#like sure be subtle while in front of the father if that's the direction that was given during shooting

[queensantiagoofthe99]

You know it's not the same

As it was

(This comparison has been living in my head rent-free for like a week)

Top gif is by @montabeau

Bottom gif is by @sidneycarter

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

i've been waiting for you

part three of daddy all along: part 1 here, part 2 here

pairing: older (dad's best friend)! leon x younger! reader

cw: brief mention of past suicidal ideations, oral sex, semi-public sexual activities, love

summary: the aftermath of daddy all along pt 2 (you had me at 'hello'). mild angst, mild smut, mild fluff. their trials and tribulations still have a happy ending

a/n: this is a commission for the lovely @porcelainseashore <3 !!

wc: 8k

title is a reference to the song of the same title by ABBA. (this story is best experienced alongside the song).

The kiss you shared was laced with the kind of love that was powerful enough to stop time. Until your father interrupted the sacred moment with a far-from-subtle “ahem”.

You turned to see him in the hallway, standing behind you. He’d just witnessed the spectacle. You weren’t sure whether to be angry that he interrupted you or that he wasn’t applauding your love, which had gone through trials and tribulations and come out stronger on the other side.

“I suppose I missed a lot while I was in rehab,” he said.

You looked at Leon, hoping he’d have an answer, but his mind was still hazy from the kiss.

“I think I deserve a briefing on this,” your dad said, nodding towards the living room, an order to follow him.

You silently did as he asked, but Leon lingered in the doorway, uncertain despite the simple directions.

“Leon?” your father called him back to reality.

“Yes, sir,” Leon said, still drunk on the kiss.

“We’ve been friends for decades, don’t call me ‘sir’.

Leon had to resist the urge to say “yes, sir” again. He nodded and stepped into the house, closing the door behind him. He followed you both into the living room and sat on the couch with you, placing a noticeable distance between his body and yours, in an effort to keep things appropriate in front of your father. Though it only served to make things more awkward.

“So?” your dad said, looking back and forth between the two of you, probing you both for answers.

“You saw what happened a minute ago. What more is there to say?” you said because you didn’t know how to tell the story. At least, not in a way that would be acceptable to him.

“I think there’s a lot more to say,” he said. “What happened while I was away? Did you two get together?”

You tried to be as diplomatic as possible, which meant being vague. “We got to spend a lot of time together while you were gone, and we realized that we have feelings for each other. Well, I already knew I liked Leon, but I didn’t know he liked me back.” You conveniently left out the part about having sex on your birthday.

Your father turned to Leon, looking for his explanation. It was about as revealing as yours. “I know it might seem a little weird, but I love your daughter, and I care a lot about her. I always have.”

Leon looked at you affectionately. He even dared to reach across the couch and grab your hand as proof of his love.

“Are you mad?” you asked your dad.

“No, I’m not mad. Like Leon said, it’s just weird for me… to see you two like this.” He turned to Leon, and said, “I know you’re a good man, Leon. I’ve always known that, but I know your history with women, and I need to know that you’re not going to use my daughter… as a hook up. I don’t want her heart to get broken.”

It pained you to hear your dad mention Leon’s past relationships, or lack thereof. Was it worse to think of him as a man with a history of one-night stands, or a man who’s truly loved other women before you?

Your dad played it as cool as possible, holding in all the things he wanted to say, until you decided to head to bed. You hoped Leon would come with you, but your dad asked him to stay downstairs under the guise of hanging out together for the first time since he’d been home.

Still, you sat at the base of the stairs to listen in on their conversation. You always did. Any information you had about Leon or your father – their lives outside of being your caretakers – was gathered through this method.

“I’m sorry, but you can’t. You’re gonna break her heart, and I can’t let you do that.”

“You know I’d never let her get hurt.”

“She’s gone through so much lately… with the accident, me going to rehab, and now, coming home. It’s not fair to shake up her life even more.”

“Are you hearing yourself right now? You’re asking me not to shake up her life because she’s dealing with the problems you’ve caused?”

There was a pause, and you swore you could see the looks on their faces. Your father’s horror, Leon’s regret.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean it like that,” Leon backtracked.

“Go,” your father said, stern, but not aggressive. “I’ll tell her you had to leave and you didn’t wanna wake her.”

You heard Leon’s heavy footsteps walking towards the door and you bolted up the stairs, slipping in your socks and falling face-first on your way.

Leon saw it happen, but didn’t move. He used to pick you up when you fell. His arms were strong, but the awkwardness weighed them down, and he couldn’t reach out to catch you. Your father heard the thunk-thunk-thunk sound and ran over.

You turned to them, realizing the option for flight was gone. You had to fight — for Leon, for you and Leon.

“You were just gonna lie to me? Both of you were gonna lie to me?” You were used to your father lying. As angry as you were, you weren’t surprised by his behavior. Leon’s near-instant agreement to go along with his lies was what made your heart sink. How many times had he done this? Was your whole life a series of your father’s lies and Leon’s willingness to cover them up?

“Listen, sweetheart,” your dad said, “I was just trying to keep you safe.”

“You only care about me now that you’re home, and all you wanna do is control me again,” you said. Holding back tears, you turned to Leon. “And you, you wouldn’t even fight for us? After you came here to confess your love for me? Is it all just bullshit to you?”

“No, I care about you,” he said, “just like your dad does.”

“No, that’s bullshit. Neither of you care about me,” you said, stomping up the stairs and shutting yourself in your bedroom. Nothing good would come out of arguing further. It was 2 vs 1, an unfair fight, you’d better quit before you embarrass yourself.

It was ironic, you realized, how — mere hours ago — you would’ve given anything to have your two favorite people here with you. Now, you got what you wanted — what you thought you wanted — and you would give it all away in an instant. Maybe you were right, back at the dinner table, when the realization came to you that you couldn’t have it all. You’d have to choose between leaving Leon and disappointing your dad.

It was wholly frustrating that you did have them both for most of your life – there didn’t have to be a choice, there was always dad and Leon. Leon was right, sleeping together was a big deal, and maybe you should’ve heeded his warnings.

Questions flooded your mind, all unanswerable. Is this what regret feels like? If you could turn back time would you change it?

Who can you cry to when the people you love most are the ones who hurt you?

When you snuck downstairs later that night to grab a glass of water, Leon was gone. He’d left hours ago. You weren’t sure who to be more angry with – dad or Leon. Their previous togetherness multiplied the amount of love you received as a child, and now it multiplied the loss.

You refused to speak to your dad for days. You didn’t have to refuse to speak to Leon, as he didn’t try to reach out. You learned how to draw and ripped up the pages, you started journaling and ripped out the pages. You called a friend and tried to avoid explaining what was going on. But it was hard to think about anything else. Your life was filled with Leon, Leon, Leon. Like always. Sure, you’d lived with him for months during your father’s rehab, but you had a life before him – no, not before him, but before his constant presence. But where was it?

Leon left. Clearly you weren’t in the mood to see him, and your dad had explicitly told him to leave. What’s that saying? “If you love something, let it go”? Leon tried that with Ada many years ago. He let her go, and she came back, and then she left again, sticking them in a perpetual cycle of what he perceived to be intimacy and completely ignoring the others’ existence. They’d been seeing each other periodically for decades. Leon’s love for her faded a little bit every time she left the morning after. He let her go and she let him go. If she wasn’t willing to fight for him, then he wouldn’t fight for her. But, you were different. The way Leon loved you made him consider the possibility that whatever he felt for Ada wasn’t love. More likely it was a deadly combination of admiration, attraction, and misplaced trust. Plus, the inextricable link that forms between people who’ve saved each other’s lives.

Usually, Leon didn’t give himself time to make mistakes in his relationships – he tended to leave the morning after, never wanting to be a nuisance. If a woman ever came home with him, he’d make her coffee in the morning and lend her a clean towel so she could shower. He didn’t think he had much else to offer.

He knew how you took your coffee and how you liked your eggs. He knew how to set the thermostat to your preferred temperature. There was always more in his heart for you.

A woman thought he was being considerate when she noticed that he had tampons under the sink, but really they were for you, not her. Another thought he was seeing someone else when you left your toothbrush at his apartment. How could he explain to her that you were the most important woman he knew, but no, he wasn’t seeing you. That was well over a year ago. It should’ve been easier after “I’m in love with you.” Who is she? She’s my girlfriend. A one-word explanation.

He tried to devise a plan to win you back, like the male love interest in a cheesy rom-com. He seriously considered the prospect of showing up at your house with a boombox playing Peter Gabriel like Lloyd from Say Anything. It would probably give you second-hand embarrassment, he decided. If only he knew, you’d still take him back.

Leon knew you well enough to know your idiosyncrasies. You stayed up to watch American Idol on Monday nights. You’d be in the living room if he came over around 9. He could park around the corner and sneak up to your window. Your dad wouldn’t be watching unless he had a complete change of heart. (He’d refused to watch American Idol since the contestant he liked didn’t win in Season 2 – he was convinced from then on the competition was rigged.)

Leon got home from work, quickly changed, and headed over to your house on his motorcycle, hoping he could convince you to go for a ride with him. Something you’d never done before. Because he hadn’t allowed you to. Maybe he should have worried about the possibility that he was letting his protectiveness over you slip to accommodate his need to please you. As much as you used to beg him to do things he considered too dangerous, he’d never budge. Watching you throw a fit always pained him, but being a father figure meant protecting always superseded placating. 

Had you broken down his ability to refuse you? Or was he a selfish man looking for love in a girl he should be hesitant to pursue?

Monday night came and he knocked on your window in the special pattern the two of you had established many years ago when you were afraid of letting a “bad guy” into your room by accident as a child. Knock – pause – knock, knock – pause – knock.

You immediately knew it was him. He could see in your face that you were ready to run out the door to him, so he held his finger to his lips to remind you to be quiet. Thanks to the summer weather, you could step outside without having to make a ruckus by putting on your coat.

Your teenage years weren’t far behind you, and with a former cop for a father, you knew how to sneak out. Under the porch-light, you were barely visible, but Leon could hear your smile when you spoke.

“You came back,” you said, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“I told you I’d never leave you.”

“Are you gonna come in?”

“I don’t think your father would like that very much.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because I love you. And I want you to come out with me, just for a little bit.”

You learned your persuasion from Leon. You’d watched him talk his way in and out of endless situations, from speeding tickets to free food. And those people were strangers. He already had you wrapped around his finger.

“Okay,” you said, “but I should leave a note, so my dad doesn’t think I went missing.”

“Good girl,” Leon said, and when you looked in his eyes you could tell he was trying to get you worked up. And he was succeeding.

“Wait- where are we going?” you asked.

“I was going to let you choose.”

“Can we go to the hill? I’ll get a blanket for us to sit on.”

Leon was ready to blow his salary on you, and all you wanted was to lie down in the grass. His worries about your safety riding on the back of his bike were no longer a problem, since the hill was within walking distance.

“That sounds great to me.”

You returned to him moments later with your hair tied up, cherry-flavored chapstick on, and a picnic blanket under your arm. Leon carried the blanket with one arm, and held out his other, offering you his hand.

Somehow – after sex, after a love confession, after knowing Leon for your entire life up to that very moment – holding his hand made your heart flutter. You hoped your hands weren’t too sweaty. His were warm and calloused with a scar on one palm. You discovered this long ago. His hands were the ones to bandage you when you fell off your bike, the ones that wiped your tears after a nightmare, the ones that rubbed your back when he hugged you. You knew them well.

You walked to the hill where you used to go sledding as a child. It was tucked into a corner behind a thin curtain of trees, a little neighborhood secret. Leon put down the picnic blanket in a secluded spot where the street lamps couldn’t outshine the stars. You laid on your back, unsure of where to put your hands. They remained awkwardly on your stomach. You could feel Leon’s eyes on you. You turned to him and he snaked his arm around your shoulders and pulled you closer.

“What’s up with you?” he asked.

“Nothing. Why?”

“No, not nothing. You’re nervous.”

“Is it really that obvious?”

“Yes. Are you worried about your dad finding out? I’ll make sure you don’t get into any trouble with him. You can blame it all on me.”

“No, I’m not worried about him.”

“Then what’s got you all anxious?”

“This is gonna sound so stupid.”

“It might, but that almost makes me wanna hear it more.”

“You’re so smooth, like, you’re giving me butterflies and I don’t know how you do it. I feel so awkward and I wish I was better at this.”

He laughed, really laughed.

“See? I told you it was stupid. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No, no, baby.” He put his hand on your arm before you could turn from him. “I was laughing because I am the exact opposite of ‘smooth’. Ask anyone I know and they’ll tell you that I’m awful at flirting.”

“But you’re so good at it right now.”

“This isn’t flirting. I’m just having a good time with you. I’m not trying to get you in bed or whatever. I love you and I wanna spend time with you.”

Leon didn’t know that he felt that way until the words left his mouth. It didn’t miss him that you didn’t say “I love you” in return. He was old enough to accept the fact that sometimes people don’t say it back, or at least, to cover up whatever anxiety he felt when it happened.

“I love you” wasn't sufficient to describe how you felt in that moment. You grasped for words for as long as you could bear the silence. You ended up concluding that in this case, actions could substitute for words. So, you kissed him, letting your lips guide you unrestrained so that soon you were engrossed in a full-blown make-out session, hands in each other’s hair, grasping at each other’s shirts. Every time you pulled away to catch your breath, you thought you’d stop to talk – but you found yourself giving into the desire to kiss him endlessly. At least, until your breath was heaving. All you’d done was kiss.

“I want you,” you said, reaching down past Leon’s hips to find him hard.

“We shouldn’t,” he said, though you could see the intrigue in his upturned lips.

“No one’s around.”

“I’ve taken enough risks for one night. Your dad is going to murder me if he finds out I helped sneak you out of the house, and I think it’d be a lot worse if he found out from the one free phone call you’re allowed when the cops take you in.”

“What if we didn’t have sex? What if we just did a little bit more than kissing?”

“What does ‘more’ look like to you?”

“I wanna touch you. We won’t even have to take our clothes off.”

He sighed, and a bashful grin appeared on his face. He didn’t agree with words, believing he could do much better with his fingertips on your skin. Leon kissed you from your lips to your neck to your collarbone, even daring to place one on one of your breasts. It was risky to pull your top down to do it, but Leon wanted to mark you someplace only he could see it.

As soon as his hand reached the threshold between panties and skin, you unzipped his pants and started touching him. You locked eyes and stayed forehead-to-forehead until he kissed you forcefully, capturing your moans before they left your mouth.

You were left in a daze after your orgasm while Leon was hit with a moment of clarity that was much different this time than the last. He understood the risks clearly, and yet, had no second thoughts. There was nowhere he’d rather be than holding you under the stars.

When you arrived home from your date with Leon, you found your father in the kitchen.

He knew.

“We need to talk.”

“About what?”

“Where were you tonight?”

“With a friend.”

“Is your friend’s name “Leon”?”

“Don’t get mad. Please, dad.”

“Why didn’t you ask me before you went out?”

“Because I thought you’d say no.”

“At least you’re honest.” He picked up a can from the table and took a sip of it, and for a second, you thought it was beer, you thought you could turn the tables. You noticed it was a can of soda about a second before you opened your mouth to yell at him.

“I can’t stop you from sleeping with him, but you’re not doing it while you live under my roof.”

“Why are you so obsessed with the idea of us having sex?! It’s not the only thing we do.”

“Sure. You hang out. That doesn’t mean it’s love, nor does it mean that it’ll last.”

“You don’t know anything about love.”

“Maybe so. But Leon is a man in his forties who’s never had a serious relationship. And there’s a reason for that.”

“Maybe he hadn’t found the right person.”

“All I’m saying is that I can’t remember the last time I saw him go on a second date with a woman, let alone have a long-term relationship.”

“And? You ended up being a single father because you fucked up so bad that mom left you!” And if Freud was right, then that’s why I have daddy issues.

“I will not have you talk to me that way.”

“What are you gonna do about it?”

“I’ll ask you to go upstairs and think about your words or you can pack your bags and go.”

The second option was hyperbole. He would never kick you out. But you took it as truth and grabbed your purse. You called Leon from the driveway.

Your father’s disapproval became the least of your worries once you began staying with Leon. What was eating at you was the comment your father made about Leon’s love life. Over dinner one night, you confronted him.

“You said you’ve been in love before, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Do you still love her?”

“No.” He was sure of it. He liked Ada, liked having sex with her, but he’d fallen out of love with her a long time ago. That ship had sailed.

“How did it end?”

“What?”

“The relationship with whoever you were in love with.”

“There wasn’t really a relationship. There was nothing to end.”

You hummed in contemplation.

“Why are you so interested in this all of a sudden?”

“I don’t want you to fall out of love with me.”

“I don’t plan to, and that situation was entirely different than what we have. This, what’s between us, is much stronger.”

He looked you in the eyes, and said much softer, “I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“Because I can’t fall out of love with you. I tried to, multiple times. It didn’t work and that’s why I’m here.”

“What do you mean you ‘tried to fall out of love’ with me?”

“I slept with other people… as you know,” he said, nearly wincing at the awful memory of you catching him with another woman in your living room. “And, the night I came to your house, I had just left a date.”

“So, you slept with someone before you came over and-”

“No, I went out to dinner, and she offered me… the opportunity to go back to her place, but I said no.”

“Was she ugly? Unfuckable by your standards?”

“No, wait- what?” He shook his head and tried to explain it the best he could. “I was thinking about that night in the hotel room when you said that thing about Celine and Jesse and I actually brought it up to the girl.”

“You told her about that night?”

“No, I just mentioned how I liked the movie.”

“And?”

“And she said she didn’t like it.”

“And that’s the reason you decided I was a better choice? Because she didn’t like your favorite 90s romance movie?”

“No, well, sort of, but no… I just started thinking about how you love that movie and how she’s nothing like you, and how I love you. And then I saw your picture in my wallet and… I just knew what I had to do.”

For a moment, you wondered if he was just trying to get in your pants. If he was, it was working. You gave in, telling yourself that his intentions shouldn’t matter because he wasn’t manipulating you, you were hoping he’d ask you to sleep with him anyway. You weren’t going to let your dad’s assumptions get to your head.

Leon scavenged the house but couldn’t find any condoms. “I think I’m all out,” he said, sounding very apologetic. “The drug store’s still open, though, so just gimme like 15 minutes, and I’ll be back.”

You beckoned him closer. “What if we just didn’t use one?” you asked, putting on your cutest face.

“Uh-uh,” he said, “and before you try to talk me into it, I’m serious.”

“But Leon…”

“No, that’s my final answer. I can go to the store or we can do this another time.”

“Or you could just pull out.”

“You went to health class, right?”

You nodded.

“Then, you know that the pull-out method isn’t 100% effective. Or did you convince me to pick you up the day they taught that?”

You actually had convinced him to pick you up that day, but you were still aware of the pregnancy risk if you didn’t use protection.

“What if I wanted to get pregnant?”

“You’re joking, right? This is a hypothetical.”

“Sort of, but you’re getting older – no offense – and if we wanna have kids, then maybe we should start before your sperm count decreases.”

“My sperm count is fine, and no, we are not ready for a baby.”

“You might not be.”

“Sorry, I meant you are not ready for a baby. I could take care of a child, but you’re 21.” Suddenly, your age-gap seemed to widen in Leon’s mind. He felt like he’d already raised a kid and you weren’t close to being ready to have one.

“Okay, fine,” you said. “But you wanna have kids someday, right…?” It was wishful thinking, and though you had no reason to believe Leon had the same idea in mind, you believed he did. In all your daydreams you were parents.

He was completely taken aback. “Uh…” The last time he’d been asked if he wanted to have kids it was a theoretical question, from Claire, decades ago. Back when they thought it might still be a possibility in this lifetime. “I don’t know…” He decided not to say any more, fearing he’d disappoint you.

“But, I do, and I think I’d be a good mom.” After the words left your mouth, it hit you, the horrible realization. No, you might not be a good mother, and in fact, if you had to put money on it, you wouldn’t bet on your success. If you were anything like your parents, you’d be terrible at it. It must’ve shown on your face because Leon’s expression shifted from stern to sympathetic.

“Hey,” he said, placing a hand on your shoulder, “I think you could be a great mom one day, but let’s not talk about it tonight.”

You looked up at him with tears in your eyes and wiped them away with the back of your hand before they could fall. “Yeah,” you said, forcing a smile. You tried to awkwardly laugh your way out of the discussion and Leon must’ve felt bad enough for you not to call you out.

