy.

Within hours, a blinding light overtakes Hyrule Field. It forces the blacked skies at a distance, bringing the sunshine back to the surface of the earth. And with it, the unfathomable notion of hope. Hope that all is not lost.

The princess had awakened her power.

News quickly spread like wildfire and everyone was excited at the hint of victory over the horizon. You yourself were happy as well. The idea that the nightmare would soon end would be enough to buoy your spirits until it was all over.

Help arrived almost at once. It seemed that within the course of a day, the princess and the troops that had rallied beside her had joined the group at the plateau, eager to merge the forces of Hyrule once more.

You watched the soldiers all clamber to the Temple of Time when you saw him. The knight from before- no, you should have known him better by now. It was Link! With the princess!

Something in your heart rejoiced at the sight of him unharmed and well. You gasped and rushed toward him before you remembered yourself. Would he even remember you? It had already felt like a lifetime again since you had seen him by the hinox. And even then, it was a passing glance at most as he saved your life for a second time.

You stepped back, turning around and slapping your cheeks softly.

No, it was futile. He had bigger things to worry about than to bother with you. He was merely doing his duty.

Footsteps. Foomp-!

“What in the-?” Your words had been cut off. Someone had rushed to you, hugging you from behind. A moment passes before they let go, allowing you to turn around to see them.

“Link?” Your eyebrows shoot up. He looked on the verge of tears.

“You.” He croaks, hugging you again.

You’re thoroughly confused. “Me?”

Lightning strikes in your head. You’re impressed by the fortitude you had managed to clamor together to not scream at the top of your lungs.

“...Me?” You breathe, putting your hand over your heart in the pattern of your mark.

He nods, seemingly shaken up by seeing you once again. “It was always you.”

The young man nods, ripping off his gauntlet and showing you his mark. With your mouth suddenly dry, you took his hand gently in your, bringing his wrist closer to get a look at the black lace like patterns on his skin. However, instead of gibberish like your brain was used to expecting, there; in bold unmistakable letters was what you had told him. ‘Thank you. I’m-’

And there was your name. Plain as the nose on your face.

It was heart stopping. The air was thick around the two of you as he waited for your reaction. He had known for much longer than you. Also unaware of if you were safe or not while he had run into danger head first on multiple occasions. The thought causes you to grip his hand a little tighter. He still needed to run head first into danger. The war was far from over.

The silence drags on and the others are beginning to stare. It’s not lost on the people what’s happened. There’s only so many that willingly show their soulmarks to another and not have it be dismissed quickly. It’s achingly clear that you’ve read what it said.

You can’t stand the growing tension and you hate to think about the implication of this discovery. Wanting to break the ice, you gulp and give Link a weak, if rueful smile, much to your dismay. “...You had it way easier than I did.”

To his credit, he laughs, shifting his hand into your grip to properly hold your hand. “You… could say that.”

You smile a little easier, looking at his hand as he holds yours. You can feel the calluses on his hands from no doubt the hours he’s put into his training. It’s enough to make you gulp. The sword on his back, while new to you, is glaring obvious to anyone who knows of the role he must play.

“...I’ll wait for you.” You decide. Because you will. Because it’s the only thing you can do.

Besides; you’ve waited long enough for your soulmate as it is. You can wait a little bit longer.

“Just promise me something?” You whisper, putting his hand over your own mark. He nods, all determined and serious. The fierceness of his gaze sends your heart pounding within its cage. You nearly forget how to speak. “...Come back to me. I can’t-... I can’t lose my soulmate after just finding him.”

“Link?” The princess walks in your direction. You hear her quiet and confused voice as if it was miles away. You’re too focused on the will-be-hero in front of you.

“Promise me.” You stress, pressing his hand harder over your heart, over your soulmark.

He nods. “Promise. I wouldn’t ever do that to you.”

Something else clicks in your mind then. Not only had he known who you were to him before you knew who he was to you, he had saved your life. Not once but twice from what would have been an immediate death otherwise.

And then the castle was taken over.

He had no idea what happened to you. Link could have easily assumed that he lost you without ever speaking a word to you. He must have been terrified.

You gulp. The weight of that knowledge sits heavily within your stomach like a lead ball. “Good. I’ll hold you to that. On your honor as a knight of Hyrule.”

“On my honor as your soulmate.” He whispers, pulling your hands away from your chest to press a small kiss to your knuckles. “I swear by this.”

“Oh.” The princess looks awkward suddenly, quickly making herself sparse to no longer intrude on the moment.

Your heart goes out to the young lady, but you can’t fully bring yourself to care too much, too caught up in your own little world at the moment.

“My soulmate…” You smiled at him. “I like that idea.”

“May I-?” He says, fingers deftly moving to fiddle with the he of your sleeve. He takes a moment to breathe before looking you in the eye. “May I see your soulmark?”

You bite your lip, fighting back the blush that threatens to consume you as if your life depended on it. “It’s not on my wrists.”

“...Oh.” He says simply. You can see him poke his cheek from the inside with his tongue before he clicks it softly. “Where is it?”

You smile and take his hand again, putting it back over your heart like you had done earlier. “You’ve always been here.”

Link smiles. Actually smiles at you.

He was breathtaking. It was the straw that broke the camel’s back. You were blushing all the way down to your chest, no doubt covering and coloring the intricate vining over your skin.

“Always there.” He echoes softly. “Always with you. Never forget it.”

“I have you with me forever.” You reply. “How can I?”

“Link!” Another voice calls, snapping you both out of your trance. Jumping, you turn to the voice, looking at a rather diverse group of people watching you both shamelessly.

“It is time.”

#legend of zelda #hyrule warriors #age of calamity #Link x reader #link loz

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shutupineedtothink · 2 months ago

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More ep 7 thoughts, now that I’ve watched it twice and processed 🫠

Bookending the episode with Lilia’s fall but first it’s down and then it’s up - sick, twisted, beautiful, devastating, I’m crying

The soundtrack really goes hard in this ep

The wildest part about the “ex best friend” line is all of those things are equally insane - ex, ex best friend, or best friend. Like ma’am what hex were you living in

Babysitter is likely a reference to the comics, but interesting also in terms of WV because we saw Agatha babysit the twins only once I think. Does this mean she actually spent more time with them than we know?

Wow once again Kathryn Hahn is doing so much work in this first scene with Billy, she’s going from snarky to wary to calculating to hurt to i don’t even know. She’s doing a masterclass in face acting.

When they start to climb toward the castle, Agatha has her hands clasped behind her back and initially I was just like ma’am, why are you like this, but then I realized oh. Her hands are tied right now.

Waning moon for the Crone trial babyyyyyy called it

Fun and fast transition to get us into the trial, since we know the deal by now

She’s based on me you know — sooooo, tragic, misunderstood, secretly suffering her whole life, constantly judged by others, uh huh uh huh

Prove it - he really doesn’t believe a word she says! And she looks so hurt by it!

The way Agatha sits in the chair omg girl please chill

This is such like an Indiana Jones trap I love it

God I love Lilia’s visions, changing the perspective to hers, the blurring around the edges - sometimes you don’t need to do much, but it’s hella effective

Actually a lot of good camera tricks in this ep I’m not going to point them all out

It’s about limiting beliefs baybeee - once again the writers showing they know their psych

I’m sorry that tea leaves to the underground transition??? Spectacular

“Well tell me what more I should see when I look at you. No, I mean it” - hey nonviolent communication, how’s it going 🤌

God can you imagine how scary it would be to have these visions as a CHILD

Did you not see imminent impalement in your future?? Lol why did this get me

I get the fake nose on Agatha but idk maybe I could’ve done without it

Teenager his full name LOLOL underrated joke

Dory OMGGGGG

Jen being the ultimate Lilia champion this ep and I love it. Also seems to contradict her behavior even more in Agatha’s trial, but she’s still more snappy with Agatha here too

What are you wearing, I don’t wanna talk about it - bruh every line. EVERY LINE.

Did I mention the transitions are killer

Your task is not to control but to see. - I, I can’t keep writing down every line but

I love that as soon as Jen knows what’s going on, she’s totally on board, just asking Lilia for intel, like yep this is normal now

Ahhh the spell book. Interesting that Lilia finds it.

Ohp - I wish Lilia was here. Ask and you shall receive - see the Billy’s Road theory

She calls him baby again 😭

Is snappy dialogue one of my biggest joys on this earth? I think it is

Proper tarot takes time and care. And leads to large gaping wounds - …. You mean like internal wounds? Like trauma? Like you have to bring up the trauma to heal it? Uh huh uh huh cool cool cool cool you said it Agatha not me.

The Magician, the ability to turn all of your goals into reality - Agatha immediately side eyes him. Bruh.

I’m a forgotten woman. Then remember yourself. 🤌🤌🤌

I was falling. I will fall. - CAMERA. MOVEMENT.

What will you do with your remaining time 🤝 all we can do is decide what to do with the time that is given to us. Iykyk.

The subway baybeee get that House of R theory

God this tarot spread scene is so epic.

Ok Jen being the path ahead… I gotta come back to that

Agatha is the obstacle yep that makes sense (but the obstacle is the way)

Windfall - Billy, miraculous transformation uh yep ok

Destination - Death. Such a good reveal, even if I already knew it. Once again the power of good writing. In the end all roads lead to me. UGH WTF

NOT THE GREEN VINES SPELLING A BIG OL “R” WHEN THE DOORS OPEN

The original green witch…. Ok so she is in the coven… but also Billy’s in the coven? It’s a shared black heart? Or it means you can go one direction or the other… hm.

Ughghghghhh her just giving them each what they need before she sends them onward. She’s the GOAT.

Did I mention the music????

This whole scene is so EPIC. The tower upright fuck it up queen

Oh my God Lilia took her power back 😭

We didn’t see a body unlike Alice I’m holding onto that “see you at the end” lyric with all my might at this point

Time in a bottle was sick and twisted and beautiful I love it

I just… can’t believe this is something I got to witness. Like it’s so good I’m mad about it.

A few other quick thoughts:

Jen being the path ahead… if she was birth in the first trial (see my maiden mother crone trial theory), then maybe she’s also REbirth? It’s a circle sewn with fate… we’re going back to the beginning but emerging from the Road this time. Eh??

Patti…. PATTI!! Where’s her Emmy? Where’s the show’s Emmy???

Not only was this a better time travel plot than the rest of Marvel as I said in another post but it’s also better than time travel in Doctor Who for the last 10 years and that pisses me off low key.

Not to jump ahead but buckle up kids cuz if we’re following the loose structure of WandaVision then ep 8 is our flashback/reliving the trauma episode for Agatha and as much as I was destroyed by this ep I am so not ready for all of that.

Anyway. What a masterpiece. I’m DONE.

#agatha all along #agatha all along spoilers #deaths hand in mine #agatha harkness #lilia calderu

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hyperballart · 5 months ago

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artashi inviting you for a friendly movie night at their place and you innocently agree because tashi is someone you consider a friend and art is just her sweet doting boyfriend—totally harmless. you’re settled on the couch between the pair, which again you find a bit off, but don’t question. tashi sends art to make drinks and that’s when you become a bit dubious, how will you drive home? but then tashi reassures you they have a spare bedroom for you to sleep in. while her boyfriend moves around the kitchen she turns to face you. she starts fixating her pretty brown eyes on you while her hand lightly brushes against the side of your neck. you know it’s wrong—you can hear the clinking of glasses and sloshing of liquids merely feet away from you both—but her attention feels too good.

when art gets back you’re surprisingly disappointed and the sudden absence of affection but you quickly snap back into reality. she’s just a friend to you, they both are, stop being a pervert. you try to keep that thought in your head but after one drink turns to two and two turns to three, the couple starts crossing that friendly line the night had started with. kisses pressed to your neck on both sides—tashi licks and sucks under your jaw with raw hunger, her manicured hand gripping your thigh. art is more calculated, small nips and peppered kisses trailing down your neck.

the kissing morphs into something much more intense, clothes come off then you’re moved to their bed. tashi has you pinned down on the mattress, her long curls enveloping you while she starts grinding against your cunt. you’re both so wet, the sound of the creamy glide making its way to your ears and you whine her name so pretty she just wants to devour you. her hands play with your soft tits while she calls out, “see, i told you she’d be a good girl. such a sweet little thing, aren’t you baby?” and for a second you’re confused as to who she is speaking to but a reminder is slapped to your face when you suddenly feel a thick cock slide in between where you and tashi are tribbing each other. art lets out a moan of relief, “fuck me, yeah—you’re always right. it’s so wet, nghhh,” and suddenly you feel yourself gush more.

they’re speaking of you as if you weren’t even there, tashi humping erratically against your cunt and art’s cock all you can do is hang your mouth open and mewl. she spreads your pretty lips out so art’s tip bumps against your swollen clit and you scream, she giggles at you. then she speaks again, “don’t we feel good art, hm?” the man can’t even speak, his dick can feel everything. the small bumps of both of your clits have him reeling and drooling like a fucking idiot. he nods behind tashi as if she can’t see him, but she smiles knowingly. your hips start twitching upwards in search of release and she encourages you by starting to hump down harder.

in an abrupt moment, art’s head slides down and accidentally notches against your hole and that’s what does it. your legs are twitching and shaking while you drip down the bedding, tashi doesn’t stop her swiveling and you can tell art is almost at his end when his eyes start tearing up and his grip on his girlfriend’s waist tightens. he shoots his cum between both of you, most of it landing on your tits. tashi cums at the sight and rides out her high dropping down to kiss your mouth. once you’re all cleaned up, they tuck you in for bed and lazily take turns making out with your neck again until you fall asleep. you’ll have to hang out with them more often.

#i cannot just write a short little blurb lmao it always escalates #anyway scissoring art’s pretty dick with tashi <33 #the dream…#artashi smut #artashi x reader #tashi duncan smut #art donaldson smut #my writing

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jaeyums · 1 year ago

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Just One More (Part 11)

Pairings - Fratboy!Haechan x reader (lowkey x dreamies)

Word Count - 3k

Content Warning - smut (obvi), angst, slight corruption kink, dacryphilia, oral (f receiving). fingering, drinking, loss of virginity, Fratboy! Haechan (kinda), Toxic!Haechan, mentions of drowning (what??) pls Imk if I missed anything

Summary - You curse your new neighbours for partying what feels like every night, the booming bass making it impossible to sleep. Fed up, you finally ask them to turn it down, but when you're forced to make a seemingly harmless deal, things spiral faster than you ever could've imagined.

A/N - part two yippeee :3 sorry it was so late loll

previous | next

————————————————————————

You slowly open your eyes, immediately closing them again in pain as your head throbs.

“Holy fuck.”

Is all you’re able to say, as you try again to open your eyes, your vision slightly blurry. You reach for where your water bottle sits on your nightstand, only to find an empty space.

You continue to feel around the nightstand only for your eyes to fully adjust, and for you to realize this night stand is black rather than the off white colour you’re used to.

This shock wakes you up fully in a matter of seconds, and you look around an unfamiliar room, in an unfamiliar bed.

“Holy fuck.”

You repeat, the reality of your situation setting in. After a moment of processing, you quickly toss away to sheets, and sigh in relief as you see that all your clothes from the previous night are still on.

You check the other side of the bed hesitantly, patting on a puffy part of the blanket, only for it to sink down upon your touch.

Saying a small thank you to the universe, you climb out of the bed, and walk towards the door. You wrap your hands around the handle and push.

It doesn’t budge.

You twist and push again, still nothing. You try again with your whole body weight pressing against the door, only to here a groan come from the other side.

“Fuck, give me a second, would ya.”

A grumpy voice can be heard through the door.

“Haechan?”

You ask tentatively. Opening the door with ease after hearing a body shuffle out of the way.

“In the flesh.”

He says leaning against the other side of the hallway.

“Why did you sleep outside?”

“I knew you’d end up in my bed eventually , but I excepted me to be joining you. So I think the better question is why did you sleep inside, inside my room. ”

You tilt your head, that is a good question actually. You try to think back to last night, only for the sinking realization that you can’t remember much past the game of truth or dare.

“Oh god, what happened last night.”

Your voice slightly panicked. So many different scenarios start flipping through your head, like a disturbing film reel.

He just laughs looking entertained and surprisingly handsome for someone who slept on the floor all night.

“Does this mean you don’t remember our deal? Tsk tsk, I’m disappointed. No worries though, I remember the deal, so it’s no issue.”

“You made a deal with me while I was blacked out? You totally took advantage of me.”