Sex was no longer on the table – that conversation had gone stale. The idea was wholly unpalatable that night, for both of you.

“Sorry,” you said, stopping yourself before you could start your own pity party.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” he said. If you were apologizing for being obstinate and trying to manipulate your way into unprotected sex, he’d take the apology, but he knew what you meant: I’m sorry for killing your boner and crushing my own dreams. It wasn’t your fault for hoping Leon could be more than the man he was.

You fell asleep quickly, as one does after crying. Leon’s arms around you eased your pain. Some things never changed.

When you were younger, like many little girls, you liked to play with baby dolls – you bottle-fed them, pushed them in a stroller, rocked them to sleep, but it was all pretend. You believed motherhood would be easy back then, and it wasn’t like Leon was going to crush a little girl’s dreams by telling her the harsh realities of being a parent.

When you were very little – little enough that this memory is one only Leon bore the burden of keeping – Leon mentioned something about you pretending to be a mommy, to which you remarked, “I don’t know how to play mommy.”

Sure, kids talk nonsense, but regardless of your intent, you didn’t have a mother figure, and you never would. Leon didn’t have the same delusional optimism that your father had in the beginning. He was convinced your mom would come back to him. Leon knew better than to get his hopes up, not that he had much at stake.

Ironically, the father you grew up with, the morbid, ever-pessimistic father, was a direct result of his prior optimism. He decided being a cynic would protect him from being disappointed. He never perfected the art of acting happy in front of the kid quite like Leon did. Then again, Leon knew depression, even suicidality, but he’d never been heartbroken to the extent that your dad had because he’d never given himself over to someone entirely. After watching your dad fall headfirst into alcoholism, Leon was being reasonable by keeping himself guarded. Or so he thought at the time. Now, he began to consider the fact that he may not have been as brave as he’d always thought he was. He was a hero, risking his life to eradicate the threats of bioterrorism worldwide. But, he didn’t choose that life, he fell into his position as an agent due to his own cowardice – at least, that’s how he felt when he couldn’t pull the trigger when he held his own gun to his temple.

In retrospect, he was glad he hadn’t gone through with his plan to off himself. Classify it how you want – cowardice for backing down or bravery for deciding to stay alive – Leon was still alive decades later. And before him stood another one of life’s toughest decisions, though the answer was much clearer this time. Would he let himself fall in love with you, knowing you could break his heart? Yes, though, he didn’t have much say in the matter by the time he realized what was happening. He didn’t choose to set his soul on the table in front of a starving woman. You pulled it out of him with every kiss, every laugh, every steady breath you took while you lay next to him in bed.

When Leon walked in the door, you were there to greet him like a pet who’d been left alone for hours, desperate for affection. Unlike a puppy, you didn’t pounce on him immediately. With his arms behind his back, he said, “I got you a present — pick a hand.”

As skeptical as you were, your intrigue was stronger. You tapped his right arm and he held out a box of condoms. “Surprise,” he said.

“I think this ‘present’ might be for you,” you said.

“You caught me,” he said, already leaning in for the kiss that would lead to the night’s escapades.

Leon planned to take you to the bedroom like a gentleman would, but you dragged him over to the couch, shoved him into a seated position, and stripped in front of him. He had to resist the urge to speak, knowing he’d say something stupid since the image of you in your current state had taken over his mind entirely, turning everything else to mush. The only organ still at work was the one in his pants, and that one was working overtime.

You straddled his lap once you were down to your underwear – a matching lace set. Since you and Leon had become official, you made sure you were always prepared. Not that he expected you to dress up for him. Maybe it was the nagging voice in the back of your mind that constantly reminded you that he’d been with other women. You had others to compete with for the top spot in his mind. He didn’t. He was your best and your only.

You had no idea how many women Leon had been with – romantically or sexually, and you were afraid to ask, worried that the amount would be high enough that he wouldn’t recall the exact number. He told you that you were the best he’d ever had, but people lie. All the time.

You tore off Leon’s dress shirt, haphazardly popping one of the buttons off. “I liked this shirt,” Leon mumbled, momentarily disappointed.

When you sank to your knees, all was forgiven. There was a tiny voice in the back of his head that told him this was wrong. He should be taking care of you, right? You’re his baby girl, you can’t do this – not that he’s naive enough to believe that you’re the innocent little girl you used to be, he knew for a fact that you’d left that girl in the past for a woman who was looking at him bright-eyed, kneeling at his feet – but you could get hurt doing this, you could choke if you overexerted yourself.

You were teary-eyed and gagging before he could think of a way to protect your poor throat. An overachiever. Part of Leon’s mind was enraptured by the sight and begging him to let you continue. If you were any other girl, maybe he would give over all control to you. But the reasonable man he became the day he met you, a baby wrapped in a pink blanket, remained stronger than the sex-crazed idiot he was before.

He pulled you off of him gently. Maybe it was just an illusion from your watery eyes, but you looked hurt.

“What did I do wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said, soft and sweet, “but you’re gonna hurt yourself if you keep doing it like that.”

“I want to make you feel good.”

“You are.”

“But I wanna do more, I wanna please you.”

“You wanna please me, huh?” You could see the glint of mischief in his eyes, but you hadn’t figured out its source yet.

“Yes, please, I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want?” He pretended to be astonished by your offer. You were being hyperbolic, he assumed – he hoped. “Okay,” he said, standing up, “c’mon.” He held out his hand for you to take.

You grabbed his hand without hesitation, and he led you to the bedroom. The tables turned the moment you entered the room when he pushed you down on the bed. He climbed atop you and kissed you forcefully, undoing your bra with his deft fingers.

With open-mouthed kisses he made his way down your stomach stopping only to remove your panties, only a thin layer of lace between his mouth and your core. He was more careful when he undressed you than you were when you did the same for him. He wanted to see you in this again.

His lips teased your inner thighs first. He placed soft kisses everywhere except the place you wanted to feel his mouth most. He only gave in when you started to squirm. The sound you made when his tongue touched your clit told him how much you longed for this.

“You taste so good, baby,” he said, words muffled as his mouth was occupied.

“Leon, wait-”

He looked up at you, with kiss-dark lips and a dazed expression, clearly having been somewhere else mentally.

“I said I wanted to please you, so-”

“Trust me, I am more than pleased with what I’m doing right now.”

You were conflicted. Maybe he was a rare breed of man who truly got off on going down on women, or maybe he was lying. But if he were, he would be doing it because he wanted to make you happy. Because he wanted you.

And who were you to deny him?

You were multiple orgasms in when you finally got Leon to come up for air. His hair was a mess all thanks to your hands tugging at the strands. You were surprised he came up looking relatively unscathed when you’d worried you’d suffocated him with your thighs, maybe twisted his neck too. But, no, he met you face-to-face with a grin, only superseded in prominence by his hard-on.

You ran your thumb over his tip, through the fabric of his underwear which now had a small wet spot, and he groaned.

“My offer still stands,” you said.

His eyes flickered to your smile, which was wider than his and even his ever-bleeding heart couldn’t protest. His dick wasn’t the only part of him that wanted you.

Leon always had an acute awareness of his own mortality. From the moment his parents were ripped away from him as a child, he realized the harsh reality that death can never be fully anticipated and all too often it happens far too early in one’s life. He was aware of that fact, but hadn’t watched anyone die in front of him until the Raccoon City incident. It takes seeing to believe. And even after believing the truth, it took him years to accept it.

It took him until he was 40 to get to that point. Even then, every ill-fated day that Hunnigan called him while he was with you, he was confronted with the same unsettling feeling, the fear of death that he thought he’d gotten over.

If he had to leave unexpectedly, he’d wake you up before he did, give you a hug goodbye. Sometimes, you were in such a deep sleep that you didn’t remember him saying goodbye at all. You’d later accuse him of leaving without telling you, and from then on, he’d leave a note by your bedside to confirm that he’d been there.

You kept them in a box in your closet. They were the sad reminders of the fact that he was gone, but they smelled like him. You always wondered how it was possible for paper to absorb the scent of someone’s cologne so easily. As it turned out, it wasn’t magic or an obscure fact of science, but rather, Leon spraying cologne directly onto the paper because he knew you liked the smell of it.

In the beginning, you watched Leon get dressed in the morning just as you’d imagined back in the hotel room months ago.

Leon got up early while you stayed in bed, but he never left without kissing you goodbye. It was a bit of tradition and a bit of superstition. When he cupped your cheek, you felt the cold metal from the watch on his wrist against your skin.

Eventually, you became accustomed to the sound of Leon’s 6:30 AM alarm and the feeling of his weight being lifted from the bed. You could sleep through his morning routine until the goodbye kiss he always gave you on the forehead. Loving, but so sadly superstitious on his end.

You realized that part later.

You were awoken bright and early by Leon, which was generally a beautiful thing – though, that morning you could hear the apprehension in his voice. You were acutely aware that something was wrong. Sometimes it seemed his hyper-vigilance was wearing off on you.

“What’s wrong?” you asked.

He held himself back from asking you how you knew. “Nothing major,” he sighed, picking his words carefully. “I have to leave this afternoon.”

“Where are you going?” Based on his tone, you could guess that it wasn’t a tropical island vacation. He had business to take care of, and you certainly weren’t going with him. It didn’t really matter what city or country he was leaving for; it was all equally dangerous.

“Romania. I might be gone for a few weeks.” So, I woke you up early to spend as many hours with you as possible before I leave.

“I’m going to miss you,” you said, though your voice gave way to something you wouldn’t say until hours later, when you were naked in the sheets together, having one last bout of intimacy before his flight: “I’m scared of you dying”.

Often, in the post-orgasmic bliss, you tell him how much you love him, how good the sex was, and infinite praises. That morning, you told him you were scared he was going to die, and the minutes before that meant something entirely different. While he was away, memories of you beneath him would permeate his mind. It wasn’t the first time you had affected his ability to focus in the field, but now, he was overcome with not only longing, but also sadness and an unprecedented wave of guilt. How could he leave you like this? You must be worried sick. Hopefully, you’ve patched things over with your dad.

While Leon was gone, you moved back in with your dad. You rung his doorbell, ready to beg for his forgiveness, something you never thought you’d have to do.

To your surprise, he opened the front door with a smile.

“It’s good to see you,” he said when he pulled you into a hug. “I missed my little girl.”

You had convinced yourself that you’d made yourself immune to your father’s actions, that he couldn’t make you cry anymore. But, you broke down in tears. You were so used to apologies, excuses, and bargains. He rarely said he missed you, and never with such conviction.

“I missed you too, dad,” you said, refusing to let go of him. You had the shared knowledge that you didn’t mean that you’d missed him for the small period of time you spent at Leon’s, you missed the person he was when he was sober, the person who was standing in front of you. There was a significant period of your childhood during which he was sober, or at least rarely drunk, but you’d accepted that the man he was then had abandoned you. He was home.

He noticed your suitcase, and asked, “Are you planning on staying awhile?” He was trying not to get his hopes up. That was something you had in common.

“Can I?” you asked.

“Of course. I haven’t changed your room into a man cave just yet.”

He carried your suitcase upstairs, he helped you put the fitted sheet on your bed, he cooked dinner and sat across the table from you. It didn’t feel like a transaction or a placation either.

The topic was inevitably brought up.

“So, Leon…” he said, hoping you could fill in the blanks.

“I still love him, and I want to be with him,” you said.

His pointed gaze asked, why are you here?

“He had to leave for work,” you answered.

He nodded, accepting the situation. “I’ve been thinking a lot while you were gone.”

You braced yourself for impact.

“I think I was being too hard on Leon… and on you. I’ll admit, I still think it’s a little weird to see you two like that.” He looked up from his plate and made eye contact finally. “And I don’t want to find you two getting it on in my living room.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“But, as long as he’s good to you, I’ll learn to be supportive. I don’t want to lose either of you in my life, especially my daughter.”

“Me neither. I want to be with Leon, but I need my dad too.”

“I know.” He paused before saying, “Plus, I thought about it, and if you insist on dating a middle-aged man, there are much worse ones you could pick.”

Leon came home with a bloody nose, broken fingers and too many bruises to count. His clothes were torn and dirty, his eyes were tired, but his smile was warm as ever.

You wanted so badly to run into his embrace but you approached him slowly. Much like when he fell from the pedestal you kept him on the day you found him with another woman in the living room, his facade crumbled in front of you. His injuries were proof that he was breakable. He was made of skin and bone, powered by blood pumping through his veins just like you, not stardust or whatever angels are made of.

“I missed you,” you said, holding back tears.

“I missed you, too,” he said. He looked oddly well-adjusted to the situation. You wondered how many times he’d come home beaten up like this. Moreover, how many times there was a woman waiting for him.

This was the first time he'd tell you if you’d asked.

He headed towards the kitchen, but you stopped him.

“I’m just getting a glass of water, baby. I promise I’m not leaving.”

“I’ll get it. You should sit.”

He held up his hands in surrender. “Okay,” he said, backing towards the couch. He was too exhausted to argue. It was emasculating to have you take care of him, but he’d have to get used to it. He realized, then, that you’d do this for him – you’d have to – if you stayed with him through his old age. If he made it that far.

You brought him some water and sat down on the couch next to him. You surveyed his injuries. You tried not to stare, but failed. Even if he wasn’t covered in blood, you’d stare – he was the love of your life, how could you not?

“What?” he said, turning to you.

“Just looking at you,” you said, trying to remain cheery, though your tone gave way to something sad.

“I’m okay,” he said. “I’ve been through way worse.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better.”

He shrugged. “You told me to come back alive, not to come back unscathed,” he said.

You frowned. He grabbed your chin and moved closer to you, going in for the kiss. “If you don’t want me like this, then-” he started.

You cut him off with a kiss. You were lucky his lips weren’t injured. You could kiss him as hard as you wanted. And you did. When you pulled back, you said, “I want you like this. I’ve wanted you for weeks.”

He tried to speak, but you put your finger to his lips, shushing him. “But first,” you said, “I want to get you cleaned up.”

“Don’t worry. I planned on taking a shower before getting into bed.”

You stood and offered him your hand. He took it and headed for the bathroom, grabbing a towel from the linen closet on the way. When he noticed you were following him, he asked, “Are you coming with?”

“Yeah,” you said as if it should have been obvious. “Who else is going to help wash you?”

He sighed, and you could tell what he was thinking by the look on his face.

“You’ve taken care of me my whole life. Let me take care of you for once,” you said.

“Fine, but don’t get used to it. When I’m all healed, I’ll be taking care of you.”

“Whatever you say.”

You watched him strip and all of your thoughts faded – aside from one, which you spoke aloud. “You’re so hot. Your dick better not be injured.”

He laughed. “Don’t worry. I kept it safe just for you.”

He turned on the water and tried to adjust it to the optimal temperature, but he got distracted when your clothes came off. He whistled.

“Leon!” You covered up instinctively, feeling flustered by his whistling.

“Oh come on,” he said, “You’re gorgeous. I couldn’t help myself.”

His shower was not made for two – and it was further complicated by the fact that Leon had to bend over for you to be able to reach his head. But, you made it work. It felt emasculating, borderline humiliating, on his end to be so incapable of something simple, and to have to rely on his girlfriend to do it for him. But your soft hands washing his skin and your fingertips massaging his scalp, the way you made sure not to miss a single spot on his body, the way you cared – all he had was gratitude. And a whole lot of love for you.

[thebigbadbatswife]

Your Eyes Whispered, "Have We Met?”

Pairing - Batman x F!Hero!Reader Series - Under Your Skin Previous Part - Sticking Noses Where They Don't Belong

Summary - During a party, you meet Gotham’s most eligible bachelor. The more that you’re around him, the more familiar he is to you.

Warnings - Explicit language, POV alternates between Reader and Bruce. (If I missed anything, lmk!)

Taglist - Taglist is at the end of the fic. As always, if you would like to be added/removed, feel free to message me!

A/N - No current ETA for the next part, but I am hoping for it to be ready toward the end of the month (no promises though, December can keep me very busy). Hope you all enjoy this part! 💜

Word Count - 4.2k

Your hands smoothed over the front of your dress as you looked yourself over in your floor length mirror. Once again, your injuries had healed well. All bruising and swelling along your ribs and arm was completely gone, each breath no longer hurting. And all you had to remind yourself of the bullet that almost took your life was a nasty looking scar. At least it was in an easily hidden place.

Tonight you were headed for a party. It was one of those extravagant festive parties that happened close to the end of the year, which you honestly didn’t even like to begin with, but you had to attend to keep up appearances within your circles. Otherwise you were risking questions that didn’t have answers to them.

You just had to suck it up for a few hours and before you knew it, you would be back home, huddled beneath a blanket with a cheesy movie on the tv that you could fall asleep to.

Taking a deep breath, you stepped away from the mirror to grab your clutch purse and coat. The sooner you arrived, the sooner it could be over with.

The venue was dressed to the nines, as expected. Large, gaudy decorations cover the place with a ridiculous large tree to match, set off into one corner of the ballroom. It was a complete and utter eyesore. You no longer bothered with this sort of stuff anymore. Since your father had passed you hadn’t really seen the point.

Your eyes were drawn to him from the moment that he walked into the room. Outside of occasionally catching a morning talk show or the articles you scroll past on social media, you never thought that you would actually see him. 

Bruce Wayne. Gotham’s most eligible bachelor for the longest time. 

What was he doing here? 

He didn’t exactly run within the same circles that you did. Though you were rich, you were not that sort of rich. He was old money. The sort of rich that preferred to stay in their tight stuffy circles while looking down at everyone else. Their philanthropy only happening when it benefited them.

Yet, here he was.

As soon as he had stepped into the ballroom, that dazzling white smile of his on his face, gasps had rippled through the room. Those gasps were quickly replaced by whispers. People leaning in close to each other, not even being subtle about it as they all asked the exact same question. “Did you know he was coming here?”. Meanwhile men and women alike swooned each time he looked in their general direction. Honestly, they might as well had been drooling all over the floor the way that they were looking at him.

There was no woman on his arm. No entourage following close behind and kissing his ass. He was completely by himself and, from what you could gage from the people around you, that made him all the more intimidating.

Sure, he was attractive in that irritating type of way where it was clear that he not only knew he was hot, but also used it to his advantage. Of course, if he did somehow end up in your bed you certainly wouldn’t throw him out of it. At the same time your brain was quick to remind you how much of a womanizer he was. An endless stream of articles from over the years detailing every breakup to new relationship to one night stands and back again. 

And not to mention that, despite your money and the news coverage that had happened following your father’s death, you continued to remain relatively unknown to the outside world. Getting involved with a man like Bruce Wayne could potentially ruin that and leave your superhero identity compromised. 

That, obviously, couldn’t be allowed to happen. Which made him the sort of person that you definitely didn’t want to get involved with.

Still, your gaze lingered on him. There was something about him. Something familiar. And not because you had seen him through a screen before now. No. It was something else that was holding your attention and you couldn’t put your finger on exactly what it was.

You averted your gaze away from him and snatched up a glass of champagne from the silver tray of a passing waiter. 

You mingled with the other guests, chatting to new and familiar faces alike. All the while you did your best to make sure that you avoid Bruce. Physically, so far, it was working well. Verbally though? That was a different story. It felt like you couldn’t escape him. No matter who you spoke to. He was everywhere.

It definitely didn’t help that he kept on catching your eye. Something was really… off about him. It was the only word you could think of that really fit. And it continued to bug you.

At that moment, from across the ballroom, his eyes met yours. You felt frozen, like a deer in headlights as he looked you over. There was no lust or desire in his eyes. Only curiosity. A question was clear in his eyes. The same one that had been on your mind from the moment he walked in.

“Have we met?”

You didn’t wait for him to find an excuse to break away from the group that had surrounded him. You broke your gaze first and swapped your empty glass for a full one.

As you moved through the room, your eyes landed on someone that you were definitely happy to see.

Erica had been your best friend ever since you had been little. While you had drifted apart from each other during your teenage years, after you had returned you had reconnected with each other. In the years you were gone for, she had taken over her father’s tech company and, when you were sure you could trust her with your plan, she had started to draw up designs for your suit and gear. 

She was also the person who had thrown tonight’s party. Tonight she had picked out a nice purple, velvet suit to wear.

Her dark brown eyes lit up when she saw you. She broke away from the group she was with and walked across the room to you. You hug each other tightly as it had been a while since you had actually seen each other, following the injuries you had received at the amusement park.

“So, how’s that outfit I gifted you?” she asked as you pulled away.

You looked around, making sure that no one was close enough to overhear before turning back to her. “It didn’t stop a bullet,” you said in a hushed voice.

“Fuck,” Erica replies, barely hiding her surprise. “That explains why you vanished.”

You nodded as you took a sip from your glass.

“I’ll swing by and pick it up at the end of the week,” she told you. “I’ll find my mistake and fix it.”

“It’s not your fault,” you started, but she cut you off with a sharp look.

“I made you something that was supposed to protect you and you almost… well, you know. That’s unacceptable.” 

You sighed softly. As you were about to reply, the sound of obnoxious laughter caught your attention. Bruce Wayne was surrounded by a gaggle of people. Men and women shamelessly throwing themselves at him and he was drinking it all in. The disgust must of been evident on your face because Erica laughed.

“Damn, you don’t like him, do you?”

You scoffed softly. “Eh I just don’t like the whole womanising bullshit.” 

The voice in the back of your head kept telling you that you knew him. No matter how much you pushed against it. Insisting that it wasn’t possible. You had never crossed paths with him. If you had you were certain that you would remember it.

“Fair. Though, if the internet is anything to go by, he’s not a bad lay,” Erica said.

You rolled your eyes. “I doubt it’s worth the attention that comes with it.” 

There was the sudden sound of glass shattering and Erica’s head snapped in the direction as her brow furrowed. She sighed. “If you’ll excuse me.” As she walked away to deal with whatever mess had befallen the staff, she stopped for a moment and turned back to you. “Listen, if you get a chance to, I say jump him. Have some fun for once, you know? It’s not like you’ll ever have to see him again afterwards.” She winked at you, leaving before you could tell her she was crazy to think that you would ever “jump” Bruce Wayne.

You couldn’t believe that she had actually suggested to you to sleep with Bruce Wayne, of all people. Nor that, the gripes you had about him aside, it wasn’t entirely unappealing. It had been a while since you had last slept with someone. The last person being Batman. Whether it was Bruce or not, maybe it was time that you took someone else to your bed.

You went to bring your glass back up to your lips, but instead you gave the half full glass a hard stare. You frowned. You needed something stronger than the champagne they were serving. You discarded the glass on a passing waiter’s tray and made your way for the bar.

As you sipped on your preferred drink, the feeling that someone was watching you washed over you. You ignored it or, at least, you did your best to ignore it. You already knew who was watching you. He had taken notice of you earlier and his interest must had only grown considering you had tried to run.

Following the sounds of disgruntled and disappointed people, you heard footsteps coming up behind you. You kept your eyes focused on your drink. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him come to lean against the bartop. Bruce ordered himself an old fashioned, which you thought to be rather fitting.

There was a silence between you. The only real noise coming from ice clinking against the side of the glasses. After taking a sip of his drink, he broke that silence first.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before, yet I feel like I’ve already met you,” he said. His voice was smooth like honey and you could feel his eyes watching you. 

You scoffed, not bothering to look at him. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

Were you really doing this? Engaging in banter with a man whom you had already decided wasn’t worth the risk? You must of had more to drink than you originally thought. 

Bruce chuckled. “Only to the most beautiful women.” 

You felt your heart skip a beat and you almost wanted to laugh. Such a damn cheesy line shouldn’t of had your heart fluttering like that. He was too damn good at this. Still, you kept up the mask that he wasn’t having any effects on you. Which included sipping your drink and keeping your eyes focused either on the back of the bar or on your own drink.

“Does that line really work?” you asked.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him shrug. “More often than not.”

“Right. Of course.”

Your unconvinced tone didn’t deter him. Bruce chuckled again. He was clearly finding this whole back and forth very entertaining. Honestly, you were enjoying it as well.

“I can count all of the people who are openly unimpressed with me on one hand. You’ve not only made it two, but my interest in you has only grown.”

His voice dropped an octave, sending a tingling up your spine. Batman came to the forefront of your mind. The deepness and rough edge of his voice as he growled and how it always left you feeling weak in the knees…

You shoved that thought away. Locking Batman back into his cage, deep within your mind. He had a habit for popping up in your thoughts when you didn’t want him to. 

What Erica had said replayed in your mind. Maybe she was right. Maybe you should try and have some fun. You still had no idea why he seemed so familiar, but maybe that didn’t even matter anymore. After tonight you would never see him again, so why not? 

Fuck it, you decided.

For the second time that night, your eyes met his own. His gaze was intense. Those steely blue eyes taking you in. The intensity of it, once again, reminded you of Batman and the way it felt when he looked you over, even if you couldn’t see his eyes thanks to the white lenses of his cowl. 

You forced those thoughts away again. Doing the best to make sure your irritation was hidden. He wasn’t even here and he was still trying to ruin your evening. 

“As has mine,” you purred.

His eyes visibly darkened and he swallowed thickly. You held his gaze a little longer. Even leaning in for a moment. Which had him leaning in as well. But before your lips could even get close enough to meet, you abruptly pulled away from him to down the rest of your drink. 

After you had set the empty glass down, you pushed away from the bar and left the ballroom behind. Your heels clicked against the well polished flooring. As you rounded a corner, heading further away from the ballroom, you could hear footsteps behind you.

You didn’t get very far. Before you knew it a large hand wrapped around your upper arm, making you turn to face him.

Bruce towered over you, not too unlike a certain someone. There was a silent question in his eyes as they briefly looked at your lips before returning to your eyes. 

“May I?”

You nodded. Your heart was hammering hard and fast against your chest, excitement flowing through your veins as he leaned in.

His lips were incredibly soft as they moved against your own. As he kissed you, soft and slowly, one of his hands came up to cup your face while the other came to rest on your waist. Bruce pushed you up against the wall. His knee parted your legs, pressing up against your core. The action made you gasp, which allowed his tongue to slip into your mouth.

The kiss quickly grew heated. As his tongue explored your mouth, your hands explored his body. You ran your hands down his chest and you untucked his shirt from his pants. Beneath your fingers, as you traced and appreciated his abs, you came across something that made you temporarily freeze. 

The skin between two of his ribs was raised, rough and jagged. Like he had been cut into by a knife or something. Not only was it not the only one, but you recognised each and every scar your fingers came into contact with. After all, you had felt them enough each time he had been on top of you.

Suddenly you weren’t in a dimly lit hallway with one of the richest men on the planet. Instead, you were back on the Watchtower with Batman towering over you as he pushed you up against a wall, impatient fingers pulling at your suit.

The realisation hit you like a ton of bricks. You couldn’t believe it. You didn’t want to believe it.

Bruce Wayne was Batman? It was a ridiculous thought, but it wasn’t like you were able to ignore the evidence in front of you. All night you had been plagued with the idea that something was familiar about the man currently kissing you and now you knew why. 

That was just your luck, wasn’t it? 

It did beg the question of whether or not he was aware of your own identity. Was that why he’d had such an interest in you tonight, despite the fact he had spent a lot of the time letting others drool all over him? Surely not. The conversation you’d had with Batman previously played out in your head. He wished to be on better terms with you. Not besties, but better teammates was good enough. Doing something like this, while knowing who you are, but leaving you in the dark? No, doing something like that would be severely damaging. 

Batman was many things, but he wasn’t stupid. Not when it came to things like this. Which could only mean that he had absolutely no idea. But you did and continuing this wasn’t a good idea.

You broke the kiss and pushed against his chest. He got the signal immediately as he let go of you and stepped away, giving you much needed space.

Bruce was panting hard and your lipstick was smeared on his lips. He was looking you over, concern evident in his eyes. Without the mask he was far more emotive than you had ever seen before.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” 

His concern was actually kind of sweet, but what did you do now? Did you tell him who you were? Or did you bolt, like you really wanted to?

Would he ever tell you if the roles were reversed? Probably not. Knowing the way that Batman was, he would keep it hidden. So, with that thought in your head, you decided on the latter.

Sure, it was the cowardly move, but you could feel your pulse getting faster, your heart thumping harder, and it definitely wasn’t because of the heavy kissing that had just taken place. 

“No, you didn’t,” you replied with a shake of your head. “I just… remembered I have somewhere else to be tonight.” 

It was the stupidest excuse you could come up with, on the spot, and he definitely didn’t look overly convinced, but it wasn’t like you gave him any time to respond. Without another thought, you shot past him and headed for the exit.

You half expected him to come after you. That maybe your behaviour had tipped him off, sending that detective mind of his into overdrive as he put the pieces together. You were thankful that he didn’t. 

Your heart was still hammering against your chest and you honestly felt like you might be on the brink of an anxiety attack. You made your way to the check-in desk to grab your coat and purse and then you were stepping outside. 

The freezing, winter night air that met your skin as you got outside did very little to help soothe you. You only really started to calm down once your driver pulled up and you were in the safety of your car, leaving the venue behind.

“You alright, miss?” he asked, glancing up at you in the mirror. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just take me home, please?” 

“Of course, miss.” 

You were thankful that he didn’t ask any more questions, letting the rest of the drive continue in silence. You spent the time focusing on the buildings that passed by the window.

It felt like you had violated his privacy somehow. Like you had walked in on Batman (Bruce?) and seen something you definitely shouldn't have. This whole thing would have felt so much better if you knew that he already knew your identity. Of course, if that had been the case, you doubted that you never would have got close enough to find out, in the first place.

You knew that you likely needed to tell him. You should have told him back there, but panic had driven you first. 

How was he going to feel once you told him that you knew? Hurt? That you didn’t tell him then and there? Betrayed, maybe? You might have felt that if the situation was reversed. Especially after the conversation you had shared with him.

There was also a chance that you were overthinking this whole thing and that he might actually appreciate the honesty. You really wouldn’t know until you found a way to bring it up with him.

“Fuck,” you muttered quietly to yourself. “Why the hell did you have to be the same person?” 

The rest of the drive to your place was silent. Though your mind kept racing at the speed of light. 

You thanked your driver, and made a mental note to give him a rather large bonus this year, before you got out of the car and headed inside. 

Instead of curling up on your couch and watching a cheesy movie, like you had planned, you headed for the bookcase. Your fingers traced over the spines of each one before finally landing on the correct one, which you gently pulled back. The bookcase slid backwards before sliding off to the side, revealing the elevator hidden behind.

You weren’t going to be able to get any sleep tonight, and finding out Batman’s true identity had done wonders in sobering you up, so you might as well go out and see if there was anything around your city that required your attention. While your newest suit remained damaged and unusable, you still had your previous one, which would do well enough for now. After all, you weren’t planning on fighting any supervillains tonight. And you hoped that none decided to cross your path. 

All you needed was one quick patrol to help clear your head and figure out how you were supposed to approach this subject.

Bruce frowned as the woman scurried away from him and disappeared around the corner, the sounds of her heels quickly fading. He had clearly done something wrong that had made her run from him, but he was clueless as to what that actually was. He was an expert at reading body language, not to mention the World’s Greatest Detective, and yet, here he was. Completely stumped.

He shrugged it off and busied himself with making himself look presentable again. The reasoning really didn’t matter. She had become uncomfortable and no longer had any interest in him. Which was fine by him. In truth he had originally been looking for a way out of that ballroom he had felt like he was suffocating in and she had provided the perfect escape. He really didn’t care that he didn’t get to have sex tonight.

There were other things that required his attention tonight and now he was able to slip away without any questions being raised.

As he tucked his shirt back into his pants, he couldn’t help, but wonder if it was his scars that had deterred her. She had been feeling him up quite a bit until her fingers had come in contact with one. Then she had stiffened for a moment before promptly shoving him away. 

It wasn’t the first time his scars had upset a potential lover. Though, both those times, he’d had time to explain them away as having happened during one of his many public “accidents”. No one ever saw his chest fully anymore. At least, not outside of his mask and pointed ears…

Before any certain memories were able to come forth properly, he shifted his focus on getting outside before someone wandered out of the ballroom and spotted him; therefore making it impossible for him to leave.

The valet was quick to get him his car and, as always, Bruce was more than happy to give him a sizeable tip. 

During the drive back to his hotel, against his will, Bruce’s mind kept going over what had occurred tonight. An incessant need to analyse everything like he always did. At this point it wasn’t exactly something that he was capable of switching off.

His approaching her hadn’t been an impulse. Nor had it been entirely down to his need to escape. There was something about her that had screamed familiarity to him. It had plagued him throughout the night. His eyes constantly being drawn back to her. And not just because she kept looking in his direction. 

Bruce hadn’t lied to her. He really felt like he knew her.

He knew that it wasn’t possible. He had never seen or even heard her name before tonight. Yet his gut was telling him that it didn’t matter what his brain thought. He had already met her. That feeling had only grown once he held her in his hands with his lips pressed against hers.

Perhaps it was because she reminded him a little bit of you. He knew that it couldn’t possible be you. Though this was your city, he knew you had a dislike for parties. From the Justice League’s Induction party to their New Year’s party, you had a skill for avoiding them, like the plague. On the off chance that you did show up, you stayed for a max of two hours before leaving, always complaining of a headache afterwards.

So, there was no way it could be you.

If there was one thing he hated the most, it was not knowing something. Especially when his instincts were telling him one thing while his brain said another. It was infuriating, but growing frustrated over it wasn’t going to assist in the real reason he had come all this way from Gotham.

While Bruce Wayne’s night was now coming to a close, Batman’s was about to begin.

*

Taglist - @the-last-twin-of-krypton @bakugous-bakahoe @fromfoolishpeopletodeadpeople @little-rivers @callalily2000 @geminicinderella @theclassicvinyldragon @aniya7 @bluebear19 @mari-malgamor

@jdream55 @x-ratedhimbo @sketchiethebear @wandalfnation @batmanwife1

[miguelhugger2099]

Teenager Miguel AU but it’s just TASM universe and you’re his gwen stacy

With one earbud in place, you gnaw on your pencil in thought as you try to understand your homework for the night. You had wanted to get a head start on your hectic pile of studies before dinner. For a split second, you wondered if Miguel would actually come after you invited him.

Your prayers had been answered, a dull thud sounding out on your left side. You turn over to see what had happened and notice Miguel kneeling on your fire escape.

You smile and put your pencil down, shoving yourself away from your desk and walking towards your window. You glance down at him and he looks up at you. Miguel gives you a cheesy wide smile, his sharp canines adding to his endearing presence.

You open the hatch and lift up the window, allowing him inside. “Hi.” You feel the heat rising to your cheeks. You stick your head out slightly and look back down at him to see he still hasn’t dropped his soft smile. “How did you…get up here?”

Miguel doesn’t take his eyes off you. “The, uh, fire escape.” He shrugs. “Your doorman is intimidating.”

“I live on the 20th floor….” You trail off, wondering if Miguel actually did climb 20 stories up just to avoid a simple doorman.

Miguel blinks and ducks his head as he enters your room. “It’s fine.” He shrugs again, wanting to move on from the topic.

He turns his head around as he takes in everything about your room. Pictures of friends and families, a small bookshelf filled with your favorite tropes, shoes casted off to the side. It’s all so…you.

“So…your room.” He nods in approval. He stands awkwardly like he doesn’t want to invade more of your space so he grips onto his book bag strap.

“My room,” You nod and stick out your arms in a vague direction. “Welcome.” You laugh awkwardly, your heart thudding and spreading warmth to your body.

“It’s—it’s nice.” He coughs and you nod again. He seems to remember something, crimson eyes going wide. “Oh! I, uh, got something for your mom.” Miguel slips his bag off his shoulder and zips it open, pulling out a flimsy and crumpled up handmade bouquet of flowers. They weren’t big roses, in fact they were average flowers you could pick at the park. Some stems were bent, petals half torn off and the ends littered with dirt.

“Oh!” You gasp and then giggle. “They’re—lovely.” You say sarcastically. Miguel laughs with you.

“They’re gorgeous right?” He plays along with you. While you stare at the bouquet, Miguel can’t keep his eyes off of the curl of your lips and the smile lines that deepened from his silly behavior.

“Beautiful.” You confirm but Miguel hides his embarrassment with the flowers, bringing it up to his face.

“No, no, no, no. It’s actually—really— amazing it held up like that.” You snort. Miguel stuffs the flowers in his bag.

“Y’know what I’ll just—I’ll keep ‘em.”

You rock on both feet while he wipes the remaining dirt off his hands. “Do you have your suit in there?” You ask.

Miguel freezes and snaps his head up to you. “My…my…huh?” He seems afraid or panicked? You couldn’t tell but it worried you.

“Your suit? For dinner? Are you gonna wear that?” You point to his battered clothes, dirt on his jeans and blue t-shirt with a black hoodie. “Not that it’s bad! Just to be sure—“

“Hey, sweetheart.” You hear your bedroom door open and your father walks in the room.

Both you and Miguel suck in a sharp breath. While Miguel steps back, you step in front like you’re attempting to hide him.

But your father has already seen the boy in your room. His eyes narrow at Miguel staring him up and down. Tongue poking the inside of his cheek in a poor job at hiding his annoyance of a boy in his daughter’s room.

“Must be Miguel.”

“Dad, this is Miguel.” You squeak out, fists clenched at your side. Your smile is tight and you give Miguel a subtle warning look that screams hurry up and make a good impression, we aren’t looking good!

Miguel catches it and takes a step forward with his hand outstretched. “It’s good to meet you, sir.” Your father shakes his hand firmly, pleasantly surprised at Miguel’s grip but his guard is still up.

“Nice to meet you. Dinner’s ready.”

A/N: this scene and the confession scene will ALWAYS get me.

[endwersed]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged in last week by the amazing @eevylynn ❤️

I'm currently editing chapter nine of the poets are right, so here is just a li'l snippet of that! Full chapter expected out this weekend 😊

-

“Hi!” Eli says.

Derek’s jaw clicks as it works around his thick swallow.

“Hi,” he echoes back, the single word coming out more than a little bit breathless. “I... I’m Derek.”

“I know,” Eli replies breezily, twisting his neck to shine his grin back and forth between his fathers for a second, settling onto just Derek eventually. “So. Do you wanna come see the backyard? I got a new lacrosse stick for my birthday a few months ago, you can help me practice?”

Stiles feels as though he could say with relative certainty that Derek would say yes to doing literally anything that Eli wanted right about now. Tossing a lacrosse ball around, letting Eli kick him repeatedly in the nuts, a literal demonic summoning ritual out underneath the old oak tree. If it was on Eli’s to-do list for the day, Derek would probably be agreeing to it in a heartbeat.

Luckily for him, it seems to be just a little light sports on Eli's agenda.

Clearing his throat, Derek nods his head jerkily, transfixed eyes never leaving Eli’s grinning face. Stiles does not miss the way that Derek's trembling hands are slowly flexing and unflexing at his sides.

“Of course, that sounds – that sounds great.” Derek blinks rapidly, like he is trying to shake off the escalating intensity of his stare. With a small tip of his head, he finally manages to tear his gaze away from Eli, sliding it across the room and over to the Sheriff. “It’s, uh – it’s nice to meet you, sir.”

As soon as today’s visit was pencilled in, Stiles made sure to have a very stern and very frank conversation with his dad. A clear talk to assert that, no matter what either of their opinions on Derek might be, they are not allowed to behave in any manner but perfectly civil and passably polite while in front of Eli.

The kid needs a chance to develop a relationship with his other father without Derek and Stiles’ history coming into play. This is about Eli, his dad had agreed, grumbling and eventual, after a hushed and heated argument ended only by Stiles’ proverbial foot stomping down onto the ground.

Which is the reason – Stiles thinks, at least – that his dad’s reply to Derek is simply a quick and only slightly clipped, “Yes. Likewise.”

Stiles tucks an arm behind his back to lift a subtle thumbs up in his dad's direction. His dad huffs in vaguely grouchy response to it.

“C’mon,” Eli says, wasting no time at all in wrapping his fingers around the crook of Derek’s elbow and beginning to tug him over to the door leading out to the backyard. “I’ve been waiting to test this thing out for ages. Grandpa can’t play with me anymore because of his back, and pops just plain sucks at lacrosse.”

“Thanks, kid,” Stiles deadpans as they pass him.

Eli does not even pause his steps as he throws a cheeky grin towards his pops.

“Sorry,” he says, sounding anything but, just a second before he yanks the door open and starts pushing a still mostly bewildered Derek through it. “See you later!”