He raises an eyebrow, tilting his head to meet your gaze.

“If I actually wanted to take advantage of you, I could’ve. You were a mess.”

His words sting, a darkness in his eyes almost consuming you. Though, when he sees your face drop even more, he sighs, rolling his eyes in annoyance and starts to explain.

“Not that long after truth or dare you locked yourself in here and told me to guard the door ‘with my life’.”

Now you look more confused than upset.

“Why would I do that?”

You wonder aloud.

“If I had to guess, it might’ve been from the fact that everyone here wanted to talk to you. Jaemin, Jeno, Chenle, Mark. You won’t alone for more than a second before someone wanted to steal you away.”

Something hangs between the lines as he speaks, a negative emotion your hungover state can’t place it’s finger on.

“Okay…so what was the deal?”

You’re almost scared to ask.

“That you’ll come to my next party.”

He smiles widely, he finds himself hilarious.

“Are you serious.”

“Dead, but the next one isn’t here, it’s at my parents’ house. They’re gone for the weekend and the pool there is sick.”

“A pool party?”

He nods, pushing himself off the wall to move closer to you.

“Now how about you scamper on home. You’ve had a long night.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The next day while on facetime with your friend, you decide to tell her about the party. She’s half listening while doing her makeup, but when you mention Haechan she freezes.

“Wait did you say Haechan? Like Lee Haechan? Tall? Black hair? Sarcastic? Sexy?”

“Uh yeah? Why?”

You ask confused, but by the expression on her face, your know whatever your friend is about to say is bad news.

“Y/n he is a known fuckboy. Like he’s in a frat for godsake. You need to be careful around him, I’m serious.”

You roll your eyes annoyed.

He’s Mr. pump and dump, smash and dash, ejaculate and evacu-“

“okay okay I get it, thank you,”

You cut her off, getting the message loud and clear.

“I wasn’t planning on getting with him, don’t worry. He couldn’t get close even if he tried.”

“Didn’t you just say you blacked out and slept in his bed.”

“Okay shut up, it won’t happen again.”

She nods, looking unconvinced. You two continue to chat until you get another call, this time from an unsaved number.

“Wait I’m getting a call, gimme a sec.”

You answer the call bringing your phone to your ear.

“Hello? This is y/n right?”

“Uh yes, speaking?”

“It’s me, don’t get too excited.”

You sigh, his familiar voice teasingly heard through the phone.

“How did you get my number, Haechan.”

“You gave it to me when you were drunk.”

“No I didn’t.”

There’s a long pause.

“…I got it off Jisung’s phone.”

That definitely makes more sense, you know you were black out, but there was no chance you would have given Haechan your number.

“I’m just calling to make sure you’re still coming to the party tonight? I’m already at the place getting stuff ready, it’s gonna be lit.”

“Do I have to go?”

You whine, hoping he’ll take some sympathy on you from how tired you sound.

“Yup! See you then.”

You hear a long tone, signalling he’s hung up. Fine, you’ll go to his pool party, but he never said anything about actually swimming. You do enough of that at work anyways.

Calling back your friend, you quickly update her on who called and what he said. She gave you a worried look, warning you again to be careful.

With the closet doors swung open, you start shifting through your clothes trying to pick an outfit. You get an idea, turning back to your phone.

“Wait, why don’t you just come with me? That way you can keep an eye on this whole Haechan thing and we can have fun for once.”

“Can’t I have an opening shift tomorrow.”

You groan in response, turning back to your closet in defeat.

“Whatever I didn’t even want you to go anyways.”

You tease.

The two of you continue to joke around, her giving you advice on what to wear and you modelling your options.

You end up settling on short denim shorts, paired with a white baby tee. With everything said and done, you tell her good bye before grabbing your keys and heading out to the party

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The house is bigger than you ever would’ve imagined and it is jumping. This party was massive, especially compared to his previous party. People had gathered all over the property, some on the front lawn, some on a balcony up above you head.

You shift your weight between your feet, suddenly feeling nervous. Once again you feel the need to find Haechan, rationalizing your thoughts by saying it’s only to ensure he knows you held up your side of the deal. You were an hour late so he’s probably wondering where you are, right?

You’re barely two steps into the house when you hear someone call your name.

“Y/n! Get your ass over here, love.”

Jeno stands next to Chenle and Mark, the three of them already holding red solo cups.

“Go grab a drink.”

Jeno gestures with his head towards where the kitchen must be located. You shake your head with an awkward smile.

“I can’t drink, and I’m serious this time. I drove here.”

The boys look a little disappointed but nod in understanding. They continue to talk amongst each other, but you can’t listen, your eyes scanning the crowd nonstop.

Mark interrupts your search with a smirk.

“Looking for someone special?”

He teases, but you can tell he already knows who your dying to see.

“He’s outside, near the pool.”

With that you say goodbye, telling them you’ll be back in a bit, and head off towards the backyard.

The music is just as loud outside as it is inside, your ears still not fully adjusted. The pool itself is quite big as well, although there are very few people actually swimming. Most of them just sitting along the edge talking, only dipping there feet in.

The familiar smell of chlorine tickles your nose and you do a quick scan of the pool, simply out of habit when you notice a boy bobbing a bit in what you assume to be the deep end.

“Oh god please don’t actually be drowning.”

You whisper to yourself, your eyes still locked onto him, he was clearly struggling but you were having a hard time figuring out if it was just a prank or if he was really sinking.

Suddenly his head dips bellow the surface and doesn’t return, and you spring into action, running to the edge closest to him and diving in.

Under the water you can see him, still struggling, but his eyes slowly closing. You hook your arms around his, securing him in your grasp, and pinching his nose with your other hand. You kick back to the surface, your lungs starting to burn.

Returning to the surface, you see a couple boys waiting at the edge, you shout instructions to them as you tow the boy in their direction.

Ordering them on how to lift him out, you plunge back into the water, sitting the boy on your shoulder. You tap the deck three times, signalling to the boys to pull him up, and you push him upwards as hard as you can.

They drag him away from the pool and you climb out quickly, following them. You’re fully locked in, having done this a hundred times.

Sitting next to him as he coughs, you run through your typical checklist. He turns out to be relatively fine, just a stupid victim of drinking and swimming, something that should never mix.

As you continue to talk to him, you feel a hand on your shoulder. You turn to see Haechan staring at you with such intensity you almost flinch.

“I saw everything, are you okay?”

“Of course, I mean it’s always a little scary but I’m fine. I’m more worried about him.”

“He’s fine, just an idiot. Here, let’s get you dried off.”

You now remember that you’re not actually wearing your guarding uniform. Looking down, you realize your white shirt has become completely see through, sticking to your body, your red bra on full display.

“Yeah okay, thank you.”

With that he grabs your hand and leads you through the party to his bedroom upstairs, weaving between people in crowded places.

“This is my room, head inside. I’ll be right back.”

You open the door hesitantly, turning back for his reassurance, but he has already disappeared. You walk inside to see his room is surprisingly neat. It’s pretty big too, with posters lining his walls, he even has a balcony that overlooks the backyard.

You notice a mirror attached to his closet and walk over to see how much of a mess you look right now. Your mascara is ruined, running down your face like you just watched the saddest movie ever. You hair is soaked, it looks almost intentionally slicked back, except for a stray strand or two.

While fussing with it, you hear the door open, but you pay Haechan no mind as he enters, closing the door behind him. You’re much too occupied fixing your hair.

He comes behind you, brining his head next to yours, staring at your reflection with darkened eyes.

“You look so pretty.”

He whispers, bringing his hand around the opposite side of your head to smudge some of the black staining your cheeks.

“What I wouldn’t give to make your mascara run like this”.

You feel your face heat up, your stomach doing a flip from to his words and touch. You swat his hand away, turning your face.

“Shut up, Haechan.”

He just smirks, and hands you a folded towel. You hastily take it and walk over to his connected bathroom. You lock the door behind you and undress.

The shower itself is heavenly. The water on your skin had became cold, so the heat of the water pouring down felt amazing. You wash your hair and do your best to rid your face of the racoonish look it’s taken.

You finally finish, wrapping the towel just below your shoulders once you’re dry. You reach for your clothes before realizing they’re still soaked. It had completely slipped your mind that you’d need new clothes.

You tentatively open the door, peaking your head around the room. You see Haechan laying on his bed, scrolling on his phone absentmindedly. You call out to him, and he looks up, his eyes instantly devouring you.

“I uh, could I borrow some clothes? Mine are still wet.”

He doesn’t move for a moment, still taking you in. Finally, he gets up, and walks over to his closet.

“Lemme see what I have, I might have some old sweatpants that might fit.”

He ends up picking black sweat pants and a matching black long sleeve, tossing both to you. You catch them with one hand, not daring to let go of the towel.

Slipping back into the bathroom, you quickly change. You check out your new outfit in the bathroom mirror. Both items are way too big for you. Even though the shirt is massive it somehow still hugs the curves of your breasts. You don’t love the fact that you have nothing on underneath Haechans clothes.

You step back into his room where he’s waiting for you.

“How do the pants fit?”

You pull up the shirt slightly with one hand, and pull up the sweats with the other, before dropping them, demonstrating how they drop down landing just below your hip bones.

“What do you think?”

You ask sarcastically. He let’s out a little laugh at your demonstration, stepping closer.

“Here let me help.”

He grabs the waist of the pants, rolling them up once then twice. His fingers ghosting your bare waist in the process. When he finishes, his hands still remain. You can’t help but hyper focus on his touch, on how his warm hands feel on your skin.

Tension fills the air. You look up at him, meeting his gaze. There’s another pause, and you can’t take it anymore.

“Kiss me already.”

You whisper, it’s barely audible, you would’ve wondered if he had even heard you if he hadn’t already dipped down, meeting your lips with his.

His grip on your waist tightens as he pushes you against the wall, his leg moving to find home between yours.

Your mouths move together unison, you feel yourself falling deeper in his trance. Though, there’s still a small whisper in your head, reminding you of your friends words, her warning.

Before you can pay attention to it, Haechan starts to push your body down on his thigh, guiding you to grind slowly against it. His kisses moving to your neck, causing you to tilt your head back on the wall in pleasure.

A hand snakes up your waist to rest on your breast, his thumb running over your bud delicately. A small moan escapes your lips, and you swear you can feel him smile against the skin of your neck.

He continues to attack your neck, his hand squeezing and massaging your breast rhythmically.

You pull his head back up by his chin to kiss him, your lips were feeling lonely.

He picks you up, and your legs wrap instinctually around his waist. He carries you to his bed, laying you down gently.

His arms resting on either side of your head, he looks down on you like you’re a feast for kings and he is starving.

He gives you quick but deep kiss, before moving down your body. His hand moves to the waist of your sweatpants, but you grab it before he can slide them down your legs.

“Haechan.”

You say breathlessly, staring down at him with puppy-like eyes.

“Yes, y/n?”

“I..I don’t want to move too fast.”

He looks up at you, a smirk slowly growing on his face. Your innocence is so cute to him.

“Don’t worry princess, you don’t have to move at all. I’ll do all the work.”

He teases, but he still doesn’t move, waiting for your approval to continue.

You bite your lip. Your friend’s warning ringing through your head again.

Fuck it, just one more night with Haechan can’t hurt.

————————————————————————

tags : @snflwrhaerecs4u @ki-aechan @loveforred @whiplashhhh @miniminkis @milimo07 @neocityhoe @90s-belladonna @toroufriteh @renjunniex @chimiwimi @cas104 @dongsookie0606

#idk what im doing #haechan smut #lee donghyuck #nct smut #nct haechan #nct dream #nct dream smut #nct dream x reader #frat boy #haechan x reader #dreamies #toxic #Just One More

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andypantsx3 · 8 months ago

Text

andie's wips for gaza — ˖˚˳⊹

hi all! i'm not sure if this is something anyone would be interested in but i'm giving it a shot. i have a little capacity to contribute to fics for gaza's option to sponsor a wip. below are a couple of my wips i think i can realistically deliver all or most of before end of year, divided into current wips + a few smutty one shots i hope you might be interested in. if any more of my time clears up i can add more & let y'all know!!

i'm setting the threshold at the standard rate of $1 donation per 100 words, any extra would be sooo incredibly appreciated but obviously not at all required! notes on how this will all work below my wips.

update 5/29 — ˖˚˳⊹

All of my WIPs have been fully funded! I am so deeply grateful to everyone who donated and/or helped spread the word. I promise to work hard and write fics that live up to just how much this means to me. If you still have capacity to donate, I encourage you to check out the other authors participating and help fund their WIPs too. Thank you so much; your generosity means the entire world to me.

current wips — ˖˚˳⊹

something in the water : todoroki shouto x reader

As a future marine biologist, you’ve scored big on your final internship: a summer in the tropics, researching the waters off the coast of a lush, sunny island. But what you thought would be all beach days and piña coladas turns out to be the revelation of a lifetime when you haul in a handsome merprince, and discover not everything in these waters is quite as it seems. — estimated remaining wc: 3 chapters @ 3k each (9,000 total words) — donated wc: 9,000/9,000 words fully sponsored! — progress tracker: 3,800/9,000 words

ready or knot : todoroki shouto x reader

Todoroki Shouto is so unsettlingly beautiful, you’re certain he has to be an omega. That is, until a chance encounter with a pushy alpha reveals you were incredibly mistaken—and the surprises don’t stop there. Shouto's suddenly mystifying behavior adds another layer of complexity to an already confusing inter-agency investigation. It would be so much easier to figure things out—and suppress your growing feelings—if only Shouto would stop being so strangely attentive to you... — estimated remaining wc: 5 chapters @ 2.5k each (12,500 words) — donated wc: 12,600/12,500 words fully sponsored! — progress tracker: 200/12,500 words

new wips (smutty one shots) — ˖˚˳⊹

by the book : midoriya izuku x reader

When your pro hero boyfriend comes home to find you studying, he suddenly takes a great interest in helping out. You find his methods... questionable. contents: nsft, hysterical literature (reading out loud while sexually stimulated), pro hero deku, slight intelligence kink, gn + afab reader, cunnilingus, established relationship, fluff — estimated wc: 2,500 words — donated wc: 2,500/2,500 words fully sponsored! — progress tracker: 3,000/2,500 words completed!

loads of fun : todoroki shouto x reader

After moving into your first apartment together, Shouto seems more amorous than ever. You're not sure why—but when he catches you doing a load of laundry, more than your clothes are about to get tumbled. contents: nsft, pro hero au, domesticity kink, gn + afab reader established relationship, fluff, emotional sex — estimated wc: 2,500 words — donated wc: 2,500/2,500 words fully sponsored! — progress tracker: 2,800/2,500 words completed!

filling in : bakugou katsuki x reader

A production assistant for an erotic arts studio, you think you've seen every ridiculous plot line under the sun. But not even porn tropes can compare to the absurd reality you find yourself in when the on-screen talent goes missing, and you're asked to fill in opposite the studio's number one star Bakugou Katsuki. contents: thee classic oh-no-the-porn-talent-has-gone-missing-let's-sub-a-rando-in trope, no quirks au, pornstar bakugou, soft dom bakugou, gn + afab reader, unrequited-requited crush — estimated wc: 3,000 words — donated wc: 3,000/3,000 words fully sponsored! — progress tracker: 300/3,000 words

notes — ˖˚˳⊹

rate: $1 (USD) donation per 100 words, any extra would be sooo incredibly appreciated but obviously not at all required!

how it works (you): send me an ask with the wip you're donating towards and a screenshot of your donation to any fund from this list, a charity of your choice (please make sure it's verified), or my preferred one here! please do not send the same screenshot to multiple authors, and please make sure any personal information is scrubbed from your screenshot as i will be supplying @ficsforgaza with the proof of your donation!! i will aim to update the donated wc section of each wip in this post so there's not overlap in what people are donating for.

how it works (me): i will log my progress below each wip (the progress tracker section of each) & will commit to updating that count weekly. i will work in the rough order of donations received, by adding that number of words to each wip. this also means that for $5 i could add 500 words but not publish until the chapter or oneshot is completed, so please be aware of that!! my goal is to at least publish every single word people have donated for by end of year, but obviously things can happen & i will provide updates if anything gets in the way of that!

if you have any further questions please let me know!! i've never done something like this and it's very probable i've left something unclear lol.

lastly i'd like to thank you in advance for helping out if you can, but no worries if not! i also know times are tough and money is tight, and i'd encourage you to check out the other writers on @ficsforgaza's list of participants when published to see if you'd rather spend your money on one of their wips (or their custom requests!) before selecting mine!! the money goes towards a good cause either way.

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cameronspecial · 7 months ago

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omg please write, enemy!rafe texting reader about something, and then he just starts flirting with her but she’s just bitchy back, and he’s like “see you later” or something like that

Let Me Fix This, Angel

Pairing: Frat!Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Swearing and Toxic Rafe

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.8K

Masterlist

Rafe’s rules weren’t normally a probably and Y/N understood he created them so that they could have a healthy relationship and she was safe. However, at this moment, she can’t because he is going too far. “I turned it off by accident, Rafe. I don’t know how it happened, but it wasn’t on purpose,” she grits through her teeth. His eyes narrow as he holds her phone up to her, “That’s literally impossible. You have to go through so many steps to turn it off. You intended to do it!” She cowers back at the harshness of his words. He hasn’t spoken to her like this since their first fight. Since then, whenever he felt his volume rising, he would leave the room to calm down. “It was an accident!” she argues. Anger takes him over. Before he can control himself, he throws her phone across the room and the smashing of glass against the wall has her turning to see her broken for on the floor. She looks back at him and shrinks away from him. The fear in her eyes makes him instantly regret what he did. It tears his heart apart.

“You crossed a fucking line and I don’t think I can handle this side of you anymore.”

He freezes as she grabs her purse and storms out of the room. Once she’s out of the room, the reality of her words sets in. He runs after her, “Angel, wait. I’m so sorry.” He doesn’t find her in the hallway and he rushes down the stairs to see if he can catch up to her. “She’s gone, Dude. Kelce is giving her a ride,” Topper announces from behind him. Rafe’s fingers go through his hair and he pulls, “Shit.” He totally fucked up. And he doesn’t know what he is going to do if he can’t get her back.

———

He blocked her. He knows she did because the texts don’t show as being seen or even as delivered. It’s only been three hours but it has been the longest they haven’t talked and he is getting seriously concerned that they aren’t together anymore. He finally thinks he has figured out what to do. His knuckles wrap against her dorm door. He takes a deep breath, nervous she won’t open the door. His hand, not holding the bag and flowers, fidgets with his sleeve. The door swings open and her familiar scent fills his nostril. “What the fuck are you doing here? I thought I made it clear what I think we are,” she grumbles, trying to close the door in his face. He drops to his knees and this bars the door from shutting. His hands clasp in a plea, “Please, let me fix this, Angel. I can’t live with myself if this is where we end.” She shouldn’t. What happened early today was a red flag and she wouldn’t want to be someone who ignores those. Yet, something in her knew that even if she was scared at that moment, she should at least hear him out.

“Fine, you have three minutes,” she orders, stepping back so he can enter her room. He rushes to his feet and he resists the urge to pepper her with kisses. He hands her the flowers, pulling out the phone box from the bag. He hands both to her. “These are for you. I’m sorry I broke your phone,” he apologizes. She takes them both and sets them on the table with a mumbled thanks.

“Is that all you are going to say?” she prods. His head shakes vehemently, “No. No. No. Honestly, it’s only the start of a thirty-hour speech I made in my head. I’ll shorten it for your sake though.” She flicks her chin to get him to keep going.

“There isn’t an excuse for how I reacted today. I let out a side of myself that I never wanted to be directed toward you and I will regret it for the rest of your life. I never should’ve thrown your phone or yelled at you. I let my insecurities and my worry get the best of me and it clouded my judgement. I know it was an accident, Angel. I should’ve believed you when you said it. I just get so anxious when I can’t be there to protect you because you are my whole life. And… And…”

Tears are formed in his eyes and his voice is breaking. She doesn’t need him to finish the sentence to know where it is going. They’ve never really needed words to communicate how they feel. Her need to comfort him overpowers her and she steps into his reach, wrapping her arms around him. He buries his head into her neck. His tears stain her skin. “Shh, it’s okay. You don’t need to finish. I understand and I forgive you. I couldn’t live with myself if I lost you,” she admits, running her hand through his hair. “Don’t misunderstand me though. Pull a stunt like that again and you won’t ever see me again.” His lips press against her skin. “I’d never dream of it.”

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming

#let me angel #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #outer banks #rafe cameron imagine #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks imagine #outer banks x reader #rafe cameron series #rafe cameron outer banks

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madaqueue · 9 months ago

Text

Dripping in Gold | Chapter 1

synopsis: finding a job was never easy, and why even bother trying after you meet satoru gojo, a man with mysterious and exorbitant wealth, who wants nothing more than to spoil you with it? the only caveat to your little arrangement is that it can never, ever, become personal.

pairing: satoru gojo x f!reader

themes/content: non-curse modern au, sugar daddy gojo. language, angst, light smut. alcohol mention, masturbation (f). 18+, MDNI

word count: 2.6k

a/n: IT'S HERE AHHHH hope y'all like this one :)

series masterlist | next chapter

God, I need to get a job.

The afternoon sun filters in through the blinds as you scroll through your phone, trying to distract yourself from the reality of your future. You graduated college months ago and still have no idea what you want to do or how to do it. Application after application, shitty interview after shitty interview, and you’re still no further into the career that’s supposed to be the rest of your life.

Sighing, you prop yourself up on your elbows in bed to take in the space around you - clothes were strewn across the floor of your studio apartment, dirty dishes piled in the sink, empty takeout containers from restaurants you certainly couldn’t afford to be eating at. It was all just too much.

Eh, I’ll get around to it, you think, laying back into the pillows and returning to your phone. You navigate to check your bank account, just to see the damage that months of unemployment have done.

“Balance: $68.06”

Shit. That’s not even enough to make rent this month, and even if you did have a job lined up you’ve already asked your landlord for one extension on your payments and he did not seem very open to the prospect of doing it again.

Trying to shut out the thought of possibly losing your apartment, you move over to Instagram to quiet the dread building inside of you. Scrolling through posts of your friends on yachts, traveling the country, eating expensive dinners with expensive-looking people, you only feel like more of a failure.

How are they able to do it? I mean, sure, they at least have jobs, but none of them pay well enough to do this, right?

You hover over one of your friend’s pictures, trying to recognize the incredibly well-dressed, albeit much older, man she’s seated across from. As you zoom in, it suddenly clicks - her new jewelry, the expensive bottle of champagne, fresh nails, styled hair - and you remember your conversation with her the last time you saw each other.

You were both out at a bar and she kept buying rounds of shots for you and all your friends.

“Dude, not to be a total dick, but how are you able to afford all this?” you shout over the music blasting through the speakers.

“Oh m’god, you aren’t gonna believe it” she slurs slightly, “there’s this app where rich guys pay you to just go on dates with ‘em, I jus’ gotta keep lookin’ pretty and they pay me so much.”

“Don’t you have to, like, fuck them though?” you ask, curiously raising an eyebrow.

“Only if y’wanna! You’re not really supposed to, but they pay you a lot more!” she grins.

At the time you pushed the conversation to the back of your mind and promptly forgot about it after a few more drinks, but now the realization crashes over you.

No, there’s no way. You try to shake the idea out of your mind - were you seriously considering getting a sugar daddy before getting a job?

She did make it sound pretty easy though…and I mean, it’s just dates, right?

You hesitantly pull out your laptop to search for the website she had mentioned. There’s no harm in just checking it out, you try to rationalize. Before you know it, you’ve set up a profile and have picked out a few pictures of yourself that make you look particularly hot - you out at a bar, you on the beach, you with your friends.

After you finalize your profile, the screen suddenly fills with pictures of, frankly, less-than-attractive older men. You roll your eyes and scoff at your own stupidity for even considering this idea, starting to shut your laptop before something catches your eye in the corner of the screen.

Bright white hair and piercing blue eyes look back at you through the computer. Holy shit, he’s hot, you think as you move your mouse to click on his profile.

Bio: “My name’s Gojo, but you can call me yours 🥰 23, casual only”

Okay, so he’s hot, rich, and practically the same age as you? You feel like you’ve struck gold. Besides, he only wants something casual, which is all you’re interested in anyways since you still need to focus on finding a job eventually, but this could at least help you financially bridge the gap between then and now.

Swiping up, you decide to just send him a message and hope for the best; after all, the worst he can say is no.

You: Gojo, I need you to be fr with me - does that pickup line in your bio ever actually work?

Sighing, you move to close your computer as you wait for him to respond, but a message pops up almost instantly.

Gojo: Why don’t you find out tonight over dinner - 7:30 work for you?

A smile starts to form on your lips - this was almost too easy. The two of you briefly confirm the details of your first date before you finally shut your laptop and start getting ready.

–

Standing outside of the restaurant, you’re suddenly hit with a wave of nervousness as the reality of what you’re about to do sets in.

There’s no way this is a good idea - maybe I should just go home. No, no, I’ve made it this far, and I really do need the money.

You inhale a shaky breath as you try to steady yourself before reaching for the door and walking inside. The restaurant is beautiful, the scent of fresh bread and herbs hitting your nose as soon as your feet step onto the dark wood of the floor. The deep red walls make the space feel cozy, intimately lit with candles and a chandelier hanging overhead. You glance down at the burgundy dress and black heels you decided on since they were the nicest clothes you owned, yet you still feel slightly underdressed.

Glancing around the restaurant, the white-haired man is nowhere to be found. “Hi, um, I’m here to meet someone,” you hesitantly explain to the person at the host stand.

“Ah yes, you must be with Mr. Gojo. Right this way,” he gestures for you to follow him. He leads you through the restaurant to the far back corner, unveiling a small room that was initially hidden behind a curtain.

As you adjust to the dim lighting, you glance around the new space in front of you: a single table with roses placed in the middle, and on one side sits perhaps the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. He smiles at you as those bright blue eyes meet yours before they slowly move down and up your body, taking you all in.

“Well, aren’t you a treat,” he grins before getting up to pull out the empty chair for you.

When he stands up you allow your gaze to cover him as your eyes shift up to his white locks then down across his black suit, adorned with a dark red tie that somehow perfectly matches your dress.

“You aren’t half-bad yourself,” you respond as you move across the small space to sit down.

“Careful now, don’t flatter me too much or it’ll go to my head,” he smirks as he returns to his seat across from you. He places his elbow on the table and rests his chin in his palm, staring at you.

Trying to break the silence, you murmur, “This place is nice.”

“Mhm,” he hums, eyes never leaving your face.

“So, um, what do you do?” you continue, desperately trying to loosen the pressure you feel from his gaze.

“Do you care?” he taunts, tilting his head to the side with that same smirk on his face.

“W-well, I-” you stammer.

“It’s okay sweetheart, I’m not offended. You’re here because I’m paying you, and I’m here because I wanted to sit across from a beautiful woman. It doesn’t have to be anything more than that,” he smiles.

The combination of the pet name and him calling you beautiful suddenly makes your cheeks flush and you look down at the table, trying to hide your reddening face.

Suddenly you feel a hand on your chin as Gojo gently tilts your head back up. “Eyes up here, princess,” he purrs. “After all, what’s the point of this little date if I can’t even look at you?”

Something about his touch, his voice, his words has your heart fluttering in your chest. You’ve never been nervous like this over a guy before, and you’ve barely just met him.

You swallow, trying to keep your eyes on his but it almost feels like he’s seeing into you, somehow able to view the depths of your soul. You feel naked in front of him, like he’s looking at your very essence.

After what feels like an eternity, he finally breaks the eye contact with a chuckle. “Sorry, I know I can come off a little intense sometimes. You’re just so gorgeous it feels like I would be doing myself a disservice if I didn’t try to take it all in.”

A sigh escapes your lips as you finally tear your gaze away from him, softly laughing at the compliment.

The rest of the date goes smoothly - he orders the most expensive bottle of wine on the menu and tells you to get whatever you want, since it’s obviously his treat. The conversation flows easily between the two of you, and you find yourself genuinely enjoying your time with him. When it comes time to leave, he thanks you for spending the night with him and gives you his phone number in case you ever want to go out again. As you part ways to walk towards your car, you get a notification from your bank.

Holy. Shit.

Your eyes widen at the screen. Gojo sent you $2,000.

You almost feel dizzy, not having had this much money at once in nearly months. Now you can pay rent and buy groceries and do all the other stuff you were too broke to do. Sitting in your car, you let out a squeal of excitement.

Unfortunately, your joy gets cut short as you go to turn your car on, the key turning repeatedly in the ignition as it stalls out.

Of course, you think, the one time I don’t put gas in this goddamn thing. To your credit, you really couldn’t afford it, and it had lasted longer on empty before. You had also neglected the oil change, and the tire rotation, and the other maintenance the mechanic kept emailing you was overdue, but how were you supposed to pay for all that anyways? Not knowing what to do, you pull out your phone to call someone to help you. As you unlock it, you’re met with Gojo’s contact information he just put in.

I mean, he would definitely help me. And I know he can afford gas. Sighing, you call him.

He answers almost immediately. “Miss me already?”

You want to roll your eyes at his cockiness, but you really do need his help. “My piece of shit car won’t turn on, and I figured you’re probably still close to the restaurant, could you help?”

“Anything for you, sweetheart. I’ll be there in a minute.” Even after just one date, it’s like you can practically hear his smile through the phone.

As promised, he arrives a few minutes later. He drives up in a sleek, black Porsche that has windows so tinted you wouldn’t be able to see inside if he hadn’t rolled his window down. Of course he drives a nice car, you think to yourself.

“Your savior has arrived,” he smirks, leaning his head out the window at you where you stand against your car. Opening the passenger side door reveals the interior of the vehicle, which is just as nice as the outside, with black leather seats and an all-black console. “You know, this is usually the part where you say thank you.” He turns to face you as the scent of his cologne hits you, something woody and crisp.

“Thanks,” you mutter as you settle into the comfortable seat. “You can just take me home.”

“On it,” he responds with a salute.

The drive is quiet as you spiral into your thoughts. How am I supposed to get a job now if I can’t even drive to an interview? How am I even supposed to get groceries? Can I just leave my car at the restaurant? Where else would I even take it? How am I supposed to afford this? Fuck.

Gojo clears his throat next to you, pulling you out of your mind. “You alright over there, sweetheart?”

“Y-yeah, sorry,” you stutter, “just stressed.”

He glances over at you out of the corner of his eyes. “Well, what if I could help you be a little less stressed?”

“Oh yeah, and how would you do that exactly?” Looking down, you suddenly notice his hand on your thigh, his thumb moving in slow circles along your skin. The gentle sensation makes you feel flustered as heat begins to pool between your legs.

Am I seriously about to fuck this guy I just met?

Before you can say anything else, Gojo continues. “How about you use my car while I get yours sorted out for you, hm?” A look of surprise flashes across your face at his kindness and lack of sexual proposition. “What, not the offer you were expecting?” he smirks.

“Gojo, I-” you start.

“Look, princess, I want to do this. Let me help you, please?” he pleads.

“Fine,” you relent, “but I owe you one, seriously.”

“Don’t worry about it. But, if you really insist, I’m sure we can figure out a way for you to repay me at some point.” You tilt your head to look at him as his eyes meet yours, a glint of mischief in his blue irises.

After a few more minutes of him flirting with you, his hand never leaving your thigh, Gojo finally pulls up to your apartment building. Stepping out of the car, he hands you the keys and reminds you not to worry, that he’ll take care of everything. You thank him again as you walk inside - he insists you don’t wait outside while he waits for his ride home - and he sends you off with a wave.

Walking into your apartment, your thoughts swirl in your mind as you replay the events that just transpired. How did you manage to find this rich, handsome, courteous man? More importantly, what’s the catch? If he’s truly as good as he seems, why was he on that website in the first place?

Sighing, you flop onto your bed and peel off your dress, tossing it into the accumulating pile of clothes on the floor. Your skin feels warm where he touched you, a part of you wishing he had inched higher. Before you realize you’re doing it, your hands traverse down your body between your legs, gently pulling your panties to the side.

As you rub over your clit, you picture how his soft fingertips would feel against you, how good those long fingers would feel inside you, beckoning you towards your release. Your other hand traces up your chest, gently cupping your breast as you toy with your firm nipple. His name escapes your mouth as you feel yourself getting closer, eyes shut as you picture him. “Gojo,” you can’t stop yourself from moaning into the empty room as your orgasm hits you, legs shaking, the thought of him the only thing on your mind.

Your breathing slows as you come down from your high, heart still pounding in your chest.