-

Low pressure tags ❤️ @raisesomehale @crownofstardustandbone @dear-massacre @hedwig221b @lucky-bishop

[unrefinedmusings]

no outbreak!joel miller x f!reader headcanons

warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, nasty situations, age gaps, dirty talk, strip clubs, threesome, mentions of infidelity, sexually forward behavior?, not proofread very well

a/n: blaming this one on ovulation and listening to hot stuff by donna summer on repeat. only one of the scenarios is told in second perspective, but feel free to think of all of them as you.

currently obsessing over a joel miller slut era

the outbreak never happened and sarah is off at college. being a father has been his greatest joy. he would not trade a second of his time with sarah for a more rebellious youth. but when joel is almost 45 and living in an empty house, he gets lonely. and bored. that's when he starts to notice. the fleeting glances. the overt stares. he never realized how much attention he got. so he lets his dick do the thinking for a while. who could blame him? people were throwing themselves at his feet. who could blame them?

some standout moments:

while shopping for a birthday present for sarah, joel walks into a boutique at the mall. it's a small store and a slow day. the girl at the counter perks up at the sight of him. she's not subtle, nearly salivating when he walks over to ask for help. she touches him way more than what is appropriate while giving an opinion on earrings. all he does is lick his lips in her direction before she's locking the front door and turning the shop sign to closed. he drags her into a changing room despite her suggestion of the back office. joel doesn't mind the size of the stall when it means he can watch her face while he pounds her from behind. when he finishes, he kneels to make her finish one more time on his tongue. "make sure to watch yourself, honey. look so pretty when you cum."

joel miller is neither stupid nor cruel enough to get involved in someone else's marriage...but that doesn't mean he can't have some fun. since entering the business, he's found that every bored housewife loves to flirt with the contractor. now he just lets himself flirt back. watch their cheeks flush when he winks across the room. see them turn their weddings rings around, as if not seeing a diamond will make him forget their husbands hired him. it gives him an ego boost knowing they'll think of him in their marital beds that night.

hank, one of the younger guys on his crew, is engaged and invites joel to his bachelor party. tommy insists he go, at the least so as to not come off as an unfriendly boss. the strip club is loud, and his beer is overpriced and watered down. none of that matters when he sees the little devil come out on stage. she's wearing a lacy red corset that's pried open, letting her tits bounce free. he palms his cock under the table when she spreads her legs wide for the audience, and chuckles when her horns don't fall off even when she's upside down. joel had always been impressed by the fancy spins and twirls, but what he loved most was watching a woman make love to the pole. she's gyrating against it like a cat in heat, even turning around and letting the smooth metal slide between her asscheeks. she saunters over after her show, slides into his lap and offers him a dance in a private room. the horns fall off while she's bouncing on his cock, chasing her orgasm as his fingers work her clit.

the one he should probably feel the worst about it is the least his fault. those girls were so eager. they zeroed in on him before he realized. joel wanted to get a beer after work, the two seniors from Texas A&M wanted to sow their wild oats. joel knew they were a little too young for him, but they insisted since neither had been with an older man or had a threesome before. both girls sidled up on either side of him at the bar, each slipping a hand onto his thighs. he can't feel that bad when he remembers what having two pretty young things kissing on his cock was like. what it was like lying in his bed, one on his cock and one sitting on his face. hard to feel bad about that.

his favorite occasion is the night he meets you. it's late. he's had an awful day. two guys on his crew called in sick and he had no time to eat. he stops at an old school drive in for a couple burgers. in his side mirror he sees you, sees your uniform: cropped white tee, short black skirt, and, oh fuck him, rollerskates. your tits jiggle as you come to a stop by the driver's side window of his truck. you catch him staring. he can't muster the energy to be inconspicuous. joel's gaze lifts to meet yours and sees the flirtatious smile you've got on. leaning against the door, you ask to take his order. "I'll get two burgers, some fries, and two shakes if you've got time, sweetheart. Only one if you got somewhere else to be." You take your break in his back seat sipping on a vanilla shake with his head between your legs. After you cum, he lifts your shirt up and jacks off on your tits. He makes sure to grab the panties hooked on your skates and tuck them into his jeans. When you ask for them back, he spanks your ass. "I'm coming back for another pair. When's your next shift?"

💕💕💕💕💕

Thanks for reading!

[haziwritesstuff]

My little rose, part 2

"You are meant to be the love of my next life."

Pairing | Aemond and Aegon x reader Wordcount | 5.5k (lol oops) Warnings | Medieval misogyny

Part 1

Once you are far enough from King’s Landing, you feel calmer and more relaxed than before. Your head is clear and the air feels fresh and invigorating after flying for so long. As you look down at the landscape below, you realize that you have to return to the castle at some point.

The thought of going back to the castle fills your thoughts, you feel a small twinge of anxiety in your stomach. You know that you'll have to face people, and potentially face Aegon or Aemond. You continue to fly over the surrounding land for a few more minutes, enjoying your peaceful time alone with Silverwing. As you feel the tension easing up inside you, you suddenly realize that you've been flying for a while, and Silverwing needs rest. It’s time to take her back to the Dragonpit. As you turn toward the castle, you see that there are still people out and about.

Your heart skips a beat when you see your father waiting for you below and you feel a rush of anxiety fill your body. You'd rather not face him at the moment, especially not after last night. As you descend towards the courtyard, you notice that he is staring at you, his expression cold and unreadable as always. You think about just turning Silverwing around and flying away, but you know that you'd only be putting off the inevitable. Considering your options, you realize that it would only be temporary relief. Daemon would come looking for you later, and you'd have to face him eventually. You feel like it would be better to get it over with now, rather than drag it out for longer.

You guide Silverwing to a safe area and land in the courtyard. You notice that Daemon is still watching you, his expression cold and stoic as he stands there waiting. You feel a shiver down your spine as Daemon's gazes bores into you. He looks like he's in a mood for a confrontation and that's the last thing you want to deal with right now. You slowly dismount from Silverwing, and make your way towards Daemon, feeling the tension growing with every step. He remains motionless and expressionless. You can feel the tension building between you as he stares at you with his cold, unwavering gaze. You don't know how to read the situation, but you get the feeling that this is not going to be an easy conversation. When you're finally in front of him, Daemon's eyes narrow a bit as he looks at you. He waits for you to speak, and you can feel the silence hanging heavy in the air. For a moment, neither of you says anything, the tension building with every moment of silence.

"Did I disappoint you last night?" He looks at you silently for a moment, like he's weighing his words. When he finally speaks, his expression is still impassive but there's a subtle hint of anger in his voice. He doesn't sound overtly upset but you can tell that he's not happy about your interaction with Prince Aegon. "I had expected more from you," Daemon says sharply, looking away as he does so. His tone is sharp and blunt, his words like arrows directed at you. You can't help but feel hurt and embarrassed as you hear his words. "I'm sorry," you reply softly, feeling embarrassed and defensive. "Do you think you were acting appropriately?" Daemon asks sharply, still looking away. His tone is still cold and hard and you can feel the distance growing between you as he refuses to meet your gaze.

"He deserved it..." "So you enjoyed embarrassing him?" Daemon asks sharply, his eyes narrowing in accusation. "You enjoyed calling him a dick and making him look like a fool in front of everyone?" You weren't sure if you should answer that honestly, "No... I did not." "No?" Daemon asks, raising an eyebrow with slight amusement. The anger is still in his voice, but he seems more amused than angry now. "And what exactly did you get from mocking him then? I can't say a single good word about Aegon, but we don't need you mocking him. Understand?"

"I'll apologize to him, father." "Yes you will." Daemon says curtly. "But that's not enough. I expect you to start acting more maturely from now on." "Yes, father," you reply, feeling like a child. You aren't sure how to respond to his remarks and you're already feeling very self-conscious and embarrassed. His gaze is still hard and cold, but he's no longer seeming very upset with you. It seems like he has moved on and is letting you off the hook, at least for now.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

As you head in the direction of Aegon's chambers, you can't help but feel nervous. You’re uncertain as to how he'll react to seeing you again, especially after last night. But you're also determined to apologize and make things right. Finally, you arrive at Aegon's chambers. You knock softly at the door and wait for a response, feeling nervous and unsure as you wait. You wonder if you should just leave if he doesn't answer right away. After a moment, you hear a soft, low voice come from the other side of the door. "Come in," says Aegon in his characteristic mocking tone. You open the door and walk into his chambers. You see him sitting on the edge of his bed, a cup of wine in his hand. The chamber is rather dim, with the curtains pulled over the windows. You see Aegon glance up at you briefly before looking away and taking a sip from his wine cup.

You hesitate as you step into the dimly lit room. The atmosphere is rather cold and aloof, and it seems like Aegon has no interest in talking with you. He's not even looking at you now, just taking a drink of his wine and staring off into space. You feel awkward and uncomfortable and you wonder how you are suppose to begin the conversation. "I was hoping we could talk..." When you speak, Aegon simply looks over at you for a moment, his face an impassive mask. He doesn't say anything in response, and just continues to stare off into space, seemingly ignoring you. He takes another sip from his wine cup and places it on the table next to him. You feel a wave of frustration and agitation rising within you, as if you're trying to speak to a wall. "I wanted to apologize," you say softly, feeling like you're speaking into a void. You're not sure that he's listening to a single word you're saying and he doesn't seem to realize how hard this is for you. Aegon's expression remains as cold and aloof as ever, offering no hints as to how the conversation is going. He simply continues to stare off into space, paying no attention to you or your apology. It's as if he's ignoring you completely, which only heightens your growing frustration. "I'm sorry for how I acted last night," you continue softly, trying to maintain your calm. You can't help but feel like you're just giving a monologue to someone who's not even listening to you. You just hope that he'll say something soon, or at least look at you...

And finally, after what feels like an eternity, Aegon finally breaks the silence. He sighs softly and stares at you for a moment, looking somewhat more serious now. Your heart skips a beat and hope begins to flicker inside you. "So you expect me to just forgive and forget what happened last night?" Aegon says sharply, his tone still mocking and condescending. You can feel the familiar surge of anger and annoyance rising inside you and it feels like you're right back where you started. You take a deep breath and try to remain calm. It's clear that he's not going to forgive you easily and you know that you need to tread carefully here. You try your best to maintain your composure and not give into your emotions, but it's difficult in the face of his mocking tone. "No. I don't expect you to forget anything, I do hope you can forgive me though."

"So you think that your cute little apology is enough?" Aegon says mockingly, his tone still sharp and sarcastic. You can't help but feel like he's taunting you and it's starting to push your buttons. "I'm just being honest," you reply softly, feeling your temper starting to flare up. "I'm just... Just trying to make things right. Isn't that what I'm suppose to do after making a mistake?" "Is that what your daddy taught you?" Aegon says in a scornful voice. "You think that you can make things right just by saying a few pretty words and waving your sweet little smile in my face?" "Yes, that's what my father told me," you reply sharply, angry now. It feels like he's being dismissive and he's not taking you seriously at all. "He told me that being honest and trying to make things right after making a mistake is the mature thing to do. I guess that’s a lesson you never got."

"I mean, it's such a sweet little apology. Your precious daddy trained you well." Aegon says mockingly, his tone still sarcastic and condescending. "But you're forgetting one thing." "What's that?" you ask softly, wondering what he's about to say. You're feeling agitated and angry now, and you're tired of his sarcastic tone. "Your apology means nothing unless you actually mean it. And how can you mean it when I know you don't even care that much... All you want to do is get me to forgive you instead of thinking that you actually owe me an apology. So if you want to be forgiven by me, then start acting like you're actually sorry." "What else do you want me to say? I've already apologized and admitted my mistakes. I can't say things that I don't believe in." you reply softly, feeling frustrated and annoyed, but also realizing that he may have a point.

"If you believe you said sorry then why aren't you looking at me in the eyes and giving me a proper apology?" Aegon asks mockingly, his attitude becoming more and more mocking the longer the conversation drags on. It feels almost deliberate, like he's trying to push you to your limits. Before you can reply, Aegon stands up from the bed and walks closer to you, his eyes locking onto yours. He stares intensely at you, as if waiting for a response. Your heart skips a beat as you find yourself staring into his piercing blue eyes, feeling your throat suddenly becoming tight around the words you want to say. "You see Princess, if you want to be forgiven... You have to try a lot harder."

"What do you want me to do? Kneel or prostrate myself?" you ask sharply, feeling increasingly annoyed by the situation. You can't help but feel like he's enjoying this exchange, like he's taking pleasure in seeing you struggle. "Oh, no... No, no, no. I would never ask you to do that. I'm just asking for a proper apology." Aegon says with a mock smile. "A proper apology should always come with an honest expression of remorse and sincerity. But I'm not seeing that here." "I already said I'm sorry and I meant it. If you don't want to accept my apologies, then so be it." you reply sharply. You feel like you're being treated unfairly and you can't help but feel like he's trying to deliberately piss you off. "That's the thing though, dear Princess. I don't think you are sorry. Your apology sounds like a bunch of empty, meaningless words. You don't actually show any remorse or sincerity." Aegon says mockingly, his tone becoming even harsher now. "So is that what you want? For me to break down in front of you, begging you for forgiveness? Do you want me to cry and tear my hair out for you?" you ask angrily, feeling like you're at the end of the rope with this conversation. "Let's be honest, I would be rather amused to watch you cry and beg for forgiveness. It sure would break up the dullness of this day." Aegon says, his mocking tone now becoming outright cruel and mocking.

"You're an utter jerk, you know that?" you reply angrily, your temper getting the best of you. You storm out of the room, feeling frustrated and angry as you slam the door behind you. You can't believe that your apology was met with such mockery and condescension. It's clear that you were just a pawn in his cruel little game. You feel so angry and humiliated, you don't think you'll ever speak to him again.

The rest of the day passes by, and you try your best to pretend that you're not still annoyed by the whole thing. No matter how hard you try, you can't help but replay the conversation over and over again in your mind. Evening finally arrives and you finally get to relax and retire to your chambers. You're feeling mentally exhausted and drained and all you want to do is curl up in your bed and be alone with your thoughts. You try to distract yourself by doing some reading. However, you can't focus on your book for very long, as someone knocked on the door of your chamber. It breaks you out of your mental spiral. You wonder who could be knocking at this hour, and you get up from your bed to go check. When you open the door, you see Aegon standing there.

He's just standing there, his expression cold and indifferent. It's a far cry from the mocking and condescending tone you heard earlier today. You can't help but wonder why he's here. Without saying a word, Aegon simply walks straight in, his icy blue eyes locked on your face the entire time. You can't help but feel uneasy in his presence as he crosses your chambers. He walks over to your bed and sits down on the edge, his eyes still watching you intently. Instead of saying anything, Aegon just stares at you for a long moment, his eyes never breaking away from yours. The silence is deafening, until finally he speaks. "I have a condition for your forgiveness." Aegon says in a solemn and serious tone, his eyes never wavering from your face. "Oh yeah? What condition is that?" you ask sharply, feeling angry and irritated again. You can't help but feel like this is a continuation of his cruel mockery from earlier today. "You have to kiss me." Aegon says bluntly, his gaze finally breaking away from yours as he stares off to the side. The quiet tension returns to the air as you stare at him, feeling surprised and confused. You can't help but wonder if he's joking or not. "You heard me." Aegon speaks, staring back at you with the same serious and solemn expression. "You have to kiss me, and if you do, then I will forgive you."

"Kiss you? You're joking right?" you ask sharply, feeling shocked and confused. You can't believe this is a legitimate condition for forgiveness. "Dead serious," Aegon replies firmly, showing no hint of humor in his expression. "You kiss me, just once, and I'll consider forgiveness granted. But you have to really mean it, not just a quick peck on the cheek. I want a proper, long and passionate kiss. If you do that, then and only then will the slate be clean."

You stand there for a moment, staring at him in disbelief. The mere thought of kissing him is making you feel uncomfortable, but at the same time, you can't help but be intrigued by the idea. His icy stare is unwavering as he waits for your answer. You can't help but feel slightly attracted to him, you feel the tension rising with every passing moment and your heart is beating faster as you consider the idea of kissing him. It's not something you'd ever consider under normal circumstances, but there's something about him that's making you feel... intrigued. You find yourself taking a step toward him, your body almost moving on its own.

"You don't deserve a kiss." "I think I do." Aegon says softly, slowly stepping toward you as well. The tension between the two of you grows by the second, and you feel yourself getting closer and closer to him. There's almost no distance left between your faces now, your lips almost touching. "Kiss me if you genuinely feel sorry, if you truly want to be forgiven.” he adds softly, his eyes still locked on yours. You can't help but feel your heart beating faster and faster. The heat of the moment is making it hard to think rational thoughts or to even remember why you're supposed to be mad at him in the first place. Your breath becoming hotter and faster and you finally gave in. It's a passionate and intense kiss, and you feel a wave of excitement rushing through you like never before. You find yourself pressing into him, feeling his body tightly against you as the warm touch of his tongue sends shivers down your spine. You feel like you're on cloud nine, the tension of the interaction melting away as you're swept up into the passion and emotion of the moment.

"That wasn't so hard, was it Princess?" Aegon pulls away after a few moments, watching you breathe heavily and catch your breath. Your lips are still moist and warm from the kiss and you feel like you can't remember anything else other than the feeling of his lips on yours. You feel flushed and disorientated as you stare back at him, unable to form a coherent sentence. "I accept your apology." he says teasingly before leaving you alone in your chamber. You stand there for a moment, trying to catch your breath and make sense of what just happened. You're still feeling flushed and disorientation, and the taste of Aegon's lips is still lingering on your lips. You can't help but feel slightly embarrassed and confused, but at the same time, you can't deny that it was one of the most thrilling experiences you can remember. You feel like you're floating on air.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Morning arrived rather quickly. You finish getting ready and step outside, feeling a bit exhausted but overall in a good mood. You can't help but feel giddy from the exchange with Aegon last night,and you can't wait to see him again. When you step outside, you see Aemond landing Vhagar. You stare at him, feeling your cheeks start to heat up. You look at Vhagar in awe and admiration, the sheer size of the dragon is truly breathtaking. It's like looking at an enormous mountain made of scales and teeth and claws. She is truly a majestic sight to behold, and you can’t help but be intrigued by her presence. You notice that Aemond is giving you a small smile as well.

You feel your heart beating faster as you stare at each other. The tension between you two be felt and you find yourself feeling slightly overwhelmed by his presence. Your stomach starts to feel like it's doing somersaults. Aemond breaks the stare first, glancing at you briefly and then looking away. He seems slightly shy and you feel like you caught a glimpse of some emotion you weren't meant to see in his eyes. You watch him dismount from Vhagar, your eyes following him as he walks towards you. Your whole body feels like it's on fire, every nerve in your body tingling with excitement. He stops right in front of you, standing close enough to touch. You hold your breath as you wait for him to say something, hoping he'll break the silence. The tension between you two is almost unbearable, as you feel like you'll explode at any second. His intense gaze doesn't let up either and it feels like he's staring right through you.

"You're up early." You realize that you must have been staring a bit too enthusiastically, because Aemond looks slightly amused by your expression. You start to grow a bit self-consciousness when he calls you out like that, but you also feel a bit smitten as he stares at you in amusement. "I... didn't sleep well last night." You reply anxiously, not sure what else to say. You feel like Aemond's gaze is looking right through you. The silence hangs heavy between you two and you can't help but feel a little awkward. You aren't sure what to say next. You can feel your heart beating faster than normal, and your mind goes completely blank trying to think of something to say.

"Fly with me." You are startled by the sudden request, but you find your own response coming out even before you realize what's happening. "Really?" "Afraid you can't keep up with little Silverwing?" "I..." you struggle to find the right word to describe your anxiety, feeling like you're struggling to gather your thoughts. The truth is that part of you would love to fly with Aemond, but another part of you is so worried about being a burden on him that you find it difficult to say yes. You also can't help to be slightly hurt that he referred to Silverwing as "little Silverwing", even though you know he likely meant no offense by the remark. "I just..." you still can't find the right words, and you find yourself growing slightly irritated by Aemond's amused expression. He seems to be looking at you with a smirk, as if he knows exactly what's going on in your head and is just enjoying teasing you. "I'm not really sure if I should..." you reply hesitantly, not wanting to feel like a burden to him. He seems to be enjoying the whole exchange immensely and you feel like he's enjoying watching you struggle with your words. "I... I would love to..." you suddenly find yourself saying, your eyes widening in surprise at your own answer. You feel like you've been drawn in by his charm and playful manner and your heart is beating even faster now as you realize you've suddenly agreed. You can't help but feel a bit dizzy and overwhelmed by the sudden change in atmosphere, but you're also excited and looking forward to the experience of flying with Aemond.