Well, that settles it, you think as you sit up. I guess I am going to fuck him.

series masterlist | next chapter

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imagine-shenanigans · 5 months ago

Text

Professor on Professor Violence (Professor Gale Dekarios x Professor Reader)

all you need to know is this is rivals to lovers where reader and gale have deeply sexually charged feelings for each other but they're both fucking idiots

AFAB reader, y/n not used, this has porn in it but it's 8k words of it you can also find it on ao3 right here but i have to go to bed now because i wrote this in a haze for six hours straight like a man possessed

Gale Dekarios.

The man.

The myth.

The legend.

The once lover of Mystra. The man who had survived the netherese orb. The man who had survived being infected by Mind Flayers and, with the help of his companions, had destroyed the Nether Brain.

Gale Dekarios.

The newest Evocation professor at Blackstaff.

Gale. Fucking. Dekarios.

The boy who pulled your hair, and gave you a black eye and who you had scratched and bit so much as a child that the two of you came home looking as though an owlbear had mauled you.

That Gale Dekarios.

That man, who was now teaching across the hall from you.

“And then he rolls his stupid sleeves up-” you rant, stabbing angrily at your lunch. Cheeks burning angrily as you direct the skeleton to continue cleaning the classroom. “And he says what a surprise to see you, Tabby.”

“No!” Gossamer gasps, her claws twitching in the air. “What did Master do?”

“I fucking left the room, obviously.” You snort. Scratching behind Gossamer’s quills as you take another bite of food. “Can you believe it? I don’t see the man for years and he still calls me that stupid nickname!”

“Honestly! How hard is it to say- DON’T TOUCH THAT!”

Dropping your fork, you immediately scramble up, turning your back on your familiar to stop the skeleton you’d animated from punching a damn hole into a desk.

“Gods above and below what are you- honestly!” You groan, throwing your hands into the air. “Can’t even, Gossamer are you seeing this shit-”

Turning around, you see… the absence of your familiar.

“Gossamer?”

Oh shit.

There’s a quasit loose in the building.

SHIT.

(LINE BREAK)

You are.

So fucked.

So unbelievably, terribly fucked.

Of course, you’re currently the only member of staff with a specialty in necromancy. There’s a little job security in that, at least - most necromancers tend to be blowhards trying to reverse engineer their way into immortality, or are so terribly delusional about the blackness of their own hearts that nobody can stand to be around them for more than twenty minutes. And, yeah, okay, you’re also a professional. You get along with most of the faculty, and your small group of necromantic majors are doing well.

But, unfortunately, you’re hardly any more tenured than Gale.

You’ve got a scant few months on the man, and if you don’t find your damned quasit who, by all means, has a penchant for mayhem, you’re absolutely, totally, irrevocably fucked.

As discreetly as possible, you wander the halls of Blackstaff between your classes.

Righting random wrongs that you’re almost certain are just normal wear and tear, but can’t be certain enough to leave well enough alone. Explaining that you were taking a much needed break when in reality you were doing your best to alleviate the damage you’re at least ninety percent sure is your familiar’s fault before someone actually realizes what’s happened.

Thank the gods for the mending cantrip.

Regardless, it unfortunately leaves you with a terrible headache, as your last classes of the night（well, some stereotypes are true, at least.）filter out into the hallway. You roam about again, your… well, probably eighth trip into the hallway going just about as well as the rest. Even as the early morning light filters into the halls through the large windows, you really just can’t find the beauty in it. Not with that terrible headache beginning to grind at your skull.

Like a nagging, angry voice in the back of your-

”Can’t believe how immature-”

”Ignoring me, really?”

Oh.

Wait, no, that’s actually just Gale.

Turning around just in marvelous time to peek back around the corner of the corridor, you get to watch Gale go completely off the deep end. Throwing his arms up in frustration, you joyously watch with immense satisfaction as the grown man kicks a gods damned doorstop.

Amazing.

”Did the doorstop jump out at you?” You can’t help but smirk. I hear those are prone to do that.

”Oh yes, very funny,” Gale grouses. Watching happily as his face twists in a soured exasperation. ”For the record, I know it was you in my office last night. I don’t know how you got in, considering I have that door locked by both mundane and magical means.”

Actually, it had been really easy.

A bit of lockpicking you’d picked up could have come in handy if you didn’t just… you know. Have the knock spell prepared.

…oh shit maybe he found the glitter.

”I have no idea what you’re talking about Dekarios,” you lie. ”I’ve been teaching all night.”

”Really?” Gale deadpans. ”That’s what you’re going with? You’ve been ‘teaching all night’? And I’m supposed to believe that.”

”You can believe what you want Dekarios. I haven’t been in your office.”

”Really, you’re going to play this game?” Gale asks, eyebrow arched. ”Who else in this bloody school enjoys bright colors as much as you? And so help me, don’t you dare blame Tara again. My tressym has more maturity in a single claw than I think you have in your entire body.”

…shit he did find the glitter.

”I love Tara. I would never blame her…more than once. But in my defense, she did help me that one time.” Huffing softly, you cross your arms, feeling heat rise in your cheeks. ”Anyway, it was just a bit of glitter-”

”Just a -” Gale goes positively red in the face at that. ”Just a bit of glitter? I’d say you did a fair bit more than putting just a little glitter on my lecture notes. The ones I’m to use for my first class in a scant two hours, mind you. A little glitter my behind, look at this and you tell me if you can understand a damned thing on the page.”

…huh?

”Huh?”

Staring at Gale’s notebook, which is now helpfully shoved in your face, you can see… fuck all. The neat handwriting that you’re intimately familiar with is completely scrawled over with your favorite crayon color.

Huh.

“I- okay I do now see how this looks.” You sweat, giving a nervous grin. “But I was… okay I was in your office, but I swear it wasn’t to ruin your lecture notes. I misplaced someo- something, and I was rummaging around to try and find it.”

“You were… rummaging around my office.”

“Yes.”

“For something important. Something that you misplaced.”

“Yes.”

“And it just so happened to be that you lost it in my office.”

“Again, yes.”

You watch Gale’s jaw clench, as he takes a steadying breath.

“Now, just to be clear. Most people would take locked doors as a sign that certain rooms aren’t meant for them.” Gale drawls, arching an eyebrow. “But as you so eloquently put it, you chose to open the locked door to my office, and rummage around.”

“You’ve got it.”

“And just what, exactly, is it that you lost?”

“It’s ah…” you trail off nervously. “Well it’s not something I think you’d be able to find easily. It’s a bit… tricky like that.”

“Is it… a ring? Or perhaps another piece of jewelry? Something small, you mean?”

“No…” you wince. “I mean, yeah it’s a little small but it’s… the problem is it can move around.“

“It can…“ You watch Gale’s mind begin to whirr, working in overtime to solve the riddle you’ve accidentally just given him. Just when you begin to think you might be able to give him the slip and run for it, you watch Gale’s face contort in horror. “Tabby.“

“Don’t call me that-“

“Tabby.“ Gale begins, voice choked. “Do you mean to tell me. That you let Gossamer run loose in my office?“

“Let her is a strong phrase!“ You hiss, pulling Gale into your classroom. Looking around wildly before you shut the door. “She ran off last night while I was- well one of my skeletons was about to punch a hole in a desk while rearranging, and I was ranting to her, and then I turn around and I see the door open.“

“And you didn’t follow her?!“

“She’s a fucking quasit! She can turn invisible!“

“And -“

Ah.

“What did you just realize?, Gale asks with a distinct tone of dread.“

Quickly opening and rummaging through the drawers of you desk, you look for your stationary.

“You didn’t. Tell me. You didn’t.“

After the great ink war at age eight, it had been a requirement that all familiars and summons were to be kept away from stationary. And you had fully left the drawer open. Like a damned test. Taunting your poor, innocent little familiar like a succubus to a greasy teenage boy.

“So,“ you begin. Holding up the crayon box that is, of course, missing your favorite color. “In my defense, I thought I locked the drawer.“

“You. You’re-“ Gale sputters. “You’re telling me, right now, that your familiar, who can turn invisible was let loose on the building with stationary.“

“…yes.“

“Dear Mystra, Tabby do you know what you’ve done to us?“

You can feel a twinge of something you are definitely not going to examine when he says her name, and push it down. Opting to focus on the anger bubbling in your chest. That you can handle. That is familiar.

“I said stop calling me tha-“

Oh gods.

“Please tell me there isn’t more.“ Gale whispers, face pale as he sees the thought cross your mind. “Please, for the love of everything that is holy, there is not more.”

“Well, you wince. I may have been ah… rambling this morning. And now I realize this may have been targeted because you… maybe came up.“

“Rambling. You were… rambling.“ Gale stares at you, as though you’ve just told him he’s become king of the possums that live behind the dorms because of an electoral vote. “To your notoriously spiteful familiar. For, I presume, long enough for her to not only find a way into my office, which was locked. With normal and magical means. And then had enough time after that to find my notebook, which contains my important class notes. Then draw all over them.“

“That is what you’re telling me.“

“Well technically I was - I really only turned around for a minute, but I had no clue she was going to run off to your office.“

“Now, just to be extremely clear. You said I may have come up. And you genuinely, for some reason thought she would not retaliate.“

“I complain about everyone Dekarios, don’t get a big ego.“ You huff, throwing a hand in the air. I’ve complained about you for years, why would I think she’d do anything about it now?!”

“You’ve complained about me for years?” Gale nearly shouts, voice raising at least an octave. “Years?!”

“We’ve known each other since we were four Gale!” You hiss back, throwing your hands in the air. “Is it really so hard to imagine that you may come up from time to time when I’m complaining?”

“I have never uttered a bad word about you to Tara you should-”

“Oh that is bullshit I talk to Tara,” you bite back. “And I know that you complain about me even if you don’t realize it.”

“I do not.”

“You do, and I know it for a fact because she brought it up when I talked to her last! In the middle of her complaining about your beard.”

“Tara did what?” Gale asks, flabbergasted as he looks at you.

“She has some very strong opinions.”

You did too… even if yours trended far more towards the opposite of the tressym, of course.

“Please,” you snort, misunderstanding Gale’s look of horror. “You can’t tell me that she hasn’t outright said it to you before.”

“That is…” Gale scowls, looking away from you as he puts a hand on his beard. “Very hurtful. And none of Tara’s business.”

You open your mouth to speak, and Gale cuts you off with a wave of his hand.

“That’s not the point. The point is that my notes are ruined. The notes I, may I remind you, need for my next class. And while you may not write lecture notes, I do.”

You sigh.

Tuning Gale’s ranting out for a moment, you rub at the back of your neck, already feeling a knot forming. Gods above, you do feel guilty.

Stupid Gale and his stupid attractive beard.

“I’m sorry,” you grit out. Almost pained. “I… did not ruin your notes, but I do know that it’s my fault since Gossamer did. I’m sorry.”

Gale is silent for a long moment.

You can see the surprise on his face, the anger slowly, reluctantly fading. It’s hard to pick apart the emotions on his face, but you like to think you’re slightly better at it than most, but there’s an unreadable emotion you don’t think you’ve seen before.

Strange.

“I…” Gale sighs. “It wasn’t so much work. I should, in theory, be able to redo most of them before my first class.”

“Let me help.”

“Excuse me?”

“I…” you sigh, rubbing your hand on your face and brushing a bit of hair out of your face. “It’s my fault. I know it might disrupt your lesson plan, but I can take over your first class. You can send them to my classroom so they can focus and I’ll do a lesson about some of the overlap between our schools of wizardry.”

“That is…” Gale nods hesitantly. “That would be most appreciated.”

You nod again, a bit awkwardly.

The silence in the room is palpable, and you try to ease the tension a bit.

“Not like I have many classes,” you laugh. Turning to look through the bookshelf behind your desk. Anything to keep you busy and not focus on the weight in the room. “Necromancy isn’t nearly as popular as Evocation, after all.”

“Yes well,” Gale laughs, and you see him sit on the corner of your desk. “I imagine some large number of students may be put off by the heart of the curriculum. After all, raising the dead does seem a tad… unsavory.”

You scowl, rolling your eyes - but fighting back a smile.

The age old argument between the two of you.

“Yes well, you can complain all you want about how unsavory raising the dead is. But it’s incredibly useful when you can turn two zombies into a horde of undead and turn the tide for your allies. I mean, the ones that are transformed from your original two aren’t meant to last, but still. More targets to hit, but more firepower that can take a total sweep of your allies to a triumph with no casualties.”

“Yes but it’s quite… well, the ethics leave something to be desired.”

“There are ways to ethically source your minions.” You laugh, waving a hand. “Don’t get me wrong, I can understand why someone might find it distasteful but you know not all necromancers rob the graves of innocent townsfolk. If you’ve got a horde of enemies, all you need do is help your allies kill two enemies, and then, well, the process I’ve already explained.”

“You’re making it sound like you’ve done battle before.” Gale snorts, crossing his arms over his stupid chest, his sleeves rolled up his forearms. “Not that this is all theory.”

You pause, hand on the spine of a tome.

Hesitating, you pluck it from the shelf.

“Because I have,” you deadpan. Not looking at Gale. “I was an adventurer before I joined the faculty here. I’m a professor because of my battle experience and practical application than just my theories, Dekarios.”

That… makes Gale pause.

You can hear the gears turning wildly in his head, grinding intensely as he processes the words.

He’s silent for nearly a full minute before he speaks again.

“You… you’re an adventurer?”

“Was,” you correct, turning to set the books on your desk. Unable to quite bring yourself to look him in the eye, you pretend that you’re checking the contents of the book. “I was an adventurer. I might do it again in the future, but that depends on how I feel and if any of the parties I’ve run with have need of a spellcaster of my caliber.”

“You… haven’t told me that before.”

An ugly, angry part of your heart stirs.

Deep in your chest, you feel it claw its way up into your throat. The bitter, acrid taste that you’ve come to know so well.

“Yes well, when have you ever asked?”

“Don’t…” Gale begins, and you hear him sigh. “I simply… we’ve known each other for years. How was I to know you still had secrets to hide?”

The black smoke of rage curls back up into your throat. Gnashing teeth and dragging claws. It hurts, snaking its tendrils around your heart in an ugly grip. Maybe if you were a little stronger, a little better, a little less… you… maybe you wouldn’t let it escape. Perhaps you’d just let it sit there and burn in your lungs. Or maybe you’d be honest, vulnerable.

But you aren’t.

“It’s not exactly a secret, Gale.” You snort, though the sound isn’t mirthful at all. “It was my primary income source for five bloody years.”

Silence meets your words.

“Why didn’t you tell me then?” Gale asks, just when you’re about to look up at him and see if he’s still paying attention. “If you spent five years as an adventurer, you’d think I’d have heard about it.”

“Ah, yes,” you nearly snarl. “Telling you. Would you have preferred I mentioned it between the paragraphs where you talked about your goddess lover like a lovesick puppy? Because I certainly couldn’t have mentioned it during the time you locked yourself in your tower for over a year because she dumped you.”

You laugh, the sound bitter.

Turning angrily, you ignore the look on Gale’s face.

There’s a line you’ve crossed, and you know it. But the anger doesn’t subside. And you… don’t care anymore.

(That’s not true, you do care. You care too much, you think. Too terribly much.)

“Oh, maybe I should have sent the update letter while you had an ilithid tadpole swimming in your skull. I’m sure Tara would have loved to deliver that letter to you.”

Gale… flinches.

Huh.

“You know,” he begins, anger rising in his own voice. Red hot. “It’s not like you’ve ever asked me how I’m doing. I don’t even know how you found out-”

“Oh don’t you pull that shit with me Dekarios, I’m not the one who stopped responding to your letters. It’s the other way around.”

“You- you only responded with one sentence half the time!” Gale stands, throwing his arms out as you slam the book in your hands shut. “I was lucky if you even responded for months!”

You feel like a cornered animal.

Gods you hate this man.

Why does he always know how to get under your skin?

“And what was I supposed to say Gale?” You demand. Knowing you’re crossing the line but needing to get the reaction that you’re looking for out of him. A sick, twisted part of you needs him to hurt like he’s hurting. “Congratulations on getting with the goddess who groomed you?”

“It’s my life! It has absolutely nothing to do with you!”

“Oh your life, that’s fucking rich Gale!” You shout, getting a little closer, leaning forward on your desk to point a finger at his chest. “What, you wanted me to sit by and say nothing about the matter? To watch my - to watch you love a goddess who is renowned for dating young boys? A woman who - again no disrespect to Mystra herself she’s a powerful goddess, I just don’t agree with her choices as is my right - dropped you the moment she was done with you?”

You stare at Gale expectantly, waiting for any expression to twist on his face than the defensive rage you already see.

“Yeah, I’ll be sure to note that down for next time. Next time, I won’t be supportive of you, I won’t just try and be nice or as nice as I can be. Next time, when you do something stupid I’m not going to even try to bail you out. No more sending loot to feed your orb, no more-”

“Wait,” Gale interjects, an expression on his face you don’t quite understand. “Are you telling me…”

You watch Gale’s hands clench into fists at his sides.

“Are you telling me that you brought me items full of the weave while I was locked in my damn tower?”

Ah.

Shit.

You… hadn’t meant to say that.

Shit.

Shit shit shit shit shit.

“I-”

“You’re telling me…” Gale laughs, hands coming to cover his eyes as his head tilts back. “You’re telling me that you snuck items into my tower?!”

That…

Well it sounds… bad when he phrases it like that.

“It’s not- I just knew you needed the items Gale! I had Tara take them inside and put them in spots to make them look forgotten.”

“And you didn’t say anything, why?!”

Because you…

Fuck.

You can barely think it without hot shame washing down your back. Face warm, eyes hot.

Like you’re about to cry.

“It’s not important Gale,” you deflect. “You got the items, why does it matter?”

“It’s not important?” Gale shouts in response. “Me dying wasn’t bloody important?!”

“That’s not - that’s not what I meant and you know it!”

“Oh? And what is it that you meant?”

Gods.

Don’t cry.

“I meant,” you begin. “That I didn’t want credit for it! I wasn’t doing it to curry favor or something, you needed the items and that was all that mattered to me!”

In fact, you’d exclusively taken your cut of some adventures in magical items. Instead of gold lining your pockets, you’d worked on getting more and more loot, some you’d keep to get better jobs, and the rest you sent back home- back to Gale. He’d even shut out his mother during that time, the only person you could trust to get the items to him had been Tara. Who had promised not to say a word, the damned angel.

Even more, you’d spent countless hours researching.

Working yourself to the bone, searching through texts. Any mention of Karsus had immediately gone to the top of your list.

“I don’t care if you didn’t want credit, I was dying!” Gale shouts. “I spent a year in that tower with nobody to talk to. Thinking every day I was losing my mind, damn near insane with the knowledge that if I failed I would take all of Waterdeep with me, and you knew?!”

Gale laughs again, the sound harsh against your ears.

“What the hells is wrong with you?”

Tears do prick your eyes now, and you scrub angrily at them with the back of your hand.

“What’s wrong with you?!” You snap back, pushing angrily at Gale’s chest. “It’s not like you ever reached out! I had to find out from Tara, who was beside herself with worry!”

“Of course I wasn’t reaching out! What was I supposed to have said? That I was losing my mind? Should I have just sent a letter saying ‘oh, hello, how’s your life going. I know it’s been awhile, but I’m dying and my life is falling apart’ and then went on to describe the weather?!”

“Yes!” Gods you feel like every word is a pulled tooth. “Yes! You should have! Anything! Why on Toril didn’t you?”

“Oh, and why would you have helped me?” Gale spits, letting you push him back a step before getting even closer than before. “Do you really think I’d have thought you’d have done anything but laugh at me and tell me I deserved it? That I was the biggest fool in the history of the Arcane?”

It’s like a bucket of cold water has doused you.

Ice dripping down your spine, heart turned to stone in your chest, sinking deep into your gut.

“Is that what you think of me?” You ask, voice low. “You think I’m so cruel, that I’m so heartless, that I’d have laughed in your face while you died?”

“Of course you could be that cruel.” Gale spits, proverbial venom dripping from his lips. “I’ve seen you be cruel. You’ve made me look a fool a thousand times over for a laugh.”

You stare at Gale, face turning cold.

Expression neutral.

You feel fucking sick.

“Okay.”

“I- okay?” Gale says, confusion etched into his face. “What do you mean okay?”

“I mean, okay.” You say, already building a wall around your heart. “Get out of my classroom. I heard what you have to say, now get out.”

“Excuse-”

“No. Get out.”

“You’re just… kicking me out.”

“I am.”

Gale stares at you, expression unreadable.

Then, you watch his eyes cast over to the windows, and then down at the watch he pulls from his pocket.

“Fine,” Gale spits, taking a step towards the door. His gaze locked onto you. “But we are not done talking about this.”

“Sure,” you huff. “Later.”

With a flick of your wrist, and a muttered incantation, you cast mage hand. Slamming the door behind him before flicking up an Arcane Lock.

The moment you think you’re alone… Gossamer appears.

A big smile on her face, a crayon in hand… and you just…

You just.

Sob.

You have a good week of peace.

(It’s not good. It can never be good again.)

You’re careful, between your days off, and your odd hours for the necromancy classes, to avoid Gale.

But today is just not your day.

“Professor Dekarios,” you say evenly in acknowledgement. Watching Gale enter the room while you’re wrapping up your final lesson of the day. “What can I help you with?”

Gale is silent for a moment, aware of the eyes on him. The students of various ages that are watching with rapt attention.

“May I have a word?” Gale asks, voice clipped.

God you want to run.

You have misty spell prepared. One of the windows is open to let in the afternoon breeze, and you’ve got a clear shot out into the open campus. You could do it, you just know it -

“Sure,” you say instead, knowing exactly how that’s going to look if you do end up running from your own damned classroom. You’re already on thin ice from letting Gossamer run amok when you could have dismissed her. Which you. Completely forgot about. “My class will be done in just about fifteen minutes if you’d like to come back.”

“That’s quite alright, actually.” Gale smiles, and gods. You’re fucked. “I’m happy to observe.”

And he watches.

Waiting.

You don’t stutter when you go over the homework for the evening - you don’t - and remind your class about the project that’s due two classes from now. Even more than that, you don’t stumble and your hands don’t shake. Certainly, you don’t stall by shutting both the window and the curtains. And, above all you don’t activate the wards in the classroom to make it soundproof and lock the door once all the students are gone.

Those are all things that just happen to occur for different reasons.

And still, Gale stands, leaning against the wall by the door. Arms crossed over his chest as you go back to your desk. Silent as the grave (if the pun can be forgiven) as you slowly sift through your mail instead of giving him the time of day. Both of you waiting to see who would break first.

“So?”

“So what, Professor Dekarios?” You ask neutrally, carefully not reading the source of the letter in your hand before you open it. “You’ll have to be a bit more specific.”

“You know damn well what I’m talking about.”

“I really don’t, actually. You will have to be more specific.”

“Really?” Gale asks, eyebrow arched, voice low. “You don’t think, in the slightest, this might be about something you know?”

You shrug, continuing to read the letter that’s… what even is it about. Some sort of promotion? No it’s-

“You kicked me out of your classroom.” Gale hisses. “And you have been avoiding me.”

“I have not been avoiding you.” Lies. “I’ve been busy. It’s not my fault you always seem to try and speak to me while I’m not here.”

“You can’t-”

You don’t watch Gale’s face contort with anger, don’t watch his fingers ball up into fists as his sides. But you know him well enough to imagine it, even as the splotches of ink all blur together on the page you’re holding.

“Fine, you weren’t avoiding me. Then why did you kick me out of your classroom?”

“We weren’t having a productive conversation,” you answer simply. A week had given you time to re-build up the wall you usually afforded strangers, rather than the man you- “And so it was, in my professional opinion, the best for us to call it there.”

“A productive- of course we weren’t having a productive conversation, I was trying to understand why you were hiding things behind my back, and you just tried to throw the blame at my feet-”

“Professor Dekarios if we can’t-”

“And stop calling me that!” Gale hisses, slamming his hand on your desk. You jolt - when had he gotten so close? “I’ve never been Professor Dekarios to you, don’t start that now.”

“What’s done is done, Professor.” You continue, digging your hand into the fabric of your top. “I tried to explain myself, and you wouldn’t listen-”

“Oh that is rich-”

“And so I thought it best-”

“You thought it best to stonewall me?” Gale asks incredulously, talking over you. A pang of irritation cuts through you, but you think you hide it fairly well. “Because that’s what you’ve been doing. You’ve been defensive and-”

Gale stops, and gods.

You hate the face he makes.

The dawning realization in his eyes.

You know that expression, you’ve seen it thousands of times. For good or ill, you’ve seen that face all your life.

“That’s what this is about.”

“What are you talking about?” You drawl, trying to keep some sort of neutral expression on your face. “Lay it out plainly, professor.”

“You’re trying to shut me out.”

Ah hells.

“You- you’re upset.”

A genius.

Truly.

“You’re upset.” Gale repeats, arms crossing over his chest as a flat laugh escapes his lips. “You’re upset and you’re trying to make me leave.”

“Gods I wonder what gave you that idea.”

“No, no you’re hurt.” Gale cuts through, gripping the edge of your desk so tight that you can see his knuckles go white in the periphery of your vision. “So you’re trying to be some… cruel, heartless person to make me leave.”

“I’m trying to be professional.” You frown. “Our… conversation last week made me realize I wasn’t. I’ll endeavor to be better in the future.”

“Oh you’re not fooling me.” Gale’s hand comes down to rip the letter from your hands when you look down at it. “I know you’re not reading some… some school newsletter about what they’re serving in the mess hall in the evenings.”

“Yes I am,” you huff.

Oh so that’s what that was.

Damn you actually should have read that - you really could use the staff meals if it’s something you can stomach.

“No, you’re not.” Gale asserts. “Now look at me.”

Rolling your eyes, you pull another letter from the pile and begin to look it over, reaching for your letter opener when Gale rips the damned thing from your hand. Ignoring your noise of protest. His hand coming up to - honestly kind of gently - grab your chin. Brows furrowed in anger as you’re stunned into silence.

“Look at me!”

You… holy shit.

You cannot process this.

Blinking dumbly, for the first time in years, Gale has rendered you speechless.

“There,” he grits out. “Now you have to look me in the face while you lie to me.”

“I’m not-”

“You are.”

“I am not!” You grunt, irrationally choosing to clamber up onto your desk, papers scattering as you try to reach for the letters in Gale’s hands. Hoping it will give you an advantage with a little more height. “I am trying to be professional! You- you horrible man!”

“Oh yes, I’m so terrible because I-”

“Because you’re a bastard!” You hiss, snapping your teeth at Gale in warning. The two of you were no longer children, but gods this reminds you of then. And, unfortunately for Gale, you’re still a biter. “Give me my mail!”

It doesn’t take long for the spat to turn ruthless, Gale yanking the letters from your hand so hard you end up toppling over onto his feet. Ramming straight into his knees, which in turn sends him tumbling to the ground with a matching groan.

“Ow.”

“Are you alright?” Gale asks with a soft huff, rubbing at his shoulder when he sits up. “ Didn’t hit your head, did you?”

“No,” you answer honestly, just like when the two of you were kids and trying to assess the damage before you went home. The anger of the moment briefly fading. “I’m fine.”

“Good.”

“And you?”

“I’m fine.”

“Good.”

Silence reigns for a moment.

“I don’t know why you-” Gale sighs. “You know you’re being ridiculous, right? Just be honest with me.”

“I already tried to tell you.” You huff, rubbing at your face with the back of your hand. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t matter?” Gale asks, eyebrow arched. “You’re being a complete ass to me for no reason. Do you just enjoy being cruel?”

A shard of ice pierces straight through the walls you’ve painstakingly tried to build. But one week isn’t enough time to shut Gale out. Not when he’s had years and years to get under your skin like nobody else could.

“Yeah,” you answer with a shrug. Standing up and brushing yourself off. “Sure Gale. I do enjoy being cruel. Cruel and twisted and sadistic and all the horrible things you think of me.”

“You-”

Gale stops, stunned into silence.

He opens his mouth and closes it, and you can watch… something build in his eyes. Anger? It must be, you realize, when you see the tips of his ears turn red.

“You’re trying to make me stay away from you.”

“No, I’m not.” You lie again, shrugging as you lean back against your desk. “You’ve just made it abundantly clear what you think of me. I’m not trying to change your mind anymore.”

“That’s not-”

Gale falls silent, and you watch the emotions play out on his face.

This time you choose not to think about it.

“It’s fine, Dekarios.” You say flatly. “I’ve heard it before. I know what I am.”

Gale winces.

“You can’t honestly think you’re-”

“Heartless? Cruel? A monster?” You ask, arching an eyebrow. “Gale I’m a necromancer. Of course I am those things. I get the job done.”

Gale stares at you, eyes unreadable, and you can feel the terrible, terrible feelings return. Everything that you’d ever been scared about as a child comes bubbling right back up to the surface. Betrayal burns hot in your chest. And-

“What the fuck!” You choke out, jolting as Gale pushes you back into the desk. You go toppling on top of it, back pressed flat as he pins his hands by your head. “What has-”

“You do care what I think about you,” Gale says, and you freeze. His voice is… it’s not quite surprised. Soft, but not- he speaks again before you can finish your thoughts. “You actually do.”

“No I don’t.”

“You do,” Gale says, just a bit breathless. God, is that… pity in his voice? That’s just enough- “You actually do.”

Anger rises up like hot bile in your throat, and you feel tears prick in your eyes.

“What, do you want a fucking medal?” You ask, eyes watery. “Just laugh at me. Get it over with so we can both move on.”

“Move-” Gale blinks, and you recognize the anger in his eyes. “Move on?”

“You think so little of me,” you spit, jabbing a finger into Gale’s chest above you. “Go ahead, laugh. Laugh at the stupid little beast who cared.”

“Is that what you think?” Gale mirrors your words from days before, and it catches you off guard. “You think I view you as some… some heartless beast.”

“Clearly!” You bite out. “You all but said it outright.”

“I don’t-” Gale blinks, eyes owlishly wide. “I didn’t mean that.”

“Didn’t-”

You choke on your own laughter, and decide to pretend it isn’t sobs.

“Didn’t mean it? I spend years of my life trying to keep you alive, not telling you because I knew you’d reject the help.” You choke out, hot tears slipping down the sides of your face. “I didn’t want credit. And I try to tell you that, and the takeaway you got really did seem to be that I didn’t care.”

“I-”

“And now I know why! You fucking hate me!”

“I don’t hate you!” Gale shouts, and gods, you do idly think about how glad you are for the soundproofing. “How the hells could I hate you?”

“You sure sounded like it!”

“I don’t-” Gale begins again, before stopping. Realization dawning on his face again. “Gods. Gods you believe it. You believe I hate you.”

“No shit!” You choke out, bringing your hand up to angrily scrub at your eyes. “Clearly you hate me! And I think so fucking highly of you. Even now, I-”

“I’m an idiot.” Gale says plainly, the calm stupor in his voice enough to stop you dead in your tracks. “Gods, I am an idiot.”

“What?”

Eyes unreadable, Gale stares at you.

And then - and then -

Oh.

His lips are on yours.

Head twisting, sealing both of your lips together in a heavy, hot kiss. Teeth clacking awkwardly with the force of it, Gale swallowing the sound you make as one of his hands comes up to grip your hair.

Your eyes flutter shut, your own hand coming up to tangle in the locks at the back of Gale’s head.

Gods this is…

Everything.

You never-

You shiver as your legs wrap around Gale’s waist as he kisses you. Desperate, hungry, like a man deprived of everything and given a meal for the first time in his life. He presses his body into yours like he wants to merge them into the same being. Getting lost in the kiss, you can hardly tell who’s doing what, your own actions, your own need, far outweighing the logical portion of your brain.

Hands clutching and pulling and grabbing.

Gale grinds against you and you nearly see stars - by the noise he makes, you’re pretty sure it’s the same for both of you.

When the two of you finally part for air, your breathing is ragged, heavy gasps that match Gale’s own. Dazed, as your foreheads press together. Sharing the same air in a dizzyingly tender moment.

“You,” Gale pants against your cheek, eyes half lidded in a way that makes your toes fucking curl. “I- again. Again.”

You nod, desperately.

“Please.”

His mouth is on yours again, too much and not enough all at once.

You roll your hips up into Gale’s again, groaning at the friction. Your hands are still tangled in Gale’s hair, heat rolling th-

“Oh fuck!” You gasp when Gale yanks your head back and to the side, mouth moving to your neck with a desperate fervor. Intentionally bucking his hips into yours harder. The angle making it easy for him to do so. “Gale-”

“You-” Gale swallows thickly, nipping at your neck, his free hand coming to clutch your hip. “You drive me insane. Do you know that?”