You mount Silverwing swiftly, your heartbeat increasing with each moment. As you look around, you see Aemond already flying away, waiting for you to catch up. You take off on Silverwing and fly after him, your heart pounding in your chest as the adrenaline rush fills you. You feel a bit giddy as the winds whip past you, your heart filled with anticipation and excitement. You feel like you're flying in a dream, the world around you becoming a blur as your thoughts become consumed with the flight ahead. As you look ahead, you see Aemond's figure getting bigger and bigger, the sight filling you with wonder and amazement as you approach him.

He flies higher and higher into the clouds, your heart pounding harder and harder as you follow closely behind. The landscape grows smaller and smaller beneath you, and your breath starts getting shorter and shorter as you fly higher and higher into the sky. You feel like you're floating on a cloud, the only sound in the world being the buzzing of the wind in your ears. You can almost feel like the air itself is singing to you as you fly, and you feel a sense of euphoria and peace like you've never felt before. You continue to move forward, flying higher and higher until eventually the air starts to become thinner and thinner. You feel your breathing become more and more labored, and you start to feel the effects of altitude on your body. But the view is like nothing you've ever seen before, the sky a deep blue and the clouds turning a light shade of white. You feel a feeling of exhilaration and awe as you marvel at the sight, taking in each moment with a sense of glee and joy.

The breath coming in shorter and shorter as you go higher and higher. You're no longer able to hear anything clearly, and your body feels like it's being weighed down by the thin air and altitude. You continue to marvel at the view, feeling like you're floating in a dream-like state where nothing else matters but the sight in front of you. But you feel your body giving way, the altitude taking its toll as you start to feel lightheaded and dizzy.

You feel a sudden rush of relief as you see Vhagar moving down towards you, the sight of the land coming into view once more as if by magic. Your body feels a bit heavy and dizzy, but you feel thankful for Aemond's presence and guidance. As you land, you are able to get off Silverwing without too much difficulty, and you're feeling better as you begin to feel the ground beneath your feet once more. Aemond dismounted Vhagar as well, coming over to you. He looks at you cautiously, checking your wellbeing as he sees that you are still a bit wobbly. "Are you alright?" he asks gently, placing his hand on your shoulder to ensure you are stable. You feel a bit flushed and embarrassed at the sudden gesture, but you can't help but feel thankful for his concern. It's like he can always see what you're feeling and that makes you feel safe and comforted in his presence. "I..." you find yourself struggling to find the words again, still a bit disorientated and dizzy from the experience. You feel like you're still breathing heavily and your heart is still racing. You feel slightly embarrassed by your reaction. Aemond notices your hesitation and he sighs gently as he pulls you close and gives you a hug. He holds you tightly against him, and you can't help but feel reassured by his presence. You feel like he's wrapping you in his arms, and you find yourself feeling oddly relaxed and safe in his protective embrace. As close as you are, you find yourself noticing his heartbeat as if it's your own. You feel like you could stay like this forever, lost in a bliss of comfort and closeness.

He lets go of you gently, his eyes searching yours for a moment before he nods in understanding. He seems to recognize the emotions of embarrassment and flusterment that you feel, and he gives you a gentle smile before stepping away. Aemond has such an intimate and understanding look towards you, and you're filled with a sense of affection for him that is beyond words. "T-thanks..." Aemond smiles warmly at you, letting his gaze stay on you for a moment before he glances away in amusement. You don't know what it is about his gaze, but there's something so intimate about it that makes your heart flutter. You feel like there is a deep connection between you two that goes beyond just words. You barely know him, but something about him draws you in completely.

"It's my pleasure." he replies softly, his smile a mixture of amusement and affection. You look into his eye and you find yourself feeling a bit overwhelmed by the depths of his gaze. You feel like there's so much to explore, as if there are infinite possibilities within. You also feel like he's reading you perfectly, like his eyes are an open book to your soul.

"Well, I should-" he starts to say, but you can't help but feel a feeling of wanting to stay near him a bit longer. "Don't leave yet." you find yourself saying, your voice slightly hoarse from the excitement and nerves. You're struck by a sudden feeling of desperation to stay close to him, feeling like you're losing something precious as he starts to move away. You feel like you have to say something to keep him nearby and you realize how badly you want him to stay. Your words caught him off guard, he glances at you thoughtfully, seeming slightly flustered by your words. "I..." he starts to say, but you can't help yourself from suddenly moving closer to him, placing your hands softly on his shoulders. It's a gesture done almost instinctively.

His eye widen a bit, his breath hitching ever so slightly at the unexpected gesture. You can sense his surprise at the sudden closeness between you two. You feel like you're stepping over a line, but you find yourself feeling drawn to him and wanting to be as close as possible. As you lean closer, a sudden draconic roar fills the air, breaking your concentration and the intense feeling of intimacy that had built up. You feel your heart dropping as you pull away, realizing it was a different dragon roaring in the air. You look around anxiously, trying to spot the source of the sound.

The source of the roar becomes more clear, as you see the golden glimmer of Sunfyre's scales rising above the trees. You can sense the intensity of the moment building, as you watch Aemond's gaze narrow more and more. You feel like a storm is about to be unleashed and you feel a bit of a jolt of fear run through you as you realize that something is going to happen. You watch as Aemond's gaze track the progress of Sunfyre, as it flies across the sky and grows closer and closer. The golden dragon's roar fills the air, its wings whipping the wind and sending swirls of dust flying as it approaches. Aemond doesn't take his eyes off of the dragon, and you feel like a conflict is about to erupt. You watch as Sunfyre lands on the ground, its golden scales glistening brightly in the sunlight.

You watch as Aegon dismounts from Sunfyre's back, his expression stern and serious. You can feel the tension building in the air, and you can see the muscles in Aemond's frame tightening as he gets ready to engage in combat. The intensity of the moment is building, the air is growing thicker with the sound of the dragon's roar and the sight of Aemond and Aegon facing off against each other. You feel like you're a bit of a bystander now, watching as the conflict between the two men intensifies. "Running off with my girl, brother?"

"I was merely escorting her back to Dragonstone. She was our guest. Nothing more." Aemond replied crisply and calmly, not taking his eyes off Aegon’s face. You could tell that although his tone was level and even, there was a hint of tension under the surface that could burst out at any moment. "That's not what it looks like." Aegon responds sarcastically, his face tightening in anger. He seems to have taken offense to Aemond's response. The two men continue to stare at each other for a moment, before Aegon suddenly breaks out into a grin and steps towards Aemond. You can't help but feel a sense of surprise and anticipation at the switch in tone, which seems to have caught Aemond off guard as well. Aemond doesn't back down, however, and meets Aegon's gaze evenly and calmly. "Stop! I am no one's girl!" You hear your voice ring out, and you suddenly feel yourself stepping between the men as they stare at each other with sharp eyes. Relief washed over you as the tension between the two seems to diffuse a bit, as they both turn their eyes to focus on you instead.

Shivers running through you, as you become the center of attention. You stand between the two men, facing off against each other, as their eyes look at you intently from both sides. "There’s no need for this..." You find yourself whispering to yourself instinctively, a bit unsure of what to say or how to defuse the situation. The air is still thick with tension, and neither man seems ready to back down or de-escalate the situation. "I know how to handle my own affair." Aemond replies, and you find yourself feeling a bit of tension when he speaks. His tone is crisp and direct. "Do you? By having a showdown with your brother?" "This is between me and my brother only. Leave us." he replies curtly, and you feel like there's no reasoning with him at this point. You nod at him, "As you wish." You quickly mount Silverwing and take off into the air, escaping the tense atmosphere between the two brothers. You feel like you've just survived a near-miss, and you can't help but feel a bit relieved as you fly away on your dragon. The air is a bit cleaner now that you're away from the tension-filled environment, and you feel like you're able to breath easier once more.

[doiefics]

he could never

pairing: jennie x gn!reader

prologue: jennie is set to marry a suitable boy but she thinks it's never too late to run away

genre: royalty!au + angst

wordcount: 723

warnings: none

"You have to marry well." The words found their way out of your mouth for the nth time again, it was almost as if a toy has been winded up with a key.

Regardless, they could never convey what was buried inside your stupid organ, the heart.

Perhaps sometimes, things were better off in this manner.

"Why do you keep on telling me the same thing over and over again?" She voiced, never sounding irriated.

Everything she ever said to you lingered in your memory like a cherry mist.

"Because that is exactly what is going to happen!" You tossed her black pleated hair to her front, resting your arms on her shoulder as she faced the exuberant mirror.

She possessed what everyone desired. Expensive metal, imported perfumes, dresses in every colour of the rainbow, none of those could ever overpower her, for she was the most beautiful soul you had ever come across, and you were sure as hell you would never again.

"How do I look?" She asked, her gentle gaze fixed at the mirror's reflection.

"Beautiful, as always."

"More than beautiful to get his attention." You said as you pointed out the window.

Your speech was uninspired. At this point, you would not dare look her in the eyes.

She observed the boy as she tilted her head toward the window side.

There he stood with the untamed cocoa hair, dressed in linen slacks, added a black waistcoat, and a white puffed-sleeve button-down shirt. He was the son of one of her father's faithful lords, wealthy enough to satisfy her every wish at the blink of an eye.

This was the boy Jennie would marry.

You finally got the chance to look in the direction of the mirror while her arid eyes were still concentrated on the male.

Her appearance was mystical, the deeper you knew it, the more you craved for. A subtle smile that never parted ways with her rosy lips, similar to the natural blush of her cheeks. Her eyes, black, hypnotising, yet deep like the ocean.

In a flash of a moment, she looked at the shiny surface again, two eyes glanced for a moment but you were quick to avert.

Again, you could not dare meet them with hers, the fact that she was a princess was still the last reason though.

"He could never take your place." She moved as she proceeded to stand and you naturally bent down to fix her gown.

"No doubt. He wouldn't ever put on makeup or style your hair." You replied, grinning.

"You know very well what I mean is not that." She went on, hinting.

"I'm not sure what you're getting at." Your response was stern, willinglessly.

Jennie grabbed you by the arm to bring you to her level, her touch was hasty but never harsh.

"This is wrong." You worded.

"Why?" She questioned.

And you had no answer to her ask.

Your heart seemed to be the only organ present when you raised your head to meet hers as if you were trying to catch a butterfly before it flew away with her seductive lips serving as the other half of a broken magnet.

You kissed her. And she kissed you back.

With just one kiss from those lips, all of the uneasiness melted like honey in the royal kitchens.

The scorching yearning was like a flame, but it felt gentle like a cloud cushion.

You pulled back, tucking the little side fringes of her hair behind her ear, oh ever so delicately!

"He could never." Your eyes beamed with joy.

Jennie returned to your lips, this time shorter, as she kissed you through your smile.

"Let's run away." She whispered next to your ear.

"What? How? This- this doesn't suit a princess." You protested.

"Don't tell me it's wrong this time again or I will.." She was stern but not serious.

"Or else, you will?" You teased further.

"Oh, lord! I can't even be mad at you!" She gave herself away in the laughter, putting her arms around your neck. You hugged her back.

"What about him?" You murmured through her embrace.

"Let's see." She turned to take a closer look.

"He could possibly marry one of his lovely horses or his father's wealth." She chuckled.

This was the Jennie who was yours, only yours.

masterlist please refrain from plagiarising, translating or posting outside of this platform

have a request? prompt fic game is OPEN!

[thefangirlfever]

DBF! Miguel O'hara x reader (part 2)

Summary: You are finally back in your hometown and get to meet your father's friend, Miguel O'hara.

Tags: fluff, angst, slow burn, F/M, age gap, taboo relationship, mention of death and grief, reader is a woman of color

Notes: English is not my first language.

================================================

« I tried to tell your uncle I was fine, but you know him… He immediately panicked and never left me alone after that ! »

« You broke your leg, dad... », you reply in a soft voice to him. Well, his body has changed but his wit is definitely the same and it even seems like his tongue has grown sharper. He doesn’t stop complaining to you about his cast, the hospital and how frustrating it feels to be stuck at home all day, unable to do what he actually likes… and you patiently listen to him. It’s comforting to think that he has enough energy inside him to rant about such things.

But all the while he keeps talking, your eyes never leave the other man. Miguel. You remember your dad telling you about a friend he met at his hiking club and the more you think about this, the more intrigued you get. You’re trying to be subtle about your looks as you glance at him from time to time. His large body looks squeezed inside the small flowery armchair he is sitting in. He almost looks awkward sitting there, out of place as if someone tried to squeeze him inside a doll’s house. His wide shoulders slouch down a bit and he almost looks sorry to be there, as if he was trying to make himself disappear into these plush pillows on top of the chair. There’s something almost funny about a man of this size acting this way ; with his hangdog look. You almost chuckle at the sight and you can’t hold back a smile. His eyes flash in your direction after watching your father for a long time, deep chestnut eyes with a hint of crimson inside them. It’s a very unlikely shade that just increases the intensity of his gaze by a tenfold. You find yourself unable to hold his gaze and looks back at your father. But even if your eyes are not focused on him, your thoughts bring you back to the man sitting across you. Did he find you impolite for staring ?

Your father seems to realize something and changes the topic of the conversation as abruptly as he did before :

« At least, there are a few good things coming out of this. You’re finally back home and you got to meet Miguel. Remember him ? I told you about him already. »

You’re not sure what to think about these two things. This place you’re inside of, is it really your home ? You don’t remember the wallpaper being this bland and the sofa looks too big now. Too empty. Maybe it’s the rain outside that makes you feel this way, as if everything was blended into different shades of gray and sepia. Everything except him, the man sitting in front of you, with his deep brown eyes, sun-kissed skin and the bright red of his corduroy shirt. You don’t know what to think about him for now. After your father mentioned him, he slowly sits up straighter. One of his hands rest on top of the armchair and to avoid his inquisitive look, your eyes drift down to this hand. A few black hair run down his arm to his knuckles and a delicate watch girds his wrist. No wedding ring in sight.

« Yes… I remember. Miguel from the hiking club ? My father talked a lot about you.», you finally stutter and your father doesn’t seem to notice your embarrassment. Is the man in front of you feeling it ? It doesn’t seem like because he replies :

« He talks a lot about you too. I was looking forward to meet you. » A subtle heat reaches the back of your ears and you don’t know if it comes from the fact that your father has been talking about you, or the sudden attention from this stranger. A witty comment would have usually left your lips and you wondered if somehow you lived up to his expectations.

“Oh...really?”

An awkward silence fills the space between the two of you, broken by your father again. It seems like he can’t stop talking as if he had kept all these words inside of him, waiting for you to let them come out. That’s how you learned that Miguel was not only found of hiking but also a doctor. The last one in town apparently. If not for the lack of health Service in the region, he would have already retired but he decided to stay. That was admirable of him but the way your father told you about his devotion to the city made you feel awkward. It sounded like a reproach for your own departure. You squirmed uncomfortably on your seat. Surprisingly, Miguel saved you by asking a new question:

“Your father told me you were working for a publishing house?”

You were glad for the change of topic and you slowly nodded your head, finally daring to look back at him. Under thick brows, his eyes were carefully studying your every motion, how you squirmed on the chair, crossed your legs or played with the hem of your sweater, anxiously pulling on a small thread. You could imagine what his patients would feel under his scrutinizing gaze and you found yourself looking at his hands again while searching for your words.

“I do. I am proofreading most manuscripts we get.”

It’s been almost ten years since you left your hometown for college. You still remember the day your parents dropped you at your dorm, their arms full of your boxes. And the way you cried like a baby the night after their departure even if you tried to play it cool in front of them. That’s how your life in the city began, by crying.

Since you weren’t saying anything else, your father told Miguel with a contrite tone in his voice that was unfortunately too familiar:

“Y/N studied English literature in college. She could have been a teacher, you know.” Before you could say anything, Miguel asked you an other question, acting like he didn’t hear your father:

“Do you like that?”

“What?” You tilted your head up, finally looking at him.

“Your job. Do you like it?”

That was a rather unexpected question for you and you didn’t know what to say at first. Did you like your job? Well, to some extent yes. Otherwise you wouldn’t be doing it. But you had to admit that when you knew you would have to take a break to come back home, you weren’t feeling sad. You wouldn’t miss your office, nor the pressure of the deadlines. An awkward silence fell on the three of you and when you felt the eyes of your father back on your face, you hastily replied:

“It’s interesting.”

You were glad that Miguel didn’t ask any more questions, only giving you a small smile as if he was trying to make you feel at ease, to show you that he understood. This was a judgment free look but something about it made you feel strange. He seemed curious. You could tell he wanted to ask you more questions but something was holding him back and so, he only nodded to you before saying that he should probably leave the two of you alone. After all, you probably had a lot of things to tell each other.

The idea of Miguel leaving you alone with your father in this large house that you didn’t recognize, made you panic. You knew that as soon as he would leave, you wouldn’t have any way to escape your father’s questions. Memories of many lonely evenings with him after the loss of your mother flooded your mind. The awkward silence, the non-said, the tension...you were too tired to face this tonight. When your father asked Miguel to stay for dinner, he seemed to hesitate and when his eyes met yours, it seemed like something shifted inside him. The two of you seemed to have a silent conversation because after a few seconds lost in each other’s eyes, he finally accepted your father’s offer to stay.

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< previous chapter / next chapter >

Notes: Chapter 3 will be a headcanon and will come out soon. I know this chapter may not be the most interesting but I'm still crafting the story and the character's background. Hope you liked it!

Taglist: @safixiovi

[whenyoulosesmallmind]

I fratelli Karamazov 1969 [EP1] - Ivan & Smerdjakov + at Katja's, the beginning of the three thousand rubles affair

As a farewell to 2023 and to a happy new year, I bring you... some more Karamazovian dramatics!

part one | part two | part three (you are here!)

Some sparse notes before the translated transcripts start under the cut: 1. usual disclaimer that I'm not a professional, just an amateur, and am doing this out of pure insanity -- if you want to discuss translation related things or have some corrections, my inbox is open and your thoughts are welcomed <3; 2. mild trigger warnings for (time appropriate): strongly implied slut shaming and more vague possibly mysoginistic remarks made by Smerdjakov about Grušen’ka -- i feel like Smerdjakov himself is sometimes made to fit into the evil gay "advisor" stereotype and that might not be everyone's cup of tea -- while I don't think these bits take anything away from the writing and actually contribute to paint a more vivid picture of the society and the time the work is set in, we must keep in mind that this is a 1969 adaptation of a 1860s novel and that there are things about it that might squick some nowdays; 3. I'm actually really sorry that this took me so long to finish, I've had the dialogues written down and a rough sketch of the translation sitting around for months and polishing it turned out to be an harder task that what I thought it would be. There's still some sentences I'm not 100% sure about, but done in this case is better than perfect, and it doesn't matter how much I mourn the formal you in english, I gotta learn to work without it; 4. that said, this time I relied in a couple of scene on a lot more stage directions than last time, I felt that some more prominent acting/staging choices, especially in the Ivan & Smerdjakov bit, were important enough to warrant a description -- Katja and Dmitrij's interaction I feel instead it relies on more subtle choices for its effect, that are harder to describe, especially on Katja's side, so left it more barebones to give the dialogue more space (so you should watch it to get the full effect, wink wink nudge nudge); 5. enjoy the insanity <33

Interpreters: Umberto Orsini as Ivan Karamazov, Antonio Salines as Smerdjakov, Neda Naldi as M. Chochlakova, Maria Grazia Antonini as Lisa Chochlakova, Carla Gravina as Katerina Ivanovna and Corrado Pani as Dmitrij Karamazov.

Original script by Diego Fabbri, directed by Sandro Bolchi.

You can follow watch the drama here on YT or here on RaiPlay -- I suggest the latter, it's free and it's the original source, but youtube's still there if you prefer.

[INT. – AT THE KARAMAZOV’S/IVAN’S ROOM] min. 14:19

(Ivan snaps his fingers from behind a screen – Smerdjakov enters: he’s here to help Ivan get dressed)

Smerdjakov: (with a servile tone – to keep in mind for all his dialogues: he never drops it) I’m not allowed to say certain things, as I’m just a servant who should only thank his master’s benevolence, but if I may risk a word it’s only because I’m devoted to you, Ivan Fëdorovič…

Ivan: (with a harsh tone – emphasis on devoted; he keeps up the commanding/angry tone until stated otherwise) I sincerely don’t understand why you should be devoted to me! – As you put it.

Smerdjakov: I like to hear you talk, Ivan Fëdorovič… when you’re arguing, downstairs, with your father–

Ivan: That’s rare!

Smerdjakov: (cont. – must note: as Smerdjakov is helping Ivan button the back of his waistcoat, they are talking in front of a mirror and the last piece of this line is spoken while they’re both looking at their reflection) Well, those times I… I never miss a word. Sometimes I even hide, I must confess, to not lose the flow of the conversation… and I can say that you don’t converse: you reason.

Ivan: Is the frac ready? – Did you iron the frac?!

Smerdjakov: Ironed, Ivan Fëdorovič: I overlooked the ironing myself because I don’t trust that muddler, Marfa, nor that hick Grigorj.

Ivan: (amused/sardonic – he’s putting on the cuntiest little round glasses) What is it – what would you have told me if you were allowed to speak freely?

Smerdjakov: Well, now maybe… I wouldn’t dare…

Ivan: You’re allowed! And don’t make me beg you…(grabs Smerdjakov by his hair and pulls him close) you’re cunning.

Smerdjakov: But maybe you already know, Ivan Fëdorovič–

Ivan: What should I know? (he releases Smerdjakov)

Smerdjakov: Dmitrij’s new sudden infatuation for Agrafena Aleksandrovna… they’re talking about it, in town, because Agrafena Aleksandrovna – Grušen’ka, you understand? – she has her own history, and those who have their own history are on everyone’s lips.

Ivan: It’ll be my brother Dmitrij’s usual whim.

Smerdjakov: Well… It may be something more. Certainly something different.

Ivan: Dmitrij has a fiancée.

Smerdjakov: The noble miss Katerina Ivanovna.

Ivan: (with a softer tone, almost dreamily, clearly he’s thinking about Katja) …and there is not a girl more fine nor fascinating – (back to the harsh tone; note that after this rise he softens a bit) so?!

Smerdjakov: And who might say the contrary… but this Grušen’ka, as those who know her say, looks like she might have other… other requirements. I’ve told you she has a history and, for a man as intelligent as you are, it’s all said.

Ivan: (laughs) The shoes – get the bone shoe horn, the long one.

Smerdjakov: (kneeling to put the shoes on Ivan, who is sitting on the bed) And then there’s more that’s riling Dmitrij up, there’s almost a challenge.

Ivan: The gossiper that you are…

Smerdjakov: (laughs) If it were gossip, I wouldn’t speak, Ivan Fëdorovič, but I can always stop here, if you prefer.

Ivan: And speak, then, say what you want to say.

Smerdjakov: For… this Grušen’ka has, how can I say it – given his age, fallen in love is a kind term, is it? – the master fell for her, too.

Ivan: What master?

Smerdjakov: (Smerdjakov looks up to Ivan) Ours – (he looks at the shoe he’s putting on Ivan) mine. Fëdor Pavlovič, you father, sir. (laughs) He’s fallen madly in love!

Ivan: (as he kicks Smerdjakov away, sending him sprawling on the ground) You’re a reptile!

Smerdjakov: I swear on everything I believe that this is the truth!

Ivan: And since you don’t believe in anything, you perjure!

Smerdjakov: (as he gets up to his feet) I guarantee you, Ivan Fëdorovič – the master confided in me, and I already had to run some tasks for him at that lady’s… I don’t badmouth: I confide in you, if you allow me, of course… Fëdor Pavlovič, despite his age, is gone for her to the point he even wishes to marry her – (reaching for Ivan) to this, we’ve come!

Ivan: (he gets up, puts distance between him and Smerdjakov again) Do the two know?

Smerdjakov: The two? – you mean, the father and the son? (as he gets Ivan’s frac and helps him wear it) I believe so, and this is, I think, the true reason for the hatred: no more the heritage. And it’s not yet said that the older one won’t have it his way, Dmitrij’s impetus notwithstanding – and I find him a handsome young man, a young man who should be liked, on the contrary: who is liked, undoubtedly; but this time, in this challenge, eh!, who knows? Because it looks like this Grušen’ka lights, how can I say, lights the amorous fantasy in more mature… elderly men; it’s one of her particularities, they say.

Ivan: (angry) Stop it! – (then, distraught) I have no more need for you, I’m ready.

Smerdjakov: The coat is downstairs, in the wardrobe. I’m sorry I upset you, Ivan Fëdorovič.

Ivan: (still distraught, upset) I’m only thinking about poor Katerina Ivanovna; ignorant, I suppose… (he scratches at the door frame with his fingernails) that upsets me.

*

[INT. – AT KATERINA IVANOVNA’S/BALLROOM] min. 19:52

(the scene opens with the camera following a waiter carrying a teacups tray through a moderately crowded ballroom; he stops by M. Chochlakova and Lisa)

Waiter: Please, madame.

M. Chochlakova: (takes one of the offered teacups) Thank you.

Waiter: Some tea, miss?

(Lisa shakes her head; the camera returns to following the movement of the waiter amongst Katja’s guests, until he passes by Katerina herself and Ivan and focuses on them – note: Ivan isn’t wearing his cunty glasses anymore, but he’s cuntily holding a cigarette)

Ivan: Yes, I am… I am worried for Dmitrij, the argument with my father over that damned heritage is exasperating him: he withdraws, he hides; we can’t find him for days and days. Do you see him?

Katja: I was hoping to have him with us today, I had a note delivered to his domicile but… who knows if he’ll show up. However, you don’t have to worry so, Ivan Fëdorovič: I know Dmitrij, I know what is troubling him at this moment. We need to let his agitation placate naturally. Why did he target his father so intensely – because now he needs money and he doesn’t have any, and he’s so proud he won’t borrow from anyone: and so he gets exasperated.

Ivan: So you think, Katerina Ivanovna, that money might pacify him.

Katja: No, it’s not the money that gives him peace. Dmitrij is the most generous man I have ever known, money obsesses him only because it lets him act fully free.

Ivan: (smiles) Mh, I admire your intelligence and your… extraordinary lucidity; I did not think that a woman in love could see with such clarity the man she loves.

Katja: I believe it is love that makes me see so clearly, for Mitja’s sake. I know the situation I find myself in.

Ivan: Do you know about… the news, too?

Katja: I know the news, too. (she spots Dmitrij, who just entered) There he is! (she turns back to Ivan, their faces are very close) He came.

(the camera cuts to Dmitrij, standing very still; at Katja’s aunt’s call he comes towards her and kisses her hand) 

Katja’s aunt: Dmitrij Fëdorovič, don’t pretend to be a statue, come closer!

Lisa: I hoped you would bring along your brother Alëša…

Dmitrij: Don’t you know he walks a different path than us? And he’s serious about it, my little brother – he’s not like us, he doesn’t mistake the devil for holy water (he spots Ivan and Katja sitting together) Anyway, I see another member of the Karamazov family already preceded me, and is already here.

(to Katja’s aunt) You really want us all, eh?

Katja’s aunt: We would really like to have you all – because you’re pleasant, you Karamazovs.

Katja: (she stands up and walks towards her aunt) Aunt, I’ll let you have him all for yourself later, but may I speak to him for a moment first?

Katja’s aunt: Youths and feelings’ rights, I’ve always respected.

Katja: Dmitrij Fëdorovič, if you’ll follow me. (she exits with Dmitrij following)

(the scene cuts off with a shot of Ivan pensively about to take a drag of his cigarette, he seems to be following Katja and Dmitrij with his gaze)

[INT. – AT KATERINA IVANOVNA’S/KATJA’S ROOM] min. 23:07

Katja: Come, Mitja, come.

Dmitrij: Will it be a long talk? Maybe an explanation?

Katja: (rummaging through a vanity) No. No, I just have a favour to ask you Mitja; you should send this parcel to Moscow for me, to my sister Agaf’ja Ivanovna. It’s not urgent but… you really must be the one doing it, Mitja, because no-one in the house should know.

Dmitrij: Would it be a secret, then?

Katja: There are three thousand rubles inside, my sister needs them, or her husband does, I didn’t understand very well. In any case, I’m sending them personally; there (she hands him the parcel) I told you you can do it at your leisure, then you’ll give me the receipt, but… it has to remain between us, understood?

Dmitrij: I’ll do it right now, I’ll bring you the receipt immediately – (he makes for a side door) can I leave from here? I’d rather not pass through the ballroom.

Katja: But why, Mitja, what are they going to say about this sudden escape?

Dmitrij: They’ll say… they’ll say you asked me to tend to an urgent and delicate matter. Isn’t it the truth, Katja? And then, you won’t be alone: someone from the family will keep you in good company – actually, I’m wondering, why didn’t you ask Ivan for this favour? He would’ve been happy to make himself useful.

Katja: What you’re saying isn’t worthy of you, Mitja. Maybe you don’t even really think it, but… you want to hurt me, I feel it.Dmitrij: Is there anything I’m not worthy of? What is it that’s not worthy of me? Come on, Katja, you know very well how low I can go. I’ll do what you asked me to, and without anyone knowing. (he leaves)

[crypticcodexcreations]

First Meeting

So, I wrote something with the demon and the priest.

TW: vague, minor mentions of suicide in a way, horny demon who is not subtle about it

Thunder rolled as Oliver approached the small house. He noticed that the windows were dark and he didn’t see much sign that anyone was home. Steven’s parents had been sure that he would be here though, so he stepped up to the door, closing his umbrella and giving it a small shake to get the rain off before turning back to the door. Just as he was about to knock, it opened and he found himself face to face with who he assumed to be Steven.

“What?” As Steven spoke, Oliver noticed how disheveled he looked, hair unkempt and in sore need of a cut, hoodie rumpled.

“Hello Steven. I’m Father Oliver. Your parents were worried about you and asked me to come speak with you.” Steven sighed, then shrugged before turning back into the house.

“Alright. Not like I have anything better to do today.” Oliver stepped into the house, finding a spot to leave his umbrella and wiping his feet on the mat. Steven motioned to a couch nearby.

“Go ahead and sit I guess. I’m gonna get a beer, want one?” Oliver hesitated mid-step as the words left Steven’s mouth. Before he could answer, Steven chuckled. “Right. Priest. Too good to have fun.” Oliver sighed, deciding not to bother to respond to that as he finished his trip to the couch and sat down, the worn springs creaking slightly beneath his weight. He tried to gather his thoughts while Steven was in the kitchen.

From the way Steven’s parents had spoken about him, Oliver had expected someone around eighteen, just out on the own for the first time, not someone around his own age. He listened as the fridge shut, thunder rolling outside. When Steven came into the room he opened his mouth to speak only for the words to die on his tongue as lightning flashed and he saw the truth.

For that brief moment, he saw Steven’s eyes truly, a mismatched red and yellow, slit pupils studying him. He also saw the small red horns protruding from his black hair. He felt sick as he realized that this was not Steven. He was face to face with a demon.

The demon plopped down in a chair across from him, taking a long sip from the beer before raising an eyebrow.

“You gonna talk or what?” Oliver swallowed, deciding the best way to handle this was being direct.

“Where is Steven?” He flinched slightly as the demon laughed.

“You feeling ok, Father? I’m sitting right in front of you.” Oliver shook his head. He refused to drop this.

“I saw your eyes. You’re not Steven.” At that, the demon scowled, giving up a bit more quickly than Oliver had expected.

“Ugh, fine. I’m just using his body, ok? Back off.” Oliver tried to keep his breath steady.

“Give that young man his body back.” He hoped that he sounded strong, but he felt very small all of a sudden. The demon laughed at him.

“He doesn’t want it! Our deal was that he’d let me use it so long as he never has to come back! Now what next, Oliver?” As his name left the demon’s lips, he instinctively recoiled, frowning.

“Father Moriarty.” The demon snorted at his assertion, setting the beer on the small, worn coffee table between them.

“You said Oliver earlier.” Oliver glared, wishing that looks could kill in that moment.

“If you are going to address me, it will be as Father Moriarty. Vacate that body and return Steven.” His ultimatum only got him an annoyed glare.

“What didn’t you understand before? Steven is gone. He’s not coming back. He didn’t want to either. I told him this could be temporary, but he said no thanks! Get that through your thick skull, ok?” The demon stood, waving a hand casually as he spoke.

Oliver didn’t know what to expect next. He had never thought he would actually run into a demon. Oliver stood, trying to think clearly, silently begging the Lord to show him what to do as he closed the distanced between himself and the demon.

“You are not welcome here, demon. Now begone!” The demon froze at his words, staring at him wide eyed for a split second before screaming and sinking to the floor, screams turning to sobs. Oliver looked down, knowing that had to be too easy, but hoping anyways. What he hoped was Steven looked up at him, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“I’m so sorry. I’ve sinned, Father. I’ve sinned so much, forgive me.” A part of Oliver worried it was all an act. But if it wasn’t, and he acted harshly, how could he forgive himself? Slowly, cautiously, he knelt down beside Steven, praying for a sign of what to do.

“It is alright. I am here for you.” Steven sniffled as Oliver spoke, wiping his tears with his sleeve.

“Thank you, Father.” He paused, seeming unsure. Oliver met his eyes, the original blue still, slowly starting to relax. He had seen the demon’s eyes before, so he hoped that if this were a trick he would see them again.

“Do you have a question?” Steven nodded, swallowing before he spoke.

“It’s just… Father is so formal… Can I-“ He cut off, trying to get his breathing back to normal before continuing. “Can I call you daddy?”

As he smirked, Oliver once again saw those demonic eyes, accompanied by sharp teeth. He recoiled so quickly that he fell over, slamming onto the floor.

“Absolutely not you foul creature!” The demon stood, cackling.

“You’re such a fool! You think you can get rid of me that easily? Look.” The laughter faded and the demon’s tone turned serious. “I’m just living here. I don’t even really wanna be here. It’s the other guys you’ve gotta worry about!” Oliver’s eyes widened at that.

“The others?” The demon chuckled, looking down at Oliver.

“Oops! Me and my big mouth! Now you’ll have to go hunt down the actual trouble makers! Man, I can’t believe I ended up helping you!” Oliver snarled, doing his best to get to his feet.

“Not before I get rid of you.” The demon groaned, dragging a palm down his face.

“Really? Look, Oliver, you did your best, now just tell the kid’s parents whatever will help you sleep at night and get off my back before I have to do something about it.” Oliver glared into the demon’s eyes.

“And what are you-“ Before he could finish and faster than any human should be able to move, the demon grabbed him by the throat and slammed him against a wall.

“You’re no match for me, Oliver, and as fun as being choked is, I don’t much like being the giving end. Now will you either put me in my place and make me scream or just get out of my face?” Oliver squirmed in the demon’s grip, realizing quickly that he wasn’t squeezing hard enough to completely cut off his air flow. The demon was toying with him. One hand tried futilely to pry the demon’s fingers away, while the other fumbled for his cross.

“I refuse, demon. You will return to Hell!” The demon laughed as Oliver failed to pull free from his grasp.

“Oh yeah? How-OW!” The demon howled in pain as the antique silver came into contact with his hand, reeling back and releasing Oliver. As the demon fell away from him, Oliver gasped for breath, rubbing his neck. It was only a few moments later that he realized his cross was gone. He looked to the demon, cradling his hand on the floor.

“What did you do?!” The demon stood slowly, holding out his hand where the shape of the cross was burned into the back of it.

“You bound me!” He sounded angry, but almost immediately grinned. “Guess that means you’re Master now~” He laughed, only to choke on his laughter when Oliver punched him in the face.

“What are you talking about, demon?” The demon sighed, annoyance seeping into his words.

“That cross was a binding relic. Didn’t think any existed anymore. I am now bound to do your bidding, within certain restrictions.” Oliver stared, eyes wide. He had a pact with a demon? That sounded ridiculous. Then again, if someone had told him this trip would become meeting a demon, that would have sounded ridiculous this morning. Still, he knew his first and only order.

“Return to Hell.” The demon shook his head, rolling his eyes.

“You need to break the binding to banish me. Don’t you know anything about the relic you were wearing around your neck?” Oliver glared, deciding to ignore the demon’s question.

“Then you are going to help me find a way to break it. But first you will help me purge the world of these others you mentioned.” The demon laughed, clearly disbelieving.

“You want to play demon hunter?” Oliver groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“The Lord has put me in this situation for a reason.” The demon sighed.

“I’m not getting laid, am I?”

[augment-techs]

Ok here’s another one that’s been bugging me for a while so I’m gonna transfer the worm yo you:

“I wish you’d write a fic where Billy wants to learn to lay the piano and he gets Skull to teach him… ✨sparks fly✨ and also Skull realises Billy has a lovely voice and they do duets together now”

“Well,” Billy scuffed his toe down to the ground, half shy boy before a teacher he’d never had before in his entire life—too small and too smart for his own good—and part baby animal finding its feet in front of what might be a good friend or a predator, “I’m missing out on additions, secondary lessons that would allow my future to secure itself outside of high school. So, Miss Appleby suggested you?” “Liar.” Billy flinched, looking up from his foot to find Skull with his arms crossed, jacket still hung up on the rack to keep the length out of the way of the ivory and pitch keys of the majestic looking piano that Billy happened to know for a fact the school would not have been able to keep up the payments for if Skull himself didn’t maintain it with those long fingers, those careful eyes, the tools of the trade he’d gotten from Grid only knew where. His frame was still wiry, still pale, but Billy could appreciate that he did, in fact, carry a little bit more muscle than he did sixteen months ago. Nothing like running from Putties and Kaiju and curses to build up the heavy mass. (A little part of Billy’s brain was curious about how that was working out for Skull’s sylphlike legs, but he also knew he’d never find out, given that the young man hadn’t worn shorts in public since before his voice dropped.) He swiveled his eyes from hairless arms up to mercury eyes, eyebrows up and the lips that were thin with the serious aura he was giving off. Right. Eugene didn’t take bullshit about piano matters. Fibbing really wouldn’t work here. (--But he’d have to try.) Billy straightened his back with a cough and scratched the fluff at the back of his head, “I’m sure I don’t know how you’d come to that conclusion.” Skull leaned forward, hands to his knees—really subtle, but still a hit against Billy’s being a head shorter since Skull’s latest growth spurt (if he kept growing until he was twenty-one, Billy swore he’d walk into the ocean; this wasn’t fair)—until they were almost nose tip to nose tip. And he smirked that self-assured “I’ve got all the cards so don’t even bother” smirk that Billy very much was thankful did not make him look like his (rat bastard son of a bitch) father or (evil, self-serving, hellspawn) mother, but made him look more and more like the man he was going to be. If only he looked this assured in real life instead of in a room that at present felt closed off from the rest of reality as Skull prodded with amusement, “There is nothing in all the world that would keep teachers from this town from passing you onwards into the future with full honors and the deed to their souls if you asked. Even with you running around for the Youth Center and Promethea and whatever else it is that calls you out of class, you’re still head of the class—except English, because you’re more for numbers than language and literature—“ “How would you know that?” “I know lots of things; don’t interrupt,” Skull hummed, spinning on his heel to saunter back over to the piano’s bench, pulling it out and taking a seat with a cross of his legs and his hands folded at the knee, “You will pass regardless of extra-curricular classes or activities. I’m sure Miss Appleby did point you in my direction because she’s a sweetheart who would hang the moon if you asked her nicely; but it wasn’t because you’re lacking in class credits. So, what are you doing here?” “I…” “Hm?” “I need to learn a new skill.” “We’ve established that as the root of this whole sing-along, William; my hiccup is the why.” Billy ground his jaw and swayed his head back on his neck like a ghost of the boy Skull had been so familiar with for most of their younger lives. All fluffy yellow hair and glasses trying to hold on as his head bobbed back and his middle finger coming up to press the frames up along his nose.

[minetteskvareninova]

Look, man. I know you have made a lot fuss about how much you hate when I get too aggressive while refuting your points, but I am sorry, I just cannot let this shit stand. And I mean, if you want to block me for something - yeah, I am pretty comfortable in saying that Hatice sultan is the hill I'd die on. Because you have said some pretty vile stuff about her in the past and I am just. Done with ignoring it. The slander is spreading to some otherwise very reasonable people. It's time to stop.