“I-”

“You drive me insane, every damned day,” Gale growls out, body rolling against yours again. Pulling a high, needy whine from you. Gods, you’re rutting like teenagers and Gale is still fucking talking. “The things- the things you’ve made me want.”

“I thought-” you choke. “I didn’t think you wanted me. I- fuck, you, I’ve wanted you for so long. And I just never, never thought-”

“Never thought what?” Gale grinds out, voice hoarse as he bites down harder, sucking a hickey into your neck. “That you’d unravel me? Tear me apart at the seams? Make me ache for you, need you?”

Oh fuck.

God.

Why is he so hot.

“You didn’t-” Gale groans, leaving you breathless with each roll of his clothed hips against yours. “You didn’t know I’ve wanted you for months now, did you? Dreamed about touching you, just like this.”

“Gods,” you choke out, feeling like you’re going out of your damned mind as your face feels like it’s on fire. Nearly dizzy with desire as you admit the things you’ve thought out loud. “I’ve wanted you for so long. Can’t… gods, Gale.”

“You have no idea the images you put in my head,” Gale pants, uneven as he begins to struggle for the words. Groaning when you tug at his hair as he kisses your neck. “The things that I’ve wanted to do to you, to do with you.”

“I think- I think I might have an idea,” you admit softly, legs wrapping tighter around Gale’s waist. “If they’re any- fuck - any similar to my own.”

Gale groans at that.

Teeth clamping down hard against your neck.

“If you did,” he rasps. “I can guarantee they’re much filthier than you think.”

And fuck, that sends a hot bolt of lightning through your gut. You feel yourself clench around nothing, a high, reedy whine pulling from your throat again.

“Fuck.” You gasp. “Show me?”

“You really,” Gale chokes out, moving back from your neck to grab your hips with both hands. Grinding down harshly against your aching core. “You really want to know what I think about, when I look at you?”

“Yes. Yes, please-”

Yanking your shirt up, you can hear the pop of stitching even as you try and assist. Bra coming with as Gale takes a handful of your chest into his palm. Fingers tweaking a nipple as you gasp, throwing the damned shirt across the room or something. You aren’t really sure, and it doesn’t matter.

“Gods,” Gale whispers, almost reverently. Tracing his hands over your skin, leaning down to place kisses wherever he can, speaking between them. “Gods just look at you. So beautiful. So lovely.”

“You have no idea what you do to me like this.”

Your hands grip Gale’s forearms tight, as he holds you, giving a soft squeal when he nips at one of your nipples, sucking it into his mouth. A chuckle pulling from his lips while his hand tweaks the other.

“Fuck you can’t-” you choke. Squirming, unable to press your thighs together because Gale godsdamned Dekarios is between them. “Can’t just do that-”

“Do what?” Gale asks, pressing another soft kiss to your lips. “Say how perfect you look beneath me? Tell you that every whine, every breath, every sound makes me want to ruin you?”

“Holy shit,” you choke, jolting against Gale. You move, tugging desperately at his shirt. “Nine hells take your fucking shirt off Dekarios.”

Gale has the audacity to laugh at that, pulling his shirt over his head with the same desperation you had. Tossing it somewhere you didn’t care about in the room, before moving to curl his fingers in your waistband.

You nod, at the look he gives you.

When he stays still, you groan.

“Oh my god,” you huff. “Consent, hot, yes, get my fucking pants off before I soak through them.”

“Let me appreciate the moment,” Gale smirks, but complies. Yanking off your shoes, pants, and underwear as quickly as possible to join schrodinger's clothing pile somewhere in your classroom. “You make me crazy, gods, you truly do. The thoughts I have…”

“Show me then,” you taunt, rolling your hips into Gale’s, whining when you realize his pants are still on, the bastard.

“You truly want to know?” Gale grunts, his hand instead coming down to your thighs, holding them open as he presses a thumb, unmoving, right over your clit. “You want to know how badly I’ve daydreamed about you?”

You choke on your answer, hips jolting as Gale moves his thumb, but Gale just presses your hips down against your desk harder.

“You want to know how I’ve dreamed of you? Woke up with the taste of you in my mouth? Woke up to my own seed spilled in my underwear in the night?” Gale asks, punctuating his words with sharp movements of his thumb, his clothed cock grinding against your hole. He laughs, breathless, airy. “Like some desperate, hormone ridden teen?”

“F-fuck!” You gasp, every word going straight to your core. “Gods- just- I want you to ruin me.”

“Don’t-” Gale chokes out, hips grinding against you. Trying to gain some sort of leverage, he slips a finger inside of you, watching your mouth go slack. “Don’t just say that. You’re going to break me, talking like that-”

“I will say,” you groan, trying to remember words. “Whatever will get you inside of me faster.”

“Don’t tease,” Gale chokes, slipping another finger inside. “I can’t take it.”

“If I were teasing,” you choke out after a moment. “I would walk away.”

A sound you’ve never heard Gale make leaves his lips, and you nearly squeal as Gale’s fingers move faster, his thumb rubbing harder. Watching every expression you make just to be sure. The kind of intensity you’ve seen him give spells - oh god. He’s taking this more seriously than you thought.

“Don’t even threaten that,” he chokes out, teeth scraping against your neck as he leans down again. “I couldn’t- gods if you walked away-”

“I wouldn’t,” you assure him, desperately shaking your head. “I wouldn’t- I was just teasing. Trying to- to show how - fuck! - how serious I - a-am.”

“I would let you but gods would it break me,” Gale breathes, before sucking another hickey into your skin. He pulls his hand back, and you whine, shivering with need and desperation before Gale flips you onto your stomach. “Gods, just-”

“Fuck,” you breathe, parting your thighs as Gale takes himself out of his pants. Tucking them down just enough before he’s lining himself up, and then slams into you. “Gale!”

He pulls at your hips, arching you up into his touch. Snaking a hand around while he splays himself across your back. Fingers hot on your clit, Gale’s cock pounding in and out of you.

You choke, eyes watering as your leg twitches. Pleasure spiking harshly in your lower belly.

“Say it- say it again. Say my name again.”

You nod, trying to arch back into Gale’s touch.

“Gale!” You moan, your knuckles going white as you clutch at the desk.

Gale continues to rub your clit, harsh, and fast, as he pounds into you, desperate fervor driving his every movement. Suddenly, he arches you back, pulling you up onto your knees so you’re leaned back against him. One arm securely wrapping around your middle, Gale continues to pound up into you. All words muted down to whines and grunts and moans.

It doesn’t take long, not with how needy you both are, for you to cum around Gale’s cock, seeing stars when he pulls you down harshly against him.

The two of you are left panting, your head leaned back, resting on Gale’s shoulder. His face coming to rest in the crook of your neck.

“Gods,” Gale breathes first, hands smoothing over your skin. “You look divine.”

“I can barely think,” you grumble, tilting your head to press against his. “How are you still talking?”

“You like when I talk.”

“I do.”

“Mn…”

“I didn’t… think to…”

“It’s fine.” You say, shaking your head. “I have a contraceptive ward.”

“Oh thank gods.” Gale breathes. “It’s a bit too early to be talking about children.”

“You mean after we fucked in my office after a fight?”

“I do.”

You laugh softly, relaxing into Gale’s touch a moment longer.

“We should get dressed,” you say softly. One hand coming up to play with Gale’s hair. “Actually… talk later.”

“I know,” Gale nods pressing another kiss to your neck. “But do we really have to? Get dressed I mean.”

“Don’t do that,” you warn, drawing a groan from Gale when you involuntarily clench around him. “Or we’ll be here a lot longer.”

“Mmmn… is that such a bad thing?” He asks, and you can practically feel the smile on his lips as he presses another kiss to your shoulder. “I quite like having you… so docile. In comparison.”

“Don’t get used to it,” you warn softly, a smile on your lips. “But… if we get dressed, we can leave. Go to a real bed.”

That gets Gale moving, even if it is reluctantly. His hands smoothing over your skin one last time before he pulls out of you, tucking himself back into his pants. You swallow thickly at the feeling, and Gale helps you step into your underwear and pants. Pulling your shirt over your head, and helping you fix your hair so that you don’t look quite so fucked out.

“You know,” Gale hums softly, pressing a kiss to your ear. “We could always teleport to my tower. It’s a bit of an… irresponsible use of the planeshift spell, I must admit. But… I do have a rather large bed.”

You hum, as though pretending to think.

“I could be convinced,” you drawl teasingly. “For another kiss?”

Gale chuckles, and you smirk against his lips that are already on yours.

“How could I possibly refuse that?”

#gale dekarios x reader #gale bg3 #bg3 #mod strawberry #strawberry writing

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compacflt · 2 years ago

Note

For the requests/open inbox, this may not be the lane you're looking for, but you made a throw a way mention in a response to the ask about Ice's enforcement of DADT that Bradley and Ice probably got into it at one point about Ice being totally okay with DADT as a policy (which I love your read on Ice being like, 'yeah, nobody should ask and nobody should tell. what's the problem here?') I would love to see that argument go down. Or honestly, just any Ice and Bradley interaction after the reconciliation that suits your fancy. I find that dynamic in your world super interesting. Bradley sees him as a father, Ice sees him as the person whose father I killed. I love the drama.

Five times Ice was so obviously Rooster’s dad + one time he explicitly wasn’t.

[Carole. 1994.]

He’s such a nervous man. Usually that’s not the word people associate with him. Nervous? Never! But he is. Carole Bradshaw’s more a religious woman than a spiritual one. She’s never put any stock into “chockras” or “ouras” or whatever the other girls her age were fooling around with in the late sixties and early seventies. But she does believe that you can understand a person just by looking at him or her, and when she looks at Tom Kazansky, she sees a little anxious creature, shivering in the cold, like one of those tiny spindly dogs who always needs a sweater. Maybe it’s her southern maternal instincts, something primal and animalistic inside her, I need to take care of you—and when he nudges her with a nervous shivering shoulder and whispers, “Can I bum a smoke?” —she reaches down to take his hand and says, “I only have one left. We’ll have to share.”

She knows she makes him nervous. His ears are red, and so’s the back of his neck. It’s early on a Saturday morning, and the church is crowded, and he’s self-conscious about the fact that she’s holding his hand. Good. It’s so rare she gets to make a man nervous anymore. She waves to Bradley, proud in his little striped button-down and his little blue bow-tie, where he’s lined-up with all the other aspiring pianists against the stage along the far wall, under the bare postmodern crucifix. The recital isn’t going to start for another five, ten minutes, and it’s organized by age, so Bradley’s somewhere in the middle. If Tom Kazansky needs a smoke, Carole Bradshaw will bum him a smoke.

They exit out the side door, and the low murmuring of the other proud parents in the church fades to the quiet of the alley. Birds chirping nearby. The sound of a latecoming car on gravel somewhere far away. Her cigarette and the flick of his lighter, her eyes on his mouth and his puff of smoke—it’s lit. He takes a drag, closes his eyes, then passes it to her. “Sorry to make you share,” she says, and she’s watching the red flush creep up the side of his throat with a silent pleasure. When she takes her own pull, she looks down to see that the filter’s gone the sweet red-pink of her old lipstick. Kind of like a kiss, sharing a cigarette.

“That’s okay,” he says. Nervous spindly little dog. “Uh, what’s he playing?”

“Beethoven. ‘Für Elise.’” Then, before he can think to judge, she goes on quickly: “It’s more complicated than you’d think. Goes up and down and all over the place.”

“It’s a good song,” Tom Kazansky says, “though I don’t know too much about piano.” He pauses. “I’m learning a little German, though. I think it’s E-leez-ah. She must’ve been an alright girl if Beethoven wrote a song for her.”

Carole Bradshaw doesn’t know what to say to that. So she says this instead: “Thank you for coming. It made Bradley—well, over the moon, I guess.”

Tom Kazansky smiles shyly. “Sorry Maverick couldn’t come. I know he wanted to.”

Of course he brings up Pete Mitchell. Drags her back into reality. “He’s in Washington again, isn’t he?”

“Correct.” He reaches out for the cigarette; she gives it to him. “TOPGUN’s biggest advocate. I keep telling him he should go into politics. I just talked to him yesterday—he told me he went to the Natural History Smithsonian on Wednesday—he bought Bradley a dinosaur picture book, I think. Does Bradley like dinosaurs?”

Carole Bradshaw shrugs. What nine-year-old boy doesn’t like dinosaurs, but… “He’s more into sea life these days. Whales, sharks, fish.”

“Some fish used to be dinosaurs, they think,” says Tom Kazansky, clearly just trying to fill the silence. Ears red, lips red. Smoke out of his mouth like a fire-breathing dragon.

Carole Bradshaw doesn’t know how much dinosaur history she actually believes. So she says, “It’s still really nice of you to come. You know, Bradley—Bradley thinks of you and Maverick as his—well, his fathers, I s’pose. So it’s nice for you to be here.”

She watches his reaction—just nervousness. Straight anxiety. He doesn’t meet her eyes, like she’s just kicked him in the ribs. He does not want to be Bradley’s father.

She says, “You don’t have to sign any papers, Tom. You don’t have to put a kid seat in your car. I’m just saying. Don’t worry about it.”

He says, “I can hear the kids starting inside—we should probably go back in.”

So Carole Bradshaw drops the cigarette butt to the ground and steps on it with the bottom of her flat. They go inside, and wait for a kindergartener to finish an overly simple “Canon in D” to take their seats again. She takes his hand. He lets her. After another half-hour, Bradley sits down on the bench in front of the hand-me-down Steinway and busts out “Für Elise” without a single missed note. It still shocks her, sometimes, to watch him play—it still shocks her, sometimes, that she is the mother of all that talent. And now maybe Tom Kazansky is the father of all that talent. How did that happen?

At the end of the recital, Tom Kazansky lets go of her hand. She knew he would. Knew his fatherhood is only temporary. But he lets go of her hand to accept Bradley’s great-big hug in the parking lot: “Gosling, that was so good.” Bradley’s proud smile is missing a few teeth. It makes Tom Kazansky laugh.

And after he drops them off at home, and peels away with a wave and a smile, Carole Bradshaw lights another cigarette from the half-full pack she’d brought with her to the recital and brings Bradley out to the backyard so he can play and she can watch him. But before she lets him go, she looks down at him and says flatly, “If kids at school ask you about Uncle Tom and Uncle Pete—you need to tell them they’re just friends.”

And in his eyes, she can see the confusion of a little boy who hadn’t been aware that Tom Kazansky and Pete Mitchell were anything other than just friends—the confusion of a little boy learning about duplicity for the first time in his life.

“Okay,” he says, so she lets him go.

—

[Maverick. 1998.]

“Don’t go easy on him,” Maverick hollers breathlessly over his shoulder, fishing around in the ice chest in the sand for two cans of Coors; “He just joined the J.R.O.T.C.; don’t go easy on him; he’s tougher than all your squadrons combined; beat him into the dirt…”

“Thanks, Uncle Mav,” shouts Bradley from across the volleyball court, where he’s getting initiated into one of the volleyball teams of younger fighter pilots.

Maverick flashes him a thumbs-up and finds his T-shirt on the first bleacher bench, pulls it on with one hand, and then hops up the rest of the benches to sit with Ice, who’s got his CVN-65 ballcap on and a book open in his lap and is offering informal career advice to one of the other lieutenants: “Yeah, so, in my opinion, it’s all down to what you think you can stomach… If you want me to look over your C.V., I can totally do that—I think I’m free Monday at around thirteen-hundred, if you want to stop in to talk. Not a problem. Not a problem. Alright. See you later.” He watches the lieutenant go, then lolls his head over to look at Maverick, who’s tossing an ice-cold can of Coors up and down. “Hey. Good game. —Coors, Mav? This is an insult.” But he takes the offered can anyway, looking out onto the court, where Bradley—fourteen and just entering his beanpole phase of evolution—is currently spiking the ball. “Cool.” It’s a nice summer Saturday, a casual opportunity for the officers of Miramar to socialize with their families (Ice is wearing a golf shirt and jeans), and by now pretty much everyone knows that Maverick Mitchell’s raising his friend’s kid and that he and Captain Kazansky are good friends, so this is pretty nice. Not much to hide.

“C’mon,” Maverick says, popping open his own can, “you and I were having a scintillating conversation, a few minutes ago.” He’s hunting around for the sunscreen so the tops of his feet don’t burn to ashes in the sun.

“Scintillating. That’s a big word for you. Wow.”

“You’re rubbing off on me, Sir Reads-a-lot—”

“See, that’s funny,” Ice interjects, “because I seem to recall, before you so-rudely interrupted me to go play volleyball with the kids, I was telling you that it’s really not that interesting. It’s actually, Maverick, quite boring.”

“Well, I’m intrigued now. Go on. Finish it off, I wanna know.”

Ice slaps his book shut and gives the long tired sigh of a man who is very self-conscious about the fact that he’s about to turn forty. He pops the tab on his can of Coors and huffs in exasperation when it foams all over his hand. “I mean it, my family history’s really not that interesting. Typical eastern-European immigrant shitshow. U.S. officials change one letter in our last name and everyone loses their goddamn minds… Actually, that story might be apocryphal, I keep forgetting which former Soviet Socialist Republic I’m actually from, I just can’t remember, all the borders got redrawn so many times, one of ‘em…”

Maverick smiles and pulls his TOPGUN ballcap back down onto his head, tugs the brim down low over his eyes so he can tip his head back and not go blind from the summer sunshine. He’d thought Ice would be reluctant to share his family history, but it turns out that most people are just afraid to ask him, and he’s actually pretty eager to talk, if you just ask. Maybe over-eager. He’s rambling. Maverick cuts him off: “Yeah, you do have a left curve to you, don’t you. Genetic.”

The dirty joke strikes Ice dumb for a second, but then he forges ahead, wisely choosing not to engage. He keeps going, oblivious to the fact that Maverick’s not really listening… “Anyway, my grandfather was Jewish, but he died literally the second he stepped foot in America, so it doesn’t count…my grandmother was Orthodox, crazy story how they ended up together; actually, that story’s probably apocryphal, too…she’s the one who raised me, pretty much. I told you that. She brought my dad out to Southern California when he was a little kid, but I don’t know if you’ve noticed, So-Cal’s not exactly the Mecca of Orthodox churches or anything, so he wasn’t very religious at all… My mom was from Milwaukee, I think. Or maybe Minneappolis. Some kinda Protestant. Forget which kind. The preachy kind. But then she died and I didn’t have to go to church anymore, so I didn’t.”

“You just never believed?” Maverick mumbles, half-joking.

“Nah. I mean, I always had too many questions no one wanted to answer. For instance: okay, say you’re bad. Say you commit sin…”

“I’ve never sinned, sir. You’re talking hypothetically.”

“Right. Me, neither. Hypothetically speaking. So you go to Hell. Well, the devil’s there, too, ‘cause he’s a sinner, too. But why’s he want to punish you? What does he get out of it? You’re both in the same boat!”

“Probably a sexual thing,” says Maverick, watching the purple-green imprints of the sun dance around behind his eyelids. “He probably gets off on it. The devil, I mean.”

Ice laughs and laughs. “Sure. Try saying that in front of my mom and see if you survived. I learned pretty early on that they don’t want you to be too curious. So I kept all my questions to myself.” He’s also joking, not taking this super seriously, but that’s a pretty in-character answer. “What about you, Mav?”

“If I’ve told you my family’s history once, I’ve told you a thousand times…” That’s a joke. Maverick’s the one who doesn’t like talking about his family history. Ice hasn’t heard any of it, and for good reason. Maybe someday he’ll tell him about it. “Later. But, remember, I used to be Southern Baptist? Jesus, I was serious into that shit, Ice.”

Ice snorts. “Yeah, right. You.”

“Not joking. I had about eighty girlfriends between fourteen and eighteen, but that’s the most pious I’ve ever been. Lotsa loopholes to make my relationships biblical. Was thinking about being a youth pastor. —I’m not joking. It was my whole personality, for a while. Most of my childhood, anyway.”

Ice is still laughing in disbelief. “Oh, yeah? And then what happened?”

Maverick smiles. “…Got hooked on sinning.”

“…Yeah,” Ice replies, and Maverick can hear the nervous smirk in his voice, “I guess I’d know a little something about that.”

And normally that would be the end of the conversation. But Maverick’s feeling a little sun-drunk, a little giddy, and he’ll never, ever, ever grow out of instigating stupid arguments with Ice just for the fun of it. From beneath the brim of his ballcap he mutters, “…You think Carole’s brainwashing her kid?”

Ice huffs a laugh, and says through a lazy yawn, “I’m not militant in my atheism, no.” But he, also, will never, ever, ever grow out of instigating stupid arguments with Maverick just for the fun of it, and his curiosity’s clearly been piqued. He stews in it for a second before he snaps, “Do you think Carole’s brainwashing her kid?”

“I’m just saying she has him readin’ outta the Bible, like, five times a day. She sends him to church camp. Does something to a kid.” He has no dog in this fight, but this is fun.

“And what did it do to you?” Ice says, reaching down to shove his shoulder good-naturedly. “Weren’t you just telling me not five seconds ago how you used to be the perfect model of Christian charity?” Maverick mumbles a retort sleepily; Ice pushes on through it: “Bradley’s a human being. Either he grows out of it like you did, or he doesn’t, in which case, whatever, land of the free. That’s the First Amendment. You swore an oath to the Constitution. Maybe you should read it.”

“I’ve read it. I’m not Congress, shithead. How’s it go, you want me to cite it to you directly, ‘Congress shall make no law…’ actually, I don’t know what comes after that. Got me there.”

“Don’t call me shithead, dipshit. And whatever. Good thing he’s Carole’s kid and not yours, then. He’s got a mom who wants him to go to church. It’s up to him if he wants to listen to her or not. That’s growing up.”

Maverick tips up the brim of his ballcap to look at him, sprawled out in the bleachers very unprofessionally for the CO of this entire volleyball court, and snaps back, “Well, he’s a little bit my kid. The same way he’s a little bit your kid.”

Ice just flicks his sunglasses down onto his nose and purses his lips and neither confirms nor denies this allegation.

They watch the game together for a while, Ice’s toes pressed against Maverick’s lower back discreetly, trying to work their way under Maverick’s T-shirt. Until one of the young pilots approaches a few minutes later: “Sir!” / “What’s that kid’s call sign again?” Ice mumbles to Maverick, prodding him with his foot. / “Hooker.” / “No shit.” / “Sir!” says Hooker again. / “Which one of us, kid?” says Maverick. / “Captain Kazansky, sir. We’ve got a spot opening up. Wanna play?”

Maverick looks up at Ice expectantly. Ice sighs and harrumphs and waffles for a minute— “I’m too old for this shit.”

“Sir,” says Maverick, “it’s not a competition, but if it were, I’d be winning.”

Lighting the fire of competition under Ice like that is always a good strategy. He rolls his eyes, but immediately stands and tugs off his shirt and rolls up the cuffs of his jeans; “I’ll only play if I can play with the kid.”

So Maverick watches the teams get scrambled again with a smile, and sits up to watch Ice join Bradley in the sand. Bradley’s only just now taller than Ice, and Ice clearly isn’t used to having to reach up to curl an arm around his shoulders to strategize, his eyes narrowed like an eagle’s, staring down the competition. Maverick can read his lips from across the pitch: Alright, kid, I’ve been watching for a while, and I think I know these guys’ strengths and weaknesses…okay, here’s what we’re gonna do… And the game begins when Bradley spikes the ball.

Ice won’t always be this fun, this down-to-earth, this human. The admiralty and the guilt and the grief of the years to come will strip it all away from him, bring him back to the cold, remove him from his own humanity. And maybe, even if it isn’t conscious, Maverick can recognize that, right now, watching Ice dive into the sand with a laugh: this summer sunshine is only temporary. It’s gonna have to end at some point. So he doesn’t take it for granted. He keeps his eyes open and watches and tries to commit it to memory.

And after the game, Ice and Bradley come over so Ice can finish his beer and put his shirt and his baseball cap back on, and Maverick can make fun of them for losing. And: “What were you guys talking about for so long before the game?” Bradley asks Maverick with a grin.

“Whether or not your mom’s brainwashing you,” Maverick says.

“Oh!” Bradley says mildly. “…No, I don’t think so!”

“Oh, that’s a great start,” Ice laughs. “You would’ve made a great Soviet. No, I don’t think I’m getting brainwashed. Hey, by the way, Gosling, if you want a beer, Maverick and I won’t tell anyone.”

“Aw, really?” whispers Bradley. “Thanks, Uncle Ice!” And he races down the bleachers towards the ice chest in the sand.

Maverick watches Ice watch him go, fingers still pinching the brim of his CVN-65 ballcap, clearly worrying about something the way Ice always is.

Then he looks down at Maverick, stares openly for a minute, and says, “You don’t think we’re teaching him to rebel too much, do you?”

—

[Bradley. 2000.]

“Kiddo! You’re here early!” It was Uncle Ice, walking through his own front door, catching a glimpse of Bradley watching the Astros-Nats game on the TV. He was still in uniform, but smiling wide, and he set his bag down near the couch and leaned over to ruffle Bradley’s hair goodnaturedly.

“Practice ended early today.”

“Oh, okay. Cool. Maverick should be home soon, still at work—your mom’ll be here in about an hour—she told me to put the chicken breasts in the oven, but you know me, every time I use this oven I set off the fire alarm, so you oughta help me with that…”

“And,” Bradley said, watching Uncle Ice wash his hands in the kitchen sink, “I got here early because I wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh, sure!” chirped Uncle Ice. Then he paused, sensing a trap. “What about?”

“Advice,” Bradley mumbled. He took a deep breath, and stood to follow Uncle Ice into the kitchen “I was just—I was just curious. If you had any advice for me joining the Navy. You know, with me being gay, and all. How do I—I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about it a lot. It’s kinda been weighing on me. Do you have any advice?”

Uncle Ice was still drying his hands off on a kitchen towel. Rubbing them red and raw. And when he raised his head to speak, there was something dull and startled in his eyes: “I don’t, um—no, I don’t—I don’t know anything about that. —You should ask Uncle Maverick about that.”

“I did,” Bradley said desperately, because he had. Yes, he’d gone to Uncle Mav first. “He—he told me to talk to you.”

“…Oh,” said Uncle Ice, now standing in front of a shelf to return one of his books to it. This surprised him. Maybe hurt him a little. “No. I—I, I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

“But—”

“And there are probably better people to ask than me or Maverick. I—I don’t know—that’s not really my…I don’t know.”

“Okay.”

Uncle Ice swallowed, put the book back on the shelf, then clasped his hands together and set them on the shelf, too, as if leaning over his captain’s desk to chastise someone. He blinked for a long moment. Clearly shifting gears. Becoming someone else so easily. Why couldn’t Bradley do that? “But I can tell you this,” he said, and his voice had gone grave and dim, “and I know you and I don’t always see eye-to-eye on politics—but I can tell you this, professionally, because I respect you, and I care about you, a lot—you’re going to have to keep it a secret.”

Dismayed, Bradley said, “Why?”

“Why’s a funny question to ask about something like this,” said Uncle Ice curtly. He shrugged. “Why? Because it’s the law. That’s why.”

Bradley swung his bat at the hornets’ nest. This was always dangerous with Uncle Ice. “It shouldn’t be a law. Don’t you think?”

“Doesn’t matter what I think. It’s the law. And we get paid to enforce the law, internationally speaking. And the military doesn’t work if personnel refuse to follow the rules in broad daylight. So.” He trailed his fingertip along the spines of all his precious books, then eventually found a different one, started flipping through it absentmindedly. “And even if it weren’t the law, it’d still get enforced extrajudicially. You know what that means?” He did that, when he was intentionally being cruel; used big words that Bradley didn’t know to make himself sound smarter. “It means outside the law. The way people talk to you. The way people respect you or don’t respect you. And this business, the one you want to go into, is all about respect. Being a pilot is kind of like being a knight: you have to be noble, you have to be honorable, you have to respect your service and your adversaries and yourself. And because I respect you, and because I care about you a lot, I’m just telling you the truth—you’re going to have to keep it a secret.”

Bradley blinked. There was something crushing and overwhelming about the truth—maybe the fact that it was the truth, maybe the fact that he hated the fact that it was the truth. It made sense. But it also meant his future was unspeakably bleak. He tried to speak over the lump in his throat when he said, “Yeah. That’s what Maverick told me, too.” And what he’d wanted to hear from Uncle Ice was that Uncle Mav was telling a lie.

Something went soft and slightly wounded in Uncle Ice’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” Uncle Ice said gently. “I wish I could give you better advice than that. But that’s all I know. I don’t know any more than that.”

“Don’t you want to know more than that?”

“No.”

And thus did the generational gap widen into a chasm.

—

[February 2003.]

Dear SN Bradshaw, / Please call/email/write me back when you get a chance. / Love Uncle Iceman.

…

[August 2003.]

Dear AN Bradshaw, / I hope you’re doing all right. I hope at some point you and I can get in touch to talk. Please let me know if there is some other address I should be sending my letters to. I am not sure if they are finding you. / Love Uncle Iceman.

…

[May 2004.]

Dear AN Bradshaw, / I wanted to congratulate you on your acceptance to college. Yours is a very good AE program & you should feel very proud. Please let me know if there’s anything you might need as you prepare to start your first year. / Love Uncle Iceman.

…

[August 2010.]

Dear LT Bradshaw, / I wanted to let you know that I’ll be at NAS Oceana for a conference from December 6-9. I understand that’s your neck of the woods—would you be interested in having dinner with me on either that Tuesday or Wednesday night? I would love to hear how you’ve been doing. You can reach my secretary at the number below. / Love Uncle Iceman.

…

[October 2014.]

Dear LT Bradshaw, / We Maverick and I want to wish you a Happy Birthday 30th Birthday. We heard you are deployed out in the Atlantic now—we hope you will be able to enjoy the enclosed gift card when you make it back to terra firma. Our updated personal cell numbers are below. / HAPPY BIRTHDAY! FROM UNCLE MAVERICK & Uncle Iceman.

…

“Haven’t heard back from the kid yet.”

“…You think we ever will?”

The longest silence.

—

[Pacific Air Type Commander Beau Simpson. 2016.]

You could see it in the way they held themselves. An utmost similarity. Aristocratic propriety. Maybe a little sense of entitlement: look how hard we’ve worked to be here. All three of them had it. More accurately: Captain Mitchell and Admiral Kazansky both had it, and had passed it down to their son.

“Captain Mitchell.” Everyone was watching. The sun had only just set; the sky was melting from horizon-red through orange and yellow and teal up to midnight black above them.

“It’s an honor, sir,” said Captain Mitchell, accepting Admiral Kazansky’s handshake. God, you’d never know it by looking at them. Half the people here on this Roosevelt flight deck knew about them, but they were so convincing that more people weren’t sure. TYCOM Simpson glanced at Rear Admiral Bates, who glanced back in confusion—I thought they were…? They were, TYCOM Simpson signaled, just abnormally good at keeping it a secret.

“Honor’s all mine, Captain,” said Admiral Kazansky, and he passed by without a second glance.

And when he made it down the line of aviators to Lieutenant Bradshaw—you could see it. The similarity in the way they held themselves. Straight and rigid and unyielding. Cold and dismissive beyond belief, even to each other. Admiral Kazansky held out a hand. Lieutenant Bradshaw took it, but refused to make eye contact. Quiet rebellion under the radar: Admiral Kazansky had taught him well.

TYCOM Simpson glanced at Captain Mitchell, to gauge his reaction. And for once, he and Captain Mitchell were clearly thinking the exact same thing.

Like father, like son.

You could see it in their stubborn determination. How far they were willing to go. How hard they were willing to push. How long they were willing to hold their own hands to the fire, if it meant the familiar painful comfort of staying warm. “Ice-cold, huh?” TYCOM Simpson asked him the next morning, trying to pin down their strategy, trying to secure a guarantee that their family would do what their country asked of them, even if that meant death. Even if that meant the ultimate sacrifice.

“Only when I have to be,” replied Admiral Kazansky, which meant always, and—soon thereafter, he ordered Lieutenant Bradshaw to his death.

But also, Lieutenant Bradshaw went willingly, too.

“Dagger One is hit.”

“Dagger Two is hit.”

Loss is supposed to hit a man in stages. Isn’t that the truth? —Not so for Admiral Kazansky, whom grief obviously swallowed whole in just an instant. He did not break, or bend under its weight. Just stood there staring at the E-2D AWACS screen with wide wounded eyes—not disbelieving eyes. They were gone. Captain Mitchell and Lieutenant Bradshaw were gone. He was in no denial whatsoever. He had leapt straight to acceptance.