For the last time. The narrative is not validating Hatice's obsession with revenge on Hürrem. The overall idea of revenge on Ibrahim and blaming Hürrem for his death I am less sure of, especially considering the obscene amount of Ibrahim shilling after his death. After all, Ibrahim is the literal father of their golden boy Mustafa, and so the narrative does side with him to an extent. At the same time, the situation is not as clear cut as OP clearly thinks it is. The show is well aware (at least before his death) that Ibrahim was a flawed person; I know it doesn't do justice to what an absolute piece of trash he really was, but at the very least, it acknowledges his hubris. It also posits that Süleyman murdering him was bad, which... Well, is not WRONG. As I've written in a previous post, Süleyman executed his best friend based more on a vague idea of a lése-majesté than anything. Ibrahim certainly deserved the rope for other reasons, but not for some dumb shit he said in front of ambassadors. Also Süleyman was his friend and promissed him safety, which adds other layers to this act that the show acknowledges. It's true that the show seems to take the viewpoint that Şah's revenge on Hürrem is justified, even if the means she uses for it are pretty shady - which I fundamentally take issue with. Overall, I agree that the show's framing of Ibrahim's death is "off" and there's plenty to criticize.

What I don't agree with is that the show's viewpoint is ultimately as judgemental as the OP implies. Şah, Hatice and Hürrem are morally grey characters acting within their established character motivations, and I don't think the show is that interested in judging them. Hatice's arch is probably the most blatant in this; even if the show agrees with her goals (hence her more reasonable sister sharing them), it also pulls no punches in portraying her as blinded by grief and revenge. Hell, the fact that she's slowly becoming out of touch with reality is hardly subtle! And if anything her death scene is a heartbreaking (for ME, if you hate her then it's probably just a poignant reminder why) finishing touch of a relatively well-crafted tragedy of her character.

Now, do I like that this is the direction they went with her character? Of course not. I like Hatice. I didn't want her to slowly lose her mind because one of the worst men in the show got what was coming to him. I personally wouldn't take her in that direction. But the writers did, and I have to commend them for mostly walking it pretty smoothly. (Mostly - some moments, like Hatice's relationship with Nigar post-Ibrahim's death were bullshit, because this is Magnificent Century, whose every good aspect has a dozen flaws and every stupid moment has a dozen things that could be praised about it.)

"(...)she could at least leave Hurrem out of it and contemplate on her own choices in her last moments." - OP, she literally only killed herself because her crimes TOWARDS HÜRREM were revealed. What is your problem. The death scene or the arch. Her death scene is the natural conclusion of the arch, and I've just explained what is my stance on the arch. If you're point-of-view on the arch is different, then be my guest, but you literally cannot criticize that scene without criticizing the arch it concludes.

"Why didn't Hatice see reason in her last moments" - Because if she ever saw reason, she wouldn't have kidnapped Hürrem, her crime wouldn't have been discovered and she wouldn't even feel the need to kill herself. Yes, she was clearly depressed and suicidal for years, but the main reason for her killing herself when she did and in the way she did were her crimes.

TL;DR - Hatice didn't see the reason in that scene because she isn't MEANT to be a reasonable person here.

I watched Hatice's suicide scene again and I absolutely cannot feel sympathy for her. It is truly sad because she killed herself and she definitely did not deserve that ending and she wasn't a fundamentally bad person, but. Hatice girl. Even in her dying moments she was blubbering about Hurrem this, Hurrem that. No self awareness, no progression, zero moment of clarity, not even a brief one, nothing at all, purely delulu land. I do believe this is the writers' failing though. It is kind of boring and short-sighted to have Hatice so blinded by irrational hatred that she can't even reflect on her relationships with her own family in a neutral light. It would have been more impactful to have her show an iota of introspection and awareness and then kill herself anyway because what's the point, what's done is done. Like of course she's hurting for Ibrahim's death and I get that, and she is in deep depression and I get that too, but she could at least leave Hurrem out of it and contemplate on her own choices in her last moments. She didn't do that. This one-dimensional victim narrative is preventing me from sympathizing with the character even at such a moment.

[alektowrites]

Hymnus Throni (teaser)

PAIRING: Foreign duchess! Irene x Princess! Reader _______________ WARNINGS: Light Royalty AU, marriage of convenience, bickering, foreign royalty Irene! Let's pretend Ancient Greece and Ancient Rome didn't beef with one another (Troy oop), S2F2L, somewhat Roman-descent! Y/N, somewhat Russian-descent! Irene, mommy - I mean IRENE HAS A RUSSIAN ACCENT, mentions of war, minor character death, tension, mentions of war, Percy Jackson and The Crown reference, smut in the future scenes so more warnings will come because come on, Irene's the MAIN warning 🥴🥴🥴 _______________ A/N: Hymnus Throni means The Throne's Hymn in Latin.

And I'm sorry this took so long 😭, my circuits were fried while I drafted this one-shot.

This is requested, by the way.

Enjoy <3333

________________ Terminologies:

Moja koroleva - my queen Dorogoj - darling

"I'm sure you've heard of the Baskovanian Kingdom from the North, where a lord who goes by the name of Alexie Gavriil; saved my life during the war, and in return for saving my life, I grant him one wish." He paused, "What did he wish for?"

Your stomach churns as an answer pops into your mind. You refuse to believe it.

No, no, no.

It can't be true-

"Marriage, between the two families." The guests gasped.

"Today," He declares, "You all will bear witness to a political arrangement between two influential empires!" He gestures a hand in front, and the crowd immediately parts except for the captivating woman. "Between Empress Y/N Valeria and Grand Duchess Irene Gavriil. Bow before your new rulers!"

The resplendent woman, Irene Gavriil, strides toward you like a lioness stalking her prey. Her eyes hid her scrutiny and annoyance well. As she approaches, the guests go down on one knee to bow before your bride. Their heads ducked as she took confident strides toward you and your father.

The emperor steps away from you to join the witnesses, smiling from ear to ear as the grand duchess stops in front of you. Her sapphire-blue eyes swirl with enigma and intelligence before she too, goes down on one knee, her eyes never leaving yours as she takes your right hand, her gloved hands gently holding your hand. You can hear your blood drumming against the back of your ears. How the temperature of your body drops from her intense gaze and how your stomach churns at her proximity. Your knees almost gaze out when her plump, pink lips press a kiss against the back of your palm. She never broke eye contact in doing so, and the crowd squeals as she stands.

And finally, she spoke. Her voice is raspy but sultry and alluring, with a hint of a soft accent that leaves your spine shivering.

"We finally meet," The side of her lip curls to a cold smile, "Moja koroleva."

Her icy gaze pierced through you. You reply with a smile, but your eyes harden, and your face stings with anger, annoyance, and frustration. Your smile drops to a venomous scowl.

Marriage never appealed to you. Even at your age, you never thought of marrying. You saw it as a means of tying someone down to a forced commitment, made to be caged inside a tower and squeeze out heirs.

You don't want this.

You'd rather travel around the world and paint the wonders you've seen than be bound to someone you haven't met.

Political marriages are damned, all of it be damned. Irene moves to the side. You were snapped out of your raging stupor when you felt her lean to your side and snaked her arm around your waist.

Her touch prickles your skin as she pulls you close to her side to face the guest who cheers for you two. You instantly stiffen at her proximity, allowing you to inhale her subtle but sweet scent.

She directs her head to your ear, her eyes never leaving the crowd as she whispers in your ear; her cold breath fans the outer lobe, and her raspy voice fills your ears.

"Smile, dorogoj." She commands with an icy, hushed tone, "If you want to fool them, including your father, I suggest you smile and pretend to be happy with this god-forsaken arrangement."

Begrudgingly, you catch on but you are unable to match the excitement of the guests with the declaration of your union. You cast a side-eyed glance at the foreign grand duchess, her gaze is just as hard and seething as yours.

At least you're not the only one who's not happy with the arrangement. That's what you can both agree on.

You're royally screwed.

Coming soon!

[chandiewashere]

𝐚 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭 - prologue

· · ┈──────────── ⋆៹ ✩۪۟۟≭ ────────────┈ · ·

eris vanserra x reader; light tamlin x reader warnings: we're starting out strong with some short angst!! descriptions of heartbreak, tamlin is nice, guilt, nonlinear timeline, no reader pronouns, unbeta-ed we die like men series - wip ; taglist open

series m.list

· · ┈──────────── ⋆៹ ✩۪۟۟≭ ────────────┈ · ·

Nobody tells you what it feels like when your heart breaks.

You would think it’s sharp, like someone pushing a dagger through your heart. A stabbing pain that twinges every time you move.

It’s more subtle than that. A gentle throb, only enough to know it’s there. The feeling is a dull ache that knocks your breath out of your lungs, persuading you to not move too fast, breathe too deep, or cry too hard. It feels like falling, like the warmth after a burn, like a bruise starting to form. The breath never seems to reenter your lungs, and your mind never seems to defog.

If you had asked me to explain how it felt to look at him at that moment, I would’ve described it as heartbreaking. To know that we would never be able to love each other freely. We would always be looking over each other’s shoulders for threats. Cursed to only fleeting looks and heated gazes; a brush of a hand or a tug on a shirt.

The metal of my necklace burns my skin under my tunic, and his anguish vaguely floats into my mind.

I can see it echo in his eyes as I look at him from across the border, my family scrambling to take my cousin to the nearest healer. I linger only a moment, trying to convey what I can’t through words, and as I turn away, I wonder if I can see a hint of wetness in his eyes.

There was no other way.

Just as soon as the moment comes, it goes, and all I’m left with is a host of shattered dreams and an ache in my chest where they used to be.

· · ┈──────────── ⋆៹ ✩۪۟۟≭ ────────────┈ · ·

I’ve never seen Spring Court as beautiful as this.

Flowers decorate every arch and doorway, even the floor in some places, their perfume wafting through the air. The sun is low in the sky and casts a golden glow on everything it touches. Music and laughter sing, light and happy, in the space as the court’s guests twirl and dance in the courtyard.

I stand awestricken at the entrance for a moment before Spring’s High Lord walks up to me with Tamlin and his brothers in tow. My father steps forward to greet them with my mother on his arm, and I can’t help but think for a moment that they look made for each other.

As they exchange pleasantries, my eyes lock with Tamlin. He has a slight smile on his lips, and his auburn hair is swept up in a loose knot, a few strands tumbling from it and brushing against his brow. He tilts his head slightly in my direction, amusement in his eyes, and leans in to tell his father something.

I let my gaze wander to the courtyard as I feel my lips curve upwards, and my brother bumps his shoulder with mine.

When I look up, Rhysand dons a knowing smirk, and his brow quirks. I ready myself for whatever teasing remark he’s about to make as I feel a tap on my shoulder.

Tamlin suddenly stands in front of me with a hopeful expression and extended hand as he asks, “Care to share a dance with me?”

· · ┈──────────── ⋆៹ ✩۪۟۟≭ ────────────┈ · ·

The night goes by quickly, and as the hours go by, I find myself standing off to the side after Tamlin excused himself to greet more of his guests.

There’s a gentle smile on my lips while I sip the drink he had offered me before he left. My mind wanders to the pleasant conversation we were having, about a picnic, I believe, when I decide to stray from my place near the tables a bit. I’m sure Tamlin will find me regardless.

I stroll around the courtyard, noting some familiar faces and fae types. While looking off to the side, I fail to see the man standing with his back turned to me as I softly stumble into his broad shoulder. 

As he turns around, I’m already apologizing, and he’s starting to say something, only for the words to die on our tongues as our eyes meet.

My breath hitches and I look into the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen. They are somewhere between brown and orange, glinting like warm caramel and shining with mischief. The longer I stare into the warm pools, I begin to feel a tug, almost like something going taut.

I’m pulled out of my trance by Tamlin setting a gloved hand on my forearm. With a struggle, I force myself to look over at him.

“There you are; I’ve been looking all over. I wanted to catch you before you left.”

“Oh, I was just taking a walk,” I say quietly as I look back towards the man I had disturbed to find that he had effectively disappeared.

Tamlin says something else and mentions a walk in the garden, guiding me away from the crowd. 

All I do is nod, pushing the experience to the back of my mind and faintly wonder if I’ll ever see those eyes again. Tamlin looks at me with a smile, and I hate the twinge of guilt that prods my chest.

· · ┈──────────── ⋆៹ ✩۪۟۟≭ ────────────┈ · ·

note: it's here! i'm actually really proud of this introduction, even though its pretty short. hopefully this will give you guys just a little taste of what this series is going to be like. i hope you enjoyed! also i just wanted to let you guys know that the taglist for the series is officially open!

[phoenixyfriend]

Anakin and the Jedi Babies: A Child's Ink

Context: Anakin and the Jedi Babies, chrono

WARNINGS: underage characters get tattoos/piercings

Word Count: 5680 Rating: T Ships: primarily Gen (Disaster Lineage + Shmi), offscreen JangoShmi, past Obitine, past Anidala ----

Ylliben Skywalker is known as a preternaturally calm and quiet child, serious and pensive.

He jokes. He roughhouses. He is as responsive to tickle attacks and shoulder rides and warm hugs as any other child.

But he is Jetii'Manda, not just Mando'ade, and that fact is impossible to forget.

This is a child that can read before he can speak, a child who can talk at length about 'grassroots antiestablishment propaganda and its influence on rural sociological development' before he can say the words without a lisp. This is a child who looks a man in the eye and tells him to check over his blaster one last time, or it will explode in his hand only minutes into the next engagement. This is a child who is not only willing, but capable of discussing the plausible ramifications of Duke Adonai Kryze's latest decrees with Jaster Mereel himself, while still in possession of all his baby teeth.

(His father is not worried by this. Upset, sometimes, pained and tired, but not worried.)

(His sister only laughs.)

It is, as a result, not as surprising as it could be, when a six-year-old wanders his way into Na-Tsuyon's parlor and asks her what the risks of getting a tattoo at his age are.

"I'm not having that conversation with you unless your parent is here," she says. A few of the other artists crane their heads in her direction, but she waves them off.

"I'm not trying to get it right this moment," Ben protests. "I'm just gathering information. He said that was fine."

"Still need your parent here here," she tells him.

He leaves for about ten minutes, and then comes back with a tall, gangling figure in tow.

"I hear this isn't the place for unaccompanied minors," Knight Skywalker jokes.

(She has heard him called a General. She does not know which war he fought. Nobody does.)

(They no longer ask.)

"Well, he is young," she says, brushing her tentacles back over a shoulder. "I don't let anyone under human-fourteen get tattooed without a parent on hand, and giving preliminary information to anyone under twelve is... generally not worth it, shall we say."

Skywalker smiles, oddly amused in the way he always is when someone points out his children need supervision. "Glad to hear it. Are you the Na-Tsuyon whose name is on the door?"

"I am," she says. "And you're Knight Skywalker."

He's pleased at that. She can feel it in the chemical receptors of her head tails, and wonders. "Yep. So, do we jump right into the discussion or do you need me to sign something, or..."

"No, it's enough that you're here," she assures him. "Now, the main reasons we discourage tattoos for younger sentients is the distortion factor. While the level of pain is much lower than it would have been several millennia ago, and we have the technology to remove ink from below the skin, a tattoo before your body stops growing will distort as you grow and your skin stretches. You would need to come in yearly for touch-ups, to remove the sections that have moved out of place, and fill in where the ink is no longer settled."

"That makes sense," Ylliben says. He looks up at his father, and then back to her. "You'd be able to tell me if any of my choices would be... bad for a Mandalorian, yes?"

"I would," she confirms. She glances up at Knight Skywalker. "I don't suppose you have any history of getting tattoos?"

"No," he says. "I'm from Tatooine, so..."

Different connotations to the very act of it, for him.

She ducks her head in a nod. "I understand. Generally it's easier if the parent has experience in the process, but it's far from mandatory. You're willing to work with the distortion maintenance?"

"Yes'm," Ylliben says, and his father shrugs and gestures, as if the word of a six-year-old is thus law.

"I'll walk you through the details of the process, including the care, relevant allergies, and so on. I don't suppose you have anything in mind already?" she asks.

"I do," he says. He doesn't tell her what it is, yet.

Anakin Skywalker stays there the entire time, and they make an appointment for later in the week.

----

"My buir isn't my only father," Ylliben says quietly, when it comes time to get details on what he's getting tattooed. "I had another father before him. A Jedi. He died, to protect me, and a lot of other people. So, um..."

He shoves a picture to her, the symbol of the Jedi, plain and simple. She looks at him.

"In red," he says, shifting on his feet, looking up at his father and then back down at the page. "For, um, to honor a parent."

"Your first father was a Jedi?" she asks, gentle as she can.

"Mm-hm," Ylliben says. "He died, um... he saved buir from slavery, too, a long time ago. Both my dads were Jedi, and I'm going to be one, too, and so is Sokanth. It's--it's about where I come from, and--"

"You don't have to justify it if you don't want to," Na-Tsuyon tells him, reaching out to place one hand on his. It's very warm and dry, in her opinion, but she finds that most humans are. Mandalorians are some 80% human, or near human.

Nautolan Mandalorians aren't unheard of, but she's a rare one.

Ben sucks in a breath, and says, "I want it up here, on my right shoulder, like a pauldron."

Na-Tsuyon nods, and looks up to Skywalker. "You'll have to sign some papers to approve it, Master Jedi. You approve of the design?"

Skywalker hesitates, and then goes to one knee in front of his son, and speaks so quietly she can only hear "--remind you of the generator complex?"

Whatever Ben's answer is, it's too quiet for her to catch. It satisfies Skywalker, though, and he stands. "Alright, let's see this paperwork."

----

When Ylliben comes in again, a year later to get his slightly-twisting tattoo fixed, it's with Miss Shmi in tow. Na-Tsuyon greets the middle Skywalker, for all that she's still not entirely sure how to address the girl. "I heard you've been attending the university at Sundari. Some kind of engineering?"

"Mechanical, yes," Shmi says, oddly soft. "I'm going to spend another year to specialize in vehicular engineering. I'd like to design starships, since I already know how to fix them."

"A worthy goal," Na-Tsuyon says, as she leads them over to one of the stations and starts sanitizing Ylliben's inked shoulder. She doesn't entirely see why a university education is needed for something that, in her opinion, an apprenticeship could more thoroughly cover. It certainly worked well enough Na-Tsuyon herself. "You're on vacation, then?"

"I am," Shmi confirms. "It's... unfortunate that Anakin couldn't be here a the same time, but we'll see each other in a few days."

Ylliben fidgets for a bit as his jedi symbol is fixed, and then finally asks, "Ori'vod can approve new tattoos, right?"

"Sokanth, no. Shmi..." Na-Tsuyon looks up at her. "I have no idea if you're listed as his legal guardian anywhere, and I'd need proof of that."

"Secondary to Anakin," Shmi confirms. "Ben would like this to be a surprise for Ani."

Ben pulls out a sheet, with a careful design on it, and presses it into Na-Tsuyon's lap when she lifts the tattoo gun and he's not at risk of ruining his own ink. It's simpler than the Jedi symbol, though it's two colors instead of one.

"It's the Open Circle Fleet," Ben says, shy in a way she's given to understand he usually isn't. She thinks his shyer moments may be connected to admitting to emotion, something that he's tying quite closely to his choice of Tattoos. "I thought, um, since I'm already--already honoring one buir, then, er..."

"The Open Circle Fleet was under the command of my brother's Jedi Master," Shmi explains, one hand on Ben's. "And I am given to understand that the symbol was designed as a subtle nod, of sorts, to the two of them as a team. Ben's looking to honor Anakin as he has his first father."

Ben looks down at his lap, and doesn't meet Na-Tsuyon's eyes.

"Bring me proof of guardianship," she tells them. "And I'll make sure you get it finished early enough that the bacta comes off before Knight Skywalker makes it home."

She holds true to her word, and talks her way into being there to see the reunion and reveal.

The emotions that cross Skywalker's face are complicated and unexpected in ways that she can't identify.

Then it's all too simple, because he starts crying on little Ylliben in the middle of the hangar.

----

It doesn't take a full year for Ylliben to come in for another set. It's only five months, maybe six. He has a sketch again, a geometric design of something she doesn't recognize, but still pings as familiar for some reason.

"It needs to be the right shade of blue," he tells her, serious as anything. Knight Skwyalker is right next to him, smiling all soft and indulgent, and maybe a little sad. "It's for Soka."

Oh. This is based on her facial markings, then. Or... what they will be, maybe. This doesn't look quite like what she's seen on the girl, but everyone knows little Ben is more touched by visions than his father and sister.

Na-Tsuyon thinks she knows where this is going. "The same blue as her montrals and lekku?"

Ben shakes his head. "No, 501st blue."