“Sir,” said TYCOM Simpson hesitantly, and he reached out to touch him—the stars on his shoulder—guide him back to reality—what must it be like, to lose a son?—to willingly forfeit your family?—

But before he could make contact, Admiral Kazansky drew a breath, moved away, and closed his eyes for just a second. Perfectly composed, even with the waters of grief closing over his head, even with three dozen observers in this C2 room all scrutinizing him for his response. Perfectly composed. How did he do it? How could he manage? How was he possibly still this proud?

“Vice Admiral Simpson,” he said calmly, “I relinquish my command to you, until you deem me necessary to return to my post.”

“Sir,” said Rear Admiral Bates, darting panicked, sympathetic eyes to TYCOM Simpson, but it was too late—Admiral Kazansky was already leaving the room. Head held high and steady.

Some confusing weeks later, after Captain Mitchell and Lieutenant Bradshaw returned from the dead, TYCOM Simpson and Rear Admiral Bates would casually debrief the mission together in the lobby bar of the Waldorf-Astoria in Washington, D.C. No hard liquor, just beers. Just barely enough alcohol to give them an excuse to philosophize. “You think pride is a sin or a virtue?” TYCOM Simpson found himself asking, tracing the rim of his gilt-edged Stella Artois glass with a finger, after having recounted the above testimony.

“Neither,” said Rear Admiral Bates. “Gotta be a vice.”

“A vice.”

“Yeah. Good men die because of pride, bad men die because of pride…we send our sons to battle because of pride…wars are fought and won and lost because of pride… every war in human history, when you boil it down, begins when someone says, ‘You’re wrong and I’m right, and I’m proud of my own righteousness, proud enough to kill, proud enough to die, proud enough to send my sons to die…’”

“Oh, okay. That’s the root of all human conflict, then, according to you, Warlock. Okay.”

Rear Admiral Bates smiled and laughed at himself, too. Pride, he mouthed. Then shook his head. “We’re a proud species. It’s our vice.”

TYCOM Simpson was thinking about the two proudest men he knew, Admiral Kazansky and Lieutenant Bradshaw, and wondered what it was, exactly, that had driven a wedge between them, you’re wrong and I’m right and I’m proud enough of my own righteousness to send you to your death/inflict my death upon you… And then he remembered the warnings he’d previously received about Lieutenant Bradshaw and Lieutenant Seresin and their open relationship, and then he remembered Admiral Kazansky coldly shaking Captain Mitchell’s hand… and he wondered if the wedge between them was exactly that: the matter of pride.

—

[Tom. 2018.]

“Merry Christmas and a happy new year, and all that,” says Pete, raising his glass and reaching over the dining table to clink rims with Tom and then Bradley. “A good year! A really good year! —Sorry your guy couldn’t be here, Rooster. We’ll call him tonight before you go. Tell him we miss him.”

“Where is he again?” Tom asks.

“Washington,” Bradley says with a smile. “Big conference at the Pentagon. I’ll see him next week.”

“You know,” Pete says with a sly grin directed at Tom, “I’ve never actually heard the story of how you two got together.”

“Oh,” Bradley says, shrugging as he tears open a dinner roll, “not that interesting. Pretty much what you’d expect. Inter-squadron competition-turned-sexual tension. Not exactly within regs, but we did meet each other before D.A.D.T. got repealed, so it wasn’t like we’d’ve ever been within regs, either…” (All the while, Tom’s smirking over the rim of his wine glass at Pete, No, Mav, I’m not gonna tell him I had them reassigned to the same boat…) “We broke up when I got sent to TOPGUN. But we figured it out eventually.”

“Glad you did. Sorry he couldn’t be here.”

Bradley hesitates, then says, “You know what I just realized? I never heard how you two got together…! You’ve never told me that story!”

Tom glances over at Pete, do you want to take this or shall I, and when Pete motions all yours, he sighs and says, “Uh, we don’t really know. We’ve just been telling people nineteen-eighty-six because it’s easy. But in a much more real sense…” He thinks about it, then shrugs. “Whatever. If you really want to know. In nineteen-ninety-three, right after I came back to San Diego to take command at Miramar, he and I had a drunken one-night stand. By accident. Which then turned into twenty-five years of accidental one-night stands. So.”

“Oh, c’mon. You guys bought a house together.”

“Yeah, that,” says Pete, “that was, uh, to facilitate the accidental one-night stands. Make it more convenient for everyone.”

“Cut out the middle-man,” Tom supplies, then shrugs again at the look on Bradley’s face. “That’s our story, kid. It’s not super romantic. We weren’t thinking about it that way. We didn’t know how.”

Pete raises the wine bottle to refill Tom’s glass—though it’s still halfway full—and then raises his eyebrows when he “notices” the bottle’s empty. Changes the subject as he stands: “Okay, what’s everyone feeling? Red, white, what’s next?”

“Red,” Tom says absently. “Anything big, I guess—first cab you see…” But then he thinks about it, and he amends his order before Pete leaves earshot: “Actually—we’ve got that petite sirah we gotta drink—two-thousand-four. Israeli. Might be somewhere in the back, sorry. But now’s a good occasion, I think, to bust it out for the holidays. No reason to save it.”

“Israeli sirah two-thousand-four,” Pete repeats, “okay. I got that.”

Then he steps outside, leaving Tom and Bradley alone. It’s not awkward—they’ve worked really hard over the last two years to make it not-awkward, after the mission—but human beings are human beings. Prideful, stubborn creatures. There will always be a little guilt between the two of them, and a little blame.

“I have to be honest,” Tom says after a moment, interested in being honest for Bradley’s sake, “sorry we don’t have a better story to give you, about us. It is a little hard to talk about.”

“Why?”

“Well—we don’t know the words we’re supposed to use, for one. It’s your generation who sets the standard for that kind of thing. You young people. We’re a little out-of-date. And…well. I guess we’re just jealous of you. It’s hard to talk about.”

“Jealous?” Bradley repeats quizzically. “Why?”

Tom leans back in his chair and really thinks through what he wants to say. This is one of those impromptu speeches you never really intend to make, but are probably still important to get off your chest. “Maverick and I,” he starts carefully, “will never stop feeling guilty about what we did to you. Ever. You need to know that.” And when Bradley scoffs and huffs and tries to interrupt, he goes on, “Not just pulling your papers from the Academy. It goes back further than that. We will always feel like we deprived you of your father. The merits of that feeling are debatable, sure, but it’s a fact of life. A fact of our lives, anyway. And it’s dictated so much of how we live, and how we’ve lived, over the past thirty years. Part of the reason I came back to Miramar in nineteen-ninety-three was to be with you and your mom. Because I felt I owed you that, in return for what I’d taken.”

“You didn’t kill him,” Bradley says. “Or, at least, I never blamed you for killing him. You or Maverick both. You guys were my dads. You didn’t take anything from me. —Excepting the obvious, the Academy, but that was mostly my mom, I guess, so, whatever.”

“I’m just telling you what our lives have been like since the day I met you. Why we did what we did.”

“Okay. But I still don’t understand why you’re jealous.”

Tom smiles, a little faintly. “Because the other part of the reason I came back to Miramar in nineteen-ninety-three was to be with Maverick,” he says, “and I’m jealous of you because I didn’t recognize that at the time. —Everyone hopes, when they have kids—because, look, I’m not your dad, but you are my kid, really—everyone hopes they can bring their kid into a better world than the one they had when they were a kid, and we did. But no one prepares you for how jealous you get when your kid grows up in a better world than you did. I’m not sure people your age understand how hard it was for us when we were your age.”

“I do.”

“Sure, but I don’t think you do. I—I didn’t…” He sighs. “I never meant to fall in love with Mitchell. He never meant to fall in love with me. There certainly were men in relationships in the Navy back then who could make it work—we weren’t those guys. We looked down on those guys. Most people did. And when you were an officer, your job security and your paycheck relied on your subordinates’ respect for you. If we’d rocked the boat, traded away our respect for our relationship, well, we’d have each other, but we’d be out of a job. And then, if we’d been fired—what did we kill all those people for? For nothing! What a waste of all the lives we took! It wouldn’t have been honorable. Would’ve disrespected the Navy, our careers, the men we killed. So we didn’t talk about our relationship. You know that. Didn’t talk about who we were, or what we were doing, or why, because we were afraid of losing our own honor. Didn’t talk about it until the day you two died and came back from the dead. That’s what it took. Maverick still hates talking about some of that stuff, all the labels, all the words—that’s why I sent him to get a bottle at the back of the fridge, he might be out there a while…”

“Cunning,” Bradley says softly, but leaves the space open after he speaks.

Tom looks away. “Maybe this is getting too deep into the weeds. I’m just trying to tell you what it’s been like for us. Not sure how much of this you want to hear.”

“All of it. —All of it.”

Tom clears his throat. “…Well, Maverick keeps trying to convince me that we never wasted any time. And I know there is some truth to that—we didn’t start out liking each other at all—even if we’d been as brave as people your age are nowadays, even if we’d been open with each other about that kind of stuff, we still probably wouldn’t have ended up together. I mean, we really didn’t like each other. Especially right after your dad died, and especially after you left, in two-thousand-two. So maybe it was better for us in the long run that we didn’t talk about it. But I look back on the thirty years I’ve spent with him, and…it still all feels like a waste to me.” Maybe he really is too deep into the weeds. But he just wants Bradley to understand. “Look, Mitchell is, beyond any possible shadow of a doubt, the love of my life. Always has been and always will be. Right? —I just wish I’d known that at the time. I’m jealous of you because you’re exactly the age I was when I came back to Miramar to be with you and your mom and Maverick, and you’re already married, and you won’t ever have to sacrifice any of your honor for your marriage. You’re one of the most respected men in the Navy.”

“So are you, Ice, and you’re also married to another man.”

“I’ll remind you, though it hurts a little, that I’m almost exactly a quarter-century older than you, and you and I got married within a week of each other. I had to wait for times to change.” He holds Bradley’s gaze for a moment, then finishes the last of his dinner and sets his fork down on his plate. “So, if you were ever wondering why Mav and I are a little bitter around you and Jake, well, it’s because we are.”

“Oh,” says Bradley. “See, I always thought it was just because you and Maverick are both notoriously bitter people.”

“We are,” Tom admits through a laugh. Then he continues, “But—you should also know how proud of you we both are. How proud of you we’ve both always been. We’re not very brave men—well, we are, of course, but maybe not in the way that matters. It’s pretty gratifying to have a kid who’s braver than you are. Every parent’s dream, whether we want to admit it or not. You’re brave enough for all of us.”

It’s at this moment that Pete opens the garage door and sticks his head inside and hollers, “Ice, I can’t find it. What about a merlot? Can we do a merlot?”

“No, baby, the sirah,” Tom answers without turning his head. “It’s on the second shelf, you might—have to rearrange some of the bottles—we have too much wine. We need to drink more, me and you.”

“Not a problem,” says Pete, and he shuts the door again.

“It’s on the third shelf,” Tom tells Bradley in an aside. “He’ll find it eventually. He would’ve tried to change the subject six times by now. —The previous Secretary of the Army—he actually just got married this week, I think; I need to send a card—also gay. He and his partner invited Maverick and me out to dinner the last time we were in D.C. Most uncomfortable I’ve ever seen Mav in my whole life. Asking us questions like, ‘How did you guys get together…?’ ‘Was it easier for you guys because you were in the Navy…?’ ‘When did you…know…?’” When Bradley laughs, Tom does, too. It’s really nice, it turns out, to joke about this stuff with someone who understands. “We just made our answers up out of thin air. I was uncomfortable too, admittedly. That’s what I’m saying. Mav and I never learned the vocabulary to answer questions like that.”

Bradley starts taking their plates to the sink. What a good kid. “You know,” he says from the kitchen, glancing over his shoulder when Tom joins him at the counter, “it’s so funny you bitch that you and Mav don’t have a romantic love story, or whatever. When I was a kid, you and him were literally the pinnacle of romance.”

“Oh, really.”

“Yeah. There’s something romantic about the secret, too. When Jake and I made our relationship official—the first time—I begged him to keep it a secret just for a little while. You know; it was sexy, for a few minutes! Something only he and I knew!”

“And you immediately discovered how awful it is, I’m sure,” Tom says noncommittally. “I’m jealous of you that you learned that lesson young. —Yeah, real romantic. Maverick and I could’ve ended each other’s careers fourteen thousand times over. Real romantic.”

“And trusted each other not to,” Bradley points out—

—which makes Tom reconsider.

Yeah, okay, maybe it’s a little romantic. The way Grimm’s fairytales, once you wipe away all the blood, are just a little romantic. “I’m of the opinion that the only thing getting old is good for is looking back on your life through rose-colored glasses. Sure. Historical revisionism it is. It was a little romantic.”

“What’s a little romantic?” says Pete, stepping into the kitchen and triumphantly brandishing his 2004 petite sirah; “Have I missed something funny? —It was on the third shelf, by the way. Could’ve told me that before I went and reorganized the whole fridge.”

Tom graciously accepts the half-annoyed kiss to the cheek, and answers, “Nothing you would’ve laughed at, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, one of those conversations,” says Pete, hunting around in the drawer for the corkscrew. “If you were planning on continuing, I can go out and rearrange the wine bottles by region instead of by year—” and scoffs when Tom kisses him back to reassure him, conversation’s over.

“Did you know,” Bradley says, “your husband is now openly calling you the love of his life?”

“Oh, yeah,” says Pete with a smile, popping the cork from the bottleneck, “he tells me that all the time. Nothing new.” Tops up their glasses, then deftly changes the subject: “Oh, gosh. I never asked. This is the big news. How are you and Hangman enjoying SOUTHCOM?”

“Oh, God,” says Bradley, rolling his eyes. “Let me tell you…”

“I think we did good,” Pete says later that night—they’re alone now, so he’s fine talking—as he tugs loose the tucked sheets to clamber into bed, and when Tom moves to turn off the light he adds, “No, you can keep reading.”

Tom sets his book down onto his chest and pulls his glasses off anyway. “Well, you and I are known for doing ‘good,’” he muses after a second. “We’re pretty universally renowned for being good at stuff. But, regarding what in particular? —Raising our kid?”

“Yeah. We did good.”

Actually, they didn’t do very well at all. But of course that’s not what Pete means. Pete means: it’s shocking and stunningly fortunate that they did as poorly as they did and still somehow ended up with such a good kid. Tom’s looking up at the ceiling and feeling very small. “How did that happen? Genuinely, how did that happen? I did always build getting married into my plan for my life—but I never thought far enough ahead to consider having kids. And now you and I have a kid who’s in his thirties. How’d that happen? I remember when he could barely walk!”

Pete yawns and rolls over onto his side and closes his eyes. “You and I have a kid who earned a Medal of Honor.”

“I know exactly how that happened” —and doesn’t like to think about it too much. “I suppose we’re just a family of overachievers. A lot of failing upwards, you and me. Somehow we failed our way upwards into a very happy lifelong relationship, a superstar kid…a few dozen medals each, ourselves…”

“That’s life,” says Pete sleepily.

“That is not most people’s lives. You’re aware that our lives look nothing like the average person’s life, right? You understand that?”

“That’s our life.”

Tom considers this. Yeah, it is their life. Wild how that happens.

He smiles at the singular word life, sets his book on the nightstand, presses a kiss to Pete’s bare shoulder, and turns off the light.

#happy Father's Day!#some light discussion of religion in this one but u should be used to that with me #this one is long bc it hits a LOT of prompts sry it took a minute #going thru my inbox: for this anon obv #and FTAW (for the anon who) wanted more competitive icemav #for the FOUR anons who wanted ice and bradley to talk about queerness in the navy #FTAW wanted rooster to explain how hangster came to be #FTAW wanted more ice breaking the rules (‘management tier asshole’ lol)#for the THREE anons who wanted more soft 90s icemav #which is hard for me to write bc those years are kinda boring #it’s literally just: they wake up together. Go to work together. raise their kid together. eat dinner together. fall asleep in the same bed #occasionally fuck. Keep it a secret. don’t talk about it.#for 5 years. like… narratively speaking it’s v boring but yeah they’re happy :)#FTAW wanted more of ices prenavy backstory (this isn’t really much but…)#FTAW wanted icemav’s relationship with religion #tom iceman kazansky #pete maverick mitchell #top gun maverick #top gun #icemav #top gun fanfiction #you guys sure love ur anonymity don’t u #i wanna know who’s sending in asks!!! my dms are open!!! Please come say hi!!!#there are some timeline issues wrt Carole in this one sorry. u can deal.

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