Or not.

"It's close, but a little darker and more saturated," Skywalker offers, and shrugs when she looks his way. "It's a long story, but the 501st was the legion I led before I arrived at Mandalore. It had a specific shade of blue assigned for armor paint, so legions could easily identify each other in the field."

That's... odd. She doesn't ask for more detail, though. It's not her business. "Where do you want this one?"

Ben shows her his left forearm and frames a section about two-thirds the length of it, along the outer side. Like a vambrace.

She has a feeling all these symbols will be on his armor, once he's old enough for it.

"Let's go through my inks and see which one will work best," she says, and does not comment on the rest.

----

When Ylliben comes in again, a few months before his next touch-up appointment, he doesn't have an image on hand. His father is trailing him again, and Na-Tsuyon has a guess.

"Time for Shmi?" she asks.

Ben ducks his head, flushing and not meeting Na-Tsuyon's eyes. "Yes'm."

"I thought as much," she says, and smiles at Skywalker. "General."

"Don't start."

"There have been oh so many rumors flying since the last Jedi run-in, you know."

"I don't care," he grouses, dropping into a seat. "Hells, a man takes emergency command for one battle, and it's all anyone can talk about."

"You ended a civil war, sir."

Ben giggles into his hands as Skywalker groans and slaps a hand over his eyes.

"No respect," the man complains. "Ben, be nice to me, I'm your dad."

"Nuh-uh," Ben says. "I know all the most embarrassing secrets."

"A cruel child," Skywalker accuses. "Ruthless."

"You're the one raising me," Ben says, swinging his legs back and forth. He's got plastoid training vambraces, now, and greaves that clink against the legs of the chair.

"Somehow, yes." Skywalker sighs, with great drama and all such things. He drags himself up to sitting. "Anyway. Moving on."

"Do you have something in mind already?" Na-Tsuyon asks.

"Binary suns," Ben says. "Just two overlapping circles, coin-sized, one bigger than the other, in sunset colors. In a gradient, with a sort of... flare to it? Halo? The... oh! The stellar corona. Buir knows the colors better."

"I want to see what you have to work with before I sketch out the design," Skywalker says. "But yeah, sort of pink and yellow and peachy."

"I can do almost any color," Na-Tsuyon promises. "Especially on fair human skin like Ylliben's. I won't have a problem getting those to show up the way I would on myself."

Na-Tsuyon is a color most would call 'aquamarine.' She's a light shade between blue and green, and much as she likes her skin, it's an absolute pain to make red and orange show up.

She can do it.

It's just annoying.

Ben asks for this one to be on the inside of the left forearm, high and opposite to the widest point of the mark for Sokanth.

----

"Can I see your fonts?"

Ben's alone, for the moment, but Na-Tsuyon knows that when he makes his decision, his father or Shmi will approve it without question. It's no harm to let him browse.

"Basic, Mando'a, or Huttese alphabet?" she asks. "Or something more esoteric?"

"Mando'a, please."

He's eight years old, now. He's still far younger than most of her clients, but she's long gotten used to him. Even when he's acting like a child, there's something to it that doesn't quite sit right. 'Born middle-aged,' a few of the other civilians on base had joked.

She wasn't sure if she thought it was just a joke, these days.

Na-Tsuyon passes her fonts book to the boy, and settles back in her chair for a long afternoon of running numbers. He, meanwhile, goes to sit in the lobby, legs still not long enough to reach the floor, paging through with unwavering, unsettling gravitas.

Half an hour, and then Ben returns.

He points to a font. "This one."

"What's it going to say?"

"Vode An," he tells her, as serious as can be. "In black, over my heart. It's important."

"It's a fairly common phrase," she notes idly. "Should be quick."

She doesn't expect much of a response, and certainly not the one she gets.

"It was different for them," Ben mutters, not looking at her. She sees him twisting the toes of one shoe into the floor. "It was... it was different. I can't talk about it. They were brothers, actually brothers, and they had--they had nothing, they were basically slaves, but--"

"You don't have to talk about it," Na-Tsuyon assures him, a hand on his. "You don't have to explain it to me. If it means something to you, that's all that matters. I just need you to be sure."

"And buir to sign the paperwork," Ben quips, smiling at her. She notices that several teeth are missing. It's cute. "You need that too."

"That too," she agrees.

When Skywalker shows up, he hears what it is that Ben would like, and makes a few suggestions for a border--a gear that sounded too much like the Republic's symbol for a Mando'a phrase, a building on stilts from a city she's never heard of on a planet that rings no bells, a human genetic strand for reasons she can't imagine--most of which are soundly ignored, until Skywalker sketched out a stylized ship of... some sort.

"Venator," Skywalker says, and taps the image. "Nobody will know it except us, but it'll mean something to you, for them."

Ben looks at it for a long moment, and then takes the scrap of flimsi with Mando'a on it and lays it overtop the center of the sketch.

He stares at it for a few long moments, and then nods sharply and pushes it to Na-Tsuyon. "This, please."

He's such a polite child.

It makes it easier to ignore the more confusing parts of his presence in her parlor.

----

"Hi!"

Sokanth Skywalker is in her shop.

That's new.

"Hello," Na-Tsuyon says. "I didn't know you were thinking of getting ink."

"I'm not," she says, hopping up on a stool across the counter. She holds out a hand, and Na-Tsuyon clasps it with bemusement. "But you guys do piercings too, right?"

"We do," she confirms. "You're... ten?"

"Yep!" Sokanth chirps, kicking her legs back and forth. "Is that old enough to get these without permission, or should I ask my dad to come by?"

"At least twelve for piercings without in-person, signed approval from a parent or guardian," Na-Tsuyon says. "Though if you're anything like your brother, I don't imagine that'll be a problem for you."

Sokanth grins at her, bright and a little wild. "Nose, bottom lip, eyebrow. I don't know the actual terms, but I know what I want. Which do you suggest getting first?"

"I'd say nostril," Na-Tsuyon tells her. Most species even vaguely humanoid kick off with the ears, but that's not exactly an option for a togruta. "Let me get a chart and you can figure out what type of piercing you want, and what kind of hoop or stud. I don't actually do the piercings myself, though. Comm the General if you want this done today, though."

"Thank you~!"

----

Nostril, labret, and a horizontal brow, the piercer notes down at the end of the latest Skywalker visit. Na-Tsuyon wonders if the brow piercing will look strange with Soka's markings, and then doesn't think on it further.

----

Ylliben, almost nine, is silent as he gets the touch-up.

His father isn't here. Neither is Shmi. It's pre-approved, signed permission and all, but it's still odd that neither of Ben's adults is here.

Sokanth is, but she's almost as quiet as Ben is.

Na-Tsuyon has heard the rumors, but she's not going to say anything. She's not. It's not her business.

"Ben," Soka speaks up, towards the end of the appointment. "Ask her the thing."

Ben shakes his head. "No way."

"She knows more about tattoos and how important they are than anyone!" Soka urges. "Ask her!"

"Do you want to wait for your father?" Na-Tsuyon suggests.

"No!" both immediately yelp.

She pauses, glad the needle hadn't been to skin, and levels a look at Ben. He flushes and settles down, mumbling an apology for jerking as he had. She goes back to fixing the stretch of the binary suns tattoo.

Soka shifts in her seat, watching them intently.

"Shmi's upset with buir," Ben suddenly says. He doesn't meet Na-Tsuyon's eyes. "I'm... I don't know if you heard what's going on."

"I do my best to avoid rumors," she says, keeping her voice as neutral as she can. "I did hear that the Mand'alor is about to have a grandchild, and something about an upcoming wedding. That much has been announced officially."

"Dad freaked out," Soka says, legs kicking back and forth. "He's happy for her, and he's fine with Jango being the other parent, but it kicked off a... philosophical crisis? Ben, what do you think?"

"Metaphysical, maybe," Ben mumbles. "Definitely existential."

"And he told Shmi some stuff and now she's hurt that he didn't tell her before and it's all a mess," Soka finishes. "So, uh, we don't... want either of them involved. Until. Um. Until that's settled."

Na-Tsuyon bites back any deeper questions she might have. "Alright. I won't pry. What did you want to know from me?"

"I had a plan for what I was going to get next," Ben says, staring at the fold of fabric over his sister's knees in lieu of something more pertinent. "A peace lily, on the inside of my wrist, for..."

"You don't have to tell me," she reminds him.

Ben bites his lip, and closes his eyes, and breathes in deep. Neither of the girls comment.

"She was important," Ben finally says. "In the big memories. But she doesn't... she's not... she isn't here. And Jango is. And he's marrying Shmi, and they're having a baby, so I should put a mark down for him first, right?"

"He's gonna be Mand'alor, too," Soka adds.

"He is," Na-Tsuyon says, as neutral as she can.

"He's joining the family," Ben says, his gaze fixed on the floor in front of him. "And there's going to be a baby, and that's. That's important."

"There's no order that you have to get things in," Na-Tsuyon assures him, squeezing his shoulder in a light gesture of support. "You've prioritized family so far, so I think it would make sense to get a mark for the coming cousin, at least. Unless... is the lily for your birth mother?"

Ben's face twists, uncomfortable for some reason she can't begin to guess at.

"No," Ben says.

"Skyguy's Jedi Master did almost marry her when they were younger," Soka explains. She glances at Na-Tsuyon and then away and at the wall. "They had a whole dramatic 'forbidden romance' thing going on, 'cause Jedi aren't supposed to get married. She died before Ben came into the picture, though."

It's a neat enough explanation.

It feels fake, but much of what the Skywalkers say about their pasts does.

She's sure it's true in some way. In some perspective. From... from a certain point of view, maybe.

"Alright, then," Na-Tsuyon dismisses. "All things aside, I would suggest adjusting your order of tattoo acquisition, but there's no particular requirement by Mandalorian standards. Your choices are rarely anything that intersects with set traditions, nor do you have a historic clan or house that comes with mandates of the sort. It seems that you're leaning towards prioritizing something for the new additions to your family, though; you've made it clear that these things are important to you, and I think you should pursue it if you're comfortable with it."

Ben nods, eyes somewhere far off.

"It'll make him flustered," Soka pushes, kicking lightly at her brother's ankle. "Jan-Jan's still worried you don't like him anymore."

"He is not," Ben huffs. "He's just scared of buir."

"Nah, your opinion matters too," Soka argues. "And you've been avoiding everyone 'cuz Skyguy freaked out and Shmi's upset, so Jango's worried you're mad at him about the baby happening. If you get a tattoo about him, he might actually cry."

"Is that why you want me to take that route?"

"Not the only one," Soka says, utterly guileless. She blinks at him, bright and innocent. "But I definitely do want to see the future Mand'alor crying because you made it obvious he's family now. It'll be funny."

Ben sighs, very clearly being dramatic about it. "Soka, I'm not going to pick a tattoo based on what you think will be funny."

"Imagine his face, though."

Na-Tsuyon doesn't comment at the expressions Ben makes as he very clearly does exactly that.

"Well, kriff," Ben sighs, and Soka giggles at the swear. "I'll have to get a tattoo for Jango, then."

----

Ben is already nine by the time he comes in with his father to actually get the tattoo for Jango's addition to the family. The choice he makes isn't particularly imaginative, but it'll suit well enough. A mythosaur skull, the symbol of the Haat Mando'ade, in a grey the same shade as beskar.

There actually are traditions to this one, specific adjustments to the framing and stylization meant to indicate how one fits into the faction, but also how one is associated with the Mand'alor. Ben is family, and close family, but not related by blood, nor adopted directly by the Mand'alor, rather a relative through the riduur be alor.

Na-Tsuyon explains each element and adjustment in detail, lets them process and agree, until she's taking a needle to Ben's skin once more.

"Will you be getting one for the coming child as well?" Na-Tsuyon asks while shading in a curve of bone.

"Not yet," Ben tells her, quiet and oddly contemplating. "I need to meet them, first. Figure out who they are."

"Sensible," she agrees. There's the usual oddity in his phrasing, and she ignores it as ever. "Did you tell Fett that you were getting this?"

"No, it's intended as a surprise," Ben says, watching her work.

She can almost feel the coming question.

It does not come from the human she expects.

"Do you know any Mando tattoo artists in Little Keldabe?" the General asks, voice low.

She finishes the line she's on, lifts the needle away from skin, and turns to him. "You're leaving for Coruscant?"

"Not yet," Skywalker says. He meets her eyes evenly. "But... soon. The time's coming. A year, maybe two. The Force will let us know when the time is right."

"Uh-huh," Na-Tsuyon acknowledges this. She does not comment further. The Force is not her wheelhouse. If they think it wants them back on Coruscant, with the Temple, then that's what they believe.

"These are Mando work," Skywalker continues, almost painfully earnest, "and I'd like to ensure whoever maintains them until Ben stops growing knows the right way to handle Mando art."

It's really not that different from a standard tattoo artist, but she's a little charmed anyway. Enchanted, almost. The man really does care.

"I can get you some names and addresses next time you stop by," she promises him. "It's been a few years since I checked in on their work, and I'll need to look them over before I make any recommendations."

He smiles at her, relieved in a manner she finds appallingly open for a Jedi like himself.

Ben mimics his father.

----

She gets to attend the wedding, months later.

The food is very, very good.

(Ben waits until the reception to show off his new tattoo, and the future Mand'alor does, in fact, cry.)

(So does Shmi.)

(So does their eight-week-old daughter, but that's probably unrelated to the tattoo.)

----

"Do you think getting a belly button ring would be good?"

Na-Tsuyon doesn't lift her head from her paperwork when Sokanth poses the question to the piercer. She's in for the horizontal brow bar, this time, and the labret is going to be somewhere a few months down the line.

"That's really up to you," the piercer says. His name is Hujnak, and he's a Devaronian that's been working here since Na-Tsuyon opened up the place. She loves him dearly, but he stole the last piece of cake and for that he will have no help with difficult customers for the next fortnight.

Or until she gets bored.

"I'm leaning towards 'no,' but I'm not sure," Soka muses. "I like the idea of it, but I feel like it might get snagged on things more easily. Plus, it's going to be a point of higher damage and pressure if I get a gut punch. It's one of the parts of my body I'm never really going to armor up, you know?"

They do know. There have been screaming matches about all the Jedi's refusal to wear enough armor on many occasions. The Jedi prioritize their agility to such a degree that armorweave is more reasonable than actual armor, in their opinion. This is an opinion that Fett and Mereel both take issue with.

At great volume.

(Shmi has vambraces, a gorget, and greaves, Na-Tsuyon knows. Some of it was exchanged at the wedding. Shmi doesn't wear much armor, certainly less than even the children. Shmi, crucially, isn't a warrior or otherwise planning to see battle.)

"Then I would say it may be best to hold off."

"Phooey," Soka says, though she doesn't seem particularly upset. "Ben's gonna be cooler than me forever, then."

"You think tattoos are cooler than piercings?" Hujnak challenges. "I'm offended."

"He can just get more," Soka protests. "Without it looking weird or getting dangerous, I mean."

Hujnak hums, noncommittal. "And you're worried about being cooler than the younger brother you have told me is, and I quote, the biggest nerd ever?"

"Well, yeah," Sokanth scoffs. "He's gonna start acting older than me as soon as he thinks he can get away with it. I gotta have something to hold over his head, you know?"

"Seeing as you are the older sibling..."

"Ehhhh..."

Nope.

Not paying attention.

----

"These are House Kryze colors."

Ylliben's breath hitches.

He is ten. He doesn't seem ready to provide answers. She turns to the father instead.

"Will that be a problem?" the general asks, calm and even.

"Yes," she says, and Ben slumps. She continues, because this is her job, and for a reason. "Unless you have a ready justification for when House Kryze asks, yes, it will be a problem. If it were a landscape or an animal, it wouldn't matter, but the pairing of the colors and the peace lily is an explicit statement of loyalty to Adonai and his heir, Satine. Unless you've suddenly decided to adjust your political stance to total pacifism instead of your Jedi approach, or have another reason to take on House Kryze colors, I'd warn against it at all, and would refuse to perform the work myself."

Ylliben's eyes are fixed somewhere behind her, and shining wetly.

"Okay," the general says. "Ben, do you have any other pallettes in mind?

"These were her colors," Ben whispers, and then he swallows thickly. "I just..."

"Simplify," Skywalker suggests. He fiddles with a necklace half-hidden in his Jedi layers; the japor one is visible, but a dull gold glint is all Na-Tsuyon can see of the other before it's tucked away again. "She'd understand, yeah? There's political ramifications. Dangerous ones, especially to you."

Interesting thing to say about a woman who, by Soka's earlier statements, died well before Ben was born.

They could at least try to stop dropping hints about their oddities. She doesn't want to know more.

"Lilac," Ben finally decides. "And... pale silver. With a filigree pattern in the shading?"

"I can do that," Na-Tsuyon promises.

She does not ask further.

----

"We're moving to Coruscant in a month."

Na-Tsuyon's head snaps up, head tails jolting almost painfully with the movement.

Sokanth is getting her labret, finally. She's gossiping as Hujnak prepares the tools, as usual, and Na-Tsuyon tries to ignore it when they Skywalkers do that, she does, but...

"You're leaving," she repeats, feeling oddly blank.

"Um... yeah?" Soka answers. She scratches at one stubby montral. "We've talked about it before. I thought you knew."

"I didn't realize it was so soon," Na-Tsuyon defends. She's more upset than she should be. "I thought you'd be waiting until the little princess was older."

Sokanth blinks at her, slow and... not judging, no. Evaluating, maybe.

"I'm almost thirteen," she says, slow and deliberate and heavy. "And Ben's eleven. There's no hard age limit for becoming a padawan, but I'm getting into the peak years for getting chosen, and I've been living here instead of in the Temple. I haven't had years to impress a potential Master like the others. That might not matter; sometimes a Master sees their future student and just knows, but... I need to have other Jedi to spar with, not just Skyguy and Ben. And Ben's visions are getting stronger, and Dad was never that good with his own in the first place, so he's worried about being able to help at all. We could stay longer, but..."

She trails off, and shrugs, and the weighted air disappears. "It's not the same thing as a verd'goten, at all, but it's about the same age, you know? I should be in the Temple for it."

"What would a verd'goten equivalent be?" Hujnak prompts, when Na-Tsuyon fails to find her words. "Being an adult and equal member and all such things?"

"Knighthood," Soka answers immediately. "Dad got knighted when he was twenty, but that's really young, usually. His master was knighted at twenty-five, which was a bit late, but apparently there was a whole dramatic thing going on there that Dad never got all the details about."

"Becoming a Padawan is a sign that your teachers see you as someone that is ready to take on the responsibilities of a Jedi, yes?" Hujnak asks. "That you may not be ready to go out on your own, but that you're old enough to understand your oaths and choose how to follow them, and to protect others?"

Sokanth considers this, and then nods. "Yeah, I guess it's similar to using the verd'goten to gauge if someone's ready to swear the Resol'nare, that way. Still not moving out, and just about entering an apprenticeship, but enough of an adult to make the choice of how to change the world."

"I think most cultures have something like that around the same age," Hujnak comments. "Some do it a bit later in the teens, but it's usually around your age that most... well, most cultures who age at the 'human standard' rate--"

Na-Tsuyon can't help the reflexive snort of derision. Neither can Soka. Hujnak, the closest to human in the room and yet still very much not, smiles like this is exactly what he intended.

"--most who age at that rate do have it somewhere in that eleven-to-seventeen range, I'd think."

Soka shrugs. "Yeah, well. Still gotta go to the Temple for it, you know?"

"Are you going to take the verd'goten at all?" Na-Tsuyon asks, suddenly a little desperate to keep the Skywalkers here, with Mandalore and all its people, just a fraction of a moment longer.

"I don't think so," Soka muses. "I've been thinking about it, but I should probably talk about it with Jango, yeah?"

"Yeah," Na-Tsuyon says, and feels like she's swallowing down around rocks.

----

As it turns out, the timing is very deliberate. Three weeks later, Jaster transfers the title of Mand'alor to his son.

(Though Na-Tsuyon does not know this, twenty-six is older than Jango was when he lost the title, once upon another life.)

There is a week of festivity. There is food, and drink, and dancing. Some people get married. Some people make announcements of impending births. Some people reveal songs they composed in preparation for this very day.

For a week, Mandalore celebrates a new king.

Then, the Jedi and his children leave.

(Ben gives Na-Tsuyon a hug before he goes.)

(She tries to understand why she feels like she's losing something when he does.)